by Gaelen Foley
His fierce stare homed in on her.
“This symbol.” Flipping through the pages until she found the illustration with the dragon egg, she tapped it with her fingertip. “I’ve seen it before. Do you know what it means?”
Before glancing down to see the picture she was pointing to, Rohan decided to thrash Parker for letting her in here.
He did not want any female to see this side of him, yet, somehow, Kate appeared undaunted by her first true glimpse of his . . . hidden talents.
Then he looked down and saw her pointing to the hated symbol inside the dragon’s egg; he looked at her keenly and felt everything inside of him go cold.
“Do you know what it means?” she repeated urgently.
“No,” he replied in a dull tone, but of course, he knew it well. It was called the Initiate’s Brand. The central symbol of the Promethean Council.
It stood for everything he hated, everything he had joined the Order to help destroy.
It stood for her kin.
And it brought back a measure of the mistrust he had managed to overcome when he had convinced himself that she was innocent.
He looked at her shrewdly from the corner of his eye. “Where did you get this?” he inquired.
“Um—well—I was in the library and, er, . . . I found this little compartment.”
“You found it?” He turned slowly and stared at her, folding his arms across his chest. He refused to think about last night, the aching sweetness of her kiss. “What compartment?”
Wide-eyed, she shrank back slightly from his dark stare. “I was putting your books into order,” she said. “And I came across the Dante—the three parts of the Divine Comedy. They weren’t together, and that didn’t make any sense, so I went to pull them out—but they were levers, Rohan! False books!”
“You don’t say.”
Her head bobbed in an eager nod. “I pulled all three of them at once, and the top shelf popped open!”
“I see. So, you looked inside.”
“How could I not?” she retorted with a nervous smile and a defensive little shrug. “I didn’t think you’d mind! There was a treasure trove of the most amazing illuminated manuscripts hiding in there! Did you know your library had a secret compartment?”
He eyed her warily. “No.”
“I didn’t think so! It looked like it hadn’t been opened in ages! Do you want me to show it to you? I mean, I really am sorry—I know it was rude of me to snoop, but I was only trying to help.” She furrowed her brow prettily. “Please say you are not angry at me? I meant no harm.”
He dropped his gaze and gave an incoherent grumble that was neither yes nor no. Damn it, why hadn’t he written to Virgil about her when he should have?
Here she stood with Promethean blood in her veins, cheerfully informing him that she had discovered his family’s collection of secret, coded works relating to the Order’s history. He knew exactly what the Highlander was going to say. You let this woman lead you around by your cock. He shut his handler’s burred accent out of his head.
“So, what are your thoughts about this symbol, Kate?” he asked mildly.
“Well, you see, the picture jarred my memory. Actually, I can’t believe that I forgot—but, then again, I was just a wee thing at the time.”
“Forgot about what?” he asked impatiently.
“My mother’s book!”
He eyed her warily, recalling at once the book he had seen the Count DuMarin’s veiled daughter, Lady Gabrielle, holding tightly to her chest on the night she had been handed over into the watchful care of Captain Fox.
Rohan had assumed it was a Bible.
“My mother brought a book with her from France containing this same symbol!” Kate explained. “It was a big thick tome, with all kinds of strange symbols and diagrams and writings. It had little maps and puzzles of different sorts to figure out. Back when I was a little girl on my father’s ship, my parents were constantly poring over it.”
He frowned.
“Rohan, it was all about Valerian the Alchemist!” she exclaimed. “I don’t know if the book was by him or simply written about him, but it contained clues to the secret location of his tomb. They were on a treasure hunt!”
He narrowed his eyes. The Alchemist’s Tomb? But it had passed into legend long ago.
“Alchemy—you know!” Kate was saying excitedly. “Changing base metals into gold? There was supposed to be a horde of hidden treasure buried with him.” Her expression sobered. “That’s what my parents were looking for when my mother was killed.”
Rohan lowered his gaze, doing his best to veil his awe. The Alchemist’s Tomb was one of the enemy’s great lost mysteries. It had been hidden so well that, over the ages, especially during England’s civil war, its location had been forgotten; Valerian had taken his occult secrets to the grave.
No doubt, the Prometheans would go to any lengths to get their hands on it, not for the sake of any gold but for the scrolls containing his black-magic spells.
If Gerald Fox had found the Tomb and knew where it was, then that explained why James Falkirk would want to reel the pirate captain back to land.
Then an unbidden thought intruded.
If it really existed, the Tomb might also hold the secret of how to break the Kilburn Curse.
He eyed Kate dubiously. “So, you just remembered about all this now?”
“Yes, when I saw this symbol in this dragon book. Only now, I’m beginning to wonder if it’s really about dragons at all,” she murmured, marveling at it. “What if it’s all symbolic?”
It was, actually.
The “dragons” depicted in the book represented the various Promethean families that the Order had been battling for centuries.
Like hers.
“Wouldn’t that be something,” he answered softly, scrutinizing her.
“I’ll bet you this symbol has something to do with the Alchemist,” she remarked, pointing at the Initiate’s Brand. “Since he cursed your family, that must be why your ancestors have this book. That’s the connection, I wager.”
Her theory was close, not entirely right, but far be it from him to reveal the Order’s secrets.
Kate shook her head, glancing at him in wonder. “It’s remarkable, isn’t it? What are the chances that you and I should meet, and both of us would have ties to some bizarre medieval warlock?”
It was not as big a coincidence as she believed.
“Hm, yes, amazing,” he agreed, feigning ignorance. “Tell me, do you still have it? Your mother’s book.”
“I should,” she said eagerly. “I have all her things in storage back at home.”
His heart pounded at the prospect of snaring such a prize for the Order. Lady Gabrielle must have inherited the book since Valerian was her ancestor. It had probably been passed down through the DuMarin family . . . until it had been bequeathed to Kate.
“Can we go and get it?” she prodded in an urgent tone. “I really think we must,” she added before he could reply. “If my mother’s book points the way to a treasure in gold, that could be the reason someone out there could be after my father! If he’s alive. Maybe that’s why they had me kidnapped! To force Papa to tell them where the Tomb is so they could get to the treasure! But they must not know about the book,” she added, “because if they did, they would not have needed my father. Or me.”
He mulled this for a second. “You said the night you were kidnapped, O’Banyon and Denny Doyle went back into your cottage looking for valuables. Did either of them return to the carriage carrying the book?”
“No! It wasn’t in the cottage, anyway. It was hidden out in the storage loft that Charley built above his work shed in one of the outbuildings. It should still be there, along with the rest of my mother’s possessions, all she originally brought with her from France. Well—minus the more expensive things. My parents pawned most of her jewelry when they fell on hard times.”
Rohan frowned. “Did they? Maybe that’s the reason
they went to the Alchemist’s Tomb in the first place. If they thought there was gold inside . . .”
Kate shrugged, then folded her arms across her chest. “Charley did tell me once that my father found it difficult in some ways being married to an aristocrat. He was just a sea captain, and my mother was from a very wealthy family, used to nothing but the best.”
“Frenchwomen usually are a force to be reckoned with, in my experience—” He snapped his mouth shut as Kate lifted her eyebrow at him. “Never mind.”
She glanced back down at the dragon book on the table. “My mother didn’t care about having fine things. She loved Papa, and that was all that mattered. But my father, well—typical male pride.” She looked askance at him. “The point is, we need to go and get Mama’s book before whoever’s after me finds out about it first. After all, if they get their hands on the book, they’ll be able to find their way to the Tomb themselves, and they won’t need my father. Which means O’Banyon can shoot my father on sight in revenge for getting him thrown into Newgate. I’m not going to let them kill Papa—if he is alive.”
Rohan studied her, impressed by her deductions and rather amused at her ferocious vow to protect the iron ex-Marine, Gerald Fox.
But he nodded. “You’re right,” he murmured. “We can’t let your mother’s book fall into the wrong hands.”
He could well imagine why the Prometheans would want now, more than ever, to uncover the secrets hidden away inside the Alchemist’s Tomb.
The Order had decimated their ranks simultaneously with Wellington’s defeat of Napoleon. The Prometheans had infiltrated Bonaparte’s empire, seeking subtly and gradually to commandeer it as their vehicle for eventual control of the entire Continent.
So much for their plans.
Last summer, while Welly’s army dueled in the Belgian field with the Little Emperor, the Knights of the Order had hunted down Promethean agents embedded within every court in Europe. Their blood had flowed.
Afterwards, for about one hour, Rohan had been foolish enough to hope it was all finally done.
But it was never done. The evil bastards never actually went away. They merely retreated, like fat, bloody spiders hiding in the woodpile.
On and on through the centuries, they never stopped trying to fulfill their twisted dream of one world united under their soulless tyranny. Perfectly willing to dabble in occult mysteries to attain their goals, the Prometheans could use the discovery of their revered Alchemist’s Tomb as a rallying point to gather back all their scattered believers, the few who had survived the Order’s last, devastating onslaught against them.
No doubt, the High Council was eager for any new advantage they could gain to help them regroup and formulate their next strategy.
“So, what do you think?” Kate prompted.
“I agree with you,” he replied. “We should go and get your mother’s book before they find out about it.”
“Oh, can we really go? Will you finally take me to my cottage?” She lit up, clapping her hands in girlish anticipation, while the radiant joy on her face nearly stole his breath. “Oh, Rohan, it would mean the world to me to be back in my own house again, even if it’s only for a visit! You will let me come with you? I must—I’ll know where to look for it! Besides, this will give me the chance to pick up a few of my own things . . .” She chattered on, but his thoughts drifted.
He nodded absently, only half listening, for now he saw that if, in fact, he had been deceived by her sweet face, if somehow, his worst fears about Kate were true, then she could be leading him into a trap.
For all he knew, an ambush could be waiting for him at her cottage. Bloody hell.
Well, if that was the case, he was not about to hide from it. He would simply take a capable contingent of his men and play this out for good or ill.
Wryly, he put Parker’s thrashing on hold for now, as he’d need the sergeant’s services.
In the meanwhile, he masked his roiling suspicion of Kate and her seeming innocence, unsure himself if it was his survival instincts warning him or classic Warrington male paranoia.
“Dress warmly,” he advised, veiling his mistrust. “We’re going to be outdoors all day, and probably won’t be back until tonight. Can you ride a horse?”
She nodded. “As long as it’s not overly spirited.”
“Good. I’m sure we can find you a suitable mount.”
“Rohan?” She searched his face in what at least appeared to be guileless concern. “I am—sorry if I overstepped my bounds with the library, and, also, um—last night. I want to apologize for my—inappropriate . . .”
Her words trailed off when he lifted his eyebrow at her.
“If I offended you,” she started again.
“No. Of course not,” he clipped out. “Don’t be absurd.”
“Then why did you push me away?” she asked softly.
He dropped his gaze, fighting a fiery surge of renewed craving for her. He warned himself to fight it—now more than ever. “It’s for your own good, Kate.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“You don’t really know me.”
“But I want to,” she whispered.
“No, you don’t. Trust me.” He turned away and coolly unlocked the pieces of his lancelike weapon with a twist of the handle. “Go and get dressed for the ride, please. We mustn’t waste the light. Darkness comes early this time of year, and it’s better for the horses if we’re back by nightfall.”
She made no move to go, still studying him, looking crestfallen and confused. He ignored her until she gave up after a moment. She shook her head, shrugged off his uncommunicative demeanor, and walked away, leaving the dragon book behind for him to examine.
As he listened to her soft footfalls echoing in the stone chamber, he closed his eyes. Please, God, don’t let her betray me. If Kate was plotting treachery, he did not even want to think about what he might have to do to her.
Chapter 12
Snow crunched under the horses’ hooves as the six riders from Kilburn Castle cantered across the countryside.
They had passed two of the three hours that the journey ought to take, but Kate still didn’t feel like talking even to pass the time.
She could not believe that, once more, Rohan had pushed her away. The man was impossible.
Her attempt to apologize had merely left her feeling all the more foolish, while he, no doubt, was wishing that when they reached her cottage, he could have left her there. Then she could not bother him anymore.
Little did he know that, as they pressed on northward, Kate was having a silent argument with him in her head.
You could hardly argue aloud with someone when your life depended on him, after all. Honestly, her dependency on him was really beginning to chafe. But she kept her comments to herself, stewing in confused resentment.
You don’t really know me, nor do you want to, he had said.
Oh, really? Why not? How do you know what I want? It’s not as if you’ve ever asked, she retorted mentally.
But a part of her thought that maybe she should listen. Maybe he had good cause to warn her away.
Obviously, he was not the buyer of abducted virgins that she had originally feared, but perhaps there were still dark things about him that she did not know.
Well, I never took him for a choirboy, she thought crossly. But on the other hand, it took little imagination to surmise that he had secrets which might well make her back away from him of her own accord if she were to learn them. She heaved a sigh that puffed a cloud of steam in the biting cold of the winter afternoon.
All she knew was that he had called her apology absurd, which was very rude—and maybe it was, but at least she was trying to be honest about the attraction that she knew they both felt. His Grace, on the other hand, seemed determined to ignore it, to pretend this was all business, and to shut her out.
She was losing patience with it. Why were his answers always so cryptic? She gathered, insultingly, that he did not trust
her, but why? For snooping in his library? Or was it bigger than that? Did he think she was after his money, somehow, scheming to snare him for his title? Laughable. She did not care in the least about either.
She just wanted . . . to be close to him. She wanted him to acknowledge that what she felt for him was not entirely one-sided.
Unless, of course, it was.
In which case, he was doing the right thing, she admitted, trying to discourage her growing attachment to him. Maybe he saw her as nothing but a burden.
Her thoughts churned as they traversed the snow-covered countryside. She found herself longing for the freedom of her old life before she had ever heard of Rohan Kilburn or his silly curse. She missed the independence of not having to answer to a single soul, especially not some large, brooding, overprotective aristocrat, whose every word held a maddening undertone of terse command.
He was not good for her peace of mind.
Shoving aside her frustration, she did her best to ignore him, though he rode beside her, sitting tall astride his sable horse, looking every inch the warrior.
In truth, she was acutely aware of him, but she refused to indulge herself in savoring the memory of his magnificent, gleaming body, the way she had happened upon him at the castle earlier today, in the Hall of Arms.
It was nice to know that at least he had to work for all those muscles. He had been born with his towering height, but honing that demigod’s physique clearly took some effort . . .
Blast it, why was she thinking again about his body? He wasn’t that good-looking. Was he? She sneaked a sideward glance, only to repress a wistful sigh. Afraid so.
His black hair hung unbound around his shoulders, blowing slightly with the motion of his horse. His caped greatcoat was unfastened; beneath it she could see the array of weapons he had donned for the journey.
After witnessing his practice earlier, she had no doubt he was a master of each one.
The cold had ruddied his complexion, but his expression was hard and closed; with somber vigilance, his piercing gaze restlessly swept the snowy desolation of the landscape, scanning for any signs of trouble.
