Cates, Kimberly (52 page)

But
there was no room for her in Aidan's private hell. There was no room for her in
his arms, in his bed. It was as if the mere sight of her or of Cassandra
somehow poured subtle acid over wounds she couldn't see, as if reproach clung
like some sickly-sweet perfume to their hair.

He
might have been some hero of old, locked in battle with the dragon sent to
destroy them, and until that dragon was defeated he felt unworthy to touch so
much as the hems of their gowns.

Not
so much as a whisper had come from Aidan's foe in the week since Richard's
arrival. It was as if Aidan's enemy knew instinctively the agonies Aidan was
suffering, as if this faceless adversary was enjoying that pain before closing
in for the kill. Norah could almost feel vengeful eyes watching them and feel
the cold fingertips reaching out to gouge into the most vulnerable places in
Aidan's battered soul.

It
was hideous, nerve shattering, this ominous quiet like the eerie calm before a
tempest broke. It was as if Aidan were drowning and she couldn't reach his
hand.

Norah
shivered, remembering Aidan's bitter voice: The only way a Kane could ever get
into heaven is to steal the keys. At the moment she would have gladly stolen
them from St. Peter's own hand if by doing so she could spare her beloved pain.

But
there was no escape from the darkness stalking Rathcannon. There was no haven
to retreat to. Only uncertainty—the writhing, sinuous abyss that hurled back
images of her own most secret fears.

"Richard!
Is that for me?" Cassandra's delighted cry drifted through the window on
the blossom-scented air, shaking Norah from her troubled thoughts. She looked
up to see her stepbrother unfold his lanky frame, only the slightest hint of
his limp still evident, as he made his way to Cassandra's side and perched the
crown on her head.

Norah
wondered how often Aidan had twined blossoms or ribbons in his daughter's hair,
and her heart twisted, ached for the man locked away in his study, mounting a
campaign to rival any general's.

She
had been alone for most of her life, yet she had never understood the depths
loneliness could reach until now.

"My
lady?"

Rose
poked her head into the drawing room. Ever since the night Aidan had ridden out
to meet Gilpatrick, the girl had been more devoted than ever, her loyalty
fanned because Aidan had forgiven her for her transgressions. Not only forgiven
her, but thanked her for her honesty in sending him to the Hill of Night
Voices.

"I
was wonderin' if I could—could speak frank with you about—" The girl
stopped, worry creasing her brow. "You look worn to a shade. Both you and
the master." Rose twisted her apron about chapped fingers.

"I'm
fine. Thank you for... for your concern. What was it you needed to ask me
about?"

"It's
nothing," the girl answered too quickly, lowering her eyes.

"You
came here to ask me something, Rose," Norah said, too weary to make more
of an attempt to draw it out of the girl.

The
girl's cheeks flushed. "It's just that Mrs. Cadagon says she's goin' to
march you an' Sir Aidan into dinner at gunpoint tonight if she has to. I think
I'll help her. You both need somethin' to eat, an' some sleep, if you'll pardon
me saying so. Those men who wanted to kidnap Miss Cassandra won't have t'
trouble themselves if y' keep this up. The both of you'll be nothing but
starved skeletons, an' the villain'll be able t' walk in the front door an'
blow you out of his way with a puff o' wind."

Norah
tried to curve her lips into a smile. Failed. "Tell Mrs. Cadagon she's
right. I'll see to it that Sir Aidan is at the table myself."

Rose
cast her a respectful smile. "You're a real fine one, my lady. Gibbon and
the Cadagons, Calvy an' me, we all of us think so."

Acceptance.
Affection. Norah's throat constricted at such precious gifts.

"Ye're
the best thing 'at ever happened t' Sir Aidan and t' Miss Cassandra. 'Tis a
pure miracle you wound up on their doorstep."

A
miracle,
Norah
echoed. She thought of the bright, blue-eyed girl amusing herself with her
pony, the dark-haired, haggard man tearing himself to shreds over the danger
that was threatening his daughter. And the danger to Norah herself, she
thought, with a searing memory of the pain-ravaged, desperate expression that
haunted his eyes whenever they met hers.

A
miracle. It truly was a miracle that had drifted her down into the arms of a
man she loved, gave her a home, a daughter, a future filled with hope that
someday she might win Aidan Kane's wary heart.

Norah's
gaze strayed out to where Cassandra stood in the sunshine, Richard bending
close. His fingertips were brushing her cheek, as if he were trying to capture
a stray lash caught in one of Cassandra's expressive blue eyes.

Norah's
heart squeezed. Was it possible that God would grant yet another miracle to
those who lived at Rathcannon? She prayed with all her might that the angels
Aidan scorned would help him find the monsters who were stalking his daughter,
help him destroy them before Aidan destroyed himself.

The
dining room was redolent with the mouth-watering scents of the most delicious
food that Cook could conjure up, a veritable repast spread before Aidan on
glistening china. All of his favorites had been laid out to tempt him, as if he
were a much-indulged boy just recovered from a nursery bout of fever.

It
touched him, the solicitousness of the servants clustered around: footmen whose
eyes glinted with respect and affection, Mrs. Cadagon bustling about like a
mother hen whose hatchling had just been hauled back from disaster. The staff
of Rathcannon had rallied about him with a loyalty that astonished Aidan. It
was if they all had faith in his power to avert the calamity that had careened
down on the castle the night of the marriage ball.

Most
sobering of all was confronting Norah's face across the table. Seeing her,
really seeing her, perhaps for the first time since he'd gone to her bedchamber
a week before and poured out the most guarded secrets of his heart, the most scathing
vulnerabilities he had kept locked inside him for so long.

Misery
etched deep into the fragile curves of her face, tension tugging at that soft
mouth he ached to kiss even now. And her eyes were filled with such empathy for
his anguish and faith in his strength, those emotions overlaid by a love
painful in its intensity, terrifying in its power.

In
the end, it had been her anxiety that had made Aidan agree to join her and
Cassandra and that brainless brother of Norah's for the first decent meal he'd
eaten in a week.

Yes,
it had been to ease Norah's worry that he paused in his mad search. That, and
something else.

The
first glimmers of hope in this morass of confusion. The first shining sliver of
a clue that might lead to Aidan's enemy.

He
hazarded a glance across the table's massive surface, to where Cassandra was
giggling over some jest Richard Farnsworth had just drawled. Aidan knew he
should be pleased that the English fop had served some kind of purpose, that he
had managed to distract Cassandra from the danger that swirled in a red mist
all around them.

Yet
an odd sense of irritation stirred inside him as well, an impatience. God,
couldn't Cass see through the slippery fop? Maybe Norah was right. He had
overprotected the girl. She was innocent and trusting as a spring lamb. And the
hard truth was that Farnsworth was a slick-tongued fool, unscrupulous about
flirting with a child; but Cassandra was likely to encounter other men far more
dangerous in a London ballroom. If Cassandra couldn't see through Farnsworth's
feeble guises, how could he hope she'd be able to discern true evil when she
faced it? Greedy fortune hunters, bastards who made a game out of fresh young
beauties like Cassandra?

He
shuddered inwardly, his mind straying to the three wagers Gilpatrick had spoken
of, the tension tightening inside him.

"Aidan?"
Norah's voice made him look toward her, and his breath snagged at the beauty in
her uncertain smile. "I just thought I would remind you that the object to
your left is a fork. You use it to scoop up the food and put it in your
mouth."

Aidan
grimaced. He'd felt off balance all day, a little woozy from lack of food and
lack of sleep. He'd come into the dining room determined to eat so that he
could stay on his horse's back when he set out later that evening to corner his
quarry.

He
grabbed up the utensil and took a bite of roast beef. Norah rewarded him with a
smile.

"So,
Sir Aidan, any new developments on your quest today?" Farnsworth queried,
popping a sugarplum into his mouth. "You know, any secret codes unraveled,
villain lairs discovered?"

"As
a matter of fact, I may have unearthed something at last."

"Oh,
Aidan!" Relief flooded Norah's features.

Aidan
held up one hand in warning. "Don't get too excited. I'm not certain it
will amount to anything. I can't even begin to tell you how many snippets of
information I've traced to their source, only to come back empty-handed."

"But
you don't think that will happen this time," Norah insisted. "I can
see it in your face."

"Time
will tell."

"How
much time, Father?" Cassandra asked.

"I'm
not certain. Tonight, if all goes well."

"So
you should have the villain cornered tonight?" Farnsworth shifted in his
chair, then rose to stretch his legs for a moment. "Excellent, Kane. God
knows it's taken long enough."

There
was something beneath the layer of bored arrogance that set Aidan's teeth on
edge, a barely concealed mockery, a twisted sting of pleasure caused no doubt by
Aidan's own pointed criticisms about how Farnsworth had cared for Norah.

Aidan
glared at the young man.

Farnsworth
flashed him a guileless smile. "Pardon my ill manners," he said,
patting his left breech leg. "Got a stiff leg that picks the most
inopportune times to kick up a fuss. Blasted thing's been aching like the very
devil today. Must mean it's going to rain."

"What
happened to your leg?" Cassandra asked with big-eyed worship. "I
mean, I've been wondering what happened but thought it was rude to ask. Were
you injured in the war? My pa—father was a hero on the Peninsula."

"No
fate quite so glorious for me, I'm afraid. I was racing about on a slick road
with a green-broke team of horses and an ill-sprung carriage when it
overturned. Lay on a cliffside for three full days before some fisherman found
me. Knew I was heading for the devil of a spill before the thing crashed, but I
had my whole fortune riding on it, don't you know. Ah, Kane, it's blasted
embarrassing, isn't it? The scrapes a man can get into when he's young and
foolish?"

"You
must have been terribly hurt," Cassandra commiserated, nibbling on a
sugary roll. "How awful for you!"

"I'm
certain Richard would be delighted to tell you about his brush with death
later," Norah interrupted. "I want to hear what your father has
discovered."

"I've
sent riders to every inn, every cottage, every hostelry within a day's ride of
the castle, asking if anyone has seen something odd or suspicious. An hour ago
Sean O'Day came back with the news that the innkeeper at a most disreputable
place had a rather distinguished guest the night of the ball."

"Is
that so? I don't mean to burst your hopes, Kane, but have you considered that
the poor guest might have had his carriage break down? His horse come up lame?
Or he could just have an odd taste for more rustic accommodations—a delight in
bedbugs and the like."

Cassandra
giggled, and Farnsworth flashed her a wink that set Aidan's teeth on edge. As
if suddenly aware of Aidan's glowering, Farnsworth flushed.

"Forgive
me, old man. I don't mean to make light of your discovery." He adopted a
mien of rapt attention. "Where, pray tell, is this nefarious innkeeper who
entertained a mysterious guest?"

"The
past three days the innkeeper has been gone. From all accounts, he's been
visiting his daughter who just presented him with a grandson. I've tried my
damnedest to track the blasted girl down, but to no avail. Still, the man is to
return to his establishment late tonight. I intend to be there when he
does."

"Wondrous
exciting news. And what exactly is this place called? This den of iniquity
you've discovered?"

"The
Thorned Paw Inn."

Farnsworth's
lips tightened over his teeth. "This guest must've been more than a little
insane, as even the name of the establishment reeks of discomfort. Perhaps—just
perhaps—you have stumbled onto something after all." Farnsworth's brow
darkened. "But have a care, Kane. There is an ill wind blowing tonight.
You may well be dicing with a devil more dangerous than you know."

* * * * *

Storm
winds wound skeins of black clouds through the tangled branches of trees, the
limbs beating out the rhythm of a macabre dance. The moonless sky was bruised a
purplish blue, while chills scuttled down the castle corridors to huddle in
shadowy corners and creep on tiny legs up Norah's spine.