Page 58 of King of Rogues
I really should have pushed him to take me back to bed.
There was no getting out of it. “Alright, but you lead the way. If a big hairy beastie from the dark ages is lurking in the blackness, he will eat you first.”
Monsale gave a harrumph of disgust and took the lantern from her hands.
“No beasties in Monsale Castle would dare. Besides, we feed them regularly.”
Holding on to the back of her husband’s coat, Naomi followed him down the stairs. Down. Down they went. The steps seemed to go on forever.
“The Steele family crypt is mostly above ground, with only a dozen steps leading down into the earth, which in my opinion is far more civilized,” she said.
“Yes, but you don’t have a six-hundred-and-fifty-year-old castle. Correction, you do since you are now a McNeal, but no, the Dukes of Redditch don’t, the poor dears.”
She was tempted to take him to task over the insult to her family, but the warmth in Monsale’s voice when he mentioned that she was now a McNeal had Naomi blinking back a sudden tear. He really was her husband. After all they had been through it was still hard to accept that they were actually married.
A splash echoed in the darkness as Monsale’s boots hit water. He stopped and Naomi came up flush against his back. “We have reached the main crypt,” he announced.
“Where is the water coming from?”
“Take a breath, smell the sea saltwater. The high tide washes in between two of the low dunes. It comes into this space most days, and especially on king tides. That’s why you won’t find anything crawling about on the floor.”
“Including me,” she grumbled.
Monsale hung the lantern on a high hook. It bathed much of the small space in a pale eerie light. It was enough to be able to make out the various stone sarcophagi, and two large marble tablets. He pointed at the tablets. “Those are for my father and uncle. They are not buried here. I don’t know what happened to James’s body, and after the incident with the frigate, I dare not return to Bermuda to find out. We buried William at sea.”
He had rarely mentioned his family over the years, but the edge of pain in his voice was unmistakable. Monsale might have been a strong-minded boy when he arrived in England, but he was still an orphan. A young lad left all alone in the world.
Naomi would be forever grateful for the kindness her parents had shown to Monsale. She dreaded to think what sort of man he may have eventually become without their steady hand helping to steer him away from the darkest life of villainy. He may well have been a lifelong criminal, but he wasn’t evil. He had done shameful things, but there was now hope for Monsale to turn away from his past and embrace an honest existence.
I want to help you become the sort of man your children will be proud to call papa.
Naomi touched a hand to his coat sleeve. “They may not have made it back to England, but you gave your father and uncle a place here in the family crypt. To all intents and purposes, they are both here at home.”
Monsale bowed his head. She slipped an arm around him, nuzzling into his shoulder as he drew her to him.
“I am sorry, Naomi. Sorry for all those years I kept my distance. I knew you would understand my family. That it would take a woman such as you, my love, to bring my heart peace. I just didn’t know how to do it. To reach out.”
“I know. That’s why I never gave up on you.”
They stood for a time, simply holding one another in the dull light. Words didn’t need to be spoken. Two souls joined as one, understanding. Forgiving.
When the lamp gave a flicker, Monsale stirred. “We had better find Robert McNeal’s sarcophagus before the flame blows out. Climbing those steps in the dark is not something I wish either of us to have to do.”
They found Robert’s resting place in the far corner of the crypt. The first duke had clearly expected his line to continue for many years and had made room for his future descendants to join him when they finally came to the end of their life’s journey.
Naomi peered over the top of the sarcophagus. It had markings on it, but they were faded and hard to read. Ignoring the dust and sea grime, she climbed up. With her slippers perched on the bottom lip of the dais on which the coffin sat, she leaned over.
“I think its Latin,” she said.
Monsale sighed. “I bloody hate Latin. When my father tried to get me to learn it, I refused. I couldn’t see the point. It’s a dead language. I convinced him to let my tutor teach me French instead. That was much more useful.”
She could just imagine how her new husband had used his skills with the French language during the war. Harry had let slip enough clues for Naomi to have a pretty good idea as to what he and the rest of the rogues of the road had got up during their work for the crown.
And now the Prince Regent was doing his best to take Monsale’s title and lands.
So much for rewarding loyalty.
“Yes, well, fortunately for us, my father was insistent on all of his children learning Latin. Mama thought the same thing about it being dusty and boring, but Papa wouldn’t bend. He said it meant we were more than just wealthy farmers,” she replied.
