A Matter of Circumstance and Celludrones (Dark Matters)

by Claire Robyns

  “You’re trespassing,” the man murmured vaguely, but didn’t press his advantage. He also seemed more interested in Neco than in the plight of his dog. “What name was given to you, celludrone?”

  Neco told him without hesitation.

  The man’s gaze flashed to Greyston. His eyes creased in serious contemplation as the stare drew out, neither of them saying a word.

  Lily wasn’t surprised that Greyston had no defence on hand, but surely the man had a few choice accusations to offer up at their appalling disregard for his property and privacy? At last, he broke the stare to glance over the courtyard, his eyes resting significantly on the hemp bag propped against the tree and then again on the spot where Greyston had scratched in the ground.

  When his gaze returned to them, it was accompanied by an unexpected smile that Lily found quite entrancing. He was not a handsome man by any traditional means, but that smile erased some of the roughness from his face. Although, she did note, it didn’t warm his dark, blue eyes the way Greyston’s smiles were prone to.

  “Given the circumstances,” he said, “I think introductions are in order. I’m Kelan McAllister, Earl of Perth.”

  Lily dipped into a cordial curtsey. For all his swarthy skin tone, rugged features and unsmiling eyes, his manners were impeccable and that was something she could certainly appreciate.

  “Duncan McAllister was the previous Earl of Perth,” Greyston remarked. “I didn’t realise he had a son.”

  Lily had no intention of adding rudeness to their list of transgressions. She dug her nails into Greyston’s arms, a warning for him to resist and desist. “Delighted to make your acquaintance. I’m Lily d'Bulier and this is Greyston Adair,” she said, leaving off the lord and lady as seemed to be the custom in the Scottish highlands.

  Kelan inclined his head at her. “Welcome to Cragloden.” His gaze returned to Greyston. “Duncan had no offspring. He was my father’s younger brother.”

  “Your father was the elder brother?”

  “Still is,” Kelan corrected. “I suggest we take this conversation inside, where I’d be happy to discuss the complexities of my family history.”

  “That’s very obliging of you.” Greyston’s tone suggested a bit too obliging.

  “Not at all.” Kelan waved a hand toward the exit, gesturing them to go before him. To Neco, he issued, “Bring Sannon, would you? And don’t forget to collect your belongings,” he added without so much as another glance at the hemp bag.

  Lily’s cheeks stung at the blatant reminder. Her hand slipped from Greyston’s arm as he headed for the gate, her own steps sedate and hounded with mortification at the position she found herself in. To break into an earl’s castle, to be discovered doing so, and then to be invited into his home.

  “It’s negligent to own a dog that vicious and not be able to control it,” Greyston muttered harshly—perhaps some bluster to cover a morsel of guilt that had survived his complete disregard for socially acceptable practices, Lily could but hope.

  Kelan heard and replied ever so softly. “Sannon’s training is impeccable.”

  The stinging in her cheeks burnt red-hot. Of course his dog was trained. To annihilate trespassers. She threw a quick glance over her shoulder at the earl. His eyes met hers and held until she was obliged to look away first.

  Greyston walked through the gateway first without a break in his step. Lily couldn’t help herself. She put a hand up in front to feel her way through the resistance as she passed.

  Kelan gave her a thoughtful look. “Which one is yours? Isis or Ana?”

  Lily gaped at him. “How could you possibly know about Ana?”

  “My uncle’s notes on his celludrones are meticulous, although he referenced his human subjects only with alphabetic notations.” Kelan paused briefly as Neco joined them, wolfhound under one arm and hemp bag slung over his shoulder. “I never had any names to place with each celludrone until now. If I’d known any of you had survived the explosion, I’d have looked harder.”

  Disturbed that this stranger knew anything about her at all, that he might have come searching for her if he’d known more, Lily backed away, a little less remorseful about their misdeeds on his property.

  Greyston caught her, pulling her firmly to his side. “So you say, and yet you knew Lily had been assigned a celludrone.”

  “One is known by the company one keeps.” He shrugged off Greyston’s animosity. “Did others survive?”

  “Everyone else is dead,” Greyston said.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Then why are you continuing with Duncan’s work?”

  Kelan gave him a hard look. “I’ve always supported my uncle’s cause,” he said, starting down the hill. “His methods, however, leave much to be desired.”

  Lily tugged on Greyston’s arm. “I have a feeling he wants more from us than we want from him.”

  “Then we’ll have to make sure he doesn’t get it.” His knuckles came beneath her chin, tilting her head until their eyes met. “I have no love nor trust for any McAllister. Neco and I will be on guard.”

  They followed the perimeter wall to the main entrance, Greyston and Neco leading the horses by foot. Kelan had offered to take one, but Greyston declined the help. Since Neco no longer had a free hand to keep the dog muzzled, it was back to growling and whining and drowning out any further attempt at conversation.

  Lily experienced the same sludgy resistance when they passed through the main gate. She watched the dog’s reaction, but he was already causing such a fuss, she couldn’t tell what effect the force might have had on the poor animal.

  The courtyard had a short drive made of flat stones, lined with recently planted saplings. Stables were erected along the full length of one wall. Against the other wall was a series of individual outbuildings that all looked fairly new and clean. The rest of the courtyard was covered with loose pebbles and a couple of hardy shrubs.

  Kelan took his dog back from Neco, grabbing a fistful of fur and skin at the neck to guide the beast behind a fenced area. Lily ambled up the drive as Greyston and Neco tethered the horses to a banister outside the stables.

  The rectangular mansion of a house had a flavour reminiscent of Italian architecture with understated elegance. The flat roof and crenulated façade gave it the appearance of a traditional castle, but that, and the raw stone, was as far as the Scottish influence extended. A portico supported by pillars of the same pale grey stone as the house wrapped around the entire lower level and formed a balcony for the apartments on the second level.

  By the time she reached the steps to the portico, the others had joined her. Kelan marched ahead to let them in and showed them to a room immediately to their left. The floor was covered in a plush oriental carpet and three of the walls were taken up with shelves of leather bound books. A massive hearth was carved into the fourth wall with a solid mahogany table and two heavy leather armchairs set in front of it. Various other seating arrangements, spindle tables, sturdy sofas and squat stand-alone bookshelves were scattered throughout the extensive area of the Cragloden library.

  “Please, sit.” Kelan said, glancing at Lily. “Would you like tea or something stronger?”

  She was about to decline on principle, but the mention of tea seemed to sap the last bit of moisture from her parched throat. “Tea would be lovely.”

  He crossed to the drinks cabinet, where he activated some sort of speaking device with a twist of a brass knob attached to the wall. “A pot of tea in the library, thank you. We have guests.” He didn’t wait for a response before twisting the knob the other way and turning his attention to a crystal decanter.

  Lily perched on the end of the nearest sofa, wondering if a servant was permanently stationed on the other end of the brass connection, doing nothing but waiting on his orders.

  Neco took sentry position near the door.

  Greyston balanced on the padded leather arm of a chair and stretched his legs out. “You were going to explain how Duncan ende
d up with the earldom.”

  “Ah, yes.” Kelan handed a glass to Greyston before sitting himself down on the opposite end of Lily’s sofa. “My father relinquished the earldom when he married my mother and moved his residence to Florence.”

  “Why would he do such a thing?”

  Kelan eyed him over the rim of his glass as he took a leisurely sip. “My mother had no tolerance for the inclement weather and nature of Scotland. I was born in Florence and have lived there most of my life.”

  Lily wasn’t sure why Greyston was so interested in ancient McAllister history (there were more pertinent topics to explore at this very moment) when Greyston asked suspiciously, “Until the earldom conveniently reverted to you on your uncle’s death?”

  Her spine stiffened. He thinks Kelan might have something to do with the explosion.

  Kelan didn’t miss the accusation, although his response was the opposite of hers. She could practically feel the loosening of his muscles as he settled lower in the cushions and squared one leg over the other. “Let’s put your brash impertinence and ignorance down to youth and move on, shall we?”

  Greyston’s knuckles whitened around his glass.

  One more insult and blood would flow.

  “My mother was killed in the Cragloden explosion,” she said into the tense silence. “Do you believe it was an accident?”

  “There’s no evidence to suggest otherwise.” Kelan slanted his gaze to her. “But the coincidence is impossible to ignore.”

  “Coincidence?”

  “That weekend was the first time all the parties involved in my uncle’s project came together in the same place. It’s far more likely someone wanted to ensure he didn’t, and never would, succeed.”

  “What was the nature of this project?” demanded Greyston.

  Kelan raised a brow at him. “Demons.”

  The mettle whooshed from Lily’s bones. If she weren’t already sitting, she would have crumpled to the floor.

  “What the bloody hell have you involved us in?” Greyston sounded as if he’d pushed the words out through a locked jaw.

  “Hell, as you so aptly put it,” Kelan said. “And I didn’t involve you in anything. That would be my uncle.”

  Greyston shot to his feet. “You bastard.”

  She didn’t see the glass drop from his hand, but she felt it hit her shin through the padding of her skirts.

  Greyston charged and somehow Kelan made it to his feet before Greyston reached him. In the split second it took her to check that yes, Neco was lurching into action, Greyston was on his knees with his head forced back by a rapier-thin sword pressed to his exposed throat.

  Kelan stood over him, the slender hilt of the sword in one hand and glass of whiskey still in the other, and rattled off a string of foreign words that could have been Latin or even demon tongue for all she knew. “Consito. Coepi. Fracta. Initium. Desino.”

  Approaching from the rear, Neco came to an abrupt halt. At first, she thought he’d paused to figure out the best way to attack without accidentally getting Greyston’s throat sliced. But he wasn’t moving at all, not an eyeball or a limb. He’d frozen in an unnatural, mid-motion pose.

  “Is that what the McAllister’s are?” The awkward angle at which Greyston’s throat was stretched made his voice raspy. “A pack of damnable demons?”

  Despite his precarious situation, he was still spitting fury. Of course, he wasn’t yet defeated, wasn’t in any position he couldn’t time-run from if he chose. Why didn’t he? He was one twitch, a mere whim, from death and he was aggravating the man wielding that sword instead of running.

  Lily frantically considered her next move. Any rash action, even a soft plea called out, might jar Kelan’s concentration and cause that blade to slip.

  “The McAllisters are committed to purging the earth’s surface of demons,” Kelan said in a low voice. “It’s not possible to kill a demon, not that we know of, anyway.” He scraped the blade further up Greyston’s throat, almost to the chin. “The best you can hope for is to evade, trap and banish.”

  A subtle knock came at the library door a moment before it opened. Lily’s gaze darted to the man who slipped inside, bearing a silver tea tray. His skin had the sun-brushed olive tone of an Italian, his black hair brushed from his face, and he was fashionably attired in a three-piece suit of dark grey rather than the black and white customary for a butler.

  As the man closed the door quietly behind him, his eyes glazed over Neco and on to Kelan. “Everything well, m’lord?”

  “Just the tea for the lady, thank you, Armand.” Kelan’s gaze stayed on Greyston, his hand steady on the hilt of the sword, while he continued seamlessly. “Speed, dexterity, agility, knowledge. These are essential for survival. I’ve studied and trained since the age of four to fight demons.”

  He flexed his wrist and the blade snapped away from Greyston’s throat. Lily gave a squeak of horror before realising Greyston was safe. The thin sword had retracted in on itself until only the hilt was visible. Kelan slid the short hilt inside the lining of his boot.

  “Will you take milk or lemon in your tea, m’lady?”

  Lily startled at the interruption. The blasted butler was offering her tea as if nothing untoward was happening in his library. This entire household was utterly mad. She narrowed her eyes on him in her rudest glare, then rose from the sofa and turned her back on him.

  “Why did my brother have to die?” Greyston came up off his knees, hands fisted at his side. “Was that for the McAllister cause too, or just an unfortunate symptom of the curse you brought down on us?”

  “I don’t have those answers, but you’ve every right to your anger,” Kelan said. “My uncle should never have involved innocent children in our fight. What’s done cannot be undone, however, and we can be of great help to each other.”

  “What did he want with Lily and me, with those other children who are now dead,” Greyston barked. “We know nothing of demons.”

  Kelan shrugged. “My uncle believed you’d each manifest certain abilities that would be of use.”

  There was a long moment of silence, the two men staring at each other. Then Greyston muttered, “We’re leaving,” and spun away toward Lily on the order, “Release Neco.”

  His face was a rigid mask that could have been hiding a veritable host of emotions, or none at all, but the hand he held out to her was shaking.

  “You’re part of this fight now, whether you learn the rules or not,” Kelan drawled. “Remember this. Protection runes were woven into the foundations of the original perimeter walls and are still in force. No demon is able to cross onto our property or penetrate the shield with their powers. Cragloden is a safe haven, one you’ll have need of sooner or later. Once a demon has your scent, it never lets go. Desino. Initium. Fracta. Coepi. Consito.”

  Neco came alive in forward momentum and stopped abruptly, although this time of his own accord. His gaze bounced between Kelan and Greyston, and Lily got the distinct impression he’d be scratching his head if he were human.

  Chapter Twelve

  Evelyn was determined to pack as much into the remainder of the day as she could fit, starting with a steaming bath.

  Anything to keep her husband out of her head and numb the sting to her heart. She’d always believed she could take on anything the world threw at her, but this time there were too many conflicting emotions she didn’t know what to do with.

  The embarrassment of being dragged away from her friends and bundled into a carriage like a misbehaving child!

  The fury at having her explanations and imploring treated with icy disdain and contempt, as if she weren’t worthy of having a mind of her own.

  The hollow, empty throb that had taken its first beat the moment she’d realised Devon was serious about that ultimatum—that he could so easily give her up over a difference of opinion as to her hobby choices—and seemed to be spreading a circle of aching loneliness with every subsequent beat.

  The guilt that
came on in a blaze of heat whenever she thought on the way she’d left without so much as a personal note, and that just made her madder.

  The senseless hope that he’d somehow trace her whereabouts and come after her (this was Devon, after all, his resources were vast), which was indeed senseless, as she’d refuse to be dragged home even if he did.

  All she could do was push back against the oppressive weight bearing down on her. Evelyn liked to think that almost anything could be achieved with enough practice, and so she’d just keep on smiling and acting as if she didn’t give a flottersnip about her bloody husband and maybe, just maybe, one day it would be true.

  Forleough, however, conspired against her immediate wishes. The antiquated bathing chamber was a barren room of stone floor, oval cast-iron tub and no piped-in water, hot or cold. Not to be so easily thwarted, she tucked Puppy’s little body under her arm and set off in search of hot water.

  “No wonder this castle is so gloomy,” she told him as she descended the dimly lit stairway, her voice and the echo of her footsteps the only noise in the entire house. “I’d also be miserable if I didn’t have adequate bathing facilities.”

  Yap.

  She held the furry bundle up to her face. “Yes, you agree, don’t you?”

  Yap, yap, yap.

  He then attempted to run circles in mid-air, mindless that he wasn’t getting anywhere or that his mechanics, both movement and sound, was supposed to be activated and controlled by very specific oral commands only.

  Yap, yap.

  “You’re not broken, are you?” she sighed, tucking him firmly beneath her arm again. “You’re just different and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.”

  Yap.

  The kitchen was down a further half-flight of steps at the rear of the house, closed off by a sturdy oak door. Inside, she found Jean and a younger girl engaged in preparations for what appeared to be a mutton stew to feed a king’s party.