Chapter
Two
Holy Island, Northumberland, England—September, 1818
Clunk.
Clink. Clunk.
The wind blew a misting sea spray into
Alexandria’s face as she picked her way across the rocky shore of her home on
Holy Island. She paused, listening for the location of the sound against the
gentle patter of the rain.
Clink. Clunk.
The sound roused her already keen
sense of curiosity, knowing that it was new, something different that didn’t
belong on her beach. She veered to the right and climbed over a large boulder,
thankful for the light of a full yellow moon. Her mind swam with possibilities
and her heart sped up with the beginnings of a new adventure. What if the
object making that sound was an old bottle with a letter inside? Mayhap the
author of such a letter had decided to end his poor life and she would be the
one person who discovered why. Or even better, a bobbing treasure box from the
wreckage of a pirate’s ship. Her generous lips curved into a smile as she
imagined opening the brine-encrusted lid to reveal golden coins, no—glittering
jewels—a jade emerald the size of a nightingale’s egg.
Lifting the hem of her thin nightdress
to better gauge her footing, she picked her way toward the rocky incline. Much
of the beach was flat with small, dull-hued rocks and a little sand, but the
sound was coming from a low outcropping of stone. She hurried toward the jagged
precipice, eased herself onto her stomach, and peered over the edge into the
dark sea below.
Alex sucked in her breath as she saw
the cause of the noise. Rolling white. Turning with the slapping waves. She
reached down, not bothering to stop and consider what she was doing, and
stretched out her hand. There. Her eyes squeezed shut as her fingertips brushed
the smooth surface. She stretched farther, her toes curling into the sand as a
drifting anchor, and then it was in her hand. She scrambled to her feet and
lifted the pale, glowing object toward the moonlight, almost dropping it in her
shock.
It was a skull. A broken skull. The
face intact, like a mask, but the back of its head was missing.
Alex turned it back and forth, a
hundred new questions forming in her mind. Was it a child? A young woman? From
what faraway place had it come?
“The poor dear,” she muttered as she
lifted the skull toward her face and peered—eye to eye—through the blank
sockets. Alex blinked…and then blinked again through the ancient spy
glasses as her gaze swept the hazy, mist-shrouded horizon. She stopped. It
couldn’t be. She slowly lowered the skull and gasped.
A ship.
Alex ran up the steep incline of the
rocky hill toward the castle that was her home. Much of the castle was
uninhabitable, but the family had salvaged and repaired the great hall and
several smaller rooms for bedchambers. Centuries ago the castle had been a
first line of defense for northern England against the Scots, but it was
eventually attacked and overrun by Vikings—nasty pirates who had destroyed the
monastery.
In those days, ships were common on
Holy Island’s shores, but it had been decades since anything other than local
fishing boats bobbed on the North Sea, and Alex could not ever remember a
visitor gracing their small village that had not come from the land route. That
is until now. With the ship growing bigger and bigger before her eyes, she knew
someone was indeed coming and they would be asking for the lord and lady of the
castle.
That thought had her running in
earnest through the old great hall and then up the stone steps to her
bedchamber. She still clutched the skull and paused on the threshold of her
room to look down at it. What if the ship had something to do with this?
Perhaps they were murderers come back to kill them all!
She shoved the skull underneath her
pillow at the same time reaching for the ancient sword propped against the wall
beside her bed. She brandished it in front of her, or rather tried to. The
thing was so heavy she only managed one swipe through the air before it fell
with a thud onto her bed. Oh, well. Little good one sword would do against a
ship full of murdering pirates. If only the castle’s cannon still worked.
Turning from that thought she pulled
her nightdress over her head, rushed toward the armoire, and flung the doors
wide. She stood, baffled, at her simple dresses. There wasn’t anything of
elegance or refinement here. If she showed up to greet them in any of this
garb, they would hardly believe she was the lady of the castle. Then again,
maybe she should pose as a servant or the chatelaine perhaps, and give over the
castle willingly to protect the villagers.
No, she shook her head. She was a
Featherstone and a Featherstone would never take the coward’s way out.
Another idea stopped her short. Her
breath caught at the thought. Dare she? With a small smile she turned from the
armoire and rushed from the room.
The door to her mother and father’s
bedchamber was closed. A sudden stab of sadness shot through her heart. They
had been gone so long this time. And no letter in months. She took a deep
breath and pulled up her chin. No time to feel sorry now.
She turned the knob. The creaking
hinges groaned against the silence. Moonlight spilled into the room from a
long, narrow window. She glanced at the bed, the coverings thick with dust. Why
had no one kept the room clean? It wasn’t like Ann, the castle’s housekeeper,
to shirk her duties. Unless of course the rumors were true. That her parents
were never coming back. That they had met with some misfortune and were— No.
She wouldn’t believe a village soothsayer and a bunch of foreboding gossips.
She would continue to pray and believe in God’s power to save. And anyway, she
would know, deep in her heart; if something had happened to them, she would
have a feeling of it, and she did not have that feeling.
Turning from the thoughts, she ran,
near blind, over to her mother’s large armoire and opened the doors. Her hand
shook a little and she bit down on her lower lip as she reached into the back
and drew out a faded blue satin gown. It was old, older than she at twenty, but
still lovely. It had been her mother’s wedding gown. Alex held the garment up
to her chest and took a deep breath. It should fit perfectly.
After donning the dress, she sat at
her mother’s low dressing table. A mostly empty jewelry box sat on one corner.
Alex dragged it toward her and opened the lid. Inside was a small set of combs
with paste jewels looking like tiny emeralds and blue sapphires along the edge.
With practiced ease she twisted her long, dark hair into a knot that was
slightly askew and secured it with the combs.
She leaned forward and studied her
reflection, hoping she looked older and authoritative. Arched, dark brows over
large, pale blue eyes. An oval face of classic lines with a small, straight
nose and full lips. She pinched some color into her pale cheeks and then
shrugged at herself in the mirror. She always had looked younger than her
years. She would just have to brazen it out.
Now to awaken Ann and Henry, the
servants who were now so old Alex did most of the work around the castle. She
had to be sly about it, of course, or risk hurting their pride. Ann and Henry
were more like grandparents than servants to her. Heaven only knew the shock
her appearance would give them this night! A laugh escaped her throat as she
pictured their faces. And where had Latimere trotted off to? Her giant, white
Great Pyrenees was usually at her heels. He would put the fear of God into the
scoundrels. She would send Henry out to search for him with one of those large
bones from supper if time permitted.
The thought of time running out had
her scurrying back toward the great hall and then deeper into the castle where
the servants’ quarters were next to the kitchen.
“Ann! Henry!” She called out as soon
as she was near. “Wake up! A ship is coming.”
She banged on Henry’s door hoping he
would hear her. It wasn’t long before Ann stuck her head out her bedchamber,
cap askew, worry in her eyes. “Lady Alex, it’s the middle of the night. What
are you doing up and about? You should be in bed, child.”
Ann came out into the hall just as
Henry opened his door and gaped at them like a beached fish. “What’s happened
to cause all this racket?” His expression turned awestruck as he peered through
his spectacles at Alex’s unprecedented attention to her appearance.
Alex hurriedly explained. “There is a
ship in the harbor. A real ship. And it’s coming this way.”
“A ship? Who could it be? Whatever
could they want with our little island?” Ann looked down at Alex’s bare feet
and frowned.
“I don’t know but we’re soon to find
out. Hurry and dress. Henry, I want you to find Latimere and meet me in the
great hall. Ann”—Alex shrugged, her brow wrinkling in thought—“mayhap you
should make some refreshments. Just in case they are not here to murder us and
take the castle.”
Ann’s eyes grew huge with fright. “You
must hide, child. Just look at you dressed like that.”
Alex wasn’t sure if Ann was
complimenting or insulting her. She huffed out a breath of frustration. “This
is our home and I will not let anyone take it from us. Now hurry—both of you.”
She turned to go, a parting command shouted over her shoulder. “I found one
gun. Bring any other weapons you can find!”
Hoisting up the heavy satin skirts,
Alex groaned to see her dirty bare feet. She was turning to fetch her only pair
of satin slippers when a heavy pounding sounded on the castle’s front door.
Bare feet or not, it was time to meet
her future.
With a pounding heart and the rusty
pistol she’d found in the deep recesses of the kitchen pantry hidden in the
folds of her skirt, Alex opened the massive door. It groaned on its old hinges
and the wind blew strong and salty in her face as she looked up at the smartly
dressed man standing with two soldiers on either side.
The man cast a quick head-to-toe
glance at her and then bowed low over a turned-out leg. Swinging his hat round
to his chest, he gripped it and stared at her, seemingly dumbstruck.
Harmless looking enough. Alex gulped
down a chuckle at the sight.
“I have come to see Lady Alexandria
Featherstone,” the man said in a thin, nasal voice that sounded like he was
more afraid of her than she was of him.
Oh, bother. He would never believe her
the lady of the castle now. She should have had Henry answer the door like any
proper noblewoman would have thought to do. Instead she curtsied out of
confusion and lifted her arm toward the great hall without even asking his name
or business. She was seriously botching this.
“Wait.” She stopped his progress into
the castle with her flat palm thrust toward his chest. “What is your business
with Lady Featherstone?”
He bowed again, the two men on either
side of him standing like statues with ominous expressions frozen on their
faces. “I have news for her ladyship. News of great import.”
He could be lying. Even if he didn’t
look it, he could be dangerous. The thought brought to mind her gun. She lifted
it, hoping he couldn’t see the rust in the dim moonlight, and pointed it at his
chest. It would have been so much more fortuitous to have found some bullets to
go with it. The soldiers eased back…assessing and reaching…
“Don’t even consider it!” Alex flashed
her best squint-eyed look of disdain at the soldiers. If nothing else she did
have experience brazening her way out of dire situations. Why there was the
time she was caught red-handed camping out in the Yardley’s barn searching for
the ghost they swore was knocking about keeping them awake each night. And then
the time… oh, wait. Now was not the time to be thinking of her debacles. Task
at hand, Lady Featherstone, as if
anyone around here ever called her that! She almost snorted.
“No need to fear, sir, so you may call
off your hounds, though I am an excellent shot. It’s just that I realized I
don’t even know your name. Can you prove your story of news?”
They stared at her for a long,
slack-jawed moment, and then the smaller man in the middle reached into his
pocket and pulled out a heavy packet of papers. He motioned toward them with
his head. “My name is Michael Meade, secretary to the Duke of St. Easton.”
Alexandria’s heart sped up at the
sight of the papers. The Duke of St. Easton? She shook her head, spiraling
down, down, down. Something was wrong. This man hadn’t come to rape and pillage
in the usual way. No. Some dark feeling hovered and then wrapped around her
shoulders, sending spikes of fear exploding through her head and down her back.
This man had come with another kind of
destruction.
“My lady?” The man, Mr. Meade, took a
step toward her, his arm outstretched toward the gun. “Are you Alexandria
Featherstone?”
“What do you want, sir?” It took all
the control she had to ask the question without a quiver in her voice.
“I regret to inform you that your
parents, the Lord and Lady Featherstone of Holy Island, Northumberland,
England, are, um, presumed dead. The Crown has awarded your guardianship to his
grace, the Duke of St. Easton.
Dead? Alex gripped the gun tighter in
a hand gone cold. It shook from the rusted tip, up her arm, all the way to her
shoulder. Her breath came in little puffs. She shook her head.
“I would have known. I would have felt
it.” She shook her head again. “It’s not true.” The gun was so heavy. Fingers,
arms, chest—everything went numb. She couldn’t hold it any longer. She dropped
it to the floor where it promptly exploded with a massive sound and spun in a
circle. Mr. Meade screamed.
With wide, unblinking eyes they stared
in shock at each other.
Great heavens. There must have been
bullets in it after all.
Book
blurb:
Tethered by her impulsive promise
to marry Lord John Lemon - the path of least resistance - Alexandria
Featherstone sets off toward Iceland in search of her parents with a leaden
heart. A glimpse of her guardian, the Duke of St. Easton - the path less
traveled by - on Dublin’s shore still haunts her.
Will he come after her? Will he drag her back to London, quelling her mission
to rescue her treasure-seeking parents, or might he decide to throw caution to
the wind and choose Foy Pour Devoir: “Faith for Duty,” the St. Easton motto.
The Featherstone motto Valens et Volens: “Willing and Able,” beats in her heart
and thrums through her veins. She will find her parents and find their love, no
matter the cost.
The powerful yet wing-clipped Duke of St. Easton has never known the challenge
that has become his life since hearing his ward’s name. Alexandria Featherstone
will be the life or the death of him. Only time and God’s plan will reveal just
how much this man can endure for the prize of love.
About the
author:
Jamie Carie writes novels about fierce, passionate
women; their dreams; their fears; their triumphs. Her deepest desire is to see
her readers find that same passion as they follow their destiny and discover
deeper intimacy with Jesus.
She lives in Indianapolis with her husband and three
sons.
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The Guardian Duke - February 2012 See the making of the cover and trailer here!
The Forgiven Duke - Book 2 in The Forgotten Castles series - July 2012
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