The Condemned (Echoes from the Past Book 6)

by Shapiro, Irina

  “Tell me about it,” Gabe replied wearily. “If I know you, this house will look as if we’ve lived here for years by the end of the week.”

  “I plan on it. Hey, want to have a party?” Quinn asked, draining the rest of the water.

  “A housewarming do? Sure, why not? We have lots to celebrate. Maybe we can even combine it with Alex’s christening. Have the after-party here. We can have it catered, so you don’t have to lift a finger.”

  “If you think the hostess doesn’t lift a finger on the day of her party, even if it’s catered, you have much to learn about entertaining. But it’s a good idea. Two birds with one stone and all that. I’d like to have Alex christened while Seth is still in London and before Jo accepts a new assignment and runs off to God-knows-where in pursuit of truth and justice.”

  Gabe considered that for a moment. “Will everyone play nicely, do you think?” He was referring to Jo and Sylvia, who had yet to meet in person, and Seth and Sylvia, who could barely stand the sight of each other given their history, and Quinn’s mum and Sylvia, who were like the biblical mothers who appealed to King Solomon to decide which one got to keep the child they both claimed was theirs. Even Phoebe and Sylvia didn’t get on. Phoebe’s burgeoning dislike of Sylvia had turned into bitter resentment after Emma’s dramatic birthday party last August, and although both women would do their best to remain civil for Quinn and Gabe’s sake, there was no telling how long their civility would last.

  “Are you suggesting I leave Sylvia off the guest list?” Gabe shrugged, implying he’d leave that up to her.

  “I’ll give it some thought,” Quinn promised. “Even my brain is tired. Do we have anything to give the children for breakfast?”

  Gabe sighed. “I’ll run out to the shops and pick up the basics. You rest.”

  “If I were a good wife, I’d tell you to rest while I run out to the shops, but I won’t.” Quinn giggled. “I’ll just sit here for a moment.” Her eyes were already closing as she slid sideways to rest her head on a pillow. Gabe gave her a quick kiss and left her in peace.

  Quinn was woken by the vibrating of her mobile in the pocket of her jeans. “Not a moment’s peace,” she grumbled as she reached for the phone and peered at the screen. There was a text from Rhys.

  Need you in Ireland, the text read.

  You’ve got to be kidding me, Quinn replied.

  Trust me, darling, you’ll want to see this, Rhys texted back. The hotline was a stroke of genius.

  A photo popped up on the screen and Quinn peered at the image, using her fingers to zoom in. She sucked in her breath as she stared at the find that had Rhys so excited. She lifted her eyes as Gabe walked into the room, several shopping bags in his hands.

  “What is it?” he asked, clearly alarmed by her expression.

  “I’m going to County Leitrim.”

  “Like hell you are,” Gabe replied. Quinn silently handed him the phone and he stared at the image. “Is that a cross?” he asked.

  “Yes, with someone’s remains still attached to it.”

  “Right. You mean, we are going to County Leitrim,” Gabe said, grinning happily.

  “What about the kids?”

  “I guess they’re coming along for the ride,” Gabe replied as he handed her back the phone. “Emma and I are off for Easter, remember?”

  “And what better way to celebrate the Resurrection than excavating what appears to be a crucifixion?”

  “An archeologist’s dream,” Gabe quipped as he pulled her to her feet and gave her a sound kiss. “Suddenly, I’m not tired anymore.”

  “Neither am I,” Quinn replied, returning his grin. “Let’s finish unpacking.”

  See you on Monday, Boss, she texted, and added a happy-face emoji.

  Epilogue

  April 1621

  Virginia Colony

  A warm day gave way to a balmy night, the air heavy with the smell of new grass and wildflowers. A lazy moon floated in the sky, a perfect sphere that cast a silvery pall over the bed. Simon stretched out on the rumpled sheet, his naked body glistening with perspiration. The cabin was quiet, the silence of the night disturbed only by the chirping of crickets and the chorus of cicadas. Simon smiled to himself, pleased with his good fortune. Well, it wasn’t good fortune exactly, it was the result of waiting, planning, and executing. He mentally cringed at the word but reminded himself that John’s death wasn’t really his fault. None of it was. He’d never forced anyone to do anything, and he’d never lied about his intentions. The people who had placed themselves at his mercy had done so willingly, and they had always known what the consequences of their actions would be should their activities come to light.

  Simon rolled onto his side as his lover’s eyes fluttered open. Oliver Hunt smiled lazily and blinked several times, still groggy with sleep. The lower half of his body was covered with a sheet, his hairless chest white in the moonlight. He was as soft as a woman, never having done a day’s work, but despite his lack of physical beauty, he was surprisingly well endowed. Hunt pulled aside the sheet, exposing his stiffening shaft.

  “Take it in your mouth this time,” the secretary commanded, watching with hungry eyes as Simon slid down and wrapped his lips around the man’s cock. Simon’s eyes never left the secretary’s face as he went to work, bringing Hunt to orgasm quickly and skillfully. Once he was done, he moved up, covered Hunt’s body with his own, and looked deep into his eyes.

  “I want this plantation,” he said softly.

  “What would you have me do?”

  “I would have you sign it over to me.”

  “Simon, I have already purchased your indenture contract and given you your freedom. You may remain here until the new owner takes up residence, but then you will have to leave. I can’t—”

  “You can and you will, or you will greet the newcomers to this colony swinging off the crossbar of the gate. All I have to do is say the word.”

  “It’d be your word against mine,” Secretary Hunt snapped, pushing Simon off and reaching for his breeches.

  “No, it wouldn’t be.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that Travesty Brown would surely testify that Secretary Hunt visited me while John Forrester was still alive and demanded sexual favors in exchange for protection and eventual monetary compensation. And I’m sure at least one person would come forward once they heard her testimony, as I was seen leaving your house in the dead of night—more than once, I might add.”

  “Travesty knows about us?” Hunt gasped.

  “Of course, she does, and she will do what I tell her to. Sign the plantation over to me and you will never have to fear exposure. I will settle down to a life of respectability. I might even marry.”

  Secretary Hunt stared at Simon, his eyes narrowed in anger. “Did you two plan this? Did you always intend to betray Forrester?”

  Simon didn’t reply, but the answer was there in his eyes. “You have until the end of the week. Have the deed signed over to me by Sunday morning, or we’ll finally have a rousing church service. The choice is yours.”

  “You conniving son of a whore. You’ll hang for this.”

  “If I do, you’ll be hanging right alongside me.”

  The secretary hastily dressed and stormed out of the cabin, slamming the door behind him. Simon folded his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling, smiling. All this would be his in a few days. Then he would marry Travesty, as he had promised, and they would begin their life together. Some men might not want a wife who knew all their transgressions, but Simon didn’t mind. He needed a woman who was willing to do anything to survive, and who wouldn’t be too squeamish to break a few rules, be those the rules of man or God. He’d done what he had to do to assure a desirable future for himself, and Travesty had played her part, accusing John and Mary and getting them out of the way so Simon would be free to apply pressure to Hunt. It had all worked out, and a lot quicker than either one of them had expected, thanks to the attack on Mar
y that had brought it all to a head. He did feel badly about Mary, but her banishment had worked in his favor, since there would be no offspring to lay claim to John’s land and no widow to court had Mary inherited John’s estate. Mary was beddable enough, but, for once in his life, he wanted to have a choice about his future.

  Simon got out of bed and went to pour himself a cup of ale. His mouth still tasted of Hunt and he needed to wash away all traces of him. Today was the last time he’d suck any man’s cock. Today was the day he embraced his freedom.

  The End

  Please turn the page for an excerpt from The Betrayed

  (Echoes from the Past Book 7)

  Notes

  I hope you’ve enjoyed this installment of the Echoes from the Past series. If any of you have read the Hands of Time Series, then you know I have an interest in Colonial America, and Jamestown in particular. It’s not easy to envision what life must have been like in a time when there was nothing but wilderness all around, and survival was far from guaranteed. I’m also fascinated by the fate of the Roanoke colony and its inhabitants and have touched upon the fate of one family in this novel in the hope that those brave souls have left something of themselves behind.

  My thanks to Mike and Susan Morelock for allowing me to use their names in this installment. If you’re interested in appearing as characters in one of my books, please drop me a note.

  The next book, The Betrayed, will address another one of my historical interests—the Spanish Inquisition. I hope you will join me on a quest to find out who Quinn found on that long-buried cross.

  As always, thank you for your continued support, and if you would like to receive updates about new releases and promotions, please join my mailing list by clicking the link bellow. You can also reach me through my website or email. I’m always thrilled to hear from you.

  http://irinashapiroauthor.com/mailing-list-signup-form/

  www.irinashapiroauthor.com

  irina.shapiro@yahoo.com.

  And lastly, if you’ve enjoyed the book, a review on Amazon or Goodreads would be much appreciated.

  Excerpt from The Betrayed (Echoes from the Past Book 7)

  Prologue

  His dark eyes were huge with terror and incomprehension. Tears of fear and rage slid down his cheeks and the muscles in his neck strained as he tried to break the restraints, but they were fastened securely. An unnatural hush fell over the crowd, the silence pulsing with expectation. The men watched in mute fascination as the executioner drew a sturdy iron nail from his pocket and held it against the sun-kissed skin of his victim’s wrist. A few looked away, either from squeamishness or shame, but no one left, and no one moved to stop what was about to happen. A bloodcurdling roar tore from the man’s heaving chest as the first nail was driven into the elegant wrist. A stream of vomit spilled from his mouth and his bowels let loose as she shook violently with pain and shock. Undeterred, the executioner made his way to the other wrist and raised the hammer.

  By the time the deed was done, the man was no longer screaming. His head hung down, his chin resting against his shoulder. Crimson droplets of blood fell, as if in slow motion, painting the snow a violent red. No one moved. No one spoke. No one could find the strength to look away from the gruesome scene, which had been written and directed by their ignorance and hatred. The minutes must have ticked by, but time stood still for the men who watched their victim with bated breath. He wasn’t dead, not yet. His eyes were partially open, his lips moving, either in prayer or in a desperate plea for help, begging for mercy from those who had betrayed him.

  Chapter 1

  April 2015

  County Leitrim, Ireland

  The weather was gorgeous, spring sunshine bathing Lough Gill and the surrounding woods in a golden haze. Parkes Castle stood proudly on the shore of the loch, its gray stone walls as massive and impregnable as they’d been in the seventeenth century when the castle was built. Several people strolled along the ramparts, gazing out over the stunning countryside and posing for photos. A few of them directed curious glances toward the tent erected just beyond the car park, but most lost interest after a few seconds and returned to their sightseeing. The owners of the castle had instructed the staff to inform those who asked that an archeological dig was in progress, but nothing of interest had been found yet. Disclosing that crucified remains had been discovered would surely send nosy tourists flocking to the excavation site and distract their attention from the main attraction.

  A small group of people surrounded the trench, peering into its exposed depths, which still contained the splintered and rotted remains of the cross. The excavation had taken just over a week, which, in archeological terms, was quick as lightening. Having unearthed the remains, Quinn was eager to return to London and begin working on the new case. There was no need to excavate the entire cross. She’d taken several samples of wood to be sent to the lab, and the UCD School of Archeology in Dublin had been notified of the find, but only after the skeleton had been carefully removed from the cross, and the bones labeled and bagged. Quinn had readily agreed to share the findings with her Irish counterparts, since technically, she was on their turf.

  Quinn stood and stretched her back after having crouched by the trench for nearly half an hour. She’d never seen anything like this, at least not in person. She’d unearthed many ancient skeletons over the course of her career, but none of them had been victims of crucifixion, buried in a shallow grave in what must have been the woods outside the castle walls.

  Quinn turned to Gabe, who stood off to the side, Alex in his arms. Alex’s face was turned upward, his mouth open in wonder as he watched a pretty bird fly overhead. He lifted a chubby hand and pointed but, at only seven months, didn’t have the word for what he was seeing, so only made a sound of wonder.

  “Bird,” Gabe said patiently. “Bird.”

  “Bah,” Alex repeated, his eyes round with awe. “Bah.”

  “We need to make sure there are no similar burials in the vicinity,” Quinn said. “It’s entirely possible that this execution wasn’t the only one of its kind.”

  Gabe shook his head, the bird forgotten. “To excavate this area would take months, if not years. That kind of undertaking would require a flexible budget and unlimited manpower.” He turned to Rhys Morgan of the BBC, who was standing at the edge of the trench, staring mournfully into the pit.

  “I can’t authorize that kind of expenditure. We’ll leave the rest to UCD. Perhaps the school can apply for a government grant. Surely they’d like to know what lies beneath.”

  “They can file the necessary paperwork, but you won’t have any answers in time for the program,” Quinn replied. Once her analysis was complete, the new episode of Echoes from the Past would begin shooting within several months with an air date of November.

  “Let’s begin with this one, then, and see if you can learn anything that might give you a clue as to whether there might be others like him,” Rhys replied, brusque as ever. “I’m absolutely fascinated. I’ve never seen anything like this,” he added, his gaze sliding to the lineup of plastic bags containing the bones of the victim. “Could this have been a religious ritual of some sort?”

  Quinn considered the question. “I really don’t think so. I’ve heard of ritual crucifixion, but in most cases the person is tied to the cross rather than nailed, and they are taken down after a short while. Men are physically nailed to the cross every Good Friday in the Philippines, but they aren’t left to die, and it’s strictly on a voluntary basis.”

  “Maybe this bloke volunteered,” Rhys suggested.

  “I’ve never come across any research mentioning ritual crucifixion in this part of the world, and I’m not so sure it’s a man,” Quinn replied as she meticulously arranged the bagged bones in a rectangular cardboard box in preparation for transport.

  “You think this might be a woman?” Rhys asked, his eyebrows lifting comically.

  “I think I won’t know for sure until Dr. Scott has had a cha
nce to examine the remains and run the necessary tests. There’s nothing more we can learn from this site. We’re done here,” Quinn said as she laid the final bag in the box and closed the lid.

  “Right. Pack it up, Darren,” Rhys said to the cameraman who’d been standing by, awaiting instructions. “Let’s reconvene at the hotel. Three o’clock, say?”

  “Rhys, we’re tired and dirty, and I need to feed Alex and put him down for a nap. I’ll ring you when I’m ready,” Quinn replied as she wiped her hands on her mud-stained jeans. Rhys rolled his eyes in exasperation and walked away, heading toward the narrow lane that was almost completely blocked by their cars. He got in, slammed the door, and drove off without a backward glance.

  “Sometimes, I think he’s almost human, and then he reminds me he’s really a cyborg,” Gabe joked.

  “Rhys has the unique ability to separate the personal from the professional,” Quinn replied. “He’s not happy about having a baby on his set.”

  Alex chose that very moment to start fussing. He pushed against Gabe and reached his arms toward Quinn.

  “He wants his mum,” Gabe said.

  Quinn pulled off her latex gloves and reached for the baby. “Come here, my angel. I haven’t forgotten about you.”

  She extracted a teething biscuit from Alex’s baby bag and handed it to the baby. He grabbed it and began to gnaw on it happily, drooling all over his hand in the process.

  It took nearly another hour to fill in the gaping trench and clear the site before they could start back to their hotel.

  “I’m famished,” Quinn announced as she strapped Alex into his car seat.

  “There’s a pub just down the road,” Gabe replied as he took the wheel of the rental car. “Let’s get some lunch. Rhys can wait.”