Seducing the Highlander (41 page)

 

He had tasted death. Rolled it around on his tongue and licked its dry, cracked lips. He had drunk from death’s dark soul and then done the impossible. He had survived.

Fate’s plans for him had not included an untimely and disgraceful demise, but something profoundly more meaningful. Revenge. Its sweet flavor would mix with death’s, and he would know satisfaction at last.

He turned the final corner down the dank stairwell and entered the oval space filled with the scent of old vellum. Only this room prevented the long days from becoming a living nightmare of pain and torture. In this small area lived the past. Written on countless aged scrolls were the lives of once-powerful leaders, who, like he, had seen their lofty attempts at fulfilling fate’s decree hampered by lesser men. But death had determined those men unworthy to walk these lands of promised power.
They
were the ones who deserved his sentence of physical damnation, not he.

Time, the monks said. Time to heal his wounds. Time to reflect on past indiscretions and do penance. He, of course, complied and joined their devotions. And his reward was this room of solace, quiet, and promise. Fate had drawn him here. The answer to his future lay somewhere in these cool stone walls along with a promise that not all was lost. That all he aspired to be and have was still within his grasp.

He moved over to remove a small marker in one of the numerous carved openings used for storage. Placing it on the small wooden desk, he turned, pulled out the next scroll, and uncurled the sheets of vellum. Carefully, he secured the ends with heavy rocks. He sat down slowly to avoid any more pain than necessary, and began to read aloud.

The words of the manuscript filled him, flowing over him like a balm on his raw wounds. He had been wrong. It was not a king’s secrets he was searching for, but a queen’s. He continued on.

Hours passed, and though no natural light could shine into the small enclave, he knew it was dark outside. The single candle that had been lighting the room was nearly gone. The monks would be searching for him, telling him it was time for another devotion, solemn ceremony, or some mysterious rite in dedication to God.

A debate began to play out in his head as he continued to read. He knew he should return. Tomorrow would come and the scrolls would still be here. But fate was with him tonight. If he chose to leave, it would surely forsake him, leaving him scarred, ruined, and powerless for his remaining days. Here beneath his fingertips was the answer for which he had been searching. He could not abandon fate’s gift. It might not come again.

He flipped to the final page and read the end.

Nothing was revealed. No secrets. No messages. And yet he knew his destiny was intertwined with this woman’s story.

How this ancient manuscript had made its way into the abbey’s dark walls was a mystery. He could spend years trying to find out whose hands had held this scroll, only to find out the hard-gained knowledge was meaningless. So why had fate placed such words in his grasp? Why was his soul so affected by this woman’s inexplicable victory?

He knew if he did not find the answer, fate would forsake him once again. It had little time for fools. It certainly did not deliver enemies and resurrect kingdoms to unworthy men.

“Hallo?” called a voice whose accent spoke of a life lived in a variety of places. “Son? Are you down there? You have missed the divine reading, and supper is nearly finished. Are you well?”

He sighed deeply and returned, “Yes, Father, I am coming. I am afraid in my studies I lost track of time.”

Crunching footsteps echoed against the walls. An old man dressed in black robes appeared. “What is it that had your attention for so long today? What did the Lord bring to you?”

He stifled another sigh and brought his hood farther up to shade the majority of his face, though he knew the old monk had seen the monstrosity that lay underneath the brown folds. The man had found him washed up from the sea and had brought him to the abbey to tend his wounds.

He should have died. And though the monk might believe it was his God that had revived his nearly dead carcass, he knew better. It had been fate. Something the old man would never understand.

A withered hand poked out from the arm of the black cape and glided down the vellum outstretched on the table. “You are reading the
Encomium Emmae Reginae.
It is very old, written many years ago by a monk of St. Omer in praise of his Queen Emma. Few take interest in that which occurred so far in the past. So little history was captured then. It is difficult to tell the truth from fiction.” The aged monk paused to cough violently into his hand. His remaining days were few. Consumption was taking him, slowly and painfully.

“My apologies, Father. The staleness of the room makes it hard to breathe,” he said, and then waited patiently for the monk to continue, for the man was one of the few in the abbey who had studied any writings that were not directly related to scripture.

“This accounting, while biased, is believed to be true, unlike others.”

His heart momentarily stopped. “Are there other stories of the queen? I mean, here at the abbey?” he asked the old monk, hoping his tone reflected his eagerness rather than the apprehension he felt. For he was close. He knew he was.

The monk rolled his eyes upward and began to nod his head. “There is supposedly one other text written about the queen at that time. There was once another person interested in the monarch, and I will tell you what I told them: The accounting is highly questionable and cannot be considered reliable. Its value is in understanding how stories were embellished back then. . . .”

The old monk stretched his head back and surveyed the dusty scrolls stacked in various-sized cubicles within the walls. After a minute, he stretched out his arm until the tips of his gnarled fingers touched a single scroll nestled in a group.

As he watched the monk slip the document out of its resting place, he realized it would have taken many more months at his present pace before he had read the item. The monk gave it to him and he laid it out, anchoring the corners. Bending over, he read the simple legend. The handwriting was jagged and the scattered drops of ink indicated it had been quickly scribed. But it was legible.

His heart began pounding with renewed hope. He heard the old man’s opinion of the story, that it was an allegory and not one of truth.

But he knew differently.

Fate had not deserted him.

Fate had been with him all along, as it was with all great men.

“You said only one other had seen this, Father. Please, tell me. Who was it?”

 

“Millie, do not shake your head at me! I absolutely insist that you come! Of the three of us, you know the streets by the Thames the best. And Jennelle, do not think because you are sitting behind me I am unaware that you are at this very moment rolling your eyes,” Aimee added as she glanced back, affirming her guess. “Millie fled through those alleys on foot in the middle of the night just a few months ago.”

Millie felt her jaw tense and tried again to make her best friend see reason. “
Charles
, Aimee.
Charles
was with me. It was
your
brother who knew where to go and managed to save me from—”

“And since then you have gone with him a dozen times or more when he has needed to visit one of his ships,” Aimee interrupted. She knelt down and clutched her oldest friend’s fingers in her own. “I not only want but need your help, Millie. But know that your refusal to do so will not sway me from going. Tonight is my last chance, and I
am
going. Even if I have to go by myself.”

Aimee’s voice was soft but emphatic. It was completely out of character for the tall, willowy blonde, who was typically very sweet and gentle. But today, her bright green eyes snapped with a compelling urgency that conveyed her threat was not an empty one.

Jennelle was about to offer a word of caution when Aimee cut her off. “It is a
brilliant
plan. Millie, tell her,” Aimee said to the most adventurous of their group.

Nicknamed the Daring Three when they were just children, the three girls were best friends and nearly inseparable. Even Millie’s recent marriage to Aimee’s elder brother had not split them up. Aimee was positive that if she could just get Millie to agree with her plan, the ever-so-logical Jennelle would follow. She would be compelled to, from sheer friendship.

Millie, now sorry that she ever mentioned her husband’s strange mystery, laid a hand on her agitated friend’s arm. “It is a bold plan, Aimee, but I am unsure why you would want to get involved. I think Charlie has his own ideas about routing out the thief. Should we not just wait . . . ?”

“My brother may be your husband, Millie. And you may find him intriguing and his tediousness an adventure, but since you became Lady Chaselton, I must finally tell you the truth. You have turned into quite a bore!” Aimee rose to her feet and began pacing. “Four months ago it would have been
you
planning this night raid, and it would have been Jennelle and I holding
you
back.”

Millie opened and closed her mouth, unable to deny her friend’s accusation. “I expect you are correct, Aimee. I have tempered my inclinations a bit, but you must understand that as Lady Chaselton I cannot continue to act as I once did. Charlie would kill me if he found out,” Millie said, tucking an escaped dark lock of hair behind her ear. Never had she managed to keep the thick wavy mass under control for long.

“That is a crock, Mildred, and you know it. Charles would be upset, but he has caught you in many a more provocative situation, and he still fell in love with you
despite
your ways. I am asking you for one small favor, one small adventure, and suddenly you turn prim and proper. It is unfair, I tell you! After all the crazy exploits Jennelle and I have joined you on.”

Jennelle’s dark red eyebrows popped up at the mention of her name. “It is not a small favor, Aimee. Dressing up like men, leaving in the middle of the night to stow aboard Charles’s ship to catch a thief, is
not
a small favor.” Despite her red hair and flashing blue eyes that hinted of her Irish ancestry, of the three of them, Jennelle was the one who was most able to remain calm and cool in even the most dire situation. As the years came and went, Millie and Aimee wondered what, if anything, could break that cool composure, and secretly hoped to be around if it ever did.

Aimee walked over and sat across from her two friends, deciding honesty was the only way she would get them to understand and agree. “Please, please do this. Reece has been in town for nearly a month and has refused to see me. No matter what I do, he avoids my company. Can you imagine, Millie, what it would be like if Charles suddenly no longer wanted to see you or speak to you?”

Millie bit her bottom lip; she could not imagine the pain Aimee just described, but the mere thought of not being able to talk with Charlie, even when they disagreed, was horrifying. Aimee had been in love with Reece Hamilton, Charles’s best friend, since she first saw him when she was six years old. Almost nine years Aimee’s senior, Reece had been amused by her infatuation, but it was not until last Christmas that their relationship changed—significantly.

During the war, Reece’s and Charles’s visits home were infrequent. Consequently, it was customary for Reece to pay Lady Chaselton and her daughter a visit when he was in town. He would relay any news of the war and the well-being of her son, just as it was expected that Charles would visit Reece’s family. Last December, it had been three years since Reece had seen Aimee. It must have made a difference, because this time he kissed her. And according to Aimee, the kiss had been no ordinary one. She was now certain that Reece was the only man for her and that her destiny was tied to his.

Millie sighed. “Tell me your plan. All of it. And, Jennelle, pay attention for problems, for I believe we are going on an adventure tonight.”

Jennelle rolled her eyes but knew all was lost. Millie had acquiesced. But what did she expect? For marriage to change her petite, excitement-seeking friend? For Aimee to suddenly stop seizing every opportunity to convince the one man she had ever pined for to love her? Jennelle held her breath and then exhaled long and soft, realizing she was the only sane one of the bunch. And a sane person really
should
be tagging along on this crazy escapade.

“I’m unsure as to the intelligence of this idea, Aimee, but tell it to us once again.”

 

 

Aimee felt alive and excited all over. The rented hack hit a large cobblestone and her fingers fluttered to Millie’s for support. “I cannot believe I am finally going to see him again, Millie. It has been so long. If I have to endure another Season of pretentious old men, or worse, loquacious, overly eager
young
men and their tittering marriage-focused mothers, I really shall perish. You have no idea how fortunate you are, Jennelle, that your father is not compelled to see you advantageously married. And, Millie, you are the luckiest of us all to have convinced Charles he was in love with you and to ask for your hand. If only Reece would do the same.”

Millie took a deep breath and blew a wayward strand of her dark hair off her eye. If they were caught, it was highly doubtful that she would be able to convince Charlie of anything again. She glanced out the window. They were just about to cross into Shadwell at Thames, the main entrance to the London Docks. “I want your promise, Aimee, that
if
we stumble across the thief you will not make a single move until all three of us are sure that he is Reece. Charlie is still not positive this latest event is a simple prank.”

“But you said the thief was only taking odd objects and the items were different each time. Some were of value, but most seemed to be only of interest to Charles. Besides us three, Mother, and Reece, who else would know what my brother really values?”

Millie twitched her lips, uncomfortable that Aimee refused to consider any other possibilities. “I
said
that it was the randomness that made Charlie question if it really was a thief, or Reece playing a practical joke.”

“Ah, but you also said
only
Reece would be interested in the items taken. So, it
has
to be him. And when I catch Reece playing another prank on Charles, he will have no choice but to speak to me. All I need is five minutes. Five minutes and I will know whether what happened between us at Christmas was real or
a passing moment of passion
,” Aimee countered, contemptuously gritting out the last few words that had haunted her for months.

Millie again glanced out the window and tried to dismiss the ill feeling pressing on her chest. “I hope so, Aimee. I really hope so. Now, when the carriage stops, refrain from speaking unless absolutely necessary. Use the hand signals we discussed and stick to the shadows. I went with Charles to visit the
Zephyr
a couple of days ago just after it arrived. They had a lot of cargo and less than a hundred ships were anchored in port. With so few needing slips, there is a good chance Charles’s ship is still moored.” Millie began praying but stopped when she realized her prayers were in conflict. She did not know whether she wished for the
Zephyr
to be inaccessible from the shore, thereby ending this insane quest, or for Aimee to be happy.

The carriage rolled to a dead stop. Once more, they agreed to the plan and then proceeded out of the hack. Moving toward one of the large warehouses, each watched out for the other while remaining as much as possible in the shadows. Only a sliver of the moon peeked through amassing rain clouds to light the narrow alleys. It was difficult to see, but dressed in male attire and the dark cloaks Aimee had pilfered from some of the younger footmen, it would be just as difficult for a passerby to see them.

Aimee fought the instinct to pinch her nose. She had heard about the strong odors around the docks, but nothing could have prepared her for the overpowering aromas coming from the buildings they were skirting. One smelled of tobacco, another of wine. There were the unmistakable scents of fish and brandy, and many more. On their own they could be pleasant, but together the stench overwhelmed the senses.

Millie stopped short, and Aimee and Jennelle very quickly saw why. Dock laborers, sack-makers, watermen, and the various London poor who made a living by the riverside were swarming the alleys and the docks where the ships were moored. “This has to be the craziest, most insane thing we have ever done,” Millie hissed, ignoring her own rule of complete silence. “I cannot believe that I actually let you talk me into it.”

“I didn’t
talk
you into it,” Aimee scoffed. “I threatened you into coming with me. And I would have made good on my threat too—
that’s
why you are here. Besides, I thought you did this before.”

“I was with your brother, Aimee, and that makes all the difference. In case you have not noticed, this harbor is quite large and the docks that support all the ships are huge. Charlie knows this area, not I,” Millie argued. “Scrambling around here in the dark, praying to God that we are not caught, is not what I call a well-thought-out plan. Aimee, I really think we should return.”

Jennelle was about to voice her wholehearted agreement with Millie’s assessment of their precarious position when Aimee piped, “Look, isn’t that Charles’s ship, the
Zephyr
?”

Millie followed the tip of Aimee’s finger and grimaced. Several hundred feet away, rocking against the dock, was one of five ships her husband and Reece owned in a small but very profitable shipping company. While her husband preferred to remain in England to oversee the accounts and assist with cargo decisions, Reece elected to remain at sea primarily aboard the
Sea Emerald
, a unique ship he had built to move light cargo with exceptional speed.

“Millie, look! The ship is still at the dock! And there is hardly anyone near it! This is destiny. My plan just has to work. To sneak aboard and pinch something would be too easy for Reece to resist.”

Jennelle glanced back and forth from Millie’s wan, uneasy expression to Aimee’s expectant and determined one. “She is going to do this, with or without us, Millie,” she whispered.

“I know, I know. I also know that we could stop her if we really wanted to.”

“True, but she would never forgive us, and you and I both know she would only try again with a plan even more dangerous. And next time she will not ask for our input, help, or even let us know.”

“Jennelle, sometimes your logic leads to the most dreadful conclusions,” Millie grunted. She turned to Aimee and pointed to a newly emptied wagon. “I’m going to move toward the
Zephyr
. When I give the signal, follow my lead. And watch out for the dock laborers. There seem to be several out tonight.”

Jennelle trailed Millie as they advanced around the wagon and slowly crept up to the
Zephyr
. A minute later, they verified the entry was clear and began to tread softly up the wooden planks. Aimee followed, stepping past an unconscious man posted as a guard. Charles was right. The men were asleep, allowing any thief easy entry. She slipped by the sprawled figure and located the hiding spot Millie and Jennelle were crouching behind. Quietly, she hunkered down with them and waited for what she knew her friends hoped never would come.

But it did.

Jennelle pointed to a dark, lone figure. At first Aimee thought he might be a sailor, but his movements were not purposeful as he moved in and out of view, skulking about the ship. Then he began peering into boxes and containers that had not yet been stowed below. She elbowed Millie and pointed. Millie nodded to indicate that she and Jennelle were also witnessing the unusual movement in the shadows.

The figure neared. Whoever he was, he was hunched over as if trying to mask his height. Regrettably, Aimee knew right away that the man was not Reece playing a prank on her brother. Reece was much bigger than the creeping thief, and unlike the dark unruly strands she was spying, Reece’s hair was the color of sand kissed by the sun. More than that, he was incredibly tall, which was why Aimee had been drawn to him as a child. She had inherited the unusual height of her mother and had loved being near anyone that made her feel petite and beautiful rather than tall and awkward. Now, at one and twenty, she possessed a slender figure, pale gold tresses, and large green eyes every Society matron wished her unwed daughter possessed. And yet, around most men, Aimee retained the uncomfortable feeling that she just did not quite belong.