There were blessed distractions then to keep her thoughts from turning inward: the arrival of Jane and Owen and their two young sons; the flurry of activity and chatter as they prepared to make a day of it; the children shrieking with laughter as they ran off to play. At least Robert had forgotten his melancholy outburst, though Angela had not. She would have to do something about Lorna’s boat lest Robert continue his unhealthy dwelling on the past. Maybe it would sink in the lake, be broken, or get lost in the woods.
In spite of what Angela suspected it became a joyful day. Jane and Owen were more at ease than she had seen them in many weeks; everyone relaxed, and Louis curbed his biting tongue. The children were wild and carefree, and the weather was superb. They went boating on the damascened lake, fished, ate, and the two youngest children, Clare and Darrell, had brief naps. Paul Vaughn fell into the lake and Louis, laughing, pulled him out of the reed-laced shallows, sopping wet but unhurt. Jane only shook her head with a fond smile for she knew her older son and had been prepared for every eventuality. She made him change into the dry clothes she had brought and told him to play near the woods.
It was Owen who suggested a game of hide-and-seek in the late afternoon and the children squealed with delight as Angela covertly scanned his face for a sign. But there was nothing there until his light green eyes met hers with a look of fond regret.
“I wouldn’t have told,” Angela said to him softly so that no one could overhear. A perplexed frown creased Owen’s brow and he was about to reply when he was interrupted.
“You’re It, Mama! You’re It!” shouted Robert eager to begin. “Count to a hundred and don’t peek!”
And the moment passed as everyone scattered, even Jane holding Darrell by the hand. With a laugh Owen swept Clare up, and Robert and Paul began running toward the woods, sure to change directions as soon as her back was turned. Louis stood looking at Angela for a minute and she said: “You must play too. Come on, get into the spirit of the game. You look so .... worried.”
“Something is wrong,” he stated abruptly. “I don’t—”
Angela laughed. “What could be wrong on a day like this?” Then unable to stop herself: “Tell Scott I loved him.” She whirled around and put her hands over her eyes. “Hurry, Louis! I’m starting to count now.”
She counted aloud, slowly, unable to keep herself from thinking. Of course Owen wouldn’t let the children witness it. What better way to scatter them and have them hidden from sight? Dear, dear Owen—considerate to the very end; thinking of everything.
She searched through the green-ferned woods scanning the trees where a small boy might be hiding. Circling back Angela peered into the boathouse unaware of two pairs of mischievous eyes watching from the lake’s edge beneath an overturned rowboat. The scolding of a blue jay drowned muffled laughter as she passed close by a crumbling stone wall overgrown with ivy.
Eventually she wandered much farther than she supposed anyone would go. But it would be the perfect hiding place with its granite walls staggering crazily over the landscape and the dower house just visible between the trees. The ruin of the old castle was roofless but the structure had been built to last forever. Some walls of the old keep were twelve feet thick with stairs and passages like a rabbit warren.
A rusty iron gate creaked protestingly as she walked through an archway and a thundercloud of rooks flew from their high places with a rush of wings and raucous cries. It was empty but for the weeds struggling through the cracked, uneven stones paving the interior and a broken wine barrel. There was a spiral staircase going up and steps descending to a dungeon, a dried up well covered with a grate. There were dozens of openings like Swiss cheese in the towering walls. Angela didn’t fancy exploring those walls that in some places reached six stories but a minute sound coming from her left enticed her to explore one opening.
“Angela, look out!”
She whirled around, to see Louis pop like a jack-in-the-box from the dungeon, but she didn’t move from the spot. A slight rumble above made Angela look up and she closed her eyes quelling the instinctive urge to save herself. A hail of granite blocks, rubble, and masonry ended the matter.
Or would have, except for Louis cannoning into her and knocking her breathless to the stones; shielding her with his own body while half a wall all but interred them. And the thing that frightened Angela most was the utter silence afterwards and the dead weight of Louis lying over her as still as a corpse.
When she could breathe again the huge cloud of dust and debris made Angela cough and sneeze violently as she struggled from beneath Louis. His head lolled as she turned him over and blood dripped into his gray dusted hair from a wicked gash on his forehead that cut right down to the bone.
She swore angrily. “Why did you have to get yourself killed for me?” She caught her quivering bottom lip between her teeth to keep from crying, with the sudden realization that she cared. Because he had insisted on being her friend, Louis Garamond was dead.
Shaking, she just sat there staring at his unmoving face, aware that she should go for help, or do something, anything, but unable to move. “Oh, Louis,” she whispered, “it should have been me. It should have been me!”
He stirred and a moan made her catch her breath with surprise and relief. Searching his pockets she found a handkerchief and pressed it to his wounded head. Thank goodness he was alive! But why did she have to be? Slowly Angela’s senses returned and she put his head on her lap stroking his hair and calling his name. Her fingertips discovered an old scar completely hidden by his blond hair and when Louis opened his eyes she was frowning with her fingers still and laced through his hair.
They didn’t speak for a long time but just looked into each other’s eyes and his slowly focused and darkened till they were almost black. She could actually see what he was thinking as Louis read her mind and her face. The dawning realization, the rejection, the crystallization; anger, despair, concern.
“Mon Dieu!” he said sitting up abruptly with his hand to his head, looking sick and dizzy and apt to pass out again. Louis swore in French, so obscenely Angela couldn’t think of the English translation. “You knew!”
“Yes,” she said without emotion, “I knew. But I didn’t think there would be anyone else involved. I’m sorry you were hurt.” Some emotion crept into Angela’s voice as she continued. “Are you all right, Louis? I thought at first you were dead and it was my fault because I didn’t heed your warning—”
“You little fool!” he shouted. “Why didn’t you tell me? All these accidents—the fire, your horse, and this!” His eyes closed against a throbbing headache and she reached out and touched his hand comfortingly.
“You know why I didn’t tell you, Louis. It didn’t matter to me. But you have interfered twice now and I can’t bear to see you hurt because of me.”
Very slowly and wearily his eyes opened and he searched Angela’s face and she couldn’t look away. “It’s because of him, but is your husband worth your life? Can’t you live without him?” She shook her head with her mouth turned down distressingly in her dirty face. “I am not going to let you do this! I am not going to let you be—murdered!”
“Please,” Angela pleaded, “don’t interfere. Let me be. It will be easier this way. You won’t lose anything, Louis. I have left you a legacy, for being my friend. You know I can’t go on the way I am.”
“I will lose you. You! To hell with legacies and death wishes! I will not let you go. I am going to find your enemy and put a stop to this.”
“No!”
Louis gripped her hand tightly in his till she winced with the pain. Blood trickled down his cheek making paths in the dust that covered his face and he reached out with his other hand and brought Angela against him. He held her with her head in the crook of his arm and his face very close to hers and said, “I am not going to let your husband or this other person hurt you. I am not going to let you hurt yourself. You have been deserted by everyone, even your friends, and now you are mine.
You are sad and lost and wounded almost to death, but I have found you. You need me, Angela, and I will make you whole if you just give me the chance.
“I don’t want anything in return but that you should be happy again. And when I am finished you and Scott will be together once more. Believe me—I promise this will happen.”
She stared at him, mesmerized, wide-eyed and with her lips slightly parted, while his blood spattered her bodice. And for the life of her she couldn’t move or utter another protest or begin to understand how he meant to accomplish his purpose, or why. Then Angela was afraid, paralyzed with the fear of having hope instilled in her again. She had already given up on Scott, and love, and life, and if Louis brought her back to life only to fail her the end would be worse than anything she could begin to imagine.
“Louis, don’t do this to me.” But there was already a flicker of belief in her eyes and he saw it and smiled at her sweetly.
“Oui! I have already begun, my lost lady,” he told her confidently, gathering her up and setting her on her feet. “I will not let Lady Vaughn get you into her clutches again. I will protect you with my own life—like today.”
“Jane?” said Angela in bewilderment. “What has she to do with this?” One of the loose stones slipped beneath her feet and Louis caught her elbow, steering her away from the rubble and out of the keep. Her head was spinning and he set her against a low wall overspread with white dog roses.
“I thought you knew, or had guessed. She is your would-be murderer. Your so innocent best friend.”
“Oh no.” Angela gave a hollow laugh of disbelief. “You’re mistaken. Not Jane! There is no reason.”
“You killed her brother.”
“But we talked about that,” she protested shaking her head. “Jane forgave me. She said Keith deserved to die!”
“That is only what she said,” Louis continued sagely with pity welling in his eyes. “He was her beloved brother, the only family she had left. And then there was the other matter. The matter of a lover.”
“A lover?”
“Your lover—and her lover. First her fiancé and then your husband. Scott Harrington had you both at the same time but he chose you. And all the time she was passionately in love with your husband while pretending to be your friend.”
“But Owen!”
“Ah yes, she married him when Scott was believed dead. They seem to be happy now but,” Louis shrugged his shoulders, “who can tell? In any event Scott is now lost to her forever. Any idiot can see that he cares for no one but you. And Lord Vaughn—” He paused and looked at her piercingly. “He has noticed you too. He has more than a passing interest in you, doesn’t he, Angela? Men find it very easy to fall in love with you and Vaughn is no exception.”
“I can’t believe—” she began.
“But you can!” Louis stated positively. “You didn’t deny Vaughn’s interest in you. Do you think Jane will let you steal her husband the way you stole her lover? Never! She has become a cunning, devious woman who will even resort to murder to rid herself of a rival.
“You are a threat to her happy family, her way of life, and her husband. And whomever she has hired to do her dirty work for her is very clever. But for me—”
“I would be dead,” Angela finished. “But Jane! I thought it was Owen. I don’t want to believe this.” She pressed her hands against her eyes so she wouldn’t see the way he was looking at her.
“You must believe what you wish but if you could remember you would know for a certainty that I speak the truth.” Louis pulled her hands from her face. “Look at me. Why would I lie about it? This is hurting you but you must face it. Isn’t it better to know she is your enemy, rather than to delude yourself into thinking she is your friend?
“Write to Scott and ask him if he was Jane’s lover. Ask Jane herself or Owen. They will admit it was so. And I think you know the answer as to how Owen feels about you. N’est-ce pas?”
Angela was silent for long indecisive minutes with her thoughts fluctuating wildly. Everything Louis said made sense and it hurt to the quick to think of how she had been betrayed. Jane hated her, and perhaps, in a different, strange way Owen hated her, because she hadn’t yielded to him. Could both of them, unknown to the other, be setting these death traps for her?
“Oh, Louis,” she choked out, “I have been betrayed and abandoned by everyone. What use is it to fight it or try to go on? I feel so .... desolate inside and so alone.”
“You are not alone,” he told her firmly with the light of battles to come sparkling in his eyes. “You have me and I will not allow anything to happen to you. I am your friend, Angela. Your friend!”
Louis held out his bruised hand, still healing from the fire, and Angela took it and knew she was safe and protected.
fifteen
Given one week Louis had indeed worked miracles. He had brought Angela from the very edge of destruction and kindly and patiently led her a few steps away from the beckoning abyss. Unflagging in his devotion he had forcibly injected some of his spirit into her and almost had her believing in his fantastic promises.
Then Scott ruined everything.
Angela locked the door to her room, took the key from the lock, and threw it across the room. It hit the wall and thudded on the carpet and she clenched her fists around the bedpost. In another second she would either begin smashing every object in the room or burst into unceasing tears.
He was coming today to take Robert to Scotland. She had known it would happen but unknowingly he had chosen the worst possible time. There would be the sleepless torture of knowing he was in the same house with her for a whole night and then the separation from her son which would last for months. Angela’s whole world was being very carefully torn to shreds and not even Louis could comfort her.
And while Angela fought her own lonely battle two horsemen approached Brightling Castle from different directions. One galloped furiously and the other progressed almost reluctantly, but steadily. There was a strange stirring on the sea and it boded no good for the horsemen, a black-haired woman, and her son. “Angela!”
Her cheek jerked away from the polished wood of the bedpost but her nails dug in scarring the smooth surface. “Go away! I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Mon Dieu! Do you know what’s happening outside your room? Disaster!”
“I don’t care.”
“Open this door immediately or I will have it broken down.”
“Go to hell, Louis!”
He swore right back at her with a terrible desperation spilling over into his voice. “It’s Robert! Robert!” He pounded on the door. “Angela, you lovesick little fool! Do you hear me? Your son is in danger!”
But she had heard and was frantically searching for the key on her hands and knees. Good lord, where was it? She couldn’t even recall where she had thrown it but it had to be somewhere on the floor. After an eternity she found it but her hands were shaking so she could hardly fit it into the lock.
Louis charged into her room with his face pale and his riding clothes coated with dust. He smelled of horses, leather, and sweat, and he gripped her shoulders and shook her.
“Get hold of yourself and do exactly what I say,” he ordered. “There is no time for explanations, no time for you to change. By the time we get to the stables your horse will be ready. We are going to the beach, and maybe, if we are in time, we can save Robert. I have pistols. Now come!”
Angela needed no urging to follow as they ran all the way and then hastily mounted. Her son was in danger—but how and from whom? On their wild, pounding ride Louis breathlessly tried to explain but she couldn’t understand the snatches he spoke of a note and deceit. The skirt of her yellow silk dress was hiked up above her knees and the matching slippers were not meant for riding, but speed was essential and she ignored her discomfort.
Terrible thoughts of Robert abducted or hurt or dead swirled through Angela’s head. How had Louis discovered it? Thank goodness he had! And Scott was coming
today; he wouldn’t let Robert be harmed. But time was of the essence and there was only Louis to depend on.
As they approached the cliffs Angela slowed nervously. Apollo had died there and she hadn’t been there since. Now the cliffs terrified her and a premonition of disaster and death jerked her to a sudden stop.
Ignorant of her feelings Louis dragged her from the saddle and propelled her toward the edge of the cliff. The height made her sway dizzily and impatiently he clamped his arm about her waist.
“Where’s Robert?” Angela asked breathlessly, obdurately resisting the pressure forcing her closer to the precipice. Her eyes were glued to the white-foamed rocks and she couldn’t tear them free.
“Look,” he said pointing at the blue-green swells and she looked and froze.
For there was a specter from her past: barely moving, almost invisible; a sight that drowned her in panic, despair, and humiliation. She felt herself being mentally and physically tortured by forgotten fiends.
Angela gasped for breath, there was suddenly nothing beneath her feet but air. Louis chuckled softly in her ear, put her back on solid ground, and the ghost ship that had been there a moment ago vanished. She shook like a flag in a gale as Louis spoke to her softly.
“Do not be afraid, chérie. Robert is safe and Scott will rescue him. We will wait for him here and I will keep my promise. I always keep my promises.”
Angela broke away from him with wild frantic eyes; remembering smooth, self-assured words; trying to remember what she didn’t want to. Louis smiled radiantly as if nothing was wrong.
“I must be losing my mind!” she said. “This is not real. I thought there was a ship and now it’s gone.”
“The ship is there, with Robert on it,” he assured her. “You can see it when the sun is right. But it’s painted the color of the sea and sky and is very difficult to discern.”
“Louis,” Angela said in tentative bewilderment, “what’s happening? I’m so afraid. Who has my son and why are we waiting here?”
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