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

by Cindy Brandner

  She took a ragged breath and gasped a little as it hit her ribs. “I can’t have him, though, can I?”

  “No, but it seems to me that’s not the best reason to take another man to yer bed.”

  “So I should just go without sex for the rest of my life?”

  He laughed. “I hardly think ye’re in danger of permanent celibacy.”

  “It’s not funny,” she said somewhat offended by the brevity with which he was entertaining, or rather not entertaining her offer. She was beginning to have misgivings about her approach.

  “No, it’s not. I’m flattered, I truly am. But I’ll ask ye a question—why me?”

  She considered it as he had asked, and then answered truthfully.

  “Because we don’t love each other, so it won’t be complicated.”

  “Sex is always complicated in one way or another, don’t kid yerself on that score.”

  “I don’t see why it has to be,” she said.

  “Because, it’s just goin’ to be with a woman like you.”

  “Are you saying I’m difficult?” she asked, feeling slightly stung.

  “Aye, ye are, but I don’t mean it in the way ye’re thinkin’. Do ye honestly think ye could have sex with me an’ not feel guilty about it in the mornin’? At the very least, we’d be awkward with one another. At worst ye’re goin’ to feel ye’ve betrayed yer husband on a profound level, an’ then every time ye looked at me, ye’d feel that betrayal again. I won’t be that man for ye, Pamela.”

  “I don’t know,” she said, “I think we might manage.”

  Noah looked at her, the gentian eyes mild but speculative, too. “Aye, it’s possible we’d do just fine, but once ye’ve seen someone naked an’ known them intimately, it’s a wee bit hard to go back to purely business relations.”

  “Is that what we are—purely business?”

  “Aye, what else would ye call it?” Noah asked.

  “I thought we were friends,” she said, feeling somewhat piqued.

  “Are we? I’ve not had a friend in a long time. I’ll not be certain just what that looks like. An’ I’ve never had a woman for a friend. Particularly not one who looks like you an’ proposes things that seem somewhat outside the scope of friendship.”

  “We’ve put a line around this relationship right from the start, so this is just another set of parameters,” she said.

  “As I recall,” he said gently, “ye told me sex was most definitely not part of our dealins’. Ye made that clear right from the start, an’ I thought ye were wise to do so.”

  “If I had offered it then, as part of the deal, would you have taken me up on it?” she asked.

  “Aye, I might well have, but it would have been a mistake for the both of us an’ for you in particular. Ye weren’t ready to have another man in yer bed, Pamela, that wasn’t yer husband an’ the truth is, beyond physical need, ye still aren’t.”

  “I know I’m not your usual sort,” she said.

  Noah laughed, and sat back in his chair. “An’ how would ye know what my usual sort is?”

  “Because I saw her here with you, one night. She was very blonde, and rather more built than I am,” she said, flushing at the admittance.

  “Aye, she an’ I have an’ understandin’. But it’s purely sex, we’re not friends.”

  “I only meant,” she said, “that maybe I am not your type, physically speaking.”

  Noah’s eyes met hers in the soft light of the lantern that spilled over the bed, creating a small circle outside of which the night with its violence and blood was banished. He looked down and rubbed his hand over his eyes, as though his head pained him.

  “Pamela, ye’d best stop talkin’ this way. When it comes to a woman such as yerself, type is a small word an’ meaningless. I don’t want to be a means to scratch an itch, do ye understand?”

  “No, I’m not sure I do,” she said in all honesty.

  “It means that I won’t have sex with ye just because the whiskey has gone to yer blood. Because as much as I’d like to be in yer bed, I know we would both regret it come mornin’. The truth is I’m not Casey Riordan, an’ that’s who ye really want an’ that’s who ye’d be pretendin’ was makin’ love to ye.”

  Even the whiskey didn’t stop the shame from flooding up through her body. He was right. She wanted, her body wanted, but the one man she needed, needed deep in her cells wasn’t going to be the one giving her the physical oblivion she was looking for. Only she had thought that for tonight, it might not matter to Noah, she had thought it was what he wanted.

  She put her hand up and touched his face, her palm warm against the cool touch of his jawline and whiskers. She could smell him, the scent that was Noah—rain on the horizon, that clean almost searing scent of ozone as a storm rose in the distance. “I’m sorry, I’m being selfish.”

  He shook his head, chestnut hair a burnished auburn in the lamp light. “No, ye’re not, ye’ve just had a very frightenin’ experience an’ now ye’ve more whiskey than blood in yer veins an’ sex seems a grand idea. Under other circumstances I’d be more than happy to take ye up on yer offer.”

  “You’re being very kind,” she said.

  “Am I? My body is of the opinion right now that I’m bein’ unnecessarily cruel. Is this what ye thought I meant when I said ye did have somethin’ to offer in return?”

  “Yes,” she said, “clearly I was mistaken.”

  “Yes an’ no. Let me put it to ye this way—I’m not in the habit of blackmailin’ women into my bed.”

  “I wouldn’t see it as blackmail,” she said, “only that I’ve asked you to do something very big for me and I would pay whatever price you asked in return.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know whether ye’re crazy, or just crazy brave.”

  “It’s what most men would ask for.”

  “Aye, well Pamela, it’s not how I’d want to get ye into my bed. Ye’d hate me for it in the end.”

  “I think,” she said, “I owe you an apology. I’m sorry for making such an assumption. Perhaps you could tell me what it is that you do want.”

  “There’s no need to apologize, I’m flattered that ye’d consider it. The fact of the matter is,” he continued, and she could have sworn he was holding back laughter, “I’m thinkin’ about buyin’ a colt from a dealer down in Wexford. If I do get him, I’d like ye to help train him.”

  “Oh,” she said, feeling like an utter fool. “Well, of course, though I’m hardly an expert in that area.”

  “Ye know horses. Kate says she’s never known horses to respond to a person the way they do to you. This wee horse I’m considerin’ gettin’ is high-spirited an’ won’t take easy to the bit an’ bridle. I want him trained, but I don’t want his spirit broken in the process.”

  “I’ll do my best,” she said. She had worked with Jamie’s trainer, Jake, and with Jamie, who might have the best hand with horses of anyone she had ever known.

  He nodded. “That’s all, Pamela. I’m not lookin’ to barter yer soul away from ye or anything.”

  “You could at least pretend you’re not enjoying this,” she said.

  “Ah, no, ye’re goin’ to have to allow me that much—enjoyment of the offer, if not actually takin’ ye up on it.”

  “I think,” she said, with some attempt at pulling together her badly shredded dignity, “it’s best if I go to sleep now and we pretend this conversation never happened.”

  “Whatever the lady wants,” he said easily and left the room, closing the door behind him.

  He checked on her an hour later. She was asleep, the day’s terrors having taken their toll. She looked small and fragile in his bed, and he smiled as he thought of her offer. She had no idea how hard it had been to refuse her. Because, he knew, she would have done just as she said and given him whatever he asked for; she was one of the bravest people he had ever known. She was also heartbroken, and her offer had come from a place which was sad and lonely and believed she would never
love again. She thought it did not matter where she gave herself, because it was not and never would be her husband to whom she was giving her body. But it mattered to him, and he knew one day it would, once again, matter to her.

  He would have done it without any sort of barter. When he had left her the first time, he had gone out to the byre where a man who had been summoned waited. The man stood patiently, his head covered in a black watch cap, his features obscured by a dark beard and moustache. He was a small man in stature but big on talent and he had formerly been a sniper in the British Coldstream Guards. In his current incarnation he did the occasional bit of wet work for Noah. He had been slowly distancing himself from that end of his business and contracting it out. This one he wished he could do himself, because he would enjoy making the constable suffer a great deal before putting him down like the rabid dog he was. He knew it was best, though, if he hired someone else to do the job.

  The man knew why he had been summoned and the business was done with a few simple words, and a piece of paper with the relevant details on it. The man would memorize the instructions and burn the paper. There would be no trace of anything to bring the blood back to Noah’s door.

  Pamela turned in the bed, muttering something under her breath, her skin lit gold by the lamplight. Yes, he would have done it without anything from her. For if this woman ever came to his bed it would be as a willing participant. Not as a form of payment.

  He left her to her sleep and walked through his kitchen over to the window that sat above the old stone sink. The night outside was still dark, there were a few hours before the dawn. There was business he needed to attend to, details still to be sorted, ends that needed tying before the morning. By the time light rolled over these ancient hills, Constable Blackwood would no longer be a problem for Pamela.

  For a moment he simply stood and enjoyed the echo of exultancy he had felt earlier, still there inside—a warm glow in his core. She had come to him in her time of trouble, rather than James Kirkpatrick. It was the first shift in balance; it would not be the last.

  Chapter Fifty-five

  Too Deep For Tears

  June 1977

  CONOR RIORDAN LOVED HORSES. He loved horses like other little boys loved baseball or hurling or football. He loved horses almost as much as he loved his mama, Isabelle and Uncle Pat. Jamie, too, he amended and of course his daddy.

  He was standing on the paddock rail in Jamie’s stable yard watching Phouka, who was eyeing him back with what Mama called his ‘hotty glare.’ Conor wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but Phouka was looking down his long nose and chuntering at him right now. Phouka never liked to wait. Conor understood that; he didn’t like waiting either. Mama had promised they could go riding this afternoon, as long as Maggie didn’t mind watching Isabelle for a bit. But Mama still had Isabelle with her and Kolya too. If those babies would just go nap he could go for his ride with his mama and Jamie.

  He looked over to see if his mama was watching. She was talking to Jamie. He could see Jamie’s bright hair and Mama’s dark curls which were so short now, though not as short as they had been when she first cut them off. He hadn’t liked that, she didn’t look like his mama at first and it had upset him. Daddy would have hated it, her cutting her hair like that. He didn’t remember everything about his daddy, but he did remember him stroking mama’s hair sometimes and saying how pretty it was. It made him sad that he couldn’t remember more things about his daddy. He did remember always feeling safe when he was around and like nothing bad in the whole world could touch him when his daddy was near.

  Sometimes he wished they lived here at Jamie’s all the time, the way they had when Mama got sick and almost died. Because he knew she had almost died, even if Jamie had promised him he wouldn’t allow it to happen. He liked it here and Mama seemed happier here, too. Sometimes at home she got to looking out a window or just into the air and would seem awful sad. He loved their house too, and the woods that surrounded it, and his bedroom snug under the eaves. Sometimes he dreamed about his daddy in their house and it was like his daddy had come to visit him in the night. He would miss that if it stopped happening, so maybe it was best they stayed living there.

  He clicked his tongue at Phouka. He’d brought him his very favorite treat—green apples sliced in thick chunks and one sugar cube. Phouka pranced over, snorting in anticipation and stuck his velvet muzzle into the curve of Conor’s neck and blew out causing Conor to laugh. The only other person Phouka did that with was Mama and he knew it meant he was special to Phouka.

  Whenever he dreamed about riding it was always Phouka he was riding, both in his day dreams and his night ones. He would imagine the two of them fighting bad guys together, just like Batman in the comic books he’d found in Jamie’s attic. Phouka would have to be Robin, because Conor of course would be Batman.

  “That’s a pretty horse,” said a voice beside him. He turned and looked up at the man who was suddenly standing next to him. He stepped away a little. It was the new man who worked in the stable. He had just started a week ago. He was a stranger, but not a stranger, because Jake had introduced him to the man. Conor couldn’t remember his name though.

  “He’s my mama’s horse,” Conor said proudly. He loved Phouka and couldn’t wait for the day his mama would let him ride her big silver horse. If his mama would have allowed it, he would have stayed in Jamie’s big stable all day, every day. But she had said he mustn’t get in the way of either the horses or the men who worked in the stable. Jamie always took him to the stable and let him have a ride on Danu, who was gentle and went slow. He liked Danu well enough, but he was far more excited by the big stallions—both Jamie’s black devil of a horse (that’s what Mr. Jake called him) and mama’s silver beast (again, Mr. Jake’s name for him).

  “Do you want to ride him?”

  “I can’t,” he said. “Mama says I’m not allowed until I’m older.”

  “Oh no, your mama said it’s fine now. She said you’ve become such a good rider that you can ride the big horses now. She sent me down to help you get Phouka saddled; she said you’re all going for a ride. But just so your mama doesn’t get upset, we can ride together on Phouka.”

  The man put out his hand, and after a second’s hesitation, Conor took it.

  “Patrick tells me that Constable Blackwood disappeared a few weeks ago.”

  “What?” She startled a little, upsetting juice down the front of her pretty pale green blouse. The startle was genuine and she thought Jamie had brought the topic up so casually so that he might gauge her reaction to it.

  “Yes, while I was away in New York. Pat said his sources told him the constable just disappeared like he was snatched up into thin air.”

  “So they don’t know what happened to him?” she said, looking down and ostensibly wiping the juice off her blouse.

  “No, but I did wonder, Pamela, if you might?”

  “Might what?” she looked up blankly, all too aware that she had never been good at fooling Jamie.

  “Might know how he disappeared so completely?”

  “Why would I know?” she said, indignant. Jamie merely narrowed his eyes at her and gave her a knowing look. She swallowed, nerves getting the better of her. “I can’t say I’ll miss him if it turns out to be a permanent disappearance, but I don’t see why you think I’d know anything about it.”

  She hadn’t told anyone and never would. The deal between her and Noah was sacrosanct and quite literally sealed in blood.

  “Because—” he began but just then Maggie came out of the kitchen door and waved down at them.

  “There’s a call for ye, Pamela. They say it’s important.”

  She got up and brushed the sand from her clothes, glancing at Isabelle who was liberally coated in it too and would howl the house down if she attempted to remove her from the sandbox, where both she and Kolya were happily playing.

  Jamie looked up at her from his seat on the grass. “Go on up, I’ll watch them.”
<
br />   The phone was off the hook in the kitchen, so Pamela picked it up and said, “Hello?”

  There was no response, just dead silence on the other end, as though someone listened but refused to speak. “Hello? Hello?” Still no reply. She frowned and put the receiver back in its cradle.

  Maggie wasn’t in the kitchen any longer so she couldn’t ask her whether the caller had been a man or a woman. She walked back out into the bright afternoon and down the long slope of lawn to where Jamie was walking up, both Isabelle and Kolya hanging off his arms like limpets.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked, lifting both children up high enough so he could swing them a little. Isabelle shrieked with joy and Kolya laughed his funny froggy laugh, which somehow sounded distinctly Russian.

  “I don’t know, when I picked it up no one answered and then they hung up. I suppose if it’s truly important they’ll call back.”

  Jamie gave her an odd look.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I could have sworn someone called me from the edge of the woods. I walked down there but there wasn’t anyone around. It’s almost as if someone wanted to distract us for a minute.”

  A prickle of unease put the hair up on the back of her neck and she looked over to the paddock where Conor had been admiring the horses only a moment before. Conor wasn’t there now and neither was Phouka.

  “Jamie, where’s Conor?” she asked, the prickle of unease turning into a live wire of panic. Jamie looked around and then suddenly said, “Christ.”

  She turned to look in the same direction and felt a thrill of pure terror go through her. Conor was on Phouka’s back, his hands wrapped in the horse’s reins and a look of terrified exuberance on his face.

  Jamie stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled for the horse. Phouka adored Jamie and would usually trot over to him, knowing he always had a treat in his pocket for him. He was already moving toward the horse when Phouka let out a high, panicked whinny and bolted in the opposite direction. Conor was clinging to the horse’s mane, having dropped the reins in panic. The reins were dangling dangerously free around the horse’s legs now. Phouka was moving like he’d been shot from a bolt and was headed straight for the great earthen bank beyond the old wall at the bottom of the garden. The drop on the other side of the wall was steep. If the horse went over the wall there, he would kill himself and most likely Conor, too.