Her Scoundrel, Bad Luck Wedding #7 (Bad Luck Brides trilogy book two) Read online

  HER SCOUNDREL

  by

  Geralyn Dawson

  Copyright 2005, 2011 by Geralyn Dawson Williams

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this work may be reproduced in any fashion without the express, written consent of the copyright holder.

  Her Scoundrel is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed herein are fictitious and are not based on any real persons living or dead.

  Cover design by Stephanie Knautz

  PROLOGUE

  The Himalayas, 1880

  THE COLD CAME OUT of nowhere. Fierce, bitter wind whipped down from the snowcap and blasted through the mountain passes, a brutal blow of nature that attacked the small caravan winding its way along a rocky, ill-defined trail. Jake Kimball gasped a breath against the cold. The air was painful, a jagged shard of glass slicing his throat and lungs. Within minutes he was chilled to the bone.

  Jake thought they should find cover. Of course, he also thought they should have turned back toward civilization weeks ago. They’d spent almost three months on the trail, on a trip the guides had claimed would take one, and now the first weather front of the season had swept down upon them like a witch’s cold heart. Jake didn’t trust their guides, three Kashmiri men who communicated with silent looks and surreptitious hand gestures that caused his hackles to rise.

  Two weeks ago, with winter on the horizon, the rest of their party had given up and turned back. Jake had talked himself hoarse trying to convince his older brother, Daniel, the expedition leader, to call off this year’s search for Shambhala. Daniel wouldn’t listen to him, however, arguing that Jake was only sixteen, that this was his first expedition. He didn’t have the experience to form an opinion about native guides or trip delays or mountain passes heavy with an aura of foreboding.

  Right.

  Now the howling wind bombarded him and a spitting of moisture stung his cheek. Ice. Sleet.

  The lead horseman kept plodding ahead.

  To hell with this. Jake pulled his horse out of line, gave him a kick, and moved forward to speak with Daniel, who rode right behind the lead guide. The mountain trail had narrowed, forcing Jake to guide his mount with care. It’d be just his bad luck to take a tumble off the side of a mountain during a sleet storm in the middle of nowhere.

  “Dan!” he called through the howling wind. Hunched down in the saddle, his brother didn’t respond. Jake reached out and grabbed his shoulder, giving it a shake. “Daniel!”

  Daniel Kimball looked up, his eyes glassy and feverish. “We’re almost there, Jake. I can sense it. Shambhala. Magic fountains. Flying horses. Trees covered in diamonds and rubies and garlands of jade. It’s waiting for us.”

  Oh, hell. Fear rippled through Jake. Daniel was sick, and it was more than the sickness of obsession that had ruled the man’s actions for years now. Daniel was feverish, swaying in the saddle. They needed to find cover now.

  “I can smell it, Jake. Can you? Perfume. The perfume of life.”

  Jake couldn’t smell anything because his nose was frozen. “Hold on, brother. Just hold on. I’ll take care of you.”

  He nudged his horse forward, calling toward the lead guide. “Hey! My brother is sick. Find us shelter now!”

  The Kashmiri gazed at him through icy blue eyes, then he lifted a long, bony finger and pointed up the trail. Peering through the swirl of sleet and snow, Jake spied a dark indentation in the rock up ahead. A cave. Thank God.

  It took ten long, laborious minutes to reach the cave, the opening of which proved large enough to admit the men and their horses. Jake welcomed shelter from the howling wind with a sigh of relief, then quickly slid from his horse and turned his attention to his brother.

  Daniel’s knees buckled when he dismounted, and he’d have fallen had Jake not been there to catch him. One of the guides spread a blanket against the cave’s wall, and Jake guided his brother to it “Shambhala,” Daniel murmured. “After all these years.”

  Daniel burned with fever. Jake grabbed his canteen off his saddle and put it to his brother’s lips. “Drink,” he demanded. “You need the water.”

  His body trembling, Daniel spilled as much as he swallowed. “I heard the sacred call, Jake. Kalagiya! Now I know the way is open to me.” Then he lapsed into a language Jake couldn’t identify, and his worry escalated.

  Hell. Jake didn’t know what to do for his brother, how to care for him other than to keep him hydrated, warm and dry. He wished they were home where he could send for a physician. He wished he’d listened to their sister, Penny, who’d wanted Jake to learn medicine rather than follow in Daniel’s footsteps obtaining items for their father’s various collections.

  Most of all, Jake wished his brother had never heard of Shambhala.

  Fourteen years older than Jake, Daniel Kimball was seldom around when Jake was growing up. Yet, the times his brother did spend with Jake had had a huge impact on his life. Once he’d actually saved Jake’s life, rescuing him from drowning in a rain-swollen creek. Daniel had acted part father, part brother, and part hero to the impressionable boy. He’d encouraged the dreams and desires and goals that had forged Jake’s life path and brought him here, now, to this cold and lonely mountain.

  Six years ago their father had announced his acquisition of a new prize, a chunk of meteorite he called the Kalikhari Stone. Bernard J. Kimball had then told them the legend of Shambhala. Captivated by the tale, Daniel threw himself into the study of ancient texts, languages, and the science of the occult. He studied Sanskrit and Hebrew and Arabic, and amassed a great library of books, both modern and ancient. He devoted his life to finding the hidden paradise and center of wisdom in the highlands of Central Asia. Jake now feared that his brother’s obsession might cost them both dearly.

  Suddenly Daniel whipped out his arm and grabbed Jake’s forearm, his fingers gripping like a vise. “The stone. The Kalikhari Stone. It belongs here. In the King’s Tower. Get it from my saddlebags. Bring it to me.”

  “You took Father’s hunk of meteorite? Jesus, Daniel. He’ll kill you.”

  Daniel believed that the Kalikhari Stone was part of a larger, magical meteorite that had originated in a solar system in the Orion constellation and possessed occult properties. According to Daniel’s research, the Kalikhari Stone was capable of bestowing extraordinary psychic talents upon its possessor.

  So far, Jake hadn’t noticed any sign of psychic abilities in his father, though he had made yet another fortune in railroad stocks of late. Jake considered the legend a crock of nonsense, but he knew his father and Daniel both put faith in it. He also knew their father would split a gut upon learning that Daniel had stolen his magical stone.

  Lying on his blanket, Daniel started shuddering. Jake glanced toward his brother’s saddlebags. It wouldn’t hurt to do as he asked. Hell, if it could turn a man into a mind reader, maybe it could heal him, too.

  It was only when Jake stood and crossed to his brother’s horse that he noticed the quiet inside the cave. Except for the supply horses, he and Daniel were alone. The guides had disappeared. “What the hell?”

  Jake rushed to the front of the cave, stepped out into what was now swirling snow. He looked up the trail. Down.

  Nothing.

  Dread snaked down his spine. “Don’t panic,” he murmured to himself. “It’s all right. Maybe they’ve gone for help.”

  Yeah, right. Maybe he was back at school in New York, too, passed out and dreaming after a night of drinking single-malt whisky. Maybe this was all just a bad dream. A really bad, really cold dream.


  But in case it wasn’t, he’d better see about survival.

  Jake ducked back into the cave, found his brother sleeping, then spent a few moments seeing to the horses. Once that was done, he built a fire with hands that shook as much from fear as from cold.

  “Jake?” Awake again, his brother watched him with glassy, feverish eyes. “Bring it to me.”

  “The guides are gone, Daniel,” Jake said, hearing the desperation in his own tone. If only he were older, wiser, more experienced! “What do I do? We have a medicine kit somewhere, don’t we? Tell me what I should give you.”

  “The stone.”

  Hell, why not? They could use a bit of magic right about now.

  Jake grabbed Daniel’s saddlebags and began rifling through them. He pulled out a spyglass, a small book of poetry and…a rock. The rock. It was the size of his fist and as black as a tomb. The last time Jake had seen it, the stone was safely beneath display glass in his father’s study.

  “Here you go, Daniel.” He placed the stone in his brother’s hand and wrapped his fingers around it. His brother’s skin radiated heat. Oh, God. Jake’s stomach churned. His heart raced. “What else do I do, Dan? Tell me. Should I leave and look for help? Where should I go?”

  His brother smiled wearily. “Rest, Jake.”

  “But—”

  “Rest. Sleep. Everything will be just fine.”

  Jake didn’t believe that for a minute. He added wood to the fire, then walked to the front of the cave. Outside, the world was white. He spent a good five minutes arguing with himself about whether to leave Daniel in search of help or whether to stay. In the end, he listened to his instincts and decided he’d be foolish to leave the shelter. Where would he go in an ice storm?

  Where would he go when the ice storm ceased?

  Jake raked nervous fingers through his hair. Retracing their steps wasn’t an answer—if it were even possible. It’d been weeks since they’d seen another human being. He hadn’t a clue of what lay ahead. Better to stay here and nurse Daniel through this illness as best he could.

  Decision made, Jake sifted through the supplies, searching for the medicine box and taking stock. They had food for a week, if they were careful. The medicine box held bandages and sewing supplies, headache powders and laudanum. Jake glanced over his shoulder toward his brother. Daniel cradled the rock against his chest, his eyes closed. When he awoke the next time, Jake would give him the headache powder.

  He grabbed a blanket and took a seat between the fire and his brother. In all his sixteen years, Jake had never recalled feeling so helpless, so alone.

  What did it mean that the guides had left all the supplies behind? Maybe they were coming back. Maybe they’d gone for help. It was a comforting thought.

  The fire crackled. Outside the cave, the snow fell. Jake pulled the blanket tighter around himself and wondered how he’d ended up in a cave on the far side of the world when he’d wanted to spend the summer playing baseball.

  Eventually he slept.

  Then Jake Kimball dreamed.

  The sun shines and warms the earth. Birdsong fills the air and a rainbow of flowers dots the landscape. Peace envelops him like a warm breeze.

  A woman appears beside him. She’s tall and slender and beautiful, with long, thick, honey-blond hair and eyes the rich green of springtime. Her cheekbones are high and defined, her nose thin and straight. She wears a flowing gown of emerald silk and a long gold chain around her neck from which dangles a clear crystal the size of a robin’s egg. Her expression is kind.

  Jake sees Daniel walking away. “Dan?”

  His brother doesn’t respond, doesn’t even look back.

  “You must leave here, Jake Kimball,” says the woman.

  “Where is here? Who are you? What is going on?”

  “I am one of many names, in many times, many places. Simply know that I am enlightened. It is time for you to return to your place, Jake Kimball.”

  “Yes. Great. There’s nothing I’d like better. Let me get my brother and we ‘11—”

  “Daniel Kimball shall stay.”

  Dissonance tugs at Jake’s sense of peace. “But Dan…”

  “Daniel Kimball returned the Kalikhari Stone to its rightful home. From this time evermore he is blessed and guarded by Rigden Jye-po, King of Shambhala.”

  “That’s nice, but it doesn’t mean he has to stay here.” Jake tries to move forward, to follow his brother, but an invisible force, a wall of energy, blocks his way.

  “Peace be to you, young Jake. Be joyous for your brother’s good fortune. Know that he will enjoy perfect happiness, that he will never know suffering or want or old age. In Shambhala love and wisdom reign.”

  Anxious now, the peace within him dispersed, Jake struggles against the invisible shield, calling his brother’s name. Finally he rounds on the woman. “Let me talk to him. I want to talk to him.”

  “Go home, young Kimball. Know that your brother is safe and happy. Go home.” She steps past Jake, through the shield that remains impenetrable to Jake. The vision begins to fade.

  “I won’t leave him!” Panic surges through him. “I can’t. He’s my brother. He’s my family. Let him go. Or let me stay. I’ll stay. Daniel, make them let me stay!”

  In the blink of an eye, Daniel stands beside the woman, his warm, western clothing replaced by a robe similar to what she wears. The vision wavers, as if Jake is watching through water. He opens his mouth, attempts to speak directly to Daniel, but no sound emerges.

  “He is not pure of heart,” says the woman.

  Daniel Kimball laughs. “No. My brother has a bit of the devil in him, but that is how it should be. His place is in the other world. However, family is important to my brother. He will not understand. We must give him his family.”

  Solemnly, for a long moment, the woman studies Jake, drawing Jake’s gaze to her. Holding him captive. Finally she nods. “He has fought hard for the love of family. Very well. Hold out your hand, Jake Kimball.”

  With a will of its own, Jake’s arm lifts, his hand extended. A jeweled necklace appears in his palm.

  The chain is long and gold, the pendant rectangular, a large, glowing emerald surrounded by gold filigree. The warm piece seems to vibrate in his hand. It is beautiful, but Jake hasn’t a clue what a necklace has to do with anything.

  “Find the necklace, Jake. Find your family.”

  The vision dissolves right before his eyes, and a bone deep chill chases away the warmth.

  Jake’s eyes flew open to a hazy half light. He lay flat on his back, his heart pounding, his pulse racing. Where the hell was he?

  The cave. He must have fallen asleep. He’d dreamed. A vivid, colorful dream.

  A frightening dream.

  Jake sat up, rubbed the back of his neck and attempted to get his bearings. How long had he been asleep? It felt like forever. Last he remembered was Daniel…Daniel. Oh, hell.

  He twisted his head toward the blanket where his brother had lain, saying, “How you feeling, Dan? Dan!”

  The blanket lay wadded in a ball against the wall. Daniel was nowhere to be seen. Jake rolled to his feet and hurried to the front of the cave. Outside, the sky had cleared and the wind had warmed. Snow and ice were melting.

  The Kashmiri guides had returned.

  Jake breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re back. Good. Where’s my brother? He must be feeling better, right?” He’d probably gone looking for a bush to take care of personal business.

  One of the guides gestured toward Jake’s horse, surprisingly saddled and waiting in line, a line pointed down the mountain, back in the direction from which they had come. “We leave now.”

  “Good. It’s about damned time.” Jake strode over to his horse, took the reins and put one foot in the stirrup. He gazed up and down the trail, searching for sight of his brother. “Hurry up, Daniel,” he called. ‘Time is awastin’.”

  The lead guide moved out. Jake put his foot back on the ground. “Hold on. Wait a minut
e. Daniel’s not back yet.”

  The man on the horse in front of him twisted around in his saddle. “Daniel Kimball will not return. Daniel Kimball will remain in Shambhala.”

  Everything inside Jake went cold. “What did you say?”

  “You must leave here, Jake Kimball,” the guide responded, echoing the words Jake had heard in his dream.

  His dream. No. That’s all it was. It was just a dream.

  Jake drew a long, deep breath, then shouted, “Daniel!”

  All Jake heard was the echo of his own voice.

  Then above him, high on the current of air, soared a golden bird. It swooped down toward him, circling once, twice. It let out a haunting cry and the guides dropped to their knees, bowed their heads and cried, “Great One. Oh Great One of Altai.”

  The bird dipped, flying so low that Jake could see its eyes. Deep green. Emerald green. The color of a woman’s eyes. The color of the necklace in his dream.

  The bird cawed once, twice, then a third time. Then it rose on the wind, soaring high, the graceful beat of its wings carrying it rapidly away until it became but a spot in the sky. Until it vanished.

  That’s when Jake knew. It hadn’t been a dream. The verdant oasis. The earthly paradise where only the pure of heart could reside. His brother, his hero, had found his Shambhala.

  And he’d left Jake out in the cold.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Galveston Island, Texas, 1891

  HE STOOD WAIST DEEP in water, shirtless, broad of shoulder and corded with muscle, his deeply tanned skin glistening beneath the winter sunshine. His dark hair was sun bleached and shaggy, and hung over his face as he gazed down at the object he carefully washed in sea water.

  “Is that him?” Kat McBride asked her brother-in-law, Luke Garrett. “Is that Jake Kimball?”

  “I think so. Most of our dealings were with his father. I only met him in person once, and at the time he was knee-deep in women and drowning in alcohol.” Scowling, Luke added, “He looked different then. He had clothes on.”