Devil’s Cove (Tortured Souls) (4 page)

Grace’s throat closed up at a flash of memory. Seawater filled her mouth and choked off her air supply. She couldn’t breathe. Her eyes were on fire, filling with a molten heat no icy North Sea waters could douse. And then, in a trice, the vision was gone. Air flooded her passageway, and she balled her fists, taking a gulping breath.

Brother Anselm claimed she was lucky that day, for she hadn’t died. But Grace knew it was not luck. No, she had been saved by the heroic actions of a young man of at least fifteen years. He’d come storming across the beach on his white steed and leapt on Willie, tearing him away. Her savior had beat Willie within an inch of his life, to be sure. And God help her, but Grace hadn’t cared. Willie was a horrible bully, forever tormenting her simply because he could.

“So you finally showed your true colors,” Willie sneered now. “Killed a young girl and then tried to pawn it off on an evil spirit. Don’t think I haven’t heard about what happened with Mrs. Evans. The poor woman went stark raving mad when you led Brother Anselm right to your murder victim in the forest outside the Evans’s cottage.”

Grace bit her bottom lip and silently cursed. She would have to confess her sin to Brother Anselm on Sunday, but she had reached her limit. May the Lord forgive her for what she was about to say. “You’re a bloody idiot! That child had been dead for weeks. I gave the constable her mother’s name. I’m sure they will discover the truth soon enough.”

“We’ll see about that!” Willie cried. “You try to make people believe you’re good by exorcising the demons from their homes, but I know you’re like your mother. Bad to the bones, through and through. She killed those people at Devil’s Cove Manor.” He lowered his voice, and the stench of his breath gagged her. “We all know it. Why else was she the only one to walk away?”

His chuckle filled the empty space between them, the depth uneven and sickly to her ears.

“Enjoy your last meal while you can,” he continued. “The caretaker will be here to collect you soon. People are real scared of you now. Dug your own grave, you did, finding that girl’s dead body. And may you rot in the asylum. Or better yet, I hope you go as insane as your mother and prove your evil nature. She killed the last caretaker, you know. Hanged for it, she did. Her blood runs through your veins, Grace. Remember that.”

Bile rose to her throat, and she reached for her napkin to staunch the flow. She wouldn’t embarrass herself that way, nor give Willie the satisfaction of knowing how much his threats terrified her. Her father had been scared witless of her mother, whispered about the wild yet blank stare in her mother’s eyes, and with a heavy heart, he’d committed her to the mental institution. Even Grace had heard her mother stalking about their living quarters, murmuring nonsensical words. It was disturbing, to say the least. Did the good people of Devil’s Cove truly see her the same way despite all her efforts to the contrary?

A choking sound broke through her thoughts, and she stilled.

“Is this man bothering you, Miss Grace?” Captain Limmerick asked, his voice low and on edge. “I’d be happy to remind him of the importance of good manners, if you’ll accept my earlier offer.”

She clenched her jaw and gripped the edges of the bench seat. How she wanted to say yes and teach Willie another lesson! There was no doubt the captain would deliver a thorough beating, imparting a clear message. But she couldn’t bring herself to say the word, because moving into Devil’s Cove Manor was out of the question. Whatever was there may have driven her mother over the edge. And as much as she tried to ignore it, her mother’s insanity might be as hereditary as her powers as a medium. If Grace inherited the one, she may also be bound to the other. She couldn’t risk going to Devil’s Cove Manor. Brother Anselm must get her out of the tavern before the caretaker came, if he came at all.

“I thank you, but no,” she said, rubbing the knot forming at the base of her neck. She placed her hand on the table, inviting Brother Anselm to calm her with his soothing touch. All she asked for was a quiet existence, the small comforts of the home Brother Anselm provided, and the peace of mind she received when the cool breeze of the ocean greeted her.

The doors to the tavern creaked open, and Grace felt the warmth of Brother Anselm’s hand over hers. He gripped it tightly, and a small gasp emitted from his lips. “God, help us.”

“What?” Grace asked, leaning into the table. “What is it?”

Willie snorted in glee. “The caretaker has arrived with his guards. Though I daresay I’m more than willing to assist him in
escorting
you into the carriage.”

Willie, that sick toad, had not been bullying her with idle threats. Perhaps she’d just made the biggest misjudgment of her life.

“Pity you cannot see the bars lining the windows,” Willie sneered. His voice grew frenzied, and she imagined a dog spinning in circles around the ground where his bone lay hidden. “Though perhaps you recall it from when your mother was carted away.”

Willie grunted, and a whoosh of air expelled from his lungs. Grace snapped her head in his direction.

“Say the word, Grace,” Captain Limmerick repeated, “and I’ll take you away from here. Keep you safe. I promise. No one would dare storm the manor.”

She opened her mouth to reject his offer, but a clammy grip on her wrist stilled her. Pure fear coursed through her veins, and she wanted to yank her wrist out of the strong grip tugging at her, but she couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

“It’s time to go.” The man’s voice was cold and unyielding, and though she didn’t recognize him, she knew deep inside it was the caretaker. “Come quietly, and I promise I’ll not harm you”—his lips caressed her ear—“too much.”

“Say it,” the pirate said in a low growl.

Her throat was dry as a desert, and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She wanted to say the word. But more than that, she wanted a hole to open up in the ground and swallow her whole. Take her far from here, where she wouldn’t have to choose between the threat of insanity within the walls of the asylum and the threat of the unknown within the walls of Devil’s Cove Manor.

“Please, sir,” Brother Anselm said, the sound of his habit rustling as he stood. “Allow me to escort Grace home. I’ll keep her under my watchful eye. She’ll not disturb the good people of Devil’s Cove.”

A flicker of hope burst through the fog surrounding Grace’s brain. Yes, of course. Brother Anselm would save her from having to choose.

“I’m afraid not.” The caretaker cackled, yanking Grace to her feet. “I have a petition here, signed by her father.”

The man was lying! Her father loved her, had put her in Brother Anselm’s care to ensure she lived a blessed life and used her skills of “sight” for good so that no one could threaten to commit her to the asylum.

“Let me go,” she wailed, yanking her hand out of her captor’s grip. “I’m not insane. If anyone is insane here, it’s Willie. Take him.”

Whispered voices of the patrons rose higher and higher as the argument ensued, and a feeling of desperation stole over her. No, she wouldn’t succumb to the fear, but her body ignored her command and she began to tremble. The tremors inched from her hands, up her forearms, and over her shoulders, until her whole body shook.

“Say the word, Grace.” The captain’s plea was bolder this time, piercing through the fevered pitch of the tavern.

Hands gripped her shoulders and pushed her in the direction of the entrance. She dug her heels in, but her nemesis was stronger.

“Brother Anselm, please!”

The firm pressure on her shoulders subsided as Brother Anselm shouted for the caretaker to release her. Grace held her breath. The cracking of a jaw sounded, followed by another, and then a loud thud reverberated through her as someone hit the floor.

“Brother Anselm?”

Nothing.

She cried out again, this time falling to her knees and searching in the direction of the scuffle. “Brother?”

Her hands came in contact with the coarse wool of his robes at his shoulder, and the pressure of tears built up in her tear ducts. She roamed higher until her hands cradled his face. Her fingers slid through a wet spot and grazed his lips. A sob wrenched out of her. He was bleeding.

“I’m sorry, child,” he whispered.

She was torn from the floor by the same set of strong hands that held her captive earlier, but she would not surrender without a fight. Turning, she smashed her fist through the air, praying she judged the height of her assailant accurately, and was rewarded with the pounding of rough skin and hard bones against her knuckles. Pain shot through her fist, but she continued her attack.

“You can’t win, you stupid bitch,” Willie taunted, his hot breath on her cheek. He grabbed the bun at the nape of her neck and tugged hard, snapping her head back.

“Say the word, Grace.” The captain’s voice was strong and calm, cutting through the ringing in her ears.

Anger welled up in her until she felt she would explode. A deep hatred flooded her, and she screamed, “Yes!”

“Hatchet,” the captain bellowed, “put her somewhere safe and don’t let anyone near her. Victor, now!”

She found herself shoved onto a bench, and all hell broke loose around her. Tables crashed, and dishes clattered to the floor while grunts and curses ripped through the air. A splash of liquid doused her cheek; she flinched before wiping it away with the sleeve of her gown. The unmistakable clang of steel on steel reached her ears, and she pushed herself deeper along the bench until her back pressed hard against the wall of the establishment. Her heart fluttered madly while butterflies took flight in her belly. She would surely be sick.

A part of her wished to press her hands to her ears and drown out the battle cries. Yet another part needed to experience the atrocity taking place all around her, for she was the cause. Damn Willie to Hell for robbing her of her sight and dignity. She opened her mind and willed a vision to come to her, to see what transpired in the tavern. But her visions lay outside of her control and did not see fit to come to her in that moment.

Fists pounding against flesh assailed her over and over and over. Willie grunted and groaned under the assault. The beating he was taking now surely rivaled the one he’d taken at the hands of another on the shore of Devil’s Cove all those years ago.

“Come,” Brother Anselm said, with impatient hands tugging at her. “We’re getting you out of here and into the safety of the captain’s carriage.”

Thank God her mentor had recovered enough to engineer an escape. He guided her with infinite care, warning her when to step higher to avoid the obstacles in her path. His large frame shoved into hers and she stumbled, throwing out her hands as a precaution, but he righted them quickly. Within seconds they pushed through the door, and fresh air greeted her. Grace inhaled greedily. She would’ve stopped to indulge in the invigorating breeze, but her companion threw her cloak over her shoulders and ushered her forward.

A latch sounded, and then she was urged to step up once, twice, and into the warm carriage, where her hand sank into plush velvet as she scooted across the bench seating. The faint scent of a cheroot lingered in the air along with sandalwood—Captain Limmerick. She took a deep breath and smoothed the skirt of her dress. How was he faring in the tavern? What if he didn’t succeed, and the caretaker carted her off to the asylum anyway? Only minutes earlier when faced with the choice of the asylum or Devil’s Cove Manor, she had believed the alternatives equally appalling. However, now, as she sat in the relative safety of the captain’s carriage with Brother Anselm at her side, she knew without a doubt that his offer was far better.

In that moment, the carriage door flew open and snapped hard against the carriage wall before slamming shut. Grace stifled a gasp with one hand and grabbed hold of Brother Anselm’s thick bicep with the other. A vision of a man clouded her brain until it jolted into clarity. Fierce blue eyes glared from a face handcrafted by God himself. With a golden halo of hair and a jaw carved from granite, Grace knew it must be none other than Captain Devlin Limmerick. She pushed back into the bench seat and bit down on her bottom lip. The man was enormous. And angry as the devil.

A cane rapped on the ceiling of the carriage, and it lurched forward, jostling Grace against the wall, and the vision faded into blackness. She gripped harder on Brother Anselm’s arm and pushed her feet against the floor to steady herself.

“Where is your priory, Brother?” The captain’s deep voice resonated with an air of impatience in the small space. “Quickly, now. We need to return to the manor posthaste.”

“I’m coming with you,” Brother Anselm replied. Grace recognized the firm delivery and braced for a battle of wills. Her mentor could be tenacious for a man of God.

“No.” The captain’s response was harsh and final.

Grace bit the inside of her cheek. She knew better than to place herself in the maelstrom of testosterone, and this was far from over.

A low growl rumbled deep in Brother Anselm’s chest, resonating through his body until Grace could feel it in the arm she still held. He shifted in his seat and leaned forward. “It wasn’t a request.”

A burst of deep laughter filled the carriage. “You’ve a large set of bollocks, old man, I’ll give you that, but the answer is still no. The direction, if you please?”

Heat flared inside Grace’s chest at the unexpected crudity of the exchange. Who said such things aloud, and in the presence of a lady, no less?

“Grace needs me,” Brother Anselm continued as if he hadn’t heard a single word the pirate said. “She’s blind and has lived with me since she was eight. I can help her acclimate.”

“I’ve already seen to her comfort. She’ll have a lady’s maid at her disposal at all times. I trust that is acceptable?”

Shock waves rolled over Grace at his declaration. A lady’s maid? She wouldn’t know the first thing about what to do with a lady’s maid. Nor could she trust another to guide her as well as Brother Anselm. The mansion must be enormous, and it would take time to learn her way about the estate, not to mention how vital Brother Anselm was to her craft.