“Here you are, Conny. Robin,” Rhea said, holding out brimming cups of tea, both heavy with cream and sugar.
“Thank you, m’lady,” Conny said as he squatted down close to the fire, the cup held gingerly between his linked fingers.
Robin accepted his cup gratefully but couldn’t help but notice the tray was bare of any food, and his stomach was beginning to growl with embarrassing loudness.
“Aye, young fella, there’s an ovenful of scones bein’ warmed now,” Dora told the dark-haired lad, for she had seen that wistful look on her own grandchildren’s faces too many times not to guess its meaning. “Well, I’d best be gettin’ back to the kitchens or those two girls will set fire to my best pots,” Dora said with a worried look.
“Would you see that our maids, and Nora and Betsie here, are served some tea?” Rhea told the landlady as she saw the two girls enter, hovering uncertainly near the door. “Come closer to the fire and warm yourselves. You’re shivering,” Rhea exclaimed. Mason would never forgive her if anything happened to his granddaughter. For the first time, Rhea began to feel the responsibility of having servants of her own.
“We was just makin’ sure that the proper trunks were unloaded and put in the right rooms, m’lady,” Nora said, wishing she were in her own narrow little bed, the same one she’d slept in all of her life, snuggling beneath her warm quilt back at Camareigh. This didn’t seem at all a hospitable country.
“Aye, m’lady, I’ll get a couple of more cups,” Dora said. She had started toward the door when a tall, cloaked figure entered. As he removed his hat and turned down the high collar of his cloak, Dora gasped. She remembered only too well those pale gray eyes. And the demoniacal effect wasn’t lessened any when a bandy-legged little man carrying a cat in his arms, the feline’s slitted green eyes glaring malevolently at her, came scurrying into the room. Dora had never forgotten his face either. At one time, when she had been just a rosy-cheeked girl without a gray hair, she had hoped to have him court her.
“Mrs. Lascombe, isn’t it?” the cool-toned voice spoke her name. “It has been many, many years, has it not?”
But Dora looked as frozen as the unfortunate bishop the inn had been named in honor of.
“Oh, Lord,” she murmured, and her uneasiness increased when a smile curved Dante Leighton’s lips. God help them all, but he was even more the handsome devil today than he had been when a lad.
“I was afraid this would be the reaction to my return to Merdraco,” he said softly. “I was foolish to think anything might have changed.”
Dora couldn’t seem to find her tongue, but Sam had. He was yelling her name as he came striding in from the taproom, where a member of the Leighton party had mentioned his employer’s name.
“Dora? Dora?” Sam demanded as he stomped into the room, halting abruptly as the tall man turned to face him. Sam felt his worst fears being realized, for the fat would be in the fire when Jack Shelby learned that Dante Leighton was back and that Sam had given him food and shelter.
“I had to be seein’ it with me own eyes,” he said incredulously, his eyes not missing a detail of the man’s prosperous appearance. “Lord Jacqobi.”
“Yes, and ’tis a pleasure to see you again too, Sam Lascombe,” Dante murmured, for he had often come to the taproom of the Bishop’s Grave Inn for a brandy when returning from Westlea Abbot on a cold night.
Sam was beginning to become infected with the same ailment Dora was suffering from, for he opened his mouth, but no words came forth until he caught sight of the short figure standing beside Dante Leighton. “I knew it!” he roared, frightening Jamaica out of Kirby’s arms. Like a streak of lightning, the tom shot through Sam Lascombe’s booted feet and disappeared beneath Rhea’s chair.
“I knew I recognized that short, swaggering figure. Houston Kirby, aye, ye’ve not changed any, ye haven’t,” Sam said, and whether he meant it as a compliment or an insult, only Houston Kirby and Sam Lascombe knew. “Should’ve known ye’d still be by his side.”
“Aye, some of us know what ’tis to be loyal,” Kirby said, eyeing the larger man unflinchingly. Although they’d been friends as boys, Sam had always been too quick to think the worst of the captain. “Been havin’ my doubts about whether or not this particular inn was good enough for the likes of the cap’n and his lady,” Kirby said as he glanced around the neatly furnished room as if little impressed by his surroundings.
“Kirby, that’s enough. We are guests at Bishop’s Grave Inn,” Dante said. “Aren’t we?” he asked pointedly. “Or would you prefer that I take my family and leave?” Dante asked with such quiet dignity that Sam Lascombe was ashamed.
“I reckon ye oughta know, Lascombe, before ye do somethin’ stupid,” Kirby said, “that Lord Jacqobi be a very wealthy, respected gentleman nowadays. I don’t s’pose his father-in-law would take kindly to seein’ his daughter and grandson put out on a night like this. Did I mention that Lady Jacqobi is the daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Camareigh?” Kirby said, his grin widening as he heard Dora sucking in air.
“We would not wish to stay where we are not welcome,” Rhea said quietly, her voice cold.
“Oh, Sam, come to your senses,” Dora said, nudging him none too gently. “Ye can’t be thinkin’ to deny these people a place to sleep tonight. Why, look at the wee one sleepin’ in his cradle before the fire. Would ye be so cruel as to be sendin’ the babe back into the storm? And her ladyship, why, ’twould be criminal to ask such a thing of so delicate a lady, and her just havin’ given birth. And the lads, why, the one looks as blue as a plum,” Dora told her husband. But she knew he didn’t really need much persuading. He was no fool, and if times had changed the fortunes of the Marquis of Jacqobi, and he had come back to live at Merdraco, then Sam would not make an enemy of the man and Jack Shelby could go to the devil for all Dora Lascombe cared, she thought defiantly.
“Sam Lascombe has never turned away a guest, so ye be welcome to stay as long as need be,” he said. Eyeing the short figure standing so proudly beside Dante Leighton, Sam Lascombe’s fingers itched to pull him aside, to sit on Houston Kirby if need be, in order to find out what had happened to Lord Jacqobi during the past years.
Alastair and Francis exchanged relieved glances. Neither had wanted to draw his sword—or to have to climb back on his horse for both were weary and had been looking forward to a warm bed.
Conny and Robin exchanged smug grins, for the captain knew what he was doing, which was something the former cabin boy was forever telling Dante’s young brother-in-law. Maybe now he would believe it, Conny thought as he returned his attention to something important, like the logs burning in the hearth.
“How is the little fellow doing?” Francis asked, sitting down opposite his sister at the table.
“He’s finally fallen to sleep. I don’t think he felt the cold, for I kept him bundled up ever since darkness fell,” Rhea said, glancing down at the peacefully sleeping child.
Francis shook his head. It was still hard for him to believe that his sister was a mother. He found himself remembering back to a year earlier when she had insisted on saving a litter of half-drowned pups from a ditch beside the road. She would make a good mother, he decided. She had the kindest heart of anyone he knew, and as Francis eyed his grim-faced brother-in-law, he promised himself that Dante would have him to deal with if he ever hurt Rhea. He was glad now that he had accompanied Rhea, considering the hostility the name Leighton seemed to inspire in the locals.
“Please, make yourselves comfortable, and Dora will get dinner,” Sam invited his guests as he grabbed Dora, ignoring her outraged expression, and escorted her from the room. Thank heaven for the storm, thought Sam. At least it kept other visitors from arriving. He had in mind a certain person whose arrival just then would be disastrous.
Two hours later, Dante was standing before a small square of mullioned window in a bedchamber, his eyes sear
ching the darkness beyond. The storm still blew furiously over the countryside.
Curled up like a contented cat on the soft feather bed, Rhea was brushing her unbound hair with long, even strokes. Pulling several thick strands across her shoulder, she glanced up at Dante.
“What are you looking at?” she asked, for she could see only blackness.
“Merdraco.”
“It lies in that direction?”
“Yes. And although I cannot see it, somehow I do see it. The night may hide it from me, but it is there, waiting for me to return.”
He continued to stand there silhouetted against the night. Then he drew the heavy drapes, closing the darkness out. In the shadowy light from the hearth and the flickering candle beside the bed, his expression was unreadable.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Dante took the brush from Rhea’s hands and began to draw it through the long, silken strands. Then his hand slid around her waist and he pulled her back against his chest, her head resting against his shoulder while his lips caressed her cheek lingeringly.
“Tomorrow, Rhea. Tomorrow I shall take you and our son to Merdraco. We will have come home after so many years of exile,” Dante murmured. Then his lips found hers, and he lost himself in her gentle warmth, content to let the darkness reign a little while longer.
Seventeen
Dark with excessive bright.
—John Milton
The storm which had blown in so violently from the sea, spawned of the Devil’s Hole, the locals said, stayed for another two days, keeping Bishop’s Grave Inn isolated from the rest of the world. It also kept an impatient Dante Leighton pacing back and forth before the small mullioned windows while he stared at the torrential rains soaking the countryside. The road to Merdraco would be little better than a stream.
Little did he realize, however, how providential that storm was, for it allowed Sam and Dora Lascombe a chance to learn what sort of man the wild young Lord Jacqobi had become. And it allowed Kirby, never one to miss an opportunity, to tell a few truths about what had really happened years before. Sir Miles Sandbourne emerged from the stories looking quite different from the way people had always seen him.
In Dora’s mind, poor young Lord Jacqobi had been done a grave injustice. Now she saw a man very much in love with his beautiful wife, and who was always finding an opportunity to hold his son. Could there possibly be a more loving and gentle husband and father than Dante Leighton? She also saw, though she’d not have admitted it, a handsome and virile man who always had a polite word for her. That was more than she could say of most people in his station.
Sam was quite favorably impressed as well, but mostly on account of listening avidly to the exciting tales told by young Conny Brady and the gentlemanly Mr. Marlowe about his life aboard the Sea Dragon. In his mind, Sam suddenly saw himself sailing with the crew of the Sea Dragon and sharing in that incredible sunken treasure. To Sam, the measure of a man was to be taken by the respect other men held him in. It seemed that Dante Leighton had been a fine captain, much admired by his crew. Any man who could do what he had done had Sam’s respect and admiration—neither come by easily. And so, during those two days of confinement, the Lascombes came to know the man who had captained the Sea Dragon and to forget the young lord they once had cursed and had been so quick to judge guilty of murder.
It was due partly to Rhea Claire and her two brothers that the Lascombes suddenly found themselves staunch supporters of the Marquis of Jacqobi. The lady and the young Dominicks seemed such good, decent people and little did any of them realize how important it would be for Dante to have all the friends he could find; for not everyone would be so generous to forget the past, or their hostility for the master of Merdraco.
The third morning after that stormy night when Dante had arrived at Bishop’s Grave Inn, the dawn broke to reveal clear skies. The sun had hardly dared to show its face when Dante, in buckskin breeches, frock coat, and boots, roused Rhea from her slumber.
“Come on, sleepyhead, out of bed with you,” Dante ordered, sounding like the captain of the Sea Dragon sending his men into the rigging.
Rhea rolled onto her stomach, burying her head beneath the pillows. She was tired, having been up with Kit for his feeding in the middle of the night. Hunching her shoulders, she tried to ignore the bothersome tickling sensation at the nape of her neck. She yawned loudly and sighed, preparing to continue her sweet dreaming. But Dante was not to be denied. Suddenly Rhea felt the covers being thrown back and a rush of cold air on her bare legs.
“Go away,” Rhea complained in a husky voice. Opening her eyes, she glanced up at him. Her eyes widened in surprise, for he had already dressed and was staring down at her with a wide grin. “What time is it? Surely ’tis still dark outside?” Rhea asked, deciding she disliked people who managed to be so cheery this early in the morning.
Dante sat down on the edge of the bed and grasped hold of her shoulders, bringing her limp body into a sitting position. “It is no longer dark. The sun has risen, my love, and we have much to do today.”
“Merdraco?” she asked, lifting her head from his shoulder.
Dante pressed a kiss against her lips. “Are you up to it?” he asked, a questioning look in his eye as he held her warm, soft body against his chest. For a moment he wished he had remained beside her in bed. “The roads will still be too muddy for the coach, so we shall have to ride. Shall I have Skylark saddled for you?” he asked. Her mare had been brought along as had been several other horses, gifts from Lucien Dominick. He knew Dante would have to set up stables, and the Dominick stock was some of the best in the country.
“You’ll not go without me,” Rhea warned, even as her heavy-lidded eyes closed for just another irresistible moment of sleep. But her own thoughts kept her awake this time. “What of Robin and Conny?” she asked. “Will they have to stay behind?”
“No, Francis said he’d take Robin up behind him on El Cid, and Alastair will take Conny. Kit will have to stay behind, but Betsie and Nora and Dora Lascombe will all keep an eye on him. I do not think we need worry on that score.”
Rhea nodded. “What of Kirby? I don’t think I’ve ever seen him on horseback. Will he stay here?”
“Kirby? Stay here, while we see Merdraco?” Dante asked incredulously. “Nothing on earth could keep him from going with us today, though horseback riding is one of his least favorite pursuits,” Dante said and laughed. Kirby had become as nervous as a bridegroom on his wedding day whenever he chanced a glance toward the dark towers rising out of the mists.
Rhea glanced up at the hard, bold curve of Dante’s jaw. Suddenly she felt some of Dante’s excitement coursing through her own veins. “Dante?” she said urgently.
“Yes?”
“I want you to be happy,” she said in an odd voice.
Dante bent his head, kissing her mouth. “I shall be, Rhea, now that I have returned home,” he assured her, apparently feeling none of her anxiety.
* * *
Seldom did the expansive view of sea disappear from their sight as the riders drew closer to the towers in the distance. At one point, the narrow lane seemed to fall into the sea as it wound down through a steep canyon. The roar of waves crashing on the rocks below deafened them.
Every so often, Rhea caught one of Robin’s excited exclamations before it was carried away on the wind. Never before had he seen such a wild shore, or been so close to the foaming white water surging against the base of the cliff. Francis was more circumspect, but Rhea could tell that he was impressed. Conny, of course, was an old hand when it came to the sea, and he was more interested in reaching Merdraco than in hearing the landlubbers’ exclamations. He knew that you really couldn’t know the sea until you’d sailed her.
Rhea, too, was awed. This was the land Dante had ridden across as a boy and a young man. She wondered if it seemed much changed to him.
Dres
sed in a severely tailored riding habit of sky-blue wool with a claret-colored silk waistcoat and ruffled chemise front, dark red feathers and ribbons decorating her hatband, Rhea might have been out for a casual afternoon’s gallop through the parklands surrounding Camareigh. But she found herself staring out to where the foaming, wind-driven waves crashed against the rocky headlands before rolling toward shore and the small crescent of sandy beach curving along the base of the cliff. As her eye climbed that precipice to where the dark towers stood at the summit, she knew a sudden desolation. When she looked back down to that sandy shore, she shivered, feeling as if something horrible had taken place on that innocent-looking beach. For the first time in her life, Rhea had a brief sensation of what her Aunt Mary must feel when she had one of her visions. She also knew that Mary Fletcher would have been able to tell her what had happened on the beach that night. Strangely, Rhea didn’t even wonder how she knew the horror had occurred at night. But as sure as death, she knew it had.
“You feel it too, don’t you?” Francis demanded, startling Rhea. She hadn’t known that he and Robin were so close.
“I saw your face when you were staring down at the sands. It reminded me of Aunt Mary when she is having one of her visions,” Francis spoke loudly, for the sound of the sea threatened to drown him out.
Rhea shrugged, feeling more understanding for her aunt than she ever had. “I cannot explain,” she said.
“Now you even sound like Aunt Mary,” Robin said, and grinned.
“Did you sense something too?” Rhea demanded of Francis, and he nodded, not needing to say more. The expression in their eyes said it all.
Dante, leading the way, glanced back in time to see the exchange of glances between the brother and sister who bore such a startling resemblance to one another. Their deep golden curls stamped them as Dominicks. Dante wondered if Rhea would ever come to think of herself as a Leighton.
“Is anything wrong?” he demanded as he slowed his pace and allowed the dainty-legged mare to come abreast of his horse. That caused Francis to fall behind, as there wasn’t room on the path for three horses.
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