The Forgiven Duke (A Forgotten Castles Novel) (17 page)

Alex took a long breath and closed her eyes, suddenly bone weary. They must have been horrified by such an accident. And she was at another dead end. Had they left Iceland after buying the crystals? If so, where would they go? It could be anywhere in the world but one place. The one place she longed to be.

Home on Holy Island.

THE NEXT DAY, ALEX AND
John rode along the southern shoreline going west, the fjords of blue water and sailing ships to the south and the hills and valleys of farmland to the north. They passed fishing villages, little hamlets with their churches, markets, and townsfolk’s cottages, mostly thatched-roofed huts in various sizes.

They rode slowly back toward Reykjavik, where Alex would have to decide once and for all if she would marry John Lemon. Montague, unless something dire had happened, would certainly be there waiting for them. She had run out of excuses. She had nearly run out of time, and so she rode at a snail’s pace, saying it was to rest the horses so they wouldn’t have to change them out. She’d grown rather fond of Baen and was loathe to return her to her owner.

Rubbing the soft spot between the mare’s ears, she sighed. A sad weight filled her chest and bowed her shoulders. She’d failed. She didn’t know what to do. She had no idea where her parents might have gone next.

Dear Lord, I was so sure I was the one. The only one who would find them. Can’t You give me some clue?

Nothing but the wind, softer and warmer here on the southern shores, answered her.

“You’ve done your best, Alexandria.” John reached over and clasped her hand, giving it a tight squeeze. “You’ve done everything possible. You can’t blame yourself.”

Alex stared into his blue eyes, blue like the crater pools, like the sea that held this island in its palm. He would make a good husband. So why didn’t she love him?

“I can’t let them go.”

John’s mouth turned down, his eyes sincere in their regret. “You don’t have to.”

“But I do,” Alex said so soft she felt the words more than heard them. “I can’t go forward without letting them go.”

John just squeezed her hand again and together they looked down the road ahead.

HOURS LATER, THEY CAME TO
a lonely looking farmstead and dismounted. It was growing late, the day ending in winter twilight. John tied the horses to a rail and led the way to the door. “Perhaps we can beg a bed for the night.”

“And some food.” Alex patted her stomach. “I’m ravenous.”

“Yes, and some food. Take out some shillings in case.”

Alex dug into her pocket and pulled out the ready coins. John knocked twice and then a third time. “I don’t think anyone is home.”

They backed up and noticed there wasn’t any smoke coming from the fireplace, nor any animals in the pens. The fences were broken down and the place had a dilapidated look about it.

“I wonder if anyone even lives here.” John tried the door. It was not locked and easily swung open.

Cobwebs and dust greeted them, but there was still a table and chairs and a fireplace ready with wood.

They worked together to feed the horses with some old hay and water them with a well that still had a half-broken pump handle. After lighting a fire, they cleaned off the table as best they could and took account of their supplies. They had a loaf of bread and some smoked salmon wrapped in a cloth. Alex had three little potatoes she washed and shoved into the coals. John had a round of goat cheese and a tin of crackers. When it was ready, they spread it out and gazed across the table at each other. “We’ll not starve this night,” John said with a wink.

“No, indeed.” Alex grinned and took a bite of fish.

“I must say, Lady Alex, you are looking fine this evening. Are those new jewels around your neck, or is it your skin that is so luminous?”

Alex hooted a laugh. “Ha, my lord. If your tongue was any glibber, there would be notices out for your capture. Have you broken many hearts with such talent?”

John lifted his brows. “None that can shine a candle on the present company, my lady.” He leaned toward her and traced his fingertips along the side of her jaw. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

His voice was suddenly serious and intent. Alex held her breath, trapped beneath his gentle exploring fingers on her face. She closed her eyes and drifted on the feeling, drifting and floating and . . . seeing another’s face.

The Duke of St. Easton.

Tears struck from beneath the cloak of her closed lids. She saw his raven’s hair, short and close to his head. She saw his startling green eyes, penetrating, looking deep into her through his black demimask at the masquerade ball. She felt his strong hands clasping hers in the dance, moving her body around the crowded ballroom in an arc of grace that made her float, and yet at the same time feel safely moored to something stronger than herself. She felt John’s breath as he leaned closer. She felt John’s lips touch hers and imagined they were his.

She reared back, breathing hard. “I can’t marry you.”

John’s face turned dark and thunderous. “What? Why not?”

“I’m so sorry . . . but I . . . can’t go through with it. I just can’t marry you.”

She rose, knocking over her chair in her haste, turned from the pain in his eyes, and fled into the night.

Chapter Eighteen

B
lessed Father, holy God, I implore You to act on our behalf. I will do anything You want if You will only save her. Even unto my death. I will keep my silence and die if it will protect her. Anything. Please. Save Alexandria from evil, save her from harm in whatever form it comes. And if it be Your will that she marry John . . . ah, even that, all knowing and merciful God, let it be done according to Your will.

Gabriel stood outside the king’s throne room praying while he waited to be called inside for his audience with the king. He balanced on one foot and then the other, trying to ignore the aching and bruised body that spasmed and bled and hardly seemed his anymore. He’d never been so thin and weak and could hardly recognize the broken man he’d become. He prayed he would remain upright for this audience, this test with the king of Spain. King Ferdinand VII had a volatile reputation, and Gabriel could only hope he was having one of his better days.

At a signal from a liveried footman, he was ushered into the ornate throne room. Walls of crimson velvet, gilded frames and furniture, gold everywhere. The ceiling was covered in fresco paintings of gods and goddesses and the sprawling kingdoms of Spain.

Ferdinand sat in one of two thrones on a raised dais, enormous bronze lions on either side of the stage. He watched Gabriel enter with narrowed eyes, toying with the scepter in his hand.

Gabriel came forward and grimaced as he bowed low over his leg. He would not be able to hear the king give him permission to rise so he hurried out the explanation, gaze trained at the carpet. “Your Highness, I must confess to being unable to hear and beg use of a speaking book to converse with you.”

Gabriel peeked up from beneath his thick lashes and saw the man wave him up. Standing made a wave of pain radiate down his back, causing him to suck in a bracing breath, beads of sweat forming on his upper lip. He steadied himself, holding his back straight with little but pure vein-pumping terror and gritted-teeth determination, waiting, ever watchful of the other men in the room while Ferdinand ordered a desk to be brought in and for one of his attendants to be seated next to where Gabriel stood with paper and ink.

The king’s first words were a new kind of shock.
The Duke of St. Easton, indeed. I am shocked by your appearance. Are you always so ill kept?
The king’s brows rose high on his forehead, almost touching the long, brown, curling wig he wore.

Gabriel craned his neck to read the words and then ground his teeth together. “I apologize, Your Majesty. I was not given time to . . . freshen up before our appointment.”

“I shall have to speak to Didacus about that.” Ferdinand flicked a piece of lint from his golden sleeve. “No sense treating our prisoners like animals.” He clasped his hands together around the scepter and leaned forward, staring hard at Gabriel.
They tell me you know something of this manuscript of Augusto de Carrara’s. Is this true?

Gabriel read the last words thrust out to him and then bowed his head in acknowledgment of the fact. “I know of it. I’ve seen the partial manuscript King George has in his possession. To my knowledge, the partial plans have done little good for anyone. No one knows what sort of machine they are meant to create.”

“Precisely. And that is why I must have the original.” He banged the scepter on the floor in a child’s fit of anger. “There is a rumor that treasure hunters have been hired to find it and that they are the only ones who have gotten close. My men tell me they have gotten very close to its discovery. What do you know about that?”

Gabriel took a breath, his heart roaring, the only sound he could hear. “If you are referring to the Featherstones, then yes, I know they were hired to find it, but I have heard no rumors that they did. I only know they are supposedly dead. They have not been heard from in over a year.”

“And you believe this is true? That they are dead?” Ferdinand steepled his fingers and stared at Gabriel over them.

“I have no reason to believe otherwise.” He held his breath, waiting for Alexandria’s name to be brought up.

“But not everyone shares your view, do they? What of their daughter? Their only child and heir.”

“I was given the wardship of Alexandria Featherstone, that is true. More proof that the regent believes her parents are dead.”

“But what of Alexandria? She seems to believe them alive, doesn’t she?”

Gabriel shrugged. “She is young and doesn’t want to believe the truth. She will accept it sooner or later.”

“I have reports that she is talented like her parents, that she is following their trail, hoping to catch up to them.”

Gabriel scoffed, letting the doubt and his disdain of the idea fill his level green eyes. “The imaginings of a child.”

Ferdinand narrowed his eyes. “Or she knows something that we don’t.”

Gabriel’s stomach flipped over. He closed his eyes briefly to focus himself, stretching out internally for God’s presence and wisdom. “That is unlikely since the regent has ordered her back to London under my care. She is to have a season and pick a husband. If England thought she knew something, the regent would let her continue her search, don’t you think?”

“I think you have a smooth tongue, St. Easton. I think you have more at stake than a girl’s fantasies, and I think that will become very useful to me.”

It was as if the floor had dropped out beneath him. Ferdinand had seen into his heart. He somehow knew that the Duke of St. Easton had fallen in love with Alexandria Featherstone. It was time for the letter, the one letter she had sent him from Iceland that hinted of an attachment toward him.

“I will tell you where she was last known to be if you allow me to lead the search and go after her.”

“Impossible. You will tell me where she is regardless. You were on the verge of it last night, so I hear.”

Gabriel ignored the barb, reached into his pocket, and pulled out the letter. “She hasn’t been easy to run down, Your Majesty, as I’m sure Didacus and your men will tell you. But she will come willingly to me. I am the only one she will come to. I am the only one who can find her.” He held out the letter. “Here is the proof.”

At the king’s nod, one of the attendants took the letter and passed it into Ferdinand’s hand. Everyone in the room stood as though statues, waiting while he read it.

Gabriel read it along with him, having memorized every line.

My dearest guardian duke,

I have smuggled out this letter in secret as my now-fiancé, John Lemon, would be devastated to know I am writing to you. When I saw you had come for me on the docks of Dublin’s shore and I was finally able to see your face, I was overcome with feelings I have never felt before. I do not know what you planned to do should you have me within your grasp, but I think because of my lack of faith, both in you and in God, I have made a terrible blunder. When John presented the idea of marriage, I was desperate to continue my journey to find my parents. He is so encouraging and helpful on that account that I confess I leapt at the chance, not due to feelings of everlasting love for him, although I do care for him. Oh, I am not saying this as I wish to! My dear duke, I think I have made a terrible mistake. I desperately need your advice and I miss your letters dreadfully. I confess that I hope you haven’t given up on finding me. I just need more time to find my parents. Please trust me in this.

You can still write to me. Please write to me in Reykjavik.

Yours,

Alexandria

The king’s eyes dipped down to the last line and then hovered there. “Pretty, is she?” Gabriel didn’t have to look at the speaking book to understand that comment. The king flicked the letter back toward the attendant, who brought it back to Gabriel. His fingers closed around it, like a man starving, its sustenance as food to his soul.

“Of course.” There was no sense denying it.

The king chuckled.
“Amor!”
He clapped his hands in an overly dramatic way. “What would the world be without it? And it can be so very useful.” He stared at Gabriel, eyes dark with power. “Very well, St. Easton. You may accompany my men to this place where she has gone. You are to bring her back to me and I will equip her to continue her journey to find her parents.”

“You won’t harm her?” Gabriel asked, lips drawn down and scowling for good measure. He had no intention of bringing her back to Ferdinand, but if he had, he would ask such a question. He would demand her safety.

“Of course not. She is my prize. I shall treat her with every”—he waved a hand in a circular pattern in the air—“dignity.” He smiled a humorless smile.

Like the dignity with which Gabriel had been treated? He clenched his jaw at the thought.

“And where, exactly, did you last see her, St. Easton? You’ve kept us on tenterhooks long enough.”