The Ground She Walks Upon (33 page)

"My lady."

Ravenna looked toward the morning-room doorway. Terrified, she found the butler stood there, clearly readying himself to expel her from the castle.

"Hebble, take this—this—" Lady Cinaeth flicked a dismissive glance down Ravenna's figure. "Take this
creature
and deposit her outside Cinaeth's gates."

"No...." Ravenna choked.

"Lady Cinaeth, there is another visitor at the door." The butler shifted uncomfortably. " 'Tis Lord Trevallyan from Lir."

Ravenna stiffened. The inevitable had finally arrived to once more snatch away her independence.

Lady Cinaeth rolled her eyes. "Oh, the travails of this day." She looked down at her pristine satin gown. "And I'm a mess. I can't very well greet one of the most highly regarded earls this side of the Irish Sea in my gardening frock." She nodded her bonneted head toward Ravenna. "Throw the chit out, Hebble, and tell Lord Trevallyan I'll meet him in the drawing room in ten minutes."

Hebblethwaite looked decidedly torn.

"What is it now, Hebblethwaite?" Lady Cinaeth snapped. "Haven't I enough to do without guessing what's on your mind? Throw the girl out and bring Lord Trevallyan a drink."

"Lord Trevallyan..." Hebblethwaite paused and glanced at Ravenna. Ravenna's heart rushed in anticipation of what he was going to say. Clearly Trevallyan had come to help her. She hadn't wanted his help, but now she could see that she must either take it or never know about her father. Ruefully, she comforted herself with the fact that she had at least paid well for the service beforehand.

"Lord Trevallyan has come looking for his wife." Hebble glanced at his mistress with the eyes of a chastised puppy. "It seems Lady Ravenna is his wife."

Lady Cinaeth's face drained of all color. Ravenna suffered a bit of shock herself but schooled herself not to show it. Trevallyan had gall, there was no doubt about it. Usually it made her rebel, but this time, even though it made her extremely uncomfortable to be thought of as his wife, she was grateful for his tactics.

Lady Cinaeth's gaze darted to Ravenna. The woman murmured an undecipherable apology and quickly exited the room, mumbling something about finding Ravenna's husband.

A minute later, Ravenna heard a familiar voice.

"Ah, there you are, darling. Thank God you're safe."

She gazed at Trevallyan standing in the door, still in his corduroys and black boots. He strode toward her and kissed her forehead like the adoring husband, but his eyes were steely with dormant anger that she knew would awaken the moment they had a chance to be alone.

"My lord husband..." Ravenna greeted, her gaze flickering in her embarrassment. For some inexplicable reason, as all his reasons were inexplicable, he had chosen to avoid embarrassing her. But she would pay for his mercies. She knew it.

"When you were lost to me in the woods after our carriage breakdown, I despaired." Trevallyan looked down at her, the emotion in his aqua eyes ominous. "Now that I've found you again, I see I must never let you out of my sight."

Ravenna swallowed, her mouth strangely dry. "My lord, I am well.
I
can, when needed, take care of myself."

He lowered his voice for her ears only. "Yes, and how I despise it." He straightened and cleared his throat. Taking Ravenna's hand in his own, he said, "Lady Cinaeth, my wife is here on rather a delicate mission. I don't know how much she's told you—-"

"Oh! I understand everything, Lord Trevallyan, everything. This situation must be handled with the utmost care." Lady Cinaeth nodded her head too enthusiastically. "But tell me, my lord, when we last met in London, you were not married and I heard of no wedding—"

"We were wed quietly, my lady." The corner of Trevallyan's mouth lifted in a wicked smile. "My wife's situation is much like your own, Lady Cinaeth. When Lord Cinaeth chose to marry a cobbler's daughter, it was prudent to downplay the marital festivities."

The woman colored three shades of red. Ravenna was almost heartened to see this grand beauty cut down to size. "Of course, my lord. It was quite prudent," she mumbled.

She pressed Ravenna's hand. Whispering, she said, "You must forgive my earlier behavior." More loudly, she announced, "I must get Edward. I know he would like to see you—" Her nervous gaze flickered between them. "
Both,"
she finished, then departed.

"Allow me to bring refreshment." Hebblethwaite bowed and then he, too, departed.

Alone, Ravenna had a difficult time meeting Trevallyan's gaze. She wandered to the settee and lowered her tired body onto it. "I must thank you for intervening. You arrived just as she was throwing me out the door."

"I could have told you that was the kind of reception you could expect." He stepped to her. His hand gripped her jaw, forcing her head up and her gaze to lock with his. "Why do you do such foolish things? You run away from me, you refuse my offers. What do you hope to get out of this life that is more than what I can provide for you?"

"Independence," she whispered.

His eyes glittered with new anger. "And is it worth dying for? You could have been killed, wandering around in unfamiliar woods, alone and unprotected."

"Does Malachi think it's worth dying for?"

"It's not the same thing."

Quietly she said, "I don't fight for a country, but rather, for myself. I'm not Catholic, I'm not Protestant. The
people
of Lir heartily distance themselves from my kind. To them, I'm an outcast, a mistfit. Still, I've been
victim
to the hellish treatment the English dole out upon the Irish. I am nothing, I
have
nothing, but myself. And I will not let you have that to do with as you wish."

Her words seemed to move him. She knew he understood; she knew, too, that his understanding could only bring more anger, more frustration. "Why must you be so bloody articulate?" he cursed softly.

"You're the one who sent me to school. I'm your creation."

"And now you've turned on me."

"No. Not turned on you. You were never my master for me to do such a thing."

"I hear footsteps." He heaved a burdened sigh and his grip on her jaw turned to caress. "We'll discuss more of this in our bedroom."

She wanted to protest but suddenly saw the trap he had shut on her. She could either respectably pose as his wife, including sharing a room with him, or announce the ploy and leave in disgrace, her dreams gone of finding her father.

"You see, I still vow to keep you," he taunted as the hurried footsteps drew closer.

"But you'll never hold me." She gave him a challenging glance. "I'm an outcast, remember? And when you cannot turn outward, you turn inward. My love is so buried, I fear not even a man of your genius could find it."

A muscle tensed in his jaw. "I
will
find it. Just keep in mind who it is you're denying. And never forget, if the
geis
is true, you throw misfortune on all of Lir when you say such things."

"The
geis
is frippery and nonsense. But if it isn't, the failure lies with you, not with me."

"Bitch," he said calmly, unwilling to raise his voice with the approaching visitors. "You'd never know all the fire in your eyes hides a heart of ice."

The words stung her, but the tone wrenched her soul. She looked at him and could almost believe he was in love with her. But he didn't love her. To him, she was not much better than the shepherdess who watched his cows in the pastures, or the seamstress who stitched his fine wool from his flocks of sheep that grazed on the Sorra Hills. She was just another kind of servant to him. One whom he saw merit in courting. One with whom he seemed to find his particular pleasure.

No, she wanted more than he offered. Even if she found herself falling in love with him—a precipice she wasn't sure she had avoided—she still must have his love in return. And he would never give that, for he had yet to bow his head and humbly ask anything of her; instead he only demanded and expected her to obey. Asking was not in his nature, not in the social structure to which they were all confined. Somehow, if they were to find love, she must make him see that she was his equal, but that seemed an impossibility because she knew that he, one of the Ascendency, could never admit to such a thing.

The door burst open with Lord and Lady Cinaeth. Unnerved, Ravenna jumped to her feet and stood mute before the man who might be her uncle.

"Trevallyan, good to see you." The viscount heartily shook Niall's hand. Ravenna watched on the side, analyzing him.

Lord Cinaeth was a tall, handsome man of almost fifty years of age. Barrel-chested, with a wide, quick smile, he exuded congeniality. Though his hair had gone silver, Ravenna suspected by his coloring it had once been a dark brown or black, and he had astonishing blue, almost violet, eyes, the color of periwinkles.

"My wife has told me something rather incredible, Trevallyan," Lord Cinaeth said as his gaze rested on Ravenna.

"I fear Lady Ravenna chafes at the bit, my lord." Trevallyan squeezed her arm. "She's much too headstrong for her own good. Our carriage broke down and we were forced to tarry overnight in a barn. In her haste to arrive here, Ravenna got away from me and now I find she's burst in on you. Please allow me to apologize and correct the damage."

Lord Cinaeth laughed. "No apology necessary, my good man. 'Though when Lady Cinaeth came in with this story, I must say it shocked me."

The hand on Ravenna's arm turned to lead. Trevallyan laughed, too, a little mirthlessly. "Of course, a story such as that would. You must forgive my wife her youth and impetuosity."

"Yes, yes." The viscount motioned to the settee. "Would you care for refreshment?"

Trevallyan paused. He looked down at Ravenna and thumbed the lavender shadows beneath her eyes that revealed her weariness. "If you would, Cinaeth, my wife has been through a lot to get here. As I said, our carriage broke down—"

"How stupid of me," Lady Cinaeth sputtered. She immediately nodded to Hebble and said, "Please show Lady Trevallyan to a room so she may rest. Tea and cakes and whatever she likes must be sent up immediately."

"You read my mind, Lady Cinaeth." Trevallyan smiled.

Lady Cinaeth regained some of her poise. "My lord, how gracious of you to be so patient with us."

"I must tell you, Trevallyan," Lord Cinaeth broke in, "you know not how fortunate you and your lovely wife are. Have you heard of the murder in Hensey?"

Ravenna felt Trevallyan stiffen. A tingle of icy fear ran down her spine.

"Murder, did you say?" Trevallyan asked calmly.

"Yes." Cinaeth nodded. "I don't want to alarm your wife, but it would be prudent for you both to stay here as long as necessary until your carriage can be fixed. Yesterday in Hensey, a man was shot dead just as he walked into town. The blokes who killed him ran into the hills, cowards that they are. They haven't caught them yet. The dead man wore a jacket he'd bought from his master only last month, and if old Jack Kilarney weren't an Irisher, I'd think he in his fine new jacket was mistaken for an Englishman, and that the boy-os were the ones that did the shooting. Otherwise, it just doesn't make sense."

"No, it doesn't make sense," Trevallyan murmured.

Ravenna looked up at him, unable to hide the fear in her eyes. Jack Kilarney no doubt had been mistaken for Trevallyan. The man had been ambushed, and if not for Niall's presence of mind yesterday, he might have been the one killed. In fact, this time they both might have been murdered. She couldn't shake the horror that now gripped her.

"Go, my love, and get some rest," Niall said, his gaze locking with hers. "I'll join you shortly."

"But—" The concern in his eyes killed her protest.

"There'll be another time to speak of the matter we've come about," he whispered.

She wanted to refuse, but she knew he was right. There would be a better time, an easier time, to bring up the issue of her father. She acquiesced, nodding to Lord and Lady Cinaeth. "I suppose I am tired. Thank you so much for your hospitality."

"We've come here to find Ravenna's father." Trevallyan took a long pull of his brandy and stared at the viscount. Lady Cinaeth had gone to see about dinner, and now the two men were ensconced in the library, drinking by a roaring fire.

"There was an account by an old storyteller," Niall continued slowly, "that Lady Ravenna's father hailed from here. I know it sounds lunatic, but we believe he was your brother."

"My brother, Finn Byrne, Lord Cinaeth, is dead."

"We knew that."

Lord Cinaeth looked at Trevallyan with a quizzical expression in his eyes. "And how did you know that?"

Trevallyan released a sardonic laugh. "Ravenna's grandmother told her her father was dead. The old woman just... knew."

The viscount raised his eyebrow.

Niall grinned. "There are some in Lir who take Ravenna's grandmother for a witch."

Lord Cinaeth burst out laughing. "Fascinating. Quite fascinating. I must meet Ravenna's grandmother sometime."