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Disconnected images. Jumbled, upended thoughts. They battered her mind with bizarre dreams, leaving her sick to her stomach, a horrid buzz in her ears.
Aunt Fitz’s odd, mysterious smile. Gordon standing alone in the church, holding his sapphire choker. Flocks of cackling, sharp-eyed pigeons wheeling over Dun Eyre before streaming east toward Dublin and London. Brendan clutching her pendant, light seeping between his fingers. Herself, stuffed into her wedding gown, a piece of cake in each hand.
Images surfaced before submerging back into an endless twilight. She struggled to stay ahead of the encroaching dusk, but no matter how many strides she took, the shadows stretched closer. She broke into a run. Her fear feeding the gray nothingness just behind. Stumbling, she fell. Cried out for help from the one person she knew could stop the death waiting for her inside the void.
And came awake, sick and retching.
“Don’t fight it. It only makes the nausea worse.”
Fight it? Is that what he thought she was doing? No, she’d long since raised the white flag. She only wanted the floor to remain in one place and the walls to stop spinning. Then she could die in peace.
“You’re not going to die,” came the exasperated answer.
She went rigid. Had she spoken out loud? She didn’t think so. “You mean this tenth circle of hell is going to last forever?”
“Of course not. An hour or two, and you’ll be back on your feet.” Added under his breath, “I hope.”
He tucked her back under the greatcoat, the straw pallet crackling beneath her head. She shivered, curling into the heavy wool as she tried to piece together where she was. A peasant’s mud cabin. Dirt floor. A few pieces of rough furniture. The odors of sweat and dirt and animals hanging low in the room. Rain puddling in a corner. Wind rattling the door, backing smoke down the chimney.
Brendan retreated to a chair, tipping it back against the wall. Arms crossed, annoyance and frustration clouding his gaze. As if he had any right to be annoyed with her.
She wanted to scream at him. Hit him. Beat him senseless for doing this to her. This and all the other this-es he was guilty of. Instead, the room swirled around her in a mad gyration, and all she could do was seethe and count the minutes until vengeance could be hers.
“Where are we?” she asked, through chattering teeth.
“On the road between Corofin and Gort.”
That far? Even if they departed immediately, it would take hours to arrive at Dun Eyre. “How long”—she swallowed—“how long have I been here?” She couldn’t bring herself to add, alone with you, unchaperoned. It would only serve to emphasize the catastrophe that already loomed greater than life-size.
“Twenty-four hours, give or take.” Disgust clear in his voice.
A full day. She should be married by now. A respectable matron preparing to leave on her wedding trip to London. Instead, Gordon must be frantic. Aunt Fitz and Aunt Pheeney in a panic.
Or . . . She sucked in a horrified breath.
Aunt Fitz knew Brendan had been at Dun Eyre. Elisabeth had even joked about his ridiculous claim of stealing the bride away. Was it possible everyone believed Elisabeth had run off with Brendan? Could they imagine this had been an elopement rather than an abduction? Could her life get any worse?
Brendan rocked the chair forward with a thud. Stood to pace the cramped room, tapping a finger against his chin. “We can’t stay here much longer. If you’re not better soon, I’m going to have to heave you aboard Onwen and take my chances on the road.”
“Heave me . . . good luck with that. I’m not going anywhere with you, except home.” Mayhap she could explain how she was called away unexpectedly, in the middle of the night, alone, in her nightgown . . . and mayhap pigs could fly. Who would believe such a ridiculous tale?
He faced her, a grim light in his eyes. An unfamiliar hardness to his features. “Believe me when I say I wish I could. But Dun Eyre isn’t safe. Máelodor’s bounty hunters are on their way there.”
Anger overpowered the tiny frisson of fear rippling up her spine. “Isn’t safe? What are you babbling about? Who’s Máelodor?”
“Someone who currently wants to take me apart piece by piece. Preferably with a dull blade.”
She clenched her teeth. “I know how he feels.”
Still nervously stalking the cramped room, he rubbed his hands over his face as if trying to keep awake. Until then, she hadn’t noted the deep shadows beneath his eyes or the grayness of his skin. Served him right if he was coming down with something. She hoped it was fatal. “Remember when I told you I’d angered a few people and needed to hide at Dun Eyre?”
“I’m surprised it’s limited to a few.”
A quirk of his lips and a bleak chuckle met her comment. “Hiding wasn’t the only reason. I needed to retrieve something I’d left on the estate.”
“And the reason you kidnapped me?”
“Dun Eyre was the perfect place to conceal the Sh’vad Tual. None would suspect such a treasure hung round my fiancée’s neck. It would be safe until I needed it again.”
