Knight of Pentacles (Knights of the Tarot Book 3)

by Nina Mason

  And thank God for that colossal blessing.

  As she drove past the sign welcoming her to Cromarty, a knot formed in the pit of her stomach. Though overqualified for the job of a library assistant, she still wanted to do well, and Mrs. Emerson struck her as someone who would not be easy to please.

  Jenna soon discovered she’d been correct in her assessment of Mrs. Emerson. Not only was the librarian extremely fastidious, she also was an old-fashioned, hard-core Presbyterian—shades of her father and William.

  “If you’ve not found a place of worship yet, you’re welcome to come to my church,” she’d said over brown-bag ham sandwiches and crisps in the library’s staff lunch room.

  Jenna only smiled while wondering if her new status was conducive with church-going. If faeries were of the devil, as her father always claimed, would she turn to ash the moment she crossed the threshold?

  She spent the morning familiarizing herself with the library’s collection, restocking shelves, and helping a handful of regular patrons check out books. She also got to issue library cards to a couple of pre-school tots who’d come in with their mums during story hour.

  She’d only observed and helped keep the children quiet while Mrs. Emerson read aloud from a story about a selkie. On Wednesday, Jenna was to read from a book with a Scottish mythology theme and lead the crafts project to follow. She’d chosen Ushig, a story about a girl who meets a shape-shifting kelpie. Annemarie Allan, the authoress, lived in Prestonpans, near Edinburgh.

  At four o’clock, when her shift was over, Jenna made the drive back to Rosemarkie bone-weary and bleary-eyed. She loved children, but also found them exhausting. Twinging with fear, she rubbed her stomach. Did she have what it would take to be a single working mother? She really didn’t know and hoped against hope she’d never have to find out. Not that she imagined Axel, as a shaman-warrior from the fourteenth century, would probably win any Father-of-the-Year awards. Could she honestly see him changing nappies? Hardly, though perhaps he’d surprise her.

  Assuming she ever saw him again...

  No, don’t think like that. He is Tam Lin, not Sigurd.

  Or, at least, she prayed he was.

  Before returning to her flat, she stopped by the grocer’s for black pudding—to satisfy a terrible craving for blood—and a bag of apples, which she took to the farmer who was boarding Odin for her. She could hardly leave the poor horse in the glen to fend for himself and, since she couldn’t afford to stable the charger, she’d made a deal with someone her new landlord knew to keep him until Axel returned.

  “If he doesn’t come back for his horse,” she’d told the farmer with a pang, “he’s yours. In the meantime, feel free to make him earn his keep by helping out around the farm. He’s a good, sturdy horse, and I’m sure my husband won’t mind.”

  The part about the horse belonging to her husband wasn’t entirely untrue. She and Axel were handfasted, after all—a legal albeit temporary marriage under Scots Law—and dropping hints now about having an absent spouse would pay dividends down the line when she started to show.

  Rosemarkie was a small town; word would get around—about both situations. Unfortunately, she’d told Mrs. Emerson in the interview she was single—so, when the time came, she’d have to dream up a spectacular story to explain the change in status.

  Being a devout Presbyterian, the fussy librarian would not look kindly on promiscuity. Especially when the evidence was on display for all to see—and be shocked by—during story hour.

  Tears welled in Jenna’s eyes before rolling down her cheeks, wet and hot. What a mess she’d gotten herself into. If she couldn’t get Axel away from Queen Morgan, she was screwed. She could always get rid of the baby, she supposed. Not that she wanted to or that abortion didn’t go against everything she believed in, but having the baby and putting it up for adoption would still mark her as a loose woman in the eyes of those in a position to negatively impact her livelihood. Plus, the baby was at least part faery. Giving the wee thing to unsuspecting mortals to raise didn’t seem like the best idea.

  Speaking of not-so-great ideas…living above a bakery wasn’t turning out to be as agreeable as she’d hoped. This morning, while getting ready for work, the comingled aromas of brewing coffee and baking bread, once so appealing, had made her nauseous. It might be because of the pregnancy, though it also might not be. Something in her system was horribly off balance. She’d heard that expectant mothers sometimes had somewhat odd cravings, but her hankerings went right past “somewhat odd” to revoltingly strange. She just hoped the black pudding and pickle she’d bought for her tea would satisfy her sudden, voracious lust for blood.

  As she pulled into the alley behind the bakery, two things all but knocked the wind out of her. The first was an owl perched atop a row of mailboxes, evidence Morgan’s vampires were still keeping watch. The second was a dark-blue Volvo station wagon—a car she knew as well as her own.

  As ice formed over her core, she bit her lip against the urge to turn the car around. Bloody hell in a hand basket. What in the name of God was he doing here?

  Chapter 15

  Axel, still locked in the comfortable-yet-confining bedchamber, had passed his captive hours in meditation. While he had not yet been able to exhume whatever Morgan’s potion had caused him to forget, he had remembered where he had heard of the Duke of Cumberland, who was just entering the room.

  Long ago, while swapping war stories in the knight’s quarters, Sir Leith had told him of the man’s barbarous deeds after the Jacobite defeat at Culloden Moor. The wounded were murdered where they lay on the field. Those who managed to escape the slaughter were hunted down and shot on the spot or imprisoned until they could be publicly executed.

  The British Army then embarked upon the so-called “pacification” of Jacobite areas of the Highlands. All those believed to be rebels were killed, as were non-combatants. “Rebellious” settlements were burned, including the crops, and livestock was confiscated on a grand scale, leaving many to starve. Over a hundred Jacobites were hanged and even more poor souls, including women, were shipped to London for trial—a dismal, eight-month voyage few survived.

  Following this campaign of cruelty, Cumberland was nicknamed “Sweet William” by his supporters and “The Butcher” by his opponents.

  “Cumberland created a desert and called it peace,” Leith had observed.

  Sir Leith had once been Axel’s trusted friend, and now he must bring him back to Avalon as the tithe after slaying his new bride in much the same way Cumberland’s soldiers had murdered the first baroness.

  While the assignment aggrieved Axel, so had many of the monstrous things he had done in the name of king and country. Robert the Bruce had been a great man and a great patriot, but he had also been a ruthless fighter. His unconventional tactics were not for the faint of heart or men who adhered too tightly to their principles in the heat of battle.

  If Axel could find a way to sidestep the order to kill Lady MacQuill, he would. He did not relish the idea of harming a woman—especially one in a family way—but neither was he ready to sacrifice himself to spare Sir Leith from being tithed. And why should he? Sir Leith had freely offered himself for sacrifice before running away, leaving Axel to answer for his betrayal.

  “Our contact, a young goblin named Smort, will meet you on the beach and, from there, will escort you through the Borderlands to Brocaliande,” the portly duke was saying a few feet away from where Axel sat in the corner chair. “I suggest you work out a cover story before you come into contact with the druids—something so convincing you believe it yourself—because old Cathbad will undoubtedly employ the Cup of Truth to test the veracity of your alibi.”

  Axel was relatively confident he could manufacture a convincing excuse for being in Brocaliande, but making it believable enough to fool himself and the Cup of Truth was another matter. “Is Cathbad the leader of the druids?”

  “He is,” Cumberland said. “As well as a fervent adversary of
Her Majesty’s and all Avalonians, so you’ll have to work extra hard to gain his trust.”

  Drawing nearer to Axel, Cumberland held out the cup he’d brought with him. The potion inside was no doubt the one Morgan had threatened to give Axel—the elixir that would bring about his death if he failed to return from Brocaliande within the proscribed time frame.

  Eyeing the cup warily, Axel asked, “Must I really drink that?”

  As the duke pushed the goblet closer, his lips stretched into the smile of a toad. “I’m afraid you really must.”

  * * * *

  Jenna’s stomach knotted and her mouth went dry. William was standing on her new welcome mat with his thumb on the buzzer.

  “What are you doing here?” she called out as she stepped toward him down the dimly-lit corridor.

  Turning very slowly, he stared at her without speaking. She’d forgotten how handsome he was with his dark hair, brown eyes, high cheekbones, and square jaw. He wore a dark, well-cut suit and blue tie that made him look very smart. For a moment, the old longing to be wanted flickered in her heart. Luckily, her newfound self-respect put out the spark before it had the chance to catch fire.

  “I got your e-mail.” His mouth twitched with something approaching a smile. “And, well…let’s just say, it didn’t take a degree in literature to read between the lines.”

  She scowled at him. It was just like William to read something into her innocent and very straightforward message. “What are you talking about? I promise you, I have no hidden agenda. I only want my things…which I hope you’ve brought with you.”

  “I haven’t.”

  Displeasure furrowed her brow. “Why not?”

  “I’d rather not discuss my reasons out here in the hallway.”

  Jenna started forward, then stopped, still a few feet away from him and the door. Her chest felt tight and her palms were sweating. What reason could he have for coming to the Black Isle without her things? Only one she could think of—and he was already twisting her request in that way he always did to maintain the upper hand. He wanted to reconcile, but was pretending there was some veiled hint in her e-mail that she wanted him back, so he could act like he’d done her a huge favor by coming to Rosemarkie.

  “And, frankly, I’d rather not discuss your reasons at all, William.” She pursed her lips. “I simply want my things back so I can get on with my life.”

  “Come on, Jenna. There’s no need to be rude. I simply caught a bad case of the jitters, which I’ve since recovered from. Now, please. Open the door so we can discuss this over a cup of tea like two adults.”

  So, he had come up here to try and get back together with her. The bigger part of her wanted to tell him where he could stick it, but a smaller part—the sensible, fear-driven part—saw him as a lifeboat she ought not to cut loose of its moorings just yet. As much as she hated the idea, marrying William would be better for her unborn child than trying to make it on her own. Not that she would ever choose him over Axel. Not for all the tea in Great Britain. But that was no reason to burn her bridges too hastily.

  She approached him as if he were a stray dog she didn’t trust and, sidestepping his person, inserted the key already in her hand into the lock. When it clicked, she pushed open the door and led the way inside.

  Her new apartment was even smaller than the cottage, but the furnishings were nicer. The cozy living room included a slip-covered sofa, two upholstered chairs, and a wood-burning fireplace with a pretty carved mantle. Through a doorway off the front room was an eat-in kitchen, which was surprisingly spacious and equipped with quality appliances as well as a full array of dishes and cookware.

  “Make yourself at home.” She headed into the kitchen to put on the kettle.

  When the tea was ready, she reemerged with two steaming beakers. She hadn’t needed to ask William how he wanted his tea because she already knew he liked it with milk and two sugars.

  She found him with his back to her, perusing the bookcase where she’d placed her collection of classics and the items Axel had given her. Should she mention Axel? Much as she’d like nothing better than to rub William’s nose in the fact she’d replaced him so quickly—and with a superior model—it seemed imprudent to give too much away.

  He touched the pouch containing Axel’s runes. “What’s in here?”

  “Just some stones I’ve collected on my walks in Faery Glen.” After the way he’d reacted to her dream, she was not about to tell him about her new interest in things he’d only label Satanic.

  “Yes, I saw that on the drive in.” He went on studying her collection of objects. “It looks like a pretty place.”

  “It is. Very pretty. The cottage I rented for—” She stopped herself before she said “our honeymoon” and started over. “The cottage I was staying in before I found this place abutted the glen, so I spent a good deal of time there…thinking about things.”

  “I’ve thought a lot about things, too.” His gaze remained fixed on the objects on her shelf. “And I’ve come to see that we should get married. It’s the only way I can save you from the darkness you’re too weak to fight on your own.”

  Disgusted, Jenna scoffed and rolled her eyes. Was he kidding? “And what if I don’t want you to save me? What if I just want a husband who loves, respects, and wants me?”

  Facing her at last, he took the lighter colored of the two cups of tea from her hand. “I do want you, Jenna, but I’m not an animal. As a man of God, I can fight temptation and control my desires. Unlike you—because you’re a woman, and women are weaker than men, and therefore more susceptible to Satan’s corruption. I forgot this when I ended our relationship. I forgot that a husband’s duty is to protect, defend, cherish, and spiritually guide his wife.”

  Jenna fought the urge to throw her tea at him. She could never marry a man like William. Never, never, never. “What a load of misogynistic bollocks.”

  Without replying, he took his tea to one of the chairs by the fireplace and sat down. Jenna followed him, rage burning inside her. Fighting to maintain the appearance of being calm, she claimed the chair opposite his. “William, I need to be honest with you. I can’t marry you because I’ve already married somebody else. I also think I’m carrying his child.”

  “That’s not possible. We only broke up a week ago. And no one in their right mind would marry someone they’d only known for a week. So, which is it, Jenna? Are you a liar, a raving lunatic, or a two-timing whore?”

  “I’m none of those things, you self-righteous arse,” she bit out, refusing to let his insults hurt her. “Haven’t you ever heard of love at first sight?”

  “Love at first sight is a lot of self-delusional claptrap perpetuated by the same instruments of Satan that promote immoral sex.”

  “Oh, really? And what instruments would those be?”

  “Movies and romance novels that paint love as a dance of passion that culminates in mind-blowing orgasms—not the long and often rocky road of passionless companionship long-term relationships more often turn out to be.”

  “Well, given the choice, I’d take mind-blowing orgasms over passionless companionship any day of the week.”

  “Of course you would.” The smugness of his tone made her want to slap his face. “Because you’re a woman who’s been brainwashed by Satan into valuing sexual lust over spiritual love.”

  Jenna bit her tongue to keep from saying something cruel. Why did it have to be one or the other? With Axel, she had explosive passion and a deep spiritual connection. Because Axel loved and respected her—and all women—two things William’s gender bias made impossible.

  She decided then and there not to give up on Axel. If she did, she was giving up on a life she’d only just discovered was possible. Grateful for her narrow escape from an emotionless life, she settled her gaze on William’s face. All at once, she didn’t find him the least bit attractive.

  “I’m sorry you drove all this way for nothing, but I’ve had a long day and think it best if you go
now.”

  Anger flared in his dark irises. “I’ll go when I’m damn good and ready, Jenna. And not one moment sooner.”

  Once, the fire in his eyes would have scared her into submission, but no more. Now, she was free of his power over her. Free to be the person she was and to live the life she wanted. With Axel, she hoped, and without him, if she must. She could think of worse things than being alone for the rest of eternity—like being married to someone like William for even five minutes.

  Rising from the chair, she strode to the front door and pulled it open. Leveling her gaze on him, she said with all the pluck of Elizabeth Bennett or Bathsheba Everdene, “Get out of my house. This minute. And never deign to darken my door again.”

  At first, she feared he wouldn’t leave, but then, he got up and, without a word, hurled his tea at her. Sailing past her, the cup smashed against the foyer wall, splattering hot, milky liquid everywhere.

  Though frightened by his violence, Jenna refused to be bullied by him another minute. “I said to get out. Now. Before I call the police and report you for assault and battery.”

  William, eyes narrowed and lips tight, ambled toward her menacingly. She stayed her position, spine stick-straight, chin thrust out, and head held high. When he reached her, he stopped and moved his face within inches of hers.

  Gaze boring into hers, he snarled, “You’re in league with the devil, and I’m lucky to be rid of you.”

  “I’m the lucky one, you self-righteous piece of shit,” she returned with disdain.

  Before he could zing her with another insult, she shoved him across the threshold with both hands and slammed the door so hard she wouldn’t be surprised if the loaves downstairs quaked on their shelves.