Dark Hero; A Gothic Romance (Reluctant Heroes) (47 page)

“This spell is very specific.” Kieran insisted. “Listen to
the wording, it is very precise: Send a Dark Hero, faithful and true; with hair
black as midnight, and eyes bonny blue. Send a Dark Hero, one we can trust;
with a will forged in iron, yet, tempered and just. Send Elizabeth a champion
with the soul of a Celt, with a heart full of love, a sword on his belt. Bring
a Dark Knight” He paused, giving the old man a significant look before
continuing. “To fulfill all her desires. With a soul that’s been purified;
through blood and through fire.’”

The old man tossed up a hand in dismissal. “The count has
blue eyes, many people do.”

“It’s not his eye color that concerned my grandmother. She
wrote Send Elizabeth a champion!’” Kieran couldn’t contain his excitement. “A
champion is a knight, a trained warrior capable of defending the weak. And a
knight’s first duty is to protect the weak, namely women and children. It’s no
coincidence Sheila put a knight figure in that charm bag.”

Barnaby didn’t comment, but his look was one of impatience.

Kieran glanced down to where he’d marked his place with his
finger, reading the line again. “Send Elizabeth a champion with the soul of a
Celt? Donovan O’Rourke. His mother named him after her parents’ clans. And in
Gaelic Donovan means Dark One. Strange coincidence, wouldn’t you say, when
Sheila was summoning a dark hero? Bring a Dark Knight to fulfill all of her
desires, with a soul that’s been purified through blood and through fire? That
is how he was tortured. I saw it that first time I touched him. Every word of
this spell fits the count precisely.”

Barnaby moved about the room, fingering his goatee, his
habit whenever he was puzzling over something. “Your grandmother was obviously
adept in spell casting. But finding this spell does nothing to aid our present
dilemma.” The old man rubbed his eyes and glanced wearily at the papers arranged
on the bed. “We have to figure out what it is the spirit wants before she
returns and tries to murder Lady Elizabeth again.”

Kieran’s excitement died with that chilling reminder.

Elizabeth was in danger. The count vowed he would not sleep
until he knew his wife was safe from her mother’s vengeful spirit. That was
three nights past. If the man’s surly temperament was any indication, he was
keeping that punishing vow.

 Kieran returned to the table and sat down. He turned the
page and began scanning the next spell, the one Granny Sheila completed
directly following his mother’s burial.

“Here’s a spell listing the ingredients in that pouch.” He
pointed to the offending charm before him on the table. “Sheila took rosemary,
a lock of father’s hair, mother’s and mine. She braided them together. She cut
open her hand and let her blood drip over the braid. She invoked the power of
three, bound by blood.”

“Ah, blood is a powerful medium.” Barnaby agreed. “What was
the spell’s purpose?”

 Reading on, Kieran’s heart sank. “Oh, Granny Sheila, what
have you done?”

*******

“Let him sleep, the poor man.” Barnaby said, when they
entered the laboratory to find their host hunched over the desk with his head on
his arms, sleeping soundly.

Barnaby gazed about the count’s private lair with wonder.
The wooden workbench in the center held a curious array of glass jars, vials
and globes. There were iron pincers, saws, scalpels and other devices of the
medical trade. A microscope was perched on a table near the wide, tall windows.
Jars lined the shelves, holding pickled organs of the human body. Stuffed
creatures perched on shelves if by some magic incantation and were ready to
pounce on an unwelcome intruder should the right words be spoken.

Kieran disliked this room immensely. It held the aura of
death in it.

“Perhaps you’d like to visit your sister.” Barnaby
suggested, noting his unease. “The count allowed her to go downstairs today. I
believe she’s in the salon.”

“No.” Kieran whispered, glancing at the sleeping count. “The
quicker we reverse this spell, the sooner he can go back to sleeping at night
instead of here. It looks uncomfortable.”

A jerking movement across the room signaled that their host
was waking.

“Milord.” Barnaby made a creaky bow to the man who remained
in a perpetually irritated state since the night Elizabeth was attacked. “We
found a way to appease the ghost, thanks to your foresight in allowing us to
peruse this journal.”

“Speak, man.” As his head lifted from his forearms, the
austere blue eyes flashed his fury. “Or do you require money to loosen your
tongue?”

“No, sir. Yes, sir---I mean, of course not my lord.” Barnaby
blustered.

The master of Ravencrest released a long, weary breath and
thrust his fingers through his disheveled hair. “I didn’t mean to be so sharp,
Mr. Barnaby. Have a seat.”

Barnaby took the chair opposite the desk. Kiernan stood
behind his mentor as the old man explained the curse they discovered, ending
with “Lady Elizabeth is the key. We need her assistance to undo the curse.”

“Is this going to be upsetting to her?” The count’s tone
grew predatory once more.

“Milord, there is no other way. My lady has to confess what
occurred on the night her mother died to someone with the power to seek justice
on behalf of her mother.” Barnaby gestured to their host. “Put simply, it means
that by telling you or her grandfather what happened her part of the curse
should end, provided that the party she tells will set the wheels of justice in
motion to avenge Mrs. Fletcher’s murdered soul.”

“Murdered!” Count Rochembeau stood slowly and leaned
purposefully over the desk. His crisp blue eyes fixed upon Barnaby. “My wife
had nothing to do with her mother’s death. Should you try to convince me or
anyone else otherwise, you’ll be facing me at twenty paces.”

“We aren’t implying she’s responsible.” Kieran countered.
“Elizabeth is being attacked because she knows the truth about what happened.”
He paused, choking on the words he would deliver next. “Granny Sheila cursed
Elizabeth along with our mother.”

“Not intentionally, my boy.” Barnaby turned in his seat to
place a comforting hand on Kieran’s arm. “Your grandmother was upset. She
didn’t stop to consider the consequences of what she was doing or how it would
affect your sister.” Barnaby placed the opened book on the desk. He turned it
and pushed the page opened to the curse toward the count, encouraging him to
read it for himself.

The count read the page before him, and his scowl deepened.

“There are two things we know of a certainty.” Barnaby went
on in the confident, steady voice he used to calm hysterical clients. “Mrs.
Fletcher’s death was no accident. And someone witnessed her murder. That
someone, my lord, is your wife.”

*******

They were gathered in the cheery yellow salon; Elizabeth,
Chloe, Uncle Gareth, Michael, his tutor, and even Grandfather Wentworth. Her
grandfather had been carried downstairs in a chair by two footmen. As the house
was in a morose mood after the incident on the stairs, Elizabeth decided she
might arouse some levity amongst her guests by decorating the downstairs rooms
for the Christmas holiday. Since the family and the staff seemed determined to
hover protectively over her every waking moment, Elizabeth informed them they
must all help her with the task. As she was their hostess none dared oppose her
edict.

It turned out better than she expected. Everyone began
sharing Christmas memories as they worked and the atmosphere became cheerful instead
of grim as it had been previously. Elizabeth and Chloe were fashioning garlands
from grape vines and tropical flowers that Chloe and the maids collected from
the garden earlier. Elizabeth was painting sugar paste over the green leaves
with her good hand, trying to mimic frost, while Chloe tied the flowers to the
greenery. The maids attached the bows Michael was cutting from red silk fabric
to the green garlands they created. Grandfather strung some red berries on
heavy thread with more patience then Elizabeth thought possible for a haughty,
self important earl. His fingers were stained red, but he did not utter a
complaint.

Uncle Gareth and Mr. Marceau had their heads together in the
far corner. They were compiling a schedule of entertainments for Christmas Eve.
Even Gus O’Leary, Elizabeth’s somber bodyguard, had been enlisted to help twist
wire loops at intervals in the garlands the women made so they could be hung
over the mantels of every room and the staircase banister.

 Elizabeth wished Donovan were here to share the festive
mood, yet she knew she must accept his strong aversion to social gatherings.
Being shoulder deep in unexpected guests and forced to endure them throughout
dinner and the evening hours was trial enough for him. Given his abominable
mood of late she could not expect him to spend the entire day with her
relations.

Her elder brother had become reclusive as well. Kieran
disappeared directly after breakfast each morning with Mr. Barnaby in tow and
they did not appear again until dinner. Elizabeth wondered why Kieran seemed so
determined to avoid the family. Was it grandfather or Michael that he wished to
avoid? Well, he would continue to feel an outcast in the family for as long as
he chose to absent himself from their company. The only way to overcome his
uneasiness with Grandfather and Michael was actually spend time with them.

Dismissing Kieran and his ill behavior, she hummed a
Christmas carol as she painted the leaves with one hand. Elizabeth was looking
forward to truly celebrating the holiday this year, with all the trimmings, all
the festivity and food that had been denied her in years past. This year, she
was celebrating with her new family and her husband for the first time, and she
was not going to allow anyone’s pouty demeanor to spoil it for her.

“Where shall we hang this, my lady?” Chloe asked, giggling.

Elizabeth considered the ball of leaves and berries tied
together with a red silk cord. It was a kissing ball, made of some local plant
she didn’t recognize instead of mistletoe. “Do you think you have enough
berries, Chloe?”

Her friend giggled impishly. The woman put together the
kissing bough with mostly berries and few leaves, just enough to accent the
heavy concentration of red berries.

“Are you planning on kissing the entire household staff and
then the stable boys? You’re only allowed to kiss someone once, according to
tradition.”

 “Oh, tish-tosh!” Chloe returned, giving Donovan’s uncle a
hungry look. “I do not hold to your strict English traditions, my lady. I’ll
share the berries with you.” She said with a gleam in her eye. “But I do not
believe your man needs any encouragement to steal a kiss.”

At that, they both giggled. Donovan was hopelessly
unconventional. He kissed Elizabeth whenever he pleased, no matter who might be
nearby.

“Have a care, Chloe, it works both ways.” Elizabeth
cautioned, “A man can entice a woman under the mistletoe. As you’re the only
single woman here, you may be tricked into kissing men you’d rather not.” She
leaned closer, whispering, “Like Mr. Marceau!”

Chloe gasped in mock horror, and they giggled some more.

“In that case, I’ll recite the rule of one kiss per
customer.”

Pearl entered their salon and gazed about with amazement for
several moments before delivering the message that his lordship required Lady
Elizabeth’s presence in the laboratory.

She rose and dipped her good hand in the bowl of water to
rinse the sugar paste from it. Chloe stood and patted Elizabeth’s hand dry for
her with her apron. Pearl, always full of childlike wonder, asked what they
were doing. Chloe enthusiastically began to explain their labors to the Indian
and by the time Elizabeth left, Pearl had taken her place at the table.

“Mind if I tag along?” Michael was quick to make his escape.
“I’ve cut dozens of strips from the fabric since luncheon. See, I’ve a dent in
my finger from the scissors.” He said, showing her the affliction. “I’ll just
have a brisk ride about the island and leave you love birds to your afternoon
tryst.”

“I should be so lucky.” Elizabeth muttered as she paused at
the oak door that formed a barricade to her husband’s sanctuary. She couldn’t
escape the feeling of being summoned like a child to receive a scolding, as
happened on her first day here. Donovan had been so moody and withdrawn of
late. “Michael, I think it might be better if you go in with me, if you don’t
mind?”

“Been a bad girl, have we?” Her brother smirked. “Right
then, I expect I owe you for the times you interrupted Papa when he was
thrashing me. You were my hero. You would waltz into the study while everyone
else was cowering behind closed doors, make some outrageous remark to the old
boar and then he’d forget me and chase you up to the attic.”

“And then I ditched him.” Elizabeth put in. “He was easy to
confuse when drunk.”

“I hope this whipping boy bit won’t become a habit. I do
bruise easily.” Michael quipped, feigning a helpless, wounded expression.
Behind the teasing, she sensed a real fear in her brother. Donovan was now his
official legal guardian so it was only logical her brother would be uneasy,
considering Donovan’s ability to intimidate most mortals when he was vexed.

“Donovan isn’t like Papa.” She paused with her hand on the
knob. “Oh, he can be intimidating.” She admitted, “He’ll expect you to give him
an accounting of yourself for what you’ve done if you cross him, but he just
talks, Michael. There is no reason to fear him.”

“Been through this a few times, have we, sis?” Michael’s
eyes gleamed with laughter. “I’ve got to see this. Doesn’t he even toss a few
curse words at you?”

“Of course not, he’s a gentleman.” She laughed as they
entered the laboratory.

 Donovan and the other men rose at her entrance. At the
severe look on her husband’s face her uneasiness returned. “Pearl said you
wanted to see me?”