by Carie, Jamie
"No, no, it's nothing." Gabriel waved away the concern. "I have excellent physicians on the case. Should just be a matter of time and then"—he tapped his temple three times—"good as new."
"Oh, well, that is a relief, isn't it?"
"What can I do for you?"
Brooke looked off to one side for a brief moment, as if collecting his thoughts, and then his intense, intelligent eyes met his. "I have a favor to ask of you. Actually, the prince regent has a favor to ask."
"The prince regent? I hope I haven't done anything to displease His Majesty." Gabriel took a bracing drink and set the glass on the table. Just what he needed. The prince regent wanting a favor from him.
"Not at all." Brooke assured with a wave of his hand. "I know you are a member of the Antiquities Society, yes?"
Unease coiled within Gabriel like an awakening snake. The fellows of that society were an odd lot, feverish with their passion for the earth's treasures. "Antiquities, you say?"
"Yes." Brooke nodded.
"I am a member of the society, as with most of London's societies and clubs, but I've been little active of late. My collection is far inferior to most of the members' collections. It was one of my passing phases of diversion, I'm afraid. Why do you ask?"
Brooke pressed his lips together and breathed deeply from his nose, his barrel-shaped chest lifting in and out as he regarded Gabriel with alarming intent. For some reason the prince regent needed him. And Brooke wouldn't want to write it down; he wouldn't want that evidence, Gabriel was sure. Pinpricks of unease mixed with curiosity caused him to lean forward toward Brooke. Gabriel rested his elbows on the perfectly tailored breeches and lifted his brows in interest.
Brooke leaned forward as well, speaking slowly. "Have you heard of Hans Sloane?"
Gabriel looked away, thinking. The name rang a distant bell. Ah, the physician for King George II, wasn't it? A century or so ago? And the foremost collector of antiquities of his time. He nodded at Brooke. "An avid collector of antiquities, if I recall. Wasn't he the recipient of the famed collection of William Courten?"
"Yes, yes." Brooke's eyes took on an enthusiastic gleam. "Cabinets full of books, manuscripts, prints, drawings, flora, fauna, medals, coins, seals, and all sorts of curiosities."
"And with King George's library, they started the British Museum with the lot of it, yes?"
Brooke nodded with a small smile. "I had hoped you would know of it."
"Well, as I said, I am no expert on the topic. Most people know of Sloane." What could Brooke want with him on the matter? There were men far more knowledgeable than he on the subject.
"Your Grace, there is a manuscript long missing from the collection. It has come to the attention of the Crown that we must find that manuscript." He paused, took out a handkerchief, and dabbed at his forehead. "Many months ago I was assigned that task. I hired investigators, treasure hunters you might say, very well known for finding missing or hidden things from all ends of the earth." He paused again and waited, probably to see if Gabriel heard and understood.
"Yes, I understand. It's an interesting story but why involve me? I am not an expert at such things."
"No, but you are connected, recently, and the prince regent felt you should know. Actually, the prince regent insisted you know."
"Know?"
"Your ward, Lady Alexandria Featherstone."
Gabriel's head jerked up, a protective instinct rising inside him. "Yes?"
Brooke took a long drink and then set the empty glass on the table in front of him. He looked Gabriel in the eyes. "Her parents were the treasure hunters I hired. They had been looking for this manuscript for nearly a year, and then they disappeared. It seemed best to the prince regent to declare them dead, to throw off any others looking for them, but we are . . . not sure what has happened to them. We needed Alexandria to be under protection, and the prince regent thought it time to put you to good use, for you to do your duty to the Crown, so to speak. In truth, you are no relation to the Featherstones, but it was the best way to explain your involvement. Alexandria could be in danger. Until we know the fate of her parents and find the manuscript, she will need your powerful protection. Do you see?"
Gabriel swallowed hard, thinking of her silly letters that brought an unexplainable joy to his heart. He'd been so caught up in his own tragedy . . . God forgive him, he hadn't taken care of her at all. He nodded. "I understand. I will bring her here and she will stay with me until this is settled. Please assure the prince regent that her well-being will become my utmost concern."
Brooke smiled, pleased. "Thank you, Your Grace."
He started to rise from the silk sofa but Gabriel stopped him with one hand. "One more question, if you please."
Brooke sat back down and folded his hands in his lap.
"If the danger is so fierce, I should know something of it. Something to look for, don't you think?"
Brooke pursed his lips and then laughed. "The prince regent said you would not be so easily put off and has given me permission to say this. There are three countries—Spain, France, and England—who have acquired a part of the manuscript, the same part. We believe the original was stolen as it disappeared from the museum's collection many years ago, but a partial copy has been found and what it appears to be is very . . . interesting to these kings. They all want the original, badly, to complete the picture, so to say."
Gabriel started to speak but Brooke held up his hand. "I can't tell you any more. Just know that very powerful people want to get their hands on this. They will do anything to have it. Alexandria is in grave danger and we are depending on you to keep her safe until it is found."
Gabriel nodded as the implications fell into place. This was far more serious than anything he had imagined. He had to get Alexandria to safety.
He had to get her home.
Chapter Twelve
The Saint Patrick rounded a bend in the channel as they approached Belfast Harbor, where gulls and other seabirds soared above the quay. Sea craft of all sizes, from great sailing ships to fishermen's boats, lumbered and bobbed alongside them. Tall buildings bathed in mist came into view, dotting along the streets in a sprawling little town, and beyond were rolling hills of green. Alex took a long breath of the sea air and smiled softly at the scene. It was just as she had imagined it.
"What do you think of your first look at Ireland?" Montague asked.
"The Land of Ever Young," Alex murmured. "It's magical."
As people began to disembark, they made their way to the shore. Montague kept her close by his side and seemed to be on alert. Alex looked around them, seeing a dark man, tall and rail-thin, with the hood of his black cape pulled over his head, standing just behind her, watching her. Alarm made her look at Montague. He nodded but said nothing. Someone was following them.
They walked down the quay of Belfast, the crowd thinning out and going each their own way. She continued to feel the sensation of being watched in a spine-crawling tingle. She looked to the left, over her shoulder, and saw that the strange man had fallen back. She had a sudden longing for a long black cloak and dark dress instead of the bright red one, which covered the blue dress that was her best. Her mother's armoire of plain dark clothing took on new meaning. Her parents knew such things, didn't they? Memories of mysterious visitors, closed doors, and whispered conversations swept across her mind. They had taken cases for as long as she could remember. As she grew older she'd asked to be included, but they always insisted it was too dangerous. She was too young. But what Alex really felt they were saying was, "You do not have the talent. You are not worthy of it. We don't want you around."
She'd decided to show them, taking on the local mysteries and even some in nearby towns. She might not have the fame of her parents, but she'd begun to be known and eventually she'd thought they would hear of it and take her with them
. Now she would save them and that would prove her worth more than anything could.
Determination forged through her with the thought. She shot a quick look over her right shoulder and saw a dark shape move further into the shadows of a building. His face was still in the depths of his hood, but his eyes had been staring at her. She turned forward and looked up at Montague.
"Did you see that man? He was staring at us, I'm sure of it."
"Aye. He has been following us since boarding at Whitehaven. I left your side to see what he would do, and he moved ever closer until I finally returned to you." His gaze scanned the crowded port of Belfast as they hurried into the bustling town. He stayed close to her side, muscles taut and ready, one hand caressing the hilt of the sword that swung from his belt.
Alex swallowed hard and kept her head down, hiding as much as possible behind the hood of her cloak. Thank God for Montague. She was glad all the way to her toes that she wasn't alone.
Montague reached for her arm with an abrupt tug. "There." He pointed and squinted up into the light. "See that place? McHugh's. A good place to get some dinner and hear the latest news. Popular with travelers. Your parents may have gone there as well. Let's see if our friend follows us inside."
Alex nodded and quickened her steps to match the more-hurried gait of Montague's long stride. She looked back, a brief glance toward the ships in the port area, the gray water of the channel and cold Irish Sea was behind them. The man was nowhere to be seen.
The brick building of the inn loomed in front of them, taking up the corner of the street, three stories high with long, narrow windows on each floor. The first story had a false front with an awning made from whitewashed timbers and more timbers flanking the door. It looked a pleasant enough place and busy with people coming in and out. The door opened as they approached, spilling light and music onto the street. Alex took a quick look around before scurrying by the man exiting, Montague remaining just behind her.
She stopped inside and drew in a breath. Music came from a lantern-lit stage, music that gained her full attention at once. A woman with long, auburn hair stood at the front of the stage. She wore a pale green dress that glittered and fluttered around her with the moving air of the room. When she opened her mouth and began to sing, Alex's mouth dropped open. It was the sweetest, purest sound she had ever heard. The melody whispered and rang against a backdrop of violins, bagpipes, the tin whistle, or feadóg, as she later learned it was called in Gaelic, and the bellows of the concertina. Alex found she couldn't move. She hardly remembered to breathe.
"Struck by the sidhe, she is," a low voice above her said with a chuckle.
"Aye, and who can blame her?" Montague responded. "The woman sings like a fairy come to life."
"Oh, alive she is, and not alone if you've eyes to see." The man assured them. "'Tis the festival that's brought the fairies out."
Alex finally turned away from the singer and looked up at the man. Up and up her gaze traveled to reach his face. He was over seven feet tall and three times Montague's width—a giant, a giant of a man and standing right next to her. She took a breath and held it, fear mixed with awe. She locked gazes with him and blinked in wonder. His eyes were light green ringed in a darker green, giving him an otherworldly look, but they twinkled at her as if he knew some great secret and had been standing at this very spot waiting to meet her and share it with her.
His bulbous nose took up the middle of his face, a face framed in flaming red hair with a long beard that reached his massive chest. His beard had been braided in the middle, the end tied with a tiny strip of bright green ribbon. The perfectly tied bow on the ribbon made Alex release her breath in a rush and grin up at him. He wasn't what anyone would call handsome, but there was something bright and astounding about him. Something that transformed what could have been an ugly face.
More incredible was the brightly colored green and yellow bird perched on his finger. Alex looked at it and made a clucking sound, mimicking the seabirds from home. "What a beautiful bird." The bird cocked its head back and forth, looking at Alex, and then, in a flurry of color, flew from the giant's hand to Alex's shoulder. She squeaked but stayed very still, blinking at the bird's owner.
"I see you've a bit of fairy magic about you, lass." He grinned, revealing big, strong teeth.
Alex's eyes widened, a happy flush filling her face, her mind still struggling to keep up with the world she'd suddenly stepped into. "What should I do?"
The giant reached in a pocket and brought out a little black and white seed. "Feed him this and you'll make a friend for life."
"What's his name?"
"Roscoe. And who might I tell him you are?"
Alex very carefully dropped into a small curtsy. "I'm Alexandria Featherstone and this gentleman behind me is my friend Montague."
She took the seed and very carefully offered it toward the bird's curved beak. Roscoe reached for it, grabbed it with the tip of his beak, and crunched down on it.
"Many thanks!" the bird said as clear as day.
Alex gasped. "Your bird talks? How can this be?"
"He's a parrot from the Amazon. My brother is a physician who loves to travel. He brought him back as a present for me." He grinned broadly. "I didn't know he could talk until he started repeating after me. His first words were 'yes, my dear.'" The giant threw back his head and roared with laughter. "That's what I say most often to my wife, don't you know."
As if to prove him right, the bird mimicked, "Yes, my dear. Yes, my dear. Yes, my dear."
Alex shook her head in wonder. Then, as quickly as he had landed on her shoulder, Roscoe flew back to his owner's finger.
"Did you say there is a festival?" Alex asked the man.
The giant nodded his massive head. "Oh aye, the likes of which you've never seen. We've come for the music . . . and the dancing"—he paused and wiggled his bushy eyebrows up and down—"and the games."
"It sounds wonderful. The music already . . . I can't describe it." Alex looked back at the woman on stage. "I've never heard anything like it."
They all paused and listened as she began another haunting melody. The giant leaned down and murmured into Alex's ear, "She practiced that one for hours."
Alex swung her gaze toward his. "You know her?" The shock was unmistakable, making him laugh deep from his chest in a rumble she could feel though he didn't touch her.
"Aye, I know her. Would you like to meet her?"
"Could I? I would love to."
"Come then. Let us sit over there with my friends, and I will call her over when she's finished with her entertaining." He threw back his head and laughed again, causing Alex to look to Montague for clues as to what to do.
Montague leaned toward her ear. "He's safe enough, I think. You should try to make a few friends while you're here."
Nodding, she followed in the wake of the giant, wondering what his name was and why she hadn't thought to ask him yet.
Once seated between the man and Montague, the music changed, happy now, with the bow of the violin skipping up and down the strings. People rose to dance, filling the aisles and the middle of the floor with tapping feet. Alex could feel her heartbeat begin to race with the excitement of the crowd. Her foot tapped under the table, her hands itched to clap, and her whole being strained to join the dancers, even though she couldn't match their steps. She hardly knew any dances, only a few local ones that were popular with the young people, but there'd been no dancing instructor, nor any occasions to need the knowledge. Suddenly she wished that hadn't been the case.
"I see you'd be wantin' to dance, lass?"
Alex looked into the giant's grinning face and nodded. "But I don't know how!"
"Never stopped me!"
Before she knew it, he had dragged her out of her seat and onto the cleared area made for a dance floor. People moved
like the parting sea out of their way, some complaining and others laughing but all clapping and dancing, their feet moving faster and faster to the quickening music.
Once they reached the front, right by the stage, he stopped and spun her around. His big hands enveloped hers and then she was lost. He swept her into twirls and foot movements as if she were a rag doll. Her hair came loose from its pins, flying out like a long, brown cloak as they spun. Her face heated, sweat trickled down her back, her chest gasped for air, but the smile on her face felt frozen with pure joy.
The song ended abruptly and she collapsed against the giant's arm, panting to regain her breath. But it didn't matter; everyone around them was doing the same.
"Well done, lass. I knew you had it in you."
"Thank you, sir." She curtsied and leaned back, still laughing, unable to contain it. "What should I call you?"
"The name's Baylor."
"Thank you for the dance, Baylor. I—I—" She shook her head, suddenly shy. "I've never danced like that before. It was wonderful."
He grinned and leaned down toward her ear, shouting above the crowd. "There will be plenty more fun tomorrow." He burst into another boom of laughter. "I'm to compete in one of the games. You and your lad should come and cheer me on!"
"Yes, I would love to. Just tell me where to be."
"The festival is up High Street, just around the corner. You won't have trouble finding it, what with all the crowds a goin' there."
Alex was just nodding her agreement when a soft voice came from behind her. "And here you are. Flirting with a pretty woman, I see."
Alex watched Baylor's eyes grow round and a look of pure panic cross his face. She spun her head around to see the beautiful woman who had been singing, hands on her hips, eyes narrowed at the giant.
"I was only bein' friendly to the newcomers, my dear. There ain't room in my heart for nary a one but you." He turned to Alex with a sheepish smile. "Well, I promised you'd meet her. This here is one of the most famed singers on our fair isle, Maeve, my wife."