Unicorn Vengeance (29 page)

Wolfram would not let his love slip away from him and lose the only thing he had of value. He could not afford to lose Genevieve, and should the price of keeping her by his side be the submission of his heart, he would well do it. Indeed, his heart yearned for naught else, and he knew in that moment that it mattered not whether he could trust her fully or whether she might ultimately betray him.

He believed he could trust her, and that was all a man could ask of his own heart. Wolfram closed his eyes and hoped fervently that he would be able to find his own Genevieve.

“Melissande?”

Both mother and son glanced up as one to find an older man standing hesitantly in the doorway to the kitchens beyond. His brow was puckered with concern, and a damp dishrag hung in his hand, a stoneware crock in the other.

“Is something amiss?” he asked when neither of them spoke. Wolfram saw his mother smile gently, felt the hand that rose to rest proprietarily on his shoulder, as right as could be.

“Everything is fine, Gunther,” she said quietly, paying no mind to the tears staining her cheeks. “I would like you to meet my son.” She flicked Wolfram a telling glance as her smile broadened. “Again.”

His mother had not abandoned him. The truth came to Wolfram as he shook the older man's hand, and the possibility that followed fairly took his breath away.

Mayhap Genevieve had not abandoned him either.

“I need to find someone,” he said urgently to the couple afore him. “A woman who disappeared from the tavern owned by Heinrich this very morn. I know not where she went.”

“Important to you, is she?” Wolfram's mother asked quietly, and he could only nod. She smiled and laid a hand on Gunther's arm. The older man cleared his throat.

“I shall fetch my dogs,” he said tightly, and Wolfram saw immediately that this was a man who saw matters done. “Old Esquin misses naught of what happens in this town, and the keepers of the gates do I know well. Should your friend be within the walls of Metz or without, rest assured that we shall find her in short order.”

* * *

By the time the Master found them accommodations in a neighboring small town that night, Genevieve knew full well that she would be hard-pressed to see her way clear of this tangle.

A fool of the first order she had been in accompanying the Master and his men without seeking out Wolfram first. In retrospect, she realized that she knew not whether he had truly left her—indeed, she could give little credence to the Master's insistence that Wolfram intended to dispatch her. Wolfram had had more than ample opportunity to do so, and the fact that he had never lifted a hand against her was a better indication of his intent than this one's self-serving lies.

A fool Genevieve had been to let the sting of Wolfram's rejection guide her decision. The Master's men had enfolded her in their midst so effectively that Genevieve knew she had no hope of escape.

In Metz should she have run. While she had feared there that she had little choice, now she knew that she had no chance.

And the Master was a cunning one, that much could not be denied. No telling was there what he might do if confronted publicly, for Genevieve knew not how much he risked personally in this endeavor. She guessed that it mattered little whether she was returned to Paris alive or dead.

Genevieve wondered if the man had a purpose in leaving her alive thus far. Could there be something the Master desired of her? Surely it could not be intimacy he craved? Genevieve eyed him warily and wondered what she would do if ‘twas.

She waited restlessly until they had retired to their rooms, tapping her toe until a leisurely dinner had been served and consumed and the fire had been stoked up. Finally, both men-at-arms and proprietor retired, leaving Genevieve and the Master alone.

The gleam in his eye told Genevieve she had guessed aright to fear him. Her heart leapt to her throat, although she struggled to give no outward sign of her response.

“Now then, Genevieve,” the Master began smoothly. “Something I would have from you this night, and well enough do you know what ‘tis.”

She had been right! Genevieve regarded the older man with shock.

“Why not make this transaction simpler for both of us and simply concede to me the receipt?” the Master continued.

Genevieve blinked in surprise. “The receipt?” she repeated uncomprehendingly.

A fleeting frown danced across the Master's brow. “Aye, the receipt that lies at the root of all this trouble,” he confirmed impatiently.

Genevieve frowned in turn, uncertain what he was talking about. “No receipt do I possess,” she said cautiously.

The Master's eyes flashed with anger, and he stalked her across the room. “Play no games with me, woman!” he declared. “The receipt your family holds for its deposit in the Temple is what I desire from you, and neither of us will leave this room until ‘tis surrendered.”

“Deposit?” Genevieve repeated, feeling every inch the fool but knowing naught of what he spoke. “No deposit has my family with the Temple....”

“And a convincing tale you make of that lie,” the Master said with a sneer. “Think you that I do not know the truth of it? Spare me your foolish tales and surrender the receipt to me immediately!”

He advanced upon her threateningly, and Genevieve stumbled to her feet. She darted behind the table, feeling more secure with its wooden expanse betwixt herself and this increasingly angry man.

Mayhap she would learn more if she echoed his game.

Genevieve curled her lip scornfully. “Naught will I surrender willingly to the likes of you,” she asserted boldly.

The Master's eyes flashed and he lunged toward the table. “Aha! So you admit to having it!” he said. “Well did I know that it existed in truth! Give it to me!” Avarice sharpened his features, and Genevieve cautiously slipped around the table, that the distance between them would be greater.

“Why should I grant something so precious to you?” she demanded.

The Master chuckled. “Surely you do not imagine that I will permit you to collect the deposit? Too much have I to lose from that claim.”

“What have you to lose?”

“Oho! Surely you know the truth of it. Usurped your family's claim, I did.”

“You did not!” Genevieve declared in shock.

“Aye, long ago ‘twas, and I was but young and foolish. No one I thought could be hurt, for your parents were recently demised.” The Master's lip curled with scorn as he eyed Genevieve, and he dived around the table abruptly. His hand darted in her direction, but Genevieve anticipated the move and danced out of his range, leaving his fingers to snatch at empty air. “No one could have guessed that those two had spawned,” he snarled.

“You ‘twas behind my parents' demise.”

The Master shook his head hastily at Genevieve's accusation. “Nay, ‘twas that nonsense your family tends to spout that saw them dead while they were yet young, for the crown does not take kindly to rival claims.” He smiled, though naught warm was there in the expression. “‘Twas that tendency, admittedly, that saw the removal of your beloved brother so readily accomplished.”

“You saw to Alzeu's demise!”

“Nay, the crown ordered his dispatch,” the Master told her with an oily smile. “But ‘twas I who whispered the truth of his existence into the appropriate ear. ‘Twas smoothly achieved, if indeed I alone must say so.”

“But you had not counted upon me,” Genevieve guessed.

The Master arched a brow. “Nay. No one, it seemed, had counted upon there being yet another Pereille. But the last of the lot you are, and the last who can threaten my security with the revelation of a receipt.”

“Your security?”

“Aye, all is at risk as long as the possibility of that receipt coming to light endures. ‘Tis you alone who can reveal that long-ago error of my judgment, ‘tis you alone who might jeopardize my position within the Temple.”

“Well have I heard that the Temple is gone,” Genevieve asserted. She was not prepared for the anger that contorted the Master's features, nor for the way he lunged unexpectedly across the table. He snatched at her wrist, his grip closing viselike about it so that Genevieve knew she could not shake free.

“Never will they fell the Temple,” he vowed. “To a divine mission are we appointed, and ‘tis only a matter of moments before the righteous come to our aid.”

The man was clearly mad. And Genevieve knew naught of a Pereille deposit in the Temple, much less the location of a telling receipt. Well enough could she guess that it had been lost during the years they were in exile, but she was not interested in paying the price.

On impulse, Genevieve jerked her knee skyward.

“Deceitful bitch!” the Master cried, but his grip loosened enough that Genevieve gained her freedom.

Convinced this would be her only chance, she fled across the room. The Master's raspy breathing filled her ears, her heart pounded in her throat. Her hands trembled so that she almost fumbled with the latch on the door. Mercifully, she managed to open it and stumbled out into the dark hallway. The sounds of merrymaking rose from below, and Genevieve dived in the direction she knew the stairs to be.

And collided with a solid wall of purposeful masculinity.

Genevieve's mouth barely had time to go dry before she realized ‘twas Wolfram's chest beneath her hands. Her knees threatened to buckle with relief even as his hand snaked around her waist.

“Do not imagine that you will escape me, you feckless bitch,” the Master growled behind her. Genevieve made to explain, but the sound of steel on steel summarily halted her words.

Wolfram had a sword. She felt the Master hesitate in the darkness behind her and knew he had heard that distinctive sound, as well.

“Do return to your chambers, milord,” Wolfram invited in a tone that brooked no argument. “It well seems we have a matter to discuss.”

“You!” the Master declared. “How did you find us?” he demanded boldly, but Genevieve heard the thread of fear in his tone.

“Not the only one are you with hunting dogs,” Wolfram asserted. He took Genevieve's hand in his and led her back to the room. When she turned, she saw that the point of the sword he had drawn rested on the throat of the silhouette that was the Master of the Temple of Paris.

Wolfram had ridden in pursuit of her! Her heart sang with the news as relief allowed her thinking to clear. Surely this could be naught but a good sign. Genevieve could feel only resolve emanating from his touch and hoped desperately that his resolve pertained to her in some way.

They entered the room and Wolfram flicked Genevieve a glance. She understood immediately and closed the door behind them, hanging back to watch whatever would unfold betwixt these two men.

To Genevieve's surprise, the Master's features relaxed and he began to chuckle.

“Well I knew that you would follow, Wolfram,” he charged gleefully. “And now, two birds have I captured within one cage.”

“I think not,” Wolfram said firmly. He backed the Master into the table, and that man leaned backward to minimize the impact of the blade. ‘Twas sharp, Genevieve saw, for a thin trickle of blood ran from the Master's flesh where the blade touched. His eyes widened and she fancied he felt that solitary trickle.

But the Master's certainty of his position was undaunted. “I think so,” he said in a low tone. “Surely you have not failed to note the dozen men who accompany me on this mission? Always had I thought you more observant than that, Wolfram.” He tut-tutted under his tongue confidently, but Genevieve saw something in Wolfram's expression that reassured her fears.

He smiled coldly as he released her hand and carefully removed a slender glass vial from his tunic. He tossed it to the Master, who instinctively snatched it out of the air. His brow puckered in a frown.

“‘Tis empty,” he observed, clearly not understanding the point. Wolfram tossed him another, and the Master shook his head to find it empty as well.

“I do not understand,” he confessed carefully, his eyes narrowing as he looked to his opponent.

“I did not fail to note your companions,” Wolfram informed his former superior. “Unbeknownst to them, your men participated in a test of sorts.” The Master eyed the vials in his hand warily as though he anticipated what Wolfram might say. “The wine of this house is sour,” Wolfram confided, “and well disguised the bitterness of this elixir.”

Genevieve's eyes widened at the evident import of Wolfram's words, and the Master shivered visibly, his mask of self-assurance slipping visibly.

“You poisoned them,” he whispered hoarsely.

Wolfram inclined his head incrementally. “This elixir is very quick of action,” he said easily. His hand slipped into his tunic, and the last vial he removed shone, with half its contents remaining. “But some I have saved for you, that you might see its effectiveness yourself.”

“You lie!” the Master accused wildly. “Someone will come to my aid! Someone rides from the king in pursuit even now! You cannot manage this deed and escape unscathed!”

Wolfram cleared his throat and arched a knowing brow. “‘Tis evident you overestimate the abilities of your allies,” he said softly, and all color drained from the Master's face.

He shivered in evident dread, his gaze dropping to the vial and its clear, fluid contents. The Master swallowed visibly. “I swear I will leave you both alone from this point onward,” he declared fervently.

Wolfram shook his head slowly. “Time has shown that your word is worth naught,” he said flatly. “Too much have you at stake in this matter to leave us be.”

The Master eyed the vial warily, and his breath came in uneven spurts. “What manner of elixir is it?” he asked.

Wolfram held the vial to the light, his expression impassive as he turned it. “One concocted to bring death quickly and painlessly,” he said. The Master's gaze danced away as though he assessed his options one last time. He seemed to listen but naught carried to their ears. No men-at-arms came in pursuit.