House of Dreams (33 page)

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Authors: Brenda Joyce

BOOK: House of Dreams
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“It has been a scandal,” Rob remarked. “In all these months since the marriage treaty was signed, there was not a single letter or gift from Philip for the queen until Don Alvarado arrived a few days ago.”
Isabel's eyes widened as they searched his tanned face. “How rude and ungentlemanly,” she said. “The poor queen!” But her pulse was racing and it was not Mary Tudor whom she was thinking of.
“We have all agreed with that,” Rob said, rather grim. “It was almost an insult. However”—and his expression lightened—“the count has brought such gifts, I cannot even begin to describe them. Gowns and furs and jewels—the queen did cry in front of her lords and ladies, Isabel, with pleasure and with joy.”
“Oh, I am glad,” Isabel said, as they entered a small, shady garden. She was only now aware of it. Dear God, they were together, and they were alone.
Suddenly he was staring at her, unsmiling. Isabel became paralyzed, and every single question, every declaration, that she wished to ask and make disappeared. There was only expectation and the sudden, familiar tightness and tension of her body, and her quickening breath. “Oh, Rob,” she heard herself say.
He took her hands tightly in his and he held them to his chest. Even through the doublet he wore, the shirt beneath, she could feel his pounding male heartbeat. “This day is most amazing,” he whispered roughly. And then he lifted her hands to his mouth and kissed the tops of each one.
Tears came to Isabel's eyes, because the two kisses were so
tender and so gentle, so filled with the unspoken declaration of his love.
“Rob,” she whispered, blinking back the tears, wanting to ask him what had happened, why she hadn't heard from him, yet her gaze kept drifting from his blue eyes to his firm, masculine mouth.
“I am, again, undone,” he said harshly, and his eyes locked with hers.
Isabel realized what he was going to do before he pulled her into his arms, before his mouth softly feathered hers. And as she sank into his embrace, she knew she was home at last—she knew there had been no errors, no delusions, and she knew she would one day die still loving this man completely.
And then their mouths fused with a hunger fueled by four years of separation. Their lips parted, their tongues met.
They broke apart, wide-eyed and stunned, and Isabel realized she was smiling and crying at the very same time.
Nothing has changed after all.
“I have hurt you,” he cried, aghast, trying to wipe the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs.
“How could you hurt me when I love you so?” Isabel asked, still smiling. He froze.
Isabel stopped smiling. Something was wrong. It was written all over his countenance, it was written there in his startling eyes. “Rob?”
He wet his lips. “Isabel.” He spoke her name with the greatest caution. “Do you not know?”
Isabel's heart began to pound and hammer. “Do I not know what, Rob?”
He stared, as if incapable of answering.
“Rob! What is it that I must know?” she cried, a frightened demand. “Surely nothing is amiss, not between us?”
Ron inhaled loudly, released her hands, and turned his back to her. His fists found his hips. His stance was wide, thighs braced hard apart.
And her heart felt as if it were about to begin a hellish descent. “Rob. You frighten me.” She walked around him to face him and saw that he had lost much of his coloring. “You truly frighten me!”
“I do not mean to frighten you. But it seems I have forgotten that you have lived at Stonehill all these years.” He did not meet her eyes now. “Surely, even there, you receive news of the goings-on at court?”
“Sometimes,” Isabel said slowly, breathless with dread. “What has happened?”
“A year ago I married the lady Anne Hammond, a widow and an heiress.”
Isabel stared, knowing she had misheard. “What?”
He did not repeat himself, and would not look her in the eye
A year ago I married the lady Anne Hammond …
She blinked, surprised to find tears marring her vision. “'Tis a jest?”
He glanced at her. “No, Isabel, I would hardly make such a jest.”
It was not a jest. She remained stunned, in absolute disbelief. A year ago he had married …
“Isabel.” He reached for her, worry in his tone.
Isabel managed to elude him. Her heart pumped so furiously now that she could not breathe and she gasped for air. “No! Do not … How dare … Do not!” She backed away, absolute realization beginning, and with that horrific comprehension came an even worse feeling, utter anguish, sheer heartbreak. Isabel felt as if she were a house made of wood, the timbers shearing apart, and with their collapse, the entire solid world, once supported by their weight, came thundering to the ground. And the tears began to fall.
“Oh, God! I never intended this!” Rob cried. “It has been years, Isabel, since we were foolish children making foolish vows!”
Foolish vows,
she thought, looking at him, and then she doubled over, racked with pain. She would never survive this treachery.
He had killed her dreams, and now he was killing her.
Cass was frozen with shock, fear, and dread. Isabel did not disappear. She did not vanish or evaporate. She stood there staring Cass in the eye. She was no figment of the imagination, and Cass knew it.
And then Isabel smiled. There was nothing kind about it. It was chilling.
Every hair on Cass's body stood on end, her heart was slamming against the walls of her chest, she felt paralyzed, but somehow she managed to speak. Her words were raw and dry. “What? What do you want?” She had to be dreaming. She had to be losing her mind. This was not real.
Isabel walked past her.
Cass shifted to watch the woman as she paused in the midst of the bedroom, not far from the table where Cass's laptop was. Her back was to Cass. Cass's eyes widened as a comprehension seized her—and as it did, Isabel vanished. What was left in her stead was the glowing computer screen with the three words written upon it.
THEY BETRAYED ME.
Isabel had wanted her to see the message again.
Cass turned and fled the room, not even thinking to grab the candle, and a moment later she slammed into a human wall of flesh. She screamed.
Antonio shook her. “It's me, Cassandra.”
“Oh God!” Cass grabbed his hand and dragged him back the way he had come, but even as they fled the length of the corridor, Antonio
demanding to know what was wrong, Cass's mind was turning over the stunning incident. She had just been confronted with a woman dead for 445 years. She had just been confronted with a ghost. She had not dreamed it, imagined it. And Isabel's ghost did not seem in the least bit pleasant.
And there was also no escaping another fact—Isabel had communicated with her.
They betrayed me.
Isabel was present. And she was not just a form of abstract energy—she possessed intelligence, and this experience proved it.
Intelligence—and will.
Intelligence—and what else?
Cass began to shake. Who had betrayed Isabel? And why was she singling out Cass for her damnable communication? What did it mean? What did she want? Surely she wanted something!
They were at the top of the stairs. Antonio was demanding to know what was wrong. Cass hadn't even been aware of him confronting her, or their having halted. He was gripping Cass by both arms. She blinked at him as he shouted, “Talk to me!” Then he demanded, “What the hell is happening?”
Cass couldn't speak. A ghost with intelligence, a ghost with willpower, a ghost with an agenda? “Where are the children?” she demanded as another terrible notion struck her. Walls and halls and doors and stairs did not limit Isabel. There was no escaping her—not if she chose otherwise.
And even right now she could be downstairs, preying upon the children.
Ghosts did not stab people.
How the hell could Antonio know that?
“Where are the children?” Cass cried frantically.
Antonio stared. “In the library. With Gregory and Celia. Alfonso isn't feeling well, he has gone to bed.”
Cass blinked at him, almost without comprehension. “Antonio. I just saw her.”
He started, eyes wide. “Tracey?”
Cass was suddenly sick; briefly she had forgotten all about her missing sister. And now she was afraid that Isabel was tied in to Tracey's disappearance.
They betrayed me.
Did Isabel want vengeance? Was Aunt Catherine right? “No,” Cass said, choking, finally looking up at him. “I saw Isabel.”
He stared, becoming grim.
And Cass saw the doubt in his eyes. She gripped his shirt. “I saw her. We stood face-to-face, I don't know for how long. But before I saw her, my laptop went on. I went to it and opened it, and there was a DOS prompt—with three words, Antonio. Three words.
They betrayed me.”
He just stared.
“Are you listening?” she shouted, wanting to strike him. “She communicated with me through my laptop!”
His hands settled on her shoulders. “I want to believe you,” he said. “I do. But, Cassandra, ghosts don't type. In fact, in my opinion, ghosts don't do anything other than hover about whatever edifice they are haunting.”
Cass was furious. “This ghost does far more than hover, Antonio, this ghost communicates, this ghost is intelligent, this ghost wants something!”
His expression changed. “Why are you so angry?” His hand touched her cheek.
Cass stiffened, about to fling his hand away. She was more than angry, she almost felt enraged and she wanted to hit him. She began to struggle for her composure.
What was wrong with her?
She and Antonio were friends, and more. How could she be so angry with him, almost violently so? Cass stared at him. And as she did, she recalled how violently they had made love just a few hours ago.
And a recollection of Tracey striking her, kicking her, also came to mind.
Cass didn't like it.
“Cassandra? What is it?” Antonio was asking.
Cass didn't really hear him. And the electrician had been stabbed, Aunt Catherine had choked to death violently, and Eduardo had suffered an equally violent death. And what about Antonio's grandfather? “There's seems to be a pattern emerging here, Antonio, one of violence and death.”
“Cassandra—”
“No! Your father, your grandfather, my aunt, the electrician!” She was shouting. “They are all dead—they were all somehow murdered.”
He stared. “Do not tell me you think Isabel is involved.”
“But she's here, communicating to me,” Cass said. She glanced past him, down the dark corridor, suddenly trembling—and her mind was made up. “C'mon.” She grabbed his hand and half dragged him after
her, lengthening her strides. Sickness filled her now, accompanied by dread.
“All right,” he said, his flashlight wobbling in his hand as he hurried to stay abreast of her.
In the doorway of her room, Cass paused. But Isabel was not in sight, thank God, and as Cass sniffed the air, she realized that no lingering scent remained. She was gone.
Antonio stepped past her, shining his light on the laptop. The lid remained up, the DOS prompt blinking, but the message was gone.
Gone.
Cass stared in disbelief.
“Cassandra,” he said gently.
She knew what he was going to say and she whirled. “No! I did not imagine her, and I did not imagine what I saw on the screen! You're going to have to take my word on that, Antonio!”
He did not respond.
Cass heard herself curse. Then she rushed to the bed to grab the journal—maybe there were answers within it, answers they now desperately needed. “Let's get out of here,” she said.
Antonio allowed her to precede him out.
And Cass was in such a rush to leave that she forgot to turn off the computer.
 
 
“I'll be right back,” Gregory promised the two children and Celia.
Inside the library, it was eerily bright, as a huge fire roared in the hearth. Several candles had also been lit and placed about the room. Eduardo and Alyssa were sitting in their blankets, Eduardo reading a story aloud. Both children looked up as one, alarmed.
Celia sat wrapped in blankets, looking terribly old and exhausted; defeated. Tea that had long since gone cold was on the small table beside her chair. “Señor Gregory, where are you going?” she asked.
He smiled briefly. “The toilet.”
Alyssa and Eduardo watched him leave, and then they looked at one another, the book forgotten. For a moment the library was absolutely silent except for the crackling of flames and Celia's long, heavy sigh.
“He'll be right back,” Edurado said with a quick smile.
Alyssa looked at him, filled with unease, wishing her aunt Cass would hurry back to the library, wondering what could be taking her so long. Worry overwhelmed her. Her great-aunt was in the hospital, and Alyssa
wanted to know what was wrong with her and why nobody would talk to her about it. And where was her mother? Cass kept reassuring her that Tracey had probably rushed off into town, acting without thought, as she usually did, but Alyssa knew something was terribly wrong. Not only could she feel it, she could see it in her aunt's dark eyes. And what was wrong with Celia? She seemed sick. Alyssa had tried to talk to her, but she hadn't even heard her.
“I don't like his leaving us,” she said slowly, wishing the fire did not make the shadows dance and lengthen and then shorten along the walls of the room.
Eduardo's smile was frail. “You don't have to worry,” he said bravely.
Alyssa folded her legs beneath her, glancing around at the enormous room, the four corners of which were almost completely immersed in blackness. “I wish Aunt Cass would come back. What's taking her so long?”
Eduardo patted her arm. “If she's with my father, they're probably very busy with research.”
Alyssa nodded seriously. “My aunt is the smartest woman I know. Smarter even than my great-aunt.”
Eduardo agreed. “She is the smartest lady I know, too. And my father is the smartest man I know. He lectures all over the world!”
Alyssa thought that something smelled odd in the room. “I think they like each other,” she said. “Your father doesn't like my mother anymore.” Suddenly she fell silent, worried all over again. Where was her mother? How could she just leave them like this? What if she stayed away this time for a long time? Alyssa just wanted to know when she would see her again.
As if reading her thoughts, Eduardo said, “Maybe your mother got lost.” He patted her knee.
Alyssa frowned, her heart racing. “I hope not!”
“Don't worry. If she did, I'm sure they'll find her. Remember, your aunt and my father are really smart.”
Alyssa smiled a little, then she coughed. “What's that funny smell?” It was sweet, like flowers. Yet Alyssa did not like it.
“I don't know.” Eduardo reached for his crutches as he glanced at the door. “What is taking my uncle so long?”
Alyssa stood, just in case he needed help standing up. She watched him position the crutches, brace himself, and somehow swing himself up. He was very strong, she thought. Suddenly something slammed behind them.
Alyssa whirled, Eduardo hobbled around. “What was that?” Alyssa cried, staring toward the dark shadows of the far wall. All the windows were closed, the draperies only partially drawn. Outside, there was a three-quarter moon, stars numerous and bright, lighting up the night.
“I don't know. I think something fell,” Eduardo said, low.
“I know.” Celia spoke for the first time.
The two children turned to look at her.
“This house is haunted,” she said.
Alyssa froze.
“Do not say that, señora,” Eduardo said, his tone nervously high.
“Can you not feel it?” Celia asked heavily. “Catherine felt it.” Celia lapsed into silence, a tear sliding down her face.
Behind them, there was another noise, followed by a loud hissing sound. The children turned simultaneously.
“It's just the fire,” Eduardo cried.
“Where
is my uncle?”
“Maybe he's disappeared, too,” Alyssa whispered, clutching his hand as he held on to his crutches.
Their eyes met. Alyssa flushed. She hadn't meant to verbalize what she wished she had never heard the adults saying. Her mother had disappeared. She wasn't lost. She had vanished.
Just like Eduardo's mother had, a long time ago.
Did that mean she was never coming back?
“He didn't disappear,” Eduardo said nervously, looking the way Alyssa felt—as if he might cry—when a soft tapping sound began behind them.
Alyssa gasped as they all turned, facing the window—and then she cried out.
A woman stood there, her features somewhat indistinct, but her long hair was a wild, moon-colored mass flying about her face and shoulders.
“Mother!” Alyssa shouted.
The woman stared, then stepped back, away, and out of sight.
Alyssa did not think. Her mother had come back! She hadn't gotten lost—she hadn't disappeared—after all. She ran out of the library as fast as she could. “Mother! Wait!”
Celia was standing. “Stop!” she cried. “Miss Alyssa, don't go!”
There was no reply.
Celia rushed after her, moving with surprising speed.

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