Crimson Night Part 14

"What would you have of me?" Simon saw nothing but the pitch-black around him, and the voice was a whisper that blew a cold wind on the back of Simon's neck.

He clutched the pentagram and turned himself carefully, ordering the mischievous spirit to stay in front of him. When the spirit again changed position, Simon felt a piece of parchment put into his right hand, along with a feather quill and a steel box.

Quickly, he scrawled the name Flauros and dropped it into the box. The box was filled with sulfur and Simon shut it quickly, making the spirit wail in dismay.

Simon didn't even have to hold the box over fire before the spirit moved in front of him, frightened by the thought of being cast into the lake of fire if Simon were to burn the box.

Simon gagged, but with a supreme effort kept from vomiting. He felt sweat running down his body freely and wanted more than anything to pitch himself into a river to cool his flaming body. He did not know how much longer he could remain on his feet.

Simon spoke quickly, though he was careful of his wording so the devious spirit could not deviate from his orders. "Hear me, Flauros, and hasten to obey. I order you to consume in your flames the body of Payton, Baron Baldevar. Do so without delay."

It seemed that the spirit departed but Simon knew this was an old trick of daemons. They would pretend to leave so a magician would not do the License to Depart and then be fair game once he stepped outside the circle.

Simon collapsed to the floor, his body convulsing and a vile black substance pouring from his mouth.

"The License to Depart, son!" he vaguely heard Father Bain scream.

Oh, G.o.d he couldn't. He couldn't control his flailing limbs and it was getting so difficult to think. Sleep, he thought. I want to sleep A harsh slap obscured the cloud around his head. "The License to Depart or your soul is forfeit and your father will live!"

It was the mention of his father that gave Simon the strength to rise to his knees and speak between bouts of retching. Quickly, he spat out the License to Depart.

"By the virtue of Adonai, depart ye unto your abode and retreat, be there peace between me and you, but be ye ever ready to come when ye shall be cited and called; may the blessing of G.o.d, as far as ye are capable of receiving it, be upon you, provided ye be obedient and prompt to come unto us."

With that, Simon collapsed in a fresh round of seizures and felt a dim sense of surprise when he realized the person screaming in agony and begging for death was himself.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Las Vegas

July 20, 1998

Giving an ostentatious yawn, Simon stopped speaking and stretched out on the checkered picnic blanket they'd brought, staring up at the full moon with an expression that showed he was well aware of Meghann's consternation at the incomplete tale.

"So what happened after you fainted?" she finally asked impatiently and swatted his arm in annoyance. "Did your spell work or did you have to use earthly means like your sword to kill your father?"

Simon raised himself up on one elbow. "My sword? Have you forgotten the quarrel we had in the great hall? Why do you think I resorted to magick in the first place? The slightest hint that my father had been murdered and all suspicion would have fallen on me. Now, if you want to know what happened, hand over that slab of cake in your hands."

"But it's the last piece," Meghann said, looking down at the heavenly chocolate fudge cake with regret. She gave a poignant sigh, firmly dismissing the inner voice that had the nerve to claim her actions bordered on flirtation. "Would you really starve your own child?"

"Madam, you have had a side of ribs, three pieces of chicken, one pastrami sandwich on rye, and demolished half that cake by yourself. You are in no danger of malnutrition so you may spare me the sight of those limpid, appealing eyes.

Hand it over or I'm silent as the grave."

"I wish you were in your grave," Meghann muttered but she shoved the paper plate at him and Simon resumed his tale.

"All of what I say next was told to me by others, Meghann. For the next four days, I was oblivious to the world around me. After I collapsed, Father Bain completed the ceremony and put the room to rights while I lay feverish and raving at his feet. There was no question of him taking me back to the manor house a fierce blizzard had settled over the area while we conducted our ritual. Somehow, Father Bain dragged me up the stairs and laid me on the stone floor, spending the rest of the night pouring snow and ice over my body in an attempt to bring down the fever.

"At first light, he planned to ride into the village and bring Adelaide to the church. But before he could leave, my brother Roger came blundering into the church, babbling incoherently about Satan entering the house and striking down my father. According to Father Bain, my dear brother did not even spare a glance for me thrashing about but demanded that the priest come to the manor immediately and cast out the devil."

"So they left you at the church?"

"No, no. Father Bain slung me into the coach and they headed off. On the ride home, Roger told Father Bain a rather extraordinary tale of being awoken in the dead of night by a howl such as he'd never heard before. He rushed to my father's room and said the old man was writhing on his bed and screaming in an unnatural voice. According to Roger, it took five strong men-at-arms to restrain my father and keep him from harming himself. That's when Roger set out for the church."

Simon paused to take a sip of iced coffee. "What happened next I shall regret missing to my dying day. No sooner had Father Bain dragged me into the house than my father appeared at the top of the stairs, his guards hot at his heels. My reputation as a sorcerer was permanently cemented when the old man came out of his madness long enough to point one trembling finger at me and shout 'why?' in a voice that shook dust from the rafters. Next, he charged down the stairs, no doubt intending to attack me. But halfway down the stairs, he burst into flames Father Bain said one moment he was staring at a raving old man, the next he vanished into a giant ball of fire."

"You're making that up," Meghann accused. "Alcuin told me your father was found in bed by a maidservant cause of death unknown."

"Was Alcuin there, madam? What the sham priest told you is the lie Father Bain recorded in the parish records so the whole world would not learn the bizarre circ.u.mstances behind my father's death. Roger went along so our family's reputation would not suffer he did not even tell Isabelle the truth when they married. That was doubtless because he had no desire to frighten his new bride by informing her of her brother-in-law's penchant for the Dark Arts."

"So what happened after the demon made your father spontaneously combust?"

"Roger and the guards ran to my father and threw their capes on him to smother the flames but it was too late. All that remained of him when they removed their capes was a smoking, black cinder not even recognizable as a man.

"Roger was the first to recover his wits, which surprises me mightily, as I never thought he had any to begin with. He had no weapon on him, as he'd run from the house with no thought but getting the priest to come exorcise my father.

Apparently he grabbed a sword from the belt of one of the guards and launched himself toward me, screaming that I was an unholy monster and I'd somehow killed my father through sorcery. Fortunately for me, Father Bain was no soft indulged cleric but a man of good physical strength and he repelled my brother's attack, barely saving my head. While the guards restrained Roger, Father Bain denied my brother's charge in a voice that carried through the great hall. On his honor as a priest, he swore I had spent the evening in prayer with him by my side which, when you think about it, was no lie." Simon gave a malicious smirk.

"Of course, the good father never divulged the nature of my prayers. After that, he took charge. He ordered the guards to take my brother to his rooms and give him sleeping herbs so he could recover from his shock. Because of the condition of my father's body, there could be no question of him lying in state in the great hall.

A coffin was ordered constructed and my father's body was removed from sight while the carpenter made the coffin. Father Bain gave my father the last rites, and prepared his soul to enter the kingdom of heaven. The next day, my father was buried."

"What happened to you?"

"I was put into Adelaide's care, bled by leeches to remove the bad humors from my blood, and given great quant.i.ties of violet tea to bring down my fever.

Four days later, much to my brother's dismay, I recovered."

"Why didn't Roger accuse you of witchcraft and have you burned at the stake?"

"He wanted to but there was no way to bring formal charges with Father Bain's testimony. After all, how could he refute the sworn statement of a trusted, respected priest insisting I spent the whole night in Christian prayer?"

"Great cover," Meghann commented.

"Wasn't it? Of course, ever since the Dark Ages a great number of high church officials involved themselves in sorcery and necromancy, knowing no one would ever think to accuse them unless they became incredibly careless. Don't look so shocked have you no knowledge of the cutthroat world of church politics? It would take more than a life of pious prayer to achieve the power and glory most of the clerics were after. At any rate, Roger not only had no legal way to kill off his little brother, he now lived his life in terror that he'd be my next victim unless he ceded to my wishes a point I made very plain when he came to visit my sickbed the morning after my fever broke."

"You threatened him?"

Simon laughed, the deep, rich sound carrying throughout the still desert around them. "I did better than that, little girl. He thrust a cross at me even as a mortal I had to bear with that dreary ritual and I began thundering incantations at him.

Fortunately for me, Roger was such a fool he visited me without a witness to corroborate anything I did. So I was able to fling curses at his head and within moments, he fell to his knees, begging me to spare his life. I said all he had to do was give me what was mine and I'd vanish from his life. Even in his terror, Roger could not bring himself to admit the gold was mine and said he would invest in Sir John's venture. I would go along on the trip and receive ten percent of Roger's share for overseeing the voyage. I told him I would not consider the arrangement for anything less than twenty-five percent and the fool agreed. Within a fortnight, I was on my way to Algiers."

Simon reached for her hand making her jump when he ran one finger over her palm. "What think you, Meghann? When I began my tale, I promised you would see the foes I vanquished deserved their fate. Do you agree, or think as Alcuin did that I was a vicious mercenary destroying innocent lives without remorse?"

"Maybe you had some justification for your actions," Meghann said softly. She knew Alcuin would never excuse any killing not committed in the name of self - defense, but Meghann wondered if she would have behaved differently in Simon's place. As long as his father lived, Simon was trapped in the role that awful old man had a.s.signed him youngest son in a loveless marriage, spending his days doing no more than keeping track of an unprofitable sheep form. Simon was right to call his father a skinflint He should have taken advantage of his son's sharp mind and sent him to court where he could have made a name for himself or paid for him to continue his education.

"What was wrong with your father?" Meghann demanded.

Simon shrugged, moving a lock of hair that had blown across her eyes, twirling the flame strands in his fingers while he spoke.

"I have asked myself what was 'wrong' with my family many times and never arrived at a satisfactory answer. Perhaps the old man was merely cautious and tightfisted. After all, you speak from hindsight of four hundred years. You know England became a mighty empire because of trade and exploration my father, an ignorant baron of the north, did not have your knowledge. Nor did he have the kind of imagination or foresight that is required to take risks."

"Why did he hit you?"

"Darling." Simon smiled. "You look so indignant. Why aren't you glad I was on the receiving end of blows at one time in my life? My father thrashed me because I suppose because I was expendable and a bit of a nuisance.

Remember my time, Meghann. People did not love or coddle their children the way they do now, perhaps because they died so easily and there was no point getting attached to them. To my father, I was born solely to advance his name. But with Roger alive and well, I was not even needed for that."

"So you were an understudy in case Roger died?"

Simon laughed. "That is one way to look at it. Also Meghann, you look on my ambition and you're sympathetic. My little American girl was raised to admire self-made men but in my time ambition was all but a sin. Sympathy rested with my father having to control a young hothead that dared to try and rise above his station. I was supposed to be content with my marriage and place in Roger's household."

"That's terrible." Meghann frowned. "And so is was "

"Yes?" Simon prompted at her twitching lips. "Either you've developed a nervous tic or you're refraining from laughing."

"No, no, no," Meghann said, her dancing eyes giving her away. "I would never laugh because you'd been married to to a, um, unattractive woman. It wouldn't be nice to laugh because the image of some fat hag chasing you around and demanding you con consummate ha, ha, ha "

"Yes?" Simon said severely, giving her a dark scowl. "This amuses you?"

"Sure it does." Meghann giggled. "I know you thinking you're G.o.d's gift to women and then getting saddled with some fat slob for your wife."

"You're not going to get away with cackling over my misfortune." Simon lunged for her, and started tickling her sides. Meghann yelped and tried to squirm away but he straddled her, tickling without mercy.

"Do you still think it's funny?" Simon demanded. "My being shackled to that pockmarked pudding of a woman?"

"Yes!" Meghann gasped out, unrepentant. "I hope I hope she made you go down on her!"

"Now you're going to pay."

"Stop!" Meghann pleaded through her laughter, red-faced and gasping for breath. "Please the baby!"

"Using your pregnancy to worm out of your deserved punishment," Simon said reprovingly but he did stop tickling her. Instead of moving off her, though, he stayed on top of her and caressed her cheek, giving her a smile that made her heart thud uncomfortably in her chest. "What did I tell you, Meghann? You can enjoy my company. Shall I show you other forms of amus.e.m.e.nt?" Without waiting for a reply, Simon leaned down and began nuzzling a particularly sensitive spot behind her ear. "Stop that," Meghann managed to gasp through the haze overtaking her as that knowing tongue on her neck sent little rippling waves throughout her body. Why did she always find it so hard to think when this satyr touched her?

"Have you ever made love in the desert, Meghann?" Simon murmured while he nipped her earlobe and ran his fingertips lightly over one leg, the sensations making her skin tingle pleasantly.

With a supreme effort of will, Meghann shoved him away from her, nervously backing to the farthest edge of the blanket. Always, no matter if he terrified her or made her so angry she wanted to kill him, l.u.s.t remained an unbroken bond between them. How many nights had Meghann sworn she despised him only to wind up clutching his hair the moment he touched her, ripping his clothes off with abandon and urging him on with moans and sighs while at the same moment she wished she'd never met him?

She wasn't going to start up that old sick sadom.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.tic cycle, Meghann promised herself. She'd come too far and learned too much to go back to being no more than Lord Baldevar's s.e.x slave.

Simon eyed her silently for a few minutes before he stretched one long, elegant hand out to her. "There is no need to crouch like a virgin defending herself from marauding conquerors. I am not about to resort to rape you may come closer without fear I'll molest you."

"I am not afraid of you," Meghann informed him and ignored the extended hand though she did move back to the center of the blanket. She was afraid of herself afraid of the unthinking, unreasoning body that simply responded to pleasure and urged her to throw herself at Simon without any thought of consequence.

It's just s.e.x, Meghann told herself. After all, she'd been celibate over two months now two months too long, in her opinion. She only responded to Simon because she needed release. Well, Las Vegas had thousands of eligible men and any one of them could give her what she wanted without having to sell her soul to get laid.

"What makes you think I'll stand by and allow you to behave like some alley cat, lifting your pretty tail to any male that pleases you?"

"You wretched wh.o.r.emonger, how dare you call me an alley cat!" Meghann screeched, her face bone-pale but for the twin slashes of crimson on her cheeks.

She took a deep breath, preparing herself to use the astral plane and get back to town so she wouldn't have to spend another minute with this loathsome b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

"Pregnancy might hinder your ability to fly the plane," Simon commented with an amused smile when he saw the uneasy frustration appear on her face after she spent a full five minutes trying to fly without success.

"Go to h.e.l.l!" she spat, and Simon laughed, grabbing her wrist to restrain her before she could get up and walk back to town to escape him.

"Why take such offense, little one? I never called you an alley cat I simply said I would not allow you to behave like one. Have you forgotten my letter? You may scorn me and keep your chast.i.ty if that is your desire but I will not stand by and allow you other lovers over me." Simon gave her an appealing look, dropping his hands to loosely circle her waist. "Please don't leave, Meghann. I probably should not have shattered the fun we were having by touching you, but it would take a stronger man than I to resist such a sparkling, bright-eyed coquette beneath me. Please stay a while longer."

Was he mad? Stay with him after he'd proven he was as jealous and possessive as he'd ever been? As far as Meghann was concerned, that little speech proved Simon Baldevar was still the same evil, domineering fiend she'd been so right to run away from.

She glared up, ready to tell him so, ready to tell him to take his filthy hands off her, but he gave her a disarming grin that made time reel backward made Meghann see the dashing stranger that had captured her heart almost sixty years ago.

It wasn't fair, Meghann thought when her heart lurched painfully. It wasn't fair that his face was so unmarked by time that he could look just like he had that first night when he took her on the Staten Island Ferry and the wind from the river blew his chestnut hair about in a wild disarray just as the desert wind whipped his hair around now and softened his stern features. Too, that first night the moonlight had glinted off his sharp cheekbones and made her long to touch them just as she longed to reach up now G.o.ddammit, what was wrong with her? The fiend had just told her he wouldn't allow her any lovers but him as if she were his slave, as if he had any right to meddle in her life. And what did she do? Instead of putting him in his place, she stared up at him and fell for his handsome face when she knew all too well the black heart it concealed.

Meghann raised her head and gave him a level stare. No, she wouldn't leave she'd stay around him until she learned to control the l.u.s.t inside her. Pushing Simon away, she poured herself some milk, with a great show of nonchalance, from the carafe they'd bought at the deli, and groped about in her mind for a neutral topic of conversation.

"I shouldn't have laughed it's terrible that your father made you marry her,"

Meghann finally said, daintily sipping her milk. "In fact, the whole idea of arranged marriage is horrible. I can't see anyone choosing who I should marry."

"I see merit in it," Simon told her. "It may have landed me a bloated hag when I was young and poor, but under arranged marriage I wouldn't have to entertain your tedious refusals of my suit. Instead, once you were pregnant, I could simply demand your father give me your hand in marriage."

"I am not," Meghann began icily, "some chattel to be sold or dispersed between the whims of two men. Anyway, even if you had knocked me up in your time, I doubt you'd have bothered to marry me. Earls, even pathetic younger sons of barons, didn't marry peasants."

"You wouldn't have been a peasant," Simon argued. "Your father he owned a construction company, didn't he? That would make him a tradesman in my time, a prosperous member of the middle cla.s.s. Maybe it would raise a few eyebrows if I married the daughter of such a man to legitimize my son, but by the time Elizabeth raised me to the t.i.tle of earl, there were very few people that would dare tell me what to do."

"Well, my father wouldn't make me marry anyone that raped me!"

"My dear, if an earl offered marriage to a tradesman's daughter, it would not matter if I raped you at noon on London Bridge not as long as I gave you the honor of becoming my countess. And you were not raped unless my memories of a hot vixen begging for my touch are erroneous." Simon laughed, firmly grasping the hands that tried to maul his face.

"But I do not wish to shatter our new friendship so I shall offer you a compromise I will not embarra.s.s you with references to the night you conceived if you do not keep insisting you were raped. Is it a bargain?"

"Mmmn," Meghann muttered but she did drop her claws. "And who told you we were friends?"

"Do you still consider yourself my enemy, little one?"

Meghann shrugged, disturbed when the "yes" she wanted to shout out wouldn't come to her lips. "How do you know I won't pretend to accept you and still plot to kill you once I don't need your blood?"