Solstice at Stonewylde (31 page)

She lay in the marble bath a little later, her head emerging from a sea of fragrant foam and her thoughts drifted as she relaxed in the hot, silky water. She remembered how she’d brought Yul here on the eve of the Summer Solstice having rescued him from the quarry. He’d been overwhelmed by the grandeur and extravagance, poor Yul. He had no idea of the luxury of the Hall or the lifestyle here and was out of place anywhere other than the Village and his woods. It wasn’t his fault, of course, simply the way things were. Sylvie remembered how she’d once longed to live a simple life in the Village, wearing a home-spun shawl and carrying a wicker basket. She smiled at the notion and felt the hot steam bring beads of perspiration to her pink face as she luxuriated in the white marble tub.

When Sylvie walked back into the room in her bath robe, glowing and smelling lovely, Miranda wordlessly handed her another note from Magus, just delivered by Harold. Sylvie’s heart sank thinking he was cancelling the dinner; she certainly didn’t relish the prospect of an evening with her crabby mother. But
instead he asked if she’d wear the evening dress that had arrived that day. It was only then that Sylvie spotted the boxes lying on the table and hurried to rip them open, crying out with delight as she removed the tissue paper.

Miranda sat down and picked up her knitting, pointedly ignoring Sylvie’s rapture as she examined her beautiful new things. The dress was sleeveless, a deep shimmering green made of watered silk, cut on the bias. There was a black pashmina of the finest texture imaginable, elegant high-heeled shoes and lovely underwear. Sylvie felt like Cinderella as she took the things into her room to get changed.

Magus greeted her with a glass of amber mead. He wore a dark suit over a black shirt and looked strikingly attractive, his illness now passed but his face still hollowed and interesting. His blond hair gleamed in the candlelight, for the room was lit by many tiny flames. He smiled, kissing her cheek lightly, his black eyes glittering. Sylvie felt nervous standing in the figure-hugging dress, her neck, shoulders and arms exposed. He’d removed the pashmina as she entered the room and she felt embarrassed, unused to such a sophisticated and adult style of dress. Without the wrap she was also very conscious of the disfiguring purple bruises on her wrists and arms. Her hair fell like a curtain of silk to her waist and she felt Magus’ eyes on her, taking in every detail of her appearance. He toasted her and drank his mead in one go whilst she sipped at hers. She loved the taste of it but knew it made her dreamy and drowsy.

A log fire blazed in the great fireplace and they went to stand by it, for Sylvie was shivering a little.

‘Have you had a good day?’ he asked, pouring them another glass of mead from a crystal decanter.

‘Yes, thank you. I worked in the library and did some research for my history coursework, for next year.’

‘Good. I missed you today, Sylvie. I’ve been out riding for most of the day – I needed the air and the exercise after being cooped up in here for so long. And Nightwing needed a good hard ride
too. That horse forgets his manners if I neglect him for too long. But I’ve blown my cobwebs away now and reminded Nightwing of who’s the master.’

‘I rode a horse with Yul recently.’

It was a silly thing to say, but she had a ridiculous urge to make him jealous. She was still annoyed that he’d abandoned her all day without letting her know.

‘Really?’ He seemed unperturbed. ‘I didn’t think the boy had a horse.’

‘He borrowed it, an enormous white one.’

‘You mean a grey. That would probably be Edward’s. Interesting to know he’s been helping Yul. Drink up, Sylvie – the mead will warm you. Let me pour you another one. So you shared the same horse, did you?’

She nodded, sipping her third glass of mead and knowing she must slow down. She’d eaten nothing all day and could feel her body becoming warm and tingly already. Everything seemed a little unreal as he smiled at her, eyes bright and fathomless.

‘How very intimate. Was this before the moon-rise?’

‘Yes, we went through the woods and I felt as if we were part of a fairy tale. It was misty, and there were amazing red toadstools everywhere.’

‘And tell me, did you ride to the cage he kept you in? I’m intrigued by this cage and I really can’t imagine how he came by such a thing.’

‘We rode quite a way and then he tied the horse up in a clearing in the wood, and the cage was just a bit further on.’

‘A metal cage?’

‘No, it was made out of tree.’

‘A wooden cage?’

‘No, a tree cage.’

‘Of course – I know the tree cages! I used to go there as a boy and had great fun up there!’ He laughed. ‘What a clever idea … but he had to tie you up first to get you in there, I’d imagine. Is that how you were injured?’

‘Yes, I guess so.’

Sylvie put the empty glass down on a small table and stood looking into the fire. She suddenly felt very weary and wondered why she was here at all. Magus again sensed the change in her mood and pulled a bell rope by the fire. Almost immediately there was a discreet buzz from the dumb waiter.

‘Go and sit down,’ he said, nodding towards the beautifully laid table. A great silver candelabra glowed on the snowy linen, making the cutlery and glass twinkle. He opened the panel and began to bring dishes of food over. Sylvie watched in a detached way as he looked after her every need, serving her tiny portions, fussing over the napkin on her lap, pouring her some iced water.

‘I don’t want you getting intoxicated,’ he said, smiling. ‘You can have some more mead later, but I think you’ve had enough for now, don’t you? And see, Sylvie, I’m not over-feeding you any more. This isn’t too much, is it? Now we’ve ordered all those new clothes you mustn’t put on any weight or nothing will fit!’

She enjoyed the meal and felt her spirits revive as she ate. After a while she began to sparkle and laugh, teasing and joking with him. By the end of the meal she’d cast aside all her earlier misgivings but still felt slightly removed from the moment, as if somebody else were in her body. The sensation was quite pleasant. Then Magus stood and took a jewellery box from the mantelpiece.

‘I almost forgot – these arrived today and I thought they’d complement your dress.’

He opened the box to reveal a necklace and bracelet of opals and diamonds. They were exquisite, gleaming and glittering in the candlelight. Sylvie gasped, unable to speak. She’d never even dreamed of owning such valuable jewels and gazed at him incredulously, round-eyed and open-mouthed.

‘Lift your hair up and I’ll fasten the necklace,’ he said gently, smiling at the disbelief on her face. He stood behind her as she raised the mass of hair with both hands. Very carefully he circled her neck with the jewels and closed the clasp, bending to brush the soft skin of her nape with his lips. She shuddered involuntarily and his eyes gleamed enigmatically.

‘Now give me your wrist, Sylvie,’ he whispered, and started to fasten the beautiful bracelet on her.

‘These bruises are so ugly,’ she said, looking at the livid marks on her slim white arms. ‘They spoil the effect of the dress and the jewels.’

‘Oh I wouldn’t agree at all,’ he murmured, kissing the inside of her wrist. He looked into her eyes, his nostrils flaring slightly as he breathed in her scent. ‘There’s something quite intriguing about such juxtaposition.’

‘What do you mean? You’re not saying that you like the bruises?’

‘I merely meant they remind me why you should be here with me, not hiding in the woods with some Village boy. Wouldn’t you agree?’

‘Oh Magus, don’t make me say—’

‘Would you really rather be outside in the cold now? Can you hear the wind? It’s horrible out there and it’s so warm and cosy in here, so intimate. Come on, if you’ve had enough to eat, we’ll sit on the sofa by the fire and keep you warm.’

‘I’ve got the pashmina.’

‘No, don’t put that on,’ he said softly. ‘I like to see your skin.’

They sat together on the leather sofa sipping at another glass of mead as music played softly in the background. Sylvie felt relaxed and happy, mellowed by the mead and fine meal, and very grown up. Magus knew her interests and how to impress her and he chatted easily, engaging her in the conversation and making her laugh. She felt warm and safe in the comfort of his luxurious chambers, with the great log fire burning and the soft leather of the sofa cradling her body. Gradually she curled into him as the effects of the mead and the heat overcame any last vestiges of shyness. He slid an arm around her and held her gently, careful to keep his touch very light. He looked down at the silver head on his chest and smiled to himself in satisfaction.

‘I enjoy your company so much, Sylvie. You’ve such an enquiring mind and you’re very well informed for someone so young.’

She smiled, her head nestled into him. This was music to her
ears after the weeks of being told how little she knew. He stroked her hair softly, enjoying the pure silkiness of it, the way it slipped and entwined itself around his fingers. Then he picked up one of her hands and ran his long fingers from the palm slowly up to the inside of her elbow and back down again, tracing the bruised skin with a touch like swansdown.

‘There’s one thing that puzzles me, Sylvie.’

‘What’s that?’ she murmured, feeling quite sleepy.

‘You’re such an intelligent girl. You clearly enjoy intellectual conversation and you’ve said you find me interesting.’

‘Mmn?’

She was very relaxed; the touch on her arm was so subtle.

‘What do you find to talk about with Yul? What’s he done, or seen, or read? What does he know? He’s never left this estate – he’s barely left the Village. Never read a book, never seen a film. He must be very dull and uninformed and I’d have thought, intellectually at least, you were a million miles beyond him.’

Sylvie swallowed and the caressing of her arm stopped. She realised she’d hardly thought about Yul all day and feeling guilty, pulled herself from the comfortable cradle of Magus’ arms. Her mass of hair tumbled everywhere as she sat upright, face flushed.

‘We always find things to talk about and often we don’t need to talk at all – it’s just good being together.’

He held up her wrist and examined the bruises. His dark eyes met hers in a mocking gaze.

‘I see. And yet despite such deep spiritual compatibility this strong, silent one manages to inflict these terrible injuries on you. He imprisons you in a cage, cracks you over the head, takes the skin off one side of your body, and almost breaks your ribs as you lie crushed beneath him. Not to mention tying you up and gagging you. Do you enjoy being kept in bondage and treated roughly?’

‘No, of course not! And it’s never happened before – it was only because of the moongaziness and he never meant to hurt me. I’m sure he didn’t.’

‘I understand. Well, I just hope he has the intellect and
intelligence to satisfy you in the future, for there’s nothing worse than being saddled with some ignoramus who bores you witless. You’ll find the Neanderthal brutishness will begin to pall after a while.’

She stood up, stung by his tone, and felt the room sway.

‘I think I’ll go now,’ she said tightly.

‘Alright, Sylvie,’ he said smoothly. ‘You do that, if you’ve had enough of my company. But you should visit my bathroom first and do something about your hair and your face. Your mother might get the wrong idea if she sees you looking like that.’

Angrily she went through to the black marble bathroom and gasped when she saw herself reflected many times over in the gilt mirrors all around her. Her cheeks were very flushed, her eyes unnaturally bright and her hair was messed up all around her head. She looked exactly as if she’d been doing something she shouldn’t.

When she returned several minutes later, smoothed and cooled down with cold water, he’d poured them both another drink.

‘Have this before you go,’ he said, smiling. ‘I’m sorry, Sylvie, I didn’t mean to upset you. I was only teasing and you shouldn’t rise to the bait, but I really don’t think he’s worthy of you. A simple Village lout and a princess like you – it’s all wrong. You deserve the very best.’

‘Please don’t be nasty about him,’ she said, accepting the glass from him and sitting down again. ‘I enjoy coming here while you’re getting better, but you know I like him and I don’t want to hear you say horrible things about him.’

He shrugged.

‘I don’t like the horrible things he’s done to you. Drink your mead.’

She swallowed obediently.

‘Anyway, how can you call him a simple Village lout? I thought he was your son.’

‘He is, but he’s still a lout. Relax, Sylvie, and stop being cross with me. Come here and snuggle up again – it makes me feel better having you close.’

She put her empty glass on the side table, her head spinning as she’d had far too much to drink. The mead was powerful and she wasn’t used to drinking alcohol. She rested her head against Magus and he held her lightly; she felt so warm and drowsy in the heat from the fire.

‘Yul’s very like you, you know,’ she murmured, her eyelids heavy.

‘I’m sure he is,’ said Magus softly. ‘But why make do with a copy when you can have the original?’

Sylvie awoke late the next morning on Magus’ sofa, a silk cushion under her head and the pashmina draped over her. Her head throbbed and her eyes wouldn’t focus at first. She sat up feeling confused and then, as the reality of the situation hit her, horribly embarrassed. The clock said it was almost mid-day and there was no sign of Magus. The fire had burnt out but had not yet been re-laid. Her hair hung in her face, and when she looked in the mirror over the mantelpiece, she saw her eyes were smudged dark with mascara. She felt a complete mess.