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

by Tessa Candle

  In fact, as she met Mill's gaze, Elizabeth became convinced that they were the only two that had been disturbed by the story. But he looked even more disturbed than she was.

  When they were gathered into their bed for the night, he held her in his arms and stroked her hair. It was tender, but she wanted him to be passionate with her. She wanted him to not treat her like she would break if he made love to her.

  Or was it something else? Was he thinking of the curse and afraid to love her as his wife, lest marital congress should bring further affliction?

  “What is troubling you, Mill, my dearest?”

  He kissed her deeply. “It is nothing to worry your beautiful brow so.”

  “But it is. For I can see how distracted and thoughtful you are.”

  He sighed. “I had hoped to spare you my gloomy thoughts, but I can see that you will worry about my worrying unless I tell you, so I will. Only you must not laugh at me.”

  Elizabeth felt a little relieved at this show of levity. “Would you deny me that? I could do with a good laugh.”

  “Well then, you may laugh, only do not resort to your horse-like snorting and wake up the whole house.”

  Elizabeth laughed like she had done when she was a child at this piece of unjust and pert silliness. “There, I shall not snort, as you call it. Tell me all.”

  “It is only that, as ridiculous as it is, I was disturbed by that tale the storyteller told the children tonight.”

  “As was I. It is horrid to fill tender little ears with tales of children callously laughing while their mother burns to death, and of fathers cursing their sons. What on earth kind of culture is this?”

  “I take your point, but it was not that which disturbed me. It was a small detail in the story which you, in your terror for the wellbeing of the young listeners, may have missed.”

  “What detail is that, pray?”

  “The Goblin of the Mountain.”

  “I confess, I found that bogey man less frightening than the Gothic little family.”

  “Well, it was not the goblin, so much as the description of his creeping about in the tunnels of the mountain. I did not think there were any tunnels in the mountains. The possibility that there are alarms me.”

  Elizabeth paled. “Yes, I see. And we both know of a goblin of the mountain who is fond of tunnels. Oh, Mill, do you think he can yet reach us?”

  “I did not say that, my love. And it was a fairytale, after all. I was rather hoping you would laugh at me and make me see the folly of my anxiety. I did not mean to infect you with my fears.”

  This choice of words pained her. It was she who had infected him with Orefados' curse. “Oh how I wish I could laugh at it.”

  Chapter 61

  The days of riding in a carriage had grown very tiresome, and the company had settled into a hopeless dullness that was equal to Canterbourne's own internal ennui.

  But as they neared the summit of their journey, nothing as complacent as dullness could possibly afflict them. The views became breathtaking and at the same time fearsome. Even having so recently made this journey, Canterbourne had not grown accustomed to the spectacle of great protuberant rocks and cliffs that seemed to drop straight down to perish in an invisibly distant fate. Nor could he ignore the puny insignificance of the tiny winding road that crept through the violent landscape. This humbling view added to his sense of vulnerability.

  Smoky blue peaks jutted out like church spires from the sea of radiant clouds, and strange pools of mist formed here and there all about the landscape. Sometimes the accumulations of fog lit up with sunlight in sudden bursts of rainbow hues, like a mother of pearl vision manifesting before them. Sometimes the mist was struck by shade and seemed to display occult stories, like a screen in a ghastly shadow play.

  Canterbourne was feeling a bit mad. The fog might conceal an approaching enemy or a pitfall. Anywhere around them, Orefados might be emerging from a tunnel, as had become Canterbourne's idée fixe.

  “Do you know...” Lenore suddenly spoke, and everyone started at the sound, for they had all been locked in private thought. “That story I translated for you at the inn the other night is an old one. I heard it when I was a child—before I went to the convent, of course. The sisters only read stories from the bible, or from The Lives of the Prophets. But the tale I heard did not have a goblin in the mountain. The brothers were cursed to be ravens and locked in a crystal palace, and the daughter was finally aided by the Bride of Christ to rescue them.”

  “I suppose,” Elizabeth sounded calmer than Canterbourne thought she could possibly feel, “that all of these old folk stories have many regional variations. It is natural for a tale told around the hearth to take on the more familiar aspects of the place where it is told.”

  “That is what I was wondering about. Do you think there may be a general belief in these parts in a goblin who lives in the mountain?” Lenore's face had a practised serenity, but Canterbourne was certain he detected a deeper anxiety behind the facade.

  “It would be natural if there were, given this mountainous environment. And goblins are certainly not a unique device for instructing children.” Canterbourne tried to sound philosophically aloof. He smiled wanly. “We have enough of them in England that we could lend the locals here a dozen, if they should run short.”

  They all chuckled nervously. No one said explicitly the thing that they were all thinking.

  The carriage had been slowing by degrees as they climbed up the final inclines approaching the mountain pass. They would have to change horses at the next village, though they had hardly travelled four miles that day.

  Canterbourne mused to himself that the slowest part of the journey was almost over. The descent, though dangerous, would be less of a toil for the horses, and would proceed more quickly. He would be glad when they got out of the alpine terrain, for the environment had begun to take on the aspect of an unpleasant half-life in his mind. The mountains were a sort of intermediate existence between the world and the spiritual realm, like the mirror that had imprisoned Martinus.

  This unpleasant musing was interrupted by a dull roaring sound behind them. He thought at first that he must be mistaken, that he was hearing an echo or a rush of water distorted by the acoustics of the surrounding gullies. But he turned his head and lifted the curtain of the rear window, as he had neglected to do even once on the day's journey.

  There was a storm brewing. A wind proclaimed itself in an insolent hiss and buffeted them suddenly, as if it meant to throw the carriage sideways into the rock face it hugged. What worried Canterbourne more, however, was the sight of a vehicle climbing up the mountainside behind them.

  Winding its way up the road was a carriage drawn by many horses—eight, he reckoned, as dark and glossy as the midnight-black vehicle they drew behind them. There was no reason to think it, but Canterbourne knew with the despairing conviction of a condemned man who it was that pursued them upon the spinning wheels of that ebony vessel.

  Chapter 62

  Elizabeth shuddered when she saw Mill look behind them. He had only stopped doing that yesterday, and she hoped his mind was becoming more settled. Only now the fearful glances had resumed.

  Yet, it was not entirely concern for Mill's mental state that inspired her quivering apprehension. She, too, sensed that there was something behind them, something horrid but intangible, from which her spirit recoiled like bare skin shrinks from grazing contact with an unseen spider's web.

  “What is it, dearest?” She placed a hand on his arm. “Is there something there?”

  “A storm is coming.” He seemed to struggle with himself for a few moments, then finally added, “And there is a carriage coming up the mountain behind us. But do not worry. It is probably just some fellow traveller, and the vehicle is yet distant.”

  Elizabeth did worry, however. And Lenore could not conceal her spontaneous gasp at this news, either.

  They were all quiet as they crept along the road that threaded its way
up the mountain face like the laces of a corset. Elizabeth began looking out the rear window as often as Mill did. Sometimes the vehicle was visible, sometimes it was not, but she had the feeling that it was gaining on them by degrees.

  Lenore observed her two companions periodically checking for the other carriage. She stroked Silverloo's ears for a few moments, then said, “Shall we not admit that we all fear the same thing? It will relieve us to share our anxieties.”

  “I admit it.” Elizabeth mustered a smile for her earnest friend. “But I do not think I shall feel relief until we are safely back in England.”

  “I shall confess only to apprehension, not fear.” Mill did his best to add a note of humour to his voice. “Otherwise I should seem unmanly.”

  “Impossible!” Elizabeth squeezed his muscular arm.

  Lenore was right, it did help, a little, to have out in the open their unanimous belief that the devil pursued them. Only now they felt it necessary to chase away each other's gloomy thoughts by assuming a lightness they did not feel.

  Lightning flashed and they were all silent, waiting for the thunder to roar over their heads. A storm would be unpleasant and dangerous enough, but the suspicion that the storm was not natural made it unnerving. Elizabeth knew that they all thinking the same thing—that it was merely another part of the devil's dramatic entourage.

  Chapter 63

  The wind howled. The rain came down in sheets, lashing the coach from every direction and eventually turning to hail. Its racket was furious in Canterbourne's ears, as though thousands of angry faeries pounded on his carriage, demanding admittance. Poor Tonner. Canterbourne would be sure to give him a sizeable reward for enduring this.

  He put an arm around Elizabeth and drew her close, while Lenore coddled the whimpering Silverloo. The carriage was barely creeping along. They could see nothing but the furious weather through their window, but he knew that they must be nearing the little inn at the summit.

  They would have to change horses there, but, bad as the weather was, he begrudged the stop. It was not rational, for even if the black carriage continued to gain upon them, the storm should slow the other vehicle as much as it did their own. But Canterbourne didn't believe his own logic.

  He could almost smell the incense and hear the strange chanting behind him. Orefados was hard on their heels. The most sensible thing to do would be to stop at the inn and wait out the weather, yet Canterbourne could not abide the thought. If they delayed at the inn, Orefados would catch them. He knew it.

  And yet, what did it signify? Would it not be better to duel the ruddy bastard directly? That way only his own person would be at risk. The lives of everyone would be endangered by a race down the other side of the peak in weather that could drive a mountain goat off of his perch.

  He became aware, by that peculiar third eye sensitivity that always detects when one is under the intense regard of another, that Lenore was staring at him. He turned to meet her gaze.

  “I know what you are thinking,” she said. “But we cannot spend the night at the inn. He will catch us.”

  “Then I will duel him, and he will die on my blade.”

  “Deeper affronts have been made than can be mended or redressed with a sword.” Lenore's eyes, lit by the sudden glow of lightning, showed a clarity and penetrating vision that underscored the truth of her words. “His power has nothing to do with anything so direct and honest as a fair fight.” A thunderclap followed this proclamation.

  “What if I do not believe in his power?” Canterbourne tried to muster a sneer of rational superiority that he did not at all feel.

  Lightning struck nearby again, and a sudden gust of wind pushed the carriage violently sideways.

  Lenore paled and gripped the carriage door, but did not wait for the carriage to stop swaying before she replied, “And the last time you attempted to make use of your sword against this devil, how did you fare?”

  He knew she was right, but jutted out his jaw stubbornly. “Those circumstances were different. We were only trying to rescue you. In this instance, I should be trying to protect you, and,” he looked at Elizabeth, “the woman who is more precious to me than my own life.”

  “Do not mistake me,” Lenore continued, “I mean to protect her, as well. And you in the bargain. I do not say that you should not stop at the village, only that you should not tarry. You must leave me there and go.”

  “No!” gasped Elizabeth.

  “He will come for me, and it will delay him.” Lenore persisted. “You two may then escape.”

  “This is nonsense, Miss Berger.” Canterbourne gave her a stern look, though he could not help admiring her. “We shall not leave you behind as bait for that monster. You are in my care. What kind of man would leave a young maiden under his protection behind him, just to save his own skin?”

  The carriage was now shaking violently, and even Canterbourne found himself bracing against the carriage door.

  “But it is my fault that you two were ever embroiled in this. Had you not come to rescue me, you could have wed and left Melonia, and Orefados' ritual would have gone unrealized.”

  “No. It is my fault.” Canterbourne had to yell over a prolonged roll of thunder and the screaming wind and hail. “Orefados has had his tendrils wrapped around my family for some time. My father embroiled me with that demoniac before I was even born. I am the one whom he pursues.” He looked down sadly at Elizabeth. “I am the one who has put you in danger.”

  “Oh!” Elizabeth cried, as though giving vent to feelings long held inside. “Do not think it! I cannot hear you recriminate yourself over my fate when it is I who have put you in harm's way. Do you not see how he has used me as bait to entrap you? You were safe until you married me. I am the one who led you to his snare, who anchored you in marriage to this evil man and entangled you in his rites.”

  Not until that moment did Canterbourne understand her sadness, but now he saw it swirling in her blue eyes as clear as day. He had thought her disturbed by the strain of all she had endured. He should have known that his sweet, brave wife was made of sterner stuff than that.

  What troubled her was not fear for her own sake, or the shock and horror of Orefados' repeated assaults against her. She was burdened in her very heart and soul. The thorn that twisted in her breast was the belief that she had harmed him, that by acting on her love and marrying him, she was bringing his ruination.

  He had been such a selfish clod. He had the means to relieve her burden by merely telling her the truth. But he had been a coward, too afraid that he would lose her love to be honest with her.

  His guilty thoughts were distracted by the sound of hooves behind them. It was not possible. Orefados simply could not have caught them. But the bloodless face of Lenore, as she stared through the parted curtains behind him, contradicted his doubt. The whites of her eyes glowed in the gloom of the carriage, exposed in a petrified stare of terror.

  Canterbourne turned to squint at the forms coming into view. Was he imagining it, or could he see the foaming nostrils of the great black beasts that pulled the carriage behind them? Their hooves impossibly struck up streams of sparks on the road. Slaver flew from their mouths, and their gleaming yellow teeth seemed to grow in the intermittent shadow and light of the storm, as though each flash exposed them, now as horses, now as wolves, now as fanged demons from the pit.

  As the team drew ever closer, the driver came in view, his eyes glowing red and his constitution animated by the violence of the storm as he put his back into cracking the cruel whip over the midnight black nags, with a wicked, hungry grin of madness. It was Orefados himself.

  “My God, he is almost upon us!” Canterbourne hissed, just as lightning struck again.

  The carriage lurched and pitched to this side and that, as if it might fly off the cliff beside them at any moment. He lost his grip on Elizabeth. She slid away to the other side, just as the door of the carriage flew open.

  He grabbed for her in panic, and his hand graz
ed the fabric of her sleeve as she flew out of the carriage door. He heard a feral screech of terror and thought that it was Silverloo, who was barking and whining. Then he realized that he was listening to the agony of his own heart and lungs.

  He made to dive out after her, but saw that her gloved hands gripped the door handle, still. She was being dragged along beside the coach, but had not fallen.

  Thanking God that they were travelling so slowly, he lurched to the doorway and grasped her forearms. As he pulled, he could feel a great resistance, as though some invisible hand clutched her legs and dragged her from the vehicle.

  They were both becoming soaked with rain, and his grip upon her was slipping. The force pulling on her seemed to intensify.

  “Let go of her, you bloody fiend!” Cantebourne howled into the torrential rain. He thought he heard a low cackle within the thunder clap. Then he and Elizabeth were ripped from the carriage and hurled into the muddy shadows outside.

  Chapter 64

  Elizabeth shrieked as she hurtled backwards, pulling Mill with her out of the carriage. No! She must save him somehow. If only he had let her go, he might have been spared. Let Orefados pause to dash her to pieces or imprison her—so long as Mill escaped, what did it matter?

  But once again, she had drawn him into the magician's pit.

  A pain shot through her arm as she tumbled toward the cliff edge. She cried out in agony, certain she was about to die. Yet she dug her fingers into the mud and tried to slow herself.

  Her back was at the brink of the cliff. She could feel one foot suspended in the air over the shadowy void below, when Mill, who still had a hold on her other arm, wrenched her back from the precipice.

  The two lay panting at the edge of this alpine abyss for but a moment. However slowed by the steep ascent, Orefados' rig would roll over them soon, if they did not move. By instinct, they both stood and ran after their own carriage, yelling.