Cates, Kimberly by Briar Rose

Author:Briar Rose [Rose, Briar]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-11-20T22:30:50+00:00

CHAPTER 12

Twilight edged the trees in wisps of ash-gray lace, almost as if night itself were weaving a shroud. Redmayne stared out across the vista of barracks beyond his headquarters window, bemused by the tightness in his stomach. Odd, to feel evidence of emotion after all these years. A little like recalling bits of a language long forgotten, enough to trouble one's peace but not enough to be of any practical use.

Doubtless Rhiannon would be delighted with the news, if ever he went mad enough to tell her what he was experiencing. But tonight he would have preferred to deal with matters in his accustomed way, to be without any feelings at all. At least during the interview that lay before him.

He had to question Kenneth Barton.

Nearly twenty-four hours had passed since Rhiannon's caravan had lumbered into the garrison. Redmayne had taken care of whatever pressing military business had to be transacted. God help any man who claimed Lion had done so in an attempt to avoid the upcoming confrontation.

No, Redmayne assured himself. He'd merely been gathering his wits, planning the tactics he would use to get the boy to spill any information he might have. An unnecessary effort, Rhiannon would insist. No doubt she believed Barton would work himself to death attempting to aid Redmayne, were he but asked.

"That boy could no more assassinate you than I could," she had said, fierce protectiveness shining in every line of her earnest face. For whom? Redmayne or the earnest youth she had befriended? He felt an odd jab that couldn't possibly be jealousy. Not even an hour had she spent in Kenneth Barton's company, but Rhiannon was damned certain she knew the young man's heart. The way she believed she knew Redmayne's own?

Self-disgust poured through him. God forbid she should ever truly get a glimpse of the cold, dead place in his chest where a heart was supposed to be. Even a fairy-born healer would have to turn away from him, revolted, despairing.

Damnation, what the devil ailed him? Redmayne jammed his fingers through his hair in disgust. He had a job to do—question the young soldier who was his only link to the men who had ambushed him at Ballyaroon.

The task should be simple enough. In his years in the military, he'd become nigh legendary for his ability to pry secrets from the most determined rebels' souls. He'd always discovered just the right leverage, but here, when his own life might well hang in the balance, what was he doing? Nursing something appallingly akin to feelings of betrayal, and imagining the reactions of a woman to whom the concept of logic was as foreign as fairy tales were to him.

Redmayne had to admit his grandfather had been right about one thing. Emotions were a curse. In thirty-six years, Redmayne had been burdened with precious few emotions. Once events were over, he turned his back on them, buried them, walked away.

But part of him very much feared he would carry shadows of two recent memories long into the future.

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