The Black Diamond (Black Diamond 2)

"Geoffrey drew that?" Surprised, Aurora walked over, closely examining the diagram, which appeared to be a vast expanse of land strewn with large sections of hedges, delineated by two paths leading south to the manor below—one from the stables, the other from the gardens—and a third path winding about from the tenants' quarters north to the far grounds of the estate.

"He did indeed. If you look closely, you'll see his signature and the date. I should know. I spent over an hour scrutinizing the bloody sketch in the hopes that it would provide us with a clue. Unfortunately it's precise but unrevealing."

"Precise," Aurora muttered. "Like a falcon. Ironic, given that Geoffrey was the Fox. Then again, equally ironic that you're the Merlin. Almost as if fate wanted to ensure that Geoffrey and James's partnership prevailed—as they themselves did with the equal division of their legacy." She studied the diagram, marveling at the time it had taken to capture such detail. "You're right. Hugh did inherit his great-grandfather's skill. It's astonishing how vivid these paths look, almost as if they're all rushing purposefully toward specific destinations." She traced the two converging lines with her forefinger. "These two are surging toward the hedges surrounding the manor, first separately, then as one. And this one—" She pointed to the rambling path leading from the tenants' quarters. "This one's veering north, to disappear completely." A fascinated smile touched her lips. "Do you know, this whole drawing reminds me of a legend Mr. Scollard likes to tell—he's shared it with me many times, probably because it's been a favorite of mine since I was eight."

"And which legend is that?" Julian asked with an indulgent grin.

"The legend of the Tamar River. Do you know it?"

"All I know of the Tamar is what I discovered navigating it. It's incredibly picturesque, winding through hills and valleys, flanked by villages and limestone peaks as it divides Cornwall from Devon and flows down to Plymouth. That whole region breeds the sort of lyricism poets write about. So while I'm not familiar with any particular legend regarding the Tamar, I'm not surprised one exists."

"Would you like to hear it?"

A chuckle. "I'd be delighted."

"The legend explains how the Tamar got its name." Aurora gazed at the drawing, lost in her story. "The river was named after a beautiful sea nymph—Tamara—who in ancient times lived in a cave far beneath the earth and wanted desperately to see the magnificent colorful world she knew existed above. So despite her father's warnings that giants tread the grounds of Dartmoor directly above, she found her way to the surface only to discover her father's warnings had indeed been true. Two giants—Tavy and Torridge—saw her and fell in love with her, each determined to have her for his own. They pursued her across the moors to the North Cornish coast, where they captured her and demanded she choose between them. Her father, furious that she'd disobeyed him but unable to convince her to return, used his magic to cast the giants into a deep sleep and to transform Tamara into a silver flowing stream. When Tavy awakened, he sought his own father, who used his enchantment to convert his son into a stream that rushed across the moors and wound its way through the woodland in pursuit of Tamara. Tavy found her at last, and they joined together, flowing slowly into the Hamoaze. As for Torridge, he, too, managed to be transformed into a stream, but became confused and ran about in the wrong direction, heading north through the hills where he spilled into the Atlantic Ocean." Aurora touched the line that in Geoffrey's drawing was the path, leading from the tenants' quarters northward. "This would be Torridge, rushing north through the woods to disappear into the ocean. And these—" She traced the two lines on the diagram that headed south, converging in the front section of the hedges that enveloped Morland Manor. "—these would be Tamara and Tavy, meeting in Dartmoor, near Tavistock, and flowing together to the sea."

"Meeting in…" Julian's expression sharpened, his eyes narrowed on the sketch. "Did you say that legend is well known?"

"Why, yes, I suppose so. Mr. Scollard has recounted it often enough."

Abruptly Julian shot to his feet, crossing over to Aurora in four long strides. "Repeat that final part—about the two rivers meeting."

Aurora shot him a puzzled look. "I never suspected you to be such a romantic. Very well. These paths here resemble the course Tamara and Tavy took as they merged in Tavistock and flowed toward the Hamoaze."

"That's it."

"What's it?"

"You just gave us our answer." Julian pointed to the area on the sketch depicting the manor, the section where the two paths merged and wound their way downward. "The strongbox is somewhere in this vicinity."

"Julian, what in the name of heaven are you talking about?"

"Think, Rory. I suspected the strongbox was at Morland, yet it was nowhere to be found. So I decided it wasn't the box itself James and Geoffrey had concealed here, but a clue leading to its recovery. As it turns out, it was both. The clue is right here, staring us in the face. And the box? Figuratively it's in Morland Manor, just as the sketch depicts. Actually it's somewhere beyond the moors of Devonshire, between Tavistock and Calstock."

Aurora's eyes widened. "You're saying Geoffrey drew this sketch as some sort of secret map?"

"Exactly. Look closely and think of your legend. If these two paths represent the two rivers, and Morland Manor represents the place where they meet, then these smaller hedges in front of the manor are the hills of Tavistock and the tall hedges behind the manor are the limestone cliffs that lead to the ocean. See the different shapes? That's precisely the way the cliffs look, at times split by crevices, at times soaring into towering summits that pierce the sky."

"Yes—it makes sense." Aurora's heart began slamming against her ribs, her gaze poring over the entire section of the sketch that defined Morland Manor. "No wonder Mr. Scollard kept reiterating that particular legend to me. When will I learn that everything he says means more than it seems, even if I don't realize it at the time? He obviously knew I would someday need that information to…"

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She broke off as with a rush of exhilaration she located what she sought.

"Julian, look." Her hand shook as she pointed to the base of the first rear hedge—a blurry section that was nearly lost beneath the majestic peak that rose from its foundation. "There's a heavy pencil mark here—rather like a filled-in circle—that doesn't seem to belong. Do you suppose…?"

"Indeed I do." Julian studied the spot, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "What better place to conceal the strongbox than in a crevice at the base of a lone cliff? 'Tis ideal, brilliant. And so are you." He pulled Aurora into his arms, kissing her fiercely then releasing her. "Let's go."

"Go?" Her breath caught, and not only from the impact of Julian's kiss, but from the implication of his words. "To the cliffs?"

"Absolutely." Julian's expression reflected her own wild exhilaration. He reached into his pocket, extracting the key he'd found at James's falcon cages. "Come, my beautiful adventurer. 'Tis time to explore Mr. Scollard's legend, to see where your nymph Tamara and her giant Tavy take us."

Aurora's enraptured gaze lifted from the key to her husband. "Lead on, Merlin. To our next adventure—and to the recovery of James's strongbox."

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Chapter 9