Susan Spencer Paul - [Enchanter 01] (21 page)

“Your memory is definitely returning. But what you must remember most importantly about the lord of the Cadmarans is that he is a dangerous and powerful wizard, and that he wants you as leverage for gaining what he desires. The Tarian will be your only protection from him, but he can’t take it from you unless you willingly remove it.”

“Is he looking for us now, do you think?” she asked worriedly.

“I don’t know,” Niclas replied, lifting a hand to touch her cheek and cause her to look up at him. “But you mustn’t give way to worry, Julia. If he or any of his men find us, we’ll face that danger when it comes. Until then, we can only do our utmost to be as guarded and careful as possible.”

She smiled up at him. “You’re right, of course. I wish I were more practical, as you are.”

His eyebrows rose. “You appear to be perfectly sane to me.”

She laughed. “Practical,” she repeated. “Sanity is beyond the measure of my family members, I’ve decided. I do try to be practical,” she said more seriously, turning to face forward once more, “but it’s not easy.”

“I hate being practical,” Niclas confessed, closing his eyes briefly as a fresh breeze caressed his face. The afternoon sunlight glittered on newly grown leaves in the trees around them, and the still damp ground smelled musty and fresh. It was altogether a lovely day, and he was very glad to be where he was and in the company of Julia, despite Cadmaran behind and the unpleasant task with Ffinian ahead. “If we didn’t have our families forcing us to be dutiful,” he murmured, “we could both consign practicality to the devil and do as we please.” Then, realizing what the words sounded like, he added, quickly, “Not that we would, of course.”

She laughed lightly. “Please don’t worry, Mister Seymour. I understood what you meant and won’t attach any other interpretation. I’ve always thought it a great shame that gentlemen must take so much care with their words, lest they find themselves trapped into wedlock. It seems unfair not to be able to say what you wish.”

“A gentleman should be careful,” Niclas said, “but I’ve been too long out of society to give myself that title, let alone recall precisely how I should behave. A gentleman would not have kissed you. Twice.”

“I think you one of the finest gentlemen I’ve ever met,” she said softly. “And I’ve already told you that you needn’t consider the kisses. I liked them, and I have no intention of trapping any man into marriage, so you may rest easy on all counts.”

Niclas felt a curious regret at the words and, more
intriguing, a rise of anger. Letting out a slow breath, he said, “Any man fortunate enough to have you as his wife would be blessed, indeed, Miss Linley. I would never cease to be thankful, if that man were me. But I cannot marry. At least not until . . . but I won’t speak of that. And that is why I should not have kissed you. Twice.”

He couldn’t see her face, nor could he feel her emotions to know what her reaction to these words was. Most women would be insulted, even wounded, but her voice, when she spoke, revealed neither of these feelings.

“Why did you stop going out in society?” she asked. “The necklace . . . the Tarian,” she amended, pressing her fingers over the cloth that covered the object. “It seems to make me feel things that perhaps I shouldn’t.”

Niclas’s eyebrows rose. “Indeed?” He didn’t know whether to be alarmed or not. Could she feel his emotions, now?

“I sense something within you,” she said. “There’s sadness, and a great weariness, as if you seek rest but cannot find it. And there’s a . . . a darkness. Forgive me. I shouldn’t speak of such things. I am sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said. “You’re quite right in what you sense.”

“I’ve heard the rumors,” she said. “Things that my aunt and others have said.”

“That I’ve been going mad? Or, worse, have already gone?”

“I never believed them,” she assured him. “I’m glad now to know just how wrong they were.”

“They might not be,” Niclas said. “There are times when I wonder, myself.”

“You aren’t mad,” she said firmly. “I don’t know what
the trouble is, and I won’t press you to tell me, but I do know that its source is not within your mind. It’s . . . it seems to spring from another place.”

“It affects my mind, however,” he told her. “And the rest of me, as well, so the source isn’t particularly important. I control it as best I can, but I’m not always successful.”

“And so you no longer go out into society,” she murmured, “and cannot wed. I understand everything now.”

“Do you, Miss Linley?”

“Yes.” She smiled up at him with gentle reassurance. “There’s no need for you to say anything more. I only want you to know that I’m still not sorry for the kisses. The truth of the matter is that they were my first and second, and at the age of five and twenty, I’m glad to have had them.”

Those were her first kisses? he thought, much shocked by this. What was wrong with all the men in England?

“That’s a dangerous thing to say,” he told her, “especially to a man whose weary mind isn’t always inclined to listen to his better instincts. Don’t you think that perhaps you should be a little afraid of me?”

“Never,” she replied. “I know that you would not harm me, no matter the provocation. And I know, too, that you wouldn’t have kissed me if you hadn’t realized that I desired it, as well. I feel perfectly safe with you, Mister Seymour.”

Niclas only wished he felt the same. After so much talk of kissing, he had a very strong urge to do it again.

Julia stretched a little in the saddle, and shifted slightly.

“Are you becoming uncomfortable?” he asked, slowing Enoch’s pace. “We can rest for a little while. It’s too early to stop for luncheon, but there’s a stream close by
and I’m sure Enoch would enjoy a brief respite and the chance to drink.”

“I—” she began, but wasn’t given the opportunity to say nay or yea.

A sudden and raucous yelling filled the trees, sounding like a chorus of fabled Irish banshees, and they were set upon by half a dozen or more men who sprang out at them with weapons at the ready.

“Yaaaaaah!” came a particularly loud shout, and a large, redheaded man flew at them from out of nowhere, snatching both Julia and Niclas from Enoch’s saddle and knocking them to the wet, muddy ground.

With a mighty shove Niclas threw their attacker off, and at the same time twisted to soften Julia’s fall. He landed on his back, and she landed directly on top of him, her shoulder digging into his stomach with all her slender weight behind it. Despite the fact that she was both small and delicate, it was enough of an impact to send his senses reeling and knock all the breath out of him.

“Niclas!” Julia’s voice was in his ear. She was still lying atop him, though she’d turned to take his face in her gloved hands. “Niclas, open your eyes. Please, God.”

He groaned and strove to do her bidding, as much to please her as himself. His back was on fire with pain, and his head felt as if it had landed on a rock, rather than soft muddy ground. One of his legs was yet tethered to Enoch’s stirrup, but the noble beast hadn’t bolted and dragged him away.

There was a great deal of scuffling and noise and fearful murmuring, until he heard the voice of their attacker saying, “I’ll kill him! Damn you, Malachi, I think you broke my arm. I was only jesting. You didn’t have to throw me so far.”

The shock of recognition brought Niclas to his senses as nothing else could have done. His eyes flew open and he tried to push himself up.

“Not yet,” Julia murmured, pushing him back. “You’re bleeding. Give yourself a moment. It’s not Cadmaran.”

“No,” he managed between gritted teeth. “It’s not, by gad. It’s one of my
accursed
cousins, and I’m disowning him for all eternity the moment I gain my feet. Help me up.” She did, but he could scarce wait to stand before shouting angrily,
“Steffan!”

A redhead popped up a few feet away, in the spot where Niclas had tossed him.

“Niclas?” a thoroughly shocked voice asked. “Can that be you,
cfender
?”

“Aye, it’s me, you empty-headed fool! What do you mean by attacking this lady and me in so foul a manner? And don’t tell me you never knew it wasn’t me. You’ve vowed never to rob a relative, you lying thief.”

Two of Steffan’s men rushed to help their leader to his feet. They followed, brushing mud and leaves from his clothes as he strode forward.

“I swear I didn’t know it was you, Niclas,” he vowed, pushing long, copper-colored locks from his singularly handsome face. “I assumed it was Malachi. I felt his magic and sensed that the horse was Enoch.” He came to a stop inches from where Niclas stood, his countenance smeared with dirt and set sternly with concentration. “Is he not here with you? That
is
Enoch, is it not? And there is a lady. Beautiful. Delicate.” His sightless eyes turned toward Julia. “Ah, yes. Your lady, is she, Niclas?”

Niclas was in no mood for his wild cousin’s jests. His back hurt like the very devil and blood was trickling from
his forehead into his eyes. His entire body felt as if it had been thrown upon a pile of rocks. Reaching out, he grasped his cousin by the neckcloth and dragged him near.

“You’ll watch your tongue, Steffan Seymour, or feel my fist. That lady is noble-born and bears the magic that has left you so confused. You and your men will treat her with the greatest respect. Do you understand me,
cfender
?”

Steffan cleared his throat and waved at his men to stand down.

“Completely,” he assured Niclas. “Fully and utterly. I apologize with every regret, both for the insult and the attack. I meant it for a jest, I swear, but on Malachi, not you. Never you, Niclas.” He lifted a hand to cover the one that Niclas held on his shirt. “I should never be so foolish as that.”

Niclas let him go, still furiously angry.

“You make a habit of attacking the earl of Graymar as a jest, do you? No doubt Malachi takes pleasure in such sport and gives back as good as he gets, but I’ll not suffer another such greeting.”

“Of course not,” Steffan agreed. “I know that perfectly well. I’ve never accosted you in like manner before, have I? Come, forgive me and give me your hand in greeting, and tell me why you’re traveling so far from the road, riding the
Dewin Mawr
’s steed, with a lovely lady in your care. She bears the Tarian, does she not? I feel it more closely now. That’s why I took you for Malachi, for I felt the magic of the Tarian and mistook it for his power, and recognized Enoch’s presence. It was an honest mistake,
cfender
,” he said coaxingly. “Surely you’ll forgive me for it.”

Niclas didn’t want to forgive the damned scoundrel, especially not while his back ached as it did, but he supposed the mistake had been understandable. Steffan couldn’t have used his eyes to see who was riding Enoch, after all, and his men wouldn’t dare to contradict him with the truth. They were standing about looking shamefaced, and as at least three of them were not of magical lineage, Niclas could feel their genuine embarrassment and no small amount of fear. With an effort, he forced his anger down.

“You might have harmed Miss Linley,” Niclas said gruffly. “But as you did not, if she is willing to accept your apology, I’ll do so, as well. Come and be introduced.”

“With pleasure,” Steffan replied happily, running his fingers through his long hair in a vain effort to straighten the tangled red locks. “There is nothing I love better than meeting a beautiful woman.”

S
teffan Seymour was an amazing man to behold. Julia had never seen anyone of such high birth look so . . . wild and untamed. He possessed the same slender but masculine build as the earl of Graymar, and similarly refined features. But there the resemblance ended.

His hair was copper red, a wild, tangled mass that was so long it fell midway to his back. His clothes were common and ragged, the kind of outfit one might expect to find a highwayman wearing, but certainly not someone in the wealthy Seymour clan.

Most surprising of all, however, was the fact that although he was blind, he was able to move without any aid at all. His steps, as he accompanied Niclas toward where Julia stood, were certain and unfaltering, though his gaze wandered upward, unfocused. He walked right toward her just as if he could see her, and stopped before her with an expectant smile on his face.

Niclas, on the other hand, stood rigid with little-diminished anger.

“Miss Julia Linley,” he said stiffly, “may I present to you my cousin Steffan Seymour. Steffan, Miss Julia Linley.”

“Miss Linley,” Steffan said with deft eloquence, bowing deeply before reaching for her hand. “A very great pleasure, indeed.”

Julia was fascinated to see that he took her proffered hand with accuracy, though his eyes never once drifted to her face. He bowed again, kissing her fingers with courteous grace before releasing her and standing fully upright. Whatever his present circumstances might be, he’d obviously been raised to be a gentleman.

“The pleasure is mine, sir,” she replied, nodding.

“No apology can possibly make amends for my—our”—he motioned to where his men stood—“most unfortunate manner of greeting you and my dear cousin, but I pray you’ll accept our deepest and most sincere regrets. We should never have offered so grave an insult to so lovely a lady if we—I—had but realized who you were. Forgive us, kind Miss Linley. Forgive me, most of all.”

She could scarce resist so splendid an apology, despite being wet and muddy from their attack.

“Of a certainty, sir,” she assured him. “I understand full well how it must have seemed to you. I’m certain your cousin joins me in absolving you of any wrongdoing.”

Niclas grumbled loudly, but said nothing to the contrary.

Steffan bowed low. “You are as noble in heart as you are beautiful in form. I thank you for such unwarranted and gracious kindness, Miss Linley. But what are you doing with my lordly cousin in such an unlikely place? Bearing the Tarian, no less?”

“We are on our way to Tylluan, to visit Uncle Ffinian,” Niclas replied. “Miss Linley’s aunt is his neighbor,
and Ffinian is making a pest of himself. As usual.”

“Uncle Ffinian, is it?” said Steffan. “And Kian and Dyfed, as well. God save you,
cfender
, but if he has to be reasoned with, ’tis far better you than me. And now,” he said more loudly, straightening and addressing his men, “we must do whatever we can to make right our wrongs. A safe place, a warm fire, a fine meal, and a washing of clothes should make a good beginning. And a fine drink, as well,” he added with a charming smile, turning to Niclas. “What do you say to that,
cfender
?”