The Lord of Illusion - 3 (38 page)

“Hmm.” Malcolm collapsed into a nearby chair. “Perhaps we should send him to Norfolk to take a look? He still has an affinity for the woodland that may help the situation.”

Drystan sighed, turned back to look out the window once again. He had promised to advise the king, but sometimes he regretted the necessity of these meetings. It took him away from Camille, and he constantly worried about her while he was gone, for although she did not know him, she seemed most calm while in his presence. It was why Ann and Molly had taken her to the garden, so he could look out for her himself to make sure she was well.

Camille still sat quietly on the marble bench, surrounded by her ladies, and looking like a goddess. She wore a white mantua loosely belted, with a stomacher heavily embroidered with gold dragons. Her ivory hair glowed white in the sun, strips of gold ribbon woven in her elaborate coiffure. Her eyes glowed as if she carried a true rainbow within them, the specks of gold and silver glinting like polished jewels.

Faith, how he loved her.

Molly suddenly looked up, giving Ann a sharp elbow to the ribs. A woman in a striped satin traveling gown with a matching umbrella bore down on them.

Drystan frowned. The staff had strict instructions in regards to Camille’s privacy. Strangers agitated her. Ann and Molly quickly stood, creating a barrier in front of Camille, and halted the woman’s progress.

Molly gestured wildly while Ann scowled. But the woman was obviously intent on speaking to Camille, and somehow managed to get around the two ladies by using her umbrella as an offensive weapon.

Drystan jumped to his feet and sprinted for the door.

“I say—” sputtered Lord North, but Drystan had already reached the door, flying past Talbot with all the elven speed he possessed.

“What is it?” asked his captain when they reached the side door.

“Camille.”

“Of course.”

The door opened onto a walkway lined with white rock, surrounded by a swath of grass. Drystan ignored the meandering path and sprinted across the green straight toward the garden of roses, a raindrop striking him squarely on the nose.

By the time he reached Ann and Molly and the stranger, Camille had run away.

At the sight of the three ladies, Talbot sheathed his sword with a self-mocking grin. Drystan had not even realized he had drawn it.

The stranger in the striped gown turned to face Drystan, and her face brought him up short. She had his nose. His chin. And although her eyes lacked the faceted shimmer of his own, they glowed a golden brown. And abruptly filled with tears.

“Drystan?”

“Mother?”

She dropped her umbrella and threw her arms around him. “At long last! They told me you were in a meeting with the king and could not be interrupted—”

Drystan gently grasped her shoulders and set her away from him. “What did you say to Camille?”

Lady Hawkes appeared confused. “I—I just introduced myself to her. I swear, that is all. I have waited so long to meet her, to see
you
—”

Drystan blew out a breath. He could not blame her. He should have arranged to meet her sooner, should have told her more about Camille’s condition.

Her shoulders shook with impending sobs.

“Mother, please, it is all right.”

“But she looked so frightened when I told her my name! And then she ran—”

“Frightened?” Drystan’s heart stopped. Camille would get agitated, would flutter her hands and wander in circles around strangers. But she had not shown any true emotion in so very long. “Are you sure? You saw the emotion in her eyes?”

Lady Hawkes frowned. “I am quite sure, although I cannot imagine why—no one has ever been frightened of me in my life.”

Molly strangled a cough while Ann raised her ivory brows nearly to her hairline.

The lady spun to face them. “Besides obstinate maids with foul tongues,” she added.

Drystan swept his fingers through his hair, felt the tie binding it back loosen even more. Thunder sounded overhead, punctuated by a sudden breeze laced with more rain. “Talbot. Take the ladies inside. I must go find Camille. Mother, do not worry. I shall be back soon.” Drystan turned to Molly. “Which way did she go?”

When Molly pointed toward the forest at the far grounds of the palace, Drystan felt little surprise. That’s where he’d found Camille when she had wandered off before—although it had taken him the entire day to locate her, and he had never been more frightened in his life.

He started off in an easy lope, and then doubt began to assail him. What if she had gone somewhere else this time? What if she stumbled into some nasty surprise the elven lords’ magic left behind? England was still riddled with the mundane aftereffects of their spells.

Drystan broke into a run just as the skies opened up in a downpour. The cool wind rose to a healthy gale, and he heard the garden before he reached it. Like the forest of Dreamhame Palace, an elven garden grew within Firehame’s woods. Many of the alien plants within it had faded with the magic, but the natural flowers and plants of the earth altered to resemble Elfhame appeared to flourish.

Drystan stepped through the gate to a cacophony of sound, the garden at Firehame somewhat resembling Dreamhame’s in volume and color. But here, rain beat on drum-shaped flowers, wind whistled through tubelike petals, and the tinkle of chimes sounded from blossoms shaped like bells. He walked past neat rows of peculiar bushes and trees shaped into perfectly round circles, heading for the pavilion.

She sat on the steps just beneath the shelter of the roof, her arms folded about her knees, gazing out into the far garden.

Drystan sat next to her, loosening his shoulders with relief, and listened to the melody of the flowers. He had no idea why his mother might have frightened her—she appeared to be a harmless lady, although perhaps a bit imperious. But the fact that Camille had shown some type of emotion heartened him. Perhaps with time, she would eventually come back to his world. The scepters would stop filling her head with their voices, and drowning out her own thoughts. He would not believe they had taken her heart and soul back with them to Elfhame for good.

If naught else, he had learned to trust in Camille’s love for him.

The rain slowed to a sprinkle, and the song of the garden changed to a quiet sigh of a tune. Over the past few months, Drystan had written the love poem to her he’d promised, and he recited it now, the rhythm a match for the garden’s melody.

He sighed when he finished, hoping some small part of Camille’s mind and heart had heard it. He supposed he had best take her back to the palace. His coat stuck to his shoulders in a soggy weight, and she looked half-drowned herself. He would not want her to catch cold in her—

“Drystan,” she said, “I have something I must tell you.”

She spoke! As if she had not been lost inside her head all these months. He took a breath. Another. He must go easy. “What is it, love?”

“We can never marry.”

He reached out and clasped her hand, laced his fingers through hers. Instead of laying lax in his grip, she gave him a squeeze.

His heart raced. “And why is that?”

“Roden put an enchantment on me. He did not want his slaves having children. I am sure you want an heir to pass your title on to, so I am afraid I shall just have to be your mistress.”

He fought down a laugh. A shout of joy. Despite his best efforts, his voice shook when he spoke. “But the elven lords are gone, dear.”

She turned and looked at him. Truly looked at him, for the first time in months. “Gracious, do you think I am daft? I know they are gone. I… I remember bits and pieces. But I do not know if Roden put an enchantment upon me, or used his magic to alter me physically. If he did, your mother will not approve of our marriage.”

Bless
his mother.

Camille sighed. “She is here, you know.”

“I know. And she quite approves of you. In fact, it is her fondest wish that we marry at once.”

“Good heavens. Why?”

Drystan reached out his other hand, covered the slight bulge beneath her loose stomacher. “Because she wants our first child to be legitimate.”

She glanced down at his hand. “Our child?”

“You are five months pregnant, Camille. That is how long it’s been since we sent the mad elven lords back to Elfhame. When we stopped the magic from flowing into England.”

She frowned, and he could see her trying to process some connection. “I don’t understand.”

Drystan sighed. He feared for her, afraid that too much of her memories rushing back at once might send her away from him again. But she had a right to know. “Do you remember when I landed my golden dragon?”

She made a face. “Rather badly, if I recall.”

“Indeed. And do you remember Dominic healing us with blue fire? Well, whether Roden put an enchantment on you, or altered you physically, Dominic’s power was strong enough to heal you of either.”

“Dominic,” she breathed. “Yes. He always had the power to rival an elven lord’s. And that means our baby was conceived…”

“On a bed of clouds, beneath a golden moon.”

“Oh, Drystan. Thank you for that last gift of magic for me.” Tears swelled in her eyes and covered her cheeks. “It feels as if I have been gone, my mind and soul joined with the scepters in Elfhame. It is so hard to explain. The scepters kept shouting in my head, until nothing remained but their voices. Yet I felt you, always. Sometimes I even thought I could hear your voice.” She lifted her head, gazed into his eyes, her hand replacing his over her womb. And he saw the bright warmth once again. Camille had truly returned to him.

“You are right,” she continued. “I can feel… gracious, it feels like a butterfly is dancing inside me.”

Drystan kissed her then, and when she returned it, his heart exploded. It had been so very long. He groaned and deepened the kiss, until he did not know where Camille began and he ended. Until she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and melted against him. Until a fire flared between them, and she stole his breath.

“Camille,” he gasped, “you are cold and wet.”

She tried to press his face back down to hers. “On the contrary.”

As much as it killed him, he stood, dragging her up with him. “I will not allow you to get sick. Not in your condition.”

She frowned. “Of course. I did not think. I am not used to…”

“I know.” Drystan paused, allowed the joy and excitement he felt to well up within him. “Isn’t it grand?”

Her smile lit his world.

Drystan lifted her off her feet and carried her through the garden, thanking his elven strength. The king and queen of Elfhame had been right. Some good still came from the elven lords, for he barely broke a sweat as he carried her through the forest and back to the palace, half-running in anticipation.

Talbot opened the door they had left through before Drystan even reached it. The silver specks in his eyes flashed. “You look like a drowned rat. Is Camille all right?”

“She is better than all right—she has come back to us.” Drystan gently set her on her feet. “I need you to hurry, Edward. You must go after Sir Giles and Lady Cecily. And send another man to stop Lord Raikes and Lady Cassandra’s carriage.”

“To give them the good news, my lord?”

“Yes. And to invite them to my wedding. I am getting married today.”

Talbot grinned and spun, running for the stables.

“Today?” squeaked Camille.

“I should say so,” said Lady Hawkes, who had apparently been waiting with Ann and Molly at the window overlooking the garden, for they approached from the nearby withdrawing room. “My dearest Camille, I am so sorry if I frightened you earlier. You must forgive me for being anxious to meet my son’s future wife.”

“Please do not concern yourself—I wasn’t truly frightened. You just reminded me of something I urgently needed to tell Drystan.”

Drystan leaned over and pecked his mother on the cheek. “And I shall be eternally grateful for that.”

His mother’s face flushed pink, and then she smoothed the folds of her skirts. “Well. Well. At least allow me to make it up to you. I brought along my seamstress, and I just happen to have Drystan’s great-grandmother’s wedding gown in my trunks. I thought it would require only a few alterations, you see.”

“Astounding,” remarked Drystan.

“You will find, my son, that I am ever prepared for any situation, especially those of the domestic kind. I hope… I hope you shall give us the opportunity to get to know one another better, and come home.”

“Of course. I am sure Camille is just as curious about my estate as I am. That is, if my brother welcomes me?”

“Oh, yes! He is so anxious to meet you, and to formally hand over the title. He has always yearned for the priesthood, you see, and now he shall be free to follow his calling.” Her face crumpled for a moment, and Drystan glimpsed the years of sorrow she had suffered. Then her spine stiffened. “I never gave up hope you would come home one day, and planned accordingly.”

Drystan suspected he would find his mother to be more amazing than he ever could have wished.