Chapter Four
“Bella mia…”
With a sharp gasp, Tatiana sat up in bed. A strange, ragged panting came from her throat. She looked around at the all too familiar surroundings of her bedroom. Her waist length hair sprung out from her head, curling naturally over her shoulders in a tangled mess. It fell over her face, and she brushed it back in annoyance. She caught her reflection in a mirror. Her usually glowing features were pale and dark circles formed beneath her eyes.
Tatiana blinked, rapidly searching the morning shadows that stretched across the ornate wood paneling of the walls and a small fireplace. The sun seemed abnormally bright as her gaze drew over the pale yellow decor, past the dark wood of her large armoire and matching washstand. Not an item was out of place. She was home, in her bed, alone.
Feeling a chill wash over her flesh, she moaned, pulling the thick coverlet close to her chest. Her ears buzzed until she felt she couldn’t hear. Suddenly, it was as if hands pressed into her throat, crushing her, tearing her with claws. She panted for breath in growing desperation, as the vague memories of a dream tried to surface—a bathtub filled with blood, a blue eye lifelessly staring at her, watching her.
“Miss Sinclair?”
Tatiana stiffened to hear her name and let loose a high-pitched sound of surprise. The sensations left as suddenly as they came. She turned to look at her bedroom door, meeting the brown eyes of a maid. Blinking again, she was unable to place the woman’s name in her mind. She stared vacantly at the woman, letting her gaze roll over the tidy uniform, the small white cap artfully placed on brown curls, the pristine white apron. All she could come up with was Alice.
“Oh, bless us! You’re awake, miss,” the woman said, pressing her hands together in excitement.
“Where’s Alice?” Tatiana breathed. Her voice was hoarse and sounded gravelly as if she’d screamed for hours. She reached for her head. It felt dizzy. “Send me Alice. I want Alice.”
“I...I,” the maid stuttered. The woman paled, all pleasure draining from her face. She looked down at her hands, which twisted in her apron. “I can’t, miss. Alice is gone.”
“Gone?” Tatiana suddenly felt ill. Again a swarm of memories tried to invade her thoughts, but she blinked them away. They were dark, evil thoughts, images of blood and fangs, of death. Her voice brutal in its rough tonality, she said, “Gone where? She didn’t tell me she was leaving.”
“We were hoping you could say, miss.” The maid took a step forward and then stopped. She reached for a bowl on the washstand and held it out. “Are you to be sick, miss?”
Tatiana waved away her concern and threw the covers from her body. Her limbs felt strange, almost like silk.
“La tua pelle e’ come seta, bella mia.” Tatiana flinched, hearing the words clearly in her head. She glared at the maid. A little harshly, she demanded, “What? What did you say to me?”
“I asked if you were to be sick, miss.” The woman’s expression paled, and she seemed almost frightened by the heated look she received in return. “Shall I—?”
“After that,” Tatiana demanded. She tried to stand, but her legs wobbled. The woman motioned helplessly to the side as if she would turn to get help. “You said my skin was like silk.”
“No, miss,” the woman returned. “I did not.”
“Then, who?” Tatiana asked, looking around the room as if someone else was there. The words had been so real. She felt as if someone was inside her brain.
“No one, miss,” the maid said weakly, inching toward the door. “No one spoke of silk.”
“Where’s Alice?” Tatiana didn’t know why, but she was desperate to have her servant come to her. Alice always woke her in the morning, doing it just right—softly touching her shoulder, speaking gently, then teasing her when she refused to move. The brown-haired maid merely stared at her, motionless, helpless. Her voice rising, she cried out, “Send me Alice!”
The maid blinked rapidly, and Tatiana knew she was stunned to hear the usually mild mannered lady yell at her. She bobbed a half-curtsey, tripping over her feet to get out of the bedroom. Tatiana breathed deeply, struggling for breath. She didn’t know what was wrong with her or why she was so panicked. She felt numb, scared. Her limbs shook violently. Her fingers twitched and flexed, just beyond feeling.
“Hush, hush, bella mia.”
Tatiana heard the low words clearly in her mind. Her body weakened. With a loud sigh, she dropped, unconscious, to the bed.
Chapter Five
“Yes, what is it?” Mr. William Sinclair grumbled, looking up from his desk. He’d been staring absently at the polished wood, and his hands firmly planted on his dark, graying hair. He met the matching gaze of his son, sitting across the very masculine study, before turning to the door. Standing, he smoothed his tousled hair and waited.
“Mr. Sinclair, sir,” Lydia said. The maid gave a light curtsey. “Miss Sinclair is awake. I just left her.”
William studied the woman. She refused to meet his gaze.
“What did she say?” Henry demanded. Standing up from his chair, he stepped before his father. The large picturesque window let in the light from outside, haloing him in an eerie light.
Lydia’s eyes darted up briefly only to come back down to the thick rug beneath her feet. “Not much, sir.”
“She didn’t speak?” William frowned, his stomach in knots. His eyes turned up to where his daughter’s bedroom was above his head.
“She spoke of silk, sir.” Lydia’s words were soft, barely audible. “And she asked that I send her Alice.”
Henry paled and turned his back on Lydia.
William watched his son’s reaction, covering his own response better. Before she died, his wife had claimed to have seen visions—visions that were amazingly accurate sometimes—and he was worried his daughter might soon suffer the same lunacy as her mother. He was always fearful that it would happen. He’d never told anyone, as he’d loved his wife and had wanted to protect her. There was a moment of tense silence.
“Did you tell her of Alice’s departure?” William asked. “Did you tell her that the woman ran away the same night she was attacked?”
“No, sir,” Lydia said. “I thought it best to stay out of it. It is not my place to say, sir.”
“Very good, Lydia, thank you. You did well,” William said at last. He waited until she left before speaking to his son, his words a hurried whisper. “Good God, Henry. She doesn’t remember what happened.”
“Women are delicate, Father,” Henry stated calmly. He reached into his pocket and removed a silver, engine-turned snuffbox. Releasing the delicate clasp, he took a pinch and sniffed it violently into his nose. As he slid the case back inside his jacket, he asserted, “Who knows what spurred her to harm Alice?”
“We don’t know for sure if Alice is dead.” William was unconvinced by his own words. He’d known the girl and her family all their lives. Alice wasn’t the type to run off without a word. “All we have is the word of that...that...”
“Count,” Henry supplied. He couldn’t meet his father’s eyes. “He is a count.”
“Yes, yes, that count,” William returned, feeling a shudder of dread crawl across his spine. His shoulders slumped, remembering the nobleman’s strange late night visit all too well. Tatiana had been missing for nearly four days when the foreign nobleman brought her home, carrying her intimately in his arms. The servants, recognizing Tatiana, had invited him in. When William first laid eyes on the stranger, the man had been placing his unconscious daughter on the couch.
William got chills when he thought of the man’s pale face and heated eyes. Something about the count made his blood run cold with fear. It was as if he’d stood in the presence of the devil. And when the man spoke, he knew that indeed the devil had come to Eastwich to visit. William had not slept since.
“We can’t give your sister to that man,” Mr. Sinclair said, dejected. His eyes searched about as if his furniture or book-lined walls may have an answe
r.
“I don’t think we have a choice, Father,” Henry said with a toss of his dark hair. He looked very dignified with his hands threaded behind his back. “You heard what the man said. You saw the dress. He has evidence that Alice has been murdered. He found Tatiana at the cottage with her. Would you have our family’s reputation ruined for Tatiana’s mistake? Would you have us destroyed? Even if he can’t prove it, just the fact that a count says such a thing would be disastrous. As disagreeable as it may be in nature, the count’s proposal is a decent one. I would rather she go to him than to a prison. He is prosperous and can well afford to take care of her.”
“Then, you think he does mean to marry her?” William asked, unsure.
“Certainly,” Henry said, lying through his teeth. He didn’t meet his father’s eye. “Besides, word must have leaked out that Tatiana was missing for four days. We can’t ignore the implication of her staying alone with him in that castle for so long.”
Mr. Sinclair sent his son a hard look.
“He’s a nobleman, sir,” Henry said. “Certainly, he wouldn’t suggest that he came to claim Tatiana without meaning to marry her. I am confident, in his translation of our English words, he simply misspoke...or more to the point didn’t speak of it at all. I’m positive that such a nobleman would assume we knew his intentions were purely honorable. More to the point, one can hardly protest the advantages of such a good match. Tatiana has always wanted to travel, and the count said he’d take her away from here. He promised to give her protection. He must have developed some tender feelings for her if he would go to such lengths to—”
“I just can’t believe that…they were so close, those girls,” William broke in, almost lost. “Your grandmother, on your mother’s side, always claimed to be descendent of powerful witches. Perhaps…”
“Let us not give credence to that family history, please, Father. Grandmother was certifiably insane. She held conversations with the air.” Henry averted his gaze, guiltily. He forced his heart out of his throat. Everything was working out, and he wouldn’t ruin it. Smoothing down the straight lines of his dark green jacket, he muttered, “Perhaps we should go up to see her.”
“Yes.” William stood tall once more. “Yes, Henry, I think you’re right.”
Chapter Six
Tatiana moaned. She awoke to discover her father’s worried face leaning over her. He tapped at her cheek with the tips of his fingers. She grimaced, jerking away slightly as her mind tried to clear. She listened for the voice in her head to come back. To her great relief, it didn’t.
Mr. Sinclair pulled away, standing tall at his daughter’s bedside. He thrust his hands into the pockets of his heavy cotton jacket, hooking his thumbs over the outside edge. A deep sigh resounded from him as he looked her over.
“Father? What are you doing here?” Tatiana asked weakly. She sat up on the side of the bed, studying his face before turning to Henry. Her brother couldn’t meet her gaze. She frowned. “Have I been sick? I don’t feel like myself this morning.”
“You don’t recall?” William’s eyes roamed over her almost innocent face. She was perplexed, but that was to be expected. Her wide green eyes stared up at him trustingly.
“Recall what?” Tatiana asked, rising to her feet. She turned to them in confusion. “Has something happened?”
Henry finally deigned to look at her. “You don’t remember the count bringing you home?”
“The count? What count?” Tatiana frowned. What were they talking about? Her head lightly throbbed, and she rubbed warily at her temple. The thick folds of her nightgown flowed as she crossed her bedroom. Finding her silk robe thrown over the back of a chair, she threaded it over her arms. “What are you talking about?”
“Tatiana…” William hesitated.
“Perhaps you’d better sit.” Henry placed a meaningful hand on his father’s arm, briefly squeezing in reassurance.
Tatiana automatically sat in the chair that so recently held the robe. She waited, watching them both expectantly.
“Alice is gone,” William said carefully. Henry cleared his throat. William stopped talking at the interruption and looked at his son. Henry merely sighed, giving a pained glance to the floor.
“She ran away,” Henry said. William nodded, agreeing with his son’s choice of words. It was clear Tatiana had no memory of what had happened. And, until they were sure or had evidence, they couldn’t accuse her of killing the woman. Neither man had been brave enough to charge the count with the hideous crime. All they’d seen was a significant amount of blood on her ball gown that the count had given them as his proof. Since Tatiana wasn’t cut, they could only assume the blood wasn’t hers. Then again, there was no substantiating the blood was even human.
“Alice, run away? Impossible,” Tatiana said with a dismissive chuckle. She began to stand. “Go find Thomas. He is sure to know where she is.”
“She’s gone,” William stated, ending the discussion. “Thomas has looked everywhere for her, as has her family.”
“Well, it’s only been a day.” Tatiana stopped as her father shook his head.
“Five,” Henry stated.
“Impossible, just yesterday...” She looked from father to brother then back again.
“Tatiana,” Henry said sternly, addressing down to her as if she were a small child, “You’ve been at the old Glastonbury Castle for the last four days with an Italian count. Don’t you remember it? He took care of you.”
“No, no he...he was a dream,” Tatiana denied. Her head pounded harder. Did they think she was compromised? Memories that couldn’t be her own tried to surface within her mind. “Lady Cottley told me of an Italian count who let the old…and I must have dreamt…him…”
She stopped. Henry was shaking his head in denial. Why was he looking at her like that? Why was her father eyeing her as if she’d gone mad?
Delicately, William said, “It wasn’t a dream. The count saved your life. He’s found himself quite attached to you and has asked me for your hand. I have granted it.”
Tatiana’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, not understanding.
“You are to be married to him,” Henry inserted.
“Married? But, I don’t know him,” Tatiana protested, though she didn’t find the prospect of being a countess all that objectionable. She’d confessed as much to Lady Cottley, hadn’t she? “Does this man have a name, or is he just a count?”
There were more questions she wanted to ask, but seeing her father’s expression, she thought better of it. Was he handsome? Kind? Did he carry himself well? Did he say anything about her? She wanted every detail of their discussion. She wasn’t going to get it.
“There was a lot of confusion. You’d been gone for four days. It was late when he brought you home to us. He’s Italian. I could only understand about every three of his words,” her father said.
“Conte Spoleti, I believe he said,” Henry supplied.
“Count Spoleti?” Tatiana repeated. The name made her go weak. His must have been the voice she heard in her head. Lightly, she whispered, “Bella mia.”
Both men watched her carefully, wary of her changing expressions.
“When?” she whispered, unsure how to feel. Her whole world was spinning out of her control. Nothing made sense. This morning should’ve been a day like any other. Yesterday she’d been at a dinner party, and now she was engaged, compromised, and missing four days from her memory? It was impossible to believe such a wild contrivance. And yet, seeing her father’s and brother’s faces, she knew it was true.
“He said he would come for you when he is ready,” her father answered. He took a hesitant step forward and laid an awkward hand on her shoulder. Tatiana wondered at his cautious look. It was almost as if he was afraid of her. He moved away, backing toward the bedroom door. Suddenly, he was gone, not saying another word. Tatiana heard his footsteps rushing off.
When she could hear her father no more, she turned her eyes to Henry. He regarded her careful
ly.
“He’ll come for me? When might that be, Henry?” she questioned. Her words came out in a hush now that they were alone. She stood to face him. Her hands reached out to take up his. “You saw him, didn’t you? What did you think of him? Will I at least meet him properly first? Did you like him? Was he kind? What did he say?”
“What happened?” Henry whispered, studying her face for a sign of the truth. “I went back to the cottage, but you were gone. Everything was gone. What did you do with it? Where did you go? How did he find you? What does he know?”
“With what?” Tatiana asked, confused by the fierce nervousness in Henry’s ever-changing expressions. She didn’t understand what he was talking about. “What cottage? What was gone? I don’t understand.”
“You don’t remember?” Henry asked, part in wonder, part in apprehension.
“Remember what?” Tatiana asked. “This is like a nightmare. I expect to wake up at any moment. You say I am engaged. When will I meet him? Why didn’t he ask me himself? Why didn’t he stay to speak to me if he is taken with me? What is going on, Henry? Please, I beg you to tell me.”
“It is how he wished it,” Henry said. “He’ll make you a fine husband, Tatiana. Trust in Father’s decision for you. It’s an excellent match.”
“You say that I’ve met an Italian count who wishes to marry me and that I spent the last four days alone with him,” Tatiana mumbled, still trying to wrap her mind around the facts. She barely heard her brother’s answer. “Why can’t I remember him? I don’t remember him, Henry. I—”
“Bella mia.”
Tatiana stiffened at the voice in her mind, feeling a possessive caress down her spine. It was like a ghost walked behind her back. She shivered, cold. Her eyes closed as if she could ward the feeling off by her determination. She felt like weeping.
Henry saw the light fade from her features, replaced by a pale haze over her eyes. He took a step back from her. Her skin turned dramatically to an ashen gray, draining all the beautiful life from her complexion. Her eyes almost appeared to darken into emeralds before turning lighter into jade.
Eternally Bound Page 3
