Free Touch of Passion by Susan Spencer Paul

field strewn with others. “Some half-eaten. Some just killed for sport. But either way, they’re all dead.”
    Kian surveyed the sight before him in silence, his gaze moving from one mutilated sheep to the next. He’d spent the five previous mornings surveying the exact same scene, save with varying players. Sheep were the main victims, but there had been cattle and goats and pigs as well. All had been his tenants’ livestock, and all the attacks had occurred on his lands.
    Something evil had come to Tylluan.
    â€œAre there no prints again, Horas?”
    â€œNo, m’lord. None that I can find. There might be some under all the water, though. Kind of hard to tell.”
    â€œDamnation,” Kian muttered. It was always the same. There was never any sign of who or what the predator was—no prints, either human or animal, no tufts of fur—yet there was always a tremendous amount of water muddying the field where the destruction had taken place. It was as if rain had fallen heavily in only one place, leaving behind a watery swamp littered with dead carcasses.
    â€œI’m sorry, Allan,” he said to the tenant, who stood beside him. “Is it the entire flock, then?”
    â€œAye, m’lord,” said Allan. Behind him, a group of his fellow tenants murmured and nodded and cast glances at their new lord. Kian felt their appraisals keenly, knowing full well what they were thinking. He had only been master of Tylluan for seven months, and scarce a week had gone by that some misfortune or other hadn’t befallen either someone or something on the vast estate. Illness, injury, fire, dry wells, inexplicable destruction—just when Kian thought he had everything under control, something else occurred to get Tylluan’s inhabitants into an uproar.
    His tenants were beginning to whisper that Tylluan had been cursed, and Kian was starting to wonder precisely the same thing. Unfortunately, they were also starting to wonder whether Kian was capable of being a true lord to them, protecting them and their children, their homes and livestock. His father, the previous baron, had managed well enough, though in a somewhat uninvolved manner. Whenever trouble occurred, Ffinian Seymour was content to call upon the
Dewin Mawr
, rather than tend to the matter himself. Lord Graymar had always come, if not entirely happily, and fixed the problem, which both the tenants and Kian’s father had found very welcome. The
Dewin Mawr
worked quickly and powerfully; even the most tenacious spirits had been readily vanquished with ease.
    When Kian had taken Ffinian’s place as baron at Tylluan, however, he had vowed that he would only call upon his cousin in the direst need and only if Kian himself couldn’t find the solution first. This was partly due to pride, he knew, because he was, like Malachi, an extraordinary wizard and ought to be powerful enough to handle difficult problems. But more than that, Kian felt the need to prove himself. If he couldn’t manage a single estate like Tylluan with some semblance of success, he’d certainly never be able to oversee all the magical Families who gave the
Dewin Mawr
their allegiance.
    At the moment, he’d simply like to gain the allegiance of his tenants. They were not all of magical descent, but they were all, from generations past, sympathetic to those who were and understood the responsibilities that came with giving their loyalty to a lord possessed of great powers. The people of Tylluan, like many Welsh, kept the mysteries of magic secret from the outside world. In return, however, they rightfully expected some manner of recompense. Especially in the way of safety and security.
    â€œMight’ve been something wild,” Horas said contemplatively, rubbing his chin. “Boars, maybe. Or wolves.”
    Kian appreciated his steward’s loyal attempt to find a more normal solution to the problem, but after spending six