“Not me. My brother.”
“There are two knights roaming the countryside? I don’t believe you. You’re lying. What did you do with Margaret? I’m taking her with me,” Imogen said with feigned bravado. “Hand her over.”
“She is my ward, not yours,” denied the man. He watched as the little woman charged up to him in defiance. He faded from her path only to materialize again behind her. Imogen tripped, tearing her dress as she landed. Looking at the skirt, she glared from the ripped material to the knight.
“Who are you?” she growled.
“Sir Josiah of Merton.” Sighing heavily, he reached his hand down to lift her. Imogen had no choice but to let him as he grabbed her arm. His hand was warm. She shivered. Josiah let her go.
Imogen studied the man’s face now that he was closer. True, his eyes were black as the midnight of a starless sky. However, she could see kindness in them. It was a kindness the demon that attacked Margaret did not have. There was mercy and pain in Josiah’s gaze.
“What does your brother want with us?” she demanded. “Why did he kill Margaret?”
“‘Twas a mistake. He was after the Marquis, Margaret’s sire,” answered Josiah. When he sighed, the weight of his world spread over his face. Josiah motioned his head for her to walk with him down the path. Imogen followed. “Lady Margaret got in the way of things. She has the same blood as the Marquis and ‘tis why my brother found her first. He never would have picked her intentionally. The innocent souls of children are harder for him to capture. They are too nimble and flighty and hard to hold.”
“Dougal,” whispered Imogen.
“Yea,” Josiah acknowledged.
“Then, why isn’t Dougal with Margaret if you have her?” questioned Imogen. “Why are you keeping them apart?”
“‘Tis not I who keeps them apart,” admitted the knight. “I found Margaret wandering the grounds searching for her sire soon after she died. I could not find the Marquis in time. His spirit is lost to me.”
“But I’ve seen the Marquis. I saw you look at him that day from your horse. You saw us.” Imogen pointed into the distance where he had watched them from the trees.
“Nay, I saw you. Methought I saw you speaking to someone, but I could not see whom. You say ‘twas the Marquis? You have spoken to him?”
“Yes, spoken to him, touched him.” Imogen tried to hide her blush. The knight was too preoccupied to notice.
“Then mayhap you are the solution betwixt them. You can see Margaret and her sire. ‘Tis you that must join them.”
“Me? The solution?” Imogen shook her head uneasily. “I don’t know about that.”
“You must be the one meant to get them back together. My brother still hunts them. He cannot find either of them. In death, their souls are harder to capture. But soon I fear he will succeed. Each eve he gets closer.”
“What is your brother’s name?” questioned Imogen, wondering if she had heard of him.
“It cannot be uttered. To say his name is to summons him,” whispered the knight.
“You say he still hunts?”
“Yea, m’lady, he does.”
“Can’t you stop him?”
“Nay,” the knight admitted with a mournful toss of his head. “Wouldst that I could. But I did not stop him in life as was my duty. In death he is too strong for me to try.”
“How do you know you were meant to stop him in life?” She saw the pain on his face as he spoke. She wanted to reach out to him but refrained.
“Long ago, this was my family’s holding. My brother made his pact with unholy dark wizards. They gave him power and riches beyond imagination. But as he took his seat of power, the dark ones struck him dead. As payment for that which they bestowed he has pledged his death to bringing them other souls. So long as he feeds their fire with others, they will not take him.” Josiah’s face hardened. “‘Twas within my power in life to stop him. But I loved him too much and missed my one chance. So now ‘tis my destiny to roam the earth, trying in vain to protect others from him. My curse is to see the evil my hesitance caused.”
“Do not say in vain. How could you have known the depths of his heart? You could not have known—”
“I should have seen him for what he was,” the knight said bitterly. “My brother is lost. Now he is a demon who consumes souls.”
Imogen shivered. “Then that is how we stop him. If he can’t make payment, they will come to collect.”
“I have tried. ‘Tis why I intercept the souls of those he kills. ‘Tis how I came across Margaret. There are many spirits lingering here that I have saved. But he is too fast. By the time I find one, he has killed another and taken them away. And each time he kills, he gets faster.”
“And the spirits, they just stay here?” she wondered aloud. “Can’t they move on?”
“Some do, if all they must attend to is done,” he answered. “I believe that Margaret stays because she is searching for her sire. My brother still wants her. Methinks if you help her to find the Marquis they can both move on. So long as no other love is keeping them here, they will be safe from the fires of damnation. It must be why you can see us all.”
“Move on?” she whispered. Her heart hit against her chest in heavy thuds. If Dougal moved on, she would never find him again. Selfishly, she wanted to refuse what she knew the knight to be asking. He wanted her to help him reunite the parent and child.
“Yea, you must help me get them together,” urged the knight. Hope shined in his eyes, though it was a dim happiness compared to the years of evil he had faced and would continue to face. “‘Tis only a small deed, but if we can save them—”
“No, I cannot,” Imogen said through tight lips. She shook her head stiffly, stopping.
Josiah’s eyes narrowed, outraged at her denial. “But—”
“I sent the Marquis away from me,” she muttered, torn between relief and sorrow. She fought her tears. “I cannot see him anymore. I cannot help you.”
“Call him back,” Josiah said with a fierce determination.
“Will that work?” she whispered, trembling at the simple solution. He nodded. Tears burned her nose, threatening to flood her heart in grief.
Do not ask this of me, thought Imogen. She wanted to scream. Dear God, do not make me give him up completely! Do not make the decision mine!
Imogen realized that so long as Dougal was near, there was a chance for them to find a way to be together. She had refused to call out to him for fear that she would discover he was in her imagination and didn’t exist, but he did exist and now she was told she must deny her love for him to save him. The pain choked her, making her limbs go numb with the agony of it. She could not imagine a life without him.
“How long do we have?” she whispered, a coldness coming over her words as she faced what she knew she must. She turned her back to the knight, studying the distance. The mist continued to swirl. As it parted, she heard Margaret’s laughter as the child ran through the garden.
“He must give them a truly good soul about every fifty years when the moon is right. In the mean time, he feeds the fire what souls he can gather—good or bad. He will need the Marquis in a few days by my estimation.” Josiah moved past Imogen, walking the way they had come. Giving a low whistle, he called for his horse. The horse appeared out of the darkness. The destrier stopped to paw the ground.
“Will he be coming after my family next?” whispered Imogen. She thought of Jane in her room. If she didn’t find a way to stop him, Jane could be next. Maybe she, herself, was next.
“I don’t know. I never know until ‘tis happening.”
The knight swung onto the horse. He gave her a curt nod of his head and without another word, took off into the night. The animal thundered down the path. Imogen watched as Josiah leaned over, darting his hand into the mist to grab ahold of Margaret. The girl appeared from the darkness, swinging up into his arms. Seeing Imogen, the girl smiled, nestling into her protector’s embrace. And into the mist
, they disappeared.
* * * *
“Dougal!” called Imogen, running through the halls. “Dougal, come out! I need to speak to you. Please, it is important!”
Imogen received no answer. She searched all over the garden and manor. Dougal was not speaking to her. Slumping against the hallway wall, she slid to the floor. Her head fell into her hands as she buried her face. It was useless.
With a groan, she banged her head back into the wall. Seeing the portraits before her, their dead eyes appearing to watch her, she grimaced. A man in a green tunic caught her attention. His arms were folded decisively over his chest. The portrait was vaguely familiar. Shivering, Imogen crawled to her feet. She did not like the depiction. As she backed away, she kept her eyes on the painted man. He did not move.
Feeling the beginning of a bad headache, she decided to look for Dougal in the morning and wearily crawled into bed. Almost instantly, she was asleep. And while she slept, her dreams brought her no answers as she drifted through a black world of comfortless images.
Chapter Eleven
The smell of hot tea banished the chill of morning from Imogen as she made her way to the dining room. As she opened the door, she thought of how odd it was that she had not been there for quite some time. Since her parents punishment she had dined alone in her room. There was no one in the dining room, but the smell grew stronger as she entered.
Despite her desire to sit and drink a cup of the English blend, she denied herself the luxury as she turned to go to the library. She must find Dougal. Until she made amends with him and helped him, there would be no peace for her. And unless she helped him, there was a great chance the demon knight would get him and send his and Margaret’s souls into eternal darkness. Imogen trembled at the very notion.
Looking around the still library, she took a deep breath. After careful consideration, she determined that if she were to get Dougal to reappear to her, it would surely be from the same place that she bid him away. And the Marquis did seem to favor the library.
Making her way to the window, she turned to face the room. Looking around, she said carefully, “My lord, are you there?”
She got no answer. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes as she said loudly, “Dougal. Come and see me. I must speak to you.”
When she opened her eyes, Imogen saw the dark top of Dougal’s head appear from behind the back of the chair. She sighed loudly in relief. At the noise, Dougal started, spinning up from his chair to look at her.
Imogen was not prepared for the handsomeness of his face. Two weeks was too long a time to be parted from him. However would she manage the rest of her life? Choking on her emotion, she held still.
“Imogen,” he breathed. He moved to her, his arm lifting to touch her. “Are you really here?”
“Yes,” she said calmly. “I have been calling for you. Didn’t you hear me?”
“No, I… what’s wrong?” he demanded. “What has happened? Are you hurt?”
“I am just tired.” She ignored the pain the lie caused her. He kept trying to smile at her, but she would not encourage them. Stiffening her expression, she waited until his face matched hers in hardness. It would not be.
“Then, why have you called me?” he questioned, hopefully.
“I must speak with you. But, first, I have to ask you—” began Imogen.
“Yes,” broke in Dougal eagerly, “anything.”
“You are the Marquis, are you not?”
“Yes,” he said, regretfully. “I am the Marquis of Rothfield, or should I say was the Marquis of Rothfield. I am sure someone else now bears that title.”
“Is your name really Dougal?” She refused to show her emotions before him.
“Yes.” His hand shook, wanting to know if she believed in him enough to let him touch her. He had waited for her to come back, prayed for it. “It is. Formally, I am Lord Dougal Weston. I have a long list of family names between those, but truthfully it has been so long I have forgotten most of them. Dougal Thomas… Anthony Montcalm—”
“Yes, fine.” Imogen waved in distraction. At least he had not lied to her about that. “I quite understand, my lord.”
“Don’t,” he muttered, his eyes darkening with sadness. “Do not call me by such, not now. Call me Dougal.”
“All right,” she said, though she did not say his name. Eyeing him, the proud tilt of his head seemed much more in place when backed by such a title of nobility. And whereas before she found him to be self-possessed, she now realized it was his natural-bred aristocratic nature.
“Did you miss me?” he asked expectantly.
“No,” she lied. Imogen turned her back on him.
Dougal felt as if she had kicked him. He took a deep breath.
She continued, “No more than I would miss the company of a dear friend.”
“Then why are you here?” he inquired, pain making his words sharp.
“I was meant to help you find your daughter,” she answered. “But, I don’t know exactly how to get you two together. And I am not sure you would see each other if I did get you to the same place.”
“Imogen, that is well and good. But first, I must know,” Dougal paused, reaching for her. His hand fell onto her shoulder. Closing his eyes briefly, he sighed in relief. He did not pass through her. Lightly, he touched her. “What about us?”
“We are friends, are we not?” she replied candidly. When she turned back to him, she had her tears under control. She steeled herself against him. “Other than that, there is no us.”
“But, what about—”
“What?” she broke in, knowing she would have to say the words sooner or later. Before she lost her nerve and threw herself into his arms, she said boldly, “You mean us coming together as we did? I suppose it should not have happened. Though it was… pleasant… enough and I do thank you for the lesson. I was emotional afterward and I find it quite embarrassing, really. I was meant to help you find Margaret, not lie to you and myself. I should never have told you I loved you. Thank goodness you were smart enough to realize it and not return the silly sentiment, lest we be in even bigger—”
“Then you don’t love me.”
“No,” she said, glad that it was finally out. She could see he believed her lies. How easy it would be to take them back, but she couldn’t. Reaffirming her words, she whispered, “I don’t love you. I was confused. But now I know what I must do. I will reunite you with your daughter and your spirits will be released from the earth. You’ll be able to move on.”
“And you?”
“What about me?” Imogen shrugged as if it was of no concern. “I will live out my life. My sister Jane is to marry the Colonel and I will marry Edward. He really is the man for me. I have always loved him.”
“Edward?” asked Dougal, seething with jealousy—an emotion he perceived he was not justified in feeling.
“Yes, we are the same. He will take me away from Rothfield.” Imogen stared at him pointedly. “I hate it here. I can see why your wife left it.”
Dougal paled at her deliberate strike. “Who told you of—?”
“It does not matter now,” she said with an annoyed hiss. The sting of his hurt eyes was almost too much to bear. “I only mean to say that I shall be happier elsewhere, just as she was. This country is no place for a woman of fine society. We need the excitement of the city life to… to be alive.”
“No, Imogen, you mustn’t—” began Dougal. He moved as if to touch her again. Imogen artfully dodged his hand and skirted past him.
“It is my life to live,” she stated.
“But, that is what I mean, you mustn’t—”
“I will not discuss it with you. You are dead. You have no possible say in my life. Now tell me how I can help you get back with your daughter.” Imogen lifted her chin defiantly. His face became a blank, emotionless mask. She was glad for it. If he smiled at her all would be lost. His soul would be lost. As she looked at his hardness, her body was cast into anguish, knowing i
t was partly her fault.
“I don’t know,” he stated after great length. He couldn’t abide looking at her face. With her he had felt for the first time, since his before his death, an emotion that was not borne of pain and suffering. With her, he had felt happiness. The emotion was so foreign to him that at first he did not know it. But after she banished him, he knew that only with her could he be whole. Imogen and Margaret were his existence. And Imogen didn’t want him. She didn’t love him. And she still did not understand. Darkly, he asked, “Have you been to the forest?”
“I tried,” she admitted. She was glad to be off the subject of her feelings. “The knight stopped me.”
“The knight?” Dougal asked with mounting alarm.
“You cannot see him. I can,” she replied. “He cannot see you. He has been taking care of Margaret.”
“Imogen, I don’t understand. What has happened?” Dougal forced his feelings aside. He had to focus on finding his daughter. He would have an eternity for self-pity.
“It is too hard to explain,” Imogen said.
“Try.”
“All right,” she said with a sigh, moving to sit on the settee lest she faint. “When Margaret died, Sir Josiah found her. It is his brother, an evil knight, killing everyone. It has something to do with a pact the man made with the devil.”
“And Josiah told you all this?” inquired Dougal skeptically. He had never seen a knight such as she described. But he had heard rumors of the evil that lurked. And he knew that it was an evil that most likely held his daughter.
“Yes and I believe him.” Swallowing, she said, “I have also met Margaret.”
Dougal paled, falling into the chair. He couldn’t speak. He knew that she had seen his daughter, but for her to say the words aloud was too much.
“She is well,” offered Imogen, trying not to think of the child’s animosity towards her father. Seeing his reaction, her words softened. She couldn’t imagine filling the years as he had, endlessly searching. Dougal did not need to know Margaret blamed him for not protecting her. The two would have to work that out later. “She misses you.”
Mists of Midnight Page 16