He eased himself down on the bank, bracing himself with his good hand, his movements a trifle awkward with his right arm still in the sling.
Meg wanted to storm away and leave him. But she felt that he had bested her by catching her out with the crystal. She stayed out of sheer defiance to prove that she was not ashamed of what she had been doing or the least intimidated by him.
Flouncing down, she resumed her place on the rock. Toying with her crystal, she observed him resentfully out of the corner of her eye. He had found a piece of broken shell and was examining it as though they were two friends who had gone for a stroll and were spending an idle afternoon together.
“Why are you still here?” Meg demanded.
“Well, this seems a fair spot, quiet, peaceful—”
“Not the cove. I mean here on Faire Island. I gave you that potion to help you regain your strength.”
“You did indeed and you have my thanks for that.”
“I did not want your thanks. I wanted you gone.”
“Alas, it would seem I have not risen in your esteem.” He gave a mock sigh. “Have you been seeing any more dire warnings about me in your little crystal? The great jungle cat stalking poor Lady Danvers.”
“No, the glass doesn’t warn me of things that have already happened.”
Xavier’s eyes might be impossible to read, but Jane’s were not. Meg saw clearly the transformation that had come over her older friend, the hopeful glow in Jane’s eyes, all the longings that the quiet lady would never express.
“You have already dug your claws deep into Jane’s heart,” Meg told him resentfully.
He frowned. Drawing back his arm, he flung the shell far out into the water. “Whether you believe it or not, I do care about Jane. I would never hurt her.”
“Not on purpose perhaps.” Meg was willing to allow him that much. “But you are one of those dangerous people who draw trouble to you like a lodestar. Just like—”
Meg checked herself, pursing her lips.
“Like you?” he asked.
Meg hated to admit she might have anything in common with him. But she thought of all the people in her life who had come to disaster, her beloved old nurse Mistress Waters, many of the young women who had joined the coven of the Silver Rose, Lady Danvers’s unfortunate brother. Meg had come close to being responsible for Jane’s death as well, to say nothing of putting her father and stepmother in peril.
No, Meg corrected herself. Megaera, the Silver Rose was the one who was a danger to her friends. But that was not who she was.
Xavier reached across her in an attempt to pluck the crystal from her grasp. Meg tightened both hands around the scrying glass. Cradling it out of his reach, she glowered at him.
“I only wanted to look at it,” he said. “Considering that using that glass only seems to bring you a deal of heartache, I wonder what is your fascination with it?”
“Nothing that you would understand.”
“You might be surprised,” he said with a strange smile. He drew a flask from inside his doublet. “Do you know what this is?”
Meg eyed it scornfully. “It looks like an ordinary leathern jack, like the kind my stepmother uses to keep her Irish whiskey in. She let me taste it once. It was like swallowing fire and tasted horrible. It made me choke.”
“The stuff in my flask would make you do far more than that. The vine of the spirits, the natives of Brazil call it. An Indian shaman taught me to brew it from a certain jungle liana.”
“You mean like a potion?” Meg tried to look uninterested, but she was intrigued in spite of herself. “What does it do?”
“It induces a powerful trance, one that will take your mind places you never imagined it could go. You feel as though you are capable of seeing and knowing everything.”
“Like when I gaze into my ball and catch glimpses of the future?”
“Not exactly, but it does conjure visions of a sort. It frees you from the bonds of the real world, sets your mind soaring. Of course when I come crashing back to earth, I am usually sick for days.”
“Then why meddle with something so dangerous?”
Xavier held up his flask, regarding it with a rueful smile. “Because my dear, just like your scrying glass, the power of it is very seductive.”
Meg wanted to deny any comparison between the purity of her crystal and his filthy jungle brew. But his words struck an uncomfortable chord with her. The visions she summoned up in the glass were often alarming. But knowing that she possessed the power to summon those visions was all too alluring.
But she said, “Your potion sounds more dangerous than what I do with my crystal. At least I don’t sink into any kind of a trance.”
“Perhaps not. But while you are so busy seeking to know what may happen tomorrow, you forget to live today. Your glimpses into the future may be the most dangerous because they deny you your free will, your belief that you can chart your own course. If I were you, I would leave that thing alone.”
“You have no right to lecture me.” She gestured contemptuously to his flask.
“You are right. I don’t.” He uncorked the flask. Meg watched him with a mingling of trepidation and fascination, wondering if he meant to perform his magic for her right here and now. To her astonishment, he upended the flask and poured the liquid out into the sand.
“My use of this form of dark magic may well have cost me my ship. That crystal of yours could end up costing you a high price as well.”
Meg surprised herself by confiding in him what she had told no one else. “I can’t help it, Xavier. I am afraid. I keep seeing her.”
His lips tightened. “I assume you mean the Dark Queen.”
“Someone is going to betray me to her. I will end up trapped in her palace and—” Meg bit down upon her lip. She had already told him more than she meant to. She didn’t add, I am afraid I am going to do something terrible.
Xavier looked away from her, a troubled expression darkening his face. Meg would have given anything if she could read the man’s eyes. When he turned back to her, his expression was more gentle than she would have imagined him capable of.
He touched her hand. “No, Meg. No one is going to betray you. No matter what that crystal tells you. You will be safe from the Dark Queen. I promise you that.”
It was a rash promise. Yet, he spoke so simply, so intently, she found herself believing him.
She looked at her crystal for a long moment, weighing it in her palm. Drawing a breath for courage, she smashed it upon the rocks.
Chapter Nineteen
SIMON ARISTIDE HAD RETURNED TO FAIRE ISLE. ALTHOUGH it had been well over a decade since the witch-hunter had raided the island, women gathered up their children and herded them indoors.
A few dared to linger by their garden gates, staring in stony silence at the man as he clattered by on horseback. The years had threaded silver through his dark hair. He dressed more in the simple breeches and tunic of a peasant farmer than his dark warrior’s garb of yore. But there was no mistaking the sinister eye patch and scars that marred the right side of Aristide’s face.
Simon nodded, tipping the soft brim of his hat to some of the ladies as he passed. But his efforts to smile were only met with glowers and one elderly dame actually spat at him.
Simon bore her no resentment, after the havoc he had wreaked upon this island during the years of his youthful arrogance and bitterness. He had eschewed his profession as a witch-hunter, but the ladies of Faire Isle would not forget what he had once been or forgive him for it.
Digging his knees into Elle’s flanks, Simon urged his horse onward toward Belle Haven where he was at least assured of a welcome from one woman. The daughter of the earth who dared to call him husband.
Elle’s pace had lagged ever since they had arrived on Faire Isle. Simon’s beloved mare was growing older, no longer possessing the same stamina for long journeying. Elle had ever been skittish about crossing the narrow causeway that stretched between the
island and the mainland.
But the mare’s ears perked up as they drew near the courtyard of Belle Haven, an ivy-covered stone manor with a single square tower. Exhausted as he was, Simon sat straighter in the saddle himself. His heart lifted, especially when he guided Elle into the stable yard and saw a fairylike woman with flowing moon-gold hair.
Miri crouched down as she held a mastiff puppy in her arms, trying to hold the wriggling creature still so that she could teach her small nephew how to pet him gently. Since Leon gamboled about her skirts, every bit as excited as the puppy, the lesson appeared to be proving quite a challenge.
When she glanced up and saw Simon, her face lit up. Consigning both the puppy and Leon to the care of Seraphine, Miri bolted across the stable yard before Simon could even dismount.
Knowing his Miri and her great love for all four-legged creatures, it would not have surprised Simon if she had greeted his horse first. Although she did caress Elle’s forelock, she scarce waited until Simon’s boots struck the ground before hurling herself into his arms.
God, how he had missed her. Simon crushed his wife in his arms, then laughed and spun her in a circle before remembering the precious burden she carried inside her.
He placed her reverently back on her feet. He contented himself with a long tender kiss despite the teasing way his impish niece Seraphine whooped and applauded, her hand clapping imitated by little Leon.
Miri pulled a wry face at her niece and nephew. She shooed them off with a wave of her hand before turning back to Simon with a delighted sigh.
“This is quite a surprise, my love. Have you ridden all this way to reclaim your errant wife?”
He tugged playfully at one of her tresses, his gruff tone concealing the way his heart swelled at the sight of her. “You have been gone nearly a month, my lady.”
“No? Truly? Has it really been that long?”
“It is obvious that I have been missing you far more than you did me.”
Miri crinkled her nose, looking adorably guilty. “I have missed you, Simon, but it has been so wonderful—” When she broke off, he finished for her, “Being home again?”
He well knew all that Miri had given up by marrying him. Of the three Cheney sisters, she had been the one who had most loved Faire Isle.
She cupped his cheek with the palm of her hand. “No, Simon, home is wherever you are. You should know that. But it has been wonderful being with Ariane again, and spending time with Gabby’s girls and little Leon.”
She beamed up at him. “And you will never guess what? I have a brother, Captain Louis Xavier Cheney. I am sure you will wonder how that came about. You must come inside and meet him. Seraphine will look after Elle. I am sure she is dying to do so. And while you refresh yourself and wash off the dust of the road, I will explain everything.”
Seizing him by the hand, Miri tugged him in the direction of the house. But Simon’s elation in seeing her had made him forget the reason for his journey to Belle Haven, the grim tidings that he brought. Miri’s evident delight in her newfound brother was only going to make what he had to say that much harder.
As he hung back, Miri sensed his reluctance. Swinging around to face him, she asked, “Simon, what’s wrong?”
“You recall that I have been making enquiries, trying to gauge what is going on in Paris. I have learned something recently, something bad.”
“About the Dark Queen?” Miri faltered.
“Not just about Catherine.” Simon sighed. “It also concerns this new brother of yours …”
XAVIER SAT AT THE KITCHEN TABLE, LABORING OVER HIS drawing, the stick of charcoal gripped awkwardly in his right hand. Like many sea captains, he had mastered the art of sketching, the better to record many of the exotic flora and fauna he had encountered in his travels.
But he was hopeless with his left hand and his right was still frustratingly impaired by the splint. It also did not help that he was surrounded by a critical audience, his two young nieces, Lucia and Ninon, hovering on either side of him.
Xavier stole a glance across the room. Jane was preoccupied, instructing one of the younger maids in a method for getting stains out of fine linen. Xavier set down the charcoal and began to loosen the bindings that held his splint in place.
But Lucia sang out, “Milady Jane, look what Uncle Xavier is doing.”
“Telltale,” Xavier growled.
Jane bore down upon him with a mighty frown. Much to the amusement of his small nieces, she thunked him on the head with a wooden spoon as she scolded. “How many times must you be told? Leave those bandages alone.”
“But the blasted thing itches. I surely must be healed enough by now. It has been almost a month.”
“Ariane says you must wait at least another week or two.”
“By that time my arm will be completely withered from lack of use,” Xavier grumbled, but felt immediately ashamed of himself. But for Ariane, he would have no right arm at all.
“Very well,” he said. “I shall try to behave myself.”
“That, sir, I fear may be quite beyond your power. Perhaps Meg can brew up some kind of potion that will give you more patience.”
Meg looked up from the book on healing herbs that she was reading near the hearth. She smiled. “That, I am afraid, would be quite beyond my power.”
Xavier pulled a fierce face at all of them. He sighed, doing his best to manipulate the charcoal with his fingers protruding beyond the end of the splint.
Jane lingered near the table to watch and as his nieces crowded in even closer, his eyes met Jane’s above the two golden heads.
She smiled that particular soft smile that she reserved for him alone and he felt his heart respond. He wondered if she was thinking the same as he. That this is what their life together might be if they were to wed, their own children clustered around them.
The notion did not alarm him as it once had. He was daily growing more accustomed to the idea. Perhaps for the first time in his life, he understood why some of his men had been so eager to debark at their home port after a long voyage. It was because of the warmth and comfort of returning to one’s own hearth and family, that sense of belonging somewhere in this vast wide world that he had never had. Until now.
Lucia tugged impatiently at his sleeve, recalling him to his task. As he wielded the charcoal across the parchment, the wings of the creature took form and shape. He eyed his efforts critically. Not as good of a dragon as he could have conjured if he had full use of his right hand, but a creditable enough effort.
Ninon popped her thumb out of her mouth, her eyes wide. She gestured toward his picture with her drool-soaked finger. “You saw that beastie in your jungle?”
“Indeed I did. It nearly toasted me with its fire and had me for breakfast.”
“That sounds like another of your stories, Uncle. I do not believe you ever saw a dragon,” Lucia said with a toss of her long blond hair.
“I do.” Ninon frowned at her older sister. “You never believe anything.”
“That’s because Lucia is a perennial skeptic,” Xavier said.
“What’s a peri animal skeptar?” Lucia demanded.
“Someone who does not even believe they have a nose unless they look in the mirror.” Xavier dabbed a smudge of charcoal on his niece’s snub nose.
Lucia scrubbed at her face, scowling at him before appealing to Jane. “What do you think, milady? Was that dragon real?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps we should ask Meg. I believe she used to have a book on dragons.”
“Which I was obliged to abandon when we all left London.” Meg closed up her text on herbs and strolled over to study Xavier’s drawing.
“It looks like the Ethiopian dragons that were in my book,” she said.
“But are dragons real?” Lucia persisted.
“I believe so. Indeed I am convinced she exists.”
Xavier looked up at Meg’s remark. “I am sure you don’t have to worry about this particular dragon. She is ol
d and her teeth have been drawn.”
Meg smiled, an unspoken understanding passing between them. Perhaps he had done wrong to assure the girl she would be safe from Catherine de Medici. All he could really promise Meg was that she had nothing to fear from him. He would protect Meg if it became necessary and not just because of Jane, but for the girl’s own sake.
He could not say that they had become fast friends, but a tentative alliance had formed between them since that afternoon in the cove. Perhaps because they had both renounced their own particular demons when he had poured out his shaman’s brew and she had destroyed her crystal. Or perhaps it was something more elemental, a shared understanding of the struggle to overcome the chains and scars of the past.
Meg bent closer over his drawing. “I think your dragon needs a longer tail.”
Xavier surrendered the charcoal to her. Ninon wriggled her way onto his lap while Meg put a few deft finishing touches to his picture.
They were all so absorbed that at first none but Xavier noticed the man who stole quietly into the kitchen. Then Lucia squealed out, “Uncle Simon!”
Despite the little girl’s customary boldness, she did not barrel toward the man as she was wont to do with Xavier. Xavier could understand why.
There was something intimidating about the man’s scarred face, the eye patch that concealed his right eye. The fleeting smile he bestowed upon the little girl was more of a grimace.
So this must be Simon Aristide, the erstwhile witch-hunter who had married his youngest sister. Any doubts Xavier might have had were settled when Miri entered and linked her hand through her husband’s arm. She was followed by Ariane.
Something was wrong. Miri’s eyes were red and Ariane looked pale. When Seraphine crowded into the room after them, she glared at Xavier as though he had kicked her mastiff puppy. As for Aristide, the man’s eyes were like stone.
Xavier eased Ninon off his lap and stood. He had a strong feeling this was not going to prove a continuation of the tender family reunion. When no one offered any introductions, he stepped toward Aristide, extending his left hand.