Love Entwined (34 page)

Even though the castle had its own hamlet at the base, it was virtually isolated from the rest of civilization.

They touched down in a clearing.

Without speaking, Roman helped her out and over to one of the waiting cars. Chief Bryant’s team had arrived early, dressed as businessmen in suits and now led the way in a procession around towering rocks up the long castle drive.

The gatehouse was massive, but simple. Sheer rock rose with turrets on either side. There were numerous entrances, but the front car drove through the center, which stood wide open.

The buildings of the upper castle were grouped around an inner courtyard. The wide keep towered over the other buildings and dwarfed the Romanesque chapel in the center of the courtyard.

The cars formed a semi-circle in front of the main keep. The place was deserted save for a man who pushed a steel hand truck across the courtyard. He nodded in passing.

“Garamonde spent a fortune renovating this place,” Roman said. “It’s like we stepped back into the eleventh century. Impressive.”

“Cold.” She looked up at the glistening rock, which did nothing to improve the atmosphere. There was nothing light about this place.

They mounted the stone steps. As they walked toward the double doors that towered over them, one side of the doors opened.

A middle-aged man stood in the doorway. His hair was fashioned in an outdated pageboy style. The sweater and slacks he wore seemed out of place in this setting. She half-expected him to be wearing a medieval robe. He looked at her and lifted his upper lip in a sneer that was probably meant to be a smile. With such thin lips, it was hard to tell.

“We wish to speak with Dr. Karl Frein.” Roman handed the man a card.

The man inspected Roman’s business card and then looked back at her. “He is gone.”

“When will he return?” Roman asked.

The man stopped smiling and gave Roman his full attention. “He will not return. Dr. Frein is dead.”

“What?” Roman took a step forward.

“How?” Chief Bryant came to stand next to Roman on the flagstone.

“He was gravely ill. I am sorry. I will explain.” The man opened the other door and stood to the side. “Please come in.”

“Amelie,” Roman put an arm around her, but she did not move. Several members of the team were waiting behind them. They were all watching her. “We’re going in now.”

“Yes, come.” The man beckoned.

She did not want any of them to go into Castle Zuoz, and felt the urge to turn and run back to the car. It was ridiculous. This was not the working castle it once was in the medieval era, and if it were, why should that bother her? They were not in the medieval era, she reminded herself. This man was just a weird servant, probably too isolated from the rest of the world here in this village in the Alps. And if she didn’t move soon, she sensed the strange man would help her.

She took a deep breath to compose herself and stepped across the threshold with Roman. The others followed, and the strange man shut the double door. When the bolt clanged into place she mentally counted how many of Chief Bryant’s men were with them, six in all. Three had stayed outside with the cars. All were undoubtedly armed, so there was nothing to worry about. She took Roman’s hand, and he squeezed hers.

They were standing in a round. It might have been an inner courtyard long ago but was now covered by a lavish dome of stained glass. Vibrant colors reflected on the flagstones under their feet as they crossed the floor to yet another set of double doors, which opened onto a great hall with walls that soared up to the vaulted ceiling. Elaborate window casements, cushioned and wide enough to lie in, were set in the walls. Directly opposite the double doors across the massive hall was a dais where the lord and lady of the manor must have presided over banquets held long ago. Two huge stone fireplaces set opposite each other would warm the keep in harsh winters and were a testament to the grandeur of Castle Zuoz.

“I am Varuk. Please sit.” Varuk gestured to a cluster of sofas and chairs under a huge wrought iron chandelier as a maid came in to view. “Refreshment?”

“What happened to Dr. Frein?” both Roman and Chief Bryant asked.

Varuk nodded to the maid and he waited as she walked across the expanse of floor to an alcove.

While everyone else remained standing, waiting on Varuk’s explanation, Amelie sat down on the nearest chair. Only the velvet padding softened the impression of an electric chair.

She stared into the unlit fireplace in front of her, as wide as the castle’s main entrance double doors.

The bas-relief above the mantle went halfway up the wall. The woman in the bas-relief was life-size and carved in such a way that gave the impression she was twirling in a dance with hands thrown above her head in abandon. Strips of cloth covered her private parts and swirled around her.

She felt the beat of the drums the musicians banged in a semi-circle around the dancing woman…

Amelie rested her head on her hand. She was exhausted with the events of the last month and Terrence’s terrible death and now the added burden of the death of Dr. Frein in the Garamonde household lay heavy on her heart.

The door to the alcove shut and Varuk continued. “Dr. Frein had a weak heart. He suffered a massive heart attack.”

“I spoke with him just two days ago,” Chief Bryant said to Roman. “He never mentioned being ill.”

“Where is the body?” Roman asked.

“There was a small service in the Chapel. He is buried in the square. Dr. Frein was a good—”

“I want the body.” Chief Bryant cut him off. “We must do an autopsy.”

“Of course. Monsieur Garamonde took the news very hard. Such a sad affair.”

“He is conscious?” Roman glanced at Chief Bryant. At Varuk’s nod, he continued. “I want to speak with him.”

“Certainly. This way.”

Roman turned toward Amelie’s chair, but it was vacant. Chief Bryant tapped his arm.

Amelie was walking toward an alcove.

“Please,” Varuk smiled, gesturing for them to follow, and brought up the rear.

The security team stayed in the great hall. A few of them made their way over to what looked like authentic long boards on the dais while others inspected the decorative casement windows and fireplaces.

Amelie set her hand on the elaborate scrollwork of the stone balustrade and started up the wide steps. At the landing, the hall extended in two directions. Daylight from the balustrade landing did not reach this far. The halls were dark and still as a mausoleum but that did not stop her. She turned left, and they followed.

“Who is caring for him now?” she asked while leading them down a hall lit only by candles in old iron wall sconces.

“We care for Monsieur Garamonde.”

She stopped at a doorway with two marble columns on either side and took two steps up. She was about to turn the door handle when Roman put a hand over hers.

Their eyes met and he held her gaze. “You know this place.”

She released the doorknob. “No,” she said, looking back for the first time the way they’d come down the dark hall. “I’ve never been here before.”

“Not even on assignment?” Chief Bryant asked.

“Never.”

Roman looked as if he were about to say something else, but stepped in front of her instead and opened the door.

It was even darker in the bedchamber if that were possible. The few slits in the rock walls were covered with the same heavy drapery that hid the canopied bed from view. There was a single candle burning in a lamp on the bedside table.

Chief Bryant inspected the bottles and vials of medication on the table while Roman took one side of the bed hangings and Varuk took the other and pulled them open.

From where Amelie stood in the doorway the bed on the dais seemed empty. As her eyes adjusted, she saw Michel Garamonde’s small frame under the comforter. She could not make out his features. He’d lost so much weight that he looked like a child sleeping with the comforter up to his shoulders.

Varuk lit a candle in the wall sconce near the bed. “He woke yesterday but I am afraid he is highly medicated and sleeps most of the time.”

“Come closer.” Michel Garamonde’s frail command was just a whisper. He was staring across the room at her.

“Michel Garamonde,” Roman leaned over him.

The old man’s rheumy eyes widened when he looked at Roman. “You are dead.”

“My father Giles is dead. I am Roman. Do you remember me?”

“Another hunter,” Garamonde rasped disgustedly. “You take your father’s place.”

Roman glanced at her. She stood stock-still in the doorway, holding onto the marble column she leaned against. “Yes. As a matter of fact I do.”

“I am dying. What do you want of me?”

“I want answers.”

Garamonde’s gaze returned to her. “I will speak. To her.”

“Come.” Varuk nodded with that insane smile back in place.

Roman crossed the floor and took her hand. “Are you all right?” he whispered.

“I want to leave,” she said, and turned to go through the door.

“Isolde.”

She turned back to the old man, pulling her hand from Roman’s on her way to the bedside. “Do not call me that.”

Garamonde motioned and Varuk helped him sit up. He stared at her as Varuk arranged pillows behind him. He held out his hand, pointing to her. “You are Isolde, the High Priestess. You have come back to us.”

The dragon ruby ring dangled from his bony finger.

Roman came to her side and was about to take the ring off his finger when she pushed her way in front of him.

“I want no part of this,” she said to Garamonde. “Leave me alone.”

“It is too late. You are here, as you are meant to be.”

“What language are you speaking?” Roman asked.

Garamonde spoke in the ancient tongue, and she had answered him.

She stepped back, shaking her head in disbelief. “No. No…”

“Amelie.” Roman frowned at her.

“Isolde.” Garamonde cajoled, showing decaying teeth. “We could not let you continue, blinded by this life, your rebellion. Otto helped you remember, and you created the most successful campaign Bijou has ever seen. You have helped us greatly, and now it has begun.”

She leaned over him, her fists clutching the comforter. “No!” She screamed. Roman pulled her away.

“Your Dr. Frein is dead and I am awake. I am getting stronger.” Garamonde’s voice rose and he coughed, motioning to Roman with his chin. “We will kill the hunter if he does not leave now.”

Varuk moved from Garamonde’s side to stand next to Roman.

She turned toward Varuk, trying to put herself between him and Roman. “You will not. I command you!”

“You are not quite yourself, Isolde. You do not rule here.” Varuk smiled apologetically, putting a hand in his pocket.

“Amelie, what is going on?” Roman asked, still holding her.

The sound of gunfire came through the door.

“That’s coming from the great hall,” Chief Bryant headed toward the door.

Roman let her go and followed.

“Roman!”

He turned at Amelie’s warning, just in time to deflect the blade Varuk aimed at his back. His other hand came up to punch Varuk squarely in his nose. Varuk fell backward hitting his head against the bedpost. He lay unconscious flat on his back, his smashed nose gushing blood.

Roman ran for the door. “Amelie, let’s go!”

There were no more gunshots, just the sound of Garamonde’s agitated breathing.

She picked up the blade. Blood rubies adorned the handle.

“Isolde, leave them to their fate.” Garamonde was wheezing now. “They are already dead.”

She clutched Garamonde’s thin wrist and pulled the ring off his finger. The garbled sound erupting from his throat was inhuman, but she knew it was his dying breath. She backed away when his black breath rose up to the canopy over the bed. Garamonde tossed as his hands twisted the comforter, and then went limp.

She bent to Varuk, searching his hands for rings, but there were none. Instead, he wore an earring, a small dragon loop that was visible now that his hair no longer fell over his ears. She pulled the loop from his ear, and ran after Roman.

When she turned the corner at the end of the hall, she ran toward the stone balustrade.

Chief Bryant was running down the steps, with his gun aimed below. Roman, with gun in hand, had just reached the balustrade.

She ran to the balustrade, but stopped at the exchange of gunfire and leaned against the wall.

Chief Bryant fired a shot and ran back up the steps. “They’re coming.”

Brown-robed men were running toward the steps behind Chief Bryant and Roman. They wore hoods and she could not see their faces. They did not carry guns but there were at least ten of them. More brown robes were running through alcoves across the great hall.

Roman and Chief Bryant met her at the landing and started toward the hall that led to Garamonde’s bedroom.

“No.” She opened her hand, showing Roman the dragon ring and earrings. He took the jewelry and pocketed it. “They are gone now,” she said. “This way.” She turned down the hall she had by-passed earlier.

Castle Zuoz, Graubünden, Switzerland – June 8, 1988

“I have three shots left,” Roman said.

“I have two. My men are all dead.” Chief Bryant said. “And they were all armed to the teeth.”

Amelie ran toward a golden statue at the end of the hall that had to be twenty feet tall.

The winged dragon sat on its haunches, and a jeweled breastplate gleamed on its chest.

She depressed one of the jewels and the dragon slid aside, revealing an opening in the wall. A cold wind swept past them. Steps led down into darkness but she did not pause.

“Hurry.” She pressed a button on a keypad and Roman and Chief Bryant slipped in before the dragon moved back into place.

“Don’t move,” she said.

Roman and Chief Bryant stopped short. They were in total darkness.

She reached into a depression in the wall and took out matches. Striking it against the stone, she lit the lamp hanging from a holder on the wall.

Holding the torch ahead of her, she revealed the steep stone stairs that dropped off to one side with no railing for support. “Many have fallen to their deaths.”