The Fitzwarren Inheritance

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by Various Authors


  The dream came upon him with the familiarity of repetition with the same images, the man in chains in the fire cursing another who stood and smiled as the flames grew stronger. Then the knife in his hands and the sudden stillness in him as he watched the blade fly through the heat to kill.

  In his nightmare, there was a new image. He was running. Away from his dead friend, away from the fire, away from Belvedere and his horrific vengeance, straight into the arms of the night and the pathways in the forests that he seemed to know so well. The dream was disjointed, mixed with images of Afghanistan, war, explosions, then the dark of the forest from another time. The images were stark, the moon high in an ink black night, and then there was another. A woman. Screaming, “Don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me.”

  “Who are you?” he asked in the dream, but instinct told him who this woman was. She was cowering against the tree, her hands gripping tight to a small child. Sarah Curtess, his friend’s wife, ill and exhausted and hiding as he was, in a place he’d happened upon by chance. He was holding out his hand to her and her young son. He knew what Belvedere was like; he had seen enough of it, he would take revenge on Sarah and the boy.

  “Can you help me?” she answered in his dream, her voice ragged and thin.

  “What use am I?” He looked down at his dream-self, the trappings of wealth long since exchanged for the uniform of a peasant, and then back at her. “I have nothing to give you.”

  “Please don’t let them hurt our son. Make us safe; don’t let him find us.” Her voice echoed in his head, and her pleading made him weep. “You are a soldier. It doesn’t matter how you do this. Just please keep us safe.” He looked at her, her beauty beneath the dirt, her son struck dumb at her side. He needed to keep running, through the wilds of lowland Cymru and on to the island of Ynys Môn. He had family there. The decision to run on his own was one he couldn’t make. He had to look after them, his new family, and they had to keep running from death. Keeping people safe was what he did, what his unit had done in Afghanistan, whatever the price. It was what they were trained for. She looked at him with such hope, like he was some kind of hero. Her features changed, and she looked more like Di, calling him a hero, someone she looked up to and respected, and in his dream, he closed his eyes then opened them again. Di was gone, and Sarah was back. Sarah and her small son.

  Belvedere’s men would still be looking for them. Stooping to pick up the child, he extended his other hand. “We run,” he said firmly.

  * * * *

  Daniel awoke with a start, his heart racing and his eyes blurred with unshed tears. He scrambled to his feet, wiping the trickle of blood on his hand onto the white cotton sheet.

  What the hell was he doing? It didn’t matter that he couldn’t walk very well, or that he was scarred, when the manner of how he received the injuries was because of duty to his country. He shouldn’t hide. Sean didn’t want him to hide, nor did Di and Will. They had pride in him, saw him as a hero. Why couldn’t he see that in himself? He looked at his watch, rubbing a hand on his chest to calm the flight impulse that was churning in him. It was half an hour to the wedding, and he was here in his house barricaded from the world.

  In fifteen minutes he had managed to take a shower, shave, and hobble to the suit. It was a beautiful dove grey suit, and he didn’t hesitate, pulling the individual items on as quickly as he could with the pain that hindered his movements. With only a few minutes to spare, he was outside his house, resting the weight of his bad leg on the walking stick and looking up at the small church. The bells were ringing, and Di’s car was just arriving, a modest Volvo, no fancy Rolls-Royce or silver Bentley to bring her to her destiny. The rain was heavier, if that was possible, and the driver helped her out of the car, an umbrella shielding her from the worst of it all. She smiled at the driver, a gorgeous happy smile, not one ounce of hate visible in her expression for the weather. Cautiously he edged off of the curb, taking simple steps to her side, and open-mouthed, she looked at him.

  “Daniel,” she breathed, another smile curving her lips. Offering his arm and taking the umbrella from the driver, Daniel escorted her to the covered entrance outside the heavy oak door that led to the inner vestibule.

  “Can you give me a minute to get in to stand with Will?” he asked softly, and she nodded in understanding.

  Gently she cupped his face with her hands, the light of affection in her eyes. “Is a minute enough time?”

  Daniel looked down at his leg and then back up at her, offering her a grin of his own. “Maybe give me two?” Bridesmaids fluttered around them, the two young women petting and primping and pulling at Di’s veil. It was his cue to leave, and he pushed open the door. All eyes turned to him expectantly, clearly expecting the open door to be the herald of an arriving bride.

  Pulling the door closed behind him, he began the journey to the altar and to Will. His steps were deliberate and slow, the stick a counter tap to his heavier footfall, and finally he stood next to his best friend. Sean nodded his approval from his position as usher to one side of the altar.

  “You took your time,” Will observed wryly.

  Daniel tapped his foot with the cane. “Bad leg,” he said with a straight face and as much apology in his voice as he could muster. Then he leaned into the hug that his friend gave him, and when he pulled back, Will had the rings in his hand and passed them over without saying a single word.

  The oak door opened again, and everyone turned from him to the promise of the bride. This time it was the bridesmaids first and then Di, a tumble and show of red and ivory in her dress as they approached the front of the church. The service wasn’t long, but Daniel was never more pleased than when Sean offered an arm to support him standing.

  When they exited the church, laughter and smiles were captured on film, and Daniel noticed one thing. Where there had been a storm and rain that lashed an angry revenge on Di, now there was only sunshine and the warmth of an Indian summer.

  It was a beautiful day.

  * * * *

  The reception was held at the Red Lion, and it was only minutes after the wedding party had arrived that Mark cornered Daniel and asked him back to the snug.

  He didn’t hesitate to begin talking, words spilling as if he couldn’t stop them. Daniel followed about half of what he was saying, and when he finally stopped talking, it was Sean who summarised.

  “Somehow Daniel standing as best man broke the curse on the Fitzwarrens?”

  “Not the entire curse of course, just your part of it.”

  “Our part of it?”

  “It’s written on the stone in the church, and it’s the second part of the get-out clause, so to speak. ‘When the one who reads the earth joins with he who sees beyond…’”

  “That was us, we think,” Jack interrupted, indicating he and Mark with his hand. “I read the earth with archaeology, and Mark is the psychic who sees beyond.”

  “So the rest of it is ‘when the warrior and the healer stand to swear a sacred bond, when the one who seeks in danger is sworn to the landless lord, then shall my curse be lifted and all the lands restored.’” Mark finished with a flourish and sat back in his chair. Daniel assumed he was supposed to understand from these words just what the hell was going on.

  “The warrior? God, that could be you.” Sean pointed out quickly. “And I am a healer.”

  “Yeah, I get that.” Daniel could see how they fit that part. “What about that sacred bond nonsense?”

  “The wedding!” Mark was triumphant in his logic. “A wedding is a sacred bond, and Daniel stood as best man for Will, and Sean was a groomsman.” Daniel expected Mark to end the sentence with a ta-dah! and was vaguely disappointed when he didn’t. “I think we would see a larger crack in the stone at the porch door to the hall if we were to go to the castle.” He looked beseechingly at Jack, who just shook his head.

  “We are not traipsing to the ruined castle in the dark.”

  Mark looked momentarily disappointed and then rumma
ged in his jacket pocket for a small notebook, the cover of which was dark with scribbles and notes.

  “So if we are the soldier and the healer…” Daniel spoke directly to Sean, who leaned in to bestow a small reassuring kiss before finishing the sentence that Daniel started.

  “Who then is the landless lord, and who is the seeker?”

  Mark was consulting his notes. “We think Phil is the landless lord, but the seeker? We have no idea. You can’t say anything about this to Phil. You can’t try to cheat a curse, I think it will only be lifted if Phil, or whoever the landless lord is, finds his seeker on his own.”

  “If the curse is lifted, what does that mean for the Fitzwarrens?”

  Daniel had been wondering the same thing, but given Sean’s longstanding friendship with them, he could understand why he vocalised his concerns.

  “I wish we knew for sure.” Jack wasn’t committing himself to anything it seemed.

  Daniel and Sean promised not to say anything to anyone about Mark’s theories, waiting behind when Jack encouraged Mark to finally leave them alone.

  “That is one hell of a story,” Daniel began, attempting to push the conversation away from him and into neutral territory. He could see Sean’s serious expression and knew his lover was going to want to have the conversation about him changing his mind and going to wedding. He was suddenly desperate to avoid that one.

  “Daniel, why did you change your mind about coming to the wedding?” Hell and damn it, those were almost the exact words he knew Sean would use. He sighed inwardly. Should he explain the dream and Sarah? He didn’t want to. That could wait for when the darkness invited the exchange of secrets and they were in bed on their own, not in the middle of a wedding celebration. He leaned forward for a kiss. Kissing Sean was something that somehow made everything right. Sean deepened the kiss, and for a while, they enjoyed each other until Sean pulled back, a look of expectation on his face. Daniel couldn’t avoid it. He really needed to give an answer.

  “Would you believe it if I told you my ghosts told me to go?”

  The End—for now…

  Dedication

  To my fellow authors, RJ Scott and Chris Quinton, who created this wonderful world and didn’t wince too much whilst I played with their boys.

  From a book written in 1899—The History of Steeple Westford by the Rev. Horace Simpkins

  So in the autumn of the year 1644, Jonathan Curtess cursed Belvedere Fitzwarren, saying, “I curse you and your children’s children, that you shall all live out your allotted years, and that those years shall be filled with grief and loss and betrayal, even as you have betrayed and bereaved me.”

  Chapter 1

  Phil could hear the rain beating down on the church roof as he waited for the bride to arrive. Inside the small church, the atmosphere was slightly damp and clammy as guests found somewhere to store their sopping umbrellas and attempted to brush raindrops off their finery. It was typical of the Fitzwarren luck that after weeks of fine weather there was torrential rain on his sister’s wedding day.

  He looked over at Will, the groom, standing alone in the front row. Psycho soldier hadn’t bothered to make an appearance as his best man then. Despite the way Phil’s friend Sean and Will stood up for the man, there was something about Daniel that Phil didn’t like. He was unpredictable, and the fact he was tied in with this curse just made him even more dangerous in Phil’s opinion, especially walking around with a knife tucked under his clothing. Why the hell Sean was bumping uglies with the man, Phil had no idea. The groom looked kind of down though. Daniel was Will’s best friend, and it was natural he would want Daniel beside him on his special day.

  His thoughts turned to his young nephew, fighting for his life in hospital. Each day was a roller-coaster ride for the premature baby, but the young heir to the Fitzwarrens clung on tenaciously. His mum, still recovering from her head injury and the shock of the premature birth, sat by his incubator. Charlie and Carol had both insisted that the wedding go ahead as planned, and Charlie was there, doing his best to wear a smile for his sister’s wedding.

  The doors to the church opened, and everyone turned to catch their first glimpse of the bride, only to discover Daniel limping down the aisle. Phil sighed as he saw the matching grins of Will and Sean. Who was he to argue with his best friend and his future brother-in-law?

  He’d be keeping an eye on that knife, though.

  The doors opened again, and his sister was there, looking stunning in her wedding dress of ivory and crimson, the silk skirt pooling gracefully to the stone floor of the church. She paused in the doorway as her bridesmaids arranged themselves behind her. Somehow she had escaped looking like a drowned rat; her hair was swept up into chignon and the crimson roses in her hair matched the ones in her bouquet, the blooms from a corner of the castle grounds.

  As Diana reached the altar, Will smiled down at her and took her hand. The love on their faces took Phil’s breath away, and he was swept with a wave of happiness and envy for his big sister. As the elderly vicar conducted the service, the noise of the rain thrumming down on the roof abated, and soon the wedding party emerged from the church to blink as the late afternoon sunshine bathed the church grounds.

  * * * *

  Phil held two pints up high as he negotiated the crowd in the bar of the Red Lion. He handed one over to his brother, Charlie, who took the full glass gratefully.

  “God, I’m glad that’s over,” Charlie said, wiping his top lip.

  “Hell yes,” Phil agreed, loosening his tie. “Do you think we can get out of this get-up now?” He waved vaguely at their suits.

  “Probably not,” Charlie told him. “Is Di out of her meringue yet?”

  Phil peered around the bar to where the bride and groom were sitting, Di’s feet in Will’s lap. “Not yet, but her shoes are off. Isn’t that enough?”

  Charlie just gave him a look, and Phil sighed. There wasn’t a hope in hell Diana would agree to them losing the monkey suits. The couple hadn’t had enough money for a formal “do”, but she was going to make the men suffer as long as she could. He smiled as he thought of his tomboy sister, dressed like a lady for the whole day.

  “Anyway, I promised Carol I’d come in the suit,” Charlie said, pulling a face. “She wanted to feel part of the proceedings even if she couldn’t be here.”

  “You’d better stop knocking that back then,” Phil said, indicating the pint of beer that Charlie was already half-way through.

  Charlie held up his glass, regarding the dark amber liquid mournfully. “Doesn’t seem right somehow. I can’t remember the last time I stayed sober at a wedding.” He paused for a minute. “I can’t remember the last time I went to a wedding.”

  “Yours probably. Just be thankful you don’t have to make a speech, big brother.” Phil grinned at the shudder that ran though his painfully shy older brother at the thought of trying to speak in public, even in front of friends and family. There really wasn’t anyone here that he didn’t know. Di, like her brothers, tended to socialise in the village.

  “I told Di that if she wanted speeches she could make you do it. She said if there was anything to say, she could say it herself.”

  Phil laughed, the laughter tailing off as he caught sight of Daniel and Sean vanishing into the snug with that psychic and his boyfriend. There was something going on there. Those four were getting very cosy all of a sudden.

  Charlie followed his gaze. “I wonder what that’s all about,” his brother mused.

  “I have no idea. Don’t you think since Mark came on the scene our little curse has got a lot more crowded?” Phil asked, aware he sounded waspish.

  Waving at the barman for another round, Charlie looked at him. “Another?” At Phil’s nod, he held up two fingers and then said, “What do you mean?”

  Phil waited until they both had drinks before he carried on. “Well, one minute it’s just the Fitzwarrens’ curse, and the three of us knowing everything is going to go tits up, and the next so
me stranger waltzes in claiming to be a psychic and a descendent of Curtesses, saying he’s broken the first part of the curse. Then Psycho gets pally with Sean, and the next thing we know another bit of the story is slotting into place.”

  There was such a long pause before Charlie answered that Phil looked up. “What bothers you most? Mark’s revelations or Sean and Daniel hooking up?”

  “You think I’m jealous?” Phil asked incredulously.

  “You’re not? Just a little? Sean has been your best friend for years, and now that he’s hooked up with Daniel, he hasn’t been around as much.”

  Damn, his brother was too shrewd. It wasn’t that he didn’t want his friend to be happy. He loved Sean and wanted nothing more than for him to be happy and settled, but now he was and that meant Phil was the only one on his own. And it wasn’t that he particularly wanted to be shackled to anyone. It was just that now he was the only one who wasn’t. It was so damn typical that the curse acted as a gay dating agency for everyone except a Fitzwarren.

  Phil looked up to see his brother still watching him. “I’m happy for him, but it’s not for me,” he lied. “I’ll leave married life to you and the squirt.”

  The “squirt”, his sister, came around the corner of the bar just in time to hear his words. She cuffed Phil over the head for name-calling and then hugged him tightly.

  Caught up in a whirlwind embrace of silk and lace, Phil looked over her head to his brother for help, only to see a look of love and pity in Charlie’s eyes that would have set his teeth on edge any other day.

 

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