The Shades of Time (22 page)

Instead,
Veluria gazed down at him and smiled shyly. She looked neither
shocked nor outraged to see him standing there. In fact, a fleeting
wisp of hope and relief crossed her pale features. If he didn't
know better, he would have thought she was happy to see him.

The blood left
his head in a rush and it took all his strength not to bolt up the
gangway and sweep her into his arms.

Veluria knew
she should have been surprised at seeing the Dark One but the
incessant delays, the unexpected stops, all indicated that someone
had paid the captain handsomely to make the voyage last as long as
possible. The days, then the weeks, had devolved into a
hell-on-water for her. She'd become a virtual prisoner in the
cabin, a slave to Stefano's insatiable appetites. She'd acquiesced
at first, then tried making excuses only to suffer his childish
whining and begging. Later he'd become ever more insistent, though
the demands had been playful at first, until finally turning
malicious and truly hurtful. The last night of the voyage had left
her beaten and nearly broken in spirit.

Antonio,
waiting anxiously for her to descend to the dock, seemed a knight
come to rescue her from the depths of degradation into which she
had willingly plunged in performance of her duties. She knew the
Sisterhood could heal her battered body, but she was not so sure
about her chi, her life force. That had been corrupted and
distorted as she'd sought control over Stefano's wild urges and
unseemly demands. Like a dam unleashed, he'd hijacked her energy
for his own and turned it against her. And with each passing day,
the abomination that was Stefano became a nightmare from which
she'd had no escape.

All that had
kept her sane was a fairy tale, a figment of her imagination—a
fantasy about a demon with the soul of an angel. The gentleness
she'd sensed yet never experienced gave her a reason to live, a
reason to hope.

Now he was
here, waiting for her. She would have run to him if she could.
Instead her body finally failed her and she sank toward the
deck.

Antonio watched
in horror as Veluria pitched forward. He raced up the gangway and
scooped her tiny body into his arms before she even hit the deck.
She weighed nothing at all. Dark circles under her eyes and fine
lines about her mouth spoke of some dreadful trials she'd endured
during the voyage. Unconscious, her brain had shut down so he could
not read her. He would need to take her someplace where he could
look after her and keep her safe.

He carried his
precious burden through the narrow alleys, checking frequently to
make sure they were not followed. He worried when she failed to
wake up. The silence, the total absence of energy, spoke of
normalcy, ordinariness and he wondered if somehow she had lost her
powers.

Antonio emerged
from the alleyway and hastened to the carriage waiting on the other
side of the narrow street. One of his men hopped down to assist his
captain with the door as Antonio carefully placed Veluria onto the
cushioned seat. He climbed in and made himself as comfortable as
possible in the confines of the coach. He hated these conveyances
as they were fashioned for passengers much smaller than
himself.

Pulling Veluria
onto his lap, he rocked her like a colicky infant, all the while
praying she would wake up. He had not given thought to what might
happen beyond this point. He'd prepared for her sparring, the
hide-and-seek tease of exploring each other's powers … not this
absence of sensation. It made her seem dead, lifeless and he feared
the worse.

Nico, I need
you, Brother, to give me guidance and direction.

Unfortunately
he had nothing in his experience to draw on. Fate was indeed a
cruel and savage mistress for until that moment, when he held
Veluria in his arms, he'd had no idea how much she completed him.
She filled that void he'd protected with walls and kept all but his
two brothers out.

As the swaying of the coach rocked her in his arms, he
wondered what it would be like to share everything with her—all his
inner demons, his unformed hopes, his yearnings. Somehow he knew
she would understand and look past the ugliness that ruled him to
find the man he would be …
for
her
.

He glanced out
the window of the coach though there was little to see. Darkness
swept across the sere landscape as the coach jounced over rutted
roads no better than sheep paths, the ground rock hard and
unforgiving. A warm breeze wafted past the swaying curtains,
brittle dry and barren. He'd given no thought to provisioning for
the trip, an oversight he was already regretting. As much as a dry
throat and gnawing ache in the belly was a distraction, nothing
deterred his growing concern as Veluria floated in her little
death, unresponsive.

Nightscapes,
shadows, and phantoms were his only companions. It had always been
so.

He imagined her
stirring and whispered, "You are fine, Veluria. You are safe now."
Antonio stroked her hair and nuzzled her brow, still damp with heat
and stress.

He would not
have unwittingly put her into such a state, but could he bring her
out? He'd never tried that, never needed to.

The driver and
his man spoke in low tones, the sounds drifting back, disjointed
against the choir of hoof beats and the grinding of wheels. Though
the road was unsafe for travel this late at night, he was
unconcerned as he kept his senses tuned for any pending trouble.
They'd be well alerted before any brigands had a chance to pounce.
If it weren't for his precious cargo he would almost welcome a
fight. With no answers as to why Stefano would so cavalierly desert
his paramour, or why Veluria was in such a compromised state, all
he had left was anger and a need to vent it.

He took a deep
breath and willed himself to concentrate. Shutting out all sound he
sought the spirit that had vexed and ensnared him, imagined once
more the taste of her, the fleeting hint of sweetness from which he
would never drink his fill.

Veluria, come
back to me…

Heart racing he watched the small twitches and hitched breaths
as he drew her from whatever hidden room she'd locked herself
into.
He
had an
impenetrable fortress that guarded his secret self, why shouldn't
she?

Veluria
whispered, "I prayed you would come for me. Every day, every night,
in my dreams you were there for me."

Voice thick
with emotion Tonio said softly, "Sleep now. I am taking us to
Portugal. On my instructions, my brother will arrange passage from
there to England where we have friends who can help us."

"But what
of…?"

"Hush, he has
gone to Friedrich's court. My father will see that he fulfills his
obligations and is safe."

"But I must
tell you what has happened. You must know…"

"
Non ora la mia donna
bella
. Later." He already knew or suspected
far too much. His guilt would weigh heavy until he put his world to
rights. For now let the shadows rule. "Close your eyes and sleep. I
will wake you when we arrive."

She husked, "
Gracie, amore
mio
," and sank into oblivion once
more.

He would not think on her words, yet a smiled played about his
lips as he stared into the night, the echo of
amore mio
caressing his
heart.

****

"I can walk.
I'm feeling better now." Veluria stood with one foot on the step,
both hands braced against the door jambs of the coach. She looked
pathetic—her skirts were wrinkled and filthy, the usually neat
braids loose with strands of lank hair plastered against her neck
and face.

She glared at him, stubbornly insisting on having her way. She
repeated, "I can walk. I don't need
your
help."

He smiled to himself.
Someone got up
on the wrong side of the coach this morning.

Tonio leaned in
close and snarled, "And I can carry you. You are too weak from the
voyage and…" he paused for effect, "…I haven't got all day."

The words came
out a little harsher than intended. Antonio was accustomed to
giving commands and to having his orders followed. While his head
suggested this approach might be counter-productive, instinct told
him otherwise.

Without further
ado, he swept her into his arms and stalked to the inn, his man and
the driver wisely choosing to busy themselves with the horses.

You aren't the
only one in a mood this morning, M'lady.

The innkeeper
led them up the rear stairwell to a suite of rooms, small but
well-tended and very private. He pushed open the door and allowed
Antonio to sweep into the sitting room still carrying the now
squirming Veluria. With a smile the innkeeper gently closed the
door and padded back down the stairs to see to a meal and hot water
for a bath for his guests.

Antonio set his
burden down on the large feather bed. A colorful quilt in a gold
and green Moorish pattern lay folded at the foot of the thick
mattress.

Veluria sighed
as she sank into the plush softness, as well she should. Ship's
bunks were hard as rocks and every lift on a swell or savage thrust
into a trough rattled the joints and loosened teeth. He was not a
fan of being cooped up in a cabin, seeking out, instead, a hammock
below deck that would accommodate his unusual size. She would not
have been accorded that option.

The urge to demand
what
happened
surged strongly but now was not
the time. He stood next to the bed, watching the satisfaction flit
across her face, and taking enjoyment from knowing she could still
find joy in simple pleasures.

Even more than
learning what had transpired during the voyage he longed to hold
her and coddle her—to talk with her and to plan their next
moves—but knew she would want to clean up first.

At the soft
knock he called out, "Come in." Two young woman carrying buckets of
heated water shyly skittered past into the next chamber. The sound
of water sloshing roused Veluria who looked with rapturous eyes at
her captor.

"Is that what I
think it is?" she gasped.

The young girls
sidled past with one muttering, "It's filled, sir, call if you need
more."

Antonio helped
Veluria off the bed. She swayed slightly forcing him to steady
her.

"I think you
need my services one more time, Madame." With that he scooped her
up and carried her into the bath chamber. The steam from the tub
filled the room, releasing a subtle fragrance from the herbs
sprinkled onto the surface of the water. Antonio set Veluria down
and stepped away to give her privacy.

"No, wait.
Please."

Curious,
Antonio returned to stand close by as she spun around and patted
her shoulder. "Please, the buttons. I cannot reach them
myself."

He felt a
frisson of excitement course through his groin. Anxiously he
fumbled with the tiny buttons, his hands far too large and clumsy
for the task. It seemed amazingly sensual, this simple effort,
while the waiflike figure stood with her neck bent forward, as if
inviting him to nuzzle and explore with his tongue. In his mind's
eye he tore the offending fabric off her slim form. Instead, he
took a deep breath, finished his task, then slid the sleeves down
her arms, allowing a small pause to tease her fingers. Her chemise
was stained and torn and he could guess his brother had had a hand
in that. After he slipped the bit of fabric off to puddle on the
floor in a dirty heap, he stepped back, prepared to admire the
view.

What he was not
prepared for was the bruising on her back and shoulders, and the
fine white lines from a beating with a willow stick radiating out
from her buttocks.

Furious, he
grabbed her shoulders and spun her around. She stood before him,
face flaming from shame, begging him to look away, but he could not
take his eyes off her. That his brother would be the one to damage
something so frail and beautiful went beyond his comprehension. He
had sensed Stefano's descent into depravity but to see it for
himself, to have it confirmed so graphically, tore him in two.

With hot fury like an anvil strike in his chest, he resisted
the urge to pound his fists against something, anything. Murmuring
low in his throat, he moaned,
not now, not
now, not now
.

Carefully he
picked Veluria up and set her into the warm water. He found a soft
cloth and lye soap and gently set to cleaning her hands, then her
arms and neck. Her small breasts bobbed enticingly and his mouth
watered with the desire to suckle and pinch the perfect nipples.
Fearing he would go too far, he stood and held out the soap and
cloth.

"Don't stop.
Please. I want you to do it." Veluria laid her head against the
edge of the tub and sighed once more, "…please."

His heart
pounding, Antonio knelt at the edge of the tub and lathered the
cloth. He ordered her to stand up but had to help her as she was
still too weak to do much on her own. Blanking his mind, he quickly
set about his task, cleaning away weeks of grime and things he had
no wish to think on.

Gently settling
her back into the tub, he instructed, "Tilt your head so I can wash
your hair."

Veluria sighed,
"Oh thank you." Then, as if to apologize, she said, "There were no
combs or brushes…"

Antonio took
his time; but when he felt the water cooling, he lifted her out of
the tub and wrapped her in a large woolen blanket. He rubbed her
hair vigorously, attempting to dry it, but ended up making it more
tangled than ever. Veluria laughed sadly and touched his hands to
stop.