Page 19 of Secrets of the Highwayman (Immortal Warriors #2)
N athaniel ducked his head beneath the roof of the tunnel and squinted ahead. He hated the between-worlds just as much as Melanie did, which was why he hadn’t told her what he was intending to do.
She would have wanted to come with him, and he preferred her to be safe and secure, inside Eddie’s cottage.
Behind him the usual assortment of scuttling creatures crept from the shadows to watch him pass. But he wasn’t concerned about them. All of a sudden he heard what he’d been listening for, the faint thud of approaching paws. Nathaniel smiled as Teth came loping out of the darkness, tongue lolling from his whiskery face. Reaching out, he clasped the hound’s big head firmly between his palms and gave him a little shake. “There you are, hellhound.” He peered intently into the hound’s liquid dark eyes. “I want you to take me home, Teth. Back to Ravenswood.”
The hound cocked his head to one side.
“Come on,” Nathaniel whispered. “I could probably do it myself, but I’d be wandering in this bloody place for days, looking for the right door. You showed me the way before, Teth.”
The hound stared back at him, and Nathaniel reined in his frustration. Teth could help him, he knew it . . . Maybe the hound could smell his way home? Nathaniel had changed his clothing, but not entirely. He reached up and pulled loose the black ribbon from his hair, and then held it toward Teth.
“Take me home,” he murmured. “Home, Teth!”
Teth gave the ribbon a sniff, thumped his tail vigorously, and then launched himself forth into the tunnel. Hoping they were going in the right direction, Nathaniel set off at a run behind him.
He was acting against the queen’s instructions, he knew that, and she would punish him. He was even acting against his own good sense, and the promises he’d made to himself to be less impulsive and hotheaded. But he couldn’t sit still any longer, waiting for something to happen. It was driving him crazy. How many times was he going to search Ravenswood looking for clues? How many books was he going to scour for information? And while he waited, Melanie was under threat. When she had told him about Pengorren, he’d known then he couldn’t wait any longer. The queen might be a powerful and awesome being, but he wasn’t sure he entirely trusted her where Melanie was concerned. Besides, he was used to making his own decisions and striking hard and fast at his enemies.
Nathaniel was a man of action, and he was sick and tired of trying to be patient. It was time he took control of the situation.
Ahead of him, the darkness of the tunnel began to lighten. He could see Teth, bounding along, silhouetted against an opening laced with branches and leaves. As the hound jumped through, Nathaniel followed, pushing aside the prickly curtain. He realized then where he was, on the far side of the garden, in the clump of bushes growing by the summerhouse.
He could smell roses and the warm sweet breath of summer.
It must be the summer of 1813, soon after his return from Spain. Pengorren hadn’t arrived at Ravenswood until the autumn. He had time to go and speak to his father and mother and his sister, to somehow make them understand what was to come. He would defeat Pengorren before he even arrived, and bedamned to the queen of the between-worlds.
All would be well this time, he told himself, as he strolled toward the dark, sleeping house.
M elanie had taken a shortcut through the vast and overgrown vegetable garden that separated Eddie’s cottage from Ravenswood. She had a strong urge to sit down on the rustic wooden seat, where the cabbages had gone to seed, and have a nap. But strange things were happening to her, and she was afraid to sleep. She was equally afraid to stay awake. The truth, unnerving as it was, was that she wanted Nathaniel. Only he understood what she was going through. But Nathaniel was leaving her, he’d made that plain.
This was not the sort of story where they would be walking off into the sunset together.
And yet, she thought, weaving through some broken stakes with last year’s wilted vines still attached, I’m certain Nathaniel needs me as much as I need him. That’s why the queen of the between-worlds has brought us together . . .
A soft breath of wind stirred her hair and rattled the old flower heads at her feet. She looked up, suddenly tense. The sky was darkening. Something ominous approaching.
A storm, she told herself, nothing more. Surely she wasn’t afraid of a storm? She was never one to hide under the bed when the thunder sounded. But it wasn’t just the storm that was unnerving her. The feelings inside her were stirring, unfurling, and she knew that this time she’d be sensible to heed the warning.
Melanie quickened her steps toward the house.
A horse whickered . Nathaniel stood in the stable doorway, letting the familiar smells engulf him. This was always one of his favorite places, and after he returned home from Spain and recovered enough to ride again, he enjoyed nothing more than galloping away across the park. There was a sort of freedom in it, an escape.
He knew he shouldn’t be here, he should have gone straight up to Ravenswood, but somehow his steps had deviated. Perhaps he just needed a moment to think, to collect his thoughts, to put aside his doubts, before he began the task of persuading his family to believe the impossible.
He admitted to himself that he was relying on father’s quiet strength and intelligence to persuade his mother and sister to listen to what would seem a wild story. He trusted his father, and as a boy he’d wondered how he could ever replace him as lord and master in this little patch of England. Was that why he’d gone off to war? It was easier to charge the French or ambush some Spanish guerillas, than it was to set one’s mind to the difficult tasks of rents and crops and money in the bank?
“You’re straightforward. Honest,” his father said to him upon his return. “You treat everyone as if you expect the best from them. That’s a good thing, Nathaniel. You’ll grow into your inheritance. One day, when I’m gone, you’ll make a fine master.”
His father was right. He was beginning to grow into the job he had been born for . . . and then Pengorren came. Usurped him, stole all that was his. Pengorren wasn’t honest or straightforward, and Nathaniel was taken in. And by the time he realized it, it was too late.
The horse whickered again, this time more urgently. Nathaniel smiled when he recognized the dark face and erect ears above the door of the box. It was Neptune, his horse.
The horse he had raced alongside Melanie’s car had been a ghost horse, some demon from the between-worlds he’d borrowed for the occasion, and received a memorable telling off from the queen. That creature hadn’t been anything like the warm flesh-and-blood beast before him now, and he realized just how much he had missed the real Neptune.
There was a lantern hanging from a hook in the ceiling, but it was turned down low. The boy must have forgotten to turn it out again, he thought, because the stable was empty. Nathaniel came forward to pat Neptune’s nose, murmuring a greeting as the horse tossed its head and bumped against him.
“Good boy, good Neptune, I’ve missed you, too,” he said softly. “But it’ll be all right soon. Everything will be back to normal.”
He heard the footstep just before Pengorren spoke.
“Nathaniel.”
For a moment he was too shocked to turn, and then he swung around, disbelieving. It was Pengorren, there could be no mistake. He was standing in one of the empty stalls and he looked the same. A little disheveled, perhaps, without his shirt, and with only half of his handsome face lit by the lantern. His blue eyes mirrored Nathaniel’s shock, and then they narrowed.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Nathaniel said, knowing even as he spoke it was a ridiculous thing to say. “It’s too soon.”
Pengorren frowned. “Too soon?”
“This is the summer of 1813.”
Pengorren’s face cleared and he laughed. “Oh dear. And here I was thinking it was you who shouldn’t be here.”
Nathaniel felt the anger building inside him. “You don’t belong at Ravenswood,” he said quietly, dangerously. “I want you out.”
Pengorren’s mouth thinned. “Interfering with time, boy? Didn’t the sorceress tell you about the pitfalls of that? I’m sure she did. You’re only going to make it worse, Nathaniel, just like you did last time. But you can’t help yourself, can you? Just have to rush in and play the hero. Is that why you’re here? To save your family? Or is it to kill me?”
“You seem to know everything, you tell me.”
“I think I already know.”
Pengorren smiled, his blue eyes glittered. Then he moved, pushing at something at his feet, where Nathaniel’s view was hidden by the stall door. There was a soft squeak, and then the sound of a voice he knew. “Is it morning already?” Pengorren, watching him, caught his dismay and gleamed with malevolent enjoyment.
Tousled dark hair appeared, and then two bare arms and a smooth naked back, as Sophie stretched sensuously, tangling her fingers together with a little laugh. “Is it morning?” she murmured. “We don’t have to go back yet, do we, Hew? Stay, please.”
Pengorren was unmoved by her invitation. “Your brother’s here,” he said.
Sophie froze, and then slowly she turned. She was white, her face slack with shock. And then she gave a whimper and clapped her hands over her eyes.
“I said, it’s your brother.” Pengorren gritted his teeth as he struggled to pull her hands away. “Look at him, Sophie.”
Her eyes rolled wildly. “No, no, it can’t be! Nathaniel’s dead!”
“Sophie,” Nathaniel whispered, his throat aching with sorrow.
She screamed shrilly, and Pengorren let her go with an expression of disgust, so that she fell to the ground, weeping. “It seems she doesn’t want anything to do with you, Nathaniel. Could that be because you were buried last month? This is the summer of 1814, after all.”
Nathaniel felt a wave of despair settle over him as he realized he’d rushed in without consideration yet again. And then despair gave way to anger as he read the victory in Pengorren’s eyes. Neptune must have felt it, too, because the horse began moving restlessly, stamping his feet.
“Do you know, Sophie will do anything I ask of her?” Pengorren went on. “She follows me about like a little pet, don’t you sweetheart? I’ve taught her all sorts of tricks—”
“Leave her alone,” Nathaniel growled.
“But she’s still fond of her big brother. Do you know what she did? Shall I tell him, Sophie?”
“No, no, don’t tell him!” Sophie’s voice was a high-pitched wail. For a moment she looked directly at Nathaniel. “Get out of here! Run, run . . .” And then she was screaming as though she had lost her mind.
Nathaniel backed away, shaken, his heart pounding.
“Yes, run while you can,” Pengorren hissed. “Don’t think I won’t come after you, though, and destroy you forever.”
Nathaniel stumbled at the door but caught his balance. Behind him he could hear Neptune’s high-pitched whinnies mingling with Sophie’s screams, and then a crashing and splintering as the horse broke through the door of his box. A moment later Neptune galloped by him.
Instinctively Nathaniel reached out and grasped the horse’s mane, pulling himself up and onto Neptune’s back. He bent low, finding some comfort as Neptune took him away into the dark night, knowing there was nothing else he could do.
For a long time he rode, the image of Sophie in his head. He was a fool, a blind and impulsive fool. He’d returned to try and stop Pengorren, to save his family and Melanie, and instead he’d made things worse. Pengorren was right, he’d tried to play the hero again and instead he’d put at risk the past and the future. When would he learn he could not accomplish his task through reckless actions? When would he learn that he couldn’t do this on his own?
He must learn to think about the future, to set aside instant gratification in favor of the benefits of waiting for the perfect moment. And he must learn that it was better to cloak himself in the cold and deadly anger of a man rather than waste his energy on the hotheaded impulses of a boy.
Gradually, as Neptune’s fluid movements soothed his misery, he became aware that he was near the woods on the Truro Road.
It was here that it all began, the night he’d seen Sophie and Pengorren together, the night his mother died. And it was here it ended, when he was fatally shot and lay dying on the road.
As he remembered, he felt himself slipping away, losing touch with the here and now. He saw the moon in the dark sky, heard the cry of a hunting owl, and felt the cold air against his face. There, in crowded trees, he had stood waiting for the coach to come along, and all the time the pain inside him bit into him like something corrosive. He was thinking of his mother, dead, her neck broken, her eyes blank and dulled. He was thinking of Pengorren in Sophie’s bed.
The memories washed over him now, so vivid and real, so painful. He couldn’t stop them taking him back through time, he didn’t try, as Neptune galloped on.