Authors: Blackthorne
Ruth Langan (23 page)
“Why, thank you, kind lady. I shall be in your debt” Charles lifted her hand to his lips and Agatha nearly swooned in delight.
“Come.” The king got to his feet, and the others followed. “We must make ready for our departure.”
As Olivia stood, Wyatt closed his hand around her waist and drew her close to whisper, “I would hope you can find it in your heart to put aside the past, cousin, and consider that we start afresh.”
She flinched at his touch and hated herself for her reaction. But it was too late to hide her feelings. He could see that she was trembling.
“It is not so easy to put aside cruelty, Wyatt.”
He held her a moment longer and enjoyed watching her flinch. “What you perceive as cruel, another might see as bold. Forgive my bold actions, cousin. But have pity on a man who was merely... overcome by your beauty.”
She managed to pull away and turned to face him. “Beauty? As I recall, Wyatt, you called me a little mouse.”
He gave a boyish smile. “A term of endearment, cousin. A man would have to be blind not to see your attributes.”
She itched to slap him. But knowing the king and his party were watching, she curled her fingers into her hand and let out a long, slow breath, whispering, “I do not forget, Wyatt. Nor do I forgive.”
Instead of the anger she expected, he surprised her by catching hold of Liat’s hand and saying, “Your governess is very pretty, boy. Especially when her cheeks get all pink.”
“Aye, sir.” Liat turned adoring eyes to her. “She’s even prettier than a butterfly.”
“Is that what Lord Stamford told you?”
“Nay, sir. Lord Stamford said she is a rare beauty.”
Olivia felt her cheeks flush as Wyatt and the others shared a knowing laugh.
When they walked outside to the courtyard, they found Quenton there, looking refreshed and clean-shaven.
“Ah. Here you are, old friend.”
Quenton turned to smile at the king. “I regret that I couldn’t break my fast with you this morrow. But at least I am here in time to bid farewell to you and our guests.”
The wagons, carts and carriages laden with trunks and ladies’ maids were already pulling away. As each couple was presented to their king one final time, the ladies curtsied and the men bowed, then were helped into the elegant carriages that would carry them back to London.
Agatha and Robert Lindsey and their son and daughter were the last guests to bid goodbye. Still glowing from their encounter with the king, Agatha and Catherine were helped into their carriage, followed by Robert.
For a moment Olivia felt a tremor of fear. But then, seeing Wyatt pull himself into the saddle of a sleek steed, she began to relax. As she and the others looked on, the door of the carriage was closed and the driver raised his whip. The team took off smartly, with Wyatt riding along beside them.
Olivia gave a deep sigh of relief. Safe. It was the only word that kept playing through her mind. Now that these hateful people had taken their leave of Blackthorne, and of her life, she was finally, completely safe.
“Are you crying, ma’am?” Liat caught her hand and stared up at her eyes, swimming with tears.
“They are tears of joy, Liat.”
“Ah. I understand. You’re crying because you have met the king.”
“Aye.” She wiped away the moisture and hoped she would be forgiven her little lie.
They stood together, watching the spectacle of the king’s departure. The carriages laden with trunks and household goods were already rolling down the long curving drive, accompanied by the king’s soldiers. Once again the staff of Blackthorne was assembled on the lawn, with Pembroke and Mistress Thornton at the head of the line.
Charles was as gracious in departure as he had been upon his arrival. He personally thanked Cook, the household. staff, the stable lads, the groundskeepers. Men as well as women could be seen wiping tears from their eyes as he took a moment to speak to each of them.
When he paused in front of Liat he crouched down and reached inside his cloak. Carefully rolled up was the lad’s drawing. “I intend to add this to my royal collection. And when you visit the palace, I shall give you a personal tour of my butterfly collection.”
“Thank you, Majesty.” Without realizing what he was doing, the little boy threw his arms around the king’s neck and gave him a fierce hug.
For the space of a heartbeat gasps could be heard from those assembled. Then the king stood, still holding the boy in his arms, and turned to Olivia. “Miss St. John, you are doing a splendid job with this lad. Your king thanks you for helping to raise such a loyal and loving subject.”
At a loss for words she merely curtsied.
Charles set the boy down, then moved to his host. “Lord Stamford, I thank you for your warm hospitality. The beauty and peace of Blackthorne have restored my soul.”
Quenton bowed. “Nothing could please me more, Majesty.”
The king moved closer and lowered his voice. “I said my goodbyes to Bennett. I am worried.”
“Aye. As am I.”
“He seems to have completely forgotten our little wager.”
“Our wager?”
“Don’t pretend you’ve forgotten. You and he owe me a thousand pounds. Unless, of course, you would care to see Bennett’s servant and Liat’s governess accompany me to London.”
Quenton handed the king a pouch bulging with coins. “Two thousand pounds, Chills. I hope it weighs heavily on your journey home.”
Charles gave a delighted laugh. “Stay well, old friend. And send me your earliest report on... that little matter.”
“Aye.”
The king turned away and was helped into the carriage. He glanced at the upper window, where Bennett and Minerva were watching, and saluted them smartly. Then, as the carriage started off, he accepted the cheers and applause of the staff of Blackthorne. It was a sound that would accompany him on every step of his journey home to London.
Chapter Twenty
O
livia led Liat to the gardens and found Quenton quietly pacing along the path, deep in thought.
livia led Liat to the gardens and found Quenton quietly pacing along the path, deep in thought.
“Forgive me, my lord. We didn’t mean to disturb you.” She started to turn away but Quenton stopped her.
“Please stay.”
She sat on a stone bench, while Liat raced off along the path. “I was hoping to see Bennett here with you.”
“I’m worried about my brother.” Quenton glanced toward the upper window. “When I left him he was as pale as death. I fear he is slipping back. If only I knew how to reach him.”
Olivia laid a hand over his. “You reached him once with love. You can do it again.”
He gave her a strained smile. “Oh, my lady. If only I had your faith.”
They both looked up as Pembroke approached, leading a youth in a dusty traveling cloak.
“A message for you, my lord,” the butler announced.
The young man stepped forward and handed Quenton a scroll. He unrolled it, then turned to the butler. “Tell Mistress Thornton to see that the lad has something to eat. And send word to have my horse saddled at once.”
“Aye, my lord.”
Quenton caught Olivia’s hand. “Forgive me. I must leave for the village.”
A short time later she heard the sound of hoofbeats as Quenton took off at a gallop.
She sat in the sun, listening to the sounds of silence settling over Blackthorne. With the guests gone, and the lord of the manor away, the servants would sneak off for a well-earned rest. Even Cook, Mistress Thornton and Pembroke would steal away to their rooms to bask in the glow of a job well done.
“You’re certain these figures are correct?” In a small room of the village pub, Quenton peered over the shoulder of the white-haired solicitor from his London office.
“Aye, my lord. I personally went over every column in these ledgers myself. I’ll stand behind the tally.”
“You realize what this proves?”
The old man nodded. His look was grave; his tone somber. “We should have uncovered these errors sooner. But the thief was very good. You realize our firm will make good on these. It is our solemn duty to earn and to keep the trust of our good citizens. As for the scoundrel who did this, he will be found and made to pay.”
“Aye. He’ll pay.” Quenton shook his hand and made his way to the stable where he had left his horse.
The thought of his comfortable bed awaiting him at Blackthorne brought a twinge. He would sleep soon, after he dispatched a report to the king. Charles would be livid when he heard this news.
He barely flicked a glance at the young man pouring water from a bucket.
“Saddle my horse, lad. There’s an extra coin if you can do it in the blink of an eye.”
“Aye, my lord.”
Quenton turned away and carefully folded the report into a leather pouch, which he shoved inside his cloak. A footstep alerted him to the return of the stable lad. As he turned he caught sight of the upraised hand holding the club.
The lack of sleep slowed his reflexes. He ducked to stave off the blow, and the club grazed his shoulder. He fell, rolled and brought both feet up, catching his attacker off guard, bringing him to his knees. As they rolled around, exchanging blows, a second man appeared and joined in the fray, brandishing a knife.
“Hold ‘im still, ye fool, and I’ll finish ’im.”
Quenton brought his fist to the man’s face and had the satisfaction of hearing bone crunch and a cry of rage before the man dropped at his feet. Before Quenton could turn to fight the second man, he felt a blow between his shoulders. A sticky warmth spurted down his back, followed by searing, white-hot pain. His knees buckled. His legs could no longer hold his weight and he sagged to the ground. While he lay, struggling for breath, he felt a hand reach inside his cloak and rip away the pouch, and heard a familiar voice that seemed to come from very far away.
“Make certain he’s dead.”
“We’re not staying around to find out. If ‘e isn’t dead now, ’e soon will be. I stuck my knife clear to the hilt. Come on. We’ve done our job. Give us our money.”
“Take it and go. If I ever see your faces in Cornwall or London, you’re dead men.”
“Don’t worry about us, yer lordship. We don’t...” The voice was abruptly cut off. There was a low moan, and the sound of something heavy falling to the ground.
As Quenton drifted into unconsciousness, he heard a jittery laughter. And the sound of a horse’s hooves setting off at a furious pace. And then there was only blackness.
Olivia and Liat had passed several pleasant hours in pursuit of butterflies in the garden. When at last they sank down onto the grass, Liat stifled a yawn.
Olivia gave him a gentle smile. “I think it’s time for a nap.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He caught her hand and walked beside her toward the door. “Do you think Lord Stamford will be back by the time I wake up?”
“I certainly hope so.” Seeing his little frown she was quick to add, “Don’t fret, Liat. He’ll be along soon.”
“Aye.” He gave her his best smile.
Upstairs Olivia slipped off Liat’s kid boots and helped him climb between the covers.
“Do you think Lord Stamford will teach me to play cards tonight after we sup?”
“I think there’s a good chance of it. And when Bennett is feeling better, maybe he’ll join you.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Sleep now. And I’ll be right back after I look in on Bennett.”
With Thor by her side she made her way down the hall. The quiet of the house was a soothing balm after the constant disorder of the past days. Olivia paused outside Bennett’s door and knocked, then entered. He was seated at the window, staring mournfully at the cliffs.
“How are you feeling, Bennett?”
When he didn’t bother to glance her way, she looked to Minerva, who shook her head sadly.
Crossing the room, Olivia paused beside him and gently touched a hand to his shoulder. “If you must sit here, why not have Minerva move you to another window, where you could have a view of the gardens? Wouldn’t that be more soothing than staring at the cliffs?”
She felt him shiver.
She dropped to her knees and caught his hand in both of hers. “Oh, Bennett. What is it? What is it that you can’t tell us?”
His eyes were so bleak, so filled with pain, she had to look away. Standing, she pressed a kiss to his cheek.
“I’ll be in my chambers if you need me.”
Outside the room she glanced around, surprised that Thor had disappeared. Cook would skin him alive if he prowled her kitchen in search of bones. As she moved along the hallway she suddenly had the prickly sensation that she was being watched. She turned, feeling at once foolish and uneasy. Why should she feel this way now, when the danger had passed? There was no one around. No footsteps sounded in the hall, except her own.
Berating herself for her nervousness, she let herself into her room. There was a chill in the air and she noted that the fire had been allowed to burn to embers. The servants had a right to be just a little neglectful after all they’d been through. She tossed a log on the hearth and watched as flames began to lick along the bark.
Still chilled, she walked to her sleeping chamber to retrieve her shawl. As she stepped through the doorway she saw a rolled parchment in the middle of her bed.
Puzzled, she unrolled it and read the words:
I told you, little cousin, that one day you would pay. Your payment is due. You will sign this document immediately and bring it to the cliffs. Come alone. If you do not obey me, Liat’s death will be on your hands.
“Liat. Oh, sweet heaven.” With a cry she rushed to his room. The bed was empty, the bed linens in disarray.
On the floor, beside the bed, were several drops of blood.
With her heart in her throat she picked up a quill and signed the document, noting idly that it had been dated on the day of her parents’ death. It mattered not. Nothing mattered except Liat.
There was no one who could help her. The king’s soldiers were far away by now. Quenton was gone. Even the servants had all disappeared.
Fear rose like bile in her throat as she raced down the stairs and started at a run across the moors, praying desperately that she wasn’t too late.
Quenton wiped a bloody hand across his eyes to clear his vision. The two strangers who had attacked him lay dead. He had recognized the voice of the man who had killed them. He wasn’t surprised that Wyatt Lindsey would want no witnesses left alive.
He dragged himself to his knees and shook his head to clear it. The world seemed to spin in dizzying circles and he thought for a moment he would be sick.
Most of his anger and frustration were directed at himself. He should have anticipated this. Should have seen it coming. But he’d been so intent upon finding the proof of Wyatt’s guilt, he’d been blind to the danger. And now he’d left all the others at the mercy of this madman.
Olivia. Dear heaven! She was the one most in peril.
He clamped his jaw against the pain and pulled himself to his feet, holding firmly to the railing of the stall. He didn’t know how he hauled himself into the saddle, but he managed it and, leaning low over his horse’s head, he nudged him into a trot.
Though the pain was almost more than he could bear, one thing kept him going. The thought of Olivia at the hands of that vicious madman, Wyatt Lindsey.
Bennett sat hunched in his chair, his gaze on the distant cliffs. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the woman running, the wind tearing at her clothes and hair. For a moment the pain of remembering was so intense, he was forced to close his eyes. It was happening again. The demons were back, haunting him, tormenting him. But...he opened his eyes. He wasn’t asleep. Nay. He was awake. Still the nightmare was with him. There she was. Skirts billowing. Long hair flaying.
Hair. That was what was wrong. Her hair wasn’t the color of buttercups. That wasn’t Antonia, racing toward the cliffs, racing toward certain death.
This was even worse than a nightmare. Much worse. It was real. God in heaven, it was happening again. And this time to Olivia.
In a panic he glanced around for Minerva. What had she said to him? What had she whispered before she’d left the room? He hadn’t been listening. As always, though he loved her desperately, he’d shut her out, as he’d shut everyone out. Something about going below stairs to fetch tea and biscuits. Aye, that was it. She was gone. And he was alone. All alone. And helpless to stop Olivia from the same horrible death that Antonia had faced.
In frustration he slammed a hand against the hated chair. And felt it inch forward. His head jerked up. Slamming his hand again, the chair moved again. And again and again. Slowly, inch by painful inch, he managed to get the wheeled chair across the room, down the hall.
At the top of the stairs he opened his mouth, desperate to shout a warning. But no words came out. He stared down at the wide, polished staircase and wondered how many bones he would break before he reached the bottom. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now except alerting someone, anyone, to what was about to happen.
Gritting his teeth against the pain he knew was to come, he launched himself out of the chair and flung himself desperately down the stairs.
Olivia could see them. Even with the wind whipping her hair around her face, she could see, high on the cliffs, Wyatt, holding tightly to little Liat’s hand.
When she was close enough to see more clearly, she realized that Liat’s eyes were wide and terrified. And Wyatt was laughing.
Above the roar of surf and wind he shouted, “Did you sign?”
“Aye.” She held up the document, and the wind nearly snatched it out of her hands.
“Be very careful, cousin. If you should lose it, I might have to let go of the boy, and the wind would surely snatch him over the cliffs before I could save him.”
“Don’t...” She could barely get the words out over the fear that clogged her throat. “Please. Don’t hurt him any more than you already have.”
He arched a brow. “What does that mean?”
“Please. I saw the blood....”
“The little fool bit me.”
She felt an inordinate sense of pride at Liat’s courage.
“Come closer.” Wyatt beckoned, and she took several tentative steps along the cliffs. The rocks were slick underfoot, coated with spray from the sea.
“I saw you leave with your family, Wyatt. Why did you come back?”
His smile was chilling. “I told you. We have some unfinished business, cousin. When I discovered your letter, asking for an accounting of your estate, I realized I had badly underestimated you.”
“My letter?” She looked thunderstruck. “But I never sent it. How could you know...?”
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