Chapter Five
The waves crashed against the rocks in an endless rhythm. As wild and ferocious as it was, it soothed her battered senses, but not to the degree it normally did. The Cauldron was a dangerous place, one that children were warned against and where many a reckless youth had ended tragically. The towering, basalt columns formed almost a full circle and when the tide was high, that circle filled with water, each wave bashing against the rock.
Beatrice hissed out a breath as she scraped her hand on a sharp stone. The tide had not yet reached its peak, and she liked to sit atop those rocks from time to time and look out at the sea beyond. It soothed her soul. Perhaps the familiar sights and sounds of the sea she loved would give her the inner peace she craved.
As mighty and wild as the ocean was, it typically made her own problems seem insignificant in comparison. It allowed her to see how minuscule her place in the universe truly was.
Clambering over the stones until she reached the top and settled herself down, Beatrice knew that peace would be in short supply as long as Graham remained at Castle Black. Between Edmund’s demands and suspicions, Christopher’s growing isolation even in their midst, and Lady Agatha’s ever increasing frailty, there was already enough to deal with. When taken into account with her own wanton behavior and the harsh regret that had come in its wake, it was no wonder she felt out of sorts.
She could not imagine what he must have thought of her. Never in her life had she behaved so recklessly and with so little thought for propriety. Despite the evidence of his scar and his clear resemblance to Lord Nicholas, there was still no absolute proof that he was Lord Blakemore. And she had thrown herself at him. She had let him kiss her as if—well, as if she were not a lady at all.
Why did he tempt her so? He was handsome. If she had to categorize it, she would say he was undoubtedly the most handsome man she’d ever seen. But not in the way of a gentleman. His features were rough-hewn and chiseled, all sharp angles and planes with none of the softness to him that marked nobility. It was a point in his favor, truthfully. She’d never been attracted to men who looked softer than she did—men like Edmund.
Then there were his manners. They were fine, but not courtly. It was clear, at times, that he struggled with recalling the rules of how to behave in polite society, when to stand, whom to speak to first. At dinner, she’d noted how cautiously he watched others before choosing the appropriate utensil for each course.
His intelligence, for there was no denying it, was keen and enticing. He had learned to live by his wits, had survived in a world that clearly held him at a disadvantage. It was mesmerizing to think of all that he had done, all that he had learned and seen. While the circumstances that bore these adventures were tragic, she could not deny a small amount of jealousy. Her world was so very small, after all. The village on occasion, but by and large, it was limited solely to the confines of Castle Black and the surrounding grounds.
Was it that longing for adventure, to experience something so far outside the realm of what was normal for her that had driven her to act so imprudently?
A noise, the scuffling sound of feet moving over the sharp rocks and dislodging loose pebbles, brought her quickly out of her reverie of self-castigation.
“Is anyone there?” she called out. No one replied. Had it only been her imagination? The wind sending loose stones tumbling? From her perch, she could see nothing on the far side of the stones and it was impossible to look behind her without losing her balance entirely.
Uneasy and without adequate evidence to support the feeling, Beatrice nonetheless decided that it was time to cut short her self-indulgent melancholy and return home. As she climbed to her feet, she had to battle the wind to keep her skirt from tangling around her feet.
Stooped over, tugging at her skirt, she did not hear them approach. But when the long, black shadow fell over her, she knew instantly that she was not alone after all. The steps she’d thought she heard had, in fact, been real. There was no question that the figure’s intent was ill. Otherwise, the person would have replied when she called out.
Bracing herself for whatever might come, Beatrice rose to her full height. She realized that the intruder was male. The man stood before her, wearing a dark cape and a hat pulled low with a dark cloth tied over his face. Not even his eyes were visible and the rough-looking cloak fit so poorly, it was impossible to discern whether he was thin or heavy beneath it. In short, whoever he was, he’d concealed himself thoroughly.
“I’ve no money,” she said, hoping that robbery was his only motive.
He didn’t speak nor did he acknowledge that she had. Instead, he reached for her.
Beatrice fought him. She kicked and clawed, batting at his grasping hands, but it was all to no avail. His arms closed around her so tightly that she could not even draw breath. Had she successfully evaded Edmund’s advances for nigh on two years only to have her innocence taken by a masked stranger?
All too quickly, it became evident that his intent was more wicked still. He half-carried and half-dragged her to edge of the rocks. As she peered over the edge, Beatrice let out a sharp scream. The tide was coming in now, frothy water filling the round formation of rocks.
She clutched at him as he let her go. But he shoved her forcefully, sending her tumbling backward over that precipice into the cold water gathering below.
Her last vision before the blackness claimed her was the dark silhouette of her attacker standing on that rocky ledge watching her fall.
*
Graham had slept late, missing breakfast altogether. Plagued by strange dreams throughout the night, he awoke in a foul mood.
Lying back in the bed, reluctant to get up and face the day, those dreams replayed in his mind. They’d been pleasant enough to start with, he reflected. Beatrice had been in them, wearing the same blue dress as the woman in the portrait that hung in his room. Her dark hair had wafted about her as she danced along the corridors, every movement providing flashes of dusky pink nipples through the sheer lace that trimmed the gown. It wasn’t exactly a mystery why he’d dreamed of her that way. Their kiss in the drawing room, brief though it had been, had incited a lust in him that he had never known.
It went far beyond just the basic need to slake his lust with a willing and pretty woman. More primal and insistent than that, he felt drawn to her, compelled to possess her in a way that he never had with any other woman. And yet, he knew she was out of his reach. Who was he to ask for such things from a gently-bred young woman? Title or no, he was still a worthless sea dog—a sometime sailor and sometime pirate. He’d worked on any ship that would pay him and get him closer to England without bothering to ask what might be required of him. She deserved better than that, but he wasn’t an altruist. If she offered, he would not deny himself the pleasure and the cost be damned.
Still, the dream had offered him no more satisfaction than reality had as she’d proven just as elusive when nothing more than a figment of his own mind. He’d followed her down corridor after corridor, twisting and winding through the castle. At every turn, she’d been just out of reach. But then the stone floor of the castle had given way to the creaking boards of a ship. The pale light of the sconces had disappeared and he’d been surrounded by the shimmering blackness of a deceptively calm sea at night.
As he looked down at those boards, felt the salt spray on his skin, he’d recognized that he was back in the same hell that he’d longed to escape for nearly two decades. Looking up once more, he could see her in the distance, shrinking on the shore as he drifted away.
What had followed was nothing more than the same nightmare he always suffered. He could feel the bite of the lash on his back, the sting of those vicious cuts as the salty air seeped into them. It had shifted again, and he was no longer on board the ship where he’d served for so long. Instead, he’d been drifting in the longboat, a small boy lost on a large sea. His skin had burned and the wicked thirst that had consumed his mind and made his throat ache was back, twisting in him, taunting him to slake it with the sea water that would only hasten his death.
He’d awoken then. A maid entering the room had pulled him from his sleep. Clearly surprised to find him still abed, even more surprised to find him naked but for the sheet that covered him only to his hips, she’d dropped the basket of linens she carried and squealed as she fled.
That was at least worth smiling about, he thought. Acknowledging that enjoying the poor girl’s scandalized sensibilities made him little better than an ass, he rose from the bed. The butler had offered to obtain a valet for him, but given the coarse nature of most of his clothing, it seemed a waste. Having declined, he had to wash, shave and dress himself. It was all well and good until he nicked his chin with the blade.
Dabbing at the blood, he finished dressing and headed below stairs. Making for the morning room and Lady Agatha, he found it in an uproar.
“What the devil is going on?” he demanded.
Lady Agatha was pale and wan. “I’m sure it’s nothing. She’s simply lost track of time.”
“Who has?” It was a pointless question. They could only be speaking of Beatrice. “Where is she?”
The other woman present, a servant, bobbed a curtsy before answering. “She went for a walk this morning, my lord, just before breakfast. She should have been back by now. It’s unlike her to be gone so long.”
“Did she say where she was going?” he asked.
“Down to the beach, my lord,” the maid answered. “I’m terribly worried that she might have fallen. The tide is coming in and it looks as if a powerful storm is brewing!”
“I’ve told her not to go there,” Lady Agatha said, her tone stern. “I’ve warned her that it’s too dangerous.”
The Cauldron. The words were there in his mind, along with a vision of the place. He could see it clearly in his mind’s eye, the tall columns of rock and the water crashing into them.
He didn’t realize he’d uttered the words aloud until Lady Agatha gasped and the maid’s eyed widened with terror.
“I’ll go after her,” he said.
“Oh, Graham! Please be careful,” Agatha pleaded. “It’s so very dangerous.”
It was and his blood had run cold at the idea of her trapped in such a place. Could she swim? As strong as the surf was there, would it matter? If she’d fallen in, she might have struck her head on the rocks or broken any number of bones. Even now, she could be lying lifeless in the water. He didn’t hesitate another second, but barked an order to have his horse saddled.
*
Beatrice struggled to keep her head above the water. The tide was high, coming in faster and higher with every passing second. The wind was fierce, whistling between the rocks and creating choppy waves on top of the water that rushed into the small canyon of rock that was her prison.
Her grave. It was not a stretch to imagine that she would die there. No one knew where to look for her. The rocks, battered inside by sea water for centuries, were smooth and offered no purchase for her to climb up, even if she had the strength. With her heavy woolen walking dress completely drenched, it was unlikely at best.
Pulling herself up out of the frigid water, she managed to climb onto one of the larger rocks that rested at the bottom. The waves still slapped brutally against her and, in truth, with her clothes soaked through, being out of the water only made her colder. But at least, for the moment, she could breathe. She wasn’t being constantly pelted from all directions by the frigid sea.
By some miracle, she’d managed to avoid most of the rocks when she’d fallen. Pushed. She hadn’t fallen at all, had she? Someone had pushed her over the edge. A strange man had tried to kill her and if she did not find a way out of her current situation, he would succeed.
Spurred on by that thought and the very real fear that accompanied it, she dragged herself from her perch and waded, once more, into the water. It was deeper than it had been only moments earlier, well past her knees now. As the wave ebbed, it sucked at the fabric of her dress, pulling her backward. Struggling against it, she managed to just reach the shortest of the stone columns that formed almost a complete circle.
Running her fingers over the wet surface, she looked for any crack or crevice that she might be able to use to hoist herself up.
“Beatrice!”
She stopped moving instantly. Had she imagined it? Had fear and desperation brought on a strange delirium that had her hearing voices?
“Beatrice! Answer me dammit!”
It was not delirium. He’d come for her. She wanted to weep with joy at the thought but, first, she needed to alert him to her presence.
“Graham!” Her voice sounded weak even to her own ears, impossible to be heard above the crashing waves and the wind. Taking a deep breath, she tried again, putting all the force behind it she could muster. “Graham!”
A particularly large wave rushed in, knocking her down, the water swamping her, dragging her down and back until she was pressed against the rocks. She came up coughing, gasping for air. But as she looked up at the gray sky above, she could see him peering over the side.
“You came for me,” she whispered.
“Get on your feet! Dammit, Beatrice, get up! Press your face to that rock and put your arms around it! Do it now!”
She glanced over her shoulder. Another swell was coming, more fierce than the last. Struggling to do as he’d ordered, she’d just managed to wrap her arms around that large hunk of stone, digging her fingers into small crevices in the rock as the wave battered her, washing over her and, once more, robbing her of breath as it tugged and clawed at her. Bits of rock and shell stung her skin but when at last it receded, she was still on her feet.
*
Graham let out the breath he’d been holding. She was alive, but the tide was rising. If he didn’t get her out of there soon, it wouldn’t matter. Taking the rope he’d had the foresight to grab from the stable, he looped it around one of the stones and fashioned the other end into a sling of sorts.
Dropping it down to her, he shouted, “Put that over your head, arms through.” She did as he commanded, but her movements were sluggish and clumsy. The cold was getting to her. When she was done, he ordered, “Wrap your hands about that rope and hold on to it. You don’t let go. No matter what!”
He couldn’t be certain if she nodded or if she was only trembling. Still, she did as he asked, closing her hands about the rope and clenching until her knuckles went white. Carefully, he began to pull, hoisting her up one painful inch at a time. She was a full grown woman, but her weight alone would not have been an issue. The sodden gown made it nearly impossible. It added weight, but also volume, and he wasn’t just fighting the water, but the wind as well. When he’d managed to hoist her up enough that he could grasp her wrist, he did so. He closed one hand over her icy skin, then another. With his booted feet braced against the rock, he hauled her up until she was plastered to him.
He held her to him, mindless of her sodden dress soaking his clothes, heedless of the cold. He simply held on to her, thankful that, for that moment, she was safe in his arms.
“What bloody fool walks in a place like this?” he asked.
“I do,” she answered tremulously.
He could feel the heat of her tears against his neck. They were the only warm thing about her at the moment. Sitting up, hauling her up with him, he sat her back and looked her over from head to toe. Scraped, bruised, blue with cold, she seemed otherwise unharmed.
“Were you hurt when you fell?” he asked. “Did you lose consciousness?”
“I didn’t fall, Graham… he pushed me,” she said.
His heart dropped to his stomach, but it rebounded with force, beating ferociously as white hot anger poured into him. “Who pushed you?”
“I couldn’t see his face. He wore a heavy cloak and a cloth tied over the lower part of his face. I’ve no idea who he was… only that he didn’t mean for me to survive this day.”
He rose, helping her to stand. “We’re getting you back to the castle and you are not to leave it again until we have gotten to the bottom of this!”
“I am not your servant to be ordered about!” she protested.
He whirled on her, gripping her upper arms tightly and pulling her to him until they were face to face. “You’re not my servant. But you are mine. Mine, Beatrice! And I’ll not risk losing you… you’ll stay in that castle if I have to guard you myself!”