Lords of Ireland II

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  He smiled, his mouth shaded with a wistful longing for tomorrows that might never be. “I’m almost ready to leave, ladylight.”

  “Aidan, don’t go.” The words slipped out, absurd, futile. “Not tonight.”

  “You know I have to.” He crossed to where she stood, one rein-callused palm sweeping up to cup her cheek with inexpressible tenderness. “There’s no need to worry. This time I’m taking every able-bodied man at Rathcannon with me. I intend to lay a net of them about the place, just to make certain no one can slip away once I arrive there. It’s just a precaution—and God knows I’m probably being overly vigilant. The guest I’ve heard tell of might be long gone—might never have existed at all. The innkeeper might remember nothing. Hell, this might just be another path leading nowhere.”

  “It’s not. You feel it, just as strongly as I do. This strange sense of—of something about to happen. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “Maybe something good will come of tonight, Norah. Maybe I’ll finally be able to make an end to all this.”

  “And maybe this is the beginning of something…” Her voice trailed off, but the mocking voice whispered on, relentless, inside her head.

  Maybe this was the beginning of something hideous, something dark, something careening toward them with the same devastating force as the runaway coach that had sent Delia Kane to her death.

  Aidan’s voice turned gravelly with emotion. “Whatever happens, Norah Kane, I…” Words seemed to hang in the air between them, unspoken, ineffably sweet. Norah’s heart slammed against her ribs, her whole being starved to hear what he was trying to say.

  But after a heartbeat, he caught up her hand, pressed it to his lips in a fierce kiss. And Norah couldn’t shake the intuition that this was the last chance she’d ever have to hear the words Aidan Kane couldn’t squeeze past the knot that betrayal, cynicism, pain, and anger had left in his throat years ago. Her heart ached at the knowledge that her chance might just have slipped through her fingers forever.

  “Norah, whatever happens tonight, I’m so grateful that you came to Rathcannon. Came into my life.”

  “You know I—I’ll take care of Cassandra.”

  “This isn’t about Cassandra,” he cut in, a ragged edge to his voice. “It’s about me, Norah. I thank God for you.”

  He framed her face in his hands, turned it up to his own hungry, anguished gaze. “Ladylight, if… when I come back, can we begin again? When all this is settled, will you let me be a husband to you, believe in… in miracles?”

  Tears spilled from her eyes. “Aidan, you are my miracle. I love you.”

  He kissed her, long and tender, hungry and hurting, until his lips seemed to melt into hers, his passions and pain.

  Then he broke away, turning to take up the pistols lying on the bed. Jaw tight, eyes like steel, he jammed the weapons into the waistband of his breeches.

  Norah grabbed his coat and helped him put it on, cherishing the task of smoothing it over those strong shoulders. And she battled the urge to fling herself against the burgundy fabric, dampen it with tears that would only make it harder for him to leave.

  Instead, she took his hand, determined to touch him for as long as she could, drive back her cold fear with the warmth in his grasp.

  She wanted to prolong these final moments alone, wanted time to drive back the foreboding, label it a ridiculous bit of superstition worthy of the gypsy women at the fair.

  But how could she dismiss the unease pulsing through her? She could find no comfort when her thoughts only reminded her of Aidan, standing with his hand clamped in the crabbed one of the old crone, mysticism wreathing her ageless face as she predicted doom, suffering, a battle waged for his soul.

  Tonight, a voice whispered inside Norah’s breast. Tonight the battle would be won or lost. She was certain of it.

  As they descended the stairs, Norah was dismayed to see an elegant figure lounging in a gilt chair in the entryway, obviously waiting for Aidan to descend. Richard Farnsworth’s usually lazy eyes were glinting with a latent excitement, his mouth curved in a grin brushed with eagerness and anticipation.

  “All ready to go out and tilt with dragons?” he inquired, rising stiffly to his feet.

  “I suppose you could say that.”

  “I just wanted to speak with you before you left. Set things straight between us, don’t you know.”

  “Farnsworth, at the moment, I don’t give a damn about anything but finding whoever is stalking my daughter and my wife,” Aidan snapped, signaling a footman for his cloak.

  “Ah, so I am beneath the exalted notice of a hero, is that it? Of no consequence.”

  “Richard, please!” Norah burst out, angry at his sudden resurgence of selfishness. “Aidan is half crazed with worry, setting out to track down this… this villain.”

  “I see. Well then, sister mine, I’ll not bother to keep your bold husband from his quest a moment longer, except to tell him this: I intend to prove myself to you, brother-in-law, prove myself a worthy… player as you cast the dice tonight.”

  “It’s not a game, Farnsworth.”

  “Indeed? Life is a game. One grand wager we make with the devil. I wonder who will win this time.”

  With an oath, Aidan snatched his cloak from the footman and swirled it about his shoulders. Then, without another word, he stormed out into the night.

  Norah stared after him, hurting, furious. She wheeled on her stepbrother. “Why, Richard? Why bait him when you know he’s half mad with worry? When he’s going out to face whoever this—this demon is who is tormenting him?”

  “Why torment the heroic Sir Aidan Kane?” Farnsworth demanded, something disturbing sparking in his eyes. “Because he dares to act like a noble fool, when in reality he’s as vile a libertine as ever breathed. But he fooled you, didn’t he, my mousy, spinsterish little sister? No doubt on the night he breached your maidenhead.”

  She gaped at her stepbrother. Her cheeks flamed, fury and confusion clenching in the pit of her stomach. “I thought this marriage is what you wanted for me.”

  “It was, but I never expected that you would—” He stopped, his face twisting, a curse low in his throat.

  “Richard, what is the matter with you?”

  “Nothing is the matter. I was in sad need of diversion when I left London. And your esteemed, rather beleaguered husband has provided me with enough to last me for a good long time. However, I find I’m becoming quite bored with rusticating in the wilds of Ireland. Perhaps it is time I departed.”

  Norah felt a vague sting of shame at the fact that she was glad her brother was ending his visit. Leaving Rathcannon behind, and the all too impressionable Cassandra, who had fallen prey to his charms. Hopefully he would take with him the odd sense of strain that had sprung up between him and Norah as well. “Richard—”

  “Don’t play the grieving sister, please,” he said, his voice almost wounded. “I know you will be glad to see the last of me. Besides, Kane’s daughter has been growing rather fond of me, hasn’t she? Perhaps a little too fond for your liking?”

  “Richard, she’s a child.”

  “Some man will soon be making a woman of her, I can guarantee it. She’s no pale fruit to go overripe on the spinster’s vine. And by the time you bolster her considerable beauty with her doting papa’s fortune… I’m quite sure she will have a raft of men slavering over her hand.”

  “Richard, stop it!” This nastiness was all too reminiscent of Winston Farnsworth’s scathing cruelty. It appalled Norah. Sickened her. The anger in Richard left her confused and unnerved. She lifted her chin with a sense of pride Aidan had given her. “I think it’s time that you did leave.”

  Farnsworth’s mouth ticked up, his eyes glinting, dark. “Time? Yes. I think it is time indeed. After all, I’ve accomplished what I came here for.”

  “And what was that?”

  “Why, to see you happy, sister dear. To share in your joy. However, there is one last obligation I must keep. I had
promised Cassandra quite faithfully that I would take her out and show her the constellations tonight. She’s developed quite a fascination for them. Or perhaps it’s walking in the moonlight with a gentleman that intrigues her. After all, she is her papa’s daughter.”

  “There is absolutely no chance I will allow you to take Cassandra walking after all you have said.”

  She expected argument, that stubbornness that so often sparked in her stepbrother’s eyes whenever he was foiled in his desires. She was stunned when he merely sketched her a mocking bow.

  “Of course, your wishes must be obeyed, mustn’t they, little sister? You’re not a cast-off waif anymore. You are mistress of Rathcannon.” He laughed. A laugh that made her nerves twitch.

  With that, he strode up the stairway, leaving Norah shaken at the strange glimmer that hardened his smile.

  “Richard! Richard, stop!” How many times had she seen him lash out thus, when he was thwarted or angry? Striking whoever had crossed him at their most vulnerable point? He was just upset about Aidan’s dismissing him, just out of sorts because of what he saw as Norah’s defection in loyalty to her husband. It was absurd, this withering unease that shot through her.

  This was Richard—her smiling stepbrother, who had given her Aidan’s letter, bought her the beautiful trousseau so she could “bewitch” her husband. Richard who had defied his father’s wrath to aid her, and who had been so kind to Cassandra that the girl was all but dazzled.

  He was spoiled, self-centered, maybe a trifle heedless. But he was her stepbrother. Her stepbrother. Not something dangerous lurking in the night.

  She went to her bedchamber to wash her face and calm her nerves. As soon as she collected herself, she would go to him, try to find out what had made him say things that were so cruel. Surely there must be some reason. She must be able to make some sort of peace.

  Yet the oddest feeling stole through her, cloying as hot summer rain.

  She would not feel safe until Richard was gone.

  Silence dampened the corridor that led to the room Richard had been given the night he’d arrived so unexpectedly, filled with worry and self-blame. Norah made her way toward his bedchamber, a dozen half-formed apologies on her lips, warring with an odd feeling of mistrust.

  She brought herself up sharply. No matter what Richard had said, he was the only real family she had left. The mother she’d known and loved as a tiny child had been obliterated by Winston Farnsworth years before. Corabeth Linton Farnsworth, in those early days of her second marriage, had been forced to sacrifice her daughter to the cold scorn of the man who had offered her security and wealth. Norah’s stepfather had chosen to loathe her as the living evidence that his woman had spent nights in another man’s bed. Only Richard had offered her the smallest sense of worth. Only Richard had acted as if the dark-eyed, sad little girl existed.

  Despite this strange foreboding she was experiencing, she couldn’t let her stepbrother go off to England carrying memories of her anger with him.

  She needed to try to understand what had driven him to be so cutting to Aidan in the moments before her husband had ridden out to face his phantom foe. She needed to know why he had lashed out at her with such savagery.

  At the doorway, she paused and knocked.

  Silence.

  Regret filled her. It was barely an hour since he’d left her in the entryway. Surely he couldn’t have swept together his belongings and left before she could say goodbye?

  She pushed open the door, half expecting him to be in the chamber, sulking. But as she entered the room, she saw none of the mad clutter that had always heralded Richard’s presence. The few clothes he’d packed for this impromptu journey were nowhere to be seen; even his elegant portmanteau was gone.

  All that was left was a slim leather volume lying on the bed, a creamy square of vellum marking a page somewhere in the middle.

  Kane was scrawled across the top of the missive in Richard’s careless hand.

  Norah crossed to the bed, tears welling in her eyes at the certainty that she was too late. Relief warred with regret. Her stepbrother was already gone. Yet why had he written to Aidan? Why not spew out an angry letter to her?

  Perplexed, she picked up the missive and hesitated for a moment. No, the letter was not for her. But the book… She reached out one hand, opening the volume to the marked page, her gaze tracing down the scribed lines.

  Three Wagers to assure the Destruction of Aidan Kane…

  Bile rose in Norah’s throat, and she clung to the book with nerveless fingers.

  No. It was impossible. Unthinkable. Why would Richard do such a thing? Richard, her feckless stepbrother with his careless kindnesses, his thoughtless wagers on everything from how long it took his friend to tie his cravat to how many warts would spring up on Lord Constable’s nose. The stepbrother she knew couldn’t possibly be involved in this vile set of wagers. Unless she didn’t really know Richard at all.

  She trembled, remembering the odd glint in Richard’s eye… almost as if she’d betrayed him.

  She skimmed the hellish lines, the truth searing into her with the force of a pistol ball. She had been the tool her brother had used. To get into Aidan’s house. To gain access to Aidan’s daughter.

  She alone was the weapon that had given Richard the power to destroy the man she loved.

  But why? Why did Richard hate Aidan? What bond could there be between the scapegrace brother she had known not at all and the man who had become her whole life?

  She ripped the letter open, the foreboding that had haunted her seeming to crush the breath from her lungs as she read:

  Kane,

  By the time you read this, your daughter will be at my mercy—my wife, initiated into the joys of the bridal bed. Of course, you will try to find us, with some misguided notion of saving her from my clutches. I am cherishing that knowledge. For when you do ride in to face me, I will kill you, before your daughter’s eyes.

  And as you’re on your way to hell, you will know that I will spend the rest of my life making her pay for your sins.

  You will be helpless, Kane.

  How does it feel to be helpless?

  Norah pressed her hand against her mouth, her stomach threatening to betray her. Was Richard really capable brutalizing an innocent child… for what? Some crazed wager? No. There were undercurrents in this letter far more grim, some hidden poison she didn’t understand.

  She caught her lip between her teeth. An hour had passed since she’d faced Richard in the entryway: Was it possible he had already lured the girl away?

  She raced through the castle, calling Cassandra’s name, desperate, so desperate, all but slamming into little Noddie, the servant’s arms filled with fresh sheets.

  “Noddie, have you seen Miss Cassandra?”

  “She stepped out with Mr. Farnsworth.”

  Norah’s head swam. “When? Where were they going?”

  “I don’t know. It was when I was tidying up the study. Maybe an hour ago.”

  An hour ago…

  They could be anywhere! By now Cassandra must know something was amiss. She must be reliving the terror that had scarred her childhood, being torn away from the father she adored.

  And Richard had ridden off leaving this note behind. Even if he had guessed Norah might find it, he was smug in his belief that she would be too weak to follow.

  “No!” Norah breathed aloud, envisioning Aidan riding in the opposite direction as his daughter was being taken from him. Aidan returning too late to aid Cassandra, discovering this cruel note about his child’s peril. Aidan losing his daughter to such a hellish fate forever.

  He would never forgive himself: Norah knew this with sick certainty. He would never forgive her.

  She had to try to find Richard and Cassandra, had to stop her stepbrother from doing this terrible thing. But how? Where would she even begin to search?

  Sick futility drowned her, but she shoved past the big-eyed servant and ran to Aidan’s room. S
he dug through his clothespress, dragging on a pair of breeches, a flowing white shirt scented of sandalwood and sea spray, that wild, primal mixture that was Aidan’s own. Then she raced into his study, where a brace of dueling pistols gleamed in a polished case. They felt huge in her hand, unwieldy.

  “My lady?”

  Rose’s query made Norah jump, wheel, the girl’s astonished gaze snagging Norah’s. “My lady, what’s amiss?”

  “My stepbrother has taken Cassandra.”

  The Irish girl’s face went pale, her eyes bobbing out. “What?”

  “He’s stolen her away to elope with her, I think. I don’t know. It’s insane.”

  The girl looked sick, stricken. But Norah’s veins iced as she realized Rose did not look surprised.

  “I should have told you…” Tears brimmed in the girl’s eyes, her face ashen. “But you were so worried about the master and all. And besides, even if I did tell, I wasn’t sure you’d believe me. Feared you’d turn me out of Rathcannon, a servant sayin’ such things about your brother, and—and now if anything happens to Miss Cassandra I’ll never forgive myself.”

  “What are you babbling about?”

  “He was tryin’ to get beneath my skirts the first night he came here, Mr. Farnsworth was.”

  Norah remembered with sickening clarity the conversation she’d had with the girl earlier, the indecision in her eyes, the nervousness.

  “Please, my lady, you must believe me. I never would’ve thought the beast would hurt Miss Cassandra! What are we going to do? Everybody except Calvy is with Sir Aidan. The rest of the men are out chasin’ the horses. I was just comin’ to tell you Gibbon sent word someone let ’em out from the stable yard an hour or so past. The whole lot of Sir Aidan’s prize horses racing to the wind. Sweet Mary, you don’t think—think yer brother did that a-purpose?”

  Norah said nothing, feeling the web of Richard’s deception tightening.

  “I can go after the menfolk,” Rose offered. “Try to find them.”

  “By then it might be too late. I’m going after Cassandra myself.”

  “No, my lady, you cannot! If Mr. Farnsworth is evil enough to take Miss Cass, there’s no telling what he might do to you.”