Romani Armada (60 page)

A door set in the same wall as the twin doors they had entered through opened.

Deonne whirled, her heart thundering.

Adán stepped through and shut the door. “Hello,” he told them. “You took your time.”

Deonne flung her arms around him, and clung tightly. “It
is
you! Adán, I’ve been so frightened, the last ten days. I thought you hadn’t made it.”

Adán kissed her, his hands holding her steady, then held one arm out to Justin. “I did make it, as you can see. But I couldn’t just turn up on the Agency’s doorstep. The entire world would have wondered why Xavier St. James was suddenly cozy with vampires.”

Justin gripped his shoulder and shook it. “
Xavier
St. James! I’m a fucking fool. I never for a second thought the richest and most reclusive man in Britain might be you,
despite
the last name. I dismissed it as not even possible.”

“Surely, that is the best disguise? I didn’t want you to find me in any historical documents.” He pulled Justin closer. “I didn’t want
anyone
to find me there. I lived a most anonymous and modest life for nearly two centuries, then I invented Xavier, the persona I wanted to use for when my life and yours finally met.” He looked down at Deonne and tightened his arm around her. “Except that I overlooked tiny details, like how Xavier St. James, the recluse, might meet you. Kieren was the one that came up with the plan to get you both here.”

“He’s growing a soul,” Justin said. He reached for the old fashioned buttons on Adán’s very expensive shirt.

“What are you doing?” Adán asked, half-laughing.

“Abiding by our promise,” Justin told him. There was a heated look in his eyes that started Deonne’s trembling anew. She dropped her hands below Justin’s and nimbly flicked the small disks open as he fumbled with the first one.

“
Santa Maria
, I’ve missed you,” Adán breathed as they pulled his shirt from his shoulders.

“Stop talking,” Deonne ordered as Justin lowered him to the floor.

Adán’s groan was his only response.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Almada, Portugal. 1588 A.D.:
Seagulls screeched overhead as they dived for fish and tidbits in the peaceful water lapping up against the harbor walls. Seagulls had not changed in over eight hundred years, Deonne reflected as she watched them caw and peck at anything that interested them among the cobblestones of the wharf.

She looked up from the cobblestones to take in once more the magnificent ships tied up along the wharf. Six of them, their paintwork gleaming in the early morning sunlight and their wooden hulls creaking as the water lifted and dropped them. Spanish galleons, Adán had called them. Just six of the hundreds of ships that would be part of the Spanish Armada amassing in the bay.

They were being loaded for war. Each of them was receiving gigantic nets of goods and weapons that were lowered down into their storage rooms under the decks, from ancient derricks mounted to the stonework of the quay. A man sat at an intricately carved small table located at the back of the wharf, where he could watch all six ships. He was taking a tally of everything that disappeared into the bowels of the ships.

Deonne rested her hand against her corseted and rigid abdomen. The corsets the women of the fifteenth century Spanish court wore were far different from the shaped and figure enhancing corset she had donned in Australia. This one arrowed straight down from her chest, squashing her breasts and pinching her waist. Adán had called it a
vasquine
as he had tutored three of Cybelia’s apprentices on how to fasten and tighten her clothing.

The clothing was simply beautiful. Pearls and lace adorned almost every surface. Gold thread and trim covered the rest. Her sleeves were slashed open to reveal startling scarlet cloth beneath the dark red, almost black overdress.

The only thing driving her mad was the ruffled cuff around her neck. Made of highly starched lace, it scratched at her skin whenever she turned her head or tilted it. It wasn’t as wide as some of the cuffs she had seen in drawings of Elizabeth the First but that was because she was not attending court, Adán had explained. However, a high born lady did not step out of the house without one.

Deonne had hated the thing within three minutes of it being tied about her neck, but she would not in a million years complain. This was Spain of Adán’s human existence. Like Justin, he was showing them his world.

Both of them wore cropped trousers with cuffs, flat shoes with high vamps and big buckles, and a short cape thrown over one shoulder. They each wore a wide brimmed hat with a feather, but Adán looked comfortable and natural. He wore his at a jaunty angle and she kept catching his limpid gaze on her from beneath the brim, which would spread warmth through her.

Justin had slapped his on his head and pushed the feather back over his shoulder. He had found his attire hilarious, but had cooperated when Adán showed him how to wear and fasten each garment.

Justin found a great deal of life amusing now. He laughed a lot, Deonne realized. He also reached for her a lot, to hug or kiss or simply to hold her, his hands gently caressing.

He glanced at her now, the corners of his mouth lifting. “Even the water here is fresh and clean. It’s nice, isn’t it?”

Further down the wharf, next to the first ship of the fleet, a bedraggled group of men shuffled out onto the dock, to stand with their heads down. Most of them wore rags and there were half a dozen well-dressed men carrying long-barreled muskets who herded them into a single file.

“Who are they?” Deonne whispered to Adán.

He watched them with a bleak expression. “Conscripts. For the army and to man the ships.”

The soldiers guarding the men called out and there was an answering hail from the ship. A narrow board was passed out, and the foot of it grounded against the cobblestones. The top end disappeared through a gate cut into the side of the ship, that was now swung aside.

The soldiers shoved, yelled and bullied the ragged men into trudging up the gangplank and onto the ship.

Adán turned away from the sight. His eyes were closed, shut tight with pain.

“That was you, wasn’t it?” Justin whispered. “That’s what happened to you.”

Adán swallowed. After a moment, he nodded. “They caught me, outside of Badajoz, stealing a horse. They might have thrown me into a jail cell, but they were recruiting for the Armada. I was thrown in with a group of prisoners. Murderers, cut throats, pirates. We were marched here, to Almada.” He opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder to where the last of the prisoners was stepping onto the plank. “I don’t think I am one of that group, but I was one of very many groups just like it, that were herded onto the ships like so much cattle.”

Deonne rested her hand on his back, sliding it up under the cloak. It hid her gesture from passersby. She had been schooled in the rigid propriety of sixteenth century Spain, and touching a man in public, even if he was your husband, was considered a most vulgar and lewd act. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Justin was staring at the ship, as the last man stepped on board and the gangplank was pulled up. He drew in a heavy breath. “We are not so different, are we?” he said. “We were both a product of a type of slavery and the brutalities of authority. But it did not stay in your psyche the way it ate at mine.”

Adán turned back to face them once more. “For years...decades...I was angry and as filled with blackness as you were. But it passed and I was finally able to breathe the free air and see my world properly once more. Stories came back to me.” He tilted his head to look at Justin. “Why do you think I found you to be such an interesting human, hmm? You were me, as I had been.”

“Thanks to you and Deonne, I’m not that man, anymore.” Justin’s smile was open and warm and Deonne could feel her chest squeeze and fill with a rush of hot emotions. Tears prickled her eyes, gathering fast. “I love you,” she said and when they both looked at her, she shook her head. “Both of you. I love you both and I don’t think I could ever chose one of you over the other. Which is just as well, because you’re practically joined at the hip.” She patted at her cheeks to wipe away the tears. “God, all I seem to have done lately is cry. Good tears, bad tears. I used to be much better at controlling myself.”

Adán drew her against him, his arm circling her drawn in waist easily. He didn’t seem to care about her reputation at all. He kissed her roughly and rested his head against hers. “I love you, my tall golden queen. You frighten me and you awe me with your intelligence and your strength.” He turned his head to look at Justin and his hand brushed Justin’s briefly, for this was a different time and place. “I didn’t bring you here just to show you my sorry, pitiful life.”

“You came to say goodbye,” Justin said.

“Farewell, yes. My wandering ways began here and so they will end here.” He slid his thumb the length of Deonne’s cheekbone, his black eyes looking deeply into hers. “I am yours and always will be.”

Justin moved closer to her side. “I could never say anything that poetic, but you have to know, Rinaldi, you’ve turned my life upside down the last two years. Upside down and inside out...and now look where we are. I’ve done things I thought I would never do, and I did them for you and the great ape pawing you. The really scary thing is...it all worked out.” He spread his hands to take in the three of them. “This just...
works
.” He dropped his hands. “I don’t ever want it to end,” he said flatly.

“I think that means he loves you,” Adán said.

Deonne smothered her giggle.

“Of course I bloody well love her, you stupid git,” Justin said hotly. He looked at her. “I don’t know how to begin to tell you how much.”

“I think you just did,” she said gently. “Which is just as well.”

“Why?”

She took a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.” And she started to tremble as she waited for their reaction.

Adán’s face lit up with a heated joy. He drew in a breath, then let it out. “I’m speechless,” he admitted.

Justin stood frozen to the spot, staring at her.

“Justin?” she asked, her fear blooming larger.

His eyes suddenly glittered.
Tears
, Deonne thought numbly.
He can cry, while he’s human
.

He picked up her hand and covered it with his. “This is...perfect. God, what did I ever do to deserve this...happiness?”

She squeezed his hand. “You cared. You cared enough to take care of a gauche human who thought she understood vampires, and you never once made me feel stupid or foolish.”

Adán stirred. “I want to kiss you both. Properly. I want to go home.”

“
Yes
,” Justin said, with feeling.

They walked along the wharf, heading for the narrow alley where they could jump away without drawing attention to themselves. Justin did not let go of her hand, and Adán kept his hand around her waist.

It was a perfectly blissful moment.

“There is only one thing that still puzzles me about all this,” Deonne confessed.

“Yes?” Adán prompted her.

“Ryan said that because there was no time wave, it meant that anything we did in the past was supposed to happen.”

“And it did,” Justin said.

“Everything except the letter. The letter I was supposed to write to you. I never wrote it...so what happened to it?”

Adán halted. “We must close the loop,” he said to Justin. “We must close it or something will happen to upset everything.”

Justin frowned. “But if it doesn’t matter what we do...”

Adán shook his head. “It feels unlucky to leave such a thread dangling. We must weave it back into the cloth, or the whole garment will be in danger of unravelling.”

“Superstition,” Justin retorted, smiling.

“What does it hurt to indulge me in this?” Adán asked reasonably.

Justin sighed. “Very well, then. How do you propose to close the loop?”

Adán looked around, scanning the harbor. He let go of Deonne and held up his finger. “One moment. Do not move.”

He hurried over to the accountant hunched over his tally sheets and bent to speak to him. A coin was placed on the desk.

Deonne caught her breath. “Does he mean to do what I think he is doing?”

“It looks like it,” Justin said softly. “But...this could be right, too, Dee. The letter was written. Sooner or later you must write it.”

“But what if this wasn’t when I wrote it?” she asked. “What do we screw up?”

“Just hold that thought for a moment longer,” Justin replied serenely.

She let out the breath she had been holding and waited.

Adán hurried back to them and picked up her free hand. “Come. Come with me.”

The clerk was standing up from behind his desk and brushing down his cuffs.

“You
do
mean for me to write it now,” Deonne breathed.

“Why not? You must write the silly thing. Let us put it behind us here and now.” He pulled out the stood the clerk had vacated and patted it. “Sit.”

She sat down reluctantly, looking at the quill and inkpot. “I’m not even sure how to use them.”

“Dip and write,” Justin assured her. “It’s simple.”

“In theory,” she retorted. Then she studied the sheet of parchment sitting on top of the small pile stacked neatly in front of her. Shock slithered through her as she slowly picked it up. “This is the sheet,” she said. “This is the one I wrote the letter on. Look at it! Look at the discoloration there. And the thickness over here at the edge.”

Justin peered over her shoulder and she heard his quick exhalation. “That
is
the sheet. Jesus, Adán....”

“Write, write!” Adán told her.

Deonne picked up the quill and dipped the sharp end in the inkpot, letting it soak and gather ink. Then she scraped it against the neck of the pot and looked up at them. “I don’t remember the letter,” she confessed. “I remember some parts of it – phrases and bits – hell, I’ll never forget them. But not all of it. Justin, do you remember it all?”