Shana Abe (38 page)

Marla came beside her as Roland emerged from the darkness at a leaping run that catapulted him onto the roof, a wild man with frantic eyes. He focused on her, only her, and with a few short steps yanked her into his arms.

“My God,” he said, shaky, into her hair, “my God, you’re all right.”

She clung to him, pressed herself into him, let the weakness in her legs have its way now that he was here.

“You’re all right,” he said again, deeper now, his hands strong and sure on her back.

Marla murmured something about seeing to the wounded man below and edged past them both.

“Wait,” Roland called, lifting his head. “Where is he? Where is Caxton?”

The look between Kyla and Marla was so quick Kyla thought she might have imagined it. Marla addressed Roland.

“He fell to the rocks, my lord. It was an accident.”

Kyla closed her eyes. She felt Roland’s heartbeat against her cheek, rapid and heavy.

“An accident?” Roland said.

“Aye.” Marla went down the stairs.

Kyla opened her eyes and leaned her head back to look up at him. “How did you know to come here?”

“Luck,” he said, and then managed a dry smile.

“Your lucky star,” she remembered.

He kissed her hard, just once, then cradled her head beneath his chin.

“The star was your little maid, my love. She came running back to Lorlmar just as we were returning. I had met my man ashore. He told me he had discovered that Baron Caxton had bought a man in Henry’s army, Reynard, who joined my hunt for you and your father. It was Reynard who ordered the attack at Glencarson. So I knew it was Caxton who was still pursuing you.”

“He killed my mother,” she said, and the words were still so raw that she had to stop her lower lip from trembling, bit down on the inside of her cheek.

“I know, my love. I know. Reynard was arrested in London. He confessed all that he knew.” Roland gathered her close again. “I died a thousand times over when I came back and saw your maid. I knew that Caxton had disappeared from London a fortnight past, amid rumors and lies. It seemed logical that he would come here, looking for you. When your maid described the man who took you …”

His voice choked off; he ducked his head and cleared his throat. “We guessed where the boat would be headed. There are very few places to land on this side of the isle. And there was the cove. Somehow I knew you would end up at Siren’s Cove.”

She reached out a hand and brushed the hair from his brow. “I’m safe. I’m not harmed.”

“I cannot live without you,” he said roughly. “If you had died, I would have as well.”

“I love you,” she said, and it was enough to lighten the pain in his eyes.

T
he candlelight was dim and flickering, but it gathered in the rounded stones decorating the hilt of Helaine’s dagger and threw back their colored glare with shifting accents.

Kyla looked down at the sharp blade resting on her palms, then up at Roland, and next to Elysia.

“Go on,” said the child, resting her elbows on Roland’s desk.

Marla stirred in the shadows of the study, Seena and Harrick behind her. Madoc elbowed past them all and placed a brazier on the desk next to Kyla.

“That’s better, now,” he said.

Roland was looking at her intently, a silent offer to take over and finish the task for her. She tilted her head at him and offered a slight smile, then shook her head.

The hilt was warm gold, the stones smooth. When she held the dagger up close to the lamp she discovered the tiny metal latch underneath the hilt, against the cold steel blade, almost invisible. She pressed against it with her fingernail. Too short to move it.

Roland handed her his own dagger, a deadly pointed tip.

She pressed it delicately against the metal tongue and the latch gave way with a barely audible click. And then the hilt was loose, free of the blade. She eased the two pieces apart.

How often had she puzzled over this, Kyla thought as she carefully placed the naked blade on her husband’s desk. How often had she seen Helaine wear this dagger at her waist, and yet never use it. She had always wondered at her mother’s carrying it, such a contrast to the calm woman that she had been.

The blade was sharp and keen, just as Elysia had predicted. But it was the hilt that interested Kyla now.

The hollow darkness inside the gold was not quite empty.
The paper jammed up inside of it had been folded up very tightly in order to fit, so tight that only the outer edges were wet from the sea water that had managed to leak inside. As Kyla drew out the document with gentle fingers and unfolded it on the desk, everyone in the room leaned closer to look.

“The note to prove my father’s innocence,” Kyla said into the silence. “It existed, after all. And I had it with me all the while.”

“You could not have known,” said Roland.

“No,” she agreed, and stared down sadly at the writing.

Marla, to her left, gave a little gasp when she read the amount. “Who could borrow such a sum? Who would lend it?”

“A hardened gambler, and the cousin of the king, in that order,” Roland replied. “Caxton had lost his entire estate to Gloushire. He had utterly disgraced a noble name. And then Gloushire demanded repayment, and Caxton panicked.”

Kyla said, “He destroyed my entire family. For what? For money.” She closed her eyes, suddenly weary. “Only that.”

Roland’s hands came down on her shoulders. Elysia sidled closer, reached out and found Kyla’s arm, leaned her head against it.

“Not your
entire
family,” said the girl.

The watch was going to recover. Marla had cleaned and dressed his wound, pronouncing him lucky to have the puncture miss his lungs. Kyla had gone with Roland to thank the man for saving her and found him surrounded by a bevy of concerned women, his wife and mother and three sisters. He had actually blushed at her gratitude, then thrown Roland a stifled look as the women began to regale the countess with other tales of his daring. Kyla had smiled at him and said she was sure none of it was exaggeration.

Victor was dead. Like a spurned offering, his body had been tossed ashore by the waves, broken and empty. Kyla could not find it in herself quite yet to feel sorry for him.

And Caxton …

It had taken more than that initial comfort in the tower to
lead Roland away from the blackness that was so familiar to him. When the body of their enemy had been found, smashed against the rocks, she could only patiently accept the sharp anger she had felt still coursing through him. If she waited, she knew, she could reach him more easily.

Back at Lorlmar they had retreated to their rooms and she had held him tightly, letting him feel her solid heat while she soaked up his, a flexible harmony of give and take between them.

After a while he came back to her from the verge of darkness, stroked her hair, helped her bathe and change her clothing and then changed his mind and made love to her instead, taking them both to heaven instead of hell.

It was justice, he said to her later, in the study, that Caxton had died while trying to kill her.

“Justice,” Kyla had echoed, and agreed, thinking about the sirens’ voices.

Now she looked up at the ring of faces surrounding her where she sat at the desk, dear, loving people who had adopted her and made her one of their own.

The questions haunting her had been answered. She was free from the doubt and anguished confusion that had been following her for months. Kyla had even found, albeit through a twisted path, the man she loved, her husband, and with him a new family and home. Surely it was a most precious gift.

Nothing would ever erase the past, she knew. But now when she thought of her brother, the pang that came with his name didn’t seem quite as horrible as it had been before. Seemed almost, in fact, a resigned sorrow that was more of an ache than a mortal wound.

She thought there might always be a kernel of sadness in her heart at the loss of her old life, her adored family. But Kyla realized now she could go forward into her future with a lighter heart.

She
had
a future. And that was miracle enough to be thankful for.

The paper beneath her fingers was thin and crinkled, the writing now not so important as she had thought.

“Give it to Henry,” she said to Roland. “Prove to him that I was right about my father.”

Roland leaned closer—warm and fragrant and cherished—and in front of everyone he brushed his lips to her cheek, then gave her his crooked smile.

“We’ll do it together,” he said.

Epilogue

SCOTLAND JULY 1120

S
ummer in Scotland was a glorious sight, and even the ruined village of Glencarson was not immune to the stunning deep blue of the sky, the vivid carpet of green that covered the ground, splashed with wildflowers.

Kyla knelt at the base of the rough stone cairn that blended in with the mountain it rested against. She gently took the handful of bright purple thistles Roland gave her and placed them on top of the rocks.

“Be at peace, Alister,” she said. “Be at peace.”

The baby in Roland’s arms cooed at the sound of his mother’s voice. She looked up at her son and her husband, smiled at the sight of them both against the cloudless sky.

Roland smiled back, bouncing the baby, the turquoise of his eyes echoed in the child’s.

Kyla stood up and took her brother’s namesake from Roland. “Hello, beloved,” she said down to him. “Hello, little Alister. What a sweetheart you are.”

With Roland’s hand on her elbow she walked away from the cairn, down the rolling slope of the mountain to the level field where the village used to be. The blackened remains of the huts didn’t seem so out of place to Kyla in this remote Highland location, the burnt beams now scarce, most having fallen back to the ground, dissolving into the rich earth.

The manor house was not so diminished, and it was here that Roland led them, up to what used to be the main entrance,
now a framed hole to an open space of walls and birds and vines.

He put the leather bag he carried down in the doorway, the gold coins within shifting with heavy clinks.

Kyla turned around, faced the breathtaking hills surrounding them.

“It is not full restitution,” she called out, knowing she was heard, “but it is something.”

The hills held on to their secrets. No one came running out to greet them, to claim the gold. But Kyla knew they were there, watching. The people would emerge after they left.

A slim young lady on horseback waited for them down on the old road with the rest of the horses. She raised her voice, clear and light. “This is good,” Elysia said.

Kyla and Roland, looking into each other’s eyes over the tawny head of their son, agreed.

Shana Abé lives in Southern California with her husband Darren and two house rabbits. Yes, the rabbits really do live in the house. Shana can be reached at
[email protected]
, or write to her at:

2060 D Ave. de los Arboles, #180

Thousand Oaks, CA 91362

In the bestselling tradition of Marsha Canham, Shana Abé takes readers on another journey of passion and enchantment in her next historical romance

THE TRUE LOVE BRIDE

Coming from Bantam Books in the summer of 1999

“Who are you?”

His voice was deep and sure, the purity of his accent clearly marking him as one of Bryce’s visiting nobility. She bit her lip from the urge to yank her head away from his light touch. She felt so odd, like nothing she had ever experienced before. He seemed to set off a kind of nervous hum throughout her entire body, a sensation of heightened awareness …