Regina Jeffers - Vampire Darcy's Desire

Darcy cupped her chin in his other hand.“Damon says we have a great love, one to surpass that of our famous relatives.”

“One equal to the love of Arawn and Ellender would satisfy me. Even in death, she longed to sleep once more in his arms. Can you imagine such a love, Fitzwilliam?”

“Every time I look into your eyes, Elizabeth.” For long moments they remained locked in total surrender to each other. Surrounded by death, they found life. “Let us give Lady Ellender the release for which she has longed for two centuries. Tonight, Her Ladyship will sleep with her Lord Thomas.” Darcy climbed from the ledge and helped Elizabeth down to stand in front of him.

“These events were horrendous, but we must think of the good we leave behind: a community free to begin life again and an end to the unspeakable terror plaguing them.”

Hand in hand, they entered Lady Ellender’s spacious vault and made their farewells. As Gordy predicted, the men finished by midafternoon. All one and twenty graves turned, the Darcys left the priest to deliver his blessings. Returning to the inn, they waited patiently for the colonel’s arrival.

Damon Fitzwilliam hated boats of any size, from rowboats to the largest warships. It was not that he held a fear of drowning; he actually swam very well. But the rolling of the ship upon the water affected his inner balance, and he always felt weak and not much of a man when his stomach pitched and heaved on its own.

With Wickham’s coffin aboard, the small fishing boat cut through the rough waters of the North Sea. The rocking made Damon count to ten for the hundredth time as he took great gulps of air to settle the queasy feeling rumbling through him.

“Ye be lookin’ for one of St. Cuthbert’s miracles on the Holy Isle?” the ship’s captain asked out of curiosity. For what the colonel was paying him, the captain did not care why the military officer wished to go to the island.

Damon looked confused, but then realized the fishing captain thought he wanted to take his deceased passenger to the monastery of St. Cuthbert, known to bring about inexplicable healing. “No…no, nothing of that sort. Just a dying wish that I intend to fulfill.” He prayed that God would forgive the lie.

“I see,” said the man, although he did not understand why it was so important to take the body to Lindisfarne that day. “We be in harbor in ’nother half hour.”

“Thank you, Captain. I will be ready.”

Landing in the harbor of a small fishing village on the southwestern tip of the island, the colonel, Peter, and two of the men from the ship—whom he had agreed to pay extra—took off for the interior, carrying the coffin and several shovels. Expecting sandy, barren beaches, the fertile rise of land surprised him. There were hundreds of birds, which did not shock him, but also rabbits and other small game, which did. In the distance, Damon saw the ruins of the old tumbledown monastery, and he chuckled at the irony of placing Wickham’s bones within view of holy markers.

“This looks good,” he said to the men as he prepared to lower the coffin to the ground. They had walked nearly a mile inland. “We were to choose a place close to running water.” He offered no other explanation, and the locals asked for none from an outsider.

For nearly an hour, the four of them took turns digging a hole deep enough for a burial place. The process was slower than they had expected.Although the land was richly black and fertile, it was laced with rocks, and they good-naturedly stacked them in their own improvised altar.

“Here be ’nother one.” Peter handed a heavy stone up to one of the fishermen. He and the colonel took their turns in the hole while the other two men rested.

“At this rate, we will never finish. If we had not wasted so much time digging this far, I would choose another spot.”

Suddenly, the sound of running feet caught their attention, and Damon and Peter scrambled from the grave to find what caused such urgency. A boy from the ship scurried up the incline to meet them. Completely out of breath, the lad gulped for air, bent over at the waist, unable to deliver his message.

“What be it, Boy?” one of the fishermen demanded, impatient for the news.

The youth caught a few more deep breaths before he straightened. “Captain sent me,” he began. “Bad storm comin’. We be weighin’ anchor within the hour.”

“It will take another hour to dig this grave,” Damon reminded them.

“Captain say he wait no longer. He be ’fraid of losin’ the boat. The sea be rough on the return as is.”

“What do we do, Colonel?” Peter looked about. There was nothing in sight where they might find refuge.

Damon looked at the coffin and then back at the men.“Could we put the box in the ground as far as it will go and then cover it with these stones?”

“Makes sense to me, Colonel,” one of the fishermen responded, and he picked up the shovels to move them out of the way.“Centuries ago, no one be put in the ground. Cold in the north and people used stones because the ground be frozen.”

“Then let us make haste,” Damon said, his military training taking over.

The coffin still needed about three inches to be fully flush with the surface, but they adjusted it as best they could. Then they began placing the bigger stones upon the lid. The youth brought handfuls of small ones to fill in the gaps. Soon the rocky mound was complete.

“Grab the shovels, Boy,” the larger fisherman ordered. “The captain be a man of his word. He leave us if we be late.”

They began their tramp back to the fishing village. Damon instantly regretted his choice: He had promised Darcy that he would see to the burial, but he had failed. He just could not face a storm at sea in such a small boat.

Reaching the harbor, they found the captain pacing the dock, looking for them. “It be past time,” he called as they all clambered aboard. “Small boats already be in dock and tied down.” He hurried in behind them and started barking out orders to set them in motion.

Damon retreated to one of the inner walls. He could not stand

“Be back on land shortly,” the captain assured him as they got under way.

Damon nodded in agreement. Shortly would not be fast enough for him.

“It is fine, Damon.” Darcy accepted his cousin’s apology again for his inability to complete the task.“You did the right thing; I would not want to put others in danger.”

“Besides,” Elizabeth added, “placing stones on the grave is one of the suggested methods to retard a vampire’s release.”

Damon looked at her with thankfulness; she would not criticize him even if she knew the entire reason for his failure. “You are so kind, Mrs. Darcy.You take away the sting of my self-censure.”

“I speak the truth, Colonel,” she protested.

“So do I, Madam.”

They took supper in Darcy’s room, dressed casually for the evening and leisurely relaxing into the furniture. They would see no one regarding their recent activities, needing time to unwind naturally.

“I insist, Darcy, that we return in the spring and finish the task. I will not rest until it is so.” Damon poured himself a cup of tea and then reached for another of the buttered rolls.

“Although in retrospect, it does seem foolish to go to such extremes, we will address it when the weather is more cooperative.” Darcy reclined across the bed rather than sit at the table. His back wound needing attention after his task of staking the deceased today; he now allowed Elizabeth to nurse him properly.

Damon glanced at Elizabeth, fluffing the pillows behind Darcy’s head. Feeling out of place in the domestic scene, he asked, “How long will you remain in Stanwick?”