Books by Maggie Shayne (110 page)

Just the thought of him brought a stab of pain to her soul.
 
She called out to him, sending her mental voice into the night like a mournful wail.
 
Again and again she called to him, but she heard no reply.

Could he truly be dead?
 
Gone forever before she' managed to tell him the truth she'd kept locked away for so long?

"I love you, Roland de Courtemanche, baron, knight immortal, man.
 
I love all of you," she whispered.
 
She lifted her head skyward, as if to cry out to the gods.
 
"Return him to me, and I swear I will become what he wants No more will I seek out danger and flaunt myself in its face.
 
No more will I live recklessly, walking an unsteady line along the very edge of sanity.
 
I'll become the staid and quiet woman he wants, anything he needs.
 
Never will I leave his side, if only I am given one more chance!"

Her words died on a broken, ragged cry, and she let her head fall forward once more on a neck gone limp.
 
Her sobs racked her body, and only the lengths of chain kept her from falling.
 
For she knew in her heart, her chances were gone.
 
Roland had not answered her desperate cries.
 
He'd been taken from her, torn from her heart before she'd realized he'd made his way into it.

Her grief paralyzed her, and she sobbed endlessly, wellsprings of tears pouring from her eyes.

Still, she knew that if Roland would ask anything at all of her from beyond the grave, it would be to do what was necessary to protect young Jamison.
 
The last gift she could ever give to him would be the boy's life.
 
She had no choice but to do as Lucien asked.
 
He'd kill her when the deed was done, there was no longer any doubt of that.
 
She could only hope it would be swift and clean.

*
   
*
   
*
   
*
   
*

Halfway down the mountainside, her cries reached him.
 
Roland's head came up, and his stomach clenched in a tight knot at the anguish in her voice.

Eric's hand clamped down on his shoulder like a vise.
 
"Don't answer her."

"Are you insane?
 
Listen to her--"

"I am.
 
No doubt, Lucien is, as well.
 
If you answer, he'll be ready and waiting for us.
 
He already has too many weapons in his arsenal, Roland.
 
That drug, Rhiannon's life, Curt Rogers's aid.
 
No use giving him fair warning, as well."

Roland swallowed hard.
 
Rhiannon's cries kept coming, and he heard her grief, her tears, her pain.
 
God, but he'd never been aware how much she truly cared for him.
 
No wonder his careless words had hurt her, time and again.
 
He cursed himself now, for having to hurt her once more, and swore on the graves of his family that he would never, in all eternity, ever cause her pain again, even if it cost him his life.

He closed his mind off, for her pleas were driving him to near madness, and his rage added to that still more.
 
He focused only on honing his mind to her location, and then pointed himself in that direction.

He and Eric sped through the night until all at once, Eric skidded to a halt, gripping Roland's arm.
 
"I was mistaken in that list of Lucien's advantages.
 
Look."
 
He pointed down a steep embankment.

Far below, a smoking wreck was all that remained of Curt Rogers's Cadillac.
 
Roland sent the fingers of his mind into the wreckage, and saw the vision of Rogers's charred body, twisted grotesquely behind the wheel.

"This was no accident," Roland said softly.
 
"He died by Lucien's hand."

Eric nodded his agreement.
 
"Then Lucien has no intention of turning Rhiannon over to DPI once she's transformed him."

"No."
 
Roland's voice was grim.
 
"He intends to kill her."

They circled the mined fortress twice, in search of guards or watchmen, before leaping the crumbling wall.
 
They crossed the barren courtyard, Roland's palms itching to feel a steel hilt, his shoulder aching for the butt of a crossbow.
 
A moat, filled with green brackish water that appeared thick with filth and stunk to the heavens, surrounded the castle.
 
The drawbridge was raised.

In days of old, they'd have fashioned a bridge of a freshly cut tree, a battering ram of another.
 
Today, matters were much simpler.
 
The two leapt the moat, side by side, and edged around the square stone shape of the keep, in search of a way to enter quietly.
 
Both were careful to guard their thoughts, even from each other.
 
A steel wall had been lowered around their minds.
 
Lucien must not know of their approach.

It was difficult, for Roland knew that somewhere within these decaying stone walls, Rhiannon was imprisoned.
 
Weakened, perhaps in pain.
 
Were she well, she'd have torn the place apart by now, and Lucien along with it.
 
Her patience would have found its end.

They finally came to a small opening in the stone, a window, which had never seen glass.
 
Roland clambered through, and stood, looking around him while Eric followed.
 
The place was in ruin, no question.
 
The very walls were crumbling.
 
The stone floors had spider webs of cracks, and huge gouges.
 
It was black as pitch within the cold walls of this castle, but with his piercing night vision, he made his way slowly forward, along decrepit corridors, his mind on Rhiannon.

His heart grew heavier with every echoing step he took.
 
Surely these weak stone walls could not hold her in her normal state.
 
How he wished to see her, enraged, bringing Lucien to his knees with the sheer force of her anger.
 
He closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head.
 
That he'd ever thought to tame her spirit was a joke.
 
It was untamable as she was.
 
It was what made her Rhiannon.

After trekking through endless corridors and passages, they came to the top of a set of stone stairs, crumbling as they spiraled downward into what seemed the hub of the earth.
 
The smells of dankness and decay assaulted him as they descended.
 
The sounds of water trickling, of rodents scratching, and of their own steps, echoed in his ears.
 
She was here, in this hell, more than likely believing him dead.

Each step was placed with utmost care, as silently as possible.
 
Roland scarcely dared draw a breath for fear he would alert Lucien and incite the man to harm Rhiannon.
 
God, the very thought of her here was enough to drive him mad.
 
Was she imprisoned in some freezing, tiny cell?
 
Was she, even now, shivering with the cold and with her grief over his own supposed demise?
 
Was she drugged, weakened to the point of helplessness in the face of Lucien's brutality?

Had the bastard harmed her?
 
Had he touched her?

He'd die if he had, Roland vowed.
 
He would die either way, he amended.
 
The beast was loose, and Roland, for once, welcomed its presence.
 
He'd tear Lucien limb from limb and take great pleasure in the tearing.

Eric touched his arm, and inclined his head.
 
Only then did Roland hear the sounds of voices, echoing softly through the cavernous underworld.
 
Like ghosts wandering aimlessly, the voices filtered toward them.

"Are you ready, then?"

"I'm ready, Lucien."
 
Rhiannon's voice was weak, conveying the state of her body, and of her mind.
 
The sound of it was a torment such as Roland had never known.
 
He crept nearer.

"Remember, no tricks.
 
If any harm comes to me, the boy will die where he is.
 
You understand that?"

"Yes."

"Good."

"So I will bide my time, Lucien.
 
And you will pay."

There was the sound of grim laughter.
 
"I knew you'd be furious about the cat.
 
The animal gave me no choice, Rhiannon.
 
When it bounded in front of my car, the temptation was just too great for me."
 
There was a pause.
 
"From the boy's reaction, you'd have thought I'd killed his dearest friend."

Roland stepped closer, still unable to see them, but he could hear more clearly.
 
He heard Rhiannon's labored breathing, and then her voice, with the barest hint of her former spirit making her words quiver with rage.
 
"You didn't kill the cat.
 
And when the boy is safe again, you might well become a snack for her."

"The cat survived?
 
Then why are you still so angry?"

"Bastard!"
 
Rhiannon drew a deep, ragged breath.
 
The argument seemed to be taxing whatever strength she still possessed.

"You know... the cause of my anger.
 
What you did to Pandora pales... beside your other crimes."
 
She paused, breathing deeply, brokenly.
 
"You... you've taken from me... the only man I have ever loved."
 
The final words were barely whispered, and the evidence of tears was clear in her voice.

Roland stood stock-still when those words floated toward him through the darkness.
 
He closed his eyes as a horrible pain washed over him, and only stirred again when Eric's voice urged him on.

"Steady, my friend.
 
You'll get used to the idea."

He swallowed hard, and began moving silently forward.
 
The shock of Rhiannon's admission faded as his rage, again, began to build.

"I will avenge Roland, Lucien," she whispered.
 
"Make no mistake."

"You leave me no choice but to be sure you never get the chance, Rhiannon.
 
One would almost think you had a death wish."

"Take care."
 
Her words were weak and faint.
 
"For I have nothing left to lose."

There was the sound of chains rattling.
 
Then a strangled gasp.
 
"Feel the tip of this needle in your side, Rhiannon?
 
If I get the slightest notion you are trying to bleed me dry, I'll depress the plunger.
 
There's a large enough dose to kill you in seconds."

They rounded a corner, and Roland saw the nightmarish scene laid out before him, illuminated only by the harsh, flickering light of a single torch.
 
Rhiannon, all but limp, supported more by the chains at her wrists, than by her own power.
 
Her eyes were hooded and moist with pain, without light of any kind.
 
Desolate.
 
Her hair hung over one side of her face.
 
The hem of the deep blue kimono was dampened and dirty.

Facing her, his back to them, Lucien stood with legs planted apart, his fist gripping the hypodermic that was jabbed into her side, right through the flowing kimono she wore.
 
He gave it an evil twist and she whimpered, too weak to cry aloud.

Roland lunged, but Eric gripped his arm.
 
"If you attack now, he'll kill her."
 
The words were whispered harshly into Roland's ear.
 
"We have to get him to remove that damned needle before we touch him."

The sight of Rhiannon suffering riled him, but he knew his friend's words to be true.
 
He glanced around, seeing in all directions in the inky blackness.
 
Far above, more chains dangled from a towering ceiling.
 
Roland could guess at their torturous purposes there.
 
He nudged Eric, and pointed.

Eric nodded.
 
"Can you get up there without a sound?"

I'll know in a moment.
 
Can you get Lucien's attention without costing Rhiannon's life?"

"I'd better, hadn't I?"

Roland drew a steadying breath and leapt upward, gripping a protruding stone high above, and anchoring the toe of one shoe in a chip in the wall.
 
He glanced below, saw Eric watching, and gave him a single nod.

Eric stepped forward, out of the shadows, into the red-orange torchlight.
 
"Pardon me, Lucien, but you forgot to tell her a few things, didn't you?"

Lucien whirled, tearing the syringe from Rhiannon's waist as he did.
 
Her face contorted in pain.
 
Her cry brought a convulsion to Roland's stomach.

"Marquand, isn't it?
 
Rogers told me about you."
 
Lucien lifted the needle like a weapon, clutched in a beefy fist, and started forward.

"Before you killed him, you mean?"

Roland waited.
 
He needed a bit more space between Rhiannon and the point of that needle.

Lucien glanced over his shoulder at Rhiannon.
 
She only hung, all but limp in her chains, hopelessness etched into her face like chinks beaten into old armor.

"Shut up, Marquand."

"Afraid I'll spill the beans, are you?
 
Once she knows, she won't be so cooperative, will she?"

Roland nodded in approval.
 
Lucien would lose Rhiannon were to learn Jamey was safe and sound.
 
He would be forced to silence Eric.

"Knows... what?"
 
Rhiannon's head came up slowly.
 
Her eyes focused on Eric.

"Why, that Jamey--"
 
He stopped, sidestepping Lucien's charge with all the grace of a matador dodging a bull.
 
Roland launched himself from the toehold in the wall, soaring above the stone floor, catching the dangling length of rusted chain.
 
It swung with the force of his momentum, carrying him swiftly onward.
 
He let go a second later, and plunged downward, onto Lucien's broad back.
 
Both men crashed to the floor, Lucien landing facedown with Roland's weight atop him.

Lucien's hand, still gripping the hypodermic, twist and turned, straining backward in a doomed attempt stab Roland.
 
Roland rose, one knee pressed into the center of the much larger man's spine.
 
He clamped a hand Lucien's wrist, and squeezed until he felt the subtle crack of bone giving way.
 
With a shriek, Lucien released 1 hold on the syringe.
 
And even then, Roland didn't let t bastard up.
 
The beast within wanted vengeance, and it was on the rampage.

A little more pressure and you can break his spine as easily.
 
Snap it in two.
 
Just press the knee a harder...

 
"Roland?"

He lifted his gaze from the quivering heap of flesh beneath him, and saw Rhiannon staring as if she were seeing a ghost.
 
The beast within seemed to dissolve in that instant.
 
He no longer thirsted for vengeance, only for her.
 
For her touch, the feel of her lips beneath his, the sight of her half smile and the mischief in her eyes.

He stood, aware that Lucien rolled to his back clutched his shattered wrist with his other hand.
 
He paid no attention, knowing Eric would see to the bastard.
 
His only concern was for her as he moved slowly forward.
 
Her eyes widened.
 
Her lips parted slowly and she mouthed his name again, though no sound emerged this time.
 

He reached her, then, and his arms went around her.
 
Oh, to feel her, living, breathing, her strong heart pounding against his chest!
 
He cradled her head to the crook of his neck, threading his fingers in her silken hair, words tumbling from his lips without thought, or even order.
 
Here was where she belonged.
 
In his arms, her body pressed to his.
 
He felt he could never release her.

She lifted her head and her eyes moved over his face with such intensity he could nearly feel their touch.
 
"I... I thought..."
 
Her hands came then, following the path of her eyes, touching his face as if not believing it was real.
 
The chains jangled with her movements.

"I know," he whispered.
 
"I know.
 
I dared not answer you, knowing that one's psychic strength."
 
He caught one of her wrists in his hands, drew it downward, away from his face, and easily snapped the manacle.
 
As it clattered down, slamming into the wall, he reached for the other.
 
"Has he hurt you, Rhiannon?
 
Has he touched you?"

 
"Nothing... could hurt me... more than believing...
 
I'd lost you."

Their eyes met for a long moment, and Roland wondered how he'd failed before to see the love in hers.
 
He must have been blind.

Unsure what to say in the face of such powerful feelings, uncertain what this meant to either of them, Roland dropped to one knee and snapped the shackles at her ankles.
 
Her arms came to his shoulders, and then her weight when she tried to step away from the wall.
 
He scooped her up with minimal effort.
 
Her head fell limply to his shoulder, and he closed his eyes in exquisite agony.
 
God, but it was sweet to hold her again.