Books by Maggie Shayne (100 page)

"My father."
 
He straightened and waved a hand to the man-size crucifix beside him.
 
"And my mother."

Rhiannon came forward until she stood very close to him.
 
He didn't look at her.
 
She glanced at the stone, at the likeness of the Savior painstakingly chiseled into it, every detail of his face clear in the swirling white marble.
 
"The stone is breathtaking."

"In deference to her devotion."
 
He shook his head.
 
"I shudder to think what she would say, could she see what I've become."

She wanted to argue, but sensed it would best be put off for another time.
 
She moved to the three nearly identical stones in the next row.
 
Tall blocks, arched at the tops and made of obsidian.
 
They differed only in the scenes etched into their faces.

Roland came behind her and pressed a palm to the proud stag depicted on the first.
 
"Albert, the hunter," he said softly.

She could feel the pain emanating from him in waves as he moved to the next marker and touched the knight, seated upon a rearing destrier.
 
"Eustace, the warrior," he told her.
 
He then glanced toward the third, with the warship at full sail upon a choppy sea.
 
"Pierre, the sailor.
 
My brothers.
 
Meet Rhiannon, the latest victim of my cruelty."

"Roland, no--"

"Ah, but you wish to hear the rest of the story, do you not?"
 
He faced her with bitter hurt in his eyes.
 
"I believe I left off after the first appearance of the beast that lives in my soul.
 
You remember, how I butchered the men who'd murdered Sir Gareth?"

"You were little more than a boy, and enraged by your grief."

He nodded.
 
"So you said before.
 
No doubt, after a firsthand encounter with my violent side, you've reformed that opinion."

She studied his face, noting the puffy circles beneath his eyes, the haggard features, the tight jaw.
 
"Eric believes it was a side effect of the drug."

"Eric would rather believe anything than the truth."
 
He turned away from her.
 
"Can you stomach the rest of the tale, Rhiannon, or would you prefer to leave now?
 
I've no idea why, but some demon drives me to tell it to you.
 
All of it.
 
Perhaps I need to see your face when you finally realize what I am."

"I know what you are.
 
If you want to tell me, I want to hear it."

His eyes narrowed, and one hand shot out to grip her upper arm.
 
"You'd best be certain, Rhiannon.
 
Once I begin, you will hear it all, whether you wish to or not."

She stared up into his face, aching for the pain he felt.
 
"Are you trying to frighten me, Roland?
 
To drive rile away so you won't have to release this pain or exorcise these demons?"

"There is no exorcising these demons.
 
They are a part of me.
 
And if you are not frightened of me after what I did, then you are a fool."

She jerked her arm from his grasp, and drew herself up to her full height.
 
"Then I am a fool."
 
She walked past him, away from the markers to a small, grassy knoll beneath a giant of a tree.
 
She sat down there, leaning her back against the rough bark.
 
"Tell me."

She was a fool.
 
She must be, to be here with him like this.
 
Even with the remorse flooding his mind, he was aware of her.
 
His body ached to join with hers once more, to find that blissful release that had nearly shattered the ice coating his heart.
 
Just looking at her hands reminded him of how they'd felt stroking his arousal; like silk and firm and strong.
 
So strong.
 
The sight of her lips elicited the memory of the heat and moisture he'd found beyond them, the taste of her tongue.
 
Beneath the thin silk blouse, she wore nothing.
 
He found himself wondering if the brush of the fabric over her breasts would arouse her nipples to the hard tautness of pebbles, and if it did, whether he could stop himself from tearing it off her, and sucking at them until she begged him to stop.

She wore tight-fitting denims, damn her.
 
They were pressed as snugly between her silken thighs as his body had been.
 
He wanted to put his face into her lap and inhale her bittersweet fragrance.
 
He wanted to taste her again, to become drunk on her own potent brand of spirits.

"Roland."
 
Her voice was but a whisper.
 
He saw her hand reaching up to him, and he took it.
 
She tugged until he sat beside her against the tree trunk.
 
"Tell me," she urged again.

He nodded.
 
"The tale is not a pleasant one, Rhiannon."
 
Roland drew one bracing breath and prepared himself for her reactions.
 
"After the battle of which I told you, I longed only to return home.
 
To put aside my sword and my lust for violence forever."
 
He paused, looking for a long moment into her fathomless eyes.
 
She would, no doubt, detest him when he'd finished the tale.
 
All the better.
 
Perhaps she'd finally get some sense and leave him alone for good.

"But when I did, it was to find my father's enemies at the castle.
 
The Baron Rosbrook and his clan had taken it."
 
He closed his eyes at the memory.
 
The first sight to welcome him upon returning home had been the crumbled outer wall, then the charred, blackened section of the castle that had been burned.
 

Rhiannon's hand touched his face.
 
"Your family?"

"Murdered."
 
The single word carried little emphasis.
 
But words could not describe what he'd felt that day.
 
Looking like a man, but with the fears and the heart of a boy, he'd crossed the barren courtyard in time to see them cut his father's limp body down from the gallows, and toss it atop the others in a rickety wagon.
 
He'd stood motionless, unable to believe that what he saw was real as the wagon clattered past him, and beneath the raised portcullis.
 
Like a man entranced, he'd turned and followed, until the wagon stopped near the lip of a steep embankment.
 
And one by one, the bodies had been flung over the side.

He began to tremble again, just as he had then.
 
He wanted to shut out the memory, as he'd wanted to turn his eyes away from the heartrending sight all those years ago.
 
And just as before, he was unable to do so.
 
His father, his brothers, were tossed like refuse, their bodies rolling and tumbling to the very bottom of the rocky ravine.
 
Other knights, stripped of their armor, some with the horrendous wounds of battle marring their flesh, others with no sign of injury save the telling fluid movement of their heads on boneless necks, tossed away without a prayer or a tear shed for them.
 
Then the women.
 
The first charred corpse was unrecognizable, until he'd glimpsed one unburned corner of the gown.
 
His mother's gown.

"My God, Roland."
 
Rhiannon's voice was choked, and she clutched his shoulders in her hands.
 
She'd been inside his mind, he realized dully.
 
She'd relived those moments of his long ago homecoming right along with him.
 
"I had no idea," she whispered.
 
"I'm so sorry."

"So am I, Rhiannon.
 
Had I been at home, where I belonged, I might have prevented it."

"How."
 
Roland, you were a boy, a boy with no knightly training when you left home.
 
What might you have done, other than be killed yourself?"

He looked into her upturned face, and shook his head as he battled a rash of childish tears and a fierce burning in his throat.
 
"I'll never know, will I?"
 
He managed to swallow past the lump, and blink the blurring moisture from his eyes.
 
"Unfortunately, I had left.
 
I had been trained.
 
I'd been in battle, and gained a reputation as a fierce fighter, thanks to Gareth's family.
 
There may have been nothing I could do before the fact.
 
But afterward--"

"If the murder of Gareth enraged you, the murder of your family and the taking of your home must have been far worse."

He nodded, remembering, experiencing it all again as he relived it for her.
 
"It happened in an instant.
 
I went from paralyzing shock, and unspeakable grief, to rage and a thirst for revenge that drove me close to madness.
 
It took weeks, but I gathered an army.
 
Some were friends of my father's.
 
Most were knights in the employ of Gareth's family.
 
They aided me as a matter of honor.
 
I had avenged Gareth and their fellow knights, so they would help me to avenge my family."

"And?"

He looked into her eyes, wishing he didn't have to go on.
 
But he did.
 
He couldn't have stopped himself from telling her all of it now, had he wanted to.
 
"By my command, they gave no quarter, nor did I.
 
Some of the Rosbrooks escaped the blade, but most died by it.
 
Until only one remained.
 
A younger daughter, no older than I."

He saw Rhiannon close her eyes, and assumed she was dreading what came next.
 
"Her name was Rebecca, and she had the face of an angel.
 
Silvery blond curls, huge f blue eyes.
 
She was an innocent.
 
I ordered her thrown into the dungeons."

She released her breath all at once.

"Why are you relieved, Rhiannon?
 
Because I didn't kill her outright?
 
It would have been better if I had."

She shook her head.
 
"I know you, Roland.
 
After a few days, you must have realized that her father's sins were not hers, and released her."

"Released her?"
 
He almost laughed.
 
"No, Rhiannon.
 
You don't know me at all.
 
But you are partly right.
 
In time, I regretted that she should suffer for what her father had done.
 
I removed her from the dungeons and put her into a bedchamber on the third level.
 
I intended to return her to her relatives, until I learned she had none left.
 
The girl, of course, detested me for what I'd done, just as I had detested her family for the murder of mine."

"What became of her, Roland?"

He removed Rhiannon's hands from his shoulders, folded them into her lap and covered them with one of his own.
 
He searched her face, waiting for the condemnation he was certain would appear there soon.
 
"I decided the best I could do for her would be to wed her.
 
To keep her in the castle and try to right the wrong I'd done by making her my bride, sharing with her my wealth and my name."

Rhiannon blinked.
 
"Did you... did you love her?"

"Love is an emotion of which I am not capable, Rhiannon.
 
Nor have I ever been, even then.
 
Does an animal feel love?"

She parted her lips, then bit them.
 
"What did she say to your proposal?"

"It was not a proposal.
 
It was a command.
 
She could marry me or return to the dungeons permanently."

She didn't flinch from his steady gaze.
 
"Which did she choose?"

"Neither.
 
She flung herself from the tower."

"Oh, God."
 
Rhiannon closed her eyes, and he noted the appearance of moisture on her thick lashes.

"So, now you know."
 
He let his chin fall to his chest.
 
A second later, he felt her fingers threading through his hair.
 
That she could bear to touch him at all now, amazed him.
 
That she did so with such tenderness was beyond comprehension.

He lifted his head, and met her damp gaze.
 
"I swear, I didn't intend to hurt you, Rhiannon.
 
I simply lost my senses.
 
I allowed the violent nature that is truly me, to take control.
 
I'm more sorry than you can imagine."

"I know.
 
As I know you were sorry after the girl's death, and more than likely, after every battle you ever fought from then on."

He shook his head.
 
"I became a mercenary knight, a hired fighter.
 
I left the castle in the hands of caretakers.
 
I couldn't bear to be here, with the memories of my past mistakes haunting me in every hall."

"Ah, but now you alter the tale, Roland.
 
For I knew of you long before you knew of me.
 
The gallant knight who fought for a price, but always on the side of the weak, and always on the side of the just.
 
I knew you were one of The Chosen, Roland.
 
I was fascinated by you."

He frowned, not believing her.

"It's true," she said.
 
"It was years after your knighting, of course, and I knew nothing of what horrors befallen you in your youth.
 
I heard tales of your valor I tracked you down.
 
For some time, I followed you your men.
 
God, what it did to me to see you leading them astride that magnificent black war-horse with the eyes seemed to blaze.
 
To witness you in battle was worse yet.
 
The gleaming armor, the powerful way you would wield that sword, your fearlessness."

"You saw me fight?"

She nodded.
 
"The battle at Lorraine, at midnight fought to free the kidnapped Lady la Claire.
 
And the in Normandy, when you helped the fallen men from field, friend and foe alike.
 
So I know you exaggerate battle lust you claim."

He felt his jaw go slack.
 
"Rhiannon, why did you n tell me this?"

She shrugged.
 
"I was afraid you'd laugh at me.
 
An immortal vampiress, smitten by a man she'd never met.
 
But I was, you know.
 
I wanted to come to you, even then.
 
Never had I seen a man so strong, or so brave.
 
I was enamored of you, Roland.
 
Then, you heard of Bryan, Gareth's young son, that same babe you'd rescued from the wolf, a man grown by then.
 
He was in dire need, and you rushed to his aid."

Roland nodded.
 
"Yes.
 
His castle was under siege he couldn't withstand the attackers much longer.
 
A messenger managed to slip out, and brought word to me."

"And you went there, knowing full well you were short on men, and still exhausted from the last skirmish.
 
With little food, and weapons in need of repair, you went.
 
By night, you went, so I was able to follow, and to watch."

He nodded.
 
"The enemy outnumbered us ten to one," he said, recalling his shock as he'd peered at them from the cover of the forest.

"And you attacked them all the same, but only after releasing any of your men who wished to leave.
 
Few did, as I recall.
 
That battle was the fiercest I had ever seen, Roland.
 
I was terrified for you.
 
You managed to rout the invaders, but in the end, you were cut down.
 
I found you lying in the dirt, near death.
 
You remember?"

He nodded, recalling vividly his first glimpse of her.
 
A mysterious, utterly beautiful lady in a flowing black gown, leaning over him, whispering that he would live, that she would not allow him to die.
 
He remembered her tears, raining down on his face, and the way their moist warmth transcended his pain.

"Of course, I remember.
 
I was dying.
 
It was then you transformed me."

"Knowing full well you were worthy of the gift.
 
More worthy than any of us, perhaps.
 
Yet you spend eternity grieving over past mistakes and condemning yourself for a passionate nature."

Roland stood, and gazed upward at the stars.
 
"You call it passion.
 
I call it evil."