Devil's Desire (26 page)

"The villagers are in this against their will, you know," David told him. "They aren't even receiving just pay for their labors. That scoundrel Blackmore has forced them to work for him. They'd starve otherwise. It's abominable that a man like Blackmore could become so powerful. And yet there is a filthy rich Marquis living not more than a few miles west of here, and he does nothing to help the village that is his responsibility. In fact I wouldn't be surprised if he were involved in this too!”

"I shall certainly put in a word for the villagers, never fear," the commander promised. "I know the Marquis of St. Fleur, and although he is rather wild, I do know that he is honorable―he no doubt hasn't the slightest idea of what is amiss,"

"Oh, Sir, I should warn you that there are a few nasty customers working with Blackmore that I'd not care to tangle with, unless well-armed. They're from London or thereabouts―not local, and a meaner bunch of characters I've yet to meet," David advised. "It could get messy if there's a fight."

"I've my men. We'll handle that rabble in short work. I'd better be off, the boat will be waiting for me," he said, rising and then looking about the unprepossessing hut. "Sorry you've got to put up here. Couldn't you stay in the village in some decent place?"

"No, I'm afraid not. You know how suspicious the county folk are of strangers. I was born and raised in a village up north, and because my parents were not of the district I was always considered an outsider. to be as conspicuous as a stableboy in Almack's, if I stayed in St. Fleur," he declared. "I've had less, Sir, and it's a hardship I'll gladly bear, to catch this nest of rats."

"Good boy, I've complete faith in you. Signal me if anything unforseen should crop up. Keep close watch, for I need not stress the importance of this affair."

He buttoned his coat closer about his throat and left the hut, giving a farewell wave to the young man who had to remain within its inhospitable walls.

'Ay, now the plot thickens very much

  
upon us.

                                      
George Villiers

Chapter 11

T
he small village of St. Fleur nestled within the mouth of the bay, the slate-roofed stone cottages peeking out beneath the surrounding walls of the red cliffs. as the small houses and shops snuggled together against the harsh winds and waves that beat against the unprotected town.

Elysia rode Ariel along the stony path at the summit of the cliff and watched as a small boat put out to sea. The men were hopeful of a big catch to help feed their families throughout the long, harsh, winter months, Tracings of smoke from countless chimneys
rose
skyward smudging the blue of the sky. A sky clear, for the first time, of storm clouds and rain, with a crispness that lingered and-promised frost. Elysia breathed deeply of the sparkling air, sniffing the pungent smell of the tall pines and subtle aroma from the wood fires burning in the village homes.

"I say, this part of the country is indeed aptly named―Land's End. It seems like the ends of the earth here," Charles Lackton said wonderingly, as he gazed about. "It's so desolate! Why would anyone want to live way out here?" He shook his head in disbelief.

"Possibly no one new has settled here in the past five hundred years, except the Squire. These villagers can probably trace their origins back to the earliest people who lived here, called the Celts―or at least as far back as the Normans," Elysia explained knowledgeably to Charles as .his eyes widened.

"But how do you come to know all of this?"

"I'm an intellectual," she said in an apologetic tone, a twinkle in her eyes, as she noted her admirer's shocked expression, "did you not know?" Elysia felt as if she were confessing to some hideous crime, but she was not about to feign stupidity.

"But you cannot possibly be! Why, you are far too beautiful to be intelligent," Charles exclaimed in bewilderment.

"Oh, and I suppose all I should have is a pretty face and be a shallow-brain-not knowing chalk from cheese?"

"Well I'm no needle-wit either. I just know what I need to. Do me no good to know any more―don't know where I could put it―feel as if I know too much as it is. Reckon I know just enough to get me through each day," Charles speculated.

"Do you not want to know about history and literature? Do you never open a book?" Elysia asked in disbelief.

Charles looked thoughtful for a moment "No, don't believe I do. Last book I opened was at Eton, and precious few there, either. Don't do me any good. I'm not one to be quoting poetry and such nonsense to the ladies, like some I know," he disclaimed. "And what's the sense in learning about people who died centuries ago? Can't tell me which hand to play―or which vest to wear with my puce coat? Never heard tell of anybody winning at Newhall on a tip from Caesar, or one of those Greek philosophers."

"Well Charles, I suppose you are correct―it probably would not have done you any good," Elysia agreed in resignation, feeling slightly resentful Charles had access to all the schools of higher learning, yet shunned them―while she and countless other females would relish the opportunity to enter those sacred-yet forbidden-portals of knowledge.

She smiled at Charles. Elysia couldn't help but like him, with his openly boyish face and easy smiles. She didn't feel like she had to be constantly on guard with him. He reminded her slightly of Ian. Only Ian was older; but there was that same boyish look about him, as with Charles. Dear Ian. If only he were here, Elysia thought sadly, glancing out at the great expanse of sea that stretched away to the horizon, blending into one with the sky.

Charles sat silent. She was so exquisite, he thought agonizingly, as he felt a surge of primitive jealousy towards Lord Trevegne. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He felt tongue tied while with her, even though she was younger than he was. His ardent gaze lingered on the curve of her mouth, and the long, sweeping, dark lashes that veiled her green eyes. Why, he actually felt like writing a poem to her beauty! He who had scoffed at those other moonstruck Lotharios' idolizings. He continued to stare bemusedly as he composed a poem in his mind―the lines seeming to come like magic out of that vast emptiness. Yes, yes! That was fantastic, he thought proudly. Byron would be insanely jealous of this. It really wasn't so hard. He couldn't understand why there was such a fuss made about nothing―any fool could think up something flashy. Now, if only he could remember it by the time he got back to his room, so he could copy it down. He'd have to get some paper too, and a quill and ink, then . . .

"Charles? Charles. . . ," Elysia spoke softly, waving her. fingers· before his somewhat glazed-looking eyes. "Is there something amiss?"

"Oh, I do beg your pardon," Charles mumbled in a flustered state.

"Shall we continue our ride?" Elysia asked, hiding a smile as she turned Ariel and headed back towards the road, glancing back over her shoulder to see Charles hurrying his mount to catch up with her. She laughed aloud with pure enjoyment It felt wonderful to be alive and carefree. For the moment she would only think of clear blue skies and the fun of having a personable young man infatuated with her. She wouldn't think of the hopelessness of her marriage―or what she could possibly do about it

Elysia jumped Ariel over a low, stone
wall and
headed up into a thicket, hearing
the
sound of Charles close upon her heels. She disappeared from sight as she gained the trees, the shadows playing across the narrow path as she continuously ducked and weaved, dodging low-hanging branches.

Suddenly Elysia heard a shot ring out―the sound shattering the quiet of the woods, and then she felt a searing pain in her side and gasped as she saw the blood staining the green velvet of her habit A branch reaching out into the path caught her and swept Elysia from Ariel's back, knocking the breath out of her as she hit the carpeted floor of the forest the dead leaves cushioning her fall

Elysia lay still, as a blackness swirled about her, and she struggled painfully to regain her breath. The earth seemed to vibrate deafeningly and she felt as if she were being shaken to pieces.

Charles dismounted in seconds, and ran to the prostrate figure lying dazed upon the ground his face was drained of all color as he knelt down next to Elysia and saw the red seeping from her side. "Oh, my God? She's been shot!” he breathed, not daring to touch her. She looked dead, he thought wretchedly, wondering what in the world he was going to do, when her eyelids .flickered slowly open and she gazed up into his face with confused eyes.

"Charles?" Elysia gasped out breathlessly.

"Yes, I'm here." He picked up her limp hand-icy cold, and rubbed it comfortingly between his big warm palms. She just couldn't die. She mustn't, he thought in desperation, feeling a knot of sickness churn in his stomach.

Elysia looked into Charles' frightened blue eyes, all amusement wiped from them. She could breathe easier now. She must send Charles for Alex―he would know what to do. Alex, yes Alex would know.

"Listen, Charles. You must go and get Alex," she stated calmly with full confidence in her decision.

"But I couldn't leave you here, alone!" Charles exclaimed in horror.

"You must. You've no other choice, and I can't possibly ride back, Charles."

Charles looked down at her, indecision written across his face. He stood up, having come to a reluctant decision. "Very well, I'll go, but I don't care for it one bit. Leaving you unattended goes against my better judgment―and what will Lord Trevegne think of me going off and leaving you alone and hurt. It ain't gentlemanly." He shook his head in bewilderment. "I shall ride like the wind, Lady Elysia. I shan't be long, that I promise." He stared down at her, his gaze anguished. "Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable before I go?"

"No, I'll be fine," Elysia managed to whisper as a shiver shook her. The ground was cold and damp from the rains, and the woods were cool under the protection of the trees.

Charles quickly took off his coat and wrapped it about Elysia's shaking shoulders before he ran to his horse, mounting and charging off into the trees like an avenger, barely missing a low-hanging branch.

Elysia managed a grim smile and hoped her rescuer would not also have to be rescued. She closed her eyes. The sun, peeking through the branches overhead, found an avenue, and poured its blinding light down onto her face and into her eyes. She moved her legs experimentally and bit her lip as she felt a sharp jab of pain in her ankle. It must have caught in the stirrup as she had fallen from Ariel Ariel? Where was he?

Elysia turned her head worriedly and then relaxed as she saw him standing nervously a few yards away, neighing softly, as he glanced at his mistress lying still on the ground. "Steady boy, it's all right, fella," Elysia crooned, in a soft voice that steadied and reassured the great beast. He put his head down and began to crop the grass contentedly.

Elysia had no awareness of the passing of time as she felt the sun's warmth beat down upon her face, until the brightness beneath her lids disappeared―as if a shadow had moved across the sun. Elysia slowly opened her eyes and stared up into a face bent above her―a familiar face, with the sun creating a halo behind the head.

It was strange that she did not feel any differently. She had always thought that when she died she would sink down into a darkness, and all pain would disappear. One would just float away―yet she was still feeling pain, and the hard uncomfortable ground beneath her back. But how could she be alive and seeing what she was before her? Elysia groaned in disbelief, whispering almost incoherently, "I don't feel dead―and yet, I must surely be, for I am seeing you, once again." Her words were cut off by a sob rising from deep within, "Oh, Ian, my dear Ian. In death we meet again."

"My dear sweet one," a voice murmured comfortingly, "you are not dead, I'm not dead. Here, touch me, feel me. I'm warm―and alive." He took one of her cold, shaking hands and pressed her fingers to his tanned throat where she could feel the strong pulse beating wildly.

Elysia's eyes filled with tears, and overflowing, they coursed down her pale cheeks. "Ian?" she said tentatively, afraid that he would disappear if· she raised her voice any louder.

"Yes, I am here Elysia, my sweet sister. But what are you doing here―and more important, how badly are you injured?" He ran his eyes over her figure searchingly, the blue of his eyes darkening to black as he spotted the blood staining her side. His lips tightened in anger as Elysia moaned softly when his gentle fingers deftly felt her wound.

"I do not believe the shot is still in―it seems to have passed through the fleshy part of your side. Fortunately, it did not damage any internal organs, but you have lost some blood. You fell from Ariel, did you not? That did you no good. I'm going to try to stop the flow―it will hurt, and then I shall have to get you to a doctor, "Elysia. I can't leave you here," he spoke in a commanding voice. Elysia absently noticed the new note of authority in her brother's voice, and she winced as he pressed his handkerchief against the wound. He had grown into a man during the last few years, she thought proudly through a haze of pain, seeing his broad shoulders and matured face with its new lines of experience written on it. "Ian, someone has already gone to fetch help," she told him as he finished his bandaging.

"Gone I And left you here? Alone and injured?" he exclaimed wrathfully, expressing Charles' original sentiments,

"We had no other choice. Charles could not get me back to the house alone. Someone will bring a carriage for me, shortly."

"Very well, but, Elysia, you must tell me what happened. And what you are doing down here in Cornwall? Are Mama and Father here too?" he asked, a look of anticipation lighting his eyes momentarily, at the thought of seeing them.

Elysia sighed deeply, and looking up into his eyes, steadied herself for her next task which brought her a pain far more intense than her wound.

"Ian."

"Yes," he frowned, intuitively warned by her tone.

"Ian, Mama and Papa are dead." Elysia took his big hand into her smaller ones and held it firmly, as she continued chokingly. "They were killed in an accident. Papa's new phaeton overturned―no, Ian please," she said hurriedly, as she· watched the spasm of pain and horror flick his features, "they died instantly. They did not suffer―they went together, Ian. They would have wanted it that way. And Ian," Elysia added, "they never knew that you had been reported missing and declared dead. They thought you were still fighting gallantly at sea. We can be thankful for at least that much."

Elysia's hands ached from the pressure of Ian's big hand as it tightened with his grief. His auburn head was bent, and she felt the wetness of his tears as they fell onto their clasped hands.

"When?" he finally managed to ask huskily.

"Over two years ago," Elysia answered, watching him pull himself together.

"You'd better lie still and stay quiet," he told her as she tried to raise herself onto her elbows. A brooding look closed his face as he cut himself off from her. She must not let him bottle up his grief as she had done.

"No, it helps me to talk―takes my mind off of this." Ian looked at Elysia curiously. "What are you doing down here? I don't recall any acquaintances of ours who lived in Cornwall. Are you visiting?"