Lost in You (15 page)

“But what if you can’t stop it? Simon has already succeeded once in getting through the wards. How did he manage that if Daggerfell is as protected as you said?”

He sat up beside her. Cupped her face, running a thumb down her cheek. “He took advantage of the one thing I didn’t plan for when I brought you here.”

“What?”

“You. Your power.”

There, he’d said it. Not exactly how he meant to broach this subject, but now was as good a time as any. He didn’t know why he’d put off telling her. But watching the consternation and confusion pass across her face gave him a clue. Submerged within a world of
Other
and
fey
, he’d wanted some small corner that magic didn’t touch. A place where being an
amhas-draoi
meant nothing. But being a man meant everything.

“I haven’t got any power. I’m plain old me. What you see is what you get,” she said.

“And you’ve seen rather more than most.” She attempted a smile, but it never reached her eyes. Rising, she took a few steps away, resting her cheek against the bedpost, her arms encircling it as if it would hold her upright. “I’m just Ellery Reskeen. Nobody special.”

“You are special, Ellery. You’re
Other
. You have an ability that moves in ways I’ve never seen before. It defies everything I know of magic.”

Her head came up, interest keening her gaze. He continued, relieved that she didn’t persist with her denials, or worse run from his words as if she could outrun what she was. “It’s a reactive talent. It works in tandem with the magic around it.”

“So I can’t turn Asher into a toad or zap him with a bolt of lightning?” A smile hovered at the corner of her mouth.

Conor relaxed the breath he’d been holding. “No. You’re more subtle than that. You’re like a lightning rod, reshaping the magic of others. Channeling it in ways unlooked for. Strengthening. Weakening. There’s no controlling it. It’s why Asher wants you. He’s never encountered its like either.”

She kept silent. Waiting. “It’s why the mage sickness affected me like it did,” he continued. “It had passed through your body. Intensified by your magic to unheard-of levels.”

Her smile vanished. “You’re saying I almost killed you.”

“You also saved me. It’s probably why your dagger was able to disrupt Asher’s wards.”

Realization, then horror widened her eyes. “So I allowed Simon to get in. I’m putting everyone in danger just by being here. I should go.”

He jumped up, ignoring his nudity as he pulled her close. “No. You’re far safer here than on the road. It’s just going to take more vigilance.” He drew her away to arm’s length so he could look her in the face. “It’s only for another week.”

“But if Asher should try again?” She licked her lips, looked over at the open window as if Asher might leap through it. “If he wants me so badly, won’t he try again?”

“I’ll be ready. I won’t let him take you.”

Her eyes snapped back to his face. “And the reliquary? If he comes for that?”

A breeze fluttered the curtains. Moonlight and shadows skipped across the floor. “It’s safe enough—for now.”

A smile touched her face, lit her jewel-blue eyes. “I guess if I can survive the French, the Austrians, the Spanish, and one randy landlord, I can survive Asher.”

He offered her a stony smile. Perhaps she could survive. But could he?

Ellery woke in the half-light before dawn. Conor was gone, not even a whispered goodbye.

Dozy with sleep and sex, she stretched and snuggled deeper into the quilts. Thought back on his confessions last night. Tried to wrap her mind around the thought that she might have a power. Something special that set her apart from everyone. Ellery Reskeen wasn’t just another Army bastard. She was an Army bastard that could shake magic off-balance. Not that it did her or anyone much good. In fact, it seemed downright dangerous. But just knowing about its existence warmed her. Made her feel different. As if she belonged here.

The first birds twittered in the bushes outside, rain dripped through the gutters. But the house was quiet. Everyone still abed. Good. Did they know what had happened in this room last night? Had Niamh foreseen it when she left?

Ellery cringed with humiliation. The whore’s daughter fallen into the same disgrace. But this was different. She was no soldier’s trull, using her body as the only barter she had.

She’d taken from Conor just as much as he’d taken from her. And though he’d made it clear there was no future for them after Beltane, she could accept that.

If she knew the boundaries, she remained in control. Took what was offered. Enjoyed it for what it was. And when the time came, left him behind without looking back.

She pulled a pillow to her chest, inhaled Conor’s scent. A heavy weight settled around her heart.

Who was she fooling?

Conor descended the stairs working his shoulder, feeling the satisfying pop and snap of bone and muscle. A wicked smile curled his lips. It was a good stiffness. For once.

Anxious voices rose from the floor below. A woman wept.

Apprehension chilled him. Asher couldn’t have found a way through the protections he’d devised. Not so soon. He wanted to run back up the stairs. Check to be sure Ellery was safe.

Jamys entered the hall from the salon. He shouted back into the room, “And keep that girl quiet. Her wailing isn’t helping anything.” Just then, he spotted Conor. He offered him a grim nod as greeting.

Conor raced down the last few steps. “What is it? Asher?” Jamys shook his head. “Not this time. It’s Aunt Glynnis. One of the men found her early this morning at the wood’s edge. Close to the barrows. She’s dead.”

He stepped back, his gut tightening. “Damn. How?” Jamys rubbed his bloodshot eyes. “How the hell should I know? There’s not a mark on her.”

Conor wanted to feel something. Some sense of loss or grief. But all that came to him was a shameful release. Then guilt. “An accident then? She’s sleep-walked for years. She almost walked out that upstairs window three years ago. Could this be the same?”

“It’s a possibility. Another is suicide. She had enough powders and potions to do herself in ten times over, poor woman.”

“Simon’s treachery might have been the final blow.” Conor thought back to Glynnis’s face as she passed him last night. Years of grief had stripped her raw. “I hate to think it. Are you sure there’s no way of knowing?”

“None. Perhaps her heart just gave out. Or she saw something in the wood. Maybe—”

Conor’s head came up. “You said she was found near the barrows? Then They know what happened to her. They must have seen.”

“The
fey
?”

Conor nodded. “It looks like I have more to discuss with them than I thought.”

Jamys shot him a look of surprise. “You’re planning on summoning the
fey
? Do you think they’ll show themselves?”

Conor’s voice was firm. “They’d better. I don’t have time to play their game. I need answers, and I need them now.”

As if she’d been forgotten or—she preferred to imagine—as if she were already a part of this family, Ellery had been left to find her own way through the morning. Glynnis’s unexpected death had thrown the household into shock. Servants huddled in knots as if unsure how to proceed. Messengers came and went from the house, riding to Plymouth, Penzance, London to deliver the news. Ellery tried to feel a sorrow. But Glynnis’s venomous words haunted her.
He’ll take you like the beast he is.

Conor had taken her. More than once. And Ellery had reveled in the sweet, hot pleasure. So much for her soul.

She ran into Mikhal and Morgan in the great hall, Conor’s father pulling on his gloves. “I’m riding into Penzance. I’ve got to see to Glynnis’s burial.”

Seeing Ellery approach, they broke off their conversation to greet her, their smiles strained but welcoming.

“After the threat you suffered last night, I hope this tragedy hasn’t unsettled you further. I instructed everyone to let you sleep undisturbed as long as you wished,” Mikhal said.

“Conor included.”

“That was kind of you, but I’m fine. Really.” She flushed. Was it her imagination or was her loss of virginity like a brand on her forehead? Neither treated her with any less respect, but she swore she saw a spark of something pass between them. She ignored it. After all, what could she say without sounding a fool—or a slut? “I’m sorry about Glynnis. Is there anything I can do?”

Mikhal shook his head. “All is in hand. It’s just a shame that in her view God and
fey
must always be in opposition. The conflict broke her.”

Morgan scowled. “She was too weak for such a life. Too weak to understand.”

Mikhal turned a wizened eye on Morgan’s pronouncement. “Mayhap, but Talan should have known better than to wed her. In his arrogance, he thought he could change her. Make her understand, but he never did. And then he was gone.”

Ellery swallowed hard around the knot in her throat. “Someone once told me that it doesn’t take belief to make the
fey
world real. It just is. And that some things you simply have to take on faith.”

Mikhal’s lips curved in the barest hint of satisfaction. “Sounds like my son has been sermonizing at you. He’s quite right, you know.”

Again Ellery had the sense that Mikhal knew about her and Conor. Knew and, for some reason, approved.

She found Conor in Glynnis’s dressing room rummaging through a dainty white and gold lady’s writing desk. No one could have seemed more out of place surrounded by the feminine pale yellow walls, lace curtains, and slender gold-accented furniture. And yet there was something touching about the care he took with each item he uncovered. Letters, diaries, scraps of ribbon, pressed flowers; all the mementos of a life gently laid out piece by piece. Her heart ached with an unexpected jolt at the consideration he took over someone who had hated him. Who had tried to kill him. It was a glimpse into the man beneath the well-armored exterior.

Slump-shouldered over his task, it was easy to see how tired he was. How tension, grief and the effects of injury and illness had worked to wear him down. It was a wonder he’d held together for as long as he had. She wanted to take him in her arms, smooth the frown from his brow. She couldn’t destroy Asher, but she could ease Conor’s burden for a little while. Long enough to allow him to heal. Strengthen.

He raked a hand through his hair, blew out a breath and pushed back from the desk. “There’s nothing here. No note. No journal entry. I’ve searched this entire room. If it was suicide, she wasn’t confessing.”

She wasn’t surprised he knew she was there. Only that he’d allowed her to witness his weakness. Perhaps last night signaled more than the loss of her sanity. Maybe there was hope for more with him. She’d keep that thought pushed down deep. No sense in getting carried away.

“But Glynnis wouldn’t, would she?” Ellery asked. “She’d have known the consequences of taking her own life. No burial in consecrated ground. Eternal damnation. She seemed a very…Christian woman.”

He snorted his derision. “If you mean fires-of-hell, sins-of-the-flesh Christian. Yes, she was that.”

“She suspected there was something between us. She warned me away from you.”

“Did she?” His voice was even, noncommittal, but she knew him well enough now to know the effort it took to sustain that control.

She lost her patience. “Your whole family knows, don’t they?”

His face went white. “Knows what?”

“Do Society’s restrictions end at your family’s doorstep?”

“What do you mean?” Confusion replaced the alarm, though Ellery still wondered at his reaction.

“They see nothing wrong with you coming and going from my bedchamber,” she said.

“Midnight visits. Leaving us alone together. It’s unusual to say the least.”

He rose and taking her hands in his, led her to the sofa. “Let me tell you a story.” He pulled her down beside him, his body dangerously close. “Once upon a time there was a sea captain. His ship foundered just off the Irish coast. He thought he would drown. But he was saved by a
silkie
, a
fey
of the sea whose shape in the water resembles a seal. She brought him to shore, cared for him until he woke. And when he laid eyes on her in her human form, they fell in love.” His expression softened as he recounted the love story. His eyes mellowed to a golden-brown, shadows flickering at the edges. “She gave him her sealskin and bid him hide it so that they might wed as man and wife. Ten years and four children later, he offered it back to her, worried she pined for the sea. Do you know what she did? She burned it. Gave up her life as faery and became Mortal.”

“Your grandmother and grandfather.”

“Just so. My family believes in love, not rules. And they believe when the moment happens, it can’t be hindered by the boundaries of Society or even reality. After all, what’s one man’s reality is another man’s fantasy.”

“So they throw every woman at your head expecting the lightning to strike?”

He laughed. “No. You’re the first.”

“Should I be flattered?”

His smile faded. “They hope you’ll save me from myself.” She cocked her head, an eyebrow raised. “Do you need saving? You seem to be doing all right without my help.”

The shadows that until now had hovered at the edges of his gaze, took over. His expression grew serious. Sorrowful. “I thought so. Now I’m not so sure.”

She risked a hand on his arm, enjoying the warmth of his body through the cotton of his sleeve. He caressed her cheek then jerked away, coming to his feet. Her disappointment must have showed on her face. He tucked a curl behind her ear. Gave her an odd little quirky smile. “I’m not sorry about what happened between us, Ellery. Only sorry I can’t make it perfect for you. You deserve so much more.”

“What if I don’t want perfect? What if I just want you?”

“Ouch.” He laughed, but this time it was a sad, bitter laugh.

“You’ll change your mind soon or late. Ask Morgan. Ask Ruan. I’m no knight in shining armor.” He cupped her chin. Drew her close. “I’m the wolf howling at your door.”

A flood of heat began in her belly. Spread outward in a dizzying throbbing beat. “No need to howl,” she said, closing her eyes to let the wash of sensations rush through her. “You have a key.”

Despite the spreading shadows of evening, Conor’s stride never faltered as he crossed the park. Headed west toward the barrows. He’d played and hunted and worked and explored every inch of Daggerfell’s acres. And he knew every tenant, every farmhand, every inhabitant that made his home within its borders.

Except for those who lived beneath the hills. Those he was less sure of. But no less determined to see.

He wasn’t sure the true
fey
would show. They were fickle and cunning. If it amused them to help him, they would. But it was by no means a sure thing despite the danger Asher posed to their world as well as his.

He didn’t stop at the first barrow, but continued on until he stood surrounded by the mounds, the long grass whispering, bent low across the hills. The magic here sang through him, mingled with his own until the power ran back and forth between him and the ground in a constant exchange. He centered his gaze on the side of the nearest mound and waited.

The idea for this had struck him last night as he lay with Ellery asleep in his arms, the moon silvering her hair, washing her in pale light. Desperation had made it seem possible then. Standing here amid the silence, he wasn’t as sure.

Swallows dipped and soared homeward as the day faded into a gray twilight. And still he stood. Quiet. Waiting. His heart and mind sending out an entreaty through the curtain between worlds. His eyes burned with watching, his muscles strained with standing for so long unmoving, but he wouldn’t leave. Not until he had the answers he sought.

The last light faded into darkness, and the first star appeared. And just as day slid into night, a voice answered his call. The
fey
would come.

The side of the hill didn’t open so much as shimmer like windswept water, the
fey
emerging from the gold and silver ripples. Used to the flash and drama that marked most of their entrances, Conor just rolled his eyes and bit his tongue. He’d give his right arm to witness one of the faery folk walking up, tapping him on the shoulder and introducing himself. It would make life so much easier.

The two males stood to either side of a female who sat astride a milk-white pony. The men were tall and slender, their hair hanging loose about their shoulders, their faces impassive. But the woman, her white-blonde beauty almost painful to look upon, gave him the devilish grin he’d last seen on the Isle of Skye a year ago. Aeval.

“You called us,
amhas-draoi
?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but echoed in his mind like a shout.

“They sent you to speak with me?” He tried not to let his disappointment color his voice. Aeval’s capricious nature and contempt for the Mortal world were well known.

She tossed her head, pouting. “I elected to answer your call, Bligh. You should feel fortunate.”

“I’m just surprised. You were with Scathach at the academy when last I saw you.”

Aeval’s pout turned to a frown, and she shrugged. “Scathach’s love of Mortal and
Other
wore thin.” Obviously realizing she’d lost her dominance by falling into conversation, she drew herself up and locked him with a freezing stare. Even her voice became cold as a knife blade. “If you seek the reliquary, it is safe. But Asher’s army sniffs close. Should the
Keun Marow
find it, their numbers would surely overwhelm the guard we’ve placed it under. Your time runs short.”

“I know. The turning of the season is a week away. And the stones of Ilcum Bledh are close. Asher will have to face me there if he wants to reclaim the casket and free his brothers.”

“And if he chooses to stay away?”

“He won’t. He knows I have the one who can fulfill the
molleth
set upon the casket. He’ll come to stop me.”

“Then all is set to our satisfaction. Why bother us until the time?”

He needed to play this just right. He bowed his head as if in supplication. Aeval would like that. She enjoyed subservience in her men and her mortals. When he met her gaze once more, his stare was as hard and as ruthless as hers, and his unyielding stance was that of the most powerful
amhas-draoi
. She would never hear him out any other way.

Her eyes widened, but only for a moment, and then a slow smile tipped her lips. “You seek something else?” Her eyes studied him with new interest, and she shifted on her pony, allowing him a view of the graceful curve of her breasts.