The Forsaken (Echoes from the Past Book 4)

by Irina Shapiro

  She was glad Guy was gone. She missed him sorely, and longed to hear his voice and confide in him, but the situation with Hugh would cause friction between the brothers, and she never wanted to come between them. Hugh had grown more abusive since the day he’d slapped her in their bed. Gone were the tender words and courtly manners. Something had snapped inside him when he learned of Gerard Dancy’s marriage, and his fury was directed at Kate.

  Some men didn’t deal well with disappointed hopes, and Hugh was one to dwell on his failings. He’d given his forty days per year service to Lord Chadwick, but chose not to fight a single day more. Instead, he spent his time on the estate, trying valiantly to increase output and raise rents to generate more income. The Earl of Stanwyck had granted Hugh a tract of land for his service, a gesture which Hugh deserved, and greatly valued. The land had been mostly forest, but Hugh had commandeered men from the estate to clear the trees once the harvest was in and they could be spared for several hours a day. Now the land was being farmed, and there were several new tenants, which had lifted Hugh’s spirits—until his gaze fell on his wife, who had yet to conceive.

  Kate’s heart nearly broke when she saw Hugh with Adam, who was nearly eight. Adam was a fine boy, and resembled his uncles in coloring despite his mother’s fairness. Hugh poured all his affection into the boy, spending hours teaching him how to handle his sword and playing chess in the evenings. Adam needed a father figure, and Hugh desperately wanted a son. Hugh was always solicitous and courteous to Eleanor, who had recovered from her grief and regained her beauty. Eleanor was only twenty-five and still marriageable, but Kate could see that Hugh dreaded the idea of Eleanor remarrying because he feared losing his home and the income from the estate. He’d held on to the monies he’d received for Kate’s dowry, fearful of spending the lot should he find himself dispossessed.

  Kate could understand his fear and his resentment, which made her respect him all the more for the affection and attention he showed the boy who would one day leave him with nothing, and to the boy’s mother. It wasn’t until a few months ago that Kate had begun to suspect that Hugh might harbor more than brotherly love for Eleanor, but she tried to suppress the gnawing unease in her gut and told herself he was just being kind to his brother’s widow. But Eleanor was beautiful, and Hugh was displeased with his wife, more so every day, so it stood to reason that his attention would turn to the only other woman who was there, pouting and acting as coy as a young bride in his presence.

  Kate sat down on a tree stump to rest and sighed with irritation. Eleanor had never become the friend and confidante Kate had hoped for, but would Eleanor really try to come between Kate and Hugh in her desperation? She was lonely, she’d admitted that, but would she take Hugh as a lover if the opportunity presented itself? Kate suddenly realized that the possibility didn’t distress her as much as she’d thought it might. At least if Eleanor took Hugh to her bed, he might leave Kate alone, a prospect that wasn’t at all displeasing given his treatment of her of late.

  Kate got to her feet and began to walk back toward the keep. The bright sunshine of earlier had dissipated and storm clouds were rolling in, signaling another dark and cold day within the walls of the keep. Kate hurried her steps as the first drops of rain plopped on her nose and cheeks and began to spot the fabric of her gown.

  She saw Hugh hurrying inside just as she came through the gate. His hand was on the small of Eleanor’s back, and the two of them were laughing and carrying on like they didn’t have a care in the world. For a brief moment, Kate thought they looked right together.

  Chapter 49

  August 2014

  London, England

  Gabe splashed whisky into his glass and sat down on the sofa. The television was on mute, the constant stream of colorful images going unnoticed as he stared into space. Quinn and Emma were already asleep, but although he was physically tired, his mind was going a mile a minute, too restless to settle on any one problem. He needed to talk to someone, and normally, he’d talk to Quinn, but she was already tense and upset and he didn’t want to add to her mounting stress. He knew he was driving her mad with his overprotectiveness, but he couldn’t help himself. He was scared. He had to physically restrain himself from dashing to the bathroom for the heart-pressure monitor every time she looked flushed or appeared to be agitated, and now her ankles were swelling and she was often short of breath.

  Gabe had also noticed Quinn peering at things as if she couldn’t see clearly, and extracted a promise that she would inform Dr. Malik of this new development at the next antenatal checkup. He wasn’t someone who prayed routinely, but since finding Quinn unconscious in that vault in New Orleans, he’d prayed for her and their baby’s well-being almost daily. Liver and renal failure weren’t common, but they did happen in mothers with severe preeclampsia, and although most symptoms disappeared after the delivery, in some cases, they continued after the pregnancy and required continued treatment.

  Gabe glanced at the clock. It’d just gone ten, so his mother would still be awake. He tossed back the whisky, grabbed his mobile and keys, and left the flat. He’d talk to his mother and take a walk—two birds with one stone.

  “Hello, son,” Phoebe said when she answered on the second ring. “No, you didn’t wake me,” she added before Gabe could ask.

  “Hi, Mum. How are you? Plumbing all right?”

  “Yes, the water is running clear and the hole in the kitchen has been filled in and retiled. I still can’t bring myself to step on that part of the floor. I feel like I’m walking over someone’s grave.”

  “Well, you sort of are, but it’s empty now, so you’ll have to get used to it, I suppose. Are you keeping busy?”

  “I’m trying,” Gabe could envision the downward curve of her mouth and the sagging of her shoulders as she replied. “The house feels so empty without your father.”

  “Are you eating?”

  “Yes, but I’ve no desire to cook anything, not when there’s no one to eat it with. I eat toast and eggs, mostly. That suits me fine.”

  “Mum! You can’t subsist on eggs.”

  “They’re a good source of protein,” Phoebe objected. “And they are quick and easy to make. What’s the sense of doing a Sunday roast or making chops for one person?”

  “We’re going to feed you up while you’re here,” Gabe promised. “I can’t wait to see you, Mum.”

  “Gabe, are you all right? What’s on your mind?”

  “Why do you think there’s anything on my mind?” Gabe asked, a smile tugging at his lips. She always knew.

  “Because you sound particularly downtrodden tonight. I can hear it in your voice.”

  “I’m just tired,” Gabe replied. “And frustrated.”

  “With what?”

  Gabe quickly filled Phoebe in on what’d been going on with Quinn. Phoebe listened intently, not saying anything until Gabe finished.

  “Gabe, it’s only natural that Quinn should want to find her sister and feel angry with Sylvia for withholding such crucial information.”

  “I know that, Mum, but I’m worried about her. Her blood pressure is spiking, she has terrible headaches, sometimes her vision gets blurry, and her ankles are swollen. She should be taking it easy, not obsessing about the mess her mother made thirty years ago. And she gets really angry with me when I fuss,” Gabe added grumpily.

  “I know and you know the only reason you fuss is because you’re worried about Quinn and the baby, but it probably makes her feel like an errant child. Quinn is a grown woman, and she would do anything to protect that baby. If she tells you she feels up to doing something, then you must take her at her word.”

  “So you think I’m being overbearing?”

  “I wouldn’t go as far as to call you overbearing, but I’d say maybe a little over the top. I know you’re worried, son, but you must trust your wife’s judgement.”

  “You always put me straight,” Gabe replied with a chuckle.

  “That’s what mothers a
re for, dear. Now, what else is bothering you? That was just the tip of the iceberg,” Phoebe said. Gabe heard her sigh as she usually did when snuggling deeper into her favorite chair.

  “Mum, I’ve been offered a promotion at work, and a significant pay raise. I’ve been invited to sit on the Board of Directors.”

  Phoebe didn’t immediately reply, as though processing what he’d said and drawing her own conclusions. “Darling, you don’t need to move up here. I know you want to be here for me, and you feel it’s your duty to look after your old mum, but I won’t have you doing so at the expense of your life. You have a successful career in London, as does Quinn. Emma loves it there and is about to start school. You have friends, and Quinn has her brothers. I won’t have you uprooting everyone just to make me happy.”

  “But I want you to be happy, Mum,” Gabe said, sounding like a whiny child.

  “Gabe, I’m happy knowing you’re happy. As it happens, I’ve been thinking about the house. I don’t like being here on my own. It just doesn’t feel like home anymore. When your father died, it was lonely at first, but now, after the discovery in the kitchen, it feels sinister somehow.”

  “What are you saying, Mum?”

  “I’m saying I wouldn’t be averse to a place like Cecily’s.”

  “You mean at the retirement village?” Gabe asked, perking up.

  “Those cottages have everything a person my age needs. There are no endless flights of stairs, there’s a little garden, and there are loads of people my age. And they have activities. I can take up watercolor painting or do Pilates.”

  “Do you even know what that is?”

  “Don’t patronize me, son. I might not be overly active now, but I was quite athletic in my day. Your father always said I had stunning legs.”

  “And he’d know,” Gabe joked. Graham Russell had adored his wife, but he’d always noticed pretty women, especially those that were fit. “Mum, I think that would be ideal,” he said, suddenly more hopeful about the future.

  “It would, but I can’t bring myself to sell the family home. Some big developer is going to come in and build luxury flats, or something equally ghastly. The land has been in the Russell family for centuries. It’s your children’s legacy.”

  “Mum, unless Quinn and I move to Berwick and spend a fortune restoring the family home, it will be a ruin by the time my children are old enough to understand what a legacy is. We have to either go all in, or let it go out of the family, and the choice is yours.”

  “Gabriel, you’re a historian, for the love of God. How can you feel no connection to the land of your ancestors?” Phoebe exclaimed.

  “I do feel a connection to the place, but uprooting my family and playing ‘lord of the crumbling manor’ is not my life’s plan.”

  “That’s it then,” Phoebe conceded. “I’ll call an estate agent after I return from London. We’ll sell the house and land, pay the death duties, and use the remaining funds to buy me a cottage at the retirement village and you a bigger flat in London.”

  “Are you sure you’re all right with that, Mum?”

  “Your father is probably spinning in his grave, but yes, I’m all right with it. There’s no use holding on to the past if the past has no hold over you.”

  “It’ll be better for everyone. You’ll see.”

  “I’ve no doubt of that. I just feel a little guilty, that’s all.”

  “I know. I do too. Who’s going to look after Buster when you come down for Emma’s birthday?”

  “I’ll leave him with Cecily for a few days. I’m actually looking forward to visiting London. It’s been too long. I’d like to go to the National Gallery, and maybe see a show.”

  “I’ll get tickets. Is there anything specific you’d like to see?”

  “I’d like to see King Charles III. I heard great things about it,” Phoebe replied.

  “Consider it done.”

  “Thank you, son. And plan something romantic for you and Quinn. You two can use a night out. I’ll be happy to mind Emma.”

  “Quinn would like that. Goodnight, Mum.”

  Gabe disconnected the call and turned for home. He did feel better after talking to his mother, but a nagging sense of guilt gnawed at his insides. His mother was right; Graham Russell would be spinning in his grave if he knew. Gabe sighed. Moving up north would accomplish one thing that staying in London wouldn’t: it would get Quinn away from Luke once and for all.

  Chapter 50

  November 1464

  Westminster Palace, London

  The rain fell in sheets, soaking everything in its path and leaching every bit of daylight from the rooms. Braces of candles were lit despite the early hour, and a fire burned in every grate, adding a bit of coziness, but not nearly enough heat to warm the chambers.

  Guy and Sir Anthony Hayes, one of Warwick’s most trusted knights, stood guard at the antechamber on Warwick’s orders, doing their best to look bland and disinterested in what was happening inside as the earl’s voice thundered from behind closed doors. Warwick didn’t bother to hide his displeasure at being thwarted, and anyone who passed close enough to the door could hear exactly what was being said. All Guy and Anthony could do to protect the earl’s privacy was advise the passersby to move on and not linger in an ill-disguised attempt to hear more.

  Guy had arrived at Westminster Palace a few weeks ago as part of Warwick’s retinue. The earl had recently returned from abroad, having been involved in negotiations with France regarding a bride for King Edward. The object of the discussions was Bona, the daughter of Louis, the Duke of Savoy, and the sister-in-law of King Louis XI. Pleased with the outcome of the proceedings, the earl had been eager to share the news with Edward.

  The ride from Middleham had been a merry one, with the earl regaling his escorts with stories of the French court and enjoying the journey as they passed through peaceful villages and sleepy hamlets. Warwick had appeared not only happier, but healthier. He’d looked gaunt and tired after the siege of Norham Castle and the subsequent foray into Scotland, but after weeks of being wined and dined by the French, he’d seemed more his old self, bursting with vitality and brimming with self-importance. That had been before he found out on his arrival in Westminster that he’d been negotiating on behalf of a bridegroom who was already wed.

  “Who does he think he is?” Warwick roared from the antechamber, addressing his brother, George Neville, the Bishop of Exeter. “A monarch does not marry on a whim, and in secret! Elizabeth Woodville is a beauty, no one is contesting that, but he could have simply bedded her, or even set her up as his mistress if he’s so smitten. He could have fucked her until he tired of her—and he will tire of her—while still doing his duty to the Crown. He didn’t have to marry the wench, by God! Think of it,” Warwick continued, his ire not having diminished an iota since learning of the marriage several weeks ago. “A Lancastrian widow, with two children, who’s of advanced years, and comes from a long line of no one of consequence. What was he thinking?” Warwick’s voice growled like distant thunder, too far away to do any damage, but still threatening.

  “She bewitched him,” the bishop replied in a calmer tone. “There’s talk about her, and her mother too. Powerful witches, both of them.”

  “I’ve heard the gossip, George, but nothing that can be proven,” Warwick replied with disgust. “There’s no evidence of witchcraft. I’ve searched.”

  “Edward married her. Isn’t that proof enough of her sorcery?”

  “Not the sort that can stand up before a court,” Warwick snapped. “Even the emasculated relics who make up the ecclesiastical court know the difference between sorcery and lust. I’ve no doubt they felt the stirring of it once or twice.”

  “Come now, Dick. Sometimes an accusation is enough, you know that as well as I do,” his brother replied. “Once an idea is planted, it takes root.”

  “Edward won’t listen. He’s besotted. He’s always liked a pretty face, but this is the most irresponsible thing he�
�s ever done. To marry for love!” Warwick raged. “Men like us don’t marry where our hearts take us. We do our duty, we advance the interests of our family, we think with our heads and not our cocks. If every nobleman in England married for love, where would we be?”

  Happy? Guy thought sourly. He had no business passing judgment on his sovereign, but he envied the man. Edward was clearly in love with his queen, and she returned his affections. The two of them glowed in each other’s presence, like twin flames reflected in a dark pool. Where there was love like that, children followed. That was the consequence of desire, genuine desire, the kind that quickened the heart and stirred the blood. Elizabeth Woodville didn’t just do her duty by her lord, she relished it; it was obvious. Guy had never seen a married woman who looked so sensual, so eager. It was all right there in her eyes, in the way her lips parted when she gazed upon her lord, and the way she arched her back, making her breasts appear bigger and rounder. She made no attempt to hide her desire, and Edward preened and strutted when she was around, glorying in her love and stoking her passion.

  What would it feel like to be that happy, to be loved and to be able to return that love openly and honestly? Even Warwick, who raged against Edward’s choice of bride, knew love. His countess adored him, and waited for his return like a blushing new bride. Her gaze followed her husband about the room, and if he happened to glance her way or bestow her with an absentminded smile, she glowed like the moon, her joy at his attention obvious. Warwick had not married for love, but he did care for his wife. He had a devoted woman to come home to, a woman who cloaked him in her love and saw to his every need, and he was shrewd enough to appreciate that.

  Warwick’s voice rose again, his anger not yet waning. “George, if I don’t find a way to end this marriage soon, it’ll be too late. Once she gets with child, he’ll never let her go. And if she has a boy…”