Claire Delacroix (22 page)

Darian picked up the receiver but Colin snatched it out of his hand and dropped it back into the cradle.

He glared at the audacious young man who had invaded his life.

Darian smiled with open malice. “Mrs. Russell is an understanding woman, isn’t she?”

Mildred was not an understanding woman, never had been and never would be. If she found out about Colin’s dalliance, there would be hell to pay for the rest of his life.

Colin drew himself taller and made a bluff of having some dignity left in this exchange.

“I’m warning you, Mr. Mulvaney, I will not permit this to continue,” he declared. “It is a travesty of the code of the society and an affront to serious scholarship everywhere.”

But Darian clearly knew as well as Colin did that the words were empty. The younger man laced his fingers together and looked steadily at his superior. “I only want one more thing, Mr. Russell.”

Colin’s mouth went dry. “What is that?”

Darian pushed to his feet. “I’ll let you know when it’s time for you to do something about it.” He sauntered across the office, pausing with one hand on the door. “I’ll call you from Dunhelm, sir.”

And then he was gone.

Colin wadded up the fax and hurled it across the room. Insolent bugger! Maybe life would be easier with him at the other end of the country!

One more thing.
Did Colin dare to hope that might be the truth?

He sighed, feeling suddenly very defeated by life’s challenges, and retrieved the fax, smoothing it out on his desk. One last thing, he reminded himself, just one last thing and Darian Mulvaney would keep his mouth shut forever.

Colin could only hope it was something in his power to do.

* * *

Chapter Fourteen

Baird returned to poorly managed chaos. He listened and looked, pointed and decided, delegated and prioritized with an efficiency perfected long ago. Each felt they had their say, each respected his decisions, although new issues seemed to crop up faster than he could resolve the old ones.

Marissa cornered him after several unsuccessful attempts, though she would have been dismayed to know that Baird’s mind was firmly locked on the problem of placing a septic tank. They had found a load-bearing wall under the bishop’s palace where no one had expected one to be - and precisely where tank number four was supposed to be installed.

The backhoe was waiting for Baird to decide where to put the tank instead. He was up to his elbows in blueprints, had the architect on the cellphone, a building inspector hovered nearby, and the head plumber anxiously making suggestions.

“Baird, darling, whatever is going on this place? The noise is so terrible that I can’t even think straight!”

Baird flicked a glance at the designer and wasn’t surprised. Her flowing skirt and pointed heels had no place in the mess of the construction site. “Then, go to a hotel,” he said tightly. “You can’t be in here without steel-toed boots.”

The architect barked in his ear, Baird located the spot he suggested and looked to the plumber. He tapped the nearby wiring that they had penciled onto the plan the week before - another unanticipated complication - and the plumber made a face. The inspector shook his head firmly.

“Where else?” he asked the architect.

“Baird, darling, I really must put my foot down. I know you’ve decided about the marble, darling, but we simply must go over the draperies and upholsteries for the Series B guestrooms. I’ve brought all the fabric swatches...”

“Fine. Later.” Baird flicked a glance to the plumber. “What about here?”

The plumber considered the possibility and Baird was encouraged that he didn’t immediately discard it. The plumber shoved his hands into his overalls and leaned closer. “Where’s the restaurant in comparison to this?”

“Here,” Baird said. “So we could make the access over here, maybe add a line of shrubbery, the driveway goes around the building there already.”

“I like it.” The plumber picked up the plan and frowned at it, obviously checking that he hadn’t missed anything.

The inspector looked over his shoulder, nodding as his gaze darted over the plans. “Looks doable.”

Baird was vaguely aware that Marissa was still chattering on to him. “It’s not safe for you to be in here without proper boots,” he reminded her tersely, then waited impatiently for the two men before him to decide.

Marissa leaned closer, but Baird wasn’t listening. “Look, Baird, I have the most wonderful idea. Why don’t we have a lovely intimate dinner tonight, and get all these issues settled? We could meet in my room, darling, don’t worry, I’ll arrange for the meal somehow...”

The plumber nodded approval, the inspector concurred and Baird picked up the cellphone, glad everything was resolved. “All right, we’ve got a deal,” he informed the architect. “Let’s do it.”

Marissa gave her odd laugh and attracted the attention of all three men. She kissed her fingertips and waved coyly to Baird, dancing out of the work area. “I’ll take care of everything, darling! Sevenish would be good.”

Baird looked to the inspector and plumber. He had an odd sense that he had inadvertently agreed to something, but didn’t have any idea what it was. “What in the hell was that all about?”

Both men shrugged, the plumber tapping another section of the plan. “See? If we can fish the pipes through the cellar somehow here, then we can hook up exactly as we would have if the tank had gone in the original location.”

“That old wall is a thick sucker,” the inspector observed.

“There has to be another way,” Baird said and the trio settled over the plans to work out their strategy.

* * *

Aurelia did not find the dungeons as easily as she had hoped. Once she could have walked there blindfolded, but now all had been changed around so thoroughly by Bard’s workmen, that she quickly became disoriented.

Her father’s hall had been a simple wooden structure in the style of the Vikings, a long rectangular hall with a sloping roof and tables along its walls. It had been destroyed, as Aurelia had noted earlier, though not a single mark remained to hint at its precise location.

At least the ritual well was more or less as it had been. Aurelia started there.

The stone structure that Bard made his hall was new to Aurelia, though parts of it looked markedly aged. She suspected the stones had come from elsewhere, perhaps from the ancient crumbling towers on the horizon.

But roughly where Bard’s hall stood, there had been an old settlement, long fallen into decay. A tumbling central tower had dominated a circle of clover shaped homes, which Aurelia recalled had been waist-deep in the turf. Certainly they had been too far gone to repair and she was not surprised that Bard had eliminated them.

Indeed, though she would never tell him as much, his hall vastly improved the appearance of Dunhelm. Aurelia would never have expected a barbarian to have such an aesthetic sense, but then there was much about Bard that surprised her.

She refused to think about that now.

Beneath the tower that no longer stood sentinel over the squarish peninsula of Dunhelm, there had been deep pits. A curved staircase followed the outer wall of the tower, descending to a small anteroom from which the pits could be reached. Once undoubtedly cellars, they had been converted to dungeons by Bard’s own sire, Erc.

The only problem was that without the landmark of the tower, Aurelia was not certain precisely where they should be.

After a good amount of fruitless searching, she conceded defeat and resolved to circle the peninsula before the daylight was gone. She might well find the bodies of fallen warriors or some hint of what had transpired in the attack.

Maybe a survivor willing to share a tale. Or see another angle of the land that would reveal the location of the dungeons.

Aurelia’s spirits were high when she began, but quickly faded. The peninsula of Dunhelm was not a small one and she had a good bit of ground to cover. That added to her determination to walk close to the edge of the cliffs - all the better to see the bodies cast below - made the walking difficult.

But she saw nothing other than myriad birds nesting on the rocks that fell to the sea. Aurelia was convinced every curve would reveal a horror to her eyes, but as the day passed and nothing suspicious came to sight, she began to tire.

Aurelia walked until the sun was lowering toward the sea, her view filled with rocks, birds and the occasional seal.

What had happened to everyone? The dungeons, even if she managed to find them, could never have accommodated hundreds of men. And how could Dunhelm have been captured without a resounding battle?

Even if the carnage had been cast into the sea, Aurelia knew full well that the sea returned such gifts in short order. But the beaches, far below, were barren.

Aurelia stared back at Bard’s hall, distant calls of the workmen carrying to her ears. Could it be that Bard had let her father’s men all go free?

It defied good sense! And she had seen well enough that he was a man with a logical mind.

Perhaps the warriors had been shipped off to some foreign estate, perhaps they toiled in whatever outpost the son of Erc had made his own, perhaps they had been shipped off to be sold as slaves in the markets of Micklegarth.

Such an expense. Aurelia winced, not certain it would be worth the trouble.

No, some must be here in the dungeons. Why else would those dungeons have been so artfully concealed? Aurelia stalked back toward the hall, determined to find those dank and dour cells.

She found them in a rather different way than she had expected.

* * *

Aurelia was marching resolutely across the lawn behind the hall when the ground suddenly gave way beneath her feet.

She screamed and scrambled for a grip as the earth fell away, taking her with it. Aurelia fought against falling into the gaping hole opened in the earth, even knowing it was hopeless.

She dropped a good thirty feet before she landed on her buttocks with a solid thump. Dirt showered around her and a chunk of turf landed heavily beside her foot.

The sounds of the world seemed distant and muffled in the eerie silence that surrounded Aurelia. Far above her, the hammering and shouting of the construction continued undisturbed.

No one had heard her scream.

Aurelia tried again, just to be sure, but there was no response. She winced and moved slightly, knowing that she would have an enormous bruise in short order.

Aurelia reached out and touched a damp stone wall. She called a greeting, but the words echoed through the stone and came forlornly back to her.

She had found the dungeons all right, but there was no contingent of warriors wasting away in these forgotten shadows.

She was alone. Aurelia bellowed again, but with no discernible effect. She was alone and evidently destined to stay that way.

Well, she was not going to sit back and wait to be rescued! Aurelia pushed to her feet, determined to explore her prison thoroughly.

She stared into the darkness surrounding her as she tried to remember exactly how the dungeons had been laid out. There were half a dozen cells, as she recalled. She might find some sign of her father’s warriors, though her heart doubted they had ever been here.

The dungeons, after all, smelled dead and unused.

Aurelia folded her arms across her chest, already feeling the chill of the coming night, and set to exploring. What had happened after she pricked her thumb?

What if her father had seen his forces so outnumbered that he surrendered himself to Bard rather than see his men slaughtered?

What if Bard, having won what he saw as his due, had been persuaded to let her father’s men leave Dunhelm freely?

There would be neither bodies nor prisoners, then.

But, of course, there would be a legion of men not particularly well disposed to the new upstart king.

Unless Julian’s plan succeeded. Their marriage would ensure that all those formerly loyal to her sire would turn their loyalty to Bard. And when her escaped father returned to reclaim what he had lost, his own men would be pledged against him.

Despicable! Fortunately, Aurelia had deduced the truth. Bard would fool her no longer with his lingering glances and little smiles! She would teach Bard son of Erc that she was not a woman with whom he could trifle.

Although a more pressing issue in this moment was how Aurelia was going to get out of the old dungeons.

* * *

Baird was dead on his feet by eight o’clock that night. He ached from stooping and scrambling through the nether regions of the bishop’s palace. He had bumped his head and scraped his knee, missed his dinner and wished heartily that he hadn’t let Aurelia eat his lunch.

But the fourth septic tank was secured in its new home and ready to accept donations.

Now, all Baird wanted was to sleep. He made his way through the silent hotel, permitting himself a thrill of pride at how it was all slowly coming together, and climbed the stairs to his room.

What they needed was an elevator in this place.

* * *

Talorc’s book taunted Baird from the end table when he climbed into bed. Baird didn’t remember bringing it upstairs, but he found himself reaching for it without hesitation.

It fell open where he had been reading before.

The most obvious and enduring legacy of the Picts, of course, is the vast number of standing symbol stones left scattered all across Scotland. These stones are carved with heavy relief and mounted at great effort to stand on their ends. There is remarkable repetition in the range of symbols employed on these stones, though no script on the stones or Pictish documents survive elsewhere to explain their import.

There is considerable controversy as to whether these stones are territorial boundaries, memorials to the dead, announcements of treaties and alliances, or whether they mean something entirely different and as yet undetermined.

Baird glanced to the photograph at the bottom of the page and his heart lunged into his chest. The symbol stone was just like the door to the well!