Considering Miguel’s passion for magic, it often seemed unfair that it took Miguel days to mimic what Mark could conjure with a halfhearted flick of his wrist. In a way, it made Mark resent his magical ability.
Yet, his brother had never begrudged that disparity between them. Instead, it drove him to study harder, to collect tools to perfect his spells, to obsess over the tiniest inflection, and pester Mark for hints to improve his art. In the end, Miguel became the stronger wizard, the one who understood the nuances of his craft.
Mark opened the lid and peered in. There lay Miguel’s ceremonial dagger. Beside it, was a small cauldron for burning herbs and incense. Scattered on the bottom were candles, stones, crystals, and a set of vials for herbs and oils. Mark had wanted to bury these items with Miguel. His grandmother had forbidden it, saying they might be needed one day.
To her, these items had been useful tools. Mark saw them as nothing more than an acute reminder of his loss. He had been stripped of the chance to celebrate Miguel turning three-and-twenty. He had missed toasting to his brother’s marriage or holding his child. Most painful of all, he missed watching the triumphant smile on Miguel’s face whenever he succeeded at a particularly difficult spell.
“I will not let you down,” Mark whispered. “I will safeguard Nevara with my life, even to the deadly shores of Spain and beyond.”
Tears clouded his sight, making it difficult to be sure if that glint was the fire reflecting off a vial or the image of Miguel smiling at him in approval.
TWO WEEKS AFTER that disastrous dinner with Mark, Nevara stood beneath a melancholic sky at the New Wapping docks where Sir Phillip and Lady Roselyn had come to see her off. The road to the docks remained empty of carriages. Only drays collecting goods from fishermen rolled past. Mark had not raced to stop her imminent departure.
She was unsure if she was happy or not at his absence. The dark abyss that engulfed her hopes for a bright future with him left little room for further disappointments. Besides, he might have given up wanting to protect her.
It mattered not. She must look to what lay ahead, not behind. Deliberately, she turned her back to the road and focused on the Thames River, peppered with all manner of vessels. Her gaze settled with satisfaction on the beautiful silhouette of a ship anchored far off shore—the Magdalena.
Pungent scents, rowdy sounds, and colorful sights abounded as seamen, watermen, and oyster-women collected goods or greeted old friends. Merchants called out their wares, “Fine silver eels, five shillings a basket.” Overhead, gulls swarmed and cried out in envy of the feast of seafood paraded below on their way to market.
A vehicle lumbered down the lane. Nevara swung around, her heart thumping with an unfulfilled yearning for Mark to come, to declare his love for her and plead with her to marry him. Then she recognized her benefactors’ crest on the coach’s door and her foolish heart stopped its useless longing.
The carriage stopped beside her, and the door opened. The Terrances’ wolfhound, Earnest, leaped out, the only one showing any enthusiasm for this expedition. The dog ran to greet Nevara and her companions in his usual zealous manner.
Another vehicle carrying servants and more baggage stopped by the docks. The number of crates, boxes and trunks being unloaded astounded Nevara. How long did the Terrances plan to stay in Spain? She had been hoping it would only take a few weeks to complete her business. Nevara, herself, had brought only one sea chest. It contained four serviceable gowns, one dinner dress and an utterly scrumptious evening gown. Lady Roselyn had insisted on purchasing the latter for her. Because Nevara was traveling with the earl and his countess, she would likely need a well-cut gown for special occasions.
Nevara doubted that would be the case. True, she went under the Terrance’s protection, but she hardly expected them to socialize with her.
A sailor signaled that it was time to board the skiffs. Sir Phillip shook her hand and told her sternly to mind his cousin more than she ever had him. His smile softened the reprimand. Lady Roselyn hugged her tight and warned her to be careful. Touched by her concern, Nevara hugged her back. With that gesture, she bid goodbye to her old life.
As their skiff neared the Magdalena, sailors greeted them with shouts and cheers. Nevara was dismayed to see that she would be required to climb aboard by way of a long slippery rope ladder.
Lord Terrance strapped his dog to his chest with a rope he had brought for that purpose and scaled upward as if he did this sort of thing every day. His lordship’s valet, Ellison, a meticulously groomed slender man, stood ready to assist the others. Lady Terrance confidently tied her skirts higher, exposing her ankles but allowing her to climb the ladder and follow her husband.
Once his employers were out of earshot, Ellison began to mutter about the dire consequences of this accursed voyage. He bent to offer Nevara a hand up. On closer inspection, the valet’s proud manner did not match his red-rimmed eyes or his unsteady footing. She wondered if his swaying movement had more to do with the smell of spirits on his breath than the rocking of the skiff. He was more likely to tip her overboard than help her ascend the ladder. Behind her, the other servant, Lady Terrance’s maid, Mendal, a gaunt woman in her late forties, crossed herself and murmured a psalm.
Nevara hitched up her skirts as she had seen Lady Terrance do and grabbed onto the rope ladder. She then made her careful way up. Her skirts still proved a nuisance as they caught beneath her feet at the back. Taking one hand off the rope ladder to free herself, she swayed dangerously to the side.
“Careful,” Lord Terrance called from the top. “Keep both hands on the ladder, Miss Wood.”
Easier said than done. Her tight grip kept slipping on the slimy rope ladder. She hiked her skirts again until both her feet could find purchase on the steps. Still on the skiff, Mendal was reciting a gloomy biblical verse in rhythm to Nevara’s every slippery step.
At the top, Lord Terrance pulled her over the railing with a strong heave and a stout, “Well done, Miss Wood.” His mischievous grin and a glance down to his servants suggested he understood her misgivings. His beautiful wife, too, seemed to be hiding a smile.
Nevara was not amused. She had to share a cabin with Mendal during the upcoming voyage. She hoped the lady’s maid would desist from this worrisome praying. She already had enough concerns to accompany her all the way to Cadiz.
Below deck, her cabin was no more than five feet wide and six feet in length. She and Mendal would have to share a sleeping pallet. The cot, a tiny table and two chairs were nailed to the floor, reinforcing her belief about the rocky nature of the upcoming journey. She sighed and settled down while Mendal went to help her mistress change. An hour later, the maid returned to say that Lord and Lady Terrance had asked to see Nevara.
She entered the Terrances’ cabin and found it was twice the size of her and Mendal’s quarters, with a table set for three. Did they wish her to join them? No, of course not. They probably expected the captain.
Earnest, who lay on his side beside the cot, wagged a greeting to her.
She curtsied to her hosts.
Lord Terrance, who wore a double-breasted coat over a pristine white waistcoat and drill trousers, looked distinguished and handsome as he came straight to the point. “We have bad news, Miss Wood.”
Nevara’s heart turned over in alarm.
“The captain says we are unlikely to sail for a few days.”
“But why, my lord?” Nevara asked.
“He says the wind is nested in the wrong direction.”
Lady Terrance chuckled. “What the captain means is that he is waiting for more freight. Obviously, the exorbitant cost of passage and the extra presents my husband has already given him have not been sufficient.”
“You may be right,” Lord Terrance said with a rueful smile. “I shall speak with him to encourage a speedier departure.”
Once the earl left, Lady Terrance invited Nevara to join her for tea. She wore a beautiful white Jaconet muslin high dress, with sleeves richly appliquéd with blue lace. She was breathtakingly beautiful and every inch a countess. Nevara hesitated, and then feeling very honored, sat and accepted a cup of the steaming brew.
“Lady Terrance,” she said, but stopped when her hostess raised her eyebrow in mock censure. Nevara recalled her ladyship’s insistence that she be addressed as Belle. Nevara did not even address Lady Roselyn so familiarly, and calling a countess by her first name seemed most inappropriate. For now, however, she decided to avoid the use of names altogether.
“Thank you for escorting me to Spain.” Nevara turned her cup around to give herself time to put her thoughts in order. “Just the trouble of coming onboard has shown me that traveling on my own would have been most cumbersome.” She gave Belle a serious look. “Those sailors were quite vocal in their greetings as we neared the ship. I suspect that female passengers are uncommon, and an unescorted female would have been exposed to some danger.”
“Yet you planned to do just that, did you not?”
“Yes.” Her need to travel outweighed her need for safety.
“As I suspected. And we could not allow that.” Belle traced a crack on the tabletop with a finger. “To succeed in your quest, Nevara, you need our help.”
“But why do you wish to help me?” The question had bothered Nevara for days.
“Because my visions have shown me some of what might occur,” Belle murmured. “I do not ignore my gift. Where it leads, I follow.”
Nevara shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with this conversation. She did not wish to judge Belle’s talent for second sight as either good or evil. She only knew that her own ability was tainted and she had to be rid of it. “Whatever your reasons, I am most grateful for your company.”
Belle’s face turned serious. “It is not mere companionship we offer. I sense grave danger to you, not only aboard this ship but in the land we are journeying toward.” She frowned. “I am certain that the aid I am meant to give you is in Spain. That is where the evil that hunts you originates.”
Nevara shivered at this dire prediction. She realized what she was attempting was dangerous. The attack by the Serpentine proved an evil presence was pursuing her. Yet, in the end, she had survived, thanks to Mark.
Her reasons for going on this journey were sound. Breaking the Rue Alliance’s curse meant Hope would no longer be afraid to touch another, and Nevara would finally be free of the evil that tainted her.
Belle and Mark, on the other hand, only saw the worst possible outcome of this voyage. Who was right?
“You doubt me.” Belle studied her.
“It is not that I disbelieve you. It is simply that what I live with every day is worse than anything I might find in Spain.”
“You speak of your talent. Tell me how you gained this belief that your gift is evil?”
She did not respond.
Belle’s hand came to rest gently on Nevara’s. “I once felt as you do. So trust me when I say that I will understand anything you tell me.”
Nevara released a deep breath of resignation. What harm could it do to speak of her past? Her aunt was dead, so she would not be betraying any confidences. Quietly and dispassionately, she explained about the first time her talent had manifested in its full glory. “It happened the day I turned sixteen.”
Until then, every time she had had one of her odd headaches, which she now knew to be associated with her shifting sight, her Aunt Cora would make Nevara read the Bible on her knees for hours on end, sometimes until she swooned from excruciating hunger.
Those episodes had been few and far between, perhaps because Nevara dreaded the punishment so much that she learned to pretend her head did not hurt, even when it had pounded so hard, it brought her to tears. The day she had turned sixteen, there could be no more pretending. She had experienced her first full-blown shifted vision.
“What happened?” Belle asked.
“I was spying through the bushes at my neighbors, Miguel and Mark Alvaro. They were twenty and eighteen back then. The two of them were practicing sword fighting. Suddenly my vision changed and . . .”
Belle took her hand. “Oh my. They are enveloped in streams of light.”
Chapter Eight
“YOU CAN SEE what I saw?” Nevara asked Belle, shocked and delighted.
“I see what you thought you saw. It could have been real or not. The young men appear to be fighting with glowing blades.”
“I was so frightened I ran home.”
“You told your aunt,” Belle said.
Nevara nodded. “My head was pounding and I could not stop crying. She guessed something had happened and insisted that I tell her. Once I did, Aunt Cora said the devil had finally come for me.”
Belle let out a hiss of anger, her fingers clenching around Nevara’s hands. “What did she do to you?”
She did not want to upset her new friend, yet now that she had begun to speak, words were frothing in her mouth to get out. “At first she had me pray and fast all day, as she normally did whenever I confessed to having a vision. This time was different. Once night descended, she dragged me downstairs to the root cellar and proceeded to beat the evil out of me.”
“Oh Nevara.” There were tears in Belle’s eyes. The countess came around the table to hug her. “She almost killed you.”
“She left me bleeding on the cellar floor,” Nevara whispered, leaning into Belle’s comforting embrace. “I thought I was going to die.”
“You need more tea.” She threw Nevara’s cold tea into a basin and filled a cup with steaming liquid from the teapot. After she sipped, Belle said, “Go on. What happened next?”
Despite the warm liquid heating her inside, Nevara began to shiver. “On her way back upstairs, Aunt Cora shouted in alarm. Frightened, I pulled myself up the steps and found Mark confronting my aunt on the landing above.”
“He knew you needed help!” Belle said, sounding surprised. “Miguel, too?”
Nevara shook her head. “No, just Mark.” She turned her cup around. “Aunt Cora asked him why he was there. He snatched the whip from her hand and raised it. She cowered, and I stumbled up a couple of steps and cried for him to not hurt her.”
“You were bleeding and you asked Mark not to hurt the one who thrashed you?” Belle asked in a hard voice. “I hope he refused to listen.”
“He looked shocked when he saw me. I could not tell if he was angry with me for defending my aunt, furious at Aunt Cora for beating me, or surprised that he had almost hit a woman. My heart went out to him because Mark had come to my rescue. I did not know how I knew that, or why he would, but I knew he had. It was written all over him.”
“He became your hero that day.”
Nevara nodded and smiled, remembering the warm delicious feeling. “He dropped the whip and Aunt Cora ordered him to get out, threatening to report his unwelcome intrusion to his grandmother.”
“His behavior?” Belle sputtered.
“Mark slashed his arm through the air and for a moment, I thought he would strike her. Aunt Cora must have as well, for she clamped her mouth shut. Then Mark turned to me and in a dreadful voice, said ‘Never again.’ His words had such finality in them. I wondered if he meant that he would never come to my aid again because I had defended my aunt.”
“Nevara,” Belle said.
She shook her head, not wanting sympathy. “Mark dragged my aunt out the front door. I protested and wanted to follow, but my throbbing legs refused to climb one more step.”
As she fell silent recalling that horrible night, Belle quietly prompted, “Go on.”
“Aunt Cora did return that night, unharmed, but whatever Mark had said to her must have left an impression. Her mouth was compressed into
a tight line, and her eyes were filled with fear. She said, ‘I hope you never breed and pass on what is in you, child. You are an abomination and an affront to God’s eyes.’ Then she walked away.”
“The vile, vindictive woman.” Belle jumped up and paced around the room.
“You do not understand,” Nevara said. “She was frightened of me. She recognized the evil in me and I believe what little love she felt toward me died that day.”
Nevara placed her teacup and saucer on the table to keep from dropping them and wrapped her arms around herself.
Never again.
“When I next awoke, I was in bed. I do not know how.”
“Was anyone else in your room?” Belle asked.
“Señora Alvaro was sitting by my bed. I assumed Mark fetched her. She tended to my wounds. Miguel came to see me every day.” Nevara smiled at that pleasant memory. “It was remarkable how quickly I healed. I could not have been as badly wounded as I supposed.”
“I suspect you were worse off than you imagined, my dear,” Belle said, sounding certain.
“Señora Alvaro has a way with healing herbs.” Nevara had been so overwrought by Mark’s absence from her bedside that she doubted she had properly thanked the woman who had cared for her.
Never again.
Belle looked at her with a compassionate violet gaze. “Did your aunt ever beat you again?”
“No.”
“Never?”
“Never again,” Nevara said quietly and snapped her head up, her gaze clashing with Belle’s.
Belle held that look, and suddenly Nevara understood. Mark had meant that never again would her aunt beat her. He was her hero.
“So your aunt has convinced you that you cannot be loved as long as your line carries the family curse,” Belle said casually. “Then you must explain to me what happened with Mark. I recall him proposing to you the night we came to the Jones’s for dinner. Yet, Rose tells me that he broke your heart. How can that be? You believe no one can love you. So how did Mark’s desertion come as a surprise?”
A Perfect Curse Page 12