Dancing on the Wind (52 page)

The door swung open and he warily stepped inside, pistol in hand. He found himself in a well-furnished room that might have been a regular panor except for the lack of windows. One door led to a bedroom while the other opened to a stone-walled dungeon. It matched Kit's description exactly.

As he moved forward, he saw a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye. He turned to see Lady Kristine Travers. For an instant, shock immobilized him. The fact that Kit and Kira were identical twins had been at the heart of this mission. Yet it was still deeply disorienting to see a woman who looked exactly like Kit, but who was at the same time a stranger.

And while he stared, she tried to bash his skull in.

Lucien reflexively dived sideways so that her cudgel only grazed his right arm, knocking the pistol from his hand. Swift as a cat, she wound up to try again, her gray eyes wild.

He backed across the parlor, saying urgently, "Kira, put that thing down. I'm a friend of Kit's."

She froze, poised between belief and lethal violence.

"My name is Lucien Fairchild." He spoke soothingly, as to a frightened child. "Kit is somewhere nearby, too. She got lost while looking for you. Let's go find her."

Voice shaking, Kira said, "Kit is
here
!"

He nodded. "I've misplaced her in the maze of tunnels out there, but she can't be far." He stepped forward and took the club from her unresisting hand.

For a moment she rubbed her temples exactly the way Kit did. "I… I'm sorry I hit you," she said, her voice cracking. "I thought you were Lord Mace."

"Mace is the one who abducted you?"

She nodded. "He saw me perform and became obsessed. When I refused to become his mistress, he kidnapped me after a performance. Since then, he's, been forcing me to… to…"

He stopped her before she could breakdown again. Though she seemed physically well, months of captivity had left her emotionally fragile.

"You don't have to explain," he said quietly. "Kit learned the general outlines through her dreams of you."

That produced a faint .smile. "She would, bless her."

He studied Kira's face. The resemblance between the twins was truly amazing. The same slim figure and soft brown hair, the same gray eyes and pure, striking profile that had enabled him to identify Kit again and again.

But there were also differences. Kira's face and lips were a fraction fuller, and the fact that she was right-handed had given a subtly different set to her features. And, of course, her spirit was uniquely her own.

He had also never seen Kit wearing a short black satin chemise laced together with leather thongs that revealed dramatic slashes of creamy flesh, or knee-high boots and lace stockings. However, he knew that Kit would look as alluring as her twin did.

Seeing the direction of his glance, Kira said wryly, "I swore that if I ever got out of here alive, I'd be happy to wear white muslin for the rest of my life."

He smiled. Obviously she was beginning to get her wits about her. "Do you have a cloak? The weather is wretched, and we'll have a ride of several miles after we leave."

Kira darted into the other room and returned with a sable cape fit for a princess. As she threw it around her shoulders, she examined Lucien as thoroughly as he had studied her. "Are you the reason Kit has been feeling happy lately?"

Startled, he said, "I'd like to think so. You can feel her emotions the way she can yours?"

"Not so well as she does, but I usually get the general drift. Lately she's been horribly anxious about me, but there have also been flashes of intense joy."

Interesting, very interesting. Putting that aside for a more appropriate time, he asked, "Is there anything else you want to take? The sooner we get out of here and find Kit,
the
better. Unfortunately, the Disciples are holding a ritual tonight, and they've
discovered our little rescue operation."

Kira's face paled, and he saw that fear was still very near the surface. '"The last time he was here, Mace explained that I was to be the main attraction for a gang rape by all of the Disciples,"' she said unevenly. "Afterward, there would be a private ceremony for him and his closest associates. The whole time I've been captive, he has been building toward tonight. Though he loved playing the role of sexual slave, the ultimate goal was for me to die at his hands."

Lucien caught her gaze with his. "Hang on a little longer, Kira," he said forcefully. "You can't fall apart just yet."

She closed her eyes, looking painfully brittle. Opening them again, she said, "I'll manage." She gave a crooked smile and brushed her hair with the back of her hand in a gesture that was purely her own. "There's nothing here I want. Except…"

She crossed the room and opened a cabinet. Inside were whips of different weights and materials. Taking the heaviest, she explained, "In case I need a weapon on the way out."

He retrieved the pistol, then ushered her out the door. In the guard room, he said, "I came from that direction, but I'm not sure we can leave the same way because a portcullis is blocking the main corridor that lies beyond. Also, Kit must be on this side of it. Do you know where that other passage goes?"

She shrugged. "Haven't the foggiest, but we might as well find out."

They entered the broader passage. Lucien hoped to God that they would find Kit quickly, because his anxiety about her was growing by the minute.

A good thing the enemy was retreating, for the smoke made Michael choke so badly that for a time he was incapable of firing. When he could speak again, he said, "Close quarters are rotten for fighting—give me an open field any day."

"I prefer shooting cannon from a ship myself." Jason reloaded his pistol. "Lots of fresh air, and the enemy keeps his distance. Shall we get out of this corridor before they rally?"

"Excellent idea." After another fit of coughing, Michael gasped, "Back up to the gallery. There was a door on the far side that might take us down on the other side of the portcullis."

Moving fast, they retraced their path to the cross corridor. They were about to head for the stairs when they heard angry voices in that direction. The guards were planning another assault. Since the sanctuary, complete with Disciples, was the other way, they darted across the intersection into the corridor that was a continuation of the one they had come from.

When they were safely across and out of sight, they halted to consider the next step. Jason said, "Shall we try the stairs anyhow? I suspect that we can outfight any of this lot."

"Probably," Michael agreed, "but we came here to perform a rescue, not start a war. Let's see where this passage goes first. There's air moving through, so it's not a dead end. With luck, we'll find another way up or around to where Luce and the ladies are. This place may be a bloody maze, but it can't cover that great an area."

Jason nodded, and they went ahead with the lantern

that had survived the attack. As Michael had hoped, the passage turned and started to double back on itself. The soft chalk in this section was shored up with wooden props. As a mine owner, he recognized the technique. The stone must be particularly bad here, for rough boards had been laid for a floor.

He frowned. There was something odd about the prop ahead…

Because he was studying it, he saw the flash of light as something began whipping toward him at head level. He dived for the floor. "Down!"

The American followed his lead just in time to avoid being decapitated by a blade that swung across the corridor parallel to the floor. It looked like a giant reaper's sickle, with a blade sharp enough to cut an intruder in half.

"Christ!" Jason said breathlessly. "This place is full of nasty little devices. How did we set off this one?"

Michael watched as the blade swung back and disappeared into a slot in the wall. It must have been propelled by a giant spring concealed behind the wooden strut. "These boards weren't put down to cover holes, but to conceal the trigger. I think this light-colored board moved when I stepped on it."

He shoved on it with the heel of his hand. Again the blade swung over their heads with a wicked hiss. After it had folded demurely back into place, Michael said, "The triggers have to be obvious enough so that whoever devised these traps can avoid them himself. If we're careful, we should be able to spot them."

"I wish I shared your touching faith." Jason got cautiously to his feet and stepped over the trigger board. "Blockade running was never like this."

"One of the things I like about Lucien is that life is never dull in his vicinity." Michael stood and raised the lantern, which he had managed to avoid breaking. "Shall we see what lies ahead?"

Travers sketched a mock salute. " '
Lay on, Macduff, and damn'd be him that first cries, 'Hold, enough!' "

Kit tried to dally, but Mace forced the issue by opening the door before she
had finished dressing. His avid expression made her hastily pull the high black boots over her lace stockings. She dared not push him too far. Though Mace might have enjoyed being whipped in the past, tonight he seemed primed for straightforward rape.

When she stood, he ordered, "Turn around."

She obeyed slowly, afraid of what a quick movement might do to her costume, which was the most indecent garment imaginable. In front it was slashed to the navel with leather thongs crisscrossing over bare flesh to hold the fabric together. The arrangement left her breasts and midriff half exposed. Similar slashes revealed provocative swathes of her backside. She felt more naked than if she had been truly nude.

Mace stared at the bright butterfly that was visible through the black lace stocking. "Wonderful! Even the tattoo is the same. But the laces are too loose. I'll tighten them myself."

She tried to back away when he approached her, but he whipped his knife from the scabbard and touched the tip to her throat. "Hold still," he hissed.

For some reason the knife, with its ability to slash and mutilate, was more frightening than the pistol. She stood rigid while he sheathed the blade, then grasped the thongs that laced the chemise over her breasts. He pulled them so tightly her that nipples showed clearly under the tight black satin. She could scarcely breathe, and the thongs would leave a lattice of crimson welts in her bare flesh, if she lived long enough.

"Yet surely you are not quite identical." He tied the bow, but instead of moving away he began to skim his hands over the satin-covered curves of her body. The heat of his palms on her breasts made her flesh recoil.

"Before I am done, I will discover the differences," he said huskily. "Since your sister is the wicked twin, I suppose you are the good one." He pinched her nipples with brutal force. "In some ways, that is even more titillating."

She bit her lip to keep from whimpering. She would not give him the satisfaction of showing her disgust, for she sensed that he would revel in a woman's fear.

He stepped back with visible regret. "Later. Now we must collect Cassie the First."

He bound her wrists behind her with a wide scarlet ribbon the exact shade of fresh blood. Then he gestured with his pistol for her to precede him.