Lords of Ireland II

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  He will guard her every bit as carefully as he has guarded me. Norah’s words echoed in Aidan’s mind.

  That was what he was afraid of.

  No, blast it, Norah was right: He needed all the help he could get at the moment. Every pair of eyes to keep watch, every set of hands to defend. He needed every mind sharp enough to help him discover a foe so cunning it terrified him.

  Much as Aidan disliked the elegant fop who was Norah’s brother, the truth was that Norah had affection for him and, what’s more, believed in him with the same blind trust she had offered to Aidan himself.

  Aidan had spent the years since his marriage to Delia garbing himself in doubt and distrust and cynicism every morning the way he did a fresh cravat. The wariness of a hunted animal had lived inside him so long, he’d nearly missed the treasure that was Norah. Wasn’t it time to believe in someone? Wasn’t it time to believe in her?

  “Kane?” Farnsworth paced toward him, his gaze earnest. “When your daughter is with me, she’ll be as safe as if she were clasped to her mother’s own breast.”

  The words dug deep into Aidan’s most secret fears. Farnsworth couldn’t know… couldn’t possibly guess that such a comparison would rake across his nerves like an assassin’s knife.

  Aidan brought himself up sharply. No, the only way to assure Cassandra’s safety was to begin his hunt, not stand here, bandying words with some idiot English fool.

  “I have business to attend to now,” Aidan said roughly.

  “Of course,” Farnsworth said, straightening his cravat. “You must carry on with your search. But before you leave, let me reassure you of this: You may hold me personally responsible for anything that happens to your daughter from this moment on.”

  Aidan barely suppressed the sarcastic twisting of his lips. The day he was rash enough to entrust Cassandra to someone like Richard Farnsworth was the day the earth would crumble into the sea. The bastard was there as entertainment, a mindless distraction for both Norah and Cassandra. That was all.

  “I’ll not lay a burden of responsibility quite that heavy upon you, Farnsworth.”

  Those strange eyes clung to Aidan’s for a heartbeat, something unguarded in them for just a breath of time. Then it vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving nothing but bored arrogance, affable foolery. “I promise you, Sir Aidan: By the time I leave Rathcannon, you will know exactly how far you can trust me.”

  Oddly unsettled, Aidan turned and walked out of the room, away from Norah’s pleading gaze and Cassandra’s excited one. Away from the memories Farnsworth’s words had spawned, the rattle of coach wheels, the lash of thunder, the sound of Cassandra screaming from her mother’s arms.

  Laughter rippled up to the open window where Norah stood, sunshine streaming down to set the stable yard a-glitter. She leaned out into the fresh air, peering down at a scene as pastoral as a Gainsborough painting: serene skies, banks of flowers, and a golden-tressed girl in rose-colored skirts who was braiding her pony’s cream mane. And delighting in her guardian knight who lay against a backdrop of lush green grass, weaving her a crown of meadow flowers.

  From the moment of his arrival, Richard had scarcely left Cassandra’s side, watching over her in a way that had touched Norah deeply. He’d tended Cassandra with a seriousness of purpose that had made Norah hope that her scapegrace stepbrother might finally be exchanging the posturing and affectations of the ton for something more wholesome.

  Richard had been so solicitous when he’d come to her alone, saying that he wanted to make certain Norah could support her new husband and care for him during this trial. That unselfish emotion was the reason he’d been so attentive to Aidan Kane’s daughter. It was the least he could do, Richard had insisted, after being such an incompetent bumbler when Norah had needed him before.

  Norah would have liked nothing more than to help Aidan defeat this foe who darted from the shadows, then melted away.

  But there was no room for her in Aidan’s private hell. There was no room for her in his arms, in his bed. It was as if the mere sight of her or of Cassandra poured acid over wounds.

  He might have been some hero of old, locked in battle with the dragon sent to destroy them, and until that dragon was defeated he felt unworthy to touch the hems of their gowns.

  Not so much as a whisper had come from Aidan’s foe in the week since Richard’s arrival. It was as if Aidan’s enemy knew the agonies Aidan was suffering, as if this faceless adversary was enjoying that pain before closing in for the kill. Norah could almost feel vengeful eyes watching them and feel the cold fingertips reaching out.

  This ominous quiet was nerve-shattering, an eerie calm before a tempest broke. Norah felt as if Aidan were drowning and she couldn’t reach his hand.

  She shivered, remembering Aidan’s bitter voice: The only way a Kane could ever get into heaven is to steal the keys. At the moment she would have gladly stolen them from St. Peter’s own hand if by doing so she could spare Aidan pain.

  But there was no escape from the darkness stalking Rathcannon. There was no haven to retreat to. Only uncertainty.

  “Richard! Is that for me?” Cassandra’s delighted cry drifted through the window on the blossom-scented air, shaking Norah from her troubled thoughts. She looked up to see her stepbrother unfold his lanky frame, only the slightest hint of his limp still evident, as he made his way to Cassandra’s side and perched the crown on her head.

  Norah wondered how often Aidan had twined blossoms or ribbons in his daughter’s hair, and her heart ached for the man locked away in his study, mounting a campaign to rival any general’s.

  She had been alone for most of her life, yet she had never understood the depths loneliness could reach until now.

  “My lady?”

  Rose poked her head into the drawing room. Ever since the night Aidan had ridden out to meet Gilpatrick, the girl had been more devoted than ever, her loyalty fanned because Aidan had forgiven her for her transgressions. Not only forgiven her, but thanked her for her honesty in sending him to the Hill of Night Voices.

  “I was wonderin’ if I could—could speak frank with you about—” The girl stopped, worry creasing her brow. “You look worn to a shade. Both you and the master.” Rose twisted her apron about chapped fingers.

  “I’m fine. Thank you for your concern. What was it you needed to ask me about?”

  “It’s nothing,” the girl answered too quickly, lowering her eyes.

  “You came here to ask me something, Rose,” Norah said, too weary to make more of an attempt to draw it out of the girl.

  The girl’s cheeks flushed. “It’s just that Mrs. Cadagon says she’s goin’ to march you an’ Sir Aidan into dinner at gunpoint tonight if she has to. I think I’ll help her. You both need somethin’ to eat, an’ some sleep, if you’ll pardon me saying so. Those men who wanted to kidnap Miss Cassandra won’t have t’ trouble themselves if y’ keep this up. The both of you’ll be nothing but starved skeletons, an’ the villain’ll be able t’ walk in the front door an’ blow you out of his way with a puff o’ wind.”

  Norah tried to smile. Failed. “Tell Mrs. Cadagon she’s right. I’ll see to it that Sir Aidan is at the table myself.”

  Rose cast her a respectful smile. “You’re a fine one, my lady. Gibbon and the Cadagons, Calvy an’ me, we all of us think so.”

  Acceptance. Affection. Norah’s throat constricted at such precious gifts.

  “Ye’re the best thing ‘at ever happened t’ Sir Aidan and t’ Miss Cassandra. ’Tis a pure miracle you wound up on their doorstep.”

  A miracle, Norah echoed. She thought of the bright, blue-eyed girl amusing herself with her pony, the dark-haired, haggard man tearing himself to shreds over the danger that was threatening his daughter. And the danger to Norah herself, she thought, remembering the desperate expression that haunted his eyes whenever they met hers.

  It truly was a miracle that had delivered her into the arms of a man she loved, gave her a home, a daughter, a futur
e filled with hope that someday she might win Aidan Kane’s wary heart.

  Norah’s gaze strayed out to where Cassandra stood in the sunshine, Richard bending close. His fingertips were brushing her cheek, as if he were trying to capture a stray lash caught in one of Cassandra’s expressive blue eyes.

  Norah’s heart squeezed. Was it possible that fate would grant yet another miracle to those who lived at Rathcannon? She prayed with all her might that the angels Aidan scorned would help him find the monsters who were stalking his daughter, help him destroy them before Aidan destroyed himself.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The dining room was redolent with the mouth-watering scents of the most delicious food that Cook could conjure up, a veritable repast spread before Aidan on glistening china. All of his favorites had been laid out to tempt him, as if he were a much-indulged boy just recovered from a nursery bout of fever.

  It touched him, the solicitousness of the servants clustered around: footmen whose eyes glinted with respect and affection, Mrs. Cadagon bustling about like a mother hen whose hatchling had just been wrested from a fox’s mouth. The staff of Rathcannon had rallied about him with a loyalty that astonished Aidan. It was if they all had faith in his power to avert the calamity that had careened down on the castle the night of the marriage ball.

  Most sobering of all was confronting Norah’s face across the table. Seeing her, really seeing her, perhaps for the first time since he’d gone to her bedchamber a week before and poured out secrets he had kept locked inside him for so long.

  Misery etched deep into the fragile curves of her face, tension tugging at that soft mouth he ached to kiss even now. And her eyes were filled with such empathy for his anguish and faith in his strength, those emotions overlaid by a love painful in its intensity.

  In the end, it had been her anxiety that had made Aidan agree to join her and Cassandra and that brainless brother of Norah’s for the first decent meal he’d eaten in a week.

  Yes, it had been to ease Norah’s worry that he paused in his mad search. That, and something else.

  The first glimmers of hope in this morass of confusion. A clue that might lead to Aidan’s enemy.

  He hazarded a glance across the table’s massive surface, to where Cassandra was giggling over some jest Richard Farnsworth had just drawled. Aidan knew he should be pleased that the English fop had managed to distract Cassandra from the danger.

  Yet an odd sense of irritation stirred in him as well. Couldn’t Cass see through the slippery fop? Maybe Norah was right. He had overprotected the girl. She was trusting as a spring lamb. And the hard truth was that Farnsworth was a slick-tongued fool, unscrupulous about flirting with a child; but Cassandra was likely to encounter far more dangerous men in a London ballroom. If Cassandra couldn’t see through Farnsworth’s feeble guises, how could he hope she’d be able to discern true evil when she faced it? Greedy fortune hunters, bastards who made a game out of fresh young beauties like Cassandra?

  He shuddered inwardly, his mind straying to the three wagers Gilpatrick had spoken of, the tension tightening inside him.

  “Aidan?” Norah’s voice made him look toward her, and his breath snagged at the beauty in her uncertain smile. “I just thought I would remind you that the object to your left is a fork. You use it to scoop up the food and put it in your mouth.”

  Aidan grimaced. He’d felt off balance all day, a little woozy from lack of food and lack of sleep. He’d come into the dining room determined to eat so that he could stay on his horse’s back when he set out later that evening to corner his quarry.

  He grabbed up the utensil and took a bite of roast beef. Norah rewarded him with a smile.

  “So, Sir Aidan, any new developments in your quest today?” Farnsworth queried, popping a sugarplum into his mouth. “You know, any secret codes unraveled, villain lairs discovered?”

  “As a matter of fact, I may have unearthed something at last.”

  “Oh, Aidan!” Relief flooded Norah’s features.

  Aidan held up one hand in warning. “Don’t get too excited. I’m not certain it will amount to anything. I can’t even begin to tell you how many snippets of information I’ve traced to their source, only to come back empty-handed.”

  “But you don’t think that will happen this time,” Norah insisted. “I can see it in your face.”

  “Time will tell.”

  “How much time, Father?” Cassandra asked.

  “I’m not certain. Tonight, if all goes well.”

  “So you should have the villain cornered tonight?” Farnsworth shifted in his chair, then rose to stretch his legs for a moment. “Excellent, Kane. God knows it’s taken long enough.”

  There was something beneath the layer of bored arrogance that set Aidan’s teeth on edge, a twisted sting of pleasure caused, no doubt, by Aidan’s own pointed criticisms about how Farnsworth had cared for Norah.

  Aidan glared at the young man.

  Farnsworth flashed him a guileless smile. “Pardon my ill manners,” he said, patting his left breech leg. “Got a stiff leg that picks the most inopportune times to kick up a fuss. Blasted thing’s been aching like the very devil today. Must mean it’s going to rain.”

  “What happened to your leg?” Cassandra asked with big-eyed worship. “I mean, I’ve been wondering what happened but thought it was rude to ask. Were you injured in the war? My pa—father was a hero on the Peninsula.”

  “No fate quite so glorious for me, I’m afraid. I was racing about on a slick road with a green-broke team of horses and an ill-sprung carriage when it overturned. Lay on a cliffside for three full days before some fisherman found me. Knew I was heading for the devil of a spill before the thing crashed, but I had my whole fortune riding on it, don’t you know. Ah, Kane, it’s blasted embarrassing, isn’t it? The scrapes a man can get into when he’s young and foolish?”

  “You must have been terribly hurt,” Cassandra commiserated, nibbling on a sugary roll. “How awful for you!”

  “I’m certain Richard would be delighted to tell you about his brush with death later,” Norah interrupted. “I want to hear what your father has discovered.”

  “I’ve sent riders to every inn, every cottage, every hostelry within a day’s ride of the castle, asking if anyone has seen something odd or suspicious. An hour ago Sean O’Day came back with the news that the innkeeper at a most disreputable place had a rather distinguished guest the night of the ball.”

  “Is that so? I don’t mean to burst your hopes, Kane, but have you considered that the poor guest might have had his carriage break down? His horse come up lame? Or he could just have an odd taste for more rustic accommodations—a delight in bedbugs and the like.”

  Cassandra giggled, and Farnsworth flashed her a wink that set Aidan’s teeth on edge. As if suddenly aware of Aidan’s glowering, Farnsworth flushed.

  “Forgive me, old man. I don’t mean to make light of your discovery.” He adopted a mien of rapt attention. “Where, pray tell, is this nefarious innkeeper who entertained a mysterious guest?”

  “The past three days the innkeeper has been gone. From all accounts, he’s been visiting his daughter who just presented him with a grandson. I’ve tried my damnedest to track the blasted girl down, but to no avail. Still, the man is to return to his establishment late tonight. I intend to be there when he does.”

  “Wondrous exciting news. And what exactly is this place called? This den of iniquity you’ve discovered?”

  “The Thorned Paw Inn.”

  Farnsworth’s lips tightened over his teeth. “This guest must’ve been more than a little insane, as even the name of the establishment reeks of discomfort. Perhaps—just perhaps—you have stumbled onto something after all.” Farnsworth’s brow darkened. “But have a care, Kane. There is an ill wind blowing tonight. You may well be dicing with a devil more dangerous than you know.”

  Storm winds wound black clouds through the tangled branches, the limbs beating out the rhythm of a macabre da
nce. Foreboding crackled in the air, sizzling into Norah with every flash of lightning.

  Strange. She could only remember experiencing this breath-stealing, nerve-wracking sensation once before. A feeling as if the veil between the present and the future had thinned, hazy images of disaster dancing inside her mind.

  She had lost her father that night. It had changed her in one ruthless sweep into a sad little ghost, certain that if she had pleaded with her papa not to go out that night, he would have lived.

  Yet the loss she felt lurking in the shadows tonight was even more terrifying than that childhood terror. The menace that circled Rathcannon was far more cunning than the fever that had killed her father.

  There is an ill wind blowing tonight, Richard had cautioned.

  And she knew, with a cold certainty, that he was right.

  She could sense a palpable presence in the air. And from the moment she had gazed across the dining table into Aidan’s eyes, she knew he sensed it too.

  Some slight discord sounded within the castle walls, like invisible fingers plucking at sleeves to give warning.

  Norah went to the doorway joining Aidan’s chamber with her own, the panel half open, the sounds of Aidan beyond it beckoning her. As she shoved the door open wider, her eyes took in broad shoulders flexing as he jammed the tails of his shirt into the waistband of a pair of doeskin riding breeches.

  A burgundy-hued jacket lay on the bed, while a brace of pistols gleamed beside it, blue-black glimmers of light skating evilly up the barrels.

  “Aidan?” She said, and he turned toward her. The handsome planes of his face were burnished with determination, and with an aching sense of loss, as if somehow he knew, sensed… what? That the fates would demand some sacrifice tonight? There could be no question that he was willing to offer himself up, in his daughter’s place, in Norah’s place.