by Candace Camp
“The room is at the bottom of the stairs,” Ashcombe whispered.
“All right, let’s go,” Rafe said. “Ashcombe, you can stay here or go, whichever you wish.”
The man’s face firmed. “I am with you.”
“Good, then. Come on.”
They went down the stairs, moving as quickly as they could along the dimly lit staircase. After a time, they began to hear the faint murmur of voices. The sound grew steadily louder until at last they emerged onto a large landing. They stared down at the vast room before them in amazement.
Its very size was awe-inspiring, but what riveted their attention was the dais in the center of the cellar room. On it stood a dark altar, and at one end of it was Kyria, chains linking her hands to the marble slab. Her hair was down, with a simple gold band around it like a tiara. She wore a white robe, and in the flickering torchlight, she looked like a figure straight off of an ancient vase. Beside her stood Lord Walford, wearing a white tunic with a purple train. A narrow gold circlet sat on his head, matching Kyria’s. His hands were closed over something, and he was chanting.
* * *
Hear us, oh, Goddess.
Mother of Heaven.
Mother of Earth.
Hear the cries of your children
Who wait here in the dark for you.
Hear us and come.
* * *
Rafe and the others looked at each other, swept with relief that Kyria was alive and seemingly unharmed, but at the same time wondering exactly how they were going to set her free. They were greatly outnumbered, at least twenty to four by Rafe’s reckoning, and he wasn’t sure exactly how much help the older, opium-addicted Ashcombe would be to them in a fight.
They were, of course, well armed, with at least twenty-four shots between him and Theo without their having to reload. However, because of Walford’s close proximity to Kyria, the shotgun Reed carried was effectively useless, and Rafe was reluctant even to use the pistols, given the ease with which a stray bullet could hit Kyria.
He leaned closer to Theo and Reed and murmured, “Look, I’m a pretty good shot. I figure I can hit one or two on the edge of the crowd, farthest from Kyria, and that’ll send them into a panic. Then we can charge down the stairs and—”
Rafe stiffened, hearing the scrape of feet on stone behind them. He whirled around, as did the other men, and went down into a crouch, pistols up and aimed at the opening to the staircase. There were more muffled noises, and a white-robed figure emerged quietly onto the landing.
The Keepers! Rafe sagged in relief and lowered his guns as the four remaining Keepers filed silently out of the staircase, sticks in hand. Bringing up the rear of the group was the Russian Prince, Dmitri Rostokov, dressed in formal attire with some sort of sash across his chest and a long-barreled pistol in his hand.
Theo glanced at his brother questioningly, and Reed nodded, gripping his arm and leaning close to whisper, “These are the Keepers of the Holy Standard. They’ll help us. I don’t know who that other chap is.”
“Don’t ask.” Rafe moved silently over to Brother Jozef, who looked as surprised to see Rafe’s group as they were to see his. Rafe glanced toward the Russian, but decided to follow his own advice. Whatever reason had brought the prince with the monks, this was no time for questions.
“The reliquary has called to us,” Brother Jozef whispered to Rafe. “Great harm confronts it, and we have felt this. So we have come.”
Rafe saw no reason to dispute whatever strange homing instinct had drawn the Keepers. “Good,” he said. “Now we are nine.” He drew the other men over to witness the bizarre scene below them.
Kyria watched Walford as he continued to call down the goddess. His face was rapt, his eyes wild. Suddenly he turned and grabbed Kyria’s hands, forcing them onto the diamond, his own hands on top of hers holding them down.
Sacred Goddess, hear me.
Come to us in all your glory.
Come now to the sacred marriage bed.
In light do you walk. At your appearance do we rejoice.
Honeyed are your lips. Your mouth gives life.
Come to me, oh glorious Goddess.
Come to this sacred couch and all your myriad charms reveal.
Your humble servant, I call on you.
Come and restore all life.
Bring to me your divine and unending power.
Let me join with you and reign forever.
Bathe me in your sacred blood. Give to me your unending life.
Kyria gripped the reliquary, the huge diamond digging into her palm. She closed her eyes as an idea came to her.
“Oh, sacred Goddess!” she cried. “Glorious Inanna.”
Beside her, Walford’s voice stumbled to a halt, and he turned to look at her. Maybe, Kyria thought, she could catch him off guard and crack him in the head with the box. She struggled to remember all the things she had heard Walford and Ashcombe say about Inanna.
“Mother of Heaven!” she shouted, standing tall and straight and flinging back her head. She opened her eyes and looked intently up at the top of the far columns. “Mother of Earth! Pay heed to me. Thy daughter calls you. Come to me and endow me with thy strength.”
Kyria could sense that she had the attention of everyone in the room. Walford was staring at her, and his hands fell slowly away from Kyria’s on the box. Kyria curled her fingers more tightly around the diamond. It felt strangely warm against her palm.
“Come to thy handmaiden’s aid, oh, Mother of the Gods!”
Warmth seemed to flow from the diamond into her hand and up into her arms, and Kyria was aware of a tremendous surge of power. She felt faintly dizzy as words rushed up from her throat, pouring out of her in a hoarse voice quite unlike her own.
Sovereign Goddess, come to me in my hour of need.
Goddess of Love. Goddess of War.
Lady of the nether abyss.
You brought life out of the darkness. Power out of weakness.
Now give me thy power.
The diamond seemed to throb in her hand. Her fingers curling around the large stone, Kyria lifted her hand and the diamond came away easily. It glowed with a strange, dark light, red pulsing in its depths and shining through her fingers, the glow permeating her palm so that it shone deep red, as if her blood had turned to fire.
Walford took a step back, staring at Kyria, his jaw falling open in awe.
“Mother of all the heavens, help me now,” Kyria cried, raising her hand. “Destroyer of the wicked, help me now!”
With a final, primal shriek, she threw herself at Walford, bringing her hand down and slamming the magnificent stone with all her force into Walford’s forehead.
He staggered back and fell to the floor with a crash. And at that moment, all hell broke loose.
Wild cries came from above them, and shots rang out. Kyria dived to the floor, crawling up against the end of the altar, seeking its shelter, as a gang of men erupted down the staircase, screaming.
They plowed into the group of worshipers, already demoralized by Kyria’s performance and the sudden loss of their leader. Confused and slowed by drugs, the men barely put up any resistance as Rafe, Kyria’s brothers and the Keepers laid about them with fists, sticks and the butts of their guns.
The fight was over in a few minutes, and Rafe shoved his way through to the dais. He bent solicitously over Kyria, who was crouched on the floor, leaning weakly against the cool marble of the altar.
“Kyria. Kyria, my love?” He reached out and gently brushed his hand over her hair. “Are you all right?”
Kyria looked up at him. She felt suddenly weak, and she started to tremble uncontrollably. “Rafe! Oh, Rafe!”
She flung herself into his arms, tears pouring from her eyes. “Oh, Rafe, hold me! Don’t leave me.”
“Never,” Rafe promised solemnly, his arms tightening around her. “Never.”
* * *
“I doubt we’ll ever know the whole story,” Reed said, standing besi
de the fireplace, his arm stretched across the mantel.
“No, probably not,” Theo agreed.
They both looked over at their sister, who was curled up on the sofa, Rafe by her side, his hand in hers. Kyria had been unusually quiet since Rafe had unfastened her manacles and carried her from Walford’s house last night.
Rafe had taken Kyria straight up to her room and put her to bed, telling her brothers that he would spend the night with her, his eyes daring them to deny him. They had agreed without a murmur, and after a few minutes of holding the twins to her, Kyria had lain down, and Rafe had closed the door, shutting out the rest of the world.
Reed and Theo had taken care of the rest of it, sending for the police and leading them to Walford’s mansion to show them Walford’s trussed-up followers, as well as Walford himself. He, it seemed, had died in a freakish manner, his forehead, right between his eyes, crushed. The police could not imagine what had hit him with such force at precisely the right spot to kill him.
The Moreland brothers had merely shrugged and said they had no idea.
The Keepers had just visited Kyria and the others at Broughton House, once again bringing along the Russian prince. They had left the house with the sacred reliquary, but the huge black stone they had insisted that Kyria keep, saying only, “It belongs with you, madam.”
“I was surprised to find that Prince Dmitri was actually helping the Keepers,” Kyria commented.
“Yes. He explained it to me last night after the fight,” Reed said. “The Keepers moved onto his lands a long time ago when they moved farther northward to escape the Islamic Ottoman Empire. His family has been their protectors ever since. He took the loss of the reliquary hard.”
“His family’s honor and all that,” Theo added.
“What about Habib and the Frenchman?” Rafe asked.
Reed shrugged. “The peelers have questioned them both. Habib finally cracked and admitted that it was he who tracked down Kousoulous all the way from Turkey and killed him at Broughton Park. He had been working for Walford for several years, his primary task being to find the reliquary. He admitted Walford’s entire scheme to get the box, including hiring those men to invade our house. Apparently, Walford decided that hired help were too untrustworthy and incompetent, so he got his own men to kidnap Alex. I suspect when they track down the ownership of that warehouse, it will turn out to belong to Walford.”
“But Brulatour, oddly enough, turned out to be just a collector of ancient objects,” Reed went on. “He is apparently a nouveau-riche French industrialist who spends all his spare time snapping up as many valuable artifacts as he can.”
“Just the sort of fellow I despise,” Theo said, glowering. “He only wants to acquire objects for his own glory. No interest at all in preserving a people’s history and culture.”
“But how did he even know about the reliquary?” Kyria asked.
“Apparently Habib in some unguarded moment told another dealer why he was going to England, and this chap sent word to Brulatour. Monsieur Brulatour arrived and spoke to Habib, who decided to tell him you had the reliquary in return for several thousand francs. Habib’s only god, I believe, is Mammon.” Reed shrugged.
Reed looked at Theo, then at Kyria. He shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. “How, uh…are you feeling all right, Kyria?”
Kyria favored him with a small smile. “Yes. I am. I just, I don’t know, feel a little dazed. When I think about what I did and said last night…it was so strange. It feels almost as if it were a dream.”
“You gave me cold chills,” Rafe said, smiling. “When you held up that diamond and starting calling on the goddess…” He gave an exaggerated shiver. “I hope to never get you angry.”
Kyria grimaced.
“What are you going to do with that diamond, Kyria?” Theo asked curiously.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the stone. She rubbed her thumb over it. “I have been thinking about that. It’s beautiful, but I don’t think it’s meant to be kept in a safe. You know where I thought it would fit best?”
“Where?”
“That clearing in the woods near Broughton Park, the one with the stones?”
“Ah.” The others nodded, thinking of the secluded grove with its silent, eerie grouping of stones.
“It seems the sort of place where the goddess belongs. One of the stones has a deep hollow, and I think I will put it right in there.”
“I think you’re right.” Rafe leaned closer to her and planted a kiss on her forehead.
“Kyria!”
They all looked up as Con and Alex pelted into the room.
“Are you all right?” Alex asked.
“Reed said we had to be quiet around you,” Con said. “Is that true?”
Kyria smiled and pulled her brothers close for a hug. “No. But you have to let me give you an extra hug and not wriggle away.”
“Ah, Kyria…” they chorused, blushing.
They stayed for a few minutes, showing Kyria the interesting things they had picked up in the garden this morning, and then Theo and Reed shooed them out.
“I think it’s time we let Kyria have a little of that rest and quiet,” Reed said, firmly guiding his younger brothers out the door.
Theo, with a grin and a wink at Kyria and Rafe, followed. For the first time today, Rafe and Kyria were alone.
Kyria looked down at her hands. She still felt tired from the events of the previous night. But that was not the only reason she had been so quiet.
Rafe had held her in his arms all through the night, and it had been glorious. She had felt safe and secure and warm, and she knew that she never wanted it to stop. She loved Rafe, and she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. She understood now why people married. She could not imagine anything more wonderful than spending the rest of her life with Rafe.
But Rafe had never spoken a word of love to her. No matter how tightly he had held her, no matter how sweetly he had kissed her, he had not said he loved her or wanted to marry her. She knew he had enjoyed the passion between them, but surely that was not enough to keep him.
Their adventure was over. He had no more reason to stay. Soon he would set out on his tour of Europe again, and then she would lose him. The thought filled Kyria with sadness.
Rafe stood up and walked away from her, then turned and walked back. “Uh, Kyria…I, um, I had something I wanted to talk to you about.”
Kyria’s heart felt like lead in her chest. He is going to tell me he is leaving! She could not raise her eyes to him, and she was afraid that she would start to cry.
“All right,” she said, struggling to keep the tears from her voice.
“You know, when I came to England, I was meaning to travel all around Europe. And the thing is, I think it would be better with someone to guide me. You know, someone sophisticated. So what I was thinking was that, well, maybe you’d like to do that with me.”
“What?” His words were so far from what she had expected that Kyria raised her head and stared at him. Is he asking me to be his mistress? The idea pierced her heart.
“We’d have to delay it, of course, for a few more months. I know you would want a bang-up wedding. But then, the trip would make a nice honeymoon.”
“Honeymoon!” Kyria gaped, barely able to believe her ears. “Honeymoon! Are you…are you asking me…”
“Ah, hell, Kyria, I’m no good at this,” Rafe said candidly. He plunged his hand into his pocket and brought out a box.
Walking back to her, he sank down on one knee in front of her, opened the box and held it out to her. Kyria’s hand flew to her lips as she stared at the large, sparkling emerald ring.
“A ring! You bought me a ring!”
“Yeah. That’s where I was yesterday afternoon. I know I should ask your father’s permission and all that, but I figured I better ask you first or you’d have my hide. So I went to find you a ring. I wanted one that would suit you. I know a lot of women prefer diamonds, but th
is looked like you to me. You see, it’s almost exactly the color of your eyes.”
“It’s beautiful,” Kyria said in a shaky voice, tears starting in her eyes.
“Oh, here, now, don’t cry,” Rafe exclaimed, and brought her hand to his lips to kiss. “If you don’t want to marry me, just say so. I know your family might not approve, since I’m an American with no title. But there is all that silver—I can support you. And nobody could love you more than I. Before I met you, I didn’t think I could love anyone or anything again. The war killed something in me. I had no heart, no home. Then you dropped into my life, literally. And I knew then that you are my heart. Wherever you are is my home. I love you, Kyria.”
“Oh, Rafe! Rafe! I didn’t know you loved me! You never said so. I thought you were going to tell me you were leaving.”
“Leaving!” Rafe stared at her, then laughed. “No, I’m not going anywhere. Even if you turn me down, I’ll just stick around and keep on trying. That’s the way I am.” He paused, then prodded gently, “Well, will you marry me?”
“Yes!” Kyria beamed. “Of course I’ll marry you. I love you desperately.”
“You don’t need to do it desperately.” Rafe grinned and stood up, pulling Kyria up into his arms. “Just do it forever.”
“I will. Forever.”
* * * * *
AUTHOR’S NOTE
For those of you who like to separate fact from fiction:
The Emperor Constantine, his vision, the battle standard, the battles between him and the other emperors, and his tolerance for the early Christian Church can all be found in history books, although I have presented them here in a much-shortened and compressed version. Sadly, the sacking of Constantinople and the plunder of its churches’ treasures by the Western knights during the Fourth Crusade is also true. The worship of a powerful goddess, variously named Inanna, Astarte, Ishtar, etc., flourished in ancient Mesopotamia and the surrounding areas, and the tale of her descent into the underworld and rebirth were, in some form, part of that worship.
