Arthur took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I will nae leave ye tae face this alone, I swore an oath tae ye. I will aid ye in finding yer faither’s killer, but I am going tae need some time.”
“I understand,” Cleo looked up and found his eyes were open once more, filled with more hurt and betrayal than she could bear and remain standing. She stumbled backward with the intensity of the storm of emotions that raged within her threatening to drag her under with force of a tidal wave. “I understand,” she whispered once more, then turned and fled from the room, not looking back to see if he followed or left the house. At that moment, she could do nothing but put space between them for her own sake.
“… for doomed love he swallowed fire,”a voice whispered through her mind,“…for doomed love…”
Chapter 16
Arthur stood in the empty washroom of the kitchen and stared after Cleo in disbelief. He did not understand anything of what had just happened. She had gone from pure Greek fire in his arms to a cold English deluge in less than a moment.She cannae truly think me capable o’ murdering Henry. She cannae…he shook his head, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “I dinnae understand,” he murmured into the darkness, as the tiny light of the candle sputtered and then went out.
Sighing, Arthur slipped quietly out of the backdoor and returned to his own townhouse. He entered the library and poured himself a whisky. Most English gentlemen preferred brandy, but Arthur had been raised in the Highlands and islands of Scotland for most of his life and nothing said home to him more than a golden glass of whisky.
“Aqua vita,indeed,” he murmured as he let the slow burn of the spirits warm him from the inside out. Cleo’s words had chilled him to the bone and the loss of the fire that he had felt while holding her in his arms, though not quenched, had dimmed under the onslaught of her accusations. It was as if she had thrust Excalibur into his chest and left it there, as firmly as if it once more had been lodged in stone, and only her fair and worthy hand could pull it forth.
Arthur lowered himself into the chair nearest the fireplace and stared absently into the flames. He watched them flicker and dance, a play of shadow and light, upon the hearth.“… for doomed love he swallowed fire,”he murmured into the pirouetting colors, orange, yellow and blue, licking the logs in golden earnest. “I would do far worse tae hold her in my arms once more.”
“My Lord?” his resident London housekeeper asked as she entered the room.
“It is nae tae trouble ye, Mrs. Feilding.”
“Very well, My Lord. Is there anything that I can get you before I turn in for the night?”
“Nae, Mrs. Feilding, but I thank ye for yer kind care o’ me and my family over the years.”
“It is my honor to serve the house of Irondale, Your Lordship.” The housekeeper curtsied and left him alone to his thoughts.
Unable to remain still, Arthur downed what remained of his whisky and left the house once more to walk the streets. He knew it was not a safe practice to do in a place such as London, but he had been taught from a young age how to handle himself in a fight and carried a weapon, whether it be a pistol or a knife, upon his person at all times. Tonight, he had chosen to carry both for his midnight excursion.
Arthur roamed the streets and alleyways, following their meandering path at will, passing from shadow into light and then back into shadow once more. The combination of his heartbreak and the whisky buzzing through his body, made him feel as a disembodied ghost passing unnoticed along the cobblestone streets. Moving from the more affluent part of town, to that of the less favorable, Arthur contemplated drowning his sorrows in one of the many taverns that lined the streets but knew it to be unwise.
The sound of music lured him into a side alley where he leaned up against the side of a building and listened to a mother singing her child back to sleep. The sound soothed his aching heart as he thought of his own mother doing the same for him when he had been but a lad in Scotland. The mother’s voice sang out in a lovely Welsh lilt.
“Holl amrantau'r sêr ddywedant
Ar hyd y nos
'Dyma'r ffordd i fro gogoniant
Ar hyd y nos.
Golau arall yw tywyllwch
I arddangos gwir brydferthwch
Teulu'r nefoedd mewn tawelwch
Ar hyd y nos.
O mor siriol gwen a seren
Ar hyd y nos
I oleuo-i chwaer ddae ar en
Ar hyd y nos.
Nos yw henaint pan ddaw cystudd
Ond i harddu dyn a'i hwyr dydd
