Love Entwined

by Danita Minnis

  “What about the brown robes? Are they still there?”

  “We didn’t see any more after we left the chamber.”

  “But there are hundreds of them. Or were, long ago,” she murmured. She was silent for a moment. “They are in hiding, like Emil was.”

  “Beauty, do you have any idea why Emil was ‘killed’ that first time at Diefritz Plaza?”

  “Someone wanted him out of the way. Someone who knew he would have to go into hiding after his ‘death’ and never be seen again in this lifetime.

  “It was one of them. They are smart and patient. Il Dragone will not come out into the open until it is safe again. They will wait until people forget what happened here, or until those involved die a natural, human death. When the world feels safe again, il Dragone will come.” She could not go on with her dry throat. “Is there water?”

  He poured her a glass from the pitcher on the bedside table. When she’d had enough, he took it from her.

  “Chief Bryant’s men. Are they all gone?”

  “They didn’t hear anything outside until the ground started shaking. They thought it was an earthquake. When they couldn’t get in, they called for help. We were out of the chamber by then and opened the doors for them. It was a while before the authorities arrived, but when they did, they went through the entire castle, save for the chamber we never told them about, and found no one. Not even that one maid Varuk summoned could be located.”

  “At least Michel Garamonde and Varuk are gone forever.” She closed her eyes.

  “So is Emil.” Roman went over to the window and closed the blinds.

  “Merci, mon amour,” she sighed. The brightness in the room was beginning to give her a headache. “But Lord Alsborough, Damek, is still out there, somewhere. The fire demon said we would meet again.”

  Roman took her hand. “He isn’t at the castle. Maybe this is not the lifetime you will meet. Although, I wish it was. I want to be there, and he needs to die once and for all.”

  She kept her eyes closed because she knew he was wrong. She felt it.

  “Dr. Frein has been staying at the castle with us.”

  Her eyes flew open. “You have been sleeping there?”

  “Amelie, there are weapons and armor, and paintings in the castle that I recognize. I’m sending everything of value home, for research. Dr. Frein was researching artifacts he found in the castle when they discovered his real purpose was to investigate my father’s murder. We should never have sent him in alone.”

  “You didn’t know, Roman.”

  “At least Dr. Frein has learned quite a bit about the castle and Garamonde, and wants to help. We’ve got three teams there now, a total of thirty men. A bedroom for each with more to spare. And I’m sure the media will be handling surveillance for us party animals, so we won’t be alone in the demon’s lair.” He caressed her furrowed brow. “Amelie, I want you to go home. Now, don’t argue with me—”

  “You’re right.”

  “Come again?”

  “Castle Zuoz is dangerous. I am dangerous when I’m there, so close to the ancestors and the fire dragon. But he can’t enter this world without me.”

  She tried to sit up again and this time he pulled her into a hug.

  “Have you ever encountered the ancestors outside of Castle Zuoz?”

  “Not in this lifetime or Jacqueline’s. But I can’t speak for other lives I don’t remember.” She leaned her head against his chest. “She almost killed you. I am afraid she will come back.”

  Even now, she was afraid to speak the High Priestess’s name.

  He feasted on her lips. “You didn’t allow her to kill me. You fought her and won, love.” He arranged the pillows behind her and laid her back down. “I’ll be home after the demolition. Go home and plan our wedding.”

  Chapter 15

  St. Clair Manor, North Yorkshire, England – June 16, 1988

  Roman led the way up to the attic. When he reached the landing, he kept right on walking into the darkness.

  Amelie found a string hanging from the ceiling and pulled. The light the single bulb gave off wasn’t very promising.

  He looked back. “Sorry, I come up here and sit sometimes. Well, quite often, actually. It’s the only hiding place James hasn’t discovered yet.”

  “You sit here, in the dark?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t be hiding if the lights were on, would I?”

  “You mean light, singular. You know, we should have met much earlier in your life, before you became such a gloomy, eccentric billionaire.”

  He laughed at the look she gave him. He walked back to her, pulling another string along the way for a very little more light. “You can banish the fire demon to hell but are afraid of wine cellars and musty, old attics. And you think I’m crazy? Well, all I can say is we’re a match made in hel—”

  “Heaven,” she finished for him, and sashayed those luscious hips past a suit of armor.

  Grinning, he took her hand. “Hold on tight.”

  They walked past the boxes of his youth and made their way deeper into the attic.

  He spent some time with her at Grandfather Ian’s ship models and let her reminisce over Captain Cardiff’s model of The Raven, but then took her hand again.

  “We have plenty of time to go through all of the Captain’s things. You need to see this.”

  They walked further along, past the ship’s wheel and turned a corner.

  Under an eave, a space had been cleared for wrapped canvases and boxes.

  He opened a cabinet, took out one of two leather-bound volumes, and began to read. “Jamaica, West Indies. I thought it was over, but they came for me. It was the maid who came to my room the night before we departed. She begged to come to England with me. She is one of them. They have watched me in secret on this island, waited for me. They used my weakness against me for I have surely been to hell with this beautiful maid many, many times. She drugged my whiskey and when I fell asleep, gathered my things. Now they hold me prisoner on my own ship. They have chartered a course for England, the evil lot of them. God help us all.”

  “When did this happen to the captain?”

  He shook his head. “Not Captain Cardiff. Grandfather Ian. This log is dated May sixteenth, nineteen sixty-four.”

  “Your grandfather knew of them,” she murmured. “Roman, he was a warrior.”

  “His ship washed up on the rocks in England after a storm on May twentieth, nineteen sixty-four. This is the journal from that ship. Guess where I found it.”

  “Castle Zuoz. Mon dieu, il Dragone would have survived the shipwreck, but knew he wouldn’t. They killed him.”

  He placed the volume in the cabinet. “They came to England and disappeared into society. Grandfather Ian was the last ship’s captain in the family. That’s how the Cardiffs were able to search for these beings. I don’t think my father knew about them, he would have told me.”

  “Giles Cardiff was an artisan in this life, like me. Maybe your grandfather knew that.”

  “I was ten when Grandfather Ian died. If he ever planned to tell me about the life of a hunter, he never had the chance. What are these beings? Vampires?”

  “In a way, but not exactly. They can live forever with the blood of the First. That blood mingled with the blood of sacrifice keeps them alive. The First is still a mystery to me. I don’t remember how he originated. I’ve learned through the ancestors that he is much older than us, and has always been there.”

  Roman opened the second volume, showing her a page that was virtually undecipherable. “Dr. Frein has researchers going through other books we found. I’m told that they chronicle events. There are volumes on the Romans and some ancient blood-drinking evil being. I can’t read any of this, but a few names. Aurelius, Pretorius, and last, but not least, Romanus.”

  She took the book from him, scanning the pages. “Aurelius and Pretorius. Do you remember who they were?” When he shook his head, she said. “Warriors who live in the light.
Your line is so very old, and blessed. While I am from darkness. I am tainted.”

  “Beauty, after what you did at Castle Zuoz, you are a warrior of light.”

  Chapter 16

  Kingston Abbey, North Yorkshire – June 22, 1988

  The vicar led them out the back door and around the side of the abbey. He pointed in the distance to a huge, old tree with gnarled twisting limbs spread wide.

  “I won’t be able to hold them off for very long.” The vicar chuckled. “The photographer is a bear.”

  Roman and Amelie walked hand-in-hand along the stone path toward the ancient elm. Just out of sight of the vicar, he stopped and bent to her lips. It was not enough that he’d spent the better part of the night making love to Amelie; he was hard for her still.

  The white satin of the old wedding gown hugged her luscious curves. The Cardiff sapphire and diamonds lay nestled between her breasts, which were encased in a strapless fitted bodice, a renovation in the old gown. The diamond studded gauze overskirt added a bit of modesty to the gown, but the provocative sway of Amelie’s hips belied the effect.

  In that moment, he saw her in Harold’s office when he’d met her for the first time. Her fiery spirit hidden behind the no-nonsense armor of professionalism. She had been wary of him then. Still encapsulated in an air of girlish naivety, she was unaware of the potent sensuality she exuded with every movement.

  Now her emerald eyes were incandescent with love as she looked up at him. He saw what he meant to her and thanked a higher power for his good fortune.

  They continued and searched the newer gravestones, clean, polished granite adorned with little bouquets.

  When they reached the older, weathered gravestones containing old family names of the county, Amelie let go of his hand and moved ahead to read the names on the stones. Olden, Smythe, Collins, Warrick, Hawthorne. Down several more rows, there were Cardiff gravestones. Garrick William Cardiff, died 1921…Colin Cardiff, died 1884…Captain Roman Eric Cardiff, died 1834.

  He shook his head. “The captain was seventy-five years old when he died. All those years without her. No wonder he spent so much time at sea in the jewel trade and looking for il Dragone. But he would never get them all.”

  When she knelt at the graveside, he held her skirts above ground. “Beloved husband and father.” She touched the carved words on the headstone. “How many children did he and Gwenyth have?”

  Kneeling beside her, he lifted one of the red-gold locks that fluttered at her ears in. “Five children. Two boys and three girls.”

  “Très bien.”

  “Oh, I think we can do better than that.” He arched a thick brow, and lifted her up.

  At the end of the row was the ancient elm. The old limbs bowered over a single gravestone.

  Jacqueline Bouveau St. Clair, June Twenty-Second, Seventeen Sixty-Eight – August Fifteenth, Seventeen Eighty-Nine, My Beauty

  He pulled her into a hug and kissed her. “Happy Birthday, Mrs. Cardiff.”

  “We have been given a second chance, Capitaine.” She hugged him until the vicar called.

  “We’d better go. Dylan is waiting to throw that rice in my face.”

  They walked back up the path into the churchyard where the wedding party waited.

  * * * *

  It was a beautiful spring day by the Seine.

  Margaux trotted ahead on Tatiana. Jacqueline trailed behind on Anouk, watching the family of mallard ducks glide across the bank among the reeds. The beautiful Arabians were well-mannered companions as they nickered to each other. A gentle breeze lifted their pale manes and drifted up to play in the folds of the girls’ white lawn dresses. Bright green stalks of grass by the water’s edge were a striking contrast to the tranquil indigo blue of the river.

  The painting was a vibrant rendition of their morning rides together, their time alone to whisper secret dreams and wishes. A young girl’s vision of sweet, long ago memories captured by her mother on canvas, a cherished memorial to their unfinished lives. It was yesterday to Amelie.

  A tear coursed down her cheek as she plucked strings on the gold harp standing before the painting in the Blue Room.

  Jacqueline would have spent a lot of time drawing within these walls of blue satin had she lived to see this mansion her beloved built for her.

  This was her room now. After breakfast when Roman went to his study, she mulled over new designs while Baroque classics played in the wall unit Roman had installed for her.

  St. Clair Manor was home. They had gone through the attic of forgotten treasures, and now almost every room held a memory.

  This morning she had searched the galleries for two portraits. She came upon the portrait of Gwenyth Morrison Cardiff first.

  She had expected Gwenyth to be beautiful and she was not disappointed, it just wasn’t physical beauty. Gwenyth had a kind face, a generous mouth. Though the straight brown hair was in a severe bun, it accented her high cheekbones. It did not take away from the happiness plainly etched on her face. Gwenyth had been in love with Captain Cardiff.

  She felt no jealousy toward the captain’s wife, only gratitude. Gwenyth must have made a good companion and mother to his children through all those years.

  The second portrait Amelie found was of Roman’s mother. Celeste Cardiff wore a yellow satin halter-top gown of the 70’s. It showed off her hourglass figure and the color was striking against the wavy, black curls framing her face. The large emerald teardrops dangling from her ears set off eyes of the same color.

  The earrings matched her own design, worn the night Roman had taken her to dinner at the Russian Tea Room.

  No wonder he had thought her a thief. Her jewelry was an exact copy of the Cardiff set. Her psyche had been communicating imprints of her previous life through the designs, the artistry, which followed her from one life to the next.

  She retrieved her leather clutch from the top of the white baby grand, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

  Workaholic?

  No, the woman in the mirror had an empowered stance that said she was cherished, with a little something extra; now this woman knew how to have fun.

  The door opened. The fun had only just begun.

  “Beauty, I thought I’d find you in here.” Roman wrapped his arms around her. When he kissed the top of her head, she leaned back in his arms.

  “Mon cœur, how did your mother die?” She knew it was a sore spot with him. He had never told her and now she waited, hoping the time was right.

  “In childbirth. My parents tried for years for another baby, but she had a hard time of it. I remember how happy they were when she went full term, but it was too much for her. A stillborn girl.”

  She turned in his arms and hugged him. “You were just a teenager when she died. I am sorry.”

  “No, love, no more tears. Everything is the way it should be.” He looked up at his mother’s portrait. “You resemble each other, you know.”

  “Is that why you want me?”

  He tickled her.

  “I’m kidding!” She turned in his arms and kissed him.

  He looked up at the painting of Jacqueline and Margaux on the Seine. “Memories?”

  “Wonderful memories.” She buried her face in his chest, inhaling his cologne, the scent of woods and spices, through the open neck of his blue cotton shirt. “Hmm, you’re not just a stuffed shirt, after all.”

  “And you are not the prude I kidnapped. What have you done with her?” He burrowed nose-first into the top of her dress. She batted at his curls, but that wasn’t much of a deterrent. The knock on the door was.

  “All ready, sir,” James called.

  “I don’t doubt it, James,” Roman called back.

  “I bet James is grinning like a Cheshire cat out there,” she said.

  “Are you ready to go? The natives grow restless.” He referred to the throng of guests waiting outside in the courtyard to see them off. After a weeklong wedding celebration at the manor, many were still there.<
br />
  Not a total surprise; they were late and James would have to put the pedal to the metal to get them to the airport on time. It was a tough job and he was just the man for it. They were going to India for their honeymoon.

  “I guess we’d better go face the music.” She put her hand in his and they strolled out to the courtyard.

  Chapter 17

  St. Clair Manor, North Yorkshire, England – August 15, 1988

  Amelie fell back onto the blanket in peals of laughter as Roman nudged her tank top up with his nose and bit her stomach.

  This morning they had ridden Titan and Blue Belle to the bubbling brook in the hidden dell. She was so ticklish that she would never gain the upper hand in this union, if it had ever crossed her mind to do so.

  She swatted at him and pulled her tank top down. “What if they are watching us?”

  “Security won’t intrude. But I suspect I will get nowhere with my conscientious bride if I don’t put her mind at ease.”

  “I am afraid so.”

  He scooped her up, slung her over his shoulder and carried her to the small lodge on the other side of the brook. He took a key out of his pocket and opened the door.

  She twisted around. “You came prepared.”

  “I thought I might have to resort to drastic measures to get you alone.”

  “We were alone for a month on our honeymoon, capitaine.

  “I was just congratulating myself on managing to drag you out of the drafting room for so long. Now it becomes necessary to hold you prisoner in a hunting lodge to have my way with you. Next, I suspect you will be angry if we are late for The Renaissance Collection’s gala launch and showing in New York this weekend. You’ll probably start spouting those creative French curses you think I never hear whenever you find another one of your ‘original’ creations in the vault. But that is a small price to pay for your treasures, my sweet. And besides, who knows how many Cardiffs were conceived in this lodge over the years?” He gave her bottom a little pat. “I’m about making an heir.” He kicked the door shut behind them.

  “What if they saw us come in here? They will know what we’re up to,” she teased.