by Jane Kindred
I watched him, bemused, as he took himself off to the refreshment tables. Was he truly jealous of my interest in Siors? The idea made me uneasy, and for the first time I wondered what the outcome of this endeavor was truly meant to be. Sven had gotten me inside Llys Mawr and established as August in order to embezzle her inheritance. But how long did he expect me to maintain the charade? Or, more to the point, how long did I?
For my sister’s sake, I’d promised to take back what was ours and to see that her killers paid for their betrayal. I had seen myself playing this role only until that was accomplished. But what then? Would I step forth and declare myself Sebastian Swift, lord of Cantre’r Gwaelod? Could I even prove who I was? The first order of business, of course, was to expose Macsen as a fraud. And that was what I needed to concentrate on now. The rest could wait.
Chapter Six: Macsen
Sebastian Swift had been a raving madman. It was what the elder Lord Pryce had assured Macsen since he was a boy. Lord Pryce—Macsen knew Emrys was in actuality his own father, but he also knew Pryce would have him horsewhipped if he ever uttered a word of their connection—had put Macsen in place to impersonate Sebastian after the spoiled little lord had murdered his sister. The Lowland Hundred couldn’t afford more scandal, and August’s death must be thought an accident. Why the mad Sebastian couldn’t have been reported drowned as well, Macsen hadn’t understood until years later. If both the offspring of Cousin Aled—the last earl of Cantre’r Gwaelod—were dead, Emrys, presumably, would inherit. But Emrys could not inherit the title of earl, or any of its attendant benefits. So long as Sebastian languished in madness, Emrys felt there was a chance he might return to sanity, and his birthright, most of all, was needed.
Only a true lord of the Lowland Hundred could control the waters of Cantre’r Gwaelod.
But with the loss of Sebastian nearly a year ago in the asylum’s collapse, there had been no lord of the waters, no one with the power to call the element to his bidding. August’s return had been a blessing in disguise—because August had the power. Only to Macsen, it was no blessing. He’d been perfectly content to be the first lord of Cantre’r Gwaelod who couldn’t access the magic. Who needed a magical ability over water? He had a comfortable existence; everything he’d ever envied of his second cousins was now his. The old woman never bothered him—she’d worked out something with her son, no doubt. There was no way she could be unaware that Macsen was not the real Sebastian; she’d raised the twins herself. Her body might be incapacitated, but her mind was as sharp as ever.
So now that August was here, now that one of the true heirs had returned to Llys Mawr, how long would it be before Emrys and Elen had no need for Macsen after all? As soon as they were able to tap into August’s power, they would have all they needed, and Macsen would be a liability.
He had no intention of being eclipsed, true heir or not. And the more he observed his cousin, the more she professed to take him for her own twin, the more convinced he became that this was not August Swift at all. At the very least, she was hiding something. And Macsen intended to expose her.
That pompous Bleddyn Rees was clearly not what he claimed to be, and the sooner Macsen managed to separate August from her protector, the better chance he would have of getting to the bottom of August’s secrets.
Over breakfast on the morning following August’s belated coming-out ball, Macsen took the opportunity to invite her on a survey of the property. “It’s yours as much as it is mine. Come for a ride with me this afternoon while the sun is out.”
August swallowed a bite of laverbread and touched her napkin to the corners of her mouth in a gesture he’d already come to know as uncertainty and stalling. It was at times like this she usually looked to Dr. Rees, but he didn’t dine with them at breakfast. “I haven’t been on a horse in years,” she said after a moment. “I’m not sure I remember how to ride.”
Macsen smiled. “You could outride me easily when we were younger. I’m sure it will come right back to you.”
There was little she could say to that, and shortly after noon, she arrived at the stables as promised. Macsen was surprised to find her wearing men’s trousers. “You rode sidesaddle quite well when we were children. Why the costume?”
August smiled guardedly. “Don’t you remember, Sebastian? I always used to wear your trousers. I thought riding sidesaddle was preposterous. It’s absurd to behave as if a woman doesn’t have two legs just like a man.”
Macsen couldn’t help but smirk. “Some might say a man has three.” August blushed. That was interesting.
They ventured out, and Macsen couldn’t deny that she seemed to know the terrain quite well. If he’d hoped to catch her out as an imposter by leading her in circles and confounding her, it seemed he was out of luck. She kept pace with him without difficulty, covering ground almost automatically. They rode out as far as Llys Mawr’s eastern boundary: the shore of Lake Iseldir, where August became understandably ill at ease. Macsen dismounted and led his horse to the edge of the lake to drink, and August reluctantly followed suit.
“I relive that day every time I stand here,” he said to her as they looked out across the serene surface of the water. “This is the first time I can relive it without the pain of loss.”
August looked a bit green.
“Are you all right? Perhaps we should go back—”
“You say you relive it, brother.” August turned her deep brown eyes on him with sharp focus. “Then tell me what happened. How that day began.”
Macsen was prepared for this question. Emrys had warned him against trying to invent details that she would see through. If indeed she was August Swift.
“To tell you the truth, I have no memory of the event itself. I too struck my head. Perhaps we hit a rock beneath the water and capsized. I relive only the moments after, when I called for you in vain, disoriented and dizzy, diving into the murky water by the floating bog and finding nothing. I’ve never been able to forgive myself for losing you.”
“How convenient that you lost your memory.”
Macsen’s temper flared. She meant to trip him up, when she was clearly as false as the day was long? “And how convenient that you regained yours,” he snapped. “If we’re going to make bizarre accusations, one might say that it was a miracle you suddenly came to yourself when this Dr. Rees mentioned your inheritance.”
“That’s your play?” The color was high in her cheeks, but it wasn’t embarrassment at being caught out. She was righteously angry. “To accuse me of being an imposter? I’m well aware that you are not my brother.”
“And just who do you suppose I am, when Great Aunt Elen and Cousin Emrys say that I am Sebastian without hesitation?”
August folded her arms and stared him down. “I know exactly who you are, Macsen Finch.”
He was too shocked by her immediate identification of him to pretend at confusion. Could this truly be August after all? The old woman had believed it, but Emrys had emphatically not. And there was something about her Macsen couldn’t put his finger on that said she was not who she pretended to be.
“I’ll take your gaping mouth devoid of utterance as confirmation, Mr. Finch. What I don’t know is why Great Aunt Elen and Cousin Emrys have been passing you off as Sebastian these past nine years. Tell me, did the three of you conspire to murder us both?”
He regarded her coolly. “It’s plain that you have discovered our deception, but it was done only to spare the family shame. Someone attempted to murder you, yes, but it was none other than your precious Sebastian himself. He was confined to the lunatic asylum until his death a year ago. Emrys hoped he might recover eventually, and I was only meant to convince others I was Sebastian until he did.”
August laughed aloud in an unladylike fashion. “Are you actually buying this rubbish?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The words you’re spouting. Do you
actually believe them? Do you expect me to believe them?”
“I don’t expect you to do anything, nor do I care what you intend to do. There is nothing you can do. Do you think Lady Elen and Emrys would disavow me after all these years and admit their own deception? It’s all over Cantre’r Gwaelod that your mind is unstable. In any event, I’m still not convinced you’re August at all.”
“Who else would I be, Macsen? How else would I know you, and know every inch of Llys Mawr? And if you think I’d simply stand aside and allow you to usurp my birthright, you’re as mad as you claim Sebastian was.”
“Well, at least I resemble him in that one respect.” He smiled despite himself, and August narrowed her eyes at him in disapproval. “None of this was my idea.”
“And I’m sure you found it a terrible imposition to become the earl of Cantre’r Gwaelod.”
Macsen sneered. “Don’t you worry, dear cousin. It’s not as if the land recognizes me any more than my own father deigns to.”
August played stupid. “What do you mean by that?”
His cheeks burned at having to spell it out for her. Wasn’t it bad enough he was the bastard child of the unfavored cousin? She and Sebastian had been born with everything, and he was nothing. “I can’t command the water.” He nearly snarled the words at her. “I have none of the power you and Sebastian were born with.”
“Command the water?” August’s demeanor said she was genuinely baffled. Could she possibly not know? How could she not know? “Macsen, you’re raving. Perhaps you are as mad as Sebastian.”
He studied her face with interest and then smiled. “Perhaps I am, indeed.”
* * * * *
Emrys confirmed it: August and Sebastian had not known of the inherited magic.
“You might have warned me.” Macsen lounged in the earl’s chair in what was ostensibly his private den, though only Emrys really used it, while Emrys paced the carpet in agitation. Macsen enjoyed making Emrys feel inferior to him, despite his dependence on his father’s deception for everything he currently possessed. And no matter how temporary that position of superiority might be.
“I thought I made it quite clear to you that nothing of such import was to be discussed with the girl. I said it was a delicate matter.”
“The delicate matter being that you spent eight years siphoning off the power of the true earl of Cantre’r Gwaelod without his knowledge before he died. Was he even mad?”
Emrys paused and turned before the mantel. “He attempted to murder his own sister without provocation. Of course he was mad. And I have every right to the power of the Swift birthright. Should it have gone unused simply because fate saw fit to place it in the mind of a mental defective?” His fists were clenched at his sides as if resisting the urge to beat Macsen as he had so often when Macsen was a boy.
Let him try it now. His father might still be the brute of man he’d seemed when Macsen was younger—lean, but hard edged and hard knuckled—but Macsen was physically his equal. He relished the idea of taking his own fists to Emrys. He would find his son was no longer a helpless child.
“And now the power goes to a mere female because of the accident of fertilization—a female who is likely as mad as her brother. Had I known she was capable of possessing the magic, I’d have kept them both locked up at All Fates for the good of the cantref. Once I saw she’d miraculously escaped a drowning no ordinary human ought to have survived, it became clear that both must have the power and that madness must naturally attend it. But through your foolishness, you may have ruined our opportunity to safely tap into that power by making her aware of it.”
Macsen waved his hand, a dismissive gesture he knew maddened his father. “Oh, relax, Emrys—”
“That’s Lord Pryce to you, boy.” There was a warning in the words, but Macsen had long since lost his childhood terror of the man.
“She didn’t even believe me. She thought I was teasing her. She’ll forget it in a day.” He hadn’t bothered to tell Emrys that August had also guessed at his identity. For some reason, she seemed just as willing as he was to maintain the deception. For the time being, at any rate.
“She had better. Because I will have my conduit, and I would rather not have to take it by force.” Emrys lifted his coattails with a flounce and dropped onto the velvet divan.
“And just how do you plan to access it without her knowledge? Do you even know for certain she possesses it?”
Emrys smiled as he took his gold-trimmed snuffbox from his pocket. “Surely, you don’t imagine I would have failed to test her the first chance I had.” He opened the box and inhaled a pinch, snapping the lid shut. “She has it, all right. And I’ve already begun. In her dreams. Her bedtime habit of hot tea and brandy makes for an excellent medium of delivery for the chloral, which puts her into a deep and undisturbed sleep for at least seven hours. While she sleeps, I entrap her breath in a glass. Works as well as full submersion, and she never suspects a thing.”
Something about this seemed unsavory to Macsen. He didn’t mind stealing August’s fortune. He was just as deserving of land and title, if not more. While it didn’t bother him, as it obviously did Emrys, that a female should inherit, it offended him that such a cossetted, indolent brat should have it without ever having lifted a finger to care for herself or having endured any sort of hardship. The beatings Emrys had administered to Macsen in his youth, the hard work he’d been put to and the deprivation he’d faced by virtue of his status as the bastard son of a housemaid, Emrys had called “character building”. Macsen had resented it, but it had informed his worldview. He had plenty of character. August Swift had none. But stealing her essence from her nightly while she lay in a drugged stupor—it wasn’t exactly what he’d envisioned.
“And what are you doing with it?”
Emrys looked startled at the question. “I beg your pardon?”
“What are you doing with August’s command of the waters of Cantre’r Gwaelod besides restricting what’s available for the tenants’ use? What are you doing with the excess magic you collect?”
“Storing it, of course. Until it’s needed.”
“Needed for what?”
Everything about Emrys seemed to narrow to a thin, ruthless line as he got to his feet. “That’s not your concern. I’ve given you Llys Mawr and the earldom of an entire realm, which is far more than one of your breeding deserves.”
Macsen managed not to give Emrys the satisfaction of reacting to the slight, but he watched the elder lord as he turned on his heel and walked away, hatred burning behind the sockets of his eyes.
* * * * *
August continued to behave in the company of others as though Macsen were her beloved Sebastian. With such a performance, she ought to have been on the stage. It would have been further proof to him that she was playing a part and could not be August Swift if Emrys hadn’t revealed that he’d already tapped into her power. She knew Macsen, knew Llys Mawr and she had Cantre’r Gwaelod’s magic. Who else, indeed, could she possibly be?
When they were alone, however, she treated him with open contempt. Macsen responded with amusement, which seemed to infuriate her. It only amused him more. He couldn’t care less that she despised him, but the fact that she loathed him so completely and yet had not exposed him meant she herself had something to hide. Macsen intended to play the devoted brother, ever at her side—a thorn in it, even. Eventually, she would slip and give something away. And then his power over her would be even greater.
Chapter Seven
I had no choice but to allow my kin to continue in their deception. To expose Macsen now would mean risking exposure myself, and risking the loss of my rightful inheritance. It irked me no end that half of that rightful inheritance should belong to Macsen, however temporarily. Whether he was behind August’s death and my confinement or was merely another pawn of Cousin Emrys, he was a scoundrel and a fraud
. My sister, when I saw her, continued to express unwarranted sympathy for him. I had no time for that. But she also agreed he must not be exposed until we ferreted out the truth of what had happened to us. I only hoped it wouldn’t take long. The idea of watching Macsen strut about pretending to be me was maddening.
Luckily, I had Siors Apted to distract me. August’s one-time suitor had evidently decided to pick up where he’d left off, and Siors was a regular visitor at the manor. I indulged his attentions as though I were August herself, ignoring Sven’s warnings that nothing good could come of encouraging his interest in me. Though Sven claimed to be able to spot one of “our kith” a mile off, he couldn’t know for certain that Siors had no inclinations toward men. Some men, and I supposed some women too, must partake of both. And even if he didn’t, it wasn’t as if I intended to marry him. I was more than content with his kisses for now.
And such kisses they were. A regular guest at dinner, Siors walked with me afterward in the garden. Safely away from the view of the manor, he made advances that left no doubt as to his interest.
The first time, I feigned shock, playing the part of the chaste and sheltered virgin. I figured a slap to the face was in order.
“How dare you, Mr. Apted. Do you take me for a woman of easy virtue because I’ve been so long absent from society? I assure you that those who cared for me during my convalescence modeled behavior of the utmost propriety.”
Siors rubbed his cheek with a rueful smile. “I took you, dear August, for the girl you were when I last saw you. I seem to recall you were perfectly amenable to my advances, even though you spurned my proposal.”
“I was thirteen,” I reminded him archly, a bit shocked at August.
“And I too was just a boy, though I thought myself quite the charmer at the time.” He plucked a rose from the bush beside us and held it out to me. “Forgive me. It was out of line for me to presume to behave as if time has stood still when you’ve been through so much.”