by Jo Beverley
Gwen turned back to Drew, but he was standing across the room, looking as if he'd rather never set eyes on her again. Heavens, did the glamour have such a limited scope? Would he long for her when they were side by side and hate her the rest of the time?
She went back to him, touching his sleeve imploringly. He sighed, took her hand, and together they slipped away from the ball.
In the carriage he sat as far away from her as possible and said, "Where shall we go in our exile?"
"Why, to the dale, of course."
"No."
"Why not?"
When he turned to her, his eyes were frighteningly cold. "Because it's where you want to be, Kerrigwen."
He suspected the truth. Gwen's teeth began to chatter. "I warned you."
"Why?"
"Because I didn't want to do it this way. But you have to return to the dale."
"Why?" he scoffed. "To be entangled in superstition like you? Trapped into a way of life generations old? It's madness."
"What happened tonight, Drew?"
He caught his breath. "I intended to offer for Cecily Baraclough." With deliberate cruelty, he added, "She was my chosen wife."
"I know. That's why I had to stop you."
"What the devil are you? A witch?"
"I'm a Kerrigwen. You clearly know what that means. And you are the Lord of Elphindale."
"Hell. I should have listened to my father and flattened the place."
"You can't touch the dale, Drew. You know it. Your father knew it. You'd be dead before the second tree fell." Gwen wanted to weep, but she knew what she had to do. She slid over and sat in his lap. "Deny this, Drew," she said and kissed him.
He kissed her back like a starving man first tasting food.
It was the footman's polite cough that disturbed them this time. They looked around to see that the door was open and they were at the duchess's house. Drew pushed her away and cursed. But he recollected himself, handed her down, and escorted her into the house.
"Stay and talk, Drew," Gwen pleaded, making no attempt to go close to him.
He simply headed back toward the door.
"We have to go to the dale!" she cried after him.
He stopped, back toward her.
Gwen clasped her hands tightly. "Come with me to the dale, Drew. Perhaps there we can find another way. Perhaps you can have your Cecily after all."
He turned and looked at her. Then he nodded and was gone.
Chapter Twelve
Gwen, Mrs. Forsythe, and Betsy traveled back to Derbyshire in a post-chaise. Drew and Hal rode. Drew had scarcely come within touching distance of Gwen since the kiss in the carriage the night before.
Gwen's mother was simply bewildered. She couldn't see why Andrew and Gwen should behave like a clandestine couple when there was no union that would give her greater pleasure. When she wasn't saying this over and over, she dozed through most of the journey.
Betsy and Hal shone with satisfaction. Gwen and Drew exuded misery.
Betsy had little sympathy for Gwen's tears. "How can you think a faery-match will turn out wrong?" she demanded as they shared a bed at the first stop. "Now everything's set."
Gwen wasn't convinced. Faery had apparently once ruled throughout England and was now fighting to maintain it's hold. Was Faery immune to making mistakes?
Still, her heart lifted the closer she came to home, and when the road began to wind into the dale she felt as if she was taking her first deep breath in weeks. She pressed her face to the window, drinking in every slope, stream, and tree. Even the sky above seemed a brighter blue. She looked at Drew, wondering if he felt anything, but she could only see his uninformative back.
The servants at the Hall came out to welcome the master home. That was only natural, especially after an absence of so many years, but Gwen felt a wild excitement underneath it all -- an excitement from another cause. The Lord of Elphindale was home at last. Soon Hal and Betsy would spread the word that he was going to marry the Kerrigwen and the joy would be complete.
She walked into the hall, stripping off her gloves, certain for the first time of the rightness of it all. After an absence, she knew this earth was necessary to her, and she was sure Drew was needed here, for the good of all.
He, however, was still resisting this match.
How was it all to be woven into whole cloth?
He was talking to the butler, seeming pleasant and relaxed. If he felt attraction or revulsion toward the dale it was well controlled. She'd learned in the past few days, though, that he had great self-discipline.
That evening at dinner he talked of minor changes he noted in the house and grounds, and minor changes he planned to make. There was no talk of a manufactory, but no talk of Faery, either.
Days passed. Drew avoided Gwen whenever possible and spent most of his time out in the dale, going over his property as any landlord would after years of absence. He didn't speak of what he saw, but he did grow thoughtful. Gwen began to hope that he was seeing the effects of Faery, and that he would acknowledge the necessity for their marriage. She still longed for an attraction more personal than dutiful, but if duty was all there was, she must accept it.
His manner toward her did grow a little less cold. One day he told her that he'd written to Murchison to tell him he was no longer interested in bringing industry to the dale. The explanation he gave, however, was a lack of a good source of water power.
That was nonsense when the fast-flowing Youle River tumbled through the dale.
Still he fought the truth.
At times he would speak to Gwen as in the old days, lightly, teasingly. But then he'd draw sharply back and she knew he feared the glamour was affecting him again.
Gwen herself didn't know if their feelings for one another were honest or a product of faery meddling. She didn't notice Betsy making any attempts to incorporate faery glamour into her appearance, but she couldn't be sure it wasn't there. She never wore the pearl pendant, but was aware of it all the time. Sometimes, empty with longing for Drew, for a smile or a touch, for passion, she would take it out and handle it, but she always found the strength to return it to its box.
After dinner each evening Gwen and her mother sat in the drawing room and Drew took himself elsewhere. Mrs. Forsythe sometimes worked lackadaisically at some needlework but usually went early to bed. Gwen spent lonely evenings with books. She'd spent a great deal of her life like this but had never felt so lonely as now, when she knew Drew to be somewhere in the house.
She was alone one evening, as usual, when he walked into the room. He kept a wary distance.
"It's all right, I think," she said dryly. "I'm not aware of any faery glamour about my person."
He moved a little closer but his manner was stiff. "When you insisted that I return here, you said we could try to find a way out of this tangle."
A way for him to have Cecily. Gwen swallowed tears. She'd hoped he'd forgotten about that. "Yes."
"Well? Have you found one?"
Gwen had thought about it, reluctantly. "We have to have a child, Drew. The only escape I can see is for us to have a child, and for Cecily to accept it as hers."
He flushed. "Good God! How can you even suggest such a thing? Cecily would be horrified!"
Gwen's temper snapped. "And it would be easy for me, I suppose?" She sprang to her feet. "Drew Elphinson, have you been in the dale for a fortnight without realizing you have a heritage here? A duty? If I'm willing to sacrifice myself for it, don't you think you should be willing to do your part?"
"A sacrifice, is it?" he retorted. "I wasn't the one playing witch-tricks to get us into this entanglement."
"It was no choice of mine, and you didn't fight very hard, did you?"
He stalked over and grabbed her shoulders. "How can I fight your kind of wickedness? When you were a child you bewitched me, and from the moment I saw you in Hookham's I was like a damned puppet on your string!"
His lips snared hers, hot and angry. Gwen
choked a protest, but then desire swamped objection and she kissed him back feverishly. Oh, damn Betsy. She'd sneaked something onto her!
They were sprawled on the carpet, his hand up her skirt, when he rolled away with a curse. "Damn you! Damn you!"
Gwen covered her face. "I thought.... Drew, I'm sorry, but we have no choice! Could you marry Cecily and bring her here to live with this?"
He pushed to his feet to glare at her. "I'd never let Cecily be under the same roof as you. I'd never bring her here at all, to this benighted place. In fact, I'm leaving tomorrow. I don't have to stay to be driven mad by your games."
She scrambled up and grabbed his arm. "No! You can't leave."
He tore free. "Try and stop me!"
"Think what Faery might do if you try to leave."
"They can do their damndest."
Gwen took a deep breath. "Very well. Could you resist me if I came to your bed? Could you leave knowing I might be pregnant?"
"Oh, you whore," he whispered, staring at her.
Gwen trembled but faced him. "We have no choice, Drew. You've been a soldier. You know what duty is."
He sneered. "Amazing what someone will do for their country. You'd sneak into my bed, would you?" He stared at her, breathing deep and hard. "Very well then, we'll do our duty. We'll marry, damn you, but once you're with child you'll never see me again. You and Faery can care for your beloved dale without me."
Chapter Thirteen
Drew rode out the next day to the bishop for a license, and the day after they were wed in St. Winifred's church. Mrs. Forsythe remarked at how little fuss they were making over it, but seemed relieved that nothing was expected of her. The Hall staff produced a handsome dinner, and the villagers enjoyed a grand party.
Drew got drunk.
Since he wouldn't stop drinking, Gwen left him well into his second bottle, put on a warm cloak and headed for the woods. For a while she could hear the merry singing from the village and see the sparks from the roaring bonfire. It was good, she supposed, that someone was happy tonight.
Then she was in the silence of the leafless woods, in the woods that were not the woods. She stood and waited.
Her father came for her. "We're having a party too. Come and celebrate."
Gwen fell into his arms and wept.
When she recovered he sat them both down against a tree, she in his arms. "Now, child, what's the matter?"
"He hates me!"
Her father looked at her in puzzlement. "How can he? You are beautiful."
"Beauty isn't everything. He loves a girl called Cecily Baraclough, and he hates me for taking away his chance of happiness with her." She turned to him seriously. "I've thought of a way out. When I've given him a son, can I come and live with you, then Drew will be able to marry Cecily?"
"Ah, child, I doubt he'd want that."
"He would. He'd be betrothed to her now if I hadn't turned his wits."
"And how did you do that?"
"You know how." She pulled out of his arms and blew her nose. "He'd never have kissed me like that at the ball if it hadn't been for the pearl, and the herbs, and the perfume."
"I don't know what happened at any ball. We don't have that long a sight. How many men kissed you at the ball?"
Gwen looked at him in bewilderment. "Only Drew."
"Then how can it all have been the pearl, and the herbs, and the perfume?"
"He wouldn't have kissed me without them."
"Can you be sure?"
"It only works when I'm close to him."
"Perhaps."
"What are you saying?"
He laughed. "Oh, you humans. Did you not want to kiss him? You may long for him, but when you are close, do you not long for him more, long to touch him, to join your body with his?"
Gwen shivered. "Yes."
"We've put no glamour on him for you."
"But I love him."
"Then perhaps the glamour for him is love, too."
"Love? What of the pearl?" she demanded.
"What pearl?"
"The pearl you sent me in London."
"I sent no pearl." He appeared honest.
"But.... What are you saying?"
He stood and drew her to her feet. "I am saying that for you humans love is itself a special kind of magic, and one humankind understand too poorly for safety. We can augment it with our skills, but not overpower it. If Andrew Elphinson had loved Cecily Baraclough no power of ours would have turned him from her. You were made for one another, yes, and words were said over your cradle, but that was long ago. Now, just call it love, for that is what it is."
Gwen looked down at herself, still in the fern-sprigged silk she'd worn for her wedding. "Do you swear that you've put no glamour on me tonight?"
"None except your beauty, which I gave you at conception."
Gwen bit her lip. "I needn't have asked anyway. He's hardly been trying to ravish me. But what about two nights ago, when we decided to marry?"
"None then, either."
A bud of hope began to unfurl. Had that hungry kiss, that burst of passion been come by naturally? "He's horribly drunk," she said.
Her father laughed and shook his head. "Even wine cannot drive away magic. He's here."
With a crashing and a curse, Drew staggered into view. He squinted at Gwen. "What the devil are you up to now? Dancing naked around an ancient oak tree?"
Gwen glanced sideways, half expecting to see her father gone, but he was still there, wincing humorously at the sight of the Lord of Elphindale unsteady on his feet, hair on end, cravat askew.
"Who's that?" Drew asked, staggering forward.
"My father."
"Your father's dead. Trying to cuckold me before the wedding night?"
"No," said Gwen with a sigh. For a moment, she'd believed that lovely idyll of Drew pursuing her with love in his heart, but it was fading fast.
Drew lunged forward and swung a fist at the man of Faery, but it was easily avoided. Gwen's father spread his hand on Drew's head and he collapsed to the ground like a felled ox.
Gwen fell to her knees beside him. "What have you done to him!"
"Given him rest, and he'll wake without a drunkard's head. Rest here with him, daughter, until the midnight hour. You can wake him then and we will celebrate your union properly. This will be your wedding bower. It is a fitting place to make a new Lord of Elphindale."
Gwen didn't think so. It was just a space between dark trees. The earth was damp, and Drew was cold.
In a moment, however, the place turned dry and warm. A faint green light glimmered among the dark branches and fluting music wove through the air. Then Faery came dancing by, led by the Lady in flowing white silk, all radiating a genuine joy at their victory. They laughed and sang and each threw blossoms until the ground was thick with them, and fragrant.
When the Faery Court had passed, only her father remained and Drew was sleeping deeply under a quilt of flowers.
Hope stirred again. "He loves me?" Gwen asked.
"Yes, child. But he never expected it to be so wild a passion, and so he thinks it unseemly magic."
"And you didn't give me the pearl?"
"My word on it."
Gwen decided that was a crucial point. "I need to speak to my mother," she said.
"Very well."
He held out a hand and in moments Gwen was back at the quiet house. The servants had all slipped away to the village, to the feast.
Upstairs in her bedroom, Mrs. Forsythe was fast asleep, snoring gently. Gwen woke her.
"What...? Gwennie? What's the matter?"
"That pearl, mama. The one I received in London. Did we ever find out where it came from?"
"Pearl?" Mrs. Forsythe peered around, straightening her nightcap. "What a time to be worrying about your jewelry! Where's Andrew? Oh, you young people."
"The pearl, mama."
"Oh, that. Yes, well, Mr. Reed, who was your father's man of business, cleared it up. It was left you by
your grandmother, but with us living so quietly it was forgotten. When you turned up in town, Mr. Reed prompted your Uncle Graham and he, somewhat reluctantly -- I told you he was a clutch fist -- sent it to you."
"Is that the truth?"
"Of course it is! Good heavens, girl, what's the matter with you? Go to your husband. You were in a fine hurry to be wed. If you've cold feet now, I have no sympathy!"
Gwen kissed her disgruntled mother and hurried out on light feet. Perhaps it hadn't all been faery trickery!
Her father took her back to the flower-strewn glade. "All settled in your mind now?"
"Yes. And I am beginning to hope."
He kissed her forehead. "You are faery-blessed. What you truly wish will be."
With those words, he left her, and Gwen sat beside Drew to study his sleeping features. It was very like that time in the army tent. He'd even managed to bruise his temple again.
Now, however, perhaps she had the right to bring him care and comfort, and perhaps they wouldn't be torn apart before they could complete the act of love. She smoothed his hair back gently, thinking that it was not quite the same. Tonight, far from war and under a faery spell, he looked peaceful and younger.
She traced his features, discovering what it meant to have a heart swell with love. She could see why this feeling frightened him. It was not reasoned or calm. It wasn't tame. She lifted a handful of silky petals and drifted them down over his face. He sneezed in his sleep.
Remembering last time, she leaned down and kissed him, playing against his lips.
He didn't wake though, and so, since there were two more hours to midnight, she lay down beside him. Soon she too was asleep.
She awoke to rose-petals on her cheeks, to find him looking down at her, clear-eyed and thoughtful. "I'm not sure I want to know how we came to be here. Or even where we are."
"I love you," said Gwen, "and there's no faery magic in that."
"Is there not? But you are part faery. That was your father, wasn't it?"
"Yes. But you're part faery too, Drew."
"I'm beginning to think I am. What the hell are we supposed to do?"
"Preserve the dale, and preserve the faery blood in the Elphinsons."