"It is not time for you to go." Her father's voice caressed her like violin music. "You have a great deal to live for... a great deal to do! Do not give up, dearest child. You must leave this place."
Opening her eyes, Lucia saw her parents' beloved faces in the flickering flames and accepted their presence in this smoky, surreal world without question. "I have no escape, Papa! I am too weak to walk and the door is engulfed in flames."
"Let your heart guide you, ma fille. Let your love strengthen you." Elise's voice floated around her, embracing her sweetly. "Love will always see you through, ma fille."
"I fear my love is not returned, Maman," she whispered despairingly.
"Is it not, ma fille? If you do not leave this place, you will never know, héin? Be absolutely certain before you silence your heart...forever!"
"I would like to know, Maman!"
"You will not discover the answer in the flames, my dear," Albert said. "You must be strong! You must fight for your life! Think! Do not waste your strength walking. Crawl to the window, break the glass, and climb onto the porch roof."
"There is fire in front of the window, Papa." Lucia's mind was sinking deeper into this wonderful reverie. She had missed her parents so desperately for so very long. She would be content to spend her last few minutes in their company. "I want to stay with you."
"You cannot stay with us, ma fille. It is not your time. You have much to do. Use your cloak as a shield! Save yourself!" Elise said.
Lucia stared at the flames leaping higher and higher in front of the window, then turned her face away. "I am afraid."
"You must be strong. We are always with you," said her father.
Lucia remained still for another moment, gathering her courage, then patted the area around her until her hand brushed her cape. Wrapping herself in it, she sat up, staring toward the impossibly distant window. Determined, she cocooned her body in the cloak and crawled toward salvation. Her head throbbing, her torn, twisted muscles screamed in agony with every inch of floor she covered.
The window grew slowly, steadily nearer until at last all that separated her from it was a thin wall of fire. Her skin cracking in the heat, she crouched before the soaring flames, watching them lick the ceiling. The window beckoned to her from the other side of the blaze, but she froze as she looked back into the inferno; back into the past. Suddenly those same orange flames were dancing in and out of the windows of her Copenhagen boarding house and she could hear her mother's shrieks; could hear her own frantic, futile weeping as the fire murdered everyone she loved...
"Papa? Maman?" she called, tears mixing with the sweat that streamed down her face. "I cannot..."
"You must go on, ma fille. You must help yourself." Her mother's voice was no more than a sigh in the thunder of the flames.
"Be brave, my little ewe lamb, and you will be happy!" Her father's words were but a faint, fading echo.
Her body ached for sleep and she struggled to breathe. Dizziness and searing pain weakened her resolve. Morpheus beckoned to her from his dream world, offering to drown her agonies in the cool, oblivious waters of the Lethe. She had only to cradle her head upon her arms, close her eyes and...
"Lucia!" A voice, Robin's voice, urgent and compelling, thundered above the roar of the flames, dragging her back to consciousness. "Lucia, where are you?" Her eyes fluttered open and she forced herself to her feet, staggering upon shaky, uncooperative legs. Covering herself completely with her cloak, she hurtled through the blaze and struck the hot, blackened, crumbling wall on the other side. She pulled the cape off her head and looked back, astonished, at the crackling fire behind her, then turned to the window looming ahead.
With a sob of joy and relief, she pulled the cloak close about her, wrapping her hands securely in the garment's folds. She slammed her fists against the charred and brittle windowpanes, splintering the woodwork and shattering the glass. Widening the hole, she gulped the fresh air that rushed in. Glancing back at the inferno that was to have been her death chamber, she whispered, "Thank you, Maman and Papa!" She climbed through the broken window onto the roof, eagerly, gratefully sucking in the chill night air, ecstatic and amazed to be alive.
***
Robin's face was streaked with sooty sweat and white ashes dotted his limp, loose curls as he passed another bucket of water down the line of exhausted firefighters. The hard work kept him from dwelling overlong on Lucia's ghastly death and the bleak, black void that was his future without her. His mind had, however, clamped onto the fact that Giles was somehow the author of this nightmare and with each drop of water that hit the fire, his lust for vengeance grew hotter.
Suddenly the fire thundered, timbers crashing to the ground in its midst, and the roof collapsed into the flames, leaving only the side walls and the front portico standing, its white stone roof supported by blackened marble columns. With horror in his eyes, Robin whirled to stare at the inferno. Tracy rushed to him. "It's over, Rogue! Brackenwell Hall is gone. There's nothing more anyone can do."
The crowd apparently agreed. The buckets stopped moving as people stared at the swirling, crackling blaze, shaking their heads.
"With just a little more water, Tracy, we can douse this fire! We can save Lucia! She's alive in there! I know she is!"
"No, Rogue! If she was ever in there, she's with God now. No one could survive that!" Tracy flung his hand toward the blackened timbers crumbling in the glowing flames.
"Lucia's alive and I've got to save her!" Robin lunged toward the burning heap that was Brackenwell Hall.
Tracy grabbed his arm. "You're not thinking rationally, Robin! You'll die in there...and it will all have been for nothing!"
Amberley's eyes burned with desperate resolve. "I'll not abandon her, Tracy! If there is the slightest chance to save her..."
Tracy turned his friend bodily toward the Hall. "Look long and hard, Rogue! Do you honestly and reasonably believe that anyone could live in such a hell?"
Robin stared at the blaze, endeavoring with all his being to deny his friend's logic. Suddenly he stiffened and a smile broke through the dampness and grime that covered his face. He pointed eagerly toward the Hall. "There she is!"
At that moment, a startled cry broke from the watching firefighters. "Look! There's a man on the porch roof!" someone shouted. A shocked murmur ran through the crowd. All eyes turned to stare in stunned amazement at the white stone roof over the front portico.
***
As the building collapsed behind her, Lucia climbed through the shattered window onto the stone roof and crouched there, gulping breath after breath of cool air into her scorched lungs. The stone upon which she sat was chilly compared to the blistered floor of the Green Salon and she laid her burned, stinging hands thankfully against it.
Exhausted, she closed her eyes, wondering if she'd ever find the energy to move again. A strong breeze caressed her face and her eyes fluttered open. She became aware, then, of a crowd of people staring at her from the ground and distinctly heard Robin's voice.
"Get a ladder!" he shouted and Lucia watched with detached interest as two men hurried away to do his bidding.
She smiled wistfully at the people below, suddenly yearning to be with them. Marshaling her last reserves of strength, she eased her body down the slanting roof toward the waiting throng. The men returned with the ladder and propped it against the closest column to Lucia's position, steadying it while Robin climbed toward her.
Gazing into his worried eyes as he stood atop the ladder, Lucia could imagine nothing more beautiful than his face. He reached for her and, warm and safe in his embrace, she wrapped her arms around his neck. Lifting her off the roof, he started down the ladder.
To the surprise and consternation of the onlookers, he hugged her in joy and relief as soon as they touched ground. "Ma chérie! My little love! My own!" he murmured, stroking and kissing her hair. "Mon Dieu, but I thought I had lost you forever!" In the refuge of his embrace, Lucia no longer needed to be strong. Overw
helmed by pain and exhaustion, she fainted away. Robin cradled her in his arms, lowering her slowly to the ground.
A stricken look on his face, Carter rushed toward them. "I had no idea Her Grace was still inside! I beg Your Grace to forgive my error."
"Her Grace has fainted, Carter! Where's this doctor of yours?"
"He...I didn't bring him, Your Grace. He's attending a lying-in ten miles away. I congratulate myself on just being able to get the gypsies here to help us fight the fire, considering the evening's turmoil."
"Gypsies?" Robin's brows rose.
"Half the people here are gypsies, Your Grace. You-you did say, in one of your letters from France, that they might camp on your land."
"So I did. Where are they camped?"
"About two miles west of here, Your Grace."
A figure loomed between Robin's little group and the burning house, throwing a long shadow across Lucia's face. "You are the duke who is so kind to let my people live on your property, are you not?"
As Robin and Carter looked up, a swarthy man with ebony hair and a luxuriant moustache crouched beside them. "I am Ilya, leader of the Romany. I want to thank you..." Lucia moaned and the gypsy looked down at her. "Your friend... He is not so good, I think. Your doctor is coming?"
"The doctor had to attend a lying-in a great distance away..." Carter began again, twisting a sooty handkerchief with nervous fingers.
When Robin suddenly questioned Ilya in the Romany tongue, the gypsy stared at him, stunned. "How do you know the speech of my people?"
"We will talk of that later." Robin said. "Have you the healer I require in your camp?"
"Yes! My grandmother is such a one, but she is very old."
"All I ask is that she knows her art and is willing to use it on our behalf. Will she treat outsiders?"
"She will minister to your friend, but she is too frail to come to you. You must go to her...and the price will be high."
"No price is too high if it saves my lady's life." Robin's eyes softened as they rested upon the still figure in his arms.
"Your wife...is this boy?" Ilya was rather taken aback.
"She has dressed herself in male garb as a...a disguise of sorts. It is a long, involved story, which I promise you shall hear while your grandmother sees to Her Grace."
"It seems to me, Your Grace, that for a proper English milord, you have a great deal too many stories to tell!" Ilya's black eyes were sharp and suspicious as they searched Amberley's countenance. "You will come with me now. Your lady shall travel in our caravan and we shall ride. I will send the cart back for my people later." Bowing, Ilya strode toward a wagon parked well away from the burning building.
"Your Grace, do you think it wise to trust those...those black- eyed heathens with Her Grace's life?" Carter whispered.
"Rest easy, Carter. I know what I'm about. Would you fetch my cloak, s'il vous plâit, and spread it out beside me on the ground?"
When the servant brought the cape, Robin gently laid Lucia on it. Smoothing her hair away from her face, he tucked the cloak she was wearing tightly about her to shut out the cold. "Stay with her, Carter, and shout if there's any change." Robin left to find his friends.
When Robin told Norworth and Malkent that he was taking Lucia to a gypsy healer, they were shocked. Unable to dissuade him from his course, however, they mounted their horses and followed Lucia's caravan to Ilya's encampment.
***
The Duke of Lynkellyn, the Earl of Malkent, Viscount Norworth, and Ilya, King of the Gypsies, sat around a large campfire, waiting for news of Lucia. Once in camp, Robin slipped easily into the Romany tongue, astonishing Tracy and Peter as much as he had Ilya.
He explained that he had lived among the Romany in Italy for nearly a year, dyeing his hair black and staining his skin a darker shade to blend in with his adopted people. Hailing him as a brother, Ilya assured him that his grandmother knew much of the healing arts and would spare no effort on her grace's behalf.
Robin requested a place to wash away the soot and ash still clinging to him and was directed to a nearby stream. The gentlemen bathed, then dressed in homespun shirts belted with wide knotted sashes and loose, woolen breeches of Ilya's providing, their own clothing having been ruined during their firefighting efforts. Returning to the communal fire, they feasted heartily on rabbit stew and coarse brown bread.
After the meal, more and more gypsies entered the circle around the fire. One brought a violin, another a guitar, and another a tambourine. Music, song, and laughter soon drowned out the crackle of the fire.
When a young girl entered the circle, the music and laughter died away. She curtsied nervously to the duke. "You may see your wife now, Your Grace."
A frail, old woman met Robin at the caravan where Lucia had been taken. "Your lady needs her rest, Duke! Do not fret her with questions or scolds and do not stay too long," she said, in no awe of his exalted rank.
"She...she hasn't lost the baby, has she?"
"No, Your Grace, and she will not, if she is not vexed or overtaxed. Go now and speak with her. She is asking for you."
Robin entered the wagon. Against a far wall, a single candle burned on a trunk that doubled as a table. Beside it, Lucia lay propped up on pillows on a cot, surrounded by flickering shadows. Instead of her waistcoat and breeches, she wore a white cotton chemise, gathered at the neck with a black ribbon tied in a bow just above the rise of her breasts. With her gleaming ebony curls tumbling about her shoulders, she looked absurdly young and virginal, even with the gentle swell of belly that was his child.
Love and desire rose together in a sudden tumult within him. He could barely control the urge to rush to her and rain ardent kisses upon those sweet, pink lips. Seeing the heat in his gaze, she dropped her eyes self-consciously.
He knelt on the floor beside her cot, glancing first at the white cloth that bound her head, then her swathed shoulder and bandaged hands. "Ma chérie! How are you feeling?"
"The old mother spread some sort of balm on my burns so that they do not pain me as they might," she said. I'm alright"
Looking at her pale, drawn face, Robin disagreed. After a tense moment, he asked, "What demon could possibly have possessed you to go tearing off with Rochedale, of all people, without a word to anyone?"
She lifted her head and flinched at the agony the sudden movement caused. "I didn't go with him voluntarily, Robin! He abducted me."
Robin lifted one disbelieving brow. "He came to Lynkellyn House, dragged you from your bed, cut your hair, dressed you in man's garb, and forced you into his coach without your making a sound or a single servant discovering the deed until it was too late? Doing it much too brown, my sweet."
"No! I dressed as a man because I needed a disguise. It is highly improper, after all, for the Duchess of Lynkellyn to keep a secret assignation in front of Newgate Prison at dawn!" Her icy blue eyes challenged his.
"Newgate Prison? Dawn? Lucia, you had a clandestine meeting with Rochedale? Did I not tell you to stay away from that man?" he almost shouted.
Lucia's eyes fell and she nervously brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face with one bandaged hand. "Yes, you did, Robin, and...and under normal circumstances I would have gladly obeyed you, but...but he told me he had something to sell and I wanted it very, very badly."
"Something to sell?" Robin forced his temper into calmer channels. "What was it? Some trinket or other? I daresay it wasn't worth risking your life."
"Oh, but it was!"
"Ma chérie, perhaps you had better start from the beginning and tell me the whole of it."
"It was the letter!"
"The letter?" Robin stared blankly.
"The letter that you told me you had lost while you were trying to rescue Lady Malkent from your cousin." She searched his eyes for comprehension, thought she saw a glimmer of it, and plunged on. "Gaston came to me several days ago and said that he had stolen the letter from Mountheathe and would sell it to me for five thousand guineas. I met
him at Newgate Prison at dawn this morning to purchase the letter. This morning! It seems an eternity ago! There was no letter, of course."
"He and his coachman tried to force me into his carriage, but I fought them and they...they hit me on the head. When I woke up, I was at an inn miles from London. Gaston said he was going to sell me into slavery in Araby. If it had been anyone but Gaston, I would have laughed at such a preposterous idea!"
"Why didn't you come to me with this, Lucia?" Robin almost pleaded.
"You were always...out. I had no idea where to find you and Gaston was threatening to sell the letter back to Giles. I did not want to lose this one chance to...to... I thought that if I gave you the letter that would clear your name, you might..." she met his eyes and saw the flash of anger in them, "...let me go," she finished lamely, choking back her feelings. How could she tell him, after so brutally pushing him away the night before, that she loved him and had hoped, with this dangerous escapade, to win back a little of his affection. The truth sounded ludicrous, even to her ears. She didn't understand all the conflicting feelings that twisted her heart. How could she explain them to him?
The anger Lucia had seen in Robin's eyes was directed at himself. Had he not been chasing about Town with a bevy of unsavory women, futilely attempting to deny the promptings of his heart, this entire nightmare could have been avoided.
"There is something else." Lucia broke the tense silence, sounding small, anxious, and forlorn. She lowered her head again, unable to look at her husband. "I needed some money to pay for the letter. I...I stole it from you. "
"Yes, I know."
Her eyes flew to his face. "You know? Then why...why did you not say anything?" Shock and dismay rang in her voice. He turned his face away, his eyes hooded to hide the pain that leaped into them. "I thought you were planning to bolt with Norworth and if I couldn't stop you, I wanted to be certain that you were not cast adrift, penniless, upon the world."
"I promised I would not run away, Your Grace. It is a point of honor with me to keep my promises," Lucia said.
The Rogue's Revenge Page 39