Charon's Crossing (A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novel)

by Sandra Marton

  Chapter 12

  The story Matthew had to tell her was not just inscribed in his head and heart but in every drop of blood that beat through his veins.

  He had lived it once, relived it a thousand times since emerging from the black void in which he'd spent the past 184 years. There was nothing new in it, not for him, anyway.

  Still, he dreaded the recitation. The telling of it would only make the pain of what had happened sharper. Poets wrote sweet words of torment when they spoke of those who had died for love but there was nothing sweet about the death of his men.

  They had not died for love but for his own accursed stupidity.

  He could not bear the thought of telling Kathryn the story within the confines of these walls. Even after so long a passage of time, there were moments he thought he could hear the echo of Lord Russell's laughter in this house. And then there was the Other, locked away in the blackness beyond the attic walls.

  No. No, he could not speak of that terrible night on which he had lost everything—here, at Charon's Crossing.

  He pulled open the French doors and motioned Kathryn outside. The sun was melting in the sky, tinting the terrace and the garden in shades of fuchsia.

  Kathryn started down the steps but the pressure of Matthew's hand stopped her.

  "Not there," he said quickly. "Let's walk down the path to the cove."

  She hesitated and he knew she was remembering what had happened on that beach only a couple of hours before. Christ, what kind of man was he that a woman should be afraid of him?

  "You needn't worry," he said. "I'm not about to confuse you with Cat again."

  The air was chilly with the onset of evening; the sun was dipping towards the sea. The waves pounding against the shore seemed to echo the beat of his own heart.

  It was the perfect setting for his story, and he began it quickly, without preliminaries.

  He told Kathryn of his first meeting with Cat and of how he had been entranced by her, and of the subsequent, secret encounters that had seemed so romantic; of how Cat had refused to let him declare his intentions to her father.

  "She told me that she had already tried to discuss modern ideas about love and marriage with him in the abstract," he said, his voice low, "and that he had chastised her, calling her thoughts stuff and nonsense bred by the revolution on the Continent. But she assured me that she'd gradually been winning him over and that she would tell me the instant she sensed his willingness to accept me as her suitor."

  Matthew gave a short laugh, turned his back to the cliffs and stood staring out at the sea.

  "I was such a fool. I believed her. Hell, why wouldn't I? I was besotted with love. I would have done anything for her." He took a deep breath. "And, eventually, I did."

  "Perhaps Cat was bored with her life, perhaps she had done the same thing before. I only know that it was all a game. And it would have been a harmless one, with me the only loser... if something had not happened which would change the lives of everyone involved."

  He began to walk along the shore, his steps long and steady. Kathryn kept pace with him. He glanced at her from time to time as he told her his story, watching the play of emotions on her face, the skepticism warring with pity and then both losing the battle and giving way to amazement that he could have been so foolish.

  But he spared himself nothing. He knew now that he was telling the tale as much for himself as for her. It was time to say aloud the things he had been thinking for what might as well have been an eternity.

  Confession was good for the soul, or so they said, which was almost as terrifying as it was amusing considering that he no longer knew whether a soul was something he possessed.

  At last, he reached the point in his narrative that would be the most difficult. He paused and turned again to the sea.

  "Sometimes," he said in a low voice, "sometimes, I almost wish I had never been at Charon's Crossing the night Lord Russell and his cohorts schemed to start the war before the Americans knew it had been declared. But I was, and I heard them plan to capture for the Crown all the American ships lying at anchor in the harbor."

  Only the ugliest bit of the tale remained now. Matthew stared blindly across the sea to where the sun lay dying, bleeding crimson rays into the black water, and he shuddered.

  "I know what you overheard," Kathryn said quietly, "and of your hope to rescue Catherine before the Americans made their move."

  He nodded. "Yes. I know you read it."

  "But I don't know what happened. The entries ended so abruptly..."

  Matthew choked out a laugh. "As did all else on that night, Kathryn."

  "That was... it was the night you—you—"

  "Don't be shy, madam. Yes, it was the night I died, the night I lost everything, not just my life but..."

  "But the woman you loved?" The simple words were hard to get out. Why should they have been? Why did they leave such a knot in her breast?

  "Loved?" He laughed again, the sound bitter. "I never loved Cat. I know that now. I was just too besotted to admit the truth. What I felt was lust, plain and simple." He bent, scooped up a handful of fine, white sand and let the breeze take it as it sifted slowly through his fingers. "It was the mystery I loved. The furtive meetings that held within them the tang of danger, the sly glances exchanged behind her father's back... Oh, Cat was good at what she did. She was as skilled at the art of deception as she was at the art of teasing a man until his body ruled his head, and I was fool enough to be taken in by it."

  "What happened that night, Matthew? No one on the island says anything about you... about you dying in an American attack."

  He laughed. "Nay, how could they? There was no attack."

  Kathryn licked her lips. "What they say is... is that you were killed for piracy."

  Anger flooded through him, rose like a foul medicine in his throat and flooded his mouth with the taste of bile. He swung towards her, the setting sun painting him in blood-red tongues of flame, and grabbed hold of her shoulders.

  "Who says such a thing? Tell me, and I will stuff his lies down his throat until he chokes on them!"

  "The islanders talk, Matthew. It's all old, meaningless gossip."

  "Meaningless, to defame me?" His mouth twisted. "I have defamed myself enough without anyone adding to it. Russell must have concocted such a tale. It would have kept Catherine's skirts clean of scandal, but how could anyone have believed it? There were witnesses that night, people who must have seen, and heard, everything."

  "What?" Kathryn whispered. Her eyes sought his in the thickening darkness. "What did they see? What could have been so awful that it turned you into... I don't know much about—about spirits, but surely, it isn't usual to—to end up trapped in the place where you..."

  It was stupid, not being able to say the words. He was dead, he was a ghost, and he was haunting her house. But it didn't seem quite that simple, not when he was standing before her, more real than any man she'd ever seen, more embittered than any she'd ever known.

  "...Where I was killed," he said flatly. His hands tightened on her flesh until it was all she could do to keep from crying out. Then, slowly, his grip loosened. He took a deep breath and then he sat down on a driftwood log, turned his gaze inward and told her the rest.

  "As you know from my journal, I gathered the other captains together. I told them everything, about Madison's plan to declare war on Great Britain and Russell's intention to seize our ships and our men."

  "And you and your friends drew up a plan to strike first," Kathryn said softly as she sat down next to him.

  He nodded. "They were as eager as I." He smiled at the long-ago memory. "Sturgess, of the Dolphin, clapped me on the back and said we would all go back to the States as heroes. Everyone laughed and we passed a bottle of rum, but the simple truth was that every man of us yearned to stand up for the Stars and Stripes and for our country in her hour of need."

  His smile faded. "You know, too, that they balked when I insisted I must
go ashore and rescue Catherine before any action began."

  The night breeze stirred Kathryn's hair. It was warm and soft, yet for just a moment, she felt a chill.

  "They told you not to do it," she whispered, "but you didn't listen."

  "Of course I didn't." He looked up, his eyes flashing in the darkness. "Cat had promised to be my wife." He looked at Kathryn. "No decent man would abandon the woman to whom he had pledged his heart."

  Kathryn nodded. "No," she said quietly, "no decent man would."

  "And yet, I understood their concerns. Had our situations been reversed, I would have taken their position. But for myself... it was one thing to risk sacrificing my life for my flag. To risk Catherine's..."

  He blew out his breath and got slowly to his feet. Kathryn did, too, and they stood side by side, looking out over the water.

  "The night of our attack was moonless, perfect for what I intended. I took Hauser, my First Mate, into my confidence. I saw the doubt in his face but he was too good a man to question my commands. I told him my plan was foolproof—but that his obligation was to save both Atropos and my crew in the unlikely event something went awry in my scheme. Then I slipped from my ship and rowed a skiff around the island to where Charon's Crossing stood high above the sea."

  "The moon was obliterated behind a heavy bank of clouds so that the sky was black as Hades, enclosing the island in velvet darkness..."

  His voice faded to silence. The setting sun had finally been swallowed by the sea. Night had claimed the island, not the dark, inky night of long ago that he had just described but one lit by stars and a bright full moon, and yet Kathryn knew that he saw neither. His thoughts were in the past, as well as his heart.

  The seconds passed and still he said nothing. His profile might have been cut from stone, it was so harsh and unyielding.

  At last, she touched his arm.

  "Matthew?" she said softly. "Aren't you going to tell me the rest?"

  He sighed, such a deep sigh that she heard the pain of it whisper in the silence.

  "Aye," he said. "Aye, I will tell you, Kathryn. And then you will leave this place, for whatever it was that brought you here has surely done it only to mock me."

  A breeze swept in from the sea, ruffling his hair, but he paid no attention as he turned towards the cliff, raising his head as if he could see the mansion as it had been on that long-ago night.

  "There was a ball at Charon's Crossing. The house was lit like a beacon against the night." A half-smile touched his lips. "I had not been invited. Cat had said it would be torture for her, being forced to smile politely at other men and dance in their arms."

  "Did you climb the cliff?"

  He nodded. "It was not easy, in the pitch black night, and I knew that Catherine would be frightened when I brought her down, but she would be safe, for I was determined to let no harm come to her. When I reached the top. I skirted the front of the mansion, avoiding the carriages and drivers waiting outside, and made my way around back, to the terrace. I intended to peer into the ballroom, see Cat, and somehow catch her eye."

  "And did you?"

  Matthew's teeth flashed in a terrible smile.

  "I found her, all right, but not inside the house. I had just started across the terrace when I heard voices in the garden. A man and a woman were whispering together and laughing softly in an intimate way that told me they were old lovers. I stepped back into the shadows when I realized they were coming towards me."

  Kathryn's eyes fixed on his. "It was Cat, wasn't it?" she asked quietly.

  "Yes." His voice roughened. "It was Cat and a pompous scoundrel, one of the bastards I'd overheard conspiring with Cat's father. He was an English lord named Waring."

  "Maybe it wasn't what it seemed."

  Matthew shot her a look that said she was crazy. And maybe it was crazy, wanting to shield him from his memories. He was nothing to her except an unwelcome, even dangerous, presence in Charon's Crossing. Besides, there was no changing whatever he was about to tell her. It had already, happened, almost two centuries ago.

  "Dammit, Kathryn!" His eyes glittered fiercely ire the moonlight. "Why do you try and protect her? Is it because you share the same blood?"

  "I'm not trying to protect her! I'm trying to..." She shook her head. "I'm just suggesting that you might have misinterpreted what you saw."

  "I saw them," he said through his teeth. "Do you understand? They stood on the terrace not two feet from me and Waring took Cat in his arms. 'You have made me a happy man tonight,' he said, and then the son of a bitch bent her back over his arm and kissed her while his hand slipped down her neckline and cupped her breast. Christ, I went crazy! I flew at him like a madman, pulled him off her, and bashed him in the face with my fist."

  Kathryn reached out her hand as Matthew swung away from her but something kept her from touching that proud, rigid back.

  "Waring fell to his knees, his nose spouting blood, and I turned to Cat, convinced she'd been victimized by that horse-faced bastard." His face twisted with memory. "She looked at me as if I were a weevil she'd found in a piece of hardtack, rushed past me and dropped to her knees beside Waring, calling him 'beloved' and 'sweetheart,' cradling his head against her bosom. Then she glared at me with all the hatred of the world shining in her eyes and cursed me for having hurt the man to whom she had just become betrothed."

  This time, Kathryn couldn't stop herself from touching her hand to Matthew's shoulder.

  "Still, I could not accept the truth. I tried to take her in my arms. I reminded her of the vows we'd made and when she would not listen, I grew desperate. Time was racing by and I knew it. I tried to tell her that we could not waste our breath in argument." His head drooped forward and his voice fell to a whisper. "God help me, I told her everything. Of the Americans, waiting to take Elizabeth Island, of my plan to rescue her before the attack..."

  "And Waring heard?"

  Matthew lifted his head. "He heard," he said flatly. "He staggered to his feet, his face livid. Catherine threw herself into his arms, denying everything I'd said, but he thrust her aside and called her a whoring slut. I knew I had to stop him. I shouted his name and drew my sword. Waring drew his..."

  Kathryn shuddered. She had only to close her eyes and she could envision what had happened next: the glint of sharp metal, the clang of steel upon steel, the looks of lethal fury, the thrust, the parry, the slash and riposte until, finally, there was a gush of scarlet blood.

  "When it was over," Matthew said, his voice so low she had to strain to hear it, "we both lay at Cat's feet, mortally wounded and sinking into the dark river of death."

  Kathryn's voice was choked with emotion. "Oh, Matthew! How horrible it must have been. To have been so deceived by the woman you loved..."

  His hands shot out and clasped her forearms. "Dammit, Kathryn, I don't seek your pity. I was not the true victim of Cat's deception. It was my men."

  Kathryn stared at him in bewilderment. "Your men?"

  "My crew. They died that night, every last man of them, even my cabin boy, a foolish child barely old enough to have stopped whimpering for his mother each time he fell and skinned his knees." His voice broke and he turned away, but not before Kathryn had seen the bright glint of tears in his eyes. "It was my men who paid the price for my monumental stupidity, do you understand? They trusted me and I betrayed them, I sacrificed them for the deceit of love."

  "Catherine told her father what you'd said about the planned American attack on Charon's Crossing," Kathryn said through stiff lips.

  Matthew nodded. "Her shrieks brought Russell and his guests running. She told him a fanciful tale in which I was both pirate and rapist, unmasked by her pig of a fiancé, and Russell was only too happy to believe her. He had me bound, left me lying in a pool of my own blood, and led his troops to the harbor. The other ships were safe, for their captains had wasted no time in putting out to sea when I had been discovered missing... but the Atropos had disobeyed orders and waited for me." />
  Kathryn shut her eyes tight. "Oh God," she whispered.

  "Nay," Matthew said hoarsely, "not even God could save my men that night."

  "You can't be sure they all died," she said in a desperate attempt to ease his tortured conscience, "I mean, you weren't there..."

  "I lived long enough for the battle to end, and for Catherine to stand over me and tell me that she wanted me to die knowing my ship was sunk and my men dead." He gave a bitter laugh. "I had ruined her life, you see, or so she said. Her father had an empty title. He had no money, no land and no influence back in England, either. Cat had schemed for power and position. I—I had just been a diversion."

  "How you must have hated her!"

  "Hate?" He laughed again, a terrible, cold sound that sent a tremor down Kathryn's spine. "That is too simple a word for what I felt. I gathered the last of my strength and cursed her with my dying breath. 'May neither you nor your issue ever know love or peace, Catherine Russell,' I said. What I did not realize was that I was dooming myself, for it would seem that to damn someone with what turns out to be your dying breath is to turn the curse back upon yourself."

  Kathryn gave an uneasy little laugh. "But—but surely you don't believe in..."

  The look he gave her made her swallow the rest of the sentence and the rush of hysterical laughter along with it. He was a ghost, a man trapped between the dead and the living, and she'd almost chided him for believing in curses and what happened to those who made them as they lay dying.

  Of course, he believed. And so did she. He had doomed himself. Had he doomed her, too? She was Cat's descendant. Was Matthew's curse the reason she hadn't been able to return Jason's love?

  "Have no fear," Matthew said softly, as if he had read her thoughts. "The burden of my words plagues only the giver. I, and I alone, must bear their onus."

  "I'm so sorry, Matthew. So very, very sorry."