Wild Bells to the Wild Sky (54 page)

"What you have described, my dear, is a housekeeper. Of course, unless you fine a lusty one, and pay her extra, you would not stay very warm on a cold winter's night, now would you?"
Cordelia
asked slyly, lightly tapping her fingers against his lean cheek. "And come to speculate 'pon it, I doubt even with Honoria in your bed you would fare any better. The woman's cold as a stone. And I must admit, my dear, you are a man who demands quite a lot of a woman when she is in your bed. Do you really think Honoria would be able to handle such unbridled passions?

Valentine inclined his head slightly. "I am beginning to wonder if Raymond Valchamps quite realizes what a prize he has won for himself. Now, if you will excuse me, Cordelia? I must leave, I've several more people I must see before this evening."

"Oh, dear me, I believe I have struck a sensitive nerve, haven't I?" Cordelia murmured, her cheeks flushed with irritation. "I believe you have already been considering taking Honoria to wife, and here am I speaking so ill of the woman. I am sorry, Valentine. I do hope I haven't cast any doubts in your mind. I am certain, m'dear, that Honoria would make you a very
.
.
.
ah, yes, a very
respectable
wife," Cordelia concluded, her smile understanding as she dealt her final insult.

"Good afternoon, Cordelia," Valentine said, and bowing slightly, he walked away.

Lily Christian was standing unnoticed beside the tent just beyond where Valentine Whitelaw had stood in conversation with Cordelia Howard. Her lips trembling slightly, Lily remembered Quinta Whitelaw's conversation of the previous winter, when she had spoken of Cordelia's visit to Ravindzara and how most likely by summer Cordelia and Valentine would be engaged, certainly wed by fall.

As Lily stood watching the two, hearing that cruel, mocking laughter of Cordelia Howard's, she remembered another time, when she had overheard the two in the gardens of Tamesis House, when Valentine Whitelaw had laughed so scornfully over the prospect of ever finding Lily Christian attractive. He could never fall in love with her, Lily remembered him declaring, reliving again the mortification she had felt that afternoon. It had been an afternoon much like this one, she thought as she saw Sir Raymond Valchamps sauntering along the midway, Thomas Sandrick and another gentleman accompanying. Lily stepped inside the cool darkness of the tent and out of sight before anyone could see her, for Raymond Valchamps was the last person she wanted to cross paths with.

Lily began to step back outside when something grabbed hold of her hand. Crying out in alarm, Lily spun around and stared blindly into the shadows of the tent.

"Ah, Lily Francisca, have ye come to Old Maria to have yer fortune told?" the old woman cackled, her wizened hand fondling Lily's young flesh.

"So pretty. So sweet. So dangerous," she crooned, laughing huskily. "Come, do not be afraid, little one. Let Old Maria tell ye what yer future holds. Come
.
.
.
come
.
.
.
I won't hurt ye," she said, pulling Lily deeper into the tent, where the air was heavy with burning incense and potions.

"Cordelia, my love," Sir Raymond greeted his
fiancée
, pressing a kiss into her palm. Still holding on to her hand, he inquired, "I trust you were not bored while Thomas and I watched that wrestling match?"

"Not at all," Cordelia responded, not caring for Raymond's tone of voice. "My dear, you are hurting my hand."

"Oh, I am sorry, my love," Sir Raymond apologized nicely. "That wasn't by any chance the good captain I saw standing here talking to you not more than five minutes past?"

"Valentine? Here? At the fair? I had a note from him this morning inviting me to join him at the Devil for a light supper," Thomas Sandrick said, glancing around. "If you will excuse me, I'll try to catch up with him now. We could go on over. Devilish thirst," he said with a laugh. "I'd like to hear about his journey. Cordelia. Raymond. I'll see both of you this evening," Thomas Sandrick excused himself.

"Cordelia?"

"Not jealous, my dear?" She laughed, prolonging his uncertainty.

"Constantly," he confessed, his eyes searching the crowd. "And what did you and the good captain discuss?" he asked conversationally.

"Now, that would be telling, wouldn't it? 'Tis far more exciting for you to wonder," she said with a teasing smile that quickly faded when Raymond's fingers tightened painfully around her wrist. "If you were not about to break my wrist, I vow I would be flattered, m'dear. Let loose, Raymond," Cordelia said, no longer finding the
conversation
amusing.

"Don't ever try to hide anything from me, Delia. You will regret it. I give you fair warning. Now, what were you and the good captain discussing? I will know."

Cordelia moistened her dry lips. "We did not speak for long, he was in a hurry to leave the fair. Obviously to meet Thomas," she said a trifle indignantly. Had it been another woman, she would have understood. "We were merely discussing his journey and return to England. He will not be here longer than a fortnight, if that will set your mind at ease."

"Oh? And where is he journeying next?"

"To Cornwall. His sister is with child. He wishes to be there. Raymond, please, let me go," Cordelia pleaded, for her fingers were becoming numb.

"I see. What is he going to do before he leaves London? As if I didn't know," he said, smiling into her startled eyes.

"No, Raymond, truly. We have not planned to meet. I am to wed you, my dear. I chose you for my husband, not Valentine Whitelaw," she reassured him. "Valentine is going to visit Whiteswood, then travel to Highcross to see those damned children he rescued from that isle. He will have little more time than that. If we meet, 'twill merely be during a banquet. Raymond? You do believe me, don't you?" Cordelia asked, frightened of a man for the first time in her life.

"What? Oh, yes, of course," he replied, releasing her swollen wrist. "Yes, those children have always been a problem, haven't they?"

Cordelia stared at him in confusion, for what did Raymond care about those children? "Yes, I s'pose. Damned nuisance."

"Yes, quite. But not for much longer I should think. Did Whitelaw say why he was going to Highcross? He hadn't heard that anything was amiss, had he?" Raymond asked, a note of concern in his voice that surprised Cordelia.

"No, he has heard nothing about them. He just wants to visit. Feels responsible for their welfare, I s'pose. Why?"

"Oh, nothing, my dear. I thought if there was some trouble that he might be delayed there. Merely a selfish wish that he might be away from London longer than expected," Sir Raymond said, his mouth curving in that unpleasant smile of his. Apparently Valentine Whitelaw did not know that the children had left Highcross and were right here under his nose. He had nearly fainted when he'd seen the good captain standing in conversation with Cordelia. He had feared all was lost, that Valentine Whitelaw had known the children were here. But he hadn't. He was always just a step ahead of the good captain, Raymond Valchamps thought with a silent chuckle. He had thought he'd taken care of any immediate danger when he'd burned to the ground their damned puppet show. At least that was no longer a threat to him. And now, Valentine Whitelaw was leaving the fair, without realizing how close to the truth he had come.

Too late, however, would he discover his mistake. By then, Lily Christian would be dead.

".
.
.
the shadow of death lingers close by. Ye must leave this fair, Lily Francisca. I've seen the omens of death walking' in my dreams. Ye be in danger, lass. Beware the witch. It stalks the night searchin' fer yer blood, my fair one."

Lily forced herself to sit still, for although she did not believe a word of Old Maria's outrageous predictions, the woman still made her
nervous
with her mutterings and strange moanings, as if she were gasping out her last breath.

" 'Tis a dark cloud surrounding us," she whispered, then cried out, shivering as if deep in a trance. "But the danger will pass. Lily Francisca, ye hold the key. Ye must fly from here. Ye must return to the beginning. The end will be the beginning. the answer lies buried across the seas! Run from here! Run from here! Before 'tis too late fer all of us!" she hissed. "Ye be bad luck. The evil eye is upon ye! He brings death where he wanders! The colors. They are wrong! They do not match! Bad!"

"I must go, please," Lily said frantically, trying to free her hand from the woman's tight grasp.

"Yes! Go! Ye must go! Faster than the winds! Upon a singing ship, across the waters. Yes! The waters, child. Fear them, but do not fear them. They will try to take ye, but they will have to release ye. If ye survive the waters the first time, then they will protect ye the second time. Do not fail. The book, my child. Find the book and all revelations will unfold as they were meant to from the beginning. Do not deny what must be,
Lily Francisca. What is thought to be lost, is not. What must be,
will!
Ye cannot change what must happen. Yer fate lies with another! Yer destiny lies along another path from ours, from Romney Lee's. Ye're not fer Romney Lee, but another. Ye be of the sea, like him. The colors! The clearness of a gentle, warm sea, drifting into the shallows. The colors are now one. Ye must go with him. He will protect ye from the evil. Go, child! Go! 'Twill end in tragedy if ye don't. Go! Tonight! Tonight! Do not stay here tonight! Death walks this camp tonight!"

Lily smiled slightly with understanding, for Old Maria was, after all, Navarre's grandmother. Naturally, she would wish to see her granddaughter's rival leave the camp, and Romney Lee, Lily thought, eyeing the old woman curiously.

"Maria? Old Maria?" she questioned softly, but the woman sat slumped on the bench, her eyes closed. She hardly seemed to be breathing, Lily thought in alarm. "Maria? Are you ill? Shall I get help?"

"Go, child, go," the old woman whispered shakily, and Lily almost believed that she was not faking this time. Reaching into her basket, where only a couple of posies remained, Lily found a coin and left it on the table.

Pulling her hand free from Old Maria's clawlike hand, Lily broke the contact between them, but the sense of foreboding remained with her even when she stepped out into the sunlight. Old Maria certainly knew what she was doing, Lily thought with a grim look in her eye when she saw Navarre lingering near the tent with its mystical markings and signs of the stars and moon.

Lily shuddered despite her resolve not to take seriously Old Maria's mutterings. Frightening predictions and nonsensical riddles, Lily thought as she hurried away, feeling groggy from the incense that had filled the tent. But even as she cleared her aching head, she found herself wondering how Old Maria had known about her dreams of drowning.

Preoccupied with her thoughts, Lily did not see the tall shadow that fell across her path, nor the man who stepped directly in front of her until she'd nearly fallen into his arms.

Glancing up in surprise, Lily found herself staring into
Valentine
Whitelaw's turquoise eyes.

It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night

Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear;

Beauty too rich for use, for earth to dear!

Shakespeare

Chapter Twenty-One

V
alentine Whitelaw
stared into Lily Christian's face. He had not been mistaken. She was the most exquisite creature he had ever beheld. Never before had he gazed upon such incomparable beauty, and he vowed to have this maid who had tantalized him from afar. Standing on the deck of his ship, she had enticed him from the mist-enshrouded shore, drawing him irresistibly into the dangerous waters of the shallows.

Now she stood before him as innocent as if heaven born. And yet she had captivated him as surely as if she'd cast a spell over him, he thought bemusedly. Indeed, everything about her was bewitching. Never had he seen such soft, unblemished skin, dew-kissed like the petals of a flower. Her eyes were of the clearest, palest green, greener than a new leaf unfolding on the bough. Her hair, a darker, richer shade than the finest sherry, flowed across her shoulders and around her hips like a silken veil. It glistened in the sunlight, like wine reflecting fire.

And yet she seemed unaware of her fairness of face and the effect she had on a man. There was no false coyness in her expression or seductive lowering of her lashes, and he was all the more intrigued because of that look of tender passion so innocently revealed in her eyes. What manner of maid was this to stroll so gracefully through a crowd of thieves and ruffians, to single him out and smile at hi as if they were long-lost lovers, yet remain so pure and virtuous of mind and body, as if she had never lain in a man's bed or shared his passion.

She was indeed a temptress, and a far more dangerous one than her legendary sisters in the sea. They would lead an unsuspecting mariner onto the rocks with their dulcet singing. This sweet maid would steal his heart if he gave her even half a chance. Could she really be as soulless as the water? Standing so close to her, Valentine Whitelaw breathed deeply of the delicate fragrance scenting her skin and knew he would welcome that risk. He would tempt the fates to have her in his bed for just one night, even if she disappeared into the sea afterwards, leaving him aching for her return.

"I could not allow you to pass by without at least discovering your name," Valentine said, his turquoise eyes raking her heart-shaped face and the seductive curve of breast. How he longed to hold this maid in his arms, to feel her flesh burning against his. He needed to know again the softness of a woman. He had been at sea too long to know gentlemanly patience now, he realized, remembering again the frustration of the hot, humid nights spent alone in his bunk while his ship had gently ridden the waves as if locked in a lover's embrace.

Lily remained silent. Startled.
What was her name?
That had been the last question she had been expecting to hear from Valentine Whitelaw. Was he not surprised to see her in London? Surely he would demand to now what she was doing selling flowers at a fair? Shouldn't he want to know why she had left Highcross? Did he not wonder where the others were? Was he so uncaring that he had little curiosity about them after so long an absence?

"You do have a name? I shall hold you captive until I know it, my fair one," he told her, and although he spoke lightly, there was a glint in his eye that warned Lily he was serious.

"My name?" Lily repeated. She met his gaze uncertainly, wondering if this was some kind of jest. She seemed to be a never ending source of amusement to him and his friends, Lily thought dejectedly, wondering if Cordelia was standing behind the nearest booth laughing.

"Yes," he said softly, curious why she suddenly seemed to shrink away from him. "Is that too much to ask?" he persisted, determined not to lose his prize now.

Lily swallowed nervously. She touched her tongue lightly to her lips to ease the dryness. She was unaware of the provocativeness of her action, but Valentine Whitelaw's gaze was drawn to the delicate shaping of her mouth and he knew a sudden determination to taste of it.

"You do not know it already?" she spoke huskily.

Valentine smiled. So, she wanted to play a game, did she? She acted as if surprised by his pursuit. She had been the one who had smiled so invitingly at him. Well, he would play, but by his rules. "I will when you tell me. I am not the fortune teller," he reminded her, and seeing her puzzled expression, he gestured to the tent she had stepped out of.

"But I am no-"

"-
-
ly Francisca! A posy fer this lad's sweetheart! Here, catch!" someone called to Lily from the crowd, but the first part of her name was lost in the
noise
, and only the last part drifted to the tall man who still stood blocking her path.

Valentine easily caught the coin that spun through the air, and with a
satisfied
gleam in his eye, he reached into the basket and tossed one of the small
bouquets
to the fellow who had so obliged him with the maid's name.

"Francisca," he said with a smile as he dropped the shiny coin into the basket. He was about to look up, when his eye caught sight of something. With a strange sense of his own destiny, he fingered the small, pink-hued shells that lay scattered on the bottom.

"Be careful, please," Lily cautioned, her hand staying his when she saw him pick up several of the delicate shells she had placed in the basket for safekeeping. They had come loose from Dulcie's necklace earlier in the day and she hadn't had time to restring them. The necklace of shells was Dulcie's favorite one of her few possessions from the island, and Lily would not have any harm befall it.

"Shells," Valentine murmured in disbelief, his eyes narrowing almost suspiciously as he found himself beginning to believe his own flights of fancy about mermaids. "Why should I be surprised? And green eyes too," he said with a slow smile, his hand releasing the shells to capture her hand instead. "Later, I will know for certain," he added, his gaze lowering to her skirts. "Few people place any value on shells. But they seem precious to you," he commented with a look of amusement in his eye. "You have captivated me. Who are you really, Francisca? Have you been sent by my enemies to torment me? To destroy me, perchance? If that be so, then they have indeed succeeded, for I would gladly die while in your arms," Valentine Whitelaw said, and whether now in jest or truth only he knew for certain. "Francisca? 'Tis Spanish? Let me guess? You've a Spanish father and an English mother. I do not believe you are gypsy. From the look of you, I would say your father had been a gentleman, who, perhaps, fell in love with a fair English rose, but had a wife and family back in Madrid?

"Perhaps," Lily whispered, almost tearfully. He really did not know.

"Tears? I swear, I am undone by a woman's tears. Now I am
certain
you have indeed been sent by one of my enemies. Well, I have no friends in Spain. And there would be many who would pay well to have you bewitch me, then stab me through my black heart when I am least suspecting an assassin's attack," he said mockingly. "But they know I could not resist the challenge of taking a Spanish maid to bed," he said, eyeing her speculatively. "But you have not been sent here to hurt me, have you, Francisca
mia?
You are here to give me pleasure."

"Can
you be hurt?"

"Yes, if my enemy knows where to strike," Valentine
admitted
, smiling down into her face, a beautiful stranger's face, or so he believed.

Lily Francisca Christian stared at the man she had loved for so many years. He had not even recognized her. She meant nothing to him. she never had. He would never be able to believe that the woman who had caught his eye was the little girl he had rescued from that island in the Indies. The same girl whose heart he had broken that day in the gardens of Tamesis House. She was the awkward, leggy girl whom he had claimed he could never love. She was that very same girl, with the same green eyes and red hair, who had cried herself to sleep because of his laughter. And he was the very same an who could never gaze upon Lily Christian with desire.

"A fortune? You wish to have your fortune told true? Lily surprised herself by saying.

"My fortune? You think you can read my future, little one? Or, perhaps, 'tis your own you will be reading," Valentine Whitelaw replied, his fingers entwining with hers as he tightened his hold on her hand. "Come, then. Into the shade of these trees, where we may be alone. Tell me my fortune, if you dare," he challenged her.

But Lily Christian, daughter of Magdalena and Geoffrey Christian, was not to be intimidated by her enemy, and in that very second, meeting his mocking gaze, she came to think of him as one-at least she did for the briefest of moments while her pride sorely smarted because he had not recognized her. Very well, Lily thought, she would teach him a lesson he would not soon forget, nor would he ever again forget Lily Christian, she vowed.

"Come, Cap'n. I will tell your fortune," she said softly, with just the slightest of accents, remembering the manner in which her mother had spoken. "You were correct, for
I
am the teller of fortunes, while you, good sir, are the hunter of fortunes. You have become wealthy in your search for treasure," she surprised him by announcing.

"Aye, I am master of a ship. Did you hear me addressed as captain?:

"Your fortune, Cap'n?" Lily reminded him. Setting the basket down on the ground, she steeled herself to grasp the hand that still held hers. Turning it palm upwards, she pretended to study the lines revealed to her. It was such a strong, capable hand, Lily thought, lightly tracing her fingertips across the toughened palm, where hard work had worn rough callouses.

"Do you not wish to be paid first?" Valentine asked abruptly, for even her lightest touch had the power to excite him.

"I will leave that to you, Cap'n. If you are pleased with my reading, then reward me as you will," Lily replied without looking up into his face.

"Indeed I shall," he murmured softly, startling Lily when his hand cupped her chin and tilted her face up to his. "I promise you will not be disappointed," he said, a hunger growing deep inside of him to bury his face in those soft, silken curls cascading across her slender shoulders.

Lily glanced away quickly, freeing her chin from his disturbing touch as she peered closer into his palm. "You've just returned from afar, Cap'n. You have crossed the seas many times. You have a ship that sings," Lily said, unconsciously mimicking Old Maria with her riddles. "You never stay long in one place. You sail away, always searching for something. But there is a place that longs for you. A house where the sun sets. A beautiful house by the sea. It stands empty, waiting for your return," Lily said, beginning to enjoy the charade, for his sudden silence bore proof of his shocked dismay at her intimate knowledge of him.

Then in a low voice she added, "But the sea you love has treated you most cruelly. You have lost one you loved dearly. A wise, kind man whose words you took heed of. You have become famous
sailing
the seas, a man much feared by his enemies, but the sea will exact a price form you, Cap'n. Always remember that. You had to pay homage once before, my brave captain, when your ship nearly went down in a devil-brewed
storm
off a far distant shore," she spoke dramatically, waving her hand as if conjuring the vision to mind. "You cursed the sea that day, and from that day forward, you were left carrying the mark of the sea upon your back." Lily could not resist taunting him with the tale he himself had told her when she'd sailed aboard the
Madrigal
. She had seen the strange crescent-shaped scar that had been cut into his flesh like a brand when a tackle had swung loose and caught him across the shoulder, nearly sending him overboard. "It claimed the lives of several of your crewmen, and very nearly your own, did it not, Cap'n?"

Valentine Whitelaw stared at Lily Christian disbelievingly. How could she possibly know such things unless she really could see into the past, or, if indeed she'd been sent by one of his enemies, or even a jesting friend? It would explain why she was so very well informed.

Valentine Whitelaw smiled. "You have knowledge of many things for one so young. Were I not so certain that we'd not met before, I would claim you have the advantage of this conversation. But you have only spoken of what has already happened. What of the future? Can you not see where our paths cross, and where they will lead us?" he asked.

For the first time Lily smiled, her green eyes glowing mysteriously, and Valentine Whitelaw felt a painful tightening in his loins. To be so close to her and yet not know the feel of her in his arms was proving a difficult battle of self-restraint.

"Ah, but our paths have crossed."

"Now you mock me. Had our paths crossed, little one, I would certainly have remembered. I am not likely ever to forget your face, although..." he paused, frowning slightly when he heard her soft laughter.

"Although? You sound less certain. Could you possibly be mistaken? Beware, lest your arrogance lead you astray and you miss the right path to follow," she warned him, and for a moment Valentine had the distinct impression that they had indeed met before, but he was damned if he remembered where. "Francisca?" he murmured, shaking his head. "A lovely name, but..."

"Oh, but our paths have crossed, just now," Lily said quickly, unwilling to forfeit the game so soon. To see him so disturbed, so in doubt, was a balm to her wounded pride. Soon enough he would learn the truth. And she would enjoy seeing his stunned expression when he discovered her true identity.