The cauldron effect, p.38
The Cauldron Effect, page 38
She suspected that was how the warlock by her home tricked her into thinking she was paralyzed. It reminded her too much of what her mother had gone through, slowly losing the ability to distinguish between reality and delusion.
Lord Flint was a warlock. She’d been physically attracted to him since the Cunnington ball. Who was to say that wasn’t a warlock mind trick? She’d heard that some demons, creatures of the night, could mesmerize a person into trusting them.
She touched the mark and asked a question that had plagued her since her first meeting with the debonair Flint. “Did Lord Flint cast a spell on me the night of the Cunnington ball?”
The band did not react.
She glanced at Llyr in confusion and the barrier’s shoulder movement looked like a shrug. Be specific. The band deals with discernment of truth.
She pondered the best way to rephrase her query – she wanted something similar to her first test, but covering both truth and lie. Hmmm...this time she would pose her question as a statement of fact. Then the mark might show her the difference between her two statements. New wording came to mind but it brought a blush of heat to her cheeks. This time, she spoke silently and hoped Llyr could not read minds as easily as he could transmit his thoughts.
My reaction to Flint is a result of my physical attraction to him.
The band glowed blue, tingling along her skin. Truth then. The implication was both troubling and satisfying. The mark’s response to her next statement could seal the deal.
My reaction to Flint is the result of a warlock spell he cast on me.
The band glowed red, searing her skin.
“Ouch!” she cried, but the sensation faded as quickly as it arose, leaving her terribly pleased and yet troubled.
She glanced at the beautiful rise and fall of the mark as it curved around and under her arm. The blue and green vine was stark against her fair skin. It was high enough up that if she wore her sleeves down to her wrist, no one might see it. She covered it with her hand wanting to hide it from everyone’s sight, but what an invaluable gift for her current endeavor. What would happen after she finished helping her brother? When she no longer needed it?
She immediately recalled Flint holding her earlier, his hands firm and protective around her waist while she probed this magical barrier. She had enjoyed his hold, but he was a warlock. His friends were warlocks. Anyone who married him would have children who would have their father’s extraordinary power. An ability that no human, like Lady Flint, like herself, could ever hope to match or counter.
She gripped the mark and a smile tilted her lips up. Unless she had help. Suddenly, the idea of wearing long sleeves for the rest of her life seemed a paltry price for such an invaluable gift.
She turned and found her unexpected benefactor observing her with an intent stare.
As you become more acclimated to the band, Llyr said, so, too, will it adapt and evolve to accommodate your needs.
“Why?” Her inquisitive nature raced past her manners. What she had meant to say was a heartfelt, Thank you. Instead, what came out was, “Why me?”
Llyr withdrew, as if the question was unwelcome.
She cursed herself. She should have stuck to thanks.
Then, softly, Llyr responded. You acknowledged me, Mary Bryght.
In a moment, she was on the other side of the barrier and gently lowered onto dry ground. As were her companions, the horses, dog and cat.
Mary turned, guilty for having missed her chance to give her gratitude. She reached for the barrier and felt nothing between where she stood and the lake lapping before her feet.
She covered the band and whispered, “Thank you.”
Then she said silently, Llyr heard me.
The mark glowed a gentle sea blue before subsiding, attesting she spoke a truth.
Beside her, Joan reacted differently to being rescued. The maid screamed, an ear-splitting sound. She stumbled across the field, fell, got up and ran toward the road leading to the village that they had passed in the carriage.
“You’ll need a new maid, Miss Bryght.” Lady Flint patted her own elderly maid’s shoulders. “Your next choice must come from sturdier stock if you plan to continue associating with warlocks, my dear.”
“Mother, may we discuss domestic matters another time?” Flint said. “For now, we must decide how best to proceed.”
He glanced at Mary with a lifted eyebrow. “I don’t suppose this experience has changed your mind about uncovering warlock secrets, Miss Bryght? If so, we could return to London by morning.”
Was that a hidden entreaty in his voice? Mary took a deep breath and released it. This trip was likely to be more dangerous than either she or her brother had ever envisioned. No doubt Flint considered her more trouble than he needed.
How unfortunate for him.
The Bryghts, too, came from sturdy stock. She had no intention of being thwarted from her quest by a rogue warlock or an inconvenienced one. Not when her brother counted on her to finish this important task.
Flint stood utterly still as if holding his breath while awaiting her verdict
With her hand still wrapped over Llyr’s band, she made her decision. “As your mother suggested earlier, my lord, our next most urgent need is for a new carriage. To carry us to Scotland.”
The dropping of his shoulders suggested her response was a disappointment.
She tugged her sleeve over her forearm before anyone noticed her new markings. Now that she had support, over and above Flint’s dubious guardianship, Mary was anxious to get on with their trip. Not least of all to get her to a hot bath. His lordship must wait a few more days to return to his London entertainments.
HUGH OBSERVED MISS Bryght’s furtive tug of her right sleeve. When the barrier first picked him up as if he were a child, both her sleeves were buttoned at the wrist. He would swear to it. By the time they were dropped to the ground on this side, her right sleeve was pushed up. Unfortunately, he hadn’t noticed the difference until she tugged the cloth downward.
She might have been hurt during the transfer. Most women would not shy from admitting it, crying at the first sign of a scratch. Then again, she was unlike most women.
“Are you well, Miss Bryght?” Healing wasn’t his primary talent, but he had the basic training to ease the pain of a scrape.
Her gaze spun to meet his and then flew away, her cheeks turning a delightful pink. “I’m fine, thank you.”
Suspicion shouldered aside his concern. She was hiding something.
With a probing gaze, he studied her. A clandestine sweep of her long lashes over melting brown pools hinted at secrets. Then an impish smile tantalizingly lifted a corner of her full lips.
They had almost died and she smiled?
Now he thought of it, she’d sported this same playful expression the first time she touched the barrier and then turned to insist on the absurd notion that the magical wall was alive.
His chest flared hot and acrid, a sensation oddly reminiscent of jealousy. He scoffed at the thought. Of what could I possibly be jealous? An inanimate wall?
Besides, why should he be jealous at all? He wasn’t the least interested in wooing this young human female, however attractive she might be.
When he married – unfortunately, it would of necessity have to be with a human, since witches rarely consented to lifelong unions with warlocks anymore – he would not court the lady’s affections.
Courting a lady would be a waste of time. Human women were fickle with their affections, as his mother proved daily. He wasn’t about to lay his heart on the ground to be trampled.
No, he would make a bargain with a suitable lady’s family, as his father had with his mother’s parents. Love would play no part in the arrangement.
A pounding started in his left temple and he rubbed it as he gazed at the lake lapping by the shoreline. He was tempted to test the properties of that barrier. He knew better. Alive or inanimate, that was a dangerous divide. Some mysteries were better left unexplored.
Not so Miss Bryght’s connection to the wall. Something had happened during her transit. Something other than what he had experienced. That seemed impossible. The entire transfer had taken no more than a few seconds.
To me.
He took his mother’s elbow and led her away.
“What is the matter, Hugh?” she asked.
What wasn’t the matter with their current situation? “I’m curious. What did you feel when you came through that crossing?”
“Well, one moment we were held aloft above the lake. The next we were on land on this side. Did it not seem so to you?”
“Exactly so.” He hesitated, but then had to ask the next question bursting to get out. “Do you suppose it was the same for Miss Bryght?”
His mother looked over to the lady.
Miss Bryght looked back at them with obvious curiosity.
He pretended to watch the hysterical maid still tramping across the large, freshly harvested, hay field. He had been tempted to go after the silly twit but feared his approach would likely give the woman heart failure rather than relief.
“Do not stare at Miss Bryght so,” he said in the barest of whispers.
“I’m not staring, dear. I’m studying. Yes, the girl does seem changed. She blushes and appears inordinately affectionate toward her right forearm. Her breathing is also accelerated. Then again, so is mine. One does not float in midair every day. What do you suspect?”
Again, he hesitated, his curiosity to speak of his suspicions warring with his instinct to stay aloof from his mother. Confiding in her felt out of place.
Instinct won. “Nothing.”
Intrigue ran rampant on his mother’s face. His blunder at openly questioning her about Miss Bryght must have revived her forgotten strategy to match him to the young lady.
He searched for an escape and spotted Atalie who had run off the moment her paws touched the ground. She explored the hayfield with Caden. Good for her for trying to befriend the dog.
At his call, she ambled over. He went to meet her halfway.
She leapt onto his shoulder. Smelling of mud and hay, she rubbed her silky cheek against his in greeting. Why were you speaking with the Deserter?
Never mind my mother, Atalie. When we crossed over, what did you experience?
It was but a moment in time. Why?
Hugh’s tensed shoulders relaxed. I seem to weave intrigues where none exist.
She settled across his back and shoulders, wrapping her tail around his neck. May we leave soon? I do not like it here.
Better on this side of that barrier than the other, he said.
Agreed. Still, too close. What if it plucks us up again and dumps us in the lake this time? The Wise One may not be able to influence it a second time.
Hugh’s pulse jerked. What makes you think Miss Bryght did that?
Atalie gave a mental shrug. She spoke while inside the shield. I assumed she bargained for our safe passage.
When? With whom? With the barricade?
Again, that elegant feline shrug. We did not travel the same path.
How do you mean? We all came from the other side of the wall to this side.
While my crossing appeared to cover a space the width of a leaf, the Wise One appeared to pause inside a large, watery room.
That’s impossible. He seemed to be saying that often. It grew monotonous.
There was something even stranger, Atalie said. Our time, too, was different.
Hugh struggled to breathe past the constriction in his throat. How could he have missed so much? How?
My passage was but a blink in time, Atalie said. She was inside that room for longer, yet arrived on this side at the same moment as me. I do not understand it.
That makes two of us. Why had Miss Bryght not spoken to him about her unusual experience? A hot flare of curiosity mixed with unease plagued his chest as his gaze was again drawn to the lady in question.
Although I witnessed her exchange inside the barrier, Atalie continued, I did not overhear the bargain she struck. It must have been to our benefit. We were freed.
Freed, yes, but at what cost? Hugh kept this last and most troubling question to himself.
While Miss Bryght observed the now placid lake, she gently stroked her right forearm as if she petted a cat.
He let out a sigh flavored with frustration, and determined then and there that before Miss Bryght’s pretty head touched a pillow this night, he would discover what she kept hidden under her sleeve. The information could be pertinent. He had his mother’s welfare to think of. This journey was perilous enough without one in their party withholding information.
He ignored the fact that he held the biggest secret of all - his mission to sabotage Miss Bryght’s goal. He shrugged off that poke by his conscience. He would deal with the Council’s expectations when the time came.
“Hugh,” his mother called. Miss Bryght was by her side. “What are we to do next?”
He came closer to speak without the need to shout. “We cannot go to the closest village.”
Miss Bryght’s maid was on her knees. She’d reached the road before collapsing, her breathing labored. She looked back at them, gave a mindless cry and scrambled up to lumber onward. “Even if no one believes what that woman says, her hysterics could stir trouble. Humans do not care for unusual occurrences.”
“That depends on the occurrence,” Miss Bryght said.
A loaded statement. He withheld comment but his jaw ached from clenching. Consciously, he relaxed his face. Time for exploring Miss Bryght’s role in their rescue would come later. For now, he must move his party to safer quarters before that warlock returned.
Not that Hugh would mind another chance to best the villain; he was in the mood for a good fight. However, not with ladies nearby.
“Might the warlock who chased us return, Hugh?” his mother asked.
“He could,” he said, startled that her thoughts mirrored his thinking. “We should continue our journey toward Grantham. I want to reach it before sunset.”
“It will be a long and dreary ride on horseback.” His mother sounded weary, but resigned.
His heart contracted in sympathy overlaid with guilt. Though he had not invited her on this journey, once she joined, she became his responsibility. Thus far, he had done a slip-shod job of caring for her. His father would not be proud.
Surveying the terrain, the tall hay mounds, some as tall as a horse, caught and held his attention. An idea grew. He visualized it for his familiar. What do you think, Atalie?
She purred her approval.
“Excuse me, ladies,” he said, and strode toward the groom who coaxed the carriage horses away from one of those hay mounds.
His mother’s corgi ran over to Hugh, tail wagging. On reaching Hugh, he barked a welcome.
Atalie hissed.
“Enough,” Hugh said, more to Atalie than Caden but the dog’s tail drooped and he ran off toward his mistress.
I thought you two were getting along? he said to Atalie.
We are, but only if he keeps to our bargain and stays away from you, Atalie said with aplomb.
Hugh rolled his eyes at his possessive cat. Play nice, my dear. You are my chosen familiar. That will never change.
Atalie was silent a moment as she considered his words and then purred her contentment.
“Where is his lordship going?” Miss Bryght asked behind him. She stood beside his mother, far from him, but her singsong voice carried her words clearly in the open air.
His mother did not respond but a moment later Caden barked rapidly.
Hugh checked back to see what had upset the dog. His mother bent to pick him up. Once she straightened, she answered Miss Bryght in a tone of proud approval. “He’s off to procure us transportation.”
Hugh’s strides then took him too far away to hear the rest of their conversation but he had heard enough. How does she do that, Atalie? Read my intentions like a book?
Bastard was frightened, Atalie said. You said to play nice, so I shared your idea for leaving here. Bastard blabbed to the Deserter.
That’s impossible. For the moment, Hugh put aside his astonishment that his familiar could speak with his mother’s ordinary pup. The more pressing matter was Atalie’s absurd assertion that the dog could speak to his mother. My mother is a human. She cannot converse with her dog the way we speak.
As impossible as it is for a magical barrier to speak with Miss Bryght?
Her question was unanswerable. Did he even know anything about how this world truly functioned? Most of what he understood about humans came from his mentor. Robert Spencer insisted that humans were not the ignorant superstitious rabble most warlocks labeled them. Some humans were known to work earth magic. Could his mother do so?
Even more troubling was the concept that she might be proud of Hugh’s ability. Throughout his childhood, he’d assumed she deserted her family in favor of the thrills of London because she was uncomfortable, perhaps even disgusted, by her husband and son’s other-worldly talents. If he was wrong about that, what other of his assumptions were in question?
Chapter 10
“That dog’s finally left,” Fennel said to his fellow hay mound.
“Dogs are the worst,” Garadh replied. “They pee on you and refuse to even cover up. That’s our lot in life, Fennel, to be pissed on, and then eaten and pooped out. It’s the circle of a hayfield’s life. Accept that fate and you won’t be disappointed.”
“I once dreamed I would travel to far off places, see the world, and have exciting adventures,” Fennel said as the dog lifted his left leg and relieved his bladder. “Ew! Now my left flank is warm and wet and smelly.”
“You have more trouble coming your way,” Garadh said. “Look who approaches yonder.”
A man strode in his direction. Tail wagging, the corgi ran up to him. The pup barked and the cat riding the gentleman’s shoulder hissed.
