“Aye, Your Grace,” the servant replied.
He knew the Modarthan bodyguards Warwyck had assigned to Antonia would be accompanying them to Colton. There was no getting around that. But if all went as he hoped, they would not pose a problem.
As he waited for his daughter to join him, he paced the foyer with an eye glued to the clock. It was a two-hour ride to the tavern and he wanted to be there ahead of schedule. When his Sargent-at-Arms appeared, he took Arbra aside.
“Get word to Gen. Clay that Antonia will be with me today. Tell him to have a contingent of his men ready to waylay us when we leave the tavern.”
Arbra frowned. “Waylay you, Your Grace?” he questioned. “May I ask why?”
“To kidnap my daughter,” the baron said. “What better way to draw Warwyck from Blackthorn? As soon as the sun sets, he will be after her. With any luck at all, the general will be able to capture the vampire. We will keep him prisoner until his father recalls the Modarthan troops and they leave our world.”
“Are you sure about this, Your Grace?” Arbra asked. “It seems a risky venture. Begging your pardon but the general wants the vamp dead. Keeping him alive is not high on his agenda.”
“I can control the general,” the baron said. “Just do what I tell you and hopefully within the week, Volakis will be free of foreign rule!”
* * * * *
Marc shook Garrick hard, yelling at him to wake. When his friend’s eyes snapped open but started to close again, Marc shook him harder still.
“Damn it, wake up!”
The urgency in Marc’s voice finally penetrated the fog blanketing Garrick’s mind and he sat up, shaking off the grip on his arm. “What?” he snarled.
“She’s been taken,” Marc told him.
Still numb from his deep sleep, wasn’t making the connection. “Who?”
“Your woman!” Marc shouted. “The rebels have your woman!”
That got his full attention and blew away the fog. He threw back the covers and shot from the bed, reaching for his pants. “When?”
“She left the keep around ten this morn,” Marc said and when Garrick turned on him, he held up a hand. “I was abed same as you!”
“Why the hell did she leave this keep and who the fuck allowed her to go?”
“She went with her father and her guard went with her,” Marc said. “Lieutenant McAvoy was in charge of today’s detail and sent good, reliable men with her.”
“Who gave him permission to allow her to go anywhere?” Garrick bellowed as he snatched up his shirt and rammed an arm into the sleeve.
“He said the baron told him he had your permission,” Marc told him. “McAvoy had no reason to disbelieve him.”
“I’ll have McAvoy’s guts for garters!” Garrick snarled as he left his shirt unbuttoned and went for his boots, jerking them on with brutal snaps. “What time is it now?”
“A little after five,” Marc replied.
Garrick stilled. “She’s been gone seven hours and you’re just now alerting me?”
“I was abed,” Marc reminded him. “Oran was abed. Neither of us knew of it until we rose. McAvoy came to me because he was concerned the baron and your lady had yet to return. It’s a two-hour ride to Colton and two back. If he went there on business that could last an hour, maybe two. They would have stopped for the noon meal. She might have asked to go shopping. Who the hell knows what a woman might do? At any rate, that would account for the seven hours. As I was coming up to wake you, the baron rode in with news of your lady’s kidnapping.”
“Where is the baron now?”
“In his study. He appears shaken but I’m not buying it. I see no real concern for the Lady Antonia’s safety lurking in his eyes. If anything there is smugness there. He knows who took her and might have been a party to the abduction.”
“I know who has her the same as you do!” Garrick snarled. “And aye, he had a hand in it. He fucking turned her over to Clay!”
“That would be my guess,” Marc agreed.
“I’ll make the bastard sorry he handed my woman over to that rebel scum. Arrest him and every man who went with him to Colton and lock their asses in the dungeon. I’ll deal with him later. Have my horse saddled and brought around.”
“How many men are we going to need?” Marc asked, falling into step beside his friend as Garrick headed for the door.
“Get me the best twenty men we have. I also want search parties out looking for her.”
“I’ve already seen to that,” Marc said as he opened the door for Garrick.
“And no one is to enter or leave this keep until further notice. Is that understood?”
“Aye,” Marc agreed.
“Make life here as bad as possible for them. I’ll teach the Blackthorns not to fuck with me!”
Stomping down the stairs like an angry bull, Garrick caught sight of the Lady Maripose standing in the doorway of the solar. She opened her mouth to speak to him but he ignored her.
“Arrest her ass too,” he snapped.
“Consider it done,” Marc acknowledged.
Riding out into the frigid night air twenty minutes later, Garrick was so enraged he could barely draw breath. His hands were tight on the reins and his mount had learned early on in the venture not to sidestep, balk or throw its hooves. The man on its back was in no mood for rebellion.
Using their excellent night vision, Garrick and Marc surveyed the ground between the keep and the tavern. They woke the proprietor and interrogated him, his wife and servants until each of them was in tears. What he learned angered Garrick even more.
“He was waiting here for them?” he growled at the tavern owner.
“Aye, m-milord!” the man stammered. He was being held by the lapels of his bathrobe and his feet were a good foot off the sticky plank floor.
“And did my lady seem surprised to see him?”
“She l-looked fr-frightened at f-first then p-pleased!” the man replied, his teeth chattering.
“Pleased?” Garrick yelled. He shook the man hard enough to make the poor man’s head wobble on his neck. “Define pleased!”
“She em-embraced him and k-kissed him, m-milord!” was the squeaky answer.
Marc reached out to put a restraining hand on Garrick’s shoulder for he feared his friend would toss the tavern owner across the room.
“Calm down,” Marc advised.
“Kissed him where?” Garrick said in a near whisper. “The mouth? The cheek? Where?”
“Ch-cheek, milord!” the man whimpered. “His ch-cheek.”
“They’ve been friends since childhood,” Marc reminded Garrick. “Naturally she would greet him with affection.”
Garrick paid no attention to Marc. “Did she leave with him?”
“N-no, milord. He l-left f-first. The b-baron and the L-lady Antonia ate then d-departed.”
“You know there is an edict out that orders anyone who sees Alyxdair Clay to report his whereabouts immediately, do you not?” Garrick asked, shaking the man again.
“Aye, m-milord!”
“Yet you didn’t.”
When the man choked on his answer, Garrick did exactly what Marc feared he would. He threw the man across the room but not as hard as he could have. The tavern owner landed in a heap with a shrill yelp but was not unduly hurt.
“Get the woman and the servants out of here then burn this fucking inn to the ground. Take the owner into custody,” Garrick ordered, turning away.
“Rick…” Marc began.
“Burn it to the ground!” Garrick bellowed.
Marc drew in a long breath. He motioned one of his men to arrest the tavern’s owner.
“Milord, please!” the man’s wife said, coming over to fall at his feet. “Please don’t let Gen. Warwyck hang my husband!”
“He’s not going to hang, wench,” Marc said. He motioned her up. “Fetch anything you want to save then get out. I’ll give you ten minutes before I obey the general’s orders.”
Marc found Garrick in the tavern courtyard. He was standing with his hands on his hips, his head down.
“Is it really necessary to burn their home?” he asked.
“He is a rebel sympathizer. He’s lucky I don’t hang him.” He looked up at Marc. “Don’t you fucking ever question my decisions again, Zoltán.”
“I’m trying to be the voice of your conscience, Rick,” Marc told him. “I know you’re angry but—”
“They need to be taught they don’t fuck with me!” Garrick screamed at him loud enough that the windows in the tavern shook. Fury shot from his eyes in red sparks to pin Marc where he stood.
“All right,” Marc said in a calm voice, holding out his hands with a placating gesture.
Fifteen minutes later Garrick’s face was lit hellishly by the roaring fire that consumed the tavern. His eyes had turned crimson red and the flames were mirrored in their depths. His lips were clamped together tightly as he watched the roof collapse, oblivious to the sobbing of the tavern’s occupants.
“Let’s go,” he finally told Marc. He strode over to his mount and vaulted into the saddle. He dug his heels into the stallion’s flanks and galloped away.
“Where is he going?” Oran asked.
“Hell if I know,” Marc said. He ordered the tavern owner taken to Blackthorn then mounted his horse.
* * * * *
Shivering Antonia looked longingly at the wide hearth that contained only long-dead ashes. It was bitterly cold and though she was wrapped securely in a thick coat over which had been flung a thicker blanket, her teeth were chattering. Her toes were numb in her boots and she could no longer feel her nose. Adding to her discomfort was a rumbling belly that reminded her it had been nearly twelve hours since she’d eaten.
“I’d light the fire if I could,” Alyx told her. “But I don’t want to lead him here with the scent of smoke. I want him to work at finding you.”
“Provided he is looking,” she mumbled. She was fairly sure her husband was very angry at her for having left the safety of the keep.
“He’ll come for you,” Alyx said. “And when he does, I’ll kill him.”
“Don’t count on it,” Antonia told him. She was conflicted in not wanting her husband murdered or her friend hanged. If there was any way to save the both of them, she would do it.
“He’s not immortal, Tonia,” Alyx said. “He can be killed.”
“So can you,” she said quietly.
“Not going to happen,” he replied with confidence. “And when he’s dead, I will claim you for my own as I should have long ago.”
She shook her head, knowing it would do no good to argue with him. His tunnel vision where she was concerned was disturbing. Telling him that Garrick was the only man she’d ever love, the only husband she would ever have wouldn’t mean anything to him. He wouldn’t believe her because it wouldn’t be what he wanted to hear.
“Why did he lock you in your room?” he asked. “What possible transgression could you have committed to warrant such a punishment?”
Antonia sighed. She saw no harm in telling him.
“When he discovered there were passageways behind the walls, he went in to collect the spies he knew were there. I came to warn you to leave the shelter. He smelled my perfume near the shelter entrance and accused me of betraying him.” She lowered her head. “I didn’t see it as betrayal.”
“Did he beat you?”
She looked up. “Of course not. He would never do such a thing.”
“You think not?” he sneered.
“I know not, Alyx,” she stated, looking him in the eye.
“He will,” he said. “He’s a beast. It’s only a matter of time before he turns on you.”
Digging her fingernails into her palms, Antonia refrained from defending Garrick. She’d be wasting her time for she knew Alyx would never change his mind regarding the Modarthan. Instead, she gazed out the window of the cabin to which she’d been taken—blindfolded—and watched the Moon rising. Just as Alyx had said, Garrick would come for her. She could only pray the blood that was sure to be shed would not cost her as dearly as she suspected it would.
Chapter Nine
“There are five guards surrounding the cabin,” Marc told Garrick. “Two on the ridge there. One at each end of the cabin, back in the trees and one at the entrance. They are all armed with laser rifles.”
“And inside the cabin?”
“Two guards, Clay and your lady-wife,” Marc replied.
“All right. Take out the outside guards as quietly as possible and replace them with our men,” Garrick ordered. “I’ll deal with the two inside.”
“He’ll be expecting you, Rick,” Marc said softly.
“Aye but not in the way he thinks,” Garrick said with a grin.
“Be careful,” Marc advised. He watched his friend blend into the shadows then heard a sound that made him chuckle. “Okay, men, let’s do this!”
Antonia had nothing to do but daydream as she sat hunched against the wall. There was no furniture in the cabin that looked as though it had been deserted for years. A thick coat of dust covered the floor and windowsills. Cobwebs clung to the corners. The musty smell of mildew and rotting wood was overpowering. Staring blindly at the blackened hearth she thought she saw something fall down the chimney to land in the compacted pile of ashes. She shifted her position and leaned toward the opening.
She frowned. There appeared to be debris falling into the ashes. She lifted her eyebrows as she heard scratching coming from the chimney. Slowly she turned her head to look at Alyx and was relieved he and one of the two men who were guarding her were playing cards, their backs to her.
Once more she heard the scratching, scrambling sound and a thick piece of caked soot tumbling into the ashes. She stared at it for a moment then got to her feet, drawing Alyx’s immediate attention.
“What?” he asked, suspicion entering his voice.
“I need to stretch,” she said. “My rump was getting numb.”
She moved so she was blocking his view of the hearth. The scratching sound had stopped as soon as she spoke. She took a few steps away from the fireplace then stamped her feet.
“Who’s winning?” she asked, continuing to pound her feet on the floor.
“Stop doing that,” Alyx snapped.
“I’m cold,” she said and behind her she heard the scratching start up again. “You want me to get frostbite?”
“I want you to stop that ruckus,” Alyx told her.
She felt the rush of motion before she heard the sound. Something shot past her from out of the chimney and her mouth dropped open as she was buffeted by the snap of wings against her cheek. As she watched, a bat streaked straight toward the man standing guard at the door. She shrieked for she was terrified of the night creatures and slammed her back against the wall, prepared to draw the blanket over her head to keep the evil thing away from her. Its appearance had not been what she’d expected.
The bat struck the man’s head and dug its talons into his cheek, angling its pointed head to sink its fangs into the guard’s neck. Shrieking wildly, trying to pull the creature from his face, the guard stumbled against the only door.
“Kill it!” Alyx shouted at the other guard who was staring wide-eyed at the spectacle.
The piercing shrieks of the hapless guard suddenly changed to mindless screaming as the bat metamorphosed into a tall, well-built man whose fangs were locked savagely into a jugular vein.
Stunned by what they were seeing, the other guard and Alyx scrambled back, each drawing the blade at his thigh. The loud sound of slurping as the dying man was drained of his life’s blood held them immobile.
“Warwyck,” Antonia heard Alyx whisper as the night visitor released its victim and turned.
Garrick’s eyes were crimson and the blood dripping from his fangs and down his chin gave him the look of a monster. His hands no longer bore any resemblance to those of a human. The black, wickedly curved claws were tipped with gl
istening scarlet stains and pieces of flesh.
Alyx shoved the remaining guard forward to put a barrier between him and the fierce beast. The guard yelped in surprise and struck out with his dagger but the sharp blade was knocked carelessly aside. Sharp black claws slashed across the man’s throat to send fountains of arterial blood spraying as his head fell to the floor and bounced.
Antonia felt bile rush up her throat as her horrified gaze followed the rolling head with its staring eyes and opened mouth. When it landed against the far wall, she saw the eyes blink and felt her legs give way beneath her. She sank to the floor in a heap, the blanket falling from her shoulders as she watched her husband stalking Alyx.
Alyx’s eyes were wide with fear but he held his dagger in front of him with a steady hand. “I am going to gut you,” he threatened.
Garrick’s slow, merciless smile as he came toward his enemy made the hair stand up on Antonia’s arms.
“You are welcome to try,” she heard him say in a voice she’d never heard from him before. It was a gravelly, menacing tone and it frightened her.
One of them—if not both—were going to die, she thought and she could not allow that to happen. She loved her husband more than she could ever admit but she also loved Alyx. She didn’t want either of them to be hurt. As they circled one another, looking for an opening in the other’s defenses, she got slowly to her feet.
“Please don’t do this,” she asked. She took a step toward them, her hand out.
“Keep back!” Alyx warned. He lunged at Garrick but her husband jumped back, away from the sweep of Clay’s blade.
“I’m begging you,” Antonia pleaded with them. “I don’t want to see either of you get hurt.”
“Then leave,” Garrick said. “This bastard is a dead man.” He swiped his claws viciously, catching Alyx from left shoulder to right hip.
“Son of a bitch!” Alyx shouted, jumping back from the assault. The cuts hadn’t hit flesh because of the thickness of his uniform coat but did leave four deep diagonal tears in the fabric.
The Crimson Lord’s dagger was drawn from the sheath strapped to his thigh. He flexed his fingers—now devoid of claws—around the hilt with the double-sided blade pointed down in the traditional knife fighters’ grip. He crooked the index and middle fingers of his other hand to motion Alyx to come at him.
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