Accursed Abbey: A Steamy Regency Gothic Romance (Nobles & Necromancy Book 1)

by Tessa Candle

  As he settled inside the carriage, Canterbourne hung his wet cloak as far from Elizabeth as was possible. Then he folded a carriage blanket into a make-shift pillow and settled her head on his lap. He stroked her curls as they rolled away.

  When they drove past the Whitelys' vineyard, he strained his eyes out the carriage window to see how they fared.

  A half-filled cart stood under a roof of canvas, suspended between some hastily erected poles. The workers were all out struggling in the mud to harvest the grapes as fast as they could. He thought he saw Elizabeth's aunt and uncle in the mix, cutting alongside of the others. It seemed like utter futility.

  He could imagine their anguish, but no longer felt any sympathy for them—not after the way they had treated his precious Elizabeth. Canterbourne would not let her return to them. He and Elizabeth would find a way to be wed without the consent of her uncle, and she would never have to see them again. The trust be damned. He had plenty of money. She would never want for anything again.

  “And no one will ever harm you, my love.” He leaned down and kissed her beautiful cheek. “And if Orefados tries to take you from me again, I shall not suffer him to live.”

  Chapter 44

  When Elizabeth awoke, she was in a warm bed in a clean, well lit room. Her body was sore, especially in certain places, and she blushed as she recalled her time with Lord Canterbourne—Mill—in the carriage. But she could not stop the smile that spread over her face.

  She sat up suddenly, realizing that she was not alone. A servant stood up from a chair not far from her bed.

  “Milady, you are awake!”

  “I am not a my lady, just a miss.” Elizabeth hoped her expression did not show her guilty thoughts. She wondered if the fact that she was no longer a maiden—several times over—showed upon her face.

  “Only Lord Canterbourne has told us all to address your ladyship thus.” The woman spoke English very well, but still had a bit of the accent that marked her as a servant hired somewhere in Venetia. “He will be very angry, his lordship assured us, if we should not show this respect to his future wife.”

  “Very well.” Elizabeth could not help grinning at this revelation. His future wife. She sighed and lay back in the pillows.

  “Shall I bring your ladyship some breakfast?”

  “Yes, please.” Elizabeth suddenly realized she was famished. “Where is Lord Canterbourne?”

  “Out attending to some business, milady. But I am to inform your ladyship, that his lordship will return soon. His lordship asks that you stay indoors until his return, and that you be always attended by a servant. It is for your own safety, milady."

  “Very well. Are you a lady's maid?”

  “I have some training, milady.”

  “Good. After breakfast I shall wish to look as nice as possible for his lordship.”

  “Very good, milady.”

  Elizabeth sighed again. Was it possible she could be so happy? Now of all times, and in such a place as this? Mill was like the sun in the centre of her universe, and her heart strained toward him like a hungry blossom. Even being away from him for this short time seemed like such an acute deprivation. But this craving only emphasised her happiness and the fullness of her love.

  As she waited for her breakfast tray, she wondered if he might make love to her again before they were married. It was scandalous of her to think it, but now that he had plucked her flower, why might he not put it in a vase and give it some water?

  Chapter 45

  Canterbourne hated to leave Elizabeth alone, even with the precaution of arming two of his man servants and instructing them to shoot Orefados if he should try to enter. And a part of Canterbourne also jealously regarded the pleasure of killing that evil worm to belong exclusively to him.

  However, he could not go about only attending to his own wishes—else he would be at home making love to his luscious Elizabeth. No, he had business to attend to if he was to marry her and get her out of town as soon as possible.

  He lifted his cane and knocked on the humble wooden door of Giuseppe Marano's hermitage.

  The monk looked tired as he opened the door, but his face brightened when he saw Canterbourne. “Milord! Ah, I am so pleased that you have come back. Come in! Come in!”

  As he stepped inside, Canterbourne marvelled at how the sunlight streaming in all of the unglazed open windows lightened the aspect of the humble dwelling. It seemed much less brooding when bathed in morning light. And, if rather too encumbered with the weighty appearance of pens, inks, and books to be termed cheerful, it did not seem so burdened with secrets as when he last visited.

  “Thank you, Giuseppe. I hope I find you well.”

  “Indeed you do, milord. I am grateful for an excuse to pause in my labours.” He went to his table and carefully moved the paper on which he was working to a broad window sill, fixing it with a paperweight. Then he removed his pen and placed it in a tumbler of water on a chair, far away from the precious work. “This will keep it from getting caked with, uh, the particular pigment I am using. Sit, milord, please.”

  “Are you not worried that the wind will carry away all your hard work?”

  “Not at all. After yesterday's storm, all will be eerily still for a few days. I suppose the wrath of the mountain has expended itself in punishing the grapes of good Christians.” He laughed. “At least that is how the locals have it.”

  It was a heathen conception, but Canterbourne could well imagine their thinking of it that way.

  “I have not much to tempt you with this morning, milord, as I drink only water and wine. I have not a leaf of tea to offer.”

  Canterbourne raised a hand to stave off such trifling considerations. “It matters not at all, Giuseppe. As much as I enjoyed your hospitality when I last called upon you, I came only to speak with you.”

  “Ah, but milord looks troubled. Please, tell me how I can help.” He waved Canterbourne to the table.

  Canterbourne seated himself and, with a sigh, relayed the story of all Orefados had done to Elizabeth, and of her aunt and uncle's heartless complicity.

  Giuseppe shook his head. “He is bent upon evil. It would seem he has designs upon using Miss Whitely in a ritual of some kind. You know, these magical sorts put much stock in the power of virgin blood.”

  Canterbourne blanched, and Giuseppe winced. “I beg your pardon, milord. I did not mean to suggest any sort of sacrifice. But there is something familiar...” The monk tapped his temple and his brows furrowed. He walked to a shelf and withdrew an ancient looking book.

  Canterbourne could not read the script on the cover—both because it was smudged and faded, and because it was in some unknown language.

  Giuseppe thumbed through it, then read in silence for a few minutes. He squinted and turned back a page to read some passage over again. Then he looked up at Canterbourne. “You must get Miss Whitely away from here, milord.”

  “I have every intention of doing just that, but why do you say so? What is that book?”

  “It is a historical record by several monks regarding the heathen practices among a nomadic tribe called the Ghorbati—or so the book says, but we should take that with a grain of salt. We are lucky that the author did not merely call them Bedouin. To be truthful, it is quite a sparse account. But it references a wedding ritual, by which the blood power of twelve and sixty virgins may be harnessed, if they are first inducted into a mystery cult and wed to the master of the mountain.”

  “So Orefados is master of the mountain? I believe I have heard some of his mad accomplices call him that.”

  “Yes it seems an odd phrase for a desert shaman to use, doesn't it?” The monk seemed to misconstrue Canterbourne's interest in the subject. “The desert does present itself to the imagination as a plane, but there are rocky protrusions enough in some regions. And anyway,” the monk smiled at some private jest, “thus it is written.”

  Canterbourne tried to bear Giuseppe's linguistic fixation with patience. “So he t
hinks himself to be this master, then?”

  “It seems that he means to invoke within himself that entity, who has gone by many names, but follows a lineage back to very ancient times. He and his consort.”

  “So he has initiated her, and now he means to marry her so that he may become some ancient bloody god of the mountain? The raving lunatic. But he cannot marry her if I marry her first.”

  Giuseppe flopped his head in an equivocal sort of nod. “I think that would, indeed, cut off the marriage branch of the ritual.”

  “But you look concerned, Giuseppe. Tell me what you are thinking.”

  “It seems that part of the ritual is the chase. The maiden is inducted, and then the lord of the mountain lets her escape, only so he can abduct her again, bring her back, and marry her. But if he cannot marry her, he must sacrifice her, so that another virgin may take her place.”

  The blood drained from Canterbourne's face. “And by sacrificed, you mean...”

  “Murdered, milord. Pardon the indelicacy. But we cannot put too much store in this book.” Giuseppe set the volume aside. “It is almost certainly full of partial and inaccurate information.”

  Canterbourne sagged into a slouch, as though the wind had been knocked out of him. He thought he was rescuing her, but he had put Elizabeth in worse peril than before—as she was most decidedly no longer a virgin. He had to get back to the house. He stood.

  “Milord,” Giusppe tried to reassure him, “I do not say that this is precisely the business that Lord Orefados contemplates. I only remark on the similarities. He could have anything in mind—though none of it will be good.”

  “I am sorry, Giuseppe. I had much to discuss with you, but I now fear even more for Miss Whitely's safety.”

  The man's eyebrows rose. “Oh really?”

  “Yes.” Canterbourne was not going to entertain the man's curiosity as to why. He might come to his own surmises. “I must get back to her. Will you come with me so that we may continue our talk?”

  “I suppose. But it would mean delaying my penance work.” The monk assumed a look of pious reluctance.

  “I have news of your friend, Martinus.”

  “Oh!” Giuseppe laughed. “Milord need not make up stories to entice me. I will come, I will come! I was only joking with you, milord.” Then his face changed again, forming an expression of intrigue when he saw that Canterbourne was not laughing.

  Canterbourne walked to the door. “Indeed, I am in earnest. I will tell you all. Only let us go now.”

  They were about to leave when one of the nuns from the cloister met them at the door.

  After a rapid exchange in the local dialect, the monk threw up his hands and shook his head. “Oh what a fool I am! Of course that devil would not leave her be! The other girl, Miss Berger, is missing, milord.”

  “Orefados must have her,” Canterbourne growled.

  “Yes, yes! Do you not see? She had been initiated and allowed to escape. Now he has hunted her down and brought her back for the second ritual.”

  “The marriage.” Canterbourne groaned internally. He wanted to marry Elizabeth and then leave town immediately. But he knew Elizabeth would never want to leave Miss Berger in such a position. And yet he could not leave Elizabeth unprotected while he rescued Miss Berger.

  “Come, let us make haste, for we must first go to Miss Whitely. We can discuss Martinus and the other matters on the way.”

  Chapter 46

  Elizabeth sat pensively in Lord Canterbourne's parlour, scratching Silverloo. She wore a day dress that Mill had thoughtfully sent a servant to purchase for her in the village shops. It fit a little loosely and was in a coarse, dove grey fabric, not unlike the dress that Lenore had been wearing when they met. It was plain and practical, but at least it was clean and not torn to shreds, as her only other remaining dress had been. Her hair was arranged in a neat coil on top, with a cluster of curls at each temple.

  For the first time in days she felt passably civilized. But even as she sat in a perfectly secure environment, she could not help feeling apprehensive. She would feel safer when Mill returned to her. Though, she admitted, she would probably not feel any calmer.

  A blush stained her cheeks as she remembered their hours of passion. Her blood warmed at the thought of his return, but her stomach also clenched. She wanted desperately to be near to him, yet why did the thought of seeing him wreak such alarming havoc with her nerves?

  Elizabeth stood up suddenly, as the door opened.

  Lord Canterbourne entered the parlour, accompanied by a bare-footed monk. She was not expecting him to return with anyone, let alone a stranger. Her heart pounded.

  “Miss Whitely, I am glad to see you looking so well.” Mill pressed her hand, stealthily giving her a rakish wink.

  His smile was so full of love as his eyes met hers that her stomach fluttered. She was instantly convinced that all would be well now that he was with her.

  He then turned and gestured to the monk. “This is Giuseppe Marano, who has been helping me with a few matters. Giuseppe, this is my betrothed, Miss Whitely.”

  “Very pleased to meet you, milady.” He bowed, but his head cocked slightly as he stood again to display a mischievous smile.

  “I am honoured to meet any acquaintance of Lord Canterbourne.” Elizabeth could not help being amused at the slightly mocking manner of the monk. He struck her as a man who, though he had experience with suffering, still laughed at himself and the world around him.

  Canterbourne continued, “Giuseppe has some knowledge of—shall we call it Lord Orefados' strange obsessions? And he has agreed to help us to get married here. Indeed he has found a priest who will perform the ceremony.”

  A warm, rose-coloured sweetness drifted over the room and all of Mill's subsequent words as Elizabeth dreamed of becoming his wife. She barely heard the torrent of explanations and concerns that issued forth from his beautiful lips.

  But Elizabeth snapped to when he said, “Do not be alarmed, but it seems he has taken Miss Berger. He may intend to compel her into some sort of marriage.”

  “Lenore! No!” Elizabeth chastised herself for revelling in her own happiness without a thought for Lenore. Could she really have left town with Mill and left Lenore behind? Unthinkable betrayal! Elizabeth stewed in guilt. She had completely forgotten her friend's horrible circumstances as soon as her own seemed to be improving.

  Canterbourne clasped her hand. “We will get her back, Elizabeth. But after we rescue her, we will need to leave quickly and take her with us. It will be better for all of us, if you and I are wed before that journey—then Miss Berger will have a married couple for chaperones. After we find her… if you are ready, if it is not too much to ask, will you come with me and Giuseppe to a priest who will marry us?”

  “I—um,” she stammered. “You mean today?” She had not expected it to come so soon. But on the other hand, the sooner the better. “Yes, of course I will! But let us go right away and rescue Lenore. That wicked man could be doing anything to her.”

  Canterbourne beamed at Elizabeth as they climbed into the carriage with Silverloo. “You really are a marvel, my love. With a wife like you, I shall be able to confront anything in my life.”

  She swooned internally, but shook her head and smiled as soberly as she could manage. “Then we should begin that life together as soon as may be. I only hope we may arrive quickly enough to prevent Lenore from beginning her life shackled to a monster.”

  Chapter 47

  The carriage rattled at the breakneck pace they maintained upon the country roads, only slowing for muddy patches in the areas which had not yet drained from the prior day's storm. They would never catch Orefados, of course. But perhaps they might arrive soon enough to interrupt the worst of the evil he had planned for Lenore.

  As they passed the Whitely vineyard, Canterbourne was struck by how much it lived up to its local nickname, vineyard without hope. The workers were out removing piles of ruined grapes and trying to pack the soil ba
ck around the roots that the rain had exposed.

  He could not pick out Elizabeth's aunt and uncle among the labourers, but he knew they were there. They could never be torn away and must be devastated by their ruined grape harvest. When he saw the look on Elizabeth's face, and how she drew Silverloo closer to her, he knew she was thinking much the same thing.

  He hoped she did not feel so much as a trace of guilt. Her aunt and uncle's failed crop had nothing at all to do with her. He reached over and squeezed her hand.

  Her eyes were expressive, and the love that swam in their deep blue irises made his stomach feel very strange. He could not repress the memory of their activities when they were last in this carriage. He wished to do so much more than squeeze her hand. But Giuseppe sat across from them.

  He mentally calmed his ardour and whispered in Elizabeth's ear, “You are so brave. Only hold on a little longer, and I will take you away from all of this.”

  “And shall Lenore come and live with us?” Her eyes pleaded with him. “She has no family left to return to.”

  “Certainly, she shall live with us.” He could deny Elizabeth nothing, he realized, when she looked at him that way. He hoped when she was his wife that she never abused her persuasive powers. “Surely Orefados' actions toward her constitute a violation of his trust and a dissolution of his guardianship. Even if the local law proves quite different from that of England, it must punish such iniquity. But even if the law is against us, I shall nonetheless take her in and lend her my countenance. We must hope that Orefados is not so daft as to pursue her to England.”

  “I should not be so certain, milord,” contradicted the eavesdropping Giuseppe. “Orefados is a determined man.”

  “I take your point and I am prepared to do what I must. I have resources in England that even a magical lord will find hard to overcome.” Canterbourne's voice was mocking. “But I believe I must make a distinction between determination and mad obsession.”