Darkness Unchained Page 4

  “Can’t rush them, Nkosikazi Annie.” I heard his voice in my head. “Maybe it will take one hour, maybe all day.” I didn’t know what many of the Zulu words meant, but I had seen Jabu work his magic so many times on a frightened horse that I knew what I needed to do. Gradually, the little mare stopped shivering.

  “That’s it, sweetheart, let me make it better.” Ever so slowly, I reached over and unlatched the door of her stall. She gave a warning squeal and backed away from me, but I stayed just inside the door, still talking quietly to her. I had a natural advantage over most people when it came to horses. I loved them and wasn’t afraid of them. The mare began to relax, and I slowly closed the distance between us. I was in her space now, and the confined stall was not ideal. If she kicked out, there was nowhere for me to run to. Reaching out my hand, I ran it along the soft down of her nose. She seemed to regard me with surprise. I repeated the gesture and she relaxed, lowering her head. I had not realised until that moment that I was holding my breath, and I allowed myself to breathe again in a great whoosh. Crooning softly, I stroked and scratched her head and ears, blowing into her nostrils until she whickered with pleasure and rested her big face against my shoulder.

  “Annie.” The voice was a low, even warning. “Move away slowly and then step out of the stall.” The horse rolled an eye in the direction of the speaker and curled her lip threateningly at him.

  “Why?” I asked, turning to face Nicca, who was silhouetted above the half door.

  “That horse is dangerous,” he said, still in the same flat monotone.

  “Yes, I can see that,” I said with mock sincerity, scratching behind her ears and reducing her to a state of blissful idiocy.

  “I’m being serious,” he said. “She took a chunk out of one of the grooms when she arrived this morning and kicked her way out of one of the other stalls.”

  “Well, if the groom in question was the bliksem who took a whip to her, he got exactly what he deserved.” I said, rubbing my cheek against the black velvet of the horse’s nose. “Didn’t he, sweetheart? What is her name?”

  “She doesn’t have one yet. My brother sent some of his horses down in advance of his arrival. She is one of his newer purchases. Will you come out of there? You’re making me nervous.”

  I gave the horse a final pat and joined him outside the stall. “She should be called Ebony,” I stated. “I miss riding so much.” I sighed, giving him a sidelong glance to gauge his reaction to this statement.

  “Oh, no!” He understood me immediately and glared down at me from his superior height. “Let us get one thing straight here and now, Miss van der Merwe. If you so much as make the attempt to put a saddle on this horse, I will march you down to the police station myself and have charges brought against you for theft of the animal. I don’t care what you say, that mare is dangerous and I will not have you putting your life at risk just because you like the look of her. If you want to ride, I can find you a nice, sedate mare suitable for a lady.”

  “But I thought you had already decided that I am not a lady?” I said with a provocative glance under my lashes. “And I don’t like sedate things.”

  “Lady or not, have I made myself clear?”

  I thought that his troops probably disliked that overbearing manner of his intensely when he served in the army. Now was probably not the time to mention it, however. “Perfectly, meneer. I am not, under any circumstances, to put a saddle on Ebony,” I repeated docilely.

  He gave me a doubtful look and appeared to have more to say on the subject, but the chief groom came along and claimed his attention so I took the opportunity to slip away.

  I always used a saddle for longer rides over the vast kraal at home, but I much preferred to ride bareback. How lucky it was that I had brought my riding culottes and boots on this trip, even though I had not expected to do much riding. Rudi eyed me suspiciously as, clad in these serviceable items, I attempted to sidle out of the door.

  “Nicca—I mean, Mr Jago—said he would arrange a horse for me to ride.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, I reasoned.

  “Don’t play with fire, Annie,” he said quietly, not for the first time in our lives. “That man is not the pushover you think he is.”

  “Don’t you get your broekies in a knot, broer,” I replied mischievously and blew him a kiss as I went out. I had chosen a time when I knew all would be quiet up at Athal House. The servants were used to me coming and going now. I had heard Nicca say he had business in Wadebridge that day, and Finty had expressed a desire to accompany him in order to do some shopping. By late afternoon, the working day in the stables was done and I was able to approach Ebony’s stall without being seen. The little mare came bustling up to me and leaned over the half door, nudging me delightedly in the ribs. I gave her a carrot and she grabbed it greedily.

  “Now this must be our little secret, ja?” I whispered, collecting a bridle and stealthily opening the door. She allowed me to lead her out of the stall and onto the drive like a big, eager puppy. There was an awkward moment when I realised that, away from the stables, I had no mounting block. A handy tree stump acted as an alternative, however, and, after some initial protests from Ebony, we set off at a canter along the drive.

  Riding the unschooled mare was much harder work than I had anticipated, and I was glad that Nicca was not there to witness my struggles to get her under control. We came to an uneasy understanding, and I felt the exhilaration of the wind in my hair and the movement of the horse’s muscles in time with my own as we cantered down the drive. We had settled into an easy rhythm by the time we reached the gates at the end of the drive, but it was unfortunate that a stray dog should choose that very moment to cross our path. Ebony gave a violent kick and dashed off at a headlong gallop over the moorland. It took all my skill to avoid being unseated, and as I clung to the terrified mare, we flew wildly toward the edge of the promontory and the waiting ocean.

  The ground we covered was, for the most part, uneven and covered with scrubby heather and dark green furze bushes. Here and there were dotted worn, old thorn trees between open spaces of dull, short grass that housed any number of rabbit warrens and molehills. I was terrified that Ebony would place her foot in one of these and break one of her delicate legs. All the while, in my mind’s eye, I could see Nicca’s disapproving face as he warned me not to take the horse out. I hauled at the reins to no avail; the sound and smell of the sea loomed ever closer.

  It was with relief that I heard another set of hooves pounding behind me. I tried to look over my shoulder, but the speed and jolting of Ebony’s movements meant that I couldn’t see clearly. I wondered if it was Nicca and anticipated a resounding scold should that prove to be the case. I would probably be lucky to avoid the boxed ears he had threatened me with at our first meeting.

  The other rider seemed to be gaining on us, but it was going to be a close-run race whether he could reach us before Ebony hurtled over the cliff edge. I faced a stark choice—go with her, or spring from her back. Fortunately, it did not come to that. With expert timing, my pursuer wheeled across in front of me with feet to spare. Ebony, startled but with nowhere to run, slid to a halt, sides heaving and eyes rolling.

  “What the bloody hell do you think you’re playing at, you stupid girl?”

  It wasn’t Nicca. I turned to thank my unknown rescuer, but I could not. For once in my life, I was unable to speak. Instead I gazed at up him. And gazed.

  “Well?” His voice held a note of autocratic impatience.

  “Uther,” I murmured, spellbound.

  “Yes, I’m Uther Jago, Lord Athal.” He appeared mildly amused now by my stunned expression. A mischievous light began to dance somewhere in the golden depths of his eyes. I was looking up at the most spell-bindingly handsome man I had ever seen. He was also unmistakably the man Rudi had been drawing since we were children. “But you have the advantage of me because I have absolutely no idea who you are.”

  “My name is Annie van der Merwe.” The words cam
e out in a stammered, schoolgirl rush.

  Ebony sidled closer and he caught hold of her reins, holding the nervous animal still. His smile deepened further as he gazed down at my upturned face. “How delightful to meet you, Miss van der Merwe. I expect you will explain in due course what you are doing on my land, and even, perhaps, why you are on one of my new—and extremely expensive—horses?”

  At that moment, Nicca came storming along the footpath astride a large stallion. His face was like thunder. “Annie! My God, are you mad? You little idiot!” He reined in and, momentarily forgetting to be annoyed at me, stared at my companion in astonishment. “Uther? I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow at the earliest.”

  “And yet, you behold me now, brother dear. I have just been making Miss van der Merwe’s acquaintance.” Uther turned the delicious witchery of his smile back to me.

  In contrast, the mention of my name brought the frown back to Nicca’s face. “I thought I made myself very clear,” he said with a decidedly dangerous note in his voice, “when I told you not to ride this horse?”

  “That wasn’t what you said,” I replied, my own temper rising. “You said I was not to saddle her. And you will observe that I have not done so.”

  “Don’t push me, you little hornet!” he warned furiously. “You knew what I meant and yet you deliberately flouted me—”

  “Far be it from me to interrupt this exchange of pleasantries.” Uther’s voice contained a degree of unholy amusement. “But unless either of you has any objection, I would quite like to make my way to my new home? I can’t, however, because the two of you are blocking the path, you see.”

  I wheeled Ebony around, and obedient now to my touch, the exhausted mare walked calmly back along the path. The Jago brothers brought their horses into step behind me. Obviously believing I was out of earshot, I heard Uther say quietly, “Say what you will, brother dear, you must admit she can ride.”

  “You might not have been so tolerant had your welcome been clouded by this little stunt ending with her and an expensive horse crashing onto the rocks below these cliffs.”

  “But it didn’t. So instead, can we agree that our horse thief looks bloody marvellous from this angle and reverently admire her rear view for the remainder of the ride? But tell me, brother dear, what is the story surrounding the delectable Miss van der Merwe?”

  “Finty befriended her,” Nicca replied tersely. “She’s a South African, staying in Port Isaac with her brother for the summer. That’s about all I know of her, really.”

  “Indeed?” The word was stretched with meaning. “And yet I cannot believe those glorious eyes, that edible mouth, those endless legs and those breasts—I predict the onset of some fairly disturbing dreams featuring those beautiful breasts—could have escaped any man’s attention, especially that of such a notable connoisseur as yourself.” The implication in the words intrigued me. I couldn’t imagine Nicca letting his guard down long enough to allow himself to be an admirer of feminine beauty. I decided Uther was being sarcastic.

  “She is a bloody nuisance.” Nicca said shortly.

  “But not, I take it, a family member?”

  “Not at all. She is no relation of ours. Why do you ask?”

  “Just an odd fancy I had. It would make things awkward if she was.”

  “Things?” Nicca’s voice was unyielding.

  “Oh, don’t look at me in that disapproving way, brother dear.” I noticed that there seemed to be a permanent edge of laughter in Uther’s voice. “I just thought it might behove me, as the new earl, to get to know the locals—even the summer season visitors—a little better, that’s all. As you know, I can be very friendly when I put my mind to it.”

  We left behind tawny scrub and golden gorse. Hooves crunched on gravel as we rode into the dark, apple-scented tunnel of the drive. Athal House awaited us, pale, silent and eternally sad. I had a fanciful notion that demons danced behind the dark windows, then Uther turned to me and I saw an echo of my own first reaction to the house in his face. Our eyes met and held. Gold on gold. Sparkling pins and needles of anticipation fizzed through my veins. In that brief exchange, a lifetime of emotion passed between us. Mingling with sweet sunlit desire and the certainty that I would give this man kisses without number was a rich, mellow sorrow. Because my life had just changed forever.

  Chapter Four

  Rudi, accustomed to my whirlwind entrances, looked up in surprise as I walked slowly through the door. Taking a chair at one side of the fireplace, I sat gazing into the flames. “Annie? Has something happened? Is everything all right?”

  I did not answer immediately. When I did, my voice held a new, perplexed note. “I met the new earl today,” I told him.

  “He has arrived earlier than expected, then,” Rudi said as he tidied away his brushes and paints. He threw an occasional glance at my face, but remained silent, waiting for me to speak again.

  I drew a deep, steadying breath. “He is Uther.”

  A palette clattered to the floor and he bent to retrieve it. “Our Uther? Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely certain. Everything about him is what we have seen in our imaginations for all these years. It is even his name. Rudi. He is called Uther.” I jumped up and went into our diminutive kitchen. I wasn’t much of a cook, but I had attempted to make a boeuf bourginon a few days earlier, and there was some red wine left. I sloshed it into two glasses and brought it back into the parlour. I dashed mine off quickly. It was utterly disgusting, but it drove some of the chill from my veins. “I have never done you violence before today, broer, but if you say ‘coincidence’ to me, I will punch you, I swear I will.”

  He laughed. “But—liewe God, Annie!—what does this mean?”

  “It means I’m mad. But at least I am not alone. I’m taking you with me.”

  We sat in silence by the fire for some time before Rudi said, “There is one thing I don’t understand.”

  “Only one?” I asked, quirking a brow at him.

  “One that stands out above the others,” he conceded. “How old is he, Annie?”

  I shrugged. “Older than Nicca obviously, since Uther is the one who has inherited the title. Maybe twenty-eight or -nine. Thirty at most. Why do you ask?”

  “So that makes him seven, maybe eight, years older than us, yes? But I have been drawing him ever since I can remember, and we have both always known his name.” His brow was furrowed with concentration. I nodded, not sure in which direction his thoughts were leading him. “But, Annie, the Uther we saw has always been a man.”

  I felt my jaw drop. “Yet, when we first pictured him, he would have been a child himself.” I finished the thought for him. Reaching out a hand, I took his untouched wine glass from him and drained that one, as well.

  “But I suppose the fact that we know of him—and the castle, the house and the fire—all of it, is so bizarre that none of it makes any sense. There is nothing to be gained from worrying about a puzzle to which we may never find a solution,” Rudi said with a calm acceptance that amazed me. “What sort of man is he? Did you like him, Annie?”

  I felt an unaccustomed blush stain my cheeks. It would be pointless to try to hide my feelings from Rudi, who knew me as well as I knew myself. “Yes,” I whispered. It was such a little, ineffective word for what I had felt when I first saw Uther Jago. With perfect clarity, I could pinpoint the exact moment it happened. When our eyes met as we gazed with exultant pride at Tenebris—that was the instant it hit me like a physical blow. I had never before and would never again want anything with the aching intensity that I wanted Uther Jago.

  I knew I would have the dream that night. It was a nightmare I’d experienced since childhood, but it had grown in ferocity since our arrival in England. I was floating, spinning and falling in an eternal darkness. No sun, moon or stars invaded the gloom, yet still I sought some speck of light in that ray-less nothing. Because I wasn’t alone. But what it was that joined me in that gruesome silence I never knew. It was a fearful,
fiery presence, blacker than a demon’s heart and sweeter than the taste of paradise. At times it became a huge winged beast, a bird of prey or fallen angel. And it wanted me and craved something from me. Something I dared not give. But I was torn. I wanted to give myself to the darkness and allow it to cloak and devour me. The presence was bigger now, ever closer and more menacing. It called to me. A noiseless, haunting song of sorrow and obligation. In my sleep, I twisted and turned and cried out in my attempts to escape the relentless persuasion of its voice.

  I woke gasping for breath as another, more mundane noise caught my ears. This was the sound of running water, and I rose, throwing a shawl over my nightdress. I did not have far to look for its source. On the narrow landing, a steady stream of water poured through the ceiling and onto the wooden floorboards. Muttering my annoyance, I dashed down to the kitchen to fetch a bucket, but by the time I had returned, a chunk of plaster had come away from the roof, leaving exposed beams and a glimpse of rain-dreary predawn sky.

  Midmorning found Rudi and me desperately trying to keep our belongings dry as the rain relentlessly poured in through the roof, and sections of ceiling continued to fall. It was into this scene that Uther strolled, having intended, as he explained later, to invite me to join him on a drive along the coast. He looked impossibly glamorous and out of place in the tiny, crumbling cottage. Rudi, who recovered with admirable speed from his momentary surprise on seeing a man he already knew through his childhood drawings, welcomed him with his usual unfailing courtesy. My embarrassment of the previous day was forgotten. By that time, I had reached the point of such snapping, bad temper that Rudi gave me a wide berth. Ouma used to say that, when I was angry, I resembled a cat. All I needed was a tail to swish while I narrowed my eyes and paced. My own greeting to our morning visitor was curt to the point of nonexistence.

  “You’ll have to de-camp to Athal House,” Uther said, apparently oblivious to my foul mood. “Say you will.” He turned the full beam of his winning smile on me, and I felt some of my hissing, spitting impatience instantly subside. “It would be delightful to have you”—did I imagine the momentary pause as his eyes flickered over me?—“as one of my first house guests.”