Claire Delacroix (6 page)

“How was the flight from London?”

“Uneventful.” Marissa waved the question off dismissively, then leaned closer. The move granted Baird a view of her cleavage and a waft of her musky perfume.

Before Baird could do more than wonder whether the view was deliberately offered - much less why - Marissa’s gaze dropped to his jeans. Baird hoped she hadn’t noticed what he thought she had noticed.

He knew he should have gone for relaxed-fit jeans.

Silently, he blamed Aurelia for getting under his skin in a way that no woman ever had done. And more quickly than Baird would have thought possible.

Aurelia was going to be trouble with a capital T. Why had Baird listened to impulse and invited her to stay? He was never impulsive!

Worse, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He couldn’t even concentrate on Marissa’s chatter, his mind replaying that hot kiss over and over again.

And Marissa evidently had noticed the result.

“The gates look simply divine! And this place is absolutely fabulous!” Marissa smiled with something more than professional respect gleaming in her dark eyes. Baird felt the back of his neck heat in embarrassment, but Marissa continued merrily along, kissing her fingertips dramatically. “Of course, you always have the most impeccable taste, darling, you truly do.”

“The logo on the gate was your idea,” Baird reminded her, his tone coolly professional. “I’m just glad it worked out so well. Did you get pricing on the travertine marble?”

Marissa’s lips thinned ever so slightly before she ducked her head and dug into her briefcase. “Why, of course, darling! Why else would I be here other than to work, work, work?”

* * *

Aurelia certainly had not expected Bard, son of Erc, to find her kiss repulsive! Her feathers ruffled with feminine pride and she glared at the priest to whose company she had been abandoned.

The insult was even worse given the tingle of awareness that kissing Bard had awakened within her.

After all, Aurelia knew she was not plain! Men came from far and wide to court her, but Aurelia turned them all aside. She wanted a partner who cared for her, not merely her face. Beauty, after all, would fade and it was the person within who endured.

Aurelia had learned much of the power of that kind of partnership from her parents’ example and she wanted no less for herself.

All the same, Bard’s rejection irked her. Why, she had even been called a beauty!

But the new king of Dunhelm could not bear to have her touch him. That just proved he was an unmannered barbarian!

The priest urged Aurelia impatiently toward the stairs. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I don’t know about you, but I could use a brandy. Let’s find you a guest room pronto.”

Guest? Ha! No doubt this priest would toss her into some dank and dour prison, crawling with rats.

Aurelia tightened her lips and stalked toward the stairs. They would drag her out periodically to interrogate her - perhaps even torture her! - then cast her back into misery.

Oh, she knew well enough the kind of brutality of which Bard was capable! But she, she would not bend readily to his will. Somehow she would find her sire, and somehow she would prevail against this villain.

Or Aurelia would die trying.

Decision made, Aurelia stormed to the summit of the stairs, then froze on the spot. She stared dumbstruck at the changed scene before her.

What had happened to the holding she knew as well as the palm of her own hand?

Walls had been ruined, the rubble moved so that the structures Aurelia knew were virtually obliterated. Her father’s great wooden hall was gone so completely that it might never have existed. And she had raised a chalice of mead within those carved walls this very morning, before the battle.

At least, it seemed as though it had been this very morning.

Aurelia frowned and eyed stones heavy with moss where there had not even been stones. She chewed her lip with uncertainty and she had the odd sense that her mind taunted her to reach for a truth hung just out of reach.

She must have been drugged. There were plants Aurelia knew well more than potent enough for such a task.

“Come on,” the priest urged impatiently. “Let’s get out of this miserable rain already. God, I hate this place. Beats me why people choose to live here.”

Aurelia stepped forward at his demand, all the while fighting to hide her response to Bard’s wanton destruction. If she had not recognized the ritual well, Aurelia might have doubted that she was home.

Aurelia looked to the sea, knowing that it would tell her no lies. She eyed the sweep of the coastline, the reassuring shade of hazy blue with which the sea always met the sky.

That was familiar, at least. She recognized the crags and beaches, the great stones and the waves that stretched to the horizon, and felt her fears settle as surely as the waves pounding on the shore.

Back across the island and in the other direction, Aurelia could barely discern the silhouetted towers that had been falling apart as long as anyone could remember. The dimple of an old chambered tomb, left by people long forgotten, could be seen if she squinted into the morning sun.

Were the crumbling towers shorter than before? And what had happened to all the trees surrounding her father’s hall? Bard’s men must have raided the towers for material to build his great stone hall, just ahead. And the trees could have been chopped and burned with alarming speed.

This was her home, regardless of how quickly Bard had managed to make his mark upon it.

Aurelia took a deep breath and looked once more at the construction they approached. Workers crawled over the site like bees in a hive, their clothing different but no less strange than that of Bard and his priest. The great stone hall rose high behind them, higher than any hall Aurelia had ever seen.

Surely everyone she knew could not have been slaughtered? It looked as though Bard had need of every strong man for the ambitious construction he made here.

Encouraged by the thought, Aurelia focused her attention on the men themselves, hopefully seeking a familiar face. She scanned the first workman that she and the priest passed by, but did not know him. Nor the second, nor the third. Aurelia returned more than one questioning glance, and hoped desperately that the priest did not notice her curiosity.

But there were no faces she knew in the yard.

Aurelia refused to despair. Maybe the women, at least, had been allowed to survive as household slaves and whores. They would be hidden away at this hour, working in kitchens and storerooms and fields. With so many men filling the courtyard, Aurelia knew there must be women kept to service their needs.

It was the fate of conquered women everywhere to roll to their backs, willingly or not. Somewhere on this holding, Aurelia would find someone she knew.

The priest led her through a wide portal set beside a soaring tower that had not existed before. The portal was thrice as high as Aurelia stood, its wooden doors heavy with iron studs and folded back against the inside. As they passed beneath its shadow, Aurelia glanced up and saw the spikes of a wicked iron gate that could be dropped across the passage.

She had never seen such fine iron work in all her days and slanted a glance to the priest. Aurelia knew well enough that blacksmiths possessed a secret power and taught their songs only to specially chosen apprentices. Had this priest been responsible for increasing the power of the smiths’ songs?

The high walls were wrought so carefully of stone that they seemed perfectly smooth. Aurelia touched one as she passed through the passageway behind the portal and marveled at the thin line sealing each stone to the next.

The craft of the stonemason had also been taken to new heights by Bard’s men.

The truth could not be denied. There was powerful witchery at work in this place.

Aurelia slanted a glance to the impassive priest, much impressed by his influence. Perhaps her father had underestimated the powers of the men from Rome.

Another pair of doors - these wooden ones ornamented with swirls of gold or brass - opened at the priest’s touch to reveal a hall of such sumptuous design that Aurelia halted and gaped.

The floor was like a gaming board, alternating dark and light squares, but wrought of some infinitely smooth stone that was cut with incredible precision. The ceiling arched high overhead and Aurelia could not imagine what magic possessed the slender columns that they could hold up a roof wrought of stone. The interior was in the midst of being painted most artfully with writhing Celtic dragons and knots.

On the far side of the hall, a pair of staircases wound skyward like two embracing arms, their curves smooth beyond belief. Rails gleamed gold on either side of each staircase and red tapestries were being laid against the stone stairs.

Despite her determination to despise everything associated with Bard, son of Erc, Aurelia was impressed.

A long table of dark wood was being assembled between the ends of the staircases, its front rife with ornamentation. The wood gleamed with a reddish hue alien to this corner of the world. Where the staircases met high above, Aurelia could just spot a wide double doorway.

The hall was filled with the sounds of hammering and men muttering. She assumed they chanted the spells that made such wizardry possible. And such power!

Aurelia feared suddenly that her abilities might be as nothing compared to the sorcery of Bard and his priest.

But it would not do to let this priest see her doubts.

The priest shook his head impatiently. “I know it isn’t done, we’re weeks behind schedule, but it doesn’t look so bad that you have to stare! Surely you can see that the reception area will be stunning when it’s finally finished?”

The reception area?

This was not even the king’s hall?

Aurelia swallowed with an effort. She had never seen such wealth and could not imagine that anything could be more ostentatious than this. For the son of a reviled and deposed king, Bard was unexpectedly affluent. How had he amassed such awesome wealth?

Through no honest means, Aurelia was certain of that.

* * *

Chapter Four

“Hellooooooo, Julian! Darling, how are you?”

The priest and Aurelia swiveled as one to find a woman waving her fingertips from the other side of the hall. Aurelia’s heart lurched at the sight of King Bard looming behind the slender woman and she cursed her own feminine weakness. His arms were folded across his chest and he looked doubly grim.

The woman’s black garb fit her every curve and did not even fall long enough to cover her knees. Her features were beautiful, her skin pale, her lips full and reddened, her eyes thickly lashed. She tripped across the floor, somehow keeping her balance in ridiculously restraining shoes.

None of the other men in the hall seemed to take notice of the woman’s bold display of her assets, though the priest’s lips thinned tellingly.

Aurelia understood immediately. This woman was competition for the king’s attention, for she was obviously Bard’s whore. What priestly advisor would not resent such influence? A whore had more than the king’s ear in her keeping!

And clearly, by his expression, Bard did not want his whore showering her attention on anyone but himself. He stalked behind her across the floor, as though he abandoned their private conversation only because he had little choice. His brow was as dark as thunder.

No, he was not pleased. Aurelia concluded that the whore must be expensive to indulge, and that Bard, reasonably enough, considered his indulgence to earn him her exclusive attention.

The whore evidently had other ideas. She laid a hand on the priest’s arm in a most friendly manner, and even had the audacity to give him a peck of greeting on one cheek, then the other, then the first again.

The priest stiffened and did not return her salute.

The whore, though, was too preoccupied to notice. Her cold gaze swept over Aurelia, and a glint flashed in her eyes, revealing that she recognized the sweater as the king’s own. The tightening of those reddened lips showed what she thought of that.

Aurelia knew enough of whores to understand that the woman considered her a competitive threat. As laughable as that was, Aurelia instinctively braced herself for a fight.

“How are you, Julian, darling? It’s been so terribly long!”

“Really?” The priest’s tone was cold, undoubtedly for the benefit of the king now closing the space between them with long strides. “Perhaps not long enough.”

The woman laughed. “Oh, Julian.” She rapped a fingertip on his arm playfully. “Darling! You’re such a kidder.” She leaned against him, her breast pushing against his arm, and eyed Aurelia with open assessment. “Isn’t he just the most hysterically funny man?”

She batted her lashes at Aurelia, then gave Julian a playful pinch. “Come along now, Julian, my darling man. Don’t be shy! Tell me, now, is this your new flame? Don’t be naughty, darling - introduce us, do! She looks like such a precious little waif.”

The priest coughed in agitation and, though Aurelia didn’t understand what fire had to do with anything, she caught the woman’s meaning.

Then Bard loomed beside her, his deep voice interjecting before the priest could sputter an answer. “Princess Aurelia is a guest of the estate.” His tone was resolute.

Aurelia was perversely pleased that he used her title and acknowledged her rank, then chided herself for being so easily charmed.

Again.

“Really?” the woman purred, her dark gaze gobbling up a thousand details. “Princess, is it, darling?” she asked, her smirk condescending. “I suppose you must be on terribly close terms with the Queen Elizabeth, then? I would so love to have tea with her, you know, and talk woman to woman. I could straighten out those children of hers, I’m just sure they only need a good talking-to...”

Aurelia blinked in surprise. “I know no Queen Elizabeth.”

“Europe, then, darling? Prince Rainier is said to be the nicest person, once you get to know him on a more personal level, you know, darling. I suppose you do?” The whore’s wide gaze implied that she supposed no such thing.