by Sharon Page
“All right.” Then another thought struck her. “I am certain I can smuggle your nephew out of the house. Are you willing to trust me—to wait and be patient?”
He nodded. “Of course I trust you. I will do exactly as you ask.”
But she wondered—would he do as she asked? Sinjin had never once been docile. She might trust him now and know he wouldn’t hurt her, but she wasn’t sure she could trust this particular promise. It would be easiest if he let her try to bring James out. She prayed he would understand that.
He clasped her hand, threading his fingers through hers. It was a gesture of joining, of partnership, that took her breath away. Then they ran back to the carriage.
This was her home—she was the mistress of her house, and had been since her mother’s death. Why on earth did she feel so nervous?
Lucy felt her shoulders give an involuntary tremble as their carriage neared her house—or at least, she believed her family’s Dartmoor estate was growing closer. In the dark, she could not recognize a thing. They had passed the village of Princeton, where the prison stood that had housed prisoners of war. The carriage had taken the road to the south.
She was nervous over so many things: defying her family and a possible confrontation with the servants of the house. But also, Lucy was quivering with anticipation. She wanted to have the boy safe—she was determined to rescue Sinjin’s nephew. But it was going to take considerable wit to fool the members of her clan who must be watching over him.
And her brother might be at this house. Very soon, she might be facing Jack again. And she knew she had to confront him over his irresponsible behavior, and the horrible kidnapping her father had carried out.
From the road, the driver took a lane to the right. It consisted of two slightly worn tracks over grass and lumps of rock. The carriage wheels rattled along, slamming into outcroppings of granite. Sinjin sat at her side, her hand still clasped in his. Just having her fingers twined with his left her breathless.
They dipped down a hill. In the valley, long grass waved, and she knew the track meandered for only one reason—to follow the solid ground. The lane was a line of safety through the bog that stretched on either side. Originally, she had wanted to come here before the sun went down altogether. The lane would be almost impossible to see in the dark, the odds high they would wander off it and sink in the bog. Entire ponies could vanish in the bog. And there was a legend that someone plucked a hat off the soft ground, only to jump in surprise when he found a head beneath. The sinking man cheerfully asked to be helped out of the bog, and asked his rescuer to retrieve his horse, too, as he was seated on the animal.
But arriving before the sunset had been impossible. It was too dangerous for Sinjin.
Lucy gazed out the window at inky darkness. How the coachman stayed on the track, she didn’t know.
She had only been to this house four times in her life—the last time had been five years ago. She had never come to one of her family’s own houses feeling like an outsider. That’s what she felt like now. She was coming as an enemy to the people in the house. Lucy did not know if the people who would be staying there, who would be watching over James, would be friends of her father and members of the Drago clan, or if they were servants of their family.
If they found out what she planned to do—give James back to Sinjin—they might fight her.
It was an unsettling thought. They would be far stronger than she was.
Sinjin’s grip tightened, he squeezed her hand gently and reassuringly. The carriage stopped and he stood, still holding her head. “I asked the coachman to stop before turning into the drive of the house. Bring James out here in the carriage, and I will join you. I will keep watch over you—but you will not see me. I want to make certain you are safe.”
Lucy nodded. “I will be safe.” But she knew that wasn’t true. Still she managed a small smile, and he finally unclasped her hand. He opened the door only enough to allow him to slip out, then he closed the door behind him.
Lucy surveyed the imposing house standing before her. The moors had always made her fancy it looked like a haunted castle. It was built of granite blocks, with two towers that stretched to the dark sky. High stone walls surrounded it. With nothing around it but hills, it looked imposing, dark, dangerous.
It was dangerous for her now.
She debated trying to slip in unnoticed. Lucy thought about windows and rear doors, and the secret way she knew to get in and out through a cellar window, because her brother, Jack, had told her about it.
In the end, she did the simplest thing. She sent a footman to the front door to announce her, and as she stepped down from the carriage, the large wooden front door was swinging open for her. A thin, tall, gray-haired woman stood on the threshold, flanked by two young footmen in her family’s wine-red livery.
It was the housekeeper. Lucy remembered the woman’s name—since Jack ignored all his responsibilities, she was the one who worked with their family secretary on matters pertaining to all the family’s estates. The housekeeper here was Mrs. Billings, and she was much thinner, much more gaunt, than Lucy remembered.
Mrs. Billings stared in openmouthed shock for several moments as Lucy neared the door, then she seemed to gather her wits. She dropped into a curtsy. “My lady, I did not know you were to arrive. I apologize—I will have a suite of rooms prepared for you at once. I will rouse Cook to prepare a supper. For now, if you would go to the westerly drawing room?” Billings gazed at her anxiously, then looked back to the carriage behind her. The woman was nervous.
Apparently, the housekeeper believed there was something to hide. Which meant her father had intended for her to never know about this. Obviously, the words he had spoken on his deathbed had been brought out by the pain or confusion he must have been suffering as he died. Why—if Father had been doing this for James’s good, had he wanted to keep it from her?
“Thank you.” Lucy knew her clothes were crumpled, and saw the housekeeper’s gaze begin to assess her with confusion. She had to act in charge here; she had to take command. “First,” she said with autocratic firmness, “I wish at first to see a child who is staying here. A young boy, brought by my father a year ago.” She said it without question, as though it was definite fact.
It worked. Billings pursed her lips, then answered, “The wee lad is sleeping, but if you wish, my lady, I will have him dressed and made ready and brought down to you.”
“No, I shall go and check on him myself.” Was it really to be this easy?
“Of course, my lady.” And Mrs. Billings gave her the direction to young James’s room.
Sinjin circled the house for the second time. Clouds had gathered, blotting out the moonlight, but it made no difference. He could see clearly. A stone wall, about twelve feet high, surrounded the house and grounds. It had been chiseled to a smooth surface, making it impossible for a mortal to climb. With his vampiric strength, he could easily jump over it.
But he had promised Lucy he would do as she had asked.
For the first time in his existence as a dragon slayer, he was going to do what a dragon had asked him to do.
The room was illuminated by a crackling fire in the grate, along with candles on the vanity. The bed was large, and the boy huddled under the covers was tiny. A thick counterpane showed only the smallest bump and when she approached, Lucy saw he was curled into a ball.
She crouched down beside him at the head of the bed. He was turned away from her. Hair, the same golden color as Sinjin’s, stuck up and brushed the pillow. “James?” she whispered. She kept her voice soft and barely audible. Mrs. Billings stood at the doorway, her ring of keys clasped in her hands. Lucy sensed the intensity of the woman’s stare and suspected the housekeeper was straining to listen.
Lucy stroked the tiny shoulder beneath the sheets. “James, I’ve come to take you back to your uncle. To the Duke of Greystone, who will take care of you.”
The boy didn’t turn his head. Was he sleeping?
She shook the boy gently and bent over. Clasping back fallen tendrils of hair, she whispered by his ear. “Wake up, James. You are going home.” She could see a little bit of his cheek where the covers had slipped down. He was terribly pale.
Heart thudding, she rolled the boy onto his back and she jerked in shock. His dark eyes—a deep brown and fringed with thick lashes—were wide open. He stared upward, but he made no sign he had seen her.
He couldn’t be blind, could he? Surely Sinjin would have told her. “Your uncle is outside,” she said, as loudly as she dared. “We will get you out of bed and you can go to him.”
It was as if he could not even hear her. But a soft creak came from the corner of the room, and he turned toward that sound. He faced the shadows in the corner, solemn, unblinking. The child looked lost in his own world, as though he had been so very afraid when he was taken from his uncle, he had receded inside himself.
Lucy’s heart stuttered. What had her father done? She whirled and saw Mrs. Billings, her hands clasped in front of her brown skirts, watching. “What has happened to this boy?” she demanded. Even though her voice was sharp and loud, James did not react. Had he been so frightened by other people—by the members of her clan—that he now blocked out human voices?
The housekeeper took a step forward. “I do not know, my lady. The child has been like this since he arrived here.”
Lucy sat on the side of the child’s bed. She gathered him up—he was so thin and small, he seemed to weigh almost nothing. From the duke, she knew he was only five years of age. She drew him to her chest, a bundle swathed in white, soft sheets. The boy leaned against her only because she pulled him there, and he kept his little body as straight and stiff as a fireplace poker.
Stroking the boy’s back gently, she glanced to the window, letting thoughts race, forming a plan. She did not understand exactly what was happening. There was no one in this house of note. There was no member of her clan, someone who would be in charge of the boy. There was just Mrs. Billings.
To return James to his uncle, she simply had to gather the boy up and carry him to the carriage. But that made no sense. Why would her father steal the boy, then leave him unguarded?
She stared blankly at the panes of glass, wondering if she dared to just take James out the front door to the carriage. Was she wrong—and there were members of her clan close by? Would her own servants try to stop her?
Something white and strong flashed outside the window, as though the sun had exploded. Lucy jumped slightly on the bed, though James did not show any reaction. The loud boom that rumbled after the bright light explained everything. The flash had been lightning. A storm was blowing in, washing swiftly over the open moors.
Clouds had blotted out the moonlight. Beyond the grounds of the house, faintly illuminated by the light from the house, the moors were impenetrable darkness. Rain came with a violent burst of energy, lashing the windows, and now she could see nothing at all.
They couldn’t go anywhere tonight. The tracks would turn into a quagmire, and without light, they could wander off into the bog.
But there wasn’t any reason to. There was nothing to fear here in this house. She was in charge and she could command the servants to prepare rooms. Gently, Lucy laid the small boy back into his bed and drew up the covers. She swept to her feet. “This child’s uncle is waiting outside. We will stay here tonight, and then this child will leave with us tomorrow.” She spoke quietly to Mrs. Billings, but issued a clear demand.
The woman twisted her hands together. “Oh my lady, your father’s instructions were clear. We were to keep the boy here.”
“My father is not here.”
“But His Lordship is to arrive soon, and he was to give us further instruction.”
Lucy jerked. Her brother had sent word he was to come here? “When did you learn my brother is to arrive? When is he to come here?”
“I received a letter a few days ago. I do not know exactly when he will arrive. It is to be before the end of this week. But my lady, surely if the late earl—”
“This child is ill,” she said sharply, “and is suffering from his captivity here, Billings. We will leave this house in the morning tomorrow.”
She hating leaving James, even for a few minutes, to go down to the door and bring Sinjin inside. Ignoring the footman standing there, she pushed it open. Rain drove in at her, whipped in by the wind. To her surprise, Sinjin stood on the gravel drive, and he stared up at the lighted bedchamber window—the window where James was lying.
Guilt surged. Lucy was so furious with her family. It would devastate Sinjin to see the child this way. As he strode toward her, rain pelting on his coat and hat, she impulsively hurried forward. She slid her hand into his. “I must warn you ...” Oh God, what had her father done? “Bringing James here has affected him, I fear. Badly. Or ...” Heavens, how to ask this? “What sort of boy was he?”
Sinjin’s face was pale, his silver-green eyes stark with pain. “What do you mean? He lost his parents, which had affected him. It had made him quiet and withdrawn. But I had worked hard, and was drawing him out. He was becoming a smiling, happy child.”
Oh no. Her family had ruined that. Heart in her throat, Lucy knew she must face this—she must watch Sinjin’s heart be completely broken as he saw what had happened to his young nephew.
Christ, James made such a small shape in the large bed. He looked so tiny, so fragile. Sinjin almost choked on his guilt. James was all he had left. He should have never let the boy out of his sight. He should have ensured the dragons hadn’t got to the lad.
His sister would have hated him for what he’d done.
Lucy moved to the bed, and he hung back, immobilized by the swamping pain that rushed up to his heart. There was only one pain vampires and dragon slayers were supposed to feel—pain that stoked a hunger for vengeance. He felt it. Sinjin felt a rush of pure white-hot anger toward the men who had taken James.
He couldn’t feel it for Lucy.
Her dark blue eyes were huge and stricken in her pale face. Tears glistened in the corners of her eyes. She approached James and gently stroked the boy’s shoulder. James did not move. He did not even stir.
Approaching the bed, Sinjin saw the boy’s eyes were wide open. Wide open, but eerily blank.
Lucy sat on the bed and leaned over James. “Here is your uncle for you, James. You are going to go home with him.”
James did not face him, did not look toward him. It was as though the boy was deaf and had not heard her.
“What happened to him?” His voice was a rasp. “Drugs? Magic?”
“I—” Lucy looked at him with anguish. “I don’t know. I think ... it might be fear. He was afraid of coming here, of being taken away from you. It might have been that he thought he lost you.”
A tear streaked down her cheek. It dripped from her lip. Then she kissed James on his small forehead. The boy stirred suddenly. He twitched as though he was shooing away a strange sensation. Then Sinjin heard the worst word, the one that was like a knife to his heart. Tentatively, hopefully, James whispered, “Mama?”
Sinjin heard Lucy catch her breath. “No,” she finally answered, truthfully but softly. “But you are with your uncle, and I am your friend.”
The candlelight illuminated her with gold as she lifted James into her arms and hugged him to her snug bodice. It was appropriate, wasn’t it, since she gleamed like gilt? She had a golden heart. A gentle, good heart.
He watched her. In the soft glow, her neck was a creamy curve, and dark tendrils of her hair spilled along the smooth arc. “You should sleep now, James,” she murmured. “You must be very tired. In the morning, you will go home ... you will go home with your uncle. He has missed you and will be so happy to have you home.” Her lips parted, full and lush, as she hummed a soothing lullaby to his nephew.
Damn her family—James was as lost as he had been when Emma had died. But watching Lucy sing to James, while tears glittered in her eyelashes ...
Lucy would make a good mother.
But Lucy’s children would be dragons. What sort would they be—the kind that attacked and killed the innocent, the kind that ripped defenseless humans apart, the way his family had been killed? Wolves, people had said. That had been the explanation for the cruel devastation wrought on his mother, his father, and his siblings. How else to explain bodies pulled apart, faces destroyed by claw marks?
His heart should have turned to ice again, as it always did when he thought of dragons.
But he was watching Lucy, and it didn’t.
James shuddered beneath the covers and made a mewling sound, but Lucy’s stroking hand soothed him. Sinjin approached, keeping his footfalls soft. The boy’s breathing grew rhythmic; the counterpane rose and fell slightly as the wee lad drifted into a deeper sleep.
Sinjin sat beside Lucy on the edge of the large bed. He laid his big hand on James’s tiny body. He was a sweet, innocent child. It was not the boy’s fault he was a dragon, but because of it, the boy was threatened by Sinjin’s clan of slayers, and had been stolen by the dragon clan for their protection. The boy had suffered because of him.
Hell, he wanted to leave it all behind. Take James and live a quiet, safe life. Somewhere the boy could live like a normal child, protected from damned slayers and even more damned dragons.
But it was impossible, wasn’t it? The boy was a dragon—that truth couldn’t be ignored. Sinjin had given his eternal oath to be a slayer. He’d be hunted down and destroyed if he broke his oath. James might be killed, too. At the very least, if he was hunted and killed, James would be left without protection.
There had to be a way out. For James’s sake, he had to find one. Once he walked out of this house with James, the dragons of Lucy’s clan would hunt him. He would be expected to slay Lucy’s family. And Lucy.
