At the far end of the corridor, the earl flung open the door to the most elegant chamber Ian had ever seen—a chamber obviously converted to a nursery.
Pendragon slammed to a halt, as if the earth had suddenly split before him.
Lucy stood in a gown of river-blue satin, her back to the door. She was totally unaware of her father’s arrival, but her laughter rippled out. “It’s too late, Dominic! I’m afraid you will have to ‘hang the infernal fool’ who made that disturbance.”
“No, Countess!” Valcour interjected. “There’s been a terrible mix-up.”
“But your daughter is wide awake again and demanding her papa!” Lucy called. “You swore you’d hang the next person who disturbed her.”
The piteous wail that erupted made Ian stagger into the room, stunned. “A baby?”
Lucinda whirled, her face like sunshine—bright, filled with joy. “Papa! Oh, Papa!” She raced toward him, baby and all. “You’re here at last! Where are Mama and the little ones and—”
She cried out, catching her mother and sisters in a delighted embrace as they entered the room. “I can’t believe you’re all here at last! I’ve missed you so much! And this is Jesse! Good morrow, little brother! He looks just like you, Papa! I swear he does!”
She turned to Valcour, relief in her eyes. “Dominic, I had forgotten what day it was! Thank God you remembered.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!” Valcour insisted. “I didn’t remember. Near as I can figure, the—the coachman did.”
“John and Claree fetched us from the dock,” Ian said, amidst the infant whimpers. “But they didn’t say a word about a baby, by God’s wounds! Girl, why didn’t you write and tell us you were with child?”
“Lucy, are you all right?” Emily asked.
“You see why I didn’t tell them, Dominic?” Lucy said, triumphant, then turned back to her parents. “I knew the moment you heard you would both be in a blather. I didn’t want to worry you. And I wanted so much for it to be a surprise! But in the end, it turned out more astonishing than even I could have imagined, because—”
“Wait,” Ian said, pointing almost accusingly at the little mouth contentedly sucking at the tip of Lucy’s little finger. “That baby isn’t crying.”
“No, it’s the other one’s turn,” Valcour said, as if that explained everything. “It’s some sort of pact concocted in the womb. One awakens, the other sleeps; one is hungry, the other won’t eat if God Himself commands it. The instant there is a lull in the storm, they both wake up, bellowing to bring the house down.”
“Both? You don’t mean… twins?” Emily gasped, the color leaving her cheeks. “Child, did all go well?” The woman who had brought forth five children without a wisp of concern obviously found the fact that her daughter had been in travail daunting beyond belief.
“Did it go well?” Valcour moaned, going to scoop up his tiny daughter. “It was terrible! The worst night of my life! But Lucinda delighted in it. She adores nothing more than driving me wild!”
Lucy laughed at her husband. “You would think that since I produced a son, as our bargain required, the man would be elated!”
“I am, hoyden, I am, it’s just…” Valcour looked at his wife, the anxiety he had suffered still shadowing his face. “I didn’t know there would be so much… so much pain.” His voice dropped, barely audible. “I didn’t know I’d be so damned scared!”
“And here I thought Lucy was the one who had the babies,” Ian observed wryly.
“You are a fine one to talk, Papa!” Lucy teased. “You and Dominic are exactly alike. He didn’t leave my side for a moment. Not even when the midwife threatened to chase him from the room with a fire iron if he didn’t calm himself.”
Blackheath looked from his radiant daughter to the son-in-law he had been so determined to dislike. He grimaced. It was damned hard to dislike a man who looked so battle-dazed. “It was a bed warmer when Norah was born. I can still see old Mahitabel waving that thing at me, cursing.”
“But two babes!” Valcour echoed. “Why is it Lucinda has to outdo the rest of the world at every turn? For six weeks now, the whole house has been in an uproar. Of course, Lucy kept it in an uproar anyway, but this has gone beyond even that madness. My wife will not allow the so skillful nurse I hired to give any but the most cursory aid. No. She insists Mama and Papa be neck-deep in lullabies and cradle rocking.”
“As if anyone can keep you from the nursery, my lord!” Lucy teased. “I vow, I wake three times a night to an empty bed and find Dominic bending over the cradles.”
“I just want to be certain they’re both breathing! They were so infernally tiny.”
Ian nodded with abject sympathy. “I know. They seem so impossibly helpless. But next thing you know, they’ll be climbing out windows in the middle of the night, raiding the pantry and terrorizing the servants.”
The warnings fell on deaf ears, the new papa already enraptured again. “My God, did you ever see anything so beautiful? Beautiful just like their mama.”
Emily touched Valcour’s arm. “Perhaps you would care to introduce us?”
“This is Dante.” Lucy indicated the tiny angel in her arms. “The one who is complaining at the moment is Aria. Dominic had just gotten her to sleep before you arrived. A feat that was not accomplished without considerable effort, I might add. The girl is incredibly hardheaded and opinionated for such a small person.”
“I wonder where she would get such a trait,” Valcour snorted.
“They’re beautiful,” Emily said, touching one tiny cheek. “Look, Jesse,” she said, setting the boy on unsteady feet. “See the baby?”
“If you ask me, they look bald and squally,” Norah piped up. “But I s’pose, in time, I can teach them to be quite naughty, don’t you think?”
Valcour rolled his eyes heavenward. “Without a doubt, considering the chase their mother led me.”
Valcour felt a small hand tug at his breeches and looked down into the face of little Hannah. “That horsie is too big for them. They’ll fall right off,” the child observed, pointing to a rocking horse of gargantuan proportions, a wooden sword and a doll house intricate enough for a crowned princess standing against the wall. “I could take ’tare of it for the babies.”
“I would be most grateful if you would do so. My brother sends a new trinket every week for the two of them! He’s a captain in the cavalry. A fine one. But he seems to consider it his mission in life to see that his niece and nephew are hopelessly spoiled.”
“As if you aren’t the worst offender in that regard,” Lucy said, delighted. “The day after they were born, he ordered up matching ponies for the two of them, the most beautiful ponies with cream manes and tails and coats like aged gold.”
“They adore their ponies. I’ve taken them out to see them a dozen times. I vow last time Dante smiled, and as for Aria—look at the hands on this girl! She already has the makings of a fine horsewoman!” Valcour flushed and took his son from Lucy.
The earl dipped down on bended knee, a baby balanced in the crook of each arm. “Look, children. A little man, and a little lady, both at once. Is your sister not the most amazing woman ever born?”
“No,” Lucy whispered. “Only the happiest.”
Ian chuckled. “You’d best brace yourself, my lad,” he said to Valcour. “With this hoyden daughter of mine and two new babes to turn things upside down, your life will never be the same.”
“Thank God for that,” the earl of Valcour said, kissing the petal-soft brow of first his son, then his daughter, his eyes shining with reverence and gratitude as he looked into the smiling face of his wife.
It was well past three in the morning when Lucy finally left the bedchamber assigned to her parents. The three of them had talked until they were hoarse, laughing and teasing, catching up on two years of gossip. Valcour had excused himself two hours before, citing some business affairs to be put in order. He hadn’t fooled Lucy for a moment. The man who h
ad been so tyrannical, so cold, was the most thoughtful of lovers, and he had instinctively given her the gift of some time alone with the parents she adored.
It had been heavenly, for just a little while, to sink into the role of Raider’s daughter again—cosseted, petted, teased and loved. And it had been wonderful to ease all her parents’ niggling fears about the sudden marriage that had stolen her away two years before.
Valcour loved her—desperately, completely, with not the tiniest corner of his heart withheld from her. Even Pendragon remarked on it. And no one knew more than Lucy how much it had cost her father to grudgingly admit that her husband was a damned fine man, even if he was born English.
But when Lucy finally slipped up to the room she shared with Valcour, the bed was empty again.
She didn’t even bother checking the study. She went straight to the open door of the nursery.
Valcour sat in a chair beside the window, moonlight streaming over features so serene, Lucy knew she would never tire of looking at them. Those strong arms she had clung to during the hours she had labored to bring forth his dark-eyed babies now cradled the twins as if they were the rarest of treasures. He was murmuring something to them, secrets that they alone could hear.
But the girl-child snuffled with impatience, her tiny fists waving in regal displeasure. Her father only smiled, a smile so peaceful it broke Lucinda’s heart. Valcour knew what his little one wanted, and he gave her a gift still magical, still wondrously new, though the babies had heard it a thousand times.
Valcour’s rich baritone drifted into the night as he sung the lullaby his children never tired of hearing. Dante yawned, his lashes drifting shut in contentment. But little Aria’s eyes were opened wide in the moonlight. She stared up at Valcour, her winsome face enraptured, her restless little spirit soothed in the haven of her father’s embrace.
The Raider’s daughter crossed the room and knelt at her husband’s feet to watch in wonder as the strains of the “Night Song” enchanted another little girl, carrying her away to a magic place where tower rooms awaited and princesses awoke.
But the “Night Song” no longer whispered to Lucy of yearning but, rather, of hope fulfilled, dreams realized, and a love that would last forever.
She had tamed the Hawk of Valcour to her hand.
The reward was a sweeter one than she had ever known.
THE END
About the Author
When Kimberly Cates was in third grade she informed her teacher that she didn’t need to learn multiplication tables. She was going to be a writer when she grew up. Kimberly filled countless spiral notebooks with stories until, at age twenty-five, she received a birthday gift that changed her life: an electric typewriter. Kimberly wrote her first historical romance, sold it to Berkley Jove, and embarked on a thirty-year career as an author. Called “a master of the genre” by Romantic Times, her thirty-three bestselling, award-winning novels are noted for their endearing characters, emotional impact and their ability to transport the reader to the mists and magic of the British Isles.
Kimberly has also penned historical romances as Kimberleigh Caitlin and contemporary romances under the pseudonyms Kimberly Cates and Kim Cates.
She writes historical fiction as Ella March Chase. Her titles include: THE VIRGIN QUEEN’S DAUGHTER, THREE MAIDS FOR A CROWN and THE QUEEN’S DWARF.
A graduate of Augustana College in Rock Island, Illinois, she spends her free time reading, hiking and continuing her quest to find a recipe for the perfect scone. Her favorite activity, however, is playing dragon with her grandchildren whose imaginations never fail to amaze her.
Kimberly loves to hear from her readers. She invites you to find her on her Facebook Author Page where she posts interesting historical tidbits, on Twitter at @KimberlyCates5 and on her website KimberlyCatesBooks.com.
I’d love to have you take a peek at my Pinterest boards—there will be one for each of my books!
Books by Kimberly Cates
THE RAIDER SERIES
THE RAIDER’S BRIDE ~ book 1
THE RAIDER’S DAUGHTER ~ book 2
TO CATCH A FLAME ~ book 3
CELTIC ROGUES ~ the series
BLACK FALCON’S LADY (formerly Nightwylde)
HER MAGIC TOUCH (formerly Magic)
BRIAR ROSE
STEALING HEAVEN
LILY FAIR
CULLODEN’S FIRE ~ the series
1. GATHER THE STARS
2. ANGEL’S FALL
3. CROWN OF DREAMS
4. CROWN OF MIST
5. MORNING SONG
In the Devil’s Bed
A Sins of the Duke Novel
Eva Devon
Prologue
Spain
1812
Where is the bloody medic?
Jack sucked in the acrid stench of fired musket powder. Disbelief warred in his chest. Blood pooled and sprawled in winding rivulets over his shaking fingers, spilling onto the dry earth of Badajoz. He thrust his hands down harder over the wide-open wound oozing on his friend’s chest.
In ten years, they’d never fought a battle without each other. On or off the field. Hell, they were extensions of each other. Jack could actually feel Devlin’s heart slowing beneath his hands.
Their battalion charged around them, kicking up dirt onto Dev’s prone body, settling on his brown hair and tanned skin. The glint of a French Eagle in the smoke of the cannon fire caught his eye. Bloody hell, but the French were close.
Jack leaned over Dev and blocked him as much as he could from the battle with his shoulders. He stared down into his friend’s face. “Why the ’ell did you step into that bullet?”
Devlin blinked his blue eyes. Pain streaked his pupils, turning them into pinpricks of black. His lips curled into a grimace of a smile. “You’re a sissy-ass bastard, Jack. You’d have dropped—like a fly.”
Devlin drew in a ragged breath, his face slowly turning ghostly white.
This could not be happening. They’d survived everything together. Everything.
Jack’s hands slid over the wet, torn cotton of Dev’s shirt. “Oh, and you stood like an iron post, is that it?”
The soldiers around them yelled at the top of their lungs, brandishing bayonets, the spear tips shining in the smoke-tinged sun. Thousands of booted feet slammed into the earth, sending vibrations up through Jack’s knees. In moments, he and Dev would be in the middle of hand to hand combat.
The smile faded from Dev’s face. “Jack, I can’t feel the lead ball. It’s not bad, is it?”
Jack opened his mouth and choked on the answer. If he said it, it would be true. His hands shone dull red and Dev’s blackened jacket and shirt stuck to his body, soaked. The skin around the angry wound shifted under the pressure of the flowing blood.
“ ’Tis nothing,’” rasped Jack.
Devlin’s eyes closed for a brief moment. The muscles of his throat worked as he swallowed. “Liar.”
Jack’s chest clenched in a tight vise. “You can’t leave me here alone. I cannot carry out our plans without you.”
Dev slowly lifted his bloodied, dirt-ridden hand to Jack’s wrists. “Oi’m… damn well… not dying.”
Jack growled at the stupidity of his friend’s words. A trickle of blood was slipping from Dev’s mouth down his cheek. He had only moments. “You bastard, you can’t leave me. We’ve never been apart—Not since—”
“The duke—,” gritted Dev. “The home—But Jack—I’m not leaving you.” Devlin sucked in a breath, a low rattle shaking his ribcage. “We’ll go back to London. And we’ll…”
The words died on Devlin’s lips. His body tightened, then, in a single moment, relaxed into seeming sleep. The light dimmed from his blue eyes and his jaw relaxed, leaving his mouth open.
“Destroy the Chance family,” finished Jack. Dev’s fingers slid off his wrists. Jack pressed his hands harder against the wound.
“No!” He could stop it. He could bring Dev back.
Blood floode
d over Jack’s forearms. Dev’s heartbeat still pulsed out the blood. And then stopped. A growl ripped from Jack’s throat as he slammed his hands down against the torn flesh and stared down into the face of his only friend. Like a vacant mask, Dev’s eyes looked up into the air, a sheen of dust covering them.
“Not here!” Each word grated from Jack’s throat. His eyes burned as Dev’s face blurred before him.
Jack felt nothing except a solid hum of anger and power thrumming through his veins.
Get up, a voice urged inside him.
Jack winced and blinked. His hands slid from Dev’s chest and fell to his sides. Jack planted them into the ground.
Get up, the voice commanded.
It pounded inside his head, filling his body with rage. Jack shoved himself to his feet. He looked down at what was left of his friend.
Revenge, growled the deep voice.
Metal clashing on metal jerked Jack’s attention away from Devlin’s body. Men surged around him in a violent dance. Killing each other.
Pure hatred boiled inside of him. And for the first time, Jack wanted blood. He needed to take life and allow himself to be crazed with revenge.
He locked eyes with a French soldier. The young man’s blue and white coat flashed in the sun as he ran towards Jack. Jack grabbed the cool, wood barrel of his pistol and yanked it from his belt. He aimed at the white space between the man’s brown eyes, caressed the trigger, and fired.
The French man’s body jerked back and stopped mid-run. Surprise flashed across the young man’s face before he tumbled to the earth. Jack thrust his pistol into his waistband and drew his sword from its sheath.
He would kill every damned enemy on this field in Dev’s name. Every one of them. Jack ran into the wild sea of battling men and thrust his sword into the nearest French coat. The blade sank into the man’s flesh. The French soldier screamed. Jack kicked the man in the back with his booted foot, yanking his sword free. The sound of steel sucking from flesh filled the air.
Blowing out a jagged breath, Jack turned his gaze on the men before him, seeking his next target.
Lords of the Isles Page 186
