AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You’ve news?”
“Aye, Great One. Men in Cashell spotted Douglas heading west toward Limerick.”
“I knew it. The stone is hidden at Dun Eyre. Just as his father’s diary hinted. Did they lay hands on Douglas?”
“No. He evaded them.”
“Never matter. It’s the Sh’vad Tual that’s important. Once we have it in our possession, Douglas will follow. I’m certain of it.”
“And if the stone is hidden? The estate is a large one.”
“The woman will know where it is.” He directed the full power of his gaze onto the messenger, a taste of what failure brought as its reward. “She will be made to reveal it.”
Well satisfied with the interview, Máelodor flicked his bony fingers in dismissal. “Oss, show the man out.”
Once more alone, he surrendered to infirmity. Closed his eyes against a pain fast growing unbearable. So much he’d lost to his cause. Youth. Health. The powers needed for these darkest of arts draining him of both. But soon—when Arthur stood before him. When the Other marked their king’s return and rose up as one—he would take the final step needed to secure victory in war and his own personal renewal. An alliance with the Unseelie. A loosing of the demons from their Dark Court.
With their legions riding at the side of this greatest of kings, even the staunchest of Duinedon armies would fall. His own bodily sufferings eased.
Worth it at twice the price.
For the man who controlled the Dark Court controlled the world.
four
It had taken Elisabeth most of the day, but she’d finally made up her mind. She would confront Gordon with her concerns about his plans for Dun Eyre. She didn’t want her home to become a pale imitation of some Englishman’s country house. Its charms were its own and not to be tampered with.
Stepping off the bottom stair, she followed the sound of men’s voices to the billiard room. Peeking round the door, she spied Uncle McCafferty, Lord Taverner, and Cousin Rolf deep in play, a footman clearing away a picked-over platter of sandwiches. “Have you seen Gordon?”
Rolf took his shot, the balls cracking against one another. “I believe he and his brother drove to Ennis. Took a bag with him, so I don’t expect he’ll be back before tomorrow.”
“Oh. He never said he planned on leaving.”
Uncle McCafferty chalked his cue. “Not going to be one of those kinds of wives, are you, m’dear? He’s not under the cat’s paw yet.”
Heat rose into her cheeks. Grabbing up a sandwich, she ducked out of the room, followed by the sound of hearty laughter. Had her tone been nagging? She didn’t think so. Disappointed, perhaps. Discouraged. Now she’d have to wait until Gordon’s return to take up her case.
Left without a purpose, she couldn’t decide what to do. Sit with the ladies in the drawing room, where gossip flowed freely as the tea? Join the younger crowd in the rowdy game of lottery tickets being played in the Red Salon? Perhaps a rummage among the kitchens to turn up some of Cook’s leftover sponge cake?
But none of those choices appealed to her. Perhaps she should just retire. Put this entire horrid day behind her. At least Brendan had somehow managed to stay out of trouble. She’d not seen him since dinner and even then he’d been subdued, his gaze somber, his manner guarded. She’d almost thought to goad him into speaking before coming to her senses. What did she care if he seemed uneasy? It wasn’t her concern. Against her better judgment, she’d kept his secret. Beyond that, his worries were his own and nothing to do with her.
The soft chords of a pianoforte slowed her steps as she passed the music room. Barely heard above the sounds of merrymaking elsewhere, the melody rose and fell in soft echoes before dying away. Began again. Clearer. Louder. And this time unmistakable. Mozart.
Pushing wide the door, she squinted through the dark. Shadows lay thick about the room, but for a branch of candles blazing upon the pianoforte. The light carved deep lines in the face of the man seated at the keys. Flickered over cheekbones and deep-set, heavy-lidded eyes before splashing across long-fingered, capable hands.
Elisabeth listened from the doorway, the familiar, heart-rending melody pushing against her anger like water against a dam.
He stumbled over a chord, his hands coming to rest still and gentle upon the keys.
“Try again,” she murmured from the doorway.
He spun in his seat, scrambling to build his fith-fath. His eyes widened then narrowed, his disguise abandoned. It was Brendan before her. Not the man she remembered. But not the stranger with Brendan’s golden eyes either.
His gaze fell to the sandwich in her hand. “For me?”
“If I gave you anything, it would be poison in your soup,” she snapped, annoyed that a mere melody could wreak such havoc.
“I’d no idea you could hold a grudge so long. Were you always so resolute?”
