A tremor of excitement ran through Pen. What would it be like? “We had better be careful, or your rosebushes will turn into trees,” she said, trying to keep her voice light.
Lady Keating did not smile back. “There is an element of risk, of course. Working the magic through three participants makes it stronger by a factor of three. It will be that much more strenuous, but the rewards are also greater. As one of the Goddess’s ladies, I can keep you mostly safe if it proves too much for you. But I don’t think it will. You’re—” She hesitated, then spoke slowly, without her customary self-assurance. “There’s something about you. I’ve never met anyone who has taken so quickly and naturally to raising the circle.”
“Raising the circle?”
“What we were just doing—calling up the Goddess’s magic. When Doireann came of age, it took her nearly a year of work to make it to the point that you’ve reached in just a few days. You remind me . . . you remind me of myself, when I was a girl. My mother was amazed, not to mention gratified, at how quickly I progressed in the Goddess’s work. She knew right away that I would be a worthy successor to her as a Banmhaor Bande.” She squeezed Pen’s arm and smiled. “But there are many things we share. Did you know that my given name, Nuala, is short for Fionnuala, the Irish form of Penelope?”
“Really? What an odd coincidence.”
“Coincidence? Perhaps. When you told me your name the day we met, I took it for a sign. I’ve been watching you ever since and can’t help wondering if the Goddess made our paths cross for a reason.”
A shiver darted up Pen’s back, not of fear but of what? Recognition? “What reason could that be?”
“I don’t know, my dear. But I sense that we might find out soon. Ah, there’s Ellen, probably come to call us to luncheon.” She gestured to one of the liveried women servants marching down the gravel path toward them. Pen had almost gotten used to the exclusively female household staff at Bandry Court. A few men worked in the stables and gardens, but even there women predominated.
As they followed the servant past a large clump of rhododendron bushes on the way to the house, a sudden movement caught Pen’s eye. She stopped.
“What is it, Penelope?” Lady Keating paused too.
“N-nothing.” Pen squinted at the bushes, covered in just-opening clumps of pale rose pink, where overeager bees already hummed looking for nectar. Here and there the long, glossy green leaves swayed gently in the breeze. “I thought I saw something move in the rhododendrons. Or someone.”
Lady Keating shrugged. “This is a favorite nesting spot for birds. They’re always flitting in and out of them. Come, my dear.”
Pen let her lead them on, but glanced back at the bushes before they turned a corner in the path.
The next few days were rainy and chilly. Lady Keating decreed that the three of them would work in the tall and shadowy front hall, which she declared had the best resonance for magic work. It also, unfortunately, meant that the servants had to trudge across the courtyard in the rain in order to attend to their regular duties, but somehow Pen didn’t think Lady Keating would be too concerned.
Doireann was frequently late for their sessions, but bore her mother’s chiding with a shrug and a smile. “I’m here, Mother dear. Don’t get your stays in a twist,” she’d say as she breezed in and plunked down on a bench. “I told you before that I keep my promises—just not always in the way you expect me to.”
But once they got underway, she worked just as hard and intently as Pen and Lady Keating herself did. Pen privately did her own shrug and smile. The best way to deal with Doireann was to accept her on her own terms, and after all, she’d been pleasant enough since they’d arrived. In fact, Pen rarely saw her, except at dinner and their work. But since Lady Keating made no comment on Doireann’s absences, Pen put them out of mind.
When the warm spring sun returned, Lady Keating decided that they should go out to the small stone circle that capped the hill a short distance from the house, and practice raising the circle there. Pen was unprepared for the result. The stones had a curious effect, amplifying and yet containing the power they raised. They were even able to stop holding hands and let the circle of stones hold their magic for them. It hovered above them like a whirlwind tethered with invisible ropes, much to Pen’s fascinated awe.
“I didn’t think that was possible. So that is why there are so many stone circles in Great Britain,” she said as she paced restlessly around the perimeter. It took a great deal of restraint not to kick off her shoes, yank the pins out of her hair, and dance like a frenzied wood nymph around the stones while their magic crackled and rippled above them. The energy was infectious.
Lady Keating smiled at her. “I can feel your excitement, child. It can have that effect, sometimes.”
“I can’t help it. I should like to—to fly, just now.” Pen threw her arms back and stared up at the sky, turning in a slow circle, and then another. The bright afternoon sun sparkled above her, all alone in the sky with only a few wisps of cloud for company, and their magic drew her like a moth to a candle—
A sudden jerk at the hem of her skirts startled her. She glanced down and saw that she was hovering several feet above the grass. Doireann stared up at her, one hand shading her eyes and the other firmly holding the edge of Pen’s dress.
“Going somewhere?” Her expression was difficult to read, half hidden by her hand.
But Lady Keating laughed then, a joyful, exultant sound. “A thaisce! You are indeed a treasure, my dear.” She held out her arms, and Pen drifted back down toward her. Lady Keating caught her in a fierce hug. “It calls to you, doesn’t it?” she whispered in Pen’s ear. “The Goddess’s power burns bright in you, brighter than I’ve seen it in anyone else. Oh, my dear, this is . . . well, perhaps not so unexpected.”
They stayed in the circle a little longer while Lady Keating gathered the magic they’d raised and sent it down into the stones “so we can use it later.” Pen held her hand flat against the surface of one of the gray pillars and felt a tingling warmth on her palm.
“It’s there—I can feel it,” she exclaimed. “Oh, I can’t wait until we come back again and use it.”
Doireann gave a short laugh. “Mother did choose you well, didn’t she?” She ran off down the hill to the house as if hounds were after her.
Pen sighed as she watched her. “I don’t get the feeling that was supposed to be a compliment,” she said to Lady Keating, who had come to stand with her.
“Doireann is—well, I expect she is a little jealous. She can’t help seeing how advanced you are and how well you and I work together. Don’t let it trouble you.”
“More advanced than she is?” Pen did not want to comment on the other parts of Lady Keating’s speech. She remembered how she had been jealous of Persy and Ally’s closeness at times, during magic practice back in the schoolroom.
“In many ways, yes.” Lady Keating stood silently for a moment after that, looking at her with a meditative expression. “Come, my dear,” she said at last. “It’s nearly time to dress for dinner, but there’s something in the library I should like you to read, something that Doireann is not ready for and that I’d rather she didn’t know about. We’ll stop there first.”
In the library she went to a paneled wall between two bookcases and pressed delicately on a flat section between two carved swags. It slowly fell outward, like a miniature drawbridge. She reached into the small cavity that was revealed and drew out a small, leather-bound book, flipped through it quickly as if looking for a particular section, and slipped a faded purple ribbon to mark a page.
“Here you are. Remember, not a word to Doireann.” She handed the book to Pen and pushed the secret hatch shut.
Pen opened it and looked at the yellowed pages and cramped, dense writing with a sinking feeling. Hadn’t she done enough poring over dusty old books with Dr. Carrighar? “Er . . . ,” she began.
Lady Keating shook her head solemnly. “Just give it a chance, Pene
lope. It is my many-times-great-grandmother’s grimoire on circle magic. I want you to understand what it was we did today and what we can do with the power we raise. I think that in a few days’ time, we will be ready to do the draiocht—the spell—that will help bring poor Niall and the duke together. Are you still willing to help me in this?” She looked down at the rug. “I’ll understand if you feel you can’t.”
Pen reached for her hand, feeling contrite. “Of course I’ll help you. You’ve given me so much—what else can I do to thank you?”
“Ah, my dear one.” Lady Keating looked up, her eyes bright. “You are a treasure. Now bring that up to your room, and read as much of it as you can tonight. We will discuss it in the morning.”
As soon as dinner was over, Pen went to her room, pleading tiredness. After such a day she should have been exhausted. But the afternoon’s exhilaration refused to leave her: Raising the circle within the stones was the most stimulating, inspiring magic she’d ever done, and Lady Keating’s confidences and giving her the book on circle magic—to her, not Doireann—was even more so.
“I’m doing it,” she murmured, ringing the bell for the maid to come help her undress for bed. “I’m becoming as good a witch as Ally and Persy. Lady Keating wouldn’t be so complimentary if I weren’t.”
Niamh arrived then to undo the row of hooks down the back of her dress, unlace her corset, and unpin and brush out her hair.
“Anything else I can do for ye, miss?” she asked, arranging Pen’s dress over the door of the wardrobe to air until morning. “Shall I close the window an’ draw the curtains?”
“No, thank you. It’s a beautiful evening—leave them open for now. That will be all for tonight,” Pen said, crossing to the window in her nightgown and dressing gown as the maid bowed herself out of the room.
It was a beautiful night. The moon, although still four or five days from full, illuminated the lawn under her window and, below it, the edge of the sunken rose garden. A spectacular end to a spectacular day—
Something was moving about in the rose garden.
Pen quickly drew to the side of the window, then peered around the edge, shading her eyes from the moon so that she could see into the dark shadows below. Could it have been an animal? A deer or an escaped sheep looking for tastier fare than meadow grass? She squinted down, waiting for whatever it was to move again.
No, not an animal, but a tall figure, swathed in a cloak and hooded so that she could not even see if it was male or female. It paused in the edge of the shadow cast by the garden wall, then hurried across the garden and out of her sight.
Pen turned away from the window. If anyone was sneaking about the gardens of Bandry Court in the moonlight, she had no particular desire to know why—well, apart from the usual curiosity, of course. Right now she had Lady Keating’s book to read. She carried the bedroom candlestick from her dressing table to her nightstand, tossed her dressing gown across the foot of her bed, and climbed under the covers. She glanced toward the window once more and saw that the moon was framed there, beautiful if a bit on the overdramatic side. Just like one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s gothic novels. No wonder there were people sneaking about in the rose garden. She smiled and picked up Lady Keating’s book.
Circle Magick, when worked in ye Triple Goddess’s Name, is the Most Powerfull of ye Magicks that we do. It differs from the common Raising of the Circle, the Summoning and Adding to of Power, in this Way, a Way that we save for the Most Solemn, Needful, and Direst of Purposes.
Solemn and needful. Well, that would probably describe how Lady Keating felt about doing this spell for Niall and his father. Hopefully dire wouldn’t come into it.
The Way that it Best be Accomplished is to take you the Goddess’s Form: three Must take the Position of ye Virgin, ye Mother, and ye Crone, in Fact and in Form, so that She can work the Best through Them. So then Find you One Who is yet a Maid, and One a Woman that bear a Child, and One that has ceased in her Lunary Cycles or Soon shall do So. On a Night when the Moon be at Her Fullest, let Them come together and raise you the Circle in the Name of the Goddess, and then will You Of a certainty have great Potency, even over Life and Death and across the Seas.
Lady Keating’s ancestor evidently had difficulties with grammar. Pen chuckled, then frowned at the book in her hands. What connection did this have to their work together? Surely it couldn’t have anything to do with the draiocht to bring Niall to the Duke of Cumberland. The three of them couldn’t do this sort of magic. She would not venture to guess whether Lady Keating qualified as a Mother or a Crone, but certainly both she and Doireann had to be counted in the Maiden category—
A stealthy scraping sound from somewhere near the window made her look up. A tall, hatted figure in a dark coat was peering at her through the open window. As she stared, openmouthed, it swung one leg over the edge. It was Eamon Doherty.
Pen gasped, too shocked to make more than a squeaky inhaled sound, and yanked the covers up to her chin as he finished clambering over the window frame. The top of a ladder propped against the side of the house was just visible behind him as he dropped to the floor and adjusted his clothes.
“Nnnnn . . . wwwwh—” Pen stopped trying to speak and drew in a deep breath. Screaming would be much easier than trying to be coherent just now.
“For God’s sake, Pen, don’t shout!” he hissed, glaring at her. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“B-b-but, Mr. Doherty!” she whispered, cowering against her pillows. “How did—why are you—” An incongruous indignation seized her. Since when did he think he could address her as Pen?
He looked at her in confusion for a brief instant, then grinned. “Oh. I forgot about that.” He reached up and took off his hat.
It was Niall.
Pen very nearly did scream then, but he leapt toward the bed and launched himself at her, falling across her legs and covering her mouth with his hand.
“Don’t scream!” he whispered urgently. “It’s me! Doherty and I thought we’d borrow your spell so that I could come to Bandry Court and take a room over at the inn in the village without being recognized. It would have been all over the countryside within ten minutes that Mr. Keating was staying at the inn and not with his mother.”
Pen squirmed under his restraining hands and jerked her head to one side. “What are you doing here?” she whispered back, just as fiercely. “How dare you come sneaking into my room like this after—”
“Blast it, Pen, keep your voice down. Please don’t make me cover your mouth again. You’ve got to listen to me—”
“Why should I? What could you possibly have to say to me? Oh, why did you have to come here just when I was starting to forget you—” She broke off in a muffled squeak as he covered her mouth again.
“Hush! You were getting too loud—”
“Dratted well right I was!” she mouthed against his hand. What was he doing here? Was he under the illusion that climbing into her room with a ladder was impetuous and romantic, and that she would throw herself at him as a result? Well, if he was, then he didn’t know Penelope Leland.
“Please, Pen, hear me out. You don’t know what I’ve been through just to get here.” His blond hair was rumpled, and he hadn’t shaved today. Why did he still have to be so good-looking even when disheveled? Even worse, why did she still notice?
“I don’t really care,” she tried to say. Maybe she should bite him. It would relieve her feelings and maybe make him let go—
His eyes pleaded as desperately as his voice. “Can’t we talk about this quietly and rationally? Please, darling—”
Darling? Now that was definitely going too far. Her scowl must have been ferocious, for he nearly snatched his hand back.
“Please, just let me talk to you. Please?”
Pen narrowed her eyes as at him as she considered. He’d startled her, climbing in her window like that and looking like Doherty—Doherty, of all people! She jolly well wanted to know what Eamon Doherty had to do with Nial
l’s being here. Very well; she’d let him talk. If he tried anything threatening she could put an immobilizing spell on him and scream for Lady Keating.
She nodded and Niall withdrew his hand. She saw him watch her carefully, in case she changed her mind. When she remained silent, he sighed and rolled off her, moving to sit on the foot of the bed. She drew her legs up and huddled under her blankets.
“All right, Mr. Keating,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster. “Perhaps you could begin by explaining what you’re doing in my bedchamber, and why you looked like Eamon Doherty, and—” Then it struck her. “The hat! He did borrow my spell! It was the same one I did on your hat that day when we found him.”
Niall nodded. There were lines of care and worry in his face that she’d never seen there before. “It was his idea. On the journey up here, I couldn’t help wondering what you would do when you saw his face looking in your window, and which you would find more alarming, his or mine.”
“It was a toss-up,” she retorted. “How did you come to meet with him? I thought you were in Kinsale, working your wiles on Charlotte Enniskean. Or wasn’t that challenging enough for you?”
He closed his eyes and looked pained. “I wasn’t in Kinsale. I haven’t left our house in Cork until a few days ago. Mother made sure that I couldn’t leave it, but Doherty happened to call to return my hat. I prevailed on him to remove the enchantments she had put on the house to keep me prisoner—”
Pen snorted. “If—and I repeat if—she was keeping you from leaving the house, it was probably for a very good reason. Like preventing you from coming here.”
“And he kindly did so,” he finished, ignoring her comment.
“So was that you creeping about in the rose garden half an hour ago? Where’s your cloak? And what about the rhododendron bushes the other day? Was that you as well? How long have you been skulking around here, waiting to do something as stupid as this?”
Betraying Season Page 24
