Desired by Shadow (A Shadow Walkers Novel) (28 page)

Just in the blasted nick of time. The air shimmered and his perfect brother appeared, face full of shame. Dayne sank into a chair eagerly watching the tableau play out. Thorne approached, looking like a man going to face judgment. Nearing Luna’s tomb, he stopped. Mouth open, he stared at the column to the back of her resting place. The shimmer of blue gossamer silk caught his eye. There was his decoy, standing in profile. His brother fell to his knees.

“Luna. Forgive me. I’ve waited eons to see you. To hear your voice.” As he neared her, Dayne motioned and she turned her back as a puppet on a string. “Wait. Luna.” The agony was almost enough to make him feel sorry for his brother. Not.

With a laugh he blew on the crystal and the manifestation disappeared. Thorne bellowed her name. Sitting with his back against the wall, he pulled his knees up, crossed his arms and buried his face.

Step one complete.

Monday, November 6
^th

Maggie cracked an eye open. The peace and content seeping out of her body, shivering as a chill blew across her. Robert had said “Lola” before he fell asleep. Did this woman hold his heart? What was she to him? And what did Maggie mean to him? Just as she’d thought he meant everything he’d told her, the self-doubt came crashing back. She stewed, fuming.

Secrets.

Maggie hated the nasty little things. They poisoned and betrayed. In her experience nothing ended well when secrets were involved. She wanted nothing more than to shake him awake and demand answers but instead she would lie there and when he woke, still groggy, then she’d ask about
her
.

The candles had been extinguished during the night. It was like the elves had come. The dishes and food debris cleared away, fire stoked. Yawning, her nose twitched. Looking to the sideboard, she almost jumped out of bed. Breakfast had been delivered. Maybe that was what woke her while he slumbered on. Guessed she’d fallen asleep after all. Before coming here, she never used to sleep deeply, starting awake at the slightest sound, always tired from waking hundreds of times during the night, being vigilant. But since she’d been with Robert—she slept through the night, rarely stirring. Didn’t take a head-shrinker to tell her it meant she felt safe. Enough to let her guard down, to trust nothing would harm her while she slumbered.

Blowing out a frustrated sigh, she slipped from under the covers, padding to the bath. The elves had been here too. Almost as if it were all simply a pleasant dream.

Turning on the shower, Maggie groaned as the hot water hit her body, easing the tension. No longer worried one of Bruce’s men would walk in on her, she lingered, blowing the soap suds out of her hands and watching them float, landing gently on the stone floor to be washed down the drain, erased. When her fingers turned to prunes, she sighed. Time to get out and face him. Stepping out of the bath, feeling slightly better, she slowed, the urge to run hitting her hard.

Breathe through your nose. No more running. You are a survivor, and you will face whatever he has to say.

Drying off, she played out various scenarios in her head, none of them with a happy ending. Hair in a towel, she dressed in jeans and another thick sweater. Comfortable on the plush sofa, she ate breakfast by the fire while her hair dried, ignoring the elephant in the bed.

Robert tossed the sheet aside, sat up naked and shot her a wolfish grin. “I wondered where ye’d got to darlin’. I would have joined you in the shower.”

Ignoring him, she walked to the sideboard, poured another cup of tea and sat back down in the chair facing the fire. Not looking at him, hands trembling as the tea sloshed over the rim of the cup, she asked the question. “Who is Lola? What exactly is she to you?”

The next thing she knew he was kneeling before her, heedless of his nakedness. She’d never heard him get out of bed. He started. Then stopped. Oh god. It was going to be bad. Wrapping her arms around her middle, rocking back and forth, the remains of breakfast forgotten, she dreaded the answer. “Tell me.”

Robert looked into her face and held her hands in his. “Last night was perfect. You are perfect, in every way. Lola was someone from my past. A long time ago, I thought I loved her but years ago I realized I never did. I didn’t even really like her. The woman betrayed me. After the events of the last few days, I guess the past was on my mind and her name slipped out in my sleep. I was dreaming of her betrayal. Because of her, I was captured along with my crew and sentenced to death. I died and yet…I have to thank her because I wouldn’t have become a Shadow Walker if she hadn’t done the things she did to me. Of all people, I would think you could understand where I’m coming from.” He sat back on his heels, waiting.

Maggie slid out of her chair to sit on the floor facing him. “Robert, I’m sorry. After all I’ve been through my own fears took over, and I assumed you were keeping secrets from me. Involved with another woman. We haven’t said anything and I shouldn’t presume…I don’t have intimate relationships with more than one person at a time…” Her voice was small, her eyes downcast.

He raised her chin to look her in the eye. “
You
are the only woman I am involved with. Since I met you there hasn’t been another woman. I don’t want anyone else. There’s only you.” Reaching out for her, he traced her lips with a finger.

A small smile flitted across her face. The picture they must make—her fully dressed and him naked as the day he was born…the man was amazing. Inside and out.

“Though Maggie—there is something else I want to tell you.” Her shoulders tensed up. “I’ve been married. Twice.”

She stopped him. “I need to eat. My stomach feels funny.”

Helping her to her feet, he settled her and fixed himself a plate, adding whisky to his tea. “Are you going to put clothes on?”

Blinking, he looked down and laughed. “After. Unless my naked body offends?”

Heat bloomed across her face and his chuckle made it worse. “If you spill tea on your ‘jewels’ don’t cry like a big baby.”

Kissing her, he pulled the chair closer to her and sat. Seeing him holding a cup of tea, sitting by the fire naked as if it were the most natural thing in the world; she wondered for a brief instant that maybe Ned had shot her, she was dead and this was some screwed up version of heaven or hell.

The pensive look on Maggie’s face told him how worried she was. Clearing his throat to get her attention, he bravely soldiered on.

“To finish the tale. The first time I married was to a woman with a title. One I barely knew. Once she found out what I really did for a living, she wanted nothing to do with me. Times were different then and divorce wasn’t an option so I did what was common practice and took a mistress. I was at sea when I’d heard she died of pneumonia.” Hell, he’d never shared this much personal information with any woman. That lone thought scared him more than anything he’d encountered in his life. Buying a few moments to think, he shoveled food in his mouth. Wiping his mouth, he took a furtive look at her. She hadn’t run away in disgust, so far so good.

“My second wife was the daughter of the lord who stole my innocence.” Her eyes widened as she took in his meaning. “I was seven when it happened. Years later, the same lord was in dire need of funds. The match was arranged. Of course he didn’t know who I was but I could never forget his face. At the time I thought it’d be funny to marry the girl. I was dead wrong. Turned out she spent all her time in prayer, thought fornication a deadly sin. The sea was calling. I left and never saw her again. The chit was perfectly content to spend my money and live a life of luxury. All things considered, we were relatively happy with the arrangement.” Maggie refilled his tea, adding a hefty dose of whisky. He looked into her eyes for any trace of pity and found…understanding. Nodding he went on with the rest of the sordid story.

“I met Lola during this time. The first few years we were happy. We had an agreement to see whomever we pleased when we weren’t together. Not my idea, hers. Time went by and she became increasingly jealous of the others and the money I’d been putting away. What she never told me was she was also mistress to a Royal Navy Captain. Told him everything about me and played both sides by telling me about his ship that was carrying a large shipment of gold. The wench set me up. During the battle I was struck in the arm by grapeshot and transported to Edinburgh Castle. My entire crew captured. As an example to all against the vagaries of pirating we were hanged in front of a crowd at Edinburgh Castle. ‘Tis said it was the end of a legend and the golden age of piracy.”

To her credit, Maggie didn’t say a word. Simply got up, came over and sat in his lap, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, running her palms over his bare chest. “Thank you for telling me. All of it. We’re not so different. You have my trust.”

Fuck. She trusted him. His throat closed up, and his bowels turned to water. What would she do when she found out he was keeping the curse from her?

Would she understand and forgive him, or would she leave him? He was in love with her. Couldn’t take the risk she’d reject him. Somehow he’d figure it out, break the damnable curse and she’d be none the wiser.

“If you keep sitting on my lap, we’ll never get back to Edinburgh.”

She laughed, smacking his ass as he got up and sauntered to the shower. The nice thing about your own private plane—you were never late. It was cold but clear. The sky a grayish blue, the smell of snow in the air. Maggie wanted to walk to the waiting jet.

“You own your own plane? Why am I not surprised?”

He shrugged. “After you, milady.” Settling in, he told her there was one stop he needed to make before they met up with Monroe.

Lola. After all this time, Robert no longer hated her. Now he simply felt indifference. He hated to think on his childhood but Maggie’s accusations brought it all crashing back.

Robert had been fighting since he was a boy, carving a fearsome reputation across England, Scotland and Wales. A smuggler by trade, he was good at what he did. After sacking his twentieth ship, he’d earned the name, Prince of Pirates and bought the
Revenge.
Truth be told, he was the most dreaded pirate on the seas before he was hanged for pirating at Edinburgh Castle all those years ago. Out of all his nicknames, his favorite was Black Bart. It was a rather dashing tribute to his midnight black hair, of which he was very fond. Sipping a cup of tea, memories assailed him.

Orphaned at age seven, he survived on the streets not unlike Maggie making a living thieving and working when someone would hire him. Though unlike her, his mum had been a prostitute and he’d been born in a brothel. The ladies all took turns caring for him, fussing over him. As a tot, he’d loved helping the women prepare for their suitors. Running to and fro, fetching water and whatever frippery they required. Truth be told, he’d learned a great deal about women. Thinking back on those paid harlots, he smiled. Who could blame him for loving all women after being surrounded by them from his birth to age seven. Wincing, he remembered his mam’s death. The man had eclectic tastes. The gentlemen liked inflicting pain, watching the welts and bruises rise on the pale flesh of his mother and others at Posey’s. On that fateful night, the man came in out of the rain, wet and drunk. Continuing to drink, he stumbled up the stairs to the room where his mother entertained. Posey wouldn’t let any of them interfere on account of the gentlemen being an important Lord. The screams grew louder, carrying on until he thought his ears would bleed. Three times he tried to sneak up the stairs to help her and each time he was cuffed on the ear by one of Posey’s men and sent sprawling. As the candles burned down, the night deepened, and her screams became whimpers. The Lord came down the stairs calling for his carriage, the front of his shirt spattered with blood, his hair mussed and a gleam in his eye.

Robert ducked under the guard and ran as fast as his scrawny legs would carry him. Gaining the threshold, he flung the door wide, calling out. “Mum, Mum, are you okay?” There was no answer. Rushing to the bed, he threw the bed curtains open. Shaking his mother, the tears streamed down his dirty face. “Please, wake up, don’t leave me.” Dead. Bloody lashes marked her back, the delicate skin ripped to shreds. Masses of bruises marked her thighs and her arms were turned in unnatural positions. Blank eyes stared ahead, no life left in them.