Angel in Black Read online

  Angel in Black

  by

  Fela Dawson Scott

  Copyright © 2012 Fela Dawson Scott

  Kindle Revised Edition

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  About the Author

  Prologue

  England 1782

  THE DAY BEGAN AS any other, but this day was special, her eleventh birthday. Edward and Mary Campbell, friends of the family, gave Katrina the best party a little girl could ask for. All her friends were there to help celebrate. They played games, laughed and danced until they were flushed and breathless from exuberance.

  Katrina received the perfect present from her mother and father — a delicate sapphire pendant surrounded by diamonds and a pair of matching earbobs. Wide-eyed from surprise at the beautiful gift, she ran to her father’s open arms, unable to find words to express her feelings as tears slipped down her cheeks. William Easton hugged away his daughter’s tears and claimed the jewels reminded him of his little girl’s sapphire-blue eyes, always sparkling gaily with laughter.

  They were all to spend the night at the Campbell’s estate, but Lord Easton received word he must return to Camray. Happy and tired, Katrina was content as her father carried her to their coach and they started for home. The hour late, she fell asleep instantly on her mother’s lap.

  Suddenly awakened when the coach made a wild lurch, Katrina was afraid. Shots echoed in the still night, and she heard the driver’s anguished scream as he fell to the ground. The horses came to an abrupt halt. Her father grabbed his pistol and sprang from the coach ready to defend them, but his attempt to do so quickly ended when a lead ball ripped through his chest.

  Virginia Easton screamed and her husband slowly crumpled to the ground, his life flowing from him in a scarlet torrent. Their guards bravely fought the highwaymen, but they were outnumbered. Lady Easton grabbed Katrina and crawled from the conveyance. She spoke to the frightened child; her voice trembling from fear and horror.

  “You must run into the woods and hide. No matter what happens, do not stop. Do you understand me, Katrina?”

  “I … I understand,” whispered Katrina, her mind numb with fear.

  Tears streamed down pale cheeks and Lady Easton whispered in desperation, “Promise me — you must promise you will not stop, no matter what you see or hear. Promise!”

  Katrina sensed her mother’s urgency and nodded. Teary-eyed and terror-filled, she ran. Her mother followed right behind, but one of the highwaymen spotted her. He galloped after her and easily overtook the fleeing woman. Without hesitation, he thrust his sword into her retreating back. She fell to the ground in a pile of satin and silk, Lady Easton’s last vision was of Katrina disappearing into the dense foliage; her last breath, a sigh of relief.

  Panic and her promise pushed her blindly into the blackness ahead; Katrina did not look back. Branches reached out like a hundred clawing fingers, grabbed, scratched, and tore at her clothes and face. Deeper and deeper she fled, her feet stumbling over the rough, untamed ground. She tripped and fell to her knees, the rocky ground scraping the flesh from her. Her lungs burned and she gasped for air, a sharp pain in her side unbearable. Unable to get up and go any further, she crawled, weak and trembling, into the brush to hide. And wait.

  The last man slain, the leader of the group paused to examine the bloody carnage strewn about him. He removed the hood hiding his face and an evil, triumphant smile curled back his lips, and a cruel, sinister delight filled his dark eyes. His satisfaction soon turned into a scowl and he barked at his men.

  “Where is the little girl?”

  “She must have run into the trees,” the man nearest him replied.

  “Then get her,” he ordered through clenched teeth. “That brat must not live, you fool. Do not come back until she is found and killed. Do you understand me?”

  A cold chill passed through the man as he stared into his master’s crazed eyes. A strange foreboding descended on him, but fear outweighed his doubt and greed added fuel to his courage. Murder had always come easily to him and he quickly shook off his qualms. Without hesitation he crashed into the forest to hunt down the child. By the light of his torch, he easily spotted and followed the frantic girl’s trail, covering the distance she had put between them in a short time. He stopped when the trail abruptly ended, his senses alert, his nerves strung tight by the night’s hunting. Like an animal, he instinctively knew she was close. Excitement, fear, and greed churned inside him.

  Methodically, he began his search, knowing she could not escape him — knowing she had nowhere to go. When he came upon the little girl, he grabbed her by the hair to cruelly drag her from her hiding place. He found himself staring into the most startling blue eyes he had ever seen, as bright as a summer sky.

  The child watched him in horror and fear, tears streaming down her scratched and bruised face. He raised his sword; the words kill her — kill her clouding his fevered mind. Her eyes never left his and in them he saw the birth of a new emotion. Her lower lip trembled from dread of what he was about to do, but she did not turn away. The man’s hand quivered as he stood, unable to move, unexpected indecision pulsing through him. A tremendous pounding rang in his ears and he broke into a heated, nervous sweat, perspiration dampening his palms. Could it be his own heart he heard? Or perhaps it was hers.

  Fear clung in the air, like a foul odor. He could smell it around him, taste its bitterness, and hear its eerie sounds in his foggy mind. It fed on his confusion, gnawed at his innards and drew the breath from his lungs.

  With an angry growl, he let the blade’s deadly edge fall. The girl’s scream of terror rent the night, its sound reaching the other men to touch a strange chord in all. A shiver passed through them all and their blood ran cold. They looked about nervous, suddenly aware of the presence of death.

  Katrina never knew why the man did not kill her. He instead, slashed the ground beside her, and, without a word, returned to the others. No longer afraid, Katrina followed the puzzling man back to the road and remained hidden, watching the men prepare to leave.

  “Is the brat dead?” the leader asked, snarling harshly.

  “Yes,” the man lied, reining his mount to a halt beside him. “You need not worry about her. She is dead.”

  “Excellent. Everything has gone perfectly,” exulted his sinister master. “Be sure to remove all the valuables so it will look like highwaymen killed them.” He rode over to where William Easton had fallen and muttered, “Well — dear brother, it looks like Camray will finally be mine — all mine. The bastard son has triumphed.”

  He turned to ride off with his men and his chilling laughter drifted back to Katrina. As he turned, she recognized his face. It was her uncle — Lawrence Langsford. A cold dread descended upon her like a heavy weight. She stumbled from
the cover of the dense foliage and went to her mother’s side. Virginia Easton lay face down on the hard ground, dark red blood staining her beautiful gown. Tears of sorrow choked her, Katrina unable to comprehend fully the pain inside her. She knelt and reached out to touch her mother’s silken hair.

  “Mother …” she pleaded. “P-please don’t leave me. I need you.”

  Katrina’s petite shoulders shook as sobs wracked her. With blurry, red-rimmed eyes, she looked for her father and crawled on her hands and knees to the bloodied figure not far away. When she touched her father, a low moan escaped him and his eyes fluttered open.

  “Papa?” cried Katrina, uncertain her mind wasn’t playing tricks.

  “Kat … I … I heard them say they killed you,” he whispered as tears of joy slid down his cheek.

  “No, Papa — I’m fine. B-but you’re hurt,” Katrina exclaimed, trying to stand. “I will go for help.”

  “No, Kat, stay with me,” he muttered and held her arm tight. “Where is your mother?”

  She burst out, “S-she’s dead. They killed her, Papa. Uncle Lawrence — I saw him! I don’t understand. Why would he do this? Why does he want us dead?”

  Katrina started to cry uncontrollably, her pretty face distorted by fear and grief. William Easton cupped his child’s quivering chin, gently but firmly, the movement causing him tremendous agony.

  “Kat, you must listen to me. It’s too late for your mother and me, but you must save yourself. So … please stop your crying and listen carefully to what I say.”

  Trembling from exhaustion, Katrina did as her father asked.

  “That’s my girl,” he smiled weakly. “Lawrence — he has always wanted Camray and would do anything to get it — he has proven how far he would go tonight. You must do exactly what I say, Katrina. He believes you are dead and must not find out otherwise. Remember, for your own protection, you must stay that way. Do you understand?” He waited until she nodded, then a spasm of coughing overtook him.

  “Please … I must go for help. I won’t let you die, Papa.” Katrina pleaded, but her father continued to hold her tightly, refusing to let her go.

  “You must listen … I haven’t much time.”

  Katrina hesitated. Part of her demanded she go for help, yet years of obedience to her father made her stay and a deep, undeniable instinct telling her he was near death. She settled onto the cold ground and cradled her father’s head in her lap, listening intently to his strained words.

  “You must not return to Camray, Katrina. Go only to Father Murray in Tattershall … he will help you. The good Father will take care of you and protect you, so do as he says. Do not tell anyone else about this night — it is your very life you are protecting. Tell no one, but always remember Lawrence’s treachery. Remember everything he has taken from you — never forget.”

  Her father’s chest rattled, each breath a struggle, but he continued. “Learn all you can in the years to come, until you are old enough to take over the estate. You must always be strong and learn to fight for what is yours. You are my heir, an Easton by blood, so I must place this responsibility upon your shoulders; there is no one else. Take this ring, Kat, our family crest. Keep it always. Now, you must promise me you will do as I say. Then, when the time is right, you will take back what is yours. Promise me.”

  Her father’s hand was covered with blood, and the ring went unnoticed by the highwaymen. Katrina pulled it from his finger and answered; her voice determined and strong. “I will, Papa, I promise I will.” She placed the bloodied ring on her own smaller finger and wiped the tears from her eyes. Lovingly, she kissed her father’s cheek and looked sadly into his faded blue eyes. “I love you, Papa.”

  He shuddered in pain and gazed weakly upon her. “That’s my girl … Kat … always remember your mother and I … love you. You … must be … brave.”

  Her father went limp as death finally took him from her, leaving her alone in the world. Dry-eyed, Katrina loosened his hand from hers and carefully placed it on his chest. At that moment, a dark fury ignited within her, giving her reason to go on, to seek revenge for all she suffered at the hand of one man.

  “I will keep my promise, Papa and I will see my uncle dead.”

  There were no more tears in the young girl’s heart, only a cold deadly anger. Katrina’s grim promise her only future, hatred and rage her guide in the years to come.

  Chapter One

  Summer 1790

  RINA TOSSED AND TURNED on her bumpy, narrow cot, disturbed by visions haunting her sleep. She awoke with a start and stifled her scream, the silence of the sleeping village uninterrupted. The emotions the dream aroused left her trembling, her heart beat erratic, her breathing labored as she struggled to right her world. Slowly, Rina’s mind cleared and she made her way back to the present. The terror disappeared and she rose to light a candle, knowing sleep would not come again.

  She glanced about the tiny attic room, its sparse furnishings familiar and comforting. The rickety bed and the old chair next to it where the candle flickered, casting shadows upon the walls. A neat row of nails held the few faded and patched clothes she possessed and an equally shabby cape for the cold winter months hung beside them. Rina looked into the cracked mirror of her dressing table. A mass of tangled curls fell to her waist in wild disarray, strands of gold, bronze, and copper mingled in the long tresses. She pictured her mother brushing her hair and a sad, bitter smile came to her lips. Camray — would it ever be hers?

  Again, the nightmare interrupted her much-needed rest, just as it had nearly every night for the past eight years. Rina crossed the rough-hewn floor to the open window to gaze at the coal-colored sky. A soft breeze molded her nightgown to her and she lifted her heavy mane to allow it to cool her neck and flushed face.

  Rina sighed, fatigued, and stared thoughtfully at the moon; a pale, golden sliver hanging low from the heavens. She thought of another time … another night. The nightmares made it so real, so terrifying, as if it happened yesterday and not long ago. Only, the moon had been full, brightening the darkness with its soft, yellow light. Rina remembered it well, too well.

  Katrina had done exactly as her father asked, finding her way to Father Murray in the village of Tattershall. She told him what had happened, and the priest prayed for divine guidance. And his prayers were answered that day.

  Jake and Jenny Tidwell traveled to Tattershall specifically to see Father Murray, an old friend. When they explained the reason for their visit, an idea formed in the elderly priest’s mind. The couple had lived in the village for years but moved away when an ailing sister needed care. Recently, Jenny’s sister passed on and they wanted to move back to the small village. They hoped the Father would help them find work and a place to live.

  In fact, they had worked for William Easton long ago, before Katrina was born, and were fond of their employer. Father Murray knew he could trust them and told them of Lawrence Langford’s treachery. He asked if they would consider taking the young girl into their home and Jake and Jenny never hesitated. They longed for children but had never been blessed with their own. So Katrina became Rina, the only child of Jenny’s late sister.

  A small, peaceful village, Tattershall lay about fifteen miles from the east coast, along the North Sea. A cluster of small cottages lined the cobbled lane; rough in appearance, but clean and neat. Being far off the more traveled roads, Tattershall saw few strangers. For generations, the villagers had worked the fields surrounding Camray, their lives happy and content under Lord Easton’s fair hand. But that all changed when his half-brother took over the management of the vast estate.

  When Katrina first moved into the small cottage with Jake and Jenny, the villagers were cautious, their uncertainty and fear clear. Only two months had passed since Lord and Lady Easton had been murdered, and already they realized what life was to be like with Camray’s new master. Those who had someplace to go soon left, but most remained, the uncertainty of leaving more fearful than the hardships of stayi
ng.

  Rina had not forgotten promises made that dreadful night and struggled to always be resilient. She learned to fight, to defend herself if need be. Jake taught her everything a man would teach his son; she could use a pistol, sword, and knife with expertise. She could ride and fight as good as or better than most men, but Jenny made certain Katrina never forgot who she was and her true position in life, also preparing her in the art of being a lady. Father Murray made certain of Rina’s complete education, including math, history, literature, French and Italian. On her own she learned the rudiments of medicine and healing, unable to forget the helpless feeling as her father bled to death in her arms.

  Life in Tattershall had been hard for Katrina, as it was for most peasants. Despite the back-breaking work, savagely cold winters, and the grueling poverty, she never complained. Though her strength and independence were nurtured by a constant, bitter hatred gnawing at her mind and heart, there was also an inborn love and gentleness within her, providing a delicate balance to her world. This love drove her as powerfully as her anger, making her unselfish and kind to those she cared for. Whether she ruled Camray or not, she felt an overwhelming obligation to see to the people she had grown to love. In return, she earned their devotion and loyalty, though they knew her only as Rina, the Tidwell’s niece.

  Rina came out of her reverie as a burst of red and orange streaked across the pink horizon and, gloriously, the sun peeked over the mountains. She watched as it brightened the sky with the announcement of morning. She grasped the chain around her neck and pulled it from where it lay hidden beneath her cotton nightdress. She lovingly touched the ring her father had given her, and whispered, “Papa, I promise, Camray will be ours again.”

  Chapter Two

  BLAKE ROBERTS LEANED CASUALLY against the ship’s rail, deep in thought. He savored the glass of fine brandy he held in his hand and watched as the sun began its slow descent toward the horizon. A golden haze spread across the water, the world turned into a gilded mirage. Blake knew he would never tire of the magnificence of a sunset at sea. A single moment where the whole universe stood still; and a comforting peacefulness seeped into his being as the fiery sphere dropped from the sky to leave him in semi-darkness. The waves gently lapped against the side of the hull, the sound soothed and the motion lulled. The moon appeared, lying low, cradled by the sea’s dark arms. Stars glittered and blinked across the sky in the age-old patterns that guided those before him in their adventures.