Bound By Sin (A Cin Craven Novel) Read online

  “The only reason I bring up Alastair Gordon is to explain the circumstances of our being in London. It took me two years to undo the damage that man did to Claire in a few short months of marriage. Finally, this past autumn she began to seem like her old self again. I thought a trip to London for the Season would be a wonderful experience for her so I rented a house and brought her down just after Christmas. She was a little quiet and preferred to stay in more than I expected she would, but I attributed that to the fact that London can be a bit frightening and overwhelming when you’ve lived your entire life in sleepy little Glen Gregor. For the most part we had a grand time over the next two months, shopping and attending many musicales, teas, and balls.”

  “And then what happened?” I asked.

  Raina closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair.

  “And then Claire was kidnapped,” she said softly.

  CHAPTER 6

  “I went to wake her one morning,” Raina said. “Well, it was afternoon actually, since we’d been out late at a ball. She wasn’t in her room. He must have taken her directly out of the country because I tried a location spell and I couldn’t find her. My magic isn’t strong enough,” she said, looking at me, “but yours might be.”

  I nodded. “All right. I’ll certainly be glad to give it a try. But Raina, you said ‘he’ took her. Do you know who abducted her?”

  Raina’s eyes narrowed. “I have a fairly good idea. It was that bloody American, Adrien Boucher.”

  Justine cocked her head to one side. “This is a French name,” she said.

  “His family is French, from Louisiana I believe, but I remember him saying that he no longer lives there. Obviously, now I wish I’d paid more attention to him. We met him at several parties when we first arrived in town and it was rumored that he was in England to raise money for the secessionist cause. The Americans are having a civil war, you know.”

  I nodded. “Yes, I still read the newspapers. But if his purpose in coming to England was to raise money, why abduct Claire and leave so suddenly? Has there been a ransom demand?”

  “No,” Raina replied. “I’m sure it all has to do with that urn, though I can’t believe it was that valuable.”

  I closed my eyes. My head was beginning to pound. “What urn?” I asked patiently.

  Raina looked at me blankly for a moment. “Oh, right, I haven’t yet told you about the urn. Forgive me, as you can imagine I’m a little scattered right now. On one of our first excursions in town, Claire and I ventured into an antiquities shop. While I was admiring several very nice pieces of silver, Claire struck up a conversation with a young widow who had come to the shop to sell some of her late husband’s belongings. Apparently the man had been some sort of archaeologist and possessed many artifacts he’d brought back from Greece. Claire has always had a keen love of Greek and Roman mythology, so she and the young lady talked for quite some time on the subject while the proprietor decided which items he wished to purchase. Claire particularly admired this rather dreadful-looking urn and the widow made her a gift of it. I offered repeatedly to pay her for it, since it was obvious she was in need of the funds, else why would she be there? She would have none of it, though, and insisted that Claire keep the urn. Other than Claire herself, it was the only thing missing from her room.”

  Devlin stood and began pacing. “Why would a man who risked running the blockades to leave America and come to England to raise money for a war, steal a girl and a piece of antique crockery and leave without what he came for? If the urn had any real value, the widow of an archaeologist would surely know it and would not have just given it away.”

  “I do not believe we can assume that. Not all women show an interest in their husband’s work,” Justine pointed out. “Perhaps she did not know what she had?”

  I turned to Raina. “Ah, but did Adrien Boucher know what she had?”

  “Yes,” Raina replied slowly. “I think he did. As I said, we’d crossed paths with Boucher several times and Claire enjoyed conversing with him because she said he talked to her as if she had a brain in her head. Claire had grown very weary of the usual London gentlemen who saw nothing but her pretty face. One evening, shortly after she acquired the urn, she told Boucher about it. He came to call on her a few days later and I chaperoned, of course, but he seemed to have no interest in her, only in that urn. Claire brought it down from her bedroom and they talked at great length about what the markings meant. Boucher offered to buy it from her but she refused.”

  “So he came under the cover of darkness and took it anyway,” Michael stated.

  “Not directly,” Raina said. “Over the next month or so he offered to purchase it on several more occasions. I have no proof that he took her, but no one has seen him in London since Claire disappeared.”

  “But why take Claire and the urn?” Michael asked.

  “Perhaps she caught him stealing it and he took her so that she wouldn’t wake the whole house hold,” I suggested. “It would buy him time to get away.”

  “There are easier ways of silencing someone,” Devlin said softly and with great meaning.

  He was right, of course. Boucher could have killed her, or tied her up and gagged her. Either would have been much easier than taking a girl against her will through London, to the docks, and onto a ship without raising suspicion. No, for some reason he wanted the urn and Claire.

  Raina sighed in frustration. “By Danu, I wish that widow had never given her the blasted urn in the first place.”

  I suddenly had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Raina, what did the woman look like?”

  Raina looked confused as to why I would ask such a thing, but she answered the question. “She was tall and slender with glossy black hair and eyes to match. High cheekbones, square jaw, full lips. She was quite striking, really.”

  I groaned and leaned back in my chair.

  Yes, she is, I thought. As beautiful as a goddess should be, and twice as manipulative.

  CHAPTER 7

  I stood at the dining room table and unrolled a large map of the world that Raina had found in the library. As she tacked the corners down with silver candlesticks, I looked at the map, thinking of all the places Boucher could have taken Claire. I hoped that Raina’s spell would find her. My magic worked a bit differently than that of the rest of my family and, for me, spellcasting was often a disaster. I flicked my fingers toward the candles and the wicks caught fire, flaring up dramatically before settling down to a nice, steady glow.

  A loud thump, followed by Devlin’s rather colorful cursing and Justine’s hearty laughter, drew my attention to the hall. They were moving our trunks from the carriage into our rooms for the night. I closed the doors to the dining room, muffling the distracting sounds, and turned back to Raina.

  “Before we begin, will you tell me how the spell works?” I asked.

  “Have you never done a location spell before?” Raina asked, surprised.

  I shrugged. “My magic tends to be a bit more active,” I replied.

  To illustrate my point I conjured a ball of pure magic in my hand, the small orb glowing and pulsating with iridescent gold light. I snapped my fingers and the ball disappeared. Raina’s eyes widened briefly in amazement and then she smiled.

  “This will work,” she said. “With that kind of power, it has to.”

  She walked around to the other side of the table and I moved to stand across from her, the map between us.

  “There are different ways to find things,” she said. “If I were home, searching for something that would likely be found in a place that was familiar to me, I might use a pool of still water to call forth an image of the missing object’s location. Since Claire is undoubtedly someplace I’ve never been before, that’s hardly going to be helpful. The second option is what I used when I found you in Edinburgh all those years ago. For that, we need a map and an object belonging to the person we’re seeking.”

  Raina reached into the pocket of her skirt a
nd pulled out a small pearl earring. “This is Claire’s,” she said and placed it on the map. “Now, there are the herbs and the invocation and—”

  And this is why I hated spellcraft. I didn’t have the patience for it. I reached across the table and grasped Raina’s hands in mine, placing her palms flat at the outer edges of the map with mine resting on top of hers. I closed my eyes and summoned my magic.

  It rose within me, calling to Raina’s own magic like an old friend. She was my cousin and, no matter how differently our powers might manifest themselves, our magic all came from the same source, passed down in our blood for generations. I felt the stirring of Raina’s power answering my own. She gasped as her magic poured from her body, lured by my call. My power took hers in, devouring it like the ocean swallowing the waters of a river, and yet Raina’s magic was still there, mingling with mine. I felt the heady rush of power rise between us and I might have set it free, just to see what it would do, but Raina had overcome her momentary shock and her will held it in place. She positively vibrated with focus and concentration and I cracked my eyes open to see what our magic had wrought.

  The pearl earring was spinning like a top, caught up in a vortex of golden light that swirled like the winds of a cyclone.

  “Say the words now,” I instructed Raina.

  “Use this magic to help us see/That which has been stolen from me/Across mountain, sand, or water/Show me where to find my daughter.”

  The earring shot across the map at such a great speed that I thought it might fly off the table entirely. But it stopped, and when it did our magic receded, its work done. Raina opened her eyes and pulled her shaking hands from under mine.

  With a shuddering breath she said, “I don’t think we needed quite that much power.”

  I shrugged and pointed to the map. “Perhaps not, but it worked.”

  We both leaned over and looked at where the earring rested. It was a small American island, one of many off the coast of Georgia. Raina sank dejectedly into one of the dining room chairs. I knew exactly how she felt. We had all been hoping for a different result. I sat down across from her and stared at the map, wondering how long it would take to find a ship whose captain was both willing and able to run a blockade during a war.

  CHAPTER 8

  Standing in the center of Ravenworth’s winter garden, I closed my eyes and let the tension flow out of me. Tilting my head back, I reached out with my senses, listening to the stirring of the creatures of the night—and searching for one in particular.

  “Morrigan,” I called out. “You might as well show yourself. I know you’re there.”

  There was a great flapping of wings and I opened my eyes to see a large raven perched on the high stone wall of the garden. Morrigan was a goddess of war and death, the fountainhead of the vampire race. It’s said she often appears in the form of a raven. To me she had always been a beautiful young woman with hair the color of a raven’s wing and long, black fingernails. I had long ago accepted the fact that she had a particular interest in molding me into the warrior she thought I should be. But that didn’t mean I had to like it and the two of us at times butted heads over the matter. If the goddess had a hand in Claire’s abduction, it was because of me. For that I felt a deep sense of guilt—and a large amount of anger.

  “Really, Morrigan,” I scoffed. “A faerie lady who watched over her while she was lost? A young widow who gifted her with something valuable enough to get her kidnapped? What the devil are you up to?”

  The raven stared at me with its shiny black eyes and cocked its head to one side.

  I stomped my foot. “Come down here and talk to me!”

  Still she didn’t move. Irritated, I conjured a ball of magic in the palm of my hand and hurled it at the raven. The bird shrieked and vanished just before the ball hit the stone with a blinding flash of golden light. I looked around, wondering where she had disappeared to. A rushing flap of wings made me jerk my head up. The raven reappeared in mid air just in front of me. Before I could get my hands up to shield my face, one long talon reached out and raked across my cheek. I put my hand to my face and came away with blood. The raven flew back to the wall and settled there, fluffing her wings and glaring at me. I looked at the blood on my fingers and inclined my head to her.

  “Fine,” I said. “We’ve proven that we can both be spiteful bitches. I suppose we could go at each other all night, but what’s the point? I can’t kill you and we both know you won’t kill me. Why don’t you just come down here and tell me what it is you want from me this time.”

  She shifted her weight from foot to foot, looking mildly impatient.

  “All right, you want me to go to America, is that it?” I asked.

  Her feathers ruffled and she settled calmly on the wall . . . and I swear the damned bird looked smug.

  I sighed. “If you’d wanted me to go there, all you had to do was ask. You didn’t have to involve an innocent young girl who is probably scared out of her mind right now.”

  The raven made a noise that on any other animal I would describe as a snort, and flew away. Exasperated, I threw one last ball of magic at the wall.

  For the love of Danu, what would Morrigan want with a human girl like Claire?

  CHAPTER 9

  I walked back inside without an answer to my question. It would be dawn soon and I was tired and uneasy about what was to come. As I reached the grand staircase I noticed the gray and white cat perched on the newel post. Thinking that, with all that long hair, she must be a descendant of Prissy’s, I stopped to pet her. Animals can generally sense the wrongness of the undead. Prissy, however, was never that smart and most of her descendants treated us vampires as any cat would a human. That is to say, as though we existed entirely for their benefit. The cat stood and stretched at my approach, letting out a rather demanding meow. I reached up to pet her and she eagerly rubbed her face against my hand.

  “Well, hello,” I said, smiling. “What’s your name?”

  “That’s Not Harriette,” Janet said from behind me.

  I turned around. “I didn’t say it was,” I assured her. “What’s her name?”

  “She’s Not Harriette,” Janet reiterated.

  “I understand she’s not Harriette,” I said slowly, wondering what had gotten into Janet. “Who is she?”

  Janet laughed and shook her head. “No, Cin, her name is Not Harriette, though you’re free to simply call her Harriette. The grandchildren got into an argument about what to name her. Lucy wanted Harriette but Jack was entirely against the idea. Every time Lucy would call the cat Harriette, Jack would yell, ‘She’s not Harriette!’ Thus, the name.”

  I laughed as Janet plucked the cat from the newel post. She curled against Janet’s chest, kneading and purring.

  “She’s one of Prissy’s descendants?” I asked.

  Janet nodded.

  “She’s beautiful,” I remarked.

  “And she knows it, too. I often find her sitting on my dressing table, making softly flirtatious feline noises to the pretty kitty in the mirror,” Janet replied, and handed Harriette to me. “She’s my favorite and travels with me wherever I go, but I think you need her more than I do tonight.”

  I looked down at the gray ball of fur, who meowed and butted her nose against mine. Smiling, I realized that I felt less tension than I had in days.

  “I think I’ll take you up on that offer, Janet,” I said. “Thank you—for everything.”

  Michael was in bed when I walked into my room. I closed the door and put Harriette down. She immediately jumped up on the bed and strode arrogantly over to greet him, tail twitching. As I removed my clothes I listened to Michael talking softly to the cat. You never truly realize how much you enjoy the touch and comfort of an animal until it’s gone. Unlike Ravenworth’s cats, most animals will stay as far away from a vampire as possible.

  I slid between the sheets and nestled against the warmth of Michael’s body. The cat forgotten, he wrapped one arm around me and le
aned over to kiss my lips. I lingered there for a moment, wishing I had the energy to follow where such kisses generally led. Harriette, as if sensing my mood, turned twice around on Michael’s stomach and curled herself into a snug ball.

  Michael glanced down at her. “At least this one doesn’t want to sleep wrapped around my head like Prissy did,” he said with a laugh.

  I laid my head on his shoulder and ran my fingers over the smooth expanse of his chest.

  “She’s a smart girl,” I said. “I can’t think of any place I’d rather be than on top of you.”

  “If I thought that was an invitation, the cat would have to go,” he teased.

  “It could be,” I murmured.

  Michael brushed my hair back and kissed my forehead. “No, lass. You sleep now. We’re going to have a long sea voyage ahead of us with little else to do but make love. Right now you’re exhausted, worried, and a little angry, I think. Quite frankly,” he said teasingly, “I don’t believe you’re capable of fully appreciating my considerable skills this morning.”

  I laughed. “I’m certain you’re right about that.”

  “What worries you so about this trip?” he asked. “It’s not as if the girl’s been abducted by vampires. We go in and we take her back from a human. How much resistance can he possibly give us? I daresay the hardest part of the whole thing is going to be getting in and out of Savannah.”

  “It’s Morrigan’s involvement,” I admitted. “Whenever she’s around, things go horribly wrong. Venice, when I fought Gage and was infected with dark magic. Edinburgh, when I used that magic to incinerate all those vampires.”

  “Do I need to remind you that we’d all be dead if you hadn’t done those things?” Michael asked softly.

  “So you tell me every time we have this conversation. It doesn’t change the fact that whenever she involves herself in my life I end up doing things I have no right to do. I’ve killed people, Michael. I’ve done things that we would execute any other vampire for doing. How is that all right?”