A Pirate's Wife for Me (24 page)

"Nay, not a one."

"Then why don't the maids stay at night?" Cate asked.

Zelle coughed as if the dust got in her lungs. "The lasses like to come home."

They broke over the ridge, turned a corner — and looked out over the most beautiful sight Cate had ever seen. "Halt!" she called.

The cart lurched to a stop.

Zelle gestured with her big, rough hand. "There she is."

"Cate, describe it." Taran's voice sounded gravelly, and he had an expression on his face … as if he could see through the blindfold. He'd been here before, Cate knew that he had. Right now, here in the middle of the road, she wanted to question about his family, his father, who they had been, why Taran had come to stay with the MacLeans. There was a mystery about Taran, one she'd allowed her resentment to dismiss as unimportant.

Still she didn't dare to ask, for if she did, if she discovered he truly loved his family and suffered from their loss, she would began to feel empathy for him once more. Ah, dangers lie in that direction.

Cate said, "Below us stretches a valley, long and narrow, sliced by a giant's knife between two sets of high mountains. There at the top of one I see flecks of snow still nestled in the shade, so it is very tall indeed."

"That is Trueno Ridge," Zelle told her. "In times past, when danger threatened, beacons covered the island, ready to be lit as a signal in case of danger. Now no one bothers to keep those beacons ready, for the danger is
on
the island."

"What danger?" Cate asked.

"Sir Davies's mercenaries. Sir Davies himself." Zelle spit on the road.

"What if pirates attack?" Taran asked.

"Chances are, we'd welcome them," Zelle said. "They couldn't be worse, could they?"

"No. No, they couldn't." Taran leaned close to Cate, and with a voice pitched to reach only her, he asked, "Can you see the peak that rises, like a narrow spear thrusting up from the valley floor?"

"Yes." It stood apart from the mountains, with a stairway that spiraled around, climbing ever upward.

"That is Giraud's beacon, lit to summon help from the Arianna harbor town, from the other aristocrats … and from the sea." He ended on a significant note.

Cate realized — he would light the beacon to call in his pirates. She nodded her understanding.

Zelle was leaning back, her head turned.
"What
did you say, sir?" She must have caught a wisp of Taran’s comment.

"Since I cannot see, I wanted to know more about the rest of the land here." He elbowed Cate.

Cate hurried into speech. "Forest climbs the hills and settles in dips on the valley floor, but most of the level land is given to gardens and fields, except where there's the most beautiful — oh, Taran, I wish you could see it — a beautiful, still, glacial green lake with the mountains reflected so clearly I can't tell where water leaves off and the earth begins."

A hungry pleasure, akin to love, seized his features. "Yes."

"The lake nestles right up against the mountains, with waterfalls plunging directly into it, and on the other side is the house. A palace." Her throat hurt from the splendor of it, and she wondered how to find the words to describe the scene below. "The house is … perfect. Whoever designed it wanted it to be a part of the landscape, a miracle of unerring magnificence. The walls are pale rose stone, rising four stories, decorated with white stone above the window and around the roof. The main part of the house is square with the lake, and a narrow lawn separates the palace from the water. The north and south wing are each set at an angle to follow the shoreline, and there are so many windows that look out at the vista! Every room must be a pleasure."

"Think of all that glass to keep clean," he reminded her.

Silly ass.
"There's a broad veranda set with tables and chairs so one can sit there and look at the mountains and the lake and simply think …" Her voice faltered. She wasn't here to stay, to sit and think. She was here to get those letters and get out.

For no reason, Taran asked a stupid question. "Zelle, is the house haunted?"

Zelle shuddered. "Nay! Nay, sir, why would you think such a thing?"

"Because the maids would rather walk two hours home than stay the night."

Cate should always remember how perceptive he was.

Zelle was silent so long, Cate tore her gaze away from the view and gazed at the woman's profile.

Reins clasped loosely in her hands, she sat looking down at the palace, her tanned face work worn and pensive. "'Tis not haunted. Just empty, so empty. One of the maids is a fey girl, and she says the house is grieving. Told her 'twas impossible, but she says at night you can almost hear the house sigh." She slapped the reins on the horse's back and the cart jolted on. "Silly lass. Houses don't feel."

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The gravel crunched beneath the wheels.
They descended the mountain and entered the valley, and beneath the bandage, Taran could see the flashes of light and dark as they passed in and out of the shadows of the trees. The ocean breeze didn't reach over the hill; here it was warm and still, and the scent of ripening apples scented the air.

"The drive is beautiful with great oaks on either side," Cate told him. "I can see glimpses of the house, growing ever bigger as we approach. Hang on, there's a rut."

Taran clung to the seat as the cart dropped, then labored back out. In his time, the road had been a smooth sweep for the carriages to travel. He shouldn't be returning like this. Like a stranger to his own home.

He tasted the bitterness of knowing that before him stood Giraud, his family's favorite residence — and he couldn't see it. He remembered swimming in the ice-cold lake while his parents watched from the veranda. He remembered walking the rail, how irked his mother had been when he fell into the shrubbery and broke his arm, how his father had laughed and said,
Boys will be boys.

"We're about to clear the trees," Cate told him. "I'll get my first good look at the house."

The setting sun shone full on his face.

Cate fell silent.

"Well?"

"The house is …" Cate hesitated.

He still held Cate's hand, their fingers entwined, and he gained strength from that small touch. "Tell me."

"It is sad. I can see the signs of former splendor, but now it's ill-kempt, like a strong beautiful woman neglected in her old age, and always more time is passing." She shook her hand free. "Here we are."

The cart jolted to a halt.

The springs jiggled as Zelle descended. "I'll rouse someone."

Rouse someone? How could they drive up to a former palace populated by over sixty servants and have no one come out to greet them?

Cate opened the door of the cart and descended also, when if all had been right and proper, she would have sat and waited for him to pick her up out of the cart and carry her across the threshold. He had brought his bride home. More than he thought possible, he regretted the loss of that opportunity.

Groping, he found the opening and slid out, onto the step, then to the ground.

Above him, he heard Zelle's footsteps ascend the stairs, then her fist rapped on the door.

Cate was suspiciously silent, and he wanted to tear the bandage off his eyes and see for himself the damage Davies had wrought.

Instead, he ran his hand up her arm and onto her face.

At his touch on her bare skin, she jerked away.

"Talk to me," he said. "Tell me what you see."

In a tone as prosaic as only Cate could be, she said, "I was wishing for a bucket of soap and a broom to clean the grime and moss off the stone façade. The window sills need paint."

He took a step in the direction — he thought — of the stairs. Something crunched beneath his boot.

She caught his arm. "Be careful. One of the flagstone steps has broken off."

"So the place needs repair."

"Yes." Her voice was aimed right at him, so he knew she was looking at him. "I wonder why you care so much."

Ah. It had finally occurred to her to probe beneath the surface of his role here. Better that she didn't know who he was — or rather, who he had been. For Cate, ignorance provided protection; the simpler their charade, the easier their roles were to play.

But more than that, most women would be pleased to discover they were married to a prince.

He had no such illusions about Cate. She would be livid, and he both dreaded and relished the thought of telling her. For if he came through this ordeal alive, then … then his whole life would unexpectedly be laid out before him, and he would have decisions to make. Decisions about his family. Decisions about his marriage. Decisions that would involve Cate — and probably a lot of yelling. "Cenorina is my home, and I would rather die here than live anywhere else."

"You're not going to
die
here. We're going to successfully do our job."

He rather liked the fact that she briskly chided him for his grimness. "I would have thought you'd want me laid out in a coffin."

"I don't have time to organize a funeral."

"I'm touched."

"Besides, I don't wish you dead. I simply don't want to be married to you."

"Give me an hour, and I can change your mind."

"An hour? You flatter yourself." Her hand tightened on his arm. "A drape twitched in the window. The door is opening. A gentleman in a black and white costume has come forth. He staggers … whoops!"

Taran heard a thump and a clatter.

"He must be the butler." Cate sounded amused and dismayed. "Come, Taran, let's go and greet him."

In excessively loud and ponderous tones, the butler demanded, "Who are you?"

Cate led Taran to the stairway and placed his hand on the rail. She kept pace with him as they slowly climbed up the steps. "I'm Mrs. Tamson, the new housekeeper. And you are …?"

"I'm Harkness, the butler." He staggered sideways one step, then righted himself. "Where did you come from? Who sent you?"

"I'm from England. Sir Davies sent me."

"Ohh. Sir Davies." Harkness slurred his words.

She realized he was not only drunk, he was completely incompetent. "Zelle, would you have someone bring in our bags?"

Zelle nodded, and stomped in through the open door.

"The housekeeper, heh? I'll have to let you in, although it's none too healthy a climate for housekeepers here." Harkness transferred his gaze to Taran, stumbled, leaned against the wall. "Who's that?"

"That's Mr. Tamson, my husband."

Harkness squinted at Taran.

They reached the porch and she led Taran forward.

"What happened to him?" Harkness asked.

Cate waited for Taran to answer, but he stubbornly remained silent. Glancing at him, she saw that his chin almost rested on his chest. "He was in Her Majesty's army and injured in India."

"Why's he wearing the bandage over his eyes?"

Cate began to lose patience with both the inebriated Harkness and her mute husband. "He's blind. He also lost the use of his arm, and he is horribly scarred. All over. One big solid mass of ugly, oozing scabs…"

Taran tightened his grip on her arm.

She smiled. Annoying him was such a pleasure.

As they were about to enter the house, Harkness asked again, "Who sent you?"

Cate whirled on him. "Sir Maddox Davies."

"Oh." Harkness gripped the door casement. Glancing fearfully behind him, he asked, "Is he here?"

"No." Cate led Taran inside.

Harkness thought long and hard, as if he had to process the information and decide what he should do next. "May I take your outer garments?"

"Yes," she said crisply. As she removed her bonnet, gloves and coat, she glanced about the palace.

The house smelled musty and unaired. The huge foyer rose two stories above the black and white marble floor. Far above them, the domed ceiling was painted a pale blue and trimmed in gold and decorated with clouds. Rooms opened off the foyer and off the galleries above. The sun poured light through the windows and made Cate blink as it struck the etched-gold porcelain vases, gold-trimmed furniture and gold knick-knacks. Tapestries, plaques, and gold-framed portraits littered the walls in such profusion, she could not focus on one to the exclusion of another. As housekeeper for this huge manor, Cate had her work cut out for her.

Beside her, Taran struggled to discard his shawl and coat, managing to snarl himself up in the material. With a tsk, she untangled him and handed his garments to Harkness.

Giraud was quiet; far too quiet for a house of this size. Footmen should stand at the doorways. Serving girls should be dusting. The cook should be yelling. The gardeners should be knocking on the door with bouquets of flowers. And guests … there should be guests, laughing, gossiping, bustling upstairs to change clothes and outdoors to ride. She could tell that once it had been that way. Now Cate could hear only the echoes of life.