Otherworld Challenger (19 page)

On this occasion Moncoya was clad in a peacock-blue doublet, with a jeweled coronet resting in his hair. He regarded Vashti with his head tilted to one side. “You look tired, my Vashti.”

For a brief moment she almost allowed herself to hear a fatherly note of concern in his voice. Almost dreamed this was not the man who had kidnapped Enja, her mother, because he'd had sexual fantasies about Valkyrie women. In that instant she nearly believed he had not murdered Enja when she'd tried to leave him and take her infant daughters with her. Even that this was not the father who had tried to sell Tanzi to Satan in a bizarre marriage pact. It was only when her memory took her back to the last time she'd seen Moncoya and reminded her that he had tricked her into releasing him from his constraints at knifepoint that Vashti's mind finally rebelled.

“I could almost believe you cared.” She felt her lips curl back in a sneer reminiscent of his own.

Moncoya placed a hand over his heart. “You wound me.”

“I'd like to. What are you doing here?”

He took a seat in a chair by the fire, striking a graceful pose with his shapely, hosed and booted legs crossed in front of him. “I was invited.”

Vashti sat on the end of the bed. “I haven't got time for riddles. A friend of mine is missing, possibly in grave danger.” As she spoke the words aloud, she knew they were true. Jethro would not be at the banquet tonight. “I thought you couldn't leave your hiding place?”

His smile contained mischief and menace in equal measure. “Who will pursue me here? That half-blood mongrel who dares call himself my brother?”

“Merlin Caledonius
is
your brother, although he doesn't care to admit it any more than you do. I suppose you are right about one thing. No one is going to follow you to Avalon. Not unless they have a death wish.”

“You see. We think alike, you and I. Who is this friend? The one you said is in grave danger.”

Vashti paused. She didn't trust his motives for being here, but she didn't see how telling him could harm Jethro. If her fae instincts were right, Jethro was in enough trouble already. “You already know him. It is Jethro de Loix.”

“What is it about these necromancers?” As always, Moncoya's voice was caressing, slightly teasing and decidedly hypnotic. Even after everything he had done, his magnetism was such that it would be easy to be fooled by him. She had a feeling she wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know. “Your sister was prepared to throw away the brilliant future I offered her in order to go and live on the very edge of civilization with her Irish sorcerer. Now I find you—the sensible one—have fallen under the spell of another necromancer. And not any necromancer. No, you had to choose the only one you cannot have. The one who has been claimed by none other than Morgan le Fay herself.”

Vashti regarded him speculatively. There was an outside chance she might get some answers here. Not because her father would take pity on her. On the contrary. Pity was an alien concept to Moncoya—along with so many other mortal emotions. But he loved gossip and he had a vindictive tongue. If he knew of any scandal, Moncoya would be unable to resist sharing it. “Why is that? Why has Morgan decided she wants an unknown American mercenary to be her mate?”

Moncoya's laughter rang out and, in Vashti's opinion, went on far too long. “Oh, my dear child, you really do not know?”

“If I did, I wouldn't have asked.” She tried, and failed, to keep the caustic note out of her voice.

He studied her face, his head to one side. “Can it be true? You do not know who Jethro de Loix is?”

Vashti felt her temper rise at the same time as her heart sank. Moncoya was toying with her, but she was sure now he knew something. And that secretive smile was telling her it was something huge. “Don't start being cryptic. I know as much about Jethro's background as he does himself.”

Moncoya whistled. “Really? I wonder why Morgan hasn't told him. She'll play a deep game, that's for sure.”

“She isn't here, so she hasn't been able to tell him anything.”

His eyes narrowed and Vashti thought he was about to say more. Instead he gave an elegant shrug. “I daresay Morgan will reveal all in her own good time.”

Vashti resisted the urge to stamp her foot. “Reveal what? For God's sake, just tell me!”

Moncoya shook his head. “I'm not going to risk getting on the wrong side of Morgan at any time. If you think I'm going to do it here on Avalon, you can think again. Not even for you, my Vashti.”

“Then get the hell out of my room.” Vashti bounced up from the bed, her whole body trembling with suppressed rage.

With that feline grace that was his alone, Moncoya rose. His features were schooled into an expression of sadness that might have fooled anyone who didn't know him. “I had hoped for a more pleasurable reunion.”

“Fuck off.”

“Have you been learning this interesting new vocabulary from that coarse necromancer? You did not glean it in our royal home.”

Vashti padded to the door in her bare feet and held it open. When Moncoya drew level with her, he halted, any pretense at paternal concern gone. “Don't fight me, Vashti. You have enough problems.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Strangely, it is not. Call it a warning. You may not believe me, but I mean you no harm.”

Despite his huge personality, Moncoya wasn't tall. Vashti only had to tilt her head back slightly to look him fully in the face. “I don't believe you. You never think of anyone but yourself.”

“I never said that wasn't the case.” With his customary swagger, he bowed slightly before walking away from her along the corridor.

Vashti waited until he was out of sight before closing her bedchamber door and leaning against it. Now he was gone, she found her limbs were shaking violently in the aftermath of the encounter.

Tanzi, please answer me!
Why did it have to be here, on Avalon of all places, that their psychic bond was broken?

When Ilsa returned to help her, she was outraged to find Vashti was already dressed and only needed her assistance to lace the back of her gown. Ignoring the girl's protests, she hurried down to the great hall, where the guests were already gathered for the banquet to welcome Moncoya. There was great excitement. From being an island that no one visited, Avalon had seen two such celebrations in a matter of days.

Vashti's heart sank. There was no sign of Jethro. Lisbet arrived late, sidling into her chair, her eyes downcast and her manner subdued. Aydan explained in a whisper she was probably still upset after Jethro had lost his temper with her earlier. By the time the food arrived, Vashti's nerves were stretched to the point where she wanted to do someone—probably Iago, though Moncoya would make a good substitute—a serious injury.

“If Iago is a trickster, why can't he make himself look better?” Aydan speculated. In response, Vashti turned impatient eyes on him. He subsided into his chair. “Sorry.”

She regarded her father from beneath lowered brows. “Jethro disappears and my father arrives. I can't believe this is a coincidence.”

“You think he knows something?”

“I asked him, but he wriggled his way out of giving me a straight answer. As always.” Vashti pushed her plate of uneaten food away. Where was Jethro? What was happening to him right now? The thought of the empty dungeons plagued her.
There are no prisoners on Avalon. Displease Morgan and there is only one option...

“What did your father say?” Aydan asked. He, too, had eaten very little.

“He made a few cryptic comments about why Morgan brought Jethro here, but he didn't actually say anything useful. He likes being mysterious.” She rose from her seat. “I'm going to ask Iago.”

When Vashti crossed the room and halted in front of Iago, he ceased his conversation, regarding her across the table with speculation in his eyes. “Your beautiful daughter.” The words were addressed to Moncoya, although his gaze remained on Vashti. Moncoya remained silent.

“Where is Jethro de Loix?”

“Somewhere neither you nor I can help him.” Iago gave an exaggerated sigh. “He should have accepted the offer that was made to him.” He turned to Moncoya. “These necromancers. They seem to feel they can solve every problem with brute strength. I prefer a little finesse.”

Vashti placed her hands on the table, leaning close. “I will find him, and when I do, you and Morgan will discover brute strength works.”

“That's the point—” Iago's teeth gleamed as he smiled “—you won't find him. Now, as you will observe, the musicians are beginning to play. Would you care to dance?”

Vashti launched herself at him across the table, her fingers curling into claws in preparation to gouge his eyes.

Moncoya rose in a fluid movement, but Aydan was faster. Catching Vashti around the waist, he hauled her away from Iago.

“If you get yourself in trouble here, you'll be no use to Jethro. And there are no prisoners on Avalon, remember?”

Taking a deep breath, she nodded, allowing Aydan to lead her out of the hall. As she passed Lisbet, the other woman looked up and Vashti caught a glimpse of her expression. She frowned. Lisbet didn't look upset. Far from it. The smile that played around her lips was radiant and curiously triumphant.

Chapter 18

J
ethro lay in complete darkness. Sometimes he drifted in and out of consciousness as though his mind was suspended in a different place to his body. On those occasions when he regained lucidity, he knew he was in a confined space. He was lying on his back with his arms at his sides. His hands and ankles were unbound, but if he stretched out his fingertips or feet they immediately encountered a solid obstacle.

I am not hurt.
There was no pain anywhere on his body. Even his injured left arm no longer pained him. Whatever spell he was under, or drug he had been given, the effects were mildly euphoric. Apart from the fact that he was imprisoned and unable to think clearly, of course. Those were definite inconveniences.

He didn't know how long he'd been there. He thought it wasn't minutes. It could have been hours. His disordered awareness told him it was longer.
Let it not be weeks or months.
Yet, why not? It wasn't unpleasant. When the memories came, he lost all sense of self, all appreciation of Jethro de Loix, and drifted into another time, another place and another man's life.

And there was the voice.
Her
voice. It soothed him, enticed him and wooed him all at the same time. He knew that voice. Now and from the past. He wanted to reach out and touch her, hold her still so he could slide his fingers over her face, rediscover his connection to her. He also wanted to run from her.

“You are all mine once more, my love.” Even in his cramped enclosure, he felt her breath touch his face.

He wanted to protest. That couldn't be right. How could he be hers? Being hers was unnatural and wrong. But it was easier not to fight her. The blackness was warm and welcoming. She was so compelling, waiting within that darkness for him to come to her. Why try to resist the inevitable?

When he closed his eyes again he could see the great hall and the round table. The same but different. He was there, presiding over the order of things. As it should be. Everyone present bowed down to him. At first he had been confused. Gradually, realization began to dawn on him. Now he knew the truth. Although the memories were disjointed, they were as real as his recollections of life with Bertha and Gillespie. He knew who he was.

Or do I? Is this part of her plan?
A sudden return to clarity brought with it a moment of panic. Was she planting false memories as a way of confusing him? Was this a form of mental torture? Would he emerge from this confinement a gibbering wreck who believed he was someone else? Not just anyone, either.
No, if I'm going to go mad and have an alter ego, I'm going to do it in style.

“Why must you fight me?” Her voice was soft in his ear, soothing away his fears. “Let it come. Let the past return so the future can be ours.”

His body relaxed. She was right. As the tension oozed away, he was no longer there within that restricted space. Instead he was on top of a cliff, seated astride a huge black stallion. He wore armor and his cloak was blown behind him like a pennant by the breeze. The pain in his chest was worse than anything he had ever felt. He wanted to hurl himself from the horse and into the churning waves below.
How can I when the future of my whole nation depends on me?

The man who approached him was barefoot and clad in the robes of a druid. His handsome face showed only concern for a friend. Even in his dreaming state, Jethro felt comforted as the other man reached up and placed his hand lightly on Jethro's.

“Did you know?” He heard the anguish in his words as they reverberated through his body.

Merlin Caledonius shook his head. “I would have told you.”

“How could she?” Jethro—this Jethro who was not Jethro—almost choked on the words. “How could she be unfaithful to me with Mordred? My own son. The son born of the relationship I have tried so hard to forget...”

“If you let this defeat you, Morgan will have won.”

Morgan! His eyes flew open in the darkness as he returned to the present. Of course he knew that voice. It was the voice of the woman who had seduced him when he was an eighteen-year-old virgin. The woman who had borne him a child, a boy called Mordred who grew up to hate his father. The woman who had not thought to tell him she was his older sister. The woman who, when he discovered their relationship, had tried to persuade him they could still be lovers. The woman who had haunted him throughout his life.
That
life. Who wanted him still in this one, it seemed.

“You.” His voice was a hoarse croak in the darkness.

“Yes, my love, it is I. I was always here. Always waiting. Always true. Always faithful. Unlike her, the one you took to be your wife.”

He tried to move, but there was no space. “Guinevere was unfaithful because of you. Because of Mordred and his desire for revenge. Between you, you took the woman I loved from me.”

“No.” The voice was still soft and coaxing. He had to fight hard not to lose himself in it. “I am the woman you love.”

The woman I love.
Forget the others. Think of her. Forcing himself to concentrate, Jethro conjured up her image, focusing on the way her eyes looked when they smiled into his. Those lips when they parted in a mischievous smile, or better still when they opened beneath his. The sound of her laughter, the feel of her hand in his...

“Come back to me.” There was a touch of impatience in Morgan's voice.

“Never.” He felt her power tugging at him and forced his mind back to the image of a slender body twining itself around his.

“You will. You cannot escape. I will be back.”

He sensed Morgan's presence leaving him and heaved a sigh of relief.
You cannot escape.
Morgan thought she had the man he once was imprisoned. She believed she had her brother Arthur trapped here in this dark, confined space. And, of course, she did. He knew that beyond a doubt. This was not a mind game. As incredible as it seemed, Jethro was Arthur, King of the Britons. But Morgan had also imprisoned the man he was now. She had Jethro de Loix locked up in this tiny space. And she didn't know what she was dealing with.
I have skills now I did not have then.
Jethro permitted himself a little smile.
What would the Romans have thought of my necromancing powers? Those long campaigns away from home would have been so much easier if I could have summoned an army of corpses to our aid...

Morgan thought she had him where she wanted him.
We'll see about that. Locking up a necromancer isn't as easy as you might think.
He relaxed, flexing his fingers. Okay, it wasn't an ideal position, but Jethro had been in worse situations in his time.

He lifted his arms as far as they would go. “
Hidercyme.
Come here. Come to me.” He spoke in commanding tones. The same ones he had used to lead his armies into battle all those centuries ago.

At first there was nothing and he wondered if it had worked. Then he heard the faintest rumble within the earth itself. It grew louder, and he lay back with a satisfied smile. They were on their way.

* * *

It was early morning, before the bustle of the day had begun, and Vashti waited until there was no one around before she approached Rina in the courtyard.

“Jethro de Loix has gone missing.” She blurted the words right out. “I need to try to unravel some of the secrets around this place.”

Rina regarded her with wide, frightened eyes. “I am not the person to ask.”

“Rina, no one else will tell me. Please, if I am to find him and save him, I have to find out why Jethro is so important to Morgan le Fay. If you know anything that can help me—even the tiniest piece of information—I'm begging you to help me.”

Rina cast a swift look around her, checking no one was near. “Meet me by the old well at the far side of the garden.”

The old well Rina referred to was situated in an overgrown and disused part of the castle grounds. The minutes Vashti spent waiting for her nurse to arrive were among the longest of her life. Just when she had decided Rina was not going to come, she heard a rustling in the foliage. Looking furtive and troubled, Rina appeared.

“I'm sorry. One of the court ladies stopped me and wanted to talk. I thought I'd never get away. Follow me.”

She led Vashti to an empty potting shed that leaned precariously against one of the castle's outer walls. Inside, it smelled of dank earth and mildew. There was a rickety wooden bench inside and Rina sat, gesturing for Vashti to sit next to her. To Vashti's surprise, Rina's eyes were filled with tears.

“What is it?” She took both Rina's hands in her own and was amazed to feel they were cold as ice.

“I would do anything to spare you pain, my princess.”

“I know that.”

Rina's tears spilled over. “What I must tell you now will cause you great misery.”

A dreadful sense of foreboding settled over Vashti. “This is about Jethro.” Rina nodded. “Tell me. I need to know.”

“It concerns the child. The one you call the challenger. He was not just any child. Even before his birth, he was destined for greatness.”

Vashti wrinkled her brow. “How could that be? I thought he was not an immediate successor to King Ivo. He only became the heir to the faerie crown because he was the sole survivor of the massacre. Everyone else in line to the throne was murdered on that terrible night...by my father.”

Rina swallowed hard. “That is true. But this child was already special. He was the great King Arthur of the Britons...born again.”

Vashti heard the words but her mind refused to process what Rina was saying. For long, silent moments she simply stared, openmouthed, at the other woman. When she was finally able to speak, her voice was little more than a croak. “Explain.”

“I will start at the beginning. When I was a young girl, I was a maidservant here at the castle. The great Morgan le Fay took a liking to me and introduced me into her entourage as her personal maid. I knew of her love for her half brother and her devastation she had been unable to save him when he was fatally wounded. She would spend long hours poring over her spell books, trying to find ways of bringing him out of the enchanted sleep she had placed him in. Her dilemma was that, if she did so, she knew he would die of his injuries. Then, one day, she became very excited. She believed she had found a way. If she could use her powers to extract his spirit and transfer it into the body of an unborn baby, that child would grow up to be Arthur. ‘Don't you see, Rina?' she said to me in great excitement. ‘He will no longer be my brother. I will wait for him and we can be together at last.'”

“You are not going to tell me she went through with this plan?” Vashti felt a tight knot of nausea forming in her stomach.

Rina hung her head. “I couldn't stop her.”

Vashti squeezed her hands. “I know that. From what I've heard of Morgan, no one can stop her.”

“A few days after she hatched this plan, a contingent of faeries arrived here on Avalon. Their boat had been blown off course. One of the women, a noble princess who was a niece to King Ivo, was in the later stages of pregnancy. I saw a plan forming in Morgan's eyes. That very night she drugged the princess and performed the magic ceremony. The woman didn't know what had happened. She never knew that after that night her unborn child carried the soul of King Arthur within him. When the faeries left here, Morgan insisted the princess should take me with her as a gift. I was a skilled nursemaid. It was her way of ensuring I would be there to care for the child.”

“Did anyone suspect anything after the child was born?” Vashti asked.

Rina shook her head. “No. The birth was a normal one. He was a beautiful child.” She smiled reminiscently. “When he was a few months old, I received a message from Morgan. Moncoya was planning to overthrow King Ivo. There were no other details. Just that I was to take the baby and leave the faerie palace at midnight on the specified date.” Tears filled her eyes again. “I had become fond of my faerie mistress. If I had known...”

“You could not have known my father's plan was to kill them all. No one could have predicted how ruthless he would be in his quest to become the King of the Faeries.”

Rina drew a breath, steadying herself so she could continue her tale. “I received no further instructions from Morgan. I was terrified. I knew if Moncoya discovered the whereabouts of the child, he would have him killed. Jethro was the only surviving relative of King Ivo, the new heir to the faerie crown. I went into hiding with him, but I had to think of a long-term plan to ensure his safety. I thought if I tried to get back to Avalon there was a good chance I would encounter Moncoya or some of his followers. The only place where I believed I might be safe from the new faerie king was the mortal realm. Moncoya's hatred of the earth-born was legendary. And I knew a mortal woman who I thought might help.” She looked embarrassed. “I had become friends with her in the days before your father's rule. When it was still acceptable to cross over into the mortal realm to do kind deeds or bring good fortune to those who deserved it. This woman was one whose goodness shone out of her. Her name was—”

“Bertha de Loix.” Vashti said it for her. Her heart was racing as the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. Could it be true? Surely the scenario her mind was conjuring up was too fanciful to be true.

“She was Bertha Toussaint when I first knew her. The sweetest, kindest mortal who ever walked the earthly realm. As a girl, she was always sickly. Back then, before your father banned such practices, those of us who followed the ways of the Seelie Court had an obligation to bestow vitality upon deserving mortals. I did my best to restore Bertha to good health. Later, when she married and it became obvious she couldn't have the child she so desperately craved, I tried to help her. My efforts were to no avail. When I brought the faerie heir to the mortal realm and sought refuge with Bertha, it seemed we had found a solution to both our problems.”