A bath sounds like a lovely idea.

Someone has gone to the trouble of wiping my face and feet and cleaning my hair of spiders and cobwebs, but I'm musty and feel grimy. After gathering some clothes, closing the bathroom door behind me, and taking care of my most urgent need, I decide to take a quick shower instead, as I'm in a hurry to speak to Liam and don't think I will be able to relax in a bath right now.

The water is glorious, every warm drop caressing my skin in ways that cause my nerve endings to hum in joy. I don't think I've ever experienced a shower quite as vigorous as this one. It's as if my soul is getting a rinse right along with my body.

Closing my eyes, I give myself over to the sensations cascading over me and through me, and memories of Alaric's tenderness last night suddenly flood my mind uninvited, overwhelming me with emotions that I'm not even entirely sure are my own.

I remember his silky lips sliding over mine, trailing tender kisses down my chin to my neck, his fingers feather-light against my cheek and tangling in my hair. I gasp as I vividly experience the momentary sharp pain when his teeth sank into the side of my throat, followed immediately by ecstasy bubbling like fountains through my veins.

Wait! What?! He didn't bite me!

Startled, my heart beating a mile a minute, I snap my eyes open and hurry to finish cleaning myself and leave the crazy shower that is making me fantasize about things I know didn't happen. Besides, I've never been into S&M!

I don't want people biting me!

Wrapped in a towel, I stumble to the mirror above the basin to examine my neck, but the glass is cloudy with steam, and it takes a few wipes to clear it enough to see myself properly. As expected, there are no marks on my neck, not even a scratch. He didn't bite me... he kissed me! I was so sleepy, I fell asleep while he was kissing me... not very flattering for him, I'm sure...

"There was no pain or bubbling ecstasy! I would've noticed!"

Frowning, I lean forward, inspecting my shoulder and I do not see any nail marks on my skin, not even after giving the mirror another wipe to get rid of any lingering moisture. I'm looking at the right shoulder; the other one is also injury-free.

It's not just that the marks have healed and faded; they are gone as if they never existed at all. My skin is smooth and clear!

In fact, looking at the hand touching my neck and shoulder, feeling for damage, I can see that the tiny scar I had on the back of my right hand, leftover from an entanglement with a rose bush when I was a child, has faded almost completely too.

"What the fuuudge?!"

Is it the food they're feeding me here, the clean air, the water? Is this the island of perpetual youth or something? Well, no... there's Leopold...

I'm not wearing my glasses. It is possible that I simply cannot see the small scar clearly right now, so I run the fingers of my left hand over it and am startled to find that I can barely feel the tiny ridge that was there, very sharp and clear the last time I rubbed cream on my hands and body.

That would be yesterday!

After pulling on the knitted sweater and slacks I brought into the bathroom with me, I brush my teeth and leave to find Liam patiently looking out the windows where a light rain is drizzling outside. He'd opened the heavy red and black drapes, letting in what light he could, driving away at least some of the oppressive shadows.

When I cross to the windows and sit at the table, I find that there is an extra place setting with a covered dish for Liam.

"Why do people think Saoirse killed a little baby?" I ask him, lifting the glass of tomato juice I've been craving since the last time I had it. Sipping it, I delight in the savoury tang and slightly spicy aftertaste once I get past the minty toothpaste clash.

I almost forgot that I asked the question suddenly and randomly to catch Liam off guard. It's not a very effective tactic if I ask it and then go and swoon over a glass of tomato juice and don't observe his reaction.

Liam turns away from the window and joins me at the table, uncovering his bowl and, seeing his food, I eagerly open mine too. Thick, rich pumpkin soup with croutons and seeds floating on top and parmesan pastries on a side plate. I'm in heaven! It's the perfect meal for breaking a 24-hour fast while watching the rain streaming outside, and I savour every rich spoonful I scoop up and sip.

"Oh, my word! "I groan, swept away on a wave of euphoria. "You really have the best chef."

"Yes, we do," he smiles, happy to see me enjoying the meal. I once again feel a stab of regret. I haven't had many interactions with Liam, but I liked him and felt comfortable and safe around him before. He'd been so kind and patient while he taught me how to use the coffee machine, and even now, he'd answered my questions with an openness that nags at me to trust him again.

I want to... but I don't know if I should... at least not entirely.

"As I told you before, Peace Haven is saturated with superstition. People often cling to ancient beliefs, mostly out of fear or desperation," he says after sipping a few spoons full of the thick soup. "It causes them to jump to unrealistic conclusions rather easily.

"A young couple, Roisin and Dáire, lost their baby boy when he suddenly passed away. The coroner they brought in to have a look could not find a clear cause of death,... and neither could I," he says, staring morosely into his soup. "It scares people, especially those with babies, as you can imagine. They want answers, something or someone to blame so that they can feel safe. Saoirse... is... different..."

"That doesn't explain why they would jump to such an extreme conclusion," I point out. "Many people in this world are different, but they don't go around killing babies."

"Yes, you're right. The problem is that Saoirse is going through puberty, but she's finding the transitioning from a child into a woman very hard... impossible even. She was injured physically and mentally when her parents died, and she might never be the same again."

He falls silent, blindly stirring his soup, and I can see the depths of his despair when he looks up at me again. Was that what he meant by turning? From a child into a young woman? Does he think she will be a child forever due to the damage to her mental health? Ransford also mentioned her struggle with puberty, and it makes a bit more sense to me now.

I also remember her lying with her head on Ransford's chest, watching me with a sinister little smile, and I can understand that she might make the villagers feel uncomfortable. I do, however, doubt that she would kill a baby.

Surely not!

"She has this strong motherly instinct with no idea how to handle it. A few weeks ago, she wandered into town, took a baby from her pram, and wouldn't give her back to her parents. Billy managed to return the unharmed infant to her parents, but Saoirse was distraught. People remember her erratic behaviour, and now they just assume the worst. They're afraid of a recurrence of 1745 when some babies disappeared. Saoirse never intended to hurt the infant. She wouldn't. She just really wanted to hold her."

"But she was just so hungry..."

"What? No... What do you mean?" Liam gasps and I blink my eyes, surprised to find him looking at me in horror.

"I mean..." I don't know what I meant or why I said that! It flitted into my mind like a distant half-remembered moment and spilt from my lips before it even properly took shape in my brain.

"She got hurt when your parents died?" It's safer just to change the subject.

Something is seriously wrong with me!

I'm like a hormonal teenager myself, a rather disturbing one. Liam is sitting here talking about truly upsetting things, and while my heart aches, hearing all of it, I cannot stop staring at his lips while he speaks, wondering what they would feel like against mine... what they would taste like. If he notices that he's having a late lunch or early dinner with a succubus, he does not let on.

I am horribly ashamed of the images and desires flitting through my mind and body like electrical currents. They're there one moment and gone the next. Right now, I'm looking at him, and all I see is his handsome, kind face, and his words are making me feel rather weepy. I no longer have the urge to crawl over the table and grab him.

Well, it's simmered down a lot, at least.

"When her parents died," he adjusts my sentence, and the sadness returns to his eyes. "She used to be vibrant and filled with mischief and a massive flair for the dramatic, just like her father... and grandfather." I can hear the affection in Liam's voice, and the sorrow clouding his eyes reaches out and tugs at my heart.

"She takes after your father?"

"Not mine..." he frowns, and my confusion deepens.

"Isn't she your sister?"

"Oh... uhm... no," he splutters, looking uncomfortable. He moves his spoon from one side of his bowl to the other and clears his throat. "She's my... niece."

"You're Alaric's uncle?!" I exclaim in surprise.

He must be a lot younger than his brother to be the same age as his brother's son. Actually, I thought Alaric to be a couple of years older than Liam. I'm not quite sure why, though; probably his stiff demeanour and his insistence on calling me Ms Dankworth... at least until last night...

"No," he chuckles, raising an eyebrow and giving me an amused look.

"He said Saoirse is his sister... everybody gave me that impression."

"Oh! I see!" Understanding dawns on Liam's face, and he heaves a long, tired sigh. "I'm sorry about that. Ambrose's death is still raw to all of us; speaking about him is difficult. We tend to find it easier just to avoid questions about him... Saoirse is Ambrose's daughter."

"Oh!" I didn't think Ambrose was old enough when he died to have a teenage daughter, but I vaguely remember calculating his age at the time of his death to be around 32... I think. If Saoirse is going through puberty, she would be somewhere between 10 and 17... she looked around 14... perhaps. I'm terrible at guessing people's ages. I suppose it's possible that she was born when he was in his early twenties.

I regret stirring up this topic, as I can tell that Liam is finding it painful to discuss. It's sad to think about the portrait of the beautiful, vibrant red-haired man and then remember the fragile, spaced-out girl. It is truly heartbreaking if she once was as lively and sparkling as her father seems to have been. She is now just a shadow who may or may not have been wandering around in a dark tunnel yesterday evening, scaring me to death.

"I'm so sorry," I mutter and reaching out in reflex, I place my hand over Liam's, quickly taking it away when he raises his intense, stormy eyes to look at me. For a breathless moment, neither of us can speak; we simply gaze at each other, and though I definitely do not have the ability to communicate through brainwaves, I can sense so many unspoken words travelling between us.

I have to force myself to look away from him, blinking my eyes rapidly to clear them and taking deep breaths to calm my erratic heartbeat and breathing.

"Speaking of superpowers," I hurry to change the subject, picking up my spoon again when my fingers have stopped trembling. "Why do I suddenly have superhuman healing powers?"

I got the impression that Liam answered my questions about Saoirse with some honesty, but I haven't forgotten that he sidestepped the question about Alazne I asked before I went to the bathroom! He is a devious fellow; I need to be sly to keep him from evading my questions.

"I see better than with my glasses," I inform him when he silently gives me a puzzled look. He might be trying to figure out when and where we spoke of superpowers. He should just try to read my mind!

"Atmospheric pressure changes could alter the shape of your eyeball, stretching or shrinking the lenses enough to change your prescription requirements," he says, picking up a braided pastry and dipping it in the soup. I follow his example, and when I bite into it, my tastebuds do a happy dance, enjoying the cheesy, soup-laced flakes filling my mouth. Yes, I'm groaning again. It might also be a low growl... I'm possibly turning into a werewolf, after all.

"New arrivals to the island often need glasses or have to change their existing lenses or get rid of them altogether. Give it a few more days and see whether you need a different prescription or not. It sometimes takes a while to settle down."

I know nothing of optometry. That might be true. It might also be a complete lie. I need to attack from a different angle, one I can control and judge.

"When Alazne cornered me in the study next door, she hurt me with her nails; there were marks, and now there's nothing." I pull the neck of my white v-neck sweater to the side to show him my smooth shoulder... and my bra strap... and the plump rounding of one of my upper breasts...

How nice!

"Alazne..." he mutters, running his eyes over me, not acknowledging my embarrassed blush because of my 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours' display. Well, the man is a doctor; he's used to seeing a lot more, and I barely showed him anything. Still, I'm not used to it... and I'm upset that he is not showing me anything in return!

"Are you taking the capsules I left for you on your nightstand?" he asks instead.

I narrow my eyes, about to tell him not to mess with me and change the subject because I have a spoon and I'm not afraid to use it, but then he continues, and I use my spoon to scoop more soup into my mouth instead of beating him up with it.

"They will help with hallucinations and vivid dreams and such. People often suffer from those when they first move in here."

"How often do people move in here, Liam?" I ask, feeling more than a little irritated. The alternative uses of my spoon are not entirely off the table yet. "I understand that people often come to the island, but how often do they move into this mansion?"

"Brides... grooms... new employees and such... Not often, but it happens."

"And they suffer hallucinations and vivid dreams?" I frown, not sure I like hearing this.

"Yes."

There are no wounds on my shoulder... Not even a sign that a woman dug her talons into my skin deep enough to reach my brain... well, maybe not, but it hurt...

"She was a hallucination?" It burned for a long time after she was gone. I did not imagine that!

"Alazne died over 100 years ago, so..."

These are the words every woman longs to hear while living in a creepy mansion with secret doors and dark corridors filled with feral females and men she probably shouldn't trust.

"Why would I have hallucinations of people who existed hundreds of years ago?" I ask, alarmed by this rancid little bite of information. "First, Daeglan Slatherty hung over me like a beautiful bat while I slept, and then Alazne pushed me up against the wall and told me to stick close to Alaric. They both existed?!"

"Yes," Liam says, shifting in his seat, not looking comfortable with the direction our conversation is heading into. Are we now venturing into some of those forbidden territories he talked about? "I don't know, Aubrey. You might have seen a painting or read an article. Many things can trigger dreams and hallucinations. What did Alazne say to you?"

"What does it matter if it was just a hallucination?"

"It might help us figure out why you're having these... visions."

"Is psychiatry one of your many specializations?" I grumble irritably and eat the last of my soup, no longer enjoying it as much now that apprehension has settled sourly in my stomach. I don't like remembering this fun interaction that never happened.

"I dabble in it sometimes."

"She said I was brought here with evil intent, but I might be the needed redemption. I have no idea what that is supposed to mean. She also said that the Knight of Slaughtaverty will be my salvation, and I will be his... or something along that line."

Liam is not looking all that composed now; he is gaping at me, stunned by my words, and when he realizes that I'm frowning at him, his face relaxes into a smile, but he seems nervous.

"That is rather cryptic," he chuckles awkwardly. "You have an interesting mind."

"Tell me about it," I snort, picking up my coffee, and since it has lost most of its heat, I drink it in one go, enjoying the soothing flavours.

"The Knight of Slaughtaverty was the Duke of Ulaidh in the 1700s, wasn't he?" I ask, gathering my used crockery and cutlery together. There's no dessert this time, and it's probably just as well, as I feel rather queasy.

"Yes, according to the official records, but in reality, it wasn't one man specifically," he explains, lifting his coffee cup and taking a few slow sips. "It quickly became a collective name meant to include all the people who play a role in protecting the inhabitants of Peace Haven. The burden of that effort has always fallen on the shoulders of the Slatherties. The name was used to shroud them in mystery and allow all involved to hide in the shadow of anonymity."

I mull over this new information, and it makes perfect sense... except that it really does not! Protect the inhabitants of Peace Haven from what, exactly? And why do these protectors need to be wrapped in a shadow of anonymity?

"Shouldn't the name be the Knightssss of Slaughtaverty then?" I ask the only question that makes sense to me right now.

"Keeping it singular protected the Slatherties' allies through the pages of history, and it simply became custom to refer to the people risking their lives for the good of the population as if they're one entity, the Knight of Slaughtaverty. They weren't knights and would never refer to themselves as knights.

"Though they did not only look out for the people of Slaughtaverty, they cared about the entire island. I suppose they could've been called the Knight of Peace Haven, but the villagers created the name... during a rather... horrible point in their history... and it stuck."

Liam's face darkens, and lifting his cup, he drains it. He still looks disturbed when he finally places the empty container on the table. Apparently, that horrible event in the history of this island does not sit well with him. It might be part of the reason why it upsets him so much when people fear its repetition.

"I know... uhm... Billy told me about the dreadful things that happened back then and that the name was given to the duke because he rode into town with that horrible man responsible for all of it."

"Yes, the villagers found their inspiration for the name when they saw the angry horseman dragging... that... dreadful man into town. I suppose he looked like a knight with his sword and his spirited horse, bringing them salvation."

He doesn't speak for a moment, quietly shifting his spoon around in his empty bowl while I watch his face cycle through a myriad of emotions I cannot begin to read.

"The duke put an end to the disappearance of children. He and his men handled the situation and brought peace and prosperity back to the people, but it was his twin brother who dragged Henry Craik into the village."

"His twin brother?!"

"Yes, Deaglan Slatherty... the one you dreamed about."

Deaglan was the Duke's twin? I thought he was the last Duke of Uliadh, the one who gave up his titles... though I don't know why I thought that. I didn't see any dates on Sadhbh's portrait, and I had no reason to believe she was his wife. For some reason, I just assumed...

Wait!

Deaglan was married to Clarice Dankworth! Of course. He is the man who lost his mind in 1618... No, it cannot be the same one because if he lost his mind in 1618, he wouldn't have been riding into Slaughtaverty in 1745... would he?

Perhaps this is a different Deaglan; Ransford did say that the Slatherties love to recycle names. It's also possible that Diarmuid got the dates confused. It must be hard keeping all of that straight in your head without your notes at hand. It also depends on what he meant by 'lost his mind'.

This is all so confusing. I would love to look at Diarmuid's meticulous records and get it all sorted out. I would love to see a beautiful family tree with names, dates and portraits. That would be so helpful.

I need it if I'm going to start dreaming and hallucinating about people who lived centuries ago. It would help with the seating arrangements should they all decide to visit me together.

"Is my destiny somehow linked to his?"

"To a duke's twin brother who inspired the name 'Knight of Slaughtaverty' almost 400 years ago?"

"Yes," I say, and I can hear it echo absurdly in my mind. "No... I don't know."

I sigh, turning my head to gaze out the window where the raindrops run along the glass panes, draping them in watery lace. The rain-blurred scenery from this window - the lush gardens, the stables and the ocean on the horizon beyond - seems so normal. There are no witchy women out there, no dark tunnels or beautiful, long-dead knights hovering in the air.

"It just felt so real when she said that to me," I mutter, wrapping my arms around myself. "You're right; how could I be the salvation of a mythical knight who is actually a group of people who existed hundreds of years before I was even born?"

"No, it still exists," Liam informs me, causing me to turn away from the window to look at him again. "That title has been bestowed on the saviours and protectors of the island from one century to the next," Liam explains, and he is looking a little better now as if he'd shrugged off the thoughts that plagued him earlier. "Right now, that would be Alaric, Ransford, Billy, Diarmuid, Leopold, a few others... and me..."

For a while, I just blink my eyes, frowning at Liam, not entirely sure what that is supposed to mean. Once again, with feeling: Protect the island and its people from what? Every article I've ever read on Peace Haven, especially the ones describing the current state of affairs, proclaimed it to be a tranquil, peaceful place with virtually no crime.

"I did not know any of this," I point out to Liam. "So, what could possibly have prompted me to hallucinate a long-dead woman saying any of those things?"

"Oh, no," he says, carefully piling his bowl on the small plate and putting the cup inside it. "Alazne probably really said that to you."

~~~