Читать книгу Lord of the Beasts - Susan Krinard - Страница 12

IVY GLANCED AT THE DOOR and then toward the byre, catching her lip between straight white teeth. The little spaniel planted itself in front of her and growled softly.

“Ivy,” Cordelia said, extending her hand. “You have nothing to fear from me.”

Fleming chose that moment to step outside. He looked from Ivy to Cordelia, his brows drawn low over his eyes, and folded his arms across his chest.

“Mrs. Hardcastle,” he said. “May I ask what you are you doing here?”

Cordelia had always believed that the best defense was a swift offense. “I might ask, Dr. Fleming,” she said, “what a certain young thief is doing in your house when she was last seen snatching purses in Covent Garden.”

Fleming stared at Cordelia, searching her eyes, and let his arms drop to his sides. “The answer is simple enough,” he said. “I found this child in Seven Dials, being assaulted by grown men, and did not consider it fitting to abandon her to such a life of squalor. I offered her a home in Yorkshire—” he shot a narrow glance at Ivy, as if he expected her to protest “—and that is why you find her here. The matter of your viscount’s purse was an unfortunate misunderstanding.”

“I see. A most admirable act on your part, Doctor, one that not many would emulate. It seems that not only the animals benefit from your compassion.” Cordelia caught Ivy’s gaze. “Do you agree with this description of events, Ivy?”

The girl hunched her shoulders but refused to speak. Cordelia nodded, unsurprised. “You helped her to escape in Covent Garden,” she said to Fleming.

“I had no intention of seeing a child go to gaol for such an insignificant offense.”

A child. There was no irony in Fleming’s voice, no sign of awareness that his protégée was anything more she seemed to be—as, indeed, she had appeared to Cordelia in London.

Cordelia briefly wondered if Dr. Fleming was capable of an outright lie regarding such a matter. If he were—and given the young woman’s beauty and older appearance when she was properly cleaned and dressed—it was not such a leap to imagine that he might steal her from the streets of London and set her up as his …

Good God, what was she thinking? Fleming might be unpolished and discourteous, but he was no debauche. Clearly he had never seen Ivy in the white dress or any garment like it, and Ivy intended to keep it that way.

“Do I understand,” Cordelia said, “that Ivy has been living with a neighboring family?”

Fleming sighed and rubbed the crease between his eyes. “Yes. The Porritts are good people, well-regarded in this part of the Dales. What is your interest in Ivy, Mrs. Hardcastle?”

“I could not help but overhear that she seems unhappy where you have sent her. It must seem a very drastic change from the rookeries of London to the life of Yorkshire farmers.”

“Ivy has everything she needs … good food, a warm bed, fresh air and the company of young people. What else could she require?”

What else indeed. Cordelia made a quick and admittedly impulsive decision. “Will you allow me to speak with Ivy privately, Doctor?”

He bristled rather like the little spaniel who so fiercely guarded his mistress. “You will not expose her to the law—”

“Certainly not. As you may recall, I was against turning her over to the constable in London.” She met Ivy’s gaze. “My feelings on that score have not changed.”

Fleming’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “Ivy, you have nothing to fear. Speak to Mrs. Hardcastle, be honest with her, and then we’ll decide what is to be done.”

Ivy shot an uneasy glance toward the byre and reluctantly followed Cordelia into the house. Cordelia closed the door behind them. “Would you like some tea, Ivy, or scones?” she asked. “There were still a few left when my cousin and I departed the farm earlier this morning.”

Ivy slumped in a chair, arms shielding her breasts. “I ain’t ‘ungry.”

“Then perhaps you won’t mind if I prepare some for myself.” The tea things were still lying out from that morning’s service, so Cordelia began heating water, moving about the kitchen as if it were her own. Ivy’s sullen defiance reminded her far too much of another unhappy girl, only a little younger than this one, and she was grateful to have something to occupy her hands.

“I hope you will allow me to ask a few questions,” she said with forced lightness. “I’m a little bewildered at what I have seen and heard today.”

Ivy shuffled her feet under the table. “You followed me ‘ere, di’n’t you?”

“Yes, Ivy, I did.”

“Why?”

“Because I … I wished to learn more of Dr. Fleming, and since you claimed to be his friend—”

“You di’n’t recognize me from Lunnon when Oi had on the dress,” Ivy said suddenly, “but you knew roight away ‘oo Oi was when you saw me ‘ere.”

“And you recognized me at once when we met in the meadow,” Cordelia said, “but you did an excellent job of concealing it.”

Ivy gnawed on her lower lip. “You di’n’t tell Donal about the dress.”

Cordelia paused in her preparations. “It seems obvious that Dr. Fleming did not give it to you. Where did you acquire it?”

Ivy shuffled her feet under the table. “I … borrowed it.”

“From the Porritts?”

“Sometoims Oi loiks to dress up.”

“Have the Porritts seen you ‘dressed up’?”

“Not them.”

“Nor, I venture, has Dr. Fleming.” She took the kettle off the stove. “I presume that you have pretended to be a child since London?”

Ivy nodded shortly.

“You must have a very good reason for hiding your true age from your benefactor. But I suspect that you have been playing the child since long before you met Dr. Fleming.”

Ivy looked away. “‘Ow d’you know so much?”

“I have seen Seven Dials, and places much worse. To survive under such conditions requires great courage and resourcefulness.”

For the first time Ivy met her gaze. “Why should you keep moi secrets, when Oi troi to steal from yer gen’l’man friend?”

Cordelia smiled. “It is certainly true that someone fitting your description attempted to steal Lord Inglesham’s purse. But it seems that I have met two Ivys today—one who is quite grown up, speaks gracefully and is obviously of good family, and another who flaunts the vernacular of the rookeries and pretends to be an unlettered child. I have been quite unable to decide which one is real.”

Ivy squirmed and stared at the table. “Why d’you care?”

“Is it so astonishing that others besides Dr. Fleming might take an interest in a promising young woman … particularly when she has been denied the advantages she so clearly deserves?”

“You don’t even know me. ‘Ow d’you know wot Oi deserves?”

“From the time I was a young girl, I traveled all over the world with my father. I had to learn quickly how to understand many different kinds of people. It has always been my desire to help those in need, whether they be men, women or animals.”

“You loiks animals?”

“Very much. At my father’s country house in Gloucestershire, we have horses, dogs and wild creatures few Europeans have ever seen. That is why I came to visit Dr. Fleming, because of his fine reputation as a veterinarian.” She sat down across from Ivy and smiled. “May I speak frankly, as between two women?”

Ivy nodded warily, but her blue eyes took on a sparkle of interest.

“I cannot pretend,” Cordelia began, “to guess what kind of situation compelled you to live by such desperate means in a place like Seven Dials, but I can surmise why you chose to disguise yourself as a child. You had hoped to avoid the sort of salacious attentions you were suffering when Dr. Fleming rescued you.” She paused. “He did rescue you, did he not?”

“Yes.” Ivy rubbed at a bitten fingernail and almost smiled. “‘E ran them blodgers roight off, ‘e did.”

“And when he brought you to Yorkshire, he had no idea that you were older than you had made yourself appear.” She stopped to fetch hot water and the teapot, then laid out the cups and saucers in the center of the table. “When I saw you in Covent Garden, you deceived even me. Did you bind your breasts, Ivy?”

Ivy flushed. “Oi ‘ad to. When Oi first got to the rookeries, most blokes left me alone.”

“How old were you then?”

“Twelve.”

Cordelia poured a cup of tea, added a dollop of honey and gently pushed the saucer toward Ivy. “I know that drinking a good cup of tea in a civilized setting is not unknown to you, Ivy. The young woman I met in the meadow wore that gown like one who remembers fine things and better days.”

Ivy pulled the steaming cup toward her and clenched her fingers around it. “Oi …”

“Can you tell me where you lived before you went to Seven Dials?”

“Wiv me muvver. She died.” Ivy lifted the cup to her face, closed her eyes, and breathed in the scent as if it were the ambrosia of the gods. “I don’t remember much from before,” she said in accentless English. “I just know that I lived in a house with a garden, and I had books and pretty dresses.”

Cordelia released a slow breath. She hadn’t been sure if she would be able to gain the girl’s trust, and she had desperately wanted to. Perhaps it was because Ivy reminded her so much of Lydia. Certainly she needed no better reason than common decency to help the girl, and her persistence had pierced at least one layer of Ivy’s formidable defenses.

“You can read and write?” she asked.

Ivy snorted indelicately. “Of course.”

“What of your father?”

Ivy jumped up from the chair and began to pace the room, her motions abrupt as if she were resisting the urge to run away. “I don’t remember him at all,” she said. She reached inside the neckline of her shapeless bodice and drew out a silver pendant hung on a worn leather cord. “He left me this.”

“It’s lovely,” Cordelia said. The silver emblem seemed to be a complex Celtic knot set with a vivid blue stone, but before she could examine it further Ivy pushed it beneath her dress again.

“I think he must be dead,” Ivy said. She stopped to stare out the window, her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides.

“And you had no other kin to take care of you,” Cordelia said.

“None that I ever met.”

Cordelia rose and went to stand behind the young woman. “Whatever happened to your father and mother, they must have loved you very much. They gave you an education, and the spirit to go on living when it must have seemed … almost too much to bear.”

Ivy shook her head sharply. “I didn’t need anyone.”

“And yet you came with Dr. Fleming when he offered you a home.”

Ivy’s voice softened. “He was the first one who was ever kind to me. And the dogs loved him …” She pressed her hands flat against the window pane. “But ‘e di’n’t give me no ‘ome,” she said, lapsing back to rough rookery speech. “‘E sent me off to live wiv them farmers….”

“Surely he did so only because he wanted what was best for you,” Cordelia said. She reached out but let her hands fall before she could touch Ivy’s rigid shoulders. “He saw only one part of you, Ivy. He couldn’t guess that you might be destined for something better than life on an isolated farm.”

“I won’t go back,” Ivy said, low and intense. “They took me in because they owe Donal a debt, but they don’t like me. They think I’m a low, filthy thing.”

“Did not Dr. Fleming provide you with a … suitable history so that the Porritts would be willing to accept you?”

“You mean did he lie to them?” Ivy asked. “Of course he did. He made sure I was clean and had new clothes, and he told them a story that made Mrs. Porritt weep into her teacup. He paid them to treat me like one of their daughters.”

“But you refused to play your part.”

“Why should I have done? I hated it there.”

“You did not reveal your true age.”

“I didn’t want them to think that Donal misled them. And I didn’t want him to know.”

“Why not, Ivy?”

The girl scraped her fingers down the windowpane, drawing a frightful squeak from the glass. “I was afraid he would turn me away,” she whispered.

“You know that he must be told.”

“Yes.” Abruptly she spun on Cordelia, a wicked smile curving her lips. “I can’t go back to those silly farmers, anyway. I stole that dress from Porritt’s eldest daughter.”

Cordelia swallowed her instinctive reproach. Thievery was quite likely the very least of what Ivy had been compelled to do in order to survive. Whatever misfortune had led to her fall from respectable life and her apparent loss of memory, her father had almost certainly been of the merchant class, perhaps even a banker or lawyer. Yet Ivy faced a long and difficult climb to regain the state of mind and appropriate behavior that distinguished a well-bred woman. Even the smallest criticism might destroy the fragile truce she and Cordelia had made between them.

“It does not seem a good idea for you to return,” Cordelia agreed. “But perhaps there are alternatives.”

“I want to stay here, with Donal.”

Once again Cordelia suppressed her arguments. It would be unfortunate if Ivy had developed a tendre for Dr. Fleming, though not entirely unexpected. He had been kind to her, and he was not without attractions for a girl who had been living among the dregs of humanity for five or six years.

At least Cordelia didn’t have to contend with an inappropriate attachment in the other direction. Dr. Fleming showed no signs of regarding Ivy as anything but a child. But before the girl could be made to accept her own best interests, Dr. Fleming must be brought to recognize the complexity and delicacy of the situation.

“I know we do not yet know each other well,” Cordelia said, “but if you will trust me, Ivy, I believe I may be able to convince Dr. Fleming that it would be best for you to find a more agreeable home.”

Ivy turned and regarded Cordelia through narrowed eyes. “At Stenwater Farm?”

“That I cannot promise. But you may be sure that I will hold your concerns very much in mind.”

Ivy weighed Cordelia’s offer as if it were a question of life or death. Indeed, it must be against her inclinations to trust any stranger, however well meaning. And yet Cordelia couldn’t help but believe that she could offer the girl something she must yearn for with all her heart: comfort, stability, and the constructive discipline that would restore her to her rightful place in society.

“Very well,” Ivy said. Without another word she spun and ran for the door, light-footed as a fawn. Her spaniel raced after her.

Cordelia gathered her composure as she collected the tea things and carried them into the kitchen. Something quite remarkable had occurred in the hour since she had followed Ivy to Stenwater Farm. Of course there were perfectly rational reasons behind her decision to involved herself in Ivy’s life; she firmly believed it was the duty of any decent person to assist those less fortunate. But there was also an element of irrationality in the situation that disturbed Cordelia, and all she could do was push such thoughts aside as she went to find Dr. Fleming.

WHEN MRS. HARDCASTLE EMERGED from the house, Donal could see that something significant had transpired between her and Ivy.

He had seen a hint of that change in the girl as she’d rushed out the door, flying past Donal with hardly a glance. But Mrs. Hardcastle’s face seemed to hold a kind of light he could not remember noticing before, a peculiar and exotic beauty that that had nothing to do with her rather ordinary features. And her eyes … those eyes he had seen in his dreams … revealed a hint of vulnerability that had a startling effect on Donal’s heart.

He rose from his seat on the flagstone steps and held her gaze as she descended to meet him. He did not understand the unprecedented sense of familiarity that assaulted his nerves and turned his mouth too dry for speech. He knew Mrs. Hardcastle no better now than he had an hour ago, and yet she might have been an old and dear acquaintance, a friend in whom he could confide his deepest yearnings. He could share with her his visions of distant wilderness, his need to run in those faraway places, and she would understand. She would even shed those confining, torturous garments and run at his side.

But she came to a sudden stop, almost as if she sensed his thoughts, and her eyes hardened to tempered steel.

“Dr. Fleming,” she said, “I wish to discuss a proposal regarding Ivy’s future.”

Donal shook off his daze and offered his hand to assist her down the remaining steps. “May I ask, Mrs. Hardcastle, what you and Ivy discussed?”

She took his hand with obvious reluctance, her gloved fingers small and firm in his, and broke away as quickly as courtesy allowed. “We discussed her unhappiness with the current arrangements, and I offered to help her find a more suitable situation.”

“I see.” Donal paced a little distance away, concealing his anger. “You will forgive me if I speak frankly, madame. I am surprised that you consider the judgment of a twelve-year-old girl of greater reliability than my own.”

“If she were indeed twelve years of age and a simple child of the streets,” Mrs. Hardcastle said, “I might consider your judgment sufficient. But you have been deceived, Doctor. Ivy is at the very brink of womanhood, and it is not too late to mold her into the lady she was doubtless born to become.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It is not overly surprising that you were taken in. It is human nature to see what we wish and expect to see. Ivy is an excellent actress, and she had an extraordinary motive to play her role well. Even I did not penetrate her disguise until I met her again, here at Stenwater Farm.”

As Donal listened with growing chagrin, she recounted her meeting with the young woman in the meadow, Ivy’s transformation and the girl’s admission of her masquerade. She asked Donal to accompany her to the byre, where she revealed the soiled white gown that Ivy had stolen from the Porritt’s eldest daughter.

“Ivy maintained her disguise at the Porritt’s,” Mrs. Hardcastle said, “but she could not resist the chance to be her true self for a short while, even if no one would see her.”

“Her true self,” Donal repeated slowly. “If she does not remember her life before the rookeries, how does she know what that is?”

“I am fully convinced that she is of good family, and received at least some education. It may be possible to learn more through my father’s connections in London.”

Donal sifted the fine material of the gown between his fingers and shook his head. “Why was she afraid to tell me the truth about her age?” he asked. A wash of sickness curled in his belly. “Did she think I would abuse her?”

Mrs. Hardcastle walked up behind him. He felt her breath on his shoulder, and for a moment he thought she might touch him. His muscles tightened in anticipation.

“You should not blame yourself, Dr. Fleming,” she said briskly, her skirts brushing his boots as she moved past him. “Only a fool would believe such a thing of you.” She turned to meet Donal’s gaze. “Ivy does not know her own mind, but it is clear that she will not remain with the Porritts.”

Donal went to the door of the byre and looked out at the fells, thinking of the preparations he had already begun to make, the arrangements for the farm and animals he was putting in motion. There was no question of taking Ivy with him on his travels. If she refused to remain with anyone but him …

He had never thought to have the simple things that most humans took for granted: courtship, marriage, a wife and children. He had too little interest in the ways of human society, and human society had no place for a man of his eccentricities. But he had made a choice in taking Ivy from London. He had made himself responsible for a human life.

Mrs. Hardcastle implied that Ivy ought to become a lady like herself, that the girl would be happiest wearing beribboned dresses and flirting at balls and fetes like the ones Donal’s mother loved to give at Hartsmere. Donal had met many such young women before he had left his parents’ estate, and he knew the sort of life they desired: a youth of frivolous pleasures followed by a staid and expedient marriage to a man of excellent prospects. There was hardly an ounce of true spirit, honesty or sincerity amongst any dozen of them.

But Donal had seen something in Ivy that Mrs. Hardcastle had not. He had watched her running on the fells, her feet bare in the grass, her arms spread wide and her face rapt with the beauty of nature. He couldn’t imagine her laced into a corset and weighed down by horsehair petticoats. Whatever Ivy’s true age or parentage, she had a love of freedom that would not be suppressed.

“I would … appreciate your advice in this matter, Mrs. Hardcastle,” he said, keeping the despair from his voice. “It seems that I made a mistake in sending Ivy away. I know little of the needs of young ladies, but I believe she can be happy here. If there is anything in particular you feel she requires, I will make the necessary provisions to—”

“She cannot remain with you at Stenwater Farm,” Mrs. Hardcastle interrupted. “Surely you understand that an unattached and unchaperoned young woman cannot share residence with a bachelor unless she is prepared to sacrifice her reputation.”

Donal flinched. “I am aware that your society is unforgiving of the smallest breach of its nonsensical rules,” he said, “but surely Ivy has already put herself beyond the pale …”

“Not at all.” Mrs. Hardcastle maneuvered herself so that Donal could not avoid her eyes. “The only people who might recognize her from London are you, myself, my cousin and Viscount Inglesham. When she is decently clothed and in an appropriate environment …” She took a deep breath. “Dr. Fleming, what Ivy requires above all else is loving care that includes firm discipline and thorough instruction in the skills and comportment that will secure her future. I believe that I can provide that care.”

Donal heard her words with dawning comprehension and bitter realization. “You?” he said. “You wish to take Ivy into your home?”

“Yes.” She clasped her hands at her waist almost like a supplicant, but Donal wasn’t fooled. “I have the resources to give her what she needs at Edgecott. She will have more than adequate chaperonage there, as well as congenial surroundings and pleasant country society.”

Donal strode out of the byre, scarcely waiting to see if Mrs. Hardcastle followed. “Has Ivy agreed to this … proposal?” he asked.

“I have not told her,” she said behind him. “I knew I must speak with you first.”

He turned on her, nearly treading on the toes of her sensible half-boots. “So my opinion is still of some value, madame?”

“Naturally, since it was you who saved her.”

“But I am not fit to keep her.”

Her nostrils flared with annoyance. “Dr. Fleming, I think you would find your free bachelor’s life, as well as Ivy’s reputation, much compromised if she were to stay.”

“But your life will not in the least be affected.”

“I can provide you with any number of references, Doctor, if you require them. I do not believe you will find any cause to object. I have had considerable experience in seeing to the welfare of the people of our village. I am accustomed to having dependents—”

“Perhaps you consider Ivy another addition to your menagerie.”

She flushed, and her eyes struck his like hammers on an anvil. “You may regard animals as people, but I most assuredly do not subscribe to the reverse view.”

“Humans would be far better off if they recognized their kinship to animals,” he retorted. “What if Ivy does not agree to your scheme?”

“I am confident that Ivy and I have established a certain rapport,” she said stiffly. “If you place no obstacles in her path … if you encourage her to recognize the benefits she will enjoy at Edgecott, I am sure she will be reasonable.”

Reasonable. Donal clenched his jaw. “And what benefits do you gain by this, madame? What payment do you expect for your selfless generosity?” Before she could reply, he rushed on. “Is this all a convenient ploy to acquire my services for your private zoological gardens?”

“What?”

“Your interest in Ivy is most timely,” he said, refusing to relent before the shock in her eyes. “You must know that she finds it difficult to trust anyone, and she’ll never go with you unless I accompany her.”

Mrs. Hardcastle’s small fist clenched, and Donal entertained the absurd image of the woman raising that fist to strike him in the jaw. She was certainly angry enough to attempt it; her usual air of cool self-possession had deserted her, and a tigress crouched behind her outraged stare.

“How poorly you must think of your fellow men and women if you ascribe such motives to me,” she said. “I require nothing of you but your permission to help a young person in need.”

For all his previous certainty of her ulterior motives, Donal was the first to look away. His breath came quickly, but not out of anger; his senses had turned traitor, making him painfully aware of the woman’s body beneath the stout cage of Mrs. Hardcastle’s corset. He could almost taste her scent, a subtle blending of soap, lavender and warm skin. And the blaze of her temper only ignited the long-banked fire he had worked so hard to extinguish.

She brought out the worst in him, the very strength and stubbornness of her character provoking his passions as no other human had done in many years. He should not find her in the least attractive, yet he did. And it was all because of the tigress in her eyes.

God knew that he should do anything but allow himself to be drawn more deeply into Mrs. Hardcastle’s sphere of comfortable, self-satisfied English society. But she had spoken no less than the truth where Ivy was concerned. And if he were honest with himself, he would admit that the lady had offered him a reasonable alternative to surrendering his dreams.

All he need do was spend a few weeks in Gloucestershire to see Ivy well established in her new home. And then, once he had completed the arrangements for Stenwater Farm—and made Tod understand why he must leave England—he would book his passage from Liverpool and be on his way.

He eased the tension from his shoulders and essayed a smile. “What is your name?” he asked.

Mrs. Hardcastle had clearly expected another round of sparring, and his mild question took her aback. “I … beg your pardon?” she stammered.

“Your given name. Your Christian name.”

She perched on the edge of indignation, but she must have recognized that such a minor breach of etiquette was a small enough price to pay for peace between them.

“Cordelia,” she said.

“Cordelia,” he repeated. “King Lear’s loyal daughter.”

“You know your Shakespeare, Dr. Fleming.”

“Donal,” he said. “My name is Donal.”

“Irish, I believe?”

“I spent my early childhood in Ireland.”

The wariness in her eyes gave way to curiosity. “Is Fleming also Irish?”

“English,” he said. “My parents live in Westmorland.”

“I have heard the Lakes are very beautiful.”

“Yes.” He glanced over her head toward the road, searching for a change of subject. “Where is your cousin? She might wish to join us for luncheon, if simple fare meets with your approval.”

Cordelia touched her lips. “Oh, dear. I did not intend to leave Theodora alone in the carriage so long. I shall go at once and fetch her …”

“That will not be necessary.” Donal closed his eyes, picked out the carriage horses’ minds from among the other equines in the vicinity, and sent them a brief message. “I believe they are already on their way.”

“But how could you know that?”

“Any good doctor—even an animal doctor—must rely on instinct as well as science,” he said. He whistled, and his dogs came to him, prancing with delight at the newfound goodwill they sensed between him and his visitor. Cordelia gamely patted a few bobbing heads, but Donal discouraged them from licking her hands or leaping up on her full skirts, and they raced off again to find Ivy.

“I expect Benjamin to arrive any moment with fresh bread and cheese,” Donal said. “When Ivy returns, allow me to speak to her alone.”

“Then you no longer have any objections to my proposal?” Cordelia asked.

“Not if Ivy is willing to try.”

Cordelia quickly looked away, and once more Donal caught a glimpse of the vulnerability he had seen after she had spoken with Ivy. “Thank you, Dr. Fleming,” she said, her voice not entirely steady. “You shall not regret it.”

“IT WILL ONLY BE for a few weeks, Tod,” Donal said, crouching beside him in the loft of the byre. “Mrs. Hardcastle—the lady I met in London—wishes to give Ivy a permanent home. I know you’ve never had the opportunity to know her, but this may be her best opportunity for happiness.”

Tod kicked his feet over the edge of the loft, hiding a scowl behind the fall of his hair. “Why must my lord go with her?”

“I’ve taken responsibility for Ivy. I must make sure this is the right course for her future.” He patted Tod’s shoulder. “You’re welcome to accompany me, of course. You’ve never been to the south of England; there are more humans there than here in the north, but Gloucestershire is filled with hills and woods where you can run in freedom.”

“The Fane left those lands long ago.”

“That may be true. But I wouldn’t be surprised to find that a little Fane magic still lingers, even so.”

Tod sighed, knowing he could not win this battle. He had thought himself rid of the girl, and still she’d returned; now there was a good chance that she would be out of Donal’s life forever. Tolerating her presence for a few more weeks was a small enough price to pay.

“When we come back,” he said, tossing hair out of his eyes, “it will be as it was before. My lord and Tod, together.”

Donal looked away, and his voice was strange when he spoke. “Only in Tir-na-Nog does everything stay the same,” he said. “In this world, change is inevitable.”

“Tod never changes,” Tod said, touching Donal’s hand. “Tod will always be here.”

Donal smiled, but Tod felt his grief. It was these females who brought him such pain. But soon they would be gone.

“Tod will go with my lord,” he said firmly. “And it will not be long before my lord has peace again.”

Donal only bowed his head and gave no answer.

“SHE IS FOUND, MY LADY!”

“She is found!”

“Found!”

The incessant chatter of the sprites clanged like raucous bells in Béfind’s ears, but she did not chastise her servants. She smiled indulgently as they darted about her head, crying out their victory until even they grew weary and settled to the glistening floor at her feet.

It was one of her hobs who gave the report. He related how they had searched high and low, seeking over the mortals’ island until they had sensed Fleming’s presence in a place far from the humans’ cities. There they had watched and listened, learning much that could amaze even one who had lived three thousand years.

Donal Fleming. It would have been a stroke of astonishing coincidence had the players in this drama been human. Fleming, son of the exiled Forest Lord, had found the girl living in squalor in the mortal’s great Iron City and taken her to live with him on his little farm in the north. It was clear to Béfind’s servants that Fleming had made himself her guardian and accepted his new responsibility with a mortal’s tedious gravity. It was equally clear that he didn’t know what she was.

Béfind called for a cup of mead and idly tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair. Everyone in Tir-na-Nog knew Hern’s story: how he, one of the last of the High Fane to linger on earth, had fallen in love with a human woman and surrendered his Fane powers in exchange for a mortal life as Cornelius Fleming, Earl of Bradwell. Donal was the bastard offspring of his first, illicit union with his beloved, Eden Fleming, six years before he had returned to the mortal realm to woo and win her as his wife.

It was well-known that Donal, whom Queen Titania had sought to claim for Tir-na-Nog, had chosen a dull existence of isolation on earth rather than enjoy a life of ease and eternal pleasure in the Land of the Young. But he kept one companion to remind him of his Fane heritage … a hob called Tod, who had once been his father’s servant.

Béfind accepted the glass of mead from the hands of a sprite and sipped the honeyed beverage thoughtfully. It should have been a simple matter to reclaim the girl Ivy, but there were a few small complications. Perhaps she could dispose of one of them here and now.

Idath kept her waiting, as she had known he would. He strolled into her palace with a lazy air of indifference, his eyes hooded as he took in her entourage of hobs and sprites, each and every one still drenched in the smell of the mortal realm.

“Béfind,” he said, inclining his head. “To what do I owe the honor of this summons?”

She smiled and offered him a golden chalice of mead, which he refused. “Why must we quarrel, my friend?” she purred. “It has been too long since we have lain in each other’s arms. Is it so strange that I would ask you to attend me?”

Idath returned her smile with equal warmth. “What do you want, Béfind?”

“I have found the girl.”

“Oh?” He yawned behind his hand. “What girl is that?”

She bared her teeth. “I know the truth, Idath. You took my property. You told me the babe was dead and delivered it to your mortal paramour to raise as her own.”

“Ah, yes. I begin to remember.”

“How could you have forgotten? You believed you could wound and confound me with your lies.”

“As you believed you could prove your indifference to me by casting me aside and remaining with your mortal lover for a full year.”

Béfind laughed. “Ah. You finally admit your motive—simple jealousy. How petty. How very human.”

Idath’s expression didn’t change. “You have always found it amusing to mock the blood of my halfling mother,” he said, “and yet I learned much from her that you will never understand.”

“Such as love?” she sneered.

“Once, perhaps. There was a time when I cared enough to punish you for making sport of my devotion and cleaving to your mortal for no reason but to show how little you felt for me, even after a hundred years.” He gazed out at the lawn. “It was all a game to you, Béfind. I only decided to play by your rules.”

“By handing my child over to one who would corrupt her as your mother did you.”

“If I had believed any real harm would come to the girl, I would have left her with you. But you did not deserve the acclaim you would receive by bringing a healthy child to Tir-na-Nog.”

Béfind burned with fury. “Perhaps you did not know that the child was found living alone in the worst part of the Iron City, hunting her food in the gutters like a beast.”

Idath leaned against the nearest column and smoothed the scarlet silk of his tunic. “I am grieved to hear it.”

“Unfortunate indeed that your lover is dead.”

He couldn’t quite hide the flash of sorrow in his eyes. “Mortals die. It is their nature.”

“But the girl lives. None other than the son of Hern has discovered her.”

“Hern’s son?” Idath cocked his head. “What does he want with her?”

“His mother’s blood taints him with what mortals call ‘compassion,’” she said. “He pitied her. And now he intends that she shall have a life among humans.”

“She has already lived among humans.”

“And suffered because of your spite,” Béfind said. “That is over. I will bring her back to Tir-na-Nog.”

“I wonder how you will manage that, a mhuirnín?”

She stepped away from her chair and came to stand before him. “You cannot stop me.”

“It is not I who will stop you.” He glanced about at Béfind’s servants. “Did they not tell you of the amulet?”

Béfind bristled. “Idath, if you do not—”

He raised a languid hand. “I gave it to her when she was yet with Estelle,” he said. “As long as she wears it, none who is Fane may touch the girl or carry her through a Gate to Tir-na-Nog.”

“What?”

“I knew you would find her eventually, a chuisle.”

Béfind was momentarily speechless. “You … you would go so far—”

His eyes grew cold. “Perhaps I judged her better off away from you.”

Béfind turned away and composed herself. She faced him again with a smile. “An amusing trick, Idath. But surely the game has gone on long enough.” She stroked his sleeve. “Remove the enchantment, and I shall give you whatever you desire.”

He looked her up and down. “You possess nothing I desire.”

She tore his sleeve with her nails and let him go. “You will not win this battle, Idath. I shall go to the mortal realm myself. I shall tell her who she is, and then—”

“Tell her who she is?” Idath chuckled softly. “Alas, the charm on the amulet does more than forbid any Fane to touch her. None may reveal her true nature. You may speak the words, but she will not hear them.”

“You hate me so much?”

“Hatred is a mortal curse, leannán.”

“So is jealousy, mighty lord.”

“And blind ambition. You want the child only because your pride has been wounded and she is proof of your fecundity, a valuable object to be paraded before the Queen and High Fane like a pretty bauble. Perhaps you will not find the prize worth the effort.”

“It shall be more than worth it to lay your pride in the dust.”

He bowed. “As you wish, Béfind. The battle continues.”

He swept from the room, scattering the lesser Fane from his path. Béfind shrieked in rage and snatched a delicate crystal sculpture from its stand, shattering it against an ivory column.

“So he thinks he shall win?” she hissed as the hobs and sprites cowered at her feet. “He dreams that he can best Béfind?”

She threw herself down into her chair and coiled her hair between her fists. So she could not tell the girl what she was. That was not quite the defeat Idath believed. There would be ways to approach the child and groom her for her rightful future, all without challenging the amulet’s enchantment. Béfind would not leave such an important task to inferiors. She would go through the Gate herself. She would learn how best to handle Donal Fleming, if he should prove to be an obstacle to her ambitions. And she would have what was rightfully hers, once and for all.