Love Entwined

by Danita Minnis

  “I will…rest…here…with you,” Jacqueline whispered. Her beautiful face was drained of color.

  “No, Jacqueline, don’t go to sleep. Beauty, don’t close your eyes, love.”

  She lifted her hand to his lips. He could feel the warmth seeping out of her. He stilled to catch her words.

  “Do not cry…never…leave you.”

  “No! My love, stay with me! You will live…oh, God.” But she was leaving him.

  He sank to the grass, cradling her in his arms.

  “Mon cher, I will…always…love you. We…are one…forever…” Her eyes still held the warm promise, which had once been in her touch, but her fingers slid down his chest, weary of life.

  “Forever, my love. I will love you always. Avec tout mon coeur.” Roman kissed her tenderly, over and over again, whispering, “I love you…” A litany of worship, as Jacqueline closed her eyes.

  Part 3: Reunion

  Chapter 1

  St. Clair Manor, North Yorkshire – April 18, 1988

  “Please bring her back.”

  Roman sat by Amelie’s bedside, where he had spent the last two, most hellish days of his life waiting for her to wake up after the riding accident that nearly killed her. He had sent the nurse away because he wanted to be alone with Amelie.

  He had never done much praying in his life, but he could not lose her. She was a strange woman-child. They hadn’t known each other long, but he could not help feeling that the two of them were on the verge of…something. In his heart, he knew it would be tragic, in more ways than the ultimate sacrifice of her life, if they did not see it through. He prayed for her, for himself, to the One so many people believed heard and answered prayers. He’d never believed himself, but he so desperately wanted to believe in that One now.

  He had imagined a thousand times that she would wake and sit up, and they would go down to breakfast, lunch, or a midnight snack. She looked just that way, with the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Thick black lashes swept porcelain cheeks, lips slightly parted, any minute now she would open her eyes.

  Sometime in the night, he thought he heard her murmur something. He might have dreamed it, but he shot up out of the chair. Though she did not stir, he was riveted, listening to her breathing the rest of the night.

  There was a hideous bruise on the left side of her forehead. Doctor Latham assured him the purple bulge on her otherwise lovely face would fade in time, but to Roman, it signified the gravity of her slumber. He could not dwell on it, the blow she had sustained for such a contusion. Her pain was unbearable to him.

  The physician came and went. “She is healing. It may be days or weeks, we will see. Keep her comfortable.”

  There were instructions, lists, things they would have to do in case of complications, things Roman did not want to believe Amelie might need.

  “Wake up, Beauty.” He had never wanted anything so much, to see her eyes glowing with life and that fire that was hers alone. “Open your eyes.”

  With a ragged sigh, Roman thrust his fingers through his hair. He cursed himself for giving her the lead during their ride across the clearing. He should have stopped her, done something, but he could not reach her in time.

  That rope strung across the field had been meant for him.

  The path they traveled was his daily route. His was the faster horse, had he not given Amelie the lead, he would have been the one thrown, as his would-be assassin had most certainly anticipated.

  He had thought the accidents would cease along with Emil Garamonde’s dying breath, but there was someone else out there who wanted him dead. He had no idea who it was or why they wanted to kill him. It was also quite possible that the accidents and Garamonde’s death were related.

  Now that he had claimed Bijou, his strongest competitor, there would be a list of other rivals vying for the number two spot in the industry. However, the few companies within reach of Cardiff Jewels’ sales were still fighting each other for that coveted ranking.

  While he believed Emil Garamonde capable of something so cutthroat, it was hard to imagine one of the other corporations taking on the strategy of killing their way to the top. But anything was possible…

  There was a knock on the door and then Anne came in with a tray and replaced the untouched one on the table. The nurse followed her in and stopped at the bedside.

  “You must eat. This will do you no good, sir,”

  “I have already told Caroline; I am not hungry, Anne. What is the time?” He did not look up, but leaned his elbows on the bed and watched the nurse with Amelie.

  “It is half past noon. Come away, sir. I will sit with her for a while.” Anne held out his messages, and when he shook his head, she sighed. “There is one from her parents. They will be here soon.”

  He held out his hand for the message.

  “James has laid out fresh clothes for you. You will feel better after a nice, hot shower. When she wakes up, you will be ready for her. Please, sir.”

  He looked down at the jeans. There were blood and grass stains on the beige turtleneck sweater.

  Amelie would be alarmed at the blood, her blood, if she were to see him now. He stood and walked barefoot to the connecting door. “Call me if she wakes, Anne.”

  * * * *

  “She sleeps, sir.” James stood at his door. “There is a tray for you in the study.”

  “Very well, then.” Roman felt more clear-headed now that he’d washed away the blood and grime of two days past. He would eat and then go back to Amelie. He needed to be there when she woke.

  He made his way down to the study where Khan bounded over to him. He took Khan’s large head in his hands, ruffling the dog’s ears. “Missing me, are you, boy?”

  Khan gave a disgruntled whine and followed him over to the great oak desk.

  Roman sat down and lifted the cover from the tray. When he gave Khan a few slices of bacon, the dog loped away to sit before the fireplace, content.

  A picture of Amelie at breakfast the morning of the accident appeared before him, her eyes effervescent with excitement for the ride.

  Things had been on an inevitable roll since that night in her apartment. Yet she was skittish, still playing the consummate professional, and he had let it go on, knowing it gave her some level of comfort. She was young and had not come to terms with what was between them.

  He had avoided confronting his feelings for her. Suspicion had served as a safe zone and held him back from the business of foolish emotion, restricting entanglements and women’s tears at the inevitable end. But Amelie’s tears hurt him.

  Besides that, he could not shake the feeling that he was missing something about her and if she did not wake, he would never know what it was.

  He pushed the tray away and sat back, staring at the black computer screen in front of him. Thoughts he had been too weary to discern last night now came to the fore.

  Capitaine…That was the word she had uttered in the middle of the night. A notion teased his conscience, wafting up from somewhere inside of him.

  He got up and strode to the door. He could not make her wake up before her body was ready, but there was something he could do. He could search for some answers.

  * * * *

  The attic was not well lit. Other than a few light bulbs here and there, this part of the house had been left virtually untouched in renovations. In the dim light of the overcast day, colorless shapes faded into the wood beams against the walls.

  He started coming up here when his mother died. For solitude, at first and then later for comfort. To be among the things of his family’s past put his mission, Cardiff Jewels, in perspective. Upon his graduation from Cambridge, he’d begun to work full time beside his father and there was less time for wandering the halls of his past. The years seemed to have toppled over one another other to the finish.

  He carried two halogen lights and a crow bar because many of the things up here were crated, left forever in storage.

  Some of the boxes
and crates were labeled and brought back memories. “Archery,” “Football,” “Christmas,” “Cambridge.” There was an old iron press and a seamstress model holding the remnants of a long, unfinished petticoat, the color of the faded material was indefinable.

  He passed shrouded mirrors and lamps. A surplus of ancient, dull armor stood against the wall like sentinels of centuries past.

  He was about halfway through the attic now. He would soon be in a section of the attic that he’d never been before, where the oldest treasures must be.

  There were tables up ahead with glass cases. He remembered the ship models, a tradition in the family. Some of the models had been on display in the library when his grandfather was still alive, but he had not seen them since. The entire collection must be up here spread out on these tables.

  He was drawn to a shrouded model, much larger than the others and removed the cover amidst swirls of dust. This was a very old model, detailed down to the crest on the sails.

  A raven crowned with laurels, the family crest…the Cardiff Jewels’ crest.

  He moved around the case, searching for the anchor…there, the unusual anchor in the shape of a diving raven.

  The hair stood up on the back of his neck.

  I know this anchor. Maybe one of the ships displayed in the library so long ago?

  He read the inscription of the engraved plate:

  The Raven

  Captain Roman Eric Cardiff

  1789

  This was how Captain Cardiff had started in the jewel trade, his travels around the world, which had blossomed into Cardiff Jewels.

  And there is another raven…

  He moved forward with purpose, past Victorian period pieces of furniture. A rounded shape hung against a wall. He removed the covering. A ship’s wheel with a raven carved into its center. The Raven …he knew it, also.

  Would the rest of the captain’s things still be here?

  He scanned the boxes and crates stacked on either side, and none were labeled. He would go through each one if he had to, though he did not know what he was searching for. Some proof. Of what?

  Capitaine…

  He never questioned the whispered endearment hanging in the air. It urged him on in this electrically charged space, which seemed to mingle real time with that of another. The desire to continue was a compulsion now.

  Placing the lamps on the floor, he took the crow bar off his belt loop and started with a crate directly under the ship’s wheel. It contained antique china. He moved on to the next crate. Antique vases, porcelain and jade all boxed away. The manor was already overflowing with heirlooms.

  He spotted a ceramic figurine of a Buddha.

  Amelie would love it. He placed the Buddha by the halogen lamp.

  The next crate contained paintings, some with gilt frames, others unframed and possibly never displayed. He made a mental note to look at them more closely some other time. There were crates full of cloth, which disintegrated to the touch.

  Why purchased, but never traded, never used? He wondered. Why were these things never thrown away and just left here to gather dust?

  He opened another crate containing drawings. Some were loose pages and others in sketchbooks. A page fell out of one book, and he caught it before it hit the floor. It was a drawing of the cradle upstairs in the nursery.

  “Mon amour, we are blessed.”

  His eyesight blurred. A vision of Amelie lying naked across his chest teased him, her full breasts pressing against him…

  Shaking his head, he set the drawing aside. He was just tired. His mind was playing tricks on him.

  He opened a large cedar wood box on top of the pile and carefully uncovered a faded wedding dress. He did not lift the dress out of the box. He was afraid it would fall apart. The ivory colored dress with a high neck had a choker studded with diamonds.

  It would look beautiful on Amelie with a diamond-studded veil. The thought startled him and he closed the lid and placed the box aside. Marriage ruined relationships, and he’d had his fill of those anyway.

  The next box contained a diamond-studded veil.

  His heart pounded in his chest. He could not rationalize how he had known what was in the box, but felt a curious mix of sadness and exhilaration. The former he could not explain, but he understood the latter; exhilaration. He was getting closer to an answer. He opened several of the other boxes: silk, satin and delicate, old lace. There were crates containing tools of measurement, paperweights, pewter cups and dishes.

  When he opened a box of books and ledgers, he set it by the halogen lamps. He sat down on the attic floor with a handful of ledgers and laid them out. They were ship’s logs of The Raven ranging from the years seventeen eighty-six to seventeen ninety-four.

  He skimmed through the log of seventeen ninety-four. It contained the ship’s course and wares received: jewels and precious stones, cloth, wool and spices. Reading through the captain’s last notation of the log, he saw:

  This will be my last voyage for some months, as Gwenyth is due to give birth this fall.

  He was privileged to get this small glimpse into the past. In previous years’ ledgers, the jewel trade dominated most of the accounting. This ledger mentioned a newly married Captain Cardiff and the arrival of his first-born.

  Before he met Gwenyth, Captain Cardiff spent most of those years on the ship in trade and the ports were numerous. The Raven had traveled the world.

  He skimmed through the ledger of ‘eighty-nine, noting mention of King George III, and read more carefully.

  May 22, 1789: Made port in Paris by request of King George.

  Contact with Comte St. Clair.

  He scanned a list of notes the captain had made on cargo and trade during the visit. At the bottom of one page, he stared at a name he’d been waiting to discover.

  July 15, 1789: Departed Paris port. Set sail for London, England.

  Only survivor of mission: Jacqueline Bouveau St. Clair, on board.

  21 years of age and in good health.

  Jacqueline, the woman he had thought he was kissing that night with Amelie in the vault. He knew of her, it was not his imagination. He was not going crazy.

  It was madness.

  There were intimate things he knew that he should not, like the beauty mark on her bum. Or the way she liked to play with his chest hairs, twisting them about after they made love.

  These were Captain Cardiff’s memories, not his own. He had yet to see the beauty mark on Amelie, but he knew where he would find it.

  Capitaine…Like a faint memory, she crept into his mind. Jacqueline.

  He gathered up the things he’d collected in a pile and left the attic.

  The questions came fast and furious. He was certain the answers were in this house, somewhere, because Amelie was here.

  That is what he’d missed about her before. When Amelie had arrived at St. Clair Manor, he could not help feeling that she had come home.

  One question of the many hounded him as he made his way down to the occupied wing of the house and into his suite. Gun shots, car chases, murderous traps in the forest, and last but not least, Emil’s demise…what had Amelie come home to?

  Chapter 2

  St. Clair Manor, North Yorkshire – April 18, 1988

  “A light coma. We can do nothing but wait.” Doctor Latham finished examining Amelie, and put away his instruments.

  The doctor spoke with Roman and Amelie’s parents by the door in low tones while the nurse put the bedclothes in order.

  “Doctor Latham,” the nurse called.

  Roman and the Laurents followed the doctor over to the bedside.

  Amelie stared up at him.

  “Beauty.” He crowded the physician, who was examining her again.

  “Ma chérie.” Celine Laurent kissed her daughter.

  “Mama. Papa, the shop…” Amelie tried to sit up.

  The nurse came forward to help. She held a cup of water while Amelie took a few sips from the straw.
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  “Ma petite, who cares for shoes when you lay in a sick bed.” Bernard Laurent took her hand and rubbed it between both of his before kissing it.

  “Well, young lady, you gave us quite a scare. I am Doctor Latham. What is your name?”

  “Amelie Celeste Laurent.” She turned her head toward the doctor. Her eyes widened when she saw the ceramic Buddha on the bedside table.

  Roman winked at her.

  “What year is it?” the physician asked.

  “Nineteen eighty-eight. Doctor, how long have I been…sleeping?”

  “You have been resting for two days. Today is April eighteenth,” Doctor Latham provided.

  “Only two days.” Amelie turned to Roman. “It seems like a lifetime.”

  Roman remained quiet while the questions went on.

  “When is your birthday?” the doctor asked.

  “June twenty-second,” Amelie said. She turned to Roman again. “Blue Belle?”

  “She is fine, but you really gave her a fright.” It was forever etched in his mind; the moment the roan had fallen, landing dangerously close to her where she lay unconscious in the horse’s path.

  When the doctor asked them to accompany him out, Roman followed reluctantly. They passed Anne, sniffing behind her handkerchief and James, who grinned at Amelie from the foot of the bed.

  “Will she be all right?” Celine wanted to know.

  “The worst is over,” Doctor Latham said. “She will experience headaches now and again, even fainting spells.” Dr. Latham turned to Roman. “She needs quiet, not too much excitement, eh?”

  “Of course.” Without blinking, he made the appropriate response to send the doctor on his way.

  By the time he saw the doctor out and returned to Amelie’s room, Caroline and her mother had whisked her away to the bath.

  He went through the sitting room and into his own room to wait. Turning on his laptop, he attempted to read his emails, but blast it; he could not concentrate. He finally turned off the laptop and headed down to the pool to swim away his nervous energy.

  * * * *