Dark Hero; A Gothic Romance (Reluctant Heroes) (51 page)

She had to stop Gavin’s death. But Donovan wouldn’t let her
go to her stepfather.

The frantic cries across the room crushed her heart. She was
crying, too, sniffling like a child when she should be out there challenging
that bastard, making him come after her instead of Michael, making him so mad
he’d forget Michael and Gavin and go after her, like in the old days. She could
always out run him. Well, most of the time.

Donovan wouldn’t let her go. He was strong. He outweighed
her by several stones.

Oh, God--that poor little boy. Elizabeth longed to put her
hands over her ears to shut out his pitiful cries. He needed comfort. He needed
a mama to hold him and comfort him.

And then she heard it. A soft, crooning Irish burr. A mother
was there beside him, trying to soothe that frightened little boy. Maureen’s
ghost was attracted to crying children. Elizabeth could hear her trying to
comfort the boy, but poor little Gavin couldn’t hear a word she said.

Donovan was speaking to her. “Shhh--be quiet! I can’t hear
them.” She scolded.

She tilted her head, listening to the tumult around her.

She listened to Maureen trying to soothe the little boy.

She heard Gavin’s frantic, terrified weeping.

She could hear Fletcher’s laughter as the butler told him
her love was mortally injured.

She heard Donovan conferring with Giles now in low whispers
as the butler returned to their barrier behind the sofa. Donovan stopped
speaking. He took to watching her with concern.

Elizabeth shivered as her elder brother taunted Michael. Poor
Michael was beyond their reach. Michael was trapped in his own terror, like a
rabbit, unable to respond even to save himself. As a girl she would always step
in, challenge Fletcher by saying something outrageous, and draw his ire away
from her sweet little brother, who didn’t deserve the beatings.

And over the calamity and tumult around her, she could hear
Maureen’s gentle voice.

“Maureen?” Elizabeth said the name aloud. “Maureen, please,
help us.”

She inched up on her heels and twisted her head to peer over
the sofa back. Donovan’s hand tightened around her upper arm, a stern reminder
that she could not leave his side. Maureen was crouched beside Gavin, trying
fruitlessly to hug the child with her transparent arms and soothe his fears.

“Maureen?” She whispered again. “Find out what Fletcher
still has for weapons.”

Maureen’s dark, ghostly head lifted from her weeping charge.
She floated behind Fletcher’s back, and then turned a worried face to
Elizabeth. “He has another pistol.”

“Kieran--“ Elizabeth reached up to tug desperately at her
brother’s hand, urging him to get down behind the barricade. At the moment she
tried to warn him, Fletcher reached behind him. “H-he--“ Damnation, what a time
to stutter! “H-he h-has a g-g-ga--gun.”

“Oh, do shut up, O’Flaherty!” Her stepfather bellowed over
her warning. The awful smell of sulfur filled the air as the loud report of the
pistol firing was overshadowed by the heavens rumbling the rafters. “I was
saving this for your sister, but hell, why not? You’re the heir.”

Kieran dropped to his knees. He held his chest. Oh, God.
Blood, more blood?

Elizabeth’s eyes grew dim. She clutched her temples, fearing
she was about to faint. Donovan’s bloody hand moved from its punishing grip on
her upper arm to Kieran’s chest as he took to investigating the wound. “Giles,
your shirt.” He commanded and received the hastily removed fabric quickly.
Donovan wadded it and stuffed it against Kieran’s ghastly wound. “It hit the
left clavical bone. A few inches lower and you would be finished.” He told
Kieran. “Still, we need to slow the bleeding until I can remove the ball and
cauterize the wound.”

Blood, everywhere. So much blood. Kieran, Michael, Donovan,
Mama . . .

Elizabeth crumpled. She held her head in her hands, fearing
she was about to retch as the bitter taste of copper filled her mouth. She was
panting, frantic, about to lose control and start screaming. Good God in
Heaven--how she wanted to scream--needed to scream. Would this senseless
killing ever stop?

“Oh God, so much blood--so much blood.” She murmured, over
and over as her body shivered and shook and her heart threatened to explode
from all the violence surrounding her.

“Elizabeth, the blood.” Kieran shouted. He was sitting up,
with help from Giles behind him. His hand reached out for hers. Was he
squeamish, too? Did he feel ill when he saw blood?

She shook her head, unable to fathom his determined look or
his pleading. She sat quiet and still as Donovan had instructed her to do. She
hugged her knees with her good arm. She was going to be still for once and wait
for Donovan to get them out of this. She was going to sit right here with her
teeth chattering, her eyes burning, gasping for each breath, and wait for the
carnage to end. Wait for someone else to take charge and save Michael for a
change.

“The blood.” Kieran said again, rising slightly and
scuttling awkwardly toward her. Donovan was between them. Kieran’s bloody hand
came towards her. She flinched and ducked, trying to escape the grisly grasp. “Use
it.” Kieran insisted. “Use the blood to call forth the ancestors. You can do
this. Use our blood and the power of three!”

Kieran touched her. She felt strength flowing from Kieran’s
soiled fingers on her arm. “Cast the circle, secure the guardians, open The
Veil and bring them here--it’s the only way.”

The Veil Between the Worlds? The dark, gloomy place where
spirits lingered?

Kieran wanted her to raise the dead, for what purpose? To
confront Fletcher?

“Yes. You are their bridge between the worlds. Call them
forth.” Elizabeth started at the voice so close to her. Maureen was beside her.
The ghost had left Gavin’s side. Unable to reach him, she came to help
Elizabeth. “The blood calls us. Take up the blade, draw your blood, and cast
the circle. Use your blood mingled with the other priest’s to open the gates.”

 Blood. Elizabeth swallowed. She hated the smell of blood.
It made her sick, the sight of it made her remember Mama’s blood on the floor
on that awful night.

Kieran let go of her knee. His eyes rolled back in his head.
He wilted before them. Donovan cursed, and bent over him, muttering something
about shock with loss of blood. Donovan was trying to save her brother’s life.
Trying to staunch the flow of blood from yet another victim, another family
member fallen by Fletcher’s blood lust. As Donovan turned away from her to
focus on Kieran, Kieran’s eyes opened. He looked at her, his blood drenched
hand reaching for hers, his turquoise eyes insisting she return to the one
place that frightened her beyond words.

She eased up on her heels again and peered at Fletcher over
the sofa top. He was almost done with his drink. Donovan was clever. Papa was a
slave to the drink.

Fletcher noticed her looking at him over the sofa top. Those
murderous brown eyes met hers. “Now that this brat’s caught his breath shall we
see if he’s ready for another gibbet dance?”

“No!” She cried, rising, and Donovan responded by grasping
her shoulder and pulling her back down. There was no way she could go to
Fletcher. And Gavin would die because of it.

“Don’t look at him.” Donovan instructed harshly. “Don’t
listen to his rambling. He’s trying to bait you, Elizabeth.”

“He’s going to kill Gavin.” She told him, and clutched his
soiled shirt. “He’s going to kill that child unless I stop him.”

“You are not going to stop him, Elizabeth. He’s going to
kill you if you go to him.”

A noise from the hallway drew their attention to the
splintered door. Ambrose stood there with several men behind him. “My lord.” He
intoned. He lifted a long black cylinder and aimed it at Fletcher. “The road is
awash from heavy rains. Sorry we were late.”

The steward’s gun fired.

Gavin shrieked. Elizabeth screamed. Donovan swore.

Giles muttered a Catholic prayer.

In those horrifying seconds when Ambrose lifted the musket
and pulled the trigger, Fletcher had jerked Gavin up and placed the child in
front of him to shield himself from the ball.

And Michael lurched up in front of Fletcher and shoved Gavin
out of the way.

 She was going to faint, in the very least.

Elizabeth watched her little brother crumple with agony
contorting his features.

She watched as Fletcher grabbed him, open mouthed, as
shocked as the rest by Michael’s action. He clasped Michael’s body to him, drew
the lad across his lap.

She was going to faint, in the very least.

She needed to faint, now.

If not, she didn’t think she’d ever stop screaming.

Chapter
Forty Four

Donovan stood. He stared, open mouthed as he watched the lad
crumple in pain. He cried out. His oath was swallowed by the sounds of his
wife’s hysterical screaming.

Michael would have fallen to the floor in his agony but
Fletcher grabbed him and pulled him onto his lap, cradling him across his knees
in a maniacal antithesis of the Pieta sculpture. There was no tenderness or
grief in this macabre tableau, only evil.

The clicking sound at the door told him Ambrose was
reloading, determined to take down the villain at any cost. Donovan held out
his hand. “Hold your fire.”

Fletcher looked over at him, noting him for the first time.
“Not dead? Bad Irishman.”

“I’m not so easy to kill.” Donovan said as he sank down and
huddled close to Lizzie. “It’s almost over, love. Michael was hit in the upper
thigh, maybe his hip as far as I can tell. There is a possibility the ball
could be deflected by the hip bone. If I can get to him quickly he’ll be all
right. Shhh, love. Can you hear me?”

His heart was in shreds. Lizzie was in shock, he was sure of
it, distraught beyond reason as any girl her age would be in the face of such
wanton carnage against her family. He rumpled her hair. “Hold on, sweetie. I’m
going to end this.” He snatched up the machete once more.

“The blood. There’s so much blood.” She kept murmuring. She
was staring straight ahead, at nothing. Giles was tending to Kieran, keeping
the shirt pressed tight to Kieran’s wound to staunch the bleeding as Donovan
instructed him to do.

“I have to help Michael.” Elizabeth mumbled. “I have to go
out there.”

“No. I’ll go this time.” Donovan told her. He took her cold
hand, wondering if she could hear him. “If anyone is going to play the hero,
it’s going to be me, not my wife.”

Releasing her hand, Donovan stood. “Fletcher, it’s over.
Your son has been shot. Surrender and I might be able to save him.”

The canny military captain looked up from Michael’s pain
filled face. “I’ve still got a hostage, don’t I? Two, if you count the weeping
pile of Irish shit on the floor.” He nodded at Gavin’s cowering form at his
feet.

The meaning of Fetcher’s words took a moment for Donovan to
absorb.

“You would use your wounded son as a hostage? You insane
bastard! He’s going to bleed to death within the hour.”

*******

“The blood, Elizabeth. Use it to call forth the ancestors.
Use your power.”

Kieran’s voice echoed in her mind. She pulled herself out of
her lethargy. He was lying on the floor beside her, awake and looking hopefully
at her.

“Cast the circle. I will help you. We can do it; together.
Don’t be afraid.” He was actually speaking, she realized, it wasn’t her mind
playing tricks on her.

Kieran wrangled about to move closer to her, grimacing with
agony as he did so. Giles was kneeling behind him. At her brother’s insistence,
the butler helped Kieran into a sitting position against the back of the sofa
so he was sitting upright beside her. Kieran reached behind Elizabeth and
withdrew the dagger that had fallen beneath the sofa after Donovan removed it
from his shoulder. He held it up between them and gazed at Elizabeth with
knowing eyes.

Donovan was standing above them. He was trying to talk
Fletcher into giving up.

“I can’t.” Elizabeth shook her head. She held up her bound
arm. “You must hold the knife. Hold it firm.” Lifting her good hand, she
dragged the fleshy heel of her hand across the razor sharp blade; not a deep
cut, just enough to draw blood. She made a fist, milking the flow of blood
until her hand was coated with it. She then removed the wadded cloth from
Kieran’s wound and squeezed at the gory hole in his shoulder, making him gasp
in pain.

“Here now!” Giles protested. “What’s this--“

“Family business.” Kieran ground out through clenched teeth.
“Leave the countess be!”

His rebuke silenced the servant. As Giles watched, Kieran
took Elizabeth’s blood soaked hand and rubbed her wound against his, mingling
their blood.

Elizabeth wiped her hand on the blade and then took the knife
from him.

“By the power of three, bound by blood; my blood, your
blood, O’Flaherty blood!” Kieran chanted aloud, looking intently at her. “Cast
the circle first. Call forth the ancient guardians to guard the boundaries. You
must contain the spirits within the circle.”

“What about him?” She gestured to Donovan above them,
attempting to beguile Fletcher with reason when physical force failed. She
wouldn’t get far without Donovan stopping her.

“Leave it to me.” Kieran whispered as he leaned into her so
Giles couldn’t hear. With that, he sank to the floor on his side and started
moaning. Donovan quickly crouched beside him to discern the cause of this
strange new symptom. Kieran clutched his wounded shoulder and screamed as if he
were on fire, giving Elizabeth shivers. Donovan started tearing Kieran’s shirt
away and took to inspecting his wound with concern, giving Giles curt
directions to assist him.

While the two men tried to contain his thrashing body,
Kieran turned his face to her and in the sparse second their eyes met he
mouthed one word. “Go.”