Love Me Once (The Infamous Forresters Book 3)

by Eliza Lloyd

  Shelene pushed from the table and hurried to the back of the house and into the large gardens, full of vegetables, flowers, shrubs, fountains and benches. There were also stairs that led downward to different levels. Standing at the top, she should have been able to see them. Anyone. A movement caught her gaze, but it was just some of Sakina’s grandchildren weeding the garden.

  Tears flooded her eyes. Something was wrong. She couldn’t say what it was, but she felt it in her bones. She hurried back to the house, standing near the tinkling fountain. Where could they be?

  She heard shouting in the outer court and glanced up to see Roman coming out of her room, dressed in trousers and shirt only.

  He smiled down but stopped abruptly, hands braced against the iron rail. “What is it?” he asked.

  “Tono. I can’t find him. Or Durra or Mrs. Johns.”

  He turned away and walked into Antonio’s room. Shelene turned a circle before Roman came out of the room and hurried toward the stairs. The double doors crashed open. Brahim hurried in. “Señora Forrester. Where’s Señor Forrester?”

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. Roman was at her side, his hand slid to her waist. Brahim twisted his hands, his lips were pressed into a hard line.

  “Speak, man,” Roman said.

  “Mrs. Johns. I found her in one of the stables.”

  Shelene escaped from Roman’s light grip, grabbed her skirt and ran out the door. The bright light blinded her for a moment before she headed to the large open washing yard and into the coach house beside the paddock.

  Roman and Brahim were behind her. A group of stable hands were in the first stall. Mrs. Johns lay in the straw. One of the stable hands held Mrs. Johns up, gripping her shoulders. She was sobbing lightly. There was a splotch of blood at her temple.

  Shelene flew to Mrs. Johns side. “What’s happened, Mrs. Johns?”

  “Oh,” she said. “Oh, Señora Forrester! Something terrible.”

  “She can tell us in the house,” Roman said, pushing the stable hands out of the way and bending to scoop up Mrs. Johns. “Brahim, hurry, tell Sakina what has happened.”

  “No, wait.” Mrs. Johns reached for Shelene and gripped her hand. “He took Antonio. You have to find him. I tried to—he is a wicked man!”

  “Who, Mrs. Johns? Who took him?” Roman asked. Shelene glanced at him, seeing the Lion of England emerge in a most terrifying way. Steely eyes, stern jaw and an iron will. He didn’t seem to notice that anyone was with him, but his mind was already formulating a plan.

  “Father Etienne! And he took Durra, too. Durra said she would take care of Antonio. She promised.”

  “Did he say what he wanted, Mrs. Johns? What did he say?”

  “He said don’t follow. He said don’t interfere and Antonio won’t be hurt.”

  “Roman?” Shelene pled, grabbing his arm.

  “Brahim, check with everyone and find out if they saw anything. Were they on horses, which direction they went? You! Saddle all the horses in the upper paddock. Send a man up to the hill and tell them every abled bodied man is to be here in thirty minutes and carrying ammunition.” Roman asked no more questions but scooped up Mrs. Johns and marched toward the house. Shelene watched as everyone scurried away to do Roman’s bidding. She ran behind him feeling useless, angry and frightened. Her heart ached in a new and terrible way. God protect my son!

  Roman carried Mrs. Johns to Antonio’s room, where there was a trundle for his nannies when they needed to rest. Shelene braced herself at the doorway, watching things unfold, knowing she was powerless to save her own son. Sakina and another of her granddaughters came into the room. Immediately, Shelene was relieved to see Mrs. Johns was coherent and sitting up, assisting in her own doctoring.

  Roman left then, walking right by her.

  “Roman! Wait!”

  “There isn’t time, Shelene. I have to go. I will get my son back.”

  All her fears returned but magnified by the loss of her son. Roman leaving without her. Roman off on an unknown mission, with unknown dangers and unknown duration. Just like he always did.

  She reached for his arm. “He’s my son, too!”

  “Not now, Shelene. Every minute counts. Find your father and let him know what’s happened.”

  “Find my father?” She hurried in front of him and pressed her hands to his chest. “How dare you come back into my life then pretend I don’t exist. You barely know our son. You barely know me! You are the reason this has happened, and you think you are the answer to solving this crisis? A mother’s plea is what will save my son, not your delusional bravado.”

  “What do you want from me? Antonio is in grave danger. The valley is in grave danger. I need to put a stop to it before anyone else is hurt.”

  He tried to step around her, but she shoved hard against him. “I can ride as well as any man on the estate. I can shoot. Take me with you.”

  “My God, Shelene. Do you think I will be able to live with myself if something happens to you as well?”

  She shoved again to keep his attention. He blew out an exasperated breath, staring down at her. Fierceness welled her, like she had never experienced. She would not be told no. “Do you still have your father’s Boutet pistols?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Have you used them lately?”

  “Every month.”

  He clenched his jaw. “Be outside in twenty minutes or I leave without you.”

  A hard knot formed in her chest. She nodded then ran down the balcony to her room, ripping off her skirts, pantaloons and her shirt, leaving her corset. She didn’t hesitate. She found the black trousers she’d had made for riding and farm work that fit tight like a glove. She had a gray linen shirt that should be pressed but who would notice a few wrinkles looking at her over the length of a flintlock. She stepped into her leather outdoor boots that protected to below her knees.

  The French Boutet pistols were secure in the lower drawer of her wardrobe. Father had remained mum about how he’d obtained the gift, but she believed it had to do with having mercy upon a French captain and his ship. Once upon a time.

  She pulled out the mahogany box. The powder horn went around her neck and shoulder. The lead shot bag, an extra ram, some cloth patches, and the pistols went into a leather pouch she slung over her shoulder. She could load when they stopped for a rest. Clarity was a strange thing—it had never been clearer why Roman said the things he did. Shelene understood now that she could kill someone when her child was threatened.

  She cinched a belt at her waist, wrapped a kerchief at her neck and grabbed her bolero hat. Roman’s jacket and hat were still perched where he’d left them last night, so she grabbed them too.

  When she got to the outdoor courtyard, Roman stood with her father and Brahim. Several horses were saddled and waiting. Thundering hooves sounded and several more riders galloped in, coming to a hard stop and kicking up dust.

  Oliver led the second group and dismounted, looking more robust than he had in the past several weeks. He marched toward Roman but stopped when he saw her. She tried to smile.

  “I’m so sorry, Shelene. We’ll do all we can to find him.”

  “Oliver, are you sure you are prepared for a strenuous ride?”

  “No. Are you?” He pulled her into a brotherly embrace. “Don’t worry. Roman is here. He knows what needs to be done.”

  Roman saw them together and approached. “Oliver.”

  “Hello, brother.”

  “I would feel immensely better if the two of you stayed at Las Colinas.” Shelene handed him his jacket and hat, which he accepted with a tight smile.

  “Save your breath. Let’s find my nephew,” Oliver said. Shelene appreciated his strength in standing up to his much more fearsome brother.

  Roman looked at Shelene. “Please,” he said.

  “I must go. Brahim? Where’s Maymun? Does he know?” Durra’s husband would surely want to be part of the group.

  “Sayidati, he and s
ome of the others took the wagons to Cadiz for supplies. You are not to worry about anything but Antonio.”

  She nodded, turned away and walked to the mounting block. Udad must have selected the horses—all sure-footed Galicians that could endure the mountains and valleys of the estate’s terrain.

  Once in her saddle, she pulled out her leather case and utensils, loading her pistols. “I’m ready.”

  * * * * *

  The horses were nervous, prancing and edging sideways into the horses beside them. It was a reflection of the group’s unease.

  “Oliver, when we get to the water, I want you and Shelene to take the west trail.” Roman had described to the riders what he wanted to happen. How he wanted to find Belgrano and ended this heartless mercenary’s ways—and how cowardly—to bring his own family into the fray. Most importantly, he must keep Antonio and Durra from being harmed.

  Rousseau was a good tracker and led the group, following a certain set of hooves with a marker on one of the iron horseshoes. Oliver pulled his horse to a stop beside Roman and allowed the others to pass, including Shelene who looked back at them, brows raised. Oliver leaned on his saddle horn, and said, “Do not bring me into your marital discord. If you promised to take Shelene, then you take her the distance. Or is it that you think we are the weakest links in this merry band?”

  “You would question me when my son is in jeopardy? Now isn’t the time. And yes, you two are the weakest and may put the rest of us in the most peril. Am I supposed to look over my shoulder worrying about your safety? Am I supposed to be happy about that?”

  “The answer is no. I will stay where I am most useful, and that’s on a horse with a rifle in my hand. If you are going to send her on a fool’s errand while her son is God-knows-where, then you will be the one to tell her and why.” Oliver clicked his tongue and tapped the horses’ flanks, galloping ahead to meet the group again.

  Roman glanced across the valley. Even as he was carrying Mrs. Johns into the house, his mind had been racing. Why Father Etienne and what did he have to do with this? Her uncle was involved. Somehow. Was the priest part of a larger conspiracy to overthrow the monarchy? Father Etienne was a Jesuit, an order steeped in political intrigue, deception and revolution, when necessary.

  It should be no surprise that the two subversives found each other. So, which one was the mastermind? It had to be Belgrano. Why choose Las Colinas and the valley otherwise?

  He rarely moved forward without a clear plan, but what could one do when one’s son added an element of fear and extreme uncertainty to the complicated equation? He’d acted and now he was filled with doubt. Roman removed his bolero and wiped his arm across his brow before he tapped his horse and caught up.

  The caves were the only possible place they could be hiding. The area wasn’t widely visited or well-known.

  A pall fell over the riders. All sat tall in the saddle, gazes searching out the light and shadows around them. They neared the crossroads. Rousseau, in the lead, turned his horse in a circle, examining the dusty ground below him. “They aren’t going toward the caves. The hooves on our horse went toward Arco de la Frontera.”

  “Not toward the caves?”

  “No, but there are several sets heading that direction, just not the same horse we’ve been tracking.”

  “What d’ya want us to do, León?” Dewey asked.

  “Roman, Father Etienne says mass every day at eleven. He is there. I know it,” Shelene said.

  “Only a Jesuit,” Roman muttered under his breath. “All right. Shelene and I will ride to Arco de la Frontera. The rest of you to the caves. Rousseau is in charge. Do what he says when he says it. Rousseau, stop them. Whoever they are. Whatever they are doing.”

  Roman watched as they galloped away. Anger coursed through his veins.

  He sensed Shelene draw next to him. “Will Antonio be there?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He tapped his horse’s flanks and they cantered away and toward the town, Shelene at his side. What could he say to her? The mother of his son? This was his fault for not taking the matter as seriously as he should have. How had he turned a blind eye to the obvious wickedness of the man who had delivered the false news of his death? Had terrorized Spain’s and France’s citizens? Had betrayed family honor, lied, cheated, murdered. There was a reason he’d been in prison.

  There was no reason he should have been allowed to stay at Las Colinas, poisoning every well he drank from.

  “Roman.”

  “Shelene,” he said at the same time, pulling his horse to a stop. “This is my fault.”

  “No! It’s mine. You warned me. Repeatedly.”

  “I dealt with this sort of element every day of my life for the past fifteen years. I should have known where his malevolence would lead. I should have done more to protect you and Antonio.” He leaned toward her, gripping her horse’s reins. “Whatever happens, it is my responsibility.”

  He watched tears flood her eyes. “I couldn’t bear losing him. We must find our son.”

  “I won’t stop until we do.”

  They rode again, Roman pushing them hard the short distance to the town.

  When the horses’ hooves clacked against the stone pavers, they slowed. Shelene followed behind him. They were known by many in Arco de la Frontera. Roman nodded, but they didn’t stop to converse. The church was in the town square ahead of them. He glanced left and right. Tension built in his body.

  There did not seem to be anything unusual amongst the town folk. The butcher was outside his shopping arguing with a farmer over the price of two cows. The baker stacked fresh loaves in a bin at his shop door. Three boys shepherded twenty or so sheep through the street, accompanied by a small dog.

  They dismounted in front of the church. Roman took Shelene’s hand. “Don’t be afraid.”

  “I am afraid, but not for the reason you think. If I kill a priest in his own church, I don’t know if there is any forgiveness for my soul.”

  “If that is so, what does a priest say at heaven’s gate when he explains his premature death is because he kidnapped an innocent child? If there is a God—”

  “Roman, don’t say such a thing.”

  “I was going to say, if there is a God, he knows exactly what will happen in the next few minutes. I don’t think anyone is going to have to explain on judgment day.”

  They started up the stone stairs. As Roman stepped into the church, he saw Shelene pull one of the flintlocks from her leather pouch. “Leave it,” he whispered. “For now.” He peeked through the doors to see the church had only ten women seated in the nave, scattered and in their own spiritual world.

  He glanced back at Shelene. “Father Etienne is still saying mass.”

  “Do you see Durra or Antonio?”

  “No,” he said, closing the door quietly.

  “We need to go in,” she said.

  He leaned against the door and heaved a deep breath. “Would you be willing to go in alone? And sit up front?”

  “This is all wrong. Why would Father bring them here knowing he has to say mass? And why would he be so careless to let it be known he was the one who took Antonio?”

  “It may be wrong, but we aren’t going to learn anything until we talk to him.”

  Shelene pressed her hand to her chest.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know. I feel giddy. Anxious. I want to laugh at the absurdity and cry with grief. What’s wrong with me?” She bent over. Roman ran his hand over her back.

  “Take a breath. Going into battle, untried men are often weak with fear.”

  “You are not afraid?”

  “I’m terrified. Strong men are afraid too, but they often have experience on their side.”

  “If this is how one gets experience, I never want to leave Las Colinas again.”

  “Shelene, I know one thing: your uncle is not so stupid as to harm Antonio. Our son is being used for leverage, for distraction. Let’s walk around and
come in through the sacristy. We’ll wait for Father Etienne there.”

  He took Shelene’s hand and led her along the cobble street. “You see, for all of your uncle’s wickedness, he does want to live to see another day. If he is caught and imprisoned by the king’s men, he will outlive a sentence or he will escape. However, if I catch him and there is one hair on my son’s head missing, he will die. Thus, he must have a very clear reason to take such a gamble and it isn’t to die at the end of my flintlock barrel. Though he would certainly be happy to kill me in the process.” Her hand clenched in his. “Don’t worry. It won’t happen.”

  When they arrived at the back of the church, the wooden door was unsecured. “Wait a minute,” he said and slipped into the church, assured that the sacristy was empty. There was another door leading to the chancel. He pressed his ear to it first and heard the priest chanting in Latin. He opened the door to the chancel and altar, peeking through. Yes. Only ten minutes or less to wait. Although he still liked the idea of Shelene walking up the aisle and sitting in the front row. That would have scared the shit out of the man.

  He left the chancel and went outdoors again. Shelene leaned against the wall, head down, eyes closed, and fingers clasped together. He didn’t want to interrupt her prayer.

  When she stared into his eyes, he could see the fire had returned. Father Etienne was about to be confronted by a mother’s wrath.

  He led her inside and made her sit on the wooden chair nearest the door. She would also be the first person Father Etienne saw when he walked into the sacristy.

  Shelene’s gaze stayed on the door, waiting for the creaking sound of its opening.

  Roman had taken a place on the opposite wall, where the chancel door’s opening would keep him out of sight for a moment or two. Tension mounted. Shelene sat up, back straight, when she heard the final words of the mass. She glanced at him and pointed to her pistol. Roman shook his head, drawing his own but leaving his arm dangle at his side.

  A few moments later, the door opened, and the priest stepped in. Roman heard him gasp. “Señora Forrester,” he said, his voice shaking with surprise and fear.