I confess, it has been duller than old porridge and twice as sticky having them so frequently underfoot during the past few years. Especially his sour-tempered sister. They have been constantly in and out, arriving unannounced, staying for weeks on end, and bringing all manner of physicians with vile treatments to inflict upon poor Martin.
His father’s parting words were unbearably cruel. He lamented that there is nothing left of his son save a sniveling, useless child. He refused to even kiss Martin farewell. “My son is dead,” says he.
It isn’t true.
In point of fact, I find my husband’s company quite pleasant these days. What does it matter if I must wipe spittle from his chin now and again? Martin no longer yells, nor does he drink too much, and he no longer broods. It is miraculous how he seems to delight in the simplest things. He will sit for hours in the yard playing with the kittens. He would never have been content to do so in the past. In my opinion, he is vastly improved. You will see for yourself when you return home.
There are a few minor problems, which I must explain. For instance, I cannot allow him to go near the stables. He seems to have forgotten which end of the horse is most likely to kick. Sometimes even the sight of a horse will throw him into a terror and we find him cowering in a corner. We must also watch that he doesn’t wander off into the woods. These problems are not usually burdensome because most days his legs will not support his weight as they ought. I had a bath chair constructed for him so that we might roll him around with ease. Martin quite enjoys riding in his chair.
After another week or two I think we can be fairly confident his family will not return unexpectedly. At that time it will be safe for you to return to my house. Surely you are longing for release from that horrible school to which his sister exiled you. Nor have I forgotten my promise to your dear mother that I would take care of you ’til the end. I mean to keep my word.
Aside from that, Martin’s father has decided he will not send any more funds for your tuition at Miss Stranje’s establishment. So, as it stands, there is no alternative but for you to return here to Tidenham.
I will arrange with Miss Stranje for your transportation.
Fond regards,
Lydia
My chest felt heavy. I couldn’t sort my thoughts. They tumbled and rolled and collapsed in a chaotic heap. Martin was alive. Not dead. That much filled me with relief. Lydia was making the best of it, but my uncle had been reduced to a helpless child because of me.
My fault. That turned my relief to remorse.
Lydia had promised my mother to take care of me ’til the end.
I knew what she meant. She would take care of me until the madness swallowed me up and I died. My mother had known that would be my end, just as she had known it would be hers.
Lydia wrote of my death. Not Martin’s. I was to return home until I died. Remorse changed to fury.
Home.
That had never been my home. The forests of Wye Valley, maybe. The trees and brooks where I’d played as a child. But not the manor. Not really. Not now. It belonged to my uncle now. I had no home except Stranje House. My stomach lurched, fisting up around breakfast.
I dropped the letter on the table as if it burned my fingers. They were all watching me. All of them. Gabriel, too. I needed to run. I wanted to spring up that instant and dash out of the room.
If I run fast enough none of this will catch me. Instead, I choked out an answer to their unasked question. “There’s no more money. I am to return to Tidenham.” To await my death.
“You can’t go!” Georgie surged up from her seat.
Sera snatched the letter from my plate and was reading it.
“Georgie’s right. We need you.” Jane reached for my arm, but I pulled away. She whirled on Miss Stranje. “You have to stop her.”
“Sit down, Lady Jane. You, too, Georgie. You will all control yourselves at my table.” She lowered her voice, but I did not miss the fact that she continued on with a small uncharacteristic tremor strangling her words. “Miss Aubreyson must be allowed to make this decision for herself. It is not our place to make demands.”
“It isn’t as if I have a choice in the matter. My uncle’s family will no longer pay for my room and board.”
Miss Stranje sat very straight and stiff in her chair. In a cold no-nonsense voice, she said, “There are always choices.” She adjusted the table linen beside her plate. “Always.”
She looked up at us, and the room got deadly still, as if we were all afraid to breathe. “Tess has been invited back to her home. This ought to be a moment of celebration for her. You will not harry her. Or get maudlin. Nor will you put undue…” She caught her lip. It took a moment for her to gather herself, but she flexed her jaw and stood with backbone befitting a queen. “Tess, after you have had time to consider your aunt’s offer, if you would like to discuss it, I will be in my office. Now if you will excuse me, I will join all of you in the small parlor in two hours’ time to discuss the matter of a possible attack.”
“Attack? From whom? Napoleon?” Mr. Sinclair shoved back from the table.
Both he and Lord Ravencross rose, as gentlemen must do when the lady of the house leaves the room, but long after she hurried away both men remained standing.
Lord Ravencross looked limp and white faced, as if he’d just found himself standing on a gallows facing a noose.
Eleven
DEATH AWAITS
Gabriel turned to me with a devastated expression twisting his features. It ripped what remained of my composure to shreds. I couldn’t think. All I could do was rush out of the breakfast room, skirts flying.
“Wait!” He strode after me and caught my arm in the hall.
“Go away.” I jerked free. “I need to run. If I don’t, I’ll lose my mind.”
Not the obedient sort, he didn’t go away. “Very well, if you need to run, I’ll run alongside you.”
“You can’t.”
“Don’t let my lame leg fool you. I can keep up as well as any man.”
It wasn’t the old wound in his leg I was concerned about. “Not without tearing open the stitches in your shoulder.”
His posture stiffened. “I’m willing to take that chance.”
“Well, I’m not.” I backed against the paneled wall and pressed my hands over my face, roaring in frustration. He would’ve done the same if matters were reversed. I flung my hands down. “If you insist on accompanying me, my lord, I suppose I will have to settle for a brisk walk.”
“Gabriel,” he said. “For pity’s sake, call me Gabriel.” He motioned for me to lead the way. “You’ve been in my bedroom. I believe we can dispense with the formalities of my title, don’t you?”
I groaned. “I was there serving as your watchman, not your lover. So, no, my lord, I believe the formalities are still very much in play.”
We left the house by way of the garden.
“You will call me Gabriel.” He said this with a firmness that brooked no argument. “I never wanted the blasted title in the first place. Such things belong to men like my father. Men born to rule. It suited my brother. Not me.”
His words evoked memories for both of us. Gruesome images of the last time he saw his brother alive. And undoubtedly their violent duel. The secret haunted me then. It was harder than I thought not to relieve his pain. Except that would only bring a new torment. So I changed the subject and walked faster. “Perhaps you should sit here on this chair beside the garden and rest. It’s too soon for you to be walking after losing all that blood.”
“I find I am much improved this morning. I was surprised to find that I rested quite well last night despite having so many people in my room.”
He was baiting me, but I could not joust with him. Not today, not when my future was crumbling faster than I could run. I chose a path on the opposite side of the property, as far from Ravencross Manor as possible. We walked in silence until we were well away from the house. My thoughts fluttered about like frantic geese
being chased by a dog.
When he finally broke the silence, it startled me. “Why were you screaming this morning?”
My scream? That’s what he chose to discuss? Not, what is all this talk of an attack?
Or, when will you leave?
Or, please don’t go.
“It was a bad dream. That’s all.”
“But your scream sounded real. Not like, well, not like something from a dream.”
“I’ve no idea how you heard it, all the way from your house.” I glanced over my shoulder across the distance to Ravencross Manor, trying to sound casual.
“Yes, that is peculiar. At times, sound carries oddly along the cliffs.”
“I suppose.” Why didn’t he ask about my leaving?
“What did you dream about that upset you so badly?”
“It isn’t important.”
“Important enough to send me tearing over here like a complete fool.”
“I apologize, my lord. You should’ve stayed in your bed. I shall endeavor to scream more quietly in the future.”
“Are you going to tell me or not?”
“Not.”
“And if I insist?”
“I’m told I can be rather obstinate.”
“I can attest to that. But I would like to know what upset you. You are not the screaming sort.”
“If you must know, it was Lady Daneska.”
He stopped walking, suddenly quiet.
I turned and waited for him to catch up. “I dreamt she was here, at Stranje House, with her band of assassins, and that she had captured Georgie.”
“Then do you mean to say it was she who was behind the attack yesterday?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer him without revealing too much. “Who else could it have been?”
“This is a very odd girls’ school.” He rubbed at the stubble on his jaw. At length he glanced at me, and I saw in his eyes that he was leaping to all sorts of dangerous conclusions.
“It was just a bad dream.” I lengthened my stride.
He matched mine. “And because of this dream of yours, you and Miss Stranje think Lady Daneska is actually coming here again? Is that the attack she mentioned? Surely not.”
I didn’t want to discuss this now. Not when I faced having to leave Stranje House and abandoning Georgie and him to deal with Daneska’s murderous intentions. I came to an irritated halt and balled my fists at my sides. Why didn’t he have the decency to ask about me leaving? He could at least act as if it troubled him. But no, he must bring up Daneska and the dreams.
I didn’t know what to say, or how to say it. After numerous false starts, I blurted, “I can’t leave. Not now. Not when you … when they…” I pointed back at Stranje House, at Georgie and the others. “You’re all in danger.”
“Do you want to leave?” Gabriel gently took hold of my elbow, squinting at me, trying to decipher my muddled speech. “If it weren’t for all this other trouble, Tess, would you want go home to your aunt?”
“Don’t make me answer that.” I folded my arms and huddled over them. “What difference does it make? I’ve no choice in the matter.”
He let go and I wished he hadn’t. “It makes a difference to me.”
“There are far more important things to consider at the moment, my lord, than whether or not I want to go back to Tidenham. Georgie is not the only one in danger. You are, as well.” It was all I could do to keep from shouting. “I tried to tell you last night. Daneska sent those men to abduct Georgie, but she offered to pay them extra if they killed you.”
He nodded and strolled ahead as if I’d said nothing of importance.
I hurried up beside him. “And after that dream, I am convinced you are in far more danger than I thought.” For reasons I couldn’t tell him. Even though I itched to know why his brother hated him so much. Surely Lucien hadn’t tried to kill him that day in Möckern simply because they were on opposite sides of the war. “This was no idle whim on Lady Daneska’s part.” At least I didn’t think it was; with Daneska, one could never be too sure. “I don’t see how I can leave in the middle of—”
“Hold!” Gabriel stopped in his tracks, his eyes widened and his nostrils flared. “Am I to understand that you actually think you must stay here to protect me?” His eyes slowly narrowed until the dark slits resembled glinting daggers.
I swallowed, suddenly very sure I should not answer that question. I slid my foot back, preparing to skate away.
“Tess?”
A low warning rumble from deep in his chest made gooseflesh rise on my arms, but I stood my ground and didn’t bolt.
With a disgusted growl, he said, “I can take care of myself.”
It was the way he said it that made me mad, as if I was a foolish girl to have even thought such things. “Oh, yes. How silly of me. Of course, I should’ve known you are used to dealing with murderous henchmen. It’s an everyday thing for you, I suppose?”
“I should think I’ve a great deal more experience with it than you.”
There he was sadly and quite utterly mistaken. But I couldn’t correct him, not without revealing Miss Stranje’s school for what it really was. So I scoffed wordlessly.
He exhaled in a frustrated burst, filling his chest with stern bravado. His face became an unyielding mask, and it brought to mind the paintings of his father I’d seen hanging on his staircase wall, grim and cold. “You’re impossible. Besides, all of this is conjecture. You can’t know Lady Daneska is going to return here for certain.”
I said nothing.
“You dreamt it. Dreams can be false.”
I sighed. “Not mine.”
“You took a blow to the head. A bad one. More than likely, this is nothing more than wild imaginings brought on by your injury.”
Wild imaginings.
“I wish it were so, my lord.” I refused to call him Gabriel. We were no longer friends. My dreams were many things. Frustrating. Horrifying most of the time. Wretchedly inscrutable usually. But they were not wild imaginings. “You may think what you wish. But my dreams are not the ordinary variety.”
Ordinary. If only they were. What must that be like?
Perhaps it was the sadness in my voice that made him lean in as if he was trying to understand. “How is it they differ?”
I bowed my head, not wishing to watch his face as I unwound the ugly truth. “Like my mother, and her mother before her, I am the firstborn daughter. In our family, the eldest daughters are cursed with dreams of things yet to happen. It has been so for generations, clear back to when the druids inhabited the forests in my part of the country. We are inflicted with confusing visions, flashes of the future, inscrutable bits and pieces of terrible things, deaths and horrors. All of which I would give anything not to experience night after night.”
When I dared look up at him, I saw by his eyes my words had troubled him. “These things you see, do they…” He hesitated before answering. “Do they come to pass?”
“Often enough.” I sighed heavily. “Eventually, many of the fragments, these little bits and pieces of the future, prove true.”
Doubt lingered on him, plaguing me.
I could have told him about seeing the fight between him and his brother. But I couldn’t do that without bringing up things I would have to hide. So I flung down my last card. “That’s the reason we went to London. I’d dreamt about what would happen if we didn’t take Georgie’s new ink to Lord Wyatt. He would die. You helped us because you believed me. And you saw what happened there.”
“You told me only that Lord Wyatt’s life was in danger. That’s why we went. I didn’t know we were going because of a dream.”
“If I’d told you, would you have taken us?”
All of Gabriel’s beautiful golden color drained away. He turned ashen white.
“You’ve done too much, my lord. You must sit.” I checked for telltale bleeding coming through his bandages, but there were no fresh stains. Even so, I tugged him to a large overturned lo
g.
“Do you mean you actually saw Lord Wyatt die in a dream?”
“No, my lord, that’s not how it works. I lived it. It was as if I died with him.” I could’ve told him that, once upon a time, I’d nearly died with him, too. But I didn’t.
“Good Lord.” He rested his head in his hands. A few moments later, he looked up to the cloudless sky and then back to me. “If what you say is true, if Lady Daneska is coming here bent on murder and kidnapping, then you must go home to your aunt. You’ll be safer there.”
He would send me away? Away from him? Away from my friends? I shoved my fists against my hips. “I’m touched, my lord, that you are so eager to be rid of me.”
He snared my arm and jerked me onto the log beside him. “Rid of you? Are you daft?” He held me close, and I watched his pupils widen into dark chasms. “You told me once you could see how I felt about you. Have you suddenly gone blind?”
No, his hunger was still plain to see. But there was something else, something bricking up in his heart.
I decided to try chiseling it free with the sharp edge of my tongue. “As I recall, for my honesty on that occasion, you called me a witch.”
“I did.” His voice dropped to a low whisper. “Because you were right.”
My lungs filled in a jubilant rush.
His grip on me softened. He stared at his fingers wrapped around my arm and loosened them so that his hand barely grazed my skin. “Truth is, to keep you here, I’d drop to my knees this instant and beg for your hand. That is, if I could stomach being that cruel to you. I want you, Tess, but you deserve a better man than me. A man with some semblance of a heart left. A man who would coddle you and treat you as you deserve. Not someone as worthless, and lame, and scarred—”
“Stop! Stop saying such things about yourself. You are worth ten of any other man I know.”
He let go of me and the absence of his hand made me feel unnerved, as if an important article of clothing had been stripped away and I sat there half naked. But I could hardly grab his hand and slap it back on my arm. So I settled on words. “Do you think so little of me? Can you honestly believe I have my sights set on a man who would coddle me? What do I care about fine jewels, or carriages, or trips to the theater? Look at me. Am I a china doll to be petted and cosseted?”
Exile for Dreamers Page 12
