Pendragon by Catherine Coulter
“You have read her journals?”
“No, that would be abusing her privacy. She speaks of them quite freely, reads them during tea. No matter she doesn’t like you, she will still see you as fresh ears and insist upon reading to you in the evenings. If you wish to escape, you will wink at me or roll your eyes in a discreet manner. You understand?”
Meggie nodded.
“Why doesn’t she like me, Thomas?”
“She truly believes I’m too young to be wed. She’s afraid I’ve inherited some of my father’s more dreadful propensities. She told me last night that she’d prayed I’d spend more time in Italy. There are mistresses to be had there, no need to take a wife to relieve my man’s lust. Yes, my age is too tender, too easily hurt by a conscienceless woman. She will get over it, Meggie. Don’t worry.”
Easy for you to say, Meggie thought.
They came to the end of the promontory, and Meggie looked out, speechless, over the Irish Sea and the magnificent coastline, rugged hunks of land chipped inward or thrusting out like long fingers into the sea, the shore lined with scored and barren rocks.
She slipped off Aisling’s back, shook out her riding skirts, and made her way to the edge. The water sparkled beneath the morning sun. It was very calm, low tide, the waves collapsing gently against the dirty sand, fanning out, then easing back again to be swallowed into the next wave. She became aware that Thomas was looking at her. She turned slowly, feeling him close to her, feeling the pull of him, the pull she’d felt when she’d first met him, even though her mind had been full of Jeremy. Jeremy, now at Dragon’s Jaws with his pregnant wife. No, she wouldn’t think about either of them.
“Thomas,” she said.
He crossed the distance between them in an instant and pulled her up against him. The wind was mild, but still it plastered her riding skirts to her legs.
He didn’t kiss her, just held her and looked down at her. “You’re so bloody innocent.”
“Well, yes. Could you expect much else given my father is a vicar?”
He kissed the tip of her nose and pulled her about so she leaned her back against him. She loved the feel of him, the strength, the heat. She’d never really thought about the heat of men, but now she did, and those wicked thoughts heated her as well.
She said slowly, feeling his arms cross over her chest, pulling her closer to him, “Can I trust you, Thomas?”
His arms tightened. He rested his chin on top of her head for a moment, said without hesitation, “Yes.”
She said, her voice clear and calm, “You can trust me too, Thomas.”
“Meggie—”
She turned then and lightly touched her fingertips to his jaw, to his lips. “It’s all right. I made vows before God, as did you. I keep my promises, Thomas. You are my husband. I will be with you until the day I die. I will never leave you. I haven’t made you laugh in a while. I will work on that. You have a beautiful smile. It pleases me to see it.”
“A beautiful smile?” She wouldn’t leave him and he had her loyalty. It wasn’t enough, dammit.
“Oh yes.”
He looked away, but not before she saw something flash in those eyes of his, something she couldn’t begin to understand.
And, at the very bottom of things, she knew she didn’t know him very well at all.
She pulled away and looked back toward Pendragon, a magnificent heap of gray stone fashioned into a lasting structure that was more a castle than not. It was big, overpowering, it would surely make an enemy pause, and they had held Cromwell off the first time. Yes, Pendragon dominated everything around it, including nature, and it was, she thought, watching a dark cloud chase across it, menacing. It had secrets, perhaps even secret passages. One could only hope. She shivered, but she was smiling.
Meggie lay in her bed, wide-awake. Thomas had loved her, then leaned over her and said, “I think I want to sleep in my own bed tonight. Good night.”
And he’d kissed her mouth one last time and left her.
There was moonlight spilling in through the windows, and it was beautiful. It was also frightening, that moonlight. It cast strange shadows on all those white walls.
Why had he changed his mind? He’d made love with her, and she’d felt flooded with pleasure and with something that was deeper, something that made her want to cry with the power of it. She’d thought he’d felt the same things. Evidently not.
She shivered beneath the thick covers. It was turning cold, a storm was coming, and very soon now, a big storm with lightning, pounding thunder and torrents of wild rain. But the moon was still so bright. She felt tears sting her eyes and swallowed. She wanted him beside her. What was wrong?
“Damn you, Thomas,” she said, then willed herself to sleep. She’d written to her father and Mary Rose, telling them about Pendragon, the lovely stretch of coastline, asking for recipes, asking Alec and Rory to write a cooking song for her, praising, for example, a buttock of beef done in the French way. She’d sounded happy because she penned her words to make it seem that way, but she wasn’t, not completely. So many strange people here at Pendragon.
Her mother-in-law had read from her journal, dated from the fall of 1808, for two hours, without pause. Unfortunately it was in French and Meggie understood perhaps one word in five. She’d finally rolled her eyes toward her husband, and he had stood up and taken her hand. “Meggie is very tired, Mother.”
They’d left William, his mother and Madeleine, her journal still open, in the drawing room. Barnacle was hovering just outside. He said, shaking his head, “I remember it was five years ago now, she read those very same pages. It was 1808, was it not?”
“It was,” Meggie said. “You’ve an excellent memory, Barnacle. Do you speak French?”
“One must when one’s back hurts this much,” and he screwed up his face into such agony, that Meggie automatically stepped forward.
“I’ll walk on your back tomorrow, if you wish, Barnacle. Did today help?”
“A bit, milady, a meager bit. Naturally I speak French.”
Meggie fell asleep. She didn’t know what woke her, but it was something she hadn’t heard before in this strange house. A mouse scurrying across the wooden floor? A moth trapped against the windowpane? Just the crackle and heaviness of thunder in the air, not quite ready to strike yet?
She was suddenly very afraid.
24
MEGGIE LAY THERE, eyes wide open, perfectly still, adjusting her hearing, her vision. Waiting, waiting for another sound. The moonlight no longer sliced into the white room. There were only clouds now cloaking the sky, thick, bloated, black as the bottom of a cauldron. It was nearly black inside the bedchamber. The storm was here, the wind coming hard through the partially open window, too cold now. Rain would begin any time now. She’d heard nothing, for how long now?
She’d been a fool. She started to get up to close the window when she heard it again. It wasn’t a scurrying sound, it was quite something else. It was close, very close. Too close. She didn’t see anything. But that didn’t matter. She rolled to the side of the bed that gave onto the dressing room, and when she jumped up, she tangled in the covers. She staggered, fighting to get free of the covers, when suddenly lightning lit up the black sky, once, again, and then the thunder rolled and boomed, making Pendragon shudder as those huge hits shook it to the ground. She heard someone’s intake of breath, and that someone was right behind her, she could hear the breathing, low and fast and something else, something—She yelled even as she whirled about to see who was there.
She saw something, it was black, a figure, and then something struck her hard on the side of her head. She slid down into the pile of covers that she’d pulled off the bed.
“Meggie!”
She thought she heard a man’s voice, but she wasn’t all that sure and what’s more, she didn’t really care. She felt warm and safe and there was nothing to touch her, nothing at all.
“Meggie! Damnation, wake up! What the hell’s wrong? Wake
The man slapped her face, and not light taps either, he really smacked her good, and it made her so mad that she reared right up and said in his face, “Don’t hit me again or I’ll clout you back.”
Thomas said, “Good, that’s better. Please don’t clout me. Are you all right?”
“I must think about that.”
“Jesus, Meggie, I heard you scream, thought the thunder and lightning frightened you. I’m sorry I slapped you so hard, but I was scared, you wouldn’t wake up.” He grabbed her against him. She felt his pounding heart beneath her cheek.
She said against his shoulder, “You really heard me scream? I didn’t know if I managed to get it out before whoever it was hit me on the side of the head with something hard.”
His breath caught in his throat and he coughed, and continued to cough until Meggie got herself together enough to hit him on the back.
“What did you say?” he finally got out, his voice a croak. “Oh God, you’re bleeding.” He stared at her blood, wetting two of his fingers. He was up in a flash, hauling her in his arms and gently laying her out on the bed, as if for burial. She expected him to fold her hands over her breast, but he didn’t. “Don’t move.” And off he went, lit a candle, then searched every inch of the White Room. He closed the window, as rain was blowing into the room. A huge strike of lightning filled the room with light. He still saw nothing. He pulled the draperies closed over the battering rain. Then he opened the bedchamber door and went into the corridor. It was some minutes before he was back.
“No sign of anyone.” He placed the candle on the small table just beside the bed, and leaned over to gently ease her hair away from the wound.
He cursed, fluently, with great variety, she thought, and she asked, “Did you make those things up?”
“Make what up? Are you all right, Meggie?”
“The curses, all those incredible uses of animal body parts, did you make them up?”
He grinned, just couldn’t help himself. “No. All of those words have been around for a very very long time. Does this hurt?”
Meggie bit her bottom lip and yelped. “I’m sorry, just a bit, not bad—”
“All right. Be quiet, I’m going to get you cleaned up. Don’t move, Meggie.”
She didn’t. Her head was starting to pound and truth be told, she felt light-headed. The wispy candlelight was wavering, the white walls were shimmying a bit, now leaning to the right.
“Oh dear,” she said, and held up her hand in front of her face.
“Meggie, what are you doing?”
“I want to see if I can count my fingers.”
“Damn,” he said, then pulled the covers over her. “Whoever hit you, knocked you out, and that can be dangerous. Now, count my fingers. How many am I holding up?”
“I believe there are three fingers there. Do you know, Thomas, all of those fingers you’re waving about have touched me very intimately?”
“Well, yes, I suppose that’s true.”
“Particularly that middle finger of yours—it’s rather long—goodness, I remember just a couple of hours ago when you—”
“Yes, yes, Meggie, I remember everything about that finger. Now, do you hurt?”
She nodded, and that small movement nearly sent her into oblivion. She managed to hold really still until the pain let up. She said then, “You shouldn’t have left me. I was kissing you all over your face, and you told me you wanted to sleep in your own bed. Why did you do that, Thomas?”
“You want the truth? No, don’t frown like that, you’ll just scramble your brains. Lie still and relax. All right, I’ll spit it out. I left because I’m afraid of storms, have been since I was a little boy. I didn’t want you to see your strong manly husband cowering when lightning filled the sky and thunder sounded like cannon fire, in fear for his life.”
“It’s not all that bad. Whatever happened when you were a boy, I’ll make you forget it. I’ll hold you close. You can cower all you want.”
“You’ll pat my back?”
“Oh yes. I could even sing you to sleep. Just don’t leave me again, Thomas.”
“I won’t. Now that you know about my weakness, there’s no reason to go hide.” He stood. “I’m going to get the physician.”
“Will I have to walk on his back?”
“Dr. Pilchart? Why no, his back is in grand shape.”
“Will I have to lose flesh?”
For a moment, he didn’t know what she was talking about, then he remembered Aunt Libby saying that to Lord Kipper.
“Actually, you need to gain a bit of flesh, not much, mind you, I’ve always liked skinny girls. Meggie, when you’re struck on the head you don’t usually remember anything leading up to it. Do you remember more than you told me?”
“I’ll tell you if you don’t get Dr. Pilchart.”
“But you might be seriously hurt.”
“But what could he do? Would he break open my head and look inside? Even if he did, would he know what he was looking at?”
“I guess not. All right, for the moment, I’ll stay right here with you. Now, do you remember anything more?”
“Oh yes,” Meggie said, “I remember everything.” She stopped every few moments, closing her eyes against those slashes of pain in her head. Finally she said, “It was the lightning, the thunder, I heard him draw in his breath, really sharp. It scared him. When I turned about, then he struck me.”
“You know it was a man?”
“No. But whoever it was wasn’t small. All in black, Thomas, he was all in black, his head, everything, covered.” She cocked an eye open. “Please don’t fetch Squire Billings to assist you in finding the culprit.”
He smiled. “I won’t. Actually, I’m the magistrate around here.”
“I made you smile,” she said, and brought up her fingertips to lightly touch his mouth, “but I didn’t really mean to.”
“Meggie, I want you to stay awake a bit longer. Head injuries are unpredictable.”
“I’m really tired, Thomas.”
“I know, but hold on.” He took her hand and said, “I’ll help you stay awake. Listen to me now. Let me tell you about my first ship, mostly financed by the earl of Clare, which went all the way to India. It was due back the first week of October. It didn’t come. I tell you, I was down at the harbor in Genoa at dawn every single morning, scanning the horizon until I was cross-eyed, but no Star of Genoa. Every night I was there, until it was so dark I couldn’t even see the water. Adam Welles—the earl of Clare—found me one night on my own private hill overlooking the Mediterranean, drinking brandy. I was so drunk, so despairing, I was ready to go down to the wharf in Genoa and bust heads together, a very stupid thing to consider because there are more miscreants down at the dock than you can imagine.
“Adam stood over me, hands on hips, and said, ‘All right, you young fool, enough is enough. If the bloody ship has sunk, you will simply raise money to finance another. Get up or I’ll knock you in the head.’ ”
“What happened?”
“I got up and jumped on him.”
“You hit him?”
“I surely tried. I wanted to kill him, at least maim him. It was a very good fight, until he got me in the stomach and all that brandy—I thought I was going to die there for a while.”
“What happened?”
“The Star of Genoa arrived in Genoa the following Tuesday afternoon. As I recall, I think I kissed her hull. There’d been a vicious storm just outside of Gibraltar, but she’d managed to survive it. I immediately financed another ship. I’ve lost only one ship in the past three years. I have three ships out right now and, thank God, excellent men in Genoa I trust to oversee things.”
“What did the earl of Clare have to say about the one lost ship?”
“He bought me a case of brandy, said he didn’t want to see a single bottle drunk for at least six months or he’d hit me in the belly again.”
Meggie laughed, she just couldn’t help it even th
“Did you wait six months?”
“Actually, the entire case is still intact. I haven’t had any brandy since that night.”
“Oh Thomas, that’s a wonderful tale. Our children will enjoy it. Did you sail one of your ships here to England when you came back to Glenclose-on-Rowan?”
“Yes, she’s in between trips right now. We decided some English goods bound for the West Indies would be an excellent thing. She’s being fitted and goods bought as we speak.”
“What is the name of your ship?”
“The Hope.”
“I can’t wait to see her. How much longer will she be here?”
“Another week, in Portsmouth.”
“I am so very proud of you.”
He flushed, just couldn’t help it.
“You will see, everything will be all right. Oh dear, please find the person who struck me on the head.”
“Yes,” he said slowly, giving her some laudanum now in a glass of water, “I will.”
25
“WHY IS WILLIAM here?”
Thomas said, “I asked him. He said he’d heard that I’d married and he wanted to meet you.”
“What does he want to meet me for? Perhaps to seduce me?”
“Meggie—”
“He’s a rotter, Thomas.”
“He’s young, Meggie, very young.”
“So are you and so am I, and I know that neither of us would have done something as dishonorable as what he did. Just imagine, he let you shoulder all the blame for getting Melissa Winters with child. He probably fully expected you to shoulder all the blame. I’m afraid it will be difficult for me ever to come to accept him, Thomas.”
He looked bemused, and said slowly, going to what was the most important thing to him, “You really believe I’m honorable?”