A Grave Inheritance

by Kari Edgren

  “In a moment.” He returned the handkerchief to his pocket. “Do you really want to know my opinion of Henry’s betrothal?”

  It took some effort to keep a steady breath. “Yes, Your Grace. As his father, your opinion takes precedent over all others.” Except, of course, for Henry’s and mine.

  The duke’s expression turned deadly serious, and I braced my nerves for what lay ahead. “It all depends, you see...” His voice broke off as he winced once more in pain.

  “Depends on what, Your Grace,” I asked, preparing to reach right over the desk if need be. Obviously, this was not a simple case of indigestion, and Henry would never forgive me if his father died while in my care. From what I could tell, there was sufficient pain to mask a slow stream of power. Over a period of about ten minutes, most of the damage could be repaired...

  The Duke lurched to his feet and stumbled around the desk. I shot up from the chair just as he reached the hearth and sank to the ground.

  “Oh, dear Lord!” I cried, kneeling beside him. “Don’t you dare die!”

  The duke’s head rolled to one side. His labored breath fell silent, and I feared had stopped altogether. A fire burst to life inside me. Placing my hands directly on his chest I released a rush of power straight into him, surrounding his heart in a frantic search for any signs of damage. In a flash, I glimpsed the thick muscle, beating with the strength and vitality of a healthy man.

  A hand gripped my wrist. My eyes flew to the duke’s face, and I found him staring at me with the most satisfied smile.

  “It depends, Miss Kilbrid,” he said softly. “On whether I want my son to marry a princess...or a goddess.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Nature of Love

  I yanked my arm from the duke’s grip with a violence that sent me toppling backwards onto the floor. The sudden impact jarred my buttocks and pushed the air from my lungs in a pronounced oomph. Anger and fear collided like charging horses inside me, wrenching my stomach and nearly spilling its contents on the duke’s rug.

  Merciful saints! What have I done?

  The duke stood and brushed the wrinkles from his velvet coat and breeches. Wiping his face once more with the handkerchief, he then reached a hand to help me from the floor.

  I recoiled from the gesture as though he had offered me a snake.

  “Come now, Miss Kilbrid,” he said jovially. “I’m not going to hurt you. Be a good girl and let me help you up.”

  A good girl! His pompous words slammed into the top of my head. “You tricked me!” I sputtered. And like a simpleton, I had fallen for it.

  His arm dropped to his side, and he leaned on his cane for support. “And what would you have done if I had just come right out and asked? Would you have admitted to your ancestry?”

  I glared at him. “Over my dead body.” Or yours.

  “Well, there you have it. What my method lacked in propriety, it made up for in originality.”

  “Trickery is hardly original,” I snapped. “Any devil worth his salt could have managed such a paltry charade.”

  A deep chuckle vibrated in the duke’s chest. “Now, now, my dear. There’s no need for rudeness. I may be many things, but I am by no means a devil.”

  His self-satisfied smile had grown in size, and if not for the nerveless tingle in my legs, I would have gladly stood to scratch it from his face. “How did you know?”

  “You should pay closer attention, Miss Kilbrid, as I’ve already explained my Irish roots.”

  Hope sparked to life, and my excitement tumbled out in a rush of words. “Was your grandmother goddess born?”

  “Oh, no, not goddess born, I assure you. But she had no shortage of stories about the clans that claim ancestry from Brigid.”

  The spark died even quicker than it had gained life. “You said you didn’t believe those stories anymore.”

  “Yes, well, I lied.”

  A curt breath cut through my nose. “Obviously—”

  “Not that you didn’t leave enough clues to lead a blind man,” the duke interrupted. “When I learned of your unique surname and inordinate ability to heal, I only had to put two and two together and then come up with a method to test my theory. Considering what I had planned for this evening, you may better understand why I needed to send Henry away.” The duke’s expression turned contemplative. “Tell me, Miss Kilbrid, does my son know what you are?”

  “Of course. I would never have kept something so important from him.”

  The duke nodded his approval. “Good, that should make things easier.”

  Dread crawled up my spine and gripped my scalp. “What do you mean? Make what easier?”

  “Never you mind,” he said. “Just know that you’re not the only one with secrets, and mine will come out in due time.” He extended his hand again. “We best join the others before they come looking for us.”

  I ignored the gesture, keeping my eyes fixed on his. “I’m not moving an inch until you tell me exactly what you plan to do with your...ill begotten knowledge.”

  His mouth twitched into a smile. “Do you really think you’re in a position to bargain?”

  I swallowed a mouthful of curses. “I at least have a right to know if you’re going to tell anyone else about me.” And, whether or not I needed to leave London on the next frigate.

  His eyes flashed with a startling fierceness, somewhat reminiscent of a dragon—a very dangerous one guarding a trove of gold, and I saw firsthand how the duke had earned his nickname. “Have no fear, Miss Kilbrid. Your secret is safe with me.”

  Our gaze remained fixed for a moment longer. “Fine,” I muttered darkly. Then taking his hand, he pulled me to my feet, and we walked in silence to the drawing room.

  * * *

  Lucy and I arrived home alone well before midnight. While the duke had been playacting for me in the study, Cate was unexpectedly called away by one of her orphans. I guessed the little wretch had been spotted again, or someone had fallen ill and needed help. Either way, I could not begrudge Cate for doing her duty, even when my nerves felt riddled with pins from the night’s events.

  While Lucy excused herself for bed, I found my way to a sofa to read until Cate returned. Was it possible that the duke suspected her as well? Or had the change of surname been enough to conceal her Irish descent? And what did he plan to do with his newfound knowledge? Would he try to blackmail me? Attempt to use my gift for power? Or hold it out as a means to manipulate Henry?

  Anxiety surged amidst all the questions. “Damnation!” I cursed, throwing the book aside with a thud. Nervous energy pulled at my muscles and I soon found myself on my feet, pacing the length of the room like a caged cat.

  Dragon, indeed! The man is the devil himself. How dare he use such means to trick me?

  I paced back and forth, my thoughts split between anger at the duke and a well-earned self-denigration.

  Stupid girl! Didn’t your mother teach you anything? How could you be such a naïve fool!

  “Excuse me, miss,” someone said from right behind me.

  Absorbed in my thoughts, I nearly jumped from my skin in fright. With a small yelp, I spun around to find Sophie. “Gracious heaven! You scared me.”

  Concern covered her usually soft features. “Beg your pardon, miss, but a lady is here to see you.”

  This took me back a step. “What does she want?” I asked, more wary than curious due to the late hour and my complete lack of female acquaintances in this god-forsaken city.

  “She came for Lady Dinley, but when I told her my mistress was away from home, she then asked for you.”

  “Do you know who she is?”

  “Yes, miss. It’s the Princess Amelia.”

  I sucked in a hard breath. Impossible. Not after what had happened between us. “You must be mistaken, Sop
hie. Please, go tell whoever is out there that I am indisposed and unable—”

  A lofty voice drowned out my next words. “There is no mistake,” Amelia said, as she swept into the room and threw back the hood of her cloak. “You may leave us now, Sophie. I wish a private word with Miss Kilbrid.”

  Her arrogance permeated the air, and I clenched both hands to keep from throwing one of Cate’s porcelain ornamentals perched on a nearby side table. Sophie looked to me for confirmation. Only when I gave a slight nod did she curtsey and turn to leave.

  Amelia and I stared at each other in tense silence, neither of us showing anything but the greatest dislike for the other. “What do you want?” I asked through gritted teeth the moment the door shut and we were alone.

  In a few short breaths, Amelia’s arrogance disappeared, and her manner became somewhat hesitant. Dropping her gaze, she walked to the hearth and held her hands up to the flames, seemingly more for the distraction than to gain any real heat. “I came here tonight for Lady Dinley.”

  “She is out, as Sophie has already told you.” Falling back on my Quaker teachings, I took great pleasure in omitting her royal title. “And I’ve no idea of her whereabouts, if that is what you want from me. Why don’t you return in the morning? I’m sure she will be home by then.”

  I started for the door when Amelia spun around, her sheer desperation stopping me cold. “It will be too late by then. Please, Miss Kilbrid, I must get help tonight.”

  My initial wariness grew into downright suspicion. “What sort of help do you need? Surely, I can offer nothing in Lady Dinley’s stead.”

  Amelia knotted her fingers like a nervous child. “I’ve heard it whispered that Lady Dinley has an unusual talent for healing. Mostly it comes from the servants, but every now and again a courtier is said to have sought out her help.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. Was this another trick? Had the duke somehow involved Amelia in his schemes? Having been played a fool once tonight, I had no intention of letting it happen again.

  “Do you have need of a healer?” I asked, without betraying the slightest emotion.

  She nodded. “A gentleman I know is very ill. He has received treatment from the finest doctors in London, but nothing has yet to help. Earlier this evening...” her voice broke, and she had to wait a moment before continuing. “I have been told he is in the gravest danger and to prepare for the worst.”

  After Richard Fitzalan’s praiseworthy performance, Amelia’s distress had little effect on me. For all I knew, she was employing a similar skill to attain a similar end. “Why do you think I can help?” I asked, biding for time, as well as answers. “Did someone tell you I was a healer?”

  “Lord Fitzalan said you were the best healer in the Colonies. If there is any truth to his claim, then I beg you to come with me to this gentleman’s lodgings.”

  Blasted! Amelia had asked for my help and now I was obligated to act. However, that didn’t mean I would run blindly into another trap.

  A smattering of power warmed my palm. Taking a step closer, I placed it ever so lightly on Amelia’s arm. “This gentleman must be very dear to bring you out in the middle of the night.” Power trickled into her unnoticed, opening a channel to her emotions.

  Her blue eyes turned to pools of sadness. “He is very dear, Miss Kilbrid. So much that I could not bear his loss.”

  Heartache flowed into me. Tears burned my eyes, and I nearly cried out under the immense weight of her grief. Dropping my hand, I stumbled back a step.

  “Miss Kilbrid!” the princess exclaimed, as she caught hold of my elbow. “Are you unwell?”

  Pity swelled in my chest when our gaze next met. “Just snagged a heel on the rug is all. Let me fetch my cloak, and we’ll be off at once.”

  * * *

  We rode together in her carriage through a maze of darkened streets. Buried in the folds of a thick black cloak, Amelia kept her own company. In the absence of a lamp, I stared openly at her rigid form on the opposite bench. My fingers curled around a small glass bottle hidden in my pocket as I tried to make sense of the bits of information I had managed to gather.

  Amelia loved this man, so much that her heart was near breaking at the thought of losing him. Certainly, she must have cared for a great many people, but the emotion I felt could only be attributed to a particular sort of love. Since Henry was currently gone from London, I surmised that her affections belonged to another man—a man that she was not at liberty to wed, or there would be no reason for this clandestine behavior.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me when a quarter hour had passed.

  Amelia shifted her weight on the bench, and pulled the cloak tighter. “It is not much farther.”

  And that is not what I asked. “Are we going to the palace?”

  My persistence earned a heavy sigh. “Please understand, Miss Kilbrid, there will be no particulars given in regards to the gentleman beyond his illness. I hope you can accept the delicacy of the situation and that secrecy is of the utmost importance to ensure the safety of those involved.” She paused for a moment. “I promise you will be well rewarded for your time...and for you discretion.”

  A smile formed of its own accord. Oh, you’ve no idea the price, I thought as the carriage slowed to a halt.

  Sparing no time for the footman, Amelia threw the door open and leapt down. “This way,” she said, the moment my feet touched the ground.

  Like two thieves, we ran through the shadows down a long narrow alley. Fog moved around us in swirls of wispy ghosts that broke against our skirts. Amelia reached for my arm. “In here,” she said, before turning into what appeared to be another alleyway. A cat darted across our path, and I had to stifle a cry of alarm.

  Amelia’s hold tightened as she steered me onto a path, past an iron gate set between two imposing stone walls. The cobbled pavers gave way to rough gravel that shifted beneath my heels. Looking up, I saw the flicker of candlelight coming from one of the upper rooms in what appeared to be a modest Tudor home.

  The path ended at a large wooden door. “Here we are,” Amelia said, further announcing our arrival with three soft knocks.

  Hurried footsteps sounded inside seconds before the door swung open. A young maid curtsied and stepped aside for us to enter.

  “Are the doctors gone?” Amelia asked in a hushed tone.

  The girl bobbed her head. “No one up there but Thomas, your highness. Just like ye ordered.”

  “And Thomas...is he still...” Amelia’s voice tapered to a halt.

  “He’s still with us, though I don’t know for how much longer.”

  Amelia swept past the maid, down a hallway, and up a set of stairs so narrow, they could only be meant for the servants. I scrambled to keep pace, bumping into her arm when she came to a sudden stop outside a chamber door.

  Her hand rested on the knob. “I beg you, Miss Kilbrid, do whatever you must to save him.” Tears streaked her pale face as she pushed the door open.

  The air hit me first, an acrid mixture of blood, herbs and impending death. Then came the raspy sound of wheezing, confirming the specter of winter fever.

  A fire danced in the hearth, its soft yellow light illuminating the simple furnishings. I followed Amelia past a washstand and basin to the bed’s end that jutted from the far wall into the center of the room. A young man lay sleeping on the mattress, his thin form draped in a white linen sheet. Even from several feet away, I could see the fever burning in his fair skin.

  Amelia sat beside him, and gently cradled his hand in hers. “I’m here, Thomas, and I’ve brought someone to help just like I promised.”

  Thomas didn’t stir. Several candles flickered on tables that stood on either side of the bed, their surfaces littered with a collection of bottles and small wooden bowls. Walking to one of the tables, I
glanced into the bowls. Two held the residue of what appeared to be chest plasters. Another glistened with a dark, thick liquid—blood, no doubt taken from Thomas judging by the various cuts in his arms.

  I picked up one of the glass bottles and read the label. Laudanum. So the doctors had given up hope. I didn’t blame them. From the sound of Thomas’s labored breathing, the illness had progressed far beyond their skills. It was an act of mercy to relieve his pain in what would have been his final hours.

  Under Amelia’s watchful eye, I folded back the sheet and placed a hand on Thomas’s bare chest. The skin seethed with heat over the layers of muscle and bone that strained to draw breath. To be sure, I could rid his body of the infection in short order, but not without risk of discovery. This would be slow work tonight, and if my plan worked, no one would be the wiser.

  “The doctors have confirmed lung fever,” Amelia said. “They have tried every known remedy in England to rid him of the ulcer, but nothing has worked.” She hesitated for a moment. “Tell me straight, Miss Kilbrid, now that you have seen him, is there any hope of recovery?”

  Her bravery impressed me, as I had observed over the years that only the strongest of souls insisted on the truth when the truth may not be to their liking. With grudging respect, I reached into the pocket of my cloak and withdrew the small glass bottle I had concealed earlier. “There is always hope,” I said, holding the bottle up for her inspection. “I suspected a type of winter fever, and brought a medicine that has been used with great success in the Colonies.”

  Amelia fastened her eyes on the amber liquid. “What is it?”

  In truth, it was nothing more than violet water, a simple decoction used to treat a variety of ailments from insect bites to insomnia. Or, in my case, a favorite perfume and mouth rinse. “Are you familiar with the Indians in the New World?”

  She nodded. “I’ve heard stories.”

  “This is a gift from the chief’s son, Teme.” Knowing my fondness for the scent, Teme had brought a basket of the small purple flowers to Brighmor last spring on one of his last visits to my father. The decoction would do nothing for Thomas, but I liked sticking to the facts whenever possible.