A Sleight Of Hand: Body of Knowledge, #3.2

Chapter One

Gelasia Cabot stared at the laird of Dunbar Castle, shocked by the change in the once fine figure of Eadan MacMurrough. This was the man who loved her, according to Isadora Beckwith, the Lady Latham, who’d arrived suddenly, bearing the strangest news.

But to Gellie’s knowledge, love had never truly saved a man from death, though maybe it eased the pain and fear of the afterlife.

He needs you, Lady Latham said. She was a close acquaintance of Lord Dunbar’s and belonged to the laird’s other family, that group of doyens involved in the Society for the Advancement of Science. Hearing that should have been enough to scare Gellie back to Boston and forget she ever knew anything about gifts and troublings and the occult.

Lady Latham’s smile appeared sinister as she spoke of the Society. All Gellie could do was stare at her wide-eyed, nod in agreement and not jump from the moving carriage.

Confessing her own secret, Lady Latham proceeded to demonstrate that she could read a person’s thoughts. If only the coachman would return her to the inn.

However, at the castle and standing near the laird, all her fears vanished as compassion for the man, wasting away, evoked her deepest sympathy. She knew what she needed to do. If she could.

Gellie could not meet the hopeful gazes of his family, but staring at the now emaciated laird caused her a wave of despair. Her palms burned and rubbing them gave her no relief.

If only she could.

What can I possibly do? she asked. She knew what she ought to do, but she might just as easily kill him as to help him. Her gift had never been within her power to control or direct. Often, it erupted at the most inconvenient and embarrassing times, with results that ranged from odd to catastrophic.

Lady Latham gave her a reassuring smile; she had too much misplaced confidence. Gellie might feel a wee bit better if Lady Latham stopped reading Gellie’s thoughts, because they weren’t all that charitable. And that thought earned another smile.

Eadan’s sister, the lively one named Jinty, plopped onto the bed and wiped at her eyes with her worn apron. Ye are our last hope. Eadan canna die. Not him. She peered at Gellie with reddened eyes, desperate for any hope she could provide. What had they been told?

Why don’t we leave Miss Cabot alone with him for a few minutes? Lady Latham said, directing the family as if she belonged, when in fact she was nearly as much a stranger as Gellie. Lady Latham’s ties to the laird gave her a confident authority.

Or she was just reading everyone’s thoughts and clearly knew what was best for the distraught group.

Lady Latham and her husband Gregory had been instrumental in locating Gellie, and had traveled to Newcastle upon Tyne, and had somehow convinced her to travel to Dunbar Castle.

Their story had been so fantastic as to be unbelievable. Yet she had believed.

The first part of the tale she knew—Lord Dunbar had collapsed at a posting inn at Newcastle several days ago. Gellie had been there, assisting as she could.

But for some reason, Lady Latham believed Gellie could help in his recovery, even though his continuing affliction was perilous and unidentifiable.

All because...because Lord Dunbar was in love with Gellie, even though they had never really met.

Lady Latham squeezed her shoulder. Lord, had she just read that thought too?

Gellie had her own secret—the reason she had traveled from Boston to Scotland was to find her mother. And in finding her mother she might also find the secret to her strange and fearsome encumbrance.

And strangely, Lady Latham had no knowledge of Gellie’s gift when she’d set off on the mission to find her. She’d flown, husband in tow, to find Gellie on the knowledge that Lord Dunbar believed Gellie was the love of his life. Should she let those thoughts run rampant? How could such a thing be true?

How could Lady Latham read thoughts?

How could Gellie heal and kill with the touch of her hands?

Was it all just a strange coincidence? While love didn’t heal, her gift was so wildly inconsistent that a claim of love was likely the better antidote.

Yes. She believed in the occult. Call it what you will—magic, mysticism, the arcane—such strange things seemed to surround her life. Lady Latham possessed some such gift—but reading thoughts? It must be true or Lady Latham wouldn’t have such certainty that Gellie could help. Belief was one thing. Understanding quite another.

A sudden meow sounded in the room, bringing a little cheer to the otherwise sad environ. A small kitten hung from the bed covers, claws entangled in the white linen of the sheet handing freely from the end of the bed.

Jinty, Tamra snapped. Why did you bring Wiggles here?

Jinty glared at her but grabbed the kitten and soothed the wee creature with one hand.

"Please, everyone. I need to speak with Miss Cabot. Alone," Lady Latham said with more force.

When the room was finally emptied of the concerned, intimidating family, except for the three of them—Gellie, the prostrate earl, and Lady Latham—she waved her hand. Please have a seat.

Gellie couldn’t take her gaze from the compelling laird, so she remained at his side. Even in the depths of his weakened condition, the lines of his face testified of his strength and heritage. He was a handsome man with dark hair. Her heart squeezed a bit at the romantic notion of love. The laird loved her? How could he think such a thing when it was impossible to have even known her?

She turned to face the earnest Isadora Latham. I’m sorry, Lady Latham, I was led to believe I could help the laird. You did not say he was dying.

Dying, yes. But not a normal dying, Lady Latham said.

I don’t know what that means.

May I call you Gellie?

Certainly.

Lady Latham reached to touch Gellie’s hand, but she pulled away. Touching was limited to those closest to Gellie, and then with great care. She still wore her gloves. She was not prepared for any sort of accident.

I want you to call me Isadora, Lady Latham began. I used to hide in the upstairs closet of my father’s bedroom, every day, until some well-meaning servant or governess would come to fetch me. I knew they were coming. I could hear them. The sound of their thoughts made me cry at times. Their anger. Their boredom. Their hatred. Their curiosity. Their jealousy. I heard it all. By the time I turned seven, I’d learned to filter the noise. Life became less frightening.

Gellie pressed her thumb into her opposite palm.

I know it is hard to believe, but I can read your thoughts, Gellie. Along with Lord Dunbar’s thoughts, before he was stricken.

And what am I thinking? Gellie asked with some irritation. She did not like the idea of someone poking around in her head. I thought—

"You were here to help the laird. And you are," Isadora said.

Gellie drew her brows together and looked away, back to Eadan.

"Only you know what to do. I am unnecessary here, but I wish to encourage you. His thoughts were very clear before he was stricken. Now? Now his life is passing while he wastes away, as old men do. Only you can help him. Your gift, whatever it is and however you use it, was made for this moment. To help the man who has loved you through two lifetimes already—the first one where he lived hoping to meet you and the second that is happening in his head. Give him another chance and this time with the real you, not the Gellie of his hopes and memories.

Please, Gellie, wake him up, Isadora finished. She stood and took a deep breath.

Gellie felt it again—Isadora stirring in her thoughts.

You can do it. He is a man worth having. And worth loving.

* * * * *

Alone with Lord Dunbar, Gellie attempted to put her confusion into order, leaving the improbable idea of love out of it. Was there something good in her gift? Something powerful enough to save him?

If she touched him, might he live?