Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor (210 page)

• • •

A dream. It is all a bad dream.
Numbness enveloped her body and senses. She registered the baron’s lips on hers. The king’s praise of her choice. The baron’s steadfastness in the face of her waiver. It made her want to retch. She moved in a haze.
It does not matter. I did what I needed to do.
The hurt and bewilderment in Tyrone’s voice stung like thousands of nettles stabbing her flesh. She would have run if she thought she could escape the sound of his pain, but it would ring in her ears forever.
I am going to die. Not now, but soon. At least Jester is safe. I have repaid your kindness in this life, my friend. I hope to see you again in the next.
Her mind succumbed to a filmy dreamlike state, not sleep, an empty place where she didn’t have to think or feel.

• • •

It was quiet and still when her mind slipped back to her. She was lying on a bed
.
Was someone with her? She listened for any indication of movement or breath. Deathlike silence made her shudder.
I am alone. Or dead. And cold.
It was not a bone-chilling cold, just cool enough for goose bumps to form along her arms.
Why has Teresa not lit the fire?
A clock ticked somewhere nearby, its steady tick-tock lending an eerie and otherworldly feel to the room. She drew a deep breath through her nose.
Musty.
There was no doubt she was not at home at Westpoint in her own cozy room, which always smelled of vanilla and citrus.
This must be the room I occupied before at Augustus’.
Bile rose in her throat and she would have retched if she was not too nervous to eat in the morning.

Bits and pieces of the meeting with the king surfaced.
Oh God. Jester. Where is he?
She forced her sluggish body to sit up. How long did she lay there? Was it day or night? An owl hooted outside her window answering her unvoiced question. A vague memory returned of a glass being held to her lips and the command to drink the bitter brew it contained. Was she drugged to keep her quiet? Sliding from the bed, she tried to recall the setup of the room.
Chairs in the center. Fireplace on the far wall. Window … across from the bed? S
he held out a hand, shuffling forward until she met a wooden ledge and then cool glass. Turning left, she carried on, trailing her fingers along the wall to guide her steps. Two dozen and she came to the corner, another dozen steps and her hand touched a wooden frame. She smiled.
The door.
Lowering her hand she groped for the knob, finding its brass surface with ease. It didn’t budge when she tried to turn it.

Imprisoned to await death. I never even got a chance to meet my mother. What words of wisdom would she have shared with me? Did she too possess the power of past, present, and future sight?
Tears she didn’t bother to brush away trickled down her cheeks. What would happen to Jester after her murder? Would he be turned loose to fend for himself, or sold at market to pull a coal cart for some cruel master somewhere? Why did she not confide in Tyrone? Perhaps he could have taken her far away where Augustus couldn’t harm them. Would the king have believed her? Maybe not since the first judge doubted her story.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Why did she do it? As callous as any butcher, Delilah ripped his heart out and stomped it into the dirt. Did the woman have some kind of death wish? It was only a matter of time before the baron would find a way to “accidentally” rid himself of her. Until then the despicable lecher would make her pay, make her sheltered life a living hell. No matter how many times Tyrone rolled her refusal to have her marriage annulled around in his head, he couldn’t come up with an explanation for her about-face.

He shifted on the lumpy prison cot. Locked in here there was no way he could protect or save her from the baron’s evil. Though part of him wondered why he still cared. It was obvious she had no feelings for him. It was all a lie. Served him right for falling in love with a deceitful gypsy.
A beautiful gypsy.
He shook his head. Maybe she put a spell on him, made him think he was in love with her until she no longer needed him. Groaning, he sat up. It didn’t make sense. She needed him more now than ever. He swung his legs over the side of the cot and stomped to the little barred window in the door.

“I demand to be released!” He slammed his fist against the rough wooden surface as his voice echoed down the narrow passageway beyond. It was futile. No one was going to come along to hear his ranting. Who knew when he would be set free? Did his message reach Perry? Even so, he doubted Perry would be able to secure his release. For all he knew the king left orders to leave him in the dingy little cell until he rotted. He paced the tiny confines of his prison for lack of any other way to vent his frustrations.

Why did this happen to him? He did what the king commanded. Well, a little more than the king asked. Though he didn’t regret deflowering Delilah, not entirely anyway. What was the baron doing to her now? For the first time in his life Tyrone experienced helplessness. Unable to stop loving the little wood nymph, understand her motives, or do anything to save her.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor outside his cell, mixing with the steady drip, drip of water. These were the constant sounds for the two days of his incarceration. He pulled his fob watch from his pocket. A glance proved it too soon for supper. The footsteps slowed and then stopped. He focused on the cell door as a set of keys jingled. The loud click of the tumblers heralded its opening. He shielded his eyes at the intrusion of light from the guard’s lantern.

“Lord Frost?”

“Yes?”

“Come with me.” The guard stepped back, allowing him to exit into the dank corridor.

He followed a second guard down the narrow passageway. “Where are you taking me?”

“Your release has been secured.”

Tyrone heaved a sigh of relief. Good old Perry did get his message. He could always count on his childhood friend. They paused at the end of the corridor and waited while the door was unlocked and opened from the other side. At the end of a second passageway he was shown into a small office. Sure enough Perry sat, in all his finery, in a crude wooden chair facing the warden across the desk.

He raised his eyebrows and gave Tyrone a crooked smile. “You look like hell, Ty.”

“Thanks. I feel like hell.” He sat in the chair next to his friend. “What took you so long to spring me?”

“That is gratitude for you.” Perry grinned. “I was out of town and just got your message.”

Tyrone surveyed his friend’s appearance. “And you dressed to the nines to come bail me out?”

Perry tossed a sack of coins on the desk. “Nope, unfortunately your untimely arrest interrupted my betrothal ball.”

“Damn, sorry to be such a trial, my friend.”

Perry shrugged. “No matter, as long as we get out of here before anyone notices my absence.” He cast a meaningful look at the warden, who was testing the gold pieces in front of him with his teeth. When the man nodded his ascent Perry got up. “Come on, let’s get out of here. This place makes me nervous.”

Tyrone laughed as they left the room. “Why? Have you done something you are not proud of you might have failed to tell me about?”

His friend shrugged as they stepped onto the dark street and hailed a passing hackney cab. “No, but I have the feeling I am about to. You have ten minutes to tell me what we should do about your lady love.”

“Delilah?”

Perry raised an eyebrow and they climbed aboard the coach. “First name basis. I see you have it bad, my friend.”

“Is it so obvious?” Tyrone settled back against the worn cushions.

“It was already painfully obvious when your intended betrothed left you at the ball and you did not call out her new suitor.” Perry leaned out the window and gave the address of Tyrone’s townhouse before sitting down opposite him. “I have booked passage on a vessel bound for France for my sister’s grand tour at the end of the week.” He fished a paper from his pocket and handed it to Tyrone. “Here is the extra ticket. We will sneak into the baron’s house, rescue your lady love, and ship her to France as my sister’s spinster companion before the baron realizes she is gone.”

Tyrone shook his head. “She will not go. She chose to stay with the baron of her own free will. Besides, she will not leave the pony, claims he is her protector from her past life or some such nonsense.”

“Do you believe it?”

Tyrone snorted. “I do not believe in any of that past lives drivel.”

“No, I mean do you believe Miss Daysland returned to the baron of her own free will?”

Doubt ate at Tyrone. “No, but I have no idea what he might have held over her head to make her go back.”

The interior of the coach was cloaked in silence while both men contemplated the situation.

Even if Delilah wanted to flee to France she would not go without Jester. Jester. No one visited Delilah while I was on watch, except a stable boy the one night. Could the baron have held the pony as hostage to ensure Delilah’s cooperation?
He turned to Perry. “I think I know what happened. Before we rescue Delilah we have to find the pony.”

They pulled up in front of his London townhouse. “I will come by tomorrow afternoon and we can plot our rescue mission.” Perry placed a hand on Tyrone’s shoulder. “Find the pony and leave the rest to me.”

“I hope I can repay your kindness one day, Perry.”

Perry grinned. “Just try to stay out of trouble, all right?”

Tyrone nodded and stepped down from the coach. One couldn’t ask for a better friend.

• • •

Tyrone rode into the clearing surrounding the little pool a day after his release, surprised to find a shaggy piebald horse hitched to a gypsy vardos. A small fire burned underneath a black kettle hanging from a structure. The fragrance of stewing vegetables mixed with herbs and spices reached him, and he savored it with appreciation before announcing his presence.

“Hallooo, the wagon.”

At his call the door to the vardos swung open. A middle-aged woman peered out, an old musket in her hands. She leveled the piece at him with a frown. “Who are ye, and what do ye want?”

He raised his hands to show he was unarmed. “The name is Tyrone Frost, Earl of Merryweather. Who are you and what are you doing on Westpoint land?”

Her gaze narrowed. “Ain’t Westpoint land. What do ye want with me?”

If she knew this side of the pool was not on Westpoint land, she was familiar with the area. Tyrone lowered his hands. “I did not expect anyone to be here.”

“Me neither.” She lowered the gun. “Yer welcome to share my meal.”

“Thank you for your kindness.” He dismounted and led his horse into the clearing, securing it to a tree a short distance from the gelding. The woman stepped from her wagon and crossed to stir the contents of the pot. When he approached she nodded to one of two stumps nearest the fire and then set her weapon on the ground at her feet. After he sat she dished up a wooden bowl of the hearty stew and handed it to him.

He dug in as she helped herself to a bowl and sat on the other stump. “Why is it you are here all alone?”

She darted an uneasy glance at him. “Never said I was alone, did I?”

“No, you did not,” he admitted. “I just assumed, since I have not seen any other.”

“My Meeko is out waiting.” She turned back to her meal.

He paused, a spoonful of delicious stew halfway to his mouth. “What is he waiting for?”

“My daughter to return to Westpoint.”

His spoon clattered to the bowl and he stared at her. “You are Delilah’s mother?”

Her head snapped up and her startled gaze fixed on him. “What do you know of my daughter?”

“You are Kata then?”

She nodded.

“If only I’d found you a week ago.”

“Why were you looking for me?” Her gaze slid to the weapon at her feet.

“You are the one who can save Delilah from her fate.” Tyrone set his bowl down. “She returned to the baron, though I believe the choice was not hers. I think he used Jester to convince her to go with him.”

Her eyes widened. “She is with March’s boy?”

“Yes, and she is in grave danger, for now that all her lands and inheritance are in his greedy hands he will do away with her at the first chance to make it look like an accident. We have little time to save her.”

“But he is her half brother. What kind of person would allow such a marriage to exist?”

Tyrone rubbed his jaw. “The king, but without you we had no way to prove either of their parentages. I believe March had Deagan and the rest of his clan murdered.”

Kata sighed. “I, too, believe it was the baron’s men who burned our camp that night. My mate, Meeko, and I helped birth a farmer’s babe and by the time we returned to the camp all that was left were a few smoldering wagons and charred beasts. I was supposed to see my daughter for the first time in fourteen summers. She was to marry the Romo baro’s son and be the new leader of all the clans.”

“You said your mate is at Westpoint waiting for Delilah’s return? How did you know she survived the fire?” He pierced the woman with a suspicious stare.

“I saw it in my dreams.”

He frowned, unwilling to believe in such nonsense. When the woman returned his look with steadfast determination, he decided she was telling the truth. “I do not believe Delilah will be returning to Westpoint on her own. I came here to wait until dark to attempt to steal her away from March.”

Kata’s lips thinned. “Meeko and I will help you.”

He nodded. “The first thing we must do is find Jester, for I do not think Delilah will come with us without him.”

She smiled. “It will take a gypsy to steal such an item from under someone’s nose without his knowing.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

Delilah rolled over in bed to face the door as a key scraped in the lock. It was too late for the woman who cared for her to be entering. It was far past dinner and she was already abed. The door opened and heavy footsteps crossed the carpet. “Wake up,
dear
wife.”