Dark Horse: The Kingmaker Saga #5

by Miller, London

Uilleam didn’t fight them, nor did he argue. He merely went along with what they wanted with a blank expression. He wasn’t afraid.

  None of this made sense.

  It shouldn’t have been possible.

  This was Uilleam, one of the most clever men she had ever known—capable of things people couldn’t even fathom.

  He was the Kingmaker …

  But now … now he was about to be on trial for murder, and she only had herself to blame.

  1

  Lost

  Four months ago …

  All his life, Uilleam Runehart had never once doubted the man he was meant to be or the things he’d had to do to get where he was.

  There was never a moment when he second-guessed a decision or thought twice about the course he was on … until now.

  Until he was faced with a truth that was a far too bitter pill to swallow. Yet, as he blinked and reopened his eyes, Bishop still stood on the threshold and his words still echoed between them.

  And all the things he hadn’t said.

  His legs carried him back out the door, the cold air like a slap in the face that he very much needed. But it still felt as if his lungs weren’t working properly and his heart was stuttering in his chest.

  Of all the reasons Uilleam had suspected for Karina’s change, he hadn’t considered for a moment that he was the root cause of it—that he was responsible.

  That he had destroyed a piece of her without thought … and a piece of himself.

  But she’d told him as much, hadn’t she?

  All these years they had spent apart—some when he hadn’t known she lived, others when she had waged a war against him—he hadn’t realized it was all because of him.

  While she had grown to despise him and the very air he breathed, he had gone on with his life as if nothing had happened.

  His business had grown. His power infinite.

  She’d spent that time mourning.

  What little food he’d consumed threatened to come back up, acid burning in the back of his throat as he swallowed hard, willing it to stay down.

  How many times had he sent his mercenaries on jobs without care for what they did or who they did it to? When was the last time he’d actually spared it more than a moment’s thought?

  “Ah, so he’s told you, has he?”

  The soft, but firm feminine voice filtered in through the blood rushing in his ears. The very last person he expected to be waiting outside his former home was his sister, Elsie.

  She didn’t belong there.

  It could have been the Jaguar she stood in front of, a sleek black as dark as the fitted trousers she wore, or it might have been the walking cane her hands were stacked on top of that made her appear quintessentially English.

  But if nothing else, it was certainly the pair of identical Dobermans that sat on either side of her legs as if waiting for the moment she gave them an order.

  The three looked so outrageously out of place, Uilleam had to blink to ensure he was seeing correctly, then did it again.

  Yet, they didn’t disappear.

  Elsie tapped her cane twice against the asphalt before starting toward him, the dogs remaining where they were though their dark, watchful eyes remained on her.

  She was almost to his side when his brain caught up with the rest of him and he processed what she’d said. “How do you—“

  “After your mercenaries found him in that Romanian wilderness, I’ll admit I was curious how he’s managed to survive this long. He … generously answered a few of my questions on our way over here.”

  Before, Uilleam would have gotten annoyed by that fact. He had always hated the idea of anyone interfering in his affairs, but now, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

  His shame was too abundant.

  “What does it matter?” he asked, his voice low. “What I’ve done …”

  “This street is too open, dearest brother,” Elsie said patiently, her fingers momentarily tightening around the raven’s head on top of her cane. “I suggest we have this conversation elsewhere.”

  “Why?” he asked looking up at her, wondering if he appeared as lost to her as he felt.

  She looked at him patiently, as Kit was prone to do. “You’re exposed at the moment, Uilleam. She not only ensured the American authorities are looking for you, but allies and enemies alike. We have less than two hours to get you out of the city before it becomes almost impossible, even for me.”

  The smart thing to do would be to listen to her advice—to leave as quickly as he possibly could—but his thoughts were in shambles, and the longer he stood there, the more he wasn’t sure if he should leave.

  Rather, he stay and face the consequences of his actions as Karina had wanted.

  “Let’s not play the martyr today,” Elsie said, reading his expression.

  “Elsie—“

  “Go on.”

  Uilleam’s brows drew together in confusion, realizing belatedly that last remark was not for him, but before he could recognize what was happening, he felt a pinch in his neck and cold rush through him.

  “What the hell are you—“

  Bishop stepped around him, a needle still in hand, his expression as neutral as it had always been.

  “Don’t worry,” Elsie said, her voice distorting slightly. “It’s a special little cocktail I had made that won’t knock you out but it will make you a touch more … amendable.”

  All too quickly, Uilleam couldn’t feel his legs … or arms … or anything, really. It was as if his entire body had gone numb.

  Bishop caught him before he could hit the ground.

  “It’s time you stop running from your problems, little brother,” Elsie said with a pat on his shoulder. “Only then can you move forward.”

  Uilleam hadn’t the slightest idea what she was on about, but there was nothing he could do about it as he was dragged over to the waiting car.

  The last thing he saw before the car door closed was the charred front steps of a place he never, in his entire life, wanted to return to.

  * * *

  Time passed in a blur of car rides and plane travel.

  Whatever drug Elsie had given him had worn off sometime during the flight. Sensation returned to his fingertips first, then the rest of his body, but he didn’t bother trying to move.

  He didn’t want to do anything.

  It was easier just sitting there, pretending as if the world wasn’t carrying on around him.

  Bishop sat toward the front of the plane, quiet as he watched the television, but Elsie sat in the row opposite him, a tablet in her hands.

  Thankfully, she hadn’t seemed to notice Uilleam was awake and aware. He was glad for it.

  It was proving much more enjoyable to just not speak. He wouldn’t know what to say anyway.

  How could one surmise everything he had come to learn in the last twenty-four hours?

  He had known Karina’s love had turned to hate, and rightfully so, but to know that he was the reason behind it …

  And before he could help himself, he imagined what life might have been like had he not been so zealous.

  Where would they be now if he had taken a moment to think before reacting so impulsively?

  They would have married, if that he was sure. And he would have given her, and their child, a life she could have only dreamed of.

  He would have been someone’s father.

  A wondrous, yet troubling thought that brought an absent smile to his face. But it faded just as quickly because in the blink of an eye, he had destroyed his own future without even realizing.

  Sometimes, he forgot he could be as much of a bastard as his father had been.

  Uilleam let his melancholy carry him away for hours, staring at nothing as he turned the same thoughts over and over in his head. It wasn’t until the attendant came back around to inform them they would be landing shortly did he finally bother to make his awareness known.

  “Good,” Elsie said as she looked in his
direction. “You’re awake. I hoped I hadn’t gotten the dosage wrong.”

  Uilleam ignored her as he was reminded of her deception when he felt the pinch in his neck as he turned.

  She had good intentions, he tried to remind himself, even if it had come at his expense.

  The plane descended, coming to a harsh drop as the wheels touched down on the tarmac.

  His legs were still unsteady beneath him as he got to his feet once they came to a stop, but a glare in both Elsie and Bishop’s direction effectively prevented them from coming over to aid him.

  His weakness was his own and he just had to deal with it.

  * * *

  Being back in Wales no longer felt like coming home.

  Perhaps it was the emptiness he felt, but nothing felt familiar. Not the forest of pine trees as they rode through the countryside, or the gently falling snow he’d always marveled at as a boy.

  Nothing, he was sure, would ever be the same again.

  By the time they arrived at his sister’s lake house, more fatigue had set in—whether from his vastly changing emotions or whatever cocktail Elsie had used to knock him out—but whatever it was had him seeking out a bed the first chance he was able.

  He ignored Elsie calling out after him as he hurriedly exited the car and headed for the front door. Completely bypassed her assistant who seemed to have been waiting to greet them.

  The only acknowledgment he gave the woman was a raise of his hand when she told him where his bedroom was located.

  Once inside, he stripped out of his clothes, not caring where they landed, closed every blind and curtain until the room was bathed in darkness and finally, once alone, he allowed himself to feel everything.

  2

  Reborn

  Uilleam wasn’t sure of the time as he forced his eyes open, too groggy to care that even after sleeping, he still felt awful.

  He lumbered off the bed, heading into the bathroom to relieve himself before washing his hands and splashing water on his face. His reflection told him he still looked like death warmed over, but that was a problem for another day.

  His luggage was, thankfully, waiting for him just outside his bedroom door—a kindness he would need to thank his sister for later.

  In her own way, she was only attempting to help him and it wasn’t fair he was taking out the worst of his anger for himself on her.

  A drink was what he needed.

  Something harsh and strong that would not only mellow him out, but dull the worst of his pain. Only then would he be able to think more clearly.

  Nodding to himself, he dressed and left his bedroom, walking barefoot down the hallway before entering the living room.

  At first glance, it appeared as if Elsie had redecorated, though much of the priceless art he had seen last time was still proudly displayed.

  The last time he was here he distinctly remembered a bar area set up next to the mounted TV, but now he found nothing but a bowl of decorative balls.

  Odd, but he thought nothing of it as he went searching elsewhere.

  First in the kitchen, then in the lower cabinets where he was positive he had seen a number of bottles before. But now? Nothing.

  This was, without a shadow of a doubt, Elsie’s doing. And in his current state, he refused to play this game with her.

  He went in search of his sister, his ire only worsening when he couldn’t find her. Eventually, he found himself on the deck behind the house that overlooked the lake.

  From there, he could set her pets lounging at the end of the pier and figured if they were out here, Elsie must be too.

  Their ears flickered as he approached, their eyes turning in his direction once he drew near, but neither moved from their positions at the end of the dock.

  Instead, they seemed to guard a neatly folded towel and a small pile of discarded clothing.

  Uilleam looked for any sign of his sister in the deep blue waters, but found the surface tranquil and undisturbed.

  At least for a few seconds.

  Then, he saw her breach the water’s edge, exhaling before pushing the strands of her hair back.

  He thought she might have looked in his direction, but if she noticed him waiting for her on the dock, it didn’t seem to matter. She remained solely focused on swimming her laps and only circled back to where he waited once she’d finished.

  “You’re awake early,” she called far too cheerfully considering the hour and the mood he was in.

  Uilleam had always considered himself an early riser, but with the way he was feeling, his body seemed as if he hadn’t slept in ages.

  “Vodka,” Uilleam said by way of greeting. “I need it.”

  “Unless you’re suffering from cirrhosis of the liver and a doctor has ordered that you continue to drink for your health, I can’t possibly see how you would need spirits at half six in the morning.”

  Elsie hoisted herself out of the water, droplets dripping from the ends of her hair as she reached for the towel and began drying off.

  “It can be a Bloody Mary if that helps your sensibilities.”

  She smiled patiently as if dealing with a child, and why did that bother him?

  Sure, she was older by a few years, but there were days when the age gap didn’t seem as wide. Not to mention, he was taller than her by several inches.

  In many ways, he had always felt like the older sibling, but now he was feeling more like a wayward child.

  “I asked nicely.”

  “Actually, you were quite rude with your demands, but you’re grieving, so I’m giving you a pass.”

  Why did that have to feel so much like a kick in the chest? His mood was already deteriorating by the second, he certainly didn’t need another reminder as to why.

  “That’s why you don’t need to drink,” Elsie said firmly, though not unkindly. “It’s easy to ignore that which hurts us, but it’s harder and better to actually face it.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” Uilleam countered, losing his patience.

  “Don’t pretend to assume I don’t know loss, little brother. We don’t need to compare whose pain is worse.”

  A lecture was the very last thing he wanted right now. Conversation, period, was the furthest thing from his mind.

  “It’s too soon,” he said with a shake of his head.

  “It’s never beneficial to solve one’s problem with drinks. It would be like covering a stab wound with a simple bandaid. You’re not fixing the problem, you’re masking it.”

  “What if that’s what I want?”

  A temporary bandaid wouldn’t fix the problem, no, but it would at least buy him some time.

  Wasn’t that enough?

  Elsie wrapped the towel around her middle before heading back toward the house, her loyal companions right at her heels.

  “This is something I can’t allow you to run from, Uilleam. No matter how much it might hurt.”

  For a while, he stood there staring after her, wondering if he was caught up in some sort of fever dream where someone else was actually telling him what he could and couldn’t do—a reality he hadn’t faced for quite sometime.

  But unfortunately, this was all too real and in that moment he realized, nothing would be easy again.

  It would only go downhill from here.

  * * *

  One drink never hurt anyone, but Uilleam hadn’t realized just how much he’d started to rely on spirits to manage his moods until he no longer had them.

  At first, he had retired to his room, but when the silence and solitude did very little to combat his deteriorating mood, he started to pace. But soon even that had felt too much like he was throwing a tantrum and he’d wanted to show that he was capable of not drinking when he wanted to.

  Yet, the more time he had to think, the more his thoughts went places better left forgotten.

  Somehow, every unsavory deed he had ever committed, justified or otherwise, came rushing to the forefront and he had to confront uncomfortable trut
hs.

  And the more memories that cropped up, the more he longed to escape them.

  “Have I not been punished enough?” he asked, forgetting he wasn’t alone in the room, his attention on the raging fire in front of him where he sat in the living room.

  Elsie’s assistant merely blinked at him, which only agitated him further.

  It wasn’t as if he were speaking nonsense.

  It all made sense to him, yet her expression edged toward uncertainty.

  What the hell would she know anyway? They had only met once and had hardly spoken more than a couple of sentences to each other.

  She didn’t know him or what he had done.

  When she didn’t offer a response, he turned his attention away, determined not to lose his mind despite feeling as if that was exactly what he was heading for.

  He tried to recall why this time felt different. It wasn’t just the clarity of it all that had him twisted into knots—he was sober.

  And he was hating every second of it.

  The sudden chime of the doorbell didn’t help matters, especially when he hadn’t the slightest idea who was there.

  “By all means,” Elsie said as swept through the room. “I’ll answer the door. No need to get up.”

  As he listened to the locks coming undone, he couldn’t help but wonder what fresh hell awaited him. It was becoming quite obvious that his sister intended to impart some sort of wisdom upon him during his stay here in her home—if the lack of proper alcohol was anything to go by—but he couldn’t imagine she would be able to take it much further than this.

  “Ah, you must be Luna. I’ve heard quite a lot about you.”

  If it were possible to dissolve into the chair he sat in and sink into the floor, Uilleam would have picked that option above all others the moment he turned to look over his shoulder and saw Kit and Luna standing in the doorway.

  Apparently, there was to be something of a Runehart family reunion, and in his current state, he wanted no parts of it.