Flame of Fury

by Sharon Green

  The man was dressed all in black, with a hooded mask that covered most of his face. He was certainly supposed to be a headsman or executioner, and Rianne's insides chilled at the sight of him. She'd obviously made a bad mistake, but one step backward was all the retreat she was allowed. A sound came of the door behind her being closed and locked, sealing Lydia out and her in there with this - this -

  This executioner, who was slowly drawing a deadly-real sword…

  Bryan had watched the men flocking around his wife as long as he could stand it, then had stalked to the other side of the rotunda for a few moments of solitude. His temper was threatening to explode like a keg of the best-quality black powder, and he needed to reestablish control.

  But how was he supposed to do that? he demanded silently. The girl hadn't moved from Jeff's side, but the way she'd exchanged banter with all those men she had to have been enjoying herself. Well, when that was over he'd teach her a thing or two about proper behavior. Once he was done, she'd never even glance at another man…

  He stopped to lean against a wall, doing his best to rub at his eyes through the mask he wore. Never in his life had he come close to imagining what jealousy could do to a man, not until he'd begun to suffer from the disease himself. Every thought in his head was irrational, but more and more he considered them justified and reasonable. He didn't know how it could be considered reasonable to try to force a woman to love you, but that's what too much of him wanted to do.

  He took a fruit drink from the tray of a passing servant, once again wishing it could be something a lot stronger. He was heading deeper into hell with every step he took, but there didn't seem to be a way out. Even his decision to refuse to let the girl go didn't help, but he wasn't about to change his mind over that. He couldn't let her go, not and still stay sane…

  Bryan stood and sipped his drink, fighting to clear his mind for the task ahead. He applied himself to the chore with determination, and after a little while actually began to get somewhere. He had just swallowed the last of the fruit drink to celebrate that much success, when Jeff Banyon appeared in front of him.

  "Well, at last," Jeff said as he halted. "For a while I was convinced you were deliberately hiding."

  "Why would I be hiding?" Bryan asked, putting aside his emptied cup. "That's not what we're here for."

  "Exactly what I thought when I had trouble finding you," Jeff answered. "Especially when something important has happened. What is it?"

  "What are you talking about?" Bryan asked blankly, beginning to bring more attention to the conversation. "If something important has happened, you'll have to tell me. And where's my wife? You didn't let her take off alone, did you?"

  "My God, Bryan, I'm a fool!" Jeff exclaimed, his face under the false beard going pale. "I was on my way to get your wife a drink, when someone dressed like Mercury the Messenger God stopped me. He said something important had happened, and you needed to speak to me immediately. I forgot about the drink and came looking for you, but now I can see it was a trick. They were just trying to get rid of me."

  "And apparently succeeded," Bryan agreed tightly. "But don't blame yourself," he added quickly, noticing the stricken look on Banyon's face. "We knew they would try something like this, but not with either of us watching. Take me to the place where you left her."

  Jeff headed quickly through the crowd, and Bryan had no trouble keeping up. Right now he was praying hard, praying that his preparations and planning had done their job. It had been certain that the two of them would somehow be gotten out of the way in order to leave a clear run at the girl. Had he done enough? Would the enemy's tactics prove superior to his? He'd hedged his bet four times over, but he could still lose everything…

  "She is gone," Jeff growled, peering over and around the revelers. "And after she promised not to leave that spot until I got back. Let's ask those two men. They may have seen which way she went."

  Bryan looked at the men Jeff was talking about, and his heart sank. Even costumed and masked he knew them, and they shouldn't have been standing there talking to one another. They made their way closer, and as soon as the two saw him they began speaking to him together. Then they stopped abruptly and looked at one another, and Bryan interrupted rather than wait for the duet to start again.

  "I have the feeling you both had her, then lost her again," he said. "Which of you got to her first?"

  "I did," Jack answered, sounding more surprised than put out. "Are you telling me I was wasting my time protecting her from Creighton?"

  "Me?" Robert huffed indignantly. "You thought you had to protect her from me? I came to rescue her from your clutches, old son. And I had no idea I wasn't the only one doing this."

  "Neither of you was told about the other," Bryan interrupted again, his fear, he knew, showing plainly on his face. "Where did my wife go, and was she alone when she went?"

  "When we left her here, she was perfectly safe," Jack said, speaking for them both. "When the suggestion was made that we go for refreshments, it was almost done in your name. I thought you were briefly calling me off, so I went without hesitation."

  "And I," Robert agreed, exchanging glances with Jack. "She said we ought to go for the drinks 'before Machlin finds you here,' or some such, which I certainly thought was a signal. I had no idea - "

  "You said 'she,'" Bryan interrupted once again, the sick feeling inside him increasing. "I hope you don't mean you left her with Lydia Worden."

  "How did you know?" Robert demanded while Jack put a hand to his masked eyes. "And are you suggesting she's now a pariah, just because she made a mistake letting that banker buy her out of financial trouble? Really, old son, I thought you were more understanding than that."

  "Robert, I'm afraid that's not the way it went," Bryan said, wondering if he should have shared his suspicions. "I can't prove it yet, but I don't believe Tremar bought his way into Alicia's party. Sir Alastair Worden, Lydia's father, is one of your associates. I think the money she paid back on her gambling debts came from selling Haynes the details of your most recently stolen shipment. Tremar found out she'd been doing that all along, and blackmailed her into bringing him to the party. She in turn let Haynes know, and then spread her own version of the story because she expected Tremar to be killed. If she chased you two off, it's because she's still working with Haynes. You have no idea which way they went?"

  "I was too wrapped up in my own theories to keep watching," Jack responded with a lot of self-disgust. Robert simply shook his head, and Jack continued, "Why don't we separate, Creighton and I to check the gardens, you and Banyon to circulate in here. Surely someone noticed two unescorted women in such unusual gowns."

  "I don't think that will do it," Robert disagreed. "If Lydia deliberately spirited her away, she'd want to be as sure as possible that no one was watching. In her own odd way, Lydia is as efficient and capable as her father."

  "That's the way I see it," Bryan told them with a nod. "Lydia would try to be certain no one was watching, so looking for casual witnesses is a waste of time. There's only one chance, and I hope to God it works. Jeff, pass the signal that we're starting to move, and pray it isn't a lie."

  And then Bryan headed for his very last hope without waiting for a reply. But not without doing the praying he'd suggested to Jeff. What if it hadn't worked? What if he got there too late? Rianne…

  "Yes, the door has been locked," the masked executioner said to Rianne. He'd drawn his sword, but he held it down and away from her. "You can't get out and no one will be coming to your rescue, so you might as well resign yourself. Come over here, and I'll make it as quick and painless as possible."

  "That's very kind of you," Rianne replied, fighting to keep her voice even. The room was the next thing to an alcove, unfurnished and unembellished. There were two doors in addition to the one she'd come through, one to her left and one to the right. "So Lydia is one of you. I never guessed."

  "You weren't supposed to," he answered with a grin. "We knew you wo
uld never allow yourself to be left out of what was happening, so we told you your husband was up to something and suggested you keep out of it. With your sort of rebellious nature, that brought you to us faster than the best racing pair in the kingdom could have."

  "I ought to be insulted that you consider me so predictable," Rianne said, carefully taking off her mask and tossing it away along with the small silver bow she still held. "The only thing is, your predictions are somewhat off the mark. If I'd known you were waiting here, I would have come even faster than I did. I know your voice isn't the one I remember so well, but in tonight's game, where a minion is, the master won't be far away." Then she drew her sword. "It's his life I want, not yours. Tell me where he is, and I'll let you walk away."

  The man's grin had disappeared, and his hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. Rianne knew she was supposed to be terrified of him and his awful costume, but she had been braced for something like this. She would defend herself against the man if necessary, if for no other reason than to get something back for all their victims who hadn't been able to. Besides, what did she have to lose…?

  "You don't expect me to take that seriously?" the man demanded, gesturing toward the sword she held. "The suggestion that a woman can use a blade is as ridiculous as the offer you made. You should have stayed home where you belong."

  And with that he brought his sword up and attacked, clearly expecting her to be too outraged to be prepared. With a snort of disgust Rianne stood her ground, parried his rush rather than back from it, then flicked her tip in a very short backswing. The pointed steel sliced shallowly down his sword hand, and he retreated fast with a sound of pain.

  "Losing your temper during a fight also loses you the fight," Rianne lectured as she slowly pursued her opponent. "My fencing master taught me that, along with a number of other things. Are you going to answer my question, or would you rather see more of your own blood?"

  The man in black bared his teeth, but didn't speak as he came en garde. His light eyes showed fear, and not just because of the blood running down his fist, she realized; he was held so tight by the man who owned his soul that he would rather face her steel than expose him.

  This time the man's attack was in good form, as close to it as his ability allowed. Rianne parried and countered, and her opponent's parry almost didn't work. He'd had training, all right, but he wasn't as good as she was and they both knew it. He backed from her advance, sweat showing beneath his mask. He had to be in pain from the wound on his hand, but he refused to stop trying, and that disturbed Rianne. She wasn't nearly as experienced with real fights as she'd tried to make him believe, and the thought of killing someone again after the way she'd felt the first time…

  As it turned out, she needn't have worried. She was trying to convince herself to press her own attacks, when her opponent gave in to desperation. He hadn't been able to get through her guard to reach her, and must have decided he never would. The only thing left to try was strength and berserker rage, before his wounded hand became useless. He did have greater strength, and he did have the rage of fear…

  He snarled and came at her fast and hard, using the strength of his blows as the weapon to drive her back. Once he had her pressed to a wall she would be helpless, and he could kill her at his leisure. Rianne could almost see him thinking like that, and something inside her twisted darkly. He wanted to hurt her, just as he had done all those years ago… This one worked for him, and had said so…

  The hard-edged cold that took her over frightened Rianne, but only in a distant, unimportant way. An icy flame took control of her mind and body, so that rather than retreating from the now-desperate man in black, she parried, slipped aside, then lunged. Right through the middle of his chest her blade plunged, his flesh resisting but not enough. Her weapon was swallowed up to the hilt, and even his mask didn't hide the way the man's eyes bulged with knowledge of his coming death.

  He choked and lurched to one side, possibly trying to reach her before the end, instead accomplishing a different end. His own forward motion had helped to impale him, and for the second time Rianne was unable to withdraw her weapon. He pulled it from her grip as he went down sideways, and that was when the hands grabbed her from behind.

  Thinking it was Lydia, Rianne immediately began to struggle in an effort to free herself. But the hands closed tighter with a grip no woman could have, and she was pulled around to see that it was not the door to the hallway that had opened. It was the door to the left of the one she'd come through, and the masked man who held her wore the toga of a Roman senator, complete with laurel wreath.

  "How dare you do that?" he quavered, as though she'd broken a precious porcelain cup or ruined a rug. His accent was that of someone educated to an upper-class position, rather than one born to it. "You'll regret it, girl, you'll certainly regret it!"

  With that he thrust her toward the open door, apparently not caring how much his grip hurt. Rianne fought with fright as strongly as with her captor, but with the former she was more successful. Her sword was gone and she couldn't free herself, but something in the way of a plan would come. She'd sworn never to be helpless in front of that man again, and no matter what it took she wouldn't be…

  Where that first room was small and starkly unfinished, the second made up for it. Three or four times the size of the first, it had wall drapes in purple and gold, with many matching brocade-covered couches ranged all around. Most of those couches held men dressed in togas and masks, replicas of the one who pushed her forward. They seemed to be reclaiming their places after having stood, and Rianne was certain many of them had witnessed the end of her sword fight.

  Which would be one reason for the way they muttered and cursed and reached unsteadily for golden cups. Her victory must have badly unnerved them, just the way bullies were usually disturbed. They'd thought no one would be able to oppose them, that they could do whatever they were doing in complete, superior safety. They certainly must have been assured of that by their leader, the biggest and most cowardly bully of them all…

  And that one lounged on a dais at the far side of the room, his couch larger than any of the others and also decorated with gold. Behind him to either side stood men who were almost naked, except for the very large feather fans they held. He himself was dressed as a masked Augustus Caesar, his toga embroidered with silver and gold. The cup he held gleamed with jewels to rival the ones he wore on his fingers. As Rianne was forced closer he put the cup aside, slowly stood up, then stepped down from the dais.

  "I see the years in between have made you forget," he said, and that very soft voice coupled with those eyes made Rianne want to shiver violently. Then he looked at the man who had brought her to him. "What did she do out there, beguile my executioner into bowing over her hand? I wouldn't put it past the useless fool, and then he'd wonder how he'd been hit on the head. The so-called nobility! When he wakes up, tell him - "

  "Sir, she killed him!" her captor blurted with a gulp, obviously hating to break the news. "I saw it all, but I still have no idea what she did! He'd been taught how to use a sword, and she - "

  "She blinded him with beauty, then took him unawares!" Haynes snapped, close to fury. "A woman has neither the courage nor the ability to make herself a real threat to a man, and you should know that. All she can do is give him trouble with words, but that's easily stopped. This one will never speak out of turn again."

  Then he turned his head to Rianne. "You've grown into more than I imagined you would, girl, and that will keep you alive for a while. I once promised you something if you spoke out against me, but now that you're no longer a child I've decided on something else. I'm going to take you with me when I leave here tonight, so we'll be able to discuss the matter later."

  "You flatter yourself if you think I'd discuss anything with the likes of you," Rianne said coldly, holding her voice steady only at great cost. "Go ahead and make all the decisions you care to, continuing the pretense that you're someone important. A
ll I know is, you're a lot shorter than I remembered."

  And she smiled with all the amusement she could muster, stabbing as brutally at the man as he had once done with her. He was thin and slight; the top of his head came a good two inches below hers, and she wearing no more than sandals. Realization of the truth of that fact struck Haynes like a slap, and his face went white as madness blazed from his eyes. He tore his mask off and hurled it away, and then fingers like stone were digging into her arms.

  "You would dare?" he demanded in a hiss, the words spraying with spittle from his lips. "You would speak so to me? Did you learn nothing from the lesson I so carefully taught?"

  Those hands shook her hard, adding to the pain of fingers dug deep, but that wasn't the worst of it. The sight of that face pulled Rianne back, back to the nightmare past, to the terror and agony she'd lived through then. Despite everything she could do the trembling began, the need to mewl out her fright a shuddering storm twisting within. Her throat closed against the need to scream, nearly choking her just as it had back then. She would die rather than give him the satisfaction… But please, please, not the way the poor man back then had died…

  And then those eyes of madness filled with triumph, telling her that he knew. He could see the fear she refused to voice, and simply knowing it was there was his victory. He began to laugh, the sound telling her how alone she was in a roomful of people. She'd let herself be lured away from those who would have helped her, and now she was just as alone as she'd been in a house full of people… No one would help her, not even herself… Once again he would do exactly as he wanted to do, and no one would stop him…

  The familiar, heavy cold of abandonment began to wrap its cruel tendrils around her again, this time like a shroud. Rianne stood unmoving in the grip of the man who had tortured her as a child, wishing desperately that she could cry. She hadn't understood back then, and he didn't understand now. It wasn't the pain that brought terror and deepest despair, it was the loneliness. Having no one who cared, no one who would open their arms to her, offering a haven of safety and love…