Wild Bells to the Wild Sky (14 page)

"I am sorry, George. Come in and sit down. I think there is some wine here that might settle your nerves," Valentine invited him, guiding the still pugnacious-looking George into the room.

"Need it more to settle my stomach," George said peevishly, but he was feeling a bit more mollified as he accepted the goblet of wine, even if the Turk was lurking near the opened doorway.

"Now what has you banging on my door this early?" Valentine asked, and seeing George's face still flushed, he wondered if it had been wise to offer him wine. "Not
forgotten
where you live, have you, George? Shall I have Mustafa escort you to your lodgings?"

"I am not fuddled," George insisted.

"What is amiss?"

"Valentine," George began, then hesitated despite the excitement glowing in his eyes. "I do not know quite how to tell you this? You will think me befooled, but
-
-"

"But what, George?" Valentine spoke impatiently, thinking this yet another one of George's ill-timed and beef-witted pranks.

" 'Tis your brother! Basil lives!" George blurted out.

The web of our life is of a mingled yarn,

good and ill together.

S
HAKESPEARE

Chapter Eight

I
t
was eventide
of Twelfth Day Even when Valentine Whitelaw approached Whiteswood. Crowning a hillside in the distance, twelve
ceremonial
fires burned in a circle around a larger one. Throughout the shire, in village, field, and vale, the ancient ceremony of blessing a bountiful earth was being followed by simple folk and nobles alike. A cup of well-aged ale was raised in toast. With shouts of
Wass hael
in the old Saxon tongue and cheerful songs echoing through the cold evening air, the revelers prepared for a night of feasting and merrymaking.

Through woods barren of leaf, Valentine Whitelaw, accompanied by the Turk,
followed
the familiar lane that wound deep into the valley. Every now and then pale stars winked overhead as the stormy weather moved south, leaving the skies clear. The ground was frozen and crackled beneath their horses' hooves. Directly in their path, the twin brick
towers of the gatehouse rose before them. Blazing torches, set in heavy brackets on either side of the arched entranceway to Whiteswood, spread a welcoming glow into the darkness
beyond the gates. The Whitelaw
arms were cast in shadow as the riders passed beneath the arch and into the paved courtyard beyond. The noisy clatter of hooves striking against stone announced their arrival. As they dismounted, an elderly man, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, his jerkin unfastened, came scurrying out of the gatehouse.

"Who goes there?" he demanded, not recognizing the cloaked figure that now strode with such purpose toward the great doors of the manor. The sweating horses were already being led away by a dutiful stableboy; as if these uninvited guests intended to stay.

"Back to your warm fire, you old watchdog," Valentine told the gatekeeper.

"Master Valentine! 'Tis good to see ye!" the old man cried out as he recognized the intruder. "Heard ye had gone to sea again. Didn't know ye'd returned, and richer than ever, I'll wager. The master and mistress will be pleased to welcome ye back. And young Master Simon will keep ye up half the night listening to them wild tales of adventurin'. Lady Elspeth won't take kindly to that," he chuckled as he bent closer to see the young gentleman he'd watched over since the lad had been in swaddling bands.

"Still in one piece," Valentine told him.

The old man snorted. "Gotten too thin," he said, but was relieved nonetheless to see his former master's young brother looking so healthy. "Wish ye'd stay home, where ye belong, Master Valentine. This goin' to sea 'tisn't what a man meant for. Otherwise, we'd all been born fish, eh? Worry about ye, I do. The sea be a cursed place to go. Brings misery, it does," he said, for Whiteswood wasn't the same without the Whitelaw brothers.
Sir William is a good man, but he isn't a Whitelaw,
the old retainer thought sadly as he eyed Valentine.

"No harm will come to me. You taught me too well how to get out of a trouble, you old rogue," Valentine told him, smiling widely as the old man shook his head.

"Reckon I went to a lot of trouble for nothin', seein' how ye be goin' out of yer way lookin' fer it. But 'tis your good fortune to have the Whitelaw luck," Trent said, keeping a safe distance between himself and the tall gent with the strange-looking shoes, for their curling toes could not be concealed beneath the hooded cloak he wore. Had it not been for the exotic presence of Valentine Whitelaw's manservant, the old gatekeeper wouldn't have been so worried or believed a word of the heart-thumping stories he'd be sure to hear recited the next day by an overly excitable footman.

"Ye just make sure it don't run out on ye one of these days, especially when ye be with heathens and cutthroats and the likes of him. Can't trust 'em," he said, glaring at the Turk.

"Are Sir William and Lady Elspeth receiving this eve? It is urgent that I have a word in private with them."

"They be gone nigh on an hour. Went to the festivities," Trent informed him. "Be back soon, most likely. Maybe some folks comin' with them. Most of the village, I reckon, seein' how we got the most ale and cake hereabouts. Glad ye'll be here for the cuttin' of the Twelfth cake. Maybe 'twill keep yer luck good fer another year, eh? Now, ye just go on inside and warm yerself before the fire, Master Valentine," the old gatekeeper told him as the heavy doors were swung wide to reveal the well-lit interior of the great hall.

With mixed feelings, Valentine entered Whiteswood. There was a festive mood throughout the hall as the servants prepared for the celebration in which they would share equally with their master and his guests. A banqueting table held a large silver bowl filled with spiced cider. Pitchers of ale stood ready to be poured, while platters were being placed on the
table
by excited maids who bustled back and forth through the paneled screens that led to the kitchens. Dressed in their finest linen gowns, their hair woven with colorful ribbons, the young women cheerfully went about their duties, humming the songs they would soon be dancing to on the arms of attentive admirers.

Valentine's appearance in the hall was greeted with hails of recognition by a number of the older retainers, who still fondly recalled many an incident the younger Whitelaw brother had been involved in when growing up at Whiteswood. The steward, who had been a yeoman in the household when Basil had first become master, escorted Valentine
through
the hall and up the curving flight of stone steps that climbed to the first floor. There, in the privacy of the master's great chamber, Valentine awaited the return of Sir William and Lady Elspeth.

For more than an hour Valentine had stood contemplating the fire burning so brightly in the hearth of the quiet chamber. He glanced about the comfortable room where Sir William conducted the affairs of the estate and where the family dined in private. The plasterwork ceiling and ornate paneling were new, but the armorial glass in the darkened windows still bore the coat of arms of the Whitelaw family. Fine paintings had joined the tapestries hanging on the walls, and embroidered cushions on high-backed chairs set close to the hearth offered comfort to the master and his family. A backgammon board was positioned between two of the chairs and bore proof of recent play.

Valentine paced restlessly before the flames. How could he possibly tell Sir William that he might no longer be master of Whiteswood? That his marriage to Elspeth might be bigamous? That his beloved children might be bastards?

How could he relate the joyous news that Basil might still live, when such news could only destroy Sir William's life? And what of Elspeth? She had
given
birth to a son and a daughter by that man, a man she had thought to be her lawful husband. And what of Simon? He had come to accept Sir William as his father. There was a deep affection between the two.

How welcomed would Basil be at Whiteswood now? And it seemed almost certain that Basil would be returning, Valentine thought as he remembered how George Hargraves had burst in on him at Highwater Tavern with the startling news.

Calming the excitable George, Valentine had gradually gotten the story out of his friend. George had arrived with a group of friends at Devil's Tavern well after Valentine had left. George had been about to leave when he overheard someone demanding to see Valentine Whitelaw. His visitor, a rough-looking individual who had seen better days, had been told aboard the Madrigal that her captain was to be found with Frobisher at the Devil. George, being a curious fellow, and reluctant to send an enemy to his friend's door should the man have an old score to settle, demanded to be told of the man's business with Valentine Whitelaw.

The man had been reluctant at first to divulge his information, until several tankards of ale had warmed his blood and loosened his tongue. He finally told George that his name was Randall, and that his brother, whom he had thought dead for seven years, was back in London.

A strange occurrence indeed, George had thought, his interest piqued enough to buy the man another ale in order to hear the rest of the story and discover what relationship his friend Valentine had with the Randall brothers.

George Hargraves had not been prepared for the revelation that Jemmy Randall's brother, Joshua, had been the bos'n aboard Geoffrey Christian's ship. When the
Arion
had gone down, Joshua Randall and several others had been little better than a slave in the household of some grandee in Mexico City, but after he'd refused to convert to the old faith and tried to escape his captivity he had been made a galley slave aboard a galleon. For two years he had managed to survive, then, when he thought he'd die behind the oars, their ship had run afoul of several English privateers south of the Azores. The Spanish captain had surrendered, the victors freeing their English mates, and that was how his brother had managed to get back to England. He was a dying man, Jemmy said, but that didn't seem to concern Joshua; it was the passengers who had been set ashore and abandoned that had him worried the most.

Jemmy Randall had halted his story there, telling George that he expected Captain Whitelaw might be interested enough in hearing the rest of the story, and in seeing the map Joshua had drawn of the location of the island the castaways had been stranded on, to pay a fair price.

Valentine had gone to the lodgings where Joshua Randall lay dying. Although he wouldn't have recognized the emaciated man, he remembered the bos'n from his own days of sailing
aboard
the
Arion
with Geoffrey
Christian
.

" 'Tis young Master Whitelaw? Not dreamin', am I?" the feverish man had whispered.

"I am here, Master Randall," Valentine had reassured him, grasping the man's shaking hand on his.

The warm strength of his hand had seemed to have a calming effect on Joshua Randall, even though tears streamed from his eyes as he told Valentine his story.

".
.
.
and the cap'n, he fought hard. Cursin' all the time, he was. I thought for a while there we was goin' to beat 'em. But the cap'n was hurt in the chest, bleedin' bad. He died before them bastards could gloat over the
Arion
goin' to the bottom. Laughed at them he did. Broke me heart, when the cap'n fell to his knees. Then he was gone. 'Twas too late then, anyways,' Joshua Randall said, a cough wracking his thin chest.

"Your brother says that Captain Christian sent his wife and daughter, and the other passenger aboard the
Arion
, Basil
Whitlow
, ashore?" Valentine questioned him gently.

"Aye, that he did," the bos'n agreed. "He sent young Lawson with them. Saw him row them ashore. Then we was fightin' them Spaniards. So many of them. And ye know, that Eddie Lawson, he comes rowin' back out to try to save us when the
Arion
went down. Good lad, he was. But d'ye know, them bastards blew him right out of the water. Poor little Eddie," he mumbled thickly. "I thought at first Doña Magdalena and sweet Mistress Lily were in the boat, that was the way the cap'n had it planned. Glad the cap'n didn't see that."

"What did he have planned?"

"That when we went down, Lawson would row them out to one of the Spanish galleons. The lady was Spanish, and he said they would be returned safely to Santo Domingo. The cap'n was wrong. If Doña Magdalena and the little one, and Sir Basil, he was an important gentleman the cap'n said, had been aboard, they would have been killed. The Spaniards pulled some of us who tried to swim away out of the water. Wish the sharks had got me, I do. They got some of the lads.

" 'Twas a trap, Master Whitelaw! They was waitin' fer us before we even got into the Gulf," he cried, his hands gripping Valentine's shirt, but his passion was soon spent and he dropped back against the pillows. "But we beat 'em through the Straits, then tried to get into the islands and lose them. But we couldn't make it."

"You survived, Joshua. You beat them."

"Aye, I did, didn't I?" he sighed.

"You drew a map of the location of that island?"

"Aye, Master Whitelaw," he said, a secretive look entering his eyes. "Always worried about young Mistress Lily bein' left like that."

"I'll find them, Joshua. I'll find Doña Magdalena and Lily. Sir Basil is my brother. I'll find them, and I'll bring them home," Valentine promised the dying man.

Joshua Randall had almost smiled, and there was a look of contentment on his face when he drifted into a restless sleep. The map was now in Valentine's possession. Jemmy Randall, plenty of money jiggling in his pocket, seemed almost relieved when told that a physician and his attendants would see to his brother's care and any arrangements after that would be handled as well.

Valentine was startled from his thoughts when a log fell in a shower of sparks in the fireplace. He felt the parchment, folded so carefully against his breast, and wondered what he would find when he reached the destination marked with a crude X on Joshua Randall's map.

Valentine was still pondering that thought, and dreading the meeting with Elspeth and Sir William, when the door opened.

"Uncle Valentine!" Simon Whitelaw cried out as he caught sight of the tall, bronzed man standing so quietly before the hearth. "I knew you'd come! I knew you would! I told them no one, especially a Spaniard, could sink you!"