Realm 05 - A Touch of Mercy (24 page)

Then he saw it: A flip of white moving swiftly away. For a brief second, he thought it might be a deer, but the figure caught in hesitation in a shaft of moonlight. It was definitely a female in a dark gown and cloak. The white had perhaps been a petticoat.

Aidan slid off the horse to give pursuit. The woods were too thick to follow on the stallion, especially in the dark. Retrieving a gun from an inside holster, he trailed the woman further into the woodlands.

Crouching low, he used the filtered moonlight to search for any signs of which way the figure had gone. Finally, he came across a distinct boot print in the soft earth. Whoever he followed had turned toward the stream, which fed the River Goyt. It was the same stream by which Miss Purefoy had been recently injured, and that particular fact kept him cautious. If his quarry was not a female, he might think poachers had plagued his property in his absence. Aidan increased his pace. His years with the Realm had taught him to track his enemy in the worst of conditions.

Unfortunately, his training had given him a false sense of superiority. Like many men, Aidan considered females the weaker sex. Therefore, he had not expected the assault when it came.

He had followed the few markings to an outcropping. A slight incline rose to a rocky ledge. Cautiously, he climbed the hillside, taking time to place each of his steps so as not to dislodge the stones and signal his approach. If he were fortunate, Aidan would corner the intruder upon the upper point with no means of escape.

Silently, he crept over the rocky edge to stand upon the flat surface. He scanned the area: Nothing. He had somehow underestimated his opponent. He had made an uncharacteristic error. The footprints had led him to this particular spot. He would stake his reputation as one of His Majesty’s agents on his ability to trail any unknown intruder. Yet, despite his confidence, Aidan frowned when he stared hard into the empty space. “Damn,” he growled under his breath. This had not been a wise choice, a voice in his head advised.

In frustration, Aidan briskly searched the confined area. He knelt on all fours and leaned over the flat surface to observe the area beneath the outcropping. There was no way down on the other side for the ledge dropped off to the water below. Nothing moved. He stood to walk carefully about the ledge, instinctively looking for any clue to the mystery, which had trailed him to Cheshire.

Shadows stretched across the valley, which formed his pastureland, Aidan felt the frustration wan, and his fear rose quickly in his chest. The air was pungent with the scent of dread. Silence drifted upon a heavy breeze. He jammed his fingers into his disheveled hair. Attempting to settle his breathing, he closed his eyes to calm the tension knotting his shoulders. He turned his head to listen to the sound of the falling water. Somewhere below him, the thin line of dampness worked its way toward the stream. The rain from earlier in the day had given the water more force, creating a small waterfall.

Opening his eyes, he replaced the gun in its hidden pouch, but before Aidan could return to his horse, he found himself struggling to keep his balance. Every pore in his body spoke of awareness, but the warning had come too late. His boots could find no purchase on the broken rock face. Someone had struck him from behind. Not like before with Lachlan Charters. Not enough to injure him, but hard enough to send him tumbling head first toward the water below.

He kicked out in hopes of finding a deeper point in the water. Luckily, the ascent had not been high, but neither was the stream known for its depth. Aidan was facing another serious injury or even death if he did not time his descent perfectly. He barely had time to make the necessary adjustments. Thankfully, his previous injury had not dulled his instincts, nor had it colored the childhood memory of jumping from the rock face on a summer day.

The water was a cold knife cutting through his senses, and Aidan’s reflexes curled his body into a tight ball before he struck the rocky bottom. Intuitively, he kicked against the rough underbelly to propel himself to the surface. Unfortunately, the tight cut of his jacket and the weight of his boots worked against Aidan’s success, but he managed to break the water’s surface and gulp in the chilly night air.

He treaded awkwardly as his boots filled with water. Aidan turned his body to the side and attempted a life-saving stroke. Reaching the shore was tantamount. Otherwise, the frigid water would rob him of his life’s breath.

In a little over a minute, Aidan crawled along the shallow bank. With a significant effort, he pulled his weight to drier land. Finally, he collapsed upon the grassy bank. Gulping for air, he rolled to his side.

It was cold, and he was soaked through; and Aidan knew he could not rest long, but he made no effort to recover further. He simply turned upon his back to stare up at the stars, the same ones he had looked upon in Persia and had said his prayers for direction in his life. “Why have you brought me here?” he asked the stillness. Through trembling lips, he confessed, “I do not understand what it is you expect of me.”

Turning his head to the right, Aidan’s eyes returned to the outcropping. His wife looked down upon him. Aidan could not see her countenance because her hood cloaked it in shadow, but, nevertheless, he knew it was she. “If you are alive,” he shouted as he shoved himself to his elbows, “I expect you to return to Lexington Arms. To me and to your son.” He sat upright, but Aidan’s eyes remained on the stationary figure staring out over the water below.

Susan did not speak, but a shake of her head in the negative denied his demand. She turned toward the back of the rocky ledge; yet, before she disappeared into the darkness, Aidan heard her say, “Your home offers nothing but misery.”

*

“You sent for me?” Mr. Hill appeared at the library door.

Whenever the viscount spent time away from the manor, Mercy had developed the habit of waiting in the library for Lord Lexford’s return. Then she would quickly scurry through the servants’ entrance to hide in her quarters as if she had not known of his absence. It was a foolish act, but she could not seem to control her desire to know of the man’s safety. “Yes,” she wrung her hands as she paced the open area before the hearth. She would expose her vulnerability by permitting Mr. Hill to know of her obsession. “I apologize for drawing you from your quarters, Mr. Hill.”

The man smiled wryly. “How may I be of service, Miss Purefoy?”

Mercy hesitated but an elongated second. What did her silly pride matter if there was a chance Lord Lexford had come to harm? Besides, she had long ago abandoned any artifice in her dealings with Mr. Hill. “His Lordship has not returned from the squire’s card game.” She shot a quick glance at the mantel clock. “It is more than an hour past the time Mrs. Holton would permit the squire his entertainment.”

“And what do you wish of me? Lord Lexford has no need of a nurse maid,” he said without judgment.

Mercy ceased her pacing. “I have no idea what should be done nor even if I dare express my alarm. Speak sense to me, Mr. Hill.”

Hill entered the room and gestured to two chairs before the fire. “Perhaps we should converse privately.”

Mercy shot a glance toward the darkness beyond the window. In frustration, she joined Mr. Hill. “I have no right to worry over Lord Lexford’s safety,” she confessed.

“But you do so, nevertheless,” Hill said evenly.

Mercy bit her bottom lip in indecision before sighing heavily. “His Lordship has become essential to my days.”

“And you to his,” Hill declared.

The man’s words sent her heart skittering; yet, she was a practical person. Tentatively, Mercy said, “I can be nothing more to Lord Lexford than a poor relation; yet, that knowledge does not keep me from considering his happiness above all others.”

Hill leaned forward to rest his forearms along his thighs. “Do you wish to be more than Lord Lexford’s sister?” he asked earnestly.

Mercy closed her eyes to steady her emotions. “Lord Lexford will never act the scandalous role of Lord Byron and his sister Augusta,” she rasped as tears pooled in her eyes’ corners.

“However?” Mr. Hill encouraged.

“However, I would devote my life to His Lordship’s comfort,” she reluctantly admitted.

Hill smiled easily. “Then perhaps we should devise a means to prove you a viable choice for the viscount.”

“Do not be foolish, Mr. Hill,” she chastised. “When Lord Lexford discovers our betrayal, His Lordship will drive me from his home. I shall never see the viscount again, and you shall likely require another position.”

Hill chuckled. “I imagine Lord Worthing could see me through.” He leaned back into the cushions. “Leave the truth to me.”

Mercy groaned; she dreaded the possibility of the viscount learning of their ruse. “In the time being, may we consider the lateness of the hour?”

Hill good-naturedly accepted her change of subject. “Do you wish for me to search for Lord Lexford?”

Mercy jumped on the suggestion. “Would you? I cannot sleep until I know His Lordship has returned.”

*

He grumbled as he donned his heavy jacket. Why he had left his warm bed in the first place Lucifer would never know? Now, he was going out into a cold night to search for a man who would gladly remove Lucifer’s head from his shoulders if he knew the lie Lucifer had practiced. “At least the girl admits her interest,” he said with another deep smile.

Catching the door latch, Lucifer jerked it open to find the viscount leaning heavily against the frame. “My Lord!” Lucifer reached for his friend and pulled him into the muted warmth of the kitchen. “You are soaked to the bone.” Lucifer could not imagine what had occurred. He jerked off his coat and wrapped it about the viscount’s shoulders. Directing Lexford to a straight-backed chair, he said, “Here. Sit.”

The viscount’s teeth chattered, and his lips had taken on a bluish hue. Lucifer swung the pot upon the hook over the banked fire before adding several more logs and new kindling. “We will have you warm in only a moment.” He glanced at the icy cast on the viscount’s cheeks. “What happened?” he asked curiously.

Yet before Lexford could respond, Miss Purefoy appeared on the servants’ stairs. “Mr. Hill, I mean to go…” The lady froze in mid sentence. “My God!” Miss Purefoy rushed to Lord Lexford’s side. Catching his hands between hers, she began to rub them briskly. “Oh, my dearest,” she said sweetly as Lucifer looked on. “We shall tend you, my Lord.”

*

Aidan could barely recall finding his way to the manor. With the disappearance of the figure who had knocked him from the rock shelf, he had lain upon the muddy bank for a long time, analyzing each of the half dozen appearances of his “wife’s ghost.” From the beginning, he had assumed his guilt had manifested itself into Susan’s form, but now he thought otherwise. A ghost could not have hit him with such a force as to send him toppling over the rock face.

So, if the “ghost” was not his imagination, then he had more troubles than he had initially expected. Someone wanted to kill him, and on this evening had made a marked attempt. Forcing his weight to a seaated position, Aidan had stared in the direction where he had last seen Susan’s figure, but for once, it was not his wife’s countenance, which materialized. Instead, he had seen the lovely image of Mary Purefoy. The lady motioned him to come to her, and Aidan had wanted what she offered: a feeling of belonging.

And so he had stumbled and crawled along a path to where he had left Valí. Mounting the horse, he had ridden home in a shivering mix of soaked clothes and a needful heart. He had kept the image of Miss Purefoy beckoning him before him, and when he finally reached the servants’ entrance, after releasing Valí to find his way to his stall, Aidan had half expected to discover the lady waiting for him. When Mr. Hill had opened the door, Aidan felt both the relief of having survived his ordeal and the disappointment of his dream. Without much enthusiasm, he had permitted Hill to attend him. Oddly, his mind dwelt on the lady, and as if he had willed her to him, Miss Purefoy had appeared. Despite his misery, Aidan smiled.

“We shall tend you, my Lord.” The lady turned to Lucifer. “Mr. Hill, fetch His Lordship some brandy. I shall support him to his room.”

Aidan wondered at the obvious look of amusement on Hill’s countenance. “Should you not fetch the brandy and permit me to tend the viscount?”

“Can you walk, my Lord?” Miss Purefoy ignored Hill’s suggestion.

Aidan was not certain his legs would cooperate, but if his effort meant wrapping himself about the woman, he would make the effort. Painfully, he nodded his agreement and reached out his hand to Lucifer for support. Unfortunately, his body expressed its objections to the idea, and he swayed in place.

“Easy,” Miss Purefoy said as she rushed to brace him with her body. “I was so worried for you, my Lord.” She fussed over him, tightening Lucifer’s coat about him. “I had summoned Mr. Hill to search for you.”

Then the image was not simply a dream: The lady’s will had guided his return. The idea brought a zing of warmth to Aidan’s heart. He glanced to his man, and Lucifer gestured the truth of the woman’s words. “Th…ank you,” Aidan said through trembling lips.

He knew her to be extremely practical so the lady had surprised him when she shooed Hill upon his way. As appealing as having the woman clinging to him seemed, Aidan realized he was no match for the stairs leading to his room. However, the woman remained confident. “Come, my Lord,” she said as she turned him toward the servants’ stairs. He breathed forcefully, his mind reeling.