by C. J. Archer
Enough mockery and teasing. The time for that was over. I fingered the rent in his sleeve near his shoulder. "You must allow me to tend to your wounds."
"I don't think that's wise."
"I don't care about wise."
His eyes turned smoky. "I do."
"And anyway, I do think it's wise to inspect them. They could fester if they're not properly tended to."
"There's no need. I'll be leaving soon. My wounds will heal when I return to…" He blinked slowly. "When I am back where I belong."
My fingers twisted in the fabric of his sleeve. He winced, but made no sound as I brushed against the wound underneath. "You don't belong there," I hissed.
"The administrators would argue otherwise. As would I."
"You are not a bad person, Quin." Tears clogged my throat and burned my eyes. It was difficult to rein in my emotions and give voice to my thoughts, but I battled to control them until I felt I could speak without bursting into tears. "Whatever you did…there must have been a reason. I know you don't want to tell me, and I respect your decision, even if I don't understand it. But without knowing what you did, you must allow me to defend you."
"Cara." He laid his hand over mine and gently untangled my fingers from his sleeve. I hadn't realized I'd bunched the material into my fist. He pressed my hand to his heart, where a steady, pounding rhythm made me ache for him. "I am returning soon, whether you like it or not. That is fact."
My fingers curled under, but I did not pull away.
"As soon as the ghosts are gone, I will leave this realm again. We removed many here today, and I suspect many more will leave voluntarily now. There must be some remaining or I would have already been called back. It won't be long now. You must prepare yourself for another farewell—as I am trying to do." He kissed the top of my head then removed my hand from his chest and let it go. "So please, there will be no more touching, even if it is only to check my wounds." The corner of his mouth lifted. "We both know how that always ends, and it only makes it harder when I have to go."
He walked away, leaving me standing at the top of the basement stairs alone, hot tears rolling down my cheeks.
***
"You should rest," Sylvia said, hand on hip. She wagged a statuette of the Goddess Diana at me. "You may be needed in the village tonight."
"I can't rest." I lifted the box filled with broken pieces of china off the dining table and turned to go.
Quin blocked my exit. He grasped the box and tried to pull it out of my hands. I didn't let go. "Sylvia's right. Rest, Cara."
I glared at him. "I thought you wanted to wait until tomorrow to patrol the village."
"I do, but we may need to go tonight."
I tugged on the box, but his grip was too tight. He lifted one brow in a challenge. I tugged harder, but still he did not let go. "You're the one who ought to be resting," I said. "I'm not injured."
"A few scratches do not require me to lie down like a woman."
"Ha!"
He pulled the box out of my grip while I was too busy thinking up a retort. He grinned triumphantly.
"You did that on purpose," I said.
He gave me an innocent look. "Did what?"
"Implied that my gender is weak in order to rile and distract me."
"You must be mistaken, Cara. I would never call women weak. Some of the strongest people I have known, in my lifetime and my afterlife, have been women." He strode out of the dining room, box in hand, with his head held high.
I thrust both hands on hips and thought about chasing after him and taking the box back, but in truth, it had been heavy and it would just be petty of me.
"You two make me laugh," Sylvia said, a twinkle in her eyes. "It's a shame you can never be together."
"Sylvia," Tommy gently admonished her.
She shrugged at him. "It's not as if she doesn't know that already."
I sighed. "Excuse me. I think I need some fresh air. I'll be down by the lake if anyone needs me."
The sun had set and there was little moonlight, but I knew the way to the lake. I skirted the abbey ruins, preferring not to be reminded of all the gruesome and frightening things that had happened there thanks to the portal.
The portal. Instead of going onto the lake, I stopped at the outermost ruined wall after all, and studied the haphazard shadowy formations of the fallen stones where the portal was located. So many strange things had come through it, including the ghosts of Redbeard and his black-hearted friends. They were not meant to be here—just like Quin.
I swept my skirts aside and sat on the wall. Thoughts raced through my mind like windswept leaves. I tried to grasp them, but as I reined one in, another would escape and flitter just out of reach. I took a deep breath and stopped trying. Then I began at the beginning.
The portal had brought beings from other realms to this one, and taken people from here to…elsewhere. Some of them were alive, but others were dead. Redbeard was dead. Quin was dead. So if Redbeard could remain here, couldn't Quin too?
Surely it couldn't be that simple, or Quin would stay. Myer must have done something before opening the portal—or perhaps during. He must have spoken another spell that caused Redbeard and the other souls to be brought here. If I could find out what he did, perhaps I could figure out a way to make it bring souls from Purgatory, and Quin could stay.
I heard Quin's footsteps. The rhythm of his tread was as familiar to me as my own. He sat beside me on the wall, but we didn't touch. Nevertheless, I was all too aware of him, and my heart skipped inside my chest at being so close, shielded from prying eyes by darkness.
"It won't work," he said.
"What won't?"
"Opening the portal and keeping me here indefinitely."
I turned to him. "How did you know what I was thinking?"
"Because we think alike, and I've already considered it."
"Oh." I looked back at the ruins again. It was deceptively peaceful with the long grass swishing gently against the stones. If there were any signs of the blood that had been spilled and the horrors that had brought fear and violence, they couldn't be seen in the dark. "It's hard to believe that the abbey stood proudly here for many years before its destruction, yet it was built after your death. So long ago."
We sat in comfortable silence, but the weight of time hung heavily around us, and the weight of Quin's current situation even heavier.
"You've adapted to this world well," I added, "considering your advanced age."
He laughed softly. "I had a good teacher."
"I'm not sure I've taught you much at all. Except how to eat with a knife and fork." I smiled, but did not look at him. "Why won't it work, Quin? You could come back, like Redbeard. It wouldn't be a perfect situation, but at least we could be together."
"And watch you grow old and die while I never changed? That's no life, Cara. That's torture. I'd rather be sent to Hell than exist alongside you and not with you."
I sighed. He was right, and it was wrong of me to suggest it. Quin couldn't live as a ghost with only me seeing him. It wasn't a life, it was a sentence and he'd grow to hate it.
"Besides, they wouldn't let me go so easily," he said.
"The administrators? Why not?"
"Because they want to keep me in Purgatory, and going against their wishes would anger them. They'd send another warrior here to bring me back."
I sighed again. "We can't have that." I tried to sound light when all I felt was heavy. "One of you is quite enough. My modern feminine sensibilities couldn't cope with another caveman attitude."
He chuckled. "I don't know how men in caves are meant to behave, but I'm sure they would like you despite your sharp tongue and mind. They would learn the hard way not to cross you."
I nudged his arm. "Come on. We ought to go back inside and help."
"Or rest." He yawned. "I'm feeling somewhat sleepy."
I nudged him again and laughed, but it died at the sound of hooves pounding on the gravel drive. I s
quinted at the line of trees, but couldn't make out the rider, only his lantern, swinging wildly back and forth as he held it high. Quin leapt off the wall and helped me down. He held my hand as we ran toward the house where the rider had come to a stop.
"It's Constable Jeffries," I said as he dismounted near the lamps blazing at the foot of the steps.
Sylvia and Tommy emerged from the house as we approached. "Constable Jeffries," she said. "What happened?"
The policemen removed his hat and gave her a nod of greeting. "Excuse the late hour, Miss Langley, but the inspector asked me to fetch Mr. St. Clair."
"Is it the village?" she asked. "Are there…storms again?"
"Nothing like that, miss, although there's reports of noises coming from the Tudor house."
Sylvia and Tommy looked over the constable's head to Quin and me. "We'll head there now," I said.
"No, Miss Moreau, that's not why I'm here. Inspector Weeks said I was to fetch you and ask you to come to St. Paul's, opposite the green."
"Why? What's happened there?"
"The mob's gathered inside. The villagers are getting riled up over the disturbances the gypsies have been causing. The inspector thinks you might be able to disperse them before they march on the Tudor house. He's worried someone'll get hurt, but he thinks Mr. St. Clair might have some sway with them seeing as he's not from around here. He says you've got a presence that commands respect," he told Quin.
"We'll go immediately," I said, grasping Quin's hand tighter.
But he didn't move. A muscle pulsed in his jaw as he turned dark eyes onto me. And then I realized why he hesitated.
He couldn't enter the church without falling violently ill.
CHAPTER 14
"Only speak if they're not too riled," Quin said, casting a wary eye at the arched door of the church. A voice could be heard beyond it, but I couldn't make out his words. "If you think they won't listen to you, then say nothing. Don't anger them further." Quin wrapped his fingers around my arms and gave me his full attention. His face was pinched, his jaw rigid.
"I'll gauge the situation first." We'd been through this already in the coach, twice, but he still seemed to think it needed repeating. "I'll have Tommy with me."
"That may not be a good thing." He shrugged an apology to Tommy who stood nearby, waiting for Quin to finish his lecture. He hadn't asked why Quin couldn't go into the church, but I suspected he was going to when this was over. By then, it probably wouldn't matter if we told him Quin was from Purgatory. He would be gone. "As Jeffries said, somebody who is not from around here may fare better with the mob." I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off. "No, you are not going in alone, Cara."
"I'll be fine, Quin. I'll leave if they become too rowdy."
He flexed his fingers but did not let me go. Just then, a cheer erupted inside the church. I pulled away and headed up the steps with Tommy. I glanced back at Quin. He paced alongside the coach, his expression unreadable in the deep shadows cast by the streetlamps.
Tommy pushed open the door and we went through to the nave. Thick candles burned in the sconces along the walls, throwing their flickering light into the cavernous church. Standing straight ahead, in front of the altar, was the stocky figure of the Harborough mayor. "Butterworth!"
A few people at the back of the crowd turned to look at me. They nodded in greeting before once more listening to what their mayor was saying.
"His wife's over there, near the choir pews." Tommy nodded at the imposing figure of Mrs. Butterworth, standing with a straight back at the side of the church. Every once in a while her husband would look at her and she mouthed something or nodded at him to go on. It was as if he was acting as her mouthpiece in front of the villagers. "Are there any ghosts?"
"Not that I can see." It was possible that spirits from Hell could not enter the church. If Quin couldn't, it made sense that they couldn't either. "Weeks is near Mrs. Butterworth and there are another two constables, as well as Jeffries, stationed near the other exits."
Tommy shook his head. "They won't be able to stop anyone."
"Nor can we. This crowd won't listen to reason."
There must have been fifty people standing or sitting, mostly men. Some held clubs or pieces of wood, others appeared unarmed. They shuffled restlessly, and their cheers and calls for justice punctured Butterworth's speech.
"They cannot be allowed to come here and disrupt our village!" His voice boomed through the church, reverberating off the stone walls. He may not be able to think as quickly as his wife, but the man had a strong presence that the people responded to. "We are good, law-abiding English citizens and we have a right to not be afraid in our streets."
"Hear, hear!" shouted several voices from the audience.
"We have a right not to be afraid in our homes!"
"Amen!"
"We have a right not to be afraid in our beds at night!"
A chorus of voices called out their agreement.
"These heathens must be stopped!" Butterworth slammed his fist into his palm to shouts of approval from the crowd. "They must be brought to justice! We have had enough of fear and lawlessness. We want to take back our beautiful, peaceful village."
"Aye!"
"Hear, hear!"
"If the police won't act, we must!"
The mob's roar drowned out Weeks as he joined Butterworth. He seemed to be calling for calm, but his words were lost in the din.
Then suddenly the crowd surged toward Tommy and I. He hustled me out of the way, wincing as his bad arm was jostled by a large man pushing past.
"Are you all right?" I asked him.
He nodded. "We have to get outside, but I'm not sure what we can do to calm them."
He was right. The mob wouldn't listen to us. They only wanted to hear the message of violence and revenge. What could we say, anyway? Telling them that there were no gypsies, or that ghosts couldn't be brought to justice, would only see us ignored or laughed out of the village. It was an impossible situation.
"We must hope that they'll calm down when they see nobody at the Tudor house," Tommy said, his fingers firmly gripping my elbow.
"And that Redbeard and his friends will behave." It seemed like a futile hope. Redbeard wasn't the behaving type.
We were about to join the mob as it streamed through the doors, but my other elbow was gripped hard. Weeks's narrow features appeared before me.
"Where's your foreign friend?" he hissed.
"Outside," I said, as Tommy got swallowed up by the mass of people leaving the church. I spotted his head above the crowd, and waved him on. He couldn't fight his way back toward me and I was safe enough with Weeks.
"He better try something to calm them, or the old house will be destroyed, and everyone in it."
"Inspector, what is it you expect Quin to say or do?"
He merely shrugged, then he too moved off into the flow, where he was dragged along in the mob's wake.
I waited until the tail end of the crowd had passed me, and I joined the Butterworths as they left. Mrs. Butterworth arched an imperial eyebrow at me, swept her gaze up and down my length, then sniffed and strode ahead. She had never liked me, despite my connection to the earl of Preston through Emily. Although she managed to be polite in social situations, she rarely addressed me directly, and never remembered my name. Like the gypsies, I was un-English in her eyes. I saw no point in wasting energy trying to change an attitude that ran as deep as bedrock and was just as immovable.
Her husband wasn't quite so rude. At least he deigned to address me. "What are you doing here, Miss Moreau?"
"Constable Jeffries fetched us. We hoped to stop you from advancing on the Tudor house."
"Why would you do that?" He seemed genuinely puzzled. "Those gypsies must be stopped."
"And if people are harmed in the process?"
"They'll deserve it."
"I'm not only referring to the…gypsies. Some of the villagers might come to harm too."
"I'm su
re they all agree that the risk is necessary. We are defending our homes and families after all."
"What will you do if there's no one there?"
"We shall see, won't we?" He smiled. "Besides, the gypsies must be at the Tudor house. There have been many reports of noises coming from inside." He touched my shoulder, very close to the bare skin at my neck. "Go back to Frakingham, Miss Moreau. I wouldn't like to see that pretty face of yours get a mark on it." He brushed his thumb along my neck above my collar and I was about to jerk away when I was wrenched backward by a firm arm around my waist.
I slammed into Quin's chest and glanced up at him. His pale face shone with a fever and his eyes were glassy, but he still managed to instill enough menace in his glare to send Butterworth scurrying away to join his wife.
I felt the tension ease from Quin's body as he slumped against me. He shuddered, but did not let me go as I faced him fully. I pushed his damp hair out of his eyes and felt his skin. It was hot.
"You shouldn't be in here," I told him.
"I couldn't see you." He closed his eyes and drew in a shuddery breath that didn't seem deep enough to fill his chest. "Dawson…was alone."
I looped my arm around his back and tucked myself into his side, propping him up as best I could. "We have to get you out."
He doubled over, gripping his stomach. The grinding of his teeth was louder than the noise of the mob outside.
"Quin! Please, you have to help me. I can't get you out alone."
But instead of walking, he collapsed to his knees, dragging me down with him.
"Go," he rasped. "Leave me."
"No!" I tried to haul him up, but he wouldn't budge. He turned away from me and was violently sick on the floor.
"Cara?" Tommy called from the doorway. His gaze slid to Quin. "Jesus Christ. What's wrong with him?"
"He needs fresh air. Help me get him outside."
"What's wrong with the air in here?"
He didn't seem to require an answer as he placed his good arm around Quin. Between us, we managed to get him to stand, and he stumbled out through the door and down the front steps. He collapsed against the coach, rocking it, and sucked in deep breaths.
