The Crimson Lady (24 page)

“My wife,” Braedan said hoarsely, from where he stood just inside the portal, “the lady who was sharing this chamber with me—where is she, and what are you doing here?”

The faint scent of spice and roses clung to the air in here, teasing Braedan’s senses. It reminded him of something unpleasant, though he couldn’t for the life of him place it at the moment for the turmoil that was winding inside of him. The serving girl’s mouth gaped, her fear obviously stifling her ability to speak. But Braedan’s fear for Fiona was greater; ignoring the fact that such an action would likely worsen the girl’s condition rather than ease it, he stalked forward and grabbed her by the shoulders.

“Where has she gone? You must tell me now!”

“I—I—I, that is, she—oh, sir, she left the inn, she did. She—” The girl broke off into sobs, her eyes filling with tears as she cried softly, “Oh, please, sir, let me go. Yer hurtin’ my arms, ye are…”

Shocked at his own lack of control, Braedan uttered a low-breathed curse and released her. “I didn’t mean to grip you so hard. I am sorry.” Clenching his jaw, he willed himself to keep calm, saying evenly, “I need to know what happened to the lady who was here. If you know anything, lass, you must tell me.”

“My—my name is Anna, sir.”

“Anna, I need to know when she left, and if she said anything about where she was going. Do you know?” He kept his panic subdued enough to maintain a reasonable tone with the girl, hoping to get better information out of her than he had thus far.

“I—I think so, sir,” Anna answered, her voice wobbling with the effort. Swiping her fingers beneath her tear-streaked eyes, she added, “She left no more than a half hour since the last full strikin’ of the bell, with the man that came to visit her. They left together, they did.”

“Man?”
Braedan echoed numbly. “What man? What did he look like?”

“He was tall and dark. Very dark, sir. Not his skin, but his clothes and such—and his eyes. Black as coal they were,” she nodded, her wet lashes widening with the memory. “He were a lord o’ some sort, and he spoke with a kind of commandin’ tone that none who was in their wits would disobey.”

Angels of grace…

Braedan’s heart slowed to sluggish, painful beats as the full meaning of what Anna was saying sank in. The scent of roses…he remembered it now. It was Draven who favored that scent, mixed with spice. Oh God, Draven had Fiona…he’d come and taken Fiona…

Uttering a string of curses that made Anna shrink back against the mantel again, Braedan stalked to the trunk of his belongings and yanked it open. Pulling out a dagger, he shoved it in his boot to supplement the weapons he already carried with him, then wheeled around to the door, intending to hunt down the bastard all the way to the gilded halls of Chepston if need be.

“Wait—sir, you have to wait! The lord that was with
yer mistress, he said I was to give you a message from him. That’s why I was set to waitin’ here, for your return this night.”

Braedan slid to a stop, the chill sense of dread that had been spilling through his veins congealing to ice. Without turning around, he managed to choke out, “What was the message?”

“That he has gone to an establishment on Stoney Street, the one with the red door across from the cobbler’s shop, and that if you wish to talk with yer lady and gain news as well about another lady named Elizabeth, yer to meet him there.”

Braedan’s head throbbed. Christ, it ached, the pain seeming to stem from the very back of his skull and spreading forward in waves. He couldn’t open his eyes yet—nay that would take too much effort—but his thoughts began to string together again, falling into place like the pieces of a riddle, until it all started to make sense.

Draven
. He’d come after Draven, to the house in the midst of the
stewes
that Anna had described. He’d had to find Fiona, had to get to her and make sure that the bastard hadn’t hurt her…how then had he come to be lying here in the dark of his thoughts, with his head pounding like a drum?

The last bit of memory slipped into place. In his mind’s eye he saw himself approaching the red door, heard again the calls of the women from nearby buildings as they leaned out their windows, inviting him to sample their charms. He’d ignored them, ignored everything as he concentrated on finding a way to get to Fiona.

He’d known it was a trap that Draven was laying for him, and that his uncle was counting on his worry over Fiona to make him come anyway. And for once, Draven had been right; Braedan had known that he couldn’t wait until help could be gathered before he went after Fiona. But he didn’t plan to walk into the snare through the front door, either. He’d sidestepped that red-painted portal, slipping down the filthy alley along the side of the building to approach from the back.

But for all of his caution, just after he’d stepped into the unlit kitchen chamber with its thick smells of cooked cabbage and grease, three figures had shifted from the shadows, coming at him from behind. He’d barely had time to swing around with his already-drawn blade, slicing one of the men…hearing him cry out and watching him fall back, before his own head exploded with the pain of something hard slamming into the back of his skull.

Now he was someplace dark. At least he thought it was dark, for no light seeped through his closed lids. As he lay there, he heard voices as if from far away, beyond a door, perhaps, and weary from the effort it had taken to remember what had brought him here, he remained still, listening. It was a woman’s voice, her words hushed, arguing with a man. “You weren’t supposed to hurt him. You promised not to hurt him,” she accused softly. The man’s reply was too muffled to make out, though Braedan discerned his tone of irritation, and then something that sounded like a command.

Where was he, then—abovestairs at the red-doored building, or perhaps in a gutter somewhere, tossed aside by the men who had attacked him?
And Fiona
. Nearly overwhelming fear for her slid through him anew, mak
ing his arms and legs twitch as he struggled to bring himself the rest of the way out of the stupor…to open his eyes and get his bearings, so that he could take some sort of action.

With a groan that echoed through his skull, Braedan rolled up onto his side, and then sat as he cradled his head in his hands, still unable to open his eyes for the renewed throbbing his movement set off. He wasn’t bound, at least; his weapons were gone, but his freedom of movement was a boon and likely meant that he wasn’t being kept in Draven’s chamber below ground at Chepston, where chains and all manner of painful confinements were the rule. The realization spurred him on to open his eyes at last.

Though his vision was blurry, he eventually could make out the pattern of the wooden slats on the floor, which was remarkably clean. And it wasn’t completely dark, as he’d originally thought; light played over his boots, flickering as if from a torch somewhere across the chamber. Slowly, he lifted his head, bracing himself for the pain that would splinter through him with the motion and sucking in his breath when it came. But before he could lift his face all the way, he felt the touch of gentle fingers on his brow and cheeks, and breathed in the cool fragrance of vanilla. Hope flooded him; ignoring the lancing hurt that pierced his eyes, he jerked his head up the rest of the way, desperate to see who was soothing him so tenderly.

Fiona.

Saints be praised, it was Fiona kneeling before him, her face twisted with an expression of agony and relief that mirrored his own.

“Thank God—are you all right?” he asked her, his
throat aching as he gathered her to him in a fierce embrace. She held him just as tightly for one, brief moment before she pulled away and stood up without a word of response. When he looked up at her, bewildered at her withdrawal, her eyes were clear, her face seeming so cool and serene that he wondered if he’d imagined the anguish that had shadowed it before.

“What is wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing; I am fine.”

Nodding, he pushed himself to stand as well from the low pallet he’d been on, though the action made the chamber dip with a sickening motion. When it righted again, he reached for her hand. “Come, then, we must go quickly before Draven realizes we’ve—”

“Nay, Braedan, there is no need to rush. All is well.”

Her voice sounded so calm and controlled; she’d taken another few steps back as she’d spoken, her fingers linked together in front of her—and it was then that he saw it. The gown she was wearing. It was exquisite, of some silken fabric that draped and clung to her graceful body, accentuating her beauty in a way that made clear it had been crafted for her alone.

A gown of deep, crimson hue.

He frowned, not understanding why she would be wearing such a garment, but knowing also that there wasn’t time to worry about it. They had to get out of here before Draven came back. “Of course there is a need to hurry,” he said, stepping forward to bridge the distance she’d placed between them. “Come, Fiona. It is dangerous to remain here. I do not know how I came to be left unguarded with you, but I don’t intend to lose the opportunity.” He held out his hand to her once more, impatient to begin searching for a means of escape.

But she didn’t take it. Instead, she moved farther away from him, and he froze with disbelief, that emotion blending with the nausea that was already pummeling his gut. He saw her look down at the floor for a moment; then she breathed in deeply before raising her gaze to his again, sadness full in her beautiful eyes, though her face remained as composed as before.

“We must talk, Braedan,” she murmured at last. “Much has changed in the past few hours—much that affects what will happen between us from now on. It is why I have asked that you be brought to me, to hear the whole of it from my lips, so that you will know it is true.”

“Hear
what
truth?” he asked, confused and more than a bit irritated at her strange behavior.

She paused again before saying, finally, “That I am going to remain in London. That I have chosen to take up my former life as the Crimson Lady again, here in the
stewes
.” She looked him straight in the eye. “That I have decided to return to Draven.”

Tense silence spread over them as Braedan tried to comprehend the meaning of what he’d just heard. It was impossible to reconcile the words with the woman who’d spoken them, and so in the end he simply blurted, “What by all the fires of hell are you talking about?” He stood unmoving, waiting for her answer, the thoughts that were rattling around in his brain so inconceivable that he couldn’t help wondering if he was still sunk into his stupor and only believed himself to be awake.

“I’m telling you that I’m parting ways with you, here and now,” she said, calm in a way that seemed almost preternatural. “I cannot continue to live as we have
been, Braedan. Returning to the
stewes
, walking these streets, remembering my life here, I’ve come to realize that, whether or not I wish it were otherwise, I belong here, as the Crimson Lady. It is my destiny and the only future fit for me to embrace.”

“That’s ridiculous, Fiona. You sound like Draven for Christ’s sake—” he began, only to break off when he saw her shaking her head sadly at him.

“Nay, Braedan, it is me, and I know exactly what I am saying. I confess that there was a time with you when I believed I could resist my nature and live a different kind of life, but I was wrong. It is too strong for me to deny any longer. It has been gaining power over me every day until tonight, when I came to my decision after you left. I am the Crimson Lady. I cannot escape that truth, any more than my mother before me could escape the reality of her life as a common woman.”

He muttered a curse that made clear his feelings about that.

“Why do you doubt it, Braedan?” she asked, her voice revealing the first hint of intensity—of real emotion—that he’d been able to perceive since she’d begun spouting this gibberish. “I acknowledged my fears to you concerning this weeks ago,” she continued heatedly. “Don’t you remember?”

“Aye, I remember,” he said, refusing to break his gaze with her, wounded to his soul as he felt by her insistence of such falsity. “But we dealt with it together—don’t
you
remember, lady? Standing in the midst of a summer storm, we soothed it away with such sweetness that I know the moment will live on inside of me until my dying day. I remember it all too well, Fiona. Far better than you do, it seems.”

He saw the delicate muscle above her jaw twitch, and her lips press tightly together for a moment before she added in a final, damning blow, “I am sorry, Braedan, but what happened between us…it was a mistake. I am choosing to remember it as a pleasant dream we once had, and I hope that, in time, you will be able to do the same,” she continued, her voice wavering a little, “but like all dreams it had to end; we had to awaken to reality.”

“A
dream
?” Braedan said incredulously. “Is that all you think we shared?”

With a growl of grief and pain, he strode forward and pulled her into his embrace, gripping her chin in one palm and forcing her to meet his gaze. “Damn it to everlasting hell, Fiona, but I want you to look into my eyes right now and tell me that what happened between us was a mistake—that it was naught but some
happy dream
.” The words came out strained and broken as the agony of it all swept through him, threatening to drown him completely. Somehow he managed to hold back the pain long enough to add, huskily, “Look at me now and tell me that you don’t love me as I love you.”

Fiona stared up at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears and her expression no longer so composed. “Oh, God, Braedan, don’t do this, please…” she whispered, the words full of such desolation that it raked his soul. “What is true cannot be helped. The demons are too strong to fight any longer…too strong to stop…”

“Say it, damn you,” he commanded softly, his voice choked with emotion. “I will hear you say it, Fiona, or I will never believe it. Never…”

He heard her sharp intake of breath, saw her close her eyes and watched as a single tear spilled from beneath
each of her eyelids to roll down her cheeks. After a moment she opened her eyes again to meet his gaze straight on. “If that is what you need, then so be it.”