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She jerked back to attention. “I’m sorry, Aunt Delia. I suppose the journey has taken its toll.” She tried to look suitably fatigued.
Aunt Delia clucked her disapproval. “You always did have your poor mother’s constitution. It’s no wonder she wasted away after your father died. No spirit.” She heaved a bosom-jiggling sigh. “Well, if you’re fagged, I’ll ring a maid to show you to your room. And your companion—she’s properly behaved, I hope.”
“Miss Fletcher is a perfectly respectable barrister’s daughter, Aunt Delia.”
“Oh well, I suppose that’s all right then. Not exactly suitable company for the daughter of an earl, but no doubt you’re used to consorting with all sorts of rabble in that order of yours.”
She couldn’t wait to tell Jane she was rabble.
“I should have traveled myself to retrieve you, but I did have the house to complete, staff to hire, supplies to lay in, and there was a political dinner at Dublin Castle I simply had to attend. I was sure you’d understand.”
“I was quite well taken care of by Mr. Dixon.”
“Hmph. That dwarf. Another whim laid at the foot of that woman. I don’t know what Kilronan could have been thinking. The stories I’ve heard . . .” And on the same complaint that had begun this conversation, Sabrina departed in search of Jane.
“Bloom has just ridden in, sir. He says he brings good news.”
“Bring him to me immediately.” Hiding his heart’s leap of excitement behind a heavy-lidded gaze, Máelodor closed the crumbling vellum pages illustrating Arthur
’s last battle. The final moments of a king brought down by treachery and betrayal depicted in medieval monkish artistry. The Other’s golden age destroyed through one traitorous son’s fiendish plotting.
A story repeated in gory detail seven years ago. Brendan Douglas’s deceit ending in the murder of his father by the Amhas-draoi, the destruction of the Nine, and all they’d striven for with one diabolical action.
But soon all Douglas’s treachery would be for naught.
Lazarus had obtained the Kilronan diary. Its secrets revealed to one who could break the warding spells and translate the mysterious language.
And now Bloom arrived with the Rywlkoth Tapestry; the map to Arthur’s secret tomb.
Only the stone known as the Sh’vad Tual remained unaccounted for. The key to opening the tomb. Recovering the bones of the Other’s sacred king.
Secreted away by Brendan Douglas in the final weeks before the Amhas-draoi assault, the stone would only be found with his assistance—willing or unwilling.
And if all went as planned, soon he—like the diary and the tapestry—would be in Máelodor’s possession.
His body simmered with violent arousal as he pictured the breaking of Brendan Douglas. He hoped the man begged. Wept. Pleaded for mercy then death.
Despair fed Máelodor’s appetites as no woman ever had.
And it had been too long since he’d partaken of either pleasure.
He couldn’t wait.
A peremptory knock and his man entered. “Mr. Bloom, sir.” He motioned in a travel-spattered gentleman muffled in greatcoat and hat, and still muddy from days on the road. Closed the door silently on his way out.
Máelodor lifted a stern face and ceremonial hand to the newcomer. “I assume your return means you’ve been successful.”
“I have, Great One.” He dipped a hand into the lining of his coat. Withdrew a rolled piece of cloth. Handed it over, barely concealing the smug conceit of his success.
Máelodor took it. Untied the ribbon. Spread the tapestry out upon the table.
“It was just where you said it would be,” Bloom explained. “With the bandraoi at Glenlorgan.”
The fibers that had once been white now held the stains of centuries. Rust-brown in spots. Other places faded to dull yellow and gray splotches. One corner was damaged, the threads torn and frayed. But the images depicted remained vibrant and alive.
A scene rendered in beautiful shades of crimson, gold, royal blue, and emerald green. A litter borne by six attendants in heavy armor, their helmets raised, their heads bowed in grief. A line of veiled followers trailing behind, also bent with weeping. One had fallen to his knees. Another paused to give comfort. Ahead a tomb’s maw within a rock face. One of the same gray-veiled figures stood beside the open cave. Arms lifted high to where a star rendered in a deep blue shone down upon the litter.
Exquisite detail. Artistically brought to life by the ancient hands that had embroidered it. A priceless artifact of Other antiquity.
