The china upon the platter began to rattle more than usual
in Jackson’s aging fingers and that’s when she realized how distressed he was
about this whole scenario too.
“Jackson,” Christian said gently, as he too, took note of
the elderly gentleman’s emotional state. “Sit. Please. You may have my tea. I’m
not in the mood for it.”
Jackson collapsed into a leather chair. “Thank you, Son.”
With anger returning to his brow, Christian set piercing
eyes onto Tabitha. “As you were saying…”
Tabitha nodded and stirred sugar into her cup of tea, taking
her time in answering. “I sense a spell surrounding her, and this castle and
her name are part of the magic holding it together.”
“How can that be?”
“That much, I do not know. It is not the kind of magic I
practice. I use potions and spells from a book that has been in my family for
centuries. But this is different. This is fashioned with words in a language I
do not know.”
“So you cannot break it.”
“Certainly not.”
“Did the prince murder her with magic?”
“Someone did.”
“Bloody hell.”
Jackson ran a shaky hand through the snow white cloud about
his head masking as hair. It wasn’t the first time he’d done so, and Tessa
began to worry the man would finish the day bald.
The butler scowled at Christian and spoke, sounding more
like an uncle than a servant, “Christian, your mouth is a slippery place. I
suggest you watch your tongue.”
Christian began rubbing his nape again, but with more
aggression in the movement. “Yes, sir. I apologize.” After shifting in his
seat, he said, “Who could do such a thing? Who could kill with magic?”
“Anyone who wields it, I suppose.”
“Could you?”
“There are such incantations…certainly a witch or warlock
could do it, but the victim would not be imprisoned as a ghost.”
“Who else?”
“Faeries do have a great deal of magic.”
“They exist then?” asked Christian.
“Oh, most certainly.”
“And they could kill?”
“I’m certain that too is possible, if they’d been provoked.”
She knew Christian would not believe her capable of
provoking a wee sprite. And so the mystery remained. Had the prince truly done
it, as she’d believed before? Was he a warlock? That seemed possible. And
thinking back upon her dream, she knew there was nothing about him that even
remotely resembled the faeries depicted in Christian’s book. Therefore, he most
certainly was not a faerie.
“Well,” began Christian, scratching his arm, “what do we do
now? What can be done to correct…to bring her back?”
The witch gulped down the remainder of her tea, did not
answer, and began pouring a refill. Once her cup was full, she set it aside and
reached for her tapestry bag. After fumbling around long enough to have both
men fidgeting like a couple of boys, she tugged out a leather-bound tome that
looked too heavy for the woman to handle by herself. Yet somehow she managed
it.
After perusing a number of pages, she finally lifted her
head. “I see no spells that I think will help. I’m sorry. However, I suggest
you continue doing what you’ve done before. Continue speaking her name.”
“Even though you had warned against that before?”
“The damage to the spell has been done. I also do not know
for what reason it was put into place or even if it is what killed her. In my
opinion, it does not matter if you continue. Either way the magic is falling
apart.” The witch fidgeted as though the fluffy chair she was seated in had
suddenly sprouted rocks. “But, my lord, how can you take this risk? What if we
make this worse? What if she truly is at risk? What if my impression about her
is accurate?”
It was quite clear Christian was not comfortable with that.
He kept casting sidelong glances her way, and attempting to touch her with
desperate hope written upon his face. Hope that she would soon be tangible to
him again. “Tabitha,” he began, a hint of weariness tainting his voice, “I must
have her back.”
“Even if it could mean her death a second time?”
“How can she be in danger from something that happened
hundreds of years ago? The villain would be dead.”
“With magic involved—”
“I’ll keep her safe. I vow it.”
“As a mere mortal man, you may not be able to—”
His eyes met with hers as he addressed her, “Contessa, do
you want to live again? Do you wish to take this risk?”
“Yes,” said Tessa. She did not need any time to think that
through.
“I could try the seer stones another time,” offered Tabitha.
“Would you, please?” asked Christian.
The witch dug around in her bag again and removed the
rounded rocks. She stood, chanted a series of foreign words over them, tossed
them into the air, and then bent over them as they thumped to the floor.
This time she did not bother collecting them, but sank back
into her seat. Her thin fingers worked the fabric on her sleeve into a twist.
“I fear she is still in danger.”
Christian’s face fell, and she was certain her heart did
too. “From what?”
“I do not know.”
“Can
you
protect her?”
Tabitha seemed quite surprised Christian had acknowledged
that perhaps he could not keep her safe on his own.
“I do believe, that between the two of us, we can avoid
peril to her life,” was what Tabitha said, but her eyes conveyed a different
message.
Tessa noticed the contradiction, as did Christian, and he
questioned it. “Tabitha, you must not hold back in this.” His hand settled over
hers again, and she knew he could feel the heat he’d experienced before. “What
are we up against?”
Looking truly frustrated now, the witch said, “I’m deeply
sorry, my lord, I do not know. The stones don’t work like that.” She stood and
hunched back over the rocks, pointing. “This one here, the spider, is a warning
of danger, perhaps a trap of some kind. And this one, depicting wind confirms
it by the way it has fallen next to the spider. And in this case, the stone
could be a warning for both of you.”
“Me?” asked Christian. “How so?”
“Again, there is nothing here that depicts what the danger
is; only that it is there. And you are part of it, my lord.”
He bent over and curled fists into his wavy hair. “Well,” he
said, slowly, “there is nothing to be done to change that. We will continue as
we have, but with caution.”
“I see no other option,” agreed Tabitha.
Christian stood and offered his arm to Tessa. She looked at
it, frowning with the knowledge that she could not take it.
“Come, Contessa, I will escort you to your chamber.”
Reluctantly she rose and turned ghostly fingers around his
bicep, then glanced at the witch.
“It is all right for now, my sweet, you don’t need a
chaperone in this state.”
That comment started up a return of her tears.
Chapter
20
House
Guests
His molars just may crack if he keeps clenching them with
such intensity. And, he may be ill. Quite ill. Sick all over the floor, in
fact.
Muriel had arrived with her mother. Tessa was still a ghost
and had only stopped weeping for short bouts here and there since they’d
returned. He wanted to cry right along with her. Because his own mother had
paid a visit at the same time, hoping to get to know Lady Contessa better,
hoping he’d fulfill her wish for him to marry. And if it didn’t work out with
her, then he knew she had her eyes set upon Muriel. Why? He’d never understand.
This was a nightmare….
“My lord?”
“What?” snarled Christian, then when he noted the frown on Jackson’s face, he straightened his spine and corrected his tone. “Sorry, w hat is it?”
“Are you quite finished?”
Christian looked down at his dessert plate. It had been one
of Margaret’s best sticky puddings ever, and he’d only eaten half of it. Not
wanting to offend his cook, he forked up two large bites cleaning off the dish.
Jackson then added his to the other plates he’d gathered,
and shuffled from the dining room.
Along with Muriel, Lady Spencer, and his mother, although
unseen, Contessa was there as well. She sat, looking utterly glum with her
little chin propped on her palm as she lingered above an empty seat. He knew he
should be more careful. It was obvious his mother had noticed his gaze, which
had shifted to that
empty
chair repeatedly during the entire meal,
because she’d followed the line of his sight each time.
Even so, he could not stop himself as he kept thinking,
my
poor, poor Tessa
. She’d had to watch course after course of fine food be
served to all but her. The longing in those big green eyes of hers nearly broke
his heart. She would have loved that pudding, he thought, his teeth clenching.
He’d wanted to tell her to leave, to not torture herself by watching the others
dine in front of her, but if he did that, they would have heard him and would
wonder if he’d lost his mind. Internally he growled. He had to fix this! But
how?
“Christian?” his mother said, drawing him from his thoughts,
“where is Lady Contessa?”
This certainly got Muriel’s attention. Out of the corner of
his eye he noticed her chin notch up in that stubborn way of hers.
Again he rose from his morose slouch. “She’s with her
parents, but I expect her to arrive soon,” he said, hoping his words weren’t
simply a mouthful of wishful thinking.
Jackson and one of the maids returned with tea after the
meal.
“I’m looking forward to it,” replied his mother.
His “Me, too” coincided with Tessa’s “Please, please, please”.
But he was the only one who heard her.
Muriel nearly broke her teacup as she angrily tossed cubes
of sugar into it.
He felt his mouth twitch as he stifled the laugh wanting to
burst out of him.
Why wouldn’t she just give up and leave already? He’d been
the most horrible gentleman, avoiding her as subtly as he could without his
mother noticing. Of course he’d pretended to be civil, but he also knew he’d
come across quite aloof. Based on the tight line of her mouth, his actions were
pricking at the spoiled chit’s mood, an outcome he was quite pleased with. Not
to mention how any comment about Tessa seemed to amplify her level of vexation.
What else could he say to irritate her just a little more…?
“Christian?” He really wished she would stop calling him
that.
His response was to raise an eyebrow at her as though she
were an insect buzzing about the room. Alas, it did not seem like she caught
the message. His shoulders sank back into their slump.
“Would you show me the garden?”
Alone, he knew she was hoping. His eyes returned to the
sweet spirit next to him. He couldn’t do this to her. Would not….
“It is all right, Christian. I-I understand,” said Contessa.
With her jaw set, her face lifted from her upturned palm with a regal air. She
blinked rapidly and then lowered her gaze while her charming chin held firm.
He was not all right with any of this! And he didn’t want
her to be understanding. Several oaths stomped through his mind as her lashes
lifted revealing the tears that had gathered in her eyes. Visibly proving she
hadn’t really meant what she’d said. Without warning, she rose and flew through
first the table and then the door as she fled the room.
He wanted to follow her, say her name a hundred times, and
feed her so many sweets she would sleep like a baby until noon and her gowns
were so snug the fabric pulled at the threads holding them together.
“A walk, Christian, will you take me?” repeated the brat.
It took a great deal of effort for Christian to not roll his
eyes in disgust. But it seemed he wasn’t getting out of it. Without speaking he
nodded and then bellowed, “Jackson!” causing the others to jump.
It didn’t take long for the old man to return. “Yes, my
lord?”
“Walk with us,” he commanded the butler, then stood and
offered an arm to Muriel.
Those slate-blue eyes rounded. “He—we mustn’t trouble your
butler. Mother will join us.”
“Yes, I’ll come,” said Lady Spencer, rising from her chair.
He didn’t trust his
safety
alone with those two any
more than he’d trust a litter of plump kittens to survive time alone with a
fox.
Christian shared a look with Jackson, conveying with his
eyes that he still needed the old chap as chaperone for himself. Jackson’s
slight nod showed he’d gathered the meaning of Christian’s desperate
expression.
He knew it was immensely rude, but he did not bother to
temper his longer stride as they followed the path around the rose bushes. Muriel
and her mother had to take three steps for every one of his; even then they
were struggling to keep up. Christian smirked. He was enjoying listening to the
two ladies huff and puff along behind him. It certainly kept the ever chatty Muriel
quiet. The last thing he wanted was to hear about the
ton
and all of the
parties she was going to be attending.
The only guilt he felt was when he caught sight of poor Jackson, shuffling along behind the entourage as fast as his geriatric legs could move.
Sweat created a shine on his brow, plastering his white hair to his skin. He
knew he’d have to make it up to the loyal gent later.
Contessa had remained out of sight since dinner, and deep
down, that troubled him. As they neared the corner of the garden, he could see
where her chamber window would be if he could see it, but it seemed he could
only see the chamber while with Contessa, and while inside it. His eyes moved
along the wall from there, he could see the window for the chamber his mother
was staying in…and she was watching. And frowning.
Certainly his mother was not pleased with this visit. With
him. Somehow he needed to remedy that or his finances would suffer. He needed
Contessa back, because it would be a cold day in Hell before he began courting
Muriel Spencer.