by Jane Kindred
In the privacy and darkness of his own room, he let himself indulge in his inappropriate obsession, let himself imagine the feel of Sebastian beneath him, Sebastian’s skin against him, the smell and the taste of it. He grabbed himself the way he wanted to grab Sebastian, roughly, taking him without mercy, and spilled his seed into his hand with a growling moan stifled in his pillow.
Looking Sebastian in the eye had become difficult for a number of reasons.
* * * * *
His secret pleasure in being lauded as the Water Thief, however, was soon tarnished when Emrys issued a decree in Macsen’s name—the lord of Cantre’r Gwaelod’s name, at any rate. Anyone caught drawing well water for which they hadn’t paid tribute would have a price on his head as an accomplice of the Water Thief.
It put a damper on Macsen’s activities, and he fumed as he rode the estate perimeter guarding Emrys’s precious reservoir. It was one thing to risk himself, but he couldn’t continue to risk the innocent folk he’d been gifting. Emrys had effectively thwarted him, and the swiftness with which his entertainment had been curtailed just as it had begun was infuriating. Not to mention the loss of Sebastian’s power. He’d already become accustomed to feeling it in his veins. He supposed magic must be addictive, like any drug.
Coming in late that evening, still in his muddy boots as he came to the table for dinner, he was surprised to find Sebastian seated in the dining room between Elen and Emrys, once more attired in the dainty wardrobe of his sister.
“August.” He bent and kissed Sebastian on the cheek. “What a pleasant surprise. I didn’t realize you were feeling so much better.”
Sebastian made a pretense of coughing into a lace napkin. “I was starting to feel horribly cooped up. Which I suppose is always a sign one’s on the mend.” He smiled guilelessly. “Cousin Emrys was telling me he’s put a stop to that brazen thief who’s been stealing our water.”
“Yes, thank the Fates.” Macsen took his seat across from Sebastian. Which unfortunately placed him beside the insufferable Dr. Rees.
“He’s kept you on your toes, hasn’t he, milord?” Rees nodded to him over his pheasant. “Any idea who’s behind it? Seems hard to believe it’s really the work of one man.”
Macsen smiled woodenly. Had Sebastian told his lover what he’d guessed? “It’s a mystery to me.”
Emrys dug into his meal. “I suspected all along it was a conspiracy among those ungrateful wretches who tend my acreage. The fact that the theft has ceased with a threat to their personal freedom confirms who the real culprits are.”
“It’s so peculiar, though,” said Sebastian, “how the wells keep drying up.” Macsen nearly choked on his soup. Score one for the diminutive madman in the dress.
“Not peculiar at all,” Emrys retorted. “Fresh water is a finite resource. Everyone thinks that if we have so much rain, the water must be plentiful, but that isn’t how it works. The wells have been drained by poor management. The tenants are wasteful.”
“Then how does the water get back into the wells at all?” Sebastian wasn’t going to make it easy for Emrys. Macsen had to admire his pluck.
“Through my ingenuity and foresight,” said Emrys. “I’ve built a system of canals to move the water from our own reserves.” Interesting. Usually, he let Macsen take the credit for his little innovation so he could point to the lord of Cantre’r Gwaelod and throw his hands up if anyone complained to him. “It’s not cheap, of course. His lordship can’t afford to support every tenant on his property.” Ah, there it was. His lordship. Apparently, Macsen’s incarnation of Sebastian Swift was a veritable skinflint.
“I do wish there was something we could do for those who can’t make ends meet, though,” Sebastian continued. “I hate to think of them being evicted.”
“You’re too softhearted,” said Emrys. “Women usually are. You must trust his lordship’s wisdom.”
Macsen had to take a deep draught of his wine to keep from laughing aloud.
“What about my inheritance?” Sebastian managed to sound innocent enough with this inquiry, but Macsen was surprised he was being so bold. At Macsen’s side, Rees cast a glance at Sebastian with a slight nod of apparent approval. So he was the one behind this. Macsen hoped he didn’t end up tipping Sebastian’s hand. Not that he cared particularly what happened to Sebastian, but it was imperative that nothing upset the balance of Macsen’s position. He couldn’t risk having Emrys decide he wasn’t worth the bother.
Emrys, however, seemed not to be taking anything Sebastian said seriously. “Don’t worry your head over such matters, August. His lordship takes good care of his wards. Including you.”
Macsen could see the anger at the insult in Sebastian’s flushed cheeks, but Emrys went on eating without noticing, or perhaps caring.
“I am not Sebastian’s ward, Cousin Emrys. I’m the owner of half this estate.”
“With your history, my dear, the law allows for the lord of Cantre’r Gwaelod to care for you at his discretion. He’s acting in your best interests. You’ve had memory problems, you understand. You’re not fit to manage half of Llys Mawr. Nor do you need to. Sebastian will give you a little allowance for you to spend on whatever fancies take you, I’m sure.”
Sebastian met Macsen’s eyes, fury barely masked in his own. “Sebastian?”
Macsen took another leisurely drink. “Of course, August. All you had to do was ask.”
“That is not what I meant.” Sebastian set down his fork with care. “I want you to confirm what Cousin Emrys is saying. Am I being deemed a dependent and not an equal heir?”
Macsen glanced from Sebastian to Emrys and back. “You’ve been through a great deal. It’s bound to have affected you. But let’s not worry ourselves about this over dinner, shall we? You have nothing at all to be concerned about, and we can discuss it tomorrow.” He thought Sebastian might break their truce right there at the dinner table and stand and declare himself. He lowered his eyes to his food and went on eating, hoping Sebastian wouldn’t do anything rash.
After a moment, the danger seemed to have passed, and Sebastian changed the subject, chatting with Great Aunt Elen about updating the garden. The old woman gave no sign of having noticed the tension. Her doctor said her mind hadn’t been affected by the stroke, but age was clearly slowing her mental agility. There was a time when she would have dominated the conversation and put her “niece” in her place.
After listening briefly to Sebastian’s gardening ideas, Elen waved her good hand, though it shook like old paper. “Do as you like with it, August. I can’t enjoy the garden anymore myself.”
“I’d like to hire a gardener to work with on some of my plans.” Sebastian turned to Macsen. “If I’m permitted.”
“Of course you’re permitted.” Macsen gave Sebastian a brotherly squeeze of his hand across the table and he could tell it was all Sebastian could do not to yank his hand away and leap from his seat. Sebastian stayed still. His eyes, however, said this was far from over.
* * * * *
On his way upstairs to change after the meal, Macsen found Sebastian blocking his way. “We need to have a conversation.”
“Do we, August?” Macsen yawned. “I’m terribly exhausted from being out all day and I was hoping to relax with a bath and make it an early night.”
“Would you rather I spoke with Cousin Emrys about the Water Thief?”
Macsen’s jaw tightened as he observed Sebastian’s fierce expression that promised he’d turn Macsen in without hesitation if Macsen refused. “Follow me, then. You can have your say while I’m changing out of these damp clothes. If I wear them another minute, you won’t be the only one under the weather.” He continued up the stairs with a broad stride, knowing Sebastian’s attire would hamper him.
There was a quiet pause behind him for several seconds, and then he heard the rustle of silk and crinoline as Sebastian gathe
red his skirts.
In his room, he stripped off his cravat and shirt without waiting for Sebastian or stepping behind the partition out of false modesty. They both knew Sebastian’s sensibilities were far from ladylike. Sebastian entered, looking a bit winded, and closed the door. He’d forgotten the corset was likely exacerbating Sebastian’s bruised ribs and making it painful to breathe deeply. Macsen shrugged. He’d asked for his peace tonight, and Sebastian had chosen not to give it.
“Well? Out with it, then. Let’s hear your threats.” He tossed down the damp shirt and started on the buttons of his trousers.
“I’d prefer not to threaten you, Macsen. We had an agreement not to expose one another for our mutual benefit. But that did not entail being treated like a feeble-minded child as an excuse to keep me from my inheritance.” Sebastian’s gaze was drawn to Macsen’s bare abdomen, and Macsen was suddenly reluctant to expose any more of himself.
He sat on the divan and began unlacing his boots. “That wasn’t my idea. Emrys controls the purse strings for both of us, I’m afraid.”
“You seemed perfectly amused to go along with his assessment of my mental fitness. I don’t accept for a minute that you haven’t access to whatever funds you need, and if you cannot grant me access to mine, I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist that you compensate me out of your own account if you wish to continue in this ‘charade’, as you so aptly put it.”
Macsen paused in working the boot over his heel. “You’re blackmailing me.”
“What else can I do? What else have you left me?”
“That doctor of yours put you up to this, didn’t he?” Macsen yanked the boot off and tossed it down, peeling off his wet sock. “I saw him smirking at you over the dinner table. Coaching you silently.”
Sebastian had folded his arms under his false bosom, and he winced and loosened them slightly. “He’s encouraged me to stop wasting time, yes. But after the indignities I’ve endured and continue to endure almost nightly, even if you hadn’t stolen my life, I think I’m more than entitled to make demands and receive a little restitution.”
“I’m not the one who’s forcing you to endure those indignities. I’m not the one who put you in All Fates. You did, if you recall. Oh, wait. You don’t recall, do you? Which is precisely the point Emrys made about August. He just doesn’t realize he’s making it about the wrong Swift.” Having freed the other foot from boot and sock, Macsen rose, staring Sebastian down. “If you push me, I’ll have no choice but to push back. And back, for you, is All Fates.”
“Aunt Elen will speak for me if it comes to that,” said Sebastian. “She couldn’t possibly want you to retain the Swift title once she knows I’m alive.”
Macsen laughed. “Aunt Elen? Who do you think conspired to keep you at All Fates? Whose idea do you think any of this was? I may not be a legitimate grandson, but I am still a direct descendent of her own blood. She knew Emrys couldn’t get away with claiming the title. She could leave him the land, but the title would have been lost. No more lord of Cantre’r Gwaelod. No more authority over the realm. She ordered him to have me brought from the stables at his estate where I’d been put to work, and she gave me your damned life.”
Sebastian took a step back, his hand to his side as he breathed in sharply, and swayed as if he might faint. Macsen caught him by the shoulders, and Sebastian glared up at him, miserable, at his mercy and knowing he was beaten. At least for this round.
“You got out of bed too soon.” Macsen led him to the couch. “I thought you weren’t supposed to be wearing that damned thing.”
Sebastian sank onto the divan with a small sound of pain and resignation. “What the hell do you care what I wear?”
Macsen stared down at him. He could sense some of that power within, despite Sebastian’s weakened state. He could almost smell it on the soft skin. It was driving him mad to have had it inside him and to be deprived of it because of Emrys’s clever ploy. “I will say one thing, Sebastian Swift. You wear a gown very well.” He turned his back and finished undressing, grabbed his robe from the peg in his wardrobe when he’d stepped out of his pants, and pulled it on to cover himself. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to have that bath.”
Chapter Thirteen
My eyes were still wide as I stared at the place where Macsen had been, as though I’d been transfixed by the bastard’s ass. It was humiliating to have to rest here before I could even head back to my own room, and Macsen had made certain I should be as uncomfortable as possible by stripping in front of me and making that peculiar comment about how I wore a gown. I had to admit, though, it had been a rather fantastic posterior.
Fates. What the hell was I thinking?
August was waiting for me when I returned to my room. She paced the carpet, looking pensive. I wondered what a ghost had to be preoccupied about.
She glanced up at my entrance, just as if she were an ordinary, living human being. “Sebastian. I heard what Macsen said about Great Aunt Elen. I don’t think it’s safe for you here.”
I sighed and turned my back to her. “Help me with the buttons?”
Her fingers against my spine were cold and ghostly, as though she’d been outside. I supposed I should have seen that coming. I tried to stand still for it, since I’d asked.
“There must surely be another way to make them pay.” She worked her way down the buttons. “Another way to expose Emrys besides putting yourself in danger here.”
“I’ve been in danger all along, August. You know what Emrys has been doing to me.”
“Yes, and I’m sorry, dear brother. I truly am. But I thought Emrys was the driving force behind all this. I never dreamed Aunt Elen had orchestrated it.”
“But what difference does it make?” I turned as she finished the buttons, letting the dress slip down to my waist, still convincingly feminine within the corset thanks to Abigail’s work. “Knowing, I mean. How is it any more dangerous for me now than it was an hour ago?”
“She wanted me dead, Sebastian. She had me killed in order to keep Llys Mawr and the lordship for her own.”
“But we knew someone had. Emrys needs me. His greed has kept me alive all this time. He needs one of us in order to manipulate the magic.” I turned again and spoke over my shoulder. “The laces, if you wouldn’t mind? My ribs are killing me.”
“I can’t. I have to go. Please heed my warning and abandon this. I think we’ve made a mistake.” She took a step back toward the window, as if she’d disappear into it. Before I could object, I heard Abigail enter the outer room. I turned toward the sound for only an instant, but when I turned back, August was gone.
I sighed and called out for Abigail. I couldn’t wear this thing another minute. While I sat on the edge of the bed waiting for her, I pondered August’s sudden concern. Did she know something else? Something she could see from her vantage point beyond life that wasn’t available to me? My spine rippled with unease as though her cold fingers were still lingering there.
I drank my brandy before bed. I couldn’t face the ritual tonight. Not with full awareness of what was happening to me. Let the chloral work its own magic.
* * * * *
After breakfast the following morning, I was surprised to have a visitor. Great Aunt Elen had apparently sent word already to a gardener, and an enthusiastic Mr. Baines had come to consult with me on my ideas. I walked with him through the rather conservative and uninspiring garden of privet hedges and plots of valerian, and he seemed excited to get to work on it.
Llys Mawr hadn’t been neglected, precisely, but neither had it been lovingly cared for since August and I had gone. Macsen had spent the bare minimum keeping things respectable but dull. Mr. Baines recommended some of his colleagues whom he felt sure would be eager to update the interior of the castle as well as the exterior.
The morning passed with surprising swiftness. I hadn’t thought talking g
ardening would interest me so much. It had been merely a means of diversion from the unpleasant conversation at dinner last night rather than an actual desire to tend the garden, but Mr. Baines had a fascinating amount of knowledge about classical design and horticulture that unexpectedly captured my interest.
I took my leave of the gardener and went inside at teatime when the inevitable afternoon showers began. Sven joined me for tea, obviously hoping to have a private discussion, but no sooner had we sat down in the solarium—that was not, at present, living up to its name—than Macsen arrived.
He grabbed a plate from the sideboard and began filling it. “I trust you had a pleasant morning with Mr. Baines. Will he be able to meet your needs?”
There was an air of double-entendre to this, but I ignored it. “I think he’ll do quite well. He seemed to have had his eye on our gardens for some time and was like a child let loose in a candy store. You must thank Aunt Elen for me if you speak with her before dinner.”
Macsen plopped himself down in a stuffed chair by the window, showing no intention of giving us any privacy. “Aunt Elen knows nothing about it. I hired him.”
“You?” I paused with the sugar tongs over my teacup. What was he up to now?
“I am the lord of Cantre’r Gwaelod.” Macsen popped a piece of scone into his mouth and spoke while he chewed. “Why wouldn’t I take an interest in Llys Mawr’s upkeep? Especially now that you’re here. The garden, like so much else, is in dire need of a woman’s touch. Great Aunt Elen hasn’t been able to care for it like she used to.”
I bristled, annoyed that he could needle me so easily. I’d chosen to impersonate a woman, after all, and there was nothing inherently offensive about him speaking of a woman’s touch. It was all in the way he said things, with a sort of knowing half smile that indicated he knew precisely what would irritate me and reveled in it.