Tudor Reunion Tour Read online

  Tudor Reunion Tour

  by

  Jamie Salisbury

  Book 3 of the Tudor Dynasty series

  Tudor Reunion Tour

  Copyright © 2013 Jamie Salisbury

  All rights reserved. Without reserving the rights under copyright, reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or any other means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are the product of the author's imagination and are used fictitiously.

  Chapter One

  Zara

  Scotland

  “She’s quite beautiful you know, Zara. You and Amadeus must be so proud.”

  That voice. I’d know that voice anywhere. How in the hell did he get into my house?

  “Johnny Roberts!” I hissed as he walked slowly, cocky as ever from the shadows out of the corner of the room. “How the hell did you get in here?”

  “It wasn’t as hard as you might think, Zara. That security Amadeus hired? Pretty damn pitiful excuse for a security detail.” He held on to a screaming Elizabeth, her little body dangling in the one arm he used to hold her. I had to get her away from him.

  Johnny was the one person from his band, Tudor Rose, Amadeus did not invite back to rejoin the group for this tour. This was the exact reason why, his snarky attitude. Obviously he wasn’t happy about being left out.

  Lurching forward, catching Johnny off guard, I snatched Elizabeth out of his arm. Not expecting my sudden move, he let go of her quickly. I had no idea what he meant to do, but I wasn’t going to let him do it without a fight. I could scream, but I didn’t think anyone would hear me. I clutched Elizabeth in my arms. As I neared the stairway, I twisted, kicked him hard in the shin, and started running up the stairs as fast as I could.

  Johnny grunted and swore, “Bitch.”

  There was a phone in our bedroom. I slammed the door shut, locked it, wedged a heavy and stout wood chair beneath the knob, and raced for the phone. Elizabeth was wailing at the top of her lungs. Amadeus and I kept a portable playpen in our bedroom to put her in those times she woke up early or I needed to work upstairs. I set her down in it, reassuring her as best I could that everything would be fine.

  My hands were shaking as I jerked up the receiver and punched in the emergency number. I could hear Johnny outside the door, turning the knob, swearing when it didn’t open, ramming his shoulder against the thick slab of wood.

  Wood cracked. Any second Johnny would burst through the door. “You’re dead, you hear me, bitch? First I’m gonna fuck you, then I’m going to kill you.”

  I was shaking now, terrified of what would happen once he got into the room. Oh God! I put the phone down on the table. Whoever answered would hear what was going on. I needed a way to defend myself. For God’s sake—the gun Amadeus kept in the nightstand drawer!

  I fumbled for a moment then picked it up along with the box of shells. He didn’t keep it loaded. The cardboard cut one of my fingers. My hands were shaking so badly I nearly dropped the box. I shoved the bullets in, closed the cylinder, and aimed it toward the door.

  “Get away from the door, Johnny! I’ve got a gun in here, and it’s pointed right at you! Get away or I swear I’ll pull the trigger.”

  “Zara, fuck you. Amadeus has no guns, he hates them. No, I’m gonna kill you, and I’m gonna do it slow, real slow while your baby watches.” He threw his weight against the door one last time, splintering the wood, and I fired the pistol.

  The shot was deafening in the small bedroom. My ears rang as I pulled the trigger a second time, heard it rip through the wood, then the door gave completely away and crashed onto the floor in front of me.

  Johnny Roberts sprawled on top of it, his eyes bulging like an Easter Island Moai, arms and legs bent in unnatural positions, blood pooling, a bright red puddle that spread like a growing tide all over the door, pumping out of Johnny’s chest. Suddenly his chest quit heaving. He was dead.

  Elizabeth was terrified, sobbing uncontrollably. I rushed over towards her, picking her up, trying to comfort her. She was inconsolable. I realized the phone was still where I’d left it. I put the receiver to my ear and heard someone on the other end shouting, wanting to know what was going on.

  “You need to send someone out to Peter McNichol’s farm now! I just killed an intruder.”

  “Are you alright ma’am?”

  “Yes, hurry, please!”

  I put the phone down and bounced Elizabeth in my arms, trying to assure her that everything would be fine. But would it? What the hell had I done?

  “Come on, sweetie, let’s go downstairs so we don’t have to look at this. I promise everything is okay now.”

  I walked toward the bedroom door opening and stopped. I knew I had to not disturb the crime scene, but I also knew I had to get Elizabeth and me away from the horror.

  No more had I made my way to the living room than the sound of sirens coming down the farm road hit us and Elizabeth, who had been calming down somewhat, cranked back up in a fitful wail.

  I don’t know how much time had passed from the time the police arrived. I sat in the kitchen and, in detail, described everything that had transpired that afternoon to the inspectors. Somehow Elizabeth had finally fallen asleep in my arms, exhausted, I was sure, from all the madness of the day. I finally stood up and placed her in the bouncy seat that was still on the kitchen counter.

  I turned around to see Amadeus rushing into the room. He came right to me. “God, Zara.” He gathered me closer, buried his face in my hair, and I clung to him. “I’ve never been so scared in my life. Are you okay?”

  I nodded against his shoulder. “I shot him, Amadeus. I killed Johnny Roberts.”

  “You had no choice, Zara. He would have killed you and Elizabeth if you hadn’t. I’m just thankful you remembered the gun.”

  Crying now, I told Amadeus, “He and Amber and Don and the lot of them? They’re behind everything. Angus had nothing to do with any of it. They were setting him up.”

  “I know, Zara, I know. The detectives have been filling me in with what they know.”

  “What happens now, Amadeus?”

  “Well, we can’t stay here. The house is a crime scene. As soon as the inspectors are finished with us, we’ll go find a hotel to check into in Edinburgh.”

  “Mr. McNichol’s farm manager said he was trying to find him to let him know.” One of the detectives, or inspectors as they’re known in Scotland, stepped into the kitchen. “There’s really nothing more we need from your wife tonight, Mr. Tudor. Why don’t the two of you go on to a hotel? When we lock up, we’ll be taping off the house until we have finished processing the scene.”

  “I need to pack a bag. For all of us,” I heard myself say to no one in particular.

  As if reading my thoughts, Amadeus took my hand. “Come on, I’ll take you upstairs. Elizabeth will be fine.”

  “Be careful what you touch up there,” the inspector called out. “This is a crime scene.”

  We made our way to the bedroom, being careful not to disturb anything along the way. I packed a bag for myself, and as I finished that, I noticed Amadeus packing one for himself as well, trying to help me out. I went into Elizabeth’s room and packed a large bag, knowing we could always go out for diapers later. Just take enough to get us through the night.

  Johnny Roberts lost his life because of jealousy. Pure and simple. Top it off with anger, anger because Amadeus had not included him as part of his band for an upcoming concert tour. Anger and jeal
ousy of the three successful Tudor brothers. It all made for a deadly combination with a disastrous result for Johnny.

  Amadeus

  How the police found me as quick as they did I have no idea; I’m just thankful they did. The mere thought that I could have lost Zara and Elizabeth is incomprehensible. The fact that it had been one of my oldest friends who had done this was unbelievable. No, actually, it wasn’t. It seems that Zara and I can’t trust anyone anymore. People I have known for most of my life all want to do me or my family harm. And for what reason? Jealousy, one of the roots of all evil.

  Johnny had no reason to be jealous. I paid him well, better than most I like to think. But he wanted more. He wanted what he couldn’t have. Look what it got him. Thank God, Zara remembered I kept that gun in the night stand. I don’t even want to think of what the outcome might have been if she hadn’t.

  And then there’s my brother Angus. I dread to think what could have transpired. He was accused of some pretty horrific things. He had been sitting on a landmine and couldn’t let anyone know, not even the police. Who would have believed him? Now with Johnny gone, perhaps everything would come out in the open, once and for all.

  The world has gotten way too small any more. Zara and I left Seattle to escape exactly this type of thing. Jealous people. We’d had to endure all sorts of things no couple ought to. I was poisoned, most likely by Don Roberts. He’s been a suspect, but the police have never been able to prove he was involved. Nothing concrete. If Don and they were out to kill me, it didn’t work—I landed in a coma for five or six months. Poor Zara, she looked after me the entire time, putting me above herself and our unborn child. A son, Wolfgang, who we lost.

  It played hell on our marriage. I blamed her for everything and I almost lost her, lost the one constant in my life. But thank goodness Zara is as strong as she is. She knows me well enough to know when to back away and let me stew in my own juices. In the end it all worked out, and I’d like to think our marriage is stronger because of it.

  We moved to Scotland, had Elizabeth, and were looking for a place of our own. Now I don’t know if that’ll ever happen. It seems we can’t hide from anyone. All I want is for our life to be peaceful and as normal as we can possibly make it. We’ve had a lot of good times here, and I’ll make sure we have many more.

  Knowing Zara the way I do, she’ll be resilient. There’s no keeping her down. After the initial shock wears off, she’ll be business as usual, which with Zara can be a good thing or a bad thing. All too often she compartmentalizes things in order to keep everything running as close to normal as possible. She forgets about herself, thinking about others instead.

  ****

  Zara

  Two months later…

  Trying to make things go away…make the horrible images disappear. It’s working…barely. But as they say, time heals everything, right? Right now it’s too early in my book to tell if it does or not.

  Amadeus, Elizabeth, and I moved back into the cottage a few days after the incident. Amazing how the little fairies got to work and cleaned the entire house up. You’d never know someone had been shot and killed right on the threshold of Amadeus’s and my bedroom. The door has been replaced, and the wood floor is clean and shiny. Yep, pretty amazing.

  I’ve started running, too. I’ve always gone on long walks, especially since we started living on the farm. Now I’ve progressed into running when Amadeus is at home. He’s always been a runner of sorts. He learned early on it was a good way to get exercise on the road while touring rather than hit the hotel gyms. I would sometimes join him but found out I was no match for him physically. Until now…

  When he’s not at home, which has been almost never since the incident with Johnny, or if the weather is too bad, I hit the treadmill set up in the spare bedroom. I’ve always used it to walk, especially here on the bad Scottish days when I can’t take Elizabeth outside. Now I’ve progressed to running on it like Amadeus does. Running, running, running…I have to constantly stay moving any more, like I’m afraid to let my guard down or relax.

  The idea of putting Tudor Rose back together with some of Amadeus’s original band mates since the Johnny incident is a no-go. Amadeus had been doing just fine, career wise without them, a backup band was enough. Once again, the old feelings from when we lived in Seattle and Amadeus had been hospitalized came creeping through. The idea has simply been put on the back burner--permanently.

  Amadeus was preparing for a short European tour with Peter McNichol. I encouraged him to go ahead with the plans. We had to get our lives back to some resemblance of normal. Grace and I would join the pair from time to time. She would either visit Elizabeth and me on the farm, or we would venture down to London and spend time with her.

  It was during one of her visits to Edinburgh that I surprised her pleasantly in regards to a subject everyone was tiptoeing around. She, Amadeus, and Peter had all dropped hints since the shooting that I should perhaps see a shrink to help me deal with my feelings. Peter went so far as to give me the name of a gentleman he and his grown children had gone to when his wife had passed away. He told me that it had worked wonders helping them deal with the loss. I graciously accepted the card and placed it in my planner where I’d see it every time I opened it.

  I never refused to go. I simply wanted to do it on my own terms. When I was ready. I knew from having dealt with the death of our own son that talking it out, along with all the mess that surrounded Amadeus and Tudor Rose at that time, helped with the healing process.

  Chapter Two

  Six months after the shooting.

  Zara

  The Christmas holidays are now upon us. Elizabeth is seven months old and getting cuter every day. She favors Amadeus in so many ways it’s almost scary, a little carbon copy. Proud papa, of course, loves to make sure she’s spoiled rotten. Amadeus and I have spent the past months in seclusion…self-made seclusion. After everything we’ve been through the past few years it’s as though we have nowhere we can call home. Peter offered us one of his various other properties, but we refused, and after his people thoroughly cleaned and did the repairs, we were back in our Scottish cottage.

  Amadeus has put his career on hold in order that we may both get through this ordeal, both emotionally and physically. You never really know until you actually do it yourself; you pull the trigger and watch a person’s life end. No way would it not affect you, the only way it wouldn’t would be if you were a trained professional like a cop, or military personnel, or an assassin. And yes, sometimes in my darkest, bleakest hours, I feel as though I assassinated Johnny. My mind whirls with ‘what if’s’…what if I’d waited just a few more seconds, would he have perhaps stopped and thought about what he was doing? Perhaps left Elizabeth and me alone? Couldn’t I have aimed lower so he would have lived? Those are just a few of the many things that burden me.

  And how has Amadeus handled living through all of these bleak times with me? The same way he always has. Quietly and with the undying support he’s always given me, and that I’ve given him. No judging, no pointing fingers, just a mutual love, respect, and trust. He listens to me rant, tries to make things better by holding me through the crying, but more than anything he’s there for me. For without him and Elizabeth, I truly believe I’d be locked up somewhere to deal with my demons.

  Peter and Grace, wanting as many of their blended family with them as possible for the holidays rented a place on an island in the Caribbean. No pressure, if you couldn’t make it for the actual holiday, anytime the following week was equally as good.

  We weren’t going to go, at first deciding that we wanted to spend Elizabeth’s first Christmas as a family, nothing huge, just the three of us. Grace, of course, changed that, using wanting to spend time over the holidays with her latest grandbaby and alluding heavily to the fact that Amadeus and I needed to start socializing again, even if it was just with boring family.

  So here we were, in a private jet Peter sent to scoop us up, an hour ou
tside the private island where everyone was gathering. Knowing Peter and Grace, the place would be top shelf, five stars, everything perfect. Christmas on a tropical island wasn’t sounding quite as bad as it did a few weeks ago. The idea of sun, surf, beaches, lazing about had Amadeus pumped and his enthusiasm was contagious. Even Elizabeth, as little as she was, had picked up on the good vibes, babbling and being remarkably good during the long plane ride.

  I shut my eyes for the umpteenth time, determined that this time I’d sleep, even if for no more than ten minutes. Elizabeth was napping and Amadeus was reading something on his iPad, as he had been throughout the trip.

  “Zara! Zara! Wake up, babe, we’re on our final descent.”

  “Hmmmmp. Elizabeth?”

  “I’ve got her.”

  And so the holidays began as we were whisked from the airport to the private island estate Peter had rented for the new McNichol/Tudor blended family. I had to smile thinking about all the people involved within each other’s lives now. Not many families could claim such a high rate of success as this one did.

  Enjoying an iconic view of the Caribbean from my lounger, I took full advantage of Grace giving Elizabeth her bath. I seemed to have the large porch to myself as everyone else who had arrived were scattered around the compound busy with whatever tasks they were involved in. Amadeus included, though I am quite sure he and Angus were off somewhere on the beach plotting some scheme. The two of them were thick as thieves, especially right now. Angus made the trip to the Caribbean on his own. He and his wife, Ashleigh, were still not seeing eye-to-eye. He looked like a lost dog when I saw him earlier, and the two brothers hadn’t seen each other since before Elizabeth’s birth, a long time in Tudor family time.

  Out of the corner of my eye I became aware of someone handing me a glass of wine. It was Peter. “Mind if I join you?”