Susan Spencer Paul - [Enchanter 01] (25 page)

“But what are you?” the creature pressed.

Julia sighed and tried to think of yet another way to explain it, but she was becoming so very tired.

“I’m—” she began, but a new voice interrupted.

“She is the lady of the Tarian, which the
Dewin Mawr
gave to her himself, and you are not to bother her with so many questions.”

Julia opened her eyes to see a shining young man walking slowly into their midst; an extraordinarily handsome young man with white-blond hair, bright blue eyes, and elfin features that almost made her mistake him for Lord Graymar. But this man’s hair was much, much longer than the earl’s, falling well past his shoulders. He was tall and slender, as well, but younger; he scarce looked to have passed his twenty-first year. Like her, and Steffan, when she had seen him before, he was dressed in a tunic of
gleaming white. The creatures, when they saw him, bowed low in recognition.

“Miss Linley?” he asked, holding out a hand and smiling. “I am Kian Seymour, one of Niclas’s cousins.”

“Oh,” she murmured, allowing him to touch her fingers with a gracious kiss. “I know of you, sir. And of your brother. You—” But she stopped herself, and instead said, “Oh, dear.”

His smile widened. “Yes, I imagine you’ve heard of Dyfed and me before, especially as I understand you spend much of your time in London. We’ve caused a great deal of trouble there, I fear.” His countenance was so charmingly contrite that she couldn’t help but like him. “Lord Graymar and our dear cousin Niclas have been quite put out with us. But now I have the opportunity to make some amends. I’ve come to bring you back.”

“Oh, have you?” she said with relief. “I’m so thankful, sir. I confess I’m terribly weary and wish to leave.”

“Yes, I know,” he said, and his expression grew troubled. “And that is why we cannot delay. Steffan is coming to help. He’ll be here shortly.”

“I’m sorry to have been such trouble to you,” she told the creatures, “and thankful for all your kindness.”

They bowed low once more and one of them said, “It has been our pleasure, Lady of the Tarian, which was given to you by the
Dewin Mawr
. We are glad at last to know what you are. You will always be welcome here, should you wish to return.”

“Thank you,” she said, and curtsied. “You are very good.”

“You found her!” Steffan came striding through the
trees, causing the gracious beings to bow yet again. “Are you well, Miss Linley?”

“Yes, thank you,” she said, terribly glad to see him again. “I’m only a little weary.”

“Yes, I can see that,” he said, eyeing her critically. “And you’ve grown paler.” He turned to his cousin. “There’s not a moment to lose. And Niclas is waiting anxiously.”

“I hope he hasn’t been too worried,” Julia said.

Kian Seymour grinned. “I’ve never seen him in such disarray, and you may believe me when I say that I’ve seen him extremely overset many a time. Having met you in a wakened state, however,” he said, looking at her with masculine appreciation, “I can understand why this is different. Never thought I’d live to see the day when fusty old cousin Niclas got struck by Cupid’s arrow, but here it is.”

“Fusty?” Julia repeated, and opened her mouth to remonstrate, but Steffan stepped between them.

“There’s no time for chatter. Miss Linley grows paler by the moment. Are you certain you can do this without me coming back, too, Kian?”

“If not,” the younger man answered, “we shall simply have to try again with you on her other side. But I believe all will be well.”

“You’re not coming back?” Julia asked.

Steffan shook his head. “Not yet. I haven’t discovered anything about Cadmaran’s plans or whereabouts, and, as you may have learned from your time here, conversation with the guardians can take a good deal of time.”

“The guardians?” she asked, looking at the noble creatures. “Is that what they are?”

“Aye, and seers, as well. They see many things in our
world that aren’t visible to us, and guard many things, as well. But come,” he said, and took her hand. “We must get you back to the physical realm at once. Stand here, in the very center of the trees. We will form a circle about you and lend our powers. Kian?”

Kian moved to stand directly in front of Julia, and reached to take both her hands firmly in his.

“You must hold on to me very tightly, Miss Linley,” he told her. “Close your eyes and concentrate on our joined hands, and believe that I will not let you go.”

Julia nodded and did as he said. She shut her eyes and held his hands so tightly that her fingers ached and she was certain that she’d leave marks in Kian Seymour’s wrists. But he didn’t complain, and spoke to her in reassuring tones.

“I’ll count to ten, slowly. Don’t be alarmed if you begin to feel yourself spinning. Just hold on to me and keep your eyes closed. We’ll be back quickly, but you may not realize it for a day or so, for you will likely sleep for a time. When you awaken you’ll find yourself at Castle Tylluan, which is where your body now awaits you, and Niclas will be waiting to greet you.”

“And various wild Seymours, as well,” Steffan put in, laughing.

Julia didn’t open her eyes, but smiled.

“It sounds delightful.”

“I’ll start counting now,” Kian said. “I have you safe. Don’t be afraid.”

“I trust you,” she murmured as he said, “One.”

It was like falling into an exhausted sleep, rather than spinning, though she felt that, too. As Kian counted each
number slowly, carefully, Julia’s thoughts faded away into darkness. She tried to keep listening to him, to remain aware of what was happening, but it was impossible. Her spirit self, which had felt very light in this realm, began to grow heavier, and her weariness turned into outright exhaustion. She couldn’t fight the enticing pull of slumber, and, with Kian’s voice growing dimmer and dimmer, she slid away into a deep and welcome sleep.

“Now, lad, stop your fretting. She’ll come to in another day or so and will be as fit as my new mare. There’s no sense in worrying yourself into the grave.”

Niclas lifted his gaze from Julia’s still, pale, sleeping form to look at his uncle, who was standing by the fire, holding a pipe in one hand and a cup of whisky in the other. Ffinian Seymour looked nothing like his fine, handsome sons: quite the opposite. He was short in stature, gray in color, and stooped in form. His wild, grizzled hair and beard grew out in all directions, untouched by comb, blade, or scissors for as long as Niclas could remember. And yet, for all his odd appearance, Ffinian had a gift for making women of all ages fall madly in love with him. Niclas had always found it a great, unexplainable mystery, and on top of that, his uncle was half-mad, just as his twin cousins were. What did women find in that to lure them?

“She’s not a horse,” Niclas told him, wearily rubbing his eyes.

“Well, I know that as well as any man,” his uncle said with a laugh. “She’s a woman, and a fine-looking one, i’faith. But there’s no need to cast yourself into a gloom simply because the girl’s taking a little nap. It’s a waste of
good time—time we might be using to make plans for dealing with my darling Alice.”

“Uncle,” Niclas said, “I’ve told you well over a dozen times now that we’re not going to make any plans regarding Lady Alice, save these: you’re going to leave her in peace and stop pressing her to wed you. That’s how both she and the Linleys want it, and that’s how it’s going to be. There’s nothing more to discuss.”

“You’re a stubborn lad,” Ffinian muttered with impatience, “and ever have been. My sweet Alice is just there on the edge of saying yes to my proposal.” He pointed the pipe he held toward an invisible spot somewhere in the middle of the room. “Just there on the edge. One little push and she’s mine! But you, my own flesh and blood,” he said, looking at Niclas with disdain, “won’t even give your loving uncle a tiny little bit of help in his direst moment of need. If you didn’t come to help, you would have done better to stay away altogether.”

“I came expressly to rescue Lady Alice from your determination to wed her. We are at cross-purposes, uncle, but I promise you that I shall come out the winner in this contest.”

“Bah!” Ffinian uttered, and took a long sip of whisky. “You have no love for your own family. No loyalty or consideration. Was it not one of your own cousins who just went into that other realm and bravely brought your good lady back to you? Eh? Was it not my own fine lad Kian?”

“Yes,” Niclas said tautly. “And it was very good of him to do so. I am in Kian’s debt. But one welcome deed cannot sway me from the task for which I came.”

“And asked no thanks for it,” Ffinian continued, “nor even a kind word. There was not a moment of hesitation when he saw how it was, but he went at once, the very moment you asked it of him.”

“Yes, Uncle, I am fully aware of just how much I—”

“And yet here you are,” said Ffinian, “determined to break the lad’s heart by denying him the love and care of a stepmother, a fine lady to look after his brother and him while they’re yet young enough to be shaped by her wise and guiding hand—” He stopped long enough to take another sip of whisky. “And to care for their father in his old age. It’s a shocking thing to see from my own nephew. Your father never raised you to show such ingratitude.”

Niclas turned his eyes to the ceiling and shook his head. If aggravation alone could lift the curse, then dealing with Uncle Ffinian would surely do the trick.

“And there you are yet again,” Ffinian insisted, fully insulted, “making sounds at your own uncle. And faces! Your dear mother is rolling in her grave at this very moment.”

“I am not making sounds at you,” Niclas said, just as his cousin Dyfed entered the room.

“What’s this, Father? Cousin Niclas is making sounds at you, is he?”

“
And
faces!” Ffinian declared, his tone filled with insult.

“I’m doing no such thing,” Niclas insisted, but that only made Dyfed laugh.

“You held out three days,
cfender
. That’s a true accomplishment. Earl Graymar lost his temper after only two hours the last time he visited us.”

“He splintered one of the tables that time,” another voice said from the doorway, and Niclas looked to see Kian standing there, lazily reclining against the frame. His arms
were folded across his chest as he took in the room’s occupants, and his manner was, as usual, somewhat lordly and bored. It was a posture that had always aggravated Niclas a little, for it reminded him a good deal of the man whom Kian was to inherit from: Malachi. The boy could at least wait until he was the
Dewin Mawr
to appear so irritatingly special. “We were obliged to use it for firewood.”

“Aye,” his father said sadly. “And it was one of the only good large tables we had left.” He shook his head. “It’s a terrible temper the earl has, i’faith, when he’s been pressed. And is that not a great pity, when he’s so fine a lad in his general ways?” He sighed. “But that’s as it ever is with Seymours, or seems to be.” He looked at the assembled young men with a sage expression. “We’ve that lamented, quick and foolish temper, do we not? ’Tis a great shame in so noble a people.”

“You do not all have such a temper,” a new voice said firmly, and Niclas was glad to see Loris, Ffinian’s adopted ward, standing just outside the doorway, a large pitcher cradled in both hands. She was a mere mortal, and Niclas could feel her emotions. But this was generally a pleasure, for she was as sweet-natured and kind-hearted as she was beautiful, and her feelings were usually gentle.

Usually. There was one exception, and that was whenever she was in Kian’s company. Not that Kian didn’t deserve Loris’s wrath; he did very little to keep it at bay. In truth, he seemed to do all he could to draw it out. But it wouldn’t have mattered if he was unfailingly sweet to her—it wasn’t possible for Loris to feel anything but animosity for the lad. Magic had made it thus. Like himself, Loris was living beneath a blood curse that, also like himself, had never yet been repaired.

“Mister Niclas is above all things a gentleman,” she stated. “I’ve never heard a cross word from him unless he’s been driven beyond all reason by one of his less well mannered relatives. And even then”—she smiled warmly at Niclas—“he remains a gentleman.”

“You would know best, dear Loris,” Kian said mockingly. “You always do.”

She sent him a dark look and tried to walk into the chamber, but it wasn’t particularly easy; Kian stood in such a way as to oblige her to brush against him in order to move forward. But Loris was no wilting young maiden; she shifted the pitcher and put an elbow into Kian’s stomach with such force that he nearly doubled over. Accordingly, he stepped aside, and Loris, ignoring whatever comment it was that Kian muttered beneath his breath as she passed, moved toward the bed with a satisfied smile that mirrored the pleasure Niclas felt emanating from her.

“I’ve brought fresh water,” she said, pouring some into a bowl set near the bed. “Has she moved at all? No? Well, don’t worry, Mister Seymour. She’ll wake soon, I’m quite sure of it.”

Niclas hoped she was right; Julia had been asleep for almost two full days following Kian’s return from the other realm. Kian, waking immediately, had assured them that Julia’s spirit had indeed been successfully retrieved, and that appeared to be true, for both color and warmth had begun to return to her body, and her breathing—which had become worrisomely shallow—had grown steadier and deeper.

Loris wet a cloth with a little of the fresh water and gently dabbed Julia’s face and lips.

“She’s smiling,” she said softly. “Do you see, Cousin Niclas? I believe she must be having pleasant dreams.”

“Do you think so?” Kian asked scornfully. “I imagine you know of such things. Your dreams are all so pleasant, are they not, dear Loris?”

Even before she looked up to spear Kian with a heated glare, Niclas could feel the young woman’s fury. Although she was not able to harbor any affection for Kian, Niclas was still surprised by the keen hatred Loris felt for his younger cousin. The curse she was under didn’t demand such virulence. And yet, there was something else there, too, running beneath her feelings; an emotion that confused him.