Chapter Twenty

G enevieve pulled back at the tone in his voice, lifted the snifter, and offered it to him. Rory took it. He needed a drink. Just thinking about the old headmaster made him feel angry and queasy at the same time. After he’d had several sips, Genevieve took his hand and brought it to her lips.

“Thank you for offering to accompany me,” he said. “But Scotland is a long way—”

“There’s no point in trying to talk me out of it. If you’re determined, then so am I. We’ll have to bring Frances as well.”

Rory shook his head. “I don’t want her anywhere near that school.”

She kissed his knuckles. “She doesn’t need to go near the school, but, considering her penchant for running away and her fear of abandonment, I don’t want to put hundreds of miles between us.”

Rory gave a short laugh. He couldn’t argue, and truth be told, there was comfort in having his wife and daughter with him if he had to return to St. Andrew’s and the witch’s hovel, which had been the scene of the curse.

“More brandy?” she asked quietly. “You look paler than I’ve ever seen you.”

“I’m fine.”

“You keep saying that. Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

He glanced up at her. “Both?”

She gestured to his lap, and he opened his arms. She climbed onto him and wrapped her arms about him, resting her head on his chest. Rory closed his eyes and tried to take the comfort offered. But closing his eyes only brought memories of his school days back. He’d worked so hard over the years to banish them, and now they’d be dredged up again, whether he wanted to examine them or not.

“Can you talk about it?” she asked, voice muffled against his chest. “What happened at that school?”

What hadn’t happened? He’d known Henry and King before he arrived at St. Andrew’s. They’d met at Tonbridge and been unceremoniously expelled together. Their parents had been hesitant to allow them to remain together, but St. Andrew’s Preparatory for Boys was the last option for all three. He’d arrived first, ahead of Henry and King, and barely said goodbye to his father before the headmaster grabbed him by the ear, pulled him into his office, and backhanded him across the face. Rory lay on the floor, his ears ringing, and looked up at the man in shock.

“Let that be a warning tae ye,” he’d said. “Ye’ll behave or I’ll beat ye until it hurts tae breathe.”

Rory didn’t know why he hadn’t stayed down on the ground, lowered his eyes, and kept out of the headmaster’s way from then on. But he’d been unaccountably angry. He’d been furious to have to start over at a new school, at the lecture his father had given him, at the disappointment in his parents’ faces. He’d been angry at himself for causing that disappointment, but he saw now he’d been too immature to place the blame where it belonged. He blamed everyone else, not least of all Headmaster Niall Cameron.

“We called him Camerarse behind his back,” Rory said after relaying the basics of life at St. Andrew’s.

Genevieve looked up at him, eyes twinkling. “Knowing young boys, I’m sure you couldn’t keep that pet name a secret.”

Rory wished he could smile. “No, he heard it and punished us. Punished me. He didn’t need a reason to beat me. He hated me from the start.” He told her how Cameron had struck him at their first meeting.

“Men like that shouldn’t be allowed around children. They’re weak and seek to make themselves feel strong by bullying those weaker than them.”

Rory blinked in surprise. He’d never thought to consider why Cameron had behaved as he had, but Genevieve’s assumption was as good as any other. “I suppose I didn’t help matters by taunting him then,” Rory said. “After he backhanded me, I stood up, put my hands on my hips, and said, ‘I’m not scared of you.’”

“Oh, Rory.” Genevieve hugged him tighter.

“He flew into a rage and really beat me then. And he was right. It did hurt to breathe. When Henry and King arrived a few days later, they barely recognized me because my face was so bruised.”

Her jaw was tight, her green eyes as hard as emeralds. “I may have to murder the man myself. Knowing you, you didn’t stay out of his way.”

Rory shrugged. “I don’t think I could have if I tried. He hated me. Probably because I affected a false sense of bravado. I did it with everyone and everything back then. He told me once it was his personal mission to break me. He wanted to be the one to make me cry. I never gave him that satisfaction. No matter how he starved me or beat me or threatened me.”

Genevieve sighed, and the anguish in her expression spoke volumes.

“It was that damn drive to prove myself the bravest, the strongest, the one who cared the least for any consequences that contributed to my going along with the plan to steal the whiskey from the witch that night. We should have stayed in the school, warm and dry in our beds. Instead, we had to prove we were braver than all the other lads. Underneath it all, I was terrified.”

“Of course you were,” she said. “You were little boys.”

He was loath to leave the chair and the comfort of his wife, but he feared he’d lose his nerve if he didn’t act directly. “I will write Henry back tonight and tell him I’ll arrange to return to Scotland. King will need money to travel. I’ll write to my solicitor to make certain he has the funds he requires.”

“What can I do to help?”

“You can oversee the packing. You’ll need warm clothing—both you and Frances. Make a list of what you have, and we’ll buy anything you’re lacking before we go. I won’t leave until I hear back from Henry and King. Once we’re all agreed on when and where to meet, we’ll leave directly.”

“Then we’d better be packed and ready.” She rose, took his hand, and pulled him to his feet. But when he would have gone to his library to see to his correspondence, she pulled him to her and kissed him. “Leave it until tomorrow, Rory,” she murmured. “I need you.”

She led him to their bedchamber, where she undressed him and drew him into bed and then into her arms. For the first time in his life, a woman made love to him. He let her take control, let her make him forget, let her bring him pleasure. After, when he held her, his eyes heavy and his body sated, he couldn’t help thinking that even though she’d said she needed him, the truth was he needed her. He’d always needed her far more than she needed him.

*

The weather turned colder seemingly overnight. The summer had lingered, and then let go so abruptly that the chill in the air was almost shocking a few days later, when Rory went for a ride early in the morning. He’d always enjoyed riding early, but he’d stopped right after his marriage, preferring to stay in bed with his wife.

Now, with their trip looming, he slept poorly and was up hours before Genevieve and Frances. Dawn had barely broken when he took his horse out, the breath from both horse and rider lingering in the air.

Although Lilacfall Abbey was the most beautiful in the spring and early summer when the lilacs were in bloom, framing the house and grounds with swaths of purple, he enjoyed the fall the best. The leaves on the trees turned vibrant oranges, yellows, and reds. The air in the morning was crisp and the ground swirled with early morning fog.

He rode the horse at an easy pace, enjoying the streaks of pink light in the eastern sky as the sun began to rise. The path he took was away from the wooded area of his land, on a clear path that bordered the fields of a neighbor. Rory noted the harvest was almost complete, and the fields lay barren and abandoned.

Something moved in the field, and Rory halted his horse. The beast made a sound of unease and pranced until Rory was able to calm her. Only then did he realize the object he’d seen wasn’t an animal but a person. One of the men hired to help with the harvest?

“Good morning!” he called out.

The figure moved toward him, shrouded in a dark cloak with the hood pulled tight around his face.

“Are you lost?” Rory asked, still struggling to contain the mare, who did not like the look of the figure at all. He urged his horse closer, and Rory realized it was either a small man or a woman. When the figure raised its head, Rory saw it was indeed a woman—a very old woman, her face deeply lined.

She crooked a finger at him, beckoning him closer. Rory had the urge to turn his horse and ride away—the mare certainly had that same idea. Instead, he dismounted, gave the horse a pat on the rump, and walked to the woman. “Do you need assistance?” he asked. He didn’t know why he said it. She didn’t need assistance. He knew who she was even before he drew closer, and her hood fell back, revealing her long white hair.

The witch had come for him. King and Henry both mentioned having seen her. Now, she’d come for him.

“I dinnae need assistance,” she said. “Ye do.” Her voice was soft with a Scottish accent. He hadn’t expected to hear the kindness in her tone or the see the small smile on her lips. The sun was still low, and the shadows might be deceiving him.

“You are her sister,” he said, stopping before her and looking down. She was tiny, ancient, and bent over with age. In his memory, she had been so large.

He felt his legs begin to shake with fear. His hands were clammy inside his riding gloves, and they shook as he removed his hat.

“Verra good. Ye’ve been expecting me, aye?”

Rory felt his breath catch in his throat. “I’m the only one who hasn’t received part of the spell.”

“Ye dinnae remember the words I spoke that night?”

He shook his head and sank to his knees. “I’m sorry,” he said, feeling the sting of tears behind his eyes. “I know I can’t ever undo what I did—what we did—but I can try to make it right. Is your sister still alive? I can repay her—”

“I ken ye’re sorry, Emory Lumlee. Ye dinnae mean for it to happen. And ye paid the toll for yer wrongdoing. There is a way to undo it. Ye have perhaps lost the most of any of the three boys. Ye, most of all, will want the last of the spell.” She held out a hand, knobby with age and arthritis. Her skin was pale, the blue of the veins visible through the translucent skin. She uncurled her fingers to reveal, nestled within the gnarled depths of her palm, a yellowed piece of paper.

Rory swallowed, the cold and wet of the earth seeping into his breeches. He didn’t rise. He merely reached out one trembling hand and took the paper. It made a soft rasp against his gloves as he opened it. The light was poor, and he had to stare at it for a long moment before the words, written in a curling script, were legible.

But beware! The price of my offer maybe

Too great a cost for these men of ten timesthree.

He blew out a breath, the word beware sending shivers up his spine. He didn’t need any explanation for his part of the counter-spell. Clearly, it was a warning that the price for undoing the curse might be too high. Well, he hadn’t really thought he could snap his fingers and make it all go away. Of course there would be a price. Henry’s part of the spell had mentioned returning to the start. Start was a rather vague term. Did it mean the dining hall where they’d hatched the plan? The old witch’s hovel? Surely that didn’t still stand.

“Madam, if I might—”

But when he looked up at the witch’s sister, she was gone. Rory looked right and left. She wasn’t there. He stood and turned, looking behind his shoulder and peering into the fields surrounding him. The ground had been shrouded in mist earlier this morning, but most of that had burned away. Even so, no person could disappear into it.

“Madam?” Rory called. His voice echoed, and behind him, his horse blew out a breath. Rory looked down at the paper he’d crumpled in his hands. He hadn’t imagined the paper. It was still there. He swallowed the lump in his throat and walked back to his mare, glancing over his shoulder several times. And Genevieve said she didn’t believe in magic. How the devil would she explain a woman disappearing like that? She’d believe well enough if these sorts of things happened to her.

He returned to the house directly and went straight to his library, muddy boots and wet breeches and all, then sat at his desk and wrote to Henry and King with the last part of the spell. He sealed the letters, delivered them to a footman, and told him to see them dispatched posthaste.

The three of them would be together again in a fortnight.