Dagon felt wonderful. He felt better than usual after a good night’s sleep and a generous helping of Margaret’s French toast sprinkled liberally with powdered sugar and a hint of cinnamon and her stubby homemade sausages that tempted the tongue. He was ready to tackle anything, which was why he took himself off to his study to make a long-distance phone call.
He was pleased with the peacefulness that pervaded the castle. No loud voices had been raised, the staff quietly went about their work, and Bernard had made no complaints, leading Dagon to believe that Sarina was working out quite nicely in the laundry room. Of course it was barely noontime, but still, things did seem as if they were working out well.
Dagon closed the door behind him as he entered the room he felt most comfortable in. Many years ago when titles were of importance he was called a lord and this room his solar, but over the years the room had become a place of solace to him. It housed the many objects he had collected over the years, and while some items were priceless, others held no monetary value at all, though they were priceless to him.
Two tall windows draped in dark green velvet drapes and trimmed in heavy gold cording flanked a large stone fireplace along the back wall. The plush drapes were drawn back with the same thick gold cording leaving a breathtaking view of the mermaid pond—an eye-catching creation of three tiers of mermaids holding up a large shell over their heads with the top lone mermaid sprouting water from the partially closed shell she held in her arms and the surrounding area a carpet of thick green grass and shade trees.
Floor to ceiling bookcases covered two other walls with a sliding ladder that ran along both for easy access to the far top shelves. An ornate French desk dated somewhere in the seventeenth century was positioned near the windows with a perfect view of the pond. Chairs covered in beige silk and thin dark green stripes along with a solid beige settee from the same period as the desk sat grouped before the fireplace whose intricate brass fireguard was a work of art. Two antique Persian rugs whose colors had retained their charm and blended perfectly with the decor covered a good portion of the polished wood floor.
The entrance door was on the fourth wall and was surrounded by paintings of various family members throughout the centuries. One painting in particular caught Dagon’s eye, and with a smile he sat down at his desk and reached for the phone.
It would be early morning in the States, but he was certain Sydney Wyrrd would be up. She always greeted the dawn, an old habit of hers and one she never broke. She was a remarkable woman for her six hundred years, and she held a special spot in Dagon’s heart. And he remembered when that particular portrait was painted of her in the late sixteenth century when he was but a mere lad. She was as beautiful and charming now as she was then, and she had been a constant in his life of which he was forever grateful. He was certain she would not deny his request.
Well, almost certain.
Asking Sydney to introduce him to the Ancient One was actually asking quite a large favor. There wasn’t a witch who did not wish to meet her or one who would not be honored to be educated by her. Sydney had been chosen as rare few are by the Ancient One herself to be a pupil of hers. Certain conditions had to be met, and one was that the student would not violate her privacy. Her identity and whereabouts would always be held in strict confidence. But Dagon wanted only for Sydney to extend an invitation to the Ancient One for him and her to meet. What harm could there be in that?
“No,” Sydney said quickly.
Dagon had chattered for a good thirty minutes before proposing his favor. He had learned that the newlyweds Alisande and Sebastian were having a delightful time on their honeymoon in England and Ireland, and she wouldn’t be surprised if they stopped by to see him before returning home.
Sebastian was having some difficulties with his newly acquired skills, though he was thoroughly enjoying his unexpected powers. Alisande thought otherwise since it was she who usually ended up the worst for wear from one of his attempts to demonstrate a spell he thought he had perfected.
Dagon couldn’t help but enjoy a brief laugh over that bit of information since he had purposely failed to advise Sebastian of the consequences of the spell he needed to cast to unite Alisande and himself. He could only imagine the look on Sebastian’s face when the man learned that he was now a bona fide witch. Sydney did assure him that Sebastian intended to discuss his unexpected abilities with him when next they met, and Dagon laughed once again having expected nothing less from a man as practical and dynamic as Sebastian Wainwright.
But now with that discussion done and his request presented he found himself facing a response he had not expected, and he asked simply, “Why not?”
Sydney sounded her usual patient self. “Need you really ask? You know full well the Ancient One does not like to be disturbed. She chooses her own friends. And, my dear boy, she would never be interested in you as a mate.”
“Why not?” he asked again, though he sounded more like a petulant child who was disappointed that he was not getting his own way.
“Dagon, she is far more powerful than you could ever imagine. She was born with the dawn of the earth, and her wisdom is limitless. And besides, she is not looking for a mate.”
“You have spoken to her?” he asked anxiously.
“All her students remain in contact with her, and we all respect her privacy.”
“I do not wish to intrude on her privacy. I only ask that you mention that I would like to be introduced to her. What harm could that do? Perhaps she would find me to her liking.”
“I am sure she would find you a delight to speak with,” Sydney said, “but mating is another matter. And besides she loved once and lost that love and has sworn to never love again.”
“Not to sound arrogant, Sydney, but I think I could make her forget him.”
Sydney retained her patience. “You don’t know what you say, Dagon, and I suggest you forget this foolish idea.”
“If this was nothing but a whim I might, but I am determined to meet the Ancient One. I feel we would be well suited for each other, and once united we could create powerful and beautiful children.”
“I have no doubt you would,” Sydney agreed. “But I am telling you as a close friend to beware of what you ask for.”
“I know exactly—”
A rapid pounding on his door interrupted Dagon. “Excuse me, Sydney.” He held the phone away from his face. “I am on an international call.”
Bernard’s anxious voice penetrated the closed door. “There is a problem in the laundry room.”
Dagon shook his head. “Can’t you handle it?”
“No, sir, it is imperative that you come at once,” Bernard insisted to Dagon’s surprise.
“Sydney,” Dagon said, returning the phone to his ear.
“I heard,” Sydney said with a laugh. “I will leave you to solve your dilemma, and, my dear boy, I will give your request some further thought.”
That brightened Dagon’s disposition. “Thank you. I knew there was a reason why I loved you so much.”
“And I love you,”—she echoed— “though give my words thought.”
The line went dead and Dagon felt a tingle rush over him. Sydney had a way of teaching without instructing, and if he was sensible he would pay attention, for he had the feeling that she had just given him a lesson.
He replaced the phone on the receiver and called out to Bernard, “I’ll be right there.”
Bernard was waiting at the top of the stairs for him, and they both hurried down the two flights to the laundry area.
No words were necessary. Dagon could tell by their destination and the perturbed look on Bernard’s face that the problem could be none other than Sarina.
The two men heard giggling as they turned the corner, and they both stopped dead in their tracks. The corridor was a mass of suds, and two female servants were standing on the perimeter, their hands digging into the white sudsy mass and playfully tossing thick puffs into the air.
“Return to your duties at once,” Bernard ordered.
The two young woman jumped, startled by his sharp command.
The one young woman spoke for them both. “Our duties are in there.” She pointed at the thick mountain of suds that seemed to grow larger by the minute. “Ellen and I went to gather the remaining laundry and left Sarina to tend the machines.”
“Sarina is in there?” Dagon asked with concern.
Both women nodded and kept steady eyes on him.
Bernard shook his head. “Go assist Margaret in the kitchen.”
The two women obeyed immediately but not before casting quick admiring glances at Dagon.
“Sarina is not capable of the simplest—”
Dagon’s curt remark stopped his complaint. “Not now.”
Bernard wisely offered assistance. “Perhaps I should contact a plumber.”
“Yes, I suggest you do that,” Dagon agreed and stepped toward the high wall of suds.
“Sir, your clothes,” Bernard warned.
Dagon glanced down at his black wool trousers and his white cotton knit long-sleeve sweater that covered a black shirt. He spent a goodly sum on his clothes, his appearance being important to him, but at the moment Sarina’s safety meant more.
He did at first attempt to make the suds disappear with a wave of his hand, but just the opposite occurred, the sudsy mountain thickened.
Bernard shook his head and left Dagon to deal with the mess.
Dagon, though concerned for Sarina’s safety, was also irritated. She was a witch with limited abilities and limited sense. She did not seem to belong in either the world of witches or the world of mortals. And he wondered where it was she came from.
Wishing to bring this dilemma to a speedy end, Dagon plunged into the wall of suds pushing the lightweight obstruction out of his path and finally reaching the door. He grabbed hold of the brass knob, his hand slipping several times before he grasped it firmly enough to open it.
Water and suds hit him like a wave rushing to the beach, knocking him down on his backside. The water washed over him, the suds sticking here and there to his soaked clothing and his face. He sputtered and spit the suds away from his mouth and wiped angrily at his face to clear his eyes.
He stood with difficulty, slipping several times before he managed to get to his feet. And no amount of magical powers would help him. He had no choice but to deal with the situation as a mortal would and that irritated him all the more. His temper mounting, his clothes wet and uncomfortable, especially his wool trousers, he shouted for the culprit who caused this disaster.
“Sarina!”
“Help,” came the squeaky and fearful reply.
He sensed her confusion and fright, and his heart tumbled in his chest. Without thought to his actions he plunged into the suds-filled room like a warrior charging into battle.
He called out her name again to determine her whereabouts. “Sarina.”
“Here, I’m here,” she called back, her voice quivering and sounding as if it came from far back in the room.
He took careful steps, the stone floor slick with water and suds. “Stay where you are. I’m coming for you.”
“I only used half a box of detergent,” she said in way of an explanation.
Dagon chuckled. “Were the clothes that dirty?”
Her gentle laugh sounded tearful and again tore at his heart. He hurried his steps, slipping several times but managing to keep himself on his feet.
He found her braced against the back wall, her eyes wide and her slim body trembling.
He mumbled beneath his breath and reached out to wrap her in his arms.
“You’re wet,” she said, her arms instinctively going around his neck.
“A wave greeted me as I opened the laundry room door,” he explained, his arms tightening around her waist and holding her close as if reassuring her safety.
She laid her head on his shoulder. “I could not stop the machine from spewing suds or water. It seemed to possess a will of its own, and I didn’t know what to do to stop its strange antics.”
“Next time try pulling the plug,” he suggested.
“Plug?” she asked curiously.
He shook his head. “Never mind. Let’s get you out of here. You’re as wet as I am and shivering.”
“I’m cold,” she admitted and pressed herself closer against him.
His wet clothes may have chilled him, but her slim body heated him fast enough and it was best for them both if he got them out of this situation fast. He attempted to use his abilities once again, but nothing happened. All remained the same and his irritation returned.
She felt his body tense and offered a whispered apology. “I’m sorry.”
He lifted her in his arms, and she looked at him with sorrowful eyes. Her hair hung in her face, her long wet lashes stuck to one another, and a white sudsy mustache tickled her upper lip. Gobs of suds clung to her cheeks and her hair, and his only thought was to kiss her. To bring his lips to her plump ones and capture them in a senseless, mind-drugging kiss that would heat her chilled skin and cause her to dampen intimately.
He silently cursed his sensuous thoughts and purposely averted his eyes from her face, though where his glance landed did not help the already tense situation. He stared at her hard nipples straining against her wet blouse.
That was it. He had to get her out of his arms, and then if he was smart he would call that stewardess and see to relieving this relenting ache. And again he silently cursed his thoughts when he recalled how well endowed the beautiful blond was and how instead of his desires being focused on her luscious full breasts, he could think of nothing but Sarina’s small breasts and hard nipples that teased him from beneath her wet blouse.
“Foolish,” he admonished himself and started toward the door.
His feet suddenly lost their balance on the slippery stone floor, and he slid toward the open doorway, some of the suds having dissipated, providing him with a clearer view of his destination.
Sarina yelped and buried her face against his chest.
Dagon spewed out several spells, but none helped. He and Sarina simply sailed through the door and landed with a solid thud on the wet floor directly outside the laundry room.
Sarina lay on top of Dagon; his arms remained locked around her waist, her head on his chest and her legs rested between his.
He took a minute to get his breath, having tried yet again a spell to help repair this mess and again nothing happened.
His head and backside continued to ache from the sudden fall, and he momentarily lost his breath when he went down, the impact of Sarina’s body knocking the wind out of him.
“Are you all right?” he finally asked.
“I’m fine,” she answered, lifting her head to look at him. “And you?”
Why did she have to feel so good there on top of him?
His hands had instinctively run up and down her sides attempting to determine any injuries until they finally came to rest on her firm backside. Damned but if she didn’t make his skin itch. His only thought was to slip his fingers beneath her skirt and roam her wet bottom.
“Are you all right, sir?”
The sir part shocked him back to reality as did the fact that he had moved his lips much too close to her face and those tempting full lips of hers. “I’m fine,” he assured her, returning his hands to her waist.
Sarina moved off him to stand and found herself slipping on the wet floor. Dagon got to his feet with less difficulty and grabbed hold of her yet again.
“You’re forever saving me,” she said with relief and wrapped her arms around his neck once more. “I am grateful.”
Those sensuous lips of hers sat much too close to his, and temptation tapped him hard on the shoulder. He in turn attempted to ignore it, a difficult feat to say the least. “Let’s get you to safer ground.”
He swung her up in his arms and took careful steps both in where he walked and where he looked. He kept steady eyes on his path, and with a strong sense of relief washing over him, he turned the corner and stepped on a dry floor.
The feeling so overwhelmed him that he realized it was not only his sense of relief that flooded him but Sarina’s as well, and the idea that he could so strongly sense her emotions disturbed him.
He should have immediately deposited her on the floor, but the urge to protect her and make certain she was all right lingered, and he carried her to the kitchen where a stunned Bernard and Margaret greeted him with wide eyes.
“Hot tea and dry clothes, please, Margaret,” he said and placed a shivering Sarina on a chair near the table. He kneeled in front of her and rubbed her chilled arms.
“You’ll be fine.”
She nodded, her lips quivering.
Margaret put the kettle on and hurried off to return shortly with a large blue terry-cloth robe. “Out of those wet clothes with you.”
Dagon stood in haste and backed away from Sarina, whose wide eyes remained on him. “I am truly sorry for the mess I created.”
“Do not worry, the damage is minimal,” Dagon assured her and wanted once again to comfort her in his arms.
“Out with the both of you,” Margaret ordered as she hurried to unbutton the shivering woman’s wet blouse.
Her helplessness stabbed at him and the urge to order Bernard and Margaret from the room and see to her care himself so overwhelmed him that he grew irritated with his irrational feelings. And yet when he watched Margaret begin to unbutton Sarina’s blouse, he grew annoyed that it was not his hands at work on her clothes.
“Bernard,” he snapped and marched out of the kitchen with the startled man on his heels.
Once they reached the foyer, Bernard took over. “I will run a hot bath for you, sir, and see to taking care of those clothes, though I do not know if your wool trousers are salvageable.”
Dagon nodded, his thoughts in turmoil, which seemed to be a constant since he met Sarina.
He was out of his wet clothes and into a long black silk robe only minutes after entering his bedroom. Bernard already had a hot bath running and was seeing to selecting dry garments for him. He in turn paced back and forth before the stone fireplace that Bernard had lit upon entering.
This section of the castle he had updated several times throughout the years. A smaller adjoining room had been made into a large bathroom and a dressing area with a closet that boasted ample space for his generous wardrobe.
His own bedroom was tastefully decorated in a style befitting a man of station and wealth. Soft blues, greens, and beiges with a touch of gold blended remarkably well as did the mixture of antique furnishings from various periods. His oversized four-poster bed was draped in pale blue damask drapes with matching bedcovering, and the numerous pillows were touched with a hint of gold. A two-step footstool helped a person of smaller height climb into the high bed, though Dagon did not require its assistance.
“Sir,” Bernard said, holding out a snifter of brandy.
Dagon stopped pacing and accepted the glass without hesitation. “Tell me, did the MacDougals say who previously employed Sarina?”
Bernard thought a moment. “I don’t recall.”
Written records were never kept on any witch; oral records were relied upon. A practice that was started far before Dagon was born and continued to this day. It was meant to protect their kind, and it had saved many a witch’s life throughout the centuries.
“I do recall Mrs. MacDougal being adamant about her skills. When I spoke with her, she continually boasted about Sarina’s exceptional skills. Of course, I took the woman at her word. I saw no reason not to. References are always exchanged truthfully; I have never known one to intentionally feed misinformation. That is why I cannot understand this perplexing dilemma.”
Dagon sipped at his brandy. “The one thing that disturbs me is that her wrongs cannot be made right.”
“There are a few explanations,” Bernard offered.
“Very few,” Dagon said, sitting on the beige silk-covered bench seat at the foot of the bed. “Her power could be so depleted that she is unable to perform the simplest of magic.”
Both men shook their heads.
“She would have some power even if minute,” Bernard said.
“You’re right,” Dagon agreed, “unless she never possessed full power to begin with.”
Bernard appeared stunned. “I cannot believe Mrs. MacDougal would intentionally lie about Sarina’s skills. We rely on the truth to protect us—”
Dagon interrupted. “Exactly what skills did she say Sarina possessed?”
Bernard gave his question thought and appeared to have a difficult time finding an answer.
Dagon proposed another question while Bernard continued to ponder the previous one. “What were Sarina’s duties at the MacDougals?”
Bernard didn’t hesitate to respond, though his response died before reaching his lips, and it was with a shake of his head he answered, “I don’t recall Mrs. MacDougal ever actually mentioning Sarina’s duties. She continually spoke of her skills and abilities but never detailed them. She assured me repeatedly that I would find it an enlightening experience to have Sarina part of the Rasmus staff. Of that I can agree with her.”
“How did you learn of Sarina?”
“She simply appeared at the front door one day asking if there were any positions open.
Ironically, that morning Josephine had informed me she would be leaving to join her sister in France and that she would stay until a replacement could be found even though her contract did not require her to do so.”
Dagon sipped at his brandy before asking, “And naturally she had references.”
Bernard grew uneasy.
“I should amend that to one reference?”
Bernard seemed annoyed with himself. “It was my own fault, sir; I was so impressed by Mrs. MacDougal’s glowing reference that I did not think to verify a previous employer. Though I do now recall the woman mentioning that all who knew Sarina were pleased with her skills.”
“So she did have a previous employer?”
“I would assume so.”
Dagon seemed annoyed himself. “Then why the mystery? Why didn’t the woman simply provide a list of references? Why did she give you only one? It is almost as if she is hiding something, and if I didn’t know any better I would say so was Mrs. MacDougal.”
Bernard appeared to agree. “It does seem strange that the MacDougals left on an extended vacation only two days after Sarina arrived at Rasmus Castle.”
Dagon grinned after finishing his brandy. “We have a mystery on our hands, Bernard.”
Bernard caught the note of excitement in Dagon’s voice and almost cringed. “Yes, sir, a mystery.”
Dagon handed his empty brandy glass to the frowning man. “Cheer up, Bernard, we’ll get to the bottom of this in no time. In the meantime I intend to chase this damnable chill from my bones in a hot bath.”
With that announcement Bernard took his leave, and Dagon took himself to the tub.
Steam rose from the black marble tub, and Dagon slipped into the hot water with a grateful sigh.
The black-and-white colors of the room would have been stark if not for the generous amount of gold that softened, blended, and joined together the opposing hues so perfectly.
He rested his head back and allowed the heated water to warm and soothe him. He still had many questions, actually too many questions pertaining to Sarina. The one that especially tormented him was the fact that her wrongs could not be made right by another witch. Even an incompetent witch could have her spells corrected by a more skillful witch.
But was Sarina incompetent or powerless? And if that were the case, then why couldn’t another witch see to righting things for her? And if she was powerless, then why? Was she more mortal than magic?
He sighed, the answers eluding him. He enjoyed solving a good mystery, and this dilemma certainly proved mysterious, so, therefore, he should enjoy the challenge, but one thing disturbed him. He could not explain his heightened sensitivity toward her. He was well aware and attuned to emotions. It was a skill most witches possessed to one degree or another and one that offered them protection. But his sensitivity to Sarina went beyond the ordinary. And what was even more perplexing was that her senses triggered his own.
If she felt fearful, he felt the need to protect. If she needed comforting, he felt the need to console. If she needed shielding even from her own doubts, he felt the need to offer her his strength. And he had done so without hesitation.
He had literally leaped before looking, something he had never done in his life, and the idea of doing something so out of character alarmed him.
What surprised him all the more was the intensity of his concern for Sarina. He had just met her, and yet he felt an overwhelming desire to protect her, not to mention his lusty appetite for her.
He shook his head. How long had it been since he felt such a strong urge to have a particular woman? He had never lacked for female companionship. And he had had many companions through the years, some more favorable than others. But it was a rare woman whom he lusted after.
He frowned. “Lust?”
Did he actually lust after Sarina?
He sighed and groaned and wished he could get the bumbling witch who was driving him insane out of his thoughts.