Lacybourne Manor

Chapter Fifteen Tranquilliser Dart

Colin was in his office on his phone

He’d gone back to Bristol after visiting Sibyl at the Community Centre to return phone calls and make certain the incredible ass who drove the minibus was, indeed, sacked (which, as Colin threatened, a number of councillors assured him, he would be, first thing in the morning).

Once he’d heard the news from the bus driver’s line manager directly, Colin felt a strange, intensely pleasant sense of satisfaction.

He didn’t question it, he didn’t have time. He had other things to do.

That task completed, Colin also phoned a surveyor to have a look at the Community Centre as a whole. From what he could see, the place was a fire trap, a health hazard and needed significant renovations.

Not to mention better furniture.

And, likely, fumigation.

And finally, he called a contractor, told him to go to the Centre and give Colin a quote on how much it would cost to build an extension so Sibyl could have a decent office, one that didn’t look like a salvage yard.

All of this Colin was going to finance and he didn’t care how much it cost.

It was ridiculous that those people were forced to spend their time in that dilapidated wreck and he certainly wasn’t going to allow Sibyl to do so.

He’d had a few words with the Councillors about that as well.

He wished, two weeks ago, when she’d slapped the briefcase shut on the fifty thousand pounds, that she’d told him then what the money was for.

However, he had to admit, he probably wouldn’t have believed her. She was, on the whole, quite unbelievable.

He’d thought that before Robert Fitzwilliam had told him about her. This feeling solidified after witnessing her in her element at the Centre. He could still see the look of shining adoration in “her girls” eyes as they stared at her and he could hear the esteem in the pensioners’ voices when they spoke to her.

He finished his call, quickly scanned some correspondence that Mandy had left for him to sign, and tried not to think of how he felt when Sibyl had rested her head against his chest.

Except for the night she’d had her nightmare and the morning when she’d attacked him because he was caressing her “sensitive spot” she rarely touched him of her own volition.

And Colin liked it when she did. Very much.

Further, there was something nearly precious about the feeling that he’d done something she approved of.

With a good deal of effort, he’d finally convinced his mother and sister to leave Lacybourne and come back next week when he was ready to introduce them to Sibyl and her family.

They were both beside themselves with the idea of a walking, talking American Godwin wandering around Clevedon. Not to mention the fact that she was in Colin’s life. They didn’t even know yet what she looked like and he hadn’t told them or they would never have left Lacybourne. They would have hunted her down and forced a Morgan Family heirloom ring on her finger, he had no doubts about that.

Colin had a great deal of work ahead of him winning Sibyl’s trust. His meddling mother and equally troublesome sister would likely disrupt his many, varied, rather complicated and extraordinarily fragile plans.

Colin felt (quite rightly) that he’d made great strides that day and that hadn’t even been part of his plan. He found after talking with Robert and Mrs. Byrne that he couldn’t wait a moment longer to see her, which was the only reason he’d gone to the Centre.

Colin’s reaction regarding the minibus driver was instinctive. When he looked out the window at the elderly blind woman who wanted to adopt Sibyl trying to alight while the bastard stood, disinterested and smoking a cigarette, he’d temporarily lost his mind. He hadn’t intentionally gone charging in to score points, although he was happy to accept them if they were a means to his desired end. He’d help every blind lady he encountered if it meant he got what he wanted.

It only made Colin all the more satisfied that the person who had inadvertently pushed Sibyl into selling her body was now to be punished, regardless if the driver knew his flagrant negligence had cost Colin weeks in winning Sibyl and cost Sibyl something even more dear.

But he needed Sibyl right where he wanted her before she learned of Royce and Beatrice, magic and myth, his lifelong knowledge of it, her place in it and especially him keeping it from her. She was likely to lose her temper (justifiably) and Sibyl’s temper, he’d learned, once lost, was rather difficult to get under control.

His mobile rang and he glanced at it distractedly not wishing to talk to another North Somerset Councillor and he saw Sibyl’s name on the screen.

He stared at his phone.

She’d never phoned him. Not once.

He grabbed it immediately and flipped it open.

“Sibyl,” he greeted.

There was no response but he could hear her breathing. At this oddity (oddities being nothing new with Sibyl), he patiently repeated himself, calling her name.

“Colin,” she whispered.

His back instantly straightened at the tone of her voice. It was tremulous and she sounded frightened.

“What’s happened?” he asked.

“Colin,” he heard a catch in her voice, “someone’s been in my house.”

Before she was done speaking, he was already walking toward the door and a queer sensation seized him, something akin to panic.

“Where are you?” he demanded.

“Sitting outside, with Mallory.”

“Have you called the police?”

There was a pause. “No, I didn’t think of that.” Now she sounded both exasperated and frightened.

Colin found Sibyl’s frequent absentmindedness both amusing and annoying. Especially now, with the exception that now he didn’t find it amusing.

“Call them,” he ordered as he exited his office and walked right passed Mandy without looking at her.

“Colin, I think,” she hesitated and then her voice dropped to a whisper, “oh my goddess, I think they’ve done something to Mallory.”

He was surprised at his strong reaction to the thought that something happened to her dog. It felt like someone had kicked him in the stomach.

“Why?” he asked cautiously, jogging down the stairs.

“He’s lying here, not moving, not awake. He’s breathing and I feel a heartbeat but he won’t wake up no matter what I do.”

“Sibyl, call the police,” Colin ordered. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

When her heard her shaky, “Okay,” he flipped the phone shut and lengthened his strides.

It took twenty-five minutes, on a good day when the traffic gods were smiling, to get to Sibyl’s house.

That day, the traffic gods were unhappy and Colin still made it there in fifteen.

There were three police cars outside her house as he pulled up.

After he’d exited his car, he saw Sibyl talking to five officers, all men, all hovering around her like she was a female rock god and they were her male groupies. This was not surprising considering she looked like a rock star with her hair a shower of golden tangles. She was wearing a long, full, chocolate brown skirt with a heavy, silver-looped belt hanging low on her hips. She accompanied this with her red cowboy boots and a bright red, long-sleeved t-shirt with a collar so wide it dipped off one shoulder. At the sight of Sibyl and her law-enforcing entourage, Colin kept hold of his temper by a thread but he managed this only because Sibyl noticed him and immediately ran to him.

When she reached him, she threw herself at him so forcefully it rocked him back on a foot.

This was the third time she’d touched him affectionately of her own volition (at that precise moment, he began counting).

She wrapped her arms around him, tucked her head under his chin and cried into his lapel. “Colin! Someone shot Mallory with a tranquilliser dart!” she imparted this extraordinary fact on Colin with a voice that was part furious, part incredulous and part scared.

Colin’s arms went around her and he automatically stroked her back and he did this while all the police were stared at them like they were a piece of performance art.

Colin lost patience and barked, “Don’t you have something to do?”

The police all jerked into motion but Sibyl seemed not to notice his angry outburst. She leaned back against his arm and peered up at him, a heartbreaking look in her very confused hazel eyes.

“Who would do something like that?”

He looked down at her pale, beautiful face and shook his head in answer because, of course, he had no idea who would do something like that and he understood now that Sibyl definitely wouldn’t know.

At that moment, he finally noticed Mallory lying on his side close to the entry of the house, his big dog body completely still.

Colin had never seen the dog when he at least didn’t thump his tail and he felt something slice through his gut at the sight.

He carefully pulled out of her embrace and, linking his fingers in hers, he guided her over to Mallory. Once there, he crouched down and felt the dog’s chest, noting a strong heartbeat and steady breathing. Other than that, the dog was motionless and, from far away, could even appear dead. Colin couldn’t imagine the shock that Sibyl had when she arrived home.

“Christ,” he muttered as he absently stroked the dog’s head, fury beginning to burn slowly in him.

“They called a vet to have a look at him. He hasn’t moved a muscle in ages. I’m kinda used to Mallory being relatively motionless but this is terrifying,” she told him, her voice still shaky.

Colin made no comment as he watched a police officer come toward them as the other four stayed where they were, pretending to be busy but still staring at Sibyl.

“And who might you be, sir?” the officer asked when he arrived.

“I’m her boyfriend.”

He felt ridiculous saying it but not after he heard Sibyl’s swift intake of breath, noted her quick, round-eyed glance and, most especially, when he caught the look of deep disappointment that passed across the policeman’s face.

“Oh, right.” He made an effort at recovery while Colin straightened, put his arm possessively around Sibyl and pulled her against his side, a gesture which made his role in her life perfectly understood. “There appears to have been a break-in,” the policeman continued.

“I already know that,” Colin informed him.

“And the dog has been shot by a tranquilliser dart.”

“I already know that too,” Colin said, his tone making it crystal clear his patience was quickly ebbing and that was not a good thing. “Can you tell me something I don’t know?”

The policeman shifted uncomfortably under Colin’s irate glare, belatedly, but correctly, assessing that Colin was not someone to be trifled with.

“We just made it to the scene a few minutes ago. We’ve ascertained there’s no threat. We have an officer checking the house now to see if there was anything obviously stolen, forced entry, that kind of thing.”

“Wouldn’t that go faster if all five of the officers standing out here checked the house?” Colin suggested sarcastically, inclining his head to their audience.

“Um… right,” the officer agreed and, after a glance at Sibyl and a brief hesitation, he trotted off to his colleagues who disbursed, some going to their cars, others going into the house.

Colin watched the sudden action and muttered with distracted irritation to Sibyl, “You’re too damned beautiful for your own good.”

When he finally swung his gaze to her, she was staring at him with eyes no longer hazel, but a warm, liquid sherry and her mouth was parted slightly in surprise. Then, as if wishing to hide her response to his comment, she turned in his arm and pressed herself against him, burying her face in his chest.

That was when he felt she was shaking.

“I can’t believe someone shot my dog,” she whispered.

His fury built and spread as his free hand went to her hair and stroked the heavy mass. There was nothing to say, he couldn’t believe it either.

They stood that way for some time. The longer they did so, Colin found the fury flowed out of him and he became rather contented. Sibyl, however, continued to tremble until his hand at her hair stroked the tremors away. Minutes ticked by then another officer exited the house and approached them.

“Seems like it’s just vandals,” he informed them upon his arrival. “We’ll have to ask Miss Godwin to walk through the house but the stereo’s still there, there’s some jewellery sitting on the chest of drawers, untouched. There have been some pillows destroyed, feathers everywhere. Some crockery broken. No real damage.”

“Has this happened before?” Colin asked.

“What, sir?” This officer, more intelligent, was the one who had been checking the house when Colin arrived as Colin hadn’t seen him before.

“This kind of thing at another house in the area, tranquilliser darts, vandalism?” Colin prompted.

“No, nothing,” the officer shook his head, “I’ll need to take Miss Godwin through to see if she can determine if anything’s missing.”

It was then that Mallory made a move, a slight lift of his head then it fell again. Instantly Sibyl dropped to her knees, pulled the dog’s head in her lap and started murmuring comfortingly as she stroked his soft, black and beige head.

Colin crouched beside her and muttered gently, “Sibyl, go with the officer. I’ll look after Mallory.”

She lifted her sherry eyes to him and asked, “You promise not to leave his side?”

He stared directly in her eyes and said quietly, “I promise.”

She nodded and, with obvious reluctance, she left with the policeman. As promised, Colin stayed crouched by the dog who was waking just not very quickly.

While Sibyl was inside, another police car came up to the house, possibly unloading lab men, or, more likely, a new set of groupies called in to have a look at Sibyl. Then another car came up the drive but this was not a police car. Colin watched as it stopped with a dramatic shower of gravel and then Marian Byrne came flying out.

She ran toward Colin, her face a mask of worry. “Where’s Sibyl?” she demanded to know by way of greeting.

“Mrs. Byrne, what are you doing here?” Colin asked, straightening from his crouch.

Mrs. Byrne didn’t answer. Instead, when she took in the dog, she cried, “What’s happened to Mallory?”

“He was shot with a tranquilliser dart,” Colin replied.

Mrs. Byrne gasped, her hand flying to her throat in surprise. “What on earth?” she breathed then asked more forcefully, “For heaven’s sake why?”

“We don’t know.”

“Is he going to be all right? Is Sibyl all right?”

“A vet is coming to look at Mallory,” Colin responded. “Sibyl’s in the house, checking to see if anything was stolen.”

“So she’s fine?” Mrs. Byrne queried, her face still troubled.

“Yes, shaken but fine. What are you doing here?”

“I was…” she looked back at her car then turned to Colin again, “baking for a bake sale. I have a Victoria Sponge. Sibyl loves Victoria Sponge so I made her one especially.” Her tone was odd in the way that any discussion about Victoria Sponge in the presence of a bizarrely tranquillised dog and four police vehicles would be odd.

At that point, Colin noticed Sibyl’s cat daintily picking its way though the grass towards them as if grass was a ground cover far beneath his lofty pedigree and he would prefer to be treading on velvet. He made it to one of the flagstones surrounded by cushions of turf that created a winding path from the drive to the front door and stopped, sat and swung his tail in a wide sweep. He stared at Mallory with an expression that Colin could swear communicated his disdain that the dog had put himself in the way of a dart.

“It’s the dark soul,” Mrs. Byrne whispered.

“I’m sorry?” Colin asked, his attention going back to her.

She moved forward and put her hand on his arm. “Colin, dear, someone’s following Sibyl. I saw them.”

Colin’s eyes narrowed on her face, vaguely wondering when his status to her had elevated to being her “dear”. He was also thinking about what Robert Fitzwilliam said that morning.

“Who?” he enquired. “Did you see him?”

“No, I just caught a movement when I was, er –”

“Following us yourself?” Colin finished for her.

“Well,” her eyes widened at his comment and then she said guiltily, “yes. It is my job as Granny Esmeralda’s descendent to look after you, you know,” she defended herself and then hurried on before Colin could speak. “But it’s the dark soul, I know it, I felt it. Destiny is against you –”

“Mrs. Byrne!” Sibyl was at the door and she came toward them, stopping only to scoop up Bran, who gave a mew of righteous protest at the indignity. “What are you doing here?”

“I baked you a Victoria Sponge,” Mrs. Byrne told her after Sibyl gave her an awkward embrace considering the cat.

“Oh, Mrs. Byrne. That is so sweet.”

The intelligent officer had followed her and was taking in this bizarre exchange with a disbelieving expression on his face that mirrored exactly what Colin felt.

“Miss Godwin can’t find anything missing,” he told Colin. “We’ll be awhile and the vet is nearly here. She can’t spend the night here, the door needs a new lock, the last one looked approximately four hundred years old so wasn’t much of a deterrent. It was easily broken.”

Instantly, Mrs. Byrne offered, “You can stay with me, dear.”

“She’s staying at Lacybourne,” Colin put in and ignored Sibyl’s stunned eyes flying to his face.

To hide her reaction, she dropped the cat who ran off without hesitation, clearly this scene was beneath him, and bent over Mallory who was now struggling to sit up.

Colin went on. “Mrs. Byrne, can you take Sibyl for something to eat? I’ll wait here for the vet and then bring Mallory to Lacybourne with me. I’ll leave when the police are finished. I’ll phone and ask Mrs. Manning to leave the backdoor open so you can get in that way.”

“Colin, I couldn’t eat anything –” Sibyl started to say but Mrs. Byrne interrupted her.

“I suppose that the Great Hall is still being, er… done up, so we shouldn’t go in there, is that the case?” Mrs. Byrne asked mysteriously, Colin stared at her nonplussed and she continued. “You know, the portraits being cleaned. That type of thing.”

She was a sly old fox, Colin thought as he caught on and nodded.

“Yes, avoid the Great Hall if you would,” he muttered.

Sibyl watched this exchange mutely with a befuddled expression then she gave Mallory’s dazed head a scratch and stood.

Before she moved away, Colin pulled her to him for a quick kiss and then commanded gently, “Go, pack a bag and then have something to eat. I’ll meet you at Lacybourne.”

She nodded and, without a word, walked back into her cottage, Mrs. Byrne trailing behind.

Shortly after they left the vet came and declared Mallory fine. The dog was unsteady on his feet but it was only a shade worse than normal as he wasn’t the most graceful of canines at the best of times.

While he waited for the police to finish, Colin considered the attractive idea of what it meant that Sibyl had phoned him first; that she had phoned him before any of her friends at the Centre or any of the nameless, faceless people he did not know that must inhabit her life in England. She’d even phoned him before she’d phoned the police.

He decided to take this as a good sign.

Colin exchanged his rather than Sibyl’s contact information with the police, deliberately misleading them as to the nature of their relationship. It wasn’t exactly a lie, as they would be getting married soon; it was just that Sibyl didn’t know that yet.

The police were preparing to leave when his mobile rang again.

Sibyl’s name was on the display.

“Sibyl,” he said in greeting.

“Colin, I’m ordering you a curry. What do you like?”

“I’ll find something at home.”

There was a pause then Sibyl said quietly, “Colin, would you please just tell me what kind of curry you like?”

Something about her soft tone told him she was not exasperated but curious. She was finally asking him something personal about himself and it was about what kind of Indian food he preferred.

“Lamb vindaloo,” he answered shortly.

She gave a faint laugh and whispered, “Of course, vindaloo,” before she rang off.

After the police left, he checked that the house was secured or as secure as it could be. Then, once he had the big, groggy dog in his car, he went home.

They were there before him and he found them in his huge kitchen drinking tea as if they did it every night of their lives. Or, at least, Mrs. Byrne was drinking tea. Colin saw the yellow box with flowers and Oriental writing on it and smelled the pungent, weird aroma and knew that Sibyl was drinking the Asian organic hot drink she sipped on a frequent basis.

Whatever it smelled like, if he kissed her after she drank it, she tasted of flowers.

Sibyl started when she saw him and then ran to him then she ran right passed him and Colin was, for the first time in his life, upstaged by a dog.

“Mallory!” she cried, crouching low, and gave her dog a hug and a kiss on his head.

In turn, Mallory gave her cheek a sloppy lash and then the dog’s backside collapsed as if he could hold it up no more. He sat there, looking mystified and a slim, glistening line of drool slid off his lip only to hang there in suspended animation.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Sibyl told the dog and Colin was relieved to hear amused affection rather than worry in her voice.

As Mrs. Byrne prepared Colin’s food, Sibyl wiped the dog’s mouth with a paper towel with an efficiency borne of years of practice. For some bizarre reason, Colin found this act fascinating.

Once Colin was eating, standing in front of his kitchen sink with his hips resting against the counter, Mrs. Byrne announced, “I must be going. It’s terribly late. Sibyl, tell me if you learn anything about what happened.” She gave them a look that encompassed them both and she looked pleased with her handiwork as, weeks ago, she’d attempted to orchestrate exactly this scene. She glanced at the counter where Colin belatedly noticed a cake stood. “Enjoy the sponge.”

Then she was gone.

He watched Sibyl clean out the teacups as he finished his food.

“There’s a note and an envelope on the counter for you,” she told him.

He threw the food carton in the rubbish bin and noticed that Mandy had couriered the correspondence he left behind when he went to see to Sibyl. Mandy had written an unhappy note about how the letters were supposed to be in first class post today but if he didn’t mind seeing to them tonight, she’d have them couriered first thing tomorrow. This emphasis was achieved through dramatic use of underlining. He might have been annoyed if Mandy wasn’t so efficient and, more importantly, Sibyl wasn’t in his kitchen rinsing out teacups.

“I’ve some work to see to. Do you have something to do?” he asked Sibyl, tearing open the envelope.

“I’ve brought a book,” she replied, watching him.

She seemed guarded and it dawned on him that she didn’t have the best memories of Lacybourne. Considering this dilemma, Colin decided to act business as usual in an effort to curtail any unpleasant emotions she might have considering her already difficult night and her unhappy memories of his home.

“Good, you can read in the study while I finish this.”

She nodded then went to her bag which was sitting by the entry to the back stairwell, undoubtedly Mrs. Byrne’s gentle reminder not to use the staircase in the Great Hall, and pulled out a book.

Colin led the way to the study and Sibyl and Mallory followed him. He counted it as a good sign that Mallory only ran into the wall once on their short journey.

He settled behind his desk while Sibyl sat on the couch in front of the enormous fireplace, looking around with obvious interest.

“I’ll give you a tour of the house another time,” he offered, watching her. “These were meant to be in today’s post.”

She hid her interest in the room and said quickly, “That’s okay. I don’t need a tour.” Her eyes dropped to his work and she finished on a whisper, “I’m sorry that I took you from work.”

He let her first comment go. She’d eventually have to have a tour, considering it would one day be her home, but it was highly precipitous to mention that at this juncture.

To her second comment, he replied softly, not taking his eyes from hers, “I’m not sorry.”

At his words, she pulled her lips between her teeth but as she did this she stared at him inquisitively as if she didn’t know quite what to make of him before tearing her eyes away.

Mallory put his head in her lap as she sat then the dog lost his battle with his lethargy and his forepaws slid forward until he was lying down. Sibyl opened her book and Colin turned his attention to his papers.

A half an hour later when he was done, he glanced at her again to see she was staring with unfocussed eyes at the wall, her book in her hand which was resting on the couch. He could see her thumb was curled inside, holding her place.

“Sibyl?”

He’d startled her and she jumped, swinging her eyes to him.

And when her eyes hit his, she asked, apropos of nothing, “Someone shot my dog and attacked my toss pillows. How bizarre is that?”

He set his finished work aside, got up, walked around the desk and stood before her.

“Get up, Sibyl,” he ordered quietly.

She flipped her book face down on the couch and rose immediately, emitting a deep, weary and slightly mutinous sigh. Mallory, whose head was resting on his paws, shifted so his head was resting on Colin’s shoes.

Colin ignored the dog as Sibyl came within touching distance and he pulled her forward so she was leaning into him. Then he lifted his hands to her hair, gathered the thick, tawny mass and lifted it away from her neck. Once he’d accomplished that feat, considering Sibyl had a great deal of hair, he bent forward and kissed her neck where it met her shoulder.

“Your hair is remarkably heavy,” he murmured against her skin in an effort to take her mind away from tranquilliser darts and assaulted toss pillows.

He felt her relax into him and gladly took on more of her weight. His body pleasantly reacted to her full breasts pressed against his chest but what she said next chased away all evidence of the heat she was producing.

“I know. It gives me headaches sometimes, pulls at my scalp.”

Christ, he was an ass.

He felt his body become fixed, his hands freezing in position as they held the weight of her hair. Then he dropped it and buried his face in her neck as he pulled her closer with his arms tightly wrapped around her. She smelled of something he could not name, a complex flowery scent that was both delicate and alluring.

At that moment he could barely stand himself and couldn’t imagine how she could.

“I’m rescinding one of the rules,” he murmured against her neck, his voice to his own ears strangely hoarse.

It was her turn to go still. “What?”

He lifted his head and looked down at her. “You can wear your hair however you want,” he told her quietly and watched in sheer fascination as her hazel eyes melted liquid to sherry within an instant.

Then before she could respond, he announced, “We’re going to bed.”

It was much later, indeed it was the dead of night when Colin heard the phone ringing.

When he woke he was surprised to feel that Sibyl was snuggled against his side, her legs tangled with his. Until that night she always pulled away and slept with her back to him. Now, her arm was resting on his chest, crooked so that her elbow was at his stomach and her hand was dead centre. Her head was on his shoulder and he could feel soft tendrils of her hair everywhere.

He shifted slowly as he felt her stir, reached out to grab the phone and put it to his ear.

Before Colin could speak, he heard a man’s voice say, “Next time I shoot, it won’t be the dog and it won’t be a tranquilliser. Tonight’s your last night with her. Tomorrow, you say good-bye and you won’t see Sibyl Godwin again.”

Then the phone went dead in his hand.

He lay stock-still as the unfamiliar and immensely uncomfortable sensation of dread chased through his body, this feeling fleeting, being replaced by anger.

He felt Sibyl’s head lift from his shoulder. “Colin?”

Her voice was husky with sleep and his arm, which was wrapped around her with his hand resting on her hip, tightened reflexively.

“Who was it?” she asked.

“Wrong number,” Colin lied as he replaced the phone, forcing his body to relax.

Then he remembered.

It’s the dark soul, Mrs. Byrne had said and Colin’s body went back to tight.

Sibyl’s hand moved from his chest to encircle his waist and she pressed her soft, warmth closer to his side.

“Are you cold?” Her voice was still husky and without waiting for an answer, her hand moved to pull the covers up over her shoulder and his chest. Then it returned to its place around his waist as her weight settled into him and he knew she was again sleeping.

She was already responding to him, he knew.

This was very good, he knew.

But if indeed he was Royce Morgan’s reincarnation, he was never meant to have her.

Though, he did have her in a way that Royce had never had Beatrice, there was something missing. Something that made Colin uncomfortable, something that he and Sibyl needed to find before the curse of star-crossed lovers was lifted if it even existed.

No one ever knew who killed Royce and Beatrice Morgan or why.

The theory was it was an enemy of Royce’s. He’d made many of them with his exploits and successes on a variety of bloody battlefields.

Myth said that the dark soul would follow them, would stop them through eternity from finding each other or finding whatever it was that would forever protect them and break the curse.

And Mrs. Byrne believed the dark soul was watching them.

Colin didn’t believe in lore, myth, magic and curses and he certainly didn’t believe in dark souls coasting through eternity on vengeance.

But he took middle-of-the-night threatening phone calls after an attack on a dog and a break-in deadly seriously.

What Colin knew was that he hadn’t lived a sainted life, as, apparently, the misguided angel who was lying pressed to his side had. Colin had made people angry, he’d made enemies; enemies who might use Sibyl to get to him.

All Colin knew was that Robert Fitzwilliam said what Mrs. Byrne had said – that someone was watching them. It now became apparent that someone had tried to run them down with a car. And now someone had shot Sibyl’s dog and ransacked her cottage. All of this, for what seemed like no apparent reason at the time, but now Colin thought it was to warn him.

Colin came to a decision.

Tomorrow, Colin would call Robert Fitzwilliam and task the man with watching Sibyl, protecting her and finding out who was behind these plots while Colin kept steady at his task of winning her.