Knight of Pentacles (Knights of the Tarot Book 3) (20 page)

Abducted, kidnapped, stolen, and press-ganged were a few of the better words that popped into Axel’s mind.

The duke licked his livery red lips. “Apparently, despite all our precautionary measures, the drone of the prophecy has been born outside of Avalon—to a faery and a knight who deceived their queen repeatedly. The errant knight is the one you will bring back for the tithe.”

He obviously meant Sir Leith. Axel could not decide if he was surprised. “Who is the mother?”

“She escaped our dungeons at the same time as her former lover,” the duke replied.

“What is her name?” Axel looked at Morgan. “Do I know her?”

“Her name is Belphoebe, a former favorite.” The queen’s expression was pinched. “And I can only assume she’s being sheltered by the druids, the masterminds behind all of this. If you encounter her in Brocaliande, you must put her to death—along with Sir Leith’s new wife and unborn child. Since he has found a way to counter my curse, I must rely upon you to carry out my vengeance.”

Axel hid his apprehension. The mission before him would be next to impossible for a trickster of Loki’s considerable talents. A humble knight such as himself had no chance of succeeding, which the queen and duke must know.

“Of course, my queen.” He forced a smile. “Consider it done.”

Since refusing the mission was not an option—despite the very good chance it would lead to his death—he must go and do his best. He just wished he could remember who the queen had made him forget. If he had finally given his heart to a lass, as he suspected, he would have liked the chance to say good-bye.

* * * *

Jenna looked out at the passing view and licked her lips, tasting cherry lip-gloss laced with anticipation. The past week had flown by, despite her preoccupation with Axel’s disappearance. His failure to resurface had convinced her the vampire owl had informed the queen about their relationship. Why else had he been prevented from returning to the glen? Had Morgan also put him in chains in her dungeon?

Poor Axel. Jenna bit her lip to hold back her tears. She’d already shed too many over the horrors she was sure he must be suffering in Avalon. She must keep her eye on the shinier side of the coin. If the queen was displeased with her errant knight, she was much more likely to designate him as the tithe to Lord Morfryn. And if Axel wasn’t riding out in front of the Avalonian contingent on a pure-white horse, saving him would be next to impossible. She would never find him, let alone get to him unmolested, if he was among the faery horde.

The thought threatened to ruin her mood, so she pushed it out of her mind and let the cool morning breeze carry it out to sea. She needed to concentrate on making a good impression on her first day at her new job, not dwelling on what might or might not happen three weeks from now.

Her preoccupation with future events aside, the drive to Cromarty had been a delight so far. The day was one of those brisk, bright autumn ones she adored. With a breakfast of tea and buttered toast in her belly and her long, flat-ironed hair blowing out the open window, she had to work hard not to feel optimistic.

Very soon, Axel would finally be free and they could be together. So what, if they would be fugitives from Queen Morgan and her vampire owls? She would much rather live on the lam with the man she loved than be safe and alone.

Not that she would be completely on her own. Taking one hand off the steering wheel, she rubbed her abdomen. There was more in there than tea and toast. She was almost sure of it. And, though happy to be carrying Axel’s child, the prospect of adding another variable to the already unsolvable equation was almost too bewildering to contemplate. It was one thing to be on the run as a couple, but quite another to be a fugitive family. What kind of life would that be for their child? There would be no stability, no home or reliable income to speak of, and no way to go to school.

As the bulwarks of Jenna’s optimism crumbled, worry overwhelmed her. As bad as that side of the coin was, the flipside was considerably worse. What if she couldn’t get Axel back? How would she explain her growing belly to Mrs. Emerson or her new landlord in Rosemarkie?

Yesterday, she’d moved into a furnished flat over the bakery on the High Street—with just the suitcases she’d brought along at this point. She’d received no word or shipment from William, so she’d written him again this morning with her new address.

She was not, however, holding her breath or bemoaning the potential loss of her possessions—apart from a few sentimental items she’d rather not part with. Though, if her plan to free Axel succeeded, she’d be giving up everything soon enough anyway. Mostly, she just wanted closure with William and to know there were no hard feelings between them. His failure to respond to her e-mails strongly suggested otherwise. Though she couldn’t fathom what reason he might have to be resentful toward her. He was the one who’d broken it off, after all.

And thank God for that colossal blessing.

As she drove past the sign welcoming her to Cromarty, a knot formed in the pit of her stomach. Though overqualified for the job of a library assistant, she still wanted to do well, and Mrs. Emerson struck her as someone who would not be easy to please.

Jenna soon discovered she’d been correct in her assessment of Mrs. Emerson. Not only was the librarian extremely fastidious, she also was an old-fashioned, hard-core Presbyterian—shades of her father and William.

“If you’ve not found a place of worship yet, you’re welcome to come to my church,” she’d said over brown-bag ham sandwiches and crisps in the library’s staff lunch room.

Jenna only smiled while wondering if her new status was conducive with church-going. If faeries were of the devil, as her father always claimed, would she turn to ash the moment she crossed the threshold?

She spent the morning familiarizing herself with the library’s collection, restocking shelves, and helping a handful of regular patrons check out books. She also got to issue library cards to a couple of pre-school tots who’d come in with their mums during story hour.

She’d only observed and helped keep the children quiet while Mrs. Emerson read aloud from a story about a selkie. On Wednesday, Jenna was to read from a book with a Scottish mythology theme and lead the crafts project to follow. She’d chosen
Ushig
, a story about a girl who meets a shape-shifting kelpie. Annemarie Allan, the authoress, lived in Prestonpans, near Edinburgh.

At four o’clock, when her shift was over, Jenna made the drive back to Rosemarkie bone-weary and bleary-eyed. She loved children, but also found them exhausting. Twinging with fear, she rubbed her stomach. Did she have what it would take to be a single working mother? She really didn’t know and hoped against hope she’d never have to find out. Not that she imagined Axel, as a shaman-warrior from the fourteenth century, would probably win any Father-of-the-Year awards. Could she honestly see him changing nappies? Hardly, though perhaps he’d surprise her.

Assuming she ever saw him again...

No, don’t think like that. He is Tam Lin, not Sigurd.

Or, at least, she prayed he was.

Before returning to her flat, she stopped by the grocer’s for black pudding—to satisfy a terrible craving for blood—and a bag of apples, which she took to the farmer who was boarding Odin for her. She could hardly leave the poor horse in the glen to fend for himself and, since she couldn’t afford to stable the charger, she’d made a deal with someone her new landlord knew to keep him until Axel returned.

“If he doesn’t come back for his horse,” she’d told the farmer with a pang, “he’s yours. In the meantime, feel free to make him earn his keep by helping out around the farm. He’s a good, sturdy horse, and I’m sure my husband won’t mind.”

The part about the horse belonging to her husband wasn’t entirely untrue. She and Axel were handfasted, after all—a legal albeit temporary marriage under Scots Law—and dropping hints now about having an absent spouse would pay dividends down the line when she started to show.

Rosemarkie was a small town; word would get around—about both situations. Unfortunately, she’d told Mrs. Emerson in the interview she was single—so, when the time came, she’d have to dream up a spectacular story to explain the change in status.

Being a devout Presbyterian, the fussy librarian would not look kindly on promiscuity. Especially when the evidence was on display for all to see—and be shocked by—during story hour.

Tears welled in Jenna’s eyes before rolling down her cheeks, wet and hot. What a mess she’d gotten herself into. If she couldn’t get Axel away from Queen Morgan, she was screwed. She could always get rid of the baby, she supposed. Not that she wanted to or that abortion didn’t go against everything she believed in, but having the baby and putting it up for adoption would still mark her as a loose woman in the eyes of those in a position to negatively impact her livelihood. Plus, the baby was at least part faery. Giving the wee thing to unsuspecting mortals to raise didn’t seem like the best idea.

Speaking of not-so-great ideas…living above a bakery wasn’t turning out to be as agreeable as she’d hoped. This morning, while getting ready for work, the comingled aromas of brewing coffee and baking bread, once so appealing, had made her nauseous. It might be because of the pregnancy, though it also might not be. Something in her system was horribly off balance. She’d heard that expectant mothers sometimes had somewhat odd cravings, but her hankerings went right past “somewhat odd” to revoltingly strange. She just hoped the black pudding and pickle she’d bought for her tea would satisfy her sudden, voracious lust for blood.

As she pulled into the alley behind the bakery, two things all but knocked the wind out of her. The first was an owl perched atop a row of mailboxes, evidence Morgan’s vampires were still keeping watch. The second was a dark-blue Volvo station wagon—a car she knew as well as her own.

As ice formed over her core, she bit her lip against the urge to turn the car around.
Bloody hell in a hand basket.
What in the name of God was
he
doing here?

Chapter 15

Axel, still locked in the comfortable-yet-confining bedchamber, had passed his captive hours in meditation. While he had not yet been able to exhume whatever Morgan’s potion had caused him to forget, he had remembered where he had heard of the Duke of Cumberland, who was just entering the room.

Long ago, while swapping war stories in the knight’s quarters, Sir Leith had told him of the man’s barbarous deeds after the Jacobite defeat at Culloden Moor. The wounded were murdered where they lay on the field. Those who managed to escape the slaughter were hunted down and shot on the spot or imprisoned until they could be publicly executed.

The British Army then embarked upon the so-called “pacification” of Jacobite areas of the Highlands. All those believed to be rebels were killed, as were non-combatants. “Rebellious” settlements were burned, including the crops, and livestock was confiscated on a grand scale, leaving many to starve. Over a hundred Jacobites were hanged and even more poor souls, including women, were shipped to London for trial—a dismal, eight-month voyage few survived.

Following this campaign of cruelty, Cumberland was nicknamed “Sweet William” by his supporters and “The Butcher” by his opponents.

“Cumberland created a desert and called it peace,” Leith had observed.

Sir Leith had once been Axel’s trusted friend, and now he must bring him back to Avalon as the tithe after slaying his new bride in much the same way Cumberland’s soldiers had murdered the first baroness.

While the assignment aggrieved Axel, so had many of the monstrous things he had done in the name of king and country. Robert the Bruce had been a great man and a great patriot, but he had also been a ruthless fighter. His unconventional tactics were not for the faint of heart or men who adhered too tightly to their principles in the heat of battle.

If Axel could find a way to sidestep the order to kill Lady MacQuill, he would. He did not relish the idea of harming a woman—especially one in a family way—but neither was he ready to sacrifice himself to spare Sir Leith from being tithed. And why should he? Sir Leith had freely offered himself for sacrifice before running away, leaving Axel to answer for his betrayal.

“Our contact, a young goblin named Smort, will meet you on the beach and, from there, will escort you through the Borderlands to Brocaliande,” the portly duke was saying a few feet away from where Axel sat in the corner chair. “I suggest you work out a cover story before you come into contact with the druids—something so convincing you believe it yourself—because old Cathbad will undoubtedly employ the Cup of Truth to test the veracity of your alibi.”

Axel was relatively confident he could manufacture a convincing excuse for being in Brocaliande, but making it believable enough to fool himself and the Cup of Truth was another matter. “Is Cathbad the leader of the druids?”

“He is,” Cumberland said. “As well as a fervent adversary of Her Majesty’s and all Avalonians, so you’ll have to work extra hard to gain his trust.”

Drawing nearer to Axel, Cumberland held out the cup he’d brought with him. The potion inside was no doubt the one Morgan had threatened to give Axel—the elixir that would bring about his death if he failed to return from Brocaliande within the proscribed time frame.