I yanked on my duffel bag to pull it down from the luggage rack. As its full weight hit my chest, the ringing in my ears clamored to a roar and darkness edged my vision. My legs turned to spaghetti and the car tilted at a crazy angle. My vision shrank to a pinprick, and that was the last thing I knew before I hit the floor.
15
THREE OR FOUR FACES HOVERED OVER ME. I LAY ON MY BACK, in a narrow space that felt way too crowded. The faces wouldn’t come into focus. I closed my eyes and tried again.
“Give her some air,” said a man’s voice with a Welsh accent. Oh, right. I’m in Wales.
The blurred, shadowy faces pulled back. Above me was a curved white ceiling, bright with fluorescent lights. I turned my head a little to the right, and it felt like the floor tipped with the movement. Again I closed my eyes, waiting for the dizziness to subside.
Before it could, my eyes flew open and I sat up in a panic. “I’m not asleep!” I shouted.
“Take it easy, miss,” said the voice. “You fainted.”
I searched my memory—no dreams of Difethwr. I relaxed a hair. “How long was I out?”
“Only a minute or two. We’re still at Rhydgoch station. Are you hurt?”
I did a quick survey. No sharp pains anywhere, just a dull ache pressing at the backs of my eyes and a feeling like someone tried to mummify my head. “No,” I said. “I’m all right.”
The conductor—the guy who’d been speaking—wanted to call an ambulance. I think he was afraid I’d broken my neck or something when I fell on his train. I convinced him an ambulance wasn’t necessary, and he was happy to carry my bag off the train. I drew the line, though, at carrying me off. Hands reached down and grasped my arms. I got my legs under me, and leaned on my helpers as I got vertical again. Shakily, I made it onto the platform on my own.
My duffel bag waited by a bench. I sat down and bent over, trying to clear my head. A minute later, I heard the train chug out of the station. Someone put a hand on my back. “Here, dearie. You’ll feel good as new.”
I looked up. The world didn’t slide away with the movement of my head; I took that as a good sign. A grandmotherly woman—not Mab—smiled and offered me a plastic cup. I took it and sipped the hot tea it held. Yuck, awful—the tea had come from a machine and she’d loaded it with sugar—but it revived me. “Thank you.”
She nodded, picked up her shopping bags, and went inside the station.
I was alone on the platform. The chilly air felt good on my sweaty face, and so did the hot tea going down my throat. Despite being so close to my goal, I was in no hurry to get there. Part of me didn’t see why I couldn’t just sit on this bench, sweet tea warm in my belly, forever. Jenkins hadn’t met the train—I was pretty sure of that. Or if he’d stayed with the Bentley out in the car park, he’d have seen the train pull out of the station and figured I missed a connection. Maybe he’d gone to the Cross and Crow for a pint to pass the hour’s wait for the next train.
I supposed I should go and see. If Jenkins wasn’t there, Mr. Cadogan would call a taxi for me. I dropped the empty cup in a bin next to my bench and started to get to my feet.
That’s when I noticed someone standing directly in front of me.
I blinked. The figure was still there, silhouetted against the low sun. I wondered if maybe I’d passed out again briefly. One second I’d been alone, the next a man was right there, invading my personal space.
“You must be Vicky,” he said with a Welsh accent. “So sorry I’m late.”
I squinted up at him. He was about five-eleven and close to my age, with black hair and pale skin. Long, black lashes framed the darkest eyes I’d ever seen. They were velvety and opaque and seemed to suck the light in. He was handsome, but there was a touch of grimness in the way he held his mouth. He wore a black cashmere coat with a gray scarf, and I had absolutely no idea who he was.
“Do I know you?” When in doubt, be blunt.
“Where are my manners?” he said, grasping my elbow and helping me stand. “I’m your cousin Pryce. I’m here to give you a lift to Maenllyd.”
I stared at him. Cousin? He might as well have said, “I’m a talking chicken” for all the sense he made. Mom was an only child, and Dad’s only sister was Mab. As far as I knew, I was completely cousinless.
A door opened, and the Rhydgoch stationmaster came out onto the platform. “I see you found her, Mr. Maddox.” He tilted his head at me, “All right, luv?”
“Yes, I’m fine, thanks.”
Pryce hoisted my duffel bag. “Let’s get you to the house. I know Mab is anxious to see you.”
A BLACK PORSCHE WAITED IN A NO-PARKING ZONE IN FRONT of the station. Pryce tossed my bag in the trunk and then opened the passenger door for me with a sweeping gesture. “Your carriage awaits,” he said with a grin.
The smile emphasized how good-looking he was, erasing his grim expression and making the corners of his eyes tilt up. Yet there was no sparkle or gleam. You know how some people’s smiles light up a room? Pryce wasn’t one of those people. His smile felt more like a cloud had crossed the sun. It was those dark, light-eating eyes.
Then again, the whole world felt darker around the edges in my sleep-deprived state.
I’d barely fastened my seatbelt when Pryce accelerated and sped across the car park, fishtailing. Maybe we were going to fly to Maenllyd.
On the main road, though, he slowed down. Good thing, too. Once it left the village, the road became a country lane with high hedges on both sides as it twisted up and down through the hills. The road was too narrow for two cars to easily pass each other, so there were periodic lay-bys where one car could squeeze up against the hedge to let the other go past.
I studied Pryce’s profile as he drove. He had a square jaw, with hints of a five-o’clock shadow at half past three, and a long, straight nose. Those features kept his dark eyelashes from making him too pretty. A shock of black hair fell sideways across his forehead.
He didn’t look like anyone in my family.
Should I be worried? I’d climbed into a car with a complete stranger. Admittedly not my smartest move. But the stationmaster had called him by name, which made Pryce seem a little less sinister. And we were on the road to Mab’s house. If he passed Maenllyd’s gate, there was a sharp turn up the road that was impossible to take fast. If I had to, I could jump out of the car at that spot.
Or maybe Pryce could clarify the family connection and I could quit feeling paranoid. That sounded like a better idea than gearing up to hurl myself from the car.
“I’m probably too jet-lagged to think straight,” I said, “but I can’t figure out this cousin thing. I didn’t know I had a cousin. I mean, Mab is my only aunt, and she never had children.”
Pryce threw his head back and laughed. “No, you’re right there.” He shook his head, chuckling. “Our Mab as a mum. Amusing to imagine, you must admit.”
“But my dad had no other siblings. So …”
I thought he was going to laugh again, but he swallowed it. A small, tight smile returned the grimness to his face. “Surely you don’t believe Mab was Evan’s sister.”
Well, he knew my father’s name, at least. “She’s my aunt.”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. More like … a great-aunt.” Again, that private smile.
I thought about the last time the three of us had been together—Dad, Aunt Mab, and me—at dinner the night my father died. We’d been laughing around the table; Dad was the only person I knew who could make Mab crack a smile, let alone laugh. Even to my eighteen-year-old eyes, Dad had looked young that night, his eyes sparkling with good humor. Mab, at the head of the table, had caught that sparkle, but her white hair and lined face made her seem old enough to be his mother. She could easily have been seventy to his forty-five. Now, I realized that I’d always lumped Aunt Mab in with all the other grown-ups. Like my parents, she was older than me and therefore just old. It was the perspective of someone very young and self-centered, but I’d never thought to question it.
Okay, it was possible. Maybe Mab was my grandfather’s sister, not my father’s.
“So where do you fit into the family?” I asked.
He slid his gaze sideways toward me, then went back to watching the road. “Don’t you ever wonder about dear Aunt Mab? Who is she, exactly? What’s your actual relationship?”
“No, I don’t.” I didn’t like his oily tone. “She’s always been my aunt Mab, ever since I was born. I don’t know what you’re trying to insinuate, but—”
“I? Insinuate? My dear cousin, I would never presume to insinuate anything. My apologies if it seemed that way.”
I half-turned in my seat to see whether he was mocking me, but he radiated sincerity. I’d probably misunderstood him. Half an hour ago, I’d passed out from exhaustion and hunger, so misunderstandings were definitely within the realm of possibility.
The Porsche turned right, and I relaxed as we passed through a stone gateway and onto the driveway that, after a long curve, led to Maenllyd. I craned to get a glimpse of the house.
“To answer your question,” Pryce said, “I’m what you might call a distant cousin. We share a common ancestor at a more remote point in history.”
“Oh, well, that makes sense.” He was Cerddorion—that was all he meant. Probably a sixth cousin twice removed or something like that. But I lost interest in Pryce as Maenllyd came into view. Breathtaking. A gray stone house, L-shaped, three stories high with a slate roof against a distant background of misty purple mountains.
Home. If there was any place in the world I could really call home, it was Maenllyd.
“Can you guess?” Pryce asked.
I kept my eyes on the house. “Guess what?”
“Our common ancestor.”
“I don’t know. A great-grandparent, I suppose. On Mom’s side?”