Some Enchanted Waltz (13 page)

“ . . . Your every wish will be a wish that I will make come true, and if you want the moon, I swear I’ll bring it down for you . . .
”

Adrian watched, utterly fascinated as her true fey nature was revealed. Tara spun slowly across the dance floor, her lyrical voice echoing through the vacant chamber. His fey wife seemed to be lost in another world. From the shadows he watched her float across the room, singing a beautiful ballad about giving everything for true love.   

“
I’d lie for you and that’s truth . . . do anything you ask me to . . . if you’ll just believe in me . . .”

As he observed her the conviction rose with renewed power. Tara was never on that ship.  How could one frail girl survive when the entire crew had been lost? The only answer was obvious: Tara was not of the mortal race, of that he was truly convinced. She could have been plundering that very ship after it was wrecked upon the rocks and been struck by a lightning bolt, which may have stunned her as it sent her flying across the waters and into the soldier’s clutches. Everyone knew fairies gathered the treasures of lost ships. It was theirs for the taking. Tara must have been suddenly plucked from her world and thrust into his. That was why she had no memory of her past life.    

The door to the outer hall opened. Tara stopped her musical incantation as the maid came in to announce the housekeeper wished to speak with Lady Dillon. Tara left the ballroom with the maid trailing after her, unaware of his presence in the shadows.

Adrian stepped out to where she had just danced before him. He crouched and touched the floor where her light feet had skimmed the marble, searching for a sprinkling of magic dust. He found none. The scent of moss and roses lingered in the air, tantalizing him. The years faded. He was a boy again, playing in the forbidden glen between the standing stones. His mother always cautioned him not to step inside the stone circle of Urgacht, it was said children who did so were kidnapped by the fey folk and left a changeling child in place of the one they had stolen. Adrian didn’t believe his companions would be so cruel. He trusted them. They were his playmates. They hid under the rocks and ferns in the forest, daring him to find them. Their silvery giggles always gave them away. They surrendered to him after he promised to release them again once their games of hide and seek ended.

“
Will you remember us, when you are grown, the master of your own world
?” The dainty sprite asked him boldly. “
When you are Lord of Glengarra will you uphold the ancient ways of our people?”

“Always.” His young heart had pledged. 

“
You may be asked to entertain one of our race unawares. You may be called upon to protect an innocent from the snares of mortal men.”

Adrian stiffened as the truth came to him: The barn. The men determined to assault Tara and to interrogate her with the lash.

 “
We reward those loyal to us
.” The fairy had him cautioned long ago. “
Will you open Glengarra’s gates to shelter those of our race who have lost their way?”

“Always.” Adrian whispered aloud. So he had pledged as a lad, and so he would carry out till his dying day. “Always.” He repeated wistfully, remembering that night he had rescued Tara from the soldiers.  

Mrs. Gray wanted to verify Tara’s orders of earlier that morning, as Lady Fiona was demanding her own wishes be adhered to in the matter of the lunch menu. To her husband’s credit, Tara learned that Adrian instructed the housekeeper to defer to his wife in all matters regarding the running of the household. Still, Lady Fiona’s temper had flared, and things were in a muddle. Would Lady Tara mind dreadfully if they served the soup Lady Fiona demanded today and serve her preference the next day?

Tara didn’t care one wit. The household was in confusion, fearing their positions would be forfeit as Lady Fiona had threatened. Tara gave in to keep the peace. Was this to be her future? Constant bickering over trivial matters as Lady Fiona struggled to hold her position in the household? It was ridiculous. This existence was ridiculous. Surely there had to be some other way of making it through the day instead of being badgered or ignored by the former lady of the household. Lady Fiona needed a hobby or a vocation.

And so do I
, Tara realized, as she headed for Adrian’s study.

He was out of the house. It seemed the best time to snoop, when the person being snooped upon was not in residence. She hoped she might find something here that linked her to her husband from the past. A love letter, a crushed flower, a lost glove belonging to her that he had lovingly stowed away to cherish until they were together again.

The master’s inner sanctum was decidedly masculine. Somber paintings graced the walls. The chairs were upholstered in dark wine colored leather.  His study was situated in the southwest corner of the castle. The large windows overlooked the Bay of Bantry.

Papers and documents lined his desk, tossed about in a haphazard manner that intrigued Tara. She traced her hand across the edge of the desk as she walked around to the overstuffed chair in front of it. A list had been drawn up of current prices for wool, mutton, butter and beef at the English markets, comparing them to prices in the neighboring countries of France and Spain.

Tara sat down at the desk, and picked up the reports before her. Why did England pay less for Irish goods? Considerably less. And yet the document beside this one warned that selling Irish goods to any foreign markets instead of Mother England was illegal.

The newspaper from London was a week old, and warned that Napoleon was threatening British waterways. A map was beneath the newspaper, marked with trade routes to France, Portugal, Spain, and Morocco.  Adrian had ear-marked the routes threatened by the French Navy as well as the British naval outposts along those routes.

Was he smuggling goods to other lands to make a fairer profit?

A legal document caught her eye. A marriage license bearing her name and his. Beside it, a tea cup half empty, with a wedge of lemon on the saucer told her he shared his mother's taste for a twist of lemon in his tea. A more recent paper from Cork hailed the shipwreck a disaster with complete loss of life.

Tara picked it up with an eerie, sinking feeling, her heart hammering in her chest.

She sat down slowly in the overstuffed chair smoothing the paper out as she carefully read the article. An eyewitness claimed he saw lightning strike the mast, igniting it. The fire spread to the main deck and the entire vessel was capsized by the force of the winds. According to the local authorities quoted in the paper, namely Lord Dillon and Baron Bantry, no one aside from herself had survived the wreck, although several bodies were as yet unaccounted for. A search was being conducted for her father, Mr. MacNeill, yet, it was assumed he drowned with the rest of the passengers.

Tara put the paper down slowly. She recalled the brilliant flash of blue and white light, and someone calling her name.

“
Wait, Tara--no. Don’t touch
. . . “

An image flashed before her with the burst of lightning. At her feet lay a very large, bearded man with worried blue eyes. That face was dear to her, evoking a feeling of comfort, as did the memory of his deep, baritone voice. 

“
Wait, Tara, don’t touch -
-” That deep voice echoed in her mind again and again.

“Don’t touch what?”  She gasped, lifting her still tender palms up in front of her face. The pink skin still held the imprint of touching something very hot. As she studied the delicate, newly healed flesh, she recognized the cause of the bizarre injury. “I must have been touching the mast.”

In that brief flash of memory, the man had been lying at her feet, cautioning her not to touch something as a jolt of lightning snaked down through it. Was he her father?

It was late afternoon. Adrian hadn’t returned, and his mother had become roaring drunk, again. Tara stood in front of the tall, mullioned windows of Lady Fiona’s red parlor, gazing out at the rain for a sign of him coming up the drive.

The older woman was sitting near the fireplace with a sullen look, having given the staff a stern tongue lashing that Tara knew they didn’t deserve. At lunch, she slapped the maid who served her creamed soup that she insisted had been made with curdled milk. After that, she tossed the bowl at the footman and summoned the entire household staff into the dining room and gave them a severe set down.

 Tara was so taken aback by her mother-in-law’s irrational behavior, she hadn’t intervened. She did go to the kitchens to apologize for the scene, and found the poor maid who had taken the brunt of Lady Fiona’s abuse weeping while the cook, the housekeeper and the other servants stood watching with tight lipped, grim faces. Tara had vowed in that moment that she would do something about Lady Fiona’s temper tantrums. What that something might be, she had no idea. And yet, Tara knew as the mistress of the house she had to stop the bitter woman from bullying the staff.

At the moment, Lady Fiona was passed out on the sofa. Tara turned away from the large mullioned windows spattered with the constant rain. Crossing the room, she pulled the servant’s bell. Within moments the door opened and a timid looking girl entered with a worried face.

“Send Mrs. Gray to me.” Tara sighed.

Moments later, Mrs. Gray, the gentle housekeeper, entered the parlor. “You asked to see me, my lady?”

Tara glanced at the prostrate form of Lady Fiona and back to the housekeeper. “Did Lady Fiona have a drinking problem before Miss Althea’s death?”

The gentle woman looked at her with wariness, fumbling with her keys as she seemed to evaluate Tara’s motives before answering. Tara began to wish she had kept her mouth shut, except that she couldn’t endure the thought of living indefinitely with such a dreadful woman, especially if Adrian intended to be absent most of the time, leaving her to deal with it.

Mrs. Gray stepped closer to her as she said in a barely audible tone, “If she enjoyed a bit more than is considered proper now then, why, who are we to say anything? The elder viscount’s death was unexpected, him being the consummate equestrian.”

“You mean Adrian’s father?”

The housekeeper nodded.  Tara continued her interview. “I am not familiar with the details of his death, Mrs. Gray. My husband never speaks of his father.”

“T’was said that my lord James fell from his mount while hunting and broke his neck. There was an uncommon amount of blood for such a wound, I daresay. The sheets were saturated, all of them. They used every sheet in the house before he was done bleeding out. I remember it well, as I had to order new ones. I’ve often thought, to myself, mind you.” The housekeeper stopped, looking about furtively before continuing. “I’ve often wondered if he didn’t in truth die from a musket wound.”

“You were not present at his death?”

“Oh, no Madame, they wouldn’t allow any of the servants in the room with him when he was dying. Since his passing, my lady fairly doted on young Althea, who was only thirteen at the time and it seems her death last autumn was my lady’s undoing.  Now the poor creature believes your husband will be taken from her as well and she’ll live to a ripe old age alone, bereft of her husband and both of her children.”

“I don’t understand.” Tara prodded, stepping closer to the small woman. “Adrian is strong and healthy.”

“Since her husband’s death she’s become obsessive about her son. They have had some fearful rows about him going out late in the evenings. No one is supposed to know that he does, but, we’ve eyes and ears, Milady, we are not statues as our betters wish to believe. She weeps, pleads and screams at his lordship. In the end he always leaves, with her screaming after him that he’s bound to come to the same end as his father.”

“Please, Mrs. Gray, have the footmen carry her upstairs, and see that she is placed comfortably in bed.”

Tara returned to the hearth to warm herself as she sought out the age old wisdom of the flames. She turned the housekeeper’s words about in her mind. 

In the end he always leaves, with her screaming after him . . . 

“Where does he go?” Tara whispered.

Chapter Nine

“Lady Fiona requires your presence in the morning room directly.”

Mrs. Gray had entered the room and stood waiting to escort Tara to her mistress. The stiffness of the request made Tara’s insides turn into a knot. What could the Dragon Lady want with her? She’d pointedly ignored Tara in the two weeks following her arrival from Seafield House.

The Grand Matron of Glengarra Castle was ensconced in her red and gold parlor, dressed in her usual widow’s weeds, waiting for Tara to attend her. When Tara entered the room, she patted the sofa beside her, intimating her desire for Tara to sit with her. A tea tray was laid out, complete with fresh baked sconces and seed cakes.

“Do sit, my girl. We’ve much to discuss. Do you take a twist of lemon?”

Tara gingerly took the seat beside her mother-in-law, wondering what had brought such a pleasant mood to the dour woman. Was she drunk? If that was the case, she wasn’t behaving in her usual manner, spiteful and sullen. The older woman waited for her to answer, holding the teacup as she waited with raised eyebrows.