But Castor did not say anything. He just continued to stare at her, his gaze icy. It made Ivy think back to their childhood, though, and to strangely recall the times they had been happy. Times when they had been equal, and Castor had not believed himself to be better than her simply by virtue of a title he had inherited. Castor had once been a sweet boy. Quick to laugh and smile. She had looked up to him, for he had been kind and compassionate. She remembered that clearly.
But that all changed shortly after their mother died. His smile - the warm one that never failed to fill her heart - seemed to have died with her. It was shortly after their mother died that he started to turn cold. A process that was only officially completed when he was given the family ring that has been worn by generations of Welton men who held the title of Baron.
“Can I simply not be in a good mood, Brother?”
“Oh, certainly, you can be. I will not stop you,” he grinned. “It is just that you normally aren’t.”
Ivy stiffened, and a frown curled the corners of her mouth downward. “I do not usually have cause.”
“Exactly my point and the impetus of my question,” he replied. “I wanted to know what it was that had put a smile on your face.”
Ivy’s heart stumbled over itself as she realized that she had walked into a trap of her own making. She obviously could not answer the question, or she would give away her clandestine meetings with Fin. And if Castor knew she had been meeting the Scotsman in secret, it would not take him long to tumble onto the realization that she had given him her maidenhead. And if Castor knew that, Ivy would probably be better off if she immediately threw herself off the ramparts of the castle.
“It is not your concern, Castor,” she said. “My thoughts are my own. That seems to be the only thing I have control over in my life.”
A cruel smirk touched his lips before he raised his flagon and took a long swallow of his drink. He lowered it again and leaned against the retaining wall on the balcony, his gaze fixed firmly on hers. He seemed to be attempting to probe her mind and read her thoughts - something he had been able to do with ease when they were young. But then, she rarely kept secrets from him and told him most everything.
A small frown creased his lips, though, when he realized he could not read her mind as easily as he had once been able to. He did not like not knowing or having absolute control over everything in his castle - including what went on in her mind. He let out a small, frustrated breath and regained his imperious expression once more.
“I believe that I have finally found a suitable match for you, dear Sister.”
Ivy felt like a thousand pound stone had been dropped into her belly. She felt a wave of nausea wash over her, and it was all she could do to keep from getting sick all over his boots right then and there. That was the last thing she expected to hear from him - and the most unwelcome. She had known, of course, that he was still seeking a match for her, but having not heard any news on that front in quite some time, to know that he had found one fired a bolt of fear straight through her.
Seeing the look of shock and repulsion on her face seemed to please Castor, for a smile that was feral and cruel stretched across his lips once more. He had regained the upper hand, and he knew it.
“It has taken some time, but I believe this match will be beneficial both for you and for Elix as a whole,” he said. “You do still believe in doing your duty for the family, don’t you?”
Ivy’s gaze fell to the ground as her stomach churned wildly. The glow of her time with Fin evaporated, and she was left with an empty, mournful feeling inside. But in addition to that, a spark of anger flared to life in her belly. It grew steadily in size and ferocity, consuming everything in its path until that righteous rage was all that was left. She raised her gaze to Castor, fixing him with a narrow look of absolute disgust.
“You do not look well pleased, Ivy.”
“Am I to have no say in my future? Am I simply supposed to marry whom you tell me to marry and be happy with it?” she hissed.
“That is the way this works. You know this,” he said. “You have known this since we were kids.”
“And I also recall when we were kids, you telling me how wrong you thought it was that I had no say in my future,” she responded. “I remember you saying how wrong you thought it was that I would be forced to marry a man I neither knew nor loved.”
He sighed heavily. “It was the innocence and naivete of youth,” he said evenly. “Now that I am Baron, I see that father was right all along and that a mutually beneficial match between you and a House we would like to ally with is a necessity.”
Ivy snorted and looked out over the orchards again, doing everything in her power to quell the churning in her belly. If she did not get that under control quickly, she was really going to be sick all over his boots.
“You are a hypocrite, Castor.”
“No, I am a realist,” he replied. “And I have a duty to this barony - my barony - and to my House. As do you. And your duty is to make our new ally a happy man.”
Castor’s voice was growing tense. Hard. He did not like to be questioned by anybody, let alone his sister. Or any woman really. Ivy knew his thoughts and opinions of women tended to be rather low. He thought himself superior to women. But as with everything else with Castor, it was not always so.
“And who is this new ally?” she asked, sounding miserable.
“Baron Weedler of Northwalk,” he replied. “It is an old, noble House. But one that has good connections and much to offer to Elix.”
“Much to offer you, I believe you mean to say.”
Castor’s eyes narrowed, and his jaw flexed as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. Ivy was pushing him, and she knew it. But at the moment, she did not care. He had just announced what he would be destroying — and had the gall to expect her to be happy about it. Northwalk was in the south of England, and if he forced her to go there, Ivy knew she would never see Fin again. Ever.
“Your tongue has been getting looser and looser lately, Sister. I have tolerated it, but perhaps I was wrong to do so, for now, you seem to think you have leave to speak as freely as you wish,” Castor growled. “If I were you, I would learn how to get your tongue back under control for Baron Weedler has a reputation for dealing with those who have loose tongues rather harshly.”
“And this is the sort of man you would sell me to?”
“He is the sort of man who makes for a useful and powerful ally to this House,” Castor fired back. “So yes, I would betroth you to him in a heartbeat.”
Ivy stared at him for a long moment, doing her best to tamp down the twin flames of indignation and rage that coursed through her. Her mind spun with a host of competing thoughts and feelings she could not begin to put into order in her own mind. The only coherent thought to emerge from that fog of disarray was that she would never see Fin again. And more than anything, that was what shattered her heart into the most pieces.
“What happened to you, Castor?” she asked softly. “You used to be a good man. A loving brother. What happened to you?”
“I had to step up and take responsibility for this House when father died. I alone had to ensure our continued survival,” he growled, his face darkening with anger. “Unlike you, who got to run around in your silk dresses, playing Lady of the Manor and not having to bear an ounce of responsibility for anything.”
Castor was apoplectic and looked like he wanted to throw her off the balcony himself. But Ivy did not fear him. She knew he could not do anything to her. Not if he hoped to claim the prize her marriage to Baron Weedler would bring. The mere thought of it continued to turn her stomach violently.
She knew of Baron Weedler by reputation, though she had never met the man herself. However, she had heard the stories about him, and if even half of them were true, she did not wish to be within two thousand leagues of him. Not only was he cold and cruel, harsh and violent, but he was also close to three times her age and had already been married twice. He was
a man well past his prime but one who apparently still retained the vigor of his youth. As well as his love of beating people senseless - including his wife.
A cold sensation of numbness spread through her body as the inevitable seemed to be closing in on her. The thing she feared the most seemed to be something that would be coming to pass sooner rather than later. It felt like a team of runaway horses was bearing down on her, and there was nothing she could do to stop them from trampling her.
“When?” she asked, wincing at the sound of defeat she heard in her voice.
“Soon,” Castor replied. “I need to raise the profile of our House before Baron Weedler will consent to a betrothal.”
Ivy cocked her head at him. “Raise the profile of our House? And how are you going to do that?”
“Not that it is your concern, but I am busy making - alliances,” he replied. “I have been making plans to raise the esteem of our House a hundredfold. And when I do, Baron Weedler will accept the match.”
For the first time since he’d stepped out onto the balcony, Ivy felt a spark of hope. Raising the profile of their house would not be easy - or simple. They had been a minor house for so long, it wasn’t a simple matter of Castor going to Court in London and demanding a seat at the table. He would need something substantive to provide to those at Court to prove that Elix was a formidable House worthy of their esteem.
And if that was what Baron Weedler required for him to accept a betrothal to her, Ivy felt a sense of hope. Of elation. She had never considered Castor politically adept, nor did she count him among the age’s greatest thinkers. She thought that perhaps, he had set himself a task that was too big for him.
“But how are you going to accomplish this feat?” she asked.
“As I said, that is no more your concern than your thoughts are mine,” he retorted.
They stood in silence for several long moments, and Ivy continued to turn everything Castor had said over in her mind again and again. But then it was something Fin had asked on the first day they had met out in Therline that came to her. Something she had completely forgotten about until that moment. She looked at Castor closely, trying to subtly gauge his reaction.
“Where is your Irish friend?” she asked. “Whatever happened to him? I’ve not seen him around in some time.”
Castor looked at her, his confusion over the sudden change in the direction of their conversation evident upon his face. She had caught him completely off guard and flat-footed, and now he was trying to recover. Ivy saw something flash through his eyes, but it was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared, darting down under the murky depths of his eyes.
“My Irish friend?” he asked. “I do not know who you are referring to.”
“Yes, you do. I know you do,” she said, “but he seems to have disappeared. I just wondered where he had gotten off to.”
Castor made a show of screwing up his face and pretending to think about it. A moment later, he snapped his fingers as if the answer had suddenly just come to him.
“Oh yes, Michael,” he said. “Michael Flaherty. He returned home to Ireland to see to his sick mother. Why do you ask?”
“I was just wondering since he was such a fixture here for so long, and now he’s just gone,” she replied.
“Yes, well, you have your answer now, do you not?”
Castor was snapping at her, venom lacing his every word. Ivy thought he sounded incredibly defensive for somebody who was not hiding anything.
“I suppose so,” she said.
Castor glared at her. “I will be more than glad the day I can put you on the road to Northwalk.”
And with that, Castor turned on his heel and left her standing alone on the balcony. Left her to absorb his words and handle the chaotic aftermath in her own mind. But the only thing she could seem to focus on was the fact that he had lied to her. He had flat out lied to her about the Irishman. She knew him well enough to know when he was lying. Michael Flaherty was not back home in Ireland. She had seen it in his eyes.
And if Ivy had to guess, she would say that Michael Flaherty was in sitting in a cell back in York.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ivy
Late that night, feeling upset and restless, Ivy put on a pair of soft slippers and a dress, then wandered the halls of the castle like a ghost. She carried no candle and simply walked through the gloom and the thick, inky shadows that seemed to accumulate everywhere like cobwebs.
She crossed an enclosed courtyard near the eastern wall of the castle. She breathed deeply, hoping to find solace in the scent of the flowers. She found none. Her mind and heart churned wildly, and she could not stop them. She looked up to the moon that hung high, fat, and full overhead. It cast the world in the courtyard around in her in pale silver, monochromatic light. It was stark and cold and matched her mood perfectly.
Feeling nearly despondent, Ivy stepped through a door and back into the castle. The sound of murmured voices, echoing along the corridors drifted to her and piqued her curiosity.
Who could be awake at such an ungodly hour?
She followed the corridor, her slippered feet barely making a sound. She rounded a corner and saw light spilling from a partially open door and determined that the voices were coming from there. Her curiosity getting the best of her - her father had always said she had more curiosity than common sense - Ivy crept along the corridor and paused just outside the door, straining her ears to listen.
One of the men inside the room was Castor, for she would know his voice in the dead of night from a thousand leagues off. She did not recognize the voice of the other man, though. She leaned closer to the opening in the door and listened closely.
“Everything is falling into place,” the unknown man said. “Perhaps not as smoothly as we would have liked, but it is falling into place regardless.”
“I am glad you think so because from where I am sitting, everything is an unmitigated disaster,” Castor hissed. “Neither the Duke nor Col is dead. And Gillian - the Duke’s bloody daughter - is near dead, from what I understand. How is that not anything but a disaster?”
“It is a setback, I admit. But a setback is all it is,” the mystery man replied. “We will try again, and this time, we will succeed. I have a pair of friends with skills--”
“You said that the last time,” Castor cut him off. “And look where we are now.”
“As I said, it is a setback, but one I will make right,” he replied. “Soon enough, you will have everything you desire.”
“You said that last time too,” Castor noted wryly.
“I admit my error. I should not have used - unreliable people,” the mystery man said. “This time, since I assume we will not have to be subtle, I will only send the best, and they will ensure the job is finished. Duke Hamilton and Baron Lennox will be dead, and you will be free to claim the land for yourself.”
Ivy’s heart thundered in her breast so loud, she was terrified they would hear her lurking out in the corridor. She could not believe what she was hearing. So, this was how Castor was going to raise the esteem of House Welton - by assassinating a Duke and a Baron, then claiming their lands and wealth for his own.
Only in English Court could the idea of murder and theft be a way to raise one’s esteem and prestige. The thought of it sickened Ivy and knowing her brother was behind it all, left her feeling angry, and yet hollowed out at the same time. It broke her heart because she knew now that her brother’s ambition led him right up to a line - a line that Castor was gleefully jumping over. He was a murderer.
Those four words - Castor is a murderer - reverberated through her head wildly, never dying down and never losing the sting with each echo. He was really going to kill to increase his land and wealth.
“I am anxious to have this done sooner rather than later,” Castor said.
“I understand.”
“I do not think you do,” Castor spit. “I want my revenge. I want my mother avenged once and for all. I have waited too
many years for this.”
“Avenged for what?” he asked, casually.
“For my mother,” Castor growled, his voice low and throaty. “I want the Duke to pay for what he did to her.”
Ivy’s ears perked up, and she pressed her eye close to the gap in the partially opened door and tried to catch a glimpse of the mystery man, but could only see the back of the man’s head, which was encased in a hood on his cloak. Castor’s words hit her hard simply because she did not know what he meant. What had Duke Hamilton done to their mother? Or at least, what did Castor think he had done?
“Before he dies, I want you to tell your man to let him know it is me killing him. I want the Duke to know I am the one who ordered him killed,” Castor hissed. “And tell him it is for my mother. It is because he initiated an affair with her that she felt so guilty that she took her own life. So, I want him to know that is why he is being killed. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly.”
Castor’s words hit her hard and drove the breath from her lungs. She had never been told that her mother had taken her own life. Ivy had been told that her mother had succumbed to a long-term illness. Nor had she ever been told that her mother had an affair with Duke Hamilton, and it was that affair that had led her mother to kill herself.
Ivy shook her head, trying to deny it to herself. Her vision blurred, and hot tears rolled down her cheeks. She was desperate to not believe a single word of any of it. But for whatever reason, she could not un-hear the ring of truth she’d heard in the words that were spoken.
She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the sob that burst from her throat but was only partially successful. Before she could react, she heard the sound of shuffled boot steps, and the door was yanked inward suddenly. Ivy was so startled, she stumbled forward, and her suddenly weak legs gave out beneath her, and she was unceremoniously dumped onto the stone floor of Castor’s office.
Siren of the Highlands: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance (Highlanders of Cherrythorn) Page 17