Raven (Legends Saga Book 2) (27 page)

“I had no doubths they would work it out,” Rip gazed on like a proud papa. “A bond like theirths is w’itten in dah sarths. Madda Fa’e thmiling on dem with her sarindpths gith. It may ha’e tharted wif Ikabah and Kathfrina, but dah hath thurpad dat wif deir own thpechul fercumthanths.”

“Didn’t get a word of that, buddy,” Ridley admitted, clapping a comforting hand on Rip’s shoulder that sagged with frustration.

24

Edgar

“I did not expect events to unfold in the manner they did.” Lenore smoothed the ruffles of her skirt with her
hands, as if such an act could erase the gore or singe marks from the fabric. “Not to say
any
were innocent. Those in his employ openly jested with him about the
opportunity
presented by the plague. Can you imagine? How gruesomely vulgar!”

Edgar tore his gaze from the rocking carriage wall in front of him and glanced her way. All emotion noticeably absent from his
tone. “There are tiny bits of flesh tangled in your hair.”

If blood still pumped through her veins she may have blushed as she dipped her head
to self-consciously brush it away. “I truly
am
sorry you saw me like that, Edgar. I lost myself. I am aware of that. Even so, I am confident that if you had heard all the horrible things those poor girls had to endure, you would have done just as I did.”

Edgar could manage no
thing more than a weak nod. His stare returning to the carriage wall before him, as he did his best to emulate it.

Think nothing.

Feel nothing.

Be …
nothing
.

He fought off his blinks, spacing them out as far as his dry, t
ired eyes would allow. For tonight, death and mayhem lived behind his lids. Each blink bringing another horrifying flash of memory.

In the oddest of ways he missed Dougie and the other spirits that had long tor
mented him. In comparison to this, those seemed fleeting moments of horrific fancy that passed to reveal themselves as nothing more than illusions. This? There was no waking from this threshold of hell. The smell of burning flesh that still filled his nose acted as proof of that.

Lenore chattered
away the entire voyage home, the anxious lilt in her voice audible. As the carriage lulled them side-to-side, her hand sought out his, seeking the reassurance of his touch. Without hesitation he offered her that. His fingers closing around hers, cold and smooth as marble. Still, he rode in silence, refusing to let himself feel, for the emotions swirling within him were too dreadful and heart wrenching to entertain.

The carriage horses eased to a stop in front of their bungalow, gravel crunching under the back wheels. The driver, whose services they rented for the night, hop
ped down and opened the door for them.

His friendly face
folded in an expression of sincere empathy. “Can you get her inside sufficiently, sir? Such an ordeal you went through! Barely escaping that fire!”

“We will be fine, thank you,” Edgar said with a dismissive nod
and took Lenore’s elbow to guide her inside. Courtesy was a trait for another night.

The moment they stepped inside the cottage
Lenore fell against the door, securing them in their private sanctuary. “I made a mistake removing my mask. If I dare step into town people could recognize me. It may become mandatory for us to move on. First, we should let things settle. Perhaps stay out of sight for a while?” Pushing herself off the doorframe she reached for Edgar. Catching his hand, she brought it to her cheek and dotted his palm with a kiss. “Would you like that, Edgar? We could have a holiday here at home and spend an entire week in bed.”

“No
truer Heaven on Earth could exist,” he rasped. Patting her hand, he pulled away, needing a bit of distance to collect himself. “I desire a spot of chamomile tea. Can I brew you some as well, my flower?”

“That sounds wonderful. I
will go change into my night clothes and meet you on the veranda. Such a beautiful night, it would be a shame not to enjoy it.” Lenore paused by the bedroom door and glanced back, her hair parting to offer a glimpse of the elegant curve of her shoulder. “Edgar?” she called as he turned for the kitchen.

Praying his face remained a neutral,
he turned back. His eyebrows raised in expectation.

So many meaningless words fell from her lips that night, yet finally she found the
only
three that would crack the solid wall forming around his heart. “I love you.”

“And I you
. Until my very last breath, I shall belong to you alone.”

Contentment
softened her exquisite features, adding a sparkle to her otherworldly amethyst eyes. She held his stare long enough to blow him a kiss before leaving him to his task.

Edgar
moved through a fog of tumultuous thoughts. His body carried out motions purely on well-practiced habit: filling the teapot, digging her favorite chamomile blend from the cupboard, retrieving the sugar bowl. Across the house he heard the boudoir door click shut. Only then did he expel a shaky breath and extract the broken chunk of dogwood from his pocket. Breaking off one small sliver, he dropped it into the brewing teapot then pocketed the remaining shard. He carried on preparing the tea to suit her—two sugar cubes and a splash of cream. After loading a platter with cups for them both, he carried it out to the veranda.

Lenore
joined him just as he set the tray on the table, her white lace dressing gown flitting around her ankles. Her hair, brushed free from its curls, danced in the night breeze. Having snatched her favorite quilt from her rocking chair, she flung it around her shoulders as she walked. She settled onto the settee, padding the seat beside her for Edgar to join her. Gathering both cups from the tray, he did just that.

Edgar handed Lenore her
tea, his eyes never leaving her face as he tentatively sipped his own. Flicking his tongue over his lips, he searched the flavor for even a hint of taste variance. He found none. Would she?

Lenore
’s shoulders curled around her cup as she inhaled the aroma, a soft sigh escaping her lips. Indulging herself in a sip, her brow momentarily creased. Edgar’s heart lurched in a stutter-start, before thudding against his ribs in a rampant rhythm.

“
Mmmm, I do love this blend.” She smiled appreciatively and tipped her cup for a second sip.

Edgar drained his cup in silence
, watching and waiting with bated breath to see if his suspicions were true. Confirmation came before the clock chimed a new hour. Lenore’s lashes brushed the tops of her cheeks, each blink longer than her last. Then, for the first time in months, she slept.

Only then did Edgar allow his true emotions to pour out
. His shoulders shook, his quaking body folding to the ground, as sorrow streaked his face in torrents.
 

What followed were six days of bliss, and six nights of anguish.

A yin and yang of emotional torment.

Days tangled in the sheets, exploring new realms of pleasure with his beautiful flower.

Nights locked in his work shed, tear drops falling like rain on his loathsome
dogwood project.

Days seeing God in the euphoria of her touch.

Nights fearing His wrath for what had become.

Days reveling in the seductive oasis of her mouth.

Nights lost in a desolate desert of loneliness.

Days whisper
ing vows against moist and eager lips.

N
ights screaming anguished cries at the ceiling.

Days spoon feed
ing each other desserts, licking away any crumbs that fell.

Nights heaving and purging
from the rotting guilt within.

Days watching her sip the tainted tea and longing to slap it from her hands,

Nights rejoicing in the moments of peace he’d brought to her troubled soul.

O
n the seventh day, everything changed.

25

Ridley

The dynamic
in the space had changed. How? Ireland wasn’t sure. Yet the anxious knot in her gut told her something was … off. At first she thought her uttering the L word to Noah had induced a mini-panic attack. While her inner commitment-phobe was screaming like a skydiver whose chute wouldn’t open, that wasn’t the cause of the prickly sensation setting her nerves on edge.

“And it happened the second you realized the Younger Rip was playing us against each other?” Ireland asked Ridley,
with a tone as stern as a pounded gavel. She glanced back over her shoulder, unable to shake the feeling someone was following them.

“That very instant. It was as if something inside me just clicked,” R
idley snapped his fingers in demonstration, relief coating him like a much needed rain after the most desolate of droughts. “I felt my …
will
—for lack of a better word—stretch. I flicked it out, and jerked the mouthy essence into submission.”

Ireland chewed on her lower lip,
the fingers of her free hand tapping the hilt of her sword. “What about the other spirits? If I let go of you right now could you still see them?”

Ridley’s hand slid from hers, leaving it chilled in the vacancy. He took his time, glancing around
and studying the tunnel.

“They’re still here,” he nodded, his fingers lacing with hers once more. A strand of ebony hair, gleaming blue in the mystically enhanced light, fell across his forehead as he shot her a victorious grin. “Some have slunk back into the shadows. Others are bowing their heads in a show of respect. I
think they’re afraid of me.”

Ireland’s head twitched like a confused puppy. “Then why are we still holding hands?”

“Seeing you make out with Noah left me feeling forlorn and dejected,” Ridley attempted a mock pout that veered far from convincing thanks to the mischievous crinkles of amusement at the corners of his eyes. “I just needed to feel I was still … you know … your special little guy.”

“Why do I bother talking to you?” Ireland asked herself, yanking her hand
free from his.