She heard his footsteps moving away down the hall.
* * *
Breakfast was a painfully polite affair. When Douglas arrived Kit ran outside and asked him if she could come along. He must have wondered why, but he cheerfully told her that she was more than welcome to sit in on his class.
When Justin realized that Kit was going, he just as politely determined that he would come along, too, and they both sat silently through the entire school day.
When it was over, Kit realized that Mike still didn’t have a costume, and that All Hallows’ Eve was the next day. One of his friends—Petey—told Kit that they didn’t dress up the same way as American children did; they all wore some type of historical costume.
Justin drove them into Cork, where Mike found a Viking costume that he adored. Kit made the purchase, and then they stopped for fish and chips. Neither Justin nor Kit had much to say. Thankfully, Mike kept the conversation going, never even noticing that his elders answered him, but didn’t have anything to say to one another.
By the time they got home, it was fairly late. Molly had left them a note saying that hot chocolate was warming on the stove. Kit smiled at Mike and told him that she didn’t really care for any, but Justin said he’d have a cup. Kit went up to her own room, wondering at the little tremor that passed through her heart. She should have stayed downstairs. She should have stayed with Mike, not left him alone with Justin. Shouldn’t have left him alone with his father.
He was already so fond of Justin. She couldn’t help it; she felt as if she was losing her son.
Kit tossed and turned, knowing that Mike had a right to know Justin—and that Justin had the same right to know Mike. She shouldn’t envy them their time together. She should be glad of it. And she was. She was so proud of them both—she loved them both so much. If only Justin were a regular man, a broker on Wall Street, a truck driver, anything!
But would she have loved him so much if he hadn’t been exactly who he was? If only she wasn’t such a coward. If only she had a little more faith—not in him, but in herself.
* * *
“Mom! Come on! Justin has to be there on time!”
Kit turned away from the mirror as Mike came bolting into the room. She had to smile. He was so excited—and so cute in his Viking costume.
“I’m coming. Right now, I promise.”
Kit quickly put her lipstick on and dropped the tube into her purse. She glanced at her watch; she was running late. A bit ridiculous, she admitted sheepishly, especially when she’d had all day to get ready. But Justin had reminded her that he meant to drive to Dublin in the morning, and though she had thought about telling him to make the trip alone, she had decided that she needed to get out of the area for a while. So she had spent the day packing, then making a few adjustments to Mike’s costume. And then she’d spent too long in the shower. So now it was nearly eight, and she was still dressing.
“Ready?” Mike demanded.
“Ready,” she promised him. She took his hand and led him out.
At the top of the stairway, she paused. For one giddy moment she was afraid to see Justin. This was dress-up. What if she went downstairs and found him wearing the cloak and mask? She would surely scream and slide into madness.
“Kit! Mike!”
He came into view. He was dressed very much as she was, in comfortable blue jeans and a V-neck sweater. Teal. Almost the color of his eyes.
Kit and Mike walked down the stairs. Justin let Mike walk ahead of them to the door and caught Kit’s hand, pulling her back. “Don’t leave me, Kit. Not for a second. Not tonight.”
She lowered her head, then nodded. It was All Hallows’ Eve…an eerie night—especially here. She had no intention of leaving his side.
Justin drove away from the castle and the cottage, toward the southeast. Kit tried to get her bearings. They were going behind the forest that lay south of the cliffs. Not very far away at all. In fact, they were only a short walk from the cottage.
“The land is cleared there,” Justin told Mike, smiling at him via the rearview mirror.
“So the fire will be safe, right?”
“Right.”
Their dimples were alike, Kit noticed. They both smiled in the same way, with those wonderful dimples, with that hint of mischief in their eyes.
“Was your mother blond?” she suddenly heard herself ask. She felt suddenly shy, but very curious.
Justin glanced her way with a devilish smile. “Nearly platinum,” he assured her.
And then they were there.
Cars were parked all along the rolling hills that led to a vast plateau. There were people everywhere, chatting, laughing. Kit could already hear the pipes, and delicious smells were coming from various food stands. Dancers in emerald-green gowns were performing on a stage at the rear, while a juggler dressed as a clown paused in front of Mike, delighting him with his expertise, then passing on.
Kit felt a little ashamed to think that she had once wondered whether this celebration wasn’t some type of pagan rite involving the whole village. It was wonderful, it was very Irish—and it was normal.
“Come on, we’ve got to get to the bonfire,” Justin told her.
She met the mayor then, standing alongside Liam O’Grady. She found it hard to look at Liam, though, without accusing him of trying to scare her.
A ceremony followed in which the mayor gave a short speech in Gaelic and Justin answered in kind. Then he took the torch and lit the fire, and it seemed as if the hills all across the land lit up like Christmas. Kit cheered along with the rest of them, but by then Mike was pulling at her arm. He wanted to go play the games that had been set up for the children.
“All right, all right, just a second—”
Justin was still talking to the mayor. Kit tried to tell him where she was going, but Mike escaped her grasp and went rushing through the crowd. Kit forgot about Justin and the promise she’d made to him and went chasing after Mike. She reached the first booth, where the children were fishing for toys, but she didn’t see him and instantly began to panic. She turned and crashed straight into Molly.
“Kit! Are you enjoyin’ it, then?”
“Oh, yes, it’s wonderful, but I’ve lost Mike. I have to find him.”
“I just saw the boy, Kit, so don’t ye go frettin’. Have a sip of some of our fine Irish mead, and I’ll take you to him.”
Kit started to say that she didn’t want anything until she found Mike, but Molly had already forced a cup into her hand, so she smiled and drank.
“It’s wonderful,” she said, surprised. It was sweet, with a slightly bitter aftertaste.
“It’s made with honey.”
“Molly, I want to find Mike. Please.”
“This way, Kit McHennessy. This way.”
She followed Molly through the crowd, frowning as she realized they were heading toward the forest that met the cliff top behind the cottage.
“Molly? Are you sure he went this way?”
The branches fell closed behind her, and Kit looked back, only to realize that she couldn’t be seen anymore. And then her knees buckled under her. She fell, reaching out to Molly for support. Mist surrounded her, and the air was growing darker and darker.
She had been a fool. Justin had warned her not to leave his side. She had suspected Old Doug and Young Doug and Barney and Liam and even Justin, but she had never suspected Molly.
And now she couldn’t speak or move. She could barely make out Molly’s tender smile through the mist.
“Ah, lass!” She stroked Kit’s hair. “I’m ever so glad you drank the mead. It had to be tonight, of course. It really had to be All Hallows’ Eve. That’s so very important to the gods.”
Molly’s face melted into the mist as Kit crashed to the ground.
And, not far away, the sounds of laughter and merry-making continued.
CHAPTER 12
Kit came to in flashes. She vaguely remembered being slid onto some type of woven mesh stre
tcher. She knew that she had been dragged over rocks and sticks, but she had felt very little pain. But all along she had been dimly aware that she was going to be killed, and that, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t speak a single word.
Somewhere along the road she blacked out again. This time, when she awoke, it was to a sea of mist. She couldn’t tell if it was real, or a hallucination of her fractured mind.
Then she felt the wind. It rushed over her, and it was cold, very cold. She could hear its cry, its banshee moan. Instinctively she tried to wrap her arms around herself, but she couldn’t. She realized that she was bound to a slab of stone. And that she was so cold because she was naked. Just like the doll…
A scream came from her throat as she found her voice at last.
It was happening, just as it had happened in her dreams. She was lost and adrift in a field of mist, bound and powerless. And the goat-god was coming toward her, coming out of the mist.
It wasn’t the goat-god, she told herself. She had to stay sane! She had to talk and stall and pray….
The figure fell to its knees beside her and raised its arm. Kit shrieked in horror again, thinking that it was a knife that rose. But it wasn’t. It was a paintbrush, and Molly began to hum and paint little symbols on the flat plane of Kit’s belly.
Kit screamed again, loudly, desperately, but Molly just kept humming.
“I’m sorry, love, that the drug wore off so quick,” Molly said finally from behind the goat mask. “You go ahead and scream if it makes ye feel any better. But ’tis an honor I bestow upon you girl, don’t ye ken?”
Kit didn’t want to die. She wanted desperately to live. Everything that she had ever wanted was here: Justin; his love; a family. All she’d needed to do was talk to him, explain that she had to go home sometimes, that he had to consult her, that… But it was too late.
“This symbol is the mark of the land,” Molly said slowly. “This is the mark of fertility. And this is the mark for blood.”
Tears stung her eyes. I do want to marry you, Justin, she vowed silently. I want to marry you tomorrow. I want to sleep beside you every night of my life.
But her life was ending. Here, atop this windswept cliff, a madwoman was about to steal it from her.
She had to try to save herself. She had to talk, to stall for time, to pray.
“Did you paint Mary Browne?” She tried to keep her voice quiet, calm, conversational, but hysteria still edged her tone.
“Mary, Mary, aye, the poor, presumptuous whore! If only I’d waited. I should ha’ known the O’Niall better. Poor Mary. Aye, she wore the marks upon her. They were washed away by the tide. She needn’t have died; such a dreadful waste of hope and time!”
“Molly, what about Michael? Michael McHennessy.”
Molly actually paused, setting the mask aside. She smiled down at Kit, frowning slightly. “He saw me, ye see? So I had to pretend I meant to cast myself into the sea. He tried to stop me.” She chuckled, smug and pleased. “He went o’er so easy, that boy did. It was necessary. But then…” A frown furrowed her forehead. “That Mary Browne! Had she not been dishonest, I’d not have had to hurt the boy. But then I’d not have had you, Katherine, lass.”
New chills rippled through Kit. “What do you mean, Molly?”
Molly was drawing a sun sign around her navel. “Ah, ye were so perfect, lass! Fresh and pure and beautiful, with that air of innocence. I knew ye were the one. And he was so drawn to ye. But him with his morals and ye with yer grief, were on opposite poles, even after all that time. I had to get you together.”
“The tea,” Kit breathed.
“Aye. Justin knew, but he knew, too, that I cared for you deeply.”
“He thought that you were…trying to allow me to rest.”
“The O’Niall. He’s a fine man. His boy will be, too. And now that the sacrifice is fully fulfilled, life will be good! The harvest will grow again. The men will find jobs.”
“Molly, Molly, what about Susan?”
Molly stopped, rocking back on her heels. “Susan Accorn! That harlot! She wasn’t worthy of the death she received. Justin didna want her. You hadna returned, and I had to rid him of her clinging arms, her demands. We had to have an heir, and a bride to feed the earth.”
“Molly, you must let me go. You’re wrong,” Kit lied. “Mike is Michael McHennessy’s son. You’ll waste your time again; you’ll—”
Molly shook her head with a secret smile, as if Kit was teasing her. “Go on with ye, lass! He’s the very image of his father. I knew it the moment I saw him.”
“No, Molly. Really!”
“Ssh!” Molly brought her finger to her lips, then spread Kit’s hair over the stone. “We must get to the rite now, Katherine, before they stumble upon us.”
No…
Oh, Justin, I love you, Kit vowed silently. If I could only go back, I’d grab happiness. I wouldn’t let anything stand in my way. I’d be strong, and I’d make you understand.
Molly was slipping the mask back on. Then she stood and began to sway in the night. Her voice rose in a chant, as shrill as the wind. “Kayla, kayla, kayla…”
“What?” Kit shrieked.
Molly paused, ripping the mask off again in annoyance. “Katherine McHennessy, I’ve sharpened and honed me knife to make it quick and easy. Now ye must shush!”
Tears stung Kit’s eyes. There it was. The word that had haunted her for eight years. The word that Michael had whispered before dying. And now she was about to join him in death, the same word ringing in her mind.
“Kayla! Molly, what does it mean? It’s not Gaelic.”
Molly chuckled. “No, it is na Gaelic. ’Tis older even than that. It is the language of the ancients. Kayla. It means hosanna, hosanna to the great god, the goat-god, Bal, the god who gives us the harvest, who feeds and nurtures us, and must be fed in turn.”
“Molly, you mustn’t do this! What if Douglas finds out? I think he’s suspicious of you already.”
Molly’s lips quivered. “I must do it for Douglas. Do ye not see? For all of them.”
The mask went back into place, covering her face. The wind and mist swirled around them, and in the distance Kit could hear the waves crashing hard against the cliffs. They sounded angry, as if they, too, were waiting for her death.
In minutes Molly would slit her throat, and when her blood had drained into the earth, that mad old woman would cast her over the cliff and into those waves.
Kit began to scream again as Molly resumed her chanting and her swaying. She cast her paintbrush aside and reached beneath her cloak. She raised her arm, and this time she did have a knife. Huge, broad-bladed, and glittering in the moonlight.
* * *
When he had first discovered that Kit was no longer at his side, Justin had merely cursed and stridden off angrily to find her. But when he had come upon Mike playing a game at Douglas Johnston’s booth, he had instantly panicked. He’d grabbed the boy roughly by the shoulders, frightening him, but not caring, because now he was frightened himself.
“Mike, where’s your mother?” he had demanded.
The boy’s eyes had widened. “With—with you.”
“No, she’s not.”
Douglas had stepped closer. “Justin…?”
“She’s gone.”
“Kit?”
“Aye, damn it, Kit!”
“Wait, don’t panic! She’s probably watching the dancers, or listening to the music, or trying—”
“No, she’s not! She’s not with me. She’s not anywhere!”
“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” Mike demanded, close to tears.
Justin swallowed miserably, sorry that he had alarmed the boy. “Nothing, nothing. I just want to find your mother. Mike, you stay here with Douglas. Don’t leave him. Do you understand me?”
Pale and ashen beneath his Viking horns, Mike nodded as Douglas set his hands on the boy’s thin shoulders.
Justin quickly scanned the crowd. He saw Liam and Barn
ey, drinking dark beer at a stall. He saw Old Doug, laughing happily and giving a small girl a piggyback ride while she giggled.
He saw most of his neighbors; he saw the mayor; he even saw Julie and William McNamara sampling lamb stew. He heard the laughter, and he felt the warmth of the bonfire. The flames were dancing and rising, flaring into the wind. And the wind was picking up, beginning to moan.
But he didn’t see Kit. And, he realized suddenly, he didn’t see Molly.
He turned on Douglas in a fury, grabbing his shoulders and throwing him up against the booth. “Your mother! Where’s your mother?”
Douglas paled. “No, Justin, she wouldn’t—”
“That’s why you put the doll on her step. You knew! Damn you, you knew!”
Douglas shook his head. “All right, all right! I put the doll there. I wanted her to leave. I was afraid for her—because she was seeing you!”
“Stay with Mike,” Justin said curtly. He was already running through the crowd, careless of the people in his way, heedless of the delicately built booths.
He knew where he was going. There was only one place that she could be: the cliffs.
Justin tore across the plateau to the trees, furiously berating himself. He should have brought her here in handcuffs, bound to him. No, he shouldn’t have let her come here at all. He should have done something—anything—to make her leave. But instead he had fallen in love all over again when he had known that danger lurked…dear God! In his own home.
He didn’t remember the forest being so deep and so dense. The moon lit his way, but branches seemed to reach out and tear at him, holding him back, as if they were the ghostly fingers of creatures whose voices became the howl of the wind.
He broke through to the grasslands beside the cliffs at last, and there he saw a figure clad in a black cloak, wearing the horned mask of the goat-god. Something glinted in the night. A knife, its edge reflecting the moonlight.
And there, lying on a slab of stone, a crude altar, was Kit. She was naked in the night, her pale skin beautiful in the light of the moon, her hair spilling in waves across the stone, her flesh eerily covered with strange designs.
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