"Let me have her first, Lennox," Hawkins pleaded hoarsely. "I've waited for six months, damn it. Ye promised —"
"You'll do as I say! I've business to finish, and more important things to consider than how you slake your crude appetites. Go down and check on the last chest. Ransley's already gone to see that the schooner is secured and ready to sail within the hour."
Hawkins made a low growl, deep in the back of his throat. "Not this time, I don't, ye bastard! This time I'll have her, damn ye!"
Suddenly Tess was flung wildly across the roof, the force of the blow loosening the ropes at her wrists.
"Get away, fool!"
In the night silence the sounds of their struggle erupted with startling violence. Snarled curses and sharp grunts echoed over the ruined roof.
Her heart pounding, Tess shrank in a crumpled heap against the scattered stones. Too late, her mind whispered bleakly. It had always been too late.
Somewhere to her left the struggling continued, but now the outcome held no interest for Tess. Like a dank fog, pain lapped at her mind, icy fingers squeezing her heart. There was nothing left for her now — she had lost two men in the space of one, muffled shout.
'Tis not moonfall yet, lassie. Do you not remember my promise to you?
Her thoughts unfocused, Tess twisted her hands, working the knots free and tugging off the length of bloodied rope. She should have felt pain, but now she felt nothing at all, only a terrible, choking emptiness.
Numbly her fingers fumbled at the linen knotted over her eyes.
Ah, Jack, if only I had known sooner. If only ... if only ...
High overhead came the whispering of air currents. Tess heard the faint whooosh of wings. The owl about to find its prey, she thought dimly.
The great wings rose and fell, their beating louder now.
A shrill avian scream erupted over her head, followed by Lennox's shocked shout, Hawkins's raw curse.
Tess froze, hearing the wild flailing of arms, the thump of shadowy wings. An instant later the whole ragged edge of the parapet gave way, exploding in a cloud of gray dust, burying the two stunned men beneath a ton of smoking granite.
* * * * *
It is over, Tess thought.
Fragments of gravel bit into her hips and calves, and her wrists stung where Lennox's rope had stripped the tender skin raw, but she felt none of it.
Her only real sensation was of a terrible, draining emptiness, as if someone had bored a hole deep inside her and the contents of her body were slowly spilling out onto the cold, hard stone — blood oozing warm and thick, heart still pumping, synapses quivering.
Yes, it was over, but the truth was that it was just beginning. Now time stretched before her, an endless, harrowing stream of leaden days and gnawing nights.
Minutes. Seconds. Hours. Choking her in a great black tidal wave of time.
At least before, she had been able to console herself with thoughts of Andre, off chasing different dreams on the far side of the horizon. Now even the faint comfort of that image was denied her ...
Her eyes bleak with pain, Tess sank back against the remaining stones beside the parapet's gaping hole, totally dead inside. Listlessly she reached up and tugged the dusty scrap of linen from her eyes. Overhead Maximilian circled, then came to sit on the wall beside her, whistling softly.
Far to the east, she saw, above the black spires of Rye, the sky was beginning to grow light, smudged with grays that would soon bleed into streaks of pink and aquamarine. The sun would slip from the marsh and climb over steeple and rooftop, dragging another day behind it in a fiery resurrection of light from darkness.
But for now the leaden shadows remained, Fairleigh's lush acres concealed beneath ghostly tendrils of fog, which lapped in drifting swirls about the hedgerows and trees right up to the dark stones of the priory.
As chill and numbing as the pain in Tess's heart.
So how was she to go about this process of living, Tess asked herself, when all she could think of was Dane? When her thoughts cried out to be with him, even in death?
On the top of the ruined wall Maximilian flounced his wings, crooning and whistling softly, enjoying the play of the wind through his feathers. Slowly Tess ran a finger down the macaw's chest, stroking those downy inches. It was little enough to do. The bird had saved her life, after all.
Or Jack had, she thought, remembering the strange words that had echoed through her mind.
But that was the merest fancy, of course.
Dead men did not speak. And they certainly did not climb walls.
"Safe harbor before morning, lassie," Maximilian chanted, stamping upon his perch of stone.
No, there would be no safe harbor for her, Tess thought. But there would be life and at least usefulness.
Yes, one began, she supposed, just by beginning. By putting one foot down and then the other, again and again, until all the complex, comforting habits of living were relearned.
A cold, sea-damp gust of wind hit her face, tossing the auburn curls about her cheeks and shoulders. Dane, Dane, her soul cried, tormented. Struggling to find equilibrium, Tess closed her eyes and inhaled deeply even as she drowned beneath a crushing wave of regret.
Knowing this time there would be no rakehell Frenchman to pluck her mid-Channel from the dark waters of her grief.
The wind soughed through the white garden and the dark wood, shaking the oak leaves, tossing petals of nightshade and anemone. And in that soft, restless wind came the faint hint of lavender and the sound of chiding laughter.
Open your eyes, lassie, the night whispered. Find your heart and follow where love leads. Don't let it slip away, as we did.
White-faced, Tess dug her fingers into the cold, unforgiving stone, oblivious to the tears spilling down her cheeks in a silent rush.
Up the hill she heard the wild scuffling of a night creature, pressed to finish its hunting in the last minutes before light returned. The rustle grew louder; bits of gravel pinged across the flagstone terrace far below.
Suddenly Maximilian raised his wings and soared off through the jagged hole in the parapet, a slash of crimson and emerald against the leaden, predawn sky.
Once more Tess heard the skittering of pebbles. Rousing herself, she inched closer to the jagged scar of stone, peering down over the edge into the swirling fog.
What she saw there made her heart twist convulsively, her fingers clutch the sharp granite.
A black shape detached from the mist, rising slowly, laboriously along the priory's weathered stone face.
With a choked cry, Tess slipped farther out over the rim, sending a rain of gravel spilling over the wall.
"Enough, bihan," the man below rasped. "Do you seek — once again — to kill me?" He was well above the mist now, making a laborious ascent over the gray, cleft slabs.
Her face translucent, her eyes shimmering with joy, Tess inched farther, reaching out for him. "Dane!"
His face slanted up, a vein pounding at his temple. Blood matted his forehead; his eyes, she saw, were glazed with pain. "Help — help me up, love."
Catching his arm, Tess helped him struggle up the last foot, then across the rim and onto the roof.
"Never — ahhhh — give up hope, me kalon. It's the one thing that separates us from the beasts," Lord Ravenhurst panted as he fell sprawling beside her, one hard thigh slanted across her legs.
After a moment he twisted onto his side and drew her down against him, her hair spilling like a dark curtain around them. His fingers found hers and laced tightly together, as if he needed to reassure himself that this moment was real and all else before had been the dream.
"It — it was Simon," Tess gasped. "All along, it was Simon. He killed my ... my ... Leighton — when he discovered that the tunnel was used for transferring gold to the cliffs. It was Lennox who killed Jack, too." Her hands tightened convulsively. A salty tear fell over their clenched fingers. "Forgive me for thinking it could have been you."
"Hush, sea
gull," Dane whispered. "It's — finished now." His fingers moved, slipping deep into her hair and cupping her neck protectively as a tremor knifed through her.
So close they had come to dying, Tess thought. So close to losing the only thing that was good and lasting in this world.
Oh, yes, Jack, I've found that love and I will follow wherever it leads me, I promise.
Dane's fingers moved gently, stroking and kneading the tension from her shoulders. "Hush, my heart. All that is behind us now. The Eagle will never fly again, for he has been slain by our strident dove. Besides," he added, pushing back a long strand of Tess's burnished hair, "you did not think to dispose of me so easily, did you? After all, I've two men inside me. And right now both of them are demanding to spend a lifetime with you," he added huskily.
Tess studied him through a veil of tears, her love spilling out in a fierce wave potent enough to engulf them both. "Andre or Dane, I mean to have you, my lord. Even if it means three to share our bed."
Ravenhurst's eyes turned smoky. "I mean to put that vow to the test very soon, bihan. But first, witch, there is the little matter of your running away from me in the night, without so much as a word of farewell. And there I was — applauding myself on taming my beautiful shrew."
"I could not stay, Dane. Padrig was waiting; French soldiers were already on their way to the cottage. It would have been dangerous for all of you had I stayed."
"All quite true, but it would have made no difference to me. And then your sight returned on the voyage home." His eyes were faintly chiding. "Yes, I had my ways of learning that, too. Dear God, how sorry I am that I was not there to share it with you."
Green glints danced in the depths of Tess's eyes. "Ah, but a lusty corsair has more important things to do than tend to debilitated females."
"Debilitated?" Ravenhurst muttered something in Breton beneath his breath. "Were you any more 'debilitated,' bihan, you would have been the death of me! Either by epee or granite block or the gravel you kept strewing down upon my poor head."
Despite a very great effort, Tess found a smile snaking across her lips. "Such a poor head, you are quite right. I apologize for the gravel. But for nothing else, you realize."
A pair of smoking lapis eyes narrowed upon her lips, and Tess felt the fire and power of the man break over her in hot waves. "In Brittany, we have ways of dealing with intractable women, did you know that?"
"Indeed, my lord?" Tess's smile widened. "You terrify me. Do you Breton men use whips, or knives?"
"Oh, something far worse," Ravenhurst murmured darkly. "And your punishment, me kalon, will be long and very agonizing, I assure you. Hours and hours of it," he rasped, slanting his face to brush his lips against the line of her throat, the ridge of her high cheekbones, the soft arch of her upper lip. "Weeks and weeks." His velvet tongue traced her lips' shadowed center, teasing, seeking admission. With exquisite control, he swept inside her, hot and sleek and demanding.
Deep in her throat, Tess moaned, aflame with an aching need, her body melting beneath him like wax hungry for the imprint of him everywhere.
Dane caught the sound with his mouth, answering with a dark groan of his own, shaping and stroking her lips hungrily. "Oh, I can see it lasting for years, woman. And you will find me infinitely inventive in my methods, I warn you."
Shivering, Tess gave herself up to his sensual demands, seduced by heated images.
Of two men. Each one fierce and proud, each tortured in his own way.
But those are wounds I mean to heal, my love, she vowed silently. A second later even that thought fled as she was swept away in the vortex of desire he unerringly aroused.
When the first rosy fingers of dawn broke over the rooftops of Rye a short while later, filtering down over this quiet corner of England, there were two people who gave no notice, too intent on the dawn they had already kindled, secure in the knowledge that their love would resurrect a thousand such dawns, nay a thousand thousand of them.
Above them, Maximilian stamped gravely, looking smug and very wise for a moment before soaring off over Fairleigh's green slopes, well contented. Already he was tasting the delicate morsels of fruit he would coax from Edouard for his breakfast.
Epilogue
They were married from the old church at the top of Watchbell Street two weeks later, to the deafening peal of bells tolling over marsh and weald. It was the height of summer, the trees girded in crimson blooms, the grass in boldest greens. The air was as clear as crystal and the azure sky was cloudless, running unimpeded all the way to France.
Perhaps even running as far as a rocky, wind-swept peninsula in Brittany, where a tall ship rocked at anchor, its crew busy mending shroud and canvas.
All people like a good scandal; and nearly as much, a good wedding. So it was not surprising that on this day all Rye turned out at the old church in appreciation of an event that held every promise of being both.
The ceremony completed, the bridal couple stepped out into the sunlight. Whispers ceased and nudging arms stilled as the two turned to look at one another.
The bride's hair spilled like a burgundy flame against the tiny seed pearls covering her satin wedding dress. Even more luminous was the look of love that lit her piquant face. The green glow in her curious, uptilted eyes halted more than one matron in mid-speech.
In a gray rush of wings the fan-tailed pigeons fled south, stirred by the wild peals that spilled over the old city walls and down to the marsh, which rolled like a green sea, lapping at the foot of the town.
But the man on Tess's arm noticed none of this, his whole gaze, his whole being focused on the vibrant beauty beside him. Suddenly his long, calloused fingers tightened, as if he feared he might lose her, as if he feared the weight of so much happiness.
His new wife saw, and smiled, running gentle fingers across the dark comma of hair that fell onto his scarred brow. "A jamais, mon coeur," she whispered softly, smiling at the fire that her words kindled in his fine cobalt eyes. "Forever, I swear it."
"And I hold you to that vow, me kalon. Not even a sea battle right there at Dungeness would take me from you now." His mouth hardened slightly. "Nor would a very superior cargo of silks and brandy persuade me to let you slip away to Camber Sands one more time."
Tess managed to make a little moue of discontent. "Not even once? Faith, how the lion doth roar once he has cornered his mate."
"A bad example, love, for it is the lioness makes the kill, while her lazy lover simply profits by her exertions. And you, my sharp-tongued wife, will do nothing more strenuous than feed me tea and omelettes in bed for the next month." A muscle flashed at his broad brow. "Along with other sorts of exertions, of course, which I have been planning for five years now. Yes, witch, I mean to leave you with no energy at all for joining your disreputable friends upon the marsh."
"In that case I shall need to be kept very busy," Tess said silkily, her finger dropping to sketch the curve of Ravenhurst's full lower lip. "Are you up to that, I wonder?"
The growl that burst from her husband's throat was answer enough.
The sound made Tess's smile break free, luminous and unrestrained, as her joy poured like molten sunshine from her radiant face.
Behind them they heard a sharp little cough. "Any more of this celebrating on the church steps and even my considerable social skills will not be enough to keep you two from ostracism." The Duchess of Cranford, elegant in gray watered satin, stood at the door of the church, studying them severely.
Only the faint gleam in her blue eyes betrayed her happiness.
Tess was the first to move, lifting her long skirts and moving back to take the old woman's hand in a warm clasp. "You've done so much already, Your Grace. How can we ever thank you?"
The old woman's eyes blurred for a moment, and she shook her head abruptly. "As if I expected thanks! No, just see to the domestication of that volatile nephew of mine. He's yours to control now, my dear, thank the good Lord." Her fragile fingers tightened on Tess's
for a moment, and she blinked back tears.
Tess's voice dropped. What she said next was meant for the duchess's ears alone. "It did make a difference, Your Grace. More than you can know. And as for the letter, that shall remain our secret. What you did was done out of love. How can I ever fault you for that?"
The duchess's fingers shook, and a tear slipped from her eye as Tess bent down to kiss her cool, papery cheek. "My dear, dear girl," she whispered.
A moment later Ravenhurst was beside them, his eyes dark with concern as he clasped the duchess's other hand. "Plotting some new devilry already, are you? And you not five minutes married, my wife. I can see I shall have to keep you on a short leash."
"Impudent young puppy," the duchess said sternly, pulling her frail fingers free of his and rapping him sharply with her fan. "This poor girl will have her hands full domesticating you, I can see. Now off with the pair of you, for you've more important things to do than stand here tormenting a frail old woman."
Her stern look lasted while Ravenhurst bent down to plant his own kiss on her pale cheek; then he straightened and looked down at his wife, with all the fire of his heart, all the force of his yearning soul written clear upon his face.
Another tear slipped from the duchess's eye, joining its cousin on her cheek as she watched the couple turn and walk hand in hand down the gray, weathered stones where so many other eager feet had trod before.
"Godspeed," the duchess whispered, her eyes suddenly filling with hot, salty tears. Sniffing sharply, she plunged her hand into the reticule dangling from one arm and pulled out an elegant scrap of embroidered lawn.
Her face carefully averted, she allowed the white square to float to the ground, all the time fighting the tears that threatened to spill onto her face at any moment. People were streaming out of the church now, their hushed comments overheard in snippets as they passed.
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