by Olivia Drake
Tom Wickett turned his cap in his gnarled fingers. “The young lady told me not to tell. But ’tis summit I can’t keep secret.”
“Which young lady?” Olivia demanded, leaning forward on her cane.
“The younger one or the older one?” Enid added.
“Both,” Tom Wickett said. “First, the black-haired one sneaked into the coach while the foreigner was kneelin’ on his mg and prayin’ his mumbo-jumbo. Then a little while ago, the fire-haired miss come marchin’ into the stables, tellin’ me to saddle his lordship’s bay gelding. I told her I wouldn’t do it.”
Lucy gripped the arms of her chair. “As well you shouldn’t.”
“So she saddled the horse herself,” Tom Wickett went on, a glint of admiration in his rheumy old eyes. “She went ridin’ off, hell-for-leather. Left me tastin’ her dust.”
Lucy drew a labored breath. “Thank you for telling me. You may go now.”
As the groom trudged out of the room, Olivia thumped her cane on the rug. “Foolish Meg! She’s gone to Sir Charles. And Kate is off to rescue her.”
“We must save them,” Enid said, her beringed hands clasped to her plump cheeks. “Lucy, you always have a plan. What shall we do?”
Before Lucy could collect her panicked thoughts, Nathaniel’s hand came down firmly over hers. “The three of you will stay here, where it’s safe. I’ll go after them my-self.”
His misguided chivalry prodded Lucy into action. She shook off his hand and rose to her feet. “We are not shrinking violets, Nathaniel Babcock. We’re the Rosebuds, and we’re going, too.”
Numb with disbelief, Kate gripped the iron bars. Her father lifted his head and stared at her. As if he couldn’t quite grasp her presence, his brow furrowed in befuddlement. The spectacles magnified his blue eyes into a familiar owlish look. Despite the burst of wild jubilation inside her, she could tell that his mind was still half on whatever it was he’d been writing.
Then the pen dropped from his fingers, spattering ink on the foolscap. He pushed back his chair, set down his pipe, and stood up, his hands braced on the desk. “Katie?”
That deep, raspy voice reached past her stupefaction. The dam around her emotions broke, and her eyes flooded with happiness. A sob broke from her. “Papa!”
A broad smile transformed his gaunt features. He looked painfully thin, ill-fed and garbed in old, worn clothing. He hastened around the desk, limping and slightly stooped over, but incredibly, her father.
Her dear, beloved Papa.
Their fingers met and clung through the bars. Tears coursed down her cheeks as she laughed and wept all at once. Reaching inside the enclosure, she stroked his whisker-roughened cheek, noting a few silvery strands among the brown of his hair. She ached to throw her arms around him, but the barricade stood between them.
“Papa...Oh, Papa, you’re alive! How is it possible—? We were told you’d died in Cairo.”
“I did almost die,” he said grimly. “I suffered a nasty gash at the back of my head and a fractured leg. When I regained consciousness, I was aboard a ship to England.”
“But...there was a gravesite,” Kate exclaimed, rubbing warmth into his icy, ink-stained fingers. “Gabriel gave me a sketch of it.”
“Some other poor soul must be buried there. No doubt Damson made the arrangements.” His frown deepened the creases that the past four years had chiseled into his beloved features. “But what are you doing here? Did you intercept my note?”
“Note?”
“When Jabbar wandered down here yesterday, I knew Gabe had to be here at the castle, searching for me. I scribbled a note and gave it to Jabbar.”
Hearing his name, the chimpanzee jumped up and down, clapping his leathery palms.
Kate shook her head in bewilderment. “I never saw a note. And I don’t understand ... why did Sir Charles stage your death? Why has he imprisoned you?”
Henry Talisford grimaced. “He has a mad plan for me to write a book, a study of ancient religions. Damson intends to claim credit and have it published under his own name.”
The explanation sickened her. Sir Charles had tried to enlist her in his evil plan, too. “So that’s why he wanted your journals so badly.”
“I told him I couldn’t proceed without them. He craves recognition as a serious scholar, and he’ll stop at nothing to get it.”
“And then what?” she asked, her voice faint with horror. “Does he intend to kill you?”
“No doubt. I’ve been delaying as long as I can.” His lean face drawn with anger, he tightened his fingers on hers. “That villain stole my greatest discovery. Gabe’s discovery.”
Kate wanted to confide in him about her love for Gabriel. Yet she could think only of the urgent need to find her sister. “I know about the goddess. Gabriel is looking for the statue right now. But Papa, there’s something important I must tell you—”
“I knew I could count on Gabe. Pray God he finds the priceless artifact.” A faraway fire in his bespectacled eyes, her father limped back and forth in the cell. “The goddess is a perfectly preserved artifact of ancient Abyssinian culture. It will prove my theory that the pharaohs of ancient Egypt rose to power from an even more ancient civilization. The statue is the link between the wild tribes at the source of the Nile and the beginnings of a civilized world—”
“Papa, listen! Something terrible has happened. Meg is missing.”
He stopped pacing to stare at Kate. “My little Meggie?”
“She’s seventeen now, and Sir Charles has abducted her. He brought her down here to these caves.”
“Damn him!” Henry rattled the iron door, the sound echoing through the cavern. “I must get out of here. We must find them.”
“Do you know where the key is kept?” Holding up the candle, Kate glanced around, her gaze frantically scouring the shadowy crevices of the rocks. Someone had to be bringing Papa food and drink. Did they take the key away each time? Or leave it nearby?
Then Jabbar loosed a drawn-out wail that sent a chill down her spine.
An instant later, a cultured male voice said, “Is this what you’re looking for?”
Kate whirled around to see Sir Charles Damson looming in the stone doorway, carrying an armful of her father’s notebooks. Limned by torchlight and smiling benignly, he dangled a ring of keys from his fingers.
Ritual Sacrifice
Taking a step toward him, Kate looked wildly into the adjacent cavern. “Where is my sister?”
“In a safe place,” Sir Charles said affably. “Come, I’ll take you to her.”
Henry Talisford gave the bars another violent shake. “Don’t go with him, Katie. Don’t trust him. Damson, leave her be.”
Still smiling, the baron strolled toward the prison cell. As he drew closer, Kate saw that his eye was blackened, his nose swollen.
Savaged by fear, she eyed the keys in his hand. If she could get the keys to her father, he could unlock the door while she held off Sir Charles. Then together they could overpower him, throw him into the cell, while they searched for Meg...
“I have your journals right here, Henry. Margaret was kind enough to deliver them to me. You’ve no more cause to delay your work on the book.”
“I’ll do nothing until you let both my daughters go free.”
“Quite the contrary. If you value their lives, you’ll do as I say.”
As Sir Charles made a move to lay the notebooks on a shelf of rock near the enclosure, Jabbar loosed a feral cry. Hair bristling, he made a mock charge at Sir Charles. The baron kicked at the chimpanzee, and Kate lunged.
She knocked Sir Charles off balance so that his blow went wild. With a whimpering cry, Jabbar ran away, vanishing into the next cave.
Her fingers closed around the iron ring of keys in the baron’s hand. She jerked hard, and for one victorious moment, possession was hers. Then her father shouted, “Katie, watch out!”
Before she could do more than look up, Sir Charles swung one of the notebooks and struck her h
ead with a sharp blow. The keys dropped as pain exploded behind her eyes. Black dots swam in her vision. Helpless to catch herself, she slid into oblivion.
Kate returned to awareness in slow stages. She lay on a hard, flat surface. Frost encased her body, restricting the movement of her limbs. Her uncontrollable shivering intensified the dull throbbing in her skull. From a distance came the muffled crashing of the sea.
Forcing her eyelids to lift, she saw the brilliance of two burning torches on a nearby wall. When she blinked, the images converged into one. Her gaze traveled up a rocky wall to the shadowed ceiling of a huge cavern, and a sense of disorientation made her dizzy. The last thing she recalled was Fairfield Park...the Rosebuds...
A faint sigh eddied in her ear. The ghostly sound prickled over her skin, and she turned her head.
Beside her, Meg lay sleeping, her face angled toward Kate. Her sister’s loose hair formed a sleek black veil around her pale form. She wore only a thin white chemise, and her breasts rose and fell with her steady breathing.
Kate tried to move, but ice gripped her limbs. No, not ice. Lifting her arms, she realized that her wrists were bound with leather thongs. So were her ankles.
Like her sister, she’d been stripped down to her calf-length chemise. Her legs had been shorn of shoes and stockings. Her hair curled freely in a red-gold cloud down over the edge of the stone slab on which she lay.
Memory slapped Kate, bringing painful clarity to her mind. Meg. Sir Charles. Papa.
Papa...he was alive! Or had she only dreamed their encounter? No, she distinctly recalled his smile of joy upon seeing her, the touch of his ink-stained fingers, the deep lines on his beloved face.
Where was he?
Disciplining her shivers, she rolled onto her side to examine the cave. It looked nothing like the enclosed grotto where her father was imprisoned. Long fingers of rock reached down from the high ceiling. Across the cavern, the glassy black surface of an underground lake reflected the torch lights that were set at intervals in the stone walls. Close to her, several rows of empty stone benches gave the eerie impression of a house of worship.
Then she saw Lucifer.
Stepping out from behind a boulder, the black-robed figure glided toward her. Terror swamped Kate. To keep from screaming, she bit down hard on her lip. His head was hooded, and a pair of wickedly sharp horns sprouted from his forehead. As he drew nearer, she noticed the pewter band that encircled his head, securing the horns in place.
“I see you’re awake,” Sir Charles said.
Rage filled Kate that he could frighten her, even for a moment. That he could imprison her father and beguile her sister. She wanted to leap at him, to scratch out his eyes. But the bonds hobbled her.
He stopped at the foot of the stone slab. His satisfied gaze traveled over her and Meg. “I must beg forgiveness for striking you, Miss Talisford. However, you’ve only a slight bruise. It really won’t matter.”
“Matter?”
“You must be perfect, both of you. Tonight is the eve of May Day. You and Margaret will have the great honor of participating in a ritual sacrifice.” He made a sweeping gesture at the stone wall behind her. “You’ll offer your innocence to the goddess of fertility.”
As she turned her aching head, she noticed a gleam of gold in a rocky niche. The goddess stood proudly, her fingertips touching the huge diamond nestled at the apex of her thighs.
Sacrifice. May Day.
She and Meg lay upon an altar. Sir Charles intended to defile them. He would subject them to a vile parody of the closeness she and Gabriel had shared.
Horror and fury threatened to choke her. Swallowing the sickness in her throat, Kate forced herself to think, to find a way out. In order to accomplish his foul purpose, Sir Charles would have to untie her ankles. Then she’d have her chance. She’d kick him in the face. She’d thrust her knee into his groin. She’d act swiftly, taking him by surprise. It was her only hope.
Out of the shadows, Figgins appeared. He wore a black robe but no horns, his hollow eyes and gaunt features looking as fleshless as a skull. In his hands he carried a silver goblet, which he offered to Sir Charles.
“The potion, master, prepared by the Egyptian wench. ’Tis mixed with yer finest wine.”
“Give it to her.”
The servant approached the altar. His gaze roamed over Kate, his leer making her feel unclean. He held out the cup.
Sir Charles stood watching. “Drink deeply,” he urged. “Soon, you’ll be asleep like your sister. You’ll lie docile and submissive. By the time you awaken, the ceremony will be concluded.”
Figgins pressed the cold metal rim to her lips, forcing a measure of sweet wine into her mouth. She spat it out, spewing the liquid at his bony face. Droplets of red wine fell like blood onto her chemise.
Figgins jumped back. “Hellfire bitch!”
He raised his hand as if to slap her. But Sir Charles caught his arm and shoved him away. “I forbid you to mark her features. Begone now.”
“Ye let me watch the other time. Ye even let me have a go at her when ye was done.”
“Miss Talisford is no tavern slut. Get back upstairs.”
As Figgins reluctantly trudged out, Sir Charles smirked at Kate. “So, Miss Talisford, you choose to stay awake for the ritual. Perhaps you’ll enjoy it.”
She pretended to cower. “Let us go, I beg you. We won’t tell anyone.”
His cultured laughter echoed in the cavern. “Go ahead and tell. No one will believe you’ve been deflowered by Lucifer, then used by two score of his demons.” He tilted his hooded head in a listening pose. “Ah. There they are now.”
The hollow chanting of male voices drifted from a distance. Jolted by panic, Kate realized that other men were descending the webwork of tunnels, making their way down to the cavern.
The Lucifer League.
She had a chance at fighting off Sir Charles. But not an entire throng of attackers.
“Your ceremony will be a sham,” she blurted out in desperation. “I’m no longer a virgin.”
Frowning, Sir Charles stepped closer to the altar. “Liar. You’re as pure as Margaret.”
“No,” she said fiercely. “I’ve given myself to Lord Gabriel. So you may as well untie me. I’m of no use to you.”
The dirge of deep voices neared the chamber. She prayed he would heed her. It was her only chance.
The disbelief on the baron’s face altered to a livid rage. “You let that scoundrel swive you?” he said, his voice vibrating with fury. “I honored you with my finest accommodations. I commanded my men to leave you be. I guarded your chastity so that I could have you first.”
“Well, you’ve failed,” Kate said. “Your plan is worthless now. But if you release me, I won’t tell anyone what you’ve done.”
His mouth twisted. “You must be punished. I’ll call Figgins back. Let him have you—”
“The horns suit you, Damson,” Gabriel’s voice rang out. “At last you’re showing your true nature.”
Sir Charles wheeled around, his robe flapping.
Struck by a thunderbolt of hope, Kate saw Gabriel standing beside the inky expanse of the underground lake. The dueling pistol gleamed in his hand. The sight of him, his face hard and dangerous, filled her with exultation.
Motioning with the long barrel of the gun, Gabriel said, “Step back now. She belongs to me.”
“No! My men are coming. You can’t fight all of us.”
“Bickell and Ashraf will intercept them. I’ll take care of you myself. Now walk slowly. Should you make one false move, I’ll shoot to kill.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Sir Charles blustered. “You won’t risk striking her ... your slut.”
Gabriel’s jaw tightened. “Move!”
Sir Charles started to sidle away. Abruptly, he dove behind the altar, using the great stone monolith as a shield. Kate could hear his feral, panting breaths. Across the cave, Gabriel started toward them, keeping to the shelter of the boulders alo
ngside the lake.
Kate squirmed, wriggling herself to the verge of the altar. She could see the baron’s hood and horns. If she could incapacitate him somehow ...
Then Sir Charles drew a pistol from inside his robe. She saw the shiny barrel flash in the torchlight as he whipped out his arm. His finger curled around the trigger. In a frenzy, she kicked out with her bound feet to knock off his aim. She hit his arm, heard him curse.
Too late.
The shot deafened her, reverberating through the cave. The bullet struck Gabriel and his body stiffened from the impact, his gun falling into the shallows.
Staggering backward, he toppled into the lake. Water splashed as he disappeared beneath the black surface.
The Renegade Demon
Kate struggled to sit up, her frantic gaze anchored to the widening ripples. But Gabriel didn’t reappear. He had vanished into the cold, dark waters.
“He’s dead,” Sir Charles said with glee as he threw aside the gun and straightened his robe. “If my shot didn’t kill him, he’ll drown.”
A disbelieving horror throbbed in Kate. She could scarcely breathe for the tightness in her breast, for the crushing sense of loss. Gabriel.
At the far end of the cavern, a throng of hooded men poured through the natural arch of a doorway. Like Sir Charles, they wore horns and black robes. Their chanting had ceased, and their agitation proved that they’d heard the gunshot.
Where were Ashraf and Bickell? Had they, too, been killed?
“You’ll hang for this,” Kate said, her voice tight with anguish. “For murder. For abduction. For all your unspeakable crimes.”
Sir Charles bared his teeth in a grin. “And who will tell the tale? Certainly not you or your lovely sister.”
He intended to kill her and Meg, she thought numbly. After he and his minions were finished with their monstrous rite.
The men surged toward the altar. A clamor of indistinguishable voices echoed in the vast chamber. Wanting to protect Meg, Kate edged closer to her unconscious sister and tried not to sink into a mire of grief and despair.