I had to find out. My legs were like lead, but I forced them lower and lower, down into the bowels of the castle. The walls were moist, and the narrow staircase twisted downward until I was standing at the bottom of a large, open room. Though, it wasn’t empty.
Surrounded by old torture devices, I gasped. A fire pit on one side let my imagination turn to boiling. Hanging cages made me think of starvation. The rack, though, made my bones ache. Up in the light of the estate, one would think Caliburn’s history had been tranquil, and the ghosts were friendly. Down here, the smell of past deaths made my stomach churn. Hurrying by old, decrepit blades and other weapons used to do God knew what, I slipped down another hall.
The hall I had chosen led to nothing but cells, so I made my way quickly back to the torture chamber. Looking around, I found a second path and took it, wishing desperately I had never ventured down here. My mind played tricks on me in the dark. I tried the doors as I walked past them. They were locked. The final door I tried popped open. I entered with care, gathering my wits.
My light shone around the room. I was surprised to find it was well furnished and looked just as extravagant as any of the rooms upstairs. Closing the door behind me, I found a light switch on the wall. I turned it on, and a low glow bathed the room. It was as though I had been transported to the medieval age.
The furniture was ornate and screamed of Tudor times. The high-set stationery trimmed with gold and rich cherry wood gleamed in a corner. A book and a quill were set out on its opened table. I would recognize Avalon’s handwriting anywhere. It was old fashioned and a beautiful script. In bold words at the top of the page, it read:
The twenty-third of May, in the year two thousand and sixteen.
I believe I have come to a crossroads once again. Life has thrown a wedge into my plans. I never imagined Lancer would know Ms. York. I don’t know if I should let her go or keep to my original plan. Both are special to me. I won’t deny I had hoped fate would be kinder. I won’t deny that this Alexandria is different from all other forms. She has captivated me from our first meeting years ago as a bright, gracious, and pure-hearted girl. The woman she has become frightens me, for she meets me on all levels.
-AP
My heart sank to my feet.
“What is this?” I turned to the previous pages, finding the book filled with daily accounts of not only Avalon’s life, but also of mine—at least since the day we had met. The turning grew more frantic until I was back to 1997. I was eight, and there was a picture of Avalon, smiling and crouching next to me at my private school. I recognized the background as the art room where I had spent most of my time.
What? No, this can’t be right. This man smiling next to me was nothing like the man upstairs. Tears welled in my eyes as a memory floated to the surface.
“Ms. York, we have a visitor today.” Mrs. Stuart brought a well-dressed man into the art room. “He is a duke, so mind your manners,” she whispered to me.
I moved to the front of my pottery wheel and curtseyed. “How do you do, Your Grace?” I looked at him as though he were a prince.
“I am very well, Ms. York. Tell me, what are you making?” He sat down next to me easily and listened as I explained my vase to him.
“It’s a dirty art, so not a lot of my friends like it.” Proper little me sighed. “I don’t care if it’s dirty. I like it.”
“Well, if you like it, that’s all that matters. Besides, you are taking dirt and turning it into a work of art.”
“Like God?” I turned to smile at him, and I saw a softness in his gray eyes I never knew could be attained.
“Yes, like God.” His thumb caressed my cheek.
The trickle of tears down my face pulled me from the memory. He was a patron of the CAC, which was why he had thanked me for giving back to the charity that started my career. My school had gotten all of its art and music supplies from the CAC. Wiping my eyes, I put the picture down and stared.
How old is Avalon?
I tried to steady my shaken breathing as I turned and stared at a portrait. Avalon glared back at me. The intensity in his face was unmatched by any I’d met. The artist had captured those gray eyes perfectly. I looked closer and the date caught my attention.
1876.
My heart thundered.
I started to search the room. I found portrait after portrait of the man upstairs leaning against an old chest of drawers. Some dated from just a few years ago, and others went back to the fourteenth century. It had to be him. The eyes, the faint scar, the way his lips set in a hard line. I backed away, my foot kicking a box, sending newspaper articles scattering.
Fingers trembled as I sifted through them. They were all about me, my successes, my life, my parents’ deaths. I couldn’t stop shaking. Inside the box, there was a folder on top of another wooden box. I pulled out the folder and almost dropped it. The article that greeted me upon opening was from 1921 and read:
Future Duchess of Avalon, Katherine James Murdered in Cold Blood.
I gazed at a picture of a gorgeous woman with blond hair and light eyes in the article. She was standing next to Avalon. The look of adoration he showered her with took my breath away. Studying the pair closer, more so the woman, I found the similarities between us too close for comfort. Dropping that folder, I then reached for the box.
I carefully opened the lid. I found a loose scrap of paper at the top. An old parchment letter read:
The third of September 1789
The Lady Anne Cromwell was found dead in her chamber at her family residence in Kent. Her fiancé, the Duke of Avalon, has been informed . . .
I wish I’d never read it.
I couldn’t read the rest. A framed, painted picture of the deceased woman showed a beauty. Jet-black hair, porcelain skin, and blue eyes shocked me.
Another woman dead?
I let the portrait fall back into the box. Both women had my eyes. Both women had been killed. Both had been engaged to the Duke of Avalon.
A large trunk in the back beckoned me to open it. I stood slowly, not wanting to, but something wouldn’t let me refuse. I ran my hands along the top gently, kneeling in front of the old piece. Rich fabrics caught my eye upon opening the weathered lid. I pulled out dress after dress of damasks and silks from the East. At the bottom were a few small boxes and a book. On closer inspection, it was a bible. This woman had a book of hours.
I opened one of the small boxes and a locket lay on a green velvet cushion. Lockets such as this were usually tokens given to lovers with their portraits inside. Summoning everything I had, I popped the clasp and looked down. It was me.
My mouth fell open, and I brought the trinket closer. This woman looked just like me. I dropped the locket. I opened the book and scanned the pages. The last time she had written was on her wedding day.
Isabella, Duchess of Avalon, married to the Duke of Avalon the sixteenth of March in the year of our Lord 1569.
Another oval portrait at the bottom of the trunk showed the couple together. The diamond and ruby set Avalon had gifted me hung around Isabella’s neck and glittering drop earrings hung in her ears. A black box was uncovered next and my throat tightened. I already knew. An official document with the seal of nobility sat there.
I took the letter, opened it, and composed myself. Isabella had been found dead in her chambers at Hampton Court the night after her wedding.
It dawned on me that Avalon wasn’t the man he appeared to be.
Did he find out about her lover and kill her after they were married?
What of the other two?
Too many unanswered questions lingered.
Why did they end up dead before even the wedding?
He’d said he had one wife, who was dead.
Who was he?
My hands dropped to my lap.
What was he?
Was it possible that Avalon was some kind of immortal?
Did he find out about her lover and kill her after they were married?
/> Panic rose in my throat.
What of the other two?
Why did they end up dead before the wedding even happened?
He gave me gifts that were hundreds of years old.
He picked women with my looks alone.
He had my history in his hands and seemed to have stalked me from a young age.
My thoughts ran to the torture devices just feet away from me.
“Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” My hand went to my throat. “It’s impossible!”
Am I next?
He was going to play out his sick fantasy and kill me. I started to hyperventilate. I had to find Lancer and get out of this place.
Lancer.
What if Avalon has already taken his life?
In a panic, I got to my feet, but I couldn’t move. The grief for those three women through the last six hundred years overwhelmed me. I choked back a sob.
How old is Avalon?
There was no father or grandfather. As far as I could tell from the portraits, he was one and the same. He had to be hundreds of years old. I reached out to grip on to anything, and my hand took hold of a silk fabric draped over something tall. It didn’t hold me steady, and I fell.
I stared up at a suit of armor. The symbol of a dragon, the Welsh dragon, was engraved in gold over the chest plate. The fact that it was armor didn’t bother me. I had done a study of arms and armor in college. This wasn’t fifteenth-century armor. This was close to the Crusades but back farther still. This armor was from the Dark Ages lost to history.
I had to get out of this place. As I started to shove fabrics back into the trunk, I heard the creak of a door. I was trapped in a horror movie with no way out. My breathing was shaking, uneven through my nose. My hands lowered the trunk’s lid. They were trembling to the point I couldn’t hold them still.
“Alexandria.”
I heard his silent command from where I sat. I staggered to my feet to turn. My eyes wide in fear and tear ridden, I faced the door. Placing a hand behind my back, I made sure I could unsheathe Pridwen if I needed to. I never went anywhere without the dagger now.
Avalon stood, looking around the room where I had ventured into his past. His cheeks hollowed as he saw the newspapers on the ground. The door shut with a violent force, and the lock slid, sealing us inside.
No escape.
I opened my mouth to beg, plead, but no sound came out. Silent terror washed over me as he walked toward me. Gray eyes were harsh but also hurt.
Why did you have to do this? That question reflected in his eyes.
I tried to convey my remorse back to him. I’m sorry!
Time stood still as he came closer to me. I would protect myself. I had to. That was when I noticed the gun at his chest, slipped neatly into a holster. He had a gun to my knife.
“No . . . No, please . . .” Finally, words were able to escape in soft sobs. “Please don’t kill me, Avalon. I’m sorry . . . I . . . please . . . don’t kill me . . .”
His hand reached out and grabbed the one I held in front of me. He pulled me closer to him. The familiar scent I had grown fond of—that of leather, spice, and whiskey—surrounded me. I rested my face on his chest, and his heart pounded as hard and as fast as mine was.
“Why did you do this, Alexandria? Why did you have to do it this way?”
His grip was iron, and I couldn’t move away. He buried his face into my shoulder.
“I don’t know. I won’t do it again; I promise.” I sobbed, trying to find a way to talk him down.
“There won’t be an again, Alexandria.” Avalon pulled back, kissing my cheek.
The pain in his eyes, the tears he fought against shedding.
Oh, my God, this is it. He is going to end me here!
I watched him reach up, and before I could stop myself, I reacted. Pridwen felt like lead in my hand as I defended myself. I had never stabbed anyone before.
His eyes widened in realization. “Alexandria—wait! No!”
I closed my eyes as my dagger pierced his stomach. His hands closed around mine as his eyes shut. Falling to his knees, Avalon’s face bunched with pain. I fell with him, still holding the hilt.
After a moment, he groaned. “Why?” A hand reached out and stroked my cheek.
“You were going to shoot me! You were going to kill me just like you killed Katherine and Anne and Isabella!” I couldn’t stop the flood of tears. I had stabbed someone. I had stabbed Avalon. He could die. I’d never see him again if he did. I’d never be able to know him better.
His snort brought me out of my head. “I couldn’t harm you. I’d never harm you.” His breathing hitched. “I love you. There . . . I . . . said it. I love you, and I hate you for it.” He winced again and fell onto his side.
“Avalon!” I let go of the dagger and went to his head. “Avalon! I’m—What?” I was so confused.
How can he love me?
He’s bleeding everywhere!
Why would he love me?
I have to get help!
He reached for my hand. I took it without question. His breathing was coming faster; his chest heaved.
“I can explain everything to you. I promise. Arghh. Just pull this fucking blade out of me.”
Avalon gritted his teeth, and I gulped.
“I read that one should leave a blade in until medical attention is sought. I don’t want to kill you!” I held his hand tighter to keep from becoming hysterical.
“Just pull the damn thing out. I’m not a normal human.” His voice took on the familiar, irritated tone.
I didn’t argue. I reached back down, and I steadied my hand. “On the count of three. One . . . Two . . .”
I pulled it straight out, and he howled. I watched the blood pour from the wound as he gripped his stomach.
“Arghh, you said three, you liar!”
“You told me to pull it out, so I did! I’ve never stabbed anyone before!” I looked at the blade covered in blood and threw it.
Avalon was writhing on the floor.
I took the silk sheet that had fallen from the armor and pressed it against his stomach.
I was an idiot.
He wasn’t going to kill me?
What is he?
“Avalon, look at me. You’re getting really pale.”
His eyes focused on me, glowering before rolling back into his head. A groan escaped his lips.
“I’m so sorry . . . please . . . don’t die . . . I . . .” I did the only thing I could think of. With strong hands, I ripped the front of his shirt open. I found the stab wound and pressed the fabric harder against the gaping cut.
Apply pressure on bleeding wounds.
I looked around for my phone. I couldn’t leave Avalon and grab it at the same time.
Looking at the man below me, I was taken aback. He was nothing but lean muscle. A large scar over his heart branded him. Still keeping pressure on the wound, I let my hand trace over the twisted skin. He inhaled sharply before he turned his head back to me.
We were silent, sharing a conversation.
My lower lip quivered, and he reached up to grip my chin lightly.
“No tears for me. I don’t deserve them.” He pushed himself up into a sitting position.
“What are you doing? Lie back down, please! Avalon, we must get you medical attention.”
He ignored me. “Remove the sheet.” Black hair fell into his eyes.
Something in my soul stirred.
Familiarity.
My fingers slipped from his scar to the sheet covering his wound.
“Do you trust me?” His voice was soft, the echoing of a dream.
I slowly drew away the sheet and gasped. The wound had ceased bleeding. It was healing! My eyes widened; speechless, I glanced back and forth from his stomach to his face.
“What? How? Avalon, I stabbed you! I could have killed you!”
He reached out and wrapped an arm around me, bringing me close.
My arms tucked under me, resting on hi
s chest. Avalon ran fingers through my hair, holding me as I sobbed. His body was warm, hard, and his arms were secure, safe. I’d never felt this way with him before.
“I’m so sorry. Avalon, please . . .” I sniffed. I could have killed a duke. Worse—I could have killed Avalon.
“My lady, I am fine. You can’t hurt me in that way. Not with a dagger like that,” he whispered.
My eyes fluttered open, and I pushed myself off his broad chest. Glints of silver caught my eye, and I looked down. Two rings hung on his neck.
Wedding bands.
His finger brought my gaze back up to his eyes.
“I’m sorry.” His mouth was tight. “I’m so sorry, Alexandria. I should have told you.”
“Told me what?” I found my hand twisting in his.
Our palms played along each other before he raised mine to his lips.
His eyes looked through me to my soul. Red came into my vision. A ring on his finger. Taking his hand, I splayed mine against his larger one. Avalon watched silently as I studied his hands.
Eyes looked back to his face. I reached up to caress his cheek. His body tensed, only to melt as I let my fingers trail over his cheeks, strong jaw, his chin, nose, and eyebrows. I mapped him. Everything made sense, and everything fell into place.
Avalon was intent on watching me. My lips parted. I wanted to ask him if what I thought was true. His fingertips fell against my lips when I breathed to speak. With a shake of his head, he stopped me from asking.
When I tried to protest, his mouth caught mine to silence me. He was soft, so soft, and gentle as muscular arms embraced me again. Tentatively, I kissed back. The moment was so tender and over too fast. Tears slipped from my eyes again as I gave Avalon a look.
How could you?
“Because I love you.”
His response settled in my chest. The adrenaline in my body had started to diminish. My limbs grew heavy. Tunnel vision on Avalon’s face grew darker.
Set in Stone: A Contemporary Adventure Romance Novel (Legend Book 1) Page 19