The Guardian (Chronicles of Dover's Amalgam Book 1) (31 page)

“Yes, because you are so very randy and virile—the ducal lineage can always count on you. Hardly something to brag about,” Abigail said. She waved him off. “The only reason he has a title is because he almost got killed in medieval times and he had to be hidden, so we sent him to a different time.” She smirked and shook her head. “He’s practically a criminal.” She turned to Elizabet and Jareth. “Now, we must stop talking about how stupid Peter is—you’ll find out all about that in due time. Papa needs to get Mum back to the castle or she will become hypothermic.”

Benjamin tossed his arms around Elizabet’s neck and hugged her tight. “Please, don’t die, Mummy. If you die, no one will read to me at bedtime. Mrs. Wheatley is ghastly at reading Dickens. She doesn’t even change her voice between characters.”

Elizabet blinked back the tears that sprang to her eyes at the mention of reading and her in the same breath. Dickens, no less. She looked owlishly at Jareth.

“It seems this one is the baby,” Jareth said fondly, and reached out to pull Benjamin from her. Benjamin gave one final squeeze before he let go. The children all shared curious glances. Jareth’s jaw tightened as he hauled Benjamin to his feet, only to have the boy turn on him with a wild embrace as well.

“Ahh, I’m afraid that although Benjamin has a vast wealth of affection, as one does as a younger child,” Abigail said. “He is not the caboose.”

“He’s not?” Jareth asked as he hugged the child, and then patted his thin back.

“Mum’s pregnant,” Solomon announced.

Gideon pulled a face. “It’s another girl.”

“Hey!” Abigail scolded. She turned to her mother. “Her name will be Honor. You said that ‘on your honor, this is the last one’ and you’ve run out of biblical names.”

“How about Sara or Esther,” Jareth suggested.

Abigail’s face puckered. “Really, Dad? Leave the naming to us. We have a greater understanding of these delicate matters.” She passed Elizabet a look that baited conspiracy.

“Please, let the girls have their way,” Solomon said as he hunched down to disengage Benjamin from his strangling hug. He transferred the boy to his arms and lifted him as he stood. “They get crazy when we make suggestions.”

“Yes,” Peter said, touching the area over his heart with his fingertips. “When I suggested Arabella, everyone was appalled.”

“Arabella is a dairy maid on our property,” Abigail explained. When neither Elizabet nor Jareth understood the connection and silence stretched, she mimed humps over her chest. “He’s a bit infatuated.”

“Oh,” Elizabet said. She turned a scolding eye on Peter, while Jareth appeared truly shocked. Then, “
Oh,
” as reality dawned.

“Well, you must be on your way,” Solomon said. He shifted Benjamin in his arms and embraced his father as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “Get Mum back to the castle. I’m sure they have formed a search party by now.”

Solomon moved to Elizabet and hugged her while the other children followed suit. Benjamin began to cry.

Elizabet grabbed Jareth’s arm. Her bottom lip trembled as Solomon consoled the child and Abigail twisted a time band from her wrist and tossed it in the air. The light was brilliant as the portal opened.

“Mummy,” Benjamin wailed, and extended his arms to her.

Elizabet went to rise, but Jareth held her back, his arms folded around her shoulders and pressing her to him. He nodded to Solomon, who was having a time controlling the wriggling child in his arms, while the others took turns stepping into the portal. Each glanced at them before disappearing.

Solomon shook his head. “What a silly head he will be when he sees Mum waiting on the other end.”

Elizabet lunged forward as Solomon stepped in and the circle closed.

Chapter 16

JARETH GRIPPED HER
tighter. “Let them go,” he murmured into her hair. He placed a kiss there. “It is not good-bye. We will see them again.” She dipped her head and began to cry. “Do not cry.” he rested his cheek on her head, and rubbed her arms to warm her. “You are alive and I am here. You are safe.”

“That’s not it. Did you not hear?” she cried out. “They said I can read.” She spread her hands. “I can
read
, Jareth.”

“You shall read,” Jareth promised. His arm tightened around her. “I will teach you myself, and until then I will take you to every play, every opera, and every theatre in your nation to see that you enjoy the things your mother taught you to love.”

Elizabet pulled away and stared up at him. “How . . .”

He placed the tip of his finger over her mouth. “You said your mother read everything to you; this way you shall see everything you have learned.”

“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“It is just the beginning. You will want for nothing. I will see to it.” Jareth swiped the tears from her cheeks.

“Well, you might want to hold off on making any promises to me,” Elizabet said. She winced as her memory jarred. “I’ve lost two of your stones.”

“You did not lose them,” he responded mildly as if she would shatter if he raised his voice. “They were stolen from you.”

“How’d you know that?”

“The children,” he said. “They were sent to me. By you. It seems things went badly once we parted ways this morning. You were watched and taken advantage of. I blame myself for leaving you with such a burden.”

She shook her head. “Percival helped me bury the others. That’s the only reason they didn’t get them all. When we were leaving the abbey, he called out for me to watch for Catherine, but I didn’t know who she was. By then it was too late. She turned me over to that ugly little man.”

“Clever girl that you hid them, but kept one close in case you must flee.”

“No.
Stupid
girl. That’s why they tried to kill me.” She sniffed and swiped at her nose with the back of her hand.

“They would kill you because Catherine wants you out of the way.” Jareth said. “Gyula has no need of seven stones. One is enough. Greed had him steal two from you.” He grabbed her cold hands in his. “I shall kill him for this.”

“Don’t.” She shook her head but then thought better and nodded. “Please do.”

“Bloodthirsty wench,” Jareth murmured, his lips kicked up in the corners.

“Seriously,” Elizabet said. “I’m learning that this time requires desperate measures. They’ll never stop until I’m dead or you’re dead, or
someone
is dead. It might as well be them.”

“You shall be dead of cold if I do not get you home.” Jareth helped her stand. Keeping the blanket swaddled around her, he encircled her with his arm. “Can you walk to the castle? We are a good bit away. I can carry you.”

Elizabet shook her head. “Don’t be silly.” But her lips trembled.

Jareth shook off the blanket from his shoulders and doubled it over hers. Although she protested, he did not listen. Instead, he led her slowly and steadily up the hill to the castle.

He ended up carrying her when her strength failed. Her dignity, though, was another story. She hid her face in the crook of his shoulder when he toted her through the castle hall where dinner was being served.

He stood her upright once he closed the door to their chamber. The massive stone fireplace covered a good portion of the west wall; he hunched down to build the fire higher.

“How are you so hot?” Elizabet shivered. She frowned and huddled deeper into the blankets. “You don’t even look cold and you’re as wet as I am.”

Jareth shrugged. “My anger, perhaps.” He smiled ruefully. “My thought of vengeance is exceedingly warming. You gave me the go ahead to execute those who have betrayed my family. I do this best, Elizabet—exacting revenge on those who deserve no mercy.”

“I didn’t mean it to sound so cruel.” With damp blankets sagging around her, she walked to the privacy partition.

“I can be cruel when necessary . . .” He poked the wood and stirred the embers with an iron. “ . . . If it means protecting those I love.”

She tossed the blankets over the wide partition and wondered if the screen was medieval. She decided it was not. She looked it up and down and frowned at it before she ducked behind it and yanked at her ruined shift. “We speak of killing and murder while I dress. It should bother me, but I find myself falling into character the more time I spend with you. I even sound like a gothic novel. I hardly recognize my speaking.”

“Good!” There was a rustle of movement; Jareth rising to his feet. “That is not apathy, but empathy.” His footsteps neared. “Do you need help?”

Elizabet’s hands stilled on the waistband of her thin undergarment. He came to stand at the partition’s fold, his arms crossed. She peeped and jumped.

“I am here to keep you warm.” He smiled. “To offer you the use of my hot body.”

She scowled and reached for a folded towel that lay on the small chair—which was probably Chippendale. The furniture was becoming scandalous. It was not just her attitude that was adjusting to her new life, but she was seeing clearer and recognizing objects that did not belong. They were everywhere, and it vexed her that she had failed to notice before.

“It puts me off how you get slang.” She hurriedly wrapped the towel around the remains of her wet clothing. “You understand play with words.” She crossed her arms too. “And you shouldn’t. I say I’m playing my part, but sometimes you just get me.”

He waved his hand, then turned on his heel and aimed himself toward a solid wall. “Have it your way. Be prudish. Go on and finish your ablutions. My hot body and I are going to shower.”

Elizabet reached up and grabbed him by the collar. “What did you say?”

Jareth righted his lower body to match the stationary upper half she held hostage. He pointed straight ahead without looking back at her. “Behind that wall is a modern bath and I am prepared to make use of it.”

She twisted his damp shirt in her hand. Jareth shrugged to disengage her, but she only tightened her grasp. “You mean to tell me, that while I was here nursing you back from the dead, I could have had running water?” she asked incredulously.

Jareth peered at her over his shoulder. “You stand there like a wet mouse in dire need of a warm bath, and you are unearthing an insignificant piece of the past? Or could I be hopeful that you have decided to use my hotness?”

Elizabet released her hold of him and pushed him away. Belatedly, she reached out and slapped his cold, sodden back before he was too far off. “I’m going first.”

She felt her hands along the wall as a blind man would, and searched for the way to open it. Jareth was no help; he bit his lip as though trying not to laugh.

JARETH AND ELIZABET
lay nose to nose in the dark and under a canopy of covers. He decided they would leave at daybreak, travel through the wormhole, and face whatever giants awaited them. It was selfish not to return home tonight—they were free to go, and it was time—but he was greedy and wanted one more night with her before she knew everything. Tomorrow her world would change forever. Their lives would be spent running from disaster to disaster.

“I didn’t think,” Elizabet said. She spoke of the circumstances that led to her losing the travel stones. “I couldn’t think. Gyula threatened that he had men who would kill you on his command if I didn’t give up the stones.”

Jareth traced the bruise on her back with his fingertips. The imprint of it was on his brain, and he touched it without having to look. Anger erupted in his chest as he envisioned how it got there. His fingertips walked the edge of it along her spine, almost a foot in length. He did it to soothe her as she spoke. At first, she did not want to tell him what happened. She was ashamed, but he persuaded her. “But you gave them to him anyway.” He let his mouth curve into a crooked smile. “That means you trust me.”

Elizabet grimaced. He was not sure if it was due to the pressure against her bruised back or that she was confused. “I was scared. I didn’t know whether he telling the truth.”

She was confused, then. “You knew that no matter what, I would protect you, and that I would be all right. You were brave not to give him all of them. It was a risk, but you took it. You trust me.”

“I wish all of that didn’t have to happen for you to come to that conclusion.”

“Catherine will pay for this,” Jareth said. He pushed up onto his elbow, his body leaning over hers. He kept his hand on her back, bracing her close to him. “I will not stop until I have erased her memory from history. She will never harm you or any of my family again.”

“That is sweet of you,” Elizabet said. She reached up to touch his face. “But not necessary. It’s too much for me. This isn’t how I’m used to living. Just turn her in to the authorities and let them deal with her.” Elizabet’s palm pressed to his face.

“I am the authority.”

“Oh!” Her eyes widened a fraction. “I forget that part.” Her fingers curled into a ball before she withdrew them, and her voice lowered. “What will you do?”

“Have her executed.”

“Jareth! You can’t do that.”

“I can and I will.”

“Isn’t there anything I can say that will change your mind?”

“Probably not.”

Elizabet struck his chest with her fist. “Not even I love you? That you don’t need to murder someone for me? That it doesn’t sit well with me that killing people—”

“You love me?” Jareth asked. He lowered his face toward her; their noses almost touched. He wanted to relish what she was saying, but the anger in her tone made it impossible.

“Of course, I do.” She hit him again and shoved him back. She was not happy yet, even though she smiled. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re my husband . . .”

“You may stop at I love you.” Jareth grinned. He ran his nose along hers, and let his lips graze her cheek in a feather light kiss. He wanted to distract her so he would not be forced to make promises he had no intention of keeping. “Do not ruin it by giving me excuses. Stop talking before you spoil it for me.”

“Okay.” She giggled as though what he was doing tickled. He pulled back and allowed his smile to grow. One of his favorite sounds was her laughter. “I’ll shut up if you promise you won’t kill anyone for me.”

Jareth’s smile faltered. His distraction had not worked. “You cannot ask me to turn a blind eye to what was done. As lord, I must make an example of her for what she has done or my title will lose respect. I have to show justice or my people will not trust me. It is the way of things, Elizabet. I cannot allow Catherine to get away with what she did.” He touched her back again. “She marked you.” His voice went rough. “Kicked you, had you flogged.”