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“Yes, we did,” Agon said kindly, lowering his body into the ground so his face was level with Liam’s. It was disconcerting to see only his torso sticking up from the rock floor, but Liam had known them a while now, and he was growing used to their odd ways. “We’ve just come to give you... What is that phrase again?” He glanced at Samael.
Samael arched a brow. “I believe you called it ‘moral support.’”
“Yes,” Agon said cheerfully. “Is it working?”
Liam crinkled his forehead. “Aye, I suppose so. Nobody likes to feel alone in the dark, do they?”
“No one ever is,” Agon said. “Even in your darkest hours, you are never alone.”
“Did you know about Boyd?” Liam asked suddenly, crossing his arms to keep off the chill. The angels glowed from within, but there was no warmth in that dark place.
Rather than answer with words, Samael waved a hand, and a roiling mist appeared on the cavern wall. Liam watched a scene unfold with rapt attention.
Kinsley, Ireland, 1844
Boyd lurked like a wraith in the shadowed corridor of Margaret Brady’s mansion, his attention fixed on the room at the end of the hall. Her room. His ragged boots made almost no sound as he crept across the richly woven rug, past the gilt-framed paintings of Brady ancestors and heavy velvet curtains that overlooked the courtyard. With a surreptitious glance toward the far staircase to make sure he remained unnoticed, he pushed open her door.
Margaret was sitting before a mirror at her dressing table, riffling through a sparkling box of jewelry. She appeared to be choosing a necklace to go with her silk gown.
When Boyd stepped silently into her room, she saw his reflection and gasped in shock. “Who are you? What are you doing in my bedchamber?”
Boyd’s smirk held dark intentions no woman ever wanted to see. He swept closer, a sharp knife glinting in his hand. When Margaret opened her mouth to scream, he rushed forward and slapped his free hand over her mouth, muffling her cries. “Make one sound, lass, and this blade finds a home in your soft, lovely breast.” The tip of his knife hovered just above the fine lace of her neckline. “Do you hear me?”
Margaret nodded her head, her wide gray eyes glancing toward the wall near her bed.
His gaze followed hers, and he scoffed. “If you’re thinking to use the bellpull to alert someone, know that I’ll kill you and disappear before any of your lazy maids have a chance to come to your rescue. Nod if you understand.”
She nodded, and after one long, assessing look in the mirror, Boyd let her go. He leaned against her dressing table, using the tip of his knife to flick the lace on her bodice. “Pretty.” He yanked the comb from her hair and it tumbled loose to fall around her face. “Very pretty. It’s no wonder my friend was so taken with you.”
Margaret’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it.
“Good,” Boyd said with a nod of approval. “A man doesn’t like a woman to talk too much.” He waved a hand by his ear like he was swiping at flies. “It’s the incessant, never-ending nagging that makes him want to plunge his knife deep until the nagging stops. In fact...” He used the tip of his knife to sweep the lock of hair from her face, but the sharpened edge just severed the strands until they fell silently into Margaret’s lap. Her breath hitched with fear. “The world would be a better place in general if pretty little mindless doves didn’t speak at all. They’re really only good for one thing. Don’t you agree?”
Margaret made a small keening noise in the back of her throat, but she remained still, trembling on her velvet stool like a bird in the grip of a snake.
“Good. Now, I’ve come to make you a deal. I know you’ve been carrying on with Liam O’Connor. It’s no secret you’ve been making a cuckold of your husband behind his back.”
Margaret’s face blanched. “We’re not—”
“Ah, ah.” Boyd pressed the flat blade of his knife against her lips. “Don’t start squawking now, dove. Just listen.” A single tear slipped from the corner of Margaret’s eye as Boyd pulled his knife away and continued. “Your husband is a very wealthy man, and I happen to be in need of some wealth myself. Now, John Brady is not known for charitable acts of kindness, so I’ve come to give you this opportunity to rectify that. You will take that lovely box there.” He pointed to the jewelry box with his knife. Several necklaces lay within velvet-lined compartments, along with a handful of sparkling combs and earrings. “And you will place the contents...” He stepped over to the bed, yanked a frilled pillowcase free, and tossed it to her. “In there. Go on, then. Be quick about it.”
With frightened, jerky movements, Margaret scooped out her jewelry and tossed the pieces into the pillowcase.
“Now you and I will take a trip to your husband’s study,” Boyd said, grabbing the sack of jewelry. “And you can show me where he keeps his real money.”
“I don’t know anything,” Margaret said in a tremulous voice. “John keeps all his wealth locked away. All I have is the pin money he gives me for allowance, and the jewels he drapes around my neck.”
Boyd sneered and jerked her by the arm. “The pin money. Get it. Now.”
Margaret stumbled to a chest of drawers and withdrew a soft purse embroidered with silk threads. She handed it to Boyd, and in a surprising burst of courage she said, “There. That’s all I have. Now leave my house and don’t come back.”
“You will take me to your husband’s study now,” Boyd said, yanking her toward the door. “Or I’ll kill you right where you stand.”
He pushed her through the door and into the hall with the tip of his knife pressed to her lower back. “I know your husband isn’t home, but if any of your servants happen to see us, you’ll tell them to go away. Do you hear?” Boyd prodded her with the knife.
Margaret whimpered and stumbled forward. When they were almost to the staircase, she yanked her arm free and tried to run, but Boyd slapped a hand over her mouth, pressing the knife to her neck.
“Now, that was foolish, dove. You’ve made me angry, see?” Boyd was breathing heavily now, every muscle tensed in anger. “I hold all the cards here. If you don’t do what I say, your husband’s going to hear all about your sordid affair with Liam. How do you think your husband will punish you when he finds out you’ve been making a fool of him behind his back? And with a filthy peasant, no less? Everyone knows how much your fancy husband hates us street rats. He’s not going to like knowing his pretty, proper little wife has been rolling in the gutter with one, will he? Now,move.” He shook her hard, making her head loll back and forth on her slender neck.
