Toward Love's Horizon

by Michele du Barry

  “Chérie, chérie! You are so delightfully obtuse.” Louis laughed shaking his head with his long-lashed violet eyes beautiful in the sunlight. “You have been summoned to a meeting with fate and I will give you what you desire most. Oblivion, death, and your precious husband. You and he will be together forever—side-by-side, inseparable. . . .”

  She choked on pure, unadulterated fear and turned and ran to the horses. Blood was a quick torrent in her veins sounding a distant alarm. Hoarse words haunted her: Chérie, chérie. . . nous verrons ceque nous verrons!She put her foot in the stirrup and grasped the horse’s mane. A hand caught her by the hair and flung her to the ground. Louis still smiled as he aimed a pistol at her breast.

  “Not yet, Angela. The game has just begun. If you attempt to escape I will have Robert killed immediately.”

  “You!” Her thoughts careened and steadied, the insubstantial threats congealed into reality. Those deliberate words, that voice, the golden hair, and violet eyes; the charming smile and debonair manner—he was an enemy from the past. “Who are you?”

  Louis put his pistol away, confident she wouldn’t try to flee now. She was maternal to the end. “My name is Jules,” he said clearly. “Jules!”

  She stared at him blankly. The name meant nothing to her. What mattered was his treachery. Half an hour ago she would have entrusted him with her life, now—now he was her bête noire. Terrified for Robert and Scott, she tried to suppress her turbulent emotions.

  “You still don’t remember?” Jules questioned gleefully. “Then you don’t even know why I mean to kill you. Let me refresh your memory.”

  Angela sat perfectly still on the ground, only her aquamarine eyes moving, following his pacing. Maybe when he had told her, she could think of a way out of this but until she knew what and who she was up against she didn’t stand a chance.

  “I met you in the Bahamas,” Jules reminisced with rage flaring in his eyes. He went on to describe her captivity and torment until Angela could stand no more and put her hands over her ears writhing at the dark dread encompassing her. “Mon Dieu! But it was a night of wild perversion. Gaston had you in every way, while I preferred my own method.

  “Then,” he gasped, eyes purple bruises in his face, “you killed Gaston! You slit his throat and left me for dead. I vowed to kill you for what you did to him!”

  Angela gagged and put her hand over her mouth as he described everything in vivid detail. She shivered, astounded by the bizarre revelations that laid bare the corpse of her past. What Jane had said was true; it was better left forgotten. But if she had remembered in the first place Jules would never have wormed his way into her life and blasted it apart.

  He laughed madly, raking his fingers through his gilt hair. “I wanted to hurt you and torment you, chérie—more painfully and slowly than death could. So I pretended to be your friend and gained your confidence. I planted suspicions in your mind that estranged you from your friends. That hurt, didn’t it? Like a knife stabbing and twisting.”

  “Then the accidents were your fault!” Angela shouted. “To make me hate Jane and Owen.”

  “Yes, everything,” Jules gloated, “anything to break you. I even brought about the separation with Scott!”

  “No! You couldn’t!” she cried with disbelief and a fury that brought her to her feet.

  “But I did—with a subtle word dropped in his ear, a brief, compassionate conversation now and then, a commiseration on the pitfalls and agonies of unrequited love. Scott was already restless and at the end of his rope. I just gave him a little push and told him it would be best for both of you to be apart.

  “That really killed you,” Jules said. “But I wouldn’t let you die yet. I played you out like a fish on a line and then hauled you in; then did it again and again.”

  “You sent my letter!” she said scathingly. “You knew he would come!”

  “And made sure you would reject him—for his own good. That time,” Jules said triumphantly, “I let you both torture each other while I watched from the wings. You will never know what a pleasure the whole charade was!”

  Hate and vengeance pounded through Angela like a tidal wave, sweeping every vestige of feeling and friendship from her. “I hate you!” she shouted, crimson cheeked. “You are mad, a raving lunatic! And I will stop you no matter what it takes!”

  “And Robert?” Jules inquired calmly. “Try to leave or attack me and he’s dead.”

  The fire was drenched with his intimidation. “Robert,” she whispered going limp. “What are you going to do?”

  “Now, now—that would be telling,” Jules said smiling cherubically with a shake of his head. “Wouldn’t you rather wait and see?”

  What a fool she had been, completely duped by his innocence and friendliness. But others had succumbed too and they had all danced like puppets to his tune. All but Robert who had seen through the facade.

  “But—but,” Angela stammered, “why didn’t Robert recognize you?”

  “Ah, chérie, that’s the beauty of it all. You see, we never met on Gaston’s island. I saw your son and daughter from a distance, but you were protective and kept them out of my presence. Robert knew of me but never saw me. I had only to change my name.

  “And what luck that Ezra was away! I had meant to kill you outright but his absence and your lost memory made possible this very amusing diversion.”

  There was nothing she could do—right now. Any action would cause Robert’s death. It only remained for Scott to be drawn into the trap along with her and then—Angela put her hands over her face, trembling for her husband and son. Why couldn’t Jules just kill her and be done with revenge? She was the one who had murdered his lover.

  Jules grabbed her wrists and hauled her to him till his face was only inches away from hers and she shrank from the fanatical amusement twitching at his lips. “Oh, cold lady, that can’t even suffer her husband’s embraces, just think of what you did in the past!” He spoke softly and slowly, deliberately intensifying her distress.

  Angela closed her eyes against those awful words but could not close her ears. “I know all of you,” he taunted. “The taste of your mouth and the texture of your breasts, the firmness and softness of your thighs, the roundness of you derrière. ...”

  “Stop it!” she pleaded. “Stop!”

  “No, my little pirate’s whore. Why should I, when you prostituted your charms so prettily?” Her open eyes now glared into his, sparking in her anger and fright. “But now,” he mocked, “just a hint of lechery sends you into an icy fit of indignation. So, you never recovered from what Gaston and I did to you.

  “I wonder,” Jules mused diabolically, “what else you would endure for your son—for your husband? Would it be so abominable with me? I would try and make it so!”

  His terrible, lovely mouth grazed Angela’s and she nipped at him with her teeth. Jules drew back startled and she began screaming and screaming, twisting and kicking, fighting in a frenzy of such unmitigated terror that he struck her as hard as he could with his open palm. She fell on a cushion of thrift very close to the cliff’s edge with her ears ringing, still shrieking like a banshee. If he made one more advance she knew she would faint. And even if he promised to spare the lives of Robert and Scott for her favors Angela knew that never in a million years could she submit herself to him.

  Nausea gripped her and there were tears on her cheeks from the blow. Jules stood over her gazing serenely at her sprawled, disheveled body and said: “If you don’t cease at once I will give you good cause to continue screaming.”

  Angela closed her mouth so fast she bit her tongue and the tart taste of her own blood helped bring her to her senses. Blood and death were her shadows. Of all she knew, suspected, and half remembered of her past, disaster was her twin and never left her side.

  Jules’s attention was diverted from her and he gazed out at the ocean and then at his pocket watch and back. A boat was approaching the shore and he turned to Angela and said derisively, �
�I don’t desire you, you know, I prefer—other forms of amusement. But I would have done it just to see your reaction and draw out our little game. It’s too late now.”

  Disbelief was released from her like a sigh and then everything began happening. Robert was brought up the cliff path and thrown down next to her. Angela hugged him frantically, kissed him, and stroked his hair. “Oh, baby! Thank God you’re all right!” Four armed sailors precluded any thought of escape.

  “Don’t be afraid, Mama,” Robert whispered. “I will protect you. And they said my father’s coming.”

  “Don’t do anything rash, son, just do as Jules says and everything will be all right. He doesn’t want to hurt you.” They remained close and quiet while Jules and his cohorts waited impatiently.

  The sun sank lower, growing huge and distorted, glowing orange. The distant trees, the horses, and the pirates were oddly dwarfed by its power; smooth black shadows drifting across its face. The sky was amber drenching the clouds in pale citrine and the ocean was a sheet of beaten gold. Angela could see the ship now, like the shadow of a bird on the water, and she shivered despite the heat. It was summer and would stay light for hours.

  Robert, who had been playing with the top of his boot, glanced up. Angela closed her eyes and held him tight. She didn’t need to look to know what was happening. Thudding hooves of a galloping horse filled her ears and reverberated through the ground making her heart throb and her insides churn. The pounding stopped.

  Scott had pulled up and was silhouetted against the center of the sun as motionless as an equestrian statue. Then he came. Because of the strange angle of the light he didn’t seem to be moving at all or growing any larger. Heat waves rippled and made him shimmer like a dream and the whole scene was of a beautifully golden nightmare suspended silently in time.

  Until Jules grabbed her and she shuddered in his clutches as Robert was torn from her side. A large, unkempt pirate held Robert firmly in front of him and Angela twisted, then screamed as a knife was put to his throat.

  “Don’t,” she gasped with tawny tears glittering on her face. “Jules, please! I will do anything!”

  “Be still,” said Jules against her ear. Putting his hand beneath her chin he forced it up and her head back against his shoulder and Angela felt sharp, cold steel sting her skin. To move would be to die and she felt something warm and wet trickle down her arched throat. Tears or blood?

  Scott slowed to a walk. His wife and son were illuminated like a book of hours, every minute detail magnified and glowing with intricate color. And they were as still as a painted page as he approached slowly with his hands in plain view. He had never known such fear and fury but not a sign of it showed in his face or manner.

  He was one man alone against five, unarmed, and with those he loved in dire peril. And he didn’t even know the reason why. They obviously wanted something and he would give anything to see Robert and Angela safe. Reining in, Scott dismounted carefully, unable to miss the lurid grin on Louis Garamond’s face.

  “What do you want, Mr. Garamond, for their lives?” Scott asked, his voice as smooth and unemotional as honey.

  “My name is Jules,” he replied, not missing the tensing of Harrington’s broad shoulders. That had disturbed his opponent but with the sun behind him he couldn’t see Scott’s face.

  He moved, dragging Angela with him, but Scott outmanoeuvred him and managed to keep the sun at his back. The question was repeated and Jules answered: “What I want is vengeance and you are going to be my tool.”

  “How?” Scott queried, assessing the position of every one of them. Three of the men stood to one side watching every move but with weapons undrawn. Only Jules and the man holding Robert had knives unsheathed, but pistols gleamed at Jules’s waist.

  “An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a life for a life. Isn’t that the rule?” Jules’s dulcet voice dripped poison. “Your wife killed the only person I ever loved—Gaston Laporte. Her life is forfeit to pay for his. But—” he paused letting Scott squirm. “But you have a choice. Your wife or your son. Angela or Robert. Which shall live? Which shall die? The decision is yours.”

  “Bastard!” The one word erupted from Scott’s lips before he could choke it back but the wild look in Angela’s glowing eyes stopped a further torrent of abuse. “I will not choose.”

  “Then they will both die.”

  “Robert,” gasped Angela though the blade cut deeper into her throat. “Choose our son’s life. Scott, you have to!”

  “You have,” Jules informed him with a fanatical look glazing his eyes, “to the count of three to decide.”

  “No,” Scott objected. “I will give you anything you want, every penny I have. You will be rich, Jules, beyond your wildest imagination.”

  “One.”

  Scott’s fists clenched in frustration. There was no getting through to that warped mind. “Kill me,” he told him. “I will die for Laporte. Let my life be the one forfeit!”

  “Two.”

  His goldstone eyes shifted quickly from Robert to Angela. A thin river of red flowed down her white throat to her heaving bosom, spattering her yellow dress.

  Robert was silent and straight and when Scott’s eyes touched his they widened slightly and he managed a smile. Though curved, his mouth was grim, but it did not tremble. He was braver than a man.

  “Darling!” Her plea captured Scott’s attention completely. How could he choose? Between his son, his only living child, who was so young and had never lived, and Angela, his wife, the woman that he could not stop loving no matter how hard he tried. He was being torn in two.

  Abruptly, Angela threw herself forward against the knife but Jules had been expecting it and was quicker. In less than a second he had her pinioned again, still alive but vastly shaken. Scott hadn’t moved but she could feel the agony of his tempestuous thoughts.

  “He chooses Robert,” Angela said clearly. “My husband chooses his son’s life. Kill me now, Jules, and let them go!”

  “Oh, no. He must decide himself who will live.”

  “Scott, you have to choose Robert!” Angela told him angrily. “This is ridiculous. You must save our son—there’s no other choice. I will never forgive you if you don’t save Robert’s life!”

  “Oh, my God,” Scott said wearily passing a hand over his eyes. It came away wet but they couldn’t tell with the brilliant sun blinding them. “I’m sorry, Angel.” He gathered his wits and strength for the inevitable. “I choose—Robert.”

  “Three!”

  Angela drew one last breath, her eyes glued to Scott’s. The knife tightened against her throat, flashed red with the dying sun, and Jules turned swiftly and tossed her over the cliff.

  For a moment there was no sound but the surf and the seabirds as Scott stood rooted to the grass. Then he emitted a roar from the depths of his outraged soul, so horrible, so hideous, and heartrending, it froze the very marrow of the bones. No one moved but Scott who flung himself headlong at the edge of the cliff.

  Nothingness spun out beneath her feet, sharp-toothed rocks waited hungrily for their victim. Her heart had stopped but still the fingers of one hand clenched a sturdy weed firmly embedded in the rock. There was no foothold and Angela swayed in the breeze as her torn fingers slipped. Scott’s face blocked out the sky and her heart resumed pumping.

  He reached for her from so far away and the tips of her unengaged fingers grazed his. Bracing himself Scott slid closer and his eyes glowed golden with every emotion spilling unhindered from their depths. Their hands met, clasped, and Angela managed a ragged breath. There was no world outside their ambience.

  “Let go of the bush and give me your other hand.”

  But she couldn’t, no matter how hard she willed it, let go of the bush that had saved her.“I—ca—can’t.”

  “I have you, Angela, and I won’t let go. I promise I won’t drop you.”

  She believed him and somehow loosened her grip and swung wildly from Scott’s grasp for an aeon be
fore he caught her frantically clawing hand.

  “You are safe now, love,” he whispered as he began raising her painstakingly toward him.

  Her blood-soaked hands slipped in his and they tightened till she clenched her teeth, sure all the bones were crushed. The steep rockface swung before her eyes and Angela looked up instead at Scott, at his strained, determined face, and the figure above him.

  Her eyes were immense, the pupils wide with shock, as they had been that day in the gum tree forest at Thornhill. And reflected in their mirrored blackness Scott saw his own death. For Jules was standing over him with a glinting blade uplifted in his hands.

  “No—no!” Angela screamed. “Let me go and save yourself!”

  He ignored her words lifting her ever upward, closer and closer, ready for the attack. “I will never let you go,” he said breathing heavily. “Never, beloved.”

  The sun-crimsoned blade struck and Scott didn’t move or make a sound, only grasped her tighter. Angela began sobbing painfully and uncontrollably. His hot panting breath was against her mouth. The knife was still red but now it dripped.

  “Put your arm around my neck, Angela.” This time he gasped. “Now!”

  The razor-sharp steel made its third descent and Scott jerked but held her to him. She couldn’t let this continue, couldn’t let him sacrifice his life for her.

  “Darling, I love you,” Angela wept. Her blood-slick fingers slid through his like wet silk; curved instinctively and held, tip to tip, for an endless moment, and were gone.

  She fell.

  Scott sprang to his feet and wrenched the knife from his back. There were now no restraints to rage or emotions. Even though Jules had a pistol pointed at his heart from only a few feet away, he would kill him.

  The yellow-haired man laughed dementedly and his finger tightened on the trigger. But he had overlooked one detail.

  Robert broke free from the suddenly distracted, lax embrace of his captor. He was crying. For though he was all Scott, his heart was all Angela’s. Stooping he slid the dirk from his boot-top and let it fly.