The Secrets of Shadows

by Waite, Tabetha

  He bared his fangs as he crouched before Cosette’s limp form, causing the rest of the assembled to back up in horror at the menacing sight he presented.

  Get on my back.

  Cosette nodded her understanding. Her arms shook as she sat up. Davien thought he would never forget the sight of her tear-streaked face, her lovely dark hair in tangled disarray across her shoulders. He knew he would also never forgive the men here for putting her through this horror. Or allow himself to assuage the guilt for leaving her here to begin with.

  After she had crawled across his back and grasped onto his black fur, Davien let loose a terrifying howl that cleared the path for their exit.

  His stride never slowed as he put distance between them and the Abbey. He stopped only when he reached the tall, iron gates surrounding Shadowlawn. Resuming human form, he cradled Cosette in his arms. She was shivering from shock. He could feel the warmth of her blood soaking his shirt, the marks across her back having torn open that lovely, delicate flesh. The sight made him want to return to the Abbey and deal with every single bastard that had dared to hurt her.

  The moment he walked in the front door, he wasn’t surprised to see Charlotte appear at the top of the stairs. The instant she noticed Cosette in his arms, she gasped in alarm. “Oh, dear God. Wot did they do t’ her?”

  He didn’t answer, merely walked up the steps and strode toward their bedchamber.

  Charlotte was right behind him, dogging his heels. “Where are ye goin’? She needs a doctor!”

  He whipped his head back to her, causing her to back up a step in alarm. At the moment he didn’t care if she saw the glowing eyes of the beast. Cosette was his main concern and nothing else mattered. “I will see to her needs.”

  He slammed the bedchamber door.

  ~ ~ ~

  Cosette couldn’t stop trembling. She wasn’t cold, even when Davien stripped her bare. Or scared. It was the memory of the horrors she’d committed this night that were burned into her mind. If she were awake or asleep, she knew that man’s lifeless eyes would never leave her sight. “I killed him . . . I killed him . . . I killed him . . .” She couldn’t seem to stop repeating those words. Even when the men of the Order had come running and saw what she’d done, dragging her out of her cell for their own brand of personal sentencing, she kept murmuring it over and over. When they condemned her as a witch, she didn’t deny it. When they said she would hang for her crimes, she didn’t beg or plead for her life.

  Because she was already slowly dying on the inside.

  “You didn’t kill him. The voice controlling your locket did.”

  Davien’s voice was firm, but gentle when he spoke from behind her. She closed her eyes with a combination of relief—and sheer panic. She was lying on her stomach in their chamber, in the room she never thought to see again.

  How she wished she wasn’t here now.

  After the heinous acts that she’d committed, Cosette had no doubt that the voice would attempt to finish what it had set out to do when she had been at Shadowlawn before: kill Blackburn.

  Cosette wouldn’t let that happen, even if she had to end her own life to do it.

  She hissed at the first touch of the cold, wet cloth against the burning lashes crisscrossing her back, but she didn’t cry out. Even when she was a child and the cane had been laid against her flesh, did she even make the smallest whimper.

  She didn’t know how much time passed as Davien carefully cleaned her wounds, and bathed the rest of her body. She fell in and out of consciousness although she felt his tender hands on her back in order to minister a soothing cream.

  Cosette must have finally fallen asleep for a good while, for when her eyes opened, the sun was streaming brightly through her window. She tried to move, but the slightest action caused pain to shoot through her body. It throbbed from the abuse she’d endured, so she laid still and shut her eyes once more.

  The second time she awoke, it was to the scent of steaming food. She looked at the silver tray beside the bed. Her mouth watered, and this time, even though every movement protested in agony, she was able to struggle to a sitting position. But the moment she glanced down, her appetite vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

  The gown from the Abbey was still on the floor—the one covered in bloodstains.

  As if attuned to her every thought or feeling, the door opened to reveal Davien. He held a clean, white shift in his hands. “I would have brought this earlier, but I didn’t want to bother you while you slept.”

  His handsome face was so uncertain, so heart wrenching, that Cosette couldn’t help but hold out her hand to him. He came forward and interlaced his fingers through hers. And because everything else she might have said seemed inconsequential, she whispered two simple words that carried a wealth of meaning. “Thank you.”

  He didn’t reply, but she could see the darkening of his eyes, the swirling contentment of the beast inside. He drew her to her feet. She stood naked before him, but there was no desire in his expression, only a kindness that touched her heart as he slipped the light material of the clean garment over her head. It brushed against her back with a slight discomfort, but she didn’t complain. Anything was better than what she had been wearing.

  “Shall I make a plate for you?”

  He gestured to the tray, and in spite of her earlier distress, she couldn’t deny him. She knew that she would eat every single bite he gave her, even if it threatened to come back up the moment he left.

  However, the instant the feast before her was revealed, that ravaging hunger returned. She’d had little to eat the past few days, and with the first bite of mutton, her stomach craved more. Once that was gone, she quickly consumed some white soup, cheese, and freshly baked bread, before finishing off her meal with pudding and a rich warm chocolate to drink. When she finally set down her knife and fork, she felt, if not necessarily relieved, but more like herself.

  Davien had stayed by her side the entire time, watching in quiet contemplation as she ate. After she was done, she looked at him and saw a pleased smile curving his lips. She returned the gesture. “That was wonderful.”

  He reached out and ran the back of his hand down her cheek. “I’m just glad to see some of the color returning to your cheeks. You were so . . . pale.”

  His throat bobbed as she brought his hand to her lips to bestow a kiss on his palm.

  “I suppose I can’t keep Charlotte from your room any longer.” He sighed heavily. “That woman is relentless.”

  Cosette’s smile grew, but it was tight, as if it had been years since she’d used those muscles. “She’s only concerned.”

  He snorted. “She’s a shrew, but she has nearly nursed Quinn back to full health, so I am indebted to her for that.” He shook his head. “This morning she made him take her down to the stables. The funny thing is that he didn’t seem to mind it that she was ordering him around.”

  “She has a way about her, that’s for sure.”

  He leaned forward and gave her a brief kiss on the lips. “I’ll send her in.”

  Davien departed, only to have a fiery red head sail through the door moments later. “Well, it’s aboot time that man allowed me in t’ see my friend. He’s like a dog with a bone where yer concerned.”

  “He’s just protective.”

  Charlotte sat down beside her and took her hands in her own. Her green eyes were compassionate and filled with sympathy as they looked at her. “I shouldna never allowed ye t’ take my place. Just look what they did t’ ye.”

  Cosette squeezed her hands. “They were . . . provoked.”

  She couldn’t very well tell Charlotte that she’d murdered a man in cold blood without having to explain the sordid reasons why. It was a hard enough accounting for Cosette to swallow. She could just imagine Charlotte’s reaction if she knew the
woman she’d known for years, the one she’d toiled next to at the workhouse, was controlled by something otherworldly, something beyond human understanding.

  “At least yer here now, an’ that’s what matters.” She tilted her head to the side. “How did th’ duke manage t’ rescue ye?”

  Again, Cosette had to tread lightly. She hated to lie to Charlotte, but she had no choice. “I was able to escape,” she hedged. “When one of the Brothers brought me my evening meal, I distracted him and got away.”

  “Ye were more successful than I was,” Charlotte replied sourly. “They didn’t hang around long enough for me t’ even throw my shoe a’ their blasted head.”

  “I’m sure, that given the right opportunity, you would have succeeded. Your determination is what has always inspired me.”

  Instantly, those green eyes filled with moisture. “That’ll be enough o’ that,” Charlotte chided with a sniff. “I dinna need t’ be cryin’ an’ bleatin’ like a goat.” She wiped her eyes impatiently, once more composed. “What are ye plannin’ t’ do now?” She gestured to the elegant room they were in. “I dinna see ye returnin’ t’ the workhouse after livin’ in such fine conditions.”

  Cosette had posed that question to herself more than once. “I honestly don’t know.” She paused. “I’ve actually thought about leaving England.”

  “Goin’ back t’ France?”

  Cosette nearly cringed, thinking of the last time she’d been there. She shook her head and removed her hands from Charlotte’s grasp. “I’ve seen all I want of that place. I thought perhaps Ireland? Or Scotland? Or maybe somewhere else on the continent? I’ve heard Italy is nice.”

  Charlotte was silent for a moment, before she asked, “Are ye sure that’s what ye want t’ do? What if th’ duke don’t like th’ idea of ye leavin’ Shadowlawn?”

  “I’m free to come and go as I please. He doesn’t have any hold over me.”

  “Is that so?” Charlotte eyed her skeptically. “Because it seems t’ me that he’s rather fond o’ ye, so I guess th’ question is, how do ye feel aboot him?”

  Cosette picked at a stray strand on the counterpane with a slight frown, because the truth was, she didn’t have an answer to that.

  Chapter 22

  For the next week, Cosette did little more than eat and sleep. Charlotte came by her room often to chat, the latter carrying most of the conversation. Most of her stories consisted of Quinn and what they’d been doing, along with a heavy amount of eye rolling when it came to any mention of Davien. But even though her friend might act like they were constantly at odds, Cosette knew that they had settled into a companionable, if not almost respectable, acquaintance for her sake.

  Davien also checked in on Cosette, but it was only when she ate, likely to make sure she cleaned her plate, to apply more of that soothing cream to her back, and when he thought she was resting. More than once she’d felt his shadowed, comforting presence in the middle of the night. He never joined her on the bed, but she knew that he was there, watching over her like a dark angel.

  At least, if nothing else could be said during her convalescence, it was that the voice had remained silent. Then again, it had proved a point by breaking out of the walls of the Abbey to cause havoc. Its quest for bloodlust must be content for the moment.

  Finally, after nearly six full days of bed rest, Cosette could move without her body screaming in pain. The dull throbbing deep in her bones she could endure. Since all of her clothes were still in her chamber, she dug into Davien’s wardrobe and found one of his banyans to wear. She had to smile, for the ivory garment with its dark red stripes was likely the most colorful thing that he owned. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and pulled the delicate silk around her body, fastening the line of buttons up the front. She brought the collar up around her face to breathe in Davien’s familiar scent, which still clung to the fabric.

  Her feet were bare as she padded across the carpet, relishing the feel of the softness on her toes. But even the cold of the hard wood was a welcome feeling, because everything around her was part of Shadowlawn—part of Davien.

  She opened the door, making it only a handful of steps into the hallway before Davien accosted her from the opposite side. His steps slowed as he saw her, eventually coming to a stop. He looked tired, but he was still the most handsome, intriguing man she’d ever laid eyes on. He still wore his usual black, evidenced by his trousers and waistcoat, although he had dared to don a white shirt and cravat. The contrast made him even more appealing, if such a thing were even possible.

  “What are you doing out of bed?”

  His curt demand didn’t annoy her, but caused her to smile. “I thought I would go downstairs to the library for a while.”

  He frowned. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  She nodded. “I’m feeling better. The stiffness has subsided.”

  He paused. “I’m glad the cream seems to be working.” He walked to her and offered his arm, as gallant as any other gentleman. “Allow me to escort you?”

  “Certainly, Your Grace.”

  Those dark eyes glittered at the use of his title, although his lips twitched. “Some day, very soon, you will pay for that, madam.”

  They were nearly downstairs when there was a furious pounding at the front door. Cosette gasped, while Davien’s arm flexed beneath her grasp. Upon hearing the commotion, Charlotte and Quinn came running into the foyer from the dining hall.

  “Wot’s goin’ on?” Charlotte demanded.

  Davien kept silent as he led Cosette to the library, ignoring the continued demand for entry that was echoing their every step. “Stay here,” he ordered, passing Charlotte and Quinn on his way back over the threshold.

  “It sounds like they’re goin’ t’ rip th’ door right off th’ hinges,” Charlotte huffed.

  Cosette remained silent, but her hands curled into fists. She could only think of one reason that someone might be calling at the duke’s residence. It was because Dashwood had led the authorities here—for her.

  It appeared that her temporary freedom had come to an end.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Open in the name of His Majesty, King George III!”

  Davien tensed at the sharp command, but he was careful to keep an outward nonchalance as he opened the door. Before him stood at least a dozen red-coated soldiers. One man, a leftenant, stood out from the rest, along with his companion, Sir Francis Dashwood.

  He wasn’t surprised to see him. In fact, he’d been anticipating the day they came to collect Cosette for the crime of murder.

  But what they didn’t count on was the lengths he was willing to traverse to see that Cosette remained safe.

  He adopted a bored pose. “Ah, gentleman. To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

  The leftenant his face completely impassive, said firmly, “We are here to arrest Miss Cosette du Buoir, for the murder of Lord Alfred James Barker, the son of the Earl of Canfield. We were told that we would find her here.”

  “Under whose authority?” Davien asked, although he already knew the answer.

  “Mine,” Dashwood returned smoothly. “I saw the entire incident take place before my very eyes. It was quite gruesome. I’m rather surprised that you still have her under your roof.”

  Davien crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, leaving his ‘guests’ to remain on his front steps. “If I recall matters correctly he was attempting to force her to do something that she didn’t want to do. The way I see it, she committed no crime if she was merely defending herself.”

  Dashwood smiled in a tolerant manner. “You know that was not the way of it. She attacked him without provocation or cause. And she will hang for it.”

  “Nonsense.” Davien waved a hand, causing Dashwood’s eyes to narrow, but he turned his attention back to
the leftenant. “If all you have for a witness testimony is Sir Francis, then I’m afraid you’re wasting all of our time. Cosette has been under my protection for some time now, and Dashwood laments that fact. I fear all we have here is a crime of jealous revenge. He’s merely trying to ruffle my feathers.”

  “How dare you spew these barefaced lies!” Dashwood snarled, his confidence, along with his composure, starting to crumble.

  Perfect. It would make the next part of Davien’s plan so much easier to carry out.

  Davien rolled his eyes at the leftenant for effect. “How he does droll on, don’t you agree, gentleman?” A few of the soldiers chuckled, earning a dark glare from Dashwood. Davien merely inspected his fingernails, adopting a perfect air of calm. “Personally, I think if you should look to anyone’s doorstep for poor behavior, it might be Dashwood himself.”

  “You vile bastard!” Sir Francis snarled, but when he would have taken a step toward Davien, the leftenant held out an arm.

  “We apologize for taking up so much of your time, Your Grace. There has obviously been a terrible misunderstanding.”

  Dashwood’s face turned an alarming, mottled shade of red. “You can not mean to allow—”

  The leftenant turned to Dashwood. “We’re finished here,” he said with an air of authority. He turned and retreated down the steps, the other soldiers following suit.

  Dashwood turned back to Davien, murderous intent sparking in his gaze. “You’ll regret this, Blackburn.”

  Davien merely smiled, but he knew it didn’t reach his eyes. “Not as much as you will. I shall personally see to that.”