by Kim Allred
Maire dropped to her knees and pulled AJ into an embrace, her tears wetting AJ's cheek. "What are you doing here?"
AJ pulled back, scanning Maire for injuries. "Are you hurt?"
"The blood wasn't mine."
Maybe not, but there was a fresh bruise on Maire's left cheek that made AJ's blood boil. She ran her fingers over the bruise. "Who did this?"
Maire shrugged. "It doesn't matter." She scooted closer. "Let me see your head."
AJ turned her back to Maire but flinched away when Maire's fingers found the tender spot.
"Hold still."
"It hurts."
"I imagine so. It's also bleeding. Let me see how deep it is."
AJ gritted her teeth through the pain, but after another minute pulled away. "Enough. At least until the throbbing stops."
"I think you'll live." Maire sat back, her gaze narrowing as she studied AJ.
After a second or two, her expression softened. AJ wondered if Maire was concerned with the condition of her head. She reached back to touch where it hurt and winced. Maybe she had a concussion.
"Now, tell me why you're here." Maire's serious expression would have made AJ chuckle if it wouldn't hurt.
She did manage a snort. "Isn't it obvious? I'm here to rescue you."
Maire's tinkling laughter reduced AJ's fear that her friend might have gone mad being locked away in the darkness. "After all these months, you haven't improved your skills."
"And I'm glad to see time hasn't dulled your wit."
Silence fell between them. For all the questions AJ wanted to ask, she wasn't sure where to start or how important they were considering their current situation.
"Ethan went to the future." Maire's even tone seemed tinged with disappointment by his decision.
"He was crazy with worry."
"I told him to never do that."
"Then why did you keeping working to perfect the incantations?"
Maire refused to look at her. She picked at the dirt on her dress then pulled at a piece of thread that dangled from her sleeve. "I should have listened to him."
"Who?"
"Ethan."
"You mean you should have let him go with you to Peterstow for the seeds?"
Maire gazed at her like she had three heads. Maybe she did. The throbbing in her head had increased. All she wanted to do was lay down and let the cold stones relieve the ache.
"Seeds? I didn't go to Peterstow for seeds. I went to meet someone about the book."
AJ touched her head. Maybe swelling had impacted her hearing. "What book?"
"He told me to ignore it. To leave everything in the past. But I didn't listen. I had to know."
"Know what?"
"If the book was real."
"I must have landed in Oz," AJ bit out. The pain flared, but she managed to dismiss it. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Didn't you come here for the book?"
Maybe the darkness had nibbled away at Maire's sanity. "We're here for you."
For the first time, Maire lifted her head. "Who's we?"
AJ glanced around the cell. She couldn't see past the shadows. Was someone lurking? She spread her arms wide. "What? You're still not impressed by my rescue?"
"No."
The blunt answer hurt, but she could see Maire's point considering she was now locked in the cell with her. "Well, actually, Finn and Ethan…" She scratched her head. "I don't know. They should be close, but the jump didn't go as planned."
"You mean they aren't with you?"
"Long story. I imagine we'll have time to discuss it all, but I'm having a hard time keeping my eyes open."
Maire rose and retrieved a cup of water. "Drink all of this. I'll ask for herbs to help with your headaches. Sometimes they bring what I request. Other times they ignore me. For now, staying hydrated is your best option."
AJ drank greedily and held out the cup, feeling like Oliver Twist asking for more porridge.
She shook her head. "Unfortunately, I don't have an endless supply, so I'll need to ration your amount. They only replenish the water once a day."
"What book, Maire?"
Maire returned the cup to the table. She straightened a pile of paper, nudged a book, ensuring each item lay in its proper place. Her shoulders drooped when she finally responded. "The druid's book. The book I'd seen Beckworth with the first time I was at Waverly."
Puzzle pieces clicked together. She finally understood that nagging itch she'd felt in Baywood each time the druid's book was mentioned. When the two women had previously been held as Beckworth's guest at Waverly, Maire mentioned a book she'd seen in the viscount's study. Maire claimed the book disappeared after Finn and AJ arrived. Had the book traveled to France and back again? AJ doubted it. Wouldn't the book have been one more item for the duke to gloat over?
The full picture still alluded her, but she was too tired to keep it in focus. She slumped to the ground and pressed her head against the soothing coolness of the floor. "Start from the beginning. The book was mentioned several times in our search for you. Why didn't Ethan mention he knew about it?"
Maire gripped her hands in the tattered folds of her dress. Her lips pressed into a thin line. "I made him promise to never tell anyone about the book."
"Even us?" AJ couldn't hold back the hurt in her voice.
"I hadn't thought to mention you or Finn. You were gone, pursuing a different path." A ghost of a smile crossed her face. "I always wanted to know if you were both safe and happy." Maire sank to the ground next to her, laying her head on the floor to face AJ. "I'm so sorry."
AJ placed a hand on Maire's shoulder. She was so thin. "Don't worry about that now. We'll tell you all about the future when Finn gets us out of here."
Maire shook her head and clasped one of AJ's hands. "Dugan rotates the men at different times. Nothing can be predicted. The guards never talk when they're at my door. A different servant comes every couple of days to change the buckets and bring writing supplies. Only one of them will tell me anything, and she knows very little. The viscount rarely leaves the estate, but he receives visitors. I'm told the guests are always men, and they partake in secret evening meetings. Only the most loyal of the staff are allowed to serve."
"Have you seen the viscount?"
Maire didn't answer, but her grip on AJ's hand grew tighter. "About that."
Finally, AJ thought. Some answers.
A door creaked from someplace in the building. Maire sprung up, her hands clenching her skirts.
AJ followed but at a remarkably slower pace. "Who is it?"
Maire shook her head and whispered, "Probably a guard with food. Maybe Dugan."
A cold chill ran through AJ. She felt as though someone had punched her in the gut. Beneath that, anger stirred. She wished someone had put a sword through that man when they'd had the chance. Her hand instinctively searched in her pockets, her fingers curling around the dagger. Surprised to find the guards hadn't found it, she'd be foolish to use it without knowing more about where they were being held. The dagger's solid form comforted her nerves, but seconds later, her heart stopped.
She fished in her other pocket, desperate when all she felt was fabric. Her breathing settled with the familiar touch of the Heart Stone and her wedding ring. Why hadn't the men searched her? They must assume a woman wouldn't have a weapon. She could live with that mistake.
More importantly, the last thing she needed was to lose their only way home. She'd give up her dagger before she'd ever willingly relinquish the Heart Stone.
The women stood side-by-side. Maire's arm slid around AJ's waist to keep her from swaying. Her legs felt like she'd overdone a soak in a hot tub. She gingerly touched her head, wincing at the pain, then studied the blood on her fingers. It was tacky. That was something.
AJ's nerves frayed at the sound of boots on stone, the jangle of keys at the lock, followed by the scraping of the door. The last person she ever wanted to see again ducked as he stepped into the room.
Dugan.
As big, and perhaps scarier, than the last time she'd seen him. A scar marred his left cheek. It wasn't fresh, but it didn't carry the deep fold of his other scar that ran across his forehead. AJ guessed he might have gotten the injury during the battle at the monastery.
He glowered but didn't advance. Instead, he stepped to the side to make way for another man.
The man was slim. His legs, covered in wine-colored breeches, were long but lacked substance. A gold brocade waistcoat hid beneath the buttoned cream tailcoat. The ruffles of his shirt matched the coat. The color of his hair couldn't be determined in the poor lighting with his face hidden in shadows. His thin fingers played at the edge of the dark paisley cravat.
When he stepped into the light of the candle, AJ couldn't hear anything but the rushing in her ears. If Maire hadn't been holding her up, she would have sunk back to the cold stones. The handsome face staring back at her seemed crueler than normal, but the cornflower-blue eyes were unmistakable. How had he gotten so presentable in such a short amount of time? She must have been unconscious during some point of her capture.
AJ's breath rushed out in an angry hiss. "Beckworth."
27
"Beckworth." The second time she uttered his name, the word slithered out like a vile declaration. AJ squinted, partly because her head throbbed and partly because shadows played at the edge of her vision. The relief from the cold stones now gone.
Something wasn't right.
He folded his arms across his chest and studied her. The perusal lingered so long, she shifted from foot to foot, her only desire to collapse and find the comfort of the floor. She forced herself to endure, more as a childish refusal to appear weak to someone she had begun to trust—if only for their mutual goal. The man was more duplicitous than she'd thought. He'd lied to them from the start with his innocent whining about being stuck in the future.
He tapped a finger against his chin as he continued to study her. What the hell was he thinking? Maybe he was formulating a new lie to exert more control over them.
AJ clutched her dress until she felt the edge of her dagger. She dropped her hand, remembering that Beckworth knew she carried one. Yet he hadn't told the guards to take it away from her.
He stepped closer. His calculated perusal was similar to the way he'd studied her when she'd first met him at Waverly all those months ago. Still, something was off. She couldn't put her finger on it.
The silence continued. Somewhere water dripped, and in the distance—birds, their trills dulled behind rock and mortar. Then she saw it. The slight scar on his upper lip.
She stumbled back. Maire caught her arm before she fell.
AJ squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again. There was no other explanation. "You're not Beckworth."
His high-pitched laugh echoed through the cell. The sound so similar to the duke's, she shivered. She would have taken another step back if Maire hadn't gripped her tighter.
"I can understand your confusion." His voice wasn't Beckworth's, its tonal quality as annoying as nails on a chalkboard. But the resemblance was astonishing. He snapped his fingers with an air of annoyance, and a servant appeared out of the shadows holding a golden goblet. The Beckworth look-alike took the proffered cup and drank, wiping his lips before handing the cup back to the young lad who never lifted his head.
"My physical appearance never sat well with our father." He swaggered around the room, stopping at the table piled with books. He picked up a small stack of pages, flipped through them, then glowered at Maire. His expression of annoyance was a dead ringer for Beckworth. "Instead of disavowing Beckworth for looking like a duke's son, my loving father scorned me for looking like a whore's son." His face turned scarlet, and spittle flew from his mouth. "Me. A duke's son. Treated my whole life like some blackguard."
After a minute, he composed himself. He ran a hand over his hair then fidgeted with his cravat. His color returned to a pasty white, and he lifted his chin. Once more in control. "After fleeing England in disgrace, Mother took ill, and the damp weather on the coast of France only made it worse. I couldn't have been more pleased when Father sent us away to live with Mother's family in Austria.
"Then, the strangest thing. Months later, I received a letter from Father stating he found a way to recover his lost estates in England. After his disgraceful departure, I finally had the upper hand in our relationship. I had the money but required the proper titles. And he owed me."
AJ's head pounded, promising to explode at any minute. She felt like Alice, but she wasn't sure if the man in front of her represented the White Rabbit or the Red Queen. Based on the way her luck had been going, she assumed the latter. With her increasingly foggy hearing, it was difficult to keep up with the man's banter. Though she couldn't stop squinting at the face she'd been looking at for the last week.
When he'd finished strolling around the cell, he stopped next to her. "You must tell me who I have to thank for killing the old bastard." The request must have been rhetorical because he began moving again, seeming to prefer his own voice as he droned on. When he stepped next to Dugan, he rested a hand on the big man's shoulder.
Dugan didn't move. He stared straight ahead with a slight smile—or grimace—it was hard to tell with him.
"Fortunately," the duke's son paused to squeeze Dugan's shoulder before turning to AJ. "Dugan is a loyal asset to Mother's family. He only stayed with the duke because of Mother's request. For some unknown reason, she still loved the worthless dolt."
While the man prattled on about Dugan's worthiness, AJ played catchup. Beckworth was the duke's son, and he'd failed to mention it to her. AJ would have listed that little nugget under need to know. "You look the same age as Beckworth." AJ blurted it out, realizing belatedly by the man's glare that she must have interrupted him. It just surprised her that the duke had been sleeping around. The thought of anyone wanting to bed him made her shiver. Maire's ever-tightening grip brought her out of her musings to find the duke's son eager to discuss the unfortunate situation.
"Beckworth is older by four months. If he hadn't been a bastard, he would have been the one to inherit." He shrugged. "It only makes sense that I should take Waverly and continue as the one true viscount. It is my birthright. It's time that charlatan stop pretending he's someone he could never truly be—a duke's son."
Suddenly, the man she knew as Beckworth solidified. A bastard born on the streets of London, who had somehow found his father. Either on his own or through his father's blessing, he'd risen above his station. AJ recalled the interactions between the duke and Beckworth during the small time she'd spent with them at the monastery. The duke had belittled Beckworth at every turn. Yet from what Finn had told her, Beckworth had come to the duke's aid during the battle.
How the duke's indifference must have festered. She almost felt sorry for Beckworth. He had been nothing but an asshole while playing viscount, but now she understood why. He tried to model himself after his father. Had he been trying to earn the man's respect—or love?
"Beckworth must have meant something to your old man. He gave Waverly to him instead of you. It seems to me you're taking advantage of an empty estate because your dog—"AJ pointed her chin at Dugan—"is bigger than anyone else's. For now."
The women held their ground as the new viscount stormed toward them, coming within inches of AJ. Spittle settled at the corners of his mouth, his ugly sneer reminiscent of the duke's. He raised his hand, his fingers flexing in and out of a fist, but he didn't strike her.
After a few moments, the newly anointed viscount retreated to the table. He picked up the pages he'd flipped through earlier. He reviewed them again before tapping them on the stack of books, his expression disappointed as he clucked his tongue. "My dear, Maire, you haven't progressed very far."
Maire said nothing.
"You know the arrangement. I'll have to punish you for this."
AJ tensed, but Maire remained stoic. Had this been the ass who
had given Maire the bruise on her face?
"Your rations will be cut in half until you provide better translations. These notes say nothing about the druid's stone. It's nothing but ramblings."
AJ shot Maire a glance at mention of a druid's stone. Was there a stone they didn't know about? AJ didn't think Maire would respond. When she did, her words were listless and rote.
"I can only transcribe what's written. It's not my fault the words are nothing but gibberish from a madman."
"Not a madman." The shout forced AJ and Maire back a step. Even Dugan gave the viscount a quick glance before his vacant stare returned to some point at the back of the cell. Did Dugan ever consider this new viscount might be as mad as the lost druid or the duke? The truth was probably that he didn't care. He had the might and men to protect himself.
The duke's son threw his arms up and continued his rant as he paced the cell. "You are transcribing words from the very man who traveled to the future. His words are sacred. They will lead me to my own glorious future. The future that belongs to me, an heir to the druid legacy. The one that was foretold."
"By some old woman with a cup of stale tea leaves," Maire murmured under her breath.
The man's rants worried AJ. Another fanatic searching for a way to use the stones. Had Maire known someone sought the stones before she began her search for this book? Had Ethan? Why did everyone feel the need for secrets?
AJ stepped away from Maire. She wrapped her arms around her middle as a deep longing for Finn and their home almost dropped her to her knees. She reached down, her fingers curling around her pocket. The shape of the Heart Stone replenished her courage. As long as she had the stone, they had options.
When the viscount's tirade stopped, he waved at Dugan before pointing at AJ. "Move her to another cell. Same restrictions as the Murphy woman." He turned to Maire. "Her fate rests with you." His voice rose in that annoying, high-pitched tone. "If I don't see improvement in your translations, her rations will be cut each day until she's living on the meager water I dole out and whatever insects she can dig up." He whirled in a dramatic display of a flapping tailcoat and stormed out.