Prince of Magic

by Anne Stuart

  “Are you looking for Gabriel?” she asked in a deceptively calm voice. “I imagine he’s up at Rosecliff Hall . . .” The man was ignoring her. No, that wasn’t strictly true. He was paying no attention to her mindless babbling, but he was watching her quite closely. He came up to her, standing too close, then looked past her to the bed. To the bloodstained sheet.

  “Shit,” he said. “He’s had his fun, then, hasn’t he?”

  Lizzie didn’t move, frozen in fear. It wouldn’t have done her any good if she had—he was blocking her way. The man sighed. “We don’t need to tell Francis you’re not still virgin, now do we?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said in a cool voice that failed to disguise her panic. “Please leave.”

  “Oh, I’ll leave, my little darling. And I’ll be taking you with me. Virgin’s blood or not, you can go in the cage with the others, and who’s to know in the long run?”

  “Cage?” Too late she remembered Gabriel’s gruesome stories. She made a sudden, darting movement, but he caught her easily in one meaty hand. She kicked back at him, knocking over a chair, and he cursed. She tried to scream, but his arm swung out, and everything went black.

  “WHERE THE HELL is Jane?”

  Peter was studiously ignoring him, intent on the horse he was leading. “Can’t say as I know, sir,” he muttered in that damned subservient voice of his. “I haven’t seen Miss Jane since early this morning.”

  Gabriel resisted the impulse to flatten him, much as he was tempted. He was an inch or two taller than Peter, but there was no guarantee he could still best him in a fight. And he had more important things to worry about.

  “You saw Jane this morning? What time?” he demanded.

  “I haven’t the faintest idea, sir.”

  “Call me ‘sir’ one more time, and I won’t answer for the consequences,” Gabriel said in a dangerous tone of voice.

  “I quake at the very thought, sir,” Peter said, his expression defiant and bleak. He led the horse into the ring and set him free, closing the gate behind him.

  “Don’t you understand, you pride-blind idiot?” Gabriel exploded. “Jane’s gone missing. I can’t find her anywhere in the house, no one’s seen her all morning . . .”

  “I saw her,” Peter said in an emotionless voice. “I told her I was getting married.”

  “You crazy bastard. Were you still drunk?”

  “For once I was showing some common sense. I don’t know where Jane got the notion that there might be any future between us, but you and I both know better.”

  “I don’t know any such thing.”

  “Then you’re a fool,” Peter said bitterly.

  “I’d rather you called me a fool than ‘sir,’” Gabriel said. “And I’m not interested in arguing with you right now. We have to find Jane.”

  “I’m not doing any such thing. You know how women are—they shed a few tears, then get on with things. Your sister may have imagined a few tender feelings for a stable lad, but given time she’ll realize she’s much better off this way.”

  “I don’t know if she has time, damn you! It’s May Day—Beltane for the pagans—and God only knows what the Chiltons have in mind to celebrate. I just came back to make sure Jane was safe, only to find she’s disappeared.”

  “They wouldn’t touch her,” Peter said in a soft, savage voice.

  “They would. If I know Francis Chilton, he’ll be looking for a virgin sacrifice, and as far as I know, Jane is the only girl in the area to fit that description.”

  “What about her cousin?”

  Gabriel didn’t even blink. “I left her at the tower—she should be safe enough. For God’s sake, Peter, stop worrying about your pride and concentrate on Jane. God knows what they might do to her if they get their hands on her.”

  Peter had frozen. “Jane’s not in the house?”

  “No one’s seen her since she went racing off down the road this morning. I was hoping she might be off someplace with you . . .”

  “I’ll kill them.”

  “After we make sure Jane is safe,” Gabriel said. “In the meantime I’ll go get Lizzie and bring her back to the house where she can be guarded.”

  “What if Jane’s gone to the tower? Wouldn’t she run to her brother for comfort?”

  Gabriel breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re right. I never thought of that. She’s probably with Lizzie right now, cursing all men. Come along.”

  “There’s probably no need . . .”

  “Come along, Peter, or I’ll tell Jane just how damnably in love with her you are.”

  “You’re crazy,” Peter muttered.

  He kept up that litany all the way back through the woods to the abbey ruins, cursing Gabriel and his antecedents, his taste, his education, his sexual habits, and anything else he could think of. Gabriel roundly ignored him. As long as Jane was safe, anything else could be dealt with in its own time.

  Peter’s quarreling came to a halt a few yards from the base of the tower. “Someone’s been here,” he said.

  “Thank God!” Gabriel breathed. “I should have realized Jane would have come straight here . . .”

  “No.” Peter’s voice was strange. “I’m talking about a carriage and horses. And it looks as if someone was dragged.”

  Gabriel had already disappeared into the shadowy tower, taking the steps three at a time. He came to a halt just inside the door as a feeling of cold, bitter fury washed over him. The place was a shambles of overturned furniture. Lizzie hadn’t given up without a fight.

  He didn’t turn when Peter came up behind him. “They’ve taken her, Peter. I think they’ve taken them both.”

  “I’ll kill the bastards,” Peter said with devastating calm. “If they’ve harmed a hair on Janey’s head . . .”

  “We’ve got to find them first,” Gabriel said in a calm icy voice. “Then you can kill them.”

  “OH, MY GOD, Edwina!” Jane cried, moving toward her younger sister with arms outstretched to embrace her.

  Edwina immediately ducked, a discontented expression marring her lovely face. “Whatever are you doing here, Jane? And in this horrid room?”

  “Edwina, we’re in danger. We have to get away from here as fast as we can. Are they keeping you locked up?”

  “Locked up? Of course not. That delightful Mr. Merriwether brought me down from London, and he’s been everything that’s charming. I wasn’t certain I wanted to come back here at first, but now I’m not the slightest bit sorry I agreed to it. This is a very elegant house party, quite the first level of society, and I’m enjoying myself enormously. But I still don’t know what you’re doing here.”

  Jane looked at her silly younger sister in frustration. For not the first time she realized that they truly were no kin at all, neither in blood nor in spirit, but she still felt responsible. “Edwina,” she said slowly, “understand this. These people are wicked. They mean us both harm. We have to get away. If you’re not locked in, it should be very simple for you. I intend to crawl out the window the moment they leave me alone. I was afraid I couldn’t fit, but the casing is loose, and I’m certain I can break it free. But I can’t leave here unless I’m sure you’re safe as well.”

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to leave,” Edwina said stiffly. “You’re an important part of some celebration they’re planning tonight, and if I were you, I wouldn’t be so quick to miss a chance like this. It’s not often gentlemen want to spend time with you.”

  “Edwina, you silly little fool, they don’t want to spend time with me. They want to kill me. They want to sacrifice me to their gods, and they probably want to do the same thing to you.”

  Edwina laughed, a lovely trill of silver-toned laughter. “You’re mad as a hatter, Jane.” She went back to the door and knoc
ked on it with a peremptory fist. It opened immediately, revealing Lord Chilton, magnificent in lavender satin.

  “And how is the sisterly reunion going?” he purred.

  “She says you plan to sacrifice her to the gods,” Edwina said brightly. “Can you imagine such a thing?”

  Chilton’s smile widened. “You can see why we have her locked up here. She showed up, raving about blood sacrifice and Druids. With your family away there was nothing we could do but try to detain her. We’re so glad you came to keep her company.”

  “If I’d known that’s why Father sent for me, I wouldn’t have come,” Edwina said mutinously, glaring at Jane. “Why couldn’t he be here himself?”

  “He was needed elsewhere, my pretty. There’s tea in the drawing room. Why don’t you let your sister rest? It may settle her mind.”

  Edwina smiled up at him, her face dazzling. “That would be lovely. But you’d best be careful with Jane. She told me she’s planning to escape through the window—it’s not as secure as you think. We don’t want a madwoman roaming the countryside.”

  Lord Chilton gave her an approving smile. “We don’t, indeed. You go on ahead, my dear, and I’ll see to your sister.”

  Edwina disappeared without a backward glance, leaving the two of them alone. For a moment Jane considered whether she had a chance of overpowering him. He was slight, effete, but he was also male, and there was a good chance he was stronger than she was.

  And then she saw the men outside, and she held still, unwilling to give them any reason to put their hands on her again.

  Francis strolled up to her, a faint smile on his pale face. “You were going to leave our hospitality so soon, Jane? We certainly can’t have that.” He glanced at the narrow window, then back at her. “I’m not sure we have time to put bars in place. I think we’ll simply have to shackle you to the bed. It’s iron—it should hold you quite securely.”

  “And you just happen to have shackles?”

  Francis’s smile was dreamy. “You’d be surprised at how useful they can be. And how much fun.” To her horror he leaned forward and kissed her full on the mouth. “Don’t worry, Jane. Perhaps I’ll let Merriwether break your neck before we put you in the cage. As long as we can keep him from beneath your skirts we’ll do just fine. We need a virgin, and I’m considering keeping your sister as a little playmate. She’s so delightfully shallow.”

  Jane rubbed her mouth, and Francis’s lip rouge stained her hand. “You can’t . . .”

  “I can do anything I please,” he said sweetly. “Joseph, bring the chains.”

  “I’M GOING TO kill them,” Peter said grimly. “I’ll rip their fucking throats out with my bare hands.”

  “I’m afraid someone like Francis would enjoy that,” Gabriel said with deceptive calm. “Besides, there are two of us and more than a dozen of them. Brute force won’t carry the day, no matter how satisfying it might be.”

  It was getting perilously close to dusk. The two men were just inside the back garden gate at Arundel. No one had noticed the broken lock, so no one had bothered to fix it. They were far too busy with other things, and Gabriel could only imagine what sorts of things they might be.

  Jane was somewhere down there, and had been for countless hours. The only bright spot was that Francis was determined to sacrifice an innocent in his bloody wicker cage—no one would be raping his sister during the long hours of her captivity.

  He wouldn’t think of Lizzie. When he did, the white-hot rage filled him, and he couldn’t think clearly. He needed all his wits about him to extricate the women safely, and thinking about Lizzie made him crazed. He couldn’t afford that.

  “They’ve moved the wicker cage into an oak clearing near the abbey ruins,” he said evenly. “They’ll be convening there by full dark, so we have that long to get Jane out.”

  “Why would they go to the abbey?”

  “Sacred ground,” Gabriel said grimly. “With someone like Francis Chilton, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. Hernewood Abbey was built on the grounds of an old Druid temple, and there were probably even more ancient worshipers there before the Druids. There’s an oak grove that’s a perfect concentric circle, and they’ve built some sort of pit filled with tinder and wood and placed the cage atop it. It should burn quite handily.”

  “Bastards,” Peter muttered.

  “You’ve got to get Jane out of there before they come for her. Take her and run. As long as I don’t have to worry about Jane, I can concentrate on Lizzie.”

  “Won’t they be wanting her for a virgin sacrifice as well?»

  “No,” Gabriel said flatly. “Not since last night.”

  Peter gave him a measuring look. “It’s like that, is it? Jane’s not going to be pleased with you.”

  “You worry about Jane. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  THEY’D ONLY CHAINED her wrists to the bedstead. It didn’t matter—there was nothing she could do with her feet to free herself. Her wrists were raw, bleeding from her useless attempts to pull free. Her bones were simply too blasted big. A frail little flower like Edwina would have slipped through the iron rings with little difficulty. Jane’s wrists stuck fast.

  It was growing dark. All afternoon she’d listened to them coming and going, the low mutter of conversation, the occasional cheery laugh that was somehow even more chilling. She wondered if Peter even knew she was missing. If he even cared. He was probably off courting his intended, without a thought for her. She’d hate the girl, if she even knew who she was. Peter hadn’t told her, and Jane hadn’t asked.

  She heard the noise at the window but at first dismissed it, convinced it was more of the strange banging that had come from beyond the small room where she was being held. And then the room darkened still further, as the narrow row of window was blocked out, and someone fell forward into the room.

  She had the presence of mind not to scream. Who would help her, anyway? The shadowy creature rose from the floor, coming toward her, and she bit her lip, prepared to scream anyway if he touched her.

  “What have they done to you, lass?” Peter’s voice was barely more than a whisper of sound, and his cool, rough hands touched her face with tender concern.

  She could feel tears come, the tears she had fought all afternoon, and she tried to stop them. In the shadows he wouldn’t see them, but he would feel them coursing down her cheeks. “You have to get away, Peter,” she said urgently. “Get help. I’m all right for now—they’re not going to touch me until later. Please, Peter.”

  “I’m not leaving without you.” He reached under her shoulders and tried to pull her up toward him, off the bed. The chains held, yanking her back with a noisy clatter, and she muffled her shriek of pain.

  “You can’t,” she said, breathless. “I’m chained here, and there’s no way I can get free. You’ve got to go find Gabriel, find help.”

  “Gabriel’s already here. They’ve got Lizzie as well, though God knows where they’re keeping her. I promised I’d get you out while he finds a way to get to her.” He yanked at the chains, rattling them with noisy fury, but they were well oiled and impossible to break.

  “Rattle ’em all you like,” a rough voice called from outside. “Won’t do you a speck of good, lass.”

  “Peter,” she whispered, “you have to leave.”

  “I’ll find something to cut the shackles,” he said, moving away from the bed on silent feet. “I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”

  She closed her eyes in despair. There wouldn’t be enough time, and she knew it. They both knew it. “Peter,” she said, “there’s no time. It’s almost dark, and they’ll come for me. You could stop them. You could save me.”

  “Anything, lass,” he said. “Just tell me.”

  It was the hardest thing she ever said. “Th
ey only want a maiden, Peter. I’m no good to them if I’m not an innocent.”

  He froze in the darkness, and she couldn’t see his expression. It was one small blessing. “What are you asking me for, Janey?”

  “I’m saying if you want to save my life, you’ll have to bed me. There’s enough time for that and not much more.” It sounded ridiculous even to her ears, and she turned her face away, waiting for him to mock her.

  All was silent for a moment. And then he sighed, a deep, shaken sound. “I wouldn’t want this for you, lass. You deserve far better.”

  “I don’t deserve to die.”

  He moved toward the bed. “No, lass, you don’t,” he said in a rough, strained voice. “And better me than one of those drunken brutes out there.” She could only see his silhouette in the shadows, but she could see him slowly reach for the fastening of his breeches.

  She closed her eyes, letting the tears fall now, feeling them slide down her face as she listened to the rustle of his clothing. His hands touched her legs, and she jumped, then stilled as he slowly pulled her skirts up. Biting her lip in the darkness. Telling herself this was right. If it didn’t save her life, at least she would take something of him to her grave.

  “Janey, I don’t want to do this to you,” he said, his big rough-skinned hands incredibly gentle on her legs, her thighs. Touching her as no man had ever touched her.

  “I’m begging you, Peter.”

  He hesitated a moment longer, then moved on top of her, lying stretched out over her body, her skirts bunched up between them. His body was hot, strong between her thighs, bare flesh against her partially covered skin. He reached between her pantalets and touched her, and she braced herself.

  “Can you do it, Peter?” she asked belatedly. “They say men can’t just do it anytime they want. I never thought . . .”