“There was another obstacle I needed to attend to,” she explained. “I have just sent Landcross a vision to keep him on his path.”
“Where is the Trickster? Doesn’t he usually do this?”
“He does, yes, but I cannot seem to reach him.”
A chill washed over him. “What if we need him?”
Mother of Craft looked to the water. “Stop your worrying. I may not be able to break anyone’s fate thread like he can, but I can send real enough visions suggesting otherwise.” She breathed in deeply. “Besides, the child I have threatened has had her own string severed before and, therefore, is now as vulnerable to death as Landcross. If I have to cross that line to keep him cooperating, then I shall.”
She took an added deep breath, drawing in the water’s strength in order to regain what she had lost when she manifested the vision.
“Are you sure Landcross is going to London?” Ron asked.
“He’ll end up there if nothing else kills him—which would be most convenient.”
“And what’ll be different, compared to the other times?”
“I wrote it all out in the recent letters I sent,” Mother of Craft reminded him coolly.
“Yes, but I wish to hear it from your lips directly,” he pressed. “It’s been ages since I’ve received word from you, and then, suddenly, I receive a letter stating your plan for Landcross. I simply want you to explain it in person.”
She stepped toward him. She appeared to have recovered. Her color had returned, and her face was clear of sweat.
“Understandable,” she yielded. “I have set up a series of pitfalls for Landcross that will not only weaken Élie’s spell over him, but also lead him straight into the trap I have set. A trap that not even he can escape from. It is a lot, but it has to be done this way.”
She went over to her brown rose bushes, now in hibernation, and touched a withered rose petal.
She peered over her shoulder at him. “I haven’t been trying to kill Landcross since he left England. His children were meant to live. It’s as difficult to steal a birth thread from Clotho as it is to prematurely cut it. Since all of his children have been conceived, it will be much easier to take him.”
“It wasn’t wise to use Joaquin as you did,” he reminded her.
She looked at the shriveled roses. “I knew what I was doing when I cast the controlling hex over him. If he had killed Pierce, the Fates would have brought him back. But that’s not why I did it. I had to separate the brothers. I explained this to you before.”
Freya Bates was a crafty witch, strong and intelligent, and although she would never admit to it, Ron knew she’d had feelings for the father of her child. She loved as fiercely as she hated.
He approached her while the crisp sea breeze blew over him, watering his eyes. Despite the energy coming off the ocean, the cold began to burn his skin.
“Are you ready to let Vela go?”
She stared directly at him. Her serious expression alone answered his question.
“We are all constantly wrapping ourselves in our own cocoons,” she said. “Eventually, we change our form. Everything I have done has been leading up to this moment, Ron Wakefield.”
“What about the boy? When does he arrive?”
“He has a long journey ahead, but he ought to be here while I am in London. Do make certain you are absolutely prepared for this.”
“I am ready, Mother of Craft. Have no doubts,” he stated with confidence. “What is to happen in London? You failed to mention it in your letters.”
A sly smiled creased her face. “Pierce Landcross will stand upon the gallows.”
* * *
Never in a million years would Clover have guessed such a thing. “You envisioned this would happen?” she asked Pierce.
“Aye.”
She, Pierce, and Archie stood near the boot of the carriage, chatting, while the coachman stayed in his seat with his pistol in hand.
“That witch, Freya,” Archie chimed in. “Did she do this?”
Pierce nodded. He appeared somewhat broken. “Afraid so. She needs me here in England and doesn’t want me leaving.”
“You mean until she kills you?” Clover seethed.
She was so angry with this woman who was threatening someone she cared deeply for. No longer did she desire Pierce the way she had as a silly child. After his and Taisia’s wedding, Clover finally matured and saw how foolish she had been. She had to admit that seeing him again had briefly rekindled those childish feelings, but she was not that same little girl anymore. However, that did little to quell her rage of having this threat hovering over him.
“But we stopped the danger,” Archie put in. “We can safely go to town and retrieve the money and get you on your way back to the Sea Warriors.”
Pierce shook his head. “There’ll just be something else. Whatever harmful thing Freya can think to do.” He looked at Archie and grimaced. “Harm that could befall your own wife and children, mate.”
Fear flickered in Archie’s dark eyes.
“What are you going to do, then?” Clover pressed.
“There hasn’t been any objection to me heading for Sherwood. I reckon I’ll be taking the train north after all.”
“You’re still going?” Archie said.
Pierce shrugged. “I need money.”
It always amazed her how nonchalant Pierce could act about such things. Here he was, deep into a series of calamitous situations, and he shrugs? A brave survivor he was. A drama queen he was not.
Pierce headed for his horse. “C’mon. Let’s head to the house, eh?”
As they rode to the cottage, Clover sat in the carriage, deep in thought. Although she feared for Pierce, she was also curious about where his trip would lead. Wherever it went, she was certain the journey would be worth it to dedicate onto paper.
When they reached home, they were met with many concerned looks.
“What on earth happened?” Eilidh demanded.
“Clover was nearly robbed by highwaymen,” Archie answered, walking to the fireplace to hang his rifle back over the mantel.
“How did you know she was in trouble?”
“It was Pierce,” Clover explained as Pierce closed the front door. “He foresaw it.”
“Wie bitte?” Mrs. Katz joined in, standing in the den with her son.
The doleful look on Pierce’s face showed he’d rather not go into the whole story again.
“He has a witch who wants him dead,” Clover said instead. “She doesn’t want him to leave England, so she plans to threaten anyone who tries to help him.”
Mrs. Katz gasped. “You’re joking.”
Clover wished she was and couldn’t believe she had explained such a thing to one of the most famous actresses in Europe.
“Pierce, you didn’t mention any of this,” Mrs. Katz pointed out. “You told us you were only visiting old friends.”
“Do you really have a witch after you?” Kolt asked with heightened interests.
Pierce sighed so despairingly that Clover almost regretted saying anything.
“Aye, lad.” Pierce walked over to Mrs. Katz and took her by the hands. “Freddie, darling, it’s been good seeing you. I’m afraid I have to be cracking on now.”
“Where are you off to?” she asked, taken aback by his abrupt farewell.
“Mansfield. I’ll be no more than a day there before I leave for Southampton.”
“If it’s such a short trip, then do you mind if we join you?” Mrs. Katz asked.
“Come with me? What about your play in London?”
“That isn’t until next weekend. I arrived in England early to speak with Miss Norwich before taking the train to the city. Besides, I would love nothing more than to spend more time with an old acquaintance.”
“I am to come as well,” Clover spoke up.
Everyone looked at her.
Archie blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I wish to join them,” she repeated. “I h
aven’t yet interviewed Mrs. Katz, after all, and it would be nice to hear them both talk about their time together.”
Clover felt this was the perfect opportunity to start a new novel about what had happened to Pierce in the last few months. Hell, she could easily write a book based on his days as a bounty hunter in Mexico. Clover could only imagine what lay ahead on the trip to Sherwood. A concerned and caring person she was, who would protect her friend, if need be, however, she was also a writer dying for an addition to her already successful series.
“No, you’re not going,” ordered her big brother.
Her fiery anger must have radiated from her face, for Eilidh’s eyes became very wide.
“You’re not my parent, Archie,” she growled.
“No, but I am your guardian. Thriving author, you may be, but I am still your older brother.”
Were the house not full of houseguests and children, Clover would have used some coarse language. She wasn’t a child anymore. In fact, most women her age were getting married, for heaven’s sakes!
“I think you ought to listen to him—” Pierce began when Kolt stepped in.
“I’ll protect her, sir,” he blurted out to Archie.
“Kolt, darling,” his mother insisted. “This is not our business.”
“I swear,” the enthusiastic young man went on. “I will keep her safe from any harm. It would be rather nice to speak to someone my own age.”
Mrs. Katz looked sympathetic. “I understand, my son. I do. But it’s not for us to interfere in their family affairs.”
Clover shot Archie a look so sharp it cut his nerve down a bit. “I’m going.”
Archie opened his mouth to speak and then glanced over at Eilidh for support. She only raised her hand, indicating that she wasn’t getting involved in this fight. Searching for help elsewhere, he looked to Pierce. Clover delivered him the same hard look, daring him to protest. Pierce didn’t seem too affected by it. Rather, he seemed more worn down by everything else.
Clover’s heart ached for him. He had been pulled from the safety of his faraway island and his loving family to rescue his friends, and all he wanted to do was return home. Pierce just didn’t have it in him to argue with a hell-bent seventeen-year-old.
“Whatever she wants to do,” Pierce said with another shrug.
With support nowhere in sight, Archie turned to his sister. “Fine, but be careful.”
He retreated to the kitchen, most likely to brew more tea for his ill mood.
Still feeling the steel in her blood, Clover looked to Pierce. “When do we depart?”
Chapter Nineteen
The Missing Boy
Pierce never expected so much company, but he didn’t object to it, either. He’d had plenty of self-confidence when he left the Ekta, but now he doubted himself. He was worried he wouldn’t leave this blasted country alive, and he really needed some help.
In the kitchen, he found Archie toasting a piece of bread on an extended toasting fork over the stove fire. He turned it as one side darkened to a golden brown.
“You all right, mate?” Pierce asked.
Archie’s cross expression made him cringe.
“Listen,” Pierce offered, “if you want me to tell Clover to stay, I’ll—”
“No,” Archie sighed. “That will only result in more arguing, and I don’t need her sulking about the house if she remains behind.” He studied Pierce. “And it doesn’t seem as though you need any more drama. You look awful, Landcross.”
Ever since saving Clover from the highwaymen and realizing the witch could go after anyone of her choosing, he, indeed, felt like shite.
“I . . . I think I’m in over my head, Arch.”
Pierce rarely expressed his troubles to anyone other than his wife. Mainly, it was due to the lot he used to run with. They either didn’t give a toss or would feed off any signs of weakness. Archie was different. He didn’t sugarcoat the situation or say rubbish things such as Everything will be all right. He simply listened, and sometimes, that was all that was needed.
Archie’s expression softened. “Pierce?”
“I’ve had many close calls in my life. More than I can count. This time I feel it, mate. Something bad is about to happen, and I cannot stop it no matter what I do. I’m at a loss here.”
Archie stared at him a moment before responding with, “I wish I could join you. If it wasn’t for the threat hanging over my family, I—”
“I only wanted that off my chest, Arch,” he said. “I’d rather you stay and look after your own.”
* * *
After gathering his gear and forcing some toast down into his knotted stomach, Pierce bid Archie and Eilidh goodbye.
Archie shook his hand. “Take care, Landcross.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Return to us safely,” said Eilidh, hugging him.
When they had stepped back, he looked Eilidh in the eye, something he had avoided doing during his visit. He expected to see those second pair of eyes staring back at him. However, there was nothing unusual in those clear blues of hers, only his tiny reflection. He reckoned he’d imagined whatever he thought he’d seen all those years ago at Buckingham Palace.
“I’m ready,” Clover announced, coming down the steps, dragging a small luggage trunk along with her.
“Bloody hell, girl,” Pierce scoffed. “We’re only going to be gone until tomorrow.”
Clover ignored him as she headed out the front door.
“Here, miss,” offered the coachman, waiting outside. “Let me assist you with that.”
Pierce shook his head with a tut and turned his sights on the children who were playing with their toys in the den.
Hugh was crashing a horse with wheels for hooves into other toys. His sister, Jeneal, laughed hysterically at what he was doing.
It wasn’t until he had looked after the baby that Robert had stolen years ago that Pierce learned that one of his favorite sounds in the world was a baby’s laughter. He smiled at Jeneal.
“Are you ready?” Frederica asked.
He shook himself out of his moment and nodded. “Aye. Let’s crack on.”
They loaded up the stagecoach. Pierce rode his own elderly horse, and together, they headed for the Reading Railway Station.
“I will request private accommodations,” Frederica offered at the ticket booth. “My treat.”
The group was sent to a secluded room that smelt strongly of tobacco smoke and perfume. Pierce took a seat at the midnight blue cushioned booth and gazed out the window. He let his excitement about riding in a train again take him away from his troubled thoughts. Once the locomotive was in motion and wine and ale was ordered, he allowed that to help, as well.
Clover sat across from him and Frederica. “Is it all right if we conduct our interview now?”
Pierce had had enough to drink in the last hour to not give a toss. “Sure.”
Clover beamed, clearly eager. “Brilliant!”
She reached into her pocketbook and brought out a journal and a fountain pen. Kolt, sitting next to her, watched her do so.
She opened her journal. “How did you two meet?”
Pierce snorted, clearly feeling the alcohol in his system. He recalled running from Geisler’s footmen after the failed heist and coming across the theater where Frederica found him and hid him down in the theater basement.
“And when he escaped the theater, I never saw him again,” Frederica concluded, who had been telling the story while he was lost in thought.
“Oi, I did send you a letter,” he interjected. “Did you ever receive it?”
Frederica shook her head. “Nein.”
“Oh. Pity.”
“What happened after that?” Clover pressed.
“I married Oskar months later, and a year after our wedding, we had Kolt.”
Clover wrote that down, then eyed Pierce. “What about you?”
“I traveled to France and met Juan Fan. You know about that, eh?”
/>
“I do. I interviewed her in London before she left England.”
“Fan’s gone?”
Clover nodded. “Her opium den was shut down, and she was ordered to leave or be imprisoned.”
Clover looked at the page of her journal as though reviewing what she had written. “Pierce,” she said earnestly. “What exactly occurred when you were sentenced to a penal colony? I went to Plymouth and spoke to the people at the courthouse, but they only told me you were arrested for burglary.”
He shuddered. This was the part of his past that Pierce had never disclosed to anyone, even Taisia. What happened to him in Plymouth was the most gruesome and terrifying thing he’d ever experienced.
“What about you, Kolt?” Pierce asked the quiet young man.
The youth snapped his head around. “Excuse me?”
“I think you’ve heard enough ’bout me and your mother. Tell us about yourself.”
“Kolt can be a handful,” Frederica spoke up. “Do not let his rare good manners fool you.”
“Mother,” Kolt moaned with embarrassment.
The way they interacted reminded Pierce of how he and his own mother acted toward each other. Perhaps it was the drink, or simple curiosity, but inquiring after Kolt was far better than venturing into a past he’d much rather keep secret.
“Go on, lad,” Pierce urged.
Kolt’s grey eyes darted around as if searching for a place to start. “I’m not sure what to say about myself, sir.”
“Call me Pierce. C’mon, now. Enlighten us. What are your interests?”
When Kolt glanced over at Clover, Pierce added, “Besides girls, that is.”
The boy whipped his head around. His cheeks lit up like red stars.
“Um, I suppose I have no set interests, sir . . . I mean Pierce. I am what, um . . . what do the English call it? A jack of all trades? I fall into all sorts of hobbies, but never do I take the time to master any of them.”
“He does, indeed,” his mother chimed in. “Kolt will leap into everything from dancing, fencing, and art classes, to acting, scientific study, and mathematics.”
“I suppose I grow bored easily,” the youth admitted.
The Forgotten Story Page 17