by Lynn Kurland
“By St. George’s bones, it’s a priest,” Royce whispered. “Likely come to exorcise you.”
Kendrick elbowed his captain in the ribs. “ ’Tis likely your stench he comes to rid us of. Be you silent!”
He leaned closer and listened intently.
“You’re kidding, right?” Genevieve was saying.
“My lady, I was sent by a concerned acquaintance who bid me see what I could do about easing the disturbance in your hall.”
“Disturbance?”
The priest cleared his throat. “The restless spirit, my lady. Might I come in?”
Kendrick frowned. “It doesn’t sound like a bloody priest to me,” he muttered.
“More like a thief,” Royce agreed.
Kendrick pulled back and looked at his captain. Royce raised a single eyebrow in question, a smile tugging at his mouth. Kendrick stroked his chin thoughtfully.
“There is a side door to the kitchen.”
“Aye, there is.”
“I daresay there’s enough ketchup in the ice box to cover at least one of us. That would look ghoulish enough.”
“Nay, then your lady would have to clean it up. I say battle gear would be sufficient.”
Kendrick nodded and they backed away carefully from the side of the house.
Slipping through the great hall was a trick. Fortunately, Genevieve had let the man in, but kept him near the front door. Kendrick and Royce ran up the steps to the third floor and down to Kendrick’s study.
Ten minutes later they were clomping down the stairs in full gear. Kendrick let his mace thump down the stairs behind him, Royce was making ghostly wails and moans as they went. Kendrick thought it a bit much, but he wasn’t going to rob Royce of his sport.
They reached the great hall and Kendrick had a hard time not grinning at his lady. She was leaning back against the hall door, her arms folded across her chest, her expression one of warning.
“Bolt the door, Genevieve,” he boomed.
She hesitated.
“Bolt the door!” he thundered, raising his sword and waving it menacingly.
She obeyed, rolling her eyes.
And then the priest pulled a knife. Kendrick didn’t think, he merely reacted. He had his own knife out of his belt and flying from his hand in the blink of an eye. The blade caught the man in the shoulder just as he threw his own blade.
“Bloody hell!” Royce bellowed.
Kendrick pinned the priest against the door with his sword at the man’s throat.
“Royce?”
“In my shoulder. Nothing serious.”
Kendrick looked at Genevieve who had gone white as a sheet. “Love, call the authorities. Inspector O’Mally is down in the village. He’ll be interested in this man of the cloth, I’ll warrant.”
Once she had disappeared into the kitchen, Kendrick looked back at his captive. He removed his sword from the man’s throat, then pulled his knife free.
“I’m bleedin’ to death!” the man exclaimed.
“You’ll live. Now, who are you? And don’t bother me with lies about your being a priest.”
“I’m not talkin’ to anyone but my lawyer.”
Kendrick caught the man by the throat and lifted him up off the ground. “If you don’t tell me what I want to know, you won’t be alive to talk to a lawyer. Only my comrade and I are in this room with you. You wounded him. You don’t think I could run you through and claim self-defense?”
“Who are you?” the man gasped.
“Kendrick de Piaget, earl of Seakirk. Your executioner if you don’t loosen your tongue.”
“You’re supposed to be a ghost!”
“Do I feel like a ghost to you? Nay, I do not. But you’ll certainly be naught but spirit if you don’t answer my questions. What are you doing here?”
“Trying to exorcise you!”
“Merde,” Kendrick growled. “The real reason.” He dropped the man back against the door and brought up his blade to the man’s throat. “Talk while you still have a voice to use.” When the man still seemed unwilling to speak, Kendrick carefully slit the false clergy collar and flung it away with a flick of his wrist.
“I was to kidnap the woman,” the man blurted out. “And carry her down to the village. Mr. McShane said I’d have no trouble getting her. Bloody hell, he’s a liar!”
“Bryan McShane?” Kendrick said. “What in the world does he want with Genevieve?”
The man shook his head gingerly. “I’d not be knowing that, Your Lordship. I’m just a workin’ man, my lord, tryin’ to feed my family.”
Kendrick frowned. “Perhaps you’ll earn your bread in a different manner from now on, old man. Now, where were you to meet our illustrious Master McShane?”
“At the inn. The first room on the left at the top of the stairs. He said he’d be waitin’ for me.”
“Let’s not keep him waiting any longer than necessary, shall we? Royce, where is Genevieve?”
“I’m right here,” she said, coming across the room.
“Bind Royce’s arm, would you? We’ll carry him down to hospital and then take care of Master McShane.”
Kendrick kept his eyes on his prisoner as he listened to Royce mutter and curse under his breath. Genevieve wasn’t making a sound. Then he felt himself pushed aside, and Royce’s fist connected with the false father’s face. Kendrick contemplated telling his captain to stop, then discarded the idea. He would have been doing the same thing if he hadn’t just found himself with an armful of wife.
“I can’t believe this,” she whispered hoarsely. “Bryan McShane? What could he possibly want with me?”
“We’ll know soon enough, love,” Kendrick said, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. Bryan McShane was a dead man. He was likely behind all of Genevieve’s frights and he would most certainly pay for his sport.
“Royce, he’s senseless,” Kendrick said, reaching out to grab hold of his captain’s arm. “Leave him be. With any luck, we’ll see the Inspector on our way into the village and he can relieve us of this burden.”
Royce hefted the man over his shoulder and carried him down the steps.
“Don’t bleed on my car,” Kendrick warned as Royce climbed into the back seat with the senseless priest.
“Kendrick, your concern is touching.”
Kendrick flashed him a smile in the rearview mirror. Royce winked in return and Kendrick knew his friend would survive. Now he had to concentrate his energies on finding Bryan McShane and keeping him alive long enough to put him through hell.
The thought was singularly appealing.
Chapter Thirty-one
Bryan pulled his hat lower over his eyes and slumped down in his seat. Taking the train had been a flash of inspiration. Taking it to Scotland instead of down to London had been nothing short of brilliant. First to Edinburgh, then on an airplane to America. The thought of living in the States terrified him—those pesky Americans with their uncivilized ways—but he would bear it. At least he would be alive to bear it. A lucky thing he had recently placed all his money in a Swiss bank account. Having to go back to dig in his mattress would have been unfortunate indeed.
The clackety-clack of the train should have soothed him, but instead it startled him continuously. His feet would have sounded like that while they banged against the wall as he hung a foot off the ground with Maledica’s fingers around his throat. He pulled at the collar of his shirt uncomfortably. God help him.
He exited the train several hours later on shaky legs. The thought of taking a bus to the airport didn’t appeal. What he wanted to do was take a cab and collapse in the back of it. He stumbled to the curb and opened the door. Good: it was empty. He wasn’t so far gone that he’d lost his caution.
“The airport,” he said, falling back against the seat. “And step on it.”
The far door opened and he shook his head, his eyes still closed. “I don’t want to share.”
“Where you’re going, little mouse, there’s only one
to a box.”
Bryan opened his mouth to scream. Maledica stifled the scream with his hand.
“A deserted alley will do nicely,” Maledica said to the cabby, tossing him a handful of hundred-pound notes. “Discretion is the key. If you’ll wait, I’ll pay you to drive me to the airport. Or has my servant already done that? How convenient.”
Bryan closed his eyes, knowing it was too late to pray, too late to do anything but enjoy his last few moments on earth and grieve a bit for the lion who had never truly come out in him. Perhaps he’d have a chance beyond the Pearly Gates, as he was sure he’d be entering them shortly.
A pity, really. Among other things, he certainly would have liked to see Maledica pitted against Lord Seakirk, especially now that he’d seen the ghost climb out of the car back at the village and realized that de Piaget was no longer merely a spirit.
The car stopped in darkness.
Bryan sighed as he felt his fear rush through him like a roar.
And then he felt hands go around his throat.
And he knew no more.
Chapter Thirty-two
Genevieve looked up as Kendrick came from Royce’s hospital room. He was smiling faintly and she relaxed.
“He’s all right?”
“Aye. ‘Twas but a paltry wound. I survived much worse and made not nearly the noise as I was being stitched up. My captain is a woman.”
“I heard that,” a voice called from within the room.
Kendrick smiled as he pulled Genevieve to her feet. “He fears I will shame him before that little wench down yonder, see her? My marriage has truly affected him, for he told me he’s fallen in love and will wed her before spring.”
“It’s the Florence Nightingale syndrome,” Genevieve smiled. “Happens to a lot of patients.”
“Indeed?” Kendrick stretched, then made a face of pain. “My muscles seem to be a bit sore from the afternoon’s exertion. I don’t suppose you would care to be nursemaid to me tonight, would you?”
“Depends on what you’ll give me for doing it.”
Kendrick only smiled as they continued on down the corridor, but Genevieve didn’t mistake it for anything but a promise. She put her arm around his waist and hugged him as they left the building. How close she had come to losing him without even being aware of it. The last thing she had expected from the “priest” was to see him pull a knife out of his pocket.
She closed her eyes and let the purr of the motor soothe her as Kendrick drove them home. He was tense. She could feel that without touching him. She supposed he had his reasons, as did she. Knowing that Bryan McShane wanted her was unnerving to say the least, especially since he was nowhere to be found. She hoped he had decided his plan wasn’t worth pursuing and had left the country.
She opened her eyes as the car crossed over the drawbridge, then sat up and peered out the window. She could have sworn she saw shapes in the darkness.
“Kendrick,” she began, then she shrieked as he slowed the car to a stop. There was a man standing no more than ten paces away, dressed in full armor. His sword was in front of him, point down in the dirt, and he rested his hands on the hilt.
Kendrick reached for the door handle.
“Don’t,” she pleaded. “Oh, Kendrick, lock the door and let’s turn around.”
Kendrick smiled faintly. “Don’t fret, beloved. I know the man. The ghost, rather.”
“But—”
He leaned over and kissed her. “All is well. Lock the door behind me.”
He got out of the car. She locked the door, then leaned forward and rested her hand on the horn. If the other man made any suspicious moves Kendrick couldn’t see, she’d warn him.
Her husband walked purposefully toward the ghost, then stopped. They were turned at an angle so Genevieve could see their profiles. The ghost was intimidating, but Kendrick more so. He looked as arrogant and formidable as if he were lord of the keep and the man facing him a mere servant.
Perhaps that was the truth. Genevieve felt the tension drain from her as the ghost did nothing but answer the questions Kendrick put to him. Finally he made Kendrick a low bow and disappeared into the darkness. Kendrick walked back to the car and Genevieve unlocked the doors for him.
“Who was that?”
“Stephen of Burwyck-on-the-Sea, He was one of my father’s vassals’ sons in life. I daresay you’ll never see him up close.” Kendrick winked at her. “He’s very shy.”
“He looks fairly fierce.”
“As fierce as I?”
She smiled and patted his leg. “Of course not. That’s why he was bowing to you, not the other way around. It’s obvious he knows who is lord here. What was he doing?”
“Keeping watch for me. I didn’t like the thought of bringing you back to an empty hall so I bid him see to any visitors.”
“Were there any?”
“Stephen regretted to say that there weren’t.”
Genevieve smiled and leaned her head back against the seat. “You really do have some questionable friends, my lord.”
He returned her smile and pulled up to the hall. He opened the door, then came around to fetch her. Genevieve went into his arms when he pulled her from the car.
“Kendrick, you could have died—”
He kissed her. “Hush, love. Nothing will happen to me. Well, I might freeze to death if we stand out here much longer. Let us go inside and I’ll build you a fire in our bedchamber. Or, if you like, we’ll put blankets on the floor, and play camping in the library. We do have the ingredients for s’mores, don’t we?”
“I wouldn’t dare be without them.”
“Then I’ll fetch what’s necessary from the kitchen and wait for you in the library. Run on and change into something more comfortable.”
Genevieve nodded. She made it halfway up the stairs before she realized she was frightened witless. She fled down the hallway to her bedroom, flicked on the lights and slammed the door behind her. Her room was empty and she heaved a sigh of relief. She changed quickly into a nightshirt and ran from the room. She slipped and slid all the way down the hall, down the stairs and across the great hall. Kendrick caught her at the door to the library.
“Whoa,” he chuckled, “why are you running?”
“It was dark up there.”
He gave her a squeeze. “The front door is bolted and everything else is secure.” He pulled her into the library and locked the door. “Now you are my prisoner for the night. What wicked things should I do with you?”
Genevieve couldn’t smile. “Kendrick, I’m worried.”
He took her hand and led her over to the fluffy comforter he’d spread out before the fire. He sat and pulled her down with him. His expression was grave.
“I can protect you.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about,” she exclaimed. “What if something happened to you?”
He shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Genevieve, McShane doesn’t want me.”
“You don’t know that.”
Kendrick smiled dryly. “And that is why he tried to kidnap you three times instead of me? Gen, don’t think about it any more. I’ve doubled the security on the hall, both mortal and not-so-mortal. There isn’t a soul who’ll walk on Seakirk’s land that I don’t know of it immediately. You’ll be perfectly safe while I go out and do some investigating—”
“The hell you will,” she interrupted.
“Now, Gen—”
“Don’t even think about it,” she said, taking hold of the front of his sweater. “You let the police handle this.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she shook her head. “If you so much as look like you’re trying to get involved in this, I’ll divorce you.”
He blinked. “What?”
“You heard me. These aren’t the Middle Ages, Kendrick, and you aren’t a mercenary. The detectives are trained to deal with this sort of thing and you aren’t.”
“I am a fine warrior,” he said stiffly.
&nbs
p; “I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about a man possibly coming at you with a gun. It’s a different world. Leave the investigating to those who do it all the time. You stay here and keep an eye on your family because your family loves you very much and doesn’t want to lose you.”
She was prepared to argue much harder, but Kendrick didn’t seem to need any more convincing. He obviously wasn’t happy with what she’d said, but she could see in his eyes that he recognized the truth of it. Genevieve put her arms around his neck and hugged him.
“I love you. I don’t want to lose you.”
“If it were a fight in the lists, I could best any knave,” he muttered.
“I know that, my lord.”
“Indeed, I would relish such a challenge.”
“And you’d do a great job of it, too,” she agreed. “And I’d be there, cheering you on.”
“I am a superior warrior,” he reminded her.
Genevieve smiled. “Of course you are, my lord. You’re superior in quite a few areas. Roast a few marshmallows for me and allow me to praise your prowess at the cooking fire. Then I just might praise your prowess in other activities.”
Kendrick drew her onto his lap and cradled her. “I’m not going to let you out of my arms until this mystery is solved.” He pressed his lips against her hair. “I’ll keep you safe, you’ll see. I’m handy enough with a gun, if need be.”
“A gun? Where did you learn that?”
“I’m not completely behind the times.”
“Well, don’t you dare start carrying one.” She frowned at him, then felt her frown fade at the worry she saw in his eyes. “Stop,” she whispered. “Everything will be okay. The Inspector will figure it out. Then our lives will get down to normal and we’ll grow old and probably boring together.”
He smiled and kissed her softly. “We’ll never grow boring for I have the distinct feeling our lives will never be normal.”
“We don’t have a very good track record, do we?”
He laughed. “Nay, my sweet, we do not. But I wouldn’t trade our meeting and courtship for anything. It’s only made me appreciate you all the more. Now,” he said, putting her gently off his lap, “hand me a skewer and prepare yourself to praise my skill with camping cooking, for I daresay there isn’t another who can do a s’more up the way I can.”