The Masked Baron

by Anneka Walker

  Andalin grinned. “Yes, thank you.” She hoped the invitation to Terrence Hill would be brought up before breakfast was over, but she needed to ease it into their conversation. She searched her mind for proper conversation topics. “Lord Kerrigan, do you have family close?”

  He sat across from her and tucked his napkin into his collar. “My younger sister is married and lives on the other side of Thornton. My mother stays with me a few months of the year, but to be honest, I think she prefers the company of my sister.”

  “I should have liked to have had a sister. Are you close?”

  Lord Kerrigan shrugged. “As close as a brother and sister could be. I’ve always fancied I would have liked a brother. Lord Cadogen has done his best to fill that role over the years.”

  Andalin glanced at the closed door before she trusted herself to speak. “Is he as violent as people say he is?”

  Lord Kerrigan held back a laugh with his fist. “He is the finest swordsman in the country. But do not mistake it. He might look fierce, but he has had a gentleman’s upbringing.”

  Andalin put her fork down and scowled. “I have had a deprived upbringing by contrast. What does it mean? Does it mean that one of us is more honest, more charitable than the other?”

  Lord Kerrigan’s eyes widened, and he shook his head. “You’ve made a good point. If Cadogen is violent, it is only with just cause. Does that clarify my blunder of words?”

  Andalin studied his sincere expression. “I only ask because I have not known him long. I would like to ascertain his true character.” A thousand questions about Ellis bounced in her head, but she needed to tread lightly if she wanted to befriend Lord Kerrigan. “How long do you think you will be at Braitwood Hall?”

  “I leave the day after tomorrow to attend to business. I will return in two weeks to escort you to your first ball.” He gave her a disarming smile. Andalin tried to imagine what her first ball would be like. She didn’t even know how to dance. “How about that ride to Terrence Hill today?”

  Now it was her turn to smile. “I would enjoy nothing more. I will go upstairs and change into my habit straightaway.”

  Lord Kerrigan stood. “Excellent. And I will inform Cadogen of our plans.”

  As hinted earlier, Birks was asked to be their chaperone, seeing as none of the women knew how to ride and Andalin had never seen Ellis venture outside in daylight. It seemed some parts of the stories of the Dark Rider were true.

  While they rode, Birks kept his distance, allowing Lord Kerrigan and Andalin to converse freely. Andalin peppered her companion with questions about his life. And in return for his openness, she shared some of her background with him.

  It took an hour’s leisurely ride to get to Terrence Hill, but not nearly as long to ascend to the top. The magnificent view of grassy knolls dotted with sheep seemed to breathe into Andalin new perspective. She could barely see Braitwood Hall; the gray stone blended right into the tall trees of the Black Forest. Her new home radiated with age and unique history. She had to pull her eyes away, feeling a strange sense of belonging she was not ready to accept. Opposite of the manor, directly below them, lay Thornton Way. It was larger than she imagined, and she wondered if any of the stores carried Papa’s glassware.

  “Can we ride into town?” Andalin asked hopefully.

  “No, Cadogen would have my head,” Lord Kerrigan said. “Your safety is of utmost importance.”

  It was wishful thinking on her part. She cast one last look at the town, which appeared to be quite normal. “Would I truly be unsafe?”

  Lord Kerrigan pointed to the rooftops in the distance. “There are few gentlemen who reside in town. I assure you, Thornton Way is not the friendliest place. There are too many taverns and not enough churches, if you know what I mean.”

  “And too many who think of Lord Cadogen as the Dark Rider,” Andalin blurted. She covered her mouth. “I hope I did not cause any offense.” Lord Kerrigan’s face bore an unreadable expression, but Andalin wondered if there was a touch of sadness in his eyes.

  “Miss Durante, masks bother people. They do not like what they cannot see. If you wore a mask, I daresay stories would circulate about you. As a society, we are afraid of people who are different from us. Cadogen is different, so they target him.”

  “But you trust him?”

  Lord Kerrigan straightened his hat. “I trust him. But I don’t think you do.”

  Andalin looked away, pretending to study the scenery. Her conscience was pricked, but how could she trust him? She realized she didn’t fear him like she had initially. Although he was still intimidating in his own right, there were still things about him she yearned to understand.

  Was it just the mask? It separated them in more than just a physical sense. He seemed to be hiding more behind his mask than just scars. He was elusive. Of course people would be afraid of someone who hid away and only came out at night.

  “Like I said this morning, I am trying to understand him. I don’t think I can trust him until I know more of his character.”

  Lord Kerrigan shifted in his saddle. “Yes, I think I might be the same way if I had not known him for so long. Just be careful with how much you delve into his life. There are some things better left buried.”

  Too much was left unsaid in his warning. It was just another Cadogen secret to drive her mad. She nodded when he looked at her, despite her misgivings.

  “I approve of Cadogen’s plan to help you make a good life. He has a good heart, and this will help him to get his mind off the past. Try to be patient with him.”

  Andalin thought about Ellis’s threats of what would happen if she did not find a husband in a year’s time. It had bothered her in the moment, but she was beginning to think his threats were all a bluff. “Will Lord Cadogen ever marry?”

  Lord Kerrigan shrugged. “If he were to fall passionately in love, which is possible but unlikely. He keeps his heart guarded under lock and key.”

  This proved Ellis’s threats to marry her had not been serious, thank heavens. “Has he ever come close to falling in love?”

  Lord Kerrigan laughed and shook his head. “You are full of questions. I think I have already betrayed too much about my dear friend. You must interrogate him yourself. I’m afraid my tongue has been too loose in your company. Cadogen will start wondering whether he should trust me.”

  Andalin bit her lip. “I’m sorry. My father says I am curious by nature. As far as Lord Cadogen is concerned, he has a very loyal friend in you. I am sure he would not be disappointed in anything you have said.”

  On the ride home their conversation lulled into a comfortable silence. Her freedom from the manor had invigorated her. The trees had never felt so alive and the color more vibrant. The early fall leaves were beginning to change, turning into a mix of green, gold, purple, and red. Andalin would have to beg Lord Kerrigan to take her again when he returned to Braitwood Hall. Two more weeks and there would be even more color about.

  Birks took the horses and left them to walk inside together. Andalin’s heart sped up as she realized how few times she had been in a man’s company outside the store. She could almost pretend Lord Kerrigan was her beau. If she were a fine lady, he would be just what she was interested in. She recalled her nightly chore of scrubbing the mud tracked in by customers back at Papa’s shop. She was meant to serve gentlemen, not marry them. When a person lived her entire life one way, it was difficult to imagine otherwise. She admitted it was growing easier to fancy herself living this way, but would it always feel like a game of pretend?

  ***

  Ellis waited for Annie to open her bedroom door so he might walk her down to dinner. It was entirely unnecessary, and likely improper, but it was his way of trying to form a friendship with his new ward. Perhaps, if nothing else, he could offer her the lifestyle he himself could not enjoy.

  She seemed less surprised this tim
e when she opened the door and found him standing there. She wore a peach gown with her hair pulled back tight, with only a few loose tendrils to line her face. He preferred her wild curls, but they did dangerous things to his mind. His assessment of her caused her to lean back into the doorway.

  “What’s the matter?” Annie asked.

  “Nothing.” She surely thought he found fault in her, but the opposite was true. Her quirks of character, based on her unique upbringing, refreshed him. Every time she let down her guard even a little, Ellis felt his own walls lowering. She was a breath of fresh air to his rather stale life, not that she needed to know how he felt. “How was your ride?”

  “The scenery was magnificent,” Annie answered. “Fall has always been my favorite season. I’m sure I’ll be walking like a monkey tomorrow from riding, but the horse and I got along fine.”

  Ellis chuckled and held his arm out for her to take. “And did you get along with Lord Kerrigan?”

  She blushed a soft pink. “Lord Kerrigan was an ideal companion. I think I will miss him when he leaves tomorrow.”

  A small tightening in his gut surprised him, but he promptly dismissed it. How fortunate Kerrigan had nothing in his past tying him down. Ellis envied him that. Annie might be socially beneath his friend, but Kerrigan could afford to make a lesser match. And Ellis would do all he could to elevate Annie if such a union became desirable.

  “I shall urge him to return soon, then.”

  Finally—a smile just for him.

  “I should like that.”

  ***

  Andalin opened her eyes to discover a glimpse of light shining through her window. She hurried toward it to enjoy the sunrise and saw Ellis and Lord Kerrigan on horseback, going down the road. Sagging against the glass, she sighed. Ellis might not have the manners to say goodbye, but she thought Lord Kerrigan would have waited for her.

  She no longer had anything to look forward to in her day. Even breakfast was ages away. She glanced around her lavender room to find something to occupy her. Her eyes fell on the book Ellis had left a few days back. She had not opened it before because she thought it was Ellis’s bad idea of a joke. She picked it up and began to skim the first page. The paper hadn’t yellowed with age, but the corners were dog-eared from use. By the third page, she was hooked and no longer skimming. The story fascinated her.

  The witch of Baltar’s real name was Sephira. She was raised in a middle-class family, with an uneventful upbringing. Her family lived on the outskirts of the Black Forest, and she spent hours alone in the woods each day, fantasying about the perfect life. But that was not what made her famous.

  The tale of her extreme beauty carried from town to town, and by the time she was of age, suitors came from all over to seek her hand. The more attention she was given for her beauty, the more she craved it. She was ever elusive to her suitors, declaring none handsome enough to tempt her. She kept them at bay, only speaking to her callers through an upstairs window.

  The men would not be put off, so Sephira proclaimed the one who brought her the most beautiful gift would be the one she’d marry. Her collection of expensive jewels and finery accumulated until Sephira became exceedingly wealthy. Men of all stations were eager to give up their dearest treasures in order to win Sephira’s love. Sephira collected their things, but she never chose a husband for herself.

  The years began to pass, and many found it odd her beauty and youthfulness did not fade. Rumors started about Sephira using sorcery to keep her beauty. The rumors ripened, and many soon believed Sephira bewitched.

  One day a man named Sultare, a longtime suitor of Sephira’s, followed her deep into the forest, but Sephira disappeared. Sultare waited several days before attempting to follow Sephira once more. But again Sephira evaded him in the most mysterious way. He would not be put off. He spent years trying to convince Sephira to marry him, and he was determined to find out what lured her to the woods. He wondered about a liaison with another man or if, truly, her beauty was only a mirage.

  On the fourth try he discovered Sephira’s secret. There was a door hidden between a tree and a rock, leading to a deep cave. Inside she kept the treasures collected from her suitors. Strings of pearls lined the ceiling above a bed of silk with diamond-encrusted pillows. Among the finery Sultare found Sephira chanting and rubbing a strange gem.

  Sultare approached her and demanded to know if she was involved with sorcery. She laughed and told him that the rock of Baltar was nothing evil—just a relic passed down in her family for generations. She showed him the rock, but Sultare would not touch it.

  He accused her of being a witch and demanded to know if her beauty was the result of a spell. This enraged Saphira, and she screamed that her beauty was real. The months of rumors about her appearance had only fueled her anger. She demanded Sultare take back his accusations, but he would not. Her horde of treasures disgusted him. He declared that her selfishness had spoiled her perfect face. When she heard this, she ripped her cloak and snarled like a mad dog. She held the stone up in the air and cast a spell on Sultare, telling him that his cruelty would cause his heart to burst before the next full moon.

  It was three days before the full moon, and Sultare spent those hours spreading the story of Sephira. He called her the witch of Baltar. On the night of the full moon, Sultare’s death proclaimed the truthfulness of his story. He had been a well-respected man in town, and his friends took up a hunt against Sephira. But no matter how hard they searched, they could not find her.

  Andalin shut the book with a shudder. The story of Sephira and Sultare was a tragedy she had not heard before. It had been set around the Black Forest, so it was possible there were shreds of truth to the story. The question was why did Ellis want her to read it?

  After a brisk knock, Hannah entered to help Andalin dress for breakfast. As Hannah pinned up her hair, she wondered what kind of ladies Lord Kerrigan courted. Andalin missed their easy conversation—not that she imagined herself his equal.

  She was going to have to come up with something to get her mind off him, or the two weeks until he returned would be trying indeed. She would put more effort into her riding lessons and read something scholarly that would make for good conversation when Lord Kerrigan returned. Andalin’s eyes fell on the worn book on her bedside table. And maybe she could do some digging about the story of Sephira. There was no more opportune time than the present.

  “Hannah?” Andalin asked. Hannah had too many pins in her mouth to respond. “Have you ever heard of the witch of Baltar?”

  Hannah coughed, causing several pins to fly from her lips. “Where did ye hear of her?”

  Andalin wondered whether she should tell Hannah about the book, considering the maid’s wide eyes and slackened jaw. Such a fright could kill a woman of Hannah’s age. Instead Andalin lied. “Oh, we used to tell stories about her back home.”

  A guttural sound erupted from Hannah’s lips. “We don’t talk about that wicked woman in this house! Now I know why. Just the mention of her brings me temper to a boil.”

  Andalin had to know more. “This witch . . . you knew her?”

  Hannah shuddered. “Knew her? She’s the devil herself! Why she’s the one . . .” Hannah’s voice trailed off. She shifted uncomfortably. “We don’t talk about her in this house!”

  The warning in her voice was clear. Andalin dropped the subject and held still while Hannah finished her hair.

  Andalin met Hannah’s eyes before she went down for breakfast. “Thank you. My hair always looks lovely after you pin it up like this.”

  The tension eased with Hannah’s smile. “It doesn’t take much talent to make hair as soft and full as yers look nice.”

  Andalin made her way to the dining room. Something in this house was connected to the witch of Baltar—a story Andalin would have otherwise reasoned to be fiction. She’d heard of people playing with sorcery, but in the past
a rumored witch was a dead witch. It seemed unlikely a woman would go to so much fuss just to be beautiful. But then again, didn’t every young lady desire beauty?

  A woman accused of using her powers to change her appearance to trick away innocent men’s wealth was somehow connected to the manor house. And not to be forgotten, this witch had protected herself by killing a man who had once begged to marry her. It was Andalin’s turn to shudder. Hannah knew more than she was willing to divulge.

  Chapter 8

  After a few days and several tedious lessons on the proper way to pour and serve tea, the language of the fan, and the precise facial expressions acceptable in public, Andalin was ready to sneak into Ellis’s wing. She needed answers to her questions, and Ellis’s prolonged absence felt like an invitation. She noiselessly opened her bedroom door and peered down both sides of the passageway. When she saw nothing, she listened for another moment until she was completely satisfied no one could see her. She slipped the door closed and silently crept down the corridor.

  The act of espionage suppressed her nerves and filled her with excitement. Andalin took one last glance behind her before turning down the corridor separating Ellis’s family rooms from the rest of the house. Her footsteps slowed. She peered into the first room and then the second, but both had furniture and wall hangings covered in white sheets. Andalin reached for the handle of the third door, but it was locked. Two more doors to go. The next was a linen closet. But the last was what she had been looking for—Ellis’s room.

  The heavy drapes over the window and bed were dark and masculine. Everything about the room seemed big: the bed, the oversized mahogany desk, the bookshelf on the wall, the bear rug on the floor. She had hoped to see proof of his beastlike tendencies, but the room was relatively tidy. Deep down, she knew Ellis was not the rumored wild man, but part of her still wanted to believe he was awful. It made it easier to justify the emotional distance between them.

  Not a single family portrait hung on his walls. It was all so very strange. She had peeked under many white sheets in the house, only to find landscapes. She’d been sure if there were any portraits to be found, they would be here. Were they taken down on purpose to avoid the pain of the past? The alternative of there not being any at all seemed too sad to comprehend—especially for a family wealthy enough to hire an artist.