Haunting Desire (22 page)

“And who would y’ be?” he asked in a silky voice.

“I am Shealy O’Leary,” she said, tilting her head to glare at him even though her knees were banging and she was sure the man holding her knew it.

“Leary,” Eamonn snarled in a tone similar to the one that Tiarnan and Liam had used when she’d first told them her name. At least now she had some clue as to why. Her ancestor must have pissed this guy off, too.

“
O
’Leary,” she said, trying to tug her arms free. “What do you want from us?”

“It is y’ who’ve wandered into my territory. I would ask y’ the same.”

She lowered her gaze as she tried to form the best response. If she told them they’d been attacked and had come here to hide while the others fought their foe, she’d be revealing that there were more of them. If she said nothing, Eamonn would think she and Liam were alone and defenseless. Which was best, given the situation? Either one seemed a dangerous admission. Better to keep silent than to reveal their situation.

Eamonn leaned in, intimidating her with his size and obvious irritation. It took all her will not to show just how afraid he made her.

“Are y’ a spy then?” he accused.

“No and she’s no traitor either,” Liam said. “So let her go.”

Eamonn ignored Liam’s demand and instead asked, “How long have y’ been here, brother?”

“I am not yer brother. Not anymore. And I’ve been here long enough to learn to fight y’ like a man. To kill y’ with my bare hands.”

Eamonn’s smile never faltered, but for one unguarded instant Shealy saw how deeply Liam’s words cut him. Had she not seen the mirror of that pain in Tiarnan’s eyes that morning, she might have felt sorry for Eamonn.

Coldly, he said, “I can scarce believe y’ve survived alone in a land such as this and I’m equally amazed y’ve managed it without me seeing y’. I thought I knew everything that went on in this world.”

“No one could ever know everything. Least of all y’. ’Twas yer problem all along, wasn’t it, though? Y’ always thought y’ knew it all.”

Eamonn’s jaw clenched tighter, as if he had to bite back his response. Any fool could see he wanted to explain himself, but knew the danger in such a thing. He ruled a motley group in an outland of horror. Explaining himself might be perceived as a weakness; even now his men shifted restlessly. Shealy caught more than one look exchanged between them, and she realized in that instant that Liam’s angry accusation had struck a chord in the tangled harmony of the men. Eamonn’s position as leader was not as secure as he would like.

Eamonn looked back at Shealy. “If y’ are a spy, I will slit y’ from throat to gullet. Do y’ hear me?”

Silent, she nodded.

He watched her for another long moment, searching her face for answers that he seemed sure she had. She was glad for all the years she’d practiced keeping her expression impassive and gazed calmly back, but inside she quaked. This man had turned on his own brother. She’d be a fool to think he’d be anything less than cruel to a stranger.

“Bring them,” Eamonn ordered the man holding her. “And keep her quiet.”

Shealy saw the man reach for something and knew he planned to gag her. Two panicked thoughts collided with her fear as he pulled free a tattered rag. After the accident, her jaw had been wired shut and her face wrapped, mummylike. She’d been in a coma when they’d done it, but she’d awakened to find herself trapped in bandages, unable to speak, to move, to call for help. Her terror had spiked her heartbeat, which finally brought the nurse to see her. By then she was hysterical, unable to talk or see, a high-pitched squeal the only call for help she could make.

Since then, she couldn’t stand to have anything covering her face—not a scarf, not a veil, nothing. It was one of the many reasons why the blindfolded photo in the magazine had been so symbolic for her. It represented a monumental conquering of fear to Shealy.

There was no way she’d tolerate a gag. But she knew she didn’t stand a chance of fighting it if they were intent on her wearing it.

Tiarnan’s words whispered through her mind, offering her an anchor in her panic. She had to believe that he was out there, looking for them by now. This might be her only chance to call for help, to warn him of danger. But if she took it, if she screamed, they’d make sure she didn’t do it again.

Always before she’d known that her screams would only bring more pain and disappointment. No one really wanted to know the messed-up woman behind the porcelain visage. No one but her father would try to reach into the blackened pits of her suffering and help her out. But now . . . She knew,
she knew
, Tiarnan would come if she called.

Shealy screamed.

Loud and clear, her voice rising out of the dark. She screamed until the man clapped a hand over her mouth and shook her. Ellie let loose a wail, too, and wrapped her arms tighter around Shealy’s neck, her hot tears running in rivulets, scalding Shealy’s throat, reproachful and heartbreaking. Holding her sister tight, she caught her last pealing scream in her throat and swallowed it before it reached the muffling hand, hoping the echoes still rebounding in the rocky hills would be enough. Praying that wherever he was now, Tiarnan had heard and he would come.

Eamonn charged forward until they were nose to nose. She tried to say something, to deflect the rage that shrouded him like a razor suit, but the other man’s hand still covered her mouth and the residue of alarm whipped through her like a torrential storm. She squirmed and fought, hearing Liam’s agonized shout for them to let her go as if his voice came from some great distance.

She stared into Eamonn’s hateful eyes as she tried to breathe, but the hand over her face sealed her mouth and nose and she couldn’t draw in air. Her head felt heavy, thick with blackness that rolled like fog off the sea.

“Let her breathe,” Eamonn ordered as her eyes began to flutter and her knees to give.

She felt the reluctance in the man who removed his hand at last, leaving her gasping for air through her constricted throat. Black spots danced in her vision as she sucked in great draughts of oxygen, hearing as if from a distance far away a keening sound that she realized must be coming from her.

Eamonn slapped her face with a cruel swiftness. The sting burning her cheek cut through the blinding terror that still dominated her and slammed her back into the moment and the terrifying consequences of her actions.

“Scream again, lass, and I’ll have yer tongue cut out. Do y’ understand?” he said.

Slowly she nodded, eyes rolling to the gag the man still held. “Don’t . . .” She couldn’t even say the words. “Don’t use that. I can’t tolerate having things over my face.”

There was no shielding the raw fear in her eyes and Eamonn studied it with clinical detachment. She hoped she hadn’t just provided the handbook for her torture, but it was too late to retract the words or swallow the screams. She lifted her chin, trying to look brave, suspecting she probably managed foolish instead. She’d never know what swayed him—her fear or the control over it she’d just given him, but finally, with a curt shake of his head, Eamonn signaled to the man holding her and he shoved the filthy gag back into his pocket.

“Do not think to test me,” he said softly to Shealy.

“I won’t. Just no gag. Please.”

She nearly fell as her captor jerked her arm forward and pulled her along behind the others, showing no leniency as they moved down the rocky slope like sure-footed mountain goats. Still holding Ellie, Shealy struggled to keep her balance on the uneven terrain. Her arms ached with Ellie’s weight, but she held her tight, trying to soothe her sister’s anxiety with a show of calm.

“Don’t worry, Ellie,” she whispered against her silky hair. “I won’t let go. I won’t leave you here in this terrible place.”

“Where are we going?” she asked Eamonn after a while, afraid to incite him more but unable to keep the question inside.

Eamonn shot her an icy glare and then surprised her with an answer. “We are on the trail of Cathán. We saw some of his men this way. If we find them, it will be bloody.”

He said the last with grim satisfaction.

“Cathán,” she whispered. “You saw him here?”

“What do you know of Cathán?” the man holding her arm asked suspiciously. She now saw that he was dark eyed with dark skin, possibly from India by the sound of him.

Liam gave her a warning glance as he walked at her side, alert and furious to have been captured without a fight. For her part, if she had to be a prisoner, she was just as happy to skip the bloodshed.

“Nothing,” she said, keeping her voice low, giving the man no reason to use that gag that still poked from his pocket like a taunting flag. “I know nothing about Cathán.”

Eamonn signaled to his men as they neared the tree line. Night had fallen completely and they were mere shadows moving in the darkness. Taking over for the man who held her, Eamonn towed her toward the forest. She felt a moment of relief. They’d moved closer to where Tiarnan was the last time she’d seen him. Any minute now, he might burst into the open and rescue them.

But something was going on. Shealy felt the shifting tension in the band of warriors surrounding them. Eamonn gave another signal, this one with more force and a black scowl. The men obeyed, and yet Shealy had caught the surge in the dynamic that held the group together.

They did what he wanted, but not wholeheartedly. She couldn’t explain how she knew or even if she had it right, but something told her that these men didn’t trust Eamonn. As she watched surreptitiously, she saw that each command Eamonn gave prompted a veiled look between the others—a sanity check to make sure they all agreed.

From the corner of her eye, she watched Liam note it as well. She filed the knowledge away, wondering what would happen if these men found issue with the orders Eamonn gave. Would they revolt?

There was no time to question, though. Eamonn crossed into the trees, keeping his hand firmly wrapped around her arm. Liam’s
escort
gave him a push and the boy stumbled forward. As they walked, Shealy searched for a sign of Tiarnan, of Jamie, Zac, and Reyes. What if the creature they’d heard had attacked them? What if it had killed them?

She tried to keep her imagination from going berserk, but she was scared and it had grown very dark now. The moon broke through the branches at rare intervals, keeping the night from becoming all consuming, but just barely. The treacherous forest floor had been difficult to navigate in daylight; now it was nearly impossible. Eamonn and the others seemed undeterred by the same groping vines and treacherous shadows that tried to trip Shealy. They moved silent and sure-footed, but Shealy stumbled, making a racket that drew icy glares.

Eamonn pressed his lips to her ear and hissed, “Quiet or y’ll find more than yer mouth bound.”

She nodded jerkily and focused harder on her footing, no longer scanning the trees for a sign of Tiarnan. Though it was hard to determine just where they were, it seemed they tromped through the forest forever, and she could only guess that they’d circumvented the direct route that she and Liam had taken when they’d left Tiarnan behind in the thick of it and headed to the rocks to wait. She was looking down when the first man gasped in shock, and by the time she’d jerked her gaze up, they were in the gruesome center of a circle of blood and bodies.

It was impossible to tell how many bodies. They were strewn in pieces and parts and gory chunks all through the small clearing they’d entered. Here the moon shone bright and left nothing to the imagination but the horror that was all too real. Eamonn’s soldiers spread out, walking through the corpses with dazed, aghast expressions but alert eyes. Silent, they scanned the forest as they took in the mass destruction and brutality of the attack. Even these seasoned warriors looked shaken by what they saw. Eamonn’s wolf, she noted, would not enter the blood-soaked ring. It sat at the edge and whined. She didn’t blame it. The stench was everywhere.

“What did this?” Shealy breathed, keeping Ellie’s face turned away from the carnage.

No one answered her.

Was Tiarnan’s one of the broken and mutilated bodies littering the ground? The thought clenched her insides and made her want to scream again. Eamonn told the man guarding Liam to watch Shealy as well and he moved into the clearing, squatting to examine the remains with that indifferent manner that sent a shudder through her. She didn’t know what had done this. It could be human, it could be a monster. The fact that there were still bodies told her it wasn’t the same three-headed creature that had attacked the village that morning, though.

After what seemed forever, standing at the edge of the bloodbath, trying not to swoon from the reek of so much death, Eamonn and the others returned to where Liam and Shealy waited with the guards.

“Did you see the footprints?” the Indian man asked.

Stone-faced, Eamonn nodded but did not explain. Shealy and Liam exchanged wary glances, thinking of the roar that had echoed through the forest and those shuddering treetops. Eamonn had come upon them just after. Had he heard it, too? How could he not have?

“These were the men we were tracking,” he said. “There’s no point in going deeper into the woods. Whatever did this is best not met in the dark.”

This, at least, the others did not question. As one they nodded.

With more enthusiasm than when they’d arrived, they changed direction and quickly made their way through the woods, emerging at a sheltered copse.

Protected on two sides by rising stones, the clearing occupied a tight corner between forest and foothills. There were tents arranged around a cold fire pit and a pair of lean-to structures that opened on three sides with a sloping wall that met an overhang. Shealy imagined the sentries used them for shelter when it rained while still having the advantage of an unobstructed view and one defensive wall if an attack should come.