Lady Tamsyn and the Pixie's Curse Page 2

  He’d known plenty of women who’d liked all of that about him—especially after they glimpsed him working shirtless in his fields. But other women, especially the young, marriageable ones, raised their brows at him and his odd ways. Gryff was only human—it stung to be found wanting—but no rejection had ever hit him as hard as the first one.

  Lady Tamsyn’s.

  He hadn’t expected it. Their regard had been mutual—he was sure of it. She’d felt the same rising heat of interest turning to hope. The burn of intrigue transforming to anticipation.

  But something had happened to change her mind. Perhaps someone had pointed out his lack of title or town bronze. She’d missed their forest meeting and refused to see him afterwards, no matter how many times he called or how many notes or bouquets he sent.

  The last time he’d stood on this side of the bridge it had been misting rain, just as it did now—and he’d been turned away without apology or explanation.

  And there she was, across the way, climbing down from a carriage with a couple of her sisters close behind.

  He swore the sun liked her best. Even in the drizzly gloom her hair caught the light, turned to flame, and cast the rest of the girls into shadow. He was caught, just as he’d been so long ago, helpless in the face of her perfection. That gossamer skin and the determined, pointed chin. Her cat eyes, flashing green—until they landed on him.

  And there it was—exactly what he’d hoped to avoid. That instant, haunted look of dismay. A vicious stab in the gut. What had he done to earn such a look?

  He turned away, unable to bear the thought of her hiding it behind a polite mask. And then someone called his name.

  She was back. Back at Castle Keyvnor, the scene of her greatest humiliation—where she had no wish to be.

  Marjorie was as unhappy as she—for different reasons. Her sister worried about not meeting any eligible gentlemen. Tamsyn worried about meeting one particular gentleman again. Waking from her feigned sleep as the carriage pulled to a stop, she climbed down as soon as the footman set the stairs, hoping prodigiously that since this was a solemn occasion it would seem natural to stick to the castle grounds, to avoid the villagers and neighbors.

  Or at least one neighbor.

  “Gryff!”

  Tamsyn’s heart stopped. Gwyn had descended from the other coach and now her sister stood grinning and waving toward the portico in the inner wall. Slowly, Tamsyn turned to follow the direction of her gaze.

  And there he stood. Practically the first person they all saw, when she’d been praying he’d be the last.

  Hmmph.

  He had not obliged her and grown stout. Or a snout. Or ogre’s ears and curved tusks, like she had imagined so many times since that afternoon of utter embarrassment. If anything, he looked more handsome. Bigger, broader and more splendidly masculine.

  It didn’t matter, of course. She was long over her embarrassment, just as she was no longer interested in the hard, even-more-sharply-chiseled lines of his face. Or the intriguing, undeniably old-fashioned, long hair he’d fastened into a queue.

  No, she wasn’t interested. But her parents had moved over the bridge that spanned a dry moat and into the courtyard to speak with the castle steward. Marjorie’s friend Jane was chasing a windblown wrap. Her sisters all flocked to Gryff where he stood just outside the arched entrance. Not wishing to appear rude, Tamsyn followed them, her heart pounding. He smiled and greeted the girls all around, until he came to her, when his grin faded and he offered a frosty nod.

  She stiffened. Truly? He greeted her with a pained look and a frosty nod?

  “Gryff, do you remember when you showed us around the village?” Gwyn asked. “You carried me over the fish guts on the dock.” She sighed. “No one has acted so chivalrously toward me since.”

  “He allowed me to hide behind him when I was afraid of the apothecary,” Morgan said.

  Her sisters were reverting to the children they’d been on that long ago visit. Tamsyn would not be acting the same, trusting fool.

  “You must come to dinner,” Marjorie said with a smile.

  He spared Tamsyn a glance, and shook his head.

  “Oh, but you must,” the others chorused.

  “Likely not tonight,” Gwyn continued. “Mama will be tired from traveling. But perhaps tomorrow?”

  “Girls,” Tamsyn said sharply. “You must not pester Mr. Cardew. He has declined.” She arched a brow at him. “Our visit is, of course, not a happy one. I’m afraid we won’t have much to offer in the way of amusement.”

  Goodness, that came out sharper than she had intended.

  His expression went rigid. “Of course. My sympathies to you all. I’ve no wish to intrude.” He paused significantly. “I never intend to push in unwanted, or make myself into an object that must be . . . avoided and cast aside.”

  Tamsyn frowned. Clearly he meant to send a message, just as she had. But what did he mean?

  With a general bow to them all, he took his leave and strolled off towards the stables.

  Her sisters all continued into the courtyard. Tamsyn started to follow—but then stopped—and stared after Gryff.

  Ire rose inside of her. Why was he so stiff with indignation? She’d been mortified every time she thought of their last visit. Every time for the last eight years. She was the one who should be indignant.

  Raising her shawl up over her head, she stepped out after him, hurrying down the flagstone path. The stable yard stood empty, the main stable door left propped open. She hurried forward and slipped inside—only to stop and gaze in awe.

  Gryff was taking his horse from a groom—and what a pair they were. This was not the same mount she’d admired long ago, but one even more impressive, just like he had turned out to be. Large and strong, both of them, with powerful chests and long, sturdy legs and chestnut hair. She forced herself to ignore the picture they made and faced him with crossed arms. “Mr. Cardew.”

  “Lady Tamsyn.” He busied himself with the girth strap.

  “I think we must clear the air.”

  “It’s a stable. Open the door.”

  “You know what I mean, sir. We will be neighbors here. You must know that my sisters will not cease until they have you as a guest. And my mother? She has five daughters. She’ll encourage it in hopes that you’ll marry one of them.”

  He shot her a sharp look. “That’s a very politic way of phrasing yourself, my lady.”

  She blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “Your mother will fancy me for one of them. Not one of us. If that is an oblique way to tell me that you are not interested, then there’s no need to exert yourself. That message was received years ago.”

  She still didn’t follow—and he was still trying to steal her indignation. “I’ve no notion what you mean, sir. When last we met, I think it was you who broadcast that message, very loudly indeed.”

  “Me?” He glared. “What did I do? Only issue an invitation. I assure you it was meant innocently enough, despite how you received it.”

  She drew herself up and sent him the most disdainful glare she could summon. “I received it with nothing but pleasure—until you ruined it.”

  “Ruined it? You are the one who ruined the scent of lilacs for me. I did nothing to you—”

  “You embarrassed me!” She felt the sting of it anew, facing him again. “How could you have laughed so cruelly?”

  “Laughed? I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “You do! Don’t pretend.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Are you waiting for me to say it out loud? Must I describe my humiliation?”

  “I was humiliated when you never showed up for our meeting—and spurned me afterwards.”

  “I did show up.”

  He shook his head.

  “I heard you laughing at me, Gryff Cardew!”

  “Why would I?”

  “Because of my predicament! At my feet high and my bottom low in the stream. At the flowers
in my hair and the rips in my dress and at the . . . handkerchiefs.”

  “I haven’t the foggiest notion of what you are talking about. I showed up—and you did not. I passed the empty meadow and stream when I came to the castle to inquire after you. I was turned away. And each time I came after that. More rudely each time, I might add.”

  She stared intently at him. He looked irritated. Handsome. And like he was telling the truth. “Then you didn’t . . ?”

  “No.”

  “Then who?”

  He shrugged. “There was no one there at all when I passed through.”

  “I was mortified,” she breathed. “I thought you were mocking me.”

  The furrow in his brow smoothed out a little. He sighed. “Then I suppose your refusal to see me makes sense.”

  Tamsyn covered her mouth. “What you must have thought!”

  He turned back to the horse. “It doesn’t matter.” He nodded. “It’s just good to clear the misunderstanding now.”

  Why did it feel like her mistake had been enormous? “Oh, Gryff. I’m sorry.”

  “We neither of us have cause to feel sorry.” His mouth quirked. “Or perhaps we both do.” He still avoided her gaze. “In any case, now we can part as . . .” He stopped and there was something in his sidelong glance. “Well, we can part without animosity.” He swung up and doffed his hat. “Good day,” he nodded and spurred the horse out into the rain.

  She watched him go. The old, aching hole she’d been filling with anger and pique gaped suddenly open and empty. “Goodbye, Gryff,” she whispered.

  Not so far away, young Paul Hambly popped out of thin air atop the ancient, moss and vine covered mound hidden away in the forest. Tuft lounged there, enjoying a ray of sun that had broken through the gloom overhead. Beneath them, younger pixies scrambled through the bracken, fetching sweet clover heads and acorns for Tuft’s mount and companion. He and Jump were always together, always working to care for the forest, the marshlands, and the moors.

  “She’s back again,” Paul said.

  He spoke just as the sprite told him, “He’s back.”

  ”What? Who?” they said together.

  Paul laughed. “The girl, I meant. Who did you mean?”

  “That damned sorcerer is back, sniffing around again. He’s been at the borders, poking, testing my shield.” Tuft gave a creaky laugh. “He’ll never get past my spell. Not alone.” He tilted his head. “Now, truth is, you could be a help, there. Keep an eye on the new earl. Make sure he doesn’t fall under the wicked one’s influence.”

  “I’ll try.” Paul hid his skepticism. What sort of help could he be, really?

  “Keep yourself away from the sorcerer, too, if you can. Go carefully.”

  Paul openly scoffed this time. “What could he do to me?”

  Tuft shook his head. “He plays with dark magic, that one. And he’s grown even more powerful.” He wagged a finger. “Wouldn’t be the first time I heard of a sorcerer commanding a shade. So, be careful.”

  “Oh.” Paul had never heard of such a thing.

  “Now, what girl?” Tuft asked.

  “Huh?” He broke off his grim contemplation to focus on the pixie. “Oh. Yes. The girl. The one who fell in the stream. The one who made you laugh.”

  “Oh.” Tuft looked wistful. “That did feel good. Do you think she’ll do it again?”

  “No! For many reasons, but largely because, while that laugh did you a fair bit of good, I believe it did her harm.”

  “A pixie’s laugh? Not likely. Now, if I had snapped my fingers at her I could have turned her nose green or marooned her cow in a tree.”

  “This time the laugh did worse. It might even have cost her true love.”

  Tuft gazed calmly at him even as he raised a hand and conjured an enormous rose hip. Tossing it over the side to Jump, he asked, “Been spying again, eh?”

  Paul flushed and ignored the squeal of delight that was rapidly followed by audible chewing. “Well, what else am I to do?”

  “Fair enough.”

  “She seems a nice girl. Good-hearted. I was thinking that perhaps you might wish to repay her.”

  “Repay her? A human?”

  “Yes. You know that laugh cleared that leaching mine in an instant. It would have taken you and the rain and the West Wind decades to render it harmless.”

  “True enough,” Tuft agreed.

  “Yet it cost her dearly.”

  “She cost herself that young man’s regard when she refused to see him.”

  Paul’s brow rose. So the pixie had been paying attention. “She thought he had laughed at her.”

  “Oh.” The curmudgeonly old sprite sent another rose hip over the side and then sat up straight. “Very well, then.” He cupped his hands and began to roll them around a growing ball of light. It spit and sizzled, increasing in size until Tuft lifted it high and blew on it. It drifted off then, still sparkling as it moved in the direction of the castle.

  “What was that?”

  “The payment. The boon.”

  “What boon?”

  “You said I owed her.” Tuft paused, his focus off in the distance. “There. It’s found her. It’s done.”

  “What’s done? What was it?”

  “Exactly what she needed.”

  “Tuft!”

  “I gave a gift—the ability to see the truth in a man—so she won’t make the same mistake twice.”

  “Oh, dear,” said Paul.

  Tuft shrugged. He sprang down from the top of the mound. “Come on, Jump. Time for bed. We’ve got a dragonfly truce to broker tomorrow.”

  Paul watched them enter the barrow, then began to drift back towards the castle. He had the feeling things were about to get very interesting around there in the next few days.

  Chapter 2

  Tamsyn suffered through a long, restless night, tossing and turning and thinking of Gryff.

  It was a huge adjustment, letting go of the anger, shame and resentment she’d held on to for so long. And the problem remained—with what would she replace them? Not the wide-eyed excitement and pleasure she’d felt eight years ago. And not the stirring fascination she’d felt yesterday, seeing how powerfully broad and male and mature he’d grown.

  She rather thought he held no interest in her feelings. He’d left quickly enough yesterday, and with no real warmth at all. No surprise, since he must have harbored resentment toward her all of these years. Goodness, he might even be married. No, he would likely have mentioned it when she spoke so rashly of her mother’s possible machinations. Well, he might be courting some young woman. She sighed. Of a surety the young ladies around here must be vying for his attentions. He was so intriguingly different from the other young men she’d met, with that long hair that made her fingers itch, his dark eyes and his air of utter strength.

  But she must forget all of that. She would do him the favor of following his lead. They would be mere neighbors. Acquaintances. Nothing more. It was likely for the best.

  Why then, did the thought sadden her so?

  She decided to rise early. More than her own thoughts had disturbed her during the long hours of the night. Had that really been a scream she heard? She’d sat up once, sure she’d seen a strange flashing light. And why had someone decided to play the harpsichord so loudly and long?

  Bleary eyed, she decided to go out in search of some fresh morning air. Perhaps it would clear her head. She dressed in a simple gown, pulled on a heavy shawl and ventured downstairs.

  “Good morning to you, Lady Tamsyn.” A footman hurried toward her, carrying a pitcher of steaming water.

  “And to you,” she returned. She didn’t know any of the servant’s names yet.

  He murmured a polite agreement, but Tamsyn gawked as an image formed in the air before him—a clear picture of the same man tucked asleep in a narrow bed. He stepped through the image, going on his way—and it dissolved.

  She stared after him. Perhaps she was more tired than she’d thoug
ht.

  She did feel better after wandering the gardens a bit. The air was brisk. She breathed deeply and stopped to watch some of the gardeners at work. Her mother always warned her that her vivid imagination would catch up with her. Perhaps it finally had, but she felt more normal now. A man trundled by with a small, wheeled cart full of empty eggshells and curious, she followed him to a bed of late-blooming roses.

  “How lovely.”

  The gardener tugged his forelock and began to crush the shells and work them into the soil. Noticing her attention, he offered, “My mam’s mam always did say as how roses loved eggshells. Keeps ‘em strong.”

  “How interesting. These are so beautiful, she must have been right.”

  “The old mistress loved her roses,” he began, but then he glanced back towards the castle and turned away.

  And it happened again. Over his head formed another scene, an image of a tall, blonde woman in this garden, screaming, crying and tearing at the roses with bloody hands.

  Rubbing her eyes with a shaking hand, she backed away. What was happening? What were these images she was seeing? She walked unsteadily until she found an empty bench and sank down.

  Breathing deeply, she bent over to rest her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. It was this place. So dark and gloomy—and perhaps the added distress of her encounter with Gryff had overwhelmed her. She strove for calm, letting the quiet morning sounds of the garden soothe her—and then she noticed a sturdy set of small boots planted right before her own slippers.

  She looked up into the smiling face of a little boy.

  “Good morning,” he said brightly.

  “Good morning.”

  “May I sit with you?”

  Her nod was automatic. Eyes narrowed, she watched him. “You look familiar.” She recalled the boy she’d glimpsed out here on their last visit. “I’ve seen you before, haven’t I? But no, that wouldn’t be right. Do you have a brother?”

  “No.” He sighed. “Most of my family is gone, now.”

  “I’m so sorry. Do you live here at the castle?”

  “I used to.” He paused. “But I still spend a lot of time here.”