The Lady of the Storm - 2 (15 page)

She shook her head, black locks gleaming in the lamplight. “Tomorrow we hunt for Thomas in earnest. And I must have this settled before then.”

Giles leaned against the doorpost, crossed his arms, and looked down at her with a sigh. “What?”

She looked into his eyes. Cecily had such a habit of avoiding his gaze most of the time, that a direct look of hers could rattle him. He did not move, but he tensed in his negligent pose.

“All I want to know is”—she took a deep breath—“if Thomas hadn’t forbidden you, would you have accepted my offer all those years ago?”

He frowned. “Your offer?”

“Do not pretend you don’t know of what I speak.”

“Faith, Cecily, you were but an innocent girl. Of course I wouldn’t have accepted.”

“But now. Now that I am a woman. You said… you said that you wanted me.”

She would flay him alive, this one.

“My desire for you would have consequences.” He glanced over at the tiny cot, a vision of her bare body tangled in covers coming unbidden to his mind. He pushed away from the doorframe and took a step backward. “There are too many reasons for me, for us… Don’t you see that Thomas was right? Now you know who you are—in comparison to who I am.”

She actually looked confused for a moment, then she frowned. “I am not England’s best hope, or whatever your Rebellion has styled me. I am just Cecily Sutton, a plain country girl who likes to sew and keep house and swim in the ocean.”

“You swim because it draws you. Because you have powerful magic to command. And you are
Lady
Cecily Sutton, an earl’s daughter and a peer of the realm. Don’t you realize what a tangled web we would create if I allowed myself to give in to temptation? Don’t you know how easy it would be for me to do so?”

And because it gave him the flimsy excuse to show her, he stepped forward and took her into his arms. She felt so delicate, and yet within that small frame he could also feel the strength of her magic, the force of her will and personality. Her lips parted, eager and ready, and the devil take him if he hadn’t want to do this again—each and every moment—from the first time he’d kissed her.

He covered her mouth and tried to take her very essence into himself. She tasted like fine wine, sweet and burning and heady. He felt her arms snake around his shoulders, her fingers tangle in his hair, his scalp tingling from her soft touch. Giles groaned and gathered her closer, lifting her off her feet, deepening the kiss until their tongues tangled in frenzied passion.

He had to remind himself that she didn’t know about passion. That given her sheltered life, she would be completely ignorant of the act. But
his
body knew, and it responded with a tightening of his breeches and a shiver of anticipation.

Giles crushed her against him, smashing her skirts and petticoats, his hand roving down her backside, pushing her body against the part of him that yearned for contact.

Two drunken students chose that moment to stagger up the stairs, their arms around each other, singing snatches of a bawdy tune. Giles released her, his breath labored and his world turned entirely too far upside down for his own comfort.

Cecily stared at him with complete trust in those large gemstone eyes. She stood with arms parted, as if bereft, and he longed to snatch her up again.

She still had no idea how close she had just come to having her life entirely ruined.

Giles turned and stepped back out the door, frowning at the two drunkards, his hand to his hilt, and despite their foxed state, they managed to show some sense and quickly stumbled down the shadowed hall.

Giles glanced back into her room. “Keep the door bolted tonight. I will be right next door, and the walls are so thin that I will hear the slightest noise.”

She stayed his hand when he would have closed the door, her fingers covering his, that odd current of excitement that her touch always caused in him making him freeze.

“Who are you, Giles Beaumont?”

It took a moment for him to understand the course of her thoughts. He shook his head. “I am no one of such great importance, Cecily. And I’m more than happy with my lot.”

“You are wrong.” She dropped her hand. “And you have just proven it again. You are my protector, Giles Beaumont. Now, as always. And none of your protests will change that.”

She closed the door, none too gently, and Giles stared at the splintered wood mere inches from his nose. Damn him if the little hoyden didn’t have the right of it. But that didn’t mean it gave
him
the right to…

He spun and went to his room, slamming the door behind him.

Did it?

***

They managed to get to the University of Oxford without referring to the conversation of the night before. For which Giles could only feel incredibly grateful. Cecily had managed to completely confound him, and he now questioned what he had once taken as a surety.

And something had changed between them. A subtle difference in the companionship they’d formed on their previous journey. She radiated some new confidence, and when he grinned at her she returned it easily, her smile bold and promising. Giles sternly refrained from touching her, despite his habit to do so, telling himself that their heightened attraction for one another was entirely his fault.

And then damn if
Cecily
didn’t take to touching him at every opportunity. Her hand lingered in his when he helped her mount Belle. Her shoulder brushed his own as they walked across the campus green. She smoothed the hair from his face with fingertips that made his skin burn.

And Giles relished every touch, leaning toward the slightest contact between her skin and his. He could not help it.

She would always be his one and only weakness.

They entered the building and a student directed them to Professor Higley’s office. It smelled of dust and mold; the myriad of books lining the walls and floor a perfect background for the tattered old man’s bespectacled face. “Yes, yes, what is it?”

Giles escorted Cecily into the room, his hand mere inches from the small of her back. When she abruptly stopped and his fingers met the silky fabric of her coat, he could not pull his hand away from her warmth.

“We have come to see you about my father,” she said to the old man. “Lord Thomas Althorp.”

“Ah, well,” he replied, blinking owlishly, “then you had best shut the door behind you.”

Giles complied while Cecily found a chair, removing a stack of books to perch on the edge of it.

Professor Higley set aside his quill and folded his ink-stained hands on top of his desk. “Rebellion business, is it?”

“Yes, and no. You see, Lord Althorp is my father, and he’s missing. You are the last man that he spoke to.”

“Ah well, I told him the search for the ring would be dangerous.” He leaned forward. “We can’t even be sure it’s a real artifact, but many people
think
it’s real, and that’s more dangerous than you can imagine.”

Giles had taken up position as her guardian behind her chair, and he could feel the concern the other man’s words caused in Cecily. Without thinking, his hand covered her shoulder. “We would like to know what you told Thomas about the ring’s supposed location.”

The professor’s gaze switched to his, quickly traveling down to center on the scabbard lying against Giles’s hip. “It’s in my report.” He licked his lips. “I am a loyal member of the movement and would not shirk from my contributions. I left nothing out of it.”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” assured Cecily. “But it might be helpful to have you recall that conversation to us directly. Would you be so kind?” Her voice sounded as smooth as water running over stone, the entreaty within it a promise and plea, all at the same time.

The professor seemed to lose himself in her gaze, for which Giles felt complete sympathy. Then the old man blinked a few times and stood, removing a key from his coat pocket and opening a glass case. He lifted out a yellowed document with gentle hands, placing it on his desk. “Come closer, my dear. This is an old map of England and the landscape has changed, but this is where we are, you see?”

Cecily rose and bent over the desk, Giles following suit. Lines radiated outward from a center point near the old man’s finger, separating England into seven sections with the precision of a sliced pie. Each sovereignty held the traces of faded dye: black for Firehame, green for Verdanthame, brown for Terrahame, silver for Bladehame, violet for Stonehame, gold for Dreamhame, and blue for Dewhame.

“Yes,” Cecily replied. “But what is that smudge near your finger?”

“Ah, well. That is a place to be avoided at all costs, and not a topic under discussion at the moment.” His gnarled finger moved upward into Stonehame, but not as far into the sovereignty as Giles had feared. “This is where you will need to journey.”

“Stafford,” said Cecily. “What is there?”

“Shoes,” muttered Giles. “Thousands and thousands of shoes. Stafford is well known for the making of them.”

“But not as well known,” interjected the professor, “for the gravesite of Sebastian Delacourte, former lover of the elven lady La’laylia.” His finger shifted to a tiny etching of craggy spires. “The town lies within the shadow of these stones, a mountain of quartz pulled from the very recesses of the land by the magic of La’laylia’s violet scepter. Some even say the lady Annanor of Terrahame had a hand in the unearthing of it.”

Giles nodded. Annanor of the brown scepter had the power over the very land itself, and he would not doubt the two elven ladies would aid one another in a play against one of the elven lords.

“It is rumored that Sebastian’s grave lies within these very stones,” continued the professor, “encased in a crystal coffin, the ring that La’laylia of Stonehame gifted him with still upon his finger. His face as youthful as when he lived.” He straightened, his back making small popping sounds. “Many have tried to scale these mountains and all have failed. So if the coffin does exist, we will never know.”

“My father may have found it.”

“Ah, my dear. I hate to dash your hopes. But no man has ever emerged from those mountains alive.”

Cecily blanched, and Giles took her arm and gently guided her back into the chair.

“Tell us the story of the lady La’laylia and her slave, this Sebastian Delacourte,” said Giles. “We would like to hear your version.”

Unfortunately, the old man’s story matched the one they had been told at Sir Robert’s, and when he came to the end of it, Giles looked at Cecily. “I suppose you still want to pursue Thomas?”

She tilted her chin. “How can you doubt it?”

He grinned. “I did not. We will leave at once.”

“Wait,” said Professor Higley. “This place you asked about earlier.” His finger moved back to the spot not far from Oxford. “It is a forest of wild magic that no sane Englishman would dare enter. I daresay it would be best if you skirted the area entirely.”

“What kind of wild magic?” asked Giles, his attention immediately captivated.

“The locals call it the Seven Corners of Hell.”

“I see. It’s the exact spot where the boundaries of all seven sovereignties meet. I imagine the mingling of those different powers would cause some chaos.”

“Very good.” Professor Higley glanced at Giles as if the class dunce had just proven to be the most brilliant. “That is the prevailing theory, at least. That water meeting fire, and earth meeting sky, illusion meeting cold metal, et cetera, has created a confluence of energies that constantly battle one another. Indeed, the entire forest appears to shift before one’s eyes, and trees may be replaced with barren desert or a thick mist of clouds or… we have a professor who has studied the phenomenon. And the creatures that occasionally emerge from it.”

“Creatures?”

The professor shuddered. “No man who has ever entered that forest has come out alive, but we think the creatures who emerge from it may have once been men… horribly disfigured or altered by the wild magic.”

Giles heard Cecily’s small gasp of dismay and quickly squelched his curiosity. “We will be sure to avoid the place, although it will add hours to our journey.”

“Most wise of you,” said the professor.

Giles took Cecily’s hand and lifted her to her feet, escorting her to the door. Her fingers felt cold.

“Thank you for the information, Professor.”

“Yes,” she added. “You have been most helpful.”

The old man beamed at her words, but the intelligent eyes behind the spectacles stayed fixed on Giles. “Should you ever weary of adventuring, young man, you should take up the robes. It’s a shame to have such a keen mind go to waste.”

Giles flushed with pleasure. He had always been proud of his physical prowess, and women had confirmed his good looks with their eyes since he had been a lad. Perhaps he had started believing in his own disguise after spending years pretending to be a thickheaded blacksmith, but he had never considered himself quick-witted. Becoming a scholar had not occurred to him, but he suddenly realized the worlds that books may open for him might be an interesting pursuit.