Chasing Shadows

by Ashley Townsend

  “What did I say that upset you?” Sarah asked, baffled. “It wasn’t about Damien, was it? Because he’s been a complete gentleman.” She thought of the way he had held her against him after they’d fallen in the snow, but the truth was, she hadn’t exactly minded or made much of an effort to pull away.

  She ducked her head to conceal the guilty flush that stole over her cheeks.

  “No, no.” Edith’s voice sounded distracted as she murmured her assurance. “If you trust the young lord, then so do I.”

  Sarah looked up at the older woman, who diligently worked the tangled strands into compliance. “Then what is it?”

  “I simply—” She halted, seeming to struggle for the right words before she schooled her features into the subservient mask Sarah had seen her use around the other lords and ladies. “I was surprised to hear that you would be supping with the royals, is all. But it will be quite an experience for you, I’m sure.”

  Though Edith tried her best to hide it, Sarah detected the uncertainty and false assurance her words carried. “What’s really bothering you?” It couldn’t be that Damien had invited her to dinner. That hardly seemed like a reason to cause worry.

  Edith pursed her lips. “It’s simply that there are quite a few . . . expectations,” she answered carefully, “for such an event. It can be intimidating for one so young.”

  Sarah had discovered that hardly a decade separated them, yet Edith had taken over a mothering role, seeming decades older in both wisdom and experience and temperament. The harshness of this life had aged the woman and lent her a knowing gaze. Though Edith never spoke of it or complained, Sarah suspected she had seen more of the world than she cared to know, judging by the faraway look that occasionally flittered over her pale features when she thought no one was watching.

  Edith’s ministrations were no longer the practiced and efficient movements of the maid she had been a moment ago, but her fingers combed through the auburn waves like those of a mother comforting her child. Sarah’s heart sank in dread.

  “Edith,” she said warily, watching her friend’s face closely when she averted her gaze. “What are you really worried about? You can tell me.”

  Edith’s troubled eyes met hers. Placing her hands on her shoulders, she said, “I am concerned about you going, yes. But my real worry is that they will know who you are—you will no longer be just another faceless guest to them. If you are with Lisandro at that table, you are worth knowing.”

  Sarah squinted her left eye, still unclear. “So you’re worried about me getting on their radar? Why?”

  Choosing her words carefully, she replied, “Everyone is aware that the master Cadius can be prone to . . . dark moods.” Her shiver seemed uncontrollable. “We all fear him and what he will do if we make a mistake, and the guests are no exception—half are indebted to him for reasons unknown, and the other portion are politically ambitious and only remain because a familiarity with the royals can advance their position. If he knows who you are, he will be watching you from now on, wherever you go.”

  Sarah swallowed, recalling Damien’s words from earlier. Could Cadius really have spies everywhere?

  Edith’s expression softened at her look of surprise, though her voice was just as insistent. “And that begs me to caution you to remain silent on religious matters. I’ve enjoyed hearing you speak freely of God and Christianity”—she whispered the word, as though fearful someone might overhear—“but the notion of a single deity threatens the ego of a man like Cadius and his comrades. That sort of talk is just not expected from a lady, especially not a topic so controversial as the Christ.”

  “I can’t lie,” Sarah remarked softly. Edith looked put out, and she hurried to add, “You told me that you and your husband raised your son to believe in God. Would you want him to lie about his faith?”

  Edith winced, but her pained expression was fleeting. “If it would save his life, yes. And now I am asking you to protect yours. You know what you believe, so what is the harm in denying it if someone asks?” But Sarah was already shaking her head. Edith added quietly, “You told me He sees everything, so why would he punish you for protecting yourself?”

  Sarah took a deep breath, thinking of a way to explain. “It’s not that I fear a reprimand from Him, but God is as much a part of my life as breathing—He’s the reason I’m alive. I can’t . . . deny Him. It would be like denying myself. Does that make sense?”

  Edith nodded slowly, and Sarah went on. “I promise to not provoke, but if someone asks me outright, I’m going to tell them about God just like I have with you.”

  “And if it was a matter of life and death, would you still speak up?”

  Sarah winced. She wanted to say, “Yes, in a heartbeat.” But she hesitated.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted honestly. “But I hope I would have the courage to stand by Him when He’s done the same for me all these years. You wouldn’t bury the crown jewels in the pumpkin patch when you could wear them for all to see, would you?”

  Edith shook her head, looking a little dumbfounded. “No, I suppose not.” She watched Sarah’s face closely, seeming to spot something in her eyes that wasn’t there before. She smiled faintly in bemusement. “My lady, you have given me much to think on. I must admit that though your conviction astounds me, I do respect you for it.” Sighing, she added, “So have it your way.”

  Her eyes turned haunted once more. “But I know first-hand what can happen if you make a mistake. Don’t give Cadius any reason to doubt your loyalty. Understand?”

  Sarah nodded mutely. Her stomach had become a total mass of knots during Edith’s cautioning. She felt more concerned and less self-assured than ever. But she was also touched that Edith cared enough to warn her beforehand, especially since she ran the risk of being overheard revealing such secrets.

  Spinning around in her chair, Sarah grabbed the woman’s hands in both her own and squeezed them gently. “I will be careful. I promise.”

  Edith bobbed her head in acknowledgement. She released Sarah’s hands and turned to retrieve the gown before she could see the emotion pooling in her gaze. “I can have a tray brought up for you, if you get hungry,” she said over her shoulder.

  “I can wait for dinner, thanks.” Sarah pretended not to notice that it took her a rather long time to smooth the dress out before bringing it to her; she didn’t want to embarrass Edith after all she had done for her.

  The dress slipped over Sarah’s hair with ease, and Edith put a few last-minute touches on her cosmetics—some pink-toned powders made from dried berries and flowers—before placing a sudden vice-like grip on her shoulders. “Whatever you do,” she whispered, her voice wavering with emotion, “do not let him see that you fear him.”

  Her first encounter with Cadius was sounding more ominous by the minute.

  Sarah tried to swallow her fear, but the lump that dropped to her stomach only made her feel sick. “How am I supposed to act, then?”

  Edith tucked an errant curl behind Sarah’s ear—the haunted look had yet to leave her eyes. “Just stay invisible. It is better if he doesn’t dwell on you for too long.”

  Sarah watched her expression closely. Then, because she couldn’t take not knowing what had stooped her friend’s shoulders so suddenly, she asked hesitantly, “You sound like you speak from experience.”

  Edith did not turn away or try to change the subject, as she had expected. She stared Sarah in the eye, and a single tear slipped over her lid and made its way down her pale cheek. She gave a pained smile that quivered at the corners. “Some ghosts are best left forgotten.”

  ****

  Sarah jiggled her leg anxiously, her apprehension increasing with each second that passed without Damien knocking on her door. She had thought she was too nervous to eat, but when one hour passed and then two, she was so famished that she devoured the contents of the tray Edith had brought in earlier. “In case you change your mind,” she had said. Sarah didn’t think she was referring to simp
ly snacking before dinner.

  The sun had set hours ago. Maybe she had heard wrong and supper wasn’t until later. And there was a definite possibility that interrogating Cadius in front of a room full of people was all a complete mistake, and sitting here was only making her question her decision.

  Jumping off her bed in one lurching movement, Sarah practically jogged to her door and threw it open. She would go mad if she stayed in this room another moment. Closing her door as gently as her nervous fingers would allow, her slippers padded across the hall, and she paused as a servant moved around the corner and out of sight before knocking on Damien’s door with a shaking hand.

  Her foot tapped impatiently on the colorful rug as she waited for him to open the door. She pursed her lips and knocked again, harder, when he neglected to answer. The door creaked open under the weight of her fist, and she froze.

  No sound came from within. Maybe he had already gone to dinner and forgotten to close the door on his way out. If that were the case, he had also forgotten to fetch her, which she didn’t think he would.

  Sarah pushed the door open a few more inches and leaned in slowly, her eyes scanning the dark room as she gripped the doorframe. The low-burning fire cast eerie shadows over the enormous room, but it offered little light. “Damien?” she whispered, as if in fear of disturbing the unnerving dark of the strange room. There was no answer. She took a step inside as her eyes adjusted and then said more loudly, “Are you in here?”

  Silence.

  “Guess not,” she muttered and began backing through the doorway. A breathy shudder from the other side of the room caused her to jump as her eyes flew to the settee and the crumpled form convulsing there.

  She gasped when the man muttered her name in confusion. “Ohmygosh, Damien!” She flew across the room and dropped down beside him. Tremors racked his body, and she could tell he was trying hard to contain them. A sheen of sweat glistened on his brow, and his face was devoid of color. Sarah felt instant panic when he looked up at her with glazed, feverish eyes that didn’t seem to place her. “What happened?” Fear caused her voice to tremble.

  He gave her a wavering grin that she assumed was meant to reassure her, but it looked more like a grimace. “You caught me at a poor time, my lady.” Now he really winced, and Sarah involuntarily mimicked the gesture. He choked past gritted teeth, “But I seem to be the one with the poor . . . timing.”

  “Damien, what happened?” she asked again. Her eyes scanned the room, as though the answer were hidden in the rumpled sheets. It looked like he had fallen from bed and barely made it to the small couch before the tremors became too much for him.

  He looked up at her with a look she could only assume was his brave face, but his shivering body undermined the effort. “It’s nothing. Truly.” He gave her an imploring look. “Sarah, please—I don’t wish you to worry, and I can see you already are. Forgive me for—” His brow tightened and his eyes closed in pain as a severe tremor moved over his body, too powerful for him to control. He gripped his stomach, as if to quell the vibrations racking his frame.

  Sarah watched in horror as the shaking increased. She had no idea what to do to alleviate seizures, or if she needed to hold him still so he couldn’t hurt himself. Indecisive, she could only stare, horror-struck and frozen in wide-eyed panic. When she could no longer stand watching his pain in helpless silence, she rose to call out for someone, but his arm snaked out and caught her hand. His hold was desperate, unbreakable.

  “Don’t go,” he rasped, breathless from his episode. Sarah was about to argue that he needed help she couldn’t provide, but the convulsions had lessened with his vice-like grip on her arm. He was only shivering now, though Sarah feared it might start again at any moment. It seemed to help to have something to hold onto, though, and Damien’s eyes were lucid as he stared up at her, his look beseeching. Torn, she bit her lip and knelt before him again and squeezed his hand with hers.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” Though she was sure she would have no feeling in that hand tomorrow if he continued to hold on like she was his lifeline.

  Damien’s body visibly relaxed with her words, and his eyes drifted closed. He looked so vulnerable and tired, and she reached out to brush wet strands of hair from his brow. Her thumb idly stroked the creases on his forehead to smooth them out. It wasn’t until the tension on his brow lessened and his body sank heavily into the cushions that she realized what she was doing.

  Sarah swallowed and pulled her hand back. His grip on her other hand tightened possessively as his eyes opened to meet hers. In the semi-darkness, the color of his eyes was nearly impossible to make out, but the vulnerability in them was perfectly clear. The firelight caused the gold flecks to stand out against the darkness of his gaze, reminding Sarah of fireflies in a hollow cavern. A girl could get lost in those haunting eyes, Sarah thought, and she already felt the invitation to lose herself in their fathomless depths.

  “Don’t stop,” he whispered hoarsely. He sounded exhausted. How long had he been here, alone and terrified and fighting against his own body? She instinctively squeezed his hand and felt a quick pulse in return. Damien’s eyes closed with the reassurance that she would be nearby, and his body sank gratefully into the couch again.

  Sarah’s thumb rubbed back and forth across his knuckles to lull him to sleep, silently praying that he wouldn’t have another episode. As she watched his weary face, she wondered if they truly were seizures. Edith had said that Cadius was capable of great evil. Was poisoning a part of his game? Had he done this? Sarah felt a renewed hatred for the faceless man swell within her chest, which was quickly overshadowed by the fear that someone had tried to kill Damien.

  Her grip on his hand tightened, and he opened one eye. Her voice dropped with urgency as she leaned in. “Damien, did you say anything about what I told you during our ride? Anything at all? It’s important.”

  Both eyes were open now and clouded with confusion. He shook his head. “Of course not. You’ll recall that I am the one who told you to remain quiet.”

  “I didn’t say anything, either. But think back—did you mention it to anyone?”

  He appeared clueless and struggled to prop himself up. Sarah placed her free hand on his chest to keep him down, and he was too spent to put up a fight. “What are you talking about?”

  She glanced back at the open door and jumped up before he could protest. Closing it, she hurried back to him and retrieved his hand once more. Her voice dropped to a low whisper, even though the door was closed. “I think you may have been poisoned.”

  Now he really looked confused. “Wha—”

  “Is there any way that Cadius could have figured out what we talked about? Could we have been followed?”

  Damien was already shaking his head, albeit weakly. This time she didn’t fight him when he propped himself up on a wobbly elbow. “Sarah, no. He did not do this.”

  “Then how do you explain what just happened to you?“

  “A drunken father,” he answered quietly.

  Sarah glanced up at him sharply. “What?”

  Damien’s lips parted to expel a heavy breath. He lowered himself again, his eyes suddenly taking great interest in the tapestry on the wall above him. “Shortly after Mother’s death . . .” His voice faded, and he swallowed before he could continue. “I knew he was in a rage when he returned from the tavern that night, and I hid Isabella in the stable until he could sober-up. But without my mother or sister at hand, I was all the remained for the dispensation of my father’s pent-up wrath.”

  He paused. His voice was softer when he spoke. “It was the final straw, and I decided in that instant to take Isabella away from him. But then my father—he slipped and fell down the staircase, making the decision for us when he broke his neck. Isabella and I left when I was well enough to travel.” His story finished, Damien met her eyes, and she saw that the past clouded his gaze.

  For a man to murder his wife in a rage was bad enough, but to beat his own so
n and inflict this level of damage was unthinkable.

  Sarah’s throat felt unnaturally tight with compassion for the wounded man before her and disgust for the father who had raised him. She was horrified at the brief satisfaction she felt over his being dead and swallowed ashamedly. “And that’s when this started? The seizures?”

  His expression was heavy and burdened. “Yes. I lapsed into an episode before he had finished. Perhaps it saved my life.” He chuckled mirthlessly at the irony. His gaze lowered to the smaller hand clenched in his own, and he placed their entwined hands on his chest. Sarah watched his movements and when she looked up, his gaze was trained on the ceiling, thoughtful.

  “For years I questioned if this was God’s doing—my just punishment for being the horrible, unwanted child my father told me I was.” His throat worked in a convulsive swallow. “But now I realize that the world simply deals the hands that it does, and we cannot protest. Some days cause me to question if there truly is an Almighty, as Mother believed.”

  Damien’s eyes widened when they met her teary gaze, and he struggled to rise. “Oh, Sarah, forgive me. I did not wish to upset you.”

  She shook her head, wanting to tell him to sit back down before he had another seizure, but her throat was clogged with unshed tears. She sniffed. “It’s not that—” She stopped, unable to finish. Overcome with the imagery of a young, damaged boy lovingly caring for his sister, Sarah suddenly wanted very much to fix him and wipe away the past. She was supposed to be guarding her heart, but Damien and his aching loneliness had subdued her defenses. No matter what she wanted to believe, he was already in her heart.

  She stared at the back of the hand that had yet to release her own. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. The words didn’t seem to be enough, but they were all she had.