The Condemned (Echoes from the Past Book 6)

by Shapiro, Irina

  Alex raised his hand and tried to grab Logan’s nose, making him smile despite his misery. He sat the baby in his lap and kissed the top of his head. “Jude was so sweet when he was a baby. I hated him something fierce, of course, but he was just like Alex, always smiling and wanting to play. Mum had me watch him when she went out to the shops and Jude wouldn’t give me a moment’s peace. I had to mind him every minute or he’d fall on his head or poke out his eye. He was such a pest,” Logan said quietly. “I’d gladly watch him now if he’d let me. I’d keep him safe.”

  Logan suddenly turned toward Quinn, giving her a piercing look. “’What were you going to tell me when you called?”

  “I was going to tell you that Rhys found Jo. She’s in Germany, Logan. She’s been seriously hurt.”

  “Oh God. I’m sorry, Quinn. You must be beside yourself with worry. Have you told Seth?”

  “Not yet. You were the first person I called.”

  Logan reached out and took Quinn’s hand. “You must go to her.”

  “I won’t leave you, not when Jude is in critical condition.”

  “Quinn, I know what this means to you. She’s my sister too, but she’s your twin. You must go to her. I will look after Jude, I promise.”

  “I know you will, but a few more days won’t make that much of a difference. Jo is in good hands and she’s recovering. Rhys is with her. What he’s done for me is amazing,” Quinn said, her voice breaking with emotion.

  “He loves you, and he needs something to give him a reason for being now that he’s lost the baby and his girlfriend. His world tilted on its axis, and helping someone is the best way to forget your own troubles.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is. Isn’t it amazing how that one night thirty-two years ago resulted in all these tangled, unexpected relationships?” Quinn mused.

  “Yeah, Mum sure knows how to cock things up. If my dad were alive right now, I think he’d die all over again, from shock. Are you still angry with her for what she did?” Logan asked.

  “I’m angry with her for lying to me, but I’m not angry with her for what happened. It’s not for me to condemn her. It would have been just another night had she not fallen pregnant and decided to hide the birth of her children. She should have used better judgement and turned to people who could help her, but she was young and frightened.”

  “And incredibly stupid,” Logan added. “It’s strange to think that my mum, who I always thought was so conservative and restrained, willingly shagged three blokes, got pregnant, and managed to deliver twins without anyone knowing. She’s a sly old thing, isn’t she?”

  Quinn nodded. Sylvia was sly and endowed with an incredible gift for self-preservation. Her actions had hurt so many people, including Rhys, who’d lived all those years with the guilt of believing he’d taken advantage of Sylvia against her will in his eagerness to lose his virginity. He deserved to be happy. They all did.

  “Quinn, go to Jo,” Logan said again. “I want you to.”

  “Will you ring me the minute anything changes?”

  “Of course, I will. I will not leave Jude’s side until he wakes or—”

  “Don’t even say it. He will wake up. He will recover.”

  Logan nodded. “As you say.” He took the monkey hat from Quinn and carefully slipped in on Alex’s head, then handed the baby back to her.

  Quinn zipped up his snowsuit and placed him in the baby carrier. She kissed Logan’s cheek. “Ring me any time of day or night.”

  Logan nodded. “Say hello to our sister.”

  “I will. Ring Sylvia.”

  Logan took out his mobile and held it up, indicating his intention to make the call. “I love you, Quinn,” he said softly.

  Chapter 44

  September 1620

  Virginia Colony

  Mary spent a sleepless night after her encounter with Walker, tossing and turning in her lonely marriage bed. On the surface, her choice was simple. She’d made a promise before God when she married John. He wasn’t the man she’d expected him to be, but that didn’t mean her vows were invalidated by his acts of betrayal. If she remained in the colony—which wasn’t really a choice given that she had no money for a return voyage, nor would anyone take a woman abandoning her husband aboard their ship—she had to stay married to John.

  Mary traced a finger along the wall, feeling the rough grain of the wood. She could never marry Walker in the true sense of the word, even if she were free to wed, but he was an antidote to her loneliness, a balm to her soul. He offered her not only companionship, but affection, tenderness, and a true partnership, something she could never have with John. But at what cost, and was she willing to pay it?

  “Yes,” a soft voice in her head replied. A life without affection or hope wasn’t worth living. When she envisioned her future with John, she felt as if she were buried alive, forever sealed off from air and light, left to suffocate in an all-encompassing darkness. Perhaps she was being overly morbid, but after these past months she knew with unwavering certainty that John was a castle she could never breach, not emotionally and not physically. He noticed her less and less as the weeks went by and had lain with her only once since she last bled, proving to her that begetting an heir wasn’t high on his list of priorities.

  “Why, Simon?” Mary had asked Simon after their conversation when he’d been hurt. She’d cornered him in the barn, desperate to vent her anger and frustration. “Why did John marry me?”

  Strangely, since that unexpected encounter, Simon appeared to be the only person in the household to whom she could speak openly, since neither of them needed to bother with the pretense any longer, and despite Mary’s obvious distrust and dislike of him, Simon seemed to feel some sympathy for her.

  “Secretary Hunt read out the list of men who were to get brides before the entire congregation one Sunday. Refusal would have singled John out for suspicion and ridicule. He never meant to hurt you, Mary. He had no choice.”

  “But he is hurting me. As are you.”

  Simon shrugged. “We all have our crosses to bear. I mean you no harm, Mary, but I must see to my own interests.”

  “And what about Travesty? Why does she hate me so?” Mary demanded, her fury nowhere near extinguished.

  “She doesn’t hate you; she envies you,” Simon replied as he continued mucking out the stall, as if they were exchanging pleasantries or talking about the weather.

  “This union was none of my choosing,” Mary snapped.

  “Travesty thought to wed the master, and instead she got a new mistress, one she thinks is spoiled and naïve.”

  “Spoiled?” Mary sputtered. She had been naïve, yes, but spoiled? She was hardly that.

  “Mary, let me give you a piece of advice, and remember that it’s kindly meant. Make the most of your lot, bide your time, and seize an opportunity with both hands if it comes your way.”

  “Is that what you’re doing? Just waiting for your opportunity?” Mary asked. She hated the bitterness in her voice and the tang of tears at the back of her throat.

  “You know I am,” Simon replied, indifferent to her pain.

  “And do you not care who gets hurt through your schemes?”

  “Not a bit. And neither should you.”

  “You’re despicable,” Mary cried.

  “No, my darling girl, I’m just honest. A rare quality in most folk, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  Mary had stomped from the barn, wiping the tears away with the back of her hand, but made a sharp turn and went to check on the vegetable patch when she saw Travesty emerging from the cabin with a bucket of slops. She’d be damned if she let that woman see her tears.

  Now, weeks later, Simon’s advice returned to her, and she turned it over in her mind as she stared at the darkened ceiling of the cabin. The way she felt now, even a few stolen moments of happiness would be worth the risk. What was the worst that could happened? Who’d know? Walker would be waiting for her by the creek tomorrow. She could either go to hi
m and willingly embrace a life of sin or remain a virtuous wife and embrace a life of bitterness and secret shame. Either way she was damned, either in this life or the next.

  Mary ran her hand along the cool sheet on John’s side of the bed. He’d snuck out as soon as he thought her asleep. She knew where he’d gone and what he was doing. Even John had love, or something that passed for it. He had a companion, someone who accepted him for what he was and was willing to keep his secret. John’s relationship with Simon was sinful and based on lies, but it was a relationship nonetheless, one that seemed to satisfy both parties for the time being.

  Mary sighed. Was it wrong to crave love? Was she unnatural in wishing for a soft touch in the night, or a tender kiss? The church preached against lust, but was this lust or a basic need to be cared for? Would she still long to be with Walker if he could never consummate their relationship? Yes, she would. She felt whole in his presence, and visible.

  Mary squeezed her eyes shut and slowed her breathing as John tiptoed into the cabin and crept toward the bed. He lay down and turned onto his side, his back to her. She could smell the sweat on his skin, and a tang of something else, something she preferred not to name. She stole a peek at John once he fell asleep. He was smiling.

  Chapter 45

  February 2015

  London, England

  A peaceful winter night settled over London. The sky was strewn with stars, and a crescent moon hung over the city, its points sharp as a sickle. Gabe poured himself a drink and settled on the sofa. It was late, but he knew he wouldn’t sleep, not yet. The house was quiet around him, only the sounds of late-night traffic barely audible in the stillness of the night.

  It’d taken Quinn hours to get to sleep. She’d been weepy and excited at the same time, overcome with worry about Jude and anxious about finally getting to meet Jo. Gabe was genuinely sorry about Jude. He’d never been driven by a self-destructive impulse himself but wasn’t at all sure he’d be strong enough to resist a desperate need like Jude’s if he were. It was easy to say, “Get clean” or “You have to stop using,” but so hard to do. Jude was an addict, and even if he was lucky enough to ride out this crisis and regain control of his life, the desire and impulse would always be there, stalking him like prey, hounding his every waking hour. Jude would need the support of his family if he recovered, and Gabe would have to set his own feelings aside and encourage Quinn to offer whatever assistance she could.

  And then there was Jo. She was either really brave or spectacularly stupid to go traipsing through such a dangerous region with nothing but a teenage guide for company. No photo, no matter how amazing, was worth losing one’s life over. Had Jo been inspired by her desire to tell a story or driven by a need to glorify her own name in the photojournalism circles? Gabe couldn’t rightly say without getting to know her, but if her twin were anything to go by, then Jo had probably only wanted to shine a light into the darkest corners of humanity’s lust for power. Whether she’d been after photos of Taliban hideouts or looking for hidden stashes of opium, she would be showing the world once again how the cruelty and greed of a few destroyed the lives of many. How much of the heroin Jude had ingested came from Afghanistan? Probably a good bit. How would Jo feel when she learned of her brother’s addiction?

  Gabe took a sip of Scotch and felt the fiery liquid slide down his throat, warming him from within. He wished the alcohol would take the edge off and help him get to sleep, but he was wide awake, his mind not ready to set aside his troubled thoughts. Would Quinn ever find inner peace? The meeting with Jo would go a long way toward helping her if it went well, but despite trying his best to be supportive, he was deeply worried. His mind buzzed with speculation, persistent as ever despite a refill of Scotch. What if Jo rejected Quinn and wanted nothing to do with her? Or what if Jo welcomed Quinn into her life but turned out to be nothing like the sister Quinn hoped for? Gabe genuinely liked Logan and was glad Quinn had a brother she loved, but, given her history with Brett and Jude, the situation with Jo could go either way. Gabe drained the glass and eyed the bottle affectionately before screwing on the cap and putting it away in the kitchen cupboard. Enough. He could control himself, and he would. Two drinks were his limit.

  Gabe returned to the sofa and lay down, propping his head with a decorative pillow as his thoughts returned to Jo. Which parent did Jo take after, Sylvia or Seth? Those two were an unlikely pair if there ever was one. Now that he’d got to know them both, he was glad Quinn was more like her father, direct and practical—well, to a point. She did tend to get overly emotional and deeply involved, not only with the people in her life, but with the individuals whose lives she saw playing out in her mind day after day. And he loved her for it. He loved that she cared, even though centuries had passed since those poor souls had walked the earth. Quinn’s voice shook and her eyes blazed with indignation when she spoke of the injustices they’d had to endure, and the unfair treatment of women in centuries past. Her heart broke when they suffered, and she mourned their deaths as if they had been her friends and not mere holograms she saw in her uniquely wired brain. Quinn had been unusually tight-lipped about Mary Wilby, possibly because the state of Mary’s remains had affected her so deeply, or maybe because she couldn’t focus on Mary when Jo was constantly on her mind.

  Gabe had tried to dissuade Quinn from ringing Sylvia, given her emotional state, but Quinn had felt she owed it to Sylvia to share the news about Jo and refused to wait. She thought the knowledge that Jo was safe might ease Sylvia’s suffering as she waited for news of Jude. Sylvia had sounded surprisingly calm on the phone. Gabe had heard her side of the conversation since Quinn’s mobile was only inches from him when she spoke to her mother. Sylvia had persuaded Logan to go home and get some rest while she kept vigil over her youngest child. Quinn had waited until an appropriate moment presented itself to tell Sylvia about Jo, but Sylvia hadn’t asked too many questions or expressed an immediate interest in seeing her daughter. All her attention was focused on Jude.

  A noise from the bedroom startled Gabe out of his reverie and he looked up to find Quinn padding toward the sofa. She looked tired and sad, her mouth turned down at the corners. Her hair was mussed, and there were dark smudges beneath her eyes. Gabe sat up and opened his arms, and Quinn slid onto his lap and pressed herself against him, like a small child.

  Gabe wrapped his arms around her and held her close, not saying anything. After a while, Quinn’s lips found his and she slid her hand down his track pant bottoms, her fingers closing around him with obvious intent. Gabe cupped her breast, but Quinn pushed his hand away and wiggled out of her knickers as she pulled him down on top of her.

  “No foreplay. And do it hard,” she commanded.

  “Are you sure that’s what you want?” Gabe asked, mystified by her mood.

  “I want to feel something other than sorrow right now.”

  Quinn wrapped her legs around Gabe as he drove into her, giving her what she’d asked for with single-minded determination. He didn’t bother with kisses or endearments, and she slammed her hips against his with unexpected force. He had to be hurting her, but she clawed at his back and ground against him, urging him not to pull back. Gabe closed his eyes and allowed himself to let go, pummeling her until she arched her back, cried out, and went limp beneath him.

  He pressed his forehead to hers, looking into her clouded gaze. “All right?”

  Quinn nodded and pushed him off. She left as suddenly as she’d come, leaving him alone on the sofa with his troubled thoughts.

  Chapter 46

  September 1620

  Virginia Colony

  Mary took out the freshly baked bread and covered it with a muslin cloth to keep the flies away, then looked around the cabin, searching for something more to do. She’d milked the cow and let her out to pasture, mucked out her stall, washed the crockery from their morning meal, picked some runner beans from the vegetable patch and set them to soak, ground enough corn to bake fresh bread for supper, and swept
the floor. She sank onto the bench and folded her hands in her lap. She was stalling, she knew that, but it was time to decide. She could either go to the creek and meet Walker or let him walk out of her life, and she didn’t think she could bear that. Deep down, she’d known what she would do. She untied her apron, hung it up on a hook by the door, and left the cabin.

  The late-morning sun caressed her flushed face as she hurried toward the creek, hoping Walker would still be there. What if she’d waited too long? Mary stopped to catch her breath. The day was truly glorious. The sky was a robin’s egg blue, the thick canopy of leaves above her head still green and lush, and the babbling of the creek in the distance inviting and soothing. Birdsong filled the air, and Mary soaked up the peacefulness of the forest, grateful to be away from Travesty’s prying eyes. What would they see in her face right now—hope, fear, desire, anticipation? She felt all those things as she rushed into the clearing by the creek and stood still, looking around.

  The rag she’d tied to the branch had been removed, but there was no sign of Walker. He must have come and gone, or maybe he’d changed his mind and never showed at all. He was handsome and unwed. There had to be plenty of young women he could choose from, women who would make him their priority, tend his home, and bear his children. Why should he need Mary, a woman who was married to another, and who could never be free to follow her own heart?

  She didn’t believe all that nonsense about the deaths of his daughters for a minute. Children died all the time, not only at birth, but at any time thereafter. Their deaths had nothing to do with incompatibility of two spirits, but with disease, poverty, and ultimately, God’s will. Walker might not believe in her God, but surly the Creator he worshipped was no less fickle and vengeful. Some people lived, some died, some suffered all their lives, while others lived a life of comfort and security, blessed by an accident of birth. If there were any sensible women in Walker’s village, they’d figure out this simple truth and snap up a good man while he was still free—at least that was what her mind told her. Her heart, on the other hand, felt sore with disappointment that he hadn’t come.