The Lady of the Storm - 2 (33 page)

Giles made his way to the passage door. “Do you wonder if you could create one?”

“What? A water demon?” Cecily shivered. “It never occurred to me to use my magic in such a way. Nor would I want to.”

Giles closed the door to the passage behind them, in case the elven lord did not know of it. He prayed he could sneak her out of the castle before the dragon landed and Breden discovered what they had done. He had tasted the champion’s magic. Cleverness and a gamble had won. His sword would surely be no match against the Imperial Lord himself.

Cecily took the lead through the passages. Giles offered no protest, for her familiarity with the route and her superior elven sight allowed them to travel quickly.

But she came to an abrupt halt when they reached the outer wall and he gently pushed in front of her. “I hope this opens the same way from inside.” He placed his foot against the bottom brick and his hand atop another.

“No, this one,” said Cecily, moving his hand to a different brick.

Giles closed his eyes against the feel of her small, warm hand atop his. He had thought he’d lost her this night. For the second time, he had been brutally reminded that he could not live in a world without her.

And then he turned and caught her up in his arms, unable to resist stealing a moment. He bent and kissed her, with all of the desire that lay within his heart, wishing he could make love to her one last time, for he did not know if they might live to see another day.

“I thought Fletcher had killed you,” he murmured as he swept his mouth across her cheek.

Cecily sighed, her head falling back, allowing him to nuzzle the sweet warmth of her neck. “I love you, Giles Beaumont. Nothing can ever change that.”

He loved her too. More than she could possibly love him. But she would misunderstand if he spoke his feelings. She would think he was promising her a future together. And so he set her gently away from him and turned back to the wall.

She huffed. “We need a plan before you open that door.”

“I’m open to suggestions.”

“Jimson taught me this trick with mist…”

He shook his head. “Didn’t work on my sword. I lay odds that it will not work on that scepter, either.”

“Give me a moment, then.”

Giles felt his clothes change from sopping wet to slightly damp, assumed she dried hers as well, for he heard the fabric of her dress whisper as she muttered something about her hair.

“That’s the tidiest I can manage without a mirror,” she said. “Now then, when you open the door, we shall casually walk across the grounds. Two lovers out for a stroll.”

Giles rubbed his cheek. “No one will believe it.”

“Nonsense. Open the door.”

Giles pressed and it swung open, and they quickly ducked through the fall of water on the outer castle walls. He shut the door behind them, only their shoulders slightly wet again from the dunking.

He buttoned up his coat at the waist, allowing his hair to fall about his face, slightly obscuring the ugly mark. Then he crooked his arm and Cecily hooked hers through his. They casually strolled down the gravel path, avoiding the lighted pavilions, occasionally stopping to embrace whenever anyone else happened upon them.

Half of the guard and the majority of the soldiers would be attending their own revel tonight. Giles saw more than one uniformed man taking advantage of the moonlight for a private stroll with his sweetheart.

“Apollo and Belle are housed in the smaller stables,” he murmured, guiding Cecily in the proper direction.

She turned her head and smiled up at him. “You brought Belle?”

He looked down, losing himself in the faceted depths of her eyes. “I thought you’d be happy to see her.”

“I am. She’s a fast little thing, and so very loyal…”

Something shivered between them. Perhaps the danger of their situation heightened Giles’s senses—but he didn’t think so. For a timeless moment his entire being focused on nothing but her, nothing but the joy of her arm within his, the beauty of her face, the wonder in his heart that she stood beside him, alive and well. He could not fathom that this may be their last time together. They had grown up so close and yet apart, and now—

“There you are!” interrupted a shrill voice. Giles glanced up to find a rather stout woman bearing down upon them. Damn—he should have never allowed himself to become distracted.

“Lady Pennington,” breathed Cecily.

“Who?”

“I accompanied her family on the carriage ride to the palace.”

Giles did not need to ask how that journey had passed. He could hear the vexation in the tone of Cecily’s voice.

Lady Pennington reminded him of nothing more than an overburdened cargo ship, lumbering from side to side, using her wide hoops for ballast, her peaked coiffure a mast with the feather atop it flapping like a flag.

“You naughty girl,” said the lady, gasping for breath. “I have been searching the palace for you since we arrived.”

“Whatever for?” blurted Cecily.

Lady Pennington smiled charmingly and clasped Cecily’s hands. “Why, my dear, we had just begun to know each other and I wished to continue the acquaintance.”

Cecily appeared thunderstruck, so Giles interjected. “I am sad to say, madam, that your reunion must wait a bit longer. We are on an errand of importance—”

“Pshaw!” she responded, tightening her hold on Cecily’s hands. “There can be nothing more important than my friendship with dear Lucy.”

Cecily narrowed her eyes. “What exactly is it that you wish, my lady?”

She smiled. “Good girl. Let there be no pretense between us. I have been admiring Lady Longhurst’s new gown—why, it is the talk of the ball! But she has been extremely coy about her new mantua-maker, and insists her seamstress will sew for no one but her. Then
I
recalled that you recently came into the lady’s employ, and easily put two and two together.”

“How clever of you,” muttered Cecily.

Giles shifted, glancing around impatiently. They stood just beyond the pavilion and too far from the stables, but had attracted little notice as of yet.

“Indeed,” replied Lady Pennington, missing the sarcasm in Cecily’s voice. “That gown will set the latest mode and I vow to have one of my own. You simply must agree to sew some gowns for me, my dear. In honor of our shared journey?”

Cecily scowled, as if it would be the last reason for her to accommodate the lady, but she answered quickly in a valiant attempt at escape. “Yes, yes, of course I shall. But we really must be on our way.” She tried to twist her hands from the lady’s grasp.

But Lady Pennington only held on tighter, apparently possessing a degree of elven strength, if not magic nor beauty.

Giles resisted the urge to pick the lady up by her ruffled shoulders and toss her out of their way. Cecily, on the other hand, already appeared to have lost her temper. Giles caught the faint whiff of something burning and glanced about again.

“This shall take only a moment,” insisted the lady.

“What?” snapped Cecily.

Lady Pennington lost her veil of charm. “Don’t use that tone of voice with me, young lady. Why, after everything I did for you on our journey—”

Cecily choked.

“—I should think you could show a little gratitude. Lud! All I need you to do is come with me for but a moment, and tell Lady Longhurst that you have agreed to make me a gown. She keeps insisting her mantua-maker will work for no one but her—merciful heavens! Whatever is happening to your dress?”

Giles glanced down and realized the burning smell came from Cecily’s skirts. Worse, a sparkling glow shone through the folds of the cloth, a crackling sound coming from the depths of her hip pocket.

Cecily impolitely cursed and withdrew the scepter; the tip of it shot jagged darts of lightning.

“Lud!” said Lady Pennington. “That looks like—what are you doing with—?”

Cecily mumbled something about her temper and called her magic, drawing a wave from a nearby fountain and dousing her burning gown and consequently, Lady Pennington as well, who gathered a breath and opened her mouth to astonishing proportions.

Giles drew his sword. Cecily’s face whitened. “You cannot possibly—”

No, it would make him as bad as Fletcher. But if he just whacked the lady over the head, Giles would not feel too badly about it.

Lady Pennington released the scream that she had called from the depths of her bosom.

“Too late,” snapped Giles, slamming the blade back into his scabbard. “Run.”

Cecily lifted her skirts and sprinted after him, the scepter within the folds in her fist. Giles watched their backs, but it appeared the revelers were making such a loud noise of their own that they had yet to react to Lady Pennington’s screams. This appeared only to infuriate her, because she began to scream louder.

The stables muffled the lady’s cries and the dark solitude of the building seemed to give them a measure of safety. But Giles knew guards would be sent to investigate and he quickly went to Apollo’s stall, pointing out Belle’s for Cecily’s sake. Gratitude for their journeys together filled him as Cecily saddled her mount as efficiently and silently as he did.

They led their horses to the open door. Cecily did not hold the scepter in her hand, and Giles hoped she had not tucked it away in her skirts again. A brief flash of light from a sopping wet bag dangling from Belle’s saddle reassured him.

“I’m trying to control my anger and fear,” said Cecily as she noticed his gaze. “I hoped it would stop reacting to me if I wasn’t touching it. I don’t understand why—”

“They went this way,” shouted a voice.

“I’ll check in here,” said another.

Giles cursed as a young guard entered the stables, a lantern in one hand and his sword in the other. Cecily started, staring in surprise at William the shepherd, the man she had once intended to marry, now a loyal soldier of Breden of Dewhame’s army.

Could anything else go wrong tonight?

Fifteen

Giles tried to control the jealousy that flared in his chest when the shock faded from William’s face and turned into an adoring gaze.

“Cecily? What are ye doing here?”

“Will,” she breathed in reply, “I thought I would never see you again.”

His face flushed so deeply that Giles could see the color creep over his features even in the dim lamplight.

“I wrote ye,” he said, “but ye never answered. This place… it is not what I expected.”

“I… I left the village shortly after you did, Will. I did not get your letters.”

Giles could not stand it anymore. “We have to go, Cecily.”

Will appeared to become aware of Giles for the first time, breaking his gaze from Cecily and turning it toward the taller man. “So that’s why ye came. I thought it was ’cause of the mark upon yer face. But it’s because of her, isn’t it? Ye have always mooned after her.”

Giles narrowed his eyes, his hand shifting toward his sword, resisting the impulse to run the man through, but not because they needed to escape. No, it was burning jealousy that prompted his actions. Faith, hadn’t he thought about bringing Cecily and Will together? And now that fate had brought about the meeting, Giles realized what a fool he had been to even consider allowing another man to touch Cecily. Will might hurt her.

Cecily stepped between them, placing a hand upon William’s shoulder. “
You
left me, Will. And because you did not find what you were expecting is no reason to be angry with me, or with Giles.”

He had the grace to look a bit ashamed. “Aye, but ye know I still loved ye.”

Apollo nudged Giles in the back and he turned to stroke the horse’s broad forehead, resigned to listening to this nonsense.

“But not enough,” Cecily told him. “Not enough to stay with me—no, do not look that way, Will. I understand and bear you no ill feeling. Truthfully, it would have been a mistake for us to marry. I am not what you need and you are not… you are not the right man for me.”

Giles hid a smug smile.

“I am even more different than I thought,” she continued. “And it has made my life… complicated. We are on an important mission, Will. One that may help to free England from the slavery of the elven lords.”

Giles turned. Grief etched William’s features. But perhaps a bit of relief too. The man knew he could never have managed a woman like Cecily.

Will gave Giles a measuring look. “The guards are looking for a man with a green mark on his face. And a woman who some daft matron swears has stolen the elven lord’s scepter.”

“Indeed,” said Giles.

Will’s mouth dropped open and his gaze flicked back to Cecily. “Ye are right. Ye are more different than I would have ever—”

A shout from outside the stables made Will turn. He took one last glance at the two of them before he strode out the door. Giles mounted Apollo in one smooth movement while Cecily did the same with Belle.

“Ready?” he whispered, drawing his sword, regretting having to fight their way out.

She held up a hand. “Wait.”

Giles could hear the soldiers shouting to one another. If they waited they would be outnumbered. And then he heard Will’s voice rising above the others.

“There’s no one in here, lads. But I seen two riders making for the southern gate!”

More shouts and a sudden flurry of pounding hooves followed his words.

Cecily grinned. “That means we’ll take the northern gate, then.”

Giles shook his head. “How did you know he wouldn’t betray us?”

“Will has always been my friend before anything else.”

Giles sheathed his sword and tapped Apollo’s flanks with his heels. He suddenly felt sorry for Will, having to settle for naught but friendship.

They rode out into the empty paddock and around to the back of the stables, keeping the horses to a sedate walk until they cleared the grounds and reached the gate.

Water flowed along the walls, enhancing the illusion that the wave-shaped structure swelled like the ocean. Two solitary soldiers stood at the gate, both of them looking toward the lights of the palace and the revelry they were missing.

“What’s your business?” asked the tallest, his gaze still fixed beyond them.

“My mother is ill,” replied Cecily before Giles had even thought of what to tell them. “This kind soldier is escorting me to the city to tend her.”

“Pity,” said the other guard, giving Giles a brief glance. “I heard there’s food and wine aplenty tonight.”

Giles shrugged as he rode past them. “A soldier’s lot, eh, boys?”

“Ah, damn,” the guard continued, ignoring Giles’s words. “Henry, the Imperial Lord has returned. I don’t suppose we’ll have as much merriment after our shift, now.”

Cecily caught her breath and turned to look over her shoulder. Giles glanced back as well, his gaze drifting upward to the tallest tower in Dewhame Palace. Despite the distance, no one could mistake the silhouette of dragon wings as they landed.

They had run out of time.

Giles urged Apollo into a gallop once they left the guards’ sight, splashing through the watery roadways of the city. The taverns were full—which fortunately left the streets empty, and they encountered only a few chairs and one carriage. Moonlight danced along the wet walls of the rounded buildings, played in the spray from the numerous fountains, and lit their way brightly enough that Giles did not fear for the horses’ footing.

He headed for Bristol, one of the few ports with an opening through the magical barrier for trading with the outside world. Even though the Rebellion had the loyalty of a few captains and their ships, the port was so heavily guarded that Giles had worried about getting Cecily safely aboard the
Argonaut
, the small sloop that Sir Robert had arranged for her escape.

If the elven lord flew ahead of them and alerted the authorities, they didn’t have a prayer.

He soon discovered he would not have to worry about it.

Breden of Dewhame would not allow them to get that far.

They had ridden for barely an hour when Cecily shouted and pointed above. “Those are not natural storm clouds.”

He looked up. Where had they come from? A dark gray mass cut off the glow of starlight, gathering with unnatural speed. Soon, the storm clouds would block the moonlight and the horses would be at risk on this rutted road.

Breden had called a storm to hinder them until he caught up with his daughter himself.

A sudden glow lit the darkening night, and Giles turned to see Cecily holding the scepter within her hand, the top of it ablaze with those small flashes of lightning. She held it forward, illuminating their way.

Giles urged Apollo to a faster gait.

Thunder rumbled within those ominous clouds and a deluge of rain showered down upon them.

Giles cursed and slowed his mount yet again, glancing over at Cecily. Flashes from her scepter echoed in her eyes, wide with fear as they gazed into his own. Water plastered her hair to her head, poured down her face in a translucent sheen. He could see the outline of her legs within her sodden skirts.

The only woman he had ever known who looked even lovelier soaking wet.

“We cannot outrun them,” she cried.

His chest squeezed at the terror in her voice. “The hell we can’t! Keep the water from our heads, dry the road before us.”

A glimmer of hope shone in her eyes and she nodded, waving the scepter before her. The rain abruptly stopped stinging Giles’s head and shoulders. The horses’ hooves no longer made squelching sounds in the muddy road, but pounded dry earth instead.

“That was so easy,” she called. “The scepter—”

Thunder drowned her words and before them, just beyond the invisible dry barrier she’d created, the ground exploded with a burst of jagged light. Belle squealed and Apollo’s legs abruptly tried to go in the opposite direction, his rump nearly lowering to the ground. Both horses then spun in circles for a moment, and Giles saw Cecily staring upward.

He followed her gaze and saw Breden and his dragon, Kalah, fly through the storm clouds just above their heads. Despite his dismay, Giles could not help but admire the beauty of the dragon. Kalah’s gleaming scales rippled with blues of a thousand shades. Enormous wings battled the winds, the scalloped edges fluttering, the heavy tendons with a tracery of black outlining the rippling muscles. Like the head of the scepter, jagged light streaked from his open jaw.

Giles turned and met Cecily’s gaze. She did not appear to notice the beauty of the beast in her terror.

“Giles, your sword!”

He drew his blade, surprised that it resisted his hand. It actually appeared reluctant to engage in battle—

Another streak of light crackled down from the sky from the maw of the dragon. Apollo reared. Giles held up his sword in defense. His blade reflected the lightning and sent it sparking back up to the dragon, who snorted as it unerringly hit his snout.

Breden of Dewhame screamed something, the dragon shook its head, and the elven lord held up his hands, which began to glow brighter and brighter.

Apollo and Belle finally stilled, their sides heaving with the exhaustion of fright. They did not know which way to run.

Cecily stared at him with terrified eyes. “He’s gathering the power of the storm within his hands.”

“I know. At least the dragon won’t help him.”

“Nor stop him. Giles, I don’t know if I can do this. Breden… he is my father, after all. And I don’t want to use this thing.” She shook the scepter, the tip of it now ablaze. “The power of it is like a drug, one that I may lose myself in.”

He could not bear the agony in her voice. On her beautiful face. He leaned over and stole a kiss, wishing he had the time to do it properly. “I am your protector, now and always. You know that means I love you?”

She nodded without hesitation, the wind whipping midnight hair across her face, her eyes filling with sudden tears. Perhaps she had realized it before he had managed to discover it himself.

Giles turned Apollo back in the direction they had come. “Ride on to Bristol,” he commanded. “Don’t let Breden have the scepter.”

“I won’t leave you.”

Giles could feel the power the elven lord called. It shivered in the clouds above them, crackled in the air around them. He fancied he could even smell it, sharp and pungent like the stuff used to bleach wool. Even without the scepter, the Imperial Lord held formidable strength.

“Now or later, what’s the difference?” he shouted back. Her face fell but he hardened his heart. Giles could think of no other way to keep her safe.

He smacked Belle on the rump. Now with a direction to run, the horse did not hesitate, blindly galloping forward. Apollo started, fighting the reins to turn and run after Belle. But Giles fought his head and kicked his flanks, lowering his upper body over the horse’s neck.

And Apollo ran through the curtain of rain in the opposite direction, leaving Belle far behind.

Giles squinted upward. Breden’s hands now appeared to be on fire with jagged streaks of lightning. Kalah flew back and forth, trying to decide which horse to follow. Giles wished he’d had a chance to talk with the dragon, to enlist the beast’s aid. But perhaps Kalah had decided which path to follow, for the dragon did not pursue Cecily and the scepter.

Breden cursed and railed as the dragon swept downward after Giles. They now flew close enough for Giles to hear the elven lord’s words. “The scepter, you stupid beast! Follow the girl!”

Kalah ignored the elven lord and spat a stream of lightning, the bolts bouncing harmlessly on the road behind Giles. Apollo ran faster.

Either Kalah had bad aim, or he was purposefully missing his target. But it looked like Breden of Dewhame would not.

Giles held his sword aloft, while his devil-blade fought to return to its scabbard. “Coward,” he yelled at it. “Just because we can’t win this fight is no reason—”

And then the world exploded around him.

His sword flew from his hand with the impact. He could see naught but white light. The hair on his head and arms stood up as a shaft of energy surged through his body. Giles’s ears rang as he fell. And fell. In such dizzying slow motion that it was a relief to hit the ground.

He struggled to stay conscious, crawling to his knees. He had to put up a better fight than this. Cecily needed more time to get away.

Giles staggered to his feet, blinking his eyelids to banish the whiteness. He could not find Apollo. Better that the loyal beast had kept running.

His ears kept ringing. It took him a moment to realize the sound came from his sword, which lay in a patch of grass near the side of the road. He tried to leap toward it, and fell, mud splashing his face, covering his knees. By the time he held his sword in his hands again, he felt the buffet of wind from the dragon’s landing.

Giles turned and faced Cecily’s father.

Breden stayed atop his mount, his hands still glowing, but not as strongly as they had before he’d loosed that blast upon Giles. “It seems I have to kill
you
before Kalah will fetch my scepter. I’d be amused to know what you did to annoy him.”