by Lisa Shea
There was a black carriage waiting for me at the curved driveway before the mansion. For a moment the past, present, and future blurred. I was filled with images of my father and stepmother desperately racing to a wagon in ancient Cairo, striving to save precious documents from the flames. Intertwined with that image was one of guards, much like these two, descending on my family in the dead of night in France. The men were certain that we aristocrats deserved to be punished for our sins.
I shook my head. In Paris we were brought to task by those who denounced religion. Here it was the religious holding the whips, seeking to maintain their control. But, in the end, was it that much different? It was all about power. Power and the grabbing of as much wealth as possible.
I took in a deep breath. Through my visions I was learning not to try to fight injustice head-on. There were other ways to win.
I climbed within.
The carriage set into motion, and the darkened streets of Barcelona scrolled past my window. To my surprise we were not taking the carefully maintained road to the enormous Cathedral of Barcelona - the gargoyle-encrusted building which had served as our city’s spiritual center for over a hundred years. Instead, we were moving northwest, into the hilly outskirts of the city.
I banged on the front wall of the carriage. “Where are we going?”
A laugh came back to me, and Father de Villare’s voice rang out. “The Inquisition moves at its own pace, young Elizabeth. We can hold you for months – or years – while we examine you. Your family pays for your expenses, of course. It is only when we are absolutely sure that we have extracted all information from you that we bring you to public trial.”
My blood ran cold. They could hold me captive for years without any oversight? Without even formally charging me with wrongdoing?
I leant out the window and looked forward, up the hills, and darkness swept over me.
We were heading straight toward Father de Villare’s family stronghold. I had never been there, of course, but my stepmother spoke of it often in hushed whispers. It was a dream of hers to enter such exalted circles.
The wheels rolled, the carriage rocked and bumped, and at last we neared the estate. A large crest was emblazoned over the entry gate as we passed through, and then there was acre after acre of vineyard. The mansion itself was stunning to see. Four stories tall, elegant marble, lamps glowing in every room, and a bustle of well-dressed servants who scrambled out to meet our carriage.
The two guards pulled open the door for me, and I shakily stepped down into the gravel path. Father de Villare was there at our side and motioned sharply with his hand. “Take her down into the cellars. A cell has been prepared.”
I was grabbed and hauled to the right, past elegant sculptures and neatly pruned hedges. Blue-eyes hauled open a heavy wooden door; scar-face pushed me roughly through it. Before I could blink I was tossed into a small, stone-lined room with a moldy straw mat in one corner.
Blue-eyes closed the cell’s door with a heavy clang. Within the door there was a small, barred window, and the guard’s gaze glared through the opening. “Get used to this space,” he growled. “This is your new home.”
He turned and strode away from the window of light.
I turned in place, but there were no other windows, no other exits from my tiny cell. The stone walls were slick with slime and stunk of mold. Cautiously I made my way to that one barred window in the door. The space beyond was large, with a fire crackling in a fireplace on the far wall and a heavy, oak table sided by four sturdy chairs. On the far end were the steep stairs leading up to civilization.
There were fresh footsteps coming down the stairs, two people, and I could hear Father de Villare’s voice at a low mutter as he gave terse instructions to someone. As they descended into the light of the room I paled.
I knew that man.
Ramsey.
I shook my head, my fingers twining on the bars.
This couldn’t be real.
I had dismissed the importance of Father de Villare and his two guards appearing in my visions. After all, they were a force to be reckoned with in the church. It was no surprise to me that images of them might appear in my dreams, especially representing people of power.
But Ramsey?
I had never met him before in real life. There was no way I would have known the details of his florid face or his heavyset build. And yet he was exactly as I had seen him in that rough tavern in the distant land of Australia. He was identical to the abusive butcher I had barely escaped in long-past England.
And here he was, alive and breathing, walking only feet before me.
I glanced around in panic. Maybe Ramsey was the enemy here, and Father de Villare would shield me against him. Perhaps that was what my visions were showing me – that these two men would sink each other’s boats and I would slip away, free.
Ramsey’s voice rose in a whine. “But, Father, why can’t we do our interrogations in the main court? Think of the respect I would finally earn! I would no longer be just the bastard son of a bastard father. Together we could be the slayers of a dangerous, powerful witch!”
I could barely breathe as the truth shook me.
Ramsey was de Villare’s son?
Father de Villare backhanded Ramsey, knocking him into the far wall. “A tree which is born twisted never goes straight,” he snapped. “You blithering idiot. Do you think I want anything she has seen to be common knowledge?” He shot a glance in the direction of my cell. “She holds the secret details of acquiring wealth beyond our dreams. Of riches beyond imagining.”
Ramsey’s small eyes lit up with growing understanding, and then sharpened in greed. “She knows where money is? And she will tell us?”
Father de Villare clenched his fists. “After we are through with her, she will tell us everything. Every last thing.”
I shrank back into the corner of my cell. My thoughts rearranged and coalesced. Before, my fear had been that Father de Villare had not believed in my visions. That he thought them the deranged ramblings of an unsure mind – perhaps even judged me a witch of some sort.
But now a different realization was coming to me. It seemed Father de Villare was quite sure that my visions were true. He was planning to use what I knew to plunder the innocent and amass an unholy fortune.
Iron cored my soul. I thought again of all the injustices these two men had done in the past. Torturing the weak. Grasping for power.
My hands clenched. There was no way on Earth I would give them the tiniest piece of information which they could use for their dark schemes.
Even if it meant my life.
Ramsey’s voice was high with anticipation. “Will you finally allow me to take the lead in a torture? I have always wanted to be the first to turn the screws. To watch their eyes when they realize that the pain will never end, and that it is wholly within my control.”
Father de Villare gave a scoffing laugh. “You have much to learn, my son. It is too soon - she has the fire of indignation in her. They often do, when first taken. We will let her marinate for a day or two. Succumb to hunger and thirst. To a thousand fears and trepidations.”
He rolled his shoulders. “By the time we get to her, she will be falling over herself to reveal what she feels is enough to get her released. We want that initial trickle to begin.” His mouth widened into a toothy grin. “And then, only then, will we widen it into a deluge.”
I carefully crawled to peer through the small window.
Father de Villare pointed at blue-eyes. “Erik, you come with me and Ramsey to file the necessary paperwork. We don’t want to give her family any ability to take her from our grasp. Not now; not when we are so close to having everything life could offer. Ralph will take the first watch.”
The scar-faced man shrugged and settled down on a chair facing the fireplace.
Father de Villare shot a look in my direction. “Sleep well, Señorita Elizabeth. You will find you need your strength in the coming months.”
He gave a low laugh, and then the trio of men ascended the stairs. There was the distant thunk of a heavy door closing, and then the room lapsed into silence. The only sound was the soft crackling of the fire in the fireplace and the occasional wheeze of Ralph’s breath.
I staggered back onto the musty mat, the cell wall damp at my back.
The darkness pressed in on me and my thoughts raced.
How would I get out of here? My father and stepmother would assume I was at the Cathedral. It might take them weeks or months to determine that I was not actually there. By then I could have been tortured beyond all limits. I had no doubt that Father de Villare and his foul son would spare no quarter in learning every last detail of what my visions held.
I imagined the two would care little for the dreams I had experienced which were based in the past. Knowing the details of how Pompeii fell would not serve their interests. They would dismiss any concerns about Caesar and Cleopatra.
But what if they ascertained the sequence of events for the Spanish conquest of the Mayans? What if they pulled from me every last thought about how the locals were overcome and the wealth of their gold extracted? If Father de Villare determined exactly who to align with, and where they should send their men, he could profit off of every fleet of treasure which was sent back to Spain. He could become the wealthiest man in Europe. He would build his fortune from the genocide of an entire culture.
My throat closed up, and I fought off the tears which threatened to fall.
There were fresh footsteps on the stairs, and I cringed further back into the mat. While Father de Villare might be content to wait until I was properly “softened,” it seemed his son was more eager to begin. I would not put it past him to slip away and get first dibs on breaking me.
Thunk.
I blinked, my heart hammering against my chest. Something large and heavy had just hit the ground. What could it be –
A pair of eyes, tawny, steady, looked through the bars. They widened in shock, and a voice came, low and hoarse.
“Elizabeth?”
Robert.
I ran to the bars, twining my fingers around the cold metal, and his hands covered mine.
His voice was rough. “When I saw Ramsey, and the other two, I knew you had to be nearby. But to lock you up? What have the bastards done to you?”
“Nothing yet,” I assured him, still in awe at my vision walking and breathing before me. “They wanted to give me time to soak in my own fear before beginning their torture.”
Robert growled something under his breath and then he tugged at the door. “Locked.”
He spun and ran to kneel beside Ralph. In a moment he returned with the key and turned it in the lock.
He pulled open the door.
I dove into the safety of his arms, and his hands came up around me as if we’d always belonged together. Visions and memories swarmed over me. Robert holding me on the rooftop in Warsaw, knowing that our short time together would number in weeks. Robert looking into my gaze on the Titanic, where we would only have days before the end. There was the long walk of the Navajo where we would struggle to endure brutal hardships before returning home.
It had never mattered. All that mattered was that we were together, side by side, and able to treasure each moment.
At last he glanced up. “We have to get you out of here.” His hand dropped to the sword at his hip, and he gave a small smile. “My mother used to tease me about taking sword classes in school. I wonder what she would think now.”
I shook my head. Why would his mother not want him to know how to defend himself? It was expected of every man in Barcelona to be able to protect himself and his family.
He took my hand. “Stay with me.”
I nodded. “Always.”
His fingers tightened, and then we were in motion, up the stone stairs.
He carefully pressed open the door on the top, and then we were out into the gardens. He drew me along the edge of the hedge maze, and then we were delving down into the vineyards. Row after row of plump, succulent grapes sparkled in the moonlight.
The main gates loomed up ahead of us out of the darkness. There was no sign of pursuit before us, and I breathed in a long sigh of relief.
He turned as we stepped through, looking back up at the gates and the mansion beyond. “We will need to get as far from here as possible. West, I think. Far west. Somewhere out of the Inquisition’s reach. I have a feeling Father de Villare will use every resource he has access to in order to find us.”
I twined my fingers into his. “Wherever you want to take us, I will go.”
My gaze followed his up to the stone arch of the gate, and I blinked in surprise, staring at the emblem above the gates.
A lion rampant.
I stared at the carving, and then turned to look more closely at Robert. “I know that seal. I remember it from the very first vision I have of us. Of a ball in the midst of an icy-cold winter. That image, in stone, was mounted over your fireplace.”
He nodded, his brow creasing in confusion. “The lion rampant is our family seal. My father claims it has been our symbol for a thousand years.”
I looked between him and the seal.
He stepped forward, his voice rough. “Elizabeth, what is it?”
I opened my mouth.
The world whirled, and I grabbed at his hand. “Not yet!”
His fingers slipped through my grasp.
*
I pulled my thick coat even tighter around me, but it did little to keep out the biting chill. February was always a brutal month and this year it was colder than even the elders could recall experiencing. I lifted the shovel and drove it again at the solid ice coating the water trough.
Splash!
The shovel broke through, shattering the thick ice into pieces and sending a wave of frigid water up over me. I groaned, my teeth chattering as the droplets froze against my skin.
Ramsey leered at me from the stall opposite where he laid a dense saddle blanket onto the large black stallion. The flickering torch set deep shadows into his gaze. “A bit wet, are you? Maybe you should take those things off and get warmed up proper.”
“Not on your life,” I snapped. “I have already made clear to the clan that I will never accept your suit. I’m of age and a full woman. They respect my wishes.” My mouth curled up. “There are several other strong, capable men they are considering pairing me with.”
His face turned sour. “That stepmother of yours has been boasting at every corner about her plans for you. As if our family name is not the best in the region.”
I shot a glance at him. “A reputation you do not uphold with your own actions.”
He waved his hand. “I can do as I wish. We control the lands, and who will stand against us?” His eyes shone with anticipation. “As for your other suitors, if something were to … happen … to those men, then the clan would realize I was the best option. After all, a fiery woman like you needs a strong man to pair with. So the children grow up courageous and fierce.”
His father’s voice rose high in the morning air, sharp and edged. “Odin’s Nostril! Ramsey! Where are you! Get that horse out here!”
Ramsey’s face darkened. “Coming, Father!”
He cinched the saddle in place and tugged on its reins. His eyes moved to me again, and they narrowed. “Our traditions may give women equal footing – but I have been talking with the missionaries. They say that a woman’s place is lesser than a man’s. That she should obey a man in all things.” His mouth glittered into a smile. “I might sponsor them building that chapel they wanted, by the crossing. Help spread the word.”
He gave another yank to the horse’s reins, and they stepped out into the dark dawn.
I growled, jamming the shovel down into the hard dirt. I had heard much about these new Christians. About how they felt the women in our community had too much say. That women inheriting land was unnatural.
I pressed a hand to my heart an
d sent up a silent prayer to Freya. With Her will, the missionaries would continue on their journey and leave us in peace.
I poured out a portion of grain for the oxen, then looked around. Everything was in its place. I nodded in satisfaction and then stepped out into the shadows.
Ramsey’s father was climbing onto the steed, his grey hair and beard half hidden by the thick cloak he wore. His dark eyes moved in a steady sweep of his family’s holdings. I followed his gaze. Everything from the trickling stream north belonged to his family. The stables, the longhouse, the cluster of huts where the thralls lived. My own house was just on the other side of the river, safe, but with how he ruled the fates of my father, stepmother, and me, we might just as well have been owned.
I pressed my lips into a line. While Ramsey’s family might have say over much of my destiny, I was still a free woman. The clan respected my choice in who I would and would not be joined with. I had sworn to every god that it would not be Ramsey.
No matter how rich their family might be.
My wooden hand-cart rested to the right, loaded up with the barrel of dried apples. Now to take this down to the baker –
A strong hand grabbed at my arm, and I was yanked around the corner. I nearly shrieked until I saw the familiar tawny eyes. I chuckled and relaxed against Robert. “You dolt. Why did you do that? You scared me half to death!”
His gaze was strangely hooded, and his movements were furtive. He shot a cautious glance around the corner toward Ramsey and his father. “I couldn’t let them see you.”
I laughed. “Are you letting my dreams get to you again? My visions come as all do. They’re cast with members of my family. Yours. Our friends. That is the way dreams play their course. They wrap enigmatic messages within the familiar.”
His brow creased. “But those two men – have they not threatened to hurt you?”
My smile nearly split my face. “What, your uncle and cousin?”
He stared at me as if I’d grown wings and become a Valkyrie.
His voice was barely a whisper.
“My what?”
20 – Viking Destiny
Robert stared in Ramsey’s direction in shock, his hand still tight on my arm. “Ramsey is my cousin? But that’s not possible!”
