They were finally home.
Chapter 13
Cardiff Land, North Yorkshire, England – August 15, 1789
He was swimming in her current, his strokes clean and true, on a quest for fulfillment.
He held her as the rising tide lifted them to the heavens. They were one. Light mingled with their love and embodied this life, this union. The wholeness of it was sacred to them. Their souls exploded together. The waves crashed over them both, setting them adrift in the depths of their love…
Roman slowly opened his eyes, kissing the sensitive spot on Jacqueline’s neck just below her ear. She was still clinging to him with her eyes closed. He rolled over, placing her on top of him.
The house was still on the eve of their wedding day. The dawn’s light filtered in, invading the far reaches of the bedroom. It illuminated the bed hangings, transforming them from monotone tints to the vibrancy of red, green and gold.
She played idly with his chest hair. Her breasts were fuller now, heavier against him. He knew her body so well that he was certain she was ripe.
She slept later in the mornings now. He looked for her after working in the office and would find her asleep before the fireplace downstairs with the sketchpad on her lap.
She loved to walk the land with him. They would go to one of their favorite places, the hidden dell within the dense beech woodlands. She sat on his lap by the gurgling brook on a boulder and sketched. She was a true artist and captured the deer expertly with her charcoal. They would ride a wagon to the hidden dell next time; he did not want her to exert herself so much.
She leaned up on her arms, her breasts a fetching sight, and he was ready to devour her again.
“Mon amour, we are blessed. I am certain now; we are going to have a baby.”
“My beautiful Jacqueline!” He lifted her and placed her underneath him.
She giggled as he kissed her belly, her hips. He finally buried his face in her bosom. “I am the happiest man in all of England.”
She gasped when his tongue travelled down her body. “Last night I dreamed of a boy with black curls. Shall we name him Miles, after your father?”
He paused in his descent to look up at her. Her skin shone with the incandescence of pearls. “Miles St. Clair Cardiff, a good, strong name.”
* * * *
Jacqueline sat before the fireplace with her sketchpad, finishing a design for a cradle Roman would craft for their baby.
That is, she was trying to finish it. It was hard to concentrate on it when she felt as if she were floating above the clouds.
Tomorrow they would be wed. They would travel to Bath and spend their wedding night at a remote inn perched atop a mountain in the valley where they would be all alone. She was looking forward to having Roman all to herself, away from the construction site and the surveyors.
He promised to show her the world and when the crew returned to the ship, he would take her to India on a wedding trip.
But she must complete this sketch before that could happen, and now was the perfect time. The house was quiet, all the men were at the site and Henry and Anya had gone to market.
She turned toward the entrance hall when the front door opened. “Henry, Anya, are you back so soon?” When no one answered, she put her sketchpad down and walked to the entryway. The door stood wide open.
“Henry?” She crossed the threshold and walked out past the buttercups and daisies bordering the walkway.
The clearing was quiet. She was alone.
“It must have been the wind,” she said to the silence and turned back toward the cottage.
The High Priestess Isolde stood in the cottage doorway.
Jacqueline stopped, unable to take another step. “You…are not real.”
The high priestess’s headdress swayed as she took a step forward. The rubies on her fingers glinted in the sun.
Jacqueline took a step back. “You are a dream, nothing more!”
“I am as real as you are.” The high priestess walked slowly toward her, a triumphant gleam in her eyes. “For I am you.”
Jacqueline tried to scream, but could only stare at the colorful silk panels of the high priestess’s skirt, the gold cups encasing her breasts, and finally into those laughing, emerald eyes. “This is not happening. Why? Why now…we are so happy.”
The high priestess’s throaty laughter was heartless. “You have enjoyed this reprieve, but you have run long enough, little witch. He is here now.” The high priestess touched her cheek with purpose and she saw a vision of her consort, in her, above the fiery pit, pounding into her as she screamed her release…
“Mon Dieu, no…” Jacqueline pushed away from the high priestess and ran through the clearing.
She ran through the Scots Pine and Hawthorne trees, holding up her long skirts. Tears blinded her and the icy hand of dread gripped her heart as she glimpsed the high priestess through the trees, once reclining on a boulder ahead, laughing, and then sitting high overhead in the nook of a huge tree limb, her long auburn tresses waving in the wind. After that, she stopped looking for the high priestess.
She knew the high priestess was watching her, always watching her but she had to reach Roman before he encountered the Marquess. He could be anywhere, in the fields, at the site, the stables or storage houses.
Roman would not tolerate her consort, Lord Alsborough, whatever his ploy, coming upon them at home like this. He would kill the lord with his bare hands.
Jacqueline stumbled several times, hardly feeling the scratches on her legs as the brush scraped her flesh. Energizing adrenaline pumped through her, spurring her on. She continued through the trees, hoping, praying she was not too late.
Chapter 14
Cardiff Land, North Yorkshire, England – August 15, 1789
Roman’s wide-brimmed straw hat hung low over his brow, shielding his eyes from the sun.
Jamie was a distant figure, plowing across the field. They would leave the east end for the others to work on, but would finish this section today.
He pushed the brim of his hat up for a better view of the carriage rumbling on the road.
The driver waved, bringing the team of grays to a halt just off the dirt road near the ancient oak. The man was garbed as a nobleman, his black frock coat swinging as he jumped down to tend the horses. A tricorn hat obscured part of his face.
Roman leaned on the plow, waiting for the man to turn toward him.
“Captain Cardiff, a pleasure to see you again.”
“Lord Alsborough, what brings you out here to the country?” Roman’s tone was deceptively light, though his grip on the plow handle turned his knuckles white.
Alsborough adjusted his cravat while closing the distance between them. The man was out of place in this rural environment. He stood on the field as if he loathed setting foot on the rich soil beneath him. He stopped about ten paces away with a smile that failed to reach the obsidian pools of his eyes.
“I want to thank you for the safe passage of my fiancée, Mademoiselle Jacqueline St. Clair.” His smile was condescending as he surveyed the field. He produced a handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead. “I seem to have missed your post notifying me of her whereabouts. I have been traveling, you see.” His tone was most cordial as he eyed Roman’s grass stained overalls and muddy boots as if they were covered in dung.
“I wrote no letter, and so I am wondering how you may have come to be here.”
Alsborough glanced down at the plow. “Lady Rebecca Forsythe directed me to your charming village.”
He should have known this would happen. The court sluts aimed so high, their lofty goals most often unattainable while they were used to fill some lord’s idle time.
“That scheming whore, she will pay for this,” Roman swore. “Lady Rebecca is your only prospect now, Lord Alsborough. Jacqueline is mine.”
Alsborough waved his handkerchief in the air, dismissing the lady as much as the insects hovering near his pale, smooth cheeks. “Lady Rebe
cca served her purpose. She will find some well-heeled dunce to shackle herself to in the end. The day is hot as Hades,” he said. “Would you spare a moment from your labors so that we may speak in private?”
Roman stabbed the plow into the soil in front of him. “You have said what you came to say, Alsborough. Now you may take your leave.”
“Do you think to keep the mademoiselle from me, Captain? I would advise against it.”
He took a step toward Alsborough. “Why did you not visit Jacqueline in France? Were you never curious to know how your intended fared in such savage times? Of course, you cared for nothing more than her aristocratic ties to King Louis’ extravagance and debauchery. Her dowry is certainly more than enough to support another drunken sojourn around the world.”
Alsborough managed to look affronted. “I was on my father’s business—”
“The hell you were! Why is it that your father had no idea you were in Spain?”
Alsborough’s eyes narrowed. “What have you told my father?”
“The duke does not need to be told that you gave up an honorable post in the king’s navy, Alsborough. And he certainly doesn’t need to be told you will never be the decorated ship’s captain he is. All of England knows that.
“But perhaps I should have told him that the state of France was too extreme for your delicate sensibilities. Or did you not take notice of the political upheaval, which threatens everyone there, including Jacqueline? No, I don’t think you ever wanted her. In any case, her preference is clear. Go home, Alsborough. You have been gone too long. Your father is getting on in years and does not deserve this embarrassment.”
“When I leave this land, Captain, it will be with Mademoiselle Jacqueline on my arm. I am her betrothed.”
“King George nullified your engagement, but you must know that by now. I am Jacqueline’s betrothed.”
“So, you have not wed yet.” Alsborough’s thin lips curled into a slow smirk of satisfaction. “I cannot best you at shipping, but I will always win with women. Come now, Cardiff. Surely, you understand the mademoiselle cannot marry below her station. I am an Alsborough, for God’s sake. For all your pound notes, land and alliances, you remain a ship’s captain. You have my gratitude for taking care of Mademoiselle Jacqueline in my absence. Now, give her to me.”
“I have done much more than that, my lord. Jacqueline is mine in every way.” He advanced on Alsborough, nodding in satisfaction as the man’s composure crumbled. “Yes, it was love at first sight. Now, let me help you to your carriage.”
“I had hoped it would not come to this, Captain.” Alsborough fumbled with his waistcoat and drew a pistol from his vest.
* * * *
Jacqueline stopped near a copse of silver birch.
She had a stitch in her side and the scratches on her legs stung. She leaned against a tree and looked toward a black carriage and team near the huge oak tree. From here, she could see Roman and another man were out on the field. Lord Alsborough?
Roman was not throttling the man as she had feared, they were talking.
Seeing Lord Alsborough here in their forest haven was like a black stain on their future together. The familiar drumbeat of her nightmares played, but there were no drums on the fields. A chill ran through her.
She’d been wrong to think she had escaped the nightmares and the evil High Priestess Isolde when they’d left France. She and Roman were so happy that she’d had no time to think of what those visions meant to her. But it was clear as this beautiful day before her wedding to Roman; she had not escaped. She was the high priestess, a witch, and would never escape Lord Alsborough. He was the feeling of doom in her soul. They were connected from that long ago time of blood rubies and sacrifices and ancient demons.
She must talk to Lord Alsborough. He had knowledge of the rubies. He must know what they were to each other in that past life, what they must do to end this evil union once and for all, before Roman and their unborn child were entangled in a terrible legacy.
Holding her side, she walked across the field toward Roman and Lord Alsborough.
Lord Alsborough pointed something at Roman, aiming at his chest. The sun caught the object at that moment, and the gun gleamed.
Jacqueline ran across the field.
* * * *
Roman stopped a few feet away from the gun pointed at his chest. He had missed the opportunity to grab Alsborough before the man drew his pistol.
“You pampered bit of fluff.” Maneuvering the plow in front of him, Roman judged the distance between himself and Alsborough. The plow may not reach its mark, but he might be able to catch Alsborough off guard and rush him for the gun. “She will never have you.”
“She has been mine longer than you can imagine. You wouldn’t understand. In any case, Captain, in light of your mistreatment of Mademoiselle Jacqueline, she has no other recourse, but to enter into society with a respectable marriage to me if she wishes to repair her reputation.”
“A reputation that you will ensure spreads throughout the Ton.”
“Only if she refuses me.” Alsborough’s eye twitched as if the very idea was more distasteful than his own reputation.
“You will take her over my dead body.”
Alsborough chuckled. “A Roman warrior. Such an offering would please the Master even more than that of the St. Clairs.”
“What did you say?”
“Jacqueline no longer needs her family. They served their purpose, watching over her until she was ready to take her place by my side and serve the Master as she was meant to. I could not allow the St. Clairs to make it safely to England and miss the opportunity of La Gran Peur.”
Roman’s throat went dry. “The mob…who were those men?”
“Men who know their purpose.” Alsborough’s black eyes turned serious. They bore into Roman’s, and he had to blink. “I admire your loyalty, Cardiff. Your eyes are still shrouded with the veil and yet you remain the loyal Warrior of Light after all this time.”
He wanted to ask Alsborough what his strange words meant but he was dizzy. He had been working too long in the burning sun. Heat shimmered over the fields as if they were on fire…
A blood-curdling war cry rose up from the flames. Swords clashed against breastplates. A warrior fell in battle, his helmet clattering to the ground. His black cap of hair matted with blood that dripped into his already dulling black eyes. Above him, another warrior brandished a heavy, jeweled broadsword. He too had lost his helmet and a black forelock fell over the blue fire in his eyes. Shaking the unruly curl out of his vision, he delivered the killing blow…
He blinked sense into his head. He could still smell the acrid smoke of the fire mingled with the stench of the dead and dying, and blood. Blood bathed the battle grounds in that long ago time. “I—I killed you.”
“It is time I returned that favor. Pity, you are on the wrong side, Cardiff.”
Alsborough cocked the gun. Roman dragged his eyes away from Alsborough’s probing stare. There was blood on his finger. No, not blood. Alsborough was wearing a heavy, gold ring in the shape of a dragon’s head. Two large rubies glinted in the eyes of the dragon.
He shook his head to clear his vision. “The rubies…what do they mean?”
Alsborough’s lips twitched. “It means that not even a Roman warrior can win against me. The Mademoiselle Jacqueline and I are fated. We are il Dragone.”
Roman took a deep breath and moved one-step closer. His head cleared with the movement. He had to keep Alsborough talking.
“What is il Dragone? He saw the slight shake of the lord’s gun hand, and continued moving forward.
“I am disappointed. You really should have remembered that, as long as we’ve known each other, Captain.”
“You said Jacqueline must serve the Master. Who is this Master you speak of?”
“Stay where you are or I will put a ball right through your heart.”
He kept moving forward, but knew enough not to look Alsborough directly
in the eye. This was not a man, not as he himself was. He remembered Duke Argo’s mystery of the rubies and acknowledged the very real fear he walked with now.
My God, whatever this is, Jacqueline is a part of it…
He would kill Lord Alsborough now and take that ring. He’d find out how to destroy that ring and this il Dragone Alsborough spoke of even if he had to bring Duke Argo to Yorkshire to help him. The duke knew about such things.
“You will need a good aim for that,” Roman chuckled mirthlessly. “Would you have my blood on your hands? You will never get out of England before you are caught.”
“I will be gone in no time at all, my good man. There is a ship in harbor now, bound for the colonies.” Lord Alsborough brought up his other hand to steady the gun. “At any rate, I am only defending my fiancée’s honor.”
As Roman raised the plow, his eye caught a movement behind Alsborough and he threw the plow too wide. The plow fell to Alsborough’s side.
Lord Alsborough smiled wide and cocked the gun. “You were a good captain and will no doubt receive the highest posthumous commendations from the King.”
Dutch stood in the tall grass behind Alsborough with a plow. He raised his hands high above his head and swung down in a wide arc.
“No!” Jacqueline barreled into Roman.
The gun went off. Once. Twice.
Alsborough crumpled to the ground, the plow lodged to the hilt between his shoulder blades.
“Jacqueline!” Roman’s arm gushed blood. The pain was excruciating but he held her.
There were shouts and a commotion around them, but he did not look away from his love, so fragile now in his arms.
“My love…you are safe now…” she looked into his eyes.
He felt the wetness between them. A crimson stain marred her white lawn morning dress and was spreading rapidly across her bosom.
“Jacqueline, stay with me, sweetheart.” He pressed his hand against her chest to staunch the flow, but there was so much blood.
Dutch was shouting orders across the field and Jamie ran for the carriage, shouting to other workers.
Love Entwined Page 19
