“No. No way. Murphy told me once that the only connection he had with the conspiracy was fighting to end it. He had no idea about the Guardians or Pack First until Paddy told him about it.”
“No idea that people within the Guardians had taken a dark turn in their methods,” Jason said. “But I suggest he knew about both Pack First and the Guardians through his father although he refused to join, preferring to stay neutral. What then, Stanzie?”
“Then we’re back to his father plotting to remove him as Alpha, and we’re back to him keeping secrets from me. Like you did. Like my father did. Like everyone has.” Tears spilled down my cheeks, and I didn’t bother to brush them away. “You’re wrong, Jason Allerton.”
But was he?
* * * *
I had to compose myself, so I headed for the sanctuary of the gardens where I wouldn’t have to walk through the breakfast room and confront any of the others.
Halfway along the grassy path to the lake, I spotted Glenn Murphy. His pipe trailed a plume of cherry-scented smoke as he headed toward me. He’d likely gone for an after-breakfast stroll, maybe to prepare himself for the beginning of the tribunal.
I dashed the last of the tears from my cheeks in a no doubt futile attempt to hide the fact I’d been crying, and mustered a smile of greeting.
It would have helped enormously if I knew I could trust this man. He was Murphy’s father and I understood I was a bit jaded with fathers after what I’d experienced at the hands of mine. Jason’s infuriating ambiguity also didn’t help.
“Good morning,” he said as he drew closer. The smile on his face faded as he obviously realized I’d been crying. “Are you all right, Stanzie?” His voice, so like Murphy’s, made me want to cry harder. And fling myself in his arms for comfort. Damn it.
“I’m fine,” I said. I tried to move around him so I could pretend I’d just been on a walk, but he moved to block me.
“It’s a terrible thing to lose an Alpha,” he said, and that did it, the floodgates opened again. Paddy’s face rose up to haunt me and once again I felt horrible for every bad thing I’d ever said to him.
Glenn reached out for me and drew me into his embrace. Up close he smelled of cherries and Pack. I sobbed into his shoulder. He wore a tweed jacket and the fibers scratched my nose.
“We’ll get through this,” he promised as he patted my back. “We’re strong. We’re Mac Tire and we won’t let this break us.”
I thought I might already be broken, but he sounded so confident, even as the grief stripped his voice of most of its power.
He gave me a brisk shake and fished in his pocket for a tissue, which he handed to me. I wiped my eyes and blew my nose while he smoked his pipe.
“Ready?” He held out his arm and I tucked my hand in the crook of his elbow. We didn’t talk on the walk back to the castle, and I wished I knew the truth about anything.
* * * *
The tribunal began at ten. I just had time to retreat to my room to wash my face and redo my makeup. As I opened the door, I noticed a small gold plaque bolted to the wood at eye level.
Liam Murphy and Sorcha McClanahan. Her name coupled with his left a nasty taste in my mouth. What the hell was this? For the first time, I saw all the doors in this wing of the castle had gold plaques. Were they names of pack members?
The plaque on the next door down read Padraic O’Reilly and Fiona Carmichael. Paddy’s face flashed before my eyes and I leaned my forehead against the plaque. As close as I could get to him now.
Homesickness surged through me. I wanted to go home. Tears threatened, but somehow I held them back.
The plaques must be the names of current and former Alphas. This must be the Alphas’ wing of the castle. Older plaques must give way for newer ones as time passed. Would my name replace Sorcha’s someday? A sobering question and one I didn’t have time to contemplate.
I passed into my room and heard my cellphone chirp. It was Murphy. I stared at the phone for several seconds, paralyzed. Could I talk rationally to him right now, or would I sling accusations and sob again like a fucking baby? Sorcha’s name on the damn plaque coupled with his hurt.
I let the phone go into voice mail and went into the bathroom to wash my face.
* * * *
“You will tell us who instructed you to provide Michael Shaughnessy with a knife, Monsieur Byrne.” Celine Ducharme worked her usual charm as she ruthlessly questioned Declan Byrne.
The tribunal took place in a large, echoing chamber that added a disconcerting counterpoint to the bitch queen’s interrogation. A table, several horribly uncomfortable wooden chairs and a few rugs and tapestries did nothing to muffle the sound. The windows were mullioned and set with opaque glass so nobody could distract themselves with anything pleasant, like nature.
Three hours of torture and I wasn’t even the one on the hot seat.
Ryan and I had notebooks where we ostensibly would take meticulous notes of the proceedings. How many times, though, could I write the same damn thing? Ducharme had already asked a variation of her question, but was a single-minded bulldog who refused to be sidetracked.
Declan’s standard answer—silence. Attempts by the other Councilors to ask different questions had been venomously rebuffed by Celine Ducharme. This was her show.
Etain Feehery tapped her fingers on the edge of the table and sneaked glances at her watch. Glenn Murphy sat stony-faced and listened. Jason steepled his fingers and appeared lost in thought, but I knew he missed nothing. He never did.
Beside me, Ryan’s stomach gurgled loudly, and he crimsoned.
“Councilor Ducharme, it’s past one o’clock, and I believe we would like to take a lunch break.” Etain Feehery’s tone was impatient, but her expression remained bland.
Celine Ducharme threw her hands up in the air and sighed so gustily it was a wonder the tapestries in the room didn’t flutter.
“If we must.” She pushed back her chair, with effort—the goddamn things weighed a ton—and stalked from the room, her Louboutin heels clacking on the slate flooring. Today she wore the same peep-toe pumps I remembered from the chateau. They must be her favorite interrogation shoes. Her navy blue pencil skirt was tailored, as was the matching jacket. Her straw-blond hair was rolled into a no-nonsense chignon at the base of her skull and with her hair drawn back, her face became even more arrogant than usual.
I couldn’t find any sympathy for Declan Byrne under the circumstances, but I still hated the woman and her relentless methods.
As I struggled with my damn chair, Declan Byrne’s gaze swept over me, his expression full of contempt.
“Enjoying yourself, you self-righteous slag?” he asked.
“I’ll enjoy it more when I watch you die,” I said with a nonchalant shrug. I made a mental note to look up the meaning of slag. Whatever it meant, it couldn’t be good.
His face darkened, but before he could spring out of his chair, Ryan Kelly and Glenn Murphy were at his side.
“Sit down. What are you thinking?” Glenn Murphy growled, and Declan Byrne sank back into his chair.
“I’m hungry,” he said. “Surely, prisoners get their bread and water.”
“Oh, shut your feckin’ mouth, Byrne,” snarled Ryan.
“You think you’re better than me, but you’re not. You just haven’t gotten caught,” muttered Byrne.
Ryan flushed scarlet and his hands bunched into fists. “I’m not a fucking murdering traitor. Get outta that chair, you frigging coward, and back up your words with your fists. Otherwise, shut the fuck up.”
“Ryan.” Etain Feehery didn’t raise her voice, but Ryan dropped his fists to his side, and a frustrated sigh burst between his lips. “Declan Byrne is facing a tribunal. Your fists won’t settle this, the Councils will. He’ll get what’s coming to him, never you worry, but you need to put your anger aside. Now’s not the time or place for it.”
“I had nothing to do with this, Etain. I can’t have him insinuating I did.”
&nbs
p; “Maybe I’ll tell that fucking skinny bitch French Councilor you helped me,” said Declan Byrne with a grin. “She’s convinced somebody did. Why not you, Kelly?”
Etain Feehery paled, and her mouth tightened into a thin line.
“You’ll tell the truth and nothing less, Declan.” Her tone was harsh and uneven.
For the first time I felt a small measure of sympathy for her. If she truly had nothing to do with Paddy’s murder, and her son did, how awful it must be for her to sit and wait for Declan Byrne to crack under Councilor Ducharme’s pressure.
She already had to condemn her cousin and if Declan implicated Ryan, she’d have no choice but to move against her own son. Had I done the right thing to bring Declan up before a tribunal? I remembered Jason telling me he’d support me in whatever decision I made. The minute I saw the photographs, I hadn’t thought of any alternative but to bring Declan Byrne before a tribunal for justice. But what if there had been other ways to handle it? A dark alley and a knife? No one the wiser for why he died except a precious few who would never breathe a word of the truth?
What had I brought down on Mac Tire? No. Murder was murder, no matter who did it or why. I’d done the right thing. So why did I feel so goddamn guilty?
* * * *
After bolting a few mouthfuls of lunch, I escaped outside and walked to the shore of the gray lake, where I scavenged flat rocks and skimmed them across the lake’s smooth surface.
The sun was warm on my skin and the cool breeze carried scents of water, grass and flowers. Once a small fish broke the surface, perhaps drawn by the noise and motion of my skipping stone.
I wanted to be wolf. She tugged at me even though she had no way to come out. Ryan and I should have had sex the night before. We could have had the release of our wolves if we had.
But, I wanted Murphy. Not the stranger, the one who told me he loved me one day and turned away the next, but the kind man I knew from our time in America. Maybe I hadn’t known he’d loved me back, but he’d been patient and calm and he’d always been there.
It wasn’t fair to build somebody’s hopes up the way he had mine. I’d been alone and then he’d made me see how lonely I’d been and showed me what I might have. He made it seem as if it were mine for the taking, so when I reached out and grasped nothing, it hurt like hell.
My best was five skips, but I thought it was mostly a fluke, not skill. I didn’t want to return to the tribunal, but my watch and my internal sense of justice prompted me to return to the castle.
The summer breeze caressed my face as I walked along the pathway. Ireland smelled so different than Massachusetts. The plant life was not the same, the water had a strange, though not unpleasant sensory texture, and even the air was unique.
These woods would become my hunting ground for the most part from now on. The condo in Boston would be a vacation destination, not home. Wistfulness clouded my eyes with tears. What would Dublin be like without Paddy? What would Murphy be like?
“Goddamn you, Declan Byrne, and everyone who helped you,” I snarled beneath my breath as I mounted the stone steps to the castle entrance.
I hadn’t even reached the main staircase before Celine Ducharme pounced on me.
“Where have you been, Constance?” Her tone was accusatory, and resentment turned me sullen. What the fuck business was it of hers? I wasn’t late. I still had ten minutes before the tribunal was due to reconvene.
“None of your business,” I hissed, and her predatory face darkened.
“That is where you are wrong. It is my business. What did you do to Declan Byrne’s food? Or was it in his coffee? You know we’ll analyze everything. You, of all of us, here, have the herbal knowledge. Did you act alone or were you acting on someone’s orders? You cannot convince me you had nothing to do with it. Not this time, madame.”
What the hell? I stared at her, completely baffled. A thread of fear squirmed down my spinal column. Analyze his food? Herbal knowledge?
“Are you trying to say something happened to Declan?” I managed, past the mounting anxiety threatening to close my throat.
She snorted and gave a contemptuous toss of her head. The fine lines that bracketed her thin lips were more pronounced than the last time I’d seen her, nine months ago, at the chateau. Although she could easily pass for mid- to late forties, she was aging. She couldn’t age fast enough for me. Grandmothers didn’t serve on the Great Council. Was retirement next year for her? Or did she still have a decade left? It was never really clear with Pack. We held our own against the aging process for sometimes over a hundred years before we looked old.
“You could say that. He’s dead. There was poison in something he ate or drank for lunch. You didn’t stay to lunch with us. You barely managed to warm your seat before you were gone. Where did you go? Up to his room, perhaps? To the kitchen to put something in the food on his tray?”
“Are you insane?” I took a step back from her as if she might reach out and grab me with one of her skeletal claw hands. I reeled at the knowledge Declan Byrne was dead. “Why would I bother to murder him when I was the one who brought charges against him and wanted him to stand before a tribunal? It doesn’t make any sense, Councilor.”
“That was before he threatened to expose Ryan Kelly as an accomplice. I saw him come out of your room this morning. You are sleeping with him, and you want to protect him.” Celine’s smile was chilling.
“That’s bullshit,” I said. Movement on the stairs distracted me. Etain Feehery and Ryan Kelly stood frozen between one step and the next. Obviously they’d heard us.
“He didn’t sleep with you last night? What was he doing creeping out of your room at six in the morning then?” Celine Ducharme asked.
Etain Feehery’s expression was one of bewildered fear. Ryan Kelly flushed.
“We just slept in the same bed,” he said.
“It’s none of her business what we did or didn’t do, Ryan.” I was pissed and scared, not a good combination. “I didn’t poison Declan Byrne. I was at the lake, skipping stones.”
“A likely story,” said Ducharme. Her gaze moved to the stairs. “But if Constance didn’t poison him, perhaps your son did, Etain. He had the motive. Declan Byrne was about to reveal him to the tribunal.” Her beady eyes shone with malevolence. She was enjoying this, the bitch. God, I hated her so much. Why couldn’t someone poison her?
“How do you even know Ryan had a so-called motive?” I demanded as Etain Feehery’s face paled to the color of skim milk. She clutched at the railing either to keep from falling or from throwing herself at Councilor Ducharme. “You weren’t even in the room for that conversation.”
Ryan looked guilty. Why did he have to look like that? Had he poisoned Declan Byrne?
“Because Declan Byrne told me when I brought him his tray,” replied Councilor Ducharme.
“You brought him the tray? So you had the best opportunity of all,” I declared.
“Declan didn’t tell you definitely Ryan was involved, did he?” Etain Feehery ground out. I thought for sure she was going to faint. Ryan thought so, too, because he moved closer to her and put a steadying hand on her shoulder.
Celine Ducharme smirked. “Oh, he insinuated he might be willing to implicate someone after all. He suggested I ask your son what he was keeping back. He said Ryan Kelly had more knowledge than he was admitting to. I want to know what it is, Etain.”
“Of course you do,” snarled Etain Feehery. She turned to her son helplessly. “Ryan, do you have anything to say?”
Ryan gulped. My heart sank. He did know something. I didn’t want him to be involved in this. Had I slept with my arms around a traitor last night? Had I let one of Paddy’s murderers into bed with me? I felt sick.
“No.” Ryan abruptly turned and floundered up the staircase.
“What a liar, Etain,” observed Celine Ducharme with a complacent smile. She inspected her flawlessly manicured fingernails for a moment. When she looked up, her eyes were like flint. “I wa
nt to see everyone in the conference room in fifteen minutes. We will get to the bottom of this—do you understand? And if we don’t, I’m calling in more Councilors, and Mac Tire will be in a worse, more awkward situation than it already is. I’m sure you don’t want that, Etain. Your family’s fingerprints are all over this crime. How do I know you aren’t the mastermind behind it all?”
Councilor Feehery’s mouth tightened, but she said nothing at all.
Chapter 19
No one had an alibi. That became clear after ten minutes in the conference room with Celine Ducharme leading the charge.
Jason’s expression gave away nothing. Apart from offering a brief explanation of his whereabouts after lunch—it turned out no one had stayed long in the dining room, although I had been the first to leave—he fell silent, fingers steepled on the tabletop.
Ryan was miserably defiant. He kept his head down and refused to speak.
“Your silence is damning,” remarked Ducharme after thirty minutes of badgering. “I believe I will have to call in other members of the Great Council. And press formal charges against you, Monsieur Kelly.”
“Really?” challenged Etain Feehery. “Exactly what charges have you in mind, Councilor Ducharme?”
“Alors, the usual. Conspiracy against the Great Pack. Attempted murder of a Councilor. Declan Byrne’s words are enough to get things started.”
“It’s interesting that only you heard these supposed words,” said Jason in a quiet, musing tone.
“Ah, Constance herself admitted there was another conversation about Ryan Kelly. One I believe you were privy to yourself, Councilor Allerton. So there are two conversations. Enough to go on,” crowed Ducharme.
Jason looked startled, but only for a second. Short enough time to make me doubt what I’d seen. However, the reproachful glance he sent me was long enough to make me feel like complete and utter shit. Me and my fucking big mouth.
Glenn Murphy’s expression reminded me of one I’d seen on his son’s face when he tried to mask his anger.
“I can’t believe my Advisor has anything pertinent to do with this fiasco, Councilor Ducharme. Bring on your damn Councilors. They’ll all be in your pocket, of course, and my man won’t stand a chance, but if he says he’s not involved, he’s not, and it’ll be on your conscience what happens to him.”
About Face (Wolf Within) Page 24
