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THE MIST STILL swirled around the manor and Sophie stood in its dank caress upon the lake edge; her intense gaze on the shadowy figure wading toward her, a rifle hung from her shoulder, her strong hand clutching its barrel.
“I see you decided on a spot of swimming,” she said as Jake dragged a body into view.
“Heard the gunfire. Checked the cameras. Morgan’s night vision was so expensive ’cause it had heat vision too,” He grunted, hauling the grotesque smelling, bloated corpse onto the bank. “Can’t tell who shot him ’cause it’s a load of colours but Morgan was lucky.”
“How lucky?” She wrinkled up her nose at the body.
“She was in the direct line of fire. Dunno how they missed her. Guess this bloke soaked up the hit.” He yanked the ID Tag from the body. “Someone from the murder mystery lot.”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “So our intruder was aiming for Morgan?”
Jake nodded. “Starting to think someone’s got an issue with her.”
“Yes, I concur.” She scanned the blanket-like mist. “How do we account for this guest’s disappearance?”
“Leave it to me, Darl,” The Recluse said from beside Jake, who gripped his chest and spluttered. “You need help getting rid of it?”
Jake stared at The Recluse then at Sophie and nodded. He would ask no questions.
“Good. I was thinking the moors.” The Recluse peered down at the body. “Kid has a quad ready.”
Jake hunched. He hated the moors as much as she.
“Can you two bury it? I would like Jake to watch the camera feed.” Sophie sighed. Letting The Recluse onto the estate was risky. She had a tendency of creating trouble when she was bored. “I’d like you to have access to it. I’d like Morgan watched.”
The Recluse laughed. “What’s to say I won’t stalk her myself, Darl?”
“You do not like me angry.” She nodded to Jake. “You will have your own radio channel. Morgan knows nothing of this, yes?”
Jake nodded. “She was lucky you showed up.” He flicked his gaze back to the body. “Whoever did the shooting did a runner when you showed.”
Sophie met The Recluse’s eyes. “If you catch them, do as wish to them, just make sure they leave in the same condition as our guest.”
Jake and The Recluse exchanged a glance.
“I’m a Haye and this is my land and I am through being invaded.” She turned and stalked through the mist, rifle at hand. The lawn sodden beneath her boots, the damp air cool against her still flushed cheeks. Morgan would wish to inform the police if she found out, which was an unnecessary annoyance. What would they do other than become fertiliser themselves? If an intruder could make it through doubled security, thick mist, and not once be identified or thwarted, how were barely qualified pencil pushers going to help?
She stepped onto the gravelled path and headed toward the manor. No need for vision. Her feet alone could lead her to any part of the estate.
“Typical. She is in your bed and you are playing with rifles while she sleeps. Does she know how little you care?” Edwina muttered away behind her. Not meant to be heard, that much she was sure of. Then again, when did she ever turn her implants up enough to listen to the staff? She only had them up to listen for approaching footsteps. “How could you hurt her even when she has been so devoted to you?”
Sophie snarled, turned, and Edwina stooped.
No, calm. Morgan liked her to be gentle, urged her to try.
“Your defence of her is admirable.” She strolled back to Edwina, keeping a safe distance and her gun lowered, hoping it would show she had no intention to strike. “I only wonder why you are never as loyal to the person whose estate employs and houses you?”
“Why would I have cause to be loyal?” Edwina hugged herself as though in pain. “Why, when you are enchanting that girl as you have done so many others.”
“If you mean Eugenie, she enchanted herself.” Sophie rolled her eyes. How many years had it been and Edwina was still consumed by it.
“She was an innocent girl who was nothing but a plaything to you.” Edwina shook her head. “You ruined Henry with your spite.”
“Henry?” She laughed, a growl rumbling through it, then took a breath. Agreeable. Morgan wanted her to be agreeable. “What boy did you know? How blind were you?”
“He was mine.” Edwina hugged herself. “I know that much.”
“Yours?” Sophie stepped closer. “Who told you such a lie?”
“Your father didn’t lie, at least not to me.” She tidied her hair like he would step out from the shadows. “He loved me.”
Of course. Her father knew nothing of what happened to the children he produced with the servants. Even if he had, would he have been honest? She doubted it. Her father was as much a Haye as the rest of the family.
“Love?” What oversentimental drivel. “He loved no one. My grandfather saved you a life of watching him take servants to your bed.” Was Edwina so blind? “My grandmother cared enough about your family to stop it . . . Especially after your sister.”
“What does it have to do with my sister? She died in childbirth.” Edwina shook her head and rubbed her arms.
“She died giving birth to my father’s child.” Did Edwina really think that her father would only lure her in?
“No.” Edwina put her hands to her mouth. “He wouldn’t have done that to me. He said she’d had the child with a local boy.”
“And he lied to get you to return to his bed. He’d bothered little with you when he enjoyed her company but who else would let him do as he wished?” Had she seen nothing of the family? “Henry was never yours.”
“Then whose was he because he bore no resemblance to you.” Edwina studied her like she was torn: to believe Sophie’s words, would mean seeing the truth about her father.
“He was neither yours nor your sister’s. He was my mother’s son with her lover. She did it to prove their problem breeding came through my father not her.” Sophie let out a long sigh. A fact that meant little now to anyone other than Edwina. Henry was dead. “Only my grandfather, my mother, and I knew of his real lineage.”
“You’re lying. When you were born, your father distanced himself from me . . . for years.” Edwina stepped back as if ready to run. “He would never have seduced my sister, you are playing with me.”
“I am not.” She softened her tone. Was this why Edwina had hated her so? “Your son is alive . . . it is only out of love for him that I keep him hidden.”
“Love or desire for your estate?” Edwina’s tone held no anger but hope.
“Love for my brother. I can assure you, I adore him as I adore my sister.” She sighed. Why else would she befriend her staff? Was it not obvious? “Look no further than a cottage on the south boundary, and you will find your child.”
Edwina put her hands to her mouth. “Please, do not taunt me. Do not offer me such joy only as a game.”
“I find no joy in knowing that you have been ignorant to Jake for so long.” She threw her hands in the air. “How could you think he is not a Haye. He hates people for a start.”
Edwina’s gaze drifted southward. “Does he know?”
“Of course not. What would that do other than to remind him he was an illegitimate child who cannot inherit anything when he would try just to give me freedom.” And he would. He would lie if he had to if that meant he could help her.
“Your freedom?” Edwina scrutinized her. “I don’t understand.”
“No. You never will.” She nodded adieu. “That would involve you seeing me.”
She stalked into the mists toward the house at speed. She’d grown up seeing her own beloved siblings confined to silence and ignorance of their lineage. She’d watched Fiona grow with no mother, Jake grow with no idea who his parents were at all. Her father had played with the staff which is why she had never wanted to inflict those very same wounds.
She slowed and let out a long, heavy sigh. Yet Morgan was in her bed, Morgan was ignorant to so much about her, Morgan was as loyal and blinded as Edwina and her sister had been, and yet Morgan was not the same. How was that so? How did it feel less a game with Morgan but more a fruitless charade to hide what was stirring inside?
Sophie gripped the rifle in her hands and headed in through the main entrance.
“You threw the girl over her shoulder and gave her fifteen children.” She pursed her lips at Michael De Breton the Third’s portrait. He sneered back at her like always. “I’m not allowed to do such things, you see? I have to be observant of my servants’ feelings.” She unloaded the gun. “When they fail to realise that I am in this position in order to serve them and ensure they have a home.” She rubbed at her forehead. “I am trapped. I am trapped here like a prisoner and I’m forced to defend a prison I escaped fair and square.” She secured the rifle behind the bookcase in her office and stomped up the passageway to her room.
Morgan stirred as she entered, and Sophie slid the fireplace shut quickly before washing off her hands. She yanked off her clothes and strolled back into the bedroom as Morgan fluttered open her eyelids.
“You okay? You look pissed off and then some.” Morgan stroked over her cheek, her hand whirring.
“I am.” She sighed and slumped into the bed next to her.
Morgan rolled onto her side and nestled in. “Any reason why?”
“Fiona is my half-sister, you see that, yes? My father wronged her mother and Edwina and somehow I have been painted as a vixen.” Why was it her fault that her father hadn’t bedded Edwina for years? Why was it her fault that he’d caused so much heartbreak? “She wishes me to explain myself and my family. What does she want next? My regret over Edward De Breton the Ninth murdering his own brother and stealing his wife?”
Morgan chuckled until it rumbled through the bed.
Sophie glared at her. “You find my predicament amusing?”
“I love you.” She cuddled in. “But your family are complete arseholes, you know that?”
“You don’t need to tell me, I grew up with them.” Sophie pulled her close, not sure if she was angry or amused. “I’ve no idea why that makes your affection for me so acute.”
“Because you just told me about Fiona.” Morgan beamed at her. “And, yes, she’s sneaky like you so it took about three seconds with the both of you in the same room to spot it.”
“She doesn’t know. I don’t want to inflict the truth of what happened on her.” Sophie growled at the ceiling. Could one cut down someone already buried?
“I know. That’s why I said I love you.” Morgan kissed the side of her mouth.
Sophie turned and studied Morgan’s pale green irises and soft smile. “I’m unaccustomed to someone being in harmony with my thoughts.”
“Me too.” Morgan kissed her lips again. “It’s a lovely feeling.”
Morgan’s Welsh lilt rippled through her whispered words and Sophie couldn’t help but smile. “Indeed it is.”