Touch of Passion (9 page)

“But how many more sheep must die, or worse, before he at last calls for the
Dewin Mawr
to come and save us?” Elen asked.

“That's enough, Elen,” Loris said, her temper beginning to rise. “You'll not speak of the baron in such a manner again. Regardless of what you or the others may think, he deserves your respect and loyalty.”

The serving girl made a sour face but curtsied and obediently answered, “Yes, miss.”

“Take the basket into the kitchen, then, and tell Cook to get started. I'll be in presently.”

As Elen made her way slowly back to the castle, Loris watched, glad to have a few moments to herself before it became necessary to go back indoors and supervise the daily work.

The garden was already in bloom this year, thanks to an early spring and numerous days of sunshine. Bright daffodils grew in the midst of the rows of vegetables and herbs, breaking the monotony of orderly green. Loris took out her scissors and cut several stalks to grace the tables in the great hall. Although the current baron didn't appear to care much for the beauty of fresh flowers during his evening meal, she continued to put them out. Ffinian had loved flowers in the castle, and it made Loris happy to think of how pleased he would be if he could see them.

“Loris!”

She looked up to see Dyfed coming through the garden gate, two of his favorite hunting dogs loping alongside, his hand aloft in greeting. In his other hand he carried a bow, and over his shoulder were slung a quiver half-filled with arrows and a number of limp birds tied together by the legs.
Excellent
, Loris thought. There would be fowl on the table tonight, along with the mutton.

“It looks as if you've had a good morning,” she said as he neared her. The two dogs hurried up to have their heads scratched.

“Aye, and that I have. Look at these fat partridges I brought down. And these grouse. We're going to have a fine season this year, I vow.”

“At least we've that to be thankful for,” Loris said as Dyfed divested himself of his burdens, laying them on a nearby bench. “Did you hear about Allan Jones's flock?”

Dyfed gave a grim nod. “It's the same as the others. Six mornings in a row, now,” he said. “Kian's going half-mad trying to find out what's behind it, poor devil.” With a wave of his hand, Dyfed sent the dogs away. Then he bent and gave Loris a quick, affectionate kiss before sitting on the bench to admire his catch.

Watching him, Loris thought of how deeply she loved him and of how very different that love was from the conflicting emotions she felt for Kian. Dyfed was like a brother to her, or what she had always thought a brother might be like. He had been unfailingly gentle and kind to her from Loris's very first day beneath Ffinian's care, and had almost always taken her side against Kian during their frequent arguments. There had been a time when she had hoped that something more might come of her and Dyfed's relationship, and had even gone so far as to let others believe that she and Dyfed were betrothed. It was something Ffinian had desired, having given up hope that she would ever come to love Kian, despite the
unoliaeth
they all believed in, and wanting her to marry at least one of his sons. But that had all been foolishness and had long since been forgotten. There could never be any romantic passion between Dyfed and herself. Only a deep and abiding affection.

Dyfed was a lesser wizard, possessed only of the single gift of silent speech, which he used, thankfully, only when absolutely necessary. When Loris had first come to live at Tylluan, Dyfed had been in the habit of forgetting himself and speaking only with his thoughts—an experience Loris had found oddly unsettling. It had been for her sake, in part, that he had considerately forced himself to speak aloud.

Though he was a man full-grown, Loris still saw vestiges of the boy he'd once been, for his days were filled with ease. Kian, however, had left every hint of boyishness behind the moment he took up the duties of the estate. Loris had found it a welcome change; they had at last found a common ground upon which to build a tentative peace after all their years of constant fighting.

Loris had been afraid, at first, that Kian might find a way to wrest the management of the castle away from her, but he'd let her go on precisely as his father had. Better yet, Kian had a far greater interest in Tylluan's prosperity and security than Ffinian and spent a great deal more time managing the estate than he had done. Between the two of them,
Loris managing the day-to-day chores of the castle and Kian managing the rest, Tylluan was, for the first time since she'd come to live there, actually heading in a forward direction. Or had been, until the troubles had begun to take their toll.

“Dyfed,” she said, coming to sit beside him. “What do you think is causing the destruction of the cattle? It can't simply be wild beasts, for there would have to be a great number to kill so many animals in one night, and surely someone would have seen other signs of them.”

“No, it has to be something supernatural,” Dyfed agreed. “Kian suspects that one of the ancient creatures has been unleashed, somehow, and I believe he must be right. If I had to wager a guess, I'd say Cadmaran was behind it. That would appeal to him, bringing a forbidden dark magic back to life.”

“An ancient creature?” Loris murmured. “Do you mean like the ones that Ffinian was always telling stories of? The giant beasts and evil spirits?”

“The very same. They all truly existed, though he made them sound far more fantastic than they were. Many roamed these very lands. It would be against all our laws to bring such a creature back to life, but Cadmaran has nothing to lose by doing so. The Guardians have already blinded him for trying to kill Cousin Niclas three years past, and he knows they won't take his life. The Guardians never pronounce a judgment of outright death, even though they've sometimes put a cursed one's life in the hands of another. But that only happens in the direst circumstances—not simply because some sheep have been slaughtered. Cadmaran knows what the limits are.”

Dyfed sounded perfectly at ease, but Loris felt a stab of fear at the idea. Morcar Cadmaran was a fearsome, evil wizard, and he hated the Seymours. He was also, unfortunately, lord of an estate that lay not far from Tylluan, which made them particularly vulnerable to his scheming.

“But it required many great wizards to overcome such creatures so long ago. How can Kian possibly manage on his own?”

“He can't,” Dyfed replied distractedly, examining his bow with a frown and running his finger along a scrape in the wood. “He should have called for Malachi to come long ago.”

“Not you, too!” Loris cried, rising to her feet. “Is there no one in Tylluan who has any faith in their lord? Not even his own brother?”

Dyfed looked up at her, surprised. “Don't be angry, Loris,” he said. “Of course I have faith in Kian. But it's simply a fact that he hasn't the power or knowledge to overcome Cadmaran's wiles. Only the
Dewin Mawr
can. Don't you remember how many times Malachi was obliged to come and remedy the troubles Lord Llew caused while my father was the baron of Tylluan?”

“But Ffinian isn't an extraordinary wizard,” Loris countered. “Or even a greater wizard, for that matter.”

“He isn't even truly a lesser wizard,” Dyfed put in. “He doesn't possess any powers at all, apart from the ability to charm women.”

“But that's what I mean,” Loris said. “He
had
to call for help, because he couldn't do anything himself. But Kian isn't so helpless. One day he'll be just as powerful as Lord Graymar.”

“Aye, one day,” Dyfed said. “But not now. Kian's powers are great, but they're still limited. He can't take to the air, yet, or make himself invisible. His senses regarding the presence and powers of other magic mortals are yet being developed, and he hasn't mastered half of what Malachi knows in the way of potions and spells, to say nothing of fast traveling, which he's only just begun to learn. If Kian truly wants to do what's best for Tylluan, then he'll put away his pride and admit that he needs help. One would think he'd have learned his lesson after what happened ten years ago, at the Red Fox.” Dyfed went back to examining his bow.

Loris gazed at him for a silent moment, considering his words. On the one hand, she agreed completely that Kian possessed an enormous ego, but on the other, she wasn't
insensible to the fact that Kian's pride had driven him to save her from Gregor Foss and, ultimately, her miserable life in London.

“You could help him,” she suggested gently. “Above lending your aid in keeping watch at nights, which of course is your duty to both Tylluan and Kian. Some of the tenants have magic, and perhaps if you all combined your powers, you might—”

“It wouldn't be enough,” Dyfed told her. “Trust me in this, Loris, and leave the matter be.”

“I can't,” she said, shaking her head. “And you shouldn't, either.”

He glanced at her. “It's curious that you should care so much. Not about Tylluan, of course.”

It took Loris a moment to understand what he meant. “About Kian?” she asked. “He's the master of Tylluan. Why would it be odd if I were to worry over him?”

“Because you hate him,” Dyfed replied simply.

Loris threw her hands up into the air with exasperation. “I do
not
hate Kian. We disagree a great deal, but that has nothing to do with hatred. How many times must I tell you so?”

Dyfed looked at her with patience. “You've been cursed, and no matter how you deny it, I know what your feelings for Kian must be. At least until the curse is lifted and the magic of the
unoliaeth
fills your heart.”

The curse again. And the
unoliaeth
. God help her, but she was sore weary of hearing about both of them. Loris had learned a great deal about magic since coming to live at Tylluan. She knew and believed that both blood curses and
unoliaeths
existed, for she had known magic mortals who had existed beneath them. One of Ffinian's great-nephews, Niclas Seymour, had been blood cursed after inadvertently causing the death of a friend who was a mere mortal. In the years that had followed, until the curse was lifted, Niclas had been unable to sleep and had suffered terribly.

She accepted that she and Kian had been cursed—there
was no other way to explain the odd burning pain she felt when he touched her for longer than a few moments—but she could not and would not accept that she had been cursed to hate him as well. Her feelings for him were confusing, often angry and distressing and always deeply felt, but none of these had to do with hatred.

“I don't hate Kian,” she said again. “And there is nothing odd in my being worried about him. Tylluan—all of us here—depend upon him. We should all be worried. You most of all.”

Dyfed uttered a laugh. “Are we speaking of my brother, dearest Loris? Kian doesn't want anyone worrying over him. In truth, it would make him quite irate to know of your concerns. Now leave the matter be, I beg you. Kian will come to his senses soon enough.”

“Will I?” The garden gate closed with a loud snap. “That's reassuring to know,
fy gefell
.”

Dyfed stood as Kian approached.

“It might be,” Dyfed said, his tone filled with displeasure at the knowledge of being overheard, “if we had any hope of the event happening sooner than later. There was another slaughter last night. Are you at last going to send for Malachi?”

“No,” Kian replied simply. “I'm not. I'm going to send you to
Fynnon Elian
, instead, to pay for the lifting of any curses that have been sent into the cursing well.”

“
Fynnon Elian
?” Dyfed repeated with disbelief. “That's a full day's ride. You're jesting, surely.”

“Not in the least,” his brother replied pleasantly. “You're to leave in the morning. If the weather holds, it should be an agreeable journey.”

From the expression on Dyfed's face Loris could tell that the brothers were about to have a serious disagreement. Sighing, she turned to fetch her basket.

“You can't actually believe that everything that's happened has to do with a mere well curse?” Dyfed demanded.

“Perhaps not,” said Kian, “but you'll go, nonetheless, and pay the well keeper a goodly sum for a blessing.”

“It's a fool's errand,” Dyfed insisted. “And it's not going to buy you much time.”

“Don't argue, Dyfed,” Loris said sternly, walking past them with the basket in hand. “Do it for the sake of the people of Tylluan, if you find that you can't do it for any other cause. I shall have your bag packed and made ready for you first thing in the morn.”

“Loris!”

It was Kian who called her. She turned about and gazed at him inquiringly.

“Yes, my lord?”

“Another letter has arrived for you. From London.”

She almost dropped the basket.

“Another . . .” She felt chilled all over and drew in a shaking breath.

Kian looked for a moment as if he might come toward her. One of his hands clenched and unclenched.

“It's in my study,” he said more gently. “Come when you have a moment and I'll give it to you.”

“Is it from—?”

“Come to my study,” he repeated. “We'll discuss the matter then.”

Loris swallowed and nodded and, turning about, made her way back toward the castle. Behind her, the battle between the two brothers began again, the sound accompanying Loris all the way to the kitchen door.

Kian stood by the window in his study, gazing at the deepening afternoon sky. The view looked over the gardens to the valley beyond and, farther, to blue mountains rising in the distance. The beauty of the land never failed to give him pause, to fill him with appreciation and awe. He loved Tylluan with a fierceness that dimmed only when compared to the love he felt for Loris, and had always done so. He'd often dreamed of the time when he would take his rightful place as lord of the estate and put to right all that his wild father had let go. But the reality was turning out to be far different from those grand dreams. Everything seemed to be going wrong.