Love Entwined (25 page)

Alsborough cocked the gun. Roman dragged his eyes away from Alsborough’s probing stare. There was blood on his finger. No, not blood. Alsborough was wearing a heavy, gold ring in the shape of a dragon’s head. Two large rubies glinted in the eyes of the dragon.

He shook his head to clear his vision. “The rubies…what do they mean?”

Alsborough’s lips twitched. “It means that not even a Roman warrior can win against me. The Mademoiselle Jacqueline and I are fated. We are
il Dragone
.”

Roman took a deep breath and moved one-step closer. His head cleared with the movement. He had to keep Alsborough talking.

“What is
il Dragone
? He saw the slight shake of the lord’s gun hand, and continued moving forward.

“I am disappointed. You really should have remembered that, as long as we’ve known each other, Captain.”

“You said Jacqueline must serve the Master. Who is this Master you speak of?”

“Stay where you are or I will put a ball right through your heart.”

He kept moving forward, but knew enough not to look Alsborough directly in the eye. This was not a man, not as he himself was. He remembered Duke Argo’s mystery of the rubies and acknowledged the very real fear he walked with now.

My God, whatever this is, Jacqueline is a part of it…

He would kill Lord Alsborough now and take that ring. He’d find out how to destroy that ring and this
il Dragone
Alsborough spoke of even if he had to bring Duke Argo to Yorkshire to help him. The duke knew about such things.

“You will need a good aim for that,” Roman chuckled mirthlessly. “Would you have my blood on your hands? You will never get out of England before you are caught.”

“I will be gone in no time at all, my good man. There is a ship in harbor now, bound for the colonies.” Lord Alsborough brought up his other hand to steady the gun. “At any rate, I am only defending my fiancée’s honor.”

As Roman raised the plow, his eye caught a movement behind Alsborough and he threw the plow too wide. The plow fell to Alsborough’s side.

Lord Alsborough smiled wide and cocked the gun. “You were a good captain and will no doubt receive the highest posthumous commendations from the King.”

Dutch stood in the tall grass behind Alsborough with a plow. He raised his hands high above his head and swung down in a wide arc.

“No!” Jacqueline barreled into Roman.

The gun went off. Once. Twice.

Alsborough crumpled to the ground, the plow lodged to the hilt between his shoulder blades.

“Jacqueline!” Roman’s arm gushed blood. The pain was excruciating but he held her.

There were shouts and a commotion around them, but he did not look away from his love, so fragile now in his arms.

“My love…you are safe now…” she looked into his eyes.

He felt the wetness between them. A crimson stain marred her white lawn morning dress and was spreading rapidly across her bosom.

“Jacqueline, stay with me, sweetheart.” He pressed his hand against her chest to staunch the flow, but there was so much blood.

Dutch was shouting orders across the field and Jamie ran for the carriage, shouting to other workers.

“I will…rest…here…with you,” Jacqueline whispered. Her beautiful face was drained of color.

“No, Jacqueline, don’t go to sleep. Beauty, don’t close your eyes, love.”

She lifted her hand to his lips. He could feel the warmth seeping out of her. He stilled to catch her words.

“Do not cry…never…leave you.”

“No! My love, stay with me! You will live…oh, God.” But she was leaving him.

He sank to the grass, cradling her in his arms.

“
Mon cher
, I will…always…love you. We…are one…forever…” Her eyes still held the warm promise, which had once been in her touch, but her fingers slid down his chest, weary of life.

“Forever, my love. I will love you always.
Avec tout mon coeur
.” Roman kissed her tenderly, over and over again, whispering, “I love you…” A litany of worship, as Jacqueline closed her eyes.

St. Clair Manor, North Yorkshire – April 18, 1988

“Please bring her back.”

Roman sat by Amelie’s bedside, where he had spent the last two, most hellish days of his life waiting for her to wake up after the riding accident that nearly killed her. He had sent the nurse away because he wanted to be alone with Amelie.

He had never done much praying in his life, but he could not lose her. She was a strange woman-child. They hadn’t known each other long, but he could not help feeling that the two of them were on the verge of…something. In his heart, he knew it would be tragic, in more ways than the ultimate sacrifice of her life, if they did not see it through. He prayed for her, for himself, to the One so many people believed heard and answered prayers. He’d never believed himself, but he so desperately wanted to believe in that One now.

He had imagined a thousand times that she would wake and sit up, and they would go down to breakfast, lunch, or a midnight snack. She looked just that way, with the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Thick black lashes swept porcelain cheeks, lips slightly parted, any minute now she would open her eyes.

Sometime in the night, he thought he heard her murmur something. He might have dreamed it, but he shot up out of the chair. Though she did not stir, he was riveted, listening to her breathing the rest of the night.

There was a hideous bruise on the left side of her forehead. Doctor Latham assured him the purple bulge on her otherwise lovely face would fade in time, but to Roman, it signified the gravity of her slumber. He could not dwell on it, the blow she had sustained for such a contusion. Her pain was unbearable to him.

The physician came and went. “She is healing. It may be days or weeks, we will see. Keep her comfortable.”

There were instructions, lists, things they would have to do in case of complications, things Roman did not want to believe Amelie might need.

“Wake up, Beauty.” He had never wanted anything so much, to see her eyes glowing with life and that fire that was hers alone. “Open your eyes.”

With a ragged sigh, Roman thrust his fingers through his hair. He cursed himself for giving her the lead during their ride across the clearing. He should have stopped her, done something, but he could not reach her in time.

That rope strung across the field had been meant for him.

The path they traveled was his daily route. His was the faster horse, had he not given Amelie the lead, he would have been the one thrown, as his would-be assassin had most certainly anticipated.

He had thought the accidents would cease along with Emil Garamonde’s dying breath, but there was someone else out there who wanted him dead. He had no idea who it was or why they wanted to kill him. It was also quite possible that the accidents and Garamonde’s death were related.

Now that he had claimed Bijou, his strongest competitor, there would be a list of other rivals vying for the number two spot in the industry. However, the few companies within reach of Cardiff Jewels’ sales were still fighting each other for that coveted ranking.

While he believed Emil Garamonde capable of something so cutthroat, it was hard to imagine one of the other corporations taking on the strategy of killing their way to the top. But anything was possible…

There was a knock on the door and then Anne came in with a tray and replaced the untouched one on the table. The nurse followed her in and stopped at the bedside.

“You must eat. This will do you no good, sir,”

“I have already told Caroline; I am not hungry, Anne. What is the time?” He did not look up, but leaned his elbows on the bed and watched the nurse with Amelie.

“It is half past noon. Come away, sir. I will sit with her for a while.” Anne held out his messages, and when he shook his head, she sighed. “There is one from her parents. They will be here soon.”

He held out his hand for the message.

“James has laid out fresh clothes for you. You will feel better after a nice, hot shower. When she wakes up, you will be ready for her. Please, sir.”

He looked down at the jeans. There were blood and grass stains on the beige turtleneck sweater.

Amelie would be alarmed at the blood, her blood, if she were to see him now. He stood and walked barefoot to the connecting door. “Call me if she wakes, Anne.”

* * * *

“She sleeps, sir.” James stood at his door. “There is a tray for you in the study.”

“Very well, then.” Roman felt more clear-headed now that he’d washed away the blood and grime of two days past. He would eat and then go back to Amelie. He needed to be there when she woke.

He made his way down to the study where Khan bounded over to him. He took Khan’s large head in his hands, ruffling the dog’s ears. “Missing me, are you, boy?”

Khan gave a disgruntled whine and followed him over to the great oak desk.

Roman sat down and lifted the cover from the tray. When he gave Khan a few slices of bacon, the dog loped away to sit before the fireplace, content.

A picture of Amelie at breakfast the morning of the accident appeared before him, her eyes effervescent with excitement for the ride.

Things had been on an inevitable roll since that night in her apartment. Yet she was skittish, still playing the consummate professional, and he had let it go on, knowing it gave her some level of comfort. She was young and had not come to terms with what was between them.

He had avoided confronting his feelings for her. Suspicion had served as a safe zone and held him back from the business of foolish emotion, restricting entanglements and women’s tears at the inevitable end. But Amelie’s tears hurt him.

Besides that, he could not shake the feeling that he was missing something about her and if she did not wake, he would never know what it was.

He pushed the tray away and sat back, staring at the black computer screen in front of him. Thoughts he had been too weary to discern last night now came to the fore.

Capitaine
…That was the word she had uttered in the middle of the night. A notion teased his conscience, wafting up from somewhere inside of him.

He got up and strode to the door. He could not make her wake up before her body was ready, but there was something he could do. He could search for some answers.

* * * *

The attic was not well lit. Other than a few light bulbs here and there, this part of the house had been left virtually untouched in renovations. In the dim light of the overcast day, colorless shapes faded into the wood beams against the walls.

He started coming up here when his mother died. For solitude, at first and then later for comfort. To be among the things of his family’s past put his mission, Cardiff Jewels, in perspective. Upon his graduation from Cambridge, he’d begun to work full time beside his father and there was less time for wandering the halls of his past. The years seemed to have toppled over one another other to the finish.

He carried two halogen lights and a crow bar because many of the things up here were crated, left forever in storage.

Some of the boxes and crates were labeled and brought back memories. “Archery,” “Football,” “Christmas,” “Cambridge.” There was an old iron press and a seamstress model holding the remnants of a long, unfinished petticoat, the color of the faded material was indefinable.

He passed shrouded mirrors and lamps. A surplus of ancient, dull armor stood against the wall like sentinels of centuries past.

He was about halfway through the attic now. He would soon be in a section of the attic that he’d never been before, where the oldest treasures must be.

There were tables up ahead with glass cases. He remembered the ship models, a tradition in the family. Some of the models had been on display in the library when his grandfather was still alive, but he had not seen them since. The entire collection must be up here spread out on these tables.

He was drawn to a shrouded model, much larger than the others and removed the cover amidst swirls of dust. This was a very old model, detailed down to the crest on the sails.

A raven crowned with laurels, the family crest…the Cardiff Jewels’ crest.

He moved around the case, searching for the anchor…there, the unusual anchor in the shape of a diving raven.

The hair stood up on the back of his neck.

I know this anchor. Maybe one of the ships displayed in the library so long ago?

He read the inscription of the engraved plate:

The Raven

Captain Roman Eric Cardiff

1789

This was how Captain Cardiff had started in the jewel trade, his travels around the world, which had blossomed into Cardiff Jewels.

And there is another raven…

He moved forward with purpose, past Victorian period pieces of furniture. A rounded shape hung against a wall. He removed the covering. A ship’s wheel with a raven carved into its center.
The Raven
…he knew it, also.

Would the rest of the captain’s things still be here?

He scanned the boxes and crates stacked on either side, and none were labeled. He would go through each one if he had to, though he did not know what he was searching for. Some proof. Of what?

Capitaine
…

He never questioned the whispered endearment hanging in the air. It urged him on in this electrically charged space, which seemed to mingle real time with that of another. The desire to continue was a compulsion now.

Placing the lamps on the floor, he took the crow bar off his belt loop and started with a crate directly under the ship’s wheel. It contained antique china. He moved on to the next crate. Antique vases, porcelain and jade all boxed away. The manor was already overflowing with heirlooms.

He spotted a ceramic figurine of a Buddha.

Amelie would love it. He placed the Buddha by the halogen lamp.

The next crate contained paintings, some with gilt frames, others unframed and possibly never displayed. He made a mental note to look at them more closely some other time. There were crates full of cloth, which disintegrated to the touch.