Merely Magic

by Patricia Rice

  “I have a distinct feeling I have already caught my death and you called me back.” His eyes popped open, and he lifted her chin to study her face. “You are a witch.”

  She watched him silently, to see how he accepted that knowledge. She was just beginning to understand some of the enormity of it herself, although she still didn’t believe in magic. This hadn’t been magic. This had been some deep, underlying knowledge she’d called upon in time of need. A Gift. Not magic.

  Drogo stared into the innocent blue that mirrored his own amazement and knew the wall about his heart had cracked as wide as the tower foundation, and love spilled as free as the burn’s water. She was the part of him that was missing, the soul he’d never known, the love he’d never expressed. Her breath breathed inside of him now.

  “Consider me bewitched,” he added as a small frown of worry began to crease her brow. “I’ll love you until the stars stop shining and beyond. Now tell all those women to go away and get me out of these damned clothes.”

  She grinned and swallowed the tears she’d been holding back. He could see the tracks of them down her shiny cheeks. His little witch was here with him completely, not in some world of her own making. It shook him to know how much she cared.

  “Perhaps we should go to our room, my lord,” she suggested with a wicked smile.

  That was the best idea he’d heard in a long time.

  ***

  Stripping off their mud-soaked clothes, they stood naked, warming themselves before the fire, clasped in each other’s arms, flesh to flesh.

  “I haven’t changed,” Drogo warned. “I’m still the man you’ve berated and accused of stubbornness and lack of understanding.”

  “I love that man,” she murmured contentedly from within his embrace. “And I’ll still yell at you for your denseness. And prick your arrogance until you’re forced to see the world around you. Just tell me you love me again, and I’ll accept your obtuseness.”

  He smiled against her hair and drew his hand down over a well-rounded posterior, snuggling her closer to where he needed her. “I’ll tell you every morning when we wake, and every night before we go to sleep. But I’ll never admit such foolishness in public.”

  She chuckled, and he could feel the vibrations deep in his chest.

  “I will. I’ll yell it at the top of my lungs and embarrass you daily. Every time you do something stupid, I will yell my love at you.”

  “That should cure me,” he admitted dryly. “My brothers will laugh me into an early grave.”

  “Your brothers,” Ninian whispered, sliding upward so their bodies brushed against each other as she kissed his jaw, “need to stay in school where they belong. Then we would need not visit London so often.”

  Thoughtfully, he played a devastating tune upon her breast. “Sarah may have the London house, and they may run to her. You and I will visit Ives and your families when we must travel. Will that be far enough from the city for you?”

  “You shield me from the city,” she murmured, exploring his chest as he explored hers. “You just must accept my responsibilities are here. I can train Lydie—”

  He covered her mouth with his, and she nearly drowned again in the heat and love he offered. For this, she would do anything.

  He released her mouth, and their gazes met. She stumbled down the deep tunnel he opened into his soul.

  “Our responsibilities are one and the same, equal. We will work it out, moonchild.”

  And she believed him.

  He kissed her forehead, then seared a trail along her throat, drawing closer to the tempting pout of full nipples. “Tell me the time is right, that the moon is in its proper phase, and that you want what I want.”

  She caught his hair and tugged until he lifted his head and looked down at her.

  As she met his gaze and struck him with the full brunt of her adoration, Drogo nearly staggered beneath the enormity of it. The woman breathed love, bathed him in it, and eased all the nagging doubts always simmering beneath his surface. If he just let himself feel instead of inquiring into the logic of it, he would never question their marriage again. The bane of Ives marriages was too much logic and not enough trust.

  “For you, the moon is always in its proper phase. I want your children, Drogo. I want you. Take me to your stars.”

  He didn’t require further reassurance. Carrying her to the downy warmth of the bed, he covered her with his body and pulled the feather-stuffed covers over them.

  “Is the tower safe?” she inquired as he nibbled her ear and tried to absorb all the nuances of her giving curves beneath him.

  “The pressure is gone. It shouldn’t tumble just yet.” With a moan of delight, he cupped her breasts and felt her swift intake of breath as he caressed the tips.

  “It stopped raining,” she whispered against his ear.

  Just the brush of her breath aroused him to the point of driving need. But he wanted to savor this moment. His wife, his love, the mate of his soul… He’d never thought such a thing possible. “The stars are out,” he agreed, stroking lower, bringing her hips closer to his. “We’re safe, and I want to lose myself in you and not discuss the weather.”

  She quivered as he touched her where she was wet. “In that case,” she murmured with a groan as she arched into him, “we didn’t cause the flood this time.”

  With that utterly inexplicable, illogical statement, she stroked him, and incapable of anything else, Drogo drove deep inside her, where they understood one another on levels beyond the ken of mankind.

  ***

  In the hall below, Alan slept contentedly for the first time all evening. Hermione rocked him in her arms and watched without surprise as the massive front doors flung open and two thoroughly soaked Ives men stumbled through.

  Her eldest daughter, Leila, lifted her swanlike neck and watched the newcomers through provocatively lowered lashes. “The murderer and the inventor,” she murmured in a suggestive voice, “but not the Malcolm. Interesting. Shall I see if an Ives suits me?”

  Hermione looked to the sleeping babe in her arms, glanced to the brawny Ives men dripping across the floor, and decided not to issue the usual warning to her daughter. Ninian had never finished reading Ceridwen’s diary, but Hermione had read the ending first. Driven mad with grief, Ceridwen had sworn to lock herself in her husband’s tower until he loved her again. In a notation in a very male hand, the diary claimed she’d died there, and her husband had sealed off the room so no other could ever suffer the same fate.

  Ceridwen’s ghost was free at last.

  Perhaps the legends of Malcolms and Ives needed a few more stories told.

  Epilogue

  Blazing sparks leaped high into the night sky as the Beltane fire roared heavenward and the fiddle struck up a dance. Laughing figures rushed to throw their branches on the flames, then danced off in each other’s arms.

  On the outskirts of the clearing, in the twilight between fire and forest, Ninian smiled at the merriment.

  “I heard Nate married a miner’s daughter.” Gertrude lifted her fussy babe to her shoulder and watched as a new crop of maids and bachelors wove a spell of seduction in the fire’s light. “Seems the miners don’t take well to men who won’t accept responsibility, and they were a little harsh with him.”

  “He has twins.” Ninian tried to muffle her laughter at Nate’s fate. “Imagine how many wee ones he’ll have at his feet in a few years time.”

  Gertrude glanced at the teething babe on her shoulder. “One is enough for a while. You’re a lifesaver.”

  Tapping her toe to the music, Ninian merely shrugged, then slowly smiled as a tall, dark figure emerged from the forest’s edge. Even after all these months, her heart pattered faster at his approach.

  He’d been off inspecting the new dam at the mines, ensuring that the dangerous runoff never harmed the burn again.
She’d missed him.

  Drogo didn’t ask, didn’t speak at all as he reached for her hand, drawing her toward the music and the dancing. He merely watched her face with that studious expression she loved so well, and finding what he sought, smiled and guided her into the steps.

  They twirled and laughed and let the rhythms of the night sweep through them, knowing with the confidence of lovers how the night would end, with no need to hasten the thrill of excitement coursing through them.

  An earl was too lofty a personage for his tenants and the villagers to approach, but on a night like this, with a keg of good ale to share and the music to blend them, even an earl wasn’t a stranger. Ninian laughed as she danced off with Harry, leaving Drogo to discuss sheep breeding with Nate’s father. Drogo knew nothing about sheep breeding, but he would learn, she had no doubt.

  As the moon slipped down the far side of the sky, he returned to claim her, dancing her into the shadows outside the fire’s light where the murmurs of other couples blended with the cries of night birds and the rustle of other nocturnal creatures, and the pounding thrill of their blood matched the thrum of the earth.

  “Now,” Drogo commanded, flinging his cloak over a bed of pine needles and drawing her into his embrace. “I’ll not wait another minute.”

  “It’s Beltane,” she teased, slipping the buttons of his waistcoat from their holes and seeking the heat of his chest. “A night of power. Can you not feel it?” The vibration thrummed through her fingertips as she rubbed against him and his grip tightened. “A child conceived tonight—”

  “Don’t tell me,” he groaned, attempting to unfasten her fingers from his clothing. “The moon is in its proper phase, and unless I wish to spend next winter in Wystan, I’d better keep my breeches buttoned.”

  “Well, I did agree to spend winters in the south with you,” she murmured demurely, deftly avoiding his hands and reaching for the breeches buttons he’d just deflected. “And the moon is definitely in its proper phase. We would make lovely babies tonight.”

  “No.” Firmly, he caught her wandering hands and held them back. “I want you healed and healthy and well recovered before we even think about it. And then if you insist on having our babes here, I want them in the summer so I can summon physicians and midwives and your damned family can arrive on time to help you. You are more important to me and Alan than this moment’s pleasure.”

  “I do so adore you, Drogo.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed his jaw, then moved to cover his mouth with her own. While so engaged, she drew her wrists from his grip and reached for his buttons again.

  “Ninian,” he moaned in protest against her mouth, trying to hold her and catch her hands while not releasing her lips.

  “It’s all right,” she murmured, finally parting the ties of his shirt and neckcloth and running her hands through the crinkle of curls on his chest. “This is sheep country. I have a present for you. I even wove a ribbon around it. If you’re very, very good, we will not have to worry about the phases of the moon tonight.”

  “You are a witch,” he muttered as he parted her bodice and slipped his hands beneath. “And you’d best be talking about what I think you are talking about.”

  “I’ve shown all the women how to make them,” she replied after gasping for breath from his thorough kiss. She blinked in amazement at the night sky overhead. How had she come to be lying down already?

  “Excellent. I’ll have Ewen establish a manufactory just to supply all my brothers,” Drogo replied with a hint of grimness as he kneeled between her legs and his hand slid up her thigh. “Why didn’t you think of this sooner? Joseph has just written me for an increase in his allowance to cover his new dolly bird.”

  She sighed as he touched her where she needed to be touched. “I made certain they all have samples.” She cried out as he suddenly withdrew and glared down at her. She smiled back. “Dunstan delivered them. Surely you did not think I—”

  He caught her mouth with his and drowned any further protest.

  When he finally surged into her, ribbons and sheath and all, Ninian was already halfway to the moon and ready to fly to the stars. He took her there and back, showed her the heavens from his perspective, then held her gently as they tumbled back to earth again, where she reigned.

  “Has the Society verified your finding of a new planet yet?” she whispered, still spinning among the stars although Drogo’s heavy weight pressed her into the earth.

  “Our equipment needs refining. I would ask Ewen, but it is a full-time task to keep him focused on the foundry. We can wait.” With care, Drogo rolled on his back, carrying her with him. Now he could see the stars while holding heaven in his arms. “He has decided the chemicals in the runoff from the mine might be useful in some foolish notion or another, and I have had to persuade him that he must spend his days on something that can provide him with a living and use his spare hours on his less profitable ideas.”

  “He’ll learn. You have taught your brothers well. They’re almost all on their own now. Have you heard from Dunstan?”

  Reluctantly, Drogo adjusted her wool skirt to cover her more warmly. “The lack of all that frippery women wear is a definite advantage to this place,” he murmured.

  Ninian propped her elbows on his chest and lifting her eyebrows in the same manner as he did.

  He grinned at the result. “I could keep you in nothing but shifts in London. It’s warmer there.”

  “Not that warm. Now what have you heard from Dunstan?” she demanded sternly.

  Drogo sighed and rested his gaze on the beauty revealed by her open bodice. “He is working as steward on one of your uncle’s estates and sending his earnings to Celia’s mother and younger sister. You didn’t have to send him away from Ives,” he grumbled. “They have no evidence against him.”

  Drogo had men searching high and low for Celia’s murderer. Dunstan might carry the weight of guilt, but he could no more have murdered his silly wife than Drogo could murder Ninian. He would prove that, someday. Drogo couldn’t change the fact that his son would now inherit the estate and title that Dunstan had once thought his.

  “He didn’t murder Celia, trust me,” Ninian murmured, reaffirming his beliefs. “And I didn’t send him anywhere. He chose not to take any more of your earnings. I will never understand the workings of a male mind.” Tauntingly, she leaned forward so her breasts brushed against his chest.

  “You understand this part too damned well.” He lifted her so he could taste the ripe fruit she offered and almost forgot where they were until he heard her cries echoed elsewhere. Deciding this was not a respectable thing for an earl to do twice, he reluctantly pulled back.

  She punished him by rolling off and buttoning her bodice. “This part has nothing to do with minds,” she said firmly, although Drogo noticed with interest that her hands shook and her nipples definitely appeared ready for plucking.

  He stopped her progress by sliding his hand beneath the cloth and giving her what she wanted. “It’s all of one piece. This—” He pressed a kiss to the place his hand fondled. “—eases the mind so it can function properly. We’ll need to test that theory.”

  She laughed and slapped him away. “If your mind functioned any better than it does now, we would never get anything done. I found agrimony near the burn today.”

  “Did you?” Some other time, he might have cared, but she was escaping him now, and he wasn’t done. Hastily, he fastened a few buttons so he could leap up after her.

  Her back toward him, she shook her skirt out. “Life is returning all along the bank. Adonis was right. It had to be the runoff from the mines. But just in case, I shall gather seeds as they appear and try to start them in the conservatory.”

  “We’re going to London, remember?” He pulled her back against him and rested his chin on her hair. “Have you seen Adonis and squeezed some answers out of him?”

  �
��He’ll tell us in his own time. I haven’t seen him since the explosion. I think he went off with Dunstan. And I’m teaching Lydie about herbs. She learns quickly, and she’s teaching Mary’s sister. I don’t see why it must be just Malcolm women who learn these things. All women can be educated.”

  Uh-oh, they were moving swiftly into one of her latest crackbrained notions. Knowing better than to argue, Drogo cupped her breast, regretting that she had already covered it. “Sarah is still disappointed that we never uncovered any treasure, even after digging out the tower foundation and replacing it. It must have been the hole in the foundation that caused the shrieks.”

  Ninian laughed, a crystal clear chime that rang through the night as she snuggled closer into his arms.

  “The ghost spoke, and we have found the treasure,” she informed him as Drogo wrapped his arms about her waist and she dropped her head against his shoulder to smile up at him. “It is just not the gold and jewels that Sarah wants.”

  He lifted his brows and waited.

  Her lips bowed into that enigmatic curve he loved so dearly as she replied, “The only curse on Malcolm and Ives is our inability to learn from our differences.”

  “I’m learning,” he declared, staring down at her innocent expression in bewilderment. “What has that to do with the ghost’s predictions?”

  “Everything.” Her laughter lit the sky as she turned and wrapped her arms around his neck and obliterated all thought with her kiss.

  ***

  And so, a new legend appeared in the Tales of Malcolm and Ives.

  About the Author

  Patricia Rice was born in New York but learned to love the warmer Southeast. She is now California dreaming and working her way West by way of St. Louis. Improving houses and then moving is apparently her hobby. She is married with two grown children who also have settled in warmer climes. She would love you to stop by www.patriciarice.com to see what she’s doing now or join her at Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/PatriciaRiceBooks and on Twitter at https://twitter.com/Patricia_Rice.