Lord of Legends
Page 25
THE RUMORS OF MARIAH’S eccentricity were still flying the evening after the ball. Though Ash waited, she didn’t come to him, and he knew why. She didn’t dare risk repeating what had happened between them. She was ashamed. And while she bravely refused to confirm the gossip by returning to Donbridge, she made little attempt to refute the talk about her “performance” in the ballroom.
The gossip heightened when someone put it about that Lady Donnington came from a line prone to madness, and that her family had been known in American as the “Mad Marrons” for generations.
No one knew how egregious these tales were better than Ash. He was certain that knowledge of Mariah’s mother could not be so widespread in England without help.
Ash waited for nightfall, chose a fast horse from the stables and rode hard to the very edge of London, where the city gave way to a scattering of mansions and country houses. He stood on the crest of a hill and sent his thoughts out into the night. There was no response. Again he tried, and again. Thunder rumbled in the sky, and finally a flash of lightning illuminated a single figure, limned in a silver glow.
“Cairbre,” Ash said. “What have you done?”
The figure moved forward. “Well may you ask me that, Arion, considering the foolish errors you have committed.”
“I committed no error,” Ash said. “I have done as you asked.”
“Have you?” Cairbre’s teeth glinted in the eldritch light. “You went too far, Arion. You nearly destroyed the girl’s worth to me.”
“But I did not.”
Lightning flashed again. “Consider this your last warning, Arion,” Cairbre said. “You have delayed too long, and—”
“Is your position in Tir-na-Nog so tenuous, great Fane lord?”
Cairbre’s eyes glinted with anger. “Do you think to defy me?” he asked. “Think again, beast. If you do not do as we agreed—”
Ash didn’t let him finish his threat. “Who at Marlborough House is serving you, Cairbre? Who is working against Mariah?”
Cairbre shook his head, his expression one that in a human might have been called pity. “You care for her, don’t you? Poor deluded fool. That the magnificent Arion should come to this…” He glanced up at the sky, his clothing untouched by the rain that had begun to fall. “The girl is already in a state of fear and confusion. I can drive her truly mad with but the slightest effort. In such a weakened condition, she will not be able to thwart my will as she did before.”
Ash began to tremble. “She’ll do you no good in Tir-na-Nog if she’s mad.”
“I would prefer that she maintain her sanity for the sake of my people’s approbation, but her virgin body is all I truly require.”
Without thinking, Ash lowered his head and charged. Cairbre vanished and reappeared several feet to the left. He laughed.
“You have made yourself ridiculous over this human,” he said. He snapped his fingers, and the lightning struck at Ash’s feet. “Consider my words. If you obey, you are restored and the girl will be well—or at least alive. Otherwise, you both lose everything.”
With another snap of his fingers he vanished, leaving Ash soaked to the skin.
For uncounted minutes he stood in the rain. “You care for her, don’t you?” How many times had Ash implied as much to Mariah, only half meaning his words, thinking only of himself?
But he was not the man he had been when the memory of his mission had returned to him in the folly. Self-deception was no longer possible. There was only one way to put Mariah out of her misery, and that was to tell her the truth. The truth of who and what he was.
And of what he had wanted from her, even though she might hate him forever. Even though it would destroy every hope he had of regaining his true self.
Driving the horse as hard as he dared, Ash returned to Marlborough House. Mariah was nowhere to be found. After an hour of inquiry, he learned from a servant that Lady Donnington and her maid had left the house and apparently gone to a hotel, though the servant did not speculate as to why the lady had done so. Ash considered searching her out, but it was far more practical to wait. Wait until she had returned, restored by her time away.
Or so he told himself.
He did what he could in her absence, moving among the guests as he defended Mariah with a sharp word here and a quiet rebuke there. Those he had cured with his healing powers were grateful enough to listen; some even began to dismiss Mariah’s peculiar behavior as mere “youthful high spirits” and ignore any less charitable interpretation.
Three days after Mariah had gone, a fresh rumor made its way through the house. Lady Strickland had received a letter from her husband in Derbyshire, though the contents of the letter did not remain confidential for long. Someone at Marlborough House had broken the unwritten rule of discretion and informed the marquess that his wife was engaged in a torrid affair with Mr. Denham.
Lord Strickland’s letter had condemned his wife in the strongest terms, demanding that she return to his estate at once to tender an explanation. Lady Strickland’s humiliation could not have been more complete. Then another question arose among the Set. Who had written to the marquess? Who had dared to break the unspoken agreement that bound the unfaithful residents of Marlborough House, and their prince, together in their enjoyment of extramarital pleasure?
Mariah Donnington.
At first it was only a whisper. No one had any proof, no concrete reason to believe in her guilt. But she was still fresh in the guests’ thoughts, and it was only a short step from rumors of madness to murmured accusations of deliberate malice against a woman who had chosen to cut her fellow American. Even the most tolerant of the Set’s members began to think her guilty when Lady Strickland’s friends related how Mariah had expressed her distaste for the practices of the English peerage. Further talk confirmed that she had observed Lady Strickland and Mr. Denham in the guest wing late at night, giving her both motive and ammunition.
Ash himself had no doubt that this was the work of Cairbre or his unidentified human ally. And though the likely identity of Cairbre’s servant was not difficult to guess, as yet Ash had no proof that anyone but Mariah had seen the Fane lord. Still, he did what he could to quash this new trouble.
“I have not had time to get to know her well,” he said to a coterie of the prince’s favorites as they gathered in the billiard room, “but she is not malicious. Even if she were inclined to revenge, she would hardly act in such a way as to draw suspicion to herself.”
The gentlemen present glanced at each other, clearly caught off guard by Ash’s disconcerting frankness. Several of them flushed in embarrassment, and one man began to leave the room. Lord Emory stopped his cohort with a gesture, glowering from under his thick gray brows.
“There are no ladies present,” he said, “so I shall be equally direct. You speak of these matters very casually, but would you still defend Lady Donnington if she were not your relative by marriage?”
“She is my cousin, but I would defend any person wrongly accused,” he said, staring into the man’s eyes. “But perhaps that is an American habit.”
“We have long known that Americans make much of propriety while they freely break their own rules.”
“Much like the English.” Ash smiled, his gaze sweeping the room. “Every one of you has chosen a wife who will be accepting of your infidelities, while you permit your females to lie with other men. You are scarcely in a position to speak of hypocrisy.”
The others muttered and shifted about, unable to find a ready answer. Lord Emory subsided with a scowl, and Ash knew he had accepted at least a temporary defeat.
But one small victory was not enough. In spite of Ash’s popularity, it was no longer a simple matter to swing the humans to his point of view. Some began to avoid his company. Even when Sinjin, too, took up a defense of Mariah, he kept well away from Ash. When their gazes met, Sinjin’s burned with hostility.
He knew. Somehow he had learned—perhaps from Pamela herself—what his paramou
r had done that early morning in the park, and he placed the blame on Ash.
Finally he caught Sinjin at a time and place where the human could not easily escape. “Good afternoon,” he said. “You have a desire to say something to me?”
Sinjin narrowed his eyes. “I must say, Cornell, your nerve is almost admirable.”
“Because I would prefer to speak more frankly about your lover than you dare to?”
The human paled. “You bastard. You’ll either admit that you took advantage of her or I’ll make you regret it.”
Had Sinjin not given some assistance to Mariah when Ash had been at his most vulnerable, he would, at that moment, gladly have knocked the human off his feet.
“It was she who offered herself to me,” Ash said.
“Liar.”
Ash cocked his head. “It amazes me how irrational men can become when they are in thrall to a female.”
“Do you deny having approached her?”
“Would it serve any purpose if I did? You are aware of her nature, yet you would defend her to your last breath.”
“I’m aware,” Sinjin said, breathing harshly, “that you are concealing something, Cornell. I don’t know what it is, but I intend to find out.”
“You might better ask yourself what Lady Westlake is concealing.” Ash turned to go. Sinjin caught him by the arm and spun him around.
“Whoever you are,” he said, “I know you have designs on Mariah. If you so much as harm a hair on her head…”
“I would be the last one to harm her,” Ash said softly, shaking off Ware’s grip. “And if your paramour should attempt to work her malice on Lady Donnington again, I will not be merciful.”
“She and Mariah…” But Ware found nothing more to say. He turned on his heel and strode from the room. Ash stood where he was, his ears still ringing with Sinjin’s accusations.
“I know you have designs on Mariah. If you so much as harm a hair on her head…”
Ash had said he would never harm Mariah. The time had come to prove it.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
MARIAH SAT ON THE edge of her mattress at the hotel. The unsigned letter lay open on the bed table.
Come back immediately, it said. Mr. Cornell needs your help.
She picked up the letter and studied it, as if it might give up its secrets. Who had written it, and why should Ash require her help?
She had known she was a coward when she left Marlborough House. She had meant to stay. She had intended to face Ash again and explain, make him understand that what had happened between them could not be repeated.
But she hadn’t been able to do it. Even when she chose to retreat to a London hotel instead of Donbridge, leaving herself the option of returning to Marlborough House at a moment’s notice, she had remained a coward. Thinking about Ash, about what they had done, left her weak and shivering with desire. If she were to go near him again, she might not be able to resist. She feared she would be paying for those few moments of pleasure for the rest of her life.
And as for the rumors…
Perhaps she was not mad after all. Ash had told her as much, and she had nearly believed him. He had absolved her of blame for her mother’s suffering with a gentle firmness that had given her hope for the first time in many years.
Ash…
A few days, she’d told herself. A few days and the memories of his touch will pass.
But they did not. Nola’s company was no help, and guilt mingled with hunger in Mariah’s bewildered mind. Ash had branded himself upon her body. Each restless night brought him to her bed, if only in her imagination. The fairies left her alone, yet she would have welcomed them rather than face the dreams of her lust whenever she dared to close her eyes.
He will come to me, her unreasonable heart insisted. He will find me.
But he did not. And she began to understand that he had accepted her rejection and was honorable enough not to test it. He had been true to her, and now she must be true to him. Loving him had been a mistake…her mistake. She had forgotten herself because of it, betrayed her husband, herself—even Ash—in a way she had never intended.
Now, as she looked again at the anonymous letter, she realized that she could put off her return no longer. She alone could make the next move to restore their friendship to what it had been before, then hold to that friendship and keep it safe, something precious she would never let escape her again.
I will never leave you, Ash. Even if we never touch each other again, I will never—
A hand covered her mouth. She struggled, thrashing among the bedclothes, until she recognized the familiar and beloved presence.
“Hush,” Ash whispered, removing his hand. “You are safe, Mariah.”
She sat up, her heart beating so fast that she couldn’t catch her breath.
“Ash,” she whispered. “Are you all right?”
“Should I not be?”
“Someone sent a letter that said you were in trouble.”
“Someone?” He frowned. “That someone was mistaken.”
“But why would anyone—”
“That doesn’t matter now, Mariah,” he said, sitting on the chair near the bed. “There are things I must tell you. Important things that you must understand.”
“But I do understand,” she said, recovering her self-control. “I understand my weaknesses. They will never again take me unaware.” She reached toward him, then pulled her hands back before she could touch him. “I treasure our friendship, Ash, but I put it in jeopardy. I blame only myself.” Her eyes began to sting. “I ask your forgiveness.”
He averted his face. “You are wrong,” he said. “It was not your doing. It was mine.”
“Oh, Ash. You mean more to me than I could ever say. If you were to leave me…” She tried to steady her voice. “I know you have found your place, my dear friend. You are accepted by society, and in time your memory will return. We may be parted by circumstance, but you will always be with me, as I will be with you.”
He lifted his head. “You do not know what you are saying, Mariah.” His eyes were obsidian-black, fathomless, unreadable. “I was never a friend to you.”
“Please, Ash. Whatever guilt you may feel is entirely unnecessary.” She leaned toward him, willing him to listen with an open heart. “From the beginning, even before I realized how much you would change, I knew there would be a bond between us. It may not be the sort of relationship society would sanction, but it is ours. It will not die even when Donnington returns, no matter what he has done. Not as long as we don’t let it.”
The intensity of his gaze was such that she almost wondered if he intended to renew his overtures. But surely he would not. He must realize that what she said was the truth, because only the truth must be spoken between them from now on.
“Ash,” she said, laying her hand over his. “We have what most people seldom do. Trust in each other. Please trust me now, as you once asked the same of me.”
“But I deceived you, Mariah. From the moment we met in the folly.”
Immediately she tried to imagine what he meant, a hundred wild possibilities racing through her mind. It is something small. Something unimportant, she told herself.
“I lied to you,” he said. “I was mad at the beginning—that much is true—but I was never what I pretended to be.”
He slid his hand out from beneath hers. “I said that you were not insane. That was also truth. But the reason I know…” He drew a deep breath. “I have seen what you call fairies, Mariah. A hundred times. A thousand. And I have seen them in the place your mother envisioned.”
The mention of her mother froze Mariah’s insides. “I don’t understand.”
“Of course not. You could not possibly guess. I lived in that place, Mariah. It has always been real, just as your mother believed.”
Mariah clutched at the bedclothes. “You’re mocking me,” she said.
“No. That I would never do.” His gaze dropped to the carpet under his feet
. “The place your mother saw is named Tir-na-Nog. It is the land of the Fane lords, who rule the sprites and hobs and lesser creatures in their domain.”
“Tir…na-Nog?” she repeated slowly, feeling as though she were dreaming. “I have heard that name before. But it doesn’t…it can’t exist.”
“It does. I will show you.”
Nothing in the world could have prepared her for what happened next. He was in the chair one instant and then beside her on the bed, his movement so swift that she never even saw it. He gripped her shoulders.
“Look, Mariah,” he said.
She lifted her hands as if she could ward him away, but it did no good. Suddenly, as if in a gaudy picture book, another world unfolded. She saw the trees first—elegant, too perfect, with leaves of silver and gold and emerald-green. At the bases of their trunks were carpets of flowers stretching to the tawny hills in the distance, a riot of color and shape Mariah could never have envisioned. Animals played in the fields: badgers, foxes, deer with crystal horns, exotic creatures that must have come from distant lands.
Then there were the buildings. Scattered across the fantastic landscape, they seemed to have been constructed from some substance that gleamed and sparkled in the sun like diamonds, each one a fantasy of spires, domes and traceries of delicate carving that would have made the greatest artist envious.
Like the pictures in a zoetrope, the images quickly shifted again. This time Mariah saw people. Oh, not ordinary people, but gods and goddesses, graceful beyond any human conception, in bejewelled clothing spun from clouds and dreams. They moved alone or in small groups, speaking in voices Mariah couldn’t hear, gesturing with languid hands as they passed through gardens so elaborate and symmetrical that no human skill could have shaped them. Colored lights sprang from their fingertips; they waved casually, and great platters of fruits and breads and sweet confections spread before them as if by magic.
The last thing Ash showed her was more amazing and yet more real than anything that had gone before. A magnificent beast stood in a meadow of delicate fronds, a beast as much like a horse as a lion is like a kitten. Its glossy coat bore no resemblance to the word “white,” so pure it was. Its mane and tail were made up of platinum strands that lifted and fluttered in a gentle breeze. Its ivory hooves were cloven, and in the center of its noble forehead a spiraled horn caught the sunlight and reflected it like a prism.