by Ava Stone
“I know it sounds impossible,” Garrick began, breaking Quent from his thoughts, “but it’s like the ring is part of him. Like they’ve been fused together.”
Quent scrubbed a hand down his face, wishing this awful night was over. “Nothing sounds impossible these days.” His gaze flicked back to Lila and he heaved a sigh. Who knew how long it would be before things were set to right?
“How is Sir Cyrus?” Mr. Garrick asked.
Irritating as ever, but Quent held his tongue on that subject with the ladies present. The puffed-up magistrate had never liked him. “Fairly certain if my brother wasn’t married to his sister, he’d have brought me up on charges of some kind. I suppose it was helpful that Hope found Kilworth’s body instead of me, though not for Hope. Braden has vowed not to let her leave his or Callie’s sight until they leave Ravenglass.”
“Anna,” Thorn began, “tell him what Brighid said about the ring.”
Anna Southward sat a little taller and met Quent’s gaze. “Brighid said the ring is evil.”
“Sorted that one out for myself,” he muttered.
“It belonged, apparently, to Rufus Flavius and was stained with the final life blood of Cynbel the Celt. And Cynbel has been part of the ring ever since.”
The final life blood? What a cheerful thought.
“After being tortured, after witnessing the death of his wife and children,” Anna continued, “all of Cynbel’s goodness had been stripped from him. All that was left of him in those final, awful moments was agony, despair and hatred. And that’s what the ring is.”
“Well, that’s perfectly horrifying.” Quent leaned against the cell door.
“Oh, it gets better,” Garrick said, blowing out a breath and raking a hand through his hair. “The ring cannot be destroyed, even if we’re successful in getting the damned thing off the vicar.”
Anna shook her head. “The Druids tried to do so, but they were unsuccessful. It can only be hidden, unfortunately.”
“Hidden in a priest hole until some unsuspecting fellows stumble upon it?” Damned thing should have been marked Pandora’s Box.
“Someone must have thought it was sacred ground,” Lila said, and Quent’s gaze drifted back to her. He couldn’t help looking at her. So beautiful, so perfect, but then angels were, weren’t they?
“We still have that jewelry box, right, Quent?” Thorn asked, drawing his attention back to his friend. “Apparently it needs to be returned to that box and blessed by a Druid priest.”
“Because there are so many of those hanging about in the year of our lord 1816?” A mirthless laugh escaped him.
“Not even a partygoer dressed as one,” Garrick remarked.
“What about a Catholic priest?” Anna suggested, sliding forward a bit in her seat.
“A Catholic priest?” Quent frowned at her. “They’re about as plentiful in England as their Druid counterparts, my dear.”
Garrick shrugged slightly. “We’re not far from the Scottish border. May be easier to find one than you might think.” Then he turned his full attention on Anna. “Why a Catholic priest, Miss Anna?”
She pushed off the bench and said, “When we were in Rome, my parents and me, many years ago, I remember hearing a discussion about an exorcism. Only Catholic priests engage in such a thing. Brighid used the same word tonight.”
“An exorcism?” Matilda Southward echoed. “That sounds positively awful.”
“It’s to expel a demonic entity from its host,” Anna explained. “Uncle Walter does seem possessed to me.”
Lila winced at hearing that, and her gaze sought Quent’s once more. “It would be better than chopping off his hand, I think.”
“A Catholic priest?” Miss Matilda cringed. “I don’t think he’ll ever forgive us.”
“If we don’t do something,” Lila said softly, “he’ll never have the opportunity to never forgive us.”
Quent nodded in agreement. “All right. We’ll find a Catholic priest one way or another.” And if he had to crawl all the way to Edinburgh or Aberdeen or swim across the Irish Sea to Dublin to do so, he’d drag a Catholic priest back to Marisdùn, himself. He’d do anything Lila needed, anything at all.
He just wished that he was able to have a private conversation with her about all sorts of things, starting with the fact that he knew she was his angel and ending with a confession that he was desperately in love with her. But it wasn’t the time, not with her clutching her sister’s hand in one of his subterranean cells, keeping watch over her Celt-possessed father, and as worried as Quent had ever seen her. So sharing his heart would have to wait. It just wasn’t the time.
So he turned on his heel out of the cell, and up the stone steps that led to the main part of the castle.
Eighteen
As soon as Lord Quentin left the dungeons, Lila glanced down at her lap and sighed. This was, without doubt, the single worst night of her life. Her father had become possessed and Lord Quentin—
“Did you tell him?” Tilly muttered softly.
Lila glanced at her sister. “Tell him?”
“That you’re his angel. Did you tell him?”
“You’re Quent’s angel?” Mr. Garrick asked, tugging on that cursed ring to no avail.
Lila’s gaze shot up to the gentleman to find him now looking at her. Blast her sister for saying that in front of Mr. Garrick and Mr. Thorn. And blast Marisdùn’s dungeons for magnifying the words loud enough for the gentlemen to overhear.
“Are you really?” Mr. Garrick continued, as though he had no idea of the anguish Lila was going through.
“I’d really rather not discuss it,” she muttered.
Mr. Garrick quirked a smile in her direction. “Did he fall over when he found out?”
No, he’d stared at her, then turned on his heel and fled the gardens as fast as he was able, not that Lila wanted to make her humiliation and heartbreak public knowledge. “Pardon me, I just need a breath of fresh air.” She stumbled to her feet and then rushed from the cell without another word or a glance backward.
She hastened up the steps, rounded the first corner and would have bolted right out of the castle, if the sight of Lord Quentin in the middle of the corridor hadn’t stopped her in her tracks. He was talking in a hushed voice to King Arthur and Guinevere, or rather Lord Wolverly and Daphne who were dressed as the fated pair. Daphne glanced up and spotted Lila, and her friend waved her hand in the air.
“Oh, Lila!” she said softly.
Lord Quentin turned from his spot to better see her. “Lord and Lady Wolverly have offered to leave for Scotland,” he told her.
“Thank you,” she breathed out.
“Yes, yes, of course.” Lord Wolverly agreed with a nod of his head. “Anything we can do to help.”
Daphne smiled sadly. “We’ll be back as soon as we can, I promise.”
Then her husband draped an arm around her shoulders and quickly led her towards the castle’s entrance, while Lord Quentin started towards Lila. Her breath caught in her throat, she couldn’t help it.
Once he reached her, he tipped her chin up with the crook of his thumb until she met his gaze. “I’m so sorry,” he said gently, and tingles raced along her skin from the contact. “This is all my fault, Lila, and I’ll understand if you never forgive me.”
Forgive him? For what? She shook her head. “You’ve done more than I could ask for, my lord.”
“I had no idea you were here. I’d have never woken your father, if I’d realized, I—”
“You woke Papa?” she asked, blinking up at him. Why in the world had he done that? And after all the chamomile and marjoram Anna had slipped into his tea to ensure he wouldn’t wake on his own.
“I was looking for you,” he said and then shook his head as though it didn’t matter any longer. “This is the wrong time for this conversation, I know that, but I have waited a year for this...” And then he dipped his head down and very softly pressed his lips to hers.
The tingles
racing across Lila’s skin increased tenfold and her eyes fluttered closed. He was kissing her? Lord Quentin, her Lord Quentin, was kissing her, right in the middle of his castle for anyone to see. But Lila didn’t care. After the night she’d endured, after the panic and angst she’d suffered through, the momentary euphoria from his kiss washed over her; and for the first time in days, hope flitted about her heart.
He lifted his head and smiled down at her. “Sorry, I know I shouldn’t have done—”
Lila clutched the edge of his coat in her hands, pushed up on her toes and pressed her lips back to his, silencing the apology she never wanted to hear.
Lord Quentin’s arms slid around her waist and he held her close, just like he had on that fateful night a year earlier. And she’d never felt safer than she did in his arms in that moment, even with all the insanity swirling about them.
He growled slightly in his throat and his hold on her tightened. His tongue touched the seam of her lips and Lila opened for him with a sigh. He swept inside her mouth with an urgency she had never experienced. She wasn’t certain where they were, what time it was or even her own name at the moment. And she’d have given anything in the world for Lord Quentin to never stop kissing her.
But after a moment, he lifted his head once more and his hazel gaze heated her from the inside out. “Dear God, Lila,” he whispered.
She was light-headed and her chest heaved with each breath she took.
“Do you know I’ve wanted to do that since the very first day we met?”
Had he?
“And I would have if Callie hadn’t been present.”
Lila couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. “You wanted to kiss me that first day?”
“And every day since,” he replied.
But that wasn’t true, was it? She shook her head and slid out of his arms. “We both know you were searching for someone else, my lord.”
“Quent,” he said, taking a step towards her. “No more ‘my lording’ me, Lila. And I wasn’t searching for someone else. I was searching for you, as you well know.”
“No.” She shook her head again. “You always knew where to find me. But you went back to London last year, and didn’t give me a second thought.”
“I thought about you every day.” He frowned.
But he hadn’t thought about her, he’d thought about his angel, the mysterious girl who’d kissed him and run off into the night. “No. You thought about a girl who doesn’t exist, Quent.”
“Oh, she exists.” A muscle twitched in his jaw. “And she haunted my dreams and kept me awake night after night over the last year; but you’re the one I love, Lila.”
Love? Had he really just said that word? “You love me?”
He shook his head like he was embarrassed. “When I saw you tonight, I knew I could unmask you, answer the question that had plagued me for a year but…” He heaved a sigh. “In that moment, I didn’t want some mystery girl I didn’t know the first thing about, I wanted you, Lila Southward, for all time and eternity which is why I went to the vicarage as fast as I was able and why I woke your father in my attempt to tell you so.”
She blinked at him in surprise. “In the middle of the night?”
He shrugged rather boyishly. “Once I was certain what I wanted—a life with you—I didn’t want to wait a moment longer than I had to...”
He wanted a life with her? Did he really? Lila’s heart pounded wildly in her chest.
“…I wanted your father’s blessing, which he refused to give me, by the way. So I rushed back here, hoping to find you before he could order you to never see me and then…” Quent winced. “And then all hell broke loose—Kilworth, your father, that damned ring. And it’s all my fault, Lila, every bit of it. If I’d just stayed here…”
Lila slid her arms around Quent’s middle and buried her head against his chest. “You were looking for me? I thought you were angry and running from me.” A sob lodged in her throat. But he hadn’t recognized her in the gardens, he hadn’t been running from her, he’d been running to her…She just hadn’t been home.
“I can’t imagine ever being angry with you.” He smoothed his hands down her back. “I love you, Lila. And when all of this is over with, I want you to marry me. I want to spend the rest of my life with you right by my side.”
Life was so very surreal. Her father was possessed by some ancient evil entity, chained up in the dungeons below. And now Quentin Post loved her and wanted to marry her. “When all of this is over with, the only thing I want to remember is you.”
He tipped her chin up one more time. “Is that a yes?”
Even with her life falling completely apart, Lila nodded. “I fell in love with you, Quent, that very first day when you carried me back to the vicarage. I spent a year away from you and I don’t want to ever do that again.”
And then he lowered his head once more and brushed his lips against hers.
Nineteen
All of Quent’s masquerade guests had long since departed the castle. It had been two days since Wolf and Daphne had ended up taking Thorn and Anna with them to Scotland. And in the time since, Quent, Garrick, Lila, her sister, and a myriad of Marisdùn servants took turns sitting vigil in the dungeons, keeping watch over the vicar, who did nothing but hurl insults and threats their direction, often speaking in a language Quent had never heard before. Thank God he had a large dungeon, equipped with strong shackles, which was not a thought that had ever occurred to him even once in his life before the last few days.
“Tomorrow is Sunday,” Braden said as he strode into Quent’s study.
“And the day after is Monday,” he agreed, though he had no idea what his brother was getting at.
“Yes.” He nodded his head. “But Mr. Southward is not supposed to deliver a sermon on Monday, so I’m mostly concerned with how to handle tomorrow.”
Damn it all. Quent hadn’t given one thought about the vicar’s Sunday sermon. “What do we do?”
“I think the only thing we can do is lie. I can have Cyrus Eilbeck spread word through the village that Mr. Southward is ill and that this week’s services will be cancelled.”
There didn’t really seem to be another choice. “He’ll do that for us?”
“He’ll do it for Lila,” his brother replied.
Lila. Quent would do anything for her too. And if the puffed-up magistrate was willing to help, Quent supposed he wouldn’t be irritated that the man still seemed to want to garner Lila’s affections. “Just as long as he doesn’t expect her hand in exchange for his services. She’s promised that to me.”
“You’re in the clear.” Braden shook his head, slightly amused even though there was nothing remotely amusing about any of this. “I just wanted to make sure there was no change in the situation before we proceeded with that plan.”
Quent pushed out of his seat. “No change. And no word from Wolf or Thorn for that matter either. Let’s hope something happens before next week’s sermon. I don’t think an ill vicar will be believed two weeks in a row.”
Neither did Quent. But they’d have to deal with one Sunday at a time, he supposed.
“But speaking of Lila’s hand—” Braden sat on the edge of Quent’s desk “—Mrs. Small tells me Kilworth had another of his special licenses found with the rest of his possessions. I’m surprised you haven’t already used it.”
The thing was actually sitting on the far corner of the desk at the moment, and Quent had spent more than a little time contemplating that very idea. “Yes, well, the only man in the village who could marry us is currently strung up in my dungeons.” He smiled slightly at his brother. “Besides, I hardly think she’d consider the idea until her father has been returned to himself.”
Braden agreed with a nod. “I am glad you found her despite all of this madness.”
“I understand why you married Callie so quickly last year. If things were different, I’d have already made use of Kilworth’s license.”
“
Yes, well—”
But whatever Braden meant to say was cut off when Lila rushed into the study. “Quent!” she said, shaking slightly. “They’re back!”
“Wolf and Thorn?” He pushed out of his chair as his brother found his feet as well.
She nodded. “Do come quickly.”
“Of course, of course, love.” Quent rounded his desk and grasped Lila’s hand in his. “And don’t worry. They’re back much sooner than I expected. So they must have found someone who can help.”
The three of them navigated the castle corridors until they nearly ran Mrs. Small right over.
“My lord!” The housekeeper touched a hand to her heart. “I was coming to retrieve you. Bendle just left your guests in the blue parlor.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Small,” Quent replied, then he squeezed Lila’s hand.
She smiled up at him tentatively, and he directed her over the threshold into the blue parlor, which he’d avoided ever since Kilworth had died and since Vicar Southward had slid that ring onto his finger. Just stepping into the room made him uneasy.
The room was filled much as it had been that night. Thorn, Anna, Garrick, Matilda, Wolf, Daphne, and an older man who was small in stature and adorned all in black, save for his white priest’s collar. The priest met Quent’s eye as soon as he, Lila and Braden entered the blue parlor. So this was the fellow Thorn and Wolf had retrieved to save the vicar, was it? He looked like a strong wind might bowl him over.
“This is the room, is no’?” the man asked, his soft brogue filling the air as he clutched a worn Bible in his hands.
The room where Vicar Southward had slid that ring onto his finger? Yes, it was that room. How in the world could the old Scottish priest tell that? Quent nodded once.
“I’ll be sure to bless each of the rooms before I leave, my lord, this one in particular,” he said, as he began to walk the perimeter.
Quent glanced over at Thorn, just a few feet away. Did his friend really think this meek looking fellow was going to be able to help them?
