by Jill Jones
Not expecting her first customer in the pub until eleven, she decided to take a walk to clear her head and steady her heart. She let herself out the front door and made her way down the cobblestone lane toward the harbor. Around her, villagers went about their business as if nothing had happened. Housewives hung freshly laundered clothing on lines in their back gardens. Fishermen made ready for a day on the bay, loading their small fishing boats with gear and supplies.
Keely gazed at the activity in the small harbor and suddenly frowned. She counted the boats. They were all there. Her heart lurched. How could that be? She’d not told anyone where Genevieve had taken the boat. Alyn must have guessed and gone to fetch it from Penzance, Keely surmised. There wasn’t much her uncle missed. Had he guessed Keely’s complicity in the incident as well?
Sometimes Keely thought the town had eyes of its own. There was little one could hide when everyone knew everyone else’s business, and gossip was the mainstay of their small society.
A man approached her with a melancholy smile. “Good mornin’, Keely.” He paused to greet her.
“Good morning, William,” she said, feeling sorry for him. It was William Reedy, the man Alyn had intended for Genevieve to marry. One of Keely’s cousins. She knew William had wanted to marry Genny, despite the difference in their ages. William’s wife had died in childbirth two years before, and he was a lonely man struggling to raise his children on his own. Now that Genevieve was gone, Keely wondered what William would do. Most likely, he’d ask Alyn to find him a bride from the mainland, for there were no other eligible women on the island.
Except herself.
And cousins couldn’t marry cousins, she thought thankfully. She had no desire to marry William Reedy, or anyone else for that matter.
They exchanged small talk for a few minutes, then Keely excused herself and made her way to the path at the edge of the village that led to the grove. The cluster of ancient oak trees was said to have been a sacred place of worship for the ancient druids. For Keely, it was a refuge where she found peace whenever she was distraught. As she was at the moment. Not only about Genevieve, but also about her own future.
Meeting William had served to remind her that it was only a matter of time until she, too, must face the subject of marriage. Alyn had already broached it with her more than once. Since there was no one on the island she could marry without breaking the law prohibiting marriage within a family, Keely faced the prospect of having to accept an outsider chosen for her by the Keeper. She’d managed to avoid the issue so far only because she’d been taking care of her invalid mother. But Sharine had died nearly half a year ago, and Keely knew she could not escape for much longer Alyn’s pressure for her to wed.
Reaching the grove, she made her way to a secluded spot guarded by boulders that overlooked the ocean. She nestled into a natural seat eroded from the granite by eons of weather. The rock was already warmed by the morning sun, and it felt good against her back. She let out a long, deep sigh and looked up at the sky, wishing life were not so difficult. She missed Genevieve, whose lighthearted laughter had always cheered her when she was dispirited. Genny, who hadn’t a care, or so it would have seemed. Where Keely had carried the responsibilities of an adult since her father died when she was only thirteen, Genevieve had been given free run of the island, asked only from time to time to perform a chore for her mother or Keely’s uncle Alyn. Chores that weren’t chores, like delivering a boatload of fish and other goods, then lingering in the local villages, feeding her daydreams.
Keely closed her eyes, longing for the peace of mind that continued to elude her. If only…
If only her mother hadn’t died.
If only Genevieve hadn’t run away.
If only Alyn would drop the subject of marriage.
Keely would be content to live alone the rest of her life, she thought, running the pub and living independently. Better than to be strapped with a man she didn’t love. She might later regret not having children, but her freedom seemed worth the sacrifice.
For a fleeting moment, Keely considered the possibility of marrying an outsider. She supposed she could do it, providing the right outsider came along. But she had never particularly cared for the men and women chosen by the Keeper to wed unmarried villagers. She grimaced. She doubted her uncle’s choice for her would be any more to her liking.
Keely heard the drone of a large insect somewhere nearby and sat upright, thinking to bat it away. Then she realized it wasn’t a bumble bee or dragonfly, but rather the sound of a boat approaching the island. A vessel with a more powerful engine than was rigged in any of the island’s fishing boats. Alarmed, she stood and went to the edge of the rock and peered out over the shimmering water.
Someone was coming to Keinadraig. But the boat was not heading toward the harbor. Instead, it was making directly for the opposite end of the island.
For an instant her heart stood still. Genny? Keely hurriedly picked her way over the large rocks at the edge of the grove, and then ran as fast as her feet would carry her to the top of the hill.
Oh, dear God, please let it be Genny, she prayed, although if it was Genny, that would present a whole new set of problems.
And if it wasn’t Genny, who then?
The morning sun was dazzling, reflecting off the water in a thousand glittering diamonds. Even though she shielded her eyes, they watered as she strained to see who dared break the law and land upon the forbidden shore.
As the boat approached the small beach that spread at the foot of the cliffs, Keely could see the lone figure on board. It was not Genevieve Sloan. It was a man, no one she recognized. Her heart pounded harder. Should she run to fetch Alyn? No one came to the island like this. No one was allowed to come here at all, unless given special permission by the Council, as they did periodically to the education inspectors. Couldn’t this intruder read? There was a large sign posted on a tree almost directly in front of him.
No Trespassing.
If he saw it, the man ignored it. He ran the boat up onto the sand and hopped out. Even from high above, Keely could tell he was tall, with broad shoulders and long arms beneath the dark jacket he wore. In the glare, however, she couldn’t see the details of his face. As she watched, he secured the line to a large rock and tested to make sure it held fast. Satisfied, he then looked around, surveying first the cliffs and then the stretch of beach that led to the village.
Keely was nearly in a panic. What should she do? Try to warn him away? He mustn’t go to the cliffs, for the caves carved within their granite were sacred. No one but the Keeper was allowed to go into the heart of the Dragon.
But the next moment, the man turned away from the cliffs and began to walk along the beach. Breathless, Keely made her way back down the long slope, staying abreast of him but just out of his line of sight above the edge of the drop-off. When she reached the circle of stones, she ducked behind one, trying to make up her mind whether to run for the village or to call out to the man and try to turn him away herself.
Before she could decide, she saw to her dismay that he had changed directions.
He was headed up the path that led from the beach, making directly for the ancient standing stones…and her.
Jack found nothing particularly sinister about the island of Keinadraig. Approaching the high cliffs from the water, they gleamed in the morning sun as if freshly scrubbed. The beach was pristine. Not a sign of trash or human disturbance. The only evidence that the place was hostile to visitors was the rather obvious No Trespassing sign. Maybe it was their way of keeping the place unsoiled. Jack couldn’t blame them and momentarily considered moving the boat. Having spent time on the beaches of California, he respected anyone’s attempt to protect the delicate natural environment of a coastline. Hopefully, however, he wouldn’t be here long enough to worry about it.
He had chosen to come to the southernmost shore of the island, hoping it was uninhabited so his arrival would go unnoticed. He wanted a chance to reconnoit
er the village, which the map had marked at the northeastern end of the island, before making his entrance. If this was a cult, his intrusion could be dangerous. If it was merely an odd isolated society, he would get more cooperation if he could observe enough of their ways to show respect for them.
Although he suspected much of what Kevin Spearman and the station manager had told him about the island was hearsay, he doubted that he would be very welcome in the village, considering the news he brought. But he must find someone who could give a positive ID on the girl and hopefully, a reason why she went to London.
Beaching the boat, he stepped out onto the soft sand, which immediately recorded his footprints. Until the next rain, or maybe high tide, anyone who came along would know someone had been trespassing. He lashed the boat’s painter securely to a large rock and took a look around, getting his bearings. To the south the beach turned to rocks that became sea-embedded boulders at the foot of the cliffs. Jack saw what appeared to be several caves hollowed into the face of the wall of granite. He recalled that this area had historically been a land of smugglers and wreckers, and letting his imagination momentarily out to play, he visualized one-legged pirates carting Spanish gold to hiding places in the caves.
Jack gave a short laugh, surprised he still had a sense of humor. Then he turned in the other direction and to his more serious chore. He took off his jacket and slung it over one shoulder, careful not to drop the papers and cell phone from his pockets, and began walking down the beach.
Above, the sky was a brilliant summertime blue. Seagulls and ravens wheeled high in the air, calling raucously in the freshening wind. As he proceeded along the beach, the cliffs tapered off, becoming little more than a steep slope running parallel to the sandy beach.
There was nothing to indicate danger, and yet, for a fleeting moment, Jack felt the hair rise on the back of his neck, and he got the unsettling sensation that someone was watching him. He stopped and glanced up the hill. Over his shoulder, he was surprised to see a circle of standing stones, not as large as the famous circle at Stonehenge he’d seen pictures of, but of a similar nature.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said under his breath. He’d never been to any of the mysterious stone formations, but before coming to England, he’d read about them and found them fascinating. Now it seemed as if he’d stumbled onto one by dumb luck. He decided to get a closer look.
Following a narrow path leading from the beach toward the circle, Jack was unable to shake his earlier feeling that he wasn’t alone out here on this remote hillside. A motion caught his eye, and he saw something dark, a piece of fabric flapping in the wind from behind one of the stones. He paused, frowning. Someone was here, watching him.
Unaccustomed to being without his gun, Jack tensed, prepared to defend himself with his martial arts skills if necessary. Silently, he crept closer until he reached the stone. He peered around it and found himself looking into the eyes of a young woman huddled there.
Frightened eyes.
The woman caught her breath sharply and made a move as if to run, but Jack caught her by the wrist.
“Wait. Don’t run. I won’t hurt you.”
“Let me go.” She tried to wrench her arm free.
“Please. Wait a minute.” Jack was torn between not wishing to frighten her further and not wanting her to alert the village of his presence. Not just yet.
She gave him an uncertain stare. “Who are ye? Do ye na know strangers are na supposed to come here?”
Her words, laced with a heavy accent, were more frightened than unfriendly, but he felt her muscles relax slightly. He took a chance and loosened his grip on her wrist. “My name’s Jack. I’m not going to hurt you.”
She didn’t run, but neither did she offer him a welcoming smile from her full, perfectly formed lips. Beneath dark brows, her troubled eyes were the color of a turbulent sea, both green and gray at the same time. Her hair, long and black as a raven’s wing, was tossed by the wind into winsome disarray. He noted a tiny mark, an oddly shaped discoloration beneath her left ear, the only discernible blemish on her otherwise perfect, fair skin.
She was, in short, a knockout. Jack’s heart skipped a beat, and he found himself appallingly dumbstruck. He held up his hands as if in surrender. “I won’t hurt you,” he repeated, not knowing what else to say. She looked disturbingly close to tears.
“Why are ye here?” she murmured.
Her words were barely audible in the wind, but they brought Jack back to his senses. He was here on a mission, a deadly serious errand. This island was small, and the woman before him looked to be not much older than the one who remained a Jane Doe in a London morgue. Surely, if the victim were from here, this woman would know her.
“I’m looking for answers,” he said, wishing it was something happier that had brought him face-to-face with her. “There’s…been a tragic murder in London, and I have reason to believe one of the victims might be from your island.”
Her face lost all color and her eyes widened even more, but she did not speak. Jack sensed that she was ready to flee at any moment, so he hurried with what he had to say.
“I have a picture here.” He took the sketch from his inside jacket pocket and held it out to her. “Do you know this person?”
The young woman reached to take it, but when she saw the picture, she jerked her hand away it as if the paper had burned her fingers. She stood frozen to the spot, staring at him as if he were the devil himself, horror etched on her features. For one long moment, Jack hated himself. Her face gave him the answer—yes, she knew this person—but he needed to know more. Reluctantly, he pressed further. “Is she…from here?”
His words seemed to awaken her from her dazed state, and she brought her hands to her cheeks. “No,” she uttered, shaking her head, slowly at first, and then more violently. Then she cried out loud. “No!”
Before he could stop her, she turned and fled down the hill, her dark skirts clinging to her legs.
Jack swallowed hard and watched her go. Then he took a deep breath.
Why had she lied?
Chapter Four
The dark night of denial blinded Keely as she ran tripping and stumbling over stones and through the tall grass. No! This could not be. That picture was not Genevieve. There was no murder. The stranger had brought a terrible lie to Keinadraig, a falsehood that threatened to destroy Keely’s last desperately fostered shred of hope that Genny would return.
She reached the protection of the oak grove and leaned against one of the ancient trees, heaving for breath, choking back sobs. Perhaps the Dragon was right after all. Strangers should never be allowed on the island. She wished to God she’d never laid eyes on this one.
Keely had never feared strangers before. Both she and Genny had thought the laws barring strangers were outmoded at the very least, nothing but an archaic tradition. But she feared this one now.
For in spite of her wishing it not so, she feared he did not lie.
Bad things happen to those who betray the Dragon.
Genny? Murdered?
The idea was more than Keely could cope with. Murder was unknown on the island, something she’d only read about when sneaking a glimpse at the sensational newspapers sold in Penzance.
Something that only happened…outside.
But then, Genny had been on the outside.
She crumpled onto the soft moss at the base of the tree and began to cry. She’d thought there could be no tears left, but behind her closed eyelids she saw the sketch of Genevieve’s lovely face, and she knew the stranger bore the truth. The wound in her heart caused by Genevieve’s leaving was torn open again, renewing the well of bitter tears and adding to the already enormous weight of her guilt.
Moments later, when she was able to catch her breath, Keely realized she wasn’t alone in the grove. She heard a soft humming and raised her head. Across the open glade in front of her, Erica sat on a bed of grass, humming the ballad of the Dragon and staring at Keely.
“She is dead, is she na?”
Keely blinked. “What?”
“Genevieve is dead.”
“How do ye know that?”
Erica shrugged and tore off a blade of grass. “I just know. Otherwise, why would a stranger come to the island just at this time?”
“Ye saw him?”
Erica gave her a look filled with contempt. “I was playing on the beach and heard his boat.” She pierced Keely with her gaze. “I saw ye talking to him.”
The cheeky, challenging tone of her voice nettled Keely, who pulled herself to her feet. “So what?”
Erica shrugged. “So nothing. What was on that paper he showed ye?”
Keely had to clench her fists to keep from slapping the girl. She’d always suspected that Erica had not just disliked but hated both Genny and her. With a mousy brown mop of hair and a face that was painfully plain, Erica had been jealous of Genny’s vibrant good looks. Keely understood that the fires of the girl’s envy had also been fueled by Ninian’s too-obvious preference for Genevieve, her first born. Still, she was shocked to see a certain satisfaction on that plain face at the moment, as if Erica was actually happy that Genevieve was dead.
“Go home, Erica,” she said in as calm a voice as she could summon. “Your mother is going to need ye.”
Their gazes locked in an unspoken battle of wills, but after a long moment, Erica looked away. Without speaking, she rose and started back toward the village. At the edge of the grove, she paused, and the look she threw Keely over her shoulder left no doubt of the hatred she harbored against her.
Keely thought her knees would give way beneath her. What was happening to the safe, secure world she had known for a quarter of a century? With the arrival of the stranger and the terrible news he bore, the crack that had threatened to tear her world apart suddenly widened, and nothing remained either safe or secure.