Flames of Desire

by Vanessa Royall

  “Lord Howe’s at the door, sir,” cried Sean’s valet, rushing into the room. “You’d best…”

  “Thank you,” Sean said. Saying nothing more, he took Selena by the hand and led her to the front of the house. Lord Howe, Admiral Howe, Lord Bailey, and General Burgoyne were in the vestibule, in full military dress uniforms. They were smiling.

  “Gentlemen, you do us honor.” Sean bowed as, in turn, the men kissed Selena’s hand.

  “I should like,” said Lord Howe, “to take you out before your fellow citizens. I have news for the city today, and, as, I believe you are able to tell by the sound of the crowd outside, the news is not of a melancholy nature.”

  Howe was in a vibrant mood today, and he winked at Selena. What would he do, she thought, if he knew I tried to cause his defeat at Philadelphia?

  He would hang you, Selena, answered the tiny voice.

  Suddenly, in spite of the cheerful dignitaries and the happy cheering, Selena began to feel that something was drastically wrong with this entire affair. But she had no time to consider it. The officials led Sean and Selena out onto the front steps, over which someone had hung the Union Jack, symbol of the Empire.

  “Daddy’s a king,” Davina had said, but she was too young to know what was happening. Selena did not know, and as she and Sean became visible to the massed crowd on the Green, they were met by a welling roar, a tide of sound, and Selena felt vaguely frightened. She was reminded, incongruously, of the tattered, angry mob that had pursued them in Daman. Sean had rescued them that time. But now? If this was some kind of deception on the part of the military, she saw no hope of flight. They were trapped now, and must face whatever was to happen. She glanced at Sean, who seemed terribly agitated. It was unlike him, and that fact unnerved her further. Selena was quite alarmed now, without knowing why. The crowd was friendly, festive, with no hint of hostility. But the continuous outpouring of sound began to seem like the wild cry of a living thing that was greater and more powerful than the sum of its parts, and unpredictable as well.

  She sought to calm herself by attempting to identify people in the crowd. This she did, and it was disquieting. Except for Gilbertus Penrod, who met her eyes frankly but revealed neither signal nor emotion, all of them were well-known loyalists. Even Veronica Blakemore was there, doubtless having arrived with Lord Bailey, after sharing his bed the previous night. In spite of her confusion, Selena felt a twinge of amused contempt for Blakemore. Veronica stood facing the crowd as if the cheers were for her.

  But at last the sound diminished, and finally it faded. Lord Howe began to speak.

  “I bring you news from the King…” he began. And, once again, a surge of cheering. Was the war over? Selena wondered. No. “As we are all aware, this is a time of war and crisis. Most of us do our duty as best we can. But some of us rise above the common station, contribute more than others to Crown and Empire. We are gathered here today to honor one such man…”

  Later, recalling his words, Selena knew that she had already guessed what was about to occur. But then, standing next to Sean on the stairs, in front of the vast, ebullient throng, she heard Howe speak as if through a haze.

  “…my fellow citizens, word has reached us from London that the man who served us so well in identifying and bringing to justice the late, treasonous Weddington has been recognized and rewarded by His Majesty…”

  The cheering again, wild now, raw-throated and passionate. These common people were sharing the thoughts of a king acknowledging the glory of a special man. Sean Bloodwell.

  “…I need not say how honored I am…” Lord Howe was saying.

  The sound! The pounding roar of it!

  “…elevated to the peerage…called to London immediately, for installation at Westminster…family as well…reward for services given…”

  A holocaust, a firestorm of collective ecstasy that beat against her ears.

  “…the dreadnought H.M.S. Lucifer…waiting in the harbor…bring them to London before winter closes the North Atlantic…”

  Selena’s mind was spinning; she felt faint. London. England. Home. She felt hollow, incredulous.

  “And now,” Lord Howe raised his hands for absolute silence. It came. “And now, something I’m probably not supposed to mention, but why not?”

  More cheers.

  “As you know, in times past, the Empire has gifted its servants well, above and beyond the granting of title and peerage. Whole castles have been built for heroes. I recall the estate given Marlborough, in particular. And Lord Bloodwell shall be no exception. He can, in fact, take his choice of any of five estates, all in his native Scotland, estates which came into the hands of the Crown some years ago.”

  He turned toward Sean. “Which one shall it be, Lord Bloodwell?”

  And then, as Selena was all but immobilized by disbelief, by a welter of contradictory emotions, and then by a sudden impulse to weep, Lord Howe inspected a small piece of paper. “Which shall it be?” he asked again. “You’d best decide by the time you reach London, so you know what to tell His Majesty. You have your choice of Kilmarnock or Inverness, Moray Castle, Kincardine or…Coldstream,” Howe finished with a flourish. “Are you familiar with any of them?”

  The crowd was roaring again, great hurrahs for the new lord, whom they had known.

  “Yes,” Sean was nodding, his face blank and white. “One or two of them I know…” He was trying to turn to Selena, but people were pouring up the steps now, surrounding them, wild with congratulations and the sense of a celebratory day in the offing.

  Selena had not yet begun to think. The impact of the news had been too sudden, too profound. To be returning, after all these years…

  But it seemed that something was wrong. Gilbertus Penrod’s eyes were on her, following her, burning her. And then she understood: the message; Torn between the impulse to run far away, to shut herself in a dark room, or to rush to Penrod, begging for his words, Selena stood rooted to the stairs, smiling, babbling inanely, as the congratulations came down upon her in a flood. She lost sight of Penrod then, and felt alternately exhilarated and terrified. But Veronica Blakemore’s face stayed in her mind, even when the woman herself was lost in the crowd. Veronica’s smile, even on this day, had been mocking and strangely triumphant.

  After a time, a portion of the party moved indoors. The officers and their ladies, Sean’s business friends, town dignitaries, and various gate-crashers filled all the downstairs rooms of the house. Outside, Sean had caused a dozen barrels of ale to be made available for the revelers on the Green. Inside, servants wove through the chattering throng, bearing trays of punch and whiskey, and, toward noon, platters of roast beef and cured ham. The servants were having a hard time keeping up with the work, since half of them had been assigned to pack the luggage for the trip to London. Even now, in New York harbor, the Lucifer was taking on water and provisions. A call from the King was not ignored, particularly as Sean’s investiture to the peerage was to occur in London on New Year’s Eve.

  For his part, Sean worked furiously all morning, conferring in his study with associates, bankers, and subordinates. He did not now have time to do anything other than give orders and delegate responsibility. It was already late October. The voyage to England was not likely to be completed until early December, and, with winter coming on, it was unlikely that he would be able to return to America before April or May. He would return, he said, possibly to liquidate certain of his holdings before moving to Scotland for good, possibly to sell his interests, or form long-term partnerships. The parlor, the front room, the dining room, the corridors: everywhere the conversation was filled with speculation as to Sean’s future. He had talent and tact. A shrewd but gentle man. If he’d been prime minister rather than Lord North, he would never have provoked the rebels. He would have settled with them, sat down with them, reasoned with them. There would never have been a war. Such was the heady talk that day.

  Here and there one man or another, of the nobility by bir
th, would mutter, fueled by the courage of Sean’s liquor, that once a commoner always a commoner, and what was the world coming to? But these were very much in the minority on that day of triumph. Selena realized once again just how gifted Sean was, and how successful. He had made his plans and carried them out. He had given his word and kept it. He had loved her, she had loved him.

  She realized that she was thinking of their marriage as if it were already history. Then she knew why. Answering again, for the hundredth time that morning, the question, “How does it feel? How does it feel?” the image of Dick Weddington appeared in her mind. He dropped dreamlike from the gallows, jerked taut when the rope played out, dead.

  She knew, all right Dick Weddington’s death had purchased Coldstream Castle. True, Sean had done what he believed to be right but coin of the realm of restoration must be of a far purer kind.

  “What are you going to do now?” Veronica was asking, with her honeyed voice and twisted smile. “You’ve been taken, off the hook nicely, once again. But don’t worry. Your nature will destroy you in the end.”

  “Oh? And what nature is that?”

  “The same nature you passed along to Royce. A nature which demands a purer world. No longer content to savor what you can grasp, the two of you are bound for sorrow. You just wait and see. Even now, with your precious Coldstream within your grasp, you will find cause to be unhappy with your luck. Something, however insignificant, will not quite suit you…”

  “I would hardly call the execution of a friend insignificant.”

  “Don’t be stupid, Selena. There are those who win and those who lose. You’ve won, for now, but only because you’ve had a man like Sean to look after you, to curb your impulses. Without him, you would already have made love to the end of a rope. At any rate, I do hope that you enjoy England once again, and Scotland, which is its fiefdom. I’ll very much enjoy thinking of you there, a rebel married to a lord. Now, because of Sean’s position, you will forever have to hold your tongue in check. My, but am I going to relish that thought.”

  Selena fled upstairs. She had to get away from the people below. It was a day of great triumph, but too many things were wrong. Just when the future should have been spreading before her, fate was forcing her to see what was inside her heart. The more she thought about her return to Scotland, the more she knew how wrong it would be, just now. Veronica’s devilishly correct perception was only a part of it. There was also the memory of Dick Weddington. And there was her own heart.

  Davina came rushing happily into the room, enchanted by all the bustle and the prospect of the trip.

  “Coldstream,” she said, throwing herself on Selena’s lap. “Coldstream Castle.” The words of her nightly prayer.

  “And you go there for me,” Selena said, holding the child tight against her body. “You go to Coldstream and be happy there. And someday—soon, I hope—I’ll come to see you there. You can show me the castle yourself, then. There’s such a fine, high tower, with ladders to climb up…”

  She was rocking the little girl from side to side, as she’d done when Davina was just a baby, recovered from a village in the dark heart of India.

  “…and you can stand up there forever, higher than the birds, and across the North Sea…”

  Brian and his sailboat, far out on the water. Father setting out to save him.

  “…you can even see as far as France…”

  And in the vaults in the great wall of the castle, MacPhersons of past centuries watched for her, awaiting her return.

  “…and in the summer, Daddy will take you into the Highlands, where magic dragons live in the lochs, and if you look very quickly you can see them…”

  The Highlands, and the call of the wolf, the hollow thunder of vanished horses, a remembered journey, mystic, inviolable, in the chambers of her heart.

  “Dragons?” Davina chirped, with interest.

  “Yes, darling, and…”

  She meant to say something about a magic wolf that watched over everyone who loved it and believed in it, but Gilbertus Penrod appeared in the doorway.

  They looked at each other, and Selena knew she had been correct. She had seen it in his eyes, outside. She had been running from him since then.

  “I have a message for you,” he said softly. “If you wish.”

  She was free to make her choice, and now she must do so.

  Lilac Night

  They did not even touch each other at first. Somehow the moment seemed too electric. Danger, surprise, and the constant threat of observation hovered outside the small Brooklyn inn at which they met. The Selena was at anchor off southern Long Island, in Jamaica Bay. Royce, accompanied by Will Teviot, had ridden north to Brooklyn, disguised as common seamen. Selena had taken a hired hack as far as the East River, then a ferry across to Brooklyn village. She wore a plain, dark cloak. Her hair was covered by a shawl. At her home, the party was roaring into the afternoon.

  Royce was already there at the inn, seated with Will at a table in the public room. Will gave her his abashed grin, then went out, announcing that he’d “keep an eye” on the street outside.

  “Never can tell,” he said too loudly. A couple of the reprobates and drinkers at the bar turned around and stared at them with sour calculation. Rendezvous. Obvious. Man and wench, sneaking around.

  Royce, who had a bottle of sherry on the table, called for a glass and poured her a small measure. She took a sip, not tasting a thing.

  “Selena, I have to leave America,” he said. “The British Navy is coming after me every day with twelve or more men-of-war. I have to go down to the islands for the winter, and lie low for a time.”

  She said nothing, watching his face, her mind recording, recapturing the times they had been together in the past. In the early times, there had been tension, misunderstanding. His cynicism and apparent coldness, which she had grown to understand as the facade it was, had given way to the Royce she loved, still possessed of all his boldness and courage, but able now to be tender, too, able to offer his strength for a cause that was greater than himself. And to offer himself without compromise. She had taught him that, and now had need of the talent herself. And the other things he had taught her, in his arms, rose now with keen, piercing sweetness, in spite of the risk and danger with Which they were surrounded.

  “They’re hunting me on the sea,” he said. “And when I put ashore, agents seem to have a sixth sense as to my whereabouts. Of course, I doubt that my shelling the fort lessened their resolve to put me in chains.”

  He looked at her. “Do I have to ask? Should I ask?”

  “I don’t…I don’t know.”

  “You aren’t happy. You were not happy when we met. I knew. So I am here to ask you to come with me, difficult as that will be.”

  “I want to…’’she began.

  “But?”

  “There is no ‘but,’ not really!” And she told him about Sean’s elevation to the peerage, and about Coldstream Castle.

  “I’m happy for you, Selena,” he said very softly. “It’s everything you could have hoped for, everything you’ve always wanted.”

  “No, it’s not,” she said. “I want to come with you, too.”

  “Selena, Selena.” He smiled sadly. “Coldstream is your life, your destiny…”

  “Not yet,” she said. “I cannot return to Coldstream, knowing Dick Weddington’s death has bought me there.”

  “But Coldstream, Selena?” he asked once again. “If you come with me, life will be hard and dangerous. We will be on the run until the war is over, and we will be exiles longer than that. We may never be able to return to Scotland in our lifetimes…”

  “We will return! she cried passionately, and the men at the bar turned to stare again.

  “Out!” Royce ordered, looking at them. “You, too,” he told the bartender. Their glances were hard and vicious, but they moved toward the door.

  “Then we are one,” he said, “and we leave together.”

  Will Te
viot came stumbling in, a worried look on his face. “I do na lak it, Royce. There’s British a-comin’ o’er on the ferry fra’ New York, an’ what’s worse…”

  “Yes? Out with it, man!”

  “Veronica Blakemore is here,” he said, “an’ she’s brought a man wi’ her.”

  Veronica entered, smirking in triumph. She was followed by Sean, whose face was pale with shock and anger.

  “And there she is,” Veronica said, pointing to Selena. “Just as I promised you.”

  She turned to Sean and smiled, as if expecting congratulations on having led him here, then said to Selena. “You really must be more discreet next time. I’ve been watching you for just this kind of escapade…”

  “There isn’t going to be a next time,” Sean declared.

  “Sir,” Royce said, standing, “it would do little good to apologize or explain, and should you demand satisfaction, I will understand. But I want you to know that Selena has not…”

  “I am afraid it no longer matters,” Sean said.

  Selena’s very heart went out to him. It had been her fault, this hasty rush to see Royce. And, compounded as it was by Veronica’s unerring instinct for inflicting humiliation, she could understand if Sean felt that his worst suspicions had been confirmed. But, true to himself, he surprised her. He surprised them all.

  “You may go now,” he told Veronica, very calmly. She started in surprise and did not move. “Go, you have done what your nature compelled you to do. That should be enough.” He nodded toward Will Teviot, an abrupt gesture of command. “This gentleman will escort you to the door.”

  Sneering, but now unsure, Veronica acquiesced. Then Sean turned to face Royce. The two men stared at each other.

  “I do love Selena,”,Royce said.

  “I know that,” Sean said. “So do I. And she loves both of us. But she loves you more, and in a way that is more natural to her, just as it will prove to be more dangerous to her.”