by C. J. Archer
His steps slowed for a moment before he continued to stride to the armchair. "I missed them too. I missed many things about this realm."
"Like the food?"
He smiled as he eased himself into the chair, but it didn't last long. "The food. And you."
I smoothed the creases out of my nightgown with long sweeps of my hand over my legs.
"Forgive me," he said quickly. "I shouldn't…" He got to his feet and headed back to the door. "I shouldn't have come."
"Quin, wait." I leapt off the bed, getting tangled in my nightgown in my haste. I landed on my hands and knees on the rug. My cheeks flamed with humiliation, but at least my pathetic fall made Quin stay.
He gently grasped my arms and helped me to my feet. His thumbs stroked me through the light linen, warming my skin. "Are you hurt?"
"No. Thank you."
He let me go and picked up my shawl. He settled it around my shoulders, his knuckles grazing the underside of my jaw. I lifted my gaze to his face, only to see him staring back at me with such intensity that my entire body flushed with tingles in response. He removed his hands, but I caught them in my own. I drew one to my lips and kissed the knuckles. He opened his other hand and cupped my face.
An ache so deep and endless welled inside me. I felt like my heart was full of tears, barely contained behind a wall that was slowly, slowly crumbling.
There were so many things I needed to say to Quin, yet this was not a time for talking. It was a time for touching, holding. Kissing.
He gently tilted my face up and I let go of his hands to grasp his head and draw him closer. He didn't resist or hesitate. Suddenly the gap was closed and our bodies, lips, hands joined. I was slammed up against him, my arms around him, and his around me, holding me as if he were afraid I would escape.
But I would not. Could not. There was nowhere else I wanted to be. The frenzied kiss destroyed thoughts of all else. There was only Quin and me, the kiss, and the heat rising within me, evaporating my tears. I felt like I was drowning in it, being sucked under the surface by a whirlpool, and into a beautiful, wonderful abyss that I never wanted to leave.
I dug my hands through his hair, holding him as tightly in place as he held me. I didn't want the kiss to end. Didn't want to awake from the beautiful dream and face cold, brutal reality. I wanted to remain in Quin's arms forever. It felt wonderful, and so very right. Yet it wasn't enough.
I fumbled with the buttons on his shirt and managed to undo the top two. I slipped my hand through the gap and felt the smooth skin of his shoulder and the small scar nestled there. It reminded me of the new scars on his back, and thinking of them made me lose the rhythm of the kiss.
It was Quin who pulled away, however. He let me go and stepped back.
No! I swallowed the cry before it escaped and made a strange gurgling sound instead. I blinked at him and tried to catch my breath and regain my wits, but it was terribly hard to wade through the fog of desire still shrouding me.
He seemed to be doing the same. His chest rose and fell with his deep breathing, and his eyelids drooped like heavy shutters. His fists closed at his sides as if he were stopping himself from taking me again in his arms. Despite his rigid stance, he looked thoroughly kissed, with his messy hair and swollen lips.
I wondered if I looked the same. My body was certainly tightly coiled as I tried to hold myself together. If I released my emotions, the floodgates would open and there was no telling when they would close again. Such a hysterical response would get us nowhere.
A small frown creased his brow and he looked away, down at his feet. "Cara, I…I'm sorry." He opened his fists and rubbed the back of his neck. "I shouldn't have done that."
"You didn't. We did."
He shifted his stance.
"I don't regret it, Quin."
He didn't respond.
"Indeed, I liked it. Very much. I think you did too."
He lifted his gaze to mine and pinned me to the spot. "What we like and want doesn't matter. We're making it harder for ourselves by allowing affection and desire to rule us."
"You make it sound like we have a choice."
He swallowed heavily. Then he spun round and strode for the door. I raced past him and flattened myself against it.
"You're not leaving yet," I told him.
"I have to, otherwise…" He heaved a sigh and dragged his hand through his hair. "I may be dead, but I am still a man and this body is very much alive in this realm. There is only so much kissing that will satisfy me. And I won't ruin you, Cara."
Oh. Right. "Then we won't kiss anymore. We'll talk only. Isn't that why you came here? Or were you planning on kissing me the entire time?"
He looked offended. "I am still a gentleman, my death notwithstanding. Very well, we'll talk. But you must stop looking so enticing."
"Oh."
He pointed to the bed. "Sit there and wrap the blanket around yourself."
I did as told, then went to push my hair off my face.
"Do not play with your hair," he ordered as he sat down again. "Do not lick your lips, touch your face or allow that blanket to slip. And absolutely no blinking your big eyes in that manner you have."
I bit back my smile. "That is quite a lot of rules."
"All of them necessary. Now we can talk. What did Holloway say to you?"
Any lingering desire shriveled up. I pulled the blanket closer around my shoulders, but it didn't offer as much comfort as Quin's arms. "He told me something about you, as it happens."
He didn't look surprised and nodded at me to go on.
"You let me believe that you were leaving Purgatory to move onto your afterlife. Holloway told me that's not true. You wanted the book to learn how to leave Purgatory and come here."
His gaze shifted away from me to the wall behind the bed. So it was the truth.
"You wanted to live again." My voice became a whisper as the tears clogged my throat. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Would it have made a difference?"
"Yes! I would have given you the book."
He shook his head. "I'm not so sure of that."
"How could you know what was in my mind?" I spat. "Of course I would have given you the book. I want you here, Quin. I want you with me." To my horror, I couldn't hold the tears back anymore. I pressed my forehead against my drawn up knees and let my tears soak the blanket.
"Cara," came Quin's gentle voice. "It pains me to see you cry."
Then hold me. Comfort me.
But he did not.
I finally lifted my head and wiped my cheeks. Quin still sat in the chair, both hands gripping the arms, the fingers making deep dents in the leather. "You did the right thing in keeping the book from me," he said. "I think you know it and would do so again."
"But why didn't you tell me at the time that you could have come back here, alive? I should have had all the facts."
"I didn't tell you because I didn't want your decision to be any more difficult than it was. And I didn't want you to have any regrets."
"Too late for that."
"Any more regrets."
I had to concede that he had a point. If I'd known what I was preventing him from doing, I would have been wracked with guilt at sending him back to Purgatory without the book.
"Bringing back a man condemned to Purgatory is unwise," he went on. "You knew that at the time, and I've come to realize it too. I committed a grave sin, Cara. It sickens me to admit it, but I must acknowledge it. I deserve my punishment. The administrators would never allow me to leave that realm until they themselves release me. It would not have gone well for me if I'd used the incantation in the book." He rose to go. "You saved me, Cara. Thank you."
I swallowed heavily. "Sit down. We haven't finished."
He hesitated then sat. "Did Holloway say something else?"
"He told me you killed someone. An innocent. That's why you're in Purgatory. Is that the grave sin you speak of?"
His nostrils flared and he drew in
a long, deep breath. Then he nodded. "Is that all?" he said.
"He knew no other details. I hoped you would give them to me."
He shook his head. "I once told you that I didn't want you to think ill of me. Nothing has changed. Telling you what I did…it will only make you hate me."
"Why not let me decide that?" I snapped.
"Cara, don't. Please." He stood and headed for the door. I scooted off the bed and got there before him. This time I didn't fall over and there was no affection between us. "I want answers, and I will not let you leave without giving them to me."
He sighed. "Ask me anything. Anything at all. But not that."
My mind went blank. I could think of no other questions. That one was burned into my brain, excluding all others.
"I'll tell you about my wife, my home, the king. I'll tell you how I came to respect my enemies and hate killing them. And that I loved my mother and didn't care for my father. I will tell you how I miss my brother." His voice caught. He cleared his throat. "Ask me, Cara. Ask me something. Just not that."
I folded my arms over my chest, holding myself together. "Very well. You once told me that the rules didn't apply to you and that's why you're still a warrior in Purgatory and haven't moved on. Why don't the rules apply to you?"
He blinked rapidly and I suspected my question caught him by surprise. "My death was brought about by…unusual circumstances."
"Supernatural ones," I finished for him. "You said so last time."
"My death should not have occurred if the administrators had been doing their job efficiently." He held up his hands when I went to ask another question. "No more, Cara. Please. My death is linked closely to my reason for being in Purgatory. To tell you about one will mean telling you about the other." He reached out and stroked his thumb from the corner of my eye down my cheek. "Your good opinion means everything to me. I won't shatter it, even if it means you pester me with questions from now until eternity." He gave me a sad smile and dropped his hand.
I tightened my arms, hugging myself harder. I began to tremble uncontrollably, yet I wasn't cold.
"Good night, Cara."
"Don't go," I whispered.
"I have to, mon coeur."
"I'm not moving."
Light from the burning candles danced in his eyes, or perhaps it was mischief. "I thought you might say that." He picked me up by my elbows and lifted me out of the way.
"Unfair!"
He set me down, kissed my forehead, and disappeared out the door.
***
We received a telegram from Tommy early the next morning. They're back it read.
Quin and I packed immediately. Jack wanted to return with us, but Hannah convinced him to stay to conclude his business in London and take her to the Gilbert and Sullivan opera at the Savoy as planned. I suspected she was more interested in keeping him safe than seeing The Yeomen of the Guard. The injury he'd suffered at the Tudor house had given her quite a fright. Jack reluctantly agreed, but only after giving us a lecture about being vigilant and sending for him if needed.
The train departed that morning, and Quin and I spent most of the journey in awkward silence. We both either gazed out the window or pretended to sleep. I didn't mention the kiss, since there was nothing more to say. Nor did I pester him with questions about his death or Purgatory. While the silence was awkward, it wasn't tense, and toward the end of the journey I fell asleep.
I awoke when the train slowed for the approach to Harborough Station. Quin watched me from beneath half-lowered lids, but quickly looked away. It was rather amusing, and very satisfying, to see the skin above his collar flush pink. I was still smiling when he held out his hand to assist me onto the platform.
"Cara! Quin!" Sylvia pushed past a passenger, waving her hands. Tommy trailed behind. They'd received our telegram, then. "Thank goodness you were able to come so promptly. We'll take you there immediately. Quin, do you have your sword?" She eyed his luggage.
"Always." Quin greeted Tommy with a nod. "Is everyone safe?"
"Everyone at the house," Tommy said. "The villagers, however, are anxious. The ghosts returned yesterday and made a nuisance of themselves overnight. Weeks and his men have had their hands full." He stepped in close and lowered his voice so the nearby passengers couldn't hear. "The inspector reported seeing odd things. Objects flung about with nobody throwing them. Women having their skirts lifted, and worse."
"You must stop them." Sylvia grasped my hand. "We'll talk more in the coach."
Quin carried our bags and followed behind with Tommy. Fray helped him load the luggage onto the back of the coach after Quin removed his sword, wrapped in a cloth. He slid it under the seat in the cabin, and Sylvia ordered Fray to take us to the police station.
"The spirits are causing trouble there?" I asked.
"They're tearing the place apart," Tommy said.
"What do the inspector and his constables think of that?"
"They're confused, naturally, and at their wits end."
"How will we explain this away?" Sylvia squeezed the bridge of her nose. "We can't blame it on wild dogs this time."
"We'll think of something," I assured her. "But first, we must remove the spirits."
Quin pulled out the sword and rested it on his lap. He unwrapped the cloth from around it. The sunlight glinted off the blade. "Did you bring the knife, Dawson?"
Tommy pulled back his cuff, revealing the point of Jack's dagger. We'd left it with him to keep them safe in case the spirits came back while we were gone.
I held out my hand for it, but he shook his head. "I'll hold onto it, if you don't mind. You direct us."
"Tommy, don't," Sylvia said, huffily. "Haven't you suffered enough?"
Tommy gave her a flat, grim smile. "I can't sit in here while Cara risks her life. You know that, Sylvia. Doing so would injure me more."
"I know." She kissed his cheek. "I know."
He laid the knife in his lap and placed his hand over hers. They remained like that the rest of the way to the station. It would seem their relationship had made progress in our absence. I was pleased for them, but curious if Langley knew and if so, what his reaction had been.
We arrived at the police station only a few short minutes later. The coach hadn't even stopped before Weeks emerged through the gap where a door had once stood. I breathed a sigh of relief at seeing him alive and unharmed. The door, however, had not fared so well. One half of it rested up against the wall, and the other half lay on the pavement.
"Evacuate your men," Quin said as he opened the coach door and jumped out. "We'll take care of the matter from here."
"It stopped," Weeks called out. He eyed Quin's sword, his nose twitching. "The storm ended some minutes ago."
"Storm?" I asked, stepping out of the coach.
"It was the oddest thing, Miss Moreau. Things flew around the room as if a whirlwind had taken hold of them. A tempest, Constable Jeffries called it. I don't mind admitting that I prayed like a nun. Hid like one too, under the desk. Jeffries tried to catch the typewriter as it hurtled toward him, but he didn't duck fast enough. He's all right now. He's inside, cleaning up the mess left behind when the wind died down."
"So there was a wind?" I asked, keeping my voice bland.
"Must have been." Weeks screwed up his face and squinted through the doorway. "How else would things fly around like that?"
"Of course." I glanced at the others. "There's no other explanation."
Quin peered through the doorway, but did not enter. I heard the tinkle of glass being swept up and the scraping of furniture across the wooden floor.
"It only began after the door came off," Weeks went on. "Splintered in two it did. It was about then that the wind came, I think. Can't recall exactly, but that's how it must have happened. Anything that wasn't too heavy got flung about." He squinted up at the sky. "All looks calm out here now, I see. Very odd that it only affected the station."
"I've heard of strange phenomena like that,"
Sylvia assured him, patting his arm. "Intense storms that are all wind and no rain. They only ever occur in small areas. Very small, very local areas."
Quin returned to the coach and held the door open. "Come to us at the house if there's any more trouble. Fray!" he called up to the driver. "Drive slowly through the village."
"Wait." Weeks rested his hand on the door handle, stopping it from closing. "The problem at the Tudor house continues."
I exchanged a glance with Sylvia. "The wild dogs, you mean?"
"Is it?" he asked suspiciously. "Or is it gypsies?"
"I'm sure it's dogs," Tommy said.
"You see, I was speaking with Dr. Gowan only yesterday, and he said he didn't treat scratches on your cousin, Miss Langley. It was a knife wound."
"I'm sure he's mistaken," Sylvia muttered.
"The good doctor knows the difference between cuts caused by claws and those left by knives. My guess is that Mr. Langley didn't want the gypsies to get into trouble."
"That must be it," I said. "He's got a good heart and the gypsies aren't all bad. He wouldn't want to see them blamed for the problems the village is currently having."
"Seems a strong coincidence to me that they've turned up at the old Tudor house right when we've had extra reports of trouble in the village. I don't like coincidence, Miss Moreau. In my experience, there's always a better explanation."
"Have you paid the house a visit?" Quin asked.
"Not yet. Been too busy here, and now this storm." He tugged on the lapels of his jacket. "But I can tell you, the villagers aren't quite so busy. There've been rumblings of forming a mob and going up there to…talk to the gypsies."
Sylvia sat forward. "You must talk them out of it, Inspector! It's far too dangerous."
"Good of you to be so concerned, Miss Langley, but I can't stop an entire village. There's too many of 'em."
