by Carie, Jamie
“They were here many months ago. They came to see me and my husband at our home on one occasion. Very elegant people, your parents.” The woman looked around as if to share a great secret. “They wanted to know about a man who came to Iceland a long, long time ago. He is mentioned in the sagas of our people.”
“Sagas?”
“The sagas are the stories of our people from the old days when the Vikings settled here. They were written down on calfskin pages and called the Icelandic Sagas. We have carefully preserved them.”
“Who was this man they wanted to know about?” Alex held her breath waiting for the answer.
“His name was Augusto de Carrara. He was an Italian inventor and scientist who visited our island.”
Alex inhaled. The same man she’d heard about in Ireland. “Did you find him in the sagas?”
“Yes, his name is in one of the books, but alas, the only thing we found was a mention of him at a feast in the sixteenth century. He attended a celebration at a farmstead in the southeast part of Iceland.”
“What were they celebrating?”
Ila shook her head and waved a hand as if that were unimportant. “Something about a sunstone. The sagas mention a stone that could tell the direction of the sun to help the Vikings navigate their ships. They were very excited about it, but of course today we have more advanced tools for navigation.”
Alex paused in thought. Did Augusto come to Iceland for this sunstone? “Nothing else? That seems strange. A foreigner visiting here would have been curious back then, wouldn’t he?”
“Not really. Iceland may seem remote, but the Europeans have been visiting since the Vikings settled here. Your parents said they were looking for a book of his, I believe, not one of our sagas. They seemed sure he was here, and the saga confirmed that indeed he was, but they wanted another book.”
The missing manuscript. That’s what they wanted. Alex frowned. “Did my parents ask about anything else?”
“Just one other thing. It was rather humorous.” Her smile was thin and her eyes held a tinge of condescension.
“What’s that?”
“They asked about the Black Castles of Iceland.”
“Yes, of course. In Ireland an expert of antiquities told me that the last known place where the manuscript my parents were looking for was heard to be in the Dimmu borgir—the Black Castles of Iceland. They must have gone there. But what was so humorous about it?”
“They thought that the Dimmu borgir was an actual castle or castles, but they aren’t.” She smirked. “They are huge black pillars, the remains of volcanic lava. They do, however, have a look of castles about them if one has imagination. Some say”—she leaned in, her voice just above a whisper—“it is connected with the infernal regions of the earth and that when Satan was thrown down from heaven, he made it his home: the catacombs of hell.”
Alex shivered under the woman’s steady gaze. “But if there isn’t a real castle, then why would the manuscript be there?”
The woman sat back and shook her head with a look of doom in her eyes. “I don’t know the answer to that, Lady Featherstone. After your parents left Reykjavik, we never saw them again.”
Alex cast a frightened glance over to John, who had come to the table and joined them. “We have to go and see it; something may have happened to my parents there.”
“Yes, but we need not go until Montague has arrived.” John gave her a look full of meaning. He wouldn’t want to talk about their plans to marry in front of anyone any more than she did, but he hinted at reminders when the occasion called for it.
“But what if they are still there, in trouble or injured? What if they’ve fallen in a crevasse or those boiling mud pits we’ve heard of? We can’t wait.” Her voice rose in worry.
“Alex, they would have been here nearly a year ago, right? If something like that happened to them”—he shook his head—“they would be long . . . gone.”
“We don’t know that! I won’t give up that easily. John, you knew I would have to go there when you agreed to accompany me.” She turned away from the staring women with a sharp-eyed glance toward John, eyebrows pulled together in a frown.
John sighed and looked at Ila. “Is the route to these Black Castles dangerous?”
“It could be. Any number of accidents can occur. You should be careful of the mud pits. They can suck a person in and boil him alive.”
“Oh, ya.” Ana’s eyes grew round. “Take great care when traveling in Iceland. I’ve heard of more than one poor soul lost and never found again.” The memory of how close they had come with Tomas made them all pause, Ana’s eyes filling with tears. “Do be careful, Lady Alex.” She patted Alex’s arm.
“All the more reason to wait for Montague.” John frowned.
“No.” Alex stood. “Even if he does heal quickly, it could be weeks before he can book passage here. We have to go. We’ll hire a guide to help us. Ana, do you know of anyone who would take us there? I have money. I will pay him well.”
Ila and Ana exchanged glances. “Svein,” they said together.
“The Black Castles are in the northeast. Svein has family there and knows the way,” Ana explained.
“Excellent.” Alex smiled. “Where can we find him?”
“Oh, he’s only three doors down from here. He is the town’s blacksmith. A strong, single man.” Ana cracked a grin. “All the girls have been vying for his heart for years.”
“Excellent,” John muttered.
The women laughed but Alex quickly cut the laughter off when she saw John’s scowl. He always seemed touchy when she spoke about another man. “Let’s go and see him, shall we?” She reached out and tugged John toward her. He pulled her close to his side with a smitten look.
A dreamy sigh came from Ana from the other side of the table. “Oh, to be young and in love again.”
Ila snorted, which for some reason made John laugh, and then they were all laughing about it.
They put on their heavy wraps, John helping Alex into her new fur coat, and stepped out into the long rays of twilight. Iceland was near the lands of the Arctic Circle where the winter days were short and the nights were long. In the summer months they might get twenty hours of sunlight, but it was approaching December and already getting dark by dinnertime. That would make their journey more challenging for certain.
The cold wind blew at them once they stepped away from the building. John must have been thinking the same thing as he said, “It’s going to be a tough journey, Alex. Darkness comes so early and the weather . . . more snow as we travel north, I would think.”
Alex reached for his hand and squeezed it as they walked down the street toward the blacksmith’s sign. “It was around this time of year when my parents were here. The weather didn’t stop them.”
John leaned over and kissed the top of her head with a chuckle. “Yes, I know. I didn’t think that would dissuade you. I only felt the need to point it out.”
They reached the door, finding the top half open. Alex peeked inside and realized why. A fire roared from the stone forge in the center of the room. Tools lay strewn everywhere, and a shirtless man, with his back to them, pounded on a long, black rod with heavy whacks of his hammer.
John leaned around Alex and pounded on the bottom half of the door. “Sir, might we have a word with you?” He shouted to be heard over the ringing metal.
The man turned around, wearing an apron that covered his large chest. He had long, blondish-brown hair, the same color mustache, and a small beard that covered his chin. “You must be the Irishman and the English lady I’ve heard tales of.” He bowed, extending the hand holding the iron poker out to one side, the other hand crossed his stomach with a graceful flair. “Please, come in.”
He directed them to sit at a scarred worktable while pulling on a long, white s
hirt with ruffles on the sleeves and down the deep V collar. All of his movements had an elegant grace to them, as if he were brandishing a sword and certain of victory, Alex noted with a curious smile.
“To what do I owe this honor?” He poured tea into mismatched cups and passed them over without inquiring if they would even like any.
Alex got straight to the point. “We have need to travel to Dimmu borgir, the Black Castles, and Ana said you might be willing to take us since you have family up there and know the route.”
“Dimmu borgir. There is nothing there but the lava rocks. What need have you of those?”
“I am looking for clues to help me find my parents, Lord and Lady Featherstone. They were here about a year ago, and I believe they went to Dimmu borgir. I’m not sure what I might find, but it’s the last clue I have. I must find out if there is anything there connected to my parents or the manuscript they were searching for.”
Svein rubbed his chin, eyes gazing off in thought. “I remember your parents and the rumors after they disappeared. I suppose it’s possible there might be such a clue.” He turned to Alex. “It won’t be a pleasant trip this time of year.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling her, but you have yet to see her stubborn side,” John murmured.
“We’ll need horses. There are no roads for part of the journey. Do you ride well, Lady Featherstone?”
“Yes.” She quickly exaggerated her horsemanship. “Please, call me Alex and this is John. He is an excellent rider.” She had no idea if that was true or not, but no need to give the man reasons to turn them down.
John frowned at her. “I’m a fair hand at riding. Actually, I’ve heard the Icelandic horses are something to see. I admit to be looking forward to seeing them for myself.”
Svein stood back a little and surveyed the two of them, one hand back on his chin, the other arm across his stomach. “I have orders to fill before I could leave. We can purchase you a couple of horses from a nearby farmstead. Icelandic horses are the best in the world. I think you’ll like them.” He turned his eyes to John. “You’re funding the expedition?”
“I am.” Alex cut in. “And I will pay you well.” She held his gaze firm as he still seemed to be deciding.
“Very well. We will leave in three days. Meet me here in the morning. I will have the horses and our supplies ready.”
Alex reached beneath the fur and took out a bag from her inner pocket. She poured out some coins into her hand and laid them on the table. “Will that be enough?”
Svein quirked a brow. “Not even close.”
Alex felt her face flush and looked at John. He motioned for the bag, shook out several more coins, and pushed them over. “That should be more than sufficient.”
Svein shrugged. “I will do my best with it.” And then he winked at Alex.
After they left, Alex laughed. “What a colorful character he was. Do you think we can trust him?”
John squeezed her hand. “We’ve little choice, love. He seems harmless enough, but I will watch out for you.”
They had slowed as they neared the inn. John stopped and then pulled her close to the shop beside it, out of the wind, and wrapped his arms around her. He leaned down and murmured into her ear, “The waiting is killing me. When can we get married?”
Alex thought of the different meanings behind his words. She liked his kisses, but she wasn’t at all sure she was ready for the wedding night. What if she became pregnant? She knew enough about how babies were made from working with her sheep. What would happen to her search if that happened? And was she even close to ready to be a mother? She still wanted her mother’s notice. There was so much at stake.
“I know. It is not the best of circumstances and I . . . John, I appreciate your patience, but I don’t want to rush if we don’t have to. No one has commented that we are traveling together. Perhaps it is not so frowned upon here in Iceland.”
“I hope you are not marrying me for my escort.” John’s voice was low and serious, causing a lodge of dread in her throat.
“Of course not!” But she couldn’t look him in the eyes when she said it.
He held her a little away from him and gave her a searching look. “Alexandria, do you care for me?”
“Yes! Of course I do. It’s just that it all happened so suddenly. I need some time to accustom myself to the idea. And you know my foremost desire, my most important ambition, is to find my parents. I can’t let anything come before that.”
“I know, and I want that too. For all of us.” He took her back into his arms and held her tight against the wind.
She thought of how he would feel if she someday broke it off. Dear God, am I just using him as a means to an end?
When did I become a woman like that?
She thought of the duke and a deep longing to hear from him filled her. What if, before they left for the Black Castles, she wrote him a letter? Might he get it? If he wasn’t coming after her, then he would be back in London at his town house, wouldn’t he? She had his address memorized. She looked at John and her cheeks burned. She would have to smuggle it out. Perhaps Ana would help her. She was so kind and would do anything for Alexandria after her help in finding Tomas.
Yes, that is what she would do.
She would put her confused emotions in a letter and let her guardian advise her. It was the right thing to do.
Chapter Eight
The prince regent was with two of his cabinet ministers and the lord chancellor when Gabriel arrived at St. James Palace. He entered the royal palace to find a servant waiting for him, and had been led through the Guard Chamber—a grand room with tall, narrow windows; twenty-foot ceilings; and a ten-foot-tall fireplace that a man could stand inside. There was an intricate design of swords fanned out across the wall like a work of art and every kind of weapon imaginable hanging on every inch of the other walls. An impressive display of England’s power.
Gabriel was then taken to a magnificent drawing room done floor to ceiling in white plaster work with gold ornamentation. The furniture and rugs were also white and gold. Thousands of candles from two massive chandeliers lit up the golden hues so the whole room seemed to glitter. Gabriel noted all of this in an instant as the servant bowed and left him at the door. He hesitated and then pulled himself up with a determined air and walked over to the group of men.
The regent caught sight of him and waved him over. “St. Easton!” he clearly stated, probably in a booming voice.
The other men turned and bowed but scurried away when the regent spoke quick words to them. Gabriel tried to maintain an air of confidence that he knew what was going on when really he felt like a drowning man, unable to find his moorings. God, help me find Your way through this madness. I’ve thrown my lot in with a reprobate.
After the other men left, the regent gave him a thoughtful stare and then waved Gabriel to follow his ponderous form from the room.
They weaved their way through the palace’s maze of wings, dark passages, backstairs, and suites. A person could get lost for days and had, or so the stories went. Finally, they came to the long and deep room full of books—the queen’s library.
Sunlight streamed in from tall, arched windows on one side of the cavernous room, lighting the rows of bookcases overflowing with books. The walls held more bookcases, connected by arches near the ornate molding of the ceiling with busts of famed personages perched on the highest point of each arch. The queen’s desk, looking rather small in such a huge room, sat in the middle, a neat piece of furniture that was more practical than ornate.
The regent led Gabriel all the way to the back of the room where shadows overtook the corners. He pulled forth a key and opened a small cabinet. Inside were drawers, small compartments, and a safe. With another key he unlocked the safe, pulled something out, turned, and handed it to Gabriel. He had not
said a single word since his greeting. Now, he looked into Gabriel’s eyes with a small smile.
King George, the prince’s father, was deaf, Gabriel realized. The regent knew how to communicate without many words. Gabriel felt a new respect for the man grasp hold of him.
The regent motioned with one arm to a chair and a desk holding ink and pen. On the desk was a note that read,
I looked at it and can’t make any sense of it. See what you can find out. I will come back in an hour.
Gabriel bowed and watched him go. If the regent didn’t come back, Gabriel wasn’t entirely certain he could find his way back to the outdoors. With a deep breath, he seated himself and opened the faded black leather cover of the manuscript.
Mathematical calculations, advanced calculus, a new math he’d seen a little of, and mechanical drawings leapt out from the page. He tried to make sense of it for a moment, shook his head, his brows drawn together in concentration, and then turned the page. Page after page, over every inch of the pages, squeezed together in corners and boxes, some sideways, some diagonal, running off the page and then, with the slashing lines of a brilliant mind trying to get it on paper as fast as he imagined it, they continued onto the next page.
Gabriel’s brain whirled with images, impossible images that the pages evoked; astonishment and a pooling dread caused a cold sweat to break out across his body.
Oh, God, what is this?
He swallowed back the knot in his throat and started over, more slowly and carefully. There were sixteen pages of new thought, sixteen pages of plans for etchings, as on glass or crystal. There, in one corner was a drawing of crystals with the words Icelandic Crystal scribbled underneath.
Iceland. The crystal mines. He remembered it now. The only kind of crystal in the world that was completely transparent with double refraction capabilities. Dutch mathematician and physicist Christiaan Huygens and even Sir Isaac Newton had discovered uses for it, optical instruments and such, when this man, Augusto de Carrara, was alive. That had to be the connection with Iceland.