Windswept (35 page)

Harrison grasped the wheels of his chair in his fists and inched closer to her. “I’m telling you for the last time, woman, give me those papers, or I swear you’ll never get off this island alive!”

She stuffed the papers into her pocket. “We’ll see about that!” she shouted back. Giving the wheelchair a wide berth, she headed for the hallway. “And we’ll see what Jacob has to say about it.”

“Damn you! Damn you to hell for the devil you are!” Harrison Proctor’s words followed her down the hall and out the front door.

“Ju-dith-a!”

Harrison’s shout brought the servant running to the library. “What is it, Lord Proctor? What’s wrong?”

“Tell Vincent to bring Dylan here to me at once!”

“Dylan, sir? I don’t think that’s such a good idea. He’s quite agitated…”

“I didn’t ask your opinion, woman. Just have him brought here, and then stay out of our way.”

Juditha’s mouth opened as if she were about to protest the order, but she closed it without doing so. “As you wish, Lord Proctor. I’ll fetch Dylan myself.”

Chapter Twenty-one

Harrison Proctor looked toward the entrance to the library when he heard the shuffling of feet in the hallway. “Come in, Dylan,” he said when his son appeared in the door. “Don’t stand there gawking.”

Prodded from behind by Juditha, Dylan took short, tentative steps across the threshold. Once inside the room, he clasped his hands at his abdomen while his alert gaze darted nervously around the room. “What do you want?” he asked.

Harrison attempted a smile, but doubted its effectiveness. He felt little but contempt for this weakling son. “I want to see you of course. Can’t a father want to share a conversation with his son once in a while?”

Juditha took Dylan’s arm and guided him to a chair. “Sit down, Dylan,” she ordered. “You’ll be more comfortable.”

He wrenched his arm free. “I don’t want to sit!”

Trying to cover an involuntary flinch at his son’s whining, Harrison said, “The boy’s right, Juditha. Leave him alone. In fact, leave us both alone.”

“But sir…”

“Go! I’ll ring for you when we’ve finished.” He waited until the servant had stepped into the hall. “Close the door, too. And don’t listen at the keyhole.”

A haughty
harumph
was his response, but Juditha did as she was told.

Harrison turned his full attention to his son. “Now then, Dylan, it’s nice isn’t it? Just the two of us?”

Dylan’s hands twisted into a tight knot. “No, it isn’t. I want to go home.”

If there was anything Harrison despised as much as weakness, it was stupidity. “You
are
home, Dylan,” he said angrily, then spread his arm to encompass the library. “This is your home as much as the cottage is.” Growing more impatient when his son failed to relax even one tense muscle in his pinched face, Harrison snapped at him. “Sit down, Dylan. You look like a statue standing there.”

Dylan sniffed loudly and chose a low ottoman to comply with his father’s wishes. He sat on the very edge of it and hung his white-knuckled hands between his knees. “I want music.”

“I don’t have any music here,” Harrison said. “But if you listen to what I have to say, I’ll see to it that you have all the music you want. I will tell Vincent and Juditha to let you listen to your music all night long.”

Dylan didn’t respond, but he cocked his head to the side, like a bird who’s suddenly spotted the worm dangling from his mother’s beak. If Harrison wanted his son’s attention he guessed he had it now, at least as much as Dylan was able to give. “I have to talk to you about our home, Dylan. Yours and mine and Juditha’s and Vincent’s. We are all happy here, aren’t we?”

“Can I have music now?”

“No, confound it, listen to me! Our home is in danger, Dylan. Someone is trying to hurt us. A woman has come, and she wants to hurt all of us.”

Dylan nodded vigorously, and Harrison smiled. Apparently this was something his son’s confused mind was able to grasp. “She took the music,” Dylan said. “Nora. Her name is Nora, and she took the music.”

Harrison had no idea what his son was talking about, but the irrational raving fit into his plans. “Yes, that’s right. She took your music. She’s evil, Dylan. Nora is a bad woman.”

Dylan wrapped his clasped hands around his knees and rocked on the ottoman. “But…but Jacob likes her.”

“No, no, Jacob hates her. He wants her gone, but she won’t leave. She hurt Jacob, and she hurt you.”

Dylan rocked and chewed on his lower lip until Harrison thought he might draw blood. “Then I don’t like Nora.”

“That’s right. None of us likes her. Jacob and I, we want you to help us make Nora go away.”

Dylan cocked his head to the side with a jerking motion.“How, Father?”

“First you must find her, and then take her up the cliff where you went with Sophie all those years ago.”

Harrison did not expect his son’s reaction. Dylan wailed a long, low keening and dropped his chin to his chest. “Sophie, Sophie,” he repeated over and over, finally ending with, “Mama.”

“Sophie was bad, Dylan, you remember, don’t you? Very, very bad. You saved us all when you helped her leave this island. And you must do the same with Nora.” Growing more irritated with the incessant moans and cries, Harrison rolled closer and grabbed his son’s hands to stop his senseless, repetitive behavior. “You can save us again, Dylan. I would do it, but I can’t. You can. You can make Nora leave the way Sophie did. You must do this, son, you must.”

A small strangled sound came from Dylan’s throat. His mouth twisted into a grimace. He rolled his eyes to the ceiling and appeared to stare at the iron chandelier.

Harrison fought his mounting impatience.
The damn fool can’t even process a single thought like a normal man.

Finally Dylan lowered a bewildered gaze to his father. “Can I have the music if I make Nora leave?”

“Of course. Music and dancing and tea parties. Whatever you want.”

Dylan stood abruptly and headed for the door. “I’m going,” he said. “I will find Nora. Nora is bad, very, very bad.”

Harrison wheeled his chair behind his son. “That’s right. I’m proud of you, Dylan. I think Nora will be out front waiting for Jacob. She wants to hurt him the minute he comes back from the village. You must take her to the cliff before she can do that.” Then calling to Dylan’s back, Harrison added, “And don’t tell Juditha or Vincent. Do this by yourself, and be very clever. Remember Nora won’t want to go to the cliff with you, but you must make her go. Then, when it is done, you can have your music back.”

Nora never paced. She’d always felt it was a purely male reaction to worrisome problems. Women dealt with such things by confining themselves to their rooms. Men paced. But today, as she waited by the narrow lane leading from the island road to Proctor House, Nora paced as vigorously as any man could have. She didn’t even hear footsteps in the low brush surrounding her until a man’s voice said her name.

“Nora.”

She spun around and her heart jumped to her throat. “Dylan? What are you doing here?”

“I…I want to show you a place.”

Reining in her skittering fear, Nora said calmly, “That’s nice. I would like to see it. But I can’t now. I’m waiting for Jacob. He should be back soon.”

Dylan took a step toward her and stopped. She resisted the urge to back away an equal step. “No. You must see it now. It’s not far.”

“Where are Juditha and Vincent?”

He didn't answer for several seconds. “At the place. They want me to go there, but I…I’m afraid to go by myself. I want you to take me. It’s not far.”

“Perhaps we can go later, Dylan,” she said. “If you go back to the cottage and wait for me, I’ll come as soon as I can.”

“No!” He came closer, and his face contorted with panic. “I have to go now. And you have to go too. I’m afraid.”

Nora exhaled a long breath. Maybe it would be better to take Dylan where he needed to go. He might have gotten lost from the cottage and if he trusted her enough to help him, she should try to do that. She could walk with him to his destination and then come right back. Chances are Jacob wouldn’t arrive until she’d returned. “You say it’s not far?”

“No, not far.” He grinned and nodded his head. Pointing his finger at no particular spot Nora could determine, he said, “It’s just there. Not far.”

Securing the papers she’d brought from Harrison’s library into her pocket, Nora took Dylan’s arm. “All right. Let’s go. But we must hurry.”

Though Nora tried to question Dylan about their destination, he remained sullen and silent until they had left the grounds around the house and even walked beyond the cottage. When she glimpsed the railed catwalk of the little house through the trees behind them, Nora felt a tingling of fear creep up her spine. Their pace had been brisk, and even now as they entered a dense area of shrubs and tall trees, Dylan did not slow down.

Knowing she shouldn’t alarm him, Nora laughed and tugged gently on his arm. “Dylan, please. I can’t walk this fast.”

“Yes, you can. You have to.” He lowered his arm and caught her wrist in his fist. Instead of slowing, he hurried even faster, pulling Nora behind him.

She stumbled along for a short way, and then stubbornly planted her feet in the brush and halted, jerking him back. “Dylan, stop this instant. I’m not going any further until you tell me where we’re headed.”

Even though they weren’t walking, he still kept his feet moving, jumping from one to the other, starting forward and pulling back. “There. Right there,” he said, holding tightly to her wrist and gesturing wildly with his other hand.

Nora stared into the distance looking for any structure which might be their destination. “There’s nothing there,” she said. “Just trees and rocks, and…”

Then she saw it looming ahead of them. The cliff Jacob had pointed out the night before, the one that sloped gradually upwards and ended in a wall of jagged rock overlooking the sea. Fighting to keep her voice steady she said, “There’s nothing at all, Dylan. We must go back.”

He stomped his foot and tightened his hold on her arm. Hauling her forward, he said, “No! We’re not going back. You have to leave the island.”

She staggered behind him toward the base of the cliff. When he paused for a moment, she took a deep breath, filling her lungs. “Yes, Dylan, that’s right. I’m leaving with Jacob tomorrow. We’re sailing on the
Dover Cloud
. I’ll be gone.”

“I won’t let you sail with Jacob,” he said. “You’re leaving from the cliff.”

“What? No, Dylan, you can’t mean…” But the single-minded, cold glint of his eyes told her he did. His mission became horrifyingly clear. He pulled her arm so hard, pain shot to her shoulder. She had no choice but to begin the climb up the rocky slope.

Nora tried everything she could think of to escape. She pretended to fall partway up the mountain, thinking he wouldn’t have the strength to pull her. She was wrong. He dragged her across rough terrain as if she weighed no more than Armand or Hubert. When her legs and arms suffered cuts and bruises from the rocks, she stood up and tried to keep pace with him.

Her breath burned in her lungs with the effort of the climb, but still she tried to talk Dylan out of his terrifying plan. “Dylan, why are you doing this? You don’t want to kill me…”

He covered one ear with his hand and hunched his shoulder to cover his other ear. “Don’t talk to me!” he ordered and continued up the mountain as if he were more machine than man.

Near the top Nora’s footsteps faltered and she fell for real. When her hand slipped from Dylan’s damp grasp, she saw her chance to escape. She crawled away from him, clawing at the underbrush until she had managed to move several feet down the mountain. But her attempt was futile. He grabbed her under her arms, pitched her forward until all the ground she’d gained was lost, and dragged her the rest of the way to the top.

Their entire climb of perhaps two hundred feet had taken only a half hour as best Nora could judge, but when they reached the summit, all she could do was lie in a heap at Dylan’s feet. She swallowed short gasps of air, allowing her lungs to fill slowly. Perspiration dripped down her back and between her breasts. Her legs hurt so badly it was only with trepidation that she raised her skirt to check for injuries. Her shins were criss-crossed with scratches, some of them deep enough to have bled onto her underclothes.

Unshed tears smarted in the backs of her eyes and closed her throat. But she would not cry. Any show of emotion would only confuse and anger Dylan further. Instead she looked up at him and tried to speak rationally. Her voice came out as a hoarse croak. “Dylan, it’s me, Nora. You wanted to have a tea party with me yesterday, do you remember?”

The man who only twenty four hours ago had swayed like a graceful willow to the strains of a Viennese waltz now glowered down at her, a snarl marring his thin, pink lips. “You took the music. You made Marianne mad. You are bad.”

Despite her efforts, one tear fell down her cheek and mingled with the grime of Sophie’s mountain. When it reached her lips it tasted of salt and grit. “No, I liked the music. I liked watching you dance. I’m your friend, Dylan.”