Touch of Passion (15 page)

The idea made her smile. “I shall look forward to meeting Kian Seymour,” she told him. “I have heard much of him. And I will gladly tell him my name. It is one he will not hereafter forget.”

Dyfed's eyes narrowed. “You're not Welsh. Or English. Your speech is—”

“No, I'm not English,” she said coldly, “for which I thank God. I'm American. Your companions are coming.” Desdemona nodded toward the trees. “I grow weary of asking, Dyfed Seymour. I don't wish to harm your friends, but I will, if you don't let me go.”

“I see that what I've heard of Americans is true, then,” he replied tightly. “They have no manners. Not even their women. If you harm my men, you may well drive me to do something that I've never done before. Strike a female.”

She laughed at that. How amusing that he should think he could best her in any way. She was going to enjoy taming him into submission.

“Then before they arrive and you discover what you can—and cannot—do to me, perhaps we should make good use of our time. Now you will kiss me.”

She rose up on her toes and lifted her free hand to pull him down to her, but again was surprised.

Dyfed reared back. “
Kiss you?
” he repeated with disbelief. “Are you witless? You killed my horse!”

Desdemona was beginning to grow rather angry, too. “You
must
obey me,” she stated tautly. She was clearly his superior. Why hadn't he realized it yet?

Now it was his turn to laugh. “Must I? Americans are not only ill-mannered, I see, but arrogant.”

“No one disobeys me,” she informed him, striving to impress upon him that she meant what she said, “save for the most powerful among our kind, which you assuredly are not. I am Desdemona Caslin, daughter to Draceous Caslin.” She
waited for an appropriate reaction to her words, but Dyfed only continued to gaze at her as if she was slightly mad. “Does that mean nothing to you?” she demanded.

He gave a single shake of his head. “Not really. I perceive that you are a gifted sorceress, and that those gifts are dark, but your name and your father's are unfamiliar to me.”

“
A gifted sorceress?
” she repeated as insult grew within her breast. “I am no mere sorceress. I am the daughter of
Draceous Caslin
. My powers are beyond what you could ever hope to possess, beyond your imagining.”

Dyfed Seymour appeared to disbelieve her. He said nothing but lowered his gaze to her wrist, still captive in his grasp, then looked up at her again with a mocking smile.

Desdemona clenched her teeth and made a fist of her free hand. “Don't you dare to laugh at me!” she warned him wrathfully. “I don't know why I can't make you obey me. I certainly had no trouble making you insensible before.”

“Do you mean when I fell?” he asked. “You had nothing to do with that. I hit my head on a rock. It's aching like the very devil”—he gingerly touched the back of his head—“and I imagine I'll have a rather large lump in the morning.”

She was taken aback. Why would he say such a ridiculous thing? How could he make up a tale so utterly false? And why on earth was her attraction to him growing more intense by the moment? She should hate Dyfed Seymour, and the fact that she didn't only made her that much angrier.

“That's not so! You're a liar and a fool!” Desdemona struck him on the shoulder and, when he only laughed, struck him again. She
couldn't
be helpless. It was impossible. Certainly not because of
him
. Panic began to overwhelm all her better senses, and she struggled to be set free. “Let me go! Let me—”

His companions came suddenly crashing through the trees and into the clearing. Her captor turned to look at them, momentarily diverted, and the men themselves were
taken aback by the sight before them. They fell still, panting from the exertion of running, their eyes drawn upward to the sight of so many flames floating above their heads.

It was all the distraction Desdemona needed. With one violent twist she freed herself, shouting, “Sleep!” at the two men and then whirling away, out of Dyfed Seymour's reach, before he leaped forward to grab her.

She was quick, but Dyfed's anger made him quicker. The little fiend had somehow been involved in the destruction surrounding them, which meant she knew what had been happening at Tylluan. And she had killed his horse, or let him be killed, which was just as bad. But this was the last straw. Bened and Lud crumpled to the ground beneath the force of her curse, and Dyfed had had enough.

She moved with the speed that their kind could call upon in times of need, but so did he. Well before she reached the other side of the flame-lit clearing, he had her.

She screamed and struggled and threw every curse she could think of at him, from “
sleep
,” to “
be still
,” to “
fall down
,” and everything in between, but nothing happened. He appeared to be protected from her powers, great though he believed them to be. She certainly believed them to be far above average, if her frustration and fury at the moment were anything to go by.

Dragging her diminutive, resisting form along, Dyfed sat upon the nearest felled tree, threw Miss Desdemona Caslin across his knee, tossed her heavy black skirt up over her head to expose her undergarments, and, with the flat of his palm across her small and attractively rounded bottom, gave her the thrashing she deserved.

From the screaming outrage that accompanied the task, it was clear that she'd never been subjected to such punishment before. Which explained a good deal, Dyfed thought.

“This is for Lud,” Dyfed told her, landing a solid blow. “And this is for Bened. This is for the trees and plants you destroyed. This is for behaving in such a spoiled and
reckless manner. And this,” he said, giving her an especially hard whack, “is for my horse!”

She was weeping by the time Dyfed was finished, more out of mortification than hurt, he supposed. If the little wretch thought this was bad, however, only wait until Kian got through with her. He would be here soon. Dyfed could feel it.

“There,” he said, pulling her up into a sitting position and settling her on his lap. “That's done, and no less than you deserve for being so ill-mannered a brat. Calm yourself and gather your wits. I want you to release Lud and Bened from your curse as quickly as possible.”

“I don't understand,” she managed between sobs, shaking her head. “Something's wrong. Why are my powers useless against you? It's n-not possible.”

She had given up fighting him, at least for the time being. The shock of not being able to curse him had evidently stunned her into a temporary surrender. Temporary, he knew, because magical beings of great power generally made wily prey. He'd spent his life with just such a person and knew very well how quickly Kian could regain his composure, even after a tremendous blow. To be safe, Dyfed set one arm firmly about Desdemona's waist. With his other hand he tilted her chin up to have a better look at her.

Americans, he decided, might not be civilized, but they were certainly very attractive. Or, rather, this particular one was.

Her hair was as black and sleek as a raven's wing and quite long, if the several strands that had come loose from her arrangement were proof to go by. Her face was as delicate as the rest of her, heart shaped and deceptively sweet, with a small nose and softly rounded cheeks. Her dark brows were high, slender, and arching, and beneath were eyes the color of amethyst, framed by long black lashes. Her lips were slightly bowed, curving into an almost childish pout, especially now, when she was so unhappy. Gazing at it, he felt a disarming urge to give her the kiss she had asked for earlier.

Aye, she was a rare beauty, as so many of their kind were. Unfortunately, also as with many of their kind, it was a beauty that belied the heart that lay beneath. Hers was a dark, cold magic, and nothing other than that about her could be believed.

She gazed up at him, forlorn and unhappy, her face streaked with mud and tears. She was some years younger than he was, he thought, perhaps twenty, no older, and Dyfed felt an unwanted stirring of pity for her.

“I don't know what to do,” she whispered. “This has never happened before. You're not even a great wizard.”

“No, I'm not,” Dyfed agreed, and with one finger pushed a few stray strands of hair from her face. “I'm a lesser wizard, and perfectly happy to be so. What I should like to know now is more precisely who you are and why you're here from the States, and what you're doing at Tylluan in the dead of night. And, of course, what you have to do with the troubles we've been experiencing here these past many months.”

She sniffled and wiped her wet face with both hands. “My powers may have gone astray, but I'm not a fool.” She looked up at him, her eyes filled with misery. “Why wouldn't you kiss me? I thought at least you'd
want
to obey that command.”

“Why do you want me to kiss you?” he asked. “You came to Tylluan to bring destruction, not to claim kisses.”

“Why?” The question seemed to bewilder her greatly. “Does there have to be a reason? I want you to, that's all. But you won't, and I . . . I don't understand how that can be.”

He took her chin in one hand and sighed. “You've clearly been terribly spoiled, Desdemona Caslin, if you've been able to command strong men to do whatever you bid. You'll think me an antiquated boor, I fear, but I'm not in the habit of kissing strange young women who trespass on my brother's lands, kill my horse, and put spells on my companions.”

“I'm sorry about the horse,” she said tearfully, her arms going about his neck. “I'll give you a new one.”

“Will you?” He gave her a disbelieving look. “And where will you get it? Do you intend to create one from out of
thin air, or did you happen to bring your stable over from America?”

“No,” she said, “but I'll get one, I promise you.”

“I'll believe that when I see it. For now, however, I shall be satisfied for you to release my men from their slumber.”

She drew in a shaking breath and calmed a little. “I will, if you'll kiss me first.”

“I'm not a whore,” he replied with renewed anger. “I don't dole out kisses as bribes.”

“Please,” she begged. “Lord Tylluan is coming. I can feel his approach. Please.”

Dyfed regarded her for a silent moment before at last giving way. It was all foolishness, as far as he was concerned, but if it would cause Lud and Bened to be wakened more quickly, it would be worthwhile.

Dyfed meant it only to be a momentary caress, as chaste as the kisses he always shared with Loris, but as he bent nearer, Desdemona's arms tightened about his neck, and tighter still as he brushed his lips against her own.

What happened then was ever after something of a mystery to him. Dyfed knew what powerful magic was and had from birth been surrounded by wizards and sorceresses who both wielded and experienced powerful magic. But being a lesser wizard, he'd always been a spectator and never before been directly involved in anything more amazing than his gift of silent speech. He wasn't even able to levitate small objects, which was considered an almost childish achievement among his peers.

But the moment he touched Desdemona Caslin's lips, Dyfed knew that he'd been cast headlong into a magic that far surpassed the ordinary. It felt as if violent explosions were going off in his head, not giving pain, but instead imparting an intense clarity. He had read a good deal about passion in books and had, he believed, experienced the same emotion with some of the numerous females he'd bedded in his life. But he'd been wrong. For the first time he truly
knew
what passion was, for it had come to life in him through
nothing more than an innocent kiss with this strange woman from America.

Lifting his head, Dyfed gazed at her and saw that she had felt it, too. Her eyes were wide, filled with the same astonishment he was experiencing.

He lowered his mouth to hers again and they came together with a sudden eagerness, their arms holding each other tightly, their fingers grasping fistfuls of clothing and hair. Dyfed's brain spun from the exertion of it—he had never kissed anyone with so much energy before. Or been kissed in that manner, either. He had the alarming feeling that they were both going to faint from lack of air in a few more moments.

But it didn't come to that. She tore away, panting, and frantically pushed to make him sit upright.

“He's almost here!” she said. “Please, I cannot let him see me. I must go.” Casting her glance back at Lud and Bened, who still lay insensible upon the ground, she cried, “Awake!”

“I can't let you go,” Dyfed said as she turned back to him. “I'm sorry, but—”

She silenced him with a hard kiss. “I'll find you again, very soon,” she told him. “Forgive me for your horse. I vow I'll make the loss up to you.”

Bened and Lud began to stir, just as they heard Kian's shout, not far away.

Desdemona shivered. “I can feel his powers,” she whispered. “Cadmaran didn't tell me the full of it.”

“Cadmaran?” Dyfed repeated.

Kian shouted once more, much closer, and Dyfed could hear the sound of horse hooves approaching through the trees. Desdemona reached up and kissed him again, a brief, sorrowful parting, and then she pushed free and, in a blur of motion, was gone.

Kian rode into the clearing with Horas behind him, taking the scene in with what Dyfed thought to be an admirable lack of shock.

“Where is he?” Kian demanded.

Dyfed's arms were still in the place they'd been moments before, as if she were still in his embrace. Dropping them, he looked dazedly at his elder brother and repeated, stupidly, “He?”

“I felt the power of an extraordinary wizard,” Kian said sharply, turning Seren about. “Was it Cadmaran? Where has he gone?”