Spellbinder (Moonshadow #2)

She considered that. Did she believe or trust him? There was something creepy at the thought of him eyeing her while she undressed, while she couldn’t see him, but at this point did she really care?

He was probably telling the truth, but even if he was lying, she decided she wanted to be clean more than anything else, so she stripped off her filthy clothes and took the toiletries over to the privy.

Brushing her teeth had never felt so amazing. Rubbing the dry shampoo through her hair and brushing it out was a little odd, but she had to admit her hair felt much better afterward and the lavender scent was wonderful.

She used the wet wipes on her face and every inch of her body, only hesitating enough to ask, “Should I put these wipes down the privy?”

“No, don’t do that,” he said. “They won’t biodegrade quickly enough. I’ll take them with me when I go.”

“Okay, thank you.”

When she had finished and made her way back to the cot, he had one more surprise waiting for her. “I spelled your clothes,” he said as he handed them to her in a folded pile. “They’re as clean as I can get them without soap and water.”

She buried her face in the clothes and inhaled. Before, even to her own nose, she had stank, but now they merely smelled a little dusty. “Another miracle,” she murmured. “I wasn’t looking forward to putting my clothes back on after getting clean.”

This time the smile was back in his whisper. “I thought you might feel that way.”

Beginning to shiver, she dressed quickly while he moved about the cell, presumably to gather up the used wipes that she had left in a small pile near the privy. When he returned to the cot, she was waiting for him, sitting with her back against the wall and her arms wrapped around drawn-up knees.

It was incredible what good food, water, and cleanliness could do to strengthen one’s mind and spirit. She almost regretted what she was going to do next.

As he sat beside her, she asked, “Are you Modred?”





Chapter Seven





The air became charged and volcanic, and as she listened to his breathing change she tensed.

But whatever she had been expecting, it wasn’t what came next. Instead of either confirming or exploding in denial, he remained silent for several moments.

Then in a measured tone, he asked, “What if I was?”

She listened intently for any nuance, anything that might give her a hint of how he was reacting, but the only impression she gained from his murmured whisper was one of immense self-control. He was determined to give her no information whatsoever, yet still, despite the paranoid thoughts and questions that had plagued her throughout the day, conviction settled into her bones.

“It doesn’t matter,” she told him. “Because you’re not him.”

“How do you know?” Genuine curiosity tinged his question.

She groped for the right words. “Modred is… charming, until he is not. He has a certain way of speaking. I don’t know quite how to put it. Maybe it’s ironic? It’s an affectation you don’t have. He has a light, almost affectionate attitude that disguises something much darker underneath. You’re not nearly so light, or you haven’t been with me. Modred is the one who carried out Isabeau’s order. He broke my hands.” A shudder ran through her. Her body would recognize Modred’s touch. She knew it would. “You didn’t do that to me. I would bet my life on you and him being two vastly different individuals.”

Again he surprised her, as he neither confirmed nor denied what she said. Instead, he told her soberly, “Sidonie, you must stop asking these kinds of questions.”

She uncurled and swiveled to face him, or at least face in the direction of where he sat beside her. “Why?”

His hand came down on one of her knees, long fingers tightening. She had gotten so used to him touching her in the dark, she didn’t flinch at the contact. “Because they’re not only dangerous for you. They’re dangerous for me. You know too much already.”

She snorted in derision. She didn’t know anything. If she had bothered to take any time to read about the Elder Races demesnes before her world tour had reached Great Britain, she might have been able to puzzle out his identity. The way Robin had spoken about him indicated he was important somehow, and deadly. Her own ignorance and disinterest had trapped her in this situation as much as anything else had.

He muttered, “I wish I could take back the things we said to each other last night. If I’d not been so depleted after your healing, I would have thrown a spell of forgetfulness over you. Now it’s too late. The experience has settled too firmly into your mind.”

She flinched and pulled her knee away from his grasp. “Obviously I can’t stop you from doing something like that, but if I ever discover you’ve used magic on me without my permission again, I’ll do everything I can to find a way to hurt you back. Because that’s what you’re doing when you spell someone without their consent. You’re hurting them. There’s a reason why it’s illegal in virtually every country on Earth. It’s a rape of someone’s will.”

The volcanic charge was back in the air, threading the darkness with a sense of imminent danger. When he replied, his whisper was as forceful and edged as hers had been. “I know all too well what a rape of the will magic can be to those who don’t consent to it. Nevertheless, if I could have done it last night, I would have, since causing you to forget might have meant saving your life. I’m trying to protect you by not telling you who I am. You have an inkling of what Isabeau might do if she’s angered or crossed.”

Yes, she did. Huddling away from him, she wrapped her arms around herself. After a moment, she said with dogged determination, “You said you can’t help me escape. Can’t, not won’t.”

“Sidonie,” he said in warning.

She plowed on. “Does that mean you’re too scared to do any more than what you’ve already done? You’re afraid you might be punished?”

Even as she asked, the questions didn’t ring true. If he was so afraid of being punished, he would never have helped her in the first place.

But she had to try to figure this out. She had to get a better understanding of what was really going on around her if she was going to have any hope of getting out of here. Besides, not knowing anything was driving her crazy.

This time when he said her name, it was through gritted teeth. “Sidonie!”

Blindly she reached out. Her fingers caught on the folds of his shirt as it pulled tight across his chest. She fisted both hands in the material.

“Can’t, you said,” she pressed. “Not won’t. You said you were constrained. What does that mean?”

She felt the tension thrumming through his long body. “I am. Unable. To tell you.”

Again, her hearing was all she had to rely on, and his voice hitched on the words in a way they never had before.

Unable. Can’t. Not won’t. Constrained.

Those were all his words, not hers.

And also, there had been this:

I know all too well what a rape of the will magic can be to those who don’t consent to it.

She whispered, “Are you under some kind of magic compulsion?”