Page 28 of Lady Tamsyn and the Pixie's Curse
The image formed, strong andclear.
“It wasn’t you, but a ginger-haired boy. You didn’t tell the truth, but took thepunishment.”
He gapedather.
She looked closer, even as the vision faded. “It wasn’t cigars. It was . . . Father!” She blushed a little. “It was a book of naughtypictures.”
He drained of all color. “How?” he asked. “No one knows. Only that lad knew—and he died before youwereborn.”
“I told you, Father. Before we came here, I had no idea that these sort of things happened, that the old myths and storieswerereal—”
Something sharp rapped upon the door. “Lord Banfield?” It was Rowencourt! “We had an appointment thismorning.”
“No!” She lunged to stop him when her father would have stood. “Don’t let him in, Father, he is not what heseems!”
“What do you mean, girl?” He still lookedspooked.
“He’s lied about whoheis.”
“About what? His fortune? Hisconnections?”
“I don’t know about those—but I know he’s here because he wants something from you—something to do with that Lancarrow land—and what’sonit.”
The rapping cameagain.
“Don’t let him in. He’s not a strapping young man, Father. He’s ancient and decrepit andunnatural. I think he means you harm. I have a friend, an unusual friend, but he canprotectyou—”
The door opened—without anyone touching it. Paulfadedaway.
“Good morning,” Rowancourt said enthusiastically. “What havewehere?”
“Good morning to you, sir.” Her father assisted her to her feet. “Just talking with mydaughter.”
“Not a happy consultation, it would seem.” Rowancourt smiled at her and her skin crawled. “Having troubles, LadyTamsyn?”
“Just girlish worries,” her father demurred. “She willbefine.”
“What? Worries?” Rowancourt fixed an intent stare on the earl. “On a fine morning like this? Utternonsense.”
“That’s right.” Her father visibly relaxed. “No need for worries. Or nerves. Beautiful day, eh?” He smiled. “We were to walk out this morning, were we not,Rowancourt?”
“We were.” The old man transferred all of his attention to her. “I think perhaps, you should come with us, LadyTamsyn.”
His will felt palpable and amorphous, surrounding her at first like a mist, then tightening into a fist. Her mouth opened. She could feel herself beginning to agree, but she fought it, imagined herself throwing her arms wide to fight off the closing grip—and wanting to cheer when she felt itrecede.
“No, thank you, Mr. Rowancourt. And if you don’t mind, I’ll ask you to reschedule your plans with Lord Banfield. We have some urgent matters toattendto.”
Rowancourt made a small, quick gesture with his hand and her father immediately objected. “What? No. Too beautiful a day to waste on weighty manners. Come and walk with us,mydear.”
Before she could answer, Rowancourt made another, larger motion, as if he threw somethingherway.
The jolt hit her hard. She felt as if she were falling, falling—but after a moment realized that she hadn’t moved. Shecouldn’tmove. Saints, but it was horrible! She gagged. She needed to run, to escape, but her every limb was clamped, frozen in a vise grip that smelled, felt and tastedofhim.
“Now then,” he said with satisfaction. “You are an interesting one. Do you know how long it’s been since I had to resort to a direct spelllikethat?”
She struggled silently while he sauntered toward her and circled around, running a measuring gaze over her, touching a finger to her brow and finally, leaning in tosniffher.
“Ah, there it is. Such a familiar smell, the whiff of pixie magic, but how it does take me back!” Crossing the room, he looked out the window and over the courtyard. “I had just meant to pick up a stray gardener, you know. Perhaps a groom. But the more I learn about you, Lady Tamsyn, the more I think that you might be the right choice.” He came back and smiled brightly at her father. “Well now, let’s have a walk,shallwe?”
