Touch of Passion (28 page)

“I believe this will tell us,” he said, and with slightly shaking hands withdrew something from a pocket within his coat. It was a small portrait, and with fingers still trembling he passed it to her.

Loris gazed down at the painting and was deeply surprised to see that it was of a young woman who was very
much like . . . well, like herself. They might almost have been sisters. The color of the woman's hair was identical to Loris's, as were her facial features. She appeared to be younger than Loris in the depiction but far more refined, and was clearly a very grand and elegant young lady.

But as similar as they might be, Loris was obliged to tell him the truth.

“I'm sorry, my lord,” she said once more. “This isn't my mother.” Looking at him with all the sympathy she felt, she said, “I do wish I could tell you that she is, if only to give you peace.”

His eyes filled with tears, and he reached out to take her hands in both of his, folding the portrait into her palms.

“Do you know, my dear,” he said, sounding very close to weeping, “I have shown that portrait to dozens of young women and men in the search for my grandchild, and each one has eagerly asserted that this was their mother. You are the first to deny it, though the resemblance between you and this woman is so striking that you must in some way be related. But you see, Loris, this woman could not be mother to any of them, or to you, as you have so honestly stated. Because this is a portrait of my wife. Of your grandmother, my dear, of whom you are the very likeness.” A tear rolled down one of his leathery cheeks. “You are my granddaughter, Loris. I'm convinced of it.”

She came out of her chair to kneel before him and went into his arms. They hugged each other tightly as Lord Perham wept into her hair and shook with what she thought must be tremendous relief.

“I'm so glad,” she murmured, an indefinable happiness filling her. She stroked his hair and felt tears on her own cheeks. “I'm so very glad, sir. I've always longed to have someone to call my own. Now we will have each other, and you may rest from your searching. My mother would have been very happy, I think. You must tell me everything about her, and I shall do my best to remember all that I can, as well.”

From his chair in the corner Loris distinctly heard Lord Graymar blowing his nose. He stood and said, in a thick voice, “Well, now that matters have been so happily decided, I believe it might be best for me to leave you alone for a little while.” He paused to clear his throat. “I shall just have a walk through your gardens, shall I, Perham? I've heard tell that they're exceptionally fine. I won't be gone long, Loris, my dear, and if you should need me, send one of the servants.”

Lord Perham was still beyond the ability to speak, but Loris smiled gratefully at Lord Graymar and murmured, “Thank you.”

He left the room, shutting the door behind him. Lord Perham, hearing his guest depart, at last lifted his head and began to fumble for a handkerchief.

“I'm sorry, my dear,” he managed, wiping his face. “I fear this isn't a very good way for us to begin.”

“I don't mean to disagree with you, my lord,” she said, rising and fetching him a fresh cup of tea, “lest you think me ill-mannered, but I think it's a wonderful way to begin.” She sat down in her chair and smiled at him. “Indeed, sir, I can scarce think of any better one.”

“D'you think she'll come tonight, m'lord? It would be five in a row for the first time since we've started feeding the beast.”

“That's so, Horas,” Kian agreed, settling Seren when the horse moved impatiently. “But we'll take no chances. She may be forcing the creature to rest after four nights of wandering, but Dyfed told me that he normally feeds for five. After tonight, we'll have another respite for a few days.” He sighed. “And then we start again.”

“A respite, yes,” Horas said, “but we're going to run out of sheep if the beast's appetite continues on like this. We've another two weeks at most before we'll have to look for something else to offer.”

Kian had been worrying about the very same thing. He was going to have to start buying sheep and cattle from other estates soon if he didn't find a way to put the beast back into a deep and lasting slumber. Given enough time, the
athanc
would destroy all the local flocks and herds and would start searching for what it could find without going too far from the lake that was its home. It would destroy everything in its path, as it had done before Desdemona Caslin had begun to lead it into this particular pasture.

They had an unspoken agreement: She led the creature to this safe spot, and Kian made certain that it was filled with a goodly number of sheep. When the
athanc
had finished feasting, Desdemona Caslin ordered it back to the lake, and it disappeared by draining away into the earth.

They'd been playing this scene out for over a month now, and Kian still hadn't gotten used to seeing the creature transform from its solid form into its fluid one. It was an astonishing magic that he never would have believed possible if he'd not seen it, and Kian had seen numerous astonishing things in his life.

Nothing appeared to touch the creature. Kian had attempted to put an invisible trap about the area once the creature was in it, but the barriers melted away at the
athanc
's approach, unable to hold it captive. He'd tried various spells, even daring to get as close as he possibly could to make them more effective, but they bounced back with such force that he'd been obliged to protect himself from his own powers. He'd requested aid from the elements, but neither the wind nor rain had been able to halt the beast's progress or affect it in any discernible way.

Clearly, Kian needed an incantation, one that would draw forth the might of those spirits, both heavenly and earthly, to lend him the strength he needed to force the monster back into its watery bower.

The
athanc
gave him a new appreciation for the dangers that his ancestors had been obliged to face in centuries past. More than that, it caused him to realize that he had a great deal more to learn before he would be able to take on the duties of the
Dewin Mawr
. Though Kian supposed that even Malachi would be at something of a loss regarding how to deal with the beast. Thus far neither he nor Dyfed nor Professor Seabolt had been able to find the enchantments for overcoming an
athanc
. It was very frustrating, and incredibly surprising, since, according to Dyfed's reports, they'd found well-documented spells and enchantments for just about every other ancient trouble that Europe had suffered. But for
some inexplicable reason, no one had bothered to jot down the remedy for dealing with monstrous creatures, although, according to the professor, such beasts—sea serpents, dragons, and
athancs
among them—had been numerous in ancient days.

Desdemona Caslin had proved herself a formidable ally in this conflict, and although Kian wasn't precisely happy that Dyfed had given his heart to a dark sorceress, he was exceedingly glad that she was now on his side, even if only for Dyfed's sake.

They never spoke when she brought the beast; in truth, they purposefully remained on opposite sides of the clearing. But they communicated nonetheless. They were very similar in powers and could sense each other's thoughts. Dyfed had told Kian that he'd been able to hear Desdemona Caslin, but this, Kian had told him, was not because she had the gift of silent speech but very likely because she was, in truth, his fated one.

Kian couldn't communicate with her that closely—nor did he want to, for that matter, for she remained as icy and forbidding as she'd been on the day when he'd met her at Llew. But he wasn't unaware of what he owed her. It was a perilous undertaking for her, controlling the
athanc
in order to keep Tylluan from harm, rather than doing as Cadmaran desired and letting it wreak havoc and destruction. She was still beneath the Earl of Llew's hand, and if he should discover her deception, Desdemona would be in grave danger.

An hour passed, and then another. The fog grew thick and the night colder.

“I believe she's managed once more to convince Cadmaran that the creature is sated after so few days,” Kian said at last. “He's not going to be pleased, but Miss Caslin seems to be made of stern stuff. Apparently, she's more than a match for him.”

“Hope it stays that way,” Horas murmured, pulling his hat down about his ears. “Hell's mittens, it's cold tonight.”

“It's going to rain on the morrow,” Kian told him. “I can feel the storm approaching. This chill wind brings it to us.”

“Rain,” Horas muttered. “That's another thing we don't need any more of just now. Beasts and rain. God help us, what will be next?”

Kian understood how his steward felt. Weeks of struggling with the accursed creature were beginning to exhaust everyone who remained at Tylluan. Kian's tenants had suffered a great deal of damage before Desdemona Caslin had limited the
athanc
to this one pasture. Crops had been destroyed, and the sheep were still dying. Worse even than that, rumors were beginning to spread to the nearby villages that a fearsome beast was living at Tylluan. If Kian didn't get rid of it soon, people were going to start to wonder if he wasn't, in fact, the one to blame for the creature's appearance. He didn't even want to think of what would happen if the news spread beyond the border of Wales, to the ears of the English, who weren't as close to understanding or believing in magic as the Welsh were.

“Has there been any word from Master Dyfed, m'lord?” Horas asked hopefully. “Has he discovered anything of help, yet?”

“There's been word, aye,” Kian told him. Indeed, a week hadn't yet gone by since they'd left Tylluan that Kian didn't hear from Dyfed and, more happily, from Loris as well. “But nothing particularly helpful yet. We shall simply have to be patient, Horas. There is nothing else we can do.”

They waited another hour, sitting atop their obedient mounts until the fog and breeze had chilled them through to the bone. A few wolves attempted to sneak into the clearing, but Kian readily dealt with them, sending several rocks flying sharply in their direction so that they scattered and ran.

“Nothing is moving within Tylluan's borders,” Kian said at last, “save those beings and creatures that would naturally be here. She'll not bring the beast tonight. Let's be on our way.”

They lingered only long enough for Kian to place an enchantment on the area that would both protect the sheep from any more of the usual predators and keep them from wandering.

Horas rode with Kian as far as the gates to the castle's outer bailey, then bid him good eve and moved on toward his cottage a short distance farther down the mountain, where his wife and children lay sleeping.

Kian held Seren still and, with a measure of envy, watched his steward depart. How good it was to enter a dwelling where there were hearts and arms to welcome one. Kian hadn't realized just how much he had taken for granted in having his own loved ones with him at Tylluan.

He missed Loris so fully that it was a physical pain, but he wasn't the only one. The servants dutifully fulfilled the chores she'd set for them to do, and Cook prepared the menus that Loris had written out to fill several weeks. But the castle was somber and quiet, lonely.

Kian took his meals in the great hall with his men, all of them young and single and without hearth or home of their own. They drank and laughed and told tales and, common to the Welsh, burst into song without warning.

And yet Kian felt a stark, unfathomable loneliness. Especially during the long night hours, whether he was out because of the beast or sitting in his study. Or restlessly tossing in his bed, thinking of Loris and recalling every single moment of making love to her.

Guilt was his constant companion, but just now he'd gladly put all guilt and shame aside simply to hold her for five precious minutes. To feel her arms about his waist and her cheek against his shoulder. She would lift her face to receive his kiss, as she had done that night, and would meet him with that same sweet eagerness that sent all his senses reeling. Five minutes, aye. It would never be enough, but it would ease his longing for her, even just a little.

He stabled Seren himself, sending the half-asleep stable boy back to his slumbers, and afterward made his way into
the castle to find that Cook had kindly left a tray of food for him and a ready tankard of ale. One of the footmen brought it to Kian in his study and then remained only long enough to help his master discard his gloves, hat, and heavy outer garments before he bade him good night.

With a sigh of relief, Kian settled into the chair behind his desk and, taking a long drink of ale, began to sort through the mail that had been delivered in the late afternoon. The warmth of the fire, kept burning for his return, began to seep into his skin and relax his weary, aching body. He would sleep tonight. Perhaps not well, but he would sleep. It would please Loris to know that he was following her instructions, at least when he could.

Taking another long drink from his tankard, he stood, picking up a tied packet that contained personal letters. Several always came at once, despite the fact that Loris and Dyfed wrote them nearly every day, for correspondence was collected in the village and ridden up the mountain three times a week, with the exception of those that were marked as urgent or sent by express. But nothing as yet had been that pressing, thank a merciful God. And if something so truly dire had occurred, Malachi would have found a much quicker way than the written word to get the news to Kian.

Moving to sit before the fire, Kian settled into his favorite chair and untied the string that held the various letters together. They fell apart, separating into his lap. There was a letter from Malachi this time—that was unusual—two from Dyfed, and three from Loris. Kian tried not to smile, knowing that his reluctant
unoliaeth
had written to him more often than even his twin—especially considering the unhappiness he had given her—but he couldn't help himself.