The Witch of Stonecliff

by Dawn Brown

  Before he could even register just what he was doing, his pen scratched quickly over the paper.

  Jack’s dead.

  Chapter Six

  Watery sunlight cut between the thick trees, casting long shadows over the narrow path which, despite the brilliant blue sky overhead, couldn’t quite penetrate the forest’s overall gloom. Eleri’s footfalls crunched the carpet of dead leaves, mingling with the soft titter of birds fluttering between the budding branches.

  Normally the woods filled her with anxiety, an invisible pressure pushing at the base of her skull and a gnawing sense she was being watched. All these years and she was never sure if someone was tracking her from the shadows or the sensation was merely a result of her growing paranoia.

  This morning, though, she was oblivious, too wrapped up in her own anger to pay much attention.

  Kyle Peirs had lied to her.

  Heat crept into her face when she thought of kissing him last night. What a fool she’d made of herself. He must have gone back to the lodge congratulating himself on how easily he’d wrapped her around his finger, pathetic cow that she was.

  A faint tingle burned at the back her nose, but she hardened herself against the sensation. Not a chance she’d let a man like him get under her skin. Besides, he hadn’t managed to fool her for long. She knew exactly what he was about. Well, not exactly. She didn’t know what he was after, but when she finished with him, she’d have every detail.

  The wind kicked up, whispering through the trees. She drew the corduroy coat tighter around her.

  Last night, she’d been so concerned with what to wear. Today, the only the item of clothing she’d put any consideration into at all was the oversized coat hanging heavily from her shoulders.

  She could hardly wait for Kyle to get a look at it, to see his face once he realized.

  The trees fell behind her as the path gave way to the clearing at the side of the lodge. Kyle’s car wasn’t parked out front.

  All her righteous fury deflated like an old balloon.

  “Now what?” she muttered.

  She stared at the silent house and nipped the corner of her lip. Just because the tenant wasn’t about didn’t mean she couldn’t get the answers she wanted. In fact, she may have a better chance with him not at home.

  Eleri marched to the front door and pressed the latch. Locked, of course. She needed the spare key Warlow kept in the study’s desk.

  It took her less than fifteen minutes to retrieve the key from Stonecliff and return to the lodge. Still no sign of Kyle.

  She entered the house and closed the door behind her, shutting out the midmorning sun and turning the small foyer dark and shadowy. Eleri blinked, giving her eyes a chance to adjust to the low light. The smell of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air.

  Wherever Kyle had gone, he hadn’t left long ago. Who knew when he’d be back? She needed to move.

  Eleri breezed through the rooms on the first floor. Besides the kitchen, there was no evidence he used any of them. The lounge and dining room were exactly as they had been two days ago, but with a thin layer of dust forming on the furniture. While the kitchen showed slightly more evidence of Kyle—a mug in the sink, a tin of biscuits and loaf of bread on the counter—there was nothing to give any more insight into the man than she already knew.

  Upstairs, there were two bedrooms and a small bathroom, the master only two feet square larger than the other. The furniture was sparse: a sagging, unmade double bed, an old chest of drawers and a night table with a chipped porcelain lamp.

  She made quick work of searching through his dresser drawers, but aside from discovering he had a taste for designer names on his clothes—which she’d already suspected—there was little else to learn about the man.

  With a sigh, she dropped onto the edge of the bed. What had she suspected? A handwritten confession detailing his true purpose for coming to Cragera Bay? Nice, but unlikely.

  She leaned back, fingers sinking into his rumpled bedding. Immediately images of Kyle’s lean frame stretched out over the mattress flashed through her mind. She had no way of knowing what Kyle slept in, but during her search through his clothes, she hadn’t come across any pyjamas. And in her mind’s eye, she imagined him bare chested, with flesh smooth and unblemished except for the scar zigzagging across his throat. Her skin heated, tingled. She jerked to her feet and scurried from the room.

  The man was a liar and she was imagining what he looked like in bed? She’d finally lost it.

  Shaking her head, she pushed open the door across the hall and froze.

  Jackpot!

  This room had less furniture than the master—a twin bed pushed against one wall and large writing table tucked in the corner next to the window. Here Kyle had set up a makeshift office complete with laptop computer, files and notepads stacked next to it. He’d mounted a large map on the wall beside the window.

  Eleri rushed to the desk and popped open the computer. A request for a password lit the screen.

  “Hell,” she muttered, quickly typing a few guesses—mostly variations of his name and the word ‘password’ itself—but none of them worked.

  She lifted her gaze to the map of Anglesey. Black marker circled Cragera Bay, and more than a dozen multi-colored pushpins dotted the map. Some marked the village, a few farther out on the island, while others dotted the mainland along the coast.

  “What are you looking for?” she whispered.

  She lifted a manila file folder, revealing the lined notepad beneath and frowned. Kyle had written a timeline with names and places at each hour.

  7:30 am – Inn, breakfast, Eleanor Leonard—unofficial see notes.

  Mrs. Leonard ran the nearby inn and had for as long as Eleri could remember. First with her husband then, after he passed away, with her son and daughter-in-law. There were more dates, locations and names. Some she recognized, some she didn’t.

  She opened the folder and found a stack of newspaper clippings inside. The headline—The Witch of Stonecliff’s Reign of Terror Continues—caught her like a slap. She knew it! The moment she’d set eyes on Kyle she’d known there’d been something off about him. How could she have been so stupid? He’d been playing her from the start.

  She rifled through the articles all written by the same man—Jamison Peirs. Anger pulsed behind her forehead. The man must have printed every drunken tale he’d ever heard in the pub.

  Her gaze caught on the small black-and-white photo next to the byline and her eyes widened.

  “No,” she muttered, squinting to better make out the man’s features in the photo. Her stomach sank like a stone. Jamison Peirs and Kyle Peirs were the same bloody person. His hair was shorter in the picture, stylish, his features not as bony as they were now. He smirked out at her looking cocky, arrogant.

  “I wasn’t expecting you so early, Eleri.”

  She jumped at the sound of Kyle’s voice. Jamison. Whatever the hell his name was, he leaned against the door frame, hands jammed in his pockets. A smirk not unlike the one in the photo twisted his mouth, but his eyes were hard.

  “I suppose not, Jamison.” She tossed the folder at him, but he made no effort to catch it. Clippings fluttered to floor at his feet.

  “No one calls me that anymore.”

  “Whatever your name is, pack your things.” Her voice trembled with all the rage bubbling inside her—from the years of living down the damage his stories had done, his deceit in letting the property, but mostly her own humiliating reaction to his attentions. “I want you out of here within the hour.”

  “I don’t think so.” The rasp in his low voice, which had been strangely sexy last night, sounded menacing now. “I’ve a signed lease. I’ve paid for three months. I’m not going anywhere.”

  He stepped into the room, closed the door and leaned back on it. Panic fluttered at her throat, but she clamped down on the sensation.

  “You lied. Misrepresented yourself, using a false name.”

  “Sue me.”
He shrugged. “Besides, my name is Kyle. Jamison is my middle name. I used it for my byline.”

  “I don’t care. I. Want. You. Gone.” “Like you did before?” Something in his tone, an icy anger humming beneath the surface gave her pause. What was he so angry about? He’d made a fool out of her, not the other way around.

  “Do you mean when you were here last month? You forgot your coat, by the way.” She shrugged out of the heavy suede and tossed it at him.

  He snatched the jacket out of the air and slung it over his shoulder. “Realized that was me, did you? How’d you manage that?”

  Admit she’d recognized his scent like some lovesick teenager? Not likely. “You’re not half as bloody clever as you think you are.”

  “Believe me, I don’t feel terribly clever these days.” Some of the antagonism left his rough voice, leaving him sounding weary. “But I wasn’t referring to when I saved you from freezing to death. I was talking about when I came here to write about Daniel Forbes’ disappearance two years ago.”

  “Were you writing about Daniel Forbes? I didn’t realize since the bulk of those articles featured me. But perhaps Mr. Forbes disappearing was simply too dull. After all, you had so many interesting stories about yours truly. Incidentally, I can’t decide which was my favorite. The one where I was stealing men’s souls by drinking their blood or that I kept men chained in my basement for my perverse pleasure.”

  At least he had the good grace to drop his gaze. “I stated in the articles that the claims were unsubstantiated.”

  “Well, that sorts it all, then, doesn’t it?” she snapped, furiously. “The fact that people saw those stories in print was enough for them to believe they were true, substantiated or not.”

  “And what would you have done to see that I stopped writing about you?” He lifted his gaze. Whatever contrition she thought she’d seen was gone. He pushed away from the door, taking a step toward her. She stepped back. “Make me disappear like the others?”

  Unease scurried up her spine like a frigid centipede. He was trying to trap her.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I don’t care. I want you out by the end of the day. “

  She darted for the door, gripped the knob and pulled. Kyle’s lean frame pressed against her back, his forearm pushed on the door over her head, ripping the cool brass from her fingers. The oak slammed closed.

  Her heart jumped into her throat and her legs turned rubbery. She’d been here before. Slowly, she turned to face him. His hard body hovered inches from hers. The arm over her head held the door closed, caging her.

  “Was it you, Eleri?” he asked, his voice quiet but sharp-edged, cutting through what little nerve she had left.

  “Get away from me,” she ground out, shoving against his chest. Muscle bunched beneath her palms, but he barely budged. He was much more solid than his lean frame appeared. She shoved again, trying to twist away from him. He grasped her wrists like twin vices and dragged her arms to her sides.

  Fear sliced through her. She fought to yank free of his grip. “Let me go!”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” He worked her hands behind her and pressed his length against hers, so her arms were pinned between her back and the door. “And neither are you until we’re done.”

  She couldn’t move. With her arms caught behind her, she had no way to defend herself. He pressed so tightly against her, she couldn’t even knee or kick him. Fear squeezed her lungs, cut off her breath. Her stomach churned, hot nausea bubbling up her throat

  “Please,” she squeaked, hating the pleading in her tone.

  “I need to ask you some questions, Eleri. Tell me what I want to know and I’ll let you go.”

  She couldn’t speak. She could barely nod.

  “I’m sorry it’s come to this so quickly. I’d hoped we could have got to know each other a little better before having this particular conversation.”

  What the hell was he talking about? She didn’t know, didn’t care. Escape was the only thing that mattered. She tried to wriggle her hands out from behind her back, but he shoved harder against her, thrusting the air from her lungs in a short gasp. He grasped her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to meet his hard glare.

  Gone was the man from last night, the man who’d put himself between her and Stephen Paskin. The pale green eyes holding her gaze were cold and empty, his expression stony.

  “Stop fighting. You’re not going to win.”

  She tried to swallow, but her throat had shrivelled. Fear locked her breath in her chest. He watched her for a long moment, then shook his head and lifted his gaze to the ceiling. “If this isn’t irony…”

  He released her chin and eased back from her. She drew a deep, shuddery breath.

  “You didn’t want me here, did you?”

  “Printing ridiculous lies about me? No, I didn’t.” What had he expected her to say? She didn’t want him here now, either.

  “Did you find me at the pub?” The soft menace in his voice prickled her skin. “Did you drug me, Eleri? Or had I had too many, and you were able to take advantage?”

  “You’re out of your bloody mind. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “No?” His brows lifted in mock surprise. “Did you bring me to The Devil’s Eye, or were you there waiting so you could do this?”

  He yanked one of her hands from behind her back. A gasp entirely too close to a sob burst from her lips. She tried to tug free of his grasp, but he was stronger and darkly furious. He forced her fingertips to the ridge of hot flesh along his throat.

  Comprehension sank into her overwrought brain like the first drops of rain on desert earth. He believed she tried to kill him.

  She shook her head.

  “You didn’t drag the blade across my throat?” He forced her fingertips along the scar.

  Hot moisture stung her eyes. “No!”

  “Maybe not,” he conceded with a shrug. “But I’ll tell the police you did.”

  Her stomach bottomed out.

  “Twelve bodies and a witness, you’ll be behind bars within the hour.”

  “But…but…I didn’t. It wasn’t me. It’s not true.”

  “Don’t sound so shocked.” His smile was cold and feral. “You said it yourself, I’m a liar.”

  “I didn’t do it, I swear.” Tearful pleading laced her voice, and at any other time she would have cringed at the sound. But right then, she just wanted all this to end.

  “I’m inclined to believe you, Eleri. But you threatening to go public with my previous identity has put me in a tight spot. I need to stay in the village. I need to find whoever did this to me.”

  Anger rolled over her, burning away some of her fear. “I fail to see how lying about my part in whatever happened to you helps in that regard.”

  “It doesn’t, admittedly. But if you go telling everyone who I am, I’m out on my ass regardless. I need you to keep your mouth shut.”

  “Fine, you win.” The words tasted bitter on her tongue, but she would have sold her soul to him to keep him from going to the detective.

  “I know.” He eased away from her, letting her free her other hand from behind her back. “I do appreciate your cooperation in the matter.”

  Emotion warred inside her. A part of her wanted to burst into tears while another part wanted to smash his face in. She turned away quickly and grasped the doorknob before she gave into either urge.

  She almost hoped whoever tried to kill him the first time managed to get their hands on him again.

  She froze with the door open, escape a single step away. Instead, she turned slowly.

  Kyle leaned against the edge of the desk, arms folded across his chest, exhaustion etched into his face. “Something else?”

  “If I managed to figure out who you really are—and I had no interaction with you when you were here last—aren’t you concerned whoever did that will recognize you?”

  Kyle shrugged. “You wouldn’t have made the
connection without drawing a comparison to my photo.”

  “True, but I hadn’t seen you up close. I would imagine who ever cut your throat got a pretty good look at you.”

  He snorted. “Better than you know.”

  “Aren’t you concerned whoever did this will remember you whether you’re using a false name or not, Jamison?”

  “Kyle is my name.”

  “What will happen if you’re recognized and someone decides to finish what they’ve started?”

  “Worried?”

  The faint mocking in his tone scraped her last nerve. “Absolutely. If you vanish, it’s me who’ll go down for it.”

  “True.” He chuckled, humorlessly. “But—and I imagine this news won’t please you—I’m fairly certain I’ve been recognized already.”

  Renewed fear washed over her. “How…how do you know?”

  He straightened and turned to the desk, pulled open the drawer and tossed a dirty shank of rope onto the desk. “Recognize this?”

  She shook her head. “What is it?”

  “I can’t be sure, mind you, but I suspect this is rope I slipped free from the night this happened.” He gestured to his scarred throat.

  She dropped her gaze to the rope again. Brown rust stiffened the fibers. Paint, maybe or—her heart lurched—blood.

  Eleri looked up into Kyle’s pale green eyes boring into her. “Why would I recognize this?” She nodded at the hunk of rope. “You said you believed me.”

  Kyle sighed. “I said I was inclined to believe you, not that I did.”

  Wonderful. “Why are you inclined, but not certain?”

  “You’re too small to have moved me alone, but there was more than one person at The Devil’s Eye that night.”

  Her eyes widened. A thin sliver of hope punctured all that anger and fear. “You remember what happened?”

  “Some. Not enough.”

  Still, if he remembered something maybe more would come. She’d been looking for someone like him for so long. Someone who had survived Cragera Bay. Someone who could say she had nothing to with those murdered men.

  “If you are telling me the truth, Eleri, you and I are on the same side.”