Uncertain Magic (8 page)

She placed her hand over the earl's, a theatrical gesture, and one that made her intensely aware of the hard strength in the fingers that rested so lightly on her shoulder. "It's what I want, Papa."

He glared at Iveragh. In a savage undertone, he said, "Take care of her, damn you. Or you shall answer to me."

She felt the tiny quiver that went through the earl's hand, as if he might have clenched and unclenched it. "Of course."

Her father stepped back, and Roddy looked beyond him in trepidation. She dreaded her mother's response more than any other. Mrs. Delamore was standing stiffly, still staring at her daughter and the dark intruder who had claimed her as a wife. Her mother's anguished helplessness brought hot tears to the back of Roddy's eyes.
Please, Mama
, she pleaded silently.
Please understand
.

Pride came to Mrs. Delamore's rescue. She waged an internal battle of grief and rage, but nothing of it showed on her face. She went to Roddy and kissed her cheek, managing a smile that was brittle with despair. "Be happy, my dear," she said too loudly.

The other guests all left as soon as possible after offering their own congratulations. Lady Elizabeth and the vicar were desperate to start passing the word to the neighborhood, and Lord and Lady Cashel were uncomfortably aware of Mrs. Delamore's barely controlled emotion. Lord Iveragh stayed only long enough to ask if he might call on Roddy in the morning.

She nodded shyly to the request, still feeling the imprint of his hand on her shoulder like a brand.

Roddy had never known anyone who had been engaged before. All of Geoffrey's courtship had taken place far from Yorkshire, and there were no girls of Roddy's age in the neighborhood from whom she might have gleaned the proprieties. Her mother had chosen to ignore the situation. She was avoiding her daughter, as Roddy well knew. In one way that made things easier, but no tearful reproaches also meant no advice, and Roddy was left to choose her own line of conduct toward her new fiancé.

She met him alone in the small parlor the next morning. A smile was more than she could manage, but she held out her gloved hand politely. He did not take it. He stood in the doorway and looked at her, with a far steadier gaze than she herself could command.

"Good morning," she said, trying very hard not to look down before those frost-blue eyes. She forced her lips into an awkward curve. "I'm... glad to see you."

He raised his dark brows, and faint humor touched the firm line of his mouth. "Brave girl." He stepped forward and took her gloved hand, bowing over it with smooth grace. "Would you be so courageous as to drive out with me?"

She looked up into his face and realized with surprise that she really was glad to see him. She felt like a spooky colt let out for the first time alone—fascinated by new sights and sounds and liable to bolt at the merest shadow.

"I should like that," she said. "I'll go speak to Papa."

He let go of her hand. "Ah, yes. Papa."

She left him standing in the parlor. The interview with her father was brief, for Roddy was determined to block her parents' fears from her mind. She wasted no time in the hopeless task of convincing her father that Iveragh was not going to attack her the moment they were out of sight of the house, but simply stated firmly that she was going for a drive, and might not be back for luncheon. Her father took one look at the stubborn set of her chin and agreed. As Roddy exited he was making hasty plans to stay out of his wife's sight for the remainder of the day.

Lord Iveragh handed Roddy into the phaeton and took up the lines. The crisp morning air and the fresh eagerness of the horses raised her unsteady spirits to the point of inebriation. A bubble of giddy laughter escaped her as the whip tapped the back of the nearside gray and the carriage rolled into motion with a gentle jolt. Appalled, she popped her hand over her mouth and tried to make the giggle sound like a cough. The earl slanted a look toward her at the sound, but said only, "Which direction?"

She raised her parasol against the sun with a nervous snap. "Have you visited the East Riding before, my lord?"

"Never," he said. "My name is Faelan."

"Faelan." She tested the exotic sound of it on her tongue, the way he said it with an Irish lilt—
Feylin
. It called up thoughts of mist and mountains and wild places. "Faelan Savigar." She hesitated, and then said diffidently, "It's certainly fierce-sounding."

"Faelan is Gaelic for 'wolf.'"

"Oh."

He gazed solemnly out over the backs of the trotting horses. "Fortunately, my second name is Vachel."

"Oh?"

"That means 'little cow' in Old French."

"Oh."

"They balance each other out, you see."

Roddy looked down at her gloves. "Not exactly."

He turned his disturbing blue eyes upon her. "Some young ladies are afraid of wolves."

She fiddled with the cloudy-glass handle of her sunshade.

"Are you?" he asked gently.

Roddy stole a glance and found him watching her. "A little," she said, in a burst of honesty.

The phaeton drifted to a stop at the end of the driveway. He smiled. "Then I suggest you pick a direction in which we won't meet up with any. East or west?"

Roddy swallowed her confusion. It seemed that they were carrying on two conversations at once, and she was not at all sure if one was not entirely in her imagination. "East," she said, trying to sound brisk and unconcerned. "I'll show you a surprise."

The horses arched their fine necks and leaned against their traces, and the carriage wheeled out of the drive.

Roddy spent the first quarter hour of the drive watching the wind flutter the silk of her parasol and trying desperately to think of topics of conversation. It was a new and imposing problem. With her gift and her small circle of family and close friends, subjects of mutual interest had always been easy to find. Several came to mind now on which she might have spoken quite knowledgeably, such as the weather and the horses and the price of wool, but none seemed to hold out much hope of amusing the Devil Earl.

When at length she hit upon a topic, she was so relieved to break the silence that her question came out with an excess of enthusiasm. "Will you tell me about Iveragh, my lord?" She caught her breath, furious with the way her voice quavered upward. "What it's like, I mean," she added, which only made her sound worse, as if she'd thought he was too stupid to understand the first time.

He glanced at her. "Iveragh." His mouth twisted into something like a smile. "Not yet, I think. I wouldn't want you to break our engagement before we put the contract in writing."

Roddy peeked at him, looking hopefully for a sign that he was joking.

He tilted his head and raised one eyebrow. "Tell me about yourself instead."

"There's little to tell about me," she said apologetically. "I've never been to London."

"Ah." He nodded, gravely enough, but she suspected humor in the odd set of his jaw. "We shall remedy that, if you like. But it's you and not London that interests me. What do you do with yourself, when you aren't dressed up in breeches and battling grooms?"

Roddy bit her lip. "I suppose I shall never live that down."

"No, I don't suppose you ever shall." He grinned at her, an expression so unexpected that it seemed to go straight to her heart and make it thump madly. "You've a damned graceful way of unmanning an opponent. You can rest assured I'll remember it to my grave."

She shrugged, to cover her agitation. "One is obliged to learn self-defense, with four older brothers."

His rich laughter wound around her thudding heart and seemed to squeeze it even harder. "Good God, I hope you never tried that trick on them." He rolled his eyes heavenward in mock terror. "I'll take care around you, my dear. I hope you haven't a short temper."

"Not really. Only—I dislike to see animals abused."

"I see." He glanced at her again, with laughter still warming his deep blue eyes. "Tell me about your father's stable."

The question was as surprising as it was welcome. Under the steady encouragement of his smiling interest, she found herself launched on an enthusiastic description of her father's training methods and breeding techniques. It must have been an hour, but it seemed only a few minutes later when she glanced up at the horizon and caught her breath.

"There it is," she cried, and pointed with her parasol as the phaeton bowled out of a steep chasm and onto a rise.

The horses clattered to a stop. They had been on an indifferent road, surrounded on all sides by nothing but sky and sheep and the gray-green bleakness of the moors.

"The sea," Faelan said.

It had appeared as if by sorcery. A moment before it had seemed that the moors would go on forever in their brooding beauty, but now sea gulls mewed in the cloudless sky, and a sapphire horizon stretched away beyond the sheer cliffs. On a headland in the distance, the crumbling skeleton of a medieval abbey crowned the scene. They sat in silence for a full minute, and then he said simply, "I like your surprises."

To her profound annoyance, Roddy found herself blushing again.

"Does the road go past the ruin?" he asked, when she did not respond.

"Yes. In another mile or so."

"Good. We can stop there to eat." He urged the horses forward. "Are you hungry?"

"Well—" Roddy hardly knew what to say. Surely he didn't think there would be food available at the deserted abbey?

"Well, what?" he mocked, smiling at her hesitation. "Look in the hamper, then, and see if there's aught to be tempting you. It's under the seat."

By the time they reached the abbey, she had examined and enthusiastically approved the contents. While Faelan saw to the horses she took it upon herself to spread the cloth and arrange the cheese, smoked salmon, and crusty bread on a convenient block of stone. She was working diligently, if inexpertly, to open the wine bottle when he returned.

He lifted the bottle out of her hands, and with one deft twist freed the cork. Roddy had seated herself on the block next to the food, facing the water. He sat down in the grass beside her, leaning against the roughly dressed stone and stretching out one boot-clad leg as he poured the wine. In exchange for the offered glass, Roddy handed him a makeshift sandwich. They ate in a comfortable silence. It was pleasant, to have someone nearby and yet not intruding on her thoughts. The horses were content with their feedbags. A light breeze from the sea fanned her cheek and the egret feathers on the bonnet she had set aside, but all else was quiet. Even the gulls had deserted them, too wild on this empty coast to accept a handout.

She finished her sandwich and stared around her at the quiet ruins. A melody came unbidden to her lips, the kind of haunting air she loved. She hummed it softly, liking the way the wind carried her notes away as if to please some fay sea creature drowsing far out on the shimmering waves.

She realized, with a small shock, that she was happy. Her fears and doubts had faded into pleasant attention to the numerous small sensations that interested her. In the cool autumn day, there was just a trace of heat from the man at her side, the slightest warmth where his shoulder rested half an inch from her knee. She felt it even through her light wool skirt. Against the background of cerulean, his hair seemed very black. It made her think of his eyes and their blue beneath thick charcoal. She watched his hands idly as he poured another glass of wine. The fingers were long and perfect: strong, rather than refined.