by Dee, Bonnie
She knew he thought she was crazy.
Maybe she was.
Chapter Four
29th April—Late afternoon
“Help me. You’ve got to help me. My wife’s been kidnapped. God knows where she is. Please, I need your help.” Gabe’s voice broke as he sank into the chair in the garda station. His breath came in short, harsh pants. Sweat beaded his brow as he tried to control his emotions.
Calmly, the beefy man in uniform put down his gnawed apple next to a half-eaten sandwich. “Easy, man. Take a deep breath. Start from the top. My name is Macklin. I’m the garda, the police here. You’re the American staying at Connelly’s? What’s this about your wife?”
Gabe took a deep breath and started again. “My wife and I went on a picnic in the woods behind Connelly’s. She went off to clean up the dishes and I took a nap. When I woke up, she still wasn’t back and when I went after her…” His voice faltered. “She wasn’t in the clearing and there was blood.” He took another deep breath. “Not a lot, thank God, but…” His voice broke again. “Mrs. Connelly drove me here to get help. Please, for the love of God, get your men and let’s go after her.”
“Holy Mary. Blood did you say?” Macklin crossed his chest, his nicotine-stained fingers trembling. He shook his head and a greasy hank of bright red hair fell over his brow. He pushed it back impatiently. Could the woman have been abducted by whoever had killed the guard over by the Warrior Cave site? “I’ll call up to Lord Nolen’s manor house. Those are his woods and he knows them like the hairs on his head. His gamekeeper can help. Sit there while I make that call, then we’ll head onto the manor house. Don’t worry, Mr.?”
“Kawsantower. Gabe Kawsantower.” He shook his head in self-condemnation. “She didn’t want to come here. I dragged her here. I insisted. It’s all my fault.”
“You can’t be blaming yourself. Let me make that call now. It’ll only take a few moments.”
Macklin shoved his chair back and went into his tiny office. When he was on shift like this, he always brought a lunch and ate it at the front desk so he could field emergency calls or inquiries from the stray tourist. He needed the privacy now to talk with Lord Nolen. His housekeeper picked up on the first ring and put him through immediately.
“Sir, we’ve some more trouble. The American couple staying over by Connelly’s. They were out in the woods earlier today and well, the wife’s been abducted. Do you think it’s possible that the abduction and the guard’s murder are tied together? No, sir, I’ve not told anyone about it. Only you. Thank you, sir. I thought you’d want to keep a tight lid on this for now. I’ll drive the husband up to your place. We’ll be there shortly. Yes, sir. Right.”
Macklin hung up with a sigh. Thanks be to God that Lord Nolen approved of his actions. He truly did know these woods intimately. His family had been in the area for hundreds of years, even before the O’Neills and O’Donnells. Even before Christ, some joked. With his involvement they’d soon find the woman. Please God, she would be alive and unharmed.
* * * *
The drive leading to Lord Nolen’s manor house was long and twisted. Tall, ancient oak trees lined both sides and reached for each other, creating a canopy that shielded the road from the heavens. Gabe glanced briefly at the view, but sank deeper into the back seat of the police car, gazing blindly at the back of Macklin’s head. The idle chatter spewing from the police officer rolled off him.
“We’re here, Mr. Kawsantower.”
Gabe looked up. They had stopped in front of a house that belonged in a Jane Austen novel. Stables were set to the right and he glimpsed a garden sitting behind the mansion. A pencil-thin, sallow-faced housekeeper stood in the open doorway waiting for them to mount the few steps and enter the elegant Georgian building.
“Mrs. Scathan, good day to you.” Macklin greeted her with easy familiarity. She nodded in silent acknowledgement. Her knife-thin lips barely moved as she spoke. “Lord Nolen is waiting for you in the library, Sergeant Macklin.”
“No need to disturb yourself. I know the way.”
The woman turned and left them in the great hall. Gabe’s eye was caught by the sweeping stairway that split into two separate flights of stairs. The marble floor gleamed. The high windows were draped with rich, damask curtains. The place reeked of old wealth.
Macklin led them to the right, knocking perfunctorily before entering immediately into a wood-paneled room lined with shelves filled with books. A tall man stood in front of a carved, ebony sideboard. Silver streaks ran through thick strands of dark hair. He wore an old-fashioned smoking jacket of ruby-red satin. In his long, elegant fingers he held a snifter of brandy that he swirled, gazing as though hypnotized by its warm amber depths.
“Lord Nolen, we’re here.”
The man turned and Gabe inhaled sharply. He felt as though he had stepped into a classic Hammer vampire film, for standing before him was the actor Christopher Lee in his role as Count Dracula. All that was missing were the fangs. Would he see them when the man spoke?
“Welcome. Accept my profound sympathy for your wife’s … situation.”
No fangs, but the man exuded power and money and his voice was mesmerizing with an accent that Gabe couldn’t quite place. He certainly didn’t sound like any of the Irishmen they’d met thus far. “Thank you for your sympathy, but I’d prefer assistance. Now. Where’s the fellow who’s supposed to meet us here?”
Lord Nolen turned to Macklin. “Macklin, Gortham is waiting out by the stables for you. I’ll entertain Mr.?”
“Gabe. Call me Gabe. And I’m going with them.”
“You’d only be in the way, Gabe. You’ve no knowledge of the area and you’ve no tracking ability, I’d warrant. And I sincerely doubt you’d be able to handle the situation should it turn ugly. You probably don’t know how to fire a gun, do you?” Lord Nolen’s voice dripped with disdain.
Gabe hesitated, but decided not to share his firearm skills with the arrogant son of a bitch. There was something … off about him. “You’re right. I don’t know how to shoot. But, damn, she’s my wife.” He cursed aloud. “I should have protected her. I should have…”
“Easy now.” Macklin laid a consoling hand on his shoulder. “Listen to Lord Nolen. You’d be better off staying here. We’ll find her. I promise you. Have you a picture of your wife?”
Gabe fumbled in his pocket and drew out his wallet. With infinite care, he slipped a small picture from its plastic protection. “Here. We took this on her last birthday.” He smoothed out the corner of the photo. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” He handed the photo to Macklin. “She’s Irish, you know. Her family is from here.”
“Here?” Lord Nolen’s interest was piqued.
Gabe laughed harshly. “Yeah. She didn’t want to come to Ireland. I tricked her. God help me, I wished we’d never set foot here.”
“May I see the picture?” Lord Nolen asked.
“Of course, m’lord.” Macklin handed it over and turned back to Gabe. “What was your wife’s name?”
“Is, damn it, is!” Gabe spat out. “Brigid.”
The picture fell from Lord Nolen’s fingers, tumbling in the air and fell to the carpeted floor as he echoed her name. “Brigid.”
* * * *
Hours later, the man once known as Nimhnach still quizzed the American. “Your wife is very beautiful. Have you known her long?”
He absentmindedly pecked at the scones brought in by Mrs. Scathan as he directed his question to the distraught male pacing restlessly back and forth in the library. The young woman’s picture had surprised him. Her resemblance to Dagda’s daughter, Brigid, was startling. Ridiculous that he should have reacted that way. He focused again on the American’s response.
“We’ve known each other for fifteen years.” Gabe halted without warning and gazed out the window, staring at the dense forest that crept up to the house. “Where the hell are they? Why is it taking so long to find her? How big is that damned forest, anyway?”
&
nbsp; “Patience, my good man, patience. They’ve only been gone a few hours. They headed to your picnic site first to get something with your wife’s scent on it. You did say you left her jacket there, after all. Besides, it stays light much later here.”
He rose from the ornately carved armchair and moved gracefully over to Gabe, joining him by the big bay window. Placing his hand on the man’s shoulder, he felt him squirm away from his touch. Odd, most humans responded to his Speaker powers. He must be focusing all his feelings on his missing wife.
Too bad, Most likely she was dead.
Of course there was the unlikely possibility that she was Dagda’s daughter. He smiled grimly. It would be just another catastrophe in an ever-increasing list. First, the cave mouth was revealed when those two intrepid spelunkers unfortunately stumbled upon it, and then Gortham’s poorly executed murder of the guard. Oh, he claimed he had hidden the body carefully, but the man had become sloppy and lazy of late. He should have taken the body and buried it.
And now this abduction.
He moved away from the side of the tormented man, walked over to the liquor cabinet, poured himself two fingers of specially brewed May wine and downed it in one gulp. It coursed through his system like lightning, recharging his energy. The traditional elixir, infused with sweet woodruff, contained several other special ingredients. The white wine was a delicate shade of pink thanks to the addition of a few precious drops of sacrificial blood. He assessed the American closely. He needed more information from him and now was the best time to get it. “Gabe, you said your wife’s people were from this area. Perhaps I’ve heard of them. My people have been here for many years. When did they leave?”
“During the potato famine. And it was only Bridge’s great, great, great grandmother. Everyone else in the family had starved to death, including the woman’s husband. The poor thing was pregnant when she emigrated. I don’t know the family’s original name.”
Nolen absorbed the brief history without comment. The famine had been a major failure on his part, one that still rankled. He hadn’t anticipated Dagda’s interference, thinking him quiescent. After all, the country had gone through many trials before, all discreetly guided to increase his position. He had recognized Dagda’s handiwork when the famine had ended. He realized that he must have had assistance in thwarting Nolen’s plans. Could this woman who had fled the town been Dagda’s accomplice?
Ba’al had not been happy with his failure. The life force of two million people had not completely satisfied him and he had punished Nolen with a diminution of powers. Nolen had collected as much human blood as he could during the famine years and stored whatever he had left within the sacred grove beneath the tumulus, for his personal use. The end of the famine had been Dagda’s last act against him, and for over a hundred and fifty years, Dagda’s hand had not been raised as the country struggled through civil wars, partition and economic hardship. Considered petty stuff by Ba’al, it did little to placate him. The millions slaughtered during the twentieth century by others who worshipped Ba’al had not impacted on Nolen’s power. Ba’al required individual gifts from each of his minions.
Nolen’s energy continued to deplete and it became more and more difficult to conduct his spells. They grew less potent and his life force began to ebb. He needed a major sacrifice to Ba’al to replenish his vital essence and increase his power base. Something along the lines of a worldwide disaster. And he had one planned.
He looked over at the man anxiously waiting for word of his wife’s rescue. The female in the picture looked so much like the vibrant Terran Nolen remembered from days long past. There had to be more about this woman for her picture to cause such a response in him. He sighed. He’d have to postpone any further explorations for later. Right now he had to keep Gabe calm.
Easier said than done.
* * * *
“What do you mean, the dogs lost the scent? I thought you said they were the best trackers in the area. Gortham knows these woods like a pimple on his face, you told me. Where is she, damn it? Where the hell is she?”
The foyer echoed with Gabe’s frantic cries. Forgetting discretion, he used his Protector strength and lifted Macklin up by the collar of his uniform, shaking the shorter man like he was a dishrag.
Macklin’s lank red hair flew back and forth like some crazy fox’s tail. “I told you. We’ll try again in the morning. ‘Tis too late now.” He gulped. “Please, sir, put me down.”
Suddenly realizing what he was doing, Gabe dropped him like a hot potato. Just in time, too, for Lord Nolen stalked in from the study where he had been talking with Gortham.
Readjusting his collar, Macklin continued. “It’s as though they disappeared. I’m going to put out a bulletin to the District Station. We need more men.”
“No. Not yet,” Nolen’s barked. “Let me look tonight. The moon is bright and I know the woods even better than Gortham. I’ll find your wife. Bet on it.”
Macklin took a deep breath and looked over at him gratefully. “Thank you, Your Lordship. We should have asked for your personal help earlier.”
“No matter. I’ll find her.”
“No matter? Who knows what’s happening to her. She could be injured or…” Gabe’s voice faded, unwilling to speak his worst fears aloud.
“Stay calm. I’ll find her. I won’t rest until I do.”
“And you’ll call me no matter what time and tell me … everything.”
“I shall. No matter how late; no matter what.” Nolen turned to Macklin. “Take him back to Connelly’s. If I haven’t found any trace of her, you can call the District Station.”
“Aye, sir. Good luck to you.” He paused. “Er, sir, can I see you in private for a moment?” He turned to Gabe. “Please wait for me here. I won’t be long.”
*
Lord Nolen led Macklin into the library and shut the door firmly.
“Yes, Macklin, what is it?”
“The guard’s body, sir. Should I call the District Medical Examiner’s office?”
Nolen thought quickly. He had forgotten the dead guard. He made his decision at once. He could use the body. “Why, you already called them earlier. Don’t you remember? They said they’d pick up the corpse tomorrow morning.” It didn’t take much of his Speaker skill to create a false memory in Macklin’s malleable mind.
“Oh, aye. I remember now. Well, then, we’ll be off. Thanks again for your aid, sir.”
“No thanks necessary. I’m glad to do it. Let me see you out.”
Gabe sat slumped in the heavy antique chair by the door. He raised his head when he heard their entrance, his eyes bleak with despair. Rising slowly from the chair, he followed Macklin out of the mansion.
* * * *
Nolen turned as the staccato tap of her heels announced the arrival of Mrs. Scathan. “Did you hear? I’m afraid we’ll have to reschedule our evening.”
“Shall I wait up for you? You may need me.”
Anyone seeing her now would never recognize her for the staid woman who guarded his door like a lioness. Her unbound bog-brown hair fell to her waist. She wore a jade-green silk caftan that caressed a surprisingly well-endowed figure. She fit into her daytime uniform by binding her breasts and wearing a tight girdle. No one could conceive of any sort of illicit relationship between the unsmiling, repressed widow and his lordship. And that was just the way they wanted it.
He smiled at her, his gaze filled with lust. “I’m not sure if you need to wait up. Why don’t you go to bed? If I need you, I’ll come to you.”
“No matter how late,” she urged.
He nodded. “You’re a gem.” He grabbed her around the waist and kissed her, his tongue thrusting deeply in her mouth. “Later,” he whispered.
“Aye.”
He let his hand cup her buttocks, then watched as she slowly mounted the stairs, holding her gown out of the way so it outlined her hips. His loins tightened. Mrs. Scathan’s utter devotion to his every whim and her total dedication to B
a’al was a gift he cherished. She never tired and never denied him when he came to her bed. Though it had not come to it yet, he knew she would kill or die for him.
He entered the manor’s spotless kitchen, opened the backdoor and moved through the kitchen herb garden. The scents of thyme, sage, and basil, mixed with more exotic odors, assailed him. The garden was Mrs. Scathan’s domain and she tended it with care. The farther he progressed through its orderly rows, the more rank and foul the smells issuing from the plants, herbs and roots.
Ahead, he discerned the Sacred Grove of the Nine Trees, the varied colors of the oak, ash, thorn and the other woods, pleased the eye. Bright pink apple blossoms clinging to the branches, decorated the circle like frosting on a wedding cake. He halted between two stalwart oaks and stripped off his clothes, standing naked save for a bronze amulet of power hanging on his chest, and let the fresh, spring air caress his skin. Folded neatly at the base of the tree were his vestments and the other tools necessary for the evening’s task. He slipped into the ankle-length robe made of soft linen, grasped his equipment and quietly murmured the proper incantations for success. He strode counterclockwise around the Grove and then entered Ba’al’s domain.
He summoned the raven, Dubhanam. The bird would make far better time searching for a sign of the American female than he would. He presented her picture to him and her jacket for her scent and the bird flew off.
Nolen closed his eyes and joined with the high-flying raven, looking through the bird’s eyes as he soared over the forest. Together, they flew over the ancient campsite. Mil’s three soldiers were gathered around a fire, huddling together for warmth. Dagda’s cave came into view and the quiet work site. Carrigclarseach appeared and through the windows, the raven saw the town’s inhabitants all neatly tucked in their beds.
But not a sign of the woman.
By the left testicle of Ba’al, where was she?
He ground his teeth in frustration and dragged off his robe. Stooping, he picked up his everyday clothes and strode back into the mansion. He tossed his garments on a chair in the kitchen, knowing that his devoted housekeeper would put them away neatly for him.