Dark Before the Rising Sun (37 page)

Dante walked from room to room in silence. Each step kindled his wrath until, savagely, he picked up a table and, with a yell that would have frightened the devil out of hell, threw the table through what was left of the window. The sound of the table crashing to the courtyard below seemed to release his demons, and with the inhuman strength of a madman, he went from room to room, wreaking his own destruction. He cleansed Merdraco of its malignancy, overwhelming the desecration with his fury.

His fury spent, Dante returned to the Long Gallery and buried his face in his arms as he leaned against the mantelpiece. As he stood there, catching his breath, he banked the fires of his rage and they began to smolder, to grow white hot with a virulence sparked of dispassionate thought, and he coolly planned his revenge.

The light streaming in through the gallery windows drew Dante's attention to the bare walls, and a slight smile curved his lips. All was not lost, it seemed, and he had Sir Miles Sandbourne to thank for that.

For the paintings of his mother, of the old marquis, and all of the other family portraits had long since left Merdraco. They were safely stored in London, along with other priceless family heirlooms. They had been sold by Sir Miles long before to pay off his dissolute ward's debts—though Dante suspected that Sir Miles had profited from the proceeds. Through Sir Miles's intervention, the Leighton family heirlooms had been saved from destruction. Through the years, having hired a private agent for the search, Dante had tracked down most of his family's possessions, bought them back, and had them stored.

Dante walked over to one of the broken windows and breathed the sweet-scented air drifting in. He stared out over the adjacent wing of the house, toward the chapel at the far end, where the old marquis had been buried and where his mother and father lay. And then his glance fell on the group of people sitting along the stone parapet in the forecourt. Dante's narrowed gaze lingered on the still figure in pale blue, and he vowed on the memory of those buried in the chapel and on the future he and Rhea would create for their descendants that Merdraco would once again know the greatness of its heritage.

Yield not thy neck

To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind

Still ride in triumph over all mischance.

—Shakespeare

“It has been so quiet for so long now,” Rhea said worriedly. They had all heard the smashing of wood and glass and could only guess what Dante was doing.

But for the past half hour, there had been silence. It had been so silent, in fact, that Kirby had thought about going in search of the captain.

Rhea must have been of a similar mind, for she abruptly stopped her nervous pacing and stared at the closed door with a determined glint in her violet eyes. “I should be in there, Kirby. I should be at Dante's side. If only he wouldn't close me out. When I married Dante, I pledged to stand by him for better or for worse, and I intend to keep that vow whether Dante approves or not,” Rhea told them, snapping her riding crop against her skirt with the impatience of fear, not of anger.

Francis and Alastair exchanged glances. Francis shrugged. He knew his sister too well not to take her words seriously, for despite her gentle demeanor, she could be a very stubborn young woman.

“Oh, m'lady, I really don't think ye should be goin' back inside. Why, what would Her Grace be thinkin' of me if I was to allow ye to see such filth?” Kirby fretted, but he was also thinking about the Duke of Camareigh and what His Grace's reaction would be.

“If it were my mother standing here instead of me, then she wouldn't be standing here at all. She would be inside with her husband,” Rhea stated.

“Lord Chardinall,” Kirby entreated.

“Kirby, I know I should, and I would if I could, but I can't,” Francis said with a grin, confounding the little steward.

Kirby glanced between the brother and sister as if they were involved in a treacherous plot against him. He turned to Alastair, who had been known for clearheaded thinking, but that gentleman was wearing a grin from ear to ear. Kirby could see no humor in the awful situation and thought them all crazed. What he didn't understand was that a bit of humor could make things seem a bit less bleak than they were.

Of course, that first little twitch could lead to hysterical laughter, and that was precisely what happened. Rhea started to giggle and then to laugh until tears were streaming down her face. And soon Francis's shoulders were shaking and the sound of Alastair's deep laugh was blending in.

Kirby's frown deepened as he stared at the three in bewilderment. He glanced up at the blue sky searchingly, for surely they were moonstruck. He shook his head as he stared at the young lady leaning against Francis for support. But her brother wasn't much better off, for he was holding his side, and Kirby thought if he lived to be a hundred he'd still not have seen it all.

It must indeed have seemed a scene out of Bedlam to the man who approached so quietly and stood watching the merry trio, the fourth member of the group looking as if he were gallows-bound.

“Might I inquire what the jest is?” the voice cut through the laughter like the cutting edge of a blade.

“Cap'n!” Kirby cried, spinning around to face Dante, who apparently had left Merdraco through one of the doors in the adjacent wing. “Lord, but ye gave me a fright,” the little steward declared, his hand shaking as he held it to his heart.

“Dante!” Rhea cried, her greeting less restrained as she ran to him and threw herself into his arms. “Oh, I have been so worried!” Her eyes searched his face, but those chiseled features seemed to give so little away.

“So I noticed, and I was most concerned lest you do yourselves an injury with such an excess of good spirits,” he commented with a quizzical glance.

Alastair and Francis looked sheepish, for their laughter seemed to hang in the air still, and they wondered what the devil they had found so amusing.

“Forgive me, Cap'n,” Alastair mumbled, his face turning bright red with his embarrassment. “There was no disrespect meant. Indeed, I am not even certain why we were laughing,” he added.

Francis swallowed and cleared his throat. “Mr. Marlowe is quite right. There was certainly no reason for it,” Francis explained a trifle lamely. “I most sincerely apologize. You must think us insensitive louts,” Francis said with little hope that the apology would be accepted.

“I am sorry, Dante,” Rhea said. “'Twas my fault. I started it, and I truly do not know why. We really are all deeply distressed by what has happened to Merdraco. I cannot offer you any excuse for our odd behavior,” Rhea added, mortified.

But Dante was not insulted. He understood the reason for their laughter better than any of them. He had often seen brave men, who had just fought a victorious battle, suddenly begin to laugh uproariously for no reason.

So Dante surprised them all by smiling, and with that smile of understanding, some of the grimness left his face. Francis and Alastair relaxed, and Kirby let out a sigh.

Rhea could feel the tense muscles in Dante's arms relaxing, and he held her more easily. “The rest of the house?” she asked him softly.

Dante nodded. “Much the same. Although, 'tis strange, but I do not think the smugglers have been using Merdraco very recently. I'm not surprised, for even animals like a clean stable,” Dante said bitterly.

“These swine that call themselves the Sons of Belial aren't even fit to wallow in a pigsty,” Kirby said, spitting contemptuously onto the ground, then grinding the heel of his boot over the offending spot.

“Their day will come, never fear, Kirby,” Dante told the little steward grimly.

“Aye, that's exactly what worries me,” Kirby said. He hadn't missed the moment when the captain's hand moved toward his sword hilt, as if he were already savoring driving its point through Jack Shelby's black heart.

“Well, what's to be our course, Cap'n?” Alastair asked. His words were an echo of the past, and when his eyes met Dante's, it was as if they were still aboard the
Sea Dragon
, preparing for another adventure and possible danger.

Dante seemed nonplussed. Perhaps he had not expected his former supercargo to remain by his side any longer. The man was wealthy, and he need no longer serve anyone. “It could get rough,” Dante said.

“So Mr. Kirby was telling me,” Alastair said, disdainfully unimpressed by the fact.

“You are certain you want to sign on again?” Dante questioned him further. “Merdraco, as you saw, is not fit to live in. There will be much to do before the house is habitable. And there are those who will wish to see me fail. Perhaps they will even go so far as to plot an end to the Leighton family forever,” he warned the younger man. “The odds are not in our favor, for I have few friends who will help us.”

“The crew of the
Sea Dragon
faced worse odds,” Alastair replied evenly. There was much to be said for action, and he was not accustomed to idle worry.

“Then I shall give you fair warning now,” Dante advised, his eyes glittering with purpose, “that I intend to destroy this smuggling gang and see that its leader either rots in gaol or hangs from the gibbet.”

Francis was the only one of them who had never before witnessed that side of Dante Leighton. Having seen it, he believed all of Conny's wild tales. And if Dante, a gentleman born and bred, could sound so bloodthirsty, then what had the
Sea Dragon
crew been like? Francis shook his head in amazement. That his sister had actually sailed with smugglers! Straightening his carefully tied stock, he decided that he was in no great hurry to make the acquaintance of the cutthroats who had wreaked havoc at Merdraco.

“I think I've seen all I need to for now. Shall we return to the inn for luncheon?” the former smuggling captain suggested, apparently having a stronger stomach than the others.

“Kit will most likely be hungry by now,” Rhea said, much relieved. She was beginning to feel very strange, as if eyes were watching her from every gaping window, so that if she looked too quickly, she might catch a shadow moving. She shivered. “Since we cannot stay at Merdraco now, where will we live while the house is being restored?” Rhea asked, concerned now with the housing and feeding of her family.

“I've been quite comfortable at the Bishop. 'Twill be a bit cramped with all of us there, but 'tis convenient to Merdraco,” Francis suggested helpfully. “I imagine the Lascombes could use the extra money.”

“It would be the ideal place,” Dante agreed, “but I would prefer not to involve anybody else in my affairs. Once Jack Shelby learns of my presence here, he will threaten anyone who gives me aid. I have enough to concern me without having to worry about the safety of others.”

“Is there no place else?” Rhea demanded.

“There's Sevenoaks House, Cap'n. We could go there,” Kirby suggested quietly.

But Dante shook his head emphatically. “No, it is too far away from Merdraco, and I would just as soon keep Sir Jacob out of this. He has already done enough to help me. He owes me no more,” Dante said with finality. “We will do this on our own. We need no help from anyone.”

“Too damned proud, that's all,” the little steward muttered under his breath. Turning away, he said, “I'll fetch the horses.”

“Who is Sir Jacob?” Rhea asked, glancing curiously between Dante and Kirby, for it seemed that Dante had been irritated by Kirby's suggestion.

Dante shrugged. “Someone I once knew,” was the brief response. Then glancing around, he said, “Conny? Robin? Where are they?”

“They went exploring,” Alastair remarked while glancing around the empty forecourt. He hadn't realized they had wandered off so far. “The last time I saw them,” he continued, “they were heading in that direction. But I don't see where they could have gotten to.”

Dante glanced at the long stretch of stone wall Alastair pointed to and it did indeed seem impenetrable, and certainly too high for either lad to climb over. Dante began to walk in that direction, Rhea's hand firmly locked within his. The others followed, and even Kirby was mystified until they saw the gate. Set discreetly in the wall, it was covered by the same tenacious ivy growing along the entire length of the wall. How the two boys had spied it, Kirby wasn't even going to try and guess.

Surprisingly, the gate gave easily when Dante pushed against it, as if it had been swung to and fro quite often through the years. And then Kirby remembered that the groundskeeper would have made use of it when making his rounds, for the main gates would have been locked.

“Where are we going?” Rhea asked, glancing around curiously as they followed a narrow, winding path through a copse grown thick with oak and fir. And through the jumble of branches to her left, she caught the glitter of the sun on the sea. The gentle cooing of a wood pigeon marked their passing, while a rustling in the tangle of undergrowth caused Rhea to watch her step.

Bright patches of blue sky appeared and disappeared overhead as Dante led the way along the sunlit path. Magpies and jays fussed at one another, fighting over the ripe holly berries dotting the hedgerows and only pausing long enough to scold the trespassers in the wood.

Suddenly a clearing opened up ahead. Across a grassy plateau bright with the pink and mauve and purple of wildflowers, the sea stretched away to the horizon. And nestled against the curving hillside, beneath a canopy of oak and birch, was a quaint, two-storied stone building.

“The old hunting lodge. I had forgotten about it,” Dante said as he eyed the building. It looked like a small, medieval manor house. There was even a belvedere tower, with mock turrets and dragon-like gargoyles. Mullioned windows encircled the tower, allowing a limitless view of the sea and the towers of Merdraco in the distance.

“What a quiet place,” Rhea was saying when a shrill battle cry sounded, followed by a shower of small pebbles falling from the heavens.

At the sudden cry, Dante pulled Rhea close to his side. Holding up a protective arm, he glanced upward, spying two grinning faces in the top of the lodge tower.

“Who goes there?” a young voice demanded. There was a glint of metal, then a ringing noise as the long blade held with two hands was banged threateningly against a shield, held high by another pair of straining arms.

“May we have permission to proceed?” Francis called out, wondering where his brother and Conny had found a sword and shield.

“Lord, but that scared a couple of years out of me,” Kirby muttered, promising himself to get a tweak or two of young Master Brady's ear for scaring an old man half to death.

“Come inside, Cap'n,” Conny called down. “This place isn't near so bad as Merdraco,” he advised them with a youthful lack of tact.

“Aye, mates, come aboard,” Robin agreed.

They entered the hunting lodge through an arched porch where, once again, the Leighton family motto had been carved into the stone above. It was hidden almost entirely beneath a thick ivy vine. There was a short, covered corridor, and then a door opened directly into a large hall with a hammerbeam roof. The timbers were ornately carved and curved, giving stout support to the arched roof.

Even though the parquet flooring was hidden beneath a layer of dirt and cobwebs dangled from the beamed ceiling, the lodge exuded a feeling of warmth. And Rhea suddenly envisioned a fire glowing in the large fireplace with its scrolled plaster overmantel and brass firedogs. The oak long table would be set with china and crystal, which would be reflected in the gilded mirrors adorning the walls. A thick coating of dust covered everything, but with a little oil from sweet marjoram and lavender to polish the floors and tabletops, the hall would soon be fit for a king, Rhea thought.

At the far end of the hall was an oak staircase with an openwork balustrade. Rhea was certain there would be several bedchambers upstairs and perhaps even a small parlor. Yes, she thought, it would do quite nicely. There was quite a bit of housecleaning to do, but at least the smugglers had, for whatever reason, left the lodge undisturbed. It seemed as if the lodge had been lost in peaceful sleep for centuries.