Belmary House Book Two (3 page)

It was always harder to keep calm when Ashford wasn’t around, and he’d scarpered to the docks after getting news of an arriving ship. His presence gave her strength, and his misguided belief that she was brave made her act that way, even though she felt fairly shriveled inside.

She’d watched him shoot what was left of Donal Blair three times at point blank range and it had barely faltered in its attempts to grab her. She’d seen way too many zombie movies to have any doubt about what would have happened if it had succeeded.

She dropped the carrots she was about to chop and hurried outside for fresh air, overwhelmed by the memories. She had to clear her mind and be strong for Ashford. He was nearly at his wit’s end with guilt and worry, and he needed her.

Yes, she needed to think about Ashford, nothing else. Wanting to feel the distraction of his strong arms around her, she decided to walk to the village square to look for him.

Catching her reflection in the window on the way into the house, she saw she looked like a scullery maid and thought she better change first. That was the only time she missed having a maid, while trying to get dressed on her own. Ashford always helped her each morning, taking his sweet time and kissing her bare skin as he buttoned or laced her up. Thinking about it made her feel pleasantly warm and want to hurry to find him. They were both on edge, filled with anxiety about the future, and could use some good old fashioned distraction.

It took the better part of an hour but she finally got cleaned up and in the nicest dress she’d brought with her to France, a simple pale grey day dress with cream accents. The color reminded her of Ashford’s eyes when he was relaxed, something she wanted him to be. Something she wasn’t sure she’d ever be again.

She was surprised to see Ashford letting himself into the house as she left the bedroom, and seeing him made her realize just how stressed she’d been while he was gone. She flung herself forward and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him everywhere she could get her lips.

“Oh my God, I’ve had the worst morning. I missed you so much. We’re probably going to have to go to the inn for supper, because I made a mince of the fish filets.”

His face flamed beet red and he carefully got out of her octopus embrace, clearing his throat as he nodded behind him. Standing under the eaves of their cottage stood a disheveled and travel-weary Kostya, and after only a brief moment of embarrassment at having mauled Ashford in front of him, she raced forward to drag him into the house. After a quick and proper hug, she ran to get refreshments, even though he begged her not to put herself out.

“Don’t be silly, you look parched and famished and exhausted. Just rest, and let me take care of you.” She saw Ashford beaming at her proudly and dropped a curtsy to be contrary.

“We’ve no servants here,” Ashford explained. “But I’ve hardly noticed the lack, with Matilda buzzing around like an industrious bee since we arrived.”

“Yes, well, he’s next to useless, so someone had to step up,” Tilly said.

Kostya’s strained face eased into a smile that never reached his eyes. She was forcefully reminded why he was here and her happiness to see him dissolved into nerves over what came next. She also remembered that Ashford’s message to him had been about as terse as possible, only saying Camilla was alive, and to hurry and join them. Of course he was tired from the journey, it was a miracle he’d arrived so quickly, but shouldn’t he have been at least a little happy to learn his wife was still alive?

Camilla left him, she thought, shaking her head as she slapped together some sandwiches and boiled water for tea. She left him for another man after their daughter died, crushed his already broken heart, and then let everyone who cared about her believe she had died in a shipwreck.

That was the extent of his knowledge about his wife, so it made sense that he wouldn’t be turning cartwheels of excitement. Tilly shuddered as she poured the tea, hating to see how low he would sink when he found out what horrors Camilla had been up to since she disappeared.

But Ashford thought she could be redeemed, saved from herself, and that her old love for Kostya would do the trick. She only hoped it didn’t destroy Kostya in the process. She smiled compassionately at him as she set the tray on the table. She wished she could give him another hug, but knew he’d be uncomfortable at her modern, Americanish display of affection, so she merely pushed a plate of food at him and begged him to eat.

He swallowed hard, as if his stomach was upset, but took a bite of sandwich, nodding appreciatively.

“What news is there?” he asked. “Why isn’t Camilla with you? If she doesn’t want to return to Scotland, I certainly won’t force her. She has a right to find happiness if she can.”

Tilly couldn’t help the groan that escaped, and kept her head down to avoid Ashford’s glare. The atmosphere became heavy and awkward, and no one spoke for several long minutes.

“I beg you to tell me why you so urgently called me here,” Kostya finally pleaded. “When Camilla isn’t even with you. Is she ill, or hurt somewhere?”

“She’s in Rouleney,” Ashford started, being interrupted by Kostya, who was on the edge of his seat.

“So far? Why aren’t you there as well? You left her alone again? How can you know she’s still there?”

Ashford patiently waited out the tirade of questions, looking like he’d rather bathe with scorpions than answer them. Tilly sighed.

“She’s not alone,” she said, unable to stand it anymore. The news was bad, there was no getting around it. Still, Ashford scowled at her for her blunt answer. “He needs to know, Ashford.”

Her irritation at his continued blindness where his sister was concerned bubbled to the surface. She’d been holding it in out of sympathy for his feelings, but after seeing the heartbreak written all over Kostya’s face, she couldn’t sit quietly anymore.

“Who’s she with?” His slightly catlike eyes grew wide with innocent curiosity.

Ashford spoke in a rush, letting out a lot of information without answering his question. “I believe she’s waiting for your family, that’s why she chose Rouleney, and why I feel confident she hasn’t gone anywhere. She either wants something from them, or they’ve got a hold on her somehow, but there’s no way they can’t be aware of what she’s— what’s happened.”

Kostya blinked, his facing growing hard at the mention of his family. “Who’s she with?” he repeated, not to be distracted.

“You recall Donal Blair?” Ashford asked in a choked voice.

Kostya flinched as if he’d been hit, then looked as if he wanted to hit Ashford. Tilly almost reached over and did. He was so unfeeling sometimes. Of course Kostya recalled the man his wife ran off with. After the flash of rage passed from Kostya’s eyes, he looked completely confused.

“The village lad. He died some months ago.” For some reason he turned to her after saying that and she squeezed her eyes shut.

“Yes, he did die,” Ashford said slowly, leading up to another long silence.

Kostya looked like he might cry and Ashford kept opening his mouth as if he had figured out what to say next, then closing it with a pained expression.

“She brought him back,” Tilly said, moving to sit beside Kostya.

She took his hand, which hung limp and cold in hers. She worried he might have completely mentally checked out, but he finally shook his head disbelievingly.

“Impossible. She’s nowhere near strong enough for something like that. She actually brought him back to life?”

“Not all the way,” Tilly said.

“Apparently she’s been honing her skills,” Ashford interrupted, scowling at her harder than ever. “I had no idea she’d reached such a level. But Tilly’s telling the truth. We saw it ourselves. It seems to take a great deal of her energy to control Donal. What remains of him.”

He proceeded to give a thoroughly whitewashed account of what happened when they found Camilla and Donal in her underground lair, making it sound as if the two lovebirds were merely having a quiet getaway. Tilly kept her mouth pressed tightly shut, thinking Ashford must have his reasons for leaving out many of the gruesome details, and more concerned with Kostya’s reaction when he finally accepted it all.

“Why wave a flag like that?” Kostya asked after Ashford finished explaining. He looked like he might be ill, but his voice was fairly steady. “If she’s so blatantly using her powers— you say the villagers knew what she was doing?”

Ashford cleared his throat guiltily. “Yes. She must have put hexes on the buildings to cause a panic. Most of them fled …”

He trailed off and Tilly hissed, but he refused to meet her eye. How could he completely omit what had happened to the villagers who hadn’t fled?

“Then there’s no way my grandmother isn’t aware of it. They can’t stand that sort of thing. A whole village. It’s odd they haven’t come to put a stop to it by now.”

“If Camilla’s gotten so powerful, do you think your people are afraid of her?” Tilly asked.

Kostya and Ashford exchanged a look before bursting into raucous laughter. Tilly frowned at them until they stopped, Kostya wiping tears from his eyes and becoming subdued once more.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” Ashford said, taking a sip of tea. “It’s not actually funny at all. But the Povests aren’t afraid of anyone.”

“Which makes it all the more disconcerting why they haven’t acted yet,” Kostya added.

“And why I wanted you to come with all haste,” Ashford said. “I know this is difficult for you, but I pray you’ll find it in your heart to try and reach Camilla.” He stopped and put his hand on his brother-in-law’s shoulder. “She’s acted abominably, even I can see that, but if I know only one thing in this world, it’s that she loved you more than she loved anyone.”

“I don’t think the woman you’ve described is my Camilla anymore,” he said sadly, looking out the window and squinting at the afternoon sunlight.

Tilly wholeheartedly agreed with him and wanted to say something, afraid that Ashford’s hopes were too high, that abominably was too forgiving a description of what she’d done, but when she looked at Ashford, she couldn’t. If he was about to be shattered, all she could do was be there to pick up the pieces. She knew there was no preparing for heartache.

“She’s in there still, Kostya. Please.”

Kostya rested his head on the back of the couch and closed his eyes. “Of course,” he said in a far away voice. “I’ll do whatever I can.”

Tilly lobbied for Kostya to have a good night’s sleep on dry land before they set out on their journey, also not wanting to ride after dark, and most definitely not wanting to face Camilla if they all didn’t have their wits one hundred percent about them, but the men wanted action. Even Kostya, whose face was drawn with fatigue, nodded wearily when Ashford suggested they leave immediately.

Tilly packed all their belongings, not sure if they’d return. When Ashford and Kostya returned to the house with the horses, she was ready, and gave one last, long look at the cottage before they set off. Ashford stole a quick kiss before he helped her mount, while Kostya was distracted with his own horse. He glanced back at the house as well.

“I don’t know how I would have survived here without you,” he said, pulling her shawl closer around her shoulders.

He looked like he wanted to say more, perhaps offer some assurances, but instead just held out his hands to hoist her into the saddle. They rode as hard as they could according to her lacking abilities until somewhere past the halfway point when Ashford stopped to give her a break.

“I’m fine,” she argued, not wanting to get down.

Kostya slid easily from his saddle, and after deftly twisting the reins around a tree, stalked off into the woods along the road.

“Don’t be foolish, Matilda, we’re all in need of a rest.” Ashford took her foot out of the stirrup and held out his hands.

As they were both down, she didn’t see the point in being belligerent, to the detriment of her own backside. She climbed into his arms, and since Kostya was still hidden away in the trees, she took the opportunity to rest there for a moment. He pressed her close to him, resting his cheek against her hair. She could feel the tension in his body and wished she had some words of comfort for him.

When Kostya returned, Ashford took his turn in the woods, leaving them alone to awkwardly stare at one another.

“I’m sorry you have to go through this,” she finally said.

He looked at her despairingly. “Even before our Lucy passed away, things were strained between us. Camilla had been using her magic capriciously, doing reckless spells for no reason other than to see if she could. I feared … an intervention by my family, but she wouldn’t stop.” He paused, his bleak expression unchanging. With a nod he asked, “You’ll tell me the truth of it, won’t you? Things are worse than Julian lets on?”

Feeling disloyal, but unable to stand the thought of Kostya being taken by surprise, she sighed. “Much worse,” she said. “He thinks your family is involved somehow.”

He shook his head vigorously. “They like secrecy and subtlety. There’s no way they would go about things the way he’s described. Just because they haven’t acted yet doesn’t mean they’re involved.”

She felt tears about to roll and blinked them away, getting a rush of guilt that he only knew the half of it.