Lost in You (21 page)

Ellery wandered the upper gallery, pausing now and then to glance up at a portrait of a long-dead Bligh. Rain drummed on the eaves overhead, streamed down the long windows along the north wall.

It was the eyes, she decided. In every instance, there was a quality about the eyes that marked them out as different, not quite human. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was. The shrewd, piercing stare, the almond, upturned slant, or the ethereal light of their gaze that burned from the canvases as if the subjects might step from their backgrounds and speak.

Feeling a chilly draft from an open doorway, she glanced over her shoulder. Conor strode toward her, purpose in his step, decision in the set of his jaw. He was perfection and then some. The powerful muscled body, the sculpted arrogance of his face, and the eyes that glowed burnished bronze. Like the eyes in the paintings. The eyes of the
fey
.

How could a man so vital just stop being? But she knew. She’d seen it too often in the hours and days after battle when men she’d spoken with, laughed with, ridden beside suddenly weren’t there. Erased.

She swallowed around the hard lump in her throat. Tried not to remember the horrible, spine-chilling dummy in the woods. The effigy of Conor. Asher’s warning to them all that he waited and watched. That safety was a thing of the past.

Thank God, Sinclair had been there. She’d been a gibbering idiot until he’d shaken her back to sanity. He’d demanded an explanation, but what could she say that didn’t make her sound as insane as she seemed? And so she fobbed him off with lame explanations until he’d given up and brought her home, handing her off to Lowenna with a grim face and a searching stare. Thank God it hadn’t been Morgan to meet them in the stable yard. That would have really fired up an already charged atmosphere.

Now as Conor approached, she took hold of herself. It wasn’t murder she saw in his flint-hard gaze. But something equally significant.

“I need to speak with you.” If he felt any lingering sense of guilt over his treachery, she couldn’t tell. He was as cocky as he’d ever been.

“And if I don’t want to speak with you?”

“Then you’ll listen.” He grabbed her by the arm, glaring down at her.

“Or what? You’ll fry me with a look? Cleave me in two?” Her rage and fear exploded through her with the power of a gun shot. She tore away from him. “Drag me to the quoit and slam a dagger through my heart?” She couldn’t stop the words now. They came fast and furious and without thought. “You had your chance to talk, Conor. You had days to tell me what was going on. And you chose to lie. Lie and…worse…you pretended you cared. That we…” She choked back a sob. Refused to give him the satisfaction. Crossing her arms, she centered all her loathing in one level stare. “I don’t care how much magic you can wield. Where it counts, you’re all man. You’ll say anything—do anything to get what you want.”

His jaw jumped. “I had an obligation. My mission was to stop Asher. It still is.”

“Then complete your mission, and leave me the hell alone.” She wrapped herself in cold dignity. It was all she had left.

“Not like this. You’re not running from this conversation—or from me.” The unbending will behind his words stopped her. “Do you know what I’ve been doing all day?” he asked.

“I’ve been with Father, his lawyer, and the local bishop.”

He paused, but she kept silent. Where was he going with this?

“Marriage, Ellery,” he continued. “I want to marry you.” He slid his wolf-head ring off his finger. Took up her left hand and slipped the gold ring over her knuckle. “It’s too big. But it’ll do for now.”

She should be trembling with joy. Giddy with a wild delight. And if it had happened days ago, she would have been. But not now. Not when the truth of Conor’s deception still battered her. She fingered the ring. Watched the flicker of light play over its snarling face. “Why?”

“What do you mean why?” He stiffened as if confused at such a reaction. “My family will make sure you’re protected. Taken care of.”

“And how do we get past the fact that I’m still damn mad at you? Not exactly the best way to begin a life together.”

“Let’s face facts, Ellery. There won’t be a life together. Even if I manage to find a way to defeat Asher, I won’t be coming back.”

She clenched her teeth against the pain of those words, but that was all. Her throat ached with the effort of holding back. “You don’t know that.”

His voice and gaze were solemn. “Yes. I do. So what do you say? Can you ignore the fact you want to kill me long enough to become my wife?”

“It’s a generous offer.”

His mouth twisted in a grim smile. “Don’t show so much enthusiasm.”

A home. A family. She was pragmatic. And he was right.

She had nowhere to go. Her house was in Mr. Porter’s hands. And no doubt he’d sold off anything of value that she’d abandoned. The funds left to her were meager, and she had few skills and no references that would allow her to get a job of any respectability.

As things stood now, marriage to Conor was her best—and mayhap her only—option.

“Very well, Conor,” she said finally, “I’ll marry you.”

“What the hell happened?”

Conor burst into the room, worry and fear sharpening his words.

Ellery’s heart kicked into her throat at the thunderous boom of his voice, but Jamys and Gram remained unmoved as they bent over Morgan. Stitched up the ugly gash on her upper arm.

“It’s all right, Conor,” Jamys explained without looking up.

“She’s not got your gift for healing, but she’ll recover. We’re lucky it was a dagger strike and not a clawing or we’d have the worry of mage sickness on top of everything else.”

“How did it happen?”

Lowenna stretched and stood, wiping her hands on a towel.

“She and I were returning from the village. The
Keun Marow
attacked at the bridge. Just at the western edge of the park.”

Conor slammed his fist into his hand. “I’ve told you to stay within Daggerfell’s boundaries. It’s not safe. Especially at night. And after Ellery found that…well it’s not safe.”

“I was summoned to attend a birth. Mrs. Nevis is before her time. And very young.”

“I don’t care if the whole bloody village is in labor. You should have told them you couldn’t go.”

It was like a bolt of lightning had struck. The moment of horrifying silence that followed fell brittle as glass. “I will not turn away someone who needs me.” Lowenna concentrated such a freezing glare at Conor that Ellery hissed, her temples instantly throbbing, and Morgan and Jamys exchanged frightened glances as if their grandmother had sprung horns—or wings. A forbidding glimpse of the true
fey
hidden within the shell of the tiny healer woman.

Conor met her icy gaze with his own scalding anger. “Then you should have sent for me.”

“I took Morgan.”

“And she was a great help,” he sneered. Morgan’s head shot up. “Don’t patronize me, Con. I’m more than able to handle one death hound. It was a lucky hit.”

He ran a hand through his close-cropped hair. Stalked the chamber with long, angry strides. “And if there had been more than one? Or it had been Asher himself?”

“Well, it wasn’t. I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

“I can see how capable.”

“Fuck you.”

“Enough,” Jamys shouted, the display of rare temper shutting them up instantly.

“Conor, out. Morgan is fine. Gram’s fine.” He leveled a long, thoughtful look at Ellery. Offered a strange, quirky smile. “Can you get him out of here?”

“Me?”

Was he insane? The last thing she wanted—or needed was to be alone with six and a half feet of muscle-bound, fuming
Other
. Especially one she’d been crazy enough to become engaged to. One she hated. One she was trying desperately not to fall for.

And wasn’t that final proof she’d lost her mind? Conor had confessed to wanting to kill her. And still she couldn’t shake the memory of the soul-shattering kisses they’d shared. The sense of being completely safe in his arms. She was absolutely the most hopeless woman she’d ever known.

She realized they were all staring at her. “Oh, all right.” She grabbed Conor’s arm. Tugged him toward the door. “Come with me. A drink will calm you down.” She risked a flash up at his grim face. “And it won’t do me any harm either.”

He allowed himself to be led down the stairs, back toward the main part of the house. He kept silent, but beneath her fingers, she felt his tension. The slow-fading anger.

Once in the library, she poured him a whiskey. One for herself. He slugged it down and poured himself another. It seemed to steady him.

“What were you doing there?” he asked, still gruff, but definitely thawing.

“I was with Jamys when they got back. I thought I might help.”

“Now you and Jamys…” he muttered. Poured a third tumblerful. Downed it like it was water.

She thought about following his lead and having another whiskey. Decided against it. Her head still pounded, and she needed all her wits for this strange inner tug of war. “Your frothing at the mouth wasn’t helping anyone,” she ventured.

“And what would you know about it?” he snapped back.

“I know that yelling at Morgan gets you nowhere.”

“She’s a fool.”

“She’s an
amhas-draoi
. The same as you. Give her some credit. She got your grandmother home in one piece. If it makes you feel better, ride the boundaries again.”

“And what good will that do? They need constant monitoring. The magic across the stones is fluctuating so wildly, there’s no way to know when or if the mage energy will wane. Or where.”

She tried to pretend it was the whiskey that churned her stomach. Made her queasy and sick. But she knew it wasn’t.

It was guilt. Plain and simple.

She was the cause of this trouble. She was the reason no one was safe.

She sank into a chair. Closed her eyes while rubbing her temples.

Could this nightmare get any worse? “It’s not your fault, Ellery.”

She opened her eyes to find Conor kneeling in front of her, his hands braced on either chair arm, his gorgeous face inches from her own.

Oh, yes, it could get so much worse. “You read my thoughts,” she stammered, trying to focus anywhere but on the burnished bronze of his eyes. The hard line of his jaw. The sensual curve of his lips. Where was her loathing? Her fury? It was as if they’d packed up and moved out, leaving her adrift and empty. Completely confused.

“They’re not hard to read when they’re screaming in my head.” His lips twitched. How could such a little thing like a smile knot her insides and send heat rushing through her? It wasn’t fair. She didn’t want to feel anything—and certainly not lust. “I don’t ever want you to think this is your fault,” he said. “I brought you to Daggerfell because it was the safest place I could think of. It still is.”

“But I’m the one causing all the problems. Asher’s after me. And this ridiculous power you say I have is just making it harder. I’m putting everyone at risk.”

“It’s only until Beltane. A few more days.”

“A lot can happen in a few days.” He blinked as if coming up for air. Or back to his senses. Rising, he couldn’t put enough distance between them. Once again, stone-faced, the mask of the warrior firmly in place. He shuddered. “A lot already has.”

The voice sounded in Ellery’s head first. Like an echo of a drumbeat. Soft but insistent.

She pushed it away, not ready to swim up and out of sleep, but the voice would not be denied, and soon she could no longer ignore its relentless drone. She stretched. Opened her eyes. Choked off a scream.

Asher stood before her.

Throwing herself back against the headboard, she fumbled for the dagger beneath her pillow, its resting place since Simon’s attack. Barely a breath separated her seizing the handle and letting it fly toward the pale figure. But this time there was no blast of fire and brimstone as he disappeared. This time the blade passed through him, lodging with a
thwang
in the wall behind. Only a ripple of shadow across his body. Or was it a body at all? He glowed with a pale green light that lit the room.

Her gaze narrowed. The door. The paintings on the wall, the furniture. All of it was visible behind him. As if he weren’t really there. As if she imagined him. But his laugh as he flickered in and out of sight was all too real.

Amusement gleaming in his eyes, he spread his hands. “I’ll not hurt you. Couldn’t if I tried. I’m not really here. Not in the flesh.”

“I’ll scream.”

“I doubt it. You’d have done it by now. And what would that accomplish? I’ve already told you I’m not here to harm you.”

Ellery wasn’t convinced. She sidled toward the edge of the bed, praying she could get as far as the door. Even translucent, the demon’s inhuman stare sent tremors of panic sliding down every nerve.

He caught her in his gaze, freezing her to the floor. “If you don’t want your man to suffer, stay. Hear me out.”

Oh God. Conor. A hard, cold knot settled in the pit of her stomach. She dropped back onto the bed, swallowing hard. Trying to slow her breathing. She dipped a head toward him. “But tell me how?” she asked, surprised at the calmness in her voice.

“Bligh’s wards are strong. But there are chinks in every knight’s armor.”

This was her fault—this effect her strange power had on magic. If Morgan’s injury was a warning—here was the ultimate proof. Asher in her bedchamber—or at least Asher’s ghost. Just as frightening, if you asked her.

“I only want to talk to you,” he continued. “’Tis all I’ve ever wanted.”

She crossed her arms, her courage returning as the truth of Asher’s words sunk in. He couldn’t harm her. He wasn’t here. “Is that why your pack of devils attacked me? Why you sent a hired assassin after me?”

He offered her an apologetic shrug. “The
Keun Marow
are crude and difficult to restrain. They were instructed to retrieve the reliquary. Nothing more. Bligh’s presence there provoked them into overstepping their instructions. You can be assured they were firmly chastised.” His whiplash smile never reached his eyes.