Adrian (12 page)

Maisie's fine brow furrowed. “Many Wyldonians marry out of their tribe once away from the island. They soon find that life away from Wyldonna is difficult and foreign and they wish to return to the safety of their home. But once they have intermarried with man—” she paused—“or . . .
others
, and borne children, they canna return.”

Adrian returned her frown. “Are you so enamored with yourselves that you cannot abide outsiders in your realm?”

“It isna that at all, lad,” Malcolm said earnestly, and Adrian found it amusing that the king referred to him as a lad when Adrian guessed himself at least five years the man's senior. “It's for their own good.”

“Piece blood means their blood isna whole,” Maisie went on. “They might have man's blood with a piece of Wyldonna, or Wyldonian blood containing a piece of man's.”

Adrian's eyebrows rose. “So?”

“So,” Malcolm drawled, “they doona have enough magic to defend themselves. It's worse with the ones who are mostly Wyldonian—the piece of man rises up in the worst ways.”

“Magic,” Adrian repeated flatly.

“Men are ambitious, power hungry,” Malcom said, ignoring Adrian's skepticism. “They are never satisfied with their station. On the few occasions when piece bloods have been allowed to remain and were fortunate enough to nae cross ways with the woodland folk, they have been unable to resist the temptation of seizing Wyldonna's power and wealth for their own purposes.”

“As Glayer Felsteppe wishes to do,” Maisie pointed out.

Adrian shook his head. “Glayer Felsteppe is not of this place. He's the youngest son of an impoverished family from the south of England. How do you explain his discovery of your proclaimed magical island? And why wasn't he devoured soon after stepping foot ashore?”

Malcolm leaned back in his chair and boldly watched his sister, as if highly interested in her answer.

Maisie's eyes shifted to Malcolm only for an instant before coming back to Adrian. “We believe he was led here by one of our own, who had left Wyldonna at Midsummer. Likely he was offered a great sum to do so.”

“That doesn't at all explain how Felsteppe learned of Wyldonna,” Adrian retorted, refusing to budge. Something weighty hung in the air between Maisie and her brother, and Adrian wished to know what it was.

But to his surprise, Malcolm rescued the woman. “He is a man who has surrounded himself with desperate men. Has he nae been to war in the East? In your holy Jerusalem?”

“He was there, yes,” Adrian conceded, “although he managed to escape the worst of the fighting through lie and illusion, and by ingratiating himself to the Christian king there. A warrior he is not.”

Malcolm nodded. “The armies, though; they are well-known for utilizing mercenaries.”

Adrian conceded the point with his own nod.

Maisie then picked up the conversation. “Many piece bloods and exiles who are turned away from Wyldonna find securing livelihoods difficult. Because of their unique . . . gifts, a large majority of the males become paid soldiers. Some become criminals. And they are quite successful.”

Malcolm leaned forward again. “We can be certain Felsteppe came across one of these exiles. After learning about Wyldonna, he concocted his scheme to gain the fortune for his own use.”

“He needs the treasure,” Maisie emphasized. “To find you and your friends.”

Adrian was still. “You know he is searching for me.”

Maisie nodded hesitantly.

“You knew it when you came to the abbey.”

“I didna know who exactly I would find there,” Maisie hedged. “But I knew Melk would give the assistance I sought.”

Constantine would not be happy with this turn of events. Adrian gave himself a moment to compose himself before continuing.

“What I don't understand,” he began slowly, “is why Felsteppe would demand the fortune and then leave? Why not take over Wyldonna in the moment Malcolm refused him rather than threaten you with his return?”

“Two reasons,” Malcolm supplied, the fire returning to his green eyes. “First, he came to the island with only a handful of men—nae enough to properly challenge us. Perhaps he was nae completely convinced that Wyldonna truly existed. And second . . . well . . .” He looked to Maisie.

She would not meet Adrian's eyes. “I promised Felsteppe the reward my brother denied him in exchange for leaving Wyldonna and its people in peace. He only needed to give me the time to secure it.”

“She took my throne, said the vows, and made a deal with a devil,” Malcolm clarified.

Maisie slapped her hand on the table and turned to face her brother. “Your bloody pride would have brought war to Wyldonna and destroyed us all! If Wyldonna is nae more, it would be disastrous to the whole world, Malcolm!”

Malcolm rose from his chair and thundered, “Doona
dare
speak to me of what is best for this island, lass! I was
king
!
I
decide what is best for Wyldonna! The trouble is nae with my pride but that you have naught of the stuff. Your only thought now is to save your own arse, Maighread Lindsey, but
I'll
nae be intimidated by some
Englishman.
”

“You promised him Wyldonna's treasure,” Adrian prompted Maisie, trying not to be offended.

“Aye,” Malcolm instead sneered the answer and turned toward Adrian. “And if it canna be found, she's promised to deliver to him the only other thing he desires more than riches.” Malcolm leaned forward and pointed a finger at Adrian's chest.

“
You
.”

T
he silence of the hall fell around the trestle table as Malcolm's stomping footfalls receded from the chamber. After a moment, the echoing slam of a door seemed to shake the dust from the tapestries before allowing the quiet to creep around Maisie again. It was just as well that her brother left her here with Adrian; his part of the tale was told, and there could be no benefit to anyone should he have stayed. They likely would have ended up at each other's throats again.

Maisie kept her eyes on her folded hands atop the trestle, but she could feel the weight of Adrian's gaze on her as surely as if it were a tangible, hot thing, pressing against the side of her face. Her ear began to tingle. And yet she waited.

“What did Malcolm mean exactly, Maighread?” Adrian asked at last, his voice pensive, curious. Her heart skipped when he addressed her by her given name. “That you promised Felsteppe someone capable of aiding him in his search for the men he was looking for, much as I am aiding you?”

She shook her head and then drew a deep, silent breath, keeping her eyes on her tightly folded hands. She noticed her nail beds had turned white. “I told him that
I
would help him. If he would leave Wyldonna in peace and not return to the island with the army he threatened, I would either find the men he sought or provide him with the means to do so himself, by way of Wyldonna's fortune.”

“But,” Adrian began, “how did you know where to—?”

“I didna,” she said tightly. “After Felsteppe left Wyldonna, I sought Malcolm to tell him that I thought I had bought us some time against war. I needed his help. His advice.” She huffed a laugh. “But seizing the throne is nae a friendly action, and he took it as a gesture of betrayal. Rightly so, I suppose, although I'd hoped to explain myself. But Malcolm has a . . . talent for disappearing. And the folk most loyal to him did their best to foil my efforts to find him. When they began attacking me personally, I knew I was nae longer safe here.”

She looked up. “I left Wyldonna on the crawler for the mainland. For Scotland. I had nae idea where I was going, but I trusted that it was the right place. I landed on the shores of a monastery and begged shelter. The abbot there saw my distress, and when he offered me counsel, I told him that Glayer Felsteppe had threatened my family. I didna know what else to do.” Adrian was looking at her so intensely, she had to swallow before she continued. “Almost as soon as I spoke his name, the abbot gave me the coin and directed me to Victor, and to Melk. I could feel as soon as I met Victor that he was hiding the four of you.” She shrugged.

“And I only confirmed it for you while we were on the crawler,” Adrian said bitterly. “You wouldn't have known I was one of the men Felsteppe was seeking otherwise.”

“Aye, I would have,” Maisie whispered. She brought her eyes back to her hands. “There was nae need for you to confirm anything once I had seen your nightmare.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I don't know what you mean.”

“The prison. Your . . . injuries.” She looked up at him again and felt tears coming into her eyes. “I saw everything through your eyes. The Spaniard—Valentine. Constantine.”

Adrian's eyes went hard. “That's impossible,” he said. “If you were so certain I was one of the four Felsteppe sought, why then would you stop the crawler—offer to return me back Melk? Did you experience a sudden attack of conscience?”

“I suppose,” she said quietly. “For what it's worth, I'm sorry.”

“You're not sorry,” he said. “It was your intention all along to offer me up as a sacrifice to Glayer Felsteppe.”

“That's true,” she conceded. “I had convinced myself that the life of one man was a small price to pay in order to save my people. But I didna know . . . I didna know then what he'd done, Adrian. What had happened to you.”

“You don't now know what happened to me, and I don't want your pity.”

“It's nae pity,” she said, shaking her head. “I only wish Victor had chosen one of the others. Perhaps then . . .”

“Perhaps then you could have killed the man who is to soon become a father instead? Or the man who has lost his wife and son at Felsteppe's very hands? What about the man who rescued the three of us from torture and death that was only hours away?” Adrian stood from his chair. “Victor
didn't
choose me to come here. It was
my
choice.”

“Was it, though?” She looked at him, and for a moment she wondered what kind of magic he possessed that he wasn't even aware of. Maisie could feel the force of him from half the length of the trestle. “The way I see it, you were the only one who could have come. You were meant for this time from the moment you were born.”

“Because I'm the Painted Man?” he said with a breath of mirthless laughter. “I assure you the markings I bear are far too recent to have anything to do with this wretched place and its troubles.”

“Perhaps. But you
are
the Painted Man,” she said and nearly choked on the words. “And you are here now. You will save Wyldonna, through one means or another. I believe that.”

“By either finding the treasure or surrendering to Glayer Felsteppe?”

“Surrender was nae part of the bargain,” she offered with a slight smile. It was enough to disarm him the tiniest bit, and so she took the opportunity to make peace. “I've already done what I promised—I've brought you to Wyldonna. What Felsteppe can or canna do with you will be his trouble.”

“Oh, he will have trouble,” Adrian said. “And now I see no reason to carry on with the search. Once Felsteppe arrives, I will deal with him.”

“You against him and the army he brings?” Maisie queried. “Nay. Would that I give him the fortune he craves and send him on his way with you in secret pursuit rather than force his hand against either of us. It's the least I can do—payment, if you will—for misleading you so.”

Adrian grasped the back of the chair and leaned against it, considering the stones for several moments. Then he nodded curtly and met her eyes once again. “Then there is nothing for it but that I find the treasure.”

Maisie nodded. “Aye.”

“But I still have one more question,” he said. “If the people of Wyldonna—the island itself—is so very enchanted, why did you not simply turn Felsteppe into a toad or what have you?”

Maisie gave him a brief smile. “It's one of the drawbacks of being Wyldonian royalty, I suppose. The rulers of the island canna use magic. Not even to defend ourselves. It wouldna be very fair to have a king or queen who can exert their will on their people through force, would it?”

Adrian looked askance. “Oh, I see. So you won't be able to conjure up a spell for me to prove your mystical claims.”

“Not while I'm on the island,” she said, knowing he didn't believe one whit of her explanation by the depth of his smirk. His mouth was remarkably alluring.

“What will you do once Felsteppe is no longer a threat? Concede the throne back to your brother?”

Maisie stood, busying herself with straightening her voluminous skirts and reinserting the chair beneath the trestle. “Ah, nay. I fear I'm saddled with the chore now.”

“Will you marry, then? Produce offspring for the realm?”

She turned to him with a smile. “Are you offering for the queen's hand, Adrian Hailsworth?”

To her surprise and delight, Adrian grew stiff and flustered. “I'm only curious.”

“Nay, I shallna marry,” she said, taking pity on him but liking the sight of him at odds.

“Why not?”

“There's none for me to marry,” she said simply. “Malcolm either. We are the last of our kind. Once we are both gone, rule will go to the tribe that is agreed upon by all at the funeral council.”

He looked at her for a long moment. “You can't marry outside of your . . . tribe. That would create—”

“Piece bloods,” she finished for him. “Who canna survive on Wyldonna, let alone be allowed to rule. So you see, this is much more to me than staving off an aggression from a foreign invader. Saving Wyldonna is the legacy I will leave for Malcolm and for our people.”

“That's rather . . . dismal,” Adrian finished. “Especially because you seem certain your brother will outlive you.”

She gave him another tight smile and started to turn away. She was surprised when she felt his hand circling the upper part of her arm, staying her and pulling her back to face him.

Maisie looked down at his fingers curled around the fabric of her gown and then up into Adrian's face with what she hoped was a haughty stare, conveying her displeasure at the idea that he should be brazen enough to lay a hand on her in her own hall.

But what Maisie truly felt was the urge to wrap herself around Adrian Hailsworth's strong body as she had done last night. She wanted to beg his forgiveness for what she'd done.

He ignored her glare. “Do you believe that? That your brother will survive you to regain the throne?”

“It's naught but another story to you, Adrian,” she said at last. “You wouldna yet believe it.”

“Yet?” he pressed, and Maisie thought he drew her to him such an infinitesimal amount, he likely didn't realize he'd done so.

“Stay awhile,” she said, letting her lips curve wryly, a genuine expression at last. “You might learn a thing or two.”

He looked into her eyes a moment longer, and his fingers gentled around her arm. He released her suddenly and straightened his posture.

“I had planned to start with the turrets today. Would you care to accompany me?”

Maisie realized there was nothing else she'd rather do.

 

They began at the uppermost level of Wyldonna Castle: the eastern turret. Accessing it involved climbing a dizzying amount of spiraling steps, and it seemed to Adrian that they ascended for an hour, him following along behind Maisie's wide, heavy skirts. Her pace was slow, steady—for his benefit, he guessed—but even though he was winded when they at last reached the arched wooden door at the top of the steps, he was surprised that his fatigue was only perhaps half of what he'd thought it would be.

She struggled with the heavy door for a moment, huffing and throwing her shoulder into it. Adrian winced when he thought of the punishment she was inflicting on her slight flesh.

“Here,” he said brusquely, grasping her elbow and returning the candle she'd bade him carry. “Allow me.”

She looked down at him with a touch of surprise before shuffling aside and then down one step to allow him access to the door.

The latch was a wooden knob carved into the shape of a blossoming flower, and Adrian had to push down hard and heave against the door twice before it inched open with a pair of tight shrieks. Maisie followed him into the room, the candle lifted high, and the chamber was instantly filled with slinking shadows that seemed to cringe away from the light behind listing piles of broken furniture and busted baskets of discarded unknowns.

Adrian pulled the plans from his satchel and stepped into the center of the room, holding the parchments open before him while Maisie held the candle over his shoulder. He turned in a semicircle and then back, forcing the smaller redhead to scurry along at his side.

“I told you,” she said, and the scent of her wafted up like a clutch of blooms. “Nothing up here for ages.” She lowered the candle when Adrian let the parchments roll into his palms.

He walked to the single narrow window and looked out, first in one direction and then the other. Nothing but gloom, and perhaps the distant, flat flash of the gray sea. The bare branches of trees mingled with the arrow points of the pines, comprising the whole of the desolate landscape. Adrian couldn't see so much as a forgotten leaf stirring, let alone signs that there were any other living beings on Wyldonna save for Maisie and himself.

“Where is everyone?” he challenged suddenly. He didn't know why, but it had somehow become important to Adrian that Maisie tell him the truth about the island. He had no reason not to believe any part of her tale save for her insistence that Wyldonna was some magical place. If she would lie to him about the very nature of her home, he felt he could not trust her with anything, especially if Glayer Felsteppe was returning to Wyldonna shortly.

“Everyone who?” she asked.

He turned to her, and her eyes were wide, reflecting the candlelight as if they contained all the sparkling stars missing from the bleak sky beyond the window. He gestured toward the same. “The people.” He waved a hand toward the open and shadowed doorway. “The servants. The only persons I've seen since coming ashore have been your brother and a single manservant.”

She frowned at him a bit, and Adrian was fascinated by the little crease that formed between her auburn brows. “The servants are about their duties, I'm certain. There arnna many to see anymore, I fear. Everyone else?” She stepped to the window and looked out, drew a deep breath. “They're down there. In their homes. Helping Malcolm, some of them. Likely as nae in the mountain itself.” She shrugged and looked up at him.

Adrian looked out the window and a feeling of frustration came over him. Why did she insist on playing this childish game with him? “Then why do I not see a single plume of smoke from a chimney? Why do I not hear a dog's bark? A sheep's bleat?” He held his hand toward the scene before him. “Wyldonna appears deserted. And I cannot help . . .” He closed his mouth abruptly.

“What?” she pressed.

He looked down at her, but he didn't see any wariness in her expression, any hint of deception. “I cannot help but wonder if this kingdom is . . . something you and your brother might have constructed. In your minds,” he added haltingly.