Love Entwined (40 page)

Roman gave Nigel’s wrist a swift chop.

Nigel cursed as the gun discharged, shattering a crystal lamp against the opposite wall before it went flying. The gun skidded across the floor under the rubble of a broken statue.

Nigel growled, barreling into Roman. They collided against the wall into a marble bust, which went crashing to the floor. He held Roman around the waist, trying to drag him down to the floor, but Roman was broader of frame and stood his ground.

He grabbed Nigel around the neck and threw him against the wall. Nigel landed on top of the broken marble bust, the breath knocked out of him with a groan of pain.

As he moved toward Nigel, Roman stumbled, leaning against the wall. Nigel’s eyes bore into his, and a battle loomed before him.

“Pretorius, lift the sword higher or you will lose your head!” Their father circled them in the pit, watching every move. His father Giles was much younger in this vision, robust and alive. Romanus lunged and his younger brother Pretorius feinted just in time. “Excellent!” he patted Pretorius on the back…

Ancient Rome. They were training in hand-to-hand combat for the coming battle with the evil ones…

Roman shook the vision out of his head, and swayed with the pain. “We are no longer brothers. He was your father too, once, and you let them murder him!”

Nigel rose to his feet, using the wall for support. “You followed Father into the Light. I chose a different path. We needed Cardiff Jewels to complete our work and your father would not cooperate. Michel Garamonde understood his destiny and did what was required. His son denied his birthright.” Nigel glanced at Amelie. “And needed to be taught a lesson.”

“You killed Emil thinking I’d be blamed for it.” Roman cursed, wiping the blood out of his eyes. “This ends here. Now.” He went after Nigel.

“He is hurt.” She pushed against Jacqueline’s barrier. “This fight cannot go on. It will take away whatever strength he has left. I must go!” she screamed. But she wasn’t going anywhere.

Her vision tunneled to the fatal tableau across the salon. The only sounds were Roman’s murderous rumblings. He was the avenging archangel Michael with a thick forelock dancing over one eye as he clamped a hand around Nigel’s neck and squeezed.

With his other hand, he pulled the ruby ring off Nigel’s finger and threw it across the room before lifting Nigel by the neck further up the wall.

Dangling in the air and limp as a rag doll, Nigel turned his face toward her and rasped, “I am still in love with you, Jacqueline. Come with me, and live for all eternity.” His hand moved to his pants pocket.

“No!” Her warning went unheeded by Roman.

Half-blinded by blood, he did not see Nigel pull out the switchblade.

“You…are…insane!”
Blinding anger emanated from Jacqueline at Nigel’s declaration, and Amelie became nauseous with the power of it.

They were moving above the ground. In seconds, she was close enough to see rivulets of sweat running down Nigel’s face. His eyes widened in shock. The blade clattered to the floor.

Roman turned and looked at her warily. He released Nigel, who slumped against the wall and inched away.

Weakened by Jacqueline’s rage, Amelie was watching from somewhere within.

She felt the mademoiselle’s satisfaction that Nigel was within reach.

She did not know what Nigel saw before him, but she was riveted to the horror in his eyes. She heard his alarmed bellow through a crimson haze as the sword jerked up in her hands.

One foot was braced firmly in front of her as a knight in battle, propelling her forward. Just an arm’s length away from Roman’s mid-section, she skewered Nigel on the sword to the jeweled hilt.

“Go…to…Hell!”
Jacqueline’s command shook her with its bloodlust as she lifted the sword high.

Nigel dangled from the sword, two feet off the ground, twisting in agony until his legs went limp, and screaming until his wretched life was over.

The sword came down and Roman came forward, his face glowing as he entered the white aura.

Looking into her eyes, he took the sword from her hands, bloodying his own. He braced a foot on the body to pull out the steel.

“It is over, mon cher.”
Jacqueline’s French was a gentle caress as she pushed the forelock off his forehead and touched his cheek.

He dropped the sword and it clanged to the floor. “
Merci
…” His eyes moved from the transparent satin slippers peaking from beneath the gown to the ghostly Cardiff jewels adorning the mademoiselle’s neck.

An eerie wail surrounded them. It was coming from Nigel, who lay dead on the floor. A black fog emanated from Nigel’s chest and swirled in the air. It hovered above the body before vanishing into thin air.

She felt tinkling amusement well up in Jacqueline. When the laughter came, it was filled with promise.

The mademoiselle said no more, but stepped out of Amelie’s confined existence.

Drained by Jacqueline’s possession, she swayed on her feet.

Roman scooped her up in his arms so tight her bones ached and the arm and leg wounds burned. Even as relief flooded in that she could feel her body now, she was bereft of the mademoiselle’s comfort.

With some effort, she lifted a hand to his bloody face. He turned into it and kissed her palm.

Jacqueline nodded in approval. With one hand holding long, glittering skirts high, she moved on invisible steps above the floor. When she reached the portrait, she turned once more to look at them before stepping through the gold frame.

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

“Take him outside,” Chief Bryant said in the hallway.

Amelie sat back in the leather wing chair. Even though she was sitting in Roman’s study, she looked away as men carried Nigel’s body on a gurney through the hallway outside Haddon Hall. The coroner walked out behind them.

Roman and Chief Bryant came in to the study with a policeman. “His parents still live in Dudley,” the police officer was saying. “They didn’t know he was in England. Nigel had been staying at an inn, where he would be close to St. Clair Manor.”

She shivered when she thought of how he must have been waiting for days for his opportunity to take her away.

“Nigel had obtained a position in security here using a family member’s identity,” Chief Bryant said. “He had filled in on several occasions, the last of which was around the time of your trip to the Château Jeune.”

“Today, Nigel entered the property with a rented car,” the police officer said. “He told security that he was sent to take the next shift. When the guard turned to radio headquarters and confirm, Nigel knocked him out. Routine changing of the guards led to both security guards being bound, gagged and locked in a utility shed on the drive leading up to the manor. Landscapers were turned away at the gate.”

“Caroline encountered Nigel in the kitchen garden and was dragged into the stables,” Chief Bryant said.

Amelie stiffened. “Is she…”

“She’s alive,” Roman said. “She was tied up alongside Cook, who had returned from market only to be accosted by Nigel in the kitchen.”

Roman told the police of Nigel Graham’s obsession with her.

She was surprised when the policeman turned to Roman. But of course, everyone would assume he was the one to lift the six-foot tall man off his feet at the end of a sword, as Roman had known they would. He did not hesitate to admit killing the madman in self-defense.

Chief Bryant backed Roman through it all, as if he’d been there when it happened.

She sat by the cool hearth, wondering at this strange alliance between England’s finest and the Cardiff heir, wondering how it would develop in the future and what a future with
il Dragone
held for them all. She stared at the ancient sword lying in a clear container on the low coffee table while they took Roman’s statement. The jeweled handle was a work of art, and yet another intricate design. A cluster of rubies was worked into the handle in the shape of a medieval cross.

An instrument of the Warriors of Light.

There would be no more incarnations of Damek, Nigel Graham. Without the dragon ruby on his finger, the sword had killed him for all time.

Two men wearing gloves picked up the ancient battle sword and took it away.

Khan put his great black head in her lap, and she rubbed his sleek ears.

She filled in the benign bits of the chase Roman left for her to tell, painting herself the helpless victim when she had been anything but that.

He gave her strength, never breaking eye contact, loving her through the lies when all she wanted was to be left alone with him.

He came back to her when Chief Bryant left with the police.

There was relief in his red eyes when he lifted her out of the leather wing chair and sat her back down on his lap. She wrapped her arms around his chest, breathing him in.

“Where did it come from?” When he didn’t answer, she looked into his eyes. “The jeweled sword.”

“It belonged to me. Romanus. It’s the sword painted on the ancient canvas in Michel Garamonde’s office. One of Grandfather Ian’s artifacts. It’s been up there all this time. Looks as if it were honed from steel just yesterday.”

“They will bring it back, won’t they?”

“Chief Bryant will see to it.”

“What a wondrous house,” she said, and leaned her head against his chest. “I always knew St. Clair Manor was filled with treasures.”

“More treasures than we can imagine. I always pictured Lord Alsborough, Nigel, with black hair.”

She sat back. “Do you remember
mon amour
?”

“Glimpses. They are like snapshots in my mind’s eye superimposed over him. The eyes are the same; evil and empty.”

“
Exactement
! More will come back to you. I will help you regain your memory.”

“That, and, want to help me do some research on Romanus and the Warriors of Light?”

“
Oui, capitaine
, I am always ready for a new project with you.” There was so much she wanted to share with this man, her eternal love, and now they had all the time in the world.

She hugged him, hope swelling in her heart to rise above the chill of the day’s offenses. “Any news on Lyle?”

“Khan found him. He has a nasty gash on his head, but he’s regained consciousness. It was poison that got the deer, poison meant for Khan. That is what Lyle was coming to tell us when Nigel stopped him. Put out for his troubles and never had a chance to see who attacked him. Doctor Latham is finishing up with him now.”

She closed her eyes and they listened to the occasional footfall past the door. No one, but the physician would bother them now.

“The manor; it’s quiet,” he had been so still, she thought he had fallen asleep.

She smiled. “You hear it too?”

“When I woke up in the forest, I thought fate had played a cruel trick on us and I had lost you again. But she would never have let that happen. Jacqueline has been waiting so long for you.”

“For love. It was meant to be. Our souls are entwined.” She nuzzled his neck.

“I will never be the same. This may even ruin my reputation as a playboy.”

She poked a finger into his chest. “Well, certainly as a lady-killer.”

They listened to Khan’s heavy breathing for a while because it was an ordinary sound that said everything was all right.

Roman broke the silence. “She would want to be with you. I will have the portrait moved into the Blue Room.”

Amelie sighed and snuggled closer. “
Oui
, she would like that.”

Five years later…

The July sun illuminated the River Wharfe, which ran over glistening boulders to feed the bubbling brook of St. Clair Manor.

A Great Dane pup barked and trotted along the winding route of the brook toward the groundskeeper’s house on a mission to retrieve the paper boat, which had set sail by the hand of the little people.

The south lawn was teeming with youngsters. They were running through the obstacle course with its little orange cones and tires set up on the green. They waved their arms excitedly at their teammates and urged them on in relay races. They were playing in the tree house that Roman had built. Perched atop the old elm, the hideaway boasted a wooden plaque on the door inscribed
The Raven
.

Children were playing hide-and-seek in the rose garden and loud, comical whispers came from behind the statues of the gods. A boisterous line had formed in front of the ice cream tent near the sandbox and little ones shouted their preferences as the attendant took orders.

Brightly colored bounce houses in the shapes of castles and boats dotted the lawn, along with slides and pumping seesaws. Squeals of laughter filled the air as children ran with balloons tied around their wrists from one amusement to another.

St. Clair Manor flourished under the attentions of the little folk and opened its heart to them. It provided mystery and adventure in every nook and cranny for the bold and the curious.

“You are going to get dizzy.” Amelie laughed at Roman, who held Sacha, the birthday girl on his shoulders. He was running around Charlie the Clown.

The clown in whiteface with big red lips painted from cheek to cheek was trying to steal a kiss from the birthday girl. His bright orange and blue wig waved to and fro, as he turned in wobbly circles.

Miles, Sacha’s four-year old brother, trailed after them, his little legs taking three steps for each of Roman’s. His shiny black curls bobbed as he dodged Charlie the Clown’s over-sized rubber feet. Miles had his mother’s emerald eyes.

Roman slowed and when Charlie caught up to them, Sacha pointed at the clown in warning, her yellow-gold eyes wide with excitement “Daddee-e!”

“Is he gaining on us, my sweet?” He lifted her off his shoulders and tucked her into his chest. He adjusted the little gold crown with the number two over her black curls. She giggled, having yet to speak a full sentence.

Miles ran right into his leg and grabbed on. “I’ve got you, Daddy!”