Instead, she took his hand, determined to touch him for as long as she could, drive back the chill kiss of her own fears with the warmth in his grasp.
She wanted to cling to these final moments alone, wanted time to drive back the foreboding, label it a ridiculous bit of superstition worthy of the gypsy women at the fair.
But how could she dismiss the unease pulsing through her veins? She could find no comfort when her thoughts only reminded her of Aidan, standing with his hand clamped in the crabbed one of the old crone, mysticism wreathing her ageless face as she predicted doom, suffering, a battle waged for his very soul.
Tonight, a voice whispered inside Norah's breast. Tonight the battle would be won or lost. She was certain of it, in a secret, guarded place within her soul.
As they descended the stairs, Norah was dismayed to see an elegant figure lounging in a gilt chair in the entryway, obviously waiting for Aidan to descend. Richard Farnsworth's usually lazy eyes were glinting with a latent excitement, his mouth curved in a grin brushed with eagerness and anticipation.
"All ready to go out and tilt with dragons?" he inquired, rising stiffly to his feet.
"I suppose you could say that."
"I just wanted to speak with you before you left. Set things straight between us, don't you know."
"Farnsworth, at the moment, I don't give a damn about anything but finding whoever is stalking my daughter and my wife," Aidan snapped, signaling a footman for his cloak.
"Ah, so I am beneath the exalted notice of a hero, is that it? Of no consequence."
"Richard, please!" Norah burst out, anger sparking through her at his sudden resurgence of selfishness. "Aidan is half crazed with worry, setting out to track down this... this villain."
"I see. Well then, sister mine, I'll not bother to keep your bold husband from his quest a moment longer, except to tell him this: I intend to prove myself to you, brother-in-law, prove myself a worthy... player as you cast the dice tonight."
"It's not a goddamn game, Farnsworth."
"Indeed? Life is a game. One grand wager we make with the devil. I wonder who will win this time."
With an oath, Aidan snatched his cloak from the footman and swirled it about his shoulders. Then, without another word, he stormed out into the night.
Norah stared after him, hurting, furious. She wheeled on her stepbrother. "Why, Richard? Why bait him when you know he's nearly crazed with worry? When he's going out to face whoever this—this demon is who is tormenting him?"
"Why torment the heroic Sir Aidan Kane?" Farnsworth demanded, something disturbing sparking in his eyes. "Because he dares to act like a noble fool, when in reality he's as vile a libertine as ever breathed. But he fooled you, didn't he, my mousy, spinsterish little sister? No doubt on the night he breached your maidenhead."
She gaped at her stepbrother. Her cheeks flamed hotly, fury and confusion twisting in the pit of her stomach. "I thought this marriage is what you wanted for me."
"It was, but I never expected that you would—" He stopped, his face twisting, a curse low in his throat.
"Richard, what is the matter with you?"
"Nothing is the matter. I was in sad need of diversion when I left London. And your esteemed, rather beleaguered husband has provided me with enough to last me for a good long time. However, I find I'm becoming quite bored with rusticating in the wilds of Ireland. Perhaps it is time I departed."
Relief spilled through Norah, and she felt a vague sting of shame at the fact that she was glad her brother was leaving—leaving Rathcannon, leaving behind the all too impressionable Cassandra, who had fallen prey to his charms. And hopefully taking with him the odd sense of strain that had sprung up between him and Norah. "Richard—"
"Don't play the grieving sister, please," he said, his voice hard-edged, almost wounded. "I know you will be glad to see the last of me. Besides, Kane's daughter has been growing rather fond of me, hasn't she? Perhaps a little too fond for your liking?"
"Richard, she's a child."
"Some man will soon be making a woman of her, I can guarantee it. She's no pale fruit to go overripe on the spinster's vine. And by the time you bolster her considerable promise of beauty with her doting papa's fortune... I'm quite sure she will have a raft of men slavering over her hand."
"Richard, stop it!" This bitter nastiness was all too reminiscent of Winston Farnsworth's scathing cruelty. It appalled Norah. Sickened her. The shimmer of anger in him left her confused and unnerved. She lifted her chin with a sense of pride Aidan had given her. "I think it's time that you did leave."
Farnsworth's mouth ticked up, his eyes glinting, dark. "Time? Yes. I think it is time indeed. After all, I've accomplished what I came here for."
"And what was that?"
"Why, to see you happy, sister dear. To share in your joy. However, there is one last obligation I must keep. I had promised Cassandra quite faithfully that I would take her out and show her the constellations tonight. She's developed quite a fascination for them. Or perhaps it's walking in the moonlight with a gentleman that intrigues her. After all, she is her papa's daughter."
"There is absolutely no way I will allow you to take Cassandra walking after all you have said."
She expected argument, that stubbornness that so often sparked in her stepbrother's eyes whenever he was foiled in his desires. She was stunned when he merely sketched her a mocking bow.
"Of course, your wishes must be obeyed, mustn't they, little sister? You're not a cast-off waif anymore. You are mistress of Rathcannon." He laughed. A laugh that made her bones chill, her nerves twitch.
With that, he strode up the stairway, leaving Norah shaken at the strange glimmer that hardened his smile.
"Richard! Richard, stop!" How many times had she seen him lash out thus, when he was thwarted or angry? Striking whoever had crossed him at their most vulnerable point? He was just upset about Aidan's dismissing him, just out of sorts because of what he saw as Norah's defection in loyalty to her husband. It was absurd, this withering unease that shot through her.
This was Richard—Richard her smiling stepbrother, who had given her Aidan's letter, bought her the beautiful trousseau so she could "bewitch" her husband. Richard who had defied his father's wrath to aid her, and who had been so kind to Cassandra that the girl was all but dazzled.
He was spoiled, self-centered, maybe a trifle heedless. But he was her stepbrother. Her stepbrother. Not something dangerous lurking in the night.
She went to her bedchamber to wash her face and calm her nerves. As soon as she collected herself, she would go to him, try to find out what had made him lash out that way and say things that were so cruel. Surely there must be some reason. She must be able to make some sort of peace.
Yet the oddest feeling stole through her, cloying as hot summer rain.
She would not feel safe until Richard was gone.
* * * * *
Silence blanketed the castle hallways, dampening the corridor that led to the chambers Farnsworth had been given the night he'd first arrived—so unexpectedly, so filled with worry and self-blame. Norah made her way toward his bedchamber, a dozen half-formed apologies on her lips, warring with the odd feeling of suspicion and distrust that crept beneath her skirts, chilling her skin.
She brought herself up sharply. No matter what Richard had said, he was the only real family she had left. Her mother—the mother she'd known and loved as a tiny child—had been obliterated by Winston Farnsworth years before. Corabeth Linton Farnsworth, in those early days of her second marriage, had been forced to sacrifice her daughter to the cold scorn of the man who had offered her security and wealth. Norah's stepfather had chosen to loathe her as the living evidence that his woman had spent nights in another man's bed. Only Richard had offered her the smallest sense of worth, of importance. Only Richard had acted as if the dark-eyed, sad little girl existed.
Despite her anger, her unease, this strange humor of foreboding she was experiencing, she couldn't let
her stepbrother go off to England carrying memories of her anger with him.
She needed to try to understand what had driven him to be so cutting to Aidan in the moments before her husband had ridden out to face his phantom foe. She needed to know why he had lashed out at her with such savagery.
At the doorway, she paused and knocked.
Silence.
A sick sensation roiled up in the pit of her stomach. It was barely an hour since he'd left her in the entryway. Surely he couldn't have... what? Swept together his belongings and left before she could say goodbye?
She pushed open the door, half expecting him to be in the chamber, sulking. But as she entered the room, she saw none of the mad clutter that had always heralded Richard's presence. The few clothes he'd packed for this impromptu journey were nowhere to be seen; even his elegant portmanteau was gone.
All that was left was a slim leather volume lying on the bed, a creamy square of vellum marking a page somewhere in the middle.
Kane was scrawled across the top of the missive in Richard's careless hand.
Norah crossed to the bed, a sick churning in her stomach, her hands trembling, tears welling in her eyes at the certainty that she was too late. Relief warred with regret. Her stepbrother was already gone. Yet why had he written to Aidan? Why not spew out an angry letter to her?
Perplexed, she picked up the missive and hesitated for a moment. No, the letter was not for her. But the book... She reached out one hand, opening the volume to the marked page, her gaze tracing down the scribed lines.
Three Wagers to assure the Destruction of Aidan Kane...
Bile rose in Norah's throat, and she clung to the book with nerveless fingers.
No. It was impossible. Unthinkable. Why would Richard do such a thing? Richard, her feckless stepbrother with his careless kindnesses, his thoughtless wagers on everything from how long it took his friend to tie his cravat to how many warts would spring up on Lord Constable's nose. The stepbrother she knew couldn't possibly be involved in this vile set of wagers. Unless she didn't really know Richard at all.
She trembled, remembering the odd glint in Richard's eye... almost as if she'd betrayed him.
Her soul died a little as she skimmed the hellish lines, the truth searing into her with the force of a pistol ball. She had been the tool her brother had used. To get into Aidan's house. To gain access to Aidan's innocent daughter.
She alone was the weapon that had given Richard the power to destroy the man she loved.
But why? her heart screamed. Why did Richard hate Aidan? What bond could there be between the scapegrace brother she had known not at all and the man who had become her whole life?
She grabbed the letter, ripping it open, the sense of foreboding that had haunted her seeming to crush the breath from her lungs as she read:
Kane,
By the time you read this, your daughter will be at my mercy—my wife, initiated into the joys of the bridal bed. Of course, you will try to find us, Kane, with some misguided notion of saving her from my clutches. I am cherishing that knowledge. For when you do ride in to face me, I will kill you, before your daughter's eyes.
And as you're on your way to hell, you will know that I will spend the rest of my life making her pay for your sins.
You will be helpless, Kane.
How does it feel to be helpless?
Norah pressed her hand against her mouth, her stomach threatening to betray her, horror a living thing inside her. Sweet Jesus, was Richard really capable of such a terrible act? Brutalizing an innocent child... for what? Some crazed wager? No. There were undercurrents in this letter far more grim, some hidden poison she didn't understand.
She caught her lip between her teeth. An hour had passed since she'd faced Richard in the entryway: Was it possible he had already lured the girl away?
She raced through the castle, calling Cassandra's name, desperate, so desperate, all but slamming into little Noddie, the servant's arms filled with fresh sheets.
"Noddie, have you seen Miss Cassandra?"
"She stepped out with Mr. Farnsworth."
Norah's head swam. "When? Where were they going?"
"I don't know. It was when I was tidying up the study. Maybe an hour ago."
An hour ago...
Sweet heaven, they could be anywhere! By now Cassandra must know something was amiss. By now the bright-faced, beautiful girl must be reliving the terror that had scarred her childhood, being torn away from the father she adored.
And Richard had ridden off leaving this note behind. Even if he had guessed Norah might find it, he was doubtless smug and certain his stepsister would be too weak to follow.
"No!" Norah breathed aloud, her heart torn asunder by visions of Aidan riding in the other direction while his daughter was being taken from him. Aidan returning too late to aid Cassandra, discovering this cruel note about his child's peril. Aidan losing his daughter to such a hellish fate forever.
God, he would never forgive himself: Norah knew this with sick certainty. He would never forgive her.
She had to try to find them, had to stop Richard from doing this terrible thing. But how? Where would she even begin to search?
Sick futility drowned her, but she shoved past the big-eyed servant and ran to Aidan's room. She dug through his clothespress, dragging on a pair of breeches, a flowing white shirt scented of sandalwood and sea spray, that wild, primal mixture that was Aidan's own. It was exquisite torture to draw it on, feel it enfold her. Then she raced into his study, where a brace of dueling pistols gleamed in a polished case. They felt huge in her hand, unwieldy.
"My lady?"
Rose's query made Norah jump, wheel, the girl's astonished gaze snagging Norah's. "My lady, what's amiss?"
"My stepbrother has taken Cassandra."
The Irish girl's face went pale, her eyes bobbing out. "What!"
"He's stolen her away, taken her—to elope with her, I think. I don't know. It's insane."
The girl looked sick, stricken. But Norah's veins iced as she realized Rose did not look surprised.
"I should have told you..." Tears brimmed in the girl's eyes, her face ashen. "But you were so worried about the master and all. And besides, even if I did tell, I wasn't sure you'd believe me. Feared you'd turn me out of Rathcannon, a servant sayin' such things about your brother, and—and now if anything happens to Miss Cassandra I'll never forgive myself."
"What are you babbling about?"
"He was tryin' to get beneath my skirts the first night he came here, Mr. Farnsworth was."
Norah remembered with sickening clarity the conversation she'd had with the girl earlier, the indecision in her eyes, the nervousness.
"Please, my lady, you must believe me. I never would've thought the beast would hurt Miss Cassandra! What are we going to do? Everybody except Calvy is with Sir Aidan. The rest of the men are out chasin' the horses. I was just comin' to tell you Gibbon sent word someone let 'em out from the stable yard an hour or so past. The whole lot of Sir Aidan's prize horses racing to the wind. Sweet Mary, you don't think—think yer brother did that a-purpose?"
Norah said nothing, feeling only the web of Richard's deception tightening about her in exquisite strands of betrayal and lies, a torment that would soon snare Aidan as well.
"I can go after the menfolk," Rose offered. "Try to find them."
"By then it might be too late. I'm going after Cassandra myself."
"No, my lady, you cannot! If Mr. Farnsworth is evil enough to take Miss Cass, there's no telling what he might do to you."
"I'm the one who gave Richard entry into this house. I'm the one responsible."
For what? The ultimate betrayal of Aidan Kane? The shattering of the battered yet noble knight she had discovered beneath years of anger and hurt, pain and betrayal?
A sob lodged in Norah's breast. "I don't know where to start looking for them. I don't know where—where he could have taken her. Rose, please. If you can think of somewhere, anywhere..."
The girl chewed at her bottom lip. "He was bent on takin' me to Noonan's abandoned cottage. Tried to lure me there. If he wanted to... to hide Miss Cassandra, maybe..."
It was the frailest hope, but it was all Norah had. "Where is it?"
"'Bout ten miles from here, to the west. Ride to the site of the gypsy fair, then head down the valley. There's an overgrown road that turns left. The cottage is at the end. But even if you want t' chase 'em, you can't. There be no horses."
"There has to be one left. Oh, God, please let there be one left!" Norah raced toward the door, then paused, turned. "Find someone to go after Sir Aidan, Rose. Give him this book." She thrust the leather volume and letter into the girl's hand. "Tell him to start searching... searching every road."
With that, Norah turned and ran out into the darkness. The darkness that had mocked her from the first moment it had stained the horizon this night.
A darkness that now had a name.
A menace that now had a face.
That of the stepbrother she had never known.
Richard. A man who had worn the most cunning mask of all.
A beast who had honed her into the perfect weapon to cut out Sir Aidan Kane's battered heart.
CHAPTER 24
A dozen horsemen thundered through the night, Rathcannon's strongest, bravest retainers streaming behind Aidan, all grim-faced, all ready to confront the villain who had dared endanger their little mistress.
Yet despite their presence, Aidan felt alone, imprisoned by his own fury, his own most hidden fears.
Darkness.
How many times had he embraced it like a lover, a cloak to hide all that was dark in his soul?
He should have been glad that each hoofbeat carried him closer to the Thorned Paw, eager to confront the enemy who had been tormenting him since the night his daughter had almost slipped into the hands of someone who hated him. An enemy without conscience, evil enough to embroil an innocent young girl and a beautiful, gentle woman into his cruel game.