The Angel of Blythe Hall

by Darci Hannah

  “Yes,” Gabriel replied, and exhaled forcibly. He was somewhat relieved that it was now over with.

  “Wait, yes?” Julius repeated, his inquiring eyes enlivened.

  “No!” Gabriel cried, losing his temper. “No. She is no longer a virgin! Is that what you wish to hear?”

  Julius, feigning shock, smiled. “Thank you. I don’t see why that was so difficult to answer. It’s a simple yes-or-no question. Not much to think about when you get down to it. You either are, or you’re not. All right, now, how about you? Are you, Gabriel St. Clair, still a virgin?” Dante, like the child he was, could not control himself and erupted in a fit of puerile laughter. Julius also laughed but trailed off unheroically in a fit of pain-induced moaning. Gabriel, just as in the old days, was not laughing. “Dear God,” wheezed Julius, holding his stomach tightly. “I’m sorry. That was just cruel and juvenile of me. Besides, I already know the answer to that. I heard bells. Remember? Bells, glorious bells. Now that we’ve sufficiently exhausted that matter, rest assured I will not bother you about it again.” This was not said with the most earnest expression, but it was good enough for Gabriel. “And the reason I asked in the first place should be obvious. You now—”

  “Oh, it is,” Gabriel interjected, cutting him off. “I realized it the moment I stepped foot in Blythe Hall. I realized it the moment I saw Isabeau.”

  “Did you suffer much?” Julius asked with a convincing amount of concern.

  “A little. Yes. As I’m sure you meant me to. You were, after all, teaching me a lesson.”

  “No.” The word shot out like the snap of a whip. Julius, with a face void of all mirth and mockery, looked squarely at him. “No, brother, that I was not. I mocked you all those years ago because I knew that you were running from your own desires. You’ve always loved Isabeau but lacked the self-confidence to fight for her. It wasn’t until you brought us back to Rhodes with you that I saw what you had made of yourself, and I suddenly understood why—even if you didn’t understand it yourself. Rhodes made you strong, Gabriel; it made you the man you needed to be in order to fulfill your destiny. And I realized then that your destiny was to be with Isabeau.

  “George Douglas was still in Scotland, and I knew that when the time was right he would come for my sister. He told me so himself before he placed me in the hands of the Turk. I knew I needed to return to Scotland, but in order to do that I needed first to be free, and second to find my father. However, by the time you found me I had lost the will to do either of those things. You fought valiantly for our lives, Gabriel, and for that I can never repay you. Yet after all you did for Dante and me, I still could not bear to face my father. I was more than humbled, I was beaten, and I knew that unless I did something, Isabeau would suffer as I had. And then, one day, Providence intervened. You see, I understood that you’d never leave Rhodes—that you’d waste your life and your gifts serving the order. I had to do something, and so I drove you from Rhodes—we drove you,” he said, indicating Dante. “Don’t look at me like that. It wasn’t entirely planned. Yet once you left, I was certain you’d go directly to Scotland, and to Isabeau, but instead you did something even more remarkable. You found my father, didn’t you?”

  “How … how in the world did you know that?”

  “I received a message,” said Julius Blythe plainly. “And by that time I was ready to face my own destiny. Don’t hate me too much for doing what I did,” he said, holding up a feeble hand and looking levelly into the incredulous blue stare. “I may have made you face the dragon and slay it, but that dragon was the most precious gift I had to give.”

  “By dragon, are we referring to Isabeau?” Dante asked, assiduously trying to follow along.

  “No,” said Julius, not unkindly, “but we can go with that euphemism if you like.” He smiled.

  “Isabeau is not the dragon,” Gabriel said gently. “What Julius means, Dante, is that she is the princess the dragon was guarding—the dragon being the obstacle in the way. Do you see?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Not really. Who is this dragon?”

  They ignored him. Julius continued. “I take it your feelings for Isabeau are still strong?”

  “Overwhelmingly so.”

  “Good. Because you understand that you will have to fight for marital bliss. I may not have done you the favor you have done me.”

  “Yes. You have. And,” Gabriel said, his open, unguarded gaze beholding the bruised angelic face of his tormentor, “I must thank you, old friend. Oh—before I forget—I have something for you from your father. It may not be the key to hanging Kilwylie, but it will help. He’s written a statement describing your business in England and has signed it, clearing you of suspicion concerning all treasonous English connections. I have it safely hidden in my quiver.”

  “Your quiver? You keep something of this importance in your moldering quiver? How is he—and where is he?”

  “Good. And, it’s complicated. We’ll talk about it later. You need your rest, Julius. You look remarkably better, but not at all healthy enough to go against a frisky kitten, let alone a devil like Kilwylie. I know Isabeau is anxious to talk with you. Dante and I will leave you. We’re going to have a wee word with Lord Hume about retaking Blythe Hall. After all, who knows better how to launch a surprise attack from the inside than us?” Gabriel looked at Dante and smiled, indicating with his eyes the labyrinth of secret tunnels and chambers beneath Blythe Hall. “Lord Hume is very distraught at the moment, and we’re going to help ease his mind a measure. Dante?” Gabriel said, and stood to go.

  “I’ll be with you in a minute,” Dante replied, looking intently at Julius. With a gentle nod of his glorious head, Gabriel slipped from the room.

  “Dante,” Julius began softly, “my raven-eyed familiar, we have prayed together at the altar of women, of blood, and of money. Do you think I don’t know why you’re here?”

  “But what if it fails? What if all we’ve done is for nothing? He attacked you! Kilwylie broke into your cell and stabbed you! Do you think he will stop? What if he succeeds? What if you die? Do you ever think of me?” His dark, fathomless eyes were imploring, and then they fell, and his head dropped, resting helpless against the cool sheets of the bed.

  “All the time,” Julius replied quietly, and placed his hand on the night-black curls at the nape of the young man’s neck. “But I don’t think I’m going to die just yet. And I was wrong. One cannot always revert to the ways of the heathen to solve every problem. Look at me.” Dante’s eyes came up. “Stay with Gabriel, Dante. Resist temptation, and for God’s sake, brother, say a prayer.”

  “To what deity?”

  “Why, to the only deity powerful enough to save our souls.”

  Dante left Julius and found Isabeau waiting on the other side of the door with a cup of ill-smelling tea cradled reverently between her hands. He smiled at the sight of her. Isabeau, with a shy smile of her own, told him that Gabriel had gone ahead and was sitting with Lord Hume in his chamber. He nodded, thanked her, and gallantly opened the door. He watched her enter, letting his eyes linger over her enticing form a moment too long, and then, with an inward sigh, closed the door behind her. He knew this was an important meeting for them both, and wished them well of it. A part of him longed to be there too—a part of him envied Gabriel, because Gabriel would soon be a part of this extraordinary family. He didn’t have a family. Julius was the closest thing to family he’d ever had. And he was not about to let Kilwylie destroy that. He looked down the hall and saw the open door Isabeau had pointed to. He turned and walked the other way, slipping silently down the back stairs.

  A commotion on the main floor momentarily drew his attention. He paused and peered around a corner. There was a flurry of activity spurred by the arrival of three spindly monks and a squat little priest. They were in the process of disrobing. He smiled and watched a servant run up the main stairs with the news. It was a good omen indeed, and one that reinforced his decision. He had now fulfilled hi
s obligations to Julius. All would be well. All the pieces of the puzzle had come together. There was just one last thing to do. He had made a promise to himself that he would hunt Kilwylie down and cut out his still-beating heart. There was no need to hunt. Kilwylie was right here, beneath his feet, and no one would notice if he went missing for a minute or two. Dante, with a cold, dark gaze, turned back to the stairs and, like a ghost blending into the darkness, descended into the dungeon of Hume.

  I stood before the door, clutching a mug of herbal tea, and waited until Dante was finished speaking with my brother. Gabriel, having stepped out alone, came to me and held me tightly, nearly spilling the tea. Whatever had occurred in the room had been straining and emotional, and I was pleased to feel the tension in his body slowly melt away as he kissed me. “Perhaps I should make you some tea as well?” I offered.

  “No,” he was quick to reply, and then his lips pulled into a soft smile. “I mean, no thank you. Your brother deserves all of that—the whole pot. Tell me, does it taste as bad as it smells?”

  “Likely worse. Was he horrible to you?”

  “No,” he answered softly. I looked into the beautiful blue gaze, deep as the ocean and as full of promise. He then tenderly pushed a strand of hair from my face as he said, “He was remarkable. And he seems to be getting a little better. But don’t let him get out of drinking that, aye? I’ve to go talk with Sir Alexander now. Will you tell Dante to join us?” I nodded and happily took another kiss for good measure.

  Dante emerged a moment later looking quietly determined. He was an interesting young man, with a very disarming smile—one that made a woman blush. “Gabriel’s in Lord Hume’s chamber, just down there,” I said.

  He thanked me and held the door.

  The moment I entered I saw that Julius was looking markedly better. “You’re sitting up,” I said, walking to the bed. “Good. You can drink this. I sent your friend Dr. Hayes to bed. You had him worried sick. He hasn’t slept in days.”

  He smiled and patted the bed. “Good. Come, Isabeau, sit beside me. Dear God, what’s this?” he said, gingerly taking the mug from my hands.

  “I made you some tea. It’s one of my groom’s famous concoctions.”

  “Tam’s recipe, is it?” He beheld the hot liquid with familiar suspicion.

  I looked at him—at his sardonic eyes—and then offered cautiously, “You know Tam? He told me he’d never met you.”

  “Then he would be a liar,” Julius replied. “A good one. He’s a remarkable young man, is Tam, and I’m the reason he’s your groom.”

  “What? What are you saying? Tam worked in the royal stables. James sent him to me.”

  “Yes,” he replied. “For a while I made sure he was close to James. I needed him close to you when I went to prison. The switch to serve you was all managed very cleverly between Seraphina and Tam; James would think it was his idea, but the seed was planted by your friends. Do you wonder why?”

  “Yes,” I uttered, staring at him as if he were a stranger.

  “Because, as you’ve probably already discovered yourself, you and I are different from other people, Isabeau.”

  I shook my head in fearful denial, while at the same time odd memories came flooding back—the scroll Sir Oliver gave me, the visions of Gabriel, that day long ago in the tower room.

  Julius set down the tea, and held my hand. “I didn’t want to believe it myself. I realized it that day long ago in the tower room. Do you remember it? Do you remember Rondo, your puppy? He was dead, Isabeau. Your puppy died that day, and you brought him back to life with your tears. Look at me!” he ordered, seeing that I was shaking, seeing that I was unwilling to believe it. “Look at me,” he said again, this time in a tone so desperately pleading that I could not deny him. “I was not well, Isabeau. An hour ago, before you walked through that door, I wasn’t certain I would live. I was dying. I needed you. I needed your tears to heal me. Give me your hands,” he said, and before I could move he took them in his own. I watched as he brought them to his stomach and felt the heat of his flesh through his thin nightshirt. “Close your eyes,” he ordered. I did. I could feel him breathe, my hands moving gently with his every breath. “Heal me,” he whispered. “Heal me, Isabeau.”

  “I … I don’t know how,” I said. “Julius, honestly, I don’t know how!”

  “Yes, you do. Close your eyes. Feel me. Feel my heart beating.” I did as he wished, and noted how his heart felt stronger. “Now, concentrate; concentrate on the wasted flesh.” He brought my hands over his spectacular wound. The gash was not big, but the blade of the dagger had gone in deep, ripping through his flesh and large intestine, and piercing his liver. There were other wounds as well. I knew this, I realized, because I saw it in my head. My jaw dropped at the revelation. Julius continued. “See my damaged organs and make them whole. Concentrate on the splintered bone and see it mended. See my body as a perfect, thriving, living thing.”

  As Julius talked I followed him in my mind and felt the gentle hum course through me. It filled me with warm, tingling heat; I felt whole and alive and full of radiant energy. I willed it into him, and in turn I felt it coming back, stronger and stronger. I opened my eyes. Julius was smiling. And he looked … he looked like he did the day he came home, the day he wreaked havoc on Blythe Hall. “Dear God,” I uttered, and smiled back at him.

  “I have it too,” he said. “Only not nearly as strong. I can’t bring anyone back from the dead. Dear Lord,” he breathed, and ran his hands over his torso, marveling and grinning like a fool. “It’s amazing—utterly amazing. As I was saying, I’m not a healer. I’m more … destructive.”

  “Really?” I said with pure, juvenile sarcasm. “I hadn’t noticed. And you weren’t dead, just skewered. But how? How is it possible?”

  “Because, dear sister, our mother, although human in nearly every way, had divine blood running through her veins, as do we. Wait,” he said, holding up a hand to silence the flood of questions he saw on my lips. “It’s not that easy. It’s not all good. In fact, I’ve learned it’s very complicated. Let me tell you a little of what I know. Do you know the term Nephilim?”

  “Yes,” I answered slowly, and then looked at him with my mouth agape. “The scroll!” I brought my hand over my mouth. “The manuscript!”

  “What?” There was a frightening look in his eyes. “What … what manuscript are you talking about, Isabeau?” he asked cautiously, although I believed he already knew the answer.

  “The manuscript that drove Father away—the one that speaks of the Nephilim. I have it.”

  It was his turn to be amazed. “How on earth do you have it?” he asked, keeping his handsome, expressive face under firm control. It was a sign of his remarkable recovery. “I’ve been looking everywhere for it. Dear God, Isabeau! George Douglas will kill for that. He’s destroyed our home looking for it. Where was it?”

  “It wasn’t at Blythe Hall,” I said, looking levelly at him. “It was at Rosslyn Castle. It was supposed to be in the altar in the Chapel of Angels, but Father left it with Sir Oliver on a whim. Now, tell me, Julius,” I said, my eyes boring into his with bold challenge, “why would George Douglas kill for it? What could it possibly mean to him? By God, what is going on?”

  “Something very, very evil, I’m afraid. Something I’ve tried to prevent for a long time. Douglas wants the manuscript for the same reason I do, Isabeau. Redemption. We aren’t the only ones, you know.”

  I was staring at him, my body limp, my mind aching and swirling with questions, when the door opened suddenly. We both turned.

  “Oh, my children! My poor, dear little angels. I thought I was too late. How my heart has ached for this moment—to see you both together again.” Seraphina walked in, her eyes bright with tears. With a spring in her step that belied her age, she crossed to the bed and pulled us both into her arms, just like she had when we were children. “It is time I tell you the Story.”

  The ring of keys was hanging on a hook in the guardro
om. The guard had momentarily stepped out to relieve himself. Dante, black and silent, lifted them and continued down the hall. His heart beat strong and steady; his mind was entirely focused. He stopped and stood, still and eerie as a wraith, before the iron bars. It was dark, but he could see Kilwylie lying on the floor. The man was on his back with his hands cradled beneath his head and his long legs crossed at the ankles. His eyes were closed, but Dante doubted he was sleeping. He watched the huge chest rise and fall with a deep, hypnotic rhythm. He looked at the relaxed face: the smug, insolent set to the lips, the long, dark lashes. And then he visualized his knife taking it all away in one startling moment of pain.

  As if Kilwylie had read his mind, his eyes shot open and turned to the door. Dante didn’t move. The man’s eyes were spectacular, he thought, the piercing light green of a cat’s. He saw fear behind them—a fear that gave him pleasure. He was going to enjoy this.

  “Who the hell are you?” Kilwylie demanded. “And what do you mean by sneaking up on me, boy?”

  Dante only smiled. He took out the key. Kilwylie’s eyes fell to the lock. That was when he saw the knife in the young man’s other hand. And then he smiled too.

  Kilwylie uncoiled and pulled to his full, dark height as the door opened. He was a big man, Dante saw, as tall as Gabriel but thicker, heavier, with muscles hardened under the long use of full tilting armor. He nearly took up the entire cell. “I take it he’s dead?” Kilwylie asked, a soft, hopeful smile on his lips. “And does my pretty little assassin have a name, or do I just call you corpse?”

  “You can call me death, if you like,” said Dante, his voice low and void of emotion. “That is the only name you shall know.” And then he moved—with a speed that was nearly inhuman.

  Before Kilwylie could lunge at him, Dante was on the floor, rolling behind the knight. He brought the knife up and struck deep into the thick muscle of a hamstring. With a quick jerk of the wrist, he pulled it out again.

  Profanity, loud and crude, echoed through the dungeon. Kilwylie spun on his good leg and realized too late that the little creature was no longer behind him. He spun again, and for his mistake received a stab in his thigh. His entire leg was now useless. The little bastard, he thought with grim amusement. He fights dirty, like me. He swung low, protecting his good leg, and finally connected with something other than air. The knife had cut his thigh, but not deeply. Dante flew backward and hit the wall.