The Lady of the Storm - 2 (11 page)

Devil-a-bit, he needed a woman! And soon. Tomorrow they would be in London and he would visit a bawdy house at his first opportunity.

Maybe that would get Cecily out of his blood, if not quite out of his heart.

Giles froze, saddle in hand.

He did not… he could not… Yes, he would admit he had a soft spot for her. How could he not, after being her protector all of these years? He knew her ways, the gentleness of her soul, the habits that he found endearing. Becoming fond of her only allowed him to perform his task better, so why not?

That did not mean that he loved her. He could never love—

“Giles?”

“Yes?” He dropped the saddle, but did not turn.

“Can you bring me my sack? I have washed this dress and would like to change into the other while I let it dry.”

Damn.

He untied it from Belle’s saddle, which he’d yet to remove, and strode over to the pond, his eyes downcast, placing it on a stone near the water.

“I find it most amusing,” she said, “that after years of spying upon me, you can now be so shy.”

He flushed. Looked up. She sat on the bottom of the pool, water barely covering her breasts, her hair spread about her, looking like some beautiful naiad who could steal his soul with the curve of her mouth, the crook of her finger.

“I gave you your privacy for your sake, my lady. I have already seen all that you have to offer.”

Gads, she looked as if he’d struck her, but he had not said the words harshly, indeed, his voice had held a teasing note. Feeling like a complete dunderhead, he turned on his heel and walked away.

He busied himself with the fire, with the horses, and when she returned fully dressed to sit upon the blanket he’d laid out for her, he went back to the stream, cleaning and gutting the hares. Giles roasted them and they smelled delicious. His stomach rumbled as he turned them on his makeshift spit, and he watched Cecily surreptitiously, for she drew a comb slowly through her hair, a sight he could not resist. Her eyes half-closed with pleasure, her lips parted slightly while she drew the comb through the gleaming black strands. He’d watched her perform the simple task for years and had never witnessed another woman move with such sensual grace at the doing of it.

Like the first night they had spent together, he had laid out their blankets on opposite sides of the fire, and when they finished eating he lay down on his, staring up at the stars. Last night he had held her in his arms, and throughout most of the day. He felt oddly bereft at the moment.

“I did not mean…” He never had difficulty finding the right words with a woman. Except for this one. He sighed. “You have a great deal to offer, Cecily. To any man.”

“But not to you.”

“No. You are meant for someone better than I. And I… I am meant for a life of danger in service of the Rebellion.”

“I see.”

But he thought she did not. Nor could he say anything more. ’Twould only make the tension between them worse.

He had given her his cloak again, but she did not need it this night. Indeed, the air felt so warm that he allowed the fire to dwindle to red coals. The sound of roots tearing from the soil and teeth chomping on the sweet clover reminded him that the horses would alert him to any danger, so he allowed exhaustion to overtake him when he heard Cecily’s deep breathing.

Still, he drew his blade before he fell asleep, keeping it in his hand. He did not trust that Breden’s soldiers had given up. Or that spies might not be trailing them. Or that the innocent-looking stones that surrounded them might not conjure up some dreaded beast…

His sword woke him.

The vibrations had barely traveled up the length of his arm when he sprang to his feet, knees bent in a fighting crouch as he looked for the danger.

At first he thought morning had come, until he saw the blackness of night still beyond the circle of stones. The horses dozed not far off to his left, heads gently leaning against one another. Insects still chirped; frogs still croaked.

Cecily stood in the middle of the clearing, her hands spread in supplication.

The circle of stones glowed with white fire all about them.

Giles could not see nor sense any danger, yet his sword still vibrated. But intermittently, as if confused.

“Cecily.”

She turned, and he saw past her, and in two bounds had leaped to her side.

“Get away from her,” he demanded, waving his sword threateningly.

The other man narrowed his eyes.

“Giles, don’t you recognize him? It’s my father.”

Breden of Dew—ah, no, not her birth father. The man before them possessed entirely human features, although he rivaled the lords with a rougher kind of beauty. Thick gold hair framed a handsome face with thickly lashed gray eyes and a strong jaw, although the man looked younger than Giles remembered.

“Thomas?” Where had he come from? Had he been on his way back to the village? Yet the odds of stumbling across him in miles of woodland seemed too remote for Giles to believe.

“Father,” said Cecily, her hands out to him again. “Why can’t you come to me?”

And Giles realized that Thomas did not look quite… right. The outline of his body shimmered and flickered, while ribbons of hazy color slithered about him like snakes.

Cecily took a step toward her father. Giles gently held her back. “No. Don’t you see something is wrong?”

She blinked. “But it’s him. We found him! Oh, Father, I am so happy. I thought I might never see you again—Giles, let me go!”

Thomas—if indeed it was Thomas who faced them—opened his mouth to speak. But although his lips moved, no sound came out and he fisted his hands in frustration.

“It’s these stones,” said Giles. “They have conjured up the image of him. Or his ghost. I don’t know. But you must stay back, Cecily. Who knows what evil is intended by this?”

“No. He’s not a ghost or an illusion. It’s my father, Giles. I can
feel
him.”

Thomas’s eyes suddenly widened. The shimmer around the other man’s body grew. His golden hair whipped around his head then shot straight backward, as if some force pulled at him. His coat flew open, the flaps drawing back and then somehow vanishing. He held out his hands to his daughter, his mouth moving again, gesturing wildly. Trying to tell her something.

Cecily cried out. She struggled and twisted, taking Giles by surprise. He was used to dealing with those not of elven blood and perforce had gotten into the habit of not using his full strength. Especially around women, fearing he might unknowingly injure them.

But Cecily possessed even more elven blood than he did. Although she still could not surpass his strength, he constantly underestimated her.

She broke free of his hold and flung herself at Thomas. The force that had been drawing him backward, dissolving his coat and hair and the edges of his shape, seemed to suck him away in one mighty burst.

Cecily hit empty air, landing with a grunt amid a patch of clover.

They remained motionless for a moment, as the white fire coming from the stones began to fade.

Giles expected her to turn upon him in fury with tears of anguish or screams of recrimination.

But instead she turned and met his gaze with a calm that shook him. He automatically held out his hand and helped her rise.

“You were right. He was not here.”

He breathed a sigh of relief, not releasing his hold on her hand. “These stones are ancient sources of human energies. I should not have trusted you to their safety.”

“Thomas once told me that some of these stones run across lines of energy within the earth. A power made greater by the magic that has flooded England. A power that—if harnessed—can allow the crossing of time or distance.”

Giles frowned, fully understanding where she was going with this. “You think he used them to reach out to you.”

“Yes, I do. And he wants me to find him. It is important.”

Giles frowned. That may be, but he still did not trust this place. “I still think it was naught but illusion.”

“But who would have sent it? Only the elven lord of Dreamhame, Roden, would have the power to cast such an illusion. Why would he be involved in this? And how would he know where to find me?”

“It could have been a half-breed of his. Those with other elven blood do wander into other sovereignties, dear lady. I come from Bladehame.”

She shook her head. “That is still too far-fetched. I agree that Breden might be concerned with me, yes, but I can’t see him admitting to the other elven lords that I even exist. It would be… an embarrassment to him.”

She made sense, but still… “There is too much here which I do not understand, and I will not put your safety at risk. We will leave at once.”

“No!” She placed her other hand against her breast and lowered her voice. “No, Giles. Thomas might be able to contact me again. And this time I will watch his mouth, try to read the words he so desperately wanted me to hear.”

He could not withstand the plea in her voice. And he had witnessed her stubbornness too often to doubt it. He’d have to carry her away fighting if he tried to make her leave before morning.

Giles strode over to the fire, dragging her along with him, and picked up her blanket, placing it next to his. “Then you will sleep with me tonight. It’s the only way I can be sure you won’t wander off.”

He pulled her down beside him, wrapping his arm firmly about her waist, his other hand still clutching his sword. She felt warm and soft and smelled of spring water. Giles did not question any ulterior motives he might have for insisting she sleep with him again.

As the glow of the stones finally faded to black, he just allowed contentment to fill him.

Six

They reached London the next evening, Cecily planted firmly in front of Giles on Apollo’s back. Giles insisted she ride with him, that she still looked pale, that the appearance of Thomas had shaken her delicate sensibilities.

Cecily did not argue with him. She had spent the night awake, hoping Thomas would appear to her again, but he had not, and she could no longer feel any lingering presence of him. She felt too tired and disheartened the next morning to put up much of a fight when Giles insisted they leave. Indeed, she would not have managed to keep her seat today without Giles’s arm about her when she nodded off. Besides, this would be the last day she spent with Giles, perhaps even the last time she ever saw him. She did not know what might await her in London. But it frightened her that she would be alone, without friends or family.

Giles had been a constant presence in her life for as long as she could remember. Although she did her best to hide it after that dreadful night when he’d rejected her, her heart would always leap at the sight of him. Knowing he was near made her feel more alive, somehow.

Will had been a comfort. Giles an excitement that made her primp a bit longer in the mirror… pay more attention to her clothing… walk with a sway to her hips.

And now. Now he had kissed her. Held her in his arms. Despite his constant attempts to keep his feelings at a distance from her, he sought ways to touch her with but the slightest excuse for it.

The contradictions in his character confused her. And she regretted she might never uncover the mystery of him.

“If I did not have Breden of Dewhame’s half-breed with me, I doubt I’d be given instructions to go to Sir Robert himself,” muttered Giles sometime later.

Cecily jerked upright. She’d half-dozed off again. They approached the city by a small road that obviously was not the main thoroughfare to London.

“Where would you have gone?”

He shrugged, muscles rippling against her back. “Thomas was my contact. I probably would have had another one much lower in the ranks of the Rebellion, if my task hadn’t been so important.”

Houses began to multiply around them.

“So you have been privy to the Rebellion’s innermost circle. That makes it more dangerous for you.”

She could feel his smile, if not see it. “And more important. I don’t think even my father would have believed my good fortune.”

“Yes, I felt sure that’s how you would view it.”

They entered the city proper, suddenly battling for passage amongst wagons and coaches and men on foot carrying chair boxes behind them. Flaming lamplights lit the throng in the streets: servants, children in rags, costermongers, and gentlemen distinguishable by their white wigs. Cecily could not help but stare, for most men in her village could not afford a wig, much less such fine ones that mimicked the flowing locks of the elven lords so perfectly. The wigs had been powdered with some glittering dust that gave off sparkles of silver even in the lamplight, eerily duplicating the brilliance of the elven lords’ hair as well.

The crowd thinned as the glass-fronted shops dwindled to be replaced by brownstone townhouses, and then suddenly they passed over a bridge, a large stone sign etched with the words:
Charing Cross
. The fishy smell of the Thames tickled her nose as she looked down on boats and ferries, and farther down the river, fine-masted ships with sails gleaming in the dusk.

A glow to her left caught Cecily’s attention. “What is that?”

She felt Giles’s head turn. “That, my lady, is Firehame Palace. Home to the elven lord Mor’ded, and his lovely mistress, Lady Cassandra Brydges, mother of the new Duke of Chandos.”

Yellow fire danced along the walls of the palace, flared to the tops of its soaring towers, and lit the heavens above like a beacon. The flames somehow looked menacing, as if they could suddenly flare forth and destroy the city around them into cinders. She shivered.

They entered a narrow street and turned a corner and cut the ominous flames from their view. Giles stopped Apollo before a well-kept building, a small sign near the entrance proclaiming it to be an inn.

A young lad came out to take care of their horses, and Giles made arrangements for a night’s lodging. Cecily did not question or protest the single room until they stood inside.

Giles held up a graceful hand. “I thought you would like to rest and change before you meet Sir Robert. Then I will hire a chair, and follow on Apollo by the alleys—”

“No.” The panicked word fell from her lips before she thought. “I will not go without you.”

“There is no reason to be afraid.”

“I’m not,” she lied. “It’s just that… there will be no one there whom I trust. Sir Robert will try to use me and the only protection I will have against that is you.”

He frowned and Cecily feared she knew his thoughts.

“Do not worry,” she continued. “Once I am familiar with the players, I will not hold you to me.”

A knock at the door startled them both, and Giles turned to answer it, almost eagerly. A maid stepped in with a bucket of water, filled the washstand in the corner of the room, and quickly left.

Giles nodded his head toward their bags, which he’d placed near the bed. “You will have the room to yourself while I check on the horses. I will send a message to Sir Robert, telling him of your arrival, and leave the arrangements of your meeting up to him.” And he left.

Cecily stood still a moment. Giles had not said whether he would accompany her or not. He’d brought her safely back into the arms of the Rebellion and finished his task. She knew he would not be eager to stay with her, but his abandonment hurt all the same. She had thought their journey had brought them a sense of companionship, but apparently she’d been wrong.

She quickly performed her toilette, trying to fluff out her quilted petticoat for more volume, using damp hands to smooth the wrinkles from her favorite calico dress. The gown had a pattern of small roses and a modest neckline, and Cecily thought it would make a suitable presentation, especially with the pearl buttons down the front, and the lace ruffles at sleeve and throat. She twisted up her hair and covered it with a lace cap, the trailing lappets brushing her shoulders and making her feel a bit elegant.

She stepped in front of the cracked mirror, pinching her cheeks to combat the paleness in her face.

Giles knocked and she bade him enter.

He opened the door and stared at her a moment, a slight flush darkening his cheeks. “You look… I have arranged a private dining room for you to sup. A lackey will take you there and I will join you after I change.”

He sounded so stiff and formal, as if he spoke to some great lady instead of familiar, ordinary Cecily.

She remarked on the first part of his comment. “I’m sure I look exactly what I am. A village lass still fresh from the farm… but that is good, for then perhaps they will underestimate me.”

A grin softened his face. “Your beauty will rival the ladies of London, regardless of the costume you wear. But you are right, they will underestimate you. That has always been
my
fault.”

Cecily brushed past him on the way out the door, his shoulder touching hers as if he’d intended the contact. She refused to acknowledge him with a lingering look. Surely he would at least join her for dinner, as he promised. They would have one last evening together.

The lackey led her into a cozy dining room, the fire banked against the warmth of the evening, but a dozen candles lighting the private area. Giles’s funds must be padded by the Rebellion, for surely a mere blacksmith could not afford this well-appointed setting.

She sat at a table laden with linen and crystal, surveying the scenic paintings on the walls. When a serving maid brought the covered dishes into the room, she refused to touch them until Giles joined her, despite the mouthwatering smells wafting up from them.

She did not have to wait long. When he entered the room he seemed to fill it up with his presence. The candles glowed brighter; the crystal sparkled more brilliantly. The pale blond hair near his temples looked slightly damp from his wash, the fall of it glimmering down his back from a thorough brushing. He wore a broadcloth suit with brass buttons. Not the attire of a wealthy man, but one that his broad shoulders filled without benefit of padding or cut. He still wore boots below his stockings, although they’d been buffed to a fine polish.

Cecily’s mouth watered.

He took a seat and uncovered a dish, and without further ado, began to eat. She joined him in companionable silence, the only sounds to break their meal the sound of muffled laughter coming from the common room, and an occasional comment from one of them on a particularly tasty bite.

Giles glanced over at her now and again, whatever formality he’d tried to adopt earlier now completely forgotten, for he would smile and nod, just as he had over their campfires. Cecily’s heart flipped every time she caught his gaze, but she would hide her reaction beneath a calm smile.

A knock at the door interrupted the serenity of their dinner. A young lad handed a folded bit of paper to Giles, accepted the coin in return, and quickly backed out the door.

Giles opened the missive. “Sir Robert will send a carriage for you at midnight. You’ll wear my hood and cloak, and leave the inn as stealthily as you can.”

Cecily set down her fork, no longer interested in the rest of the meal. “And so it begins. You never answered, Giles. Will you accompany me?”

He downed the last of his port and pushed his chair away from the table, legs squeaking on the hardwood floor. “He does not say I should accompany you, and I’m not sure if they’ll allow me past the grand front door, Cecily.
I
am not the future hope of England.”

“Please don’t call me that. And if this Sir Robert wishes to speak to me, he will have to welcome you as well.”

Giles pulled at the kerchief about his throat as he muttered, “I’m sure that’s something they could not have foreseen. I wonder what they’ll make of it.”

“What do you mean—no, never mind. Just say you will accompany me tonight.”

“Yes, I believe I shall.” A wicked grin spread across his mouth, and near took her breath away. For a moment she could only stare at him, and he returned the favor with a darkening of his green eyes. He leaned forward in his chair, his hand reaching across the table, past the salt and the china plate of butter and the stem of her goblet, and clasped her hand. She felt his touch thrum up her arm and travel clear to her toes.

“Cecily.”

“Yes?” The word left her lips on a soft breath.

“I will miss you.”

She closed her eyes for a moment. She would not allow his words to mean more than he intended. “Perhaps. But you will also be glad for another assignment. One with more adventure and intrigue. You must have found my little village so quaint and boring.”

“It was not as bad as all that. Do you remember the time when that badger got into Old Man Hugh’s cottage?”

“And ate the pie that the widow had made for Hugh? Fie! I think the whole village came out to witness the commotion. I will never forget the sight of him chasing the animal about with his broom. The poor beast.”

“Hugh, or the badger?”

Cecily laughed.

Giles squeezed her hand. “It’s only a few hours before midnight. Do you want to return to the room to rest a bit, or would you prefer to stay with me here?”

Cecily lowered her lashes. “I could not sleep if I tried.”

And so they stayed at table, Giles never once relinquishing her hand, even when the serving girl came in to clear the dishes. They told stories of the village, Cecily with longing and Giles with nostalgia, as if he spoke of memories of a place that he’d already left far behind. And the time flew by faster than she could have imagined.

The clock on the mantel chimed midnight and Giles abruptly stood, jarring Cecily from her contentment.

“It’s time,” he said. “Let me fetch my cloak—I’ll be but a moment.”

He fled the room and she tried not to be disappointed by his apparent eagerness. If it had been up to her, she never would have let the evening end.

But she must face her new future, eagerly or no. She stiffened her back and shoulders, determined to be strong. Cecily did not know what this Sir Robert might have planned for her, but she would hold to her own ambitions. She would think only of Thomas, and if this Rebellion would not tell her his whereabouts, then she would find some way to track him down herself.

When Giles returned to the dining room he took one glance at her face and froze in the act of shrouding her with his cloak. “Damn. I would not want to be Sir Robert tonight.”

Cecily pulled the cloak over her head, trying not to muss her cap or hair, and followed Giles through the half-empty common room to the waiting carriage outside. She ducked into the plain black coach, surprised by the contrast of the inside. Her hands touched velvet-cushioned seats, the walls had been painted with scenes of playful cherubs, and every bit of trim shone with the luster of gold.

Giles took the seat across from her, watching her face as the conveyance lurched forward. “Although Sir Robert prefers to travel in secrecy, he does appreciate his comforts.”