A Matter of Honor (2 page)

For a second Melis considered ripping it off and throwing it in his face, but she couldn’t make herself do that. It felt too damned good. It was the first time she’d been warm since the mob had tossed her in the river. Before she could say anything else, he turned and melted into the night.

Her knees were wobbly. Melis let herself sink to the earth. Between the fire and the coat, she was warm enough to fall back asleep. But should she?
The smart thing to do
would be to use what’s left of tonight to put as much distance as I can between this place and me.
Gerald had admitted they were equally gifted. She could cover her tracks with magic and he’d never find her. His face floated in the darkness before her. Was it a projection, or only her tired mind playing tricks?

“Please.”
The word sounded deep in her mind.
“Do not run. I promise no harm will come to you.”

Melis scrunched her eyes and shook her head sharply. When she opened them, the vision was gone. It had been a projection. That wasn’t magic she was familiar with. But the others—Black Magic practitioners—had different talents. While she pondered the advisability of hooking her fate to an adept in the Dark Arts, Melis felt consciousness slipping. She promised herself she’d only close her eyes for a few moments…

“You stayed.” Gerald’s voice woke her.

She pried her eyes open. He hunkered next to her looking pleased and concerned. Moving her gaze past him, she saw the sky was developing a pinkish tinge. “Didn’t mean to,” she mumbled. Despite the chill of the early morning, heat rose to her face.

He threw back his head and laughed. “You can always tell me the truth. I won’t take it amiss.” He pushed back on the balls of his feet and stood. “Ready? We need to leave before it gets much lighter.”

Her head felt muddled, as if she’d drunk too much.
Probably the residual shock of my injuries.
Clutching the lapels of the warm woolen coat to keep it from falling open, Melis lurched to her feet, staggering a bit. She bent to pick up her clothing, noting it was a bit drier, and then her valise. “Which way?”

“I have a horse not far from here. You can ride. I’ll walk.”

Melis opened her mouth to protest, but when putting one foot ahead of the other almost proved too much to manage, she bit her tongue. The horse was, indeed, close. Gerald boosted her onto the bay’s broad back. “Are you well enough to ride?”

“Of course.”

“You needn’t be so snippy. You can barely walk. My guess is you lost a lot of blood.”

Her face heated again. He had her dead to rights. “Sorry,” she muttered. “Not used to being helpless.”

Gerald laughed heartily. The sound warmed her. “No,” he sputtered between bouts of mirth, “I’ll just bet you aren’t.”

They walked for a bit in silence, heading toward the manor houses that dotted the riverbank to the north of town. Good. The last place she needed to be right now was Vienna. “Why didn’t you just turn me over to your secret society?”

His blue gaze met hers. “Do you really have to ask that?”

Melis thought about the question. “Yes.”

He shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “They would have raped you. We’re not overly fond of witches.”

She furled her brows. “You said
we
, which means you’re one of them. Why did you help me?” She paused, considering her next words. “Or did you have a more private audience in mind?”

He shrugged, but didn’t say anything.

“While we’re at it—” She forged ahead. “What exactly are you?”

“Don’t you know?”

Irritation practically choked her. “If I knew, I wouldn’t have asked.”

“Hmph. No, suppose not.”

“You didn’t answer me.”

“And I’m not going to.”

Melis straightened in the high-pommeled saddle. “I know you’re trained in Dark Arts.”

“Do you now?” Grabbing the horse’s reins, he stood so she had to look at him. “I am going to tell you something I probably shouldn’t. All magic is the same. The origins of the dark versus white debate came from the Church.”

“But they don’t like us any better than you,” she protested.

A wry grin twisted his handsome features. “Of course they don’t. But this way, they’ve maneuvered things so we fight one another. It’s really quite a brilliant tactic, particularly if we manage to annihilate each other.” He yanked on the reins; the horse started walking again.

Melis thought about what he’d said. “If that’s true,” she began, “why would your friends have raped me?”

“Not all of them agree with me. In fact, most of them don’t. No more talk. We look odd enough as it is. Keep your head down and stuff your hair under the coat collar. With luck, you’ll pass for a drunken young man, not some maiden I hauled off into the countryside to ravish.”

It took a healthy dollop of magic to keep from falling off the horse. The sun was well above the horizon by the time they turned in through tall ornamental wrought iron gates set into gray stone walls. Gerald latched the gate behind them. The unmistakable tang of magic brewing pinged against her. What kind of spell had he conjured?

“Invisibility and forgetfulness,” he said, answering her thoughts. “If anyone saw us come through these gates, they’d not be able to recall what either of us even looked like.” He reached up, helped her to the ground, and slapped the horse on its rump. It took off up the lane, no doubt heading for the barn.

With his arms still around her, Gerald turned her to face him. “You must tell me what you were running from.”

In fits and starts, she told him about her medical practice and the angry husband who’d discovered she’d aborted his seed. It didn’t take many words to describe the mob and the river.

“Good Christ, woman, you’re lucky you’re still alive. You must have a name. What is it?” He propelled her up the lane after the horse. They topped a rise; an opulent manor house came into view.

Melis stifled a gasp. She took in turrets and towers made of the same gray stone as the wall surrounded by lush gardens. “This is yours?” she squeaked. “But it must take fifty servants to maintain.”

“Or one lord, adept at twisting magic to his desires.” Gerald favored her with a wry smile. “Of course, I do keep a servant or two—appearances and all that. Please tell me your name.”

“Melis.”

“Thank you.” He grinned at her. “Trust has to start somewhere. Come.” He sprang ahead, taking the brick steps two at a time, and pulled the carved oak door open with a flourish.

“Poppa?” A child’s high, sweet voice rang out. “Is that you?”

“Of course, sweeting. And I’ve brought a surprise.”

Melis mounted the steps. They were tall and she had to stop on each one before tackling the next.
A child. He has a child...Does that mean there’s a wife, too?
Melis was oddly disappointed. She chided herself for foolishness. No one with means like this would ever be interested in her. She stepped across the lintel. Polished oak floors graced with Oriental carpets spread in every direction. Bookshelves and large oil paintings lined every wall. A coat of arms hung over an enormous fireplace at the end of the great room. It depicted a blood red dragon, wings spread, flying in front of a white tower.Footsteps clattered on risers. A young girl—maybe ten years old or so—came into view clutching another man’s hand. She had Gerald’s bright blue eyes and coppery hair tied back with pink ribbons. The child wore a patterned velvet skirt, copper-toed boots, and a pink sweater. Melis did a double take. She was certain the man holding the child’s hand was Gerald—except he was standing off to her right. The man next to the child was wearing a light blue linen morning coat set off with an emerald cravat over a cream-colored shirt. Her breath escaped in a whoosh once she understood he had to be a twin brother.

“And who is this bedraggled piece of garbage?” the newcomer sneered, coming near Melis, but not too close. Almost as if she carried the plague and was contagious. His eyes narrowed. “Witch. I thought I smelled something rank. Phew.” He pulled a linen handkerchief from a pocket and covered his nose.

“Uncle Piotr,” the child’s voice scolded. “You’re being very rude. We don’t know why Father brought her here.”

Piotr’s sharp gaze settled on Gerald. “There
was
someone in the woods last night. You lied to us.” He spoke quietly, but his tone had a deadly edge. “The penalty for—”

“Don’t be an even bigger ass than you already are,” Gerald snapped, positioning his body between his brother and Melis. He opened his arms for the child and she obligingly raced into them. “You’d speak of such things in front of your niece?”

Because her legs wouldn’t hold her upright any longer, Melis dropped into the closest chair and pulled Gerald’s coat tightly about her. Her eyes moved from one man to the other. Part of her wanted to leave, except she was so weak that even sitting was a chore. Besides, she couldn’t go very far with her magic so depleted.

The girl hopped down and skipped over to where Melis sat. She curtseyed. “Father says you’ve been hurt.”

That’s odd. I didn’t hear him say anything of the kind to her. Child must have magic, too.
“That’s true. He was kind enough to offer to help.”

The child beamed at her. “My name is Antoinette. I get lonely sometimes. It will be nice to have company. If you stay, that is.”

Gerald scooped his daughter up, kissed her on the cheek, and set her back down. “Off with you now. Your governess probably has food and lessons set out.”

“But I don’t like her.” Antoinette made a face.

“That does not matter.” Gerald’s voice was stern. “Doing what is difficult is good practice for life.”

The light went out of the child’s face. “Yes, Poppa.” With shoulders ramrod straight, she marched from the room.

“Now about this interloper—” Piotr snapped his fingers in Melis’s direction. A mild shock pummeled her; she threw up her wards. The man’s eyes widened. “Oh, I get it,” he sneered. “Looking for a replacement for Antoinette’s mother, are you? A more malleable one this time.”

Gerald’s jaw set in a hard line. The muscle she’d noticed last night twitched under his eye. “Leave her alone,” he growled. “What are you even doing here?”

“Simple enough, dear brother. I know when you’re prevaricating. I suspected it last night. When I got here and found you’d not yet returned, I was certain you were up to something.”

“Fine. So now you know and you can leave.”

Gerald’s hands fisted—so did Piotr’s. Magic sizzled between them. The air had a burnt smell; the fine hairs on the back of Melis’s neck prickled.

She’d had enough. Melis pushed heavily to her feet and edged toward the door. “Sorry for any problems,” she said. “I’ll be leaving now.”

“The hell you will.” Gerald leaped between her and the door effectively barring her way.

“You heard the slut,” Piotr said. “Good riddance. Unless she’d like to have a little fun with the both of us before she leaves.” By her side in an instant, he tugged at the coat. “Want to show us what’s under there, sweetheart?”

A sharp snapping noise filled the air. Gerald had slapped his brother hard enough to crack his nose from the looks of the blood flowing down his face. Melis jumped back. She funneled magic to her wards, but her reactions were sluggish and her magic weak.

“You’d alienate me over this…trash?” Piotr said incredulously, a hand clapped to his face.

“Get out. Now.” Gerald grabbed his brother’s arm and shoved him toward the door. “If I find out you’ve said a word about what you saw here, I will make you wish you’d never been born.”

“Uh, look, I really ought to go,” Melis said. “If not right this minute, then once I’ve had a few hours’ rest. That’s your brother. I don’t want to be in the middle of a family squabble—or the cause of one.” She thought of her non-existent family: mother, father, and two sisters dead in the smallpox epidemic two years before. Then she thought about Brenden, a childhood friend and the one love of her life. She’d nursed him round the clock for days, but it hadn’t mattered. He’d died in the same epidemic. A tear rolled down her cheek.

Piotr pushed past and shoved her with a fisted hand, his lips pursed in a flat line. Spots of color rode high on both cheeks. Melis swayed.

Gerald caught her arm to steady her. “Did he hurt you?”

Melis shook her head. “No.”

He walked briskly to the front door Piotr had left standing open and kicked it shut. Melis felt the spell he set to keep his brother out. Gerald turned toward her. “This is not about you,” he said through clenched teeth. “There has never been any love lost between the two of us.” He rang a delicate silver bell sitting on a side table. Moments later a uniformed maid appeared. She had long gray braids, a comfortably round figure, and a kind face with soft brown eyes. “Master?”

“Britta, please show Miss Melis to the India Room. Draw her a bath and see if my wife’s clothing will fit her. Oh, yes. And call her a healer.”

“I am a healer,” Melis said with as much dignity as she could muster. “Remember? But I could use comfrey and hyssop. And access to your kitchens.”

“Done.” Gerald inclined his head and strode out of the room.

Melis hadn’t seen anyone but Britta for several hours. Bathed, dressed and fed, she was feeling almost human again. The house rose around her, large and silent. Because she saw no reason to keep to the India Room—aptly named for its exotic Eastern décor—Melis let herself out into a thickly carpeted corridor. She was on the third floor. This particular hallway housed a collection of medieval suits of armor, all emblazoned with a dragon in full flight just like the coat of arms downstairs.