Books by Maggie Shayne (294 page)

Stepping outside, I reached for Black's mane to pull myself up, but as I did, I glanced down, and a gleam caught my eye. Not a blade, but something silver, stomped into the mud. Instinct caused my stomach to quake, and I dreaded what I would find. I bent, and picked it up.

A silver pendant with a cradle moon adorning one curve. Exactly like the one Arianna had been wearing. And it had been lying here, right outside this house of death—her parents' home.

"No," I whispered. "No, it cannot be hers. She wouldn't have come here, she couldn't have...." Terrified, I scanned the bodies crumpled hither and yon, but I did not see the ethereal white tunic she had worn, nor the gleam of her spun gold hair. Not at all. Still, my gut was telling me what my mind already knew. It was hers. She had been

here ... and something terrible had befallen her.

I draped her pendant 'round my neck to join my own there. Then, leaping upon Black, I whirled him around, kicked his flanks hard with my heels, and headed at breakneck speed back toward the Stone Circle. But the emptiness in the pit of my stomach told me even before I reached the sacred place, that I would not find my bride there, either.

A jolt bent Arianna's body backward so suddenly and so acutely she felt as if her spine would snap and her lungs burst from the force of her gasp.

Then slowly, her body eased again, and she opened her eyes. But even as she did, memory came flooding back, and she squeezed them tight against the onslaught. The attack. The bodies. Her parents lying dead ...

"Nay, it canna be," she muttered, and turned instinctively into the shoulder upon which her head rested. The arms around her tightened, and a deep voice whispered, "There, lass, it will be all right now, I promise you that."

And that voice, she realized, head coming up fast, eyes widening, was
not
Nicodimus's.

He held her to him, seated behind her on a horse; a large man, and strong from the feel of him. She found herself staring into pale blue eyes that reminded her of a wolf in winter, and ashen hair that gleamed nearly white in the moonlight. Not with age, but with the fairness of its hue. His face was soft, with a gently rounded chin and cheekbones, and a bulbous nose. No harsh angles, no cragginess like her Nicodimus. But softness. He seemed a gentle soul, this man who held her in his arms.

And yet she stiffened, pressing her hands to his shoulders to hold herself away.

"Aye, lass, 'tis natural you'd be confused now. But you've naught to fear from me, I promise you." He studied her face. '"Twas your first death, was it not?"

Her brows bunched together, she whispered, ' 'First... death?'' And then she recalled the sensation of being run through, the horror of looking down to see a blade thrusting out of her own belly, and of falling dead into the mud.

Dead.

"Nay," she whispered very softly. "Nay, 'tis nay possible. I... I
died.
I..." Lowering her chin she saw the bloodstains all over the front of her tunic, and even the slit in the cloth where the blade had torn through. Hooking her fingers in that tear, she ripped it wider, and then searched her skin, her belly, for some mark or cut or flaw. But only found the stains of drying blood. She pressed her fingers to the spot where it seemed she could still feel the phantom pain of the wound . . . but there was nothing there. No injury. Not so much as a nick nor a scratch.

Wide-eyed, she lifted her head once more.

"You canna mean to tell me you dinna know, lassie! You're immortal. A High Witch, just like me. Nicodimus must have told you. . . . Damnation, he dinna tell you at all, did he, child?"

She blinked rapidly, searching her mind, hearing the warnings it whispered. "Immortal? Nay ... nay, it canna be... ."

"You're the living proof that it is, lass. It is. You're alive, and unmarred by the blade. I found you lifeless in the mud, but knew you for what you were, and vowed to take you away from all the carnage. And from the reach of Nicodimus."

Nay. She would never be beyond the reach of Nicodimus. He would find her. He would come for her. But this man ... this man knew his name. ' 'You ... you know my husband?'' she asked.

"Aye. He's been my arch enemy for centuries, lass. One of the Darkest of the Dark, he is—''

"Nay!" Arianna felt her anger rise to drown out her confusion and grief. "My Nicodimus is good and pure, and I'll kill any man who says otherwise!"

He studied her for a long moment, drinking in, it seemed, the anger flashing from her eyes. "I can see you believe it to be true. I vow, lady, at least now I understand why a woman like you would bind herself to a man such as he. You simply dinna ken the truth."

She narrowed her eyes on him. "I'll never believe a

word spoken against my husband," she all but hissed at him. "Who are you that I should take heed of a word you utter?" Then she tilted her head. "You're one of
them,
aren't you? One of those who attacked my village!"

He nodded slowly. "Aye, lass, though it pains me to have to tell you. I am their chieftain."

"Bastard!" Arianna clenched her hands into fists and pounded his chest. But he easily caught her wrists and held her still, though she struggled. His horse came to a halt.

"I dinna fault you, lass. Indeed, I canna. But if you'll only hear me out. I tried to get to the village in time to halt the bloodshed. I tried, I vow it on the name of my own father. But I was too late. And my men had already done that poor defenseless village to death."

Grief made her weak, and she stopped her fighting. "Aye, and they'd done my mam to death, as well, and my da along with her. An' I vow I'll see every one of them die before I rest."

His eyes, soft with sorrow, moved gently over her face, and releasing her wrists, he stroked her hair. "Gods, but I'm sorry. More sorry than you can know. The men ... they were crazed. Their chieftain—my older brother, Kohl— was murdered... by your husband, lass. By our lifelong enemy, Nicodimus, that Dark Witch of old."

' Twas nay murder! Nicodimus had to kill him in order to stay alive!"

He shook his head. "An' I suppose he gave you some reason why he had to take my brother's heart as well, did he not? But pretty one, only the Dark take the hearts of their victims. Only they and no others."

She shook her head, confused. Nicodimus had told her that... but then he'd said he'd had to take Kohl's heart to set his spirit free.

"The men adored Kohl," this fellow went on. "And they ... took vengeance on the village. One lad knew what was about to occur, and raced off to find me. But I dinna arrive in time, and the men, without a leader... acted in anger and unleashed a mighty fury upon Stonehaven." Again, he shook his head slowly. "It pains me more than

I can say that your family perished in the attack, lass."

She studied his face. "You're naught but a liar," she whispered, but his words made her wonder. Not about Ni-codimus—nay, never that, he was good and true, and she loved him—but about the rest. Perhaps this man
had
tried to stop what had happened.

Then more things clicked into place in her mind. "Your name is Marten. Nicodimus told me about you ... the brother of Kohl, and of Nicodimus's wife of so long ago. Anya."

"Aye, I imagine he told you much. I only hope you'll nay believe the worst of me too easily. Nicodimus ... he hates me. It has always been so."

"An' you hate him in return," she whispered. "Nonetheless, he dinna tell me that he was one of the Dark Ones, nor that you were one of the Light."

"Nay, lass. Nor did he tell you that you yourself were an immortal High Witch just as we are."

She blinked. "He ... he knew?"

"Of course he knew."

Shaking her head slowly, she knew it couldn't be true. "Nay, he'd have told me if he knew. He ... he trusted me with all the other secrets. Why would he keep this one from me? Nay, he'd have told me. He would!"

"Perhaps," Marten said slowly. "I suppose 'tis possible he dinna know of your nature. Tell me, did he ever see the mark of the crescent moon upon your flank, child? The one that marks all immortals as who and what they are?"

She felt the arrows of his words piercing her soul. The crescent birthmark. Nicodimus bore one. So did Nidaba, and so did she. He knew that. So if it was the mark of immortality...

"And has he ever touched you, lass?"

Frowning harder, she said, "I dinna ken your meanin'. What are you—?"

"Take your hands from my shoulders, pretty one. Just for a moment, an' you'll understand."

Still confused, she did, sitting away from him slightly, taking her hands from his shoulders.

"Now, put them back again."

With a nod, she lay her palms lightly upon his shoulders once more. Immediately, a jolt of something passed through her. The same sort of jolt she felt when she touched Ni-codimus, or Nidaba.

"The initial contact you make with any other immortal will give you just such a sensation, child," Marten explained slowly, patiently. "So even if Nic had never seen your birthmark, he'd have felt what you were the first time he touched you. Do you ken?"

She nodded, very slowly. So it was true. Nicodimus had known what she was. He had to have known. And yet, she defended him. ' 'If he did keep the truth from me, then he likely had reasons for doin' so."

' 'Aye. No doubt he and that she-wolf of his planned to take your young heart, once it grew powerful enough to sustain one or the other of them."

"Dinna be foolish!" she shouted. "Nicodimus is my husband, and Nidaba my friend!"

"Aye. And the two of them sharing a bed for nigh' on eight centuries now, lass. Can you not see what is before your face?''

She felt as if he'd punched her in the belly with a fist made of cold iron. Blinking with reaction, battling tears, she whispered, "Nicodimus ... and Nidaba?"

"Lovers, child. Lovers all along, even right under the nose of my sweet-natured sister, who died more of heartache than childbirth all those years ago. For she knew."

She shook her head slowly. ' 'Nicodimus ... he loved Anya."

' 'Loved her? Nay, child, he took her. Destroyed her village and her family and took her as his captive. By force, he took her."

She lifted her gaze. "Just the way your men destroyed my village, Marten? An' just the way you've now taken me?"

"Aye, lady. I'm afraid so. I'm sorry your life is being turned 'round because of it, but justice is justice, and for Nicodimus, 'tis long overdue."

Dropping her chin, releasing a sigh, she whispered, "You're so wrong about him."

"An' if I'm wrong about him, then where is he? Hmm? He was nay among the dead, I can tell you as much. Neither he, nor the dark woman who owns his heart and soul. Nay, lady, he dinna come looking for you, nor so much as try to protect your family. He vanished, he and his Nidaba. Vanished, without givin' you a second thought. He lied to you, little one. He lied to you about what he truly is, and kept the truth of your own nature a secret from you. And then he abandoned you. He's not worthy of a woman so fine as you are. Oh, sweet lady, I dinna even know your name."

Blinking, eyes burning, she whispered, "My name is Ar-ianna. Arianna Sinclair ... Lachlan."

"Arianna," he said slowly. "Dinna cry, Arianna. He's nay worthy of a single tear from such as you."

But the tears fell all the same.

Her captor pulled her gently closer, his touch exquisitely gentle, his body warm and soft. "I'll make it all up to you, lady. I vow I will. You'll know nothing but joy whilst you reside in my keep. Nothing but joy."

I stood in the center of the Stone Circle, hands clenched, arms taut and quivering as I howled my rage. My cry echoed through the forest and the surrounding moors, bounding from the silent monoliths that surrounded me. And yet no one heard. There was no reply.

Arianna was gone. Gone.

"I'll find you," I promised hoarsely when the echoes of my fury finally died away. "I swear to you, Arianna, I'll find you, no matter where they've taken you. And when I do I'll kill the bastards. I vow, if they've harmed a hair on your head, I'll..." My voice dropped to an anguished whisper. "Gods, don't let them harm her."

I lowered my head, staring through pools of tears at the pendent I clutched in my hands. Tears. How long had it been since I'd shed them? A century, perhaps? Longer?

Dammit to hell, why was I still pretending? ' 'I love you, lass," I finally admitted in a whisper, wishing for all the world that I could just hear her voice, that joyful lilt, one last time. "I love you. I should have told you. But I will, I vow it, I will. And I'll make it right again, make all of this up to you—somehow."

My hand fisted 'round the pendant, and then I brought

it to my lips, and kissed it to seal my vow. Silently, I fastened it 'round my own neck. Then I mounted Black, drew the horse about, and kicked his sides. Black lunged into a gallop, and I headed north, as I knew the attackers had done. Their trail was well laid and easily followed. I would catch the blackguards before this night was through.

"Stop looking for him, Arianna," her captor said, his voice soft, his eyes gentle. "Nicodimus will nay come for you. The sooner you accept that harsh truth, the better 'twill be."

She shook her head slowly. "He will. He'll come for me, you'll see." But would he? Maybe the more important question was,
could
he? Oh, but she was no fool. She knew well enough what was happening here. This Marten and she were alone, no one within sight nor earshot around them. Yet there had been dozens upon dozens of warhorses and soldiers in the village. So many men. Obviously, they had all ridden off in another direction, perhaps to plunder some other village, perhaps to battle some other clan. But wherever they had gone, it was obvious Marten's goal lay elsewhere. His horse's hooves, she noted, were wrapped in thick layers of cloth. And he guided the beast over the hardest terrain, where leaving a sign of their passing would be all but impossible. Marten pushed onward at a terrible pace. The miles seemed to fall away between Arianna and her home, along with all she had known there. All she had ever held dear, all she had loved. Perhaps Nicodimus would be unable to find her, even if he tried.

//he tried.

And what if he didn't? What if all the things Marten had told her...

But, nay. That could not be. She knew Nicodimus. Knew him ... and loved him. She believed in him. Aye, he had kept things from her—vital things she should have been told. She was immortal.

By the Gods, she was immortal. And unsure now, what that meant to her. How it would change her life. She only knew that even the girl she had been only hours before was now lost to her. As lost as her mother and father. As lost

as her dear sister. She no longer knew who Arianna Sinclair Lachlan might be, who she would become.

Gods, why had Nicodimus not told her?

She sighed, closing her eyes. If Nicodimus had kept so vital a truth from her, then he must have had some reason. He must have!

He would come for her. And when he did, she realized slowly, through the haze of grief and shock that clouded her mind ... when he did, she could be with him ... forever.

Aye, forever. He would not have to watch her grow old and die, as she had believed, for she was immortal, just as he was. And could be with him!

If... if he wanted her.

Doubts assailed Arianna then, new ones that had not occurred to her before. For Nicodimus had known these things all along, hadn't he? So maybe he did not want her after all.

I followed the horde of men for three nights before I finally caught up to them. I had not expected them to be moving so quickly. They had left no survivors behind, and had no reason to assume they were being pursued. Why, then? The question dogged me. Why such haste?

If they knew, somehow, that I was following, if they were ready and waiting when I finally arrived at their camp...

But, no, it didn't matter. Whether they expected my attack or not, my course would not change. I had to rescue Arianna. I had to find her. Hold her in my arms again, and know that she was all right.

It was full night, the fourth one of my journey, when at last I heard the sounds in the distance that told me they were near. Keeping to the thickest patches of forest, I moved Black slowly, quietly nearer, until I could see by the pale glow of distant fires that they had set up camp for the night. Good. Good.

Tying Black in a grove of pines, I crept closer, walking softly, using the skills I had learned as a warrior long ago,

and wondering as I neared what I would find awaiting me in Arianna's eyes. I had promised to protect her family, but I had failed. And more than just that ate at my soul. For those butchers had killed every clansman they saw. No one was spared, no prisoners taken. The lifeless corpses of beautiful young women had littered the muddy village road alongside those of their families. So why, then, had they taken Arianna alive?

And what if they had not? What if she, too, had been cut down, only to revive again? What if they had only taken her captive when they'd realized that they
could not
kill her?

What if she knew now, what she was? What I, in my arrogance, had kept from her?

I paused to lean against a tree, swamped with a sudden weakness brought on by regret. "I should have told her," I murmured hoarsely. "By the Gods, I should have explained it all to her, whilst I still had the chance ..."

But it was too late for regrets now, and when I lifted my head again, I could see the camp of my enemies. No less than fifty men in this troop, I judged. Four separate fires burned, and men surrounded each. Some eating, some drinking. Some still as stone, contemplating the flames. Some already lying down. And at the center of them all, a ragged tent had been erected, with men standing guard at each of its four corners.

"Arianna," I whispered, and my heart tugged as if trying to leap from my chest. She must be alive! That well-guarded tent had to be where they were keeping her. Every inch of my body seemed to stretch forward. My feet itched to run to her. And only by a supreme act of will did I manage to hold myself back. To draw a breath, and crouch down beside the large tree, and wait.

The hours crept by. Too slowly, too damned slowly. It seemed ages before the men in the camp truly slept. All except for those standing guard outside the tent. I could not hope to outfight fifty armed soldiers. Four, on the other hand, should pose no problem. But I would have to move

quickly, carefully, and in utter silence. They must not be given the chance to sound the alarm.

I crept closer, then moved silently among the sleeping men, picking my way with great care. Still concealed in shadows, so the men guarding the tent could not see me. Not yet. But I could see them, for my vision in the night was excellent, honed by the kiss of immortality.

I took another step, then went still as I saw one of the men turn toward the tent flap, as if in response to some sound from inside. I strained to hear, and finally did, even from this distance. The voice was a whisper, barely more than a breath.

"Please. Only for a short while. I am so cold and afraid, and alone..."

No, I thought in silence. By the Gods, what did she think she was doing?

Even as I willed him not to, the man to whom she spoke gave a nod, and ducked inside. While the other three exchanged lewd grins, and muttered their speculation. Fury built in my blood, a hot, pulsing thing. The bastard was alone in that tent with my wife. My woman. My Arianna. He would not live to see another sunrise.

In a moment, he poked his head back out, and I could see that his chest was bare now. My jaw clenched, teeth grated, hands fisted.

"Why dinna the three of you go an' fetch a bite to eat?" the man asked softly of his companions. "A mite o' privacy is called for at the moment."

One of the men frowned. "We were told nay to leave our posts," he argued, keeping his voice low.

"Aye, so you were. But if you do this for me I'll return the favor... in just a while when your own turn comes 'round."

The other man's brows rose high. "The lady's willin' to take each of us?"

And the man inside the tent gave a shrug. "The lady's a prisoner. Who cares if she's willin'?" He grinned broadly, his meaning plain.

The other three exchanged glances. "I dinna think it

wise," said one. "The chieftain, and Master Dearborne as well, warned us against that one. They say she's evil, same as the outlaw Nicodimus."

Another man nodded. ' 'Aye, and the lad Nedmond himself witnessed the demon, cuttin' the heart from the very chest of Master Kohl."

"Ah, she's but a woman. You can well imagine Laird Marten is takin' what pleasure he wishes from his own captive wench! An' I intend to do the same."

Nicodimus stiffened. Marten ... Gods, he should have known Marten would come to avenge his brother.

But there was no time to think, for the other men sighed, and nodded their agreement. "Dinna be too long," said one who hadn't spoken before now. "An' dinna untie the wench, either."

The bare chested one grinned again. "Nay, my friend, I willna. I prefer them bound, I do." Then he ducked back inside the tent, likely to ravage my wife.

I drew my dagger as the three men wandered away from the tent, heading toward me. I saw the fire they'd chosen, one with a barrel of ale standing nearby, and a pot half full of stew near enough the flames so it would still be warm.

I got closer, crouched down, and waited, though it nearly killed me to do so.

Two of them dipped out a cup of the stew, and sat down, while the third went straight for the ale, a short distance away. Even as he drew the foaming brew from the spigot, I crept up behind the other two. A silent slice, and the first one's throat was cut along with his windpipe. The second never knew a thing was wrong until his mate's legs began thrashing and the stew he'd held tipped to the ground. He glanced sideways, his eyes widened, and my hand covered his mouth even as my blade drove into the base of his neck, cleanly severing his spine. He did not move or breathe again.

His cup full of ale, froth spilling over his hand, the third man turned with a smile and started toward them, frowning when he glimpsed his comrades lying still on their backs. As he paused, squinting at them through the darkness, and

then moving closer, I crept 'round until I could come up behind him. I knew the instant he saw the blood, the second he realized death had visited his camp this night. For his body went taut and his head turned as if to shout to the others. But the sound never emerged, for my arm clamped tight 'round his neck from behind, and my hands gripped his head and twisted hard. He went limp when his neck snapped. I lowered him to the ground, and he looked for all the world as if he were sleeping.

Then I turned toward that tent again, and the blood thundered in my temples as I moved quickly, quietly forward. If the bastard had touched Arianna, if his hands were upon my woman, his death would be slow.

Wrenching the tent flap open, I leapt inside, dagger drawn.

The woman before me was standing, naked except for the shift she was pulling on, over her head. The guard lay at her feet, his face frozen in a surprised grimace. He wore nothing except the dagger that protruded from his chest, and the blood that slicked his skin.

"Arianna," I whispered, reaching for her.

Her head and arms poked through, and she straightened the shift around her legs, turning to face me. Not Arianna. Not her at all.

"Nidaba? But... but I thought—"

"Exactly what the bastards intended you think, no doubt," she whispered. She gripped my hand. "Come, we must go before we're found out."

"But Arianna ..." I began.

"She is not here, Nicodimus. Come.
Now.
I'll explain as we go." And she drew me from the tent.

In silence we made our way from the camp. Nidaba led me to where the soldiers' horses were picketed, helping herself to one as I quieted the others. I loosed the remaining mounts, and led them into the forest, before slapping their rumps and letting them run free. We raced quickly to where Black was tied, and were far away before we heard the shouts of alarm. Far enough away so I knew they would have no chance of catching us.

"Where is she?" I asked Nidaba.

She lowered her head. "Their leader took her, Nicodi-mus. His home is to the south, from what I was able to overhear. A keep called Kenwick. Do you know it?"

I did not. But it would not stop me. "Their leader," I said with distaste. "Marten. The bastard has hounded me for the last time. I do not know this Kenwick, but I will find it," I vowed. "And when I do, Marten will die."

"He knew you would follow the others," Nidaba said slowly. "So he sent them in the opposite direction, with me as their prize."

I glanced at her quickly, for once forgetting my own anguish. "Nidaba ... did they harm you?" . She averted her gaze. "They were ordered not to touch me until I was safely in the dungeons of this ... Kenwick Keep. I was to be delivered unharmed to a man called Dear-borne, for what, I do not know."

"They were
ordered
not to touch you," I repeated, watching her face closely. "Was it an order they obeyed, Nidaba?"

For a moment, she was silent. Then she only whispered, "Most of them did." She met my gaze and said no more. And I knew she would not. "This is far from the matter at hand, Nicodimus. There is something you must know. Ar-ianna..."

I closed my eyes as she paused, drawing a breath, sensing what was to come.

"She was run through," Nidaba told me. "She experienced death for the first time, my friend. And likely revived to realize the truth."