Stay the Night (12 page)

“He favors these rooms, so I reserve them for him whenever I know he is to visit us. Now, there is bloodwine in the lounge cabinet over there, and a supply of plasma in the dressing room's minifridge. If you need more syringes, you have but to ask.” Braxtyn finished lighting the candles and blew out the taper's flame before she saw Alex's face. “I had thought you might want some privacy for your injections.”

Alex felt a little embarrassed. “I see someone called ahead about my quirks.”

“In truth it was Lord Tremayne who advised me on the supplies you might need, my lady. I only wished you to feel comfortable in our home.” She offered a gentle smile. “Your lord did tell mine that you have never before visited London. I would be happy to show you our city.”

“I'm not much of a tourist, but I would like to have a look around while I'm here,” Alex said.

“If you enjoy art, there is the National Gallery. Van Gogh's
Sunflowers
and Turner's
Temeraire
are but two of the treasures in its collections. If you prefer to shop, there is Church Street for antiques, Kings Road for boutiques, Knightsbridge for Harrods, or Covent Garden for fanciful things.”

“Michael is kind of the shopper in this relationship.” The thought of browsing through stores made Alex's hands itch for her medical case. “I'm much happier in a lab or a treatment room.”

“Then I shall have to take you to the Florence Nightingale Museum.” Braxtyn gave her a shrewd look. “You remind me so much of her.”

Alex grinned. “You knew Flo?”

“We met on several occasions when Geoff and I were involved in the war effort,” Braxtyn said. “Lady Florence inspired me to no end. She did not care for what was appropriate, only for what was right and just. That spirit and determination created a marvelous aura around her; one you could almost feel when in her presence. After she returned from serving in Crimea, even the queen did not dare to cross her.”

Alex frowned. “I don't think I strike fear into anyone's heart. I'm too short. Annoyance, now
that
I have totally covered.”

“You needn't worry, my lady,” Braxtyn said. “The high lord and his entourage will be staying on the opposite side of the mansion.”

Alex sat down on the sumptuous master bed. “Do you think anyone would notice if I stay in here for the next two weeks?”

“I would.” Braxtyn came to sit beside her. “Richard's
tresora
does not care for me, or any woman, for that matter. The other seigneurs' ladies do not attend
le conseil supérieur
, but stay in town to shop and amuse themselves. If you do not come out, I shall be left to debate floral arrangements with Navarre and hide the inkwells and quills from my lord.”

“Phillipe really likes to garden,” Alex said. “I'd put him to work outside, weeding.” She sighed. “I thought I was ready for this tribunal thing, but I can already feel my feet icing up.”

“It shall not be as trying as you imagine.” Braxtyn patted her hand. “The seigneurs argue, Richard listens, he takes a vote, and then things are decided and everyone returns to their homelands.” She stood. “Come. I wish to show you the rest of our home and ask you a great many bothersome questions about yourself and America. I particularly adore your science-fiction shows. Do you happen to follow
Battlestar Galactica
on the telly?”

Alex was so busy filling in Braxtyn on the latest season of Capricans versus Cylons that she didn't pick up on the distinctive scent of cherry tobacco until she almost walked into the cloaked figure in the hall.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Not a personage for whom I am generally mistaken.” The voice that came out of the deep hood sounded deeply amused. “We meet again, Dr. Keller.”

Alex felt like swatting him with her case, but forced a smile. “How's it going, Richard?” She heard Braxtyn take in a quick breath behind her. “Don't worry, Lady Brax. His high lordness is used to my mouth. He had to listen to it for a couple of months after he kidnapped me and locked me up in his castle.”

“An experience the delights of which have yet to fade from my memory.” Richard touched her cheek with the back of one gloved hand. “As it happens, I
have
missed you, you impertinent wench.”

“Right. Like Kevin misses Britney.” Alex grabbed his hand before he drew it away and turned it over. Instead of the modified mitten he once wore to conceal the fact that his hand had mutated into a paw, he now wore a human-shaped glove with five fingers. “At least the treatments seem to be moving things right along.” She reached for the edge of his hood to push it back.

“They are.” Richard caught her fingers. “My modesty, however, insists that you conduct your examination later, perhaps in my chambers.”

“You, modest? Oh, you mean like I'm diplomatic.” She peered at the shadow of his hood. “Are you all right in there?”

“I have not felt better in two centuries, my dear.” He bent over her hand, and Alex felt the brush of almost human lips against her knuckles. “You will come to see me soon.”

As long as I don't have to see your seneschal
.

“Sure.” She tugged her hand free. “Just ring a bell or something.”

 

As Robin of Locksley performed introductions between his men and hers, Contessa Salvatora Borgiana indulged in one of her personal vices and imagined him naked. She had seduced many Kyn lords in her time, but Sherwood's prodigal son had always eluded her. Perhaps, like her, he preferred to be the one in control in the bedroom.

One wolf,
her dear, departed husband Arno had always said,
cannot be a mystery to another
.

She mourned the many missed opportunities just the same. Locksley, she felt certain, would have been a skillful lover. He had a penchant for women that seemed insatiable, and the athletic build of his long, princely body guaranteed a woman vigorous sport. Salva personally preferred larger, more muscular men in her bed—bringing such brutes to their knees gave her great personal satisfaction—but she had no doubt that, had she tried, she could have enslaved Locksley just as easily.

A pity circumstances as they were made that impossible now.

Robin sent his men out of the room, and with a nod to her
tresora
Salva did the same. Once they were alone, she occupied a chaise lounge and refused Robin's offer of bloodwine.

“I apologize for calling upon you like this without proper notice,” she said as he sat down across from her. “I have not traveled for many years, not since the time of the
jardin
wars. Losing poor Arno in the final battle broke my heart, and I have struggled to keep together our
jardin
, elude the Brethren, and find some peace for myself these last centuries. I fear my labors and concerns have turned me something of a recluse.”

Robin's expression softened. “I know what you have endured, Contessa. You need never apologize for it.”

“Thank you, my lord.” She folded her hands in her lap and prepared herself to grovel. “I come to you in some distress. It seems that your seigneur has taken himself off to London, and I am not acquainted with any of his lords except you. In my heart, I have counted you as a friend since you brought my husband's body home to me. I confess, I could think of no one else to whom I might come and beg assistance.”

“I am gratified that you did.” Robin studied her for a moment. “What happened to make you leave Italy?”

“The Brethren. They found my villa in the country and came in the middle of the day to set fire to everything. Most of my human servants were murdered, and the
jardin
forced to scatter into the hills and hide for days. Had I not been in town at the time with my personal guard . . .” To hide her emotion, Salva looked away from him. “We had heard of attacks in other regions, but I never thought it could happen to us. We have been so careful, so discreet.”

“Were you able to salvage anything?”

“Once we gathered our people and tried to make arrangements to leave Italy, I discovered that all of our bank accounts had been emptied, our properties sold, and our assets stripped. We were obliged to persuade a caravan of tourists to hide us and transport us over the border.” She looked down at the chic dress she had purchased in Paris on the journey from Venice. “My
tresora
insisted that we stop in Paris to rest and acquire money, papers, and new clothing before crossing the Atlantic. I dislike using my talent to persuade humans to give me such things, when a week before I might have purchased them with my own coin, but I discovered that one becomes quite avaricious when one is fleeing for one's life.”

“The Brethren will be made to pay for what they have done.” His expression darkened. “I promise you.”

“I have great hope that the high lord and the seigneurs will feel the same. Too many of our kind have been taken from us.” Salva drew a cigarette from the case in her bag and leaned forward to permit Locksley to light the tip. She blew out a stream of smoke before settling back. “So there you have it,
caro
. I have come seeking asylum, but my immediate task is to secure the
jardin
. There are seventy-four of us.”

“Cyprien has been allocating new territories for all of the Kyn being driven out by the zealots,” Robin said. “When he returns, he will help you. Until then you are welcome here, my lady.”

“Your generosity overwhelms me,” she said, pleased by the offer. “I would gladly accept, but most of the men and women of my
jardin
have family serving one of your lords to the north. You are acquainted with Suzerain Jaus?”

Robin nodded. “Valentin is an old ally of mine.”

“I am happy to hear it. You see, because of their connections, my people would feel safer if we were to settle in his territory,” Salva said. “I have never met Jaus, however, and I am reluctant to approach him without someone he knows well to vouch for me and mine. I would not trespass any further on your kindness, my lord, but would you consider assuming that responsibility and performing the appropriate introductions between myself and Suzerain Jaus?”

“I cannot guarantee that Valentin will grant you permission to settle in his territory,” Robin warned her. “But I shall do my level best to persuade him.”

Salva began to thank him, but was interrupted by a knock on the door and the appearance of Locksley's seneschal.

“I beg your pardon, my lord, my lady.” Will Scarlet bowed to them both. “I would not intrude, my lord, but an urgent matter has arisen in regard to last night's business with the mortal female that I must relate to you at once.” He glanced at Salva.

“The contessa is an old and trusted friend,” Locksley said. “You may speak in front of her.”

“I went to the auction office as you directed, and obtained the information you desired,” Scarlet said. “The female listed a Chicago address that I verified with our friends in the north. If it existed—which it does not—it would occupy the middle of Lake Michigan.”

Locksley shrugged. “Someone must have noted it wrong.”

“I had thought so as well at first,” Scarlet agreed, “but the driver's license she provided was not registered with the Chicago department of transportation. Also, her credit card was issued by a government-managed credit union in Washington, D.C., but one week ago.”

That got Locksley's attention. “What else?”

“I felt I should go to the gallery to question her employer,” Scarlet said. “It is closed until the night of the show, but I intercepted one of the humans exiting from the back door—a man named Dennis. Under my influence, he admitted that he did not work for the gallery or any art dealer. He is an electronics expert who specializes in covert monitoring devices. He said that he, the woman, and everyone associated with this show are special agents of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

Oh, dear
. Salva suppressed a smile.
Someone hasn't been telling the truth
.

“She is an FBI agent.” Locksley appeared stunned.

“Aye, my lord, and that is not all that the man told me,” Scarlet said. “Agent Renshaw came to Atlanta to work undercover as an art dealer and set up what they refer to as a ‘sting operation.' The FBI wishes to identify and arrest those responsible for transporting to the States the stolen art recovered by the Kyn in France.”

Robin said nothing for several moments. “I am the one responsible for that.”

“Yes, my lord.” Scarlet shuffled his feet. “According to the man Dennis, the FBI has been interested in your, ah, activities in the art world for some time. The agents have not yet identified you by name or appearance, and they have no witnesses, but they know a great many details about your most, ah, daring exploits. They call you ‘the Magician.' ”

Salva chuckled. “Most appropriate, my lord, given your skills at making things disappear.”

“I do not believe that the female knows that you and the Magician are one and the same,” the seneschal continued. “If she did, she surely would have tried to arrest you last night. But she and her cohorts are staging the gallery show specifically as a trap for you.
The Maiden's Book of Hours
is being used as the bait.”

“How could she know that I wanted that manuscript?” Locksley demanded. “For that matter, how did they know I live here, in Atlanta?”

Scarlet shrugged. “I cannot say, my lord, but their information is very good.”

“Too good.” Robin began pacing up and down the length of the room. “You are certain that she does not know who I am?”

“My lord, given that your activities date back several decades, the FBI believes you to be an elderly mortal,” Scarlet replied. “Even if Agent Renshaw did suspect, you appear too young and affluent to fit what Dennis called their ‘profile.' ”