Dark Before the Rising Sun (56 page)

The night she fled from Merdraco and the beating Miles had given her, she stumbled on the cliff edge. She had thought of ending it, for she knew she could no longer face Miles's brutality, or the revelation that he had murdered Lettie Shelby. Miles had been involved with her and was the one she had boasted would set her up in a house in London. He admitted as much when beating Elayne, for she could not be a threat to him. It was her word against his, if she ever did say anything, and he warned her that her son would suffer the consequences of her betrayal. At that time Dante was still blind to Miles's treachery.

Stumbling on the cliff path gave her the idea. Elayne knew that if she were thought dead, then, when Dante eventually learned the truth about Miles, her son would be free to make a new life. If she were still tied to Miles, then Dante would feel responsible for her. He would never leave Merdraco.

She made it down to the beach and left her shawl spread out on a rock, as if it had drifted there after she fell. Then she had made her way back up the path. She walked through the night, trying to get as far away from Merdraco and from Miles as she could. Now that she knew who had killed Lettie Shelby, it might be only a matter of time before Miles killed her too.

And that was when Sir Jacob Weare found her. Returning home from a meeting, he saw her staggering along the road. Recognition had come hard because her features were so swollen. He lifted her into his coach and took her to the safety of Sevenoaks House. There she had poured out her whole story to Sir Jacob.

He arranged her funeral, then helped her travel to France, where she stayed in a convent, forgotten by the world. But when Sir Jacob sent her news of Dante, she was unable to stay away any longer and had returned to Devonshire, content to live at Sevenoaks House as Sir Jacob Weare's hard-of-hearing niece, Essie.

When the loneliness became unbearable she went out during the dark of night and visited Merdraco, to walk the halls and remember the times she had been happy there. That was how the legend of the Pale Lady of the Ruins got started and how she had inadvertently scared off the smugglers from using Merdraco. She admitted, too, that she hadn't been able to resist a look at her son. It was she whom Rhea had seen that night, wandering through the trees near the lodge, her cloaked figure looking like the ghost of legend—the Pale Lady of the Ruins.

When Dante returned with a wife and child, she and Sir Jacob realized the terrible danger they were in. They spoke with Sir Jacob's solicitors in London, and had been prepared to come forward with their story. Although there was no proof, their claims would at least have alerted the authorities to watch Sir Miles Sandbourne.

Rhea stood at the window, a smile of contentment curving her lips as she stared at Lady Elayne holding Kit up high in her arms, then hugging him close. While she watched, Dante came up behind her and his arms slid around her waist. He pulled her back against his chest, resting his chin on her head. They stood there in companionable silence.

“I have been thinking that perhaps 'tis time we paid a visit to Camareigh. I know the duke and duchess must be anxious about us, and they did not get to spend much time with their grandson. I know my mother would enjoy the visit. I also was thinking that we might travel on to London afterward. Then, with a new crew, we will sail the
Sea Dragon
home to Merdraco.”

Rhea reached up a hand and touched his tanned cheek, remembering the first time she had seen him. That had been aboard the
Sea Dragon
, and it seemed right that they should sail again. Without her being aware of it, Rhea's other hand touched the jeweled brooch pinned to her stomacher and she smiled. Luckily, she had been wearing it the night of the fire, and she truly believed that the jeweled replica of the
Sea Dragon
had kept fortune with her that night. She vowed always to wear it.

“Shall we go out into the sunshine and join them?” he asked, his eyes meeting Rhea's for a long moment before his lips touched hers. Together they left the room, which suddenly seemed full of shadows. Dante wanted nothing to remind him of the past. As he heard his mother's laughter and his son's squeal of delight, he knew that he wanted only to look ahead into the future, and there would be no backward glances into the past.

The brightness of the sun was almost blinding as, hand in hand, Dante and Rhea stepped out of the shadows and strolled through the garden toward his mother and their son. A future of bright tomorrows awaited.

Long is the way

And hard, that out of hell leads up to light.

—John Milton

The seagull spread its wings, soaring then gliding as its shadow drifted across gentle slopes of green. It was early in the season of wild thyme and blackthorn. The small plum hung heavy on the bough, its pale clusters yet to feel the ripening sweetness of a midsummer sun.

The gilded petals of the primrose bespoke of mildness that had not yet warmed the earth, for the winds roaming the wild north coast of Devon were spawned by angry, maelstrom-fed gales far out at sea. Raw with lingering winter bleakness, heedless of the first tender buds of spring, the northern winds drove the foaming waves against the storm-swept headlands and the jagged reefs.

But the solitary stone tower stretching against the black horizon had withstood far greater onslaughts than the squall now threatening the dawn where eastern skies were rich with clouds edged in sungold. The isolated tower was all that remained of a castle in ruins. Merdraco.

The massive stones, chiseled and fitted with such care by masons long gone, were strewn about like so much kindling. The lichen-covered walls, which had seemed insurmountable for centuries, were fallen, defeated in the end by the steady advance of ivy, the tenacious vine entwining itself year after year in the rotting mortar.

Sky was visible through the crumbling arches, where once a vaulted ceiling had risen high above walls adorned in the splendor of heroic shields and shining swords, where noble flags of silk had proclaimed a never-to-be-forgotten glory.

In the desolate courtyard dandelions pushed their way up between the cracked paving stones. No beat of horses' hooves or rattling of wagon wheels had disturbed the peace for many moonless nights.

A stone dragon, fallen from its lofty perch, still guarded the entrance, its sightless eyes gazing upon its domain in a never-ending search for trespassers. But there was no reason to fear intruders. No enemy waited for the fall of darkness. And even the subtle movement of shadows was merely the reflection of the sun's course across the heavens.

There were only memories left to stand watch on the deserted battlements and the abandoned tower, those enduring testimonials to an age long past.

Bewitched by sun and moon, the ebbing tide crashed against the rocks far below the ruins of Merdraco. And the tower stood alone, perhaps forgotten…

But the fates had not decreed so unworthy an end. Adrift on the wind came the sound of children's voices raised in laughter, echoed by the frenetic barking of hounds. Had there been anyone atop the tower, he would have seen a small group approaching the ruins.

A man dressed in the finest of silks, and a woman clad in blue velvet and whitest lace walked arm in arm toward the ruins from a stone house where sweet-scented wood smoke rose from a score of great chimneys. The sun, reflected in the mullioned windows, burned like a thousand candles.

The man's gray eyes were narrowed against the glare from the sea as he watched the thunderclouds darken the horizon. For a brief time he forgot that he was no longer captain of a brigantine and that he need never again worry about keeping his ship under press of canvas, the wind filling her sails as she ran free before storm and man. For only an instant his thoughts lingered with what had once been.

His gaze was caught and held, as it had always been, by the pure gold of his wife's hair as the wind tousled it about her flushed cheeks. He thought, not for the first time, that she grew more enchantingly beautiful with each day.

She looked at him and knew intuitively, when his eyes turned away from the sea and the faraway look faded, that she had lost him to old memories for a spellbinding moment. But as her eyes met his and, together, they walked the land that was his heritage and would be their children's, she knew that the past did not beckon him. The future was theirs.

A smile of contentment curved his mouth as he watched his eldest son, a boy tall for ten years, scolding his younger brother and sister as they sat astride the fat, shaggy pony Kit was leading. Its bridle jingled with bells. A young man, not more than twenty, walked a little ahead of them, his long strides shortened to accommodate the wobbly steps of the child holding tightly to his hand. With an indulgent laugh, he hoisted the little girl onto his shoulders, her golden curls swinging while he bounced her.

The young man's blue eyes were filled with the bright dreams of manhood, dreams encouraged by the captain and his lady who had welcomed him into their home so many years before and whose love was more precious to him than a sea chest filled with Spanish treasure.

Conny Brady glanced back at the man and woman whose daughter he held securely in his arms. He called out something to them, but his words were carried away on the winds. So he waited, knowing as he leaned against the sun-warmed stone dragons, that he had all the time in the world. The lively chanty he was whistling drifted upward toward the unfaded emerald, scarlet, and indigo banner flying high atop the solitary stone tower, the tower that continued to stand sentinel against time.

The moon had become a pale shadow without the dark before the rising sun. The sea continued to bind its spell upon the wild shore beneath Merdraco.

There was the sun and moon, the sea and Merdraco. Ever changing, yet forever constant.

Order Laurie McBain's next book

When the Splendor Falls

On sale March 2016

Order Laurie McBain's next book

When the Splendor Falls

On sale March 2016

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Moonstruck Madness

Book 1 in the Dominick Trilogy

by Laurie McBain

New York Times
Bestselling Author

She's one thing by day, something else altogether by night…

After escaping the slaughter of her clan at a young age, Scottish noblewoman Sabrina Verrick provides for her siblings by living a double life, until the night she encounters the Duke, and her secret and all she holds dear is threatened…

He's so disillusioned, he's completely vulnerable…

With his inheritance at stake, Lucien, Duke of Camareigh, sets a trap for the Scottish beauty with the piercing violet eyes, never imagining what will happen when the trap is sprung…

“With entertaining characters, intriguing plots, and steamy romance, this novel will have the reader eagerly turning each page.” —
Night Owl Reviews
Top Pick, 4.5 Stars

“It will keep you on the edge of your seat, with your heart in your throat. A must-read and a keeper.” —
My Book Addiction and More

For more Laurie McBain, visit:

www.sourcebooks.com

Chance the Winds of Fortune

Book 2 in the Dominick Trilogy

by Laurie McBain

New York Times
Bestselling Author

Lady Rhea Claire, kidnapped and shipped to the colonies as an indentured servant, manages with wits and courage to escape…straight into the arms of a ruthless English pirate.

For all his worldly ways, Dante Leighton, Marquis of Jacqobi and captain of the
Sea Dragon
, never expected to discover his redemption and his greatest treasure within the amethyst eyes of a beautiful English refugee.

Praise for Laurie McBain:

“Lush and evocative” —
Publishers Weekly

“Well crafted and wonderfully romantic.” —
RT Book Reviews

“Ms. McBain's flair for the romantic intermingled with suspense will keep the reader riveted to the story until the last page. Bravo!” —
Affaire de Coeur

For more Laurie McBain, visit:

www.sourcebooks.com

Winner of the Reviewers' Choice Award for Best Historical Romance, author Laurie McBain became a publishing phenomenon at age twenty-six with her first historical romance. She wrote seven romance novels during the 1970s and '80s, all of which were bestsellers, and sold over 11 million copies. Laurie lives in the San Francisco Bay Area of Northern California.