Shivers Box Set: Darkening Around MeLegacy of DarknessThe Devil's EyeBlack Rose (Shivers (Harlequin E))

by Barbara J. Hancock

  “Oh I do like you, Cousin Lucy!” Tynan exclaimed, releasing me and flopping back down into his chair. “So very much.”

  “I’m very glad to hear it, Cousin Tynan,” I told him when I could catch my breath again. “But perhaps you could warn me next time before you decide to like me quite so exuberantly?”

  His smouldering eyes travelled slowly over my face, searching it suspiciously. “Are you teasing me?” he asked eventually, a note of genuine interest in the words.

  “Would you mind if I was?” I asked, amused at the intensity of his expression.

  “Not at all,” he answered. “I expect I should quite like it, but I don’t know, because it has never happened to me before.”

  “Then,” I told him seriously, “I will undertake to do it on a daily basis.” I resumed my seat. “Now, where were we? Which is my home board again?”

  * * *

  The cat weaved itself sinuously about my ankles, bumping its tabby head against me and purring in an excess of ecstasy. I stroked its silken ears and it obligingly jumped onto the seat beside me, inviting me to continue this activity for an unspecified but, I suspected, lengthy period. We sat a while, like old friends enjoying the gentle sunlight. My thoughts were thousands of miles away from this sweet-scented English garden. Parched red earth and relentless heat flavoured my memories. The cat regarded me, trance-like, through half-closed emerald eyes.

  “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, hweg!” Tynan’s voice startled me out of my daydream and my hand tightened briefly on the cat’s neck. The ungrateful creature took exception to this treatment and, with a hiss of protest, punished me with a swipe of its extended claws. Deep lacerations pinpricked with blood welled on the tender white flesh of my forearm and I studied it ruefully.

  “Wretched animal!” Tynan exclaimed, looking about for the cat, but it had darted away. “Let us go into the house and bathe it, cousin.” With old-fashioned courtesy, he offered me his arm and, despite my protests that it was just a scratch, insisted on treating me as if I had been mortally wounded.

  “Demelza will have some sort of potion for it,” he informed me, insisting that I sit down in the great hall as he went to fetch fresh water and cloths. While he was gone, Uther strode in from the library. His presence instantly filled even the deepest reaches of the cave-like room.

  “Lucy!” He started forward, reaching for my hand as he noticed my injury. “Who has done this to you?”

  I was surprised at his choice of pronoun. “I think you must mean ‘what has done this to you?’ and, in answer to that question, it is the kitchen cat who is the villain of the piece!”

  His laughter held a note of relief which, I decided, was quite preposterous. Did he picture some marauding assassin scaling the castle walls only to inflict a minor scratch upon the poor relation before retreating back from whence he came? These Jagos appeared, at times, to allow the terrors of their hard-won past to infect their present with wild imaginings.

  Tynan returned with a damp cloth and a small pot of unguent that smelled of hemp. Ignoring Uther, he knelt before me and tenderly pressed the compress to my arm. I murmured my thanks and he grinned up at me saying, with a gleam of fun, “I make a good nurse, do I not, hweg?” His smile was irresistible. Returning it, I agreed that he did.

  Uther cleared his throat and we both looked at him. I was shocked at his expression as he watched us. Black jealousy gnawed at the lightness of his eyes and twisted the perfect splendour of his lips into a snarl. It was fleeting, gone almost before it was noticed. But he knew I had seen it; and I knew he was glad.

  * * *

  “What are you reading, hweg?” Tynan slouched over the grass towards me.

  I held up the book jacket and he grimaced. “Northanger Abbey—very Gothic! Will you read some to me?” Without waiting for my reply, he threw himself down on the grass at my feet.

  I began to read and, as I did, without guile or artifice, he leaned against me, long lashes drooping over his beautiful eyes. Some instinct made me reach out and stroke the midnight darkness of his hair, and he murmured appreciatively. I don’t know how long we stayed like that, his head in my lap, my hand smoothing his hair, but it was the sweetest moment I had known since my father died. In comforting this scarred, tortured soul I found a release from my own pain that nothing else—not kissing Uther or being intimately caressed by his all-knowing hands—could match.

  “‘There is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends,’” I read Miss Austen’s words. “‘I have no notion of loving people by halves, it is not my nature.’”

  “Lucy?” Tynan’s voice was drowsy.

  “Tynan?” There was note of laughter in my enquiry and he looked up at me, his handsome young face breaking into an answering smile, and a shard of something sharp and bright pierced my heart in that instant. It was so unexpected that my breath caught in my throat.

  “I’ve never had a friend,” he confessed cheerfully. “What does it feel like?”

  I tried to ignore the invisible hand of pity that gave my heart a swift squeeze. I thought how frightening the world must have been to a sensitive boy starved of affection and companionship. And yet he was untouched by its harshness. There was an unworldly purity about Tynan that made me want to protect him against all of life’s cruel barbs.

  “I think it feels a lot like this,” I said, taking his hand in mine. As I did so, I thought how my own strange childhood had also been oddly lacking in friends of my own age. The difference was that I had my father, while Tynan had…what? Uther and Demelza were, quite possibly, worse than no one. He had now and then, however, mentioned his old nurse. I was glad there had been someone there to love him.

  We sat in silence, and I thought that it really was a mark of true friendship that we did not need to speak to each other. “‘Words are easy, like the wind; faithful friends are hard to find,’” Tynan said quietly. That one succinct quote from the great Bard told me that we were both thinking the same thoughts.

  “Are you in love with my uncle?” Tynan asked eventually. He did not seem to feel there was anything inappropriate in asking such a personal question. And, if we were friends, I supposed there wasn’t. He folded his arms across my knees and rested his chin on them. I cupped his face in my hands.

  “I don’t know.” There. I had said it out loud. I was being perfectly honest. I was letting a man I hardly knew play my body the way a maestro plays an instrument, and I didn’t even have the excuse of knowing I loved him. I wasn’t sure I even liked him. My shame was surely now complete.

  “Good…” Tynan seemed about to say more, but a shadow fell over us as Demelza appeared and began to laughingly reproach us for being late for lunch.

  * * *

  Breakfast at Tenebris was always a grand affair. Huge silver salvers were set on the serving table, containing porridge laced with fresh cream, steamed fish—perhaps whiting, halibut or bloater—smoked haddock, sausages, bacon and kidneys and eggs cooked in an eye-opening variety of ways. A bloody sirloin and a large ham sat on spiked dishes, waiting to be carved. This huge repast could be followed, should the diner desire or his stomach allow, by delicate cakes, pastries and Mrs Lethbridge’s famous scones laden with thick clotted cream. Or, for the faint-hearted, there were bowls of fruit from the orchard or berries from the walled garden. Occasionally, I wondered what happened to the inevitable mountain of leftovers.

  The family appeared at different times to partake of this meal. Often, I breakfasted alone. Uther was an impossibly early riser, who usually left the house by the time others emerged from their bedchambers. Demelza rarely put in an appearance before the clock struck eleven, and Tynan abhorred breakfast. I was surprised, therefore, when he joined me as I sipped tea and nibbled a slice of toast.

  He accepted a cup of black tea, but shook his head at the offer of food. I had noticed already that he never seemed to eat very much and meat, particularly red meat, made him shudder. On this particular morning, he appe
ared jaded and in the grip of a deep depression.

  “You know,” I remarked conversationally and those beautiful eyes studied me intently, “if ever I am feeling a bit blue-devilled, Cousin Tynan, I find that a light breakfast sets me up for the day.”

  A faint shadow of amusement flitted across his face. “Is that what you think of me, hweg? That I’m ‘blue-devilled’—a tad moody—now and then? Or perhaps, like Huddy, you think every ill can be cured with a decent meal?”

  “Not at all,” I replied. “To be honest, I was just making conversation,” I said, trying to sound flippant.

  His eyes crinkled into genuine laughter at that. “What do you suggest, Cousin Lucy? What sort of fast-breaking feast will cure me of my maudlin malaise?”

  I regarded him thoughtfully, my head tilted to one side. “You look like a boiled egg and dippy soldiers man to me.”

  “You flatter me, Cousin Lucy,” he drawled in a mock-affected tone.

  I moved to sit next to him and explained what I meant as I cut a slice of buttered bread into neat strips and lopped the top off a soft-boiled egg. “These are the soldiers,” I explained, holding up one of the rectangles of bread. I dipped it into the runny egg yolk and held it out to Tynan who, after regarding it for a moment as if it were a coiled snake, accepted it from me and ate it. We repeated the process until all of the “soldiers” were gone. “Now, ordinarily,” I continued, “you would finish off this repast by eating the egg white.” His shudder informed me that such an eventuality was unlikely.

  “I think my nurse used to coax me in the same way when I was a child.” His eyes wore a faraway expression. “I was a horrid, sickly brat.”

  “Demelza told me your health has always been a great concern to her and Uther,” I said.

  “Did she now?” he asked. “How very considerate of her.”

  * * *

  I slept surprisingly well and woke refreshed to the sound of Betty lighting the fire. She pulled back the bed curtains, but the words of greeting died on her lips. Our synchronised gasps of horror shuddered on the air. The limp tabby figure was suspended by a noose from the rail of my four-poster bed. The cat’s neck was broken so that its head flopped over at an impossible angle. Sightless green eyes stared pitifully at us and sharp, bright teeth showed in an endless, frozen snarl.

  Betty began to scream. It was a thin, high-pitched whine that had no beginning or end. I leaped from my bed and ran to her, gripping her shoulders tightly and giving her a little shake. She stopped screaming and gulped back a sob, whipping her head from me to the cat’s body and back again with wide, horrified eyes.

  The door flew open and Uther stormed in. “What the devil? Lucy, I heard screaming.” His sweeping glance took in the whole scene. “Cut that abomination down, girl,” he barked at Betty. “And get rid of it at once!”

  Betty rushed to do his bidding, untying the noose—which had been fashioned from the cord of my dressing gown—with trembling fingers and carrying the sad little body from the room. When the door had closed behind her, Uther drew me into the safety of his arms, holding me close until my disordered senses finally calmed.

  “How has this happened?” he asked, guiding me to sit with him on the edge of the bed.

  “Someone has managed to get into my room in the middle of the night and do…this…” Tears threatened to drown the words, and I struggled to overcome them.

  “But who?”

  “It must be someone who has a key,” I said, explaining that I always locked the door, just as he had insisted when I first arrived. My routine was unfailing. I removed the key from the lock and hung it next to the door so that Betty could let herself in each morning using her own key.

  “Is this the first time something like this has happened? That someone has been in your room?” His eyes probed my face and, when I hesitated, he said sharply, “This is important, Lucy!”

  “No,” I admitted quietly. With a reluctant sigh, I told him about the night of the storm when I had found Tynan’s handkerchief in my bedchamber. “But aside from Betty, I do not know who else has a key to my room.”

  “Mrs Lethbridge and I both have a master set of keys, but, apart from that, I can think of no one else who would have access to one. What do you know of this girl, this Betty, who waits on you?”

  I shook my head emphatically. “Betty has no reason to wish me ill! And you saw how shocked she was at what had been done to the cat….” I broke off, biting my lip.

  “Can you think of anyone who does wish you ill?” he asked, sliding an arm about my shoulders and holding me close against the comforting warmth of his body.

  I shook my head. A horrid thought intruded and an inkling of it must have shown on my countenance. “What is it?” Uther demanded.

  “The cat scratched me, remember? A few days ago.”

  His lips thinned. “So this might have been the gesture of someone who wanted to please you? A misguided soul who thought that punishing the cat would make you happy?”

  I felt my lip tremble and fought desperately to control it. “He wouldn’t…surely not—”

  “Oh, I think he would,” Uther said grimly. “I think Tynan would do anything to please you.”

  Chapter Seven

  I was seated beside the fire in the library, and, from the sound of their voices, they were just outside the door. The role of eavesdropper did not sit comfortably with me and I rose, intent on making my presence known. I would go away, leave them in peace, but they were arguing and Demelza sounded distressed. I paused, not wanting to embarrass her by interrupting their intense exchange.

  “You cannot seriously intend to persist in this.” Uther’s tone was cold.

  “But I must!” Demelza said. “The Tenebris summer ball is an Athal tradition. Only think how very odd it would appear if we did not hold it this year!”

  “It could look a damned sight odder if we do and he—” He broke off on a note of frustration. “You must see what a risk it would be.”

  “No, how so?” Demelza enquired. She lowered her voice, but it still carried to me. “The timing will be just right. I would not be foolish enough to arrange it to take place at a dangerous time in the month, and you must have observed what a calming influence our dearest Lucy has been.”

  There was a moment’s silence. “Very well.” The words were forced reluctantly from him. “You are right, of course. To not have the summer ball would occasion considerable comment. I fear there may already be rumours. If we go ahead, we may quash at least some of those.” I heard his quick footsteps echo across the stone-flagged hall.

  I remained in my seat until Demelza entered the library, at which point I rose. I was aware of the guilty flush stinging my face and of Demelza regarding me with puzzled interest.

  “Lucy dear, how troubled you look. Did I startle you?” She gestured me back into my seat and took a chair on the opposite side of the hearth.

  “No, but I think you should know that I heard some of your conversation with Uther just now,” I explained. “But I assure you I do not know what you were talking about.”

  She gave me a measured look and, not for the first time, I felt I was being shrewdly assessed. The thought crossed my mind that perhaps I had been meant to overhear what she and Uther were discussing. Could she be so manipulative? I studied her pretty, inscrutable face and decided that she could. I knew for a fact that Uther was a master in the art of control. I began to feel very uneasy.

  Demelza’s laugh had the music of a gently chiming bell. “But, my dear Lucy, we have no secrets from you. Merely, we were discussing whether we should hold our summer ball this year. I think we should, but Uther, as always, is concerned for Tynan’s well-being.”

  “Aunt, what makes Uther think that something so mild as a ball would tax Tynan’s strength?” I wrinkled my nose in confusion. “Tynan is sociable, charming—when it pleases him—and desperately in need of the company of others his own age. Surely a ball would be an ideal setting for him as he approaches hi
s majority?”

  She sighed. “I wish it were that simple.” Her words and tone reminded me of something Uther had said on that never-to-be-forgotten day in Port Isaac. “Tynan is, of course, all the things you describe. But he is also very delicate. The least little thing can upset him dreadfully.” She reached out in her impulsive way and briefly clasped my hand. “Which is why I am so glad, dearest, that you are here. You do his poor spirits so much good, without draining his strength. My dear brother is weighed down by the cares of his guardianship, and his fears for the future….” Her voice trailed away, but she regarded me speculatively from under her long lashes. I felt she was willing me to say something, to make a connection, but my mind stubbornly refused to do what she wanted.

  “I would rather have expected Uther to be proud of his stewardship of the estate.” I waved a hand to indicate the castle and its grounds. “Thanks to him, its future must be assured.”

  “We can neither of us regret that we devoted ourselves so completely to Tynan as he grew up. But we did so, perhaps, to the exclusion of our own happiness. Uther’s devotion to the family—and, indeed, I hope, my own—cannot be questioned. Had one of us married, however, and had children of our own, our current fears would not be so pronounced.”

  It was there in her words, the answer to this conundrum, but it remained elusively just out of my reach. “Aunt, I fear I am being very obtuse today,” I said, “but I must ask you to explain what you mean.”

  “That the Jago line must end here. Tynan will be the last of our name,” she explained sadly.

  “But why must that be so?” A frown furrowed my brow as I still struggled to make sense of her words. “Tynan is young and, although you say he was a sickly child, he seems now to be fully restored to health. He is handsome, rich and clever. When he leaves here, what could be more natural than that he should find himself a wife?”

  “No!” The word burst from her lips and hung in the air between us. “Tynan can never leave Tenebris!”