Twin Flames (Twin Flames #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

“ A ccording to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves.” Plato

York, present day

Cara Bailey arrived at the entrance of The Olde York Bookstore , her favourite antiquarian bookshop in York. The shop, situated in a half-timbered Tudor building, meandered across three floors. It could do with a new coat of paint, yet despite the shabby exterior, the shop emitted a welcoming glow.

Cara stepped inside, out of the bright morning sunshine and the chime of a ceremonious bell announced her arrival.

‘Hello Cara,’ called the proprietor with a big smile.

There weren’t many traditional bookshops around anymore, and she’d been a loyal customer since her student days. Cara had come to collect a copy of a rare textbook she’d ordered for her latest project.

‘Good morning, John. How are you?’

‘Very well, thank you. I believe we have something for you.’

‘Yes. That’s right. I’ll have a wander upstairs first.’

‘No problem.’

‘It’s such a treasure trove in here; there’ll be something I can’t resist.’

She walked up the spiral staircase and then scanned the shiny shelves looking for something special to jump out at her. There was typically at least one book in the history section she was compelled to buy, and she fancied a new historical novel too. Cara took care not to confuse fact with fiction in her work because the lines could so easily blur. There was always an intriguing thread to follow; a detail or an idea she’d not come across before. Widely recognised as a pre-eminent authority on the Tudor period, Cara loved her job.

A quiet contentment washed over her, and she exhaled slowly, enjoying the moment. If there was such a thing as a happy place, this bookshop was hers. She had poignant childhood memories of trailing from bookcase to bookcase, after her father.

It was unusual to meet anyone in the history section at this time of day. She spotted a dark-haired man in the far corner who was engrossed in a book. She didn’t give him any further thought; he appeared lost in his own world.

Cara studied the shelves. A glossy gold and rich burgundy tome on the top shelf caught her eye. She stretched on tiptoe to try to extract it. It was no good. Her height wasn’t sufficient to hook the edge of the book with her fingertips. She scanned the area and noticed a thick wooden stepladder, which she dragged across the carpet. Cara rushed up the steps, and her fingers touched the book as the toe of her shoe snagged the hem of her skirt. Losing her balance, she cried out. Unable to regain her footing, she tumbled off the steps. She landed in a heap on the thick red pile carpet and banged her head on the bottom of the stepladder. Cara lay still, temporarily oblivious to her fate.

A moment passed before she opened her eyes to see the dark-haired man hovering over her.

‘What happened?’ she said, as she searched his handsome face.

She pulled herself up on to her elbows and winced at the sharp pain that pumped through her skull.

‘I don’t know. One minute you were on the ladder, and the next, boom—I heard you cry out and saw you lose your footing, but I couldn’t make it over in time to catch you. Are you okay? You hit the ground with such a thump. You gave me quite a fright,’ he said.

Lines of concern creased the delicate skin around his liquid brown eyes, and for no apparent reason, Cara’s heart lurched. Why was his face familiar?

Although fuzzy headed, she experienced a flash of recognition, as if she knew him. She’d known something similar before, but only with places, not people. Perhaps she was concussed.

Then came a whooshing sound; at first soft, but gradually building into a piercing crescendo. It was an eerie high-pitched noise which haunted her ears. The man’s face grew hazy and then disappeared. The floor tilted, she had a sensation of falling and reached out to try and grab something.

Was it an earthquake? She dismissed the notion. She tried to steady herself and clutched at a pillar as the bookshelves whizzed around her.

What the. . .

She stared into a misty vortex as chilled air strangled her throat. She coughed and gasped for breath.

And then she was gone.

Newgate Prison, London, 1536

Cara saw two candles glowing on a wooden chest in the corner of the dingy room. She was surprised to find herself sitting on a hard, cold floor. Her last memory was of bookshelves and a handsome face. She stared about her in dismay.

A grubby, short man with unkempt grey hair, called out in a rasping voice, ‘Now, now ladies and gents, keep the noise down, please. We’ve had quite enough rabbiting for one day. We’ll see what His Majesty’s service has planned for you tomorrow shall we, on your day in court? You’d better get yourselves a good night’s sleep because it might be your last before your necks meet the noose.’

His sinister laugh echoed around the freezing cell as the door slammed and his keys jangled in the lock. Cara shivered and ran her hands up and down her arms in an attempt to warm her chilled skin.

Her eyes adjusted to the meagre light and she was surprised to find the man from the bookshop sitting alongside her on the floor. Her hand lay casually across his thigh. It was an intimate gesture, and he seemed at ease as if it was the most normal arrangement. The disconcerting thing was that it felt normal to her too.

‘Don’t worry my darling wife. We’ll figure this out. It’s simply an unfortunate misunderstanding. At least the children will be fine at Willow Manor with my parents, and they won’t know any different.’

I’m in prison. Wife, children, Willow Manor!

He turned and pulled her slim body against his and stroked her tangled hair. Her eyelids grew heavy, and a wave of exhaustion hit her as she slumped on his shoulder and took solace in his embrace.

George savoured the comforting tickle of his wife’s breath on his neck as she dozed. He didn’t want to move for fear of disturbing her. They’d been apart for too long; he’d yearned to have her close and had been terrified he would never see her again after the recent tumultuous days at King Henry’s court.

Unlike most marriages between nobles, theirs was a love match. Cara had been Anne Boleyn’s favourite lady-in-waiting right up until the end. How could they have known the threat of the executioner would be the outcome of Cara’s royal appointment to the queen? And even if they had known when Cara received the summons to join George at court, they had no choice but to obey the royal edict.

George grew weary and lost track of time; it could have been five or forty minutes later. He removed his jacket, taking care not to wake Cara. She stirred as he folded the material into a makeshift pillow and eased her head down on to it so she could sleep undisturbed. He had work to do, and he wanted her to gather her strength. She had endured a terrible few days, not knowing what had become of him after he was arrested. He must find a way to get them out of here before the trial tomorrow. They were accused of treason and Cara faced an additional charge of witchcraft. If they went before Henry VIII’s court, the odds would be stacked against them, and they would have little chance of escaping the hangman.

George wouldn’t permit anything to happen to Cara. What would become of their boy, Thomas, and their daughter, May, if they were both executed? Besides, he’d rather die than lose her. Life would be unbearable without Cara in his world.

Failure was not an option. He must find a way to save his family, and he must act now, or it would be too late.

‘May I serve you, my lord?’ asked an impish looking lad emerging from the shadows. He was scrawny, but George guessed he must be at least nine years of age. He had wise eyes which belied his years.

George was startled. ‘How do you know who I am?’

‘My eldest brother is in your service in York, Sir: he’s a stable boy. Never seen him so content. He sings your praises. He said you run a fine household and treat your servants fair.’

The boy doffed his cap and inclined his head towards him.

Possible plans flitted about George’s tired brain, but options were limited with the trial due to take place early tomorrow morning.

‘That’s very kind of you. I may need your help. What’s your name, boy?’

‘Everyone calls me Swifty on account of my being so quick.’

‘I see,’ said George, smiling at the boy and instantly liking him.

He sensed he could trust him.

‘I can help you to escape, my lord. I’ve been locked in here before and escaped through the secret cellar. The night guard is a drunk and sleeps like the dead once he’s down. I’m planning to make a run for it tonight.’

‘If you truly can help us to escape before the trial, we’ll take you with us, and you will be well rewarded for your efforts. Now tell me, how on earth do we get out of this hellhole?’

Swifty held up one grubby finger and pressed it tightly against his lips, urging George to be quiet. He turned and beckoned George to follow him and then darted towards the other side of the long, dimly lit cell.

‘Here, my lord, do you see over there?’ the boy pointed to the bottom section of the filthy wall. ‘If it’s the same as last time I was in the clink, we can squeeze through. It’s stinky and dangerous though, my lord. I don’t know if my lady will be able to get down there. It ain’t no place for a lady.’

‘Don’t worry about that. She’s no ordinary lady. Show me exactly what you mean.’

They knelt next to the wall, and George saw what the boy meant. He could hear a gurgle below and the stench accosted his nostrils as he lowered his head. It was a long shot, but he believed they could squeeze through the narrow opening and enter the putrid underworld of Newgate. From there, Swifty assured him, they would be able to make a dash for it before daylight.

‘There’s something I haven’t told you though, my lord.’

‘Oh dear, I thought it sounded too simple. What may that be then?’

‘Others have tried to escape this way and been ambushed by prison guards as they came out. It all depends who’s on duty at the exit.’

George ran his hand through his hair and shot a rueful look at the boy. ‘We take the risk of being slaughtered by crossbow or being hauled before the court with a high probability of facing the hangman by dusk tomorrow. I fancy our chances against the crossbow.’

George and Swifty huddled in the corner and began planning the details of their escape from Newgate Prison.