Dark Lover (27 page)

Aidan inhaled. “The monk can be found most often at Carlisle Cathedral, Ian, from where he rules most o' the Lowlands. Everyone fears him—the bishop, the mayor, the nobles, even our king. He has great powers, dangerous powers.”

“I've seen how powerful he is,” Ian said. He stared at Brianna. “Please help me find Sam.”

“Of course I'll help,” Brie said, ashen now. She reached out to Aidan, who took her hand and squeezed it. “Sam is my cousin and my dearest friend.”

“She canna see on demand, Ian,” Aidan said quietly.

“I know.”

Brie let go of her husband's hand and walked over to the fire. She stood there, staring at it. Ian turned his back on her, ignoring his father, as well. He focused on Sam. His tension soared as he realized that Hemmer and the monk stood behind the surgeon, who was sharpening the knife.
Sam. Yer not alone. I am coming.

She was unmoving, but she said something to Hemmer and Carlisle. Hemmer's face turned ugly.

She hadn't heard him. But why should she? His father hadn't heard him, either, all those years ago.

He tried again.
Sam! I am coming.

She did not react. He did not want to see anymore, but had to help her. He didn't think he could unlock the shackles with his mind through space and time, not when she hadn't even heard or seen him, but he decided to try. He concentrated on the locks, when suddenly her image vanished.

He cursed inwardly and glanced at Brianna, who stared into the fire, as if in a trance. God, they did not have any more time!

He pictured Sam again. Now he noticed a small window high up on the wall behind Hemmer and Carlisle. Sunlight
was coming through it. He focused on the locks one more time. And he heard a horn.

His attention jerked to the window behind the two men, because the sound came from outside the dungeon.

The horn's trumpeting was an announcement of someone's arrival.

Ian realized that he might know more about where she was if he could change his focus and get outside the stone chamber. Ian breathed hard. Sweat poured down his body as he stared past her at the window. The sound of the horn bugling became louder—closer. Suddenly he saw the white stone steps outside the entrance of a magnificent cathedral, where a pair of liveried musicians were playing their horns. A coach had arrived. Four bay horses pulled it. A cleric stepped forward from the front steps, red and gold robes flowing, huge gold cross glinting. The bishop turned to his secretary, who carried a scroll and a quill. The coach doors were opened by two liveried servants.

No! He wanted to see that scroll.

Suddenly he saw the crooked red nose on the secretary's pinched face. Then he saw the hunched shoulders of the bishop, from behind. He zoomed back. The secretary was writing.

And he saw the scripted Latin on the page.

No! He cursed, tried again.

At the top of the page, in the right-hand corner, he saw the date. August 9, 1527.

Ian stared at the date, mesmerized. It blazed now, as if on fire.

“Ian?”

He felt his father's hand on his shoulder, his eyes wide and searching. “Ye found her! We will come with ye!” Aidan exclaimed.

Ian didn't hear him—he was already gone.

 

“I
WONDER HOW WELL
you will be able to tolerate pain?” the monk asked softly.

She didn't know what they meant to do with that knife, but she could imagine. Sam smiled, somehow. “I've been shot, stabbed, cut with a razor and hurled upside down across cars. Gee, I've been hurled the distance of football fields by you guys. And then there's the leap through time. I can handle a stab wound or two.”

“My dogs are hungry,” he said. “And they like raw meat.”

She made a sound, unable to help herself.
That's what they meant to do?

“I think we will start with your fingers. Are you finally afraid?”

There was finally some horror.

If she lost her fingers, even a true Healer like Allie wouldn't be able to help her.

Sam looked at the wooden table, with its shackles at all corners. Then she glanced at Hemmer, who was impassive. She didn't think torture was his big thing.

But he didn't seem interested in helping her out, either. She reminded herself that this was nothing compared to what they'd done to Ian. As she thought that, his image shifted before her in the center of the room.

Sam went still.

He was as transparent as a ghost, but clad as she'd last seen him, in jeans and a T-shirt. His image shimmered; he was saying something.

But she didn't hear a thing.

The surgeon said something now. Sam didn't have to understand German, the language he spoke, to know that he was ready to begin.

Ian's image remained. He was speaking urgently now.

I can't hear you!
She thought desperately.

“Don't unshackle her, but put her on the table,” the monk said. He turned to Hemmer. “This will be interesting.”

“I want her first,” Hemmer said softly. “Before she's in bloody pieces.”

Sam looked at Ian. His image began to fade. “No!”

The thug pushed her hard against the table.

Sam didn't think twice. She jammed the boniest part of her knee in his groin, while using her knuckles in both temples. To her shock, as she moved with lightning speed, the shackle fell off her wrist and the guard merely grunted and paused.

Sam took her index fingers and blinded him.

He screamed.

She ducked as he lunged for her throat. It was easy enough to get under his arm, as he could no longer see. She faced Hemmer and the monk from across the table, smiling at them. “Hello, boys. Wanna party?”

Hemmer was silent, his eyes gleaming. Sam knew he loved the challenge.

It was the monk who worried her. He slowly lifted his hand. As his black power blazed, she ducked, fully expecting to be incinerated.

The power rushed at her like a heat-seeking missile, changing course to find her. Then, just before striking her, it exploded and black power ricocheted against the walls and ceiling. The walls of the chamber began to crumble as parts of the ceiling fell in.

“She's using a protection spell of some kind,” Hemmer mused calmly.

“She's a Slayer, she doesn't use spells,” the monk snarled. He blasted her again.

Sam was incredulous. An invisible wall of some kind seemed to be protecting her now. His energy was diverted by whatever was in front of her. It streaked around the chamber again, sizzling against the walls, the ceiling. More
stone fell. The monk was struck on the shoulder by a chunk of rock, but Hemmer was untouched. As dust rose up, as thick as smoke, Sam rushed for the door. She felt his power behind her, chasing her. As she skidded through it, she heard his power hit the walls on each side of her.

She was in a long corridor, lit by torches. It was empty. Sam ran hard, his power striking the walls and floors around her. As stone rained down, she entered a gallery with elegant glass windows, a runner on the floor. Well-dressed noblemen and women were strolling within. As she ran in, his power followed. As it struck the walls and windows, glass shattered. Women screamed, rushing for cover with the gentlemen.

Sam looked out of a window and saw the huge interior courtyard of what had to be a palace. It was beautifully landscaped, with paved walks, seating areas, and many elegant pedestrians, coming and going. It could have been a scene from an epic Hollywood movie. Everyone had fled the gallery by the stairs in the corner. They'd expect her to go down to the courtyard, and try to find her way out on the ground floor. Neither the monk nor Hemmer had entered the gallery yet. So Sam went up, running hard.

When she'd reached the parapets, which were open and vacant, she sank down on the stone floor, stunned.

Then she started to smile.

Her sister had come through for her.

And maybe, just maybe, Maclean had been there for her, too.

Carlisle Cathedral, Scotland—August 9, 1527

H
E SLOWLY STOOD UP
, still shaken from the leap and the urgency building in him. Ian stared. The Cathedral was built of red stone. It was a massive monument to God, with soaring roofs and even higher towers, with narrow pinnacle peaks and crosses set atop them. Lower square towers were on either side of the Cathedral's front entrance, which was framed by pointed stone arches that boasted more black crosses. A dozen stained-glass windows blinked from the main building. Liveried guards armed with swords and lances stood in front of the stone arches.

However, the noblemen and clergymen who were coming and going seemed to be ignored by the guards, who never lifted a weapon or moved. Good, Ian thought. The guards were really for decoration, never mind their possessed souls. Ian brushed off his jeans, staring at the Cathedral's entrance. Sam was within. The dungeons were below ground. He'd had a vision of her there, shackled to a table, about to be tortured.

He started for the front entrance. As Ian ran up the front steps, the previously benign guards regarded him closely. A pair of noblemen in frilly short coats and colorful hose also stared at him as they left the interior of the Cathedral. Ian ignored them all. He walked past the guards, realizing that he stood out like a sore thumb in his T-shirt and jeans.

“You,” a guard said sharply.

Ian knew he meant him, but he didn't stop. His mood was very foul now and he itched to use his powers on anyone who would dare prevent him from finding Sam.

Ian heard the soldier rush him from behind. “Peasant! Stop!”

Ian turned and flung his power at him. The guard collapsed, unconscious. His buddy reached for his sword. Ian smiled savagely. “Die if ye try,” he said, meaning it.

The guard froze.

“We have affairs here with the bishop,” a voice said calmly from behind him.

Ian whirled and saw Aidan and Brianna.

The guard looked at Aidan, who was smiling pleasantly but had his hand on the hilt of his long sword. Ian realized that wasn't what stopped the guard. His father wore a signet ring that was solid gold and boasted a huge garnet. The brooch that pinned his plaid was as costly. His clothing, although simple, had elaborate and undoubtedly expensive embroidery at the neckline and hem. Not to mention that Brianna stood beside him, wearing a beautiful velvet gown and her own jewels. The guard would understand that Aidan was nobility.

The guard nodded. “Fine. Ye may pass.” He knelt beside his friend, who moaned.

Aidan gestured. Ian strode past him, sorry he'd gone to his father for help. “I don't need your help.”

Aidan and Brianna followed him inside. The entry hall was dark, the floors marble, the ceilings high. “Ye came to us fer help an' we're here to help ye, Ian, whether ye wish it or not.”

“What's wrong, Father?” he asked darkly. “Don't ye have a poor child to rescue today?”

Aidan grimaced. “That isna fair.”

“Fine,” he snarled. “Now that yer such a powerful Master, ye can help me rescue Sam.”

Aidan breathed hard. “I would have rescued ye, Ian, had I known ye were alive. I thought ye were a ghost!”

Ian stormed past him, across the circular entry hall. They followed, Aidan seizing his arm from behind. “We need to pause. Can ye try to feel her, instead of running off recklessly?”

His father was right, damn him. He halted, trying to feel Sam's power. Instead, he felt evil's dark, intense presence. Evil was there at Carlisle, in every stone, every rafter. But he also felt God.

Ian tensed, lifting his face to the trompe-l'oeil ceiling where a battle between cherubs and beasts raged before the glowing gates of heaven, above the crimson inferno that was hell.

And the old gods were present, too. He trembled, surprised to feel them and even more surprised that he could recognize them, with no doubt as to who and what they were. He'd never felt them this way before. Evil ruled at Carlisle—but the gods had not given up.

“Maybe we should do this the old-fashioned way, Aidan,” Brie said seriously. “Room by room. It can't take that long. We'll start below, in the dungeons, because that's where you saw her.”

Ian looked at his father's wife. He had always liked her. She was soft, sweet and kind, but her gentle nature hid a fierce loyalty to her husband and her cousins. Now, she smiled encouragingly at him. “Sam is the strongest woman I know,” she added.

“Give me a moment,” he said. He focused on Sam, but he did not see her now. There were only dark shadows…

He blinked and saw Brianna and Aidan, filled with frustration. “Let's go, before it's too late.”

Brianna took his hand and squeezed it. He looked away
from her dark, searching eyes. Did she know how devastated he was? He was doing his best to hide it.

Suddenly the room darkened. The temperature dropped radically, causing him to shiver. Black gusts swept through the huge entry hall. They were visible, dark harbingers of what was coming.

Ian froze.

The monk had so much more power now. He'd known that right away, from the moment he'd come across him looming over Sam in that vault. In spite of himself, his gut churned.

He wasn't just afraid for Sam. He was afraid for himself.

Ian inhaled and faced the far side of the hall. The black gusts circled the room and vanished and the monk of Carlisle appeared on the threshold. Tall and blond, muscular and handsome, he'd shed the plain dark robes for crimson and gold ones. He was smiling. “What took you so long, Ian? I've been expecting you,” he said in his French accent. “And you brought company. The notorious Wolf of Awe?” He laughed, as if pleased. “I was wondering when I'd meet the Master that the bards sing of.”

Aidan started forward aggressively, eyes ablaze.

Ian didn't think twice. He restrained him, seizing his arm, and he met his father's furious stare. He wondered if Aidan knew that this man had been one of his captors. “This is my war.”

Aidan hesitated.

“Let Ian do what he has to do, Aidan,” Brianna said.

Reluctantly, Aidan stepped back, revulsion written all over his face.

Ian slowly turned to face Carlisle. “Where is she?”

“Did you bring the page of illusion?”

“If ye've harmed a single hair on her head, I'll never hand it over.”

“If you want her back alive, you will give me the page
now
.”

He trembled and he knew there was no choice. He had no power, not when the monk had Sam. In the end, he would have to do whatever the monk wanted to get her released, including handing over the page. “Take me to her. I want to know that she's alive and unhurt first.”

The monk slowly smiled. “Show me the page of illusion, sweet Ian. And then you can have your lover back.”

“Not until I see Sam.”

“When did you find courage? Or maybe you simply don't care all that much about her.”

“Take me to her,” he shouted. Aidan touched his arm. He flung him off.

“I'm afraid we are at an impasse,” the monk snapped. “I want the page—you want to see her. If you think about it, you will realize you have to bring the page here.”

“I don't have to think about it. What have you done to her? Take me to her!”

The monk's smile vanished and his eyes blazed red. “You can't give me orders. I have the greater power here!”

“Really?” Ian blasted him as hard as he could, before he could think to restrain his fury.

“Ian, don't!” Brianna screamed.

The monk laughed as his power forked toward him, abruptly turning back around and blazing into Ian.

He gasped as his own power drove him across the hall and into a far wall. He saw exploding stars. Pain erupted in his head, his neck, his back. More pain sizzled through his organs.

But Aidan knelt beside him, instantly laying his hands on him. Ian opened his eyes and met his father's blue gaze as his powerful and healing warmth entered his wounds.

“I'll never let ye die,” Aidan said.

And a moment later the pain was mostly gone. He shrugged Aidan off.

Aidan rocked back on his heels. “Losin' yer temper won't bring her to us.” His gaze narrowed. “Do ye truly have the page of illusion?”

He stood up, enraged but in control of that anger now. “And if I do?”

Aidan also got up. “Will ye use it to save her?”

“What do you think, Father?” he mocked.

“I think ye can never hand another power over to the monk.”

 

H
E CLOSED THE DOOR
of another vacant bedchamber, grim and disappointed. He and his father had separated, Ian taking the dungeons, Aidan starting on the ground level. But the dungeons below had been windowless, and Sam hadn't been within them. Instead, he'd come across Carlisle's many prisoners, mostly innocent men, women and children, as well as a few political captives. He'd freed everybody.

He was now on an upper floor, determined to go through the various guest chambers. Where was Sam? Where was the dungeon with the small window that he'd first envisioned? He'd stopped repeatedly to use his visual telepathy to locate her. He couldn't understand why he couldn't find her. She'd been at the Cathedral moments ago. Had she been smuggled out or taken to another place, in another time?

This was taking too long.

And as he stood in the long corridor, a sensation of awareness went through him.
Sam
.

He'd just felt her. She was somewhere nearby. He tried to see her and suddenly glimpsed her pale, determined face, framed by her short, spiky hair. Something dark was blocking his view. He realized it was a part of a wall.
Sam? Where are you?

The image grew stagnant, and he knew he was remembering it, not seeing her somewhere. She did not answer him. His disappointment intensified. She didn't seem hurt, but he couldn't tell if she was shackled or otherwise bound, or not.

“Ian?”

He jerked at the sound of Brianna's voice as she and Aidan hurried toward him. A maidservant was with them. “Meg has something to show us.”

He looked sharply at the thin, freckled maid, who stared wide-eyed at him and then at Aidan. She blushed and darted past them. Ian fell into step with Aidan and Brianna. The maid ran to the end of the hall and then entered a small closet door. There, she waited for them.

Ian went to the threshold of another very dark, very narrow hall. She pointed down it, ducked under his arm and ran away.

Ian rushed forward, Aidan and Brianna on his heels. A single door was at the hall's end. As he thrust it open, he strained for Sam. He remained aware of her presence, but the awareness didn't intensify. Even before he saw the torture chamber, he knew she wasn't there.

He recognized it immediately.

The single window was above on one wall, and the room was dark and dank, containing two tables. The center table had restraints. The side table had too many sharp instruments and tools to count. “This is where I saw her,” he said harshly.

Brianna touched his arm. “Meg overheard the monk arguing with a very strange foreigner. She couldn't understand the stranger, but the monk was livid because the woman had escaped.”

Ian exhaled.

“She may still be within the Cathedral,” Aidan said. “The best way to leave would be to do so after dark.”

“I'm not leaving without her,” Ian said.

 

S
AM CAREFULLY CRACKED
open the door, but the hinges groaned. She'd been working her way down and through the Cathedral for the past hour or so. It was slow going. Carlisle Cathedral was a busy place, filled with nobles, various clergy, and all kinds of servants. The monk had a full-scale search going for her. Soldiers were going through the premises room by room, and she had been constantly backtracking and hiding from them. In her contemporary clothes, with her short, platinum hair, she knew that if anyone saw her, she was done.

She couldn't imagine what all of these people were doing at a place of God.

Most of those wandering about Carlisle were average, ordinary humans. But they seemed oblivious to the oppressive weight in the dark halls and long corridors of the Cathedral. Patiently making her way through the palace, she was acutely aware of the heavy darkness and what it meant. Bad things happened at Carlisle, all of the time. She hadn't been the first victim to see that torture room.

She felt sorry for the medieval civilians she'd seen. They had clearly come to a house of God looking for something good, maybe even salvation, but they'd never find it at Carlisle.

I am definitely getting soft, she thought grimly, with an odd pang. And it was Maclean's fault.