The Lady of the Storm - 2 (6 page)

She stood in the middle of the room, her magnificent eyes bright with tears. “I will just fetch Father and return. I will sit at this loom again, and spin my cloth. I will swim in my ocean with my friends. I will cook at that fire and embroider Father’s shirts. I will not so easily give up this life I’ve worked so hard for.”

Giles had a feeling she would never return to this little cottage but he said nothing. If it comforted her to believe she would one day return, he wouldn’t take that from her.

Such an odd young woman. He constantly sought change, yearned for excitement. If it hadn’t been for the distraction spying on Cecily had provided, he might have gone mad with boredom these past nine years.

It was time to start a new life. His heart jumped at the thought, and he could not keep the eagerness from his voice. “Come. It’s dangerous to tarry.”

She followed him out this time, turned and closed the door firmly behind her, latching it with a murmur of a promise. Belle nickered and Cecily smiled at the small mare, pulling an apple from within the folds of her skirts.

Giles studied her beneath lowered lids. Cecily wore a riding habit, the coat similar to his own, but with pearl buttons instead of his dull brass. Her skirts lacked a hoop, which made mounting and riding easier, and the wool cloth would be sturdy enough for their journey. She’d placed a straw hat over her mobcap and wore her hair in a single plait down her back.

An odd mixture of dress that spoke of a working-class woman with the elegance of a lady. But he knew she’d acquired the pearls using her magical abilities and not through trade, and that the fine weave of the cloth came from her own efforts.

A remarkable young woman. But not for the likes of him.

She scrambled into the saddle without his assistance, scowling as she wrapped her leg about the saddle’s support, but too much of a lady to suggest she ride astride. She smoothed down her skirts and patted Belle’s neck.

“Clever of you,” said Giles as he mounted his gelding.

“What do you mean?”

“The apple.”

She shrugged. “Father taught me about bribery.”

And apparently that should have explained everything, for she said no more, just watched him with an expectant look on her lovely face.

Giles nodded and tapped Apollo with his heels, the beast starting out at a brisk pace. Despite his success with the village girls, Cecily often made him feel like an untried youth, clumsy and flustered in her presence. Fortunately his natural elven grace hid most of his human failings, so he didn’t think he betrayed his uneasiness around her.

To make it all worse, he began to suspect that he might have been wrong about Cecily’s feelings for him. She used her disdain for him like a shield, as if she sought to hide her true sensibilities.

And he had never quite managed to erase the vision of her in his bed.

Fie! Perhaps it was only wishful thinking. He could not have the one woman he truly wanted. Whether she knew it or not, they came from entirely different social classes, and as soon as they reached Firehame this would become very clear to her.

He would rather not face the humiliation of her rejection once she realized her true status, so he would just have to ignore this attraction… and never allow her to guess he felt it.

Giles started to get warm and stripped off his jacket then his neck cloth and finally opened the topmost buttons of his shirt. Then realized his discomfort came not from the sun overhead, but from the feel of her gaze upon his back. He slowed Apollo so that he rode by her side, which kept her scrutiny firmly directed away from him.

His body ceased to burn.

Giles stayed on a path that paralleled the channel, knowing Cecily would feel more comfortable if they kept close to the ocean, but eventually they would have to head inland…

“How many days will it take to reach London?”

It seemed her thoughts ran similarly to his own. “Five or six days, depending.”

“On what?”

Giles glanced over and down at her on the smaller horse. “You weren’t born in the village. Do you have no memory of how you came there?”

She smoothed the hair away from her face, the ocean breeze having loosened black tendrils from the plaiting. “I have worked very hard to forget everything that happened before Thomas rescued me and my mother.”

“I see.” Giles knew that when Thomas had rescued her from the Imperial Lord of Firehame, Cecily had called down a storm that had destroyed their pursuers. And that she could not forgive herself for killing so many. Yet it seemed a simple matter to Giles. They would have brought her back to Firehame to die a horrible death, so why should she feel remorse that she had stopped them?

“Tell me what our journey will be like,” she asked. “For I would feel better knowing what to expect.”

“I’m not sure if we shall reach Dorset today, but when we do, we will have to head inland. It will dry out as we leave Dewhame and enter the sovereignty of Firehame, but until then we avoid the lowlands, for Breden of Dewhame’s water magic has turned them into marshes. Most of Dewhame is littered with streams and fountains similar to the land about our village. It is said the land was quite different before the arrival of the elven lords, but that their magic has changed it… surely you know of the seven sovereignties and the elven lords who rule each of them?”

She glanced at him with a look of annoyance. “Firehame in south central England ruled by the black scepter of Mor’ded. Verdanthame to the east ruled by the green scepter of Mi’cal. Terrahame to the northeast with the brown of Annanor; Bladehame next to that, then Stonehame, Dreamhame… yes, Giles, I know my geography and the powers that have shaped each land. I am not ignorant of the outside world. My question referred to the actual court of Firehame. Thomas had hinted of changes there.”

And if Thomas hadn’t seen fit to reveal all of the Rebellion’s secrets to his daughter, Giles most assuredly would not. “You needn’t worry about it. We shan’t be going to the palace, but to Sir Robert’s townhouse, and I haven’t been past the front entry, so I couldn’t tell you what to expect. It’s a grand home though, almost as large as our village.”

She raised a brow at that, but he ignored it. She would soon see for herself. “Perhaps if you allow yourself to remember, the memories of your earlier life will return.”

Her head shook emphatically. “I was imprisoned in a rickety old tower the entire time I was in Firehame, and before that…” Cecily frowned, watching the gulls and cormorants gliding above the ocean waves. “I recall only running and hiding, dark places and whispered conversations.”

The path they rode upon curved away from the ocean again, but they had been steadily climbing and so this time the poplar trees did not block their view, and they had a fine prospect of the land of Dewhame.

A wild moor spread out below them, heather blooming in a lavender blanket that rippled in the breeze and made a sort of shushing sound. A river sparkled on the far horizon, small streams flowing from it to weave through the heather like some giant spider web. Fountains of water erupted from several of the streams, glittering in the sunshine and overlaying the land with a sheen of mist. Giles resisted the urge to spread out his arms as the open land filled him with a feeling of freedom.

But Cecily showed no such restraint. “How glorious,” she murmured, opening her arms wide. The water responded to her call, forming shimmering columns in the air and snaking their way toward her. Apollo came to an abrupt halt and snorted as the beams of water curled around them to reach Cecily. Giles felt the cool glide of a tendril caress his face, curve about his neck, leaving behind a soothing dampness.

For a moment, Cecily sat surrounded by shimmering columns, her eyes closed and a rapturous smile on her lovely mouth. She looked ethereal and beautiful and entirely dangerous.

“You make the water look almost alive,” said Giles.

She turned and looked at him, light gleaming from within the facets of her eyes. “It is. Can’t you feel it?”

“I come from Bladehame, lady. The elven blood that runs through my veins is attuned to dry metal.”

He patted Apollo’s rump, but the gelding did not need any urging from him, and picked up a quick trot.

Cecily dropped her arms as the little mare followed, a loud splash and a new puddle behind her on the trail. But Giles noticed that translucent wisps of vapor still clung to the young woman’s cheeks and hair.

The trail curved back toward the ocean and they rode atop jagged cliffs that ended in smooth rocks below, the view to their left now hidden by bush and tree.

“You do not resist your magic now.”

She brushed a rather damp tendril of hair away from her cheek. “It’s odd, but it feels stronger than it ever has before. It’s as if I unleashed a dam when I used it to save the village, and now the fallen stones resist my attempts to block it back up… Oh, it’s hard to explain.”

“I think I understand.” Giles glanced down at the hilt of his sword. “We humans were not meant for elven blood and magic.”

“Besides,” she continued, as if he hadn’t spoken,
“I see no reason to hide what I am anymore. My attempts at a normal life have failed miserably.”

“Normal is boring.”

“It is safe.”

He did not reply. Safe was boring too, but the lady would probably argue about it for the next several hours if he told her so. They rode for a time in silence, twilight falling gently about them, until it grew cool enough that Giles pulled his coat back on. Just over the rise ahead they should be able to spy the small town that boasted an inn. He had stayed there many a time to barter his trade. The rooms were tiny and damp, but the innkeeper’s wife served up a delicious fish stew.

Giles pulled back on the reins. He narrowed his eyes at the town below them and muttered a curse.

Cecily pulled the mare a bit ahead of him, craning her head to see down the rise. “What is it?”

“Bluecoats. Everywhere.” But it must be a somewhat peaceful occupation, for his sword did not try to fly into his hand, only hummed a bit in the scabbard. “Just keep the horses walking.”

When trees blocked their view again, Giles urged Apollo to a trot, until they’d left enough distance behind them for comfort.

“Why this sudden interest in our small villages?” asked Cecily.

“There have been rumors that Breden of Dewhame is building up his army again, that he intends to win back the king from Mor’ded of Firehame.”

Cecily wrinkled her rather pert little nose. “I don’t see why they care whether the king resides in Firehame or Dewhame. It’s not like the king has any true power anymore.”

“It’s part of the game, my lady. Whoever wins the king has beaten the other elven lord in skill and battle… although it’s humans who suffer the true losses. For the Imperial Lords, it’s just a matter of pride and love of chaos.”

“I wish they had never opened the door to our world,” she said with a shiver.

“Then you never would have been born.”

“Point taken. Then I wish they would open it back up and leave.”

“Not very likely. They consider their home world of Elfhame… boring.”

“Peace is not boring.”

Giles shrugged. He would not debate this subject with her either, so he switched to the subject he’d been meaning to discuss all day. “There could be another reason for the soldiers’ presence, Cecily. They could have heard about the magic you performed in our village.”

“So soon?”

Giles knew the elven lords had a magical means of communication, but again, if Thomas had not seen fit to tell her… “Anything’s possible. So to be safe I suggest you do not use your full powers. I think we can escape them if we move in secret, but if you use that magic of yours, they will know where to look for you.”

The trail brought them closer to the channel again, and the wind picked up with a vengeance. She buttoned her coat while Giles did the same.

Cecily raised her voice over the crash of the waves. “I’m back where I started—running and hiding. I won’t do it again.”

Giles studied her face, looking for the determination behind her words, but unable to stop himself from noticing how lovely she looked in the wind, with pink cheeks and curls of midnight hair playing about her face. Her lips were a dark red, like the finest claret, and so damn kissable that he wondered where he’d found the force of will all those years ago to deny them when she’d offered. Of course, she was a woman now and not a young girl and that made a difference… although he knew he had done the right thing, the only thing he could have under the circumstances…

Alas, what had she been saying? Oh, yes. “Do not think to give yourself up to Breden of Dewhame. The elven lord does not understand mercy. And despite your impressive magic, you would not stand a chance against him.”

“Must he hate me so?”

Her voice trembled and he brought Apollo to a stop, the mare placidly halting alongside. He reached down and touched her shoulder in sympathy, a flare of tenderness running through him. “Do not allow yourself to think that the elven lords have feelings like we do. It is not in their nature. Indeed, their own people consider them mad, or so says Thomas.”

Her eyes flashed. “Thomas is my true father.”