“I’ll do it,” Jo said suddenly, tossing away the pillow as if she no longer needed its protection. “I will go to Leicester and speak to those two. Will you come with me?”
“Of course. You don’t even have to ask.”
Jo raised her head slowly and gave Quinn a look that could have turned a lesser woman to stone. Her eyes were flint-hard, her mouth stretched into a thin line. “Does Gabe know?”
“Know what?”
“Any of it. Have you told him?” Jo demanded.
“Yes, I have,” Quinn replied, drawing herself up to her full height.
“You had no right.” Jo’s voice was low, but it sent a chill down Quinn’s spine.
“I’m not in the habit of keeping secrets from him. I’m sorry; I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“Well, I do. It’s not your secret to tell. This is my personal business, not some titillating historical tragedy to share with your husband in bed.”
Quinn set her mug down and met Jo’s gaze. “I said I was sorry, Jo, but Gabe is my husband, and I discuss things with him. That’s what people do in a marriage. Besides, having you in my life affects him as well, in more ways than you imagine.”
Jo scoffed. “You don’t think I understand intimacy, not being married myself?”
“I didn’t say that. Look, Jo, you’re understandably upset, so I think I’ll go now. If you still want me to come with you, I’ll be happy to, but if you’d rather do this on your own, that’s your call.”
“It’s not though, is it? Drew rang you first. You always know everything before I do.”
“Drew thought this would sound better coming from me. I will instruct him to deal with you directly from now on.”
“You do that,” Jo spat out.
Quinn grabbed her bag and let herself out of Jo’s flat. Jo was frustrated and upset, Quinn told herself as she stepped into the street, but her hand trembled as she opened her umbrella. This was a side of Jo she hadn’t seen yet, and although she could admit her own wrongdoing, she was hurt by Jo’s disproportionate reaction. Yes, she’d told Gabe about Jo’s child, but if Jo found her daughter, everyone would know anyway. Why was she so concerned with Gabe knowing the truth? Why did his opinion suddenly matter so much to Jo?
Quinn’s mobile vibrated just as she was about to enter the Tube station. It was a text from Jo. It read:
I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have reproached you. Please come with me to Leicester. I can’t do this without you.
Quinn exhaled deeply. A part of her longed to ignore Jo’s message and give herself time to think, but Jo was her sister, and she needed her help.
Quinn wrote: Of course. Just let me know when.
She nearly added a cute emoji to diffuse the tense exchange between them, but changed her mind and sent the text off, blinking away tears of hurt before she entered the station. This was the first time Jo had lashed out at her, but not the first time Quinn had felt a chill coming from her twin. Their relationship was still new and fragile, but there were moments when Quinn wondered if Jo even liked her.
Don’t be ridiculous, Quinn chided herself as she put away her Oyster card and headed toward the platform. Jo needs time and space to deal with things in her own way. I can be too much sometimes, she berated herself. I’m too eager, too persistent.
Or maybe it’s not you, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Gabe answered inside her head. Maybe Jo is not quite what you imagined.
Maybe not, Quinn replied silently as she took a seat.
Chapter 51
December 1588
Leitrim, Ireland
With the arrival of December, the weather grew colder and the days shorter. A sense of hopelessness and suspicion settled over the castle. Every loud sound and every sign of movement on the other side of the wall sent the men into a panic. The English couldn’t be expected to do nothing forever. Winter was settling in, the cold and snow pushing the besiegers and the besieged into a suffocating embrace. The English seemed to feel just as despondent as the Spaniards and the Irish, forced to spend week after week out in the open, sitting around their fires with nothing better to do than whittle sticks. They were angry and frustrated, and baying for blood. The Spaniards often heard their taunts over the wall, insults hurled at men they hated and wished to exterminate.
The two hanged men continued to act as tree ornaments, their grotesque remains no longer resembling human beings. When the wind blew in an easterly direction, the besieged Spaniards could smell the sickening stench of decomposition and wondered how the English could bear the constant reminder of death in their midst.
Everyone was on edge, their reason undermined by the constant threat of attack. Captain de Cuéllar issued an edict stating that if any of the women were interfered with, the offender would be executed. Despite this threat, the men gazed at Aisling and Mary—the only unmarried women at the castle—with such hunger, the girls spent most of their day in the kitchen with the wives of the men-at-arms or in a locked bedchamber, fearful of being cornered in some dark passage. The Irishmen guarded their women fiercely, their mistrust of the Spaniards growing by the day. The two groups barely conversed and occupied different parts of the castle in order to avoid contact. It was only a matter of time before the Irishmen and the Spaniards turned on each other, in Rafael’s opinion, and he feared the day the tensions would finally boil over.
“De Silva, would you be so kind as to ask señorita O’Rourke to join us in the great hall?” Captain de Cuéllar said, taking Rafael utterly by surprise. “I give you my word she will not come to any harm.”
“W-what do you want with her, sir?”
“I only wish to speak to her, I assure you.”
“I’ll ask her, sir,” Rafael replied meekly. He had no wish to invite Aisling into the hall. The men would be on their best behavior in front of the captain, but for a woman to walk alone into a room full of tense, angry soldiers was asking too much, and Rafael wondered why the captain wished to speak to Aisling in front of the men rather than in the privacy of a smaller chamber.
Aisling looked frightened when Rafael passed on the captain’s request. “I don’t wish to come,” she said, shaking her head. “What does he want with me?”
“He says he only wants to speak with you.”
“Why? Of what use can I be to the likes of yer captain?”
“Captain de Cuéllar is an honorable man, Aisling. He’ll not let any harm befall you.”
“I’ll only come if ye come with me and remain by my side.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Rafael replied. “Shall we?”
All the Spaniards were gathered in the hall, except for the ones who were standing guard on the wind-buffeted battlements, keeping their heads down to dodge a well-aimed bullet. A fire burned in the grate and the soldiers huddled close to the great hearth, shivering in their inadequate attire. Aisling was visibly frightened, but kept her head high and her shoulders back, her chin turned at a defiant angle. The captain greeted her with a courteous bow and smiled benignly, inviting her to sit. Aisling shook her head and remained standing.
“Translate for me, if you please,” he said to Rafael, his gaze still fixed on Aisling, who was studying him openly.
“How long have you lived at the castle, señorita O’Rourke?” the captain asked.
“All my life,” Aisling replied.
“Is there any other way into the castle besides the gate?” the captain asked. “Surely there must be ways to leave the castle unobserved.”
The men stilled, clearly surprised by the captain’s inquiry. This should have been a question to put to Kieran O’Rourke, not his sister, and the significance of that wasn’t lost on them, especially since he was asking it openly, in front of everyone.
Aisling nodded. She looked less frightened now that she understood what he was after. “There is a tunnel that runs from one of the storerooms to a cave in the woods.”
“Where is this cave?” the captain asked. “Would we by
pass the English if we used this tunnel?”
“The English are camped all around that area. Anyone leaving the cave would be seen.”
“Is there any other way out?” the captain asked, smiling in encouragement.
“There’s a door built into the easterly side of the wall, but the terrain is boggy and unless ye know yer way round, ye’ll not get very far.”
“Thank you, señorita O’Rourke. I appreciate your assistance.”
Aisling nodded to the captain and turned to leave, her shoulders hunched with tension as thirty pairs of eyes followed her progress, some gazes clouded with speculation, others with lust.
Rafael followed a few moments later and caught up with her in one of the passages leading to the kitchens. “Aisling, wait,” he called.
Her face was streaked with tears when she turned to face him. She walked into his arms and buried her face in his chest, her shoulders quaking with sobs.
“What is it? What’s upset you so?”
“Did ye see the way those men fixed on me? They’re like starving beasts eyeing a hunk of meat. Why did yer captain bring me in there? He could have spoken to me privately.”
Rafael wrapped his arms around Aisling in an effort to comfort her. He had no immediate answer to her question.
“I’m sure he had his reasons. He’s a clever man,” he said, trying to convince himself as much as Aisling.
“Rafael, come to my chamber,” Aisling said, looking up at him from beneath tear-dampened lashes, her limpid eyes huge in her pale face. “I’m afraid to be alone. Stay with me a while.”
“Aisling, I really shouldn’t. It isn’t proper.”
“Please, Rafael.”
His heart melted with tenderness. Of course, she was scared. Who wouldn’t be? If it weren’t for the threat of execution, half of those men would force themselves on her or Mary. They weren’t bad men, but they were seasoned soldiers and they understood the odds of survival. They were scared, angry, frustrated, and losing hope by the day. They had nothing left to lose save their lives. Honor was no longer their first priority—keeping their fear at bay was. A few minutes with a woman was the quickest way to oblivion, or so he’d been told, and these men craved oblivion the way an opium addict craved his pipe, and he’d seen his share of addicts when assisting his father.
“All right.” Rafael followed Aisling into the room.
The fire had died down, but the chamber still retained some warmth and was surprisingly cozy. With the shutter closed against the cold, the only light came from the glowing ambers, which cast a rosy tint on the walls. The chamber itself wasn’t much bigger than the cell he shared with Alfonso, and was sparsely furnished, a fact he found surprising given Aisling’s close relationship to Sir Brian, but from what he’d gathered, most people at the castle were related to Sir Brian in some way and received no special treatment. The ladies of the castle had chores to attend to, only their work didn’t appear as strenuous as that of the servants, whose hands were red and raw from being constantly submerged in cold water or blistered from the fire or heavy lifting. Aisling’s hands weren’t red or chapped, but they were the hands of a woman who kept busy from dawn till dusk, the hands of a real woman, not a sheltered little señorita who did nothing but sit in the parlor with her mamá, waiting for a suitor.
Aisling locked the door behind them and turned to face Rafael. The atmosphere in the small room grew close and intimate, and Rafael’s breath caught in his throat when Aisling pulled off her cap and released her heavy hair, the coppery tresses cascading over her shoulders and down to her narrow waist. He took a step back, frightened by the dangerous feelings she stirred in him. She was more forward than any woman he’d ever known, but so much more exiting and irresistible.
Aisling gazed up at him, her eyes blue pools of desire. Will ye really reject me? they seemed to ask as she pressed her small palms to his chest. His heart was galloping like a spooked horse, his body pulsating with all-consuming heat.
“Aisling,” he whispered as he took a step toward her, knowing this time he wouldn’t have the strength to refuse her.
**
The room was cold and dark, swathed in the murky shadows of early evening. Rafael sat on the window ledge, his forehead pressed to his knees. He shut his eyes tight, steeling himself against the inevitable onslaught of shame and reproach, but all he felt was joy, a feeling so unfamiliar to him it took him a moment to identify it. Firelit images danced in his fevered mind: the ivory curve of a breast, the hollow of a navel, long, graceful legs parted to receive him, and the unbearable ecstasy of sliding into the hot, moist sheath that was Aisling’s body. It had felt so natural, so instinctive. Aisling had made small sounds—gasps of pain, moans of pleasure, sighs of contentment, and he’d matched her cry for cry, moan for moan, gasp for gasp. Dear God, how was it possible for something so base to feel so divine, and how could he bear to walk away from her now? Only death could extinguish the flame she’d lit in his heart. He’d thought he’d die happier having known love, but now that he knew what he’d be missing, death seemed like the cruelest insult, the ultimate cheat.
“Oh, Aisling, why did you have to make this so much harder for both of us?” Rafael whispered into the empty air, his breath wisps of mist in the frigid room. “What am I to do?”
He remained perfectly still, but there was no answer, no sympathy from an indifferent God. There was only a sense of foreboding tainting his brief happiness with its bitter aftertaste, and the certain knowledge that they could never be together, in this life or the next.
Rafael’s eyes flew open with a start. It had to be time for his watch. If he didn’t appear on time, questions would be asked, and unsavory conclusions would be reached since he’d last been seen going after Aisling. Rafael jumped to his feet and adjusted his clothing to make sure he didn’t appear disheveled. His fingers instinctively brushed against the hidden pocket in his worn doublet, checking that his hamsa was still there.
He froze, his blood running cold in his veins, his breath stilling for a long, tense moment. He couldn’t feel the outline of the charm, couldn’t grasp anything between his fingers but pliant leather. Rafael tore at the buttons, reaching into the little pocket, probing as deep as his trembling fingers would allow. He let out a strangled cry of desperation when he realized the amulet wasn’t there.
I’m a dead man, Rafael thought as he sank back onto the ledge, his earlier wonder replaced by breathless panic. Whoever had found the charm wouldn’t keep quiet. They’d want to know whom it belonged to, unless they already did. Rafael took a shaky breath. His days were numbered. “Dear God,” he whispered, “please keep Aisling safe. Please, oh please, don’t let her get hurt because of me.”
Chapter 52
May 2015
London, England
Gentle sunshine streamed through the windows of the car, and a pleasant breeze caressed Quinn’s face. She was finally able to pick up speed once they left the outskirts of the city and got on the M25. Thankfully, the traffic was moving at a good clip, so they would reach Leicester in about two hours.
A week ago, Quinn would have enjoyed spending the time with Jo, but since their heated conversation a few days ago, there was a new tension between them, and resentment underscored every word of their stilted conversation. Jo was angry with Quinn for sharing her private pain with Gabe, with Drew for failing to miraculously produce her offspring, and probably with herself for letting so much time go by before asking the questions she should have asked fifteen years ago.
“Thanks for coming with me,” Jo said in a conciliatory manner.
“You’re welcome. Have you called ahead, or are you planning to ambush your siblings?” Quinn asked.
“With those two, an ambush works best. We’ll start with Karen. She’s a creature of habit, and she always liked a lie-in on Saturday mornings. Mum used to bring her breakfast on a tray while she lolled about in bed, reading or listening to music.”
“And Michael?”
&n
bsp; “I have no intention of seeing Michael. He won’t know any more than Karen will, so the plan is to squeeze her for information. I did ring Mr. Richards. He said we can pop into his office any time before noon. He’ll be catching up on some work and then he has a lunch engagement. We’ll be back in London by midafternoon,” Jo added, assuming Quinn was eager to get home.
“Sounds like a reasonable plan,” Quinn said as she fixed her eyes on the SATNAV, which was indicating a delay in arrival time due to an accident on the motorway. “Bollocks. This will set us back by nearly an hour if they don’t clear it up quickly.”
Jo sighed and stared out the window, her face set in harsh lines, her fingers drumming on her thigh.
“Jo, I know you’re nervous,” Quinn began.
“Wouldn’t you be?” Jo snapped. “Oh, how Karen will gloat. She’s probably waited for this moment for fifteen years.”
“Why does she hate you so?”
“She thinks it’s my fault Mum got ill.”
“How can it be your fault?”
“Stress is always a factor, and the incident with Michael, then my stubborn refusal to abort the baby, nearly sent Mum over the edge. What happened nearly tore the family apart, and my father’s carefully planned coping strategy didn’t quite work since I refused to comply. Mum spent months watching my belly grow, swelling with a grandchild she’d never get to hold or love. She was torn between her anger with Michael and her desire to protect me, but it was too late, for all of us.”
“I’m sorry, Jo,” Quinn replied for lack of anything better to say.
“Nothing to be sorry for. I’ve only myself to blame, or so Karen will tell you.”
“Jo, what if neither Karen nor Mr. Richards knows anything? Will you abandon the search?”
The Betrayed (Echoes from the Past Book 7) Page 26