St. Leger 1: The Bride Finder

  "Aye, is it possible I could catch some of Anatole's strange power from him?"

  For the first time since she had collapsed on his doorstep, Fitzleger smiled. "No, my dear. Though, mind you, the sword does have any number of odd legends attached to it. One being that the owner's special power is trapped in the crystal, often enabling his bride to use some of it."

  As Madeline stiffened with alarm, Fitzleger made haste to disclaim, "But I have never seen evidence of such a thing in my lifetime. Part of the reason the sword has always been surrendered to the bride is to render it harmless. If you would but look at it, you could tell you have no need to fear—"

  "No!" Madeline shuddered. “I never want to see the thing again."

  He had turned away as though to fetch the sword to her, but he halted in midstep.

  "And—and Anatole?" he quavered, as though fearing her answer.

  Madeline ducked her head, knowing she must disappoint the old man as she had done the night of the dinner party. Perhaps even break his heart, but she could not seem to help it. She was a coward indeed.

  "I honestly don't know, Fitzleger, if I will ever find the courage to go back to my husband."

  The little vicar seemed to age before her very eyes, sinking weakly into the wing-back chair opposite. But he tried to rally, saying, "You've undoubtably had a dreadful shock, that is all. What happened tonight was most distressing. I cannot comprehend how Anatole could have so lost control. He has not done so since he was a young lad."

  "It was my fault," Madeline said miserably. "I forced him to tell me the truth. I made him demonstrate his powers. He never wanted to."

  Fitzleger looked aghast. "Why ever did you do such a thing?"

  "Because I was going to prove to him none of these legends were true."

  "But, my dear child, you cannot believe that Anatole meant to frighten you or—or God forbid—to hurt you?"

  Had she thought that? Madeline closed her eyes reliving that dreadful moment when her husband had seemed to disappear, assuming the shape of some monstrous stranger.

  Only monsters should never harbor such devastation in their deep dark eyes when one shrank away from them. Other memories intruded of the man who had watched over her with such fierce tenderness ever since her arrival at Castle Leger, protecting her, she now realized, even from himself.

  "No, Mr. Fitzleger. Anatole would never hurt me. I believe the man would…" A sad smile curved her lips as she recalled Anatole's own words. "He would stay the wind itself "for me if he could."

  "Then, why did you run from him?"

  "I don't know," Madeline said, wishing with all her heart she had a good answer to that question. Why had she turned into such a terrified, unreasoning being?

  Perhaps because for the first time in her life reason had nothing to do with it. She had struck up against something that defied all her logic.

  "I have always tried to be an enlightened woman. I take great pride in my reason. And tonight Anatole did more than wreak havoc with the great hall. It—it was like he brought the whole world crashing down around my ears."

  She buried her face in her hands. "God help me, Mr. Fitzleger. Are you truly certain I am not going mad?"

  Fitzleger pulled her hands down, tucking one gently into his own. "No, you are not mad, child. Neither is Anatole. I wanted him to tell you the truth sooner, but he was so afraid that you might react this way."

  "Flee from him in panic? Not exactly the proper sort of behavior for a chosen bride. And I was the one who was going to slay the dragon!" Madeline gave a bitter laugh.

  "But I failed, Mr. Fitzleger. At the first sign of a real dragon, I ran away. And I still find myself not wanting to believe that—that—"

  "That there are more things in heaven and earth than you've ever dreamed of in your philosophy?"' Fitzleger quoted softly.

  "Shakespeare certainly had that right. Do you suppose he ever knew any St. Legers?"

  "Very possible, my dear." The old man gave her a comforting smile.

  Despite her distress, Madeline managed to smile back, warmed by the kindness and serenity that ever seemed to emanate from Septimus Fitzleger.

  "I was like this even as a little girl, you know," she said ruefully. "When my brother Jeremy told us there were monsters hiding in the closet, my sisters hid under the bedclothes. But I always had to go look. I was so certain there would be nothing there. I'm too old to start being afraid of the dark now."

  "There is no reason that you have to be. Just think of it as… as opening your mind to new possibilities."

  "And if I do, the world suddenly becomes a black and terrifying place."

  "Or one of wonder and magic."

  "I don't believe Anatole finds it all that magical."

  "No, poor lad, he doesn't." Fitzleger's eyes clouded with sadness. "But then, he has all too often been left to stumble alone through this strange world of his."

  Alone… exactly as she had left him tonight. Madeline withdrew her hand from Fitzleger's grasp, a comfort she felt she did not deserve.

  "But Anatole has the other St. Legers, does he not?" she asked, wondering what she was seeking most, solace for Anatole or for her own stricken conscience. "Are they not all like he is?"

  "To some extent. The only one completely untouched by the family legacy is Roman. That happens every generation or so. The rest all possess some modest measure of the St. Leger talent: Caleb has an uncanny ability to communicate with horses, Paxton can divine precious metals, and our poor Marius can sense another's pain down to the depths of his soul."

  Fitzleger regarded her gravely. "But, Madeline, you must have observed for yourself how estranged Anatole is, even from his own family."

  She had. She recalled too well the disastrous supper party and how she had only made the situation worse.

  "Yet they all must understand Anatole and accept him for what he is," she said. "Why has he always been so isolated, Mr. Fitzleger?"

  The old man settled back in his chair with a mournful sigh. "Perhaps because he never had the acceptance of the two people in his life who mattered the most."

  "His parents," Madeline murmured. "Anatole has told me so little. He does not like to speak of them."

  "He would be too proud to do so. Or maybe it all still hurts too much." Fitzleger eyed her hesitantly. "My lord always commanded my silence on these matters, but I fear I may have done him more harm by obeying. Will you allow me to tell you the rest of the story now, Madeline? And then perhaps you will better understand the man you ran from tonight."

  Madeline feared that nothing Fitzleger could say would help her to understand this madness, but she nodded. She longed to hear anything that would help her find her way back to Anatole, the man who had introduced her to the possibility of love beyond her wildest dreams… and a terror beyond her worst imaginings.

  As Fitzleger steepled his fingers with a thoughtful frown, seeking for a place to begin, Madeline settled back to listen. Night winds rattled the windowpanes as though they meant to hold morning at bay until the old man finished his tale.

  "Cecily Wendham was beautiful enough to enchant any man at first sight," Fitzleger said. "Petite, golden, and graceful. Possessed of such a passionate nature. Full of the most lively gaiety one moment, the next dissolved into heart-broken tears. She wore her emotions like a strand of pearls fragilely strung together. So easily snapped.

  "It did not take a Bride Finder to see that she was the last sort of woman a St. Leger should marry. But Lyndon was determined to have her, and in the end there was nothing that any of us could do but wish him joy and… pray.

  "All went well at first. The young couple traveled a great deal and Lyndon indulged his bride's every whim. But in time the death of Lyndon's father forced him to return to Cornwall and assume his place as the new lord."

  Fitzleger grimaced. "Castle Leger is—is not precisely a home suited to someone of a nervous disposition."

  "No, it isn't," Madeline agreed with a shiver. "Did Ce
cily know the truth about the St. Leger family?"

  "Oh, yes, Lyndon had told her everything. But Cecily was very good at pretending away anything of a disturbing nature. Then Anatole was born, and she could pretend no longer."

  Fitzleger paused to fortify himself with a sip of tea.

  "Anatole was never a pretty child. Not like Roman. Always a little too large for his age, awkward. It took my lord a long time to grow into that formidable body and temper of his. Nor did he weep softly. Even as a babe, he possessed a rather lusty bellow."

  "I know." Madeline's lips twitched in remembrance. "I have heard it myself on many occasions."

  For a moment Fitzleger shared her smile, but his expression sobered as he went on with his tale.

  "I believe Cecily was daunted by her son from the first. Matters only became worse when Anatole began to display some of his unique St. Leger talents.

  "It first happened shortly after the lad's second birthday. One winter afternoon when Lyndon was unfortunately gone from home on estate business, Anatole sent his toy soldiers pelting around the nursery like a hailstorm. Cecily went into hysterics. She… she had the boy dragged away and locked up in the gatehouse."

  "The gatehouse!" Madeline said, shocked. "In the winter? That place is nothing more than an old stone tower."

  "So it was. Even then. When I found Anatole, he was huddled in the corner. It took a long time for me to persuade the child to even open his eyes. He thought if he did, he might make bad things start to happen again."

  "He must have been terrified himself."

  "He was, but there was no making Cecily understand that. She behaved as though Anatole were the devil himself. The boy was banished permanently to the gatehouse with only Lucius Trigghorne to attend him."

  "And his father permitted this?" Madeline frowned. "Being a St. Leger himself, he must have known how bewildered and frightened Anatole would be."

  "He did. Lyndon loved his son, but he loved his wife more. He hoped Cecily would learn to accept their child. But around this time Roman lost his own mother. Cecily would often have the boy at Castle Leger, spoiling him with a hundred indulgences that did Roman's character no good. I think she liked to pretend that some evil fairy had switched the two lads, that Roman was really her son."

  Fitzleger's mouth thinned with a rare bitterness. "Lyndon did nothing to interfere with this nonsense. He was in many respects a weak man. His only solution was to summon me to the gatehouse, to tutor Anatole, teach him how to be a St. Leger."

  "So you became Anatole's Merlin."

  "A very poor one." Fitzleger shook his head sadly. "I am a Bride Finder. That is the limit of my extraordinary abilities. I did my best, but I was not suited to train the lad to cope with his powers.

  "Bless the boy, somehow he learned on his own. He was so quick, so intelligent, and despite everything, he still adored his mother. When her carriage would pass, he would fly to the window for a glimpse of her, such yearning on his face, it nigh broke my heart to watch him."

  Fitzleger's eyes gleamed with a suspicious brightness. He paused, groping for his hankerchief, blowing his nose gustily before he could go on.

  "Anatole would escape from me at every opportunity, hide out in the garden just to steal a look at her. And it was fine when all he did was look, but one day…"

  The old man stared into the fire, momentarily lost in his own unhappy reflections of the past. Madeline respected his silence for as long as she could, but she inched to the edge of her seat.

  "What happened?" she prodded softly.

  "Anatole tried to take some flowers to his mother. But she shrank from him, so—so he floated the blossoms to her across the room. She went wild in her terror and smashed a glass vase over the child's head."

  "Dear God!” Madeline murmured. “His scar…his warrior's scar."

  "Aye, gained in a war no boy should have to fight. A battle for his mother's love. Cecily nearly killed her own son that day.

  "At that point the rest of the family sought to interfere. Hadrian demanded his brother surrender the boy to him, allow him to take Anatole away to sea. He and Lyndon nearly came to blows over it, but in the end Lyndon had his way. He could not bear to part with his son, and finally found the courage to insist Anatole be allowed to move from the gatehouse, back to his own room.

  "Those were dark days indeed." Fitzleger sighed. "Anatole became like a shadow in his own home, creeping about the halls, fearful of terrifying his mother again. In spite of all his care, Cecily's bouts of depression and hysteria grew steadily worse until the end came that was inevitable to everyone but Lyndon. The lady perished."

  "She died of fear and sorrow," Madeline said. "That is what Anatole told me. At the time, I did not understand. But now—"

  "You still don't, my dear Madeline. Cecily St. Leger took her own life."

  Madeline stared at Fitzleger in horror.

  "She slipped from her bed one night, disappeared through the garden to the cliffs at the back of Castle Leger. And there she cast herself into the sea."

  Madeline shuddered. She had seen for herself both the beauty and terrible power of those cold, foamy waves, the jagged outcroppings of rock that dotted the coast. But only from a distance.

  Even sitting here in the warmth of the parlor, it was as though she could feel the wind in her hair, Anatole's strong arm about her, holding her back, fiercely forbidding her to ever get too close to those treacherous heights.

  Only now did she understand why.

  Fitzleger continued wearily, "The real tragedy is that Anatole foresaw his mother's death in one of his dreaded visions. The poor lad was tortured day and night with his fear for her, but he could not get his father to listen. Lyndon simply refused to believe it. He was convinced that Cecily loved him far too much to abandon him in such a fashion.

  "After her death, Lyndon shut himself away from everyone. From Anatole most of all, cruelly blaming the boy for what had happened."

  Fitzleger sagged back in his chair. But he did not need to go on, for Madeline knew the rest of the story too well. How Anatole had squared his young shoulders and assumed the responsibility of Castle Leger while his father slowly faded from life one day at a time. How the lonely boy vanished, gradually evolving into the lonely man.

  Madeline knew that Fitzleger's story would linger in her mind for a long time, not the tale of Lyndon and Cecily and their destructive love for each other. But the son who had been sacrificed to that love.

  Fitzleger had no need to tell her of the haunting sadness, the emptiness of Anatole's life. She had first seen it for herself, stroked into the face of the self-portrait he had done, seen it many times since in the melancholy darkness of his eyes. But she had never fully comprehended until now.

  Rejection, being shrank from… it must have been Anatole's greatest fear. And Madeline realized with shame and horror that was exactly how she had behaved toward him tonight. Sweet God in heaven, what had she done to him? She was no better than the half-mad Cecily St. Leger.

  Madeline flung the coverlet aside. "Mr. Fitzleger. I… I've got to go home."

  The old man started, turning pale at her words. "Back to London. But, Madeline, after all I've told you, surely—"

  "Not London. I have to go back to Castle Leger." Her heart thudded at the thought, but she pushed resolutely to her feet.

  Her legs wobbled, and Fitzleger had to leap up to steady her.

  "My dear, you cannot. You are not yet recovered enough, and it is still so dark outside."

  "But I have to see Anatole!"

  "I doubt you will be able to find him."

  Madeline realized the old man was right. In past times of trouble Anatole had always fled to some hidden refuge. She had no idea where, but she had a sudden hunch that Mr. Fitzleger did. The little vicar was steadfastly avoiding her gaze.

  "Where would Anatole go?" she asked softly. "I am certain you know, Mr. Fitzleger. Please tell me."

  Fitzleger stepped back, releasing her. "I do
n't think that would be wise," he mumbled.

  "But why? You said yourself he would never do me any harm. There is no need for you to try to protect me."

  Fitzleger lifted his face to hers at last, his own stricken with regret and sorrow. "It is not you I am seeking to protect. My young master has endured more than enough hurt for one lifetime. Can you promise me that you could face him now without flinching again?"

  Madeline started to swear that of course she could, but her vow faltered and died beneath the force of the old man's unwavering stare. Any doubts she had, she saw them mirrored back a thousandfold in Fitzleger's blue eyes.

  Though he regarded her with as much gentle affection as ever, it was clear that the Bride Finder had lost his faith in her.

  Madeline sank back down upon the settee.

  Fitzleger dragged the coverlet over her lap. "Until you are more certain of yourself, Madeline, I think it best you remain here. I will go and look out for Anatole. I have done so many times in the past. You… you try to rest and please God; I will find a way to make all of this right again."

  He brushed his lips across her brow and gave her shoulder an awkward pat. Shuffling away from her, he fumbled into his cloak, but as Fitzleger ambled out the door, there was a dejected bent to the old man's proud head, an air of hopelessness about his mien that afforded Madeline no comfort at all.

  She tried to take his advice, stretching out on the settee. But rest eluded her. She stared instead at the parlor's tiny windowpanes, seeing the first streaks of dawn beginning to lighten the blackness beyond.

  Where was Anatole? What was he thinking, feeling? Did he despise her now for her cowardice, hate her for running away?

  No, he would never do that, she thought, a constriction tightening her throat. He would have feared her rejection, even despairingly expected it, but he would never blame her. Likely he was half out of his mind, worrying where she had gone.

  But she realized that was not true, either. Even if Anatole were dying, he would have crawled after her until he made certain she was in no danger. St. Legers looked after their own.

  And she was his. Had he not said he could feel each breath she took, could always feel her presence? Wherever he was, she knew that he was aware that she was safe.