Enchantment & Bridge of Dreams (49 page)

Cathlin fitted herself to him, boneless and replete. She curled closer against him and sighed. “Eminent body,” she murmured. “Excellent breed.” She moved by a silken fraction. “And a potent finish, just as you promised, Officer Montserrat.” She ran her foot gently along his thigh.

Dominic cleared his throat. “I don't actually think it's possible,” he said hoarsely, half laughing, half accusing. More than half-sated.

“But I say it is,” Cathlin demurred, voice muffled as she began her silken foray, taking exquisite care over all the hard places that had been intriguing her. “And I
am
the wine expert here.”

“There are certain time frames, you know. I expect it was so those cavemen could find the strength to get up and go—” He swallowed suddenly as her lips moved downward. “Er, to go kill a woolly mammoth or two for dinner.” A low curse. “To feed all those little cavemen and cavewomen they were making right and left.”

Cathlin ignored him, smiling when she felt the hot rise of him inside her. “Extraordinary stamina, too.” She stared down, one brow raised. “You were saying, my lord? Something about cavemen and time frames and impossibility?”

Dominic cursed and rolled her beneath him, her dominion abruptly ended. Closing his eyes, he brought himself down to her in a sharp, swift slide. “Forget whatever I just said, Lady Ashton.”

 

O
N THE HILL ABOVE THEM
,
beyond the circle of roses, beyond the mossy bank, a tall figure shimmered, then slid into being, all black silk and white, rippling lace.

He bent to stroke the great gray cat seated at his side. “Most satisfactory, don't you agree?”

The cat's tail flicked gracefully.

“No, I really can't agree with you there. Those two are meant to be right where they are. Just as they were meant to be together, all those years ago.”

The cat meowed.

“I know that, my friend. But who would have expected Devere's resourcefulness?” Adrian sighed, his face lined, suddenly weary. “As it comes again.”

Behind them a kestrel cried. The wind sighed over the boxwood and the dancing roses. Adrian's eyes softened as he heard his name called.

For a moment light outlined the graceful form of a woman in a dress of glimmering cloth of gold.

“Nosy? Not at all, my love. I am merely taking a well-deserved pleasure in the success of my little project.”

Soft laughter drifted over the hill. Adrian's eyes darkened as the woman's shape shimmered away into the dark silence of the wood. “I rather think I must go, Gideon,” he said shortly. “She captivates me as ever, even after all these years.” His eyes narrowed and he thought of another time, of another world where
the force of will and sheer human need had been put so cruelly to the test.

But he had won, he and the beautiful woman waiting for him on the hill.

And Adrian Draycott knew, as few other people possibly could, that some promises could truly bridge time, passing beyond life and even beyond the bounds of death itself.

The cat purred softly, pressing against his polished boot. Nearby the roses danced, bloodred against a wall of green.

And then abruptly both cat and master disappeared.

T
HE SILENCE BESIDE THE
river was broken by a shrill, mechanic beeping. Dominic sighed and rolled to his back, fishing a metal box from the chaos of their clothes as static filled the air. “Montserrat, are you there?” The voice at the other end was urgent. “There's just been a call from Harcliffe. Richard Severance has been taken into custody for questioning, but he insists he will only talk to you.”

Dominic frowned. “To me?”

“That's the word. Harcliffe wants you to get right off to London. He's sent a car.”

Dominic sighed. “I'll be there shortly.” He punched a button, silencing the receiver, then sat up.

“What does it mean, Dominic?”

“I'm not sure.” But in that moment Dominic had a flash of intuition that they, like the
Titanic
drifting in the foggy Atlantic night, were heading directly toward something from which they had no chance of escape.

 

I
T TOOK
D
OMINIC ONLY
minutes to pack a small bag. Then he turned and pulled Cathlin to him. “I'll be back tomorrow. At least I hope I will. There are three men working the grounds in shifts and one will always be in the house with you.”

Cathlin brushed his cheek. “Take all the time you need. I'll be fine. Just as long as it isn't another two hundred years.”

“You've got my promise on that, Lady Ashton.”

Their fingers tightened. Their lips touched for long, aching moments. Then Dominic turned sharply and slid into the unmarked but very official car that James Harcliffe had sent to take him back to London.

 

“W
ERE THERE ANY MESSAGES
for me, Mrs. Holt?” Joanna Harcliffe tipped her wet umbrella carefully into its ceramic container and hung up her raincoat neatly.

Her receptionist looked down at a stack of papers. “A half dozen, Dr. Harcliffe. The usual, all except for this one.” The woman held out a sheet of paper. As the older woman studied the message, a frown worked between her calm brown eyes.

 

“Y
ES
, M
RS
. H
ARCLIFFE
—
Dr. Harcliffe, I should say. Thank you for returning my call.” Cathlin was standing in the rose-filled study overlooking the abbey's moat. Marston had finally tracked her down in the cellars to tell her that she had a call. But now Cathlin felt a strange reluctance to talk about the flood of memories and the chaos of feelings that were still painfully new.

“I expect you want to know why I called.” She straightened the beautiful Fabergé egg at the corner of Nicholas Draycott's desk. “Actually it has to do with my memory. I—I think that it's beginning to come back.”

“This is a very significant development, my dear. I'm sure you must find it a little shocking,” the woman said sympathetically. “When did this all begin?”

“Yesterday. Oh, it didn't come all in one rush, but in bits and pieces.” Cathlin looked out at the silver waters of the moat, trying to explain. “But it's not just about what happened fifteen years ago. This concerns another person—and another time.” She sighed. “I expect this sounds entirely mad.”

Joanna Harcliffe laughed softly. “You'd be surprised at the behavior I see in the course of my day, Lady Ashton. The majority of it is far stranger than what you've just described, and yet each of those people functions quite normally. To all intents and purposes they are quite, quite sane.”

Somehow this didn't reassure Cathlin as much as it ought to. “But I'm coming face-to-face with memories of myself—as a woman who died two hundred years ago. And on top of that, the memories about my mother have begun returning.”

There was a moment of silence, then the sound of papers rustling. “I see.” The psychiatrist sighed. “I believe it's finally begun.”

“Begun? I don't understand.”

“You've finally begun to remember, my dear. Something has triggered the images that have been blocked inside you all these years. Don't ask me why, because I can't tell you. The human mind is still far from being well understood, no matter what experts like me would have you believe. And as for your memories of another person and time, all I can say is that many famous people have consciously experienced lives as other people, some as illustrious as Aristotle and Plato or Thomas Edison and General Patton.”

“But it's all happening so suddenly.”

“I'm sure it must feel that way, but you really needn't feel you have to take it in all at once. It reminds me of a rhyme I once heard. Let me see if I can get it right.

The woman's voice became smooth and singsong as she continued.

Cathlin frowned, struggling with a thread of memory. “I've heard that, I think.” Suddenly the next lines rushed into her mind.

She rubbed at her forehead, wondering where that strange scrap of poetry had come from.

“I see you've heard it too.” Another pause. “A silly bit of verse I suppose, but it's something I think of when I am faced with unanswerable questions. And I'm faced with them rather more often than I care to admit when dealing with the human mind. But my dear Lady Ashton, I could come to the abbey if you feel it is important.”

Cathlin frowned. “No, I'll be fine. I—I'm sorry to have troubled you.'

After she hung up, Cathlin stood for a while, the sunlight on her shoulders entirely unnoticed. She thought about the call and about that odd bit of verse—and then she thought about nothing at all. It was long minutes later before she gave herself a shake and roused herself from her reverie.

 

J
OANNA
H
ARCLIFFE FROWNED
at the receiver. The new Lady Ashton had been decisive enough in her assurances that she did not require any help, yet there had been something in her voice, a quiver, an edge of uncertainty that Joanna Harcliffe, experi
enced from years of professional practice, recognized as deep inner turmoil.

She sat back at her desk and looked at the framed diplomas that hid nearly every inch of the silk-covered walls. Steepling her fingers, she went over the conversation word by word. Outside a wave of automobiles screamed and snorted through Piccadilly Circus, but she barely heard.

A moment later she reached forward and pushed down the button for her receptionist. “Something has come up, Mrs. Holt. I'm afraid I'll have to cancel the rest of my appointments for the day.”

 

C
ATHLIN FROWNED DOWN AT
the dusty wine case. One of the precious bottles now stood on her worktable, where she had placed it after carefully freeing it from its case.

But as she stood in the cool shadows, the old glass bottle before her, Cathlin felt images surge, pressing at her consciousness with painful intensity. She rubbed her eyes, blinking. As she did, the bottle changed. No more was it dust-streaked and dirty, its cork brittle. Now its glass shone and its label was crisp.

As new as the day it was printed.

 

T
HEY ARRIVED AT THE ABBEY
just as night was falling. Roses filled the courtyard and climbed the weathered granite walls.

Geneva lost her heart instantly to this place of wrenching beauty. They would be safe here; she felt it clearly. Even Henry Devere's madness could not reach Gabriel inside these moated walls.

For three days she explored every shadowed corner, every sunlit room. Even the cavernous wine cellars did not escape her curious eye. She marveled at the variety of the wines collected in those cool shadows and Gabriel encouraged her to choose a different bottle to sample every night with their dinner.

At last, Geneva saw some of the sadness eased from Gabriel's silver eyes. Amused by her boundless curiosity, he followed her
everywhere, sharing information from his earlier visits with Adrian. With unflagging energy Geneva dragged him through the imposing portraits in the long gallery while she fired innumerable questions about the Draycott ancestors. When Gabriel could bear no more history lessons, he pulled her off to the moat, where Geneva dangled her toes and returned his teasing kisses.

But when night filled the valleys and stars shone in the shimmering moat, Gabriel fed a different kind of curiosity as he pulled Geneva against his hard body. Her breath caught when he carried her to the huge poster bed that overlooked the rose gardens, though neither noticed the view through the beautiful mullioned windows.

Their joy was in a different world, a place of endless discovery and boundless love where Gabriel taught Geneva pleasures beyond imagining.

And in their reckless joy, neither noticed the eyes that watched from the darkness.

 

“I
COULD STAY ANOTHER
day. I would just have time.” Gabriel stood exquisite in navy silk and crimson damask on Draycott's gravel drive. Behind him a groom held the reins of his restive mount.

“No, you must go. We could have no peace, not while my sister's life hangs in the balance. And though it breaks my heart, I must let you go for you are the only one who can save her. Otherwise, I would hold you here forever, my love.” Geneva straightened her shoulders and looked up at the man she loved. “But there will be time, endless time for us when you return from France.” With a little choked cry she flung herself against him, her hands thrown around his neck. “Be careful, my love. They know you now and will be watching for you. Be watchful also for Henry Devere. He may well be a greater threat than any of the French Tribunal.”

“No one will find me. I've put all my cleverness to use this time. I have every intention of returning, now that I know there's
an incorrigible hoyden with an unquenchable curiosity waiting in my bed.”

Caught in emotion, Geneva didn't think to scold him for his plain speaking in front of the groom, who turned away, careful to look as if he had not heard.

She caught a ragged breath and then her chin rose. “Go now, my love. Go quickly and Godspeed. I'll be waiting, waiting here in the shadow of the abbey's roses. Remember that and come back safe to me.”

A dark, unnamed emotion crossed Gabriel's face. As the wind sighed through the roses, he pulled Geneva close and pressed a hard, desperate kiss upon her lips. Then he flung himself up into the saddle and galloped south to the coast, where a sleek cutter was waiting to run before the tide to France.

 

C
ATHLIN STOOD IN THE
half-light, feeling the memories burn through her hand where she touched the old, dusty bottle. They tore at her with aching force, until it seemed she was reliving every agonizing moment of the past.

And as she stood she heard the faint sound of a woman's breathless sobbing.

 

G
ABRIEL DID NOT MAKE
the next county, nor even make the next valley. They caught him as the sun burned over the horizon, twenty men with muskets ready.

He fought them long and well, sweat on his brow as he cut down one after another. But in the end he was no match for this cutthroat crew hired from London's cruelest slums.

As darkness fell, he was bound and gagged and shoved into a carriage bound for London. There Henry Devere waited in keenest expectation of his arrival, and of the look on Geneva Russell's face when she saw her lover lying dead at her feet.

 

D
OMINIC SHOWED A BADGE
to the bored officer sitting behind the desk in the cavernous office building he hadn't visited in years. “I'm looking for Richard Severance.”

“Then you found him. He's right over there.”

The international jet-setter and financier was being held in a narrow room with a single desk and chair. Dark lines of strain bit into his face. Even a few hours of questioning could do that to the toughest people, Dominic knew. And something told him Richard Severance was far from tough.