The Forgiven Duke Part 10

They dismounted and knocked on the door of the long, rectangular house covered almost entirely in some kind of green moss. It had a thatched roof that hung deeply over the sides of the house and a whitewashed front door.

A young girl, two dogs hugging her skirts, opened the door. "Father," she called back into the house, "strangers are here."

An older man with curling gray hair came to the door and surveyed them. "h.e.l.lo, Johannes, and who have you brought this fine day?"

Alex breathed a sigh. He didn't seem as fierce as his face made him appear.

"Come in, come in. Sit down."

They settled in a comfortable sitting area of the large room.

"I've brought Lord and Lady Lemon, Valdi. This is Valdi Adamsson, the owner of the mine." He looked at Alex and John. "They've come to see the crystal."

Valdi turned his head toward Alex and scratched at a spot. "You want to traipse about in a mine cave, girl? 'Tis not a pleasant experience."

"If you please, sir. I'm not afraid." She wasn't sure how true that statement was, but it seemed the right thing to say. The old man huffed with a doubtful sound.

He got up and went over to a table and lit a lantern. Opening a drawer he took something out, carried it over to her, and placed a large, cube-shaped chunk of crystal in her hand. "This is what's down there, Lady Lemon. Only covered in mud." He frowned at her then, wrinkling his face. "What interest do you have in Icelandic crystal?"

Alex held it up and looked through it. It was as clear as gla.s.s. "It's just so beautiful."

"And useful." Valdi motioned them over to the kitchen table. He pulled a book off a nearby bookshelf and opened it. "Now, place the crystal on the page."

Alex did as directed and then she and John leaned over it. Valdi held up the lantern so the light would s.h.i.+ne directly on the book. "Do you see that?"

Alex peered through the crystal at the words. "But how is that possible? It's amazing! There are two of every letter." She looked at John. "Do you see it?"

He nodded. "I've heard about this. The crystal bends the light. It's doubly refracting, isn't it?"

"That's right, and why it became so useful. Over the last two centuries, scientists have used this crystal to study light, build prisms, and develop all sorts of different types of optical tools. We are very proud of our crystal."

"Have you heard of a man named Augusto de Carrara? He came here in the sixteenth century for this crystal."

"How do you know this name?" The man's face changed to suspicious again.

Alex exchanged glances with John, not sure how much to say. John hurried with an explanation. "Near Dimmu borgir, an old hermit told us a story of him coming here for the crystal. We were curious about him is all," John shrugged, "so we came here to see if anyone knows what he might have wanted with the crystal."

"Perhaps I should show you the cave after all," Valdi said in a voice that held a slight note of menace.

A s.h.i.+ver p.r.i.c.kled across Alex's skin. John took a step closer to her, standing just behind her, and put his hands on her shoulders. "Perhaps that isn't necessary. We were only curious. Is it dangerous?"

"Not dangerous, just uncomfortable." Valdi waved at them. "Of course, if you're afraid to get a little wet and muddy, I understand."

"I'm not afraid," Alex stated in an even voice. "I want to see it."

Johannes took a seat and clasped his hands together. "I will wait for the young couple here. Don't like getting wet and cold myself." He nodded. "Go on then. I'll take you back to the inn when you return. Might have a little nap here by the fire, where it is so warm and comfortable."

Alex wrapped her coat closer around her neck and s.h.i.+vered. Lord, protect us, she prayed as they followed the man out toward the caves.

Chapter Sixteen.

The sun shone bright against his eyes and seagulls soared over the port city of Santander, Spain, as Gabriel Ravenwood, the Duke of St. Easton, was pushed and prodded onto dry land. He stumbled at the end of the gangplank, felt hands on one side grasp him and hands on the other side shove him, throwing him off balance into the dirt. They hauled him up, his arms long past numb and burning sinew of aching shoulders; his feet bare and filthy, someone having stolen his shoes; his face covered in beard and grime. But he was alive.

For good or bad, whether he wished it or not.

He was still alive.

The city sparkled under the sun like a winter haven of pale sand and cool breezes. Soft waves of blue water sparkled around them. He squinted at it-the light too bright after the last weeks of h.e.l.lish nightmare in the dark hold, gnawing on the dirt-encrusted ginger root for all it was worth and keeping down enough water to yet breathe.

He'd lost weight and muscle strength. He could feel it in his blood and his breath, how winded walking up this hill was making him. Weak and spindly, easily snapped by a stiff wind or whatever they had planned for him, a mere shadow of the strong and capable man he'd once been.

G.o.d, how did it come to this? I don't understand . . . anything anymore.

He saw himself six months ago and nearly retched on the side of the carriage they were cramming him into with their rough hands and harsh-mouthed faces. He slumped against the corner and closed his eyes. He'd been another person six months ago, six months when his life had been ordered and perfect and his brand of normal. The ennui he'd felt, that he had complained and railed against, dear G.o.d, how he wished it back again. Anything numb. Anything but this constant agony.

It's her fault. It's Alexandria Featherstone's fault.

The thoughts dogged him as he licked his dry lips. Was it? What if he'd never gotten that letter? Would it have made a difference?

No. Shut up. It was never her fault I got dragged into this nightmare.

The argument rattled around in his feverish mind over and over, off and on, for days or weeks even, it seemed. He sometimes felt a very real stab of fear that this was the end for him. That he would die trying to be the guardian duke to this mysterious and lovely woman he loved beyond all reason.

How could he love her? He didn't know. But if he closed his eyes during the worst of it and thought of her, if he remembered every line and curve of her face as they kicked him and shoved him and belittled him, spit in his face and stole his clothes . . . he got to the next moment still breathing. There had to be something in that.

The carriage drove on and on for hours and days. They untied his hands so he could eat at the public houses and take care of his personal business behind trees along the way. He thought of running many times while s.h.i.+elded by a bush, but they would be on him in minutes. He didn't have the strength to outrun them and they knew it, or they would never untie him and give him those few precious moments of human decency.

No, they knew it and scoffed at him for his weakness. Those dark eyes and faces with varying amounts of facial hair. They took pride in that, Gabriel could see, so groomed and impeccable in their uniforms. He hated their pointed beards and groomed mustaches. He hated their haughty, laughing eyes. He hated his enemy.

Love thy enemies and pray for those who persecute you. The Scripture kept coming to him but he turned from it, shaking his head at the voice, an outer rebellion that exposed his heart. I cannot. I cannot. I cannot.

Jesus did.

Gabriel took a great, shuddering breath at the thought.

I cannot.

On the third day they came into a large city. Madrid. It had to be. He had never been there, but if they were taking him to Ferdinand VII, the king of Spain, as he suspected, then they would be entering the capital city. His suspicions were further affirmed when they pa.s.sed an enormous iron gate with marble towers on either side.

He could see inside to the rectangular courtyard and royal palace. Rows upon rows of windows as far as the eye could see outside the carriage window. Columns and scrolling stonework made up the palace facade. In the center, the building rose into the blue sky-a wide section of stone with an enormous clock, statues, and flags. Fit for a king, to be sure. But they did not turn into the courtyard, instead circling around to a street behind the palace.

The street darkened under the shade of enormous trees lining either side. Darker yet with a chill that settled in the interior of the coach. They turned and stopped in front of a large, plain building. Gabriel braced himself, an internal tightening of his stomach and ribs as the door swung open and his captors reached inside and hauled him out. He looked up at the gray stone walls and saw the iron bars on the windows. Of course.

The Carcel de la Inquisicin.

A chill swept over him as the horrors of the Spanish Inquisition crossed his memory. When Napoleon had ruled Spain some scant years ago, he had ended the dark practices of the inquisition that for centuries had eradicated all religious beliefs save Catholicism from Spain, but Ferdinand had been reinstated after Napoleon's defeat and restored the practice.

Gabriel agreed with the belief that the crown's way of singling out the wealthy citizens as detractors and the subsequent confiscation of their property was nothing more than a convenient way to incur wealth for the crown than to force papal rule on its citizens. It might not be used in abundance these days, but the place was still standing and, more telling, they'd brought him here where tales of harrowing torture cried from the stones.

They meant to have answers.

His captors roughly pushed and pulled him through a dark hall devoid of furnis.h.i.+ngs or ornamentation. One of them stopped suddenly, reached for an iron ring in the stones of the floor, and opened a door revealing cold steps. They prodded him down into further darkness and dank air. Gabriel's stomach tightened into knots of dread. A large room of stone lay at the bottom of the stairs where dim light drifted from a skylight above. He was hurried across that chamber, but not before he saw iron rings seven feet high mounted on the walls and a wheeled contraption against one wall.

He swallowed a sour taste from his throat, recognizing the rack of torture.

They continued through another stone chamber and down another set of stairs, farther and farther down into the earth. One soldier disappeared, only to reappear moments later with a lantern to light the way. The next chamber held an iron door that was unlocked. Inside were rows of cells separated by iron bars. Gabriel didn't know if he was glad or not that no one else appeared to be inside them.

They opened one of the cell's doors and thrust him inside. A little light came from a very high window, which must mean this chamber was at the far end of the building and faced an outside wall. That he wouldn't be left in complete darkness left him reeling with relief. He did not know if he could have endured being deaf and blind in this place.

The soldiers spoke but he didn't know what they said, and they seemed used to him not answering. One of them thrust a canteen of water at him, which he grabbed before the man could change his mind. The other motioned that they should leave. Gabriel was left wondering when and if he would ever see anyone again.

Upon further inspection, Gabriel found a cot attached to the wall as the only furnis.h.i.+ng. He sat upon the straw ticking, the smell of mildew heavy in the air. G.o.d help me. I could go mad here. I have only You now.

He chuckled, feeling half mad already that he'd even said he only had G.o.d. He took off his coat, rolled it into a lumpy pillow, and lay down to sleep. Fitful sleep with hours of waiting in between and then more fitful sleep. When would they come for him?

HE WAS AWAKENED WITH A rough shove of his shoulder. For the first time since being attacked, he saw the tall Spaniard again. He was with two other men, soldiers from the looks of their uniforms. They hauled him up and took him up the long pa.s.sageways to the first chamber of the dungeons.

He began to struggle as they led him straight to the iron ring and chains on the wall, an involuntary reaction of terror. It was no use; he was too weak. Thirsty too. They hadn't fed him or given him anything after that first canteen for two days.

One man held him while the other chained his wrists to the ring, stretching his arms high over his head until his shoulders felt as if they must come from their sockets. Sweat poured down his back despite the cool, dank air. His breath hissed from his clenched teeth.

"I am deaf," he told them for the first time. "I will not be able to answer your questions unless you write them down." He wasn't going to let them torture him because he couldn't hear what they said, but shame filled him at the desperation he felt to be free of the irons. What might they want to know that he wouldn't willingly say?

The tall Spaniard eyed him curiously as if trying to judge the truth of his words. He spoke orders for paper and ink to be brought. Gabriel hung there, sweating and panting, stretching to the tops of his toes to lessen the pressure on his wrists, arms, and shoulders. The muscles of his upper back quivered, his arms numb and p.r.i.c.kly at the same time. Finally, a page was thrust toward him.

Tell us what you know of the ma.n.u.script of the Hans Sloane collection sought by your king.

One of the soldiers stood ready by the chains, hand lightly pulling and increasing the tension on the lines. Gabriel swallowed the bile in his throat. "There is a partial copy of a ma.n.u.script missing from the collection. The prince regent has one of the copies."

The chains tightened a little more. Excruciating pain made him groan, his back bowing in an arch as nerve endings screamed from Gabriel's wrists. The Spaniard took the paper back and wrote another question, seeming to take his time while Gabriel tried not to cry out again.

Does your sovereign know what the plans are for? Has he tried to build them?

Gabriel groaned as the chains tightened so he dangled from the manacles, his toes barely touching the floor. "Yes, he built what he could, but no one knows what it is. It . . ." he took small breaths and sputtered out, "doesn't make sense."

With a nod from the man, the soldier pulled again. Gabriel cried out as his feet left the floor. He dangled in abject misery, sweat pouring from his head and dripping onto his bare chest.

The paper was thrust at him again. Where is Alexandria Featherstone?

He shook his head. "I don't know."

Again the chains tightened. The Spaniard shook the paper at him. His lips asked the question in a shouting, enraged face. "Where is your ward, Lady Alexandria Featherstone?"

"I lost her in Ireland. Just . . . as you must have. I don't know."

He screamed as the chains tightened yet again, then blessed blackness overwhelmed him and he slumped into unconsciousness.

He jerked awake to freezing water being thrown into his face. In slow measure, he began to notice his whole body's pulsing pain-from the barely healed wound on his head to his shoulders and arms, wrists and hands, his back. G.o.d help him, his back felt stretched too taut, like a rope unraveling. With a grunt he turned over and tried to sit up. They had released him from the chains and he lay like a puddle of flesh on the stone floor. The Spaniard came toward him.

G.o.d, they will kill me now and what good will I be to Alexandria then? Give her a good life, Lord. With or without her parents, keep her safe within Your love . . . like she claims You have for us. Give her a joyous, happy life, I pray Thee.

The dark man leaned over him and peered into Gabriel's eyes, an evil smile curving his lips. "You will tell the king . . . tomorrow . . . where she is."

Gabriel nodded, willing to promise anything to buy more time.

He was hauled back to his cell, given another flask of water and broth with a few floating chunks of meat in it and a lone carrot, which he slurped down too fast, making his stomach churn in rebellion. He drank the water slower. Savoring it, saving it in case it was the last they ever gave him. After his meal he knelt on the cold stone and cradled his head in his hands.

Silent sobs racked his shoulders, increasing the agony with each movement, but he couldn't help it. He thought of his sisters, Jane, his mother, Meade, his friend Albert. How would their lives be if he never came home?

Alexandria.

He saw her face, saw it break into a glorious smile, the sun lighting her dark hair and the life within her lighting her blue eyes. If he told them she was in Iceland, they would go after her. The thought of them bringing her here and doing this to her was more than he could stand to dwell on. He turned his thoughts back toward King Ferdinand and the meeting on the morrow. If he didn't tell them where Alexandria was, they would kill him. He saw it clearly in the Spaniard's eyes today. Only the meeting with the king was staying his hand.

What Gabriel needed was to convince the king that they needed him. That even in knowing Iceland as the place she was last headed for, that she was extremely difficult to track, as his men could attest to. His mind spun with the thoughts, grasping any plan he could come up with. Yes, if he could convince Ferdinand that the only way to find Alexandria was through him, then he just might have a chance.

He felt for her last letter, took a shaking breath to find it still in the inner pocket of his waistcoat. It was the only thing he still had after he'd been ambushed and taken. They'd taken everything else down to his boots, but somehow they hadn't found this.

It was still there.

It was his only chance.

Chapter Seventeen.

Alex took shallow puffs of the damp air as they followed a narrow path down, down into the mine, deep into the earth's depths. The single light from Valdi's lantern swung back and forth in a reckless way. What if it should go out? She s.h.i.+vered at the thought of complete darkness in this place. They could be lost forever and no one would ever know what had happened to them.

She paused, clinging to the rough rock wall with one hand. What if her parents were down here, decaying in some hidden crack or hole? What if Valdi had killed them and was leading her and John to that same demise? She looked over her shoulder at Valdi. He scowled at her and motioned her to keep moving. Oh, dear. What had she gotten them into?

A little farther and she heard the dripping of water.

"Here now," Valdi stayed her with his arm, "watch your step. We've come to the veins of crystal, but there's a pool of water under them and mud so thick you would never get out if you had the misfortune to step in it."

Alex shrank back against the cave wall, points of jagged rock piercing into her back and shoulders. She suppressed a small squeak, pressing her lips together in stubborn determination instead. "If only it weren't so dark. I fear I can't see well enough to see the crystal veins."

She pressed harder against the cave wall as Valdi pa.s.sed her on the narrow path. He fumbled around with something and then a flash of light came from his hand. He held it up and lit a rush that had been bored into the wall. He circled the pool, lighting three more. Light flooded the area as it caught fire, a thin trail of smoke drifting toward the cave's tall ceiling.

Alex looked around and gasped.