The Lady Of The Storm Part 11

"I will miss you."

She closed her eyes for a moment. She would not allow his words to mean more than he intended. "Perhaps. But you will also be glad for another a.s.signment. One with more adventure and intrigue. You must have found my little village so quaint and boring."

"It was not as bad as all that. Do you remember the time when that badger got into Old Man Hugh's cottage?"

"And ate the pie that the widow had made for Hugh? Fie! I think the whole village came out to witness the commotion. I will never forget the sight of him chasing the animal about with his broom. The poor beast."

"Hugh, or the badger?"

Cecily laughed.

Giles squeezed her hand. "It's only a few hours before midnight. Do you want to return to the room to rest a bit, or would you prefer to stay with me here?"

Cecily lowered her lashes. "I could not sleep if I tried."

And so they stayed at table, Giles never once relinquis.h.i.+ng her hand, even when the serving girl came in to clear the dishes. They told stories of the village, Cecily with longing and Giles with nostalgia, as if he spoke of memories of a place that he'd already left far behind. And the time flew by faster than she could have imagined.

The clock on the mantel chimed midnight and Giles abruptly stood, jarring Cecily from her contentment.

"It's time," he said. "Let me fetch my cloak-I'll be but a moment."

He fled the room and she tried not to be disappointed by his apparent eagerness. If it had been up to her, she never would have let the evening end.

But she must face her new future, eagerly or no. She stiffened her back and shoulders, determined to be strong. Cecily did not know what this Sir Robert might have planned for her, but she would hold to her own ambitions. She would think only of Thomas, and if this Rebellion would not tell her his whereabouts, then she would find some way to track him down herself.

When Giles returned to the dining room he took one glance at her face and froze in the act of shrouding her with his cloak. "d.a.m.n. I would not want to be Sir Robert tonight."

Cecily pulled the cloak over her head, trying not to muss her cap or hair, and followed Giles through the half-empty common room to the waiting carriage outside. She ducked into the plain black coach, surprised by the contrast of the inside. Her hands touched velvet-cus.h.i.+oned seats, the walls had been painted with scenes of playful cherubs, and every bit of trim shone with the l.u.s.ter of gold.

Giles took the seat across from her, watching her face as the conveyance lurched forward. "Although Sir Robert prefers to travel in secrecy, he does appreciate his comforts."

"Yes, I see." Cecily turned and stared out the window, watching the lamplights flit past. "I am not discomfited by grandeur, Giles. For some reason this all seems... commonplace to me."

"I should think it would."

She met his shadowed gaze. "What do you mean?"

He took a deep breath, and then shrugged. "I suppose you'll find out soon enough, and they might use it to unsettle you."

"Use what?"

"You still remember nothing of your past life? Before you settled in the village, that is."

Giles had asked her this once before, and she'd flinched from the memories. But she would need any advantage she could, and he was obviously trying to help. She frowned in concentration. "I remember running and hiding in dark places. I remember the storm. The relief when we settled in the village."

The coach bounced as they hit a pothole. Giles reached forward and placed her hand upon a leather strap bolted to the sidewall. "Hold this, or you might wind up in my lap." He gave her a wicked grin.

Cecily scowled. For a man who couldn't wait to be rid of her, he still could not seem to stop his flirting. She ignored the frisson of excitement that raced through her from his touch, from the nearness of his face.

Giles's eyes widened at her expression, and he relaxed back into his seat. "They will not know what to do in the face of such determination. Cecily, can you recall anything before the running and hiding?"

"My mother's face. Another woman's... she sang songs to me. A garden, the sting of a bee. Little things that have no meaning. And yet there is obviously more."

He nodded, glanced out the window. "Your mother was a widowed countess. You are, by t.i.tle, the Lady Cecily Sutton. You were born in a fine mansion, but your mother left it all behind to protect you from the elven lord when your powers became apparent."

Cecily should have felt more surprise than she did. But perhaps somewhere deep inside, she had known it all along. "I am deeply touched by my mother's sacrifice. She never said a word about our past life, although it explains a great deal-I think she detested that little village. But a t.i.tle hardly matters to me."

"You are a peer of the realm, Cecily. Of course it matters."

She shook her head so hard the lappets on her cap swept against her cheeks. "My mother gave up the t.i.tle, so as far as I'm concerned, I never held it."

"You can't just dismiss a t.i.tle. At least, not to those who matter."

"Ah, you mean the esteemed Sir Robert? He will discover soon enough that he cannot bribe me with the trappings of society. I care for nothing more than my sweet cottage by the sea."

Her breath hitched on the last sentence, and Giles fell silent until the carriage slowed. "We are here."

Cecily pressed her nose against the gla.s.s. The carriage rolled through a ma.s.sive square, a fine park in the center of it, which sported those flaming trees and a fountain of yellow fire. When the coach came to a full stop and Giles flung the door open, a golden light spilled into the dim interior. He helped her down the steps, and she drew strength from his strong warm hand as she looked up at the home in front of her.

Giles had been right. Her entire village could surely fit into the ma.s.sive dwelling.

Despite her brave words, Cecily felt her knees quiver as they approached the front door. Two stone gargoyles sat on either side of the front step, an odd combination of lion and bird, and their eyes seemed to follow her every movement. Before Giles could raise his hand to lift the bra.s.s knocker, the door flew open, and a uniformed man bowed and stepped aside, beckoning them in.

"May I take your cloak, madam?" he asked as soon as he closed the door behind them. Giles unwrapped her while Cecily stared about. Pockets of fire littered the ma.s.sive hall, casting eerie shadows upon the marble floor and a line of statues that paraded down the walls. Frescoes of angels and clouds covered the ceiling high above her head, and crystal chandeliers divided the firelight into sprinkles of starlight.

"I have been given instructions to show you to the library upon your arrival," sniffed the doorman, looking down at her with disapproval. He turned to lead them down the hall.

Cecily snapped her mouth shut and told herself to quit gawking.

"The trappings of society," whispered Giles.

She glared at him and he smiled jauntily back at her. Thank heavens he had agreed to accompany her, for somehow he made her feel like her normal self in these rather daunting surroundings. Giles took her elbow and prepared to lead her after the doorman, but that stiff-legged gentleman took a glance over his shoulder and said, "Not you, sir."

The smile froze on Giles's face and Cecily felt his sword tremble. He patted the scabbard, another look crossing his handsome features. A sort of acceptance.

"He is with me," said Cecily, watching Giles in confusion. Had any man in the village dismissed him in such a manner, he would have reminded the fool of his skill with a weapon.

The doorman stopped and turned, a polite rise of his bushy brows his only response.

"I will not step one foot farther without him," she insisted.

"Cecily," whispered Giles. "Do not argue. The man is well aware of my place, and it is not among such esteemed personages."

"Your place is at my side, at least for tonight. You promised."

He shrugged. "Aye, so I did." Giles met the stare of the officious steward, his expression quite different than it had been a moment ago. "Majordomo, tell his lords.h.i.+p that the lady refuses an audience unless I am at her side, and until she dismisses me I continue in my duty to protect her in every conceivable way."

The doorman's face did not alter a whit as he turned and proceeded back down the hall.

That sword of his trembled again and Giles patted it with a sigh. "Sir Robert will not like this."

Cecily frowned. "Will he punish you?"

"Me? I'm too low in the grand scheme of things for him to bother with. He might, however, make my next a.s.signment extremely dangerous." And those green eyes glinted with eagerness.

"Then I will go in alone." Cecily strode down the hall, picking up her pace when she heard his footsteps behind her. "Go away, Giles. I will not a.s.sist you in your suicidal desires."

"Don't be ridiculous. You don't even know where you're going."

No, she didn't. All the doors along the hall looked exactly alike. But at that moment one of them opened, and the majordomo, as Giles had called him, bowed and swept his arm toward the open door. "His lords.h.i.+p will see... both of you."

When he rose, he gave Giles a look that made the blacksmith shrug, as if he sympathized with the other man's apparent discomfiture.

It irritated Cecily to no end. Fie, of course there were social distinctions in the village, but not so large a gap that one man was forced to feel inferior to another. Although Sir Robert may be Giles's leader, she saw no need for the blacksmith to react as if he did not belong in the same room with such an august personage. Or for the servant to a.s.sume the same.

Giles's strength of character certainly gave him every right to escort her into the room.

A man sat near the fireplace in a high wing-backed chair of leather, a blanket over his knees despite the warm evening. A heavy man with an elegant white wig, a rather longish nose, and dark piercing eyes beneath thick brows. He stood, the blanket falling about his ankles, and bowed to her. "Lady Cecily. What a pleasure to finally meet you."

Cecily curtsied a bit awkwardly, being woefully out of practice. Everything about this man, indeed, about the entire room, screamed elegance. From his velvet jacket to the twinkle of rings on his fingers, from the polished oak walls to the thousands of leather-bound books encased in exquisitely carved shelving.

She realized she'd forgotten her gloves.

Cecily didn't often have the opportunity to wear them, and she could picture them perfectly in her mind, wrapped in white paper, nestled snuggly in the bottom of the trunk at the foot of her bed. In her cottage. Hundreds of miles away.

She clasped her hands behind her back.

"Beaumont," said Sir Robert, inclining his head toward the blacksmith. "You have our grat.i.tude for delivering Lady Cecily safely home."

Giles bowed, somewhat stiffly, like a soldier to his commander.

"Lady Cecily," continued Sir Robert, "will you be seated? I fear we have much to discuss."

Cecily took the chair across from him, her gaze flying to Giles. As soon as Sir Robert sat back down, the blacksmith took a standing position next to Cecily's chair, his solid presence allowing her to relax. She removed her hands from where she'd hidden them within the folds of her skirts.

Sir Robert's eyes sparkled as they went from her to his spy. "My dear girl, you must be exhausted from your journey. May I offer you some refreshment? A spot of tea, perhaps?"

"No, thank you. Giles-Mister Beaumont and I have eaten but a few hours ago."

"I see." He did not look up at the blacksmith. "Allow me to be the first to welcome you home, Lady Cecily. I have had reports from Dewhame, but I would like to hear from you what happened, if you're up to it."

Cecily took a breath. It would be best if she took control of the situation from the start. "This is not my home, Sir Robert, and I certainly have no intention of permanently making it so. My home was in Dewhame, in a little cottage by the sea. Now, it will be wherever my father is. And that is why I have come to you. To seek him out."

Sir Robert's heavy brows nearly rose up to his wig. This time he did look up at Giles. "Beaumont. Report."

And Giles began to speak, not only telling his superior about the invasion of the village, but also condensing an account of the last nine years of watching over her. Cecily flushed during certain parts of it, but thankfully Giles's report did not extend to confessing intimate details about her. His omissions rea.s.sured her that although his first loyalties lay with the Rebellion, he still held some feelings for her.

When Giles finished some time later, his deep voice hoa.r.s.e from talking, Sir Robert sat back in his chair, rubbing the sides of his chin with his fingers, his gaze occasionally going from Cecily to the blacksmith.

Or perhaps she should now think of Giles as a spy. The role of blacksmith had always been a ruse, and yet she still had difficulty thinking of him otherwise.

"Do you believe Breden of Dewhame knows that the sorcerer he's been chasing might be his daughter?" Sir Robert finally asked.

She felt Giles's shrug. "I'm not sure, sir. But I don't believe so."

"Then there is still a chance." Sir Robert pinned her with his gaze. "We had hoped you would be loyal to our cause, Lady Cecily. After all, if not for our interference, you would no longer be alive. You do understand that it is the Rebellion that has protected you all of these years?"

"Oh, indeed, sir, I do understand. I understand that you seek to use me as your tool, whether I will it or no. But my father showed me I have a choice, and I will not be used by you or anyone."

"Ah, Thomas," he muttered. "What have you done by claiming this girl as your daughter?" Then Sir Robert leaned forward, his hands clutching the blanket he'd drawn back up around his knees, his dark eyes now fixed upon her with an intensity that was frightening. "Is your loyalty to your birth father, then? Do you wish the elven lords to continue their slavery of the English people?"

Cecily blanched. She had not thought of it in that way. And if she continued to let this glib man control the conversation, he would soon have her committing her soul to his cause. "My loyalty is to Thomas, my true father, and that is why I have come. I want you to tell me where he is."

Those dark eyes glittered, and Cecily wondered what machinations might be going on behind them. He seemed to come to a sudden decision, for the corner of his mouth quirked and his hands relaxed back onto his lap. "We don't know."

Cecily's heart dropped. "How can you not know? Wasn't he on a mission for you?"

"Yes. But we haven't heard from him for months, and my contacts cannot locate him. It's almost as if he disappeared off the face of the earth."

"But I saw him..."

"So Beaumont said in his report. But he also said he wasn't sure what you had actually seen. And yet, it is the best clue we have had to his whereabouts in some time. I have a proposition for you, Lady Cecily."

Fiddle, she did not like the sound of that. But what other choice did she have? "And that is?"

"I will give you Thomas's last known location. I will provide you with the funds and supplies you need for the journey. In exchange for one small favor."

She suddenly felt Giles's hand on her shoulder, but she did not need the warning. The favor would not be small by any means.

"I want you to accept a mission on behalf of the Rebellion when you return. Whether you have found Thomas or not."

Anger evaporated any lingering nervousness Cecily might have felt. The decanters on the sideboard shuddered, the liquid contained in them responding to her magic. "What sort of mission?"

"If I could be sure of your loyalty to our cause, I might be able to divulge that... but as it is..." He shrugged his velvet-clad shoulders.

"That's blackmail," hissed Cecily. "If you have it within your power to help me find Thomas, then you will, make no mistake of that, sir." And without any conscious volition of her own, the stoppers on the decanters suddenly popped out, hitting the ceiling with enough force to dent the plaster. Port and brandy and gin swirled from the containers, forming tiny cyclones above the sideboard.

But Sir Robert didn't seem to notice, his attention suddenly fixed upon a creaking sound coming from the side of the fireplace. "I don't think this is wise," he muttered.

A portion of the paneled wall suddenly swung into the room, and the most dazzling couple Cecily had ever seen stepped from behind it.

"Ah, Robert. I adore that secret pa.s.sage from the palace to your library," said the woman, brus.h.i.+ng cobwebs from her shoulder. "It makes me feel like one of your spies again."

Sir Robert quickly rose and bowed deeply. "Have you ever stopped, my lady?"

She laughed, a trilling sound that made the man beside her smile tenderly in response, and Cecily could not help but stare at him. He did not need the black scepter in his hand for her to know that the elven lord of Firehame stood before her. Mor'ded's ethereal beauty gave him away. Like Giles, he had pale white hair, but the elven lord possessed the silver sparkles in those thick strands that made it glow with a sterling sheen. His eyes were similar to her own, large and luminous, faceted like crystals, but a midnight black to her blue. His skin was so pale and translucent it nearly glowed with its own light, and his face so exquisitely formed he did not seem quite of this earth.

Cecily preferred Giles's golden tan and green eyes. It made his beauty at least human.