The cauldron effect, p.11
The Cauldron Effect, page 11
So, a true earth healer had indeed arrived in their midst. She quivered; her defenses dropping as every part of her now uninhibitedly basked in the restorative energy that had been fed into the land beneath her foundation.
Tilda gazed out her windows at a carriage being readied under the dawn’s light. A church guard and a witch working together. Times had indeed changed since she went to sleep. Perhaps it would be worth staying awake a little longer.
CLOAKED IN A FAWN-COLORED, close-fitting pelisse trimmed in white, Merryn made her careful way down the inn’s wide curving stairs. Only a few lanterns lit her way. The place was eerily silent despite the recent activity of staff packing and carting away her bags.
She looked around the deserted entryway, wondering whom Aunt Morwena had sent to act as her chaperone. She hoped the lady would arrive promptly, for Lord Braden did not strike her as the patient sort.
“I shall see you at seven,” he’d said last night. Sharp, his tone had added.
Finding no one about, she stepped outdoors and then squinted at the sudden brightness. The rain clouds had parted, offering the promise of dryness and a sunny day.
The constant overnight downpour had left the yard and roads mired in mud. In contrast to the peace inside, the yard was in an uproar. Her carriage was out and being readied. Workers’ feet squelched, burped and spit mud in every direction as they ran about loading baggage and leading out horses.
She hesitated on the door stoop until eyes tender from lack of sleep spotted Braden’s horse. The black stallion was tied behind her carriage. Despite not having received her permission, Braden assumed he would travel inside the carriage? The presumptuousness of the man!
The safety of her boots forgotten, she stepped into the muddy fray. One hand wielded her open umbrella downward, deflecting spray from people running about on the muddy ground. She shaded her weary eyes as she searched for the broad-shouldered brazen earl.
He came around the side of the carriage, tall and handsome in the morning light. Catching sight of her, he waved, making her heart skip. Silly thing. Despite her determination to remain affronted, his happy demeanor withered her anger.
“Good morning, Miss Pendraven.” Braden’s smile was as blinding as the sunlight flooding the yard. “I trust you’ve decided favorably to my accompanying you inside your carriage?” A hand at her elbow guided her expertly toward her vehicle.
“It seems you’ve decided for me, my lord.”
“Not at all,” he said. “I merely anticipated an affirmative response.”
Her carriage driver climbed up to the high box, and sat, tipping his hat to her, apparently ready and eager to set off at once. Was there no one who could resist this man’s wishes?
“If you deny me entry,” Braden continued, “I will, of course, abide by your decision.”
The answer mollified and dampened her temper. “As a matter of fact, I’ve decided you may ride with me.” Merryn resisted his none-too-subtle urgings for her to get in. “However, we cannot leave yet.”
“Why not?” A frown shadowed his cheer.
Good! Let him be discomposed for a change. She was barely awake and he had her packed and practically at the Fishguard coven’s doorstep.
She lowered her voice and led him away from unintended eavesdroppers. “My aunt has agreed we may join forces, my lord. On one condition.”
“How could she impose conditions when she’s in Callington and we are here?” His eyebrow rose to emphasize his skepticism. “For that matter, how could you have consulted her at all?”
Merryn waited for him to rephrase his question.
His frown darkened further as it dawned on him the nature of the required communication. “I didn’t realize that was possible. I don’t need to know the particulars. What condition?”
“That I have a chaperone.”
“Ah,” he said. “A wise woman.”
“Yes,” Merryn agreed. “She is that and more.”
“So, are we to arrange for a maid to accompany us?”
“No need. Someone from Callington is on the way.”
“We cannot wait a day more, Miss Pendraven. Time is of the essence.”
A movement caught her eye and she looked toward the inn. “We shan’t have to, my lord.” Merryn’s heart warmed at who was to join her. She could not imagine a better companion on this journey. “There she is now.”
Braden turned to observe an elderly woman step around the corner of the inn. One hand adjusted her deep blue bonnet covering a cascade of white curls, while the other lifted her bright yellow traveling gown to prevent it dragging in the mud.
Seeing Braden’s amazement, Merryn whispered, “Even at the advanced age of five and seventy, my great aunt has a penchant for vibrant colors.”
“Great aunt?” He seemed to have trouble keeping a straight face at the lady’s whimsical fashion sense.
“She may have trouble coordinating every detail of matching hat color to gown,” Merryn said in a stern tone, “but she possesses a merry soul and an unceasing optimism. Every encounter with her is a joyous experience.”
“How did she arrive so quickly? Does she live nearby?”
Merryn hesitated and then decided there was hardly any need to hide anything at this late stage. “She would have flown, my lord.”
“She what?” Braden speared her with a stunned look.
“Not on a broom!” Merryn said with a frown. “You may shed that absurd misconception about witches right this moment.” She turned back to her aunt. “By the by, you should compliment her on being on time. Aunt Gwen’s sense of direction’s been deteriorating steadily in recent years and her prompt arrival is a marked accomplishment.”
Braden looked from her to her aunt and then back, appearing thunderstruck. All sorts of uncomfortable thoughts obviously careened inside his handsome head, distressing him greatly. His frown had grown as dark as last night’s thunderstorm.
Feeling uncommonly glad to have so thoroughly upset him, Merryn’s mood improved. She turned to greet her elderly relative with a wide smile, extending her hand. “Good morning, Aunt.”
“My goodness, child, I do not approve of such early risings. I would have you notice that I am past the stage where gallivanting around the countryside at the break of day is enjoyable.”
“I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you, Aunt Gwen. Pray allow me to introduce you to the Earl of Braden. Lord Braden, this is my great aunt, Mrs. Truscott.”
Her aunt curtsied
“Mrs. Truscott.” Braden made a creditable bow.
“How do you do, my lord?” On rising, she gave his lordship a careful once over, squinting with inquisitive eyes. Then she leaned forward and whispered, “So, you are the young man who has sent the high sage, our coven and my great niece here into such a tizzy. I can see why. No doubt you are used to having this effect on women.”
Braden blinked at the direct talk and then applied his devastating smile upon her hapless aunt. “I hope I haven’t caused such an inconvenience, Mrs. Truscott. I appreciate your speedy arrival. How was your travel?” He choked at the end of that sentence as if realizing his mistake too late.
“A slight difficulty with the landing,” Aunt Gwen said. Merryn got the distinct impression the old lady was avoiding her gaze. “All turned out well in the end,” her great aunt finished. “I don’t wish to speak of it anymore.”
Braden quickly continued, as if he, too, were desperate to change the subject. “Is there anything I may do to make you more comfortable for the upcoming journey? Any food or items you would like to bring?”
Merryn, who had been rushed across the wet yard willy-nilly, marveled at how his hurry seemed to have vanished like milk spilt near a kitten.
Her great aunt seemed no more immune to his charms than any other female and melted at the gallant male attention. She gushed and pointed to the floor. “Thank you ever so much, but everything I need is in my case, my lord.”
He glanced down in justified shock, for the lady hadn’t been carrying anything as she crossed the yard. Yet, now a substantial wooden chest rested beside her.
“I believe we’re ready to leave,” Merryn said.
Braden called a stable boy over to load the lady’s baggage and then helped the two women aboard.
Merryn sat beside her aunt. The elderly lady squeezed Merryn’s fingers and smiled with obvious glee. Her aunt’s soft delicate wrinkled skin seemed frailer than she remembered. She would have been worried at having her aunt along on this dangerous mission, except she would be safer with Merryn than with the witches set to defend Callington.
She patted her aunt’s hand in comfort. Traveling here must have been a trial. Though Aunt Gwen could change herself into a wren with ease when young, as the lady grew older, her control of that talent had begun to waver. Now, the moment trouble brewed, her transformations often happened instinctively. Aunt Morwena no doubt had set a transform spell on Great Aunt Gwen before sending her on her way.
The earl entered the carriage and sat across from Merryn. He seemed to take up a large portion of the confined space and Merryn again realized what a substantial man he was. Tall, strongly built, with broad shoulders and those amazingly long legs.
A tap on the roof with his walking stick and the carriage rolled forward, jolting her against his legs until she hastily straightened. She ignored the amused quirk of his lips.
“I appreciate you ladies allowing me to ride in the comfort of your carriage,” Braden said.
As his warm gaze lingered on her lips, heat suffused her cheeks.
“My niece is a special young lady,” Aunt Gwen said. “Very generous and tender of heart.”
Braden’s gaze finally left Merryn and then swung toward her aunt. “Mrs. Truscott, are you aware of the mission your niece and I are on?”
“My lord, I am cognizant of all pertinent information. I am sure with your help young Trystan will be recovered and we will not be faced with a repeat of the tragedy that befell my great nephew.”
“Your great nephew?” Braden’s eyebrow rose in inquiry.
Merryn stiffened in her seat. This was a topic she rarely spoke about with anyone, not her family, and certainly not with Braden.
“Has Merryn not told you of what happened to Jonas?” Aunt Gwen asked in a surprised tone. “My dear child, do you not think he should hear of it? After all, it might involve the same players.”
Merryn lowered her gaze. “That’s old history, Aunt, best left buried and forgotten.”
“If it relates to Trystan’s case,” Braden said in a quiet voice, “I would like to hear of this tale.”
As the silence stretched, Merryn realized her aunt waited for her to tell the story. She heaved a resigned sigh and turned to look out the window. The cottages and shrubbery blurred as memories slowly returned. She relayed the events in short succinct sentences, not wanting to embellish any of the distasteful bits.
“When my brother was ten and I twelve, a fourteen-year-old warlock requested the Warlock Council’s permission to take Jonas on as his apprentice. They and my father rightfully refused. Unwilling to accept that decision, a year later, the warlock stole my brother. My parents tried to rescue him, and were killed. My brother tried to escape and he, too, died.”
She spat out the sad tale quickly, wanting the horrible words to be over, praying she would never be asked to speak them again. Still, her entire body revolted, as if she had again polluted herself with the bitterness of those past events.
On first hearing the devastating news of her parents and brother’s deaths at Dewer’s hands, Merryn had sworn to one day kill the fae-warlock. No, not just kill him. She had wanted to destroy everything he valued as he had done to her. She planned to torch his precious black tower that his mother built for him in south Wales. Then, she would snap and pull him apart as if she were dismantling a lobster at dinner.
Unfortunately, at thirteen, Merryn made the mistake of sharing her intention with Aunt Morwena. The elder witch had been appalled.
“First and foremost, Merryn Pendraven, witches DO NO HARM,” Morwena Dunstan admonished her bloodthirsty niece. “Never assume you know the entirety of an occurrence that happened outside your sphere. It is through such impulsive angers that people do the most damage. I, too, lament my dear sister’s and nephew’s passing, but do you see me react with malice in my heart? That is not the witchly way. I hoped for better from you.”
Drowning under waves of grief, Merryn had cringed with shame at having upset her aunt and let down the witch’s code. Yet her longing for revenge never faded and had been the impetus behind her vying to become Coven Protectress. Dewer’s bold invasion during her coming-out ball, where he fooled her into enjoying his company, merely added to her thirst for revenge.
She shivered, feeling cold and alone, despite the comforting arm her aunt placed around her shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” Braden said, and laid a hand on hers that heated her cold fingers. “You lost your whole family. Who was this vile warlock?”
Merryn could not bring herself to say the name.
“Devlin Chase Dewer, my lord,” Aunt Gwen whispered, as if saying the name might draw the warlock’s ire.
“Dewer is a warlock?” Braden sounded shocked.
“You know him?” Merryn looked up. Dewer was on the fringe of high society, so it was possible Braden and he were acquaintances.
“We’ve met once, briefly,” Braden said with a frown. “I had an appointment with him the night...” He paused to look at her thoughtfully. “Well, well, now that is interesting.”
“What is?” Merryn asked. “I’ve been quite honest with you, my lord. Will you return the favor?”
He nodded. “While I was in London, Dewer sent me a note asking to meet him at White’s. When I arrived there, a pack of hellhounds set upon me.”
“Oh my!” Aunt Gwen clutched at her chest, and in that instant, she vanished. In her place, a little brown wren fluttered frantically on the seat and then flew up, banging into the sides of the carriage walls and roof.
The bird sailed past his head and he ducked.
Merryn grabbed the wren and brought it to her chest, cooing softly, soothingly. “It’s all right, Aunt, you’re safe.”
Once the bird calmed, Merryn placed her aunt on the seat beside her and with a gentle finger stroked the soft brown feathers.
“Is that...” Braden sputtered.
“Shush.”
In a flutter of feathers and finery, her aunt again sat beside her. Unlike when Merryn changed forms, her aunt returned fully clothed.
“I’m so sorry,” Aunt Gwen said, a bright flush lighting her pale cheeks as she looked at Lord Braden.
Her aunt’s easy use of transformation magic, even at her age, tweaked envy within Merryn for her own shortcomings. She hoped during this journey she would not be forced to change back into human form in front of Braden.
“When you mentioned those fae hounds,” Aunt Gwen continued, “my heart nearly stopped.”
“We understand, don’t we, my lord? And Lord Braden is perfectly fine. He survived that encounter.” Merryn kicked Braden until he shut his gaping mouth and sat back, blinking.
“Yes.” Braden adjusted his neck cloth and jacket, though perspiration dotted his forehead.
Merryn plucked a brown feather from his hair and flicked it away, hiding her smile. “Now, where were we?”
“Devlin Chase Dewer.” Braden seemed to gather his thoughts, though he didn’t stop staring at Aunt Gwen.
“That fiend!” her aunt said. “I wouldn’t put it past him to have sent those terrible hounds after you. But why?”
“He likely intended to stop you coming to Callington,” Merryn said in a grim voice.
“As the warlocks are the ones who asked for the Church’s help,” Braden said, “I can’t imagine why one would try to interfere.”
“Dewer was expunged from the warlock community after his despicable actions,” Aunt Gwen said.
“I’m still confused over how Dewer’s involved,” he said. “Could the witch we follow be working for him?”
“Never,” both Merryn and Aunt Gwen said together.
“No witch with any sense of self-preservation would side with Dewer,” Merryn said.
“Then why did this witch take Trystan?” Braden asked.
“The answer to that question is what we must find in Wales,” Merryn said.
The conversation subsided as the carriage trundled along a forested pathway.
Aunt Gwen yawned wide. “That trip from Callington was tiring.”
“Now is a good time to rest,” Merryn said, her heart squeezing in sympathy for the stress she’d placed on her elderly aunt. “The trip is bound to prove uneventful. I will wake you when we arrive.”
Aunt Gwen nodded with gratitude and rested her head on Merryn’s shoulder. Merryn adjusted her arm to give the older lady a more comfortable perch. In moments, only her aunt’s soft whizzes of breath disturbed the silence.
Every once in a while, the old lady vanished and a bird appeared on Merryn’s shoulder, its head tucked firmly into its back, sound asleep. On the next snore, there would be her aunt, leaning against Merryn.
“I find that most disconcerting,” Braden finally said, after Aunt Gwen’s fourth transformation.
“Then you would find most of my family difficult to accept, my lord,” Merryn replied. “For instance, I have a young cousin who, whenever she visits, casts spells to hide any personal items left unattended. We’re forever searching for missing riding crops, hats, wraps, and pocket watches.”
“I thought my relations were bothersome,” Braden said.
His comment reminded her again how different they were. Merryn glanced outside and released a deep sigh for all that could never be. Her prospect, however, was soon interrupted by a pixie that waved at her from outside the carriage before vanishing. Merryn gasped in surprise.
“Something the matter?” Braden looked out as well.
“Not at all.” She turned back to look at him wondering why the pixie had come. She had befriended this particular fae on her journey back from Wales. Could she have news about trouble at Callington or with her gown? Knowing Cri, it could as easily be either.
