Belmary House 4 Page 23

  “But that’s wonderful!” she exclaimed, confused. “I can’t wait to feel it.”

  She shook her head, squeezing Tilly’s hands painfully. “It felt like it was telling me to do things. I got it in my head that if I could understand Kostya’s lineage I might better understand why he was so secretive, so I asked to see Julian’s book.”

  “The spellbook?” Tilly asked, getting a sinking feeling.

  “Yes. He said no, of course, but that’s when the kicking started. It’s hard to explain and you might think me mad, but it somehow told me I could look at it even without permission.”

  Tilly gasped. “Because Kostya’s family can, and the baby has that blood. Wow.”

  “Yes, that’s exactly right!” Serena nodded so vigorously, her mob cap fell forward. She righted it and continued. “At first it seemed a lark, and I only wanted to find a way to learn the truth, but now I can’t stop seeking it out. It feels as if,” she paused and dropped her face into her hands. “As if it wants me to try some of the spells. Horrible spells, that I don’t want to try, but it won’t let me be.”

  “The book made you feel that way?” Tilly shuddered, hating the thought of destroying such an old relic, but it did seem to be the root of a lot of problems.

  Serena was wild-eyed now. “No. The baby,” she whispered, every last ounce of color draining from her already wan face.

  She said it with such conviction, that Tilly wanted to move away from her, fearing the cute round bump, until she shook off the ridiculous feeling. Serena had pregnancy hormones wreaking havoc on top of all the worry she’d caused for running off, and then having to wonder for so long what horrid things might have happened to Kostya while he was away, and now that wretched book was making her sick. That was all it was. Of course nothing was wrong with the baby.

  Tilly turned and studied Kostya. Yes, perhaps he still had a bit of the tormented look about his eyes that she remembered when they all parted ways in Moldavia. No one wanted to remember or speak about what had happened to them during that time, but Tilly knew the imagination was a powerful and often cruel thing, making one think the absolute worst. It would be enough to lose sleep over.

  “He needs to tell you,” she said.

  “He won’t,” Serena insisted. “Do you know how I’ve pleaded? He shakes his head and walks away or changes the subject. Can’t you tell me? Will it make me stop loving him? Is it so very terrible?”

  Tilly nodded seriously. “It is so very terrible, and I don’t know all of what happened in Moldavia, I only came in at the end. What I know, my part in it, still gives me nightmares, but I promise you that what Kostya had to do was justified.”

  She didn’t say he had to find out if his curse was still hanging over his head, a curse he’d been given at birth, that would cause his children to die. He needed to have it lifted, to save their baby.

  Serena started to cry in earnest, unable to hide it from the men anymore. Kostya hurried over and knelt at her feet, breaking Tilly’s heart to see the tenderness and worry in his eyes. He’d only been trying to protect her.

  “What is it, dearest?” he asked. “Let’s get you upstairs to rest, it’s been a long, frightful day.”

  “It’s not that,” Tilly said, forcing her voice to sound cold and authoritative. She wished she could unknow what had happened, and thought perhaps he was right for keeping it from Serena, but if it was driving her to such lengths as to start thinking her unborn baby was plotting against her, it was time she knew the truth. “Would you like me to explain, Serena?” she asked, not wanting to tattle, but Serena was in no condition to get any words out, she was crying hard enough to begin hiccuping. She nodded and Tilly frowned hard at Kostya. “She’s been looking at the book.”

  “Impossible,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. Ashford looked appalled, but also disbelieving.

  “No, it’s entirely possible, because of this little guy.” She patted Serena’s bump, trying not to recoil due to her previous thoughts about it. “Povest blood. She wanted to look at it to get you to tell her the truth about what happened with Camilla and your family while you were gone all that time. And now it’s making her sick.”

  “It’s the baby,” Serena wailed. “Something’s wrong with it. It’s malicious, it wanted me to hurt you so you would tell me why you left!”

  Tilly had never once seen her look ugly, but her face was blotchy and streaked with tears and snot ran down her lip. Her bloodshot, sorrowful eyes darted to each of them.

  “That’s not true,” she assured her, looking at Ashford or Kostya to say something, and caught them exchanging a panicked look.

  Her heart thumped harder, recalling squeezing the trigger to end Kostya’s grandmother’s unnatural life. What if her magic had somehow transferred to the baby? The woman was horrible enough to do such a thing, hate-filled and vindictive. She’d never wanted Kostya to be born and had been torturing him one way or another his whole life. It would be right up her alley to do something that fiendish.

  “It’s not true,” she said more forcefully, reaching over and squeezing Ashford’s hand, hard enough to hurt.

  “Of course it’s not,” he said, too quickly and not at all convincingly to Tilly’s ears, but Serena seemed to relax a little, her tears subsiding. “It’s that damned book that’s making you feel so ill. It made me feel quite the same. We’re not cut out for it, you and I, so let’s both of us make a pact to leave it alone from now on, shall we?”

  “We need to destroy it,” Kostya said through gritted teeth.

  Everyone fell silent for a moment. Tilly was sure they all agreed with the sentiment but no one could say so out loud. Was it the force of the book at work, or was there a reason to keep it? It didn’t seem there was any amount of time traveling and information gathering that could give them the right answer.

  “Just tell her, Kostya,” Tilly sighed. “She has a right to know.”

  “You’ll hate me,” he told Serena in an anguished voice.

  Serena looked at him, her eyes matching the anguish. “I fear I’ll grow to hate you if I have to keep wondering,” she choked.

  Tilly stood, pulling Ashford up with her. “Let’s go. They have a lot to discuss.” She rested her hand on Kostya’s shoulder and gave him an encouraging nod. “He did it all for you, Serena. You and the baby.”

  As they made their way up to their room, their actual room, not servant’s quarters in another time, Tilly leaned against Ashford.

  “Do you think she’ll hate him when she finds out?” She thought of something and looked up at him, his brows furrowed harder than ever. “Did you hate him at all?”

  After all, Kostya had been forced to kill his wife, who had been Ashford’s twin sister. Poor Kostya probably hated himself much of the time, but she hoped he didn’t.

  “I wished things would have been different,” he said. “Though, what would have become of it, I don’t know. She wouldn’t have come back. Their marriage was long over, even before she made us believe she was dead. Camilla loved him once, and I know she loved me. That thing Kostya shot wasn’t her anymore, so no, I never hated him.” He rolled his shoulders and smiled gently down at her. “Serena won’t hate him, either.”

  She wanted to ask if he had any real worries about the baby, but didn’t want to know the answer. The look he’d exchanged with Kostya earlier had told her enough. She only wanted to believe the baby was fine, that all of them would be fine.

  Ashford pushed open their door and she raced to the big, comfy bed and tossed herself onto it, sleepy again even after her long nap. She lay there staring at the ceiling and trying to sort out all her troubling thoughts, or better yet, push them aside for a while. They were home now, and safe. That was something to be supremely grateful for.

  “What’s wrong, love?” he asked, moving to sit beside her and pressing his fingers into her forehead. She realized how tense her face was, matching her inner turmoil, and forced out a long breath.

  “I was
just thinking about how we’re going to manage helping Nick,” she said.

  His face darkened, most likely a mirror of her own. “I’d like to help him off a high balcony,” he grumbled. “Or in front of a fast moving team of horses.”

  “We can’t do that,” she sighed tiredly.

  He stood up and paced away a few steps, then whirled on her angrily. “Why not? For goodness’ sake, Matilda, he killed our child.”

  She covered her eyes, not wanting to see the desperation in his, and shook her head. “But he hasn’t. Not yet, anyway. How could he when she’s not even born yet?”

  “But in that time, 1889, he did. You said so yourself that he all but admitted it. We should prevent it happening.”

  “Yes, we should. Of course. But not that way. No more killing.” Her voice broke and she sat up. “I know when I shot Kostya’s grandmother it was the only way to save us, and I know she was syphoning off other people’s lives to prolong her own. But it did something to me that will never go back to normal. I’m sure that’s why Kostya can hardly look any of us in the eyes, or why he hasn’t been able to tell Serena everything. You know, Julian. You know what I’m talking about.”

  His face drained of all color and he nodded curtly before slowly making his way back to her. He sat on the edge of the bed, a good foot away, then finally reached over and pulled her close to him.

  “I’ll have to go back and work something out, then,” he said after they sat quietly for several moments.

  “Well, Nick told me he first met grownup Ariana when we were in France. So, that’s before she was born, which is why she could go to that time. But it’s during your lifetime, so you won’t be able to go back.”

  “Perhaps there’s a way,” he said. “Solomon Wodge seemed to be able to do it.”

  “And look how that turned out. He went crazy, didn’t he? It almost killed Emma, too.” She turned and gripped his shoulders. “It’s not during my life. I could go.”

  He looked down at her and laughed. “Certainly not. You’re never leaving my sight again.” He rolled his eyes at her look of indignation and put his hands over hers. “Not to other times anyway,” he clarified. “Fair?”

  “Yes, I suppose,” she said, thinking of what he’d gone through to find her, and where she might be if he hadn’t.

  A truly sour look crossed his face. “We could ask Liam for help,” he choked out, then brightened. “Or just keep all this nonsense from the children. Let’s follow Kostya’s lead and reject all magic use.”

  Her heart sank, knowing that was probably the best suggestion of all, but that it also meant she’d never see her family again. She sank back onto the mattress, exhausted from too many options and none of them good.

  “Speaking of children, we’ve got a lot of work ahead of us,” he said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. He shrugged out of his jacket and her blood raced, suddenly not so tired anymore. “And we should probably get married with all haste. I’m quite used to being a source of gossip, but you don’t want any part of that, I’m sure.” He paused in unbuttoning his waistcoat, and frowned. “In fact, perhaps we should, ah, abstain until then?”

  Tilly sat up, outraged. “There will be no abstaining. Let’s just get married as soon as we can and hope for the best.”

  He turned serious and sat down beside her, taking her hand in his. “I didn’t before, but now we’re home I do have hope. I haven’t a single clue, but I do have hope.”

  She laughed at his candor and kissed his forehead, smoothing the ever present scowl. “We should be fine, then,” she said, unable to keep from smiling, though things were still unsettled. They were home, together, and their family and friends were all safe for now. It was all she could ask for, all she wanted.

  Except for more of his kisses, which he readily gave.

  The end.

  Epilogue

  Horace Shively raced through the woods, having only just received the message that his mistress might be awakening. His heart soared with joy, but he kept a firm grip on his hopes, not wanting to feel that crushing disappointment again if she didn’t rouse from her death-like slumber. He’d come from the coward traitor’s headquarters, once a beautiful mansion graced by an even more beautiful lady, now slipping into ill repute, all thanks to that scoundrel. Thinking of how he’d had to pretend to agree with everything that monster said sickened him.

  He laughed bitterly to himself as he ducked under some low hanging branches while his horse continued at its thundering pace as if it were on a smooth open road. The self-styled Sir Amos made his stomach twist with rage, which was replaced with nerves when he finally glimpsed the tiny thatched cottage through the dense wilderness. He didn’t like admitting these woods made him nervous. His grandmother had believed in the wee folk, and used to swear they still lived there, scaring him senseless a lot of the time with her fanciful stories of changelings. He couldn’t help having an inkling of that old fear as he looked at the clearing, rife with enchantments to keep its inhabitant safe. It looked like a witch’s lair, meant to lure little children to be eaten, and indeed it housed a most powerful witch.

  He flung himself from his horse, scowling at the young lad who raced out to greet him. He tossed the reins in the boy’s direction and hurried through the door. Pausing, he looked to the old crone who watched over their lady day and night. Her foul looks belied a jolly temperament and she was the most talented healer Horace had ever known. Even with all her skills, Queen Ariana lay still and pale under her blue satin coverlet.

  He knew the title was as false as the wicked Sir Amos’, but she deserved it, and more. She was a saint, a goddess. And she hadn’t deserved to be poisoned, left for dead under a pile of damp leaves for days. She was found quite by accident by his own grandson, who kept swearing he’d been dreaming of their good queen. His mother had thought it was only his grief at hearing of her death, but the boy had persisted, wandering the woods until he chanced across the very spot he’d seen in his slumber. It was a miracle she was still alive, but she hung by a thread and wouldn’t respond to anything or anyone.

  “I managed to get a bit of soup down her,” the healer said in her raspy voice. “And her eyes fluttered a bit, which is why I sent for you. It’s the most I’ve seen her do since she was brought to me.”

  He nodded and sat at the bedside, taking Ariana’s hand. He didn’t have much magic. He was only good at bewitching small animals, useful for amusing his grandchildren or when he was extremely hungry, and it saddened him that he couldn’t offer her anything more than his great love and loyalty.

  “How are things back at the house of horrors?” the healer asked, chuckling to herself at her poor joke.

  “He’s got them worked into a frenzy, greedy bastards all of them.”

  “Certainly not all,” she countered. “I think there’s some that could be trusted. Duncan, for instance. I could use some more power around here, some extra hands.”

  He let her grumble while he focused all his own meager powers toward Ariana. Her eyes opened wide and she turned her head to him, staring straight through him. Normally a soft, kittenish grey, her eyes were now as dark as a deep hole in the ground, and just as empty. A shiver snaked up his arm as her hand tightened around his. He wanted to pull away, but couldn’t. He was frozen in her gaze.

  “Queen Ariana,” he gasped, praying it was still her. He began to shake, wondering why he might be so frightened, why he would even consider that she wouldn’t be herself. If only she didn’t look so haunted.

  She sat up straight, creaky and stiff, and let go of his hand. He breathed a sigh of relief when she blinked a few times and her eyes lost their look of a dark, empty well. His relief was short-lived when he saw them blaze with an anger he’d never once seen on the sweet, gentle Ariana.

  Certainly she had every right to be angry, he told himself. The attempt on her life had been the ultimate betrayal, and by the man she thought she’d loved. He could see she was getting agitated and in her weakened sta
te, he worried she’d do herself further harm.

  “As soon as you’re ready to travel, we should leave for Scotland,” he urged. “And your own time, as well. There’s no reason to stay here anymore.”

  Those darkened eyes of hers flashed, and the corner of her lip curled. “I won’t leave,” she said, struggling to get out of bed.

  The healer rushed forward, admonishing her to lie back down. “You’ve been asleep for days, with barely a few drops of broth in you. If you stand, you’ll end up flat on your face in an instant.”

  Ariana scowled. “Who did this to me?” she asked.

  Horace could tell she knew the answer, only wanting it confirmed to cement her rage. He shook his head, now wanting to say it. “If you won’t leave, we should send for your father,” he said soothingly.

  “I can’t,” she said, balling the blankets in her fists. “He doesn’t know about Nick, he never would have approved, and now that …” She trailed off, then stiffened, as if she was making herself turn to stone, so as not to feel the pain. “He’ll pay for this. Nicholas Kerr will pay.”

  Ice filled his insides, knowing how mad with power the man had become, and the people he’d managed to trick into following him were strong. Now that she was awake and on the mend, he’d find who was trustworthy and they’d move on. It was the only safe option.

  “Your uncle, then. Let’s get to Scotland and go back to him.” The moment that foolish suggestion left his lips he wished he could snatch it back. It wasn’t her uncle he feared, but he knew by mentioning him, he’d brought the other to her mind.

  Her face changed alarmingly and she turned to him with a travesty of a smile. He silently begged any deity who might listen that she’d see reason, that she wouldn’t start a war with these people, a war that would leave no one unscathed. He was only grateful she was alive, and any thoughts of revenge had flown from his mind when she awoke. He could see that vengeance was the only thing she could think of, and it shook him to the core.