The Prince of Midnight (42 page)

Very brash. Very young.

He wondered if Luton remembered.

He wondered what Luton's business was now. What would it take to amuse a man
after that many years of debauchery?

"Come," Luton said. "Walk outside with me."

S.T. stood up. He pulled on his gloves and watched Luton help himself into
his own greatcoat. The mere fact that a man of Luton's elegance was traveling
without his valet or groom was curious.

Outside, Luton picked his way over the stones of the yard in his high-heeled
shoes. "Tell me," he said calmly. "Where have you been these few years?"

"Traveling." That answer was easy enough. S.T. turned deliberately away from
the stable and Mistral. "Let us walk this way. The pavement's cleaner."

Luton followed willingly enough. "You've been on the continent?"

"Aye. France. Italy. A spell in Greece."

"I'd have thought you long lost. No one mentions your name in Paris."

"I prefer to rusticate. I'll take the south of France to Paris."

"Lyon? Avignon?"

S.T. kept an indifferent face. "Both, at some time."

"I've toured Provence." The tassled cane tapped a quick rhythm on the
pavement. "There is an interesting village near the LubeYon. Lacoste. Perhaps
you've heard the name?"

The carefully casual tone brought S.T.'s senses to full alert. "I've heard
the talk," he lied.

The cane came up, hesitated, and then fell. Luton leaned on it. "What talk?"

S.T. searched wildly for an appropriate guess. He squinted out across the
moors. "Of uncommon things." He looked at Luton, assessing the man and his
reputation and what was like to lure him. "The gossips call it ... unnatural."

The icy pale eyes held his. Luton smiled. "And you don't?"

S.T. decided he could only bluff so far. "I simply have my rumors." He
suddenly remembered a name, a man who might have the acquaintance of an
aristocratic English traveler with Luton's tastes, and tossed it on the table as
a wild card. "The Marquis de Sade spoke of intriguing things. You know him?"

It took the trick.

Luton shot him an piercing, eager look. "You've talked to Sade?" Relief and
excitement shivered through his voice. "When?"

"I believe it was November." S.T. had his companion's full attention now. "He
was sharp set upon when last I saw him."

"Set upon! By whom?"

S.T. smiled. "The French militia seemed to have taken him in dislike."

"The deuce go with it all! Did they catch him?"

A memory of the marquis backed up against the wall, with Nemo snarling in his
terrified face, made S.T. look away. He gazed out over the landscape. "Milord
was safely on Savoy's side of the border when I left him."

"My God, I'm glad to hear it. We've had no word for months. It was like to
tear my nerves to pieces. I thought he'd lost his stomach for the thing—after it
was his notion to begin with. But he's still in it with us, is he?"

"I can swear it." S.T. perjured himself without compunction.

"And you." Luton gave him a curious look. "You fancy your scruples can bear
it, going the full distance? I don't know much of you, Maitland. Your brother
was as hot at hand as ever I saw a man, and game for any outrage, but you seem
to come and go in a pretty queer fashion."

S.T. shrugged. "My brother was a lunatic."

Luton cleared his throat and frowned. "Apologies," he muttered. "I should not
have mentioned what would distress you."

"It's nothing to me," S.T. said, leaning against a low stone wall. "The whole
world knew him for a murderous blackguard, and he ruined my father to boot. If a
whore hadn't broken his neck, the hangman would have." He grinned. "What of it?
I never set eyes on father nor son."

A faint smile played about Luton's mouth. "You're damned cold about it."

"Perhaps I'm a little mad myself."

Luton nodded slowly, still smiling. "Good," he said. "I like a madman. I
liked your brother. A fine untamable animal, he was. 'Twas a pity that he
couldn't keep his reason about him."

"A pity. Mayhap the whole family's blood cursed. A Gypsy warned me I'd be
lucky to end on the gallows myself." S.T. crossed his arms and tilted his head
back to the sky. "But I intend to enjoy myself in the meanwhile."

Luton touched his arm. "Join us. We have the ultimate pleasure in mind, my
friend. The final act."

S.T. lowered his head and gazed at the other man.

"Have you imagined it?" Luton murmured, staring into his eyes with a weird
intensity. "The last violation. The final sin against God and man. We've done
all the rest, and now we're ripe for the pinnacle of excitement. Think of it,
Maitland." His mouth curled in a glimmer of a smile.

"Have you ever dreamed of what the climax would be like, with the girl
beneath you in her death throes?"

Leigh paused at the crest of the fell. Below her, a pair of well-kept wagon
tracks followed the bank of the river. The burn tumbled down the valley, frozen
now, opaque white where it spilled over rocks in summer, and a darker color in
the deep pools, translucent frost over ale brown.

At the end of the glen, she could just see the ford where the wagon road
crossed the river. The hills still hid the town from view, the place that
Chilton called Heavenly Sanctuary.

A single rider moved along the road on a horse Leigh recognized even at a
distance. Anna's black Friesian mare with its long wavy mane and feathered
hooves had been an Epiphany surprise two years before, presented proudly with a
bridle Mama had trimmed in silver and red ribbons that Leigh and Emily had
braided through its silky mane and tail.

Now the gift they'd given in love and simple innocence trotted ahead with
Jamie Chilton on its back.

Leigh remembered how to hate.

She remembered her family like a blow, like waking up from a dream. Her
breath grew quick and uneven; she could hear herself on the edge of a crazy sob
as she clenched the sword.

He'd taken everything she loved; she would not let him have more.

Beside her, Nemo seemed to catch her frenzy. He settled on his belly, his
ears alert and his golden eyes fixed on the figure that moved toward them. She
let the chestnut start forward, and the wolf shifted instantly into a swift
glide alongside her. Halfway down the hill the chestnut began to trot. Nemo
broke into a long lope, his jaws gaping, sweeping wide across the slope as he
gathered speed.

Leigh dragged the sword free of its dangling sheath. The chestnut fell into a
canter, plunging down the hill in a charge straight for Chilton. She saw him
look up toward her. The wind beat her horse's mane into her face as she leaned
forward; the air seemed to grab at the sword, pulling the point upward while the
chestnut's motion pitched her arm. She could see Nemo from the corner of her
eye, racing in a deadly blur of cream and shadow to cut the quarry off.

The ground went past in a smudge of grayish green. Her eyes stung with cold
and speed; the reins seemed a tangle of confusion in her left hand, useless, and
her ears were full of the sound of wind and her horse's hooves. Chilton stood up
in his stirrups. His mouth was an open darkness, but she couldn't hear him. She
came off the slope at a pounding gallop. He kicked the mare. The horse jumped
forward and shied off from Nemo's attack, and she had a moment's terror of
cutting the mare.

Then she was there, the sword whistling through the air at Chilton's head.

He ducked away, wrenching at his reins. The mare reared and came down an inch
from Nemo's snarling teeth. The wolf dodged her hooves. Leigh flashed past,
missing her target by a foot, powerless to coordinate the jumble of her reins
with one hand. She dragged the chestnut to a halt and scrambled for one loose
rein, pivoting the horse around with the Seigneur's sword pointed toward the
sky. Nemo had circled to the mare's flank, pinching the target between them,
leaping toward Chilton's leg with a savage growl.

He caught Chilton's boot, but the man never made a sound. He fought in
silence, slashing at the wolf with his riding crop. Leigh kicked the chestnut at
him again. She aimed the sword with her trembling arm. Everything seemed to go
too fast and too slow: she could not control the chestnut, she couldn't keep her
hand steady, she could see Chilton's mouth set hard and his eyes rolling as he
fought, spurring his horse for the opening between her and the wolf and the
river.

The sword whistled through the air, a violent hum of sound above Nemo's
snarling. It caught in Chilton's coat; she felt the sudden drag at her grip, and
pulled back desperately to save her hold. She jerked the sword free, but he was
moving; there was nothing she could do but make a wild swing. The rounded blade
slid harmlessly across his neck, and only a wrenching lunge brought the point
upward, dragging the tip over his cheek.

Blood spilled from the cut, rolling down his face, but still he never made a
sound. He looked like a wildman, with his hat gone and his hair springing out
from his head in an orange cloud.

The mare bounded forward, out of reach. Nemo had his teeth sunk into
Chilton's ankle, half running, his hind feet bouncing off the ground. The crop
cut downward again, and the wolf let go. Nemo sprang into the mare's path, but
Chilton reined her hard sideways and gave her his spurs. Leigh lunged forward
over the chestnut's shoulder, stabbing the sword at his back. She felt
resistance, but she was too far away to thrust the point home.

The chestnut shied away from Nemo's snarling. The sudden swerve jolted Leigh
off her seat. She grabbed the horse around the neck and clenched her legs on the
sidesaddle's leaping tree, hanging on with all her strength. By the time she'd
regained her balance and found the reins again, Chilton had driven the mare into
a gallop.

Leigh propelled the chestnut forward, joining Nemo in the chase. The
terrified mare's tail floated behind her like a flashing black banner. The
Friesian was fast, but Nemo and the tall chestnut gained on her, pounding along
the frozen track. Leigh threw a wild look to the side and realized they were
heading back toward Heavenly Sanctuary. She kicked the chestnut again, leaning
over his neck, the fingers of her sword hand tangled in his flying mane and the
blade pointed upward.

Ahead, she could see people standing in the road. Their figures were a smear.
She gulped air, panting for strength, hearing nothing but hooves and her heart
thundering. Above it, she caught a faint pop, and saw Nemo falter. The wolf went
head over heels in a flash of pale fur, and leapt to his feet as she thundered
past.

The mare veered ahead of her, swerving toward the river ford. Chilton's arm
came up and the riding whip slashed downward. The mare took a huge leap, as if
she could clear the river. It landed her in the middle; Leigh saw her crash
through the ice, saw Chilton topple in over his shoulder, saw the mare regain
her footing, and then the chestnut was at the bank. Leigh shouted in vicious
elation, leaning back for the jump, grappling at her sword with her enemy
trapped in her grasp.

The chestnut gathered himself. He lifted his front hooves in the air.

Water.

With a powerful coiling leap, he refused—twisting sideways, sending her
forward in a somersault that yanked her free of the sidesaddle.

She pitched. The world spun.
Water.
It flashed in her vision. Ice
and agony hammered into her like an explosion.
Water, water, water, water. .
.

Dove sat down on the bed in S.T.'s chamber. "I'm not going," she said
placidly. "I'm staying here with you."

He ignored her, opening his wallet. "They've got the dogcart ready to take
you to Hexham. Stage fare's paid as far as Newcastle. How much money do you
think you might need between you?"

"Charity may have it," Dove said, pushing away the purse. "I won't forsake
you, not after all you've done for us."

"Nay, you needn't feel you're forsaking me," he said impatiently. "I want you
and Charity away, where you'll be safe.

"Mr. Bartlett," Charity said in a small voice. "I ha'n't nowhere t'go."

He took a deep breath. "Where did you come from?"

"Hertfordshire, sir." She bobbed her head. "But me pap 'ee be long gone away
and me mum wi' no work, I'd be on the parish there, sir." Her bandaged hands
worked and squeezed together. She wet her lips. "Oh, please, sir—I don't be
wantin' to go back in the poor house!"

S.T. put his hand on her shoulder. "You stay together. Stay with Dove. I'll
give you money enough to find work."

"We've no references," Dove said amiably. "No one will hire us."

"For God's sake, I'll write you a reference. You have to leave here. I want
you out of Luton's sight."

"I've no fear of him." Dove smiled mistily at S.T. "Not whilst you're at my
side."

"Nor me, neither," Charity said with resolution.

"Well, you can't stay here!" He strode to the window and looked out. "I've
things to do; I can't be playing nanny. And damn, where the devil has Leigh got
to with my rapier? There's no time left now for games, plague take her!" He
turned around and took Charity's arm, giving her a little push toward the door.
"Come along, and be good girls."

Charity turned into him and threw her arms around his waist. "I do be
beggin', sir—don't sendin' me off! Dove's kin, they woan' take the likes of me;
great people, they do be-"

"Charity!" Dove said shrilly. "Don't speak nonsense."

Charity let go and whirled on Dove. " Tis the truth, and 'ee do know it! A
great big house, ye got, a mum and a pap—'ee do be a fine lady—"

"That's not true!" Dove came to her feet. "I'm an orphan. I am precisely the
same as you."

S.T. looked up quickly. Dove's modulated speech struck him with sudden and
momentous effect. "The devil you are," he said incredulously. "You never learned
to talk that way in Chilton's school."