Harlequin E Shivers Box Set Volume 4: The HeadmasterDarkness UnchainedForget Me NotQueen of Stone

by Tiffany Reisz

  Restlessly, I jumped up and went to the wardrobe where, in military fashion, his clothing was neatly organised. I ran my hand along the hangers, and the warm scent of his cologne drifted out to comfort me. Lifting the sleeve of one of his jackets, I held it to my cheek and stood like that for a long time. The tears stayed in my heart and refused to spill over. When, at last, I moved away, the jacket slid from its hanger onto the closet floor. I stooped to pick it up and noticed that there was a bulge in the inside pocket. A little guiltily, I slid my hand inside. Withdrawing the folded white handkerchief, I spread it open to reveal its contents. Carefully coiled inside was a glossy black length of plaited hair.

  “Call it a keepsake, meneer,” I muttered, my voice husky with emotion. “Don’t you dare be dead.”

  The sky was almost dark when the first group of servants returned, shaking their heads sadly. I stood on the stoep watching the last rays fade and take my hopes with them. Rudi came and stood with me and I rested my head on his shoulder.

  “I love him,” I said simply.

  “I know. He knows it, too. You were the only person who couldn’t see it.”

  A shout rent the dusk and Kami, the stable boy we had rescued from Piet Smit, ran into the kraal, gesturing frantically behind him. Headlights pierced holes in the darkness, and Rudi and I dashed down the steps. There, in the back of the truck, was Nicca’s bloodied, limp form. It took four of the servants to carry him to his room, where Ouma set about cleaning him up so that she could assess his wounds. To my eternal shame, it was Finty who took on the role of her assistant because, once I realised that he was still breathing, the tears came at last. I was too busy sobbing hysterically with relief to be any use to anyone.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Finty, what are you doing?” I asked, watching her with a combination of amusement and annoyance.

  She paused, brushing her hair back from her face and leaving a streak of red dust across her cheek. “Trying to catch a chicken so that I can make Nicca some soup.”

  Her efforts had resulted in the entire coop running around and squawking wildly. Finty herself was dirty and sweaty and out of breath.

  “How long have you been chasing them?” I asked.

  “About half an hour.” She hung her head in embarrassment.

  “Finty,” I said, and she looked up as I reached for a long-handled net, similar to the ones used by anglers, “what do you think this is for?”

  “Oh!” She bit her lip and watched as I deftly flipped the net over one of the chickens. With a skill born of years of practice, I lifted the indignant creature out of its trap and handed it over to Finty. “Hold it like this, over its wings so that it can’t flap.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured, taking it from me. “Oh, no, Annie!”

  She held her hands out, palms facing upward to show me the lifeless body of the chicken lying across them.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  “Tell me again how steel-broekies Annie here cried like a baby when I was carried in,” Nicca said. Although his voice was strained, he managed a smug smirk in my direction.

  “Ja, you have never seen weeping like it. Ouma was so ashamed she threatened to disown her,” my brother said.

  “Out.” I pointed to the door, and with an unrepentant grin, Rudi left.

  Nicca was pale, but he insisted on being propped up against his pillows. The first bullet, the one that had flung him from his horse, had gone right through the considerable muscle of the upper part of his left arm. The second, the same one that hit me in the shoulder, had caught him in the neck. Miraculously, it had missed any major blood vessels and his spinal column. Uther must have believed, when he dragged my unconscious body off Nicca, that he had, as he boasted, hit his brother in the head. Our mingled blood had coated his face, giving that impression. And Uther had been in such a hurry to get me away before I regained consciousness—or before any wild animals, attracted by the smell, came along—that he had not stayed to analyse the situation. Nicca had come round in brief spells and, using the sun as his guide, staggered in the direction of Sonskyn. His only thought, he explained, had been to find me. Luckily, one of the search parties had discovered him before darkness fell completely. His neck was swollen and bruised and the doctor who had come from Ladysmith to remove the bullet told him he would have trouble eating, talking and breathing for a few weeks. But he should make a full recovery. I had never heard sweeter words.

  A new feeling assailed me once we were alone together, and I paused to examine it. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it must be shyness. I couldn’t know for sure because I’d never experienced such a thing until now. But how could I be feeling shy around Nicca? I thought of all the searing, intimate moments we’d shared and almost laughed aloud. I knew he was watching me, and I kept my head bent.

  “Ek het n groot lief ver jou, Annie,” Nicca said, and his ponderous accent made my lips quiver on a smile. “Have I said that right? I have a great big love for you?”

  “I know you do,” I said, shyness retreating. I gave him a sideways glance from under my lashes. “I’ve seen it.”

  “Will you be serious, woman?” he growled, grabbing me around the waist and pulling me down onto the bed beside him. “I’m trying to ask you to marry me!”

  “Oh!” I lay full-length next to him, pressing my cheek against his chest. “Yes, I would like to marry you, Nicca.” I stayed like that for a long time, enjoying the comforting warmth of his body. “And I’m sorry it took me so long to say ‘I love you’ back. I realise now that I always knew it, I just didn’t recognise it because the thing I thought was love, the thing I felt for Uther, was something else.”

  “Annie?” Nicca’s voice was full of concern. “Are you feeling quite well? If I didn’t know you better, I might swear I just heard you say the word sorry.”

  “Enjoy it while it lasts, meneer,” I said. “You are not likely to hear it from me very often.” I subsided back against him. “Nicca, what are we going to do about Uther?”

  “We are going to bury him. He’s dead, Annie. He can’t hurt us now.”

  I rested my chin on his chest so that I could look up at him. I told him about the chicken. “I believed that the other things died when I had thoughts of the Jago legacy, but it wasn’t in my mind today. That means it is here still, Nicca, even though Uther is gone. From what Tristan said, this darkness lives on beyond the grave. What if it can harm our children, or Rudi’s children? Or our grandchildren? It frightens me to think it hasn’t died with Uther.”

  He smoothed my hair back from my brow. “Don’t you think that Uther dying here, thousands of miles from the tainted earth of Tenebris, might have finally broken the legacy?”

  I shook my head. “‘Might have’ isn’t good enough for me. I need to be sure.” I said. I thought of our child. I wanted to tell him in different circumstances, ones in which we could rejoice. Finally, I spoke the awful words aloud. “It wanted us both. It was never about Uther alone. It may never have been about him at all. He is gone, but what if this Jago legacy is still inside me, Nicca?”

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  “You mean we are going to consult a witch doctor?” Nicca asked. He still looked pale, his voice was husky and his arm was in a sling, but otherwise he seemed restored to health. His tone was neutral when he asked the question, but I could see the doubt in his eyes.

  “The Zulu religion is based on the almighty creator god, Unkulunkulu, and the worship of the ancestors,” I explained. “The spirit world is always present, always beside us. When someone dies, his spirit watches over the rest of us. Evil and misfortune are caused by ancestors who have been offended or those who cannot rest. The sangoma is a healer empowered by the ancestral spirits to ensure there is harmony between this world and the spirit world.”

  Cowhide drums boomed like gunfire as nubile, half-naked women and handsome warriors danced around a central fire. The beehive-shaped huts were set in a ring, and the largest of these belonged to the sangoma. In the
late evening heat, we crowded into the grass and mud interior. At the last minute, Rudi had begged off from accompanying us. He had been pale and out of sorts all day, and blamed it on a headache. I wondered if the poison Uther had fed him had left a lingering trace, but he dismissed the idea impatiently. Finty, torn between concern for his welfare and curiosity, had eventually decided to accompany us.

  The floor of the hut was strewn with animal skins, and the sangoma, a Zulu woman clad in traditional dress, motioned for us to sit on these. We repeated the thogoza, a traditional greeting that Jabu had rehearsed with us, and she bowed her head in gracious acknowledgment. Jabu was to act as our translator for the duration of the encounter.

  “You have brought me something belonging to this man?”

  Nicca handed Uther’s pocket watch over, and the sangoma held it in her hand. She closed her eyes and said softly, “Makhosi, seni fikile.”

  Jabu whispered, “She thanks the ancestors for their presence.”

  She began to speak in a singsong monotone, and Jabu explained her words. “There was a man. Many centuries ago. She says he had the appearance of a good man. For a time, he even wore the robes of a man of God.”

  “Arwen Jago,” I murmured.

  “But this man could not hide his true self forever. All that was bad about human nature became concentrated in him. He was a murderer who made a pact with the devil himself. When he died, his spirit could not rest. Instead it remained a ghostly presence in a place of darkness. It had work to do. It waited for another body in which to continue its task. After two hundred years, it found such a man. A man so consumed with hatred and jealousy for his own brother that he killed him and tried to kill his son. This man exulted in the knowledge that Arwen had chosen his body in which to return.”

  “Uther Jago,” I said to Nicca. “The first one. The man Rudi drew when we were children.”

  “When this man died by the knife and his body was consumed in flames, the spirit sought the darkness again until another host could be found.” The sangoma drew a breath, a slight frown touching her brow as though she saw something that troubled her. “This time it did not take long. The spirit found a boy whose mind was not strong. As he grew, he tried hard to fight the evil that gripped him. He did not succeed, and it destroyed him. Innocent lives were lost, and your family was almost torn in two.”

  I thought of Eddie Jago and the things I had heard of his decline into darkness. It seemed it was only Cad Jago’s marriage to Bouche that had restored the Jago family to some semblance of normality.

  The sangoma ran her fingers over the watch. Jabu continued to translate her words. “Now this man, the owner of this watch. Also called Uther. He is not a weak man. But gold is his downfall. He owes much money. Only one man stands between him and great wealth and power. An opportunity presents and he takes it. A moment of madness as war wages all around, but he gets away with it. Suddenly he has it all. The spirit of Arwen Jago cannot allow this opportunity to pass by. He sees a way to use this man to get what he wants. The house, the name, the power can be his once more.” The sangoma looked puzzled and Jabu explained to me. “She says she does not understand this…the words are clear, but she does not know what they mean. Something about a ‘line that is true.’”

  “The true line means those who are direct descendants of Arwen Jago,” I explained. “But Uther was not of the true line of Jagos, and when he arrived at Tenebris, nobody knew that there were any direct descendants of Arwen’s left.”

  “But the spirit knew it,” Jabu said, interpreting the singsong chant. “Through Uther he can claim the girl. And what a girl! She has beauty, fire and great strength. All the strength of the Hungarian woman and more. For this one, Arwen can even begin to forget the legacy of…” Her voice drifted away slightly and she shuddered. “Lucia.” The word was little more than a breath. “The spirit ignited a fire between Uther and the girl that burned brighter than the sun. But the man is a fool. Something of chivalry remains within him. He listens to this, puts this above the need to make her his, body and soul. Then, because of mistakes he has made in the past, he turns his back and she slips from his grasp. The spirit is forced to leave the security of the darkness to pursue her. Without her, the man is worthless to the spirit, an empty shell. Unchained, the spirit is unpredictable. Out of control. The girl is strong, she fights him and another has dared to claim her. The unthinkable happens. She reminds Uther of the good that is still inside him, of the man he once was. He refuses to do the spirit’s bidding. He will not kill again. Instead he himself is killed.” She sighed and sagged forward as though exhausted, resting her forearms on her knees. The singsong note was gone. “Did he take his own life? It is not clear to me.”

  Finty hung her head, and Nicca took her hand in his. “No, my cousin here thought he was about to kill her husband, so she shot him.” We had been over this so many times. Finty’s fears about what would happen to Rudi once Uther arrived were well known to us all. Although he had actually been pointing his pistol at his own head, given everything that had happened, she could not really be blamed for assuming it was a trick.

  The sangoma looked at Finty as though seeing her for the first time. Abruptly, she sat up straighter. “We must take refreshments. My sight is blurred. It is as if the ancestors are tired.”

  “I don’t understand why the sangoma spoke of the true line,” I said to Jabu as we drank the traditional light Zulu beer. “If Arwen Jago knew the truth—that Rudi and I are Petroc’s son and daughter—surely he would have chosen Rudi instead of Uther?”

  The sangoma looked up and directly at me for the first time. In perfect Afrikaans, she said clearly, “Nie Rudi. Hy u gekies het, Annie.”

  The world swam slightly out of focus, and I slumped, leaning my forehead against Nicca’s shoulder.

  “What did she just say?” he asked Jabu urgently.

  “She says he did not choose Nkosi Rudi. He has chosen Nkosikazi Annie.”

  “Rudi is not the strong one. It was always you, Annie,” the sangoma said. Her dark eyes held a world of sympathy.

  Still speaking in my own language, she explained more of what she had seen. “The spirit of your ancestor is strong, stronger than any I have known before. And the evil has not diminished with each incarnation. It has grown. In the past it preyed on weaker minds, on men who it could own and manipulate. But in you, Annie, Arwen saw a chance to make the Jago name great again.”

  “My God, did he see in me what he saw in Eddie Jago?” I covered my face with my hands.

  “No, on the contrary, he saw you as the way to rebuild his dynasty. Your mind would not crumble before its greatness as poor, feeble Eddie’s had done or flaunt its power arrogantly as the first Uther did. But you would not accept it in the same way either, because you were not weak or vain as they were. You had no need of the darkness.”

  “I still don’t understand. There were strong Jagos of the true line before me. Arwen never tried to possess Tynan or Cad. Why me?”

  “I cannot see it all, Annie. I know only that he sensed that greatness for the Jago family would come from you.”

  “Tristan told us that Arwen saw himself as the gatekeeper for future generations, remember?” Finty spoke for the first time since we had entered the hut. “He said that Arwen felt very strongly that the Jagos who were to come would be destined for great things and it was his job to protect the line for them. Perhaps there is something about you, Annie, that made his spirit believe the time had come.”

  Nicca took my hand. “Stubbornness, bloody-mindedness, a refusal to let things go…”

  I laughed shakily. “I didn’t need Arwen, so he used Uther as bait? By making me fall in love with him, he gave me a reason to need him.”

  “Ja. You are a Jago. There is some of this legacy in all of you. It is who you are, but it does not always make you evil.” I thought of Tynan, Cad, Eleanor, Tristan, Petroc—the father I had never known—Rory and Rudi. The good Jagos outnumbered the bad. “But it was enoug
h for the spirit to begin with. The attraction you and Uther felt, you knew in your heart it was not natural, ja?” I nodded, my cheeks flaming at the memories that flooded back to me. Nicca drew me closer and I leaned into him, grateful that he understood. “Uther was the means by which it would isolate you, persuade you that the dark ways were the right ones, use the lust that consumed you to overcome your rational thoughts.”

  When I thought about how close he had come to succeeding, I shuddered.

  “Now I must go back to the ancestors to discover how we end this.” The sangoma closed her eyes and repeated her incantation to the ancestors. She became very still, then her monotone chanting in the language of her ancestors resumed.

  “We will not bury this man, Uther,” Jabu said, returning to his role of translator. “He must burn so that there is nothing left of him for the spirit to cling to.”

  “Ask her if once Uther burns, the evil spirit will be completely gone,” I said to Jabu.

  “She says it will, Nkosikazi Annie,” he replied solemnly. “But she says the funeral pyre will be the most dangerous time. The spirit will seek another host when the body it claimed is taken away. When Uther’s mortal body burns, everything that belongs to him must burn with it so that the spirit cannot find a pathway through which to return.”

  “Am I already one of the things that belongs to the spirit? Will I be the pathway it uses to come back?” I took a breath. Nicca made a movement to stop me, but I shook my head. This was too important. “Must I burn, too, in order to send this spirit back to its darkness?”

  The sangoma’s soul-dark eyes burned into me. “Come closer, child,” she said, reverting again to Afrikaans now that she was no longer in a trance. I sat cross-legged on the animal skin beside her, and she took my face in her hands. Her calloused fingers were firm against my temples. “The evil one has branded you, it is true. But you are stronger than even he knows. He was not prepared for your strength. You love another. A man who is good. That love has given you even greater power. You are a fighter, and you have even more to fight for now. No, the spirit does not own you, child. But it will try to use you and you must be prepared to fight harder than you have ever fought before. When Uther’s body burns, you must sit inside another circle of fire so that the wings of the spirit will be scorched when it tries to touch you. Anyone who bears the curse of the true Jago line must sit within the circle. If you do not, the darkness will seek you out.” Her eyes probed the shadowy corners of the room. For a moment, she appeared fearful, as though something repellent lurked there. “There is nowhere else for it to go. There cannot be.” She seemed to be trying to reassure herself as much as me. “It must be tonight. I will prepare bitter herbs for you to eat so that any part of the spirit that remains inside you will be driven from your body.” She bent close, and I thought for a moment that she was going to kiss my cheek. Instead, she whispered in my ear, “Do not fear, Annie, these herbs will not harm the baby you carry.”