The Forgiven Duke Part 4

A dull roaring had begun in his ears, but it was manageable and brought a ray of hope. The last time his ears had changed, he'd regained some of his hearing. The fact that bouts of vertigo actually helped his ability to hear didn't make much sense compared to what the doctors had come up with, but just the possibility that he might someday discover a cure and even have a semblance of his hearing back made his throat ache with longing for it.

The next day Gabriel was able to shuffle onto the deck for some fresh air. He stood blinking into the cloudless gray sky, concentrating on breathing deeply. The captain came up beside him and squinted to look up at him. "London tomorrow," he said twice, overly enunciating the words. Gabriel just nodded and wished he would go away.

While he was eager to get off this floating nightmare he was not eager to see the regent. Would they let him freshen up beforehand? He'd lost weight, a stone or two, and hadn't had a shave since they'd boarded. Nor a bath. After all the sickness and cold sweats, well, he was sure he hadn't smelled worse in his life. And his clothes. They hadn't exactly let him pack a bag before throwing him aboard. Would they let him send for his valet and fresh clothing? What he really needed was Meade.

Thinking of Meade made him glare at the captain. Would Meade discover what had happened to him? He knew his secretary well enough to know that he would turn over every stone trying. But when would he be able to board a ship to London? It might take weeks before he sorted it all out. "I would like to be taken to my town house to prepare for my visit with the regent. Can you at least give me that?"

The captain looked him up and down, the decision wavering in his eyes. He gave a slow nod, then turned and marched away. Clever man. The captain knew if the regent pardoned him, a show of kindness after this ill treatment might not go unnoticed. He was hedging his bets and it was something Gabriel planned to use to his advantage.

FIVE DAYS HE'D BEEN HOME.

Five precious days of resting, recuperating, and reconnaissance gathering. It appeared the captain hadn't done him any favors after all. The news hadn't reached them yet in Dublin, but Queen Charlotte was dead. London was a black shroud of mourning-windows darkened, the people draped in black. She had died November 17, the year of our Lord 1818, at seventy-four years old in residence at one of her favorite places on earth: Kew Palace with its lovely gardens the queen had tended herself over the years.

The old king was in deep mourning-blind, deaf, lame, and insane (at least that was the word), and fading away. No one really knew how much the king even understood about what had happened. The prince regent had been at his mother's side and, to Gabriel's knowledge, didn't have any idea as to the missing ma.n.u.script and all that was going on with Alexandria.

Gabriel paced back and forth across the rug in his elegant drawing room and pondered the possibilities. The queen's death would certainly delay any conversation he would have with the prince regent. As sad as the queen's death was, it might just have saved his neck.

His butler, Hanson, appeared at the entry to the drawing room. He strode forward, leaned over the desk, and wrote on the speaking book.

Gabriel walked over to read it. "You've a guest, Your Grace. The prince regent himself." His butler looked half frightened to death.

"Well, don't keep him waiting in the hall!" Gabriel barked. "I'll need you to stay and write down what he says if he'll abide it."

The butler hurried away, coattails flapping. How he wished for Meade's steady presence. He had looked into that too since being home and discovered that his stalwart secretary was well on his way aboard a ship he'd hired, a little schooner named Mary-Ann, probably some fisherman's long love. It wouldn't be a comfortable ride aboard such a small craft, but Gabriel could just picture Meade enduring it with those gritted teeth and that calm-eyed surety he had when it came to getting a job done. Especially a job concerning himself or Alexandria. Gabriel expelled a breath with a smile. Meade would do just about anything for Alexandria Featherstone.

The prince regent walked into the room, chin up and glaring down his nose at Gabriel.

Gabriel swept into a low bow. "Your Highness, I must first tell you that I am having an affliction with my ears and cannot hear well. My butler will have to write down what you say in a speaking book so we may converse."

Gabriel turned to the butler. "See that His Majesty has anything he needs before we begin." He turned back to the regent, who appeared deep in consideration of this turn of events. "My deepest condolences on your blessed mother, the queen."

The regent started to say something and then stopped, appearing confused. He nodded instead and sat on the edge of one gilt-edged crimson chair. It looked to creak under his ponderous weight. Gabriel threw out his tailcoat and seated himself across from the man, wary and watching. As soon as the regent seemed settled and the butler had the speaking book, seated in the chair next to Gabriel, they began.

The regent started on a long and animated discourse about something that his butler was obviously having a hard time keeping up with.

Oh, please G.o.d, help me. This is going to go badly indeed. Gabriel pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose while watching a bead of sweat trickle down Hanson's temple. He finally pa.s.sed the speaking book over and Gabriel tried to read through the scratching lines.

He says thank you for condolences, et cetera, et cetera. He mentioned something about the Sloane ma.n.u.script and your guardianship, et cetera, et cetera. He's here to check up on it and discover what's what. More, but I didn't catch it.

There was no reason under heaven that Gabriel would tell the regent that his butler had missed most of what his esteemed Royal Highness had said. Time to improvise.

"Your Highness, might I tell you a story? It's about this mysterious ma.n.u.script."

Like a child come to life, he brightened and nodded.

Gabriel told him of the last six months, trying for his best tone of voice, though he couldn't know how he sounded, but he tried to let the emotion of the story color his voice as he explained about Alexandria. He told it from her point of view and from a child needing her parents as much as a government needing a ma.n.u.script. He told of Hans Sloane's collection and the hidden mystery that men like the kings of Spain and France had reason to believe could be valuable to their country.

Then Gabriel glossed over his part, how the regent had appointed him guardian and he was doing his best to complete the task, but Alexandria, G.o.d bless her, just wanted her parents found. He painted her more a pretty child than a woman. He painted her like him, the regent. Impetuous, a little reckless maybe but so full of heart, someone who needed guidance and help . . . support.

"So you see, Your Majesty, while it is of the utmost importance that we find this ma.n.u.script before Spain and France do, don't you think we should also help Alexandria find her parents, dead or alive, so she can put this to rest and go on with her life?"

The regent sat back, the heavy folds of his boyish face rapt and considering.

Gabriel pounced on the moment. "If I could find out what her parents are really looking for. If we could"-Gabriel lifted an elegant hand and moved it to encompa.s.s the regent-"we could help Alexandria find her parents if, G.o.d willing, they are still alive. You would do anything to bring your dear mother back, would you not? Think of it, Highness. Alexandria is like that, doing anything to bring both her precious parents home-safe and alive. And," Gabriel nodded sideways, "we might find what this thing is that means so much to Spain. It would be good to know, don't you think?"

The regent's face hardened from compa.s.sion for Alexandria to determined ambition. "Yes, I think so." He rose, looking at the butler and giving quick instructions.

Gabriel hoped Hanson got it all.

When the regent left, Gabriel read the note.

Meet him at St. James Palace tomorrow at noon. He will show you the part of the ma.n.u.script they have.

Gabriel took a deep, shaky breath. He was walking on water now. There would be no turning back from this day's work, and if things didn't go well, if this alignment with the regent turned sour on him, well. . . . He put his fingers inside his cravat and pulled it away from his neck.

Chapter Seven.

The story of Tomas's rescue spread through Reykjavik like the flow of lava from one of their many volcanoes. An outpouring of love and support for the Magnusson family and admiration for the smart, pretty Lady Featherstone swept through the inn with days of visiting and celebration. Tomas's leg was broken, but the doctor said it was a clean break that would heal and not the crushed bone that would make him lame for the rest of his life.

All rejoiced at this news, especially Tomas. He lay propped up by various pillows on the cushioned bench in the main room, receiving his visitors and their gifts of toys and sweets like a young prince. He had been so afraid, pale and weak after two days without nourishment, but now the color was back in his cheeks. His mother hovered, tears in her eyes much of the time, making certain her son had anything he could think to ask for.

As for Alex, she was treated like a heroine, a personage of awe, an angel some even called her. As the townsfolk visited with the Magnussons, they spent a few moments ogling and thanking the young sleuth from England and her handsome Irish fiance.

Even now the room had two families visiting. Alex looked down at the pretty little girl who had come in with her parents to visit Tomas and saw her staring wide-eyed in wonderment. Alex smiled encouragingly at her. The girl took a couple of skipping steps nearer and smiled back.

"What's your name?" Alex asked.

"Asa." She smiled up at Alex, revealing two missing front teeth. "And you're Lady Featherstone. I like your name."

"Thank you, Asa. I like your name as well."

The little girl reached out and took ahold of Alex's hand, swinging it a few times, her face nearly bursting with shy excitement. The girl's mother was talking to Ana and another girl, Asa's older sister, stood beside her, darting glances at Tomas. The mother was wearing what Ana had explained to Alex was a spaafaldur cap, and it still gave Alex a start when she saw it, it seemed so odd.

The woolen cap fit snugly on the woman's head with a flat, white tail of sorts that had been stiffened somehow and came up and over her head toward her face. Her dress was quite beautiful though, black wool with a few horizontal blue stripes on the bottom. The bodice was red wool that had wide, embroidered ribbons crisscrossing from the waist to the neck. Around the neck was a circular ruff that made a pretty frame for the lady's face.

The other women in the room wore similar dresses but less formal hats. Alex liked the tail-cap, a simple woolen cap with a long silk ta.s.sel. Ana had jumped at the chance to knit one for her when she'd admired one aloud, and the man's striped version for John, as one of many gifts of thanks she and her husband seemed determined to honor them with.

"Lady Featherstone, do come and meet Ila Jhannsdttir. She and Phin Jhannson started our library and might have some information for you. They spoke with your parents while they were here," Ana said.

Alex patted Asa on the head and hurried over, nodding in a bow toward Ila. "I should love to ask you a few questions."

They all settled around the kitchen table and Ana poured tea. "It would be my honor, Lady Featherstone," the woman said in a thin voice full of importance and in perfect English. "I am sorry to hear that your parents are missing."

"Thank you. I am determined to find them. When did you see them and what sort of questions did they ask you?"

"They were here many months ago. They came to see me and my husband at our home on one occasion. Very elegant people, your parents." The woman looked around as if to share a great secret. "They wanted to know about a man who came to Iceland a long, long time ago. He is mentioned in the sagas of our people."

"Sagas?"

"The sagas are the stories of our people from the old days when the Vikings settled here. They were written down on calfskin pages and called the Icelandic Sagas. We have carefully preserved them."

"Who was this man they wanted to know about?" Alex held her breath waiting for the answer.

"His name was Augusto de Carrara. He was an Italian inventor and scientist who visited our island."

Alex inhaled. The same man she'd heard about in Ireland. "Did you find him in the sagas?"

"Yes, his name is in one of the books, but alas, the only thing we found was a mention of him at a feast in the sixteenth century. He attended a celebration at a farmstead in the southeast part of Iceland."

"What were they celebrating?"

Ila shook her head and waved a hand as if that were unimportant. "Something about a sunstone. The sagas mention a stone that could tell the direction of the sun to help the Vikings navigate their ships. They were very excited about it, but of course today we have more advanced tools for navigation."

Alex paused in thought. Did Augusto come to Iceland for this sunstone? "Nothing else? That seems strange. A foreigner visiting here would have been curious back then, wouldn't he?"

"Not really. Iceland may seem remote, but the Europeans have been visiting since the Vikings settled here. Your parents said they were looking for a book of his, I believe, not one of our sagas. They seemed sure he was here, and the saga confirmed that indeed he was, but they wanted another book."

The missing ma.n.u.script. That's what they wanted. Alex frowned. "Did my parents ask about anything else?"

"Just one other thing. It was rather humorous." Her smile was thin and her eyes held a tinge of condescension.

"What's that?"

"They asked about the Black Castles of Iceland."

"Yes, of course. In Ireland an expert of antiquities told me that the last known place where the ma.n.u.script my parents were looking for was heard to be in the Dimmu borgir-the Black Castles of Iceland. They must have gone there. But what was so humorous about it?"

"They thought that the Dimmu borgir was an actual castle or castles, but they aren't." She smirked. "They are huge black pillars, the remains of volcanic lava. They do, however, have a look of castles about them if one has imagination. Some say"-she leaned in, her voice just above a whisper-"it is connected with the infernal regions of the earth and that when Satan was thrown down from heaven, he made it his home: the catacombs of h.e.l.l."

Alex shivered under the woman's steady gaze. "But if there isn't a real castle, then why would the ma.n.u.script be there?"

The woman sat back and shook her head with a look of doom in her eyes. "I don't know the answer to that, Lady Featherstone. After your parents left Reykjavik, we never saw them again."

Alex cast a frightened glance over to John, who had come to the table and joined them. "We have to go and see it; something may have happened to my parents there."

"Yes, but we need not go until Montague has arrived." John gave her a look full of meaning. He wouldn't want to talk about their plans to marry in front of anyone any more than she did, but he hinted at reminders when the occasion called for it.

"But what if they are still there, in trouble or injured? What if they've fallen in a creva.s.se or those boiling mud pits we've heard of? We can't wait." Her voice rose in worry.

"Alex, they would have been here nearly a year ago, right? If something like that happened to them"-he shook his head-"they would be long . . . gone."

"We don't know that! I won't give up that easily. John, you knew I would have to go there when you agreed to accompany me." She turned away from the staring women with a sharp-eyed glance toward John, eyebrows pulled together in a frown.

John sighed and looked at Ila. "Is the route to these Black Castles dangerous?"

"It could be. Any number of accidents can occur. You should be careful of the mud pits. They can suck a person in and boil him alive."

"Oh, ya." Ana's eyes grew round. "Take great care when traveling in Iceland. I've heard of more than one poor soul lost and never found again." The memory of how close they had come with Tomas made them all pause, Ana's eyes filling with tears. "Do be careful, Lady Alex." She patted Alex's arm.

"All the more reason to wait for Montague." John frowned.

"No." Alex stood. "Even if he does heal quickly, it could be weeks before he can book pa.s.sage here. We have to go. We'll hire a guide to help us. Ana, do you know of anyone who would take us there? I have money. I will pay him well."

Ila and Ana exchanged glances. "Svein," they said together.

"The Black Castles are in the northeast. Svein has family there and knows the way," Ana explained.

"Excellent." Alex smiled. "Where can we find him?"

"Oh, he's only three doors down from here. He is the town's blacksmith. A strong, single man." Ana cracked a grin. "All the girls have been vying for his heart for years."

"Excellent," John muttered.

The women laughed but Alex quickly cut the laughter off when she saw John's scowl. He always seemed touchy when she spoke about another man. "Let's go and see him, shall we?" She reached out and tugged John toward her. He pulled her close to his side with a smitten look.

A dreamy sigh came from Ana from the other side of the table. "Oh, to be young and in love again."

Ila snorted, which for some reason made John laugh, and then they were all laughing about it.

They put on their heavy wraps, John helping Alex into her new fur coat, and stepped out into the long rays of twilight. Iceland was near the lands of the Arctic Circle where the winter days were short and the nights were long. In the summer months they might get twenty hours of sunlight, but it was approaching December and already getting dark by dinnertime. That would make their journey more challenging for certain.

The cold wind blew at them once they stepped away from the building. John must have been thinking the same thing as he said, "It's going to be a tough journey, Alex. Darkness comes so early and the weather . . . more snow as we travel north, I would think."

Alex reached for his hand and squeezed it as they walked down the street toward the blacksmith's sign. "It was around this time of year when my parents were here. The weather didn't stop them."

John leaned over and kissed the top of her head with a chuckle. "Yes, I know. I didn't think that would dissuade you. I only felt the need to point it out."

They reached the door, finding the top half open. Alex peeked inside and realized why. A fire roared from the stone forge in the center of the room. Tools lay strewn everywhere, and a shirtless man, with his back to them, pounded on a long, black rod with heavy whacks of his hammer.

John leaned around Alex and pounded on the bottom half of the door. "Sir, might we have a word with you?" He shouted to be heard over the ringing metal.

The man turned around, wearing an ap.r.o.n that covered his large chest. He had long, blondish-brown hair, the same color mustache, and a small beard that covered his chin. "You must be the Irishman and the English lady I've heard tales of." He bowed, extending the hand holding the iron poker out to one side, the other hand crossed his stomach with a graceful flair. "Please, come in."

He directed them to sit at a scarred worktable while pulling on a long, white shirt with ruffles on the sleeves and down the deep V collar. All of his movements had an elegant grace to them, as if he were brandishing a sword and certain of victory, Alex noted with a curious smile.

"To what do I owe this honor?" He poured tea into mismatched cups and pa.s.sed them over without inquiring if they would even like any.

Alex got straight to the point. "We have need to travel to Dimmu borgir, the Black Castles, and Ana said you might be willing to take us since you have family up there and know the route."

"Dimmu borgir. There is nothing there but the lava rocks. What need have you of those?"

"I am looking for clues to help me find my parents, Lord and Lady Featherstone. They were here about a year ago, and I believe they went to Dimmu borgir. I'm not sure what I might find, but it's the last clue I have. I must find out if there is anything there connected to my parents or the ma.n.u.script they were searching for."