Chapter 26
Miss Kavanagh’s bedroom door was open, and Alaric found himself walking inside before he stopped to ask if it was a good idea.
The room was empty, which he had suspected, just as he was glad to find out.
Alaric did not want another confrontation as he had the previous day, and even now, hours later, images of Miss Kavanagh’s bereaved and broken posture, the look of utmost sadness on her face, brought him nothing but agony and guilt.
Guilt? I have no reason to feel such a thing!
He did not want to believe what his sister had said about Miss Kavanagh, but she had given him no choice. Alaric had literally begged her to tell him the truth, and she had refused that offer. That alone must have been proof enough.
Alaric spent all last night trying to force that conviction upon himself. He did not want it to be true, but he had nothing else to grasp at.
Of course, even as he tried to believe his sister’s claims, that voice inside his head pleaded with him to give Miss Kavanagh another chance. That voice refused to condemn Miss Kavanagh, as if it alone knew a secret that it refused to name.
Deep down, Alaric wanted to believe that voice … just as he wanted to believe Miss Kavanagh. But believe her in what? How could he trust someone who gave him no reason for it?
There is more here than I know. There must be … I need there to be.
So, Alaric stalked into Miss Kavanagh’s room, not knowing what he would find, while praying it would be something that might shine a light on the truth once and for all.
The room was sparse, with little to be seen at a glance.
Alaric made for the bedside table, his eyes falling upon the book that he had gifted her.
That brought a smile to his face, memories of a better time.
Those memories burned a fire in his soul, willing him to continue his search because he needed to believe her … to trust her.
Next, Alaric moved to the wardrobe, throwing it open, rifling through the few clothes that Miss Kavanagh owned. From there, he dropped to his knees and opened the drawers, running his hand through folded garments, not knowing what he might find but –
His hand struck something solid and small.
Pulse quickening, Alaric wrapped his hand around that object and pulled it free. It was a small locket, tucked deep within the wardrobe as if Miss Kavanagh was trying to keep it hidden.
“What on earth …”
With trembling hands, Alaric opened the locket and gasped at what it contained, his heart sinking, then shattering because his sister’s warning was a cry of triumph.
She was right … about everything … but how …
Two portraits were contained in the locket. One was of Miss Kavanagh, its detail astounding for a portrait so small. The other was his deceased wife, also skillfully painted, with her name written beneath so there could be no mistake.
Alaric’s stomach turned and roiled and rose up his throat as he looked upon that drawing.
He knew little of the dark arts, but did spells not require an effigy or a likeness to be made of the person who they intended to bewitch?
Was that what this was? Was Miss Kavanagh using Alaric’s dead wife to lure him to her so that she might manipulate his emotions and fall in love?
Was that why he always felt that strange pull when he was with her?
And then there was that near kiss that had come upon Alaric as if he had no control over himself.
Alaric stumbled back, retching so that he nearly emptied his stomach over the floor. His hand trembled, and he resisted the urge to toss the locket at the wall and smash it into pieces.
No. There has to be more! There must be.
Bereaved, shaken, and confused, Alaric stormed from Miss Kavanagh’s room. His head spun. The walls turned. His world threatened to collapse. And it was because he walked in such a state of confused madness that he did not see where he was going until –
“Careful!” Crispin threw a hand into Alaric’s chest to stop him from walking cleanly into him.
“Oh.” Alaric blinked and shook his head. “Crispin, I did not see you. I …” He blinked again to clear his head, which was when he noticed the backpack that Crispin had slung over his shoulder, as well as the traveling clothes he wore. “What are you doing?”
“Exactly what you wish of me, Alaric. I am leaving.”
“To where?”
“Do you care?” Crispin sighed, no fight in him, no anger or defiance. “You wanted me gone, Alaric, and for once, I plan on heeding your words.”
Were times not so strange, Alaric might have demanded that Crispin admit what he did – that he not leave until justice was brought to him. As far as Alaric knew, Crispin was responsible for his wife’s death, and he refused to believe that the man had simply been let go.
As things were, Alaric’s mind was in a singular place, and the locket in his hand felt heavy as if demanding that it hold his attention.
“Have you seen Miss Kavanagh?” he asked.
“Not since this morning,” Crispin said. Then he narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
“I …” Alaric grimaced, his thoughts compiling, the need to speak what was on his mind lest he go insane. “I have found something that I need to ask her about. Proof, I believe, that she has been responsible for …” He winced as if the thought hurt him. “That she is not who she says.”
“And who is she, exactly?”
“You know what people say of her.” His grip on the locket increased. “And where I did not want to believe it, I fear that for once, the rumors spoken might be true.”
“Alaric …” A deep sigh, and he rested his hand on Alaric’s shoulder. “Might I advise you on something? I know you have no reason to listen to anything I have to say, but do not let rumors and misgivings ruin the one good thing that has happened to you these last few years.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that Miss Kavanagh is not what people say,” he said. “And she is certainly not what Verity claims. Verity is stricken with grief; I fear that she is becoming undone, and her accusation toward Miss Kavanagh comes from a place of fear rather than reality.”
“She says that Miss Kavanagh pushed her from the window.” Alaric straightened and fixed a glare on his cousin. “And that she caught the two of you in an argument – that she set the dog on you.”
“That is less than half the truth,” Crispin sighed. “And I do not believe for a minute that Verity was pushed.”
“What are you saying?”
“I am saying that I have seen how you look at Miss Kavanagh,” Crispin said with a sad smile.
“As I have seen how she looks at you. It is a look that you have not worn in longer than I can remember, and if she is who brings such a thing out.” He shook his head.
“If she is what you need to escape from the gloom that has swallowed you, you ought not push it away.”
“I …” Alaric’s heart started to quicken, a moment when he forgot what he had found, as he dared to accept Crispin’s words. “No.” He steadied himself. “It is not that simple, Crispin.”
“Perhaps not,” Crispin agreed. “But as I said, Miss Kavanagh is not what you believe. And if you knew the truth, you would realize how foolish you sound.”
“The truth? What truth?”
“It is not my truth to give.”
“That is not an answer!” Alaric stepped into his cousin. “If you know something, Crispin, speak it!”
“Find Miss Kavanagh,” Crispin said. “Have her tell you. Believe me, it is something you will want to hear.”
Alaric thought to press his cousin further, but he felt that familiar pull that he knew without having to consider its meaning. It was Miss Kavanagh, the desire to see her forever tugging at his conscience so that even if he wanted to, he would not be able to fight it.
“You saw her earlier?” Alaric demanded. “Where?”
“In the kitchen with the cook,” Crispin said. “They are close, those two. No doubt she is still there.”
Alaric nodded. “I will find her. But you –” Alaric took him by the arm. “You are coming with me.”
“I thought you wished me to leave?” Crispin said.
“I do,” Alaric growled. “But not until I know the truth, Crispin. And if you will not tell it to me, you will be there when Miss Kavanagh does.”
He expected his cousin to fight him on this, but Crispin simply shrugged and allowed himself to be led. For whatever reason, Crispin seemed eager to be with Alaric when this truth was revealed, as if he had a personal stake in it also.
The two men entered the kitchen moments later.
“Morag!” Alaric barked at the cook. “Where is Miss Kavanagh?”
Morag’s eyes widened, and then she paled when she saw Crispin with Alaric. “She … she is not here, My Lord.”
“And where is she?”
Morag’s eyes were awash with fear. “I … she … it is not my place to say.”
“Say it,” Alaric growled. “Or need I remind you of who it is that you work for?”
Again, she looked at Crispin. Again, she appeared utterly terrified. And again, Alaric was certain that she was going to deny him.
“If you truly are her friend,” Alaric said through gritted teeth. “You will tell me where she is. There is much we need to discuss, and I intend to have that discussion today. Now, speak!” He barked that final order, and Morag yelped.
“The caves! She’s gone to the caves at the lake!”
“The caves?” Crispin stepped forward. “To what purpose?”
“She did not tell me – I swear it! But she said that she needed to go there for …” She swallowed. “For answers.”
“The caves? Why would she …” Alaric trailed off as his confusion compounded so that it was crushing.
Deep down in the pit of his stomach, Alaric wondered if these caves were more than he might want to know.
His mind returned to the locket and the portrait of his wife, and then to the rumors about Miss Kavanagh’s dark secrets.
If she was casting spells, a hidden location like the caves would be perfect for such a thing.
No! There is a reason for this, something beyond witchcraft. There must be.
“Crispin, you know the lake better than anyone. What time do the tides …” Alaric turned to address his cousin, only to find the space beside him empty. “Crispin? Crispin?” Alaric pivoted, looked throughout the kitchen, then cursed silently because his cousin had fled.
“You!” Alaric turned back on Morag, who shook where she stood. “You are certain the caves are where Miss Kavanagh has gone?”
Morag nodded but could not speak.
Alaric came to a quick decision. Miss Kavanagh was hiding something. Crispin, too, was hiding something – he seemed to know more about Miss Kavanagh than he would say. It appeared, too, that for whatever reason, these caves would hold the answer.
“Come,” he said to Morag.
“Me?” she squeaked. “Wh – where?”
“If Miss Kavanagh has indeed gone to where you said, I plan to find her there. And you are coming with me.” He looked sternly at her, an expression that gave no room for argument.
So it was that Alaric and Morag the cook hurried from the kitchen together, through the castle, and into the stables at the rear of the estate. There, Alaric had two horses saddled, and within five minutes he rode from the estate with Morag yelping behind as she tried to keep pace.
They reached the edge of the lake a moment later, the plan was to ride east and in the direction of the caves. Only, as Alaric swept his gaze across the placid blue waters of the expansive lake, he brought his horse to a sudden stop because his eyes fell upon a most concerning development.
“Crispin,” he growled as he focused across the water.
“What, My Lord?” Morag pulled her horse up beside him.
Alaric pointed to where a small boat gently steered across the calm lake.
It was too far away to make out who sat within its hull, but that mattered not.
There was only one person Alaric knew who might think to steal a boat and take it across the lake, and it was the same one who had fled the kitchen the second the caves were mentioned.
“He means to beat us there.” Alaric snarled as he watched his cousin sail with expert precision toward the caves. “Come, Cook! We ride!”
With that final command, Alaric kicked his heels into the side of his mount, steered it across the edge of the lake, and headed east, as fast as the horse could travel.
He did not know what he might find. He did not know what he wanted to find. But Alaric knew that when this day was done, nothing would be the same.