Betraying Season

by Marissa Doyle

  “Shortly before I was ready, your halfwitted half sister did something untoward to make it impossible for her to be a part of it, just when I needed her help.” Mother rose, pointedly looking away from her daughter.

  But Doireann just laughed quietly. “You’re so genteel all of a sudden. ‘Something untoward’? I stopped being a virgin, little brother. It was boring, so I went to bed with someone. Shocking, isn’t it? Can your delicate ears stand it? Poor Mother needed a Maiden and a Crone to play second fiddle to her magic, and I ruined it all. What I would like to know is why it’s all right for a man to do as he will with his body, but not a woman.”

  “Idiot!” Mother spat the word. “You know very well why in this case. Any man can rut like an animal. It doesn’t matter for them. But to waste your maidenhood just because—what did you say?—because you were bored with being a virgin? I thought I had trained you far better than that. Throwing away your power—” Her hands clenched into fists.

  “I did not throw away my power. I went from Maiden to Mother and exchanged one sort of power for another. If anything, I’ve increased it,” Doireann shot back.

  “Oh, yes, increased,” Mother mimicked. “You did this knowing full well that it was your power as a Maiden that we need right now. With Nessa and you and me performing the spell, we had not only the power of the Three, but the power of family as well.”

  “I’m not sure that I want to hear any more about this, Mother.” Niall walked to the fireplace and stared down into the dancing flames. So this was the cause of the increased acrimony between them over the last months. His head had begun to spin, and it wasn’t the brandy’s fault.

  “Is it too much for the diddums’s pure little ears?” Doireann lisped. “Is the big, bad world too naughty to hear about? Well, Saint Niall, we don’t all choose to live as monks just because Mother says to.”

  Niall willed his fists not to clench. “Doireann, please.”

  “Without your sister, we could not perform the . . . procedure,” Mother continued as if she had never been interrupted. “I had to find someone else to help us. Finding a young woman with our ability who was also a maiden was difficult enough. But I had lost the added power of her being a part of our family, power that we needed if my plans were to work. With the power of the Three, bound by family ties, I can do what needs to be done to bring you and your father together.”

  “But what does Miss Leland—”

  “Miss Leland is a witch,” Mother interrupted him calmly. “I saw it at once when I met her. She practically reeks of magic. Her connection with the Carrighars only confirms it. You know Dr. Carrighar is one of the most powerful wizards in Ireland. And after what happened tonight, I am sure.”

  “What?” Niall’s jaw dropped. Penelope Leland . . . a witch? Like Mother and Doireann? It couldn’t be. Not her. He shook his head, as if to clear it. “What happened that makes you so sure?”

  “Just Mother dear up to her usual tricks,” Doireann said with cheerful malevolence. But her face had gone white and pinched. “That alarming little incident with the vase?” she continued nonchalantly. “Mother made it start to fall on my head, to see if Miss Leland would stop it with magic. I say, darling Mother, just out of curiosity, what if you’d been wrong and she hadn’t been a witch?”

  Niall stared at her. “So that was what . . . good lord! Mother, surely you could have found some other way to test her without . . . are you all right?” No wonder she had glowered so this evening.

  Doireann rolled her eyes. “If I weren’t, we wouldn’t be having this cozy chat, would we? You’d have been mopping up my brains and pretending to mourn instead of flirting with that English bean draoi.”

  “Niall, do you really think I would have let any harm come to your sister?” Mother looked annoyed.

  “Well, no, but—”

  “At least not too much,” Doireann added sweetly. “What harm is a smashed skull?”

  Mother clapped her hands. “Enough, both of you! This is important. Not only is she a witch, but she is also a gently brought up young lady, which almost certainly means that she is a virgin as well. Listen to me, Niall. If she can be encouraged to love you, then she’ll want to help you. You will have to ask her to marry you so that she will be bound to us by a family tie. But that is easily taken care of, and then we can proceed with the important part and bring you and your father together at last.”

  “Although that means you’ll have to take the role of the Crone, Mother dear,” Doireann purred. “But as you say, the cycle of life is inevitable. One does become a crone with time.” She shrugged. “Of course, there is compensation for becoming old and ugly. The Crone is supposed to have the most power, isn’t she?” Doireann’s expression indicated her opinion of that trade-off.

  Mother turned a dull red. “Old and ugly?”

  Niall rose abruptly and stood between them, trying to make sense of this all. “So in order to get Miss Leland’s help so that I can have some chance at the future you’ve chosen for me, I must make her love me and accept my proposal?”

  There was an odd rushing noise in his head and the room seemed to recede around him. Ask her to marry him. He would have to take her in his arms, and kiss her, and gaze down into those endless blue eyes, and tell her he loved her—

  “Which of course you won’t have to go through with, darling. Don’t worry.” Mother glided over and took his arm.

  Words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. “What if I wanted to?”

  Her green eyes narrowed and her grip on his arm tightened. “Nonsense, dear. Once your father has accepted you, you shall have a duke’s daughter to wife at the very least. You won’t need to throw yourself away on some member of the lesser nobility. We just need you and Miss Leland engaged when my spell is performed. You will break it off afterward—the very next day, if you like.”

  “Her grandfather is the Duke of Revesby. That’s hardly lesser nobility,” Niall countered.

  Doireann laughed suddenly. “Ha! Didn’t I warn you, baby brother? Getting too fond of our dear Miss Leland, aren’t you?”

  Niall gritted his teeth. Blast Doireann anyhow. “It’s not that. It’s—I just can’t go around proposing to granddaughters of important peers without intending to keep my word. It’s breach of promise.”

  Mother turned him to face her. “Nonsense, Niall. It will all work out in the end. Trust me, darling. To make an omelet, one must break eggs. Miss Leland will recover from her jilting. She’s an attractive enough girl and will find someone quite easily next season if her marriage portion is as handsome as I suspect it is.”

  “Lucky girl,” Doireann said to the room. There was an odd note in her voice that Niall didn’t understand, but Mother had fixed him with her green eyes.

  “Listen carefully. Now that we know she’s what we need, it’s time to move in for the kill. No, don’t turn away from me like that. I’m speaking metaphorically, you softhearted boy. You must increase your efforts with the girl. I want you calling on her at least every other day. Make it clear you’re utterly fascinated by her. In a month’s time, she’ll be putty in our hands. Do you understand?” She reached up and patted his cheek. “You are tired, my dearest one. Go to bed.”

  At last, a chance to escape. Niall bent dutifully and kissed her cheek, then turned to Doireann. “I’m glad that you’re safe, whether you believe that or not,” he said.

  His sister draped herself across the sofa and smirked up at him. “Of course I believe it. You’re too damned nice to think anything else.” She gave a sarcastic little laugh.

  Niall kept his impassive face and straight posture until he was safely in his room with the door locked. Then he leaned against it and closed his eyes.

  A witch! Penelope Leland, a witch!

  It would explain many things—her puzzling mix of youth and wisdom. And why she didn’t want to talk about her studies. Not if she was studying magic with Dr. Carrighar. That must mean that her governess was a witch as well. A
nd the married sister back in England. Penelope had said that she missed studying with her sister.

  But a witch? Niall tried to picture her pouring tea without touching the teapot, as Mother did. She wouldn’t do anything quite so—so showy, he guessed. Magic was not a convenience for her, a way to smooth life over and make it easier. From the way she talked about studying, it was more a sacred duty.

  But those candid blue eyes. That smile. The girlish pleasure in her new cloak. How could she be all those things and a witch too?

  Niall wrestled his coat off and began to untie his cravat before it strangled him. It was time to engage a valet, if he could find one who could learn to live peaceably in the same house with his mother and sister. The one he’d hired to accompany him on his continental trip had lasted only two months after returning to Ireland with him. He paced restlessly up and down his room as he fumbled with the linen.

  His picture of Pen Leland was shifting, changing. It was as if he’d only seen her through a filmy curtain before, and now the curtain had been withdrawn. Beneath the charming, hesitant young girl exterior was a disciplined, strong woman. There had to be. No one could wield magic and not be those things.

  And he was supposed to try to work his own sorcery on her, and enchant her with honeyed words and meaningful glances into using her power for him? Good God, if his cravat didn’t choke him first, the irony would. Surely she would see through him at once, see how he was trying to manipulate her, use her.

  Only a fool trifled with a witch. And here he was, trifling with one in about as enormous a way as was possible.

  If she’s a witch, she should be able to protect herself, said a small, dubious voice in his head.

  Could she? Could anyone, where their emotions were involved? Love was blind, and lovers blinder. Even witch lovers. Look at Mother and her duke.

  Pen saw him as genuine and sincere, and was responding to his deceitful flirtation with honest emotion. Damn it all, the last thing he wanted was to make her fall in love with him, then find him out as a lying scoundrel.

  What could he say to Mother? Nothing that she’d accept. To her, Penelope was a tool. Unimportant, except as a means to get to the duke. She’d already said as much. His sudden attack of conscience wouldn’t hold any water with her.

  Niall threw himself on his bed, staring morosely at the plaster knotwork on the ceiling. If he was lucky, his blasted cravat would throttle him before he had to deal with any of them.

  A soft scratching at the door made him sit up. “Yes?” he called.

  The door opened, and Doireann came in. She shut the door and leaned against it. “Still awake, little boy?” she asked. Her color was high and her green eyes hard and bright. Evidently she and Mother had had words after he left.

  Niall rose. “Are you all right, Doir?”

  She shrugged and gestured with one hand, and his cravat untangled from his neck, snapped itself smartly against his cheek, then flew into a corner and collapsed in a limp heap.

  “Thank you.” Niall did not allow himself to rub his cheek where the fabric had stung him. Doireann was incapable of doing him even a small act of kindness without adding some little edge to it. It had always been that way from the time they were both small, when he had tagged everywhere after her, trying to keep up with his fierce, fearless big sister.

  “You’re welcome.” Doireann straightened and grinned at him. “So what did you think of Mother’s exhortation? Are you ready to move in for the kill? Miss Leland will make a charming corpse, undoubtedly.”

  Don’t react. Don’t let her see. “It will be interesting, I suppose. Doir, about you . . . I don’t want to pry, but you and . . . it was Brian Lenehan, wasn’t it? Sir Dominic’s son?”

  “Why, Niall, what a question to ask a lady!” She pressed a hand to her cheek, pretending to be shocked, then laughed and tossed her head. “What about it? What if it was? I wanted him. He wanted me. It was an equal exchange, unlike most relations between men and women these days. Come on, dance with me.” She curtsied to him and grabbed his hands, digging her nails into them.

  It was easier to humor her than to argue. Niall waltzed her around the room in careful arcs, skirting the furniture. “Do you love him?”

  Doireann froze in midstep, a black scowl on her face. Then she laughed again and resumed their dance, taking over the lead from him. “Insofar as I love anyone—for what they can give me. Brian gave me pleasure, not to mention the joy of tweaking Mother’s nose. It was worth it for that alone, almost. Why?”

  “Because though you may not choose to believe it, I’d like to see you happy. I expect Father would give his consent to your marrying Brian even if he isn’t the oldest son. He’s an honest, well-meaning sort, and there’s a substantial estate and all, so you’d always be comfortable. . . .”

  To Niall’s surprise, Doireann neither laughed nor scowled as he trailed off. Instead her face was thoughtful.

  “Good God, Niall. After all the years I spent making your toys vanish and putting your stupid dog up on the roof of the stables when we were small, you still seem to care about me. Why? Our Christian upbringing at Mother’s knee?” She gave a short bark of laughter. “The unimpeachable code of honor you imbibed at Harrow?”

  “Or the fact that you’re my sister, no matter what, and I care about you? God knows why,” he added, to forestall her derision.

  “Ah! So even half blood is thicker than water, eh?” She led them into a tight turn, then another. “Brian is a fine boy. He worships the ground I tread upon, which is even better. I could do worse, no matter what Mother promises after we’ve done her little deed.”

  “Just what is Mother planning?”

  She laughed again, but he could sense that she was not amused. “You don’t really want to know. Take my word for it. But it will all work out for the best. I promise you that, little brother. This has been an interesting talk.” After another series of turns, she came to rest at the door, dropped his hands, and curtsied to him.

  “Very interesting indeed,” she repeated. With another grin, she slipped around the door.

  The day after the party at the Keatings’, Ally did not come downstairs to take her usual place on the sofa in the drawing room. At breakfast Michael put a matter-of-fact face on it, saying that she had decided it would be easier for everyone if she just stayed in her room. But Pen sensed the anxiety in his too-cheerful manner and excused herself after a few hasty mouthfuls of bacon and toast to check on Ally herself.

  Ally lay propped in bed, languidly sipping a glass of water tinged a faint yellowish green. In her white nightgown and plaited hair, she looked uncharacteristically girlish and vulnerable.

  “Oh, good morning, Pen,” she said. “I thought that sounded like your knock. How are you today?”

  Pen inspected Ally’s breakfast tray and noted that she had eaten her toast and eggs. “I’m fine. What’s more important is, how are you?”

  Ally smiled a slow, heavy-eyed smile. “Not bad, really. Two eggs this morning. Aren’t you proud of me? So long as I have my medicine as soon as I eat, I’m fine. No nausea or discomfort.” She held up her glass to the morning light and contemplated it with an air of drowsy satisfaction.

  Pen studied her. “You look better. Your face is filling out again.”

  “Is it? I hadn’t noticed.” Ally yawned and took another sip. “I suppose that’s a good thing, though.”

  “Of course it is! You can’t grow a healthy baby if you’re not healthy, and that means getting enough to eat and keeping it down.”

  “Mmm. That’s true.” Ally finished the contents of her glass, carefully set it on her bedside table, and settled back onto her pillows.

  Something about her air of lazy contentment bothered Pen. It was so un-Ally. “Michael said you’d decided not to come downstairs today. Don’t you feel well enough, now that you’re stronger?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Ally shrugged. “I’m so sleepy all the time that it seemed silly to come downstairs and
nap on the sofa. Why not just stay here and keep out of everyone’s way? Michael’s gone all day, and you’re busy with everything.” She gestured vaguely. “And it’s more comfortable up here. More peaceful.”

  Pen nearly goggled. Was this the same brisk, energetic Ally who had seemed to be everywhere when she was their governess?

  “Well, I suppose it’s important that you get your rest.” She took Ally’s unresisting hand. “But this just doesn’t seem like you. You’ve always been so busy and in charge, and it feels very odd not to have you . . . well, being you. I miss you horripilatiously. Sometimes it’s as if you’re not even here, lately.”

  Ally closed her eyes. “I’ve not gone anywhere. You’re being fanciful, Pen. And please stop using that silly word of Charles’s.”

  That sounded a little more like Ally. “Well, it feels that way. Sometimes you feel as far away as Mother and Persy back in Hampshire, and I don’t know who to talk to about some things.”

  A faint frown appeared between Ally’s brows, and Pen could have bitten her tongue. Poor Ally was just starting to be able to keep down the mildest of foods, and here she was, whining to her like a six-year-old.

  “I don’t want to burden you. You’ve got enough to worry you right now,” she added quickly.

  Ally gave a small sigh. “No, it’s all right. What do you need to talk about?”

  What didn’t she need to talk about? No, keep it simple. “Oh, I don’t know. Little things, really. Like last night at Lady Keating’s dinner party. It was, well, it was alarming in a lot of ways, and I don’t know what to do or think about it all.”

  Ally didn’t open her eyes. “’M listening,” she mumbled.

  Pen held Ally’s hand more tightly and tried to choose her words carefully. “I had to do magic there, to keep a vase from falling on Doireann Keating’s head. I don’t know if anyone noticed. And I don’t know how the vase could have fallen in the first place, because there was something in front of it. Nothing all that momentous, really, but I’m—I don’t know. Something feels not right about it.”