Lord Merlyn's Magic

by Marcy Stewart

  Abby made no answer to his chattering. She was too irritated to answer; unbelievably irritated at his refusal to satisfy her curiosity. But as she thought more upon it, she decided she had intruded into his privacy. There was no reason to think he’d dreamt of her. Maybe he’d had a vision that was scandalous in nature, albeit frightening for some reason. She had better not allow her growing independence to evolve into obtuseness. Not if she wanted him to love her as much as she loved him.

  *

  It was almost dark when the carriage gave a sudden jolt and lurched to a teetering stop. Both Abby and Charlotte Ann fell toward Julian, and all of them crashed against the door. When Francis rushed to open it, only his quick footwork and capable muscles kept them from tumbling to the road.

  “Dear Lord have mercy!” cried Charlotte Ann, who had been dreaming about a certain valet clad only in his pantaloons carrying her up the slope of a glass mountain. “God forgive me!”

  “Are you all right?” Francis asked. “Anyone hurt?”

  Julian struggled to remove the brim of Charlotte Ann’s bonnet from his eye, then scooped her off his lap toward Francis. When the servant lifted her, squealing, to the ground, Julian and Abby disembarked. All of them paced away to stare at the coach, which was tilted toward the left front wheel.

  “Wheel broke,” Bugbee announced unnecessarily as he checked the team and harnesses. He patted the flank of the wheeler nearest him, then spat into the bushes. “Must of been that hole in the road t’other day. Must of cracked the wheel, and now it’s broke clean through.”

  “Didn’t you check the wheels?” Francis accused.

  “Couldn’t see nothing wrong with it.” Bugbee’s eyes narrowed. “And just so you’ll know, I allus checks everything top to bottom, while others are feeding their faces and burning their legs by the fire.”

  “Well, nothing can be done about that now,” Julian said. “We should be near the Highwayman, which is about five miles up the road if I recall correctly. Abby, if you and Charlotte Ann will ride double with myself and Francis, we will go on ahead and take our rooms. Bugbee can stay with the coach.”

  Charlotte Ann pressed her heart. “You can all go, but please, please do not ask me to get on a horse. Once I was near trampled by one and I can’t abide the beasts.”

  “You’ll be safe with me,” Francis said.

  The maid looked at him longingly. “I can’t; I just can’t. I’ll die if I do.” As if to prove her statement, she began to pant loudly.

  “Never mind,” Abby said, moving to pat her maid’s hand. “I’ll stay with you. We won’t have long to wait, surely.”

  The magician sighed. “Very well. Bugbee, take my horse and go with Francis. Bring a cart or gig or something so we don’t have to wait while the wheel is repaired.”

  Bugbee’s homely, stubbled face brightened as he contemplated Julian’s black. “Thank you, milord.” Rubbing the horse’s mane reverently, he eased into the saddle. “Don’t forget there’s a blunderbuss in my box.”

  “Hopefully we won’t need it,” Julian said irritably, waving them on.

  “Don’t I know it!” Bugbee called over his shoulder, grinning. “You’re the worst shot in three counties! Er—sorry milord!”

  “He is becoming overfamiliar,” the magician muttered as the sound of hoofbeats died away.

  At the mentioning of the gun, Abby’s eyes had widened. Now she looked around nervously. A bottomless silence enveloped them. Woods stretched into the shadows on either side of the road. No lights from nearby cottages beckoned warmly through the chill air. Clouds covered the moon and stars, and she could hardly see the faces of her companions.

  “Do you think it’s safe?” Charlotte Ann cried. “You don’t reckon Mr. Demere is out there somewhere, do you?”

  Abby waited for Julian’s answer, but he only mumbled and began moving restlessly around the carriage, running his hand along the panels, talking to the horses, and rummaging in the boot. Abby and Charlotte Ann watched him, hugging their arms across their chests and stamping their feet to dispel the increasing chill.

  “What are you doing?” Abby asked.

  “Looking for the tinderbox so I can start a fire. Search for some branches, won’t you? But don’t wander far.”

  They obeyed willingly enough, and before long a fire was crackling just beyond the edge of the road. Julian pulled a log close to the warmth, and all three of them sat on it with their hands stretched toward the flames.

  After a moment, Abby began to laugh.

  The magician looked at her curiously, his eyes reflecting the humor he saw in her face. “What amuses you?”

  “Oh, I have just thought we must look like three magpies sitting on a fence.”

  He smiled. “I had rather be a raven, if you don’t mind. There is slightly more dignity in the image.”

  “Very well; three ravens, then.”

  Charlotte Ann heaved a great sigh at their foolishness. They fell quiet again, and Abby watched the flames with a growing feeling of peace—a peace that was soon shattered by the maid.

  “I hear something,” she said, her head rising like a dog scenting game.

  Abby heard it, too. Hoofbeats, but coming from the wrong direction to be Francis and Bugbee returning. When Julian rose to peer down the road, she rose, too, and stood as closely to him as she could without stepping on him. Charlotte Ann became a shadow behind her.

  The rider soon came into sight, and they relaxed. He was no more than a lad of fourteen or so, and his steed was a worn old mare looking to have only a walk or two left in her. The boy wore the simple attire of a farm laborer, yet the material of his shirt and trousers was new and clean. He appeared delighted to see them.

  “Guess you broke down, eh?” he asked in a surprisingly deep voice. Before they could answer, he continued, “Hadn’t seen a cat moving this way, have you?”

  “No, no cats,” said Julian. “Who are you, may I ask?”

  “My name’s Lawrence Tushley, and you must have passed our farm a way back. This is my time of the day for learning whittling with my grandpa, but instead I’m trying to find the cat for me mam. She’s got one leg missing and is a lot of trouble.”

  A puzzled look came into Julian’s eyes. “I am sorry to hear it, but should you speak so about your mother?”

  “Hunh? Oh! Me mam don’t have her leg off, it’s the cat!” When Abby began to giggle, the boy looked at her and grinned. “Her name’s Melissa. The cat’s name is Melissa. If you ain’t doing nothing, I wish you’d help me look. See, our dogs caught scent of a fox this afternoon, and off they go with the cat behind ‘em. Thinks she’s a hound, Melissa does. Now Mam’s worried she hadn’t come home.”

  Abby’s expression became rapt. “Julian …” she appealed.

  He glanced at her, then looked a second time. “You cannot be serious.”

  “But it would be so easy for you.”

  Waving his arms theatrically, he looked at the sky. “Do you believe I was born to ensure the happiness and well-being of every creature in the world?”

  “No, only that of those who cross your path.”

  He dragged his irate gaze away from her condemning one, stalked back to the fire and sat down. “I am not calling forth the beast to search for a flea-bitten, three-legged cat.”

  “Oh, she’s that all right,” Lawrence called merrily. “I don’t know what kind of beast you have, and I guess you’re not going to help; so I’ll be on my way. I might be out here all night and never get to whittle. I could fall sick and die, too, since it’s so cold, but that’s no grief of yours!”

  “I’ll help you,” Abby declared. “I’ll look in the woods until our ride comes back.”

  “Will you? I’m obliged! If you find her, just yell and I’ll come fast.” Since he wore no hat, he pulled his forelock and clicked the horse into forward movement, calling for Melissa all the while.

  After he disappeared into the darkness, Abby gave the magician a defiant look and turned towa
rd the woods. When she saw how gloomy it was inside them, she said bravely, “Come, Charlotte Ann. Let us see if we can find this poor, lost creature.”

  “Not me,” the maid said firmly, and went to sit on the log beside Julian. “I’m scared of cats and even more scared of woods at night.”

  “I’m beginning to think you are frightened of everything,” Abby said irritably. As she eyed the forest, her vexation increased. But she could not back down now, not while Julian watched her with so much amusement. She set her teeth and plunged into the woods.

  The going was difficult; at every step she had to push aside tangles of dried vines and thick undergrowth. Many of the branches were leafless now and hard to see in the dark; moreover, their spiny points could take out an eye if she weren’t careful.

  When she heard the noise of someone approaching behind, she looked back in relief. Julian was coming with a makeshift torch in his hand. She had been certain he would not leave her to walk in these woods alone. Well, almost certain.

  “I knew you would want to help that boy.”

  “I’m not here to help him but to keep you from trouble. I’ve never used the beast to find an animal and I don’t intend to start now.”

  She began walking again, peering upward into branches and stirring the bushes with a stick she found. “I wish you would stop calling your gift a beast. It seems … ungrateful.”

  “I am ungrateful. I’ve told you before that I’d rather not have this … aberration. Nothing good comes from it. Nothing.”

  She turned to stare at him. The flaming branch he held illuminated the anger in his eyes. Well, she was feeling more than angry herself.

  “Tell Gordie that, why don’t you?”

  “All right, that one time it was useful. But had the child been unable to tell what happened to him, we could have found ourselves in the gaol.”

  Abby did not know what to make of his bitterness, so she pushed on, calling the cat’s name repeatedly until her throat felt raw. To her fury, Julian began to echo her cries, mimicking the inflection of her voice every time. It was all beginning to seem quite hopeless, yet she was too stubborn to call a halt. But she had to stop, finally, when a sudden, agonizing wrench to her head made her gasp in pain.

  Julian, who had dropped a few paces behind, rushed to her side. “What is wrong?”

  “My hair! It—it is tangled in the branch.”

  He held the torch above her face and grinned. “So it is.”

  She struggled to free her hair but seemed only to make it grow more tightly wrapped around the limb. “Help me, Julian, don’t merely stand there watching!”

  “I don’t know if I should, Lady Absolom. Francis will tell you I’m no good with knots.”

  “Julian, please!”

  “All right. Here, hold the torch and I’ll use both hands.”

  He began to work busily. Of necessity he stood very close to her. She tried to be unaware of his nearness but could not help it; his breath tickled her skin. Only inches away, his cheeks were reddened with effort, and his eyes glinted with the light of total concentration. Oh, he was trying so hard.

  At last she was free; but when he lowered his arms with a triumphant flourish, she did not move but kept her gaze pinned to his. She watched the victory in his eyes transform to something warmer. For an endless moment they remained thus; then Abby let the torch slip from her fingers to the ground. Hesitantly she lifted her arms around his shoulders.

  For a heart-stopping instant he did not respond. Just when she thought she must die, he clasped her to him. And then, with great reluctance, he brought his lips to hers.

  “Julian,” she whispered as he traced a slow pattern of kisses on her eyelids, her cheeks, and the tender flesh at her throat. “Julian.” She began to kiss him back while threading her fingers into his dark, dark hair. All her anger and hurt from the previous night faded away. He was so beautiful. She caressed his temples, his cheeks, the strong chin.

  In her ecstasy, the words flowed unbidden from her mouth. “I love you, Julian,” she said.

  The moment she heard herself, she knew she should not have spoken. She sensed the change in him before she felt the hesitation in his kisses, the slight stiffness of his body. It was that mysterious exchange of feelings again, she supposed. If so, if the whole thing was not an illusion born within two oversensitive hearts, he must at this moment be receiving the shame and embarrassment pouring from her soul.

  As if he had, his arms tightened around her in a final hug, then he slowly released her. She felt like a child being given a sweet to soothe its hurt feelings. Abby bowed her head so he could not see her face, her humiliation. But he was having none of it. He forced her chin upward and ventured a smile, looking no more secure than she felt. There was a barrenness, an emptiness in his face. She could not read his expression, and he was being careful not to touch her anymore.

  “Abby,” he said. “I love you, too.”

  Immediately, her heart flew to her throat and shone from her eyes. She leaned toward him, but he put up a restraining hand. She was nonplussed. This was not how she’d imagined a scene of tender declaration: the two of them standing a foot apart, she wanting to embrace him, he forbidding her to come any closer.

  When he spoke, his voice sounded tight, as though he were strangling. “I’ve lost my head again. Forgive me.”

  “No. You will not do this to me a second time, Julian. You cannot declare your love and kiss me in one moment, then push me aside the next.”

  The torch near their feet was glowing fainter, and it cast haunting shadows across his features. He rubbed his head as if to wipe away an ache, then dropped his hands. “Abby, there is something you’re going to have to know, though God help me, I don’t want to tell you. But I can see it will be worse if I do not.”

  She waited breathlessly, wondering if she would be able to hear him over the pounding of her heart.

  “Do you remember how you told me not to regard my ability as a beast? Well, I’ll be interested in knowing your opinion in a few moments.” He backed up and leaned against a nearby tree as if he needed support. “I have been having dreams during the past days. Dreams about you. New ones since we ran away together.”

  She had a sudden desire to cover her ears but knew she must be strong. “You had one this afternoon in the carriage, did you not?”

  “Yes.” He curled his fingers into fists, then relaxed them. “What would you say if I told you that you must never marry; never have a real marriage, I mean, for the sake of your life?” When she only stared at him, he went on, “Abby, you cannot know how it pains me to say this. It seems you are fated to die in childbirth.”

  For one moment, her knees felt as if they would give way. She replied in a hoarse whisper, “But that was my future with Philip. Not with you.”

  “Yes, well …” His expression clouded with embarrassment. “It appears I may have done Demere a small injustice. In my vision, I did see him brutalize you, even during your pregnancy. Naturally I attributed your death to his violence. But now …”

  “But now?” she prompted, her teeth aching from clenching them so tightly.

  He grew pale and very still, pulling into himself. “You recall I told you I cannot see my own future unless it intrudes into someone else’s? In my dreams, I am holding a sleeping infant in my arms. You are lying in bed with a sheet pulled up to your chin. Your eyes are closed and someone is weeping. I hear a voice crying, ‘She is dead! She is dead!’ I don’t recognize the voice until I awaken. The voice is mine.”

  A lengthy silence fell between them, a silence Abby broke. “You said you were wrong about Philip killing me. Perhaps you are wrong about this vision, too.”

  “No. I want to be wrong, but I don’t see how it’s possible.”

  He looked vulnerable standing there with his hands shoved into his pockets and his head bowed. She wanted to pull him closer and kiss away the worry lines creasing his forehead.

  “But what of your interpretation
of the dream? How do you know you have made the correct one this time? Perhaps it was not I who died, but the poor babe. Or someone else entirely.”

  He looked startled, then considered it. A light wind rattled the brown oak leaves above their head and scattered a few to the ground.

  “No, I don’t think so. There was a heavy feeling of sorrow. I know it would be terrible to lose a child, but I can’t imagine such grief for a newborn. Everyone knows how precarious the life of an infant is. And I certainly don’t feel that strongly about anyone else.”

  She continued to think rapidly. “Well then … how old was I in the dream? Perhaps this was my tenth child, or my twelfth. I never wanted to live to a great age, anyway.”

  His face softened into tenderness. “Dearest, I have no way of making my dreams tell me more than they do.”

  Pressing a finger to her lips thoughtfully, she stepped past the circle of dying flames at her feet, then swirled around. “Perhaps not your dreams. But if you touched my hand …?”

  He stared at her blankly for several seconds, then a meagre look of hope entered his eyes. “Perhaps. It’s worth trying.” Under his breath he added, “One more time. Just this last time.” He pushed away from the tree, took her hand, and kissed her palm. “For luck,” he explained. Then he wrapped his fingers around hers and looked into the darkness.

  Abby kept her gaze on his. When his eyes became black, she trembled with expectancy. The moments lengthened. Finally, he looked at her and smiled briefly before releasing her hand.

  “What did you see?” she asked breathlessly.

  He looked down at his shoes. “Nothing. Oh, I felt what you’re feeling as I always seem to when we touch; but other than that, absolutely nothing. Not a hint of your past or present or future.”

  Her shoulders sagged in disappointment. When he lifted his eyes, she was shocked to see the joy in them.

  “Don’t you know what that means?” he asked. “It was like trying to read myself. You’ve become so close to me that you’re inside whatever this thing is that guides me. Don’t look sad, Abby! It’s a curse to be given hints of your beloved’s future, especially if it’s something bad and you can do nothing to prevent it.”