Dark Temptation

by CHASE, ALLISON

  Nathaniel regarded him only briefly, exhibiting not the slightest concern about the fate of the weapon. ‘‘Roses. Little roses.’’

  ‘‘My God,’’ Chad whispered past his astonishment. ‘‘You know her.’’

  An explosion shook the deck beneath Sophie, and the tender spot at the back of her head seemed to split into a thousand piercing shards. The voices fell silent, leaving only the wind and surf and the creaking of the boat. A crushing dread threatened to choke her.

  Chad. His voice had been among the others. Now there was nothing but the menacing echo of what must have been a gunshot. Dear God, had he been hit?

  Despair spread through her at the thought of never again beholding his face, or putting her arms around him and beginning the process of forgiveness and healing. Of living the rest of her life burdened by the guilt of an unspoken truth: that no matter what he had done she simply but wholeheartedly loved him.

  It was a burden she could not bear. With teeth clamped and perspiration dripping down her face, she fought past the physical pain and paralyzing fear. Sliding across the deck until she could reach up and clutch the gunwale, she pulled herself to a sitting position and peered over the side.

  The beach spanning the rocky inlet stretched only yards away. She could almost have reached out and scooped pebbles from the shoreline. Boulders dotted the water, some thrusting above the waves, others like crouching beasts just beneath the surface. Kellyn was making her way from the boat to the shore, using the rocks as stepping-stones. The rapier swung back and forth in her hand. Her silk skirts billowed like wind-filled sails, blocking a portion of Sophie’s view. Where was Chad?

  At a scraping behind her, she twisted around. The Irishman straddled the deck, propping an oar against a rock to stabilize the boat.

  She clenched her fists. ‘‘What do you want? Why are you doing this?’’

  ‘‘Because you and the earl wouldn’t be put off, not even when I said I’d go to Mullion to alert the authorities.’’ Malice flashed in Grady’s blue eyes. ‘‘This is your own fault for meddling in matters that were none of yer business. Our secret’s out now and we need to get away. The authorities won’t dare fire on our ship, not with Cornelius St. Clair’s granddaughter on board.’’

  ‘‘What ship?’’ Sophie glanced at the horizon, where the sight of a waiting clipper made her stomach lurch. ‘‘You’re both mad.’’

  Grady jerked the oar as if to strike her with it, before returning his attention to holding the boat steady. The utter change in his countenance raised a chill in her. The seemingly compassionate man she had met outside the Stormy Gull had vanished, leaving behind someone unrecognizable, inhuman, beyond reason.

  Someone evil, like Kellyn.

  Sophie’s gaze shot toward the beach. Kellyn leaped into the shallows, soaking her boots and hems as she waded to shore. Suddenly Chad moved into Sophie’s line of sight, and she felt a burst of elation. He was alive, standing next to Nathanial near the mouth of the cave. Their backs were to the water. Kellyn strode up onto the beach, the espada ropera extended before her like a petrified serpent.

  ‘‘Chad!’’ Sophie screamed in warning.

  He whirled. Even before he seemed to see Kellyn, his gaze locked with Sophie’s. Across the distance she felt herself drowning in the emotion she saw blazing in his amber eyes, in the fierceness of the promise conveyed by his determined features: he would die before letting harm come to her.

  ‘‘No. Oh, please, no.’’ A second warning rose inside her, but before she uttered it his attention shifted. His arm swung up in front of him, hand curled around a pistol. The sight of it brought Kellyn to an abrupt halt several yards shy of him. She threw back her head and let go a bark of laughter.

  ‘‘It’s been you all along,’’ Sophie heard Chad say. ‘‘You and Grady. The smuggling, the murders . . .’’

  Kellyn raised the sword and dipped a curtsy. ‘‘Surprised? Never imagined your orders could be coming from a woman, did you?’’

  ‘‘I believe there are more descriptive words for the likes of you.’’ The arm holding the pistol stiffened to full length. Chad braced his feet as if preparing to shoot.

  Kellyn tossed her vivid hair. ‘‘You won’t do it.’’

  ‘‘Care to wager on it?’’

  ‘‘You have one chance, my friend.’’ Kellyn raised her arms out to her sides. ‘‘At such close range you can’t help but hit me, unless of course that knight-errant conscience of yours sends the bullet astray. Mustn’t hurt a woman, after all.’’

  ‘‘Try me.’’

  ‘‘And when you miss, you’ll have to stop and reload. During which time I’ll run you through. So then . . . is it a wager? Winner takes all. Your beloved Sophie against my favorite sword.’’

  ‘‘Your sword?’’ Sophie heard the click as Chad cocked the pistol. She waited for the report, but it didn’t come.

  Her stomach gave a sickening twist as she realized the truth of Kellyn’s words. In all likelihood Chad wouldn’t pull the trigger, would not be able to kill in cold blood, no matter how deserving of death Kellyn might be.

  He was simply not that sort of man. And because of that there was a good chance he would not survive. His father’s spirit had tried to explain this to her. Had tried to make her understand that without her to fight for, Chad might give in too easily and be killed.

  She had to get to shore.

  Looking behind her she spotted the second oar lying across the deck. She inched toward it. . . .

  ‘‘No, you don’t.’’ Grady swung the oar in his hands out of the water. Dripping, it arced toward her. Instinct sent her hands up in front of her, but instead of merely deflecting the blow, by some miracle her fingers closed around the oak shaft. Using all her weight and strength, she gave a yank that thrust Grady off balance.

  The boat listed, and a wave poured over the gunwale. Grady’s feet slid out from under him. As he tried to break his fall with his hands, he lost his grip on the oar. Sophie wasted no time in turning it, lifting it in the air and bringing the flat of the paddle down on the mariner’s head. He keeled over onto the deck with a thud.

  ‘‘Oh . . . dear God,’’ she whispered, regarding Grady’s limp form and comprehending Chad’s reluctance to fire his pistol. ‘‘I hope I haven’t killed you.’’ She studied him long enough to see that he was breathing, that no blood stained the deck beneath his head. A realization struck her: surely she could not have overpowered the man on her own; help must have come from beyond, from a source she hadn’t believed existed until today. ‘‘Thank you, Lord Wycliffe,’’ she whispered.

  The sea now commanded the dinghy, propelling it into a languid spin. The waves thrust it landward, then tugged it seaward as the water receded. The hull shook as the boat struck the rocks. Looking over the side, she judged the water to be over her head, the waves certainly so. Her brocade traveling outfit would weigh her down if she attempted to swim.

  She contemplated reaching for the other oar, slipping both into their brackets and attempting to row, but each instant she hesitated sent her farther from the beach. Besides, she had never rowed a boat before. In a snap decision she drove the paddle she held into the water and wedged it into a gap between the boulders. She held on tight, struggling to anchor the dinghy against the tide.

  She peered to the shore. Chad and Kellyn faced each other, locked in a battle of taunts. Having moved down off the rocks and onto the beach, they circled each other slowly, feet alternately crunching over the pebbles and splashing in the wavelets.

  ‘‘I thought we were friends, you and I,’’ Chad said, his voice raised above the roar of the surf. He sidestepped out of the water. ‘‘Could you slice into me so easily?’’

  ‘‘As though you were butter.’’ Leaning, Kellyn extended the tip of her sword and swiped playfully at Chad’s shirtfront. ‘‘I wonder, though. Would you die? I put enough nightshade into your brandy yesterday to bring down an ox. First into your cup, and then into the bottle on
ce I realized no one else was likely to drink from it. Didn’t see the point of killing off everyone at once.’’

  ‘‘Then the Gordons’ barn should be falling over dead any moment.’’ The sword point drifted closer again, and he tapped it aside with the barrel of his pistol. ‘‘I’m afraid I smashed your bottle against the wall in a fit of frustration.’’

  ‘‘Such a fiery temper, darling. You must learn to master it.’’

  ‘‘So I must.’’ Despite the lighthearted nature of the exchange, as Chad circled to face Sophie she saw his pinched nostrils, the working of his jaw. ‘‘Did you use nightshade on my father as well?’’

  They circled again. A satisfied smile brought sinister beauty to Kellyn’s face. ‘‘Like a good boy he drank all his down.’’

  ‘‘You deceived him into trusting you.’’ Cold fury blazed in his eyes. He gestured with the gun at the gown Kellyn wore. ‘‘You kept a wardrobe at Edgecombe. Were you and he lovers? Did you murder your lover, Kellyn?’’

  ‘‘Lover?’’ Again that biting, humorless laugh. ‘‘Never. All Franklin ever did was mourn that glacial paragon you called a mother. And bemoan the absence of his beloved son.’’

  Sophie’s breath caught at the abrupt change that came over Chad. As his mouth fell open in silent dismay, a look of anguish stole the light from his eyes and the defiance from his shoulders. In horror Sophie saw the pistol sag in his hand.

  Her own shoulders burned with the strain of fighting the current. Her hands cramped around the oar. Fear burgeoned that she would soon lose her battle with the sea.

  But one battle she refused to see lost, not as long as she had a breath left in her body. ‘‘Chad, you mustn’t listen to her,’’ she shouted. ‘‘She’s half-insane. She believes she’s Meg Keating reborn. And like Meg she won’t balk at killing you. Or me. Do you hear me, Chad? Remember the legends, the atrocities Meg committed—and know that Kellyn will not hesitate to do the same.’’

  Chapter 25

  Sophie!

  Chad’s back was to her again due to this infuriating waltz he danced with Kellyn, but he had caught a quick glimpse of her pale face and shaking arms. He yearned to go to her, carry her to safety, but he knew that the moment he turned his back on Kellyn she would make good on her threat of running him through.

  And then what would happen to Sophie?

  He could end the confrontation with a squeeze of the trigger. By God, shoot Kellyn? Kill a woman? Even now, knowing that she had murdered his father along with countless others, he groped for what might have driven her to such lengths. Against all the evidence he still wanted to believe that no one could be entirely evil, and that somewhere inside Kellyn there still existed the good-natured woman he had met at the Stormy Gull.

  Then, as he caught another glimpse of Ellie Rose’s form, comprehension filled him in a torrent. The evil is killing her. Killing her soul. You must help her.

  This was the task his little ghost had set him—a way to make amends for his own crimes. Kellyn’s life must not end, at least not until he awakened whatever remained of her soul. Only then, perhaps, could he spare her from the eternal torment she faced.

  ‘‘You’re not Meg Keating,’’ he said. ‘‘You are Kellyn Quincy, a woman who once had a little girl who died.’’

  The mocking grin slipped from her countenance. With no other warning she lunged and thrust the rapier—not the one he had found in the tunnel, he realized, but the missing one from the drawing room. The one that had belonged to Meg. Sophie was right: Kellyn was insane.

  His quick reflexes sent him springing back, but the tip of the rapier slashed his shirtfront and nicked his bottom rib. The skin split, stinging as blood blossomed on his shirt.

  Behind him Sophie screamed. He wanted to reassure her, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off Kellyn. Perhaps she did deserve to die without absolution. Seething, he thrust out his jaw, extended the pistol and took two strides toward her. At this range the bullet would neatly puncture her heart.

  She held her ground. ‘‘Go ahead and shoot. If you can.’’

  Mama.

  Kellyn gasped. Her face snapped to one side and then the other. Near the mouth of the cave the child’s faint outline hovered, even paler and more indistinct than at the chapel. Her ability to materialize in the corporeal world seemed to be coming to an end.

  ‘‘Little roses.’’ Nathaniel stood pressed against the cliff face, his eyes pinned on the ghost, his expression one of infinite fondness. ‘‘Sweet little roses.’’

  Kellyn seemed frozen where she stood, eyes unfocused, head tilted as if she were listening.

  ‘‘Ellie Rose, your mother needs you.’’ Chad held his breath during an eternal moment in which the little ghost lingered uncertainly. Then she glided into the open. In the daylight more of her features became discernible—the hollow eyes, the gashed forehead, the streaming hair and ragged clothes.

  With a pang Chad realized he no longer found the child’s image repulsive. He saw her now for what she was: a little girl draped in tragedy, but no longer fearsome.

  ‘‘Oh, my!’’ Sophie’s cry of astonishment skittered across the water. Astonishment went through Chad that she too could see the child.

  He gazed past Kellyn to the beleaguered sailboat. Sophie’s eyes were huge with fear. Her knuckles glowed white around the oar as she held strong against the currents.

  ‘‘I’m coming, Sophie,’’ he shouted.

  ‘‘I know. I’ll be waiting for you. First do what you must.’’

  Her conviction buoyed him with the faith it conveyed. Her undaunted courage filled him with the confidence that, for her, he would prevail. He loved Sophie, and if Ellie Rose’s appearance proved anything, it was that love’s spirit never died, never stopped fighting.

  To Kellyn he said, ‘‘Your daughter is determined to save you from the evil of your own actions. You heard her calling out to you. Can you not see her?’’

  ‘‘My daughter is dead. There is nothing to see.’’

  ‘‘Are you certain? I see her. Look at Nathaniel—he sees her too. Sophie as well. Only you have shut your eyes to her. On the outside she is scarred and frightening. But to my eyes she is beautiful, while you’ve become a dark and shriveled monster.’’

  Kellyn laughed, a sound cut short as the glimmer that was Ellie Rose grazed her side. Kellyn recoiled. The rapier’s length angled toward the ground.

  Chad started toward her, halting when she swung the sword into place again. ‘‘Kellyn, Ellie Rose is here,’’ he said, ‘‘and she’s desperate to help you. The love she bears you will not allow her to rest peacefully, and her time is running short. She needs you to hear her. To see her and believe in her. To be her mother again.’’

  ‘‘Don’t be a fool,’’ Kellyn sneered. ‘‘There is nothing here but air.’’

  ‘‘If you look with the whole of your heart you’ll see your daughter. Don’t you want that? One more chance to see Ellie Rose? I can only imagine how much you loved her. How much you mourn her. Her love for you reaches beyond all boundaries. No matter what you have done, she loves you still.’’

  ‘‘How touching. Why, I—’’

  Mama? With her transparent hand Ellie Rose reached out. Her skeletal fingers passed through Kellyn’s crimson skirt as if the fabric were no more substantial than a cloud. Kellyn’s body shuddered as if someone had grabbed her shoulders and shaken her. A guttural sound escaped her.

  Mama, I’ve missed you so, the little ghost whispered. ‘‘Do you hear her, Kellyn?’’ Lowering his pistol, Chad stepped closer.

  She raised the sword to the level of his chest. Defiance thinned her mouth. ‘‘I hear nothing.’’

  ‘‘I think you do. I see the pain in your eyes.’’

  Mama. I’ve a message for you. One you must heed.

  Kellyn gasped again and sliced the rapier through the air, whipping through Ellie Rose’s form. Chad jumped back, raising a splash at the water’s edge. Kellyn slashed frantically. ‘�
��There’s nothing . . . nothing. . . .’’

  Ellie Rose merely hovered, undisturbed by the blade.

  ‘‘There is, Kellyn,’’ Chad said. ‘‘There is your child’s love, and your own need to be her mother.’’

  With a howl dredged as if from the darkest of crypts, Kellyn swung the sword over her head and pounced at him. Chad ducked to the side but the tip caught his shoulder, piercing the skin and sinking into flesh. An inferno raged down his arm, across his chest, into his back. He staggered knee deep into the waves as searing pain stole the strength from his fingers. His grip opened and the pistol splashed into the water. With nightmare clarity he saw his only defense disappear beneath the surface.

  Her face contorting, Kellyn tugged the blade free. Fresh agony cascaded from the wound. In a ghastly blur he watched her turn the sword this way and that, admiring the smear of his blood on the steel. She stretched her lips in a savage grin and prepared to thrust again.

  Sophie’s cry echoed against the cliffs and reverberated inside him. As the blade shot toward him, he could think only of her, see only her. ‘‘I’m sorry, Sophie. So sorry.’’

  In his despair he fell to his knees. The sword came at him, but the sudden shifting of her target set Kellyn off balance. Her aim swerving awry, she stumbled in the waves.

  A burst of hope filled him. Tucking pain into a corner of his mind, he worked his feet beneath him and pushed off the seabed. He surged through the water, threw his arms about Kellyn’s waist and used the momentum of the surf to topple her onto her back.

  His attack clearly stunned her, but her bewilderment didn’t last long. Gripping her sword in both hands, she attempted to swing it down onto him. He pinned her with the weight of his body, reached up and caught her arms. In the struggle for possession the rapier undulated wildly above their heads, causing the air to shiver, Chad’s arms to tremble. The waves broke over them as they tussled, enveloping them in a confusion of foam and spray, arms and legs. Water filled his nose and mouth. He coughed it out. Kellyn sputtered, choked, gagged for breath.