Lady X (3 page)

~Two~

EVERY NOW AND then a man walks into a room and draws all eyes his way without trying. He is a man who inspires admiration without seeking it, tickles a touch of fear without instigating it, halts conversation while he is studied and is certainly a man who stands out above all others.

Lord Hunter MacTorry was just such a man.

Perhaps it was the mystique that hung about him and had been his for many years, in spite of the fact, that he was just thirty. It could be the wisdom with which he used his various experiences, maybe it was something else.

Although he had presence, knew his own worth and who he was, he couldn’t have been described as arrogant or conceited.

He was taller than most, athletically built and quite magnetically handsome. He chose to wear his black gleaming locks long layered to his neckline. Thick waves fell across his forehead and framed his face.

A charm that was considered devastating when he chose to smile had the ladies forever at his feet. Roguish mischief lit in his Scottish blue eyes. He was virile and an enigma to his peers. It was quite the lethal combination.

Given all of this, the
haut ton
could not truly understand why he had gone astray. He knew the whispers. Indeed, he had often heard them with a smile. It was just what he wanted. He didn’t need anyone getting too close or too curious.

They talked in hushed tones whenever he entered a room, but that was what he needed. He wanted them to wonder, he needed them to whisper. It was all a part of his façade and the game he played.

Two years ago he had arrived in London, bent on his new purpose. He had been roaming dimensions and various centuries for two hundred years. Since he hadn’t been traveling for fun, he never stayed long anywhere he went.

He was sure that in the end no good could come of his intentions, and yet he could not stop himself from going forward with his plans.

He was aware that the rules were in place for a reason.

When he was very young, he had been cautioned by his father never to play with time and past events. He had been conquered by this obsession, sure that his cause was worthy and therefore would have to succeed.

In order to achieve his goals, he had been forced to play the part of just another wealthy rogue with too much time on his hands. He had soon tired of society and had become heartily sick of the beau monde and its many hedonistic rituals. He needed to implement his plans and find a way to make it work this time.

Hunter MacTorry was ready to exact his revenge
.

He allowed everyone to think he was driven by boredom and the devil. He purposely gambled and drank too much He also let it be seen that he became easily bored. He was waiting for the moment when he could face the Dark Wizard and destroy him and to do that, he would have to take him by surprise. He would have to make certain the Dark Wizard Baudali did not know he was in the past waiting to strike!

The Wizard Baudali had taken so much from him… he had to pay. He had chased him through the Universe, but the bastard had eluded him. Then quite by accident, he had seen him in London taking on the part of an aristocrat and enjoying his status with the
beau monde
. But no sooner had he found him, and he was gone.

Ye devil, Baudali,
thought Hunter
I shall find ye and cut ye down because I know what ye mean to do
it. I know because I lived through it
.

He had not been able to save his parents.

Baudali had won that round. Now he would have to save his brother, then he would cut off Baudali’s immortal head and feed it to the vultures!

Waiting was difficult, but he had found something to amuse himself with while he waited.

Although he didn’t look much more that twenty-five, Hunter had reached his magical majority of thirty, years ago. He looked human, but he wasn’t. He was an immortal white wizard, like his father before him.

His father had left his home in the Wizard Realm because of political conflict. In the sixteenth century, he found the Human Realm. There he had fallen in love with a human; he remained among them for her. He not only made a home for her but he found an elixir of immortality for her.

His father had talked his mother into taking the elixir. A rare blend of herbs from his mother-land
and
the most forbidden of magic.

It wasn’t until late into the century that Hunter was born. A few years later his brother, Ferrell came along. However, being immortal did not mean one could not be killed.

Baudali entered their world two years ago in 1813, pretending to be a friend, because he had seen and been captivated by Hunter’s mother. Everything changed then.

Hence a battle of magic began that ended in both his parent’s deaths. He and his brother vowed to avenge them, but when Ferrell met Baudali he was alone. He was in the middle of Waterloo fighting Napoleon’s army. He was not skilled enough to take on the accomplished wizard; he also had been cut down by the evil sorcerer.

Hunter shrugged away the images. He hadn’t been there to save his brother. No matter, this time, he would be.

He had been wandering the streets of Inverness, not far from his castle, when it came to him. He would go back in time and prevent Baudali from killing his family.

Time travel was not forbidden, but making alterations in time was…there were
always
consequences.

It was the grain of sand theory.

What evils, what harm would come of it
? he asked himself.
Why shouldna he bring back his parents and brother. They would only do good in this world. They were all that was good. Why shouldna he find the wizard and kill him?

What if it was destiny’s purpose that they die? Were they supposed to die? he wondered. He didn’t care. When he tried to save his parents, two years ago, he failed. He had arrived at just the right moment and somehow, once again, Baudali killed them. It was as though it was meant to be and nothing he did had worked.

He had taken his parents against their will to another location. His father had told him it would do no good. He knew it was their destiny to die that day.

Hunter refused to listen even though his father had said, that the fates had decreed his and his dear mother’s destiny. His beloved father had been right. It all happened so very differently, and yet, the results were always the same.

Baudali laughed before he vanished on that day.

So Hunter vowed that he would at least save his brother. He had to…Ferrell –was not meant to die. He was too bloody damned young.

While he created a world for himself so that he could take Baudali by surprise, he met the Lady Hester.

He didn’t believe he truly loved the wench. She had been exciting at a time when he needed excitement. He had made the mistake of thinking of her as an innocent, kind soul who was giving and sincere. She was nothing of the kind. If he had been in love, it had been with an illusion, none of it had been real and he was well out of her clutches.

All of these thoughts frenzied his mind.

Hunter moved across the bedroom chamber where he had retired to in the early morning hours, after a night of revelry. He winced as his head felt a bombardment of sensations, none of them good. It had been a long night of drinking and gambling.

Opening the door, he went to the staircase which happened to overlook the galley room below and saw his two drinking companions sprawled on the floor. Someone had put a cushion under each of their heads. He seemed to recall that he had done that.

He stretched once more and turned to find a chambermaid walking toward him with a flirtatious smile on her face. He rubbed his shadow beard. He had washed up, and changed his clothes, but all he really wanted was coffee, peace and quiet. Old habits had become a part of who he was. He looked her over and murmured, “Och, but ye be a sight for tired eyes.”

“Hello Scotty,” she said and he had a sudden vision of her last evening, lounging about in his lap. He smiled. He had taken a kiss from her and wondered if he’d taken anything else.

He grinned and asked softly, “Can I get coffee and a bite to eat then?”

“Yes, ye can. Ye
can have
anything
, at all that ye want, in any way that ye want,” she said and her meaning was clear.

Right then, he realized that he had gone to bed without her in it. She was a provocative and pretty lass, but he was getting weary of bedding a chit without affection. That had been fine in his heyday, but it was not as satisfying now as it had once been.

He chuckled and gave her a gentle pat on her rump and sent her off to set the table with coffee and food, while he took the stairs and stood above his snoring companions.

“Come on then, Cressly, up with ye lad,” he said kicking at his friend’s boot with his own.

Sir Jacob Cressly grunted, opened his bloodshot brown eyes and said, “Make it stop spinning.” He closed his eyes and put his hand to forehead and groaned.

“Come on lad, coffee awaits,” Hunter persisted.

“Go the bloody hell away,” Jacob mumbled.

Hunter bent and grabbed his friend by the lapel of his blue short-tailed coat and pulled him up into a sitting position. He propped him against the legs of the wooden chair. He laughed and said, “Get up then, ye deadbeat dangler. We have a full day ahead of us.”

Jacob opened an eye and pleaded, “Do go away, Hunter, let a man die in peace.”

His lordship wondered for the hundredth time since he had met young Sir Jacob Cressly how the lad had been sucked into all this business, for he found he could not help but like him.

“Get up, Jake, or is it pity ye want?” He shook his head and his eyes glinted devilishly, “Ye won’t be getting any pity from me.” Grinning he added, “Ye’ll feel more the thing after ye’ve cleaned yerself up and had a bite to eat, ye will.” He glanced at the other man snoring soundly not too many feet away. “And while yer at it ye best be waking up the dead over there, as well.”

Young Jacob made a valiant attempt to stand under Hunter’s watchful eyes and exclaimed as he moaned every inch of the way, “Deuce take you for a devil, but then you are a Scot so what else could you be.”

“So I’m told, lad, so’m told,” Hunter said with an accompanying chuckle.

Jacob bent over his knees and added, “Dash it man, what is the hurry?”

“`Tis a new day lad and we have places to go,” Hunter said. “I’ve got a thing or two to arrange and when I get back, you two should meet me at the breakfast table.” He paused. “And do make certain ye both clean up if ye mean to travel with me, for at the moment, ye have the wafting scent of rotten apples.”

Jacob mumbled under his breath, but loud enough for Hunter to hear as he left the galley, “Damned bossy fellow.” He then turned to his sleeping companion and shoved him with his boot, “Come on, Swit,” He called loudly and stretched. “We are for Dover.”

“Damn your soul,” Swit replied.

“I like that,” Jacob said and chuckled and then held his head. “Oh, now look here; did I want to go with the Scotsman to Dover?
No
. I did not. It was
you,
Jerry Swit. Dover you said.” Sir Jacob eyed him narrowly, “You said you wanted to have a look at my yacht. Well we are on our way. That’s what you wanted and since you have dragged me this far, then off we go.” Jacob again held his head and pushed himself off the floor. He took a few steps toward the stairs that would lead him to the bedchamber he had hired and never made it to the previous evening. He needed to wash, Hunter was right he did smell a bit over-ripe. However, each step made him shudder with pain and he groaned, “
Egad
, my head.”

Jerry Swit regarded him for a long moment and sighed before putting his head back down and groaning a curse under his breath.

~ Three ~

X’S MORNING DWINDLED into a tedious sequence of changing patches of green pastures. Green fields neatly boxed in with hedgerows, some stonework and an occasional variegated shade of green, but green all the same. Cows and sheep spotted the pastures and made her smile. She sat up with interest and noted that the sloping terrain began to roll a bit higher and the air had the scent of salt as the landscape took on a subtle difference.

The ladies across from her scarcely looked at her let alone tried to engage her in conversation, and when
she
made the attempt, she found herself coldly rebuffed.

X closed her eyes, just as she started to dose the coachman sounded the horn, she jumped and nearly lost her balance on the seat.

She straightened herself and looked out her window to see what was near and found they were slowing to what she supposed would bring them to a stop. She stared out of her dust covered window and found the obvious signs of hustle and bustle that could only mean they had to be approaching a village of sorts.

The two plump, older women in the coach began gathering their things as they chatted with each other and smoothed their clothing.

X looked at one of them and did what came naturally to her. “Have a good-day,” she said with a half smile.

The one with the straw bonnet turned and regarded her, “Do you have anything to eat, child?”

“I…it is okay…I’m not that hungry,” X said but felt her stomach growl an objection to this.

“From the colonies are you? Humph,” the older woman returned disapprovingly. “Well, but that doesn’t matter. Can’t let you go about the country hungry when I have extra food here in my basket.” She took out a small piece of bread and cheese wrapped in brown paper and handed it to X. “There.” And with that, turned her back and attended her friend who was clucking her tongue and telling her that their carriage ride awaited them.

X watched them hurry across the village square to a young man who waved vigorously at them.

She sat back, sighed, looked at the wedge of cheese with the sweet smelling fresh bread and nearly devoured everything whole. She was starving.
Delicious
, she thought, and with a sigh, sat back on the squabs.

As she waited she took in the village street, housemaids racing about as they did their chores and mingled with their friends. There were farmers picking up supplies and a blacksmith working at his anvil. All of them could have just walked out of her imagination. It was exactly the sort of scene she would expect to see in this century, in this country.

Her eyes felt like they were going to pop as she watched the live movie unfold. It was so hard to believe she was in the year 1815, but here was living, walking proof.

Suddenly she heard the robust call of the stagecoach driver as he yelled out, “Well, Mary m’darling. What ye be looking fer?”

Curious, Exerilla looked out to see a young woman dressed in the garb of a housemaid. She put her hand up and reached for an envelope the coachman was holding away from her with a tease. She giggled happily, grabbed the envelope and threw him a kiss as she ran off to read her letter in some private corner.

X smiled to herself. So, the coachman had slipped her a
billet-doux
from her beau no doubt. Huh, just like some movie she had seen when she was younger.

And then the coachman climbed back onto his perch but before they could start off, a stout fellow with his hat low over his eyes came running toward the coach from across the avenue. The stranger’s hand was upraised as he shook a freshly killed hare and said, “Ho there, man! Harry!”

The coachman grunted and said irritably, “Lookee oi can’t go delaying m’schedule man, what in blazes do ye want and stop shaking that thing at me!”

“Harry, oi’d be that thankful oi would, if ye could taike this to the Red Lion when ye get to Dover.”

“Whot? Ye’ll be putting me off m’time, ye will,” complained the coachman, but X saw that he did indeed reach for the hare. She couldn’t help but smile for her coachman was well liked evidently and kind hearted. At home in her century, she didn’t think hunting was permitted at this time. She doubted that such laws were in effect in this era just yet and people needed to put food on the table.

“That’s a good man,” said the stranger, evidently well pleased. “Go on and oi’ll remember ye when oi goes out ‘unting day after next, oi will, see if oi don’t.”

The coachman waved him off and with another loud grunt, picked up his driving reins once more and clucked loudly to his sturdy horses.

Exerilla smiled. It was like traveling through one of her historical romances. It would be fine for a day or two, but months? With a sigh she closed her eyes.

* * *

Hunter MacTorry pulled his gelding to a slower pace and watched the two younger men riding with him as they trotted their horses down the road.
Younger?
Aye , by a few hundred years younger.

He had to get his tumbling rambling thoughts in order. He had walked into this with his eyes wide open in order to keep busy. He had needed to shake off the fact that he had not saved his parents, but still needed to keep focused and determined to save his brother.

What an odd threesome he made with Jacob and Swit.

Young Jacob, to all outward appearances, was a gentle lad with no real harm in him. What in the blazes was he doing running amok with the likes of Jerry Swit?

Swit looked to be a good five years older than Jacob, maybe more, the two were nothing alike. One thing Hunter was sure of was that Swit was up to no good. Jacob, on the other hand could not possibly know or understand what he was getting into.

Hunter could not believe that Jacob actually knew what was going on in Swit’s brain, or what his plans were.

Sir Jacob had all the makings of a good man, but somehow he had been floundering when Hunter had come across him. In many ways, Jacob reminded him of his brother, Ferrell. Not exactly handsome, he was pleasant looking, with a warm smile and endearing way about him. Jacob’s nature was still touched with an innocence that made him likeable. Swit, on the other hand, with his florid pretty face and dark heart was quite the opposite. Beneath Swit’s gentlemanly façade was a man devoid of ethics, and breeding.

He had a bit of a situation on his hands.

Swit was a man ruled by his needs and at the moment he had a need for money. Jacob while not filthy rich had enough money to attract Swit to his company.

Just as this thought flitted through Hunter’s brain, Swit turned in his saddle and shouted, “What is wrong with you? Keep up ole’ man.” His grin was wide across his taunting face.

“Ole’ man, is it? I think, laddie, I could show ye a thing or two…aye, would ye like to try me?” Hunter played along. He always had to be careful. He was an immortal with both power and magic. He had to disguise it all and be human, but every now and then, the male in him wanted to just let loose.

Swit didn’t take the bait, but merely said, “Then catch up. What are ye doing back there, daydreaming of some wench ye left behind?” He barked a laugh.

Hunter knew Swit had developed a suspicious eye in his regard. The man was forever trying to draw him out, get him to lose his temper and say something that might give him away. He, however, knew better. “I’m sparing m’horse ya fool, simply sparing m’horse.”

Swit brought his steed to a full stop. Jacob smiled and did the same, but Hunter saw the malice in Swit’s marshy brown eyes as he spat, “So
practical
, Scotsman, always so practical.”

“When it is called for,” Hunter said inclining his head. “Usually leaves me on top.” His blue eyes glinted. Everything about Jerry Swit grated on his nerves. He had laid out the challenge and waited for it to be picked up.

“Your way then, safe and dull,” Swit countered, a sneer marring his face, but he was not yet ready to take on the mysterious Scotsman. MacTorry didn’t bother to counter this as he lagged behind again. Jacob held back and walked his horse beside him. They were quickly approaching the crossroads up ahead and as Hunter glanced at the lad, he laughed out loud. “Go ahead and ask it, Jake, m’lad. A question is written all over yer face.”

“You don’t really like Jerry, do you?”

“Does anyone really like Jerry Swit?” Hunter replied giving nothing away. “One learns to… enjoy his antics from time to time, but
never
take him seriously.”

“Yes, but Hunter, I think you honestly dislike him,” Jacob pursued.

“Do you think that? Do
you
really like him lad?”

Jacob shrugged his shoulders and looked away. “Jerry
is
famous good fun that is when he isn’t being a bore. One can always count on sport when one is in Jerry’s company.”

“There is no denying that,” Hunter answered. “So then, Jake, is that why you and I are here with such a lad as he?
For sport?”

Oddly enough Jacob colored to the roots of his light brown hair. Without answering, he spurred his horse forward and left Hunter to look after him.

Sadly, MacTorry thought that he had come so close. He would have to back off now, and wait it out, until Jacob was ready to tell him more.

Suddenly, Hunter’s magical senses were on the alert. He felt something in the air, and that something was coming from Jerry Swit. The man was almost drooling with excitement and he could sense the testosterone in the air. Aye, trouble was about to explode!

He urged his horse forward and came to a stop beside Swit and growled, “What is it?” Even as he asked, he looked down to the left fork in the crossroads and saw what had Jerry bright with anticipation. “Bloody hell, Jerry, now what? And doona tell me,
nothing.
I see it all over ye.”

A stagecoach was rumbling down the road just ahead of them and it was on the Dover Road, headed for the port town.

Hunter was not alone in his concerns. Sir Jacob closed his eyes and said,
“No
Jerry, I am not up to any of your crazy larks this morning.”

Both he and Jacob could see by the glint in Swit’s eye that Swit wasn’t going to be deterred.

“Aw now, we can’t pass this up. Look here, Jacob of Cressly, haven’t ye ever wanted to drive a stagecoach?”

“Well, no,” Jake said frowning. “I can’t say…”

Swit cut him off, “
Well I have
!” He started off and Hunter called after him, but all he did was to grin broadly and say, “Deuce take it, don’t you think its paying customers would like a faster ride? Indeed they would for it will get them to their destination just a bit sooner.”

“Jerry, don’t be daft, ye bloody fool,” Hunter snapped. He wasn’t in the mood for this.

“Fool is it? Well then, don’t you think I can handle the thing? Would you like to wager on it?”

Jacob shook his head and Hunter could see that the lad was disturbed over this. “Jerry, dashed wrong the passengers shouldn’t be subjected to this. Look here, you can’t take over a public stagecoach!” Sir Jacob’s voice was high pitched

“
Sport
, Sir Jacob, my man, is never wrong!” Swit cut him off. “A few blokes took over the stagecoach on the New Forest Pike, it was good fun and no one got hurt. I’m going to do the same thing here.”

“You can’t, you simply can’t,” objected Jacob.

Hunter closed his eyes. Jacob had said just the thing to egg Swit on. He told him he couldn’t do it. Nothing for it remained, because Swit was now hell-bent and would not be stopped.

“Can’t I just,” Swit called as he put his horse into a gallop.

“Mad
, the man is mad!” Jacob said and shook his head, but Hunter saw the glint of appreciation in the young man’s eyes. The lad was, in spite of himself, just a bit thrilled at the prospect of an adventure. He still had a thing or two to learn.

He allowed his horse to prance in place, as his gelding was nervous from the sudden commotion. He watched Jacob put his horse into a lope and follow Jerry’s lead. He sighed and caught up to the two just in time to hear Jacob say, “Jerry, what if there are ladies on board, you can’t do this if there are ladies on board. You’ll frighten them.”

“
Ladies?
All the better if there is a lady or two,” Jerry answered. He pulled out his pistol and was off rounding the bend in the road.

MacTorry and Jake rode up on Swit to find him brandishing a gun at the driver and shouting in flash cant, “Hold up there, covey, hold on there, that’s right…
ease it up covey!”

The coachman raised his eyes to the skies, and said loudly, “Lord preserve and pity me.” He turned to the man waving his pistol around and said as he leaned onto his knee, “Well then, I take it, young blood, ye be out for a bit of sport.” He shook his head, “Ye don’t want to do that now, as I have…”

Hunter closed in and grimaced as Jerry cut the driver off and said,
“I do
want to do this, and I will, so move yourself over, for I’m going to join you there and drive this coach the way it should be driven.”

“Whot if I don’t move over, will ye shoot a hard-working man for a bit of sport?” the coachman challenged.

“Brave words,” snapped Swit and suddenly the expression in his eyes turned ugly as he aimed his gun at the driver’s head. “You see my man; I care nothing, absolutely nothing for your life and
I do
have a fancy to drive your coach.”