Dark Hero; A Gothic Romance (Reluctant Heroes) (48 page)

“Yes, darlin’.” Donovan was quick to come around the desk to
embrace her as if they’d been parted for a very long time, not mere hours.

Elizabeth welcomed his possessive embrace. She had become
accustomed to his displays of affection in front of others. As a solitary man,
Donovan did not care what anyone thought of his behavior. Even Grandfather
seemed to sense that her spouse was not a man to be trifled with and refrained
from directing any withering remarks toward his host. Unfortunately, the rest
of the family was not so privileged as to be spared censure by the elderly
tyrant.

Donovan led her to his chair behind his desk. “Michael, this
is a private matter. Run along. We’ll see you at dinner.”

Michael appeared hurt by Donovan’s curt dismissal. He eyed
Kieran and Mr. Barnaby with resentment. “I’ll just be off to the stables.” He
mumbled, closing the door.

Donovan gestured for her to sit in his chair behind the
desk. She did so. He stood behind it, leaning over with his forearms dangling
above her head, reminding her of a hawk perched on a nest protecting its young.
Something nasty was in the offing. Mr. Barnaby, who was always a very pleasant
fellow, looked exceedingly grave. Kieran, too, gazed at them with a severity.

Elizabeth’s mind sprang into action, immediately fashioning
an escape. She could plead a headache and retreat to her room. She considered
the idea. The large hand caressing her temple settled the matter. She would not
resort to lying to this man who loved her so fiercely. Donovan worried
constantly over her health and she’d given him enough anxiety on that account
without needing to fake a complaint and alarm him further.

No one spoke. The two men kept looking at her, as if waiting
for a signal to proceed.

“Your brother and Mr. Barnaby have been investigating the
haunting at my request. They’ve discovered something and wish to discuss it with
us, my sweet.” Donovan took charge of the situation. With that, he nodded his
permission for the inquisition to begin.

Chapter
Forty One

“My lady, your husband was kind enough to lend us this book
so that we might attempt to learn why your mother’s ghost has been trying to
communicate with you.” Mr. Barnaby held up The O’Flaherty Book of Secrets.

Elizabeth gasped, and turned to look at her husband. “You
took that from my room, without asking me?” She didn’t know if she was more
hurt or angry at the intrusion. “That is a private journal. It belongs to my
family.”

“I’m trying to save your life.” Donovan replied in a tone
that did not welcome further debate. “I deemed it necessary to allow your
brother, who is also of O’Flaherty descent, to study it for some clue as to why
this is happening to you. Go on Mr. Barnaby.”

Mr. Barnaby spoke in a confident, moderated tone of one
accustomed to dealing with a subject most people found distressing. “Your
grandmother O’Flaherty fashioned a curse that affects both you and your
mother.”

“That’s impossible.” Elizabeth argued, unable to keep the
surge of emotion from her voice. “Sheila was my flesh and blood. She would
never do anything to hurt me!”

“Not intentionally.” The old man raised a hand in protest to
her argument. “When your grandmother fashioned this spell, I doubt she had any
idea it would bring direct harm to you. Yet its power is evident in your life
today, just the same.”

“If I may?” Mr. Barnaby asked her spouse. At Donovan’s nod,
he began reading the curse aloud. “Angela Wentworth-O’Flaherty-Fletcher, your
soul shall never rest, your grave will lack peace until justice is
accomplished, until the wrong done to my family is avenged. You kept silent as
a grave, unwilling to speak or act for those without a voice. You denied them
justice through your cowardice, thus, justice shall be denied your murdered
soul. By the power of three, bound by blood; my blood, Shawn’s blood, and
Kieran’s blood—O’Flaherty blood; you’ll wander this earth a restless spirit until
those who know the truth are willing to speak for you and set the wheel of
justice turning to avenge your murdered soul.”

Elizabeth was silent as the reality of Sheila’s spell washed
over her.

She never dreamed her grandmother could be capable of such unrelenting
cruelty.

The betrayal brought a bitter taste to her mouth. She
gripped the arm of the chair with rigid fingers. She wanted to scream, to throw
something, to break something. Granny Sheila knew the years of suffering Mama
endured at Fletcher’s hand, yet she blamed Mama for the wrongs done to her own
family and cursed the poor woman for it? Good heavens, was she senile after
all?

Elizabeth could not contain the agony tearing through her
throat. She gasped out her pain. She released the arm of the chair and sat
forward, her head in her good hand. Poor Mama! Before the haunting, Elizabeth
considered her mother to be a pathetic victim; weak, afraid of her own shadow,
unable to stand up to the man who made her life hell. Elizabeth saw her as
Sheila had, with only contempt, not mercy or understanding.

After being married to a man she didn’t know, seeing how
dependent a woman was made to be on her spouse, Elizabeth began to better
understand her mother’s perspective. Society was not charitable toward women.
According to the law they were at the mercy of a male relative or the man they
married. Mama was fortunate in that she had a powerful father, whom she might
have been able to gain help from in securing a divorce--had she lived. Fletcher
killed her before she could take that bold step.

And then, to be cursed in death so she could never find the
peace she deserved--all because Sheila didn’t think Mama dealt with Father’s
death or Fletcher’s abusive nature in the manner Sheila wished her to. It was
utterly cruel. Vindictive. Unforgivable. Elizabeth struggled to contain her
tears. She would not cry in front of them. She wouldn’t!

Donovan’s hand was on her shoulder. He moved around the
chair, and was crouched on his haunches beside her. She lifted her head to face
the men before her.

No one spoke. Everyone was looking at her, waiting for her
to respond.

“I am very sorry, my lady.” The old man pushed his
spectacles up. “This is what comes when magic is used in a rash moment of
anger. The person doesn’t stop to consider how the working will affect those
connected to the person they’ve cursed. Lady Elizabeth, in order for us to help
your mother find peace, you must tell us the secret you’ve been keeping all
these years.”

There it was, laid bare in front of her. Elizabeth remained
silent, not daring to speak.

“According to this, we know your mother was murdered, my
lady.” It was the old man speaking as they all continued to study her. “You
were there that night. You’ve been frightened, as anyone would be to witness
such a ghastly crime at a tender age, but you must speak, Madame. You must tell
us who killed your mother and how, so she will have no further cause to oppress
you. It’s the only way to free both of you from this curse.”

 “Don’t be afraid, Lizzie.” Donovan’s hand stroked along her
arm to settle on her shoulder. “You can tell me.”

She focused on him, on his beloved face. “He said no one
would believe me over him.”

“I believe you, Elizabeth.” His hand moved to cup her cheek.
“Fletcher told you that, didn’t he? He wanted you to think no one would believe
you if you told the truth about what happened that night. It was the only way
he could keep you silent.”

 She nodded, unable to speak as the pain constricted her
throat.

He took her hand and squeezed it. “Your mother didn’t fall
down the stairs, did she?”

“No.” Her voice transformed into a crude croak. She closed
her eyes, took in a great gulp of air and clutched his big hand, seeking the
strength he offered her.

“What happened that night?” Donovan persisted, his arm
coming about her back as he leaned in to draw her close. “Tell us--no--tell me,
Lizzie. I’ll believe you. I swear it.”

“They were arguing.” She whispered in a rough, pain deepened
voice. “About Sheila.” Elizabeth sniffled and swallowed the pain. “He wanted
Mama to send Sheila away, literally to toss her out into the street. Mama
refused. She threatened to divorce him. She said she could enlist the help of
grandfather to procure a divorce. That made him angry. He grabbed her by the
hair and dragged her to the top of the stairs. He said, ‘Useless bitch, you
can’t divorce me if you’re dead.’ And then he pushed her.”

A sharp outcry from across the desk startled her. Kieran was
sitting in the chair Barnaby had vacated. Kieran clutched his throat as if he
were in pain. He was in pain, she realized. They were magnets, the two of them.
He could feel her pain resonating within him, and it was magnified by his own
at hearing of his mother’s murder. Mr. Barnaby stood over him, trying to
console him.

“Where were you, dearest?” Donovan asked gently, drawing her
to focus her attention upon him. “Where were you when all of this was
happening?”

Elizabeth gazed into pools of soft azure blue as the sound
of her jagged breathing became the only sound in the room. Seeing her distress,
Donovan pulled her against him. His warm hand cradled the back of her head,
guiding it to rest on his shoulder, effectively turning her gaze away from
their guests. He held her like that for several moments while she attempted to
regain her composure. The scent of his tobacco wafted about her, and the clean,
masculine smell of his skin.

At last, she recovered her courage. “I was hiding behind a
curtain in the hallway outside Mama’s room. I saw him drag her down the hall. I
saw him push her down the stairs. I rushed out to confront him. He grabbed me
and started choking me with his hand at my throat. I thought he was going to
kill me, too.”

“Yes. I’m sure you did.” Donovan crooned. “You must have
been terrified.” He was nuzzling her hair at the top of her head with his lips
as he spoke. “But you’re my brave lass, aren’t you. What happened next? Did he
say anything to you?”

She nodded into his shoulder. The fabric of his vest was wet
from her tears. “He said if I told anyone what I saw he’d tell the authorities
I pushed her down the stairs. He said they’d hang me at Tyburn, and Sheila with
me. He said he would tell them she was a witch and that she made me turn on my
own mother. He instructed me to wait twenty minutes, and then summon the
constable. I was to tell them Mama fell due to her Laudanum addiction, and I
found her lying there at the bottom of the stairs. I was to say Papa wasn’t
home when it happened, he was at his club and then ask them to send word to him
there about the accident.”

“Cunning.” Mr. Barnaby commented. “He made it appear as if
he wasn’t home when the incident occurred.”

“Like a fox.” Donovan agreed. “My poor Lizzie. He left you
to deal with the authorities, and Michael. It was you who had to tell Michael
about your mother’s death.”

Elizabeth wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, and
sniffled as more rose and threatened to dampen them further. “I told Michael
she was with the angels. I didn’t know what else to say.” Donovan hugged her,
trying to absorb some of her pain. His chin rested on her head and his strong
hands moved comfortingly along her spine.

“There now, I have you. I have you, Dearest.” Donovan was
crouched on his heels in front of her, supporting her weight as she leaned into
him.

“Michael must never know.” Elizabeth whispered hoarsely.

No one responded, no one said a word. They just kept staring
at her.

“Please, it was Michael’s father who killed our mother. No
child should have to live with the knowledge that his father killed his mother.
It would be a terrible burden for him.”

“Yes.” Donovan soothed. “The truth will remain here, between
us. Agreed?” He turned to the two across the desk, waiting for their response.

“Of course.” Barnaby said, gazing at Elizabeth with empathy.
“A girl of fourteen should not have to deal with her mother’s death alone,
without adults to turn to. You are a courageous young woman, my lady. A
singular young woman.”

“Captain Fletcher will be punished.” Donovan looked about
the room as he spoke, as if expecting Mama to appear. “I will see to it
personally. And now, Mrs. Fletcher should have no further cause to attack
Elizabeth, isn’t that right, Barnaby?”

“I believe so.” The old man sounded less than certain. “Is
that the whole of it, my lady?”

“Yes.” She replied breathlessly. “Sheila never told me about
the curse or what the charm bag was created for. I didn’t know Sheila cursed
Mama after her death.”

“The charm.” Mr. Barnaby exclaimed, slapping his forehead.
“We will burn it, Kieran and I. Destroying the charm, coupled with your
confession should dissolve the link between you and your mother’s ghost, my
lady.”

“Thank you, Mr. Barnaby.” Donovan rose and extended his
hand. “I hope this will be the end of it. I’d like you to stay on for a few
days, to be certain.”

Chapter
Forty Two

Two days had passed since the haunting had been resolved.
There had been no further activity in the paranormal realm. Barnaby was
confident Mrs. Fletcher’s ghost had been released and had found peace at last.

Still, Kieran felt a dire sense of foreboding.

It was late afternoon. He was sitting beside his
grandfather’s bed. Lord Greystowe had been talking to him, and then paused, too
tired to carry on his discourse about the responsibilities Kieran would assume
in taking over the estate and becoming a member of the House of Lords.

Kieran suggested the earl rest and promised to visit him
after dinner.

He waited, not sure what to do. Should he send for Donovan?