Enchanted at Christmas (Christmas at Castle Keyvnor Book 2)

by Christy Carlyle

  “You have your mother’s eyes.” The woman moved around the counter and came to stand before Angel. “And her hair. I always told her that it looked as if God plucked the mane right off a unicorn and placed it on her head.”

  Angel couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled inside of her. “If only unicorns truly existed.”

  The older woman gave her a wry smile. “And who is to say they don’t? Surely you’ve seen things that commoners would say aren’t possible. Speaking of which, how are Tilly and Agnes?”

  “So you do know who I am,” Angel said, narrowing her eyes.

  “I knew you were coming, I just wasn’t entirely certain when. My visions are not quite as clear anymore. I am Maevis, by the way. Come, let us take tea together in the back.”

  Angel followed Maevis to a swinging door that led them from the front of the shop to a comfortable little room in the back. There was a small, chintz sofa against one wall, a writing desk in the corner, and a table in the middle of the room, complete with four chairs and a teapot.

  “Sit,” Maevis told her, retrieving cups and saucers from a cupboard. She put the cups down and poured the tea before taking her own seat. “What has finally brought you to Bocka Morrow?” she asked without preamble.

  “Family,” Angel said simply.

  “Your father’s family?”

  Angel nodded.

  “They have come to accept you, then?”

  “Well, I’m not so certain about that,” Angel laughed. “But my cousins are getting married, and they thought to invite me. I’ve no idea why. After all these years, and all the secrecy, I didn’t know they even knew about me.”

  “And what about you?” Maevis asked. “Do you know about you?”

  “If you mean have I discovered my talents yet…” She shook her head, the familiar frustration rising in her belly. “No. I try. I practice. I deliberate, and speculate, and ruminate.”

  “All the ates, then?”

  Angel smiled. “Yes. All of them. But I don’t feel any closer to knowing what I am.”

  “Oh, my dear, therein lies your problem.” Maevis leaned forward. “You are not a what, you are a who. Your gifts do not define you. You define you.”

  Easier said than accomplished. Angel had no idea who she was – she’d been hoping the discovery of her talents would make that clear to her. Now Maevis claimed it was the other way around?

  The bell tinkled, heralding the arrival of a new customer. “You will see Sacha,” Maevis said, standing from the table. “She will help you.”

  “Sacha. My aunts mentioned her. But where do I find her?”

  Maevis smiled. “Never fear, Sacha will find you.”

  Sometimes, Angel wished she weren’t surrounded by women who spoke in riddles all the time. Such was the witch’s way, but it became downright infuriating when one was eager for simple answers. There was nothing for it, of course. So, Angel finished the last of her tea and then saw herself out, giving a little wave to Maevis on her way. Maevis smiled and winked at her before turning back to her customer.

  Angel stepped out into the street and promptly drew her shawl more tightly about her shoulders. It was getting later in the day – the sun would be gone soon, and the evening chill would settle into her bones. As much as she wanted to run about town asking for the whereabouts of Sacha, she knew she didn’t have time for that. Nor did she have the nerve for it. A pair of drunken men stumbled out of the inn down the road, setting her on edge. The smell of stale ale and tobacco were burned into her memory, making her want to run from this scene.

  Besides, Maevis had promised Sacha would find her, and Angel would be forced to trust that, just as she was forced to trust that the tattoo on the back of her neck would protect her from men like the ones who had just left the inn.

  Eager to get back to the castle before nightfall, Angel set off down the street, toward the hill. It was much harder climbing up the hill than it had been coming down, and by the time she reached the top, she was out of breath. So she stopped and turned around, her eyes meeting with the most astounding sunset she’d ever seen. The pinks and oranges soothed her soul, and her nerves began to settle a bit.

  “Lovely, isn’t it?”

  Angel nearly jumped out of her skin at the voice behind her. She whirled around to find a woman standing there, staring at her with obsidian eyes. Her black hair flew wildly in the winter wind, her coffee-colored skin illuminated by the setting sun. Angel knew immediately who she was.

  “Maevis said you would find me.”

  Sacha shrugged. “She’s a harbinger, you know?”

  “Clearly.” She extended her hand. “I’m Angel.”

  “Sacha,” the woman replied, giving Angel’s hand a squeeze. “Maevis said you would be coming. Do you plan to stay?”

  “Only the week. My cousins are getting married.”

  Sacha narrowed her dark eyes, as if she were peering straight through Angel, and then a small smile came to her lips. “Well, perhaps your time here will be more exciting than simply attending your cousins’ weddings.”

  Angel wasn’t really looking for excitement. She preferred quiet, stability, comfort. “Why did Maevis suggest I seek you out?”

  Sacha shrugged again. She had a nonchalance to her, a devil-may-care attitude that Angel admired, maybe even envied a little. Angel often thought she cared too much, and such a trait led to over-thinking, and over-thinking led to doubt. She hated to doubt herself, and yet, she did it all the time.

  “You seem nervous,” Sacha said.

  “Wouldn’t you be? Away from home, around strange people?”

  Sacha grinned. “Do you see the color of my skin? Clearly, I am very far from home.”

  “So you understand?”

  The woman shook her head. “Not really. People are people, we’re all the same inside. When you look past the exterior, you see.”

  “Well, then I am quite blind.”

  “Come to see me tomorrow. I live in a cottage near the shore, not far from here. Keep on the path this way and you will find it.”

  “How will I know if it is yours?”

  A surreptitious grin came to Sacha’s lips. “Oh, you will know. Three o’clock.”

  She walked away, and Angel watched her go. She was everything Angel was not – where Angel was clothed in white, Sacha was clothed in darkness. Where Angel was meek and quiet, Sacha was bold and confident. And yet, somehow, Angel knew they were going to be good friends.

  Chapter 6

  Devil take it, this headache wasn’t going anywhere! He’d tried brandy and powders and rest, and now he was attempting to get some fresh air, as suggested by the little maid who came into the library to stoke the fire. But here he was, traversing the expansive grounds of Castle Keyvnor in the fading sun, praying for some kind of miracle, and receiving none. If Ivy and Holly thought him a curmudgeon on a day where he was feeling well, they ought to steer clear of him this evening. He was in no mood to deal with their criticisms of his character or their advice on what to do with his life. Although, he had to admit, he’d probably take advice from a troll under a bridge regarding this headache just now.

  “Ethan!”

  Damn. She’d found him.

  “Ivy,” he said simply, turning about to greet his sister. She was bundled up, head-to-toe, in a fashionable winter bonnet and her long, red cloak.

  She cocked her head sideways, like a cat, trying to listen for its prey. “What’s the matter?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “You seem in an even blacker mood than usual.”

  Ethan’s nostrils flared of their own accord as he took a deep breath in. “I am not in a black mood, I’ve simply got a blasted headache that won’t go away.”

  “Oh, dear.” Ivy’s hand shot to her mouth and her suspicious expression melted into concern. “Did you imbibe too much last night?”

  If she were a man, Ethan wouldn’t hesitate to throttle her just then. “No,” he said, letting his annoyance seep into his tone. “I don’t know
what the bloody hell caused it.”

  “Ethan!”

  What was the matter with him? “Sorry, Ivy.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I just…I need to be alone, all right?”

  Ivy folded her arms across her chest. “Very well,” she huffed. “I only came to check on you because Holly asked me to. But I see you’re just as charming and delightful as usual.”

  “Ivy,” he warned.

  “I don’t know what Holly is worried about anyway,” his insufferable sister went on. “I can’t imagine, dukedom or not, why any woman would want to saddle herself with the likes of you.”

  “Go inside, Ivy.”

  “Feel better, Ethan.”

  With a haughty air, she walked away, headed for the castle. Thank God. He couldn’t take much more of her this evening. He couldn’t take much more of this headache, either. How in the world would he get through the week like this? There had to be something else to soothe this pain.

  He stuffed his hands into his pockets to warm them and met with the small talisman Holly had given him. He’d practically forgotten all about it, but it gave him an idea. Perhaps he should pay a visit to that gypsy woman. Not that he believed any of that nonsense, but maybe she had a less traditional way of treating his ailment. He’d trust anyone at this point.

  Unfortunately, it was so bloody close to supper, there was no way he could make it there and back in time. Should he suffer through supper and seek out the gypsy in the morning? Or should he make his excuses and go tonight?

  Damn it all, his head hurt, but there was only one, proper way to handle this situation. He would simply have to suffer through, and go see the gypsy in the morning. Both his pocket watch and the rapidly-setting sun told him he ought to prepare for supper, so he made his way toward the castle, not far behind Ivy.

  He was just about to ascend the main staircase when his head suddenly cleared, as if he had never been in pain at all. He could open his eyes all the way and the constant nausea he’d been fighting off dissipated immediately.

  “What the devil?” he mumbled to himself, confused by the phenomenon. Not that he was going to look a gift horse in the mouth – whatever made it go away, he was happy for it. But what in the world could it have been?

  “Thank you, Morris,” came a soft, gentle voice from behind him.

  Ethan whirled on his spot, his hand still resting on the mahogany lion head that adorned the banister. His breath caught when he saw her. She was the one from before – the so-called witch, Angel Quinn. He’d only gotten to see her from behind earlier. But now he saw her face, and he was completely and utterly bewitched. Her white hair framed a most beatific face, soft and feminine, her cheeks and lips rosy from the cold. Ethan couldn’t take his eyes from her.

  Which made things a bit awkward when she looked up at him. She blinked a few times, eclipsing her bright green eyes in rapid succession. And it seemed as if she even held her breath for a long moment, until finally, she turned away from him and headed in the opposite direction of the staircase.

  “Wait!” he called, not stopping to think. “Miss Quinn!”

  She came to an abrupt halt and after a brief pause, turned slowly on her spot. She narrowed her eyes. “How do you know my name?” she asked.

  And it was a fair question. How did he know her name? He probably shouldn’t admit he’d seen her earlier and asked after her. Blessedly, an idea came to him. “Morris. He greeted you just moments ago, and I…I was there.” He gestured rather lamely toward the staircase.

  She glanced toward the door, as if jogging her memory, then turned back to him. “I believe he merely said, ‘evening, miss.’”

  Ethan swallowed. “Are you sure?” he hedged.

  “Quite. Now, what is it you want with me, sir?” She backed away from him. Not a large movement, but enough that he noticed.

  And now he felt like an idiot. He was an honorable man with good intentions, and yet, somehow, he was managing to frighten her away. A woman with a reputation for being a witch. How terrifying must one be to scare a witch?

  He dropped his head and gave a little sniff of laughter. “Please forgive me, I-” Should he tell her about the headache? That being near her soothed it completely, taking the debilitating pain away as if it had never been there in the first place? No, probably not. Then he’d truly send her running from him in fear. But he had to tell her something. “I saw you earlier, when you arrived, and one of the footmen informed me of your name.”

  “Oh,” was all she said, as she drew her arms about herself, clearly trying to retreat. But he didn’t want her to retreat. Aside from the fact she took his pain away, he was intrigued by her, desperate to know more about her. Why was she called a witch? And why was she afraid of him?

  She opened her mouth, presumably to make her excuses out of his presence, but Ethan wasn’t eager to let her go, so he cut her off. “Did you just come from the village?” he asked.

  “Erm…as a matter of fact, yes. My aunts know some people in town and urged me to seek them out.”

  “And did you find them?”

  She nodded, her emerald eyes shimmering. “I did.” There was a long pause that bordered on uncomfortable, until she asked, “Who are you?”

  Ethan laughed. He’d been so enamored of her, so interested in finding out who she was, that he completely forgot to introduce himself. He gave a small bow, and said, “Ethan Dallimore, Duke of Westbury.”

  At this, Miss Quinn’s eyes turned round as saucers and she sucked in a breath that she didn’t let out. “Duke?”

  “Please don’t let that affect your opinion of me,” he begged. “I am Ethan Dallimore first.”

  “Not according to the crown.”

  “No,” he admitted. “Not according to the crown. But truly, I am much more than my title, and I only wish the others could see that.”

  “The others?”

  He didn’t really know why he was telling her this – he’d never voiced any of it aloud about wanting to be considered as Ethan first, Westbury second. But she made him nervous and uncomfortable and out of sorts – things no woman had ever made him feel.

  “Anyone else, everyone else. My title always precedes me.”

  She gave a little nod. “Yes, I can imagine how that is.” Another beat of silence and then, “I’m afraid I must get ready for supper, Your Grace. If you will excuse me.”

  “Oh, of course,” he said, though he didn’t want to excuse her at all. He wanted to lay down in a field with her, under a blanket of stars, and learn all there was to know about her. Which sounded completely and utterly ridiculous, but he couldn’t help himself. It was as if she had him under a spell, witch that she was. “I will see you at supper then.”

  She gave him a half smile and then rushed past him toward the staircase. He watched her go, watched until she was out of sight, and until the debilitating pain seeped into his brain once more. At least she planned to be at supper this evening, for it seemed as long as this angelic creature was within sight, he did not suffer.

  Chapter 7

  Angel wasn’t certain what had just transpired, but all she knew was that being in the presence of that man – no matter how handsome or charming he may be; no matter how stormy and soulful his blue eyes were – was very, very bad for her. She’d never felt such a drain on her energy, as if her very soul was being siphoned from her body.

  When she reached the top of the first flight of stairs, she paused to catch her breath and get her wits about her. Heavens, she was tired. All she wanted to do was curl up in bed and go to sleep. But how would that look if she missed supper on her first night here? Rude, that’s how. She absolutely could not beg off tonight, no matter how she felt.

  With new determination, she gathered herself together and made the sojourn to her chambers. The maid Lady Tamsyn had insisted on was already in her room, and she smiled brightly when Angel walked through the door. That was, until she saw Angel’s face, which she could only imagine looked someth
ing akin to death.

  “Miss Quinn, are you unwell?” the girl asked, setting aside a pair of white gloves and rushing to Angel’s side.

  “I’m not sure,” Angel replied, allowing the girl to escort her to the bed. She sat on the edge, her body sinking gratefully into the feather mattress. “Something just…came over me.”

  “Oh, dear.” The maid gave a little tsk. “Happens to me all the time. Some of us are more sensitive to the spirits than others.”

  Angel blinked up at her. “Spirits?”

  “Oh, sure!” Her chocolate brown eyes grew round and eager. “The castle is full of them.”

  “Have you ever seen one?”

  The girl laughed. “I’ve seen at least a hundred and one, miss. It feels that way, anyway. I’m Betsy, by the way. Mrs. Bray sent me up to tend to you. Hope you don’t mind I took the liberty of laying out your evening clothes. We ought to get you dressed – supper is always prompt.”

  If Angel hadn’t already been a bit off kilter, Betsy would have made her so. Goodness, she was a whirlwind of excitement and energy, wasn’t she? She worked around Angel, chattering away and expecting no response, which was fine for Angel. It gave her an opportunity to ruminate on what Betsy had said before, about the spirits. Was it possible they were a drain on her? She’d felt something odd when she’d first arrived, and His Grace wasn’t anywhere near her then. So, perhaps it wasn’t him, after all. But what did it mean?

  She would have to ask Sacha tomorrow on her visit. With any luck, she’d be able to help Angel solve the mystery.

  “There you are, miss,” Betsy said, prompting Angel to glance up into the mirror. “Do you like it?”

  Angel didn’t exactly recognize herself. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn her hair up, for she far preferred it down and freely flowing. To be truthful, she looked like one of them now. Like she belonged here, with this faction of her family. She felt odd, but then, she usually did.

  “It’s lovely,” Angel said, and Betsy beamed.