The Guardian (Chronicles of Dover's Amalgam Book 1) (30 page)

“I will,” he said, and put his arms around her. She was taller than her mother. He smiled into her hair, thinking how much he would enjoy spoiling her. “I am so happy to have met you, daughter.” He kept his voice low, as if it were their secret.

Abigail pulled back; a tear coursed down her cheek. She smiled through her sorrow, and the tear landed in the dimple of her cheek. “Be safe,” she mouthed and stepped back. She placed her palms together in a prayer pose.

Solomon handed Benjamin off to Peter and stood next to his twin. He took the rope from Jareth. “I will hold you until we make a visual and then we will secure the rope to an anchor we have. The other rope Abigail secured is the dummy rope in case this one fails. We won’t leave your safety to chance. We are not leaving here without being sure both you and Mum are safe.”

“I understand,” Jareth said. He let one foot step behind him off the edge of the cliff, and tested his footing. The white chalk gave way until he dug a place for his foot to rest. He leveled himself and climbed down another step. This would be the last glimpse he had of his children until they were born. “Son,” he said abruptly, and locked gazes with Solomon.

Solomon shook his head, his jaw becoming rigid. “Don’t say it,” he said. “You don’t have to. I know.”

Jareth gave a jerky nod and continued his descent. His heart beat frantically in his chest with worry over Elizabet and the pack of children he left on the cliff. What if Gyula returned and hurt them? What if things were botched again and this was not the final thread that must be fixed to ensure they had life in the future? He was not accustomed to worry; it was something he did not do. It seemed having a family changed him, and in ways that were not always positive.

He glanced up and saw that the twins were still watching, and that the girl’s lips silently moved as if in prayer. Using all of his strength, he descended at faster rate. They depended on him. He would save Elizabet so he could see all of their dear faces again. He would be worthy of the love he saw mirrored when he gazed into their eyes.

ELIZABET HELD HER
head above water as another wave came through and made her gasp. Her nose scraped against the cavern ceiling; her cheek was bloodied and bruised from the repeated impact as each wave brought her higher.

She was about to die and she had not even lived yet. She had not told Jareth that she loved him and would never get the chance now.

For the past hour she had prayed, bartered with God, and then cried until her sinuses wanted to collapse. She was at the point of acceptance now, although she did not understand how things ended so badly. Had no one seen this coming?

Another wave pulsed through, and caused her to stretch to her tippy toes on the rock she waded above. It made her wonder why she did not just give up and take a big swig of water and go down.

The thought nearly made her hyperventilate. She did not want to die.

Tears formed in her eyes and she blinked up at the roof of the cavern. It was a horrid view to die looking at. She wished she had been sent out to sea so she could have seen what the white cliffs looked like. She had only ever looked down on them, and she had seen them in pictures. She would never be allowed to witness the landscape that her husband loved.

A sob echoed around her; her bottom lip puffed out in an ugly cry. She gripped the firm narrow walls, and dug her fingers into the rocky crevices to stabilize her body and prepare for the next wave. Soon when the wave hit, it would not recede.

She began to breathe in short pants, sucking in air and bawling at the same time. “Please, God,” she cried as the water level rose to her chin. She slipped on the rock and bobbed in the water, but came up coughing.

The fear in her belly was acute. She was terrified of water and had been since she was kid. Everyone else could swim and they made fun that she could not learn something so simple. It was like reading. But she could not do that either.

Beau understood because she could also not swim, no matter how hard she tried. Elizabet promised herself that if she made it through this, she would learn to swim and be sure that Beau did the same. It was the worst way to die for someone who feared water. The cavern walls were narrow and she was sandwiched into a three foot rectangular cell that appropriately resembled a tomb.

She glanced down into the water to eye her footing. There had been light coming from the coastline, but it had dimmed. It was nearly black out now. She wiggled her toes and tried to force her vision.

A beam of light flickered beyond the rock. Elizabet blinked rapidly; maybe she imagined it. But it came again, even brighter, and then something grasped her toe. She gasped and jerked her foot away. Something grabbed her other foot and held on this time.

Elizabet frantically grabbed at the walls and ceiling around her, searching for leverage to pull herself higher. It was fruitless; there was no place to go. She knew that, had tried it before, but could not help the frenzy that her fear was building in her.

The pressure released from her foot and was replaced by a solid mass filling the space next to her. The wavery light traveled upward through the water, and she suddenly realized that it was not a sea monster or a deadly fish, but a person.

Jareth surfaced next to her, yanked his mouthpiece out, and let it bob away at the end of the air hose. He grabbed her face and tilted it down. “You’re alive,” he gasped. Before she could answer, he was kissing her.

Elizabet closed her eyes and gave up a silent prayer. She did not care why or how he was here, just that he was.

He found her.

Jareth’s lips were warm, his body pressed to hers in the small space they shared. She released her hold on the rock and grasped his shoulders.

“Thank you,” she said against his lips.

He drew back; his hand ran the length of her neck and over her shoulder. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. Her teeth chattered, whether from the cold or shock, she did not know. “I can’t swim,” she said. “I got stuck and couldn’t get out. A man came and grabbed me . . .”

“I know,” he murmured. He scanned the tight space and then used the light to look down into the water. He peered back up at her. “You have to trust me, my love. We don’t have much time.”

The water level rose and engulfed them. Elizabet clung to Jareth, her eyes on him, even underwater. He met her searching gaze with an expression that was not hard to interpret.

When the water receded this time, it left even less air space. They had to tilt their heads back to remain above the water line.

He guided the mouthpiece into her mouth. Her arms were clumsy and slow in the resistance of the water but she fought him. The next wave would be their last. He shoved the oxygen at her as the rush of seawater hit.

“Trust me,” he said. His words became garbled as saltwater filled his mouth.

His next actions did not feel infused with love, but were quick and brutal. Grabbing her waist to halt her panicked wiggling, he steadied her while he worked the rope he carried around her middle. He labored quickly, using the dim glow from his light to guide him under the murky water.

At last he was able to secure the rope. He looked into her fearful eyes, jerked a nod, placed his palms atop her head, and pressed her down.

She thrashed.

Why was he pushing her under the water? She kicked, screamed, lost the breathing piece, and he shoved it back into her mouth. He shoved her until he had her head down and was forcing her through the narrow way that led out to the English Channel. She wiggled, panicked, and bucked until something gave and she floated upward. Jareth reached up past her and jerked on the rope—twice.

Suddenly, water was rushing past her as she was propelled upward. She squeezed her eyes closed and held on to the mouthpiece, breathing deep the life-giving oxygen. When she broke the surface, she was surrounded by darkness illuminated only by the moon.

“Mum!” someone hollered from above.

Elizabet looked up, the mouthpiece still in her mouth, lighting the way. A group of people peered over the ledge of a cliff a good distance above her.

Mom?

She spit out the mouthpiece and grabbed at the rope with both hands. It was the good grace of those overhead that was keeping her from drowning.

She searched for Jareth on the water’s surface while she held the tank under her arm in case he needed it. She used leverage to light the way around her as she searched.

“Dad!” someone yelled, then “Mum! Over there!”

Elizabet thrashed, using the rope to turn in the water. She grabbed the light and pointed it into the darkness while she held the rope with one hand.

“Jareth!” she called when she saw him treading water only a few feet away. She put the piece in her mouth and reached out for him.

He was bleeding. There was a gash on his temple and a scrape down his cheek.

“Get him to the ledge,” a girl’s voice called from above. “Use the spare rope tied to the arrow there.”

Jareth clasped her hand in his and Elizabet scanned the area for a ledge against the cliffs. He was heavy and brought them down a bit; they bobbed in the water.

“Get on my back,” Jareth directed her. He treaded water and shifting their positions until he had control of the rope and she was under his care. She locked her legs around him and encircled his chest with her arms while he grabbed the rope with both hands. He took the light from her and flashed it upward. The blurry faces of what was apparently their children were still above.

Jareth began the ascent while the boys formed a line and pulled. The girl watched with her hands on her knees as she peered over the edge of the cliff.

“Almost here,” she encouraged.

Jareth’s biceps bulged as he climbed the rope with her on his back. It would not be his way to passively allow his children to haul them to safety. The sooner her feet were on firm ground, the better. She had become so very cold. Stripping down to her underclothes had been smart at the time, but she was paying the price now.

“I’ve got her,” the black-haired boy called. He released the rope and reached for her, then grasped her arms and hauled her over Jareth’s head. Her body slid stomach down onto the soft soil. He stood over her, grinning. “I’m Peter.”

The older boy reached out and grabbed his dad’s thin shirt from the back and pulled until he lay safely next to Elizabet beside the precipice.

Jareth rolled his head to face her. “This is Solomon, the oldest and Abigail’s twin.”

“We did it,” another boy said, his voice shaky. He eyed the youngest of the bunch and ruffled his hair with a smile. “We did it,” he repeated.

“Mum, I’m Abigail. That’s Gideon and Benjamin.” The girl dropped to her knees and stroked Elizabet’s hair from her eyes. “You’re safe now.”

Elizabet gazed into the face of her daughter and knew who she was immediately. The hair, her eyes, the resemblance between her and Jareth—she was a perfect mixture. She reached out and touched Abigail’s cheek with her fingertips.

“My love.” Jareth rolled until they were side by side, and drew Elizabet into his arms. Her hand left Abigail’s face but remained suspended as if she did not want to lose contact with her daughter. “You are so cold.”

Solomon jumped to attention. “We have blankets.’

Elizabet gazed at the tribe surrounding her, peeling her eyes from her daughter and took them all in.
Her children.
Her mind could hardly wrap around the concept and yet, they were here, all of them brave, adorable, and loyal. Something in her heart tugged as she realized that they were the proof of her love for Jareth. She could not stop absorbing them with her eyes. Their features, their voices, and the way they moved as a unit and in tune. Her precious family. Her eyes watered with an emotion she had never felt before.

“You are still here,” Jareth said with wonder in his voice.

Peter shrugged. “We did say that we would see you both to safety.”

“We wanted to leave nothing to chance,” Abigail said fiercely. “Someone is trying to stop the Amalgam from forming. It’s not just a family issue at stake, but everything we have worked for.”

“The Amalgam?” Jareth asked. He narrowed his eyes. “What do you know of it?”

“Don’t look so suspicious, Dad,” Peter said. He pulled a face. “We’re your kids. We know everything.”

“We are guardians,” Gideon said. “We each have a part.”

Jareth’s lips parted and his eyes widened. “You are Gideon.”

The boy smiled. “You remembered. See that I’m in charge of the physics department. It’s my forte.”

“We watch over time and host,” Solomon commented from behind a pair of blankets. He fanned one out and placed it around Elizabet’s shoulders. He threw the other and hit Jareth in the face with it. He gave him a devilish smile. “I am stationed in medieval Dover, because I am heir, but the others are free to belong to other times.”

“I know Napoleon,” Peter said, but when his sister scowled at him he grimaced. “Well, I live in his time. I am a rifleman in the British Army.”

“But you are so young,” Elizabet said, and felt her forehead crease as she drew her brows together. She dabbed tears from her cheeks using the blanket.

“I’m eighteen, Mum.” His chest puffed out a bit.

Abigail rolled her eyes. Solomon hid a grin by biting on his bottom lip.

“I’ve been in His Majesty’s Army for a year now,” Peter said with great pride.

“And he’s titled,” Benjamin tossed in. He shouldered his way until he was next to her, and went down on his knees. “Dad says he has the luck of Saint Peter himself.”

“Did he say that?” Elizabet asked as the boy nestled beside her, half burrowed in the covers with her. She placed her arms around him and peered at Jareth over his head. It was evident this one had an overabundant tendency for snuggling.

“I cannot imagine why I would say such a thing,” Jareth said, and Peter grinned like a fool.

“Our title is almost lost,” Peter said. “Seems the dukes in that century could only produce girls.” His nose crinkled. “But I saved the title. I swoop in as the last distant male relative when ol’ Benedict curls his toes heavenly.” He blew a raspberry. “Girls! Can you believe he had eight girls? No luck, that one. It was easy to get me in as Duke. A couple of forged documents and yours truly was no longer the spare, but the heir.”