The Guardian Duke: A Forgotten Castles Novel (2 page)

It had been a perfect replica of a navy brigantine. And it had sailed. Oh, how it had sailed across the choppy waters of the streams near his childhood home, Bradley House, in the lush hills of Wiltshire's countryside. He almost felt as if he were back there, remembering with a stark clarity that rarely came to him. For a moment he almost felt normal.

Then he looked at Albert Bartrom. The concern in his friend's eyes was unmistakable and rare indeed. Lord Bartrom was a year older and prone to schemes of adventure that would rival a tactical genius. When Gabriel had lacked courage or fortitude or strength, Albert had lent an easy and understanding hand. Always there. Always knowing and filling in the gap. Ribbing him when he'd become a duke and insisting on calling him all manner of titles instead of the expected, "Your Grace." No, Albert let him know when he was mulish and insensitive, prideful and overbearing, and any number of other aspersions that spoke of true, long-standing friendship and all the rewards of such a cost.

Now, when he looked at Albert's stricken face, his throat tightened. These men, men he'd known and loved his whole life, they were afraid for him. Afraid for the new world in which they all might live.

No! He wouldn't let something bad happen to him or any of them. He was strong. He could still feel the strength he'd always had in such abundance rippling through his body. He could stand. He could fight.
Dear God . . .

The doctor took the cold metal from his ear. Gabriel turned toward him, knowing his face was harsh, feeling his breath rush in and out of his chest, but no longer hearing its rasping sound. That scared him a degree more. His heart was racing now, wasn't it? He pressed his hand to his chest and felt the
thud, thud, thud,
but there was nothing of a pulse in his ears, in his mind.

He shook his head as if shaking off the panic. He could speak. He could still talk like a duke.

He turned toward the doctor and demanded answers. "What has happened to me?"

Bentley reached behind him for stationery. After a long moment, a gut-wrenching moment of waiting, they'd procured ink and quill. Gabriel gritted his teeth while the doctor wrote in more lengthy silence. He watched the scratching, knowing he should be able to hear it but not hearing it.
Scratch, scratch, scratch
. He imagined hearing it. He closed his eyes and prayed to hear it.

The edge of the paper touched his hand. His eyelids fluttered open. He grasped it and turned it right side up.

I don't know what's happened, Your Grace. Your ears need to be examined by someone at Moorfields. They specialize in the eye and ear. I shall make an appointment with Dr. Saunders or another man I've recently heard of: John Curtis. With your permission of course, Your Grace. We shall get to the bottom of this.

Gabriel looked up into the watery blue eyes, tense jaw, and compressed lips of a man he knew as well as his father. His gaze passed over at Bartrom and then his secretary.

They were afraid for him.

They were all afraid.

He wanted to ask questions, a million questions, but he knew he had to be strong . . . for them. He had to show them that everything would be all right. Everything was under control. Everything must go on as normal.

"I find I am famished, gentlemen." He cracked a smile, a smile he knew was familiar to each of them. A smile that said he was alive and fine. Of course he was fine. "Have we missed breakfast, do you think?"

C
lunk.

Clink. Clunk.

The wind blew a misting sea spray into Alexandria's face as she picked her way across the rocky shore of her home on Holy Island. She paused, listening for the location of the sound against the gentle patter of the rain.

Clink. Clunk.

The sound roused her already keen sense of curiosity, knowing that it was new, something different that didn't belong on her beach. She veered to the right and climbed over a large boulder, thankful for the light of a full yellow moon. Her mind swam with possibilities and her heart sped up with the beginnings of a new adventure. What if the object making that sound was an old bottle with a letter inside? Mayhap the author of such a letter had decided to end his poor life, and she would be the one person who discovered why. Or even better, a bobbing treasure box from the wreckage of a pirate's ship. Her generous lips curved into a smile as she imagined opening the brine-encrusted lid to reveal golden coins, no—glittering jewels—a jade emerald the size of a nightingale's egg.

Lifting the hem of her thin nightdress to better gauge her footing, she picked her way toward the rocky incline. Much of the beach was flat with small, dull-hued rocks and a little sand, but the sound was coming from a low outcropping of stone. She hurried toward the jagged precipice, eased herself onto her stomach, and peered over the edge into the dark sea below.

Alex sucked in her breath as she saw the cause of the noise. Rolling white. Turning with the slapping waves. She reached down, not bothering to stop and consider what she was doing, and stretched out her hand. There. Her eyes squeezed shut as her fingertips brushed the smooth surface. She stretched farther, her toes curling into the sand as a drifting anchor, and then it was in her hand. She scrambled to her feet and lifted the pale, glowing object toward the moonlight, almost dropping it in her shock.

It was a skull. A broken skull. The face intact, like a mask, but the back of its head was missing.

Alex turned it back and forth, a hundred new questions forming in her mind. Was it a child? A young woman? From what faraway place had it come?

"The poor dear," she muttered as she lifted the skull toward her face and peered—eye to eye—through the blank sockets. Alex blinked . . . and then blinked again through the ancient spyglasses as her gaze swept the hazy, mist-shrouded horizon. She stopped. It couldn't be. She slowly lowered the skull and gasped.

A ship.

Alex watched it grow closer and then ran up the steep incline of the rocky hill toward the castle that was her home. Much of the castle was uninhabitable, but the family had salvaged and repaired the great hall and several smaller rooms for bedchambers. Centuries ago the castle had been a first line of defense for Northern England against the Scots, but it was eventually attacked and overrun by Vikings—nasty pirates who had destroyed the monastery.

In those days ships were common on Holy Island's shores, but it had been decades since anything other than local fishing boats bobbed on the North Sea, and Alex could not ever remember a visitor gracing their small village that had not come from the land route. That is until now. With the ship growing bigger and bigger before her eyes, she knew someone was indeed coming and they would be asking for the lord and lady of the castle.

That thought had her running in earnest through the old great hall and then up the stone steps to her bedchamber. She still clutched the skull and paused on the threshold of her room to look down at it. What if the ship had something to do with this? Perhaps they were murderers come back to kill them all!

She shoved the skull underneath her pillow at the same time reaching for the ancient sword propped against the wall beside her bed. She brandished it in front of her, or rather tried to. The thing was so heavy she only managed one swipe through the air before it fell with a thud onto her bed. Oh well. Little good one sword would do against a ship full of murdering pirates. If only the castle's cannon still worked.

Turning from that thought she pulled her nightdress over her head, rushed toward the armoire, and flung the doors wide. She stood, baffled, at her simple dresses. There wasn't anything of elegance or refinement here. If she showed up to greet them in any of this garb, they would hardly believe she was the lady of the castle. Then again, maybe she should pose as a servant or the chatelaine perhaps, and give over the castle willingly to protect the villagers.

No, she shook her head. She was a Featherstone and a Featherstone would never take the coward's way out.

Another idea stopped her short. Her breath caught at the thought. Dare she? With a small smile she turned from the armoire and rushed from the room.

The door to her mother and father's bedchamber was closed. A sudden stab of sadness shot through her heart. They had been gone so long this time. And no letter in months. She took a deep breath and pulled up her chin. No time to feel sorry now.

She turned the knob. The creaking hinges groaned against the silence. Moonlight spilled into the room from a long, narrow window. She glanced at the bed, the coverings thick with dust. Why had no one kept the room clean? It wasn't like Ann, the housekeeper, to shirk her duties. Unless of course the rumors were true. That her parents were never coming back. That they had met with some misfortune and were—No. She wouldn't believe a village soothsayer and a bunch of foreboding gossips. She would continue to pray and believe in God's power to save. And anyway, she would know, deep in her heart; if something had happened to them, she would have a feeling of it, and she did not have that feeling.

Turning from the thoughts, she ran, near blind, over to her mother's large armoire and opened the doors. Her hand shook a little and she bit down on her lower lip as she reached into the back and drew out a faded blue satin gown. It was old, older than she at twenty, but still lovely. It had been her mother's wedding gown. Alex held the garment up to her chest and took a deep breath. It should fit perfectly.

After donning the dress, she sat at her mother's low dressing table. A mostly empty jewelry box sat on one corner. Alex dragged it toward her and opened the lid. Inside was a small set of combs with paste jewels looking like tiny emeralds and blue sapphires along the edge. With practiced ease she twisted her long, dark hair into a knot that was slightly askew and secured it with the combs.

She leaned forward and studied her reflection, hoping she looked older and authoritative. Arched, dark brows over large, pale blue eyes. An oval face of classic lines with a small, straight nose and full lips. She pinched some color into her pale cheeks and then shrugged at herself in the mirror. She always had looked younger than her years. She would just have to brazen it out.

Now to awaken Ann and Henry, the servants who were now so old Alex did most of the work around the castle. She had to be sly about it, of course, or risk hurting their pride. Ann and Henry were more like grandparents than servants to her. Heaven only knew the shock her appearance would give them this night! A laugh escaped her throat as she pictured their faces. And where had Latimere trotted off to? Her giant, white Great Pyrenees was usually at her heels. He would put the fear of God into the scoundrels. She would send Henry out to search for him with one of those large bones from supper if time permitted.

The thought of time running out had her scurrying back toward the great hall and then deeper into the castle where the servants' quarters were next to the kitchen.

"Ann! Henry!" She called out as soon as she was near. "Wake up! A ship is coming."

She banged on Henry's door hoping he would hear her. It wasn't long before Ann stuck her head out of her bedchamber, cap askew, worry in her eyes. "Lady Alex, it's the middle of the night. What are you doing up and about? You should be in bed, child."

Ann came out into the hall just as Henry opened his door and gaped at them like a beached fish. "What's happened to cause all this racket?" His expression turned awestruck as he peered through his spectacles at Alex's unprecedented attention to her appearance.

Alex hurriedly explained. "There is a ship in the harbor. A real ship. And it's coming this way."

"A ship? Who could it be? Whatever could they want with our little island?" Ann looked down at Alex's bare feet and frowned.

"I don't know but we're soon to find out. Hurry and dress. Henry, I want you to find Latimere and meet me in the great hall. Ann"—Alex shrugged, her brow wrinkling in thought—"mayhap you should make some refreshments. Just in case they are not here to murder us and take the castle."

Ann's eyes grew huge with fright. "You must hide, child. Just look at you dressed like that."

Alex wasn't sure if Ann was complimenting or insulting her. She huffed out a breath of frustration. "This is our home and I will not let anyone take it from us. Now hurry—both of you." She turned to go, a parting command shouted over her shoulder. "I found one gun. Bring any other weapons you can find!"

Hoisting up the heavy satin skirts, Alex groaned to see her dirty bare feet. She was turning to fetch her only pair of satin slippers when a heavy pounding sounded on the castle's front door.

Bare feet or not, it was time to meet her future.

With a pounding heart and the rusty pistol she'd found in the deep recesses of the kitchen pantry hidden in the folds of her skirt, Alex opened the massive door. It groaned on its old hinges and the wind blew strong and salty in her face as she looked up at the smartly dressed man standing with two soldiers on either side.

The man cast a quick head-to-toe glance at her and then bowed low over a turned-out leg. Swinging his hat round to his chest, he gripped it and stared at her, seemingly dumbstruck.

Harmless looking enough. Alex gulped down a chuckle at the sight.

"I have come to see Lady Alexandria Featherstone," the man said in a thin, nasal voice that sounded like he was more afraid of her than she was of him.

Oh, bother. He would never believe her the lady of the castle now. She should have had Henry answer the door like any proper noblewoman would have thought to do. Instead she curtsied out of confusion and lifted her arm toward the great hall without even asking his name or business. She was seriously botching this.

"Wait." She stopped his progress into the castle with her flat palm thrust toward his chest. "What is your business with Lady Featherstone?"

He bowed again, the two men on either side of him standing like statues with ominous expressions frozen on their faces. "I have news for her ladyship. News of great import."