Back at the house, Ellery started up the stairs, hoping to hide in her room for the rest of the day. Perhaps for the rest of the week. Until she could leave here and never look back. But Morgan stopped her, challenged her.
“I thought you braver than that.” She stood hands on hips, her face grave. “Hiding from Con isn’t going to solve anything between you.”
“No, but at least I don’t have to fight my urge to rip him to shreds.” Ellery sighed, shoulders slumped. “It’s better if I just stay out of the way. I’ll be gone soon, and your family can forget I even exist.”
Morgan frowned. “You don’t understand,” Ellery added, then choked off the rest of her words. She sounded whiny, and she hated whiny. That was Conor’s fault too. She’d never been whiny before he came along. Or needy. Or weepy. Or dizzy with a joy that skimmed under her skin and flashed through her insides until she buzzed with it.
She scowled. That kind of thinking got her nowhere. Morgan followed Ellery up the stairs. “I understand plenty. But if you’re half the fighter I think you are, you won’t let Con chase you away.” She took her by the wrist. “What he did was wrong. Gods, that’s not saying the half of it. And I’m not making excuses. But if you’d seen him in the weeks after Ysbel’s death. If you’d watched the changes wrought in him by her murder.” Ellery remained stone-faced. “I’m not telling you to forgive him, but sometimes…” She shrugged.
“I turned the other cheek once, and got slapped again for my trouble.”
Morgan laughed. “Come down. It won’t be as bad as you think. He’s under siege by Mrs. Bushy and her daughters. She’s a friend of Gram’s and out to snare husbands for her four girls. The hunter’s become the prey.”
Conor did look caught—and miserable. He stood, drink in hand, a head taller than any other man there. He scanned the room for rescue, his eyes alighting on her, a haunted need in them that twisted at her resistance. Frightened at her reaction, she ignored his silent plea and looked away.
She couldn’t have made it through the next hour without Morgan’s help. She took charge, introducing Ellery to the handful of guests who’d come out of obligation or curiosity, explaining her presence at Daggerfell, easing Ellery’s way through the longest day of her life.
She knew Conor watched. The weight of his stare pressed upon her, keeping her edgy and tense, sending her pulse racketing out of control, her throat dry. It was anger. Nothing more. Her first instincts had been right. He was trouble. And his trouble had turned her upside down and inside out. She hated him. But she loathed herself for wanting more. For wanting him—still.
Tight, uncomfortable silences punctuated the hush-voiced conversations. Glynnis haunted them all, and her death, though ruled accidental, remained a mystery. Only the determined Mrs. Bushy seemed oblivious as she moved her girls from Conor to Ruan to Jamys, extolling their virtues in a loud unruly voice as if she hawked vegetables at market.
Glancing around, Ellery’s heart jumped. Conor bore down on her, his gaze ominous and single-minded. Did she stay and confront him? The coward in her screamed panic, and Ellery excused herself in a rush of apology as she fled toward the hall. She couldn’t speak with him. Not now. Not when she didn’t know what words might flow, what emotions would rise to the surface first. Retreat. Regroup. Then attack.
Stupidly not watching her steps, she careened into a gentleman just outside the salon doors.
He steadied her, his hand like a vise. “Pardon me, miss. No fire, I hope.” One hand gripped her, a muff cap tucked beneath his other arm.
“None, thank you,” she answered. Her eyes swam with frustrated tears, but she had the hazy impression of a sword-belt crossing a silver braided chest, white facings, silver buttons. If only he’d let her go before Conor cornered her.
“Excuse me. Please.”
She drew away, staring up into a square-jawed face, glacial blue eyes, and hair guinea-gold, knotted into a tight soldier’s queue. Not the heart-stopping magnificence of the Bligh men, but a ruggedness that made you look twice. Or three times. Too bad, she was in no mood for handsome men. She offered him a defiant flip of her chin and an arrogant glare that brought a thin smile to his lips. “A whole family of hell-cats,” he murmured under his breath.
The servant accompanying the officer beckoned him forward. He nodded her a dismissive salute, his attention already centered on the room’s occupants.
“Colonel Sinclair of His Majesty’s 14th Light Dragoons, sir,” the servant announced.
“Come for a word with you.”
Curious, Ellery put off her flight. Conor wouldn’t dare come after her now. Not with this newcomer appearing, all business by his demeanor and his grim face. She watched from the hall as the colonel surveyed the room. She knew that pose. An officer getting his first glimpse into enemy territory. Reconnoitering his position.
But it was Morgan’s reaction that surprised her the most. Her eyes flashed to the man’s face, her smile dying. He nodded in her direction, but instead of returning the civility, she spun on her heel and walked away. Interesting.
Mikhal showed the man back out into the hall. Ellery drew close into the shadows, interest overcoming good manners. What did this colonel have to do with the Blighs?
“Can I help you? As you can see we’re taken up with family today.”
“I’m well aware, Mr. Bligh, and I hate to bother you at such a time, but it’s about your sister-in-law’s death that I’m inquiring.”
Mikhal raised an eyebrow. “You’ve caught my attention.”
“I’m conducting a military investigation. Five soldiers have died under similar circumstances to Mrs. Bligh’s. Unmarked. In the open. Most near hills or mounds,” he reddened, looking decidedly uncomfortable, “or close by ancient standing stones. It sounds ridiculous but I thought if I could speak with you—”
“Come with me, Colonel, into my study.” He gestured toward Conor and his nephews to join them, but Morgan was there first, her expression thunderous. “You’re not welcome here.”
“Morgan,” warned her uncle.
“You don’t understand.” And Ellery froze at her words coming from Morgan’s mouth. Thought she understood when she heard the venom in them. The hurt and betrayal. “He’s only here to cause us grief. He excels at it.”
Colonel Sinclair’s face was as remote as hers. “Miss Bligh. I hope your trip south was uneventful.”
But Morgan had already stalked off, her strides only slightly hindered by the rare gown she’d donned for the funeral.
“My study, Colonel? And you can explain yourself to us all.” The four of them disappeared behind closed doors.
“There’s a story there, I’m thinking.” Lowenna’s voice whipped Ellery around. Conor’s grandmother stood beside her in the corner, her flashing gray eyes locked on the study door.
“Do you think he’s what brought Morgan home?” Ellery asked.
Conor’s grandmother sighed. “Morgan is a confusion of wants and needs even she doesn’t fully understand. But her mother is gone. It is up to me to untangle what I can, and comfort what I cannot.”
She started to follow Morgan’s route toward the back of the house, turning back once. Her lined cheeks were pale, her lips pursed. “I’ll say this and no more. Each hour you spend in anger is an hour lost forever. Don’t wait too long.” Age settled into her eyes like fog shrouding the brightness of the sun. “We walk a razor’s edge. There is great magic to be had within the quoit’s boundaries and at the turn of the season.” She stood stoop-shouldered as if the merest breeze might topple her. “It may be enough to do what needs doing.” But even her shrouded gaze held the power to scorch. “Then again, Ellery Reskeen. It may not. And regret is a cold and cheerless lover.”
Conor found Morgan in the greenhouse, hidden between cold frames and a wall of tropical palms. The last place anyone would look for her, so the first place he’d searched. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, hiding her face, but the way she was shredding a leaf
between her fingers gave him a good indication of her emotions.
“He’s gone. Doesn’t look like he’ll be back.”
She flicked her hair back, her expression a slash of white-hot fury. “No doubt riding home to his wife.” The leaf fell in a million tiny pieces at her feet. “If we’re lucky, he’ll fall off, break his fat head, and we’ll be good and rid of him.”
“Is that how it is? I had a notion when the temperature dropped to freezing at your first glimpse of each other.”
“It’s no way.” She broke off a palm frond as if snapping a neck. “Forget trying to comfort me. Gram’s already come and gone. It was a shock, I’ll admit, but I’m over it.”
“I can tell.”
She blasted him with her gaze.
“You don’t scare me. I know that look. And just so you know, you’ve got nothing on Ellery.”
He plucked his own leaf. Twirled it between his fingers. She sniffed. “Speaking of whom, instead of pestering me, why aren’t you trying to patch things up with her?”
Served him right. He let the leaf flutter to the floor. He’d known it was a bad idea following her. But between Ruan, Jamys, and himself, he’d drawn the short straw. He blew out a breath. Who the hell’s idea was it to draw straws anyway? “You can’t throw me off the scent by changing the subject. I came out here to talk about Sinclair.”
Morgan shrugged. “He’s military. Proper blue blood. Said he loved me. Forgot to mention he was already married. The end.” She slid him a glance. “So why aren’t you trying to mend things with Ellery?”
“You’re not going to forget it, are you?”
She shook her head. “No, so you may as well answer me.” He plowed a hand through his hair. “It’s not exactly easy to explain away murder. And Ellery isn’t amenable to sitting still long enough for me to explain anything.”
“Those sound like excuses. She’s heartsick. Wants to plant you a facer, but she’d come round if you gave her the chance.”
“I’m not going to give her that chance. Not the chance to forgive me and not the chance to get hurt all over again when things go sour.”
“You don’t know—”
“You know as well as I do the odds of my coming back alive from Ilcum Bledh. I barely survived the last battle with Asher. Ellery’s anger means she won’t be hurt when…”
“That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. She’s upset—bloody hell, who wouldn’t be—but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t care. Or that she won’t be torn apart with grief if you don’t come back down that hill when it’s all said and done.” She looked away. And back again, her gaze somber. “She won’t be the only one, Con.”
Conor slammed his hand against the wall, cutting off her argument. Turning it back to the reason he’d sought her out. Unwilling to think beyond tonight. Or to add the burden of his family’s guilt on top of everything else. “Sinclair and you. It’s over?”
Morgan subsided, sullen and annoyed. “It is.”
“Good. Then I can reassure your brothers you’re not about to do something stupid. As for Ellery and me? Leave it alone.”
“Conor?”
The look he settled on her spoke volumes, he hoped. He wasn’t up to much more.
“Leave it. Alone.”
Conor lay on his bed, hands behind his head, staring up into the dark. He’d yet to undress or even shed his boots. He hoped for the silence to enfold him, to have the brooding sweep of his thoughts drag him under where loneliness and grief couldn’t touch him.
He closed his eyes. No use. Sleep wouldn’t come. Every muscle jumped with an edgy anticipation, and his mind ricocheted from thought to thought, leaving him scattered. Powerless. Not a state he was used to or handled well.
He’d tried drowning his confusion in drink.
No luck.
An asset in a fight, his body’s extraordinary healing made getting plastered impossible. And his words with Morgan had only pushed him further into this net of warring emotions.
Responsibility. Revenge. Honor. Love.
Twice, he’d almost gone to Ellery. But it would have embarrassed them both and done nothing to solve the greatest obstacle. Asher.
His mind spun out, searching for a way to defeat the renegade fey. One that wouldn’t spell his own death. Was there a way? Had he missed something?
He thought of the amhas-draoi, but that brought him nowhere. Knowing he had the sacrifice and refused to use her would not put him in the brotherhood’s good graces. Actually, he wasn’t sure what they would do if they found out. Would they help him, or would Scathach and the rest of them force him to follow through with Ellery’s murder?
His stomach muscles clenched just thinking about it. His shoulders, back, and neck tight as wire.
No. He’d not summon them. He’d keep his decision quiet. Ellery’s identity a secret.
He’d face Asher alone.
How had it gotten so complicated? But he knew already. He carried the answer with him always.
He dug in his pocket, drew Ysbel’s ring out and rolled it between his fingers. Such a tiny trinket, but it chained him to a path with the strength of irons. Marched him toward a showdown with Asher that he’d undertake even if an escape could be found tomorrow.
He’d meet the demon at the ancient stones of Ilcum Bledh. Face the creature who’d stripped away the most important person from his life. Used her and made her suffer. And with her murder had crushed a connection that had held him solid in a world he felt less and less comfortable in.
He pinned his gaze on the blackest corner of his ceiling, but his mind remained trained inward—on the days after Ysbel’s death. He’d wanted to give the Heller within him full rein, ride the night on a rush of destruction and death. Send anyone to hell who stood in his way. He’d nursed that hate, fanning it to life any time he faltered or thought to turn away from what he’d become—more animal than man.
Until the village tucked between the moors and the sea. Until the night he’d returned from the dead to a young woman’s challenge.
A knock dragged him back to the present. Followed almost immediately by Morgan’s head peering around his door. “We need to talk. Can we come in?” She’d brought reinforcements.
“Bit late to ask,” he answered, fisting his hand over the ring.
Morgan ignored his sarcasm as she beckoned Ruan and Jamys in behind her. All three looked at once both sheepish and unflinching as they took up positions around his room.
He sat up, knowing what was coming. Dreading it, anyway. Ruan and Jamys settled near the door as if expecting him to make a dash for it.
If he thought he could make it, he might try. He was too keyed up, too pulled taut to sit quiet through their browbeating.
Morgan was the spokesman. She went right for the throat. “You’re not going alone.”
“Say that again?”
“You’re not facing Asher alone. It’s foolish and makes no sense.”
“What’s foolish is thinking your presence would help. You don’t know what you’re getting into.”
“Don’t sell us short, Con. We’re not unschooled dolts. I’ve been with Scathach for five years. Ruan and Jamys,” she motioned to her brothers, “are skilled if not trained. We can do this.”
“I won’t allow it.”
Ruan straightened, shrugged matter-of-factly. “Short of tying us up, you can’t stop us from being there when it happens.”
“And what makes you think I won’t?” Conor swung out of bed. Rubbed an impatient hand across his jaw. “Hell, you’re barely out of the sick room. And that was Simon, for God’s sake.”
Ruan touched his side. “That was a coward’s blow, and you know it. I owe that bastard one.”
“But it’s not Simon alone. What will you do against Asher? You’ve got more sense than this, Ruan.” His gaze sought out Jamys. “Are you in on this lunacy? All three of you would be sport for Asher. For his packs of Keun Marow. He’s already killed four amhas-draoi.” His gaze swung
between the three of them. “He’s already killed Ysbel.”
Jamys stepped forward. “We’re a family, Conor. That means we hold together. Fight one Bligh, you fight us all.”
“It also means I don’t let you get yourselves killed.” He speared Morgan with a glance.
“You talked them round to this foolishness.”
Morgan went stiff. “I told them what I knew about Asher and what I knew about you. They made the decision.”
“Is that right?”
Ruan cocked his head, tried for a smile. “Four are stronger than one, Conor. Don’t turn your back on our help without some thought.” His gaze turned somber and cold as blue ice. “Remember. We loved her, too.”
Like a fist to the chest, the words knocked him back. They understood how close he’d come to letting the beast in him rule. And they had given him time to make his choice without interference. His time was up. “It’s not your fight,” he said.
But he knew now the words were pointless. They stood firm.
Ruan clapped him on the shoulder. “It is now.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Conor found his mother just where he expected to; buried deep among a stack of ancient texts, the pages crumbling, the leather bindings cracked or looking as if mice had gotten to them.
Morning sun streamed through the tall windows overlooking the rose gardens. The sky was a breath-stealing blue, the trees a spring collage of pink and white and green. But the view was lost on Niamh. Her eyes were trained on the words in front of her. Her mind locked on unraveling the mysteries within the writing. It had always been that way.
She broke off reading at his approach, giving him a pointed look over the top of her spectacles. “It’s taken you long enough to come to me. But better late than never.” She motioned for him to take a seat.
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