The Guardian Duke: A Forgotten Castles Novel

by Carie, Jamie

  Montague chuckled. "Seeing as how I've applied some English charm to the Mistress Tinsdale, I suppose I shouldn't overly regard her sister."

  Alex stifled a laugh as they came to the gatehouse and then choked it off with a cough. Helen was coming toward them with a big smile on her face. She looked a great deal like her sister, round in a motherly way, brown hair with wisps that curled around her face. A big, open smile with dimples. "Hello." She held out her hands in welcome. "Helga told me about the wee lass with her giant guard and handsome admiral. What a blessed child you are."

  The gatehouse was built into the stone wall that enclosed the courtyard and the castle. On either side of the gate were tall towers, four stories high with windows framed with a lighter-colored stone. Helen unlocked the padlock on the great iron gate with a long key and pulled the gate open. It creaked and moaned with its weight. "Come along, then." She motioned them inside.

  As they followed her swinging skirt up the wide pathway to the front of the castle, Alex leaned toward Montague and whispered, "Admiral? You never told me that."

  "You never asked." Montague winked at her.

  "Well, I won't forget to ask about it later," Alex assured him.

  A sense of awe grew apace with her excitement as they neared the castle. It was perfect with its conical-shaped spires, waving flags with the family's crest and the flag of Ulster. They went up wide stone steps to a massive, arched wooden door.

  "If you'll look above the door, carved in the stone is the coat of arms of Charles I. The Hamiltons were royalists, and for their support they were granted the right to display the king's arms. Now, if you'll just follow me inside, I've many a tale to tell you about the castle."

  They followed Helen down a long stone corridor and then into a surprisingly cozy drawing room. The furniture was thickly upholstered and comfortable, done in soft shades of brown and green. The fireplace was big, with a nice warm fire burning in it. Above the elaborate mantel made from marble was a painting of a beautiful woman. Nearby were landscape paintings, one had the rolling green hills of Ireland, lavender heather blooming across the hills in the foreground, and a sky of azure blue. The dark silhouette of a castle stood far off in the distance. It wasn't Killyleagh, but it was magical just the same.

  "I've permission to take you on a short tour, but I thought you might like to warm yourselves and have a cup of tea first." Helen smiled her broad smile at them and then left to fetch the tea.

  "It's not at all like Lindisfarne Castle," Alex murmured in wonder.

  "Is it not? What's your home like then?" Baylor sat carefully on a pretty chair that creaked under his weight.

  Alex shook her head, embarrassed. "Not as cozy and nice as this."

  "Castles are a cold and damp place to live if they haven't been renovated such as this one," Montague agreed.

  "Have you lived in a castle, Montague?" She realized that she hadn't gotten to know very much about him and perhaps that was her fault as much as his.

  "Oh, I've stayed a spell in a few but never lived in one. My wife wouldn't have stood for that."

  "You have a wife?" Alex sat across from him. Why hadn't she asked him about his family?

  "I had one. She died over two years ago."

  "I'm sorry. Do you have children?"

  He shook his head, a faraway look in eyes that had turned darker blue. "No children." His voice was low and Alex let the subject drop. Before the silence that followed could become uncomfortable, Helen returned with her tea tray. She glided over to a table in front of Alex and set it down. After pouring, she perched on the settee with Montague, and with her brown eyes twinkling, asked Alex, "Would you like to hear about the ghost that haunts the castle, Lady Alexandria?"

  "A ghost? Oh yes. Please tell us." Maybe there would be a clue in the story.

  Helen clasped her hands together and became very still. "Very well. A long time ago, around the time of the Earls of Clanbrassil in the 1600s, the second Earl of Clanbrassil married the Earl of Drogheda's daughter, Alice Moore. The match was a disaster and Lady Alice only had one child, who died as a babe, God bless it. The earl's father decided to write up a new will that said if his son died without an heir, the entire estate would go to five Hamilton cousins.

  "Well, Lady Alice wasn't having that, I can tell you. She broke into the safe, found the will, and threw it into the fire. Then she convinced her husband to write a new will with her and her brother as the heirs. He did it, he did, even though his own mother warned him that he wouldn't live three months after signing it. And wasn't she right about that? The earl was poisoned not three months after he signed the new will."

  Alex gasped. "Was she caught?"

  "Nay, my lady. They never proved it, at any rate. But God or fate intervened as the Blue Lady died two years later, leaving the castle to the Hamilton cousins after all."

  "Why did they call her the Blue Lady?"

  "That's the name of her ghost. It is said that Lady Alice haunts the halls of Killyleagh Castle and everyone who has seen her says she's wearing blue." Helen paused and set down her cup. "Be on the lookout as we tour the castle. She does like to appear now and again." She laughed then in a way that said she enjoyed telling the story.

  Alex shivered as she stood and gazed around the room. It was too bright for ghosts! But she edged over toward Baylor for protection. When she peered up into his face though, his eyes were wide with a look of wariness that said he believed the tale. He took her hand and squeezed it. When she tried to let go he held on, looking as if he wouldn't let go the entire time they were there. Finally she had to jerk her hand away. Why, he seemed more afraid than she was!

  The rest of the tour, through the grand, high-ceiling rooms with their Jacobean motif plasterwork, rich fabrics on the windows and furnishings, and thick rugs to keep feet warm against the polished stone floors was pleasant enough, but Alex was hoping to find the owners.

  They climbed a spiral staircase and entered a library that smelled of books and pipe tobacco. Helen seemed suddenly ill at ease. "Just have a quick look through the window there, you can see all the way to Strangford Lough, and then we'll finish up back in the sitting room where we began."

  Alex took a peek out the window but noticed some odd tables and shelves scattered around the dome-ceiling room. She backed into the shadows as the men commented on the view. Here. This has to be where the Spaniards found the manuscript. Maybe there are others.

  As Helen waved them back down the narrow spiral stairway, Alex lingered. Baylor glanced back at her and winked as he started the long descent.

  Turning quickly to the task, she read the spines of the books on the shelves. She pulled down the few volumes about the castle and the town and paged through them with darting eyes. Dates . . . names . . . most of them unfamiliar crossed the pages. There were a few mentions of Hans Sloane but nothing about a missing item from his collection.

  "Did you find what you're looking for?" a deep male voice said from the top of the stairs.

  Alex started, inhaled, and twisted around to face him. He was an older man, probably in his sixties, with white shaggy sideburns and a mostly bald head. His eyes were intense, intelligent, with a spark of humor that gave her courage.

  Alex turned her attention from those piercing eyes down to the table where her hand was splayed on the opened book. She'd been caught and there was nothing to do but tell the truth. "The stories of the castle are so fascinating. I was looking for more stories."

  "Ah, the stories." He chuckled and moved farther into the room. He walked over to one bookshelf and took down a sheaf of papers. "I know the allure of stories. I've written some of my own, you know."

  "You're Archibald Hamilton Rowan, aren't you?"

  He turned, the smile on his face genuine. "You know me?"

  Alex shrugged. "Just what I've heard from Helen." />
  He laughed out loud. "What do you seek, my dear?" He walked a step closer and looked down at her. "I've a mind to help, if I can."

  Alex took a deep breath. "I am Alexandria Featherstone of Holy Island. My parents came here some months ago, almost a year ago," she amended with a downward glance. "They were searching for something but . . . I've not come for that." She looked back up. "They've disappeared and the prince regent has declared them dead. But they are not dead. Something has happened to them and they need me. I have to find them." She took a step forward. "Please, did they come here to the castle? Did you see them?"

  He took a deep breath and motioned for her to take a chair. "Sit down, my little owl. Such pretty, questioning eyes you have." After she sat and settled her hands into her lap, she gazed up at him in expectancy. "You've the look of your mother, you know. Yes, they were here. They wanted information as to the collection of Hans Sloane."

  "Yes, I've heard that name. Who was he?"

  "He was born here in Killyleagh. He moved to London and became a great physician. Eventually he became King George II's physician. But that's not what he was really famous for."

  "What then?"

  Sir Archibald walked toward the bookshelves and plucked off two volumes. He set them down in front of her with sentimental flare. "He was a collector of antiquities."

  "Antiquities?" Alex looked from the books up to his face.

  "He liked old things and puzzles. Anything from old relics to manuscripts full of poetry, drawings, inventions and such, coins, medals, just about anything you can think of that is old and important. He amassed a great collection and then bequeathed it to the British Museum. That is, it became the British Museum with his collection and King George's valuables."

  Alex motioned toward the old, leather-bound volumes. She opened one of the books and paged through it, not knowing what she was looking for. "What do you think they wanted . . . my parents, that is?"

  He let out a little exhale with another gentle smile. "I don't know, child. Except that it was something Sloane had found. The question is, if they couldn't find it in the British Museum, then what happened to it? What is missing from Sloane's collection and, as important to ask, who wants it?"

  Alex nodded. "There are others searching for it."

  "They were here. They got off with one of my books, I'm afraid, but I doubt it has the answers any of you are searching for. Your parents took that journal with them."

  Alex gasped. "They stole a book from you?"

  Sir Archibald chuckled. "They borrowed it."

  "What kind of journal was it?"

  "It was from the fifteenth century, some obscure Italian sculptor and inventor. It was his story."

  "Do you remember his name?"

  "I believe it was Augusto de Carrara, but that is all I know. I never read the book." He bowed low and turned to go. At the top of the stairs he turned and gave her a thoughtful glance. "Take your time, my dear, but I doubt you will find anything of much use."

  So her parents had the only manuscript with any real clues in it. "Thank you, sir." She looked down at the books before her, discouragement weighing her down. She'd promised the duke in her last letter that she would go to him in London and be his most biddable ward should she come to a dead end with the clues. Just the thought of giving up made her grind her teeth, but she hadn't promised it lightly. She laid her forehead on her clasped hands.

  God, lead me and direct my path. Light my way. Don't let me be faint of heart and give up too soon nor be too stubborn. I can be so stubborn . . . show me the way.

  The thought of giving up was almost more than she could bear.

  Her parents needed her. Until she had proof that they were dead, she had to keep trying.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Gabriel woke in his room at Whitehaven's Queens Arms to a piercing, ringing in his ears.

  He sat up in a sudden move, pressed his hands over his ears, and broke out into a sweat. "No. No, no, no." He gasped as the sound echoed inside his head, louder and louder and then snap. Nothing. A dull, aching nothing.

  He stood on shaking legs and fumbled with lighting the candle. Panting, sweat streaming from his face, he stumbled to the bowl and pitcher of water on the room's small table. He poured some water into the bowl, splashed his face, and wiped it on the nearby towel. Then he braced his hands on either side of the table and leaned over the bowl, just trying to breathe and trying to keep the contents of his stomach where they belonged.

  After a few minutes the roaring of his heartbeat slowed and he was able to stand upright. He swallowed, turned from the table, and made his way to the window. He opened the curtains and leaned his forehead against the cool glass. It was still dark but with the beginnings of a sunrise in the east. Gabriel concentrated on the pink hues for a long time, waiting for his panicked body to calm. He didn't have the courage yet to speak into the stillness. He knew what he would hear.

  Just thinking it made his heartbeat speed up. He breathed, deep and slow, and concentrated on the widening glow of pink and yellow. Like a flower blossoming in slow motion, the sunrise grew across the sky until it lit up the roofs of Whitehaven and glistened against the top of the water.

  God made this, he thought. God made every sunrise and every sunset. He knew just how the light would bend against the horizon of a circular earth. God knew who would be watching each one and what they would think and feel about it. He knew everything.

  Then why did He let this happen? Was it something Gabriel had done? Was there some test he hadn't passed? Anger and fear enveloped him in a nauseous cloud.

  "Why did You let this happen to me? Again? It was coming back!" He spoke the words out loud but he didn't hear them, not even a little. Oh, God, what if it is permanent this time? He'd begun to really believe that the northern climes had done him good. That his hearing would soon be back to normal. But no. Anger filled him as he'd never felt it.

  "Why give it back only to take it away again? You are cruel." He turned away from the sunrise. "You may know everything, but You are cruel to give me hope and then snatch it away again."

  Gabriel hit the post on the end of the bed with his fist. The bed shook with the force of the blow. Pain radiated up his arm but he welcomed the feeling. He had to get out of here.

  Trembling with anger, he dressed and packed up his belongings. They were to board a ship to Ireland today. Dare he go now? He was dreading getting on any kind of ship, having had to battle seasickness in his navy days. Humiliation that a duke's son, a person of his rank, was curled into a wretched ball of misery and then the accident he'd had . . . well, they'd moved him to land duty and kept him there. But now, he had no choice. Alexandria was coming home to London with him whether she liked it or not and if he had to cross a hundred seas, he would do it.

  Minutes later he pounded on Meade's door and waited. He finally opened it, his hair sticking up in all directions and eyes squinting against the light. It must be early. "I'm going down to the taproom for coffee and breakfast. Meet me down there as soon as possible."

  Meade nodded and said something but his head was down and Gabriel couldn't make it out. "I've lost my hearing again," he blurted out in angry staccato. He might as well tell him, as he'd find out soon enough.

  Meade's head came up and his eyes widened. His lips clearly mouthed that he was sorry. "How do you feel, Your Grace?"

  "I feel like pounding someone into a bloody pulp, that's how I feel. Now, we'll use the speaking book again when necessary, but we must get on that ferry and find Lady Featherstone. You will have to question the men at the customs house. Find out if they have any record of her, what ship she sailed on, and where she disembarked. Also, try and find out the name of the man traveling with her, if indeed he is traveling with her and not following her." He waited for Meade to nod his understanding and then turned and sto
mped down to order breakfast.

  GABRIEL PACED THE DOCK AREA while Meade went inside the customs house to find out about Alexandria. It was humiliating that he couldn't ask the questions himself, humiliating and infuriating. Anger hummed through his veins like wildfire. It wasn't good for him, he knew that readily enough, but he was afraid what would happen if he let go of the anger. The despair waiting for him at the other end of this rage was too terrible to consider. So he paced, switching his gloves back and forth from one hand to the other.

  A hand on his shoulder stopped him midstride. He spun around to find a gun pointed at his chest. His heart leapt to his throat. Dear God, was this it? Was he about to get murdered in broad daylight by a couple of footpads?

  The two men flanked him and he had a flash of memory from the post office the day before. The man in line behind him . . . it had to be . . . yes, he was the same man as the one with the gun standing right in front of him. He'd overheard them talking. He knew Gabriel was a duke.

  The man shouted something but Gabriel had no idea what it was. The other man reached for him. Instinct took over and Gabriel spun to the side, but he wasn't fast enough. The gun went off, a silent explosion with smoke that surrounded them like thick fog. The air smelled of burning powder. It was too close! Too close. Pain burst through his shoulder in a shocking wave. Had he really been shot?

  He stumbled as the other man dove on him, rummaging through his coat. He grasped Gabriel's purse in a tight hold. They were both breathing hard as the first man held him while the second patted down his body. They spoke to each other and then shoved him to the ground and turned to run.

  "Help!" Gabriel shouted. He started after them, the pain from his shoulder radiating down his arm. Wasn't anyone around to help him? He ran a little farther, stumbling, blood dripping down his arm and to the street. A black curtain started to veil his vision. He fell to the ground. He was going to faint.

  HE WOKE TO FIND MEADE'S face hovering over him. "Thank God, Your Grace. I've called a doctor. He should be here any moment."