by Lori Devoti
Someone knocked at the chamber door, from about a hundred feet away. The sound reverberated through the chamber.
“Come in?”
Her hesitant whisper felt loud and distinct. It must have been easily heard, if the heavy handle turning down on the door was an indicator. Four women bustled in; one carrying a tray, another holding what looked like a gown, while the last lugged an affair of poles.
“Good morn, Miss.”
Jolie nodded and pulled the satin cover to her chin and practiced ignoring the blood smears all over it. Blood. Dark brown and dried. It had been a hell of a night. Obviously.
“My name is Nancy. This is Agnes, Faith, and Emily. Emily? The tray.”
Jolie watched as the pole thing turned into a bedside table with a platform that would go over the mattress, and right atop her lap. Agnes placed the tray on it. Jolie was having breakfast in bed. The luxury stunned her. The cover was lifted, displaying bacon, scones, a fruit cup, possible yogurt, a cute pot of honey, and what smelled like coffee. All of which oddly turned her stomach.
“His Grace said not to waken you until after one. Well…it’s after one, and we were beginning to get worried.”
“In the afternoon?” Jolie’s voice rose. She’d missed her weekend class. Actually she’d missed two of them.
“His Grace said it was for the best. I’ve brought you a nice bit of brunch. And I’ll just give these drapes a bit of a heave.”
Light flooded into the room, causing immediate pain. Jolie cried and ducked beneath the covers.
“Oh dear. His Grace did leave instruction that you might be light sensitive. I’ll put the sun-blocking shades down. It’ll just take a moment…. There. The second duke suffered terribly from that condition. He had these put in every room. ‘Tis done now, Miss. You can come out.”
Jolie peeked.
“Why am I light sensitive?” she whispered.
“I’m sure you’ll need to ask His Grace that.”
“Where will I find him?”
“You’ll need to ask his man that.”
“Barnes?”
“Oh my, no. Barnes is his driver. You need to find Evan MacGruder. Evan’s His Grace’s personal man.”
“Like…a valet?” Jolie took a stab at understanding the workings of a high society titled Scotsman.
“More a man of all things. I’ll tell him to expect you. After you’ve eaten. Or would you rather bathe first?”
“A bath sounds pleasant. But…where are my clothes?”
“His Grace gave instruction to the laundress. I’m certain they’ll be ready by evening. There’s a wardrobe full of gowns for you to choose from. In the meantime, we’ve brought you a dressing gown.”
It was a robe. See-through as all get out, but still a robe.
“Where is my bath?”
“Right through here, Miss. It’s an alcove the fourth Duke had designed. It’s already poured and scented.”
Scented?
“Would you like us to stay and assist?”
“Uh…no.” Having servants to wait on her was totally abnormal. And embarrassing. That was another odd fact. It was also not happening. “I can manage.”
“His Grace said you were to have whatever you desired. Just ask. It will be provided to you.”
“Today’s paper?” Jolie asked.
“Emily? See to it.”
“Yes, Miss Nancy.”
A bit of bobbing happened before the second maid turned and walked across all that floor.
“How long have you worked for His Grace?” Jolie asked Miss Nancy, since she seemed to be in charge.
“All my life. And my mother before me. And my grand-mother before that.”
“You all worked for the same man?”
Nancy laughed. The others joined in. “Heavens no, Miss. The dukes trace their line back to James the Second, they do. Every generation is the same.”
“And nobody notices how well he ages?”
“We’re right proud of His Grace. He’s a verra handsome man. Has a presence. Rich. Presentable. Eminently eligible. And I’ll say no more on that particular subject.”
She must’ve noticed how Jolie’s eyes had narrowed and her chin lowered. Jolie felt trace anger getting pumped through her. Another oddity.
“His Grace said you’re to have the run of the castle. And the grounds. You just ask and whatever you need will be granted.”
“What if I want to leave?”
“You’ll need to speak with his man on that.”
“This Evan?”
“Aye.”
“Very good. You can go now.”
“We’ll just wait outside.”
The one called Faith placed the robe on the bed, then they all bobbed more curtsies before taking their leave, sending echoes of footsteps the entire time. It was too weird, and way too soon to ponder on all of it. Jolie took another look at the tray of food, felt her stomach roil, and turned away before she was sick. That was more odd fact. She was never sick and she never missed a meal. Well…rarely. She scooted to the side and slid down to the pedestal before moving down to the chill of the floor. Her toes flinched from the contact. That could be a good thing. Vampires didn’t feel elements, did they?
Maybe only new vampires had problems with sun sensitivity and chill. Thoran was probably an old vampire. He had the makings of old world aristocracy. Everything he said and did was a clue that she’d missed. Or discarded as too unbelievable. She truly was the little fool Lord Beethan had called her.
Jolie pushed the facts aside. It was much too soon. She was still aglow with Thoran’s touch. His essence. His lovemaking. He had reservoirs of energy to draw from, using his body and his movements to gain her pleasure more times than she could count. Making every one unique and amazing. It was like he was making up for lost time or something.
He might be a vampire but he was certainly skilled. Immensely so. Jolie blushed severely at all the thumb-sized bruises on her body. His Grace, Thoran Alexander MacKettryck thumb-sized. She headed toward the bathroom area, arrived there in less than two steps, which was another odd fact she didn’t want to deal with, then got another vast surprise. This wasn’t a bath. It was a sunken pool. With marble sides and clear, steaming water that smelled of passion and longing and nothing she could identify. The alcove was sided with windows. Floor to ceiling windows, shaded with an opaque screen that gave her a muted panoramic view of the countryside outside. And far below. Somber mountains. A dark blue lake with mist gracing the edges. Lots of green foliage.
Jolie dropped the robe to the floor and walked into the pool. Holy crap. The guy was amazing. Rich. Gorgeous. Built. Extremely agile and amazing in the sex department. It was forgivable if he was a tad macho. And he had great taste. This she could get very used to. She slid into the embrace of silken warmed water, looked out through the opaque shade and decided to worry over the rest of it later.
o0o
“If I’m not being held against my will, why can’t I leave?”
“His Grace gave specific instructions, Miss.”
“Call me Jolie. I’m tired of being addressed as Miss.”
“Verra well. Miss Jolie.”
Jolie sighed, long and loud. “How long am I to be imprisoned?”
“Imprisoned is a harsh word.”
“So?”
“Ahem. His Grace dinna’ give an exact time frame.”
“What did he give, then?”
“Instruction.”
Jolie sighed again, even louder. Evan MacGruder was evasive and stubborn. He was worse than talking to a recording. He gave her nothing of use. She scanned the walls of books going up two stories on all sides of the octagonal room called His Grace’s library, felt the awe again, and the itch to touch some of them, especially the First Editions.
“Instructions about what?” She returned to questioning the large, unbending Scot in front of her, standing with both hands on his hips, looking dashing in his kilt.
“You’ve the ru
n of his entire household. And whatever else you want.”
“How long have you worked for His Grace?”
“I assumed the position upon the retirement of my father.”
“And his grand-father before you?”
“Actually it was my grand-mother’s brother. My Great-Uncle.”
“I see. And you never noticed how young and virile he looks?” Jolie was amazed she got the question out. Her blush was probably the same color as the dark rose gown they’d brought for her.
“His Grace ages well. As did his forebears, I might add. It’s clear from the portraits. If you’d like to follow me, I’ll show you the gallery.”
“Don’t bother. I’ve seen some of them.” Here were some more facts. Nobody knew anything. Nobody could help her. Except perhaps the guys at the other end of her transmitter that was at the bottom of the river. “So…since you’re so unhelpful, maybe you can answer this. Where is he?”
“His Grace is on assignment.”
“He has an assignment? From whom?”
“Lee Chen handles His Grace’s business.”
Now, they were getting somewhere. Jolie sharpened her eyes, felt the man’s heart rate increase as he realized his error, and ignored the why of how she knew that.
“Who is Lee Chen, exactly?”
“His Grace’s information technician.”
“Thoran has a computer geek? No way.”
“I’m unfamiliar with the term, Miss Jolie.”
“A technology specialist. One who deals in computers and technology related stuff. You know, instantaneously communicating with the world. That sort of thing.”
“Oh. Then yes. That is Lee Chen.”
“Take me to him. Maybe he has answers.”
“No one is allowed to see Lee Chen.”
“But I have His Grace’s permission to do anything, don’t I? I get to go wherever I want and see whomever I want. As long as I stay within the barbican walls, anyway. Isn’t that what you said?”
Homerun. Jolie watched him gulp and couldn’t help the smile, grimacing as her own teeth scraped the inner part of her lips, drawing blood. Salty. Sweet. Jolie sucked at her injuries with a shiver of delight. Odd fact. Don’t dwell on it.
He nodded finally and then walked past her. “If you’ll follow me?”
Lee Chen was Asian as his name suggested. He was a bit taller than her and looked like he was heading to a very exclusive and proper business office. He was clad in a gray pin-striped three-piece suit that looked completely incongruous against the stone backdrop of his office. He was also looking at her with a hint of hostility.
“Miss Jolie has requested to meet you.”
Evan MacGruder introduced her in the same flat tone he’d used since they’d met. Lee Chen bowed. Jolie bowed back, watching the floor-length gown they’d given her spread about the floor in front of her slippers. She was getting her clothes back. That was the first thing on her agenda. Then she was giving Thoran MacKettryck a real piece of her mind. Lee bowed again. Jolie regarded him with the same suspicious look he was using.
“I was told you’re in charge of the duke’s information. His electronic communications. That sort of thing.”
Lee Chen nodded. “I am much more than that, Miss Jolie.”
“Show me.”
“That is most inadvisable.”
“And it is still most happening. Do it. Or must I request Evan MacGruder to assist? Evan?” Jolie turned her head toward the Scot. He grimaced. And without another word, Lee Chen pivoted and led the way through a cavernous hall, to a door that opened into a command center that looked like a film set. Jolie’s jaw dropped at all the images from all the screens.
“I thought…Thoran—I mean, His Grace, despised television. And all things connected to it.”
“He does. That is why he employs us. To keep him informed and abreast. Secure. On time when he travels. And atop his properties.”
“Properties?”
“His Grace has properties throughout the world, Miss Jolie. It is our responsibility to make certain they’re always in perfect order and prepared to welcome him.”
“Like…where?”
“Budapest. St. Petersburg. Nice. Manhattan. Montreal. Lima. Dubai--.”
“Stop.” Jolie put up her hand. There was silence for a long enough span she checked the monitors and watched weather reports and camera angles of all sorts of palatial estates. And then she realized the obvious. Mister Chin was obeying perfectly. She smiled slightly to herself. “Ok. You may resume.”
“Tokyo. Istanbul. Horse property in Kentucky. Hamburg. Stockholm. Las Vegas. That was a gambling win we’ve counseled him repeatedly to put on the stock market.”
“All right. Enough. I get it. He has properties.”
“There are also three yachts, 117 motor cars, and his private jets. At the moment he’s having us look at real estate in Alaska. For possible procurement.”
“Alaska?”
He nodded.
“Since when?”
“Yesterday. We have quite a few properties for his selection already. I believe he’s preparing to relocate.”
“Relocate?”
“Every eleven years, His Grace moves his establishment to another property. We rarely see him after that. Only on visits of short duration.”
Smart, Thoran. Very smart.
“What is all this ‘we’ and ‘us’ stuff?”
“His Grace has operations such as this one at all his estates. Should he ask, information is made available to him the moment he requires it.”
“How…impressive. And expensive.”
“His Grace is a very wealthy man.”
“No kidding.” Her sarcasm was completely lost on him. And it didn’t seem fair to the rest of the world. Of course Thoran was rich…because Thoran cheated. He had an edge nobody else had.
“No. Truly. His assignments bring in capital. He has interests in all the markets, bank accounts in most countries, and world-wide access to whatever he desires.”
“I suppose you’ve worked for him your entire life, too?”
“No Miss. I’ve been with His Grace for only twenty years.”
Twenty years was a life. It encompassed hers thus far. Another fact. Avoid it, Jolie.
“And you never noticed how fit he looks?”
Lee Chen smiled slightly, then sobered back to business perfection. “It is not my place to notice such things,” he answered.
Well. That was that. She was done and she knew it. She got answers. Now she just had to avoid facing any of them. And then the most ear-splitting blare occurred throughout the chamber at such a high a decibel level, Jolie cried aloud before slapping her hands to her ears. Both MacGruder and Chen glanced at her with looks of annoyance before gesturing and shouting orders. If they thought she was a hysterical female, they were sadly mistaken. She just had a severe problem with her hearing. And how clear and loud it was. Both more clear markers than neither of Thoran’s employees were vampires, but she’d already surmised that.
The shriek noise was coming in throbs of sound, hammering through her regardless of how tight she clamped her hands. Chen wasn’t paying any attention, he was typing in a keyboard in a rapid-fire fashion. And then bless him, MacGruder pulled ear plugs from his little sporran thing. As if it was absolutely normal to carry such things. She mouthed a thank you, as if it could be heard over the din, and managed to make out some words.
“Hunters!”
“…they get here?”
“The Celtic cross…! …transmitter. …it was destroyed.”
They’d destroyed that lovely piece of antiquity? Or just the transmitter? Those old Hunter guys had smarts after all. What vampire could remove a device planted in a religious symbol?”
“Leave that and go!”
“I just need to finish uploading the virus…there!”
Jolie watched Lee Chen gesture at the computer screens and televisions racing through all kinds of text as they erased. Or wha
tever he was doing. Evan clamped a hand on her arm.
“Finish quick!” He yelled at Chen and pointed upward. “…the roof!”
She wasn’t going. Even a young fool could see this was a rescue. From what constituted hell. Jolie planted her feet and got dragged to the door and then lifted.
She didn’t make it easier to carry her up straight staircases that ended at long dark corridors of space. Evan raced them, oblivious to her kicking and thrashing and yelling at him over his lack of brains. She had to acknowledge one fact. Evan MacGruder may not be immortal, but he was fit and agile. And strong. She quieted as Lee Chen caught up with them, shutting doors behind him at each landing, which might hamper a pursuit, but also dimmed the siren noise enough her head could absorb it.
And then she had to deal with sunlight. Jolie ducked her head and held onto MacGruder, only glimpsing what awaited them. And why they’d gone upstairs.
There was a helipad on the roof. Atop a huge span of stone edged with crenellation. There was a large-sized helicopter on the helipad with the blades already rotating. A dark figure in the seat gestured to them. Jolie was so not going. She was terrified of flying. It took all her ability and a valium pill just to board the plane to England. And it was a huge commercial jet. They didn’t understand.
“You can drop me! Now! Right now.” Her voice shook.
“His Grace will be expecting you.”
Evan answered evenly. Without one bit of exertion in his breath from running staircases while carrying a struggling girl. That was another fact she ignored.
“I don’t care who expects me. I’m not getting in that--. That--.” Her throat choked off.
“Lass, it’s the Hunters!”
“So? What on earth does that mean? Exactly?”
“They’re Campbell Clan outcasts. Avenging a perceived wrong from centuries past! Against the MacKettryck Laird!”
“Like I believe that.” She was actually surprised he did.
“We prepare for this, Miss. Doona’ fash. You’ll come to nae harm.”
“What about the rest…of them? The people you’re deserting? Like Nancy and Emily, and the others. Well?”
“Hunters will na’ hurt them. They’ll search. They’ll occupy the castle for a time. Watching. Waiting. According to His Grace this happened once afore. Last century. On Sicily. To the fourth duke.”