Everlasting Enchantment (16 page)

Gareth strode over to the small silver pile of Nell’s ashes and collapsed to his knees, his head bowed, his shoulders hunched. He laid his hands around the ashes, as if he sought to cradle old Nell once more.

Millicent caught her breath on a sob, turned, and ran.

Gareth materialized in a dark room no larger than a water closet, with a tarp for a ceiling and worn wooden planks for flooring. He could hear muted laughter coming from beyond the rickety door. The occasional clink of glasses and the sour smell of ale told him he stood within Bran’s tavern, where Millicent worked. A dark shadow in the corner of the room stirred, and he turned toward the panther curled up on a pallet of old rags.

Millicent.

She had kept to her were-shape. He wondered if she always slept in her beast’s form, and had stayed human when they slept together only because of him. With drunken louts only a few feet away, perhaps she felt safer with tooth and claw at the ready.

Or perhaps the events of last eve had allowed her beast to completely take over her humanity.

Gareth still felt a sharp sense of loss at the death of ladybird, so he could only imagine what Millicent might be feeling. She professed to be incapable of great love, yet if he could manage to make her love him half as much as she had loved her Nell, he would be a lucky man… which might now be an impossible task, since she blamed him for ladybird’s death.

His eyes had adjusted to the gloom, and he could make out the glossy sheen of the panther’s coat, the powerful grace of leg and shoulder, the beauty of those slanted eyes, long lashes closed in sleep. Ah, how he loved his Millicent and her beast. But would she ever be able to accept his love enough to return it? For he had thought he only had to capture her heart. He hadn’t realized until yesterday that his obstacles might be insurmountable.

How could she love him, when she did not love herself? When she thought of herself as some kind of monster, a creature of darkness? He could see the goodness shining within her, the light in her soul that called so strongly to his own. So she had killed Selena… he would have done the same. That did not make her a beast; it made her human.

Gareth opened his mouth, then snapped it closed. Words. All he had to give her were words, and he had already given her many. They would never be enough.

With one last glance at the sleeping panther, he quietly slipped out the door into the hall. Although the exterior of the pub had been constructed with quarried stone like most of the buildings in the Underground, the interior walls had been made with wooden boards, with enough of a gap between for him to catch glimpses of the public room. A long, polished bar with rows of twinkling bottles behind, scattered tables with a ramshackle assortment of chairs surrounding them. More than half the chairs were still full, mostly with shape-shifters.

The tarp that made up the ceiling occasionally fluttered, and he imagined it had been put there for privacy, for the denizens of the Underground did not need to worry about snow or rain.

What an odd world to grow up in.

He entered the taproom and all eyes turned to him. Gareth sauntered over to the bar, faced the man who had helped rescue his beloved, and gave him a deep bow. “My lord, I thank you again for your aid—”

“Eh, none of that,” interrupted Bran. “Shape-shifters may style themselves as lords up above, just because our nature honors us with a title. But we don’t hold to none of that in the Underground. Just Bran will do.”

“Very well. My thanks, Bran. And a word, if you please.”

The tavern keeper raised his abundantly bushy brows, scanned the interested crowd in the room, and cocked his head toward a door behind the bar. “In here.”

Gareth followed him into a room that apparently served the dual purpose of storage and living quarters. When Bran settled his bulk upon a crate of whiskey bottles, Gareth took a similar seat opposite, the slats creaking in protest.

“You found Millicent, then?” A rhetorical question, since she had obviously returned to the Swill and Seelie, but the relic had sucked Gareth back in before he had a chance to find her himself. And he didn’t quite know where to start the conversation. He had met men like Bran often over the years. No matter the life fate chose for them—whether landed gentry or peasant farmer—men of substance like the were-bear commanded respect.

“Aye, and brought her home. She is taking the old woman’s death very hard.”

Gareth nodded. “And the bag of ashes I gave you to keep?”

Bran glanced over to a low shelf. “I’ll mind it until you can bury the old woman in a proper place.”

“Thank you.” Gareth did not know what impulse had moved him to gather Nell’s ashes, other than a belief that his ladybird deserved a more respectful resting place. Yet something more nagged at the back of his mind… he rolled his shoulders to loosen the muscles. With all the years he had lived, he often forgot more than he knew. “Have you seen aught of the Crown’s spies?”

“Ah, the shape-shifters from above. They’ve been sniffing around the pub. But they haven’t dared another attempt past my door since the last one.” He smiled, revealing an ominous set of white teeth.

“But they will continue to stalk her. And the duke’s minions will return to harass her as well, once Ghoulston returns to the Underground.”

“I can protect my own. I have proven that, last night. These sorcerers will think twice before interfering with me again.”

“Perhaps. But they won’t leave her alone until she gives up the relic.”

“Then it seems a simple matter to me.” Bran folded his hands over his barrel of a chest and leaned back against the wall. “Go find some other gel to play with, Sir Knight.”

Gareth suddenly felt as if he faced Millicent’s father, and the man was suspicious of her beau’s intentions. He would respect the role Bran had chosen to assume. “I assure you, my feelings for Millicent are quite genuine, sir. I love her. I wish to marry her, if she’ll have me.”

Bran studied Gareth for a long moment, then threw up his hands. “Bloody hell. That makes things a wee bit more complicated.”

“Indeed. And I fear there is more to this than just Millicent and myself.”

“More to—aah, Ghoulston. What’s the devious bugger up to anyway?”

Gareth suppressed a sigh of relief. The shape-shifter had not dismissed the duke’s schemes as none of his business. He appeared genuinely concerned. “Ghoulston used Millicent to deliver a potion to our young queen. When she drinks it, she will fall in love with His Grace, and their marriage will provide him with the power and ambition he so desires. And I sincerely doubt his new position will benefit the English people.”

Bran surged to his feet, glancing over at the far wall. Gareth followed his gaze, surprised to see a picture of Queen Victoria gracing the wall just as it did in most homes aboveground. Apparently, all those who lived below did not disregard the world above as much as Millicent did.

“We must stop him,” snarled Bran. “We must protect the queen—wait. Surely the Master of the Hall of Mages will sense the magic within the potion. Queen Victoria is the most warded person in the country.”

“If it held magic, yes. But it does not. And the ingredients are so… unusual, I doubt anyone will detect something wrong with it.”

“But there is nothing on earth that will make someone fall in love if they don’t want to—hmm, I sense ye have something to do with this, Sir Gareth. No, ye needn’t explain. The important thing is to stop the queen from taking that potion. But I don’t know that anyone above would listen to us—not that we can even get near the queen to warn her. Shape-shifters are not well thought of above. Even the Master’s spies are known to be despised by the rest of the gentry.”

Gareth nodded. “That is true. But there is one person who can take this message above and has a chance of being believed. The Duke of Ghoulston has already introduced her to society.”

“Millicent.”

“Indeed. And I need your help in convincing her to do it. I do not think she will listen to anything I have to say to her right now.”

Bran shrugged. “She blames ye for the old woman’s death, but she’ll get over it. For a woman, and a shape-shifter, she can be pretty sensible. Hmm.” He twisted his lips in thought and added, “Sometimes.” Then he strode over to the door, opening it with a flourish. “The best way to deal with her is by not giving her a choice. Come along, man. If she’s to mix with the gentry, we’ve got to get her a proper wardrobe. And arrange for a carriage. I don’t have the resources of Ghoulston, but there is a particular lady friend of mine from above who may grant me a boon.”

Gareth raised a brow, but returned Bran’s earlier consideration and did not ask him any questions. Although few truly knew of their actual existence, he had no doubt many a bored aristocratic lady might find a dalliance with a man from the Underground titillating. If Bran had chosen to reveal himself to an abovegrounder, that was his business. Gareth had more important things to worry about, for he could only hope he was doing the right thing. Had he judged Millicent correctly? Or would she hate him even more for pushing her into this?

***

“I won’t do it.” Millicent crossed her arms over her ragged bodice, glaring at Bran.

Gareth sighed. The tavern keeper had finally received a message back from his lady friend, who had obligingly granted him the use of her town house and staff for the morrow. Bran, Millicent, and Gareth now stood in an empty pub—except for one lone shape-shifter collapsed over a table, and one tired sprite snoring atop an empty saucer.

“Now see here, missy,” retorted Bran. “Ye are my employee, and this is the job I’ve got for ye to do.”

“Bloody hell, Bran, you know better than to get mixed up in the business of sorcerers. Since when do we pay mind to the world above?”

“Since when have we had a chance to make a difference?”

Millicent turned her blazing golden eyes on Gareth. He had faced many a maddened warrior and had never been tempted to flinch. Until now. But he managed to calmly return her gaze, leaning back against the bar, crossing one leg over the other with bored nonchalance. Let Millicent roar. She looked lovely with her color up.

“You’ve been listening to
him
,” she accused, still glaring at Gareth. “With all his talk of honor and chivalry. Well, I can do without it, thank you. It’s what got Nell killed.”

Gareth closed his eyes, allowing the pain of her words to pass through him. She spoke out of anger. She did not truly mean it. “And will you allow Nell’s death to be for naught?”

He had spoken quietly, yet the room quivered with such stunned silence you would think he had shouted.

When Gareth opened his eyes, he saw such pain in Millicent’s face he almost gave up his plan. But if he did, he would be giving up on Millicent, and he could not allow his love for her to turn him into a coward. “Ladybird wanted us to stop him,” he continued. “She loved her queen and her country. And despite your denials, my lady, I believe you love them too.”

They stared at each other, and he watched her strong will war with her heart, her stubbornness battle her anger. His Millicent was such a complicated creature, and he loved her for it… and allowed his love to show on his face.

Bran cleared his throat, turned his gaze away as if embarrassed by Gareth’s naked display of emotion.

In Gareth’s time, in the court of his king, such open displays of admiration were commonplace. Poems were recited to ladies, ballads sung in their honor. Swords were crossed for any slight to a maiden. Times had changed, and Gareth had adapted to them, but he still found himself falling back into old habits.

Perhaps it would be wise to remember them now.

“I would trade my life for Nell’s to make you happy, Millicent.” Gareth fell to one knee. “Indeed, my sorrow for the loss of ladybird, and your broken heart, are almost too much for me to bear. If you would blame me instead of Ghoulston, then so be it. I am at your service, my lady, to do as thou wilt.” And he drew his sword and held it out to her.

Millicent snorted, made as if to turn away, and suddenly stilled, her lovely brow wrinkled in thought. Then her face cleared, and she glanced down at him. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Get up. I’ll do it.”

Gareth looked up at her in astonishment. “Am I forgiven?”

“There is nothing to forgive. I-I spoke from grief, and acted like a fool. But no more.” Her eyes glittered. “This is all Ghoulston’s fault. Every bit of it. And if I can foil his plans, it will be a handsome revenge. When do we leave?”

The were-bear raised his eyes, opened his mouth, then closed it, his face still an unusual shade of red.

Millicent curled her fingers into fists. “I’ll make Ghoulston pay no matter what it takes.”

Gareth shook the hair from his face and rose to his feet. Ah, well, not exactly the intention he had hoped for. He had wanted Millicent to help the queen, and by so doing, realize the goodness within herself. Instead, she now saw this as a way to destroy Ghoulston and avenge Nell’s death. He should have known this would not be so easy. How could he help Millicent see the beauty inside her, when she had no inclination to do so?

Well, at least she no longer blamed him for Nell’s death. Her anger had weighed upon his heart, and the absence of it made Gareth suddenly feel lighter.

Bran stepped over to the bar and poked a finger at the small winged form lying facedown in an empty saucer of gin. “Ambrose. Wake up, ye sot. I have another errand for ye.”

The sprite rolled over and cracked a lid, then struggled upright as he caught sight of Millicent. “My lady! How may I be of sher… servish… service?”

Bran rubbed a hand across his broad face. “Ye are to take her to the same place ye delivered my message to.”

The pointed brow furrowed.

“Egads, man, ye were there less than an hour ago. Surely ye cannot have forgotten?”

The sprite waved a hand, the movement nearly upsetting his balance. “Course not. I know the aboveground like the back of my hand. I used to be a message sprite for the gentry above, don’t you know?” And he leaned down toward the saucer, eyeing a small puddle of gin still wedged within the curve of the bottom.

“No more of that for ye until ye get back,” said Bran, blocking the sprite with his hand.

“Jusht one for the flight…”

“No.”

Ambrose sighed. “Let’s be off then.” And with an overly dramatic flourish of his arms he took wing, a dazzling swirl of iridescent color, which would have looked impressive if he hadn’t been bobbing up and down like a jack-in-the-box. When he came to an abrupt halt by the simple expedient of smashing into the door, Gareth winced.