Dark Hero; A Gothic Romance (Reluctant Heroes) (15 page)

Elizabeth couldn’t tell if he were bragging or mocking her
abilities. Perhaps he was merely covering for her impertinence. It was borne on
her yet again in the strained moment that she spoke her mind too easily since
her illness. She often spoke her thoughts aloud without realizing it until it
was too late. Donovan was patient with her odd mental lapses, but society would
not be. “I beg your pardon, Captain. It was rude of me to contradict you.”

“Don’t apologize!” The captain said with a wave of his hand.
“I appreciate plain speaking. It’s a rare gift, in a woman.” Leaning back in
his chair, Captain Rawlings picked up the sagging conversation. “My great aunt
had that gift, the knowing, she called it. Have you had the knowing all your
life, my lady, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I’ve only recently acquired the ability, and I consider it
a curse, not a gift, captain.”

“Oh, but you get to talk to ghosts!” Peter exclaimed. “That
must be great fun. Do they only come out after dark---can you make them appear?
Can you look into a person’s eyes and tell their future like a gypsy? Can you
see if they be good or evil, Lady Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth blanched at Peter’s questions. How did he know she
saw spirits? How did any of them, she wondered, when Donovan and the captain
didn’t discount the boy’s wild claim?

“I’m not a gypsy, Peter.” She began, looking at the boy so
as not to have to deal with the men. “My family descended from an ancient
warrior-priest class that ruled Ireland before the English conquest. My
ancestors were the guardians of the Old Religion of the Celts. They communed
with nature spirits. Merlin was a priest of the old ways.”

“Merlin’s my favorite in King Arthur.” Peter’s brown eyes
grew hopeful. “Can you teach me to bring forth the dragon’s breath?”

“I’m afraid not.” Elizabeth smiled at the boy’s enthusiasm.
“Merlin’s abilities were greatly exaggerated in those stories. According to my
grandmother O’Flaherty,” she continued, “The gifts of second sight and the
ability to walk the veil between the worlds were passed down through the
bloodlines of the Chieftain’s family. My grandmother was the last seer, she
claimed when she died I would inherit her gifts. Of course, I never believed
her.” Elizabeth added with apologetic tone in front of the men. “I always
considered her tales of visits from dead ancestors to be just an old woman’s
fancy.”

“But then she died and now you have them!” The boy
concluded, slapping the table decisively. “What is the veil between the worlds?
Is it a place in Ireland? Can anyone go--“

The captain put up a hand. “Enough.” He gave Elizabeth a
harried look. “Never runs out of questions, that one. If I might ask, Madame,
do you see the future in these visions?”

Elizabeth studied her wine glass that had been conveniently
refilled by their host, making it her third for the evening, if she drank it.
Something was afoot, she could sense it. The men were on a hunting expedition,
searching for hidden treasure like the pirates they were. “It’s still so new. I
see bits and pieces of a person’s life if they happen to touch me.”

“What about him?” The captain nodded toward her husband.
“Can you see through his many masks of deceit?”

“I don’t experience visions with his lordship.”

“Why?” Captain Rawlings leaned forward to peer at Donovan
speculatively. “Does he have a black soul that defies reading, by even God
himself?”

 “Jack.” Donovan warned. “I’ll thank you to stop scaring my
lass.”

Elizabeth smiled at their host. She knew he was poking fun
of his lordship because Donovan was always so perpetually grave. The
impressions she received from the count were rare and difficult to read, like
brief flashes of lightening illuminating a dark sky. The captain, and her
spouse, didn’t need to know that. “His lordship’s touch is familiar to me.” She
evaded.

 Rawlings extended his hand. “Here, tell me what you see.”

“No.” After her encounter with Linton, she didn’t want to
see the dark secrets in another man’s soul. “Please, I cannot.” She was torn by
his request. She didn’t wish to offend her husband’s friend, either.

“It’s all right. I promise.” The captain persisted in a
playful tone.

“She said no.” Donovan intervened in a brusque tone,
reaching across the table to offer her his hand. She clutched that big hand,
relieved to have him settle the matter for her. “Peter, tell us about those
kittens.” He effectively took charge, changing the subject.

“Would you like to see them, my lady?” Peter asked.

Elizabeth was all too happy to escape the men. She rose and
followed Peter to the crate in the corner and knelt down with her back to the
men. She couldn’t help sighing over the delightful, furry, little bundles.

“I’m keeping the big red one.” Peter informed her. He
reached in to snag the plump fellow by the scruff. “The rest are yours to
choose from, my lady.”

The creak and scrape of chairs made Elizabeth start. The
count crossed the room and hunkered down on beside her. “So, which one will be
sharing our bed tonight, my love?”

The suggestiveness of his words was not lost on her. “You’d
let me have one?”

“I’ll give you anything if it makes you smile like that.”

The man could charm the scales from a snake, she thought,
blushing and averting her gaze to the kittens. “They still have blue eyes. I
adore blue eyes.”

Captain Rawlings seemed to be choking. She glanced up. He
was grinning from ear to ear after spraying brandy all over his sleeve. The
count was smiling as well. When she found herself caught in his adoring blue
gaze, she knew why the men were so amused.

“Cats are good hunters.” Peter put in, ignoring the men and
their snickering grins. “They’ll cut back on the smaller lizards on the estate,
and the spiders, too.”

“Spiders?” Elizabeth repeated, looking at the boy with
alarm.

“Aye, big ones, mum, hairy and big as a tea saucer with
their legs extended—least wise if they grow to full size.” Peter grinned with
all the wonder that only a boy could possess at such a ghastly fact, “A good
fat Tom or two will keep ‘em out of your bed chamber.”

“They don’t come in the house.” Donovan countered. “Not
unless there’s an unusually heavy rainy season. And even then, it’s just the
first floor.”

“The spiders or the lizards?” She demanded, not liking the
news one bit. What else did this man forget to mention when he talked in
glowing terms about his island paradise?

“The spiders, of course. The lizards and snakes prefer the
jungle brush.” He put an arm about Elizabeth. “And the manor house is up on a
hill, away from—“

“Snakes!” This place was sounding worse by the minute. “What
kind of snakes?”

“Big ones.” Peter stretched out his arms as wide as he
could. “Big as—“

“That’s enough horse shit from you!” Donovan snapped at the
boy.

“Peter!” Captain Rawlings intervened. “It’s time you left
and let the grownups talk for a while. Off with you now, and none of your
sulkiness.” With a hurt expression, the boy sprang up, his favorite kitten
slung over his shoulder as he rushed to the door.

Donovan gazed into the box of wriggling fur. “How about the
red tiger? I have a fondness for red heads.” He scooped the kitten up in one
hand and lifted its tail. The kitten meowed indignantly at his inspection. “A
tom.” He offered her the kitten. “A sturdy little fellow to guard milady’s
bedchamber.”

“It’s not my choice. Cats choose people.” She said, holding
the kitten up to her face. “What do you say? Would you like come home with me
and be my mischievous little Puck?” The poppet placed a tiny paw on her cheek
and began licking her face with that sandpaper tongue. She giggled, delighted by
his acceptance.

The men were staring at her, and both had ridiculous grins
on their faces.

Her husband stood and offered her his hand. Elizabeth hoped
that meant their evening was drawing to a close as he pulled her to her feet.
Instead, Donovan led her to the cushioned window seat and gestured for her to
sit down.

Feeling uncommonly light and free, Elizabeth slipped off her
shoes and sat down. Her gown covered her ankles, so she wasn’t making an
untoward display. Donovan sat beside her. His arm snaked about her waist,
drawing her against him and the world suddenly seemed a much sturdier place.
She was feeling more than a little wobbly, she realized. She gazed up at her
husband, wishing they were alone so Donovan might kiss her. An ebony brow
lifted in censure but as he was smiling the look lost much of its power. He
directed his gaze in front of them.

The captain was standing before them, holding a tray of
drinks, a brandy for Donovan and a goblet of wine for Elizabeth, which she
declined. Any more wine and she’d be taking her dress off because of the heat
next, convinced there was nothing improper with that, either.

Rawlings seated himself in the chair opposite them.
Steepling his fingers in front of him, he directed his gaze at her instead of
his friend. “I confess to inviting you here because I have a great curiosity
about you, my lady. You possess the ability to see into a man’s soul and glean
insights about his character. I could use your gift to discern the character of
one of my crew.”

“I’ve had no dealings with your men.” Elizabeth blurted.
“I’ve kept to my lord’s cabin the entire voyage.”

“No one is accusing you of any wrongdoing, my lady. Please,
hear me out.” The captain countered, lifting a hand to still further protest.
“Our surgeon fell ill a couple of days before we set sail. Linton offered to
fill the position in exchange for free passage to the Indies. My first mate
took him on. Normally, I trust Mr. Jenkins’ judgment, but I don’t care for
Linton, my lady. My gut tells me something’s not right about the fellow, and
your husband has had similar misgivings regarding him and his persistent
interest in you.”

Interest? She gazed from the floor to the captain’s face,
and then her husband’s. How did they know about his ‘interest’ in her. “I don’t
know what you mean.” She said as innocently as she could manage. All the
giddiness of intoxication was gone. It was replaced by a sobering fear.

“I won’t lie to you. We’re men of action, your husband and
I. Over the years, we’ve learned to trust our instincts as lives have depended
upon them. Yesterday, you crossed paths with Linton. I couldn’t help noticing
the man frightened you. Considering your intuitive abilities, I’m curious to
know if you experienced any disturbing impressions about the man during your
brief encounter.”

 “No, sir.” Elizabeth sat up straight, edging away from
Donovan. His arm remained about her waist. She tried to appear distracted by
playing absently with the kitten in her lap.

“Lizzie.” Donovan said in serious tone, setting his brandy
aside. “Tell Jack what you started to tell me yesterday. You said he isn’t a
doctor, and that he was trying to do something. You didn’t say what, and I have
the distinct feeling it involved you in some way.”

 “I can’t!” She wailed. “He’s a doctor. I know I forget
things, but I’m not all about in the head---and that’s what he’ll make you
think if I say anything about those poor women—” She clamped a hand over her
mouth. Once again her tongue was far ahead of her mind.

“I don’t doubt your reasoning in the slightest.” Donovan
took her hand and lifted it to his lips. He kissed her fingers while gazing at
her with tender, pleading eyes that seemed impossible to deny. “Nothing that
idiot can say will change my opinion of you. Now, no more hedging about, my sweet,
tell us what you saw or experienced when Linton touched you.”

 “We all sense something’s up with the man.” Rawlings
coaxed. “You’re the only one with a spyglass. Please, my lady, tell us what you
see. The safety of others may rest upon you.”

Oh, what a pair they made, Black Jack and The Raven. Together,
they were inescapable.

More than Donovan’s pleading, the captain’s words struck a
deep chord within Elizabeth. Linton would go on hurting women when he reached
the Indies—it was a hunger, a need. He wouldn’t stop—he couldn’t. What if more
women were brutalized because she didn’t speak out when given the opportunity?

“He’s not a real doctor.” She whispered. “He was an
attendant at an asylum many years ago. He stole a doctor’s case and he’s passed
himself off as a physician ever since.” She paused to recover her breath,
feeling small and dirty for having to confess such vile things.

Donovan released her hand and placed his arm about her
waist. “Go on, Dearest.”

Elizabeth looked down at her lap. The kitten had escaped her
grasp and jumped to the floor. “He preys upon the women in those places, using
drugs and restraints to keep them in his power. And he’s adept at convincing
his associates the women are suffering delusions if they tell anyone what he did
to them. He was found out recently. He’s running away, hoping to start a new
life in the Indies where no one knows about his evil.”

“Has he hurt you, Madame?” The captain asked. “Has he
threatened you in any way?”

“No.” Her face grew hot with humiliation. “But he’s marked
me as his next victim.”

There was a harsh intake of breath from the man seated
beside her.

“What do you mean?” Rawlings prodded, leaning forward in his
chair. “Don’t be afraid, my dear. He’ll never be able to get near you. Tell us,
how has he has marked you?”

Elizabeth groaned. It was horrible. She didn’t know the
words for such perversion.

“I have you.” Donovan whispered, “I have you, Elizabeth.”
His hand cradled her cheek, urging her to settle her head in the hollow beneath
his chin. She closed her eyes, wishing she could melt inside his vest and
escape the vile images in her mind.

She inhaled the crisp, clean scent of his skin and tried to
absorb some of his strength. She kept her eyes downcast, focusing on the silver
threads adorning his waistcoat, unable to meet his gaze. She touched an
embroidered flourish and traced it with her finger. “H-he takes mementoes from
each of his victims--two locks of hair. The first lock is taken from the back
of the woman’s head to mark her as his intended prey. Once he’s had them —h-he
takes a lock from between--” She couldn’t say the rest, but with these two, she
didn’t think she needed to.