Cates, Kimberly (23 page)

Sir
Aidan? Norah pressed her fingertips against her lips. Who else could it
possibly be?

She
listened a moment longer, expecting Sir Aidan's valet or one of the other
servants to hear him and come to help him, but there was no sound except Sir
Aidan's muffled groans.

Norah's
lips compressed in a white line. What if he were really ill? She could hardly
leave the man to suffer in the next room. Yet could she charge into this man's
bedchamber demanding to know what was amiss?

Excuse
me for the impropriety, Sir Aidan, but I heard you moaning just a moment ago.

Her
cheeks flamed. Surely he would summon up his servants if he needed help.
Wouldn't he? She had all but resolved to stalk to her bed and pull the pillow
over her head to drown out the sounds when another groan rent the quiet of the
night. In that instant, she made the decision.

Resolutely,
Norah rummaged her wrapper from the still-open trunk. Flinging it about her,
she paced back to the door.

Her
fist trembled, but she gritted her teeth and rapped on the panel. "Sir
Aidan?" Norah called through the doorway.

A
spate of tortured curses singed her ears, mingled with the thrashing sounds of
hard male flesh against bedclothes, a thud of feet against the floor.

"Leave
me... the hell... alone." That deep voice that had once taunted her rasped
miserably. "Can't... goddamn man die... in peace?"

Before
she could think, Norah had turned the doorknob, pushing experimentally against
it. She was surprised to feel the panel give way.

The
room was huge, with heavy, dark furniture generations old. A Jacobean bedstead
stood in ornate glory, hangings of forest-green velvet flowing from its carved
posts. A branch of candles in a silver holder blazed on a stand beside the bed,
illuminating it in waves of flickering orange and red shadows, casting the
white sheets and tumbled coverlets into stark relief. But Sir Aidan was not
among them. He stood before the wide-flung windows, and moonlight turned the
sweat-limned sinews of his bare back. Stripped to nothing but his breeches, he
leaned out into the night, his dark hair clinging to his neck, the corded
muscles of his body standing out alarmingly, like whipcords so tight they were
about to snap.

"Sir
Aidan?" Norah queried softly, a flutter of panic bubbling in her throat at
her own boldness.

"Go
away!" Kane bellowed. Norah might have fled if he hadn't gripped his
stomach with white-knuckled fingers. "Ah, sonofabitch!"

Sweat
beaded his brow, his glazed features contorted.

"What
is it?" Norah demanded, rushing to his side. "What's wrong?"

"Insides
on fire." Agony vibrated deep in his voice. "And didn't even... have
the pleasure of drinking myself into... oblivion to start the flame."

"Where
is your valet? We need to summon help."

"Tried.
Probably off drinking the champagne... supposed to be polishing... Hessians
with."

She
put her arm around him, attempting to brace his weight. Ever so carefully, she
struggled to ease him back toward his bed, but the distance seemed
interminable, her alarm fueled by the deep trembling in his rigid muscles, the
strange, clammy chill to the skin pressed so close to her own. He stumbled,
groping for something to steady himself, his large fist knotting in the front
of her dressing gown, tearing the loosely tied knot free. The silk of the
wrapper fell away, and he buried his face against the swell of Norah's breast,
his ragged breath singeing her through the meager shield of her nightgown, his
lips taut, twisted, dampening the place where they had fallen.

If
the man had not been in such a hideous state, Norah would have been mortified.
As it was, she tightened her own grip about him, praying she could make it the
dozen steps to the bed.

She
banged into a table, something breakable shattering on the floor.

Sir
Aidan swore again. "Crazy. Whole house... going to hear—"

"I
hope to God they will. You've got to get help."

"No!
Can't—find you in here."

She
was stunned at the realization that this self-proclaimed villain, supposedly
jaded beyond redemption, was trying to shield her honor, despite the fact that
he was in such horrible condition.

"Be...
all right," he gasped. "Just give... a minute." But at that
instant, his lean body was gripped by another shuddering wave of pain that
shook Norah to her core.

"Help!"
she shouted. "Somebody!" She heard footsteps racing toward the suite
of chambers, heard them stop at the door that led from the main corridor into
the Blue Room. An urgent knock sounded and a male voice called out.

"Miss
Linton? Is there aught amiss?"

"Help!
In here!"

She
heard the distant door swing open, bang against the wall, heard the heavy tread
of what could only be one of the male servants racing into the other
bedchamber.

"Miss?"
She could hear the man slam to a halt, and she called out again.

"In
Sir Aidan's bedchamber! Help me!" At that instant, Aidan's long legs
tangled with hers. Norah gave a helpless cry as they crashed to the ground,
Aidan wrenching to one side in an effort to spare her his weight. But he didn't
release the nightgown, and the flimsy fabric tore with a sickening sound. The
chill air teased a generous scoop of her breast as she and Aidan slammed to the
floor in a wild tumble.

A
heartbeat later, a blinding flash of livery filled the doorway, the footman
slamming to a halt bare inches into the room. Calvy Sipes's jaw dropped open,
the youth's gaze flooding with horror as it locked on the scene before him. A
horror matched by Norah's own. Sir Aidan, all but naked, sprawled over her
scandalously clad body, his fist still clenched in the nightgown he'd ripped
from one shoulder, his face pillowed against her half-bared breast. She wanted
to cry out and explain, but the fall had knocked the breath from her lungs, and
all she could manage was a frenzied croak.

"Jesus,
Mary, and Joseph!" the footman cried out, indecision warring with alarming
ferocity in his honest features for a frozen moment. Then his youthful face
hardened, the pugnacious jut of his chin belied by the cracking of his voice.
"Sir, I can't—I mean, you can't be... be doin' that to— Me mam didn't
raise me to sit by an' twiddle me nose while you... She'd beat me, certain sure
if I let you. Not that I could face the priest hisself in confession if I ever
turned away."

"Hell
with... your priest an' your infernal... mother!" Aidan growled.

Norah
made another effort to choke something out, but the impossible man had buried
his elbow in the soft swell of her stomach and was trying to lever himself up.
"Stop!" she managed to beg. "You're hurting me!"

At
that instant the fire of pure Irish temper lit the young footman's eyes. Norah
shrieked as he grabbed his master by one arm, wrenching Aidan around, one fist
connecting solidly with Sir Aidan Kane's aristocratic chin.

The
knight flew backward, the back of his head slamming into the overturned table,
an animal cry tearing from his bare chest. Glazed green eyes rolled back
beneath trembling lids.

"My
God! You've killed him!" Norah railed, scrambling toward him on her hands
and knees. "Aidan? Aidan, say something!" she pleaded, dragging his
inert form into her lap. His head lolled back against her, his face ice-white.

"Deserves
to be flayed, so he does, even if he does be master here," the youth
insisted. "Beggin' me pardon fer sayin' so, but you should take a few
whacks at the villain yourself, miss! Even if I did stop the bastard afore he
finished his wicked deed."

"Wicked
deed?" Norah demanded. "What in the world?"

Hot
color surged into the boy's cheeks. "Ravishing you, milady. He's ruined
you, sure as you're born, the devil take him! Heard all the stories whispered
'bout his dealin's with the ladies, but never thought he'd bring his debauched
ways here, with Miss Cassandra about!"

Shock
jolted Norah, and she gaped at the footman, suddenly excruciatingly aware of
what her encounter with the notorious knight must have looked like when the
youth came charging in. As if that weren't bad enough, a ripple of a breeze
from the window whipped in to chill bare flesh no other man had ever seen
before, while from the corridor beyond, the alarm had obviously been raised
throughout Rathcannon. Norah could hear with heart-sinking clarity the sound of
others racing toward the scene of the scuffle.

She
tussled desperately to drag her wrapper up around her, without dropping Sir
Aidan's bruised head unceremoniously on the Axeminister rug, but the garment
was pinned beneath her. "N—No!" she protested. "It's not what it
appears!"

How
it "appeared" was much too evident as a bevy of wide-eyed servants
poured in, followed by Mrs. Brindle. Norah thought it couldn't possibly be any
worse, until suddenly a slender, golden-curled figure plunged through the door.

Cassandra
Kane stared at them with horror-filled eyes.

"Oh,
no!" the girl cried out. "It wasn't supposed to work that fast! I
didn't think it would—would make him— Oh, Papa! Miss Linton, I'm so—so
dreadfully sorry!"

"Sir
Aidan is sick," Norah explained with a firmness she wished would steady
the erratic beat of her own heart. "Sick."

"No,
Miss Linton! I'm certain he would've behaved with the utmost propriety if I
hadn't—hadn't fed him the... It's not his fault! Oh, Papa!" The distraught
girl fell to her knees, grabbing up one long limp hand.

"I
wanted you to fall in love, Papa. Not—not fly at Miss Linton like this!"

Norah
shook her head, trying to decipher the girl's garbled babble. "Cassandra,
stop talking madness! Your father did not fly at me. He needs a doctor."

"A
doctor?" Mrs. Brindle echoed, shaking away the last vestiges of confusion.

"Yes,
as quickly as one can be summoned! It's as if Sir Aidan has been... I don't
know, stricken with some strange illness. We have to get him into bed."

Mrs.
Brindle bustled off in search of cool cloths. The sound of footmen racing to do
her bidding was drowned out by Cassandra's heartbroken wail. "But I didn't
mean to hurt him. It wasn't supposed to hurt him."

Sir
Aidan expelled a ragged groan as he was lifted off of Norah and borne over to
the bed. "Poison." Aidan grasped Norah's hand with bone-cracking
force as they rolled his long frame onto the unkempt coverlets. "Help me.
Poison..."

"Don't
be absurd," Norah said softly. "You're just ill. We're fetching the
doctor. You'll be better in a trice."

"Don't
understand." The effort the words cost him terrified Norah. "Feels
like... last time."

The
last time? Norah's mind whirled. What in heaven's name could the man mean by
that? That he'd been poisoned before? No. He must only be talking about the
hideous nausea ripping through him. That he felt
as if
he'd been
poisoned.

Cassandra
was sobbing with a wildness that raked Norah's nerves, the girl clutching at
her father. "Papa, please don't die! I can't have killed you!"

Heartbroken,
Norah wheeled on the girl, grasping her by the arms. She shook her, just enough
to jar the glassy expression from Cassandra's eyes. "Stop this! You can't
help your father by—"

"I
did this to him! I did! With the sauce—the raspberry sauce."

"Cassandra,
don't be ridiculous! Of course you didn't. Your father was only teasing when he
made jest of your cooking."

"You
don't understand! I put love potions in—in the sauce."

"Love
potions?" Norah echoed, a sudden stark suspicion taking hold of her.

"I
bought them after you two left the fair. The gypsies couldn't make up their
mind which was the most powerful, so I got all three. Then I stirred them into
the raspberry sauce."

Norah
remembered Cassandra's protest when she'd refused her portion. She wrenched her
gaze back to the masculine figure writhing in the bed, his sweat-soaked hair
almost black, a frightening contrast to his ice-white skin.

Oh,
God. Fear lunged in Norah's breast. Was it possible that Cassandra had
inadvertently poisoned her beloved father in her quest to see him marry? What
deadly ingredients might have been in the potions she had bought with such
innocence and optimism? Once those ingredients had been combined with two other
mysterious mixtures, the most horrendous of outcomes were all too possible.

"Cassandra,
what were in those potions? Surely the gypsies must have told you?"

"It
was a secret! They said if they revealed the magic they'd be stricken by the
evil eye."

Norah
flung a frightened glance at the cluster of terrified servants. "Someone
has to go to the gypsy camp, find the women who sold Cassandra the potions, and
bring them back here. There must be some kind of antidote, some way to help
him. We have to know what he's taken."

"But
the evil eye—the young missy said—"