Love Entwined (38 page)

She slumped over him.

They lay in the shadowed hideaway until Khan roused them. The Great Dane was barking furiously behind the lodge. The dog was pulling at something behind an old tree stump.

Khan’s jaws were locked onto the neck of a dead deer.

Roman pulled Khan away. “Come here, boy.”

Amelie peeked from behind his back. “Did he kill it?”

“He has never done anything like this before.”

There were no marks on the deer, other than the perforations on the neck from Khan’s teeth.

He took hold of Khan’s collar. “It’s back to the manor with you for the rest of the weekend.”

“Oh Roman, he likes it out here. He is used to having the place all to himself, maybe there is just too much going on right now.”

“It’s just a precaution with security about. He is too excited.”

They mounted their horses and led a whining Khan back toward the manor.

A gunshot rang out and Roman fell from the saddle.

Titan, a black blur, raced past her off the trail and into the woods.

“Roman!” She tried to turn Blue Belle around, but the frightened roan surged in the opposite direction toward St. Clair Manor.

She half-turned in the saddle. Khan was whining, nudging his master, but Roman lay motionless on the ground.

She lifted a leg to dismount and the roan almost unseated her. She slammed into Blue Belle’s heaving side as the horse bounded down the trail. Blinded by tears, she clung to the saddle with both hands and tried to breathe.

Trees hurtled past at a dizzying pace. The ground sped away underneath them. If she fell now, she would be crushed under Blue Belle’s stomping hooves.

She concentrated on using all her strength to hook a dangling foot back into the jumping stirrup. Finally, her foot went through the stirrup. Groaning, she threw a leaden leg up and fell onto Blue Belle’s back.

She clung to Blue Belle, her head snapping up painfully with each fierce gallop. Blue Belle’s coat was lathering but she showed no signs of slowing down.

Amelie pulled herself up to a sitting position with the reins. She pulled with all her strength on the reins, but Blue Belle was jockeying in a furious bid to get far away. The horse would not be calmed.

She glanced to the right and saw why.

Through the trees, she glimpsed another horse.

The russet-colored stallion was a huge beast. It was keeping pace with Blue Belle across the clearing.

When it turned, emerging from the sheltering trees to cut across the field toward them, she gasped, almost losing her breath once more.

Its rider wore a black ski mask and had a rifle slung from a strap across one shoulder. The hunter was sitting straight up in the saddle, as calm as the magnificent mount.

She kicked Blue Belle, but the horse was already galloping violently. This was a race she must win. She held on out of sheer will.

They were at the edge of the field near the bordering trees when she stole a quick glance behind.

The stallion was gaining on them. It jolted forward at such a pace that it seemed his hooves never touched the ground. Though horse and rider were only halfway across the field, the charger would overtake Blue Belle in moments at this breakneck speed.

“Help! Somebody!” Amelie and Blue Belle sped through the trees and crossed a cobblestone bridge.

Where is everyone?

Security must have heard the gunshot, but there was no one in the fields. There were no grounds men about and there was no one in the courtyard up ahead. She could either ride to front gate security, which was nearly a mile away or get to the manor.

Soon the russet stallion would break through the trees and cross the cobblestone bridge. She would be visible to her pursuer again.

St. Clair Manor was closer and she had the advantage of tree cover now. She would have help in the manor Caroline and Cook were home.

She dug in her heels once more and Blue Belle flew through the courtyard.

Roman.

She sobbed. Was he dead or alive?

She jumped off Blue Belle, who slowed just a beat, and had the wind knocked out of her from a jarring fall to the concrete.

The roan headed straight toward the stables around the back of the manor.

Her arm and leg were on fire, but those sensations were no match for blinding fear. She propelled herself through the vegetable garden. There was a side entrance into the kitchen.

“Caroline!” She slammed and locked the door behind her and moved to the security panel on the wall. She pressed in the code, but the lights were blinking on the LCD display and the numbers did not register.

“Caroline! Where are you?”

She ran through Haddon Hall and into the main foyer. Next to the knight in armor was another blinking security panel.

Someone had breached the system.

She backed away from the security panel, wondering if she was the only person still alive in St. Clair Manor. She pushed that thought to the far reaches of her mind.

They had been ambushed.

Anne and James were on a buying trip in Leeds and would not be back until tomorrow. The last time she had seen Caroline, the maid had been in the kitchen garden helping Cook gather vegetables for the noon meal. She had not seen Jilly or anyone else today.

The absence of security made her wonder just how thorough their attacker had been in setting his trap.

Horse’s hooves thundered into the courtyard.

She ran up to the mansion’s double doors and checked the locks. She hefted into place the cumbersome iron bolt styled after an old medieval keep.

As the bolt fell into place, there was a hellish battering against the doors.

She screamed and fell backward onto the flagstones at this show of anger. The heavy double doors were as steadfast as tree trunks. They would not yield.

Something crashed in Haddon Hall.

She ran into the hall where a decorative stone urn lay broken against the floor. Flowers and soil spread out among chunks of moss-covered stone.

Staring at the drapes fluttering around the smashed bay window, she reached for the telephone on the side table. No dial tone.

She could run to the guesthouse, but it was a mile away. She might not make it before the murderer ran her down. If Lyle and Mary were not there, she would have to go into the woods. She would lose her way in the forest. Scarborough was the nearest town and it was miles away.

Hide…
a voice in the wind said.

Yes, it was better to stay in the manor, a maze with over a hundred rooms. There must be some place she could evade the intruder. She would find a weapon. There would be no help for Roman other than what she was able to give, if she could stay alive. If he was still alive.

She was closer to the north wing stairs, the family wing. If the murderer was familiar with the mansion that might be the first place, he would expect her to run.

She ran through the alcove. She skidded across the kitchen tile when she saw Cook’s calendar on the wall. Today’s date had been circled in red marker, August fifteenth. Scribbled under the date was a message she had trouble making out for all its angry lashes: “Our Wedding Day.”

Mon Dieu
…She did not know what face he wore in this century, but her betrothed had come to claim her on the anniversary of the murder he had committed two hundred years ago.

It had been too quiet, why had they not known these past newlywed weeks that the killer would wait until the appointed hour? The dates had been almost perfectly aligned from the beginning.

She had gone back in time and woke on the very same date, the eighteenth, with only a month’s difference. They should have known nothing could have stopped this replay of history once it had begun to unfold.

She had thought that fate was on their side after the tragedy in the eighteenth century. It had brought her and Roman back together, even allowed them to marry and find happiness for a short while. But fate had never strayed from its true course. That was how it kept order in the world. Love didn’t matter; they didn’t matter. Here they were again, all three of them, in North Yorkshire.

She had hoped it was over after Castle Zuoz and all it contained was demolished. Michel and Emil were gone forever, but Damek, Lord Alsborough was still alive. He had found her just as the Master had promised.

This time Lord Alsborough had felled both her and Roman because she could not live without him.

The glass breaking continued in Haddon Hall as the killer sought entrance to the manor.

She ran through another alcove, toward the south wing’s upper level, which had not been used in years.

Oh no, not this wing!

Anne and James’s quarters were in this wing on the first floor. She had run after Jacqueline once, following her up these stairs where there was an old ballroom on the second floor. She did not know what lay beyond that. If the upper level doors were locked, she would have to come back down the stairs. She might be trapped on the stairs when she met her pursuer, but she could not turn back now.

She held onto the balustrade as she made her way up the staircase. Her right leg and arm cuts from her fall were screaming. She was bleeding and the material of the ripped jeans pulled on the leg wound, but she dared not slow down.

At the top of the darkened landing, she squinted into the gloom. She walked into the quiet blackness and tried the ballroom doors on the left.

Moaning, she leaned against the locked doors. Of course, these doors would be locked; the wing was not in use.

She had acted out of fear and now her rash decision would be her last. The advantage of time she had before the murderer came upon her was slipping away.

Amelie turned at a sound from above.

She ran up to the third floor landing. It was unlit, a sign that the maids rarely came this way. “Caroline?”

Caroline must be hiding up here. She must have heard the glass breaking in Haddon Hall and known there was trouble.

She walked swiftly down the long hall, trying the locked doors on the left and right.

There was a door standing ajar at the far end of the hall. Thank God, Caroline had left it open for her.

She ran down the corridor toward the grey sliver of light piercing the gloom. She was about to pull the door wide when it swung inward. Stifling a panicked moan, she grabbed the gold knob before the door slammed back against the wall on its hinges. This door was not creaking from lack of use in this deserted wing of the manor, but seemed well oiled.

She shook with the effort to close it as quietly as she could, and then turned to look at her surroundings.

St. Clair Manor, North Yorkshire, England – August 15, 1988

She was standing in a grand salon filled with shrouded forms.

The light from the floor to ceiling windows illuminated white sheets stretched over statues, sofas and chairs. It was a good hiding place, yet Amelie’s instinct told her Caroline was not in here.

There was no human presence in this room, but she was not alone.

The heavenly chords of a minuet floated over to her from a far corner, drawing her forward.

Quickly, she walked the length of the room, half-expecting something to jump out at her. That uncertain fate did not seem as bad as contact with whomever was stalking her below stairs.

A shroud slipped to the floor and dust motes swirled in a recessed alcove. The minuet came to an end.

She picked her way through tables and display cabinets to reach the corner where she expected an old phonograph had been set to play. But there was no phonograph and the alcove was not an alcove at all. It was a painting. The large canvas background seemed in flux, shifting from umber to light grey.

She stopped a few feet away from the pulsing portrait, or was stopped. She wasn’t sure as a feeling of calm settled over her and her questions were forgotten. Her heartbeat resounded in her head. She pulsed now, standing mired in the fluctuating atmosphere seeping from the portrait in a light mist.

Skirts of shimmering gold materialized before her. At first, they seemed to be solid, but when Amelie stared at the rich brocade, she saw right through to the gilt frame of the portrait beyond.

At her sharp intake of breath, the lady turned toward her and the voluminous skirts that were not really there, swirled in the air. Auburn curls were pinned up in an elaborate sweep save for two shining locks at each ear that moved the large glinting sapphires dangling from delicate earlobes.

“You are safe now.”

The pulsing in Amelie’s head receded just enough for these words spoken in husky French to come to her, though the vision’s lips did not move.

“Jacqueline.” There was so much to say, but she could manage only this while they gazed at each other.

An identical pair of emerald eyes sparkled in amused interest, as Jacqueline stared at her jeans and sweater.

Amelie was vaguely aware that a killer was somewhere in the mansion searching for her right now and she must hide. But in this haven, those thoughts did not hold the urgency of moments ago.

She found her voice to utter something more critical. “I remember.”

Bare alabaster shoulders shrugged in generosity, making the sapphire pendant nestled between Jacqueline’s breasts twinkle.
“It is time.”
The mademoiselle smoothed translucent skirts.

She heard the soft rustle and her eyes were drawn to graceful hands.

At the far end of the room, the doorknob rattled with force. The intruder had come for her.

She cried out, jolted back into impending doom. She wanted to turn, but the motion was denied. Jacqueline’s aura held her fast.

“Please, I did not lock the door!”

Jacqueline was looking past her. The serene expression she wore was marred by irritation with the arch of an elegant brow.

The intruder had heard her cry. There was triumphant heavy breathing as the person tried to break the door down, having found her hiding place, but the door would not open.

Before she could plead again, Jacqueline inclined her head with noble grace,
“Come to me.”
The sweet command was just a courtesy. There was no way to disobey.