Touch of Passion (34 page)

“What you have to decide, my dear,” said Malachi, “is what
you
want to do.”

She shook her head. “I don't know why there should even be anything to speak of. I thought you all believed in the
unoliaeth
between Kian and me.”

Malachi looked at her closely. “We do. But what we believe scarce matters now. What do you believe, Loris? You've been absent from Kian long enough to have some idea of what your feelings are, whether you miss him, or not, and whether you want to be near him again . . . or not. Whatever you decide, we must find a way to soothe your grandfather, else he's going to make all our lives wretched.”

They were looking at her. Watching. Waiting for her to say something.

The entire matter seemed so ridiculously foolish. Why couldn't they just pretend that nothing had happened at the Hamlins' ball and go on with their lives? The gossip would all blow over in a few days. If she'd learned anything about London, it was that the most recent bit of news drowned out everything that had come previously, and surely someone would do something soon to make people forget the scene on the terrace.

But society, she knew, wasn't truly the problem. It was her grandfather and his feud with the Seymours. He was a powerful man with great influence. Loris already found it nearly impossible to naysay him. On the other side of the coin was the Earl of Graymar, who didn't like being thwarted by anyone, certainly not a mere mortal. Their constant determination to outdo each other was not only unpleasant but also dangerous. Proof was that her grandfather stood in the midst of the room, frozen in place, beneath a spell that the
Dewin Mawr
had felt not the least compunction casting upon him. And Malachi was only a little weary and irate at the moment. What would happen if Lord Perham truly made him angry?

What did she want? Malachi had asked her. What did she believe?

“What if—” Loris cleared her throat and began again. “What if what I want is to go home to Tylluan? Tomorrow?”

The men exchanged glances.

“You want to return to Tylluan?” Malachi asked. “Are you quite sure that's what you wish? For surely you understand that would be upsetting to your grandfather. He would very likely come after you. And the present time is not precisely a good one for a mere mortal to be visiting.”

“Oh yes, of course,” she said, lowering her gaze to hide how deep her disappointment was. She'd hoped for a moment . . . but it wasn't to be.

“I don't believe that simply going to Tylluan is what Loris truly wants,” Niclas said gently. “Why don't you say it
in another way, my dear? Malachi's being rather dense tonight. Probably because he's so tired.” Niclas cast a teasing look at his cousin, who frowned at him.

Loris looked at Niclas, realizing that he had sensed her emotions. Had she not made herself clear, then?

“I want to see Kian,” she said. “To speak to him. Alone. And then I'll know what's best to do. But if I can't go to Tylluan, then I don't see how—”

Malachi's expression filled with sudden understanding. He also looked very pleased.

“Ah,” he said. “That's different, then.”

Loris didn't see how. “It is?” she asked.

“I shall take care of it,” he said. “Be patient, and trust me. The matter is settled. Leave us to deal with your grandfather, my dear, and all will be well.”

Malachi lifted a hand and made a quick movement, and her grandfather instantly came out of his frozen state.

“—deflecting gossip,” he said, just as angry as he'd earlier been. “You'd let her become a laughingstock if it were left to you. Loris, go to your room, dear.” He pointed toward the door. “I'll let you know in the morning what we've decided.”

“Yes, my lord.” He looked surprised by her sudden obedience, and she was relieved to be sent away. She walked about the room and kissed each of the Seymours good-bye and ended with her grandfather, who stood in stony silence while she saluted his cheek. “Please don't let yourself be distressed any further, Grandfather,” she murmured. “I'm sure that everything will be all right.”

Bidding them all good night, she left the room.

Kian came awake to find himself staring into the guileless blue eyes of the Earl of Graymar. And since that wasn't likely, Kian told himself that either he was dreaming or that a mischievous spirit had sneaked into the castle and was playing tricks by taking on the form of the
Dewin Mawr
. Thus satisfied, he closed his eyes once more and attempted to go back to sleep.

“Do you often sleep in your study, Cousin?” Lord Graymar asked. “I should think your bed a more desirable location.”

It wasn't a dream. Or a mischievous spirit. Kian sighed and dragged his eyes open again and peered at his relative.

“This couch is more comfortable than it may appear,” he said, yawning and stretching before slowly sitting up. “I've been sleeping here a great deal since Loris and Dyfed left. I find it easier to think in this room, and if I need a certain book to answer some question or other I don't have to jog downstairs to find it. I would be grateful, however, if you'd say nothing to Loris about it. She tends to fret.”

“Aye, that she does,” his cousin agreed.

Kian noticed that Lord Graymar had made himself comfortable. He was sitting in a chair nearby, legs crossed and a
glass of whiskey in his hands. How long had he been there and Kian not known? He must have been sleeping deeply indeed to have missed sensing the presence and power of the
Dewin Mawr
.

“How is she?” Kian asked, running both hands through his disheveled hair. “Have you seen her lately? Is she well? Happy?”

Lord Graymar gave him no immediate answer. Instead, Malachi leaned forward and regarded Kian more closely. “What the devil are those scratches on your face? It looks as if you've had a disagreement with a pitchfork.”

Kian touched the tender lines that ran the length of one cheek. They'd stopped seeping blood sometime during the night, thank heavens. Loris wouldn't be pleased to find bloodstains on the furniture when she came home.

“It's nothing,” he said. “Have you ever seen an
athanc
, Malachi?”

“I confess that I have not,” Lord Graymar admitted. “Though I heard the same stories as a child that I assume you heard, too. A great dragonlike beast, is it not?”

Kian nodded. “With very sharp claws. For a monster that moves so slowly when not in its fluid form, it can strike with remarkable speed.” He fingered the scars. “I found out just how fast last night. Fortunately, it hadn't finished growing full-height, else its claws would have been longer and more deadly.”

“You've taken to attempting physical attacks on an enchanted beast?” Malachi asked, clearly astonished by this. “You know, do you not, that it cannot be killed as more normal creatures can?”

Kian stretched once more, his body stiff and aching. “Of course I know,” he said, the words distorted by a groan of discomfort as he brought his arms back down. “But until the enchantment that puts it back to sleep can be found, I've got to discover a way to contain it. Seren is willing to take me close enough to the beast so that I can see whether anything at all affects it. Unfortunately, nothing yet has worked.”

“Not that you want my advice,” Malachi said, “nor have you asked for it, but I'm going to give it, anyway. Stop trying to solve every problem yourself, and wait until Professor Seabolt unearths the solution. It should be quite soon, for he's making rapid progress.”

Kian felt a flush of aggravation. “In the meantime, my people are suffering, and the
athanc
is destroying everything in its path. The local farmers and the villagers have laid the blame and the responsibility at my door. I can't just sit by and do nothing. Not because I got a few little scratches.”

Malachi eyed the scratches dubiously, clearly not finding them little. “I'll heal them before I go,” he stated. “I'm sure you don't want Loris seeing them.”

“How is she?” Kian asked again, far more interested in having news of her than in discussing the dratted
athanc
.

“I saw her but a few hours past, as it happens,” said His Lordship. “She is well. I do not believe she is entirely happy.”

Kian frowned. “What's happened, Malachi?”

The Earl of Graymar proceeded to tell Kian about Lord Perham—painting the gentleman in colors that were far from flattering, although in Kian's opinion Perham sounded to be just as imperious and stubborn as the Earl of Graymar himself—and the appearance of Tauron Cadmaran.

By the time Malachi finished, Kian was up on his feet, pacing before the fire.

“Damn it all,” he muttered. “I never should have let her go. I meant it for the best, and God knows that matters at Tylluan have gone from bad to worse, but I thought—hoped—that the experience would be a pleasant one for her.”

“I wouldn't say that it's been unpleasant, precisely,” Malachi told him. “And she's had the joy of finding her grandfather, and of him finding her, and regardless what I may think of Lord Perham's determination to cut off all ties that Loris has to the Seymours—”

“Which is impossible,” Kian muttered.

“—their discovery of each other has been a very pleasant thing indeed. And I might remind you that Lord Perham
doesn't know that Loris is permanently bound to the Seymours by a
unoliaeth
. In his opinion severing ties with our family is not only doable but desirable. Unfortunately, Loris is caught in the middle, and finds it all distressing.”

“And now this thing with Tauron,” Kian said. “Not that I blame the fellow. He doesn't want to marry among his kind, which means he's got to find a candidate among our sympathetics. Loris is not only a sympathetic but beautiful and charming as well. He'll never find another like her, not in England, and he knows it. I can almost feel sorry for him.”

Malachi sighed. “Aye. So can I. Finding a suitable mate for those of us not providential enough to be fated at birth is a troubling matter. Niclas was most fortunate, and it appears that Dyfed has been as well, though we might have wished it had been someone other than a dark sorceress. Still, destiny is a mysterious thing. We cannot always understand it.”

“I wish Dyfed hadn't made such a scene,” Kian said more thoughtfully. “What could have driven him to be so incautious? Surely he realized Loris would never allow herself to be bound to anyone against her will. That's what she's always disliked most about the idea of the
unoliaeth
, you know.” He cast a glance at his cousin. “The feeling that she hasn't any say in the matter. That it's been thrust upon her.”

“It makes sense,” Malachi remarked, lifting the glass in his hand to sip from it. “Mere mortals have so little understanding of the ways and workings of fate, even a sympathetic like Loris, who has lived with us for so long. Our kind, however, is much more resigned to it. And to finding ways to get around it,” he added with a smile. “As to Dyfed, the boy has been deeply unhappy from the moment he came to Town. His judgment was impaired by anxiety and lovesickness.”

“But now the fashionable world believes that Loris is secretly betrothed to a Seymour. Rumors had already been floating about Town, and Dyfed only confirmed them.”

“And Perham wants to find a way to make them think otherwise,” Malachi said. “Perham believes his granddaughter's
already precarious reputation has been sullied—which is foolish, considering that being married to a Seymour would be perceived by society as a great boon. Still, I concede that something must be done to put an end to the nonsense once and for all. Apart from that, she wants to see you.”

For a moment Kian felt as if his heart had stopped beating. His gaze riveted to Malachi's, and he said, “Loris? She said so?”

Malachi inclined his head. “Given the choice to make her wishes known, that was her desire. To see you. I perceive that this would make you glad as well?”

Kian's heart started beating again, but he still felt dizzy. “Yes,” he murmured. “But how? It would be dangerous for her to come back to Tylluan, and I certainly can't leave—”

“Can you not?” Malachi asked. “Dyfed told me that the beast rests for several days. Will that period of rest come soon?”

Kian nodded slowly. “Tonight. We'll have peace for three or four days. Then he will hunt again. But I've enough food to keep it safe within Tylluan's borders for some days following that. I have three weeks altogether to find a solution.”

Malachi's eyebrows rose. “And then?”

“Then I've promised to call for help.”

“Ah.” Lord Graymar nodded with understanding. “I see. We must hope Professor Seabolt discovers the enchantment before that becomes necessary. Not that I won't be delighted to bend my efforts to the task. I would have come anytime in the past months if you'd called.”

Kian looked away. “I know that.”

“Well, then, I'm glad we understand each other.” Lord Graymar put his glass aside. “Now, I want you to make preparations for someone else—perhaps the ever capable Horas—to oversee the problems at Tylluan for a few days.” He stood.

“I can't, Malachi.” Kian gave a solemn shake of his head. “I would give anything to come away with you to London. To see Loris, even for a few moments of time. But I'm the Baron of Tylluan. I cannot go until all is well.”

Malachi disregarded the words with a wave of one hand. “A brief rest is precisely what you need just now. It will clear your mind and refresh your senses. And it will be an ideal time for us to gather with Professor Seabolt and discuss all he's discovered. And you want to know about the Caslins, do you not? There's a great deal to say about them, as well, and I haven't the time or inclination to do so now.”