Heart's Desire (Lost Lords of Radcliffe Book 2)

by Cheryl Holt

  “There’s one change that will make this even better,” she said.

  “What’s that?” Matthew asked.

  “When Bryce comes home, I’ll have all three of you with me, then everything will be perfect.”

  “Everything is fairly perfect now,” Michael said.

  He nodded to the verandah, and Evangeline saw that her two sisters-in-law had arrived. Maggie had traveled from Cliffside, and Clarissa had ridden over from Greystone. Aaron popped up in an upstairs window, and he smiled and waved.

  Her family was growing by leaps and bounds. For so long in her life, she’d thought she was an orphan; she’d thought she was alone in the world. But not anymore.

  Matthew pointed to Thumberton’s letter and glanced at Michael. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

  “I certainly do,” Michael responded.

  A visual message passed between them, and they both grinned.

  “What did you say to each other?” Evangeline asked. “You were talking in your heads again. It’s so annoying to the rest of us who can’t read your minds.”

  “We’ll be leaving for Radcliffe shortly,” Michael said, and Matthew said, “Our relatives had best watch out.”

  * * * *

  Two men sat on their horses in the woods. They were spying, scouting the area. Across a lush valley, the road climbed up a hill, and at the top was a castle. It wasn’t large or grand, but it was a castle nonetheless, complete with turrets, an outer wall, and interior courtyard.

  There were parts that appeared very old, but most of it had been redesigned and restructured, with one entire section having been totally remodeled. Modern amenities had been added: glass windows, improved chimneys.

  The entry must have once had huge, fortified gates that could be shut and barred, but they were no longer attached to the hinges. A stable government and lessening of border tensions had done away with the need for the buttressed front. Or perhaps the residents had simply found the heavy doors to be a nuisance and had gotten weary of opening and closing them.

  People were going in and out, carts hauling food and supplies, as if it was market day or there was a fair in the courtyard.

  “It a bloody castle,” Michael said to his brother.

  “That it is,” Matthew replied.

  “Sissy told me it was, but I didn’t believe her.”

  They gaped, silent, pondering all that had happened, all that might have been.

  “What would it have been like to grow up here?” Matthew asked.

  “I can’t imagine.”

  “What if Father had lived to inherit? What if this had been our home? Our place?”

  “It was never our home,” Michael caustically stated, “but it’s definitely our place.”

  “We’d have been Scots.”

  “No, Grandfather was British.”

  “So…we’d have been what? British Scots? Is that it?”

  “I’m not a diplomat. How would I know?”

  “Would we have had to run around in kilts?”

  “Trust me, Brother,” Michael said, “no one would have wanted to see your bare legs hanging out.”

  Matthew snorted at that. “I wonder if our family has its own tartan. Isn’t that what those wool weavings are called? Tartans?”

  “I think so.”

  “There must be a family crest too.”

  “Probably.”

  “How about a motto?”

  “I’m sure of it. What fool would own a castle but not have a motto?”

  “If it’s something stupid,” Matthew groused, “we’re changing it.”

  “Agreed.”

  “What do you suppose Father was like?”

  “Oh, I suppose he was just like you and me.”

  “By that you mean tough, driven, obnoxious, and vain?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Mother? What was she like?”

  “Bryce says she was exactly like Sissy. Sissy looks like her, and she simmers with the same charisma.”

  Bryce was their older brother, the heir to Radcliffe, the rightful Earl of Radcliffe. He was adventuring in Africa, and they didn’t know when he’d return—or if he’d return.

  “Has Bryce been here?” Matthew asked.

  “He came immediately after they learned the truth. He rode up by himself.”

  “But he didn’t stay.”

  “No, he was too overwhelmed. It’s hard to fathom how viciously they’d harmed Mother and Father. He couldn’t bear to think about it.”

  “So he went to Africa.”

  “Just like Father.” Michael sighed. “I wish we were there with him. I wish we were following in Father’s footsteps. I’d like to see the sites he visited.”

  Matthew shrugged. “You can go someday. We can both go.”

  “Maybe with Bryce. We’ll make him show us the routes Father took.”

  They were quiet again, and Matthew could have sworn—for a fleeting second—he felt a man’s hand on his shoulder. Whose ghost was it? His father’s? It had to be. Since he and Michael had found each other, an otherworldly presence seemed to be tagging along.

  Did you feel that? he asked without speaking.

  What? The hand on the shoulder?

  Yes. Was it Father?

  I hope so.

  The more time Matthew spent with his brother, the easier it became to talk inside their heads. Often they’d go for hours not uttering a word aloud, but understanding one another perfectly.

  “Have you met Bryce?” Matthew inquired.

  “No. I’ve only seen him from a distance. He’s golden blond and handsome, like a Greek god.”

  “Sissy tells me he’s smart and talented.”

  “Yes, and he’s got Mother’s personality and flair. He’s more like Sissy. He can sing and act and play the pianoforte. He’s not the type who would shoot somebody in the chest or drown them in a stream when they were passed out cold.”

  “So he’s not like you and me.”

  “No. Thank God.” Michael glanced over at Matthew. “Sissy wanted to start legal proceedings to regain the title, but when so many years had elapsed, Bryce didn’t see how they could be successful. He thought we’d wind up looking like idiots.”

  “That’s probably why he traveled to Africa, to escape the pressure of it.”

  “I think he was sick at heart too, from imagining Mother’s plight and how alone she was when it crashed down on her at the end.”

  “I hate to ponder it too, and we have Father’s blood flowing in our veins.”

  “It’s why we can be such bastards.”

  They grinned two identical devil’s grins.

  Michael studied the castle, the surroundings hills and fields. He nodded, as if coming to a vital decision. “We’ll retrieve all of this for Bryce. You know that, right?”

  “Of course we will. I never expected we’d choose any other path.”

  “We’re going to avenge Mother and Father. We’ll make our relatives pay for the sins they committed.”

  “An eye for an eye,” Matthew said. “It’s always been my favorite passage in the Bible.”

  “Shall we go down and introduce ourselves?” Michael asked. “I suddenly have a burning desire to say hello to my kin.”

  “Do you suppose they ever pictured us blustering in and laying claim to what they stole from us?”

  “I’m sure not. If they consider us at all—which I’m positive they don’t—they likely figure we perished in an orphanage. And I almost did perish that way many times. They almost got their wish with me.”

  “You lived just to spite them.”

  Michael laughed. “Yes, just to spite them, which I’ll be happy to explain in terms they can understand. Let’s ride in as if we own the place.”

  He lifted his reins as if he’d trot off, but when Matthew didn’t move too, Michael scowled.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I was shot dead not too long ago. For once, I don’t want to push my luck.”
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  “They won’t shoot you.”

  “Not immediately anyway.”

  “Not ever,” Michael insisted. “I’m guarding your back now. Nothing bad will ever happen to you again.”

  “Are you certain? Because it’s my life’s goal that you would never have occasion in the future to dig a lead ball out of me.” At mention of the horrid surgery, Matthew shuddered. He doubted he’d ever stop being so jumpy.

  “It’s my plan too,” Michael said. “I’m never digging around in your flesh ever again.”

  “Good to know.”

  “If you get your ass shot, you’re on your own—but I won’t ever let it occur. As your big brother, I’m ordering you not to worry about it.”

  “Big brother, my foot.”

  “We’ll ask Bryce who’s older. You or me. He’ll tell you I’m the oldest.”

  “You’re the only person in the world who’s more vain and cocky than me.”

  “Since we’re exactly alike, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  Matthew reflected for a bit, then smiled. But it was a nasty, ruthless smile filled with cunning and treachery. His health was mending, his vigor and stamina nearly returned to what it had been before he’d been wounded.

  And he had Clarissa waiting for him at home. Just thinking about her made him feel better. She’d keep a candle burning in the window at Greystone to light his way back.

  “Why are you smiling like that?” Michael inquired.

  “I’ve decided I’d like to meet my relatives too.”

  “About bloody time.”

  “Let’s enter through the front gate, bold as brass.”

  “Let’s do.”

  “When they demand to know who we are, I want to shout that we’re the sons of Anne and Julian Blair, so their names echo off the rafters. I’d like to see how many ghosts we can stir.”

  Whooping with malice and determination, they kicked their horses into a gallop and raced out of the trees.

  THE END

  Don’t Miss the Third and Final Novel in

  Cheryl Holt’s “LOST LORDS” Trilogy!

  HEART’S DEMAND

  The story of Bryce Blair and Princess Katarina Morovsky

  Coming in August, 2015!

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Who may I tell him is calling?”

  “Katarina…ah…Webster.”

  Katarina—known as Kat to her friends and family—kept her expression carefully blank. She hadn’t meant to stumble over the surname of Webster, and her hesitation made her sound like an idiot.

  Webster was her mother’s American maiden name. Since Kat was traveling in disguise and not eager to be recognized, it seemed the best choice.

  In reality she was Her Royal Highness, Katarina Victoria Sasha Morovsky, Princess of Parthenia. In ordinary circumstances, she would have proclaimed herself and used her title to obtain whatever boon or aid she sought. But her treacherous cousin, Kristof, egged on by his advisors, had revoked her status and designation. At that moment, she was no one of consequence at all.

  She was staggering about, trying to figure out how to proceed in a normal fashion when the entire foundation of her life had been destroyed.

  “Why do you request an appointment with Monsieur Valois?” the butler asked. “What is the purpose of your visit?”

  “I’m newly arrived in Cairo,” she replied. “I was apprised that he is the person to approach when assistance is required.”

  The butler studied her, obviously finding too many flaws to count. “Have you a recommendation?”

  “A recommendation for what?”

  “The Monsieur is an important man. He does not deal with anyone who will waste his time.”

  “I need a reference to vouch for my…what? My character? My veracity? My position in the world?”

  He gave a very French sort of shrug. “Any of those will suffice.”

  Kat glared, her green eyes shooting daggers. If she’d been a male, she’d have pounded him into the ground. If she’d been lumping along in her usual condition, she’d have snapped her fingers and had him dragged off to the dungeons.

  Well, not to the dungeons. She’d never behaved that way, but it was satisfying to imagine herself having some authority. At the very least, she might have demanded he apologize.

  She took a deep breath to calm herself. She was now living as all common people lived. She was being treated as all ordinary women were treated, and she had to remember and accept that fact.

  She flashed her most winning smile, the one that had once charmed royal suitors from all the minor courts of Europe. “Please inform Monsieur Valois that I am simply new to Egypt, and I am desperate to receive his shrewd advice.”

  “On what topic?”

  “I will be traveling to the pyramids to locate my uncle who is digging there. I’m hoping to hire a guide and bodyguards, but in such a foreign place, I don’t feel competent to handle the interviews myself.”

  “Very wise, mistress.”

  “I was told at my hotel that the Monsieur could suggest suitable employees.”

  The butler studied her again, then nodded. “Wait here. I will see if he is available.”

  The ornate doors of the grand villa were shut in her face, and her temper flared. She wasn’t invited into the shady foyer. She wasn’t offered a chair in the garden or a sip of lemon water to cool her parched throat. A dog wouldn’t have been so shabbily abused, and she’d just raised a fist to knock and give the rude oaf a piece of her mind when he yanked the door open.

  “The Monsieur is busy today,” he claimed. “There can be no appointment.”

  “But…but…you haven’t been gone five seconds,” she huffed. “How could you have spoken with him?”

  “You come tomorrow.”

  “What time?”

  The door was already closing, and she was so furious she nearly wedged herself into the threshold so she could force him to display some manners. Yes, she was in Egypt, and yes, habits and routines were very different in the hot, dreary land, but she was positive no servant in any country—even in Egypt—was allowed to be so insolent.

  She whipped away and stomped off, refusing to embarrass herself by begging for an audience. Apparently Monsieur Valois had resided in Cairo for ages and was the most savvy European in the city. If he couldn’t be bothered to confer with a damsel in distress, surely there was another man in the teeming metropolis who would be happy to assume the role.

  She yearned to shout her true name, but she kept silent. Not because her cousin, Kristof, had ordered her to stop using her title. Not because she’d become a political pawn in his mad scheme, but because she didn’t want it known that she was in Egypt.

  Kristof was insane, and she’d had enough of his devious machinations. He’d declared her deceased parents’ lengthy marriage null and void. Then he’d ruled Kat and her two younger siblings—Nicholas and Isabelle—to be illegitimate bastards. But his most grievous sin had been committed against Nicholas.

  Nicholas was her father’s son and rightful heir to the throne, but he was only twelve. When Kat’s father had died a year earlier, there had been a few months of uncertainty as a regency was discussed for Nicholas. Who should help him to rule? Who should supervise him until he reached his majority?

  Kat’s mother had perished birthing Isabelle, so for the prior decade, Kat had reared her siblings. She’d avoided her own marriage to stay in Parthenia and care for them. At age twenty-five, she seemed more like their mother than their older sister.

  She’d expected to be picked as Regent, but councilors had vigorously derided the notion. As the debate had swirled, Kristof had seized power and crowned himself king. He’d installed his supporters in positions of authority and disinherited Kat and her siblings.

  Kat was simply a female, from a very small, very peaceful country. She didn’t have an army. The kingdom itself didn’t have an army. She didn’t have legions of soldiers to impose a just ending for Nicholas. There had been n
o hue and cry from the citizenry to demand Kristof step down. In fact, he’d been roundly hailed for taking action, so she’d been forced to accept what had occurred. It had infuriated her, but she’d accepted it.

  They might have remained in Parthenia, but a friend of her father’s had pulled her aside and whispered that Nicholas might be at risk from Kristof. Initially she’d refused to believe it, but gradually she’d decided she couldn’t discount the words of warning.

  So long as Nicholas was alive and underfoot at the palace, he was a daily reminder to everyone that he was the lawful king, that Kristof was a deceitful usurper. It wasn’t the Middle Ages so the chance of a royal murder was very likely preposterous to consider, but Kristof was a fiend, and she would put nothing past him.

  It would be simple for a twelve-year-old boy to be poisoned or suffer an accident. Who could ever prove that treachery had been involved? Especially with Kristof’s loyalists handling any investigation.

  Kat would do anything to protect her siblings, and once she’d admitted that perfidy could transpire, there had been no reason to stay in Parthenia. She still had her own fortune from her mother’s dowry, so she’d had the funds to sneak away with Nicholas and Isabelle.

  Her mother had been a fetching, elegant American heiress. On her grand tour of Europe when she was eighteen, Kat’s father had met her and made her his bride.

  Kat’s father had been handsome and dynamic, and she imagined her mother had been swept off her feet by his regal proposal. But Kat had been fifteen when her mother had passed away in childbed, so they’d never had an adult conversation about her parents’ marriage.

  It was entirely possible that her mother had been unhappy as a queen in a foreign land. She’d been pragmatic and level-headed, possessed of very American ideas about equality and egalitarianism. She’d scoffed over the concept of one person being better than another merely because of the blood in his veins, and she’d frequently waxed nostalgic about the life in America she’d abandoned.

  Her only brother, Cedric Webster, was an archeologist who’d been digging in Egypt for decades. With Kat’s world in shambles, she’d decided to seek him out. He was the sole Webster relative who’d ever visited Parthenia, and he and her mother had been close. He’d help Kat, wouldn’t he?