Lord of Shadows

by Alix Rickloff

  “Believe me. It is so,” Daigh answered.

  Aidan’s grip tightened as he pulled her away.

  “You wouldn’t hurt me. You couldn’t.” She reached for Daigh, but he shrugged her off with a quick, angry gesture.

  “You’re a silly child,” he snarled, averting his gaze. Refusing to look her in the eye. “A fool.”

  His insults struck her with the force of blows, but she was already numb and barely staggered beneath them. “And what I saw of us? The images of you and me?”

  He lifted his head, raking her with a greasy, ugly stare. “A virgin’s infatuation.” His lips curled in a scoundrel’s smile. “But we took care of that, didn’t we, pet?”

  Aidan went rigid, his expression thunderous. “Lazarus, you son of a whore’s rotten—” Jerked his hand up, squeezing off a shot.

  “No!” Sabrina screamed.

  The windows rattled, smoke stinging her nose, making her eyes water.

  Squinting through the blur of tears, she dropped to her knees and the man crumpled on the floor, bloody hands clutching his stomach.

  “Daigh! By the gods, Aidan. Why?”

  He loomed over them, white-faced and shaking. “It may not kill him as he deserves, but it sure as hell makes me feel better.”

  Daigh’s chest rose and fell with shallow, painful breaths. Each inhalation pushing fresh blood between his fingers. His lips curved in a faint grimace. “Glad to be of service, my lord.”

  “Come, Sabrina.” Aidan dragged her to her feet. “If I so much as catch a whiff of your stench again, Lazarus, I’ll risk any damnation to see you suffer.”

  In shock, Sabrina shook her head, unable to voice any of the tangle of thoughts beating against her except the inane, “His name is Daigh, not Lazarus.”

  A stony remoteness entered Daigh’s expression as if his humanity had been obliterated. And she knew at last how and why he’d ended in the sea. The lengths he would go to gain what he saw as his only peace.

  “No, Sabrina. Not Daigh. Nor Lazarus. My true name is lost. As am I.”

  “May I come in?”

  Sabrina looked up from the hearth where she knelt before one of Aunt Delia’s floral scented fires, feeding journal pages to the purple flames. Lady Kilronan’s pixie face peered at her around the corner of the bedchamber door. Her first visitor since Jane had darted in long enough to give her a fearful and slightly awed look, grasp both her hands, and murmur, “Don’t blame yourself . . . you couldn’t have known, Sabrina. And if he ever comes near you . . .” She drew herself up like Joan facing the English army before slinking away at fresh shouting downstairs.

  That had been around noon. It was now—quick check of the clock—eight in the evening. She’d been sequestered for over a day while her fate was argued below in loud, carrying tones.

  “Have you been sent up to speak to me about the error of my ways?” she grumbled. “A life lesson from one experienced in these matters?”

  A shadow passed over the other woman’s features, giving Sabrina a twinge of guilty conscience. It wasn’t Aidan’s wife’s fault Sabrina’s world had once again come toppling down around her ears. Tears caught in the back of her throat, and she stood in a rush of skirts and apologies. “I’m so sorry. That was ill said, and I didn’t mean it. Really. Come in, my lady.”

  She beckoned her sister-in-law into the room with a watery smile.

  “It’s Cat. ‘My lady’ sounds horribly stiff. As if we were strangers.”

  “Aren’t we?”

  “For now. But I hope that one day we may count each other as the best of friends.” She smiled warmly despite Sabrina’s lack of manners. “You’ll be pleased to learn we’ve convinced Aunt Delia you went on a long walk with your maid and two heavyset footmen and lost track of time.” She cocked a glance at Sabrina’s dismembered journal. “Are you certain you want to do that?”

  Sabrina fingered the wreckage. Tossed the rest onto the fire. Watched the book blacken and wither. Wished she could erase the events as easily.

  “It was a mistake to keep such a diary,” she answered through clenched teeth. “It left me exposed to the worst sort of snooping.”

  She dusted off her hands. Ignoring the twinge of pain at losing what had been, until this morning, her truest sanctuary. Not even Jane privy to all that lay within her heart.

  She made a conscious effort to take a chair facing away from the fire. Arranged herself carefully. Skirts. Limbs. Fussing over shawl or no shawl. Rearranging the pillow. The candle at her elbow. Anything to forget the journal and the ordeal of having to talk to—of all people—her brother’s wife about it.

  “May I sit?” Cat motioned to the chair opposite.

  Sabrina shrugged her acceptance. It took effort to fight. “If it’s a choice between you or Aidan ringing a peal over my head, I choose you.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Cat pulled a face. “He does have a knack for making one’s fists itch, doesn’t he?” She laughed, and for just a moment, Sabrina had a glimmer of what it might be like to have a sister. Someone besides Jane who, while a bosom friend, wasn’t a part of Sabrina’s family and couldn’t understand the horrible aftermath still rippling outward from that long-ago November day.

  She eyed the new Lady Kilronan through downcast lashes. Not the arrogant, dark-eyed frostiness of Helena Roseingrave. Nor the simpering malice of Aunt Delia. Cat had an approachable elegance, a kindness in her face that made Sabrina blush with shame at her earlier unkind opinions. She should have known Aidan wouldn’t marry a title-seeking conniver. He’d far too much sense—and cynicism—for that.

  And Sabrina had far too little.

  “Forgive me for behaving so badly . . . Cat.” She liked the familiar name upon her lips. “I’ve been an absolute shrew. None of this is your fault. You don’t deserve my vitriol. It’s Aidan who spied on me.”

  She fumed just thinking about his violation of her most private thoughts.

  “He worried over you,” Cat supplied matter-of-factly. “He didn’t know where you’d gone. Neither Miss Fletcher nor your aunt could offer him any suggestions. Your journal was his last hope.”

  “That’s no reason for his trespass.”

  Cat sighed. “No, it’s an excuse, and not a very good one. But the only one I have. Aidan loves you. He feels responsible for you. A duty to the only family he has left. And to that end he’d justify almost any action. To him, family is strength. He’s come to see the heirs of Kilronan as a bulwark against the world.”

  “Against Máelodor, you mean.”

  Cat brushed the charge aside. “Against any hurt. You mayn’t believe it, but Aidan was as rocked by your family’s disintegration as you. He was left alone to pick up the pieces as best he could. Just as you were.”

  “He didn’t do too badly. He ended with you.”

  Cat grinned. “I was merely serendipity.”

  A question hovered. One Sabrina needed to ask. Not out of spite or any wish to wound, but because she and Cat had more in common now than just Aidan. Still, how to ask without sounding like a mean gossip. Direct was best.

  Soonest asked. Soonest answered.

  She squared her shoulders. Exhaled her words in a gasp of breath. “Do you regret what you did with . . .? When . . .? I mean they say—not that I care what a bunch of tattle-merchants say, but—that is . . . do you regret what you did?”

  Embarrassed heat shot straight to her toes. Especially when Cat’s smile faded. Her stare turning inward, body stiffening, hands clasped palm down in her lap.

  “No regrets. Not any longer. Aidan’s love brought me to this blessed point.” Cat reached across and took Sabrina’s hand in hers. The gold and garnet Kilronan wedding band winking on her ring finger. “He saw firsthand the pain giving my heart to someone unworthy of it caused me.”

  Sorrow lodged deep within Sabrina’s chest. Is this what people meant when they spoke of being heartbroken? This hard, cold rock that seemed to expand until all of her felt weighted and a
chy? She pulled a shawl up over her shoulders, even though the room was overwarm and stuffy from the fire. Gazed for a moment at the rainy night beyond her window where the stifling press of the city seemed to add to her already throbbing head. “Daigh said he tried to kill you. Is that true?”

  “Is that what he’s calling himself these days?” Cat focused on the fire as if the past could be seen within the dancing flames. “I wish I could tell you differently. If it weren’t for Miss Roseingrave, Aidan and I wouldn’t have survived.”

  Sabrina went rigid. “Miss Roseingrave? That she-viper?”

  A hint of amusement touched Cat’s sad eyes. “Aye. She and your cousin Jack prevented Laz—Daigh from gaining the diary. I miss Jack. I believe she does too.”

  “Jack wasn’t set on by robbers, was he? He was another victim.”

  “Jack sought to protect me and died for his bravery.” She paused, her face drawn and pale. Worry carved the corners of her mouth. Between her brows. “In the end, Daigh could have killed Aidan and me. He was a sword stroke away from ending our lives.” She bit her bottom lip. “But he didn’t. Something stopped him. Perhaps it’s the same something that caused you to love him.”

  Sabrina stiffened, eyes wide, brain racing. Did she love Daigh? She had once. Long centuries ago. And though he sought to dismiss her visions as a virgin’s foolishness, they were more than that. Much more. She tucked her arms beneath her breasts against the squeeze of pain. An all-too-familiar grief. A loss she seemed doomed to repeat again and again.

  “You think I was mad to care for him. I see it in your face.”

  Cat shook her head. “You stumbled in over your head. But take it from someone who’s been there, the heart mends. It may be impossible to believe now, but the fall into love isn’t fatal.” She twisted her wedding ring round and round, the ghost of an old grief hovering beneath her pale skin. “Not if there’s someone to catch you at the bottom.”

  With a hand plowed into his thick auburn hair, Aidan bent over his library desk, pen scratching madly across the page, a grim set to his angular jaw, his expression forbidding in a way she’d never seen before. In fact her brother was as unfamiliar as a stranger. The Aidan of her childhood had been an irresponsible scoundrel. A brother revered as exciting and reckless. Certainly not this cynical, stern-featured autocrat.

  Drawing in a fortifying breath, Sabrina tapped on the open door.

  Without raising his head, he put up a hand. “Hold one moment, Cat, or I’ll lose my train of thought.”

  “It’s not Cat. It’s Sabrina. We need to speak.”

  His head shot up, brows contracting in a wary scowl. “I’m busy. We’ll talk later. Once I’ve calmed down. Right now I’m still ready to tear that bastard’s thrice-damned head off and shove it up his—” His pen snapped in two. He tossed it onto the desk with another muttered oath. “Didn’t I warn you? Now’s not the time.”

  Ignoring his display of temper and his abrupt dismissal, she stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. “If you’re trying to scare me into leaving, it won’t work. And I don’t give a . . . a . . . damn for your temper,” she brazened. “We’ll talk now.”

  He seemed as stunned as she by her outburst. But it worked. He gave her his attention. Rubbed his chin, eying her with an arrogant droop of his lids. “A foul mouth to match your easy virtue. What else can I thank the bandraoi for?”

  She gritted her teeth until she thought they might crack. “Do you really want to go down that path, Aidan? Because I’m certain your wife would be interested in hearing your opinions on a woman’s virtue.”

  His jaw clenched, contrition instantly flaring in his bronze brown gaze. “Did you ever think it might be because of Cat that I’m as furious with you as I am? One misstep. One hint of scandal and they’ll pounce. Shred you to bits with their gossip and their barbs and their hypocritical outrage. Tear you down until there’s nothing left. I don’t want you to suffer what she has.”

  He scrubbed his hands through his hair in an impatient and frustrated gesture, and for the first time, she noticed the gleaming silver strands among the gold. The worry lines creasing the corners of his eyes. The tension thickening the very air around him. Much had happened to her oldest brother while she remained oblivious within the sanctuary of the order. Desolation. Suffering And horrible pain. Hints of them plagued him still. In the darkness of his gaze. The solemn austerity of his expression.

  “Is that why you and Cat avoid Dublin?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “In part. Cat’s memories of the city are painful ones. And for myself, I lost interest in the gilded dog pit that is the beau monde years ago. The loss of Kilronan House offered a good excuse for our exile.” He shook his head. Sighed again as he toyed with the jagged pieces of the broken pen. “Sabrina . . . how . . . what would ever make you . . . knowing what he is . . . that’s what I don’t understand.”

  His troubled gaze wandered over her as if he didn’t recognize her. Perhaps he shared her sense of confronting a stranger. She sank slowly into a seat, exhaustion rushing in to replace her earlier hostility. “He cared for me, Aidan. I know it’s hard to believe, but he did. I would have detected deceit or treachery.”

  But would she? Or had he hidden his true intentions behind the blast furnace of emotion that scoured her brain with such frequency? Had his mind’s churning turbulence obscured the real purpose behind his attentions?

  Aidan leapt to his feet. Hand tapping nervously against his bad thigh. His limp hampering his angry strides back and forth across the carpet. “Lazarus cares for nothing. He’s guided by Máelodor in all things. And if he made you believe he cared then it was only because his master bid him do so.”

  “No. I won’t believe that.” She couldn’t because that meant she’d been wrong. Stupid. Naive. And Daigh’s insults had been true.

  “You forget. I’ve crossed paths with him before.” He placed a hand over his heart with a wince hardening the already sharp lines of his face. “I could show you the scar.”

  She lifted a stubborn chin. “And Daigh’s scars? Máelodor has tortured him into subservience. Has infected him with evil. It’s not Daigh’s by right. Not his by choice.” She fisted her hands together. Sucked in a ragged breath. Was this her chance? Could she tell Aidan about her visions? Would he believe her, or would he dismiss the connection as a girlish fantasy as Daigh had?

  Brendan would listen. Would believe. But Brendan wasn’t here. Aidan was. And for better or worse he was her only family. Perhaps he’d even understand what was happening to her. She surely didn’t.

  Her voice dropped low as she struggled against the weight in her chest. “I’ve met him before, Aidan. Known him. Not as he is now, but as he was. Before Máelodor’s summoning. Before he was brought back against his will.”

  Aidan paused, one hand upon the mantel, his gaze fastened on the refreshingly fire-colored flames. A tiny victory amid Aunt Delia’s decorating extravaganza. “What are you talking about?” he growled.

  “Daigh.” When he tried to interrupt, she rushed ahead. She had to speak of it. To explain herself. To make him listen and not just push her story away as a child’s silliness. “I know it sounds like insanity, but I’ve traveled into Daigh’s past. I’ve walked with him. Spoken with him. Loved him. At first I thought I was dreaming, but Daigh remembers me too. He remembers us together. I don’t know how or why, but when I’m in Daigh’s past it’s as real to me as this moment.”

  He cast aside her words with a careless wave of his arm. “More of Máelodor’s black magics. You see what he wants you to see.”

  She hadn’t thought of that. Could it be? Could Daigh have cast some demonic spell over her? No. Her visions were too full of hope and life and affection to be the work of dark powers.

  “Máelodor will stop at nothing to gain his victory. And if it includes destroying an innocent girl, so be it,” Aidan scoffed.

  “What does Máelodor want? Who is he? You talk of his malice. Daigh spoke of his evil
. Even Cat trembles when she speaks his name.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You’ll leave for Belfoyle, and that will be an end to it.”

  She stiffened. “If I go anywhere, it shall be back to Glenlorgan.”

  He sank into a seat nearby. Stretched his bad leg in front of him, kneading his thigh. “Rejoining the bandraoi is out of the question. Father’s murder won’t continue to splinter our family as it has for the past seven years. You’re my sister. You belong with me.”

  “I may be your sister, but I’m not your child. So stop acting as if I am. My future is my own, Aidan. And if I choose to return to the bandraoi, there is nothing you can say. I’m a healer. It’s my birthright and my calling. It’s who I am. I can’t turn my back on that gift any more than you could . . . could turn your back on Belfoyle or the earldom.”

  He lifted his head, crossed his arms. The picture of unyielding obstinacy. Any more arguing would only set his back up higher. She subsided. For now. “You haven’t answered my questions about Máelodor.”

  “Tell her, Aidan.”

  Sabrina hadn’t heard her sister-in-law enter the room, but there she was. Her black hair and green eyes emphasizing her ghost-white skin. She crossed to Aidan’s side, resting upon the arm of his chair. His hand came up to run over her back. Rest there possessively.

  Their affection made Sabrina hurt with a jealousy she couldn’t put into words. If her visions were of Daigh’s true past, she’d had this same closeness once. Had it and lost it.

  “Sabrina’s as involved as any of us,” Cat urged. “And as she’s found at great cost, what is unknown can be as dangerous as what is known.”

  Sabrina added her arguments to Cat’s. “Máelodor has tried to kill you. He’s used me to find Brendan. What does he want from the Douglases? What have we done to be singled out for his animosity? Please, Aidan. Tell me.”

  Aidan glanced at the door. Hunched deeper into his chair. Stared long and intently into the flames before giving a faint nod as if coming to a decision. He paused, seeming to weigh his words. “Máelodor was one of the mages who studied with Father. Driven by the same sinister ambitions. The same hellish dream as Father and all of his associates. They believed in a world where the race of Other would not only be free to live without fear of persecution, but would control that world and the destinies of the Duinedon who served us.”