The twenty Cornishmen rose as did Charlie and Newt. They stood, waiting, seemingly surrounding the table where Rowena and her aunt and Sir John still sat wide-eyed. Charlie and Newt walked hurriedly to the end of the gallery, the thudding of their boot heels against the oak floor echoing in the long and now silent gallery. Both armed, they peered out into the hall.
“It’s Elveston!” Charlie called, shoving his pistol back into his coat. “He’s wounded.”
Harry and Micah supported a tall, muscular man with dark wavy, brown hair between them. They carefully helped him onto the chaise before the massive, old fireplace. His face was bruised. His sleeve was stained with dried blood. He moved stiffly, as if his ribs were sore.
“Where do you hurt, sir? What can I get for you?” Rowena inquired with concern as she approached him. She looked into the man’s dark eyes, her braid falling over her shoulder as she bent toward him so she might access his injuries better.
Lord Elveston grinned upon seeing such a lovely lady, mischief twinkling in his brown eyes as he assessed the beauty before him. He appeared to be about to speak until Harry’s warning glare stopped him. He closed his mouth. Smiled sheepishly at Rowena.
“Lady Rowena Locke, meet Jonathan, “Jack”, Drayton, Lord Elveston.” Micah made the introduction as he looked meaningfully at Elveston.
Elveston suppressed his colorful remarks he was about to make to the lady that had something to do with angels and wishes fulfilled. Now he knew the Lady’s identity he said instead, “I need to clean the wound on my arm, my Lady, I was stabbed. The rest are cuts and bruises from the beating I took from Dalworth’s men. A bath will help that, and mayhap also my bruised ribs.”
“Dalworth?” Rowena looked to Harry, her eyes wide with shock. Then she began to tremble. Noticeably.
Harry held up his hand to silence Elveston.
“Lady Rowena, come, sit here, on the settee with your aunt.” Micah gently took her arm, helped her to be seated. “Are you comfortable?”
She took a deep breath and nodded. Her trembling began again.
“Lady Rowena, Lady Sperring, do you want to hear this?” Harry inquired softly. His eyes were full of concern as they rested on his Angel.
“Y-yes,” Rowena agreed. Frances nodded in the affirmative also. She took her nieces’s hand in hers and patted it. She raised her chin in determination.
“Would you prefer Lord Elveston speak to a small party of us privately than to our full company?” Harry’s gentle gaze still rested on Rowena.
She shook her head. “Everyone is here to help us, Harry. Let us all hear what he has to say.” Rowena raised her eyes to meet Harry’s. She took a deep breath. Lifted her chin.
Harry nodded. Looked to Elveston. “Go on, Jack.”
Before beginning, Elveston looked from Harry to the beautiful lady. Nodded slightly as if understanding of the current situation sunk in. “Dalworth’s fourth wife died two weeks ago. From an unexplained fall down the stairs. I hung out in the tavern near his estate. Struck up several conversations with one of his chief henchmen. Got his man good and drunk two nights in a row.” Elveston looked nervously at Rowena then turned to Harry. “Seems Dalworth does have his sights set on Lady Rowena, Harry. Apparently he once coveted her in the past. It seems he feels the necessity to pay her back for some disfiguring wound she bestowed upon him.”
A loud gasp came from Aunt Frances.
Rowena looked confused. Then became angry. “Pay. Me. Back! Pay me back?” She stood. “He hurt me! I no doubt scratched him while I tried to get away, and I hit and kicked him while he…while he hurt me. I do not recall him bleeding. Or being disfigured. I remember tasting my own blood when he punched me in the face and split my lip open. Pay me back?” She sat back down, her eyes brimming with unshed tears, her cheeks reddened with fury. Then she whispered, “Excuse me, please, gentlemen. I apologize for my outburst.”
Harry’s jaw clenched. His hands balled into fists. He wanted to kill Dalworth at that moment. Swore that he would make that man pay for what he did to Rowena.
The room fell silent. The only sound made was a soft, strangled cry sounding something like shock or astonishment. It came from Rowena’s aunt.
“Oh, dear. Oh, John! We shall no longer be able to keep our secret, I fear,” Frances Phippen, Lady Sperring said softly, shaking her head. She rose. Wrung her hands nervously. Her face was pale, completely devoid of color. Yet, when she looked at Rowena, some of her color returned as did some of her strength. She squared her shoulders.
John looked lovingly at Frances. “It’s all right, my dear. These gentlemen will understand, I’m certain. Permit me, Frances.” John helped his Lady back to the settee, where she sat next to her niece once again. “You see gentlemen, Lady Rowena,” Sir John paused to pat Rowena’s shoulder tenderly, “several days after Frances removed Rowena from her brother’s house, following the horrible incident Lady Rowena endured, and the quashing of Heathcote’s attempt to force Rowena into marriage, Dalworth, himself, came to Winstone House in London.”
Sir John sighed heavily and continued, “Dalworth said simply, because he ruined Lady Rowena, she was his, and he would take her from us that day. That he’d not give her up. The whole fiasco was arranged by him and her brother. Heathcote’s logic was simply if Rowena were ruined, she would be forced to marry Dalworth. She refused to wed him before that. Her own brother allowed Dalworth to force himself upon her, and remained deaf to our poor Rowena’s cries for help. Dalworth boasted to us that Heathcote awaited him in the next room. That he shared a celebratory brandy with him afterward.”
Sir John looked to Rowena and Frances and went on. “Rowena was upstairs sleeping in her chamber that day when Dalworth arrived to Winstone House. She suffered nightmares for many months after the, ah, incident and slept very little, as one can certainly understand. I apologize to you now, Lady Rowena, but that morning we put a tiny amount of laudanum in your tea to help you rest, for we were vastly worried regarding your lack of sleep at night. We only did so for about a week, until you appeared more rested. Frances feared you’d waste away to nothing and become ill, for if you recall my dear, you ate very little then. I feared the same which is why I allowed it to be done.”
Frances’s voice was strong once again, as she interjected. “John, thank you, I can explain, I should explain. ‘Tis my confession to make.” Frances rose. “Dalworth was out of his head. He became angry and violent. I feared for Rowena should he get to her. I realized he was insane, he’d have to be, him thinking because he violated my niece that I would agree to give her to him. He was plainly obsessed with having Rowena. John and I both refused him, ordered him from the house. I rang the bell for Hanford to help us. Dalworth lunged at me then. He put his hands around my throat. Dalworth was screaming he would take Rowena if he had to kill me and anyone else who got in his way.”
Frances continued, “I told him what I thought of him for forcing himmself upon her. I told him I’d have him ruined by the following morning. Just a few well-placed words in certain ears, and the doors of society would close to him, forever. I pointed out that this information, along with the already rife rumors of his previous wives’ “unexplained” deaths would make certain none of decent society would ever welcome him again.”
Sir John joined Frances then, taking her hand in his. “He was hurting Frances, trying to kill her, so I coshed him on the head with a very large vase. It was something that needed to be done. My pistol was above stairs, I hadn’t time to get it. I had to protect Lady Sperring and Lady Rowena. Dalworth fell to the floor after I hit him.” Sir John added with a stern nod, “He was out cold. I had thought to kill him then, but alas, I did not. I realize now, I should have.”
Frances sighed heavily. “I was opening my mail at the moment he forced himself past Hanford at the door to find us in the parlour. I still held the letter opener in my hand. I was so angry, and Rowena suffered so much already. Something just came over me. I could not stop it,” Frances
sniffed, “I stabbed him. Even though he was unconscious. Before I realized what I was doing, it was done.” Frances gulped then informed, “I stabbed him in the area of his anatomy I found most offensive at that moment.” She lowered her eyes. She remained quiet for a moment. Then added, “More than once.” She sniffed, “Or twice even.”
Sir John held up four fingers.
There were more than several sharp intakes of breath among the group.
Frances continued, teary-eyed, “So, Hanford and Sir John got him into my carriage from the back of the house, thank goodness Dalworth remained unconscious, and they deposited him in a questionable part of town. I’m sorry to say, we cared not whether he lived or died at that point. Only that he wasn’t found bleeding in our parlour. Rowena and I removed to Glastonbury with Hanford, of course, to await Sir John and the Marchese. Who had the foresight to bring along two huge bodyguards with him from Italy. The Marchese remained some months. Not long after he left, we went to France for a time with Rowena. To keep her safe. By the time we returned to English soil, Dalworth was remarried. We never heard a word from him after his, ah, visit.”
Frances returned to her seat next to Rowena then. She continued her confession, “I did not give any whispers to the ton, though I wish I had. I thought perhaps he was frightened enough to leave us be. I felt as long as he was married, and society believed Rowena was married to the Marchese, Rowena would be safe.”
Tears welled in Rowena’s eyes. She leaned her head on her aunt’s shoulder and rubbed her arm. She smiled through her tears. “You and Sir John did that for me? Thank you,” she whispered, smiled at her aunt, then Sir John.
Frances looked to Harry. “So if he’s looking to pay someone back, it should be me, not Rowena for it was I who did the deed. ‘Twas I who disfigured the man, though God knows he deserved that and more. I’ll not apologize for it.” Frances’ eyes flashed. “In all honesty had I a true knife in my hand instead of a letter opener, we might not even be having this conversation today.”
“Lady Sperring, you acted in self-defense, in defense of your niece who was badly wronged by the beast, and Sir John was defending you both. There is no blame. I will point out as Dalworth was unconscious, he has no idea who truly, eh – stabbed him,” Harry suggested.
“That is what I conclude, Harry,” Sir John agreed with a nod.
“Do you have more for us, Elveston?” Micah questioned.
“I guess the man I pumped for information those two nights grew suspicious, or else Dalworth got wind of it. I noticed outside of Andover that I was being followed. I thought I lost them at Warminster, but they caught up to me at Frome. Took me by surprise, a little.” Elveston fidgeted slightly, as he continued, “My fault actually, I was otherwise occupied when they came upon me. In any case, they wanted to know exactly what you were doing here in Glastonbury. What you were looking for. Apparently, Dalworth has someone here already watching you and Lady Rowena.”
“This other person also has some personal reason for coming after you. Dalworth has decided he doesn’t trust this man. And I gathered from his two henchmen, before they unfortunately met with a fatal accident, that Dalworth fears that you, Harry, will wed Lady Rowena before he can get to her. His man said Dalworth was quite desperate and preparing to leave for Glastonbury as we spoke.”
Harry was looking at Rowena.
Her face drained of all color. Her fingers trembled. Her eyes remained closed. Opening her eyes she drew in a deep, ragged breath. She rose and said in barely a whisper, “Excuse me. I must return to Lyon now.” She left the room, her back ramrod straight.
Harry was unable to leave at that moment, for there were a multitude of men to organize. And he needed to take care of some business with Jack immediately. He looked to Micah and Charlie and pointed to Rowena. They immediately followed her.
Harry needed to speak to Sir John and Frances without Rowena present as soon as could be. When he was certain Rowena was out of the room, he asked Elveston, “Jack, you did procure the special license for me from the Archbishop?”
“Absolutely. It’s here.” Elveston patted his coat pocket.
Micah and Charlie entered Lyon’s sickroom to find Rowena emptying the contents of her stomach into the chamber pot left for Lyon’s use. She quickly wiped tears from her cheeks before turning to face them. Her eyes were large. She looked pale, frightened and miserable.
She accepted the handkerchief Micah offered to her.
“Lady Rowena, are you finished?” Micah indicated the recptacle. When she nodded, he said, “Charlie, take this.” Micah took the pot from her and handed it to his horrified friend.
Betsey, the maid, just happened to be entering the room and wide-eyed, she took the pot from Charlie who held it at arm’s length from his body.
“We are not going to let anything happen to you, Lady Rowena. Nor your aunt, nor Sir John. No one shall take you from your home. No one shall harm you,” Micah said in a comforting tone as he took her hand. He urged her to sit upon the chaise not far from Lyon’s bed.
Rowena looked to Micah. “The knife you keep in your boot, Micah. Do you have another?”
“Yes. And it’s yours.” Micah nodded.
“Will you teach me how to use it?” she looked to him pleadingly.
“Absolutely.” Micah knew she would feel safer, if she felt she was able to protect herself. “Since Harry and I made you the first female member of the Avalon Society, it is necessary that you receive your training, in any case. Unfortunately, it is the rules of our club.” He winked at her. Received a small smile from her. He continued in a much more serious tone, “We’ll see to it you can protect yourself from anyone, even Harry if need be,” he ended on a teasing note. “We’ll start today.”
Rowena gave him another weak smile. Nodded. “I’d like that, Micah.”
“Excuse me, Lady Rowena.” Trevan Chynoweth bowed as he entered the room. “I wanted to tell you, that it is my personal aim to find this man and make certain he never hurts you or any other woman again. I apologize for overhearing a bit of your conversation just now. It was not intentional. But I wish to offer my services, along with Micah. I can show you, Lady Rowena, how a wee pixie like yourself can knock even a big oaf like me on my arse. I will do so whenever you wish, if you so desire.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. I want to learn such a thing,” Rowena accepted his offer.
“Harry wanted me to tell you, Lady Rowena, that as soon as we get everyone organized, we’ll be taking you to the wells and the Tor, as long as you feel up to it, of course.”
Rowena nodded.
Trevan looked to Micah then, “Harry has requested that you and Charlie come as well.”
Micah nodded.
Trevan Chynoweth, the Duke of Penrose, paused to look down upon Lyon for a moment, removed the covers and bandage to look at his wound. “It is a mangled, ugly thing, isn’t it? I do not see any signs of infection yet. This is good. And Lyon is strong. And he has a very good nurse. And a pretty one at that.” Trevan gave Rowena a wink then left the room.
Chapter Fourteen
They drew the water from Chalice Well and then from the White Spring. They deposited the two earthenware containers in the kitchens at Stonedown, and were now nearing the top of the Tor with their additional Cornish armed guard. Including Rowena, they numbered eleven.
Rowena entered the tower of St. Michael alone. Micah waited at one opening, Harry at the other. They faced outward, giving Rowena some privacy.
Harry and Micah heard her voice, heard her say prayers of her own creation. Heard her recite the eighty-fifth Psalm which was said to be written by the Archangel Michael himself.
Both Micah and Harry noted the moment when the energy shifted and strengthened. It was the same moment the winds increased and seemed to swirl about the Tor. At the same time the sun broke free of the clouds and sent golden rays to caress the hill and the Lady within the roofless tower.
Harry and Micah, along with the other men in
attendance, commented later that the hairs rose on their goose pimpled flesh. That electricity crackled along their backs and limbs. When blinding bolts of violet, blue and white light shot past Harry and Micah from within the tower, they each turned, looked within.
They saw Rowena, surrounded in golden white light, kneeling before an exceptionally tall, very muscular angel who emanated brilliant white light from his body. His hair was golden. Much the same color as Rowena’s, Harry later told. He said they could have been brother and sister, the two angels. The muscled Archangel wore a shiny gold breastplate. The silken tunic which flapped about his muscular limbs was royal red, trimmed in indigo blue. The Archangel laid his hands on Rowena’s shoulders. He spoke to her, but neither Harry nor Micah could understand his words. It seemed an ancient and unfamiliar tongue to their ears.
All of the men present on the Tor later recalled they did hear some very unfamiliar, but enchantingly beautiful music all about them. They did not recall if they heard voices or instruments, but they all agreed the music was absolutely enchanting.
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