Enchantment & Bridge of Dreams (56 page)

Nicholas bent closer to Dominic. “And now for my news. We've found the man who pushed Cathlin's mother. He and quite a few other members of Joanna Harcliffe's nasty little group are going to spend a long time behind bars.”

Dominic looked at Cathlin, who was laughing at something that Kacey had said. “I don't think she needs to know, do you? Not yet at least. So much of her memory is returning. It's as if she's rediscovered her mother now that the mental logjam Joanna Harcliffe engineered has been broken. Thank God for it. And thank you, Nicky, for all you've done.”

“I've got even better news. I've been sifting through the offers for your wine, as you asked.”

“I hope it hasn't been a bloody bother. With my being away, it's been madness here.”

Nicholas waved a hand. “It's been quite exciting. If Marston becomes any more impassive when he announces that the palace is on the phone, I think his face will freeze in a perpetual mask. I don't think he's ever had quite as much fun. Do you know that he got to argue with a member of Parliament and two U.S. senators yesterday?”

“Marston, argue?”

Nicholas chuckled. “He's determined that the wine should go to the Queen Mother and no one else.” His eyes narrowed on the silver line of the stream. “There's no doubt that your estimate will be met, Dominic, and probably a great deal more. You see, we took apart the wooden slats of the case last week. Do you know what we found? Two pieces of paper—one from Thomas Jefferson, specifying an order of Château d'Yquem for himself and his friends. He listed a number of American patriots by name in the request, including George Washington. If that kind of written
provenance doesn't drive the buyers to a bidding frenzy, I don't know what will.”

Dominic's eyes played over the distant hills, wreathed in golden light. “He seemed a thoroughly decent fellow. Once again I owe him my thanks.”

“Seemed? Have you been reading up on Jefferson? You speak as if you know him personally.”

Dominic smiled. “You might be surprised, Nicky. Now what was that other letter you mentioned?”

Nicholas reached into his jacket and drew out a small sheet of yellowed vellum protected in plastic. “I thought you'd want to read it yourself.”

Dominic took the sheet with quiet reverence, thinking of blood and loss and shadows that had finally been overcome. His eyes watered as he stared at the bold words scrawled across the old paper and he knew without a doubt that he was looking at the work of his own hand, mere minutes before his death.

Dominic held the page tightly, unashamed of the tears that covered his cheeks. He drew a deep breath, feeling peace steal over him, knowing that Gabriel had gone joyfully to meet his death.

He looked up to find Cathlin at his side, her eyes full of concern.

“Dominic?”

“It's nothing, love. Just an end—and a beginning, the way life always is.” He brushed a black strand from her cheek. “I'll tell you later. Now I want to offer a toast to two lovers who have finally found their peace.” He refilled the glasses, then raised his own. “To Gabriel and Geneva. May all their good live on.”

Cathlin offered him an answering smile full of silent understanding. Even the old farmer and the mayor stopped arguing long enough to join in the toast, for love is something that any Frenchman treats with greatest seriousness. Both knew love when they saw it, of course. And they saw it now, shining in Cathlin's and Dominic's eyes as their fingers intertwined.

 

F
AR AWAY A PLAYFUL WIND
danced over the quiet pools and reeds along the English coast, where twilight was just beginning to gather in the hollows below Seacliffe.

Suddenly a shimmer that was not quite sun and not quite water's reflection slid along a row of roses bordering the long gravel drive.

And then a man stood staring over the sweep of hills and sea, looking far to the southeast as if he could see all the way to France.

Which, of course, Adrian Draycott could, thanks to his special awareness of anything that concerned the abbey and its owner.

“So it is finally done. The lies are broken and the past is brought full circle. It pleases me well.”

Behind him the roses whispered and a great gray cat emerged into the last rays of the blazing red sun.

Adrian Draycott smiled faintly. “I expect two boys.”

The cat's tail arched.

“Girls? Nonsense, my friend.”

The cat sat back and studied his black-clad master with unblinking eyes.

“Three of them? And they'll grow up to do
what?
”

The cat's whiskers quivered slightly in the wind and if ever a cat could be said to smile, then this one did.

“Amazing,” Adrian murmured. He fingered the fine lace at his wrist, looking at two newly carved headstones. Where Gabriel and Geneva lay side by side, a pair of roses had begun to cast up their first, tentative buds. “But now perhaps it's time for a little of my own magic, such as is left to me so far from my abbey.”

Adrian's eyes narrowed as he raised his hands over the low boughs. A cloud passed across the sun and somewhere a thrush called out a persistent tune.

When the cloud moved away, there were dozens of new leaves and tight buds clustered against the pair of roses. And now a row of lilacs spilled their white blooms along the foot of a nearby wall of warm granite.

Maybe the flowers had been there before, or maybe they hadn't. Afterward no one could remember clearly.

But Adrian knew. He smiled faintly and studied his handiwork, while the gray cat pressed against his polished boots. “Rather nice, I think. And now, Gideon, it is time that we were on our way home.”

Beyond the witch's pool, beyond the hill and the moat, a dying sun gilded the weathered granite walls of Draycott Abbey and light seemed to shimmer along the silent, darkened corridor that
led to the long gallery. The radiance gathered slowly, settling over the hard-faced portrait of a man in black damask and white lace.

Only a sharp eye would have seen the gray cat that ghosted through the day's last beam.

Only a sharp eye would have noticed the single petal of white lilac that fell dreamlike and pale upon the old carpet beneath the painting.

And only the very keenest observer would have seen the way Adrian Draycott's mouth lifted in a smile as the great cat curled up on the carpet beneath his feet.

A carpet that now carried a rain of crimson rose petals.