He was no longer a boy. He was a man—a man with a deformed arm.
A woman stood by a fountain, seemingly waiting for him to come to her. Hello, Volker Jäger.
“Guten Tag,” he greeted her.
He stopped and looked at her. Her image blurred and did not seem to be part of the surroundings, yet he recognized her dark red hair and violet eyes immediately. “You have appeared to me once before, ja?”
I have. If her mouth moved as she spoke, he could not see it. We had this discussion on our first encounter.
Did they? He wasn’t sure. Dreams had a way of vanishing from memory.
You shall wake soon, so I’ll make this meeting quick. Pierce Landcross is returning to England. If you want him, I will tell you where and when to find him.
Bits of their previous meeting started to resurface.
She had come to him while he had been in Poland, hunting down a god for the demon Thooranu. She told him Landcross would someday be his, and she would return to him when that day arrived. The second was last month, telling him to be ready. He had believed the dream so much, he had fled his home in Germany and had been staying in a hotel in Oxford, waiting.
Ever since he and that English bastard crossed paths, Volker’s life had been a living hell—more so than usual. If Landcross had simply done as he was told, they would never have been arrested and put on that transport ship bound for Norfolk Island. Volker’s arm would never have been crushed, and he wouldn’t have spent weeks starving at sea. He had vowed that if he survived, he’d find Landcross and end his life in the most painful fashion possible. He would treat him worse than the outlaws he’d tortured and burned alive during his days as a British Guardian—which he had only joined so he could hunt for Landcross. Now, after all this time, and after longing to give up on his search, this Fräulein was willing to hand him over.
“Why would you offer to deliver Landcross to me?”
I need him dead, and you want him dead, she answered simply. In the end, we both get what we desire.
Who was this woman? He was extremely curious about her. And why did she need Landcross dead? It was apparent to him that she needed Volker to get his hands dirty, and he had no qualms with that, but the entire matter was very queer to him. However, such questions could wait, for he doubted she’d answer them.
Instead, he asked, “Where is he?”
Volker woke in a dark room. He struck a match and lit the candle on the bedside table. He checked the mechanics in his arm. Sometime during the night, a gear in his elbow had become loose again, preventing him from bending it too far. Volker closed his stark white hand over the naked shoulder of the woman in bed with him and shook her.
“Anci. Wake up.”
The Indian woman groaned as she was pulled from her slumber.
“What is it?” she grudgingly demanded.
“My arm is in need of repair. Get up and do so.”
Without arguing, she slipped out of bed completely nude and stumbled toward the table where her tool bag sat. “Do you require morphine?”
“Nein,” he answered. “When you’re finished repairing my arm, though, pack your things. We’re going north.”
* * *
Pierce couldn’t believe it—actually couldn’t bloody believe he was going to England. Was he being foolish and too quick to put himself in harm’s way? Maybe. However, he suspected other reasons. Since learning about Freya and what she had done to his family, he’d been itching to find the bitch and strangle her to death. That is, if she didn’t turn him into a toad first. She had dug her claws deep into his life and the lives of the people he cared about, threatening his friends and nearly killing his grandmother by turning her own powers against her. Worst yet, his own son, Joaquin, was somehow involved, which angered him the most.
Pierce had come to realize none of it was solely about saving his mates, or his Gypsy spirit tugging at him. He needed to face this once and for all. Unless he did so, he would constantly have Freya haunting him, which could very well become more serious once Grandmother Fey was no longer alive.
“There’s money where?” Nico asked when Pierce told him the following morning.
“Sherwood,” Pierce responded as he threw his last article of clothing into his leather rucksack. “My brother buried eight thousand pounds up there in the forest.”
“Do you think it’s still there?”
Pierce slung the pack over his shoulder. “Hope so, lad.”
“Sherwood is far from here, Landcross,” Chief Sea Wind pointed out.
“I’m taking the train,” he explained. “I’ve read they have tracks crisscrossing most European countries nowadays. I’ll be in Sherwood and return in a matter of days.”
He started for the stairs leading up to the deck when the chief stepped into his path. “Are you sure this is wise? Only danger waits for you in Britain.”
Again, the chief was offering pointless information.
“The ship needs repairs,” Pierce reminded him. “We need money to repair the ship, eh? Turns out I know where some loot is.”
“Nico has offered to go to his father,” the chief pressed.
“Aye, but that arse of an uncle of mine most likely won’t give him one red cent.”
“It’s also possible the money your brother hid is no longer there,” Nico threw in unhelpfully.
“You wanna try your luck with your daddy, cousin?” Pierce retorted.
Nico bit his bottom lip and backed away.
Pierce sighed with frustration. “I’ll be fine, gents. See you in a few days.”
“I have a bad feeling about this journey, Landcross,” Chief Sea Wind called after him.
“I can come with you,” Nico offered.
If the danger weren’t so real, he’d gladly have brought Nico along. But he loved his big-hearted cousin too much to risk his life more than he already had.
“Goodbye, lads,” Pierce said, climbing the steps.
Above, Waves of the Strength was first to greet him. “Good luck, Landcross. May your journey be a safe one.”
The sincerity of her tone almost made him believe she meant it. Then again, he was off to fetch the money needed to fix her ship.
“The hell with it.” He shrugged. “I’ll take it. Cheers, love.”
His sour mood and hard expression softened as he approached Sees Beyond, standing by the ramp.
“Please don’t try talking me out of this,” he pleaded.
If anyone could convince him not to go, it would be Sees Beyond. She was always difficult to argue with.
“No, Pierce,” she promised in her sweet, peaceful voice. “This is a path you must take. Although, I fear it will be very hard on you.”
Perfect.
She smiled and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly against her. The embrace was full of heartfelt emotions. He held her just as fiercely, and for a brief moment, he fell in love with her all over again.
When they had parted ways all those years ago, it had hurt him for months. Even so, a part of his heart would forever be hers.
He pried himself away and stared into those chocolate diamond eyes of hers.
“I have requested that the spirits watch over you.”
“Cheers, love,” he said before giving her a friendly kiss on the cheek. “I’ll return before long.”
He went down the ramp and headed for the ferries. Pierce bought a passage to Southampton that would not leave for another hour. He decided to utilize the time by buying new clothing. The duds he’d worn for the past month while out at sea utterly reeked. With the hundred Robert had given him, Pierce bought himself pinstriped trousers, a vest with bronze and golden seashell designs, and a black shirt. To conceal the scar across his throat, he also purchased a scarf—which, in the fall weather, was practical anyway. He traded his boot covers for spats and after a much needed bath at the local bathhouse, he felt as good as new.
He boarded the ferry and sailed across the Channel. As it sailed alo
ng, he decided to visit Archie in Southampton. He wouldn’t be going out of his way, and it’d be good to see the ol’ boy.
Once the boat docked, Pierce exchanged the francs for British pounds and took a hackney carriage through Southampton to Norwich Mansion. The driver knew the mansion, although he acted a tad confused by the name. When the taxi dropped him off, Pierce went to the front door and knocked. He couldn’t wait to see the look on Archie’s face.
“Yes?” asked the house servant who answered.
“Oi, I’m looking for the master of the house.”
“He’s out hunting, sir.”
“Oh. Is his wife at home?”
The butler cocked an eyebrow at him. “Does she know you, sir?”
Pierce snorted when remembering the time he accidentally saw Eilidh’s breasts at Buckingham Palace. “Aye, she does for sure, mate. When is he expected to return?”
The servant’s eyes moved to something behind Pierce. “He has just returned, sir.”
Pierce smiled, thrilled to see a friendly face.
The moment he turned, however, he felt the color drain from his face. “Darius?” he muttered under his breath.
Lieutenant Darius Javan rode up the lane along with a handful of huntsmen and two dead stags tied to a couple of mounts. Pierce gulped so hard his throat hurt.
“Landcross?” Darius said, halting his horse.
Pierce waved to him with a fixed grin. “’Ello, Lieutenant.”
I’m dead, he thought grimly.
“Lord Javan,” the butler called out, stepping by Pierce to address Darius. “This gentleman has arrived and has been asking for you.” Then he added with a bit of suspicion, “He claims to know your wife.”
“No, not his wife,” Pierce tried explaining. “I meant . . . wait, Lord Javan? Did you take over here?”
Darius dismounted and marched toward him, causing the most dreadful flashbacks of being hunted by the man. The fact that Darius was carrying a very large rifle didn’t make this reunion any better.
“Landcross,” he repeated. “Is it really you? What on earth are you doing here?”
Pierce completely lost his voice. The last time he and Darius had faced off, the lieutenant had given him the Royal pardon—but it was dependent on the condition that he never return to England. Now, he was standing at the bloke’s front doorstep!
“I . . . I . . . erm . . . I’m looking for Archie Norwich.”
Darius lifted the rifle up and rested it in the crook of his arm as he folded it. Pierce warily followed the movement of the gun with his eyes.
“Mr. Norwich moved when he relinquished his duties. I govern these lands in his stead.”
The man sounded both dumbfounded and angry.
“Congratulations,” Pierce said. “Well, then, I best crack on.”
“We need to have a talk first,” he stated the moment Pierce took a step.
Pierce froze and tilted his chin up to Darius’s serious expression. He then looked over at the huntsmen still on their horses, watching them.
“Is everything all right, my lord?” a hunter inquired.
“Yes, Jefferson,” the ex-lieutenant reassured him. “You and the men return your horses to the barn and clean the stags for dinner.” He clasped Pierce hard on the shoulder. “This gentleman and I have matters to discuss.”
It’d been years since Pierce shook so badly. Darius led him around the house to a patio area. There they took a seat on chairs made of wrought iron. A servant came out and asked if Darius wanted anything.
“I’m famished,” Darius stated. “Are you hungry, Landcross?”
Pierce had been until his nervousness overpowered his hunger pangs.
“Er . . .” he started to say when the Persian cut in.
“Two sandwiches with beef. And tea.”
The servant bowed and went into the house.
“You’ve come a long way,” Pierce noted, trying not to show the fear he was experiencing.
“Indeed,” Darius agreed, studying him. “Take off your hat.”
Pierce did and placed it on the glass tabletop.
“Your complexion has darkened since I last saw you. Have you been staying someplace warm all these years?” Darius asked.
Pierce had no intention of telling him where his home was.
“Aye, you can say that.”
Darius pointed to the items hanging from Pierce’s neck. “What’s that?”
Pierce lifted the key. “This? It’s a key.”
“No, the ring, idiot. Whose is it? Did you steal that?”
“Eh? No. It’s my wife’s wedding band. She wanted it with me.”
“Someone actually married you?” Darius snorted while finally setting aside that blasted rifle.
“Oi, what’s that s’posed to mean?”
“It means you don’t strike me as the settling down type. Who is she, then?”
Pierce huffed. “Remember the lass who gave you that little love mark on your arm?”
Darius glanced at his bicep where Taisia had cut him in Spitalfields Market.
“I see,” he grunted with contempt. “I should have figured as much. I have read some of your books, after all.”
Pierce wasn’t as shocked to hear that as he thought he might.
“Did you now?” Pierce mused. “Y’know, the parts about you and I were pretty spot on. Did you, by any chance, offer the author information?”
“I did. She came to me and requested I tell my side of the story.”
Pierce rubbed his chin suspiciously. “She did?”
“I didn’t intentionally contact her, if that’s what you’re thinking, Landcross,” Darius stated matter-of-factly. “I only yielded to her request to prevent any misinformation about me or the soldiers who were with me while on the hunt for you.”
“You bloody well left out the part about Robin leaving you and your men naked in the forest,” Pierce quipped before laughing.
Pierce never did find out what exactly had happened on the night Robin freed him from Darius and his soldiers. Darius simply told him the vampire had taken everything they had, which Pierce suspected meant their clothing, as well. Pierce had hoped the book about the rescue would reveal more details, but it only covered the attack and that the men were left without their weapons and horses. Still, Pierce thought it was one of the funniest things he had ever heard—until he saw the deadly expression on Darius’s face.
He stifled his laughter and cleared his throat. “Erm, it’s understandable to want to leave that bit out, of course.”
“Robin,” Darius repeated darkly. “Is that the demon’s name?”
“He ain’t all bad once you get to know ’im.”
He wondered if Darius still carried his silver dagger in case he and Robin ever crossed paths again.
“He did let you gents live, eh?” Pierce said.
The tension was building like a prison tower, which was where Pierce was heading if he didn’t stop talking. The perfect opportunity to do so came when the servant returned, bringing the food, while another servant carried out the tea. They set everything down on the table and Darius quickly dismissed them.
“Eat up, Landcross,” Darius demanded, placing a napkin in his lap.
For a little while, silence hung between them. Pierce hadn’t realized how hungry he actually was until he started eating. The tight knot of worry in his stomach loosened, allowing his desire for food to return.
“You’re as hard to get rid of as you are to track down,” Darius commented, breaking the silence while he poured tea into his and his guest’s teacup. “Those blasted books are a testament to that. Not to mention having you here now.”
Pierce cringed as he took another bite. He’d expected this to be brought up at some point, making him wonder if this tasty roast beef sandwich was meant to be his last meal.
“Why are you here?” Darius demanded.
How should he answer? Thankfully, none of the books mentioned the witch wanting him dead, so he
didn’t have to explain that. But he couldn’t very well tell the bloke he was off to Sherwood Forest to retrieve money his brother had stolen from some cuckoo clock factory.
While he mulled over something appropriate to say, he grabbed his teacup and drank down the hot tea. It burned his mouth and scorched his tongue and esophagus.
“Only visiting,” Pierce squeaked out.
“Visiting Mr. Norwich and his sister, Miss Norwich?”
Pierce curled his lips inside his mouth and nodded. “Uh-hum.”
“You left your family and your faraway home for a visit?”
Pierce had nothing else to say, so he simply shrugged.
Darius sighed with frustration. “Do you remember what I told you when I chose to give you your freedom instead of dragging your ass to London?”
“You are to leave England—forever. If I so much as hear your name or read about you in the papers for any reason, I will send out the entire Queen’s army to track you down.”
“Aye. And I understand I’m breaching the agreement even as we speak, but the thing is—”
“You’re lying.”
Pierce tilted his head. “Come again?”
“Don’t pretend you’ve traveled so far simply to visit Mr. and Miss Norwich. You aim to add to the next book in the series.”
Pierce gave him the most gobsmacked look before answering, “Oh, aye! That’s it completely.”
Darius shook his head. “Honestly, Landcross, you never came off as the vain sort.”
Pierce threw his hands up. “I’m all sorts of things.”
Darius stared at him, apparently deep in thought. The sky darkened with rain clouds that swept away the warm sunlight. A chilly breeze blew over, making Pierce shudder. He wanted to take another sip of tea, but his tongue burned too badly.
“Your tolerance for the cold has dropped, huh?” the Persian noted with a sardonic smirk. “I suggest you return home very soon.”
The years must have softened Darius, or perhaps he didn’t want the headache of dealing with the likes of Pierce any more than he already had, especially with so many other responsibilities to deal with. In any case, his decision to let him go once again was a great relief.
The Forgotten Story Page 13
