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

by Tessa Candle

  Canterbourne gasped.

  “You recognize it, do you not? It is your mother's wedding ring.”

  “It cannot be. My mother wears her ring still, ever faithful to the man who so readily left her behind—even after his death. This is but a trick.”

  “This is the ring that wedded your parents. Your father had an identical replacement made when he gave this one over to the spell. You have seen that ring on your mother's hand every day since you were a fledgling. You know it well. And now you know the real story. He thought that if he left you and refused to know you, you could not come under the ensorcelment. And later, he believed that if you did not know of the charm, you could not be entrapped by it. But he did not know that you would take the final step in bringing yourself under the spell of Jove in the Egg.”

  “I am under no spell of yours, wiseacre.” Canterbourne clenched his right hand into a fist.

  Orefados seemed insensible of Canterbourne's growing aggression. He continued as if making a proclamation on high. “You are wed to the chorus. Your wife has bound you to the host. Like the shepherd gathers his flocks, and the hunter brings his prey to ground, I shall seek out what is mine. I come to you by high noon, full moon, dawn or darkness, son of the mountain. Expect me always.”

  “I think not, you mad bastard!” Canterbourne swung at Orefados. His hand hurt when it connected with the man's jaw, and yet the mage disappeared into the humid air just as he was struck. A single sorrowful note from a kaval flute pierced through the air, then was gone so quickly that one wondered if it had truly been heard.

  Giuseppe touched Canterbourne on the arm, and he swung around as though he might also strike him.

  “Are you quite well, milord? Who are you talking to?”

  “Orefados. Did you not see him?”

  But no one had. Not even Elizabeth. Canterbourne felt he must be going mad. The sense of foreboding that seemed to lurk always in the periphery of his mind grew more insistent. They had to get away.

  Chapter 54

  Canterbourne stood in the parlour of the house he had taken in Melonia and finished giving his instructions to the servants. He wondered whether, in leaving so precipitously, he were allowing himself to be drawn into madness.

  Night had fallen. If they delayed until dawn, they would not be made to travel in the darkness, with so little rest behind them. And Canterbourne would feel less like he was running away from his enemy.

  Giuseppe arrived just then to deliver Miss Berger's few things from the cloister, most of them small gifts from the sisters, but nothing really worth waiting for.

  Giuseppe cleared his throat. “Milord, I am also come to speak with you. I see you have the carriage loaded, and I must encourage you to depart with all haste.”

  “I was just now contemplating the matter. Do you not think it better to travel by daylight?”

  “It is, of course, entirely up to milord, and for my own sake, I should be very happy if you stayed on this next fortnight—yet I think it would be better to go quickly and never to return.”

  “Your own good company notwithstanding, I should be happy to never again come near this place. But is there some news of Orefados?”

  “Not exactly news. Only I have been speaking with Martinus. As you can imagine, he is greatly altered by his ordeal. Indeed, I feel badly for even leaving his side long enough to make this call. He speaks so much of his time with Orefados. It is as though he is disgorging all the evil he consumed while breathing in that devil's unwholesome miasma. I only hope telling these stories is doing him good and not exhausting his remaining spirit with recriminations.”

  “And has he said something about me?”

  “In a manner of speaking, milord. It seems that Orefados discussed the spell he made at your father's request, the Jove in the Egg, as he calls it. Martinus did not connect the story with you until just recently. It seems the spell is a much nastier magical confection than even it first appeared. I digress, but suffice it to say that there is more to the story.”

  “As I told you before, Orefados already relayed the good news that my father made a bargain to give up all paternal connection with his firstborn, which turned out to be me.” Canterbourne sighed. “I suppose it could be an utter lie, but it seems like the sort of thing Orefados would lure someone into. And he has my mother's wedding ring, which lends credibility to the story.”

  “The ring of troth gives the ring of truth.” Giuseppe smiled sadly at his own ill-timed cleverness.

  Canterbourne shook his head. “True or not, it is all in the past. It is a miserable tale, but I do not see how it should affect me now.”

  “There is, as I said, more to the story. The concession your father made was in exchange for a wish, and your father's was not a good one. So few wishes are. That is what distinguishes wishes from prayers: people only wish for things that are so unworthy that they fear to anger God by praying for them.”

  Canterbourne decided to hurry along his philosophical counsellor. “And what was this wish?”

  Giuseppe shook his head as if to force it to stop straying from the point. “According to Martinus, Orefados was quite gleeful about granting it. The wish was one of revenge upon another man. Your father, it seemed, was unhappy in his first love, and blamed his unsuccessful suit upon the rival who actually won the lady's hand. It would not suffice merely to kill the man. Your father wished him to suffer, to be driven mad, and to lose his love by his own hand.”

  Canterbourne's stomach clenched. It was hard to have every illusion that one held about one's parent ripped away. He had thus far believed his father to be weak, but not malicious. “Enough. I am sad to hear that my father was so far a fallen man. But what difference does it make now? Why tell me this?”

  Giuseppe looked at Canterbourne with profound sympathy. “I debated whether to tell you, indeed, milord. But it seemed to me that to leave these things as secrets would only give them more power over you. I did not wish to spare you this blow, only to permit Orefados to deal it at a time of his choosing.”

  “It is not such a blow. I have long since decided that my fate does not rest on my father's character.”

  “But, alas, there is more, milord. Martinus says Orefados told him the name of the man thus cursed.” Giuseppe shook his head sadly. “It was Whitely.”

  Canterbourne blanched and he lost his breath as though a great iron fist had dealt him a blow to the midsection. It could not be true. His own father the downfall of Elizabeth's father, bringing about the death of both of her parents? Atrocious.

  She would never have been condemned to come to this horrid place, if it were not for his father. Still, it must be a lie—a trick that Orefados had played to make Martinus party to his evil fabrications. And anyway, he did not believe in Orefados' spells, did he?

  Even as he grasped at this feeble explanation for the unpalatable history, any notion of delay flew out of Canterbourne's mind. Was there no end to the fell winds that blew down from that mountain? They had to quit this evil place as soon as might be.

  “Milord,” exhorted Giuseppe as Canterbourne made for the parlour door, “you must not conceal this from Lady Canterbourne.”

  Canterbourne turned to give Giuseppe a tortured look. “How can I tell her such a thing? Why should I burden her with the same sort of misery that I now endure at having black histories dredged up, when there is nothing that either of us can do to change them? Why should I throw the pain of losing her parents into her face again?”

  “Those are all very noble reasons for secrecy. But the answer to your question is simply this: if you do not tell her, you will leave her vulnerable to the uses Orefados will make of this knowledge. He will not only torment her. He will reveal that you have kept the story from her. You know this about him, milord.”

  Canterbourne's heart clenched at the thought, but he could not tell Elizabeth. Giuseppe simply did not understand. “Thank you for your faithful assistance and your counsel. I hope you may come to England again
someday and visit us.” Canterbourne opened the door and quitted the room.

  Giuseppe followed, calling out behind him, “Do not let your marriage start out on such a precedent as concealment, milord. You are both brave. Face this together. Do not fit another hook into the devil's scourge.”

  Chapter 55

  Elizabeth returned with Canterbourne to the house in town to ready herself for the journey. It felt strange stepping over the threshold for the first time as his wife, knowing that it was also the last time she would come to this house.

  She put on more comfortable shoes for travelling, but it did nothing to make her feel more prepared for the journey ahead of them. Or perhaps it was not so much the journey that worried her, but the possibility of some horrid snare interrupting it.

  Lenore was in her room, enjoying a little solitude and rest after her ordeal. Mill was below, giving instructions to the servants and arranging for a separate carriage to bring the remainder of his English retinue back to London after they had completed the packing.

  Elizabeth was thus alone with very little to occupy her except rumination on the strange events of the past days, and what they might portend for the future. She sat with Silverloo, who licked her hand, knowing that his mistress was not quite healed.

  Elizabeth did not have anything to pack. Canterbourne had bought her a change of clothes and a few basic toiletries, which had been packed and loaded onto the carriage, but her own belongings were long since abandoned in the countryside. She hoped her aunt and uncle might make some use of them.

  She knew that she should feel sad at leaving without telling them of her marriage, or saying goodbye, but in truth she could not feel anything other than relief that she would never see them again.

  Canterbourne had told her of his conversation with them and their strange devotion to the man on the mountain. Whatever their fate, so long as they cast their lot with the mad cult of Orefados, Elizabeth would have nothing to do with them.

  She turned to look at herself in the mirror. The red stain by her mouth had disappeared, but she still had scratches about her face and neck. She hoped they would not leave scars, but even if they did not, she could see that she was altered beyond mere scarring. Her face bore a look of a knowledge almost too heavy to hold. It was like old wine poured into a young skin; the plumpness of her features seemed to subside a little with the weight.

  She smiled and joked to herself that it was good that she had secured her husband before he had a chance to look at her teeth. But she knew in her heart that his love was valiant and true.

  And he had married her! She had to pinch herself to be certain that she was not dreaming, for this single, exquisite happiness flooded her whole heart with the golden sunlight of fairy tales.

  And yet she could not even enjoy her happiness without a painful internal conflict. She loved Mill more than she had ever thought possible. She had a vision of domestic bliss, where Mill and herself dwelt happily in the company of Miss Berger and Silverloo. But this vignette of complacent comfort was shadowed by the terrifying thought that she was bringing doom to her beloved.

  Mill had told her of his vision of Orefados, though he still asserted that it was some sort of magician's trickery. But Elizabeth's own bone-chilling recollection of her conversation with the mage made her certain that, either his madness was contagious, or there was something to his magical claims. And Orefados asserted that by marrying Mill she had bound him to some sort of spell initiated by his father.

  Her love for Mill had cursed him. The thought made her miserable. And Orefados would never stop chasing them. She knew it in her heart, and he had said as much to Mill. Even if Mill did not believe it, she could not escape her own guilt. Was it not a selfish love that clung to its due, instead of sacrificing all for its object?

  She stood up with a heavy heart and walked to the window to look for the carriage. It was loaded and waiting. They had such a long journey before them, she could not make a start without resolving to put Mill first, no matter what it entailed. If Orefados should catch them, she would not let Mill risk his life trying to save her. She would go willingly with Orefados, rather than let that happen.

  Just then the door flew open and Mill grabbed her by the hand.

  “Come Elizabeth! We must fly!”

  He rushed her out of the room, down the stairs and out into the waiting carriage. Silverloo arrived before them, launching himself into the lap of Lenore, who was already seated inside. Then the little dog looked back at them as if to say, “What are you fur-less folk waiting for? Let us make haste!”

  Chapter 56

  It was not yet dawn when they rolled into Treviso, and Canterbourne decided, almost begrudgingly, to pause to change horses.

  Elizabeth had been disturbed by Canterbourne's sudden passion for removal. He seemed gripped by a mania, but he refused to acknowledge any special cause to her. He only claimed that after all that had happened, he so feared for her safety that they could not remove quickly enough.

  Elizabeth stepped out of the carriage to stretch her legs. She turned to Mill. “Might we not stop to rest while we are here?”

  Canterbourne's face blanched at the mere suggestion. “No, my love.” He put an arm around her, protectively. “I will not feel at ease until I have you safely back in civilization and installed under my roof.”

  “Very well.” She smiled at him reassuringly. “Of course you are right.”

  “I shall rouse someone in the inn and order such cold viands as they have at the ready. We can break our fast here, while the horses are changed.” He gave a nervous glance back at the road behind him. “Only we shall not waste time. When we have fresh horses on, we shall depart, even if it means we finish our repast in the carriage.”

  Elizabeth was worried by the restiveness he exhibited, and it must have shown upon her face, but he seemed to misinterpret it. His voice softened. “I am sorry to subject you to such deprivations. I shall make it up to you by spoiling you in every way I can think of when I get you safely home.”

  She sighed and squeezed his hand. It was not the deprivations that were troubling her, but it was so considerate of him to think of her comforts, even in a situation such as this.

  She truly did not deserve his kind and brave heart. If only it might be true that returning to England would make him finally safe from the curse that she had entangled him in. She forced a smile. “I already feel like the most spoiled woman in the world, for I have the best husband that ever there was!”

  She did not understand the pained look that passed over his features as she said this. Whatever could be wrong with him?

  Chapter 57

  As they crossed the last few miles of flat land before the rolling foothills of the Alps began, Canterbourne could barely restrain himself from peering again through the curtained window. It unnerved him that they had neither seen, nor heard anything from Orefados.

  Why could he not shake the feeling that they were followed? He must be going mad. Indeed, his mood was so completely out of sorts that he began to feel irritable even with the quiet and unobtrusive Miss Berger.

  If she were not with them, he could at least distract himself with his new wife. He knew it was mean spirited and ungracious to think this way, but Lenore was such a prude that he could not even flirt with Elizabeth without her looking away in an embarrassed fashion that threw a bucket of cold water on his romantic inclinations.

  And Elizabeth grew ever more alluring to him. It was hard to keep his hands off of her. He could not put his finger upon the source, but, although plainly and modestly attired, she had radiated a sort of magnetism since—since when? Since they were married? That must be it. Still there was a sort of knowing about her eyes that made him want to fall into their depths, to sleep peacefully next to the radiant blue pools that lapped at his consciousness like the subterranean streams rippling gently through the caves of Orpheus.

  The warmth of the carriage and the exhaustion of a sleepless night of travel
lulled him, and his eyes drifted shut involuntarily.

  Chapter 58

  Elizabeth could feel the beginnings of a headache scratching inside her skull. She supposed it was the strain of the past days and a night spent jouncing in a carriage instead of sleeping. And then there was Mill. His mood was so very altered. She wondered if he were angry with her, for at times he seemed almost sour.

  But what could she have done? And yet, she knew. She had cursed him. Was he now repenting having married her? Orefados had told him everything immediately after they were wed, revealing that she was the anchor that kept Canterbourne tethered to that evil man. Was her husband now gravely reconsidering what he had done? Had such thoughts embittered him against her?

  To be sure, she was embittered against herself. That she was the source of such danger for her beloved tore at her heart. And yet, Orefados was nowhere to be seen. She shook her head. She was probably worrying for nothing. Surely the mad lord could no longer catch them.

  Elizabeth rubbed her eyes. The carriage was hot and it was not helping her headache.

  Mill had finally fallen asleep, which she thought for the best. And Lenore and Silverloo were snoring sweetly in the corner.

  She gazed out the window as she felt the angle of the carriage's progress steepen. They were heading into the mountains. It was such a dangerous part of the journey. Her apprehensions grew as she spied through the window a thick fog that was rolling in around them.

  Such fogs were quite common in this violent terrain, but the suddenness and the relatively low elevation of it disturbed her. The gloom cast by the vapour grew ever more profound, but the carriage remained hot. Perhaps because of the impression of being closed in created by the blanket of fog, the air felt even more cloying than when the sunlight pierced it.