Desert Song (DeWinter's Song 3)

by Constance O'Banyon

  Lady Samantha's mouth formed a pout. "Tell Lord Michael's fortune, and let's hope you find a more favorable prediction for him."

  Madame Zambana looked up into scornful green eyes. She stared at Lord Michael so long that the others at the table began shifting in their chairs, but Lord Michael merely stared back at her unflinchingly.

  "You are a handsome one," Madame Zambana said with a toothless grin. "Many women of high and low birth have vied for your notice. But, my handsome young man, all their attentions have become commonplace to you."

  "Tell us something we don't know," Lord Grussom said tauntingly. "Lord Michael would have all the women and leave us with none."

  The Gypsy continued as if she had not heard the interruption. "You will soon meet a woman that will not be so easily won, and you will suffer much before you are tamed, my comely one. Take particular notice of any woman you meet with hair like flame."

  Lord Michael merely raised a dark brow.

  The Gypsy continued. "You will take a long sea journey within a fortnight."

  Lord Michael yawned behind his hand. "I can assure you I have no intention of leaving England until spring. My mother has suggested that I spend the winter at Ravenworth." He glanced at Lady Samantha. "As you know, my mother's suggestions are more like commands."

  The old woman shook her head. "Nonetheless, you will embark on a long sea voyage. Beware, for you shall know betrayal as well as great friendship. Trust not a one-eyed man, and avoid a man of high rank who is of Turkish descent."

  Lord Michael grinned, thinking this woman was quite entertaining after all. "A journey at this time might be quite amusing. It would certainly take me away from the doldrums of spending the winter months in the country."

  The Gypsy waved her hand over the crystal ball and stared long into the smoky depths. Her dark eyes suddenly turned colorless like a swirling mist. "The black feather of disaster has fallen at your feet, young lord. Much trouble for you—much trouble. Someone close to you is in grave danger, perhaps dead."

  There was a gasp from one of the ladies and a murmuring of voices. Suddenly the fun had gone out of the evening.

  Madame Zambana's tone became urgent, and she caught Michael's hand. "You will not know winter this year, for you will travel to a land of warmth and sand. It would be best if you heed my words, young lord, for there is someone who needs you." Her eyes became piercing, and she looked deeply into Lord Michael's eyes. "You should go home."

  Michael pried her hand from his and looked into eyes that were glowing with sincerity. He reminded himself that the Gypsy was acting a part and had put on a good performance. Why then did he feel this uneasiness in the pit of his stomach? Why had her predictions struck fear in his heart?

  Without another word, he rose to his feet, tossing a few coins to the old woman. "You are most entertaining, madame. But you missed your calling—you should have been on the stage."

  The Gypsy gathered up the coins and held them in her hand. "You do not believe what I have told you, but you will soon know that I have spoken the truth. Remember my words."

  He laughed and bowed stiffly. "I'll consider your warning."

  "That is all I ask."

  Lord Michael turned to the others. "I take leave of you." To Lady Samantha, he added: "A most enlightening evening."

  "Must you go?" she asked with disappointment etched on her face.

  "Yes, I must. I'm to meet Lord Walters at my club. Fortune has been kind to me of late. I promised I'd give him a chance to win back his money."

  Lady Samantha accompanied him to the door and waited for the butler to bring his hat. "You don't believe that old woman, do you?"

  "No," Lord Michael said adamantly, "and you shouldn't put any trust in her words either."

  "Will I see you at Lady Milan's party tomorrow night?"

  He became impatient to leave. "Of course."

  She watched the butler close the door behind Lord Michael, feeling empty inside. If only she could tell him how much she loved him. But she knew if she ever declared her love, Michael would turn away from her as he had from many others. No, she had to be cleverer than those women who threw themselves at his head. She would be patient and wait for him to come to her.

  When Michael was seated in his coach, the Gypsy's warning rang in his head. No, he would not believe her— she was just an old woman who preyed on peoples' hopes and fears for profit.

  He tapped his gold-tipped cane on the top of the carriage and called to his driver. "To my club."

  As the horses clopped along the deserted street, he thought of Lady Samantha. He supposed he would one day ask her to marry him. Yes, they would deal quite well together, he thought with no particular exhilaration. He had to marry someone, and she was more acceptable than most of the others. At least she didn't bore him.

  Michael's thoughts turned to his family. Perhaps it wouldn't be so tedious spending the holidays in the country. By Christmas his father should have returned from Egypt and they would hunt together. There was no one he admired more than his father, and no one he loved as much as his mother. His sister, Arrian, had married a Scottish chieftain. Since Arrian was expecting her second child, she wouldn't be coming to Ravenworth this winter. But no matter—perhaps he and his father could go to Scotland for a bit of hunting.

  He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. His mother and father had a marriage everyone envied. Arrian and Warrick were deeply committed to one another. What was wrong with him? he wondered. Was there a woman who would make his eyes soften as his father's did when he looked at his mother? Perhaps he was incapable of love. He certainly didn't like clinging females. He shuddered at the thought of spending his life with a woman who would demand his entire attention.

  Again he thought of Lady Samantha. She never made demands on him. Perhaps next spring he would ask her to become his wife.

  The carriage stopped at his club, and he ascended the steps, hoping to find amusement in gaming with his contemporaries. Still, in the back of his mind the old Gypsy's warning haunted him.

  After spending the better part of the night at his club playing cards, Lord Michael climbed into his coach and directed the driver to take him home.

  A warm sun bathed the wet cobblestone streets with a soft golden glow as his crested carriage turned the corner and stopped before a three-story town house. Four prancing grays stomped their hooves, impatiently tossing their shimmering manes, while the coachman kept a steadying grip on the reins.

  The street vendors were already about, selling their wares. "Lavender, buy my sweet-smelling lavender." A woman sang out her melodic chant as she moved through the more fashionable part of London, hoping to sell her flowers. "Lavender for your lady—lavender."

  An outrider dressed in green livery jumped from his high perch and hurriedly lowered the steps and opened the coach door, speaking respectfully to Lord Michael. "Do you require anything further, m'lord?"

  "No. Go to bed, Simmons."

  Lord Michael yawned sleepily as he climbed the steps. Another long, dull evening, he thought, longing for his bed.

  The door of his town house was thrown open, and his valet, William, rushed toward him, his usual calm manner forgotten in his anxiety. "Her Grace is inside, m'lord. She's been here since midnight. She seems most distraught. Your aunt, Lady Mary, is with her."

  "Mother and Aunt Mary here at this hour?"

  "Yes, m'lord, and they've been waiting all night for your return. I sent Horace to Lady Samantha's, thinking you'd still be there, but he was informed you'd already left."

  Michael's path was suddenly blocked by a woman selling lavender. Absently, he thrust a shilling at her and unconsciously took the flowers she pushed in his hands.

  "Thank ya', sir. Thank ya' kindly," she said, biting the coin to make certain it was genuine, and smiling when she was satisfied with its value.

  Lord Michael pushed past the woman and hurried up the steps. His mother would never arrive in the middle of the night unless somethin
g was amiss. His first thought was that something was wrong with his sister, Arrian. Perhaps the birth of her child had not gone well.

  He rushed inside, calling his mother.

  Chapter 2

  Her Grace, the duchess of Ravenworth, had heard her son's carriage arrive and was waiting for him in the doorway of the drawing room.

  Michael went to her, searching her face and seeing the distress reflected in her eyes. He took her hand, finding it cold to the touch.

  "Mother, what's wrong?"

  She shook her head, unable to answer, and he drew her into his arms, causing the clump of lavender to fall to the floor to be trampled beneath his boots. Trepidation surrounded his heart as he felt her tremble. His mother was a woman of great courage, and he knew something terrible had happened.

  "It's Arrian, isn't it?" he asked, fearing to hear the worst.

  Kassidy lingered in her son's arms, drawing on his strength and hoping to find the courage she needed to tell him what had occurred. At last she pulled away, and green eyes stared into green eyes. "Your sister gave birth to a daughter and they are both well."

  Her eyes were shining with tears, and Michael couldn't remember a time when he had seen her cry.

  His great-aunt, Mary, came to him, and he saw sorrow in her eyes. "I'm afraid it's your father, Michael. Your mother has received grim news concerning him."

  Kassidy moved out of her son's arms, but kept a tight grip on his hand. She hesitated to speak, as if she couldn't form the words. "Michael, I'm so . . . frightened. Your father has disappeared. I'm told he was abducted, but they don't know by whom. The prime minister fears for his life. Her Majesty has also expressed her concern for your father's safety."

  "I advised Raile not to go to that barbaric country," Lady Mary stated emphatically. "I knew nothing but trouble would come from such a dangerous mission."

  Michael guided his mother gently across the room and seated her on a chair. Dropping on his knees before her, he took her small hands in his. "Tell me everything," he urged.

  Kassidy took a deep breath. "As you know, your father reluctantly agreed to this trip to Egypt. You know he doesn't like to go anywhere without me."

  Michael tried to be patient and not give in to the fear that gnawed at his insides. "Yes, I know. I received a letter from him just after he arrived in Egypt, and then another letter a fortnight ago. I've heard nothing since."

  Kassidy didn't want to cry, but now that she was with her son, she could no longer be brave, and tears spilled down her face. "He'd written me a note that was found in his room. He said he was going into the desert to meet with a man who promised to help him find the persons who were arming the bedouin tribes. He was hopeful that he would be home before . . . Christmas." Her voice broke.

  Michael glanced from his mother to his great-aunt. "When Father left, it was my understanding that he was only going to Cairo to confer with the viceroy about whoever it was that is arming and inciting the border tribes. He should have been in no danger."

  "It sounded so simple when he was trying to convince me it was his duty to go." Kassidy rose to her feet and turned to the window. "I don't know why your father went into the desert alone, or who he went to meet." She glanced up at the ceiling as tears continued to fall. "Why, Raile, why?" she cried.

  Lady Mary looked at Kassidy with growing concern. Kassidy and Raile had been inseparable. Lady Mary grieved for her niece.

  Michael went to his mother, hiding his own fears from her. "What's being done to locate father?"

  Kassidy made a hopeless gesture. "Her Majesty has assured me that they are doing everything they can. She promised me that if your father is alive, he will be found."

  "Why should anyone think my father is... dead?"

  Kassidy swallowed hard. "A messenger delivered to the British consul in Cairo a bloodstained shirt, claiming it was your father's. It had his initials on the pocket. They sent it to me to identify. There's no doubt it's your father's shirt."

  Michael swallowed a painful lump. "You know Father would never do anything foolish. If he went into the desert, he was well prepared for anything that might happen. Whoever abducted him must know his importance and would see the folly of harming him. Has there been a demand for money?"

  "No." There was a gleam of hope in his mother's eyes. "Do you think that's why he was taken? We'll pay anything to get him back."

  Michael pressed a kiss on her cheek. "I believe it's a possibility that we may yet receive a ransom demand. What else can you tell me?" he asked gently.

  "Nothing, except. . ." Again tears gathered in her eyes. "Dear, faithful Oliver was killed by those monsters. His body was . . . run through with a spear. He . . . they . . . buried what remained of him in the desert."

  Rage was building inside Michael, but he had to control his anger, for his mother's sake. Oliver had been more like a member of the family than a servant. "Why would anyone want to harm him?"

  His mother dabbed at her eyes. "I imagine that dear little man tried to protect your father. He was like that, you know."

  "The fact that they haven't found . . . Father's body is encouraging." Michael walked to the window and looked unseeingly out at the lavender woman moving down the street. "I'll not rest until I find out who has done this. God help them when I do. He went to Egypt to aid those people." Closing his eyes, he tried to empty his heart of anguish before he turned back to his mother. "Has no one claimed responsibility for Father's disappearance?"

  Lady Mary supplied more information since his mother was having difficulty controlling her grief. "Your father wrote me that most of the bedouin tribes don't feel they owe their allegiance to any nation, and that they recognize no borders. His one concern was that if they were being armed they might unite into one army and there would be another bloody civil war in Egypt. I suppose whoever is responsible must have seen your father as a threat."

  "Yes, but who?" Kassidy asked.

  "Someone must know the identity of the man Father went into the desert to meet. Is there no one in authority in Cairo?" Michael demanded.

  Kassidy shook her head. "It doesn't seem so. There is only the British consul. He has little authority and must answer to Egypt's viceroy. In the last letter I received from your father, he was not impressed with the man."

  Anger snapped in Michael's eyes. "Someone has to know something. I'm going to Egypt myself, and I'll find out what happened."

  "That's what I want you to do, Michael," Kassidy said hopefully. "If your father is alive, bring him home." Her lower lip trembled. "If he's . . . dead, bring me his body. I will not rest until I have my husband."

  Michael pulled her into his arms, feeling her tears soak through his shirt. "I'll find him, Mother, and I'll bring him home to you, I promise."

  She seemed to collapse against him. He lifted her into his arms and moved out of the room and toward the stairs. "You are going to bed. When did you last sleep?"

  "She has slept but little since she received the news." Lady Mary said, moving up the stairs beside them.

  Michael climbed the stairs with his light burden, carrying her as tenderly as he would a baby. If only his sister, Arrian, were there, she would know how to comfort their mother. He was helpless against her tears and grief.

  He glanced down at his mother and watched her dark lashes close, and she seemed to relax, if only for the moment.

  Lady Mary rushed into the bedroom before him and turned down the coverlet. When he laid his mother on the bed, her eyes fluttered open.

  "I wouldn't ask you to go, Michael, if I didn't know you are probably the only person who can find your father. No one will search as diligently as you. You will not give up until you find him, will you?"

  "I will find him," he assured her.

  "Take care of yourself, Michael. I don't want to lose you, too. I couldn't go on if I lost you both."

  He kissed her cheek tenderly. "I'll be back, and I'll have Father with me. And take heart, Mother—if Father were dead, wouldn't
you know it in your heart?"

  She smiled slightly. "You know that about us?"

  "I have always known the two of you shared an unusual bond."

  "He is alive, Michael—I feel it in the depth of my heart. But knowing him as I do, I also know that his primary concern is about us and not his own safety. It would be just like him to do something foolish to anger his captors."

  "Have you sent word to Arrian?"

  "Yes, I felt your sister had a right to know. But I urged her not to come since she just gave birth."

  "That won't stop her," Michael said with assurance. "She and Warrick will come."

  "Yes," Kassidy agreed, "she will come."

  He pulled up a chair and sat beside her. "Sleep now, Mother, and let me do the worrying for both of us."

  "Yes," she said, closing her eyes wearily. "I can rest now."

  Michael stared at her for a long moment. She was still the most beautiful woman he knew. Her face was surprisingly unlined; her golden hair was laced with silver, but it only added to her beauty. He could feel her heartbreak, and he knew what she was suffering. He must not fail her or his father.

  After his mother had fallen asleep, Michael stood and motioned for his great-aunt to accompany him into the hallway.

  "Your mother should sleep all day now that she's seen you, Michael. There was nothing I could do to calm her until she reached you."

  "Will you remain with her until I return?"

  Lady Mary linked her arm through his, studying his careworn face. "Of course, dear boy, and as you pointed out, Arrian and Warrick will be here soon. You can go to Egypt with the assurance that we shall all take care of your mother."

  In that moment Lady Mary saw something in Michael that reminded her of his father. There was a hardness in his eyes and a determined set to his chin. Like Raile, Michael had never known fear and that troubled her. "Michael, don't do anything foolish. The fact that you were champion of your class with rapier and pistols won't help you in Egypt. Keep yourself out of danger."

  Michael kissed the cheek of the authoritative little woman he'd adored all his life. She was the matriarch of London society, outrageous and clever, but she was also capable of taking command when trouble threatened.