Blackburn Castle (Tortured Souls Book 2)

by R. C. Matthews

  “Perhaps I shall,” he said, pretending to pull out the stopper.

  He lifted the vial to his mouth, and her lips parted, drawing his gaze like a moth to the flame. Her heated stare met his, setting his heart rate skyrocketing. She desired him, though she would deny it, no doubt.

  “Or perhaps not, Mercy mine,” he said, running his thumb over her supple bottom lip and grinning at her shocked expression.

  In a flash, her hand shot up to slap him, but he was faster. He caught her wrist with his free hand, brought it to his mouth, and kissed the delicate skin on the inside, seeking her pulse point. Did her heart race as well? His lips grazed her bracelet and the blue amber stones embedded within it. Blue amber . . .

  The lass tugged her wrist, seeking to escape his iron grip, but he wouldn’t relent. He held her securely while he studied the unique bracelet, entranced.

  “Let me go,” she hissed, yanking free of his hold. “You got what you wanted, now pay me.”

  She was right. He had gotten what he sought—and so much more. After tucking the love potion inside a pocket of his coat, he fished out a five-pound note and laid it in her trembling hands. “Don’t spend it all in one place, lass.”

  “You’d best leave, or you’ll be late for your tryst,” she said, stomping away.

  Fuck his tryst with Lady Bellamy. Excitement buzzed through him, and he fought the urge to shout in triumph as he sat once again to enjoy another ale.

  The tavern wench answered to Mercy, dabbled in witchcraft, and wore a bracelet adorned with rare blue amber stones. The amber tears of Freya? God in Heaven, it must be she. All this time, she’d lived right under his nose in Devil’s Cove. Christ, had he truly found her?

  He itched to drag Mercy out of the tavern that very moment. But he couldn’t depart Devil’s Cove for another week. After years of waiting to find her, he wouldn’t let her slip through his fingers. Did she already suspect who he was? Maybe, considering the way she had avoided him at every turn over the past month.

  She strode by his table, and he snatched hold of her wrist, pulling her onto his lap. Knowing her true identity didn’t dampen his desire for her in the least, and once she discovered who he was, she’d not welcome his advances. His lips found hers in a fierce kiss, and when her mouth opened against the pressure of his tongue, he swept inside, licking and tasting the recesses of her sweet mouth. Her lips were petal soft, her breath as fresh as mint, and he didn’t want to let her go.

  When they finally parted, she stared at him with dazed eyes before pushing to her feet. She stumbled back and braced her palms on the neighboring table. One thing was certain, she did not know his true identity, or else she wouldn’t react so favorably to his touch. Convincing her to accompany him home would be a challenge, so he must think on the best approach. He winked and stood, then turned on his heel and walked out, feeling hopeful for the first time in sixteen years.

  Chapter Six

  Mercy hugged her burgundy wool shawl around her shoulders and crossed the cobbled street, ignoring the crisp wind blasting her cheeks. Her pelisse would’ve been a better choice, but she was already late for afternoon tea with Emma, and retrieving the garment from her apartment would’ve cost precious minutes.

  As she neared the tea shop, the door swung open, and Victor stepped onto the sidewalk, blocking the entrance. Why had he insisted on popping up everywhere she was the past two days?

  Her cheeks flamed as she recalled his hot breath on her earlobe . . . the way her stomach fluttered when he tipped the love potion toward his lips . . . the anger boiling to the surface when she realized he had only been teasing her.

  “Pardon me,” she said, shooing him to the side. “You must allow me to pass. I’m late for tea with Emma.”

  He didn’t budge an inch, and she swore she detected a slight twitch in the corner of his delectable mouth. Oh, he delighted in vexing her!

  “Good afternoon, Miss Seymour,” he said, raking his gaze over her entire body.

  So he knew her full name after all. She lifted an eyebrow, but he only flashed her a wicked grin. Oh, bother! There was no time for flirtation. Couldn’t he see she was in a hurry? She eyed the narrow space to his right, determined to slip through it whether he moved or not. Anticipating her thoughts, he stepped to the side, closing the gap so it was impossible to pass.

  “Can’t spare a moment for pleasantries with your best-paying customer?”

  Gritting her teeth, she gestured for him to step aside. “I’m afraid not, so if you’ll excuse me . . . ”

  “Good day to you, Mercy,” Victor said with a wink, finally allowing her to pass.

  The pirate was insufferable. What had she been thinking when she sold the love potion to him? She entered A Slice of Heaven and breathed deeply, letting the delicious scents fill her nostrils and calm her nerves. Shaking off the encounter, she searched the tea room and soon found her friend snuggled at a table for two in the corner of the establishment, next to the window where they could observe the activity on Main Street.

  “Good afternoon, Emma,” she said, sitting across from her. “Please forgive me for being tardy.”

  She set her gloves on the table and smiled as Emma poured her a cup of tea. An assortment of scrumptious pastries already awaited her.

  “What did Victor want?” her friend asked, the corner of her mouth twitching. “He appeared quite amused, and I think he has a crush on you, if I might say so.”

  Mercy plucked a gingerbread cookie from the plate and shook her head. “Don’t be silly. Victor is enamored with Lady Bellamy, though I can’t understand what he sees in her. They’re lovers, you know.”

  “Were lovers,” Emma said, taking a sip of her tea. “Victor plans to leave Devil’s Cove soon, something about visiting his hometown after the ball on an urgent matter. But, come to think of it, Hatchet asked me to keep silent on the matter. He doesn’t want Lord Sommerset catching wind of their plans. The marquess has enough on his plate with the upcoming event.”

  Mercy stared into her teacup, avoiding Emma’s scrutiny while she processed that shocking tidbit. Well, that was a blessing. He tempted her far too much with his handsome face, teasing nature, and that searing kiss. The man was a worrisome dichotomy of barbarity and civility—one moment savagely beating another man, the next setting her free so she might escape her uncle’s ire. Arms corded with hard muscles, lips supple and soft . . . Enough of that. He was leaving, and it was for the best.

  “I promise not to tell a single soul of his plans,” Mercy said, sipping her tea.

  A gentleman paused on the sidewalk in front of the tea shop, drawing her attention. Several more of the town folk gathered around, focusing their gazes on the street. She peered through a hole between two of the men and discovered Willie Jackson preaching in the middle of Main Street, perched on a wooden crate.

  “Willie has been flapping his trap again,” Emma said with a scowl, lowering her voice. “Keeps rattling on about the massacre that occurred fifteen years ago at Devil’s Cove Manor. I’m worried he might get crazy ideas in his head about storming the castle and dragging Eveline to the insane asylum, like her mother. She is a dear friend of mine. Please, is there anything you can do to help?”

  Mercy’s teacup rattled against the saucer, and she nodded before drinking a sip of the brew. “Tensions are high at the tavern, too. Willie is stirring up trouble, all right. I’ll slip a potion into his tankard, something to keep him retching and immobile for several days. There isn’t a night that goes by without him visiting the tavern. Henry will be cross when he has to arrange for a carriage to transport him home, but it’s a small price for a few days of peace. But, please, keep this between us?”

  “Of course,” Emma said, patting her hand.

  They finished their tea and treats in short order and departed with a hug and a promise to meet again at the same time a week hence. The sidewalk was crowded with people gawking at the spectacle in the street, forcing Mercy to push her way through the throng. Sh
e could scarce draw a breath of fresh air.

  Bits and pieces of Willie’s chatter reached her, resonating deep within. Josephine’s vengeful nature. Heightened spiritual activity at the mansion. Dead bodies recently discovered in the forest nearby.

  A shudder rippled through her body at the reminder. Ever since The Savior had arrived in port, a dark cloud hovered over Devil’s Cove. Perhaps Willie wasn’t so crazy; maybe he sensed evil lurking in the shadows, waiting for the opportune moment to pounce. With a legendary half-woman, half-serpent haunting their coastal town, anything was possible.

  As Mercy climbed the stairs to the second-floor apartment, a sense of urgency fueled her veins, urging her to flee at first light. Something was amiss, niggling under her skin. She headed directly to her bedroom, pulling her carpetbag out from under her bed. It was the last gift her mother had bestowed on her before sending her away to live with her kin.

  Where would she go now?

  Her thoughts were a jumbled mess. She opened her bedroom window and drew in a breath of fresh air, clearing her mind. Henry had a brother in London. Yes, she would visit Edward Gibbs—Uncle Edward, as he liked her to call him. He was a kindly man who would receive her into his home.

  A thunderous screech rent the air, and Mercy jumped when a blackbird suddenly thrashed against the screen of her fireplace. Her heart leaped to her throat, cutting off her startled cry. Before she could react, the bird dislodged the screen and careened through the open window, missing her face by mere inches. The poor creature slammed against the brick wall of Mr. Smith’s tailor shop, falling to the ground in a dead heap.

  She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, controlling a sudden urge to retch. Why was she trapped in a cage of doubt and fear all of a sudden? Her gaze fell on the far wall of her room, and she was faced with the true source of her fear.

  Stomping to her armchair, she picked up the dagger resting on the side table and scratched out another line in the plaster. Five thousand, nine hundred and twelve markings in all. One line for every day since Blackburn had killed her mother. Only forty-eight days remained until his demise.

  Plans whirled through her mind, and she set about collecting the essentials for her trip. Enough for two months away, long enough to last her until Blackburn’s twenty-seventh birthday. Then he would be dead, and she could breathe easy once more. The first train departed early—eight o’clock in the morning. That left no time on the morrow to visit the bank. She must go before her evening shift at the tavern.

  A soft knock at the bedroom door pulled Mercy out of her thoughts. She glanced up as her aunt peeked inside.

  “I thought I heard you in here,” she said, pushing the door wide. Her gaze fell on the array of clothing piled on the bed and the open bag. “Are you traveling somewhere without telling me, or have I forgotten in my old age?”

  “You’re not old,” Mercy said, bussing her aunt on the cheek. “Seeing everyone in town for the ball has stirred my wanderlust. I’ll catch the first train to London tomorrow, if you don’t mind. You and Henry might even consider joining me?”

  “You’re a grown woman capable of making your own decisions.” Cecelia sighed and patted Mercy’s cheek. “But the tavern is overflowing with the influx of out-of-town visitors, and Henry would benefit from your help. Three more days until the ball at Devil’s Cove Manor, and then everyone will be returning to where they came from. Can you not delay your journey?”

  Mercy glanced away, biting her bottom lip. She couldn’t wait three more days. But she owed so much to Cecelia and Henry, more than she could ever repay.

  “Mercy, I know you well enough to see the turmoil in your eyes. What is it? Please, you can confide in me.”

  The stress broke through the dam she’d erected around her heart, and she trembled. “Emma shared dreadful news this afternoon. Willie is plotting against Eveline again, and people fear another deadly incident at the ball. Emma will be at the manor. I’m afraid for her. All of this unrest is getting on my nerves and reminds me that Blackburn isn’t dead yet.” Shaking out her hands, she moved to resume her packing. “Let me escape to London, where nothing and no one can find me.”

  “Oh, my dear child,” her aunt cooed, sweeping Mercy into her embrace. “Do not fret or fear for your life. He would never harm you, not when he needs you as much as the air he breathes.” Cecelia held her face and searched her eyes. “Maybe you’ll accept that this is a sign from above? Go to Blackburn Castle and break the curse as I have begged you to do all these years.”

  Mercy reared back and felt the blood drain from her face. “Never! Blackburn killed my mother! Why must you always defend him, push me to find forgiveness in my heart, and preach to me of kindness and love?”

  “Because both of your parents died so that he and future generations of Blackburn males might live,” Cecelia said, tears misting her eyes. “Maude wanted you to bring an end to the curse. How can you dishonor her dying wish? Make your mother’s sacrifice worth something!”

  Turning her back on Cecelia, Mercy closed her eyes and squeezed her hands into tight fists. Cecelia knew not what she asked of her. She had not watched through the scrying bowl as the Butcher slit her father’s throat, nor had she seen the terror in her mother’s eyes when Blackburn stabbed her through the heart. Cecelia had not lived a life without her parents, away from her childhood home and memories. And her aunt did not live with the regret and pain of having caused her parents’ deaths.

  “I’ll stay until the ball to help in the tavern,” Mercy said, her voice wooden. “But then I leave for London.”

  Chapter Seven

  Mercy accepted a mug of tea from her uncle and took a sip, sighing as the warm liquid soothed her aching throat. Bellowing orders to the chef over the last three days had taken its toll, but the madness was finally over. With the ball at Devil’s Cove Manor underway, the tavern was half empty for the first time in weeks. And for that she was grateful, because it meant she would be boarding the train for London in the morning. Her only regret was leaving her aunt and uncle behind.

  “Lost in a daydream, girl?” her uncle asked as he leaned against the wood bar. “Your parents had a fine house in Blackpool. Balls the likes of the one at Devil’s Cove Manor should’ve been in your future, not serving tables in your uncle’s tavern, or living in an apartment the size of your parents’ drawing room.”

  She reached for his hand. “Nonsense. You have provided a safe home where I feel loved and appreciated. I couldn’t ask, nor want, for more.”

  Henry’s eyes glistened, and the corner of his mouth curled up in a shy grin. “You’re the daughter of my heart. You’ll always have a home here.”

  Her chest ached something powerful, and her own eyes misted. Her uncle was a man of few words and not one for sharing his feelings. So when he did, the effect stole her breath away.

  “I’m glad to know it, because I’m coming back,” she said, squeezing his hand.

  The oak door to the tavern crashed open, and a coachman dressed in fine livery ran in. “Are there any doctors in the house?” he shouted. “There’s been a terrible accident.”

  Goodness, what could’ve happened? Who was injured? How badly? Mercy jumped to her feet and pushed through the small crowd of patrons already surrounding the coachman. She knew enough to be useful if there were injuries.

  “Sir, I’m not a doctor, but I can help,” she said as she wrested her way to the front row. “Please, tell me what’s happened.”

  He heaved air into his lungs, as though he’d run a long distance. “The ceiling of the underwater ballroom collapsed. At Devil’s Cove Manor.” The coachman stumbled backward to the exit, his expression bleak. “People were trampled, others drowned. It’s utter chaos, I tell you. Where might I find doctors?”

  All of the air whooshed out of Mercy’s lungs. That couldn’t be possible. Emma was there . . . her dear Emma . . . Oh, goodness . . . she couldn’t swim. Emma couldn’t swim. Please, oh, please. She had to get to the manor!


  “Allow me to accompany you,” said Mr. Smith, the tailor. “I know everyone in town and where they live.”

  Mercy hiked up her skirt and bolted for the apartment, shouting instructions to her uncle as she raced past the bar. “Arrange for a coach! I’ll be down in a minute with our medical bag.”

  Accidents in the kitchen were not unheard of—burns, cuts, and the like. If people were trampled while trying to escape the ballroom, she could help the lightly injured.

  Emma would be fine. She was a lady’s maid, not a servant, and was likely resting in her bedroom during the event.

  Mercy charged up the stairs, screaming her aunt’s name. The door to the apartment opened, and she threw herself into Cecelia’s arms. “We must hurry. People are drowning . . . they’re hurt . . . they need us.”

  “Who, what?” Cecelia asked, pushing her an arm’s-length away. “Calm down, Mercy. We can’t help anyone if you don’t calm down.”

  Of course her aunt was right. She heaved a breath and relayed what little she knew while retrieving the medical bag. Grabbing two blankets, she thrust them into her aunt’s arms. It couldn’t hurt to bring them.

  “Go down ahead of me,” Cecelia said, rushing toward her bedroom. “I’ll grab my extra store of herbal remedies.”

  Mercy took the stairs as fast as she dared. If she fell and hurt herself, she would be of no help to the victims at the disaster site. And she desperately wanted to help. Her heart rate had evened out by the time she reached the front of the tavern.

  Henry took the medical bag from her and held open the door to the coach, assisting her inside before handing in the bag. “My prayers go with you. I know you’re worried for your friend. Emma’s a good girl. God watches over the good ones.”

  She nodded and pressed her lips together, determined not to weep until everyone was accounted for and the sick had been tended. There would be plenty of time to cry alone at night in her bed.