Shivers Box Set: Darkening Around Me\Legacy of Darkness\The Devil's Eye\Black Rose (15 page)

* * *

One or two flickers of lightning and some distant thunderous growls announced the looming presence of the storm throughout the day. I felt restless, as though some of the electricity in the atmosphere crackled through my bloodstream. Tynan was edgy and distracted during dinner, but when the meal ended, he offered, with a great show of chivalry, to peel me an apple. We had a bet that he could not remove the whole peel in one spiral piece. With a frown of great concentration furrowing his brow, he took up a sharp knife and proceeded to apply himself to this task. With a crow of delight, he held up the peeled apple and the long green spiral he had sliced away. Solemnly, I congratulated him on his prowess. As he cut the apple into quarters, however, the knife slipped and cut the side of his thumb. Stifling a curse, he reached into his pocket and, waving aside my offer of help, produced a handkerchief, which he wrapped around his hand.

Uther claimed my attention by asking if I cared to ride to Port Isaac with him the following day. With great and perhaps somewhat undignified alacrity, I accepted his invitation. Not only would I escape the sorrowful gloom of the castle for a few hours, I would once more experience the state of enchanted delight that only his company could induce in me. My lips still tingled from his kiss. I did not exchange any further words with Tynan until we bade each other goodnight.

The storm might have coyly kept its distance during the daylight hours, but it broke with a vengeful, violent roar in the middle of the night. I was jerked fully awake as the first crash rent the sky asunder. Almost before its echo had faded, I heard another sound. A distant scream rose on a wild note of terror.

I sat up and listened intently, my heart thudding so loudly in my breast that I could hear nothing else. Rain sobbed against the window panes. The darkness was torn apart by a vivid flash. I winced when the thunder boomed again. I must have sat like that in the quivering intervals of brilliance and obscurity, alert and straining to hear more, for ten minutes or more. It was no good. I could not remain where I was and ignore the distressed sound I had heard. I prepared to thrust the bed curtains back. A faint rustling noise beyond their velvet folds made me pause.

“Who is there?” My voice shook. A soft chuckle answered, chilling me.

I reached out, seeking the tinderbox that lay on the bedside table. In my panic, I knocked it to the floor and, muttering, slid from the bed, scrabbling around to recover it. Despite my trembling fingers, I eventually succeeded in lighting a candle. Its faint slither of flame illuminated the familiar area around the bed and I began to feel better. Sliding out from under the covers, I snatched up my dressing gown and wrapped it round myself. Flashes of lightning lit up the gloom beyond my candle as I groped my way to the door. I knew it was locked. Since that first night, I made sure of it before I retired to bed. The key was hanging from a hook to the right of the door and, with hands that were not quite steady, I grasped it.

I paused, listening intently. No sound met my straining ears as I slowly turned the reluctant key. With a quaking heart, I opened the door and peered out into the murkiness of the corridor. Managing to exhale a long, slow breath, I allowed my eyes to search the darkness and accept that there was no one about. I retreated back into the safety of my chamber, locking the door again.

I was about to clamber back into the warm cocoon of my blankets when a white shape on the floor directly opposite the bed caught my eye. I bent to pick up the crumpled linen square. The embroidered emblem was unmistakable. A black shield with five golden stars and the familiar legend,
Lucent in Tenebris
. A few bright splashes of crimson confirmed that it was the handkerchief Tynan had held over his thumb at dinner just a few short hours ago. I climbed back into the safety of my bed and sat hugging my knees. What was the dreadful cry I had heard? And who had uttered it? More importantly, how had Tynan’s handkerchief come to be inside my locked room? The more I cudgelled my brain, the further away the answers seemed to be. I felt afraid, stupid and as though there were forces at work of which I was unaware. The storm continued to rattle the windows in its wild death throes. Eventually, the tempest began to recede. I blew out my candle and lay down to once again court sleep.

* * *

I arose on the following morning, rather heavy-eyed from the effects of my restless night. I forgot my own problems, however, when I saw Betty. Her face was ashen and her hands shook pitifully as she swept the grate and laid a new fire. The shadow of a fresh bruise discoloured one side of her face. It was as if her ear had been recently boxed.

“Betty! What on earth has happened to you?” I knelt beside her before the hearth, and she tried to turn her face away. Her lower lip trembled pitifully and unshed tears shone in her eyes.

“Please don’t ask me, miss!” She lowered her head and tried to continue with her task, but I took the brush away from her and, gripping her chin gently, turned her face back to me.

“Did someone do this to you?” My voice shook with outrage. She nodded and I noticed deep scratches furrowing the smooth flesh of her neck. “Someone here in the castle?” Again that little nod, this time followed by an audible gulp.

“Miss, I can’t …” Her voice failed her and a tear splashed onto my hand.

“Betty, you
must
tell me who did this to you! I insist.” I tried to command her, outrage making my voice higher and louder than I meant. “You cannot keep quiet and allow
anyone
to get away with treating you like this.”

But she would not budge. In the end I had to be content with pressing her hand and assuring her that, should she change her mind, I was ready to listen and to do whatever I could to help.

When I entered the breakfast parlour, Tynan was already there. His eyes were bright and excited and his spirits high.

“Morning,
hweg
!” he said, far too cheerfully, in my opinion. “What a slug-a-bed you are to be sure! Did you hear the storm? I sat up for hours just watching the lightning out at sea.”

I reached into my pocket and withdrew his handkerchief. “You dropped this last night,” I informed him.

“Did I leave it in the dining room?” he asked, taking it and stuffing it into his pocket. “My old nurse used to scold me something wicked for leaving my belongings scattered about the place! But it
was
devilish careless of me, wasn’t it?”

“Wasn’t it just?” I returned, taking the seat opposite him and pouring tea into my cup. There was a restless energy about him this morning that jarred with my uneasy mood.

“Did you hear someone scream last night?” I asked, watching his reaction closely. “Just as the storm broke.”

Tynan looked mildly surprised. “No, I didn’t hear it,” he said. “Are you sure it
was
a scream? The thunder was fairly loud.”

“It was a scream,” I said firmly and thought of Betty’s battered face and the gouges in her neck. My hand gripped my teacup hard. “It was the scream of someone in fear of her, or his, life.”

“How horrid!” he declared, but I felt he was humouring me and was, in fact, unaffected by what I was saying. Uther came in then to remind me of our proposed jaunt, which had the effect of spoiling Tynan’s mood. He grunted something incomprehensible and lounged away.

“Is there anything wrong?” Uther’s concerned eyes watched Tynan’s departing back and then scanned my face. “You look troubled, Lucy. Has something happened to upset you?”

“I didn’t sleep well because of the storm.” It was halfway to the truth, I told my conscience, which was demanding I tell him the whole story. I don’t know why I didn’t. Some sort of misplaced protective instinct toward Tynan, perhaps?

Uther said nothing, but continued to stare searchingly at me. “Very well,” he said at length. “But you would be wise to tell me the truth, you know, little Lucy. Nothing Tynan does has the power to shock me anymore.” He flicked my cheek with a casual finger and told me he would meet me in the stables in half an hour.

The riding outfit my aunt had so generously bestowed upon me was of dark blue wool. The jacket was high-necked and tight-waisted with long, snug-fitting sleeves. I wore this over a plain, buttoned chemisette. Years of experience in India had taught me that riding and corsets did not mix well. My matching blue wool skirt was long and gathered in neat box pleats at the waist. The whole outfit was topped with a mannish hat adorned with a frivolous little veil. I was very well satisfied with my appearance and elated at the prospect of riding again.

My excitement faded as I viewed the horse Uther had selected for me. He laughed at my disgusted expression. “Come now!” he said in a rallying tone. “Remember…I have no idea of your ability. Would you have me put you up on one of my own thoroughbreds and stand back to watch it cart you?”

“Well, I would rather that than be mounted on a…” I studied the aging mare as I searched for the right words. She rolled a choleric eye back at me. “Fat, lazy slug.”

“Indulge me, Lucy.” Uther’s smile was irresistible. “Once I have seen you ride, I will select the most suitable mount for you, I promise.”

“But you won’t see me ride,” I grumbled, allowing him to toss me up into the saddle. “You will see me plod.” I arranged my skirts over the pommel and tried to instil a spark of life into the horse. She harrumphed crossly, but eventually followed Uther’s glossy black stallion out of the stable courtyard and onto the narrow road.

Sometime later, Uther brought his beautiful, skittish mount alongside mine. “I apologise,” he said, smiling down at me. “You have an excellent bottom, little Lucy.” Only by the faintest twitch of his lips did he acknowledge the double entendre. “And I promise,” he said, his eyes darkened with meaning, “to ensure that you are expertly mounted in future. Where did you learn to ride so skilfully?”

“My father’s post required him to travel a great deal, and he liked me to go with him sometimes,” I explained. “And while most ladies preferred to be carried in a litter, such inactivity did not suit me. Conditions on Indian roads were poor and I was forced to quickly become a skilled rider. It was that or spend my time with a badly bruised backside.”

Port Isaac was a centuries-old fishing village. A haven nestling between steep purple, green and gold valleys that sloped down to the stark, wave-lashed coastline. Tiny narrow lanes flanked by whitewashed stone cottages wound their way down to the port. The alleyway known as Temple Bar was so narrow that reports had it that larger visitors were advised to turn sideways for fear of getting stuck. I walked the length of the purposeful, bustling harbour and watched as the fishing boats landed their catch and returned to shore. Uther was meeting his man of business and had promised to join me there within the hour. I sat on a slate wall and watched the boats at sea bobbing on the frothy waves. Crowds of gulls swooped and screeched, and the salt air stung my skin. My enjoyment of the scene was tempered by my impatience to be with Uther again.

“Penny for your thoughts, little Lucy?” His voice intruded into my daydream far sooner than I had expected.

“I was thinking of you.” I bit my lip at my own guileless transparency. “Wondering how long you would be, I mean. Your business was concluded very quickly.”

He offered me his arm and we strolled around the harbour’s edge, enjoying the mild sunshine. “Would that it were always so,” he sighed.

“Yet you will soon be able to relinquish the care of the estate to Tynan,” I pointed out. He did not seem to be doing a great deal to prepare his nephew for that responsibility.

“If only it was that simple.” He did not elaborate and I did not ask him to. We reached the end of our perambulations and Uther gave the sky a knowing glance. “We should set off,” he said, and I thought, or perhaps hoped, I heard a note of reluctance in his voice. “Those clouds on the horizon will bring rain.”

He was right. The weather, so perfect on the ride to Port Isaac, changed abruptly as we rode back. Raindrops as large as coins spattered down on us. A brisk wind blew the puddles dry before they had even formed and slapped the sea into waves. This remnant of last night’s storm had the effect of slowing my sluggish mount even further, and I began to worry that the downpour would ruin my beautiful new habit. There was no shelter to be seen for miles around, but Uther gestured for me to follow him off the road and down a tree-lined path. At the end there was a tiny cottage, obviously empty and desperately ramshackle. We tied up the horses and went inside.

“One of our retired farm workers lived here until he died a few months ago. It is not exactly luxurious, but at least we will be dry,” Uther explained, searching in the pantry for some kindling to add to the pile of logs in the desolate hearth. Before long he had also found a tinderbox and managed to get a blaze going.

“Take your jacket off and hang it before the fire,” he ordered as I stood shivering and holding out my hands to the meagre heat. I obeyed and soon the fine wool was steaming as it dried over the back of a rickety chair. My cotton chemisette clung damply to me like a second skin. Uther threw himself down into a faded armchair and held out a hand toward me. Mesmerised by the light in those panther-like eyes, I placed my hand in his and allowed him to draw me closer so that I stood imprisoned between his knees. “Now this,” he said quietly, plucking at the wet material of my shirt. It was a command.

Slowly, I undid each of the tiny buttons. He did not take his eyes from my face. When my shirt was completely undone, he reached out and slid it from my shoulders. I swallowed the sudden constriction that appeared in my throat as, taking his time, he studied my high, pointed breasts.

“Very pretty,” he said at last.

I bit my lip. “Too small,” I whispered, hanging my head.

Reaching out a leisurely hand, he placed it over my right breast. “Not so. See how my hand covers your breast so completely? Just as if they were made to fit perfectly together.” His voice was detached, as though he were still discussing the weather. “I like the way your nipple springs to life at my touch and presses itself so insistently into my palm, demanding more. Which you shall have.” A wicked smile crossed his features. “Take off your skirt.”

I did not hesitate, such was the hypnotic power he had over me. I stood shyly before him in just my cotton bloomers. With deft fingers, Uther loosened my hair so that it tumbled about my shoulders and down my back.

“But you are beautiful, Lucia,” he said hoarsely. I melted against him, a soft, sighing groan escaping me. His hands slid inside the waistband of my bloomers and down to cup my buttocks. I nearly swooned.

“Before we go any further,” he said, pushing me from him slightly, his large hands almost spanning my waist. “I want to explain something. I am not going to take your virginity, Lucy…not yet, anyway. I have my own reasons for that reticence, which need not concern you. But fear not. You have been longing for this, I know. And I
am
going to give you what you want. I will make you scream with delight, that much I can promise.”

Matching actions to words, he slid my drawers down as he spoke and pulled me, naked and trembling with wanton anticipation, onto his lap.

* * *

On the return journey, we rode together on Uther’s stallion, leading the little mare alongside by her reins. I sat in the circle of his arms, drinking in the delicious smell of him and wondering if I had imagined the events of the past few hours. A raw, throbbing memory between my legs told me I had not. Occasionally, I blushed and hid my face in his neck as I remembered the ways in which he had fulfilled his promise and my accompanying screams and gasps. Correctly interpreting my embarrassment, he chuckled and dropped a kiss onto the top of my head. I reached up to trace the scar on his cheek with wondering fingers, assuring myself that he was real. That
this
was real.

When the castle was in sight, I slid from the comfort of his arms and mounted my own horse once more. Softer skies left by the passing of the rain clouds dispelled the sadness of the scene. Tenebris watched our approach, silent and lonely. I felt, for the first time, that it really was the exalted place the Jagos believed it to be. Its heavenward aspirations drew my gaze to the ramparts, where a lone figure stood silhouetted against the weak light. Even at this distance, he was unmistakable. Tynan continued his vigil as we clattered into the stable yard.

Had he seen—could he have interpreted—the tenderness of our shared ride? Would my face somehow reflect my newfound depravity and betray to an observer exactly how we had spent the afternoon? I consoled myself that happiness, unlike sorrow, leaves no scars.

I felt shy and intensely aware of my every action at dinner. While Uther behaved with every semblance of normality, I could not. I watched in fascination as he deftly carved a chicken. Was I forever condemned to a state of aching arousal at the thought of those hands? My lips felt bruised and swollen, as did other, more intimate, parts of my body. My nipples tightened painfully whenever I looked his way. His mouth was heartbreakingly sensual. The memory of those lips anointing my skin, the scratch of his stubble on my tender flesh, his tongue tracing its determined pathway made me quiver. When he spoke, I didn’t hear the words he said now. Instead I was transported back to that mean cottage, where he had explained to me in graphic detail exactly what he was going to do to me. And, as I tried to eat my meal and not betray my desperate lust, Uther knew exactly what I was thinking and feeling. Every now and then he would throw a glance my way that told me he, too, was remembering.

* * *

Hoping that fresh air might help me make sense of my jumbled emotions, I took a walk, following the inland footpath. The wooded area was cool and gloomy. My nostrils twitched appreciatively at the scent of pine needles, damp earth and bonfire smoke. A narrow stream chuckled carelessly over pebbles and twigs, and I paused a while to watch it. Here and there, it had cheerfully found new pathways around an obstacle such as a boulder or a fallen tree. I wished I could see some similarity with my life. I was too fond of order, I decided. Perhaps it was time to adopt the approach favoured by nature and change course when forces beyond my control intervened.

Behind me, the sound of twigs breaking underfoot made me turn to see who approached, but there was no one in sight. The cloak of total silence, just minutes ago so comforting, now felt sinister and oppressive. I was suddenly, unaccountably, afraid and, shivering slightly, turned back to retrace my steps.

My eyes lit on the mangled body of a squirrel close by and my stomach roiled uneasily. The injuries the little creature had suffered were too similar to those inflicted on the rabbit to be coincidental. I had the oddest feeling I was being watched, and I called out, “Who’s there?” No answering voice pervaded the silence. Tearing my eyes away from the bloodied squirrel, I found the path again and hurried along it. Behind me I was sure I could hear footsteps shuffling up the leaves of bygone autumns.

Terrified now, I broke into a run. My foot caught in a hidden tree root and I fell to my knees with a cry of pain. I felt, rather than heard, something whizz past my ear and thud into the tree trunk beside me. A gunshot sounded a fraction of a second later. Mocking laughter rang out through the moisture-laden boughs of the forest depths. I don’t know how long I remained there, crouched in abject terror, with my arms shielding my head. Eventually, I rose and, on legs that would scarcely support me, made my way back to the castle. Until then, I never imagined I could feel glad to see Tenebris slumbering like a prehistoric beast in its clifftop lair.

Uther was in the great hall and I almost collapsed into his arms, stammering out my story. I had landed on a jagged stone and my skirt was torn, my knee badly cut. Uther made me sit down while, raising my skirt above my knees without hesitation or invitation, he examined the injury. Even in my current state, his assured hand circling my calf made me tremble with something in addition to shock.

“It is a nasty wound,” he said, pulling my skirts back down, “but I don’t think you need a doctor. You must, however, get your maid to clean and dress it for you.” Constraining me to drink a glass of brandy, he insisted I repeat again what had just happened. A dark frown marred his brow. “You are
quite
sure it was a shot?”

I nodded vigorously. “I can show you the tree where the bullet is embedded if you do not believe me.”

“That will not be necessary,” he assured me. “I suppose I was simply hoping you might be mistaken! And you saw no one?”

I shook my head. “Could it be poachers?” I asked, shuddering as I took another sip of the fiery liquor.

“It seems the most likely explanation,” Uther conceded. He ran a hand through his hair, disordering it, and I fought down the temptation to smooth it back into place. “Although there is very little game worth having in that part of the estate, as any poacher worthy of the name would know.”

Demelza whirled into the room at that moment, aflutter with concern at my horrid experience. She exclaimed and commented on the story, with many a darting glance at Uther’s inscrutable countenance. “Where is Tynan? Was he not with you?” she asked eventually.

“I have not seen him today,” I replied, finishing the brandy.

“I will find him,” Uther said grimly, “and also set some enquiries underway as to who is responsible for this despicable piece of carelessness. I am shocked that such a thing should have happened to you under our roof, Lucy. Please be assured I will do all I can to set the matter right.” With an old-fashioned bow, he left us.

It was much later that day, as I was slowly descending the stairs on still wobbly legs, that I overheard Uther berating Tynan’s valet, Desmond. “What possessed you to let him go out alone, and with a gun?” They were standing just out of my sight on the half landing.

“I didn’t know he had a gun, sir!” Desmond’s voice was defensive. “Besides, he insists he did not. And anyway, you know yourself how stubborn he can be once he gets an idea into his head.”