The Lady Of The Storm Part 23

Mor'ded's black eyes sparkled and he sat forward. "Indeed. I should have thought of that myself. It's the perfect place to hide the scepter and Lady Cecily. If the scepters are not the source of magic, as we had always a.s.sumed, that means they can be taken past the barrier. And it has yet managed to proceed beyond the mountains of Wales."

"If they can be brought past the barrier secretly," said Lady Ca.s.sandra, her forehead still puckered with doubt.

Cecily latched on to the implications in their words. "I will have to leave England?"

"We have always thought of Wales as a part of England," said Mor'ded, "despite the stubbornness of the Welsh and their freedom beyond the barrier." At her raised brow, he shrugged and continued, "Not indefinitely. I hope one day we shall have need of you-and the scepter-once again."

Cecily tried very hard not to bristle at his words. Of course they had little concern for how their plans would affect her life. They had more important issues to consider. And she had already decided to sacrifice herself for England. Thomas had given his life. She should be able to face banishment. But it would mean she would never see Giles again, and therefore could never win him back. And despite everything, she had still harbored hope of that.

But as they continued to discuss plans for delivering her safely out of England, Giles's silence on the matter proved he had abandoned her. Cecily did not believe for a second that he had stopped loving her. She would never believe it. But he had obviously given up all hope of a future with her. So what did it matter if she left England? Without his love, it held nothing for her anymore.

"How would I get past the barrier?" Cecily finally asked.

"You must really learn to pay attention, my dear," said Sir Robert. "That's what we've been discussing for the past few minutes. We have established an underground system, of sorts, for saving the children whom we rescue from the trials. The elven lords have allowed only a few openings through the barrier which permits trade with the outside world, but the Rebellion has managed to gain the allegiance of a few s.h.i.+ps."

"There are several things you should know," interrupted Lady Ca.s.sandra. "You will no longer have your magic once you're beyond the magical barrier surrounding England. You will still possess your physical elven traits: beauty, grace, and speed. And we can't be sure what will happen to the scepter; for this is the first time we have ever attempted such a thing. The trade goods of the elven do not possess any magic once beyond the barrier, but they still retain the attributes that the use of magic created them with: cloth exceptionally fine, or jewelry exquisitely crafted, or wine rich beyond imagining. We cannot even guess what properties the scepter might retain past the influence of elven magic."

"It will be fascinating," mused Sir Robert, "to find out, though. After all, the human world is not entirely devoid of magic."

Cecily recalled the ring of stones through which Thomas had first contacted her. They were an ancient source of humankind's own power, and had nothing to do with elven magic, so she agreed with Sir Robert. But what might the scepter still be able to do? And she would have no magic to counter it with.

No magic.

For years she'd tried to hide her powers, to pretend they did not exist. And now she would be facing a future where she would truly be able to live like an ordinary human. Sir Robert and Mor'ded and Lady Ca.s.sandra watched Cecily as if they expected some outcry from her. A refusal based on the final injustice of having her magic taken from her.

They did not know her at all.

Cecily smiled. "Wales, you say? I've heard it's a beautiful land."

A collective sigh of relief. Then Lady Ca.s.sandra rose and held out her hand to Cecily. "We have much to do to prepare you for this mission. Robert, will you be so kind as to ring for your man to escort us to Lady Cecily's room?"

Within moments the outer door opened, and a liveried footman bowed to them. Cecily followed the lady to the door, pa.s.sing so close to the shadows Giles hid within that she fancied she could feel the heat of his body.

Cecily slowed her steps. Surely he would step forward and stop her. Would insist he accompany her. Would demand that she allow him his protection.

But he did not stir. Indeed, he appeared to be holding his breath.

And at that moment, she knew. Knew she could never break past the distance that the mark had brought between them. He would no longer be her protector.

Whatever small hope she'd been holding onto died. She would never win him back. He would not give her the opportunity.

Cecily hurried after Lady Ca.s.sandra, a sudden anger building within her. d.a.m.n Giles Beaumont for making her love him. d.a.m.n him for giving up on their love so easily.

She would focus on her mission and try to forget him. He had broken her heart once before, and she had managed to survive. It would be harder this time, but she would do it.

The footman closed the door to the library behind them, and Cecily thought she heard a sudden clamor of raised voices behind it. But she refused to allow herself to care about any discussion that Giles may be having with Sir Robert and the elven lord.

She had her own perilous task to focus on.

Cecily traveled in a coach to the city of Bath, and after the first day she missed Belle with a severity that made her eyes water. Instead of the mare's smooth, even gait, she was subjected to a constant bouncing and tossing about within the closed box of the carriage.

And when they finally stopped for the evening, she faced a dirty inn with watery stew and the constant chatter of other travelers.

Cecily longed for the times when she'd traveled with Giles. The evenings spent beneath a star-speckled sky, the scent of a fresh stream to bathe in. The quiet talks and the comforting sound of the horses grazing. The heat of Giles's strong body as he crawled into the blankets beside her- No. She would not torture herself with such musings. Especially not now, on the last day of her journey.

Cecily stuck her nose out the window, grateful for the fresh air. And the scent of water. It had grown quite strong the moment they entered Dewhame and her entire being had quivered in delight at the abundance of it. But as they neared Bath, she realized the small fountains and streams of the country were nothing when compared to the wealth that awaited her up ahead in her father's-Breden of Dewhame's capital city.

"Lord Pennington, the wretch is sitting upon my skirts again."

Cecily turned to glance at the lady sitting next to her and sighed. The large woman wore a wealth of skirts suited to her frame, which meant Cecily had but a sliver of the seat to sit on already. But still, she somehow managed to scrunch even closer to the window when the lady's husband glared at her over his periodical.

Lady Ca.s.sandra had dressed Cecily for her role as servant only too well. Despite the fact that she did not work for these people, they treated her on the trip as their own personal servant. When they weren't ignoring her, of course. Cecily had come to understand Giles's meaning of the social gulf that existed between the cla.s.ses. That line appeared to be significant beyond the borders of her little village, and she had yet to see anyone cross it. It made her understand some of her mother's behavior at times, and suddenly made her miss her even more.

Cecily sighed and tucked that hurt alongside the others and buried it deep within her heart.

"Mortimer, dear," said Lady Pennington to her little brat, a boy about one-and-ten years of age. "Fetch my box from beneath the seat, will you?"

Mortimer screwed up his face at Cecily. "You heard her. Fetch it."

Cecily glared at him but he responded only by sticking out his tongue. She sighed and levered herself up to reach beneath the seat, withdrawing a pasteboard box filled with pastries and sweetmeats. She'd found it more peaceful to comply with their requests, rather than dispute her employment to them.

Lady Pennington took the box with a sniff, offering everyone a treat but Cecily. Her stomach grumbled, and she hoped Lord and Lady Longhurst would be more kind to her. After all, Lord Longhurst knew her part as servant was nothing but a ruse. And yet...

Cecily sighed and poked her nose out the window again. It appeared the gentry preferred to bathe in perfume rather than wash the smells from their body, and the strong scent made her head swim. She took a deep breath and realized she would have to get accustomed to these new people and her role among them. She could not afford a slip, and she should be grateful to the Penningtons for allowing her to adjust to it before she reached Dewhame Palace.

If only she could manage to stop missing Giles. Not his protection-despite what he would have her believe. She could take care of herself quite handily, thank you. But his company. The sheer presence of the man. Cecily had felt dead inside the moment she'd left him behind in London.

She sighed again. Best to get accustomed to that feeling as well.

Cecily's nose suddenly twitched. Water. A wealth of water. She did not know so much could exist on top of dry land. But as the city came into view, she realized that Bath wasn't truly dry.

Fountains decorated the front stoop of every single dwelling. Spilled to overflowing inside every square. Burst into a cloudy mist atop the very roofs, to trickle slowly down the walls of the buildings. And the buildings themselves...

Cecily stuck her entire head out the window, ignoring Lady Pennington's outcry at the sheer impropriety of it.

The buildings had all been painted in soft tones of blue and green, and not a one of them had been constructed with a straight line. Corners had been softened with a slight curve, even the windows sporting rounded panes instead of square. Water flowed down the gutters of the street, carrying refuse out of the city. They pa.s.sed a large building with a statue of Zeus in the front and a sign that read, The Royal Bath. And then another, with a smaller statue of Poseidon, and a sign that read, The Queen's Bath.

But the city itself could not compare to Dewhame Palace.

Their carriage pa.s.sed through the walls surrounding it, walls that had been constructed to look like the swell of multiple ocean waves. Cecily blinked. The waves actually appeared to flow with movement.

And then a flood of water doused her head and she ducked back inside, sputtering, Lady Pennington shouting at the droplets of water that Cecily pelted her with.

But when the carriage finally rolled to a halt and they emerged from it to stand in an inch of swirling water, the lady quit complaining, for her rich clothing was soon dampened along with the rest of theirs.

Cecily craned her neck up at the palace walls. Water streamed down the sides of the blue-tinted stones, picked up the meager sunlight and transformed the curtain of water into glimmering translucence. Within the courtyard itself, stone carvings spouted waterfalls that sprayed white mist into the air, speckling Cecily's cheeks and arms.

She wanted to hold out her hands and twirl in the abundance that surrounded her.

"Girl," snapped Lady Pennington, who had managed to find an umbrella and stood within the slight shelter of it. "Don't stand there gawking. Help with the baggage."

Cecily replied without thinking. "But I'm supposed to find my employers-"

The lady slapped Cecily's face as offhandedly as she'd slapped her son's more than once on their journey. "I'll hear no guff from you, girl, while I stand here and ruin my best set of shoes."

Cecily blamed the wealth of water surrounding her. She had never felt her magic so strongly on land before. It had built within her like the swelling of the tide, energizing and powerful and yes, even deadly. She feared the strength it had given her, and cursed herself when her fingers lifted of their own accord and called just a bit of it to her.

So easily.

It swirled around Lady Pennington's shoes and lifted her slightly off the flagstone, the lady tumbling over in a heap of sodden skirts and hoops. She shrieked and Cecily winced, ashamed of herself.

Then fear skittered through her. She had vowed not to use her magic until she needed it to accomplish her task. Lady Ca.s.sandra had told her that she risked exposure if she used too much of her powers too soon. That her fath-the elven lord, Breden of Dewhame, might question such a strong gift.

Cecily reached up to take her small bag from the coachman, and guiltily accepted a small trunk of Lady Pennington's to carry as well.

When she turned, the lord had helped his wife to her feet, Mortimer still stifling his laughter behind his hand. Lady Pennington had gone from soggy to utterly drenched, her hoops askew and the feathers decorating her cap and bodice hanging sadly down and plastered to her skin.

Cecily looked around beneath lowered lids. But blue-uniformed soldiers did not pour forth from the palace door to arrest her and she trembled with relief. She had used only a bit of magic. Surely Breden of Dewhame's n.o.bles commanded that every day and it would be lost amongst the other powers.

Still, she vowed to learn from this lesson. She must not let her control slip. She must accustom herself to being treated as less than an equal.

When Lord Pennington ushered his wife into the palace, Cecily meekly followed, accepting another trunk from the coachman to lug along.

The inside walls of the palace had been painted with murals of flowing waves, and although they moved as magically as the ones outside, they lacked real water. Even the floors were finally dry, although they sported rugs of soft hues that appeared to ripple beneath their feet.

Lady Pennington staggered. "La! I always forget how dreadful this place is," she muttered.

"Hush," commanded her husband, his small eyes searching the rounded corners of the hall. "We love it here, don't we, Mortimer?"

"Yes, Father," the boy dutifully answered. Then turned and stuck out his tongue out at Cecily just for the pleasure of it.

The palace steward met them at the end of the long hall, directing two footmen to relieve Cecily of the lady's trunks. She flexed her fingers, which had gone rigid from the weight of the handles.

When she did not follow the lord and lady when they started down the main hall, the steward turned to her with a raised brow.

"I... um." She should not allow the man to rattle her. "I am here in service to the Lord and Lady Longhurst. Can you direct me to their chambers?"

The steward consulted a damp set of papers within his hand. "Ah, yes. I have instructions for your arrival. It is quite kind of you to a.s.sist the Lord and Lady Pennington on their journey here."

This time Cecily raised a brow. As if she'd had any choice.

And the man gave her a knowing smile, and she suddenly didn't feel quite so lost. Apparently a camaraderie of sorts existed among servants. Not enough to cross the boundaries of their proper place, but enough to make her realize that Sir Robert had been right to send her here in the role of a servant. She could learn much in very little time.

Cecily smiled back at him, forgetting to keep her lids half-lowered over her large eyes.

The man started, and the two other lackeys who stood at his side awaiting his instructions both gasped in unison.

Oh, dear. What had she done?

"You there," said a voice from across the hall.

Cecily cringed and dropped her gaze to the steward's pointed shoes, refusing to look at the speaker. For the voice had the richness of an elven lord, velvety and musical like Lord Mor'ded of Firehame's.

She heard the sound of heavy boots approaching and told herself to run, but her feet stayed firmly planted to the floor. She had been in the palace only for a few minutes, and already she had betrayed herself to Imperial Lord Breden.

A fine spy she turned out to be.

Twelve.

"Look at me, girl," demanded the stranger.

Cecily swallowed and slowly raised her head, then felt her legs turn to jelly in relief. The man who stood before her could not be a pureblooded elf. Although he sported faceted blue eyes and pointed ears, his white-blond hair lacked the silver sparkle that Breden of Dewhame would surely have in his hair.

The man reached out a graceful hand and tilted her face to the light. "You carry a good deal of elven blood within your veins for a servant. Who are you?"

Cecily opened her mouth, but could not find words. This man wore the clothing of a soldier, although his coat had been crafted of blue velvet and not wool, and the gold b.u.t.tons at hem and sleeve had been inset with small diamonds. The hat he carried under his arm had some type of insignia upon it, but designation of rank had not been something Lady Ca.s.sandra had deemed Cecily had time to study.

The steward consulted his papers again and cleared his throat. "Her name is Lucy Stratton, my lord general. She is servant to Lord and Lady Longhurst."

Cecily started. Ah, that military designation required no study. General Owen Fletcher, champion to the elven lord, with enough magical power to call upon a wave from the Bristol Channel to win a battle. Rumors also had it that the man used his magic in perverted ways that even the elven lord had not devised. And that he enjoyed the doing of it.

With the way the general now stared at her, she could well believe the rumors.

General Fletcher stroked her cheek. "Egads, those eyes." Then he ran a callused thumb over her lower lip. "So, you received all the beauty of the elven but none of the magic, eh? Pity. You're far too lovely to be a servant of naught but a man's desire."

Cecily stepped away from the general's touch. She could feel his l.u.s.t as a palpable thing and it made her stomach roil. She could not imagine anyone's hands upon her but Giles's. The thought that her role as servant would not protect her from the general's advances...

"I am not a slave, sir."

The steward raised his rather bushy brows. "Indeed, she is not."

The general turned on the smaller man. "But I have taken a fancy to her, Hastings." He called the water from a nearby fountain; Cecily could feel the tingle of his magic. Fletcher crafted the liquid into thin translucent strands, wrapped them warningly around Hastings's throat, somehow managing to strengthen the water without creating swirls of force.

Cecily frowned. She could feel the slight brush of a chill. Ah, Fletcher had half-frozen the water to make it more solid. Something she had never thought to try.

The steward answered in a strangled breath. "Then you will have to take up the matter with Lord Longhurst. a.s.suming Lucy will accept you as her employer."

Which she had no intention of doing. Fletcher glanced at her and she glared. Perhaps the general was used to women falling all over him-he certainly was handsome enough. And perhaps some women were foolish enough to think bedding the man would give them some type of power beyond their current positions. Or perhaps they just feared him.

But Cecily did not. He might have thought of ways to use his powers beyond her scope of knowledge, but her magic surpa.s.sed his by leaps and bounds.