Claire Delacroix (40 page)

It was all the encouragement I needed to sweetly torment him, all the urging I required to tease him with lips and teeth and tongue. It was most satisfactory to straighten for a breath and find Merlyn - Merlyn! - flushed and agitated. He reached for me but I retreated to the head of the bed.

“I command you to remove my shoes and stockings, sir, before I sate you,” I said and lifted one foot in demand.

Merlyn chuckled and I smiled myself. He had never made me ashamed of my own audacity and he had never refused any demand I had made of him abed.

Which opened numerous interesting prospects.

He flung off his chausses, then crawled across the mattress with the fluid grace of a cat. He caught my foot in his hand, eased off the slipper then caressed my instep with his thumb. His sure touch launched an army of shivers over my flesh and made me ache to feel him inside me again.

Then, without releasing my foot, he stretched to untie my garters with his teeth. His gaze flew to mine and my breath caught, for I knew that he recalled as well as I the night that we had once reconciled abed, when he had removed my garters thus, then driven me wild with desire.

And my flesh heated at the prospect of repeating that again.

His kisses burned behind my knees, trailing behind the stocking as it was urged from my leg, caressing my instep and tickling between my toes. He moved with infuriating leisure, making me shiver and bringing me close to begging. But I would not beg and he would not hasten. It promised to be a most delightful interlude.

Merlyn repeated his labor on the other garter, caressing more slowly and thoroughly. He echoed the pattern of kisses, left a burning imprint upon the inside of my right knee, then halted.

Merlyn lifted his head and regarded me from between my own knees, his eyes burning with ardor. I watched him for a long moment, knowing what he asked of me, knowing how much I wanted it yet wanting to prolong the tension all the same.

When I could bear it no longer, when Merlyn swallowed, I silently parted my thighs. My breath hitched in my throat, and his satisfied smile made my heart stop. Then he eased his broad shoulders between my knees, dipped his head and tasted me.

I fell back against the pillows, closed my eyes and moaned with pleasure. His tongue moved with exquisite languor, his hands gripped me and held me fast, his breath teased. I tangled my fingers in his hair and urged him every closer, uncertain I could bear his touch any longer, knowing I could not be without it. I hooked my heels beneath his shoulders, drawing him onward, and he laved me with greater vigor. He roused a tempest within me with dangerous ease and I reveled in it. My hips began to buck of their own accord.

My blood boiled and I became dizzy. But still I wanted us to find pleasure together. I seized a fistful of his hair and lifted his head, gasping out my words. “It is not enough!”

“No,
chère
, it is not.” And Merlyn was atop me, lowering his strength into me, claiming me again as his bride. I clutched at his shoulders and held him fast. He caught at the back of my neck and held me fast beneath his demanding kiss. I arched against him, ground my hips and dug my nails into his back.

I demanded all that he could give and he surrendered it to me, even as he demanded my own surrender. And when the torrent came, it was larger and higher and I tumbled harder and faster than ever I had before. I heard myself cry out, I heard Merlyn roar, then there was nothing but the heat of the man I loved within me.

* * *

Afterward I lay still, listening to the storm spend itself against the stone walls, pinned beneath Merlyn’s weight as he dozed. Our legs were tangled together, his hand was in my hair, his breath caressed against my cheek. The mattress was soft and the linens fine.

The keep was silent, or as silent as ever it was. The dog snored somewhere near the foot of the bed, the wind whistled as the rain beat against the stone. I let my fingers wind into the dark silk of Merlyn’s hair and was - for the moment - content to let matters be simple between us.

* * *

I awakened to the tickle of smoke in my nostrils. The solar was falling dark, the wind making more noise than the rain. I jerked but something restrained me.

My hands were bound together, then tied to one of the great columns of the bed. My feet were bound, as well, but not linked to the bed. I writhed, unable to make sense of this nightmare.

But it was no dream.

I pulled hard at my bonds and succeeded only in tearing the flesh from my wrists. I cried out and a woman laughed close at hand.

When I looked for her, I realized that Merlyn’s heat was no longer at my back.

He was gone and Ada Gowan stood before me, her eyes wild. She held a lantern, its flame dancing high, and laughed at me as she touched it to one of the tapestries on the wall.

The cloth roared as the fire began to consume it.

“Now comes a reckoning, Ysabella of Kinfairlie,” she said lightly. “Now comes the burning due to all witches, without the trouble of a trial before those who might be bent to your will.”

“I am no witch and you know it well!” I cried, struggling all the while against my bonds. They were tight, as no doubt she intended.

“A harlot then, burned in her bed of sin.” Ada leaned closer to me. “I care not for the details, Ysabella. You are wicked, for you have taken every pleasure that should have been mine. But no more, Ysabella, no more. You will not have Ravensmuir and you will not have Merlyn. I will not suffer to see you sated.”

“Merlyn will not wed you.” I wanted to keep her talking in the hope that some means of escape would come clear to me.

Ada laughed. “Merlyn is probably already dead, as he should have been days ago. He can no longer help you, Ysabella.”

“Where is he?”

“It seems I brought word to him that his ship would soon falter upon the rocky shore. He will never reach the shore, of course, for a predator lies in wait in his own keep. This time Merlyn will not escape.”

“Ship?”

Her eyes glittered as my eyes widened in horror. “Oh yes, Ysabella, that ship. I shall be rid of Rhys Fitzwilliam, who never liked me, and you shall be rid of your brother, as well.”

“No!”

Ada laughed. “I know all the secrets of these Lammergeier. I know how they signal their ships to come to shore with a single lantern burning bright, and I know where that lantern is set so that the ship comes safely through the rocks.”

“You cannot be so cruel,” I whispered, fearing what she would say.

“Oh yes. On this night, oddly, the beacon has been set in the wrong place. How sad. The weather ensures that none on that ship will see the truth until it is too late, and then -” she shrugged “- and then, no doubt the ship will be lifted by the sea and shattered upon the rocky shore. There will be few survivors, and any fool enough to crawl to shore will die there.”

“They will not risk a landing in such weather.”

“You underestimate the loyalty of Rhys Fitzwilliam to his lord’s bidding. Only the laird sets out the beacon, and the laird’s command is not to be disobeyed.”

“The laird did not set the beacon on this night.”

“The new laird has set the flame on this night, and done so to ensure that there are no stray details. It would not do to have a child of Elise of Kinfairlie alive to stake a claim against Ravensmuir. Ravensmuir shall fall to its new lord and lady, with no challenges by blood.”

“What of Mavella?”

Ada smiled. “You may rest assured that you will all find your demise in time.”

“What have you done to Merlyn?”

She watched the flames, assessing their progress as they leapt to the next tapestry. “As a loyal servant, of course, I could only draw my laird’s attention to the ship’s mistaken approach.”

“You set a trap for him,” I said bitterly, fighting fruitlessly against my bonds.

“I set a trap for you. The solar door is barred from the other side, if you were so fool as to risk passing through those flames. And we all know of your fear of darkness. Imagine, Ysabella, your sole hope of escape is through the labyrinth, though I will close the portal behind myself so that matters are not too easy. My lover set a trap for Merlyn and my only regret is that I was not able to witness Merlyn’s demise.”

She sat on the side of the mattress, her manner companionable. “I find it particularly satisfactory that the man who came here to court you turned his eye upon me, instead. I like having stolen a man’s regard from you. I like it quite well. I like how it redresses the debts between us.”

“Who is this man who would be laird? Is it Gawain?”

Ada laughed. “That scoundrel? Never! He has no care for property and responsibilities.”

“Then who?”

“Can you not guess?”

“One of the earls?”

Ada laughed merrily at this prospect. “And how should a wedded man pledge marriage to me?”

“The Earl of March’s son?”

Ada shook her head. “Calum of Dunkilber.”

“But...”

“He is the king’s bastard brother, never acknowledged, long denied his rightful legacy. The earls and king say his claim is groundless, they deny him his rightful due, the Earl of March denied him a holding and any status. They would keep him from having any tithes, any wealth to assert his status.” Her eyes shone in her defense of his credentials. “They keep him in poverty in the hopes that he will die. They hate him and they fear him, but his day has come. We have an understanding, Calum and I, for we have both faced unwarranted adversity and we shall wreak our vengeance together.”

“But if you burn the keep, it cannot be your own.”

“Ravensmuir has been rebuilt before. Fear not, I will be Lady of Ravensmuir, though the keep will be larger and finer than this one.”

Ada crossed the chamber quickly, then flung open the trunk of clothes Merlyn had bought for me, lifted one gown. “And you will have nothing, Ysabella. Indeed, there will be no sign that ever you were here.” She touched the flame to the gown. When I thought the fire would leap to her own clothing, she tossed the gown back into the trunk.

The fire raged there, leaping high, devouring them all.

“I shall have everything you sought to make your own,” she said. “I shall have everything that should have been mine and I shall savor every morsel.”

“You are mad!”

“I have told you, Ysabella, that advantage must be well secured. Mine will be.” She smiled, then flung the lantern at the door that led to the stairs. The vessel shattered, the oil sprayed against the wooden wall, and the flames fed greedily upon it. I could not look upon the wall, so bright was the inferno. The dry wood began to crackle immediately.

Ada strolled toward me, clearly pleased with what she had wrought. “Poor Ysabella, fated to die in such pain.” She raised a hand and touched the secret latch with the surety of one who knew precisely where to find it. The portal to the labyrinth slid open, the cool air fanning the flames yet higher.

“You know the labyrinth,” I whispered.

“What else had I to do, all those lonely days and nights in this abode?”

“Avery told you of it?”

Ada laughed harshly. “Avery told me nothing. But these Lammergeier are not so clever as I - any fool could see how readily they disappeared and guess the truth.” She leaned closer. “I know enough of this family and their wicked ways to see them all rot in hell. No doubt, you shall have all eternity to share each other’s secrets.”

“What of the plate, Ada?” I demanded wildly, fearful that once she left me here, I would be doomed. “The plate in the chapel that was the thirteenth? Gawain said you brought it to him.”

“It is my duty to feed the laird’s family,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “He lied to me, he made promises to me as well that he had no intent to keep.” Her lips tightened. “He took the plate from the labyrinth and I knew not where. You contrived its return to frighten me, I see that now.”

She hefted a brass candlestick with a fat tallow candle impaled upon its spike. She crossed the room and touched the wick to the flames, then brought it back to the side of the bed. Her eyes shone with a malice undisguised.

“Now you shall burn, Ysabella, as you always should have done.”

And Ada dropped the burning candle on to the bed beside me.

The linens began to burn immediately, the hangings started to smoke. I writhed wildly. Hearing the flames land in my hair, I screamed. Ada laughed as she stepped over the threshold and I knew she would abandon me there to die.

“But how can you destroy the relic, Ada?” I shouted in desperation.

She paused and regarded me with narrowed eyes. “What relic?”

“The
Titulus Croce
, the prize for which Avery was killed. It is there, in that trunk. Ada, it will be lost forever by your deeds!”

Her gaze flicked to the trunk and back to me. “You lie!” she cried, but she was not certain.

“No, Ada. It is truly there.” I twisted away from the flames, the bed fairly crackling beneath me. The canopy overhead turned suddenly orange, consumed with flames. “I found it in the chapel.”

“But Gawain left with a relic.”

“I lied to the liar.” I insisted. “He took a forgery.”

Ada inhaled sharply. She stared across the solar, gauging the distance to the trunk I indicated.

Then she ran.

The flames danced around the bed curtains with dangerous speed and I tugged at the bond in a frenzy. I glanced up at the heat on my flesh and saw that the fire burned upon the rope that trussed me to the column.

Here was my chance! I pulled upon the rope desperately, willing it to break before Ada returned. It did so with such a vigorous snap that I tumbled. I looked and saw Ada rummaging in the trunk I had indicated, the one whose contents I did not even know.

The solar was filling with smoke, the walls and tapestries too dry to slow the fire. I beat out the fire in my hair and rolled from the bed, landing heavily against the wall.

But I was still bound. I eyed the high threshold and the darkness beyond, guessing that if I leapt, I might tumble down the stairs there.