My Dangerous Duke

by Gaelen Foley

  “Bloody hell.” He darted across the room, more for the purpose of pulling her out of there if it came down to it.

  The ceiling was now about twelve feet above them, but descending inexorably as Kate flipped open the book, rushing through the pages. “Oh, where the blazes is it?”

  “Kate!” He fitted himself between the spikes and put his arms over his head. The instant the base came down to his hands, he began applying counterpressure to slow its descent. “Get out of here!”

  “No, I have it now! Here: ‘Of wisdom, wealth, and power, he owned the lion’s share, but he lost all in losing her, and embraced despair.’ ”

  “Kate!”

  “The bride of the Alchemist, Rohan! The one your ancestor, Lord Kilburn, shot by accident when he was aiming at Valerian! What was her name?”

  “Her name?” he retorted, pushing with all his strength against the weight. “I have no idea!”

  “Rohan! This is central to your family’s story, you must know, come now, try!”

  “Oh, God, what was it? Her name was, um—”

  “Quickly!”

  “Mary—no, Maria. No. It was longer than that. Margaret!”

  Her back to him, Kate immediately began dialing the letters on the combination lock, ducking away from the spikes and bending lower to escape the ceiling that was about to flatten them.

  “Kate, get out of here, now! I don’t know how much longer I can hold this up!”

  She glanced over her shoulder at him and finally saw that he was using all his strength to hold up the spiked mechanism.

  His face was beet red with the strain, his arms shaking. He could feel the veins bulging in his neck, the deep strain in his elbows. The pressure on his joints was enormous. “Get . . . out,” he wrenched out.

  “But then you won’t be able to,” she whispered, aghast, as she grasped his situation.

  “Please, Kate—if I mean anything to you, just go.”

  “And you say you are unfit for love,” she breathed. Then she spun around, making her stand to finish the code—or die with him.

  She ducked down between the descending spikes, still entering letters on the dial while Rohan was driven down to one knee like Atlas with the world on his shoulders, fighting to buy them a few extra precious seconds.

  Kate kept working feverishly, dialing in the final letters of the combination. “R, e, t!”

  The spikes suddenly stopped; at the same time, the iron door swung open ahead into the inner sanctum of the Alchemist’s Tomb. Chest heaving, Rohan dropped his quivering arms to his sides and hung his head.

  “Wait for me next time,” he panted in reproach.

  “I will. Sorry.” She gazed somberly at him and did as she was told, not venturing over the threshold of the room that had now opened.

  As a clatter of unseen gears and pulleys began pulling the spiked ceiling back up to its original position, he straightened to his full height once more.

  “Look, we did it! We found Valerian’s burial place!” Kate stared at him in girlish uncertainty, as though wondering if he was angry at her, as she pointed into the next room. “I can see the coffin!”

  He heaved a slow, measured exhalation, then joined her at the edge of the burial chamber.

  Obediently, she had remained outside the inner sanctum but pointed to the large stone sarcophagus that sat on a slightly raised dais in the center of the tight, low-ceilinged room. The sides of the chamber were packed with Valerian’s odd alchemical accoutrements.

  “I don’t see any scrolls.” From the safety of the doorway, she began scanning the walls of the chamber, then glanced warily at him. “Are you all right?”

  He grumbled in the affirmative.

  “Don’t be angry at me, my love! It was for the best. You were being overprotective again. We had to press forward. We couldn’t go back—”

  “I’m not angry,” he muttered, but it wasn’t her nearly killing them that had disturbed him. Her words from a moment ago still echoed in his head.

  And you say you are not fi t for love.

  Maybe, just maybe, he was. With the guilt for killing the father of those Promethean children lifted, and the Kilburn Curse revealed to be a superstitious sham, what could stop him now?

  “Can I go in, please?” she cajoled him. “I have to find those scrolls!”

  He growled, but after studying the room for a moment, he nodded. She tiptoed in ahead of him and began poking around in the ancient piles of her ancient ancestor’s personal effects, waving away a cloud of dust with a small cough.

  She turned to him and shook her head. “I don’t see them.”

  “Maybe they’re inside the coffin,” he murmured. “Should be weathertight. They might’ve put them in there with the body to help preserve them.”

  “So.” Kate looked at him. “Let’s crack it open.”

  Rohan eyed her uncertainly. Having only just recovered moments ago from his superstitious leanings, he still did not relish the thought of disturbing the dead.

  Especially a dead warlock.

  Nevertheless, he took a deep breath and went over grimly to the sarcophagus. He began lifting the heavy stone lid. His arms and shoulders still ached from the strain of holding up the spiked ceiling. Kate saw him wince and quickly hurried to help.

  They exchanged a glance, confirming both were ready. By now, they both knew they might have to jump back fast if another nasty surprise sprang out at them, rigged to dispatch any would-be tomb robbers.

  “One, two, three—” They shoved the lid hard. It slid off the side of the coffin and crashed away from the dais onto the floor of the Tomb.

  “What was that?” Kate murmured, glancing around as the rumble started.

  The open door to the burial chamber slammed shut. The whole room began quaking, and the dais began to descend into the floor, while fine dirt like sand began pouring from the ceiling from a hundred small cascades.

  “This isn’t good,” Kate remarked, while Rohan glanced down into the coffin, his heart pounding.

  Valerian’s flesh had long since wasted away, his skeleton draped in the rotting wizard’s robes in which he had been buried. In his bony fingers, clutched to his chest, was a large, ornate key.

  “Rohan, the roof’s caving in!”

  “I know. Just a second.” With a grimace of disgust, he reached into the coffin and pried the key out of the skeleton’s bony fingers. Whatever case or chest it opened, the scrolls Falkirk was after were probably inside it.

  “Um, Rohan, any ideas?” Kate asked more insistently, looking around. “How are we going to get out of here?”

  The dirt was coming down faster. Rocks were starting to tumble in. It seemed the final trap in this mad labyrinth was that anyone disturbing the Alchemist’s eternal sleep was doomed to share his grave. The whole structure was beginning to come down on them.

  They were about to be buried alive.

  “There!” He pointed to where light broke through. He could barely see Kate through the pouring clouds of dust.

  He tucked the key into his waistband, reached his hand out blindly in the direction of the sound of her coughing, and hauled her to him, making his way toward a break that suddenly opened in the roof.

  He rushed toward it across the collapsing Tomb, pulling Kate with him. He knocked aside rocks crashing down on them and lifted her toward the hole in the ceiling. She pulled herself through while he tried to find a foothold.

  Pure chaos and choking dust now filled the Tomb. He could not see. He could barely breathe, but he managed to stand on top of a large rock that had dropped down into the chamber. Fighting his way toward the surface, he began struggling frantically as the dirt began filling around his chest. Damn it, he was too big to fit through the opening.

  Dust filled his eyes and ears and tried to fill his nose. Everything was shaking; he couldn’t breathe; but through the deafening rumble, he could hear Kate screaming.

  He felt a sudden burst of cold air above, then both her hands
clasped one of his, guiding his grasp to a solid ledge so he could pull himself up.

  His scrabbling fingers locked on stone; below, his foot found one more solid surface on which to raise himself. Clawing, frantic, toward the light, he suddenly emerged from the waist up, then dragged himself away from the sunken hollow of the Tomb. The ground had given way, caving in on the now-covered burial chamber.

  Kate and he were covered in dirt and frozen in the snow, but they had both reached solid ground. They were alive. He sat up and began coughing violently as his lungs cleared out the dust he had inhaled.

  “Are you all right?” he asked Kate between coughs.

  She nodded, looking extremely shaken, but they were both out of the cave, and he still had the key.

  She came closer on her knees, putting her arms around him with a small sob. “I thought I’d lost you.”

  He touched her hand, not wishing to let her know that he, too, had thought he was dead there for a second. “I’m here,” he panted. “It’s all right. Don’t cry, love. Where are we, anyway?”

  They both glanced around, then looked at each other in awe. They had come up in the center of the ancient Dragon Ring: The mighty standing stones loomed all around them in a circle.

  Chapter 20

  Kate was shaking with terror from nearly seeing Rohan die in front of her. Fighting back tears, she hugged him again, tenderly brushing some of the dirt out of his hair.

  “I’m all right,” he assured her, glancing back toward the sunken hollow. “Let’s just get our bearings, now. Damn, I lost the compass. My knapsack didn’t make it.”

  His words arrested her. She suddenly whirled around with a gasp. “The book!” She began searching frantically, to no avail. “I’ve lost it! The Alchemist’s Journal! I dropped it in the Tomb!”

  “Kate, it doesn’t matter. Calm down. You’re alive. That’s all I care about. And I still have that key.”

  “What good is the key going to do us when whatever it opens is buried under all this dirt? The scrolls must still be down there, in a box or a chest or something! But we’ll never get it now. The whole trip was a waste!”

  “Slow down,” he soothed. “What makes you think they’d put the key in the same location as whatever box it opens?”

  She eyed him uncertainly. “You think the scrolls might be elsewhere?”

  “Come, you’re smarter than that,” he teased in a low tone. “Were there any more clues we didn’t get to?”

  “One, but I have no idea what it means.”

  “Perhaps I can help. How did it go?”

  She recited it to him: “ ‘Secrets kept where no thief can purloin, wisdom waits in shadow for the trial of the coin.’ ” She gave him a bewildered shrug.

  “The trial of the coin?” he echoed.

  “Gibberish, isn’t it?”

  “No, I know exactly what that is,” he said abruptly, then he shook his head. “Damn, I should have known!”

  “What does it mean?” she exclaimed.

  “It means we need to get back to London.”

  “The scrolls are—where?”

  He flashed a roguish grin.

  “Don’t you dare keep me in suspense!” she cried.

  “Westminster Abbey,” he relented at once.

  Her eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

  “Entirely. Come on, let’s get moving. I’ll explain on the way. Right now, we need to find our way back to civilization before it’s dark. I think I see a village that way.” He nodded over his shoulder as he stood. He offered her his hand, pulling her up, but Kate winced as she gained her feet. “Are you all right?”

  “I wrenched my ankle a bit scrambling out of that grave. It’s not bad. Lord, we look a fright!” She began laughing ruefully, glancing from herself to him.

  In their long sealskin coats, completely covered in dirt from the Tomb caving in—their faces, their hair—they surely resembled two of the pagan barbarians who had built the stone ring centuries ago. “Honestly, we look like two ancient wild people who haven’t yet figured out how to make fire!”

  “You speak for yourself. I look good.” He grinned, shook his long mane, and sent fine brown dirt scattering everywhere. Casting her a smile, he turned away and began trudging off through the snow. “Come. We’ve no time to dally!”

  Kate lingered a moment longer, fascinated by the ring of towering, silent stones in all their raw, craggy power.

  Nobody knew where these enigmatic monuments all over Britain had come from, but they were as old as the tales of Merlin, ancient even in the days of the Romans. The Dragon Ring stood atop a dramatic hilltop overlooking the sea. In all directions, the treeless expanse was dusted with a light layer of snow.

  All of a sudden, a deep boom reverberated from a few miles out across the sea. Kate turned, drawing in her breath. Then she pointed. “Rohan, look! Papa did it! The Promethean ship is sinking!”

  He quickly returned to her, narrowing his eyes toward the water.

  “It looks like he’s leaving,” she said. “He’s not waiting for us?”

  “That wasn’t your father’s ship that fired the last salvo. See, out there? The Coast Guard’s on their way.”

  “The Coast Guard again!” Kate immediately thought of Caleb Doyle and his trouble with the Coast Guard after the smugglers’ shipwrecking activities. It was part of the reason she had ended up with Rohan in the first place.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll be in contact with your father later. We must go to London, and he had better get out of here to avoid arrest.”

  “I hope Papa was able to rescue Mr. Tewkes.”

  “Knowing your father, I’d wager he did. Wish I hadn’t dropped my telescope, or I might’ve been able to see something.”

  “I suppose all we can do now is hope for the best. Good-bye, Papa—again,” she murmured, shielding her eyes as she looked out across the shimmering water and watched the frigate slipping away toward the horizon under full sail.

  “You’ll see him again,” Rohan promised her softly.

  His kindness was a comfort to her now, just as it had been when he had first stopped her from flinging herself off the Cornish cliff. She was so glad to be near him.

  Then she smiled. “Look down there, on the beach.” She pointed to some shaggy sheep with curved horns grazing on the long strands of seaweed that had washed ashore.

  After all the dangers of the past few hours, she savored the tranquil beauty of the Orkadian landscape, with its delicate pastel wash of lavenders and blues.

  “This is a beautiful place,” she whispered, especially charmed by the flock of hardy swans honking and clacking on the hillside, and by the shaggy black pony that was staring at them from the edge of a barren meadow nearby, its long mane blowing in the breeze.

  “Beautiful?” Rohan had turned to her. She could feel him staring at her. “You think so?”

  She looked at him. “Don’t you?”

  He shrugged, then shook his head. “Bleak and harsh and difficult.”

  “Perhaps.” She smiled gently, gazing at him. “But there is an exquisite sensitivity in the color of the light. And the sweep of these hills bespeaks a calm strength,” she said slowly, her gaze traveling over the landscape. “Noble, but unpretentious. It is what it is. A hard land, maybe. But plain and honest.” She glanced at him. “I could live here.”

  The morning light matched the soft blue shade of Rohan’s eyes as he gazed at her, sensing she was not talking only about Orkney. His wordless stare was so overwhelmed with emotion for her that although she was covered in grime and dressed like somebody’s footman, the way he looked at her made her feel as beautiful as a princess.

  He suddenly lowered his head. “We should go,” he mumbled in a voice gone slightly husky. Turning away, he started marching ahead again while Kate followed at a slower pace, trying to force herself to walk without too much of a limp.

  When she slipped on a little snow, however, she cursed under her breath in a puff of ste
amy air. “Any idea how far it might be to that village?”

  He stopped and pivoted, his face instantly darkening when he saw her limp. “You’re hurt.” He strode back to her. “Damn it, Kate, why didn’t you tell me? Is it bad?”

  “It’s just my ankle.”

  “I’ll carry you.”

  “Don’t be silly! I can walk on my own.”

  He scowled, but turned around, scanning the whole area. “Wait here.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Just stay there a moment. I have an idea.”

  Keeping her weight on her uninjured foot, she watched as Rohan crossed the snowy meadow and approached the pony.

  He began speaking softly to it, taking out a length of rope that had been attached to his weapons belt.

  The pony’s ears pricked up. Kate smiled, charmed. Well she knew the persuasive power of that deep, velvet voice. The pony stretched out its nose and sniffed Rohan.

  He edged closer and began stroking its fuzzy neck. Kate’s smile broadened as he slipped the rope over its muzzle, fashioning a loose halter. She watched him, enchanted, as he led the docile pony over to her.

  “Look what I found.” As he joined her, Rohan put his arms around her. Kate stared into his eyes, tongue-tied with adoration, her heartbeat quickening. If it were not so cold, she’d have laid him down and loved him in that snowy field.

  Then he lifted her onto the horse. She let her legs dangle down astride and took hold of the pony’s long mane. Rohan clasped the makeshift lead rope, clucked gently to the creature, and began leading them toward the distant village.

  Neither of them spoke as he walked the horse for about ten or fifteen minutes. They were only about halfway to the village when the church steeple showed above the next rise.

  Rohan suddenly stopped.

  Kate furrowed her brow. “Is something wrong?”

  He turned around abruptly and looked straight into her eyes. “Marry me,” he said.

  Her eyes widened. “What?” She nearly fell off the horse.

  “Marry me, Kate,” he repeated. He swallowed hard. “I need you in my life. Please. Say you’ll be my duchess.”

  “Rohan...”

  He took a step closer. “I know I said some boorish, stupid things that day in the music room. You were right. I was scared. I didn’t know how it could be between us, but I see it now. And that night on your father’s ship, I acted like a brute, telling you to prove your love by sleeping with me. It was wrong.”