Through the Dark

Description

Lord Grey Constantine is a tortured soul on the verge of going mad. His brother is determined to gain control of his land, and Grey’s violent outbursts are not helping matters. When Grey meets Jeremy Waters, everything begins to fall into place. But dealing with Grey’s scheming brother is another matter entirely.

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EXCERPT:

1582, North Wales

“A storm is coming in, Master. Do you wish to retire?”

“No.”

“As you wish, Master Grey.”

Frederic left without another word, closing the parlor doors quietly behind him. Standing at the balcony doors, Grey closed his eyes, feeling the first of the storm winds coming in off the Irish Sea. Below the castle, the waves crashed onto the sand, bringing nothing but ill tidings with them. Rhys’ ship had not come in. Judging by the growing storm, it never would.

Lightning split the sky, illuminating the cliffs and the tumultuous waters below. Thunder crackled loud, rattling the windows. Rhys was home.

“Frederic!” Grey threw open the parlor doors and stormed through the castle, barking orders at the servants scurrying about him. “Make Master Rhys’ bed ready! Send for the physician! Now!”

“But Master Grey –”

Grey didn’t hear anything beyond his name as he raced out of the keep toward the postern door. Wrenching it open against the maddening wind, he made it down the massive stone stairwell cut into the rock itself in record time. More wreckage had washed up in the short time he’d left the balcony, but he cared nothing for the various goods, nor for the other bodies.

Tangled in a mess of ropes and splintered wood, Rhys looked deathly pale, eyes closed. Grey started lifting wood and rope, picking his way through the wreckage. Rhys didn’t move.

“Rhys!” Grey’s hair whipped his face and the spray from the sea had already soaked his shirt through, leaving the thin cloth clinging to his chilled skin. By the time he reached Rhys, the others were there, dragging bodies further up on the beach.

“Master Grey!” Frederic’s voice barely cut through the tempest blowing around them. “He’s gone, Master! Let him be! There are survivors!”

“No!” Grey whirled around. The blow to Frederic’s face sent the man sprawling onto the sand. His eyes widened in shock. “Get the survivors if you must, but I’m not leaving him!”

Grey turned back to Rhys and picked him up. Rhys was heavy and limp, showing no sign of life as Grey carried him across the sand to the steps. The world be damned; he would not lose Rhys. Not to the sea, not to the survival of the others, not to God.