by Brenda Joyce
"Don't you go worryin' bout her, Miz Regina. Last night she done drank herse'f to sleep, she did. She's passed out cold. You let her be." Josephine was unforgiving. "She shoulda been tossed out of heah long ago."
Regina wasn't certain that she agreed, for Rick and Victoria had been through twenty-three years of marriage. She was glad that it was not up to her to forgive and forget Victoria's betrayal, and she worried about Rick and Edward. She was about to ask Josephine what she thought about Edward's flight when the sound of Rick shouting drew her attention. Exchanging a concerned look with the housekeeper, she ran into the dining room. Rick was in full temper, and his anger was directed at James. "What the hell has gotten into you now?"
"You heard me," James said calmly. But he was wearing a stubborn expression, one Regina recognized, having seen it on all of the Delanza men. "I only came home to get a few things. I'm not staying."
Regina moved close to Slade, taking his hand, noticing that he was pale. Rick pounded the table. "I won't have it!"
James remained calm. "I'm not staying. That's final. But I wish you would understand."
"I understand, all right! First Slade left me, now Edward, and now you!" Rick crumpled into a chair. "What have I done?"
Slade was on his feet and around the table, placing his hand on his father's shoulder. "Rick, Edward didn't leave you, he left because of his mother, and you know it. And I'm home now, to stay. James is hurting, Dad. Listen to what he has to say."
Rick looked up, his eyes wet. He blinked furiously. "Hell! Go on, you got something to say, say it!"
James took a breath. "Once Miramar meant something. Once there was a future. I worked hard for years for that future. No more. It's meaningless to me now." His tone became pleading. "Rick, can't you try to understand how I feel? For the past five years I've been building a home here, a home for me and Elizabeth and our children. My dreams weren't dreams, they were delusions. Well, never again. Those dreams are dead and buried. I can't stay. I don't know where I'm going and I don't give a damn, but I do know I can't stay here. Everywhere I look I'm reminded of what I once wanted-what I almost had." He laughed bitterly. "What I thought I almost had."
Rick bowed his head. "You think I'm so callous I don't understand? You want to know the truth? Last night I couldn't sleep, not just because of Victoria, but because I knew, I already knew, you weren't going to stay." He lifted his head. "Go. Go. Find what you need to find, do what you have to do."
James breathed in relief. "Thank you." Then he smiled at both Slade and Regina. "Besides, the future-Miramar-belongs to them. Isn't it obvious?"
* * *
Ten days later the rains stopped. The gray skies cleared. The sun appeared. The hills around them were no longer baked yellow from the sun, but lushly green. Yet no one was pleased. James had made it clear that he would leave on the first clear day they had.
Victoria was gone. She had disappeared without even a note, although she had taken several trunks. Rick seemed to be relieved. Regina thought that it was better this way; he was spared having to send her away. And there had been no word from Edward, although they had learned that he had taken a northbound train in Templeton. Slade told her that he thought Edward might have gone to San Francisco, finding temporary solace with Xandria. Regina fervently hoped so.
What was left of the household gathered to wish James well and see him off. He was in good spirits. Slade had said that James had to find his own destiny, and Regina agreed. Rick was resigned, but Regina knew he clung stubbornly to the belief that one day James would return to stay.
Josephine hugged him, weeping. Lucinda moved into his arms and kissed him demandingly on the lips, clinging. James returned both her openmouthed kiss and her warm embrace, causing Regina to look away, blushing. Apparently they had formed a tendre of some sort for one another.
It was Regina's turn. In less than two weeks she had grown very fond of James, and thought of him as a friend and brother. She gave him a hard hug. "I'm so glad we have met," she told him earnestly. "I wish you the best, James, only the best."
James winked at Slade. "It looks like my brother has made out like a bandit."
Regina lowered her voice. "You must promise me to come back in six months."
James's eyes widened.
"I haven't told Slade yet, but I am going to tell him tonight. You shall be an uncle."
James whooped and gave her an exuberant hug.
"What did she say?" Slade asked suspiciously. "She'll tell you in her own good time," James returned, smiling.
The men said their good-byes. More unashamed hugs followed, with many more promises. James mounted up. Regina slipped under Slade's arm, Rick on her other side. James gave them a wave of farewell and spurred his bay forward. Waving back, they watched him trotting away. He turned and lifted his hand one last time and disappeared around the bend. There was a moment of silence. "I guess he's got some soul-searching to do," Rick said. He sighed. Then he slapped Slade's back. "Let's see if we can't get some work done today, son." He strode to the barn. Regina regarded her husband. "Sad?"
"No." He smiled. "I'm not sad at all. I heard what you said." "You did!"
He lifted her off of her feet and spun her around. "Another generation of Delanzas!" Setting her down, he took her hand and lifted his gaze to the green mountains which rose sharply against the horizon. "Now I'm more determined than ever to make Miramar a part of the future-a part of their future." He looked past the house, where the winter-gray ocean butted up against the hillside. "1 almost envy them. The twentieth century is dawning, Regina-new, different, exciting, filled with challenge, and with promise."
"You are a poet," she whispered, leaning into him. "You are a visionary."
He laughed. "I am a realist, sweetheart. And I think this is the perfect time to tell Rick. Don't you?"
"I wanted you to have the honors," Regina said, and hand in hand, they followed in his father's footsteps.
AVON BOOKS proudly announces
PROMISE OF THE ROSE
by
Brenda Joyce
Coming in November 1993
The following is a preview of
PROMISE OF THE ROSE, 's sensual new romance from Avon Books.
EDINBURGH NOVEMBER 16, 1093
There was no time to mourn.
Mary knelt at the bedside of the Queen, her mother, numb with shock. She did not know how long she had knelt there on the hard, cold stone floor, nor did she realize that she still held her mother's lifeless hand. She had been raised a devout Christian, but now, when she needed comfort from God, if there was any comfort to be found, she could not summon up a single prayer. Her mind was blank, frozen.
There were no tears. It was as if her body were frozen, or as if she too, were dead. News of her father's murder had come three days earlier. He had
been ambushed near Alnwick by the Earl of Northumberland's forces, routed and killed. In the battle her eldest brother, Edward, had been mortally wounded, dying shortly after their father.
Mary had not cried, for one blow had come too quickly on the heels of another. And then Queen Margaret had fallen desperately ill upon news of Malcolm's death; she had needed Mary more than ever. She had not left her mother's side in days, helplessly watching as the Queen slipped closer and closer to death. There had been no time to mourn then, and there was no time now.
Because forces of hatred and ambition and greed were closing in on her.
She realized she was holding Queen Margaret's hand. Mary released it woodenly. The Queen seemed serene in death, and even in death she was beautiful-a beauty that was far deeper than her fair skin and noble features. The Queen's real beauty came from true goodliness and holiness, it came from a loving, selfless heart. No one deserved to die less; no one had welcomed death more.
Mary listened to the keening grief filling the manor, echoing within its thick stone walls and reverberating from the courtyard outside. T'was not just kin grieving for their Queen, all of Edinburgh wept as well-and all of Scotland.
There had been so much treachery, Mary thought, aware for the first time in hours that her knees ached. She did not dare think further. More thought might lead to even greater grief, and she knew she could not bear such a burden. Not now. Not today.
If only she could pray. If only she could find comfort, as her mother had, in God.
She crossed the Queen's hands, and, staring at her mother, she thought she felt a flicker of anguish deep within her soul. The eerie sobbing filling the castle seemed to grow and echo and close in on her. Suddenly Mary wanted to keen too, wanted to scream and wail, and a hot rush of tears filled her eyes. She choked, barely able to breathe, her mother's face swimming before her eyes. No! No, she could not, must not, under any circumstances, fall apart now!
Mary was suddenly on the verge of collapse, and she turned away from her mother, shaking, desperately fighting the rising grief. The keening and sobbing of the castle seemed louder now, more pervasive. "Mother, I'm sorry," she gasped suddenly. "I love you so much and I'm sorry I've failed you-so sorry!"
There was no response, of course, and no redemption. It was too late, it would always be too late. Through the rambling of her thoughts, Mary knew she must make some effort to function. She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her torn tunic. There was no question that more disaster was about to follow-she could only hope that there would be a brief respite. Too much was at stake. Lives were at stake; a kingdom was at stake.
As that slim stab of reality intruded into Mary's emotions, she became aware for the first time of another discordant sound faintly underpining the loud cacophony of the wailing Scots. It was like the gentlest rumble of distant thunder, but the sky was a clear and cloudless blue. It could only mean one thing. Mary froze.
Dear God, not so soon!
There would be no respite!
The door to the Queen's room crashed open and Mary jumped in fright. "Edmund's gone!" The voice of her brother, Edgar, fairly echoed in the silent, stone room. His face was very white and pinched, his eyes red and swollen. He, at least, had wept until he could weep no more.
"What do you mean?" With Edward dead, Edmund was now their eldest brother.
"I mean the bastard's gone! Gone!" Edgar was usually calm, unnaturally so for a seventeen-year-old, but he was nigh hysterical now. "And Donald Bane's the Tanist! The word just came! His army landed at the Forth of Clyde yesterday-they must be at the Avon now!"
Mary grabbed Edgar's arm. Donald Bane had been proclaimed King, and he had come out of his long exile in the Hebrides, with an army, to claim the throne of Scotland. Every single one of her brothers stood in the way of the succession-they must flee. "Where is Edmund?" Damn her rascally brother for deserting them now!
"Gone, gone, oh, God, I pray f is not true!"
"You pray what isn't true?"
"It's said he's joined Donald!"
Mary gasped. Her senses reeled. That their brother should betray them now was incomprehensible. And outside, the thunder became louder.
"I fear, Edgar, that Uncle Donald is closer than the Avon River." She glanced towards the shrouded window. "Round up the boys. We must run." There was no doubt about it-a huge mounted army was rapidly approaching.
"We can not leave her," Edgar said, faltering, barely glancing at their mother.
"Of course not. Send me Fergus, order horses and a cart. Quickly, run!" She shoved him from the room.
She hurried to the Queen, panting. Mary pulled the covers of the bed up to wrap her carefully from head to toe, all the while listening to the growing sound of the earth quaking beneath the oncoming riders.
Another bloody war was about to descend upon this land, and her beloved country was once again at stake. Donald Bane could not ignore the fact that Malcolm had left four living sons who might one day seek the throne he had coveted his entire life. Only with their deaths would his dreams be truly secured. Hurrying, Mary covered Queen Margaret's face with a sheet. They would bury her at the Abbey of Dunfermline, where they would also seek a temporary refuge-should they manage to escape.
Fergus burst through the door. He was a big, savage man who had been with her father from the beginning- and till the very end. Giving Mary one long look, Fergus gathered Queen Margaret in his arms as if she were a weightless doll. Mary ran beside him as they hurried down the corridor. "What of Edmund?"
"He's no a part a this family any more," Fergus said grimly as they stumbled down the dark corridor. They rushed outside into the courtyard, where the bright sunlight momentarily blinded Mary. Her brothers were already mounted, her youngest brother David, only thirteen, trying manfully to hold back his tears. Fergus laid the shrouded Queen in the back of a horsedrawn cart.
Mary suddenly froze beside her mount, aware that an utter quiet reigned in the courtyard, replacing the disharmonious chaos that had existed just moments ago. All sounds of grief and wailing had ceased. All the normal sounds of life were also absent-there were no crowing roosters, no yapping dogs, no children's chatter, no smithie's blows. Not even the jangle of their men's mounts sounded. Only silence echoed within the dark, timbered walls of the bailey. A strange, frightening silence, unearthly and unnatural. Mary knew that she was listening for something, but she did not know what. And then it struck her-the ominous drumming beat of the invading army had ceased.
She was too experienced not to know what that meant. The army had halted… to position themselves for an attack.
Fergus wasted no time, he boosted Mary roughly onto her mare. Mary strained
to hear even a hint of the danger that lay outside the walls of Edinburgh, but she could discern nothing. "T'is Donald Bane, is it not?" she asked, high-pitched, breaking the stillness.
Fergus leaped onto his own big stallion. "Nay."
Mary wheeled her mount next to his as the big heavy gates were thrown open. "Then, who?"
The glance he shot her was long and dark.
Mary felt it all, then: fear, fury, hatred, and most of all, dread. For she knew now who, and what, lay out there, awaiting them, stalking them. She uttered one word to the strong man beside her. "No."
"Ay, lassie, I'm sorry, I am," Fergus said softly. "T'is the devil hisself, Northumberland's whelp."
Mary heard her own moan of fear. Her mare moved briskly forward amidst the others, beside Fergus. Mary realized she had stopped breathing, and with effort she expelled her breath.
Fergus hated him, with good reason, and had always called de Warenne the devil. Mary hated him too. God help her, she hated him, and feared him, more than she had ever hated or feared anyone. The Earl of Northumberland's heir, Lord Stephen de Warenne. Her father's murderer, her brother's killer, and ultimately the man responsible for her mother's death.
He was also the father of her unborn child-he was also her husband.
And if he caught her now he would kill her. She was running for her life.
THE MOST SENSUOUS VOICE IN ROMANTIC FICTION
"Brenda Joyce has a distinctive style that captures and doesn't let go."
Johanna Lindsey
CAPTIVE
THE GAME
AFTER INNOCENCE
PROMISE OF THE ROSE
SCANDALOUS LOVE
