Warped (18 page)

“Perhaps you should go, while Moncrieff is diverted.”

Tessa shook her head and placed the bag on the small kitchenette table. “I don’t think he’ll be thrown off for long. I think we had both better sit tight for a little while.”

“Sit tight?”

“Stay here.”

Will nodded. He eyed the canvas bag. “Is there, by chance, any food in that satchel?”

Tessa smiled. “There might be.”

Will closed his eyes reverently. “Bless you, mistress.”

Tessa smiled and felt her cheeks get warm. As Will wolfed down his breakfast, she wandered around the studio. Morning light washed through the high windows and made warm rectangles of sun on the paint-splattered floor. It didn’t seem as overwhelming now, and Tessa went from spot to spot, looking not at the artwork but at the small everyday things, the little places where her mother had been. She drew a finger around a watermark left on a small table, picked up a small palette knife and wiggled the flexible metal between her fingers.

“Your mother’s work is truly beautiful,” Will said, watching her.

“Yes, I think so too,” Tessa answered. She pointed to the framed landscape of Monhegan Island on the opposite wall. “She had shows all over the country.”

Her mother’s work had been described as “vividly romantic” and “classical in style but with a new age aesthetic.” Whatever that meant. Sometimes Tessa wondered if, wherever her mother was, her world had become as beautiful as the ones she’d created in her paintings. Tessa hoped so.

“But there is one that does not fit,” Will said.

Tessa’s curiosity was piqued. “What do you mean?” she asked. She followed Will as he walked over to a small painting set on the floor in the corner.

“This,” he said, and picked it up. Tessa looked at the painting and caught her breath. She had forgotten all about it. It was a small canvas swirled with pure, thick colors. Below, the scene was wild, whipped into spattering waves in colors of electric green and shimmering gold, while above, the sky swirled in a sunset of magenta and orange.

“I have never seen a sea look like this from our shores of Cornwall, and yet it seems familiar to me. As an ocean from my dreams,” said Will.

Tessa looked at him in surprise. Funny, that was exactly what she’d thought too. A dream ocean. She had never thought anyone would see it the way she did. He peered at the corner where
Tessa
was painted in vermilion. He traced her name with his fingertip.

“You’re an artist,” he said, looking up.

Just like that. Not as a compliment or with sarcasm either—a statement of fact. “No,” Tessa answered, flustered. “I’m not. My mother was the artist, not me.” And this was
her mother’s
studio, Tessa thought. Just as her father had reminded her the day he’d discovered Tessa up here, painting in her own clumsy way. He had shooed her out and locked the door. Turned the key as if he could vacuum-seal the spirit of Wendy Brody.

Will nodded in appreciation, then turned back to Tessa’s painting. “But you have a talent of your own.”

Tessa gave a rueful smile. “You wouldn’t say so if you knew how I painted that.” Will crooked his eyebrows in a silent question. Tessa raised her hands and wriggled them shyly. “With my fingers. Weird, huh? There’s something I love about the feel of the paint . . . the colors.” She shook her head. “But when I hold a brush or a pen, I get clumsy. Something gets lost between me and the paper.” She tilted her head and looked at Will. “I’m not sure if I’m making any sense to you.”

“Yes,” he murmured, looking at her steadily. “You do make sense. What else have you painted?”

Tessa looked away. “Nothing. Since then.” She had no real talent. And whenever she tried to paint or draw, she was afraid she was just trying to bring her mother back in some small way.

Will made a slow circle of the room with his gaze. “It’s a shame such a delightful room is no longer used.”

“Like I said before,” Tessa answered stiffly. “It was my mother’s studio. She was the artist.”

There was a silence, and this time it wasn’t comfortable.

Will set her painting down carefully, as if it was something precious. “Actually, mistress. I wasn’t thinking of painting.” He looked around. “This room would also be very suitable for . . . ” He came closer and startled her by taking one of her hands in his own. “Dancing.”

“What are you doing?” At his touch she all but jerked her hand away. Not because she didn’t want to touch him. But because suddenly it was
all
she wanted.

“Simply this: we are trapped here, for the moment, while Moncrieff cools his heels outside. To pass the time, I am offering you all of the benefits of my training with the dance master Monsieur Foquelaire. Come.” He pulled her to the center of the large room. He bowed. “We begin.”

Will held Tessa by only the tips of her fingers, raised high in front of their chests. The touch was nothing, the merest contact, but somehow she felt as though she were flying when Will began to maneuver her across the open space, pacing beside her.

“Forward,” he said, laughing as he watched her feet. “Forward again. Now back. Reprise. Turn. Reverence.” He bowed deeply. “You curtsy now.”

“Oh, right.” Tessa bent her knees, feeling silly.

“This is a
basse danse,
” Will said. “It’s very proper and suitable for court occasions. During which you must not spit, and blow your nose only sparingly.”

“I’ll try to remember.” Tessa smiled as they proceeded side by side. Once she had the pattern down, she was able to look up across the arm’s length between them, where she found Will’s eyes trained on her. The silly feeling faded. Tessa’s steps became less mechanical as her feet, almost as if by themselves, matched Will’s fluid movements. Soon they were gliding, wordlessly in sync. She imagined she wore a beautiful gown that brushed the floor as she danced. Thick folds of blue velvet swirled against her skin when she turned. They were surrounded by candlelight. They were—

“You dance well, mistress,” Will said.

His words broke the spell of her imagination, but her heart still did a little flip at the compliment. Tessa searched for something to say. “It seems very . . . slow,” she managed.

“It has to be.” Will looked forward, head upright. “Everyone’s shoes are pinching their toes and they’re stepping on each other’s trains.”

Tessa laughed but Will kept a straight face. “In truth, it can be a most painful ordeal,” he commented. “My brother, Hugh, would rather fight the heathen hordes than risk his toes to the dance.” He stopped and released her hands. “Now,
this
, my lady, is the
galliard.
” He sprang up and landed neatly beside her. “The king himself is a devotee of this particular dance.” He kicked out again and jumped. “It is said to be very daring, very athletic.”

“Athletic. Yes, I can see,” said Tessa, watching him with a smile. “When do you get to the daring part?”

“Just here, mistress.
Lavolta.
” Will suddenly put both hands to Tessa’s waist and lifted her up. She gasped with surprise and clutched his shoulders. He arched back and she felt her weight resting against the firm planes of his chest as he turned slowly in a circle, looking up at her.

Tessa’s heart was kickboxing in her chest. Her eyes stayed focused on Will’s as he let her down slowly. But he was tall and it was a long way down.

“You see?” he said, breathing deeply. “Scandalous.” He swallowed.

They stood facing each other. Will didn’t remove his hands from her waist but leaned closer, his lips only inches from her own. She could feel the warmth of his breath, could smell his skin. She felt herself drawn closer to him.
So this is what it’s like to know what you want
, thought Tessa as she raised her lips.

But Will’s eyes narrowed as he looked down at her. “Enough,” he said. “Now tell me the truth.”

Chapter 27

T
essa blinked. Tried to regain her footing. Wait. No, she was standing up.

“The truth?” she whispered.

“Yes, mistress.” Will was so close, his warm breath was a caress on her mouth. “Tell me the truth. I can stand this deception no longer.”

“Tell you what?” Tessa said, mystified. She was still very conscious of his height, his nearness, but something had changed. His strong, aristocratic features might have been carved from marble. His eyes were cold. Wary.

“You will make me declare it, I suppose.” Will released his hold on her waist and walked away. He turned abruptly. “You were there. It was you.”

“What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

“You were the maid in the wood when I—” He broke off, staring at her. “When Gray Lily captured me. How can you tell me it wasn’t you? Your eyes, your face.” He came closer. “Even your hair.” With a brooding look he took a soft coil of it and rubbed it between his fingers.

At once Tessa thought of his outburst at the waterfront. He had told her then that she resembled someone he knew. But she felt as if he wasn’t seeing her; he was looking
through
her, to the past. She trembled as he swept his hand away. “It all began with you,” he went on. “I saw you wander into the northern woods and followed you.”

She opened her mouth to reply, to state the obvious. It wasn’t her. It
couldn’t
have been her. But his words sidetracked her.

“You followed me?” she repeated softly. “Why?”

Will hesitated. “I don’t know. I couldn’t help myself. It sounds idiotic to you, doesn’t it? But even now, knowing what I do about you, I cannot seem to stop. I want to . . . ” He took a step closer still. She’d been wrong—his eyes weren’t cold, they were like warm honey. Tessa found her concentration slipping. She could forget everything looking into his eyes. But something he’d said—

She put a hand to his chest. And straight-armed him back.

“What do you mean?” she demanded. “What is it you
know
about me?”

Will frowned. “Why do you pretend? You recognized me the first moment you saw me. Admit it.”

“Yes,” she said, without thinking. She
had
recognized him. Or at least, she thought she had. But only from the resemblance of his eyes to the unicorn’s. And from her dreams or visions, whatever they were.

“You recognized me because
you were there,
” Will said angrily. “Admit what we both know, Tessa. You were there in the wood to trap me.”

Every muscle in Will’s lean frame seemed taut with a barely controlled energy. His voice shook and he sounded breathless as he spoke: “I was drawn to you, mistress. I laid myself at your feet. And even bloody and filthy as I was, you cradled my head. Caressed me.” His lips twisted into a sneer. “And then you watched as the witch shackled me with iron. And cast me into Hell. Or rather, wove me there.”

“No,” Tessa whispered, backing away. An ugly image leapt to her mind: a picture in a book of a heartless, stupid girl.
A virgin in his haunts
. She shook her head in a stricken denial.

Will was unmoved. “You watched as Gray Lily took the unicorn’s life,
my life
.”

In his eyes she saw the expression that had been puzzling her, and finally recognized it. It was accusation. He blamed her.

Tessa rocked back another step, still shaking her head. “It’s not true.” But even as she said it, the violent, vivid images and sensations of her dreams swirled around her. The dank, rich smell of the woods. The sound of hoofbeats pounding the earth. The taste of fear.

Only dreams
, she told herself.
They were only dreams
.

“I do not know the reasons behind your actions,” Will went on, relentless, advancing on her step by step. “Why you released me from the tapestry. Or why you communicate with Gray Lily and the Norn. Do they have some hold over you? Is that what makes you do their bidding?”

“I’m not doing anyone’s
bidding,
” Tessa snapped, her own temper finally rising. She was grateful for it. It held back the sharp, hot tears pricking at her eyes as she stopped short and held her ground to face him. “I told you already. It was an accident. A stupid piece of thread. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I would never do anything to hurt anyone. Especially not—” She stopped, but Will was paying no attention to her words.

He whirled away and paced the length of the studio in long strides. “For five hundred years I have lived as a dumb beast,” he said, clenching his fists. “But inside I was yet a man.” He stopped, turning to level a glare at Tessa from beneath his disheveled hair. “And do you know what I dwelt on all that time? What device I set my mind to in order that I might keep my sanity?” He came close and nearly whispered the words, next to her ear: “What I should do if ever I had my hands on you.”

A drumbeat of fear raced through Tessa’s veins at the ragged strain in his voice. He didn’t sound like himself. What would being trapped for all that time do to a person? She couldn’t even imagine it. “So?” She pulled back to stare at him, trying for composure, even though she was shaken to her core. “What are you going to do?”

Will’s eyes swept over her. “I will be damned if I know,” he muttered. “I should be afraid of you. But somehow I fear letting you go even more. You are the only tie I have to the world I know.”

The world he wants to return to
, thought Tessa.
That’s the only reason he has stayed. No other. I’m a link, a lifeline; that’s all
. “Why won’t you believe me?” she asked, closing her eyes in frustration. “I wasn’t there. I only know about now. I only care about now.”

“
Now
is never going to be a place for me,” said Will fiercely. “You must know that as well as I.”

“No,” Tessa answered. She felt stupid, slow. “I didn’t know that.” But his words reinforced Tessa’s feeling that a distance was growing between them. All the time they’d spent together talking and dancing and nearly—She stopped herself from imagining the kiss that had been only a breath away a moment before. He didn’t feel the things she did.

“All this time you haven’t trusted me at all,” she said in a wondering tone. She frowned. “What did you think I was going to do just now? Swoon in your arms? Confess my dastardly plan?”