Exile for Dreamers

by Kathleen Baldwin

  “So I heard.” He sent another stone soaring out over the water. “Why wouldn’t you see me yesterday?”

  “I was working,” I said defensively. “Trying to figure out where Daneska had set up her lair. Trying to keep you safe.”

  He turned to me, gripping the last of his stones in his fist. “When are you going to stop this absurd quest to protect me?”

  “When I’m convinced you’re out of danger.”

  “It’s a dangerous world. None of us are ever safe.” He threw the last stone, sent it sailing so far out that neither of us would be able to see it fall into the sea. “It’s foolishness, Tess. Tilting at windmills. As far as I’m concerned, there are worse things than death.”

  “Not to me.”

  “Anyway, they caught Lady Daneska, so you wasted your time.” He stepped in front of me, bringing me to a halt. “Time you might better have spent with me.”

  A decision I’d regretted, but I had my reasons. Perfectly sound reasons. “I told you—”

  “I know what you said. You can’t marry me because there’s only death ahead of you.” He leaned over me, frowning. “That makes every minute we have even more valuable, wouldn’t you say?”

  Even though his nearness warmed me to my toes, I backed up. Afraid I’d selfishly forget how loving me would destroy him. “You don’t understand.”

  “No, I don’t.” He pressed forward. “Enlighten me.”

  The ocean lapped in and out, crashing against my frantic thoughts. I didn’t want to tell him about the madness that awaited me. I couldn’t bear to think of him pitying me. The thought of him viewing me as a broken creature to be locked in an attic sickened me. But he deserved at least some of the truth.

  “My mother died.” It sounded vague and flat, but it felt raw and naked.

  I gathered the fabric of my neckline, clutching it, looking up at him, uncertain. His brown eyes held a tenderness that warmed me like morning cocoa. His hair hung loose by his cheek. So near. Mere inches from my hand. I could almost reach up and—

  “Tell me about her,” he said.

  My lips parted in surprise. No one had ever asked that of me. People had asked how she died, and about her dreams. Sad details. No one had ever asked me about her.

  A thousand scattered memories of her rushed to mind—good, happy, wondrous moments. My mother was more than her madness. Salt stung my eyes. Yes, that was it, not tears, it was the salt air. I blinked the stinging away.

  “She … she was kind and gentle. Loving. Not like me. I’m more like my father. Mama was small and delicate. She reminded me of a wood sprite.” I caught my lip and looked away, at the grass blowing along the cliffs, embarrassed at having exposed such a childish thought.

  “Mama loved the forest … and animals. Especially animals. I remember her teaching me to recognize the high-pitched cry of a baby hedgehog and showing me where the foxes hid their kits. She understood the language of trees and grasses. Songs, she called them. All creatures, even the insects and butterflies, sang songs. She taught me to recognize the songs of the woods, and so I did. The tune the wind plays through the leaves when a storm is coming. The ripple of the brook drumming on stones, and how it roars just before a flash flood.”

  I felt a flush of excitement as I told him these things, things I’d kept buried for years.

  “She used to tell me how the vales and forests were our true home.” I stopped talking. My chest began to squeeze too hard. I swallowed and bit down on my lip.

  I miss her.

  A tendril of hair blew across my eyes, and he tucked it behind my ear. “What about your father?”

  I fought the urge to lean my cheek into his hand. “They’d known each other since they were children. When he died, I thought her heart would remain broken forever. Maybe it did. Her dreams got worse after that. Except it’s hard to know, Napoleon’s conquests grew worse then, too. During the Peninsular War, she would wake up sweating and gasping for air.”

  I had to tell him the rest of it then, the ugly part. “The dreams drove her mad. She ran crying into the woods and fell to her death in a ravine.”

  A blast of sea spray sent the two of us dashing away from the edge of the cliffs.

  “You may as well know the whole thing. Dreams killed my grandmother, too. They terrified her so much that one night her heart stopped. My grandfather grieved all the rest of his days. Then when my mother…” I pressed my face into my hands. “Gabriel, this curse … I refuse to burden you with it. I won’t.”

  He gently pulled my hands down and forced me to look at him. “You are like your mother. You have her passion for nature and living things.” He ran his fingers down the side of my face. “Tess, there’s a warmth about you. It’s as if you radiate love. It’s almost unexplainable. Whenever I’m with you, my pain lessens.”

  “In your shoulder?”

  He shook his head. “Not just there.” He laid a fist over his heart. “Don’t you see, your curse is loving too much. You try to hide it. You cloak it beneath a flimsy veil of anger. But the truth is you care so deeply it puts the rest of us to shame.”

  I pulled from the comfort of his hand and looked away, feeling even more naked than before. My thoughts fluttered in a hundred confusing directions.

  He caught my shoulder, not allowing me to escape. “I’ve seen it time and time again. Like the day you risked stealing my horse to help Georgie. And in London, the way you fought Daneska’s men to protect her. You would’ve willingly died to save her. I saw it then, and even that time you dared me—the day we kissed. Do you remember?”

  I would remember that day until my last breath.

  “I knew what you were doing. Some people might’ve thought you were brazen. I knew better. You were so brave, the way you tried to break through to me. I saw even then, how deeply you cared. Although why you chose to care about me, I cannot fathom.” He let go of my hand. “There are far worse curses, Tess. We all live under one kind or another.”

  He raked a hand through his hair and turned to stare at the churning sea. “My father … Dear God, if you’d known him, you’d understand. Just being his son was a curse. Your mother cared too much. Whereas my father beat us for being too soft. Nothing we did was ever good enough. Sometimes he thrashed us just to ensure we would harden up.”

  He glanced back at me, shame distorting his features. “We were to be lords, you see. Rulers. And rulers must be feared if they’re to maintain order. They must be relentless in administering justice. Poachers must be hanged. Rents must be paid on time, regardless of the harvest. Never let the tenants think you’re soft, or they’ll take advantage.”

  I saw then, in his haunted eyes, the lost forlorn boy.

  “My brother, Lucien, suffered even more than I. He was the heir. Father never let him forget it. He insisted Lucien must be forged of iron if he intended to take his place as Lord of Ravencross. God, how I hated that title. It stood for cruelty.”

  I wished desperately I could take his agony away. But how could I save him from these things that had already happened? He was Gabriel, my beautiful, scarred Gabriel, in spite of or maybe because of all those wretched things that had happened to him.

  He pointed at Ravencross Manor. “Those men…” He bowed his head. “Tess, do you know why those men have come to stand guard?”

  I shook my head, waiting for him to tell me the answer.

  “It’s not because of the coin I offered to pay. No, my tenants heard rumors that I was in danger and they are sending their old men and young boys, anyone they can spare from the fields, to protect me. I’ve had to send dozens of them away with my thanks and a loaf of bread for their trouble. But do you know why they come? It’s because I am not my father. They are terrified that whoever inherits the estate after me will be as unyielding as my brother was, or my father, and his father was before him.”

  Gabriel’s shoulders sagged, his head bowed in shame. “All my life I tried to please him. A tyrant.” He looked up then, rage sparking l
ike flint in his brown eyes. “My brother and I learned to bear his whippings without flinching, and yet Father still thought I was too weak. ‘It’s not good enough to have muscle on the outside,’ he would say. ‘One must have steel on the inside.’ The army was his idea. He thought battle would toughen me up, bought a commission for me and sent me packing.” A sad, caustic laugh jarred Gabriel’s shoulders. “Battle was a reprieve as far as I was concerned. Until…”

  The familiar remorse twisted his features, and I knew he was thinking of that day with his brother.

  I felt sorry for Lucien, too, knowing that the monster he’d become was not entirely of his own making. I ached to tell Gabriel the truth, knowing it might ease some of his pain, but knowing also it would generate new anguish.

  There must be right words somewhere in the world to comfort him, but I couldn’t find them. Even the old language deserted me. Empty, I had nothing to give but myself. So I wrapped my arms around him and pressed my cheek against his chest.

  His heart pounded and crashed as violently as the surf. When he finally surrendered and rested his arms around me, I felt him ease. Warmth washed through me. And peace.

  He held me and I felt his lips kiss my hair. He asked, “Do you understand now?”

  I nodded. Wishing this small miraculous moment of peace would last longer. I had so few. But it couldn’t. It mustn’t. “I understand,” I whispered, sadly letting go. “Even so, I could never let you suffer through my madness. You don’t know what it’s like.”

  He held me away from him, gripping my shoulders, and frowned. “You would rather make me suffer without you?”

  Peace evaporated like the ocean spray and left me dry, lonely, and hurting.

  I lowered my eyes, unable to answer his question, and so I dodged it with a query of my own. “About those extra men your farmers wanted to send…”

  I laid out our plan to trick Lady Daneska, and he agreed to begin drilling a small troop on the grounds at Ravencross. We stopped and stared out at the sea. It was fair and calm today, no ominous swells rising from her balmy blue depths. The breeze was light and gently blew through our hair. I could’ve stood there relishing that moment for a great long while except for a bee that buzzed annoyingly close to my head.

  Bees and wasps have never bothered me in the past. I’ve never been stung. Indeed, they’ve been known to crawl on my hand and leave me as unscathed as a rose petal. That’s why it surprised me to have one flit so menacingly close. A large bee, too. Larger than most. Light glinted off its wings, and the bee shimmered gold.

  I stared openmouthed. It was actually made of gold. An entirely golden bee, both wings and body. A moment later another shining bee appeared. Then there was not two bees, but five, then ten, and all of them angrily darting to and fro about my head. I waved my arms, trying to shoo them away.

  Gabriel frowned. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “The bees,” I said, swatting to defend myself as one of them buzzed toward my mouth.

  Ten bees turned into twenty and then a swarm. I ran, calling to Gabriel that we must run for shelter. I worried when I heard no answer and didn’t see him running alongside me. Through the swarm of golden bees encircling me, I saw Gabriel still back on the cliffs.

  He was kneeling over me holding my unconscious body. Calling my name. Trying to rouse me.

  “I hate these dreams,” I said and ceased running. Why should I try to escape the inescapable?

  I allowed the golden bees to batter and sting me. They swarmed over me, crawling into my nose and up my skirts, a great stinging, suffocating blanket.

  Twenty-two

  DAYDREAMS

  I awoke to find Gabriel holding me, his fingers stroking my cheek. Relief washed the distress from his features. He hugged me close and sighed. “You’re back.”

  Not dead?

  At least, not dead yet. I grimaced. My skin burned from where the golden bees had stung me over and over again. I rubbed my arm but did not feel the welts I’d expected. I inhaled fresh air and let go of the scorching heat that had filled my lungs. As I did, the searing pain began to fade.

  Renewed worry furrowed his brow. “What’s wrong?” he begged. “Tell me.”

  This was the very thing I meant to spare him. Waking dreams. Mad visions. I couldn’t talk about it, not yet. Wisps of sunlight shone like a halo around his dark curls.

  I looked away, unable to bear his anxious expression, and saw Miss Stranje and Captain Grey running toward us. She must’ve been using her spyglass again.

  Breathless, they reached us and Gabriel answered their questioning gazes. “I don’t know what’s wrong. We were talking and all of a sudden she collapsed. I think she’s in pain.”

  Miss Stranje knelt beside me and brushed my hair away from my forehead. “What was it, Tess? What did you see?”

  “Nothing. Pure lunacy. Bees. Not even real bees. They were made of gold. A swarm of them attacking me for no reason.”

  What would she make of that?

  Gabriel tightened his grip on me. “She’s not well.”

  Captain Grey placed his hand on Miss Stranje’s arm. Exchanging grim glances, they came to some sort of silent conclusion.

  Captain Grey took charge. “We will discuss this later, Miss Aubreyson. For now, I think it would be best to take you back to the house so you can rest. Do you think you can walk?”

  “I’ll carry her.” Gabriel started to lift me.

  “And rip your stitches? Thank you very much, but I think not.” I felt stronger with every passing minute. “I can manage on my own.” I struggled to sit up, but Gabriel glowered, stubbornly holding me in place with his good arm.

  “Oh, for pity’s sake. I’m much better. Truly.” I smiled to reassure him. He didn’t believe me. “Kindly stop frowning at me and help me up. Please?”

  Grumbling, he released his viselike hold on me. He and Captain Grey helped me to my feet, and with my arms draped over their shoulders, as if I were a cripple instead of a madwoman, we made our way back to Stranje House. They set me down on the divan in the blue parlor.

  Gabriel immediately began to pace, his limp more pronounced than normal. “Tell me what happened out there. One minute you were swatting at something in the air, and the next…” He shook his head. “You fainted.”

  Miss Stranje sat on the chair nearest me. “We’re all still learning how her dreams take hold.”

  “That’s what that was?” Gabriel stopped and raked his fingers into his hair. “A dream?”

  “I warned you.” I closed my eyes, hiding, feeling utterly exposed and humiliated. “You didn’t know what the madness was like. Now that you’ve had a taste of it, perhaps you will finally understand why I can’t—” I couldn’t say the rest of it, not with Miss Stranje and the captain leaning on every word. “Why we don’t have a future.”

  “I’ve already explained how I feel,” Gabriel blurted. “Why won’t you listen to me?”

  “Because I have lived through it with my mother and my grandmother. You haven’t.”

  “I’ll not have you thinking that way, Tess.” Miss Stranje sounded irritated. “These are dreams. Not madness.”

  “It’s a painfully small leap from one to the other.” I fiddled with a loose thread on the fabric of the divan.

  And then a short hop to death.

  “No.” Miss Stranje leaned in, wearing her sternest teacher face. “Dreams and visions are merely that, dreams and visions. Madness lies only in how one reacts to them.”

  I massaged my forehead, which throbbed as if there were still bees banging around inside it. “I don’t expect you to understand. How could you?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Gabriel stopped pacing and crossed his arms. “Madness. Dreams. Visions. Whatever they are, whether they are a gift or a curse, I don’t care. They make no difference to me.” So these were his words of love? A cloaked pledge of his undying affection, delivered with all the gentleness and affection of a great scowling brown bear.


  “Well, it should matter,” I snapped. “Attacked by golden bees. That’s madness pure and simple.”

  Captain Grey clapped Gabriel on the shoulder. He meant it as a comforting man-to-man-I-know-how-difficult-women-can-be gesture, except it startled Gabriel. Surprise whipped across his features. I wondered if such claps on the shoulder had meant something entirely different when his father had delivered them.

  The captain noticed it, too, and removed his hand. He went to stand next to Miss Stranje’s chair and addressed me in soldier-like tones. “Perhaps not, Miss Aubreyson. Napoleon’s royal crest bears a liberal application of golden bees. Even the flag he commissioned during his exile on Elba displayed golden bees across every field. They are considered a symbol of resurrection and immortality. So you can see why they are of particular significance to him. Your dream could very well be a warning of things to come.”

  I glanced with uncertainty at Gabriel. “Very well. But what were they doing attacking me?”

  “That I’m afraid is a bit of a mystery. But I think it is safe to say that your dream is linked to Napoleon somehow.”

  I turned my head and studied the silk painting hanging on the far wall, a pair of long-legged storks standing beside a placid pond. Right now, I felt anything but placid. I risked a sideways glance at Miss Stranje.

  She scrutinized me with pursed lips. “There’s something more. What aren’t you telling us?”

  “Something Daneska said today. It’s all flummery, of course.”

  “And yet it troubles you.”

  I took a deep breath and told them everything she’d said. Almost. “Apparently Napoleon is quite superstitious about dreams. Daneska told him about mine. The emperor showed her his Oraculum, a prized tome he calls his Book of Fate, which he uses to interpret dreams and guide his decisions. Daneska said it appeared to be very scientific with numbers, and charts, and interpretations of dream symbols…”

  “And?” she pressed.

  Gabriel paced while he listened, his limp worsening with each turn around the divan.

  I sank back as far as I could against the cushions, wondering if it would be better to keep it to myself. Finally, I conceded to her searing scrutinization. “If you must know, Napoleon told her to invite me to his palace to, um, discuss dreams with him.”