Breaking the Rules (28 page)

Ursula felt almost faint with trepidation as the seconds ticked relentlessly away toward the first chime of midnight, and the birth of May Day. Like Eleanor and Vera, she wore a white gown, with a wreath of sweet-scented spring flowers in her hair, and she carried a ribboned posy of bluebells gathered from beneath the hollow oak by Hazel Pool. She was arm in arm with Conan, and was glad of his hand resting lovingly over hers. His warmth was a balm to her nervousness, and his calmness more of a comfort than he could ever have begun to guess.

Her father smiled at her. “All will be well, my dear, all will be well.” He didn’t know what else to say at such a time.

She glanced toward Bran, who stood next to Theo. The wolfhound’s tail was still, and he hung his head, as if he knew something bad was about to happen. A pang of alarm struck through her. The wolfhound knew all was not well, she thought with a start. This wasn’t going to work! Her lips parted to speak to Conan, but at that moment the church bell struck the first note.

Ursula heard the collective intake of breath from the gathering. The moment hung, and then the second note resounded over the village. Daniel began to speak in Welsh, a language his present self had no knowledge of at all, yet in which he was suddenly fluent. They had agreed at the outset that the three ceremonies would be conducted simultaneously, and from the first note of the bell Ursula had felt an enervating weariness begin to sweep over her. She was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open. Her legs couldn’t support her, and she would have slipped to the ground if Conan hadn’t caught her. She heard her father’s little cries of distress as he joined Conan in trying to revive her.

Murmurs of dismay came from the onlookers, and Taynton closed his eyes, willing his magic not to tighten its grip. “Leave her,” he whispered, “leave her!” Vera put a concerned hand on his arm and squeezed gently. But when he opened his eyes, Ursula was still sinking beneath his sorcery. So was Bran, who already lay on the ground in a deep sleep.

Theo wasn’t affected, however. The innkeeper couldn’t understand the reason for this, because he still did not know that Theo’s button had slipped from its bark raft before the magic spell had been cast.

Theo was filled with consternation, not only for Ursula and Bran’s sakes, but because nothing had happened to him. He was exactly the same now as he had been a minute earlier. For him the worst thing by far was the realization that Eleanor was becoming more indistinct. As the magic enveloped Ursula, so it seemed to drain Eleanor as well. He looked urgently at Daniel. “Get on with it, man!” he cried.

Conan nodded as well. “Yes, please hurry!”

Daniel spoke more swiftly, and the three bridegrooms gave their replies as required, but Ursula was already on the verge of unconsciousness. The posy slipped from her fingers, and her head lolled against Conan’s shoulders as he continued to hold her upright. She could barely hear what was going on around her. The night seemed to be slipping away, and with it all her other senses too ... .

Vera and Eleanor answered Daniel.
“Mi derbyn tydi a fy gwr.”
I accept thee as my husband.

Ursula remained silent, and Conan shook her desperately. “Say the words, Ursula! Say them!”

Her eyelids fluttered, and her lips moved slightly, but no sound came out.

Mr. Elcester cupped her hand in his. “Try hard, my dearest girl, try as hard as you can.”

Conan shook her again. “Wake up! If you fall asleep on me now, I’ll never forgive you. Wake up, damn it!” After a second’s hesitation, he pinched her cheek, and then shook her yet again.

Her eyes opened. “Mmm?”

“Say the words, my darling,” he begged, his fingers so viselike he knew he must be hurting her, but he knew he had to do anything and everything to arouse her.

“Words?”

Her father leaned over her. “Say what Conan tells you, sweetheart.” He looked urgently at Daniel again. “Say it again,” he ordered.

Daniel did as he was asked, and Conan repeated each one into Ursula’s ear. Somehow—ever after she would never know how—she found the strength and will to whisper each one.
‘‘Mi ... derbyn . , . tydi ... a ... fy ... gwr ...”
As the final word left her lips, she felt the overpowering weakness begin to leave her.

The night returned, and her senses became her own once more. She managed to straighten until she was supporting herself again, and then Conan crushed her gladly into his arms. “Oh, my love, my dear sweet love  ... ” he breathed, sinking his fingers into her hair and not caring that several long curls tumbled warmly over his hand because he dislodged her pins.

She smiled up into her father’s tear-filled eyes. “Father ... ?”

“Oh, my dearest girl, my dearest daughter.”

She heard Theo give a cry of joy, and turned to see that Eleanor was flesh and blood in his arms, her lips upturned for their first true kiss. She wasn’t ethereal anymore, but a living woman, as real as Ursula and Vera.

Only Bran remained motionless, his eyes closed, his long legs stretched out on the ground. Vera knelt to try to awaken him, but he did not stir by so much as a tiny twitch. The magic may have been overturned for its human victims, but for Bran the Blessed, Son of Llyr, it remained only too potent.

Theo’s joy over Eleanor gave way to devastation, for he doted on the wolfhound. But despite the valiant efforts of a number of people, including Mrs. Arrowsmith, Bran’s eyes did not open. His breathing was slow and regular, and to all intents and purposes he looked as if he were simply asleep. Which, of course, he was; except that it was a strangely deep sleep.

Taynton—so changed now—was anxious, and begged Theo to forgive him. Theo did his best to be noble, because the innkeeper was so evidently devastated by what had happened at this last moment, but it was very difficult indeed to forgive the person who caused such a terrible fate to befall poor Bran.

Suddenly, a carriage was heard approaching the village green at some speed from the road to London. The coachman’s whip cracked, and he shouted out to the team as he slowed the pace in order to turn toward the church. Everyone looked in surprise, for who could possibly be arriving at such an hour? And in such haste? The vehicle’s lamps swung through the night as it drove into sight. The occupant lowered the window glass and leaned out.

“Damn it, man, you’ve taken the wrong road!” he cried. It was Lord Carmartin.

The coachman, a new employee who had never driven the route before, reined the sweating horses in and applied the brake. He was a stranger to Elcester village, and he knew he should have driven on, but something had made him take this road instead. It was a whim he could not have resisted even if had he wanted. The carriage halted right by the lych-gate, and Lord Carmartin suddenly realized there was a large number of eyes upon him. He turned his head and looked directly at Theo. “Theodore?” he gasped, taken completely aback.

“Er, my lord ... ?” Theo was rooted to the spot, for not only was it a shock to be confronted by his uncle, but he was standing there with his arms wrapped around Eleanor! His new wife.

Lord Carmartin’s gaze slid without recognition to the lady in question, then back to his nephew. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, and opened the carriage door to climb stiffly down.

“I  ...” Theo looked helplessly at him, and cleared his throat. “Uncle, may I present my wife, Eleanor?”

“Your what?” squeaked his lordship, striding beneath the lych-gate, singling out Mr. Elcester for a dire look, as if it was all
his
fault.

“My wife,” Theo said again, “and, I believe, your ward?”

Lord Carmartin halted. His gaze darted to Eleanor, and his lips moved as if to deny any such link with her, but then his hand crept uncertainly to his heart. “Eleanor?” he whispered. “My little Eleanor?”

She sank into a curtsy. “My lord,” she replied nervously.

“Is it really you?”

“Yes, my lord.”

He stepped hesitantly toward her. “But where have you been? What happened? How do you know Theodore?”

“It is a
very
long story, sir,” she replied.

Tears filled his eyes. “Oh, my dear, dear girl,” he whispered, and reached out to her. In a trice she was in his arms, clutched to his fond breast as tightly as she had been as a beloved child. But he remained bewildered, now perceiving Ursula holding hands with Conan, and then large assortment of other folk, including Daniel in his black robes. After a long moment he turned to look at Theo. “You and Eleanor are
married?
But you came here to be betrothed to Miss Elcester!” He was beginning to realize his hopes of gaining the manor would come to nothing after all. He glowered at Mr. Elcester again, shades of the Hazel Pool fish feud looming.

“I know, sir,” Theo said, “and for that I can only humbly crave your forgiveness.”

Lord Carmartin gazed at him in bewilderment. “What is all this about, boy? I had no intention of leaving London, but earlier today I had the most odd desire to come here. No, desire isn’t the word, it was a compulsion!”

“There is a great deal to tell you, sir,” Theo replied, wondering exactly how much of such a fantastic story a man as practical and forthright as his uncle would be able to believe.

“Well, get on with it,” urged Lord Carmartin.

Conan intervened. “Not here, my lord. I think it best if we all adjourn to Elcester Manor. Theo is right, what we have to relate is a very long tale, one you might not want to believe, and at dawn there is still more we have to do before it is all resolved.”

“Before all what is resolved?” demanded Lord Carmartin.

“All in good time, sir. All in good time,” replied Conan.

Lord Carmartin wasn’t accustomed to following another man’s lead, especially a man so much younger than himself, but then he remembered that Eleanor had been restored to him, and nothing else mattered much after that. If he had to wait to be informed, he would wait. What was another hour when it had been so many miserable years since last he had feasted his gaze upon his precious ward? He could not have loved her more if she were his daughter. Nor, if he was honest, could he have chosen a husband dearer to his heart.

The crowd dispersed as preparations were made to drive to the manor. The only sad thing about the occasion was the ill fate that had struck poor Bran. Conan, Theo, and Taynton carried him gently to Conan’s carriage, where he was laid carefully on one of the seats. Then both carriages drove out of the village and along the road to Elcester Manor.

Half an hour later, his lordship knew as much about it all as Mr. Elcester, and was equally as bewildered by it all. When all was said and done, everyone was delighted with the outcome, excepting what had happened to Bran.

But as the wolfhound slumbered his unnatural sleep on the drawing room hearth, everyone’s thoughts could not help turning to the treasure. They awaited dawn with bated breath.

Sunrise was imminent, and there was a hush as everyone, including Lord Carmartin, who was as agog as anyone to see what happened, stood by the mosaic floor. The scent of bluebells was so beguiling and heady that it almost seemed to possess a magic of its own, and the drifts of lilac-blue color reached into the shadowy haze on all sides. The dawn chorus was shrill, echoing with the peculiar clarity of the hour, and tendrils of the mist that had risen from nearby Hazel Pool were already threading away into nothing as the eastern sky turned from crimson to lemon and turquoise.

Conan had placed the chalice in the floor’s central indentation, and now they could only wait to see how far its shadow would stretch when the sun peeped over the horizon. Ursula clung tightly to Conan’s hand. What if they were wrong about this? What if the chalice had nothing to do with the treasure’s whereabouts? If that were the case, it would be another five hundred years before this chance returned ... .

Nearby, Ursula’s father gazed enraptured at the floor, which was surely one of the most immaculately preserved in the realm. And it was on his land! All his hopes and theories had been vindicated, for the villa of the
Dux Britanniarum
had once flourished in this secret Gloucestershire valley; more than that, it was the villa of the Emperor Magnus Maximus, the legendary Macsen Wledig himself. Who was reborn in Theo! Had he written his perfect conclusion, he could not have done better.

He wiped a tear from his eye, then glanced at Ursula and Conan. He was glad she was no longer required to make a marriage of convenience in order to save Elcester and its manor. Sir Conan Merrydown was a fine man, worthy of such a matchless bride, and a man whose seemingly bottomless coffers could assure Elcester’s future. There were no strings, no unamiable Lord Carmartin always in the offing, just the ideal outcome to a very tricky situation. As for the supernatural aspects of the thing, well, he could not deny their existence. He had never believed in magic—or in fairies, ghosts, and similar such things—but there was no doubt that Ursula and Conan had come together because of something to do with what was known as the Otherworld. The Otherworld was all around him now, touching the valley, maybe crossing over the invisible border into Thisworld ... .

The sun’s rays began to strike above the horizon, driving the night away as they lanced and shimmered along the valley. New shadows came to life, sharply defined shadows that stretched as far as they could from the source of light. The chalice glittered, its gold suddenly brought to life. A shadow suddenly reached out from the base, fingering toward the pool. Farther and farther it crept, and everyone held his breath to see where it would be when at last it ceased to grow.

Ursula’s fingers tightened over Conan’s, and her lips parted as she watched the tip of the shadow, which pointed like an arrow. Suddenly, the light changed, a breeze disturbed the trees, and Eleanor’s squirrels poured across the floor. Bounding and skipping, their tails curled above them, they streamed along the shadow of the chalice, reaching the tip just as it struck the edge of Hazel Pool.

“That’s where I hid!” Conan gasped, recalling how his foot had slipped in the soft mud, revealing the low stone wall that lay hidden beneath earth and vegetation. “Hazel Pool wasn’t formed naturally, but by a stone dam built centuries ago.”