The shadows rose up from the darker corners of the yard, stepping out from among the foliage and bushes. There were at least three of them. Sydney didn’t have time to spot if there were any more of them, because they moved fast.
Too fast for humans, Sydney realized belatedly.
A hand grabbed her throat and squeezed, stealing her breath and her voice at the same time. She choked.
“I don’t want her dead. Not yet.”
Sydney froze, and not because of the hand on her throat, which eased off enough to let her breathe. She froze because she knew the voice.
The figure that stepped in front of her was skinny and short, just as Sydney remembered. Tira wore black and a balaclava, yet her eyes were exposed and that was all Sydney needed to confirm it was her. She would know those angry, blank eyes anywhere.
The others with Tira grabbed her arms and held her still.
“Where is Taylor Yates?” Tira hissed. She pressed a knife against Sydney’s throat.
Sydney almost laughed. Where did the woman think Taylor was? She had come all the way to Spain to find her and had found Sydney first. Taylor would be somewhere nearby. Had Tira lost all reason? And where had she come from? She had been abandoned somewhere in the tenth century.
Tira tore off the balaclava. She was completely unchanged. She still looked undernourished. “I know she is here,” Tira said quickly, “but this palace of yours is too big to quarter before the direct security alarm brings the policia here in force. I want to know exactly where she is, right now.”
“Cyrus left you in the tenth century,” Sydney said. Her voice was bodiless, because the fingers were pressing in on her voice box, sapping its power.
“Cyrus was stupid and died. I didn’t. I had to live through every tiresome war and revolution, plague and famine in history, all over again, until I could find a traveler. It’s that woman’s fault. Tell me where she is.”
The knife pricked a little deeper.
Sydney weighed up her options. Tira wasn’t interested in her, except as a means to find Taylor. She would kill Sydney once she told her where Taylor was, even if Sydney lied. She would most certainly kill Sydney if she didn’t speak. Tira’s fury radiated from her like a furnace, giving off heat and energy. A woman driven like that didn’t listen to reason.
“Tell me!” Tira hissed again, pressing harder with the knife.
Sydney could feel the edge of the blade against her skin. It was all she could feel. The blade felt very sharp. A little more pressure was all Tira needed to cut her jugular. Any sharp move Sydney made would produce the same result. Tira could move faster than Sydney and would react faster, too.
There was one place Sydney could go to where Tira could not reach her. Sydney didn’t consider any further than that. Speed would save her now.
She closed her eyes and jumped.
* * * * *
Marit told Rafe Sydney was out walking in the garden. He was pleased she had recovered enough to start moving. Sydney was a physical person—movement was her solution to most problems in life.
He hurried after her, sure that she would head for the koi pond first. While he loved having a houseful of dear friends, at times it was good to get away from them all, too. He would walk beside Sydney for a while, breathe in the cold air and enjoy her silence.
He reached the top of the stairs down to the bottom tier just in time to see five dark figures surrounding Sydney. Two of them had her by the arms, a third had a knife to her neck.
Rafe’s throat closed up as Sydney slumped to the ground between them. Then he saw the face of the person who had been standing in front of her. The one holding the knife.
Tira.
The rage came up from his toes, shredding all thought and emotion. It triggered him into reacting. The cry that came from his mouth was inhuman.
The five dark shapes on the path below spun to look. It didn’t matter. They were dead whether they had warning or not.
Rafe fell on them.
* * * * *
Alex jerked upright as the inhuman sound whispered through his mind, barely heard except as a quiver of notes on the air.
Brody looked up, too. Veris turned to look out the windows.
Taylor uncurled her legs and put her feet on the floor. “What on earth was that?” she breathed.
“What was what?” Marit asked, putting her knife and fork down on the tray next to her plate.
Zoric looked from one to the other of them, puzzled. He wasn’t asking useless questions, either.
Alex glanced around the room. The twins were in their rooms, grounded for the night and probably happy to be out of Veris’ sight, too. The only other person not here whose location he didn’t know was…
“Rafe,” he said shortly and scrambled to his feet. He pushed the sliding door aside with an impatient thrust and crossed the patio, heading for the front gardens, already moving fast. He heard Veris’ and Brody’s heavy steps behind him. Possibly, Taylor, too.
By the time he reached the first set of stairs next to the negative-edge pool, he was running, faster than he should. His pulse was thudding in his temples. He didn’t know what it was he feared, yet he trusted his instincts.
There were four terraces and the bottom one was the smallest. When he reached the third terrace, Rafe appeared, climbing the steps up from the bottom one.
Alex came to a halt, shock slithering through him. His gut actually clamped in a very human reaction to Rafe’s appearance.
Rafe’s face was covered in blood. There was not an inch of clear skin anywhere. It dripped down his neck and had soaked into the white collarless shirt he was wearing. There were more splatters on his shirt.
As he climbed, his arms came into view. He was carrying Sydney, who laid limp in his arms.
“Gods above,” Brody muttered.
“Spread out,” Veris said sharply. “Secure the boundaries. Zoric, Marit, back inside. Now. Marit, make sure the twins stay put.”
“They’re all dead,” Rafe said. His voice was ghostly and strange.
Alex’s heart squeezed again. What had happened here? He hurried to Rafe and tried to take Sydney from him. “Let me,” he said gently.
“I killed them,” Rafe whispered. “All of them.”
Alex eased Sydney from his grip. “Who, Rafe?” He relaxed as he heard Sydney’s heart beating and felt the warmth of her in his arms. The blood on her was not hers, either. He knew her scent too well to mistake it. He looked at Rafe. “Who did this?”
“Tira.”
Alex froze.
“Shit,” Brody breathed. “Taylor, go back inside. Lock yourself in.” He headed for the bottom terrace, moving fast.
“She’s dead,” Rafe said. “I tore her heart out.” He lifted his bloody hands and looked at them. “It was easy…”
Veris came over to them and studied Rafe. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was in shock,” he said quietly.
“Psychological shock,” Alex murmured. “All but the physical symptoms.”
Brody climbed back up the steps, still at vampire speed. “All vampires,” he said quietly to Veris. “A fuck-ton of ashes and this.” He held out a bloody knife. “Rafe was never a soldier, not even unofficially,” he added, studying at Rafe.
Veris turned to Alex. “Take them inside, Alex. Brody and I will secure the grounds. How well do you know the police? Would they patrol the area tonight just because you saw a shadow?”
“I’ll think of something that will bring them out,” Alex said.
Taylor hadn’t moved, despite Brody’s command that she go inside. Now she stirred. “I can phone and pretend I’m Sydney and I’m home alone and jumpy.” She gripped Rafe’s arm, despite its bloody state. “Come on, Rafe. You need a shower.”
Rafe nodded and let Taylor lead him back up to the house.
Alex followed, with Sydney in his arms.
* * * * *
The time-plane was becoming more familiar and comforting each time Sydney ventured here, only no
w she was afraid to let herself fall back toward her home point, for Tira was there.
Here on the time-plane she didn’t have a heart or a body to hold it, yet she could still feel the frantic beat of it in her mind. Don’t be afraid, she reminded herself.
Where was safe? Where could she go?
There was a tugging behind her, a silent call. It was the gentle, soothing lullaby she had felt and heard before. This time, she let herself turn and move toward it and the place-and-time rewarded her by pulling harder, drawing her down to it and enfolding her in warm arms….
Mişr
Chapter Seven
The falling sensation continued, even as white light dazzled her. Sydney threw her hands out to save herself, wincing at the brightness. Her forward momentum was too great. She fell and braced herself for a hard impact.
She landed in sand. What was more, the sand wasn’t level. It was on a sharp slope and instantly, she rolled. Layers of cloth tangled around her face and arms and legs, spraying the fine sand all over her. The sand beneath her was hot. The heat was everywhere, including the air itself.
There was a shout, from somewhere below her, accompanied by a jingle of metal upon metal that sounded familiar.
Sydney spread her arms and feet, trying to halt her rolling fall. She slowed and dug in her feet. She came to a halt, clinging to the sandy slope, then turned her face so she wasn’t breathing in the fine grains.
She was on a sand dune so white it was blinding. Ahead of her was another dune, towering up so high she couldn’t see anything beyond, just a patch of washed out blue sky. She had managed to halt herself only a few feet from the bottom of this dune.
At the foot of the dune was a white horse, its coat daubed with rust-colored spots and splashes, and a bright striped blanket over its back. As she looked at it, the horse tossed its head and snorted. The metal pieces of the halter clinked together softly. That was the sound she had first heard.
The man sitting on the horse was staring at her. He had a sword out, one with a slight curve to it. The blade was covered in blood. So was the man’s turban and jacket.
The eyes above the trimmed beard and high cheek bones were familiar.
“Alex,” she breathed.
He jumped down from the horse, the sword still in his hand, and strode toward her. He was wearing a long green tunic over boots, tied with a blue sash and his gaze held no recognition at all. He climbed the lower slope of the dune as if it was level ground, bent and grabbed her arm and hauled her up. “Come, spy,” he said shortly and yanked her back down the slope.
There were too many sensations to process, too many questions to which she needed answers to even begin to know how to react or what to say. She struggled to pick up the long hem of the dress she was wearing, then realized there was a layer beneath that, too. She yanked them both up with her spare hand.
The sliding climb down to the flat sand brought her attention to something bouncing off her back. Her hair, she suspected. Whenever she jumped back in time, it got longer.
When they reached his horse, Alex kept his grip on her arm and unhooked a length of coiled rope from the strap of the saddle bag. He tied her wrists together with the end of it, then pushed his sword into the scabbard hanging beneath the sash, apparently unconcerned about the bloody state of the blade. He climbed back onto the horse and tugged her forward. “Come.” He kicked the horse forward and it moved off at a sedate pace, one that she could keep up with if she moved fast.
They were in a valley between two towering dunes. At the end, the slope was easier and Alex’s horse took it with little hops and jumps, the hind legs working hard. Sydney had even more trouble with the stope. Her feet were in some sort of shoes with virtually no sole or tread and she could feel the heat through them.
The sun was blazing down on them, too. The heat was oppressive. Just the short walk to the end of the valley had made sweat pop on the back of her neck and forehead. She wore no veil or any sort of headdress, which seemed odd. Back in time, headgear was critically important in almost every culture.
She tripped and nearly fell. Only the rope around her wrists kept her on her feet. Her tugging made Alex hiss and yank at it, dragging her forward. “Keep up, woman. You cannot delay your fate, now.”
“I just can’t walk fast in this heat,” Sydney explained.
He turned his head to look at her, his eyes narrowing. “You know my language?”
“Does that bother you?” she asked curiously, breathing hard. What language was it? When was this? What year? What place? Deserts peppered Alex’s personal history—the bits she knew of it, anyway. She could be anywhere from Jordan to the Iberian peninsula. She discounted Australia, even though he had lived there for years. The clothes were wrong. The dress she was wearing was long and flowing, with no shaping other than what her hips and breasts gave it. There were wide sleeves over the top of tight, narrow ones in a fabric that she suspected was linen. That suggested the middle ages.
She needed more information than this sea of sand dunes was giving her.
Alex pulled her into walking without answering her question. They climbed to the top of the minor slope and finally, Sydney could see beyond the narrow valley.
There was another wide valley ahead, with small dunes dotting it. That wasn’t what made her gasp, though. The entire valley was filled with horses and people. Men, many of them dead or injured and writhing on the ground, while other riders on horses moved among them with spears. She watched a rider skewer one of the wounded, who grew still.
This was a battleground. A recent one. That was why Alex’s sword had been covered in blood.
He rode forward, dragging her behind him, heading down into the valley. Sydney fought to keep up and not be yanked off her feet. She had a feeling he would just as happily haul her on her back if she fell. He had called her a spy. She was beginning to understand why he thought she was one. Whoever Alex was fighting with had just won this battle and none of the fighters she could see were white. They were all the same olive color as Alex, or even darker, including the vanquished foes lying on the sand.
Alex headed for a tight group of men and horses. Sydney expected him to halt just outside the circle. Instead, he pushed his way through with sharp, low words, his horse nudging warriors and other horses aside. Sydney was forced to follow him into the center of the circle and one by one, every head turned to look at her.
Alex jumped down to the ground with the same easy swing of his legs as before. He gathered up the rope and pulled her toward him, as everyone watched.
“I found a second spy, Rashid,” he announced. His hand landed on the back of her shoulder and he shoved her forward.
Sydney staggered into the very center of the tight ring of men and horses.
Just in front of her was a man who was as tall as Alex. His eyes were the same shape and color, yet they were not quite symmetrical. One was larger than the other. The man seemed to squint through the smaller one, which gave him an odd look that was unsettling. He was as bloody as the rest of the men around him.
“Two of them, brother?” the man, Rashid, said. He sounded surprised. He turned on one heel. “You have not been honest with us, Christian.”
Sydney drew in a sharp breath, only then noticing another prisoner. He hung between the hands of two warriors. He was white, his hair a light honey blond and he wore a tunic over chainmail. The tunic had once been pale blue, but was now dirty, torn and bloody.
Alex repeated the man’s words, this time in a different language. Sydney didn’t know what the language was, yet she understood what Alex was saying.
The man lifted his head. Pale eyes focused on Sydney. “I don’t know her. She is a stranger to me.” He spoke with a weak voice in the same language Alex had just used.
Alex interpreted accurately.
“It is too large a coincidence that two strangers should be wandering the Erg just as Naravas wages his war against the Caliph,” Rashid said.
When Alex
repeated his brother’s words, the knight struggled. “I am Etienne of Honfleur, sworn to the service of King William of England. I am a loyal, honorable subject of the King!”
Etienne of Honfleur. Sydney stared at him. Now she knew exactly where she was and the approximate year. Etienne was the knight who would convince Alex to leave Egypt and travel to Jerusalem to seek out Peter the Hermit and convert to Christianity.
Etienne stared at Alex, as if he was trying to convince him through sheer willpower. “I wander in peace,” he said brokenly. “I am unarmed.”
Alex nodded. “Perhaps. Is your companion so peaceful?” He turned to look at Sydney. “Search her for weapons.”
Many hands held her, some of them in places that had nothing to do with holding her still. They reached beneath her overdress, groping. Her breasts were squeezed and she kicked backward. Hard. Her foot connected with someone’s shin, only her shoe was insubstantial and all it did was make the men laugh.
There was a more ominous mutter as a knife was withdrawn from beneath her overdress—her kirtle, she recalled. The knife was thrown to land buried hilt-deep in the sand next to Alex’s brother. Rashid picked it up and examined it. He held it out so Etienne could see it.
Etienne understood what the knife meant. He struggled again. “I tell you, I do not know her! I am a servant of God. I mean you no harm!”
Rashid listened to Alex’s interpretation and nodded.
Sydney didn’t like the look on Rashid’s face. She had met more than one psychopath in her former work as a cop and detective. That type were rarely roused to great anger. Very little touched their emotions, which was why they leaned toward the harsher acts like murder to evoke something in their hearts and minds. Rashid had the same calm expression as the serial killers Sydney had interviewed.
As Rashid’s fingers tightened on the hilt of the knife, Sydney spoke loudly. “Have mercy on the man! He is a servant of the Christian god. He is harmless!”
There was a soft gasp from the men around her. Were they shocked that she could speak their language? Or that a woman dared speak aloud among them? Both, most likely.
Kiss Across Seas Page 6