by Deb Marlowe
“He fought valiantly,” Tamsyn said as Gryff untied the sling at her back. She knelt down. “But he is hurt.”
The small face twisted in dismay. He clapped his hands and behind him, closer to the barrow, the meadow grasses leaped in answer. They sprang upright, growing several feet in an instant, then began to loop and weave themselves together, forming a soft platform about six inches off of the ground.
Pixie and wounded creature disappeared, then popped back in at the makeshift bed. Tuft leaned over his friend, while behind him, several smaller creatures, all of different aspects, emerged from the dark mouth of the barrow.
Tuft looked up and without a word they scattered. One, fuzzy and dressed in brown, took to the trees. Two little green creatures, their heads wrapped in soft, new leaves, scurried away through the grass, while a bluish sprite concentrated, sprouted wings and took to the air.
“He’ll know what to do,” Paul said as the pixie bent over Jump once more.
Tamsyn was still on her knees. Gryff knelt down beside her. “Might as well get comfortable. I don’t think we should leave until the creature is safe.”
She sat down, her mind gone numb at all of the things she’d witnessed today. “Pixies,” she whispered. She looked at Gryff. “Your family was right.”
He shook his head. “I always knew it . . . but this . . .” He sighed. “My aunt will be fair green with envy, when she hears about it.”
But the thought had seized Tamsyn again. She turned on Paul. “Why?” She nodded toward Tuft. “Why did he do it?”
The ghostly boy hung his head. “Because I asked him to.”
“What?” Not the answer she’d been expecting. “Explain.”
“You did him a favor. I thought he owed you one in return.”
She snorted. “Unlikely. How could I do him a favor? I knew nothing—hadn’t an inkling pixies were real before this moment.”
Paul sighed. “He was the one who laughed at you.”
She froze. A flush started low, in her belly and traveled upward until even the tips of her ears felt hot. She did not dare glance at Gryff.
“You made him laugh,” Paul rushed on, “and a good, heartfelt Pixie laugh is powerful. It swept through the forest like a flood, doing good wherever it touched.”
“Oh.” A nurse, two governesses and her mother’s endless lectures—none of them had prepared her to answer to a statement like that.
Beside her, Gryff ducked as the blue sprite whizzed over his head, returning on its errand. Tuft accepted the fistful of offered leaves. He whispered over them and tore them apart, sprinkling them over Jump’s wounds. The other pixies trickled back too, bringing herbs and an acorn cup of liquid. Tuft made use of them all and his assistants retreated to the barrow, peering out as the old pixie chanted softly over his friend.
They waited. “I thought it might have been a curse,” she said quietly. “My father inherited an earldom, a castle, and I had inherited a curse.” She sat silent for a moment. “This is not the new life I’d envisioned.”
She started a little when she felt Gryff touch a wayward curl, lying against her neck.
“You weren’t wearing a bonnet the second time I saw you, either,” he said.
She thought back. “Of course I was. I dressed properly for a visit to the village. Mother would have had a conniption, otherwise.”
“It wasn’t that day. I saw you, you know, out riding with your father. I’d been working with one of the tenants, repairing the thatch on his home. I was covered in dirt and sweat, so I didn’t dare approach. I watched as you raced the earl along the cliffs. I thought you looked like a sprite, then, with your hair throwing fire back at the sun, a living flame, so light and confident on that horse.” He shook his head as if clearing it and smiled at her. “I was struck even harder than our first meeting, at Keyvnor—and I made sure I was in the village that day, so I could meet you again.”
She reached her hand up and touched his, where it still hovered around her nape. “I’m glad you did,” she said.
“It may not be the life you envisioned,” he gestured around the glade, “but you are handling it like it was the one you were born to.”
Suddenly, the chanting stopped.
She got to her feet. Tuft’s head bowed as he rested it on the edge of the makeshift platform. Before him, the creature heaved a great breath.
Tamsyn held her own breath as Jump stilled—then let it out on a huge sigh as the creature lifted its head to nuzzle Tuft.
Paul moved closer to her. “I know you aren’t happy with your gift,” he said soberly. “If you ask now, Tuft might lift it from you.”
Her heart leapt. To be free, to go back to her normal self in her normal life . . . She paused. Glanced at Gryff and then around the glade. Could she go back? Did she want to? They had a mystery to solve and an unsavory character to deal with—and her ‘talent’ might be of help in both regards.
“I . . .” She looked at Gryff again and held his gaze. “I don’t think I’ll ask it, right now.”
“You’ve done me a greater favor today,” a deep voice rasped. Across the small space, Tuft looked at her. He caressed Jump’s ears then crossed the space to stand in front of her. “Because of that—had you asked, I would have done you the favor of not granting your request.”
She nodded and Gryff reached for her hand. She took it, grateful for the support.
“So few humans heed the magic in the world. They cannot, some of them, or will not. But you—you have not closed yourself off—and so you were able to accept my gift.” The pixie lifted his head high. “And a gift it was. To know the truth of a man is no small thing. To see the truth of a thing, whether it be a fact, a heart or a name, gives you power over it.” He peered up at her. “Real power. I trust you to use it wisely.”
He stood, his manner expectant, so she nodded. “I promise.”
“Very well.” He stepped back and looked from her to Gryff. “Now then, this falcon.” Bitterness crept into his tone. “The bird belongs to a dangerous man.”
“Rowancourt, yes?”
She shivered as Tuft’s expression darkened.
“That is not his name . . . but you’ve met him?”
“Yes. He is a guest at the castle.”
Tuft breathed in sharply. “Has the will been read?”
“No.”
Gryff stepped in. “This man was here before, was he not? He tried to wrest this place from my father.”
“Your father was clever—and saved himself, quite literally.” Tuft looked at Tamsyn. “It is your father we must worry for now. Is he much like you? Is his heart open?”
“I . . . uh, I’m not sure what you mean,” she answered.
“The old earl, Young Paul’s father,” Tuft waved a hand at the boy. “He grew to manhood in that castle, and he endured much in his life. He could see the truth when it stood before him. It meant that I was able to help him, protect him.” He blinked his great eyes. “And your father?” he asked her. “Is he such a man?”
Tamsyn struggled to follow his meaning. “My father—do you ask if he believes in magic?” She waved her hand. “In ghosts and pixies?” She laughed. “My father believes in rank, connections and pound notes.”
Tuft threw up a hand. “Then I cannot protect him. Can you convince him? Use your new Sight to help him open his eyes?”
“I . . . I could try.”
“You must try, and you must succeed. Open his eyes and then bring him to me. If he comes with his heart still closed then he will not see me—and I will be able to do nothing.” He made a shooing motion. “Go now, and hurry. And keep him away from that man.”
Her heart pounded with fear and determination. She turned to Gryff. “Let’s go?”
He held out his hand and she took it—and was surprised to see the shadows of evening stretching through the glade. She glanced back—and the clearing was empty.
Together, they turned and headed back to Keyvnor.
Chapter 5
“My mother looks . . . fluttery,” Tamsyn whispered. “It would likely be better if I speak to her alone.”
They’d sneaked into the castle via the stone terrace and now stood in the darkened passage, watching Lady Banfield pace in her parlor, stop to harangue one of the younger Hambly girls, then pace again.
Gryff was more than happy to avoid the obviously distressed countess, but he grabbed Tamsyn’s wrist as she prepared to go. “I’ll wait for you on the terrace. Come and find me before you speak to your father. I might be able to help.”
He took the opportunity to press a quick kiss to her wrist and sent her off with a becoming flush.
He sat on the terrace, prepared for a wait and happy to see the clouds clearing at last, but Tamsyn returned after only a few minutes.
“Father has retired already. Marjorie and Jane as well. There was a terrible ruckus with one of the servants—he struck Marjorie and tried to kill Jane!”
“What?”
She shivered and he pulled her into his arms.
“How could that happen? And yet, it sounds almost normal compared to everything we saw today.”
“Where is Rowancourt?”
“Playing billiards with some of the other gentlemen.” She burrowed closer. “It all feels so wrong . . . like the whole world has gone mad since we first set foot here.”
She felt so small against him. Turmoil colored her tone. His arms tightened, responding automatically to his need to keep her safe and certain. Her head tilted back—
And a blood-curdling scream rang in the air, sounding like it echoed from the heavens above.
She jumped, her eyes showing wild in the moonlight. “Oh, this place!”
She stilled then and stood a moment, her head held high like she was scenting the wind. Reaching out, she grabbed his hand. “Let’s go. I need to get away from here.”
“But your mother?”
“Thinks I’ve gone up to bed. She’ll never know—and there is someplace I’d like to see.”
She led him then, not into the gardens, but to the other side of the castle, toward the sea. A longish walk, then a short, steep climb found them at the top of the cliffs, with the broad expanse of the sky and sea before them and the wind raking steady fingers through their hair.
“One of the maids told me about this place, said it was her favorite spot. I had to see it—and I wanted to see it with you.”
He was glad, but he dropped her hand and let her take the last few steps without him. The sea wind caught her cloak and billowed it out behind her. Her shoulders were back and her slim form was framed against the star swept sky. As he watched she breathed deeply, sucking in the clean air like it would chase all of her troubles away.
“God, I’ve been a fool.” He said the truth into the wind, let the moon and the pounding waves bear witness. “Look at all that you’ve done today,” he told her. “How could I have said such witless things to you . . . damnation, was it just yesterday?” He shook his head, disgusted with himself. “You are a tower of strength hidden inside a tiny frame, and I was an idiot not to see it.”
She smiled at him. “No. I didn’t know I could do so much until you challenged me.” Her words held an air of confession. “And I only attempted any of it because I knew you’d be there to see—and to protect me.”
“Only you,” he said, stepping close and bracketing her face with his hands. “Since that moment eight years ago, when I first glimpsed you brightening up that dreary hall, I’ve only thought of you.” His gaze burned into hers. “Look, look between us, above us. There is no image to tell you that I’m lying. It’s God’s honest truth, Tamsyn. For me, there is only you.”
“I don’t need to look,” she whispered. “You’ve never lied to me, and I don’t need the pixie’s gift to tell me so.” She closed her eyes briefly, then smiled up at him. “And it’s been the same with me, Gryff. Since that day, for me too. You are the one who looks, who pays attention—and sees the truth in me. Even when I despised you, I cared, and now . . . now I know how wonderful it is to have you by my side . . . and I want you there always.”
He couldn’t speak, his own heart was so full. So he kissed her pert nose and a freckle on each cheek—and then his restraint was gone and his lips, then his hands were on her. He tucked her cloak over her shoulders and molded her breasts, right through her frock. He couldn’t stop. His palms slid over her, moving down to ease over her hips and slide down her thighs. He was learning her, claiming her as is his in the most primitive fashion.
She didn’t seem to mind.
He tugged her away from the cliff’s edge, then took off his own cloak and spread it out in a clever little dip in the hillside. Tenderly, he laid her down and settled to the business of kissing her.
He took his time about it. They had several years to make up for, didn’t they? He breathed in lilac and brushed her mouth with his time and again. Eventually, he deepened the kiss. Diving into her mouth with each sweep of his tongue he tumbled them both down and down into sweet pleasure.
“Nuances,” he murmured against her. “Every one is delicious.”
She laughed. Her nipples were pebbled into attention and he let his fingers scramble, freeing her from her bodice, stays and chemise.
“You truly are like porcelain,” he murmured, drinking in the sight of her. Firm and high, her breasts shone in the moonlight. He trailed a soft, light touch across her waiting flesh.
Gasping, she arched into the caress.
And that was the last of his self-command. He filled his hands with her and gave her breasts their due, paying his respect and reverence with lips, tongue and fingers. Her head went back and his arms went around her and their bodies pressed together, calling for more. He groaned at the feel of her against his hot, hard length.
Gradually, then, with his heart pounding and his body protesting, he began to pull away.
She sighed and touched his face.
He watched her, his heart overflowing.
“Our time will come,” he said softly. “When the will is read and all of this trouble settled—”
“Yes.” She pressed a kiss to his mouth. “Then it will be our time—and I will bring you back here and have my way with you.”
He laughed and gathered her close and they lay together and let the peace of the night wash over them.
Chapter 6
Early the next morning, Tamsyn lay in wait on the stairwell outside her parents’ rooms. She would catch her father before Rowancourt could. Stifling a yawn, she leaned her head back against the railing and hoped none of the maids would find her here.
“You heard the screaming last night, didn’t you?”
She clutched her chest. “Paul! Don’t do that!” Settling back again, she nodded. “I did hear it. Do you know who it is?”
“Yes.” He looked downcast.
“Is someone in trouble? Paul?”
He looked up at her, despairing and more transparent than usual. “It’s my mother.”
Tamsyn stilled. How did one address something like this? “Paul, is your mother’s spirit here too? At the castle?”
“No. She’s not a spirit. She’s alive.”
“Your mother is alive?” Tamsyn wondered if her father knew.
“Yes, but she is . . . disturbed. They keep her locked in the tower.”
She stared, aghast. “Your mother is locked in the tower—and has been all of these years, when everyone thought she had died?”
“Yes. Father thought it was best that way. She’s mad, they say. But mostly she’s just very unhappy, and it . . . unhinges her.”
“I am so sorry, Paul.” She’d wondered what would bind a child’s spirit to a place like this and now she thought perhaps a mother’s grief would do it. “Do you . . . visit her? Like you speak to me?”
“No. She doesn’t see me. Only at night sometimes, when she’s drifting to sleep. Then she can feel me touch her hand or her hair. Sometimes it soothes her.” He grimaced. “Althou
gh sometimes it upsets her, instead.”
“Truly, I’m sorry.”
He glanced quickly over his shoulder. “Here they come.” He faded away.
Her mother emerged first, already scolding. Tamsyn smoothed her skirts and moved to intercept them in the doorway. “Good morning, Mother.” She kissed her proffered cheek. “Father, I wondered if I might talk to you?”
“Yes, yes,” he sighed. “Come along to breakfast.”
“Please, sir. I’d like to speak with you alone?”
Her parents exchanged glances.
“I can have a tray sent up,” her mother began.
‘No! No, I’ll hear Tamsyn out and then I’ll be down. Eggs on trays are always cold. Can’t abide cold eggs.” He held open the door and beckoned her in. “Well?” He indicated a chair in her mother’s sitting area. “Let’s have it. A spat with your sister? Got your eye on one of the young men?”
She flushed. “No, sir. Well . . .” She shook her head.
“Get on with it, girl!”
“It’s just . . . this castle . . . it’s a strange place, isn’t it?”
“Heard about your sister and the Hawkins girl, have you? Well, don’t fret. The servant is in custody—barking mad though he may be.”
She despaired of actually getting him to listen. “Did you know that a mad woman lives in the tower?”
He bolted upright. “How did the devil did you hear that? The servants surely aren’t talking after all of this time?”
“No, sir. Someone else told me.”
“Who?”
She paused. “Her son.”
He frowned. “Someone is toying with you.”
“Have you ever seen a ghost, Father?”
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t let others make a cake of you, girl.”
“Her son, Paul. He was around five years old when he died, was he not? His spirit lives on in this castle, Father. He’s been talking to me.”
He began to look truly alarmed.
“I’m not mad, Father. I can prove it.”