“How should I think while tied up in this damn cave, Sophia? Since you seem to have all the answers, pray tell me what you would have done differently.” Sarcasm born of fear laced his words. “I cannot live with any more guilt, and if those children die because I let Basselton play me for a fool…”
“It won’t happen.” She shook her head. “What would I have done differently?” No matter how much she wanted to respond to his anger with some of her own, it wouldn’t serve either of them well, and it would burn too much precious strength. “I’d stop blaming myself for something clearly beyond my ken.” She paused as she concentrated on the rope that felt a smidgeon slacker than it had before. “I grow weary of listening to you berate yourself. There comes a time in every man’s life when he either lets life defeat him, or he shows his mettle. We have already purged your horrors and freed your guilt.”
“Yes, but—”
“Jonathan, enough.” God help her, she loved him, but he drove her crazy with that sort of thinking. “If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll find a way to warn the earl and the duke, but I need for you to stop feeling sorry for yourself and use the intellect I know you possess on something that will advance our situation. Once you’re free, you have my permission to beat your fists into whomever you wish, but for the love of everything holy, yank your head out of your arse and start thinking.” An ache in her side burned. No doubt it was the rope cutting into her.
Long moments of pregnant silence brewed between them, broken by the constant shower from the waterfall.
“Somehow, I believe you.” The viscount cleared his throat and then the rumbling sound of his laughter filtered through the cavern. “You’ve proved me wrong time and time again on this mission. I challenge you to do so now because I certainly cannot move this blasted knot, even if I’ve learned the lesson from your reprimand and I have removed my head from my arse.”
“I’m glad to help.” Despite the situation, her lips curved with a wide smile. “Lucky for you, I neglected to put my hands fully together while he bound them, so I have wiggle room.” She laughed. “Which was the reason for my struggle. To distract him from his task. I learned the trick from my brothers. Lord knows they’d bedeviled us girls when we were growing up.” As she spoke, Sophia worked diligently at the knot, which became looser.
Jonathan hooted with apparent pleasure. “You, my girl, are a treasure.”
“Thank you for noticing.” Though his praise warmed her and made her forget about the aches plaguing her body. Slowly, the minutes slid by, marked by the over-loud ticking from the timepiece around her neck. With her fingers raw, she was able to insert one through the loops of the knot, and the tangled rope slid free. “Oh ho! I’ve got it!”
“I never had a doubt.”
“Liar.” Now that her hands were free, she set to work on slithering from beneath the coiled rope that bound her to the stalagmite. Once she stood, she pressed a hand to her head as a sudden wave of dizziness assailed her. The ache in her side became more pronounced. “The first thing we will do once we gain the surface is eat.” She stumbled along the pool’s edge and then dropped to her knees beside him. “Don’t move. It will only tighten the knots.” Once he was free, she’d do a cursory check of her aches and pains.
He remained still, but he did turn his head in her direction. “Sophia, about what I said before, that you were just my assistant…”
“Hush.” She ignored the warmth of his breath as it skated over her cheek. “I know why you said it.” Her fingers, so cold, refused to move as fast as she would like.
“I want you to know that you are infinitely more to me than a mere assistant.” His voice sounded hoarse, from lack of water or from emotions she couldn’t tell.
“Thank you.” With a cry of triumph, she pulled the coils of rope free of his chest then set to work on the knots that kept his wrists bound, and when he attempted to stand before she was ready, she smacked his shoulder. “Don’t move.” Finally, the knots loosened and she wrenched the rope from his person. “Done.”
“There is no one quite like you.” Jonathan caught her in his arms and lifted her bodily off the ground. He twirled her around a few times before setting her back on her feet. “What would I do without you?” Cradling her face in his palms, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and another one to her lips. His attention made her briefly forget how much she hurt. “Shall we make good on the promise to leave this place?”
“Absolutely.” When he released her and strode toward the dead campfire to gather the remainder of their belongings, she shivered and stumbled where she stood. The reality of their situation seeped in as did the nagging pains she’d ignored before. Why the devil did her side hurt so fiercely? Another shiver wracked her body. She gingerly touched her lower left side that raged with a fierce burn. Her gown was cold and wet. The sharp metallic scent of blood filled the air and she gagged. In all the drama of what had happened, she’d never noticed it, or perhaps she hadn’t wished to, thought it was a rope burn; there’d been no time to check. When her hand came away covered with a thick, sticky substance, she gasped. Dear God. I’m bleeding. “Jonathan?” Her voice sounded weak even to her own ears. Darkness pressed in at the edges of her vision. Faintness made her feel like she floated outside herself.
“Yes?” He turned toward her with his greatcoat in hand.
“I…” She held up her hand, and from the light of the glowing pool, the dark blood that covered her fingers and palm was thrown into sharp, damning relief. “I believe I’ve been shot…” She moistened her lips. My kingdom for a drink of water. She fought to remain upright as her strength rapidly faded. His form wavered before her. “…perhaps in the scuffle before we were tied…” Her lips attempted to form more words, to tell him what she desperately needed to say, but the world spun around her, tilted crazily to the side, and she crumpled, tumbling into the waiting darkness.
Chapter Twenty-two
“Sophia?” Jonathan caught her in his arms and lowered her to the cave floor as she lost consciousness. “Sweeting, talk to me.”
When she didn’t respond, fear iced his spine and coiled in his gut. No, no, no. Not now. Not again. Frantic and with horror clogging his throat, he gently explored her left side. She’d lost so much blood already; it had completely soaked a large portion of her skirting on that side. Then he discovered the wound beneath her ribcage and just over her hip bone. There was no exit wound, so the ball was still lodged inside her body. Difficult to tell if it had done damage to internal organs, but from the rate of bleeding…
His worst nightmare was being realized. “Stay with me, Sophia,” he pleaded in a voice laden with emotion. He wrenched off his jacket and waistcoat, and after that, he tugged at his cravat until it came away in his hands. Then he yanked the linen shirt up and over his head. Quickly folding it, he pressed the wad of fabric against her wound, and then wrapped the length of the cravat about her mid-section, securing and knotting it tightly to keep the shirt in place. It would have to do, and he hoped it would stem the flow of blood.
With his heart beating hard, he put the waistcoat back on, not liking how much his hands shook as he fumbled with the buttons. Cursing, he retrieved his jacket, shoved his arms through the sleeves, wincing at the tight fit. His valet would lecture him on the deplorable condition of his clothing when he returned home. As soon as the buttons were in place, he grinned at the horrid picture he no doubt made. Heaven help him if and when he regained the surface and was obliged to speak with anyone of breeding. They’d think him escaped from an asylum.
“We’ll need some sort of a light.” Except the lantern had long ago lost its oil. Jonathan swept his gaze about the cavern and paused at the pool. He continued to speak aloud in the event Sophia could hear him and needed the comfort of his voice, for she hated being alone in the dark. “Any illumination is better than none.” Taking the lantern in hand, he carried it to the lip of the thermal basin. After opening the bottom chamber of the glass lantern, he methodical
ly filled the bowl with water and several handfuls of the glowing algae. “It’ll have to do.”
He put the lantern back together and returned to the campsite, where he grabbed his greatcoat and then swiftly went back to Sophia’s side. “We are setting off through the cavern network and I will find you the help you need.” Or die trying. As gently as he could, he bundled her limp form into the greatcoat. She resembled a porcelain doll, so still and pale was she with her eyes closed and her braided hair resting over one shoulder. “Don’t you die on me, Sophia. I couldn’t save Lavinia, but I’ll be damned if I cannot save you.” With a grunt, he took her into his arms and stood. With fear and guilt dogging his every step, he left the cavern and the mineral pool where he’d shared a piece of himself with her.
The longer he walked through cavern after cavern—some fantastic and mythical, some plain and barren—the more his mind dwelled on the woman in his arms.
Words she’d said to him while trapped in the well came back to him. “Choose to make your darkest hour your defining moment. Choose happiness anyway when the only thing you’re confronted with is anger and ugliness and fear. Look past it all and allow yourself to smile, to walk into the sunshine because beyond all the muck is what you’ve always been searching for. Then will you know, past all doubt, what you want and why.”
His steps stumbled as his heart thudded with a fierce ache. “Good God. I know what I want, what I desire over all else.” Jonathan came to a halt. He resettled the precious bundle in his arms as he looked into her serene face. “It’s you, Sophia. I want you in my life, to share the good and the bad.” Unshed tears crowded his throat and stung his eyes.
In the dim, green blue light of the glowing algae, his past, present and future came together to form the path he’d always been meant to walk. From the first, she’d supported him, teased him, taunted him, matched his passion, led him with boldness and intelligence, and bit by bit she’d changed him, drawn him out from behind the mask he’d donned that allowed him to hide his hurt and pain. She’d encouraged him to embrace who he was and had never pitied him or treated him differently due to his leg. His heart squeezed out a painful rhythm as if it was finally coming back to life after lying dormant for far too long.
“Sophia…” He forced a swallow as shame and fear settled into the pit of his belly like cold rocks. “I love you. I suspect I have for a while now, but I was too afraid, too stubborn, to admit it or even see it. I didn’t want to allow myself the hope that I could embrace happiness again.”
And now, time was of the essence. The woman he couldn’t live without was slipping away little by little. Holding her in one arm, he brushed his free hand along the side of her cheek. She didn’t stir. “I cannot—will not—lose you now when I’ve finally discovered what you mean to me.”
She’d been waiting for him the whole time with trusting devotion. He refused to fail her.
Jonathan resituated her in his hold and continued on his journey.
According to the time piece Sophia wore, he’d walked for hours. Every so often he’d stop to rest and to check her vitals. The vast network of caves, caverns and passageways seemed never ending. Perhaps he needed to acknowledge that there was no way out, even if Lord Basselton and Mr. Hatfield had appeared and left with such ease. Perhaps he’d missed an obvious clue to a passageway that led to the surface, for his mind dwelled strictly on Sophia, but another glance at her pale face and the trace of blood that had seeped through the makeshift dressing shot determination through him to continue.
Step by step, with a parched throat, throbbing head and a heart aching and ready to break, he came upon yet another cavern, except this one was different. From the algae glow in the lantern, he spied a set of stone steps built into the far wall.
“This has to be it, Sophia. Why else would stairs exist if they didn’t lead anywhere?” With more haste than finesse, he loped over the cavern floor. His leg screamed in agony from exertion, but he ignored his own discomfort. It was nothing compared to the peril she was in. “Hang on, love.”
Those steps were his only hope, and he would take any chance to save her.
The sound of his boot heels striking the stone rang in the silence. Grit and grime scraped beneath his soles as he climbed. He ducked through an arched entrance into a dark corridor. The glow from the wildly swinging lantern sent shadows skittering along the smooth walls, but he followed the passage, which led to a stout oak door.
“Please let there be help on the other side,” he murmured, and as his arms shook from strain, he shouldered open the door, for it had no latch or lock. It swung inward on silent, well-oiled hinges. At least it was an indication that someone passed this way and cared enough to attend to the upkeep.
Another set of stairs greeted him, this time more narrow, and he followed them, for what else could he do? As he passed beneath yet another stone archway, this one marked with a plain, rough-hewn wooden cross, he caught his breath as he came into another underground cavern, much different than any he’d seen before.
“It’s a chapel.” Jonathan licked at his dry lips.
Perhaps twenty feet in length and width, the ceiling of the cavern soared, disappearing into heavy shadows. A statue of the Virgin Mary—roughly carved from some sort of black stone—waited at the far end of the chapel as part of the wall. A few equally crude stone pews lined each side of a main aisle that led toward the statue.
But there were no windows, a sure indication he’d not reached the surface nor assistance.
“I do not know what else to do, Sophia.” His steps staggering from exhaustion and his heart near breaking from the misfortune of it all, Jonathan advanced down the aisle.
At a loss, he laid his precious bundle on the cold floor at the Virgin’s feet. He rested the faintly glowing lantern near her head. The eerie glow illuminated the pale curve of her cheek, the blonde sweep of her lashes, and for the first time in his life, he prayed as he looked up into the statue’s face. On his knees, he brushed baby-fine hairs from her damp, fevered brow.
“I have no right to ask anything of you or of God, but I’m a desperate man, and I cannot do this alone.” He swallowed as he fought the emotions welling through his chest. Never had he wanted anything more than he did now. “If you can find anything worthy about me, please send help to save Sophia.” A sob broke through his words and he didn’t bother to hold back. He cried, unashamedly wept as he looked at the still form of the woman he loved and then lifted his face to the statue. “I cannot lose her; she means so much to me. I didn’t properly appreciate what I had until it was too late.” He wiped his face with the sleeve of his jacket. “I don’t want it to be too late. How am I supposed to live without her?”
When nothing but silence answered him, his heart shattered. Flashes of Lavinia’s last moments with him danced across his vision. More than anything else, he remembered the stark fear in her eyes, the look of pure terror and regret as she fought against the Duke of Litton. And how small Jonathan had felt as he could do nothing to save her. Not again. He gathered Sophia into his arms and held her close to his chest. He lifted his gaze to the Mary statue. “Please help me.” The heavy darkness snatched at his whispered entreaty. He pressed his lips to Sophia’s forehead and closed his eyes. If she were to live out her last moments here, then so would he, for he wouldn’t leave her side.
How long he knelt before the Virgin Mary statue, he couldn’t say, but a soft gasp echoed from the side of the chapel and brought his head up and eyes open, he gaped at the appearance of two nuns.
Dressed in black tunics and veils with black cloaks lined with white, they came forward as he rose stiffly to his feet with Sophia in his arms.
“What is the meaning of this?” An older woman asked in Catalan Spanish as she darted her gaze between him and Sophia. Shock hung on her question.
While Jonathan gaped and attempted to explain in halting Catalan, the other woman jumped in. “However did you find our chapel?” asked the second, younger nun, bless
edly in English. “It is not accessible to visitors.”
“Thank God you are here.” He gestured to Sophia with his chin. “This is Miss Sophia Wickham. I am Jonathan Banshire, the Viscount Trewellain, and a king’s agent working for the British Crown, sent to Spain on a mission.” The words tripped over themselves in his rush to explain. “Which led me into Roman ruins beneath Barcelona. From there, Miss Wickham and I accessed caverns. As we searched for a way back to the surface, the man I sought came upon us. He shot Sophia, and she’s even now slipping away. I fear she’s already lost too much blood.” His voice broke, and he transferred his gaze to the younger nun. “Please, if you can, help her. I will do anything…”
The nuns glanced at each other, and then the older one nodded. “I am Sister Agnes.” She looked at her companion. “She is Sister Theresa.
He nodded at the absurdity of introductions when a life was at stake. “Pleasure to meet you.”
The older nun swept her gaze over his person. Heat infused the back of his neck when he remembered his state of undress. Yet she didn’t comment on his attire. “Let me see her.” Sister Agnes closed the distance and when she traced her fingers over the soiled dressing of Sophia’s wound, she sucked in a breath. She made the sign of the cross over herself. “We must hurry.”
“Come with us.” Sister Theresa pulled on his sleeve. “We will take her into our convent and church, which are both above ground. You have trekked far, Viscount Trewellain, for you are outside Barcelona within the cliffs near the sea. This is the Holy Cave of La Moreneta, or the Black Madonna.”
“Ah, so that is what the statue is called.” He nodded, hoping she wouldn’t insist on a history lesson.
“The Monastery of St. Maria of Montserrat is where we are headed. Well…” Her laughter sounded out of place in the silence of the shrine. “Sister Agnes and I will go to the convent that sits down the mountain from the monastery a quarter of a mile.”
What the Stubborn Viscount Desires Page 25