by Lavinia Kent
“Are you done then? I thought from what Major Huntington said it would be a few more days. I didn’t realize you were so close to finishing. Are you sure you have everything Lord William would want? I know it was important to Burberry that his friend had the chance to choose. My husband actually mentioned it several times in the week before he died. Such a pity Lord William couldn’t come himself. Although, Major Huntington . . .” Rose knew she must have reddened like a beet as she considered the possibility of Wulf not having come.
Trying to move beyond her embarrassment she strolled around the table to the chest. Mitter moved quickly, trying to step in front of her, but with a smile she stepped around.
“Don’t worry that I’ll mess up your order. I just want to see what you’re taking, although I am sure you left a list. She placed her hand on the lid of the chest. His came down on top of hers, trying to prevent her from opening it.
But, it was too late, she’d seen.
Hanging over the corner, scrunched by his hurried closing of the lid, was a piece of parchment. For a moment her eyes didn’t focus on what they saw, a coiling green sea monster.
“You!”
She turned on him with all the fury in her mother’s heart.
She stepped towards him, blind to their size difference, blind to all but her anger. “You risked my daughter’s life. You put her in danger.”
He stepped back, edging towards the door. His eyes darted between escape and the chest on the table. He quivered with anxiety and nervousness.
“I didn’t mean to, Lady Burberry. I didn’t even know she was there.”
She stalked forward.
“You think that is an excuse.” She didn’t pause to draw a breath. “You sneak into my nursery, what should be the safest room in my house, not once, but twice and you think there is any excuse?”
“No, but I had to, there was no other way.” He tried to dart around her to get back to the chest.
“You had to do what?”
“I had to get the map. I had to find it. You had no right to it. It should have been mine. Don’t you understand, nothing else matters.” Mitter’s words accelerated as he spoke and Rose could see the pounding of the pulse at his throat.
Nothing else being her daughter. She felt red fury rise within her. Her daughter had been terrified and endangered for what? For a map? She took another step forward.
As if sensing there would be no escape, Mitter sprung at her, pushing hard. She spun back, her skirts tripping her. She felt her head bang against the edge of the table, felt the sharp stab course through her as the world blurred.
She sank to her knees, gasping for breath, seeking clarity. His boots clattered on the floor as he darted around her. The lock on the chest snapped shut. She turned her head, trying to focus on the two of him lifting chests. She shook her head trying to bring the images together.
He strained, lifting the chest to his shoulder. He didn’t even glance at her as he headed for the door.
Her foot shot out, catching him in the shin. He stumbled and almost dropped the box. She kicked at him again. Their feet tangled and for a moment she thought she’d won. Then, kicking back at her, he turned, his face vicious.
“It’s mine. You can’t have it. I am the only one who’ll know the secrets, find the treasure.”
Rose still had no idea what he was talking about, but there was no way she was letting him leave. She reached out for the stand of Burberry’s old canes, pushed herself up and let out a loud scream. It was wonderful to take care of things herself, but she was no fool.
Her fingers curled around the knob of the cane, only it wasn’t a knob it was a pommel. Her fingers clenched the sword tight – Burberry’s sword and now Anna’s. She swung it free in a single motion.
It sparkled dimly in the late afternoon light. It weighed heavily on her arm, but reflexively she twisted it to the proper angle and brought it down, aiming the point straight at Mitter.
“Put down the box.”
He turned towards her, his eyes glazed in anger, started towards the door again.
She lunged forward, the blade catching on his jacket button before slicing it free.
“Put down the box and step back.” She felt like a mother lion, all the anger and confusion she’d experienced in the past day coalescing.
He started again, and she swung again. A second button popped free. Her arm ached with the effort, Burberry’s dress sword was far heavier than the fencing blade on which she trained.
Mitter turned toward her with a snarl, but did step back. His fingers whitened as his hold on the box grew tighter.
The library door swung open behind her and she felt the warmth that signified Wulf’s presence.
“What . . . I heard a scream and . . . what’s going on?”
“This vermin,” Rose spit the word, “is the one who’s been threatening Anna.”
“Mitter?”
“Yes.” Rose could feel his heat behind her. His hands came down and rested on her waist, his grip bruising.
“Give me the sword.” He used that brusque tone of command she heard him use on others with such great effect.
She almost gave in. It was after all the sensible thing to do. Then the image of Anna’s poor blistered hands blocked out reason. This was her battle.
“No, he’s mine.” She refused to look at Wulf as she pushed forward with the sword.
Mitter stepped back at the fury of her words, as if finally understanding the danger in which he’d placed himself.
Wulf’s hands moved from her waist to her arms. She could feel the strength of his arms behind her, his muscles flexed and ready, knew he would have the sword from her in a moment.
His breath beat hot against her neck. “What has he done to you? Are you injured?” He tensed behind her, a solid wall of anger and muscle.
“No, I am uninjured.”
His muscle flexed, his hands closed over hers. She could feel the desire for Mitter’s blood rolling off him, warring with her own. The pressure of his grip was incredible.
She lowered her tone, enclosed the two of them in a private world. “You are hurting me. Let me do this, I am capable and he is mine.” She spat the last word.
His fingers pulled against hers, she could feel her hold slip. Then his arms dropped. He stepped back and moved to lean in the doorway, blocking anybody else from entering.
“Consider him a wedding gift then, but do keep in mind that if you kill him we’ll have to spend the evening with the magistrate. Not at all what I had in mind.” His tone was flat and serious.
She peeped over her shoulder, taking him in for the first time. She quivered deep in her belly. His gaze was locked on Mitter. His eyes shone with a deadly gleam. This was the man who had survived Waterloo. He might be leaving her the battlefield, but he was not ready to absent himself from the action.
Sensing her inattention, Mitter stepped back.
She jerked forward with the sword, pricking Mitter. “What is this all about? Why are you after the maps?”
Mitter turned a most unbecoming shade of purple and sputtered, “I won’t tell you. I won’t”
She pricked him again. Her arm began to ache with the effort.
“I’ll keep it secret ‘til I die.”
“Tell me.” This time she jabbed him hard enough to draw blood. A spot welled red against his shirt.
“That hurt.”
She did it again.
Mitter’s head dropped forward. “Under pain of death, I shall tell you the secrets that no living man knows.”
What drivel. She almost jabbed him again. She had no time for this. Her daughter had been injured, endangered.
Mitter raised his pale blue eyes and stared deep into hers. “You must promise never to repeat.”
She tilted the heavy sword. “I don’t think I am going to be the one making promises.”
She felt Wulf behind her again, his strength and anger supporting her, aiding her.
Rose consider
ed. The power, the intensity of this moment was incredible. Energy rushed through her, filled her. But, she could feel the tremors beginning deep in the tendons of her arm. In a moment Mitter would see them too. If she were alone she would have weathered on, refused to surrender ‘til her arm gave out.
She was not alone.
She sighed and eased her head back against Wulf’s chest. She thrust the sword one more time.
“You caused injury to my daughter, for that you will pay, whatever your reason. Do not think I forget.” She turned her head again and stared straight up at Wulf. “You brought him. You figure out what to do with him.”
Wulf’s hand trailed down her arm until they held the sword together. She could feel the ease in her straining muscles as he lifted its weight from her. She clasped her fingers once more, tight around the pommel and then let go, her arms falling to her side. Wulf continued to hold the sword straight out as if it weighed no more than a wooden practice blade.
She stepped back and watched the two men, the bold protector and the now quivering rabbit. Wulf’s eyes were locked on Mitter’s throat, the blade rising to follow.
Rose spoke, afraid of that glittering stare. “You mentioned not wanting to deal with the magistrate.”
She saw him stiffen, an inner battle raging. He lowered the tip a few inches. “You are fortunate that I have had the unwelcome experience of dealing with corpses.”
Mitter jerked at the words.
“Your dead body,” Wulf let the words hang, “would be even more difficult to dispose of than your breathing one.”
Wulf’s arm stiffened again, but Rose could see the bloodlust fade from his eyes. He spoke very softly. “You are further fortunate that Anna did not suffer greater harm. I am tempted to hold your hands to the flame to find how you react. If she had suffered from your actions there would be no hole in hell deep enough for you to slither into.”
“Of course, of course. Never meant harm.” Mitter tried to step back, but he had reached the wall.
“Put the map on the table and take a seat. Do not move further or I will slice your worthless skin from you.”
He waved the sword in the direction of the chairs before the unlit fire and Mitter immediately scurried into one of them, his knobby knees actually clicked as he sat.
Rose tilted up her chin and moved to sit directly across from him. Wulf moved to the left of her chair. He did not seat himself. He lowered the sword, but Rose could see his hand flex and tighten about it again, and again.
“Begin.” They spoke in unison, united.
“IwanttofindTroy.” Mitter rushed out the words, not leaving a space between them.
“Say that again.”
Mitter gulped air, coughed, and turned an even deeper shade of purple. “I want to find Troy.”
“But Troy doesn’t exist. It’s a fable,” she said. That could not be the real explanation to all this.
“I think it did. And so did Admiral Burberry. I heard you say so.”
“Well, yes, he always did say that. But, I never took him seriously.”
“You didn’t?” Mitter sounded shocked.
“No, why would I? Why would anybody? It would be like believing in . . . Atlantis or Noah’s Ark.”
Mitter tapped his fingers on the edge of the chair and didn’t answer. The veins in his neck throbbed and he glanced at the sword Wulf’s long fingers caressed.
She filled her lungs with air and exhaled slowly. Could this really be what it was all about? “What does my map have to do with finding Troy? I’ve studied it a hundred times with Anna and know the city isn’t marked. Why do you think this would help?” She ran her finger over the paper tracing the sea monster.
For a moment it seemed Mitter would remain silent. He sat stiffly in the chair, his fingers continuing their restless dance. Then he slumped forward, catching his face in his hands, defeated.
“I returned from the Dardanelles at the end of last summer. I’d spent two years living there with cousins, an old aristocratic family that had been there for generations. I’d always been interested in history and when I came of age it seemed the chance to live my dreams. I convinced my parents that travel would give me the seasoning I needed.”
“I am not sure that I understand what . . . ,” Rose began. Wulf’s fingers curved about her shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze. She shifted, but nodded at Mitter to continue. He gulped, looking as if he swallowed his tongue, but continued.
“I thought I’d gone to heaven. There was always some clue to be found, some shard of pottery or piece of bead. I could stand on the shores and imagine the thousand ships rowing ever closer to the walled city. Like you I thought at first it was all myth, but even myths have a fragment of reality at their base.
“The longer I was there the more possible it seemed to me that it was all real. I walked the hills for days trying to picture how the land had laid. I poured over every description I could find, put together the pieces – where the rivers had run, what rise of land was new and what had stood a thousand years. I talked to everybody I could find, learned every shepherd’s family history. I let my dreams run wild until I could see how it must have stood.”
Mitter’s eyes flashed brightly as he spoke, his words rushing onward like a brook as they bubbled and gathered speed.
“And then I started to draw, I looked at the land the way it was and drew the way it might have been. One of my cousins saw my sketches and laughed. He said that a decade or more ago they’d had maps just like that. Maps traced and retraced from thousands of years a go.”
Mitter stopped then and his look grew ponderous.
Wulf leaned forward, the sword swinging. “Go on.”
Mitter’s eyes shifted between them, weighing his options. He continued. “I was so excited. I asked my cousin to show them to me and he laughed lightly, explaining they’d given them all to some naval captain who’d expressed an interest in them. What need did they have of maps that showed things that weren’t? The best surveyors and artists were beginning to wind there way from Greece. They gave away their history, their legacy and thought nothing of it, but I did.
“I asked and questioned, wrote and inquired until it brought me here . . . only then I couldn’t find them. Oh, I found other things, your late husband had a most incredible library, I found clue after clue that I was on the right path, but I could not find the maps. I knew they were here. Burberry was clearly not a fool. He might not have recognized exactly what he had, but he knew they were objects of great value.” Mitter’s voice rose in volume as he reached the end of his monologue. He stared at the map on the table with lust and desire. His hands pulled towards it.
The sword swung forward again.
The hands scurried back to his lap. The intensity of Mitter’s expression did not change.
“I couldn’t believe it when I heard you mention that he’d showed the maps to a . . . a child. How could he risk such treasure?” He turned a cold questioning eye on Rose, his fear forgotten. “I even searched through his bed chamber trying to find it. I found other maps, recent maps of ancient places, but I could not find the one I needed.”
“You destroyed the room, ripped Burberry’s things to shreds.” Rose’s dormant fury began to rise again as understanding filled her. “You ransacked my home.”
Mitter looked up, confused by her anger. “I needed the map. You shouldn’t have kept it from me. None of this would have happened if you’d left it where it belonged. It’s your fault.”
The sword swung fully up and came to rest against Mitter’s chest.
The growl came from behind her. “Watch what you say and remember who you speak to.”
Rose leaned back in the chair. She lifted her arm and lay her hand atop Wulf’s, bringing the sword’s point back down. She felt no pity for the man. He had destroyed her home, caused her to accuse Wulf and . . . well it didn’t matter exactly what. He had caused havoc all for the sake of . . . for the sake of a piece of paper. “Damn you, why didn’t
you just ask me about it?” The words escaped her like a dam bursting.
“What?” Mitter wrenched back, harder than he had at the point of the sword.
“Why didn’t you just ask? I’d have sent it to Sir William with no question. If you’d asked I’d have been more than happy to let you trace it or even take it.”
“You would have? No one shares such treasures.” Mitter’s glance moved back to the map on the table.
Before Rose could answer Wulf pointed the blade at the map, his eyes glittering with dark intensity. “Show me.”
Mitter glanced at her nervously, but stood and moved to stand beside Wulf. She watched with disbelief as Mitter began to point and Wulf to question. More and more books were taken from the chest as Mitter explained how things fit.
Damn them both. Wulf’s shoulders still twitched with anger, but his eyes shone with interest. He might still be full of fury, but his excitement grew. She remembered the books of history by his bed, his occasional use of classical quotes, and a new understanding of the man built. Finally, realizing she was forgotten she stood and moved behind them.
Her body twitched with restless fury.
“Is this how you answer his treachery? By letting him tell you his dreams?” If she’d still held the sword she might have run them both through.
Wulf started. He turned, his eyes seeking hers. She could see his anger renew, increased by the guilt of his interest.
His massive chest filled, and then relaxed. His eyes locked with hers. “I do not forget.” She could see the black demons in his soul. “If you say the word I will slay him now, or make it so he never walks again. I am fully capable of it. It is your decision. She is your daughter.”
He would do it. Rose could see it in those swirling pools of green. He would do whatever she asked.
Mitter had stilled at his words. His rapid breathing echoed through the chamber.
Rose shut her eyes, resisted temptation. If ever there was a moment for coolness and reason it had come. “As you have said many times, she is your daughter also. We must both decide.”