Debbie Mazzuca Bundle (54 page)
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Authors: Debbie Mazzuca
Lady Hamilton patted her arm. “Don’t upset yourself. Even if he does renew his relationship with Davina, for however briefly, it’s you who holds the power, my dear. Nothing more can come of it. You’re his wife, and in the end, that’s all that matters.” Ursula frowned. “You must be newly wed to have it bother you as much as it appears to.”
How could he ... how could Aidan do this to her?
Syrena tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry, and she could barely get the words out. “If you don’t mind, Ursula, I’d like to return to my room. I’ve had a long journey.”
Syrena tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry, and she could barely get the words out. “If you don’t mind, Ursula, I’d like to return to my room. I’ve had a long journey.”
“You have, haven’t you? I spoke to your husband earlier. I understand he’s come in search of his brother.” Lady Hamilton watched Syrena as a cat watches a faery.
Lachlan.
She had to concentrate on her brother, not Aidan, not his obvious affection for the beautiful redhead. A woman who’d broken his heart, a woman he’d once wanted to bear his children. Like the one Davina now carried. A woman who’d left the hall in his arms.
She had to concentrate on her brother, not Aidan, not his obvious affection for the beautiful redhead. A woman who’d broken his heart, a woman he’d once wanted to bear his children. Like the one Davina now carried. A woman who’d left the hall in his arms.
Syrena’s heart felt as though it was breaking. She couldn’t do this, not now. Pushing the tortuous thoughts and images aside, she said, “Yes, Lachlan has been missing for several weeks now. Were you able to tell Aidan anything?”
Ursula tugged her gathered sleeve over her wrist. “No, as I told Lord MacLeod, my husband passed away only a month before Lachlan’s arrival. The house was in mourning. We barely saw him, although he did attend a small gathering of my friends—nothing formal, you understand, given the circumstances.”
Ursula’s pretense of a woman in mourning rang false. Syrena didn’t know how the Mortals mourned their dead, but she had her suspicions the soiree in the grand hall this evening would not be acceptable. Whether the woman grieved her husband’s passing or not had little to do with Syrena. But Ursula had drawn her interest with the fact Lan had attended one of her functions.
“Do you know if he mentioned his plans to anyone?”
“Not that I’m aware of, but I did point out several of the guests who had attended to your husband. I know Lachlan had spoken to a fair number of them, the women especially. They fell all over themselves to speak to him.” She gave Syrena an arch look. “Your husband is a very handsome man, a very commanding presence. Not unlike his brother, yet they are so dissimilar in coloring. Lachlan’s more like a sleeping lion, with his golden hair and gaze, and the strength in his arms . . .” Ursula shivered, fairly purring over Lan’s attributes.
She looked at Syrena then, as if seeing her for the first time, she reached over and pushed the hood from Syrena’s head. “Has anyone ever told you how much you look like your brother by marriage?” Before she could answer, Ursula brushed the tips of her fingers over Syrena’s cheek. “So beautiful, so innocent,” she murmured. Her eyes glazed with a faraway look, and she slid the tip of her tongue over her painted lips. “I must introduce you to my brother. He will be very interested in meeting you.”
Warning bells clanged in Syrena’s head. Nuie warmed beneath her fingers. He felt it, too.
“I . . . I think—”
Ursula cut her off before she could make her excuses. “Perhaps my brother will have more information than I do about Lachlan.” She dangled the tantalizing inducement before Syrena. By the triumphant gleam in Ursula’s blue eyes, Syrena understood the woman was certain she’d acquiesce.
Show no fear.
You are a warrior
, she reminded herself.
Lachlan needs you.
, she reminded herself.
Lachlan needs you.
Syrena shut out the small voice that said she needed Aidan. She had Nuie; she didn’t need anyone else. Following Ursula through the masked revelers, she tightened her fingers around her sword’s hilt and absorbed his power. As they approached the front of the hall, where she’d first seen Ursula, a door set within the dark paneling opened.
Without warning, the wall of darkness slammed into her. Her stomach heaved and she slowed her breathing, trying not to inhale the noxious fumes emitting from the room. Pinpricks of light dotted her vision. The darkness was suffocating, the pain in her head debilitating.
A man in black, his entire face masked, wavered in front of her in a blurry haze. He stepped from the room and closed the door. The darkness faded, and she sucked in harsh gulps of air, steadying herself. At that moment everything came into focus. What perhaps had started as an amusement for these people had turned deadly. Somehow they’d unleashed a potent magick, dark magick, and it resided in that room. Magick, yes, but it couldn’t be the dark lord’s, she reassured herself. They wouldn’t have the resources required to open the doors of the underworld. The Mortals wouldn’t even know where the doors were located. Unless . . . unless somehow they’d discovered one of the Grimoires.
No, she wouldn’t even consider the thought. She had to stay focused, not court more trouble than she could deal with. Whatever was in that room was connected to Lan, and she had to admit now, the Fae that had gone missing from London. Once she found her brother, she would know exactly what she was dealing with and how to fix it.
“Are you all right, my dear?” Ursula inquired, reaching out to steady Syrena.
“Yes, I’m . . . I’m fine,” she managed. She had to be.
“Good, for a moment you looked as though you might swoon. Colin, this is Lady MacLeod. Don’t you think Jarius would like to meet her?” With a suggestive smile, Ursula trailed her fingers through Syrena’s hair.
“Aye, I’m certain he would,” the man rasped as though his throat was damaged. His eyes glittered through the slits in his black mask as he perused Syrena, then he turned his attention to Ursula. “But he can see no one now.”
“I see,” Lady Hamilton murmured. “Did he agree that you should . . ” As though she only then remembered Syrena’s presence, her lips compressed.
“Aye, he did.” There was a sinister tone in his scratchy voice.
Syrena shifted uneasily. “I’m sorry, Ursula, but I must return to my rooms. I have yet to recover from my journey.” If only that were all it was.
The man watched her from beneath his mask. “I shall escort ye to yer rooms, Lady MacLeod.”
“No . . . no, thank you.” She had no intention of going anywhere with him. And she had no intention of going to her rooms. Lachlan had made contact with her here, and since the dark magick was in this room, it only made sense that it was where her search must begin. She’d scour the town house from top to bottom and wouldn’t stop until she found her brother.
“So be it, but have a care. One never knows what lurks behind closed doors. Beware the shadows of the night.” His ghoulish laugh followed Syrena from the grand hall.
Chapter 22
Davina trembled, and Aidan tightened his hold on her, certain it was no act. His tension eased once they entered the corridor, putting some distance between them and the dissolute rabble gathered in the grand hall.
He shook his head, disgusted with what he had seen. A pack of aristocrats with nothing better to do than relieve their boredom playing at magick and making a mockery of the Kirk. And if that wasn’t bad enough, they drowned their inhibitions in drugged mead, acting out their carnal fantasies with no care as to who watched—and plenty had.
Considering the sexual play, he was glad Syrena had not been there to witness their antics. He glanced down. And mayhap witness his reunion with Davina who was now snuggled against his chest. He’d spent the majority of his time avoiding the woman he once thought to marry, questioning anyone who, according to Ursula, had met his brother on the night he disappeared.
Frustrated with the futility of his task, sickened by the goings-on, he’d been about to leave when Davina cornered him. He’d been tempted to brush her off until he realized she was truly afraid. In good conscience, he couldn’t ignore her panicked plea for help.
Her bewitching face and bonny red hair had little effect on him now. The memory of how badly she’d once wounded him had seen to that. But it was the look of fear in her wide green eyes that brought him to a standstill—fear for her unborn child.
Davina’s long fingers stroked him through his tunic, caressing the ridge of muscles low in his belly. Aidan muttered a curse. He may no’ be attracted to the woman, but he was no’ a bloody monk. Extracting himself from her hold, he set her firmly aside, and nudged her along the corridor. “Where are yer rooms, Davina?”
She jerked her gaze to his. Tears pooled in her eyes, and her mouth trembled. “I’m sorry, I didna mean to make ye angry, Aidan. Please, doona be fashed with me.” Her fingers fisted in his tunic. “Doona leave me alone.”
“I’ll see ye to yer chambers. If ye’re truly afraid, I’ll have one of my men stand watch over ye. But is John Henry no’ due back this eve?”
Her face crumpled. “I doona ken. He’s never here. I should no’ have married him. I wish . . . I wish I would have married ye. Why did ye no’ fight fer me?” Though she whispered the question, he heard her well enough.
Considering her emotional state, he didn’t think now was the time to tell her she hadn’t been worth it. She was a woman who would choose another man over the one she professed to love simply because his prospects were better. John Henry had offered her more coin, and all the power and influence she craved to set her up in society.
The sound of men’s laughter echoed along the torch-lit corridor, bouncing off the stone walls. “’Tis no’ the time nor the place fer this, Davina. Where are yer bedchambers?”
She glanced over her shoulder then nodded, wiping the moisture from her cheeks. “Third door on the right.”
When they stood before the door to her chambers, Aidan reached for the latch, but she stopped him, placing a fine-boned hand over his. “Won’t ye come in?” she asked, her voice husky.
“Nay, I’m married, Davina, and I’m thinkin’ my wife would no’ appreciate me bein’ in yer rooms.” In truth, he wondered what Syrena’s reaction would be. He suspected she would not be pleased and smiled at an image of her bonny eyes flashing with anger.
A marriage that had begun as a charade now seemed very real to him. He was almost certain Syrena loved him though she had yet to tell him so. There were matters they needed to resolve. Most, he acknowledged, were his own, but there would be time for that later.
“I doona care what she thinks. I’m askin’ ye.” The harshness of her tone didn’t surprise him. It was more in keeping with the woman he remembered.
“I do.” He removed her hand from his and opened the door.
“Do ye love her?”
He hesitated. He thought he did, but hadn’t allowed himself to think about it until now. But that was not something he’d share with Davina. “Aye, I do.”
She bowed her head then raised her eyes to meet his. “She’s verra lucky. I’m sorry, mayhap ’tis the bairn that is causin’ . . .”
“Mayhap.” He frowned, trying to remember what had set her off in the hall. He reached for her before she stepped into the room. “Davina, what is it ye’re afraid of?”
Her hand went to her swollen belly. “Now that we’re away from them, it seems silly. But I was afraid fer my bairn.”
“If ye’re feelin’ unwell, I’ll send fer Bess.”
She twisted her hands in her yellow gown. “Nay.” She glanced down the hall, and he had to admit she looked terrified. “Please, I canna speak of it here. Someone might overhear us. I promise, I will try no’ to compromise ye.” A watery smile curved her lips, reminding Aidan of what had once attracted him to her.
“A few minutes, ’tis all I can give ye. I want to check on my wife,” he said, following her into her chambers. He frowned. Feeling as though someone watched them, he stepped back to scan the deserted corridor. He shook his head. Syrena and her talk of evil had him on edge.
Davina walked across the woven carpet to the fire and wrapped her arms around her thickening waist, shoulders bowed.
“Tell me what’s troublin’ ye.”
She turned, her hand covering her mouth. “I’ve made a horrible mistake. I only thought to make John Henry jealous. He doesna’ love me, Aidan, I’m certain of it. Since we’ve come to London, he has no time fer me.”
“Ye got what ye wanted. A man with power and coin to spare.” It sounded as though he took pleasure in her pain, but he didn’t. He simply stated the truth.
“I ken I hurt ye, Aidan. I was foolish and verra spoiled. I regret it more than ye’ll ever ken.”
He believed her. Mayhap Davina had finally grown up, but it was too late.
“The man I used in my ploy, he didn’t take kindly to the deceit. When I . . . when I refused his advances, he didna listen to me. He . . . I’m no’ certain, Aidan. I’m no’ certain if the bairn is John Henry’s.”
He closed the distance between them and took hold of her shoulders. “Are ye sayin’ the man forced ye, Davina? He raped ye?”
She squeezed her eyes closed. “He said I was a tease. He said I didna ken what I wanted.”
“Who, Davina? Who is it ye speak of?”
“Ursula’s brother, Jarius. Nay, Aidan,” she cried as he headed for the door. “Nay, I canna allow John Henry to find out. Jarius is dangerous. He has some kind of hold over these people, Aidan. They listen to him.”
Tears streamed down her face. “I listened to him. I believed all his talk against the Kirk, their control. His talk about a new order. His followers, they’ll do anythin’ fer him, even . . . kill.”
“Do ye have evidence, Davina, evidence I can take to the authorities?”
“Nay, but at some of the gatherin’s I’ve heard talk. The drink loosens their tongues. Two men that were part of the fold questioned Jarius’s authority in front of the others. We never saw them again.”
He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. “Lan?”
“Nay, but I think they ken what happened to him. I heard Ursula talkin’ to John Henry the day yer missive arrived. She changed her story, Aidan. I think she lies.”
“I appreciate yer tellin’ me, Davina. And I’ll keep yer confidence, but I suggest ye speak of this to yer husband. Ye’re guilty of nothin’ but bein’ foolish. Tell him.”
She stared at him. “I canna, but I thank ye fer sayin’ that.” She placed a frigid hand on his arm. “Aidan, doona approach Jarius at night. ’Tis when he takes the laudanum and makes contact with . . . he calls him the lord of darkness.”
Aidan scoffed. “Ye canna believe such talk. The man’s so far gone, he’s seein’ beasties in his mind. ’Tis all that is.”
“Nay. There’s somethin’ to it. I’ve . . . I’ve seen things.” She shuddered and tightened her grip on her waist. “He has a book, and he carries it with him, always. He calls it a Grimoire, the Grimoire of Honorius. They say it contains spells to call upon the evil spirits, these dark lords he’s always talkin’ about.”
Aidan dragged his hand through his hair. “Ye canna believe this tripe?” But how could he be certain that was all it was? He had a wife who was Fae, and a brother who was half-Fae.
“Aye, I do. Ye have no’ seen him. Somethin’ is planned fer Samhain, somethin’ big.” Her hand went to her belly. “That’s why I’m worried fer my bairn. They talked of sacrifice. Sacrifice of an innocent.” Pale and trembling, she pleaded with him, “Please, Aidan, please help me.”
“Aye.” He folded her into his arms. “Aye, I’ll help ye, Davina,” he murmured into the top of her head before he set her aside. “Lock yerself in yer room. I’m goin’ to send Callum to guard ye. He’ll let ye ken when he arrives.” Hand on the latch, he turned. “When is Samhain?” The days and weeks had rolled into one on their journey and he wasn’t even certain of the day’s date.
“On the morrow. They’ll celebrate tomorrow eve when the moon is high. They say ’tis the night the veils between the realms thin. They plan to make a sacrifice in hopes of releasing the dark lord. ’Tis what I overheard Ursula tellin’ the followers this night. She said she’d have enough magick in her to be considered worthy of openin’ the door. But she’s addicted to the laudanum, too, so I’m no’ certain ye can trust what she says. There are times she sounds mad, talkin’ about drinkin’ the blood of faeries . . .”
Heart pounding, he strode toward her and grabbed her by the arms. “What did ye say?”
“Stop, Aidan, stop, ye’re hurtin’ me. I doona understand why—”
He dropped his hands, struggling to regain control. “I’m sorry. Ye need to tell me, Davina, ’tis important. The faery blood, what did she say?”
“Aidan, ye canna believe—”
“Tell me!” He balled his hands into fists to stop himself from shaking the answer out of her.
Davina backed away from him. “She . . . she said she bleeds the faeries and drinks their blood, but—”
“Lock yer door!” Blood pulsed through his veins, rage blinding him to anything but revenge. He slammed the door behind him, holding on to the latch, waiting for Davina to throw the bolt. Evil, Syrena had said. She’d felt it, and he hadn’t listened to her. He had to go to her, be certain she was safe. And then he’d kill the bastard and his sister. Nay, first he would learn where they held his brother.
“Fancy runnin’ into ye, Laird MacLeod,” a voice sneered from behind him. Aidan went to turn. A heavy object smashed into the back of his skull. The explosion of pain brought him to his knees. Blackness sucked him under. His last thought was of Syrena.
Syrena bit back a frustrated oath when she realized she’d come full circle in her search and had found no evidence of her brother. She’d tried reaching him in her mind, seeking some clue, anything to help her locate him, but she was met with a chilling silence. She wondered if the state of her emotions, the pain of Aidan’s rejection, had anything to do with it.
After she had made her escape from the hall, she’d seen him, watching from the shadows as he entered Davina’s chambers. Her mind cried out at the injustice of his betrayal, but somewhere inside, the truth stabbed her conscience, forcing her to acknowledge they’d made no commitment to each other. He’d broken no promise; he’d made none. It was not his fault that she’d come to love him more with each passing day.
About to round the corner of the gallery, Syrena heard a heavy thud along the corridor, followed by a guttural moan. She ran partway along the hall, coming to a standstill when she saw three men bending over something on the ground. Holding her breath, she flattened herself against the stone wall. Moving silently, she ducked into a small alcove then peered around the corner. Three men tied up what appeared to be a big man lying unmoving on the slate.
One of them came to his feet and she saw their victim more clearly, a head full of dark hair and a warrior’s body.
Aidan! They had Aidan!
Aidan! They had Aidan!
Her heart leapt to her throat and her limbs went weak.
A woman’s muffled scream penetrated her panic, then a sharp crack, followed by silence.
“One of ye come here and get the whore. Take her to the coach. The master and Lady Ursula await ye there. We’ll follow ye as soon as I’ve tied up the loose ends,” a man rasped.
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