Daniel tugged his forelock and ducked through the open gate, casting Katherine an apologetic sidelong glance. George must’ve heard some of their conversation. Katherine focused intently on caressing the mare’s muzzle.
“I had hoped you would like her.” George eased in beside Katherine and patted Angel’s neck.
“Like her? She’s beautiful.”
Silence stretched, filling up with more questions that remained unanswered. Katherine’s mind spun with possible solutions to such behavior—all of them scandalous. What if they were black-market runners between England and France, avoiding the high tariffs by smuggling goods in and out? That might explain the strange behavior, but it certainly didn’t fit the man she’d come to know. However, she’d never met a pirate. Perhaps they were exactly as she saw before her. Her gaze drifted away from Angel to the man beside her.
“I suppose you have some questions for me.”
He combed a lock of hair away from his brow. Katherine could say nothing, but her expression must’ve said it all. He smiled.
“Come along. Let’s go for our ride.” He unwrapped Angel’s reins from the stable slat. “And then we’ll have a talk.”
In the courtyard, Mr. Delacroix sat atop the tallest of the two chestnuts. Mr. Parsons was seated on the other. A sleek black was saddled and ready to go.
“Ah, Lady Katherine. Wonderful to see you. Where is the rest of the riding party?”
“I was wondering the same thing myself,” she said, maneuvering to the left side of Angel.
“Seems we’re the only ones up for fine sport today.”
Mr. Parsons was pale as a sheet and red-eyed.
“Are you all right, Mr. Parsons?” asked Katherine. “You look a bit ill.”
“Fine, fine, Lady Katherine. Nothing a good ride in the open air won’t cure.” He whirled his horse toward the open field and clip-clopped away.
Mr. Delacroix seemed to be exchanging some secret information with George with nothing more than a swift wink and a knowing smile. “You two will have to catch up.” He nudged his horse into a trot. “If you can,” he called back.
Katherine gripped the pommel and lifted herself up into the saddle sideways without any assistance, then held out a hand for the reins. George obliged with a smile. She guided Angel out of the cobblestone area and onto the ground, kicking her into a light trot. George overtook her quickly once he’d mounted his stallion.
“Let’s stretch our legs, shall we?” His black was pulling on the reins. George whistled, and the snorting beast took off like a shot.
Katherine tapped Angel lightly on the haunch with her crop. “Let’s go, girl.”
And she was off, chasing the black streak ahead with surprising speed. She might be a sleepy mare in the stall, but Angel was wild on the open field. George’s mount leaped a fallen log. Angel did the same with ease. He steered them toward the left side of the woodlands up ahead and slowed his horse to a trot. There were actually three trails dividing off into the woods, one of which had been stamped muddy by recent riders.
“Which path would you like to take, Lady Katherine?” George called back.
She slowed Angel to a walk as they approached. One was airy and bright; the second was obviously occupied by the riders before them; the third was darker with dense woodland, certainly the most secluded of the three. Without a second’s thought, she nudged Angel down the third, picking up the pace when they entered the shade. She didn’t need to look over her shoulder to know George was in quick pursuit. The chase, the speed, the wind—all three sent her blood racing and her spirit soaring. She’d not felt such freedom and the euphoria that accompanied it in ages.
Angel leaped a small creek, kicking up rocks behind her and galloping on until they wound out of the shade into a clearing, where a small stone cottage stood next to a ramshackle barn. No smoke unfurled from the chimney. Gray clouds blanketed the sky, blocking out the sun that had shone so brightly in the gardens. Katherine slowed to a walk, then stopped and patted Angel, both of them breathing hard from the run.
“Who lives here?” she asked as George sidled up beside her.
“No one now. It was the home of the old caretaker,” said George in a grave tone.
“Where is he now?”
“In the ground, I’m afraid. Passed on right before the old earl.”
Katherine walked Angel toward the barn.
“Katherine, come this way.”
“But look, there’s a beautiful pond over there.”
“Yes, that’s the end of my property. We’d best go this way.” He turned toward another trail leading back into the woods, but Katherine tapped Angel with the crop, and off she shot toward the pond.
“Katherine!”
She ran on, speeding blindly toward the tranquil water, a respite like an oasis in the middle of the woods. Down a sloping hill beyond the pond stood a small farmstead, a quaint pastoral picture of country life.
George caught up and stopped with an urgent jerk of his reins. “Katherine. We must go back. Now.”
She heard the near panic rising in his voice. “Why? What is it?”
His fiery gaze flicked from one side of the pond to the other as if waiting for something to happen. Billowing clouds thickened overhead.
He hemmed his stallion in close and grabbed the reins just under Angel’s bit. “George! What are you doing? You’re frightening her.”
“No time, Katherine. We must go now.”
A sound like lightning striking nearby, three sharp cracks, and there appeared three men on the edge of the pond out of thin air—well-dressed gentlemen with swords drawn and menacing postures, the tallest of them smiling.
“What in heavens—”
“Too late,” said George.
She glanced over to find him no longer in his saddle but at her side, pulling her down off Angel and cradling her in his arms with a tight grip.
“Sorry, my lady. I’d wanted to explain first, but I have no choice.”
A coiling sensation sucked the air from Katherine’s lungs, then all was dark. She thought she’d been hit over the head and fallen unconscious, except she could see George clearly. Only the backdrop was black with gray swirling shapes and—then she was awake again in George’s arms next to the old barn. He set her down under the open overhang. Disoriented, she tried to regain her balance.
“Stay here, Katherine. Do I have your word you will not move no matter what you see?”
She nodded numbly, her body tingling with an unknown energy she’d never felt before. Had she fainted, then awakened again?
George marched back toward the pond, easily within sight, directly toward the threat that had appeared moments before. Appeared? Was she seeing things? The three gentlemen stopped suddenly as if there was a line drawn that they could not cross. George approached them as if he dealt with irate men armed with swords, three at a time, every day of his life. Then there was a sword in George’s hand. A long, wide, heavy one. What was going on? Had she stumbled into a nightmare?
George stopped a few feet from them. Only his tight fist on the hilt of his broadsword warned her he was readying for a fight.
The taller of the men, his long brown hair held back in a queue, angled his head so that he could catch a glimpse of Katherine watching from the overhang. Dense clouds rolled swiftly overhead.
“Pretty one, Slayer.” He swung his lighter sword—narrow and long—then pointed the tip toward George. “Too bad you won’t keep her.”
Slayer? He addressed George as if he knew him.
George laughed. Actually laughed. “Poor Lorken. Still doing the dirty work for Damas? Still his favorite pet?”
Apparently, he did know him. The names were so foreign, but wait… Damas? That was the name Daniel mentioned.
The Lorken fellow grinned, but there was no mirth in it. “I a
m no man’s pet.”
“You won’t be anything for long.” Katherine recognized the dark edge in George’s voice. She’d heard it the night he knocked Clyde unconscious.
George lunged forward, crossing whatever invisible line had kept them apart. He ducked Lorken’s swing through the air, then sliced the man to his right at the knees. The man opened his mouth to scream, but George severed his head while mumbling a chant of some kind. The head and body crumpled into a heap.
Katherine screamed, but no one paid her any mind. George had just murdered a man. The man’s mutilated body suddenly crisped to black char without any flame or fire. A stormy wind swept in, blowing the ashy remains into the air while George battled the other two, having never taken a second look.
She could do nothing but watch in complete shock as George caught the one called Lorken on the thigh. A red gash bled through Lorken’s trousers. The clang of George’s mighty sword against their less substantial ones dominated until a flash of lightning cracked and splintered overhead. Still no rain, only the tumultuous blustering of an angry storm. Lorken swiveled and moved so quickly behind George, Katherine thought he had disappeared. Anxiety had apparently rattled her nerves until she was seeing illusions. With a deft swing, he sliced George on the bicep.
Katherine cried out again. “George!” But he did not answer, remaining focused. As Lorken leaned to one side, George cuffed him with his left hand across the jaw, just as the other attacker came for him.
“Flamma intus!” George bellowed, the air sparking around him as he stabbed the man straight through flesh and bone. The assailant exploded into black powder and dust, a fierce gale sweeping his existence into nothing within seconds.
George swung around to face Lorken. “Shall we end it once and for all? I’m sure your friends are waiting for you on the other side.”
Lorken lowered his sword, chest heaving, glanced at Katherine, then vanished in a whoosh of wind, leaving nothing more than a plume of smoke. George backed away toward the barn, apparently preparing for a sudden return. But Lorken did not reappear.
Unable to catch her breath, Katherine wondered how soon she would wake up from this unfathomable nightmare. Men appearing and vanishing, George murdering, bodies bursting into dust and ash. It wasn’t possible. Finally giving in, she let her shaky limbs take her to the ground.
George was at her side, gripping her shoulders to keep her from falling over. His sword was gone.
“I—I don’t understand. How is this possible?”
“You are not going mad, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“That is precisely what I was thinking. You…you killed those men,” she whispered.
“They were not men,” he growled.
The sky opened, pounding the earth with fat drops of rain. Wind blew the falling rain at a slant, drenching both of them.
George scooped her into his arms and strode to the caretaker’s cabin, kicking open the door with one swift thrust of his heel. Katherine didn’t protest the theatrics with wit and charm as she normally would in any other situation. Her humor and lightheartedness had vanished with her reason, apparently. He set her on a wicker rocker by the fireplace and began fumbling with a dusty old stack of kindling and wood left far too long in its corner by the door. Within minutes, he had a crackling fire popping. Katherine wrapped her arms around herself, shivering from the cold, but even more from the frightening display she had just witnessed.
“You must get warm.”
Squatting in front of her, George hurriedly tugged off her leather gloves, resistant now that they were wet. He unbuttoned her riding jacket, which was soaked through. She watched his progress, unfastening the buttons from the neck down, his own hands shaking. His focus wavered when he pulled the sleeves from her bare shoulders, the undergarment revealing a generous portion of creamy skin. The little jacket was indeed a necessary part of the wardrobe, should a lady want to step into public. It wasn’t merely decorative. But they weren’t in public. They were in a secluded cabin in the woods in a storm. Alone.
“Are you cold?” she asked.
He shook his head. Grabbing a stool, he placed it on the hearth, then draped her jacket and wet gloves so that the heat would dry them, while Katherine unpinned her hat, the ostrich plume sagging. She unpinned her long braid, which Maggie had twisted neatly on top of her head, wanting to let it dry before reassembling herself. Her hands trembled as she set each pin on the stool. George’s gaze followed her hands.
“Who were they? What were they? They weren’t—” She couldn’t admit what her mind was telling her.
“Human? No. They weren’t.”
“How could they not be human? Are you telling me you fought ghosts? Because only ghosts can appear and disappear at will, from what I know of fairy tales and childhood stories.”
“No, Katherine. Ghosts aren’t the only creatures who can vanish at will.”
She draped her braid over one shoulder, then noticed him unbuckling a belt that held the long scabbard where his broadsword was now sheathed.
Mouth agape, she shook her head. “How did I not see you were wearing such a beast of a weapon before? And why are you wearing it in the first place? It looks like something from the medieval era.”
“It’s older than that,” he mumbled, leaning the scabbard against the stone fireplace and pulling another stool close to her rocker. He took her hands in his. She did not resist, feeling numb and befuddled. “Do you trust me?”
He had asked her this before. The answer was clear and true. “Yes,” she whispered.
“What I am about to tell you may seem unbelievable. But remember what you saw here today.” She nodded, knowing what she witnessed was supernatural. “Those men were not men at all. They were demons of the underworld. High demons, to be exact. They were sent here to hurt you, possibly abduct you, a common practice among demons, I’m afraid.”
“Demons?” She shook her head again, her heart hammering so fast, she could feel her pulse fluttering in her neck. “Like Heaven and Hell demons.”
He gave a stiff nod.
Following through with her belief that George would not lie to her, she moved on to the next question. “Why would they want to hurt me?”
He pulled one of her hands in both of his, rubbing his thumb over her palm. “To hurt me.”
She let that idea sink in as he kept his gaze on her hand, avoiding eye contact. His feelings would have to run deep for her if this were true.
“Demons can parade around with the living? Since when?”
“Since always. High demons, like those three we encountered, can mask their form to appear normal, even sophisticated.”
“What do you mean by ‘high demons’? You’ve used that term twice now.” Katherine’s nerves eased the longer George’s hands worked on her own, calming her with his gentle touch and steady voice.
“There are two kinds. High demons are what you might call is the upper class of the underworld. They are the original Fallen.”
She half laughed. “By Fallen, I presume you mean the angels who fell from grace, the stories my governess would tell in the nursery.”
His shrugged a shoulder. Keeping her hand in his, he leaned forward on his elbows when he peered up through auburn lashes. “Perhaps your father should’ve kept your governess, after all. Those tales were true. As hard as it is to fathom. The Fallen were cast down into a netherworld. Their original forms—beautiful and graceful—were warped by their own corruption. Eventually, they crept into the human world, using dark powers to disguise themselves as they once were.”
Katherine stared at him, waiting to see if this were some trick. In her heart, she knew that it wasn’t.
“What is the second kind?”
“Lower demons. They are foul creatures who live in the underworld. With a high demon lord as their master, they can come into our world, ta
ke possession of a human host and use their form to mingle with the human population.”
“You’re being serious, aren’t you?”
He lifted his gaze to hers again, the firelight shining golden bright on one side of his profile while shadowing the other. “Quite serious.”
“And you killed them.”
“No. I expelled them.”
“Expelled? Back to…?”
“Hell? Yes. Except for Lorken. He’s a slippery one. Always manages to escape, that one.”
“How do you know about the world of demons, George? How did you move as they did? I thought I had fainted by the pond and awakened beside the barn, but I didn’t, did I?” Had she imagined being transported from the horses to the barn in a long blink?
“No, you didn’t faint. It’s called sifting. A power of the angels, to move from place to place at will.”
“But they weren’t angels.”
“They were once.”
Fallen angels. Could this be possible? What did that make the man standing before her?
He inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Perhaps I should define the two realms for you.”
“That would be lovely.”
His mouth quirked at her sarcasm, though he chose not to comment. “There is the Flamma of Light and the Flamma of Dark.”
“Flamma?”
“Fire, in Latin, which is the common tongue between the heavenly and demonic hosts.”
She pulled her hand from his and stood, staring into the flames. “Why fire?”
He joined her and removed his wet coat. “I asked the same question once.” He winced as he peeled the coat off his right arm. A pool of red had soaked through his undershirt.
“Oh God, your arm, George. You’re bleeding.”
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.”
Just as he had unbuttoned her jacket, she swiftly unfastened his waistcoat, then his shirt and peeled them off him. Steering her gaze away from his finely sculpted chest and broad shoulders, she examined the cut more closely. She bent over and, with a quick rip, tore a long strip from her shift.
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