Adventures of Grace Quinlan and Lord William Hayden In the Lost City of the Incas (Psyche and Eros Reborn) Volume 3

by Freda, Paula

  Talbot seized her wrist. "Grace, I can share with you the secrets I learned on Atlantis, and together we will continue to reign over the Lost City—Ramatas and Psyche. Return my affection. I can offer you eternity!"

  Elizabeth tore her wrist free of Talbot’s hold, revolted and angry. Talbot read the final rejection on her face. He scowled, and then promised, "You will come to love me eventually, when Hayden’s hold on you is shattered." He growled for the guards.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Elizabeth divulged to Lord Hayden the scene between her and Talbot. "Now do you understand the danger we are in if we stay here a moment longer?"

  "He’s truly insane," Hayden muttered. "But at least now we know he doesn’t intend harming you. It’s me he wants to see dead eventually. All right, we’ll find a way to leave, but I want another look at the Ark, and learn the location of a few of those relics Talbot mentioned. I’m safe as long as he thinks I’m willing to work with him. There’s no cause to panic. We have plenty of time."

  Elizabeth stared wide-eyed at Hayden. "After what I’ve just told you, you still don’t see the necessity of getting away at least within the next few hours?" The blank look he gave her made her rasp in desperation, "What’s he done to you. I don’t know you anymore. It’s as if he is exercising some power over you."

  "And he has you all upset, believing his wild stories," Lord Hayden solaced. "Come on, now, you can’t be that stupid."

  "Stupid!" Elizabeth yelped. "Oh, you... you idiot!"

  Lord Hayden was at a loss to understand Grace’s near hysterics. It was not at all like her. The Grace in Palermo, in Egypt, and in the 31st century was impulsive and eager and unafraid, always ready to explore the mysteries of the past. The woman facing him, about ready to pelt him, was scared and angry. Talbot was no saint, and he was obviously a little more than crazy, but leads to hundreds of relics they might otherwise spend their lives searching for and never find justified the risk of remaining here a while longer. How Talbot had learned about Grace’s suspicions that she was Psyche baffled him. Over-active imaginations aside, the two real problems facing them were Talbot wanting Grace as his own and their archaeological know-how. Hayden laughed. Talbot had no chance of scoring on either goal. Of course, he, Hayden, had no intention of joining forces with Talbot, a mad antiquarian who thought himself a couple of thousand years old. Granted the Lost City existed and Talbot might well be the descendent of a whole line of Incas. There probably had been a Ramatas in Talbot’s ancestry who had been betrothed to a Psyche and was spurned in favor of another, but that was as far as he was willing to believe. He had confronted madmen before. This particular madman possessed knowledge of the whereabouts of many precious artifacts. One didn’t just up and go when such an opportunity presented itself. And danger and risk were nothing new to him.

  "Get some rest, Grace. In the morning you’ll see things clearer."

  Talbot has blinded him, Elizabeth thought, biting down on her lower lip, as Lord Hayden moved to a dark corner of the chamber and began to undress. There was only one thing left to do. She must attempt an escape. Lord Hayden would follow her, if only to prevent her from coming to harm. He loved her enough for that, she felt certain, to keep her from risking her life without his protection. Moving to the opposite corner of the room, equally dark, she undressed as she formulated her plan.

  She did not know the depth of Talbot’s fiendishness or the extremes to which he’d go to retrieve the love he believed he had lost to Eros.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Three days passed before the opportunity arose for Elizabeth to implement her plan. Talbot had shown them artifacts that had literally taken her breath away, among them, the Ark. Despite her own enthusiasm, she had winced at the light camaraderie apparent between the two men as they examined the artifacts and speculated on their history; on the Ark’s appearance and disappearance through the centuries; its construction, the tools used to build it; its capture by the Philistines. Theories on its source of power, and what it contained—fragments of the broken tablets on which God had inscribed the Ten Commandments; the same tablets that Moses had thrown down and broken in anger when the Israelites had despaired and turned to worshiping idols. The Ark was purported also to contain the staff and clothes of Moses, and the turban of Aaron. The Jews not only considered the Ark a receptacle of the law and an extension of God’s presence, but also a protection against enemies. It cleared the roads in the wilderness for them. Two sparks, tradition told, issued from between the two Cherubim adorning the lid ...killing all serpents and scorpions, burning thorns, the smoke from its fire sending a sweet fragrance throughout the world as it curled upward and the nations of the earth exclaimed in wonder and admiration....

  Some said that after Moses died, God took the Ark back up to Himself, and the angels later brought it down again. Others said the Ark remained with the Prophets that succeeded Moses and they gained victories by means of it until they acted corruptly and the unbelievers took it from them. And so on through the centuries. The Ark was a marvelous find and for a while, Elizabeth became lost herself in its origin and its purported power. She had always accepted the belief of the existence of a Supreme Being who had created man in His own image. To her, that image signified the spirit, the soul of man, unmarred by the greed and selfishness of the body. This spirit, in her opinion, accomplished what good existed in the world. This spirit enabled her to respect and revere the past and its artifacts. In the face of the Ark, it took all her strength of purpose to remember that Talbot’s soul was ruled by his greed and his desire for power. If she and Lord Hayden remained here much longer, they, too, might become slaves to that greed and corruption. She kept further protests to herself and temporarily followed Lord Hayden’s advice. She was no stranger to charades. She knew her plan had worked when on the evening of the third day, Talbot permitted them to return to their chamber unescorted and the doors remain unlocked behind them.

  Elizabeth waited until Lord Hayden had fallen asleep, and while waiting, studied his face, imprinting on her mind every line and cranny; the softness of his eyelids as he slept, the intellectual angular profile, the rich dark chestnut eyebrows, and his hair, supple and curling at the nape of his neck. Out of respect and modesty for her, he wore pajama bottoms, but his shoulders were bare, broad and straight—shoulders and arms on whose strength she had come to rely. If when he discovered that she had gone, he did not come after her, she would probably never see him again. The thought nearly made her abandon her plan. She had to believe that he would indeed follow her. His love for her was her only weapon to fight Talbot and his growing influence.

  With Hayden asleep, she quietly donned her safari shirt, pants and jacket, pulled on her boots and strapped on her backpack in which she carried a poncho and a heavy scarf, and climbed out the window onto a thick stone frieze that adorned the base of the temple at the top of the pyramid. Her plan of escape was simple. Gunmetal clouds and mist obscured the moonlight and would keep her invisible to the guards on the ground below. She must not look down, but the temptation proved too great. She grabbed on to the rim of the window as dizziness threatened to overwhelm her. She pressed herself against the wall, the cool stone against her forehead soothing, and waited for the dizziness to pass. Then, she resumed moving, praying the frieze, worn and cracked over the centuries, would support her until she reached the front of the temple, where she could climb onto the many steps leading down to the ground. She was confident of avoiding the soldiers posted at the temple doors. Two huge stone columns carved with inscriptions telling of the Incas and their mighty deeds adorned the landing at the top of the stairs. These and the steep angle of the stairs would hide her if she kept her body bent and silent, and crawled slowly down to the ground below.

  During her stay here, she had seen no guards posted at the bottom of the pyramid-shaped structure. However, there probably would be guards posted in the square and at various points in the city and beyond. She would deal with these problems, if and w
hen they arose. For now, she must center all her efforts on reaching the ground. That was all she must permit herself to worry about, until she was ready to retrace the route through the city, up the mountain to the passage that led to the outside world. Beyond, the jungle waited for her, and if she could reach a village, the little money she carried should suffice to hire a guide to take her to the nearest town where she could call or telegraph for help. Whispering prayers to the Lord, the angels, and whoever in heaven deigned to help her, Elizabeth began to inch her way around the structure, keeping her face to the wall.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The morning brought the rainfall that the heavy clouds had forecast. Raindrops beat against the stone sills and the frieze a few feet below the wide window slits. Lord Hayden stirred, basking in the remnants of a pleasant dream where Grace was truly his wife and lying asleep beside him. His normal restraint suspended in that twilight moment, he unconsciously reached for her. His fingers touched the fluffy silk pillows and the gold-filigreed coverlet, but no Grace. Coming fully awake, he remembered that the marriage was an act to keep the woman he loved safe from unwanted advances.

  Their chamber was equipped with a modern lavatory, one among several aspects of progress to which the Inca did not object. Grace had probably slipped away to use the facilities. Hayden drifted back to sleep. An hour later, he woke again to find her still gone, and a disturbing silence. He left the bed and hurriedly exchanged his pajama bottoms for a pair of briefs and his trousers. Grace was not in the lavatory and Lord Hayden experienced a feeling of apprehension. He threw on his khaki shirt then pulled open the heavy door. He strode through the corridor to Talbot’s rooms. The guards barred his way as he tried to enter. Sheepishly, he asked one of the guards, "Have you seen my wife?" The guard shook his head. Hayden grew more apprehensive. "Where’s Talbot? I need to speak to him."

  "Wait here," the guard told him. He returned from Talbot’s chamber accompanied by the Inca himself, still in his nightshift.

  "Where is she?" Lord Hayden demanded.

  "With you I assumed," Talbot replied cockily.

  "Come on, where is she?"

  "I’m flattered you think your wife would be in my company at this hour."

  "Talbot!" Lord Hayden growled. "You know what I’m asking. Where have your guards taken her?"

  "I assure you my soldiers nor I have seen the Lady Grace since last night after dinner when she left in your company. But there is no need to concern yourself. Perhaps she decided to go for an early morning walk. Why don’t you go and look for her. You have the freedom of the grounds."

  Talbot waited for Lord Hayden to pass through the temple doors, and then he spoke to the guard who had awakened him. "Find her," he ordered. "Bring her to me. And do not let Hayden know if you locate her. Is that clear?"

  The soldier quickly acknowledged the order.

  As Lord Hayden searched for Grace, her fears and suspicions about Talbot played repeatedly in his thoughts. If she were harmed, or worse… He shuddered. He refused to reflect along those lines. Instead, he tried to think as Grace would. Where might she go if indeed she had taken an early stroll? It was not uncharacteristic of her to take that walk. He covered the grounds, spying into huts and sheds alike. Slowly, painfully, he began to realize that Grace might have taken it into her head to attempt an escape on her own. She would be caught. Talbot’s guards were everywhere. He had to stop her before the soldiers caught her and brought her before the Inca. The quartered remains of the poor unfortunate who had recently tried to escape, had been left to hang in the square as a warning to would-be escapees. Gulping, Hayden turned in the direction of the mountain that housed the secret passage. Halfway there, Talbot’s soldiers intercepted him. He tried to explain that his wife had gone for a walk and may have gotten lost, and he was looking for her, but either the soldiers did not understand English, or they did not believe him. They bound and gagged him and dragged him back, and threw him into an empty hut close to the temple pyramid. Lord Hayden hit the dirt face first. It was then he heard Grace scream.

  Lord Hayden turned himself over and stared up at the solitary window, a small opening on the ceiling from whence her cry had reached his ears. Again, her cry reached him. He struggled, cursing and twisting, tearing in vain behind him at his bindings to loosen them. The ropes refused to give. He froze as the sound of leather striking flesh skirled through the small opening overhead and filled the hut. He cried out but the gag in his mouth muffled the anguished sob.

  As the whipping continued, Lord Hayden thought he would go mad. Grace’s screams were like knives cutting out his heart. He groaned in agony, fingers groping uselessly to unfasten the knots that refused to give except to scrape mercilessly at the flesh on his wrists and ankles. Grace’s cries rending his ears, tears of frustration streamed down his cheeks, soaking the brown bristle on his jaw.

  Finally, the maddening sounds ceased. She must be dead, he thought, biting down in pain and fury on the cloth stuffed into his mouth. The door to the hut swung open violently. Inca warriors filled the stream of light that poured through the entrance. The soldiers stood him up; Lord Hayden struggled and cursed, though the words scurried out as grunts because of the gag. To his surprise, they pulled the gag from his mouth, and then untied him. The moment his hands and feet were free, he struck at his enemies, only to be brought up short by half a dozen spears pointed at his heart. He was tempted to bolt forward and let the spears run him through because Grace was probably dead. But her death was not yet a certainty.

  More guards crowded into the small hut and surrounded him. They pushed him forward into the wet square. The circle of armed guards parted, allowing Hayden an unobstructed view. His throat constricted and he opened his mouth in a silent gasp. Face pressed against a wood post, Grace was tied to it by her head, arms and waist. The shirt on her back was shredded and bloody. "Bastards!" Hayden cried. At the same time he noticed she was barely conscious, and unable to turn her head because of the bindings. His name echoed through the square and he turned in the direction of Talbot’s voice. Holding a partially coiled whip, the Inca advanced toward him. Rage filled Lord Hayden as he noticed the blood on the leather tong—Grace’s blood. The guards seized him before he could lunge at Talbot, and held him immobile. Talbot regarded Lord Hayden quizzically for a moment, then without preamble, he threw the whip at his rival’s feet and motioned the guards to release him. The oddity of the Inca’s action caused Lord Hayden to think twice before following his first impulse to pick up the whip and flay the Inca to a lifeless pulp for the suffering he had caused Grace.

  "Pick it up, Lord Hayden," Talbot said. "You want to kill me, don’t you? This is your chance. A duel between us. The winner gets all, including your wife." Talbot unsheathed a long narrow knife.

  Lord Hayden’s rage, his anger and his determination in the face of obstacles decided him. He picked up the whip. The next events happened so quickly that he had only time to absorb their meaning and utter a broken rasp. The binding holding Grace’s head to the post was cut. Water was thrown in her face. She moaned and turned her head weakly and looked at Lord Hayden. Droplets of water hung on her face scratched and bruised. Lord Hayden watched them slide down her cheeks and mix with blood, tears and mud. It was evident she had put up quite a struggle. Her gaze was not totally focused, but he could read cognition in it as it settled on the whip he was holding, and then moved back to his face. It lingered there a moment, filling with hurt beyond reparation as it silently asked, how he could have hurt her so. Starting toward her, Lord Hayden opened his mouth to deny vehemently the accusation. The same guard who had cut the cord that had bound Grace’s head to the post, lifted his spear and with its butt struck her, knocking her unconscious. Talbot howled an order and a soldier tore the whip from Lord Hayden’s hand. The Inca’s laughter crackled and permeated the square. The circle of soldiers restraining Lord Hayden parted. Talbot advanced. "And now, Eros," he said, slithering hatred in his voice, "Psyche’s love is taken from yo
u, as you stole it from me two millenniums ago." He paused to savor his victory, and then he ordered the guards, "Take him away!"

  Hayden’s gaze was black with venom as the guards hauled him off. They did not return him to the hut, but instead dragged him up the temple stairs, then thrust him into his chamber. A few minutes later, two guards carried Grace in, slumped and unconscious between them.

  Lord Hayden ran toward her and nearly got himself speared as the soldiers assumed he was attacking. He stopped in time and held back until his captors had assured themselves he did not mean to fight. He waited at a distance as they placed Grace on the bed, face down, then he watched them retreat backwards, their dark eyes trained on him for any sign of attack. Finally, just before the doors were locked and the bolt slid back into place, the whip was hurled mockingly into the room. It landed with a thud at his feet. Lord Hayden eyed the weapon hatefully, and then turned his full attention to Grace.

  Talbot far exceeded the description she had applied to him. "Fiend," she had called him. "Monster" more aptly described him. The monster’s plan was clear. And it had probably worked, Lord Hayden reflected, distraught. The wedge Talbot continued to hammer between the two had sunk in to its widest part. Lord Hayden cursed the Inca anew, this time including himself for his blindness in not deciphering Talbot’s full perversity. The man had not even bothered to confine Lord Hayden separately from Grace, certain of the success of his plan, because when Lord Hayden explained and denied, the fact remained that Grace had seen him behind her holding the whip. Talbot was sure to have used all the necessary deceptions up to the instant Lord Hayden picked up the whip to lead her to a logical assumption. She had broken the Inca law by her attempt to escape and Talbot had relegated her punishment to Lord Hayden. An easy enough fact for her to accept after watching him slowly succumbing to Talbot’s influence. And in a sense, the suffering inflicted on her was his fault. He had succumbed to Talbot’s influence. He wanted the knowledge of the whereabouts of the artifacts, and possession of the Ark and he had not cared about the dangers involved to himself or to Grace.