She sat up beside him, staring, then clasped her hands and gasped in delight.
They had come full circle, had returned to the elfin grotto—and surely, it was no surprise to her. The moon had risen while they played at nymph and faun. The garden glittered in the moonlight like the agglomeration of turrets and spires that form a fairy palace.
She stared at it, spellbound, but as conscious of his hand tickling fire across her own as she was of the magical garden. He was true to his word—he touched no more than he had said he would—but the way in which he did it made her bitterly regret the course that she had chosen. She promised herself that, when she had captured Alain, she would visit upon Geoffrey every ounce of pleasure of which he dreamed, and more, far more, until it was torment. She would use him, she would drain him, then revive him to use him again—but only at her pleasure.
When they returned to the campfire, they had assumed demeanors that were properly chaste and sober. Alain and Cordelia, though not quite so demure, seemed rather content with each other's company.
Alain, for his part, wondered whether Delilah's eyes were really glittering in the moonlight. Delilah, in turn, exulted within to see that Cordelia and Alain were not talking to one another. She had given her rival her chance, and, as Delilah had expected, Cordelia had made a hash of it. She sat down by the fireside with a sigh that was perfectly balanced between boredom and gloating satisfaction.
Cordelia looked up with a spark in her eye. "Was the garden so pretty, then?"
"By moonlight," Delilah purred, "one would have thought it was a mermaid's grotto beneath the waves." Cordelia felt a burning anger within her. What had the cat been doing with her brother? What had she done to him?
From the look of him, though, she might have asked him the reverse: what had he been doing with her? However, there was still an edged and whetted hunger to him, a devil-may-care, reckless, barbed delight about him. She did not have to wonder long about what they had been doing, but only how far the game had gone. Not too far, or Geoffrey would not still look famished—but somehow, the notion was not reassuring.
"Where shall we fare tomorrow?" she asked.
Delilah turned her head, locking gazes with Cordelia; she had not missed the "we."
"The gentlemen shall escort me to my home," she purred, "or so they have promised."
"And so we shall do," Alain said stoutly. "We could not let so gentle a lady wend her way unescorted."
"Oh, aye!" Cordelia said, with a smile of her own. "I shall join you."
"And what shall you ride, then?" Delilah asked gaily. "For I see you have no horse! Perchance you shall ride a broomstick!"
"Perchance." Cordelia's tone flowed like honey. "Though perhaps I should leave it for you."
Delilah threw her head back with a tinkling cascade of laughter. "Do not trouble yourself—for I have an excellent palfrey."
"Why, then," said Cordelia, "I shall have to find a stallion."
Cordelia waited until the others were asleep, then rose and moved quietly off into the wood, but only a few paces. She directed a thought at her sleeping mother, asking her to send her father's great black robot-horse, Fess—with a sidesaddle.
Gwen agreed, and so did Rod, easily. Cordelia couldn't tell they were only a mile away.
The sound of movement waked her. She opened her eyes, lying still to avoid surprises. She frowned, feeling muzzy-headed, and pressed a hand to her temple, but it would not drive the shreds of dream away. A patched and ragged dream, surely ...
Alain lay to one side of her—good. She muttered and turned over as though she were still asleep, then peeked through her lashes and saw Delilah, eyes closed, breathing deeply and evenly.
You need not pretend, sister. Only I await you.
As well you might, Cordelia returned. To be sure, none has the advantage of you.
There is some truth in that, Geoffrey admitted. Cordelia sat up, slowly, carefully, pressing a hand to her head again. I had the strangest dream ...
I too. Let us go.
He was sitting on his heels across the campfire from her, but now he rose silently, stepped around the coals, holding out his hand. She took it and rose to her feet, then stepped away from Alain and Delilah. Brother and sister wrapped their cloaks about them, for the morning was chill. They moved silently away from the sleepers and in among the trees, but not so far they could not watch the campsite.
"Tell me your dream first," Geoffrey said.
"'Twas a dream of this Lady Delilah," Cordelia said, watching his face—but he only nodded. No look of guilt, no look of keen interest—no look of surprise. Heartened, Cordelia went on. "I dreamt that in the deep of the night, she did come into these trees and meet with several men."
Again, Geoffrey nodded, and did not look surprised. Cordelia took a deep breath. "She did give them orders—orders, Geoffrey! She did command! And not a one of them disputed!"
Geoffrey still nodded, very intent.
"She did command them to prepare her home for her. She spoke of a manor house and staff, but she bade them dress as servants, and named one to impersonate her father. Nay, it did seem that she had already given such orders, for these commands were only in the nature of asking if all was in readiness—and they told her nay, but nearly." She watched her brother out of the corner of her eye. "What would you say to that?"
"I would say," Geoffrey replied slowly, "that it was the product of spleen, envy and jealousy that one woman might have for another—had I not had the same dream. Not only like yours, mind you, but the same."
Cordelia stared at him in surprise.
"Aye," said Geoffrey. "And what would you say to that?"
Cordelia turned away, walking very slowly. "I would say 'tis not the sort of dream I would have thought a randy young man like yourself would have dreamt, of a beautiful woman."
"Cordelia!"
Cordelia shrugged impatiently. "A spade is a spade, brother, and a lecher is a lecher. I will own I had some intent to speak to you of that anon—and aye, I have seen the covetous looks you cast upon the Lady Delilah, so I was not so surprised as I might have been, to learn that you had dreamed of her. But such a dream as this is not the sort I had expected."
"Nay, I am sure it is not," Geoffrey said, with a sardonic smile.
"How is this, brother?" Cordelia spread her hands. "How is it we have both dreamed the same dream, even though it is quite inappropriate to yourself?"
"Why, you know as well as I," Geoffrey countered. "What could it be, but truth?"
"Truth of what sort?" Cordelia frowned. "Can it be she is a telepath, a projective, and does not know it?"
"That, or one who does know it, but felt no need to shield her thoughts from sleepers." Geoffrey frowned. "In either case, it would seem that our Delilah is not what she seems."
Cordelia gave a harsh little laugh. "'Tis no great news to me, brother. I have seen the looks she gives you when she thinks Alain does not see."
"And that you do not see, either?"
"Oh, no! She cares not if I see. Indeed, she would prefer that I did." Cordelia's lips thinned. "No doubt she thinks that I believe you to be my puppy, and will be quite wroth with her for seeking to steal your affections. But I know you well enough to doubt that could happen."
Geoffrey looked up, offended. "Be not so certain, sister! I, too, may fall in love."
"You may," Cordelia said acidly, "but not with such a thing as that. Nay, Geoffrey, speak truly: I know you have felt lust for her, but has there been the tiniest shred of love?"