A Matter of Circumstance and Celludrones (29 page)

Jamie met his frown and shrugged.

The door flung open without invitation and Lord Harchings graced the
threshold. “I was hoping you’d have a chance to talk.” His gaze skimmed the
interior, from the navigation board to the Piping Control Unit.

Greyston knew better than to underestimate those sharp eyes. He
swivelled his chair about and slid to his feet in a forward stride that forced
Harchings to back up. He stepped out onto the Pilot Grid, closing the door
behind them, and led the way through the opposite doorway.

“We’ll be more comfortable here,” he explained, glancing around the
empty boarding cabin. “Where is…” He hesitated at being on informal terms with
the wife but not the husband. When he’d probably refuse for the sheer hell of
it even if Harchings gave him leave to use his first name. Lily would
thoroughly approve. That brought on a smile before he could slam up the wall.
“Evelyn?” he finished gruffly.

“With Paisley in the upper deck cabin.” Harchings set himself down on
the padded bench.

Greyston pulled a hardback chair away from the table and straddled it,
crossing his arms over the top. The gaping hole where the pipes had burst
through the wall was an eyesore and a harsh reminder. As soon as he returned
from
Es Vedra
, he’d instruct Ferdie to take the Red Hawk to Frankfurt.

He moved his gaze to Harchings, who wasted no time in getting to the
point.

“We’ve been chasing you for months.”

“Is that the royal we?” Greyston drawled. “Or do you mean the war
office? Customs? The whole damn country?”

“All of the above.” His lips quirked. “Perhaps with the exception of
the whole damn country.”

“Is that so?” Greyston rocked back onto the hind legs of his chair. “I
never noticed anyone on my tail.”

“Precisely.” The duke’s humour faded. “The steam power of the Red Hawk
is phenomenal. I’d be willing to pay a fortune for that kind of technology.”

“You and many others.”

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” He planted his elbows on his
knees and leaned forward.

Greyston chuckled. “Does the queen know you’re offering to empty her
coffers?”

“I’m not here in an official capacity.” Harchings leaned back on the
bench again. “Name your price.”

And British regulations outlawed private air ships. That put an
interesting spin on exactly what capacity the duke was here in. “The Red Hawk
isn’t for sale.”

“I’m not after your ship, just a copy of the engine blue prints.”
Harchings raised a brow at him. “You’re not afraid of a little competition in
the Aether, are you?”

“Ruffling an Englishman’s ego might break him,” Greyston remarked. “A
Scotsman’s spine is stiffer.”

 
“Consider the good of our
country.”

“Hmm.” Greyston stroked his chin thoughtfully for a second. “The
answer’s still no.”

“I’m accustomed to getting what I want,” Harchings said darkly.

Greyston wondered if that was truth or bluster. He had Neco and the
ability to rewind time, a golden edge over most—scrap that,
all
men. The
opportunities were endless and he’d taken advantage of every single one to get
where he was today, to have and hold the life he’d created for himself from
scratch. And he’d never come close to getting what he really wanted. He’d
simply learned to stop the wanting.

He gave Harchings a long, hard look and read the unspoken ending to
that declaration.
By fair means or foul.

Now that was something Greyston could relate to and the age-old
rivalry between English and Scottish kicked in his blood. “You’re welcome to
try.”

Harchings inclined his head ever so slightly, accepting the challenge.

Greyston grinned. Only two copies of the blue print existed. One was
secured in his vault on
Es Vedra.
The second was in Ferdie’s head. The
compressed steam power circulatory system had taken the German engineer three
decades to perfect.
A lifetime’s work for a life.
Ferdie’s solemn
promise, when he’d made a gift of the exclusive technology after Greyston had
saved his life. The second time around.

Baston & Graille kept a small stable at their docking yard for the
convenience of their passengers. As soon as they landed, Greyston sent Neco to
arrange the carriage rental while he helped Ian and Hob tether the ship. He
didn’t mind in the least when his man returned with a two-seater Brougham. He
jumped up onto the driver’s box with Neco, leaving Harchings to attend his wife
and Puppy beneath the hardtop while Greyston took control of the reins.

The Central Terminus was the first stop.

After the precursory handshakes and formal goodbyes, Evelyn threw her
arms around him. “I’ll hold you personally responsible if anything happens to
Lily,” she whispered fiercely.

“So will I,” he murmured.

She pulled out of the hug and gave him a dazzling smile. “Take care,
Grey. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you either.”

“I always land on my feet.” He lifted his gaze to where Harchings held
the squirming puppy awkwardly at an arm’s length. “I can’t decide who looks
more put out by that arrangement.”

Evelyn turned from him with a laugh. “Devon thinks automatons are
unnatural.”

“That’s rather the point,” he said dryly and, despite his hurry,
shoved his hands into his pockets and watched until Evelyn disappeared from
view inside the terminal building.

Evelyn was ravishing, provocative and loved to flirt with danger. Lily
was beautiful, loyal and selflessly committed to impossible causes. If asked a
month ago, he would’ve picked the former every time.

He shook his head, shook Lily from his thoughts, and turned his
attention to procuring a coffin, retrieving Jean’s body from the hospital and
kidnapping a willing priest to take back with them to Forleough.

By the time the Red Hawk had docked in the meadow beside the mound of
Forleough’s ashes and Jean had been laid to rest alongside her husband in the
Adair family graveyard, sunset had come and gone.

When the others returned to the ship, Greyston remained behind in the
walled plot. A full moon lit behind tumultuous clouds, ringing them with an
eerie glow.

Propped against the Rowan tree, his gaze lingered on the three
gravestones in front of him. This would be his final goodbye. He wouldn’t be
back. The weeds could choke every foot of Adair land for all he cared.

Jean had only told him a little before the fire cracks had sent him
running up the stairs last night, but he had enough to build a ragged picture.

His mother had come up from Edinburgh to work with Duncan McAllister.
She was a scientist of sorts and probably involved in the celludrone
technology. His father was a regular visitor there too, that was how they’d
met.

Then, some four or five months before Greyston was born, there’d been
a falling out at Cragloden. Greyston assumed that must have been when his father
had learned of the existence of demons.

All those rants about demon blood and curses made a lot more sense
now. Either his mother had known all along, or she’d been more accepting of the
revelation. She continued to attend McAllister and Forleough became a constant
battleground for his parents. Relations had been so strained between the two,
his mother had moved into Cragloden for the final month of her confinement. And
there she’d died giving birth to him.

Greyston was the reason his father hadn’t been able to beg forgiveness
over her last breath.

No wonder his father’s hatred had been so intense, so all consuming.

But Greyston no longer took all the blame upon himself. As he looked
over their graves, he made a space for his father’s guilt, for the mess his
parents had made of their own marriage.

The rest of the story he was less sure about. Were his abilities
somehow linked to Neco? Had his mother and Duncan created a supernatural
connection between him and the celludrone? Between Lily and Ana? He may never
know, but he believed he had the most important answers.

His gaze settled on Aragon’s gravestone and his
throat thickened. Perhaps it had been okay to love his brother too much to
sever all ties. Perhaps that wasn’t all his fault either. He took a deep breath
and pulled up a grin for Aragon. It wasn’t one of his best, but Aragon would
understand. He always had.

He shifted against the tree trunk. He should be getting back to the
ship. They were vulnerable on the ground, in the open. He sucked in another
deep breath. Took a moment more. And found what he’d been looking for. Perhaps
he didn’t have to run in order to love Lily.

Perhaps it would be okay for him to stay and love her.

Chapter Eighteen

L
ily
had been cooped up inside the castle for days and she was going crazy. Three
days to be exact. She’d read everything she could get her hands on about demons
and the McAllister history thereof. She’d studied, she’d practiced, studied
some more, and she’d worried. What if Greyston wasn’t coming back?

He’d been running for so long, why would he stop now?

Would he even know how to?

She sighed and returned her attention to the book folded open upon her
knee. Her finger traced the flowing lines of the rune mindlessly. She’d
practised this particular one so often, she could draw it with her eyes closed
and in less than twenty seconds.

Kelan wasn’t happy with the timing yet.
If you can’t get it down to
five, Lily, you’d be better off using those extra seconds to run as if the
hounds of hell are after you.
Because, as he’d often finish such advice
with, they probably were.

A familiar humming tickled her senses.

She lifted the heavy book of runes from her lap to the table beside
her, hurried across the library and flung the window wide open. A smile started
deep inside and settled on her lips as she watched the black underbelly of the
Red Hawk sail overhead. She tugged irritably at the pale blue skirt to adjust
the uncomfortable waistline. As grateful as she was for the two dresses Mrs.
Locke had purchased in town, she couldn’t wait for Evelyn to send her trunks
on, as she’d promised.

Lily sighed. She should stay right here. That would be the responsible
thing to do. But it was only a short hike up the hillside.

Stuff and cockles.
She ran from the library, slowed down when
she passed a maid dusting in the entranceway, and casually descended the steps
to the courtyard. Several servants were about, but Armand was the only one
who’d stop her and he was nowhere to be seen.

Once she’d rounded the main gate, she increased her pace to a brisk
walk alongside the perimeter wall. A couple of yards beyond the walled
enclosure of the old ruins, the stone path abruptly ended onto a dirt trail
overhung with thick bush and tangled branches. She had to watch her footing
from there on, navigating ditches and wobbly stones and batting branches out of
the way. A further ten minutes up the hill, she ducked beneath a low hanging
bough and when she came up on the other side, she was looking straight into
Greyston’s warm, brown eyes.

The beginnings of a grin pulled at his lips, then flattened at his
frown. “You shouldn’t be wandering outside the walls.”

“I’m not wandering,” she protested. “Besides, we’ve seen no sign of
Lady Ostrich since Forleough.”

“That’s good to hear.” His frown cleared and he turned to Neco, who’d
come up behind him. “Go on ahead. We’ll be down shortly.”

“M’lady,” he greeted as she gave him a smile and stood aside for him
to pass.

“Isn’t William with you?” she asked Greyston when no one else appeared
on the path.

“He’s waiting on the ship. I wanted to check that everything’s okay
here, then I’m sending the Red Hawk on to Frankfurt for repairs via
Es Vedra
,”
he said. “It’s best the lad remains on
Es Vedra
until I’ve had a proper
chat with him. He might be less enthusiastic about joining my crew once he
understands the true nature of our business.”

“Demons?”

“That as well,” he said, chuckling.

Clad in those snug leather trousers again with matching black boots
turned over at the knee, a button-down white shirt falling softly below his
hips, he looked every bit the rogue pirate he’d just reminded her he was.

“Is Kelan about?” he asked.

Her gaze lifted to his. “He saddled his horse and rode out hours ago
to goodness knows where. He seldom offers details of where he goes or what he
does and I don’t ask.”

“Have you not been getting on?”

“He’s been a perfect host,” she said quickly, not willing to admit she
found Kelan McAllister a little daunting. She wasn’t accustomed to a man
filling a room quite as much as he did whenever he stepped inside. He certainly
unsettled her. “The thing is, he always has much to say on whichever topic I
broach, but he doesn’t actually ever divulge…anything…”

She forgot what she was saying as Greyston moved closer, and closer,
until they were standing toe to toe.

He no longer appeared to be listening anyway.

His eyes were on her mouth and his hand came beneath her chin, tilting
her face up to him. Bristles shaded the hollow of his jaw, giving him an even
leaner, harder look than normal.

Her breath was suddenly shallow and her pulse tingled at the thought
of the kiss that wouldn’t come. They’d been here before, more than once.
Perhaps it was some sort of primal male game, she wouldn’t know. The few men,
boys, really, who’d stolen a brief kiss couldn’t possibly compare to— Oh! His
mouth was on hers, wide, firm lips moulding hers, caressing, teasing, sending
whorls of languid heat rolling down her spine. He slid his hand from her chin,
fingers scraping through her hair to cup the back of her head. His other arm
came around her waist, pulling her up against the solid warmth of his chest.