She wanted to stroll among those paths. Stretch her legs and ponder her future. Where did she go from here? She should do what she had not had the courage to do at the tavern. Leave and begin a new life somewhere else. The city, perhaps. A place of crowds and noise and anonymity. She’d had a bellyful of the small minds and big mouths of villagers.
But Asher remained an obstacle. She’d seen murder in his eyes, knew now that whether she possessed the reliquary or not, he wanted her. Wanted to see her suffer before he killed her. That certainty held her fast in a web of fear. Tied her to this house and these people until Asher’s imprisonment. Tied her to Conor.
Butterflies quivered in her stomach, and a rush of excitement took away her breath. Reactions she didn’t want, but couldn’t seem to stop. She flushed with the ghost-feel of his hands on her body, the press of his mouth hungry and urgent. Even her dreams were betraying her.
She hadn’t asked for this. She’d had her fill of men. Witnessed their careless love, resolving that she’d not fall into the same trap as her mother. She was smarter. Stronger. Too clever than to be seduced by a flashy smile and honeyed words.
But Conor had never once tossed her a charmer’s grin, and she doubted whether he would know a honeyed word if the bee stung him between the eyes.
He was a man who carried a beast beneath his skin. She’d seen it for herself. The warping of his body as the change took hold. The ruthless clarity of his gaze. And she knew what he was capable of. Death. Murder. He’d admitted to it all. Her father’s staring eyes swam before her. And the bloody carnage in the chapel.
But they were immediately overlapped by other recollections. Conor holding her safe. His battle-scarred hands healing her wounds. Conor laughing at her silly stories. Telling his own. And finally, Conor, sick yet shielding her from Asher with the last of his strength.
She skimmed her hand along the stone baluster, enjoyed the warmth of the sun across her shoulders. Humming sounded from an upper window. A dog answered a shouted call. Laughter floated from the open doors to the library. She imagined herself living here. Among this noisy, comfortable, haphazard household.
No. She would enjoy this brief idyll. And hold tight to her feelings. Keep her heart protected. It was the only way she would be able to walk away from Daggerfell without regrets.
There was that glimmer again. A wisp of something at the edge of her vision. A tinkle of bells. She squinted, trying to make it out. A bird? She didn’t think so.
“You’re the girl just arrived?”
The hard, brittle voice whipped her around. A woman of middle years stood with one hand upon the open terrace door. She wore a heavy velvet dressing gown, the ribbons yanked ruthlessly closed against the spring afternoon chill. Her hair, a mix of gray and pale blonde, hung loose over shoulders tight with temper.
“I am.” Ellery was familiar with the disappointment marking the woman’s bony face. Cousin Molly had wrapped herself in that same air of ill-usage and martyrdom. “I’m Ellery Reskeen.” She held out a hand in greeting.
The woman slapped it away. Took a step back. Paused. Approached Ellery, almost backing her against the terrace baluster. “These children of the devil. They took my husband. Took my sons. They’ll not get me. God will strike them down if they try.” She jabbed her finger at Ellery, spittle forming in the corner of her mouth. “He knows them for what they are. Their true selves.”
“Do you mean the Blighs?”
“I give you fair warning. As Peter counsels us, Be vigilant because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about seeking whom he may devour.”
This was obviously sleep-walking Aunt Glynnis. She looked wide awake now.
And mad as a loon.
No one had mentioned that particular fact to Ellery. And probably for good reason. “Thank you for telling me,” she said, keeping her voice as soothing as she could while sidling out of reach. “I’ll keep my guard up and pickets posted.”
She wasn’t quick enough. Glynnis stepped back in her path, a frenzied look in her watery blue eyes. “You think I’m mad. I can tell. But I know what I’ve seen in this house.” She peered around as if expecting eavesdroppers. Leaning closer, she whispered—hissed, really. “And I know what I’ve heard. Conor means you harm. The animal in him thirsts for blood. Run. Leave here. Save your soul before it’s corrupted by this place. These people.”
Ellery swallowed hard. “I appreciate the concern for my welfare.” She tried to make her voice casual around the tingle that raced up her spine. Jangled the nerves at the base of her neck. “I can’t say I wasn’t warned, can I?”
“You’re a fool, girl.” She looked over Ellery’s shoulder. Her eyes narrowed to slits of hate. “It’s him.”
Conor approached from the side of the house, lashing the bushes with a riding crop. With his arrogant soldier’s stride and his shirt sleeves rolled back to reveal the solid corded muscles of his arms, he was every woman’s darkest fantasy. He paused when he spotted them, but she knew by the way his gaze sharpened that he had been aware of their conversation. He’d known they were there.
Glynnis’s eyes slid between Ellery and Conor. “Is that how it is?” she sneered. “You’re double the fool then, girl. He’ll take you like the beast he is, and death will be the mercy.”
Conor took the terrace steps two at a time. “Gram will be looking for you, Glynnis.”
His face was pale, his eyes brooding. He must have heard her. She hadn’t tried to hide her venom.
For a split second, Ellery thought the woman would strike him. Instead, she gathered her robe about her as regally as a queen, swung around on her heel, and swept past Conor into the house.
“She doesn’t like you much,” Ellery said.
“She wouldn’t.” He rested his elbows on the baluster next to her, his eyes on the trees. She recognized the pose as one of studied patience. But she knew by now it was just a pose. This was a man who waited for nothing. He met life head-on.
“I was with Uncle Talan and my cousin Richard the night they disappeared.”
“What happened?”
He shrugged, twirling the crop idly between his hands. “I don’t know. We were on the road from Bristol. I went to bed one night. When I woke, they were gone. My aunt thinks I killed them.” He met her gaze, his eyes a golden bronze. “She’s seen me shift.”
“Oh.” That could explain Glynnis’s fear. But the hate was palpable. And current. She couldn’t explain that.
The terrace had lost its magic. Glynnis Bligh and her warnings had soured Ellery on its charms. “Let’s walk,” she said. At Conor’s look of reluctance, she grabbed his hand. “You can show me the scenes of your misspent youth.” She expected him to pull away. Reject her invitation with a cool dismissal. And after her visit to his bedchamber, she couldn’t blame him.
Instead, he gave her a sidelong smile. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have Ruan’s company?” And the hurdle was crossed. Their footing once again sound.
She sniffed. “I thought you were too busy browbeating your cousins to notice Ruan’s attentions.”
“You’d have to have been blind not to notice Ruan.” They crossed the lawn, headed for the nearest path. “I wouldn’t get any ideas. He’s been known to flirt with the vicar’s grandmother—and she’s ninety-five. And bald.”
She let go of his hand only long enough to punch him in the arm. “So now I’m right up there with hairless besoms.” She tilted her nose in the air. Walked ahead. “I know attraction when I see it, Mr. Bligh. Ruan’s charming. And he laughs.”
The trees closed around them. The air grew cool, the sun falling in slanted bars through the branches. Conor took her hand back, threading their fingers together, his callused palm firm against hers. “I laugh.”
She snatched a look up at him, but his eyes scanned the treetops. The path ahead. The underbrush to either side. Even here, he was on guard. Never letting his body relax into complacency. She glanced back down at their clasped hands
. Except for that slip-up.
There were a million reasons why she should let go. Put some distance between them. Turn around and walk back to the house. But not a single one was coming to her. All thought was centered on their linked hands. Giving up, she smiled, letting the delight spread through her. “You’re right. My mistake. You’re as jolly as they come.”
She lost track of time and direction as they walked, Conor pointing out the dovecote, the long low hills at the southern edge of the wood, the private family chapel surrounded by weathered tombs. The woods thickened, became dense, almost impassable in places. The sun barely penetrated the old, gnarled branches. Owls called from overhead. A fox barked. The moist air smelled of rich earth and growing things, but every now and then the breeze bit with a tang of the sea. Ellery felt a pricking between her shoulder blades.
“I feel as if hundreds of eyes watched from the trees,” she said.
Conor shot her a sly smile. “Probably because they are. Daggerfell holds more within its boundaries than just what you can see.”
“Is that good or bad?”
He shrugged. “We offer what protection we can. They do the same. Gram has most dealings with the fey within our borders. But they’ll allow themselves to be seen if the need is urgent.”
Coming around a bend, the house came back into view. Roughly cut of gray stone with its arched windows and round corner towers, it gave the impression of great strength and age. One flickering light shone in the west tower. Ellery shivered and trained her gaze across the stern façade to the west where the sunset turned the walls to rose and gold. “Does Asher constitute an urgent need?”
“I wish to God I knew, Ellery.” His hand dropped to his waist as if seeking the comfort of a sword hilt. He glanced over at her, his jaw set, his stare ominous. “It would make my task a damn sight easier.”
“How long have you known Ellery had this power?”
His grandmother’s entrance into the library had been silent. But Conor had known she was there. Had felt her watching him. He didn’t look up from where he sat hunched over an open leather-bound volume, the vellum pages brown with age and water damage. He’d been here all afternoon, more miserable with every hour. He was almost relieved his grandmother sought him out.
Gram took a chair across from him. Made him face her. “It is Ellery, is it not?”
“Looks that way,” he answered. “I’ve had a suspicion of it since I met her. The effect she had on the Keun Marow’s dark energy hardened it. And then last night…”
“What about last night?”
He ducked his head. “Nothing. Forget it.” His grandmother allowed him the dodge. Moved on. “And now she affects the house wards in the same way.”
He put the page he was holding down. Rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. Reading the ancient, faded scratch-marks that passed for writing had given him a headache. “Her mage energy causes other nearby magics to warp and change.”
Gram steepled her fingers under her chin. The wolf-head ring of the Blighs gleamed on her hand. They all wore such symbols of their house. But for Lowenna Bligh it was much more. It was a symbol of her eternal love for her husband—his grandfather, Howel. A symbol of what she’d given up for that love. Immortality. A life of the fey.
That courage as well as her ageless strength and imperious nature had always intimidated him as a child. It was no different now.
“If simply being near causes such chaos, what happens at her touch?” she asked finally. “Does she affect your power?” Her pointed look told him exactly what she was thinking.
“How the hell should I know?” He prayed his face didn’t give away the lie.
She reached across the table, pulling the book around to her. Opened it. Scanned a page. Settled back with a curve of a smile on her lips. “You’ve lived side by side for a week. Are you telling me you never touched in all that time?”
His groin tightened, remembering last night. “I was a bit too preoccupied to plan a seduction.” Not busy enough. He’d walked right into it, eyes wide open.
Gram studied him, her eyes bright and cold as new-forged steel. Sweat trickled down his neck. His head throbbed. She gave a careful look back at the book. “Not a seduction then. Yet the transference of her wounds to your body almost caused your death.”
Conor skimmed a hand through his hair. Eased out the breath he was holding. “How did you know? I never told Jamys how it happened.”
“Ellery told me. Your flirt with death I saw for myself when you arrived. Jamys confirmed it.”
“Don’t tell her.”
Gram raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want her to know how much you sacrificed for her? How far you went to assure she lived?”
“No.” Desperation clawed at him. The beast aching to be set free to fight for what it wanted. But what did it want? The answer grew more elusive with the hours.
Gram’s voice tightened. The power behind it was like a palpable force. “How much will you gamble to keep Ellery Reskeen alive until you can spill her blood on the Beltane Sabbath?”
It was like being punched in the ribs. She knew. Of course she knew. He’d been foolish to think he could bring Ellery here and Gram would remain ignorant of his intent. “Don’t tell her.”
She looked skeptical. “Don’t tell her she has only a few weeks left before the man she trusts above all others to keep her safe takes a dagger to her chest?”
“Asher must be stopped.”
She leaned forward, bracing her hands on the table. “The witch’s eldest spawn is dangerous, but only the Triad together can wield enough power to bring down the walls between the worlds.”
“Right. But Asher’s army of Keun Marow grows stronger every day. Unless Ellery’s used to repair the seals, he’ll be un-stoppable soon. Not even the true fey will be able to keep him from finding the reliquary and releasing his brothers. I won’t let it get that far. Ellery is the key. She alone can fulfill the molleth set upon the trespasser who dares open the casket.” He drew in a breath. Spoke in a tone he hoped conveyed the importance of his request. “Keep this to yourself, Gram. The others don’t know, and I’d keep it that way if I could.”
She sighed, and for the first time, looked her age. “And what are they to make of this young woman you’ve dragged home with you?”
“They can make whatever they like of her as long as they don’t suspect the truth.”
“I’ll keep my own counsel for now. But only because I sense more to this than what lies before my eyes. There is a difference in you today—and that bodes well.” Her back stiffened, her gaze refocused. “If I think it right to do so, I will tell Ellery the truth.”
A shadow passed the door. Footsteps sounded, paused. Returned.
She rarely left her rooms so Conor hadn’t seen much of Aunt Glynnis. But the ban-sidhe of Daggerfell, as he and his cousins had titled her, was much the same. Time had yet to calm the frenzied, unsettled look in her eyes or the constant wringing of hands chapped and bitten to the quick. She wore a nightgown and robe, but her usual wild tangle of hair had been cleaned and brushed.
“Did you have need of me, Glynnis?” Gram asked. But Glynnis’s attention was centered on Conor. Her fingers curled and straightened before she rubbed them up and down her robe as if trying to clean them.
“Aunt Glynnis.” Conor inclined his head in greeting. It was a mistake. It felt as if his brains had shifted. He rubbed at his temples in a hopeless attempt to ease the pain.
“They told me you’d come home,” she whined. “I was worried sick. Just be gone a day or two, you said. Then nothing. They told me you’d died, but I wouldn’t believe them. I prayed to the Almighty Father for your return. I knew I was right to do so. I knew he’d answer my call.”
Conor understood now, and his heart went out to her. Twenty years had passed, yet she remained frozen in time, waiting for the husband and son who’d disappeared—taken, some said—to return home.
“It’s good to see you,” he said,
letting the fantasy continue.
“You’re beautiful as I remember.”
She blushed, then worry filled her face. Her hands worked her robe faster and faster. “Did you bring Richard with you? Is our little boy here?”
“I’m sorry, Glynnis. He…he couldn’t come with me.” Her face wrinkled with grief.
“Richard away and now his brother Simon’s gone as well. Conor’s driven him off, Talan. He wants Simon dead. He’s touched with the devil’s mark. Like so many of this house.”
He let the words wash over him, knowing it for the madness it was. He had faded memories of a sweet, shy woman who carried sugared almonds in her pockets for the children and snuck bones for the dogs. But that was a long time ago. Before Talan left her alone among his people. In a world she didn’t understand and could never accept.
A young maidservant skidded up breathless to the door. “Mrs. Bligh, mum. There you are.” She took Glynnis’s arm. “Come along. It’s time for your supper.”
Glynnis pulled away. “I’ve prayed for the absolving of your sins. I’ve begged the Lord to fill you with the Holy Spirit and drive out the evil that you carry. It’s not your fault. But you must help him do his work. You must let him heal you. For a future in his kingdom…” She grew vague, worried at her skirts as if she were confused.
The maidservant gave them a sympathetic look. Gripped her mistress’s arm more firmly. “Come, Mrs. Bligh. Master Jamys will fix you up nice with a tonic for them nerves.”
“Talan? Help me get away from them.” She held out her arms to him, beseeching him. Conor’s gut churned at the desperation in her voice. “Take me with you. I can’t stay here any longer. Not among this evil.”
“Mrs. Bligh?” the maid whispered.
Glynnis’s arms dropped uselessly to her sides. She allowed herself to be led away, keeping her gaze on Conor until the last.
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