Enchantment & Bridge of Dreams

by Christina Skye

  “But you can’t just—”

  “Stay.”

  She didn’t hear him slip away. As always, he moved in utter silence. All Cathlin felt was a whisper of wind against her skin.

  Her heart pounded as she crouched in the darkness of the ancient cellars, thinking about death and betrayal, about nightmares that wouldn’t stay buried.

  Thinking about ghosts past and present and a sad and lonely man named Gabriel.

  Her senses were screaming and her nerves stretched to the breaking point when she finally heard the hiss of a match being struck. Through the neatly stacked rows of bottles Cathlin made out a shadowed figure bent over one of the wine racks. She was inching closer when she heard bone strike flesh. The wine racks shivered with the impact of a blow. But there were no words, no voices at all. Only later would Cathlin realize the significance of that silence, the mark of two professionals who gave nothing away even in the direst circumstances.

  Cathlin didn’t stop to think about what she was doing next. She reached deep, calling up her memory of the cellars. Before her were three rows of claret and a row of Madeira.

  The muffled thud of bodies grew louder as Cathlin worked through the darkness. She felt a ridge of wood at her feet, a small wooden step stool pushed out of reach.

  Her hands closed around the rough wooden legs. It would be heavy enough to deal a stunning blow, if only she could figure out where Dominic was.

  She took a breath and then repeated one of Dominic’s French curses, one of the few she had understood. She heard a quick gasp. Close by, a harsh voice, raw with pain, grated out an answering curse.

  Dominic was slightly to her right, next to a rack full of priceless claret. Cathlin waited, praying, then she hurled the footstool with all her strength.

  After a satisfying crack, Cathlin heard a sharp curse, followed by footsteps. Glass shattered and a shoulder rammed into her chest. She gasped as a hard body shoved her to the ground and charged off into the darkness.

  “Cathlin, are you there? Talk to me, damn it!”

  “I—I’m fine, Dominic.” Cathlin clenched her teeth against the pain in her side. “I think he’s gone.”

  Nearby a match flared. Cathlin frowned as she saw Dominic propped up against one of the wine racks. His jacket was gone and his cuff was splashed with blood.

  “You idiot,” Cathlin sputtered. “You complete and utter idiot.”

  “Don’t get upset, Irish. Some of this blood is his.” Dominic’s fingers tightened. “Though maybe not so much as I’d like. I see you inflicted a little damage yourself.” He frowned down at the glass splinters spread over the floor.

  “Who was he?”

  “I don’t know, but he was good. Too bloody good for any amateur thief.” Grimacing, he headed for the stairs.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Going after him. It’s my job, remember?”

  NICHOLAS WAS PACING THE drawing room, looking grim, when Dominic returned. “Did you find anything?”

  “Footprints leading to tire tracks. Not much help, I’m afraid. At least you managed to get the electricity working again.”

  Nicholas rubbed his neck. “Someone had thrown the circuit breaker. Obviously, the news is out, and we’re going to have to take some precautions. What do you suggest?”

  “You need a new alarm system up and running by tomorrow. I know a man in London who can handle it. We’ll also have to establish some other procedures. I want to know where everyone is at all times.” He looked at Cathlin, who was sitting pale but composed next to Marston. “That means at all times, understood? I’ll arrange to have radio transmitters for each of us.” He turned to Marston. “Nothing goes in or out without my seeing it first. Not books, not groceries, not a single matchstick.”

  “Understood, Lord Ashton.”

  “I have a question,” Cathlin said tightly. “When are you going to do something about that blood on your cuff?”

  “Later.” Dominic’s voice was hard. “Any more questions? No? Then go up and rest. Nicholas and I will take watch down here until I can get someone to help in the morning.”

  “YOU’RE BLEEDING AGAIN.”

  Cathlin frowned as she followed Dominic out into the hallway.

  No answer.

  “Dominic, you can’t just go around bleeding on everything.”

  Still no answer.

  Cathlin grabbed his uninjured arm and pulled him to a halt. There were lines of tension at his mouth and forehead, lines he couldn’t hope to conceal. Her eyes widened with disbelief as she ran her fingers over the front of his jacket.

  It was wet with blood. “So when were you planning to do something about this?”

  Dominic shrugged. “You’ll be the first to know.”

  “It’s all a game to you, isn’t it? All about seeing who’s faster or smarter or braver. Well, I’m not playing. Not now. Not ever.” Her eyes were dark and haunted. “I’ve already lost one man I loved that way, you see.”

  RESTLESS AND UNABLE TO sleep, Dominic stood on the middle of the stone bridge, rubbing his neck. All the entries and exits were in good shape. Only two windows needed new locks and rewiring for the upgraded laser security system.

  Now he had to try the places that weren’t so obvious. He looked out over the darkened hills, trying to think with the mind of a man who would do anything to possess the wine in the abbey cellars.

  A thief would automatically assume electronic protection was in place and look for a way to cut it. Next he’d go for backup generators—which Draycott didn’t have. After that, he’d go for the bodyguard.

  Dominic’s eyes hardened. Being a target didn’t frighten him. He’d done it too often before to be afraid of a bullet he couldn’t prepare for. But the thought that he might fail and allow Cathlin to be hurt scared the living hell out of him.

  Abruptly he turned. “Nicholas?” he called, scanning the darkness behind him.

  No answer. Nothing moved amid the shadows.

  Dominic inched toward the gatehouse. But the doorway, too, was empty.

  “Of course no one’s out there, Montserrat. You’re losing your mind, that’s your only problem. And all because of a woman as changeable as quicksilver, a woman who’s smart and irritating and has suffered too much pain in her life already.”

  Muttering, he made his way over the bridge. Everything was peaceful. Not a shadow moved on those manicured green slopes. So why didn’t he feel safe?

  High overhead Vega flashed sharply against the deep velvet of the sky. To the north the Big Dipper dangled in a perfect silver chain, pointing to some long-forgotten mystery that only primitive man had understood. Dominic thought about newer mysteries, about white dwarfs and red giants and black holes so dense not a single speck of matter could ever escape their vast intractable pull.

  Right now he felt drawn that way to the woman upstairs.

  Around him the soft night sounds of wind and water drifted and ebbed. Dominic took a slow breath and told himself to relax.

  Cathlin had gone up to bed hours ago. From the bridge he had watched her shadow move back and forth against the curtains. Her slim body had been silhouetted against white lace, a tantalizing sweep of curves and hollows, before the light had gone out.

  He tried not to think about her undressing, then sliding down against the quilt, her hair loose and glossy around her face.

  Roses tossed beside the moat, filling the air with perfume. The moon burned, unblinking over the wooded hills.

  Only night. Only silence. Only the darting silver images of moon and stars, reflected in the ever-changing currents of the moat.

  Suddenly something made the back of Dominic’s neck tighten. “Marston?”

  But it wasn’t Draycott’s eccentric butler who stood in the stone courtyard before the abbey’s huge front gate. It was Cathlin O’Neill, wearing some damned jersey that barely covered her thighs. It wasn’t feminine. It wasn’t fetching or flirty or seductively silken.

  But it might as we
ll have been, because Dominic took one look and felt something burst into hot, furious life inside him. He envisioned her in white lace and peach satin. In a long gown that swept the floor and a navy velvet cloak with a soft hood.

  Just like the sad-eyed woman in his dreams.

  And then he imagined her in absolutely nothing at all.

  “Sweet God above, Montserrat, get up off all fours and start trying to be reasonably human, will you?” Frowning, he pushed away from the stone railing.

  And then he froze. Cathlin was moving toward him. He whispered her name, but she didn’t answer. She moved haltingly over the arch of the bridge, then cocked her head, listening to the silence.

  Dominic felt a chill at his heart as she sank to her knees at the top of the bridge and inched protectively against one of the stone columns. And there she sat, huddled in the shadows, her eyes huge, her hands twisting.

  It took several moments to realize exactly what those white fingers were doing. They were scraping desperately, trying to wash off a stain that only she could see.

  Dominic knelt slowly beside her. When she didn’t look up, he touched her shoulder softly, waiting for some hint of recognition.

  “Is it time?” she asked, in a voice that was hers but softer. Younger. “Can I go yet? I want to go.”

  Dominic felt something cold and sharp go in just beneath his ribs and twist hard. She was caught in the past, caught in the nightmares of her mother’s death. Had she held a killer’s identity trapped in her mind all these years? “You can go, Cathlin. Anytime you want. It’s all over now, I promise.”

  Her hands twisted sharply. “You said that before. You told me I could go, and then you locked me in.”

  Dominic tasted a rage that threatened to overwhelm him. What kind of sick mind would torment an innocent child?

  Somehow he bit back his fury. “Not now. There’s nothing to hold you now, Cathlin. Look around you. All you have to do is walk over that bridge and you’ll be free.”

  “But I can’t. If I do, they’ll know. And then—oh God, then—” Her hands slid to her mouth as she tried to hold in a muffled sob.

  Had they threatened her? Had she been afraid to make a noise? “I’ll take you wherever you want. I’ll take you home, Cathlin. I’ll take you back to yesterday or on to tomorrow. No one will ever stop you again, I swear it.”

  After an agonizing silence, she pushed to her feet. When she walked back across the bridge, there was no recognition at all in her face.

  Dominic’s throat tightened as he watched her climb the stairs and make her way back to bed. There she curled into a ball and pulled the covers protectively around her.

  As if they could hold out a lifetime of shadows.

  Dominic slumped in a chair beside her bed. When dawn finally broke over the Wealden hills, he had decided two things. He was going to keep out those shadows for Cathlin O’Neill, whether she liked it or not. Nothing was going to stop her from being free ever again.

  And if it took a wedding performed at the order of a man who had been dead for two hundred years to accomplish that, then the abbey was damned well going to have a wedding that no one ever forgot.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  IT TOOK DOMINIC TWO HOURS on the phone and Nicholas another three, but by eleven o’clock, everything was arranged.

  The vicar was on his way. Serita was coming from London and several of Nicholas’s friends had been invited. The wedding plans were set.

  Cathlin had protested when Nicholas told her the ceremony was all arranged. She wanted to help solve the mystery of the will, but refused to believe an actual wedding ceremony was necessary. But Nicholas held firm. This was Gabriel’s last wish, and he would see it carried out or the wine would indeed go into the moat.

  When Cathlin had looked at Dominic, she’d seen a similar determination on his face. His reason was more practical: he wanted Cathlin cooped up at the abbey where he could keep an eye on her. His final words had been unequivocal.

  It might be the wedding from hell, but it was going to take place whether she liked it or not.

  IT WAS A LOVELY WEDDING. The bride wore black and the groom was bleeding.

  The study was bright with centifolia roses arranged in cut crystal bowls. Marston looked upon the proceedings with patent pride beside Nicholas and Kacey Draycott.

  First to arrive was Michael Burke, one of Nicholas Draycott’s closest friends and his neighbor to the north. With Michael came his wife, who was looking rather pale after a bout with the flu. Soon after, Serita McCall made a grand entrance in a jumpsuit of gold lurex and seed pearls.

  Introductions were completed and sherry passed by the discreet but ubiquitous butler. Nicholas was just helping himself to a glass when the vicar rushed in. “So sorry to be late,” he apologized haltingly. “There was an accident on the A28, and I’m afraid it’s rather upset me. The fellow wasn’t hurt, thank the Blessed Father, but the poor man’s truck was left in most distressing condition. If I’m running on, do forgive me.”

  Nicholas hid a smile. “Quite understandable under the circumstances.”

  The vicar passed his hat and coat to Marston, then rubbed his hands and looked about him. “Now then, where is the bride?”

  Draycott and Marston exchanged a quick look and Nicholas cleared his throat. “I expect she’ll be down shortly, Vicar. Last-minute affairs to be taken care of and all that. Why don’t you have a sherry while you wait?”

  Right on cue, Marston passed a goblet to the vicar. The polite flow of conversation ensued.

  Only someone looking very closely would have noticed the faint frown working down Nicholas’s forehead.

  CATHLIN PULLED OPEN THE door to the closet and glared at the clothes inside. Muttering, she ran over her choices, on loan from Kacey. A simple but very elegant cocktail dress of ivory satin?

  Too formal.

  An off-the-shoulder designer knock-off from Paris, made in a clingy knit of striking amber that perfectly matched her eyes?

  Too slinky. Cathlin wasn’t about to give Dominic any reason to think she liked this idea of his.

  Next came to simple suits in dark fabrics.

  Possibly.

  And then Cathlin’s lips curved up in a smile. She’d marry Officer Montserrat all right, and it would be in clothes from her own bag.

  And when she did, it would be a ceremony he never forgot.

  A HALF HOUR LATER THE clock was chiming as Cathlin started down the stairs. Through the doors to the study she saw a dozen or so people talking quietly, trying to pretend it was the most normal thing in the world for a man to marry a woman he barely knew because of the will of an ancestor he’d never met.

  An ancestor two hundred years dead.

  The sun poured golden through the abbey’s great mullioned windows as Cathlin looked down and smoothed her black silk blouse. Her black flowing trousers. Her black silk scarf.

  She smiled faintly. The message should be clear enough even for a hard case like Dominic Montserrat.

  DOMINIC WAS ALONE IN THE front hall when he looked up and saw Cathlin at the top of the stairs. The chandelier cast glints of gold, red, and amber through her hair as she moved down the steps, smiling.

  Dominic blinked. Silky hair. Satin blouse. Flowing trousers.

  All black.

  A muscle twitched at his jaw. Even as he registered the solid black of her attire, Dominic felt a jab of admiration. No shy, awe-filled bride here, he thought ruefully.

  Somewhere in the house a clock began to chime.

  Dominic’s arms tensed beneath his perfectly tailored jacket. Motionless, wary, he stared at Cathlin, dressed in black. At the jeweled satin rose in her hair, also black.

  He found himself torn between fury and disbelief.

  Very well, my dear, if it’s war you want, it’s war you’ll get. He took a step forward, poised for battle, a hard-faced warrior clad in impeccable evening dress that played up the rich bronze hue of his skin.

  Cathlin studied him coldly
from head to toe. “Heavens, I seem to have made a terrible mistake. I’m dressed all wrong for the occasion.”

  “I’m sure it was no mistake,” Dominic murmured, taking her arm. “Rather an unusual way to dress for a wedding, isn’t it?”

  “Is it, Officer Montserrat? I wouldn’t know, having never been married before.”

  “I’m not exactly a veteran myself. However, the guests have arrived, the vicar is waiting, and Marston is positively on the verge of a crisis of nerves. So let’s just get the damn business over with, shall we?”

  “Of course,” Cathlin said tightly, trying to pull free of his hand. But he slid his arm under hers and guided her inexorably toward the noise and lights of the study.

  Dominic was attuned to her every emotion now. He felt her slight tremor and knew the moment that her step faltered. His fingers tightened, firm but gentle, as he guided her forward.

  “Is—is Serita here yet?”

  “Offering healths to anyone who’ll listen. She’s already got Nicholas’s promise to tour the wine cellars later. And Nicholas’s friend, Lord Burke, has asked her over for a consultation next week.”

  “That sounds like Serita.” As Cathlin spoke, the flower above her ear swayed and slid to the floor. Dominic went for it at the same instant she did, and their shoulders butted beneath the five-hundred-year-old chandelier casting warm sparks over the oak floor.

  Pain streaked through Dominic’s shoulder, his memento of yesterday’s scuffle in the wine cellar. He winced as his fingers closed on the satin flower. Already he could feel blood seeping beneath the bandage on his arm, but he’d be damned if anybody got the slightest hint that he was uncomfortable.

  “Turn around,” he ordered.

  “Why?”

  “So I can put this damn bow back in your hair. Since you seem so intent on wearing the bloody thing, it’s the least I can do to see that it stays put.” He caught her shoulders and spun her around, and his long fingers smoothed the hair back from her cheek and slid the anchoring pin deep into her hair. It felt like satin in his fingers and left his blood on fire. “Stop moving, damn it.”