Set title

by O’Donnell, Laurel

  Disappointment settled over Fox. Disappointment and frustration -- and a great sense of relief. He felt somehow he had just escaped a deadly trap.

  The door to the north tower room rose before them. Fox opened it, allowing her entrance. He stepped deeper into the room to light the candle.

  And turned back to find Jordan holding a dagger out before her, pointed right at him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jordan held the small dagger before her, clutching it tightly. She had taken it from the dining table when no one had been looking and had managed to keep it hidden in the folds of her skirt.

  Fox’s dark eyes glowed with grim amusement in the candlelight. “What do you plan to do with that?” he asked mockingly.

  Insult speared through Jordan at the obvious ridicule in his tone. He perceived her as no threat to him, and his blatant scorn simmered her blood in her veins. “I plan to escape,” she said, and stepped toward him, brandishing the dagger before her. If he still doubted she knew how to wield a blade, then so be it. He would become a fast believer.

  But Fox did not move away from her threatening step. His gaze remained locked on hers, not even bothering to look at the deadly weapon in her hand. “I will not let you go,” he said softly.

  Jordan held the dagger firmly before her, adjusting her grip with her suddenly moist fingers. “Are your damned lands and title so important to you?”

  He tilted his head quizzically, as if the answer was painfully, obviously staring her right in the face. “Yes, they are,” he replied. “Much more important than inconveniencing you.”

  “I have more important reasons to leave than inconvenience,” Jordan retorted. “And I will not let you stop me.”

  He lifted his eyes to hers.

  Jordan was shocked to see the fierce, deep anger whirling in their depths.

  “Then you will have to plunge that dagger into my heart, Jordan. Only then can you be reunited with your lover. Take my heart and you can go to him. Go on. Take it. Take it, damn you! You tossed it aside once before. Surely you can do it again.”

  Jordan stared at him, unable to move, unable to take action.

  “Take it!”

  The thought suddenly seemed horrific. She looked away from his intense glare, turning away from his harsh tone to stare at the weapon she held in her hand. A swirl of orange and red and yellow candlelight played along the metal, the colors flickering and flaming as they danced on the reflection of her eyes. Her eyes looked tired, haunted, almost as if she, too, might become nothing more than a specter in this eerie, decaying castle. Then she noticed a slight tremor in her fingers and willed them to be still. She looked away from the blade, back to Fox.

  She could kill him, she realized, to get back to her children. She knew just where to put the blade, knew just where to throw it to stop him dead in his tracks. But then quick images, quick memories flashed through her thoughts. She pictured him again with the little girl, Mary Kate, seated on his shoulders as he entered the room. Mary Kate had been beaming with joy as he carried her. She obviously had great affection and love for Fox.

  And then Jordan pictured Fox’s lips so close to hers the other night. The smell of his closeness flooded her senses, her memory taking on a ghostly life inside her mind.

  Then she pictured Fox bleeding at her feet on the cold stones of the north tower floor, her dagger lodged deep in his heart. The thought was so sudden and so horrible she almost dropped the dagger. She couldn’t hurt him, not even after he had stolen the herbs that would have saved Maggie’s life. She could never bring herself to hurt the friend she remembered from long ago.

  Fox acted immediately, taking advantage of the obvious doubt and confusion playing out across her features. He slapped the dagger from her fingers with a quick snake-like strike. “Little girls shouldn’t play with daggers,” he scorned.

  She snatched her hand back and rubbed her smarting fingers. Outrage and anger shot through her.

  Fox bent to retrieve the dagger. He inspected it in the light of the candle. “I’ll have to tell Frenchie to keep the daggers out of the meal room when you’re eating. You can gnaw on his bread with your teeth like the rats do.”

  Hurt, Jordan whirled and raced from the room, moving down the steps of the north tower. Humiliation flared in her cheeks as she ran away from Fox and his mocking tone, from his teasing and degradation. How could she hope to escape him when she knew she could never even hurt him, let alone contemplate killing him? How could she hope to be free of him when she knew her only defense against him was one she could never use?

  Jordan hadn’t made it down two steps before Fox caught her from behind. He grabbed her wrist and spun her around, pressing her hard against the stone corridor wall.

  “I told you before you could not escape,” he whispered hotly.

  He held her firmly against the wall, his body pressed against hers.

  Jordan knew he spoke the truth, but not the truth as he believed it. It was the truth as she knew it. How could she escape from Fox? And how could her children ever depend on her again if she couldn’t fight to get to them? She couldn’t hold even a trembling dagger to Fox. Uselessness, frustration, and helplessness all welled up inside her, spinning and churning until Jordan couldn’t keep her feelings inside. Warm tears slipped from her eyes and dripped onto her cheeks, and her body trembled with a sob.

  Fox placed a finger under her chin and lifted her face to his, studying it for an eternal moment in which Jordan fought hard to bury her feelings. She lifted her chin slightly, waiting for his scorn, waiting for his berating words.

  But when the silence stretched on, she lifted her gaze to his. She was unprepared for the tenderness she saw in those blue depths. He lifted a finger to trace the path of one of her tears. Then he pulled his hand away from her, slowly rubbing the tear in his fingers, staring at the glistening drop for a moment.

  His blue eyes seemed confused, and a slight scowl marred his brow as he continued to inspect the tear on his fingertip. Then he looked at her again and his gaze swept every inch of her face. A warmth spread throughout her body that suddenly brought her senses to life, sharpening them. The muscles in his strong chest pressed against her breasts. The power in his thighs crushed against her. And something dangerous stirred inside her; something powerful threatened to engulf her.

  Her vision dropped to his lips, lips that were so sensual, so entrancing. Lips that were slowly moving closer and closer.

  Jordan didn’t fight him; she wanted to feel his kiss. She wanted the intoxicating feeling rushing through her body to grow. His kiss would only make the dangerously delicious sensation run wild inside of her.

  And then his lips closed over hers, a startlingly gentle caress, a warm, wet brush of his lips. But with that simple touch, exhilaration filled Jordan’s body. It was unlike anything she had ever felt, tender and warm, but filled with a fiery spice all the same.

  Then his tongue touched her lips, gently sliding along the length of her mouth, caressing, coaxing. She felt a jolt igniting its way through her entire body from the tips of her hair to the edges of her toes. She gasped against his lips and he dropped his hands to the small of her back, pulling her closer to him as he delved into the recesses of her mouth.

  Jordan felt herself being swept away by the emotions raging through her. Her world was spinning on its axis, and she clung to Fox as if he were the only thing keeping her from falling. But the tighter she held, the greater the waters seemed to swirl about her.

  “I won’t let you go, Jordan,” he whispered against her lips. “Not this time.”

  It took a long moment for the words to sink in. Won’t let you go. She pulled back suddenly, fighting against the emotional current threatening to drown her.

  She almost hit her head on the stone wall as she tore away from him so abruptly. Was this another way to keep her trapped, to hold her prisoner? To play with her emotions? To leave her dizzy and confused? Her fists clenched, her body shook, but not with passion
this time. How had he known she would react as she had? Willing, wanton? Her cheeks flushed a deep red and she had to look away to hide her humiliation. Damn her traitorous body!

  She shoved against his chest, but for a long moment he was unmovable. Jordan pushed harder. Finally, he stepped back. Wordlessly, she turned away from him and headed back toward the tower.

  Fox took hold of her, but Jordan yanked her arm free and continued to march up the steps toward her prison of a room. She had failed. And she would continue to fail unless she could battle her own emotions and defeat them. She had to fight against the control Fox somehow had over her. She had to fight it and win.

  But she had no idea where to begin, or even what kind of weapon would be useful in such a battle.

  Jordan slammed the door hard, sealing herself alone in the darkness.

  Fox stared at the door for a moment before reaching out to lock it. Jordan’s kiss was still fresh on his lips, the feel of her soft body a tantalizing memory, one he would not soon forget. The painful hardness in his groin was not a feeling he could easily banish from his thoughts.

  His admission that he would not let her go echoed in his mind, for it was more of a confession of his soul than a statement of fact. God’s blood! How has the little vixen bewitched me? What was I thinking?

  But he knew exactly what he had been thinking, because her tears had tugged on more than his thoughts. They had called to his heart.

  I have to let her go, he thought. When Vaughn gives me my lands and title back, I must relinquish Jordan.

  Fox turned and walked away down the stairs. He found himself hoping Vaughn would refuse.

  Silence surrounded the room as Jordan slept. Suddenly, a loud click sounded, jarring her awake. She lay absolutely still for a long moment, clutching her blanket to her neck, staring at the door. Was it Fox coming to see her? Was it someone bringing her a meal? Or was it a ghost? But when the door didn’t open, Jordan wondered if the sound had only been in her imagination. Slowly, she lowered the blanket from her neck.

  Then the door moved.

  Just slightly, but it moved nonetheless. A faint sliver of light slipped into the room from the corridor beyond.

  Jordan stood up, the blanket falling to pool around the ragged hem of her skirt.

  Who had opened the door? And why?

  She stood motionless for a moment, waiting for someone to enter. “Who’s there?” she called out. But her question remained unanswered and the doorway remained vacant.

  Then another thought jarred her into action. The door was open! What more did she need? What difference did it make who had freed her? She was free!

  Jordan moved toward the door, reached for the handle -- and stopped.

  What if it was a trap? What if Fox was testing her? She stood for a long moment. She had given Fox her word that she would do everything in her power to escape. She might as well live up to it, she thought.

  Her hand closed over the handle and she pulled the door open to peer outside.

  The spiral stairway was empty, no movement, no sound coming from the dark passageway. A faint, flickering light illuminated the very bottom of her view of the stairway. “Hello?” she called.

  Only her soft, hesitant echo returned.

  Jordan stepped out of the room into the darkness of the stairwell. She gnawed on her lower lip as she moved forward. Her stomach felt like it was in her throat, and her heart raced in her chest. She took one step down the stairs, then another.

  The light didn’t grow brighter or recede. It remained still. Was someone with a torch waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs? She glanced back up toward her cell, but her room remained dark.

  She continued down another step and another. Finally, the light touched her toes. It was nothing more than a torch on the wall.

  Relief washed through her and she hurried the rest of the way down the stairs. She braced her hands on either side of the stairway to lean out and peer down the hallway. The narrow corridor was empty, illuminated by moonlight streaming in through a gap in the mortar. She swung her head the other way. A soft glow emanated from inside the meal room.

  She hurried through the empty corridor, racing past the stray moonbeams, hoping this hallway would lead to her freedom. She hoped desperately her memory served her correctly and she was heading in the right direction.

  Suspicion gnawed at her. Someone knew she was roaming the hallways. Someone had set her free. Why?

  Jordan turned a corner and froze.

  A large, ghostly white figure was standing still in the hallway, floating above the stone floor, its shimmering cloak flapping in the night wind that slipped in through the castle’s decaying mortar.

  Jordan gasped as the ghost began to move toward her, its cloak billowing out behind it as it moved. She turned to flee, but tripped over a loose stone and fell to the ground. She fought to regain her balance, and turned just in time to see the ghost almost on her. Jordan lifted her hands to cover her eyes and flinched back, a scream of terror welling in her throat.

  Something brushed over her and she instinctively pushed it away. Her hands shoved against more fabric and she jerked away, spinning to be rid of it. But the white cloak covered her completely and Jordan fought against it, gasping in fear. She kicked at the clinging cloth again and again until finally she was free. She crawled a few steps away and looked over her shoulder.

  The ghost lay in a crumpled pool of white on the ground.

  Jordan sat absolutely still for a moment, staring at the lifeless mass of cloth. Her heart beat madly in her chest. Had she killed it? Why wasn’t it moving? Hesitantly, she moved forward. But the ghost didn’t rise before her, didn’t resurrect itself. It just lay inert in a mound of white fabric. She reached out and tentatively kicked at it with her foot. But still it didn’t move.

  Slowly, curiosity overcame her fear and she crawled forward. Reaching out a shaking hand, she touched the ghost. It was just empty fabric! Jordan picked it up, laughing at herself for being so scared.

  Then the ghostly cloth shifted in her hands. She let go of the fabric with a cry of alarm, but immediately saw that something was pulling at the cloth, jerking it. Some sort of string was attached to it. She reached out and clenched the thin string in her hand, following its path upward, seeing that the fabric was connected to some sort of string that hung from the ceiling.

  This was no ghost! But it was obviously intended for someone to believe it was. Amazed, she stared at the gadget. Someone was going through a lot of trouble to make everyone believe Castle Mercer was haunted.

  Jordan stood, grudgingly admiring the work. Footsteps suddenly echoed down the hallway. She glanced toward the noise, fearful someone heard her battles with the make-believe apparition. She dropped the ghostly fabric and pressed herself against the wall.

  But no further noise came. She waited an extra moment to be certain and then started again down the hallway.

  She turned a corner and breathed a sigh of relief. She was not lost. The huge double doors leading to the outside loomed ahead of her. Jordan almost raced down the hallway toward them.

  Then she saw the huge hound laying in front of the doors.

  She pulled back quickly. How was she ever going to get past the hound? He would hear her if she dared to approach the doors. She was half-surprised he hadn’t smelled her already. Then he would bark and wake Fox and she would never...

  From the darkness of the hallway, through the moonlight flooding in through the partially open doors, the shape of a man materialized and moved toward her. He was cloaked in a long, brown robe -- a monk’s robe, she guessed from the long piece of rope tied about the man’s waist to hold the robe closed. She gasped and pulled further back into the shadows.

  As the man stopped to pat the hound’s head, Jordan studied him. There was something about him. Something familiar.

  Suddenly, the dog’s ears jerked toward her hiding spot and a low growl issued from its throat.

  The man rose, staring in
her direction. “Who’s there?” he called.

  Jordan hesitated a moment, but knew there was nowhere she could run. She stepped out of the shadows.

  “Who are you?” he demanded in a sharp voice as she stepped into view. “How did you come to be at Castle Mercer?”

  His eyes triggered her memory. Flecks of hazel shone in the light from the torch. Where had she seen those eyes before?

  He moved toward her, scrutinizing her face as closely as she was looking at his. Then, his eyes narrowed in unpleasant recognition. “Lady Jordan?”

  Confusion etched her features, her scowling brow. She nodded. “How did you --?”

  Fierce, brutal anger slammed down over his features. He gritted his teeth. “Michael. I’m Michael.”

  “Michael?” Jordan gasped. “Michael!” Fox’s younger brother. That’s why his eyes looked so familiar. They still held that enigmatic, pain-filled look she remembered from that fateful day so long ago.

  She moved forward to embrace him.

  But Michael caught her around her neck with a fierce hold and shoved her back into the wall, cutting off her breath.

  This is a mistake, Jordan thought before his grip tightened. This is all a grave mistake. Instinctively, she fought, struggling for a breath. Her nails raked along his arm, pried at his fingers. But his hands tightened around her neck like a vise, squeezing, suffocating her.

  With one last effort, she reached down to the dagger on her thigh, fighting the blackness that threatened to take over her vision, her mind. She fought for a breath, but Michael’s hand only tightened around her throat, cutting off her attempt. Finally, she reached the sheath.

  It was empty.

  She wanted to scream in frustration and anger, but a wall of darkness closed around her, settling about her like a warm blanket.

  And then she felt nothing. Nothing at all.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Fox leaped out of bed, grabbed his sword, and raced toward the sound of Doom’s barking. Were they being invaded? Had Vaughn found their location? Were scores of armored men already combing the ruins of his former home, hunting him down? A dozen different scenarios played out in his mind.