The Forsaken (Echoes from the Past Book 4)

by Irina Shapiro

“Go on. Call the police,” Gabe retorted. “And when they get here, I’ll just show them this.” He pulled the sticker he’d confiscated from Emma from his pocket and held it up in front of Sylvia’s face. “Do you know what this is, Sylvia?”

  Sylvia clearly had no idea what Gabe was talking about, or why Jude suddenly looked scared out of his wits as he tried to inch further away from Gabe.

  Gabe’s hand shot out and caught hold of Jude’s arm. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “Gabe, what is that?” Quinn asked. She peered at the image on the paper, but whatever it was, she couldn’t see why Gabe was so upset.

  “It’s a heroin fold,” Gabe replied, his voice very low so Emma wouldn’t hear.

  “Please don’t call the coppers, Gabe. I’m sorry, man. I really am. Emma was never meant to find that. It must have fallen out of my pocket,” Jude sputtered. He looked around wildly, but his friends had legged it, having probably sensed that things might get ugly and the police would be called.

  “I don’t want you anywhere near my child. Ever!” Gabe hissed as he shoved Jude against the wall for emphasis.

  Jude didn’t fight back. He stood stock-still until Gabe finally stepped aside, giving him a chance to escape. Jude took off at a run, heading for the nearest exit. Sylvia opened her mouth to say something, but Gabe turned on her.

  “Don’t! Just don’t!”

  “Why is Daddy cross with Jude? It’s only a sticker. I didn’t mean to take it,” Emma whimpered.

  “It’s all right, darling. Let’s get you in the car.” Quinn grabbed Emma by the hand and pulled her toward the exit. She needed some air. A lava-like heat was spreading upward from her chest and her heart hammered frantically as she fought for breath. Her vision blurred, softening the edges of the walls and making the door difficult to make out. Everything seemed to be reduced to one pulsating point of darkness, the black hole zooming in and out and making Quinn sway with dizziness. The sunlight nearly blinded her when she finally managed to get outside and she squeezed her eyes shut, unable to bear the glare.

  “Quinn! Quinn!”

  Gabe’s voice sounded as if it were coming from underwater. Quinn leaned against the building for support as blood roared in her ears and she was overcome by crippling vertigo. She would have fallen had Gabe not caught her in time and settled her in the front seat of the car, which was parked near the exit.

  “I’m taking you to A&E.”

  “No, I want to go home,” Quinn muttered. “I need to lie down. Please, Gabe. I can’t bear to be poked and prodded just now. I just need to rest.”

  “Her blood pressure is through the roof,” Phoebe said as she took Quinn’s pulse. She found Quinn’s blood-pressure medication in her bag and pushed a tablet between Quinn’s lips before holding a bottle of water to her mouth. “There now. You’ll start to feel better in a few minutes. Gabe, let’s go. Do as Quinn asks.”

  “Mum, I don’t think…”

  “Gabe, there’s nothing they can do for her. She needs quiet.”

  Gabe seemed paralyzed by indecision, but complied with Phoebe’s command and strapped Emma into her seat. “You’re going to see the doctor first thing tomorrow,” he said and Quinn nodded, too weak to reply.

  Chapter 63

  March 1465

  Berwick-upon-Tweed, Northumberland

  Kate kneeled on the prie-dieu, her hands clasped in front of her. Over the past few months her prayers had become more fervent, more desperate. She’d never imagined that a moment of weakness would tear her soul asunder, but reality had set in very quickly after that Christmas night. She spent nearly every waking moment torn between duty and love, and consumed with guilt for turning her back on her faith. She’d gone to church several times since Christmas, determined to confess her sin, but when she entered the confessional, the words simply wouldn’t come. They stuck in her throat, mainly because she couldn’t lie to God any more than she could lie to herself. She’d tried to keep away from Guy, to erase the memory of his lovemaking from her heart, but when night came, she waited for Hugh to fall asleep and then stealthily left their bedchamber, climbing the stairs in complete darkness, her bare feet stinging with cold, as she hurried to her lover’s room.

  Guy was always there, waiting for her. He caught her in his embrace and covered her face with kisses, his hands exploring her body in ways that had grown even more intimate since that first night. He knew every inch of her, and made a study of what merely pleased her and what set her alight, playing her the way a skilled musician played his instrument. Her body never felt as alive as when he touched it, and her heart had never been as full. But then morning came, and with it self-recrimination and shame. She was a sinner, an adulteress, and a liar. She had dishonored her husband and herself, and besmirched her wedding vows. Guy sympathized with her struggle, but although he did share some measure of guilt, his sin wasn’t nearly as terrible as hers. Guy wasn’t married. He hadn’t promised to love, honor, and obey in front of God. Men took lovers all the time, but women were taught to be pure and obedient, their only duty to please their husbands and bear children.

  And now God had seen fit to fill her womb at last, blessing her with the miracle she’d prayed for rather than punishing her for her transgression. This morning, she didn’t beg for forgiveness. This morning she thanked the Lord and praised his name, but her soul was torn. The child in her belly was not her husband’s; Hugh hadn’t touched her in months. It was a life created during an act of love and devotion, a life that had never been meant to be. What was she to do?

  The answer came to her like a whisper on the wind, simple and devious. She had to protect her baby at any cost. Hugh need never know. He’d been drunk on Christmas. He wouldn’t remember if he lay with her or not. The idea made her cringe with shame, but what choice did she have? The baby was more important than any of them. It was innocent of any wrongdoing and she’d rather die than allow Hugh to cast doubt on its parentage.

  Kate rested her forehead on her clasped hands. She longed to share the news with Guy, but couldn’t bring herself to tell him just yet. To rejoice in their infidelity and the result of their sin seemed wrong, even if the outcome of their affair seemed to be sanctioned by heaven itself. Kate’s hand went to her belly. It was still flat, but she hadn’t bled since before Christmas. Her breasts were tender and swollen, and her belly had grown firm, as if her body had donned armor to protect the babe within. Normally, Hugh would notice these changes, but their relationship had changed since the day he hurt her. He seemed content to let her be, and Kate was grateful for the respite. She wasn’t naïve enough to believe Hugh was celibate, but if he chose to lie with someone else, she didn’t care, as long as he did nothing to endanger her babe.

  Kate crossed herself and got to her feet. She was expected in the kitchen. Joan needed help, and there was solace to be found in hard work. There was bread to bake, fowl to pluck, pies to make, and laundry to do. Kate didn’t volunteer to do the laundry, on account of the babe, but she gladly undertook the other tasks. Keeping busy allowed her to avoid both Hugh and Guy in the mornings, which made things easier. They were often out on the estate in the afternoon and liked to practice swordplay in the bailey after dinner. Kate only spent time in their company after sunset. They ate supper, then retired to the Lady chamber where Kate and Eleanor sewed or read and Hugh and Guy played dice or shared the latest news. As long as Kate remained aloof and kept her eyes on the sewing she could barely see, she was safe.

  Chapter 64

  August 2014

  London, England

  Quinn’s eyes fluttered open when she heard the doorbell. It had to be teatime since the slanted rays of the late afternoon sun flooded the bedroom with a golden haze. She felt rested and comfortable, and calm. Dr. Malik had ordered complete bedrest for the remainder of the pregnancy, a protocol that would begin to chafe after a while, but for now, was exactly what Quinn needed. She’d spent the past few days in bed, and slipped into a peaceful sleep several times
a day, giving in to her body’s need for rest. Phoebe was now installed in Emma’s room, and would remain in London for as long as she was needed. Quinn was grateful to her for looking after Emma at a time when she couldn’t do it herself, and being there for Gabe, who was frantic with worry.

  Quinn scooted up higher and leaned against the pillows as Gabe poked his head in the door. “You have a visitor. Are you up to it?”

  As long as it’s not Sylvia or Jude, Quinn thought, but was certain Gabe wouldn’t have allowed them past the threshold. “Of course.” She hoped it was Jill or Logan. They always made her feel lighter, and she enjoyed their company.

  Rhys stepped into the room, looking fresh as a daisy despite the heat of the August afternoon. He held a plastic container in one hand and a bunch of daisies in the other. “I brought you some scones. Just baked them, in time for tea.”

  “I’ll put the kettle on and put these in some water,” Gabe said as he accepted the container and the daisies from Rhys and retreated toward the kitchen.

  Rhys sat on the side of the bed and gave Quinn a searching look. “How are you?”

  “I’m better now. I must remain on bedrest until the baby is born.”

  “So I heard. When’s that, eight more weeks?”

  “Thereabouts. I don’t know how I’ll manage. I’m so used to being active,” Quinn complained.

  “Use this time to catch up on all the books and films you’ve not had time to enjoy. You won’t have much leisure time once the baby is born, especially once you come back to work.”

  “Is that why you’re here?”

  “No. I just wanted to see for myself that you’re all right. And I see in your eyes that you’re not as Zen as you pretend to be.”

  “I’m sad, Rhys, and so disappointed in both Sylvia and Jude. I can’t begin to image what might have happened if Emma had ingested that heroin. She could have died.”

  “I know. It doesn’t bear thinking about.” Rhys reached out and took Quinn’s hand in his in a gesture of support. “Quinn, may I venture to offer an opinion?”

  Quinn smiled. She’d talked things through with Gabe and Jill, both of whom advised her to banish her newfound family from her life, but Quinn was eager to hear Rhys’s point of view. He was further removed from the situation, and someone who saw events in a unique way, almost as if he were always looking through a camera lens and imagining what his audience would see when they viewed the footage. “Go on, then.”

  Rhys looked away from Quinn for a moment, staring through the window at the cloudless sky outside, his gaze thoughtful. He often wore that expression when marshalling his thoughts, especially when he needed to say something that might not be well received. At last, he looked back, his gaze burning with intensity.

  “Quinn, you are not my daughter, but I wish you were. I felt a connection to you from the moment we first met. Of course, at the time, I mistook it for sexual attraction, but I no longer feel that way about you,” he added with an embarrassed grin. “I often catch myself thinking, ‘I have to tell Quinn about this,’ or ‘Quinn would really appreciate that.’ You are a kindred spirit, a person who understands me better than anyone I know, even my own family. What I’m trying to say, in a very awkward and roundabout way, is that we can choose our own family. We don’t have to limit ourselves to the people we’re related to through an accident of birth. I know you had high hopes when you first discovered your parents and siblings, and all you wanted was to play Happy Families, but life’s rarely that simple. The deepest wounds are often inflicted by those we love and trust, and you gave your love and trust, albeit unwittingly, before you truly understood the nature of these people.”

  “Are you saying my expectations were too high?”

  “Perhaps, particularly where Sylvia is concerned. Quinn, Sylvia will never be the loving, supportive mother you want her to be. She loves her sons, but there’s a part of her that she always holds in check, a part that no one can reach. Perhaps it’s something to do with her upbringing, or the trauma she went through when you were born, but this is who she is and you must either accept her as she is or move on.”

  “And Jude?”

  “Jude’s problems are not about you. He’s a young man who needs help, but will not ask for it until he’s good and ready. I hope that moment comes before it’s too late. He does care for you, in his own way, and he has a soft spot for Emma. He’s devastated about what happened.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Sylvia called me. She hoped I’d come round and offer her a shoulder to cry on, but I decided to come here instead.”

  “And while you’re being Freudian and philosophical, can you also help me deal with what happened with Brett?” Quinn asked, smiling at Rhys.

  “I think Brett would have gone through his whole life without incident, had you not come along.”

  “So it’s my fault?” Quinn gaped at Rhys. She hadn’t expected him to spout that particular theory.

  “No, it isn’t, but you took him unawares, and threatened to expose something that he needed to keep hidden in order to get on with his life. I’m not saying his feelings or views are right, but very few situations are ever truly black and white. He felt frightened and threatened by what you were about to do, and he reacted much as a cornered animal would—he lashed out, driven by a sense of self-preservation.”

  “Am I supposed to forgive him, then?”

  “Whether you choose to forgive him or not is up to you, but don’t allow what happened to destroy your relationship with your father. Gabe says that Seth’s been calling and texting you.”

  “We’ve spoken recently,” Quinn replied, suddenly ashamed of herself for avoiding Seth for as long as she had.

  “Quinn, I think Seth wants to be your parent a lot more than Sylvia does, and he’s tormented with guilt over what happened. Perhaps it’s time you let him off the hook, as you let me off the hook.”

  “Rhys, can I tell you something?” Quinn asked, smiling into his eyes.

  “What’s that?”

  “Sometimes, I wish you’d turned out to be my biological dad.”

  “Come here, kid.” Rhys pulled Quinn into a bear hug. He smelled of aftershave and freshly baked scones, and for the first time since returning from New Orleans, Quinn felt completely at peace.

  “Thanks, Rhys.”

  “Anytime. Now, how about that tea?”

  “Bring it on.”

  They made small talk while they drank their tea and enjoyed Rhys’s mouthwatering scones. Emma had three, and even Phoebe ate more than she normally would. Quinn was grateful to Rhys for not mentioning Echoes from the Past, especially in front of Gabe, who’d taken away the sword and the rosary, effectively closing the window into the lives of the de Rosel family. Everything was on hold until after the baby was born.

  Chapter 65

  September 2014

  London, England

  The day had been unusually warm for September. Even with all the windows open, Quinn was perspiring. She took a cool shower before going to bed, one of the few activities still permitted during her period of bedrest, but she was flushed and couldn’t get to sleep. The lace trim of her silky nightie chafed her skin, and she longed for something comfortable and soft.

  Quinn turned on the bedside lamp and swung her legs out of bed, determined to get a cotton T-shirt. Rummaging in her drawer, all she found were tops more suited for work, and she realized Gabe had forgotten to do the laundry. Household chores had been piling up since Phoebe returned to Northumberland once Emma started school and Gabe returned to the institute for the new term. He’d accepted the promotion and all talk of moving north had ceased for the time being, making Quinn a happy woman.

  She shut the drawer and turned to Gabe’s side of the bureau. He had a plethora of cotton T-shirts, which he wore year round. She pulled out one of her favorites, a lime-green V-neck that had no annoying tag to scratch her skin. The glow of amber at the back of the drawer caught her eye. She knew she should
n’t, but the urge was too strong, and Quinn reached for the plastic bag containing the rosary before she could talk herself out of it. Gabe hadn’t bothered to hide it well, trusting her not to go looking for it, but she’d been cooped up in the house for the past month, and she was expiring of boredom.

  My blood pressure is perfect, there’s no protein in my urine, my ankles are as trim as a ballet dancer’s, and I haven’t had a headache in weeks, Quinn thought proudly. What harm could a brief glimpse into Kate’s life do? It would be a welcome distraction, and hopefully, help her get to sleep. She listened carefully. The only sound in the flat was the low hum of the TV. Emma was fast asleep, and Gabe was watching a film in the other room. He’d had trouble sleeping lately, and often came to bed after Quinn was already asleep, climbing in beside her and resting a protective hand on her belly.

  She climbed back into bed, turned off the lamp, and drew the rosary out of the bag. Kate’s face instantly swam into view, her blue eyes wide with anxiety.

  Chapter 66

  April 1465

  Berwick-upon-Tweed, Northumberland

  Kate grabbed the basin just in time as her stomach emptied for the third time that morning. She set aside the basin, rinsed out her mouth, and reclined on her pillows, panting. The first few months of pregnancy had been surprisingly unremarkable, but over the past two weeks nausea and fatigue had become her constant companions. Awful smells that brought on a bout of sickness seemed to lurk around every corner, particularly in the kitchen, which to Kate smelled of raw meat and blood. She hadn’t been able to stomach any solid foods, except for bread dipped in broth, and ale. A bout of vomiting was usually followed by fitful slumber as her body recovered.

  Had it been only Hugh and Guy in the house, she might have been able to keep her secret a little longer, but it was impossible to hide a pregnancy from Joan’s watchful glare, and the old nurse had finally confronted Kate only that morning.