Review
"Susan Spencer Paul is a master storyteller! I want more please!"
--Ronda Thompson, New York Times bestselling author
--Ronda Thompson, New York Times bestselling author
Product Description
My Dearest Reader,
When you hear my story, perhaps you will think me a man unable to control his own hungers…his own temptations. But I warn you that I am no such thing. I am simply a man who knows what he wants, and what he can't live without.
It is only fair to tell you that my clan is one descended from magic. I have learned these powers are both a blessing and a curse--for the magic that flows through my blood controls my fate utterly and completely.
When I first saw the beautiful Loris, I knew she was my unoliaeth, my oneness, the woman I am destined to unite with for all eternity. At that moment, I allowed my passion to lead me to do the unthinkable: I employed a forbidden magic to win Loris's heart.
How did I know that my error would lead to a black curse that still haunts me today? How could I have known that the curse would irrevocably cast Loris' affection for me to another man?
Now I am left to ponder how I might win Loris back--black curse be damned. I believe there must be a way. For while it is the darkest realms of magic that keeps Loris from becoming mine, there is another power at play: the undying, unending love of one man for one woman. And I pray that in the end, that will be enough…
Your obedient servant,
Kian Seymour, Castle Tylluan, London
When you hear my story, perhaps you will think me a man unable to control his own hungers…his own temptations. But I warn you that I am no such thing. I am simply a man who knows what he wants, and what he can't live without.
It is only fair to tell you that my clan is one descended from magic. I have learned these powers are both a blessing and a curse--for the magic that flows through my blood controls my fate utterly and completely.
When I first saw the beautiful Loris, I knew she was my unoliaeth, my oneness, the woman I am destined to unite with for all eternity. At that moment, I allowed my passion to lead me to do the unthinkable: I employed a forbidden magic to win Loris's heart.
How did I know that my error would lead to a black curse that still haunts me today? How could I have known that the curse would irrevocably cast Loris' affection for me to another man?
Now I am left to ponder how I might win Loris back--black curse be damned. I believe there must be a way. For while it is the darkest realms of magic that keeps Loris from becoming mine, there is another power at play: the undying, unending love of one man for one woman. And I pray that in the end, that will be enough…
Your obedient servant,
Kian Seymour, Castle Tylluan, London
From the Back Cover
My Dearest Reader,
When you hear my story, perhaps you will think me a man unable to control his own hungers…his own temptations. But I warn you that I am no such thing. I am simply a man who knows what he wants, and what he can't live without.
It is only fair to tell you that my clan is one descended from magic. I have learned these powers are both a blessing and a curse--for the magic that flows through my blood controls my fate utterly and completely.
When I first saw the beautiful Loris, I knew she was my unoliaeth, my oneness, the woman I am destined to unite with for all eternity. At that moment, I allowed my passion to lead me to do the unthinkable: I employed a forbidden magic to win Loris's heart.
How did I know that my error would lead to a black curse that still haunts me today? How could I have known that the curse would irrevocably cast Loris' affection for me to another man?
Now I am left to ponder how I might win Loris back--black curse be damned. I believe there must be a way. For while it is the darkest realms of magic that keeps Loris from becoming mine, there is another power at play: the undying, unending love of one man for one woman. And I pray that in the end, that will be enough…
Your obedient servant,
Kian Seymour, Castle Tylluan, London
When you hear my story, perhaps you will think me a man unable to control his own hungers…his own temptations. But I warn you that I am no such thing. I am simply a man who knows what he wants, and what he can't live without.
It is only fair to tell you that my clan is one descended from magic. I have learned these powers are both a blessing and a curse--for the magic that flows through my blood controls my fate utterly and completely.
When I first saw the beautiful Loris, I knew she was my unoliaeth, my oneness, the woman I am destined to unite with for all eternity. At that moment, I allowed my passion to lead me to do the unthinkable: I employed a forbidden magic to win Loris's heart.
How did I know that my error would lead to a black curse that still haunts me today? How could I have known that the curse would irrevocably cast Loris' affection for me to another man?
Now I am left to ponder how I might win Loris back--black curse be damned. I believe there must be a way. For while it is the darkest realms of magic that keeps Loris from becoming mine, there is another power at play: the undying, unending love of one man for one woman. And I pray that in the end, that will be enough…
Your obedient servant,
Kian Seymour, Castle Tylluan, London
About the Author
SUSAN SPENCER PAUL, who also writes under the name Mary Spencer, lives in Southern California with her husband, three daughters, and an assortment of over-domesticated pets. She is the author of eighteen historical novels set in a variety of time periods, from medieval to Regency to turn-of-the-century America.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Chapter One
Northern Wales, 1821
"They're all dead, my lord," Horas said, standing up from the body he'd been inspecting and looking at the field strewn with others. "Some half-eaten. Some just killed for sport. But either way, they're all dead."
Kian surveyed the sight before him in silence, his gaze moving from one mutilated sheep to the next. He'd spent the five previous mornings surveying the exact same scene, save with varying players. Sheep were the main victims, but there had been cattle and goats and pigs as well. All had been his tenants' livestock, and all the attacks had occurred on his lands.
Something evil had come to Tylluan.
"Are there no prints again, Horas?"
"No, m'lord. None that I can find. There might be some under all the water, though. Kind of hard to tell."
"Damnation," Kian muttered. It was always the same. There was never any sign of who or what the predator was---no prints, either human or animal, no tufts of fur---yet there was always a tremendous amount of water muddying the field where the destruction had taken place. It was as if rain had fallen heavily in only one place, leaving behind a watery swamp littered with dead carcasses.
"I'm sorry, Allan," he said to the tenant, who stood beside him. "Is it the entire flock, then?"
"Aye, m'lord," said Allan. Behind him, a group of his fellow tenants murmured and nodded and cast glances at their new lord. Kian felt their appraisals keenly, knowing full well what they were thinking. He had only been master of Tylluan for seven months, and scarce a week had gone by that some misfortune or other hadn't befallen either someone or something on the vast estate. Illness, injury, fire, dry wells, inexplicable destruction---just when Kian thought he had everything under control, something else occurred to get Tylluan's inhabitants into an uproar.
His tenants were beginning to whisper that Tylluan had been cursed, and Kian was starting to wonder precisely the same thing. Unfortunately, they were also starting to wonder whether Kian was capable of being a true lord to them, protecting them and their children, their homes and livestock. His father, the previous baron, had managed well enough, though in a somewhat uninvolved manner. Whenever trouble occurred, Ffinian Seymour was content to call upon the Dewin Mawr, rather than tend to the matter himself. Lord Graymar had always come, if not entirely happily, and fixed the problem, which both the tenants and Kian's father had found very welcome. The Dewin Mawr worked quickly and powerfully; even the most tenacious spirits had been readily vanquished with ease.
When Kian had taken Ffinian's place as baron at Tylluan, however, he had vowed that he would only call upon his cousin in the direst need and only if Kian himself couldn't find the solution first. This was partly due to pride, he knew, because he was, like Malachi, an extraordinary wizard and ought to be powerful enough to handle difficult problems. But more than that, Kian felt the need to prove himself. If he couldn't manage a single estate like Tylluan with some semblance of success, he'd certainly never be able to oversee all the magical Families who gave the Dewin Mawr their allegiance.
At the moment, he'd simply like to gain the allegiance of his tenants. They were not all of magical descent, but they were all, from generations past, sympathetic to those who were and understood the responsibilities that came with giving their loyalty to a lord possessed of great powers. The people of Tylluan, like many Welsh, kept the mysteries of magic secret from the outside world. In return, however, they rightfully expected some manner of recompense. Especially in the way of safety and security.
"Might've been something wild," Horas said contemplatively, rubbing his chin. "Boars, maybe. Or wolves."
Kian appreciated his steward's loyal attempt to find a more normal solution to the problem, but after spending six mornings looking at fields of dead animals, they were well beyond pretending.
"Something wild, aye," Kian agreed. "But it wasn't any creature known to mortal men."
His tenants murmured quietly in agreement.
Horas glanced at Kian and gave a single nod. "Is it Cadmaran, then, do you think?"
The question was asked so casually that anyone who didn't know the history between the Cadmaran and Seymour families might not understand the meaning behind it. But that wasn't the case with all those who were present. They fell silent and waited to hear whether Kian would make a public declaration of his belief in his distant neighbor's guilt.
Morcar Cadmaran, the Earl of Llew, was, like Lord Graymar, both an extraordinary wizard and the powerful head of an ancient magical family. Unlike Lord Graymar, Cadmaran practiced dark magic. Evil magic. Magic like the kind that had caused the mayhem and death strewn out on the field before Kian. It wouldn't be the first time that a Cadmaran had visited such destruction on a Seymour.
The two families had been at odds for centuries, contending over which should wield the greater authority over the other magical clans. Thus far the Seymours had maintained the place of most power, but only, the Cadmarans claimed, by cheating at every given opportunity. The charge had enraged past generations of Seymours, who found it to be entirely unjust, and a mutual enmity had been birthed between the two families. There had been arguments, volatile encounters, even battles fought over which family had suffered the greater insult. In time, the Seymours had simply begun to ignore the ridiculous feud, but the Cadmarans found it impossible to set aside. Indeed, the current Earl of Llew seemed determined to carry on the unpleasantness at all costs.
Morcar Cadmaran believed that the Seymours had done everything possible to ruin him. They had even denied him the woman whom he had chosen for his wife, Ceridwen Seymour, a gifted sorceress with whom Morcar believed he would be able to produce wildly powerful offspring. He had been thwarted in his attempts to secure her hand by Malachi, who had allowed her to marry the man of her choice, a mere mortal. It had been the final straw in what the Earl of Llew saw as an endless string of misdeeds. He wanted to topple the Seymours from their place of power; and the best way to do that was to destroy their head, the Earl of Graymar.
There was only one acceptable way among their kind to bring down one who had been recognized as the Dewin Mawr, and that was through a duel of powers, properly challenged and properly accepted, according to the rules laid down ages past by the Guardians. But Morcar hadn't been able to force such a duel, because Malachi continuously found ways to avoid meeting him face-to-face, a fact the Earl of Llew found endlessly frustrating. Yet he determinedly kept trying to lure Malachi out into the open. The troubles that had been plaguing Tylluan of late were, Kian believed, evidence of such efforts. Cadmaran knew that if Kian couldn't find a way to stop the attacks on his lands, he would eventually have to send for the Dewin Mawr's aid. And then the Earl of Graymar would be in North Wales and that much closer to the Earl of Llew's lair.
Unfortunately, Kian had no proof that Cadmaran was behind the attacks, and he wasn't going to make his suspicions public. Such an open assertion of blame was, among their kind, akin to a declaration of war. He would have to tread carefully until he knew better what was going on and whether Lord Llew was truly involved.
In the meantime, Kian had to pacify his tenants' desire for action.
"What I think," he said clearly, "is that someone from Tylluan should visit Fynnon Elian as soon as possible to see whether a curse has been set upon us and, if so, pay the fine to have it lifted."
This suggestion met with loud approval among those present, for they were, like most Welsh, deeply superstitious. It had likely crossed their minds before now that some evildoer had gone to Elian's Well and thrown a curse into the water, bringing all this misery upon them. Although Kian certainly didn't deny that such curses were true, he didn't believe for a moment that paying the well keeper a few coins to lift a curse would solve the troubles at Tylluan. But it would buy him a little time and sooth his tenants for a few days.
"I should be glad to go, m'lord," Allan offered, nodding toward the field. "Once this has been cleared and the carcasses burned."
"Aye, and me with him," said another, followed by a chorus of volunteers.
"It is good of each of you to offer," Kian told them, "but I shall ask my brother to go." He understood what it would mean to the people of Tylluan to have someone so close to their baron perform the task. "Dyfed will leave tomorrow morning and, God willing, be home before the week is out. Let us all pray God that whatever has been bedeviling us will be gone by then."
"Not those, Elen." Loris waved a hand to keep the girl from picking any more thyme. "We've enough for tonight's stew and I want to save plenty for drying. What a glorious day this is." A crisp, cool breeze caressed her cheek and she lifted her head to smile at the white clouds above. "I can scarce remember a spring here with so little rain and so much sun."
"The rain will come, miss," the younger girl said gloomily. "It always does. And the fog with it."
"Aye, that they will, praise be to God," Loris agreed. "We'd be in sore misery if it were not so, especially here on Tylluan's high hill. Look, Elen." Standing, Loris strode nearer to the edge of the garden, where a sheer drop gave way to the valley below. "I never weary of seeing it; do you?" She glanced back at the girl, who trudged unhappily over to join Loris, dragging her mostly empty basket along as if it were a great burden.
"It's the same as it was yesterday," Elen replied, "and the day before that and the day before that. Nothing ever changes here."
"No," Loris murmured with pleasure. "I pray it never will."
It ...
Northern Wales, 1821
"They're all dead, my lord," Horas said, standing up from the body he'd been inspecting and looking at the field strewn with others. "Some half-eaten. Some just killed for sport. But either way, they're all dead."
Kian surveyed the sight before him in silence, his gaze moving from one mutilated sheep to the next. He'd spent the five previous mornings surveying the exact same scene, save with varying players. Sheep were the main victims, but there had been cattle and goats and pigs as well. All had been his tenants' livestock, and all the attacks had occurred on his lands.
Something evil had come to Tylluan.
"Are there no prints again, Horas?"
"No, m'lord. None that I can find. There might be some under all the water, though. Kind of hard to tell."
"Damnation," Kian muttered. It was always the same. There was never any sign of who or what the predator was---no prints, either human or animal, no tufts of fur---yet there was always a tremendous amount of water muddying the field where the destruction had taken place. It was as if rain had fallen heavily in only one place, leaving behind a watery swamp littered with dead carcasses.
"I'm sorry, Allan," he said to the tenant, who stood beside him. "Is it the entire flock, then?"
"Aye, m'lord," said Allan. Behind him, a group of his fellow tenants murmured and nodded and cast glances at their new lord. Kian felt their appraisals keenly, knowing full well what they were thinking. He had only been master of Tylluan for seven months, and scarce a week had gone by that some misfortune or other hadn't befallen either someone or something on the vast estate. Illness, injury, fire, dry wells, inexplicable destruction---just when Kian thought he had everything under control, something else occurred to get Tylluan's inhabitants into an uproar.
His tenants were beginning to whisper that Tylluan had been cursed, and Kian was starting to wonder precisely the same thing. Unfortunately, they were also starting to wonder whether Kian was capable of being a true lord to them, protecting them and their children, their homes and livestock. His father, the previous baron, had managed well enough, though in a somewhat uninvolved manner. Whenever trouble occurred, Ffinian Seymour was content to call upon the Dewin Mawr, rather than tend to the matter himself. Lord Graymar had always come, if not entirely happily, and fixed the problem, which both the tenants and Kian's father had found very welcome. The Dewin Mawr worked quickly and powerfully; even the most tenacious spirits had been readily vanquished with ease.
When Kian had taken Ffinian's place as baron at Tylluan, however, he had vowed that he would only call upon his cousin in the direst need and only if Kian himself couldn't find the solution first. This was partly due to pride, he knew, because he was, like Malachi, an extraordinary wizard and ought to be powerful enough to handle difficult problems. But more than that, Kian felt the need to prove himself. If he couldn't manage a single estate like Tylluan with some semblance of success, he'd certainly never be able to oversee all the magical Families who gave the Dewin Mawr their allegiance.
At the moment, he'd simply like to gain the allegiance of his tenants. They were not all of magical descent, but they were all, from generations past, sympathetic to those who were and understood the responsibilities that came with giving their loyalty to a lord possessed of great powers. The people of Tylluan, like many Welsh, kept the mysteries of magic secret from the outside world. In return, however, they rightfully expected some manner of recompense. Especially in the way of safety and security.
"Might've been something wild," Horas said contemplatively, rubbing his chin. "Boars, maybe. Or wolves."
Kian appreciated his steward's loyal attempt to find a more normal solution to the problem, but after spending six mornings looking at fields of dead animals, they were well beyond pretending.
"Something wild, aye," Kian agreed. "But it wasn't any creature known to mortal men."
His tenants murmured quietly in agreement.
Horas glanced at Kian and gave a single nod. "Is it Cadmaran, then, do you think?"
The question was asked so casually that anyone who didn't know the history between the Cadmaran and Seymour families might not understand the meaning behind it. But that wasn't the case with all those who were present. They fell silent and waited to hear whether Kian would make a public declaration of his belief in his distant neighbor's guilt.
Morcar Cadmaran, the Earl of Llew, was, like Lord Graymar, both an extraordinary wizard and the powerful head of an ancient magical family. Unlike Lord Graymar, Cadmaran practiced dark magic. Evil magic. Magic like the kind that had caused the mayhem and death strewn out on the field before Kian. It wouldn't be the first time that a Cadmaran had visited such destruction on a Seymour.
The two families had been at odds for centuries, contending over which should wield the greater authority over the other magical clans. Thus far the Seymours had maintained the place of most power, but only, the Cadmarans claimed, by cheating at every given opportunity. The charge had enraged past generations of Seymours, who found it to be entirely unjust, and a mutual enmity had been birthed between the two families. There had been arguments, volatile encounters, even battles fought over which family had suffered the greater insult. In time, the Seymours had simply begun to ignore the ridiculous feud, but the Cadmarans found it impossible to set aside. Indeed, the current Earl of Llew seemed determined to carry on the unpleasantness at all costs.
Morcar Cadmaran believed that the Seymours had done everything possible to ruin him. They had even denied him the woman whom he had chosen for his wife, Ceridwen Seymour, a gifted sorceress with whom Morcar believed he would be able to produce wildly powerful offspring. He had been thwarted in his attempts to secure her hand by Malachi, who had allowed her to marry the man of her choice, a mere mortal. It had been the final straw in what the Earl of Llew saw as an endless string of misdeeds. He wanted to topple the Seymours from their place of power; and the best way to do that was to destroy their head, the Earl of Graymar.
There was only one acceptable way among their kind to bring down one who had been recognized as the Dewin Mawr, and that was through a duel of powers, properly challenged and properly accepted, according to the rules laid down ages past by the Guardians. But Morcar hadn't been able to force such a duel, because Malachi continuously found ways to avoid meeting him face-to-face, a fact the Earl of Llew found endlessly frustrating. Yet he determinedly kept trying to lure Malachi out into the open. The troubles that had been plaguing Tylluan of late were, Kian believed, evidence of such efforts. Cadmaran knew that if Kian couldn't find a way to stop the attacks on his lands, he would eventually have to send for the Dewin Mawr's aid. And then the Earl of Graymar would be in North Wales and that much closer to the Earl of Llew's lair.
Unfortunately, Kian had no proof that Cadmaran was behind the attacks, and he wasn't going to make his suspicions public. Such an open assertion of blame was, among their kind, akin to a declaration of war. He would have to tread carefully until he knew better what was going on and whether Lord Llew was truly involved.
In the meantime, Kian had to pacify his tenants' desire for action.
"What I think," he said clearly, "is that someone from Tylluan should visit Fynnon Elian as soon as possible to see whether a curse has been set upon us and, if so, pay the fine to have it lifted."
This suggestion met with loud approval among those present, for they were, like most Welsh, deeply superstitious. It had likely crossed their minds before now that some evildoer had gone to Elian's Well and thrown a curse into the water, bringing all this misery upon them. Although Kian certainly didn't deny that such curses were true, he didn't believe for a moment that paying the well keeper a few coins to lift a curse would solve the troubles at Tylluan. But it would buy him a little time and sooth his tenants for a few days.
"I should be glad to go, m'lord," Allan offered, nodding toward the field. "Once this has been cleared and the carcasses burned."
"Aye, and me with him," said another, followed by a chorus of volunteers.
"It is good of each of you to offer," Kian told them, "but I shall ask my brother to go." He understood what it would mean to the people of Tylluan to have someone so close to their baron perform the task. "Dyfed will leave tomorrow morning and, God willing, be home before the week is out. Let us all pray God that whatever has been bedeviling us will be gone by then."
"Not those, Elen." Loris waved a hand to keep the girl from picking any more thyme. "We've enough for tonight's stew and I want to save plenty for drying. What a glorious day this is." A crisp, cool breeze caressed her cheek and she lifted her head to smile at the white clouds above. "I can scarce remember a spring here with so little rain and so much sun."
"The rain will come, miss," the younger girl said gloomily. "It always does. And the fog with it."
"Aye, that they will, praise be to God," Loris agreed. "We'd be in sore misery if it were not so, especially here on Tylluan's high hill. Look, Elen." Standing, Loris strode nearer to the edge of the garden, where a sheer drop gave way to the valley below. "I never weary of seeing it; do you?" She glanced back at the girl, who trudged unhappily over to join Loris, dragging her mostly empty basket along as if it were a great burden.
"It's the same as it was yesterday," Elen replied, "and the day before that and the day before that. Nothing ever changes here."
"No," Loris murmured with pleasure. "I pray it never will."
It ...
