The Secrets of Roan Island

13. Ruby

13

Ruby

N oah is calling yet another boat to take me back. He didn’t say when it would come, but I have no doubt it’ll be soon. He doesn’t understand what going back empty-handed will do to my career, how shaky my footing really is at the university. But what can I do? He refuses to listen to reason.

And he calls me stubborn.

Sighing, I try to focus on the book Shemaiah gave me my first day here. It’s such a dull account of the history of the island that it normally puts me to sleep within minutes, which is what I need. It’s well past midnight, and I’m still worked up from the ordeal with Noah on the dock. The way he caught me. The raw strength of his arms around me. He was so fast. So steady.

And so infuriating.

The thin pages of the book slip through my fingers as I look for where I left off.

Originally called San Vertu, Roan Island was inhabited long before the founding of New Essik. The first known visitors to the island found a single elaborate estate already long established. The people spoke a strange tongue, though they learned our language with a quick fluidity that shocked any who met them. There are rumors of strange occurrences happening on the island. Some say they saw monsters. Others claim to have seen gods. And there are some that speak of parties that might better be called orgies that lasted weeks and left the line of propriety far behind. Many call it The Devil’s Playground.

Now it’s getting interesting. Curious, I mark my spot with my thumb, turn to the front page, and note the publication date. The book is older than it seems. Published only fifty years after the founding of New Essik almost three centuries ago. Returning to where I left off, I realize the next ten pages or so have been ripped out. The next complete chapter is back to describing the topography, vegetation, and wildlife found on the island.

Irritated, I throw the book onto the bed, where it bounces and hits the floor with a thud.

This is ridiculous. If there’s a chance this will be my last night at the Roan estate, I won’t spend it reading about different kinds of moss and the effect crickets had on the island’s ecosystem.

There’s a reason the eldest Roan brother wants me to leave so badly. And I think it has something to do with that forbidden hallway. Noah’s warning challenges my curiosity and consumes me with the desire to take a closer look. Yes, this will be much better than reading. One final rebellion against Mr. Noah Roan’s high-handed demands.

Throwing off the covers, I climb out of bed, pull a pair of leather riding pants from the armoire, and lace them closed.

“Stay out of this hallway,” I mimic with mock indignation, tugging on boots and moving to the mirror to make sure the seam of the pants is in place, though why I care is another matter. It isn’t as if anyone will see me.

“What are you hiding?” I mutter, turning away from the mirror.

My heart beats frantically as I grab the candelabra on my nightstand, then press my ear to the door. I listen for footsteps or the murmur of conversation, but hear only silence.

Easing the door open—slower this time, remembering the way it squeals—I sneak back to the forbidden corridor. Unsure what I’m looking for, but certain it’s something Noah doesn’t want me to find.

My instincts zip with awareness as I begin a careful inspection of the portrait hall. Working from painting to painting, I trace both hands over the frames, searching for secret doorways or stashes behind them. These old houses always hide those kinds of things, don’t they?

But each painting is firmly fixed to the wall. As I go, I check the wallpaper for any strange seams or misplaced drafts. I check the wall sconces, gently pulling on each one to see if there are trap doors.

Nothing.

As I near the portrait of Noah’s sister at the end of the hall, her white dress glinting in the low light, the hum of voices grabs my attention. Someone is coming.

I panic, looking left and right for a hiding place. It’s immediately clear that my only option is to conceal myself inside a room. I just hope it’s not someone’s bedroom.

As the voices draw near, I try the closest door. Locked. Darting to the next, I fiddle with the engraved, gold knob. Relief slides through me when the handle turns, and I slip inside, easing the door shut. To avoid falling apart, I keep my hand on the doorknob, the other gripping the candelabra, and press my forehead to the carved wood, steadying myself through a connection to something solid and real.

Though the voices are muted, I immediately recognize Noah’s—or rather, his tone. The deep timbre. The clipped way he ends his sentences. His voice lures me like a Venus flytrap lures an insect with its scent.

“Why not just cancel the boat altogether.”

“Probably because Mrs. Darning said she needed more wine and whiskey for the new moon party.”

New moon party? This is the first I’ve heard of a party, but the new moon is the day after tomorrow. Is this why Noah doesn’t want me here? Does he think I won’t fit in with the kinds of uppity guests a family like the Roan’s would invite to a dinner party?

“So you think Mrs. Darning changed the time? Why?”

“No. My guess is still Father,” Jafeth says. “But what does it matter?”

I can perfectly picture Jafeth’s casual shrug as he says the words.

“It matters because I don’t want a repeat of today,” Noah snaps. “Do you know where he’s sleeping tonight?”

“Of course not.” There’s a bitter guffaw from Jafeth. “Like he would tell any of us.”

Noah curses. “She should have been on that boat.”

Jafeth answers with a laugh that’s as menacing as it is jovial. “Can’t say I’m disappointed. I’ve been wanting to try her.”

A loud thud shakes the wall beside the door, and I lurch away, covering my mouth to keep from crying out.

“Don’t touch her,” Noah growls, louder now.

The sound grips my belly in a vice and drifts lower, between my thighs. It’s a feeling I don’t want to acknowledge, but can’t ignore. The idea of Noah getting so protective over me lights an unsettling fire inside my chest.

Jafeth snickers. “Touchy. Touchy.”

Another thud gives me the impression that Noah is slamming Jafeth repeatedly against the wall. “I swear if you go anywhere near her at the new moon party, I’ll rip your beating hearts out.”

Jafeth laughs even harder, as if their fight is nothing more than a game. They must have moved further down the hall because whatever is said next is too muffled for me to understand.

Carefully, I crack the door and peek into the hall. Noah and Jafeth are nowhere to be seen, but the gilded frame on the portrait at the end of the hall momentarily glints with light, as if it moved. A door?

“I knew you would be entertaining,” a voice says from behind me.

Yelping, I spin, heart pounding, palms sweaty as I struggle to keep hold of the candelabra. Its light illuminates Hammish Roan as he sits up in bed with a wicked smile.

I’ve been wanting an audience with him for weeks, but this isn’t how I envisioned it. My mind races with explanations for my presence in his bedchamber, a room that is nothing like the older gentleman. The chaise at the foot of the bed is a light pink. The walls are covered in floral wallpaper. Even the bedding is a soft rose color.

Before I can come up with an excuse for being here, for eavesdropping on his sons, he points to an armchair next to the bed and says, “Tell me, Miss Rose, how are you finding your stay at our estate?”

“W-what?”

He lights a gaslamp on his nightstand. “Has your time here been profitable so far?”

Is he really trying to hold a casual conversation with me in his bedclothes? As much as I want an audience with Mr. Roan, I have no desire to talk with him in his bedroom well after midnight. I would much rather see what’s behind the painting where Noah and Jafeth disappeared. But Hammish Roan has been avoiding me, so maybe I can at least use this opportunity to my benefit.

“Honestly, sir, my stay has been… less than fruitful,” I reply, tactfully. “And now, your son is forcing me to leave before you’ve granted me the audience I was promised.”

“Is that why you came searching for my bedchambers?” He raises his eyebrows. “Tired of waiting?”

My cheeks burn. “I wasn’t looking for–”

“Sit, Miss Rose.” He points to the chair again, the action a demand more than an offer.

My eyes flick between Hammish and the door. “I really don’t think I should.”

“Would you deny an innocent old man your company after you interrupted his sleep in the middle of the night?”

“You’re hardly an old man.” And nothing about Hammish Roan seems innocent.

“I’m glad you don’t think so.” His lips curl, white teeth reflecting the dim light in a way that might seem almost flirtatious if it didn’t feel so predatory. “Sit.” The command radiates with power, but I can’t sit, can’t stay here. All my senses are on high alert, my instincts screaming at me to get out.

“Sit!”

I jump at the way his voice ricochets off the walls. His anger is the last thing I need if I want to secure this grant. Gripping the candle tighter, I slowly cross the room and sit on the edge of the seat. It’s lower than the bed, which means I have to look up at Hammish as he leers down at me.

“Better.” Hammish takes a pipe from the nightstand and lights it, clearly feeling no need to rush this conversation, though my stomach sours more with each passing minute. My back is stiff, my feet firmly on the floor, my body ready to bolt at an instant.

He takes his time filling the pipe with what I imagine are sweet leaves, saying nothing, though his eyes find me as he packs the tobacco, tamping it down. I have the impression he wants me to squirm under his unsettling gaze as the strange silence stretches between us. He lights the pipe, inhales deeply as he lays back against the pink tufted headboard, then releases puffs of the vanilla-tainted smoke.

“Now, what do you think of our fair island, Miss Rose?”

“The island?” I switch the candelabra from one hand to the other, not wanting to let it go. “I thought we were going to talk about my grant.”

Hammish’s hand cuts through the air. “There will be time for that later.”

“But Noah–”

“Pay no mind to my son. I invited you to stay through Solstice. So you will stay through Solstice.” He leans forward and blows a puff of smoke. I cough. He smiles. “I’d prefer not to talk about my sons right now, Ruby. I want to know how you’re settling in. I regret that I haven’t been able to show you around myself. My days have been quite busy. You know how it is for a man of my caliber. There’s always someone vying for my attention.”

I realize suddenly that I’m just one in a long list of people coming to Hammish wanting something. “Perhaps this isn’t the best time. I’m sure you’re tired after a long day. I’ll leave you to–”

I move to stand, but Hammish’s hand shoots out, flinging ash from his pipe onto my wrist. “Sit!”

His teeth scrape his bottom lip. He looks me over and sniffs the air. “Did you come to tempt me, woman?”

“What? No. Of course not. You asked me to sit, so I did. I thought we were going to discuss my grant.”

His laugh is biting and cold. “You don’t really want a grant. You came for the same reasons they all come. To gawk at the reclusive Roans.” The bitterness in his tone takes me by surprise. “I’m so tired of it.” He takes a long puff while I study the volatile man who could save my career or destroy it.

“Do you know how my wife died?” he asks abruptly.

Curiosity getting the better of me, I sink into the chair and shake my head.

“She died because she was different .” He spits the last word. “She was naive and she disobeyed. Same as my daughter.” The venom in his voice turns to a coughing fit when he tries to take another hit of his pipe. Pain makes his features look old for the first time.

I fidget, uncertain if I should help him, adjust the pillows or something to ease his cough, but the angry fire in his eyes locks me in place.

“You’re much smarter, aren’t you, Miss Rose? You’ll do as you’re told.”

It’s only the tension in the room that keeps me from laughing. Demure obedience isn’t something I’m known for. Even when I was with David, stifled by constantly trying to please him, I struggled to curb my will.

“It seems you’re unwell.” I stand, using the coughing as an excuse to take my leave. “Perhaps we can continue our conversation about my grant tomorrow.”

“No. I think not.” He gives me a penetrating look. “We will discuss it after the new moon party.”

My curiosity pushes me to ask more about this party, but I bite my tongue, not wanting to stay here another second.

With a quick nod, I turn and rush out the door, only taking a full breath once I’m safely tucked behind my locked door, far from Hammish Roan, all thoughts of the passageway behind the painting overshadowed by the alarming way Hammish Roan licked his lips as I left.