Page 11 of Hold Me Fast
Tamsyn ran—in this dream, she was Tamsyn again—but Guy pursued her on a ghost horse, a fearsome creature, all black with red, burning eyes and clashing teeth. Tamsyn knew Bodmin Moor as well as anybody and fled down paths Guy could not have known, but the ghost horse stayed on her trail, avoiding the mine shafts and pits, mires, and bogs, never quite catching up but never losing her, either.
In a sudden shift, like a scene change at the opera, she was on the shore, running on the sand, the pursuit still on her heels. Jowan called out to her from a rowboat. He was a few feet from the tide mark, using his oars to stay in place on the waves. “Quickly, Tamsyn. It is a witch horse and won’t follow you into the water!”
Did the sea count as running water? Tamsyn could not remember, but she dashed into the waves and waded out to the boat. The horse pulled up short of the foam, gnashing its teeth, and Tamsyn laughed even as the waves splashed up, soaking her to the waist. She caught the gunwale of the boat, smiling up at Jowan.
“You came for me,” she said.
“Of course,” Jowan replied, even as his eyes turned red, his teeth grew longer, and his legs fused into a tail. It was not Jowan at all, but abucca—a Cornish water spirit. He leaped for Tamsyn with a flick of his powerful tail, wrapping his arms around her and sweeping her out to sea.
Just before they plunged into the water, she smelled the cologne that Guy always wore. She could not escape the devil, even in her nightmares.
They lingered, the nightmares. At dinner, she was called to stand with Guy and welcome his guests, a sign that she was back in his favor. The guests were all followers of his, most of them nobles and all of them as dangerous as snakes, including the smattering of ladies. Some of them were accompanied by members of the demi-monde. One of the noble ladies brought with her the actor she currently had in her keeping.
To Tammie’s eyes, they seemed otherworldly, eldritch. Perhaps it was just the whiff of nightmares still drifting through her mind or the small dose of laudanum that kept her jitters under control. But as the evening progressed and the diners’ behavior regressed, she looked at Guy slouched in his chair, watching the bawdy behavior around him with amused contempt, and thought again,He is a devil. No. He is the elf king, and this is his court.
*
The visit toCoombe’s house gave Jowan food for thought. The footman handed over a note—a single sheet of lined paper torn on one side, neatly folded, and held together by a dab of wax. It had his name written on it in an untutored hand, but when he opened it, the paper that fell out was of a far higher quality, and the writing was also very different, precise and elegant in an understated sort of a way.
He unfolded the paper and looked at the foot of the page. “Tamsyn!”
Now to read from the beginning. His eyes did not want to obey. He was afraid, he realized. Afraid of what he might read. Afraid she would reject him, that she no longer cared for the country boy she had left behind. Why would she, when she had spent the last seven years surrounded by the handsomest and most sophisticated men in Europe?
“What does she say?” Bran asked.
Jowan forced his gaze to the top of the page.
“Dear Sir Jowan,” he read.
“First, let me offer my condolences. Your father was an ass, but he was still your father. And I daresay you didn’t want to be baronet. Or not so soon, in any case. I am sorry, Jowan. I hope it has not been too difficult.
“You ask to see me. My answer is ‘no’. Let us leave the past in the past, my dear. You are my sweetest memory, but I am no longer the girl you once knew. Please remember me as I was. It will give me comfort to know that someone still thinks of me as “Tamsyn.”
He handed the missive to Bran, watching his hand extend the piece of paper to his brother. How could his hand still grasp, his arm extend, when his heart had ceased at Tamsyn’s rejection? The pain hadn’t hit him yet.
He’d been trapped in a mine, once, halfway under a rockfall. This was like that. He didn’t feel a thing, but just as he’d known the bloody great rock on his leg must have crushed flesh and broken bones, he knew Tamsyn’s words had killed his heart, and how could a man live without his heart?
“Sir?” said the friendly footman. “Sir, the maid, Daisy, who took the note to Miss Lind? She says that Miss Lind said she didn’t want the earl causing any trouble for you. Daisy says that Miss Lind cried when she wrote the note, sir.”
“She didn’t want to write it?” Jowan asked.
The footman shrugged. “I only know what Daisy said. But his lordship is mean, sir, I can tell you that. And Daisy worries about Miss Lind.”
“Will you take her another note?” Jowan asked, but the footman stepped away, shaking his head. “It’s as much as my job is worth if I’m caught, sir. And the lady did say to leave her alone.”
It hit him then, shutting down his throat and squeezing his chest so he could not breathe. He’d been wrong before. This was real pain. Pain like he’d never known. Had it not been for Bran, he’d not have been able to leave the house, but his brother took his arm, gave the footman a half-crown, and escorted Jowan to the pavement.
“She says no,” he managed to croak.
“She didn’t want to,” Bran pointed out. “She cried.”
Jowan thought about that as they walked back to the hotel. “I don’t know whether to be hopeful or not.”
“We need to know more,” Bran agreed. “That letter was all about you, and she cried. The girl still loves you, Jowan.”
Jowan shook his head. “Then why won’t she see me?”
“She thinks you won’t love her anymore. Not as she is now,” Bran said. “Read it again.”
