One of the women stepped forward and approached Aidan. She had her hands twisted in her apron, and the cap she wore was different from all the others, a bright red when the other housemaids wore gray or black.
“One o’ me girls was headin’ to the laundry when she found it, my lord,” the housekeeper said, and her soft brown eyes were full of worry.
“What did she find?” Aidan asked. His pace didn’t slow as he approached the rear door. It hung open, spilling cold morning air into the galley. Beyond the landing, there were more servants gathered outdoors, and Olwyn saw that Rogan Mullen was outside as well, his black hair gleaming in the early light.
“Ye don’t know?”
Aidan flashed a quick, hard glance to Padraig, and then back to his housekeeper. “Never mind it.”
He brushed past her and strode through the open door. Olwyn heard Aidan gasp as he saw what caused the stir, and he stumbled slightly before his father reached out and gripped his arm. A low groan came from Aidan’s throat, a raw sound full of pain.
To her right she saw a young boy stumble past them, a stable lad by the look of his dress. He was gagging as he made his way to a bush, his arms clutched to his gut. He leaned over the shrub and quietly vomited.
A hand settled on her shoulder, and Olwyn glanced up and saw Padraig towering over her. Grim lines drew his face into a mask of hardness, and his eyes looked like emeralds, bright green and solid as stone. He gave her a slight push forward. “Go have a look, Miss Gawain.”
Cold seeped into her bare feet from the frigid ground, making her bones ache, and it took all her strength to move through the knot of people. She did a gallows walk, one foot in front of the other, her movements jerky and wooden.
She reached Aidan’s side, and then horror rose in her throat, along with bile. Beside her Aidan dropped to his knees as if all the strength had left his legs, and another of those horrible groans came from him before it dissolved into a harsh sob.
She forced herself to look at the carnage before her, even though it made her stomach churn and her soul sick. It would be the least of her penances, to see what her presence had cost Aidan.
There, lying on the frozen earth, was Chase.
He’d been done like one of her father’s corpses, slit down the middle, his entrails and organs removed and arranged neatly beside the hollowed cavity of the dog’s body. Chase’s eyes had been left untouched, and they stared murkily at the sky.
Blood bathed the ground in a halo of crimson. Chase must have been eviscerated where he lay, her mind noted in an almost detached manner. It had been a bloodbath of a dissection.
Olwyn noticed the slit across Chase’s throat, no doubt how he’d been dispatched. It was jagged and gaped open, a macabre second smile that exposed the innards of his thick neck. She also noticed that one of his rear legs had been badly torn and broken. It hung crookedly, shards of bone piercing the skin.
She could picture with deadly accuracy how Rhys had managed to slay the enormous dog. It was painfully apparent to her that he’d trapped him and approached him from the rear, had probably slammed the back of his skull with a cudgel. He must have dragged the unconscious dog to the place where he’d planned to do his work, as no trail of blood ran out of the woods. He’d then grabbed that giant head, pulled it up, and sawn his knife through the arteries of the throat.
Olwyn raised her eyes to the line of the woods in the distance. Rhys was out there, somewhere, watching.
Did he see her? she wondered. Was he looking at his wayward daughter, and smiling with delight as he saw her view the futility of her own escape? Did he see what she wore? The man’s robe that marked her as a slut. Her father would not take that matter lightly.
Off to her left another servant came out to see what the fuss was about. She took one look, and promptly stumbled away as she vomited, spewing a hot rush of disgust to the ground.
But Olwyn didn’t feel revulsion as the stench of the vomit mingled with the reek of innards, blood, and the unmistakable odor of death. She didn’t feel anything.
It was the worst nightmare come to life, and like a person caught in the throes of a terrifying, outlandish dream, Olwyn could not move her legs, could not scream, could not weep, and could not feel.
Deep inside her, something died.
Olwyn recognized the loss like a distant observer, watching with unearthly calm as the tiniest flame of her newly sparked hope was snuffed out, smothered, and went cold.
She would not mourn the death of her hope. She’d had no right to it in the first place.
Olwyn Gawain turned to Aidan, and he looked up to her, his eyes full of the pain that she’d brought to his door, just as she feared. Tears slid down his handsome face, falling like a clear, cold rain. He opened his hands, those lovely, wide, square-palmed hands that brought her nothing but pleasure, and spread them as if to show her they were completely empty.
Yes, she answered him silently. I am so sorry. So very, very sorry.
His eyes, full of grief and hurt and confusion, ravaged her. She ached as if she’d been whipped, but did not look away. Instead, she met his gaze full-on and let it punish her.
“I take it this isn’t a mystery to you,” Padraig said from behind her. His voice was heavy with emotions he kept tightly contained. “You know who did this.”
“I do,” Olwyn whispered, finding her voice along with what remained of her former resolve to leave, and take her troubles away from the Mullen family. “It was me.”
She brought her eyes back to Chase. His coat gleamed in the sunlight where it wasn’t covered in blood, and she remembered his gifts to her, not just sticks and bones, but his gift of making her not afraid of him.
And for it, he’d been brutally killed and gutted, left as a warning and a calling card combined.
“I’m so terribly sorry.” What a pitiful word, she thought. Sorry. As if it meant anything, or undid any damage, or even mended a single mistake.
Olwyn glanced once to Aidan’s father, Rogan Mullen, the formidable Duke of Eton. Rogan stood tall and stoic beside his son, his face hard and handsome and completely unreadable. He was a powerful man, not just in title and riches, but in his presence. Looking at him made Olwyn feel very small.
“I am sorry, Your Grace,” she managed to whisper.
“What do you mean, ’twas you who did this?” Padraig demanded. “’Tis not possible. The damned dog outweighs you by at least six stone.”
Olwyn felt all eyes on her—the staffs’, the family’s, and her father’s as he watched from the woods. Her face, as cold as it was, burned. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound would come forth.
From the door of the manse she heard Camille’s voice. “What’s happened, Rogan?” she asked of her son.
“Don’t come out here, Mum. This isn’t a sight for your eyes,” Rogan answered, his tone deceptively calm. “I’ll come inside in a bit and explain.”
Olwyn turned and looked at Camille, whose face showed concerned worry. She was a petite woman, still beautiful in her advanced age, full of grace and dignity. She’d been nothing but kind to Olwyn.
Amidst the Mullen family and their staff, Olwyn felt every bit as much the outsider as when she’d been reviled in Penarlâg. Except these people hadn’t shunned her. They’d brought her into their lives, welcomed her into their home, clothed, fed, and accepted her. One of them even loved her.
Men from the stables arrived on a wagon. They hopped down and began unloading tarps, shovels, and buckets of water.
“All right, then,” Rogan said, gesturing for the staff to disperse. “Let’s all return indoors so they can get the poor animal buried and the mess cleaned up.”
The servants did as they were told. After they were all indoors, Olwyn remained outside with the Mullen men. She stayed, unable to leave because Aidan was still kneeling by his dog’s side, his head bowed and his eyes closed. As long as Aidan suffered his loss, Olwyn felt it her responsibility to bear witness to his pain. The men who�
��d come with their shovels and tarps hung back a bit, clearly unsure of what to do.
Padraig went to Aidan’s side and dropped his hand onto his twin’s shoulder. “Come, brother,” Padraig said quietly. “Let them do their work.”
Rogan turned his bright green gaze to Olwyn once again. “Miss Gawain, if you’ll come indoors with me, I’d be most interested in hearing your explanation.”
“No,” Aidan said. He got to his feet and positioned himself between his father, brother, and Olwyn. “I need to speak with her alone, first.”
“We all want to know what’s happened here,” Padraig said.
“I’ve a right to hear it first, aye?” Aidan responded harshly. “I watched Chase be born, and I raised him myself.” His voice broke, but he bit out, “Leave us.”
Padraig made a noise in his throat that sounded like a growl, just as Rogan placed a hand on his back. “He’s right, Pad. Let’s give him a minute.”
Padraig glared briefly at Olwyn, and she felt his disapproval and suspicion. He turned his attention back to Aidan. “I’ll go for now, but I’ll be just inside, waiting for you. This matter will need to be avenged, brother, and as always, I’ll be at your side.”
Olwyn held the robe she wore tighter around her body, unable to stop shivering. Her father was out there, somewhere, she knew. Rhys would not have gone to such lengths to inspire horror without finding a spot from which to watch the outcome of his handiwork.
Together, Padraig and Rogan went into the house, leaving Aidan and Olwyn alone, save for the men who’d come to deal with Chase’s remains. Aidan made a small gesture and they departed, allowing them to talk in relative privacy.
Standing in front of his murdered dog, he faced Olwyn. He studied her for a long moment before he said, “This is your father’s work, aye?”
Olwyn could only manage a small nod.
“And this is what would have become of me.”
It wasn’t a question.
Olwyn nodded again.
“This is the danger you spoke of. This is what he’s capable of.”
“And worse,” she whispered. Olwyn bowed her head, unable to keep looking at Aidan’s face, ravaged as it was with sadness and an emotion she could not name. He looked aloof, distant, and a hardness had taken over his features, making him appear ruthless and cold.
“Look at me.”
“No,” she managed to choke out. “I cannot bear seeing your pain, and knowing it was I who brought it here.”
Aidan cupped her chin and forced her head back. There was no violence in his touch, but neither was their any gentleness. His eyes shone as hard and blue as sapphires beneath the scowl of his dark gold brows, and he appeared like an archangel bent on destruction. His chiseled features were fierce, the line of his lips flat, and his tall, broad body radiated danger.
“Let’s be clear on one thing, Olwyn. You came to me and gave me a warning, and I did not heed it well enough. ’Tis a mistake I’ll not make again.”
Olwyn didn’t respond. What, she wondered, was there left to say?
Somewhere out there, Rhys watched on, seeing his daughter in a man’s robe, being touched with the familiarity of a lover. She knew there would be no end to Rhys’s determination to get her back with him. Rhys saw such matters in very basic terms—she was born a Gawain, and therefore belonged to him.
“More of your silences,” he said roughly. “Tell me what’s in your pretty head, Olwyn. Tell me now, before I lose what little remains of my temper.”
Olwyn realized his grief had turned into anger, and she was glad. Rage would serve him far better than sorrow in the days to come.
Not too far off, one of the men who’d come to bury Chase’s remains coughed, and the sound carried to them on air that stank of death, innards, and thawing earth that had been soiled with blood and vomit.
If there would be any blessing to be found in what the poor dog had suffered, it was only that from now on, Olwyn could be certain that Aidan would take her warnings to heart.
“You have two choices, my lord. Your first is to release me, and let me go back to Penarlâg with my father.”
Before she could finish, Aidan interrupted. “Never.”
“He will not stop until it is so.”
“Is that what you want, Olwyn? Do you want to go back with him?”
“No,” she said with fierce conviction. The memories of the crumbling keep where her father had made her his assistant in the dungeon assaulted her in graphic detail, as did the loneliness that had been like a living death. “No, I don’t, but I would rather go back with him than bring more troubles to your doorstep.” Tears threatened her thinly held composure as she said, “Your dog, Aidan. Your poor dog.”
“This was not your fault,” he said distinctly, his tone as firm and bitingly cold as the earth beneath them. And she knew he held to his fury so he would not succumb to his heartache.
“Not your doing,” he repeated. “I want you here, no matter what. Do you hear me? I want you, Olwyn.”
His words shook her, but Olwyn swallowed down the emotions they stirred. She needed to be certain Aidan understood the stakes. “You must know that by choosing me, you choose to make war with him.”
“Then ’tis settled, and war it will be.”
“If that’s the case, my lord, and your choice is made, there is only more thing to be said—guard your mews, your stables, and your home well, for unless my father gets me back, there will be more blood.”
Aidan watched Olwyn carefully. She was paler than usual, and beneath the narrow slash of her black brows, her striking gray eyes were flinty. She met his gaze for the most part, but every so often her eyes flickered to the line of tangle of trees in the distance.
“He’s there in the woods, watching, aye?” Aidan asked softly.
He saw the recognition take her face, first the realization that he’d seen into her thoughts, followed by the fear that he’d act on the knowledge.
“Your silences are beginning to be quite eloquent, Olwyn. By the time we’ve been married a few years, you won’t need to ever speak a word.”
She blanched whiter still, and if Aidan hadn’t been holding in such a mix of potent, penned-up emotions, he might have been amused. Each time he spoke of the future she got that same look on her face: poleaxed, Patrick would call it.
“So he’s the sort who’ll want to see his creation,” Aidan said. “Well, let’s give him something to think about.”
He pulled her to him and kissed her possessively, his hands wandering down the elegant length of her spine in the manner of a man laying his claim to ownership. She tasted of tears, his and hers combined, and Aidan wanted to weep again. Instead he kissed her deeper, taking the comfort of her body and her mouth and offering his own.
Let her father see that she is mine, he thought.
She pulled back, shaking, and cast a glance to the men who loitered in the distance, waiting to deal with the carnage her father had left. Another quick peek toward the woods, one more look at Chase.
Chase. Aidan’s heart broke again, and in the center of that heartbreak was anger so pure and unadulterated that its name was retribution.
“Let’s go,” he said, and taking a grip on her arm, he towed her into the house.
Padraig waited for them just inside. He leaned against the far wall with his arms folded across his wide chest, a casual pose belied by the intensity of his scowl. “What now?”
“Set up guards at the mews, stables, and around the perimeter of the manse. Give them three-hour shifts, and put Edward from the stables in charge. He’ll keep their eyes open.”
“Done,” Padraig said. “Anything else?”
“Aye. Saddle the horses, ready the weapons, get the hounds, and tell Da, Matteo, and Roman that they’re needed. We’re going hunting, brother.”
Padraig gave a short nod and headed off.
“You won’t find him,” Olwyn said softly.
Aidan heard the certainty in her tone. “My
hounds will sniff him out.”
“He’ll have thought of that.” Olwyn let out a little laugh that possessed no humor. “He’ll have thought of everything.”
Aidan studied Olwyn for a long moment. There was no way to reassure her that he knew of, no words that would set her mind at ease. She’d come to him in the night to warn him of the possibility of danger, and had awoken to the reality of her father’s madness on Aidan’s doorstep. All her life, Rhys Gawain had manipulated her with lies and cruelty, imprisoned her, and made her feel completely bereft of hope. To Olwyn, Rhys Gawain was omnipotent, a fearsome ghoul without a conscience.
“We’ll find him, Olwyn,” Aidan promised her gravely.
“You think he’s not much of a threat because he’s old and mad.”
“He is those things, aye? You told me yourself he’s lost his mind.”
“He has,” she affirmed quietly. Her clear gray eyes took on the look of the hunted, warily alert and weary of running, giving her the appearance of a woman who’d seen far too much at far too young an age. “But there is more to him than that.”
“That may be true.” Aidan held her arm tightly, and thinking of Chase, he said, “However, the same can be said of me.”
As Aidan led Olwyn through the manse, he noticed that the activity had returned to normal somewhat as the staff prepared and served the morning meal. The halls smelled of ham and warm bread, and as they approached the dining room, Aidan could hear the musical sounds of porcelain and crystal being placed on the table.
Olwyn pulled back with a slight struggle. “I’m not dressed properly, my lord.”
“Aye, we’ll see to that.”
He ducked his head into the dining room and spotted his mother, who was seated at the table with Mira and her father. His Aunt Kieran was there as well, along with Portia and Sophia, whose pretty eyes were full of upset and concern. Mira looked up and met Aidan’s gaze briefly before seeing that Olwyn was behind him. She took in Olwyn’s garb and quickly turned her face toward her breakfast. A blush rose on Mira’s cheeks, and Aidan wondered briefly if it was embarrassment or anger. He dismissed the thought just as quickly and addressed Emeline. “Mum, a word?”
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