by A. W. Exley
Twigs cracked and he dropped from the sky like Gabriel flung to earth.
A thud and silence.
Cara and the two men rushed to the fallen man, his leg twisted under his body at an unnatural angle. Light glistened on his shoulder as a growing stain spread over his jacket. Relief flashed through her that it wasn’t Nate. A soft moan came as they rolled him flat on his back. The moan turned into a sharp cry as Brick took hold of his ankle and realigned the leg.
Connor removed handcuffs from his utility belt and secured the prone valet.
Two more shadows detached from the tree and touched the earth, standing over the downed bird.
Fraser peered close and gave the injured valet a quick inspection. “Looks like his leg is broken and a shoulder wound where I winged him. We’ll bind the wounds for now and Doc can deal with him at Headquarters.”
Connor searched in his multiple pockets for a roll of bandage while Brick cut two sticks to length as splints.
Nate held out the small wooden lyre to Cara. “You should take this, don’t let anyone else touch it.”
The frown left her face as soon as her hand slid over the smooth wood and she understood why Nate handed it over so fast. The artifact called to her. With gentle fingers it caressed her mind and plucked forth her darkest desires and deepest fears. It played a haunting tune in her brain, begging to be of service to her, to end her pain by eliminating those who hurt her. The instrument promised to deliver anything she wanted, so long as she plucked the human hair strings. She gasped as it tried to seduce her, preying on her secrets. Like a siren’s song the music flowed through her body and drew her closer so it could burrow deeper into her psyche.
Taking off her scarf, she wrapped it around the side of the lyre, so her flesh no longer touched the warm wood. A huffed breath coalesced on the chill air. I don’t need you for revenge; the bastards who hurt me have already been dealt with. She glanced at Nate. What would Nero’s Fiddle find deep inside him? What would it promise him?
She shivered and tucked the small instrument under her arm. “Let’s go check if my grandmother is singed.”
Fraser and Connor lifted Dalkeith and carried him off, over the lawn and back to their vehicle. Cara headed back to the house with Nate and Brick, leading the way to where her Nan and Nessy hid. They walked through to the doors and into the plush oasis. The smell of burnt hair hit their nostrils first. A woollen blanket in the middle of the floor smouldered and seemed to be the source of the noxious odour. A small lump underneath of indeterminate origin.
“Oh good, is it over?” Nessy asked, jumping up from her seat.
“Yes,” Cara said. “Let’s crack a window open, it reeks in here.” She placed the lyre on her grandfather’s desk as she passed and then threw open the casements to let in the fresh breeze.
Nate glanced at whatever lay under the blanket and frowned on seeing Nan sitting before the fire, a crystal tumbler in her hand. “Why aren’t you burning up?”
“You’re lucky I like my men forthright, other women would take that as an insult.” Nan raised her glass to Nate in a silent salute.
Cara smiled, for a rare moment Nate looked lost. “Nan has a wee confession to make about her encounter with Dalkeith in the market.”
“Oh that.” She raised a hand to her head. “An old woman’s moment of vanity.”
“What?” The frown deepened.
Cara swallowed her laughter. “Nan was wearing a wig. Dalkeith and Nero’s Fiddle dealt a fiery death to a hair piece.”
Nessy pressed a drink into Nate’s open hand. “Drink up lad, it’s been a long night.”
A footman entered with a brush and shovel. The maid bundled up the blanket and the man swept away the remains. The floor sustained a scorch mark and no more. In short time, the crime was cleared away.
Cara nestled next to Nate on a sofa. He looped an arm around her shoulders and drew her close. “I thought you were rather cavalier about the fate of your Nan.”
“It was a risk, but we assumed since the hair he took came from the wig, Nan was never in any danger. I asked them to play it up if anything happened, to buy us some time. If we were wrong, they were to send someone outside immediately to fetch me. So long as no one came running from the house, I knew it was horse hair being torched.”
“Well played.” He sipped his drink and stared into the fire. “Probably not so well for a horse somewhere, that has spontaneously combusted in a farmer’s field.”
“No worries there, the hair came from a broodmare we lost last spring,” Nan said. “I’ll let God worry about the semantics of burning a creature already grazing in his dominion.” They clinked glasses and watched the fire dance in the grate. This one safely confined and not posing any threat.
Cara warmed the drink in her hands. “And so the queen’s secret is safe, that she really is illegitimate.”
“No she’s not,” Nessy said from her corner.
“But she’s your child,” Cara said, trying to figure out how to broach the subject that Nessy wasn’t part of the legitimate succession.
“Bill and I were handfasted in front of a priest. Even though his family refused to recognise the ceremony and demanded he married someone else, we were bound to one another before God.” She smiled at the memory of her lover.
“But even if you were married in a recognised ceremony to Victoria’s father, that doesn’t mean she has any claim on the throne.” Cara frowned and hoped her grandmother would explain the technicalities to Nessy.
Nan smiled at her granddaughter. “You’re not asking the right questions, dear.” She turned her attention to her lifelong companion. “Tell them Bill’s full name.”
A wide grin split Nessy’s face. “Oh, why he was William Henry of the House of Hanover.”
“Or King William IV,” Nan said.
Cara choked on her whisky. “You married King William?”
Laughter rumbled through Nate’s chest as the implications all fell into place.
“Well, he wasn’t king then, he was just Bill and we were in love. I ran away from here; and to show the depth of his love, we were handfasted. That means you are married for a year and a day. Victoria was born under that bond, so she is legitimate.”
Nan took up the old story. “The Regency was plagued by a series of tragedies and after the Napoleonic war there was a rush to secure the succession. Bill’s family exerted pressure on him to marry a noble girl, to produce an heir to the throne.”
Nessy continued the story. “I was pregnant the same time as the Duchess of Kent, we both delivered on the same day, except her child died at birth. Bill saw how distraught she was and he formed the plan that gave comfort to her and saved the estate for Nan and Gideon.”
“But you gave up your daughter.” Cara wondered how a woman could give up her only child. “That can’t have been an easy decision.”
Nessy’s constant smile fled and in her solemn expression, Cara saw the echo of Queen Victoria. “No, but I saved my family by doing so. I know what I sacrificed, but never forget Victoria was greatly loved. She grew up a princess. If she stayed with me, she would only ever have been the by-blow of your grandmother’s companion. By handing her over that night, I allowed my daughter to come into her true inheritance, for she is queen.”
Nan folded her friend in her arms. “Do not think we will ever forget what you did for us.”
Cara let out a low whistle. “So the gossip sheets are right, Victoria is not the child of the Duke of Kent. But she is the only legitimate heir of King William. No wonder the old king had a soft spot for her, she wasn’t his niece but his daughter.”
“Funny how life figures these things out, she truly was his heir.” Nate stroked Cara’s hair.
Only one little thing plagued her mind now, their next interview with their employer. “What do we tell the queen?”
Nessy held up her hands and gave a sad little smile. “Nothing. There is no need to make this public, the matter is finished. Let her live her
life.”
Buckingham Palace, 1830
he equerry coughed into his hand to attract the attention of the king. The man before the window turned and the servant held out the slim envelope. William tore open the edge of the packet and extracted a pencil drawing. It showed a young girl at her lessons. Dark curls fell around her face as she copied the text laid out before her.
“How does she fare?” he asked, while he memorised the image in his hands.
“She is exceptionally bright, Your Majesty. The tutors delight in teaching her.”
He nodded. “Good. You are dismissed.”
The servant clicked his boot heels and left the monarch alone with the drawing. He returned to the window so a shaft of sun illuminated the girl as he traced a finger over the ringlets. A hand tightened around his chest at the solemn expression rendered in the drawing. The duchess kept an iron control on the child and she had little contact with the world beyond Kensington Palace. Servant gossip said the girl was not even allowed to run up and down the stairs, that someone must hold her hand, least she stumble or fall while walking.
Or as though her mother feared someone would steal Victoria away from her.
It took the use of his contacts to have a household member sketch the picture. He grabbed any scrap of her life he could extract from behind the walled palace. He thought his position would afford him greater access to Victoria.
His daughter.
But the canny duchess kept him at bay, least he influence the child or worse. He doubted she knew the identity of the child’s natural mother or father. The midwife said only the mother resided at the estate of the Earl of Morton. There was nothing to connect him to Victoria. The world believed him to be her uncle, only four souls knew the truth. They gave him an unrivalled gift, his true heir and his daughter would rule after him. He would not forget his promise or the enormous sacrifice he asked of the woman he loved. Now he was in a position to keep his word.
It was time to repay his debt.
The secret order went out to the most influential lords in the House. He spent time picking the exact composition of his quorum. All men with secrets. Dirty little secrets that left evidence.
They gathered under darkness, in the private chamber at the palace. William waited until they all assembled before addressing the group. “My lords, I have called you here to pass a bill, in private.”
Outrage flared amongst them. “Sire, this is not the forum. Any bill must be argued in the House.”
He waved them down, silencing their protests of democracy as he continued. “You have before you a simple bill of no effect to anyone except to the one noble concerned.”
Frowns and mutters were exchanged but they allowed the king to say his piece, curiosity outweighed outrage as they waited to hear what was proposed.
“Henceforth the estate of the Earl of Morton is exempt from the rules of primogeniture. His estate and fortune is to pass to his eldest child, male or female. In the event of his direct heir being a girl, the tile and seat in parliament will remain in stasis until such time as a direct male heir is born.”
The assembled lords glanced at one another. Questions rolled from their lips pointing out the extreme precedent such a move would set. Chaos would ensue if women were allowed to inherit. William silenced them once more.
“You do not need the intricate details, my lords. One estate, one man, one exception to primogeniture that will not spread to your fortunes. Sign or I may be forced to ask indelicate questions about your own affairs.”
He met the gaze of each man in turn. In a hidden safe, he held letters and signed confessions, all he needed to exert gentle pressure on those assembled. He would go to any lengths to deliver on his promise. Any lengths to protect his daughter.
They muttered about the unorthodox proceedings, but they all signed the decree.
William IV affixed his official seal and Nessy’s family had their security.
Lowestoft, Thursday 13th February, 1862
ate could not contain Cara and as soon as the baby airship hovered above the ground she jumped and took off. She fled past startled retainers and ran into the transformed house. She paid no attention to Amy’s subtle decorating, her mind focused on only one task.
“Amy?” she called, hoping to catch a sound before she dashed in the wrong direction.
“Parlour,” a muffled voice replied.
She pushed through the doors to find a scene of domestic contentment. Amy curled up in front of the fire, needlework in her lap. Jackson sat in a wingchair with an open book.
“What the hell has been going on?” She levelled a finger at Nate’s second.
“Whatever are you talking about, doll?” Jackson said as he closed the book and set it down.
Amy parked the needle and dropped the fabric into a basket at her feet.
Cara brushed her jacket aside as Nate entered the room. He slipped a hand around her waist and removed her pistol from the hip holster. She shot him a scowl but turned back to her immediate target. “Loki said you were shagging my friend.” She nearly choked on the words; there was no way sweet, innocent Amy would do anything like that.
“Big mouth that one,” he said the corner of his mouth pulled up in a sneer.
Amy rose from her spot and moved to sit on the edge of Jackson’s chair, putting herself in the line of fire should Cara remember the gun nestled by her armpit.
Jackson wrapped his arm around Amy’s waist and pulled her close to his side. The smile on her face was wide enough to light the Tower of London.
“Oh, Amy. What have you done?” Cara shook her head, trying to fend off what she would hear next despite the obvious visual clues.
“All sorts of deliciously wanton things, actually.” She winked at Cara.
“How could you? You detest him.” How could she cosy up to the man she referred to as Nate’s dog? And how could she look so damned content about it, the woman positively glowed with happiness.
“I know he’s a gruff bugger.” Amy patted the protective arm around her body.
“Sitting right here, princess,” the cur in question growled.
“And Lachlan made such grand gestures. He painted the sheep pink and wrote my name on them. What Jack did by comparison was so small and inconsequential.” Another pat for the hound and her smile was bright enough to chase away the winter gloom and light the room.
“Still here and can still hear you,” Jackson said.
Cara hid a smile, she rather liked the way Amy breezed over Jackson’s objections, completely oblivious to how her comments sounded.
The words spilled from Amy in a gush, as though she could no longer contain them. “Then you all went away and left me alone with Jack and oh, the things that happened. Davie got injured and I rummaged in his gut and stitched him up, I saw a unicorn at the lake, Jack kissed me when I lost at chess and then after Hunter kidnapped me—”
“He what?” Cara lunged at Jackson but Nate held her back. “Did you know about this?” she asked of Nate as she struggled to break free.
“No, but it would appear Jackson dealt with it and Amy is unharmed,” he said as he pinned the hand reaching for her remaining pistol. He lifted it from the shoulder holster and put it on the side board with its matching companion.
She locked her sights on the henchman.
His arm tightened around Amy as though he were prepared to throw her behind him and take the hit. “Do you think I would ever let anyone hurt her?”
The air left her lungs in a rush. One look at the couple and she knew Amy was loved and protected. She certainly didn’t look any the worse for falling into the clutches of the local thug.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Oh yes. Being kidnapped was frightfully boring, but it gave me lots of time to think about my future. Then Jack rescued me and Lachlan blew the top off the pub.”
Cara kept looking from one to the other trying to absorb everything.
“My princess,” Jackson murm
ured and stroked a hand up Amy’s arm.
The woman looked like if she got any happier she would explode in a mess of pink paint and glitter all over the room. One segment of Amy’s recent history jumped at Cara’s curiosity more than the other events. “What do you mean you saw a unicorn?”
Amy held up her arm to show a horsehair bracelet. “When I came to Lowestoft, Jack gave me this bracelet made of unicorn tail. He’s looked out for me and made my wish come true.”
None of this made any sense, except that the gruff ex-boxer really was a crème brûlée. She tried to stay impartial and weigh his pros and cons. She knew he was only a few years older than Nate. Not really old at all, but the loss of his family weighed him down. He had proven his loyalty over and over and she could not fault him there. Nate paid him well, but he spent little, so he had a nest egg hidden away. Plus, he came with the house by the lake. He was a man of worth and life taught her they came in all sorts of guises.
Helene asked her to find him a creature of light and joy. Who better to redecorate his life than Amy? They could have kept her abreast of developments though. She needed every little detail, starting from the beginning. She couldn’t change events, so she would just have to make the best of the situation. As a bonus, she had never seen Amy so ecstatic.
“As long as you are happy,” she said at last.
Amy squealed and leapt up to hug Cara. “Thank you for understanding.”
Jackson lifted his hands in surrender. “Just don’t shoot me again. It happened; how could I resist when my angel sent me a princess to open the windows in my soul?”
Amy frowned and looked from her lover to her best friend. “Yes, don’t shoot him. I don’t give my permission for that sort of nonsense. Jack has quite the gooey centre under that tough exterior. He would leak all over the new carpets.”
“Huh!” Cara pointed a finger. “Told you.” She felt vindicated about her assessment of her former minder. She plonked herself down on the sofa. “So what are your intentions to my friend, now that you’ve debauched her?”