Blood Marriage (26 page)

But then, oddly, so was she.

After all she'd been through last night, she should be dead or dying -- bleeding to death from her injuries. Elizabeth looked at her hands, turning them over several times. The bruises that should have been an ugly purple were already fading to yellow. The scrapes, scratches and cuts looked like they'd been healing for days, rather than hours. She dropped a hand to where leg and hip joined. Her stomach did a terrifying flutter as a thought tried to prod itself into her brain. She forced it away, unwilling to look at what she hadn't the strength to face.

Instead she forced her mind back to the question of what the runners knew and who, other than her husband, might have killed Grubner. Randall seemed the obvious candidate. A vision of him on the stairs flashed through her mind: his hood falling back to expose a gap-toothed mouth round with pain and surprise. His teeth had been flat and even. If Randall were truly a vampire, wouldn't she have seen fangs as she had when the scarlet-cloaked one rolled over the torch? Wouldn't Randall have had blood on his mouth and chin, as Nicholas had when he'd pulled her to safety on the roof?

What Randall was, Elizabeth didn't know, but she didn't believe he was a vampire. Yet if Randall hadn't drained Grubner's blood, who had? 

Detective Fielding obviously thought it was Nicholas. Though Leo, Randall and Bergen had all been in the library this morning, Detective Fielding had focused all his attention on Elizabeth. He must believe there was something she knew, something she might say that would give him the final evidence he needed to arrest her husband.

Elizabeth shot to her feet. She needed to stay out of the runner's way until she'd had a chance to speak to Nicholas, to go over what had happened last night, to find out what it was Fielding thought she could tell him that would allow him to fit a noose around her husband's neck. She needed a place to hide.

She thought first of the stables and then the house. Runners would be guarding the body in the stables. The house was large and the runners were unfamiliar with it, but the staff knew every nook and cranny. It would do no good to hide there. Fielding could set the staff to search the house and find her easily enough. 

Elizabeth started for the corner of the house on aching legs. With the staff in the ballroom and the guests in the breakfast parlor she should be able to cross the lawn in the front of the house without being seen. She would run as hard and fast back in the direction of the woods as she had run away from it last night. Then she'd been fleeing to save her own life. Now she would flee to save Nicholas.

She didn't get more than a few steps. Lennie shot past her, blocking her way. He must have been there all along, behind her, watching. Elizabeth looked up into his rough face, expecting to see anger and condemnation. It wasn't there.

"Last night," he said, "I chased a woman in a blue and silver dress off a bridge and through the woods. I would have caught her, but someone on horseback took me to the ground. I'm a strong man, stronger than most, but this creature was strong past anything a mortal man could be." 

Elizabeth bit her lip, determined to say nothing.

"I’d lost my gun earlier, so I pulled a knife on him. I intended to kill him. But before I could stab him, he wrenched the knife from me and threw it into the woods. He could have beaten me or killed me, but he didn't. He just prevented me from following the woman, holding me down with no more effort than a tiger trapping a mouse. When he was certain the woman had escaped, he released me unharmed, got back on his horse, and followed her. He was cloaked and hooded. I never saw his face, but even in the dark I could tell his horse was black."

"There must be a thousand black stallions in England," Elizabeth said.

"I didn't say it was a stallion." Lennie's eyes narrowed. 

Elizabeth put a hand to her stomach. How could she be so stupid? She had to get away from this man, and from Fielding as well, before she said anything else, anything that might allow them to take Nicholas from her.

"That same rider passed me again on the path heading back in the direction of the ruins," Lennie said. "He could have run me down, but he stopped. He dropped the gun I’d lost back at the castle at my feet and told me that if I wanted to live, I needed to get out of that forest as fast as I could."

"Did you recognize his voice?" Elizabeth couldn't stop herself from asking.

Lennie shook his head slowly no. "Why, Lady Devlin, would he let me go, yet kill another a short while later?"

Elizabeth searched Lennie's face. Could the burly runner be having doubts about her husband's guilt? Hope surged.

"Perhaps because he isn't a killer," she said. "Perhaps there was more than one person in the woods last night." 

Lennie's mouth twisted. He waved a hand at the kitchen door and said, "You're expected in the breakfast parlor."

As they entered the kitchen and passed by the open door of the larder, Elizabeth could hear the faint sounds of grief coming from Cook's room. The old woman must have been crying for hours now. Surely she was nearing exhaustion and would sleep soon. From somewhere in the recesses of Elizabeth's mind something surfaced. On the night Margaret had been attacked, she and Katie had gone out the front door. Margaret had said Cook slept light and heard everyone who came and went through the kitchen. Was the old woman playing sly with the detectives? Elizabeth had no doubt Cook's grief was real, but was she using it and her age as a way of avoiding the runner's questions?

A devoted servant, one who been with the family her entire life and who was too old to start new elsewhere, might consider it in her best interests, and in her employer's as well, to simply be unavailable for questioning.

Elizabeth shook her head. What was happening to her? She was beginning to see intrigue and duplicitous motives everywhere. Still, if being sick with grief worked for Cook, might something similar work for her as well? They'd reached the breakfast parlor. Fielding, the ladies, and most of the gentlemen were seated around the table. Bergen and Nicholas were at the sideboard, each with a cup in his hand. 

She waited for Lennie to move past her and bend down to whisper in Fielding's ear, leaving her alone in a small clear space of floor. Her brother William had bled to death after a minor fall. Protecting Nicholas was worth the risk, but it would be better to avoid hitting any of the heavy oak furniture.

Elizabeth let herself begin to sway a little, trying to judge whether Lennie had had a chance to tell Fielding about finding her being sick in the yard. It wouldn't hurt to allow him to set the stage. But Nicholas was already putting down his cup, concern in his blue eyes. Falling into his arms would seem too convenient. Elizabeth allowed her knees to buckle and let go. She hit the floor hard. It took considerable control not to cry out at the pain, to keep her eyes closed and her body limp. There were gasps from the ladies. Chairs scraped wood as the company rose in a rush.

Nicholas knelt at her side. His hands pressed her cheeks and forehead, then reached to loosen the collar of her dress. She fluttered her eyelids at him.

"She's fainted," Bergen said. 

"Has she?" Fielding sounded skeptical.

"Rather convenient." Randall's voice was brandy-thick.

"Lennie," Fielding said, "carry Lady Devlin into the library and make her comfortable on the couch." 

Elizabeth's heart sank. The man was determined not to let her escape him.

"I'll carry my own wife," Nicholas said. "To her own chamber." 

Fielding's protests were overruled by the duke and Dr. Bergen. Both men insisted she be taken to her room and allowed a proper rest. Elizabeth felt herself lifted in her husband's arms and carried from the room.

"Clever girl," Bergen whispered as he followed the couple up the stairs, leaving the frustrated runners and the rest of the guests to their breakfast. 

Bergen held the door. Nicholas carried Elizabeth into the bedroom. She smiled up at him as he laid her on the bed. 

"I should examine her." Bergen nudged Nicholas aside and bent over Elizabeth, peering into her eyes. "She hit the floor hard. Very convincing." He started to run his hands down her sides, his fingers tracing carefully over her ribs. Elizabeth batted his hands away.

"I'm fine," she said. "I just need peace and quiet." 

Bergen shrugged and left the room through the dressing room door. Elizabeth assumed he'd gone to check on her mother. Nicholas pulled off Elizabeth's shoes and dropped them on the floor. He looked tired and no wonder, Elizabeth thought. Neither of them had slept much in the last few days.

"We need to talk," she said. "I need to know what you want me to--" 

Nicholas was tilting his head at the hall door. It stood open. Lennie had followed them upstairs. He hadn't been so bold as to enter their bedroom, but he had a foot across the threshold, perhaps to prevent the door from being slammed in his face.

"Detective Fielding requested that I escort the gentlemen to the library. Where's the doctor?"

"I'm here," Bergen said as he came into the room carrying a small glass. He held it out to Elizabeth. "Something to calm the nerves."

She pushed it away. She didn't need medicine; she needed to talk to Nicholas.

"It's harmless, I assure you," Bergen's eyes snared hers. His voice took on that same strange tone he'd used in the stable. "Drink it," he said, and she did.

"If her ladyship is awake, I'm certain Detective Fielding will want to speak to her as well," Lennie said from the doorway. 

"He'll have to wait," Nicholas said. "She needs rest."

"He won't wait," Lennie warned. "If she's unable to come to the library, I'm sure Detective Fielding would be happy to do the interview here. With your lordship present, of course."

"He can wait," Nicholas said again.

"He won't," Lennie insisted.

"He'll have no choice." Bergen sounded apologetic. "The draught I just gave her should keep her resting peacefully through midnight at least." 

Elizabeth felt her arms and legs growing heavy. From beneath half-closed eyelids she watched Lennie's face flush an angry red. 

"My apologies," Bergen said. "I wasn't aware the matter was that pressing."

"A man is dead!" Lennie exploded.

"A good man is dead," Nicholas said. "But upsetting my wife won't bring him back. Now, I suggest you gentlemen go find the detective. I'll stay with Lady Devlin until she's resting well."

"Won't be necessary," Lennie said. "Detective Fielding has sent Katie to watch Lady Devlin." 

It was an interesting choice of words, Elizabeth thought through the fog swirling over her.
Watch
. 

Katie came to stand beside the bed, her eyes lowered to avoid Nicholas's gaze. She was probably afraid he was angry with her for telling Elizabeth about the body in the stable, but Nicholas didn't even seem aware of the girl. He picked up Elizabeth's hand and squeezed it. Elizabeth tried to squeeze back, but found she couldn't.

"You'll be all right?" he asked. Elizabeth tried to nod, but wasn't sure if she succeeded. She lost the battle to keep her eyes open.
Let him still be here when I wake
, she prayed,
and not in a London prison
. 

"Rest, my love." His words sounded far away, as if he were already gone. A spurt of panic seized her. She needed to talk to him. But it was too late. Bergen's drug engulfed her and she slept.

Chapter Thirty-One

A desperate cry stabbed through Elizabeth's mind, its urgency pulling her up out of a deep sleep. She sat up in bed. Faint moonlight bathed the room. She was alone. She remained still, listening. The sound didn't come again, but its faint ghost seemed to echo around her. The remnants of a dream? It had seemed so real, frightened and desperate. Was that an effect of the drug Dr. Bergen had given her? 

The last few moments before she slept flashed through her mind. Fear wound around her heart. Fielding had sent Katie to watch her, insisting Nicholas join him downstairs. How long had she slept? What had happened in the meantime? Was Nicholas still free or had he been arrested, placed in irons and taken to London? 

Elizabeth hurried to light the lamp on the bedside table and smooth the wrinkles from the dove-gray morning dress she still wore. She was searching for her shoes when a sound seeped out of the shadows. Moaning. Low and mournful. Coming from her mother's room. 

She was through the connecting dressing room in seconds, her hand rattling her mother's doorknob. Locked. Had someone locked it by accident?

The moaning ceased.

"Mother!" Elizabeth pounded on the door. Where was the maid Cook always sent to sleep on the couch? Why didn't she open the door?

Then Elizabeth remembered. The murder had frightened away most of the servants and sent Cook to her bed. Had no one been sent to stay with her mother? Had she been left alone? 

Elizabeth threw her shoulder against the door. It didn't budge. She rushed back through the dressing room to her bedroom and yanked open the door to the hall.

The corridor was dark, the house eerily silent. It was as if not only the servants, but the family and guests as well, had fled. No one had even bothered to light the wall sconces. Something inside her knew the hall door to her mother's room would be locked before she even tried the knob. She screamed in frustration and thought she heard a responding moan from the other side.

"Mother? Mother! Someone open this door!" Elizabeth pounded at the solid oak until her hands hurt. Giving up, she raced along the corridor in desperation. She stopped at each door in turn, beating on the polished wood panels, yelling for help, throwing the doors wide. The rooms were empty. She tried the rooms she knew belonged to Harriet, Countess Glenbury, Amanda and Leo, and other rooms she wasn't even sure were occupied or if so by whom. No one came. No one answered.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her mother was alone and in trouble, possibly dying. Where was everyone? Elizabeth picked up her skirts. Ignoring the pain in her joints, she ran back down the corridor to the stair landing.