The room seemed to shift, and when Fiona opened her eyes, she was seated on the courtyard bench at Kier’s castle. Beside her, a plant still bloomed amidst the cold of December. Reaching down, Fiona parted the leaves, knowing what she would find.
The faerie smiled up at her. “You are back.”
Fiona nodded. “I miss Kier so much. What can I do?”
The sprite’s smile broadened and she waved her hand, sprinkling silver dust in the air. “Go to him, of course.”
And then Fiona was back in bed. Only it was not her bed. She was in his.
Kier tossed in bed, his sheet and blanket a tangled mess dangling over the edge. He’d pulled the bed curtains of the big four-poster shut to cocoon himself from the world, hoping the dark surrounding him would quiet his mind. How many nights had it been since he’d slept well? Ever since Fiona left—
“She is here.”
Kier opened his eyes and met total blackness. Was someone in his chamber? His guests were locked in their rooms, the servants in another wing. Had he forgotten to bolt the outside door and an intruder entered?
The voice he thought he’d heard gave a soft laugh. A feminine laugh. Just as he was about to part the bed hanging, a light began to shimmer on the other side. A light that should never have penetrated the thick velvet of the curtain. Kier lay still as it grew in brightness and burst through in an array of brightly coloured sparkles. The glittery specks began to circulate, shaping themselves to form an exquisitely beautiful tiny woman dressed in a silvery gossamer gown. Delicate iridescent wings fluttered and her long brown hair swirled as she hovered in the air above Kier.
“Who…what are you?”
Slanted green eyes twinkled. “I am the faerie that lives in your courtyard.”
Kier scrunched his eyes closed. He had finally done it. Had finally driven himself mad.
The faerie giggled. “That will not help. I am still here.”
Carefully, he cracked an eye open. The faerie winked at him. He closed the eye and groaned.
“Well,” the faerie declared, her tone half-chiding and half-humourous, “I can see it will take you a bit to believe. Meanwhile, enjoy the gift I brought.”
The light retreated, and when Kier opened his eyes again, all that was left was a faint otherworldly glow inside his curtained bed.
A gentle hand touched his arm and he bolted upright.
“Kier?”
He remained frozen for a moment, not sure if he should turn and look. He felt the soft fingers begin to stroke his arm. Kier glanced down. They were real. Human. Slowly, he let his gaze slide to the woman who lay beside him.
Fiona.
She smiled, her silvery eyes reflecting the bluish hue in the air. “Are ye nae going to kiss me?”
Her lips looked lush and inviting. Kier bent down, half-certain he would encounter only a feathered pillow, but when his mouth covered hers, he found it soft and warm and pliant. Greedily, he deepened the kiss, tasting her, ravaging her mouth with his tongue. Fiona returned his kisses with fervor, twining her arms around his neck, tugging him across her body.
Her totally naked body.
She lay stretched beneath him, the plush mounds of her ivory breasts pressed to his chest, the nipples hard as pebbles. He stroked his hand down her ribs and over her hipbone as his cock grew hard against her belly. Kier could feel the moist heat radiating from between her thighs. He started to slide down to lap her juices, but she reached her hands around his back and held him in place. Fiona opened her legs and hooked her heels behind his thighs. “I will have ye now.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. Kier plunged his cock into the slickness of Fiona’s sheath. The wet heat only served to inflame his already fevered shaft. A kindled flame he didn’t know he had flared deep in his belly and his skin burned as though a wildfire surrounded them. The blaze turned into an inferno as Fiona met his thrusts and urged him to go deeper and take her harder. More heat seared through him as her nails raked his back and she bit his shoulder. Kier felt her muscles contract around him, gripping him hard and felt the fire building inside. Fiona arched her back and cried out and he erupted, half-expecting to see fiery sparks falling down around them.
And then all was still.
Kier breathed heavily, clutching the pillow with one hand while his other reached out for Fiona.
But she wasn’t there.
When Kier awoke the next morning and parted the bed curtains, he saw no signs of faerie sparkles anywhere, only dust motes dancing on shafts of sunlight filtering through his window.
He must have overslept, which wasn’t like him at all, but then he’d never been visited by a faerie before either.
Fae, Kier thought as he quickly dressed and went downstairs. He’d never believed they existed, yet he had no other explanation for what had happened last night.
Fiona had seemed so real. His physical reaction certainly had been.
Seeing no one about, Kier went to the kitchens, helped himself to bread and cheese and then wandered into the courtyard. Thankfully, it was empty since his guests were still secured in their rooms. He felt somewhat foolish over what he was about to do and hoped neither Seamus or Ada would chance to look out a window.
Kier sat on the bench that Fiona often used. Usually, she tended the plant that grew beside it. The same plant Finn had said had a faerie in it. Kier looked around the courtyard once more to make sure no one was watching, and then he bent down, separating the leaves.
Nothing except the plant stem.
Feeling even more foolish, he straightened. What had he expected? That an actual fae sprite would be sitting in there waiting for him? Kier stood, dusting his hands off. As he did so, gold and silver specks shimmered in the air—the same kind that had filled his bedchamber last night.
Kier stared at his hands and then leaned over once more to check the plant. Still nothing, but more residue clung to his hands. He waved them, watching the glittery sparkles form a trail that followed his movements. Realizing how ridiculous he must look, he lowered his hands quickly.
Finn had been right. The Fae existed. And Fiona had seen them, talked to them.
Somehow, she had come to him last night.
Kier made his way back to his chamber and then through the hidden passageway to the locked tower room. Right now, he needed seclusion, and this was the best place. He didn’t bother to go into the alcove, but instead dropped into one of the brocaded chairs that had been his mother’s.
His mother had loved his father, so much so that she had withdrawn from the world and eventually taken her own life, but Kier had never seen his parents show much passion toward each other. His father had set the rules and his mother had followed them without question.
Was that love?
Was that what Fiona wanted?
He had trouble picturing fiery, stubborn Fiona as docile and compliant. She had defended Lona and Dulcee on several occasions, even knowing she risked Ada’s wrath and subtle punishments. When the real threat of being moved to the asylum had risen, Fiona had taken matters into her owns hands, something Kier’s mother would never have done. Fiona had cleverly plotted her escape and she had been brave too, venturing out into a strange city alone.
Even now, Kier shuddered to think what might have happened to Fiona on the streets by herself. Having met her brothers, he no longer doubted she’d exaggerated when she said she knew how to use weapons. Still, she was a woman, and that, fair or not, put her at risk. And it was his responsibility to protect her.
Not because it was his duty as Fiona had interpreted it. She was his responsibility because he wanted her to be. He wanted to take care of her. He wanted to protect her.
“That is love.”
The words were so softly spoken, Kier thought he heard them only in his head. Then he caught the faint scent of roses. His mother’s favorite.
He stared as a white haze drifted slowly toward him from the dim recesses of a corner of the room. The cloud-like substance floated above the other chair, shifting and fluctuating, shaping itself into a misty, shrouded form of a woman before settling in the chair.
He gripped the arms of his own chair. By St. Patrick, what was happening to him? First faeries and now…this? Lona’s ghost? Or…
The apparition slid back the hood of her cloak and Kier gasped.
“Mother?”
“Only a spectre of her, but, yes.”
Kier’s mind reeled, and he wondered if he had slipped into a completely delusional state since last night. He believed neither in faeries nor ghosts, and yet… He caught the scent of his mother’s perfume again.
He blinked, trying to bring her into better focus in the dim room. Although the fetch was almost transparent, her long, black hair was lightly streaked with grey as he remembered. Her face was unlined though. Smoother and younger looking as though the cares of the world had vanished from her.
“I…I do not know what is happening.”
His mother’s spirit smiled again. “You always were one who wanted proof of everything. Logic always ruled emotion. You must trust your heart.”
“Trust my heart?” Kier widened his eyes. “Do you mean about Fiona?”
“She will make you happy.” His mother smiled. “Do not blame yourself for what I did. I am with your father now.” The wispy image began to fade, lifting tendrils of fog toward the ceiling. “Trust in Fiona.”
And then he was alone again. Kier sat unmoving long after the last scent of roses faded. Whatever was happening to him—or however it was happening—the message could not have been more clear. After Lady Jane Clare’s betrayal, what little credence he’d given to opening the door to his own emotions had been shut. Now it was time to open that door.
He loved Fiona. Why had he doubted it?
Kier stood, suddenly eager to get to his room and pack a satchel. He’d catch the next boat—even if it were a fishing vessel—to anywhere on England’s coast. He’d make his way to London and tell Fiona he loved her. Really loved her like she wanted him to.
Fifteen minutes later, he rushed down the main stairs, hardly taking notice of two strangers standing with Seamus and Ada in the foyer. They were probably inspectors from the asylum, and Ada could handle that.
“I am leaving for England,” Kier said to Ada. “I trust that—”
“I am afraid your trip will have to wait, my lord,” one of the strangers said.
Kier stopped halfway to the door and turned. “Why?”
The other man held out a document. “We are placing you under arrest for plotting treason against King George, the prince regent, and the Royal Realm of England.”
Chapter Thirty
A light dusting of snow had fallen overnight, turning many of London’s streets into muddy slush that splattered from carriage wheels onto the unfortunate who happened to be walking. Drizzle had begun early this afternoon, making things even worse. Fiona peered out the window of the landau as it made its way the short distance to Abigail’s father’s home.
“I cannae imagine why Abigail wanted us to come over in this weather.”
Mari shrugged. “Her servant said she had someone she wanted you to meet.”
Fiona managed to refrain from groaning. She hoped it wasn’t another Almack’s matron trying to cajole her into attending the last few social events before Christmas. Since so many of the ton had already left town, attendance was sparse. Mari had told her the matrons liked to meet the young women who would make up the Spring Season to decide who would get the coveted invitations to Almack’s Wednesday night balls. Yet, it hardly seemed that Abigail, who cared little for Society, would push such a thing.
Even worse would be if the person in question were another suitor. Since Fiona had returned, word had spread like flame to dry tinder of her abduction. She suspected many of the men were more curious about what a woman put in a lunatic asylum would act like than they were actually interested in courting her.
Not that she was interested in encouraging courtship. She loved Kier and she couldn’t change that. Nor would she consider marrying anyone for status or convenience. Thankfully, the time when the clans needed to arrange such marriages was long past. Fiona no longer wanted to be part of the ton either.
“Actually, it will do you good to get your head out of those papers you have been reading,” Mari said. “I swear, you are getting as bad as Abigail.”
“I find the research interesting.”
Mari rolled her eyes. “How in the world can anything with titles like Report from the Committee on Madhouses or Description of the Retreat for Insane possibly be interesting? None of it pertains to you, Fiona. You never were mad.”
“That is the point, Mari. I doona think a lot of the inmates housed at the asylums are mad either, yet they are treated worse than animals or slaves. The same thing goes for prisons. Ye remember what Shane said about that. Something has to change.”
“But what can you do? Women are not allowed to be members of Parliament and that is where laws are passed.” Mari paused. “Of course, if you married someone with a title, he could stand up for your cause.”
“Nae. How can ye even suggest that?”
Mari sighed. “I understand how you feel about Kier, but he has not come for you nor has he written and it has been—”
“Three weeks. Ye doona have to say it.”
“I am sorry, Fiona. No one expects you to marry for convenience. It is just that I think you should at least give another man a chance.”
“I cannae go against my heart, Mari. Ye wouldna.”
Mari sighed again and patted Fiona’s hand as the carriage pulled up in front of Abigail’s. “You are quite right.”
“We willna speak of it again.” Fiona lifted her head determinedly as she stepped out of the carriage and walked toward the front door. She did not dare tell Mari about the dream—or vision or whatever it was—she’d had a week ago. As long as the faeries gave her the gift of visiting Kier, she could not let him go.
“Welcome,” Abigail said as she met them in the foyer. “I cannot wait for you to meet my guest. Come with me.”
The woman who sat on the sofa in the parlor certainly didn’t look like a member of the ton. She looked to be in her middle years, dressed simply and wore a Quaker cap instead of a fashionable hat. Her face was kindly, her smile lighting her eyes as well.
“I would like you to meet Elizabeth Fry,” Abigail said. After the women had all murmured their salutations, she smiled and added. “Betsy is known as the angel of prisons. I think she has some information you might like to know, Fiona.”
“Angel of prisons?”
Elizabeth smiled. “Abigail tells me you are interested in improving conditions in the asylums for the insane?”
Fiona sat down beside her. “Yes. Very much.”
“Perhaps I can help then. My mission is prison reform, which is not so very different. This past year, I founded a prison school for the children who are housed there. I am now in the process of trying to create an association for reformation of female prisoners as well. Perhaps you would like to help?”
“I would.” Fiona felt herself smile genuinely for the first time in weeks. “Just tell me what I must do.”
“In time, Fiona,” Abigail said and handed her a cup of tea and poured another for Elizabeth. “For today, why do you not just get to know one another?”
“Aye. ’Tis a good idea,” Fiona replied, although she felt like she’d known the woman forever already.
Finally she had something worthwhile to do.
Perhaps a title, although stripped of its wealth, still had some use. As the Earl of Adair, he’d been taken to the Richmond General Penitentiary instead of the old gaol. Kier supposed he should be grateful
for that since this institution, foreboding as it was with its narrow straight front and huge clock tower that sounded like cannons being fired, concentrated more on reform than punishment. He’d been put to labor but not beaten. He’d also learned the prisoners were given meat on Sundays instead of cheese to go with the bread and potatoes. Not an ideal diet, but better than what was offered at the asylum.
Being housed at Richmond also meant he had a good chance at not being shipped to Australia either.
“Have they read the charges to ye yet?” Finley whispered as he sat in the small visiting booth and peered through the bars at Kier.
“Nothing in writing.” Kier kept his voice low as well since the surly looking guard stood not far away. “I have been accused of arranging meetings.”
“’Tis not illegal to meet,” Finley said.
“Supposedly, the men who gathered had suspicious motives.”
Finley frowned. “Do ye think the O’Briens or the Kildares have been sounding off? They’re the ones willing to risk blood.”
“Doubtful,” Kier replied. “Letting anyone know would defeat their purpose.”
“Who then?” Finley asked.
Glancing over to the guard who had narrowed his eyes at the low-toned conversation, Kier cleared his throat and spoke louder. “I am concerned about Gerard Fontaine…missing a payment from me for the shipment from France. Would you check into that for me?”
Kier hoped Finley would understand his intent. Fontaine and his partner, Algeron, were people Kier didn’t trust completely. Although they seemed supportive, they weren’t Irish, nor had they been in the country long.
Finley studied him and tilted his head slightly to indicate he understood. “I will be sure to check on the payment.” He glanced at the guard and then back to Kier. “French cognac was what ye were expecting, aye?”
In his peripheral vision, Kier noticed the guard’s eyes had sharpened with interest. “Aye,” he said more loudly, “and if it be allowed, perhaps you could bring a bottle for the guard station as well.”
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