Cordelia quieted surprisingly there, staring into his eyes. "Was there ... ardor?"
"No, not a bit," Geoffrey assured her. "Only a sense of play, a sense of fun. It is the first time I have seen that in Alain. Not even when we were children did he seem to have fun at his games. He was always so deadly serious that he must win, or die." He shook his head. "I cannot understand it."
This, from a man who would rather die than lose, Cordelia knew—but you did expect it from Geoffrey, and she had to admit that he had always had a great deal of fun at his games.
She turned away. "Why has he not told us he is an esper?"
"Why, because he does not know it!" Geoffrey said. "Nay, do not look evilly at me! If he cannot hear thoughts, but only feel emotions, how should he know that he has any talent at all? Oh, aye, he may feel what others feelbut any person can be empathetic, if he truly cares about others. Any person who is at all sensitive to others can read the host of unspoken signals in their bearing and demeanor. How should Alain have known that he could do more, that he could actually read their feelings, as you and I read thoughts?"
"Or make another feel his?" Cordelia's voice was very small.
"Ah, that is a greater gift," Geoffrey said softly. "But surely, he could not know that he had done that." He paused a second, watching her face, then said, "Can he?"
Cordelia was still a moment, then gave a very short nod. "Well, well, well," Geoffrey breathed. "Mayhap there is hope for our clay-footed suitor yet." He watched his sister for a minute, but she said nothing, only stood with eyes downcast. Geoffrey smiled. "Even so, he would not know that he can sway a person to him, wrapping her in his feelings, whirling both up into..." He broke off, seeing her shiver again. "And it may be that he cannot project emotions unless he feels them very strongly. Indeed, he may not realize that he does it at all—for all he knows, 'tis what everyone feels. So if he has the talent, sister, he probably knows it not."
"How is this?" Cordelia cried. "As he usually is, as he has always appeared, I do not find him at all appealing but I have found him very much so tonight! Never before has he appeared so handsome, so gallant! Never before has he reached out to touch me with his mind!"
"Never before has he danced with you," Geoffrey murmured.
"Oh, he has, in the Christmas reels—but always with only the set, formal steps, never with such ardor! Indeed, he did become, as you say, exciting. Was it simply because he wore a mask?"
"A mask," Geoffrey said judiciously, "and because I insisted that he drink three glasses of wine."
Cordefa frowned. "Surely three glasses of wine are not enough to ... Oh!"
"Yes," Geoffrey confirmed. "I boosted the alcohol content considerably."
"Alas!" Cordelia looked down into the depths of Geoffrey's wineglass. "Is he only to be a man of romance when he is drunk, then?"
"The wine could not bring it out if it were not there to be brought." Geoffrey looked down into his glass, too. "Be honest. Alain is ordinarily tremendously dull—not a bit of fun, and deadly serious, and far too concerned with his moral rectitude."
Cordelia reflected that a bit more such concern could do her brother a world of good—but she had to admit it was rather overpowering, in Alain.
Geoffrey looked up at her. "I attribute it to his having been reared with far too great a sense of his own importance as Heir Apparent, and too much insistence on developing his sense of responsibility. No doubt it will make him an excellent king . .."
"Yes," Cordelia said sadly, "but a very boring person."
"And," Geoffrey said, very, very softly, "a stultifying husband." He clucked his tongue. "Beware, sister—or you may lose him to Delilah."
"Oh, I do not wish that! Not that at all!" Cordelia cried, distraught. "Not for my sake alone, no, but for his also!"
"If he could only become fun ... ?" Geoffrey suggested. "Exciting," Cordelia agreed. "But if he becomes romantic only when he is half drunk? Oh, no, Geoffrey! I cannot have that!" She turned away, chafing her hands. "Yet I would not see him the victim of Delilah, for I know what a vampire that woman must be!"
Geoffrey tilted his head to the side, considering her. "Is that the only reason you do not wish to see him united with the lady?"
Cordelia blushed, embarrassed. "I do not know. Oh, Geoffrey, do not ask me! I do not know!" And she' fled in confusion, away out the door.
Geoffrey sighed, gazing down into his wine. Then he shrugged, drank what was left in the glass, and reached out for the decanter. His gaze lighted on the other goblet, and a gleam came into his eye. He lifted the bottle and poured, but only a small amount.
Cordelia fled back to her bedroom and sent out her own clarion call. Mother! Awaken, I pray you! I have need of you! Then, a little less stridently, Mother! Mo-o-o-o-ther!
The answer came, as though Gwen were still swimming up through layers of sleep to consciousness. Yes, daughter. What troubles thee? There was no irritation, no resentment. Weariness, yes—but also alertness, and concern, lest her child be hurt.
Mother, I am so confused! I must talk with you! I listen. Gwen was already more wakeful.
Nay, not in this fashion. Cordelia wrung her hands. Face to face. I must be with you, be in your presence! I know it is a hard thing to ask, but—can you meet me?
At Cromheld's Wood. Aye,. surely. Gwen was fully awake now, and all compassion. In half an hour's time. I shall fly. Aye, Mother. I thank you. Cordelia broke the contact and, already feeling a little better, hurried to doff her evening gown and don her travelling dress. Cromheld's Wood was halfway between Sir Julian's manor house and Castle Gallowglass. Cordelia caught up her broomstick, leaped astride it. It sank half a foot, then lifted and shot out through the window.
In the forest clearing half a mile away, Gwen prepared to do the same.
"Don't let her see you, dear." Rod had awakened as soon as he heard Gwen rising from her bedroll beside him in the tent.
"I shall not, husband," she assured him. "Indeed, I shall go past Cromheld's Wood and come back. If she doth see me, she shall think that I have come from Castle Gallowglass."
"Horrible to lie to our children this way, isn't it?"
"I do not lie, strictly," she said primly. "I merely leave matters open for her to believe as she wishes. Good night, husband. Do sleep—there is no need for you to be watchful and wakeful." She bent down to kiss him, lightly and quickly, then turned away to leap sidesaddle onto her broom.
"Good night, love," Rod called softly. He watched her go, diminishing into the night. As to the need for watchfulness and wakefulness, he had his own opinions. He sat up straight, very straight, legs folded in half-lotus. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the mind of his son Geoffrey. It came clear ... he could feel ...
Passion.
Instantly, Rod severed the connection. Well, he certainly wasn't going to learn anything about what was going on in the manor house that way.
For that matter, neither was Geoffrey. Instead, Rod focussed on Alain's mind.
This was more difficult for Rod than for his wife or children—he had not been born to it or learned it as he grew up. He'd had the gift inborn within him, but it was only contact with Gwen that had brought it to life. Even then, he had blocked it, until Father Al had helped him to unlock it fully.