Whistle Down the Wind (Mystic Moon) (19 page)

“I beg your
pardon, Sheffield, but I wish to settle Miss Glyndwr into her quarters. Please
excuse us.”

He started
to turn in the other direction, but the Earl of Sheffield stopped him by
stepping arrogantly in front of them.

“It is
because I most ardently wish for an introduction to the lady that I came aboard
early.” He stepped closer to Catlin, hot desire flashing through his eyes. “I
fear when I approached her yesterday at the Inn, my eagerness to make her
acquaintance made me forget the standards of etiquette.” He bowed to her. “I
wish to make amends today.”

Catlin took
a small step backwards. Her mouth twisted into a tremulous grimace. He couldn’t
think of any way to avoid introducing her to Sheffield that wouldn’t be a
blatant insult to the nobleman.

He sighed
and turned to a now pale and obviously upset Catlin. “May I introduce the
Honourable Miss Catlin Glyndwr, daughter of the late Baron Glyndwr of
Llithfaen
Keep
in Wales.” He squeezed her arm gently for reassurance. “Catlin,
this is the Earl of Sheffield, who has recently been appointed secretary to the
Governor of Virginia?”

Lord Sheffield
stepped forward, his gaze never wavering from performing a blistering appraisal
of Catlin.

“I’m
enchanted to meet you, Miss Glyndwr, and I hope we shall have ample time on
this journey to become well-acquainted.” He grasped her hand and touched his
lips to her gloved fingers.

A chill traveled
through Griffin as Catlin recoiled from Sheffield’s touch. A predatory glow in
the man’s eyes signaled his desire for her more than words ever could.

Griffin
steered Catlin away from the man. He glowered at Sheffield, offended by the
man’s supercilious behavior. Before he could utter a rebuke, Catlin stumbled
and he put his arms around her for support.

Catlin
turned to him, real terror stamped upon her face and reflected in her eyes.
“I’m not feeling well, Griffin.”

“I’ll take
care of you,” he whispered as she melted into his embrace.

Her sky-blue
eyes flickered, then closed as her body went limp and she collapsed in his
arms.

 It was
clear to him that she had finally succumbed to the excitement of sailing to the
New World. Or it was possible she suffered from an over tight stomacher. Bitsy
was not a practiced ladies maid.

But, why had
Catlin suddenly seemed so terrified?

Chapter Eighteen

Darkness
swirls around me, the air so thick it's as though the murky fog of a fall
evening envelops me. There is a silence both strange and frightening. No small
animal stirs in these gloomy shadows. No leaf rustles in the breeze. I'm
suspended within a cocoon of mist and night. A malignant presence is here with
me, and I shudder to imagine who or what is waiting beyond the inky darkness.

A dim figure
stands at the edge of my consciousness, and I hope it is Griffin calling me
back to his world. When the figure moves, something familiar yet frightening
swirls within me. Instinct tells me it's not Griffin. Terror ripples through
me, because even before his face becomes clear to me, I know who lurks in this
preternatural gloom, waiting for me.

“You cannot
be here,” I whisper hoarsely, aware my voice signals my alarm.

The Earl of
Sheffield moves with the casual elegance of one born into a life of privilege
and status. His long legs carry him through the fog, until he stops within an
arms breadth of me. I fight the urge to turn away and run. He cannot know how
much he terrifies me. ’Twould be an advantage I have no intention of giving
him.

“I brought
you here so we could talk without your nuisance of a protector coming between
us.” He gives me a wicked grin. “He is most attentive for a man who claims the
duty of chaperone was somehow foisted upon him.”

Catlin clasped
her hands into tight fists, ready to defend herself if necessary. “I do not see
how my travel arrangements are of any import to you, milord.” I lift my nose in
the air and would wave my fan in his face, if I were actually holding a fan.

He grins,
his teeth looking sharp as a wild beast in his wide mouth.

“I’m
interested in every facet of your life, my bychan dewines.”

I step back
at the implied possession and endearing tone in his voice when he refers to me
as his “little witch” in my own tongue. “How dare you call me that?” I protest.
“I am not, nor shall I ever be, your anything.” Venom fills my voice. “And
while I won’t refute the description you give me, I see the truth of who you
are. I know you are a creature of the dark arts.”

Lord
Sheffield takes another step closer to grasp me around the waist. I'm shocked
he can actually touch me in this shadow world. I'm truly horrified now, for I
have no way of protecting myself from this assault. He jerks me closer, until
his face looms over mine while his thickly muscled arms crush me to him.

“While
others might be blind to the blackness within your soul, I know you for the
wicked magician you are.” I say.

Does this
revelation affect him? His response is another sly grin. It infuriates me.

“And I know
you are an elemental witch, Catlin Glyndwr. If I am wicked because I wish to
possess you and help you learn to fully appreciate and use your powers, then I
accept your assessment of my character.”

His green
eyes glow with a preternatural, searing, desire. I struggle against him, but
his arms hold me as fast as if I am in a vise.

“Release
me,” I demand, trying to infuse my voice with more courage then I actually feel.
Yet it still sounds more like a pathetic plea then an order. “I’m disgusted by
your touch! You will never possess me nor use my magic.”

His gaze
scans my body, and I feel bile rising to my throat. I can’t fathom where I am,
for it couldn’t be Dream Time. Horrible things like this have never happened
here before. I close my eyes and make an attempt to summon my sylphs.

Sheffield
quickly turns his face away from me and he frowns. While I don’t know anything
about this place, I sense if he can touch me, then I most certainly should be
able to affect him. I take advantage of his momentary distraction to bring my
knee up quickly, catching him fully in the stones. His face contorts in pain
and his arms release me.

Within
moments a cloud of small, bright lights fly at him. They attack him like an
enraged swarm of bees. He falls to his knees.

“Don't
imagine I can be so easily captured, Lord Sheffield. Your druid magic might be
strong, but I have the blood of generations of Glyndwr witches flowing through
my veins.”

I take
several steps away from him to summon more magic and take leave of this horrid
place. His thick voice calls and I turn back to him.

“I shall
have you,” he vows. His eyes hold an angry, red fire that burns with hatred.
“You will be mine, or I will destroy you. There can be no other way.”

I swallow my
fear, refusing to let this devil know I'm afraid, for all evil thrives on the
fear of others.

“Heed me
well, Dark One, if you touch me again, I shall use all the forces at my command
to destroy you.” I wave a hand in the air to draw my sylphs back to me.

“You cannot
break the vow of protection.” He sneers.

“That vow
applies to sophors, not to mages, adepts, or magicians.” I clap my hands three
times for emphasis. “The vow I make now is that I shall use all of my powers to
fight against you and your dark minions. You never should have come aboard if
your intention was to seize control of me and make use of my magic.”

My heart
beats faster as the words tumble from my mouth. “Do not test me, for I am not
the weakling you mistake me for. All Glyndwr witches grow slowly into their
full powers, but no one challenges them once they become adepts.”

I turn away
from him, closing my eyes to better concentrate. Within the space of a few
breaths I know the mystical between world has dissolved for I can hear Bitsy
arguing with Griffin.

“She
wouldn’t eat naught for the mornin’ meal and likes as not she’s taken the
vapors ’cause of it.”

“I doubt
missing one meal would make her faint from hunger.” Griffin’s voice was sharp.
“Was she ill last night at bedtime?”

“She was
right as rain,” the maid said.

Heavy
footfalls crossed the floor.  Griffin was pacing. “I should have listened to
her warning, but I couldn’t fathom that Lord Sheffield would cause her such a
fright. ’Tis my own fault for being so pig-headed.”

“Well, I’m
of a mind to agree about that,” Catlin said, slowly opening her eyes to find
herself reclining upon a small wooden bunk. The room was dim, but she was
grateful the terrifying mist and shadows of the between world had disappeared,
along with the nefarious Lord Sheffield.

Griffin
knelt beside her and took one of her hands. “Are you feeling better, my
hudol
cat?

She smiled
at the charming endearment offered in her native Welsh language. “Do you truly
find me enchanting?”

Griffin
touched her cheek. “Too much so, I fear. My courage deserted me when you
fainted away. I was ready to return to shore.”

He gazed at
her with an expression of adoration that made her slightly discomforted. How
much of his affections were due to her sister’s magic, and how much because he
truly cared for her? It was a vexing problem one faced when mixing spell
crafting with passion.

“You would do
that for me?” She felt a surge of happiness.

A small
dimple played at the corner of his mouth. “I’m finding it more and more
difficult to think clearly when you’re around,
cariad
.” He leaned
forward and kissed the tip of her nose. “I believe I am enchanted, for I find
it easy to forget my obligations and vows when you fill my head.”

He stood.
“Now, I’m going to have your little maid get you something hot to drink. Rest
here for a bit and once we set sail I’ll come down and get you.”

He gave them
a reassuring nod. “Sometimes the first few days out of port can be rough. Both
of you need to take the time to get your sea legs.” He bowed to kiss Catlin’s
hand, then walked out the door.

“Egad, but
ain’t he a fine gentleman?” Bitsy burbled, as she watched Griffin leave.

Catlin
leaned back upon her pillows to close her eyes again. He was indeed a very fine
gentleman, dedicated to protecting her with all his warrior’s skills.

But she knew
it would take more then a sharp sword and a strong arm to defeat Lord
Sheffield. He’d cast a powerful spell and managed to capture her today, and she
knew that the next time, it wouldn’t be so easy for her to escape from him.

Catlin must
have dozed off, for while it seemed only moments since she’d sipped at a cup of
peppermint tea, Bitsy informed her several hours had passed.

The ship
sailed with a regular pattern of rising and dipping in the water. Creaking and
splashing echoed through the cabin. Bitsy sat on a thick pallet positioned on
the floor, her complexion an off color of green.

“I don’t
like all these upsies and downsies,” she mumbled.

Catlin took
a deep breath. She didn’t feel any sea sickness so far, but she was still lying
down.

Catlin
slowly brought her feet down on the rough plank flooring of the cabin. A
momentary wave of dizziness engulfed her, but once she closed her eyes and took
another deep breath, it passed.

“Sir
Reynolds tapped on the door a bit ago, and said if ye was awake he’d take ye up
topside.” The girl put her hand to her mouth. “Don’t know why a body would want
to do such a thing. ’Tis hard enough to hold me stomach down here.”

“Don’t
bother yourself about it, Bitsy.” Catlin said as she smoothed out the wrinkles
of her gown. “If you can muster enough strength to help me fix my hair, I’ll
let you nap down here while Sir Griffin shows me around the ship.”

Bitsy
struggled to her feet and appeared almost ready to topple over again before
grabbing the edge of the bunk for support. “Upsies and downsies,” she grumbled.
But when Catlin handed her the boar’s hair brush, the girl became all business.
“Ye put the fear in all of us this mornin’, Mistress. I thought ye might be
taken with the plague. Like to scare me outta another year’s growth.”

Catlin
smiled. “I apologize for that, Bitsy, for you cannot spare the loss of any more
height.”

Bitsy
plucked the brass bodkin from Catlin’s hair and let the dark mass of curls
tumble below her shoulders. As she pulled the brush through the thick locks,
she kept up a steady chatter.

“I believe
he’s right smitten with ye, Mistress.”

The child’s
astute observation made Catlin smile. “I believe you might be correct in that
assumption. I must admit, he’s handsome, charming, and most captivating.”
Catlin warmed. Her words amounted to a confession of her own feelings for Sir
Griffin Reynolds.

“He don’t
hold a candle to our Sir Reynolds, though.”

Catlin
frowned and turned to face Bitsy. She grabbed the brush to halt Bitsy’s
ministrations. “I thought we were talking about Sir Griffin.”

The maid
shook her head. “I were talkin’ ’bout his Lordship, that Earl of Sheffield. He
was pacin’ outside this very door when ye took ill. Right worried about ye, he
was.”

Catlin
turned away from the girl and waved for her to continue to fix her hair. She
tried to make her voice nonchalant. “Did you happen to see him during that
time?”

“Aye,” the
girl gushed. “He was prayin’ for ye, ’cause when I went out to get a pitcher of
water to bath yer face, I seen ’em with his eyes closed, lookin’ all troubled
and such.” Bitsy made a few final pats to Catlin’s hair. “I believe ye could
have yer choice of gentlemen wooin’ ye Mistress. And mebbe even become a
Countess.”

A wave of
nausea slammed through Catlin. “That’s not very likely.”

“I ken he’s
most taken with ye.”

Catlin
shuddered at Bitsy’s words. She rose, grabbed her shawl, and fastened a
wide-brimmed straw hat over her curls. “I doubt I need trouble myself about the
Earl of Sheffield. He certainly has more important things to consider then
wooing a simple country maiden such as me.”

A light tap
at the door sent a wave of fear rolling through Catlin. She imagined somehow
Lord Sheffield knew she was talking about him.

“Catlin, are
you well?”

She rushed
to open the cabin door. Griffin leaned against the solid door frame. His brow
furrowed as he examined her closely, then a playful glint appeared in his eyes
and he grinned.

“Ah, I see
you’ve recovered.” He stepped into the cabin and offered her his arm. “I’ve
come to escort you topside, for we’ve pulled out into the channel and we'll be
passing the Isle of Wright.” He paused for a moment.

“That is, if
you are feeling well enough.”

“I’m feeling
much better,” she said and looped her arm through his.

He put a
hand protectively over hers. “I could speak to Sheffield, if his presence
terrorizes you so much. I'll ask him to keep a goodly distance from you.”

“Please do
not trouble yourself about that man, for it was a childish whim, just as you
said.” She leaned against his arm. “I feel safe within your protection, and
while I must confess I would not wish to become friendly with the man, I can
learn to ignore him.”