Magic In The Storm (4 page)

She knew his tricks, but this time she was
not going to allow him to get away with them. Too much was at stake
here.

“You are an imbecile, Jonathan. A worthless
idiot. I give you one simple task, and you cannot even handle
that,” she hissed. He flinched and held his arms protectively over
his chest as her words cut into him. “This girl needs soft words,
not talk of enclosure laws. You must court her. If you don’t, it
will be that much more difficult to convince her to marry you. Need
I remind you that you must marry someone with clout in order to
make your mark in Parliament?”

Tatiana allowed her voice to soften. “You
will be great, Jonathan. You will be powerful. But you need the
contacts that Devaux and this girl can give you. There is no one
who can ease your way into the upper echelons of Parliament better
than Devaux.”

“Yes, Mother.” Jonathan stared down at the
floor. She knew what he was thinking. She could sense his
dissatisfaction, his unhappiness. Eventually, he would be grateful.
Once he became powerful among men, he would thank her for making it
possible. He would understand.

She softened her tone even further, stroking
him gently with her words. “Go then. Get changed and cleaned up.
You will need to look your best this evening in order to continue
your wooing of Miss Hayden.”

He sighed softly and dropped his arms back
down to his sides. “Yes, Mother.” With a small bow, he left her
presence and went up to his room.

“You,” she said to the footman, “I will take
care of you now. Join me in the solarium.” He bowed low and,
quaking, followed her as she continued on her way toward the back
of the house.

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He couldn’t. He couldn’t heal her.

Morgan sat back. If he healed her, he would
be putting his life at risk.

This woman was a stranger, even though he
felt as if he knew her. But what if she told someone that he had
healed her leg with his hands? They would come and find him—they
could even put him to death. His entire family would be in danger
then.

He looked once again at the girl who sat
crying quietly. She was being so brave, but her agony tore at his
heart. He could sense how much effort she was using to control
herself, and deal with the pain. Never had he seen a girl behave
with such strength in a situation like this. Surely, she wouldn’t
tell anyone?

The wind whipped around both of them,
swirling around the small clearing. The storm was approaching
quickly.

The young woman raised her face to him, her
green eyes overflowing pools of pain. Reflecting the green of the
thrashing branches overhead, they somehow pulled Morgan deep into
them. They pleaded with him to do something, to help her. He could
not bear to see her hurting in this way—but the fire that raced
through his veins was not just one of compassion. He was drawn to
her as he had never been drawn to anyone before. She sparked
feelings in him—feelings he didn’t quite understand, but without a
doubt, he knew he had to help her. He had to heal her—no matter
what the consequences.

He ran a hand down her soft cheek once more,
this time reveling in the flames that surged through him as he did
so. “It will be all right,” he said softly.

Then, placing his hands once again around her
leg, he focused his eyes on the broken bone and concentrated.
Slowly, his magic began to build again. It moved from all parts of
his body, like a tingling sensation, to converge in his hands. His
palms grew hot with magical heat binding the bone back
together.

The girl gasped as her leg heated and healed.
He saw her eyes come back into focus as she relaxed now that the
pain was gone. He watched, fascinated, as she wiped away the tears
from her face, leaving muddy streaks down her soft, white
cheeks.

With his eyes still fixed on her face, Morgan
ran his hands a little further up her leg and then along the other.
His hands still tingled as he felt her slender, shapely limbs.
Never before had his hands felt like this after mending bones –
usually the magic went away immediately, but he had never mended a
stranger’s bones before—perhaps there was something different in
that.

Or perhaps it was her.

With a gasp, she quickly freed herself from
his touch, curling her legs underneath her and moving her skirt
down to cover herself again.

“I am checking for other breaks,” Morgan
said, sitting back. It was the truth, but it had also been
extremely pleasant feeling her legs. He could not deny that.

“There are none, thank you,” she said gently,
but firmly. Then she paused as if about to say more. “How, how did
you...?”

The wind whipped her hair into her face, and
she had to stop speaking to remove it from her mouth.

Morgan looked up at the sky and silently
thanked the wind for coming to his aid. He could not risk her
learning any more about him—already he had done too much. There was
no doubt that there would be repercussions from his actions.

“There is no time for that,” he said,
standing up and moving away from her. “You must return,
quickly—before the rain comes,” he said, fervently wishing that he
could ask her to stay. But there were too many reasons why she
couldn’t.

He moved to her horse and stroked the
animal’s nose, looking into its eyes to calm its fright. Then, with
practiced ease, he felt down each of its legs, checking for
injuries.

When he turned around, he saw that the young
woman had managed to stand up, if a bit unsteadily. He noted the
confusion clearly mirrored in her face as she realized that her leg
would take her weight.

“Who are you? Why do I feel as if I know you?
Have we met?” she asked, approaching him slowly and trying to
secure her long hair back at the same time.

Morgan nearly dropped the reins in his hand.
She felt it too?

“Have you ever been to these parts before?”
he asked.

“No, never.”

“Then we could not have met. But,” he paused
and took a few steps closer to her, “I feel it too—as if I know
you, but I don’t. I couldn’t.”

She reached out and put a hand on his arm.
Looking up into his eyes, she held his gaze for a moment and then
said softly, “Please, tell me who you are.”

“My name is Morgan, but...” another flash of
lightning arced overhead, catching his attention.

That was odd. He had told her his name
without intending to do so.

The roll of thunder immediately followed the
lightening. He shook his head and pushed aside his confusion. There
wasn’t time for this—the storm was nearly upon them. “You really
must go.”

He reached out and wrapped his hands around
her slender waist, lifting her easily. As if they’d done this a
hundred times before, she rested her hands comfortably on his
shoulders. Her skin felt warm through the thin material of her
dress, and he was tantalized by her sweet smell... elusive,
unidentifiable, but reminding him of the first wildflowers of
spring. A fierce desire to hold her close to his own body
overwhelmed him.

A strong gust of wind blew directly in his
face. Yes, he agreed silently with it, he had to resist these
traitorous urges. Already he had placed himself in jeopardy by
healing her. How much more stupid could he be?

He placed her gently on the saddle.
Whispering softly in the mare’s ear, he gave it a slap on the rump
and then watched as the horse took off in the direction of the
stables.

Morgan stayed where he was, concentrating on
the sky, willing the storm to wait until the girl reached the
abbey. Yes, he had recognized the horse as one belonging to his
brother, Jonathan, Lord Vallentyn.

He turned in the direction the girl had gone
and found her straining to look back at him. She was...
enthralling, but he did not have the time to wonder who she was or
why she was visiting his family.

He took a deep breath, savoring the prelude
of the rain in the air. He could still sense the lingering
anticipation of his destiny—or whatever it was. But now, it had
changed. There was still tension charging the air, but no longer
did he feel as if something was coming. In fact, that sensation was
almost entirely gone.

Had he missed it? Had his chance come and
gone? Was he doomed to live in this forest forever?

No, he couldn’t, he wouldn’t, believe that to
be true.

T
he wind lashed around Adriana as she rode to the
stables. She wasn’t sure if she was directing the horse or if it
was following orders from the mysterious man she had met in the
woods. He had certainly said something to the horse. Was it
possible that he could communicate with animals as well as heal
bones?

Adriana nearly laughed at her fanciful
thoughts. Men could not heal bones with a touch. Nor could she know
a man she’d never met. But she
did
know him. Everything
about him had been familiar and comforting. How could this be? She
needed to think this through, but of much more immediate concern
was the storm overhead, and the slate–colored clouds looming
ominously. She needed to get back to the abbey quickly.

Much to her amazement, she made it to the
house just before the storm broke. The moment she was inside, there
was a great crack of lightning followed immediately by a booming of
thunder that shook the old stones of Vallentyn Abbey. Rain pelted
down from the sky in relief.

Adriana looked out from the doorway and took
a deep breath, smelling the wonderful, fresh smell of the first
raindrops hitting the ground. She was tempted to go back out into
the storm—to be a part of it, to feel the cool water against her
warm skin. She took a small step forward, wondering if she actually
dared to go back out.

A large dog came and stood very close to her.
He looked as undecided as she felt, only he stood with one paw in
front of her. It was as if he was intending to block her from
leaving the house.

“Adriana! What do you think you are doing?
Where have you been?”

With a start, she turned around and saw her
guardian, Lord Devaux, bearing down on her from across the great
hall. She stood up taller and moved away from the door, toward the
staircase in the center of the hall. All thoughts of going out into
the storm disintegrated like dust at her feet. Her guardian, worse
than the harshest governess, was here to see that she did not do
anything daring or fun.

“I was out riding. If you will excuse me,
sir.”

He stopped her at the bottom of the stairs
and narrowed his little blue eyes at her as he did every time she
returned from being out. What he was thinking when he did that? Was
he looking for some evidence of misconduct?

If so, then he was, once again, to be sorely
disappointed. She smiled at him, secure in her innocence.

“Lord Vallentyn returned nearly an hour ago
and was concerned that you had not returned before him. Where have
you been?” he said, his voice high with annoyance.

The large oak door closed behind them with a
boom that echoed through the medieval hall—shutting out the storm,
shutting out her freedom.

Adriana flinched. Her precious moments of
liberty were gone, but she would hold onto whatever she could—she
had to.

“I was enjoying the fresh country air,” she
said in a firm, but quiet voice. “Now, if you will excuse me, I
need to change and put away my sketchbook.”

He took a step back, eyeing her sketchbook
with distaste. “See that you hide it well. We do not want anyone
seeing that rubbish.”

Her guardian knew so well how to hurt her.
She would not give him the satisfaction of showing it, however. She
turned away from him and began up the stairs, her pace slow and
dignified.

Her steps quickened after she reached the top
of the stairs. By the time she reached her room at the end of the
long corridor, she was nearly running.

Throwing open the double doors that led from
her room out onto the balcony facing the back of the house, she
allowed the storm to blow the hurt and tension from her mind and
body. The curtains framing the door flew out behind her as the wind
and rain gusted in.

Adriana did not mind. She stood just inside
the door watching the magnificent storm play out as if solely for
her own enjoyment.

Taking a deep breath of the cool air, she
closed her eyes and allowed the wind and rain to wash over her.

Freedom. This is what it would feel like.
Like the wind and the rain going wherever it willed, like a bird
soaring over the land, like the waves of a briny ocean. Freedom was
the knowledge that she could leave any time, or stay and do
whatever she wanted. Freedom, however, was not something that
Adriana had—only something she longed for with every ounce of her
being.

Enjoying the feel of the storm, she could
pretend that, for the moment at least, it was hers.

In her mind’s eye, she saw again the black,
piercing eyes of the man in the wood. Morgan. She shivered at the
memory of the fire in those eyes when he had held her leg and
mended the bone.

Quickly, she spun around and grabbed up her
sketchbook. With a few quick strokes of her pencil, she captured
those eyes before they faded from her memory. Filling in the dark
pupils, she stared at them as they stared back at her.

The fire was there. His eyes looked at her
with an intensity that sent a rush of heat through her.

That same fascination, and the deep feeling
as if she knew him, overcame her as she stared into his black eyes
in the center of her white sheet of paper.

The eyes needed a face.

She sketched in Morgan’s features around his
eyes. His slightly curving eyebrows, his long straight nose and his
mouth. She drew his mouth very slowly and carefully, making his
bottom lip full and his top lip thin.