Easy Conquest
Page 24
Jack stared at it. “But, how did you know ... ?”
“When I fell from my horse that day, I saw something glint as I was passing out, I had quite forgotten it until a few minutes ago.” She took the ring and made him take his left glove off. Then she slipped the ring onto his fourth finger. “Your treasured heirloom is where it belongs at last, Mr. Lincoln,” she whispered.
He smiled and drew her into his arms. “Oh, I do love you, Mrs. Lincoln.”
She lifted her lips toward his, and they kissed for a long, long moment, then she took his hand again and led him to the edge of the water. “Manco said that if we ever wished him to know we were happy and all was well, all we had to do was both throw twigs into the water. Do you believe in such things?”
“Oh, I believe in Inca magic, for I have seen it.” Jack bent to take two twigs from the ground. He gave one to Emily. “Together now. One, two, three.”
They tossed the twigs onto the water. Ripples went out, widening more and more until they reached the edge of the water. But then Emily felt as if they continued somehow, spreading farther and farther across the earth. Across the oceans too ...
* * *
It was midmorning in Lima, and summer had turned to autumn. The weather was unexpectedly fine, and the Andes’ cordilleras soared in white-capped magnificence against a sapphire sky. The hacienda was quiet. Peter and Archie, now fast friends and quite inseparable, were at their lessons with the English tutor Cora had engaged. Felix had accompanied Cristoval out on his land, where a boundary dispute had arisen with a neighbor.
Cora was in the garden, seated on a chair beneath the evergreen branches of the molle tree. She wore a warm rose woolen gown and had a heavy knitted shawl around her shoulders because there was a definite chill in the air. She was reading an American newspaper that happened to have come into Cristoval’s possession, he having found it at his club in Lima. It was several months out of date, but contained news she had not known.
Word of Admiral Nelson’s death at Trafalgar had reached Shropshire before they departed, but she did not know about Bonaparte’s huge victory over the Austrians and Russians at Austerlitz, or the Christmas peace the Austrians had signed with him three weeks later at Pressburg.
Nor did she know that the great prime minister, William Pitt the Younger, had died in January, in reality because of an addiction to port wine, but it was said the cause was a broken heart because of the news from Europe. Now it seemed Britain was governed by a coalition under Lord Grenville, of whom she had never held a very high opinion.
It did not bode well for her homeland, she thought as she turned the page. But then a name immediately leapt out at her. Sir Quentin Brockhampton! She read the brief column. It seemed that Rafe’s grand accomplice, and in many ways his equal in guilt, had made good his escape to America, where he had soon succumbed to the essentially dishonest streak in his character. This time, however, he had not escaped retribution, and had been sentenced to a considerable time in Walnut Street Prison, Philadelphia.
Cora drew a deep breath. She supposed it was a fitting fate for him, rather than the much heavier price Sir Rafe Warrender had paid. Traitors were not treated leniently at the best of times, let alone during a war.
She settled to continue reading, but then cast a rather dark glance toward Manco, who was seated cross-legged on the ground by the silent fountain. He was playing his wretched flute again, and while she appreciated his talent, she did wish he would play something more cheerful. Were all Inca melodies sad and fit only to pluck at the heart? she wondered.
Manco was enjoying his flute playing; in fact, he was enjoying everything about being home again. Oh, the thanks he had given to Viracocha when he came ashore at Callao after another five-month voyage. No Inca had ever danced more wonderfully, or paid more homage. The great god was pleased with him and had smiled upon all his prayers since then. Life was good.
Suddenly, a slight splashing sound came from the pool of water around the fountain, which was not operating today. Manco stopped playing and turned his head to look. He saw rings rippling across the surface and lapping against the stonework, as if something had just fallen in, or a fish had come up from below. But there weren’t any fish, and he knew nothing had fallen in. An odd sensation spread through him, a knowing feeling that he knew had traveled to him from the other side of the world. He smiled and looked at Cora.
“Capac Jack and Palla Emily well and happy,” he said. “From beginning both hearts easy conquest, and today they marry.”
“Mm?” Cora was absorbed in something in the newspaper. The Inca repeated his words, and she looked up then. “Married today? Come now, sir, you surely don’t expect me to believe that you know this? C’est impossible!”
“It’s true. Manco quite certain.” He pointed to the pool, where the ripples were still just visible, then he picked up his flute to play again, but this time the music he chose was much happier.
If Cora had but realized, it was an Inca wedding song.
Copyright © 2001 by Sandra Heath
Originally published by Signet (ISBN 9780451204486)
Electronically published in 2016 by Belgrave House/Regency
Reads
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228
http://www.RegencyReads.com
Electronic sales: ebooks@regencyreads.com
This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.