The Ravencliff Bride (31 page)

“I expect so,” said Sara.

“Look here, I can do this later,” Mrs. Bromley said, laying the candles aside. “Let me see ya to your suite. You’re goin’ ta need your rest. The rain’s slackin’ some. If the storm blows
over by mornin’, so’s the groundskeeper can dig the grave, we’ve got the burial ta deal with.”

“Where will it be?” Sara wondered.

“We’ve got our own graveyard, my lady,” Mrs. Bromley informed her. “It dates back ta the days when Ravencliff was a priory, or some such. It’s all consecrated proper. Watts’ll fetch the vicar down from Padstow when ‘tis time. ‘Tis what the master would want. He’s offered it ta us all for our final restin’ place, so long as we stay in his service, and those o’ us who have no other scrap o’ ground ta go inta when the time comes are grateful for it.”

“The master is a very generous man.”

“That he is, my lady. Nell had no folks livin’. We was her only family, so ta speak. ‘Tis a fine cemetery, my lady—’tis where she’d want ta be, where her friends can visit her now and again, and not cast off on some strange parish. Why, his lordship’s father and mother are buried out there, and them that went before and all. She’ll be keepin’ good company, she will.”

“I think I will go up,” said Sara, letting the housekeeper lead her. “I’m quite exhausted.”

“I can ready ya for bed, but I can’t stay with ya, my lady. There’s just too much to be done here now.”

“That’s quite all right, Mrs. Bromley,” Nell replied. “If the master should return, I want to be told at once—no matter what the hour.”

“O’ course, my lady, and ya lock yourself in up there, ya hear? We don’t want no more untoward happenin’s in this house. My poor ol’ heart won’t stand it.”

“Yes,” said Sara. “I’ll be sure and do that.”

Dr. Breeden repaired to the master suite to keep the vigil with Mills after dinner. They were closeted in the sitting room sipping sherry, which Mills poured one-handed, his left arm being confined to a sling.

“How is that elbow?” the doctor inquired.

“Mending,” said the valet, as convincingly as he could manage. It was swollen and throbbing; a nasty sprain.

“Hmmm,” growled the doctor. “Old bones mend slowly. You’d best favor that for awhile.”

“I never expected to make ‘old bones,’ ” the valet observed. “I’ll be careful. Thank God it wasn’t my pistol hand. I never doubted Nero—not for a second—but I’d never seen him in such a taking before, and that worried me. It was as if he had gone mad. Now we have proof positive that my faith in him was well-founded. The master was with her ladyship when Nell was killed. He left her to find out what happened, and never returned. He wasn’t there when the rest of the staff arrived, and he never returned to my lady. Where could he be all this while, Dr. Breeden? I’ve wracked my brain over and over, and I cannot puzzle it out.”

“It was Mallory’s wolf incarnation that killed the girl, that’s obvious, but we cannot tell that to the guards. They’ll have us carted off to the madhouse.” The physician gestured toward the dressing room. “Did you see the look on their faces when they saw that door?”

“I think they accepted my story, that we were trying to confine the animal until they arrived, and that he chewed through the wood, knocked me down, and escaped the house when I tried to stop him with my pistol. It was the only thing I could think of.”

“They believed you, of course, but it made them all the more anxious to continue the search until the animal is found and destroyed.”

“What we must do is have the master back, and make certain that never happens,” Mills replied.

“I doubt they believed the animal was a stray—not after the tales your hall boy told in the village. Especially not that Captain Renkins, strutting and preening and gloating that he’d known something untoward was afoot out here. I don’t envy his lordship, he’s going to have the Devil’s own time convincing him of that once he returns. What bothers me is
that his lordship hasn’t changed back in all this time. He should have done by now, unless, as you say, he is still in the same state of distress. The other alternative is too terrible to consider.”

Mills entreated the doctor to elaborate with a silent stare. He couldn’t bring himself to voice what was gnawing at his reason, either.

“That he has met with a similar fate as poor Nell,” said Breeden. “We have to face the possibility, Mills. You yourself have said that Nero is a docile wolf. We both know Mallory’s incarnation is not. I wonder are they equally matched.”

“Considering how we last saw Nero, I would have to say yes, Doctor.” Mills defended. “After all these years, I can almost read Nero’s mind. Some, if not all, of his distress was over my lady. I thought so then. I’d stake my life upon it now. His lordship had been with her just prior to finding Nell savaged. He came here right after, and transformed before our very eyes. He loves her very much, Dr. Breeden. He won’t be calmed until the stress of that is alleviated.”

“Then, we must find him and calm him, Mills, as quickly as we can.”

“Why? You think he might never change back if we don’t?” Gooseflesh riddled the valet’s spine until the bones snapped.

“I cannot say for certain,” said the doctor. “Studies such as these are all speculative at best. We’re plowing untilled soil, as it were. There is scant material on shapeshifters to draw from, and there doesn’t seem to be a defined pattern of behavior that threads through all the known cases. I’m groping in the dark here, and I certainly hope I’m wrong, but Mallory was in a blind rage when he transformed, wasn’t he, and he hasn’t changed back, either . . . has he?”

Sara locked the door to her suite while Mrs. Bromley waited outside. Once the housekeeper’s heavy footfalls receded along the corridor, she unlocked it again, and left it ajar for
Nero, just as she always did. Everything was in readiness. The food she’d collected was bundled away with the sash from her blue voile gown, which would suffice for a leash, and she’d climbed into bed to wait wearing her nightdress and wrapper. All that remained was for Nero to make his appearance.

Outside, the wind had died to a sighing murmur and the rain had ceased tapping on the window glass. The soft moaning echo of the sea crashing on the shore below began to lull her to sleep in spite of her resolve to stay awake. She dared not give in to it. If Nero didn’t come to her, she would have to go to him, wherever that might be. The burial would certainly take place in the morning, now that the storm was passing. Then the guards would return, and they would find him, and they would kill him.

If only Nicholas weren’t so set against her in this. If only he were as fond of Nero as she was, and she could have appealed to him—but he wasn’t, and she was almost glad of his absence. If he were in residence, he would be first in line with a loaded pistol against the poor animal. These thoughts fed her dark, disturbing dreams as she dozed, all tangled into recollections of his deep, sensuous kiss, the power of his strong arms around her, the pressure of his hardness—the taste and feel and scent of him. She awoke with a start to a different scent, the musty odor of unwashed animal fur. Her eyes came open with a start.

“There you are!” she murmured. “I knew you’d come. I have a present for you.” She lifted the food parcel from the dry sink next to the four-poster, and waved it in front of his nose. “Ah-ah-ah, not yet,” she said, sliding her feet to the floor. “You have to be a good boy and come with me first.”

Slipping the loop she’d made in the sash over his head, Sara pulled it tight enough that he couldn’t slip out of it, took up the food parcel and candlestick, and led the animal out into the deserted hallway. It wouldn’t be deserted long. It was nearly first light, and she hurried below, thankful that he
was more interested in the food than proving his alpha-wolf status. He was in one of his moods again, nipping at the parcel, and blowing snorts through his nose that were too close to growls for her liking.

“No, you have to wait,” she scolded, holding the parcel out of his reach. He did curl his lips back then, but they were nearly at the alcove room and, with the end of her mission in sight, resolution overcame fear.

He was used to traveling the passageway; that was obvious in the way he almost led her at the end, but he seemed to want to go into the tunnel, and she had to pull him back into the alcove. He’d nearly ripped open the food parcel, and she had to set the candlestick down to keep it out of his reach while she groped for the panel.

“All this could have been avoided, you know, if only you’d stayed in here,” she said, feeling for the spring mechanism. “I don’t know how you did get out, unless you tripped a spring on the other side. You mustn’t do it again. The guards will be here in the morning. They will
shoot
you on sight if they find you roaming these halls.”

It was becoming harder and harder to hold him. When her hands released the spring, she cried out in relief and nudged the narrow timber aside, expecting to find an empty chamber. Instead, two shiny dark eyes glowing red-gold in the candlelight glared back at her, and a tousled mass of silver-tipped black fur trailing a burgundy brocade dressing gown sash heaved through the opening, trampling a mound of splintered wood.

Sara dropped the food parcel and leash, as a rumble of bloodcurdling snarls echoed along the corridor. Before her wide-flung eyes, two streaks—no more than a blur—of shaggy, hackle-raised fur leaped into midair and collided, their bodies locked chest to chest in a tangle of muscle, sinew, and bared fangs, flinging drool and foam.

“My God!” she shrilled. “
There are two of you!
”

Nero had a death grip on the other wolf’s shoulder, but
when Sara’s screams distracted him, the beast broke Nero’s hold and lunged for her with deadly aim at her throat. Again Nero sailed through the air, impacting the other, spoiling its aim and clamping sharp fangs into the shoulder of his barrel-chested adversary, until the wolf yelped its discomfort.

Still concentrating on Sara, the animal lunged again, and again Nero clamped down with deadly jaws, this time on the back of the wolf’s neck. It screamed, spun, and plunged yowling into the tunnel, dragging Sara’s blue silk sash behind it.

Nero threw back his head and loosed a triumphant howl that reverberated along the passageway once, twice—three earsplitting times, before he began to run in circles, backing Sara against the wall as his path widened in the narrow confines of the corridor. Then there was no more room to run. On the cutting edge of yet another mournful howl, he sprang through the air, and Nicholas emerged from the silvery blur of fur and fang and muscle, surging to his full height, before dropping spent and breathless to his knees, naked, at Sara’s feet.

Staggering upright, Nicholas tore the dressing gown sash from his neck and spun toward her, shaking his damp hair out of his eyes, his broad chest heaving, glistening with sweat. For a split second, their gazes locked in the flickering semidarkness as the candles faded, then failed altogether just as Sara did, collapsing unconscious in his arms.

Grinding out a string of blue expletives, Nicholas scooped Sara up, and carried her along the passageway to a different panel than the one she had come through. He needed no light to find his way. Possessed of night vision in both incarnations, he traveled the convoluted passageway with ease to a hidden door obscured by a tapestry. It led to the back stairs, and he took them two at a stride to the third floor, and stepped out into the shadowy corridor.

No one was about. It was still at least an hour before dawn. Hoping that Mills and the doctor had retired to their respective rooms, he made his stealthy way to the master suite unseen, and laid Sara on the bed. She looked so pale and still lying there. If he hadn’t felt her sweet breath puffing against his skin as he carried her, he would have sworn she was dead.

The catastrophe had happened. There was nothing to be done about it now, and he raked his wet hair back from a pleated brow, and yanked his burgundy dressing gown from the wardrobe in the corner. Untangling the sash Sara had
tied around Nero’s neck, he cinched it about his waist ruthlessly. He didn’t even remember bringing it with him from the lower regions.

Sitting beside her on the bed, he began a frantic search of her person, praying he would find no wounds. He had not bitten her, of that he was certain, but Mallory’s wolf had come close on several occasions—too close. His hands were trembling, his heart hammering against his ribs as he examined her slender throat, her arms, hands, and legs. Nothing. No blood, no break in that translucent skin anywhere.

“Thank God,” he murmured, heaving a mammoth sigh. Should he wake her? God, no! Let her stay so, at least until he’d formed some sort of defense. What that would be, he had no idea, and he began to pace the carpet, his hands clasped in white-knuckled fists behind him in a vain attempt to give birth to a plausible explanation. All at once, a shuffling sound at his back spun him around to find Mills, in his nightshirt, one arm in a linen sling, the other aiming a flint-lock at his middle.

“Oh, my lord!” the misty-eyed valet gushed, lowering the pistol to his side, as though it weighed ten stone. “Praise God in His heaven! We’d all but given you up.”

“Shhh,” Nicholas hissed, nodding toward Sara.

“What’s happened?” the valet murmured.

“The worst,” said Nicholas, drawing him into the sitting room, for fear of waking Sara. “It happened right in front of her.”

“Is she . . . ?”

“No. She’s just fainted,” said Nicholas. “What have you done to yourself?”

“The other animal knocked me down, and spoiled my aim. Dr. Breeden’s seen to it. It’s nothing. Where have you been, my lord? We have been half out of our minds with worry.”

“I was with Sara in the green suite when Nell screamed.
Another moment, and there would have been no more talk of petitioning the Archbishop of Canterbury. I went to see what had occurred, and found Nell . . . what was left of her. I knew at once it was Alex, and I knew something else, too. He has been visiting Sara as well. She thought
Nero
was suffering from changes of mood, and she was concerned because he frightened her at times.