Simone felt her anger bloom, and she spun to face the old woman again. “You did not tell me this is how it would need to be done! How could you make him suffer so when he’s already been through so much?”
“If I would have told you, would you have gone through with it?” Minerva demanded. “Nae. Ye wouldna. And it’s not pain yer witnessing here, lass—’tis fear, plain and simple. The boy’s frightened of the something or someone that caused his death, and he’s usin’up all his energy to prevent seein’ the moment he passed.”
“Release him, Minerva,” Simone commanded.
The old one looked at Simone as if she’d just sprouted another head. “Nae, lass. Stopping it now will only delay the inevitable.” She smiled, almost proudly, at Didier as he continued to twist and howl in the air. “He’s makin’progress.”
“I need him with me, now,” Simone said. “You can continue with this some other time.”
“You need him?” Minerva mocked. “What fer? To fetch yer slippers?”
Haith gasped. “Minerva!”
“Doona scold me, faery,” the hag warned, sitting up against her pillows. “This young boy needs be freed from the bonds that hold him, and our young baroness here need not think so highly of herself.”
“I am the lady of this keep,” Simone growled, her words sounding surprisingly sincere to her own ears. “And I demand that my brother be returned to me!”
“I’ll not be havin’ any of it, lass,” Minerva said, and then pursed her lips and turned her head away.
She could not leave Hartmoore without him. Would not.
“Didier,” Simone said, turning her attention to the writhing phantasm hovering near the beams. “Didier, come with me now.”
The boy slowed his rolling tumbles and fixed her with his chilling gaze, gray, like frozen flames. Terrified hope flashed there, and Simone flew to the chamber door. “Come, Didier—’tis alright,” she cajoled. “Let us be away from here, just you and I.” Her voice rose, whistling and high pitched. “I…I’ll read to you!”
The boy’s apparition swooped from the ceiling, and for a moment Simone was filled with thrilling hope. But Didier halted abruptly halfway to the door. “No-o-on!” he wailed, and was jerked back into the air as if attached to a trebuchet.
“Let him go!” Simone screamed and, beyond all reason now, charged the old woman on the bed, ready to scratch her black, glassy eyes from the wrinkles in her cheeks.
Haith’s strong grip halted her. “Simone, stop! Stop!”
“You don’t understand—he’s all I have,” Simone sobbed, fighting against Haith’s hold until she was free. She looked to the ceiling and Didier was gone. “Where did he go?Didier!”
“He’s just gone dim, lass,” Minerva offered in a mild tone. “Worn out from the struggle is all. He’ll brighten up again in a bit.”
Haith laid a gentle hand upon Simone’s arm once more. “Why do you not return to your chamber, Simone. You’ve had a trying day and—”
The faint calls of a woman were heard beyond the chamber, growing louder.
“Ah, nae,” Minerva sighed. And then she raised her face to the ceiling, her eyes closed, and began to speak. “Go in peace, Handaar Godewin. Go in peace, old warrior. We shall meet again.”
The calls from the corridor grew louder still, and now the sound of running footfalls could be heard. The pounding on the door caused Simone to jump, and she knew, she knew when the cold molten fear bubbled in her stomach, what would lay beyond.
“Baroness! Baroness! Lady Haith!” The panicked calls were clear through the thick door, and the pounding began once more.
Simone looked to Haith, but the woman only stared at Minerva. Simone crossed to the door and swung it wide, revealing Genevieve’s maid, Rose, weeping and wringing her reddened hands.
“Oh, God’s mercy, Baroness,” the girl wailed. “Do come quick! Lord Handaar…he’s awake and—” She broke off on a hiccough. “You must come!”
Chapter 22
Nick ran into the great hall, Tristan close behind. He saw the crowd of people clustered together before the hearth, and he prayed he was not too late.
He shouldered his way through the group, and when he gained the center, his heart kicked against his ribs. Evelyn knelt at Handaar’s side, her smile wide and bright, threads of tears sliding down her cheeks. She held Handaar’s hand to her bosom and leaned close, whispering then listening.
Handaar’s eyes were open, the blue rings of iris rolling around in bloodshot whites, trying to focus on his daughter’s face. His lips moved, but his voice was too low for Nick to hear. Beneath the black fur covering his body, Handaar’s midsection was grotesquely swollen. A chilling sweat broke over Nick’s face and chest and back as he dropped to his knees beside Evelyn.
“—your mother,” Handaar wheezed, “so proud. Beautiful girl.”
