Rats! Rats! And more rats! Hundreds of big, lazy rats crawling over heaps of dead bodies. Smoke and dust. Screams and blood. And the incredible smell of rotting flesh. He sat up again and looked around the comfortable room in terror. He had fallen asleep. Where did these images come from? He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and a wild-eyed man wearing a turban and wielding an ugly curved sword screamed at him and charged. He tumbled from the bed and stood up before he was entirely awake slapping his side for his sword and felt his head swim at the sudden movement. These images were not American and neither were they Scottish. They were old. Very foreign.
Scotland. The cool, crisp nights and bright, warm days of late spring in the borderlands. There was no place on earth like Scotland.
Home! Scotland was home. The woman was right. He was from Scotland. Of that, he had no doubt as dozens of landscapes flitted through his mind. His thoughts were interrupted as he realized someone was unlocking his door… again. Didn’t these people ever knock?
He waited apprehensively as the door swung open slowly and then a great sense of relief washed over him as his Pixie let herself inside the room and closed the door quickly. She smiled at him impishly.
“I had to see if you were all right,” she told him and quickly crossed the room to where he stood. She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest. He instinctively put his arms around her and she turned her back to him, covering his arms with hers. The sweet scent of her curls tickled his nose. She looked down and tapped the ring on his pinkie finger
“I-A… A-T,” she read the letters aloud. “The four elements.”
“What?” he frowned down at the top of her head.
“The four elements,” she said softly and turned her face toward him, kissing his jaw. “Fire, water, air and earth. The symbols of the alchemist. Are you all right? Maxie told me you were bleeding again.”
“Shhh,” Mark hushed her and placed one hand lightly over her mouth. Did she never run out of words? “How is that you can trust me so completely when you hardly know me?” he asked. “Aren’t you afraid to be here with me?”
She nodded and pulled his hand away. “Of course, I’m afraid. I'm afraid of what you might think of me. A true and honorable Chevaliere would die before dishonoring a weaker fellow. And this attraction I feel for you is hard to ignore.”
“A weaker fellow?” His frown deepened. “Are you referring to me? I would never dishonor you. What we did… I mean, what I did… what you did… it was… it was…” He had no idea what to say to her. He didn’t even know her last name. “Forgive me if I took advantage of you somehow. I thought you…”
“I was talking about me… dishonoring you,” she giggled. “I know that I caused you to break your vows and I suppose I should ask your forgiveness, but I believe that you enjoyed it. Didn’t you?”
“Do you think you need to protect me? My honor?” he asked incredulously and turned her abruptly about face.
“If I can,” her smile faded. “But I do owe my allegiance to Sir Valentino first and the Order of the Rose. However, I still owe you some measure of security since you are my responsibility and to that end I will do my best to help you through this in whatever small way I can.”
Mark placed one hand over his eyes and shook his head. This was all very confusing.
“Who is Sir Valentino?” he asked after a moment. “Help me through what?”
“Sir Valentino, I meant Chevaliere Valentino. You know her. You were just talking with her,” Merry sighed as if she were talking to a stubborn child. “Cecile?”
“She is not a sir!” he told her. “And you are very confusing.”
“She is whatever she wants to be. Besides, the title that corresponds to Sir is Dame and I find that a rather demeaning address,” Merry shrugged slightly and snuggled closer to him. “Sometimes she is a sir and sometimes not. It depends on the occasion. Today she is in the sir mood. But tell me, is there anything you need?” She looked at him with an expression that did not seem as innocent as before.
“I need to get away from here,” he said in earnest. “Will you help me?”
“I can’t do that.” She looked disappointed. “And, besides, it would break my heart.”
“Oh, please!” he said, pushign her away in disbelief. This had gone far enough. “You can’t be serious. You don’t even know me. You call me an assassin. An assassin is a murderer. A criminal.”
“I know you well enough,” she sniffed and he thought she was going to cry again. “I’ve already decided.”
“Decided what?!”
He felt his anger rising suddenly as he took her by the shoulders. Her eyes sparkled with renewed amusement and the tears, if there had been any in the offing, evaporated.
“That when she is finished with you. When she gets what she wants, I will keep you for myself.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Mark repressed the urge to shout at her as well as the terrible desire to strike her to the floor. To fall on her and take her by force then and there. To show her who needed to be protected from whom. He raised one hand, but instead of striking her, he held it out between them as if warding off the devil, himself, and backed away from her.
Was he a rapist as well as a murderer? It couldn’t be true. ‘The company of women is a dangerous thing.’ The words from somewhere long ago rang in his head. He turned his back on her, crossed himself in the Catholic manner and went back to the bed. Falling to his knees, he buried his head under his hands and began to pray into the mattress. Another scripture came unbidden to his mind. “I sink in deep mire, where there is no standing: I am come into deep waters, where the floods overflow me.”
When he had finished his prayer, he peeked back at her from under his hands, hoping not to see her. But she was still leaning against the dresser with her arms folded across her stomach watching him. He closed his eyes quickly, crossed himself again, folded his hands on the bed in front of him and began to repeat the Rosary. The only prayer he could think of at the moment.
“In the name of the Unknown Father, in Truth, Mother of all, in union and redemption and sharing of the powers, peace to all on whom this name reposes,” he spoke very rapidly. “I acknowledge one great invisible God, unrevealable, unmarked, ageless and…”
“Don’t worry. There is no need to panic,” she interrupted the Creed. “I will do all I can to protect you. I won’t let her give you to Maxie like she threatened. This time we’ll do it my way or not at all. I do have some influence, you know. I have the right. I am named the Holder. What is that you are reciting anyway? Is it a prayer? I’ve never heard it before.”
Mark Andrew got up and sat on the bed. It was no use. He could not pray her away, nor could he pray himself out the situation in which he presently found himself. If Lucio Dambretti was right, then everything was the Will of God. Lucio! His friend. His… brother. He did have a brother. An Italian brother? How could a Scot have an Italian brother? He dropped his head in his hands and she came to sit beside him.
“The Rosary,” he snapped a belated answer to her question and got up quickly, leaving her sitting on the bed.
“That’s not the Rosary. I know the Rosary,” she objected.
“You see?” He slapped one hand against his forehead. “You think you know everything and you don’t know anything about me.” He put his other hand on his hip and turned around in the center of the room in frustration. “Hell! I don’t even know anything about me. Of course it’s the Rosary. You’re just trying to make me think I’m crazy.”
“Well, whatever. You don’t have anything to worry about. I brought you here,” she continued in her soothing voice, misinterpreting his stress as concern for his safety rather than his problem with her proximity. Did she not know how close she had come to being very badly used and violated? “Ultimately, only I can send you away or give you up for the ceremonial sacrifice. When the time comes, I will choose neither. It is not unheard of.”
“It is to me,” h
e sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “You’ve been brain-washed. I need to take you away from here. It is the least I can do for you after taking your virginity. Just don’t expect anything more than that.”
“My virginity? How did you know?” Her crystal eyes widened. “I read before that men could tell. I mean, men with experience with such things could tell if the lady was a virgin. Well, I guess you would have lot of experience, but I’m embarrassing you.” She stopped and he stared at her in disbelief.
“But don’t be silly,” she said and got up and wrapped her arms around his waist, snuggling close to him again. He suddenly felt very tired. “I know what’s wrong with you. You haven’t had breakfast or lunch. You’ll feel better after you eat. And you must tell me how you knew that I was a virgin. Under the circumstances, I didn’t think you’d notice.”
“Thank you for noticing my starvation,” he sighed. “I guess they forgot about me. I was supposed to have breakfast with your… Sir Valentino.”
The thought of food cheered him in spite of everything else. He hugged her briefly and then pushed her away as guilt washed over him. She wore another of the lightweight sundresses and he could almost see completely through the delicately flowered material. Another thought threatened to overshadow his hunger. She had the key to the door in her pocket. A tiny, pleated pocket just under her left breast. He could see both the key and her naked breast through the thin fabric. He could have taken it from her. He could have taken a great deal more from her than the key, but she was the only friendly face in the place even if she were totally insane. It was information he needed, much more than food and certainly not intimate relations with a woman at the moment.
“It’s almost noon,” he said suddenly. “Could we skip breakfast and go straight to lunch?”
“Sure,” she agreed and squeezed his hand before turning toward the door. “I’ll make sure they send up something… lots of something.”
“This Order of the Rose… how many members do you have?” he asked as an afterthought.
“Locally or worldwide?” She stopped at the door, pulling the key from her pocket.
He stared at the key and wondered if there could be millions of maniacs all over the world like Valentino and Maxie.
“Locally,” he said, trying to sound casual.
“Let’s see,” she tapped the key against her perfect teeth. The perfect teeth framed by soft, pink lips. He could have kissed the key away from her.
He blinked away the disturbing thought as another thought occurred to him. A rule of some sort. ‘And for this none of you must presume to kiss… “Wife, widow, maid, mother, sister, aunt or any other woman…” he finished the line aloud, causing her to frown at him as he walked slowly toward her.
“What?” She blinked at him.
“Nothing. You were saying?” he asked and took her hand in his. Where had that come from? ‘None of you’. None of whom? Who couldn’t kiss wives, sisters, etceteras?
“Well, the roll is not my responsibility, of course, but I’d guess about a hundred and sixty-five or seventy. Give or take a few. Generally about forty per cent turn out for the ceremonies. Unless they are really big like this one.”
“That many?” He raised her hand and kissed it in spite of the strange warning ringing in his head. “Do any of them live here? In the house with you and Valen…?” His voice trailed off as he kissed her shoulder.
“No, of course not,” she laughed. “They come and go. Sometimes we have guests in from out of town for a few days. Texas is a big place.”
“A few days?” He kissed her hand again and looked into her eyes. Again, he felt that he should be able to read her mind through her eyes instead of melting into them.
“My dear, sweet, Mark Andrew,” she stepped back from him. “I am not totally without brains.” She raised his hand in hers and ran her tongue between his fingers, causing him to jump in response to the strange sensation. “You are trying to seduce me into telling you all our secrets. I will not be had so easily.” She smiled and let go of his hand. “You will have to do better.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but it was no use. He nodded instead.
“Though I can hardly resist your charms,” she continued to smile at him and raised both delicate eyebrows. “I had promised myself not to take advantage of you again. I don’t know if I can stand by that promise, if you continue to make advances. And if Valentino finds out that I’ve already given up my virginity without the proper ceremony, well, I can’t imagine what she will say or do.”
His temper flared suddenly and without warning, he lost control of everything he was trying desperately to hold sacred. He took her by the arm and flung her down on the floor before she had time to utter a sound. He fell on her and put one hand over her mouth. His prayer was forgotten.
His precarious position was forgotten. There was nothing between his ears but a desire to have her with or without her permission. A desire to make her pay for her ridiculous statements and her abominable adoration of Cecile Valentino. He reached down with his free hand, pulled her dress up above her waist and unzipped his pants in one swift motion. She kicked and struggled, but there was nothing she could do. It was too easy. He had done it too many times. He pinned her against the carpet with one hand over her mouth and slammed himself between her legs. To hell with ceremonies! What ceremonies could possibly consecrate such a brutal act? It was not love or affection or even lust, but rather a terrible rage and a need for revenge that drove him on. When he removed his hand from her mouth, he kissed her in the same brutish manner, while looking directly into her eyes as if daring her to like him, daring her to have any sort of normal feelings for him. There was no excuse for what he was doing and even though one part of his mind screamed at him to stop, he ignored it.
It was rape and nothing more or less. And yet, even while he committed the heinous crime, he observed it from a vantage point somewhere near the ceiling. He could see himself and the thing that he did, but he had no control over it. It was as if she had pressed a button, some unseen trigger and he had exploded into two people. One a vile criminal and the other an innocent bystander.
And if that weren’t strange enough, the victim of this heinous crime was not reacting properly. She did not scream or kick or fight. Instead, she looked at him in astonishment. Her blue eyes were very wide with shock and surprise when he rose up and looked down at her, frowning. Her lack of disgust and terror infuriated him.
“Is this how you would take advantage of me?” he asked her and wondered whose voice he was hearing.
“It is, or was,” she told him and then smiled.
Her simple statement brought him back from wherever he had been and the innocent bystander collapsed into the devil he had become, causing him to collapse against her, breathing raggedly. The desire to take what was not his by right or choice was gone. What in the name of God was he doing? She pushed him over on his back with very little effort and then climbed on top him. Positioning herself in the proper position to finish what he had started.
“It is exactly how I would do it, if I were a man and a beautiful young woman offered me something I couldn’t refuse,” she told him as she took complete charge of the situation.
She had mistaken his brutality for passion and the act of rape for some sort of kinky love-making. Something was dreadfully amiss with the Pixie. It was quite obvious that she had either been reading too much or was totally inexperienced in what love should be. But who was he to know what love should be? Had he ever been in love with a woman? Really in love? Or was he simply a monster that she failed to recognize and he failed to reconcile in his own conscience?
These questions and thoughts buzzed through his head while she quickly brought him back from total disinterest to similar state of mind as before. But this time, there was no rage in him only resignation at first and then true lust. She was very good at what she did, experience or no. She looked down at him defiantly when it was over before leaning close to hi
s ear. “You cannot win, Sir Knight. The act of love comes in many forms and I have studied them all. Even if I have had little practical experience, I have a grand imagination and my fantasies are endless. I do believe you could fulfill them all.”
He didn’t even bother to move when she got up and straightened her dress. She left him lying on the floor a few seconds later… in shock.
“I’ll send up lunch,” she told him and he heard her close and lock the door.
He got up slowly, brushed himself off, made a quick trip to tiny bathroom and then crawled under the quilt on the bed. He was still there when the door opened again a short while later. An unfathomable depression had settled over him and he felt certain he was losing his mind. Even his appetite had failed him. He had actually raped her and she hadn’t noticed. What kind of people were these lunatics? He fit right in with them. Psychopathic murderers, kidnappers, rapists. That was it! He was a psychopath. He was a dead psychopath and this was his hell.
“Sir?” Valentino’s voice startled him. He had expected worse.
He made no move to answer. The rattle of dishes and the smell of food indicated that the good Sir Valentino had brought him his lunch.
“Is this all you do? Lie in bed all day?” She asked him sarcastically. “Are you ill?”
“Just leave it,” he told her brusquely as if she were room service.
“Now, come on.” He felt her sit on the side of the bed behind him.
“Sit up and eat. We need to talk. I know what is wrong with you. You need someone to talk to. I know its strange being here with us, but I assure you, it won’t be long and you’ll be free to go. Besides, if you cooperate, there could be a very pleasant surprise in it for you. Merry has taken a great interest in you, but I’m sure you’ve noticed. She’s the blond girl with the pretty blue eyes.”
He turned over and looked at her incredulously. But she was joking of course.
He had read something once. A faerytale about a girl who had gone into a mirror or a rabbit hole where she had met a crew of very odd characters. He thought he knew how the girl must have felt. He expected a huge rabbit to come through the door at any moment carrying a pocket watch, babbling about being late for tea.
The Red Cross of Gold I:. The Knight of Death Page 7