Impulsively, he rose to his feet and drew her out of her chair and into his arms. “Weep if you must,” he murmured. “Often it is the only thing that helps.”
She shuddered in his embrace and then, as if his words had unleashed the floodgates of sorrow, she began to cry.
And he held her close, one hand lightly patting her back as he murmured inane words of comfort.
A discreet cough at the doorway warned him they were no longer alone.
“Forgive me, sir,” the cook said, her eyes wide. “I didn’t mean to . . . I . . . that is . . . oh, my.” Cheeks flushed with embarrassment, she dropped the tray she was carrying on the table and hurried out of the room.
“She has gone,” Caddaric said quietly.
“Whatever will she think?”
“Does it matter?”
Edith shook her head, suddenly embarrassed to find herself in a strange man’s arms in the dining room in the middle of the day. But he didn’t seem like a stranger; indeed, she felt as if she had been waiting for him all her life, as if everything that had gone before was simply a prelude to this moment.
“Edith.”
She looked up at him and wished she were younger, prettier.
Caddaric smiled down at her. “Are you by chance a witch yourself?”
She blinked the last of her tears from her eyes. “Me? A witch?”
“I fear you have cast a spell of your own.”
“You feel it, too?” she asked, her voice filled with wonder.
“I would have to be dead not to.”
She stared up at him. His was an arresting face, but it was his eyes that held her gaze, mild blue eyes that looked at her with tenderness and a touch of bewilderment. “How can this be? I’m an old woman. Too old to feel like this.”
Caddaric placed a finger beneath her chin. “But your heart is still young, my lady,” he murmured, and then he did the unthinkable. He kissed her.
Heat spread through her, warm as sunshine, and she knew she had, indeed, been waiting for this man her whole life.
Shaken to the very depths of his soul, Caddaric loosed a deep sigh as he broke the kiss. His brief affair with Charmion had soured him on the fair sex. Grateful to have survived that liaison with a whole skin, he had immersed himself in his magic, resigned to going through life alone, never knowing the love of a good woman. But this woman, with her clear gray eyes and heartbreakingly sad smile, ah, this fragile bit of femininity tempted him sorely.
“I think, madam, that when the time is right, you and I will have much to discuss.”
“Yes,” she replied quietly. “When the time is right.”
And though neither spoke, they both feared the time would not be right until Charmion’s curse had been fulfilled.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Caddaric settled comfortably into life at Hawksbridge Castle. To Kristine, it seemed as if the wizard had always been part of the household. He told them amusing tales at meals, entertained them with stories of his travels to the far corners of the world in his never-ending quest for knowledge.
Kristine did not miss the way Lady Trevayne’s eyes lit up whenever Caddaric was in the room, or the way the wizard always managed to find an excuse to touch Lady Trevayne’s arm, or her hand, or her shoulder. On more than one occasion, she had come upon the two of them in the library or the solar, sometimes deep in conversation, sometimes just sitting side by side in companionable silence. She envied them the closeness they shared.
She wondered what Erik thought about the romance blossoming between his mother and the wizard. Wondered if he had even noticed. He never left his room now, except late at night when the household was asleep. He refused to join them at meals or sit in the parlor with them in the evenings. It grieved her that he no longer came to her bed at night. She missed being held in his arms, missed falling asleep with him beside her. But what disturbed her most was that he had taken to locking the door that connected her room to his.
With a sigh, she glanced at Caddaric and Lady Trevayne. They sat facing each other over a small table, a chessboard between them. Feeling as though she were intruding on their privacy, she turned her attention back to the book in her lap, but the words made no sense. She couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t think of anything but Erik, alone in his room upstairs, denying himself the company of those who loved him. No one had seen him outside his room since they returned to Hawksbridge. He had spent an hour with his mother the night they returned to the castle. The next day, he had spent the entire afternoon with his solicitor.
Kristine closed the book and put it aside. Why was she sitting here when she wanted to be with him? Why had she let him shut her out when whatever time remained to them could now be measured in weeks, perhaps days?