The Ground She Walks Upon (35 page)

"I won't," she said coldly, turning from him to look out the window.

He stepped next to her and watched as her eyes filled with hate. They stood there for a moment and listened to the wind softly playing through the giant elms that lined the path to the castle, and he wondered if she hated the castle now because she might have once loved it. The thought made him cringe.

"Then it's settled. You'll stay willingly with me," he said roughly.

"I won't be your prisoner."

"I want you to be my wife."

Clearly surprised, she looked up at him and captured his gaze.

Her magic was potent. When he looked in her eyes, he knew he would do anything for her. Anything but let her go. "You're proposing to me," she said softly.

"Yes," he whispered.

"You intend to make me your wife."

"Yes," he answered adamantly.

"But all I'll really be is your pawn to do with what you like."

"No," he said, his denial fierce and hot. "You'll be my wife."

"In name but not in deed." There was hopelessness in her voice. "You want me, as Finn Byrne wanted my mother. You might offer me marriage, but only because the
geis
has got you scared. You think with all the bad luck that it might be true after all. You want a wife, and why not me?" Unshed tears made her eyes glitter like amethysts. "If I marry you, you can order me about forever because I am not your equal and never will be. You don't need me. If you did, you'd beg for my every favor, stand when I entered the room, treat me as you treated Lady Cinaeth. Instead, all you've ever seen fit to do is pull these strings that make me your puppet."

He didn't deny what she said, and he knew his unwavering stare was more than an affirmation of the truth. He had no doubts that she hated him almost as much as she hated Finn Byrne at that moment.

"I won't be anybody's puppet," she whispered, turning away.

He shook her. His insides screamed in agony. He was losing her anyway. And he knew the more he held her close, the more she slipped away. But what choice did he have? He was desperate. There seemed no alternative but capture.

"You're going about this all wrong," he ground out. "It's a mistake. You underestimate the power of my feeling."

"No." She glanced away, anger snapping in her own eyes. "Every time you've touched me, I've seen the power of your feeling. But what good does it do when you still see me as that raggedy child who once sneaked into your room to steal a bit of hair? You're Ascendency, my lord. Just like my father was. Brilliana was never Finn Byrne's equal, nor will I ever be yours. After all, what does a lord need with a peasant?" Her voice began to tremble. "Not much, as Finn Byrne showed me."

He opened his mouth to refute what she had to say, but then closed it, realizing the trap he had set for himself. His damnation wove around him like a spider's web.

" 'Tis an unfair standard by which you judge me," he finally said, despising the weakness of his statement when there were stronger arguments that he now dared not put forth.

The tears she could not shed a minute ago now slipped down her face. She looked at him, hopelessness like a veil drawn over her beautiful features. He could see that finding Finn Byrne put to death the culmination of all her dreams, but he did nothing to stop it. Niall Trevallyan then realized he was a selfish, hedonistic man. He could not watch his own dreams executed in order to save hers.

"Can't you see that you cannot force me to love you? This
geis
was more wise than we give it credit for being," she said, her hands outstretched, pleading. "It speaks the truth."

"What will win your love? Tell me, and I'll do it for you." The bitterness of his whisper burned in his throat. "Physical desire is not all I want out of life—"

"I know that," he interrupted, hating the desperation in his voice.

"I would choose Malachi if that were so. He lusted for me, but I knew that was all I would ever get from him... and I want more."

"Tell me what you want."

"I want love and equality. Without them, I'll be but another servant to see to your needs."

"Don't you ever get lonely?" The question shocked even him. He hadn't meant to say it, but there it was, like a gremlin between them, ready to be friend or foe, at whim.

She stepped from him and presented her back to him as if she didn't want him to see the emotion on her face. "My lord, I am the loneliest soul on this earth. I've never belonged to anything or anyone but Grania. I love to write but even my love is lonely. Writing is as lonely as all the barren, friendless years behind me."

"Then come be with me."

"And how do you propose we meet on equal ground?"

He couldn't answer. Her tears came in an uncontrollable wave. She dropped her face in her hands and wept, every tear twisting a noose around his neck.

"Please, my love. Don't," he whispered against her hair as he took her again in his arms.

"I know he loved her." Her teary gaze found the window and the rolled green lawns of Cinaeth. She looked as if she never wanted to see them again. "Grania told me he did, and I'll believe it till the day I die."

"Believe it then. Believe it," he whispered, willing away the lies that threatened to hang him.

I
n the
carriage home, Ravenna kept thinking of Lord Cinaeth's eyes. Dinner the night before had been an awkward affair, with conversation strained and tense. Lord Cinaeth seemed almost mournful; his wife relieved. There were moments when Ravenna wanted to grab the viscount by the lapels and demand that he deny what Trevallyan had told her only hours earlier, but she knew it would do no good. She could tell the viscount had told the truth. She could tell by the sad expression in his eyes. Eyes that were hauntingly like her own.

Ravenna did the best she could to accept the situation. She swallowed her tears along with her outrage. The man Finn Byrne, viscount of Cinaeth, had loved another more than her mother. He had used Brilliana for the carnal pleasures she had given him, then he'd abandoned her with child, deserted her with her foundering hope that he'd loved her and would come back for her. Brilliana had died with his name on her lips; the viscount had died whispering the name of another.

Ravenna wished she felt tears etch like acid down her cheeks. She longed to scream in rage and revile the god who had allowed this injustice to occur. But release wouldn't come. With the utterance of one name, her innocence, the childish part of her that longed to believe in love and faerie tales, died a swift death, and there was no remedy for it. What the viscount had done to her mother was a cruel, all-too-common practice. Now Ravenna could fully understand the hatred for the Ascendency.

" 'Tis a beautiful day." Trevallyan looked at Ravenna from across the carriage. They had been traveling for two days. In his haste to have Ravenna gone from Cinaeth Castle and Lord Cinaeth's dangerous tongue, he had instructed the carriage leave at daybreak. That was the day before; County Lir was now only miles away.

"Indeed."

Trevallyan could feel the chill even from his side of the carriage. He was desperate to warm the interior. Ravenna had fallen into a depression. She looked as if nothing would ever cheer her again.

"It was kind of Lord Cinaeth to give you Finn Byrne's ring," he said uneasily.

"Yes."

He watched her look down at the large gold ring on her thumb emblazoned with the Cinaeth arms. By her darkened eyes, he believed she could toss it right out the carriage window for all she seemed to care about it. Finn Byrne was her father; he could see even she knew it in her heart. She had found her father and learned to hate him in one short moment. All because of him.

A stab of guilt sliced his insides but he fought it. Relaxing, he leaned back against the upholstered seat and studied her. She was cold and distant, decidedly preoccupied. She sat opposite him, wrapped in the purple wool and velvet cloak, her thick black hair tied with a ribbon that sometimes appeared blue, sometimes violet, depending on the light.

She was slipping from his grasp like a ghost.

The thought left a knot in his stomach the size of a cannonball. He had tasted defeat before, but this one was becoming more than he could bear. He loved her. He knew he loved her. With every kiss, every touch, every moment spent by her side, he fell more and more deeply in love. No one had ever made him feel like this. Even in the throes of his stupid youth, even with Helen, he had he never felt an emotion so intense. His desire for Ravenna was a creature unto itself, growing with every glance into her hauntingly beautiful eyes. He was starved for any small attention. When her sweetly curved lips spoke to him, he felt a thrill he had never before experienced. He was an old man in her presence, and yet his love for her made him a child, awkward and afraid, terrorized that any wrong move would leave him abandoned.

He hated to admit it, but the
geis
was true. Not literally, of course, for the situation would have to become pretty bad before he found himself believing in old Celtic curses. But the damage was done, nonetheless. The
geis
had entwined his fate with Ravenna's just by the sheer fact that the
geis
existed and the old men believed that Ravenna was the one for him. If he had never met her, she would not be torturing him now with her distance. Yes, indeed, the
geis
was true. There was no greater torment than to love and not be loved in return. If the Celts had wanted their revenge on the Trevallyans, they could not have picked a more perfect one.

"When we get to the castle, you must remind me to have Fiona pour you some chocolate. You look chilled." His gaze flickered to the carriage windows. The sun was warm and shining, but it lied. Frost had covered the ground until late in the morning. It was unseasonably cold. Inside the carriage and out, he thought bitterly.

"I've been thinking of your offer of marriage."

Slowly he turned his eyes to hers. He said nothing.

She bit her lower lip. Her eyes held confusion and hurt. "Perhaps I've been too cavalier in rejecting the idea outright. I see now I should at least consider it. My mother... she would have given anything to have married Finn Byrne."

"Your mother loved him," he said, uncomfortable with the subject.

The hurt in her eyes grew deeper; the confusion, more tangled. "Yes, she did love him." She looked out to the fields that rolled across the landscape like a many-hued carpet. "Perhaps, given time, I will feel that kind of love, too, and be able to accept your offer."

Her words seemed to take hold of his heart and squeeze it. He understood her overwrought emotions right now. Their visit to Cinaeth had been a disaster. She was given too many debauched examples of the Ascendency to believe he could be different. But he was different.

A repressed anger simmered inside him. He
was
different. He was no wastrel, no drunkard, no rakehell. He was an intelligent, honorable man whose patience was being tested to the breaking point. The girl didn't understand how rare he was. Men of his position didn't beg women of hers to marry them. They didn't ask for their love; they took it, and rarely paid any consequences. By all that was holy, he longed to quit playing the gentleman and take away her choices.

"I'm not a dog to beg for my mistress's attention." His voice was low and a bit mean.

Her gaze locked with his. His words had clearly reached their mark.

"I'm not asking you to make me love you. You already know you can't. But perhaps in time—"

"Perhaps in time," he spat. "You in your youth—no doubt you think it's endless. How many eons do you propose it will take for you to finally make up your mind?"

"I've told you I can't marry a man I don't love. I can't. I just can't."

"Why can't you?" His jaw hurt from gritting his teeth. He was slowly losing control.

"I don't know why. I don't know what you can do. I only know that as a woman I'd rather be like my mother. With all her pain and anguish, I'd rather bear the bastard of a man I did love, than to never love at all." Tears of frustration filled her large eyes and she shifted her gaze away from his face to a spot just behind him.

He stared at her, wanting to release all the rage in his soul and make her see what a fool she was. But the lies he had spun were his. And he knew his fury would only harden her against him. With Herculean effort, he reined himself in, just barely finding the strength to say calmly, "There has been many a successful marriage that was begun without love."

"Let me think on it. I promise to weigh everything." Wearily she rested her head against the leather seat-back and closed her eyes. "Just give me some time. I want to do what's best."

"You've never done what's best for you yet."

She glanced at him, anger sparking in her half-closed eyes. But she said nothing.

Skya watched Grace depart, her own eyes stinging with tears she could not afford to let loose. She knew if she should begin to weep, even the large brook that tumbled and splashed by the cottage wouldn't be able to hold all the grief she had kept locked in her soul these many long years.

"She's gone and good riddance! You have no right to visitors. This is
my
bridge and
my
water. Your people have no business trespassing!" The troll's voice was a distinct squeaky whine that emanated from the shadows beneath the bridge.

Skya stepped upon the first tread, not bothering to even answer him. Her sorrow was too great.

"No more, I tell you! This is
my
bridge and
my
water. I will not share! I will not share."

Without even thinking about it, she lifted her finger and gave the darkness beneath the bridge a small zap right in what she believed was the direction of the troll's behind. She almost smiled when she heard him give out a loud, "Yipe!"

"That should teach you, " she said softly.

She crossed the bridge and closed the door to her cottage, but it was lonely inside, lonelier now that she'd had some company and it was gone. She poured herself a trickle of mead and sat on a bench near the fire, but even that failed to chase away her melancholy. Thoughts of home, her mother and father, Grace, all flooded her mind, making her ache for want of them.

A small furrow marred her smooth brow. She tossed back a long hank of blond hair and turned around. Lost in her sad thoughts she had failed to hear the cranking sound right outside her back door. He was doing it again. After all the trouble they'd had the last time, he'd dared to be so obnoxious. When would he learn his lesson? She shook her head in despair.

She stood and crept out the front door. Clinging to the packed mud of the outside walls, she turned the corner toward the back and let her eyes adjust to the darkness. The troll was there, just as she'd thought, his short, squat form highlighted in moonlight that thinly filtered through the canopy of oaks. He had a small spinning wheel in his hand, but instead of spinning wool, he was spinning snakes. They were everywhere, draped over limbs, writhing on the ground. All he had to do was to crack open her back door, and her cottage would be filled with them.

"How dare you try this again? You know I don't like snakes." She stepped from behind her house into the wavering moonlight.

The troll gasped and turned around. He stamped up and down in his frustration.

"Yes, I've caught you, as I always catch you." She folded her arms across her bosom. "So take your punishment. She waved a finger. The snakes turned into inert skeins of
wool. "Weave me a fine kirtle out of that. I may forgive you if it pleases me.

"I
won't! I won't!" he cried, jumping up and down in a frenzy. "You always win! But I won't let you win now!"

"And what are you going to do about it?" Skya resumed her bored expression.

The troll could not contain his rage. He spat, "This is what I'm going to do about it!" He charged her, running at her with nails bared, his little stumpy feet moving as fast as they could.

Skya opened her eyes wide. She only had to step aside to avoid him, but instead, her instincts took over. She was being attacked. She would defend herself.

She raised her hand. The troll sailed backward in the air. His solid little form met with her battened door. He crashed through it and landed unconscious in the corner of her cottage.

"Oh, dear, oh dear...." she whispered as she picked through the wreckage to go to him. She hadn't meant to hurt him. He was, after all, her pet, her only company. His magic had been given to him by her, and sometimes she was forgetful of that. He was no threat to her, only a source of amusement. But she never thought he'd truly attack her. It just surprised her. That was it. And she had reacted before she thought.

"Wake up. Oh, please wake up." She lowered her voice and caressed his sad, horrible features. "I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you. You know I'd never hurt you."

He was out cold. Not even a muscle twitched.

Racked by guilt, she straightened and looked down at him. His mouth was open and a string of drool was just beginning to drop over his chin. She wrinkled her nose in ladylike disgust.

"Should I?" she whispered to herself, biting her lower lip. She rarely got the chance to peek at him. The troll was so unpleasant that she usually avoided him.

Except for that one terrible rainy night. She shivered just thinking about it. She'd been so lonely she thought she
might snap if she had no one to talk to. It had been wrong to summon the troll. She should have left him be. Left him as her magic had made him.

She shouldn't have turned him back into himself that rainy night. But he had eased the howl inside her, if for only a few days.

And then he had cursed her for making her crazed with want to do such a bad thing again.