The Forgiven Duke Part 5

Svein rubbed his chin, eyes gazing off in thought. "I remember your parents and the rumors after they disappeared. I suppose it's possible there might be such a clue." He turned to Alex. "It won't be a pleasant trip this time of year."

"That's what I've been telling her, but you have yet to see her stubborn side," John murmured.

"We'll need horses. There are no roads for part of the journey. Do you ride well, Lady Featherstone?"

"Yes." She quickly exaggerated her horsemanship. "Please, call me Alex and this is John. He is an excellent rider." She had no idea if that was true or not, but no need to give the man reasons to turn them down.

John frowned at her. "I'm a fair hand at riding. Actually, I've heard the Icelandic horses are something to see. I admit to be looking forward to seeing them for myself."

Svein stood back a little and surveyed the two of them, one hand back on his chin, the other arm across his stomach. "I have orders to fill before I could leave. We can purchase you a couple of horses from a nearby farmstead. Icelandic horses are the best in the world. I think you'll like them." He turned his eyes to John. "You're funding the expedition?"

"I am." Alex cut in. "And I will pay you well." She held his gaze firm as he still seemed to be deciding.

"Very well. We will leave in three days. Meet me here in the morning. I will have the horses and our supplies ready."

Alex reached beneath the fur and took out a bag from her inner pocket. She poured out some coins into her hand and laid them on the table. "Will that be enough?"

Svein quirked a brow. "Not even close."

Alex felt her face flush and looked at John. He motioned for the bag, shook out several more coins, and pushed them over. "That should be more than sufficient."

Svein shrugged. "I will do my best with it." And then he winked at Alex.

After they left, Alex laughed. "What a colorful character he was. Do you think we can trust him?"

John squeezed her hand. "We've little choice, love. He seems harmless enough, but I will watch out for you."

They had slowed as they neared the inn. John stopped and then pulled her close to the shop beside it, out of the wind, and wrapped his arms around her. He leaned down and murmured into her ear, "The waiting is killing me. When can we get married?"

Alex thought of the different meanings behind his words. She liked his kisses, but she wasn't at all sure she was ready for the wedding night. What if she became pregnant? She knew enough about how babies were made from working with her sheep. What would happen to her search if that happened? And was she even close to ready to be a mother? She still wanted her mother's notice. There was so much at stake.

"I know. It is not the best of circ.u.mstances and I . . . John, I appreciate your patience, but I don't want to rush if we don't have to. No one has commented that we are traveling together. Perhaps it is not so frowned upon here in Iceland."

"I hope you are not marrying me for my escort." John's voice was low and serious, causing a lodge of dread in her throat.

"Of course not!" But she couldn't look him in the eyes when she said it.

He held her a little away from him and gave her a searching look. "Alexandria, do you care for me?"

"Yes! Of course I do. It's just that it all happened so suddenly. I need some time to accustom myself to the idea. And you know my foremost desire, my most important ambition, is to find my parents. I can't let anything come before that."

"I know, and I want that too. For all of us." He took her back into his arms and held her tight against the wind.

She thought of how he would feel if she someday broke it off. Dear G.o.d, am I just using him as a means to an end?

When did I become a woman like that?

She thought of the duke and a deep longing to hear from him filled her. What if, before they left for the Black Castles, she wrote him a letter? Might he get it? If he wasn't coming after her, then he would be back in London at his town house, wouldn't he? She had his address memorized. She looked at John and her cheeks burned. She would have to smuggle it out. Perhaps Ana would help her. She was so kind and would do anything for Alexandria after her help in finding Tomas.

Yes, that is what she would do.

She would put her confused emotions in a letter and let her guardian advise her. It was the right thing to do.

Chapter Eight.

The prince regent was with two of his cabinet ministers and the lord chancellor when Gabriel arrived at St. James Palace. He entered the royal palace to find a servant waiting for him, and had been led through the Guard Chamber-a grand room with tall, narrow windows; twenty-foot ceilings; and a ten-foot-tall fireplace that a man could stand inside. There was an intricate design of swords fanned out across the wall like a work of art and every kind of weapon imaginable hanging on every inch of the other walls. An impressive display of England's power.

Gabriel was then taken to a magnificent drawing room done floor to ceiling in white plaster work with gold ornamentation. The furniture and rugs were also white and gold. Thousands of candles from two ma.s.sive chandeliers lit up the golden hues so the whole room seemed to glitter. Gabriel noted all of this in an instant as the servant bowed and left him at the door. He hesitated and then pulled himself up with a determined air and walked over to the group of men.

The regent caught sight of him and waved him over. "St. Easton!" he clearly stated, probably in a booming voice.

The other men turned and bowed but scurried away when the regent spoke quick words to them. Gabriel tried to maintain an air of confidence that he knew what was going on when really he felt like a drowning man, unable to find his moorings. G.o.d, help me find Your way through this madness. I've thrown my lot in with a reprobate.

After the other men left, the regent gave him a thoughtful stare and then waved Gabriel to follow his ponderous form from the room.

They weaved their way through the palace's maze of wings, dark pa.s.sages, backstairs, and suites. A person could get lost for days and had, or so the stories went. Finally, they came to the long and deep room full of books-the queen's library.

Sunlight streamed in from tall, arched windows on one side of the cavernous room, lighting the rows of bookcases overflowing with books. The walls held more bookcases, connected by arches near the ornate molding of the ceiling with busts of famed personages perched on the highest point of each arch. The queen's desk, looking rather small in such a huge room, sat in the middle, a neat piece of furniture that was more practical than ornate.

The regent led Gabriel all the way to the back of the room where shadows overtook the corners. He pulled forth a key and opened a small cabinet. Inside were drawers, small compartments, and a safe. With another key he unlocked the safe, pulled something out, turned, and handed it to Gabriel. He had not said a single word since his greeting. Now, he looked into Gabriel's eyes with a small smile.

King George, the prince's father, was deaf, Gabriel realized. The regent knew how to communicate without many words. Gabriel felt a new respect for the man grasp hold of him.

The regent motioned with one arm to a chair and a desk holding ink and pen. On the desk was a note that read, I looked at it and can't make any sense of it. See what you can find out. I will come back in an hour.

Gabriel bowed and watched him go. If the regent didn't come back, Gabriel wasn't entirely certain he could find his way back to the outdoors. With a deep breath, he seated himself and opened the faded black leather cover of the ma.n.u.script.

Mathematical calculations, advanced calculus, a new math he'd seen a little of, and mechanical drawings leapt out from the page. He tried to make sense of it for a moment, shook his head, his brows drawn together in concentration, and then turned the page. Page after page, over every inch of the pages, squeezed together in corners and boxes, some sideways, some diagonal, running off the page and then, with the slashing lines of a brilliant mind trying to get it on paper as fast as he imagined it, they continued onto the next page.

Gabriel's brain whirled with images, impossible images that the pages evoked; astonishment and a pooling dread caused a cold sweat to break out across his body.

Oh, G.o.d, what is this?

He swallowed back the knot in his throat and started over, more slowly and carefully. There were sixteen pages of new thought, sixteen pages of plans for etchings, as on gla.s.s or crystal. There, in one corner was a drawing of crystals with the words Icelandic Crystal scribbled underneath.

Iceland. The crystal mines. He remembered it now. The only kind of crystal in the world that was completely transparent with double refraction capabilities. Dutch mathematician and physicist Christiaan Huygens and even Sir Isaac Newton had discovered uses for it, optical instruments and such, when this man, Augusto de Carrara, was alive. That had to be the connection with Iceland.

And Alexandria was there-heading right for whatever this proved to be.

Gabriel closed his eyes and pressed his fingers against his forehead, then looked back at the last page, imagining the thing being built, but it abruptly ended. It was only half the plans, if even that. But even with this much . . . it looked fantastical, futuristic, impossible. A thought that had never been thought before stared at him from the pages, making his mind open to all the possibilities of its design.

His mind strained, gaining a slight foothold of this new thought, and then he felt it slide away. But it was there, and it asked a question he didn't think mankind had ever asked before.

What if light could be used as power?

And then it struck him. Not just power-the ultimate power. What if this could be used as a weapon, the most powerful weapon in the world?

He rose and paced to the corner of the library, his stomach sick. This was so much bigger than anything he'd imagined. Dear G.o.d, Alexandria! The vision of her blithely traipsing about Iceland with that young fop-they would eat her alive! They would do anything to have the other half of this knowledge. Kings, powerful leaders . . . who knew how many knew of this and wanted the rest of these plans?

Could the Featherstones indeed still be alive? Did they know what they were searching for? The impact it could have on the world? Of course, the regent could have invented any number of stories about the ma.n.u.script, because only a person educated in the latest mathematics and science could begin to understand these plans. The Featherstones probably had no idea what they were sent to find. But there were others who did. The Spanish and possibly the French.

The thought of Spaniards after Alexandria in Iceland made his hands curl into fists. He had to get back there. He had to get her home.

With a shuddering breath, he leaned against the bookshelf at the back of the library. A hollow vibration touched his back. He stood away and then leaned back against it again. It felt different when his shoulder pressed against it, lighter and almost as if it was resonating. He stood upright and knocked his fist against it, not hearing it, but feeling . . . something strange about it. Without his hearing, touch had become keener. Sensing vibration through the air, through furniture, through the floor, had become a quiet language to gauge action by. Something was not right with this wall.

Gabriel backed up and studied the bookshelves lining the walls. They were ten feet tall and filled with books. These shelves were connected to the walls, unlike the other free-standing bookshelves in the room. But when he looked closely enough, he noticed the one in the corner was not connected to the wall. He plucked some books from the shelf and saw a different back than the other shelves. It matched, almost perfectly, but it wasn't the same. It was a false back.

With little, precise movements he was able to scoot the shelf out and away from the wall, books falling to the floor as he did it. He pushed them aside and then pulled the shelf free of the others enough to squeeze behind it. It was dark but he ran his palms up and down the wall, looking, hoping for anything.

Nothing. Only the smooth panels of wood. He was being silly. Augusto's ma.n.u.script had cast a spell on him. He shook his head. He was just backing out when his foot caught on something near the bottom of the wall.

He reached down and ran his fingers along the edge, feeling a protruding lever hidden by the molding near the floor. He pushed it, feeling sudden vibrations as something clicked or sprang open. Gabriel leaned back, awash in astonishment as the panel in the wall moved, revealing a dark s.p.a.ce behind it.

The door was only about five feet tall and four feet wide, but Gabriel stepped nimbly through, a strange foreboding overwhelming him.

It was dark, only a pale dimness from the library where Gabriel stood, and then a deep, cavernous darkness ate up the room. When his eyes adjusted, he saw the shadowy legs of a table. He went over to it and felt along the top. There. A lantern and flint to light it with. He fumbled with the flint, nearly dropping it, his heart pounding in his ears. He struck it once, twice, and then a bursting of flame fired the air. He held the flame to the wick and watched it glow to life.

Gabriel lifted it high and turned toward the room.

Dancing light from the lantern's gla.s.s flickered like yellow diamonds across the walls. Gabriel looked toward the center of the room.

G.o.d help us all.

There it was. What he had just been reading and imagining. It sat in the middle of the floor, like a giant ice sculpture.

The half-completed invention of Augusto de Carrara.

The weapon of the future.

With shaking legs, Gabriel stumbled from the room, rushed from behind the bookcase, and found himself standing face-to-face with the regent.

"What is the meaning of this?" The folds of the regent's face quivered as he thundered the question, fire in his eyes.

Gabriel bowed his head, knowing he had no choice. He didn't have time to consider whether it would be advantageous that the regent saw what was in that room. No, he had to tell him.

Gabriel motioned toward the bookcase. "Your Highness, I beg your indulgence for a moment, but I think I have stumbled upon something very important. If you would follow me?"

The regent scowled but motioned that he go on. Gabriel scooted one end of the bookcase farther away from the wall to allow for the regent's girth and then carried the light ahead of him, illuminating their way. Once inside he held the lantern aloft and nodded toward the center of the room. "Your Majesty, the machine."

The regent gaped, looked at Gabriel in shock, and then looked back at the ma.s.sive structure in the room.

"As you can see, someone has been building the plans in that ma.n.u.script. I believe we are seeing something very dangerous."

The regent shook his head at the ma.s.sive machine, walking toward it and touching it. He turned toward Gabriel and appeared to be shouting, but Gabriel was able to make out the words. "And very valuable. This must be the work of Brooke."

"Yes, I believe he must have hired someone to decode the partial ma.n.u.script I was just studying. Someone who is an expert in mathematics and science. Considering the ma.n.u.script was written decades ago . . . it's astonishing really. Augusto must have been a genius."

"Come." The regent beckoned him back into the library. He motioned toward the desk with pen and ink and sat down at it. He wrote quickly, pa.s.sing the paper to Gabriel.

I owe you a debt, St. Easton. Now that I know the full importance of it, I will include you in the mystery of this ma.n.u.script. I haven't told anyone of our alliance, but I expect utter compliance. Do you agree?

Gabriel looked up at a man he'd always thought rather worthless and countered, "Only if you allow me go back to Iceland and bring Alexandria here to safety."

I've already set that ship in motion, literally. The regent wrote. She should be in London within the month.

"And then?" Gabriel asked.

"And then you will see to her welfare while I see to finding her parents and the missing part of this ma.n.u.script."

Gabriel nodded. Alexandria wouldn't like it. She would chafe at being pulled from her mission. But none of that mattered anymore. It was too dangerous. And if the regent's soldiers reached her soon, they would demand she come straight to London, which might keep her from marrying John. It would be better if the command came from the regent. That way, if she thought herself in love with John, she couldn't blame Gabriel.

He had to force her to remain with him in London.

It was the only way to keep her safe.

Chapter Nine.

Alex breathed in the cool afternoon air and closed her eyes, amazed by her horse's easy gait. It was so smooth it felt as if they were sailing across the uneven ground. St.u.r.dy and strong, the Icelandic horses were the prettiest animals she had ever seen. Baen, as Svein called her horse, and the entire Icelandic breed had two additional gaits no other horses in the world had. It was heavenly compared to that tall beast Missy had loaned her back in Carlisle.

"Svein, what is this gait called?"

Svein turned from his stocky, caramel-colored horse and grinned. "The tolt. It is very comfortable over long distances. You like it, yes?"

"Yes, very comfortable. She's such a pretty horse too." Her horse was dark cream with a white mane and gentle brown eyes.

"I picked her for you because she is so pretty. And for her name," Svein bellowed back to her.

"Her name? Baen?"

"It means 'prayer,' and I think you have many prayers inside you."

Alex shot John a smiling glance and he rolled his eyes. "It's perfect, Svein. Thank you," she stated, thinking that her continual communication with G.o.d, both thanksgiving and pleading, was the rock of her foundation that gave her the courage for this journey. How anyone traveled through life without that she could hardly fathom. She thought about that over the next hours as they climbed hills and picked their way across hardscrabble valleys.

She looked over at John, his bright head pressing into the constant wind, looking like a foreign prince from some long-ago day in his striped tail-cap and dark furs. His horse was called Blakkur, a dark brown horse with a black mane and a white star between his eyes. They both fit perfectly her imaginings that they were exotic people in a strange country on a mission of great danger. It wasn't far from the truth, she supposed, shivering with excitement. She'd never felt so alive.

They'd been on the road from Reykjavik for a couple of days. The road had ended hours ago and now they traveled over rough, patchy ground, pa.s.sing the occasional turf farm, roaming sheep, and hamlets dotted with cottages made from wood and peat. There weren't many trees in this land. The wind roamed freely over the rocky soil and blew strong and constant, making her nose red and achy, but she wasn't complaining. It felt as if she'd been dropped on a distant planet where the earth was dry orange and brown, with tufts of snow-covered gra.s.s. The loose dirt crunched under the mare's feet, and Alex felt a rumbling beneath the surface, like any moment the rolling unease underneath them would explode and crack, pulling them beneath the surface of the crust. So strange-alien and exciting somehow.