Ella, The Slayer (14 page)

"I'm sorry." I had ruined his shirt. He now sported quite the wet patch under my hands. "I've never failed and cried before."

He tucked a stray piece of hair back behind my ears. "Never?"

"No." There hadn't been time for tears, and when I fell into bed at night, I was too exhausted.

"No wonder you burst." A smile touched his lips, and the sight made me grace mine with my tongue. He bent his head and brushed his lips over mine, a tender gesture that nearly sparked more tears. When a girl needs comfort, she needs more than a butterfly kiss. My flat palms curled as my fingers gripped the edge of his shirt, and I admit, I stood on tiptoes to press into him harder.

He changed his angle and deepened the kiss, sweeping me away to a world where time hung suspended, waiting for us to fulfil our need. Shivers raced down my body to my toes until Seth broke off the kiss. He stroked my cheek as his eyes searched mine.

"What set you off?"

Memory dashed cold water all over my rising desire. Words rose and fell in my throat before I could verbalise them. "The daisies on her dress. They were my mother's favourite flower. I used to pick bunches of them and put them in a vase by her bedside. How did you know?"

He dropped another light kiss on my mouth before walking me back to the motorcar. "Sometimes all it takes is the smallest thing to bring memories rushing back, and then they pull you under."

I had been so wrapped up in our war, I had forgotten about the bigger one. I wonder what memories he hid from. All of the men seemed to have returned with scars, it was just that some injuries couldn't be seen.

He held the door open. "We should get going, or Frank will wonder where we are. Besides, we must check the cottage before dark falls."

The Silver Ghost ate up the road, and the brisk pace dried the tears from my skin. By the time we stopped in front of Serenity House, I was feeling human again, and not like a shuffling creature that left its soul in the grave.

Warrens held open the door for me. "Lovely to see you, Miss."

He treated me like always, never a ripple of suspicion crossed his face, and yet he saw me riding up front, staying in the motor when we deposited
them
for the dinner party. Questions swirled in my brain but failed to form, like figures in the fog that step close, but retreat before you can make them out. Inside, I stood in the entrance with the expensive marble tiles under my feet, and looked down at my skirt and blouse. Never my favourite attire for slaying. "Would there be a pair of pants I could borrow?"

A wicked smile curled on Seth's lips and my stomach flip-flopped. "We'll find your something more appropriate for a hunt."

"If I might interrupt, your grace, some of your clothing from your youth is still stored in chests upstairs. I think perhaps at age twelve, you were a similar build to Miss Cowie?"

I snorted. I couldn't help it, there was something about the image of Seth as a gangly youth with little muscle. Which lead me to wonder when he started shaving. Did he have a smooth cheek until he hit twenty, or was he one of those lads who could grow an impressive moustache by the time he hit thirteen?

He raised an eyebrow at me. "If you think that will be suitable, Warrens, thank you."

"I'm sure we can procure something by the time the horses are saddled, your grace." The butler nodded and disappeared on silent feet.

I followed Seth to his study and occupied myself by reading the spines of the books he kept close to hand. They were an eclectic mix: from poetry and novels, to treatises on war and poverty. In only a few short minutes, Warrens knocked on the door and entered with a pair of pants, a shirt, and boots dangling from his fingers. The boots had a high gloss that any mirror would envy, and the clothing looked freshly laundered. Did they wash Seth's old clothing, or had he kept a change to hand just for me? More questions drifted into the mist clogging up my mind.

I took the clothes and thanked the butler.

"I won't be long," I said to Seth, and waited for him to leave before stripping off and quickly redressing.

When I emerged, Warrens stood in the hall. "This way, Miss."

He led me through darkened corridors lined with paintings of Seth's ancestors. We took a right hand turn, and he opened a door to the outside. Beyond was the corridor where I had dined with the other servants just a few nights ago. I glanced around, but none of the working men paid me any attention.

Seth, Frank, and three others waited with a group of horses. A pack of dogs sat at their feet, tails wagging at the excitement of a run. Frank winked and handed me the bridle of a bay. Her coat was the colour of dark cocoa, and a wide white blaze swept down her nose. She nudged my hand, and I rubbed her head before Seth legged me up and handed up the katana.

Six of us rode out and headed toward the remote cottage where little Rose Linton had once played. What would we find? A mother distraught that her daughter was missing, or a slaughtered family? As much as I prayed for the former, I feared we would find the latter. Despite being a few hours from the village, she would have raised the alarm for help to search for Rose, if she were able. If the mother were already dead, it saved me from explaining what happened to her beloved daughter.

We rode in silence. The beagles snuffled at the undergrowth, dashing back and forth in search of a scent. The horses were immune to the fast animals underfoot and instinctively knew not to step on one. Once the duke had held lavish house parties. They would ride to the hounds over the fields, looking to chase out a fox. Now we could very well flush out an old retainer or a house guest from the undergrowth.

Doubts ate at me as we rode. Seth stirred something inside me, a blossoming warmth I stubbornly clung to after a long winter. To be the village slayer, I had to freeze my emotions. I turned my soul into a frozen pond. Being with Seth was like the coming thaw, and my edges started to melt. But what would he find if he gazed into the depths of the still water? Was I poisoned by the work I did? He fought and killed in a noble war for freedom, I slaughtered what many saw as the innocent.

Quite apart from the state of my soul, I had no right to be amongst this company. My presence here was paid for by the blade on my back and the new duke's assumption I was
quality
. Well, he was half right. Alice and Frank played some game, assuming breeding meant nothing, but at this level, breeding was everything. I was riding toward a tumble if I continued on this path. I glanced sideways at Seth. Was it time to confess me humble origins, or should I bask in his sun just a little longer?

A little longer, my cold heart whispered.

"Do you think we will find vermin at the cottage, crawling over the floor like plague rats?" I needed to fill the silence before my treacherous tongue blurted out the wrong thing. Seth threw me a glance and his jaw tightened.

"Did I say something wrong?" It puzzled me. He seemed to be angry at something, but I had no idea what.

He pulled his horse to a walk and stared off into the distance. His shoulders went rigid, and his fingers worked at his reins. As the field widened and embraced the horizon, the other men spread out.

Seth took a deep breath and then blew it out. "Sorry, it's just that phrase. The War Office decreed they are to be referred to as
the turned
. Calling them ‘vermin’ strips them of their humanity. My father succumbed to the virus and was butchered like an oxen on our front lawn."

I chewed my lip to hold in the words that flew to my tongue. I knew the story. The old duke had risen from his mausoleum and tried to return to the house where he once reigned. The butler had been out front practicing his golf swing and dealt to his former master with the best weapon at hand — the 9-iron in his hand. On hearing it, my first thoughts were for the scullery maids. At least they didn't have to clean up the mess. Imagine if he had lumbered into the house and been dispatched in the library or parlour, covered in expensive carpets. Not a comment I could blurt out though.

"It makes it easier, to call them vermin," I said.

His steady gaze turned to me, as his brows knitted in a deep frown. "What do you mean, easier?"

"Looking back on your life, how much of it have you spent here amongst these people?" We were neighbours of sorts, and I only met the young heir once while he was on holiday from Eton. Little wonder he didn't recognise the scamp playing with the dogs at the stable. As heir, he was cosseted and given an expensive education elsewhere.

"What difference does it make to you?" Those penetrating eyes searched my face.

I grasped for the words to explain the pain we all endured, while trying to vaguely stick to my story of being a noble girl sent from London. "How many victims of the virus did you know intimately, apart from your father?"

His gaze narrowed and then he looked away to follow the progress of a dog bounding through the long grass. I reached out, touching his arm as we rode.

"For the people who live here, these are their friends, lovers, and family. To be able to continue, they need to remove the humanity from the shells they encounter. The people they loved and laughed with are gone. We call these husks vermin so we can carry out what must be done. Otherwise, we would be overrun, or the entire village would be dead."

"Is that why they call on you? Because you have no association here?"

Oh, bugger. We were in a wide-open field, but I suddenly felt cornered. The truth was the opposite. The villagers knew me, trusted me, and I bore their burden. The words couldn't form in my throat. There was so much to say, but this didn't seem like the appropriate time. "Perhaps."

He blew out a long sigh and flashed a brief, sad smile. "I'm removed from this place, even as it is supposed to be under my care and guardianship. I went off to war and never thought about the estate at all. I never wanted this." He spread his arm out, encompassing more than the few men, scattered dogs, and expanse of paddocks. "I chose a frontline position to make a name of my own, not to carry one that bore centuries of expectation."

I didn't know what to say, so I punched him gently in the arm. "Bad luck, old chap. You're stuck with us now."

He smiled. That one that made my stomach plummet to my feet with a sudden
whoosh
and all rational thought fled my person.

Those grey eyes stay locked on my face. "I can cope with being stuck with you."

Oh. Damn.

"There it is," Frank yelled and pointed between the trees.

Excellent timing Frank, before I do something stupid, like fall off the horse while being all doe-eyed at the duke.

Nestled into a hill was a gorgeous cottage with white washed dab walls and a thatched roof. At the front, a riotous garden spilled colour in splashes and swirls like a Monet painting. To one side, a large vegetable patch contained a harvest waiting to be picked and preserved for winter. Chickens spilled from the single level barn and scratched through both gardens, looking for worms.

Nothing looked amiss. Even the open door could be explained by the weather, left ajar to allow a gentle breeze to refresh the rooms within.

We dismounted and hitched the horses to a rail. The men spread out, each glancing to Seth for their commands, and it struck me that Frank had picked former soldiers among the Serenity House staff. They moved as one unit, no words necessary between them thanks to a bond forged long ago. By a series of hand gestures, Seth sent two around back and one to stay by the horses, while Frank headed through the front garden.

Seth and I stood at the bottom of the front path. I kept abreast of the newspapers, those sallying straight up the front never did as well as those creeping around the back. I pondered adding my sword to the surprise attack planned for around the back, when Seth took my hand. Well, would be rude to join the others now. He pulled me through the lavender as Frank took the other side. The duke placed a finger to his lips as he approached the window with its wide open shutters. I stayed back while the two men peered into the darkened interior.

They exchanged glances and shakes of no. Frank clutched his rifle and crept up on the front door. He fed the barrel into the shade first and took a cautious step after it. We waited until his cry of
clear
rang out, then we joined him.

The cottage contained four rooms in an easy layout. The front door opened into a parlour, and as soon as my eyes adjusted to the drop in light level, my hope sank. By the striped armchair, the sewing basket was upturned, leaving skeins of cotton strewn over the floor. The droppings splattered down the backs of chairs showed that birds were coming in at night through the open windows, roosting undisturbed.

"Nothing in the kitchen," one of the men yelled.

The entire house was eerie. I expected it to be quiet out here, but even the sound of birds and cattle failed to reach inside. The interior lay cocooned in sad silence. We soon checked the two bedrooms and found nothing except signs of a struggle. The coverlet on the double bed was flung back, and a trail of blood led from the bed, along the floor, and then out the door. I followed the line until it became droplets, and then the trail disappeared amongst the dust under foot.

Back in the parlour, my gaze kept drifting to the skein of yellow thread. I picked it up. The colour was dull with grime from birds and perhaps curious chickens. Was that what she used to embroider the daisies?