Monsale rolled over in the middle of the night, and immediately sensed something was wrong. He and Naomi had fallen asleep in one another’s arm, but instead of the warm, supple body of his wife being pressed against him, he found only empty sheets.
Naomi was gone.
Throwing back the covers, he leapt out of bed, stopping to grab his pistol from under the mattress. He glanced at it. Having a loaded weapon in the bedroom might be something he had to reconsider. Old habits would take time to change.
Quickly dressing, he stuffed his feet into his boots. Life had taught him to take a minute longer and make sure he was ready for anything before heading out into possible danger.
He crept silently along the hallway, grateful that the lanterns which hung along its length lit the way.
Where is she?
Monsale searched room after room, cursing the castle for the sheer number of them. After he had poked his head into every room on this level of the castle, he headed upstairs. More fruitless searching followed. He was on the verge of ringing the bell and rousing all the staff from their beds to help him hunt for his wife, when a light shining through the door of the room at the end of the hall caught his eye.
He hurried to it.
“Naomi?”
The pistol was in his hand, ready for any trouble.
“Yes?”
“Are you alone? And are you safe?”
His wife appeared from out of the library, a large book clutched to her chest.
“Yes, to both questions.”
Her gaze fell on the weapon in his hand. “What’s going on?”
Monsale ushered her back into the room, setting the gun down on the nearest table. He frowned at the book. “What are you doing in here? I reached for you in our bed, and you were gone. You had me worried.”
It was strange to hear those words coming from his own lips, but it was the truth. Since opening his heart to Naomi, he was finding himself having to come to terms with all manner of new emotions. Worrying over her was one of them.
He could also admit to a touch of concern over finding her gone from their bed. When they had made love, she had been pure poetry in his arms. He was sure her cry of completion was real. But a grain of doubt still sat in the back of his mind.
“I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to come looking in the library for old books. I was hoping to find information about the fealty oath,” she replied.
Monsale gently took the book from out of Naomi’s hands and set it on the table next to the pistol. Slipping his arms around her, he pulled his wife into his embrace. She lifted her head, offering her mouth for his easy kiss.
“Are you alright? I mean after tonight.”
She nodded, a soft smile on her lips. “Yes. Tonight, was wonderful. I plan to take you up on your offer of us making love whenever and wherever I want.”
This woman. She humbled him with her open affection. He had been a fool to waste the past few years, denying his growing attraction to her. Keeping her at arm’s length. Hurting her.
And I almost lost her.
“I can come back to bed if you need me now,” she said. Her words a clear invitation. If you want me.
“Soon, my love. But first I wish to know more about your search. Did you uncover anything?”
“Unfortunately, not. I did manage to find a little bit about the first Duke of Monsale. The one who picked the wrong side in the battle. Robert McNeal. From what I read in that book I can see where you get your skills for business dealings from. He apparently swindled a lot of the original Monsale wealth out of other people.”
He laughed. His father had always found that particular story to be of great amusement. The McNeal bloodline was full of rogues and dirty dealers.
“Didn’t you ever wonder why a duke from Kent had a Scottish surname? It’s because he sold a massive tract of land in the highlands to a gullible English lord, in exchange for the land around here in Deal. Legend has it that the other chap was too embarrassed at being taken for a fool to ever make a fuss about it.”
The thought of his ancestor pulled Monsale up short. He and the rest of the family had known the history of their lands, yet no one had ever made mention of the oath ceremony. There had to be a record of it somewhere. For the story to have been handed on down the years.
Six hundred years ago, this sort of thing would have been written on parchment. A document like that probably wouldn’t have survived the centuries.
His forebears must have had a way to share the knowledge.
Apart from the last two dukes, his father and uncle, the rest of the Dukes of Monsale were all buried in the family crypt, here at Monsale Castle. A place where they had lived and died.
Now there is a thought. What if the record of the oath is in the crypt?
He glanced at Naomi’s thin night attire. It was tempting to take her back to bed and make love to her once more, but since his wife had made the effort to follow up on the oath, he should support her. A gentle smile crept to his lips.
My wife.
“How about we go back to our room, and you can put something warmer on. I am thinking that the next place we should search is the family crypt,” he said.
Naomi’s eyes lit up. “A midnight treasure hunt. How exciting. This is the best wedding night present you could have given me.”
“What about?”
He got a cuff over the ear for his cheeky impertinence. Naomi wagged a finger at him. “You are a saucy duke, and I shall have to punish you later for it.”
Promise. Please.
After returning to their room where Naomi dressed and put on her cloak, they headed down to the main floor of the castle. Monsale pointed to a narrow set of steps set against the far wall of the great hall.
“I hope you are not scared of spiders,” he said, taking a burning lantern down from off the wall.
The last time he had ventured down those stairs, he had been forced to fight his way through a labyrinth of cobwebs.
She shook her head. “No. I have many brothers, and all have at one time, or another subjected me to jests involving spiders, bugs, and mice. If I had an issue with any of those things, I should have perished from fright long ago.”
Naomi might have no problems with things that crawled and scurried, but the dark wasn’t her favorite place. Taking the lantern, she held it high above the topmost step and peered into the inky black of the stone staircase.
“We could always leave it until morning,” she said.
Her husband leaned in close behind and whispered in her ear. “Where would the fun be in that? Just imagine in the years to come, you will be able to tell our children that you went on a grand adventure into the crypt.”
“Or I could just tell them that their father did, while I stayed in the warmth of our bed because only a ninny would venture down into a dark dangerous place in the middle of the night.”
A hot kiss was placed on her neck, followed by a teasing nip of her earlobe.
“But you are a McNeal now, we fear nothing.”
I really should have pushed him to take me back to bed.
There was no getting out of it. “Alright, but you lead the way. If a big hairy beastie from the dark ages is lurking in the blackness, he will eat you first.”
Monsale gave a harrumph of disgust and took the lantern from her hands.
“No beasties in Monsale Castle would dare. Besides, we feed them regularly.”
Holding on to the back of her husband’s coat, Naomi followed him down the stairs. Down. Down they went. The steps seemed to go on forever.
“The Steele family crypt is mostly above ground, with only a dozen steps leading down into the earth, which in my opinion is far more civilized,” she said.
“Yes, but you don’t have a six-hundred-and-fifty-year-old castle. Correction, you do since you are now a McNeal, but no, the Dukes of Redditch don’t, the poor dears.”
She was tempted to take him to task over the insult to her family, but the warmth in Monsale’s voice when he mentioned that she was now a McNeal had Naomi blinking back a sudden tear. He really was her husband. After all they had been through it was still hard to accept that they were actually married.
A splash echoed in the darkness as Monsale’s boots hit water. He stopped and Naomi came up flush against his back. “We have reached the main crypt,” he announced.
“Where is the water coming from?”
“Take a breath, smell the sea saltwater. The high tide washes in between two of the low dunes. It comes into this space most days, and especially on king tides. That’s why you won’t find anything crawling about on the floor.”
“Including me,” she grumbled.
Monsale hung the lantern on a high hook. It bathed much of the small space in a pale eerie light. It was enough to be able to make out the various stone sarcophagi, and two large marble tablets. He pointed at the tablets. “Those are for my father and uncle. They are not buried here. I don’t know what happened to James’s body, and after the incident with the frigate, I dare not return to Bermuda to find out. We buried William at sea.”
He had rarely mentioned his family over the years, but the edge of pain in his voice was unmistakable. Monsale might have been a strong-minded boy when he arrived in England, but he was still an orphan. A young lad left all alone in the world.
Naomi would be forever grateful for the kindness her parents had shown to Monsale. She dreaded to think what sort of man he may have eventually become without their steady hand helping to steer him away from the darkest life of villainy. He may well have been a lifelong criminal, but he wasn’t evil. He had done shameful things, but there was now hope for Monsale to turn away from his past and embrace an honest existence.
I want to help you become the sort of man your children will be proud to call papa.
Naomi touched a hand to his coat sleeve. “They may not have made it back to England, but you gave your father and uncle a place here in the family crypt. To all intents and purposes, they are both here at home.”
Monsale bowed his head. She slipped an arm around him, nuzzling into his shoulder as he drew her to him.
“I am sorry, Naomi. Sorry for all those years I kept my distance. I knew you would understand my family. That it would take a woman such as you, my love, to bring my heart peace. I just didn’t know how to do it. To reach out.”
“I know. That’s why I never gave up on you.”
They stood for a time, simply holding one another in the dull light. Words didn’t need to be spoken. Two souls joined as one, understanding. Forgiving.
When the lamp gave a flicker, Monsale stirred. “We had better find Robert McNeal’s sarcophagus before the flame blows out. Climbing those steps in the dark is not something I wish either of us to have to do.”
They found Robert’s resting place in the far corner of the crypt. The first duke had clearly expected his line to continue for many years and had made room for his future descendants to join him when they finally came to the end of their life’s journey.
Naomi peered over the top of the sarcophagus. It had markings on it, but they were faded and hard to read. Ignoring the dust and sea grime, she climbed up. With her slippers perched on the bottom lip of the dais on which the coffin sat, she leaned over.
“I think its Latin,” she said.
Monsale sighed. “I bloody hate Latin. When my father tried to get me to learn it, I refused. I couldn’t see the point. It’s a dead language. I convinced him to let my tutor teach me French instead. That was much more useful.”
She could just imagine how her new husband had used his skills with the French language during the war. Harry had let slip enough clues for Naomi to have a pretty good idea as to what he and the rest of the rogues of the road had got up during their work for the crown.
And now the Prince Regent was doing his best to take Monsale’s title and lands.
So much for rewarding loyalty.
“Yes, well, fortunately for us, my father was insistent on all of his children learning Latin. Mama thought the same thing about it being dusty and boring, but Papa wouldn’t bend. He said it meant we were more than just wealthy farmers,” she replied.
She brushed her hand over the nearest line of the markings and racked her brains trying to remember all the rules.
“Hic jacet Robertus. Well, it looks like we have the right coffin.”
Her gaze roamed over the rest of the markings. “And here are some Roman numerals. Gosh, Robert lived to a ripe old age. Ninety-three years.”
Resting her hands on the top of the stone sarcophagus, she sighed. “It’s only got details about him and his life.”
She righted herself and turned to Monsale. “Where is Robert’s duchess?”
He looked around, checking the various stone sarcophagi which had been placed either side of Robert’s. “I don’t know.”
His head lifted, and he stared at the wall behind the coffin. Naomi followed his gaze. She caught sight of an elegant statue of a woman clad in a gown with a belt around her waist. In the poor light she hadn’t noticed the figure. Its hands were resting on the end of the duke’s sarcophagus.
Naomi climbed down from the dais and lifting her skirts, waded through the water and over to the statue.
“Could you please bring the lantern closer?” she said.
Monsale quickly retrieved the lamp from the wall and brought it over. He held it high above Naomi while she examined the stonework. Her fingers touched the woman’s belt. There were words etched into it.
“Ah! The answer is always with the woman. This is a fealty oath. Promitto in fidem meam, quod ego in posterum fidelem.”
“What does that mean?”
“I promise on my faith that I will in the future be faithful to the lord. There is more, but we might need to get pen, ink, and paper, so I can write it all down.”
Robert’s duchess. While she didn’t know the woman’s name, an important detail Naomi was determined to rectify, she clearly held a strong clue as to what the oath of fealty involved.
“I would bet this is a statue of Robert’s wife, and that she is probably buried with him. That’s why she doesn’t have her own sarcophagus.”
Naomi knew what she had to do.
I must transcribe the oath exactly word for word.
Knowing the Prince of Wales, he would demand that it be word-perfect. The last thing she and Monsale needed was for them to lose it all over a mere technicality.
Monsale lowered the lantern. “I tell you what. Let’s head upstairs. We will come back in the morning with more light. Then you can take your time to write it all down.”
Disappointment stirred within. It was dark. It was cold and wet. And yet, she was having one of the best moments of her life unraveling the mystery of the oath.
Her husband’s strong arm wrapped around her waist, it, coupled with his kiss on the back of her neck settled any thoughts that Naomi might have had to protest.
“Yes, well, Robert and his duchess have been down here for almost six hundred years, so I don’t expect they are going anywhere during the next few hours,” she said.
“Come on wife. It’s time we went back to bed.”
Naomi rose on her toes, placing a tender kiss on his lips. “You had better not be planning on going to sleep husband. As I recall you offered to show me all the ways of love making. And I know enough from my friends that we have barely scratched the surface.”
Nearing the steps, Monsale stopped and lifted the lantern. Naomi’s gaze fell on a patch of the wall. It was solid gray, all except for one stone. It was white, and unlike the rest of the oddly shaped pieces, a perfect square.
He pressed his hand against it, and to her surprise the stone popped out. Monsale pulled on it and a small chest followed. The stone had been attached to the front of it, forming a clever disguise.
“Hold this,” he said, handing her the lantern.
While she held the light, he opened the box and peeked inside. The unmistakable glint of gold caught Naomi’s eye.
“What is it?”
“Spanish coins. Doubloons. I brought these with me when I left Bermuda. It’s another of the secret treasures I have maintained over the years. This one is meant for Adan as his retirement fund, but he knows I like to check on it every once in a while. Just to make sure it is still here.”
He closed the chest and placed it back in the wall, pressing the stone to lock it into place.
Naomi handed him the lamp. “I have a feeling I’ve a lifetime of surprises ahead of me.”
Monsale bent and captured her mouth in a long, lingering kiss. “Come back to bed and let me show you what I can do with my tongue and lips. I want to hear you scream again.”
Her skin burning with lust, her nipples hardened with the need for his attention, Naomi followed her husband upstairs.
“You are right, the oath can wait until morning.”