Mariel (21 page)

“Nadia, you do not have to do this.”

She glanced past Mariel. Her dark eyes glowed with fear. Lowering them to the tabletop, she murmured, “I must.” Louder she said, “Think of the cards, Lady Mariel. Think of your life. Concentrate on your dreams. Tell me when the cards are right for you.”

Mariel could not doubt that the other woman was terrified. Whether of the man standing nearby or of the fate she must read in the cards, she did not know. This had gone on long enough.

“No!” she said, slapping her hand on the table. “I will not think of that. I do not want you to read the future for me. It is only a game.”

Raoul pressed her into the chair. “Do as Nadia says, my lady.”

“You cannot force me!” She bounced out of the chair and was at the door before he could move. Flinging it open, she halted, swallowing a scream as she stared at the smiling face of the photographer. “Move aside, please. I am leaving.”

He spoke to the others in the wagon in the strange tongue she had heard Raoul use during her first visit to the wagon. His faked smile dimmed as he listened to them. Then he shrugged. What he replied brought peals of cold laughter from Raoul.

The photographer stepped aside and held out his hand to help Mariel from the vehicle. “Go then, my lady. Remember that you could have been forewarned of the evil surrounding you. Now you will have no choice but to fall victim to the darkness Nadia has seen.”

“I don't believe you!” she stated, but with less vehemence than she wanted to project. She looked back at the other woman's sorrowful face. “Nadia, I do not want to belittle you, but I cannot believe in this.”

Nadia rushed past the huge man to kneel in the doorway. Her glistening black eyes were level with Mariel's. “Be careful, my lady,” she whispered. “Whether you believe in the gift of my ability to read the tarot or not, I urge you to be careful. The evil one is within your house now. He wants to steal the light of life from you. More than that, I cannot tell you, for I could not bear to read more of the darkness. Please, my lady, take care.”

“I—I will,” she heard herself promise. Nadia must feel very strongly about this. This woman would not put on such a performance if she did not give some credence to her own talents. What she meant, Mariel could not guess.

Raoul growled and dragged Nadia to her feet. Even as he was closing the door, he clearly was berating her in the language they spoke. When Mariel started to step toward the wagon to defend the woman who wanted only to help her, the man who had taken Rosie's picture took her arm.

“Do not interfere, my lady. Raoul does not like Nadia to give away the fruits of her sight. He sees her gift as a way to make money.” His teeth glittered in the moonlight. “Do not worry. He will not strike her hard. He knows she must be able to work tomorrow if he is to eat.”

When he tugged on her arm, she compliantly went back to where Ian was waiting. Telling her farewell, he walked away to blend into the shadows.

“So you decided to have your fortune told after all?” teased Ian as he assisted her into the buggy.

She did not answer as he lifted the reins and turned the carriage onto the road. Instead, she slid across the seat to feel the comforting strength of his body close to her. Slipping her hands around his arm, she clutched onto him as if she feared she would be swept away without him to anchor her amid this madness.

Nothing was said while he drove onto a road leading more indirectly to the Cloister. When he had put more than a mile between them and the fairgrounds, he halted the horse in a pool of moonlight. He turned to look into her shadowed eyes.

“Tell me, Mariel.”

This time she revealed everything that had been said during both of her visits to the fortune-teller's wagon. When she was finished, he drew her to him and kissed her on the forehead. She whispered his name as she felt his mouth hovering close to hers. At its touch, she forgot all her trepidation and remembered only the glory of the feelings Ian brought forth from her.

As he leaned her back on the buggy seat, she closed her eyes to better savor the caress of his lips searing their path along her neck. His fingers traced rapture among the sequins on her blouse. As they stroked the responsive curve of her breast, she moaned with a longing she could not deny.

Her hands found their way beneath his coat to the fine lawn of his shirt. The wide strap of his suspenders teased her fingers to push it aside. They clenched on the elastic as his mouth replaced his fingers exploring her through her clothes' thin fabric. Her body pressed against the lean line of his, demanding satiation.

Looking down into her face lit by the soft glow from the night sky, he wondered how much longer they could wait to satisfy this craving. Whenever he was away from her, he thought of the enticing shape of her body and the teasing sound of her laugh. At night, he spent hours thrashing in his lonesome bed, infected with desire for her.

“Mariel?”

She opened her eyes lazily. Happiness brightened her face as her fingers followed the planes of his whisker harsh cheeks. “What is it? Why are you talking instead of kissing me?”

“Let me kiss you every night, my love, before I close my eyes.”

Bafflement furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”

With an irreverent grin, he picked up her left hand and kissed the fourth finger. “Do I need to be less subtle, my love? Marry me, Mariel. I have thought long on it today. I know I want you with me forever. You know we belong together. Marry me.”

Instead of answering him with the joyous abandon she exhibited when he kissed her, she drew out of his arms. Sitting up, she moved away from him to straighten her blouse. Her hand shook as she lifted her cape over her shoulders again.

“This is so sudden,” she answered with a triteness she hoped would cover her true emotions.

“Then think on it,” he urged. “Think on it, and give me your answer soon.”

She wanted to reply that she could give him her answer now. She could not marry Ian Beckwith-Carter. That she loved him with all her heart changed nothing. She had not needed the woman with her tarot cards to speak of the curse hanging over Foxbridge Cloister. Every day of her life, it had been her constant companion. Never before had it hurt her as much as it did tonight by ripping her dreams from her once again.

Letting him put his arm around her as he picked up the reins, she tried not to show him the fear within her. She spoke of Rosie and of the circus while they drove to the Cloister, anything but the marriage proposal and the reason she could never reveal why she would never marry him. They drove into the night, which was less dark than the void of horror within her.

A horror she could share with no one. Not even the man she loved with every ounce of her being.

Chapter Ten

Mariel opened the heavy, time-stained door of the pub. She blinked as she tried to adjust her eyes to the dimness of the interior. When the door slammed loudly behind her, all light from the outside world vanished.

Within seconds, she could see again. Picking her way through the maze of tables and benches, she sought the bar. The woman working there did not hide her surprise when she saw who had entered the Three Georges.

“Lady Mariel! I—I did not expect to see you here.”

She smiled politely. No proper lady would enter this place, especially unescorted, but she had business with the owner. “Good morning, Mrs. Gratton. Is your husband here?”

“Yes. Yes, my lady. He is in the back. One moment please.” The woman scurried away after a respectful half-curtsy in Mariel's direction. From the room behind the smoke-darkened bar, her voice sounded shrilly as she called to her husband.

Mariel turned away to hide her amusement. She glanced about the room. She had never seen it before, although she had heard much about the revelry shared here by the men of the shire. A dart board hung on a wall pitted with misfired darts. The huge fieldstone fireplace smelled dank as it sat waiting for the winter.

“Lady Mariel?”

She greeted the tavernkeeper. Dressed in his chambray shirt, with black suspenders struggling to hold his trousers around his girth, he appeared far more at ease than at the school board meetings. The men constantly tugged at the unaccustomed stiffness of high stocks and ties while Mariel worked with them to make the school a success. “I told you I would bring this information to you, Mr. Gratton. It took me so long to copy it all. I did get Mr. Knowles and Mr. Jones their copies before the term was completed. I thought they would need the most time to peruse it.” She smiled charmingly at him. “When I spoke to you at the meeting about arranging to bring this to you, I had no idea how much time Rosie would take out of my day.”

“Thank you,” he replied as she handed him the thick packet. It would take him hours to struggle through just the first few pages of this material. He wondered if he should simply tell her to do as she wished and save himself the trouble.

“I will see you tomorrow night, then. Good day.” She raised her voice slightly. “Good day, Mrs. Gratton.”

Walking along the green, she waved to women hanging their freshly washed linens in the summer sunshine. She hesitated as she stepped onto the porch of the parsonage. She wanted to see Ian, but she could not bring herself to tell him what she must. Her distress had kept her awake all night. No answer had appeared with the dawn. Without telling him the essential bit of truth she could not reveal, he would never understand why she could not follow her heart into his arms.

Her knock on the door went unanswered. She frowned in bafflement as she peered into the front window. As she expected, Ian was working furiously at his desk. Lost in his task, he probably had not heard her.

Knowing it was bold of her, she opened the door and admitted herself. No sounds of industrious preparation came from the kitchen. She stopped by the open door of Ian's study and rapped lightly on the molding.

Ian smiled. “Come in. What are you doing in Foxbridge so early on a Monday morning?”

“I had papers to deliver to Mr. Gratton.” She drew the pins from her hat and placed it on the forest-green chair. “Where is Mrs. Reed?”

“Her sister is ill, so I sent her to stay with her. I think I can manage alone for a few days.”

“Nothing serious?”

He shook his head as he bent again over his work. “No, but her sister is not young. I knew Mrs. Reed was worried, so rather than have her moping around here, I sent her to York until her sister feels better.”

“Such a sacrifice,” she teased as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and placed her head against his. “What are you working on?”

“Sunday's sermon” He peered up at her. “Sometime you should come and hear me.” He swiveled to face her. “I think I will be most inspired this week.”

Dropping to sit on his lap, she smiled. “You always inspire me, Ian.” When he wrapped his arms around her, she asked, “Why should I come Sunday when I have already been regaled by a private service here?”

“You do listen well.” He stroked her arm as he said in a more serious voice, “Honey, I think you should attend the services.”

“Are you worried about my eternal soul?”

“It is not something to joke about, Mariel.” His hands tightened around her as she scowled. “I know you used to attend every Sunday with your uncle. After he left last time, you have not set foot in the church for Sunday services. Can't you tell me why? If it was just because you did not like Reverend Tanner, that should not keep you from attending now. After all, you do like me.”

In a small voice, she said, “I do not want to attend by myself.”

“Bring Phipps. Bring Rosie.” He turned her face so he could scrutinize her distressed features. “Why won't you be honest with me?”

She stood and moved away from him. Picking up a small statue on the fireplace mantel, she examined it as if it was of the greatest interest. She put the china shepherdess back and she said, “I must get home. Phipps will be beside herself if I am late again.”

“Will you stop by tomorrow?”

“I don't know. Tomorrow is the first Tuesday of the month. I have the school-board meeting with my report due on the new textbooks.”

Ian did not intend to let her leave when she was this upset. She had come into the house a bright spirit and was leaving a hollow phantom. Rising, he took her hand and did not release it until she looked at him.

“Have you thought about what I asked you last night?”

“Yes.” Her whisper could barely be heard.

“And?”

She put her fingers on his arm. “Ian, can we forget you asked me to marry you? Can't we go back to the way things were? It was so wonderful to be with you and feel your arms around me. I have never known anything so fabulous.”

“All the more reason to stay together forever.” His green gaze cut through the flimsy defenses she offered to keep him from seeing the truth. With his wide hand warm against her icy cheek, he said, “I don't know what frightens you so, my love, but I want to help you. I love you.”

“I love you, Ian.”

“Then be mine.”

As if it was the most sacred vow, she whispered, “I am yours.”

“You will marry me, then?” He could not keep the joy from his voice.

“No!”

“No?” His question hung in the empty room. Before he could speak, she had fled. The sound of the front door crashing against the wall echoed through the house.

His eyes went to her hat sitting on the chair. Slowly, he walked to the door and reached to close it. He saw the automobile racing up the hill toward the Cloister as if demons were chasing it.

Demons. Mariel could not hide her fright from him. What dark curse lay over that house and its inhabitants that would not allow her to do as she wished?

Suddenly, he smiled. Perhaps he was seeing horror where there was none. Despite her eager yearning for all that was modern in thought and manner, she could not hide her charming modesty when he touched her. Pretty Mariel might be afraid of marriage simply because she clung to popular ideas that a woman should be frightened of what awaited her in the marriage bed.