Page 34

But now, now she knew that her visions of the future were no more than delusions, shattered by the sound of her own name.

In the glow of the Light, her heart had been plainly revealed.

Nothing less than the force of love could have pulled her back to herself.

But while love tied Miranda inexorably to Lord Brand, Adam seemed entirely free of anything more than the most casual of feelings toward her.

Dimly, in the distance she saw the glory of the Light, beckoning to a place where there was no pain.

“Open your eyes, Miranda,” Adam demanded. “You must stay awake.”

“Why?” she asked, trying to focus as she looked up at him.

Adam could barely contain his anger. What had they done to her, these Wodesbys, with their strange pretensions? How could it be that she felt that she had nothing to live for? “What of the man you profess to care for?” he asked, gently putting a hand to her cheek. “Would you abandon him so easily?”

Miranda was confused for a moment, wondering who he could mean other than himself. Martin, she reminded herself painfully. He was telling her to live for the sake of Martin Allworth. “The m . . . man of my d. . . dreams,” she whispered softly, closing her eyes with a breathy sigh.

Angel howled.

“‘Randa!” Damien took her by her shoulders and shook her.

Tante Reina hurried to the library window and pulled the draperies wide. “Is well, Lord Damien!” she called, pointing toward the sky. The first rose tinged traces of dawn were creeping over the treetops. “Let her sleep, milords. Rest now will not harm her.”

“But will it mend her?” Adam asked, regarding Lord Wodesby with smoldering rage.

With a glare of defiance, he lifted Miranda into his arms, letting her settle against his chest with a soft, incoherent murmur.

“That makes twice tonight, she has put herself in danger for the sake of that arcane Wodesby heritage. Her quick wit saved my life, sir, though she could well have lost her own in the process. Now show me where to put her and then show me the door.”

She moved, her hair brushing against his chin and he looked down at her, saw the traces of tears on her cheeks.

Adam’s throat tightened angrily as he met Lord Wodesby’s enigmatic gaze.

Silently, Miranda’s brother led Adam up the stairs to her chamber, the dog and cat padding behind them.

With the utmost care, Adam laid her upon the pillows, smoothing back the hair from her face as he slid his other hand from beneath her.

The rays of the rising sun touched her, emphasizing the pallor of her cheeks, the dark shadows beneath her eyes. She moaned softly as his hand withdrew.

Adam could remain silent no longer. “Your sister is a rare woman, Sir. Miranda has a beauty that goes far beyond her face and form, a compassionate heart, a gentle grace, intelligence. She is everything that is desirable. Yet, she regards herself as a cripple, Wodesby! A cripple, because of this strange legacy that you claim.”

“You go too far, Lord Brand,” Damien said, his countenance closed. “You speak of matters that are none of your concern.”

“I may not understand the whys and wherefores, milord, but I do believe that your sister damned near died tonight,” he said, watching as she curled up like a child, clasping her knees with one hand, the other limp upon the pillow.

“And if she feels that she is less than whole, you Wodesbys are to blame for it. Why, a woman of her quality would have long been married, with a tribe of children at her skirts, were it not for this ridiculous myth that swirls around you. By the time the sun sets tonight, the entire ton will have heard of the events at Lady Pelton’s table.

If they did not brand Miranda as a witch before, they will certainly do so now. ”

For a fleeting moment, Adam saw past her brother’s guarded expression to the wellsprings of sorrow in those green eyes.

“Poor ‘Randa,” Damien said, going to the bedside to stare down at his sister. “All of the burden and none of the joy.”

“Damn you, Wodesby,” Adam said. “Do you or your mother have any inkling of what she has already endured and will suffer yet, once the rumors fly?”

“The stares? The behind-handed whispers? The fear, or the false friendship that is offered for the sake of the power inherent in your name? The soldiers who cross themselves hastily, when they believe I cannot see?” Damien asked coldly.

“You cannot damn a Wodesby, Brand; for ‘tis a known fact that we are accursed from the womb.

I assure you that my mother and I both are well aware of the lack of understanding that is engendered by the patrimony of our name.

But at least we have the compensation of our Gifts. Miranda, unfortunately, lacks?—"

“Nothing!” Adam roared. “Your sister has gifts that you do not recognize as such, but I will not hear her called a ‘cripple’ again, sir, not even by her brother.”

Damien smiled wearily and for the first time, Adam could see a resemblance to his fair-haired sibling. “You did not let me finish, Brand. What I meant to say is she lacks confidence in herself and perhaps, I am partly to blame for that, as for so much else. When our father died, I ...”

Wodesby shook his head and once again, those green eyes were transformed into a barely contained reservoir of anguish.

“But that is a very long story, too long after so lengthy a night. Go home, Brand and sleep, for you could, no doubt, use it. I thank you, on behalf of my sister and indeed, all of us. You have the gratitude of the Wodesbys.”

“I don’t want your gratitude, Wodesby,” Adam retorted, his anger diminished but not drained. “Any more than I want your Mama’s seal of protection. It is Miranda that concerns me. She deserves far better than she is getting.”

“Yes, she does, and if you would do me the honor of returning, I think that you also are deserving of some explanations,” Damien agreed, his brow rising.

Under Wodesby protection? It was increasingly obvious that it would be a long time before there would be a pillow beneath his head.

Mama had some explaining to do. “As you can see, I still have bits of Portugal clinging to my boots.”

Adam nodded, taking one last look at Miranda as Tante Reina bustled in. The young woman’s hand was hanging off the bed and he lifted it to the pillow. “May your dreams be sweet, Miranda,” he whispered.

Damien watched as the corner of his sister’s mouth curved in a peaceful smile.

He had little doubt now just whose voice had summoned her back from the beyond.

An Outsider, and to make the tangle more convoluted, an unbeliever.

Yet, as the mage searched himself he could see no vision of a resolution to this dilemma in Brand’s future.

But then, clarity of thought was an absolute necessity for a Seer and there was too much emotion clouding his mind.

Damien stifled a sigh as the two of them left his sister to Tante Reina's ministrations and Thorpe’s watchful eye.

“She will be well, Brand,” he said, answering the man’s unspoken question.

“What she requires most right now is the same thing that I desperately need: sleep.”

“I would imagine so,” Adam said, noticing Lord Wodesby’s travel-worn appearance for the first time as they walked down the stair.

Even the mastiff that padded after them looked as if it had travelled leagues.

“You are new come from the Peninsula, milord? I cannot believe that your mother’s message reached you so quickly; she sent for you but a few days ago. ”

Once again, Wodesby’s raised brow put Adam in mind of Miranda.

“I see that I have much to explain,” Damien said with a sigh.

“My mother called me through the Void, Lord Brand, an undertaking not lightly done, for it requires a tremendous strain upon the Gift. As soon as her mind touched mine, I took my leave of Wellington and came home by the fastest possible route.”

“Broomstick?” Adam could not help the question, his lip quirking.

“That, Lord Brand, is a myth,” Damien said with a semblance of a smile.

“And I confess myself somewhat glad that such flights are confined to legend, since I can imagine nothing more uncomfortable than a prolonged flight with nothing but an old besom to buttress my behind. No, I used more conventional modes of travel: a fast horse and a sailing vessel, though I must admit to conjuring a bit of fair wind to speed me. But I forget, you do not believe in such things.”

“Of course not,” Adam replied automatically, but a shred of doubt began to niggle at his brain. How on earth could Lord Wodesby have received his mother’s summons so quickly, unless. . .?

“At your convenience, Lord Brand,” Damien said, opening the door. “I will have Dominick give your man some of Tante Reina’s salve for your wounds. I will not ask how you came by them. I will await the story tomorrow.”

“Or today,” Adam agreed, looking up ruefully at the rising sun, all at once recollecting Lord Ropwell’s promise to call. “Are you familiar, Wodesby, with a man by the name of Ropwell?” he asked.

“I vaguely recall him,” Damien said, his brow furrowing uneasily. “A viscount? Ropwell, there is a bad feel about that name.”

“I would not be surprised if the rumors have reached clear to Portugal,” Adam said in disgust. “Suffice it to say his reputation is less than savory. Unfortunately, his title wholly outweighed his repute in Lady Enderby’s estimation.

She informed him that your Mama would be delighted to receive him, although I suspect that his intent is less on wooing your sister than using the power that he believes that she possesses. ”