Sinister Intentions & Confiscated Conception

by Heather Graham

  Then she felt the wind. It rushed over her, and it was cold, very cold. She could hear its cry, its banshee moan. Instinctively she tried to wrap her arms around herself, but she couldn’t. She realized that she was bound to a slab of stone. And that she was so cold because she was naked. Just like the doll...

  A scream came from her throat as she found her voice at last.

  It was happening, just as it had happened in her dreams. She was lost and adrift in a field of mist, bound and powerless. And the goat-god was coming toward her, coming out of the mist.

  It wasn’t the goat-god, she told herself. She had to stay sane! She had to talk and stall and pray....

  The figure fell to its knees beside her and raised its arm. Kit shrieked in horror again, thinking that it was a knife that rose. But it wasn’t. It was a paintbrush, and Molly began to hum and paint little symbols on the flat plane of Kit’s belly.

  Kit screamed again, loudly, desperately, but Molly just kept humming.

  “I’m sorry, love, that the drug wore off so quick,” Molly said finally from behind the goat mask. “You go ahead and scream if it makes ye feel any better. But ’tis an honor I bestow upon you girl, don’t ye ken?”

  Kit didn’t want to die. She wanted desperately to live. Everything that she had ever wanted was here: Justin; his love; a family. All she’d needed to do was talk to him, explain that she had to go home sometimes, that he had to consult her, that... But it was too late.

  “This symbol is the mark of the land,” Molly said slowly. “This is the mark of fertility. And this is the mark for blood.”

  Tears stung her eyes. I do want to marry you, Justin, she vowed silently. I want to marry you tomorrow. I want to sleep beside you every night of my life.

  But her life was ending. Here, atop this windswept cliff, a madwoman was about to steal it from her.

  She had to try to save herself. She had to talk, to stall for time, to pray.

  “Did you paint Mary Browne?” She tried to keep her voice quiet, calm, conversational, but hysteria still edged her tone.

  “Mary, Mary, aye, the poor, presumptuous whore! If only I’d waited. I should ha’ known the O’Niall better. Poor Mary. Aye, she wore the marks upon her. They were washed away by the tide. She needn’t have died; such a dreadful waste of hope and time!”

  “Molly, what about Michael? Michael McHennessy.”

  Molly actually paused, setting the mask aside. She smiled down at Kit, frowning slightly. “He saw me, ye see? So I had to pretend I meant to cast myself into the sea. He tried to stop me.” She chuckled, smug and pleased. “He went o’er so easy, that boy did. It was necessary. But then...” A frown furrowed her forehead. “That Mary Browne! Had she not been dishonest, I’d not have had to hurt the boy. But then I’d not have had you, Katherine, lass.”

  New chills rippled through Kit. “What do you mean, Molly?”

  Molly was drawing a sun sign around her navel. “Ah, ye were so perfect, lass! Fresh and pure and beautiful, with that air of innocence. I knew ye were the one. And he was so drawn to ye. But him with his morals and ye with yer grief, were on opposite poles, even after all that time. I had to get you together.”

  “The tea,” Kit breathed.

  “Aye. Justin knew, but he knew, too, that I cared for you deeply.”

  “He thought that you were...trying to allow me to rest.”

  “The O’Niall. He’s a fine man. His boy will be, too. And now that the sacrifice is fully fulfilled, life will be good! The harvest will grow again. The men will find jobs.”

  “Molly, Molly, what about Susan?”

  Molly stopped, rocking back on her heels. “Susan Accorn! That harlot! She wasn’t worthy of the death she received. Justin didna want her. You hadna returned, and I had to rid him of her clinging arms, her demands. We had to have an heir, and a bride to feed the earth.”

  “Molly, you must let me go. You’re wrong,” Kit lied. “Mike is Michael McHennessy’s son. You’ll waste your time again; you’ll—”

  Molly shook her head with a secret smile, as if Kit was teasing her. “Go on with ye, lass! He’s the very image of his father. I knew it the moment I saw him.”

  “No, Molly. Really!”

  “Shh!” Molly brought her finger to her lips, then spread Kit’s hair over the stone. “We must get to the rite now, Katherine, before they stumble upon us.”

  No...

  Oh, Justin, I love you, Kit vowed silently. If I could only go back, I’d grab happiness. I wouldn’t let anything stand in my way. I’d be strong, and I’d make you understand.

  Molly was slipping the mask back on. Then she stood and began to sway in the night. Her voice rose in a chant, as shrill as the wind. “Kayla, kayla, kayla...”

  “What?” Kit shrieked.

  Molly paused, ripping the mask off again in annoyance. “Katherine McHennessy, I’ve sharpened and honed me knife to make it quick and easy. Now ye must shush!”

  Tears stung Kit’s eyes. There it was. The word that had haunted her for eight years. The word that Michael had whispered before dying. And now she was about to join him in death, the same word ringing in her mind.

  “Kayla! Molly, what does it mean? It’s not Gaelic.”

  Molly chuckled. “No, it is na Gaelic. ’Tis older even than that. It is the language of the ancients. Kayla. It means hosanna, hosanna to the great god, the goat-god, Bal, the god who gives us the harvest, who feeds and nurtures us, and must be fed in turn.”

  “Molly, you mustn’t do this! What if Douglas finds out? I think he’s suspicious of you already.”

  Molly’s lips quivered. “I must do it for Douglas. Do ye not see? For all of them.”

  The mask went back into place, covering her face. The wind and mist swirled around them, and in the distance Kit could hear the waves crashing hard against the cliffs. They sounded angry, as if they, too, were waiting for her death.

  In minutes Molly would slit her throat, and when her blood had drained into the earth, that mad old woman would cast her over the cliff and into those waves.

  Kit began to scream again as Molly resumed her chanting and her swaying. She cast her paintbrush aside and reached beneath her cloak. She raised her arm, and this time she did have a knife. Huge, broad-bladed, and glittering in the moonlight.

  * * *

  When he had first discovered that Kit was no longer at his side, Justin had merely cursed and stridden off angrily to find her. But when he had come upon Mike playing a game at Douglas Johnston’s booth, he had instantly panicked. He’d grabbed the boy roughly by the shoulders, frightening him, but not caring, because now he was frightened himself.

  “Mike, where’s your mother?” he had demanded.

  The boy’s eyes had widened. “With—with you.”

  “No, she’s not.”

  Douglas had stepped closer. “Justin...?”

  “She’s gone.”

  “Kit?”

  “Aye, damn it, Kit!”

  “Wait, don’t panic! She’s probably watching the dancers, or listening to the music, or trying—”

  “No, she’s not! She’s not with me. She’s not anywhere!”

  “What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” Mike demanded, close to tears.

  Justin swallowed miserably, sorry that he had alarmed the boy. “Nothing, nothing. I just want to find your mother. Mike, you stay here with Douglas. Don’t leave him. Do you understand me?”

  Pale and ashen beneath his Viking horns, Mike nodded as Douglas set his hands on the boy’s thin shoulders.

  Justin quickly scanned the crowd. He saw Liam and Barney, drinking dark beer at a stall. He saw Old Doug, laughing happily and giving a small girl a piggyback ride while she giggled.

  He saw most of his neighbors; he saw the mayor; he even saw Julie and William McNamara sampling lamb stew. He heard the laughter
, and he felt the warmth of the bonfire. The flames were dancing and rising, flaring into the wind. And the wind was picking up, beginning to moan.

  But he didn’t see Kit. And, he realized suddenly, he didn’t see Molly.

  He turned on Douglas in a fury, grabbing his shoulders and throwing him up against the booth. “Your mother! Where’s your mother?”

  Douglas paled. “No, Justin, she wouldn’t—”

  “That’s why you put the doll on her step. You knew! Damn you, you knew!”

  Douglas shook his head. “All right, all right! I put the doll there. I wanted her to leave. I was afraid for her—because she was seeing you!”

  “Stay with Mike,” Justin said curtly. He was already running through the crowd, careless of the people in his way, heedless of the delicately built booths.

  He knew where he was going. There was only one place that she could be: the cliffs.

  Justin tore across the plateau to the trees, furiously berating himself. He should have brought her here in handcuffs, bound to him. No, he shouldn’t have let her come here at all. He should have done something—anything—to make her leave. But instead he had fallen in love all over again when he had known that danger lurked...dear God! In his own home.

  He didn’t remember the forest being so deep and so dense. The moon lit his way, but branches seemed to reach out and tear at him, holding him back, as if they were the ghostly fingers of creatures whose voices became the howl of the wind.

  He broke through to the grasslands beside the cliffs at last, and there he saw a figure clad in a black cloak, wearing the horned mask of the goat-god. Something glinted in the night. A knife, its edge reflecting the moonlight.

  And there, lying on a slab of stone, a crude altar, was Kit. She was naked in the night, her pale skin beautiful in the light of the moon, her hair spilling in waves across the stone, her flesh eerily covered with strange designs.

  The knife started to rise.

  * * *

  Kit couldn’t take her eyes from the knife, from its glittering edge. She opened her mouth to scream again, but her tears choked off the sound.

  Molly started to move, and the knife flashed downward.

  But it never touched Kit’s throat. She was aware of a blur of dark motion, aware that the scream that rent the air was Molly’s, and then she heard the soft thud of bodies hitting the ground.

  “Drop the knife, Molly. Drop it.”

  Kit wasn’t sure what happened then. The air was still thick with mist, and she was blinded by her tears, but relief filled her. Justin was here. She recognized his voice. She would always know his voice.

  “Kit, Kit...”

  He was by her side, cupping her cheeks feverishly with his hands, studying her eyes, her face. She tried to touch him, but she couldn’t move her hands, and he deftly cut the leather thongs that bound her. He moved to her feet and cut the ties on her ankles, then quickly stripped off his sweater and slipped it over her head. Finally he held her against his body, shaking.

  “Kit...”

  “Oh, Justin!” She pushed herself away from him, eager to feel the contours of his face, desperate to know that he was real. She held his face, then threw herself against him again. “Oh, Justin, I want to marry you. Today, tomorrow. Now. I nearly threw it all away, and I didn’t know how desperately I wanted it until I nearly lost it all.”

  She stopped, startled by the sound of something behind them. Nearby, Molly was rising, panting, to a crouch.

  “Sit still, Molly,” Justin warned her softly. “Just be still and wait.”

  “Justin, Justin, my fine O’Niall,” Molly murmured regretfully. “Ye’ve ruined it. Ye’ve ruined it all.”

  “Molly—”

  Suddenly she was on her feet. And, just as suddenly, she was running—for the cliffs.

  “Molly, no!”

  Justin surged to catch her, but she was too fast. Too determined that the land and the sea should receive their due in human blood.

  Justin stood on the precipice, holding the black cloak and nothing more. Molly screamed once, and then there was nothing but the sound of the surf crashing below.

  Kit tried to rise, but the effort was too much, and she fell back to the earth.

  * * *

  She woke to find herself safe in Justin’s arms. He was carrying her, and people were all around them. Liam and Barney, Douglas and Old Doug, Doc Conar, Meg from the pub. They looked so frightened, so concerned.

  Kit reached out to Douglas. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured.

  “No,” he told her. “I’m sorry.” He squeezed her hand.

  “I’ll need her statement,” Liam was saying to Justin.

  “Tomorrow,” Justin said softly.

  Kit realized that they were at the car. She didn’t see Mike, and, panicked, she sprang into full awareness.

  “Mike! Where’s Mike?”

  “He’s home. Julie and William are with him.”

  Justin set her in the passenger seat, and she realized that he had wrapped her in the black coat over his sweater. He closed the door, then got in on the driver’s side.

  “Can you make it home?” he asked her.

  She nodded.

  The others stepped back, waving to her. They were stunned, and they were sweetly grateful for her life, though they had lost one of their own, however demented she had become.

  It felt so good to be alive and free, Kit thought.

  The car pulled onto the road, and she hazarded a glance at Justin. His features were painfully tense. She slid nearer to him, reaching for his hand, curling her fingers into it.

  He glanced her way quickly. “Oh, God, Kit...”

  The torn sound of his voice reached down into her soul.

  “Justin...”

  “I brought this on you. You could have been killed. I should have made you leave.”

  “You couldn’t have.”

  “I should—”

  “Justin, you couldn’t have made me leave. Pull over, please. Please, you’re still shaking.”

  Strangely, she felt very calm herself. Calm—and strong.

  He pulled the car onto the shoulder of the road, and Kit moved as close to him as she could, taking his face between her hands.

  “Justin, I love you. I need you very much. I want to marry you. I came back here because I had to. And I’m alive, Justin. I am alive!”

  “Kit, you don’t need to be sayin’ this. I’d not threaten Mike; if I tried to make you believe that, it was because I believed that I could protect you by saying such things to force you to stay with me.”

  She smiled. “You did protect me. You saved me. Justin, touch me. I’m alive! But I came so close to losing you and Mike. Justin, please, hold me!”

  He did. His kisses fell against her forehead and her hair, over her cheeks and on her palms. He held her against his heart so tightly that it was nearly painful, yet she didn’t utter a word of protest.

  His lips trembled, and his hands shook, but the depth of his love was evident in his touch, filling her again with the joy of life—and the beauty of love.

  He leaned back, just touching her cheek and studying the moon. “Do you mean it?”

  “Yes.”

  “You want to be married?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m going to ask you again tomorrow.”

  “My answer will be the same.”

  “Where?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Where do you want to be married? Here or in the States?”

  She looked at him and suddenly started to laugh. Once it had seemed so important, but now... “Wherever you are, that’s where I’m happy.”

  He arched one brow.

  “Mike said that to me once. And he’s right. Oh, Justin, I don’t care! Here is fine; New York is fine. No, h
ere, because I want to get married as soon as possible.”

  “Mike has some beautiful thoughts—and so does his mother,” he told her softly.

  She smiled. “We’ll tell him—”

  “In time. When he’s accepted me.”

  “Oh, Justin.”

  “Where shall we live?”

  “I love you so much—I don’t care!”

  “Well, we’ll work on the future later. Right now I’m going to take you home. I’m going to wash that horrible paint from your body, and I’m going to put you to bed and give you something warm to drink and make you better in body and soul.”

  He headed back to the castle, and Kit leaned back against the seat. There was going to be sorrow, for Molly, for the sickness that had plagued her, for the horrible things she had done because of it.

  But the wind was a cleansing thing, just like the waves that crashed along the cliffs. She and Justin had lost something, but they had also gained each other.

  “Body and soul,” Kit mused.

  “Aye.”

  “Can we start with the body?”

  He smiled, and then he laughed, and then he drew her close.

  They were going home.

  EPILOGUE

  There was a mist, light and soft and magical. And through it, he was coming to her. As he had always come to her in her dreams.

  Dreams these days were sweet and good. No nightmare beasts haunted her sleep, for life itself was sweet and good, the stuff of dreams.

  She smiled as he walked through the mist, naked and beautiful, with that slow, purposeful gait. He smiled, just slightly, his eyes alive with desire.

  The mist cleared. It was only coming from the hot shower she was enjoying after their trip up Dunns River Falls.

  Compromise, they had learned, was the spice of life. And so they had been married in Paris, with only Kit’s parents in attendance.

  Her mother had cried, of course.

  And now they were on their honeymoon—in Jamaica—with Kit’s mom and dad watching Mike back at the castle. They hadn’t told them anything yet, but that time would come.