Eternally Bound (Thistles & Roses) (2 page)

Quintus knelt down beside him, inspecting the dark crevice. “It will fit,” he agreed,” but when we replace the stones, they will stick out more than others. It will be a sure sign that something is here.”

Lucius shook his head. “Only a Roman would notice that stones are out of alignment,” he said. “The barbarians from the north build with wood and mud and rocks, sloppy abodes that are not fit to house my dog. They will not notice that a few stones are askew.”

It was then that Quintus noticed silver moonbeams streaming in from the slender, highly-placed window at the top of the barrack’s wall.  The sun had set completely and the moon was now rising. He looked at Lucius and could tell by the man’s expression that he was thinking the same thing.
The moon is rising
. The Otadini would soon be coming for them.  Seized with urgency, Lucius shoved his sword into the gap and together, he and Quintus replaced the stones, shoving them in as far as they would go.

By the time they were fitted, they didn’t stick out as far as Quintus feared they would. It was surprisingly seamless with the rest of the wall. Lucius even took dirt from the floor of the barracks and shoved it into the cracks, trying to mimic the clay mortar. As he and Quintus worked furiously to seal up the stone, they could hear shouts and howls outside.

Their worked stopped and they stood up, slowly, listening carefully to the noise that was starting to penetrate the barracks.  It was evident that something was happening and they were compelled to prepare, compelled to face what they must. Calmly, Quintus went to his bed and collected his
gladius.
  Holding the weapon in his hand, the one that had belonged to his father, his manner was wrought with resignation.

“It is time,” he said quietly. “They come.”

Lucius nodded stoically. “I know.”

Quintus glanced at him. “I will do what needs to be done with our commander and with the men,” he said softly. “I will give no savage the satisfaction of killing a Roman.”

Lucius couldn’t disagree. “I shall be near my wife when the time comes,” he said. Then, he nodded at Quintus as if giving him permission to do what needed to be done. “
Victoriam et honorem
, my friend.”

Quintus smiled sincerely at the pledge each legionary from the
Valeria Victrix
gave one another, either as a salutation or a farewell. It was their code.
Victory and honor
.  The words sounded sweetly tragic at the moment.

“
Victoriam et honorem
,” he repeated softly.  “I will see you soon.”

Lucius saluted him, as a fellow soldier, before returning to the wall where he had so recently buried his sword.  He plopped wearily onto the ground next to the stones that had been moved, putting a hand on the cold, gray rocks as he leaned back against them. The sounds of the Otadini were closer now, calling to each other in their terrible language, becoming Death as they approached. 

But Lucius shut out the sounds. He ignored Quintus as the man went about his business, inevitably hearing the weak protests of the other legionaries before their voices were swiftly cut short. Lucius knew it was only a matter of seconds now before he joined that deathly silence and he pushed his face into the stone, closing his eyes as he envisioned the woman he loved more than all the glories in all the world.  He could see her clearly, before him in her soft, white garments as they draped elegantly off her slender shoulders. She was smiling at him. He smiled back.

“My beloved,” he murmured, his lips against the stone that held his sword close and dark. “Forgive me for not returning to you. Forgive me that I should not hold you again, as I had promised to do. The gods have chosen a different destiny for me. But know that I await you in Elysium, for no man has loved his wife more than I love you. With dreams only of you do I sleep now. With dreams only of….”

He was cut short as a blade carved into his chest, entering from the right armpit and plunging into his heart. As Quintus had promised, his death was quick and relatively painless, and Lucius soon found himself in fields of soft grass, surrounded by splendid mountains and blissful streams.

The last words upon his lips were the first that came to mind as he gazed at the golden sky above, more brilliant than the sun, but still feeling the longing for the woman he lived and breathed for. He would see her again, soon, he was sure. Not even death could separate them. There would come a time when their love would unite them for all eternity and he wait impatiently for that moment.

With dreams only of you…

Chapter One

Early Spring 1601, London

BARON Dalston was in possession of both of the ancient relics.

Of that, Lord Sebastien de Rayne was certain.
Where
, was another guess entirely. Nigh on a month ago, the ornery baron had stolen an ancient ring from Sebastien’s father, the Earl of Bedford, fully aware of the power it held. The ring was passed to Sebastien’s father by his father, and his father before him. A great antiquity that was rumored to be of ancient Roman origin. ’Twas priceless. And the bloody bastard had stolen it!

Now with the earl having passed a fortnight ago, Sebastien’s mother, Lady Mary de Rayne, wanted both the relics back to be buried, once and for all, in the family crypt. In fact, the ring had been hers from the moment she’d wed Sebastien’s father—a gift on their wedding day. She’d worn it on her left ring finger daily until it had been stolen.

How the rascal had stolen it, Sebastien had yet to figure out. All he knew was that on his father’s deathbed, when his mother questioned him, the earl had confessed to the baron’s possession of not only her ring, but the mystical sword, as well.

Sebastien would be damned if he didn’t complete the task his mother had set him to. The woman had been half-mad with rage, terror and grief when she told Sebastien the story.

Slinking down the corridor from the grand ballroom toward the chamber he was certain would be the study of the man in question, Sebastien prayed no one came upon him.

If he were caught rummaging through the man’s private office, Sebastien could, at the very least, have his morals questioned and suffer courtly embarrassment, at the worst, he could be hauled before the queen’s magistrate. A situation he could get himself out of, but not one he was particularly interested in wading through. The queen would have questions, and though Sebastien was a favorite of hers, he did not want to have to answer those queries.

He wrapped his hand around the cold, iron handle of the door and slowly lifted until the door pressed open an inch. The room was dark, as he’d suspected, but with a full moon, any light filtering in from outside ought to be enough for him to find the items. The ring may be harder to see, but he prayed the baron had not hidden it separately from the Gladius.

Sebastien slipped into the room and closed the door silently behind him.

His heart pounded a little harder behind his ribs, but he forced himself to calm. This was a matter of his mother’s sanity and he’d not leave without the relics. Hell, she was all he had left, and he didn’t want to have her locked up in her chambers the rest of his days, fearing for her life.

Scanning the room, he took in the wide bookshelves that lined the far wall, filled with leather-bound tomes and scrolls. To the right was a wall of windows, curtains partially closed, and silver light beaming in diamond shapes through the leaded glass panels. A large desk sat in the middle of the room with a wide, wooden chair on one side and another across from it. On the left wall above a hearth was a picture of the baron, his wife and only daughter. And resting on the mantel was the Theodosia Gladius.

The Gladius glinted in the moonlight, the leather sheath made for it resting behind it. He’d never seen the sword, but his father had told him about it many times. The man had been proud of his ancestral legend—and had wanted this sword in particular, though the baron had been loathe to part with it, no matter how many times his father had offered. The Gladius and his mother’s ring belonged to the de Rayne’s and he was determined to get them back.

Sebastien let out a deep breath.

Where was the ring?

Locating the sword hadn’t been as hard as he’d assumed, but the ring had to be somewhere in here, too. He hurried toward the baron’s desk, rummaged through two drawers without success and then came to a third that was locked.

Damn!

There’d been no key in the other drawers. Sebastien grabbed a letter opener, attempting to jimmy the lock with no luck.

At least he could seize the Gladius and then sneak out a servant’s door at the back of Thornton House. He’d have to figure out another way to get back into the man’s office undetected for a further search of the ring. Perhaps he could pay a servant. Households always had a servant willing to betray their masters for a few extra coins.

Sebastien had not planned on staying long at the baron’s dinner in honor of his daughter being of marriageable age. And he’d certainly not come because of any interest in marrying. The baron had thought himself clever, calling it simply a dinner of the lords who would advise the queen, but Sebastien had not been duped like the lot of his peers. Dalston had been loudly crowing of his daughter’s beauty at Queen Elizabeth’s court for the past fortnight before his invitation went out.

An invitation which would not have originally gone to Sebastien, but he’d been able to orchestrate one, and of course, this had been the perfect opportunity for Sebastien to swoop in and reclaim what had been stolen from his family.

Sebastien had yet to see the chit, as he’d made himself scarce before she’d been introduced to the other lords in attendance, but given her father’s penchant for thievery, he didn’t expect much.

Walking swiftly, his footfalls hushed by the thick, tapestried rug, he reached for the Gladius. As his fingers came in contact with the cool iron of the hilt, a spark shot up his arm, causing him to jerk back.

What in bloody hell was that?

Frowning, Sebastien reached for the Gladius again and managed to grip the hilt without incident. He ran his fingers over the etched words. Most were too worn to read. His father had told him part of the legend. The carved words. No one knew the entire meaning or what it had once said. From what the legend stated, and he wasn’t certain he could put too much stock in his father’s lengthy stories, the blade had been carved by a man about to die. A man who loved so deeply that he promised even in death that he’d meet his love on the other side.

Theodosia…
Rubra prunas…
Illegible words continued along the edge of the blade, curving around the tip and back up the other side, until the last right by the hilt again:
Cum tantum somnium vestrum.

Sebastien could not decipher the words—he’d been terrible at Latin, sneaking out often to practice with his sword—but he recalled that
cum tantum somnium vestrum
was etched onto his mother’s ring, confirming his suspicions that the ring and sword did, in fact, go together and the stories his father had told him were at least partially true. A great love story that his forefathers had passed down from Rome. He did not understand love like that. He’d never been one for sentimentality, never understood his father’s powerful, almost obsessive, need to please his wife and show his love for her.

He slipped the Gladius into its sheath and hooked it to his belt.

With at least one of the items in hand and no time to search for the second, it was time for him to make his escape. Sebastien turned to exit the way he’d come, but a subtle thump sounded behind the closed door of the study and had Sebastien pressing his back to the wood-paneled wall beside the hearth and holding his breath.

Damn. He’d only just entered. Disappointment coursed its way deep inside him. As if it wasn’t bad enough that he’d not been able to find the ring. Sebastian quickly unsheathed the Gladius and thrust it back onto the mantel. He’d been so close.

The door handle lifted. God’s bones, but he’d be caught and the de Rayne relics lost forever. Silently sprinting toward the window, he ducked behind a heavy curtain, certain that whoever was about to enter would find him shortly anyway.

Well, he wasn’t going to leave without a fight.

Sebastien held his breath and waited.

The sound of the door closing behind her echoed in Lady Maxwell Thornton’s mind. Why did it have to sound so ominous? And why did her father look as though he was about to deliver news that the queen was having her tossed in the Tower on some false charge?

It wouldn’t be the first time their good queen had locked someone up behind the thick walls inside which they could not hope to escape.

Of course, it didn’t help that her father’s study was dark except for the dim light of the moon shining through the window. Her father struck a flint and lit an oil lamp on his desk, illuminating the room with a soft, golden glow.

Her heart skipped a beat and she wiped her palms against the front of her brocade stomacher—partly to dry them and partly to calm the sudden flip in her belly.

“Have a seat, Max,” her father said.

The man walked around his desk to sit in the carved oak chair that had been his own father’s. The wood creaked with his bulk.

“Must I, Father? Our guests have begun to arrive.” Not a quarter hour before, courtiers had begun to walk through the doors of Thornton House.

Soft music was playing in the great hall of their modest London town house. Though they didn’t boast a residence along the Strand or even close to one of Queen Elizabeth’s palaces, her father had done a splendid job of restoring the older home to glory.

“Sit.” His voice was clipped and broached no argument.

Max drew in a deep breath and pushed herself forward, settling stiffly in a chair. Though instinctively she wanted to keep her gaze on the ground, she managed to force herself to look up and meet her father’s regard.

“I’ll not draw this out, as you are right that we have guests waiting for us. For
you
.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “For me?”

As Max understood it, her father had planned the dinner to entertain some of his fellow Parliament members and to push them toward a cause he wished to press into the queen’s notice.

Was
she
the cause?

Baron Dalston gave a curt nod and steepled his fingers.

“From the men you see tonight, you’re to choose a husband. I’ll approach them about marrying on the morrow after you make your decision.”

Max clamped her jaw shut when it desired to drop to her lap. She kept her silence as she tried to absorb each word her father had just uttered. Her jaw started to hurt and her fingernails dug into her palms.
Marry
.
Choose a husband
. She blinked rapidly, trying to recall the few guests she’d been introduced to before being swept into her father’s study. All of them had been at least twice her age. None left any memorable impression on her.

“Father—” But she couldn’t bring herself to ask why. She’d been a burden on the man since her mother’s death two weeks after she was born. A bitter taste swept over her tongue. When she was growing up, he’d taken every opportunity to let her know how much she displeased him. Often, they did not even reside in the same residence, as he couldn’t stand the sight of her. ’Twas Max’s fault her mother had died and she well knew it.

The baron had finally had enough of her and was ready to push her off onto someone else. Worse was that he wanted it to be someone whom he could then persuade to his political causes. That was what she’d been reduced to—a pawn. Not even a pawn who was deemed that important, given the lords who’d attended her father’s dinner. Mostly other barons and a couple of earls—but they were all as old as her father and previously married. She was to be a second wife, a breeder, and not even a breeder of an heir, only the spares.

Max wasn’t surprised. Couldn’t be offended. ’Twas the way of things. She should be happy that her father was allowing her to choose—quite unheard of. Likely that was how he had hoped to gain her agreement to marry rather than running away.

“I know this is a lot to take in considering you only just arrived from Cumbria this morning, but I’d not had a chance to tell you before now.”

Max nodded. He could tell her anything he liked. The fact of the matter was she’d been summoned from their manor in the north
only
because he wanted to marry her off. She kept her gaze steady on her father’s face, studying the creases in his brow and the way his gray eyebrows sprang from his face as though frightened. What dark acts had those brows witnessed?

The baron sat forward, the crease in his forehead growing as he observed her warily. “Do not cause a scene,” he said.

He was always saying that, as if she’d done such a thing before. Max had known her place from the moment she was old enough to comprehend. She’d accepted it. Lived it. Never questioned it. Well, never questioned it if it was warranted. Perhaps there had been a time or two she’d
caused a scene
.