Daughter of Darkness (36 page)

He did not bother to respond. Taking a brace of pistols from the bag he carried, he stripped them down, cleaned them, then proceeded to load them. She tried again. ‘Why do you hate me so?’

‘You remind me of your mother.’ He stopped what he was doing to flick an unfriendly glance her way. ‘She was an evil woman who practiced the black arts.’

Pain came into her eyes at hearing her mother so maligned. ‘She didn’t appear evil to me. She was a most loving woman.’

‘What are you saying?’ Grasping her by the wrists he jerked her to her feet. ‘Do not try to bedevil me, girl. You’ve never known your mother, she died just after you were born.’ Throwing her to the floor he turned back to his task.

She bit back a sob of pain and grief, and her eyes narrowed. ‘My mother died by your hand, and was thrown into a shallow grave deep in the woods.’

‘
Liar!’
he yelled, his boot thudding into her thigh. His eyes narrowed as they gazed at her doubled-up body. Fear flickered in his eyes. ‘There’s no way you could know that.’

‘Unless she told me.’ Despite her pain, she smiled maliciously at him. ‘My mother belonged to the devil, remember? And the devil is reputed to look after his own. Marietta Givanchy rose from the grave.’ Her father’s eyes now held a gratifying fear. ‘Recently she returned, and revealed herself to me at Lytton House. She called herself Sapphire.’ Lowering her voice, she delivered her next line with relish. ‘Mama told me your soul was past redemption. Before she returned to the afterlife, she prophesied that you’d join her in hell and experience the agony of everlasting fire until the end of time.’

‘Lies,’ he said, his voice shaking. ‘You’re trying to trick me.’

‘Am I, Papa?’ She held out her bound hands. ‘Do you recognize this ring? It was on her body when you buried her alive.’

Giving a start of fear, he backed away from her. She watched him pick up his coat, then was smothered as its heavy folds envelop her. Her immediate reaction was panic. The coat stank of rotten fish and body odor, and she thought she might suffocate. About to kick it from her body, a sharp object pressed against her arm. A metal button, she guessed. Her mood became more optimistic. God was on her side after all.

Easing herself on to her side, she carefully placed her bound wrists against its serrated edge.

Willow’s cloak and boots were found where the spring tide had left a build up of sand. Gerard grinned to himself. She’d made sure they were in plain view. For one who was supposed to be in an irrational state of mind, the cloak was neatly folded.

They found her small footprints further along the cove, coming up out of the water. They headed straight towards a larger set of footprints curving from the water’s edge a little way off. ‘The marquis,’ he muttered, his earlier relief giving way to fear. There was no mistaking the peculiar indentation of the man’s twisted leg in the sand. He stared at the drag marks leading to the cave opening, then at the damp, scuffed sand scattered upon the dry. She’d not gone easily.

‘She put up a fight,’ Jeffrey observed, with more than a little pride.

‘Much good it will do her.’ Cautiously, Gerard approached the cave entrance. ‘Her temper would serve her much better if she curbed it. The marquis is infamous for his treatment of women.’

‘If he lays one finger on her I’ll kill him,’ Jeffrey growled.

‘You’ll not concern yourself with what is essentially my business.’ Gerard laid a hand on his brother’s rigid arm. ‘The marquis has challenged me, and honor dictates I meet him in a duel. He may kill me. If he does, Willow will be in the gravest peril.’

Jeffrey’s eyes filled with apprehension.

‘I know our relationship has not been as cordial of late as it should be,’ he continued, seeing his father’s face mirrored in Jeffrey’s. ‘The fault is mine. I kept my grief close inside me, and gave scant thought that those I love most, must also be grieving. I now ask for your forgiveness, Jeffrey, and would know I can count on your support.’

‘I’d die for her,’ Jeffrey said simply.

‘Do not think I’m ignorant of your regard.’ He raised his hand in a comforting gesture to Jeffrey’s shoulder as the youth dropped his eyes. ‘It does not give me offence. Loving a woman is nothing to be ashamed of.’

‘But she’s your wife.’

‘And as such must be treated with respect. Your honor will allow you to do no less.’ The smile he slipped his brother was sympathetic. ‘Willow will bear my children and provide heirs for Lytton should we survive this day. If we do not, the continuance of the title and estates will rest upon your shoulders. Until that happens, you owe your allegiance to me. You will not challenge the marquis under any circumstances. Is that clear?’

‘I understand, Gerard.’

‘If it’s any consolation to you, Jeffrey, I’ve also grown to love Willow. I would offer my life in exchange for hers.’

Their glance joined in mutual appreciation and Jeffrey gave a reluctant, but rueful smile. ‘She needs to be loved.’

‘Then you’ll understand when I ask you to go with all haste to seek out James Langland. Tell him what has happened, then alert Anthony Dowling. Go now,’ he ordered when Jeffrey hesitated. ‘There’s not a moment to lose. I dressed in such haste I omitted to arm myself.’

A quick, brotherly hug healed the breach between them. When Jeffrey hurried to do his bidding, Gerard turned his attention to the entrance to the tunnels. He doubted if the marquis was lurking inside. The man had come to kill him and wouldn’t risk being forced to fight in a confined space.

He kept in mind that the marquis would have had him murdered whilst he slept. The man’s sense of honor was dubious, and he could not now count on a fair fight. Knowing he’d be playing into his enemy’s hands if he gained entrance to Sheronwood via the tunnels, he turned his eyes towards the cliff top.

Willow tried not to sob when the metal button grazed against the blood-smeared skin on her wrists. Her wrists were chaffed almost beyond endurance, the lace cuffs of her shirt soaked through with blood. Yet the leather thong binding her still held.

Her father’s footsteps were clearly heard. She stilled her movements when he approached her, bracing herself for any cruelty he intended to inflict on her. She closed her eyes when he uncovered her head, pretending to sleep. How sweet the air was after being confined in the coat, she thought. And how thankfully brief the encounter when her father grunted and threw the coat back over her again.

He was going!
The footfalls moved out of her hearing and she waited with strained breath. She had to risk it. Throwing the coat from her body she sprang to her feet and headed for the secret panel. Then she saw a pistol lying on the table. For a moment she hesitated, then fumbled with the catch on the panel, sliding it aside when she heard him return.

An obscene oath echoed in her ears. He raised and cocked the pistol in his hand in one smooth motion. Any illusions she may have harbored about him were well and truly shattered when she saw the loathing in his eyes. ‘Dear God, save me!’ she prayed, and threw herself through the panel. The shot nearly parted her hair as she tumbled down a flight of stairs into darkness. Winded, she turned and gazed up at the square of light.

Her father’s outline blotted out the light. ‘You’ll not escape from there. The door to the tunnel is locked.’ His laugh sent shivers creeping up her spine. ‘Eventually, you’ll grow too weak from hunger to fight off the rats.’

‘My husband will tear this place down stone by stone to find me,’ she shrieked, her defiant tone banishing the conviction growing in her. Gerard would do no such thing. He hated her. Why else would he banish her to a lonely life in Ireland?

Tears of self-pity trickled down her face as the panel slammed shut. She’d never see him again, never experience his kisses or bear his children, never look upon his beloved face. The last thought made her scowl and her self-pity fled. She was not going to give everything up without a fight, and die in a rat-infested hole. She gazed around at the pitch darkness, listening to the sound of her own labored breathing. When her eyes cleared of tears, she saw it wasn’t entirely dark.

There was light coming through a crack in the panel. She heard a scratching sound. Imagination heightened by her father’s words and the darkness pressing in on her, she muffled a whimper against her hands, tasting blood. It had saturated the leather thong binding her and caused it to stretch.

The smell would attract the rats with their needle sharp teeth. Fear throbbed through her body. When Gerard found her she’d be featureless and ugly. He’d look upon her corpse and feel only revulsion and pity. She did not want his pity, she wanted his love and admiration, even in death.

Her eyes narrowed and her fear abated when a notion occurred to her. ‘Rats are not the only creatures who can bite,’ she muttered, bringing her bound wrists against her mouth. Her spirits rose. ‘I’m not finished yet, papa,’ she whispered. ‘We shall see who dies like a rat in a trap.’

Gerard tasted real fear when he heard the shot. Entrance to the house had been gained courtesy of the upstairs window. The shot had come from the vicinity of the ballroom.

‘Sweet Jesus!’
His heart came alive and seemed trapped in the confines of his chest. Dropping any pretence at caution he bounded downstairs and burst into the ballroom. Expecting to see his Willow’s lifeless body, he encountered only the figure of the marquis sprawled on a gilded sofa. The hand holding the pistol was relaxed, but he knew it would take only seconds to lift it and kill him.

‘What have you done with her,’ he demanded harshly. ‘She has no part in the quarrel between you and I.’

‘The troublesome brat is safe for the moment.’ The pistol lifted slightly when he moved. ‘Stay where you are, my friend.’

‘The whole of England will know what a coward you are if you kill me out of hand.’ His nostrils flared with the effort of keeping his temper under control. ‘Have you no sense of honor, sir?’

The marquis shrugged. ‘I find it easier to stay alive without it.’

‘Then you intend to murder me?’

Willow held her breath and strained to hear the answer. Free from her bonds, she’d climbed up the flight of stairs and had her ear pressed against the crack in the panel.

‘Oh, you shall have your moment.’ Carelessly, the marquis rose to his feet and crossed to the table. ‘I’ve not forgotten the public humiliation I suffered at your hands. After I’ve disposed of you, I intend to murder your father and brother. Edward de Vere and your wife, will be taken to France.’

‘My father is already dead,’ Gerard said steadily.

‘So, you are the earl now. But not for long, I intend to slash you into little pieces before you die.’
‘

No!’
Willow screamed, pounding her fists against the unforgiving panel. ‘Release me, you rabid cur. I’ll tear your heart from your chest with my bare hands and feed it to the pigs in the forest if you harm him.’

‘A tedious child,’ the Marquis remarked, then with as much feeling as someone squashing a bug, lifted the pistol and sent a shot through the panel. She cried out as splinters of wood pierced her hand. Light streamed through a hole a mere inch from her fingers. She applied her eye to the hole. ‘The shot was wide,’ she taunted, and for Gerard’s benefit. ‘And you’ve not had time to reload the other pistol.’

Gerard experienced admiration for her pluck in drawing the shot. At the same time, he experienced a strong urge to shake her until her teeth rattled for the risk she’d taken.

‘No matter.’

Through her spy-hole, she saw her father draw the dueling swords from a case. He threw one to Gerard. ‘When I’ve dealt with this proud Lytton turkey cock, I shall take you to France for my friends to sport with. That will cure you of your bounce.’

Though her stomach churned, she managed to spit out. ‘Gerard will split you to the gizzard, and I shall dance on your grave.’

‘Hold your tongue, woman. You’ve nothing sensible to say.’

The scathing quality in Gerard’s voice brought scalding tears to her eyes. Her mouth opened, then slowly closed again. He was right. Shouting threats would achieve nothing except prove a distraction to him. If he was to win this duel, and he
had
to—he’d need all his wits about him.

Already, the men were circling each other. Her confidence fled. If Gerard died she’d kill herself before the marquis got to her. She had her knife. But what of Edward, she couldn’t desert him. Sobbing with the frustration of having to helplessly stand by and do nothing, she took the dagger from her pocket, inserted it in the crack in the panel and applied pressure.

Gerard put Willow to the back of his mind. She’d not come to any harm for the time being.

The marquis was in the classic
en guard
pose. He took a similar stance, but the man lunged so suddenly he only just had time to parry it. When wariness came into his eyes, his opponent grinned. ‘You do not seem so confident now, my friend.’

‘We’re not friends.’ Without taking his eyes off the marquis, he circled his foe. ‘You made an enemy of me when I was but a youth.’ He parried a jarring thrust to the body. ‘On the day you visited Lytton House in my father’s absence, I recognized you were immoral. I learned to despise you, even then?’

‘Your mother made herself my whore on that day,’ the marquis taunted, and chuckled when Gerard swore. ‘All women are whores. Daphne de Vere was one, but you found that out for yourself, didn’t you?’

‘Daphne became what you made her,’ Gerard said hotly. ‘Surely, you did not have to try and kill her child?’

‘She tried to foist Edward on me as my heir, when he was the bastard you planted in her womb.’ The marquis looked incensed. ‘I’d have honored her by making her my wife, but she refused me because of Edward.’

His sword cut a swathe through the air. Gerard parried it easily.

Edward was Gerard’s child? Willow’s eyes flew open in shocked surprise. She flinched when the swords clashed in a furious exchange. No wonder Edward bore such a strong resemblance to the Lytton family. She found she did not mind too much. She’d grown to love Edward, and could not find it in her to dislike the child for what was not his fault.