Miss Burton Unmasks a Prince (16 page)

Meg took it, turning it over in her hands, then looked up at him.

He lifted his shoulders and studied his fingernails. “I was told by the duke’s housekeeper that it opens the door to the west tower. But I cannot imagine that being of any interest to you—”

“The tower!” Meg gasped, and her gaze moved to the French doors that led to a large patio. One could follow the steps from the patio down to the duke’s gardens. But there was another staircase that led up to the battlements that ran across the top of the castle wall. “I should love to explore the tower.”

Meg moved toward the doors, but Carlo stopped her. “One moment please.” He reached behind the sofa again, swinging a cape-like cloak around his own shoulders and buckling a scabbard around his waist.

“Why are you bringing a sword?” Meg asked, her eyes widening.

“One cannot be too prepared. Who knows what enemies to the kingdom we will meet in the tower?”

She giggled and clasped her hands together excitedly.

Rodrigo lifted a basket the cook had prepared for him and strode toward the door, opening it and then following Meg outside.

Meg stopped at the bottom of the staircase, but Rodrigo indicated for her to precede him. It was highly improper for a gentleman to follow a lady up the stairs, but this was Meg’s adventure. She should lead the way. And Rodrigo would not admit to her, but he wanted to remain close behind her in case she should trip on the steep steps. There was no railing.

The staircase ran next to the castle wall, and when they emerged onto the battlements, Rodrigo saw that his orders had been followed, and torches had been lit at intervals, illuminating the walkway.

Once they reached the door to the tower, Meg inserted the key into the old lock and tried to turn it, but it wouldn’t move. She jiggled it and twisted it and then stepped aside to allow him to try. It took a bit of work, but the key finally turned with a screech of metal, and Meg pulled on the iron ring that served as a door handle. The heavy wooden door creaked open, and a gust of mildewy-smelling cold air rushed out.

Anticipation shone in Meg’s eyes. “What do you suppose we will find?”

Rodrigo looked up, tapping his finger on his chin. “Perhaps a dragon’s lair or the ghosts of brave knights or a smuggler’s hoard.”

Meg’s smile grew. “Then what are we waiting for?”

“After you, Margarita.” He pulled a torch from its holder in the balustrade and handed it to her.

She poked the light into the tower, exposing a curving stone staircase. Meg grabbed Rodrigo’s hand, squeezing it tightly. He knew she would never admit to being nervous, but the coldness of her hand, and the slight trembling gave her away.

Meg began her ascent. The torchlight illuminated a small sphere around them, exposing the ancient stone walls and steep stairs, but the rest of the tower was eerily dark. The firelight played over Meg’s hair, and Rodrigo stayed close behind in case she slipped or the old stones crumbled.

The narrow staircase curved around to the right. Meg held the torch with her right hand and his hand with her left.

“It is difficult to climb like this. I feel as though I am walking backward,” she said.

“This way, the attacker will automatically find himself at a disadvantage. If you were coming down, protecting the tower, it would be much easier. Your sword hand would not be in such an awkward position. Tower stairs were specifically built with defense in mind.”

“And how did you become such an expert in medieval tower construction?” Meg asked, and from her voice, he could tell she was smiling.

“I am an expert in a good many things,
querida
.”

Meg let out a huff of air through her nose. The noise sounded like a blend of laughter and exasperation.

Rodrigo smiled. Even though he could not see her face, he could imagine the exact expression upon it.

When they reached one of the tall, thin windows, Meg stopped. She released her hold on him and passed the torch in front of her to her other hand, shaking her arm to restore the blood flow as she looked out of the window. “I didn’t realize we had climbed so high already.” Meg began to transfer the torch back to her other hand but stopped, tilting her head. “Do you hear that noise?” she whispered. “It sounds as if something is ahead of us.

Rodrigo listened and heard a soft fluttering. “It is only bats.”

“Bats?” Meg’s gaze darted upward, but she could only see the underside of the stone stairs above their heads.

Since she was on the step above him, they were the same height. Rodrigo leaned toward her until their faces were merely inches apart. He raised his eyebrows. “Bats.”

Meg flinched and glanced upward again.

Rodrigo chuckled. “I would have thought you possessed more fortitude than that. Do not tell me my fearless partner is afraid of small flying rodents.”

She grimaced. “Please do not say that word.”

“Rodents?”

“I told you not to say it.”

“Margarita, bats are harmless.”

She nodded, but her eyes narrowed warily.

“Unless . . .” he muttered, pursing his lips.

Meg’s eyes widened. “Unless what?”

“Unless these particular bats are under the control of a malevolent vampire. Then you must beware that they do not carry you away to their evil master.”

Meg’s face relaxed, and a small smile lifted one corner of her mouth. She swatted at him with her free hand. “You’re right. I am in a much better position to attack from up here. You should remember that when you decide to tease.” She grasped his hand again. “Shall we face the minions of darkness then?”

They passed another window, and after a moment longer, the firelight lit up the ceiling. Rodrigo moved onto the step next to her, handing her the basket and using both hands to push open the heavy wooden trapdoor. He climbed out and helped Meg step up onto the landing, closing the trapdoor behind. A low wall encircled the tower, and Meg stepped toward it.

Rodrigo joined her and took the torch, wedging it into a gap between the stones. Even though it was dark, moonlight bathed the land around them in silver.

A gust of wind blew Meg’s hair and billowed out her cloak. She wrapped it closer around her and turned toward him. “It is breathtaking. I have never seen a view like this.” She placed her hands on the wall and leaned forward, looking straight down at the duke’s gardens below.

Rodrigo’s heart jerked. He stepped closer and put a hand on her arm, pulling her back. “
Cuidado
,” he said. “Be careful. The mortar is old, and it is a long way to fall.”

Meg turned to him, her eyes twinkling in the moonlight. “Carlo, does such a lofty height frighten you?” She shrugged playfully. “Then perhaps you should not have teased me about my fear of bats. I may have to repay the favor.”

He truthfully had never feared heights until he had seen Meg lean over the edge. The idea of her falling was terrifying. “I simply thought you might be hungry,” he said. “Come, help me spread the blanket for a picnic.”

They opened the blanket and sat upon it. Meg arranged her skirts and cloak, and Rodrigo leaned back against the wall, facing her. He handed her a plate with some small sandwiches on it. “I am sorry the food is so simple,” he said.

Meg shook her head. “It looks wonderful. I am so tired of fancy meals I could—”

“Throw rocks into an icy pond?” Rodrigo suggested.

“Yes.” Meg laughed. “I do not know how people do it every day, waking up to a grand breakfast, then a luncheon, and in the evening, dressing for an elaborate feast. I’m used to an occasional dinner party, but by far, the majority of our meals in Charleston we prepare ourselves.” Meg broke off a piece of bread and put it into her mouth. As she chewed, she looked up toward the sky. Moonlight lit her face and shined in her eyes.

Carlo’s breath caught in his throat.

“This is delightful, Carlo. A picnic by moonlight on top of a castle tower.” Meg sighed. “I cannot imagine anything more perfect.” She closed her eyes. “The moon shines bright. In such a night as this, when the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees . . .”

“I cannot imagine anything more perfect than hearing you recite poetry,” Rodrigo said.
Especially when the poem involves a kiss
.

“I am sure it becomes tiring for others, but sometimes I feel that it is the language of my soul, and I do not want to subdue it.” She smiled shyly. “Does that make sense to you?”

“Yes. And when your soul speaks, it touches other souls, no?”

“I like to believe that.”

They remained silent for a moment, and Rodrigo took the opportunity to study Meg again. Her fair skin glowed in the silver light and her eyes were wide and shining. Heat spread from his chest as he watched her admiring the night sky. Why was this woman not Spanish?

“Carlo, I have spoken so often of myself and gowns and poetry, but I have hardly asked about you or your family. You must worry dreadfully about them.”

Rodrigo felt the familiar ache in his chest. “Yes. I worry about them. There is nothing so terrible as war.”

“And did you experience it yourself?”

He shifted his position, stretching his legs in front of him and crossing one ankle over the other. “When I was younger, I was very sheltered from the situation, though Spain had been in turmoil for many years before the French invasion. It did not seem as if any of it would affect me, and I continued to enjoy myself with my friends and ignore the reports from the other parts of the country. But there was one terrible day I will never forget. And since then, my life has not been the same.”

Meg scooted closer to his outstretched legs, leaning toward him to listen.

He rubbed his eyes, frustrated with the burning behind them. “Napoleon’s Grande Armée took over Madrid, and in defiance of Pope Pius VII, he forbade the Spanish people to inter their dead in churchyards; instead, they were buried in masses in municipal graveyards. You can imagine how this upset the Spaniards, who believe their loved ones will not find peace unless they rest in sacred ground. One rainy night, I was returning home late. When I passed by, I saw people stealing into the cemetery to retrieve bodies. And while they were digging or carrying remains, French soldiers arrived and began to arrest them.

“I did not know what to do. I was frightened, and I hid behind a wall, watching as fighting began. Some people were killed; others were taken to prison. The people, they did not have weapons like the soldiers, and they did not stand a chance. Women were screaming and weeping and begging the soldiers to allow them to take their family members to the churchyard, but they were beaten or dragged away. I will never forget the sight of the cemetery in the rain with bodies—some old and some new—lying in the mud, nor the feeling of utter helplessness as I realized the people were outnumbered, and I was useless to help them.”

“I am sorry, Carlo. It must have been terrible.”

“The most terrible part of it was that, until then, the war seemed so far away. It did not seem real, and as a foolish young man, I did not allow it to concern me. I did not care.” Rodrigo’s stomach hardened, and his jaw clenched.

“I did not know that—about the cemeteries. I have only read reports in the periodicals and Lord Byron’s account in
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage
.”

In spite of his frustration, Rodrigo smiled, shaking his head. “Do you have a poem for every occasion?”

“Yes.” Meg laughed softly. “Some women have the perfect hairstyle or gown, but I find a verse to suit any situation.” Her expression turned serious, and she moved to the other side of the blanket, sitting next to him with her back against the wall.

She pulled her knees up and wrapped the cloak around her legs. “In Charleston, there are three forts guarding the entrance to the harbor. Fort Moultrie, Fort Johnson, and Castle Pickney. The entire city has sunk into an economic depression because so many funds have been used to build up the defense after the Federal Embargo Act made Britain and America enemies once again. It has become fashionable for young men to purchase their own uniforms and meet together as volunteer militia companies to train and drill. My brother, Daniel, is a member of the Charleston Fencibles.” She twisted her fingers together.

“At the theaters and even at garden parties, ‘The South Carolina Hymn’ is sung before every performance to arouse patriotism and martial spirit. It is as if everyone is playing a game, and the idea of war seems so romantic and exciting.

“But people forget that war is not simply about regimentals and anthems and brave soldiers. It is also about heartbreak and death and real people. I am glad you told me your story, Carlo, even though it was difficult.” She lifted his hand and interlaced their fingers.

They sat for a moment, each lost in thought before Meg spoke again. “Were you near Madrid when the royal family was taken?”

Rodrigo’s heart stuttered at the abruptness of the question. “No. I was traveling in Italy.”

“With the prince?” Meg asked.

He looked sideways at her. “Yes.”

“I imagine it was horrible for him. And though Serena does not speak of it, there are times when I see pain in her eyes. I am sorry for them. How they must be hurting.”

Rodrigo nodded. He did not trust his voice to speak.

Meg lifted their intertwined hands and ran the pad of her thumb over his finger. She tipped her head forward to catch his eye. “Carlo, I know you wish to be in Spain helping your people, but I am very glad you are safe here, with me, on a haunted castle tower. Perhaps it is selfish for me to think so, but I am glad you are away from danger.”

By the torchlight, he could see the blush that colored her face and felt as if the heat spread directly to his heart. But the warmth did not remain as he realized that leaving England to rescue his parents would cause not only Serena to worry for him. If the opportunity arose, and he departed on a rescue mission, he worried it would result not only in his own peril but could also break a young lady’s heart.

Meg leaned her head onto Carlo’s shoulder and squeezed his hand, wanting him to feel comforted. He seemed so sad when he spoke of Spain. She could hear the pain in his voice and wished she knew what to say to make things better.