Awaken the Curse Page 3

  “Are you speaking of the nightwalkers?”

  Cade gave a sharp snort of laughter. “Let me guess: Old Enid’s been bending your ear with her rubbish. There’s no such thing as nightwalkers. They’re stories made up to frighten children into staying in bed. Naught more.”

  “Enid said I’d find you here.” Katherine came striding down the path, dressed in a sturdy riding habit, the gorgeous hair he’d wanted to run his fingers through last night bundled safely away under a hat, the mouth he’d ached to kiss curved in a wary smile. “Are you ready to leave for the obelisk?”

  “You’re coming?”

  “Of course. How did you think you’d find your way there?”

  “Cade?”

  The groom looked up. “Not me, milord. I’m to be heading north this morning into the next valley.”

  “Then how about a map or written directions. Hell, a damn compass and sextant would work in a pinch.”

  She frowned. “You’re being ridiculous. Cade’s busy. I know the way. Simple as that.”

  Simple? Nothing was simple where his feelings for Katherine were concerned. They never had been.

  “One would think you didn’t want me to go with you,” she said.

  That’s exactly what he wanted. A long, solitary tramp through very cold snow, preferably up to his waist. Then he caught the teasing sparkle in her golden eyes and the dimple at the corner of her mouth as she smothered a quick smile. Before he thought better of it, his hand shot out to assist her over a muddy puddle.

  What was it about this woman that drove him to ignore common sense? She’d broken his heart once. Hadn’t he learned anything since then?

  He noticed her hesitation before she placed her hand in his, the tilt of her head, the sunlit curve of her cheek, the pulse fluttering against her jaw.

  He gritted his teeth. The answer to that question was a definite no.

  * * *

  “Amazing.” James caressed the rough surface of the obelisk, leaving Katherine’s own traitorous skin flushed and sensitive. He stretched to study one of the four deep circular depressions carved into each sloping side of the upright stone.

  “The four sides carry four different symbols,” Katherine explained. “Father searched all his references, but his expertise tends to folklore and linguistics. This had him at his wit’s end.”

  James flashed her a look over his shoulder. “Which explains why he wrote me.”

  She nodded, praying he didn’t notice the heat coloring her cheeks. “Monsieur d’Espe heard about the disk and urged Father to contact you.”

  “The chevalier d’Espe?”

  She jerked her head up at the sharp way he spoke. “That’s right. He’s renting the Hall nearby. He’s convinced the Imnada still exist and hopes to find proof. I think he’s half-mad, but Father enjoys his company.”

  “ ‘Half-mad’ is putting it mildly. I’ve met Monsieur d’Espe. He’s a jumped-up treasure hunter chasing every half-baked rumor about the Imnada shifters like a dog with a bone. Most think he’d sell his soul to find proof of their survival. A few believe he might already have done so.” He paused, his gaze narrowing. “Silly question, but how did the chevalier hear about the disk?”

  Her gaze slid to the side, her whole face aflame. “I might have mentioned it at dinner one night.”

  “Might have?”

  “All right,” she huffed. “I told him. We were speaking of the obelisk’s markings and it sort of slipped out.”

  “Did anything else happen to slip out? Like how I came by the amulet in the first place? I’d hate to have traveled all this way to find myself at the end of an outraged father’s blade.”

  “If you mean the part where I was lying naked in your arms after having shed my virginity along with my self-respect, the answer would be no.”

  “Funny. I don’t remember it that way at all,” he said quietly. Before she could respond, he turned back to his study of the great rough-carved stone. He drew free a slender chain from his shirt, the amulet dangling as he pulled it over his head. The beaten silver disk flashed in the sun as he reached up, fitting it into the grooved indentation on the north-facing side of the obelisk.

  “James!” A ripple of light burst from the stone to curl around his fingers and up his wrist to disperse like droplets of mist in the air.

  “I wondered what would happen.” He ran his hand over each face of the obelisk. “Four sides. Four disks.”

  “But why? What are they for?”

  “I have no idea. Therein lies the mystery.”

  At the sound of an approaching rider, James removed the disk, sliding it into his pocket just as the chevalier d’Espe emerged into the clearing.

  Accustomed to Father’s rumpled demeanor, Katherine found Monsieur d’Espe’s single-minded intensity daunting. He radiated nervous energy, his actions quick, his words curt, and his temperament mercurial. “They told me I would find you here, Mademoiselle Lacey. I had hoped to find your father at home. Has he not returned yet?”

  “No, but we’re hoping for word anytime. This snow has everyone caught at their own hearths, I’m afraid.” She stepped back to avoid the churning hooves of his horse, which tossed its head and nervously pawed at the snow.

  “I hope you’re right. One never knows what is waiting for a chance to pounce in these hostile environs. I carry two pistols and a silver dagger at all times, just in case.”

  Katherine had heard this advice before, usually over the second course, right before the story about the mysterious beast he’d trapped in Suffolk and the collection of letters he’d unearthed at a library in Boulogne proving the Imnada were real. But James’s head jerked up, his hand shoved deep in his pocket. “A silver dagger?”

  The chevalier’s eyes narrowed as he studied James from top to toe, his gaze cool. “Do I know you, Monsieur?”

  “Lord Duncallan. We met at a symposium in Paris last year.”

  “Of course. I remember you from the reception afterwards.” His lips curled in a whiplash smile. “You wore a tall blonde that night, I believe. A delectable creature. You were the envy of every man in the room.”

  Katherine glanced at James, whose icy gaze and clenched jaw revealed the truth of d’Espe’s claims. A knot caught in her throat, but she swallowed it down. Had she really thought James had spent the last five years in monkish solitude? Of course not. So why did she feel as if she’d been kicked in the gut?

  The chevalier preened. “Silver is the bane of the Imnada shifters. It acts like a poison on their systems. I am surprised a supposed expert on the creatures does not know this simple fact, but then, so much of the information has been lost or laughed off. It takes a true professional to dig for what is important.” He turned back to Katherine with a snort of disdain, clearly dismissing James as not worthy of notice. “I warned your father, Mademoiselle Lacey. He ignored my precautions, but we see who remains and who has vanished without a trace, do we not?”

  A trickle of unease slithered down Katherine’s spine, and she caught herself glancing at the trees as if she might catch a watching pair of eyes from among the bare tangled branches. Then a hand curved around her waist, James’s solid oaken presence pulling her back from the apprehension gripping her.

  She slanted a curious look up at him through downcast lashes. His attention was focused on d’Espe, but the warmth of his arm remained, the press of it along her spine, the feel of his body against hers. Even through her coat, it sent a lightning shock along her bones, and she suppressed a shiver lest he recognize her need.

  “You believe in these nightwalkers?” James asked d’Espe.

  “Why shouldn’t I believe?” the chevalier answered, either oblivious or uncaring of the pain he’d caused. “To most of the world, you and I and the rest of the Fey-born Other are as fantastical as any Imnada shifter. Men and women whose magical powers derive in the summer kingdom of the Fey? We are an impossibility.”

  “True enough, but Mademoiselle Lacey tells me you’ve come her
e hoping to catch a shifter in the flesh. Any luck?”

  The chevalier scowled, his hands tightening upon the reins. “Mock if you like, my lord. But it is not as far-fetched a theory as some would believe. These creatures were able to change their form at will. How hard would it have been for them to slink away in the guise of animals and hide from the world until memories of their treasonous rebellion faded? Even if I am incorrect, it was worth every expense to travel to see the obelisk for myself. Think of it—a source of their powers waiting only on someone clever enough to unlock it.”

  “Is that your theory? That this is some sort of prehistoric magical wellspring?”

  “It is far more than a theory, my lord. Again, I would not expect someone who has not devoted his life to these creatures, as I have, to truly understand the stone’s true significance, but whoever unlocks the stone and its secrets will hold unlimited knowledge of the universe.”

  “Are you close to success?”

  “Closer than you know,” the chevalier said, eyes alight with some inner flame. “I will leave you to your”—he raked Katherine with a greasy stare that made her shudder with cold even beneath her three heavy layers—“observations, but be very careful, my lord Duncallan. You wouldn’t want the nightwalkers to come after you as they did the professor.”

  The horse, released from its tight hold, bolted into the wood, snow flung in its wake.

  Katherine’s muscles contracted, fear chewing its way up her throat. “Dreadful man. Do you think he’s right? Do you think the Imnada’s power is somehow locked within the stone?”

  “I think his brain’s gone soft. Monsieur d’Espe has been chasing shifters for decades with nothing to show for it but a house full of curiosities and an empty bank account.”

  “But how does he know what happened to Father?”

  “He doesn’t. He just wants to scare you into leaving the mountain—and the obelisk—to him. Come,” James said. “We should head back as well. It’s getting late.”

  The sudden withdrawal of his arm nearly toppled her, and she dropped her gaze while collecting her scattered wits and tumbling emotions. She would not fall in love with him again. Never ever. Comforting arm or not, James Farraday was trouble. She knew it up, down, and sideways. He was a player and a scoundrel, and she didn’t care what he said about the Duncallan estates: there was no woman on earth who wouldn’t scoop him up like a dish of Gunter’s ice cream. But she refused to be one of them.

  Eyes firmly on the ground as she fought off the tantalizing image of James topped with a cherry, Katherine caught a glimpse of something sparkling out of the corner of her eye. She paused to kneel at the obelisk’s base, picking up a familiar brass button. She ran her fingers over a spattered stain across one corner of roughhewn stone. “James? You may want to come see this. I found—”

  The roar of a gunshot drowned out her words.

  James dove on her as a second shot exploded off the obelisk where her head had been a moment before.

  Shock and rage shimmered in his eyes as he stared at her, his body a pressing weight shoving her deep into the wet snow. His face so familiar; the stubborn chin, the high knifing cheekbones, the tiny scar at the edge of his mouth. Perhaps it was fear or astonishment or the cold spreading through her backside to mix with the heat coiling tight in her stomach. She refused to believe it was the lingering sweet combination of James and ice cream that seemed to have taken a permanent spot in her discombobulated brain.

  But whether it was fear or dessert, before Katherine could think better of it, she cupped his face in her hands, lifted her head, and kissed him.

  * * *

  James sat shirtless on the edge of his bed, Katherine standing in front of him. Silken chestnut curls escaped her pins to frame the porcelain pallor of her face, bottom lip caught between her teeth. Her scent filled his head, the pulse at the base of her throat fluttering like a caged bird. His own blood throbbed far more forcefully and farther south. Tip forward an inch and he’d be pillowed between her breasts. His tongue able to taste her—

  “Ow!” He yanked his arm away from Katherine’s grip. “That damn well hurts.”

  “Quit behaving like a baby.” She grabbed him again, holding him steady as she cleaned the reopened gash on his upper arm and bound it tight with a new thick white bandage. “This time try to keep from being knifed, shot at, or otherwise injured. I’m running out of laudanum and clean bandages, and you’re running out of luck.”

  Luck? His present state was about as unlucky as one man could get. All it would take was a firm hold and a quick flip and she’d be nestled underneath him. After her unexpected and completely delectable kiss, why not?

  He pushed aside his lecherous thoughts. Why not? He could think of at least two good reasons, both of them in real danger of being kneed into oblivion if he tried. There was also the little matter of his not being a complete jackass despite numerous assertions otherwise. And last and largest, because while he’d arrived with juvenile ideas of toying with Katherine, he’d realized within the first few minutes he would be the one ending up burned by that childish game.

  She stepped back before he threw caution to the winds and acted on every impulse thundering through his lust-hazy brain. “There. How does that feel?”

  He was about to answer, Damned painful, thanks when he realized she meant his arm. He windmilled it a few times. Sore, but not impossible. He’d live. The bullet had only grazed him. It was the sharp tree branches and a fall on the rocks as he chased after their assailant that had ripped his stitches open. Whoever shot at them knew the area well. The tracks James followed ended in a granite outcropping already shed of snow and, beyond that, a muddy, well-trodden lane where one set of prints was easily lost. He’d given up, returning to Katherine at the obelisk, scraped, bloody, and dangerously light-headed.

  She crossed to refill the basin with clean water. Stumbled over the rug. Knocked into the table. And dropped the bar of soap.

  “Drat,” she muttered, bending to retrieve it.

  Only when she slammed the pitcher down on the table with water-sloshing force did he notice her chattering teeth and the glimmering brightness of her eyes.

  He rose, easing her around by the shoulders. “Don’t cry,” he murmured.

  “I’m not crying,” she sniffed. “I’m just on edge. This is twice in two days you could have been killed. Like Father.”

  “Hold on. You don’t know your father is dead.”

  “That was blood on the obelisk, James. Father’s blood.”

  “I’ll concede his disappearance may be connected to the shooting,” James argued, “but I’m not ready to believe your father’s dead. Not until I have more proof than a lost button and a few smears of blood.”

  “What more proof do you need? Another bullet? Two? Maybe an entire fusillade?”

  “That would definitely clinch it,” he answered dryly.

  “Jokes aside, that wasn’t a peashooter.” Her gaze slid to his bound arm. “Someone tried to kill you, James—again. I want to know why. And don’t try to tell me it was the nightwalkers. No ghost walks around with a loaded gun.”

  “If you’re so worried, why won’t you look me in the face? You haven’t once met my eye since we returned to the house.” He tipped her chin up with a finger, but she slid her gaze to somewhere behind his left shoulder. “Is it because you kissed me?”

  Her face bloomed scarlet, but at least she was looking at him now. In fact, she was flaying him alive with her glittering tawny eyes. “That kiss was a mistake.”

  “Was it?”

  Her mouth firmed, her brows drawn into a stern frown. “You know it as well as I do. There’s no going back even if we wanted to.”

  She protested but didn’t seek to escape. Instead her body remained perilously close. He felt the warmth rising from her skin, the soft, peachy fragrance of it filling his head until it spun. “Do you want to?”

  She wrenched free to pace a few steps away, fists clenched at her sides
, back straight as a poker. “Don’t do this, James. Don’t pretend to feelings that aren’t there.”

  James whispered a few words over his flattened palm, blew a slow steady breath. A small tangled swirl of mage energy appeared in the cup of his hand, burning blue and gold and pink and lilac until it solidified into a diamond, the magic caught within its heart like a flame. “Take it.”

  She accepted the jewel from him, though her gaze remained wary. “It’s beautiful, but how . . . ?”

  “I haven’t spent all my time in London playing the scoundrel. A little training can do wonders when the raw power is already there. I could deck you in diamonds. Cover you in rubies and sapphires, emeralds and pearls. You would glow like a star with Fey-wrought riches.”

  “I never wanted diamonds or rubies.”

  “Didn’t you? I’m not sure whether to be relieved or glum. If you were happy with poverty, it must have been me you objected to.”

  She gazed at the diamond in her hand until tears burned in her eyes.

  “What did you want, Katherine?” he asked. “Why did it go so wrong between us?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead he lowered his head, barely brushing her lips. Her lashes fluttered against her cheeks, a soft breath expelled in a tiny whimper. It was all the prompting he needed as he slid an arm around her tiny waist, her body fitting perfectly against his.

  She placed a hand upon his bare chest, her touch bursting through him like a shot of whisky. He was tossed back in time to those moments they’d shared. She’d been full of laughter and enthusiasm, an exuberant flame among the dry tomes and rigid facts of university life. Unlike anyone he’d ever met, with her clear honest gaze and her forthright manner. It had enchanted him and excited him and then it had smacked him over the head with the force of a frying pan.

  He’d not meant to fall in love. Hell, he’d not known he was capable of the emotion, or at least not for one woman and for an entire lifetime. But he’d walked into that damned parlor looking for Professor Lacey and she’d been sitting there, the afternoon light streaming through the window behind her, transforming her auburn hair to livid flame and illuminating her pearly skin.