Prince, Prelude-Legend Page 16

  “You are beloved of the Realm and Fae alike. There is more for you to know.” Now the guardian was painting a picture right before their eyes.

  “See DuLaine. He was my friend. See what he became—a butcher without feeling. The first killings did something to his mind. The blood he consumed to feed the gland did something to his heart. His physical needs were new and overpowering, and they took control. He became a beast. It didn’t take long before he began taking pleasure in the killing and the blood ritual. He began to enjoy preying upon these young peasant girls. He ruined the only two women he ever loved. He condemned his wife and daughter to their eventual fates. DuLaine was forever condemned by his own acts. He turned into a wanton fiend. It was the blood-thirst at first, and then later, it was his corrupted soul.” The guardian voice sighed before proceeding. “Once he had been a faithful, moral man, a Druid husband, a loving father, but in altering the formula to accommodate his new desire for eternal life…he lost himself to lust of all kinds.”

  Again Maxie thought he was going to stop and urged him on. The guardian continued on a hushed note, “Woe to the being who takes on the powers meant only for the gods! DuLaine was out of control. His new needs were voracious. His morals were nonexistent. He was wickedly unrestrained. He would lure unsuspecting peasant females to his special chamber, a room where he maintained in sacrilege a temple of sarsen stones. There in the middle of the sarsen horseshoe, he used our bluestones for his death slab—no other word can describe it. It was in this chamber that he committed his most vile acts! There, DuLaine would subject these young girls to his avid lust, raping them, torturing them as he pleasured himself with their bodies. There he would drain them of their blood, much like a vampir, without hesitation, without pity. His wife, his soul mate, found herself so lost in the blood lust that she participated fully in these blood orgies…”

  Now Maxie had to stop him as her hand went up involuntarily to her mouth. “No…oh no…” She pyramided her fingers. “But I know…we are running out of time.”

  “Yes, she is looming, and we are forbidden to look into the future or to aid you to a safe conclusion,” responded the Guardian. “We feel her growing…with hate. However, you must know all. In the end, DuLaine’s poor wife went completely mad. Her good Druid heart could not bear what she had become. In order to stave off the disease that would have taken her life, she found herself debased. She found her beloved was a stranger. DuLaine’s wickedness went unchecked for three months. In those three months nearly fifty…fifty girls…even young boys were tortured and killed.”

  Maxie turned her face into Julian’s strong chest. He held her tightly. The guardian gave her a moment before continuing. “Indeed, we were so blind by our Druid pride, a pride that would not believe one of our own … You see, we looked to the villagers. We thought it was one of them committing these horrible crimes. However, we discovered the book was missing from the temple. Then, finally, we began to understand.”

  “You must know the past to help you in the now…” answered Maxie softly. “I see.”

  * * *

  Shamon stroked Nell’s head. “There, there sweet girl. You will be better soon. Then perhaps it would be best if we could find a way for you to slip away from here…”

  Nell looked up at him with sad eyes, a resigned face. Her dreams of having a store in London, of being self-sufficient … these things were gone.

  “Don’t ye believe me? I mean to help you, Nell. Just get better. Eat this…come then, sit up and eat this.”

  Nell sat up and looked at Shamon. “You can’t help me. She will know.”

  “I don’t think so. I have been training my mind…I think I can do this.”

  “She will kill us both if she knows you are helping me.”

  “No, she will kill you and punish me,” he answered thoughtfully, and it was what he believed. “But, Nell, if you stay…she will end up killing you. She has never kept a personal maid. She can’t abide another female in her home for very long.”

  Nell picked at the meat he had brought her but kept silent. He stroked her head to comfort her, and she accepted the caress. He knew she had no choice. She would let Shamon do whatever he wanted. She had little will of her own.

  Shamon was determined. He had grown fond of Nell. Killing was a thing that made him sick to his very core. When Lamia killed to survive, he understood. When she went on an orgy of blood and lust, he was sickened. He forgave her because he knew her nature had been warped by the need, by the bloodlust. Still, he hated it, hated it all. He knew there were instances when his lady killed for pleasure instead of need and he had to look the other way. His devotion was absolute, but this time, he had to find a way to stop her because…he cared a great deal for Nell.

  It was always worse when he knew the victim, worse still when she involved him in the sex and then when she made him watch as she drained the victim of their last drop of blood.

  This time, with this girl, he would take his stand. Somehow he would keep his mind blank and weave a story Lamia could—must—believe. That was the trick of it. Lamia would forget Nell the moment she was gone. That was her nature. And these days she was in a frenzy whenever she was awake; she wouldn’t think of Nell once the girl was out of sight. His lady was sleeping a great deal—more than usual—and when she wasn’t sleeping she was listless and wandered about in her library. He knew her thoughts were elsewhere. She was forever reading the ‘old books’ about certain Gypsy spells.

  This was good and would keep her mind off Nell, whom she was already growing weary of. Such was his mistress. She was easily bored.

  He thought about this for a moment. Nell running away? No. This would not work. Lamia DuLaine would never tolerate Nell running away—she would take that as an affront and have him go after her. She would not rest until Nell was found, and then…oh no, it would never do. That was not a solution.

  He would have to fabricate a believable tale. He would have to make himself believe that tale was true so that when she went into his mind, she would believe him. There could be no doubting what he would tell her. His mind would have to be filled with the story and nothing else. He had been practicing, and he was very nearly sure he could pull it off.

  First, Nell needed one more day to regain her strength. In the meantime, he would keep Lamia away from her. That had been an easy job. Lamia had momentarily forgotten about Nell. He had moved Nell to the third floor, where he told Lamia the servants were looking after her. After all, if Nell had a chill as they had reported, she shouldn’t be in Lamia’s antechamber subjecting the mistress of the estate to infection.

  Lamia had readily agreed that he was very clever to think of this. She had kissed him tenderly and told him he was her special boy forever looking out for her. He had allowed his mind to fill with adoration for her to see, to feel. This was not difficult. It was exactly how he felt. She had not mentioned Nell since.

  This was good. It would aid the tale he had fabricated in his mind.

  * * *

  Maxine was back in her bedchamber, covered to her chin with her warm quilt. Her mind was racing with all the things she had learned. It was all completely insane. If she were so stupid as to confide in her friends—they would think her mad! She was beginning to think that she was mad. And her parents? They had not been so very wrong after all. All they had wanted was to protect her. They were understood and forgiven.

  Lamia DuLaine. Now here was the problem. It was easily recognizable that Lamia’s interest in Julian was dangerously passionate. There was a whisper in the air, and it was her own voice telling her, “You are in her way.”

  The question remained: what would Lamia do to remove her as an obstacle? She frowned over this. Would she simply attempt to win him over with her many charms?

  “Ha!” Maxie released a short, low breath. “I don’t think so.” What then? Would she attempt to hurt her…perhaps kill her? She answered with a sardonic grimace, “Faith, yes.” Then Maxie sighed heavily. This was all
so out of sync. She should be playing with frills and waiting to recite her marriage vows! And thank goodness her parents had agreed to move up the date. In two weeks she and Julian would be man and wife. Then, Lady DuLaine…then let’s see what you can do against the two of us.

  Soon very soon, they would be married and sharing the same bed. Oh yes…she remembered being in his arms earlier that evening, and her stomach clenched with pleasure. She thought of his touch, of his big, hard, rippling muscles, of his penetratingly sexy blue eyes…oh yes, Maxie thought with a sigh, she almost couldn’t blame Lamia for wanting him. Right, but she wasn’t going to get him—and their marriage couldn’t come soon enough.

  She smacked her pillow and put her head into the indent she had made. How was she ever going to sleep? Doom and gloom. A duel ahead, for that was how she thought of the future confrontation with Lamia DuLaine … and she was sure a confrontation was coming.

  ~ Nineteen ~

  SHAMON GATHERED THE servants in the kitchen. “Oi ’ave a bit of bad news. Nell has taken a turn for the worse.”

  Everyone groaned and remarked upon it with concern. Cook asked if there was anything that they could do. Shamon eyed her and nodded. “Aye then. If ye would send word to the stables to have the covered wagon brought round to the front of the house, oi would be much obliged. Oi’ll be taking her to her family, as she has a doctor in her village that she has a mind to see. Oi should be back by late afternoon.”

  Cook immediately dispatched her young kitchen boy to the stables. Shamon turned and with a great show of thanks hurriedly escaped to make his way upstairs. He had timed this with great precision. His mind was full of thoughts of Nell. Nell sickly, Nell losing color, Nell scarcely able to get up and walk. Nell collapsing, Nell dying.

  Aye. If his mistress looked into his mind, that was what she would find, because he had taught himself to believe it. Nell (if she stayed) would surely collapse and die. That image was imbedded in his thoughts.

  Lamia was in bed. It was scarcely seven in the morning, and the sun was ablaze in the spring sky. She would not be opening her drapes or coming downstairs for some hours, and when she did, she would be told exactly what he wanted her to hear.

  He went up to the little room where he had been caring for Nell and went right to where she sat in a wooden rocking chair. She was already wearing the hooded cloak Shamon had retrieved from a trunk in the attic. It was one of Lamia’s. He had been careful to remove the fur from the hood, though even so it looked just a bit too fine for a maidservant.

  She was pale from her ordeal and was having trouble walking. He held her tightly as he led her downstairs. He threw the portmanteau he had packed for her (again with Lamia’s discarded clothing from only last year) and helped her onto the wagon seat. Cook and some of the servants came out to wish her well. Shamon was thankful that they were too busy studying her poor, sickly countenance to notice her finer clothing. A few moments later, he was urging his horses forward, and thankfully they were off. He had one clear thought at that moment: he had to put some distance between himself and his mistress.

  When he returned he had two lies he would have to promote. To the servants he would say she was staying with her family until she was recovered. To Lamia he would report her death.

  He would tell Lamia that he could not save her from the loss of blood she had suffered and so took her many miles away into the woods to bury her body. He would tell her that he told the servants he had taken her to her family. She would think him very clever and think of it no more—he was sure…he hoped! It had to serve. If Lamia looked into his mind and saw him thinking of her alive, he would put it to the story he had told the servants. He believed this would work to convince her.

  Now he just had to get out of range of her probe. He was sure she was asleep. He was sure she would not call for him for hours—but still, he was afraid. He was afraid for Nell.

  He didn’t want her to probe for him and find Nell beside him. If she did, she would know that Nell was not dying.

  Just a few more miles…just a bit more and they would be out of her range.

  Lamia, however, was not asleep. She was pacing in her room. She was formulating a plan. Maxine’s death had to be carefully orchestrated. It would have to look like an accident…or better yet, an illness from which she would not recover.

  There were ways to accomplish this. At tea perhaps? Yes, she could slip something into her tea. A poison might be detected, though. Would they look in her direction if she were the last one to visit for tea? Yes, they might. The Reigate chit’s mother did not like her. Not many women liked her.

  It would have to be something else. She would need a strand of Maxine’s hair…

  There was no doubt that she would have to pay a visit to the Reigate estate soon. In the meantime, she would call Shamon to attend her. Perhaps he could help her relax and get some sleep. She probed, and her mind softly whispered his name.

  Breslyn, Prince of Fae cloaked in the Féth Fiada, stood behind her and lifted his hand. He was breaking the damn rules. His Queen Aaibhe would call such a minor infraction ‘tweaking’, so he called it so. He was tweaking the rules. All he was doing was playing a tiny bit with her mind…

  He is out of range. Breslyn planted the thought. No doubt, Nell has died, and he has had to attend to the problem.

  She sighed. Well, that was too bad; she hadn’t actually meant to kill the girl. She had rather liked Nell…

  She moved to her bed and with a weary sigh climbed in. She was tired. So very tired.

  There was always that dratted voice—the Keeper—saying her name, telling her to remember, making her look into her past…

  Satisfied, the prince smiled to himself and took his leave.

  * * *

  Shamon sat beside Nell on the wooden bench outside the Red Bull Tavern and Posting House. They were nearly fifteen miles away from DuLaine. The stage had already arrived and would be departing shortly. He was holding her small white hand, putting it to his lips. “Now, Nell, you must remember for the next few days to eat…quite a bit more than you are used to. It will help to put the bloom back in your cheeks.”

  “Aye then, Shamon.” She looked at him wistfully. “I do wish you were coming with me.”

  “You will be fine. You will remember now. Oi have sewn quite a sum of money into your cloak, and another leather purse is sewn into one of your undergarments in the portmanteau. You will go and get yourself a very nice room in London, and then you will go to the bank oi told ye about. It looks big and intimidating, but ye have a tidy sum, and if anyone asks how ye got it, ye mention my name. Oi’m well known in that bank, as oi handle all the business there for m’lady. You tell them oi said oi would be in to make sure they are taking good care of ye. Ask them to recommend a business agent.” He eyed her to see if she was taking all this in. “Mind me now, girl…this is very important…ye ken? Ye will be needing a good agent to locate a little shop so you can have that sweet shop ye been wanting.”

  “How can oi do all that meself?” She was fidgeting with her fingers.

  “You were about to before we entered your life. You had tidy savings, and you had a plan. Nell…you can do it. You must do it. Change your hairstyle as soon as you are able and never look back. If you ever by chance happen to see her in London—run, jest run the other way.”

  “Oi be afraid, Shamon…”

  “Chances are ye won’t see her—and she wouldn’t know ye anyway. She rarely travels about in London until dusk, and then, Nelly girl, I really doubt she would remember ye…” He stroked her pale cheek.

  “Oi love ye, Shamon…that oi do.”

  “Ye shouldn’t. It was oi that sent ye up there to her knowing she would play wit ye…but oi did think she would leave ye be at the inn. Oi didn’t think she would take ye along wit us…no, oi didn’t.” He shook his head.

  A coachman appeared and called out the hour and the fact that they would be departing shortly. Shamon walked Nell towards the coach and h
anded the portmanteau to a boy who heaved it in the boot.

  Shamon looked gravely at Nell. “Nell, you have to be strong…”

  “Be she ill?” asked the lad.

  “She has been and is still not strong…” Shamon slipped the lad a coin. “Oi would be obliged to ye, if ye kept an eye out for her and saw to her comfort? Mayhap ye could fetch her a cup of tea at the next stop if she doesn’t feel like going in the inn?”

  The boy hid the coin in his pocket and smiled broadly. “Oi will be ’appy to do that. Don’t ye fret now, missy.” He said towards Nell, “Oi’ll be watching out fer ye.”

  Nell thanked him and turned to Shamon before climbing up the short steps to the interior of the coach. “Shamon…will oi never see ye again?”

  “Not until oi think it would be safe. Oi care for ye, Nell…that oi do.”

  It wasn’t long after that when Shamon was watching the stagecoach vanish out of sight that he felt something warm envelop him. “Whot the devil?” he whispered, slightly afraid that it was somehow Lamia.

  Breslyn stepped up to Shamon, his human Glamour just barely concealing from Shamon the Fae behind the human disguise as he introduced himself. “Shamon, my name is Breslyn, Prince of Dagda, and I’m breaking all the rules, but I can’t stand by and watch anymore without helping and I don’t believe that this little bit of aid will take down the universe. I am going to shield both your mind and Nell’s mind from DuLaine’s probe in regards to this incident. She will believe that Nell has died.” He put a hand on Shamon’s shoulder and whispered, “You are human…better than many…sadder than most…” Then he was gone.

  * * *

  The Prince of Dagda regarded his queen quizzically. “This moves now quickly and towards an inevitable end unless we do something—and I beg of you, let me do something for little Maxie…she is so worthy…”

  “Why do you think that if she is worthy she cannot do something worthy to help herself?”

  “Because the beast does not play by the rules, and Maxie—Maxie does…”