Exile for Dreamers (24 page)

“You needn't trouble yourself, my lord. I have no interest in entertaining callers.” An apricot-colored butterfly meandered past. The ridiculous creature didn't know I was in no mood for prettiness.

“Nevertheless,” Gabriel said sternly, “you are my fiancée, and as such it is my duty to make certain you are quite well—”

“
Duty?
” I said, as if the word itself had a stink.

“I misspoke.” He straightened and parried with a blunt-edged tone. “It is my pleasure.” He didn't sound as if it would be a pleasure. “The least I can do is make certain you are being properly cared for, after you so bravely risked your life for your friend and then valiantly conducted me home during my hour of need the other day.”

I answered with a pinching frown and a forced smile. “Very prettily said, my lord, but we are
not
betrothed, as you well know. And what's more, I am quite capable of looking after myself. You're the one who needs looking after. Go home and take care of your shoulder.”

He took a few steps closer to me, away from the others, flexing and unflexing his jaw before answering. “Did I say you
bravely
risked your life? Begging your pardon, I meant to say
foolishly.
”

That's better.
I would much rather joust with him than have him bend his knee to me out of a sense of duty.

I cocked my head at a flirtatious angle and smiled my broadest. “The charming Mr. Chadwick had quite a differently opinion.” I shamelessly batted my eyelashes.

God forgive me, I wanted to make him pay for not wishing it would be me guarding him tonight instead of some smelly old farmer. I don't know what came over me to taunt him.

He took a deep breath and moved even closer, so close that I could smell his shaving soap and found myself staring at the cleft of his chin. His breath tickled my cheek when he spoke my name. “Tess, I worry that lump on your head is playing havoc with your memory. First our betrothal slips your mind, and then you forget it was Chadwick's father who paid you those compliments, not his sprout.”

I wished I had a fan. The day had turned suddenly warm. “You know perfectly well that I could have young Chadwick eating out of my palm if I chose.” I slipped away from him and crossed my arms. “You are becoming tedious, my lord. Perhaps it is time you toddled off home.”

The grinding sound he made caused me to smile. But then he leaned in next to my cheek. I swallowed some of my arrogance in a breathless lump.

His lips spread in a devilish smirk. In a husky whisper, he said, “Fine talk from a young lady who claims she wants to run her lips over my scars.”

My mouth flew open. I drew in a sharp breath.

How dare he mention that!
Again
. I ought to have slapped him. I seriously considered knocking that self-satisfied grin from his face. I would have, too, if it weren't for the fact that he was already in pain.

I am not good at hiding my feelings. Not good at all. And right then, standing that near to him, I could not decide between slapping him or kissing his rude lips.
Hard.

I swallowed and stepped back, conceding the bout to him. “Scoundrel.”

“I gave you fair warning about my character.”

“Yes, I remember. Right before I told you that I could never marry you. I think you had best take yourself off, my lord. Before I finish the job Daneska's henchmen began.”

He smiled knowing he'd gotten the upper hand and inclined his head in a nod of farewell. “Until tomorrow, Tess.”

He walked off, his usual limp barely noticeable, and left me standing alone beside the roses. Breathing in their sweet fragrance, as I huffed and puffed like a dragon who had lost her fire. The stupid butterfly swooped around me in a set of drunken curling loops.
Ridiculous thing.
She was as confused as I was.

After Lord Ravencross left, I was in no mood for conversation. Dinner was a dismal affair that night. Indifferent to the discussion of gears, boiler tanks, warships, and torpedoes that dominated the evening, I ate in broody silence. I picked at my chicken pie and, during dessert, stirred my nutmeg-and-peach custard into an unrecognizable mess. I begged to be excused and went directly to bed.

I fully expected my bad temper to produce a torrent of ugly dreams. It didn't matter. I was too tired and too confused to care. I curled under my covers and found myself drifting into that same curious prison, full of comfortable silks, cushions of scarlet and amber, and a coverlet made of the finest damask.

Despite the lavishness of my surroundings, there were iron manacles on my wrists and legs. Napoleon did not carry in the silver bowl. It was Lady Daneska. I noticed odd runes worked into the silver filigree around the rim. I refused to drink. If I would not drink it for Napoleon, I most certainly would not for her. She merely laughed and plunged my face into the green witching water, holding me there until breath fled my lungs in a flurry of bubbles and I flailed for air.

Except, I didn't drown.

The mystical water flung me through the mists, and I found myself standing on the cliffs of Stranje House. Georgie, Jane, Sera, Maya, all of us were there. All of the people I cared about—Madame Cho, Miss Stranje, even Aunt Lydia, and right beside me stood Gabriel. We all stared out to sea, fascinated by some phenomena. But what I saw there made my heart thunder and my legs turn weak—the sea tumbling and rising into a great swell. Rising higher and higher, like no wave I had ever seen, it rose until it became a great roaring wall.

“Run!” I screamed. “Run!” I turned, dragging Gabriel with me and scooping my arm around Georgie's waist to help her go faster. “Run!” I shouted to the others. But when I looked back, they were all falling behind.

Jane stumbled. Madame Cho stopped to help her up. Miss Stranje and Sera were lagging too far behind. The wave was a mountain about to tumble upon us, and I couldn't save them. I couldn't save any of them. They were all going to be dashed to pieces
.

I awoke with a start, gasping for air.

Fear
.

Surely there could be nothing prophetic in that dream. A wave of that proportion was too fantastical. Impossible. It must be a manifestation of my fears, as Sera had thought the day before.

“It meant nothing,” I whispered. In the dark I listened to the steady breath sounds of the other girls sleeping in their beds. They were all here. Safe. My breathing settled and my heart slowed to a less frantic gallop. The dream had just been an ordinary nightmare.

Nothing.
If it was nothing, why did I have this overpowering urge to sob like a foolish child?

There was only one thing to do about that. I turned back the covers and slipped into the dress I wore for running.

I left the house before dawn and tore like a charging bull along the cliffs with the wolf-dogs hard at my heels. I stopped at one point and glared at the expanse of water below. It reassured me to see the ocean behaving as it ought, the waves remaining normal sized waves, the surf crashing with dependable regularity.

I took off again, running a little less like a mad bull and a little more like a proper wolf. Phobos and Tromos seemed more content with that.

When we finally stopped, I noticed how much more swollen Tromos's belly looked. She was growing fast. I patted her and gave her a little more food that morning. I hoped this time her pups would make it. Although Phobos was bigger in size, Tromos obviously had more wolf blood in her than he did. Perhaps that had something to do with why they'd not yet had any luck producing cubs. Maybe this time.

I scratched them both behind their ears and let them wrestle with me before leaving them. Tromos gave me a farewell nudge with her nose, as if she understood the turmoil brewing in my heart. I couldn't help myself, I wrapped my arms around her for just a moment. Luckily, she tolerated my ridiculous show of affection and didn't bite me. She did shake out her fur the minute I let go, reminding me that she was a wild animal and did not like to be mauled whenever my emotions got away from me. Phobos watched all this with an amused expression dancing in his eyes.

That day, Georgie and the others worked on constructing their steam engine, and Miss Stranje and Philip set to work sealing up the secret entrances to the house. Miss Stranje settled on adding a latch that could be opened only from the inside.

It might work.

Although I couldn't imagine a latch keeping Daneska or Ghost from finding a way to sneak in once they set their minds to the task.

The best way to protect all of them, Ravencross included, would be for me to find Daneska and Ghost before they snuck into Stranje House. And when I found them, there was no other answer but that Lucien must be killed. The undertaking made prickles rise on the back of my neck every time I thought of it. I swallowed down the roiling fear. It would not be easy, but it had to be done, for Miss Stranje and the other girls' sake, for Gabriel's sake, for England's sake. My best chance of succeeding in this endeavor would be to use a long-range weapon, which meant knife, arrow, or gun. Since Miss Stranje had not yet devised a way for us to practice with firearms without alarming the neighbors, I would need to do it with either a bow or a throwing blade.

Which one?

I swallowed and decided that was a bridge I would cross when I got there. Although, I suspected that shaky proverbial bridge might be made of rotted rope and missing a few planks.

No matter. First I had to
find
the happy couple.

All morning I pored over maps, trying to deduce Daneska and Ghost's whereabouts. Assuming the henchmen had ridden out on the same morning they attacked us, I drew a circle that took in everything within a day's ride from Stranje House. Then I reasoned that they had to be hiding somewhere no more than three hours away. I narrowed my circle to a generous twenty-mile radius.

Miss Stranje stopped in the workroom. “You seem very busy. What are you working on?”

I looked up from the map. “Do you suppose you could send a note to the justice of the peace asking if they've determined from where the horses were rented?”

“I will ask, but those men could've exchanged mounts from any posting house.”

“Yes, but it might give us a clue as to their direction.”

“Hmm. I suppose.” She traced her finger over the map. “Clever. Hunting for her before she comes to us.” She tapped on one particular side of the circle. “I've given their whereabouts considerable thought as well.” She drew a line across the inland part of my circle. “It seems to me they would favor a location fairly close to the shore. Someplace easy to slip in and out of, making it more convenient to communicate with their cohorts in France.”

We drew smaller circles around key villages, focusing on those closest to Calais. We discussed all of the possibilities. In the end, we concluded we required more intelligence. She had two local men she could trust to investigate discreetly.

“I'll send word tomorrow, asking them to visit each of these areas to see if any strangers have taken up residence recently. They'll need to be cautious. It won't be easy. People will be reluctant to talk with them. Most of the villages in that area are deeply involved in smuggling activities.”

“Precisely the kind of village they would seek out.” I sat back and crossed my arms against the turmoil in my stomach. “You can only call upon
two
men? With so many places to check, and the caution they must take, it could be a week before we get word.”

“I'm afraid that is all I have at my disposal at the moment.” She stood and tilted her head, studying me with her sharp hawk's eyes. She sees too much. I looked away, pretending to study the maps again.

“There's something else troubling you. Are you unwell?” she asked.

I shrugged.

“When you didn't come to practice this morning, Madame Cho worried that your head must still hurt.”

“No, I was practicing with the bow.” My head did hurt, not from the knock the kidnappers had given it, but from thinking about the task ahead of me. “If you see her, please tell Madam Cho I will come around later and practice knife throwing.”

She rested her hand on my shoulder. “Tess, obviously there's something else bothering you. If it is that business with Lord Ravencross and if you would like to discuss—”

“No,” I said too quickly. “I … I would rather not speak of it.”

Any of it.

“When you're ready, then,” she said, and left me.

I stared in silence at the map. It would be nearly impossible to find them this way, worse than hunting a couple of poisonous snakes in a barley field. I groaned and shoved it aside, resting my forehead in my hands.

If only I could have a dream that would help me find Daneska and Ghost. But no, I must persist in dreaming of silken prisons and Napoleon's silver bowl filled with lime green water. Of what use was that?

None at all.

Greaves intruded on my angry introspection with a nasal announcement that, true to his word, Lord Ravencross had come calling that afternoon. I sent Greaves back with a terse message that I did not wish to be disturbed.

Harsh.

Indifferent.

Well, and why not? I needed to be harsh and indifferent if I was to hunt down his brother and kill him. I shivered. And not because I was cold.

Ten minutes later, Alice came strolling through the workroom on the pretext of replenishing the oil in the lamps. She peeked over my shoulder at the maps. “My, but aren't you busy.”

“Studying,” I grumbled.

Alice is far too chatty to suit me. She mentioned that Lord Ravencross had indeed gone.

“A peculiar sort, that Lord Ravencross. Odd, how he lives alone in the great big house with only two servants.” Alice prattled on, while I brooded silently. She flicked a rag over the lamp wiping up spilt oil. “I can tell you this, he stomped away in a great gray sulk. I almost expected a thunder cloud to appear over his head, he was so furious. Acted quite put out, he did. As if he had been sorely mistreated.”