Foreboding
crackled in the air, sizzling into her skin with each flash of lightning. Each
distant rumble of thunder echoed a warning.
Strange.
She could only remember experiencing this breath-stealing, nerve-wracking
sensation once before. A feeling as if the veil between the present and the
future had thinned, hazy images of disaster dancing inside her mind.
She
had lost her father that night. It had devastated her, changed her in one
ruthless sweep into a sad little ghost, certain that if she had done something,
said something, pleaded with her papa not to go out that night, he would have
lived.
Yet
the loss she felt lurking in the shadows tonight was even more terrifying than
that childhood terror. The menace that circled Rathcannon on predator's feet
was far more cunning than the fever that had killed her father.
There
is an ill wind blowing tonight,
Richard had cautioned.
And
she knew, with a cold certainty, that he was right.
She
could sense it, a palpable presence in the air. And from the moment she had
gazed across the dining table into Aidan's eyes, she knew he sensed it too.
Some
slight discord sounded in the whispered melody of the castle walls, like
invisible fingers plucking at sleeves, trying to give warning.
Norah
went to the doorway joining Aidan's chamber with her own, the panel half open,
the sounds of Aidan beyond it beckoning her. As she shoved the door open wider,
her eyes took in broad shoulders flexing as he jammed the tails of his shirt
into the waistband of a pair of doeskin riding breeches.
A
burgundy-hued jacket lay on the bed, while a brace of pistols gleamed beside
it, blue-black glimmers of light skating evilly up the barrels.
"Aidan?"
She breathed his name, and he turned toward her. The starkly handsome planes of
his face were burnished with determination, and with an aching sense of loss,
as if somehow he knew, sensed... what? That the fates would demand some
sacrifice tonight? There could be no question that he was willing to offer
himself up, in his daughter's place, in Norah's place.
He
smiled, the curve of his mouth shaded with a wistful longing for tomorrows that
might never be. "I'm almost ready to leave, ladylight."
"Aidan,
don't go." The words slipped out, absurd, futile. "Not tonight."
"You
know I have to." He crossed to where she stood, one rein-callused palm
sweeping up to cup her cheek with inexpressible tenderness. "There's no
need to worry. This time I'm taking every able-bodied man at Rathcannon with
me. I intend to lay a net of them about the place, just to make certain no one
can slip away once I arrive there. It's just a precaution—and God knows I'm
probably being overly vigilant. The guest I've heard tell of might be long
gone—might never have existed at all. The innkeeper might remember nothing.
Hell, this might just be another path leading nowhere."
"It's
not. You feel it, just as strongly as I do. This strange sense of—of something
about to happen... I can see it in your eyes."
"Maybe
something good will come of tonight, Norah. Maybe I'll finally be able to make
an end to all this."
"And
maybe this is the beginning of something..." Her voice trailed off, but
the mocking voice whispered on, relentless, inside her head.
Maybe
this was the beginning of something hideous, something dark, something
careening toward them with the same devastating force as the runaway coach that
had sent Delia Kane to her death.
Aidan's
voice dropped low, gravelly with emotion. "Whatever happens, Norah Kane,
I..." Words seemed to hang in the air between them, unspoken, ineffably
sweet. Norah's heart slammed against her ribs, her whole being starved to hear
what he was trying to say.
But
after a heartbeat, he caught up her hand, pressed it to his lips in a fierce kiss.
And Norah couldn't shake the intuition that this was the last chance she'd ever
have to hear the words Aidan Kane couldn't squeeze past the knot that betrayal,
cynicism, pain, and anger had left in his throat years ago. Her heart ached at
the knowledge that her chance might just have slipped through her fingers
forever.
"Norah,
whatever happens tonight, I thank God you came to Rathcannon. I thank God you
came into my life."
"You
know I—I'll take care of Cassandra."
"This
isn't about Cassandra," he cut in, a ragged edge to his voice. "It's
about me, Norah. I thank God for you."
He
framed her face in his hands, turned it up to his own hungry, anguished gaze.
"Ladylight, if... when I come back, can we begin again? When all this is
settled, will you let me—be a husband to you, believe in... in miracles?"
Tears
spilled from her eyes. "Aidan, you are my miracle. I love you."
He
kissed her, long and tender, hungry and hurting, until his lips seemed to melt
into hers, his passions and pain melding with her very soul.
Then
he broke away, turning to take up the pistols lying on the bed. Jaw tight, eyes
like steel, he jammed the weapons into the waistband of his breeches.
Norah
grabbed his coat and helped him put it on, cherishing the task of smoothing it
over those strong shoulders. And she battled the urge to fling herself against
the burgundy fabric, dampen it with tears that would only make it harder for
him to leave.
Instead,
she took his hand, determined to touch him for as long as she could, drive back
the chill kiss of her own fears with the warmth in his grasp.
She
wanted to cling to these final moments alone, wanted time to drive back the
foreboding, label it a ridiculous bit of superstition worthy of the gypsy women
at the fair.
But
how could she dismiss the unease pulsing through her veins? She could find no
comfort when her thoughts only reminded her of Aidan, standing with his hand
clamped in the crabbed one of the old crone, mysticism wreathing her ageless
face as she predicted doom, suffering, a battle waged for his very soul.
Tonight,
a voice whispered inside Norah's breast. Tonight the battle would be won or
lost. She was certain of it, in a secret, guarded place within her soul.
As
they descended the stairs, Norah was dismayed to see an elegant figure lounging
in a gilt chair in the entryway, obviously waiting for Aidan to descend.
Richard Farnsworth's usually lazy eyes were glinting with a latent excitement,
his mouth curved in a grin brushed with eagerness and anticipation.
"All
ready to go out and tilt with dragons?" he inquired, rising stiffly to his
feet.
"I
suppose you could say that."
"I
just wanted to speak with you before you left. Set things straight between us,
don't you know."
"Farnsworth,
at the moment, I don't give a damn about anything but finding whoever is
stalking my daughter and my wife," Aidan snapped, signaling a footman for
his cloak.
"Ah,
so I am beneath the exalted notice of a hero, is that it? Of no
consequence."
"Richard,
please!" Norah burst out, anger sparking through her at his sudden
resurgence of selfishness. "Aidan is half crazed with worry, setting out
to track down this... this villain."
"I
see. Well then, sister mine, I'll not bother to keep your bold husband from his
quest a moment longer, except to tell him this: I intend to prove myself to
you, brother-in-law, prove myself a worthy... player as you cast the dice
tonight."
"It's
not a goddamn game, Farnsworth."
"Indeed?
Life is a game. One grand wager we make with the devil. I wonder who will win
this time."
With
an oath, Aidan snatched his cloak from the footman and swirled it about his
shoulders. Then, without another word, he stormed out into the night.
Norah
stared after him, hurting, furious. She wheeled on her stepbrother. "Why,
Richard? Why bait him when you know he's nearly crazed with worry? When he's going
out to face whoever this—this demon is who is tormenting him?"
"Why
torment the heroic Sir Aidan Kane?" Farnsworth demanded, something
disturbing sparking in his eyes. "Because he dares to act like a noble fool,
when in reality he's as vile a libertine as ever breathed. But he fooled you,
didn't he, my mousy, spinsterish little sister? No doubt on the night he
breached your maidenhead."
She
gaped at her stepbrother. Her cheeks flamed hotly, fury and confusion twisting
in the pit of her stomach. "I thought this marriage is what you wanted for
me."
"It
was, but I never expected that you would—" He stopped, his face twisting,
a curse low in his throat.
"Richard,
what is the matter with you?"
"Nothing
is the matter. I was in sad need of diversion when I left London. And your
esteemed, rather beleaguered husband has provided me with enough to last me for
a good long time. However, I find I'm becoming quite bored with rusticating in
the wilds of Ireland. Perhaps it is time I departed."
Relief
spilled through Norah, and she felt a vague sting of shame at the fact that she
was glad her brother was leaving—leaving Rathcannon, leaving behind the all too
impressionable Cassandra, who had fallen prey to his charms. And hopefully
taking with him the odd sense of strain that had sprung up between him and
Norah. "Richard—"
"Don't
play the grieving sister, please," he said, his voice hard-edged, almost
wounded. "I know you will be glad to see the last of me. Besides, Kane's
daughter has been growing rather fond of me, hasn't she? Perhaps a little too
fond for your liking?"
"Richard,
she's a child."
"Some
man will soon be making a woman of her, I can guarantee it. She's no pale fruit
to go overripe on the spinster's vine. And by the time you bolster her
considerable promise of beauty with her doting papa's fortune... I'm quite sure
she will have a raft of men slavering over her hand."
"Richard,
stop it!" This bitter nastiness was all too reminiscent of Winston
Farnsworth's scathing cruelty. It appalled Norah. Sickened her. The shimmer of
anger in him left her confused and unnerved. She lifted her chin with a sense
of pride Aidan had given her. "I think it's time that you did leave."
Farnsworth's
mouth ticked up, his eyes glinting, dark. "Time? Yes. I think it is time
indeed. After all, I've accomplished what I came here for."
"And
what was that?"
"Why,
to see you happy, sister dear. To share in your joy. However, there is one last
obligation I must keep. I had promised Cassandra quite faithfully that I would
take her out and show her the constellations tonight. She's developed quite a
fascination for them. Or perhaps it's walking in the moonlight with a gentleman
that intrigues her. After all, she is her papa's daughter."
"There
is absolutely no way I will allow you to take Cassandra walking after all you
have said."
She
expected argument, that stubbornness that so often sparked in her stepbrother's
eyes whenever he was foiled in his desires. She was stunned when he merely
sketched her a mocking bow.
"Of
course, your wishes must be obeyed, mustn't they, little sister? You're not a
cast-off waif anymore. You are mistress of Rathcannon." He laughed. A
laugh that made her bones chill, her nerves twitch.
With
that, he strode up the stairway, leaving Norah shaken at the strange glimmer
that hardened his smile.
"Richard!
Richard, stop!" How many times had she seen him lash out thus, when he was
thwarted or angry? Striking whoever had crossed him at their most vulnerable
point? He was just upset about Aidan's dismissing him, just out of sorts
because of what he saw as Norah's defection in loyalty to her husband. It was
absurd, this withering unease that shot through her.
This
was Richard—Richard her smiling stepbrother, who had given her Aidan's letter,
bought her the beautiful trousseau so she could "bewitch" her
husband. Richard who had defied his father's wrath to aid her, and who had been
so kind to Cassandra that the girl was all but dazzled.
He
was spoiled, self-centered, maybe a trifle heedless. But he was her
stepbrother. Her stepbrother. Not something dangerous lurking in the night.
She
went to her bedchamber to wash her face and calm her nerves. As soon as she
collected herself, she would go to him, try to find out what had made him lash out
that way and say things that were so cruel. Surely there must be some reason.
She must be able to make some sort of peace.
Yet
the oddest feeling stole through her, cloying as hot summer rain.
She
would not feel safe until Richard was gone.
* * * * *
Silence
blanketed the castle hallways, dampening the corridor that led to the chambers
Farnsworth had been given the night he'd first arrived—so unexpectedly, so
filled with worry and self-blame. Norah made her way toward his bedchamber, a
dozen half-formed apologies on her lips, warring with the odd feeling of
suspicion and distrust that crept beneath her skirts, chilling her skin.