The Adept (14 page)

Harsh as stone against the ear, the archaic Latin phrases built within the invisible boundaries of the warded circle.

Out of realms of air and shadow, dark powers rose in answer. The three acolytes present at the graveside shuddered in mingled awe and ecstasy as their leader exerted the strength of his will to take command of the forces he was raising. His own power temporarily magnified by borrowed arcane energies, he at last reached out in spirit to wrench another soul from its orbit.

The clash of opposing wills rocked the circle, but the binding force of the ritual was strong enough to maintain it.

Relentlessly, the leader of the group spoke the final words of power, summoning his victim by name. For a long moment nothing visible seemed to happen, while tensions crackled over and around the grave. Then all at once, the air above the triangle became charged with a pale, silvery mist, different from the heavy smoke still pooling in the grave.

The mist thickened, slowly gathering shape and density.

Two pallid points of light flashed briefly in the midst of the suggestion of a face. Shaking his head, the hooded leader of the group moved the point of the sword to the edge of the pit, uttering another word of command.

Writhing in something like anguish, the mist descended into the grave and mingled with the smoke. Gradually both smoke and mist began to dissolve, once more revealing the mummified corpse. But this eerie miasma was not just dispersing; it was actually sinking into the corpse. And as the air grew clearer, the body itself began spasmodically to twitch.

Chapter Nine

THE HEAVY
fog that shrouded Melrose that Saturday night extended north of the Firth of Forth as far as the River Tay. In the Fifeshire town of Dunfermline, however, the chill mists did little to dampen the spirits of the revelers who had come to attend a full-dress
ceilidh
and dinner-dance sponsored by the local churches in aid of a new counseling center. In the botanical gardens adjoining Dunfermline Abbey, a series of striped canvas marquees had been erected on the rolling lawns among the glass hothouses. Ablaze from within like so many great Chinese lanterns, the pavilions rang merry with the sounds of mingled music, dancing, and laughter.

Adam and Peregrine were numbered among the party of guests invited by Janet and Matthew Fraser. In anticipation of a pleasurable evening of Scottish country dancing, nearly everyone had turned out in full Highland dress. Adam, never one to miss such an opportunity to display his Scottish heritage, wore the red tartan kilt of the Sinclairs with panache, a froth of lace jabot showing at the throat of a doublet that had been his father’s. The sapphire brooch amid the lace had been given his great-grandmother by Queen Victoria: He was greeting his hostess, resplendent in a gown of royal blue, with a silk sash of bright red-and-blue Fraser tartan brooched to the right shoulder and blue ribbons woven through her upswept hair. Peregrine had been temporarily waylaid by an old flame.

“Heavens, Adam! No one, seeing you, could ever maintain that romance is dead!” Janet exclaimed, taking him by both hands to survey him by the lights on the lawn.

“You look like a character out of a Robert Louis Stevenson novel!”

Adam laughed and bent his dark head to kiss her hand in gallant acknowledgement of the compliment.

“And
you
look like a heroine by Sir Walter Scott!” he told her, dropping one of her hands so he could rest his own on his heart.

Joy to the fair! whose constant knight

Her favour fired to feats of might!

Unnoted shall she not remain

Where meet the bright and noble train . . .

“He does that very prettily, doesn’t he, Matthew?” she said aside to her husband, dimpling. “It’s from ‘The Crusader’s Return,’ isn’t it? But you know you really shouldn’t squander your store of poetry on me. You ought to be saving it for the lady of your dreams.”

The lady of your dreams . .
. Janet was at it again.

The evening promised to be one of
those
affairs. As he turned his outward attention to greeting the Frasers’ other guests, he briefly envied Peregrine, who had already connected with an old love and who might even bump into the lovely Julia Barrett before the night was through.

Perhaps one day
he
would be so fortunate—though if he remained as uncompromising in his choice of women as he was about so many other things, that day might be long in coming.

The rollicking strains of a Scottish jig called him back to the present—and to awareness of his present companion, who was quite charming enough to command his willing courtesy. Smiling, he offered Janet his arm.

“I hear the music livening up,” he said. “It’s time we set a good example, and let our fine
ceilidh
band know we appreciate their efforts. If Matthew has no objections, I should esteem it a signal honor to lead you out for the next dance.”

“I suppose you might as well,” Sir Matthew said from the rear of the group, peering down his handsome nose at his wife and their friend with an assumption of mock austerity.
“Some
of us came here with duties to perform,” he reminded them. “By all means, enjoy yourselves. I’ll join you once I’ve talked to the vicar, about when to present the fund-raising awards.”

The rest of the party carried on into the marquee, where the couples on the floor were just finishing up a round of “Strip the Willow.” The music concluded with a flourish, attended by breathless laughter and applause from the dancers. As the floor began slowly to clear, the stout, green-kilted leader of the band hefted his accordion and pulled the microphone closer.

“Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen. Form sets now for ‘Dashing White Sergeant.’“

Janet beckoned forward her brother-in-law and his wife, who were swiftly joined by Janet’s sister, Lady Eloise McKendrick.

“We need one more person!” exclaimed Janet. “Adam, where’s your handsome Mr. Lovat?”

Adam stood an inch or two taller than most of the other men in the room. From his advantage of height, he scanned the room and spotted a slim, upright figure in a kilt of Hunting Fraser moving toward the outer edge of the dance floor, now unaccompanied.

“Peregrine!” he called, catching the younger man’s eye and waving him over. “We need another man.” As Peregrine came to join them, grinning self-consciously, Janet caught up his hand with an indulgent little laugh and urged him toward her left.

“I’m afraid we can’t afford to let you stand by and observe right now,” Janet said, as they squared up their line, the three of them facing the other three across the set.

Almost immediately the band struck up the introductory bars of a Black Dance reel, accompanied by ragged bows and curtsies of the dancers toward their opposite lines, as hasty final adjustments were made within the sets of six. Naturally neat-footed, Peregrine had no trouble keeping pace with Adam and Janet as the members of their set joined hands and circled first to the right, then to the left, before breaking back into their groups of three. Janet, in the middle, matched steps first with Adam, then with Peregrine, before leading the way into a figure of eight. They joined hands again then, advancing and retiring with their opposite trio, then advancing again to pass through this time, one group ducking laughingly under the upraised arms of their counterparts to meet the next set of three.

Groups joined up briefly, then broke away again to form other set combinations as they progressed round the floor. One dance tune led into another, in a spirited medley. Peregrine found himself enjoying it, laughing as he dipped his head to pass through an archway of arms—and raised it again to find himself coming face to face with Julia Barrett.

Surprise almost brought Peregrine to a standstill. This was not the grave, grieving girl he had seen at Lady Laura’s funeral. Under the lively enchantment of the music, Botticelli‘s grieving madonna had been transformed into Flora of the
Primavera.
Rather than Highland attire, she wore a diaphanous frock patterned in traceries of flowers and vine leaves, and her rose-gold hair was flying loose except for a cascade of green silk ribbons catching back the front. Even as he faltered in his step, her gaze met his for a brief instant of electric contact.

As their respective groups merged to circle, he reached out and took her hand. Her eyes were a clear aquamarine blue, her look as guileless as a fawn’s. He tightened his clasp, struggling to think of something to say to her, but before he could devise anything like a suitable remark, the conventions of the dance forced him to release her. All too soon, her two partners whisked her away, and she was lost from view among the crowds of other dancers.

They completed four more patterns before an upsurge in the melody signaled that the dance was coming to a close.

When the music died, Peregrine turned hurriedly to Janet.

“Please excuse me, Lady Fraser!” he told her. “I’ve just seen someone I want very much to speak to.”

He darted off before she could question him, slipping adroitly through the milling couples on the floor until he caught sight of a slender, girlish figure with rose-gold hair.
She was standing by the doorway, fastening the throat of a hooded green velvet evening cape she had donned over her floral gown. Peregrine quickened his pace, overtaking her just as she was at the point of stepping out into the fog.

“Hello,” he said rather breathlessly. “I hope you haven’t tired of the dancing so soon. The evening’s hardly begun.”

She turned her fawn’s eyes on him, her expression faintly smiling.

“Oh, I know. My part in the festivities begins in about a quarter hour, over in the conservatory. With the air as damp as it is tonight, my harp will be badly in need of a last-minute tuning.”

“Your harp!” Peregrine was intrigued. “Are you a professional musician, then?”

She laughed. “Hardly that. A dedicated amateur, at best.

“I don’t generally perform in public at all,” she continued, “but I’m a parishioner at St. Margaret’s, across the road, and when the vicar asked me to take part tonight, for charity, I couldn’t very well refuse.”

“I suspect you’re being far too modest,” Peregrine said with sincere conviction. “If you play even half as well as you sing, it will be the crowning performance of the evening.”

She gave him a tip-tilt look, composedly curious. “We haven’t met before. Have we?”

“No, we haven’t.” Peregrine shook his head with a rueful grin. “I’m sorry. I ought to have introduced myself at once.

I’m Peregrine Lovat.”

“And I’m Julia Barrett,” she returned. “If we haven’t met before, wherever did you hear me sing?”

“In—in church,” Peregrine murmured lamely, suddenly aware that this revelation had been thoughtless. “I—I was at Lady Laura Kintoul’s funeral yesterday.”

He dreaded seeing the shadow of grief return to her face, but to his relief, she merely nodded wisely.

“Ah, that explains it,” she said. She smiled slightly and extended a slender hand. “I’m pleased to have met another of her friends. She was very special.”

“Yes, she was,” Peregrine said lamely. Her fingers felt warm and vital within the compass of his own. For a moment both of them were silent. Then he said impulsively, “Have you anyone in particular waiting on you tonight?”

Pleased comprehension lent a sparkle of mischief to Julia’s blue eyes. “Well, I’m sure my uncle would like to think that he’s a particularly favorite uncle,” she said, smiling. “Come and let me introduce you to him, before it’s time for me to play . . .”

Their departure did not go unobserved.

“Really, Adam,” said Janet in tones of mild reproof, “you might have warned me that your shy young friend had already set his sights on Albert Barrett’s niece.”

Adam accepted this censure meekly. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t certain she would be here tonight.”

Matthew Fraser grinned down at his wife. “Disappointed that you aren’t going to be able to indulge in your passion for match-making? Never mind, there’s always Adam to fall back on.”

“Oh, Matthew, I am quite out of charity with Adam at the moment,” Janet said, pretending to pout. “It would be nothing less than just, if I were next to introduce him to some garrulous old dowager with a neck like a turkey hen, and then leave him to fend for himself.”

“Mercy!” exclaimed Adam. “How can I make amends?”

“You can begin,” said Janet, “by fetching us all some refreshments.”

The dancing and music continued. Nearly an hour later, Peregrine reappeared with Julia on his arm. Quick as ever to take command of a promising situation, Janet accosted them with the smiling suggestion that Julia and her uncle should join the Fraser party for the light buffet supper that had been laid on for the guests later in the evening. Urged on by Peregrine with a rare show of forcefulness, Julia shyly accepted the invitation. Thereafter, the two parties merged for the remainder of what Peregrine, for one, considered to be one of the most pleasurable evenings he had spent in a long time: By two in the morning, the
ceilidh
was beginning to break up, the counseling center richer by several thousand pounds and no one able to say that he or she had not had their fill of entertainment or good food. Peregrine reluctantly escorted Julia to her uncle’s car, regretful that he was not in a position to drive her home himself. He watched wistfully as the tail lights of Albert Barrett’s car vanished into the fog and mist.

“She said she wouldn’t mind seeing me again, Adam,” he confided, as Humphrey opened the door of the Bentley for them. “She’s really quite a remarkable girl!”

Lost thereafter in his own pleasant reverie, he failed to notice the wistful look of something akin to envy in Adam Sinclair’s dark eyes.

Humphrey had them home within half an hour. Pleasurably weary, Peregrine bade his host a cordial good night and retired. He shed his evening clothes quickly and climbed into bed, fully expecting to fall asleep the instant his head touched the pillows. But though his body was glad to be at rest, his mind remained strangely active.