The Ground She Walks Upon (40 page)

She didn't look back to see him scoop up the delicate posy of violets that had fallen from her bosom.

K
athleen Quinn
wandered out onto the darkened terrace. Behind her, the sounds of merrymaking emanated from within the castle, but she seemed not to notice.

She stepped to the edge of the terrace. Embracing the shadows, she found a halfpence in her purse and dropped it off the edge. It rolled and bounced off jagged rock that dropped for one hundred feet until it ended in the Sorra River that emptied into the sea.

She placed her hands on the terrace wall. A cloud drifted away from the moon, revealing the diamond glitter of tears on her cheeks. She was making up her mind. About what, no observer could know. The only thing obvious was that determination cast hollows in her face. She slowly opened her eyes. Even more slowly, she lifted her skirts and stepped onto the top of the terrace wall.

Then a shadow moved alongside her.

It startled her so, she actually turned around to see what it was. It had come in from the night, where the terrace met with woodland and the cemetery beyond. If she believed in ghosts and shades, she might have thought she had seen one.

"Who's there?" she called out to the figure that loomed by the iron French doors from whence she had come.

The ghost did not speak, but its head turned in her direction. It spied her form, and like a wind she could not hold back, it rushed to her and grabbed her down from her perch on the wall.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" the ghost said, yet it was no ghost, but a man of warm flesh and a biting hold.

"You're hurting me," she gasped, not even bothering to struggle with him.

"Who are you and what are you doin' here?"

"I should be asking the questions of you. I can tell by your voice and your bad manners that you're not one of the Ascendency." She didn't mean to sound haughty; she was only recounting fact.

The clouds cleared the moon. She looked up at the man who held her. To her shock, he seemed taken aback by her appearance. She had no recognition of him; that was clearly not the case with him.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

He just stared at her, as if unable to believe what he was seeing.

"Do I know you?" she blurted out, unnerved by his stare even in the thin light of the moon.

"No," he said, a strange look on his face. His hand went to her cheek, and he touched the tears still not yet dried. "You've been weeping. Why so?"

" 'Tis none of your business."

"What were you doin' over there on the terrace wall? 'Tis a long step down to the river."

She turned her eyes away from him. She said nothing.

"Are you snuffin' yourself for a man? Do you fancy yourself in love?" He seemed to mock her. "I didn't think the Ascendency did such things. I thought your hearts were too hard."

"Do people actually die for love?" She wiped her cheeks and gave him a haunting wry smile. "I thought they only died for lack of it."

"You're thinkin' no one loves you?"

Fresh tears coursed down her cheeks. Again she didn't answer.

" 'Tis unnatural for a woman to weep so silently," he said almost as if cursing.

"Tears turn silent when there's never anyone to hear them."

A strange emotion crossed his face. She moved him, and he clearly did not want her to.

"Begone with you. This is no place for you to be," he snapped.

"Are you causing mischief? Are you one of the ones that burned down our barn and killed my dear Windsweep?"

"I lit no such fire." His confession was mixed with equal parts defiance and self-loathing.

"What's your name?" she asked softly.

"I'm no fool to tell you that." His hands tightened on her arms. "But I know who you are, Kathleen Quinn. You're the girl with the pretty dresses..."his voice turned low, "... and the pretty face."

"Who are you? Just give me one name."

"And find myself lynched in the morning? No thank you."

"But I know what you look like. I see in the moonlight that your hair is red. And your face is rough... but I think I see kindness in it."

He pushed her away. She backed into the terrace wall.

"Let me give you some advice, pretty Kathleen Quinn: Leave the castle right now and don't you be comin' back. There's trouble to be had tonight. You'd best stay out of it."

"You have the temerity to give me advice? Why, you're one of the men they speak of. Those lads who go out on the glen at night."

"I saved your life," he cursed, shoving her away from the wall. "You're just one of the Ascendency. You may not know anything of gratitude, but you should be doin' the same for me. Now off with you. Stay away from the castle."

She crept away from the terrace wall, silent as an elf. But before he disappeared into the grove of gnarled woods, she asked, "Have you ever felt love, rebel?"

"Aye, but she does not love me."

"Don't be hurting others to spite her."

His profile hardened. "This has little to do with her."

"I see."

"Begone from here, Kathleen Quinn, and keep your pretty face," he growled.

"You know I'll warn them once I'm away."

"Yes, but go anyway."

"Why have you spared me?" she whispered.

"Because my weakness is lassies with pretty faces—even if they are Ascendency."

"Pray we get what we're after, rebel. I think we seek the same thing."

Ravenna ran through the crowd on the lawn until her chest clawed for air. Her side ached, her dress was torn, but all she could think about was finding Trevallyan. She had to warn him. She had to save him.

"Child, child, why be you in such a rush?"

She spun around and found Father Nolan calling to her from the crowd. She couldn't stop to tell him of the coming tragedy, for she had to find Niall, but suddenly, she saw Grania sitting on a bench behind him. Her heart leapt to her throat and she ran to her.

"Grania! Grania!" she cried. She stumbled toward her grandmother and fell at her feet. "Grania! I just saw Malachi! You've got to leave here! He told me they're to burn the castle tonight!" She swept the tears from her face. "Tell me, is this so? Have you had any visions?"

Grania stroked her granddaughter's hair. Ravenna looked up at her, noticing for the first time how incredibly old Grania appeared. She hadn't seen her in days, and yet it seemed years.

"Ravenna, my dear sweet Ravenna. I've wondered about you so. I've had no visions, child."

Ravenna clung to Grania's skirts and forced herself to be brave. Niall needed her now. She had to go warn him.

"I must find him, Grania. They want to kill him," she sobbed, terrified. Panic gripped her as she realized she might now lose what she had never known she had.

"You finally love him, don't you, child?" Grania looked down at her with white, sightless eyes. The flicker from the torches on the lawn made her look like a witch, old and ugly, with warts on her nose, just as Aidan had imagined. But witches were not loved as Ravenna loved her grandmother. Impulsively, she hugged her and wept into her bosom.

"I think I must love him, Grania, for he gives me a fair wondrous feeling at times, and now... I fear for his life, and I believe I would rather they take mine than his."

"Then go to him, and give him your love."

"Yes, yes," Ravenna cried, scrambling to her feet. She looked at Father Nolan and said, "There's going to be trouble here. Take Grania home." She clasped her grandmother's hand. "I'll be at the cottage soon, I promise. He won't keep me prisoner when he knows I love him."

"Tell him, my child. Give him all of your heart, and I have seen he will give all of his."

"My lord, there's smoke in the servants' passage. Lady Kathleen Quinn has just informed me that she came upon a rebel trying to break into the castle." Greeves's face was a grim mask of concern as he looked upon his master.

Trevallyan crossed his arms over his chest. Reverend Drummond, with whom he had been in conversation, looked as pale as a wizened ghost.

"Clear the rooms. See that everyone is out and accounted for." Trevallyan pulled the butler aside. Quietly, he said,

"Find Ravenna. I think she's gone back to her grandmother's, but see that it's so. I must know she's safe."

"Aye, my lord."

Drummond called to a group of revelers just now entering the drawing room, "Send to the barn for the stable master! We must organize a bucket brigade! There's a fire!"

Niall strode across the drawing room toward the servants' passage. Already smoke wafted beneath the jib like blue mist.

He stepped back, then kicked open the door. Smoke billowed in, curtaining the room.

"Damned boy-os!" A reveler bellowed behind him.

Trevallyan ignored him and tried to enter the passage. After a moment, the smoke thinned, and he took a step inside.

"What's this, Trevallyan?"

Behind him, the man drunkenly stooped down and picked up an article from the passage floor. He left the passage and placed the article on a table in the drawing room where everyone could see it.

Niall had no choice but to turn back.

"What is it? What does it mean?" several partygoers murmured.

Niall felt his blood run cold as he looked at the object on the table. It was a crumpled posy of velvet violets.

"Didn't I see this pinned to that young woman's dress?" a lord accused.

"I saw those flowers on Ravenna's gown," a reveler in the crowd piped in.

"But she was at the ball. What would she be doing in the servants' quarters?" another chimed in.

"Don't forget, the chit's long been friendly with that wretch MacCumhal. Everyone knows his father was out with the White Boys."

"Enough," Niall told them, silencing them with a glance.

"She's taken after that rogue MacCumhal," another reveler offered. Niall looked up, and Lord Quinn swayed into the room. "Tha's right, Trevallyan. I just saw your 'amour' down near the cemetery, hugging on MacCumhal, not fifteen minutes past."

Trevallyan was quiet. The accusation left no room for defense. The crowd began to murmur and men shook their heads. They watched him as he stood like a statue in the beautiful smoke-filled Adam drawing room, his gaze helplessly pinned to the bouquet of crushed violets.

"Come along, men. We'll get the harlot who helped do this to you, Trevallyan," Quinn announced.

"Clear the room," Trevallyan whispered.

"Eh?" asked Reverend Drummond, his hearing not what it used to be.

"I said everyone clear the room. The fire may be here soon. I don't want anyone hurt. You'll just get in the way of the bucket brigade." Trevallyan stood numbly at the table, still staring at the violets.

"Aye, aye," Drummond agreed, his expression troubled and far away. He headed for the door, his old bones, for once, cooperating.

"I'll look for her in the crowd, Trevallyan. The lass should be hanged for this. We'll have no more mischief." With that proclamation, Lord Quinn and the rest of the ballgoers left the drawing room.

Minutes ticked by. The stable master arrived with a line of strong young men. Together they passed leather buckets filled with water down into the bowels of the passage.

But the fire raged, fed on ancient dried-out timbers and heavy velvet drapery. Before the fire was put out, it was reported to Trevallyan that the entire east wing of the castle had been consumed. He took the news well. In fact he seemed not to care. When the raucous noise of firefighting had become too much, he'd scooped up the posy of artificial violets and left for the keep.

It was there that Ravenna finally found him. He sat in his leather chair in the antechamber, staring at something in his hand. Her dress torn, her face blackened with soot, she knew she must follow the impulse of her heart. She ran to him and fell to his feet.

"I've been so worried," she whispered, pressing her cheek against his knee. She hugged his leg, her soul immeasurably soothed by finding him alive and all right. "I tried to warn you, but I couldn't find you..." She looked up at him. It took a moment for her to realize he did not return her touch. There was no gentle hand on her head, no tender caress of her hair. There was, in fact, nothing.

She shivered from a sudden chill. "What are you doing up here in the tower, my lord, while your castle burned?" Her eyes filled with worry and dread.

He stared down at her. Without even looking at them, he held up the crushed posy of violets that had fallen from her gown. "Lord Quinn found these in the passage. He said he saw you hugging MacCumhal near the cemetery just minutes before the fire started. Is this true?"