The Guardian Duke: A Forgotten Castles Novel (14 page)

"Thank you . . . ?" Maeve raised her brows in question of a name.

"Oh," Alex held out her hand to the ethereal creature. "Alexandria Featherstone. So honored to meet you both."

The woman smiled at her, the first real smile since meeting her. "A charming child." She looked up to her husband. "Wherever did you find her, under some rock?"

Baylor pointed to the table where his friends and Montague were sitting. "She's with him. She was fairy struck by your singing so I invited them to our table."

"And then you couldn't help but to dance with her. Ach, I know. Never mind that. I will join you in a few moments."

She turned and seemed to float away toward the dark recesses of the back of the building. Alex looked at Baylor and covered her mouth with her hand at his stricken look. "Is she terribly angry?"

Baylor smirked at her and let out a big breath. "You wouldn't have to ask had she been angry. Just testing me. I believe we've scraped by. Come now, let's sit with our company."

Alex followed his looming form back to the table.

What a place, Ireland! And what people she'd met already! She turned around and gasped. There, near the door, stood the dark, mysterious form that seemed to be following her. He turned his head and glared at her. It was him. A spike of fear thrust through her as she hurried after the giant and sat in the safest spot between him and Montague. She leaned toward Montague's ear. "He's here. By the door."

Montague flicked a glance at the man and then looked away. "I know. I've been watching him."

"What do you think he wants?" Alex breathed, resisting the urge to sink under the table and hide.

"Alexandria, if your parents were looking for something valuable and they've disappeared . . ." He stared into her eyes, more serious than she'd ever seen him. "It would stand to reason that you might be in the same danger, would it not?"

"But I don't know anything. I don't even know what they were looking for."

"Yes, but he doesn't know that. To him you are following the same clues your parents followed. To him, you may be the only link to this treasure your parents sought. We must be very careful, my dear. I shall sleep outside your door tonight."

Alex didn't know what to say. He was right, of course. But she had to shake this man from them. She couldn't risk leading him right to her parents. Maybe she should give up, go home where she was safe. The first real trial had begun, as Montague had warned would happen on this journey.

Dear God, what shall I do?

G
abriel neared the little village of Beal in the northeastern most part of Northumberland with a sense of relief. Upon hearing of Gabriel's intention to go and fetch his ward himself, the prince regent had insisted he be accompanied by a cavalcade of soldiers during the five-day journey, and the company was, quite frankly, wearing on his nerves.

He rode toward the front on a big bay stallion, flanked by officers in red-coated uniforms and led by a captain who relished his temporary command over the duke. "Regent's orders" was a favorite phrase of the captain, which he used in short barks of sound, eyes round and heady with power.

Gabriel mostly ignored him, which infuriated the little man. Thank God Meade was with him or he'd really be bad tempered. His secretary had balked at the idea of riding all the way to Holy Island, not having any skill to control a horse, but Gabriel refused a carriage. Alexandria might be in danger. They didn't have time for anything but fast horses and hard riding. Meade would just have to bump along behind them as best he could.

On a positive note, his hearing had improved a bit again the farther north they traveled. Did the change of altitude have anything to do with it? If it did, he would have to pack up and move to Scotland. Perhaps he should try some healing waters. There were those in Bath, but they were in the south of England. He would have to find out if there were any in the more northern climes.

Gabriel turned and looked over his shoulder at his stalwart secretary. Poor man, he appeared ready to slide off to one side or the other at any moment. Mayhap he should tie him to the saddle. The picture of it brought a half-cocked smile to Gabriel's lips.

"How's the sore bum faring, Meade?" It had been obvious by the way Meade had been walking bowlegged and wincing with every step that he was sore from head to toe from the unfamiliar exercise.

Meade groaned and looked down at the death grip he had on the reins. "I shall be most hardily glad when this trip is over, Your Grace. Now you see why I insisted on sailing to Holy Island the last time I traveled there," he shouted.

"Ah. Yes, but it took you twice the time. The way you extol her virtues, surely you believe the lady worth all this trouble?" Gabriel's voice held an obvious note of amusement.

Meade smiled back through gritted teeth. "It's the only thing keeping me on this beast, I assure you."

"She must be something indeed to produce such sacrifice." Gabriel mused. His horse had slowed to a trot beside Meade's so he could better talk to him. "Tell me again . . . what exactly is so special about this young lady?"

Meade once again turned tongue-tied. He sputtered and shrugged, started to say something, and then clamped down on the words.

"She's cast a spell on you. I do believe it's so. You cannot even speak of her." Gabriel's chuckle lurked just behind the words.

Meade nodded in eager agreement.

"A beauty, surely?" Gabriel raised his brows at his secretary, immensely enjoying the man's discomfort.

Meade nodded again.

"Prettier than Jane, even?" The fact that Meade had a terrible crush on his youngest sister was well known to the family. He turned mute in her presence, something Jane found bewildering and her husband, Lord Matthew Rutherford, found annoying.

Meade's face turned bright red and his throat worked as if he were about to choke. Better to lay off and take it easy on the poor man. He was, after all, the best secretary Gabriel had ever had, and he didn't intend to let him die of apoplexy on his horse over a little teasing.

"Very well, keep your secrets." Gabriel's voice softened as his gaze swept to the road ahead and the dark smudge on the horizon that must be the sea. His heart leapt at the sight of it. "I shall meet her myself soon and see what's smitten you so thoroughly." His voice lowered even more so only Meade, if even he, could hear him. "Let's see if you have any magic for me . . . Lady Alexandria . . . Featherstone."

A short time later they arrived in the ancient little village of Beal. They stopped at the local inn, a sprawling, squat building made from local stone, and dismounted. Several of the soldiers rushed to take the reins of his mount while Gabriel adjusted his coat and, ignoring everyone save Meade, strode for the door of the establishment. Some hot food to warm up from the bracing autumn wind should put some spring back into his step, if not his mood. Hopefully the place could accommodate the needs of fifteen hungry men without advance notice.

The inn's owner, Mr. Gerald, was a squat man with a balding pate who nodded and scurried and rubbed his head with a mixture of awe and glee as the captain explained their needs. Gabriel soon found himself at a wide plank table with the best the house had to offer—rabbit with black pudding, smoked salmon and fresh oysters, platters of goat cheese and bowls of potatoes thick with butter. For dessert there was bread pudding with custard and plum tarts. A feast, to be sure, and a fine example of a seaside village's harvest.

When the soldiers appeared to linger with their after-dinner port, Gabriel became impatient, stood, and directed his stare at the captain. "I would like to reach Holy Island before nightfall, Captain."

The captain sputtered on his mulled wine but he rose, glaring at his men. Before he had a chance to command anything, Mr. Gerald waved his arms for the attention of all. "My good sirs, and Your Grace," he bowed toward Gabriel, "I'm afraid you must wait until the tide goes out. Holy Island is truly an island except for twice a day when the tide is low enough to reveal the causeway. To reach Lindisfarne you must cross the causeway."

"Can we not reach it by boat?" the captain asked in his clipped tones.

"Oh no." The innkeeper shook his head emphatically. "There are sand dunes and mudflats. The tide comes in very quickly. It is very dangerous water. You must wait for the tide to go out, which happens twice daily."

"How long until the next crossing?" Gabriel asked.

"Not long. Another hour at best." The innkeeper smiled. "Please, might I bring you more port while you wait?"

Gabriel pressed some coins in the man's hand and motioned for him to follow him out. To the captain he said, "Wait here with your men. I would like to see the town . . . alone." He turned his back on the man when the captain started to protest.

"Mr. Gerald, please see that these men are amply taken care of. Several bottles of wine will be required, I'm sure. They will require several hours of rest from our long journey, you see?" He raised his brows while the request sank in.

Mr. Gerald grinned broadly, his head nodding up and down. "I'll see to it, Your Grace."

That should take care of one problem. The last thing he wanted was to arrive at Lindisfarne Castle with an army. He hoped to convince Alexandria to come with him willingly, but her letters and the knot in his gut told him that was going to be a challenge. She would be headstrong and obstinate. A little charm may be in order, something a scarlet-clad army and a short-tempered captain with the prince regent's authority riding high on his face would be sure to ruin. It wouldn't be Gabriel's fault if they missed the tidal timing and became stranded on the mainland for the night. Not his fault at all.

Gabriel motioned for Meade to follow him out. They would ride to the shore and await this tide, following the water out to the island as soon as they were able.

Having escaped the soldiers, Gabriel and Meade rode the short distance over rolling farmland to a pretty pebbled beach. The water was as the innkeeper said—marshes of mudflats with tall plants and teeming with creatures. Gabriel saw a rabbit here and there nibbling on some plants and flocks of brent geese on the tidal flats between the mainland and Holy Island. There were many species of birds that must winter here from the northern climes of Scotland. It was a gray and brown, windswept place with an air of mystery about it. Alexandria professed love for it, and as he stopped and soaked in the subtle beauty he thought he could understand why.

Lifting his gaze toward the island he saw a hill and on that hill, a castle. Lindisfarne Castle. Her home. A crumbling old place as he had expected, but it still had a grandeur about it, at least from this distance. Eagerness to see it, to see her, tensed his muscles.

He thought of one of the letters he had written to her and flushed hot with embarrassment and desire. It had started to sound like a love letter so he'd balled it up and thrown it into the fire. Fantasies, that's all it was. She would end up being like all the other women who eventually bored him. And anyway, who would want a duke who might become deaf again? Of course there were any number of women who had married worse for the duchess title, but he would never marry from that ilk. His mother would turn to a pillar of salt if she knew how much he abhorred the idea of marrying any of the women of the ton.

Of course, he hadn't met all the women of the ton . . . yet. Alexandria's lineage certainly qualified her to be among those elite circles, but he doubted she knew it or cared. That fact alone made her different, very different and interesting. And she prayed for him. No one had ever done that.

He doubted even his mother had ever prayed for him, his family's religion being attending church as expected and leaving God at the door when they left. They'd thought Gabriel daft when he'd studied philosophy and religion and became a believer in Jesus' sacrifice on the cross as the only way to salvation. He'd been a bit of a zealot for a while, he supposed, but like all things he studied, the excitement had worn off and he'd fallen back into old patterns. Maybe prayer, like Alexandria said, would rekindle his love for God.

Alexandria. Just a little longer and I will see your face.

He stared at the castle's dark silhouette against the gray sky. The thought of finally seeing her had him sweating as he paced the shore, waiting, cold and hot at the same time, for the water to lower. What if she
was
everything he'd dreamed, someone who felt like his other half, someone who knew him soul deep and loved what she had discovered, and he for her, their love chasing away the boredom forever? What would he do then?

A motion from Meade snapped him from his reverie. "Your Grace, look." He pointed toward the muddy path being revealed little by little as the water receded.

A grin broke out on Gabriel's face. "Shall we?"

Meade looked as excited as he was. "As you know, I arrived by ship when I was here before. I heard about the causeway but didn't have a chance to see it. It is quite remarkable, isn't it?"

"Enchanting," Gabriel murmured as he mounted his horse and took the first step. The tide was going out faster now, revealing a gravelly, muddy path. Within the hour they would set foot on Holy Island. Within the hour he would finally see her face.

THE ROAD TO THE CASTLE wound its way through the village of Lindisfarne, an obvious fishing village with small colored boats lining the shore and sheds made from two boats propped up together for shelter against the constant sea wind. The village houses were of stone lining up and down the main street. At the end of the street was the monastery Alexandria had written about. It was in a shambles, half-knocked-down walls, a graveyard full of tombstones and parts of the original building. It sprawled back from the road as if the earth had rolled and spit up some stones in uneven lines that made little sense. A familiar sight in England's countryside though, ancient and full of stories. Gabriel liked it immensely.

A little farther on, through sheep-grazing pastureland, the castle came into full view. It looked as if it had grown out of the top of the hill, taking up the entire flat top. The road turned steep as they started up the hill, winding around toward the top like a spiral staircase. At the end was a large wooden door, faded with age.