But when they reached the place where the trees thinned and the trail emerged on the hill above Morbroch, they could do little more than stand with their mouths agape and stare in awe.
People were tearing across the field toward the castle, howling as if their hair were on fire. The sky looked like a vision of Hades, filled with toxic smoke and some strange sort of devilish locusts that buzzed and spit fire as they dove this way and that in pursuit of the fleeing castle folk.
Not fifty yards to their right, Deirdre and Helena discovered the source of the monstrous swarm of insects. Rand, his face lit up with diabolical glee, was setting fire to a row of sticks that sizzled and shot up into the air at the touch of flame, like bolts from a bow.
“What the devil…?” Helena said.
Then Deirdre elbowed her and nodded to the pair of wretches scrambling up the hill toward them. “Miriel,” she breathed.
“Lucifer’s ballocks, is that Sung Li?”
Chapter 27
Rand crowed with triumph as Miriel and Sung Li came racing up the rise, looking none the worse for wear. It had worked. Their plan had worked. The folk of Morbroch, thinking they were being assailed by some unholy plague, had fled like sinners for their lives.
“Miriel!” came a feminine shout from behind him.
He whipped his head about. “Helena?” He scowled in surprise. “Deirdre? What the hell…?”
Rand stood, flummoxed, still holding the burning brand, while the three sisters collided in victorious reunion, hugging and grinning and all talking at once. He shook his head. He supposed the Warrior Maids of Rivenloch were going to take credit for Miriel’s rescue now.
“All this,” Deirdre was asking Miriel as she gestured to the smoky sky, “just to recover Father’s silver?”
Miriel shrugged. “I couldn’t leave Sung Li behind.”
“By the Saints,” Helena breathed in wonder. “Sung Li’s a man.”
Miriel attempted to level a stern frown at Deirdre. “But what are you doing here? I told you I didn’t need your help.”
“Oh, we didn’t come to help,” Deirdre assured her. “We came to watch.”
“Deirdre,” Helena whispered, tugging on her sister’s sleeve, “Sung Li’s a man.”
Rand cleared his throat. “Well, now you’ve watched. I suggest we resume our escape.”
No one was paying the least bit of attention to him.
“After all,” Deirdre said, “I’ve never actually seen The Shadow in action.”
“Aside from my knocking you on your arse,” Miriel teased.
“Oh, aye, aside from that.”
“Miriel,” Helena hissed. “Miriel. Your maidservant—”
“Aye,” Sung Li bit out impatiently. “We all know Sung Li is a man.”
“Ladies,” Rand tried again.
Deirdre finally noted the bruises on Miriel’s face. “Oh, Miri, what happened to you?”
“’Tis nothing. Just a few scratches I—”
“Scratches?” Rand burst out, finally garnering their attention. “’Tis more than scratches. I was fighting for my…” He trailed off, suddenly realizing it would be a grave mistake to let the two sword-wielding sisters know that he was the one who’d inflicted those injuries upon their darling Miriel.
But their suspicions had already been roused. Helena’s weapon was halfway out of its sheath.
“Did you do this to my sister?”
Miriel pushed Helena’s hand back down. “Helena, you don’t know the whole—”
Now Deirdre was skewering him with a glare. “If you touched one hair on her head—”
“Deirdre, do not,” Miriel pleaded. “I’ll explain everything.”
Rand cast a glance down the hill again.
The knights of Morbroch were no longer terrified by the unearthly assault. The bravest men had armed themselves and were now ascending the hill, prepared to challenge whatever hellish beast threatened Morbroch.
“Run!” Rand yelled at the women.
They stopped their chatter and looked at him as if he were addled.
“Run!” he shouted again.
Still they stood their ground. What the devil was wrong with them?
Of course, he realized. He’d made a poor choice of words. Saying “run” to a warrior woman was like saying “surrender” to a knight.
“Hurry!” he amended. “They’re coming. Take Sung Li to safety.”
With a verifying glance down the hill, they complied, bolting into the woods.
Then, with a final headlong rush, Rand lit the rest of the of the huo yao. The sound was incredible, like a whole row of trebuchets firing rocks upon a castle wall in rapid succession. As if Hephaestus were forging armor upon his great anvil over Morbroch, sparks flew everywhere, their brilliance rivaling the sun.
There was no time to see what effect this climactic series of explosions had upon the knights. Rand had to join the other fugitives. He lit the final stick, tossed down the torch, which guttered out upon the damp heath, and made his escape into the forest through the concealing veil of smoke.
Why he imagined he’d get a word in between the excited palavering of the sisters, he didn’t know. They were clearly too busy untangling years of secrets to pay heed to what he was saying.
“So in all this time,” Deirdre said, “Father hasn’t lost a penny?”
“Not a penny.”
Helena murmured, “And Sung Li. Has he been a man all along?”
“Of course,” Miriel said with a laugh.
“He was your teacher, wasn’t he?” Deirdre guessed.
“Aye.”
“I wish you’d told us,” Helena said with a pout.
“Amazing,” Deirdre marveled. “Sir Rand kept tracking The Shadow, never realizing he was on the trail of his own ladylove.”
Helena laughed and clapped Miriel on the shoulder. “And she had the ballocks to leave him a silver coin.”
“What about your collection of weapons?” Deirdre asked. “Do you actually know how to use them?”
Miriel nodded.
Helena’s eyes lit up. “You must show us, Miri. Promise.”
Sung Li didn’t bother trying to interject any words of wisdom as they hurried along. Nearly an hour into the journey, he finally remarked upon Rand’s injuries. “So what happened to you?”
“The Shadow happened to me,” he replied.
“Hmph.” Then a smile of pride mixed with something wicked slowly curved Sung Li’s lips. “You are lucky you are still alive.”
Rand nodded. He knew just what Sung Li meant. If Miriel hadn’t had one tiny sliver of love left for him, he might lie dead now.
But so might Sung Li.
“You’re lucky as well.”
Sung Li raised his head proudly, like a man speaking of his daughter. “Miriel has a strong heart.”
“And a big one,” Rand said, placing a hand on the smaller man’s shoulder. “Big enough for the both of us.”
So began the peace between Sung Li and Rand. Indeed, while the sisters chatted on and on, marveling over Miriel’s hidden talents, the two men spoke of more practical matters.
By the end of the fugitives’ long journey, when they drew close to Rivenloch, they’d come to at least a tentative agreement as to what would and would not be revealed about their grand adventure. Rand’s true identity would be uncovered, but Sung Li would remain Miriel’s maidservant. As for The Shadow, his disappearance would remain a mystery, and, of course, there would be no mention of huo yao.
A hundred beeswax candles filled the great hall of Rivenloch with golden light and scented the air with a summery warmth that belied the November fog lurking beyond the stone walls. Miriel, dressed in the ruby surcoat Sung Li had insisted she wear for luck, sat beside her new husband at their wedding feast, gazing fondly now and then at the silver knot encircling her finger, as pleased as a knight with a new sword.
Course after course of delectable fare arrived from the kitchen—broiled venison, tro
ut with galentyne, civey of hare, mushroom pasties, roast leeks and onions, flaky apple coffyns, fig and raisin cream, pokerounce dripping with honey. But of course, everything was apportioned and accounted for by Miriel herself.
Merry music filled the hall, the notes of harp and gittern and psaltery following after the pipe and tabor like noisy sparrows making chase in a spring forest. Boniface sang roundelays of tender romance and lusty adventure, and several wee children, more excited than hungry, abandoned their places at the table to dance and twirl before the consort.
Indeed, Miriel might have been tempted to join them in their carefree celebration if she hadn’t been indulging in some clandestine revelry of her own beneath the table.
She fought back a startled gasp as Rand’s fingers dragged up another inch of her gown, dangerously close to revealing her thigh.
Not to be outdone, she repaid him in kind, working his surcoat slowly upward until her fingertips tapped idly on his bare kneecap.
His mouth twitched, but with his free hand, he lifted his flagon of honey mead as if nothing untoward was going on. “A salute to my lovely new bride. Without her, I would dwell,” he announced, “in shadow.”
Miriel’s eyes widened at his risky choice of words. But none seemed to notice. Everyone raised their cups in accord, echoing his sentiments.
Miriel almost spit mead when Rand’s palm slipped brazenly up over her knee to settle on her naked thigh.
Recovering quickly, she gave him a wicked glance and proposed a toast of her own. “And here’s to my worthy bridegroom. As the Chinese say, Wo xiang gen ni shang chuang.”
At the next table, Sung Li choked on his supper, initiating a fit of coughing. Miriel beamed at Rand, raising her cup with one hand and venturing boldly up his naked leg with the other.
While the crowd cheered, Rand leaned close and whispered, “Dare I ask what that means, my sweet?”
When she breathed the suggestive translation into his ear, he made a curious strangling sound. Determined not to lose his composure, he somehow managed to swallow a calming draught of mead. But there was no hiding the desire glazing his eyes at her blatant invitation.
Like well-matched warriors at an impasse, each held the other at bay now, their fingers mere inches away from rendering their opponent helpless.
Meanwhile, the castle folk continued in their celebration, unaware of the silent battle raging beneath their noses. Sung Li shot Miriel a severe glare for her vulgar toast. Lord Gellir supped blithely on, likely unaware that he witnessed the marriage of the last of his daughters, yet enjoying the festive atmosphere. Lucy, newly wed herself, clung to her beloved Sir Rauve like dew to a thistle. Deirdre and Helena gave Miriel sly glances, as if they knew that the hot Rivenloch blood flowing through her veins wouldn’t keep her at the table much longer.
Indeed, the lust between Miriel and Rand was simmering, dangerously close to boiling, mostly because of their promise to Sung Li. The old man had insisted upon their chastity for the last fortnight, babbling some nonsense about abstinence increasing the power of their offspring. Given the circumstances of Sung Li’s sacrifice and his long and loyal service to Miriel, they’d honored his request. But now that they were wed, and Rand’s wounds had healed, Miriel could scarcely wait to climb beneath the linens with her new husband.
Rand’s thoughts were apparently aligned with hers. He raised his flagon again in her honor. “My dear bride, may this tiny bud of love…” With unerring stealth, his fingers slipped through her woman’s curls, parting her nether lips to light upon the very bud of which he spoke. “…bloom into a perfect flower of marriage.”
She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t breathe. She could hardly think while his fingers rested upon her, unmoving, as if daring her to writhe beneath his touch. Her cheeks flushed hot, and she prayed the guests would think it simply a maiden’s blush.
Somehow she managed to swallow a bracing gulp of mead. Then, her heart set on delicious revenge, she returned his favor, lifting her cup. “Dearest husband, my love for you grows by the moment so that my heart…” She stared pointedly into his wary eyes as she let her hand slip beneath his surcoat to boldly invade his trews, capturing the engorged treasure within. “…my heart swells near to bursting.”
His shudder was so slight as to be invisible, his quiet groan imperceptible to all except Miriel, who secretly reveled in her victory.
Yet that victory came with a price. When she saw the smoky longing in his eyes, the subtle flare of his nostrils, the quickened breath between his parted lips, it increased her own craving. It was all she could do to resist diving beneath the table at once and having her way with him.
“My love…” he croaked beneath the ongoing chatter of the castle folk, “take care you don’t—”
Suddenly, the door to the great hall swung violently open, throwing a wedge of harsh gray light into the chamber and banging hard against the stone wall. Even before the fog had a chance to swirl into the room, Miriel and Rand had abandoned their mischief and, along with most of the knights of Rivenloch, sprung to their feet, weapons drawn.
“What is the meaning of this?” the invader bellowed.
The breath froze in Miriel’s throat, as if the chill mist had crystallized it there. It was the Lord of Morbroch. He’d come with his men.
Bloody hell.
Was their marriage to be ruined before it had yet begun? Had the Lord of Morbroch discovered the trickery played upon him? Did he realize that Rand had deceived him? Had he returned for Sung Li? Had he come for her?
Rand, his protective instincts in play, hauled her behind him, out of sight.
Miriel, her instincts just as strong, stepped out from behind him again, wrapping a ready hand around the hilt of the bay sow hidden up her sleeve.
“Morbroch!” Lord Gellir called out cheerily, unaware of the tension in the room. “Welcome!”
Morbroch entered the hall, his men close behind him, while the Rivenloch knights waited in wary silence. The candles flickered as if in fear, and even the hounds whimpered uneasily.
Miriel glanced quickly at Sung Li. What if Morbroch saw him? Would he be fooled by the maidservant guise? Sweet Mary, if he recognized Sung Li, if he revealed him as The Shadow…
But to Miriel’s surprise, when Sung Li looked back at her, his face was as calm as a winter pond.
“You do remember me!” Morbroch thundered back at Lord Gellir.
“Of course I—”
“And yet you don’t invite me to the wedding?”
Miriel blinked. Had she heard him rightly? She exchanged fleet glances with her sisters, who looked as baffled as she was.
Morbroch sniffed, highly offended. He brushed the moisture from his cloak as he strode forward. “You realize, do you not, ’twas by my design, this alliance between your daughter and Rand la Nuit.”
She briefly caught Rand’s eye. A tiny furrow creased his brow.
“Rand la Nuit?” Lord Gellir paused, his cup of honey mead halfway to his mouth. His white brows shot up, then knitted in perplexity. “Rand la Nuit? Isn’t he that mercenary?”
“Not anymore, Father,” Deirdre assured him, patting him on the arm. “He’s Miriel’s husband and one of Rivenloch’s knights now.”
“That’s right, my lord,” Pagan said firmly, more to Morbroch than to Lord Gellir. “He’s one of us.”
The Lord of Morbroch, undaunted by the less-than-hospitable welcome, elbowed his way through the crowd. “Fear not,” he grumbled irritably. “I’ve not come to…disrupt your celebration.” He stopped before Rand. “I’ve only come to deliver a wedding gift. It seems you left Morbroch in such haste to return to your bride, Sir Rand, that you left something behind.”
Beside her, Rand stiffened.
Morbroch reached beneath his cloak and tossed a bag of coins onto the table before Rand. “Your reward?”
Rand had to choose his words carefully. Everyone knew that he’d been paid to capture The Shadow. But those involved had agreed to omit the de
tails of the outlaw’s escape. “You owe me nothing. I heard The Shadow slipped the hangman’s noose.”
Morbroch’s laugh was a bark. “The hangman’s noose maybe, but…” Then he frowned. “Did his sister not tell you?”
“His sister?” Miriel asked.
“The Shadow’s sister,” Morbroch said impatiently. “You know, the…” He scoured the room. Then his gaze settled, and he nodded toward Sung Li. “Her.”
“The Shadow’s sister,” Miriel repeated, giving her xiansheng an accusatory glance. Sung Li had apparently been up to something devious.
“Did she not tell you?” Morbroch asked.
“Tell us?” Rand echoed, looking expectantly at Sung Li.
“Nay?” Morbroch brought his hands abruptly together with a loud clap, startling everyone, then began to rub them together with glee. “Then I’ve quite an amazing tale for you, lords and ladies.”
Miriel, her guard relaxing for the moment, unclasped her knife. All around her, weapons found their sheaths again.
“Of course,” Morbroch said with a sigh, “the tale would be much better told had I an ale to wet my tongue.”
The castle folk crowded along the benches to make room for the knights of Morbroch. Fortunately, Miriel had planned for an abundance of provender, so Rivenloch was able to offer hospitality to the unexpected guests.
When all were seated, they were treated to Morbroch’s account of The Shadow’s escape, a story so greatly exaggerated that it left Miriel squirming.
“I wouldn’t call it an escape,” Morbroch said, shaking his head. “Nay, not at all. That black creature that slithered out of the tree was one of Satan’s serpents, come to retrieve a minion of Lucifer himself.”
Miriel skewered Sung Li with a glare, but her xiansheng seemed completely unperturbed. Indeed, if she didn’t know better, she’d swear he was smiling.
As the story continued, it became more and more obvious what that cunning Sung Li had done. He must have traveled back to Morbroch on his own, dressed as a maidservant, on the pretense of finding out what had become of his “brother,” The Shadow.
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