The Secrets of Roan Island

11. Ruby

11

Ruby

I bolt upright in bed, shout, and throw out an arm to free myself, only David isn’t here. No one is. I’m in a guest room at Roan Island. The wind’s howl beats the walls like a woman wailing against the night. My heart stomps in fits and starts, running from the ghosts of my past. It’s been awhile since I had a nightmare like that.

“You’re alright, Ruby,” I tell myself. “You’re safe.”

But the dream lingers. It came for me by the same path as most of my nightmares. As usual, it started in the cellar. Someone was begging to be found, crying. I couldn’t tell if it was me or my sister or maybe some unknown woman crying in the dark. I clawed at the stone walls, trying to get out, my fingers bleeding, but there was nowhere to go.

Then David was there, whispering his accusations, his judgments. Usually he shut the door, bolted it, and stayed on the other side. There would be a horrifying scraping, thumping sound like a body dragged along a wooden floor. But this time the dream was different.

Instead, just when David would have bolted the door, I was suddenly running through the dark halls of the Roan estate, David fast on my heels. His voice morphed into Noah’s, closer than I thought. He whispered in my ear, words that made my pulse race. Nothing like what David said to me. No one had ever said anything like this to me before. These weren’t sweet nothings, but they made my body heat with desire. I was held with my face against a wall, a weight keeping me contained as I pushed back against the force. Adrenaline coursed through my body. Fear and excitement and pulsing, throbbing lust.

And when I turned to see my captor, it wasn’t David, but Noah’s face I saw, inches away from mine, his breath heavy on my lips.

My body still tingles from the dream, my pulse deep between my thighs.

Pulling the blankets closer against the chill, my gaze drifts around the room, unable to shake the sense that someone is watching. The mirror across from my bed feeds my own reflection back to me, but I look strange in the candlelight. Younger. More vulnerable.

A sudden draft gusts across my skin. The candle I left burning shivers and blinks out, sending me back to that cellar. My hands shake as I fumble to relight it. The match burns me and tumbles to the floor. I curse, shoving my singed finger into my mouth. Not until my third attempt do I finally get the candle lit.

A deep breath, then another, I fight to calm myself.

Since leaving David, I’ve worked to find my sense of control, but at the moment, the chaos inside me takes over. I climb from the bed and pace, needing… something. I think of my dream, of the whispered commands, of the feel of my body at the mercy of Noah.

Too keyed up to sleep, I shrug a robe over my nightgown, then use my candle to light a larger candelabra, intent on peeking into the hallway. Despite my efforts at silence, when I open the door, it squeaks like a mouse caught in a trap. I shudder at the noise.

While I don’t relish sneaking around the mansion in the dark, I dislike the thought of staying in my room even more. The lingering feeling of being trapped makes me restless. I’m awake, and this is the perfect opportunity to explore.

Since coming to Roan Island, I’ve been shuttled between the library, the dining room, and my room, always in the company of one of the brothers. Every moment of the day is strictly regulated.

My days have given me nothing, no new information to put in my paper, no promise of a grant, no answers to the mysteries surrounding this place and its family. I’m beginning to suspect that the promised interview with Hammish and the hope of a grant are nothing more than the lure used to reel me in.

Noah is right. Hammish is putting off the interview. Each day brings a new reason he can’t meet. I’ve tried bringing up the grant at the evening meal, which is the only time he eats with the rest of the household, but he always shrugs it off as “inappropriate talk for the dinner table.” What I can’t figure out is why they would bring me here at all. Why grant my request only to refuse it now that I’m here?

Perhaps the night will reveal some of their secrets.

Poised on the threshold, I wait to see if anyone heard my door. The hall is empty. A single lantern set in the center of a table still burns, but the gaslamp sconces have been doused, casting the hallway in shadow. I contemplate stepping back into the room, afraid of what might await me in the dark, but this hall is no darker than my bedroom, and I’m tired of being cooped up and guarded every waking moment. Right now, my desire for freedom and autonomy outweighs the stifling feel of the darkness.

Clutching the candelabra tightly in one hand, I step into the hallway.

I’m unsure where to go first. I’ve spent plenty of time in the library, scoured each shelf twice and found nothing of value, though I did figure out their cataloging system. Tonight, I want to learn something of the Roan family themselves, which means I’ll need to venture where I haven’t been before. So I turn away from the stairs the brothers always use.

The thick carpet runner masks my footsteps as I walk the hall that seems to stretch and flex around me. When I come to another passageway branching off from the first, I take it. Portraits grace both walls—men and women of devastating beauty. I hold the light up for a closer look.

“Corletta Roan,” I whisper to the painting of a woman, noting the year it was painted. She’s breathtaking. Her bronze skin flawless, her black hair sleek and styled. Her lips are ruby red, a slight smile teasing the viewer. “What is your secret, Corletta?”

The next painting is a man. He has thick eyelashes that remind me of Noah’s.

Next, another woman, her alabaster skin so white it seems translucent.

Then a painting of a man. Another man. A woman. A man. Another man. A man. A woman. So many men.

So few women .

I can’t help but wonder if it’s because of their misogyny or for some other reason.

The subjects also never seem to grow older than sixty. It makes me think about how young Hammish Roan looks. His sons seem to be around my age—though Jafeth, perhaps, a touch younger—but Hammish Roan doesn’t look much over sixty.

At the end of the hallway a portrait of a young woman in bridal white gleams like a ghost in the midst of a dark graveyard. It’s like she’s floating at the end of the hall, beckoning me.

“Come,” she seems to say. “I’ll tell you our secrets.”

The look on the young woman’s face is painted with the same ethereal beauty as the other portraits, but whereas the others appeared austere, removed, this woman’s essence seems to be imbued in the painting. It’s easy to think she might move at any moment. A smile teases her red lips.

“Who are you?” I ask as I run a finger along the edge of the gilded frame. There are two words engraved in the gold. Zarah Roan .

“What are you doing?”

I jump and scream, losing hold of the candelabra as I turn. The cold silver slips from my grasp, and I watch in horror as it falls.

A breath before the ground, Noah catches it, candles still holding to their needles, flames tilted sideways.

I’m certain he was several steps away when I whirled to face him. But I must have misjudged the distance in the dim light.

He straightens, clutching the candelabra in a tight grip. “You should be in bed.” His gaze bores into me, like an inquisitor waiting for a confession.

I refuse to cower, even though my stomach twists. David gave me much sterner, more disapproving looks. Besides, Noah’s expression shows more than disapproval, his eyes moving over me with a wild look that makes my body tremble. Then his gaze gets stuck, and his expression shifts, becoming even more feral.

With a quick look down, I realize the robe gapes open, my unbuttoned nightgown revealing more skin than is truly proper. Propriety dictates I should clutch the fabric closed like a prudish old woman, but I’m not afraid of my own sensuality. And while my work makes me intimately aware of how ill-behaved men might respond to it, I find myself increasingly curious about how Noah might.

In the dim light of the candelabra, it’s hard to see his reaction. Shadows dance over his features, but I can see the quick rise and fall of his chest. His dark eyes stare at me intensely, dropping to my lips, lower. His knuckles are white around the candle holder, so tight it seems the metal bends.

“You shouldn’t be out of your room,” he says, his voice low and husky.

I glance at the painting to hide my emotional tumult, then back at him, intending to say something disarming. Then I realize how much he looks like the bride in the portrait.

“Who is she?” I ask, ignoring his order.

“You should be in bed,” he repeats, ignoring my question.

My glare is a challenge. “Who is she?”

He grits his teeth, but to my surprise he answers, “My sister. Zarah.” There’s a dark energy radiating off of him that makes me curious to know more, but before I can ask, he says, “Why are you wandering the halls?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“You could have read something.”

“Forgive me if I’m a bit tired of reading about the evil wiles of the temptress woman.”

He steps a little closer, eyes so black I can see the flickering candlelight reflected back at me. “You seem to be an evil temptress to me.”

“And is a man’s lack of self-control not an evil of its own?” The lack of conviction in my own voice surprises me.

“It is. Would you like me to show you?”

Startled by his agreement, I study his features more closely, swaying forward in the attempt.

“We tempt each other, don’t we, Miss Rose?” He leans in, his face near the crook of my neck, and takes a deep breath.

I can feel the movement of the air around me as he does. The warmth of his exhale, the alluring scent that grips me and narrows the space between us. Too soon, he straightens and steps back. “But we all must keep our desires in check.”

“Did you look at him, Ruby?” David’s voice echoes in my mind like a ghost I want to exorcise but can’t.

Noah turns and walks down the hall, taking the light with him. “I’ve arranged a boat to come for you tomorrow.”

Rattled by the encounter, and David’s haunting voice, I don’t move. I stand paralyzed, watching Noah’s receding form, the light diminishing the further he gets. I don’t want to be left in the dark, but I feel upended, my wants and desires at odds with the resurgence of David’s memory.

“I saw you. You lusted after him, didn’t you.”

“Who?” I asked.

It never mattered. It was a game David played because he got off on being powerful.

My breath catches in my chest as the hallway grows darker. Noah’s still speaking, but I can’t hear him. I’m frozen in place as the dark descends and David’s voice takes hold.

“You think you’re clean?” David sneered as he gripped my shoulders. “I should never have married such a whore.” He pushed me into the cellar.

“Don’t. Please. Don’t.” I cried, afraid.

David laughed. A cruel laugh. “You can think about what your stupid sister went through, probably asking for what she got. Then, when I let you out, you can figure out how your mouth is going to say you’re sorry for lusting after another man.”

“Miss Rose?”

I blink.

Noah Roan is standing in front of me holding the candelabra, frowning.

Swallowing the acid that burns my throat, I close my eyes to find my strength, pushing David back into the recesses of my mind. When I reopen them to see Noah’s face once more, I straighten my spine, unnerved by how often this man has seen me at my weakest. “You said something about a boat?”

His eyes narrow, then he nods. “It will be here for you tomorrow. To take you back to the mainland.”

“Now, wait. Your father said I was welcome to use the library through Solstice.”

“Have you found anything of use?”

“No. But–”

“Then there’s no point staying.”

“There’s every reason to continue to look.”

Even in the dark, I pick up on the tension in his shoulders, the sharp tightness in his jaw. “You will leave on the boat, Miss Rose.” There’s an undertone to his voice that’s almost a snarl. “Until then, stay out of this hall.”

He places a firm palm on my back and pushes me forward. The moment my feet begin to move, his hand drops away, leaving behind a thrilling chill.