Darkest Dreams Page 29

  Above the thundering of my heart, I already felt an excruciating pain wrench me deeply inside. I’d never encountered such evil. The man was completely insane, and Sir Warwick just stared at the constable and his Inquisitional toy with a look of utter fascination on his face.

  The constable glanced at Sir Warwick. “You were supposed to have her ready for me.”

  “I was delayed. By trying to frame Blackmoor, you’ve put their guard up against even me. So while I had the opportunity, I had to take the time to assure the earl will wallow in pain for the rest of his life.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “His whore and his brat will disappear tonight. They’re in the caves.”

  “You imbecile! Now I’ve even less time. Your vendetta against the earl is ruining everything. Putting that brat on the roof only made them question more. Things haven’t been the same since.”

  “You told me to shut the brat up,” Warwick said.

  “We’ll discuss this later.”

  The constable grabbed my bound wrists and hauled me to me feet. I screamed and gagged from the horror of his thoughts as they whirled through my mind. Images of women screaming for mercy as he tortured their bodies. He painfully jerked the gag down, cutting my lip against my teeth. Bitter blood filled my mouth.

  “Scream for me,” he rasped, excited. “I want to hear you scream.” He grabbed my thumb and wrenched it back. I cried out at the pain stabbing up my arm and fell to my knees.

  An almost orgasmic euphoria filled the constable’s mind. It was short-lived. Images of a small boy huddled in a corner watching man after man use a naked, broken woman every way imaginable on a dirty pallet and tossing a coin on the floor when they’d finished flashed through his mind. Those images were followed by ones of the boy stabbing that woman over and over again.

  “You killed your mother,” I said, gasping to hold back my need to scream again with pain. No matter what, I had to keep him from feeding off my pain, even if he killed me in the process. Provoking his rage would be less painful than satisfying his desire.

  He let go of me and stepped back.

  “Your mother was a helpless prostitute, and you stabbed her to death.”

  “You liar!” he screamed at me.

  “I can read your thoughts, you bastard. You’re unworthy to judge or punish anyone.” Though I didn’t believe one’s birth determined one’s worth, he did, and I used it.

  “What does she mean? Read your thoughts?” Sir Warwick asked the constable, moving closer.

  “She’s lying,” yelled the constable. Grabbing my hair, he pulled me up and dragged me to the stone table, where chains were anchored to hold victims in place for torture. Tears spilled from my eyes, and my scalp felt as if it were on fire. Shoving me down upon the slab, he grabbed my wrists, wrapped a chain around them and wrenched them over my head. I focused on seeing into his mind. It was a roaring hell unimaginable anywhere but in the depth of the most evil, damned souls.

  Through the slew of murders marching like grotesque soldiers through his mind I saw Mary’s image and his thoughts about her. “Mary was an innocent virgin, and you raped her,” I cried.

  “What?” Sir Warwick asked, his face twisting in surprise.

  “She’s lying.” He squeezed my breast hard.

  I wrenched away, screaming at him. His thoughts flooded my mind. “That’s why you didn’t torture her as you did the others. And Lady Helen too! She came to you for help because Sir Warwick had stolen the jewels the earl had given her. You beat and raped her and put her in the maze from the tunnels. The symbol means they were virgin sacrifices.”

  “She knows. She’s a witch,” said Sir Warwick, shaken.

  “See this ring of a serpent on my finger?” I said, directing them to Aphrodite’s ring. “It protects me. I can see the future too, and you’re both hanging with the birds feeding on your carcasses. Alex and Sean are almost here.”

  The constable took a step back. “She wears the mark of the serpent. She must be burned at the stake. It will be the only way to purge her from Satan’s hand. Unchain her,” he ordered Sir Warwick.

  “Touch me, and I’ll tell your darkest secrets to the world,” I told them, glaring at them as I forced myself not to struggle or show any weakness.

  “You do it, you unclean, lying bastard,” Sir Warwick sneered to the constable. “The son of a cheap whore.”

  The constable swung around and slammed his fist into Sir Warwick’s face. “Your mother was a whore too. Just a rich one kept by Dartraven’s father. And your wife, as well. Isn’t that why you poisoned her? All women eventually become whores.”

  My mind reeled, but I didn’t have a chance to filter through the implications of his words.

  “Get her loose now.” The constable pulled out a long knife and brandished it at Sir Warwick.

  Warwick pulled out a pistol and smiled.

  “You don’t want to kill me just yet,” the constable said. “You’ve got Dartraven’s woman. You’ve watched her long enough that you want her before you eliminate her, don’t you? Just think how much you can torment your half brother if you send photographs of her being used, of her being punished.”

  Sir Warwick gazed at the constable, admiration rekindling in his eyes.

  “Drop the knife,” Alex demanded in a low and deadly voice as he entered the room, pistol pointed. Sean stood right beside him and was armed as well.

  Constable Poole laughed and lifted the knife higher. Straining against the chains, I kicked the constable in the back just as Alex fired. Alex and Sean ducked, and Sean fired too. One bullet hit the constable’s face, decimating his left cheek. The other dug a furrow along his temple. He fell against the shelves of torture devices, knocking a number of them down on his head. One sharp metal spike pierced his groin, and he screamed in pain and passed out. I wanted to chain him in place and leave him just like that until his flesh turned as rotten as his soul.

  Turning away, I tried to shove that thought aside. I couldn’t let what he was make me like him. I saw Sir Warwick move.

  “Watch out!” I yelled as Sir Warwick pointed his pistol at Sean’s head. Warwick fired. Twisting, Alex knocked Sean aside, and the bullet that would have killed him hit Alex.

  “Alex!” I screamed.

  Sean shot from his position on the floor, and Sir Warwick dropped his pistol, grabbing his stomach.

  Alex staggered over to me, unleashing the chain wrapping my bound wrists. His face was grim, twisted with pain, blood spread wildly down the front of his shirt. Before he freed me, he keeled over, passing out on top of me. His only discernable thought was that he had to marry me now.

  “Sean,” I cried. “Alex is hurt badly. Help me!”

  Sean rushed over. He cut the rope binding my wrists, and the chain fell free. My arms and hands stung horribly, and I cried out as I tried to touch Alex.

  “Help is coming,” Sean said as he cut through the rope at my ankles, then lifted Alex into his arms. “Can you walk?” Sean planned to carry Alex upstairs. Sir Warwick groaned from where he twisted with pain in the corner.

  I scrambled up, my body shuddering from the effort. I knew that Alex’s wound was bleeding too much. “Lay Alex down, Sean. Bring the doctor here. Alex won’t make it if you move him.”

  Sean stared hard at me a second. Then he set Alex on the stone table. I quickly gathered the hem of my robe and pressed hard against Alex’s wound, digging deep into the soft tissue where his arm and shoulder met. But my arms were shaking so badly that I feared I wasn’t doing him any good. “Get the doctor quickly,” I cried.

  “I can’t leave you. Stuart will be here with the doctor soon. Let me do that,” said Sean. Pushing my hands aside, he applied deep steady pressure to Alex’s wound. “You aren’t going to die! You had bloody well hear me, Alex! I’ll find a way to follow you to the grave and bring you back.” Sean cried quietly then, and I shut my eyes and prayed that there wouldn’t be any more graves dug in Dartmoor’s End for a very lon
g time, except for Constable Poole’s and Sir Warwick’s. But even that seemed too humane for the monsters they were.

  The five minutes before the doctor and Stuart appeared seemed like a lifetime. They were accompanied by the earl, Lord Ashton and Mr. Drayson. I didn’t pay any attention to what was happening to Sir Warwick or Constable Poole. My mind was focused on Alex.

  The minute Sean released pressure for Dr. Luden to see the wound, blood surged in a flood.

  “An artery has been hit,” said the doctor urgently. “Press here so hard you think you’re going to break his ribs.” He shoved Sean’s hands to a certain place on Alex’s chest. “Stuart, hold Alex down; don’t let him move or he’ll likely lose his arm.” Dr. Luden looked at me. “I’m going to need your help. Can you do it?”

  “Yes.”

  The next thirty minutes passed excruciatingly slow. The doctor liberally poured eye-burning antiseptic over everything. He soaked Alex’s bared chest and gaping wound. Then he poured it down his arms and hands, my arms and hands, and into the metal case that contained small surgical instruments. Then he opened the wound wider with a knife, and as I handed him different instruments, he removed the bullet and stitched Alex’s wound closed.

  “Now all we can do is clean him up and pray he doesn’t develop a high fever. If infection sets in, he’ll lose his arm anyway. During the Crimean War an injury like that did cost a man his arm. We’d have to amputate and cauterize before—”

  The world went completely black, and all that I could think was I was falling off the ends of the earth and would disappear forever.

  When I awoke, it was to Cassie and Gemini’s concerned faces in my own bedroom in Killdaren’s Castle and I learned an entire day had passed.

  “Alex,” I said, scrambling up from the bed, my head throbbing.

  Cassie pressed me back upon the pillows. “Is alive. Now you need to take care of yourself.” She looked quickly away and busied herself with the counterpane.

  I grabbed her hand.

  “Bloody hell, is he insane?” I exclaimed as I read her thoughts. Burning with a fever, wounded Alex had left Dragon’s Cove and was currently sailing along the treacherous coastline, making ever-widening circles, dredging a fishing net through the water in his search for a body. Sean had hired an army of men. Half of them were guarding Killdaren’s Castle, and the other half scoured the shore. While being transported in a cart with his hands bound, Constable Jack Poole had escaped, even though he had been unconscious until that point. His guards chased him to the cliffs of Dragon’s Cove where he jumped into the sea. His body had yet to be found.

  “Good God. This is awful.” I released Cassie’s hand and pushed back the covers.

  “Andromeda Andrews! Just exactly what do you think you’re going to be able to do about anything?” Gemini asked, her face flushing with anger.

  “You’ve already done what you can,” Cassie added. “Now it’s time to let the men do what they can.”

  “You’re saying that?”

  She cleared her throat. “This investigative stuff is entirely too dangerous. We’ve all come close to dying this summer, and I am declaring an end to it. Are there any arguments from either of you?” She looked at Gemini, who shook her head. Then Cassie glared at me.

  “I—no.” Sighing, I leaned back again. “What about Sir Warwick? Surely he didn’t escape as well.”

  “No. The earl’s half-brother is hovering on the edge of the very painful death of being gut shot. Dr. Luden, who refused to give the man anything for pain, says that he’ll be dead in a day.”

  “Not that it’s important, but why didn’t anyone ever say they were brothers?”

  Cassie shook her head. “No one knew except the earl. Apparently Warwick’s mother was the ward of the Earl of Dartraven’s grandfather. The Earl of Dartraven’s father, who was engaged to a relation of royalty, seduced Warwick’s mother. They set her up in a nearby manor and married her to a poor local barrister named Warwick. Had they done what was right, Warwick by all rights should have been the Earl of Dartraven. Warwick spent his whole life doing and saying everything he could to subtly ruin the earl and his family.”

  “Prudence and Rebecca,” I gasped, realizing that I didn’t know what had happened to them.

  “They are fine, and I expect will be even finer very soon. The earl has asked Prudence to marry him.” Gemini clasped her hands, giving emphasis to her words.

  “It’s about time.”

  “Well, it’s not official yet.” Cassie smiled, as if enjoying a secret.

  “What?”

  “Prudence has informed the earl that she’ll accept his offer shortly, but wants a wee bit of time to assure herself he can be the attentive husband and loving father she and Rebecca deserve.”

  I smiled, feeling all tingly that Prudence had realized her own worth as a person and wasn’t going to settle for what crumbs life dished out to those not willing to grasp their own happiness when it passed them. I clasped my hands and felt the familiar curl of the golden, green-eyed serpent around my finger—Aphrodite’s ring. Looking into its eyes brought an odd feeling of unrest to my heart. Had I done that? Had I let happiness pass me by without even trying to grasp it?

  No. How can you grasp what doesn’t exist? If in those moments of absolute dire emotion Alex didn’t love me, then he never would.

  I met Jamie for the first time the very next day when I walked into the kitchens to pilfer a scone. I hadn’t felt much like eating, but Mrs. Murphy had the entire castle smelling so strongly that my mouth watered despite my lack of interest. I’d had to get out of my bed.

  At first Jamie’s sheer sized took me aback, and I wondered if I’d suddenly shrunk to the Lilliputian size depicted in Gulliver’s Travels. He stood towering above Stuart, Mrs. Frye and Mrs. Murphy. He was very pale and trembled with every movement. It was then that I saw how baggy the clothes he wore were. He’d apparently lost a tremendous amount of weight.

  “Scones, Jamie, fresh scones just for you.” Tears were streaming down Mrs. Frye’s cheeks.

  “N-n-no,” Jamie cried. “C-c-can’t. S-s-sick.”

  It would take time for Jamie to heal. I tentatively walked farther into the kitchens.

  Mrs. Frye gasped and turned away.

  Jamie looked at me, and I wanted to cry from the bruises on his face. “M-m-mary?”

  I decided to follow Cassie’s lead. There would be time enough when Jamie was well to learn my name. “Yes. Remember? I need you to help me. You have to eat to help me.”

  “Broth?” I looked at Mrs. Murphy. “Do you have some?”

  She pointed to a bowl and spoon on the counter.

  “Sit before you fall down, Jamie,” I told him firmly as I shoved a stool behind him and tugged on his sleeve. When I touched him, I could see his thoughts. He was afraid. Food had made him sick in the prison, and he thought all food would make him sick now.

  “Jamie, this food won’t hurt you. It is good food now. You won’t get any bad food any more. Do you understand?”

  “G-g-good. M-m-mary?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hurt you,” he cried. “M-m-mary hurt you.”

  I saw it then. How Jamie had been trying to help a wounded fox that had run into the caves. Maybe he’d seen the fox while searching the shore for Mary. He’d followed the fox and had found Mary’s body then in the chamber under the Circle of the Stone Virgins. He’d cried and cried. From the image in Jamie’s mind, Mary had been dead for some time. If Jamie confused Cassie and Mary, no wonder Cassie’s appearance had upset him.

  “This is medicine, Jamie. Medicine to make Jamie well to help.” I held the bowl of broth in my hands and gave Jamie the spoon.

  He took a shaky spoonful, then several more.

  “Thank God,” Stuart said. “I’ll be back shortly.”

  He crossed the kitchens. “Where are you going, Stuart Frye?” Mrs. Murphy asked. “I’ve fresh scones that need to be eaten.”

  “I’ll be back.
First I have to speak to my father. The earl said he had some horses for sale.”

  “What are you going to do with horses now?” Mrs. Frye asked as she cautiously drew closer to where I stood next to Jamie.

  “Haven’t you heard of the Frye brothers, Mother? They’re famous. They’re the best horse breeders and trainers in all of Ireland.” There were tears in Stuart’s dark eyes.

  Mrs. Frye shook her head in confusion. She started to say something else to Stuart, and I touched her sleeve, drawing her attention to me. “Every man has to have a dream,” I whispered. “And every woman too.”

  I didn’t have one.

  “I stopped dreaming a very long time ago,” Mrs. Frye said. “Dreams are for fools.”

  I blinked at her, wondering if I would be just like her forty years from now. “No. Dreams belong to those who are alive, not to fools. Fools are the ones who don’t believe in them. They shrivel up and die inside.” I slid the bowl into her hand. “The food in prison made Jamie sick, so now he thinks all food will make him sick. If you want him to eat, for now you have to tell him it’s medicine until he gets well enough to understand.”

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “Cassie’s sister and hopefully not a fool.”

  The scones turned out to be the most delicious meal of my life. Later that day, when I told Cassie and Stuart what I’d seen, they’d both cried, tears of guilt and tears of relief to finally understand what had happened. But that was the only relief in the tension winding around Killdaren’s Castle. The rest of the week passed as if everyone was holding their breath. Sir Warwick died and was buried. Cassie, Gemini, Prudence and Bridget lit a fire for him and burned all of the gruesome cards from the music room. A second week passed, and we knew we were going to die if we didn’t get out.