Exile for Dreamers (30 page)

The day was fine and it might have been lovely in the garden, except all the sawing and hammering and pounding of metal somewhat spoiled the effect. Ravencross looked up at me, and my foolish knees melted.

I told myself I would simply speak with him to make certain he was healing properly. That's all. Except someone needed to convince him to hire more men. I could do that. I ought to find out if farmer Jason's son was able to stay alert through the night. Oh, yes, these were dandy excuses. Perfect reasons to stand next to him and watch his mouth move as he answered. First-rate deceptions every one of them.

Truth was, I wanted to be near him.

What harm would there be in just being near him? So long as I remembered it was only in passing. A fleeting moment of pleasure. Why not eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die? If only there wasn't the die part. My heart dropped. It felt as if the darn thing tumbled down the steep stairs of Stranje House and sank past Daneska's cell, past hope, into a dark, bottomless dungeon.

He stared at me and his face was glorious to behold. I had no idea—No, that's not true. I'd always thought he would be that beautiful when he smiled,
really smiled.
Except it was more than that. He looked like his angelic namesake, a glorious heavenly being who had no business loving the likes of me.

I've always said I don't cry. And I don't. Heavens above, I'd just tried my hardest when the Chadwicks were here and couldn't produce a tear to save my life. So this wasn't crying. It's possible a droplet of water leaked out of the corner of one stupid eye, because I felt the salty wetness burning a trail down the side of my cheek and dashed it away.

The breeze lifted his dark locks as he walked toward me. All I could do was watch, envious that the wind could run her fingers through his hair and I could not. He had the good grace not to bow. Instead, he tilted his head and watched me descend the garden stairs.

I tripped on the third step. Tripped.
Me,
who could dance better than anyone else here, could run without falling across sheep pastures riddled with obstacles, and perform Madame Cho's defensive movements flawlessly.

I stumbled.

He reached for me, clasped my hand to keep me safe, and suddenly I felt grateful for my graceless moment. I held his hand until I reached the last stair.

“Will you walk with me?” he asked.

Would I walk with him?
Tongue-tied and stupidly shy for no reason at all, I nodded. Except I didn't want to walk here in the park, not where they would all be watching us. And especially not if Lady Daneska had found a way to peek through her dungeon portal and spy on the goings-on in the yard.

He must have noticed my reluctance, because he offered an alternative. “The day is warm. We might take the path along cliffs.”

 

Twenty-one

SYMBOLS

I liked walking with him. I liked the even rhythm of our steps as we crossed the gravel drive, and the easy way we navigated rangy mounds of green thistles and clumps of sea grasses waving gently along the cliffs overlooking the sea. The tide was in, splashing hard against the rocks below, sending cool spray up every third or fourth wave. Yes, I liked walking with Ravencross. Except he wasn't Ravencross.

“What was your name before you became Lord of Ravencross?”

“Helmsford.” He scooped up a handful of small stones and threw one of them, side-armed, out into the ocean. “Simple, uncomplicated Gabriel Helmsford. And I'd give a considerable sum to go back to it.”

I bit my tongue, holding back the secret that wanted to come rushing out. I steered the subject to a less volatile topic. “I suppose you know that Lord Wyatt and Captain Grey captured Lady Daneska. We're holding her at Stranje House.”

“So I heard.” He sent another stone soaring out over the water. “Why wouldn't you see me yesterday?”

“I was working,” I said defensively. “Trying to figure out where Daneska had set up her lair. Trying to keep you safe.”

He turned to me, gripping the last of his stones in his fist. “When are you going to stop this absurd quest to protect me?”

“When I'm convinced you're out of danger.”

“It's a dangerous world. None of us are ever safe.” He threw the last stone, sent it sailing so far out that neither of us would be able to see it fall into the sea. “It's foolishness, Tess. Tilting at windmills. As far as I'm concerned, there are worse things than death.”

“Not to me.”

“Anyway, they caught Lady Daneska, so you wasted your time.” He stepped in front of me, bringing me to a halt. “Time you might better have spent with me.”

A decision I'd regretted, but I had my reasons. Perfectly sound reasons. “I told you—”

“I know what you said. You can't marry me because there's only death ahead of you.” He leaned over me, frowning. “That makes every minute we have even more valuable, wouldn't you say?”

Even though his nearness warmed me to my toes, I backed up. Afraid I'd selfishly forget how loving me would destroy him. “You don't understand.”

“No, I don't.” He pressed forward. “Enlighten me.”

The ocean lapped in and out, crashing against my frantic thoughts. I didn't want to tell him about the madness that awaited me. I couldn't bear to think of him pitying me. The thought of him viewing me as a broken creature to be locked in an attic sickened me. But he deserved at least some of the truth.

“My mother died.” It sounded vague and flat, but it felt raw and naked.

I gathered the fabric of my neckline, clutching it, looking up at him, uncertain. His brown eyes held a tenderness that warmed me like morning cocoa. His hair hung loose by his cheek. So near. Mere inches from my hand. I could almost reach up and—

“Tell me about her,” he said.

My lips parted in surprise. No one had ever asked that of me. People had asked how she died, and about her dreams. Sad details. No one had ever asked me about
her.

A thousand scattered memories of her rushed to mind—good, happy, wondrous moments. My mother was more than her madness. Salt stung my eyes. Yes, that was it, not tears, it was the salt air. I blinked the stinging away.

“She … she was kind and gentle. Loving. Not like me. I'm more like my father. Mama was small and delicate. She reminded me of a wood sprite.” I caught my lip and looked away, at the grass blowing along the cliffs, embarrassed at having exposed such a childish thought.

“Mama loved the forest … and animals. Especially animals. I remember her teaching me to recognize the high-pitched cry of a baby hedgehog and showing me where the foxes hid their kits. She understood the language of trees and grasses. Songs, she called them. All creatures, even the insects and butterflies, sang songs. She taught me to recognize the songs of the woods, and so I did. The tune the wind plays through the leaves when a storm is coming. The ripple of the brook drumming on stones, and how it roars just before a flash flood.”

I felt a flush of excitement as I told him these things, things I'd kept buried for years.

“She used to tell me how the vales and forests were our true home.” I stopped talking. My chest began to squeeze too hard. I swallowed and bit down on my lip.

I miss her.

A tendril of hair blew across my eyes, and he tucked it behind my ear. “What about your father?”

I fought the urge to lean my cheek into his hand. “They'd known each other since they were children. When he died, I thought her heart would remain broken forever. Maybe it did. Her dreams got worse after that. Except it's hard to know, Napoleon's conquests grew worse then, too. During the Peninsular War, she would wake up sweating and gasping for air.”

I had to tell him the rest of it then, the ugly part. “The dreams drove her mad. She ran crying into the woods and fell to her death in a ravine.”

A blast of sea spray sent the two of us dashing away from the edge of the cliffs.

“You may as well know the whole thing. Dreams killed my grandmother, too. They terrified her so much that one night her heart stopped. My grandfather grieved all the rest of his days. Then when my mother…” I pressed my face into my hands. “Gabriel, this curse … I refuse to burden you with it. I won't.”

He gently pulled my hands down and forced me to look at him. “You
are
like your mother. You have her passion for nature and living things.” He ran his fingers down the side of my face. “Tess, there's a warmth about you. It's as if you radiate love. It's almost unexplainable. Whenever I'm with you, my pain lessens.”

“In your shoulder?”

He shook his head. “Not just there.” He laid a fist over his heart. “Don't you see, your curse is loving too much. You try to hide it. You cloak it beneath a flimsy veil of anger. But the truth is you care so deeply it puts the rest of us to shame.”

I pulled from the comfort of his hand and looked away, feeling even more naked than before. My thoughts fluttered in a hundred confusing directions.

He caught my shoulder, not allowing me to escape. “I've seen it time and time again. Like the day you risked stealing my horse to help Georgie. And in London, the way you fought Daneska's men to protect her. You would've willingly died to save her. I saw it then, and even that time you dared me—the day we kissed. Do you remember?”

I would remember that day until my last breath.

“I knew what you were doing. Some people might've thought you were brazen. I knew better. You were so brave, the way you tried to break through to me. I saw even then, how deeply you cared. Although why you chose to care about me, I cannot fathom.” He let go of my hand. “There are far worse curses, Tess. We all live under one kind or another.”

He raked a hand through his hair and turned to stare at the churning sea. “My father … Dear God, if you'd known him, you'd understand. Just being his son was a curse. Your mother cared too much. Whereas my father beat us for being too soft. Nothing we did was ever good enough. Sometimes he thrashed us just to ensure we would harden up.”

He glanced back at me, shame distorting his features. “We were to be lords, you see.
Rulers.
And rulers must be feared if they're to maintain order. They must be relentless in administering justice. Poachers must be hanged. Rents must be paid on time, regardless of the harvest. Never let the tenants think you're soft, or they'll take advantage.”

I saw then, in his haunted eyes, the lost forlorn boy.

“My brother, Lucien, suffered even more than I. He was the heir. Father never let him forget it. He insisted Lucien must be forged of iron if he intended to take his place as Lord of Ravencross. God, how I hated that title. It stood for cruelty.”

I wished desperately I could take his agony away. But how could I save him from these things that had already happened? He was Gabriel, my beautiful, scarred Gabriel, in spite of or maybe because of all those wretched things that had happened to him.

He pointed at Ravencross Manor. “Those men…” He bowed his head. “Tess, do you know why those men have come to stand guard?”

I shook my head, waiting for him to tell me the answer.

“It's not because of the coin I offered to pay. No, my tenants heard rumors that I was in danger and they are sending their old men and young boys, anyone they can spare from the fields, to protect me. I've had to send dozens of them away with my thanks and a loaf of bread for their trouble. But do you know why they come? It's because I am
not
my father. They are terrified that whoever inherits the estate after me will be as unyielding as my brother was, or my father, and his father was before him.”

Gabriel's shoulders sagged, his head bowed in shame. “All my life I tried to please him. A tyrant.” He looked up then, rage sparking like flint in his brown eyes. “My brother and I learned to bear his whippings without flinching, and yet Father still thought I was too weak. ‘It's not good enough to have muscle on the outside,' he would say. ‘One must have steel on the inside.' The army was his idea. He thought battle would toughen me up, bought a commission for me and sent me packing.” A sad, caustic laugh jarred Gabriel's shoulders. “Battle was a reprieve as far as I was concerned. Until…”

The familiar remorse twisted his features, and I knew he was thinking of that day with his brother.

I felt sorry for Lucien, too, knowing that the monster he'd become was not entirely of his own making. I ached to tell Gabriel the truth, knowing it might ease some of his pain, but knowing also it would generate new anguish.

There must be right words somewhere in the world to comfort him, but I couldn't find them. Even the old language deserted me. Empty, I had nothing to give but myself. So I wrapped my arms around him and pressed my cheek against his chest.

His heart pounded and crashed as violently as the surf. When he finally surrendered and rested his arms around me, I felt him ease. Warmth washed through me. And
peace.

He held me and I felt his lips kiss my hair. He asked, “Do you understand now?”

I nodded. Wishing this small miraculous moment of peace would last longer. I had so few. But it couldn't. It mustn't. “I understand,” I whispered, sadly letting go. “Even so, I could never let you suffer through my madness. You don't know what it's like.”

He held me away from him, gripping my shoulders, and frowned. “You would rather make me suffer without you?”

Peace evaporated like the ocean spray and left me dry, lonely, and hurting.

I lowered my eyes, unable to answer his question, and so I dodged it with a query of my own. “About those extra men your farmers wanted to send…”

I laid out our plan to trick Lady Daneska, and he agreed to begin drilling a small troop on the grounds at Ravencross. We stopped and stared out at the sea. It was fair and calm today, no ominous swells rising from her balmy blue depths. The breeze was light and gently blew through our hair. I could've stood there relishing that moment for a great long while except for a bee that buzzed annoyingly close to my head.