"No!" Farnsworth's eyes were wild, his face contorted, hideous, the pistol shaking in his hand, tearing at Norah's soft skin. "You're lying! I don't believe you!"
"She was making that pretty little sound she made when she was near her peak, clawing at his shoulders. She laughed when I stumbled upon them. Now I know she wasn't laughing at me, she was laughing at you."
"I don't believe you!"
"You poor bastard. You were just another one of Delia's besotted fools."
A cry of rage ripped from Farnsworth's chest as he waved the pistol wildly in Aidan's direction. That split second was all Aidan needed.
He hurled himself headlong at Farnsworth just as Norah wrenched free of his grasp. The two men slammed into the cottage wall with a force that sent rotted thatching raining down on their backs, silting their eyes. The lamp sputtered and smoked. Cassandra's cries echoed in Aidan's ears as his fists cracked into Farnsworth again and again.
He outweighed the Englishman, yet Farnsworth fought with the strength of a madman, a man obsessed by a woman who had bewitched him, then made him her fool.
He heard Norah scrambling past them and felt her desperation, glimpsed Cassandra's face—her innocence shattered, as broken as she would have been had Farnsworth worked his will on her. But Aidan had destroyed his daughter with his words, hurt her in a way Farnsworth never could.
Aidan slammed his fist into Farnsworth's jaw, heard the bones snap. The man's jaw shifted at a stomach-wrenching angle as it broke.
There was murder in Farnsworth's eyes now, a crazed animal rage, the thirst for blood. Farnsworth's fist drove into Aidan's half-healed ribs. Agony streaked out as a sickening, cracking sound split the air.
Aidan fell back, fighting against waves of dizziness, but Farnsworth had already snatched up a thick length of board and begun swinging it toward Aidan with deadly force.
Aidan hit the dirt and rolled, but he couldn't entirely escape the blow. Solid wood connected with his shoulder. It stunned him, froze him for just a heartbeat.
In that moment Farnsworth's fingers grappled for his throat.
Aidan fought like a madman, feeling Farnsworth's hands close like a hunting beast's talons, cutting off breath, draining away his strength. Aidan clawed at the bastard's wrists, trying to break his grasp, his lungs burning, his mind tormented with images of Cass, of Norah, at Farnsworth's mercy if Aidan failed them.
Lights danced before Aidan's eyes, his throat on fire, his head swimming wildly. In a heartbeat it would be over. The bastard would win.
With the last wisp of his strength, Aidan slammed his knee up, catching Farnsworth in the groin. The Englishman gave a shriek of rage as he released Aidan's throat and staggered back.
Aidan pushed his way through the hazy web that tried to suck him into unconsciousness and struggled to gain his feet. But he slammed to a halt as something cold and hard bashed into the side of his face.
He fell, his eyes clearing enough to see Farnsworth's face making sickening circles before him, the pistol gripped in his hand.
"You're dead, Kane," Farnsworth rasped. "Dead."
Aidan glimpsed Norah's pale face, knowing it would be the last sight he saw before the pistol shot that would end his life. The most brutal regret in a lifetime of regrets would be the fact that he had never had the courage to tell Norah he loved her.
He lunged toward Farnsworth, knowing it was futile.
But at the last instant, something glaringly bright arced down over the bastard's head. It was the lamp clutched in Norah's hands.
Farnsworth jerked hard, the pistol exploding. Pain ripped the skin at Aidan's temple, the shot grazing him just as glass shattered and flames flared. Farnsworth's shrieks of agony ripped through the cottage as he was drenched in hellish waves of liquid fire.
He hurled himself at Norah as if, even in supreme agony, he was determined to drag her down to Hades with him. Desperate, Aidan lunged and grabbed his arm, flinging him away from her.
Sparks rained on Aidan's skin, burning him. Cassandra screamed, scrambling out of the way as Farnsworth crashed against the pallet. The ragged ticking stuffed with hay years old burst into flame.
"Get out!" Aidan roared. "Cassandra, Norah, get out!"
He saw the blur of his daughter running from the cottage and heard Norah's cries. But despite the flames spilling, spreading to every surface, Aidan grabbed up a tattered quilt, trying desperately to suffocate the blaze dancing such deadly patterns on Farnsworth's body. The Englishman writhed from his grasp, his skin bursting, melting, the sickly stench of roasting human flesh searing itself into Aidan's nostrils.
Heat danced onto his own sleeve as a hungry tongue of flame found new fuel to feed upon. He heard Norah's shout, felt her grabbing him, snuffing out the fire just as the quilt in his hands erupted into flame.
Aidan flung it away, his gaze snagging on Farnsworth one last time, but Norah's stepbrother was beyond the aid of anything earthly. The Englishman fell back, eyes rolling in his head, his mouth contorted in a hideous mask of death.
Aidan's head throbbed, his lungs seared with smoke and ash. He scooped Norah into his arms and staggered out of the Englishman's den of pain.
They collapsed on the turf, Aidan clutching Norah close as Cassandra flung herself against him. Both his heart's treasures were battered and soot-stained but alive—praise God—alive.
"It's over." He drew his daughter into the crook of his other arm. "Over."
The three of them clung together as Sean O'Day and Gibbon Cadagon thundered out of the dark night.
CHAPTER 25
Rathcannon was ablaze with lantern light as the bedraggled band of horses and riders cantered up the road. Servants spilled out across the lawns, their faces drawn, their lips still mumbling half-formed prayers.
Mrs. Cadagon clutched rosary beads to her ample breasts and Maude Brindle's stoic face seemed to have aged a dozen years. Rose ran out to meet the riders, self-blame still rampant in her face.
"Miss Cassandra... Lady Kane... are they all right?" the girl cried, her gaze sweeping from where Aidan cradled his wife before him on his stallion, his arms tight about the treasure he'd come so near to losing to Delia's legacy of hate.
Norah raised her head from his shoulder, her cheeks so pale it broke Aidan's heart, her voice still carrying shadows of horror branded into her soul from the ruin of Noonan's cottage.
Yet she forced a weary smile for the girl. "We're both fine, Rose. In large part thanks to you."
"But Miss Cass—where is she?" The maid's voice choked off as a much-worn horse nudged forward in the ranks. Sean O'Day cradled Cassandra in arms that were strong as hewn oak, steady and infinitely gentle. The cloak he'd wrapped about the girl's half-bared form in the shadow of the burning cottage engulfed Cassandra, making her seem even more fragile, more like a child.
"The little princess is asleep," Sean said, one finger smoothing back a lock of her hair as if it were spun gold. "I'll carry her to her chamber if you wish, Sir Aidan."
Aidan drew rein, then slowly lowered Norah into Gibbon's arms, the old man steadying her with gnarled hands.
"Thank you," Aidan said to the stalwart coachman, "but Cassandra and I... we need time to talk."
Time: Was there enough in all eternity to heal the wounds dealt his sheltered daughter this night? Talk: There were a thousand things he needed to say to her, and to the woman standing so exhausted, so drained, leaning on Gibbon's arm. But what words could he say to erase the poison he'd poured into his daughter's ears at the cottage? What pretty phrases would convey to Norah a love that was beyond all reason, beyond his power to fight? A love that had almost been consumed by his bitterness, and Richard Farnsworth's hate?
Shattered, Aidan scooped his daughter from Sean O'Day's arms and carried her into the castle in which he'd tried so desperately to keep her safe and hidden.
But there was no place to hide from the truths Richard Farnsworth had cursed the girl with. There was no way to gild the truth about w
hat Aidan was and what he had done.
Cassandra's tower chamber was lit by candles, the fire in the grate glowing, sending the peat-flavored warmth into the exquisite room.
With all the gentleness in his battered soul, Aidan laid his daughter down in the bed ornamented with creatures of myth and fairy tales, wishing he could draw the Pegasus-spangled curtains closed, shut out the roiling tempest that had all but drowned Cassandra this night.
His throat constricted, and he wished with all his being that Cassandra could be a little golden-haired cherub again, sucking on her fingers, smiling in her sleep, dreaming such beautiful dreams there would be no room for the hideous inheritance he and Delia had chained her with.
"Papa?" Her eyes fluttered open as he drifted her head down onto the pillow, and staring down into her face was one of the most painful things Aidan Kane had ever done.
Oh, God, what did she want of him? Reassurance? A way to wipe away the ugliness, the pain? To capture dreams in his hands, the way he had when she was a child, and slip butterfly fairies between her soft fingers?
Aidan sat down on the edge of the bed, his soul shattering. He would have happily sacrificed it to the devil himself, if it could ease even a whisper of what his beloved child had to face.
"Cassandra, I'm sorry," he grated. "Sorry you found out the truth—about me, about your mother—in such a terrible way. I never wanted it to hurt you. I thought—thought I could protect you from it. But I was wrong. There's no way to erase the past. Make me into a man you can truly be proud of. The hero papa you so often called me."
"You are my hero, Papa. You always will be."
"But I... what Farnsworth said... It must have shocked you terribly, hurt you."
"It hurts to hear anyone say such ugly things about you. But as for the other things, the things about mama being... being a... having lots and lots of—of lovers... I already knew that. And I heard the stories about you a long, long time ago."
"You... knew? How could you possibly—"
"Other children. The day you found me crying over the fairies—not believing in them—I was really crying over something else. The boys had told me so many awful things, about you and Mama. They said that she—she was a whore, and that you killed her."
Aidan reeled at the memory of how small she had been then, how she had cried in his arms. But she had never even hinted at a far greater pain than the loss of a fragment of her childhood imagination. "God, Cass. Why didn't you tell me?"
"You always looked so strange whenever I mentioned Mama. And sometimes I'd catch you staring at my necklace and know you were remembering the night of the accident. I didn't want to hurt you, Papa. And maybe—just a little—I was afraid it might be true. I was a child, but I knew how unhappy you both were. I'd hear you shouting at each other sometimes, hear the horrible things Mama would say about you."
"All this time, you thought I might have killed her?"
"No. The night you took me to Caislean Alainn to hunt for fairies, I decided it was impossible that all those bad things they said about you were true. You were my father, and you were the most wonderful hero in the whole world. I loved you so much, Papa, and I knew you could never do the things they said you did."
Faith. Blind faith. Trust, a gift beyond measure. Aidan's eyes burned, his throat closed. All those anguished years that he'd been lost in fear that he would lose Cassandra's love had been wasted, the misery, the torment.
"Oh, God, Cass..."
He crushed her in his arms, burying his face in her curls. "I love you, Princess."
"I'm not a princess, Papa. And it's time I stepped out of my enchanted tower, don't you think?"
He drew back, staring down into his daughter's lovely face. "It's time, angel," he whispered, knowing in that instant how very much he'd miss her, his little girl now grown into a woman.
But she was right, his wise, cherished daughter. It was time to cast aside old chains and throw back the locks on towers of enchantment, to let go of the old life and open the way for the new. The life that Norah offered, so beautiful, so changed.
"I love you, Cassandra," Aidan told her. "We'll open the tower door together."
* * * * *
She stood in the window, bathed in the first glimmerings of dawn, an angel more miraculous than any Aidan could have imagined, a second chance to make right so many mistakes that had haunted his life.
He hesitated in the door that led to her chamber, as uncertain as any raw lad come to his lady love with his heart in his hands. But what could he offer her after the hell she'd faced that night? What could he give her in the wake of her brother's betrayal? Would the shadows of this night ever disappear from those dark eyes? Would she ever be able to look into Aidan's face and not see the reflection of her stepbrother's hideous death?
They had already wasted too much time by failing to grasp the full measure of happiness the capricious fates had thrust into their hands. They had almost lost it forever. Yet he wouldn't push her, wouldn't rush her, wouldn't be the cause of any more strain marring her beloved face.
"Norah?" He breathed her name.
"Richard." The name broke on her tongue. "What will happen now? My stepfather will have to be told."
"That bastard can't hurt you anymore. Your stepbrother died in a fire in an obscure cottage in Ireland. A freak accident. No one will ever have to know."
"That I killed him?"
"You didn't kill him. You kept him from killing me. And Cassandra. And yourself, Norah."
"I know. I just... it was so hideous. The way he died." Her voice dropped. "The way he lived. And worst of all, he made me part of his madness, twined me so tightly into his plotting that I'll never be free of it."
"I hope not." Aidan groped for the words to help her, to heal her.
She stiffened as if he'd struck her.
"Norah, if Farnsworth hadn't tangled you in his plans, I never would have found you. You wouldn't be my wife."
"How can you even look at me without thinking what I almost cost you? You could have died. Cassandra... When I think of what almost happened to her, I can't bear it. And even more painful than what Richard did is the knowledge that because of me, she had to find out in the most horrible way possible the things you'd fought a lifetime to protect her from."
Aidan's lips curved into a smile, one filled with pain and with love. "It seems you were right all along. My daughter has informed me she doesn't want to be protected. She's not a princess in a tower, no matter how much I wanted to make her one. As for the truths she heard about Delia and me tonight, she already knew the worst of it. She'd heard it years ago."
"She knew?"
"She decided that she loved me, that she didn't believe the things people were saying about me. She doesn't care about the things I've done, things I'm not proud of. It seems a hero doesn't have to be perfect. He just has to—to try his best, to make fairies out of butterflies, to read stories, to while away the hours spent sick in bed."
"I'm glad, Aidan. So glad."
"Whatever happens when she enters society in London, she'll be strong enough, secure enough, loved enough by both of us to triumph. I feel it in my gut. Cassandra wants to slay her own dragons from now on. I'm going to try my damnedest to let her."
Aidan sucked in a steadying breath, his hands trembling, his heart feeling too large for his chest. It pressed against his ribs as if the slightest brush of his hand would make it burst.
"It seems a hero just has to love his daughter," Aidan said. "It made me think... hope that maybe we could begin again if I... loved you."
She turned to him, fey as a fairy queen, fragile as any spirit who had ever wandered the battlements of Caislean Alainn. A woman of mist and magic, who had kissed him in a fairy ring and carried his heart into a realm beyond reality, one so beautiful he never wanted to return to the real world again.
"You... love me?"
"Ever since Cassandra was tiny, I dreaded the day she would grow up. I thought my life would be ov
er—barren, empty. How could I have guessed that I'd have a chance to start over, Norah? To make things right? Do you remember what I told you a long time ago? That the only way a Kane could enter heaven was to steal the keys?"
"I remember."
"I didn't have to steal heaven, Norah. You came to me, ladylight, and put the keys into my hands."
Tears welled up in her eyes, spilled down her cheeks, cleansing away pain and fire, grief and guilt, leaving shining wonder.
"Marry me, Norah."
"But we're already wed."
"Marry me today, in Caislean Alainn, with the sun streaming down and the Old Ones offering us their blessing. The vows I took in the church were cast out, careless. This time I want every word to be a treasure, to take out and hold when I draw my last breath. Give me forever, Norah. Let me give you not what I am, but all I hope to be. With your help, angel. With your hope."
She flung herself into his arms, a thousand dreams in her eyes, infinite love in her heart.
With exquisite tenderness, he bathed away the traces of soot on her cheeks, in her hair, drifted a delicate gown about her slender body. Then he swept her into his arms and carried her out into the new-dawned day where his stallion was waiting.
Love shimmered in the Irish sky and kissed the Celtic wind as the horse carried them across dew-sweet hills. It wreathed a Castle of Beauty in a new magic, a new promise, as rakehell Sir Aidan Kane took his ladylight to wife, in his heart, in his soul, their union blessed in the enchanted circle of the ancient fairy ring.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
KIMBERLY CATES, hailed as "a master craftsman" by Romantic Times, is the author of Crown of Mist, Restless Is the Wind, To Catch a Flame, Only Forever, Crown of Dreams, The Raider's Bride, The Raider's Daughter, and Stealing Heaven. A native of Illinois, Kimberly taught elementary school for three years and married her high school sweetheart. She is currently working on her next historical romance, to be published by Pocket Books.
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