Books by Maggie Shayne (112 page)

"We'll be watching out for you, Jamey," Rhiannon said softly.

Eric nodded.
 
"If you get into any danger, we'll know.
 
You can count on it."

"Curt's gone now, so there will be no more harassment from him," Tamara whispered.

"And Rhiannon's computer-expert friend is going to erase all of your files from DPI's systems.
 
It will be as if you never existed, to them."
 
Roland stepped nearer Rhiannon as he spoke, needing someone close for this painful parting.
 
"You can enjoy yourself the way a four-teen-year-old ought to, with no more worry about cloak-and-dagger nonsense."

Jamey opened his mouth, then closed it.
 
Instead of words, he moved back toward Roland and hugged him hard.
 
Then he turned, walking quickly toward the door, and his father.
 
"I'm ready now."

His father clapped an arm around Jamey's shoulder.
 
He glanced back at the others.
 
"I hope you'll stay in touch."

 
"Rest assured, we will," Roland said.

The pair stepped out into the night, and the door swung slowly closed behind them.
 
Eric folded Tamara into his arms.
 
Roland wished he could do the same to Rhiannon, but he hesitated.
 
She'd shown him no hint of encouragement since the incident with Lucien, and he knew her well enough to know she would have, if she wanted him.

Perhaps his hard heart had finally killed the love she'd once felt for him.
 
Why now, when he wanted it so desperately?

Amid glowing candles, Roland put the finishing strokes to the canvas before him.

In a week, he hadn't seen this woman.
 
Oh, Rhiannon was here, as he'd prayed she would be.
 
She'd mentioned no more about leaving him forever.
 
But she wasn't really Rhiannon.
 
She was a dim shadow of the vivacious, slightly vain princess of the Nile.
 
He wanted her back again, as wild and flighty and unpredictable as before.
 
He missed her.
 
The entire castle seemed empty, like a tomb, without her boisterous presence filling its every corridor.
 
He wondered why he'd never noticed the emptiness before.

His eyes traveled the image of beauty before him.
 
His brush had captured the texture of her skin, the glow of devilment in her dark eyes, the waves of her satin hair.
 
He longed for her as much as ever, perhaps more.
 
But she seemed almost indifferent to him now.
 
Where before, she'd driven him to frustration with her constant flirtations, now she barely sent him a longing glance.
 
It was maddening.

"So that's what you've been doing up here."
 
Eric's voice came from the trapdoor in the floor's center, just before his body followed it up.

He stood, brushed himself off, then eyed the painting, arms crossing over his chest.
 
"Roland, it's breathtaking."

 
"It's Rhiannon.
 
How could it be otherwise?"

Eric smiled, giving his head a swift shake.
 
"Have you told her yet that you're madly in love with her?"

Roland scowled.
 
"She'd likely laugh me out of the castle.
 
You know Rhiannon's views on silly, human emotions."

"Her views might have changed these past weeks, my friend."

"They wouldn't be the only thing to have changed, then."

Eric studied Roland's face for a long moment.
 
"You know, you might stop to consider that she is only conceding to your requests."

"What kind of fool notion is that?
 
I never asked her to become a piece of the furniture."

Eric shrugged, thrust his hands into his pockets and slowly paced away from Roland.
 
"You've constantly reminded her how reckless she is, how impulsive.
 
You've criticized her love of attention, her need to attract notice wherever she goes, her outrageous behavior.
 
More than once, in my presence, you've asked her--no, ordered her--to behave like a lady.
 
Now, you're complaining because she's doing as you wished."

Roland frowned hard, and looked at the floor.
 
"Do you really think that's what she's doing?"

Eric shrugged.
 
"It's as good a guess as I can come up with at the moment."

Roland dropped his brush into its holder, and kept his gaze focused on it.
 
"So what do I do about it?"

*
   
*
   
*
   
*
   
*

Rhiannon held the sunny, yellow pillow in two fists, pulling in opposite directions until the fabric gave way with a horrible tearing sound, and fluffy white stuffing snowed down onto her feet.
 
She gave a little growling shriek and spun in a circle.

"Ah, Rhiannon, there you are.
 
Where've you been hiding these past few days?"

She faced the fledgling and bit her lips.
 
She hadn't meant for anyone to witness her release of temper.
 
"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Ha!"
 
Tamara came into the room, bent and picked up two handfuls of stuffing, flinging it in the air.
 
"What's this, then?
 
You planning to restuff all the pillows to impress him?"

Rhiannon batted aside the falling fluff.
 
"I don't need to impress anyone."

"Of course, you don't.
 
I only wondered if you were aware of it, that's all."

With a little snarl, Pandora leapt off the bed to pounce on the wads of stuff as it landed, batting awkwardly with her plaster-encased paw.

"You make no more sense than my cat does," Rhiannon said softly, kicking more of the stuffing aside and walking into the living area.

"How long do you think you can keep this up, Rhiannon?"

She turned to Tamara, who followed on her heels.
 
She was about to shout a denial, but saw the wisdom in the young one's eyes.
 
"Not much longer.
 
Oh, Tamara, I simply wasn't created to be meek.
 
I'm ready to claw my way up the walls.
 
What's more, it doesn't seem to be having the desired effect at all.
 
He's barely looked at me since that night he carried me home."

"Oh, he's looking, all right."

Rhiannon frowned, but the fledgling seemed reluctant to say more.
 
"Out with it, vampiress, or leave me in peace."

"Some peace, tearing apart innocent pillows when it's really him you'd like to rip in two."

Rhiannon sighed, her patience as thin as her temper.
 
"Say what you've come to say, young one."

Tamara smiled.
 
"Eric and I are leaving tonight.
 
I only came to say goodbye."

"Leaving?"

"Oh, don't worry.
 
We'll come back again soon.
 
It's just that I want to be close to Jamey, in case he needs me.
 
And you and Roland need to be alone, I think, to work this out."

Rhiannon looked at the floor and shook her head.
 
"I fear there is nothing to work out.
 
He knew I meant to leave as soon as the boy was safe.
 
I've not kept my word and no doubt, he's wondering why."

"Well, before you do, take my advice and talk to him.
 
Tell him everything.
 
Don't hold anything back, not anything.
 
Get things straight between you, once and for all, Rhiannon.
 
If you don't, you'll never forgive yourself."

Rhiannon blinked.
 
Then she tenaciously lifted her arms and put them around Tamara's shoulders.
 
She hugged the little thing to her chest.
 
"For one so young, you give good counsel, fledgling.
 
I will miss you."

*
   
*
   
*
   
*
   
*

They gathered that night, the four of them, round the hearth in the great hall once more.
 
Roland watched Rhiannon's eyes, noting with some satisfaction the spark that had finally returned.
 
She wore the black velvet gown she'd worn that first night, and she toasted them all with her blood-red nails gripping the glass she lifted.

"When next we meet, it will be someplace different," Eric said softly.
 
"I'll miss this drafty old castle."

"Oh, I don't know," Tamara said.
 
"Roland might not have to give the place up, after all."
 
Her eyes held a secret, and Roland almost grinned at the childish amusement she seemed to take in knowing something the others didn't.

"Go on, fledgling, say whatever it is that's on your mind."

"Yes, Tamara.
 
You've had that look in your eyes all evening, ever since you made those phone calls to be sure it was safe for us to return to the States," Eric said.
 
"What on earth makes you so smug?"

She shrugged.
 
"I spoke with my friend, Hilary.
 
The one who's still with DPI.
 
It seems they're investigating the disappearance of a powerful psychic, suspected of murdering Curtis Rogers."

"What?"
 
Roland's hand gripped his glass more tightly.
 
Tamara shot Rhiannon a knowing glance.
 
"The last they heard of him, he was at an emergency room in Paris, having a crushed wrist set.
 
He vanished from his hospital bed in the middle of the night, and no one's heard from him since."

Roland slanted a glance at Rhiannon, noting that Eric and Tamara were looking at her, as well.
 
She sipped her beverage, and pretended not to notice.

"Rhiannon, what do you know about this?"

She met his gaze and shrugged delicately.
 
"I haven't a clue what you're talking about."

"Rhiannon..."

She sent him a silencing glare.
 
He was so relieved to see her acting haughty again that he let the matter drop.
 
He could see she either didn't know what had become of Lucien, or had no intention of saying.

When they'd said their farewells at the front door, Roland closed it and faced Rhiannon.
 
The time had come, he decided, to tell her the truth.
 
He would bare his soul to her, once and for all, risk her ridicule and her are, admit he'd been wrong all along and ask her to forgive him.
 
True enough, he'd driven poor Rebecca to suicide, and that was a pain from which he'd never recover.
 
But he thought Rhiannon was too strong a woman to allow him to hurt her the same way.
 
At least, he hoped so, because there was no way in hell he could let her walk out of his life.
 
Not ever.

What he saw in her eyes stopped him cold.
 
The arrogant daughter of the Pharaoh was back, indeed.
 
She glared at him for a single moment, then started up the stairs.

"Come with me, if you will, Roland.
 
I, too, am prepared to take my leave, but there is something I must discuss with you first."

"Leave?"
 
He hurried after her, trotting up the worn stairs.
 
When she proceeded right up to the tower room, he thanked his stars he'd covered the painting before he'd left it.
 
"You're leaving?
 
Rhiannon, I--"

"No.
 
I've given you ample time to say your piece.
 
You haven't so much as whispered a word of it, so my turn has come."
 
She went to the ladder at the room's center, up it and out onto the very top of the keep.

Roland followed.
 
When he emerged on the top, she was leaning against the uneven layer of stone that created a short wall, gazing out over the rolling field, through the night" to the junction of the two rivers.
 
The night wind whipped her hair, until strands of it came loose from the bun at the back of her head.
 
She turned to face him, her hands going to the knot of hair, angrily tearing pins free, and tossing them over the side with an exaggerated flourish.

When her hair whipped loosely around her, she sent him a defiant stare.
 
"So dies your wallflower."

Thank God, he thought.
 
But he said nothing.

She turned from him once again.
 
"I cannot leave here until you learn the truth, because I will, in all likelihood, never see you again to tell you how your beloved Rebecca really met her demise."

Roland frowned.
 
"I thought we had come here to discuss... you, and me."

She licked her lips, and averted her gaze.
 
"On that subject, it seems there is little to discuss.
 
But there is much you don't know about Rebecca."
 
She drew a breath as if to steady herself.
 
"You told me you never loved her, but you know you cannot lie to me.
 
I sense your feelings... most of the time.
 
I know how very much you cared for her."

"And what it drove her to," he muttered, glancing beyond Rhiannon, to the ground, far, far below.
 
Remembering the way he'd found Rebecca there.
 
The pain came to life inside him, the guilt.

"The room where I took Tamara to meditate, it was Rebecca's room.
 
I've been back there, you see."

Roland frowned.
 
"Why?"

"Her aura has remained.
 
She hasn't been at peace, Roland, not in all these centuries, because of your guilt.
 
She needed you to know."

He shook his head, not wishing to hear this.

"Tonight she will rest at last, for tonight I will tell you what she made known to me in that room."

Roland closed his eyes.
 
"I do not wish to discuss Rebecca.
 
Not here."
 
The image of her body plunging over the side haunted him even though he squeezed his eyes tight to shut it out.
 
"She loved you, Roland."

He opened his eyes all at once.
 
"She despised me."

"She wished to hate you for what you'd done, but she found herself falling in love with you, all the same.
 
She came here, to this tower, only to try to decide what to do.
 
She was racked with guilt at her feelings.
 
She felt she might be betraying her father's memory by them, but she intended to accept your marriage proposal all the same."

He released a sudden whoosh of air.
 
"You lie.
 
Why are you saying these things, Rhiannon?
 
To try to erase the burden of guilt I've carried for ages?
 
It's no use.
 
I know what I did to her."