Chapter Nine
A knock on the door jolted Stilo from a troubled slumber. Still seething from Gaderian Wade's interference last night, he turned over and held his pillow over his head, trying to go back to sleep. Late this morning, after the vampire's spell had worn off, he'd closed his draperies to blot out the sunlight and plodded on to bed, there to toss and turn, planning how to kill Wade, to inflict a slow, painful death on the vampire.
Now, as early evening shadows crept into the corners of the room, he wanted nothing more than to return to sleep. A second knock quashed that wish and brought him upright. He swung his legs to the floor, then kicked his boots aside. Granno's balls! Who could it be?
Shoving his tousled hair from his forehead, he trudged to the living room. Aware he could handle any mortal enemy, he opened the door. A stranger clad in a dark green linen tunic, leather belt and mid-calf boots stood in the hallway. Who in the name of all the demons was this?
His visitor made a slight bow. "Good evening, Stilo Mongan. I'm Conan Adair, a messenger from Angus Kendall. I believe you've heard of him?"
At Stilo's nod, he handed him a letter. "A very important message from Angus Kendall. If you don't mind, I'll stay here while you read it. Then I will send a carrier pigeon back to him with your reply. There is another matter I wanted to speak to you about." He took a step. "If I may come in?"
Stilo opened the door wider and gestured Conan Adair inside, and with a toss of his head, he indicated a chair. Hands shaking, he tore the seal from the missive and unfolded the parchment, the crackling sound echoing like a boom of thunder in the silent room. He scanned the contents, careful to control his features as excitement roiled inside him. So a jeweler by the name of Kevin Connor had special rings made for the bandregas, rings with a magical property. Rings that would make the bandregas invisible!
Struggling to keep his features neutral, he looked over at his visitor. "Do you know the contents of this letter?" He sat down on the sofa across from him.
"Of course not, sir. I just deliver messages. I don't read them."
How do I know he's telling the truth? Stilo would have to take his word for it. He folded the missive and set it on a table, reminding himself to destroy it later. "Very well, then, I'll leave tomorrow." Actually, he'd leave tonight; travel by night and sleep during the day, for he couldn't abide the sunlight. And he would eliminate Gaderian Wade as soon as he returned.
His brain teemed with emotions: elation that these magical rings would grant the bandregas mastery over the vampires; bitter disappointment that he couldn't kill Wade anytime soon; stinging regret that the vampire had cut short his seduction of Fianna.
He drummed his fingers on the arm of the sofa. "You said you had another matter you wanted to present." Gods, he wanted to get this damned business over with.
"Yes." The courier sat forward, clasping his hands between his knees. "Angus Kendall is looking for a young woman who left her house several ninedays ago–"
Fianna!
"Sir, is there something you know?" The courier shot him a questioning look.
"No, just thinking about the journey." Damn, he must learn to be more circumspect.
Adair continued. "Angus Kendall has sent messengers to other parts of the kingdom, in every direction. So far, his efforts have availed nothing. Fianna Murtagh is quite beautiful—
chestnut hair, green eyes. I realize there is scant chance that she would come to Moytura, or indeed, that you would know her. However, I'm leaving no stone unturned. I just arrived in the city a short while ago, but shortly after I leave here, I intend to place a notice of my search on the city's bulletin board. But first, I thought I'd ask if you, by remote chance, know her."
"Give me a few moments." Stilo pretended thought, afraid he would give himself away. After a short while, he shook his head. "No, I don't recall seeing anyone of that description." He grinned. "Sounds like a woman I'd like to know. I promise you, I will keep my eyes open."
Contradictory feelings clashed inside him. Here was his chance to get even with Gaderian Wade, to turn Fianna in. But no, he still hoped to seduce her. He had failed the first time, but he had no intention of giving up. Before he could claim Fianna as his own, he must rid himself of Wade. Kill the vampire!
Conan Adair stood. "Thank you for your time, sir. I'm staying at The Hungry Bear, you know where that is?" At Stilo's nod, he continued. "Please get in touch with me, should you think of anything concerning this woman. In the meantime, I'll post a "Wanted" sign on the village bulletin board. As for your journey to Ros Creda, Angus Kendall has a contact in Moytura–indeed, in many cities of the kingdom–who dispatches carrier pigeons with messages. I'll contact this man and tell him you will be leaving tomorrow." He raised his eyebrows. "You can leave by then?"
"Yes, yes." Stilo suppressed his irritation, a vein throbbing in his forehead. Did Conan Adair think he was his warden?
The courier turned to leave. "Very well, then, sir. I bid you good evening and a safe journey tomorrow."
Not bothering to get up, Stilo watched him depart; the man could see himself out. One thing me must do before heading for Ros Creda–he would tear down the "Wanted" sign from the bulletin board.
He stood and headed for his wide front window that presented a panoramic view of the city in all its beauty and ugliness, its temple spires and magnificent avenues, its splendid stone buildings, but also its humble dwellings with their thatched roofs, the city's crowded alleys. He leaned on the windowsill, thinking. It would take him nearly two ninedays to journey to Ros Creda and back, but before he left he must fetch the gold to pay Angus Kendall. Since Kane, the bandrega leader, had left for Fomoria, he'd placed him in charge of the Avadoran bandregas and their considerable hoard of money, the gold and silver kept in a safe in Kane's apartment. Stilo had the key to the apartment and knew the combination to the safe.
Fianna entered his thoughts again, she of the tempting breasts and sensual body that promised pleasures beyond belief. If Angus Kendall offered a big enough reward, surely someone would surrender Fianna. Serve her right if someone did. Despite his potent attraction for her, he wanted to see her suffer. Gaderian Wade, too, ah, how he wanted the man to suffer. Damn them both to hell! But he would try again and again to lure Fianna to his bed, and never give up.
He glanced at the hourglass atop an end table. He had much to do before journeying to Ros Creda. Best he leave soon.
* * *
Finished scrying for the evening, Fianna went to her room to change her dress, then headed for the main dining room, wending her way among the many occupied tables. She smiled good-naturedly at the men's teasing remarks, aware it was their way of showing appreciation, but Goddess! she wondered if she'd ever get used to their flirtations. She pushed the heavy oaken door open and stepped outside to a balmy night, a hint of cooler weather in the air. Hardly anyone roamed the streets, except the usual vagrants. A light breeze cooled her face and sent her dress fluttering around her ankles.
Just recently, Cedric, the tavern owner, had told her that his wife was, indeed, with child, as she had predicted upon her first meeting with him. Now she felt vindicated and more certain of his confidence in her.
As many mornings as possible, she found an isolated spot in the meadow, where she practiced throwing her dagger, satisfied she was even more skilled than she had been upon leaving Ros Creda. She tried to fit a few minutes of reading into her daily schedule, too, borrowing books from Moytura's well-stocked library. Her days and nights were quite busy, indeed. Only yesterday, she'd visited Talmora's Temple at the western edge of the city, to pray for her mother and brother, for the Goddess to take care of them and to permit her to see them sometime again soon. Ah, how she missed them, and even though her brother lived away from Ros Creda, still she and her mother visited him several times a year.
She recalled Gaderian's warning about walking the city streets alone at night and decided to sit for a while on the wooden bench a few yards from the Snow Leopard
. Mostly inns and taverns comprised this street, but an occasional shop occupied a space, such as the silversmith's shop not far from where she sat, as if the store had been added as an afterthought.
She pressed her hand to her forehead and tried to recall everything about her visit to the fair and dancing with Stilo. She and Stilo had walked back to his apartment together, then had ridden in a strange contraption—an elevator—from the ground floor to his own. Memories slowly emerged , but as she focused on every minute of their time together, the remembrances coalesced, like fitting in the final pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. How close she had come to enduring Stilo's ravishment, this man who had cast a spell on her. And Gaderian! If he hadn't come after her . . . Could she have fought Stilo off? Not likely. And how had Gaderian rescued her? One minute she was undressing for Stilo–ashamed of herself, she blushed at the thought–and the next minute, Gaderian had burst upon them.
First, he had immobilized Stilo–but how? After Stilo stood helpless, she and Gaderian were flying through the air, stopping at this very bench she rested on now.
Light footsteps on the cobblestones wrenched her back to the present. She looked up and
saw–Gaderian! It seemed as if her mind had conjured him. Spotting her, his eyes lit up, and her pulse raced as she tried to project a picture of cool nonchalance. Why did this man always have this tempest-tossing effect on her?
"Well, hello." She smiled his way as he joined her on the bench, her every sense alive to his proximity. Shoving her tumultuous emotions aside, she focused on the previous night and his rescue.
Fianna plucked at the folds of her skirt. "I've been thinking about last night. . . ."
"As well you should," he said with a stern look. "You came very close to being ravished. Don't you realize he cast a spell on you?"
"I realize that now. But how was I to know at the time?" She paused, gathering her thoughts. "How . . . how did you get me from Stilo's apartment back here?"
"You don't remember?"
"If I remembered, I wouldn't ask." She looked across the cobblestones, where other taverns and inns lined the other side of the street, along with an occasional shop. Oil lamps lit the area, casting shadows on the street.
His gaze assessed her, as if he could see her unclothed, as he saw her last night. The images returned, heating her face.
"Magic!" he gestured with his hands. "I transported you. How else can you explain your trip from Stilo's apartment? I have powers you can't begin to understand."
Her heart hammered against her chest. His declaration overwhelmed her, but she hid her astonishment. "So you're a wizard?"
He looked down for a moment, as if her question caught him off-guard, but then his face held an expression of utter frankness. "Yes, of course, what other explanation is there?"
Indeed. Yet she sensed he was hiding something from her. Vampire. The word ricocheted through her head and knocked against her heart, dizzying her with confusion. She wanted to ask him–was dying to know–what her earlier scrying of him meant, that never-ending flood of blood that gushed and flowed, on and on. But caution–or fear—restrained her.
His deep voice penetrated her thoughts. "You don't believe me, do you?"
"I believe you." For now, she'd keep her speculations and fears to herself. She smiled at him to mask her confusion. "It's a lot to take in at once. I know magic is permitted in the kingdom of Avador, but it's not every day you meet a wizard." She licked her lips. "And Stilo–"
"A wizard, too," he replied, "using his magic for evil purposes. And Fianna, you must remain vigilant against his magic. Best to stay away from him. He may well try to lure you again. Do not let him. But if you can't avoid him, and if you so much as see that intention in his eyes, fight his magic. He is evil, is Stilo, and he practices black magic. You are a strong woman. Don't let him get the best of you."
Goddess, how she hated to admit she'd fallen under Stilo's spell, she, who had always considered herself capable of handling any situation. She would not let Stilo lure her again.
"Let us talk of something else." Gaderian shifted his position and crossed his legs.
"The renovations are complete at my house. I have already moved in. Should you ever need another place to stay–"
"Thank you, but I'm managing fine where I am."
"Stilo Mongan cast a spell on you and almost seduced you last night, and you call that 'managing fine'?"
"I've learned my lesson," she said with as much confidence as she could muster. "And how in the world was I to know that Stilo would–or could—cast a spell on me?" She gestured toward the tavern. "I've made friends at The Snow Leopard, and for once in my life, I'm independent. I've learned I don't need to lean on anyone." She paused. "We've already discussed this, but I'll say it again. I doubt if either my stepfather or Angus Kendall would come after me. Either of them would send a servant. Even if that man had a good description of me, how could he find me in a city this size, one that has–what?–fifteen-thousand people?" She nodded with assurance, but agonized if she really was safe.
"Gold talks, you know," he said, putting her doubts into words. If either Angus or her stepfather offered a reward . . . His assurance ate away at her confidence while doubts nibbled at her mind. A reward for her capture. The prospect sent shivers across her arms and legs. She saw herself being dragged back to Ros Creda and forced to marry Angus Kendall. But no, it wouldn't happen. She wouldn't let that happen!
He placed his hand over hers, and a surge of warmth zipped from her heart to her stomach. "Let us drop the matter for now. But I want you to think seriously about moving, should the need arise. Independence is fine, and I understand why it means so much to you. But all of us, at one time or another, must lean on others."
She had to admit, if only to herself, that his argument held merit. She may have been sheltered for much of her life, but she was no longer a naive child. Not everyone is honorable; hadn't her real father said that more than once? A sudden wave of nostalgia washed over her. A hundred memories teased her brain, traces of people and places she might never see again. She missed her real father so much, this dear man who now dwelled in the Otherworld. Her mother and brother–would she ever see them again? Her village, her friends in Ros Creda, and Tillie, her horse–all these images flooded her mind and saddened her heart.
Gaderian stood, reaching his hand toward her. "Come, let's walk for a while. It's too lovely a night to sit on a bench so close to all the taverns." He smiled that smile of his that could melt the heart of a demon.
As if by mutual agreement, they headed for the meadow, hand-in-hand. She reveled in the breeze that bathed her face, the heavens bright with a full moon and millions of glimmering stars. But more than the moon or stars, Gaderian's nearness aroused her like a lover's kiss, like the beat of a thousand drums. She liked his tall, sinewy build, his erect posture and easy walk that spoke of confidence. With each step, a burning need kindled inside her, a fever in her blood, as though life had been a cold abyss up to now. With a look full of meaning, Gaderian wrapped his arm around her waist and eased her closer; her legs weak, her body heavy with passion.
After passing Aventina's Way with its magnificent structures and Talmora's Temple, they arrived at the meadow, the breeze stronger here, the waters of the Nantosuelta glimmering by the moonlight.
Needing no words, they reached for each other. They kissed hungrily, as if they'd been
separated for years, as though there would be no tomorrow. To kiss him like this, to be held in his arms–ah, this was pure rapture, his kisses magic! She tangled her fingers in his long locks, then let her hands roam to his neck and down his back, touching ever ridge and muscle, delighting in the joy she gave and received, the passion deep within her she never knew she possessed. Through the thin material of his tunic, she felt an unfamiliar pressure against her belly. With a swift awareness of the bulge, she gloried in his arousal, in his passion. He slid his hands down to her buttocks and held her tight against him, then release
d, as if taunting her, teasing her, driving her out of her mind until Gaderian was her world, his kisses all that mattered. He feathered kisses from her lips to her throat, then up to her earlobe, his mouth settling on hers again, kissing her long and fully as his fingers made sensual magic on her skin. He eased her away from him and caressed her breast; she gasped with pure pleasure as a slow heat spread throughout her body, an ache in her feminine core, a need like nothing she'd ever known. Her legs felt weak, and she knew she would slide to the ground if he didn't support her. Yet she knew they must stop now, for if they didn't, they would never be able to. With a heart-wrenching reluctance, she drew back, sorry for the agony she was causing him.
"Ah, Fianna," he said with desperation in his voice. "What are we going to do?" He whispered in her ear, "I want you so much, more than anyone I've ever wanted in my life."
Night Shadows Page 9