Dark Hero; A Gothic Romance (Reluctant Heroes)

by Silver, Lily

Half an hour later, Donovan guided her up the stone steps to the balcony near the gnarled old tree and the rock wall. A red silk canopy had been erected to form a shelter against the mid-day sun. Golden tassels secured the curtains at each corner, forming a luxurious outside room with golden red walls on opposite ends. A chaise sat beneath the canopy, along with a small table and two chairs. A pitcher of lemonade and glasses were on the table, several pastries, and a crystal vase of exotic purple orchids.

  “Where did you get this?” She remarked, awed by the opulent silk tent glowing red in the sunshine as Donovan backed up, and led her beneath it with both his hands clasping hers.

  “In Ceylon. It was the fashion for Pashas to use them when picnicking with their favorite concubines, so they might woo them with complete privacy. The canopy will protect your fair skin from the sun. You loved being outside when we were courting. I have fond memories of us walking through fields hand in hand in the evenings. You wore your hair undone and you were lovelier than the most celebrated debutante in London.”

  “With chapped hands and a patched, outdated gown?” Elizabeth completed his idyllic picture. “You must have been bewitched by the fairy folk, Mr. O’Rourke!”

  “I was beguiled by beauty devoid of guile or artifice.” He countered, leaning close to capture a kiss. His lips were sweet yet possessive. He lingered, tasting her, nibbling at her lower lip with gentle teeth, teasing and leaving Elizabeth yearning for more after he released her and encouraged her to recline upon the silken chaise.

  She sank back in a leisurely repose and listened to the birds singing nearby, the insects thrumming, and the breeze rustling the leaves of the tree behind them. The sound of waves crashing on the rocks beneath the cliff and the salt tang in the air was exhilarating. She inhaled the fragrant scent of musty earth mingled with the crisp sea air.

  An iridescent blue butterfly lighted on Elizabeth’s arm. The wings shimmered like miniature jewels. Another settled on her knee. A third blue blur hovered in front of her face. As if by magic, the tent was instantly swarming with blue butterflies as they danced about her in a swirling wave. Recalling her grandmother’s stories, she closed her eyes and silently opened her heart to the earth spirits bidding her welcome here.

  When Elizabeth opened her eyes, the insects were still swirling about her in a vortex of rising and cascading wings. The footmen were staring, open mouthed. Donovan, too, stood immobile, watching her. As a scientist, he would be fascinated by this unusual display of insect behavior. Elizabeth remained still as the creatures glided about her in silent wonder.

  Finally, her charming ambassadors danced upward as one fluid body and swirled away.

  “Thank you.” She was touched by his thoughtful gift of a picnic in the gardens.

  “This isn’t your gift.” Donovan replied. “O’Leary, go retrieve our guest.”

  Donovan pulled the chair close, sat down and took her hand, his manner becoming grave. “I have a surprise. It is also shocking.” He paused, studying her for a moment. “You must prepare yourself, dearest.”

  Elizabeth was confounded by his solemnity. “You say it is wonderful, yet you’re so stern. I am all amazement, my lord. And I am not made of spun glass. Please, do tell.”

  He paused, trying to find the right words. “Sheila told me of Kieran’s disappearance when you and I were courting. I discovered recently that he is alive. He resides in Basseterre. He saw our wedding announcement in the paper, and he’s come here, to meet you.”

  Elizabeth’s mind tumbled through the years. She couldn’t believe it. Mama mourned Kieran’s death all her life, and Sheila, too. “But . . . how?”

  “Fletcher sold him as an indenture on the London docks.” Donovan explained, as she gazed at him with her mouth agape. He kneaded her hand as he explained Kieran’s story.

  The sound of gravel crunching on the cobbled stones heralded the approach of their visitor. A tall, slender man walked beside Gus along the garden path. His brown broadcloth suit was simple, befitting a merchant. Clean white stockings and buckled shoes provided a more civilized contrast to the military boots Donovan and his men went stomping about in.

  She glanced furtively at the man’s downcast face as he treaded the uneven cobblestones banked by tall weeds on either side of the narrow path. His face was clean shaven, his features refined, almost too delicate for a man. His coppery brows arched up slightly, and his lips were turned up in the mere hint of a smile. He possessed hair the same fiery shade as hers. He kept it restrained in a neat queue in a longer style still popular among older men and arrogant ones like her spouse, who didn’t adhere to the dictates of fashion.

  Enchanted; that would be the word to describe him. He possessed the majesty of a Faerie prince emerging from a hidden glen. She imagined him with a cloak of velvet green and a circlet of gold on his brow, a legend conjured from the forest mists in all of his glory.

  “Good morning, Kieran.” Donovan spoke and the image faded as reality replaced her idyllic vision. Her husband stepped forward and extended his hand.

  “My lord.” The man replied in a softened Irish burr.

  The man transferred his sea green gaze to her. Elizabeth stared at him with awe.

  “Lizzie,” Donovan crouched beside her. “This is Kieran O’Flaherty. Kieran, I present my wife, Lady Elizabeth Beaumont, Countess du Rochembeau.”

  Kieran bowed before her. “I am honored, my lady.”

  The sound of wind rustling leaves in the nearby tree went unchallenged. It seemed the world was holding its breath, not merely Elizabeth, as she stared at her kinsmen with wonder.

  She smiled at the ethereal stranger. “Mr. O’Flaherty.”

  How often she’d longed for him as a child. At eleven, she pretended he wasn’t dead as they claimed--he was just away at school. Many of her friends had had older brothers away at Eton so it was easy to fashion a fantasy brother as an escape from the constant fear of living with Captain Fletcher. One day, she would tell herself, Kieran will come home and I won’t have to be strong one anymore. I won’t have to pretend I’m not afraid for Michael’s benefit.

  But Kieran couldn’t come home to hide with her in the closet, hold her hand and tell her not to be frightened. Kieran couldn’t come home because he’d been sold by their stepfather, lied to about his mother’s death, and sent halfway across the world at the tender age of nine.

  “He hurt you.” Elizabeth blurted out, as the pain of the brutal betrayal choked her throat.

  “No, dear lady.” He responded. “Don’t weep for me. I was the fortunate one. I was sold to a man who treated me as a beloved son. You suffered the greater part of Fletcher’s evil.”

  “You were treated well?” Her voice was reduced to a high-pitched squeak.

  “Barnaby is a kindly old grandfather.” The soft burr replied, as the image before her remained blurred behind a veil of tears. “I didn’t know you existed. If I had, I would have come for you. I wouldn’t have left you to deal with that bastard alone. ”

  Was it magic? This fantasy--this childhood game that had helped her survive the darkness?

  “Please, my lady, do not cry.”

  “Come now, Elizabeth. This is no time for tears. Fletcher did not succeed in destroying either of you.” Donovan’s arm wound about her as he sat close.

  “I’m sorry, my lord. I did not mean to make her cry.” The Irishman apologized.

  “Shhh,” Donovan’s big hand moved up and down Elizabeth’s back in a comforting mien as her tears continued, despite her best efforts to vanquish them. “Lizzie, my sweet. You’ll have plenty of time to become acquainted.”

  “Sh-sh—“ she whimpered, “Sheila would be s-so r-re—“ She hiccupped and sputtered. “Relieved.” She gazed adoringly at her brother. “Sheila never stopped mourning you.”

  “Sit Kieran, please.” Donovan intoned, when the gentleman remained poised before them with his head bowed. “Gus, pour some lemonade.” He directed Elizabeth’s guard.

  Kieran did as
Donovan bade, as did the sailor-cum-bodyguard he’d appointed to keep Elizabeth safe in his absence. The scraping of chair legs and clinking of glasses as the refreshments were served helped mask the sound of Elizabeth’s frantic snuffling. Donovan pressed a handkerchief into her palm as Gus handed him a glass of lemonade.

  Kieran nodded to the footman and then to Donovan as he took his offering. “My lady, may I ask what happened to our grandmother? I always worried what became of her, but as a boy thousands of miles from home I could do nothing but hope that fate had dealt with her kindly.” He hesitated, as if it pained him to speak of it. “When did she actually die?”

  “I told him what I knew.” Donovan interjected, gazing at her with assurance as he knew quite well she had no memory of Sheila’s death.

  Elizabeth shivered in the warm sunlight. A paisley shawl was placed over her shoulders. She looked up, surprised to see Chloe hovering behind her. Chloe smiled and pressed her shoulder. Elizabeth reached up to squeeze her friend’s hand.

  Fortified by Donovan’s calming presence and Chloe’s stalwart affection, Elizabeth spoke. “I don’t recall how Sheila died. It was a few months ago, before my wedding.” She looked to Donovan, uncertain. At his nod she continued. “I cannot remember the past two years of my life, with the exception of being abducted. Sheila was our nanny—more than that. She loved us. She used to tell me stories about Ireland, of Father, and of you.”

  Kieran nodded. “I have fond memories of following her about the garden, barefoot—she was always barefoot, and so I was, too, as a lad. She’d tell me about various plants growing around the castle grounds, and quiz me on their healing properties.”

  The afternoon passed with golden sunshine filtered through vibrant red hues as they sat beneath the canopy, eating pastries and cold ham and cheese. Kieran told Elizabeth what he remembered of their father.

  Finally, Kieran set his plate aside and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees as he regarded her with somber eyes. “And our mother? His lordship told me she died three and half years ago. How did she die?”

  Elizabeth tucked the shawl tighter about her neck. She looked her brother in the eyes and told him the same lie she’d been forced to tell the constable years ago. “It was late, past midnight. I heard a noise on the stairs. I slipped out of bed to investigate. Papa was out, as always, at his club. I thought perhaps he’d come home and tripped on the stairs. When I went to stand at the top of the stairs, I saw Mama lying at the bottom. She was so still. She was dead, but her eyes were open.”

  It hurt—the retelling, and the horrid memory of her mother’s broken body lying so still at the bottom of the stairs. “She must have slipped and fallen. Sometimes she was woozy at night, because of the Laudanum she took. There was blood behind her head. Blood pooling on the floor, soaking into the floorboards. Her death was ruled an accident.”

  Donovan’s arm wrapped about her waist as he leaned close. Chloe’s hand circled her shoulder. Elizabeth cursed herself for her cowardice.

  “And you found her? How horrifying it must have been for you.” Kieran remarked.

  “Yes, that’s enough excitement for one day. If you will excuse us, Kieran, I’m taking Lizzie back to our room to rest.” Donovan was rising already, noting the change in Elizabeth’s demeanor and mistaking it for weariness instead of mortifying shame.

  Weary would do. Yes. She was weary of keeping the secret, but after so many years, how to tell it? How to speak of it and not incur the abhorrence of these two men in the telling?

  She lied to the authorities. She lied to Michael, and now to Kieran and Donovan as well.

  She covered Fletcher’s foul deed. She protected a murderer, allowed him to go free.

  Was she not just as guilty as he?

  Chapter Thirty Five

  The next days were framed in bliss. Elizabeth felt secure in her role as Madame Beaumont. Donovan’s devotion made it clear she was firmly entrenched in his heart.

  Donovan made arrangements to meet with his steward each morning directly following the family breakfast in the newly opened breakfast room, giving Elizabeth time alone with her brother. She and Kieran strolled the gardens and discussed their peculiar Druidic heritage.

  Elizabeth could not contain her amazement at finding Kieran was alive, just as she’d imagined as child. When she explained it to him he said it was the gift of second sight. She was a child and had never known him. Thus, unlike their grandmother, her vision was not blocked by extreme grief or the rationalizations adults use to disregard the supernatural. She knew he was alive yet very far away. As a child she lacked the ability to determine more. The power to form a metaphysical link with him would come years later, after Sheila’s death.

  Kieran told her how she had summoned him months ago, when she was in the smuggler hold. He shared his confusion at being pulled from his body like a fish yanked from the water on a hook, and thrust into hers so he experienced the horror of her abduction along with her.

  That was disturbing. Elizabeth believed he spoke the truth, but it was beyond her ability to comprehend. “How could I do that? I don’t remember doing any such thing.”

  “You wished me there, just like when you were a child.” Kieran replied. “This time, you had Sheila’s powers coupled with your own. You don’t remember because it was instinctual, an act of self preservation during great distress. I doubt you even thought of doing it, you just did it. It’s called Soul Travel. There are stories of the ancient ones traveling outside their bodies, but it’s rare that one of us can summon another to them. You have extraordinary powers, Elizabeth.”

  They walked along in silence, as Elizabeth mulled over his praise. She wouldn’t call the things she had seen and experienced extraordinary. She considered them a curse, not a gift.

  *******

  “Have you had any visits from those behind the veil?” Kieran asked one day as they walked the cobbled path.

  “Yes. There is resident ghost. She’s appeared several times to me.”

  “Maureen O’Donovan.” Kieran nodded. “I’ve met her. There are others, too. I sense their presence, but they remain as shadows, unwilling to reveal themselves.”

  Elizabeth hid her panic at his words. Their mother? Apparently, she had not appeared to Kieran. That was a relief. She’d been afraid to broach the subject. “Yes, I’ve sensed them as well. To be honest, Kieran, I don’t wish to see them.”

  “I know.” Her brother took her hand, a unique gesture of affection he’d not attempted before this. “I felt the same, growing up. I just wanted to be normal.” He sighed, and looked quickly about them. “Your man, he’s always following and watching us.”

  Elizabeth turned to where Kieran was looking. Through the bushes, several feet away stood her bodyguard. “Mr. O’Leary. Donovan assigned him to watch over me when he is absent. Gus is actually quite charming, compared to his companion.” She rolled her eyes heavenward as she recalled Mr. Duchamp. “Donovan’s afraid something bad will happen to me. I’ve tried reasoning with him but he clings to his irrational worries, so Gus follows me about all day.”

  Kieran made a face. “It’s not irrational. Something horrible did happen to you. He feels guilty. He believes he should have been able to prevent it.”

  Elizabeth stopped walking. She let go of his hand and sucked in her lower lip.

  It was a rebuke, although much gentler than she deserved.

  She’d been so absorbed with her own suffering she’d failed to see how her abduction affected her husband. Kieran’s simple observation clarified a great deal regarding her spouse’s behavior. Donovan was so fiercely protective of her, vigilant about her well being due to her head injury-- and no wonder, he blamed himself for it.

  “Let’s sit here.” Kieran took her elbow and guided her to the stone bench at the edge of the gardens, overlooking the sea. “I can teach you a few exercises to keep the spirits from pestering you. It takes practice. You’ll have to do them every day. Take my hand.”

  Eliz
abeth did as he said. Quietly, so Gus didn’t overhear them, Kieran guided her through an exercise to establish a barrier against wandering spirits.

  On another morning, he talked to her about ‘walking the Veil between the Worlds’, the term for visiting the Summerland, the Celtic place of the dead.

  Once more, they sat on the stone bench overlooking the sea. They had their back to the gardens and appeared to be merely talking as they looked out at the sea. Taking her hand, Kieran guided her into the Veil. He chanted a few phrases in Gaelic. When Elizabeth opened her eyes, she was in a grey place, shrouded by fog. It was cold. She shivered, and wished she had a cloak to protect her skin from the cool dampness. She could see grey shapes moving about. She could hear whispers of conversation. Panic rising, she turned about, searching for Kieran in the eerie grey twilight, searching for someone, anyone she could recognize. Her heart pounded in her temples. The air, if one could call it that, was so thick, heavy, cloying. She saw only dark, shadowy figures moving about in the fog. “Kieran!” She shouted, fearing he abandoned her.

  “I’m here.” He squeezed her hand. She looked down and saw his hand clutching her own in the gloomy mists. And then the rest of him appeared. “Don’t be afraid. They won’t hurt you.”

  “Is this the Summerland? I thought it was supposed to be warm and pleasant here.”

  “No.” Kieran replied. “This is the Veil between the Worlds. The spirits who have crossed over come here to try to talk to those they left behind. We can meet them here.”

  “I want to go back.” She said, panicked by the constant swirling figures brushing past her and the cold, damp misty twilight of their surroundings. “Take me back, please.”

  “Just wait. They’re happy to see you. You are the new seer. They want to meet you.”

  “Who are they?” She wanted to run. She wanted to get back to Ravencrest, to the sunshine, to the warmth, and to Donovan. She clutched Kieran’s hand, frightened that if she let go of him, she would be stranded in this dark place forever.