In the Country of Shadows (Exit Unicorns Series Book 4)

by Cindy Brandner

  “Did you find him?” She chose her words carefully, worried that Noah was already suspicious of her.

  “Not yet.”

  The ‘yet’ chilled her blood. She said a small, silent prayer that they would not catch up to him. She hoped that Corporal Ainsley would get himself out of that wood alive and the only place they would meet again would be at a perfectly boring roadblock.

  “Did he hurt ye in any way?”

  “No, he didn’t. He frightened me, nothing more than that.”

  Noah made some sort of indecipherable noise and pulled the car into the narrow pitted road that led away from the mill. He kept a silence that she found unnerving as they made their way toward the Silverbridge road that would take them home. He was never a big talker, but just now she would have dearly loved to chat about the weather, or a rare sheep disease, or parts for his tractor, anything but this fraught silence which seemed to grow more ominous by the minute as they drove along the road, stone walls and small well-kept houses flashing past. He slowed suddenly and turned down a tiny dirt road, bringing back her nerves in a nauseous rush.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, as he brought the car to an abrupt halt in a leafy alcove which ended in a gated pasture.

  He turned the car off and the silence of the night was as thick as the blood that swooshed in panic through her veins.

  He turned to her, the blue eyes so intense that she quailed a little.

  “I need to know what ye were doin’ in that buildin’, Pamela.”

  She had known he would ask, she could not blame him for that. Still it made her feel like a cat on a hot brick. She needed to give a version very close to the truth, because those were always the safest lies—the ones that were right on the border of the facts.

  “I got a note telling me to meet someone at the old mill, it said they had information about Casey.”

  “An’ did he?”

  “No, not really, not anything I haven’t heard before.” She held his eyes, knowing she must not blink either literally or figuratively right now. “I think he lured me there under false pretenses.”

  “An’ just what would those false pretenses be?”

  “I don’t know, he hedged around about Casey, he said that the Army had information and would be willing to trade it if I was willing to pass information along to them. Truthfully, I don’t think they know anything, they just want someone to spy for them.”

  “Spy on who?” he asked softly, though there was a steely note that ran through his words which shot a jolt of adrenaline through her.

  She had decided on this bit beforehand, knowing it would come up.

  “You, of course.”

  He nodded, face inscrutable.

  “An’ what did ye say?”

  She looked him full in the face. “I said no, Noah. I wouldn’t spy on you, I’m not a fool.” This bit was the absolute truth, she would never pass along information about Noah; it would be tantamount to committing hara-kiri.

  He seemed to relax a little, his eyes narrowing just a bit, taking in the expression on her face in what she felt was every tiny nuance. She fought to hold that gaze, praying the traitorous blush of pink would not stain her skin, as it often did when she was nervous. It would be apparent even in this dark car, for she swore the man would be able to feel her blood wash up through her skin.

  “I can’t have anyone thinkin’ I’m coverin’ for ye, nor cossetin’ ye.”

  She understood that. Noah’s reputation was all, he held an entire county in thrall by the mere force of that reputation. It was well backed by action though, and she did not kid herself about just what this man was capable of doing. He had spent years putting that reputation in place and he could not afford to have a woman making it appear he had cracks or vulnerabilities.

  “I wouldn’t expect you to,” she said calmly, even though the tremors in her nerves had turned into tiny spastic jumps, like someone was applying low voltage electrodes to her skin. This, she thought, was the least of what Noah would do to her if he found out the truth. It wouldn’t be low voltage either. Hysterical laughter rose in her throat. She didn’t dare let it out in front of this man, so she put her head down to her knees and fought for control.

  She was chilled to the bone, and yet there was a fine trickle of sweat beading along her backbone. She was sitting in a car in an isolated spot with a man who had tortured and killed men in ways she could not allow herself to think about. Granted it wasn’t a hillside hut, deep in the countryside, but it was a lonely enough spot that no one was likely to hear her scream. She felt a sneeze coming on, her entire body and every inch of clothing was coated in dust from the mill. She sneezed three times, prompting Noah to put a clean handkerchief into her hands. She put it to her face, grateful to hide in the starchy folds for a minute while she regained her composure.

  She got herself under control and sat up to find Noah watching her. His gaze could be unnerving at the best of times—cool and calculated, as if he could pick over a person’s most secret thoughts and desires like a crow would pick seeds from decaying fruit.

  “Are ye all right now?” he asked, and his tone was merely one of concern and not the terrible flat tone he had used before.

  “Yes, I’m all right.”

  She took as deep a breath as she dared, not wanting to start another sneezing fit. She looked out into the night beyond the car. They were parked in front of a gate and she jumped a little, realizing they were being watched by some monstrous figure standing in the field.

  “’Tis a cow,” Noah said, taking in her nerves. It was indeed a cow, the shape of it materializing out of the night at his words. It worried her that he could guess her emotions so easily, because then perhaps he could sense when she was being less than truthful. She wondered where he started with an interrogation—a few direct questions and then on to pulling finger nails, or maybe breaking a toe or two? She felt the bubble of hysteria behind her windpipe once again.

  They sat that way for a long moment, the cow looking solemnly over the gate at them, the deep twilight silhouetting her big ears. The field beyond her was awash in the last light of the day before the black of night swallowed everything—deep lavenders and indigos, and the spill of a narrow early moon touching the far hills. The contrast of such peace and utter tranquility with the madness of the last hour made the moment entirely surreal. She could never reconcile the two—the beauty of the land with the conflict that was so deeply rooted in its soil. She could not reconcile many things though, not the least of which was this man here beside her who treated her with kindness and respect, and the things she knew he did to keep his powerful hold on this wee county.

  He took her hand in his, and gave it a light squeeze. The strength there was apparent. It was the hand of a man who had worked hard every day of his life since he was capable of work. He turned her hand toward him and used the fingers of his right hand to trace the pathway of her veins, blue against the pale translucence of her skin.

  “I should hate for anything to happen to ye, Pamela.”

  He let go of her hand and put the car into reverse, backing slowly out of the narrow lane.

  She did not know if his statement was meant as concern or as a threat, though frankly she wasn’t sure which option frightened her more. She understood that he had just made an exception for her, and that she was going to have to pay for it sometime in the future.

  Chapter Thirty

  Shooting Lessons

  GIVEN THE NOTE THEIR last meeting had ended upon, Pamela was a trifle startled to find Noah outside her door two days later, holding a rifle in his arms.

  She looked pointedly at the rifle and then up into his eyes.

  “It’s a gift,” he said gruffly.

  “Of the South Armagh variety?”

  He laughed. “Aye, I suppose ye could say that.”

  “What would you propose I do with it?” she asked, stepping out into the yard and closing the door behind her. Conor was with Lewis for the
afternoon, for the old man had taken a shine to him from the day he was born and he would sometimes come around to take him on a ramble in the woods. Isabelle was with Gert, and Pamela had been planning to go pick her up early as she had a rare afternoon free from work of any sort.

  “I’d suggest ye use it to shoot anyone who comes on yer property without permission. Truth is ye seemed worried about the killings in the area and I thought it best if ye had a means of protectin’ yerself, if someone were to try to enter yer home.”

  “You think we could be targets?”

  Noah shrugged. “I don’t know, but I should like ye to take the rifle all the same. There doesn’t seem to be either rhyme or reason to the targets, so I would think bein’ Catholic an’ breathin’ is enough to make a target of ye.”

  She sighed, there were times she wished the man was just a tiny bit less honest in his summations.

  “Ye know how to use it?”

  “I do, Casey taught me how to shoot. He was very good, his own father said he could take the eye out of a gnat from fifty yards away.”

  “Aye, well, just reassure me by hittin’ a few targets, would ye?”

  He took six targets from the back of his truck and lined them up along the edge of the tree line. While he was thus occupied, she fetched a pair of shoes and put them on, remembering to take the tea towel from her shoulder at the last minute. She went out to where he waited for her, the gun held loosely over his elbow, as natural a part of him, it seemed, as his hands or feet.

  “Load it, just so I know ye understand how,” he said handing the rifle to her.

  She took it from him, feeling the heft and cold weight of it. The grip was smooth as silk, no doubt it was a good rifle and likely very expensive. She wasn’t sure how she felt about being gifted such a thing. She wasn’t terribly comfortable with guns, and never had been, despite Casey long having kept a pistol in the house.

  She cracked the barrel and loaded the shot, snapping it shut with a forceful click. She did not care for guns, but she understood them. She stepped forward, aware of Noah’s eyes assessing her stance and hold. She felt slightly prickly under his gaze.

  She lined the barrel up, looked down the site and focused her will on the target. She shot each target, knocking it back, before coolly moving on to the next. She managed to hit all six targets dead center. Casey would be proud. She lowered the rifle, the heat of the barrel radiating out against her leg, though she had set it a good four inches clear of herself.

  “He taught ye well,” Noah said, and she felt absurdly pleased to have impressed the man in such a way.

  “He did,” she agreed, and he had, drilling her over and over on how to hold the gun so it wouldn’t kick back and bruise her face or shoulder, how to sight in on a target, and when it was necessary to use it.

  “It’s one thing to be able to hit a sedentary target an’ quite another to shoot a human bein’.” His words were matter-of-fact.

  “I do know that, theoretically at least. I haven’t actually shot anyone yet.” It occurred to her that she had maybe put a wee bit too much emphasis on the personal pronoun and that this man had shot people, and brought death with far less savory tactics too.

  “Ye can ask if ye want,” Noah said, his tone dry. “I know ye’re thinkin’ it.”

  “Thinking what?” she said, trying for a genuinely puzzled tone and knowing she fell far short.

  “That I know well enough what it is to kill someone.”

  “I’m not sure,” she said, devoutly wishing the heat would die down in her face, “how one begins such a conversation.”

  “I don’t know, Pamela, but it seems to me that ye’re not one that’s shy about yer thoughts an’ feelins’, nor do ye seem to stand much on ceremony.”

  “Is that your polite way of saying I’m tactless?”

  “No, it’s my way of sayin’ I’ve rarely met a creature so honest.”

  She laughed. “Yes, it’s one of my larger failings, I admit.”

  “I would say it’s a virtue, not a failing.”

  “Is it? I’m sure there are several people who know me who might disagree with that.”

  “I like yer honesty. I know if ye say a thing to me, ye mean it. There’s not many who tell me the truth so freely.”

  “And why do you suppose that might be?” she asked tartly, immediately regretting the words.

  Noah looked at her narrowly and then laughed. It was a genuine laugh, light in its parts and she couldn’t help but to laugh with him, mostly with relief.

  “There’s another reason I’ve come to see ye today.” It was like a shade had come down over his face, abruptly changing his mood and tone.

  “There is?” She felt suddenly nervous, the lighthearted atmosphere abruptly gone. She wondered if this was about the other day and if he had changed his mind about how far he could trust her.

  “Aye, there is. There are only two reasons the British would think to butter ye up for an approach an’ it’s either they’ve led ye to believe that they can help ye with the search for yer husband, or they’ve checked yer finances an’ think ye might be open to a series of payments for information. Or they’re usin’ both.”

  She swallowed, his information was terribly exact. Honesty was the only path through this particular minefield, and so she said, “The last option.”

  He nodded. “I thought as much. Could we go inside for a moment?”

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to be in an enclosed space with this man right now, but on the other hand, as fastidious as he was, she didn’t think he’d kill her in her kitchen, as the mess would be much worse there than in the woods.

  She walked ahead of him, her legs stiff and uncooperative, her skin prickling with tension. Inside, the house looked innocuous, floor boards glowing dully in the mid-afternoon light, the Aga gleaming bright blue from this morning’s cleaning and the air scented with the herbs she grew year-round in the windowsills. She turned round to find Noah looking bemused and fishing in his pocket for something. His shirt pocket was not large enough, thankfully, to carry any sort of weapon, unless he planned to kill her with a pen, which she didn’t think likely.

  “Here, just in case they’re watchin’ ye, I don’t want every interaction between us on photographic record.” He was holding out a slim piece of paper to her, well away from the view of any windows.

  She took it warily, wondering if he had written down a message on it. ‘You will die slowly and terribly’ or something of the sort. What was on the paper was more shocking than that. She took it in and then looked up at him, her hands shaking with unpleasant surprise.

  “What is this?” she said, the figures still dancing in front of her eyes. She wasn’t sure if shock or outrage was uppermost in her right now.

  “It’s a loan. I’d be a fool to leave you open to such temptation as they are offerin’ ye. Also, ye’re a friend, an’ ye don’t leave a friend without the means to keep their own roof over their head.”

  “I can’t take this,” she said, holding the check towards him. The amount on it frightened her, as if she were being bought, her silence or maybe something more.

  “Ye’d rather be beholden to the British?” he asked, tone light, but she knew the question was deadly serious.

  “No, I turned them down, too, but thank you for thinking so little of me.”

  He sat down on one of the kitchen chairs and looked up at her. “Pamela, I am not a fool. Ye’ve been left here alone in a situation no one would envy. I know the buildin’ company is not goin’ so well for ye, ye’ve said as much. So if ye’re short of money, it’s no wonder. What sort of man would I be if I just left ye to it? I am yer friend, though to be candid with ye, that surprises me a fair deal. The money won’t put me out, it’s not like I’m goin’ short on anything. Ye can pay me back if an’ when ye’re able.”

  She was still standing, but felt like she might faint. Noah pulled out the chair closest to him and she sat down in it.

  “I don’t mean
to seem ungrateful, Noah, this is very generous of you, but I can’t possibly take your money.”

  He looked at her steadily, the blue eyes dark, as a shadow passed through the kitchen. The clouds must have rolled in over the sun. Not for the first time, she wondered what went on in his head. “Cash it or don’t, just keep it until ye know that ye can keep yer head above water.”

  “Well, thank you.” She wasn’t certain what else to say, because it was, indeed, a very generous thing for him to do, even if he was buying himself assurance that she wouldn’t turn traitor for the British.

  “If there comes a day when ye want to sell the buildin’ company, let me know, I can probably help ye find a buyer.”

  She nodded, and walked him to the door, watching as he got in his truck and left. She stood in the doorway for a few minutes; she needed to put the rifle away somewhere safe that the children could not find it, and then tidy herself up and go pick up said children. The quixotic sunshine was out again, the heat of it comforting on her skin. She leaned into the doorway, absently stroking Finbar’s head, where he had come to rest it against her leg. She realized she was clutching the check. She looked down; it was rumpled and damp from her hands. The mere presence of it made her uneasy.

  She tucked it in an envelope and pulled a chair over to the tall cupboard that was wedged between the hearth and the stairs. The shelves were narrow, but went back a long way and she had to stretch to reach the hidden slot at the back of it. She pressed the lever and heard the snick of the tiny door opening. Casey had installed the cupboard so that they had a place to put things they wanted safely hidden. She would put the check in it, and close the door on it. Her fingers touched something else; the small cubbyhole was filled to its limit. She poked at it with her fingers, it felt heavy and solid, something wrapped in a worn paper bag. She managed to hook her fingers around it and stretching up on her tiptoes, she pulled it out of the cupboard. It was a solid block, rectangular in shape, the paper bag wrinkled and now torn from her pulling on it. She opened it and looked inside, sneezing as dust dispersed in a cloud. Clearly, it had been there for some time.