Roman and Chief Bryant came in to the study with a policeman. “His parents still live in Dudley,” the police officer was saying. “They didn’t know he was in England. Nigel had been staying at an inn, where he would be close to St. Clair Manor.”
She shivered when she thought of how he must have been waiting for days for his opportunity to take her away.
“Nigel had obtained a position in security here using a family member’s identity,” Chief Bryant said. “He had filled in on several occasions, the last of which was around the time of your trip to the Château Jeune.”
“Today, Nigel entered the property with a rented car,” the police officer said. “He told security that he was sent to take the next shift. When the guard turned to radio headquarters and confirm, Nigel knocked him out. Routine changing of the guards led to both security guards being bound, gagged and locked in a utility shed on the drive leading up to the manor. Landscapers were turned away at the gate.”
“Caroline encountered Nigel in the kitchen garden and was dragged into the stables,” Chief Bryant said.
Amelie stiffened. “Is she…”
“She’s alive,” Roman said. “She was tied up alongside Cook, who had returned from market only to be accosted by Nigel in the kitchen.”
Roman told the police of Nigel Graham’s obsession with her.
She was surprised when the policeman turned to Roman. But of course, everyone would assume he was the one to lift the six-foot tall man off his feet at the end of a sword, as Roman had known they would. He did not hesitate to admit killing the madman in self-defense.
Chief Bryant backed Roman through it all, as if he’d been there when it happened.
She sat by the cool hearth, wondering at this strange alliance between England’s finest and the Cardiff heir, wondering how it would develop in the future and what a future with il Dragone held for them all. She stared at the ancient sword lying in a clear container on the low coffee table while they took Roman’s statement. The jeweled handle was a work of art, and yet another intricate design. A cluster of rubies was worked into the handle in the shape of a medieval cross.
An instrument of the Warriors of Light.
There would be no more incarnations of Damek, Nigel Graham. Without the dragon ruby on his finger, the sword had killed him for all time.
Two men wearing gloves picked up the ancient battle sword and took it away.
Khan put his great black head in her lap, and she rubbed his sleek ears.
She filled in the benign bits of the chase Roman left for her to tell, painting herself the helpless victim when she had been anything but that.
He gave her strength, never breaking eye contact, loving her through the lies when all she wanted was to be left alone with him.
He came back to her when Chief Bryant left with the police.
There was relief in his red eyes when he lifted her out of the leather wing chair and sat her back down on his lap. She wrapped her arms around his chest, breathing him in.
“Where did it come from?” When he didn’t answer, she looked into his eyes. “The jeweled sword.”
“It belonged to me. Romanus. It’s the sword painted on the ancient canvas in Michel Garamonde’s office. One of Grandfather Ian’s artifacts. It’s been up there all this time. Looks as if it were honed from steel just yesterday.”
“They will bring it back, won’t they?”
“Chief Bryant will see to it.”
“What a wondrous house,” she said, and leaned her head against his chest. “I always knew St. Clair Manor was filled with treasures.”
“More treasures than we can imagine. I always pictured Lord Alsborough, Nigel, with black hair.”
She sat back. “Do you remember mon amour?”
“Glimpses. They are like snapshots in my mind’s eye superimposed over him. The eyes are the same; evil and empty.”
“Exactement! More will come back to you. I will help you regain your memory.”
“That, and, want to help me do some research on Romanus and the Warriors of Light?”
“Oui, capitaine, I am always ready for a new project with you.” There was so much she wanted to share with this man, her eternal love, and now they had all the time in the world.
She hugged him, hope swelling in her heart to rise above the chill of the day’s offenses. “Any news on Lyle?”
“Khan found him. He has a nasty gash on his head, but he’s regained consciousness. It was poison that got the deer, poison meant for Khan. That is what Lyle was coming to tell us when Nigel stopped him. Put out for his troubles and never had a chance to see who attacked him. Doctor Latham is finishing up with him now.”
She closed her eyes and they listened to the occasional footfall past the door. No one, but the physician would bother them now.
“The manor; it’s quiet,” he had been so still, she thought he had fallen asleep.
She smiled. “You hear it too?”
“When I woke up in the forest, I thought fate had played a cruel trick on us and I had lost you again. But she would never have let that happen. Jacqueline has been waiting so long for you.”
“For love. It was meant to be. Our souls are entwined.” She nuzzled his neck.
“I will never be the same. This may even ruin my reputation as a playboy.”
She poked a finger into his chest. “Well, certainly as a lady-killer.”
They listened to Khan’s heavy breathing for a while because it was an ordinary sound that said everything was all right.
Roman broke the silence. “She would want to be with you. I will have the portrait moved into the Blue Room.”
Amelie sighed and snuggled closer. “Oui, she would like that.”
Epilogue
Five years later…
The July sun illuminated the River Wharfe, which ran over glistening boulders to feed the bubbling brook of St. Clair Manor.
A Great Dane pup barked and trotted along the winding route of the brook toward the groundskeeper’s house on a mission to retrieve the paper boat, which had set sail by the hand of the little people.
The south lawn was teeming with youngsters. They were running through the obstacle course with its little orange cones and tires set up on the green. They waved their arms excitedly at their teammates and urged them on in relay races. They were playing in the tree house that Roman had built. Perched atop the old elm, the hideaway boasted a wooden plaque on the door inscribed The Raven.
Children were playing hide-and-seek in the rose garden and loud, comical whispers came from behind the statues of the gods. A boisterous line had formed in front of the ice cream tent near the sandbox and little ones shouted their preferences as the attendant took orders.
Brightly colored bounce houses in the shapes of castles and boats dotted the lawn, along with slides and pumping seesaws. Squeals of laughter filled the air as children ran with balloons tied around their wrists from one amusement to another.
St. Clair Manor flourished under the attentions of the little folk and opened its heart to them. It provided mystery and adventure in every nook and cranny for the bold and the curious.
“You are going to get dizzy.” Amelie laughed at Roman, who held Sacha, the birthday girl on his shoulders. He was running around Charlie the Clown.
The clown in whiteface with big red lips painted from cheek to cheek was trying to steal a kiss from the birthday girl. His bright orange and blue wig waved to and fro, as he turned in wobbly circles.
Miles, Sacha’s four-year old brother, trailed after them, his little legs taking three steps for each of Roman’s. His shiny black curls bobbed as he dodged Charlie the Clown’s over-sized rubber feet. Miles had his mother’s emerald eyes.
Roman slowed and when Charlie caught up to them, Sacha pointed at the clown in warning, her yellow-gold eyes wide with excitement “Daddee-e!”
“Is he gaining on us, my sweet?” He lifted her off his shoulders and tucked her into his chest. He adjusted the litt
le gold crown with the number two over her black curls. She giggled, having yet to speak a full sentence.
Miles ran right into his leg and grabbed on. “I’ve got you, Daddy!”
Sacha held out her hand to Miles. “Up! Up!” She ordered as the clown made funny noises and loped toward them.
“Hang on, soldier!” Roman scooped Miles up in his other arm. “We are being attacked, but here comes mummy to save the day!”
Sacha held her arms out to her mother. “Jack-ee play!”
“Ma petite.” Amelie handed her mother the glass of lemonade she held and took her daughter. She held Sacha on her side to accommodate the growing bulge of her stomach. They were expecting their third child this fall.
She kissed Sacha’s soft cheek and smiled up at Roman, who was staring at his golden-eyed angel.
He arched a questioning brow at Amelie, who nodded, her eyes misting over in joy.
“That is mummy, say mummy, Sacha,” Miles commanded from his father’s arms. He took his job as a big brother seriously. He dissolved into shrieking giggles when his father started tickling him.
Sacha laughed and clapped her hands at the antics.
As Roman bent to kiss her, she leaned toward him from Amelie’s arms, grabbed her daddy’s face with both hands and planted a noisy wet one right on his mouth. Sacha turned back to her mother and with a big grin, hugged her.
“Jack-ee!”
Overcome by how perfect destiny is, Amelie grinned at her daughter, arranging the flounces on Sacha’s yellow chiffon dress.
It was so clear now looking into those sparkling eyes gleaming like ingots, so like another pair she had known long ago.
Margaux had returned to them.
Roman wrapped his free arm around Amelie and kissed Sacha. “That’s my girl.”
The End
About the Author
If you asked Danita Minnis which is easier, writing songs or writing novels, she would say it was the former. Melodies and rhymes are second nature. What her characters want is another thing entirely. With her debut novel, Falcon’s Angel, Danita learned to listen to her spunky heroine and sinfully confident hero. They’re funny and in danger, and that’s just the way they want it. Lesson learned: don’t try to save them.
When she’s not writing, Danita exercises her lungs at her son’s soccer matches and their favorite theme park, because everyone knows it’s easier on the stomach to scream your way down a roller coaster.
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