Written in the Stars
Sherrill Bodine and
Patricia Rosemoor
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Sherrill Bodine and Patricia Rosemoor. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
2614 South Timberline Road
Suite 109
Fort Collins, CO 80525
Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.
Edited by Keyren Gerlach
Cover design by Fiona Jayde
Ebook ISBN 978-1-62266-227-2
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition August 2013
The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Technicolor.
Thanks to our wonderful critique group—Laurie DeMarino, Cheryl Jefferson, Jude Mandell, and Rosemary Paulas for their endless support and encouragement.
Crescent Key, Florida-Present Day
Prologue
He walked the shore of Crescent Key by the light of a waning moon, his night-clever eyes scanning the foam-whipped sand for telltale reales.
The air thickened with the threat of rain and the briny scent that had been part of his life as far as memory served. He’d walked the beaches at night nearly as long. Always in search of a dream. In search of treasure that remained elusive. A legend that wouldn’t die.
This was it, his time. He sensed it. This expedition would pay out, give him everything his parents had wanted and had never found. They’d instilled desire for the hunt in him. This time, he would find sunken treasure that would make them all rich.
A breeze picked up—a soft wail that sent the flesh crawling along his neck and down his spine. A warning. But of what? He glanced around. Alone.
And the water that sluiced his bare feet remained deserted.
About to give up, he spotted a large craft bobbing out on the horizon. For a moment, he imagined it to be a ghost ship. But blink as he would, the apparition didn’t disappear. A single-masted yacht. Tourists? Or other treasure hunters? he wondered, noting a flicker from a cabin window, as if the moon had struck a shiny surface. As quickly as it caught him, the flash of bright was gone. Still, he felt watched as he started to turn away.
Silver glimmered through the sea foam that lashed the beach… He dived for the object before the ghostly hand of a shipwreck victim could pull the coin back to the greedy sea.
Success.
He hunkered down, heels dug deep in the wet sand, and examined his treasure. No coin, but something of far more value.
His pulse raced…his mouth dried… His breath caught deep within his chest as certainty filled him.
He turned his razor-sharp gaze back toward the horizon, as if he could part the waters that shrouded the mother lode of the Celestine, abandoned to the ocean’s floor four centuries earlier. Not yet—only that lone ship bobbing—but he felt time dissolve, discovery imminent.
For didn’t he hold the proof in hand?
Moonlight silvered the splash of stars tumbling between his fingers as he traced the edges and angles of the ring and imagined a curious warmth, imagined that it was somehow able to expose what he so desperately sought.
It slipped on his ring finger easily—a perfect fit.
Warmth generated from the ring around his finger and then ran up his arm. He flushed and his head went light, and for a moment, he was no longer on a sandy beach but in a forest glade, a clear pool at its center.
As quickly as the image had formed in his mind, it was gone.
…
Peering through her telescope out her porthole, Cordelia Ward watched the man rise, pocket something, and turn away. She intently concentrated on him, couldn’t tear her eyes from his silhouette until it blended with the shadows.
Then other things came into focus for her. The moon a waning crescent, surrounded by myriad stars. All were reflected in the ocean, so calm tonight. The heavens were special to her as they were to all sailors who relied on nature’s map. But there was something special about this sky. About this moon. These stars. This night.
The night before the hunt began.
Cordelia was already imagining the find that would make her career as a marine archeologist, validate her late father’s research, and give her grieving mother motivation to live life fully once more.
With barely a breath, Cordelia blinked, stared hard at the celestial pattern—unusual and yet so familiar to her—then moved to the other side of the cabin, where she fetched her treasure chest. She held it next to the porthole and gasped. The stars in the sky traced the exact pattern on the face of the box.
Her wrist began to tingle.
She rubbed the star-shaped birthmark there, as if that would stop the sensation, sank onto her bunk, emptied her treasures next to her, then slipped the ring from her right hand. Something about this night, she thought again, before matching the single raised crescent moon to the first of several slots.
She gave it half a clockwise twist.
The chest, forged of metal, was a clever piece of workmanship handed down through generations of women in her family, along with the legendary Posey ring that made half of a whole, the man’s half having been lost for as long as the rest of the sunken treasure. As far as she knew, no one had ever breached the casket’s secret. Not even her. And it wasn’t for a lack of trying.
She fitted the crescent to a second slot and turned it fully counterclockwise.
On the surface, the lidded box held family keepsakes. But it had always seemed deeper than the interior at first appeared, and she’d come to the conclusion that the bottom was false. Within the design of stars and moons decorating the treasure chest’s outer surface lay the path to its heart, she was certain.
A third slot. A full turn.
She’d recognized the ring as key years ago, yet every effort to find the right combination of twists and turns had thwarted her. She’d long ago given up. But now, at a significant crossroads in her life—hopefully she was at the brink of the find of a lifetime—Cordelia let sheer instinct guide her.
Slot number four. Another full turn.
What could be hidden within the chest? she wondered. A map, perhaps? A guide to the sunken treasure her parents had sought for so many years? If only her father had lived long enough to see his dream come true.
The fifth slot. A counter turn.
Her wrist tingled once more. Hand shaking, she matched the crescent to the sixth and final slot. Her mouth was dry, and she couldn’t seem to breathe. This was it, then. As she was about to turn the ring, the tingle turned to a fierce burn. Hesitating, she looked down at the angry red birthmark.
An omen…
Then she did it. Turned the ring halfway in the opposite direction.
A soft nick and the velvet-clad inside of the box popped open. Her breath caught as she investigated. No map here, but a bound book, its leather cover embossed with stars and moons. Inside, there were pages of highly stylized writing on age-fragile parchment. Cordelia scanned the top page and realized it was a woman’s personal journal written four centuries before.
&nb
sp; Not knowing why her heart thundered so, she began to read.
PART I: England
Dunham Castle, 1601
On this day I shall begin a journey inevitable from the moment I was born on Midsummer Eve, Witches’ Night. My nursemaid, Cybil, proclaimed that I am marked as a child of magic.
Yet I am not a witch, for the face of my beloved and what awaits me at journey’s end is shrouded from me by the veil of time. I know only that with him I shall scale peaks higher than my spirit could ever strive to reach alone, and because of him, I shall descend into valleys which will try my soul.
My old nursemaid warned me of danger should my choices not be wise as she coiled around my hips the celestial girdle spun of gold into mesh studded with rubies, pearls, emeralds, sapphires, and delicate chains of diamond stars hung by jeweled, golden crescents of the waxing moon. Hidden within its chains is a tiny dagger. It is said the old pagan gods forged this girdle to protect the Wharton women from all evil. I tremble at what may lie before me, but I dare not turn away from this destiny, for it is set firmly in my stars.
To have remained safe in the loving haven of Wharton Keep in my gentle father’s domain would have denied me my future and that of you who come after me. I can only record my journey here, so that you may know me and the path I take for you.
I hear the tower bell toll.
It is time.
Chapter One
The beat of her heart echoing the tolling bell, Lady Elizabeth York stood outside the thick, dark oak doors of the great hall of Dunham Castle.
The bell ceased, and she caught her breath, watching the heavy doors swing slowly open.
Knowing that within moments she would confront her destiny, fulfilling her duty as her father’s only child, she lifted her chin. The blood of good Queen Bess flowed in her veins. There was naught Elizabeth would not do for her lineage.
Looking forward, proud she would forge the alliance between two powerful families to make them both safer and stronger by marrying the duke’s heir, she walked beneath the barrel vaulting, past the tapestries and the carving which made the great hall famous throughout the land. She halted before the dais crowned with the Lennox coat of arms. Framed within the rich purple draping sat the duke and his duchess with one man standing at either side. Both men were broad-shouldered, their doublets braided in silver.
Sunlight slanted in through the high windows, bathing them all in a bright, shimmering light.
Blinded for an instant, Elizabeth blinked several times, before her eyes found and lingered on the man standing beside the duchess. He had the duke’s same wide, watchful, cornflower-blue eyes and mane of golden hair.
Her gaze melded with his, and she couldn’t look away from the light flickering through his eyes like sunshine playing upon the sea on a perfect day at Wharton Keep. The strong bones of his face knitted together in an arrangement which took away her breath. So deep was the rush of hot, strong longing that she felt tears burn behind her lids.
I need not have feared my old nurse’s warning. With a look, my heart is his.
Content and now eagerly awaiting her destiny, she knelt before the duke and his son.
A heartbeat later she felt a strong hand take hers.
With joy she looked up.
Shock turned her icy cold, the trembling rising up from deep inside her as her gaze met the dark, heavy-lidded eyes of the other man with the same golden hair as the duke.
He glanced away to stare at the star-shaped birthmark on her right wrist and smiled.
“Ah, Lady Elizabeth, you are as bewitching as foretold.” Urging her to rise, he turned them both to the duke. “We have chosen well, Father.”
The world spun around her, as if it had been hurled through time and space. Had those moments of looking into the stranger’s eyes and seeing all she had ever hoped to find in a man been a dream she was now cruelly waking from?
Conquering every feeling of confusion and aching disappointment, she firmly clasped the hand of her betrothed, Carlyle, Earl of Seymour, heir to the Duke of Lennox, and allowed him to lead her forward.
His mouth curling deep at the corners, the duke inclined his head. “You are welcome to Dunham Castle, Lady Elizabeth.”
His duchess, as fair as Elizabeth was dark and nearly as young, leapt to her feet. “I am Laurel, and I know we shall be great friends.”
Surprising Elizabeth with her kindness, Laurel engulfed her in a tight, warm embrace. “You are as beautiful as rumored, Elizabeth. Is she not, Will?”
Her laughter as light as the patches of sun on the cold stone floor, Laurel twirled back to urge forward the man behind her. The man Elizabeth had believed to be her destiny.
His slow smile mirrored the duke’s as did the indulgence in his eyes as he gazed at Laurel. “Yes, Lady Elizabeth’s beauty cannot be doubted. Much like her fatigue from her four-day journey to us.”
“How thoughtless I am! And, as always, how considerate you are, our brave Captain of the Guard, Will Grey.” Her brown eyes wide, Laurel clasped Elizabeth’s cool hand between her warm palms. “Take Elizabeth’s other hand, Will. We shall all be family.”
Will Grey is family, yet not the elder son who I must marry? This is wrong! I should not be promised to Carlyle but to Will! I know it!
As if he felt her confusion and fear, Will hesitated before clasping her fingers loosely within his.
The birthmark on her wrist tingled and burned. The power which lit up the heavens during a storm shot between them, blistering through her blood. She knew from the stark widening of his eyes and firm line of his long mouth that he had felt the shock, too. She bit her lip, stopping the words choking her throat. She knew it was her duty to stay silent in this time and place.
“Am I not family, dear Laurel?” Carlyle drawled, strolling toward them.
Laurel’s lips quivered. “Of course. Come join us, Carlyle.”
“We all do your bidding.” Carlyle bowed and Will stepped away, allowing the duke’s son to clasp her hand.
What had once been alive with warmth now felt strangely numb, and where before her blood had run hot, it now cooled, the chill seeping into her bones as it did when she was fearful.
“Now all is as it should be,” Carlyle proclaimed in a loud voice.
Agony stark on her pale face, Laurel nodded before a spasm of coughing doubled her over. Alarmed, knowing from what Cybil had taught her that such a cough could cause sickness unto death, Elizabeth pulled free from Carlyle. Honed instinct urged her to help Laurel back into her chair. Will Grey was there before her, and both of them took Laurel’s slight weight into their arms to ease her down upon her cushioned throne. Elizabeth’s breasts brushed against Will’s arm and again the hot, tingling connection blistered between them, impossible to ignore or forget.
They both glanced away, yet she saw her confusion mirrored in his eyes.
Trembling, she knew this is what her nurse had foreseen. Will is my choice, and it cannot be.
“Laurel, you must rest.” His face anguished, the duke hovered over his wife, who shook her head, her fair hair whipping against her pale cheeks.
From behind the curtain, an older man with snowy hair as thick as sable and a neat, short, white beard strolled to her side. The calmness in his eyes, his gentle manner as he touched Laurel’s forehead, and the practiced way his fingers rested on the pulse beating in her throat cast a net which soothed them all.
“Laurel, I know you wish to stay and visit with Lady Elizabeth.” He smiled. “Perhaps tomorrow would be better for both of you.”
Her face scarlet from coughing, Laurel took a long, ragged breath, her eyes watery but slowly clearing of worry. “Yes. Elizabeth, you will find our Charles Grey is the finest physician in the land and right in all things.” Both her voice and smile were gentle. “On the morrow please join me
in my chambers. We have much to learn of one another.”
“I look forward to the morrow, your grace.” Dismissed, Elizabeth could do naught but bow. Every instinct, every new desire, screamed for her to stay, to find answers to the questions beating through her mind and heart.
Knowing she must, she tried to walk proudly, tried to hold her head high as she swept from the great hall. Weakened by confusion, she felt eyes following her and knew it was Will Grey’s gaze that warmed her body
And Will himself who consumed her thoughts.
…
Will watched Elizabeth walk from the room, her heavy ebony hair half falling from the twist studded with pearls she wore low on her long neck. Such a desire to follow her filled him, he stepped off the dais.
“Will.” His grandfather’s firm voice stopped him.
Looking around, he saw Laurel reaching out one trembling hand toward him, while the other clutched the duke’s arm.
She smiled up at Will’s grandfather. “Our fine physician demands I rest today before the festivities on the morrow.” She laid her cheek against the duke’s shoulder. “As does my lord. Please, Will, come visit with me awhile.”
Ignoring Carlyle’s smirk and sardonic bow, Will obeyed.
When they reached Laurel’s chambers, her maids were ready with satin pillows piled high on her bed and a goblet of wine beside it.
Laurel still looked pale and weak as the duke eased her onto the pillows and smoothed her hair back from her high forehead.
“Shall I stay?” the duke asked in the thoughtful, loving voice Will remembered from childhood.
“Be gone, my lord. You are eager to go hawking.” She laughed softly.
The duke looked up, and Will met the plea in his eyes. “I swear I will make her rest,” he promised.
“I trust you in all things, Will.” The duke nodded. “I shall return to find Laurel well once more.” He placed a gentle kiss on her lips and stalked from the room.
Written in the Stars Page 1
