Catherine Coulter the Sherbrooke Series Novels 6-10 (9781101562123)
Page 127
He cleared his throat. “Give me my babes. I want to show them to their mother.”
When Jason cradled both babes in his arms, he felt his brother’s hand on his shoulder. As had happened so many times in their lives, they shared the same thought: Life was sweet. They were the luckiest men in the world.
Theo said, rubbing his hands together, “I have done remarkably well. Everyone is healthy. So what if I was off by one babe?”
Douglas Sherbrooke’s hand was raised to rap on the bedchamber door when he heard his sons’ laughter.
He lowered his hand. His sons. He heard a tiny yell, and smiled. He prayed that life would continue doling out more laughter than tears. Then he heard a chorus of yells.
The yells continued, two distinct yells. Bedamned, another set of twins. The door opened. Jason whooped when he saw his father, and grabbed him close. “Hallie gave me a girl and a boy. I am surely the luckiest man alive.”
“I rather thought I was,” Douglas said, looking over to see James grinning at him. He nodded at his elder son and called out over his shoulder, “Alexandra, come listen to this lovely duet of yells from your new grandbabies.”
EPILOGUE
Three Months Later
No rain today, thank God, Jason thought, unlike the previous three days that had the twins yelling their heads off because they liked to lie on a nice thick blanket in the middle of the green lawn at Lyon’s Gate, kicking their legs, flailing their arms and breathing the freshly scythed grass.
It was a beautiful day. Jason watched his wife, a babe under each arm, walk to the blankets he’d spread on the side lawn at Northcliffe Hall. The noon sun was bright overhead, and James’s brindle racing cat was tearing across the lawn to run around Hallie three times before dashing back to James, who gave him a fresh slice of sea bass, told him what an elegant fast boy he was, and scratched the spot right in front of his tail. Alfred the Great purred like there was no tomorrow.
Douglas and Everett, now four years old, something Jason couldn’t quite get his brain around, were sitting as quietly as they ever sat, watching their father train the year-old golden-eyed Alfred the Great.
Jason watched Hallie arrange the twins amid piles of pillows, then lean back on her elbows and raise her face to the blue sky. He felt his throat close as he watched her, such love swamped him. He was a lucky bastard, as his twin had told him just that morning, and he agreed. He was thirty years old, he had Hallie as his wife, and he was a father of two healthy children. Amazing. Even more amazing, or perhaps not, both babies looked like him, which meant they also looked like their cousins and their uncle James, which led back to Aunt Melissande, who’d smiled her incredibly beautiful smile when she’d seen them, while her husband, Uncle Tony, was heard to say, “Yet another generation of nauseatingly beautiful children in my wife’s image. It fair to makes my teeth ache. Thank the good Lord that our three boys look like me. It adds balance to the world.”
“Thank God you still have all your teeth,” Aunt Melissande had said, and poked her husband in the ribs. He then kissed her hard on her mouth and the younger generation turned red to their eyebrows.
Jason heard a horse whinny, fancied it was his father’s huge bay thoroughbred stallion, Caliper, who was going to be bred with Miss Matilda out of Charles Grandison’s stud in two days. Lyon’s Gate flourished. They’d won races, their reputation as a stud was growing. As for Lord Grimsby, he’d asked Jason to take Lamplighter, to train him, run him, and breed him, and all the winnings would be his. Lamplighter had won the Beckshire race a month before.
Jason closed his eyes, content for the moment to breathe in the scent of fresh grass along with his twins and his wife when he looked up to see his father and mother, Uncle Ryder and Aunt Sophie come out of the Hall. Soon the grounds would be overrun with Sherbrookes, even Aunt Sinjun and Uncle Colin from Scotland and Meggie and Thomas from Ireland, Meggie bringing three racing cats for the big cat race next week at the McCaulty racetrack, and their three boys, who helped train the cats.
Hallie said, “Jason, I need you as a father. Alec is hungry, again,” she added quite unnecessarily.
Jason set up an umbrella to give his wife privacy, then picked up his daughter, grinned like a fool when she blew bubbles up at him, and watched Hallie feed Alec. She looked totally absorbed, crooning to the babe as he suckled frantically. Nesta rooted around Jason’s chest to find a breast, and he laughed. “You’ll have to wait, sweetheart, your mama’s busy with your brother now.”
Nesta wailed.
“Uncle Jason!”
“Uncle Jason!”
Douglas and Everett raced across the lawn toward him, dirty, rumpled, grins splitting their beloved little faces. No waltzing for them anymore; they were too old for that. Since Uncle Jason was holding Nesta, they didn’t leap on him, but he could tell they wanted to, badly.
“We went fishing in the pond,” Everett said.
“What did you catch?”
“Just a toad and a load of dirt,” Douglas said. “Don’t tell Mama, she’ll tan us.”
“She told us to stay clean for at least an hour. What time is it, Uncle Jason?”
“Nearly time for luncheon.”
“It’s nearly an hour, Everett. We’re safe. Mama won’t yell at us.”
“How about your papa?”
“He’ll throw us in the air and call us filthy grubs,” Everett said. “Do you want to play with us now, Uncle Jason? Douglas has a new cannon that we need to fire.”
“Be patient,” Jason said. “Your cousins need their luncheon first. Ah, I see your grandmother coming over. She’ll beg me to let her play with Nesta. Then we’ll go fire that cannon, maybe then I’ll take the two of you to the pond and toss you in.”
Alex came down on her knees, her arms out. Jason kissed his tiny daughter’s forehead and handed her to his mother. “Ah, my precious little sweetheart. You’re hungry, aren’t you, lovie, and here’s your stoat of a brother taking all the lunch. That’s right, you just suck on my knuckles.” She smiled over at her son, saw that Everett and Douglas were fidgeting. “I heard your uncle tell you to be patient, boys. You may have him in five minutes. Good. Now, Jason, I suppose I’m the one to tell you. Petrie has proposed to Martha. When she confided to Hollis, he told her she’d be far better off marrying him than Petrie, that even though he was approaching his golden years, he wouldn’t drive her as distracted as that codshead would.”
“What did Martha say?” Hallie asked, looking up.
“I believe after she tucked the blanket lovingly around Hollis’s legs, she told him that even though she preferred him to Petrie, she couldn’t marry him since she wanted children. She fancied that even though Hollis was surely superior to the codsbreath, she doubted even he would still be on this earth to greet his grandchildren, something she believed very important. She then assured Hollis that Petrie was no different from a racing horse or a racing cat. With a nibble of trout, a bucket of oats, or a smidgeon of a kiss, she could work miracles. Oh, dear, I see Mother-in-law. She’s still walking, can you believe that? She can even push Hollis’s chair, and believe me, it makes him furious. He even yelled at her once, and do you know what? She laughed, told him since he’d waited on her his whole life, she could at least push him about a bit now.” Alex smiled, kissed Nesta’s tiny mouth. “Hallie, your aunt Arielle is so pleased you named your daughter after your mother, even though you never knew her. She said that counts.”
“Papa got tears in his eyes when I told him her name,” Hallie said. “It’s odd. He didn’t have a single tear when we told him we’d named Alec after him. I saw Angela pushing Hollis’s chair too.”
Jason was stretched out on his back, Douglas and Everett on top of him, holding him down, jabbering the same twin talk he and James had spoken as boys. He didn’t understand them. He wondered what sort of torture they were thinking up for him once they’d fired the cannon and headed to the pond.
He smiled over at his wife, who was kissing the
sleeping Alec’s forehead, a bit of milk dribbling down his chin.
Hallie looked over at him, grinned at Douglas and Everett, who were trying to pull his boots off.
“Next,” she called out.
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WIZARD’S DAUGHTER
A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Jove mass-market edition / January 2008
Copyright © 2008 by Catherine Coulter.
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To Penelope Williamson
You’re a wonderful writer and rider,
and best of all,
you’re a wonderful friend.
—CC
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
EPILOGUE
1
A long time ago
I knew something wasn’t right. I was lying on my back and I couldn’t move. A single light shined directly onto my face, but it wasn’t strong enough to blind me. The light was strange, soft and vague, and seemed to throb ever so slightly.
“You are awake, I see.”
A dark voice, a voice one would hear in the deepest part of the night; surely a man’s voice, but unlike any I had ever heard before. Any normal man would be afraid of such a voice but, oddly, I found I was only mildly curious. I said, “Aye, I am awake. However, I cannot move.”
“No, not yet. If you agree to do what I want, you will move again, as you did before I saved you and brought you to me.”
“Who are you? Where are you?”
“I am behind the Cretan light. Lovely, is it not? Shimmery as a king’s silks, warm and soft as a woman’s fingers tracing over your face.
“I saved your life, Captain Jared Vail. In return I ask a favor. Will you agree?”
“How do you know my name?”
The Cretan light—whatever that was—seemed to brighten a moment, and harden into a column of trapped flame, then soften once more, the glow gentle, pulsing like a resting heart. Did it believe I had insulted the being behind it? Its master, perhaps? No, that was ridiculous; a light, no matter what it did, was without breath or feeling, without a soul—was it not?
“Why can’t I move?”
Where was the bloody man? I wanted to see his face, wanted to see the human who spoke all those words.
“Because I do not wish you to as yet. Will you grant me a favor for saving your life?”
“A favor? Do you wish me to kill someone? I have not dispatched a pirate or a thieving dock rat for three years.” Where had that pathetic attempt at humor come from? There was no laugh, more’s the pity, for that would have made the voice human, and perhaps that was why I had tried to jest. Still, I was not afraid, even though I knew in some part of my brain that I should be scared out of my few wits. But I was not.
“Who are you?” I asked again.
“I am your savior. You owe me your life. Are you willing to repay your debt?”
“I have gone from granting a favor to paying a debt.”
“What is your life worth, Captain Jared Vail?”
“My life is worth all that I am. Will you let me live if I do not agree?”
The Cretan light flashed bright blue for an instant, then flickered, as if brushed by a waving hand. Once again it settled. The shadows behind it remained impenetrable, like a black curtain covering an empty stage. My imagination was on fire. The voice brought me back. “Will I let you live? I do not know.” A heavy pause. “I do not know.”
“Then I have no choice, do I? I do not wish to die, although I would be well dead now had you not saved me. But I do not know how you managed it. The huge wave was on me, and the wound in my side—I would have died from that blow probably before the water crushed me.”
I realized in that instant that I felt no pain from the gaping tear in my side that had hurled me into a madness of agony. I felt nothing at all except the strong, solid beating of my own heart, no stuttering with pain or fear, no gasping to find a breath.
“Ah, the pain. That is another debt you owe me, would you not agree?”
Why was I not afraid? The absence of fear made me feel cold to my soul. I was thinking it made me less a man, less—alive. Had he somehow
removed my human fear? “How did you heal me?”
“I have many abilities,” the black voice said, nothing more.
I retreated into my mind, trying to keep myself calm and focused, allowing no frightening stray thoughts to make me want to scream in terror, even though I knew any sane man would be babbling by now. He wanted me to pay him back for saving my life. I could certainly do that. But I asked, “I do not understand. You saved me in a way that no mortal could have saved me. If this is not an elaborate dream, if I am not dead, I would say you can do anything. What could I possibly do for you that you cannot do yourself?”
Cold silence stretched on and on. The Cretan light danced wildly, shooting off blue sparks that sprayed upward into the darkness, then suddenly there was calm. Was the light a mirror of my savior’s feelings? The voice said, “I have sworn not to meddle. It is a curse that I must obey my own word.”
“To whom have you sworn this?”
“You need not know that.”
“Are you a man as I am a man?”
“Do I not speak incessantly as does a man, to hear the sound of his own voice? Did I not laugh like a man?”
Yes. No. “Will you tell me where I am?”
“It is not important, my friend.”
His friend? If he was such a friend why could I not move? Suddenly I felt my fingers. I wiggled them a bit, but still I could not raise my arm and that was surely alarming. Yet I wasn’t alarmed, truth be told, merely interested and intrigued, as a man of science would be at the discovery of something unexpected. Had he seen the thoughts in my brain? Now, that gave me pause.
I said slowly, “What could a ship captain possibly do for you? You have demonstrated powers I cannot begin to imagine. I was aboard my brigantine in the middle of the Mediterranean, five miles from Santorini, my last port, and a huge wave appeared out of nowhere. I heard the screams of my sailors, heard my first mate yell to God to save him as that nightmare swell crashed over us. Then a splintered board speared into my side, tearing me open, and then the crushing mountain of water, and yet—”