Moonspun Magic (Magic Trilogy 3)

“All right, a bit of wh

at you said does have a small grain of truth, but the theory is valid, I swear. Now, truly, Victoria, all I have to do is look at you and I want you. It’s amazing, really. I’ve never felt anything like it in all my blighted years.”

Victoria didn’t believe him. She turned her attention back to Damien and Elaine.

The Ram was pleased. He sat a bit apart from his acolytes, a term he dared not use in front of the eight men. They were all sitting near to the fireplace, snifters of brandy warming between their hands, and their male bodies were well sated. All of them thought they were so very wicked, carrying on in the black of night, the Ram thought, garbed in their black capes and black hoods. But not one of them had asked why the girl wasn’t wide awake during her woman’s offering, as the Ram had named this ritual.

No, they’d simply taken their turns, plowed her thoroughly, and now perhaps they would consent to whatever he, the Ram, wished them to do. His surprise had pleased them, of that there could be no doubt. It was a pity, though, that the girl couldn’t have been procured in the same very proper way as the others. It could prove to be a bother. Possibly.

But who would believe a fourteen-year-old girl? Who would pay any attention to a girl’s mother who had no husband and no sons?

The Ram dismissed the group. Their next meeting would be All Hallows’ night. Johnny laughed and jested about flying a broom to the hunting lodge. Vincent wondered if he should bring a caldron and three witches. Let them laugh, the Ram thought. It was a ritual he was teaching them, and they would attend him. Yes, they would. They went with wide yawns, and he could imagine their disinterest in the girl who lay sprawled spread-eagled on the oak table.

Of course he had taught them that she was a vessel, nothing more. An unconscious vessel. He would have preferred that she be awake during her initiation, but what was done was done. He didn’t wish to, but he bathed the blood and seed from her and dressed her again.

It was close to an hour later that the Ram reached the girl’s small house in St. Austell. The house was filled with light and there were men milling about. He cursed to himself, thought a moment, then left the girl in a narrow ditch some fifty yards away.

He rode home slowly, feeling anticipation for the morrow.

The following morning at ten o’clock, Victoria opened the door to the nursery.

“Torie! Torie!”

Damaris jumped to her feet and scurried toward Victoria. Victoria quickly leaned down and hugged her tightly.

“Torie, I’ve missed you . . . where did you go? Nanny said you wouldn’t come back and then she huffed and said you married the master’s twin, of all the strange things, and—”

“I’m back, Damie. That’s all that matters.”

Suddenly the child stiffened and whispered, “Papa.”

Rafael smiled at the little girl. “Hello, Damaris.”

“You’re not my papa. Who are you?’

“She is direct, if nothing else,” Victoria said, ruffling Damaris’ silky black hair, her father’s hair, Rafael’s hair. And his face. “How do you know he’s not your father, Damie? Doesn’t he look just like your father?”

“No.”

“Have I just been mortally insulted?” Rafael didn’t wait for an answer to his rhetorical question. He dropped to his knees in front of the little girl. “I’m your Uncle Rafael. Can you say my name?”

“It’s a funny name. Mine isn’t.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Damaris is rather unusual, just like Rafael.”

“Rafull,” Damie said. “It’s easy. Papa never comes here.”

Rafael looked up at Victoria, a brow arched in question. When she merely shook her head, he asked Damaris, “Do you mind if I visit you here?”

“No, if Nanny doesn’t mind, but mind you, she has to be in a good temper.”

“This, Rafael, is Nanny Black,” Victoria said, smiling toward the dour old woman. “Nanny, my husband, Captain Rafael Carstairs. Nanny came with Elaine upon her marriage to your brother.”

“Bark off the same tree,” said Nanny Black with a disapproving eye as the young man rose to his feet and offered her his hand. She took it.

“Not according to Damaris,” said Rafael. “She knew immediately I wasn’t her father.”

“Only because the baron never visits the nursery.”