Lord Merlyn's Magic

by Marcy Stewart

With a fatigued smile, he motioned for her to sit on the settle beside the fireplace. After stirring the flames back to life, he sat beside her and draped an arm across her shoulders. She stared at him wordlessly for an instant, then lay her head against his chest, stealing her arms around his waist.

  “I am so sorry,” she said.

  He pulled her closer. “I know you are, sweetheart. I’m sorry, too. Sorry for Michael and sorry for Nina and all the ones they hurt.”

  Abby smoothed a wrinkle from his waistcoat. “How are Carl and Sophia holding up?”

  “Very well, under the circumstances. Whether it was the medicine the physician gave him or his natural resilience, Carl is recovering from the shock more quickly than I thought. It helped to know of Michael’s innocence. After I told him what Nina confessed to you, he was swift to remind me that he’d always known Michael wouldn’t hurt him.”

  “I’m glad he’s well. Did the magistrate come?”

  “Yes. The deaths have been ruled accidental. Carl and I hedged the truth a bit; no good can be served by bringing more scandal to the family. Nina has already given herself the ultimate punishment.”

  Abby moved her face against his shirt. “She was insane.”

  “I’m not so certain. Nina laid her plans carefully and patiently over many years. The truly mad are unable to do so.

  “She was shrewd enough to make use of the arsenic the steward ordered to kill the rats; Calvin told me moments ago that some of the poison was unaccounted for. Such plotting involves logical thought. I’m inclined to think she allowed her obsession for Michael’s circumstance—and her own—to overshadow any sense of morality she might have had.”

  “I don’t know, Julian. If you had seen her eyes, or listened to her reasoning. That she was willing to kill me simply to be rid of you …”

  “She was beginning to make mistakes,” he conceded, resting his cheek against Abby’s hair. “I think Michael’s erratic behavior pushed her to act impulsively. She’d never employed the same method twice to eliminate someone, yet she tried to poison you as she did Carl.”

  “I don’t understand why she didn’t die when she drank the wine.”

  “Apparently it’s possible to build a tolerance for arsenic by beginning with very small doses. According to Carl’s physician, such a course of action poses terrible risk, for even tiny amounts accumulate within the body and can corrode the lining of the stomach. Fortunately for Carl, whatever damage occurred inside him appears to be healing despite her poisoning him more than once.”

  Abby shuddered. Such had almost been her death.

  She was comforted when Julian gently kneaded the muscles at her shoulder. Through his touch, he had felt her fear; now she was feeling his strength. And something else. Guilt? Why should he feel guilty? She questioned him with her eyes.

  “I nearly lost you this evening,” he explained. “I blame myself.”

  Indignation flushed her cheeks. “What do you mean? You have done nothing.”

  He loosened his hold on her and crouched before the fire, stabbing the logs with the poker. An ember landed on his sleeve and he brushed it away.

  “I’m referring to this marvelous ability of mine.” His tone was scornful, and it hurt her to hear it. “And its total uselessness.”

  “How can you say that?” she cried. “Think of all the good you can do, and have done! Not only did you save Gordie; you rescued me from Philip’s temper.”

  He was not to be persuaded. “But what good is it if I allow my prejudice to stand in the way? All these years I’ve blamed Michael for my banishment. One reading, Abby; one touch might have taught me all I needed to know to save him and prevent the danger toward you. But I did not, because I had already confirmed his guilt in my mind. And then, in the last moments of his life, I found out how he perceived me. And do you know what I discovered?”

  “I know he was afraid of you,” she said softly. “But without cause.”

  “Not only afraid, Abby. He resented me. And with good reason.”

  The bitterness had faded from his voice; he sounded resigned. Settling on the hearth he continued to stab the logs absently. “As I held him, I saw events common to us from his perspective. What an obtuse, proud child I was, boasting about my ability to find lost objects and pets and trying to control everyone’s lives. I received so much attention that he had to exert himself constantly to win the approval he needed. He became my father’s lackey. He fawned upon people. No wonder he hated me. It was a happy day for him when he found Christine murdered on my bed. The fears he’d expressed about me had been confirmed at last.”

  He lay the poker aside and leaned his forearms on his knees. “Until the last instant of his life, he believed I was a murderer. He never knew what Nina had done, never knew she killed our brothers and the maid.”

  Abby pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her eyes. “Did he know she poisoned him, though unintentionally?”

  “He was in too much agony to speculate. The emotions I received were long-standing ones. At the very last, though, I think he recognized me as a friend and not an enemy, but I’m not certain.”

  She leaned toward him, wanting to give comfort but not knowing how.

  His eyes were shadowed with old hurts. “Do you understand now? My ability causes only pain. I never plan to use it again. I don’t want to have forebodings and dreams and images when I touch people or objects. I want to be normal.”

  “You don’t mean that.” When he looked skeptical, Abby shook her head helplessly. There was no reasoning with him tonight. She slid from the settle and sat on the carpet fronting the hearth, then leaned her head against his knees. “If I could take this sorrow from you, I would,” she whispered.

  He was quiet an instant, then laughed lightly and trailed his fingers down her cheek and neck, tugging her chin upward. “Never say such a thing when you’re alone with a man in his bedroom.”

  “But you are not merely any man.” She willed her heart and love into her eyes. “You are my husband.”

  The humor slowly died from his face. “You know I can’t be a real husband to you.”

  “Yes, I know what you think will happen if you are.” Her eyes filled. “I need you, Julian. What kind of life will I have without you?”

  A lost look came into his eyes. Slowly, as if he could not help himself, he bent forward and touched his lips to hers. He had no doubt intended it as a chaste kiss, a gesture of gratitude for her sweetness. A moment later, they were both on the floor, he with his hands beneath her head, she with her arms around his neck. He seemed unable to stop kissing her soft skin.

  Abby returned his kisses with wide, toothy ones. She could not stop smiling. She saw a brief look of inattention in his eyes, as if he were listening to some inner prompting that clamored for his notice. But then he was hers again.

  His touch was driving her mad with pleasure.

  While she cradled his head in her hands and timidly stroked his hair, he removed the feathered bandeau from hers, then pulled at hairpins and worked his fingers under her curls until dark strands fell wildly about her shoulders. She trembled as he caressed her hair and cheeks with his fingertips.

  He drew back and stared at her as if drinking in the now-solemn look of her luminous eyes, the untamed riot of hair, the generous swell of bosom straining from her dress. She was afraid now, and he saw it. But she would not shrink from him.

  “My lioness,” he whispered. And kissed her mouth once more, slowly and regretfully, then struggled to his feet and offered his hand.

  She had seen paradise and lost it. Reluctantly she accepted his assistance, then flew into busy activity: straightening her dress, pushing her fallen hair behind her ears, running her locket back and forth on its chain; all the while keeping her gaze turned downward. But he could not miss the dampness on her cheeks.

  “Abby,” he groaned.

  “Do you say it, Julian,” she choked. “Tell me once again that I must leave you.”

 
He touched her arm, but she pulled away impatiently. Stepping closer, he stroked her hair soothingly, then cupped her face in his hands. “No, I won’t say that. Not anymore.”

  A look of desperate hope entered her eyes. He saw it and felt the weight of the world fall on his shoulders.

  “Michael’s death has given me a new appreciation for the brevity of life and the importance of love. If you leave me, you will take my heart with you.”

  He laughed softly when she flung her arms around him, then tugged himself free. “Before you make your decision, you must understand that we can live together only as friends.” His smile faded. “God knows it will be hard, but we must.”

  Abby reached for her handkerchief, which had fallen to the floor. In a fit of nervous energy, she stood twisting it into knots. A sudden thought came into her mind.

  “Julian, aren’t there ways …”

  She felt a blush rising. Could she possibly be here in this firelit bedroom discussing methods to prevent breeding with a man who was afraid to be her husband? Perhaps next, the stars would fall to the earth and walk. And the moon would become a giant ball which she could roll into the ocean and ride across the waves.

  “Ways to prevent childbirth?” he finished for her. “None of them are totally trustworthy. No, I can’t risk losing you. Whether you mean to remain with me or go away, you must base your decision on our remaining celibate.”

  “I will stay with you, of course,” she said immediately. “But I’ve always wanted children.”

  “We can adopt.”

  “Yes,” she said, and rose to walk to her bedroom thinking, It’s not the loss of bearing children I’ll mourn so much.

  It was obvious he understood how she felt. He was undoubtedly feeling the same, for his face was solemn as he stepped beside her to the door. Before she entered her room, he bent to kiss her once more. His lips tasted of hunger and disappointment and shattered dreams, reflecting the sentiments of her heart.

  Chapter 16

  Two mornings later, Michael and Nina were put to rest in the family cemetery a few miles behind the castle. The graves were prepared side-by-side on a little rise of ground that afforded a view for the mourners of misted fields and steamy vapors rising from the river.

  The graveside service was intended as a private affair, but the prominence of the victims and the tragic aspects of their deaths drew a large crowd of neighbors and curiosity-seekers. That many of them hoped to be issued invitations to a mourning feast in the castle became obvious by their reluctance to leave the family plot, but no such invitations were forthcoming. Finally, the last of them, a tavern owner from Chelmsford and his three daughters, bid the families adieu and departed.

  Lord Donberry, who had insisted on attending even though it meant being carried in a litter, accepted Julian’s assistance from his chair and touched his brother’s coffin a final time.

  “Farewell, Michael,” he said, and fumbled for his handkerchief, then blew his nose. “I shall miss you.” He turned shakily, and Julian rushed to steady him, as did Lord Donberry’s valet. “I’m all right, I’m all right,” he declared. “Don’t fuss.”

  Julian removed his hand but watched him from the corner of his eye. His brother had ever been a stubborn and proud man. But he was improving, beyond a doubt.

  Looking away for a moment, he saw Abby walking beside Sophia toward the carriages. He was glad the two of them had become friends so quickly. Family visits could be deuced awkward when the members did not get along.

  Family visits. He had never made family visits before, but all that was changing. Although he sorrowed for his lost brothers, he still had Carl and Sophia and a niece he’d not seen since she was five. And that was more than he’d known before. And of course, there was still Colleen.

  Most of all, he had Abby. He continued to watch her retreating form with a painful mixture of feelings. Would the sight of her always evoke this tender yearning, or would the dry years ahead deaden their love? Time would tell, he supposed; he could not. For now, he was content merely to look at her, to speak with her, to respond to the delicious humor and innocence in her dark eyes.

  She looked enchanting as she stepped carefully across the field in her new lavender gown. Yesterday Sophia offered to have one of her own black ones taken in and lengthened for her, but Abby refused, insisting on the lavender for some reason she wouldn’t explain. Her vehemence was surprising; but during the service, seeing her standing like a violet among crows, he had to think she was right.

  He forced his attention back to his brother. Nina’s family had been clustered around her casket, and now Mr. and Mrs. Findlay and their two grown sons were approaching Carl, taking their leave. Julian joined his brother and shook hands with the ashen-faced woman and her sons and murmured half-meant condolences.

  Something must be on Mr. Findlay’s mind, for he lingered until the others were some distance away. Julian steeled himself for possible trouble.

  But there was no hostility in Mr. Findlay’s posture. He was a tall man with bristly gray hair and a beard. A strong odor of wine accompanied him, and Julian wondered if he had overindulged or if his vineyard had laced itself into his clothes. Certainly, he did not appear drunk. When he bent to speak into Carl’s ear, he did not lose his balance or stumble.

  In order to hear him, Julian moved nearer.

  “Now that my wife has stepped away, I need to know the truth,” he rasped. “It weren’t no accident, was it? Nina killed herself, didn’t she?”

  Carl blinked up at him. “We don’t know, Findlay. No one was there when she went over the rail.”

  The man nodded, “But you think she did, I can see that. She couldn’t live without Lord Michael. I never saw a girl love a man so. It was always ‘Michael says this’ and ‘Michael does that.’ Anyhow, I want to thank you for burying her in consecrated ground, my lord.”

  With awkwardness, Carl accepted his hand. “Would you share breakfast with us, Findlay?” he asked abruptly.

  “Thank you, my lord, but no, we’ve got to get to my other daughter’s. She gave us a grandson yesterday.” Mr. Findlay’s eyes became damp. “Life goes on, what?”

  Carl agreed that it did, then motioned for his litter to be carried to the coach. Julian accompanied him without speaking.

  *

  That evening, Abby and Julian were sitting closely together on the sofa in her bedroom when she turned to him in a sudden huff.

  “And while I’m being celibate, what will you be doing? I don’t suppose you’ve foreseen anything about—about um, ma-married love killing you.”

  “I shall be as pure as the driven snow,” he pledged.

  Disbelief flared in her eyes. “You would be more convincing were your eyebrows not waving like a pennant in the wind. And who could wonder, with the lovely Harriet flaunting her charms at all hours?”

  “Abby, are you jealous? I’ve told you there has never been anything between Harry and me. Why should it be different now? Don’t you trust me?”

  “Trust is all very well, and I have no doubt your intentions are good. However, it seems foolish to tempt fate.”

  He gritted his teeth. “This is all in your mind, sweetheart. You have nothing to fear. Besides, nothing can be done. Harry earns her living in my employ. I’ll not cast her and my niece to the winds.”

  A look of determination entered her eyes. “Well, I have been thinking about that. You could give her an allowance. How long do you imagine it would take me to learn Harriet’s part in your performance?”

  Before he could speak, she sprang to her feet and walked several paces away. Terror crossed her face. She brought her hands to either side of her mouth and called, “Hallooo! Is anyone at home? It is I, Hilda of Silverwaithe Farms, come to seek shelter from the storm!”

  Julian buried his face in his hands.

  *

  As the days passed, the mood in the castle lightened. Old hurts were put to rest. The bond between the brothers strengthened. Lord Donberry beca
me well enough to dine downstairs, and many evenings were spent in conversation and laughter. Julian entertained them with illusions and stories of disastrous performances. The marquess offered reminiscences of his brothers, tenuously at first, then boldly, as he saw Julian hungered to fill in the missing years.

  Over dinner one evening, Julian announced he and Abby planned to return to Avilion soon. The marquess protested vehemently.

  “But we can’t stay forever,” the magician declared. “My wife’s twenty-first birthday is next week, and we’d both like to be home for it.”

  “Home?” the marquess cried. “What do you call this old place?”

  Julian darted a look at Abby, who pulled a face. He well knew her dislike of the castle, which, despite her fondness for Carl and Sophia, had not abated since the beginning. “Now that you are marquess, I know the castle is my home, too. But Avilion is mine, and I must return and prepare for my next tour.”

  “You’re wrong, my boy,” Lord Donberry said, pointing his fork imperially. “You don’t have to earn your living anymore. I control the purse strings now, and your portion of the estate is long overdue.”

  “No, no. I don’t want anything.”

  The marquess went on as if he had not spoken. “You may think because Father cut you out that you’re not entitled. But he was wrong about you and a lot of things.”

  “It’s not that precisely—”

  “And now there is Michael’s portion,” Lord Donberry interrupted. “I don’t need it.”

  Julian started to reply negatively, then paused. “If you want to give Michael’s money to someone, give it to his daughter and Harriet.”

  Next to him, Abby moved excitedly. The little minx, he’d known that would thrill her. But he had a lot of work before him. Her acting was atrocious.

  The marquess eyed him balefully. “That can be arranged. If what you tell me is true, it’s another long-due debt we owe. But is there nothing I can do to induce you to stay?”

  Julian shook his head. “We’ll wear the roads thin visiting you.” He forked a bite of cranberry tart. “And we expect you to visit us at Avilion at least twice yearly.”