Lennox, Mary - Heart of Fire.txt

by Heart of Fire. txt (lit)

  thoughts.

  “Not a bit.”

  She bent again to her writing, her lips curling in the

  beginning of a smile.

  Sera, who haunted his dreams, even when she fled him.

  Sera, who gave him sweet ease from his grief and his guilt over

  Selonia. What would he do with her when it was time to leave

  this place and return to his obligations? How could he ever tear

  himself away from her?

  ***

  The next afternoon, excitement jittered through Sera as she

  set off with the boys for the Blue Herron, the precious silver

  Laurentian pounds in the pocket of her gown.

  Solemn with their new responsibility, the boys climbed in

  a protective circle around her to the inn. The courtyard was

  even busier than it had been the day before. Wagons stood about

  while drovers yelled and unhitched horses skittered left and right

  in the noise. The blonde woman who had been at the window

  yesterday called out to her and beckoned with her hand.

  “He’s inside,” she said shortly. Sera entered the ramshackle

  building and stepped down a few rickety stairs into the main

  room. After the bright sunlight outside, this place was dim and

  gloomy. Years of soot from the fireplace stained the walls and

  ceiling. Old, scratched and marred tables and chairs with uneven

  legs filled the room. It smelled of sweat and sour ale. A burley

  man sat at one of the tables drinking ale. His clothing, once a

  bright red jacket and black trousers, looked grimy and soot-

  stained. His face had a hopeless, empty look to it.

  “There’s your man.” The blonde woman pointed him out

  and left the room. Sera walked to the table, taking care to keep

  her clothing from brushing against the gritty furniture. The boys

  closed in around her, their eyes glancing left and right.

  “Are you the man who knows of the merchant who was

  here last week?”

  “The one with the ruby as big as half your palm? Aye, I be

  he.”

  Sera slid the coins across the table toward the man.

  The man slid them back to her and gave her a look of despair.

  “Nay, mistress. I can’t take your coin, for I no longer know

  where he’s gone.”

  Sera’s heart sank to her feet. “Can you direct me to someone

  who will know?” she asked.

  The man shook his head slowly. “Nay. He hired us to guard

  him. There were ten of us, and later, ten more. We stayed at the

  best inn in town, The Pavillion. Never saw such a place. It was

  fine, it was. Until it burned the night the bastards came to Selonia

  and sacked it.” The man stared down at his ale.

  “I was the only one of the ten who made it out alive. The

  merchant? They didn’t find his body, but nobody knows where

  he’s gone. He just disappeared. Now all I want to do is go home

  and see my wife and children again. After I find work here, I’ll

  save enough to get home. Just see if I don’t.” The man sat,

  staring at nothing, his hand lying listlessly on the table beside

  his ale.

  The world turned gray as ashes. Sera bit her lip and looked

  down at the coins on the table. Then she looked at the man

  slumped before her. His face showed the defeat she felt. She

  gathered up the money and took the man’s hand. Turning it

  over, she placed the coins in it and closed his fist around them.

  “Here,” she whispered. “Take it and go home.”

  “But mistress, I…”

  “By the gods, man. Be grateful you can go home.” Sera

  squeezed the man’s shoulder and walked blindly out of the inn.

  The boys ran to catch up. She was vaguely aware of their

  presence through the gray mist that closed her in. She was

  vaguely aware, as well, of the children’s games, the lessons

  going on in the makeshift classroom and the light slowly

  changing as she worked through the rest of the day.

  But when the darkness came, she entered Nicholas’s tent,

  and he was real.

  “Sera?” he said softly.

  She ran into his arms. “I am so tired,” she said.

  So easily he took her weight as she leaned into him. Tonight,

  she allowed herself to let go in this world of strangers and

  uncertainty. He smoothed her hair, lifted her into his arms, and

  strode to the cot. He sat holding her, stroking her back,

  murmuring against her hair that it would be all right, that he

  was there. He didn’t even ask what was wrong. He just held

  her, deep into the night.

  ***

  Sera woke in her cot. She was still dressed in her gown, but

  someone had removed her slippers. Nicholas must have carried

  her here some time in the night. She dragged herself into a sitting

  position and faced facts. The thief was but a chimera, now. But

  nobody knew for certain that he was dead. He might still be

  alive. Father Anselm had offered her help. That afternoon, she

  asked him for it.

  “Yes, I have heard of the merchant and his treasure,” said

  the priest. They were sitting in the chapter house garden, taking

  in the noon rays of sunshine with their meal.

  “Is it important to you to know whether the man is dead or

  alive?” he asked.

  “It is vital. And where he is if he is alive. Can you help

  me?”

  “It may take some time, but I have several friends in the

  countryside. If anyone knows of this man, I’ll send word of

  him to you.”

  “Thank you, Father. Thank you with all my heart.” It was

  only after Father Anselm gently removed her hand from the

  sleeve of his cassock that Sera realized she had been clutching

  it as though it were a life line. Relief flooded her, that Father

  Anselm trusted her. She began to hope again.

  That night, Nicholas told Sera that they could leave the city

  in the hands of its officials. She set out for the capital beside the

  king, surrounded by the divisions of cavalry. Still, she carried

  hope in her heart and purpose renewed.

  It was not until Nicholas and she rode together through the

  gates of Montanyard that Sera learned the king had not forgotten

  her last escape attempt, or his decision regarding her quarters.

  “When this war is over, I hope you’ll take part in solving

  the problems of all Laurentia’s orphans. In the meantime, your

  move into the palace will help you become acquainted with the

  people you will work with in the future.”

  Sera stared up at him, her eyes narrowing in the first stirring

  of fear and anger. “What do you mean, my move into the

  palace?”

  “I’ve already ordered your room readied,” he replied with

  a maddeningly calm smile. “It’s quite lovely, actually. You’ll

  like it. We’d do well to hurry, Sera. The modiste will be waiting

  for you now.”

  Sera had a difficult time keeping her voice from rising to a

  shout. “I have no need for new dresses. The horses do not care

  what I look like.”

  “Ah, but the courtiers do. Far more than is reasonable, in

  my opinion.” Nicholas’s voice was smooth as
a boat gliding

  over quiet waters. “And since I expect you to be accepted as a

  member of my court, you’ll have to dress the part. It’s time for

  you to burn those plain gowns you seem so fond of.” He gave

  her a slow, heated look that covered her from the top of her

  head to the tips of her toes.

  “Did you think that I’ve forgotten what Dawson did to you?

  Did you suppose I would rescind my order? Learn this, if nothing

  else. Once given, my word is absolute. You are a lady to the

  bone, and as a lady, you will live.”

  Sera trembled with an overwhelming combination of fury

  and fear. If she could not get to Wind Rider, how would she

  ever get home? “You cannot keep me from the stables!”

  “You may ride every day with Katherine or one of the

  guards.” Nicholas looked different, now. His face was all sharp

  planes and angles—his brows straight, black slashes above eyes

  that burned down into hers. He looked too powerful, too

  dangerous, too male. He looked at her as though he owned her

  soul. Numbly, she shook her head, trying to shove back against

  the force he was exerting on her with just a look.

  “If you have another brilliant plan to escape, forget it,” he

  said in a controlled, low voice that made her shiver more than if

  he had shouted at her. “I’ll know where you are at every

  moment.” He leaned toward her, ostensibly removing a small

  branch from her shoulder where it had fallen sometime during

  the ride, but Sera knew he was using the moment, branding her

  with that light touch, just to let her know how closely he intended

  to guard her.

  “I told you on the night when I came after you, Sera. You

  are mine, and I’ll never let you escape. Get used to it.”

  Nicholas waved away the groom waiting to take his horse.

  He wheeled sharply and galloped off in the direction of the park,

  leaving Sera to dismount at the entry to the palace, trying to

  still her body’s helpless shaking.

  ***

  Nicholas found a secluded prospect in the park upon a rocky

  hill. He dismounted and sat blindly staring out at the river

  beyond. He wished he had never seen Sera, wished that he had

  her in his bed, at his table, by his side every waking hour of the

  day.

  Wishes were useless, trapping a man in dreams that couldn’t

  come true. Because of wishes, he held a woman against her

  will whom he could neither woo nor forget.

  He faced reality. Selonia was over. The desperately needed

  alliance with Beaureve had him trapped. Even if he were free,

  his obsession with Sera threatened everything he had worked

  all his life to build.

  His father had shown him what happened to a man who

  lost control of his emotions. Everyone in the kingdom had

  suffered because of it.

  He would never do the same. Laurentia’s fate depended

  upon it.

  He knew the tightrope he walked every day, holding on to

  his health by strict self-control, never knowing when his body

  would betray him. So far, that control had protected Laurentia,

  for it kept the illness at bay. That control also meant that he

  very rarely made a mistake.

  Until Sera. With Sera, he’d lost his edge, cared less about

  perfection and more about joy. Any more of this self-indulgent

  dreaming and he’d lose complete control.

  Usually, he hid inside from winter, fenced and boxed

  rigorously, got his rest, and never overindulged in food, drink

  or sensuality. But now, he had visions of skating with Sera on a

  frozen pond, teaching her to drink champagne, and keeping her

  up all night with his lovemaking. With Sera, he forgot he wasn’t

  . . . normal. He gritted his teeth. What folly! He might make

  himself sick for weeks and bring the country down with him.

  He remounted, and rode toward the palace. And halted the horse

  twenty feet from where he had begun.

  “Bloody hell,” he said aloud. Why had he ordered that Sera

  occupy the one chamber in the palace that was accessible to

  his?

  The first hale from a guard galloping toward him startled

  him from his thoughts. “Oblomov,” he said, recognizing the

  young lieutenant from Selonia. He and Carlsohnn were close

  friends and both had excellent heads on their shoulders, except

  in the presence of one impossibly beautiful Hill woman. They

  had followed Sera about in Selonia like adoring pups.

  “What news?” Nicholas asked.

  “Dawson, Sire—he’s escaped.”

  The first chill of fear shot through Nicholas. “When?”

  “Last night. He had a visitor, a woman. She must have

  slipped him a knife. He used it to kill the guard who brought

  him supper. The soldiers have been searching since midnight,

  but to no avail.”

  “Send out more men. Scour the forest where he’ll go to

  ground. Go. Do it now.”

  Oblomov wheeled his horse and galloped back toward the

  palace. Nicholas took the path toward the stables at no less a

  pace. He didn’t understand why his heart kept pounding like a

  hammer in his chest. Any sane man would cut and run given

  Dawson’s options. But there was something about the way

  Dawson had looked at Sera. Nicholas had seen that look on the

  faces of the country folk when they set out milk and honey at

  night to keep the wood spirits from stealing their babes. It was

  raw fear of unknown, powerful forces—like witchcraft and

  magic. And a man like Dawson would wish to utterly defile

  and destroy what he feared.

  ***

  Dawson raced through the forest, almost mad with

  exultation and terror. He had managed it—taken advantage of

  the confusion after the sacking of Selonia and escaped the dank,

  filthy pit they’d thrown him into. The young guard who had

  heard his moans in the night and his pleas for help lay dead, his

  throat slit. It was child’s play, really, and even easier to steal a

  mount from the stables when half the grooms were at the borders

  with the army.

  If he could just get to the eastern border and enter Beaureve

  without being stopped! He was so close. As he whipped the

  horse on, it crashed forward through bracken and vine. He was

  going to make it, he just knew—

  A hand shot out, grabbing the reins. The horse shied, rearing,

  and flung Dawson to the ground. He groaned, shook his head

  to clear it, and rose on one elbow. A sword at his throat, the

  point sticking in just enough to pierce the skin, stopped his

  movement, and he looked up in terror. A band of men surrounded

  him. He was too scared to turn his head and count them, but

  there were many, dressed completely in black against a gray

  dawn.

  The Brotherhood! He’d be dead in less time than it took to

  swallow if he didn’t think fast. His mind worked at a fever pitch.

  “Please,” he said. “I have naught against you. I like what y’er

  doin’. Got my own beef against that bastard Nicholas. Truth to

  tell, I was lookin’ fer you,
hopin’ to join with you against him.

  I’m good with a knife, and I can shoot straight. Just tell me who

  to kill, and I’ll do it. Won’t ask fer a pence, believe me. It’ll be

  my pleasure.”

  The man with the sword at his throat paused a moment,

  looked over his head to another who stood opposite. They spoke,

  to Dawson’s surprise, in Beaurevian, and he felt his bowels

  cramp. From what he heard, they normally never spoke. If they

  betrayed their nationality in front of him, he didn’t have much

  of a chance, did he?

  “I know the palace real well,” he said through a dry throat.

  “Jest take me to the man in charge, and I’ll tell him things that’ll

  help him.” The point of the sword at his throat dug in deeper.

  “Think how mad he’ll be if you lose this chance, eh?” he

  wheedled, driven by desperation. The sword withdrew, slowly.

  Dawson remembered to breathe.

  “Come,” the man standing above him said in Laurentian.

  They let him mount, which Dawson considered a hopeful sign.

  Then they shot out of the forest and across a field. For a few

  hours they traveled through rocky ways, until they came to a

  mountain valley. The leader rode ahead. The others made him

  dismount and watched him with cold and wary eyes. Dawson

  stood up and tried to look cocky until the dark stares of the men

  sent him skittering for a log. He sat, head down, trying to block

  out the gibbering terror that lodged in his brain.

  At the sound of hoof beats, he jumped up. A rough hand

  pushed him down again. He groaned, landing on his knee against

  a sharp rock, but he remained kneeling, too terrified to even

  look up.

  A shadow crept over him, chilling his flesh and making it

  crawl. “You have information about the palace?” The sinister

  voice seemed to come from the grave.

  “Aye. I worked there for many a day,” he said and shifted,

  trying to ease his knee off the rock.

  “Tell me why I should not kill you now,” said the voice. He

  chanced a look at the speaker. A figure, cloaked and hooded in

  black seemingly without face or real substance, stood above

  him. For one mad moment, Dawson thought he looked at Death,

  himself. But a hand covered in flesh appeared from beneath the

  cloak.

  “I can help you. I can tell you things about the palace, about