The Guardian Duke: A Forgotten Castles Novel (15 page)

"Allow me, Your Grace." Meade stepped up to the door and picked up the brass knocker. He banged it several times and then stood back and grinned. "Let's hope she doesn't have her pistol."

Gabriel gave a bark of laughter and then composed his features. In a moment's hesitation he took off his hat, felt ridiculous, and then hurriedly replaced it. If Meade noticed, he was wise enough not to comment.

The door finally gave a groan and then creaked open to reveal a small, wizened old man, skinny enough that the wind looked to bow him back a little. He squinted at the two of them and then broke into a toothless smile. "Mr. Meade, you've come back!" His voice was as thin as the high notes of a pennywhistle. His watery eyes slid to Gabriel and he frowned. "Now, lookie here, we don't need no fancy visitors. Can't hardly keep body and soul together as it is and ain't got nothin' to offer the likes o' some fancy gentleman."

Meade hurried forward and took the old man's hand. "Oh no, Mr. Henry. This is His Grace, the Duke of St. Easton."

Mr. Henry eyed Gabriel with a suspicious gleam.

"This is Lady Featherstone's guardian. He's come to help Lady Alex with her troubles."

"Troubles?" The old man barked. "We've troubles enough for a duke, all right. I suppose you must come in then."

Gabriel swallowed back a chuckle. The man hadn't even bothered to bow, just stood a little aside and gave them enough space to squeeze by. Once inside Gabriel studied the room and what must have been a great hall with interest. The castle had not been updated much since medieval times. Cold stone floors, drafty cracks in the walls, an enormous fireplace that housed a pitiful little fire, and a scattering of shabby furniture. So this was her beloved castle. He couldn't imagine what she would think of his palatial London town house or, God forbid, his own monstrosity in Wiltshire. He should, perhaps, keep those details to himself.

"As I was sayin' we haven't nothin' to offer ye but some tea."

Gabriel took a step toward the man and locked eyes with him. "We've not come for refreshments. I have come to see Lady Featherstone. Fetch her . . . if you please."

"Well, it ain't no nevermind if I please or not." The old man rankled. "She isn't here."

Gabriel took another step, towering over him, and frowned. "Well? Where is she?"

Before Henry could answer, an equally old woman rushed into the room. "Now, Mr. Duke, we're under strict orders not to tell a soul where she is and we're not tellin' you neither."

Gabriel turned his glare on the old woman. He ground his teeth. He'd known this wasn't going to be easy. . . . Something had told him Alexandria would be trouble and here was the beginning of it.

"As her guardian and here under the direct orders of the prince regent himself, you will tell me—immediately—where she is."

The old man crossed his arms over his chest.

The old woman pressed her lips into a stubborn line.

Gabriel threw off his coat, flung it with his hat on a chair, and sat on the only decent-looking furniture in the room. "Meade, you may as well make yourself comfortable. It looks like we shall be here for a while."

H
igh Street in Belfast swelled with people of all shapes and sizes, all of them jovial—laughing and shouting, the children racing through the crowds in the midmorning light. The air smelled of roasting meat over open fires and barmbrack, an Irish fruit-filled bread Alex had sampled just that morning at breakfast at the inn. There were stalls selling meat pies, fish, oysters, and all sorts of Irish fare. Other stalls hawked brightly colored linen and woven wools done up in warm shawls, shirts, dresses, and petticoats. There were shoes and striped stockings and lace for any number of uses. So much to see! Alex wanted to stop and just gawk, but Montague kept a brisk pace and she didn't want to lose sight of him.

He had mentioned drawing out the man following them as a possible source of information as to what, exactly, Alex's parents had been looking for. Alex hadn't been able to answer many of Montague's questions, leaving wide gaps in their knowledge. But he was convinced that if they were being followed, it had something to do with whatever her parents were hired to seek. And that put their mission and their persons in serious danger.

They followed the crowd, as Baylor had directed, down High Street where the games were to begin. Alex rose on tiptoe and scanned the merrymakers for the giant—he couldn't be missed, so tall and with that hair the color of flame. A great crowd had gathered at the end of one corner.

Alex shouted toward Montague and pointed. "There! I think I see him." She grinned with excitement. "It's Baylor!"

"Aye."

"Come on! Let's get a closer look!" When Alex didn't get very far through the crowd, Montague clasped her elbow tight to his side and fought their way toward the front.

There, in the middle of the street, flanked by the tall buildings of Belfast, stood three men. They were all large and muscular, but Baylor was the tallest and strongest looking by far. They each held a metal ball of different sizes.

"Montague, do you know the rules of the game? What are those heavy-looking balls?"

Montague chuckled. "Those are cannonballs, my dear. Solid iron."

"But Baylor's is so much bigger than the others. Is that fair?"

"In Baylor's case it is probably more than fair. The others look to be throwing a twelve-pound ball, but I would wager that Baylor's is a twenty-four-pound shot."

"So they actually throw these cannonballs down the road?"

"I've not seen the game, but I believe they throw them as far down the road as possible and the first one to reach the goal, a few miles hence, is the winner."

Before Alex could ask another question someone shouted, "Clear the way!" The first man stepped to the center of the road. He was a younger man, more her age. He looked serious about the business though, dressed in brown breeches and a heavy shirt, shoes of sturdy leather. But it was his face that made him seem a contender. His dark brows studied the road ahead in a way that said he meant to win. The crowd quieted as he ran forward and then heaved the ball with an underhanded throw into the air. There was much cheering and clapping and Alex saw money changing hands as the spectators betted on their favorite competitor. Some shouted advice as the next man moved to the center of the road.

"Keep to the lee side, laddie," someone beside her shouted.

"No! Straight down the middle!" the man in front of her boomed.

Alex gathered her cloak more tightly around her and studied Baylor's next competition. The second man was middle aged. Gleeful was the word that came to mind when looking at his broad, happy countenance. Alex laughed and looked up at Montague. "I do believe he is excited to be playing this game."

"You've the right of that, my dear." Montague nodded.

They watched as the second man's ball flew down the street farther than the first player and then rolled to one side. It went out of sight in the tall grass.

The crowd went wild as Baylor stepped to the center of the road. With a great leaping run and a mighty roar, he wielded the cannonball around in a full circle and then thrust it into the air.

"But it's so much heavier, it's not fair," Alex complained.

"Just wait," Montague murmured.

The crowd had quieted, holding a collective breath as the ball landed with a loud
thwack
and rolled and rolled and rolled down the road, out of sight.

A great cheer burst from the crowd as they all surged forward toward the spot where the shortest throw had landed. It was impossible to tell where Baylor's ball had landed until the second man's turn because his starting point was so much farther down the road.

As the road curved and changed from cobblestone to dirt, Baylor remained in the lead but only by a few yards. The second man got closer and closer with each throw.

"Do you think he's tiring?" Alex asked after another twenty minutes. The first competitor was behind the crowd now without a chance of winning. When it was his turn, the crowd parted to the sides of the road and had to watch out for the flying ball not to hit them. It was funny to see them scatter as a cannonball came right at them. The second man had outthrown Baylor on the last turn, causing a great scowl to linger on Baylor's face. If Alex didn't know what a softhearted man he really was, his fierce face would be frightening indeed.

"He is getting tired, but the end is near. It will be a close game and please the crowds." Montague winked at her. So that was it! Baylor was holding back so it would be an exciting game.

As if to prove her right, on his next turn Baylor let the ball go with such force that it flew through the air so fast she couldn't track it with her eyes. The crowd surged forward to follow it and see if it had crossed the finish line.

Jostled and bumped along with the swelling fans, Alexandria lost sight of Montague. Panic washed over her as a big man practically ran her down. She tottered and would have fallen except for the fact that someone grasped her shoulder and swung her upright.

She turned to look at the person. "Thank—" Her stomach dropped as shock ripped through her body. Oh no! It was him—the man who had been watching her. The breath whooshed out of her as he leaned toward her. He was thin, his face gaunt, his eyes hungry and haunted.

His face snapped toward hers, eyes like a ravenous dog. He smiled a slow, ghoulish smile and took her arm in his bony fingers. What had she done letting herself get separated from Montague? Where was he? She wanted to scream out for help, but it wouldn't do any good against the cheering throng.

The man grasped her arm in a tight hold and rasped into her ear, "What is your business in Ireland,
señorita?"

His accent was decidedly Spanish. She tried to twist out of his grasp, but his bony fingers bit into the tender flesh of her upper arm. "Who are you? Unhand me this instant!"

"Your name,
señorita
. Only give me your name and I will release you."

"Her name is my daughter and none of your concern." Alex turned her head to see Montague and Baylor standing behind her. Montague had unsheathed his sword and Baylor was lifting the heavy cannonball above his head, staring with a pleased smirk at the Spaniard's forehead.

The man abruptly let go of Alex's arm and backed away, hands outstretched. "Gentlemen, gentlemen. I mean her no harm. I am searching for a distant relative who was described to me such that she looks very much like your daughter. Her name is Louisa Martinez and her father is Antonio. You are not Antonio Martinez?" he asked Montague.

Montague took a step closer and then another until he stood toe to toe with the man. Alex slowly backed up until she was safely behind Baylor but still able to see around his massive side. "And what if I am this Antonio Martinez?" Montague taunted in a soft and deadly tone. "What would you do then,
señor
?"

The Spaniard's eyes narrowed but he backed up another step. "You are not him. I apologize. I will take my leave." With a short bow and a flick of a sinister smile toward Alex, he turned and slithered away.

Alex let out her breath. "He was lying, wasn't he? He wanted to know my name. I think he wanted to know if I am a Featherstone."

"You may be right." Montague flicked the sword through the air, making a hissing sound, and then slid it back into its scabbard. "You are in more danger than I thought when I first joined you. I fear he will not give up easily."

"We have to hurry and find clues." Guilt at being sidetracked from her mission by the festival gnawed at her stomach. "Baylor, can you tell me where the post office is located? It's the only clue I have."

"Not far at all, lass. Back toward town. On Church Street. I will take you there."

"But you've won the contest. Don't you want to stay and celebrate with the crowd?" There were several groups of people who appeared to be waiting to talk to him.

"Don't worry your pretty head about that; it's just a game. I will join Montague in protecting you whilst you are in Ireland." He turned toward Montague and raised his brows. "If you'll have me."

"We would be honored to have your help. We need someone who knows the land, as I have a feeling we'll not be in Belfast much longer."

Alex had to agree that Baylor would be a fine addition to their party. "But what of your wife? She won't be pleased by this, I think."

"You've the wrong of it there. She'll be mighty pleased to stay in Belfast a wee bit longer. Gives her a chance to sing. We live in the cliffs of Blackhead. 'Tis a lonely place with only the whistling wind to accompany that fine voice of hers. She bid me to watch over you just this morning."

"She did? But I thought she didn't like me."

"Oh, she took a shine to you well enough. You would know it if she hadn't." He shivered as if just the thought of it caused fear to snake down his spine.

Alex shook her head in wonder. "Give her my thanks. Shall we go to the post office?"

Baylor turned back toward town, tucked the cannonball under one arm, and held out the other toward her. She grasped the huge forearm and smiled up at him. "While we walk, why don't you tell me what you know about your parents' mission in Ireland. What were they looking for?"

The three of them turned from the hills surrounding the city and returned to the rows of thatched houses on High Street and then on to Church Street while Alex told what she knew. "My letter has a postmark from the Belfast Post Office on it. I'm hoping the postmaster will remember my parents."

"Aye, he might. Mr. McCracken is the nosy sort. Let's see what we can learn here."

They came to the door and entered to find a quaint little parlor and an office with a long desk. Alex rang the bell on the counter, which soon brought a white-headed man with thin legs and arms and a round stomach. "Ach, what have we here but a pretty young thing? Do you need to post a letter?"

"Not exactly, sir." Alex pulled the letter from her pocket and held it toward the man. "I was wondering if this postmark came from here. It's a letter from my mother and I am desperate to find her."