Darkyn - Master Of Shadows Part 2

"Will and I can't be together, not like this," she said, more to rea.s.sure herself than him. "I know that. I do know what I have to do, Father."

He nodded. "Then why were you not prepared?"

"The mission work troubles me." That much was true. "There are too many unknowns involved. How can we be certain the suzerain will steal this book? What if he decides against it, or fumbles the job?"

"Robin of Locksley does not hesitate or fumble," he said mildly. "He has been pursuing the book since it was stolen from his family centuries ago. He covets it more than any other treasure in the world. Now it has been brought into his territory, and will be on open display at a public gallery. How can the most successful thief in history resist helping himself to such a prize?"

She shook her head. "In his eagerness, he could make a mistake."

Ennis beckoned to her. "Come here to me."

She went to him and sat on the carpet in front of his chair, curling up against his long calves. She was too old to do such a childish thing, she knew, but it gave her a measure of comfort. She closed her eyes as he stroked his hand over her hair.

"This has been so painful for you," he said, his voice gentle. "Your loyalty and goodness rebel against what has to be done. But, my dear, our work sometimes demands such things of us."

"We could go to him," she whispered, and felt his hand still. "He is still a good man at heart, Father. He always has been. We could tell him of the danger. If he knew-"

"We could confide in him," Ennis agreed. "You may have forgotten to whom he has made his oath, but I a.s.sure you, Will Scarlet has not. He will in turn go to Locksley. Now, what do you think a Darkyn lord would do with the knowledge that he had obtained such power? What did they do when they discovered it the first time?" Her heart sank. "Locksley would give the book to Richard." She lifted her face. "But, Father, the high lord has changed. All the reports indicate he is becoming more temperate, more reasonable. More human. He knows too well what could happen, just as we do. What if we used this as an opportunity to forge an alliance with him?"

He sighed. "The Darkyn are not human. They can never be. Even as we speak, Richard has recalled his seigneurs to London.

They have suffered great losses over the last three years, and are at this moment deciding whether or not to go to war with the Brethren."

"They can't wage war openly," she protested. "Not without exposing their existence. They have no weapons that can escape mortal detection."

He looked down at her, his eyes sad. "After tonight they will."

"Oh, G.o.d." She covered her face with her hands.

"If I could give this task to anyone else, I would," he a.s.sured her. "To spare you the suffering, I would do it myself."

"No, Father." She dropped her hands. "They would kill you."

"One cannot say I deserve any less." He stood, drawing her to her feet. The misery on his face struck at her heart. "As long as the book remains in the hands of others, the world will be in peril. We must take it back and destroy it before it is too late." He pressed his dry lips to her brow. "Be brave, child, for just a little longer."

She nodded.

"Now, at great expense and trouble I have obtained the original building plans for Rosethorn." He gestured toward several long rolls of paper on his desk. "You will need to go over them tonight. I also have the names and photographs of every human employed by the estate. Those you must memorize, for once you are inside the house, they will be your only allies."

I have no allies. Her shoulders drooped as she went to the desk.

Her father left her alone, and she spent the next several hours reviewing the blueprints of the estate and the dossiers of the mortals who served Robin of Locksley. It was dreary, mind-numbing work, but that didn't matter. Nothing mattered but protecting the innocent.

That was what she had been trained to do; that was what sustained her. For their sake, she would lie, steal, and kidnap. For their sake, if she had no other choice, she would kill anyone who tried to stop her.

Even Will Scarlet, the only man she would ever love.

A caress scented with violets roused Rebecca of Daven from her slumber. Waning sunlight inched down the bed and away from her skin, replaced by the soothing touch of large, powerful hands. She should have grown accustomed to this by now, so long had they been together, but no, it seemed she never would. Each time she found herself in his arms seemed as great a miracle as the very first.

When she thought on who they had been, and what had happened to them, perhaps it was.

"At last." A deep voice stirred her hair. "The lady awakes."

"You are mistaken." Rebecca smiled against the fingertip tracing the bow of her lips, but kept her eyes closed. "The lady still dreams."

"Then she must talk in her sleep." A lean cheek grazed her chin, and cool breath whispered against her ear. "Does she do anything else, I wonder?"

"Soon she must rise and rouse the other women, break the fast, tend to the animals, begin the washing, clean the south chambers, and finish the carding." She wrinkled her nose. "Unless my lord gives me yet another long list of impossible tasks he wishes me to see to while he plays at being castellan. He delights in such things, you know."

"Hmm. This fellow sounds lazy and uncaring." He nipped her earlobe and shifted his body to cover hers. "You would do better to stay here in bed with me, lovely one."

The delicious weight of him made Rebecca sigh and slide her arms around his waist. "I want nothing more than that, but I think my husband would have some strong objections." She opened her eyes and grinned up into the dark, scowling face of the brute on top of her. "Oh, Sylas. 'Tis you."

"Devious wench." He kissed her hard. "For that I should chain you to this bed for a week."

"Do you promise?" She curled her good leg over his hip, arching against him. "An entire week?"

Her husband's scowl faded as his eyes, black as midnight, took on a faint blue glow. "'Twould not be enough, would it?"

No, it wouldn't. Rebecca sometimes wondered if eternity would be. "I love you, Sylas."

"And I you, wife."

Shadows stretched over the bed, covering the lovers as time and thought slipped silently from the chamber. Later, when the sun had vanished and the night bedecked itself with the glory of a thousand diamond-bright stars, Rebecca kissed her husband's damp shoulder and reluctantly untangled herself from his hold.

He rolled onto his side so that he might watch her bathe and dress. "You should take some time for yourself tonight. Have Lettice organize the women. She is in charge of your ladies; she should do something other than gossip with them."

"I would, but Tish is besotted with the new armorer come last week from the Realm," Rebecca told him. "Until he returns her affections, or sorts out how to discourage them, she will be of little use to any of us." She remembered something. "Oh, that friend of Will's telephoned. I may have to attend to her tonight as well."

His black brows rose. "What friend of Will's?"

She picked up a small square of stiff paper from her vanity table and read it. "She calls herself Reese Carmichael. Apparently she is a senior account executive of Peachtree Marketing, Inc."

"A mortal? Coming here?" When she nodded, he sat up. "Why?"

Her husband disliked strangers coming to Rosethorn for various reasons, not the least of which was preserving their safety. He, Rebecca, and the remainder of the household were Darkyn, immortal beings whose only nourishment was the blood of mortals.

Over the centuries the Kyn had learned not to kill for their needs, and had hidden themselves among them, protecting themselves and the human beings upon whom they still depended. Only the Darkyn's mortal enemies, the Brethren, still pursued them with their single-minded determination. A renegade sect of fanatics who posed as Catholic priests, the Brethren had held as their sole mission for centuries to exterminate the Kyn.

Fortunately they had not succeeded, although the secret war between the Darkyn and the Brethren had endured for six centuries.

For those reasons, and some their lord paramount had not bothered to explain, Robin of Locksley had chosen to build his stronghold on two thousand acres of land in the spa.r.s.ely populated Georgia countryside. In the process he had also convinced the few mortals living near Rosethorn's borders to sell their property to him. Most of his jardin, made up of some five hundred Darkyn who had pledged their service to him, lived at Rosethorn, while the rest managed more than twenty tenant farms surrounding the stronghold on all sides."It seems Miss Carmichael will be fashioning the new advertis.e.m.e.nts for the weaponry our lord sells to mortals, and wishes to use our home as something called a 'backdrop.' You needn't worry. She's one of the tresori from the city, so she won't get into any mischief." Rebecca came over to the bed, lifted her hair, and turned her back toward him. "Are you going back to the city tonight?"

"Aye, the master has need of me again." With the deftness of long practice, Sylas fastened the long row of b.u.t.tons from her waist to her nape.

As castellan of Rosethorn, Sylas carried duties not limited to supervising the suzerain's stronghold. The safety of the estate was his primary responsibility, which meant constant monitoring, augmenting, and improving of stores, weapons, and defense measures.

Through daily training on the proving ground, he ensured the readiness of the garrison to face any threat, from a full-scale attack by Brethren fanatics bent on destroying the jardin to the intrusion of a curious mortal unaware of their existence. In Robin's absence, Sylas had complete authority over the jardin as well, and performed in his lord's stead by hearing grievances, settling disputes, and granting requests.

Sylas refused to set himself above his men, however, and always took his turn among the suzerain's personal guard, which required him to occasionally accompany their lord whenever he traveled from Rosethorn to his great house in the city.

Rebecca understood why he served as both castellan and warrior, and respected him for it, but that didn't make her like the separation any better. "I wish you didn't have to go."

"Nor do I," he said. "Our lord has been strangely restless of late. Will rarely has a moment of peace. Tell me more about this Carmichael woman."

Rebecca recalled the brief conversation she had had with Reese. "She wishes to be shown through the interior of the house so that she might choose the most favorable spots for the photographs needed. She has never been here, and asked if I would take her on a tour of it."

"She told you she wishes to spy upon us? Just like that?"

"Every curious mortal is not a Brethren agent wishing to destroy us all," she told him. "Tish said something about her once. I think she is Will's special friend."

Sylas grunted. "I will speak to the men anyway."

"I thank you, but I have already done so." His indignant look made her chuckle. "You were busy."

"I am castellan. You are chatelaine. The ladies and the household are your charge; the garrison, the weapons, and the fortifications are supposed to be mine." He thought for a moment. "I will direct Alain to escort you and this mortal while she is here."

"Alain will only wish to use her," Rebecca pointed out.

"Aye, but you may keep him busy fending off anyone else who comes at her." Sylas's hand rasped over the short, tight black curls his constant cropping could never quite disguise. "Attend to this special friend of Will's, but do it quickly, my lady. Strange mortals do not belong at the stronghold. Even those we are told to trust."

While he b.u.t.toned her gown, Rebecca twisted her light brown hair into a neat coil, which she pinned against the back of her head before she slid two ivory combs on either side of it. She handed him an airy silk snood and sat down on the edge of the bed while he gathered it over her hair and tied the ribbons. "Do you think you are to stay in the city until the morrow?"

"'Tis likely." He kissed the side of her throat. "No longer than a single night, I promise."

Neither of them cared for being apart for longer than a few hours. Rebecca knew it was mostly due to the physical and emotional dependency they had on each other, a rare but enduring bond that had been born when they had risen from the mortal grave where they had been buried together, and walked the night as immortals. When separated from his sygkenis, a Darkyn male became uneasy and short-tempered; he could not rest or find pleasure in anything. If the separation was unwilling or extended, both partners would quickly grow unstable and even dangerous.

The bond Rebecca shared with Sylas was rather more than one merely of blood. In the last days of their mortal lives they had been two strangers desperately battling to save the innocent. That hopeless struggle had forged a sudden but deep friendship between them. Rebecca loved her husband, but she also respected and trusted him, as he did her. When death had come for her, he had not run away like the others, but stayed with her, holding her hand in his. She had begged him to go, to save himself, but he said that life without her had no interest or meaning for him anymore. He had not let her die alone and afraid, but went with her into the darkness.

There had been a price for that loyalty, one some might have found heavy or even terrible, but in time they had learned to deal with that, as well as all the other changes that becoming Kyn had wrought.

Rebecca made her way slowly to the full-length mirror on the other side of the room. She turned this way and that, examining her reflection.

"We need a holiday," Sylas said, coming up behind her. "You work as hard now as e'er you did for the church."

"Holiday comes from the words holy day," Rebecca reminded him. "'Twas the church that used to give us leave from our duties."

"Aye, so that we might sit and listen to hours and hours of promises of d.a.m.nation in poorly spoke Latin." He nipped her ear. "If you miss it, we could arrange to spend the day in bed watching the Evangelical Channel."

Rebecca laughed. Her husband despised television above all modern things. "I think I would trade all my jewels to see you do such a thing. If I had jewels."

He turned her around, his expression troubled. "You do not miss it still, do you?"

Rebecca's humor faded a few degrees. She did miss it, her human life. The enjoyment of food, the pleasure of working in the sunlight, the companionship of her friends among the sisters. Few females rose to walk the night; those who belonged to Locksley had been either villeins or gently bred ladies. As chatelaine, she was responsible for them as well, so what friendship she felt toward them was ever tempered by her duty to watch over them.

But Sylas had lost as much as, if not more than, she. The plague had taken every member of his family, including his beloved younger sister, for whom he had sacrificed so much. That loss had nearly destroyed him.

"My only regret in this life and all the others that have been or will be," she said, winding her arms around his waist, "is that I did not find you sooner."

CHAPTER THREE.

Will rose in the early afternoon, tired of staring aimlessly at the ceiling. He'd managed to rest an hour, but thoughts of Reese kept his mind as a dog chasing its tail, ever turning in useless circles.

He dressed, collected the day's mail from the slot in his door, and skimmed through it. Among the various business letters, purchase orders, and reports was a postcard from the county courthouse, stating that Robin Archer was scheduled to appear in court for jury selection in two weeks.

"Not again." He crumpled the postcard and made a mental note to speak once more to their human friends in the Atlanta Police Department about permanently removing Rob's alias from their computers.

Will walked through the connecting door to the penthouse suite. Immediately he smelled the dark ginger scent of the red-haired mortal from the nightclub whom Robin had brought to his bed. Mild irritation set in as he tracked her path and found that she'd been all over the rooms. He'd have to arrange to have the entire suite cleaned to rid it of her scent. Will didn't understand why his master had brought the woman here. He'd always preserved the privacy of his city home as a refuge, a place of retreat from the mortal world and the responsibilities of the jardin. Certainly it hadn't been for convenience'

sake; the rooms they kept reserved for their use at the hotel had been closer.

At least she's gone, he thought as he straightened a pillow and moved into the kitchen. He'd been obliged to watch the security cameras until she had left the building, which she had done shortly before dawn.

He couldn't see what Robin found so interesting about her. She had been a pretty thing, well dressed and pleasantly mannered, but they hadn't trailed her to the club for her charms. She possessed a great prize, the book Robin had coveted for centuries, and the only true reason Robin had to trifle with her was to help him obtain it-and yet he had brought her here and used her for his pleasure.

Surely there would be complications now. With mortal females, there always were.

Will eased open the door to Robin's bedchamber, saw the surprising fact that his master was still at rest, and silently gathered the gla.s.ses left by the bed table. He took them into the adjoining bath in order to dump the dregs left in them in the sink. He should have persuaded Reese to come to his rooms last night. Even holding her in his arms through the long daylight hours would have greatly improved his rest-and his mood.

"Will?" Robin came to stand in the doorway and looked into the room. "Where is Chris?"

"Do you mean the human female from last night? I cannot say, my lord." Will shut off the taps and dried his hands. "I a.s.sume that she returned to her home after she departed."

"She left?" His master sounded puzzled. "When? How?"

"'Twas near dawn; I secured the elevator after she used it. I saw no car, so I presume she went on foot. I sorted through the mail, and it seems you were summoned for jury duty again. We can hide from mankind for near a millennia, but try as I may I cannot seem to purge your name from the county courthouse mailing list." Will's wry frustration faded as soon as he turned and saw his master's expression. "What is wrong? Did something happen with the female?"

"Yes. No." Robin walked away.

Will followed him into the bedchamber, where his master paced around the bed, examining the carpet before he went out to the front rooms. He returned muttering under his breath and disoriented, as if someone had clubbed him over the head.

Will set the gla.s.ses aside. "Rob? Why do you look that way? Did she take something?"

Robin ignored him, wandering about the room listlessly, as if lost in it.

Whatever had happened between the mortal and his master, it had not left a favorable impression. Will was just about to inquire of him again when Robin focused on him.

"How did she appear to you when she left?" he demanded. "Was she disoriented? Did she seem upset?"

Will thought back to what he had seen the night before. "I watched her through the security monitors only long enough to a.s.sure that she left the building, but she seemed well."