Death was the alternative. Death, all but unknown to his kind, and the complete end of his hopes of return to Tir-na-Nog and his own people.
As for her…
He sank to the floor. Her kind had hunted unicorns nearly to extinction. Females like her had lured his fellows to their destruction.
Though she could not know it, Mariah possessed power over him. He could easily fall under her sway, as his ancestors had.
Win her, but do not let her claim your heart.
Ash clenched his fists, though there was nothing to strike but the unyielding ground. He must remember that Mariah was part Fane, though that otherworldly blood had not permitted her to see Donnington’s treachery. Donnington and Cairbre had locked Ash in this place with the intention that Mariah should find him and feel bound to him because of his supposed madness.
But something had not gone as they had planned. Too much time had passed before Mariah came to him, and when she did, it had not been necessary for him to feign madness. Long days behind the bars had driven him to it, and only Mariah had saved him.
Mariah, who feared madness herself. Who must never know what he knew now.
You must betray her.
Betray her to Cairbre, to a life in Tir-na-Nog, where she would be but a pawn in Cairbre’s scheme to rule the Blessed Land.
Where she would be free of Donnington. Where she would live in luxury and beauty to the end of her days. Where she might come fully into her powers, free to defy Cairbre as she had unconsciously defied him earlier, when he had tried to take her through the Gate.
It would not be so terrible for her. She would be alive. Not even Cairbre could steal her spirit, her courage.
Ash sprang to his feet. Why had she married Donnington? What deceptions had he used to win her? Were they the same deceptions Ash must use now to save himself?
He felt the hunter’s iron-headed spear already lodged within his body, twisting, stealing breath and life. The girl would not be harmed. When he won his freedom from exile and was back in Tir-na-Nog, he might even come to her aid against Cairbre.
And take my revenge.
He ran his hands through his short mane. He had no answers, only instincts. The instinct to return to his true self. The instinct to survive.
And it was not as if he cared for her. He must forget the softness Mariah had awakened in him. He must remember who he was.
Arion. But he would be Ash as long as he must, and become what Mariah wished him to be.
By the time she returned to his cage, a heavy bar of Cold Iron in her hand, he felt nothing at all.
CHAPTER SIX
“I BELIEVE SHE has a lover.”
Vivian, the dowager Lady Donnington, poured another cup of tea for Lady Westlake, who took the fragile handle between her elegant fingertips.
“Of course,” the younger woman said. “I had assumed that fact was already understood between us.”
Understood, indeed. Nevertheless, Vivian chose subtlety over Lady Westlake’s frankness. “She has only been married two months,” she remarked.
“And has shown no signs of being with child.”
Vivian found that her aching hands were remarkably steady as she offered Lady Westlake the plate of biscuits. “Although, if she were to become so now…”
There was no need to finish the sentence. Both women knew the unwritten rules of high society. It was far from unusual for married ladies to take lovers from among their own kind—discreetly, of course, with an eye to never being caught in a public place—and with the tacit permission, if not approval, of spouses who were engaged in similar clandestine affairs.
But this was only to be undertaken after a woman had given birth to “an heir and a spare,” so that no illegitimate offspring could claim an inheritance not rightly his. For a new bride like Mariah to enjoy the intimate company of a man not her husband…
“She is a shallow child, to be sure,” Lady Westlake said, “but to take such a risk…”
“Indeed. But since I believe she drove my son away before their marriage was…complete, I would not put anything past her.”
Lady Westlake’s expression took on a new and very keen interest. “I knew it,” she said, half under her breath.
Vivian didn’t know whether to be angry or pleased at having so perceptive an ally. “Did you?” she asked in a cool tone.
“I apologize if I have offended,” Lady Westlake said hastily. “It was not my intention.”
“Of course it wasn’t, my dear.” Vivian finished her tea and waited until Barbara had retrieved the tray and left the room. “How did you come to suspect?”
“I fancy that I have known Lord Donnington long enough to guess that he would not leave Donbridge immediately after his wedding without very good reason.”
“He would not. And though he is a strong man, he would never dream of forcing himself on a lady, even his wife.”
The two women absorbed this thought in silence. Lady Westlake was first to speak again.
“What do you propose to do about the situation?” she asked. “Until Donnington returns…”
“I shall take steps to see that he is provided with all necessary information to press for an annulment.”
“You know you have my full support, Lady Donnington,” Lady Westlake said.
“I am gratified to hear it.” Vivian rose and swept around the room, walking past the window that let in a modicum of morning sunlight and stopping at last beneath the portrait of her late husband. “How William would have despised this state of affairs. But my son has always done just as he wished, even in his choice of wife.”
Lady Westlake made a sound of agreement. “What shall be your first move, Lady Donnington?”
“To determine the name and nature of her lover.” Vivian turned and resumed her chair. “For that I may ask your help. I already have an agent in place, but I am not sure how fully she can be trusted.”
“May I enquire as to the nature of this ‘agent’?”
“A maid in the household, one who has been taken into Mariah’s confidence. I have encouraged her to continue to foster the relationship as much as she is able. Americans are remarkably informal with their servants.”
“So I have heard. Odd that they should have servants at all, given their penchant for doing their own work.”
But Vivian was in no mood to be drawn from the subject at hand. “You are in no sense obligated to help me, Lady Westlake, but if you are truly willing…”
“I am.”
“Would it be possible for you to befriend my daughter-in-law more closely?”
“I doubt, even in her ignorance, that she would find me sincere. I have not always concealed my dislike. But I shall do whatever I can.”
The two women smiled at each other in perfect understanding. Vivian knew that Lady Westlake had been pursuing Donnington for some time before his marriage and resented Mariah’s very presence in Donnington’s life. She was a matron with an ill and elderly husband and a son with whom she had little to do; according to gossip, she had already engaged in any number of affairs. But she was certain that she could snag Donnington with Mariah out of the way.
Vivian had given Lady Westlake to assume that she would not stand in the way of such an alliance, but in truth she would never permit it under any circumstances. Pamela appeared respectable on the surface but, beneath that pretty veneer, was a simple tart.
Nevertheless, Pamela must continue to believe that the field would be clear for her once Mariah was disposed of. The situation must be handled with the utmost delicacy, and all blame must fall entirely on the American heiress’s shoulders.
Vivian stood up again. “If you will forgive me, Lady Westlake, I have household matters I must attend to. My daughter-in-law does not see fit to take on her proper duties, so I must perform them in her place.”
A flash of waspish resentment crossed Lady Westlake’s face and was quickly gone. She rose gracefully. “I look forward to our next discussion, Lady Do
nnington.”
“As do I.” They shook hands, each holding on a little longer and a little more firmly than was strictly polite. Vivian escorted Lady Westlake to the drawing room door and signaled Parish to send for her carriage. “Goodbye for now, Lady Westlake.”
The women exchanged nods, and Lady Westlake walked out of the house. Vivian watched the footman hand her into her seat, where she settled gracefully in a flurry of overdecorated skirts and waved to her hostess before the carriage started away.
You shall serve my purpose, young woman, Vivian thought, but you shall never get your hooks into Donnington. Our name shall not be further polluted. He shall marry a good, innocent English girl, fortune or not.
And everything would be just as it had been before.
SINJIN MET MARIAH again the next night after sunset.
She had been compelled to spend most of the day with the dowager, who still seemed intent on finding as many things for Mariah to do as was humanly possible. Most of it was make-work, some of which Mariah suspected could easily have been left to a servant, but there was no way she could avoid it.
And no amount of work could clear her mind of her last conversation with Ash. He had heard everything she’d said to Sinjin, everything she’d wanted to keep hidden from him until he was ready. Until she was ready.
Now there was no telling what might happen. She’d still attempted to free him from his cage, but the effort had failed. She had been unable to wield enough strength to crack the lock with the crowbar borrowed from the groundskeeper’s shed and had naturally not been able to call on Sinjin for help.
But now he was here, pacing outside the folly with his gun still tucked into his trousers.
“Mariah,” he said with obvious relief. “I thought you wouldn’t be able to come.”
“Vivian kept me occupied.” She joined him, compelling him to stop his pacing. “Ash heard us, Sinjin.”
He gave her a blank look. “Heard what?”
“Everything we said about how much he looks like Donnington and the possibility that you’re related.”
She couldn’t see his eyes in the darkness, but she could imagine their expression. “For God’s sake. How did he react?”
“With questions, many of which I was compelled to answer.”
“And?”
“He seems to have taken it as well as can be expected.”
Sinjin grunted. “I suppose I’d better be prepared for another attack.”
“I made it clear that you had nothing to do with Donnington’s actions.”
“Which have still not been proven.”
“I know.” She raised her lantern and searched his face anxiously. “What were you able to learn?”
“Quite a bit more than I expected.” He returned Mariah’s gaze. “We should speak here, before going inside.”
“You know I intend to release Ash tonight.”
“And I approve.”
His response was so unexpected that Mariah was left momentarily mute. “What changed your mind?” she asked.
He took her arm and led her to a bench overlooking the lakeshore a dozen yards from the folly. “Your guesses about him weren’t far off.”
“You found the keeper.”
“Not exactly.”
“Tell me!”
“From all I’ve been able to find out, your wild man must be the son of my mother’s long-lost sister. He’s my cousin, Merry.”
Mariah stared into the dark water. “I knew there had to be a connection, but to hear it…”
“Yes.” He sighed. “There’s a great deal I still don’t know, but this much appears to be true. Over thirty years ago, my mother’s elder sister married an American and emigrated to the United States after a terrible falling-out with my maternal grandfather. She was disowned and never heard from again. Even my mother never spoke of her. It was eventually assumed she had died in America, and nothing was ever heard of any offspring from her union.”
“How did you learn this?”
“From one of my father’s old footmen. Apparently some sort of letter arrived at Donbridge soon after my father married my mother, but he chose to discard it rather than upset her.”
“And you think the old earl knew your aunt had a child?”
“I do.”
“What is Ash’s real name?”
“The footman wasn’t privy to that information. It will still be necessary for me to contact the authorities in America, or at the very least to employ an investigator to discover Ash’s history.”
Struggling to catch her breath, Mariah tried to envision a situation that could have brought Ash to Donbridge under such circumstances. Donnington had spent some time in America before his courtship of her; had he learned of Ash’s existence then? Had he met his lost cousin? If so, what could have passed between them? How had Ash lost his memory?
Had Donnington truly imprisoned his own cousin?
“I know what you’re thinking,” Sinjin said. “Why is Ash here? What on earth could have possessed my brother to do this? I still can’t believe it. How could he be so depraved?”
That was the very thing that Mariah still could not accept. Donnington had been a perfect gentleman during their courtship. Nothing untoward or disturbing had ever happened when they were together—quite the contrary. Surely she could not have known so little about him….
“What of his keeper?” she asked.
“I found a cottage on the border of the estate. Whoever lived in it must have fled.”
“Because he realized I had discovered Ash?”
“Perhaps. Naturally I’ll make subtle inquiries in the neighborhood.”
“And in the meantime, the most important thing is for Ash to recover his memory.”
Sinjin frowned at his clasped hands. “We must continue to keep his presence absolutely secret. And we must be prepared for my brother’s return to Donbridge…”
“Yes.”
They looked at each other in grim understanding. “Where can Ash be taken?” Mariah asked.
“The cottage, perhaps,” Sinjin said. “If the servants weren’t sure who lived there, it seems likely that no one ever goes near the place.”
“It does seem reasonable.” She leaned forward on the bench, staring into the still dark water. “How much should we tell Ash about what you’ve discovered?”
“He already knows that there is a connection between us. And he’s still potentially dangerous. I’d advise saying nothing more for the time being.”
“I agree. We shall tell him nothing until we’ve learned more and have decided how best to handle…”
She realized that she’d been about to speak of Ash as if he were a child. She rose. “We can discuss this further at a later time. Now we must see Ash and tell him what we intend to do.”
Together they went into the folly. Ash was waiting at the bars as he always did, his eyes flickering from Mariah to Sinjin and back again.
Mariah set down the two bags she’d brought with her. “I’m sorry to have taken so long,” she said to Ash. “We’re here to let you out at last.” She took the crowbar from against the wall and handed it to Sinjin, who was staring bemusedly at Ash. He hesitated, weighing the heavy metal in his hand, and approached the cell.
Ash’s lips peeled away from his teeth. “Ware,” he said.
It seemed that her efforts to absolve Sinjin of any part in Ash’s imprisonment had not been entirely successful. “I need his help to break the lock,” she said. “Stand away from the bars, Ash.”
He did so, but with great reluctance, as if he felt that giving way to Sinjin in any manner was a defeat. Sinjin studied the lock, then lifted the crowbar and swung. Iron clanged on iron. It required several blows to finally shatter the padlock.
Mariah darted in to pull the pieces apart, flinging them as far from the cage as possible, and then began to open the door.
“Wait!” Sinjin said. He pushed ahead of her and stood blocking the cell’s exit.
�
��Ash,” he said, almost gently. “You must be careful. We must all be careful. Do you understand?”
After a hard and silent stare, Ash nodded. Sinjin backed away. Ash stepped forward like a neglected horse finally released from its stall, head lowered and body tense.
“Ash,” Mariah whispered. For the first time she was close to him without the impediment of bars between them, and the feeling was extraordinary, almost frightening. He projected something she had only glimpsed when he’d been confined: a nobility, a strength of mind and purpose so evident that even Sinjin seemed affected. His body, underfed though it might be, rippled with lean muscle, all the more obvious with proximity. His shoulders were so much broader than she had realized, his pectorals and ridged abdominals as finely developed as in the most perfect Greek statue.
But his face…his face was beautiful. Not in the way a woman is beautiful, for there was nothing delicate about it. But its lines were so handsomely formed that Mariah realized he didn’t look exactly like Donnington at all. Feature by feature the two men seemed identical, but it was as if Donnington were a rough copy of an original sculpture, blunted and crude.
“This isn’t going to be easy,” Sinjin muttered.
Ash didn’t seem to hear him. “Mariah,” he said. He drew closer before she had time to prepare herself, his firm fingertips reaching to touch her cheek, sweeping down to her jawline.
“I say,” Sinjin said. “That isn’t at all the thing, old man.”
Ash’s head jerked up. Black eyes met brown in a battle of wills. “It is not how a gentleman would behave?” Ash said.
The sentence was so clear, so complete, so different from anything he had said before, that both Mariah and Sinjin were taken aback. If it hadn’t been for the musical depth of his voice, that inexplicable “something extra” Mariah couldn’t define, anyone standing outside the building would have sworn the earl himself stood within the folly.
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