Before the Fire Read online

  Not able to endure the pain, George threw his head back like a fatally wounded animal and growled, “No!”

  Alex rushed to George’s side and crouched down next to him. Patting him on the back, he offered him the only solace he could think of. “It’s all right, my friend. She’ll come back. I know she will.”

  George looked to his best friend, his eyes bloodshot. And then he did something he’d never before done in his life. He pulled Alex into his arms. And he wept.

  Chapter 40

  “What in the bluidy hell was that, mon?” Still panting from the mad dash he and Marshall Turgot had made from the forest, Aron MacAllister leaned over and rested his hands on his knees to steady his breathing.

  Marshall shook his head. “’Twas a devilry, fer certain.”

  “Who or what took our lady, mon?”

  “I’ve no notion.” Marshall gasped for air, then clapped Aron on the back. “Did ye see the look on Himself’s face? He looked like he was wantin’ to die, he did.”

  Aron nodded. “That I did.” He straightened himself up and considered the frightening events they’d just witnessed. “The Blackmores ha’ done much fer this village. I wish there was more what we could do.”

  “As do I.”

  Aron gazed thoughtfully into the forest clearing. An idea struck him. “Yer sons – they can manage the fields fer ye?”

  Marshall shrugged. “Aye.”

  Aron nodded. “Go pack yer bags, mon. Tell yer shrewish wife we will be gone fer a fortnight or tae.”

  Marshall scrunched up his face. “Why? Where are we goin’?”

  “I was thinkin’. We both believe it was devilry, right?”

  “Aye.”

  “Well, me thinks it takes a devil tae fight a devil.” Aron clapped Marshall on the back. “I’ll explain on the way, mon. Go on now! Pack yer bags. We leave within the hour!”

  Chapter 41

  “Kane now that you’re here, I’d like you to consider staying on long enough to press the flowers and help to plant the left-over seeds into the synthetic gardens.”

  Kane placed her indignantly balled hands on her hips. “Forget it, Linder. My husband is probably beside himself with grief as it is. I can’t prolong that needlessly.”

  “Needlessly?”

  Kane squirmed. “Don’t make me feel guilty, Linder. Damn it, stop looking at me like that!”

  “Like what?”

  “You know like what. Like I’m the only person in the galaxies that can save Egis. Anyone can press the flowers!”

  Linder rubbed his haggard chin wearily. “Difference is, you’re the only one I trust.”

  Defeated, Kane closed her eyes. “How long?”

  “What do you mean—”

  She held up a silencing hand. “No games, Linder. Not when it concerns my husband and son. Not when both communicators are here and I’ve no method of letting them know all will be well. You know what I mean. How long must I remain?”

  He nodded, realizing she would put up with no delaying tactics. “It could take as long as six months.”

  “By the goddesses.” She took a deep breath and considered her options.

  “Kane, I don’t wish to cause you any further heartache, but I would consider it a personal favor if you’d grant me this request.” He took her hand in his and pleaded with her. “Just this once. Just one more time.”

  Kane was about to deny him when a picture popped into her head. A picture of her son. A picture of how it felt to hold him, of how her heart skipped every time she looked into his shining eyes. For the first time since this mission began, she truly understood the agony it would be to lose a son. Or in Linder’s case, a grandson. She inclined her head. “All right, Linder. Just this once.”

  * * * * *

  The next two weeks were a blur of sorrow mixed with grief for George. Were it not for the son he’d made with Kane to remind him of their love, he was certain he’d have gone daft long ago.

  The sign of a weakling? Mayhap.

  But lunacy seemed the only way to make the pain stop. To not feel anything anymore. To not go to sleep every night weeping and wake up every morning wishing death would claim you.

  On the third week, Alex sat him down and had a man-to-man chat with him. The long and the short of it was, George’s melancholia couldn’t possibly be healthy for Alexander James. He had to go on living, with or without Kane, just as she would have wanted him to.

  Would Kane want his tears? No.

  His grief? No.

  His apathy? No.

  Knowing what she’d want didn’t make it any easier. But he knew Alex was right. He knew he had to resume living, for Alexander James’ sake if not for his own.

  Toward the end of the third week, George found himself wandering down the halls toward the nursery. It was the middle of the night, so all were abed, including Alex and Melea who had refused to leave Blackmore until Kane returned.

  His mother and Chester still didn’t know about her “disappearance” and he decided not to tell them unless it became necessary to do so.

  George closed the nursery doors quietly behind him, careful not to wake up Old Girty who had turned out to be one hell of a good governess. Setting his candlestick down on a table next to his son’s cradle, he picked up Alexander James and hugged him tightly. “I’m beginning to fear that your mum has been lost to us, my son.” He kissed him lightly on the forehead. “Do you know how much she loved you? Will you ever know how much?”

  He sat down in the chair nearest the cradle and began to rock back and forth, ever so slowly. “She wouldn’t want us to be depressed, you know. She’d want us to have faith.” He kissed his son’s fuzzy black head. “But if she’s coming back to us, I certainly wouldn’t mind a sign or two.”

  George rocked Alexander James back and forth in the chair for long minutes. When fatigue finally claimed him, he stood up and prepared to place his son back in the cradle. Before he did so, the little one cooed. Smiling, George’s light green eyes gazed into the babe’s newborn blue ones.

  Only, they weren’t so blue anymore.

  His heart beating rapidly, George sat back down with his son and looked at his eyes from under the waning candlelight. “My God.”

  Alexander James’ eyes of newborn blue had changed. Now both eyes contained a ring of green like his own, a ring of blue like Kane’s, and a fleck of gold in the center of each that looked amazingly like…a tiny dandelion.

  George smiled broadly for the first time in three weeks. He kissed his son affectionately on the forehead. “Thank-you my boy. I asked you for a sign and you gave me one.”

  Alexander James cooed, as if to say, “O’ ye of little faith.”

  * * * * *

  During the middle of George’s fourth week apart from Kane, Viscount Freemont returned to Blackmore to visit his godson. The first question he had, of course, revolved around Lady Blackmore’s obvious absence.

  Realizing they could entrust James with their lives let alone their secret, George and Alex proceeded to tell the viscount everything. They started with Kane’s arrival over a year ago and ended with her “disappearance” a month ago.

  Luckily, and George thought it lucky indeed since Melea was without a laser-c to prove anything, James believed him. Without question, he believed him. Without proof, he believed him. His faith in the viscount increased tenfold after that.

  Toward the end of the fourth week, George invited James and the Asherbys into his private study for a game of cards. It was high time to go on living, as he’d promised himself he would a week ago.

  “Prepare to lose big,” Alex teased, shuffling the cards while James poured the gentlemen a glass of port.

  Melea snorted. “He’s all talk and no action,” she mused. “I wouldn’t fret over it too much, George.”

  The earl chuckled. “I’ll take your word for it, madam.”

  The playing ensued and George won the first two hands. James took the next one and Melea the next. Clearly fr
ustrated, Alex threw down his cards. “A bloody bother, this game.”

  Melea snorted. “And then he acts the babe when he loses.”

  George and James laughed.

  James stood up to replenish his glass of port when a knock on the study door interrupted him. Since he was up as it was, he answered it. “Yes?”

  Stuart, the Blackmore butler, and a breathless Bessy rushed into the study. Bessy bowed before the earl before saying her piece. “Ye best come to the forest, milord, where the villagers have gathered. Me father awaits ye there.”

  George rose, lifting a curious brow as he did. “Whatever for?”

  “They want to get me lady back. Beyond that, I’m not at liberty to say.” She bowed her head respectfully. “Ye best come now.” And then she added, “all of ye.”

  Chapter 42

  He couldn’t believe it.

  Everywhere George looked there were villagers gathered about. Young, old, male, female, Scot, English, and Irish—it mattered not. From liveried servants to stable hands to smithies to former courtesans (was that Charlotte?), they were all here.

  They all wanted Kane to come home.

  George took a deep breath, so overcome he was by this show of solidarity amongst his people, amongst even his former mistress. It touched a part of him that had been encased in ice during these past two fortnights without his wife by his side.

  Alex and Melea walked stoically toward the crowd at the earl’s right, James and Bessy at his left. A huge bonfire had been lit and was being danced around by the merrymakers. The crowd couldn’t contain its revelry. George smiled tentatively toward Charlotte as he made his way through the throng of supporters. When she smiled back, he turned to his wife’s lady’s maid for some answers. “What’s going on?” he asked dazedly.

  Bessy merely grinned. “Me dad is a Highlander, milord,” she said simply, as if that explained everything. When the earl furrowed his brow, she added, “he and the Turgot men—me Jack included—have gone reavin’ fer ye.”

  James lifted a brow. “Reavin’?” he inquired in disbelief. “As in thieving?”

  “Aye. That be the way of it, milord.”

  “What could your father possibly have stolen that can help bring the countess back?” Alex asked incredulously.

  “Ye will see, milord.”

  George was about to press Bessy for an answer to the marquess’s question when he spotted her father in the crowd. The boisterous gathering opened up, allowing their party entrance, closer to the bonfire that burned through the darkness of the night skies. “Aron!” the earl greeted him, vying to be heard above the din. “What goes on here, man?”

  Aron MacAllister spun on his heel and turned toward George. His face lit up upon seeing him. He held up his hands, commanding silence down upon the gathering. It took a suspended moment before all was quiet. “We, the people of Blackmore, ha’ all come here this night tae give ye our support.”

  The crowd went wild with thunderous applause and raucous cheers. Aron held up his hands again. “We also gather this night tae bring Herself, the countess, back home.”

  More applause. Louder cheers.

  George was touched. And stunned.

  Aron smiled. “Me and the Turgots ha’ just come back from the borders, milord. We brought ye a present.” Aron turned to the right, offering the earl his profile. “Marshal! Jack!” he shouted, waving them to come closer. “Bring Himself our booty.”

  “What have you stolen?” Melea asked, remembering Bessy’s earlier reference to “reavin’”.

  “What in the bloody hell is in that sack?” Alex murmured to James.

  James shrugged. “Color me curious, but I cannot wait to find out.”

  Alex grinned. Neither could he.

  George watched, his arms crossed over his chest, as a large sack of cloth was deposited at his feet. No, a large, squirming, sack of cloth, he amended. And worse yet, the bag contained a shrill, obviously angry voice muffled inside of it, calling the assembly what he could only assume was all manner of vile names.

  George snapped his gaping jaws shut as he proceeded to watch Jack Turgot slice through the bag with his knife and pull a bound and gagged woman with burgundy hair out of it. He picked her up, placed her on her feet, and stood her before the earl.

  She was exotically beautiful, George admitted. Long burgundy tresses, silvery iced eyes, and creamy skin. She wore a white tee-shirt and tight fitting blue breeches made of an odd material he’d never before seen.

  Melea arched a brow. The breeches triggered an injected memory cell…but of what?

  James smiled slowly. The wench was the most enticing woman he’d ever laid eyes upon.

  George frowned. The girl was winsome, but… “Aron, what is the meaning of this, man? Surely you cannot think I wish to replace my beloved wife with another?”

  The girl in question squeaked. Frightened, she looked over her shoulder in the vicinity of her captors to hear what they had to say to that.

  “We dinna bring her to ye fer the bedsport, milord,” Aron assured him.

  “Aye,” Jack seconded. “Comely she is, but her shrewish tongue could shrivel a man’s staff to nigh a nub.”

  The girl squealed indignantly. She stomped on Jack’s foot in retaliation, causing him to howl in pain. He grabbed her around the middle and wrapped his other arm around her throat. Wide-eyed, she stilled.

  James’ eyes narrowed, ready to pounce. He had an itch to tear the comely woman from the stable master’s hands, but decided wisely to wait and see how this scene would play out. Besides, Jack was a good lad. The girl he held captive squinted her eyes at the viscount as if reading his thoughts, wondering faintly why the stranger cared at all.

  George shook his head to clear it. He felt one of his infamous megrims he could no longer get fast approaching. “I don’t understand, Aron. Why then did you steal this woman?”

  Aron grinned. “The lassie is going tae bring Lady Blackmore home tae ye.”

  “Oh? And how will she accomplish that feat, pray tell?”

  Aron shrugged his broad shoulders. “However her kind goes aboot it. A spell. An incantation. Mayhap an animal sacrifice.”

  The crowd gasped in horror.

  George’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Her kind?”

  “Aye.” Aron beamed from ear to ear. “She is a witch.”

  * * * * *

  “Well Linder, it looks as if everything is at last in order. The kabitross has been cultivated within the synthetic gardens of the colony, the majority of the seeds have already been pressed into drug form, Egis is alive and well, hell—I even found Timal a mistress eager to file for permanent companionship status with him.” Kane stretched her arms up and out, yawning widely. She darted her gaze the commander’s way and grinned. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m ready to go back to my life.”

  Linder winced. He felt damn guilty that she’d been detained this long. “I know you must miss your permanent companion and son.”

  “Miss? Ha!” She shook her head nostalgically. “By Saturn’s rings, miss doesn’t begin to describe how terribly lonely I am for my two favorite humanoids.” She glanced down at her ripened belly, heavy with George’s daughter, and sighed. “It has been seven months, Linder. I can’t imagine how upset George must be by now. He probably thinks I’m never coming back.”

  Linder clapped her affectionately on the back. “Not true. We do have a time travelling program here at NASA, Dr.”

  “Your point?”

  “I could stand here and waste more of your precious time explaining the technical intricacies NASA has learned as a result of your mission, but the long and the short of it is this: only one month will have passed in your permanent companion’s time when you arrive.”

  She grinned. “Really? Truly?”

  He smiled. “Yes.”

  “Oh Linder that’s wonderful! I hate to think of George and my son having suffered as horrifically from my absence as I have from theirs!”

 
He said nothing to that. “Well then, shall we be off?”

  Kane arched a brow. “We?”

  Linder grinned. “Well I was thinking…since we know for a fact that the program works in reverse, I don’t see any reason why I can’t take you home.” He shuffled on his feet excitedly. “By the tit of the zilch, I want to see this glorious earth that has caused two of Houston’s finest women to leave us for it!”

  Kane threw her head back and laughed. “Then by all means, come!” She took Linder by the arm and led him toward the door. “Let us find a clothing droid to whip us up some eighteenth century outfits.”

  * * * * *

  “A witch?” George inquired bemusedly.

  “Aye,” Aron boasted. “We know fer a fact that this wench is familiar with the dark arts.”

  Marshall Turgot nodded. “We caught the witch in her shape-shiftin’ form—appearin’ out of thin air as it were.”

  The assembly gasped.

  George clapped a hand to his forehead. This was just too much. Were it not for the fact that the men had gone to such great lengths to try and bring his wife back, he would have reprimanded them mightily for stealing the chit. He looked over to Melea as if to say what do you think?.

  Melea shrugged her shoulders as if to answer him, by Jupitor’s moons, anything is worth a try at this point!

  Nevertheless, George was about to deny the villagers the right to perform the pagan ritual when Old Girty O’Malley waddled up—his son in her arms—to speak her piece. “We know ‘twas a witch who took our lady in the first, milord. Aron and Marshall here saw the black deed done.”

  Surprised, George said nothing. He hadn’t realized any save Alex and Melea had been witness to Kane’s unwilling departure. The very departure that had torn his heart out and ripped it to shreds. Were it not for the son Old Girty was holding to her breast, he wasn’t certain he would have been able to go on this long without her.