Legacy of the Diamond (Black Diamond 1)

“That means only that he’s elsewhere, not that he’s dead.”

A triumphant gleam lit Scollard’s eyes. “Good for you. Courtney can’t understand as such—not yet. And while it’s true Lexley divulged his heroic acts to you, it was you who approached him.”

“Why didn’t you tell Courtney what Lexley had done?”

“I didn’t know. Probably because Courtney wasn’t ready to hear. I told her all that was in my power to grasp, explained that there are some ties that can be broken, others that cannot—and that it was up to her to discern the difference.”

“Knowing Courtney, she must have assumed you were referring to spiritual ties.”

A smile. “You know your betrothed well. In any case, I clarified the point as best I was able, reassuring her that if memories can’t be silenced, spiritual bonds can’t be broken, while physical bonds can. That if however, was Courtney’s dilemma. She couldn’t recall what was never hers to know. Awareness of the Channel’s currents was precluded by her perpetual seasickness. Therefore, her faith was splintered.”

“Faith that was perpetuated by vivid dreams and a broken timepiece that moved at will.”

“Ah, the timepiece. A remarkable treasure. A thwarted ship; a lighthouse that beckons. Like an ailing man struggling to heal, and the quiet inlet that houses him. Yes, Courtney’s mother gave her husband the perfect wedding gift. As you’ll give to your wife.” A faraway gleam. “Precisely what she’s prayed for, in fact.”

“What she’s prayed for is her father,” Slayde responded fervently. “For his safety. If I’m able to give her the perfect gift, then that gift would be her father. ’Tis all she’s ever asked for. That and a puppy who needed her—” He broke off, Scollard’s words striking home. “ ‘Like an ailing man struggling to heal, and the quiet inlet that houses him.’ Is that man Courtney’s father?”

“A fortnight ago, that perception would have eluded you. ’Tis amazing how wisdom springs from faith. Like love and need, faith is an intangible entity, yet far stronger than that which the eye can behold. You’ve come a long way, my lord.”

“You’re telling me Arthur Johnston is alive.”

With a flourish, Mr. Scollard finished his tea. “June birthdays are lovely, don’t you think?” he inquired, setting down his cup. “Nearly as lovely as June weddings. The two together would be a bride’s dream, wouldn’t you say?”

“If that woman is Courtney, yes,” Slayde agreed, his mind racing. “Where shall I look? Where can I find him?”

“You’re so certain he’s alive?”

“Yes. I’m certain.”

The lighthouse keeper squeezed his eyes shut, then nodded. “You are indeed.” A pause. “You’ve looked in the most crucial of places—and you’ve found what you sought. The rest is simple, for it involves only beginning with the information you’ve acquired and employing logic. And logic, my lord, is your forte.” With a satisfied nod, Mr. Scollard opened his eyes. “I do believe Courtney’s patience is paying off. Her confusion is, as I vowed, giving way to enlightenment. My insights alone could never have unclouded her vision. But the other I spoke to her of—he can accomplish what my gift cannot.”

“He?” Slayde gripped his knees, leaned forward. “Am I the he of whom you speak?”

“As I told Courtney, listen with your heart. It won’t fail you.” Abruptly, Mr. Scollard went rigid, his mouth thinning into a grim line. “Danger,” he muttered. “It stalks Courtney like a predator. After today, there will be no protection. ’Tis up to you, my lord. You alone can prevent the danger from seizing her.”

“How?” Slayde demanded, his heart pounding in his chest. “What can I do to keep her safe?”

“You must be there to see. Another must search. You cannot place Courtney in any hands other than your own, not once you’ve made the brief visit fate now commands you to make.”

Slayde didn’t need to ask what the lighthouse keeper meant. Nor did he need to consider his reaction. “Fate doesn’t take precedence over Courtney,” he pronounced, coming to his feet. “If she’s in danger, I’ll abandon my plan to face Morland and head directly back to Pembourne.”

“No.” Scollard shook his head. “Go you must. So long as you’re confronting the duke, the peril will be held at bay.”

“In other words, Morland can’t hurt her if he isn’t there.”

“Those are your words, not mine.” Scollard rose as well. “But you have ghosts to put to rest. Do so. Then return to your home, your sister, and your future bride.”

“I’ll be back at Pembourne before dark.” Slayde began pacing, hands clasped behind his back as he employed the logic of which Mr. Scollard spoke. “I’ll speak with Oridge—his colleagues are all highly respected. He’ll recommend someone qualified to find Courtney’s father. That will allow me to remain at Pembourne while still recovering the gift I’m determined to give my wife-to-be.”

“A sound plan.”

Slayde’s brow furrowed in concentration. “An inlet, you said? You picture nothing more?”

“A quiet inlet,” Scollard amended. “Other than that, I sense onl

y a will struggling to remain unbroken and a body struggling to heal.”

“Just like Courtney when I first brought her to Pembourne,” Slayde noted softly. “And she prevailed. So will her father. I’ll see to it.” His jaw set. “A quiet inlet—there aren’t many of those along the coast from Devon to Cornwall. Yes, ’tis enough to go on.”