Chapter 10
This time, Ellie didn’t go after him. Lashed by rain and wind, she stayed within the stone archway. The icy torrent appeared not to affect Damien Burke at all. He made no attempt to duck his head as protection from the downpour. His strides long and even, he proceeded across the yard to the tall keep with its high, barred windows.
Let the Demon Prince run off to his lair, she thought scornfully. He was like a grumpy child who needed time alone to cool his bad temper.
If indeed the storm kept them stranded here for the next day or two, she’d have other opportunities to question him. For one, she wanted to know what had turned him into such a cold, callous man. Being bullied as a youth? Or was it his ouster from polite society for his shameful behavior with that innocent young lady?
She also wondered about his family background and the source of his funds. How had he acquired this castle? By lease or by inheritance?
Gazing up at the high turrets and the crenellated walls, Ellie felt no inclination to return to the safety of her tower bedchamber. The prospect of reading all afternoon sounded far too dull. Despite the nasty weather, she had a keen desire to explore the castle. And why not? Fate had handed her this rare opportunity to gather details for the illustrations in her storybook.
She headed down a passageway that led away from the chapel. Immediately, she yearned for a sketchpad and pencil. How she would love to capture the atmospheric gloom of this corridor, the rough-hewn shape of the stones, the green moss that grew like a carpet on sections of the walls. Coming upon a closed door, she opened it to peek inside at a cluttered storeroom. The shadowy interior appeared to hold a cache of old weaponry, from crossbows to spears, pikestaffs to broadswords.
Ellie gingerly picked up a long sword and nearly staggered from its weight. For a moment she imagined herself using the blade to force Damien Burke to free her from this island prison. Just as swiftly, she acknowledged the futility of that scenario. They were both stuck here so long as the storm continued to rage.
But she did like the sense of power the sword gave to her. It made her feel brave and heroic. Gripping the hilt more firmly with both gloved hands, she hoisted the blade and made a few experimental swings in the air, the cloak swirling around her. She was Princess Arianna battling the evil rat prince who had invaded her chamber …
Prince?
No, the man-sized rat was merely the latest in a series of mythical creatures to be slain by the princess in her quest to find her way home. A rat could not be a prince … unless perhaps he was an enchanted rat.
The notion caught Ellie’s fancy. Propping the sword against the wall, she mulled over the possibility of adding a new twist to her story. Suppose a witch had cast a spell over a cruel, hard-hearted prince as a punishment. Suppose again that the only way to break the spell was for him to prove himself worthy of love. Yet try as he might, he could never succeed because people either screamed at the sight of a gigantic rodent or tried to kill him. Nevertheless, he could not give up. Resolving to win Princess Arianna’s heart, he entered her chamber to help her fight off an invading ogre …
A wry smile touched Ellie’s lips as she closed the storeroom door and resumed her stroll down the passageway. Damien Burke could never know that he was the inspiration for this new character in her story. And she would take great pleasure in molding and shaping him exactly as she wished.
A pity she couldn’t do the same to him in real life. Unfortunately, he would always be a surly scoundrel. Outside the pages of a book, rats simply had to remain rats.
Roaming onward, Ellie could see that the castle was laid out in a large square, with the occasional chamber here and there, mostly empty or scattered with rubble. There were open archways to the courtyard at regular intervals, and whenever she passed one, she hurried her steps to avoid being spattered by freezing raindrops.
Gaining entry to another of the towers, she called out to see if either of the servants might be nearby. Her voice echoed in the yawning emptiness of the stairwell. The winding stone steps had crumbled in places, so she decided against climbing to the top.
Had the tempest not been blowing so hard, she would have liked to have gone up to the parapet and gazed out over the sea. Damien Burke had said that a harbor lay only a mile distant, so perhaps she could have glimpsed land through the pouring rain.
Ellie pressed onward, hoping to view the dungeon he had mentioned. But though she searched everywhere, she could find no trapdoor in the stone flooring, no stairway leading down into the bedrock. Perhaps the entrance was located inside the keep. If such was the case, her exploration would have to wait, for she had no desire to venture into the den of the Demon Prince.
After what seemed like hours of wandering, she opened a door at the end of another long passage and discovered welcome signs of life. A torch sputtered and burned in a wall bracket. The delicious aroma of cooking drew her toward a partially opened door.
She peeked inside. An oil lamp glowed over a cozy kitchen with crockery on the shelves and provisions arranged in an open cabinet in the corner. A huge stone hearth filled one wall. There, Mrs. MacNab stood stirring the contents of a cast-iron pot that hung from a hook over the fire. The man named Finn sat eating from a bowl at a long, rustic table, the lamplight gleaming on his bald pate.
Spying Ellie, he quickly wiped his chin on his sleeve and jumped up from the bench to make an old-fashioned bow from the waist. “Yer ladyship! Was there somethin’ ye need?”
Mrs. MacNab turned, a wooden spoon in her hand. “Why, bless me, come in, milady! I bin wonderin’ what happened t’ ye. I was about t’ send Finn t’ ask the laird if ye’d fallen into the sea.”
The irresistible warmth of the fire drew Ellie forward. She felt half frozen, her fingers tingling and her toes like icicles inside her boots. She rubbed her hands together and held them over the flames. “Brrr. I’ve been exploring the castle, that’s all. Until now, I hadn’t realized just how cold I was.”
“Poor, wee lamb,” said Mrs. MacNab, clucking her tongue. “Ye must be chilled t’ the bone. Sit down an’ I’ll bring ye somethin’ warm.”
Within moments, Ellie found herself seated at the table with a blessedly hot cup of tea cradled in her palms. Seeing that Finn had removed his bowl and stood by the fire to eat, she said, “Please, do join me, sir. I didn’t mean to usurp your place.”
“Wouldn’t be proper, me sittin’ with a fine lady.”
“Nonsense. There’s a spot for you right across from me.” As he came forward and seated himself, Ellie added, “By the by, I wonder if Mr. Burke has informed you that I’m not Lady Beatrice. I’m her cousin, Miss Eloise Stratham. I’m afraid your master has abducted the wrong woman.”
Finn exchanged a glance with Mrs. MacNab. Then a great grin split his grizzled face with its bushy eyebrows. “We heard ye say so yesterday, but we dinna ken if ’twas true or not. ’Tis no wonder, then, the laird’s been as snappish as a cornered badger today.”
Mrs. MacNab sank down beside Finn on the bench and fanned her face with her apron. “Saint Andrew preserve us! Perhaps ’twill teach the laird a lesson. I warned him this wicked scheme would come t’ naught! Didn’t I, Finn?”
“Aye, ye did indeed, hinny,” Finn said, placing a peck on her plump, rosy cheek. “There’s no one better’n me to know what a scold ye can be.”
It was Ellie’s turn to be surprised. “Are you two married? But you’ve different names.”
“Finn MacNab, I am,” he declared. “’Tis no surprise the master dinna tell ye. He’s ne’er been one t’ babble, not even since he could scarce find a hair on his chin t’ shave.”
Her curiosity piqued, Ellie leaned forward with the teacup clutched in her hands. “Did you work for his family, then?”
“Nay, miss, he has no family. ’Twas at Eton College where I met the master. I was a man-of-all-work there, an’ he was but a poor wee lad in sore need of a friend.”
No family or friends? Poor wee lad? Ellie’s mind conjured up a picture of Damien Burke as a boy, all tousled black hair and sharp, sullen features. Even if he had been bullied by Walt, the Demon Prince had a prickly nature that might very well have contributed to his unpopularity with the other boys. “What was he like as a child? Was he as cruel and disagreeable as he is now?”
“The laird isna cruel,” Mrs. MacNab protested. “Mayhap a harsh man at times, but he willna harm a soul.”
“Now, now, hinny,” Finn said. “The young miss only kens what she sees.”
“I know that he dislikes my cousin Walt, Viscount Greaves. They attended Eton together as boys. Do you remember him?”
“Aye, that I do,” Finn said with a sage nod. “A sturdy lad with gingery hair, always with his gang o’ young lords.”
“Gang?”
Finn hesitated, stirring the contents of the bowl with his pewter spoon. “I dinna wish t’ speak ill o’ yer cousin, miss. Yet I fear he an’ his cronies had a reputation for tormentin’ the smaller lads.”
That corroborated what Damien Burke had told her. Ellie wanted to know more. “Your master mentioned that my cousin stole a key from him. I believe it happened in his first year?”
“Aye, ’twas also the first time I spoke t’ the young laird.”
“So you were a witness?” she said with a flash of eagerness. “If you wouldn’t mind, I should like to hear the whole story.”
He gave her a measuring look, then nodded. “As ye wish, then. One winter’s eve, I spied that band o’ miscreants comin’ out from behind the cloisters, laughin’ an’ chatterin’ an’ lookin’ far too pleased with themselves. Soon as they’d gone, I hurried back an’ found the young master with his lip bloodied an’ his robes torn.” Finn gave a rusty chuckle. “He was none too happy fer anyone t’ see him—too full up with pride t’ ask fer help, even back then. I bade him come with me, but the little termagant was in no humor t’ obey. He kicked an’ wiggled, an’ I had t’ pull him by his ear into the kitchen.”
Mrs. MacNab had arisen from the table to stir the pot. Now, she turned to exclaim, “Oh, he was a sight! I sewed up the rips in his robes whilst Finn scrubbed the wee lad’s face an’ tended his bruises. We couldna let the headmaster find out, lest the poor lamb be expelled.”
Ellie resisted any softening in her heart. That long-ago event may have been a wretched experience for Damien Burke, but it didn’t excuse his reprehensible behavior toward her in the present. “Since he’d been set upon by a band of boys, perhaps it would have been wise of him to report them—so they could be stopped from attacking anyone else.”
Finn gave a vigorous shake of his bald head. “Nay, miss. The headmaster wouldna heed his word over those high-and-mighty sons o’ lairds.”
“Why not? Perhaps he wasn’t heir to a title, but to be accepted at Eton he must have come from a respectable family.”
He hesitated, trading a glance with Mrs. MacNab. “Go on, tell her, Finn,” she said. “It willna harm naught.”
Finn said, “The young master wasna so fortunate as his classmates. He attended on a charity scholarship.”
Ellie was taken aback by the news. She hadn’t known the exclusive school admitted destitute boys. But even so, Damien Burke must have had a blue-blooded background, for Eton would never welcome a common urchin. “You said he had no family, that he was an orphan. But he must have come from somewhere. Who brought him to the school?”
“’Twas his guardian,” said Mrs. MacNab. She laid two wooden trays on the table and arranged pewter cutlery on them. “What was her name, Finn?”
“Mrs. Mims, if memory serves. Not long after, she passed on t’ the next life.” Rising, Finn carried his empty bowl to the dry sink, adding over his shoulder, “Indeed, miss, the young master learned o’ her death on the same day yer cousin stole that key from him. I reckon he’d gone behind the cloisters so the other lads wouldna see him weep.”
This time, Ellie couldn’t stop a rush of compassion for the little lost boy. She knew the tragedy of losing the one person dearest to her heart. She had been fourteen when her father had died, and although Papa had had his faults, she’d never doubted his love for her. At times, she still felt the keen ache of his loss. Never again would she laugh at his silly jests, smell the pungent aroma of his pipe, or feel his good-night kiss upon her brow …
Yet plenty of children experienced misfortunes and they didn’t grow up to be wicked scoundrels who abducted women off the streets.
“I understand that the key was given to him as a child,” she said. “Do you know by whom?”
Finn shrugged. “’Twas tucked in his blankets when he was a babe. Perhaps his mam put it there.”
“Who were his parents? Do you know their names?”
“I dunno, miss, nor does he,” Finn said. “I suppose he’s hopin’ the key will help him find ’em.”
If Damien Burke didn’t know their identity, Ellie could only conclude that he’d been born on the wrong side of the blanket. She’d heard whispers of disgraced ladies who’d been forced to retreat to the country for an inconvenient birth, then left the newborn to be fostered with a wet nurse. How curious that he’d been given a key, though, and without any explanation.
Ellie told herself not to dwell on the mystery. But at least now she could understand why he was so keen to retrieve the key. It was his only link to the parents he’d never known.
Not, of course, that that made any difference to her. He was still a callous ne’er-do-well who had imprisoned her against her will. He hadn’t spared a thought for the way he’d disrupted her life—and quite probably ruined her in the eyes of her family.
Mrs. MacNab ladled the fragrant stew into two bowls and placed them on the trays. She added slices of crusty bread and pats of butter and then covered each tray with a linen towel.
“Finn,” she ordered, “take the laird his meal afore he starves. An’ dinna forget to wear yer bonnet.”
Obligingly, Finn jammed a bright red cap over his bald head before donning his coat. He fastened his gnarled fingers around one of the trays. “Wish me luck, hinny,” he told his wife with a grin. “The master’s like to bite my head off fer bein’ late with his dinner.”
As Ellie hurried to open the door for him, he gave her a broad wink and went out into the passageway. She turned to see Mrs. MacNab donning a fringed gray shawl over her ample form. “Ye must be famished, miss. I’ll carry yer tray up t’ the tower.”
Ellie opened her mouth to say that she was perfectly happy to eat right here in the warm kitchen. Then another notion struck her, and she took the tray from the table before the maid could do so. “Thank you, but there’s no need for you to wait on me. At home, I’m accustomed to fending for myself.”
“But, miss, ’twouldn’t be proper—”
“Nonsense. This isn’t London, so we needn’t follow decorum here.” After reassuring the woman with a smile and a few more platitudes, Ellie finally escaped the kitchen with the tray in her hands.
She didn’t turn to her tower bedchamber, however. Instead, she went down the corridor to the outer door. There, she bent her head against the driving rain and hurried toward the tall monolith of the Demon Prince’s den.