Then, like an ill-bred hound, she’d turned on Miriel, biting the hand that provided for her.
Rand paced before the glowering maid, rubbing the back of his neck, wondering what to do with her. It was still difficult to believe an old, withered crone could move with such speed and grace. But he’d seen her with his own eyes. She’d laid Hob-Nob and Wat-Wat out flat in the space of a heartbeat.
Perhaps she was bewitched. Perhaps she was the spawn of the devil, as Wat-Wat had said. Or maybe she was just the daughter of a great warrior who’d passed on his talents. Whatever else she was, she was clearly a threat.
And now, with her identity discovered, she’d be even more of a menace. She could hardly return to her comfortable life at Rivenloch. And if she had no place for shelter, no source of sustenance, she would grow more and more desperate.
Rand had turned in a hundred such outlaws, men who’d once been decent folk but had turned to thievery and mayhem and even murder out of necessity.
Rand couldn’t just let her go. She might not have killed anyone yet, but she certainly had the skills. When circumstances grew dire enough, she’d resort to violence. And then no one—strangers, Rivenloch folk, not even Miriel—would be safe from her lethal talents.
He had no choice but to spirit her away to Morbroch. He dared not even return to Rivenloch first, for Miriel would surely weep and wring her hands and beg him to set the old maid free. She wouldn’t understand the peril. And she’d never forgive him.
“Don’t you realize what you’ve done?” he muttered in frustration. “The position you’ve put me in? Curse you, wench!”
Sung Li answered him with an inscrutable smile. “For a hired hunter, you are hopelessly blind.”
Rand stiffened. How did the maid know he was a hired hunter?
“Oh, aye,” Sung Li said. “I know who you are, Rand la Nuit.”
Rand clenched his jaw. Did Sung Li recognize him? If she knew his name, knew he was a mercenary, knew his reputation, had she told Miriel?
“I know why you have come,” Sung Li continued. Then her shriveled mouth curved into a smirk. “But you still do not know who I am.”
Rand had had enough of her disrespect. He straightened to his full height and sneered down his nose at her. “I know you are my captive, wench.”
“I am no wench.”
“What?”
“I am no wench.” Sung Li continued to stare at him with that smug grin.
Rand frowned in disbelief. Surely the maid was lying. “Nay,” he whispered, studying Sung Li’s wrinkled face.
“Aye.”
The possibility that Sung Li might indeed be a man, that, unbeknownst to Miriel, the maid who’d shared her bedchamber all these years, helping her dress, tucking her in at night, was actually a man, ignited Rand’s anger faster than flame to dry grass.
He seized the front of Sung Li’s clothing and wrenched the maid to her feet. Then, with a violent jerk, he tore open the top of the black garment, exposing the pale flesh beneath.
Nausea and rage rose in his gorge, making his arms shake as he beheld Sung Li’s flat, withered chest.
It was true then. This conniving knave was a villain of the worst kind. And innocent, trusting Miriel had been his victim. The miserable worm had deceived her. He’d deceived them all.
Rand’s hands trembled with the urge to take out his dagger and render Sung Li a woman once and for all. But he resisted the ugly temptation.
Instead, he shoved Sung Li forward along the path, drawing his sword to prod the old man along.
There was no question now. He’d march the lecher straight to Morbroch and let the lords do with him what they willed. In Rand’s mind, the gallows wasn’t enough punishment for The Shadow’s crimes against his beloved Miriel.
The fair was eerie at night. The booths, their bright colors muted now in the starlight, seemed like ghostly memories. A gentle breeze stirred, making odd music of clanking iron pots and rustling silk veils, rattling glass beads and flapping canvas walls.
But the sound served Miriel well, for she could slip along the lanes and in and out of the pavilions unnoticed.
The players were easy to find. They slept behind the platform that served as their stage, nestled like spoons for warmth. But there was no sign of Rand or Sung Li.
As silent as death, she stole up behind them, drew her shan bay sow, and pressed one against each of their throats.
“Psst!” she whispered.
They jerked awake.
“Don’t move!” she hissed. “And don’t make a sound. Give me what I want, and I won’t hurt you.”
Wat-Wat whispered, “The silver’s in my purse.”
Hob-Nob hissed back, “Don’t tell her where the silver is.”
“Am I the only one with a blade at my throat?”
“She said she wouldn’t hurt us.”
“Shh!” Miriel glanced about the clearing. Hopefully nobody had heard the chattering players. “I’m not interested in your silver. I want information. Where is Rand of Morbroch?”
“Who?”
“Rand of Morbroch,” she said, “the man who left Rivenloch with you this morn.”
“She means Rand la Nuit.”
“You mean Rand la Nuit?”
Miriel frowned. Why did that name sound familiar? “Is that what he said his name was?”
“Aye. Rand la Nuit, the mercenary.”
Miriel’s memory was suddenly jarred. Rand la Nuit was indeed a mercenary, a well-known hunter of miscreants and outlaws, a man that unscrupulous nobles sometimes hired to do their ugly deeds. But surely Rand, her Rand, wasn’t such a man.
“Where is he?”
They hesitated, and she prodded them with the points of her blades.
“Gone,” they both replied.
“Gone where?”
“He didn’t say.”
“He just took that thief and—”
“What?” she asked, her heart tripping. “What thief?”
“The Shade he called him.”
“Nay, The Shadow.”
“Nay, nay, I’m sure ’twas The Shade.”
“The Shadow sounds better.”
“It doesn’t matter if it sounds better.”
“If I were a thief, I wouldn’t call myself The Shade.”
Miriel’s heart was beating louder than their bickering, and dark thoughts began to swirl around her head, pulling her down like a deadly whirlpool.
If Rand of Morbroch was actually Rand la Nuit, the mercenary…
If he’d captured The Shadow, or the one he thought was The Shadow…
Bloody hell!
Rand la Nuit. La Nuit. The Night. The Night has swallowed The Shadow.
Miriel couldn’t breathe. Rand had betrayed her. Sung Li had sacrificed himself. And Miriel had been a fool.
The players were still quarreling when she slipped off into the forest.
For a long while she walked woodenly along the path, not sure where she was going, too stunned to do more than put one foot in front of the other.
How could she have been so blind? How could she have not seen that Rand was a scoundrel?
He hadn’t come to Rivenloch to join Cameliard’s fighting force at all. He’d come to collect the reward for capturing The Shadow.
Her chest felt as if it were being crushed between the grinding wheels of a mill, squeezing her heart so that it pinched with every knifing pulse, making it almost impossible to breathe. Not even sobs could escape the tight prison of her aching ribs, though her throat constricted with the urge to weep, and her eyes stung with unshed tears.
Curse his deceiving tongue. She’d entrusted her heart to him. She’d promised herself to him in marriage.
God’s wounds! She’d bedded the bastard.
Now she was paying for her folly. But worse, Sung Li was paying for it.
Somehow, Miriel managed to keep moving. Eventually, whether by instinct or design, she found herself on the road to Morbroch. Rand la Nuit might no
t be a proper knight, but he’d likely borrowed his title in the service of the Lord of Morbroch. It was there, no doubt, his reward awaited.
As she trod past moonlit pines and the skeletons of leafless oaks, the hurt of betrayal festered within her breast, curdling like cream in verjuice, to form a hard knot of rage.
All her energy, she focused to a single purpose. All her thoughts centered on vengeance. With every breath she took, she exhaled the last shreds of mercy. With every ounce of her will, she wished him dead.
Miriel had never killed a man.
But she knew how. Sung Li had taught her both how to end a man’s life in an instant and how to prolong his dying. He’d also taught her it was the act of a coward to kill when it was unnecessary.
But for the first time in her life, Miriel felt it was not only necessary, it was desirable. As ignoble as it might be, as much as Sung Li would bristle at her bloodthirsty lust for revenge, when Miriel imagined thrusting her sharp woo diep do through Rand’s lying heart or slitting his throat with her bay sow, a twisted satisfaction served as a temporary balm for her wounded soul.
It was that nagging hunger for retribution that kept her awake all night, kept her trudging purposefully toward Morbroch.
Indeed, she slept and ate very little over the next few days, for fear she might miss her chance to save Sung Li, and maybe more significant, lose the opportunity to slay Rand la Nuit.
On the third day, at twilight, she dragged herself up the hillock that formed part of a circle of small hills surrounding Morbroch Castle.
Now, knowing Rand was within her grasp, knowing she’d get the vengeance she sought, she felt the exhaustion of the past days slip away. Her mind found new focus, and as she gazed at the blue sandstone castle sprawled across the rise in the middle of the valley, she began to formulate a plan.
She’d wait till nightfall. After all, night was the domain of shadows.
Chapter 23
Rand paced the drafty bedchamber his host had lent him, making the candle’s flame flicker dangerously. But he didn’t care if the thing went out. Maybe then he’d get the sleep he so desperately needed.
There was no good reason for the burden of guilt weighing so heavily on his shoulders. He’d achieved his mission. He’d collected his reward. The lord was well pleased, so well pleased he’d invited him to stay on at Morbroch. Rand had ridded the world of a troublesome outlaw. Most important of all, he’d saved his precious Miriel from the perfidy of her trusted servant, a debauched old man.
Yet his heart was heavy.
He ran a weary hand over the back of his neck. Maybe when it was all over, when they took Sung Li to be hanged, Rand would receive the absolution he sought.
But he doubted it.
He slumped down onto the pallet and sank his head into his hands.
Miriel would never forgive him.
That was what agonized him.
No matter what he’d try to tell her, how patient and honest and compassionate he was, explaining Sung Li’s deception, the old man’s devious plotting, his villainy, his betrayal of her and her father and her people, Rand knew Miriel would never forgive him for sending her lifelong maidservant to the gallows.
And if she didn’t forgive him, she’d never take him back.
Part of him wished he’d never caught The Shadow at all. Part of him wanted to undo everything he’d done, turn back time, and let the robber run off into the woods to return to Rivenloch and his rampant thieving.
But another part of him, the reasonable part, knew that what he’d done, he’d done to protect Miriel.
God help him, he loved the lass. He’d never loved anyone as fiercely as he did Miriel. He’d do anything to keep her safe. And if keeping her safe meant making her hate him, it was a sacrifice he must make, a burden he must bear.
He dared not even torment himself by holding on to a shred of hope that Miriel might one day understand. In her eyes, he’d betrayed her trust as much as Sung Li had. Once she found out who he was, a bastard mercenary who had come to Rivenloch on false pretenses, she probably wouldn’t even believe that he’d truly fallen in love with her. Indeed, she had no reason to believe anything he said.
Eventually, he’d learn to live without her love. He’d take solace instead in the fact that once the felon in the dungeon was executed, Miriel would be safe from Sung Li’s villainy forever.
Misery coiled like a vile serpent about his throat, strangling his need to weep, squeezing the life out of his sorrow, leaving bitter poison in its place.
It was probably best if Rand didn’t see her again. Maybe it was cowardice on his part, but he couldn’t bear the thought of Miriel gazing upon him with tears of betrayal flooding her innocent eyes, knowing he was the cause of her hurt.
The Lord of Morbroch had made him a generous offer, a position in his retinue. A week ago, Rand might have been glad of such an offer. Weary of wandering from village to village, living by the edge of his sword and the seat of his trews, finally glimpsing a beautiful possibility for permanence and stability with a woman whom he loved and who loved him in return, Rand had dreamed that he might make such a life for himself at Rivenloch.
But now that dream seemed a thousand miles away, from another lifetime.
Now all he wanted was to slouch off into the familiar shadows of the woods, lie in the arms of his always welcoming mistress—loneliness, and hide himself from the condemning eyes of the world.
Lost in self-pity, his head buried in his hands, Rand almost ignored the faint prickling at the back of his neck, the prickling that told him he wasn’t alone.
By the time he lifted his head, something slammed into the back of it, shooting bright stars across his vision and catapulting him forward, off the bed and onto his knees.
Dazed, he was unable to do more than curl into a protective ball and crawl out of range.
At least, he’d thought he was out of range. But when a second impact knocked his head sideways, sending him sprawling across the planks, he quickly drew his dagger and scanned the room. Between the dim candlelight and the stunning blows to his head, he was nearly blind. But a good hunter could always rely on his ears.
Unfortunately, his attacker made very little sound.
Rand thought he saw, from the corner of his eye, a dark movement, like a shadow shifting in the flickering flame. Then something flashed like lightning through the air, striking the side of his neck, searing his skin as it passed and smacking into the wall behind him.
There was no time to look at what had hit him, no time to fret over the blood welling from the glancing wound. He scrambled back against the wall, using it to lever himself to his feet.
Tossing his head to clear the blur, he searched the corners of the room, but saw nothing. The only sound was his own labored breath.
He tossed the dagger to his left hand and drew his sword with his right, then slowly edged away from the wall. Before he’d taken two steps, his eye caught a movement just above the far edge of the pallet.
A glint of silver warned him a blade sailed directly for his chest. He turned, catching the knife in his right shoulder instead. He grunted as the thin blade bit deep. With his dagger hand, he yanked the knife out, ignoring the pain and blood.
Then, with a snarl of fury, he took one great step onto the pallet and lunged forward, intending to crash down on top of the invader on the other side.
But his boots slammed down on empty floor. The attacker had vanished.
Rand whipped his head about. Where could he have gone?
His answer came in the next instant. As he stood, casting about, a dark shadow swept out from beneath the pallet, catching him forcefully behind the heels.
Knocked off-balance, his hands full of weapons, Rand fell backward, hitting hard against the wall. Scraping his head down the plaster, he landed on his hindquarters with a bruising thud.
Through the fluttering slits of his eyes, he saw the silhouette beneath the bed, skittering away like a great black spider.<
br />
The Shadow.
Nay, it couldn’t be. Sung Li was locked up in the dungeon.
Before Rand could guess what other enemy might have found him, the attacker’s cowled head edged up over the pallet, and he snapped his wrist forward.
Rand jerked his head aside just in time to see a sharpened silver star lodge in the plaster beside him.
It must be The Shadow. That star was one of the strange weapons he’d seen on Miriel’s chamber wall.
But how had Sung Li escaped the dungeon?
There was no time to wonder. However he’d done it, he could just as easily have escaped the castle. But he hadn’t. He’d lingered behind to finish off his captor.
There would be no holding back then. This was a fight to the death.
Though Miriel tried to train her mind to the serenity and purpose required for cold-blooded killing, within her breast, her heart hammered relentlessly.
She’d hoped it would be over by now, that Rand la Nuit would be dead. Indeed, she’d been surprised to find him awake. The rest of the castle slumbered, including the two guards whom she’d interrogated. Before she’d sent them to sleep with a well-placed punch, they’d told her that The Shadow was to be executed in the morn, then pointed her in the direction of Rand’s chamber.
She’d come directly to his room. She knew if she went to Sung Li first, he’d talk her out of killing Rand. He wouldn’t understand. He didn’t know that she’d given Rand everything—her heart, her body, her soul. He wouldn’t understand the unbearable hurt that drove her to murder.
But she’d expected it would be a simple thing. She’d creep into the room, find the wretched, conniving, deceptive bastard of a mercenary asleep in his bed, and quickly slit his throat. Indeed, it was a mercy that she’d planned for him a swift and painless death, for he deserved far worse.
Instead, not only was he fully awake and prepared to defend himself, but her own deadly calm seemed to fail her. That last shuriken should have struck him in the throat. Instead, it slipped off her nervous fingers. Likewise, her bay sow had strayed off course. Even the sweep of her legs and his subsequent collision with the wall only rattled his brain where it should have knocked him cold.
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