He nodded at her. "Now take off your clothes."
Chapter Eight
"I've made a good start on the rings."
"How many?" From his chair in Kelvin Connor's study, Angus Kendall shot the other man a sharp look and reached for his wine glass from a side table. He sipped his wine, his eyes never leaving Connor's face.
"One-hundred for now, more to come, of course. Worked almost night and day, creating these rings. Not the best craftsmanship, had to cut corners here and there." An understatement, shoddy craftsmanship, every one of them. He expected the stone to fall out at the slightest bump, a fact he kept to himself.
"But they will do just fine." Kelvin pulled out the top desk drawer and retrieved one of the rings, then reached across the space separating them and handed him the piece. "Here, see for yourself."
Angus examined the ring from all angles, the sunlight playing on the amber-hued stone. Then he handed the piece back to Kelvin. "Good for now." He sipped his wine, his thin, elongated fingers wrapped around the glass. "But we will need hundreds more . . . and very soon."
"Give me time! There's a limit–"
"I understand." Angus held up his hand. "Believe me, I understand. But we need to get those rings to the bandregas as soon as possible."
"Which I understand, and why I've been working almost night and day to make these pieces." He shifted his position and stretched his legs out from behind his desk. "Who is your contact among the bandregas?"
Angus set his glass down on the side table. "I have several, but Stilo Mongan is one of my main contacts, besides their leader. Stilo Mongan lives in Moytura, although I've never met him. As a matter of fact, when I sent my servant–the one headed north to Moytura-- to track down your stepdaughter, I told him to get in touch with Mongan in the capital at the same time and send him here to me." He reached for his wineglass again and sipped. "I gave my servant Mongan's address, along with a letter signed by me, with my seal. He is one of my most trusted servants who would not dare read the contents of the letter. Enough that Mongan will know. And he'll know where to get the money to pay us–to pay me. Remember, your payment is contingent upon finding Fianna."
Another spurt of irritation heated Kelvin's face, but he kept his silence.
"When Mongan arrives here," Angus continued, "I'll have another trusted servant give him the batch of rings and tell him more rings will be forthcoming. Some problems at the mine have kept me busy lately, too busy to hand out the rings myself. The bandregas will pay handsomely, that I know, once they learn of the ring's magic properties. When the bandregas see the power of the rings, they will beg for more."
"Well, I should hope so. All this work–"
Angus scratched his chin. "Now, about your stepdaughter, Fianna. I instructed all my servants to check in all the villages along their routes–east, west, north, and south--to see if she is anywhere but the capital. Whoever finds her will send me word–my carrier pigeon system again. These spies are very skilled at tracking people. So far, they have found no trace of the girl, which leads me to believe that she is, indeed, in the capital." He crossed his legs and folded his arms across his chest.
"And if she isn't in Moytura or any of the villages?" Kelvin leaned back in his chair, trying to match Angus's impression of utter nonchalance and hoping to conceal the ire that churned inside him. The smug Goddess-damned bastard got on his nerves. "What if she's gone to another country on the continent?"
Angus frowned. "Another country? I hardly think so. She's not fluent in other languages, is she? Or in the ways of these other people? Don't forget, most of the other countries are still in the barbaric stage, lacking the cultural attributes of Avador. Elegia is the only country we have much in common with, and if I'm not mistaken, Fianna doesn't speak their language. So Moytura it is. It stands to reason that she would try to lose herself in the largest city in the kingdom." He nodded with assurance. "We'll find her."
"And when you do–"
"When we do, I will go after her myself. As I told you, I want the pleasure of bringing her back here. Then we shall wed, an event I happily anticipate, even if she doesn't." He winked, as if finding vast amusement in Fianna's dilemma. He uncrossed his legs and stood. "That's all for now. I expect Stilo Mongan will be visiting me within the next nineday with a goodly amount of money for the rings." Angus headed for the door. "And then let's see the vampires try to defeat the bandregas."
After Kendall left, Evelina slipped into the room, leaving Kelvin to wonder how often she eavesdropped his discussions with Kendall. He'd have to check on her from now on, make sure she wasn't hiding behind the door.
She sat down, her eyes red from weeping. "Will I ever see my daughter again?" she cried, twisting a handkerchief in her lap. "If we haven't found her by now–"
"Oh, we'll find her. These things take time. When we do find her, Angus will bring her back, so they can marry." He crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair, presenting a picture of absolute confidence, an image that eluded him in Kendall's presence.
She looked up, an expression of despair on her face. "But if she doesn't want to marry him–"
"Who cares what she wants? She will marry Kendall, and that's all there is to it."
"No, that's not all there is to it." She spoke with a vehemence that surprised Kelvin. "This is what made her leave home in the first place, her dislike of Angus Kendall and fear of marrying him. If we find her again, please let us welcome her back and let her make her own decision about marriage."
"You mean reward her for her disobedience?" He flicked his fingers. "Not a chance."
She stood and sighed; tears ran down her face. She spoke through her sobs. "It may be a moot point, for I fear we will never see her again."
* * *
Gaderian agonized over the many mishaps that might have befallen Fianna and wondered if he were worrying needlessly. Maybe she was back at the Snow Leopard, sound asleep in her own bed. Maybe, but not likely. His mind dwelled on all the lovely traits that made her so endearing: her long auburn hair and green eyes, her soft voice and sultry smile, all these qualities that meant everything to him. Why deny the fact? He loved her, but thinking of her would gain him nothing. They could have no future together. He would live forever, for such was the way of vampires. She would grow old and die, and even though he would always love her, in time she would come to resent his immortality.
Revived by his recent feeding and exploding with fury, Gaderian focused on transporting himself back to the city center. Anger bridled his ability, and he forced himself to seek an inner calmness, to enable him to become invisible and travel back. He'd go to Stilo Mongan's apartment first, and if she wasn't there, then surely she would be at the Snow Leopard. The streets stood near empty now, with only the occasional tramp shuffling along, or pleasure women hawking their charms. The stores and businesses remained shuttered, the street vendors gone home. Gaderian closed his eyes, his every sense, every bit of concentration centered on transporting himself. A swift onrush of air, a buzzing in his ears, a blur of buildings, streets, and trees gratified him and revealed his efforts were successful.
As noiseless as the air, he burst through Mongan's bedroom door, a silence that failed to alert the man, this son of a bitch who'd kidnapped Fianna, and who even now, had eyes only for her. With one glance, Gaderian took in Fianna removing her clothes, her eyes glazed and unfocused. Clad only in her underclothes, she removed her breast supporter, her full breasts lifting free of that restraint. Her long hair fell forward, locks veiling her face. Despite his utter fury, Gaderian could only stare, taking in the lush beauty of this dear woman, her slim fingers, the gentle concavity of her waist, her long slender legs.
Turned sideways, Mongan faced her from several feet away, a lecherous smile on his face, a bulge under his tunic leaving no doubt of his arousal. He unclasped his belt and let it fall to the floor, his mouth wide open as he gaped at Fianna.
A fresh spate of anger erupted within Gaderian. With a flic
k of his hand in the distance separating them, he cast Stilo through the air, and the man landed in a heap against a far wall, a stunned look on his face. Fianna turned in Gaderian's direction, looking vaguely surprised. He wanted to throw her dress back on her and get her out of this place, but first, he must immobilize Mongan, a task that demanded every bit of concentration.
"Hey!" Stilo's face reddened as he pushed himself to his feet. "What do you think you're doing?"
Time! Gaderian's heart raced. He needed time to center his attention, time to transport himself and Fianna back to the Snow Leopard. Red spots danced in front of his eyes. Fierce anger roiled in his gut. "I should kill you!"
"You bastard!" Stilo braced himself against the wall. "She came of her own free will. I never forced her. Goddess, I'll kill you!"
Stilo rushed his way, but Gaderian called on every power, his heart, mind, and body centered on one thought only, to immobilize the son of a bitch. Raising his hand, he created a magic barrier, an obstacle Stilo couldn't penetrate. Stilo stood motionless, eyes protruding with anger, arms motionless at his side. He opened his mouth, but no words came.
With red-hot anger hindering his ability, Gaderian knew the shield was a weak one. He had to get out–and fast. First grabbing her dress, shift, and breast supporter, Gaderian wrapped his arm around Fianna's waist and began the trip back to Tavern Street. Silent and inanimate, she hung in his arms, as lifeless as a rag doll as he transported them both back to Tavern Street, to a bench outside the Snow Leopard.
Returned to Tavern Street, Fianna stared around, her gaze hazy and unfocused. Conscious of the need to dress her, he eased her breast supporter across her breasts, and remaining as lifeless as a wilted flower, she let him raise her arms to slip through the straps, as he fastened the garment in back. Wanting to let his hands linger on her bosom, he became conscious of his own arousal, his body on fire from wanting her. He yearned to touch every inch of her, kiss her until she begged for more, but not when this mental haze infused her every action. He ignored his own need and reached for her shift and slipped it over her head, then her frock, while she went through the same lifeless motions.
She shook her head, as if emerging from a dream. "Gaderian, how did I get here? The last thing I remember, I was in Stilo's apartment." She slurred her words, as if drunk.
"And don't you recall anything before that?" His fingers rested on her shoulder, his gaze following the swell of her breasts. With every ounce of willpower, he drew his hand back and let it fall to his side. For now, he wouldn't tell her how he'd transported her; better to divert her attention to her own plight. But surely she would wonder, if not tonight, then tomorrow.
She frowned, lips pursed in thought. "Well, of course, I was at the fair with Stilo and we . . . we were dancing." She closed her eyes and pressed her hand to her forehead. "I . . .
I . . . we were dancing, and I had an odd feeling, as if I wasn't there." She sighed. "The music, the dancing . . . everything became a blur."
He looked at her anxiously, hoping she would soon come out of her trance. Damn Stilo to hell! Gaderian asked a question that had haunted him since his rescue of her. "Why did you go to the fair with Stilo in the first place? How well do you know him?"
"As well as I know you." In spite of her haziness, an expression of indignation captured her face. "And I didn't go to the fair with him. I arranged to meet him there."
"Well, I hope you realize by now that you can't trust him, that he's a no-good bas–" He swallowed and raked his fingers through his tousled locks. "When I think what might have happened had I not come to get you. . . ." His muscles tensed, his hands even now itching to strangle Stilo.
"And why did you come to get me? How did you know I'd be at Stilo's?" Her voice remained dull, intensifying his worry that she was still under Stilo's spell, but for how long? Knowing that the barrier he'd created around Stilo was a weak one, Gaderian expected the man to come after them any minute. He wanted to get Fianna inside the Snow Leopard, safe in her own bed, but first he had to gain more information.
Fianna's voice wrenched him back to the moment. "How did you know to come after me? And why did you?"
Why? She still didn't understand the danger from Stilo, that she'd come near to ravishment. "As to why I came after you, call it intuition. I've seen how he stares at you. I knew you'd not be working at the Snow Leopard tonight, since everyone at the tavern had the early part of the night off to attend the fair."
A tramp shuffled past, and Gaderian stopped talking, waiting for the vagrant to move on. The breeze picked up, rustling the leaves of the oaks and bringing the scent of jasmine. Banners on poles flapped in the breeze, and the sign above the tavern banged back and forth. A few strands of hair blew across Fianna's face; gently he smoothed the locks away and tucked them behind her ears. He sighed and forced himself to shut out all outside influences, to convince Fianna that she mustn't trust Stilo. Talmora's tits! What did he have to do to show her the man posed a danger to her?
"You still haven't answered my question. You're skirting the issue to say you didn't go to the fair with Mongan. The fact remains, you were there, dancing with him. So, why?"
"None of your business why I danced with him." Her voice sounded more lively now, the words not so slurred, prompting a spurt of optimism in him. "He didn't hurt me. He acted the perfect gentleman."
He longed to shake her. "Didn't hurt you! But he was about to. Why do you suppose you were undressing for him?"
She looked down at herself, at her fully clothed body, and threw him a puzzled look. "I have all my clothes on."
"But you didn't then, at his apartment. You were undressing for him." The memories, ah, the memories returned, images that would stay in his mind forever of this lovely woman who would never be anything but a friend. What if he hadn't arrived at Stilo's apartment in time? He wanted to kill Stilo.
"I don't know what you're talking about. He took me to his apartment and . . ." Her voice trailed off.
"And?" He leaned forward, giving her a close look.
She sighed. "And I don't remember much after that. But I know he didn't hurt me."
"Goddess!" He slapped his hand to his forehead. "What do I have to say to make you understand!"
"Nothing." She threw him a look of insulted pride. "You don't need to say a thing to me. I'm fully capable of taking care of myself." Hands in her lap, she straightened her back and turned her head away from him. He studied her lovely profile but knew he must not let his emotions interfere with his concern for her.
"Well, of course!" He couldn't keep the sarcasm from his voice. If she didn't understand now what a threat Mongan was, she might well make the same mistake again. He couldn't let that happen. "Ah, yes, I see you can take care of yourself!"
He switched to another topic. "Fianna, has it never occurred to you that your stepfather will come after you, or send someone after you? What about the man you are to marry? What if he comes for you?"
"Of course it's occurred to me. I think about it night and day. But for the first time in my life, I can support myself. I don't need to depend on anyone for anything, except Cedric, who has kindly given me a room of my own and–"
"Maybe not so kindly. You still must share your wages with him."
"Well, yes, but he pays me well." She paused. "You are the only person in the city who knows my real name. Everyone else knows me as Angharad Cullain. If anyone comes after me, he will use my real name." She gave him a sidelong glance. "And you won't turn me in, will you?"
As if he would! "Not for all the gold in the kingdom."
"Well, then, there you are." She rose from the bench and nearly fell back. He stood, too, and slipped an arm around her waist, but she pushed him away. "I'm tired and I want to sleep," she said in an aggrieved voice. "I'm going to bed."
Alone, thank the Goddess. He would relinquish the argument for now, but from hereon, he must keep a vigilant eye on her. "At least let me walk you back to the tavern."
"I ca
n make it on my own." With those final words, she toddled away from him, heading for the tavern. Her long hair bobbed across her shoulders, and despite her halting steps, her back remained straight, her buttocks shapely and firm beneath her cotton dress. He rushed ahead to open the door for her, wanting only to spend the night with her, to hold her in her arms and whisper in her ear, to tell her all she meant to him. And more, he yearned for so much more, longings that would forever remain out of reach.
She disappeared inside the Snow Leopard, leaving him to wonder how much she would remember tomorrow. At first, he scolded himself for not casting a spell on her to make her forget Stilo's ensnarement, but then he realized it would be far better if she recalled the entire episode in the days to come. If she recalled. Perhaps then she would realize that Stilo had malicious designs on her.
But if she didn't? And if he wasn't around to protect her from the bastard next time, what then? She would have to learn to take care of herself, something he realized she could do, if only she avoided Stilo's allurement. But if she fell under his spell again . . . he shook his head, reluctant to think of the consequences.
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