"You don't know that!" her cousin fairly shrieked. "I hold him responsible for all of this!" She shoved past Ridge and stomped to the door, flinging it wide as she left.
"She's going to cause trouble," the King said. He looked to Ridge. "Make sure our men are in readiness should she order her troops to attack."
"She won't," his Lady-wife told him. When he would have argued with her, she held up a hand. "She's angry and she's grieving but she will cause us no trouble. She will take her troop and return to Blaithmoor. Trust me."
"How can you be so sure?" Ridge asked.
"Augustine knows what her daughter is." She cocked a shoulder. "Was," she clarified. "She has other daughters for whom she needs to find spouses. She'll not risk losing suitable mates for those girls. If word got out she declared war on a son-in-law for something his wife did no kingdom nor fiefdom would welcome one of her offspring to mate."
"Perhaps you are right," the King agreed.
"I am always right, dear," his Queen declared.
"Does this mean that Glade is now free to Join with Lauryl?" Ridge asked.
"Unfortunately it does not for Rolanda still leaves," the King answered and when both Ridge and Glade groaned at the news, their father held his hand up. "But she can be declared dead if she does not return within three years."
"Which we don't have to worry about," the Queen added, "since she will never leave World's End."
Ridge reached out to slap his younger brother on the back, clamping a meaty hand on Glade's shoulder and squeezing. "Well, three years of celibacy is better than a lifetime of it, I suppose," he commented.
Meadow was pressed against the wall outside the throne room, eavesdropping. The more she heard, the angrier she became until she was quaking with fury that turned her vision red. Clutched in her hand, hidden in the folds of her gown, was a silver dagger that had been coated with oil of wolfsbane. She was waiting for Glade to come out into the corridor for she had every intention of burying the dagger to the hilt in his belly. It didn't matter that she would be beheaded for her actions. All she was concerned with was that he finally be made to pay for killing the man she had loved.
Ridge was the first to leave the throne room and he spared his sister only a cursory glance, frowning as he continued on his way. "You should not be listening to conversations not meant for your ears, little sister," he told her.
"And you should mind your own business," Meadow hissed beneath her breath, her fingers caressing the handle of the dagger.
Her father was the next to leave but he didn't even look her way. He had not spoken to her since he had ejected her from the Halla Na Maribh and she doubted he would ever again except to condemn her to death once she eliminated one of his precious sons.
She moved closer to the doorway so she could hear what her mother and Glade were discussing. What she heard only rubbed salt into the wound of her rage.
"I am grateful for your help, Mother," Glade was saying. "I didn't get to thank you for allowing me to be with Lauryl yester morn."
"We will not speak of that," her mother said in a low voice. "Be very careful how you pleasure one another, Gladeson, until Rolanda can be declared dead."
"I will not make you regret helping us, Mother," Glade vowed.
"I know you will not."
"I need to find Lauryl and tell her what has happened," he said.
"Who was the messenger who came to speak with her?"
"A client, I think," Glade replied.
"You are going to allow her to continue her work?"
"If that is what she wants," was the answer. "It is who and what she is. I fell in love with that person and would not want to change her."
"You are a wise man, my son," his mother said. "Now, go. I imagine Augustine will be back to seek me out before she goes. It would be best that you not be here to incur any more of her wrath."
There was the sound of what had to be a kiss then booted footsteps coming toward the door. Meadow straightened her shoulders, gripped the dagger firmly and tensed, ready to attack as soon as her despised brother exited the throne room. She brought the dagger from her side, lifting it--blade up--so she could plunge it into him then rip it upward, slicing his belly open. The very thought made her mouth water with anticipation.
Lauryl shook the Nebullian's arm--warrior to warrior--agreeing to undertake the job he had come to offer her. They had haggled over her price but had finally come to an understanding with which both could live. She walked the imposing black man to the central hall and gave a curt nod as he took his leave, promising to keep him informed of her progress. She thought about the assignment she would be leaving in the morning to do. It wasn't an especially dangerous undertaking but it would mean being away from Glade for perhaps as long as a week. She wondered just how much grief her lover was going to give her before she convinced him this was her work, her life, and as important to her as the very air she breathed.
"Do you know where Prince Glade is at this moment?" she asked a passing servant.
"I believe in the throne room, Your Grace," the girl replied with a curtsy.
"Thanks," Lauryl said and headed that way.
"You are most welcome," the girl acknowledged with a warm grin.
Lauryl remembered what the Ancient One had read from the ten of cups:
"It signifies you will at last have a family to which you will belong--a family which will love you and welcome you and upon whom you can always rely and always trust. Even the servants will extend friendship and respect to you. No mean feat is that."
"Ah, there you are!"
The booming voice of the King brought Lauryl's head around. She greeted him with a hesitant smile. "You were searching for me, Sire?"
He stunned her by striding over to her and wrapping his bear-like arms around her. He hugged her as though she were one of his own children then released her. "Nay, but I believe Gladeson most likely is. He has news for you, dearling." He tweaked her nose. "Best go find him, eh?"
Lauryl stared after the burly man as he swaggered off, a beaming smile on his rugged face.
"They will welcome you with open arms and accept you with joy for you are the heart of their loved one's heart and will be for as long as he lives," Sagira had prophesied.
Happiness swelled in Lauryl's heart and she couldn't wait to find Glade to tell him what had just occurred. Once more she set out for the throne room but this time it was four of his brothers who waylaid her.
"Lauryl, come join us!" Prince Heath called out to her as he, Dene, Breck and Knoll.
"We're going to the gymnasium to do some sparring. Want to watch and give us some pointers?" Knoll asked.
She shook her head. "I need to find Glade, first, but mayhap later?"
"I bet you could teach him a thing of two," Breck declared with a wink.
Lauryl laughed. "I doubt he thinks so," she countered.
"Come set his arrogant ass down on the mat, sweeting. We will cheer you on!" Dene told her.
"We'll see," she replied.
As they waved farewell to her, she felt the happiness expand even more in her chest. Each of his brothers and two of his sisters had gone out of their way to be nice to her. They had shown her nothing but the welcome Sagira had told her would be there for her. Glade's parents had been encouraging and not the stern ogres she had expected them to be--automatically hating her because she was a Daughter of the Night. That she was a Hell Hag did not seem to be an issue with any of them except, perhaps, Meadow.
"Meadow," Lauryl said aloud as she headed down the twisting corridor that would connect with the one that led to the throne room. She knew she was going to have nothing but trouble with that one.
And Rolanda, she remembered and her brow furrowed. She would have to make gods-be-damned sure that bitch left with her snooty mother and did not return to Faolchúnna. Not for the first time she wished she call the fool out and be done with it, cleaving the idiot's empty head from her spindly neck.
Her th
oughts were on Rolanda and what she would like to do to the woman when she turned the corner and spied Meadow standing to one side of the throne room door. There was something very suspicious about the way the girl was poised there and as soon as Lauryl saw the glint of light sparking from a dagger's blade, knew precisely what the girl was about. At that very moment, she saw Glade appear in the doorway.
"Glade, watch out! She has a blade!" Lauryl screamed.
The Marquise of Blaithmoor had cried until there were no more tears to be shed. Now, she was slumped on the settee as her servants went about packing her belongings for the trip home. She had planned to stay a few days but now all she wanted to do was be in her own home, shut away from prying eyes. She heard distant shouting coming from below stairs but she was unconcerned with the goings on a Cumhacht Keep.
"I don't really blame him," she mumbled as she plucked at a loose string on the arm of the settee. "Her treatment of his was soulless."
"I beg your pardon, Your Grace?" the woman packing the Marquise's satchel asked. "Did you say something to me?"
Waving an imperious hand to the question, Augustine des Grieves got up and walked to the window, pushed the draperies aside to stare across the waters to the Isle of Cinnteacht. She laid her forehead on the cool windowpane, feeling the prick of new tears behind her eyes.
For a long time she gazed at the distant island then closed her eyes and hung her head.
"It isn't as though you didn't deserve your fate, Rolanda," she said. "They say the good you do is returned three-fold but the evil, ten-fold. What you did to Gladeson was evil." She let out a ragged breath. "Evil, evil, evil."
Shouts and running feet outside her chamber brought the Marquise's head up. She turned to her servant with a sharp frown. "How do these wolves expect one to think with all that howling going on? Go see what that infernal racket is about, Lucia," she ordered angrily.
The servant bobbed a curtsy and hurried to the door.
Ridge, Vale, Slade, and Glenn had just entered the castle from the stables. They had gone out to take a look at a new colt that had birthed within the hour. The four men were laughing at the antics of the wobbly little beast attempting to get its land legs. As soon as Glenn opened the door for them and Ridge saw the commotion around them, the Heir-Apparent shot out a hand and grabbed the closest running servant. "What's happening here?"
"The Princess Meadow has attacked Prince Glade!" the servant said.
Ridge made no move to follow his three younger brothers as they shoved past him and ran through the milling crowd gathered at the far end of the central hall. He let go of the servant and stood where he was, his face mirroring his shock, a trembling hand raking through his dark hair.
"What have you done, Meadow?" he whispered.
He saw Moor and Dell thundering down the stairs, watched his father shoving servants out of his way but still he could not move.
"Where did that shit come from?" he had asked Meadow the day before when he'd come across her watering plants in the solarium.
"What concern is it of yours?" his sister had snapped, trying to hide the plants from him.
"That shouldn't even be in the keep. What possible reason could you have for growing it?" he'd demanded.
"I think it's pretty," Meadow had defended and when he'd reached out to pluck the pale blue flowers from their pots, she had hissed at him and raked his hand, leaving neat little furrows on his wrist where she'd dug her fingernails into his flesh.
"Bitch!" he'd called her, taking the uprooted flowers to the hearth and tossing them into the flames.
"Pompous bastard!" she'd insulted then turned on her heel and ran off.
"What have you done?" he repeated aloud. Had there been more of the deadly wolfsbane than what he had found being secretly cultivated in the solarium? Had she steeped the roots of the poisonous plant to make a potion to harm Glade?
"I should have told Father what I'd found," he whispered.
His footsteps dragging, Ridge made his way through the jabbering crowd, his heart heavy in his chest, fearful of what he'd find.
Lauryl had never seen such fury as that which she was witnessing erupting from Meadow Aeolian. The woman was like an enraged wolverine lashing out at her brother, repeatedly sweeping the knife back and forth across his midsection as he jumped back to avoid the brutal stab she thrust at him. Her lips were pulled back from her fangs, her eyes were glittering red and the shrieks coming from her throat were piercing. She followed him into the throne room with Lauryl close behind, still yowling for Glade's blood. Afraid to grab the crazed woman for fear she might stumble into Glade and impale him on that flashing blade, Lauryl had to believe her life-mate could handle his insane attacker.
"Lauryl, stay back," she heard their mother say in a low, soft voice, obviously not wanting to provoke Meadow even more.
Glade's hands were up and out as he moved away from his sister's deadly advance. He was weaponless and trying to reason with her though his words were being drowned out by her hissing, cursing and shrill cries of anger. He was moving ever back away from the flash of the blade.
Sitting on the throne, his mother had a death grip on the arms of the gilt chair. Her face was devoid of color. She kept her eyes on her son and each time he leapt away from one of Meadow's jabs, her breath sucked in loudly.
"I am going to gut you, you heartless bastard!" Meadow screamed. "I am going to send you to the Abyss!"
Behind her, Lauryl could feel the press of bodies and knew Glade's siblings and father had arrived. She didn't turn to look at them--too afraid to take her gaze from Glade for fear to do so would cause his sister to find her target.
"There is wolfsbane on the blade," she heard someone say.
"I figured as much," the King replied in a dull voice.
No one would ever know how it happened. It happened so quickly no one had time to react, to prevent the tragedy from taking place. It would be a mystery that would be spoken of in hushed whispers for generations to come. How the Princess Meadow lashed out furiously with her weapon one last time and lost her balance, falling forward in such a way the hand holding the dagger turned so her slight body fell upon the blade, driving the sharply-honed edge deeply into her belly.
"No!" Glade shouted, rushing forward as his sister hit the floor. His knees struck the marble floor with a loud thud as he knelt beside Meadow.
The Queen gasped and leapt to her feet then jumped from the dais.
The King shoved past Lauryl and ran toward his fallen child.
The brothers and sisters of the young woman fanned out around Lauryl but kept their distance.
The servants hovered around the doorway, saying not a word.
Gently Glade lifted his sister and turned her so she fell back over his bracing arm. The dagger was buried to the hilt in her stomach and she was clutching it with both hands, her pretty face drawn into a rictus of agony. Her eyes were filled with tears as she looked up at her brother.
"I…hate…you," were the last words she ever spoke as the poison flashed through her system and began to methodically shut down the organs so quickly nothing could have spared her life. Her head fell to one side over his arm, her eyes wide and staring as her soul was snatched up by the Gatherer.
Lauryl saw the tears falling from her life-mate's eyes as he hugged the dead woman to his breast. He rocked her gently with his face buried in her long dark hair. There was a keening sound of grief coming from the very depths of him and it broke her heart to listen. She turned--met his twin's silent gaze--then walked from the room. She could not bear to be a witness to her lover's grief.
Before the rise of the moon, Meadow Aeolian was laid to rest with her kinsmen in the catacombs beyond Halla Na Maribh. It was a solemn ceremony and attended only by family. The Marquise had stayed on to pay her respects.
Walking back hand in hand to his room where he had dressed in formal kilt, vest and jacket with the plaid of his clan pinned with a golden wolf's head brooch to the left shoulde
r, Glade was silent, his head down. He had barely spoken since Meadow's death and only then in monosyllables.
"Are you hungry?" Lauryl asked him.
"Nay," he replied and his hand jerked in hers.
There was much she wanted to say to him but instinct told her now was not the time. Instead, she wrapped her free hand around his strong arm and pressed against him, letting him know she was there when he needed her.
"You don't fault me for what happened, do you?" he asked softly.
"Of course I don't," she replied. "Meadow was a very unhappy woman. Perhaps she has found the peace she was denied here in life."
"He would have eventually beaten her to death," he said of Kheper, the man he had killed so long ago to protect his sister.
"No doubt that would have been the outcome," she agreed.
"I couldn't let that happen."
"No, you could not."
He was quiet again until they had undressed, and he was carefully putting aside the tartan that was as dear to him as his own blood. He folded it respectfully and laid it in the chest along with the brooch, closed the lid then put the cedar box in the massive armoire. He stripped completely then padded over to the bed and threw back the covers. He got beneath the sheets and turned to his side, his back to her.
"I have to leave in the morning," she said, fearing his disagreement.
"To Nebullia?" he asked in a hollow tone.
"Aye."
"Be careful," he said.
She stood there in her shift for a moment, wondering at his lack of response. "Do you want me to sleep here tonight?"
"Where else would you sleep?" he asked without turning to face her.
She pulled the shift over her head and went to join him in the bed.
"I need you, wench," he said.
"I am here," she replied. "I will always be here, my love."
"By the gods I pray so, wench," he said, his voice breaking.
She took him into her arms as his sobs shook the bed.
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