The Lady of the Storm - 2 (14 page)

“I daresay,” agreed Sir Robert, beaming at Lady Cassandra. “Lady La’laylia of Stonehame had fallen in lust with her half-breed slave, a man captured in her recent skirmish with the lord of Bladehame.”

Giles dropped his hand from Cecily’s shoulder, and for the first time, neglected his military posture and shifted where he stood.

“She could not bear to see her half-breed lover turn into an old man,” said Lady Cassandra, with a wealth of sadness in her voice. “And so her slave stayed young for his lifetime. But even the elven lords cannot hold back death. La’laylia buried him with the ring still upon his finger.”

Cecily surmised the Rebellion wanted the ring for Mor’ded of Firehame, so he could continue to fool the other elven lords with his masquerade. But what of the Lady Cassandra? If they managed to find this ring, she would turn into an old woman while her lover never aged.

As if Cecily had spoken her thoughts aloud, Mor’ded leaned toward his lady and whispered, “As you have just said, there will always be magic between us, my lady.”

Lady Cassandra glanced up at him, tears in her soft brown eyes, but a brilliant smile blossoming upon her mouth.

“So you sent my father on a mission to rob a grave,” said Cecily, turning her attention back to Sir Robert. “Or did Roden discover La’laylia’s deception and take the ring back?”

“He tried,” answered Sir Robert. “But he could not find where she had buried the slave. And although the ring is unusual in that it can fool even an elven lord, the spell itself is harmless to their rule. The tale soon became lost to time, naught but a recording in the Rebellion’s archives, until we realized we might have a use for it.”

Cecily expelled a breath, leaning back in the cushioned chair. “Thomas journeyed to La’laylia of Stonehame’s sovereignty then, in the land of Stonehame. Did he find the grave?”

“We don’t know,” said Lady Cassandra. “I asked my maid, who has a talent for finding… things, if she could locate him. But alas, she could not find the light of his magic anywhere within the seven sovereignties. But her gift is not infallible—surely the vision Thomas sent you confirms this. He is the best spy the Rebellion has ever had. I have faith he is still alive.”

“We can be sure of nothing but his last known location,” warned Sir Robert. “He met with another contact of ours, a professor of archaeology at Oxford University.”

Lady Cassandra leaned forward. “So you see, Cecily dear, how important this mission is. Not only for your father, but also for the entire country. Many people have suffered to put a half-breed on Firehame’s throne, and Dom—the new Mor’ded has already saved many lives. But it will be dangerous. More dangerous than we might know.”

“I understand.” Cecily smoothed the folds of her skirts, wiping the moisture off the palms of her hands. How simple life had been in the village, the world of the elven lords and their magic seemingly far removed. But now she had been thrust into the thick of things, and for Thomas’s sake, she would not turn back. “But it makes no difference. I must still find my father.”

Sir Robert nodded, his face still slightly creased with uncertainty, but Lady Cassandra, and even the dread Lord Mor’ded of Firehame, smiled with complete confidence at her.

“Nay, Cecily,” said Giles, suddenly breaking his subservient silence. “You will
not
.”

Seven

The room went deathly quiet as all eyes turned to stare at Giles. Sir Robert glared at him for daring to speak; Mor’ded of Firehame’s black eyes held no expression, but Lady Cassandra’s soft brown gaze glittered with an odd, merry interest.

Cecily looked at him as if he’d suddenly gone mad.

Giles would not allow them to intimidate him, not even the powerful elven lord, who could probably toast Giles to ash where he stood.

Giles had listened to the tale of the ring with growing excitement and foreboding. Excitement for him, who relished the adventure Thomas had become a part of, but foreboding for Cecily. She could not venture into the Lady La’laylia’s sovereignty of Stonehame, a land rumored to be as arid and dry as any in England. Cecily could barely withstand the scarcity of water since they left Dewhame.

There might be little water for her magic to call upon, unless she summoned it from a great distance. And how much time would that take if she were in the midst of some danger?

He knew what his leaders intended. They would send Cecily out to test her magic, putting her into danger to see if she could use the power of the storm again. For she could call upon the power of the sky no matter which sovereignty she stood in.

This might be a trial by fire to see how much use she could be to the future of the Rebellion.

But they had not counted on Giles being here. And although he had great respect for Sir Robert’s leadership, Giles did not always agree with his methods on how England gained her freedom. But up until now, he’d never had cause to dispute them.

Cecily, of course, recovered first. “Don’t be ridiculous, Giles. Of course I will go after my father. That’s why you brought me here, remember?”

Giles lowered his voice, ignoring the others in the room and focusing on Cecily. The lady would listen to reason, and right now, her safety negated any other considerations. “I did not realize the enormity of the task. Nor did I think they would truly send a young woman after Thomas.”

She blinked those luminous blue eyes at him. “But you must realize I am best suited for it.”

“I realize nothing of the sort. You, my dear, are the worst person to be venturing into Stonehame. It is nearly as parched from mining as Bladehame, and you would have to cross the length of it to get near your ocean again. And you would wither before you managed it.”

A flash of uncertainty flickered in her elven eyes, and then that luscious little mouth firmed with resolve. “You saw Thomas. He reached out to me, and I will not turn my back upon him.”

Giles swiped a hand across his brow. He would not debate that again. But surely Thomas would not have wanted her to risk herself on his behalf. “I forbid you to go.”

She rose to her feet and poked a finger against his chest, the little minx. “You have no right to tell me what to do, Giles Beaumont.”

“Do you think I spent the last nine years keeping you safe just to let you toss your life away?”

“Ha. You resented every moment of it. And now you’re finally free! Why don’t you just enjoy it?”

“Because I…” Giles frowned. Cecily was right. He would finally be free to take on more important missions. Missions that involved the travel and adventure he’d always craved. She would soon be nothing but a part of his past, and he should be glad of it. So why couldn’t he let her go?

Giles lifted his chin. “Because you are England’s best hope.”

“She is indeed,” interjected Lady Cassandra, in a voice that shook with some suppressed emotion. “And we would not send her on such an important mission without aid. Sir Robert, I believe we have found the perfect man to accompany her.”

The heavy man replied in a low voice. “Do you think this is wise, my lady?”

“Indeed I do.”

Giles did not look at Sir Robert to see if he would agree or not, for Cecily’s eyes had narrowed along with her lips, with a fury he hadn’t seen the likes of since Breden’s men invaded her village. “You are the last person I would want to go with.”

Hadn’t Giles heard those very words from her lips before? It hadn’t mattered then and it didn’t matter now.

Sir Robert harrumphed. “So, Beaumont, I assume you accept this new mission?”

Giles lowered his head, his gaze still fixed upon Cecily’s stubborn face, and softly growled the words, “Damn right, I accept.”

“Well then.” Sir Robert clapped his hands together and rose. “I’ll ring for the footman to show you to your rooms. I suggest you both get some rest, for we have much to do in preparation for tomorrow.”

Giles glanced up, suddenly becoming aware of the rest of the people in the room. Lord Mor’ded watched him with a face that could have been carved from stone, but Sir Robert’s cheeks had turned red and Lady Cassandra looked… amused. Well, he’d surely managed to make a muck of things. “I… I apologize for my behavior. It appears my habit of protecting Lady Cecily has become ingrained in me.”

Lady Cassandra nodded elegantly. “So it seems. Which makes you a perfect candidate for this mission. You will bring her back to us safely, Mister Beaumont, and for that confidence, I thank you.”

Giles bowed deeply to her.

“Come, love,” continued Lady Cassandra, rising and settling her skirts about her ankles, “it is time to return to the game.”

Mor’ded of Firehame grimaced but rose in one fluid motion. “It was enjoyable to not have to pretend for a while.”

“Fie, it makes our stolen moments all the sweeter.” And she reached up and kissed his cheek, the elven lord’s jet black eyes warming at the gesture.

Giles would never have guessed at such passion between the two, had he not been privileged to meet them in such intimate surroundings. He had always thought the Rebellion had fueled their romance, but now he wondered if it hadn’t been the other way around.

Lady Cassandra hugged Cecily again, bidding her to be careful on their journey, and then the lady and her elven lord left the room via the wall near the fireplace. Shortly afterward, a footman appeared at the door in response to Sir Robert’s summons.

Cecily nearly fled the room.

***

She did not speak to him again until they were halfway to Oxford. They were to meet with a professor of archeology in the university city, following Thomas’s last known location.

They rode through Buckinghamshire, a gentle land of rolling hills and peaceful countryside dotted with occasional flame trees. Giles had chosen a course as parallel to the River Thames as possible, hoping to somehow bolster Cecily’s magic before they entered the land of Stonehame. He might have exaggerated slightly, for Stonehame had many more rivers left than Bladehame, but La’laylia’s magic had indeed drained the waterways to a shadow of what they had been before.

His heart lifted at the thought of what sights awaited him in Stonehame, while at the same time he struggled with fear for Cecily.

“Why did you do it?” she asked.

Giles glanced beside him, where she rode atop Belle. Sir Robert had wanted to provide her a new mount, but Cecily had insisted on the little mare.

He patted Apollo’s neck, understanding Cecily’s desire for the loyalty of a beast. “Do what?” he replied.

“Demand that you accompany me.”

Giles shrugged, for he barely understood it himself. Oh, granted he’d gotten into the habit of protecting her, but he had to admit that he had not been thinking when he’d insisted upon it. Only reacting to what his gut told him. “I have always wanted a dangerous assignment, after life in that little village. Can you think of any other that Sir Robert could have given me that would offer as much danger and adventure?”

Cecily brushed the loose tendrils of hair off her face. She wore a new dress, one that befit her role as daughter to a prosperous merchant, her former wool riding habit now replaced with a blue silk. To avoid attention she wore a black hooded riding cloak, the hood pulled low over her forehead. A matching blue silk lined the inside of the headpiece, and made her eyes appear an even more extraordinary blue.

The guise that Sir Robert had provided them seemed simple enough: a merchant’s daughter traveling to Stonehame to purchase gems for her father’s girdle factory, the man sick with the gout and unable to make the journey himself, and said old man lacking a son and forced to rely upon the training of his daughter.

Lady La’laylia of Stonehame encouraged the participation of women in business and trade, and the disguise further helped explain the amount of notes they carried, which Giles fully expected to use for bribery. Although he had official documents of entry stating Cecily’s nature and business, Giles knew a thing or two about the border patrols. And about getting the information he’d need to discover Thomas’s whereabouts.

Giles had been relegated to the part of Cecily’s guide and guard, with clothing consisting of a brown frock coat and buckskin breeches, of a finer cut and quality than his blacksmith’s garb. He wore new half jackboots, polished to a fine gloss, and a three-cornered black hat, with a new sword belt for his devil-blade.

He looked half-gentleman, half-servant, possibly a retired soldier. Giles approved of Sir Robert’s attempts to keep his enemies guessing.

“Giles?”

He started, realizing he had lost himself again in the blue of Cecily’s eyes. An annoying habit, that. “What?”

“I said you did not give Sir Robert the opportunity to offer you another mission.”

Giles sighed. Why did she keep pestering him for answers when he barely knew the truth of it himself? “I didn’t want another one, Cecily. Remember, Thomas is a friend of mine. He’s been my guide and mentor for many years. I want to find out what happened to him just as much as you.”

“Perhaps.”

But she kept searching his face with those crystal eyes of hers, as if trying to see into his very soul.

“Besides,” he muttered, hoping to put an end to this conversation, “you need me.”

“Not enough to endure your resentment.”

Giles brought Apollo to a halt, the smaller mare stopping right alongside. A wagon loaded with hay rumbled by them, but he’d already discarded it as a possible threat, and ignored the driver. He leaned down until his face lay near inches from her own. “What are you talking about?”

A small flush stole across her cheeks. “You made it very clear in every conceivable way how you felt about watching over me all those years. You couldn’t wait to be rid of me. And then”—she snapped her tiny fingers—“just like that, you insist on accompanying me to find my father. And now… now I must bear the thought of you forced into my company again.”

The little minx made no sense. He reached out and took her chin in his hand. “But I
offered
to go.”

“And that’s what I cannot figure.” She frowned, tiny lines etched across her heart-shaped forehead. “You are a wealth of contradictions, Giles Beaumont. You act as if you cannot bear to be near me, and yet you find every excuse to touch me. You say you cannot wait to be rid of me, but there you sit, still watching over me.”

Giles dropped his hand. Damn, and he had thought he’d done such a jolly good job of keeping his distance. Hadn’t he lain all night with her, skin-to-skin, and kept her pure? She should give him some credit, at least. “I am not meant for you. Thomas made that very clear. But that doesn’t mean I do not want you. There, is that what you wished to hear?”

She gasped. “You want—”

But Giles did not wait for her to finish. He did not appreciate being forced to admit it so baldly. He heeled Apollo and set off down the road, listening to make sure she followed. She had little choice, after all, since she rode atop Belle. As soon as he heard the little mare’s hoofbeats close behind, he took a path toward the river, hoping the water would distract Cecily.

Why did she continue to make him acknowledge the fact that he wasn’t good enough for her?

They rode for a time in silence, the soft beat of the horse’s hooves in the dirt a harmonic accompaniment to the soothing murmur of the water beside them, punctuated only occasionally with the splash of a fish breaking the surface or the trumpeting of a swan.

He stole a glance at her. Cecily wore a soft smile, making her appear even more beautiful than usual. Giles spun back around, swiping the hair off his face.

The only way he could make sure she survived her mission was to accompany her. But damn if it didn’t threaten to kill him.

They reached Oxford toward evening, riding through narrow, cobbled streets until he found an inn. They walked through the common room, nearly filled to bursting with students, and Giles glared them all down when they dared to cast appreciative looks upon Cecily. His devil-blade hummed and pulsed at his hip.

Aye, it would surely kill him.

He made arrangements with the innkeeper for supper in their rooms, and relaxed only when he had Cecily safely within the confines of her own.

“Giles,” she murmured, glancing around the small sparse room, “there is but one thing I wish to know, and I promise never to speak of it again.”

He tried not to groan, for he’d suspected that their earlier conversation had been on her mind all day. “I’m tired. Can this not wait until the morrow?”