A hollowed black circle marked the town’s location. Dublin lay a fair distance to the north. Waterford to the west. Scrawled place names and neatly etched crosses filled every space in between, depicting a land that had long forgotten the magical rule of the Tuatha Dé. But if the legend held true as Cate and Tom feared, an ancient oak grove stood somewhere near Wexford, with a witch trapped beneath for the past three thousand years.
I tapped the thick parchment, once, twice as my eye settled on a bit of dried blood in the corner of my fingernail. The carnage caused by young Deri tonight surpassed anything I had ever witnessed before. The scene in the pit and immediate vicinity looked the aftermath of a vicious battle, which I guessed wasn’t too far from the truth. My great grandparents and I had been covered in blood by the time we finished tending the wounded and returned home. While Cate and I went upstairs to our chambers to change, Tom passed through the back gardens to the abandoned well and into the walls. We planned to meet later when word arrived from Henry and James as to Deri’s whereabouts. Nora, I was certain, would return with the men. My preoccupation in the library stemmed not from doubt of their success, but the inevitable hunt that could very well lead to Wexford.
The seconds ticked into minutes on the mantel clock. What is taking so long? Surely, Nora must be safe by now. Unless...I refused to even entertain the thought. Glancing at the parchment, I retraced the route once more.
James found me hunched over the detailed map. I straightened when he entered and stared expectantly at the doorway for the rest of the party. When no one came, I looked to him, near sick with worry.
“Where is Nora?” I asked. “Did she go to her chamber first?”
A fire burned in the hearth. Still several hours before dawn, half a dozen candles dotted the room against the darkness. The warm glow illuminated James’s expression, showing a deep despair that answered in place of words.
My legs wobbled and I stumbled back to the sofa. “It can’t be,” I said numbly.
James rubbed a hand across his forehead. “We tracked them on foot to a stable near Charing Cross where the girl had already arranged for two horses. Once we raised the stable master and secured mounts of our own, they were long gone. We rode for a while, but then decided it best to return home to make better preparations.”
Oh, Nora. My heart pulled in on itself, a snail retreating to its shell. “And Henry? Is he still at home?”
James released a long breath and strode over to the hearth. “The moment we arrived, the duke summoned us to his study. He heard about the riot at the theater in connection to Nora’s name, and wanted to know of our involvement. We tried to explain about the girl Deri, but the duke went into a rage and forbade us to have any further involvement.”
The memory of their last fight rushed forward. “How did Henry respond to his father’s demands?”
“They argued at first, but then Lord Fitzalan seemed to submit to the duke’s will. I knew it was only a pretense to appease his father, for we had already agreed to set out again at first light. What I didn’t guess was that he meant to leave me as well.” James paused for a moment. “I should have had some suspicion when Henry claimed no knowledge of their destination, but my mind was too preoccupied with worry. He stayed just long enough to fill a saddlebag and to fetch his sword. By the time I discovered the departure, it was too late for a direct pursuit.”
I choked on a mouthful of air. “So he’s gone?”
James nodded, his eyes focused on my face. Tossing his great coat over the back of the nearest armchair, he sat and continued to study me in silence. “Deri isn’t just a beggar girl is she?”
Part of me wanted to deny it. But I couldn’t. Not after everything that James had been through tonight. He needed the truth, or at least as much as I could give him. “She’s a lunatic with an inordinate ability to influence other people.”
The fire crackled in the hearth. I threaded my fingers to a knot, and began to formulate a plan. I shall need transportation to Bristol. Then passage to Ireland. If the wretch has taken a different route, I shall find them in Wexford...
“Tell me this,” James said, interrupting my thoughts. “Is she somehow related to that hound in Hopewell?”
Again, my first instinct was to lie. “They are directly related,” I said instead.
“So I feared.” He leaned forward and buried his head in his hands. Candlelight glinted from specks of rain that clung to his blond hair. “Judging by Lord Fitzalan’s hasty departure, I must assume he knows where they’re going, and that he didn’t want me to tag along.”