Chapter Two
North York Moors
All Hallows Abbey
Rumors of Fae bloodlines and ghostly lovers were far less damning than the whispers the local townsfolk spread of him. “The Marquess of Cartborough courts the dead” as well as “Lucian Davis is indeed the Devil” had become common enough that even he started to believe them.
Of course he had only himself to blame.
Most days he did act more dead than alive. Even the sins of his rambunctious youth hadn’t done as much damage to his reputation. That “Devil” was far less brooding than the one who’d returned from war.
Gripping the silver-topped cane that helped steady his gait since being wounded, Lucian limped across the library.
Between the morning’s torrential rains and that dreadful notice of Sir Edmund’s death in the news sheet, the day couldn’t get any worse.
Until, of course, the spasms ratcheted up in his left thigh.
The pain unleashed memories of Salamanca he’d prefer to forget: a galloping horse, a deranged rider, the flash of a razor-sharp sword.
The moment that blade sliced through his leg would live with him forever. So too would the vision of the dead body that fell next to him. Sully should never have died in his place.
With a frustrated breath, Lucian sat in the desk chair, its worn crimson leather hugging his spine as the familiar essence of tobacco and brandy, echoes of the past long seeped into the room’s walls, drifted teasingly under his nose.
All Hallows Abbey was his sanctuary. Having only fallen into his possession after he’d returned from war, the gothic manor offered a haven free of Eloise’s presence.
That, and the abbey’s position high upon the cliffs overlooking the brutal North Sea ensured he’d never spend a single night without the howling wind drowning out the demons that tormented his sleep.
He stared at the desk, the news sheet highlighting Edmund’s death folded off to the side.
For centuries, the Knights of All Hallows had been protecting their sacred lineage while also searching for the lost stone offering proof they’d descended from the Fae.
A stone that, according to rumor, existed among castle ruins located in Enfer’s Gate.
For a knight to have been murdered in that very place, raised concern.
Edmund wasn’t the first voting member of the Order to die by unnatural causes in recent years.
Sir Mason Blackwood had been picked off just as easily, though it hadn’t been obvious at the time.
But to lose two men who had the power to influence the Knights’ future surely couldn’t be coincidence.
Someone was killing off the Order’s highest-ranking members.
And he needed to find out who before they’d all end up dead.
The clank of silver rattling against china rippled through the air.
Alms, the newly hired footman, entered the library, his trembling hand barely managing the cup and saucer he set on the desk. He bowed hastily as he poured tea.
“How are you faring, Alms?”
“Fine, sir.” The lad didn’t bother looking up. He settled the tray on the desk’s edge and then abruptly left.
Apparently, the Knights of All Hallows weren’t the only thing needing his attention.
Reaching for the hot tea, Lucian eyed the rain-battered window.
A lone rider headed down the front drive, his white horse taking on the morning’s taxing nature with ease.
Graves.
No one else within his circle of peers was insane enough to call upon him without invitation.
Blasted fool.
He sipped the tea.
Cinnamon-laced steam and the barely there remnants of a bitter substance Lucian couldn’t quite decipher, burned his throat. Cook’s tinctures—remedies prescribed by the physician that were meant to ease his wound’s pain—were growing more odd by the day.
Placing the cup back on its saucer, Lucian watched Graves approach.
In hindsight, he probably should have answered his best mate’s letter inquiring about his health…
four letters back. Or was it five? In truth, it could have been a dozen and still he wouldn’t have penned a response.
Answering questions about his physical state implied he was mentally fit to receive visitors.
Which of course he was not.
And never will be.
Pushing aside the teacup, he dislodged the tattered square of linen sticking out from under the desk’s blotter.
Blood stains from his own war wound marred the fabric’s delicate embroidery; its threads now shadowed by faded red blotches that had more than a year ago bled into its two entwined hearts stitched in the bottom left corner.
A whiff of orange blossom caressed his nose.
Curses, but he did not need the pain of loving and leaving Eloisa to start haunting him again. Twelve months he’d ignored his heart’s desire, tried to convince himself he’d done the right thing for her sake. And yet, there wasn’t one bloody inch of him that accepted the matter.
Scrunching the fabric token, he shoved it into his jacket pocket.
From the main corridor, the soft creak of the abbey’s front doors carried into the library.
Graves really should have known better than to come here now, on this specific morning, exactly one year to the day that he’d walked out on the woman he loved.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he forced the memories back into the darkness, then rolled his shoulders.
The room shifted.
Hell’s teeth.
His vision went slightly askew, blurring the walls with the floor, then righting itself.
For more than a week now, the symptoms of his wound had grown beyond spasms afflicting his thigh. But damn if he’d call on the physician again. Nothing that man prescribed had eased his pain in the year he’d been back. Maybe nothing ever would.
He closed his eyes and gripped the chair arms.
It took exactly seven seconds to get from All Hallow’s entrance to the library.
One.
Two.
The stomp of bootheels pounding against marble rung out from the hallway.
Five.
Six.
“So the Devil does still live.” Graves’s voice hadn’t lost its arrogant tone in the five months since he’d seen him last.
Lucian opened his eyes. “I do. And now you can take your proof and leave.”
“You know better than to think this duke takes orders kindly.” Grayson MacAlistair, Duke of Graves sauntered into the room, rain marks streaking down the gray wool of his greatcoat.
“I see Orson is slipping in his duties. That’s twice this week he’s forgotten to collect coats. Never mind announce visitors.”
Graves snickered. “Orson is a damn good butler, and you know it. I would not hold your mother’s wishes, nor mine for that matter, against the man.”
So Mother had gone to Graves after her last visit here. No wonder the man braved today’s storm. “I must beg your forgiveness where the dowager marchioness is concerned. She can be quite adamant at times.”
Graves gave up a slight chuckle as he settled onto the blue sofa and tossed his hat aside. “There is nothing to forgive as I love the marchioness as if she were my own mother. God knows she’s been there for me enough times since Miranda’s passing.”
His friend’s loss was a true tragedy.
“Besides,” Graves continued, “I would have come even without the dear woman’s…suggestion concerning Abigail’s wedding.”
“Then you’ve wasted your time, Graves. For I have already informed my cousin not to expect me.” A wedding was no place for a broken man.
Dismissing the thought, he rose. “Now that you have my say on the matter, I will call Orson to see you out.”
“Bloody, hell, Devil. Doesn’t my friendship mean anything to you?”
“Of course it does. If it didn’t, I wouldn’t go out of my way not to inflict my suffering self upon you.”
Graves leaned back on the sofa. “Have you ever thought perhaps that is not a decision for you to make? Nor was it yours to make a year ago.”
“Don’t go there. Not today.”
For a moment, he almost thought Graves would remain silent, but his friend never was one to hold back.
“She’s been seen in Scarborough, you know. Visiting with your cousin Abigail on and off for the past three months.”
Now Mother’s earlier visit to discuss Abigail’s pending nuptials made sense. “I take it my former betrothed shall attend the wedding?”
“So I’ve been told.”
He crossed the room. “You do realize you cannot guilt a person into love, yes?”
Graves let out a frustrated breath. “Agreed. Though as a friend, I also realize I can point out your pigheadedness in avoiding the woman you are meant to be with. The woman you still love.”
Having friends was starting to feel very overrated. “Miss Blackwood deserves a man who can protect her, cherish her, and lay down his life for her.” Salamanca had claimed those qualities from him. “I am not that man anymore.”
“None of us are the men we were before going off to war. But you don’t see me burying my head in a hovel.”
All Hallows Abbey was no hovel. “Is that all you came here for?”
With concern crossing his face, Graves shifted focus. “Have you heard the news of Sir Edmund’s death?”
“Unfortunately, yes. And I must admit, considering he was one of us, and that he died in Enfer’s Gate, it is concerning.”
“And rightfully so, as only a fortnight ago, Edmund confided in both me and Sir Mallory that he suspected Hamish to be conspiring with government officials to unmask the Order, leading to him controlling its wealth and power. Edmund didn’t think the man worthy of being your heir among the Knights.”
The question of his sanity fed right into Hamish’s scheme. “He’s bitter over having been born a bastard who was left little by his father. If Hamish ever manages to get his hands on the stone detailing our lineage, who knows what he’d do with that power.”
“Considering he might have already killed for it, I think it safe to say he’d torture us all with everything he could. He was ruthless when serving with us at Salamanca.”
Causing their youngest and most trusted ally, Sully, to lose his life on the battlefield was more than ruthless. “He should have never served, period.”
“Agreed, but he did.” The disgust in Graves’s tone matched his own.
“Hamish must never be allowed near Enfer’s Gate again. He needs to be watched.”
Graves nodded. “My men have already been dispatched to the woods surrounding his home.”
The man had been a menace for years among the knights.
“I wish Edmund had found a legal reason to dismiss Hamish. But despite him having been born illegitimate and not having his father’s name, he is the next direct Blackwood male descended from Sir Tavish Blackwood, my ancestor’s own second-in-command, according to the Order’s rules.
Though I doubt Sir Caelan Davis or Sir Tavish would be overly thrilled to see such a vile creature hold that position. ”
“Aye. Especially since the man is barely a Scot.”
“Barely is still enough to qualify as a knight.”
“Devil take us, Lucian, but I can’t imagine the Bruce having anticipated a bloodthirsty man like Hamish heading up the Knights when he founded the Order. I’d watch my back if I were you.”
“I can handle the man.” Hopefully his madness wouldn’t cloud his better judgment.
“I’d feel more at ease if you’d accept a few of my men as guards here at All Hallows.”
“Thank you, but no.”
“Damn you and your pride, Lucian. But I will abide by your wishes. I’ll also continue to investigate Hamish in case he is connected with Edmund’s murder.
Our lineage must be protected, regardless of what it actually is.
” Rising, Graves plucked his hat off the sofa.
“And as for Eloise, the woman does still love you.”
Hearing her name sliced his heart. “She loves the man I once was. Not the beast I’ve come to be.”
Orson appeared in the doorway and eyed the duke. “Leaving so soon, Your Grace?”
“I’m afraid so. Though you need not trouble yourself.
I can see myself out.” He slapped on his hat and turned to face Lucian.
“Most souls get only one chance at love. That ghostly knight rumored to roam these beautiful moors searching for his betrothed is proof of that. You on the other hand, have been granted two. Don’t waste this one or our Highland forefathers will surely come back to haunt you. ”
That much he could not dispute. The Davis men who’d descended of Scotland’s famed Sir Caelan Davis had a five-centuries-long legacy of pledging all to the women who’d loved them. Even after they expanded their vast fortunes to include stately homes and titles in England.
Unfortunately, he no longer had all of himself to give.
Orson stepped aside for Graves to pass, then settled his gaze on the desk. “I’ll send Alms to fetch the tea tray.”
“While you’re at it, let him know he, too, has the day off for the upcoming Harvest Fair. He can use some time away from All Hallows. He’s far too skittish around me.”
“That’s most kind of you, my lord. I suspect his behavior comes from having worked for Sir Hamish. The man is a brute.”
No employer had the right to mistreat his staff. “He’s a right bastard. But still, I do not want Alms thinking he needs to be on guard while working here.”
Orson gave a slight bow before returning to the hallway.
A hum vibrated along the walls.
Lucian sucked in a deep breath, his hands fisted at his side.
“Danger surrounds her…”
The barely audible voice stirred a haunting sensation to creep along his nerves.
He glanced around the room, only to find he remained totally alone.
And yet there was no mistaking what he’d heard.
The ghost of the roaming knight was closing in on him. He recognized the madness that could have destroyed Eloise…if he’d let it.