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Aidan might have been amused had his own woman troubles been less d
ire. Instead, he felt a sense of fellowship with his wronged cousin. Joined him at the sherry. “It means she’s Amhas-draoi and your only talent is the devil’s own luck.” They toasted their shared frustration.
Jack downed his sherry. Slumped against the table. “So I’m not some Herculean super-Other. I’m hardly negligible.”
“Compared to what she’s used to, you are.”
“Thanks for the kind words.” He rambled back to his seat. Fell into it with a defeatist glower. “Now it’s your turn to be cut down to size. Fire away.”
Aidan placed his empty glass on the nearest table. Pulled a cheroot from his pocket, bending to light it. “Cat still refuses to speak with me. She sent my note back unopened. And I couldn’t get the poor maid to repeat her verbal message. Said her mother had taught her better than to use those sorts of words.”
Jack gave a bark of laughter, quickly stifled by Aidan’s sharp look. “Can’t imagine why she’s not licking your slippers, old man. You kidnapped her. Brought her here against her will, locked her in a room until she surrenders. Any other crimes I’ve missed?”
“You can lose the sarcasm. You’re supposed to be helping.”
“Just pointing out the obvious conflict. But if you want advice, I say go up there and wrestle it out with her.”
He inhaled on a relaxing drag. “Good thought, but I’m a bit bruised from the last time we wrestled.”
“You’re going to have to come to some kind of understanding. You tried seduction. That used to have the women eating out of your hand. Must be out of practice.” He quickly changed tack at Aidan’s glower. “Anyway, that’s failed. Perhaps if you—”
Aidan crushed out the stub. “That’s not how it happened.”
“No?” Jack’s brows rose in a look of mock confusion that had Aidan itching to hit him. Hard. “You’re honestly going to tell me there was more than sweet talk and good sex between you? I just assumed, Miss O’Connell being who she is. You being who you are—”
Aidan straightened, fists at the ready. “You can shove your damned assumptions right up your—”
“Easy, coz,” Jack said. “Let me remind you of your plans to secure your financial future with a hearty helping of Miss Osborne’s dowry. What the hell would people say if you turned around and married a woman you found breaking into your home? A woman whose sordid past banishes her from polite society? One they could never receive. Never acknowledge. You’d be a laughingstock. More of an oddity than you already are.” He paused. “And that’s saying something.”
“Is that all you can think about? Miss Osborne’s damned money? What people would say? I’ve wealth enough. And you said it yourself, polite society already associates the Earls of Kilronan with wild unpredictability bordering on eccentricity. If I want to make Cat a part of my life, what’s one more bizarre twist in this already insane story?”
Jack sat back, satisfaction dancing in his eyes. “You tell me.”
“Wipe that damned smile off your face. You’re a bloody pain in my ass.”
“Likewise.”
Sometime in the night, a key turned in her door. When she finally tried it, the latch clicked easily. The hinges silent. Peering up and down the corridor, she spied a kneeling maid polishing the floor who looked on Cat with a darting shift of her eyes. Beyond that, the way was clear.
She descended the first staircase she found. A narrow stone spiral spitting her out at one end of a long, barrel vaulted gallery. Thick carpets covered the flagstone floor, yet did little to muffle the cavernous feel or relieve the chill in the air.
On the opposite wall, an enormous tapestry hung in the place of honor behind a carved stone balustrade. An armored knight kneeling before a robed and diademed woman. The weaver rendering the Fey aura—for even without the recognizable dolmen behind her it was obvious the woman was one of the faery folk—worked in a mix of gold and silver threads.
“It used to be a chapel before the Douglases of Belfoyle chose expediency over faith.” Jack stepped around the tapestry from what must have been a door tucked discreetly out of sight in the curve of the stonework. Hands clasped behind his back, face harlequined by the watery light from a set of narrow windows. “They’ve always known how to thread the vagaries of politics and stay on the right side of any issue. Back a solid winner and all that. At least until the last earl. His lapse was spectacularly un-Douglas-like.”
“I suppose tossing in your lot with a bunch looking to resurrect King Arthur would be placing yourself out on a rather shaky limb.” Ignoring Jack’s penetrating gaze, she approached the tapestry. Motioned toward the kneeling knight. “Who is he?”
“Sir Archibald Douglas?” Jack glanced up before resuming his steady scrutiny. “An illustrious forebearer. He’s said to have visited the faery kingdom of Ynys Avalenn. Remained there for three years as the lover of a Fey queen. Lucky man if half the rumors are true.”
He flashed a smile, but his eyes remained fixed upon her as if trying to piece her thoughts. “When he finally returned to the mortal world, the queen offered him a gift to remember her by.”
“What sort of gift?”
His mouth twitched. “That part’s a bit vague. Some said it was a vial containing a potion for eternal youth. Other stories have it that it was a key to the kingdom of Ynys Avalenn, a way back to his love if he chose to return. And there’s a third story swearing it was a jewel that would protect its wearer against all Fey magic.”
“Which theory do you subscribe to?”
“Well, since Sir Archibald’s tomb at last check was full of Sir Archibald, I’d say eternal youth is out. And the jewel idea is nice, but hardly very loverlike.”
