Christmas At Thorncliff Towers by Marina Myles Page B

her face turned red.
    “Constantin,” Grace Ann rested her golden curls against his shoulder. “I wish you could be my new father.”
    Tears rimmed his eyes. He’d lost his parents when he was five—the same age Grace Ann was when she lost her mother and father in a carriage accident. Now the girl’s grandmother cared for her.
    “I’m sure your papa was a good man,” he said kindly. “Do you miss him?”
    “Not so much when I’m with you.”
    Trekking over patches of snow, he reached the rear door of Thorncliff Towers.
    “My visit here is almost over,” she said. “Please tell me the story, Constantin.”
    “Again?”
    “Yes. I never grow tired of it.”
    “Just like you never grow tired of sweets?”
    She giggled.
    He drew in a breath. “Very well.”
    Gingerly, he set her at the kitchen table and poured more hot cider.
    The moment he sat across from her, he began. “Once there was a beautiful princess, with long, ebony hair and eyes the color of melted chocolate. She was an exciting and playful princess, but she was also a bit naughty. One fateful day, she got stuck in a tree.”
    Grace Ann’s eyes widened. “Oh, this is my favorite part!” She slurped her cider and listened.
    “From high in the tall tree, the beautiful, dark-haired princess called down to her prince.” Constantin paused to stretch his leg out. The bitter cold made it ache fiercely.
    Folding his hands, he continued. “ ‘Jump into my arms, princess,’ the prince called up to her. ‘Do you promise to catch me?’ the beautiful princess asked. The prince answered, ‘I promise. ’ ”
    Grace Ann set her cup down with a thud. Cider sloshed on the table. “Then the brave princess jumped, the strong prince caught her, and they both lived happily ever after!” She finished the tale for him, with glowing cheeks.
    He smiled ruefully.
    Grace Ann cocked a tawny brow. “Is it a true story, Constantin?”
    “Part of it is true.”
    “Which part?”
    At that moment, Grace Ann’s governess appeared and led her away. Constantin watched the shadows envelope the little girl’s ruffled dress and golden curls. Then he murmured under his breath, “Definitely not the part about the prince catching the princess properly. And certainly not the part about the princess being an actual princess.” He paused. “In reality, she’s a Gypsy witch.”
     
     
    Karina looked out the window of her caravan wagon. Her heart sank. They’d put it up. A purple sash wrapped around the ladder of Papa Stoica’s wagon.
    It meant imminent death.
    Sorrow rising within her, Karina pulled the curtains closed.
    Constantin’s grandfather was gravely ill—and he was asking for Constantin. Time to prepare my potion.
    Moving to a small cupboard in the corner of the wagon, Karina extracted the required ingredients: plant seeds, a small animal carcass, mistletoe, wine, berries, and the skin of a snake. Placing the items in a mortar, she reached for a pestle and started to grind the ingredients into a liquid tonic.
    Sounds of crunching and smashing filled the wagon. Karina frowned.
    She was the last person Constantin wanted to see. And considering the promise he’d made to Lord Winthrop to stay at Thorncliff Towers indefinitely, coming back to camp was the last thing he was supposed to do.
    That’s why she must go to Thorncliff Towers armed with the magic elixir. If she could get Constantin to drink it, it would allow her to command him without his knowledge. He would have no idea that she was directing his actions—directing him to come and say good-bye to his grandfather on his deathbed, when he wouldn’t have the opportunity otherwise.
    Could she heal Papa Stoica? Only if Constantin gave her permission to do so. Constantin was his grandfather’s eldest living blood relative—and he needed to be present for the healing.
    Of course , Karina thought as she ground some more, I’m going to Thorncliff Towers with a more selfish reason in mind. Maybe I can get