by Jill Jones
Her words caught Keely completely off guard. “What makes ye say a thing such as that? I am not going to be the Healer. I am not of your line. Besides, I would never wish to be the Healer.”
At that, Erica gave her a strange, mocking look. “Neither did Genevieve.”
Chapter Nine
After breakfast and his intriguing encounter with Maggie Evans, Jack left the hotel and headed toward the docks where he found Kevin Spearman bent over, mending a fishing net.
“Thanks for waiting for me, pal,” Jack said dryly.
Spearman looked up at him, and his face darkened. “Waited as long as I could. Where were ye?”
“Got turned around in those caves. Couldn’t find my way out.” By the light of day, his mishap in the caves seemed no longer sinister. Maybe he’d taken a misstep, had imagined the shove against the wall. At any rate, Jack decided to drop his complaint. “Sorry about your boat. What’s it going to cost me?”
“Nothing.”
“What do you mean, nothing? I told you my client would replace it.”
“‘Twas found this morning, just up th’ coast a bit. I sent my son t’ fetch it.” He bit off a piece of thick twine.
“That’s good news,” Jack said, glad he wasn’t going to have to spend some of Garrison’s money after all. “It was fortunate it didn’t drift on out to sea.”
“Maybe.”
“Why do you say that?”
“A dead raven was found in’t. A bad omen, for sure.”
A raven. The dragon. Were all Cornish people this superstitious?
“What’d ye find out there?” Spearman wanted to know. “Were th’ Dragoners friendly?”
“I wouldn’t say that, although I got the man who calls himself the Keeper to admit the dead woman was from Keinadraig.”
Spearman pierced him with a long and, Jack thought, contemptuous look, but before he could figure out why, he heard a boat approaching. Both he and Spearman looked up to see Alyn Runyon and another man headed their way.
“They’re not carryin’ a load of fish,” Spearman commented in a worried voice. “Wonder what they want?”
“Their boat, I imagine,” Jack replied grimly, wondering if Runyon had learned that Keely had helped him steal the boat.
“What?” The Cornishman dropped his nets and stood up. “Ye stole a Dragoner boat?”
Jack pointed to the boat he’d used the night before to return from Keinadraig. “How’d you think I got here? Walked?”
“I figured one of them brought ye.” Looking distressed, he ducked into his small shack and disappeared. Jack turned to confront Alyn Runyon, who came huffing toward him, his face livid.
“Ye’re ne’re t’ step foot on Keinadraig again,” the old man said when he reached Jack. “‘Twas bad enough trespassin’ as ye did, bringin’ trouble as ye did. But stealin’ from th’ Dragon…” He shook his head, and Jack noticed a small red mark just beneath his left ear. Something about it seemed familiar, yet he couldn’t recall what tugged at his memory.
“I did not steal your boat,” Jack countered, bringing himself to his full height, standing solidly on both feet and placing his hands on his hips. “I borrowed it. After mine somehow mysteriously came…untied.” His tone was deliberately accusatory.
Runyon was unintimidated, however, and he brought his face even closer. “Ye have na idea th’ powers ye be dealin’ with, Mr. Knight. Ye have placed my niece in grave danger. Yourself as well. Begone from here before th’ Dragon’s wrath finds ye as it did Genevieve.”
Although he scorned the man’s use of the Dragon as a threat, Jack’s heart lurched at his mention of Keely. He forced himself to remain impassive, however. Any show of emotion toward Runyon’s niece would likely place her in danger, not from any dragon but rather from this old man.
“It wasn’t a Dragon that killed Genevieve, Runyon. It was a bullet. She was murdered, and it wasn’t my friend who pulled the trigger. You can threaten me all you want, but I’m not going to stop my investigation until I find out who killed her.”
He saw the stain of red deepen in the Keeper’s face. “Ye’ll be sorry, then, for sure.” With that, he turned, spoke a few words to the other man in the boat, and hobbled away down the dock. His companion turned the small craft back toward the island, and Jack expected Runyon to follow in the boat he’d borrowed. Instead, the old man left the docks and headed up the street at a brisk pace.
Jack would have been lying to himself if he’d claimed Runyon’s threats had not shaken him. Not because he believed he was in any danger from some kind of supernatural recrimination by a dragon, but because of the man’s obscure but ominous threat against Keely. His eyes followed Runyon until he turned a corner and disappeared.
Unsettled, Jack returned to the inn, where he found Maggie Evans peering out the back windows of the dining room, looking up the street where Runyon had just passed. “That’s th’ Keeper I was telling ye about,” she said, dropping the curtain.
“Where’s he going?”
She coughed nervously and darted a knowing glance at Jack. “Th’ only time he comes t’ town and takes off like that, he’s in search of a mate for someone on th’ island, like I was tellin’ ye about with my cousin’s story. They don’t drive, the Dragoners, so he goes on foot t’ the villages around here, till he finds someone either foolish enough or greedy enough to accept his offer.”
“He buys a bride?”
“Or a groom…”
An alarm went off in Jack’s head. Keely had told him she was unwed. Was Runyon off to find a groom…for her? The thought turned his stomach, but he knew that in the States, cults often used such methods for perpetuating their populations. Was she a willing participant? Or was some stranger about to be forced on her?
He returned to the docks and Kevin Spearman. “I need to rent your boat again.”
“What do ye know of Genevieve’s wishes toward becoming the Healer?” Keely was enraged at Erica’s smirk and wanted to slap it off her face. But she wanted even more to know what had happened between Genny and Ninian the night she left.
“Genevieve betrayed her sacred oath,” Erica replied, avoiding the question. “She did na deserve to be Healer. She deserved exactly what she got.”
“Ye little snip,” Keely cried, clenching her fists to control her rage. “I’d almost believe ‘twas ye who killed her.” Erica’s cunning smile sent a chill through her.
“Do ye know who killed her?”
But Erica didn’t answer. She just turned away and went toward the cottage, the doll tucked beneath her arm. When she reached the door, she looked back at Keely. “‘Twas th’ Dragon that killed Genevieve. Ye know that.”
Keely followed her inside, where she grabbed the girl by the arm and whirled her around to face her. She did not wish to disturb Ninian, but she needed to set Erica straight right now. “There is no Dragon, Erica. The Dragon is a myth.”
Erica raised one eyebrow, all pretense of a smile vanishing from her too-small face. “Ye stand in th’ house of th’ Healer and dare profane th’ Dragon?”
“Ye are too young, or too stupid, to understand that the Dragon is a symbol. Nothing more. There is no Dragon on Keinadraig, only the legend and the laws we live by. It was a human that killed Genevieve. Not a Dragon.”
“Genny scorned th’ laws. She scorned her duty. And th’ Dragon killed her,” Erica insisted, jerking her arm away from Keely’s grasp. “And if ye do na stop breaking th’ laws, th’ Dragon will kill ye, too.”
Her tone alarmed Keely. “What do ye mean, breaking the laws? I have broken no law.”
“I know ye aided th’ stranger last night. I know ye met him in th’ grove. I know ye talked with him, and that…ye let him touch you.”
Keely wanted to shriek out a denial, but she could not. She was furious that Erica had obviously spied on her all along. “Why ye…who do ye think ye are, snooping around in things that are none of your business?”
“I am the Healer. Or will be wh
en Ninian passes. Things such as thy treacherous actions will be my business.” She moved to where a large book lay open on the kitchen table and very slowly closed the cover. “I know the laws, Keely, because I have been studying them. It says in this book that no Dragoner other than the Keeper is to speak to strangers.” She paused for effect, then added, “But then, surely you know that.”
Keely stared at the book, then raised her eyes to lock her gaze on Erica’s. She be damned by the Saints if she let this girl intimidate her. “I also know that book is only to be read by the Healer. Did Ninian give you permission to…study?”
Erica’s expression changed from defiant to uneasy. She looked away and shrugged. “Ninian is sleeping. She may never awaken. I am of the bloodline of the Healer. I must prepare myself.”
It was the second time Erica had mentioned that her mother might not awaken. “Why do you think your mother will not awaken?”
“She told me she wanted to die,” Erica said simply. “It broke her heart when Genevieve refused to become Healer.” This last was spoken with bitter resentment.
“Why did Genny refuse?” Keely softened her voice, hoping to use Erica’s jealousy of her sister to find out what had happened.
Erica’s defiance returned. “Because Genevieve did not have it in her to perform certain…duties of the Healer. Genevieve was soft and lazy. She did not have the inborn qualities of a true Healer.”
“And ye do?” Keely could not keep the sarcasm from her voice.
“More than ye will ever know,” Erica replied with a curl of the lip.
Keely recalled the girl’s earlier curious comment about the succession of the Healer going to Keely instead of Erica, and she decided to find out what that had been about. “Are ye not pressing this too quickly? Mayhap the new apprentice should be chosen by Ninian.” She paused, poised to thrust her barb. “Mayhap I should reconsider what I said earlier. Mayhap it is I Ninian will choose, when she awakens.” Again she locked her eyes on Erica’s. “And she will awaken, Erica. Her grief will pass.”
“Get out,” the girl cried, and threw her doll at Keely.
But Keely was undaunted. “Ye will not threaten me again,” she replied, picking the doll off the floor and regarding the mark burned into its neck. “Ye are overstepping yourself, Erica. I know Uncle Alyn would find it interesting that ye’ve taken the apprenticeship upon yourself.” She tucked the doll under her arm as Erica had done earlier and turned to leave. She paused at the door and said, “Let us call a truce, shall we? I will not speak of this to him, and ye will not mention that I spoke with the stranger.”
Keely was shaking as she shut the door behind her. She found it difficult to believe that Genevieve and Erica had been spawned by the same parents. Genevieve was filled with goodness and light, while Erica seemed dark, evil almost. She recalled the acid smile on Erica’s face when she’d asked if the girl knew who had killed Genevieve. Of course, she could not know, but that smile left no doubt that Erica was glad somebody had done the deed.
Deeply disturbed, Keely returned to her cottage. The day had started off badly when she’d seen Alyn leave on his despicable errand, and it had gone further downhill with her encounter with Erica. What else could happen?
How Keely longed for someone to talk to. Her best friend was gone. Ninian was lost in her grief. She could not talk to Alyn, for he was no longer on her side. She had no one…
No one but the stranger.
The thought popped unbidden into her head, dangerous and tempting at the same time. Jack Knight would listen. Jack, the stranger, cared, when none of her own seemed to.
Jack had said to call him, anytime, day or night. Did she dare? Alyn was gone. The Council office would be empty.
What would she say? That Erica was a monster and Alyn not much better?
No. She would not waste precious words complaining about those two. If she called Jack, all she wanted was to hear the sound of his voice. To know he was safe. Of course, Alyn would find out later that she had made the call, when the charges came, but that did not matter to her at the moment.
She didn’t need to fetch the card that lay on her bedside table. The number was etched in her mind. Heart pounding, Keely went out the back door and through the garden gate, walking as if she had not a care in the world, as if she did not know Alyn was gone, as if she were paying her uncle a visit.
Only after she had picked up the receiver and dialed the number did she lose her nerve. Only when she heard the ring on the other end did she come to her senses. She must not do this! She must not create more trouble than she already had. Trouble for her. Trouble for Jack.
She slammed the phone down and dashed out the door, where she ran headlong into Mrs. Parsons, an odious woman with a sharp tongue and a delight in gossip.
“My dear, are you all right? You look a fright.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Parsons,” Keely croaked. “I was just looking for Uncle Alyn. I don’t suppose you have seen him?”’
The old woman’s eyes gleamed, and Keely guessed the gossip had already spread about Alyn’s errand. “Never mind. I’ll talk to him later.” And before Mrs. Parsons could corner her for further torture, Keely ran back to the safety of her cottage.
Jack waited impatiently while Kevin Spearman filled the boat’s fuel tank. Spearman had not wanted to rent to Jack again, saying he needed to use the boat himself. But Jack suspected the real reason was because Spearman was just a little afraid of the old Dragoner and thought he might put the dragon hoodoo on him if he learned he’d provided the stranger with transportation to the island.
As he waited, Jack reminded himself that he was returning to Keinadraig to learn if Genevieve’s motive for running away might have been a pending but undesired enforced marriage. It would be easier to make his inquiries with Runyon gone.
But he knew the real reason he was anxious to return was to find out if Keely herself was in any kind of similar situation. He wanted to make certain she was safe and that it was her choice to wed the man Runyon might be bringing back. He didn’t know exactly what he would do about it if it wasn’t, but at the least, he could offer her another chance to escape.
He was startled at the sound of his cell phone ringing. Taking it from where it hung on his belt, he instantly recognized the number of the incoming call that was identified on the digital screen.
It was the number at the Council office.
Keely!
He pressed the button. “Hello?” He heard a click, and the line went dead. He started to redial the number, then hesitated. If Keely had tried to call him, she would have done so in secret. Suppose someone had come into the office just as the call went through, and she’d hung up to avoid getting caught? He did not want to jeopardize her by calling back and exposing her.
“Hurry it up, would you?” He paid Spearman the exorbitant amount the man required this time, jumped into the boat, and revved the engine unmercifully.
This time, he did not head for the cliffs, but steered the boat directly toward the small harbor, his mind fixed on the phone call. Why had Keely called him? Either she had learned something relevant to the mystery of Genevieve’s murder, or she was in danger. He desperately hoped it was the former.
He did not attempt to hide his approach by beaching the boat outside the quay. He’d had enough of the secretive ways of the islanders and refused to buy into their superstitious fears. He motored straight through the narrow passageway between the two stone quays and pulled up to the dock. He tied the boat securely to a piling, double-knotting the line, then bringing it back into the boat and wrapping it around a seat and tying another knot. Spearman’s boat would not drift off of its own accord again.
Stepping onto the dock, Jack glanced around to check out his situation. This time, he’d caught the town out in the open, for he saw more than a dozen people in the square. They were not exactly busily going about their daily routine, however. They all seemed frozen to the spot, gaping at him. The only person who didn’t s
eem surprised to see a stranger in the dragon’s lair was a girl in her early teens who was jumping a rope by the sea wall. Jack approached her.
“Excuse me, miss. Can you direct me to Keely Cochrane?” he asked.
The girl stopped jumping and gave him an insolent glare, as if angry that he’d interrupted her play. “Strangers are na to come here,” she informed him.
“I am here on business,” Jack replied. “Police business.” Thinking he was wasting his time, he started on down the quay.
“Wait,” called the girl. “I will take ye to her.”
He followed her, ignoring the open stares of the townspeople. She led him up the same street he’d traversed yesterday, past the Council office, to a cottage on the corner of a crosslane. She did not knock, but walked right in and nodded for him to follow. Inside, he saw that the cottage did not contain living quarters as he’d expected, but rather was set up like a pub, with small, lace-covered tables and a dark wooden bar along the back wall. Conversation among the handful of customers ceased when they saw Jack.
“This stranger has come to see Keely,” the girl announced, loudly and pointedly.
Jack stiffened. Why hadn’t he told the girl he needed to see Keely in private? But he quickly surmised that the girl was a mischief maker and was undoubtedly taking great delight in stirring up trouble. Was she like this with everyone, he wondered, or did she have some kind of personal vendetta against Keely?
Before she could speak further, however, the door at the back of the room swished open and Keely entered, carrying two plates of steaming food. She did not see Jack at first, as she set the meals in front of customers at the bar. “Fresh made pasties, hot from the oven,” she announced.
It must have been the astonished look on their faces or their dumbfounded silence that told her something was wrong, for she immediately skimmed her gaze around the room. Her mouth dropped open when she saw the stranger.
“Jack! Whatever are you doing here?” she cried, then covered her mouth with her apron.
