Raven, p.1
Raven, page 1
Raven
All-Hallows’ Brides
Violetta Rand
Copyright © 2020 Violetta Rand
Text by Violetta Rand
Cover by Wicked Smart Designs
Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.
P.O. Box 7968
La Verne CA 91750
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Produced in the United States of America
First Edition April 2020
Kindle Edition
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All Rights Reserved.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Additional Dragonblade books by Author Violetta Rand
Highlands Forever Series
Unbreakable
Undeniable
Unyielding
Lords of Hedonism
Duke of Decadence
Viking’s Fury Series
Love’s Fury
Desire’s Fury
Passion’s Fury
Also from Violetta Rand
Viking Hearts
Raven
*** Please visit Dragonblade’s website for a full list of books and authors. Sign up for Dragonblade’s blog for sneak peeks, interviews, and more: ***
www.dragonbladepublishing.com
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Publisher’s Note
Additional Dragonblade books by Author Violetta Rand
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
About the Author
Chapter One
The cold October gales shrieked across the sea, reaching the manor house within which the eighth earl of Darkmoor lived—or some would say barely existed—five years after the disappearance of his dearest joy, his future wife, Lady Raven Winthrop, the daughter of the Duke of Everly.
The night she went missing brought back vivid memories. As if the lady stood before him in the flesh—her crystal, blue eyes focused on him, her black hair, reaching the small of her back, unbound and wavy, lifting in the breeze to show off her delicate, pale skin, and proud shoulders in the crimson gown she had worn the night they were to formally announce their engagement.
The northlands of England, the famed moors of legend, were a nightmare to some, frightening them. But not to the noble inhabitants of the rich and vast lands. These people, his people, were tireless and loyal, hard-working and prosperous. Their children survived the cold winters and thrived in the short summer months. Twas a fair trade for inhabiting a long-cursed place. The ancient Vikings who had invaded and subdued his ancestors had long since died off—leaving behind a mixed bloodline and traditions as old as time.
He braced himself on the iron railing that ran the length of the balcony overlooking the lake below his study. He gripped the railing so hard, his fingers went numb. The sun would set soon, and it was then his mind would play games with him, never letting him forget her countenance, her smile, and tinkling laughter that had promised to bring light into his world.
Their world…
How much easier it would be to endure, one foot firmly planted in the world of the living, the other in the realm of the near-dead, those whose souls had no purpose to keep going but had no choice but to draw air every day. Yet he must hold on, for he had a younger brother and sister to think of, and he would not have them suffer as he did.
He sucked in a deep breath, picturing his beloved Raven, hungering for whatever part of her still haunted his mind and heart, and every stone of his manor. As he turned, a light knock sounded at the door.
He sighed, unhappy with the intrusion. “Come.”
The double doors flew open, and his golden-haired sister, Valerie, ran to him, arms open wide. “James,” she said with genuine affection. “Why were you not at dinner?”
He returned her embrace and smiled into her soft hair. “Need I explain every year, sweet girl?” At fifteen, his sister looked more and more like their dearly departed mother every day. “Tis the night…”
She drew back from him, gazing up at her beloved brother. “Raven…”
“Do not speak her name aloud,” he said, looking about the dark room. “If we utter her name…”
“She holds no power here, James. No ability to make you suffer. If you’d only let her go.”
James released her and stepped away, staring out the open doors again, breathing in the thick, salt air. “Can the sky let go of the sun? The night set free the moon to go on her merry way? The stars descend upon the earth and do as they please?”
Valerie had understood from a very young age what tragic loss meant, for their parents had died in a carriage accident. “No,” she admitted. “But those things could never happen. You see the world through the sad eyes of a poet, not the proud and powerful lord you were born to be.”
“There is a fine line between reality and dreams. Love and hate. Life and death.”
“No.” She closed the distance between them, taking his hand firmly. “You are the master of your fate, dear brother. Capable of banishing Lady Raven from your life. Take hold of what is in front of you. Me and Edward, your sister and brother. Our dear Aunt Mitty. And Lauren, the woman who wishes to marry you.”
He swung about then, incapable of loving another, of imagining what it would be like to take a wife other than Raven, his Raven. “Lady Lauren must never come here again.”
“But she is a suitable wife for you. And we can go back to London and enjoy our friends again.”
“No.”
“James, please.”
He could hardly resist her pleading tone, but London held no interest to him. And he would not waste his time and energy thinking about that stifling place. “Do you not love our home? The wide, open space? The moors? Our people?”
“I do,” she said without hesitation. “But we have been out of mourning for years, and I am no longer a child.”
“No.” He faced her and tilted her chin up, admiring her pretty features. “You are truly a lady. And in need of a husband soon, I think.”
She frowned. “Are you in such a hurry to be rid of me?”
“No. Only to find a way to let you live again. It was never my intention to keep you here, to make you miserable.”
“When you are happy, I am happy, Brother.”
Their brother came into the study then. “What has happened?”
James gazed at him. When had he become so tall and handsome? His younger sibling was near eighteen now—a man in his own right.
“Nothing,” Valerie said. “It’s only…”
“The anniversary.” Edward acknowledged the importance of the day with a look of sympathy. “I try to put it out of my mind. What can I do to help?”
James shrugged. Every year it was the same, as the date drew near, he withdrew little by little, hiding in his study, drinking more, silent and brooding, and always wishing for an answer—what had happened to his Raven? For she had simply vanished.
“I know,” Valerie said with forced joy. “Let us spend the evening together in the drawing room. I will play the pianoforte and sing while you and Edward play chess.”
“And the servants can even join us,” Edward offered. “Let us celebrate having each other.”
Twas the kindest offer—more than he could have expected from them. They had their own lives to live now, studies to undertake, friendships to build, and family to love. But not James. He simply waited, for what he did not know, but he waited nonetheless.
The wind picked up and blew through the open doors, sending a stack of papers from his desk to the floor. Even the flames in the hearth faltered. Was the coming nighttime trying to tell James something?
“Thank you,” he said as he scooped the
missives from the carpet. “Go and do what pleases you most. I am contented to stay here and contemplate my life, what future I have.”
Both his sister and brother hugged him, silently pleading for him to change his mind. But he wouldn’t. Not tonight. For this evening—he eyed the bottles of fine wine and Scottish whiskey on the table near the sofa—he would drink and then sleep heavily. And hopefully, by some miracle, dream of her.
Chapter Two
An hour later, as he had just finished half the bottle of wine and stretched with contentment, another knock at the door destroyed his peace. He sucked in an intolerant breath, ready to harshly chastise whoever dared disturb him again. Of course, there was one exception, and she peeked in at him—Valerie.
“James,” she whispered. “Are you awake?”
“Of course.” He glanced at the mantle clock. “Tis only nine o’clock. What brings you back to my study so soon?”
“A nagging feeling,” she said, slipping inside uninvited.
“About what?”
She gazed out the open French doors, the breeze having eased off some. “Why do you sit alone in the dark every night? Why do you breathe in the chill? It could bring about your end.”
He leaned forward in the chair, taking in the vision of his lovely sister. He’d been a neglectful guardian and an even worse brother. Her sweetness reminded him of his Raven sometimes, her innocence and desire to make him happy. As if they had been born for one purpose, to see to his comfort.
“I was raised alongside the great sea,” he reminded her. “Practically born in the water. The salt air invigorates me, Valerie. You need not worry about me.”
“No?” She stood before him, so slight in size, yet so bold. She caressed his cheek affectionately. “I worry that one of these nights…” Her tender voice trailed off, her eyes drawn to the doors again.
“Yes?”
“Please, James, let us leave this place for a while. We could go to France. Italy. Even America.”
“America?” Where had that notion come from? “Have you been reading about that wild place again? Feeling sympathy for the fledgling nation of rebels?”
She folded her hands over her stomach. “There is something about that place that draws me to it.”
“Perhaps the newness. After living here over the centuries, our bloodline has become tainted with the dark and dreary, I fear.”
“No. Why should you say such a thing? We are an honorable family. Anyone would be happy to share our name.”
Yes, he supposed his sister was right. His family had unseated kings—killed Vikings, slew druids in order to preserve the Pope’s hold on Christendom in the ages gone by. To some, it read as romantically as a Gothic novel. But that history clung to him like a disease he could never cure. Why had he been born the heir to the earldom? If only he were a second son who could live for self-indulgence.
He stood and tugged her into an embrace. “Tonight is not the night to miss me so. Any other day of the year and I would welcome your company, sweet sister. You understand, don’t you?”
“I want to understand why you hold onto the past as if it will ever resolve itself, but alas, I cannot make sense of it.”
He gazed down at her, grateful for her honesty. “Pray you never know.”
She shivered under his touch, and he knew his words had struck her somewhere deep inside. “Every day is like a dark December night to me.”
She swallowed and nodded. “I feel your pain, James. I pray for you, and I even weep for you upon occasion. But most of all, I silently curse the day you met Lady Raven—for she has stolen you from me and Edward. That, no matter her fate, I can never forgive.”
Her wide, blue eyes held his gaze. How could he fault her for loving him, for wanting to protect the man that had acted as her father for so long? Yet, whenever she spoke ill of his ladylove, fury gripped his heart. But he’d never tell her that. Never!
“You must put me out of your mind and find something constructive to do. Plan a trip to London. Or write to your friends, even our aunt who wishes to see you very much.”
“Edward has gone to visit Miss Lucy Jenkins and her parents.”
“Very well. Why don’t you ask that maid—Beatrice—to play faro with you in your bedchamber. As I recall, you’re very fond of that girl.”
“I am, and she is an accomplished card player.”
James gave her a rare smile. “Go then,” he encouraged her. “Leave me to stew in my misery for the night.”
She sighed in resignation and walked to the door. Before she disappeared, he called out to her. “Val?”
“Yes?” She turned around.
“I must ask you not to return until the morning.” Though he spoke gently, it was a firm warning, and she knew it.
“As you wish, James.”
Chapter Three
Once again standing on the balcony, James stared off into the distance, straining to hear the rumble of the waves hitting the shore. During the day, one could see the ocean from the upper story of the manor. It sat gray and boundless on the horizon, a constant reminder of his past and present. Make no mistake, he loved the water. It had sustained his family for centuries, but that unbreakable bond also held him prisoner in the moors. No lord of Darkmoor could shake those chains and go to London for very long.
The enjoyments of that city, all the flesh and drink one could ever ask for, was not enticement enough to keep him away from what he truly loved. Had no choice but to love. He drank greedily from his glass, now filled with whiskey. How he welcomed the oblivion, the unknown place his drunkenness would carry him once he passed out.
The cool air carried him now to a wonderful place full of light and music. A ball room at a country estate in Hertfordshire, where all the ton had gathered to celebrate the engagement of the duke’s daughter. That mattered not to James, for his greatest prize, his heart’s desire was to be there, in his arms and dancing with him, their gazes locked in a passionate stare.
He could smell her, a spicy scent tempered by roses. Her soft curves pressed against his body as he waltzed with her, holding her tight, caring little for what anyone thought. Raven belonged to him. Though he had not bedded her yet, he had claimed her in every other way. With every look and word he spoke, with every touch of his fingers, every smile, every breath—few did not know of their commitment. And if they didn’t, he would be sure to enlighten them quickly, for the Earl of Darkmoor was a jealous man, one who would go to any extreme to protect those he loved.
The music had stopped, and couples were leaving the dance floor, but he lingered with Raven, and she dared to touch his face with her gloved fingers. “What thought just flashed through your mind, James?” she asked quietly.
“Why?” He looked down at her, her dark eyes the color of agate.
“Your brow furrowed, and I know whenever that happens, something weighs upon your conscious. Let me share that burden.”
He led her to the perimeter of the room, wanting to usher her outside and into the duke’s gardens where they might be alone. He had grown tired of stealing kisses in the shadows. He wanted to taste her, to see her delicate flesh under the moonlight. He surveyed the people around them. He was well thought of among his peers, and so was his lady. But her reputation must still be protected.
“Come,” he said. “I will take you back to your mother.”
“Wait,” she pleaded, resisting his pull forward. “What troubles you?”
“Do you really wish to know, madam?”
“Yes.”
He leaned closer and whispered near her ear. “My need to have you will not be sated until our wedding night.”
She flushed becomingly, fully aware of what her nearness did to him. And though he had begged to consummate their relationship, not caring about whether she came to their marriage bed a maiden or not, she wanted to wait until the parson’s noose was firmly about his neck. James did not blame her; what else did a woman have to bargain with but her innocence and beauty?
He smiled and lifted her delicate hand so they could both see it. “What is upon your finger, Raven?”
