“Forgive me,” he said, and, careful not to touch her, snatched the glasses from her small nose. “I’m having difficulty concentrating with these making your eyes look skewed.”
He felt her astonished stare upon him as he gave his attention to making repairs. It was quickly and simply done, requiring the most elementary sort of magic. Rubbing his thumbs gently over the oval glass pieces, he easily smoothed away the scratches, then ran his fingers across the metal nose and temple bars to make them straight. Beneath his hands the spectacles stretched and shifted until they had regained their original form. Lifting them with both hands, Malachi gently slid them back into place, using his fingers to fit them over her ears.
This time it was impossible for him to pull his hands away. The touch of the soft skin beneath her ears, the tickle of her hair on the tops of his hands, induced him to linger.
“That’s better,” he murmured, looking into her eyes once more, now much clearer beneath the shining glass. They were wide, gazing up at him with a mixture of alarm and confusion.
“Yes, thank you,” she whispered hoarsely. “As good as new.”
He had the ability to tell a great deal about others when he touched them. But this simple touch with her, just the tips of his fingers against her bare skin, was a revelation. He could feel the rapid pace of her heart, feel her heightened breathing as if it were his own.
Oh, aye, there was magic here. A powerful magic that was greatly unsettling. And with her, of all people, Malachi thought unhappily. The Guardians must be playing a trick on him and laughing merrily in their heaven as Malachi Seymour, the Earl of Graymar and the powerful Dewin Mawr, stood transfixed by Miss Sarah Tamony, a mere mortal, a scribbler of tales.
But if he was spellbound, then so was she. Miss Tamony should have slapped him for such impertinence, or at the very least stepped away. But whatever he was feeling seemed to be inside her, too. She was trembling, as he was, and stood before him so that their bodies nearly touched, equally captive.
“Your skin,” he said, moving the tips of his fingers over her silken cheeks, “is very beautiful. Very soft.”
It was among the stupidest things he’d ever said in his life, Malachi knew, but impossible to take back now. His brain had clearly deserted him. Miss Tamony made no reply. Her mouth formed an “o” and, if possible, her eyes widened even further. She stood in silence, trembling as his fingertips slid into her hair, bringing his thumbs and palms to cup her face.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, running his thumbs just beneath the rims of her eyeglasses. His hands moved downward, slowly, lightly tracing the curves of her lips, the delicate bones of her chin, and the slender length of her neck. He had no idea where he would have stopped if it hadn’t been for the gold chain. It peeked out of the collar of her boy’s shirt, and when his fingers encountered it he felt the distinct tingling of magic. The sensation helped to clear his senses.
“You’ve been to Aberdeen, I perceive,” he said, scarcely recognizing the sound of his own voice, thick as it was with idiotic delirium. “And visited with Sorsha. I sensed that you had some of her potions and enchantments in your knapsack when I first came across you in the grove. She gave you a charm as well, did she?”
“Y-yes,” Miss Tamony managed, her voice quavering. Malachi didn’t wonder at it. A beauty she was, but likely never so boldly handled by a man before. He wished she would slap him. “It’s supposed to protect me from … well, I’m not precisely sure from what.” She drew in a shaking breath and released it. Her trembling lessened a degree.
Grasping the chain, Malachi pulled the amulet into the light. The sight was so surprising that it worked on him like a bucket of water. The erotic visions faded and his mind cleared.
“God help us,” he said, then laughed, turning the tiny, misshapen amulet over in his palm. “What could Sorsha have been thinking?” He looked at her. “Did you buy this from her?”
She shook her head, still wide-eyed. “She gave it to me as a gift, insisting that I take it. I tried to pay her, but she would only let me pay for the other items—the crystals and potions. I know that some would find it rather odd and perhaps even ugly,” she said, glancing down at the small golden object, “but I’ve come to love it. The little design on the band”—she touched the place where the amulet came together and was clasped by a ring of gold—“it’s Celtic, is it not? I nearly showed it to my brother, for he’s been researching Celtic history, but I didn’t wish to explain about visiting a reputed sorceress.”
“Aye, it’s very old,” Malachi said more soberly, “though the symbols are from the language spoken only by magic mortals in the ancient days. Your brother would not have recognized them. They tell of the enchantment that protects the wearer, along with the ashes that are held within the amulet itself.”
“Ashes?” Miss Tamony repeated, looking up at him again. A mistake, for it made him feel instantly muddled. “She told me that only dried herbs were locked inside. I’ve tried to open it, but age seems to have sealed it forever.”
He shook his head. “Not age, but magic. The amulet cannot be opened save by a powerful wizard or sorceress, and only one who is a complete fool would do so. The enchantment would be lost then, and the charm left powerless. Not that I expect you’ll ever have any use for its protection, Miss Tamony.”
“Why?” she asked. “What is it for? I thought perhaps it was a protection of some sort, something to ward off evil.”
“Oh, it is that,” he said. “But an evil that you are unlikely to come across. The ashes in this amulet—which has a name, though I doubt that will surprise you, knowing what you do about my kind and our penchant for giving names to everything—are from the remains of a mere mortal, one Guidric of Maghera, who was once possessed by demons, not one, but several, and yet lived to tell the tale. Ah, I can see by your expression that I’ve found a supernatural tale that you’ve not yet heard.”
She looked immediately intrigued. “Demons! I know that they once roamed the earth freely. Even the Bible speaks of them.”
“Exactly so,” he said. “And they yet exist today, moving with far greater care among mere mortals, although very powerful demons have been banished and are only allowed to journey to earth for certain purposes. But when Guidric of Maghera lived, hundreds of years past, spirit possession was yet quite common. Guidric was taken hold of by five spirits, and no mortal man, either magic or mere, could free him. Not even the most powerful among my ancestors … at least not alone.”
“Poor man,” she said with sympathy. “But you said that he lived to tell the tale, so he must have been delivered from such an awful fate.”
“He was,” Malachi told her. “It was a time when magic mortals were beginning to learn that, when necessity required it, they must put their differences aside and combine their powers for a greater good. There were five spirits; thus five wizards and sorceresses were needed to overpower them. Together, they rid Guidric of the possession, and he lived a long and happy life.” He gave a rueful shake of his head. “That is a lesson that my kind has not remembered well, I fear. A long time has passed since we have come together to help mankind.”
“You are proud, it seems,” Miss Tamony said, her voice unsteady. “Your kind is, I should say, my lord.”
Malachi didn’t dare look at her again. His heart was throbbing painfully in his chest and his body still hard with desire. Focusing on the amulet, he tilted his palm to roll the charm on its other side, exposing the remaining symbols. Miss Tamony, chained to the object, tentatively moved nearer.
“The amulet,” he said, clearing his throat and setting his thoughts back to the matter at hand, “is called Donballa, which means, roughly, ‘wall of protection.’ The ashes within, infused with the memory of Guidric’s survival of spirit possession, provide an immunity to the bearer.”
“Do you mean to say,” she said slowly, looking up at him, “that it protects me from being possessed by evil spirits?”
He allowed himself on
ly a brief glance into the green eyes. “Yes, though only from the kind of spirits that possessed Guidric, not more powerful demons. But, as I said, any kind of possession is so rare these days that the amulet’s value is questionable. The spirits have discovered that it’s far easier to confound mortals through less invasive means, and the amulet cannot spare you from their ability to tempt and persuade. I can’t imagine why Sorsha thought to give it to you, unless …” He thought of the coming of the cythraul. Sorsha, like all those possessed of great powers, knew that the demon would be coming soon. But surely she would realize that the Donballa would have no power over such a creature.
“It was beautiful, once, I believe,” he said. “The craftsmanship is evident, as is the quality of the gold. Irish gold is as precious as diamonds, you know, though Welsh gold is more precious yet, and far finer, for that matter.”
“Very proud,” she murmured, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “The chain is new,” she went on, “but of the plain English variety, I fear.”
“Pity,” he replied. “I shall have to see if I can’t make the artful object outshine its poor English cousin.” He lifted his other hand and set it over the amulet, pressing it tightly between his palms. Miss Tamony’s auburn head bent nearer, teasing his nostrils with her sweet, feminine scent. Malachi closed his eyes to concentrate. This was harder work than merely straightening a pair of spectacles.
The amulet began to grow warm within his hands, then hot. The stinging sensation, which cleared his senses wonderfully, was more than a little welcome. And when rays of bright light began to escape from between his pressed flesh, Miss Tamony leaned back, putting a more comfortable distance between him and her alluring person. The chain about her neck strained, but Malachi held the amulet fast, waiting until the light died away before opening his hands.
“Oh,” Miss Tamony remarked with delighted surprise.
The amulet lay upon his palm, still glowing faintly, renewed to its former glory. It looked, he thought with satisfaction, as bright and shining as the day it had been formed by the goldsmith’s art.
“How lovely,” she breathed, gingerly picking it up. “Thank you, Lord Graymar. How kind of you. I shall cherish it now far more than I did before. And thank you for telling me the story behind the Donballa, as well. I’ll take very good care of it, I promise you.”
She was smiling up at him again in a way that began to make him think of kisses—and other things—once more. He took a step away and fixed his stoniest expression on his face. It always worked wonders when he wished to make progress in Parliament.
“I hope that this small act will put you in some charity with me, Miss Tamony. I have acted unforgivably, touching you and speaking in a forward manner which I’m certain you must have found both alarming and disgusting. Rhys was quite right to distrust me in being alone with you. There is no excuse for such behavior, regardless how beautiful the woman or how ill-mannered the man. But I hope that you will forgive me, nonetheless, and strive to put the incident behind us. It is very likely that we will meet again in London during the Season, and I should not wish to think that my presence will distress you.”
She was silent for a long moment, then said, “I can do no less than forgive, my lord, when I am the one who so boldly invited myself to Glain Tarran and placed myself beneath your unwilling, but very generous, hospitality. And you did repair my spectacles and restore the Donballa.”
“You are very good.” He steeled himself for the loss of this brief amity. “Perhaps, whenever you see the Donballa, it will lessen the sting of my refusal to allow you to write your proposed book.”
As he had expected, her smile turned into a frown. She had a wonderful mouth, he thought. The lips were full and curving and extremely expressive. He had grazed them with his thumbs earlier and knew by touch how soft they were.
“I don’t understand you, my lord,” she said. “If you will not give me an interview, I shall, of course, be disappointed. But it will not stop me from writing my book.”
“You understand me,” he replied curtly and firmly. “I shall make certain that you do not write your book. You know that I possess the means to do so. None of Sorsha’s potions, nor any spells or enchantments you’ve purchased in your travels, will have the power to stop me. Find another topic to engage your pen, Miss Tamony. That would be best and easiest for us both. Don’t persist in this matter,” he advised when she tried to speak. “I can be vastly unpleasant when the situation warrants.”
She fingered the now-shining amulet and regarded him somberly. He could almost read her angry thoughts, for her eyes were as expressive as her mouth.
“I’m sure that’s true, my lord. But I can be as obstinate as you are, and I’m not afraid that you’ll harm me. I have learned a great deal about those with magic, and know that you cannot harm mere mortals without fear of punishment. I may not understand precisely how and why, but you are obliged to live beneath certain rules. You can alter my memories, at best, but you cannot force me to do your bidding against my will.”
“I’ll not be obliged to do so,” he said. “It would be easier to make your task impossible. And I can accomplish that, Miss Tamony, not as a sorcerer, but as the Earl of Graymar.”
She gave a single shake of her head. “You are welcome to try, sir, but I will yet write my book. Truly, Lord Graymar, if it is ease you desire, then it would be far better if you agreed to help me. I am not a monster, nor as implacable as you seem to think. You will have far more power to affect the book if you work with me, rather than against me. Otherwise I must write as I see fit, not to please your delicate sensibilities.”
Delicate sensibilities? Malachi thought angrily. What the devil did the woman mean by such a thing?
“There is clearly no purpose in us discussing the matter further, Miss Tamony,” he said sharply. “You refuse to understand what my objections are to the publication of your proposed undertaking. You will not see the danger of it, and blindly—and vainly, I might add—”
“Vainly!”
“Yes, vainly,” he repeated furiously, throwing out a hand as he moved back toward the cabinet set in the bookcases, “assume that you can somehow make such an exposition of magic beings both right and safe from the meddling of mere mortals.” The glass-paned doors slammed open at his approach. “History and the fact of human nature prove you wrong. Society hasn’t changed so greatly that those who are different are so readily accepted. If you write of past Seymours, it will be logically concluded that present Seymours must have inherited some of their ancestors’ powers.”
“But no one will believe—”
“Yes, they will,” he countered, pouring himself another drink. “I can safely say that I know human nature far better than you, Miss Tamony, despite your myriad travels. The survival of my kind has long depended upon our being able to understand and avoid the scrutiny of mere mortals. But none of us will be able to escape your interested readers once you’ve filled their minds with the facts of our lives.” Lifting the glass, he drank deeply, aware that she was moving nearer. He turned and she fell still. “I am a member of Parliament,” he told her. “There are a number of important matters coming before us soon. I do not wish to be distracted from those matters by having to constantly answer queries from my peers about whether the stories of my great-grandfather are true. The lives of my kind are already precarious enough, Miss Tamony, without being turned into a complete circus.”
“I can find a way to keep that from happening,” she vowed. “Only give me the chance to prove that to you.”
“No,” he said. Draining the glass, he set it down with a resounding thud. “I cannot take the risk. There is nothing more to discuss. I shall not change my mind.”
Miss Tamony gazed at him from across the short distance that separated them, her lovely eyes slightly narrowed and her expressive mouth pursed. Her hands, he saw, were still toying with the amulet. She seemed to be considering whether she should continue to press her case or give
way. After a long moment she tucked the amulet back beneath the collar of her shirt and then folded her hands primly before her.
“You are right, my lord. There is nothing else for us to discuss. Since I have come to Glain Tarran without invitation, I must be responsible for my return to the village. However, as you sent my horse away, I must necessarily borrow one of yours. Would you be so kind as to have one made ready for me?”
Her seeming capitulation should have calmed him, but Malachi only felt more aggravated. He knew full well that the accursed woman was going to attempt to write her book. She’d merely given up arguing about it.
“You would never reach the village in time to stop your absence from being discovered. Which would be just as you deserve for being so foolish as to have undertaken such a task in the first place. But if your parents haven’t yet found the way to convince you to behave properly, I doubt any amount of humiliation and disapproval will cause you to do so. Nor will you be impressed by my speaking of the dangers that a young woman risks by riding about the countryside at such an hour.”
“I am fully aware of the dangers,” she told him, “and am prepared to answer both the anger of my family and the disgust of the villagers if my absence is discovered. This is not the first time I’ve ventured out for the sake of my work.”
He uttered an unpleasant laugh. “I had the idea that it was not. What you need, Miss Tamony, is a firm hand to keep you from such foolishness. If you ever marry, I shall pray that your husband is capable of managing you.”
For the first time since she’d come to Glain Tarran, Sarah Tamony looked truly angry. Her green eyes flashed beneath her spectacles and her mouth thinned into a small, straight line. Malachi had the most shocking urge to cross the distance between them, grab her up in his arms, and kiss her until her passion changed from fury to something altogether different.
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