by Ava Stone
Thorn reached Quent’s side and muttered only loud enough for him to hear, “It’s Kilworth…”
That bastard. If Quent never saw the blackguard again, it would be too soon. “What did he do now?”
Thorn heaved a sigh. “He’s dead.”
Quent’s mouth fell open. “Dead? How?”
Thorn shook his head in confusion. “That I have absolutely no idea about. On my word, it looks like he was scared to death.”
Scared to death?
“He’s in your blue parlor. I left Miss Southward with the body and came to find you straight away.”
Miss Southward? Oh, thank God. “You mean Lila?” he breathed out.
Thorn blinked at him. “I meant Anna, but…”
“Damn it all,” Quent grumbled, turning back towards the castle. Never in a million years would he have expected Kilworth to turn up dead in his blue parlor. He started to push his way through the crowd, heading back towards the castle entrance.
“Callie sent me to find you and Braden,” Thorn called after him. “But I’ve only run into Garrick and Miss Southward and—”
“Lila?” Quent stopped suddenly. Thorn nearly ran into the back of him, not that Quent cared in the least. He glanced over his shoulder at his friend to find the man frowning at him.
“Matilda Southward,” Thorn replied. “You do seem overly concerned about Lila Southward this evening.”
He was that, and he imagined he’d be concerned about Lila Southward the rest of his life. But right now, he had to deal with the reprobate lying dead in his blue parlor. And the furious Vicar Southward would be at Marisdùn in just a few moments. Damn it all to hell. He turned on his heel and started again for the castle, when…
“Lord Quentin!” bellowed the very last voice Quent ever wanted to hear again.
He stopped once more and this time Thorn did run into him.
“Apologies,” his friend muttered.
“Not as sorry as I am,” Quent said just loud enough for Thorn to hear as the irate Vicar Southward increased his gait up the stone path, almost upon the two gentlemen.
Lila’s father’s face was a brilliant red and his eyes flashed with fury. “Where are my girls?”
His niece Anna was standing watch over a dead body. His daughter Matilda was with Sidney Garrick, of all the damn people. And Lila…Quent had no idea where she was. But he wasn’t about to say any of that to the vicar. “I am sorry, sir. I’m actually in the middle of dealing with an emergency at the moment. Can we reconvene in the morning?”
Mr. Southward’s face hardened even more, which was a feat Quent hadn’t known was possible. “I want my girls this instant.”
Quent glanced around at all the partygoers nearby and leaned in closer to the vicar so no one else could overhear them. “I’m not ready to concede Lila to you, but someone has just died, sir. I truly must deal with this situation. I’m sure you’ll find your daughters and niece on your own. You can expect me at the vicarage at first light.”
The man’s eyes widened in surprise. “What do you mean someone has just died?”
Quent shook his head. “That’s all I know. Mr. Thorn just now informed me. I’m on my way to see things for myself.”
“Well, I’ll just come with you, shall I?”
Thorn winced slightly. “No need, sir. We can take care of the situation ourselves.”
The vicar looked Thorn up and down as though he was the lowest scourge on Earth. “I hardly think I’d take your word for that.”
The condescending man didn’t seem inclined in the least to let Quent out of his sight. And, actually, that was fine with Quent. Perhaps by the time the night was through Vicar Southward would see things differently, perhaps he wouldn’t oppose Quent’s suit by the time the sun was on the horizon. “You are, of course, welcome to help, Mr. Southward.”
Then Quent turned back, once again, towards the castle. He led the other two down one corridor and then the next until he came upon his blue parlor. He crossed over the threshold and found his one-time friend lying in the middle of the floor and the room quite filled to overflowing. Braden, Grace, Patience, Anna Southward, Garrick, Matilda Southward, and…Lila, in a very familiar shimmery white gown, stood on the other side of the room.
Dear God.
Her gaze met his, and Quent blinked at the brunette, his angel, his lady unmasked. Lila Southward. How the devil was that even possible?
Oh, good heavens! Why was Papa with Lord Quentin? And why…Why was his lordship looking at Lila as though he’d seen a ghost? Of course, at Marisdùn, he might very well have seen a ghost, but there was something else in his gaze, something else splashed across his face that she couldn’t quite read.
“Didn’t know where my girls were, hmm?” Papa glared at Lord Quentin as he stepped further into the parlor. Then his fiery glare touched Anna, Tilly and Lila. “It will be a very long time before the three of you see the light of day.”
“Now see here,” Mr. Thorn began. “I—”
“Honestly,” Lord Bradenham interrupted his friend, gesturing to Lord Kilworth’s lifeless body on the floor. “I hardly think now is the time for any of this.” Then he heaved a sigh, which finally pulled Lord Quentin’s gaze from Lila to his brother. “Callie has sent for Sir Cyrus, but I don’t think you want to alert anyone out there about what’s going on in here, not until Eilbeck decides what to do.”
“Quent.” Mr. Garrick inched closer to Lord Kilworth. “Isn’t that your ugly Roman soldier ring?” He gestured to a golden ring that lay just few inches from Lord Kilworth’s hand.
Lord Quentin rubbed the back of his neck as though he was quite uncomfortable all of a sudden. “I, uh, promised him he could have it.”
“Seems that ring’s a bit of bad luck,” Mr. Garrick returned. “The blacksmith had it when he died and now Kilworth.”
Was that true? Lila glanced back down at the golden band, lying on the Aubusson rug.
Lord Quentin scoffed. “It was in my possession and I am quite whole and hale.”
“But you weren’t,” Anna said softly. “I saw…I saw that thing above you on the road, and—”
That blackness Anna said had hovered over Lord Quentin, the blackness that had turned him as icy cold as Lord Kilworth was now. Fear began to pound through Lila’s veins. Was such a thing even possible?
“I had just sent it to the blacksmith,” he said very softly as though he thought there might be some merit to Mr. Garrick’s assessment.
“All right,” Mr. Thorn said. “No one touch the ring.”
“Nonsense!” Papa grumbled, stomping over towards Lord Kilworth’s lifeless body and snatching the ring up from the rug. “I will not have my girls subjected to more stories of ghosts and magical rings when no such things exist. This ring is an old relic, probably recovered from the ruins, and nothing more.”
Lila’s breath caught in her throat. What if…
Before anyone could say or do anything to stop him, Papa slid the ring onto his finger, and then held up his hand for everyone to see the thing. “See! Nothing.” Then he dropped his hand and started to remove it from his finger. “Now, I will take my girls and be gone from this place.”
But as he tugged on the ring, the air seemed to shift in the room. Candles flickered on tables and the curtains swayed as though a breeze had suddenly come from somewhere.
Heavens! Papa began to seize, and Lila gasped.
His body went stiff as he trembled, and his eyes rolled back in his head. All Lila could do was stare at her father as complete fear encircled her heart. His head fell backwards, but the rest of him was stiff as a board.
“I’ll get Brighid!” Anna called, dashing past the others in her haste to escape the parlor.
“Papa?” Lila said, rushing towards her father, reaching a hand out to him; but he was as immobile as a marble pillar, as though he was frozen in place.
“Darlings,” Lord Bradenham said rather calmly, glancing at his two sisters. “Why don’t you keep
Callie and Hope company across the hallway?”
Lila glanced over her shoulder to find one of the triplet’s heads stubbornly tilted up in defiance as she stared at her oldest brother. “You can’t expect us to leave now.”
The marquess frowned at the girl. “I do expect that you’ll do exactly what I asked, Grace. Now go sit with Callie and Hope, and don’t make me ask again.”
“But, Braden,” Grace started to protest, but stopped when he folded his arms across his chest and stared at her with such a determined expression it was obvious she would not prevail no matter what she said.
“Truly, it’s hardly a thing for a lady to witness,” Lord Bradenham muttered as his younger sisters finally headed for the corridor.
A cry escaped Tilly. “I’m not going anywhere. I can’t leave my father like this.”
“No, no, of course not, Tilly,” Mr. Garrick soothed, rubbing his hands down her arms. “And I’ll stay right here with you.”
Heavens! When had Tilly and Mr. Garrick become so familiar? Before Lila could think on that at all, Lord Quentin came up behind her and squeezed her shoulder.
“I think perhaps we should lay him on the settee, Lila,” he said softly, which did put her a little more at ease than she had been.
Lila nodded quickly, as it did seem like a wise plan. “Thank you, my lord.”
“A little help, Braden,” Lord Quentin said as he reached his hand out to Lila’s immobile father. As he touched his arm, however, the vicar’s head slowly fell back into place, with eyes as dark as coal.
“Step away from me!” Papa’s voice, louder and unnaturally deep, seemed to reverberate through the room. “Insidious invader.”
Lila and Tilly gasped in unison.
Lila took a step backwards, to see her father better. “Papa?” she asked, touching a hand to her heart. “What’s wrong with you?”
His dark-as-night eyes fell on her and terror swirled around Lila. The…entity before her looked like Papa, but it wasn’t him, not really. She could feel it in the depths of her soul.
“Be gone, whore,” he said dismissively. “Be gone all of you.”
“Now see here,” Lord Quentin began, stepping past Lila towards the thing inhabiting her father’s skin. “I won’t allow you to talk to your daughter like that. I—”
Papa, or whoever he was, lifted his arm, and though he didn’t make physical contact with Lord Quentin, the action alone sent his lordship swiftly flying across the room. Lila screamed as Lord Quentin hit the wall with an incredible force and then slid to the floor. A whoosh of air escaped him and he gasped for breath.
Oh good heavens! “My lord!” Lila cried, racing across the room. She dropped onto the floor beside Lord Quentin. Please, please, please let him be all right.
He clutched onto her hand, and his hazel eyes locked with hers. “Li-Lila,” he gasped out. “Don’t go near him.”
“Brighid said—” Anna rushed into the parlor, her face quite flush. But she stopped where she stood when Papa’s black eyes landed on her, robbing her of whatever else she meant to say.
Anna’s eyes flicked down to the ring on Papa’s hand and the tiniest bit of hope sparked in Lila’s heart. The ring. This was all because of the ancient ring he’d put on his finger. There had to be a way to get that thing off Papa’s hand. But how?
“Out of my way, whore!” Papa’s unnatural voice boomed.
Oh, he couldn’t leave like this! They couldn’t let him wander through Marisdùn with all the partygoers that filled the castle and grounds. They had to find a way to get that ring off his hand and set everything to rights. “Papa!” Lila scrambled back to her feet. “Let me get you a glass of warm milk, and—”
He turned fully to face her. “I am Cynbel, and you will address me as such.”
Cynbel? Cynbel the Celt? Lila blinked at her father. Was that even possible?
“Papa…er…I mean, Cynbel,” Tilly said, stepping slightly towards him. “Are you saying you’re Cynbel the Celt who battled Rufus Flavius fifteen hundred years ago?”
He looked Tilly up and down as though she was rubbish he never wanted to lay eyes on again. “How dare you speak to me, invader!” he roared, and there wasn’t anywhere in the room to hide from the magnification of his voice, which boomed off the walls, shattered a mirror behind Tilly, and shook the windows in their frames.
Heavens! They needed to keep him from getting angry, but how to do that?
Before Lila could even try to think of a plan, Mr. Chetwey appeared in the doorway behind Papa, a large axe in his hand, and without a moment’s hesitation, he bashed Papa in the back of the head with the wooden handle.
Seventeen
Quent had finally caught his breath when the vicar dropped to his knees and then fell flat on his face. Good God! What the devil was going on?
“Get the ring off his hand!” Lila wailed, racing across the parlor in a mad dash to reach her father.
Anna dropped to her knees beside the vicar. She tugged and tugged, but the thing wouldn’t budge at all. “It won’t come off,” she said, sounding slightly hysterical.
“Move,” Blake Chetwey ordered. “I’ll cut off his hand,” He raised his axe in the air.
“No!” Lila, her sister and cousin all cried at once.
Cut off his hand? What the devil was wrong with the man? “Why don’t you just try to remove the ring before we resort to such drastic measures, Chetwey?” Quent grumbled, pushing back to his feet.
“Brighid said the ring has to come off at all costs.”
“All right,” Garrick said with a nod, “but I don’t think the first resort should be cutting off the man’s hand for God’s sakes.”
“I’ll try,” Thorn said, kneeling beside Anna. He removed his gloves and handed them to her. Holding tight, he grasped the ring. Then he jerked his hand back and looked down and his fingers. “Bloody hell.”
“Thorn,” Braden chastised.
“Apologies.” He winced as thought he was quite in pain.
“Given the circumstances, I’m quite sure Mr. Thorn can be forgiven,” Anna said as she took his hand in hers, blowing against his singed fingertips.
Quent’s stomach twisted with worry. What the devil were they up against?
“As soon as we deal with my uncle, I’ll see about bandaging them,” the blonde added.
Thorn glanced up at her, smiled slightly, and then looked at Chetwey over his shoulder. “Do not cut off his hand. We’ll try a cream or something to help it slide off.”
“We have to act quickly before he wakes,” Garrick said, shaking his head. “I don’t think it’ll be possible once he regains consciousness.” He glanced at Quent and added, “I can’t believe he threw you across the room with no effort at all.”
“My child is about to be born,” Chetwey grumbled. “I should be with my wife at my home, but we’re here in this godforsaken castle, and she’s barred me from her herbarium and pressed upon me the fact that no one in the area will be safe until that ring is retrieved. Now I won’t have Brighid or my babe put in danger. So do get out of my way.”
“I understand your concern,” Quent said. It was one he shared as well. The force that had tossed him across the room was nothing he’d ever encountered in his life, and the last thing in the world that he wanted was for Vicar Southward or Cynbel or whoever the man was to roam Marisdùn and put anyone else in harm. The thought that Lila was in danger rattled his nerves, especially as he had no idea how to protect her from something so incredibly powerful. “But we’re still not cutting off his hand unless it comes to that.” After all, there had to be another way.
“The dungeons,” Thorn said quickly. “What if we put him in the dungeons? We could shackle him in one of the cells and then even if he comes to before we’re able to retrieve the ring, he won’t be able to harm anyone. It’ll buy us the time we need.”
“Perfect solution,” Garrick agreed. “I’ll take his hands, you grab his feet.”
Just as the two gentlem
en hoisted the vicar’s body in their arms, the puffed-up Sir Cyrus Eilbeck appeared in the doorway. He glanced from Kilworth’s dead body to Garrick and Thorn carrying the vicar, and the magistrate’s eyes rounded in surprise. “What the devil is going on here, Braden?”
“Fainted,” Quent said before his brother could reply. After all, Hope had fainted, hadn’t she? “Took one look at Lord Kilworth and he just dropped to the floor.”
Chetwey slid the axe behind his back.
“We’re, uh, taking him somewhere more comfortable to recover,” Garrick added. “Do excuse us, passed out clergyman coming through.”
Lila clutched Tilly’s hand on one side and Anna’s on the other as they sat on a bench in one of the dreary cells in Marisdùn’s dungeons. Papa was shackled and chained to the wall, both his arms and his legs out stretched. Anna had remarked that the pose reminded her of da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man. Papa would not have appreciated the comment, though he still hadn’t come to.
Mr. Garrick and Mr. Thorn had tried creams and salves and even butter from the kitchens, always wearing gloves to protect their fingers; but nothing had loosened that blasted ring from Papa’s hand. But they had to do something, something that would not involve chopping Papa’s hand off with an axe.
Never in a million years had Lila ever expected the night to end up like this.
“Any luck?” Lord Quentin’s voice echoed off the dungeon walls, and then he appeared in doorway of Papa’s cell. Even now, just seeing him made her heart flutter. It really needed to stop doing that. He didn’t love her, and that was that.
What a sight that was. An unconscious Vicar Southward strung up against the dungeon wall like a slab of meat at a butcher shop, Garrick pulling on the man’s hand while Thorn supervised from the side, and the three Miss Southwards looked on from the corner. He glanced at Lila and wished there was some way to save his angel from having to endure this evening. His angel. He still wasn’t even sure how that was possible.