Voice Of The Demon (Book 2) (64 page)

‘But perhaps you didn’t fail. Perhaps somehow you controlled the power . . . so that it wouldn’t. . .’

He turned and faced her again, his hands behind his back. In his eyes was a strange light, almost of amusement. ‘I had
no control at all, Jenny. None. That’s the way it works. I didn’t even manage to kill the Angel of Darkness.’

‘He escaped?’

‘Finnlay sensed him after dawn. Just for a moment, before the man began shielding. I probably should have gone after him, but after last night?’ Robert came back around the altar. He was silent for a second, then he frowned. ‘I’m afraid to leave you.’

And Jenn was afraid for him to go – but what could she say? What could either of them say? Only pale words to give in place of comfort. ‘I’ll survive, Robert.’

She could see his hands reach for her again, but he stopped and took a step back, allowing himself merely to look at her. She could have stood there looking at him for ever, but a soft sound from beyond the door reminded her of the other reason she’d come in here secretly. Abruptly, her heart leaped into her throat. With a hand raised to Robert, she backed away and opened the door. Addie stood outside, her attention taken up by the baby in her arms. She saw Jenn and brought him over. Jenn took him with a smile.

‘Go back to my room now, Addie. I won’t be long.’

Jenn turned back into the chapel and closed the door behind her. She moved forward until Robert could see what she carried. With her voice trembling softly, she said, ‘Will you meet my son?’

For a second she feared he would refuse, but then he came forward. He didn’t look at the child in her arms; he looked at her. ‘You’re going to do the Presentation yourself?’

Again, Jenn felt tears threatening her resolve. This time she gained control. ‘Father wanted to do it. I wanted him as well. I couldn’t care less if Eachern were here or not.’

‘A good thing he’s not, then.’

‘With no male relative available, all I can do is Present him myself, with my father’s ghost as witness.’

‘Jenny, I would be—’ Robert paused, his face creased, ‘—I would be honoured if you would allow me to Present your son, on his father’s – no, his grandfather’s behalf. It is permitted, you know.’

Hardly daring to hope, Jenn nodded jerkily. ‘Are you sure?’

‘What is he to be named?’

‘The name which has been carried down through my family since the first royal Ross.’

Robert smiled. ‘Perfect. Come, let’s do it before anyone finds out we’re here.’

Her heart beating wildly, Jenn followed Robert to the foot of the altar. Then Robert turned to her and took the baby. She watched as he pulled back the blanket from around the baby’s face.

‘He looks like you. I’m glad.’ Robert held the boy high in the air. Like a true Ross – and a true Douglas – he made no sound as his father began the Presentation. ‘Blessed Mineah and Divine Serinleth, I call upon you to witness a new soul among your flock. This is your child and the child of my beloved Jenny. I Present you to her son, Andrew. I pray you keep him safe within your love, the love you hold for all our souls.’ With that, Robert traced the trium upon the baby’s brow and turned back to Jenn.

She couldn’t help it. There were more tears in her eyes, but this time she couldn’t tell Robert why. He handed Andrew back to her, then touched her face to wipe away the tears. ‘He forgave you, Jenny. Jacob forgave you.’

‘Oh, Robert. . .’

‘Come,’ he murmured softly, putting his arm around her shoulders. He kissed her forehead and turned towards the door. ‘I’ll take you back. You’re exhausted and I don’t think young Andrew likes this place much.’

As though proving him prophetic, Andrew began to squirm in Jenn’s arms and before they were far along the corridor, he let out a huge wail which echoed through the empty castle. Jenn didn’t try to quieten him. It would be a long time before he would have another chance to bellow in the house where he was born.

*

Aiden reached up to the light summer cloak thrown across his horse’s back. Lady Bella had given it to him from her
father’s wardrobe. It didn’t quite fit, but it would do for a cool, frosty morning like this.

He pulled the cloak around his shoulders and glanced behind at the others as they all readied themselves for their own journeys. The great walls of the castle stood in ruins behind them, warmed by a summer sun still shy in the sky. The few Elita retainers left were busy saddling horses, loading what goods they could carry. The injured Finnlay leaned on Shane’s arm as Jennifer gave them some instructions.

‘What are you staring at?’

Aiden looked over his shoulder to where Robert was adjusting the bridle on his horse. The ghostly look of the previous day had almost gone. In its place was a refreshing calm Aiden had never seen before. ‘I was just thinking about what you said last night. About coming back to Lusara.’

‘I didn’t say anything about coming back.’

‘That’s what I mean.’

Robert straightened up and pointed a finger at Aiden’s chest. ‘Don’t you start.’

Behind him, unseen, Micah was waiting by his own horse, an innocent expression warming the chilly morn.

‘Have you told the others what you’re going to do?’ Aiden continued.

‘How can I? I don’t know myself yet.’ Robert turned back to the horse, clearly unconcerned.

Aiden smiled. Robert did know – even if he wouldn’t talk about it yet. As though sensing his thoughts, Robert shot him a wry glance. ‘Well, you were the one who said my inaction hadn’t produced any favourable results and that I should try something else. Let’s face it – we’ll both be surprised if it turns out you were right.’

‘So what are you going to do?’

Robert left the horse and put his hand on Aiden’s shoulder. ‘Right now I’m going to say goodbye to my friends. Come.’

Most of the others were mounted up now, but Finnlay and Jennifer waited. Aiden approached Jenn with an easy smile. ‘Take care, my child, in the coming weeks. I must admit, if I were a man who paid attention to signs and portents, I hardly think your son could have had a more
profound entrance into the world.’ He leaned forward, kissed her forehead and laid a hand on Andrew’s head. ‘I will pray for you both.’

‘Thank you, Father. I wish you well.’

At that moment, Robert appeared at his side, his eyes on Jenn. Aiden would have moved back, but the touch of Robert’s hand on his elbow made him pause.

‘I won’t be able to send word,’ Robert began, not attempting to keep his voice low. ‘Not for a long time. But you stick to your story. Blame me for everything.’

‘But—’

‘Jenny, I won’t have you argue this,’ Robert held up his hands. ‘My reputation is gone – what there was of it. You sacrifice whatever you must in order to survive. Do you understand me?’

Jennifer met his gaze and pulled in her lower lip. Slowly she nodded, as if she didn’t trust herself to speak.

With that, Robert began to turn for his horse but paused. He faced her once more, his shoulders squared. ‘You just remember what I told you. At the old mill.’ He took a breath. ‘You remember that.’

Abruptly Robert was steering Aiden and Micah towards their horses. They mounted up. Robert raised a hand in farewell and turned his horse. Then they were galloping across the blackened field towards the forest. After a moment, Aiden looked at him. Robert was smiling.

‘What’s that for?’

Robert glanced aside and slowed his horse to enter the wood. ‘I’m experiencing the strangest sensation. I’ve never felt anything like it before. It’s odd.’

‘Describe it to me.’

‘I don’t think I can.’ Robert glanced at him again, then at Micah, the smile widening. ‘But if I could, I think you could give it a name.’

The mood was impossible to miss. Aiden raised his eyebrows and willingly took the bait. ‘And what name would I give this strange feeling you suddenly have?’

‘I think,’ Robert laughed, ‘you’d call it freedom.’

*

As Robert rode into the shadows of the forest, Finnlay turned to Jenn. Her eyes remained on the empty distance.

Finnlay looked at the others waiting, then murmured, ‘You didn’t tell him, did you?’

‘No.’ Jenn replied.

‘He wouldn’t have gone, would he?’

‘No.’

‘And you don’t think he’ll come back.’

Jenn turned and faced Finnlay squarely, but said nothing.

‘Come.’ Finnlay limped towards her. ‘Give me the baby and let Shane help you to your horse. We’ve got to get moving.’

‘Do you know how to hold him?’ Jenn asked.

‘Of course! What do you take me for?’ He reached out, then added quickly, ‘Don’t answer that.’

With the briefest smile, Jenn laid Andrew in Finnlay’s arms, then turned to mount her horse. Finnlay stepped back to allow her room and turned his gaze on the boy. He was awake and looking up at Finnlay with eyes of the brightest blue, matching the early morning sky. In truth, this was the first time Finnlay had ever held a baby. It was certainly the first time he’d held his nephew. But, child though Andrew was, it was still impossible not to see the truth Jenn had refused to speak of.

Andrew Ross Douglas, born Earl of Elita and one day Duke of Eachern. This child was also the only true heir to the throne of Lusara.

Read on for the first chapter of the Third Book of the Elita:
BLACK EAGLE RISING

A puff of flame bellowed out above the crowd, then quickly disappeared, leaving sighs of amazement in its wake. The onlookers offered applause and an expectant silence, waiting for the next feat. Balancing on top of his pedestal, the fire-eater somersaulted into the air and caught two batons of burning flames before he landed. Instinctively, the audience pressed back, both afraid and fascinated at the same time. The fire-eater spun around in front of them, waving the torches, then, with great ceremony, raised one above his mouth, lowered it – and extinguished the fire completely. The crowd roared with approval.

Archdeacon Godfrey, priest and Guilde Chaplain, stood on the fringes of the group, watching the crowd almost as much as the performers. They were entranced; Godfrey envied them. They really believed the man was eating that fire – they wanted the illusion.

Godfrey turned to another corner, on the opposite side of the castle courtyard, where more cheers split the midwinter night. He pressed his way towards it, glimpsing little more of the tumblers than the occasional figure flying through the air.

It seemed all of Marsay had squashed itself into the enclosure for these Caslemas celebrations – far more than had attended the church services earlier in the day. The King had appeared for mass in the Basilica, but he’d left quickly afterwards and immediately buried himself in these more secular activities. The festival of Caslemas was to honour the goddess Mineah, but any worship of the gods on this most sacred day of the religious calendar appeared little more than perfunctory. Even the winter-green decorations hanging from the castle walls had a pagan touch to them. The people – led by their King – were more interested in the vats of wine and ale which lined the walls, the smell of beef roasting and the tasty sweetcakes sold by bakers near the gate.

A flash of light illuminated the darkness near the tumblers and
Godfrey tried to get closer. Only occasionally would anyone notice his priest’s robes and make space for him. He came to a halt behind a group of children who squealed and laughed at the performers. There were a dozen grown men, juggling now. Bottles of green glass and flaming torches were tossed between them, looping and spinning: a display of delicate balance and coordination amidst a flurry of dangers.

‘Good evening, Father.’

Godfrey barely turned at the sound to his right. He would know Murdoch’s voice anywhere, regardless of the crowd noise. ‘You came after all.’

‘There seemed no point staying away. Besides, I love a good show – even if the cost of all this comes directly out of our taxes. Perhaps I could interest you in a cup of ale?’

Godfrey said nothing. Instead, he glanced around to see if anybody at all was paying attention to him. By the time he stepped back from the tumblers, Murdoch was already gone. Godfrey found him again in a quiet spot beside the castle gate, two cups of frothy ale in his hands. Behind him, the shadow of the Basilica and beyond that, the city, stretched down the island hill to stop before the waters of the Vitala River. Murdoch had chosen a good spot, out of view of the royal pavilion to the left and conveniently hidden from the prying eyes of any guards close by – and nobody could get close enough to listen.

‘As cautious as ever,’ Godfrey murmured, taking a swallow of ale.

‘We’ve had a good run, you and I, over the past few years. If anybody has ever seen us talking, they’ve thought nothing of it, and we both know how important it is to keep it that way.’

‘Indeed,’ Godfrey added quietly. He kept his gaze on the crowd before him, but the bulky presence of Murdoch was impossible to ignore. ‘I don’t suppose you have anything new to tell me?’

‘Of Robert? No, I’ve not seen him for six months.’

‘But do you have any idea where he is? What he’s doing?’

‘What? Impatience from you, Father?’

Godfrey glanced aside. Murdoch was watching him from under thick brows. ‘It’s been five years, Murdoch, going on for six. How many times has he been to see you? Perhaps ten? Am I – or your people – any the wiser as to what he plans?’

‘No.’

‘Are the lives of our people any better?’

‘No.’

‘Is there any immediate hope that that will change?’

‘Not that I can see.’

‘Then I think I’m allowed a little impatience.’

‘As are we all.’ Murdoch shrugged and took a good long pull at his ale. ‘His brother and mother especially. They haven’t seen Robert at all.’

Godfrey bit his tongue and looked away. He’d deserved that.

‘I know how it is for you,’ Murdoch continued, softer but no gentler. ‘You live a precarious life, balanced between what you believe in and those you would fight. You know as well as I do that every time Robert comes in secret to Marsay, he risks his life. How much hope would we have if he was caught and executed? Ever since that night at Elita, the whole world has known he is a sorcerer.’