Touch of Passion (6 page)

“Tell me, please, Malachi,” he said.

The Earl of Graymar rose from the bed and moved back toward the fire. He contemplated the flames for a long moment before turning back, his tall, elegant figure illumined by the flickering light, to face Kian.

“Have you not already thought of what it must be?” Malachi murmured solemnly. “A blood curse almost always strikes at the heart. What is dearest to you, Kian? Or, rather, who is dearest to you?”

Weeks ago the question would have taken some thought for him to answer, for Kian would have to choose between his father and brother. But now the answer was immediate.

Loris.

For a moment Kian forgot how to breathe. When he finally did draw in air, it came as a desperate gasp. He began to shake his head, but Malachi only continued to gaze at him.

“They can't curse her,” Kian said at last. “She's not one of us. And they can't take her away from me because our union was destined. Prophecy—you only just said it—prophecy cannot be altered.”

“It cannot and will not be,” Malachi told him. “Loris will remain your oneness, and you hers, and both will never find true happiness apart from each other, but the
unoliaeth
will not affect her as powerfully as it already does you. She will not even believe in its existence, unless you can find the way to convince her of it. But more than that, from this moment your touch will only give Loris pain, Kian, not pleasure. The Guardians have made it thus. You are cursed to need her as deeply and passionately as you now do, and that need will drive you to be close to her. But your touch will be as a stinging fire to Loris. She may desire you, she may even come to love you, but she'll not be able to endure the pain of your embrace.”

“No,”
Kian said hotly, throwing off the covers with his uninjured arm. With a grimace of pain, he forced himself into a sitting position. “I'll speak to the Guardians. Plead with them. Make them change it. I'll accept any other punishment they like.
Anything
but this.”

“Lie down,” Malachi ordered sharply, “before you open the wound again.”

Kian, unlike Dyfed, had a reputation for being difficult and disobedient and for ignoring orders unless he wished to comply. With one exception. He had never disobeyed the
Dewin Mawr
. Until now.

Looking very directly at His Lordship, Kian said, “Take me into the spirit realm,” and, wincing again, he bent to pick up one of his boots.

He expected Malachi to rail at him, but to his great surprise, his powerful cousin only looked mildly relieved.

“It may be an unfortunate moment for your manhood to assert itself,” Malachi said, moving forward, “but the timing couldn't be more propitious.”

If Kian did possess any vanity, it was in the knowledge that he was, like the
Dewin Mawr
, an extraordinary wizard. Kian's powers sometimes astonished even himself, and those powers would increase as he aged, but despite that, somehow, Malachi managed to get him back into the bed,
lying down and tightly covered, before Kian even knew what had happened.

“I'm deeply sorry for you, my cousin,” Malachi said with all sincerity. “But it is a blood curse, and cannot be changed. There's no sense in doing anything but accepting the truth of that.”

“I can fight it,” Kian said wrathfully. “I can find the remedy, and
that
is exactly what I'm going to do.”

“Aye, you can and must fight it,” Malachi agreed. “And I vow that I'll do everything possible to help you. But for now you must be calm and force yourself to think very clearly. You must prepare for what is to come, and determine that, regardless of what Loris may say or do, you will be patient.”

“I love her,” Kian said. “I would never hurt her, for any cause.”

Lord Graymar sighed and gave a shake of his head. “I pray that it will be so,
cfender
, but I fear the truth is that you have a great deal to learn about love and pain. I do not envy you this journey. I can only hope that it is brief, and that both you and Loris survive it unbroken.”

C
ASTLE
T
YLLUAN
, W
ALES
,
THREE
YEARS
LATER

The visits began shortly after Loris's sixteenth birthday. On that first night, she had come awake to find a stranger standing beside her bed, gazing down at her and speaking her name. It had been such a dim, unreal moment that at first Loris thought herself dreaming. But he had been real enough. When he'd lowered himself to sit beside her on the mattress, Loris had opened her mouth to scream. His hand had pressed over her lips, not hard, but enough to stop the sound.

“Shhh,” he said, his voice low, gentle. “I've not come to harm you. There's no need to call for help.”

He'd released her, and Loris had scrambled away to the far side of the bed.

“Who are you?” she demanded, her voice shaking badly. “How did you get in here?”

“Through the balcony doors,” he said, nodding toward the doors. They had been locked before she'd gone to bed but now stood open, swinging gently in the night's cool breeze.

“The balcony doors?” she repeated in disbelief, gripping the blankets and pulling them up to her chin. “That's impossible, unless you're a wizard. Are you?”

“I can't tell you,” he replied. “But I'm not here to harm you, Loris.”

He was a complete stranger to her, tall and muscular, with long black hair that fell to his shoulders and black eyes that gazed at Loris with disturbing intensity. He was very handsome, though not in any refined or elegant manner, as Kian and Dyfed were, but rugged and fully masculine. She wondered for a fleeting moment if he was a gypsy or pirate, then discarded the notion almost at once. His simple clothes bespoke the faerie folk who lived near Tylluan.

She stumbled out of the bed, taking the covers with her. “You'd better go,” she told him, her knees wobbling. “A powerful wizard lives in this castle. An extraordinary wizard, and he's but three doors away. I don't care how powerful you may be. You won't be able to stand against him.”

“Do you mean Kian Seymour?” he asked, standing and slowly moving around the bed toward her. “Would you truly call him to come to your aid? I thought you hated the very sight of him.”

“What I feel doesn't matter,” she said, backing away as he advanced. “And I'm not going to discuss such things with you. Kian will come if I call, and he'll deal with you.” She pointed a shaking finger at the balcony doors. “Now go, or I'll scream. I mean what I say.”

“Please don't scream,” he said. “I promise you there's no need. I'll sit here, by the fire.” He waved a hand toward one of the two chairs set before the glowing flames. “And if you'll only speak with me for a few minutes, I'll leave.”

He sat while Loris stayed on the other side of the room, protecting herself with the blankets and feeling unutterably foolish. She should scream for Kian. She knew she should. But the stranger was sitting there, smiling at her in a beguiling manner, and, somehow, she couldn't bring herself to do what was wise.

“Who are you?” she asked again. “Why have you come here? I have nothing of value to give you.”

“But you do,” he said. “The most valuable thing possible. Your time. Your smile. The sound of your voice.”

“What?” she asked, bewildered by his words. “I don't understand.” No one wanted such simple things from her. Not without something more. Ffinian wanted her to run his household, and Dyfed wanted her to make his life easy so that he might spend his days reading and hunting. Kian wanted her heart, which she couldn't seem to give him even in those moments when she wished she might.

“I only wish to be near you, Loris. Just to speak with you.”

She shook her head. “I don't even know you. I've never seen you before.”

“But I know you,” he replied. “I've looked for you since the first day when you came to Tylluan. I've seen you growing more beautiful with each passing day and watched you with the lord and his sons. I simply . . . wished to be closer to you. To know you better.”

“You're one of the faerie folk, then?” she asked. “Those who live in the woods near the castle? What's your name?”

“I can tell you nothing of myself,” he said, his expression somber. “I paid the
consuriwr
of Llangoren for the enchantment that would let me come to you, but that enchantment will be broken the moment you learn my true name. And I don't wish to stop coming to you, Loris. If I cannot be near you, even for a few moments, I'll go mad. I love you, you see.”

“Oh no,” she said, alarmed anew. He
loved
her? He was a stranger—a complete stranger. He couldn't know anything
about her, certainly not enough to make such a bold statement. He must be crazed. Or worse. “No. You can't. You must leave now and never come back.
Now
.”

“I will,” he promised, his black eyes gleaming in the firelight. “If you'll but sit here beside me for a few moments. I give you my word of honor that I'll not touch you. I simply wish to speak to you. That's all.”

Loris was unconvinced. But curious as well. No one had ever spoken to her in such a manner as this before. But that wasn't quite true, she told herself. Kian had often spoken gently, sweetly. Then his words led to touches, and his touches to misery.

The stranger had promised not to touch her.

“Only a few moments,” Loris said. “And then you'll go?”

“Yes.”

Slowly, dragging the blankets along, she moved to the chair, watching him the whole while, and sat.

He smiled, and she was struck by how painfully handsome he was, and how different from other magic folk she'd known.

“You
are
one of the faerie folk, are you not?” she asked. “You're not a wizard or . . . something else? Kian will know if you've come to bring ill to Tylluan.”

“I know who he is, and what his powers are,” her visitor said. “I have no intention of making so powerful a wizard angry, nor of bringing harm to anyone at Tylluan.”

“Very well, then,” she said, pulling the blankets all about her like a soft fortress. “I'm here. What do you wish to speak of?”

“Of you,” he replied simply. “Tell me of yourself, Loris. I want to know everything.”

“There isn't much to tell,” she replied honestly. “And what there is, isn't very interesting.”

“I'm sure that's not so,” he said. “Do you like living at Tylluan? Are the baron and his sons kind to you?”

She told him, haltingly at first, of how greatly she loved Tylluan and the people there, of how Ffinian had become a
father to her and his sons like brothers. He asked more questions, gently prodding her along, and Loris found herself telling him what was in her heart. She was not used to speaking of herself, nor of probing her memories and feelings, but the stranger made it easy. He seemed to know her already, using questions like keys to unlock doors that he knew led to a certain destination.

Before Loris knew what had happened, an hour or more had passed as they'd talked, and she'd not only relaxed but also had a pleasant time.

The stranger had done nothing to frighten her, and, true to his word, when she asked him to leave, he rose, escorted her back to the bed, bowed over her hand in a gentlemanly fashion, and departed, locking the balcony doors behind him.

In the morning, Loris had convinced herself that it truly had been a dream and said nothing of it to anyone. But that night the stranger came again. And the night after that, and the night after that, until Loris had to accept that he was real.

Each visit was like the first. He woke her, and they would sit by the fire and simply talk. As time passed, Loris began to look forward to his coming and tried to stay awake to greet him. And, some days, she found herself longing for night to fall, simply so that she could see him again.

He had become her friend, someone, the only one, really, whom she could talk to. He would ask her about her day when he came, about her relationships with Ffinian, Kian, and Dyfed. And he would listen quietly while she tried to explain, sorting through her thoughts and sometimes making sense of them even to herself.

She loved Ffinian as she had loved her own father. There was nothing complicated about her feelings for him. He had brought her to Tylluan and given her charge of the castle. She had been grateful for the responsibility, for it had made her feel secure and needed and trusted and she was good at it. He was openly affectionate and called her his darling and his dearest, making Loris feel just as if she truly were his own beloved daughter.

She adored Dyfed, because he was so gentle and kind, and his own love for her was never demanding or unsettling. It was a safe affection, steady and sure and, best of all, passionless.

Loris didn't like passion. Passions, she explained to her new friend, could only ruin one's life. Her father had let his passions rule him and had made her mother and herself captive to his whims. Perhaps that was why she felt so secure living beneath Ffinian's hand. He was wild and reckless, too, but unlike every other man she'd known, he gave Loris the power to control her surroundings, to make decisions for herself and for the entire castle. He never forced her to do what she did not wish, and he seemed to know when she wanted to be left in peace.

But that was precisely why her relationship with Kian was so . . . complicated. Unlike Dyfed, Kian was deeply passionate, about almost everything. And unlike Ffinian, Kian wanted Loris to feel those passions, too. Indeed, he seemed determined that she do so.

Kian thought they had a special relationship. A
unoliaeth
. He believed he loved her; he'd told her so numerous times since she'd come to live at Tylluan and valiantly tried to woo her, in so many ways that it secretly made her heart ache for him. Loris knew how painful it could be to want something and have no hope of attaining it. But though her heart was often disobedient in its reaction to Kian, it had never yet felt an emotion to match the love he spoke of. Loris wouldn't let it do so.