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The neighbors called her mad. Elisabeth knew better, though she kept her mouth shut. No one must know. Better to be thought eccentric than Fey. And though none of her grandmother’s powers had passed down to Elisabeth, she’d been raised knowing that alongside the normal Duinedon world she lived in, there existed another. A treacherous, beautiful, amazing world where anything might be possible and life held wonders brighter as well as evils blacker than any she could imagine.
Brendan grinned. “I forgot magic scares you.”
“It does not scare me.”
He lifted his brows in apparent disbelief. “Sour grapes?”
“It is not sour grapes. I don’t care a fig for your ridiculous—”
His grin widened. Oh, if only she could wipe that annoying smile from his annoying face. A face that even undisguised sparked little recognition. The Brendan of her memories had been a skinny, awkward, bookworm with ink-smudged hands and girl-pretty features beneath a thatch of dark brown hair in perpetual need of trimming. Brilliant, impatient, sarcastic, conceited.
And she’d been head-over-heels smitten. Not that he’d ever noticed.
Almost no trace of that angelic attractiveness could be seen in this harder version of Brendan. Instead his looks bore the same rugged edges as her stone, as if both had been chiseled with a hasty hand, and his body, once thin and narrow-shouldered, had matured to a startling muscled athleticism. Hardly Herculean. More a rangy, quicksilver leanness. Years abroad in harsher climes were evidenced by the dusky tan of his face, the lines creasing the corners of his mouth and gathering by his eyes. Those startling, extraordinary eyes. The one feature he could never camouflage. Always they’d shone like molten honey-gold. Alive. Vibrant as the sun. And stunning as a horse’s kick to the stomach.
“Why are you here? You’ve no right.”
He sketched a flourishing bow. “Allow me to introduce myself. John Martin. Distant cousin to the bride, recently arrived from abroad. Amid the bustle of so many, none questioned one more relation among the crush already here for the wedding.” A teasing smile hovered as he straightened. “Though I have to quibble with the room I was given. I’m practically under the eaves. A veritable garret. One would think I wasn’t welcome.”
That did it. They were alone, the drone of conversation and laughter and the gay strains of the quartet left far behind. No one to witness her confusion. No one to comment on her quaking limbs or the snapped sticks of her fan. She could finally give vent to the rage churning up through her. As if it had a will of her own, her free hand swung out. Connected with his cheek in a wrist-jarring, finger-tingling slap. “You stinking great, bloody-minded bastard!” She wanted to hit him again. Her hand curled into a fist. “Why couldn’t you have stayed dead?”
Brendan ducked the second blow. It barely grazed his shoulder. But the third had seven years of bad blood behind it and took him full on the chin. He reeled backward more in shock than in pain, striking his head on the edge of a bookcase. Stars exploded behind his eyes, and he dropped half to his knees.
“Oh no, oh dear. I’m sorry. Are you all right?” Hands fluttered around him. Fingers brushing his scalp.
He winced on a grumbled string of profanity.
The hands retreated. “You needn’t resort to such vile language.”
He opened his eyes to Elisabeth’s worried, angry visage. Her arms wrapped about her midsection, face blanched of color. It made the carmine sheen of her hair all the more radiant. Living flame.
“You nearly cracked my skull open. What did you expect I would say?” He reached up, examining the point of impact. Already it swelled and stung like the very devil. “Thanks ever so for the great lump on my head?”
“Quit carrying on like a baby. If I wanted to—and don’t think I’m not tempted—I’d have Gordon give you the thrashing you deserve. Or Aidan. That’s what I should do. Send for Aidan. He’d—”
“No.” The crack of his voice startled her silent. “You’re not going to send for Aidan. You’re going to keep your mouth shut. To anyone who asks, I’m John Martin.”
“Why on earth should I keep quiet?”
“It’s complicated. But believe me when I say doing anything else would be very unwise.”
She crossed her arms. Eyed him with suspicion. “Aidan should know you’re alive. Your brother—”
“When I’m
ready, I’ll go home to Belfoyle. Right now, I’m here and I plan on staying here for the time being.”
He shouldn’t be arguing with her. He shouldn’t even have let her know of his presence. He’d told himself to keep his head down and his mouth shut while within five square miles of Elisabeth Fitzgerald. Jack had warned him at least a thousand times of the perils he’d face striding into the lion’s den. Be sensible. Be safe. Get in and get out quickly and quietly. But spying her across Dun Eyre’s drawing room had been too much of a temptation. He should have known she’d recognize him. And with that recognition would follow an ugly and awkward scene. Though he’d envisioned tears and accusations of abandonment rather than fists and fervent calls for his continued death.
Lissa had always been more than a little unpredictable.
“Please, Elisabeth.”
“Give me one good reason.”
“How about having your current groom involved in a brawl with your former betrothed? I can imagine the whispers, and whispers become scandals. And you certainly wouldn’t want that. Not with the place crawling with relations and Mr. Shaw poised to lead you down the aisle. Your aunts would be humiliated. You’d be a laughingstock. Again. Think about it.”
It was obvious she had already thought about it. And come to the conclusion he’d hoped for. She’d say nothing.
