Haunted Echoes

by Cindy Dees

  Robert’s eyes lit up at the prospect. Ah, he was an adventurer at heart. I expected he’d spend most of his life questing after some piece of art or another. And I could live with that. As long as he stayed on my side of the law.

  Catrina and I exchanged hugs as I thanked her from the bottom of my heart for her help and hospitality. And then we hit the road. Robert drove, and after a while I dozed off.

  And I had one last dream.

  A little girl with bright orange curls sat in the grass playing with a half-dozen roly-poly puppies. She laughed with delight as one of them jumped up and licked her face, knocking her over onto her back. The rest of the puppies pounced on her and she squealed with laughter.

  From behind me came an answering laugh. I turned, and there was Jane. She looked older, more relaxed, than I’d seen her before. Happier. At peace even. She extricated the little girl from the pile of puppies and scooped her up, swinging her around in the air while the two of them laughed together.

  “Mummy, will I ever have a daddy?”

  Jane laughed and hugged the child close. “I hope so. But I’m not worried if you don’t. You and I, we have everything we need. We have a fine home, good friends and abundant love.”

  “And puppies!”

  “And puppies,” Jane repeated, smiling gently.

  She turned then, looking over the child’s shoulder…

  …good grief, directly at me!

  “You see?” she said. “It all turned out for the best. I got the child I craved, and she got the love she needed. In the end, love is all that matters. That is the true gift of Life.”

  And indeed it was. I woke up, my mind clear and my heart at ease in a way they had never been before. As the miles stretched behind us, the events of the past week fell further and further behind me. My fear of being arrested and having my career ruined. My fear of Robert disappearing before we got to spend a lifetime together. My fear of being unworthy of love.

  The layers peeled away one by one until there was only the road and the night and the man I loved and me. And that was enough.

  Gradually, the sky grew gray in the east, then pink, then blazing orange. And then, finally, the long night was over.

  Chapter 20

  I sipped at my mango juice, its pungent sweetness rich on my tongue. I set the cold drink on the little table beside me and laid my head back against a fluffy terry cloth towel draped over the chaise. A warm breeze wafted across my skin, and in the distance ocean waves lapped upon the shore. I was relaxed down to the very core of my being.

  The woman beside me commented, “This is a magical place, isn’t it?”

  I opened my eyes lazily and smiled at her. Elise looked worlds better since we’d delivered to her the handful of tiles from the belly of the Lady. The statue had been repaired and looked almost as good as new, but we’d decided to leave the tiles outside her. Elise seemed to think there might be another use for them someday, and we all hated to think of breaking the statue again to get the tiles out a second time.

  Elise’s hair was still snow-white, but the papery dryness of her skin had eased, and a rosy glow of health was slowly returning to her cheeks. She would never be as young and vital as she had been before the theft, but that joyous charm that had pervaded her being when I first met her was back.

  “This is a truly lovely place,” I replied. We were at Elise’s beach house in Saint-Tropez. It wasn’t a huge affair, but its whitewashed stucco walls and red-tile roof opened onto one of the most magnificent white-sand beaches I’d ever seen, and the warm breeze never flagged. Of course, the house was filled with magnificent art that made me cringe to think of it casually hanging on her walls.

  “I’m glad you like it,” Elise said casually, “since I’ve willed it to you.”

  “What?” I exclaimed. I sat bolt upright.

  “I’ve willed it all to you. The penthouse in Paris, the private jet, my ski chalet, the art, the cash, everything.”

  I took off my sunglasses to stare at her.

  “After all, you saved my life, dear Ana. And you did the Marians a great favor by stopping that horrible machine.”

  Since this conversation was rapidly turning into true confessions time, I asked a question that had been on my mind for weeks. “Elise, are you a Marian?”

  “I am, indeed,” she answered without hesitation. “And my mother, and her mother before her, all the way back to the beginning of the order.”

  Her answer was no surprise to me. And I suppose, neither was my next question to her.

  “You’re my grandmother, aren’t you?”

  “I’ve been wondering when you were going to get around to asking that one. Of course I am.”

  “Then why—” I broke off. How to phrase it delicately.

  “Why did I leave your grandfather and never let you know of my existence?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “The Nazis worked very hard to uncover old secrets pertaining to medieval legends. In their hunt for the Holy Grail, they stumbled across some of the Marian secrets. And in so doing, they…reactivated certain forces who were historically opposed to the Marian’s beliefs. By the end of the war, every Marian—and her loved ones—was in grave danger.”

  A look of intense pain crossed her face and her voice trembled with grief.

  “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but I sent my husband and my son away for their safety. I made Otto promise never to come looking for me as long as our son lived. Even today, my enemies would not hesitate to kill Otto, your father, or you, my granddaughter. I’m sure it’s the enemies of the Marians who stole the Lady and tried to kill me.”

  The idea of being in mortal danger for no other reason than being someone’s blood relative was hard to fathom.

  Elise continued, “The fact that I have the Black Madonna statue marks me as a Marian. The Lady is one of the great Marian artifacts, and she would never pass out of the hands of the Marians.”

  Understanding exploded across my brain. “That’s why you couldn’t tell me about her in the very beginning, isn’t it? You took a vow of secrecy not to reveal that you had her, not only to protect the Lady, but also to protect your family!”

  “Exactly.”

  Hesitantly, I asked, “Does being a Marian pass through male children to female granddaughters?”

  “Good heavens, yes!” Elise exclaimed. “You’re as Marian as I am. Many, many people are. The descendents of the original Marians have had thousands of years to be fruitful and multiply. The sad thing is that very few of them know of their heritage. Over the centuries, knowledge of it has been nearly completely lost. But we plan to rectify that. Soon. The ages are changing and our time is coming.”

  Something moved within me. A sense of a final puzzle piece dropping into place in my soul. “I’d like to learn more about what these women believed—believe.”

  Elise laughed. “You’ve asked the right person that question. I’ve spent most of my adult life researching that very thing. When we get back to Paris, I’ll show you the secret room behind my library. I keep every note I’ve taken, every book I’ve ever found on the subject there. It’s not everything, mind you. Most of the early Marians’ records were destroyed centuries ago, and periodic purges aimed at wiping us out have taken place throughout history. But in bits and pieces, I’ve reconstructed much of the story.”

  “Tell me more,” I said eagerly.

  “All in good time. Here comes your young man now.”

  I looked up and Robert strode toward us, wearing a pair of swim trunks that made my breath catch in my throat. I hadn’t seen or heard Jane since we left Languedoc several weeks ago, yet every night in Robert’s arms was more magical than the last. I was rapidly coming to the conclusion that the glorious passion between us had nothing at all to do with ghosts and statues and everything to do with having found our soul mates.

  He was speaking on the phone, “So he’s completely disappeared? The bank account he set up to fund my sear
ch had not been replenished, and nobody’s seen or heard from him in weeks?” A pause. “Well, keep me updated, Angus. If he happens to contact the university, it’s imperative I speak with him.”

  I smiled indulgently. Robert was back on the hunt again. This time he was trying to track down the mysterious man who’d hired him to look into the Lady’s provenance.

  The phone in Robert’s hand rang and he answered it quickly.

  He held it out to me. “Phone’s for you.”

  I put the instrument up to my ear.

  “This is Doctor Murieux’s office. We have your test results back.”

  “Great. Does that mean you’ve figured out why my system has gone so off-kilter? Is something wrong with me?” Ever since the events of a month ago, I’d been feeling off, having trouble sleeping and eating. I thought it was just a touch of post-traumatic stress, but Robert made me go to the doctor and get a full physical.

  The nurse laughed. “Nothing is wrong with you unless you call being pregnant a disease.”

  “Pregnant?” I repeated stupidly. “That’s not possible. I have polycystic ovaries—”

  “And you are also pregnant, my dear. The doctor would like you to set up an appointment with an obstetrician as soon as possible. I have the names of several we recommend.”

  “How did this happen?” I asked myself more than the nurse.

  “The old-fashioned way, I imagine,” the woman giggled.

  The Lady. She’d been in our hotel room with us that first night we made love in Rome.

  The phone was lifted out of my hand, and Robert tugged me to my feet, lifting me into his arms. He spun me around, kissing me senseless as he did so. I heard laughter—his, mine, Elise’s and a familiar, shimmering laugh that I felt more than heard. Even Jane was here to share our joy.

  Robert finally lifted his mouth away from mine. “Now you have to marry me!” he crowed exultantly.

  I grinned up at him. “I was going to do that, anyway. Now I only will do it sooner.”

  He spun me around again and I hugged him tightly.

  Indeed, in the end love was all that mattered. The Lady might have given me the gift of Life, but more importantly, she’d given me the gift of Love.

  The secrets of the Marians are still in danger!

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  “OH, NO!”

  The reaction slipped out before Emma Valentine could stop it, for there stood the very man she most wanted to avoid seeing again.

  He didn’t look any happier to see her.

  “Well, come on, get on board,” he said gruffly. “I won’t bite.” One eyebrow rose. “Though I might nibble a little,” he added, mostly to amuse himself.

  But she wasn’t paying any attention to what he was saying. She was staring at him, taking in the royal blue uniform he was wearing, with gold braid and glistening badges decorating the sleeves, epaulettes and an upright collar. Ribbons and medals covered the breast of the short, fitted jacket. A gold-encrusted sabre hung at his side. And suddenly it was clear to her who this man really was.

  She gulped wordlessly. Reaching out, he took her elbow and pulled her aboard. The doors slid closed. And finally she found her tongue.

  “You…you’re the prince.”

  He nodded, barely glancing at her. “Yes. Of course.”

  She raised a hand and covered her mouth for a moment. “I should have known.”

  “Of course you should have. I don’t know why you didn’t.” He punched the ground-floor button to get the elevator moving again, then turned to look down at her. “A relatively bright five-year-old child would have tumbled to the truth right away.”

  Her shock faded as her indignation at his tone asserted itself. He might be the prince, but he was still just as annoying as he had been earlier that day.

  “A relatively bright five-year-old child without a bump on the head from a badly thrown water polo ball, maybe,” she said defensively. She wasn’t feeling woozy any longer and she wasn’t about to let him bully her, no matter how royal he was. “I was unconscious half the time.”

  “And just clueless the other half, I guess,” he said, looking bemused.

  The arrogance of the man was really galling.

  “I suppose you think your ‘royalness’ is so obvious it sort of shimmers around you for all to see?” she challenged. “Or better yet, oozes from your pores like…like sweat on a hot day?”

  “Something like that,” he acknowledged calmly. “Most people tumble to it pretty quickly. In fact, it’s hard to hide even when I want to avoid dealing with it.”

  “Poor baby,” she said, still resenting his manner. “I guess that works better with injured people who are half asleep.” Looking at him, she felt a strange emotion she couldn’t identify. It was as though she wanted to prove something to him, but she wasn’t sure what. “And anyway, you know you did your best to fool me,” she added.

  His brows knit together as though he really didn’t know what she was talking about. “I didn’t do a thing.”

  “You told me your name was Monty.”

  “It is.” He shrugged. “I have a lot of names. Some of them are too rude to be spoken to my face, I’m sure.” He glanced at her sideways, his hand on the hilt of his sabre. “Perhaps you’re contemplating one of those right now.”

  You bet I am.

  That was what she would like to say. But it suddenly occurred to her that she was supposed to be working for this man. If she wanted to keep the job of coronation chef, maybe she’d better keep her opinions to herself. So she clamped her mouth shut, took a deep breath and looked away, trying hard to calm down.

  The elevator ground to a halt and the doors slid open laboriously. She moved to step forward, hoping to make her escape, but his hand shot out again and caught her elbow.

  “Wait a minute. You’re a woman,” he said, as though that thought had just presented itself to him.

  “That’s a rare ability for insight you have there, Your Highness,” she snapped before she could stop herself. And then she winced. She was going to have to do better than that if she was going to keep this relationship on an even keel.

  But he was ignoring her dig. Nodding, he stared at her with a speculative gleam in his golden eyes. “I’ve been looking for a woman, but you’ll do.”

  She blanched, stiffening. “I’ll do for what?”

  He made a head gesture in a direction she knew was opposite of where she was going and his grip tightened on her elbow.

  “Come with me,” he said abruptly, making it an order.

  She dug in her heels, thinking fast. She didn’t much like orders. “Wait! I can’t. I have to get to the kitchen.”

  “Not yet. I need you.”

  “You what?” Her breathless gasp of surprise was soft, but she knew he’d heard it.

  “I need you,” he said firmly. “Oh, don’t look so shocked. I’m not planning to throw you into the hay and have my way with you. I need you for something a bit more mundane than that.”

  She felt color rushing into her cheeks and she silently begged it to stop. Here she was, formless and stodgy in her chef’s whites. No makeup, no stiletto heels. Hardly the picture of the femmes fatales he was undoubtedly used to. The likelihood that he would have any carnal interest in her was remote at best. To have him think she was hysterically defending her virtue was humiliating.

  “Well, what if I don’t want to go with you?” she said in hopes of deflecting his attention from her b
lush.

  “Too bad.”

  “What?”

  Amusement sparkled in his eyes. He was certainly enjoying this. And that only made her more determined to resist him.

  “I’m the prince, remember? And we’re in the castle. My orders take precedence. It’s that old pesky divine rights thing.”

  Her jaw jutted out. Despite her embarrassment, she couldn’t let that pass.

  “Over my free will? Never!”

  Exasperation filled his face.

  “Hey, call out the historians. Someone will write a book about you and your courageous principles.” His eyes glittered sardonically. “But in the meantime, Emma Valentine, you’re coming with me.”

  ISBN: 1-55254-560-1

  HAUNTED ECHOES

  Copyright © 2006 by Cynthia Dees

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  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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