“But you—”
“Just felt a cramp in my leg. I’ll move ’round a bit and be all right.”
She settled down to sleep, and Matthew tried to sort out what he knew of Merlin, of Arthwyr, and of the court at Camelot. ’Twas not much, but he felt certain he was Merlin himself. He surely could not tell that to Jenny, or she would question the sanity of a man who claimed to be a mythical character from a millennium ago. After the injury to his head, mayhap he should be questioning his own sanity.
Matthew raised one hand to his eyes and studied it in the faint light from the street. During their encounter with the crowd in the town center, he’d shoved that man away from Jenny without touching him. He was certain of it, even though he’d denied it to her. Such a thing was not commonly done, or he would have seen it happen. He’d felt that tingling heat in his chest, and without the slightest difficulty, had opened the locked tobacconist’s shop. And later, he’d felt the same heat just before replacing all the shopkeeper’s wares onto the shelves. Matthew did not understand why he had such power when no one else seemed to.
He returned to the window and turned his attention to the gaslight perched high upon a pole some distance down the street. With the conscious intent of extinguishing the light, he managed to pour that odd heat from his chest into his hand, and with one finger, flicked it at the light.
The flame disappeared.
It did not surprise him in the least, and he suspected there were many other feats he could accomplish, just by channeling the energy that glowed hotly in his chest. Yet some deep instinct warned him to be cautious.
He relit the flame in the lamp and sat down again, considering what he knew of himself. Gaelic or something similar to it was his natural language. He was a wealthy man, judging by his clothes and the amount of money he carried. He’d known how to use the Gypsy’s ceirtlín, and caused the face of the red-haired woman to appear in the glass.
There was an unrelenting sense of urgency that Matthew had pushed to the back of his mind because he was unable to do anything about it. As he struggled to remember why he felt such a demanding pressure and what action he should take, he envisioned the face of the redhead again. This time, she looked pale and ill. The color had gone from her lips, and there were dark shadows beneath her eyes. She did not speak to him when he pictured her this time, nor did she even try. She was dying.
“Ana,” he muttered quietly, aware that something was horribly wrong.
Matthew closed his eyes again and called forth everything he could remember about Ana. He felt certain she was a woman of influence, of power, possessing the respect and admiration of her people. She was a comely lass, her beauty second only to Jenny’s. He felt no pull of attraction to her, yet there was a closeness between them. He knew her well. But she was not his mate, nor was she his sister…He clenched his fists…Not his sister…But they were as close as…
Mo oirg! She was his cousin!
And he was Merrick Mac Lochlainn. He had to get back to her and…
Ainchis! The brìgha-stones!
It all came back to him in a flood of memory. In a flash, he knew who he was and why he was there in the Tuath world. He flew out of his chair once again and started to pace, horrified by the precious time he’d wasted. He knew that his brother had gone in search of one brìgha-stone, and Merrick was responsible for finding the other. He just hoped he was not already too late.
Jenny made a soft sound of sleep, and Merrick dropped down into his chair once again, lowering his head into his hands. He’d been so certain she was his céile mate. But that could not be, not when Sinann…
Now he understood the nagging sense of urgency. Every Druzai of Coruain knew Merrick would wed a powerful sorceress before his thirtieth year. He knew the mate he chose was going to be the key element in the struggle for Druzai survival. He’d had a great deal of advice on the subject from his father and the elders, for there could be no more serious a crisis than what faced them now.
Merrick had chosen well, and he would not renege. He needed to hurry with his task here and get back to Sinann, make her his mate, and combat Eilinora’s assault on Coruain.
Merrick swore quietly when he thought of all the times he’d tapped into his powers and used magic—he’d used it numerous times in the Gypsy camp, again on the road to Carlisle, and finally, so often tonight, he could hardly keep track.
He shoved his fingers through his hair in frustration. If an Odhar hunter had been in the vicinity of any of these events, he could very well have found the bright, yellow residual sparks of his magic, and traced him here. And Jenny would be in grave danger.
Merrick looked toward the bed where she slept. Was she the Keating he’d been told to seek? She must be. But she carried no blood stone. Merrick had seen all her possessions…
All but one. He had not seen the locket she sought in Carlisle.
Matthew was gone when Jenny awoke. She washed and dressed, and was ready for the day by the time he returned to their room.
“Let’s eat and go, then,” he said.
“You’re in a fine hurry this morning.”
He did not reply, nor did he look at her. He merely unwrapped the parcel he’d brought and offered her its contents, a boiled egg and a piece of brown bread. He had not shaved, so his jaw was dark with the night’s growth of whiskers, and his mood seemed just as black. Something had changed. “Aren’t you going to have any?”
“I ate at the tea shop.” He picked up his satchel and Jenny’s bag and placed them near the door. A hole opened up in the pit of Jenny’s stomach with his distant, cold attitude toward her.
“A-are we leaving?”
“Aye. I’ve found us a better place. Safer. We’ll go as soon as you eat, then start looking for your Miss Lambton.”
“What’s happened, Matthew? Why are we running away?”
“We are no’ running, Jenny. Merely moving on to our search for your locket.”
Sensing his hurry to get going without any more talk, Jenny ate quickly, pulled on her cloak, and headed for the door. They went downstairs and saw no sign of Mrs. Welby, so they left the house and walked through the city center, past all its market stalls, to the Queen’s Hotel. There were signs of last night’s crowd—a broken window covered with wooden boards, shattered glass underfoot, and litter on the street. Jenny supposedthe hotel would be a better barrier to a mob if another one formed while they remained in Carlisle, but she nearly had to run to keep up with Matthew’s pace.
“Matthew, are you angry about something?”
He gave a shake of his head, but said nothing, adding to Jenny’s uneasiness. After all their intimacies, he had closed himself off from her. It was not like him.
“What about Moghire?” she asked.
“Already in the hotel’s stable.”
They entered the building, and Jenny was astonished with the opulence of the entry room. Two chandeliers lit the large expanse, and there was a fireplace at each end. She had never seen so much highly polished wood, or fine, rich, furniture. It seemed a place fit for royalty, and it occurred to Jenny that Matthew seemed quite at ease here.
It emphasized the differences between them.
A neatly dressed clerk in spectacles stood behind a tall desk, watching them over his glasses as Matthew led her to the grand staircase. Walking across the lush carpets toward the steps, Jenny felt self-conscious. Her clothing was anything but grand, and she wore no glittering jewelry on her hands or at her throat like the other women who turned to watch as they walked by. At least Matthew would have told the clerk they were man and wife.
Yet he did not touch her as they climbed to the second floor. He was behaving anything but husbandly.
Nor did he act like a lover.
They walked down a long, narrow hall lit by regularly spaced wall sconces. Halfway down the hall, he took a key from his coat and unlocked a door. He pushed it open, and when Jenny stepped into the room, he dropped her bag inside but did not follow. “Thi
s is your room.” He turned slightly. “Mine is across the hall.”
Despite everything…their intimacies and his denial of any prior attachments…
Jenny had known it would happen. She’d prepared herself for his leaving, yet tears burned the backs of her eyes, and the curious silver threads burst from her chest to smash one of the nearby wall sconces.
Matthew could not have seen the threads, for he gave the broken sconce only a cursory glance, then returned his dark gaze to Jenny’s. She pressed her lips tightly together to keep them from trembling. She would not cry.
She raised her chin, refusing to let him see how deeply his desertion hurt her. “You needn’t stay, Matthew.”
She took a deep breath and forced her voice to remain steady. “Wh-whatever responsibility you felt for me…I’m…well, I’m here safely, and I—”
“I’m going to help you find your locket.”
She blinked away the moisture welling in her eyes and schooled her features into a neutral mask. “No. You should not delay going to Scotland,” she said with a forced flippancy. “You’ve done your gentlemanly duty and seen me to Carlisle, and besides, you must have…”
Two well-dressed couples came into the hall, talking sociably together. As they approached, Jenny feared she might shatter into a hundred pieces for everyone to see.
But Matthew eased into the room and closed the door behind him. “I’m not leaving until you have your locket.”
Jenny turned away to the window and swallowed the lump in her throat. She looked out at the street, where pedestrians hurried to and from their destinations, but she hardly noticed them.
“I do not need you anymore, Matthew,” she said brightly. It never did any good to show any pain, but just made her more vulnerable.
And she’d been such a pathetic fool, so open to heartache. She turned and picked up her bag, and without looking at him, started for the door. But Matthew blocked her way.
“Excuse me,” she said quietly.
“Where…What are you doing, lass?” His voice took on a tone of concern, but Jenny knew nothing had changed.
“I can’t afford these lodgings. So if you’ll let me by, I’ll just go back to Mrs. Welby’s house and see if she’ll give me last night’s room.”
Ainchis! Merrick cursed quietly, under his breath. He wanted to take Jenny into his arms and dispel the bleak look in her soft, gray eyes. He wanted her to understand he was nothing like her uncle, or Mr. Ellis, but he feared he was. He had no choice but to abandon Jenny. Frustration and fury welled up inside him, fierce and brutal, unlike any he’d ever known.
He grabbed her shoulders, his fingers tightening over her delicate bones through the thick fabric of her cloak. He spoke harshly. “Doona be ridiculous.”
Turning her to face him, he gathered her into his arms and felt her take a long, quivering breath. He scorned the fates that had put him in Jenny’s path, that had made her care for him, even though she should not.
“You saved my life, Jenny,” he said in a softer tone. “Let me help you now.”
She dropped the bag and pushed away from him. With a resolute expression, she left the room. Merrick followed her down to the main lobby, where she approached the clerk at the desk. “Can you tell me if there is a rum distillery in the city?”
“Aye, madam. There is one up away north in Caldewgate, past the Lanes.”
“The Lanes?” Merrick asked.
The man frowned, his spectacles slipping down his nose. “Up near Fisher Street. But mind you take care wherever you go. There’s been some trouble with the Irish and Scots weavers.”
“Some trouble,” Merrick muttered under his breath. “Aye.”
“Thank you very much,” said Jenny, lifting her skirt and going out to the street. She started in the direction the clerk had pointed out, proceeding as though she were alone. Her dismissal of him chafed. Badly.
For the first time in his life, Merrick could not analyze himself out of a predicament, nor would his warrior’s skills serve him. There was no one to fight, and no way to change the oracle’s prediction.
He’d come to the Tuath lands several times in the past on his father’s orders, using his analytical skills to help various tribes avert disaster. Matthew knew his missions had been part of his training to become high chieftain, and he’d gained great respect for the Tuath people. He had enjoyed his forays here, but he’d always been glad to return home to Coruain.
His duties also included his father’s work of diplomacy, of keeping the magical isles united and protected when challenges arose. It was unusual for a faction of Druzai to cause unrest, and that was not merely because of the Mac Lochlainn’s vast powers. Kieran had believed in working out differences and solving problems diplomatically before any crisis could emerge.
This was a wholly different situation than any the Druzai had ever faced since Eilinora’s treason a millennium ago.
She had created violent unrest among the clans, taking delight in causing mistrust and misunderstandings, fomenting prejudices and causing wars. She’d encouraged the Druids, protégés of the Druzai, to use their powers to contribute to the disaster.
The details of the witch’s rise to power and her defeat had been lost with time. But since those ancient days when she’d been captured and imprisoned, the Druzai had had little interest in her.
Until now, when she was free from her prison.
Merrick felt a sharp pang of grief at the loss of his father. No one had foreseen Eilinora’s assault on Coruain House. The witch had disabled her father’s stone guardians who were in place to warn of impending trouble, and caught Kieran alone and unprotected. The entity that had helped Eilinora seemed to wield even more power than the witch herself possessed. Merrick wondered if Ana had identified it, or gleaned the extent of its powers. Mayhap that was why she’d called to him so desperately from the ceirtlín.
Mayhap she sensed the connection growing between him and Jenny and had tried to warn him to keep his distance. If only he’d known…
He stayed beside her as she made her trek northward, watching her proceed as though the distance he’d put between them meant naught to her. She was a courageous woman, so focused and determined to make her own way, far from Bresland School, away from him.
His desertion would not destroy her.
Jenny regretted declining Matthew’s offer to hire a coach for the trip to the distillery when they walked past terrible slums with crowded, broken-down buildings and suffocating ash pits, where the smells of degraded humanity ran thick. Small children in much worse shape than the Gypsies ran free in the streets. They were poorly clothed and pale-skinned, and had to play among the debris that had fallen from the ancient buildings.
A group of ragtag youths approached them as they headed north. “Ye’ve got a shilling, ain’t you,” said the leader, a well-developed boy in his late teens. He was the largest, with sallow skin and big hands and feet. His companions looked like big bullies, too.
“Stand aside and let the lady pass,” said Matthew in a civil tone, then he bent slightly and spoke quietly to her, but she could not hear him. It was clearly not the time to ask him to repeat his words in her good ear.
“Lady? She your doxie, mate?”
“Doona be stupid, lad.” He took Jenny’s arm and started to move them around the boys, but their challengers did not stand still. They scattered to surround them, and Matthew was outnumbered, eight to one. No one from the vicinity came to give assistance, and even the occasional wagon driver spurred his horse to go quickly past the obvious trouble.
“Let us pass lads, and there could be a few shillings for each of you when we return.”
Jenny tensed, certain the young men would attack. She did not doubt that Matthew could hold his own against one, or even four, of these fellows. She’d seen the warrior in him deal with the highwaymen who’d attacked her. But surely he could not win against eight. It was terrifying to think what this vicious gang could do to him…to them…<
br />
Jenny looked up and down the street, but no rescue was coming. She forced the tingle in her chest to snake out and reach for a broken-down wagon, to use it somehow to distract everyone. But the fibers wavered out of control and sent a sudden shower of bricks skittering down the chimneys of the surrounding buildings. A billowing cloud of black smoke descended upon them, choking them as well as hiding them. Matthew released her arm and moved in front of her, pushing her behind him as he spoke to the young men through the black miasma.
Their assailants coughed and rubbed their eyes, but they did not back down, in spite of the thick, suffocating cloud swirling around them.
“’Tis a foolish path you’re takin’,” Matthew said.
Moving so quickly that Jenny hardly saw his hands, he picked up two of the young men at once and tossed them aside. He then delivered blows to two more, who doubled over and ran. The other four followed them, apparently unwilling to test their skills against the big Scot in the midst of a black maelstrom of smoke.
“Let’s go, Jenny. Move quickly, before they change their minds.” Jenny lifted her skirts and ran. Matthew stayed beside her, holding her arm to steady her as they hastened up the street, away from the smoke that choked the district, and on toward the castle. Once they were in safer territory, Jenny put some distance between them, even as she thanked him for helping her out of danger.
He glanced around. “No’ a carriage in sight,” he said. “Jenny, lass…if another dangerous situation arises, you must promise to do as I say, and quickly.”
She gave a halfhearted nod. As long as he insisted on staying with her, she could do worse than trust his judgment. “I will. But you’ll have to try to remember to speak into my left ear. I cannot hear from my right.”
He stopped abruptly, and Jenny turned to see what had happened. As far as she could tell, there was nothing, though a muscle in his jaw flexed tightly.
“There may have been other times when you thought I was ignoring you, and I apologize,” she said formally. “I don’t always hear everything.”
Temptation of the Warrior Page 17