Page 44 of An Enchanting Dare

Aisling felt the blood drain from her face and the room grew hazy. Well, there was no mistaking that then. Her doing. She’d murdered him.

“Aisling. Love. I’m here, it’s all right.” Sylvester crouched before her, cradling her face between his hands. She blinked and took a breath.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes. I… I’m fine.”

Sylvester stroked her cheek and then rounded on Kilbane, his tone furious. “If he wrote such things upon the walls of his bedroom, at home, how the devil is Aisling responsible for his death?”

Kilbane shrugged. “I never said she was responsible, only that I knew from reading his diaries, Richard believed it.”

Aisling sat up, riveted by his words, staring at him. “You never said I was? What do you mean?”

“Yes, what the hell do you mean?” Sylvester demanded.

“Well, according to his diary, she put a curse on him in revenge for tricking her into losing her virginity,” Kilbane said, looking thoroughly entertained by the idea. “And it couldn’t have happened to a nicer chap. From what I can gather from his more lucid diary entries, she instructed him to go mad. My lady there told him that all the wickedness in his heart would consume his mind until he was a babbling lunatic. You must give me the exact wording, my lady. I’m desperate to know. Such a useful talent to have, and I don’t blame you in the least for doing it, incidentally. I wish I’d thought of it years ago. It would have saved me a great deal of unpleasantness.”

“Curses aren’t real,” Sylvester snapped. Aisling’s gaze snapped to his, but he ignored her and yelled at Kilbane instead. “You mean to say all this time she believed she’d murdered the man for shouting angry words at him, when all along—”

“You think I’m mad.” Aisling stared at him. “You think it’s all nonsense?”

He turned back to her, clearly torn, but he took a breath and reached for her hand. “No, love. I do not think you the least bit mad, though his brother clearly was. I believe you may well have a gift for… for healing and the like, but… curses and magic?” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Aisling, no. But this is a wonderful thing. Don’t you see? The man was unstable, you’re not responsible.”

“My brother might not agree with you,” Kilbane murmured.

Sylvester glared at him. “Shut your damned mouth. You’d have this young woman suffer more years of guilt, and for what?”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Kilbane retorted, though he did not look the least bit perturbed by Sylvester’s anger. “I don’t want her to lose a moment's sleep over that devil. I certainly haven’t. He deserved everything he got, and more besides, but if it was a curse that did it for him, then I’m a believer. But perhaps I have a more open mind than you.”

“An open mind?” Sylvester repeated in disgust.

Kilbane waved a nonchalant hand. “I will entertain the possibility of the curse doing for him, at least. Though I will admit my brother was not what you would call even-tempered. I had long considered him mad, dangerously so, for he seemed perfectly sane most of the time. Lady Aisling’s curse, however, had a profound effect on him. Whether it contained genuine power and drove him to kill himself, or whether it was simply the idea working upon an already disturbed mind, I cannot say. I only know he’s dead and I am here because I wished to thank the young lady he blamed in his diary. Mostly for making his last weeks on earth ones of absolute hell. I can only hope they are continuing on the other side.” He smiled so sweetly that Aisling’s blood ran cold. “To you, my dear,” he added, raising his glass to her and taking a large swallow.

“This is nonsense,” Sylvester said, shaking his head. He crouched down in front of Aisling. “You did not kill anyone, Aisling. Let me tell you how it went, shall I? The man treated you abominably, and you retaliated with angry words. Those words happened to be that of a curse you had learned, and you threw them back at him. Am I right?”

Aisling nodded. “You are right about the circumstances, Sylvester, but not about the curse. I saw the effect the words had on him, the terror in his eyes when he realised what I was. He ran away from me so fast—”

“I bet he pissed his pants,” Kilbane said gleefully.

“Shut up!” Sylvester snapped. “Words can’t kill people, Aisling.”

“Oh, no,” Kilbane sounded oddly sincere now. “No, no, Mr Cootes, I cannot let that pass. Words kill people all the time. Words can wound far more profoundly than any weapon if wielded by someone who knows where to strike. Believe me, I know.”

“Had a lot of practice, have you?” Sylvester growled, glaring at him.

Kilbane’s mouth quirked into a cruel smile, his eyes glittering. “More than you can possibly imagine, but then I learned from the best.” His expression cleared, turning into something resembling fascinated wonder. “Could dear old Papa have been a witch, do you think?” he asked Aisling.

“What?” she stared at him, bewildered.

He snapped his fingers. “No, no, that’s wrong, isn’t it? He’d be a warlock. My God, I can see that, you know. When that bastard cursed you for stupidity or disobedience or whatever the hell it was, the pain of it could strike harder than any lash or fist, and I endured enough of both to know. I remember as a boy I’d far rather he beat me than reduce me to a quivering heap of flesh and bones with words.”

He gave a visible shudder and sat back in his chair, rubbing his arms, a distant look in his eyes.

Sylvester stared at him in disbelief and then turned back to Aisling. “Come along, my lady. We’re leaving.”

“Oh, no. So soon? But it was just getting interesting,” Kilbane protested, pouting with disappointment.

Sylvester shot him a disgusted look and reached for Aisling’s hand, dragging her to her feet.

“No, wait.” Aisling tugged her hand free. She was so grateful to Sylvester for standing beside her, for not abandoning her and for trying to help, but she realised he had been placating her until now. He just thought she was a silly young woman living in a fantasy world. She knew better. “Kilbane. I am sorry. Your brother was cruel to me and hurt me deeply, and I was angry, but I never meant—”