Unicorn Vengeance (8 page)

Naught else but logic was at the root of this plan. ‘Twas that alone that demanded he not leave the matter be.

Despite the burning of his lips.

* * *

Genevieve knew not how much time had passed when Odo placed his hand upon her shoulder. Lost in the mists wrought by her own music she was, and she jumped at the weight of his hand. As though she had been wakened from a dream, her gaze lifted to his features, and she was surprised to find the sardonic curl of his lip vanished. Genevieve glanced to the others and noted their demeanor similarly softened.

“I would have you play with me,” Odo said firmly.

“No desire have I to play with another,” Genevieve retorted. Odo's eyes narrowed, and he moved so quickly that Genevieve did not anticipate his intent. In a heartbeat, her lute was again within his grasp and frustration rose hot within her.

“I say you will play with me,” he repeated. Genevieve held his steely gaze for a long moment, knowing all the while that she would never change this one's mind.

“I would have my possessions returned,” Genevieve insisted. Odo smiled an unencouraging smile.

“You will have the lute back, you mean,” he said in a dangerously low voice. Genevieve nodded agreement.

“And my garments,” she added. Odo pursed his lips and she feared suddenly that she had pushed him too far. If only her lute did not have to pay the price for her audacity! Genevieve eyed the instrument as inconspicuously as she could and wondered how she might retrieve it.

What if the pale-eyed stranger returned to the other square while she was away?

The very thought struck fear through Genevieve. He might think her gone! He might not return again! She could not afford to linger here!

“I must have my lute returned immediately,” Genevieve said stiffly. The woman who had mimicked her before did so again, but neither Genevieve nor Odo spared the woman a glance.

“You mean to return there,” Odo said. Genevieve but nodded. “Well can you imagine that I cannot risk permitting any provincial who happens along to busk in my streets,” he added silkily. Genevieve shivered as he struck a vicious chord on the lute.

“Aye, well enough can I see that,” she agreed, her gaze unwavering from her pride and joy. “Half of my earnings will I grant you from this point forward,” she offered rashly. Odo chuckled under his breath.

“Half?” he demanded. “Nay, I will have it all. You will play with me, and busk with me for your lute has a sweet enough voice that we shall earn thrice as much together.”

Genevieve took a deep breath. “I must play by the Temple gates.”

“Nay.” Odo swept aside her insistence with a casualness that turned Genevieve's innards cold. “Better places are there—” he began, but got no further.

“Nay!” Genevieve cried in dismay. She grasped Odo's arm, realizing only when all the others fell silent the magnitude of what she had done. All eyes fell on her hand, but she did not release his grimy sleeve. Genevieve met Odo's gaze stubbornly. “This alone must I insist upon,” she said in a determined voice. “I
must
play there.”

Apparently surprised by her vehemence, Odo eyed her for a long moment. He shook off her grip and took a step backward. “Aye,” he agreed in a tone that Genevieve did not trust. “Aye, you may play there. And you will grant me half of whatever you earn there.” He paused, and Genevieve released her breath slowly in relief before Odo suddenly closed the space between them again.

“And you will play with me whenever I bid you to,” he added in a growl.

“Only there,” Genevieve replied, her heart sinking when Odo immediately shook his head.

“The venue will be wherever I dictate.”

“Nay! I cannot!” Genevieve protested. Odo held her lute high and waved it slightly.

“Then you shall not have your lute,” he threatened.

“Nay! You cannot do this! ‘Tis unfair!”

“Unfair?” Odo demanded with an arched brow. “
Naught
is unfair in Odo's domain. All is as Odo decrees, and you had best learn that simple fact.”

Genevieve's gaze flicked across the features of those avidly watching this exchange and knew he spoke the truth. A lump rose in her throat, and she feared what he might do to her lute should she push him any further. No outside authority was there who would intervene in this matter. They were of the streets and left to their own rule. She had best make her peace with Odo lest she lose the lute forever.

Indeed, she had no other option.

“Aye,” she conceded, her voice flat with resignation. “Half of what I earn, and well will I play with you when you request it.”

“And one other condition to be named later,” Odo added brightly.

Genevieve's mouth fell open in surprise and her gaze flew to his in outrage. Before she could utter a word, Odo smiled a confident smile and turned his considering eye on the lute once more.

“‘Twould burn well, would you not say?” he asked a companion conversationally. Genevieve gasped.

“And one other condition,” she agreed wildly. The group chuckled and nudged each other in a manner that did naught to ease her foreboding, and then Odo returned her lute with a flourish.

“Until later, then,” he said gallantly. He spun on his heel with all the grace of a courtier and snapped his fingers at his motley troupe. “Return the lady's garments, if you will. ‘Tis not fitting to steal from our own kind.”

Their own kind. Genevieve glanced again at the circle of leering faces and stifled a shiver. Never had she thought herself to be among this kind, but naught was there she could do about the matter now.

“Share the bread with the wench and make space for her to sleep with us,” Odo ordered, much to Genevieve's surprise. He turned to her and smiled, as though he well guessed her response. “I would not have any ill befall our newest member,” he added in a low voice that made Genevieve shiver.

She was no better than a beggar, and soon she would undoubtedly be filthy and tattered enough to blend readily with Odo's troupe. Truly it seemed that she had erred beyond belief in pursuing this foolish quest.

Well did she hope that Alzeu appreciated the sacrifices she was making to avenge his name.

“I
would have your word of honor.”

The terse words interrupted Genevieve's reverie with a jolt and her fingers stopped dead on the strings of the lute. The instrument fell painfully silent after a discordant rumble, but she barely noticed as she found herself snared by an increasingly familiar pale regard.

He had returned. And she had heard naught of his approach. Genevieve's mouth went suddenly dry.

“I beg your pardon?” she asked, her voice uncommonly hoarse. Although she blinked, the blond stranger still stood stock-still just a pace before her, bathed in the wan light of the midday sun. Genevieve's pulse thudded in her ears and she wondered what conclusions he had come to about her.

Though indeed it seemed that there was no censure in his gaze. Annoyance and irritation, to be sure, but no censure.

Painful ‘twas to look up at him from this angle and the sunlight made her squint, but Genevieve would not leap to her feet as though she had been waiting impatiently for his appearance.

Even if she had been.

“I would have your word of honor that you not tell any other of what transpired here yesterday,” he insisted with his stiff formality. Genevieve frowned as she cast her mind over her recollection of the encounter and could not understand what led to his request.

“Already did I return your coin,” she said cautiously, recalling how he had said ‘twas not his to grant. The abrupt way he shook his head told her she had made the wrong choice, and she pushed to her feet in confusion, endeavoring to make certain her movements were leisurely. She lifted her gaze lazily to meet his, as though she were indifferent to his presence.

Never could she afford to let him see that she was shaking like a spring leaf inside, though she knew not whether ‘twas fear or something else that lay at the root of her response.

“Not that.” He bit the words out. “The other.”

Genevieve tilted her head as she regarded him, the tinge of red on his neck sparking her curiosity.
The other.
She looked to his eyes again, but, surprisingly, he could not hold her regard. Apparently the stonework directly over her right shoulder was considerably more fascinating.

‘Twas that alone that brought the answer to her in a flash of understanding.

The kiss! He was troubled about the kiss.

Aha! She had disturbed him! He
was
attracted to her. A thrill of victory rolled through Genevieve, and she knew in that moment that her plan was fated to succeed.

She smiled and he grew visibly more agitated. Indeed, she wondered if he would suddenly bolt and run. Her smile broadened when he shuffled one foot hesitantly, though still he refused to so much as glance her way.

‘Twas clear he had been unable to avoid coming back. Mayhap this absence had been more difficult for him than for her. The very idea encouraged Genevieve as naught else had before, so much so that she momentarily forgot his demand.

Privacy was what she needed to see the matter through. She leaned toward him and felt a surge of satisfaction when his nostrils flared at her movement. So close she was to seeing her quest fulfilled! Genevieve walked her fingers up his somber-hued tabard with an audacity that might have astounded herself under any other circumstance.

“Mayhap ‘tis our embrace you recall,” she whispered in the closest approximation of a seductive tone that she could manage. Truth be told, ‘twas more breathy than anything else, and another might have thought her having difficulty drawing air into her lungs. Her heart pounded at her boldness, and Genevieve carefully schooled her hand not to shake as she wondered whether she would in truth be able to take vengeance on a cold mercenary such as this. Surely such a man would see directly through her facade. Surely those pale eyes guessed her every intent.

The man before her fired her a look ferocious enough to turn her to stone.

“
Naught
do I recall of any such nonsense,” he snapped. “And I would have your assurance that you, too, have forgotten the matter.”

Naught? How could she have misinterpreted him? Genevieve was so astonished by his vehement tone that she forgot to play the temptress. She gaped at him, thinking the way his eyes blazed was uncalled-for under the circumstances. Indeed, had the kiss been exchanged with anyone other than this stranger, she might well have found it pleasant enough to be favorably inclined toward him.

As though he feared what
she
might do—an idea that might have been amusing under another circumstance—he backed suddenly away. Genevieve regarded the chasm between them with dismay, uncertain how she would tempt him should he persist in keeping them physically apart. Well it seemed that proximity alone troubled him.

Her plan was not working at all. Genevieve's heart sank to her toes and she suddenly felt as adept as a fumbling toddler. Why had she even commenced such a ploy? Surely she was ill equipped to see it through to its end.

“I do not understand your meaning,” she confessed with a frown, not knowing what else to say other than the truth. The man snorted with ill-concealed disgust.

“Naught is there to understand. Nor indeed is there anything worth recalling. I know not why I even bothered to speak to you about a matter that is so trifling as to be without import.”

That statement captured Genevieve's attention. ‘Twas true that if he believed what he said, it made absolutely no sense that he had even bothered to come this day. Genevieve assessed the man before her carefully once again and noticed that his breathing seemed rather hasty for the situation.

He endeavored to deceive her!

But to what end? It had not been a foul or even a forgettable kiss that she had bestowed upon this man. She could not imagine what game this one played, though she loathed what he had said.

How dare he insist that her kiss was perfectly forgettable? ‘Twas an insult of the highest order and one that Genevieve
knew
was a lie. Had she not felt how shaken and distressed he was?

How dare he lie to her? She
knew.

And he knew she knew.

Genevieve drew herself up to her full height and glared directly into his disconcertingly pale gaze. “Why then did you return, if not because that embrace was memorable?” she demanded haughtily. “No more of your coin do I have, for you saw to that. Surely you did not come out of concern for my welfare? ‘Tis clear enough you are a man with a stone for a heart.”

He visibly gritted his teeth. “For your vow alone did I come.”

“What vow might that be?” Genevieve asked archly, certain she would do all within her power to deny him a favor of any kind. Well it seemed that he noted her determination, for his eyes narrowed and his gaze bored into hers. When he spoke, his voice was low and echoed with a resolve that made Genevieve shiver in dread.

“I will have your vow that you will tell
none
of that embrace. But between you and I ‘twas, and it shall be as if it never came to pass,” he growled.

Deny it? His insistence made Genevieve feel the fool for ever allowing herself that instant of compassion for him. This man deserved naught of her compassion and he certainly deserved
naught
else beyond the bite of Alzeu's dagger.

If they had been in a less public place this moment, she could readily have fulfilled her pledge. With nary a second thought would she have left his cold carcass to rot. The man was beneath contempt.

Certainly to grant such a man her word was beyond possible.

Genevieve sniffed and lifted her chin. “And if I refuse?” she asked blithely. His eyes flashed in warning, but too late did Genevieve respond. Her lute was within his grasp in a heartbeat, and she lunged after it, but to no avail.

“Then your lute shall pay the price,” he declared.

He might have said more, but Genevieve was well tired of having her most precious possession threatened if she did not adhere to another's plans.

“Thief!” she shouted as loud as she was able. She pointed an accusing finger at her assailant and let her voice rise hysterically. “Thief! This thief has stolen my lute! Help me! Someone help me to regain my property!”

Quite naturally, no one leapt to the assistance of a street musician, but a number of passersby stopped to gape. ‘Twas enough for Genevieve's purposes, for the pale-eyed stranger seemed quite unnerved by the attention. He glanced about himself in evident dismay as she shouted, that ruddy cloud rising slowly to suffuse his neck. When he glanced to Genevieve again, he took a half step back, as if startled by what he saw in her eyes.

His uncertainty was all the fuel she needed to press on. If attention troubled him, she was well suited to see him troubled indeed.

“Grant me the return of my lute,” Genevieve demanded in a loud, resolute voice. His lips set, and fury flashed through her with renewed vigor at the certainty that he meant to do no such thing.

‘Twas beyond belief that one should deprive her of her brother's companionship and her lute both. This man had an audacity that showed no bounds, and well did Genevieve intend to set his thinking straight before she dispatched him to the other side.

‘Twas no less than such a man deserved.

”Return to me my lute!”
Genevieve shouted furiously. She snatched at the instrument, but the stranger lifted it out of her way.

She swore in a most unladylike fashion and cursed his height thoroughly before kicking him in the shin with all her might. He swore himself with a savagery Genevieve would never have expected, and leapt backward, obviously completely surprised by her attack. A new light gleamed in his gaze as he regarded her in much the manner one might regard a rabid and unpredictable dog.

The lute he slipped deliberately behind his back, and Genevieve's blood boiled anew.

He could not take this from her!

“Stop this thief from stealing my lute!” she cried. Though his ears burned crimson, he showed no inclination to grant her request, nor did any of those avidly watching the proceedings.

“Grant to me your word,” he demanded in a low voice. No intent had Genevieve of fulfilling his request, especially now. She tossed her hair defiantly and knew he guessed her resolve.

When Genevieve lunged in pursuit, the stranger stepped back with annoying ease. Genevieve attacked again, but he consistently kept a trio of steps between them, seemingly with a minimum of effort. One of the onlookers twittered with laughter, and Genevieve's ears burned. Certain he was making her look like an imbecile, Genevieve stopped and propped her hands on her hips to glare at him.

“Too much have you stolen from me already for this outrage to be tolerated,” she muttered through gritted teeth.

He looked momentarily confused, and Genevieve realized too late that she had made a fatal slip. Her heart sank to her toes, but she did not dare relinquish her ground. He leaned closer, his eyes blazing with intensity and his breath fanning her cheek.

“What have I stolen from you?” he asked silkily. Genevieve's mind scrambled in pursuit of a plausible response until she contrived one that actually brightened her smile.

“Kisses,” she asserted boldly. He inhaled sharply and retreated as though he would flee her very words. Genevieve stalked him across the square as he stepped yet further back.

Ha! This was more the way she had planned it! More than one way was there to gain what she desired. He wanted none to know what had transpired? Well, Genevieve would tell them all. She snatched at the lute and harried him from either side, determined to pursue him until her lute was safely in her own hands again.

“Kisses,” she repeated with relish. “Shall I tell them all about your kisses,” she whispered for the stranger's ears alone, “or will you return my lute?”

His color deepened but his lips set with a determination that to Genevieve's mind did not bode well for her success. She watched his fingers tighten around the neck of the lute, and her heart sank.

“You would do naught of the kind,” he muttered. “You will give me your word instead.” Ha! Unlikely indeed was that! ‘Twas true he was embarrassed, but Genevieve could well see that the matter grew worse instead of better. Embarrassed or not, he would not be compelled to do her bidding.

And neither would she feel compelled to do his!

Anger rippled through Genevieve again. Too much did he ask of her. Keep the embrace a secret? Never! Genevieve could not imagine why the matter should be of import, but she would deny him what he asked, simply because he had demanded it thus.

And he had virtually dared her to tell all. Well, he would gain more than he had bargained for from that!

“Kisses!” Genevieve shouted to the few onlookers and flung out her arms dramatically. “Took advantage of me, he did. This man,” she declared boldly as she pointed directly at the glowering man who held her lute, “this man kissed me fit to curl my toes, just yesterday. Now he returns not only to deny me, but to steal away my very livelihood, as well!”

Indeed, she could almost feel the stranger cringe, but still Genevieve pressed on relentlessly. He threatened her pride and her lute—no mercy would she show him. Genevieve turned to a woman who watched with particular attention and summoned her almost certainly sympathetic ear with a friendly wave.

“My kisses does he steal, and now he would deny not only me, but the very sweetness of our embrace!”

“Men are all alike, love,” the woman counselled with a sad shake of her head. Another tut-tutted under her breath, and Genevieve appealed to her.

“Is it not beyond cruel that he would take my lute? My lute alone ‘tis that lets me go on, my lute alone ‘tis that provides my keep. What kind of man would break my heart, then destroy the one thing that might give me the strength to go on?”

Both women fired accusing glances at the pale-eyed stranger. Genevieve granted him an arch glance, only to find his color yet more unnaturally heightened. A set there was to his chin, though, and her resolve faltered slightly at the realization that she had gained herself naught with this display.