Song for a Lost Kingdom, Book I

by Steve Moretti

  “Arrested? Why?” Philippe repeated, stepping back a bit but remaining close enough that his cologne was still having its way with her.

  “You’re not aware that she likes to steal precious artifacts?” Tara asked.

  “Are you sure about that?”

  Tara hesitated. So far, all she had were Lange’s comments and an imposter cello locked up downstairs. “No, but I know what she’s done. And I know what she’s capable of…” She was having a hard time making a convincing case. Phillipe’s brown eyes were too inviting, his face too sturdy and inviting.

  The room suddenly felt warm. She flushed staring at him.

  “She’s not perfect,” he agreed. “But she’s not a criminal.”

  “Sorry, you’re wrong! I’ve saved her ass so many times, but if she took the Duncan, and I know she did, then even I can’t help her this time.”

  Philippe seemed to be thinking it over. “Whatever she may have done, and you have no real proof of anything,” he said closing the distance between them, “she’s still your friend. You two are like family. You even fight like sisters!”

  “I know and it’s killing me,” Tara replied. “I want so much to help her, but I can’t let this one go. It’s not some teenage prank. She could go to jail, for a long time.” Suddenly the thought of it was too much for her. She had a vision of Adeena in a prison cell, her career and her life ruined.

  All thanks to ‘sister’ Tara.

  She felt tears rising to the surface. She struggled to keep them from overflowing. The warring conflicts in her head fought for supremacy. The tears won out and rolled down her cheeks. Philippe put his arms around her. “It’s okay Tara.” He held her close. “It’s okay.”

  She started sobbing. But the comfort he was bringing her was something she had rarely, if ever, felt before. And she didn’t want to let it go.

  ADEENA SAT NERVOUSLY on the stage of Southam Hall.

  The cavernous theatre was almost full, with only a few of the 2,300 red velvet seats still empty. Yet people kept coming in, all dressed up in high style, hundreds of diamonds twinkling from the necks and wrists of ladies throughout the hall. It was a sell-out for the opening of the new season. The character of the room was changing before her eyes, as the audience transformed the empty space into a living thing that craved musical solace.

  Her grandmother would have enjoyed this. But she would have been so disappointed that her granddaughter had let Katharine’s music slip away without a fight.

  Adeena looked across at the printed score sitting on each musician’s stand. That was her composition they were about to perform, giving glory to the thief who stole it. All she had left were the lyrics in her head, words that made the music soar even higher.

  “Belle!” someone suddenly whispered.

  She looked around.

  “Belle!” This time the voice was louder.

  Adeena glanced to her left.

  There behind the curtain, was her mother.

  PHILIPPE COULD FEEL Tara trembling in his arms.

  He had done his job of distracting her almost too well. And now he was feeling something unexpected - an electricity running between them that both excited and scared him.

  The tighter she held him, the more he felt the powerful rush. Their bodies fit together perfectly, and he was fighting a passion sweeping over him that seemed more than simple lust. He felt physically aroused and emotionally drawn towards the woman he was embracing.

  He had known Tara longer than Adeena. But he had never considered her in a romantic fashion, maybe because she was so quick to introduce him to her best friend.

  Or had there been little clues all along that Tara had been sending him? Had he missed the obvious all this time?

  Philippe could feel her breasts pushing against him and her thighs pressing dangerously close. It was beginning to stimulate him adding to his confusion. Tara’s dark perfume was intoxicating.

  He had to stop, not get carried away.

  Was she feeling anything? Or was he was only imagining all of this?

  THIS CAN’T BE happening, Tara thought.

  She had to let Philippe go. He had started by comforting her, but this had become something more, at least for her.

  Her heart was racing. The tighter she held him, the more he responded, drawing her even closer.

  How could she let her feelings get the best of her? She couldn’t do this to Dee. It went against everything she believed in.

  She lifted her head from Philippe’s shoulder and they caught each other’s eyes. What was he thinking? His mouth was parted slightly, his eyes open wide, inviting her to enter another world.

  Tara raised her arms and placed her hand behind his neck, gently pulling his face closer. She felt any sense of control slipping away. She had to feel his mouth on hers.

  Suddenly there was a knock on the door.

  Tara turned to see a uniformed security guard standing before her.

  “The Duncan Cello is gone!”

  25

  THE LOOK ON Adeena’s face was something coaches of winning athletes like to see before the big game.

  Absolute confidence. Fierce pride.

  The need for revenge.

  She sat on stage with the Duncan Cello, a wooden conduit connecting two incarnations of one musical soul. The fact that her mother had brought the precious instrument to Adeena felt even more exhilarating. It filled her with a purpose she had never experienced.

  We might all go to jail. But, we’ll go as a family!

  Adeena clutched her bow like a sword being readied against an invading army. Friedrich Lang sprang onto the stage to thunderous applause and she knew it was time for battle.

  Lang acknowledged the warm welcome, bounding onto the conductor’s podium. He seemed to bask in the adoration of the audience, primed by the NAC’s unrelenting campaign promoting tonight’s musical premiere.

  She closed her eyes trying to harness the energy of her pounding heart. She felt her grandmother watching her, smiling, urging her on.

  Adeena knew she couldn’t let Margaret Rose down this time.

  TARA CURSED HERSELF as she shifted the Audi into second, racing towards the National Arts Centre just blocks away.

  Philippe had played her masterfully. She had relinquished control to her fifteen-year-old self, getting swept away with him in her office like a dewy-eyed teenager, which was obviously part of the plan to keep her occupied.

  He had done his job well. There was a spark that had seemed so real.

  But he was just role playing. Nothing more.

  Within seconds of turning the corner at the Chateau Laurier and blasting towards the NAC, the lights of a police cruiser painted her face blue. She had to push Philippe out of her mind.

  It was time to put an end to foolish games.

  And foolish feelings.

  ADEENA GLANCED AT Walter beside her with the other cellists and at Maria near the front of the violin section. They smiled weakly, shaking their heads with helpless looks of resignation. It seems they had accepted the situation and were prepared to let Lang get away with grand theft music.

  Adeena however, was not.

  Lang tapped his baton on the conductor’s rail and all two thousand patrons of Southam Hall fell into hushed silence. The opening piano notes of the ancient score began slowly on the orchestra’s polished Steinway.

  Adeena waited patiently as the full force of the musical storm to come began with gentle harmonic eddies swirling innocently from the stage.

  TARA AND TWO burly police officers busted past the elegantly dressed NAC ushers.

  “Police! Let us in!” she yelled, as the officers flashed their badges to the startled ushers and marched past them towards Southam Hall.

  “Hurry! Before they start,” Tara urged the officers, as they ran down the red carpeted stairs outside the hall. They descended quickly to the bottom, reaching the doors that opened onto the first row in front of the stage.

  As they got to the bo
ttom and yanked opened the heavy doors, Tara heard the music begin.

  ADEENA’S BOW TOUCHED the strings of the ancient cello and began to lovingly coax out the music within. She felt the vibrations in her bones as the mystic tones rose in melancholy exaltation. She was one with the bow and the cello.

  And with her music.

  Clouds were growing in her mind and she was being swept away as the rest of the cello section joined her lead, mesmerizing every ear in Southam Hall.

  Even Lang seemed moved as he gazed upon Adeena, already lost in her own world.

  THE STAGE RIGHT doors sprang open and Tara led the police officers into Southam Hall.

  The audience buzzed with the unexpected intrusion as she marched towards the stage, looking for Adeena and the Duncan Cello. Tara was frantic to catch her red-handed with the stolen instrument. Finally, Tara spotted her and raised a hand to point Adeena out to the officers.

  With Tara’s hand still raised, the music washed over her. It seemed to push her backwards. It took only seconds for her to absorb the power that originated from the stage. She spotted Adeena, eyes closed, completely absorbed.

  Tara hesitated. A shiver of emotion ran through Tara and she thought of Philippe in her arms. The music was powerful, unrelenting, and she remained frozen in front of the stage.

  Just as the first officer was about to advance, Tara put her arm out to hold him back.

  THE HOT LIGHTS of the stage were fading away as Adeena continued to play.

  Time was carrying her away and the other instruments faded to nothing. It was only her now, playing alone in the bleakness of a room she recognized as the one she had performed in at Kinnaird Castle. A few candles and a single hearth provided the only light and warmth.

  No matter - Adeena was playing the only way she could, with complete devotion. An aging woman with a grey-haired male companion holding her hand watched intently from their chairs.

  Adeena’s lyrics ached for release and she felt the need to comply.

  TARA WATCHED SPELLBOUND as Adeena, trance-like, rose from her chair in front of one of the microphones set-up to amplify the instruments. She picked it up and held it close to her mouth. And then with eyes closed, began to sing.

  Lang in the conductor’s podium looked confused as Adeena’s voice resonated across the hall, layered powerfully on top of the orchestra.

  Gone is my heart without you,

  Now I am lost once again.

  Praying for life that grows within,

  All I can ask is when?

  When will the sword meet the sky?

  To show where I belong?

  Forever, I will wait for you

  Even after I’m gone.

  Tara had never heard anything as moving as the song pouring out from the sister she had guided for so long. Adeena’s voice enraptured the entire hall and Tara felt herself fighting her own emotions. She looked behind her at the audience who watched in awe, some with mouths open, others holding the hands of loved ones beside them.

  JOHN ST CLAIR had not expected old feelings could be so easily re-ignited.

  St Clair listened to the music of Katharine, his new wife’s niece. He had heard so much about her but had discarded the praise as patriotic exaggeration.

  Yet her music was stirring long dormant feelings within him. She reminded him of why he had tried to stop the Union that fateful day so long ago as a young man in Edinburgh. And, why he was joining the Jacobite cause once again as an ‘old’ man.

  As Katharine’s words echoed through Kinnaird and she stopped playing, he held his breath a moment before shaking his head in wonder. His eyes were moist.

  “It’s true then, every word yer aunt told me,” he said approaching the young woman who conjured such emotion out of wood and string and whose timeless voice seemed to emanate from another world. “You inspire men, even against their own common sense.”

  Katharine bowed her head. Margaret embraced her niece. “My husband, the Master of Sinclair, never understood why we need you. I’ve always known it. But alas,” she said with a wink, “he’s only a man!”

  St Clair laughed, but he knew there was truth to what she said. “Katharine, how can we help you?”

  Katharine brightened. “I need to find the score, the music I just performed for you. My brother, the Captain, has hidden it away in the ‘keep’ I believe. I can’t explain why, but I must find it and get it away from here. I need to get it published in Edinburgh, and in London, too.”

  Lady Margaret seemed puzzled, but she didn’t hesitate. “Your brother is on his way to Kinnaird as we speak, with a proclamation supporting his claim to drive me from my home for good. Your uncle the Earl Carnegie, will roll in his grave if that passes. We must act quickly!”

  St Clair stepped forward. “Where is the keep? I will find the score for you, Lady Katharine. But tell me first, why is it so urgent?”

  Katharine fixed her gaze upon him, with a force he had rarely encountered from a woman. “It will change our history. It may not return the Kingdom or even this place, but it may help save all of us.”

  ADEENA WATCHED AS Lady Margaret scurried away with her husband.

  She knew it was a long shot, but if they could find the score and get it published, the lost music would find its place in history. Was it possible to change future events? Or would she simply watch as time flowed down the path already travelled?

  A clattering of hooves interrupted her analysis. The castle doors sprang open. She recognized the man who stood in the castle’s entranceway - the Captain, Katharine’s brother, Sir James Carnegie.

  He drew back upon seeing her.

  “You dare return to this place?” he shouted. “After you have betrayed your King and your country?”

  “I’ve betrayed no one,” Adeena replied. She needed to distract him, get him away from here. “I have come to seek your counsel, brother. Can I show you something?”

  The Captain eyed her suspiciously. “You think me a fool, sister? No, you will come with me, to Lord Grayson. He will sign the orders to lock you away for aiding the rebels.”

  “She is not going anywhere. And you sir, are trespassing,” Lady Margaret announced, descending the stairs towards them. She carried a leather satchel in her hands and handed it to Adeena.

  The Captain looked upon her furiously. “Madam, just as my sister is wont to do now, your late husband supported the rebels. Let me remind you that as a result of his foolishness, my uncle lost not only his title, but this estate through attainment. It is I, dear Aunt, a loyal member of His Majesty’s Parliament in London, and not you, who have legitimate claim to Kinnaird.”

  “That is yet to be settled,” Lady Margaret retorted. John St Clair stepped to her side and she turned to him. “Please take Lady Katharine with you Master John, far away from the arrogance standing before me.”

  St Clair moved forward, but the Captain intervened. “Stay where you are St Clair, or you will be charged with treason too.”

  St Clair ignored the Captain and moved toward the door. Adeena tried to follow. The Captain blocked their path. “What do you carry there, sister?” he demanded looking at the satchel she held closely against her bosom.

  “Something you took from me,” she snapped.

  He lunged towards her, grabbing the satchel and trying to wring it from her. They struggled as the Captain tried to pull it away. “Give it to me, you traitor!” he shouted. Adeena refused to release her grip on the leather package until the Captain reached for her neck. He began choking her, until gasping, she let go, releasing the satchel to him.

  St Clair tried to intervene and pushed the Captain, still clutching the satchel in one hand, down to the floor. The Captain tried to get up, but St Clair pinned him to the floor with a heavy boot.

  “Let me go,” the Captain hissed. St Clair pushed down harder as the Captain lay trapped on the wooden floor in front of the hearth.

  “Give that to me,” St Clair said, pointing to the leather satchel, “or I’ll sh
ow you the mark a Scottish boot leaves on a coward’s face.”

  The Captain smiled. “I always knew you to be a traitor, and soon we’ll be fitting the noose ‘round your neck.” He held up the leather satchel. “Is this what you want?”

  But before St Clair could reach it, the Captain flung the satchel into the flames of the fireplace.

  TARA WATCHED AS Adeena sat back down in her chair. The audience, unable to restrain themselves any longer, exploded in applause and cheering, breaking all the rules of orchestral decorum.

  Adeena seemed unaffected, with only a blank expression on her face. Tara thought she looked as if she were hypnotized, even as she lifted the Duncan Cello and began to play, leading the other cellists.

  The policeman standing beside Tara whispered something in her ear.

  “No, wait,” she replied.

  THE LEATHER SATCHEL sat in the dying fire with smoke beginning to rise from it.

  Adeena raced towards the hearth and tried to save it from catching fire. Just as she was about to grab the satchel, the Captain pushed John St Clair’s boot off him and grabbed a fistful of Adeena’s long copper hair. She recoiled and tried to push him away.

  “Let it burn!” the Captain shouted.

  Adeena turned and spat at him. “Let go of me, fuckhead!”

  As the two struggled, St Clair swung his arm against the Captain, knocking him away. Adeena broke free from her captor as the Captain slowly rose to face St Clair.

  She reached into the fire and pulled out the smoking satchel, just as flames were about to engulf it. St Clair stood guard in front of her as the Captain again tried to lunge towards her. This time St Clair grabbed him and the two men went at each other fiercely.