The Forgiven Duke Part 11

A m.u.f.fled word of exclamation came from John.

All around them the walls sparkled and flashed as the flickering light made the crystal veins come to life. Against the dark, wet cave walls, veins of crystal weaved like roots of a plant, some thick and some thin, twisting and twining together and running the length and breadth of the s.p.a.ce around them and up and over their heads. In the middle of the cave lie a dark pool, silent, still and deadly with its thick muddy bottom. They clung to the narrow path that hugged the wall, looking up and around, avoiding that pool with every step.

"It's so beautiful."

"Many have thought so," Valdi said to Alex with a note of pride in his voice. "It is mined with small pickaxes and chisels that take much concentration and time. This crystal comes off in cleavages, lines so straight and pure that when you find them, it is easy to separate. We take the crystal out in blocks, like ice, that way."

"I wonder what Augusto wanted it for?" Alex asked aloud, not thinking what she was saying.

John gave her a sharp look, but Valdi flashed a glance over at her, eyebrows drawn down over his eyes. "The legend speaks of a machine. A very great invention he was building."

"What sort of machine? Do you know anything else?" All fear fell away in her curiosity.

"No." His tone was harsh. "We should return now."

Alex took a deep breath, knowing she wasn't going to get any more answers from him. She turned rather quickly, too quickly. The rock beneath her foot slipped out from under her. "Ahhh!" She reached for the wall but it was too late. Her arms windmilled as she teetered on the edge of the pool.

"Help!" She reached out into thin air as her other foot slipped. Moments later her back hit the pool with a great splash. Her heart pounded with the flailing of her arms.

"Alex!" John screamed, going down on his stomach on the path and reaching out his hand toward her.

He was too far. Alex's head went under the dark water.

"Don't touch the bottom!" She heard Valdi roar.

All thought left her except the command not to let her feet touch the bottom, not to do everything her instincts wanted her to do-use the bottom of the pool to push herself to the surface.

She kept her knees tucked up and pushed her arms up and down until her head popped up from the surface, treading water with hand circles and the small movements of peddling legs.

Taking a giant breath, she paddled in the smallest s.p.a.ce she could make, her skirts heavy and working against her.

"Grasp this!" Valdi held a long, gnarled stick out to her. She swam toward it, keeping her feet high, and grasped hold with one hand. John joined Valdi as they pulled her toward them. As soon as she was close enough, John reached down for her, clasped her wrist, and dragged her up onto the rock floor.

He held her there, both of them breathing heavy, his arms around her dripping form, his head pressed against her wet head. "Thank G.o.d," he kept saying, over and over. "You silly fool, thank G.o.d."

"I warned you," Valdi barked in a rough voice. "You're as foolish as your parents. Let's go."

With slow and careful movements, Alex stood. She was soaked, cold and dripping . . . afraid, shaking from head to toe, her teeth chattering. "III'm sssorry." So her parents had been here and had asked to see the mine too. But now didn't seem a good time to question Valdi about that.

"Keep hold of her until we get out of this area," Valdi ordered John and gestured with an angry sweep of his arm that they go before him.

John clung to her hand as they crept by Valdi, leading her out of the inner circle where the pool lay and up the steep incline toward the top and outside. Once outside the cold, stiff winds. .h.i.t Alex like a bucket of icy water thrown into her face.

"Hurry to the house." John took her hand again and ran with her toward Valdi's house.

They burst through the door together. Johannes jerked awake, sat up, and rubbed his eyes. He took one look at them and grumbled, "Now what? What has happened?"

"Alexandria fell into the pool. We have to get her out of these wet clothes and warm and dry."

Valdi came up from behind them. His voice shook as he called out, "Ashanti, take her to your room and help her find something to change into that is warm. One of your mother's robes perhaps."

The girl paled, eyes widening, but nodded at her father and waved Alex to follow her.

Her room was small and crowded with furniture. Alex took off her sodden coat and let it drop to the floor where it lay in a wrinkled heap, the fur collar looking like a wet dog. With shaking hands she worked the b.u.t.tons of her dress free and pushed it down to the floor also.

The girl held out a blanket, eyes wide. "You can dry off with this. I will go and fetch my mother's robe."

"My thanks." Alex tilted her head. "Is your mother here?"

The girl shook her head, a gaunt look of grief filling her deep brown eyes. "She died in the mine many months ago . . . Father hasn't moved her things yet."

She died in the mine? No wonder he hadn't wanted to take them there. And the fact that Valdi would allow her to touch her clothing, something they held so sacred, made Alex's eyes p.r.i.c.k with tears. He wasn't a monster; he was a complicated man plagued by the grief of his wife's pa.s.sing. She mustn't let her imagination run away with her so and misjudge people.

"I'm so sorry to hear that," Alex said to Ashanti.

When the girl left, Alex stripped off the rest of her clothing and rubbed life back into her cold skin with the woolen blanket. She was drying her hair and turned away as Ashanti entered with the robe. She felt the soft folds on her shoulders and grasped it, wrapping it around her and tying it with the long ribboned belt. It was a lovely robe of dark blue with a high collar and reaching almost to her ankles. Her hair hung long and wavy down her back as she turned a gentle smile on the girl. "Thank you. I'm feeling better already."

"You look pretty in it."

Alex smiled. "Shall we go in by the fire? I find myself in dire need of something warm to drink."

"I'll bring you a mug of warm goat's milk."

"That sounds perfect."

Alex took her hand and followed the thin frame of the girl back to the sitting room.

"Thank G.o.d. How do you feel?" John rushed to her side as if she were on the brink of death and guided her to a chair by the fire.

"I'll be fine, thank you, John." She looked over at Valdi, who was staring at her in the robe with an ashen face. Sorrow and sympathy filled her chest until it ached. Lord, help me say something gracious and kind, something with Your love in it for him.

"You saved my life. I thank you."

He looked down and frowned at his feet. "I shouldn't have taken you there. I knew better. My wife . . . when your parents were here . . . she took them to the mine and fell into that pool. She didn't know how to swim and they were not able to save her as I saved you today."

Alex inhaled with shock. "You must hate them, my parents. Why would you let me see the mine?"

He shook his head, his eyes full of pain. "It was an accident, a terrible accident, and they were devastated to be the cause. But their mission must have been important and that's why I showed it to you. After the funeral, they purchased some crystal to take with them, paid a great deal for it, but I don't know where they were going. They didn't answer questions, just asked them."

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 sh.o.r.eline going west, the fjords of blue water and sailing ships to the south and the hills and valleys of farmland to the north. They pa.s.sed 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 sh.o.r.es, 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.

Blessed Father, holy G.o.d, 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 G.o.d, 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 G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses 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 ma.n.u.script 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 ma.n.u.script 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."