Before Alexander could puzzle out what he meant, a sudden swarm of men with weapons descended upon the room. A net of metallic thread landed around Alexander’s snarling body and something hard crashed against his skull.
Meagan stared at Black Annie in shock. “Temporary? I do not understand. The love spell is just as strong as it was the day it began.”
Black Annie looked quite pleased with herself. “He is a very attractive and captivating man, my dear. Of course you fell in love with him.”
“No, it was the love spell. I saw the visions. Alexander saw them too.”
“Have you had any visions since your wedding night? Or just the feelings?”
Meagan realized suddenly that she had not. She’d had one last vision in the dining room when she and Alexander shared their ridiculous supper and he’d made love to her on the table. After that, the visions had not plagued her, but she’d assumed that the love spell no longer needed them. Her own imagination could conjure plenty of ways in which she and Alexander could enjoy each other.
She looked at Black Annie in anguish. “But if you are right, then I am truly in love with him. What am I going to do?”
“Continue to love him, of course. The love spell nudged you together, but you and Alexander made it real.” She smiled in triumph. “You see? I knew you’d suit.”
“But how could you know? You did not know me, and I had never heard of you. What made you think Alexander and I should fall in love?”
Black Annie rose, perfectly complacent. She went to her writing table, took a carved wooden box from one of the drawers, and from that extracted a letter.
“Your temperament is very like your mother’s, my dear, though you inherited your hardheaded practicality from your father. Your mother and father loved each other desperately, and before you believe it was all magic and not real, I gave them the same sort of spell I gave you and Alexander. It pushed your father into noticing your mother and took them to the altar, but their life afterward was their own doing.” She pushed the letter into Meagan’s hands. “If you want a full explanation, read.”
Meagan was in no mood to read anything, but she took the letter and unfolded it.
The page was worn with time, covered in a crisp handwriting Meagan recognized from the few papers and books she had that once belonged to her mother. Her breath caught as she read the first words.
My dear Arabella, when you read this letter, I will be gone, dead and buried and at peace. I wanted to say good-bye to you who have been a dear friend to me, the woman who gave me the two greatest gifts of my life, my husband and my daughter.
Meagan’s heart ached as her mother’s voice reached from the past. Through fresh tears, Meagan read on.
I was a foolish young woman when I approached you, saucily wanting to catch the eye of the handsome Michael Tavistock. You gave me your wise smile and said you would help me. You knew me for a frivolous thing, and you gave me your gift, not because I craved it but because you knew it was good for me. When Michael met me that day at Chatsworth and could not keep his eyes—or his lips—off me, I knew that you had done what I asked. And at such a bargain!
But it is not of my own happiness that I write you today. My greatest sadness is that I will not live to see my daughter grow to womanhood. I will miss her debut and her first dance and her first blush of love. I will miss her wedding and the dear grandchildren she would have given me. Her father will do his best, of course, but she will need wisdom from another party when it comes time for her to make her match.
Please, Arabella, my dear friend, can you find it in your heart to make certain she finds the man who will be her truest love, who will befriend her and be kind to her and love her for everything she is? I want for my daughter the same happiness you helped me achieve, with a man who will love her as she deserves. Guide her to him as you guided me with your magic, bringing to me the greatest happiness a woman could know.
And my dear friend, to make you smile, I have enclosed your future fee. One bob.
Black Annie gently took the paper from Meagan’s frozen fingers and led her back to the sofa.
“This is why you gave me the talisman,” she said. “Why you had me help you when you made it.”
“Indeed. I watched you from afar the years you were growing up, and I confess, I sent in a spy now and then to keep an eye on you—a charwoman here, a gardener there. When Grand Duke Alexander came to London, I realized that you and he were perfect for each other. He needs a forthright young lady who will love him with an honest heart and bring him out of his shell. You need an intelligent man who will challenge you a little but also see your true worth.” She smiled, dimples on her cheeks. “And it does not hurt that he is so very handsome.”
Meagan thought of Alexander’s body touched with firelight as he drowsed next to her, his fingers a breath on her hair. She thought of him in his shirt and tight breeches and boots last night as he danced the wild sword dance of his people.
She remembered when she’d first seen him in the ballroom at Lady Featherstone’s, how his blue eyes had burned her all the way across the room. And how he’d looked in their first shared vision in the bath chamber, his hair slick with water, his eyes half closed, his lashes thick against his brown skin.
The intensity of her longing had never diminished. She wanted him as much now as she had when the love spell first gripped her in its power.
Her tears flowed again. “But I have lost him. No one knows where he is, and his men cannot find him. I love him, and I’ve lost him.”
“Here, now.” Black Annie pressed a crisp handkerchief into her hand. “Do not give in. Alexander is a resilient man, and he is logosh, and he can look after himself. He’s the sort who will solve the problem and waltz home and ask for a brandy. I wager he’s been in worse danger than this in his life and that he’s got many tricks up his sleeve.”
Meagan had to admit that Alexander could be as ruthless as a rapier and wield himself as such. Even so, it was horrible not to know where he was and if he was all right.
“You are a witch,” she sniffled. “Can you not look into water or a gem or some such and see where he is? Penelope says the mages in Nvengaria do this.”
“Scry for him, you mean?” Black Annie shook her head. “I can mix philters and love potions and make enchanted candles, but seeing over a distance or seeing the future takes a special talent, which I do not have. I am sorry.”
Meagan shrugged, pretending the announcement did not dash her hopes. “You do have one quite interesting power,” she said, wiping her nose with the handkerchief.
“And what is that, my dear?”
“You got Deirdre Braithwaite to give you fifty guineas.”
Black Annie started, then she began to laugh.
But for all Black Annie’s hopeful words, Alexander had not turned up by the time Meagan arrived home.
His men were still looking for him, Nikolai reported. Meagan spent a wretched day looking out of the windows, starting at every sound, and putting off callers, both the curious and the genuinely concerned. She spent a long time with Alex, who could pay no attention to his lessons through his own worry for his father.
Then, when twilight faded to darkness and clouds built up to cover the moon, Myn appeared.
He stepped out from the shadows of the darkened hall as Meagan wandered down to her own chamber. She gasped and pressed her hand to her chest. “Good lord, Myn, you must stop doing that. I’d scold you more if I weren’t so happy to see you. Have you found him?”
As usual, Myn did not answer directly. He held out his large, callused hand, his blue eyes luminous in the darkness.
“Your husband,” he said in slow Nvengarian. “He needs you. You must come.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Meagan half expected Myn to spirit her off by some magical means, but they used the more conventional method of a coach and four. Myn climbed into the carriage with her, which sent the horses nervously dancing, but nothing disastrous occurred.
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br /> Inside she found Julius, Alexander’s chief bodyguard. Julius sported nasty abrasions on his left cheek and temple, and he looked both angry and jubilant.
“Gracious, are you all right?” she asked him.
“I fight,” Julius said as the carriage pulled away. He gave her a grim smile. “I like to fight.”
“Where is Alexander—I mean, His Grace?”
Julius started to speak, then shook his head. “I have not the English.”
“Myn?”
Myn would not answer, and whether he understood or not, Meagan could not tell. Frustrated, she sank into the soft cushions of Alexander’s carriage, wishing her Nvengarian lessons were going more quickly.
She tried to draw comfort from the fact that Myn had said Your husband, he needs you, not Your husband, he is dead. Needing her implied that Alexander was at least alive, a hopeful adjective to which Meagan clung.
They rode out of London and headed southeast as darkness thickened and rain sheeted down. For four hours they traveled country roads, neither man volunteering where they were going. Meagan knew from which streets they’d taken out of London that they rolled toward the heart of Kent, but she could tell nothing beyond that.
She huddled in the corner and tried to slow her racing thoughts. What would she find at the end of this long journey? Alexander hurt, ill, dying?
Please, God, let him be all right, she prayed with all her strength. She could not formulate more elaborate prayers, just that plea over and over.
At long last the carriage turned into a small lane, the outside lanterns throwing spangles of light against tall grass and worn gateposts.
“Where are we?”
“Alexander,” Myn said.
Meagan cupped her hands against the cold glass and peered out, but she could see little. “Where?”
Myn said nothing.
I know,” she sighed, sitting back down. “You have not the English.”
The lane was not very long, perhaps a quarter of a mile. At the end of it, Meagan was startled to find a large country house, one left over from the period of the Tudors, with deep gables and half timbering, rambling away into the darkness. The coach pulled up in front of a wide, dark door that stood open, giving her a glimpse of a lighted flagstone hall.
“Who lives here?” she asked.
“Alexander,” Myn repeated.
She had no way of knowing if he understood the question, and Julius offered no help.
Julius hauled himself out of the carriage and handed her down. Meagan hurried toward the house and nearly cried with relief when she saw the large kilted form of Egan McDonald striding out from the flagstone hall. “Egan, thank God.”
“Now that’s a greeting I more like to hear.” Egan seized Meagan’s hand and pulled her into the house, growling back over his shoulder at Myn. “About bloody time ye got here.”
Myn replied in flowing Nvengarian, and Egan gave a reluctant nod. “He said he couldna travel too fast with you, and he is right. But ‘tis me stuck here with His Bloody Grace, ‘tisn’t it? Beggin’ your pardon, love.”
Egan had discarded ballroom finery for an old kilt and scarred boots, linen shirt and threadbare coat slung on against the cold. Egan was lord of a vast Highland estate in Scotland and had plenty of money from what Meagan understood, but he was far from dandified. He ought to be a Highlander of old, Meagan thought, fighting with claymore and knife on the hills of Scotland for the freedom of his country.
Meagan hung on to his hand as though it were a lifeline. “Egan, you must teach me Nvengarian.”
He looked at her in feigned surprise. “What, now?”
“They could not tell me what happened, and I am maddened to distraction. Where is he? Take me to him, I beg you.”
Egan’s tone softened. “‘Tis not that simple, lass. Myn has the idea you are the only one who can help him, but I think he’s a wee bit daft.”
Meagan’s heart sped. “Please tell me, Egan. If you do not, I will…oh, I don’t know, I am tired of crying, and screaming or swooning seems ineffectual, but I will do it.”
Egan put his arm around her waist, as gently as a brother, and walked her into a sitting room lit by a fire in a huge fireplace. “Come in and warm yourself, lass. You’re shaking all over.”
Her dazed stare swept the comfortable furnishings of the room. “I don’t understand. Whose house is this?”
“Alexander’s,” Egan answered. “Did ye not know? He hired it to woo reluctant diplomats with fishing or walks in the very English countryside. A quiet place to ply them with wine and country air and make them do as he pleases.”
It sounded like something Alexander would think of. She imagined him here, playing gracious host and watching with keen blue eyes for the right moment to move in for the kill. “And Alexander is here?”
“In a manner of speaking. Sit down, love.”
Meagan balled her fists. “No. I will not sit down or be mollified until I know what has happened. Or must I begin the screaming?”
“Now, lass, me head’s not up to that. What happened is this—Alexander found Herr von Hohenzahl, fancy Austrian gent, and the assassins in a house not many miles from here, arguing amongst themselves. Well, then, Alexander charges in and starts wreaking havoc in the pleasant drawing room, and von Hohenzahl calls in about a dozen men to truss up Alexander and capture him.”
Meagan’s eyes widened. “And Alexander is still there?”
“No.” Egan’s expression grew troubled. “This is von Hohenzahl’s story, ye must know, and he wasn’t terribly coherent with the broken jaw your dear husband gave him. Alexander went a little mad, he said. We found von Hohenzahl’s house strewn with bleeding Austrian thugs, most of them groaning piteously. Alexander, by that time, was far away.”
“Far away where?” Meagan demanded, eyes round.
“Far away here. He’d come to this house, maybe sensing that here was a place to rest, rather like a horse knows where its stable yard is.”
“Sensing? What the devil do you mean? Why wouldn’t he know?”
Egan chewed his lip and gave her a sideways look. “Now, promise ye willna fash yourself. The thing is, Alexander turned himself into the logosh beastie and a logosh beastie he’s staying. We canna get near him. He doesn’t know us or where he is, and I’d wager he doesn’t know who he is himself.”
In a wave of fear, Meagan pushed past Egan and out of the room. “Where is he?”
Egan stopped her with a firm hand. “In the woods still. We’ve got him cornered at least, but dinna go rushing out there. Myn thinks you can calm him down, but me, I’m not so sure.”
“At least let me see him.”
Egan hesitated. “He’s in a bad way, lass.”
Meagan swung on him, putting on the most imperious Grand Duchess voice she could muster. “He is my husband and the Grand Duke of Nvengaria. I want to see him now.”
Egan hovered another moment, wanting to argue, then he sighed. “Very well, Your Grace. Never say I didna warn ye.”
He took her down the huge hall and through a door that led into the yawning darkness. His broad hand on her elbow guided her down stone steps and along a path through a well-kept garden. At the end of this they passed through a gate to uncultivated lands beyond.
Julius and Myn met them in the woods and walked along with them, Myn moving almost noiselessly through the trees. The path wound onward, Egan’s steadying hand keeping Meagan from tripping over rocks and tree roots hidden by the darkness.
Meagan heard the snarling before she reached the ring of men with lanterns and swords. A huge black panther circled restlessly between them, teeth bared. Every once in a while, the panther would lunge at a man, who’d thrust his sword forward with skill, driving the animal back.
The wildcat’s lips curled over its white, long teeth, blue eyes crazed in the lantern light. As she watched, the panther’s form shimmered and became an upright logosh, the eyes and snarls unchanged. The form wavered again, as though he cou
ld not hold the shape, and dropped to become the sleek black panther once more.
He wasn’t running away, Meagan thought. As logosh, and even as the panther, he should be able to get past these men and run as far and fast as he wanted to.
But he does not want to. He knows he belongs here.
She started forward, but Egan’s strong hand held her back.
Myn growled something in Nvengarian, and Egan scowled. He replied in English, “I’m not thinking ‘tis the best idea, letting her get near him when he’s in this state. Beauty soothes the wild beast only in fairy tales.”
An icy blast of wind made Meagan shiver, and the panther circled again, fur ruffling.
“Thank you for the compliment, Egan,” she said, voice shaking. “I think no one has ever called me a beauty before.”
At the sound of her voice, Alexander swung his head around, but there was no awareness or intelligence in his eyes.
“I still think ‘tis a bad idea,” Egan said. “Is she to put out her hand and say ‘nice kitty’?”
“Do not be so silly, Egan. He might recognize me, and if he does not…” She stopped. If Myn could not reach Alexander through this wild state, there was nothing to say she could. “They will have to let me through.”
Myn barked a command at the sword-wielding men, who did not look happy to open their ranks to let Meagan near the panther. Their job was to protect the Grand Duke and Grand Duchess, whether that meant escorting them through a London mob or keeping the logosh Grand Duke under control.
“I do hope it’s you in there, Alexander,” Meagan said, as she moved past the men and stood with the lantern light at her back. “I would feel silly saying these things to another logosh.”
The panther’s eyes met hers, devoid of all thought but the need to hunt and kill.
She drew a breath. “They believe you’ll change back to Alexander simply because I wish it, you know, like a hen-pecked husband. You shall have to set them straight on that account. You never do anything I ask, not even take breakfast in the morning room with me.”