The Fire Lord's Lover Part 8

Dominic felt the same way, waiting for an ambush as they journeyed back to Devizes. But when that failed to happen it set him to wondering. Why had Breden allowed the king this ridiculous little rebellion if the elven lord didn't wish to engage in a last desperate battle? Perhaps he hadn't expected Dominic himself to fetch his prize, and the Imperial Lord couldn't afford to lose any more men in another battle with the champion. It would take Dewhame another generation of breeding before it built its army back up enough for a decent invasion.

Still, Dominic refused to take any chances, escorting the king's carriage directly back to the inn, not waiting for his court to catch up. His Majesty could wait for the rest of them in Devizes.

It took them twice as long to make the journey back, arriving far after midnight. The innkeeper met him in the doorway, twisting his pudgy hands around a mop cloth, ignoring the arrival of the king and approaching Dominic first.

"She's been taken, my lord," he said without preamble, "along with several of the other ladies."

He didn't need to ask to whom the man referred. He should have kept her imprisoned in gray fire. A deathly calm settled over Dominic. Now he knew Breden's game. Firehame would gain the king, but Breden would deprive them of their champion's new bride.

"Lieutenant," barked the general.

"Aye, sir."

"Get us fresh mounts." Dominic turned to the best tracker in his company. "Captain Wilkes."

"Sir."

"Go with the innkeeper; find their trail."

"Yes, sir!"

Dominic clenched his fists. Ca.s.sandra belonged to him. d.a.m.n what Mor'ded might say about the matter; he would get her back.

d.a.m.n if he would allow Breden this petty victory.

Fire bled from between his fingers and he took a deep breath, dispelling that telltale flame and slowly uncurling his hands. His rage didn't come from caring about the girl. That had nothing at all to do with it.

Six.

Ca.s.s woke to the sound of weeping and the smell of stale urine. She blinked at the single ray of sunlight that shone through a tiny window far above her head, slanting across the room to fall on the barred door. She rose and tried the handle.

"It's locked," said Lady Agnes, a bit unnecessarily.

"Where are we?"

The lady shrugged, her arms around another woman who wept rather piteously. "There's several old castles in the area. I imagine we're in the dungeons of one of them. It could be worse. At least we're a bit aboveground."

Ca.s.sandra nodded and studied the ladies in the room. Like her, they all wore their nightgowns. She couldn't remember their names; indeed, she doubted they'd ever been introduced to her. They had purposely kept her out of their circle. Since it appeared that only Lady Agnes had kept her presence of mind, she directed her words to her husband's mistress.

"Who has taken us? What do they want?"

Lady Agnes glared at Ca.s.s. "How should I know? I just woke up myself. To a dreadful headache, mind. They must have drugged us with something."

Ca.s.sandra swallowed. Indeed, her mouth felt full of cotton, her limbs weak and shaky. She began to pace the cell, trying to flush the rest of the drug from her system. Had it been put in their wine or last night's meal? She couldn't be sure. After Dominic had released that wall of dull gray fire about her, most of the n.o.bles had already retired and she'd been given dinner in her room by a lackey.

After that, she vaguely remembered a b.u.mpy wagon and being smothered in hay.

She plucked a piece of straw from her hair. She supposed when they got out of here, her husband would be able to ferret out who had drugged them. If they got out of here.

Ca.s.s stopped pacing and addressed her words to the entire room. "What magical skills do you have?"

They all looked at her with shock and disdain, refusing to answer, but at least they managed to stop weeping. Lady Agnes smiled triumphantly. Rather foolish, given their current situation. "Do you propose that we try to save ourselves?" she asked. "With our paltry magical gifts? My dear, we shall do what any proper lady would. We wait for rescue."

"Surely we shall be ransomed," agreed the woman sitting next to her.

"They wouldn't dare harm a lady of the court," said another.

Ca.s.sandra hoped they were right. But if not... she couldn't perform a death dance in front of them if it came down to a fight. It would expose her to too much speculation. "I apologize. I'm sure Lord Mor'ded will never allow the ladies of his court to be harmed. It's well-known how much the elven lords care for their people."

The ladies suddenly looked worried.

"That is, if he's not too busy with the king," continued Ca.s.sandra. "But if something were to happen to us, we shall be comforted in the thought that another war will be fought in retribution. They might even name their new game after us."

A tall woman stood, the feathers adorning her nightdress trembling with the movement. "I can sing. But I doubt that would be much help." She waved a hand at each woman. "Lady Somers can make fiery sparkles in the air. Lady Ursula can shape clay into any form and animate it for a few minutes. Viscountess Rothermere can play the harpsichord so beautifully you can barely see her fingers move. Lady Agnes..."

The blonde tossed her head. "I don't need any magic. I have the elven beauty."

And she was right. Even bedraggled with bits of hay stuck in her hair, she looked stunningly beautiful.

Ca.s.s sighed, trying to keep the disappointment from her face. Their elven gifts might manage to distract their captors but she didn't think it would help them escape.

The tall woman stepped closer. "I am Lady Verney, the Marchioness of Verney. Perhaps we can put our heads together and think of some way to use our skills to best advantage?"

Ca.s.sandra looked up at the taller woman with a smile, thinking it might be difficult to bridge the distance between them to put their heads on a level. Lady Verney appeared to read her mind, for her eyes sparkled with understanding.

"Indeed, we can try," started Ca.s.s. "If we made some sort of commotion-" A door slammed and they all jumped, staring at the small barred opening of their own cell. Laughter, the sound of booted feet making their way toward them. Two men, possibly three.

Lady Verney backed up against the wall and two of the women started weeping again. Ca.s.s shushed them and ran to the door.

"Heh, ye got it right, Martin. If we has to kill 'em anyways, we might as well have us some fun first."

The ladies gasped in unison. Ca.s.s turned. Lady Agnes clutched her throat and Lady Verney's feathers shook.

The men's laughter rang against the stone walls.

"I'll go with them," whispered Ca.s.sandra, wishing she had a belt... a string holding her nightgown closed... anything. But alas, she had worn to bed a filmy gown with only a petticoat beneath for warmth. Asking for one of the ladies to share a part of their wardrobe would have raised questions that would jeopardize her secret. "It should give you more time to think of a way to save yourselves."

Lady Verney's eyes widened. "We can't let you sacrifice-"

"Oh, yes, we can," interjected Lady Agnes.

The other ladies nodded, and they had no further time for discussion as two dirty faces peered into their cell. Silence reigned as the men studied them.

"I like the blonde," p.r.o.nounced the man with a scar running from eye to jaw.

"And I likes the little brown-haired one. Lookee her eyes. She'll put up a good fight. I likes them lively."

Ca.s.sandra wrinkled her nose. Their body odor drifted through the bars into the room, and the one who liked her smelled the worst.

"Let's flip for it then," said Scar Face. "Toss a shilling-we gots plenty to spare after this job, eh?"

Their faces disappeared for a moment. The lock on the door jiggled, and it slowly opened. The stinky one entered the room and Ca.s.s gave a sigh of relief.

"Come along, little 'un," he said, waving a pistol at her face.

Lady Verney made a strangled sound, but the rest of the ladies stayed mute as she followed the man out of the cell. When she stood in the dank corridor outside the room, he gave her a quite unnecessary shove and Ca.s.s pretended to fall, landing in a heap of material. She quickly tore a strip from the hem of her petticoat.

"I'll be back fer ye," shouted Scar Face into the cell door, and Lady Agnes yelped. Both men laughed.

"Get up," said Scar Face, giving her a kick when she didn't move quickly enough. Ca.s.s rose and glared at him, balling up the strip of cloth in her hand. She then stuck her nose in the air and headed down the corridor.

"Tol' ye." Stinky Man chuckled. "No snivelin' from this 'un."

Lady Ca.s.sandra preceded them down the corridor, up winding stairs and into another long hall, this one with stones missing in several places, giving her tantalizing glimpses of freedom. She felt the gun on her back as an itch that grew worse with each pa.s.sing footstep. She took a deep breath. She'd been trained to dance to kill an elven lord; two ordinary men shouldn't present her with much of a challenge.

But she'd killed a man only once. Thomas had told her it was necessary to make sure she could follow through with her task when the time came. He'd chosen a man slated for the gallows for killing his wife and five children. Thomas told her she'd done the man a favor.

Ca.s.s had still felt sick afterward. It had taken her weeks of prayer and meditation before she'd managed to eat a full meal again.

She told herself to stop thinking, to concentrate on the thrum of blood in her ears, on the sound of their boots on the floor. They had a rhythm, and she immersed herself in the beat, allowing the song of a dance to take over her body and awaken the magic in her blood. Hoping the torn cloth balled up in her hand would be long enough for the deed.

"Stop here," said Stinky Man. "Open the door."

The door opened with a wobbly swing onto a filthy room with a pile of straw in the corner. Her captor motioned her over to the makeshift bed with a jerk of his pistol. Ca.s.s's feet refused to cooperate, her body swaying with invisible music.

He pushed her hard this time, clear across the room and into the crackly gra.s.s. Ca.s.sandra truly fell, her head meeting the ground with a sickly thud. Her vision sparkled with starlight, and if it hadn't been for her graceful roll she would have been knocked senseless.

"I'm first," panted Stinky Man, shoving his gun in his belt while he walked over to her.

Ca.s.s suppressed a grin at his action, fisting her hand around the torn strip of cloth, adding the sound of his soft footsteps to the dance already flowing through her. He stood above her, unb.u.t.toning the flap of his breeches. Then he glanced at his mate. "Turn around."

Scar Face rolled his eyes but turned his back, as if this wasn't the first time he'd complied with such a request.

This time Ca.s.s couldn't suppress her grin. If they continued to make it easy for her, she might not have to kill them. The dunderheaded stinker smiled back at her. "Decided ye'd like it, eh?" He shoved up her skirts and then lowered himself on top of her. She held her breath against the stench and slapped his face. But not too hard, just enough to distract him while she shook out the cloth in her hand.

Scar Face chuckled to the wall. "Ye said ye wanted a fighter, Martin. Sounds like ye got one."

Martin's eyes lit up with evil glee as he rubbed his red face. Before she could blink, he hauled his fist back and punched her. The room spun for a sickening moment. Ca.s.s started to sob-loudly, covering the sounds the stinker made as his excitement rose.

"See, Martin. Tha.s.s why I don't like fighters- they's too noisy."

Ca.s.sandra's gown had gotten tangled up, and Martin ignored his friend, swearing and grunting in his efforts to find her legs while supporting himself above her.

The dance shivered in her blood and lent strength to her arms. Ca.s.s wrapped the strip of cloth around his neck and pulled. It took him a few moments to even realize what had happened. When he finally managed it, he didn't have the breath to cry out. She sobbed louder to cover his harsh gasps for air.

And then her makeshift garrote ripped.

And several things happened at once.

She returned his favor, punching him in the throat, making him choke, allowing her to use leverage to roll him off her. Scar Face either sensed something wrong or felt impatient of his view, for he turned around. His muddy-colored eyes widened and he drew his pistol.

Ca.s.s pulled Martin's pistol out of his belt and pointed it at the other man. They fired at the same time, both of their shots going wild. But she'd expected that, for guns were notorious for their misdirection even at close range.

Scar Face grinned and drew his sword while Ca.s.s took Martin's sword... and knife.

"Don't make me kill you," she said.

He laughed and lunged at her. Martin must have recovered his senses because he grabbed her leg at the same time. Lady Ca.s.sandra could no longer consider her options. She let the dance consume her, allowed the magic full rein. Time slowed as her senses heightened, her muscles strengthened. As her body performed the steps with no conscious thought of her own.

Martin's knife hit Scar Face square between the eyes. Martin's sword relieved his own head from his body.

Ca.s.s could not stop dancing for several minutes.

When the magic finally released her, she looked with regret at the two dead men. She covered Martin's face with straw, used Scar Face's soiled neck cloth to cover his. Then took a deep breath, knelt between the two of them, and began to pray for their souls. "Please, G.o.d, forgive them for their sins. And forgive me for what I was forced to do-although I took this path knowingly, so perhaps that's asking for too much."

Lady Ca.s.sandra sighed with fatigue from using so much of her magic, but bent over Martin and recited the Our Father, then went to Scar Face's still body and prayed the same for him.

That's where Dominic found her when he burst into the room.

He didn't say anything at first, thankfully allowing her to finish. When she looked up at him she blanched, for his eyes looked so deadly cold, and fire flickered up and down the length of his b.l.o.o.d.y sword.

"The others are in the dungeon. D-down that corridor."

The general nodded and turned to his men, motioning them onward, then turned back to her. "Are you harmed?"

Ca.s.s touched her face, the area already starting to swell from Martin's blow. "Not much."

Suddenly his cold eyes flickered with anger. An anger directed not at her, but at the man who had harmed her. For just a moment she saw fear mixed with that emotion, as if he had come to her rescue because he had truly cared for her safety. Then the look faded, and he cleaned his sword on Scar Face's shirt before sheathing it with deadly calm. "What happened to them?"

Lady Ca.s.sandra glanced from one dead man to the other. What could she possibly say? That she knew more death dances than she did any other? That the Rebellion had taught her from secret information they had gleaned with their spies? He would have to kill her where she stood.

Over the past few days she'd pushed her true task to the back of her mind, forgetting their relationship was naught but a falsehood. She had lost herself in his loving, in his beauty and kisses and the sheer pleasure he brought to her body. She had no other goal than to win him over.

He waited for her answer patiently, with that inhuman elven calm. Her beloved enemy.

"They... they fought over me... to see who would be first. They wanted to..." Ca.s.s covered her face and sobbed, surprised to find that this time her tears were real. She felt so very tired. She hadn't wanted to kill them, truly. She might have been able to render them unconscious, tie them up, and then escape. But she'd been trained in the dance too well; they hadn't given her time to consider her options...

And she still recoiled from the thought of Martin's foul hands on her body.

So she jumped when she felt Dominic's arms around her. He loosened them for a moment, as if to draw away, and Ca.s.s flung herself at him. Dominic gave a great sigh and lifted her off her feet so she could bury her face against his neck. He held her for a time, caressing her hair and face and whatever else he could touch, as if a.s.suring himself that she was unharmed. Then he carried her out of that room, into the open air, where the wind blew and the sun hid behind the clouds.

Ca.s.sandra no longer cried for the men she had killed, for the fright they had given her. As soon as she'd seen Dominic at the door, his sword dripping with blood from the men he'd killed while coming to her rescue, she'd wanted this mockery of a marriage to be real. So she cried because she wanted to love this man, wanted him to love her. And it could never be.