Dark Carousel (Dark #30) - Christine Feehan Page 0,58

did.

Tariq took her hand and tugged, taking her away from the little group. “That’s my family. The children.”

“Tariq, what in the world are you going to do with them?”

“Give them time to process what happened to them and build them up as much as I can before I bring them fully into my world.”

“I don’t understand.” And she didn’t. His world? Weren’t they already in it?

“The children are still in danger, as are you and Lourdes and your friend Genevieve. They know that, and they also know it’s safer here than anywhere else.” He led her back in the direction of the house.

“I don’t understand any of this, Tariq. What’s happening between us, the children, why those awful men are stalking us, Fridrick.” He wasn’t really answering her questions.

“It’s happening to you because you’re gifted. Genevieve’s gifted. Lourdes is or Fridrick would have killed her.”

“He said she was bait.”

“You would have come home for your brother’s funeral regardless. He knew that. Lourdes has some sort of psychic ability or she wouldn’t be alive. Danny, Amelia, Liv and Bella do as well. Whatever his reasons, Fridrick and the others he works with want to acquire those gifts through you.”

“Emeline?”

For the first time Tariq hesitated. “Emeline is complicated,” he said finally. “She’s got a strong psychic gift, and more than any other, she is in trouble. It is necessary for her to stay here to be safe. She will welcome friends. She needs them.” His hand stroked a caress through her hair. “I guess we all need you, Charlotte.”

She liked the feeling of his fingers in her hair, but it didn’t ease her fears. She had no idea how to help any of these traumatized people, not even Lourdes. Not even herself.

8

Charlotte stared in total awe at the collection of carousel horses in the basement. Tariq Asenguard was a serious collector. Most were European, but like the carousel on his patio, there were two other American ones.

“Museums don’t have such beautiful works,” she whispered reverently. “Tariq, where did you get these? Ricard went his entire life looking for just one of the original carved horses used for training noblemen in the art of ring spearing during tournaments, and you have four of them.”

“I have always been interested in carousel horses, the origins and how they evolved. The first carousels were necessarily different from the ones today, but no less intriguing and fun, maybe even more so.”

Tariq sounded far away, as if he were back in time with the French some three hundred years earlier. Charlotte turned to look at his face. Clearly he had thought a lot about what had transpired. He looked as if he was remembering rather than thinking about what it would have been like.

“In the early eleven hundreds, the Turks and Arabs played a game, although they weren’t really messing around. They were deadly serious about their game. The Italians and Spaniards referred to the game as ‘little war’ and that’s where the term carosella came from. The carousel was born right there, but no one had a clue how it would evolve, or even that women and children would find great enjoyment on it. I love that the carousel came about with the idea of training men for warfare and ended up being something special for everyone to enjoy and relax around,” Tariq said.

Charlotte had always loved that fact as well. She’d been drawn to the history of the carousel just as Tariq was. They had that in common. She loved the individual artwork on the carved wooden horses. The detail, as if the artist had taken such care to make each piece something special even knowing the nobleman training on it might not ever notice. The carvers were the artists, men exposing small bits of their souls while they worked.

“I love that you know that,” Charlotte admitted. “They didn’t have the tools to work with back then that we do now, but still, they were meticulous in their work. Ricard had a theory that the earliest horses were carved by a single man. Two at the most. The horses were different, but the technique, the care and attention to detail, was so perfect that he doubted more than one man would have that ability.”

“I would have liked to have met Ricard Beaudet. I always looked forward to our correspondence. I don’t care to talk on the phone, so he obliged me by writing. I felt as if we had a lot in common.” He looked down