“Enough,” she repeated. “I have not granted you the power to speak to me or through me.”
It was bravado as much as anything else. Any notion that she had authority there was ridiculous. But for the moment, at least, they were respecting it.
“Only one of you may speak to me, so choose wisely—and quietly—amongst yourselves,” she uttered.
After a moment a whisper came. Low, faint, but not weak. No. Distant. “You must remain here with us. If she has your power we will never be free.”
“Who? Who would have my power and use it against you?” Leola demanded.
“Igrida the Betrayer,” the voice whispered again. “She has trapped us here… pinned like a fly in a web. We grow weaker, fading more and more, as she grows stronger by siphoning the strength of people like you.”
“She cannot have my strength. I have ways of protecting myself against her,” Leola protested.
“As you protected yourself against us?”
Leola arched one eyebrow at that superior tone as she managed to struggle to a sitting position. “You concealed yourselves and your powers until I was too close to shield myself from them. You lured me here under false pretenses.”
“As Igrida has lured every bride to Cysgod Lys. She feeds on them as she will the newest one… and that will be a disaster for us all. As will the child growing in the belly of the vile one.”
“If you are aware of so much, why are your warnings just vague rantings to stay here. If you tell us what we need to know to defeat her—.”
“You cannot defeat her. The best you can hope for is to be far, far from here when her plan comes to fruition. If she is born again—.”
Leola struggled to her feet. “Born again? Is that Mrs. Llewellyn’s role in this? Is she to sacrifice her child so that Igrida might once again be part of the mortal world?”
“It is not a sacrifice! That child was created to be a vessel for evil!”
It all became clear. In that moment, with that single piece of information, Leola understood something that she had not known. “The child isn’t of Llewellyn blood. It can’t be. They have been the last line of defense between her and this scheme for centuries, haven’t they?”
“If Igrida is reborn, she will not be mortal. If that devil has flesh once more, all of hell will take a fleshly form with her and this world shall become a dark, dark place… Flee from here. Take the young woman with you and put a stake through the heart of the witch who would help her.”
Leola was alone. Instantly. She’d felt the presence of what had seemed thousands surrounding her. But they had respected her wishes and spoken with only one voice, and in doing so, had managed to show her the truth.
Still shaking, her knees trembling and her head pounding from the sheer amount of power that had coursed through her for the last few moments, Leola fled the moor to return to the house. She had neared the house, just passing the last stand of trees that flanked the lane, but before she had reach the relative safety of Cysgod Lys she found herself facing Mrs. Llewellyn. Frances. Her blonde beauty was icy cold and in her blue eyes Leola saw only death.
“You appear to have taken quite a tumble, Madame Leola,” Frances said coolly. “It would be a shame for you to injure yourself.”
“I did take a tumble, but I am quite well, Mrs. Llewellyn. I do need to tidy up, however. If you’d excuse me?” Leola asked, attempting to brazen it out.
“I think not. You see, I know with whom you’ve been speaking.”
Leola’s blood froze. “And who is that?”
“The first,” Frances replied. “The very first of her many sacrifices… the ones that have fueled her on this journey to claim power like no mere mortal could hold.”
“And the child in your belly? Will its small, fragile body be able to contain such a thing?”
“Not all of it,” Frances said with a smile. “And that is why part of it will be given into my care. You are a threat to our plan, Madame Leola, and that cannot be permitted.”
Before Leola could react, Frances raised her hand high. The silver blade of an elaborate dagger winked once in the pale sunlight and then came swiping down in one vicious arc. It caught Leola’s shoulder, slashing through the layers of fabric and into her flesh. Leola stumbled backward. But she didn’t flee toward the trees. She went to the place where she knew Frances would not follow. The moor. It might be her final resting place, but she would die there on her own terms, at least, and deny Frances the power she might claim along with her own life.
As Leola breached the stone fence, Frances stopped short in pursuit.
“You cannot hide there forever.”
“I’ll die right here. Here on this land where you cannot cross because the dead here have managed to retain their own will,” Leola said. She was weakening. She could feel the blood seeping through her clothing, dripping from her fingertips onto the ground that had already seen so much bloodshed already.
Frances moved forward, but as she reached the threshold to the moor, the wind picked up. It blew fiercely buffeting the other woman so much that she could not take that last step forward. The force of it sent her sprawling backward, even as Leola sank to her knees, dizzy and weak.
Frances picked herself up and smiled coldly. “It doesn’t matter. You’ll die and rot where you lay.”
Leola watched the other woman turn and walk away, even as darkness claimed her.
14
Adelaide’s gaze was focused on the window, but the passing scenery outside was all but invisible to her. A terrible sense of foreboding had settled over her almost since they left the church. Her initial relief at having the book in possession of someone who could be trusted not to use the dark power it contained had fled in the face of her certainty that something awful had occurred.
“You’ve been fidgeting since we left the church,” Eldren commented. “What is it?”
“Something is terribly wrong.”
“Do you want to go back for the book? I’m not keen to have it in our possession, but if you are concerned—.”
“It isn’t the book.” Adelaide shook her head as a frisson of fear snaked up her spine.
Suddenly a terrible pain speared through her shoulder and down her arm. She felt cold. Shivering and trembling, her voice quavered as she urged, “Tell the driver to hurry, Eldren.”
He tapped on the roof. “Is it Frances?”
Adelaide wrapped her arms around herself. “No. It’s Madame Leola. Oh, Eldren. It’s terrible!”
“When we get to the house—.”
“Not the house. The moor. We must hurry. If we do not reach her soon, it will be too late.”
It felt as if her lungs would not expand to let her draw breath. Pain and fear mingled inside her, her muscles seizing with it and a sick feeling settling deep inside her. One thought kept spiraling through her mind, over and over again. What if they were too late?
The vision swimming in her mind, of Madame Leola collapsed on the ground, bleeding and pale, hammered at her senses. Her mind whirled with it even as her heart raced and the blood rushed in her veins. The rumbling sound of the carriage wheels seemed to grow louder inside her mind. The sensation of breathlessness increased. Her lungs burned and she could feel her vision dimming around the edge. Feeling smothered and confined, Adelaide reached for the closure of her jacket, tugging at the buttons and trying to free them.
Eldren moved across the expanse of the carriage and settled onto the seat beside her. His hands closed over hers, pushing them aside. He then gently freed the buttons for her. “Adelaide, my darling, you must breathe.”
“I can’t,” she gasped.
“You must,” he said. “I cannot find Madame Leola without you.”
That penetrated the haze. She looked up and met his gaze. Staring into his eyes for a moment helped to ease her panic. It allowed her to focus, to breathe in and out until her lungs no longer burned with it. “It’s the entrance closest to the house,” she said. “We have to ge
t to her, Eldren. I fear she will die if we do not. She’s hurt and bleeding.”
“What happened to her, Adelaide?”
Adelaide shook her head. “I don’t know… But it wasn’t an accident. Someone harmed her intentionally. I can feel the violence of it. Anger and rage! It’s all there, flooding through me, along with Madame Leola’s pain and fear.”
His expression revealed his concern for her, but also his doubt. “Adelaide how has this talent manifested in you so suddenly?”
He thought she was mad. She could see it in his eyes. It stung, but at the same time, she understood. After all, she was questioning her own sanity as well. “I’m not delusional, Eldren. And this isn’t my talent. I think… I think what I’m feeling here is what Madame Leola is sending to me. It’s almost like a telegraph or a telephone.”
He stared at her for a moment before letting out a weary sigh. He rapped once more on the roof of the coach. “Stop at the northern gate to the moor!”
The driver offered up an ‘aye’ in response and nothing more was said.
Adelaide hugged her arms about herself, trying to stave off the chill that had settled over her. When at last the wheels of the coach began to slow and it was gently eased to the side of the lane, she didn’t even wait for Eldren. She simply opened the door and clambered down on her own. He followed suit.
Under normal circumstances, she would have hesitated before stepping onto the cursed land of the moor. But in the short time since her arrival, Madame Leola had become her mentor, but she’d also become a friend. Those were in short supply for Adelaide.
No sooner had she crossed the boundary than she heard the infernal whispering. But she ignored it. As terrible as it was, the sight that greeted her was far worse. Madame Leola lay on her side, her body curled into an almost fetal position. The bright crimson of her gown concealed the blood she had shed, but Adelaide could smell it. Even over the damp, peaty earth, the scent assailed her.
* * *
Eldren crossed the stone boundary of the moor for the first time in a decade. He despised the land. What it stood for, what he felt whenever he was near it—it was cursed. But as he passed Adelaide, he saw the frail figure of Madame Leola curled on her side. She looked like a broken doll, he thought.
“Christ almighty,” he mumbled as he surged forward and dropped to his knees next to her. With trepidation, he placed one hand against the pale skin of her throat. The thrum of her pulse was present, but far too weak. Carefully, he lifted her into his arms and climbed to his feet.
“It’s quicker to cut across than to climb back in the carriage and follow the lane,” Adelaide said.
Eldren eyed the expanse of the moor. It was maybe a hundred yards to the east gate. Exiting the north gate, climbing back into the coach and following the road, would be half a mile. A simple glance at Madame Leola’s pale face told the truth of it. They had no time to waste.
“Run ahead,” he instructed. “I’ll be slower carrying her. Have footmen ready to take her up the stairs and send one for the doctor. Tromley will take care of everything else.”
Adelaide nodded and then took off. She ran as hard and fast as she could, hampered by the damp ground and her skirts.
Holding the other woman to his chest, Eldren set out for the line of fence that faced Cysgod Lys. And he braced himself for the onslaught. Every step he took, he was hammered at. Voices, whispers, fleeting shadows. The moor was as haunted a place as had ever existed. Even his incredible powers of denial could not withstand the battering.
In his arms, Madame Leola let out a muffled cry. It was the only sound she’d uttered since he’d reached her side.
“I have you. You’re going to be fine.”
“Don’t let them keep me,” she murmured. “I cannot die here.”
“You’re not going to die,” he vowed. “I promise. Now hush and save your strength.”
Eldren began the arduous trek to the house. Each step felt like a battle. It wasn’t the weight of the woman in his arms. It wasn’t even the fear he felt. It seemed as if the ground itself was clutching at his feet, slowing his progress. It was like walking in heavy snow, weighted and clutching.
Her words replayed in his mind. Don’t let them keep me, she’d said. Not it, but them. It wasn’t the land that was clutching at him and holding him in place, making every step a nearly impossible task. It was unseen entities, spirits clinging to them in a way that made his blood run cold.
When at least he reached the boundary of the small stone fence, the wind began to howl and blow fiercely. So much so, that it almost kept him there. It pushed at him, tugged at his clothes. His feet slipped in the muck, sliding backward by several inches. Eldren was struggling to stay upright, to shield the already injured woman. And yet whatever forces ruled that moor, clearly had plans for them that did not involve their escape.
To his right, one of the few trees that grew there swayed alarmingly. The upper branches creaked and groaned. One by one they began to fall. It was only a matter of minutes before the entire tree came crashing down. Roots in such peaty ground would be shallow.
With the last of his strength, Eldren pushed forward against that punishing wind and managed, only just, to pass the fence line. The moment his feet touched the ground on the other side of it, the wind simply ceased. The air around them grew so still and so silent that it was somehow even more terrifying than the cacophony that had preceded it.
Against his better judgement, and yet plagued by such curiosity he could not hope to ignore it, Eldren glanced over his shoulder at the moor. It was not simply empty space beset with fog. There were figures hidden in that fog, their dark silhouettes barely visible as they meandered in and out of it in a macabre and terrifying vision.
“Give her to me!”
Eldren jumped, his heart lurching up into his throat as he turned to face Lord Mortimer who’d come rushing out of the house. He’d been so intent on what was happening behind him that he hadn’t heard the other man approach.
“In all fairness, Mortimer, I’m a younger man and far more capable of carrying her than you are,” Eldren said and took a step forward with Madame Leola still in his arms to prove the point. “But walk with me, should I falter.”
Mortimer fell in step beside him as he climbed the remaining incline to the house. There was a flurry of activity in the foyer. Maids were rushing to and fro with water and bandages. Footmen were there to relieve him of his burden and carry the injured woman up the stairs to her chamber. Tromley was issuing his edicts. And Adelaide was standing in the center of it, utterly still, her face pale and white. She looked fragile in that moment and yet he knew how very deceptive that appearance could be. There was a well of strength inside her that humbled him. And now, he was forced to admit, that there were other things inside her as well. Talents and abilities that he had no hope of understanding. In some ways, he was as afraid of her as he was for her. But his own fears could be addressed later. At the moment, it was very obvious that she needed him.
He closed the distance between them and placed his hands on her upper arms, almost forcing her to look up at him. “She’s not fully conscious, but she did speak. There is strength in her still.”
“I don’t really know what to do. I always understood that my life was very idle, and even the things I busied myself with were fairly inane and useless, but I have never felt more useless and purposeless than I do right now.”
“Your purpose now is to comfort your friend. Go upstairs, sit with her, soothe her and care for her the best you can. No one can ask more,” he said. “The doctor will arrive from the village soon enough, though I have no notion what he will do for her that we could not already. Go on, Adelaide. I mean to get some brandy for Mortimer and myself… and you if you’d like it.”
She responded with a watery laugh. “I think I may actually take you up on that. I don’t care for it at all, but no one can question its effectiveness in times of strife.”
“Go and see to her. I’
ll join you shortly.”
Watching her walk away, Eldren took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Yes, he feared these new talents that were developing within his wife, awakened by the mystic who could very well die under their roof. But he recognized in that moment that he feared life without her far more.
15
Lord Mortimer paced in the hall as the maids were helping to change Leola out of her ruined clothes. The sight of her face, so pale and still when she was normally so very animated, had left him more shaken than he cared to admit. Regret was a bitter thing, and he had many causes for it. Her recent admission had startled him, challenged him in ways he had been ill prepared for, and his reaction had created a divide between them that he now wondered if he would have an opportunity to rectify.
“We’re finished with her, my lord,” one of the maids uttered as she dipped a hasty curtsy in the hall.
“Thank you,” he said and moved past her into the room where Leola had made her confession only the night before.
She lay in the center of the bed, her face nearly as white as the linen of her gown. One shoulder had been left bare and a heavy bandage was tied over the wound, but it was already turning red with blood that still seeped far too freely. Picking up one of the many strips of linen, he folded it carefully and moved to the side of the bed and placed it over the bandage, pressing lightly in an effort to staunch the bleeding. Her lashed fluttered and then her eyes opened.
“What are you doing in here?”
“I’m attempting to take care of you, my dear,” he said softly.
“You shouldn’t. I don’t want you here… not out of guilt or obligation. I couldn’t bear it,” she said brokenly.
His eyebrows arched upward at that and a slight smile touched his lips, “Then it is a very good thing that neither of those feelings are a motivation for me.”
“John, please… just go.”
He wanted to protest, but there was a soft and hesitant knock at the door. After a moment’s hesitation, Lade Montkeith entered.
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