Perilous Pleasures (28 page)

Then the Dark Lord spoke. His voice was like the rustle of dry leaves. “Await your master here, O Dragon's Child, in the high place of sacrifice.”

The air squeezed out of her lungs. Dragon's Child.
His
child. The Word of Power.

But still nothing changed.

She swayed toward the old man, trying not to gag as the rank smell of his rotting breath wafted toward her. His dark magic hadn't stolen away her will. It was still hers to command. And now her own power surged through her, that power born of the love that joined her to the man who'd offered his life for hers. She lurched toward the old man and fell upon him, as if by accident, and knocked the torch from his hand.

She heard his sharp intake of breath as the light was extinguished.
Good.
Then in the sudden darkness, she reached inside the neck of her robe and found her knife—
Charlotte's knife—
hanging on its chain. With a liquid motion she lifted the chain over her head and flicked the knife open. Then she braced herself against the raised platform, feeling the icy touch of the stone against her naked leg.

“Dragon's Child, make yourself ready to receive me.” The Dark Lord's voice quavered in command.

There was a faint rustle as he divested himself of his robe. She tried not to imagine his nakedness—that cursed nakedness in which her own life had begun. The reek of his corrupted flesh forced the breath out of her lungs, as he moved toward her with uneven steps.

Then he stopped. “Speak to me, daughter. So I may find you in the darkness.”

He would find her in the deepest darkness, for they would enter hell together. But if fate was kind, she would have a choice of
which
sin would send her there.

“I am here, Father.” She gripped Charlotte's knife more tightly. “Come to me.”

Chapter 23

A
dam hoped she'd been drugged, or that the spell had blunted her to the horror of her fate. As he gazed helplessly at the empty mouth of the barrow, he prayed that something had kept her from suffering in those last dreadful moments of her life.

All that kept him from throwing himself at the guards now, and letting them put him out of his misery, was the knowledge that he had no right to betray Isabelle's presence to them. She'd risked her life to save his. He wouldn't condemn her up to a death she hadn't chosen. But for himself, death would come now only as a welcome release.

Isabelle's eager whisper broke through his stupor. “You see, over there, to the east? MacMinn comes, at last! And he's brought help—just as I said he would!”

She swung around and pointed back in the direction from which they'd come, and sure enough, in the distance a dim glow resolved into torchlight. A company of men marched toward them, armed not with ancient weapons of bronze but with serviceable muskets.

“He's brought the militia!” Isabelle exclaimed. “See? He is always so clever!”

But it was too late. Too much time had passed since Adam had seen his wife vanish inside the barrow's entrance. All must be over now—her violation and the final sacrifice. But he said nothing to dampen Isabelle's hope. She'd learn her daughter's fate soon enough. But for himself, he couldn't bear to look at the troupe of men as they marched toward him. Had they come only minutes earlier, Zoe might have been saved.

The Dark Lord's guards saw the advancing militia, too, and no sooner did they take in their muskets and determined faces than they dropped their ancient swords and ran like the bullies they were, leaving the opening of the barrow undefended. Adam ran toward it, stopping only to pick up one of the discarded swords before racing into the gaping maw. At least he would have this satisfaction: It would be his hand that ended the Dark Lord's life.

A few moments later, he heard muffled footsteps coming from deep within the barrow. His unspeakable deeds done, the Dark Lord must be returning to his minions. Adam advanced another few paces to block the narrow passageway with his broad shoulders. Then he raised his sword.

The footsteps came closer. Swift footsteps, not the hesitant limp of an old man. Having replenished himself at the well of life, the Dark Lord moved like a youngster. White-hot rage filled Adam. The demon laird must take what pleasure he could in his newfound youth now, for when he reached the opening of the barrow, Adam would end his life and send him straight to hell.

Then he heard a cry coming from deep within the earthen passageway. His flesh crawled, for the voice was Zoe's voice. Had the Dark Lord stolen not only her life force, but her body?

But as Zoe's tall form lurched toward him, her face lit by the flare of a militiaman's torch, it was no specter that he saw, no spirit-filled corpse, but his wife, alive, and whole. A shout tore from his throat as he lunged forward to embrace her, but she dodged away from him, her eyes wild.

“Don't touch me!” she cried.

It was only what he deserved, but the joy drained out of him at her rejection. He couldn't bear to meet her eyes.

As he backed away she gasped, “I've killed my father.” Then his wife, her hands stained red with blood, collapsed before him in a dead faint.

H
e stood frozen, unable to move. It was Isabelle who, ignoring the horror of the bystanders, picked up her daughter and, by slapping her gently on the cheek, brought her back to consciousness.

“What nonsense is this, Zoe?” she demanded. “Your father is most certainly alive.”

“No. I stabbed him with Charlotte's knife.” A shudder ran through her body.

Comprehension filled Isabelle's features, and she smiled. “Did that pig's arse tell you he was your father?”

Zoe nodded. “But so did you! You told me he rescued you from the Terror because you told him I was his child.”

“And so I did,” Isabelle replied with a charming smile. “But of course, I lied. His child died at birth, thanks to
le bon Dieu
. You were born a year later.”

“Then am I truly the duke's daughter?” Zoe's face filled with an expression more beautiful than any Adam had ever seen.

“Well, no.” Isabelle's smile dimmed.

“Then who
is
my father?”

Zoe's expression told Adam how terrified she was of what the answer might be. Before Isabelle could reply, he broke in. “Whoever he was, I pity him for missing out on the pleasure of seeing you grow into so brave a woman.”

Zoe's reply was a look of such warmth that, for a moment, he began to think matters between them were not as hopeless as he'd thought. But before he could take advantage of the goodwill his words had won for him, Isabelle said, “What are you talking about, milord? Her father has had plenty of opportunity to enjoy his daughter throughout her life.”

Zoe's voice rose. “For God's sake, then, tell me. Who is he?”

“I can't believe you haven't tumbled to it by now,” Isabelle said dismissively. “But here. Let him tell you himself. MacMinn, come introduce yourself to your daughter and her new husband.”

“
MacMinn
is my father?” Zoe's eyes widened in surprise. “But why didn't you tell me before?”

“And have you go through life burdened by the knowledge that you were the bastard daughter of a coachman? I wouldn't have done that to you, the child of my heart. So I gave you a duke for a father instead, and you see, I was right. You've grown as proud and noble as any duke's daughter!”

“But MacMinn isn't married. You could have married him.”

“And become a coachman's wife?” Isabelle's distaste showed in her wrinkled brow. “Surely you haven't forgotten everything I've taught you. I am La Belle Isabelle. How could I marry a coachman? MacMinn is a very good sort of man and he saved me from that swine who called himself the Dark Lord. But he wasn't at all what I would look for in a husband.”

The lanky coachman had come to join them now. He eyed his daughter and Adam with a sheepish look. “I did my best to watch over you, Zoe,” he said. “But your ma was right. It would have only lowered you to think I was your da. And that starchy Mrs. Endicott, she'd nae have let you go to school alongside her young ladies if she knew your father was only a servant. Still, though Belle wouldn't marry me, I did what I could to keep an eye on the both of you.”

“And you saved your daughter's life—twice—after I'd put her into the gravest danger.” Adam held out his hand. “I'm honored to make your acquaintance.”

MacMinn tugged his forelock and twisted it uneasily. “I didn't like to have to fool you the way I did to make ye wed, Yer Lordship, but I saw no other way. You believed in him so strong, you wouldn't have trusted me had I told you it was he that stole your sister's papers. But he did, and that's why he sent you off straightaway to foreign lands when you came back and found your sister dead—to make sure none of us could betray him to you.”

Adam bowed his head. No wonder his sister's shade had haunted him. She hadn't been thirsting for revenge, but trying to warn him that he'd put his faith in the man who had murdered her. Well, she could rest easy now. His eyes, at last, were open.

He turned to Isabelle. “I owe you an apology,” he said quietly. “When I finally confronted you in London, I condemned you without ever giving you a chance to defend yourself. Had I let you explain, none of this would have happened.” He gestured toward the barrow. “Can you tell me now what really happened?”

Isabelle's eyes dropped and a serious look filled her usually vapid features. “He told me the papers belonged to a woman who had died before he could treat her, and that I must take them and tell everyone I was her. That's all I know.”

“And that letter that was sent to the Committee and made them come for Charlotte? Who wrote it?”

“He must have. I knew of no such letter. And besides, I can't write, except to sign my name. My talents lie elsewhere,” she added with a certain pride. “But I can assure you, I wouldn't have taken those papers had I known it would cause your sister's death. I am a practical woman, but I'm not a murderess.”

“But
I
am,” Zoe said softly. “Whoever he was, I killed the old man back there in the barrow. I had no choice.”

“Never think it, Zoe,” MacMinn said with a broad laugh that broke the somber mood of the gathering. “You didn't kill him, you just gave him enough of a scare that he won't be troublin' anyone again with his black magic and ugly ancient ways.”

He gestured to where two militiamen were carrying the old man out of the cave on a hurdle. “He's been stricken with a fit—cannae talk or move nary a limb. He'll die in the natural way, soon enough, but it's his own fear that killed him. You only sliced a bit o' skin off his chest with that wee knife of yours. Aye, you're a game one to get yourself out of such a pickle on your own. But then you always were braver than a pit bull on a Sunday.” He paused and wiped his brow. “You aren't too disappointed, lassie, to find out ye're my bairn?”

“Disappointed?” Zoe exclaimed. “There is no man alive I'd rather call father. You've been there all my life, playing with me when I was little and getting me out of scrapes when I got older.”

“But I am but a coachie, and all this time you've been thinking your father was a duke.”

“A rotten, nasty, child-abandoning duke.” She sniffed. “Who never expressed the slightest interest in me. I'd much prefer to have you as a father. You're braver than any duke and twice as resourceful. Why, you must have saved my life a dozen times all told, not to mention all the sweetmeats that you bought me when I was young. For shame. I know
she
is a snob.” She pointed to her mother. “But I hadn't expected that kind of thinking from you.”

MacMinn came over and embraced her warmly. “You're a good girl, Zoe, and it does my heart good to hear you say that.” He turned back to face Adam. “But it's you who will be troubled by her birth, I'm thinking, being a lord and all. Ye needna worry. I'll nae be showin' my face at your castle in the bonny north or asking the little lordlings to call me grandpa. I know my place.”

Adam smiled. “Your place will be with us, whenever you choose to visit. I may be a lord, but I'm not nearly as big a snob as Isabelle. Our children will be lucky to have such a fine grandfather to look out for them.”

But as he spoke those words, a shadow fell over his heart. For it wasn't likely Zoe would be staying with him in the bonny north. The Dark Lord had removed the spell that had bound her to him, and after all the suffering he had caused her, she had little reason to love him. So he must say what must be said and give her back, at last, the freedom he'd so wrongly stolen from her.

He lowered his voice so that only she could hear it. “My offer still holds. You need never see Strathrimmon again. I won't hold you to our marriage. If you choose to live on your own in London, I'll do whatever I can to make you comfortable while I look into applying to Parliament for a divorce. Our circumstances are so unusual, it's possible they might grant one.”

“So you still wish to send me away?” The light had fled from Zoe's deep brown eyes, but whether it was because she was sad that the time had come to admit to the failure of their marriage or from something else, he hadn't the courage to ask.

Isabelle shot her daughter a look of surprise. “What have you done, child, to have so displeased Lord Ramsay that he sends you away after only a few weeks of marriage? Had you listened to me and done those things I told you of, he would be enchanted now, instead of taking a disgust—”

“Your daughter could never do anything to displease me,” Adam shot back. “But I won't force her to live with me if she doesn't love me. If you'd allow us a word in private—” He turned to his wife and drew her from her parents, guiding her away from the opening of the barrow toward the edge of the cliff that looked out over the sea.

The eclipse was almost over now. The sky had lightened and the sun's face was regaining its glory. They watched together as the waves rolled beneath them in the waxing light of day. For a long time, neither spoke.

Then Adam cleared his throat. “I don't want to send you away. But I love you too much to ask you to stay in a marriage you didn't choose with a man who isn't worthy of you. Now that the Dark Lord has released you from my spell, you're no longer bound to me by the black arts he taught me.”

He stopped, barely able to go on, but honor demanded he continue. “How could I hold you to your vows? They were made under compulsion. Nothing I could ever do will make up for what I did in forcing you to wed me, but I will do everything I can to ensure you don't spend the rest of your life trapped in marriage with a man you cannot love.”

“But if I should wish to remain with a man whose love I treasure?” She looked up at him, her eyes crinkling at the corners with what could only be mischief. “If I wish to return with you to Strathrimmon and do something about the execrable upholstery in the dining chamber?”

His heart quaked. “Would you really? Do you still love me, even without the spell?”

Her voice was so quiet, he could hardly hear it. “It wasn't the spell that made me love you, Adam. I had started to love you long before you had enchanted me. But I'm as proud as my mother. So I blamed the spell for my desire for you, rather than admitting that it rose from my own heart. I couldn't bear to love you, when it seemed so impossible that you could ever return my love.”

“But I did,” he said. “I do. I always will.”

A gull swooped toward the cliff on whose edge they stood. Adam flung his arms around Zoe to shield her. As he gathered her into his embrace, she nestled against him. He could barely speak, so great was his joy in having her back in his arms where she belonged.