Catherine Coulter the Sherbrooke Series Novels 6-10 (9781101562123)

by Coulter, Catherine

  “You are mucking it up, Richard.”

  Richard cleared his throat. “I apologize, Rosalind. I do not know you so I cannot judge your character, but I had the vision and that is a fact.”

  “Do you know, Richard,” she said, her voice emotionless, “I have never even been called a bitch, much less a vicious bitch. This vision of yours—”

  “It is a portent,” Miranda announced as she forked down scrambled eggs. “Visions don’t lie.”

  A portent, Rosalind thought, and set to her own breakfast, surprised she was ravenous. She looked up to see Nicholas watching her. Surely he wasn’t thinking she’d cut out his heart. But that vision of Richard’s—

  Nicholas said, “Richard, the knife. I ask you again, what did it look like?”

  “It had a curved blade, and there were diamonds, rubies, and even sapphires embedded in the hilt.”

  Nicholas nodded. “I wish to show you something after breakfast.”

  “After breakfast,” Miranda said, voice hard as the brass candlesticks in the middle of the table, “we are leaving. Richard has delivered his warning. We have done our duty. What happens to you now is on your own head, Nicholas.”

  Nicholas carefully laid down his knife. “I would like all of you to remain here for several days.”

  “So you believe me then?” As Richard spoke, he shot Rosalind a cold smile.

  “Believe that Rosalind stabs me and cuts out my heart? No, but there are unanswered questions roiling about. Perhaps amongst all of us, we can figure out what is going on here.”

  “There is something else going on?” Aubrey asked, sitting forward, his eyes glittering. “Something better than Richard’s bloody vision?”

  “Oh, yes,” Nicholas said, “much better.”

  43

  Richard’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Yes, yes, that is the knife I saw her plunge into your heart.”

  Rosalind saw herself holding that knife as it dripped blood—white blood. What if it was indeed a portent? What if something happened, something utterly catastrophic, and she did kill Nicholas? No, it wasn’t possible, it simply wasn’t. But what was possible, what was fact and she and Nicholas had to embrace it, was that there was magic at work here, ancient magic. She thought of all the Celtic names of the wizards and witches in the Pale. She thought of Taranis, the Dragon of the Sallas Pond, who’d been Sarimund’s confidant of sorts. His was a Celtic god’s name as well, and he’d claimed to be immortal. What if they were the same beings, but they’d somehow ended up in a different time, a different place? And somehow they’d spilled over into this world? Were they trying to come back, only something terrible had happened and they were stuck in the Blood Rock fortress? What if they wanted her to kill Nicholas because he’d descended from Captain Jared, who hadn’t paid his debt to her?

  How could such a thing be of help to them?

  It didn’t make sense. She’d been born almost three hundred years later, well beyond Captain Jared’s time, surely a god would know that. But then again, maybe there were boundaries on ancient wizards and gods, restricting them to certain skills in a certain time, a certain place. Maybe they weren’t all-powerful or omniscient.

  It was time to act, she thought, time to discover what this debt was all about, time to learn who she really was, maybe what she really was. The possible what scared her to her toes.

  She heard Richard Vail ask Nicholas, “What is the knife doing here?”

  “This knife appears to have many incarnations,” Nicholas said, and she admired his ambiguity.

  “Lawks,” Aubrey said, rubbing his hands together, “wait until I tell my friends at Oxford what is happening in my family—ghosts and knives in a vision that really exist. But wait, Richard, are you certain you never saw this knife before? It did belong to Grandfather; it was in this room when you were a boy, wasn’t it?”

  Richard still stared at the knife, as if mesmerized. “I don’t think so, but that was a long time ago and I was young—” He shrugged and tried not to look frightened.

  “Nicholas is not our family,” Lancelot said to Aubrey, “not really. Our father detested him, claimed he was a bastard, but since he was the image of himself, he couldn’t very well prove it, now could he?”

  Richard said, almost as an afterthought, “Shut up, Lance.”

  Lancelot puffed up and looked ready to yell, when his mother said, “It’s all terribly unfair, but, at this moment in time, Nicholas is the head of the Vail family.”

  “Unfair to whom?” Rosalind asked. “Richard is the one who has been disloyal to his brother. I mean, trying to kidnap me, surely not a very praiseworthy thing to do.”

  Miranda said, “And why should he be loyal to this unwanted stranger? Gone when he was but a boy and he only returns to collect his dead father’s title. What sort of son does that?”

  Nicholas said, eyebrow arched, “One that is disowned, perhaps, madam?”

  Miranda shouted, “It’s still not fair, do you hear me?”

  “I don’t think it was particularly fair for someone to try to kill me when I was a little girl,” Rosalind said. “What do you have to say to that?”

  “I have to say you are probably a harlot’s brat and her drunken lover took a cane to you, deservedly so, that’s what I say.”

  In a flash Nicholas was not an inch from his stepmother’s nose. He looked intimidating, dangerous, and ruthless. In a voice so soft no one could hear what he said except Miranda and Rosalind, he said, “Listen to me, you vicious old bat, you will never insult Rosalind again or I will ruin you. Do you understand me, madam? No more new gowns since there will be no more money, no more entrée into society. In short you will be ignored and ostracized.”

  “Ruin me? Ha!”

  Nicholas smiled down at her, and that smile surely had to freeze Miranda to the bone. Was the woman mad? Had she lost all sense, to bait a man like Nicholas?

  “Heed me, madam, for I am quite serious. Not only will I ruin you, I will ruin your three sons.”

  Miranda opened her mouth to blast him when Aubrey said in a loud voice, “I say, Mother, I don’t wish to be ruined. I don’t wish to be booted out of Oxford. As for Lance, he loves his new waistcoats and his horses. Hmm, and our butler Davy as well, I think. Please rein in your tongue.”

  “I pray this bastard meets a foul end,” Lancelot said, his hands clenched, his pretty face flushed.

  Rosalind clapped her hands. “All of you will listen to me now. We have an unusual situation here and it behooves us to figure it out, not fight and insult each other. Nicholas is the Earl of Mountjoy. Get yourselves over your disappointment for it grows very tedious to hear the lot of you whine and complain and curse Fate. Now, Nicholas and I need to attend to some matters that don’t involve any of you.”

  To her relief, Mrs. McGiver arrived in the next moment to show the Vails to their bedchambers. Rosalind assigned Marigold to attend the Dowager Lady Mountjoy. “Stick close to her, Marigold,” Rosalind said close to her ear. “She will complain endlessly, but you keep smiling and tell her you will see to everything, all right?” She dropped her voice another ten degrees. “She isn’t to be trusted.”

  When Nicholas closed the library door a few minutes later, he turned the big brass key in the lock, then called out, “Sir, are you in here?”

  No answer.

  “Captain Jared, we need you,” Rosalind said.

  No answer.

  She turned to Nicholas. “Why did you invite them to remain?”

  “This vision of Richard’s and his identification of the knife made me want to keep them close. I have this inescapable feeling they’re all a part of this, whatever this is. I’ve learned over the years that having your enemy within your reach gives you a better chance to survive than having one lurking unseen in the shadows.”

  She stepped up to him, went onto her tiptoes, and whispered against his ear, “Nicholas, I know how to get us to the Pale.”

  He stared at her, nonplussed.
/>   “Why are you whispering?”

  “I don’t know, it simply seemed the thing to do. My own vision of Sarimund last night before the whiteness awoke me—remember I told you he was chanting something? I didn’t hear the distinct words, but they somehow remained in my mind. The words he was chanting, they’re crystal clear now.”

  Nicholas wasn’t surprised, not after she’d read the Rules of the Pale when no one else could. “Why now, I wonder?”

  “Because time grows short,” Rosalind said. “Everything is happening very quickly now. Listen.”

  Look in my book

  The pages are free

  Follow my directions

  And come to me.

  “Free pages?”

  “Yes. Don’t you see? I couldn’t read the final pages of Sarimund’s book that Grayson found in Hyde Park and then I was unable to read the final pages of the shortened book here in your grandfather’s library because the pages simply wouldn’t separate. Sarimund is telling me I can now open them, so that makes them free.”

  She laid her hand on his forearm. “Nicholas, you and I are evidently the two main performers in a strange play. I do not want to cut out your heart. I really don’t. I am very fond of you.”

  He kissed her. “We are performers, you’re right about that.”

  “To work. Let’s begin with freeing the pages in your grandfather’s book,” Rosalind said.

  Rosalind’s fingers hovered over the pages, then, easily, she turned the page. Both of them froze for an instant, aware of an unknown that was close—or was it somehow Sarimund whose spirit floated above them? Perhaps Sarimund was slapping her in the face, but she couldn’t feel it because those slaps were behind veils of time, too thick for anything to come through. She was afraid to read the page, afraid of what it would do. She looked over at her husband. “What if—”

  “Read the pages aloud, Rosalind.”

  “Yes, you’re right. I cannot lose my nerve now.” She read:

  I wanted desperately to know if Epona had birthed my son, but Taranis would not tell me. He began singing a love song to his mate, which I found quite sweet actually, but I nonetheless wanted to kick him. Now was not the time to praise eternal commitment.

  Taranis said to me before he left me at my cave entrance, “Go home, Sarimund. Your time here is at an end, but do not forget what happened here because what you saw must be told to the girl. You must see that she knows this specifically”—and Taranis said, “Repeat the words in your mind. Now,” and so I did:

  Turn the last page

  And think of my might

  Read the words slowly

  And wait for the night.

  Did the words come from me or from the Dragon of the Sallas Pond? I do not know. I am home again—so many humans, jostling each other, all of them talking at once—how did I get here? I do not know that any more than I know how I arrived in the Pale. I seem to remember being in the Bulgar, but then it is gone and nothing is there in my memory. I wrote down the rules for you, just as my purpose for being in the Pale was you.

  You are the crown in my kingdom, the bringer of peace and destruction, the one who must right the grievous sin. It is a very strange thing, but as I write this, I know I am one with Taranis.

  Turn the page now and think of my might. Aye, it is my might Taranis recognized, and mighty I am, the mightiest wizard who has ever lived in the here and now, and in the future and past, and all other places not seen by mortals.

  You are a woman now, not the little girl who sang so beautifully. Good-bye. My heart is with you.

  Sarimund.

  Rosalind very slowly turned to the last page and stared down at a perfectly blank page. But she knew to her bones that beneath it was the stark white that had struck them last night, and within that stark whiteness was—what? She wanted to scream, but knew it wouldn’t help. She had to find out. She closed her eyes and thought of Sarimund’s might. What might? That he was strong? That he could mold and form events to suit himself? That perhaps he was an extension of Taranis? What did he mean that she was the bringer of peace and destruction? Now that sounded important indeed, terrifying too, since it sounded like she was vital, but to what—

  “Rosalind! Come, wake up. Do you hear me, you twit, wake up!” A hand slapped her face, not hard. That same hand slapped her face again, and this time it hurt because she was back to herself enough to feel it.

  “No, don’t hit me again, that’s quite enough. I’m back now, all right?”

  “Excellent, that’s more like it. Open your eyes.” He gave her another light tap on her cheek. “Open your eyes.”

  She did and looked up into her husband’s face. She blinked. “What happened?”

  “You stared down at that damned blank page and just—went away, as if you’d fallen asleep. You must tell me what happened.”

  “Nothing,” she said. “Nothing at all,” but she knew that wasn’t true. But what had happened was beyond her reach. “How long was I—away?”

  “Twenty minutes. How do you feel?”

  “Quite marvelous, really.” She gave him a very big smile. “Now, Nicholas, we have to wait for the night. Look at the last page—it’s perfectly blank, yet Sarimund’s chant tells me to think of his might and wait for the night.”

  “Not very humble, is he?” Both of them studied the blank last page. No magic occurred, no words appeared, but Rosalind wasn’t worried, odd, but she simply wasn’t. “We’ll wait, just as Sarimund said to.”

  Nicholas wished he’d sent his relatives on their way. Surely there was no need to have them here now. But Richard’s vision—why the devil had his half brother had a vision that was appallingly violent and clearly showed Rosalind with that knife, cutting out his heart? He wasn’t frightened simply because he knew that she would never do such a thing, even to an enemy. But what if she were under some spell? No, that was absurd. Who had sent such a vision to Richard? And why? What did it mean?

  He said to Rosalind, “I wonder if I will be allowed to come with you tonight, if that is indeed what is to happen.”

  44

  “Oh, yes, I know you will be with me. While I was away, Nicholas, that is, I was right here, but my mind was elsewhere—I saw you, and you looked fierce and cunning, and because I suppose I was elsewhere, looking at you through different eyes, I saw the rich red aura of magic surrounding you, and I knew, Nicholas, I knew. You are powerful.”

  “How do you know red is the aura of magic?”

  She cocked her head to the side. “I don’t believe I knew, but it is. Yours is a very potent magic, I know that it is.”

  “We spoke of this before, Rosalind. Why do you think me some sort of wizard?”

  “Do you doubt for a moment that Captain Jared was a wizard?”

  He plowed his fingers through his hair, and cursed.

  “You are in his direct line. Your grandfather was magic, probably other past Vails as well, perhaps all the way back to the beginning when wizards first sprang from the earth. But I simply know there is more magic in you than in any of your predecessors. I know it.”

  “So you believe the being who plucked Captain Jared off his sinking ship did it for a specific reason—because Captain Jared was a wizard and that’s what the being had to have. You believe that is why all the first sons of each generation dreamed of you?”

  She laid her hand on his forearm. “Haven’t things happened in your life you can’t explain? You may begin with your dreams of me.”

  He didn’t like this and she saw that he didn’t, but she remained quiet, watching him. He was fighting this with all his will, and his will was formidable.

  “The dream of you,” he said finally, his black eyes hooded. “I was only a boy. One night you were simply there, and as you continued to come every night and sing that song to me, you—the dream—simply became a part of me, seeped into my bones, settled in my brain.

  “The little girl that you were was a part of me for so long I ceased to question it. I
was used to you, you comforted me when I believed I wouldn’t survive.

  “But understand, the dream was nothing special, not really, even after I told my grandfather about it and he told me about the legend.”

  “It is not a legend, Nicholas. I’m quite real. I was out of time for Captain Jared, but not for you.”

  He looked into her face. “Out of time—how very odd that sounds, yet—you are here now with me and you are my debt, mine alone. I would gladly pay that debt if only I knew what it was.”

  “You can’t think of any more strange things that have happened to you? Do you so easily forget that you knew I would be at that ball the first time you saw me, Nicholas, and that is why you came, to find me, to meet me, to assure yourself that I was real? Remember, you told me you knew me when you saw me?”

  “Yes, I knew you. Yes, I knew you would be there. I don’t know how I knew, the knowledge was simply there, dormant I suppose you could say, until I journeyed back to England after I heard about my father’s death. And then, the moment I stepped foot here at Wyverly Chase, everything changed. But magic? As in I’m a bloody wizard, if there is such a thing?” He cursed again. “All right, all right. Here’s the rest of it. One of the last dreams I had of you, you were no longer the little girl. You were a woman as you are now. I remember leaping out of bed, sweating, hating that the little girl was gone because she was mine, both she and her song, her skinny braids, her freckles, the strength that even I could see in her, and I saw her vibrant red hair and knew it was you grown up.

  “I remember I lay back down on my bed and fell asleep again, immediately, and there you were, you the woman, and you sang that song to me. Dammit, that’s how I knew you when I saw you. I didn’t tell you before—it simply seemed too unbelievable.”

  You didn’t think that was magic? She said, “It seems it was time for you to come back to England. I’m thinking you were meant to come to me when I was eighteen, you were meant to marry me, and the two of us were meant to end it—whatever it is—and that’s why you dreamed of me as I am now.