Merely Magic

by Patricia Rice

  Her pulse pounded beneath his fingers, and Drogo refused to let go when she tried to pull away. Women seldom aroused his curiosity. This one did. He would hold her captive until he’d dissected the reason for that.

  “No, but I thought if I filtered the water, we might stop whatever damage the acid is causing.” Her cold fingers warmed inside his. Idly, as he led the way downstairs, Drogo wondered how much interference he would receive if he installed the little witch in the castle and took her for mistress while he was here. She hadn’t offered herself to him yet, but perhaps she was distrustful of his rank.

  “We’ll have a storm tonight.”

  The irrelevant comment jerked Drogo’s attention back to the present. They had traversed the hall and stood in the doorway overlooking his sadly bedraggled grounds. His companion studied the heavy clouds above as if they were the only thing of consequence in her surroundings. Perhaps she needed to be reassured of his interest. He had yet to meet an available woman not tempted by the promise of title and wealth.

  “Are you afraid of storms?” he asked with what he hoped was sympathy, or understanding. “I’ve seen some magnificent ones from my tower.” He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and led her down the path he’d had cleared to the brook. With the trees in leaf, no one could watch their progress.

  “Storms have their purpose,” she said enigmatically, kicking at last year’s leaves. “The sky’s passionate attraction to the earth can be a trifle unsettling though.”

  Drogo grinned to himself. Her mind might take a warped approach, but she knew what he was about.

  Once inside the cover of the trees, he slid his arm around her back, and drew her to him. She was soft and malleable in all the right places as he brushed his lips lightly along hers, testing his welcome. Sparks ignited everywhere they touched.

  She sighed with pleasure and melted against him, brushing exploratory fingers along his jaw, but before he could engage her more fully, she pressed a hand to his chest and shoved away. “The earth and the moon fight their attraction with violence, my lord. I would rather we not do the same.”

  She stepped away and disappeared so swiftly into the woods, it was as if she’d merged with the trees.

  Drogo cursed under his breath and struggled to regain control. He wouldn’t let lust rule his head. He simply needed to find the right pattern of behavior that would entice the wretched sprite into his bed.

  It was just a matter of problem solving, like a mathematical equation.

  Seven

  As she fled down the path, Ninian covered her mouth to hold on to the texture of the earl’s lips imprinted on hers. They’d been slightly rough, narrow but with a sensuous fullness as they softened, tasting vaguely of coffee and sugar. The heat of his breath and brush of his whisker stubble still burned on her cheeks.

  No one had ever touched her so intimately.

  If she tried very hard, she might recollect her father lifting her into his arms and pecking her cheek when she was quite small. Her mother had never offered such caresses, as if she feared the child she had borne. Granny had welcomed her with hugs when she was young, but nothing could have taught her to expect what she had just experienced in the arms of Lord Ives.

  She couldn’t believe how magical something so simple as a human kiss could be.

  She heard him crunching through the leaves behind her. Why had he kissed her? He had three elegant ladies at his beck and call. Was he like Nate, needing to conquer every female who crossed his path?

  She didn’t like to think so. She wanted to believe he felt the pull of the moon and earth as she did.

  She must leave this place. The legends were right. Ives men were dangerous.

  His long strides caught up with her without haste. She was intensely aware of his physical presence. He didn’t even touch her, and yet a shiver raised bumps on her skin as he fell in beside her and adjusted his stride to hers.

  “How does a filter work?” she inquired when he said nothing.

  “I hope to catch the damaging particles so only clear water flows downstream.”

  He was very adept at hiding his feelings. His voice reflected nothing more than his intellectual interest in the experiment. One would think the moment back there had never happened, that for one point in time their hearts hadn’t beat as one. Excitement prickled along her skin, and her pulse accelerated at just his proximity, but he appeared completely indifferent.

  “What could catch something so tiny as a particle?” She could play the same game. She had a strong will and an inquiring mind. She didn’t have to wonder what his kiss would have become if she’d allowed him to continue.

  Was it only her own desire vibrating between them now? Or was that truly interest in his dark glance? It was very frustrating not knowing these things.

  “I am experimenting with a number of materials. Rocks and sand are easiest.” He spoke as if from a lectern. “Plants have been known to work occasionally, but I have found none that survive in the substances in the brook.”

  “You have studied filters?”

  “Not thoroughly, no. It’s not a problem with which I’ve been presented before. My library is inadequate. But there are certain basic conclusions one can reach given the available evidence.”

  Ninian halted as she sensed a horse and rider nearby. The burn babbled just beyond the next copse.

  Lord Ives looked down at her with curiosity. “Is there a problem?”

  “Someone is studying your filter.” Unhurriedly, she continued walking. She sensed no danger in the newcomer.

  “Payton!” Lord Ives shouted as they passed through the copse and the rider became visible. “What news have you?”

  Ninian idled on the edge of the forest as Lord Ives walked ahead to converse with the rider. The stranger was a slightly built man of no more years than the earl. His coat was of sturdy quality, but not expensively elegant. His placid mare nosed the grass away from the stream, and Ninian noticed the rider didn’t allow her to drink the water. A commonsensical sort of man, she concluded, one who did as told and did it well, but without ideas of his own.

  He nodded to her as she approached, and Lord Ives introduced his steward.

  Payton touched his cap politely. “Miss Siddons. I have heard the village folk speak of you.”

  She dimpled and curtsied. “And you do not fear being cast under my spell?” She really shouldn’t say these things. It tempted fate. But she’d been so very, very good at resisting temptation, she had to do something naughty for balance.

  Payton looked vaguely startled but smiled. “I’m certain all men must be caught by your charms, mistress.”

  Lord Ives snorted. “You speak of the witchery of all women. Miss Siddons specializes in healing, not seduction. Tell me what you have found upstream.”

  She had not thought the earl had noticed or cared about her preferences. Noblemen tended to have more important things on their mind than local superstitions. Perhaps she should be flattered, but she was more interested in what Mr. Payton had to say. She crouched to examine the odd dam of rocks crossing the stream as the newcomer spoke.

  “Plant life is failing for miles upstream but recovers slowly the farther downstream I go. Your filter is too new to have evidence of its success yet.”

  “You still haven’t found the source?” the earl asked sharply.

  “No, not yet.”

  Ninian sensed an aura of uneasiness about the steward as his mare sidestepped nervously. She started to speak, but Lord Ives beat her to it.

  “The stream divides?”

  “And has numerous tributaries. This stretch seems to be slower moving than others, which could be part of the problem.”

  “There is evidence of damage along one of the tributaries?” Ninian prompted.

  Both men stared at her as she rose from the stream bank. Perhaps they weren’
t used to women speaking. She rather liked the light of interest in the earl’s eyes.

  Payton formulated his reply carefully. “The tributaries are smaller, faster flowing. I have noticed… a lack of lushness… in one, many miles from here. I haven’t had time to explore its length.”

  “But you have some idea what it flows through?” Ninian prodded. The man wasn’t telling the whole story.

  Payton shrugged. “It flows from the hills beyond this property. I can’t say more.”

  She frowned, considered questioning him further, and decided against it. Men tended to become stubborn when pressed. She wished she had a horse of her own so she could explore farther, but she wasn’t much good at riding. She returned to studying the intricacies of the filter the earl had constructed. He’d used lumps of coal among the rocks and layers of gravel. Mostly, he’d caught dead leaves and branches. He’d have a large pond when the rain broke.

  She sensed the steward’s departure and tried to distinguish the earl’s emotional presence from his physical one as he approached. She couldn’t. He vibrated with a masculinity she responded to as if he were her life’s blood pounding through her veins.

  “He doesn’t tell the whole truth, my lord.” Brushing off her hands, she stood up again. She was tired of him looming over her.

  Dark eyes studied her from behind his emotionless mask. “How so?”

  “He must suspect the origins of the tributary carrying the poison, but is reluctant to verify it.”

  “And you can tell all this because…?”

  She turned around and started back up the path. “A little bird tells me.” She didn’t waste her breath explaining. She had told him what she knew. He could either act on it or not. That was his choice.

  He didn’t comment on her evasion. Instead, he returned to their original intent. “What do you think of the filter?”

  “Very ingenious, my lord. It should be interesting to discover if rocks can stop poison. It should be even more interesting to see how tonight’s storm affects it.”

  “I’ve thought of that, but without further experimentation, I cannot say. If it’s a poison, as you call it, some are diluted and rendered useless by heavy quantities of fluid. Perhaps a good downpour will clear the poison out.”

  She nodded in admiration at this assessment. “An excellent thought, my lord. I hope you are right. The stream provides valuable resources I cannot replace.” She didn’t think it healthy for her life in the village if she could no longer make remedies either, but he wouldn’t understand the precariousness of life on the thin edge of superstition.

  “At least the damage is limited to my land. We can hope for the best.”

  Ninian accepted the earl’s hand in assistance as she climbed over a fallen log. His hand was warm and hard and much stronger than hers as it clasped her fingers and held them. She could almost summon reassurance from that grip, and she was reluctant to withdraw from it once she reached the other side of the log. He didn’t release her of his own accord either.

  It was as if they communicated through contact. Struggling to shake the sensation, she concentrated on her reply.

  “I must warn the villagers not to use your stream,” she replied slowly, trying to adapt to the current of sensation flooding through her hand and up her arm. Was this how Ives men bewitched their women? Did the earl possess some power stronger than her own?

  “I’d best take a look at the kitchen water,” Lord Ives said thoughtfully, staring ahead as if he had only the burn’s problem in mind.

  She couldn’t take the eerie physical bond anymore. Tugging her hand free and lifting her skirt, she fled down the path to safety.

  ***

  They returned to a house in an uproar.

  Lady Twane stood in the great hall, clasping and unclasping her hands, moaning in terror as she gazed up the stone stairway.

  Screams and a crashing clatter emanated from the haunted suite above.

  Lady Lydie leaned on the upper banister, staring down the hall toward the suite, her hand protectively covering her prominent belly as she hesitated over descending the stairs. She screamed an obscenity at Sarah, who stood beside Claudia, alternately urging Lydie to hurry down and Claudia to shut up.

  “Where are the damned servants?” Sarah shouted as glass smashed overhead.

  The gray cat sat on the newel post, tail twitching, watching their antics.

  Lord Ives muttered a profanity worse than Lydie’s and rushed toward the stairs.

  As he caught Lydie and helped her down, Ninian had to assume the lady’s child was his, since he played the part of solicitous protector so well. She recognized a tug of jealousy, but the wails of the unhappy inhabitant of the upper suite demanded her more immediate attention.

  Ninian raced past the earl and up the stairway. She had hung birch and rowan branches in there earlier and scattered the hearth with dill. Perhaps she should have chanted Granny’s protective charm as well. She wished she had a flint to light her divination incense.

  She shouldn’t need divination incense if the ghost’s presence was strong enough to demolish a room.

  She burst into the darkened suite, expecting an onrush of icy drafts or a chair flying at her head.

  All within was calm.

  She halted to catch her breath and slow her pounding heart. The drawn draperies shrouded the room in darkness, and the growing gloom of the coming storm prevented even a crack of light. She wished for Lord Ives and his candle, but she inched cautiously inside, seeking the source of the violent anguish vibrating the air.

  “At last, a Malcolm,” a sigh whispered in her ear.

  Startled, Ninian froze. Her Gift did not generally lend to reading minds or hearing ghosts.

  “Where there is no heart, we die,” the voice whispered mournfully.

  “What do you want, Ghost?” Ninian whispered hesitantly.

  She was aware of Lord Ives entering behind her, listening. She thought he had a candle and a weapon in his hand, but he did no more than stand guard behind her.

  She could sense consternation and frustration as the window draperies blew outward and the chairs rattled. But she received no reply.

  Unable to make either head or tail of this, Ninian wished she possessed her grandmother’s wisdom. She crept farther into the room, seeking with her senses. Pain, heartbroken torment… These she could feel, but not the thought rendering them.

  “What must I do?” she asked of the air around her.

  Lord Ives edged to the fireplace, inspecting it with a poker, hitting on nothing but solid stone.

  “How can I help? What will make you rest in peace?” Do you intend evil, or good? she wanted to ask, but feared the reply. Given her attraction to an Ives, the arrival of a ghost in conjunction seemed ominous, at best.

  “A Malcolm must live in Malcolm Castle again. Without hearts, we lose all.”

  The frantic emotions grew faint, and Ninian sought harder for the source. Lord Ives poked at the drapery, apparently oblivious to the sensations.

  “Don’t go,” she called, but she already sensed the presence had departed.

  Lost, she waited, hoping the spirit would return, that she would be struck by a blinding insight into the quandary she’d been handed. All she sensed was Lord Ives losing interest in the draperies and coming to place a hand on her shoulder.

  “Are you all right?”

  The heat of his hand reassured her in a way she could not explain. Perhaps communicating with a world beyond the mortal one had consequences requiring a human touch. Whatever, she jerked as if he’d awakened her.

  “I’m fine. I’ve never communed with a ghost before.”

  “Did the ghost talk back?” he asked with a trace of irony, steering her gently toward the doorway.

  “Do you know aught of your family’s history?” Perhaps the answer lay there
. The ghost certainly wished to tell her something.

  “Very little.” He opened the door to discover all three women waiting anxiously outside. “Have the servants bring up lamps and clean up the glass,” he ordered. “I think the walls must be shifting. I’ll have a stone mason check them.”

  He not only didn’t believe, he wasn’t listening. Angry now, shaken by the unearthly experience, Ninian halted where she stood, refusing to be guided by his comforting hand. “She’s in pain!” she cried. “She’s trying to warn us. We must listen and try to understand.”

  Lord Ives lifted his quirked eyebrows.

  She glared back. “Was this place once owned by Malcolms?”

  Lord Ives shrugged. She could see the frown of concern creasing his brow, but he apparently had no interest in ancient history.

  “The original land deeds call it Malcolm Castle,” Sarah replied. She lifted her hands helplessly as everyone turned to stare at her. “I have nothing better to do with my time than poke through old papers.”

  “Then I would research the means by which the Malcolms were dispossessed and the Ives acquired their land,” Ninian said coldly. “The ghost is very angry and unhappy. I cannot take responsibility if you will not listen.”

  Ninian thought to stalk back to her room, gather her things, and march out of their aristocratic lives, but a thunder clap overhead and a cacophonous downpour on the roof slates halted her.

  Into the silence following the thunder, Lord Ives spoke. “If you think to take back what your ancestors lost, you are dealing with the wrong man.”

  The wind howled. Or maybe it was the ghost moaning.

  Eight

  “No, you cannot leave tonight. We won’t hear of it.” Lady Sarah swept Ninian’s bag from the bed, caught her arm, and steered her down the hall to the ladies’ wing of the house. “We are all scared senseless. You must tell us what to do.”

  Ninian was just a little bit tired of being steered and guided wherever these people wanted, but she no more desired to go out in the storm than the ladies wanted her to leave. She wished she could look on them as the friends she craved, but she feared they thought of her more as a toy to be played with.