Lacybourne Manor

  Then another man, who Sibyl had never seen before, came tearing into the room and stopped dead, immobile at what he saw. Then, with nothing for it, he surged forward and spelled Bran who dropped from his ghost and ran from the room.

  Then, with a strange, eerie, final-sounding pop, Rick’s spectre just disappeared with Rick in mid-swing.

  Then, not a few seconds later, Kyle’s did the same.

  Then, the other one went with another pop, leaving the unknown man literally spinning on his feet

  And finally, Colin threw off the last and as it flew through the air of the room, there was a final crack and one moment they all saw it flying and less than a second later, it was gone.

  Without hesitation, Colin whirled on Sibyl. “I thought I told you to go to the sanctuary!” he barked.

  “I couldn’t leave you here to fight them alone!” she snapped.

  He stared at her angrily for a moment and then lifted his eyes toward the ceiling and she was relatively certain he was praying for patience.

  * * * * *

  With a menacing stride, Royce walked toward the figure pinned to the trunk of the tree.

  The witch still had her arm lifted. Royce knew, even though he didn’t want to believe, that the woman was holding the figure captive using something Royce refused to believe existed.

  Magic.

  Royce approached the tree and he felt Beatrice close behind him and when he stopped, he made sure she stayed well behind him by roughly pushing her there with his arm.

  The figure was cloaked, the hood hiding his face.

  “Who are you?” Royce demanded.

  With a flick of her hand, the Esmeralda Crane unmasked the figure.

  Royce drew in his breath as he heard Beatrice gasp behind him.

  * * * * *

  Colin stalked with menacing strides toward the figure pinned to the wall.

  Marian was clearly holding it there with her arm still aloft. Colin didn’t even want to think what that meant.

  He felt Sibyl close behind him and when he stopped, he made sure she stayed behind him by pushing her there with his arm.

  The figure was hooded somehow, its face masked.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Colin demanded.

  With a flick of her hand, Marian tore the glamour away from the figure.

  Colin drew in his breath as he heard Sibyl ask from behind him, “Who the heck is that?”

  In a low voice, Colin answered, “Mrs. Manning.”

  “Mrs. Man… the invisible housekeeper?” Sibyl burst out.

  “You killed my son!” the woman screamed, her voice, Colin realised, used to sound old, damaged and scratchy. Now it was just old.

  He should have thought of that earlier when Robert told him about the voice their attackers from the Centre had described. But he didn’t. He would have never suspected his efficient, mostly unseen housekeeper of plotting his murder. Now he stared at the woman who had not only kept his house but kept his aunt and uncle’s house before him.

  “You killed her son?” Sibyl breathed.

  Colin whirled with disbelief on his fiancée. “I didn’t kill her son,” he exploded.

  “You killed my son,” Mrs. Manning shouted.

  “She says you killed her son,” Sibyl stated and turned her eyes to Mrs. Manning. “You are a crazy lady,” she noted angrily, sidestepped Colin and started to approach the housekeeper, would have done if Colin hadn’t again hooked his arm at her waist and yanked her back hard against his body. Even though he did so, he could actually feel Sibyl’s fury boiling inside her. “You nearly killed us!” Sibyl yelled.

  “He killed my son,” Mrs. Manning spat.

  “He didn’t kill your son, you silly cow,” Sibyl spat right back and Colin would have grinned at Sibyl’s defence of him if it all wasn’t so bizarre and, of course, he wasn’t so fucking angry.

  Mrs. Manning turned her malevolent eyes to Colin.

  “He was your squire. You took him into battle. He died at your side.” She was talking, glaring, hatred oozing from every pore and not making a lick of sense. “He was so honoured to be your squire. To be the squire of the great knight, Royce Morgan. And then he died. And his blood will forever be on your hands.”

  Colin felt Sibyl’s body freeze.

  At the same time, Marian whispered, “You’re an eternal.”

  “What?” Colin, Sibyl, and Colin could swear at least two, possibly three, other male voices said at the same time.

  “An eternal, she’s used dark magic to live for centuries, to stay alive throughout time to exact vengeance, knowing Esmeralda had set her spell to restore true love,” Marian explained to her audience and then turned back to Mrs. Manning. “You killed Royce and Beatrice nearly five hundred years ago, it was you.”

  “I did but now she saved them, the filthy witch whore,” Mrs. Manning spit, her eyes moving to Sibyl.

  It was Colin’s turn to freeze and then he poised to strike.

  “No, Colin,” Marian warned and at her tone, Colin’s eyes shifted to the older lady. To his surprise, she smiled smugly at him. Then she said something even more bizarre than any of the events of this night. “Let Royce take care of this.”

  “Royce!” Mrs. Manning screamed, her voice hysterical and utterly, completely mad. “He nearly killed me before but he didn’t do it,” she crowed. “He cut my throat but he didn’t sever it.”

  “There is no scar,” Marian informed her, the smile never leaving her face. “Not yet, at least.”

  Mrs. Manning’s eyes widened.

  “Royce didn’t kill your son,” Sibyl, still seething with rage, butted in. “You shouldn’t have blamed him. I’m certain your son died with honour. He wouldn’t have thanked you for killing Royce and Beatrice.”

  “You don’t know,” Mrs. Manning snapped.

  “I do know. My Dad’s a professor of Medieval History, of course I know! A squire would be honoured to train under a knight of Royce Morgan’s reputation, his strength, his character, it would be learning from a master.”

  “You don’t know!” Mrs. Manning screamed. “He was stupid. Royce felt such guilt at Henry’s death, he let me into his home, he gave me food, clothing, he took care of me. Miss Beatrice told me he cared for my son, in his way, he loved him.” She shook her head, her eyes narrowing malevolently and she spat out, “Bah! He didn’t love him, he murdered him. It wasn’t his blade that brought Henry down but it might just as well have been. All the while I was at Lacybourne, I plotted their deaths. All the while I waited for the perfect moment when his guard would be down. When I came out of those trees on the night of their wedding, Royce smiled at me and bade me good eve right before he watched his bride snatched from his arms and her throat slit.” Her face split in a hideous grin. “It was the most beautiful moment of my life.”

  At these words, Sibyl reared, tore from Colin’s arms and rushed forward.

  * * * * *

  “She will not stop.”

  Royce was holding Beatrice back as the venom poured out of Mistress Manning’s mouth. His new bride was furious; he could feel it emanating from her body. Contrarily, regardless of her bloody-minded temper, Beatrice was the most gentle of creatures, had a heart so full of love, he worried it would burst. It definitely got her in a serious number of even more serious muddles.

  But now, he knew, she could commit murder.

  “She will not stop,” Esmeralda repeated. “She will hunt you for eternity. She will haunt your line. She will never stop.”

  Royce thought of Sibyl, the woman from another time and just as he did, Esmeralda continued, “You were supposed to die this night. There is powerful magic in the air. I don’t know how it happened but you have been saved. Someone, somewhere, saved you both. You may live a peaceful life but this woman will be avenged. It might not be you and Miss Beatrice but it will be someone in your line somewhere along time. She will stop at nothing. She will have her vengeance.”

  Royce’s mind filled with the golden-hair
ed vision of Beatrice. He heard her words about her lover named Colin, a lover that was him in her time. He saw her passion-filled eyes realising belatedly that somewhere else, they were experiencing the profound beauty of the union he shared earlier with Beatrice. Her Colin had asked her to marry him that very day.

  Then he remembered her beautiful smile.

  And wherever she was, she was in danger.

  “If you don’t do it, I will,” Old Lady Griffin threatened, standing amongst their group and holding her cane menacingly.

  He ignored the old woman and realised Sibyl had saved his life and Beatrice’s by warning him. He didn’t wish to believe it but he did.

  For that, Royce didn’t hesitate.

  He moved forward with deadly intent.

  Beatrice didn’t utter a single word in protest.

  * * * * *

  Before Sibyl could arrive at Mrs. Manning, the vengeful old woman threw back her head in surprise and pain, let out a shrill scream and then she just simply disappeared.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Safe

  “What is that smell?” Rick asked, sniffing the air with a comical expression of distaste on his face.

  In his line of work, he’d seen a lot of crazy things. This, of course, took the cake. He’d never seen anything quite like this. However, he long since learned not to ask questions. He would tuck this experience safely away and never think of it again. It was just another day at the office to him.

  “Where’d she go?” Robert Fitzwilliam asked, staring at the place Mrs. Manning had been.

  “She’s been dispatched, nearly five hundred years ago,” Marian explained to Robert even though he thought her words didn’t explain anything at all and then she turned to Rick. “And that smell is one of my personal concoctions. It made the spectres, when they were in this house, incarnate, so they could be fought, so they would be vulnerable.”

  Sibyl was listening to all this and staring at the wall where Mrs. Manning had disappeared and as she did so she felt the anger drain out of her. She felt like she’d just finished a marathon. She felt like laughing and crying and screaming, all at the same time. She wondered what it all meant. She wondered about Royce and Beatrice and what it meant for them.

  Then she remembered Mallory and her eyes flew to Colin.

  But he was already striding with purpose to the door.

  She ran after him and skidded to a halt outside in the hall, her heart tearing apart at what she saw.

  “Mallory,” she whispered, tears clogging her throat.

  Colin was already in a crouch by Mallory’s head. Mrs. Griffith was on her knees behind the prone body of the dog and Mallory was lying in a pool of his own blood. The older woman was stroking the animal like he was still alive and whispering soothing words to him. Bran was curled up in the area between Mallory’s still belly and motionless hind legs.

  When Colin reached out to touch the dog, the cat agilely gained his feet and hissed. Colin’s hand froze then changed directions and without fear of the hissing cat, he stroked its head. At his touch, the cat stopped hissing and then rubbed its body lovingly against Mallory’s belly.

  Sibyl felt the tears drop from her eyes and slide down her face as she stood frozen, watching as Colin felt the dog’s chest then he turned and looked up at Sibyl.

  At the queer expression on his face and the muscle leaping in his jaw, all her hope died.

  She dropped to her knees beside her fiancé and burst into uncontrollable tears.

  She vaguely realised that people were coming from the bedroom and others were coming down the hall. Sibyl put her shaking hands out and gently rested one on her dog’s still-warm flank, the other on his ribcage where his big doggie heart was no longer beating.

  She bent her head and whispered to the floor, “He died trying to save us.”

  She barely finished the last word when she found herself moving toward Colin as he pulled her into his arms and surged to his feet. He brought her up with him and tucked her close to his warm body. She buried her face in his chest, wrapped her arms around him and gave in completely to the anguish ripping agonisingly through her heart.

  There was movement and muttering around her and she lifted her head and saw Colin’s throat working spasmodically. She couldn’t bear the sight of him trying to control his emotion because she was in no state to soothe him. She turned her head and pressed her cheek against Colin’s chest as she watched and listened. She did everything but look at the body of her dog. She couldn’t see Mallory like that again. From now on… she swallowed against the pain the thought caused… she had to remember him as he used to be, goofy, sweet, loyal and loving.

  Colin stroked her hair with one hand and held her firmly against him with his other arm.

  “Let’s get you up Mrs. Griffith,” Kyle said softly, his voice kind.

  “I’m not leaving him,” Mrs. Griffith returned fiercely.

  “I’ve got him.” Rick was walking toward the scene, carrying a sheet from some bed. Gently, more gently than Sibyl would have imagined he was capable, he crouched and carefully tucked the sheet around the dog. He then, still utilising the utmost care, lifted the dead, awkward weight of the enormous dog and settled Mallory in his arms.

  “Where are you taking him?” Sibyl asked as she tried to break free from Colin but both his arms tightened around her.

  “Don’t worry.” Rick smiled at his charge for the first time of their acquaintance. It was not a happy smile, it was a sad, trust me smile. “I’ll take care of him, I promise.”

  At his smile, Sibyl let her weight sag against Colin and he took it on without sound or movement. Then she nodded at her bodyguard.

  Rick walked down the hall, carrying his burden.

  New tears sprang to Sibyl’s eyes and clogged her throat.

  “Colin, get her to the library. Get her a relaxing drink, you both could use one.” Phoebe was next to her son, her thoughtful eyes on Sibyl.

  Colin did as his mother told him, pausing only to scoop up the cat which he handed to Sibyl and she tucked the feline protectively in her arms. For the first time, Bran seemed quite contented to be where he was.

  Colin guided her down to the library and Sibyl heard behind her…

  “I’ll get this cleaned up.” That was Mags.

  “I’ll help.” That was Jemma.

  “No, my dear, you get the kids home. We’ll take care of this.” That was Phoebe.

  She stopped listening when Colin turned her toward the stairs and they went to the library. All the while, Sibyl realised absently, unable to process it completely, that she was very lucky to have such wonderful people in her life.

  Colin took her to the couch and pushed her gently into it. She didn’t resist. She’d started her journey on this couch, it seemed fitting to sit there now. The minute she sat, Bran settled in a curl on her lap.

  She heard noises coming from other areas the house. Their friends and family were all trying to be quiet but their tasks of tidying up and leaving and cleaning a pool of dog blood would not allow them to shield their noise from Colin and Sibyl.

  Listening to the noise, Sibyl’s face was frozen in a constant wince.

  Colin took one look at her and walked to the door to close it but the unknown man filled its frame.

  “The police are here,” he told Colin, glanced at Sibyl, tried (and failed) to smile at her reassuringly and then looked back at Colin.

  “I pressed the panic button,” Colin told him then sighed. “Can you deal with them?” His hand went to his hair and he pulled his fingers through it in a frustrated gesture.

  “Of course,” the man assured then left and Colin closed the door behind him.

  “Who is that man?” Sibyl asked as Colin walked to the drinks cabinet.

  “A security specialist and an investigator, he and his team have been watching over you for weeks. They’ve also been trying to discover who was behind all this.”

  Sibyl nodded, allowing the pleasant thought
that Colin had hired a team to protect her to penetrate the numbness that had enveloped her.

  He poured two drinks and brought them both to the couch. He handed her one and she automatically took it. He settled down beside her, stretching his long legs in front of him, crossing them at the ankles and wrapping his arm around her shoulder before he pulled her into him and she rested her head in the curve of his neck.

  “What’s this?” she asked, lifting the tumbler filled with a fluid that matched his eyes.

  “Whisky. Drink it,” he ordered.

  She sighed. “You are so bossy,” she told him, her voice weary but filled with affection.

  As an answer, his hand went to her hair and lifted its heavy weight.

  She sipped her drink and felt the pleasant warmth slide down her throat and into her belly.

  “Are we safe now?” she whispered.

  “Yes,” he answered so definitively she believed him and she finally felt the tenseness flow from her body. “Until you get us into another disaster by taking Parliament to task for their defence spending and becoming public enemy number one,” he noted in a mock-beleaguered tone.

  Despite all that had happened, she felt a giggle rise up her throat and let it loose as she looked up at his handsome face.

  “I love you,” she told him, her voice strong with emotion, tears coming back to her eyes.

  He looked down on her and his face shifted and she would understand that shift when he vowed in a low, even, fierce tone, “After tonight, I swear to God, you’re never going to have a reason to cry or be frightened again.”

  “I’ll take it from that comment that you love me back.” She grinned shakily at him.

  He bent his head and brushed his lips against hers.

  Then he said softly against her mouth, “Yes, darling, I love you back.”

  This feeling shined in his eyes and he looked at her as if she was the sun and the moon, as if the world revolved around her, as if she was his entire universe.

  She settled against him again, far more contentedly, and they sat there for some time before she whispered so quietly, her words barely made a noise, “Mallory was a good dog.”