Dark Hero; A Gothic Romance (Reluctant Heroes) Read Online Free Page A

Kieran and then Barnaby repeatedly, as if he expected to be set upon at any
moment.
    “Which plantation is it you’ll be staying at? In case we get
a delivery order.” Kieran added quickly as the steely gaze pinioned him with
malice.
    “Ravencrest.” The man ground out after a moment of
consideration.
    Ravencrest Plantation was a small island several miles off
the coast of St. Kitts. The owner had recently passed on. The man’s daughter
had married a Frenchman years ago, and the grandson had arrived from France to
take over the estate after his grandfather died.
    The grandson was a count, a refugee from The Terror in
France.
    The Count . Kieran set the jar of comfrey leaves down
on the counter with a clumsy clank. The one everyone was talking about. Count
Rochembeau had been horribly disfigured, so they said, tortured to the point of
madness. No one had actually seen the man. His estate was an island separate
from St. Kitts. He sent his servants into the harbor city to attend his
business. The count wore a mask, so the rumors went and spent his days in his
laboratory performing grisly experiments on the unclaimed corpses the hangman
delivered to his isolated island.
    This dark, dangerous soul was in his lordship’s employ?
Heaven help the fellow who crossed Mr. O’Rourke. Their end would be swift and
undoubtedly painful.
    “I assume your master is Count Rochembeau?” Kieran probed as
he wrapped the herbs in folded paper and tied the pouches with string.
    “I look after the man.” O’Rourke replied. “Let’s leave it at
that. How much?”
    “I need to get the laudanum--just a moment.” Kieran slipped
behind the curtain. He picked up a slim, brown bottle of the heady substance
and let the cool glass rest against his cheek. Laudanum was an opium
derivative, used for pain, to calm nerves or induce sleep in heavier doses.
What did the nefarious count need it for: to manage pain or forget his past?
    Returning to the shop, Kieran set the bottle on the counter
and tallied up the order. “Two pounds and ten shillings. Would you prefer an
open account? We can bill his lordship if you--”
    O’Rourke tossed a bag of coins onto the counter in answer.
Kieran handed him the packets and the bottle of Laudanum. The moment O’Rourke’s
hand touched the bottle Kieran held, a wave of unbearable pain slammed through
Kieran. He felt as if his torso were being torn to shreds, just raw flesh with
no skin covering the festering wounds.
    A figure moved and blurred. His face was dirty, swollen and
bruised. He stood bared to the waist, arms outstretched tight, wrists shackled.
It was O’Rourke and he was screaming. His tormentors were peeling away narrow
strips of flesh on his chest. Time disintegrated. O’Rourke was still shackled.
This time a glowing orange poker was held in front of the man’s face then
lowered ominously. A searing agony followed. The acrid smell of burning flesh
overcame Kieran as tormented screams filled the subterranean chamber.
    Kieran stepped back, away from the blinding pain of this
man’s past.
    Unaware of what occurred, O’Rourke nodded stoically and
strode through the door.
    “What did you see?” Barnaby pounced upon him as soon as the
door swung shut.
    “They tortured him, Barnaby. They burned and cut his flesh.”
    Barnaby didn’t comment. Seeing Kieran was upset by his
experience, he placed a steady hand on his shoulder in fatherly concern.
    “He doesn’t work for the count.” Kieran continued, bolstered
by that hand. “He is the count--the one everyone’s talking about. O’Rourke is
one of his disguises. He’s dangerous, Barnaby. He’s embraced violence, become a
highwayman, I believe.”
    Barnaby rolled his lips together. “Well done, my boy. Well
done. Say nothing of this to anyone.” He cautioned, turning his attention to
the pouch on the counter. He lifted it and weighed it in his hand. Curious, he
opened it and counted the coins. “Plenty of reasons to keep his secret,