Page 26 of Celtic Love and Legends (Lords of Eire)

PROLOGUE

S he had died like all the rest.

A cowering, foolish woman that was unable to accept the mastery of Man’s strength over her fragile female souls. Not that he enjoyed killing; in fact, were it not for Johanne, he would not have killed at all. But these women, the dead ones, had been a threat to her delicate composition. And he knew he had to do away with the threat at any cost.

Johanne had wished them away, these dead women. Wished them away so that their sweet words and gentle caresses would no longer be known to the one she loved. A secret love, twisted and dark, but a strong bond that grew stronger with each successive death.

He smiled as he watched the silk-clad body sink beneath the waters of the pristine lake. It was the third lady this year to meet such a fate. And perhaps this death would deter other foolish women from pursuing the object of Johanne’s love, thinking that somehow a curse was attached to the man. Left alone by the throngs of adoring admirers, Johanne was convinced the object of her desire would finally succumb to her attentions.

His smile faded as a soft mist began to fall. He could hear the birds in the trees, the whistle of the breeze through the moist foliage. Another storm was on the approach that would churn the waters of the lake and bury the body forever. And he was not sorry, not one bit. Certainly, no one should know what he had done.

No one but God. And the Lord would forgive, perhaps with enough penitence. As the man turned from the lake and made his way through the damp meadow, his thoughts turned from the dead lady to the warmth of Johanne on this wintery night. Most pleasant when the weather grew unfriendly and the temperature dropped. Johanne, his lovely step-sister, would warm his bed.

He simply couldn’t explain the relationship between them. The need to dominate, to consume her. Since the moment her budding breasts had been evident, he had taken her into his bed and convinced her that this was where she belonged– with him, a man with whom she shared the same father. The only man who truly loved her.

Still, he was not the man she loved. He knew that and he didn’t care. The dead women had been lusting for the true love of Johanne’s life and he had listened night after night as his sister cried for a man who hardly noticed her. Therefore, to ease her pain, it had been necessary to do away with the foolish wenches. Another control he had over a woman he was completely obsessed with.

Even so, he knew the man of Johanne’s dreams would never return her affection; a man like Kirk Connaught would be interested in a woman with beauty and spirit, which ruled Johanne out entirely. Her beauty was average and her spirit dark. She was sick in the mind, his sister, and everyone knew it, especially Kirk.

The rain was falling steadily by the time he reached his steed, tethered to an oak tree. Mounting the beast, he made haste for Anchorsholme Castle, known throughout southern Lancashire as The Darkland. The House of the Death.

With good reason.