The Lady's Command (Adventurers Quartet #1)

by Stephanie Laurens

  Eager to be doing, Edwina climbed into the carriage and settled on the seat. When Declan sat beside her and the carriage started off, she could barely contain her smile. While she was keen to learn whether the priestess could give them more details about Undoto and the missing people, the principal source of her inner joy was Declan’s acceptance of her position by his side. Of her right to be there, to share in all aspects of this venture—in all aspects of his life.

  She’d assumed the priestess would live in one of the more peaceful areas of the settlement, but after traveling down Tower Hill, Dench turned the carriage east. Soon, they’d left the commercial district behind. Rather than turning toward the section of the settlement where Undoto’s church lay, Dench continued east at an increasingly slow and difficult pace. The farther they rumbled, the more rutted the road became, and the more dilapidated and crowded the dwellings.

  Eventually, the carriage turned, and they headed slightly uphill, away from the coast. Almost immediately, the carriage halted.

  “Wait here.” Declan swung open the door and stepped outside, shutting the door behind him.

  Leaning forward, Edwina peered out, trying to get some idea of their surroundings. The light was fading fast in that precipitous way night fell in the tropics. “A decent twilight would be helpful,” she muttered, but that wasn’t going to happen.

  About them, deepening shadows cloaked a jumble of tumbledown houses, many little more than shacks. They weren’t quite wretched hovels, but they were a far cry from any English cottage.

  The road seemed to have ended; she squinted forward, but could see no obvious street or even path ahead.

  She could hear Declan speaking in a low voice to Dench and Billings, who had come along as a footman-guard. Although she couldn’t make out every word, she gathered that neither Declan nor his men had previously been in this area and hadn’t known they were bringing her to such a potentially dangerous place. Their discussion revolved on how best to keep her safe.

  Several tense seconds later, Declan opened the door; standing framed in the doorway, he met her gaze. “I don’t suppose you would consent to remain here.”

  She studied what little she could read in his face. “Do you honestly imagine I would be safer here without you than I would be with you?” Besides, she wasn’t about to let him go into that jumble of shacks to hunt down a vodun priestess alone.

  His jaw firmed until it looked as if it were carved of stone. “The priestess lives among her people.” With a tip of his head, he indicated the conglomeration of dwellings behind him. “In there.”

  Glancing past him, Edwina saw a native woman swathed in colorful shawls slip between two houses and disappear. She looked closer. The narrow gap through which the woman had gone was the opening to a path barely wide enough to be called an alley; as she watched, a man came striding out. He checked and studied the carriage, but then he looked away and continued walking down toward the shore.

  Declan had followed her gaze. “She lives in the center of that warren, most of the way up the hill. That path leads to her door.”

  “Well, then.” Edwina shifted forward on the seat and held out her hand. “Apparently, that’s the path we have to take.”

  Declan swung back to look at her; he’d caught the multiple layers of implication in the simple words. After a second’s hesitation—a moment of internal debate—his lips set, and he reached out and gripped her hand. “Has anyone ever told you you’re an exceedingly stubborn woman?”

  “Yes. Quite a lot of people, actually.” After he’d assisted her down from the carriage, she slipped her fingers free and shook out her skirts. Straightening, she cast a more comprehensive glance around.

  The track of a street Dench had been following ended in a cul-de-sac of beaten earth. Wedged cheek by jowl, dwellings rose ahead and to either side; for the carriage, the only way out was the way they had come. The area was dimly lit by a few smoky torches set in crude supports propped far apart. The flickering light illuminated the façades of the closely packed buildings in a haphazard way; shifting fingers of darkness constantly painted the scene.

  There were people in the buildings, some leaning out of windows or sitting on the rough stoops, others gathered in small groups on what passed for front porches. Although no one had reacted to their presence, Edwina was perfectly certain every eye was trained on them.

  Raising her gaze to Declan’s face, she arched her brows.

  His expression one of grim determination, he took her elbow and turned toward the opening through which the shawl-draped woman had gone. Quietly, he said, “Dench will turn the carriage and wait for us here. But in this area, a carriage and horses has significant value, so Billings has to remain with Dench. The fact that we’re going to see the priestess should—and that’s definitely a should—protect us from harm.”

  Edwina nodded and concentrated on their surroundings. Declan was doing the same. She was glad she’d decided to don her blue carriage dress in place of her day gown; the thicker fabric would afford her more protection in rough surroundings and also through any unexpected danger.

  They reached the opening to the path. Declan slid his hand down her arm, grasped her hand, and led the way between the first buildings. She’d wondered whether the path would open up once they were past the entrance, but no; it continued barely wide enough for two people to pass. It wasn’t straight, either, but snaked back and forth as it slowly ascended the hill to which the ramshackle houses clung. After the first houses, all subsequent dwellings had what appeared to be front doors that opened directly onto the alley. After they’d passed the first four houses, she glanced back and discovered she could no longer see the entrance to the path, much less the area beyond it.

  Facing forward, she continued walking close by Declan’s side. He wasn’t striding out but keeping his paces short enough so that she could easily keep up. He was also doing his best to look everywhere at once.

  The further they went, the more the houses seemed to close around them, until it felt as if they were walking through a maze with solid walls.

  They came to an intersection with another, if anything even narrower, path. Declan paused only to confirm the way was clear, then he strode through the intersection and continued on.

  She squeezed his hand and whispered, “Do you know where we’re going?”

  “Her door is on this path and is painted red. Apparently, it’s the only red door in the entire warren.”

  Reassured, she kept her gaze trained ahead, searching for the red door.

  They walked steadily for more than fifteen minutes before they spotted it.

  Declan paused outside the brilliantly bright red door, then glanced at Edwina. “Ready?”

  Her gaze on the door, she nodded.

  He wound her arm with his, drawing her closer still, then raised his free hand and rapped on the door.

  A wizened old woman of indeterminate age opened the door. She looked out at them without any expression at all.

  Edwina spoke before he could. “We don’t have an appointment, but we would very much like to speak with the priestess.” When the old woman didn’t immediately respond, Edwina added, her tone supplicatory, “It’s vitally important we speak with her tonight.”

  The woman studied Edwina, then shifted her gaze to him. Her scrutiny reminded him of the grandes dames of the ton—and even more of his mother.

  Finally, the woman stepped back and tipped her head deeper into the house. “Come.”

  Edwina smiled brightly and stepped forward; he slid his arm from hers, caught her hand, and followed her inside.

  The corridor beyond the door was narrow and cramped, and entirely unadorned. The woman closed the door, then squeezed past them. She beckoned them on; she led them to an archway giving onto a small room to the right. Looking over Edwina’s head, he saw three women and an older man seated on low sofas draped in the locally crafted brightly hued shawls.

  “You wait here with the others.” The wo
man waved them into the room. “I will tell her.”

  Without even asking their names, the woman walked away down the corridor; he and Edwina watched until shadows swallowed her.

  They shared a single glance, then together stepped forward. He had to duck under the lintel; straightening, he took in what was plainly a waiting room of sorts. The other occupants studied them, but did not appear to find anything strange about their presence. Edwina tugged his sleeve, and when he glanced her way, she nodded toward a love seat set beneath the window overlooking the alley.

  He escorted her to the love seat, waited until she sat, then sat beside her. From his position, if he turned his head, he could see the section of the alley before the priestess’s red door. They’d passed a dozen or more people on their hike up the hill, but the higher they had climbed, the fewer passersby they’d encountered; there was presently no one in sight in the darkened alley.

  A door opened and closed somewhere in the house, and then came a quiet exchange. Seconds later, the old woman reappeared in the doorway and beckoned one of the women who’d been waiting. The woman rose and, resettling her shawl about her, followed the old woman deeper into the house.

  They had to wait their turn while the priestess tended her flock. Eventually, however, they were the only ones left in the waiting room. Again, they heard the sound of a door opening and shutting. They looked to the doorway, expecting the old woman to appear and beckon them as she had all the others.

  Instead, a distinctly brisker, more decisive step sounded on the old floorboards, then a very different woman halted under the lintel of the open door.

  She had to be the priestess, Edwina decided. The woman was of average height, with a wealth of curly black hair that sprang from her head in profusion and hung in elbow-length curls over her shoulders and back. Her skin was a rich ebony, her eyes equally dark, her gaze compelling. Full lips completed a face of remarkable strength; the priestess projected an aura of reined feminine power that was impossible to miss.

  Edwina didn’t remember rising, but she and Declan had both come to their feet.

  The priestess’s gaze roved over Declan, resting for a second on the sword belted at his hip, then her gaze shifted and traveled even more slowly, more intently, over Edwina.

  She parted her lips on a respectful greeting, but the priestess silenced her with an abruptly raised hand.

  “You may save your breath.” The priestess’s voice was low and husky; although clear, her words carried the warmth of an exotic accent. Her gaze, however, was hard and unfriendly. “I do not know who sent you here, but you were misled.” The priestess’s eyes flashed. “I will not assist you in getting rid of your baby. Life is precious—even more here than in the cities from which you come. Babies are God’s gift, and I will have no part in ending such an innocent life—”

  “What?” Edwina finally succeeded in finding her tongue. Irritated—frankly insulted—she brusquely shook her head. “No. We’re not here for…”

  Her words died as she suddenly realized what hadn’t occurred on their journey south. She refocused on the priestess’s eyes; the woman met her gaze, then, brows arching, looked assessingly at her again, her gaze lowering to Edwina’s stomach.

  Instinctively, she placed a protective hand over the still-flat expanse. Abruptly, she felt cold, then flushed, then decidedly giddy. Definitely shaky. She gripped Declan’s arm—the only solid thing within reach—as, at least in her mind, her world reeled.

  A child! She was carrying Declan’s child!

  She looked at him, and he met her gaze. His eyes had widened. His hand closed over hers and gripped.

  Seconds passed as they stared at each other, realizing, assimilating—finally knowing. How the priestess had known, Edwina had no clue, but they knew, too; they simply hadn’t thought of it, hadn’t counted, hadn’t realized.

  Spontaneously, irrepressibly, she smiled joyously, and so did Declan—a moment of supreme, all-but-incandescent shared delight.

  The moment stretched, resonating between them…yet neither had forgotten where they were or why they were there. Gazes locked, they each drew breath, reined in their burgeoning happiness, then, now hand in hand, they faced the priestess again.

  Edwina had no idea what their expressions displayed, but the priestess studied them both.

  The silence stretched for a moment more, then the priestess frowned, it seemed at herself rather than at them. “I apologize.” Her tone had softened. “You did not know.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “No.” Declan sounded as flabbergasted as Edwina still felt. “You’ll have to excuse us—it was something of a shock…” His voice trailed away.

  Then he shook himself and glanced at Edwina. She saw both joy and faint apology in his eyes, then he turned back to the priestess. “Thank you for telling us—for making us realize. Although we’d like nothing more than to celebrate our new knowledge, that wasn’t why we’ve come to see you, and we have limited time. We’re here to seek your help on a serious and potentially grave matter.”

  “Indeed?” Again, the priestess studied them, this time with more wariness. “And this serious and potentially grave matter is?”

  “The people who’ve gone missing.” Edwina stepped forward; she met the priestess’s dark gaze. “We understand that you spoke to Reverend Hardwicke about your concerns. My husband and I have an interest in learning as much as we can about what’s behind these apparently inexplicable disappearances.”

  Again, the priestess regarded them measuringly for several long moments.

  Edwina held her breath and kept a confident but candid expression on her face.

  Finally, the priestess glanced toward the window to the alley. “This is not a discussion we should have in full view of the world. Come to my office.”

  With that, she turned and led the way out of the room and down the long corridor.

  Edwina hurried behind the priestess, Declan at her heels.

  The priestess led them to a door at the end of the hall. She opened it and walked into a small, airless chamber that reminded Edwina of a medical man’s consulting room. This room had skulls and bones displayed about the walls, too, as well as various animal fetishes, tasseled spears with carved shafts, and other ceremonial items, including several fearsome-looking scimitar-like swords and a collection of daggers. The room was smoky; a curious incense seemed to permeate the space. Edwina glimpsed a polished bowl in a corner, the contents of which were gently smoldering.

  Strengthening the similarity between her office and a doctor’s rooms, the priestess rounded a heavy wooden desk and sat in the chair behind it. She waved to the pair of rattan-and-cane chairs before the desk. “Sit.” To Declan she said, “Please close the door.”

  He did, then returned to take the chair beside Edwina’s.

  Sitting rigidly upright, the priestess placed her hands, palms flat, on the desk and regarded Edwina and Declan, looking from one to the other as if seeking some sign. Eventually, she confided, “After speaking with your minister—supposedly a man of God—and having him dismiss all I said as fanciful… Although I admit he did not use that word to my face, I could see that that was what he thought. After that, I did not expect to hear anything more from your people about those going missing. I was given the impression that those missing were consigned to being forgotten, and that in the opinion of your leaders, there was nothing to be done.”

  Declan said, his voice even yet imbued with the innate authority of a man who commanded, “Those missing have not been forgotten, although I concede that their disappearances have been overlooked by those in authority here. I assure you that that isn’t the case with the ultimate authorities farther afield. What I—and my wife—are here to do is to offer you another chance to alter the current situation.”

  Edwina leaned forward, laying a hand on the desk. “If you will share with us what you know, my husband and I are in a position to ensure your knowledge is communicated to those with the power to e
ffect change here.”

  Declan kept his gaze trained on the priestess’s face and held back the impulse to add further assurances to those Edwina and he had already made. The priestess would either trust them or not, and more fervent assurances from them would only make them look weak—not the sort of people who could deliver what, he suspected, the priestess sought.

  After another long minute of studying them—no doubt waiting for them to speak further—the priestess nodded. “Very well.” She paused as if gathering her thoughts, then said, “I am called Lashoria—I am a priestess of the vodun gods. As such, I am sworn by those gods to act for my people—for their good in all things, in all ways. I expect the ministers of the other gods—like your Hardwicke—to follow a similar creed, and largely I have found that to be so. However, in this settlement, there is now one who claims to be God-chosen, who follows his own path and seeks riches only for himself, not for his people, not for any god.”

  Lashoria fixed her dark gaze on Declan. “I am speaking of Obo Undoto.” The emotion with which she imbued the man’s name went far beyond dislike and solidly into hate. “He came here nearly a year ago. At first, he was merely another priest, another church.” She shrugged. “We are tolerant here—there is room for all. So we all thought. But after some time, once Obo Undoto had attracted his congregation, things changed. He became”—she raised her hands up and outward—“bigger. As a man who has found his calling grows big. Confident. Swaggering.”

  Lashoria paused, then went on, “It was about that time that, one by one, people started disappearing.”

  Edwina tipped her head. “We’ve only heard of Europeans vanishing. Have some of your people vanished, too?”

  Lashoria shook her head. “None of my people have vanished, but it was my people who brought me word. They do not like that Obo Undoto risks creating bad feelings between the Europeans and us. My people fear what will happen when he and his associates make a mistake, and the English governor and the major at the fort and the admiral of the navy retaliate.