Touch of Passion (5 page)

Holding her gaze, he spoke his next words carefully, striving not to let the effect her reaction had on him show.

“Do you know, she is rather pretty. And healthy, to all appearances.” He set his hands on her shoulders and turned Loris from side to side, examining her. “I believe I'll keep her, after all.”

“No!” Gregor Foss roared, shoving away the table at which he sat while the rest of the tavern broke into loud, confused noise. “You'll not have her!”

Two things happened as Kian turned to face him. Foss stood and pulled a pistol from his belt, and Dyfed burst into the tavern, followed by their cousin, the Earl of Graymar, whose fury as he entered was evinced by a blast of wind that blew all the doors and shutters open and made the windows rattle.

It was precisely the distraction Kian needed. Shoving Loris in Dyfed's direction, Kian lunged at Foss with supernatural speed, an arm outstretched to grasp the hand holding the pistol. If Kian could but touch Foss, he could overpower him without endangering anyone else.

But it was too late. The pistol rang out, striking Kian's shoulder and sending him flying. He landed on his back with
a grunt of pain. Loris screamed and Dyfed shouted Kian's name. Malachi swore as only Malachi could, with a sharpness that made all those who heard it recoil as if they'd been physically struck.

Blackness and pain washed over Kian, and he struggled to keep from losing his senses. The room spun wildly with color and sound, and yet somehow he saw Foss, his face set with rage, coming straight at him, a knife in his fist.

With every ounce of strength he possessed, Kian lifted the arm from his uninjured shoulder and focused on Foss. He pushed at the air with his hand and saw, with dim vision, Foss flying into the nearest wall. Some of his men were caught in the powerful magic and flew with their master, each, like Foss, impacting with a loud
thud
and then sliding to the floor, insensate.

There was a brief, stunned silence, and then the tavern exploded again with sound and activity. Feet thundered past Kian as he slumped back to the filthy floor, blurring his already troubled vision.

Kian!

Dyfed's alarm flooded Kian's mind, and he reached out to grasp his brother's arm as Dyfed knelt beside him. Fear made Dyfed forget to speak aloud.

Are you all right? Oh, God, you're bleeding
.

“Where's Loris?”

She's safe. Don't worry over her. But you
. . .

Kian gripped Dyfed more tightly. “Swear to me that you'll bring her with us. Take her to Father. Don't leave her behind. Swear it!”

Before Dyfed could reply, he was physically lifted off the floor and set aside.

“Let me have a look at him.”

The Earl of Graymar's angry, formidable face appeared, and, markedly different from all the other times when he'd caused trouble, Kian was incredibly glad to see it. “Malachi,” he murmured, and with an overwhelming sense of relief knew that all would be well. Lord Graymar was the most
powerful wizard in Europe; he would make everything right.

“Don't speak,” the earl commanded tautly, obliged to raise his voice over the frantic chaos. “I'm not in the mood to hear your excuses, you foolish, idiotic boy.
Why
must you always act without first taking a moment to think?” With an expression of annoyance he lifted his head and said, loudly, “Silence!”

All sound stopped at once, and every occupant of the tavern fell still, staring at Lord Graymar.

“Much better,” said the earl. “You may all proceed, but quietly. Dyfed, find the keeper of this unsavory establishment and bring him to me. And do something about that weeping girl.”

Weeping girl. Kian could hear her. Feel her, just as strongly as he'd felt her these many weeks.

“Loris,” he said, straining his neck to find her. “
Loris
.”

“Is that her name?” Malachi was kneeling beside Kian now. “Dyfed has her well in hand.”

“She must come with us,” Kian managed against the hot pain in his shoulder. “Malachi, listen to me—” He pushed away his cousin's hands as they sought to pull back his jacket. “Loris. The girl. You must bring her. She is my
unoliaeth
. My oneness. You told me I should find her one day, and I have. Even here, in this strange place.” He suddenly found it difficult to draw in breath. “My . . .
unoliaeth
. Do you hear, Malachi?”

“I hear you, but I don't believe you. You're delirious. Now be still.” Lifting his head, Lord Graymar addressed someone standing nearby. “Are you the proprietor? Bring me clean towels and fresh water and have the goodness thereafter to fetch the night watch to deal with Mr. Foss and his companions.”

Darkness threatened to overwhelm Kian, but he was too stubborn to give way. Reaching up, he took hold of Malachi's coat and shook it with what little strength remained, insisting, “She's mine! Just as you told me. It was for her that I came. Don't leave her behind. Swear to me.” He shook Malachi
once more before his hand fell away, slack. “Swear it.” His eyes began to drift shut of their own accord.

“I give you my oath that she will come away with us,” his cousin vowed. “Now be still, Kian, and be quiet. I'll take care of everything.”

Aye
, Kian thought dimly as the blackness overtook him. Malachi would take care of everything. Loris would be safe, and all would be well.

When Kian woke, it was to find himself in his own bed, his aching shoulder packed with what smelled like one of his cousin's remedies and securely wrapped in linen.

A fire glowed in the hearth, giving but little light to the dark, quiet room, but enough so that Kian could make out the tall figure standing before it. The blond hair, shorter than Kian's but nearly the same light shade as his own, gleamed in the firelight. Oddly, it had come undone and hung loosely about Malachi's shoulders. Kian had never seen it like that before, for his cousin tended to be temperamental about his appearance. Events at the Red Fox must have been rather trying to make the Earl of Graymar forget his usual perfection.

“How are you feeling?” Lord Graymar asked quietly. He was gazing into the fire, his back turned to Kian, but the earl scarcely needed to see a person to know whether he was sleeping or awake. Malachi Seymour wasn't merely a powerful wizard; he was the
Dewin Mawr
, or Great Sorcerer, whom the vast majority of magical beings in England gave their allegiance to. He was possessed of senses and gifts that even Kian, who at his birth had been foretold as the future
Dewin Mawr
, couldn't entirely understand.

“The wound has been cleaned and treated,” the earl continued quietly. “I've given you something for the pain, but I fear you'll have a difficult night. Or day, rather, as the sun is shortly due to make its appearance.”

Kian didn't doubt that, or that he'd be in far worse condition if his cousin weren't also a gifted healer.

“Where's Loris?”

“She's here,” Malachi replied. “She's sleeping. The recent
events have been rather exhausting for her, poor girl. Your father and brother have assured her that she's to come to Tylluan and live there, safe from the Goodbodys. Your father was especially delighted, and she seemed relieved to be in his care. Ffinian may not be much of a wizard, but he certainly possesses a welcome gift for handling females.”

“I knew he would love her at once, just as I do.” Kian attempted to rise up on his good arm but quickly gave up the effort when it proved impossible without a great deal of pain. “Is she not the most beautiful creature you've ever seen, Malachi?” he asked, smiling despite his discomfort and weariness. “She's perfect. Beautiful and intelligent and . . . I never realized what it would be like to find her. My
unoliaeth
,” he said happily. “My oneness. It's like nothing I've felt before. I've only known Loris for a few weeks, but I love her as dearly as if we've always been together. All of my happiness is dependent on her now. Nothing will ever mean more to me than she does.”

“Aye, that is how a
unoliaeth
is, or so I've been given to understand,” Malachi murmured, sounding strangely melancholy to Kian's ears. “She was destined for you, and you for her, as it was foretold at your birth. Neither can know true happiness or fulfillment apart from the other.”

“She must be frightened by us,” Kian said thoughtfully. “Did you explain to her? About the
unoliaeth?
About our kind? I had hoped to tell her in a far different manner, but everything went wrong. She'll be one of our sympathetics, of course, even if the idea of magic is strange to her at first. But her heart will reveal the truth to her, just as mine has to me.”

Malachi was silent, making no reply. He was angry, Kian knew, and rightfully so. The wild Tylluan Seymours had wreaked their usual havoc. Or, rather, one wild Tylluan Seymour had.

“I know it won't do any good to tell you I'm sorry about what happened at the Red Fox,” Kian offered contritely, “but upon my honor I vow that my only aim last night was to bring Loris out of the place. I had finally accepted the truth
of who she was, and had decided to tell her and convince her to come away with me. Everything else that occurred with Foss and his men was completely unexpected, and I—”

“Foss is dead.”

The words staggered Kian into silence.
Foss was dead?

“His neck was broken when he struck the wall,” Malachi went on. “If I hadn't been so distracted I would have felt the change when his soul departed. You have progressed far enough in your powers that I believe you would have noted it, too, though you were certainly in no condition to do so.”

Lord Graymar turned from the fire and slowly approached the bed.

“He's dead?” Kian whispered. “I
killed
him?” His senses reeled at the knowledge.

“You acted in defense of your life,” Malachi told him firmly, “and no man will lay blame for that at your door. There were witnesses who have already attested that Foss was the attacker. If they are not entirely able to remember how you managed to send Foss and some of his men into the wall, that isn't surprising. There was a great commotion at the time, and memories can so easily be blurred.”

Kian understood what his cousin was telling him. Malachi had taken care of everything, just as he had promised, and all those who'd been present would remember only those facts that the Earl of Graymar wanted them to remember. But that was little comfort in the face of Foss's death.

“I killed a man,” Kian murmured, filled with dismay. “And I used magic to do it.” His voice shook slightly as realization took full hold. “I'm going to be cursed, aren't I? Or already have been. By the Guardians. Blood cursed. Isn't that so, Malachi?”

Slowly and carefully, Lord Graymar sat on the bed beside him.

“There are some who would argue, and I among them, that you did the world a great favor by ridding it of a man like Foss. He was aflesh peddler of the worst sort. A foul and evil murderer who had already taken a number of innocent lives
and would have taken many more had he lived longer.” He paused before going on. “Unfortunately, though we live in the world of mere mortals, we are not solely beneath their rule. If that were the case, Foss's death would be forgiven and you would escape punishment. But the Guardians who judge our kind tend to view such matters in a far different manner.”

A shudder ran the length of Kian's body. “I didn't mean to kill him. And it was but a small measure of magic. A child's magic.”

“Of a certainty it was,” Malachi agreed. “Especially for a sorcerer possessed of your considerable powers. But that doesn't pardon what you did. You were arrogant and impatient, and took matters into your own hands when you should have sought the counsel and aid of someone older and wiser. More than that, you used magic for your own gain. Mere mortals could not realize that, but the Guardians would, and did. There is no one else to blame. You knew the risk you were taking.”

“Yes.” Kian closed his eyes tightly. “I knew.” He drew in deep breath and steeled himself for what was to come. A blood curse was the worst fate that could befall one of their kind, but nothing could stop one being placed once the Guardians had made their decision. It would be far better to face his punishment and immediately seek the remedy. There was always a way to break such a curse, if the cursed one could but discover what that way was.

Opening his eyes, he turned his head to gaze directly into Lord Graymar's dimly lit face. Kian had never seen his cousin looking so grim.

“Your youth might have softened the Guardians' judgment,” Malachi said. “But this is far from the first purposeful misstep you've made, and the forbearance they have acted with before now has gone.”

“What is it, then?” Kian asked. “Am I to go blind or deaf or be made speechless? Will my powers be taken from me, or in some way be lessened? Shall I be disfigured, made bald and hideous so that no one can gaze upon me without a sense
of horror? The Guardians did that to Uncle Meurig after he shot that fellow in Hyde Park.”

“Uncle Meurig was insufferably vain,” the earl said. “The man he wounded pricked that vanity with a silly insult and Meurig reacted foolishly. He deserved his punishment and learned a great deal about humility before the curse was lifted and his beauty restored. But although I understand that women both young and old tend to swoon upon setting sight on you and your brother, neither of you is particularly vain. As to your powers, they must necessarily remain and continue to increase, for prophecy, unlike judgment, cannot be altered. One day, whether you find a way to lift the curse or not, you will take my place as
Dewin Mawr
.”

Kian began to relax a little. If none of those things that he had most dreaded weren't to be his punishment, perhaps the curse wouldn't be so daunting.