She
brought herself up sharply. No matter what Richard had said, he was the only
real family she had left. Her mother—the mother she'd known and loved as a tiny
child—had been obliterated by Winston Farnsworth years before. Corabeth Linton
Farnsworth, in those early days of her second marriage, had been forced to
sacrifice her daughter to the cold scorn of the man who had offered her security
and wealth. Norah's stepfather had chosen to loathe her as the living evidence
that his woman had spent nights in another man's bed. Only Richard had offered
her the smallest sense of worth, of importance. Only Richard had acted as if
the dark-eyed, sad little girl existed.
Despite
her anger, her unease, this strange humor of foreboding she was experiencing,
she couldn't let her stepbrother go off to England carrying memories of her
anger with him.
She
needed to try to understand what had driven him to be so cutting to Aidan in
the moments before her husband had ridden out to face his phantom foe. She
needed to know why he had lashed out at her with such savagery.
At
the doorway, she paused and knocked.
Silence.
A
sick sensation roiled up in the pit of her stomach. It was barely an hour since
he'd left her in the entryway. Surely he couldn't have... what? Swept together
his belongings and left before she could say goodbye?
She
pushed open the door, half expecting him to be in the chamber, sulking. But as
she entered the room, she saw none of the mad clutter that had always heralded
Richard's presence. The few clothes he'd packed for this impromptu journey were
nowhere to be seen; even his elegant portmanteau was gone.
All
that was left was a slim leather volume lying on the bed, a creamy square of
vellum marking a page somewhere in the middle.
Kane
was
scrawled across the top of the missive in Richard's careless hand.
Norah
crossed to the bed, a sick churning in her stomach, her hands trembling, tears
welling in her eyes at the certainty that she was too late. Relief warred with
regret. Her stepbrother was already gone. Yet why had he written to Aidan? Why
not spew out an angry letter to her?
Perplexed,
she picked up the missive and hesitated for a moment. No, the letter was not
for her. But the book... She reached out one hand, opening the volume to the
marked page, her gaze tracing down the scribed lines.
Three
Wagers to assure the Destruction of Aidan Kane...
Bile
rose in Norah's throat, and she clung to the book with nerveless fingers.
No.
It was impossible. Unthinkable. Why would Richard do such a thing? Richard, her
feckless stepbrother with his careless kindnesses, his thoughtless wagers on
everything from how long it took his friend to tie his cravat to how many warts
would spring up on Lord Constable's nose. The stepbrother she knew couldn't
possibly be involved in this vile set of wagers. Unless she didn't really know
Richard at all.
She
trembled, remembering the odd glint in Richard's eye... almost as if she'd
betrayed him.
Her
soul died a little as she skimmed the hellish lines, the truth searing into her
with the force of a pistol ball. She had been the tool her brother had used. To
get into Aidan's house. To gain access to Aidan's innocent daughter.
She
alone was the weapon that had given Richard the power to destroy the man she
loved.
But
why? her heart screamed. Why did Richard hate Aidan? What bond could there be
between the scapegrace brother she had known not at all and the man who had
become her whole life?
She
grabbed the letter, ripping it open, the sense of foreboding that had haunted
her seeming to crush the breath from her lungs as she read:
Kane,
By
the time you read this, your daughter will
be at my
mercy—my wife, initiated into the joys of the bridal bed. Of course, you will
try to find us, Kane, with some misguided notion of saving her from my
clutches. I am cherishing that knowledge. For when you do ride in to face me, I
will kill you, before your daughter's eyes.
And
as you're on your way
to hell, you will know that I will spend the rest of
my life making her pay for your sins.
You
will be helpless, Kane.
How
does it feel to be helpless?
Norah
pressed her hand against her mouth, her stomach threatening to betray her,
horror a living thing inside her. Sweet Jesus, was Richard really capable of
such a terrible act? Brutalizing an innocent child... for what? Some crazed
wager? No. There were undercurrents in this letter far more grim, some hidden
poison she didn't understand.
She
caught her lip between her teeth. An hour had passed since she'd faced Richard
in the entryway: Was it possible he had already lured the girl away?
She
raced through the castle, calling Cassandra's name, desperate, so desperate,
all but slamming into little Noddie, the servant's arms filled with fresh
sheets.
"Noddie,
have you seen Miss Cassandra?"
"She
stepped out with Mr. Farnsworth."
Norah's
head swam. "When? Where were they going?"
"I
don't know. It was when I was tidying up the study. Maybe an hour ago."
An
hour ago...
Sweet
heaven, they could be anywhere! By now Cassandra must know something was amiss.
By now the bright-faced, beautiful girl must be reliving the terror that had
scarred her childhood, being torn away from the father she adored.
And
Richard had ridden off leaving this note behind. Even if he had guessed Norah
might find it, he was doubtless smug and certain his stepsister would be too
weak to follow.
"No!"
Norah breathed aloud, her heart torn asunder by visions of Aidan riding in the
other direction while his daughter was being taken from him. Aidan returning
too late to aid Cassandra, discovering this cruel note about his child's peril.
Aidan losing his daughter to such a hellish fate forever.
God,
he would never forgive himself: Norah knew this with sick certainty. He would
never forgive her.
She
had to try to find them, had to stop Richard from doing this terrible thing.
But how? Where would she even begin to search?
Sick
futility drowned her, but she shoved past the big-eyed servant and ran to
Aidan's room. She dug through his clothespress, dragging on a pair of breeches,
a flowing white shirt scented of sandalwood and sea spray, that wild, primal mixture
that was Aidan's own. It was exquisite torture to draw it on, feel it enfold
her. Then she raced into his study, where a brace of dueling pistols gleamed in
a polished case. They felt huge in her hand, unwieldy.
"My
lady?"
Rose's
query made Norah jump, wheel, the girl's astonished gaze snagging Norah's.
"My lady, what's amiss?"
"My
stepbrother has taken Cassandra."
The
Irish girl's face went pale, her eyes bobbing out. "What!"
"He's
stolen her away, taken her—to elope with her, I think. I don't know. It's
insane."
The
girl looked sick, stricken. But Norah's veins iced as she realized Rose did not
look surprised.
"I
should have told you..." Tears brimmed in the girl's eyes, her face ashen.
"But you were so worried about the master and all. And besides, even if I
did tell, I wasn't sure you'd believe me. Feared you'd turn me out of
Rathcannon, a servant sayin' such things about your brother, and—and now if
anything happens to Miss Cassandra I'll never forgive myself."
"What
are you babbling about?"
"He
was tryin' to get beneath my skirts the first night he came here, Mr.
Farnsworth was."
Norah
remembered with sickening clarity the conversation she'd had with the girl
earlier, the indecision in her eyes, the nervousness.
"Please,
my lady, you must believe me. I never would've thought the beast would hurt
Miss Cassandra! What are we going to do? Everybody except Calvy is with Sir
Aidan. The rest of the men are out chasin' the horses. I was just comin' to
tell you Gibbon sent word someone let 'em out from the stable yard an hour or
so past. The whole lot of Sir Aidan's prize horses racing to the wind. Sweet
Mary, you don't think—think yer brother did that a-purpose?"
Norah
said nothing, feeling only the web of Richard's deception tightening about her
in exquisite strands of betrayal and lies, a torment that would soon snare
Aidan as well.
"I
can go after the menfolk," Rose offered. "Try to find them."
"By
then it might be too late. I'm going after Cassandra myself."
"No,
my lady, you cannot! If Mr. Farnsworth is evil enough to take Miss Cass,
there's no telling what he might do to you."
"I'm
the one who gave Richard entry into this house. I'm the one responsible."
For
what? The ultimate betrayal of Aidan Kane? The shattering of the battered yet
noble knight she had discovered beneath years of anger and hurt, pain and
betrayal?
A
sob lodged in Norah's breast. "I don't know where to start looking for
them. I don't know where—where he could have taken her. Rose, please. If you
can think of somewhere, anywhere..."
The
girl chewed at her bottom lip. "He was bent on takin' me to Noonan's
abandoned cottage. Tried to lure me there. If he wanted to... to hide Miss
Cassandra, maybe..."
It
was the frailest hope, but it was all Norah had. "Where is it?"
"'Bout
ten miles from here, to the west. Ride to the site of the gypsy fair, then head
down the valley. There's an overgrown road that turns left. The cottage is at
the end. But even if you want t' chase 'em, you can't. There be no
horses."
"There
has to be one left. Oh, God, please let there be one left!" Norah raced
toward the door, then paused, turned. "Find someone to go after Sir Aidan,
Rose. Give him this book." She thrust the leather volume and letter into
the girl's hand. "Tell him to start searching... searching every
road."
With
that, Norah turned and ran out into the darkness. The darkness that had mocked
her from the first moment it had stained the horizon this night.
A
darkness that now had a name.
A
menace that now had a face.
That
of the stepbrother she had never known.
Richard.
A man who had worn the most cunning mask of all.
A
beast who had honed her into the perfect weapon to cut out Sir Aidan Kane's
battered heart.
A
dozen horsemen thundered through the night, Rathcannon's strongest, bravest
retainers streaming behind Aidan, all grim-faced, all ready to confront the
villain who had dared endanger their little mistress.
Yet
despite their presence, Aidan felt alone, imprisoned by his own fury, his own
most hidden fears.
Darkness.
How
many times had he embraced it like a lover, a cloak to hide all that was dark
in his soul?
He
should have been glad that each hoofbeat carried him closer to the Thorned Paw,
eager to confront the enemy who had been tormenting him since the night his
daughter had almost slipped into the hands of someone who hated him. An enemy
without conscience, evil enough to embroil an innocent young girl and a
beautiful, gentle woman into his cruel game.
Christ
knew, Aidan's hands had been fairly burning to feel the bastard's throat
beneath them, feel his fingers crushing the life out of the animal who had
stalked those
Aidan
Kane loved. Why was it, then, that he felt clinging fingers trying to hold him
back? Why was it that he heard the faintest whisperings in the wind, a reproach
in the rumble of thunder?
Why
was it that he kept hearing Richard Farnsworth's mocking drawl, taunting him,
slicing him with words as precisely honed as an assassin's stiletto?
It
was insane, this tension biting into his gut, this pulsing instinct of danger
that hovered over him, pressing on his chest more certainly than the stormy
air.
Farnsworth
was annoying, grating on his nerves. But he was Norah's stepbrother.
God,
he had tried so hard to accept Farnsworth because of Norah. To endure him. Yet
Aidan knew instinctively that if he had been at a gaming table with the man, he
would have caught Farnsworth cheating or trying to stir up trouble.
What
was it Farnsworth had said, with those eyes that seemed so guileless, hidden
beneath their innocent mask?
Consider
me responsible for anything that happens to your daughter from this moment
on....
I
would think a gambler the likes of you would know that life itself is one huge
game, and the man who wins is the one willing to take the biggest risks....
When
your daughter is with me, I vow she'll be as safe as if she were clasped to her
mother's own breast....