Dancing on the Wind fa-3

by Mary Jo Putney

  Jerking her to her feet, he said conversationally, "I had even prepared private quarters for you in anticipation of your abduction. Unfortunately, the men I hired were unequal to the task. I should have participated myself, as I did with your sister. But never mind, you are here now."

  Half concealed in the folds of his robe were a scabbard on one side and a holstered pistol on the other. Though she guessed that the weapons were worn for ceremonial purposes, they were lethally real. He pulled the pistol from the holster and touched the cold barrel to the nape of her neck. "Come along, Cassie the Second. After you have changed into the costume I had prepared for you, it will be time for the ceremony. There you will see your sister again. I hope she will appreciate your gallantry in throwing your life away to find her. Most touching. I wonder if my brother, Roderick, would sacrifice himself for my sake. Somehow I doubt it, though he has always been happy to pimp for me."

  Teeth gritted, Kit snapped, "You should give up and get out while you can, Mace. My companions will not be so easily captured as I was, and if I am injured, they will want justice."

  He stopped and unlocked a door on the left side of the passage. "If they aren't dead yet, they will be soon. They are outnumbered and outgunned, and they know nothing of the traps I have scattered throughout my little subterranean kingdom."

  He took a candle from one of the sconces, then with the pistol waved her into the room. When he lit a lamp, she saw it was furnished as a bedroom. He opened a cabinet and pulled out a collection of black garments. Kit recognized it as the decadent kind of outfit she had seen in her dreams of Kira.

  He drew a curved, wickedly gleaming knife from the scabbard that hung opposite the pistol and sliced through her bonds. "Put these on," he ordered.

  "No," she said flatly.

  He brandished the knife so that the blade flashed ominously. "I would quite enjoy cutting off your clothing and dressing you by force."

  The thought of him touching her intimately made her want to gag. Drawing on her acting skills, she said calmly, "That would be time-consuming. Won't your fellow perverts tire of waiting?"

  He frowned. "You're right, I shouldn't neglect my guests. Still, I must insist on the costume. You have to look exactly like your sister when you go to the altar."

  When he took a step toward her, she had to fight the instinct to bolt. Resigning herself, she said, "I'll put the outfit on voluntarily if you'll wait outside."

  "A reasonable compromise. I can wrestle with you as much as I want later. Just make sure that you lace the costume tightly." He ran his tongue over his lips. "The effect is most enticing."

  After he left the room and closed the door, Kit collapsed on a chair, shaking. As always when she was deeply distressed, she reached out for help. But this time she did not go to Kira, who was near the breaking point herself, but to Lucien. The thought of his strength and steadfastness brought her a measure of calm.

  She got to her feet and surveyed the room in hopes of finding a potential weapon, but there was nothing. Nor could the door be bolted or barricaded from the inside. Lips tight, she began dressing as slowly as she could.

  When Lucien found that Kit was missing, he reserved his choicest curses for himself. He should have known better than to leave her when she was in danger of sliding into that trancelike, sister-focused state.

  She had to have entered one of the four passages, but which one? Mentally crossing his fingers, he went into the second from the left. It wound sinuously through the chalk, with gruesome, catacomb-style niches filled with animal bones.

  Where the hell was Kit?

  He rounded a bend and collided with someone coming the other way. Not Kit, unfortunately, but a burly guard with a pistol who must be on his way to investigate the gunshots. The impact knocked them both off-balance. By the time the guard recovered enough to raise his weapon, it was too late. Lucien kicked the gun from the other man's hand, then smashed him in the jaw with a hard right and an even harder left.

  The guard dropped to the floor, unconscious. After confiscating the pistol and ammunition, Lucien tied the fellow up with his own shabby cravat. Then he stood and examined his surroundings. He was in a small chamber with another passage coming from the left. A table, two chairs, and a lamp were set in the center of the room, with cards splayed across the table, interrupted in the middle of a hand of solitaire.

  Not a sign of Kit, but there was a heavy, iron-bound door on the opposite wall. He searched the guard and found a large brass key. It snicked neatly into the lock. As he turned the key, he prayed that Kira was inside. If she was, they could head for safety as soon as they located Kit again. She couldn't be far away.

  The door swung open and he warily stepped inside, pistol in hand. He found himself in a well-furnished room that might have been a regular panor except for the lack of windows. One door led to a bedroom while the other opened to a stone-walled dungeon. It matched Kit's description exactly.

  As he moved forward, he saw a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye. He turned to see Lady Kristine Travers. For an instant, shock immobilized him. The fact that Kit and Kira were identical twins had been at the heart of this mission. Yet it was still deeply disorienting to see a woman who looked exactly like Kit, but who was at the same time a stranger.

  And while he stared, she tried to bash his skull in.

  Lucien reflexively dived sideways so that her cudgel only grazed his right arm, knocking the pistol from his hand. Swift as a cat, she wound up to try again, her gray eyes wild.

  He backed across the parlor, saying urgently, "Kira, put that thing down. I'm a friend of Kit's."

  She froze, poised between belief and lethal violence.

  "My name is Lucien Fairchild." He spoke soothingly, as to a frightened child. "Kit is somewhere nearby, too. She got lost while looking for you. Let's go find her."

  Voice shaking, Kira said, "Kit is here!"

  He nodded. "I've misplaced her in the maze of tunnels out there, but she can't be far." He stepped forward and took the club from her unresisting hand.

  For a moment she rubbed her temples exactly the way Kit did. "I… I'm sorry I hit you," she said, her voice cracking. "I thought you were Lord Mace."

  "Mace is the one who abducted you?"

  She nodded. "He saw me perform and became obsessed. When I refused to become his mistress, he kidnapped me after a performance. Since then, he's, been forcing me to… to…"

  He stopped her before she could breakdown again. Though she seemed physically well, months of captivity had left her emotionally fragile.

  "You don't have to explain," he said quietly. "Kit learned the general outlines through her dreams of you."

  That produced a faint.smile. "She would, bless her."

  He studied Kira's face. The resemblance between the twins was truly amazing. The same slim figure and soft brown hair, the same gray eyes and pure, striking profile that had enabled him to identify Kit again and again.

  But there were also differences. Kira's face and lips were a fraction fuller, and the fact that she was right-handed had given a subtly different set to her features. And, of course, her spirit was uniquely her own.

  He had also never seen Kit wearing a short black satin chemise laced together with leather thongs that revealed dramatic slashes of creamy flesh, or knee-high boots and lace stockings. However, he knew that Kit would look as alluring as her twin did.

  Seeing the direction of his glance, Kira said wryly, "I swore that if I ever got out of here alive, I'd be happy to wear white muslin for the rest of my life."

  He smiled. Obviously she was beginning to get her wits about her. "Do you have a cloak? The weather is wretched, and we'll have a ride of several miles after we leave."

  Kira darted into the other room and returned with a sable cape fit for a princess. As she threw it around her shoulders, she examined Lucien as thoroughly as he had studied her. "Are you the reason Kit has been feeling happy lately?"

  Startled, he said, "I'd lik
e to think so. You can feel her emotions the way she can yours?"

  "Not so well as she does, but I usually get the general drift. Lately she's been horribly anxious about me, but there have also been flashes of intense joy."

  Interesting, very interesting. Putting that aside for a more appropriate time, he asked, "Is there anything else you want to take? The sooner we get out of here and find Kit, the better. Unfortunately, the Disciples are holding a ritual tonight, and they've discovered our little rescue operation."

  Kira's face paled, and he saw that fear was still very near the surface. '"The last time he was here, Mace explained that I was to be the main attraction for a gang rape by all of the Disciples,"' she said unevenly. "Afterward, there would be a private ceremony for him and his closest associates. The whole time I've been captive, he has been building toward tonight. Though he loved playing the role of sexual slave, the ultimate goal was for me to die at his hands."

  Lucien caught her gaze with his. "Hang on a little longer, Kira," he said forcefully. "You can't fall apart just yet."

  She closed her eyes, looking painfully brittle. Opening them again, she said, "I'll manage." She gave a crooked smile and brushed her hair with the back of her hand in a gesture that was purely her own. "There's nothing here I want. Except…"

  She crossed the room and opened a cabinet. Inside were whips of different weights and materials. Taking the heaviest, she explained, "In case I need a weapon on the way out."

  He retrieved the pistol, then ushered her out the door. In the guard room, he said, "I came from that direction, but I'm not sure we can leave the same way because a portcullis is blocking the main corridor that lies beyond. Also, Kit must be on this side of it. Do you know where that other passage goes?"

  She shrugged. "Haven't the foggiest, but we might as well find out."

  They entered the broader passage. Lucien hoped to God that they would find Kit quickly, because his anxiety about her was growing by the minute.

  Chapter 37

  A good thing the enemy was retreating, for the smoke made Michael choke so badly that for a time he was incapable of firing. When he could speak again, he said, "Close quarters are rotten for fighting-give me an open field any day."

  "I prefer shooting cannon from a ship myself." Jason reloaded his pistol. "Lots of fresh air, and the enemy keeps his distance. Shall we get out of this corridor before they rally?"

  "Excellent idea." After another fit of coughing, Michael gasped, "Back up to the gallery. There was a door on the far side that might take us down on the other side of the portcullis."

  Moving fast, they retraced their path to the cross corridor. They were about to head for the stairs when they heard angry voices in that direction. The guards were planning another assault. Since the sanctuary, complete with Disciples, was the other way, they darted across the intersection into the corridor that was a continuation of the one they had come from.

  When they were safely across and out of sight, they halted to consider the next step. Jason said, "Shall we try the stairs anyhow? I suspect that we can outfight any of this lot."

  "Probably," Michael agreed, "but we came here to perform a rescue, not start a war. Let's see where this passage goes first. There's air moving through, so it's not a dead end. With luck, we'll find another way up or around to where Luce and the ladies are. This place may be a bloody maze, but it can't cover that great an area."

  Jason nodded, and they went ahead with the lantern that had survived the attack. As Michael had hoped, the passage turned and started to double back on itself. The soft chalk in this section was shored up with wooden props. As a mine owner, he recognized the technique. The stone must be particularly bad here, for rough boards had been laid for a floor.

  He frowned. There was something odd about the prop ahead…

  Because he was studying it, he saw the flash of light as something began whipping toward him at head level. He dived for the floor. "Down!"

  The American followed his lead just in time to avoid being decapitated by a blade that swung across the corridor parallel to the floor. It looked like a giant reaper's sickle, with a blade sharp enough to cut an intruder in half.

  "Christ!" Jason said breathlessly. "This place is full of nasty little devices. How did we set off this one?"

  Michael watched as the blade swung back and disappeared into a slot in the wall. It must have been propelled by a giant spring concealed behind the wooden strut. "These boards weren't put down to cover holes, but to conceal the trigger. I think this light-colored board moved when I stepped on it."

  He shoved on it with the heel of his hand. Again the blade swung over their heads with a wicked hiss. After it had folded demurely back into place, Michael said, "The triggers have to be obvious enough so that whoever devised these traps can avoid them himself. If we're careful, we should be able to spot them."

  "I wish I shared your touching faith." Jason got cautiously to his feet and stepped over the trigger board. "Blockade running was never like this."

  "One of the things I like about Lucien is that life is never dull in his vicinity." Michael stood and raised the lantern, which he had managed to avoid breaking. "Shall we see what lies ahead?"

  Travers sketched a mock salute. " 'Lay on, Macduff, and damn'd be him that first cries, 'Hold, enough!' "

  Kit tried to dally, but Mace forced the issue by opening the door before she had finished dressing. His avid expression made her hastily pull the high black boots over her lace stockings. She dared not push him too far. Though Mace might have enjoyed being whipped in the past, tonight he seemed primed for straightforward rape.

  When she stood, he ordered, "Turn around."

  She obeyed slowly, afraid of what a quick movement might do to her costume, which was the most indecent garment imaginable. In front it was slashed to the navel with leather thongs crisscrossing over bare flesh to hold the fabric together. The arrangement left her breasts and midriff half exposed. Similar slashes revealed provocative swathes of her backside. She felt more naked than if she had been truly nude.

  Mace stared at the bright butterfly that was visible through the black lace stocking. "Wonderful! Even the tattoo is the same. But the laces are too loose. I'll tighten them myself."

  She tried to back away when he approached her, but he whipped his knife from the scabbard and touched the tip to her throat. "Hold still," he hissed.

  For some reason the knife, with its ability to slash and mutilate, was more frightening than the pistol. She stood rigid while he sheathed the blade, then grasped the thongs that laced the chemise over her breasts. He pulled them so tightly her that nipples showed clearly under the tight black satin. She could scarcely breathe, and the thongs would leave a lattice of crimson welts in her bare flesh, if she lived long enough.

  "Yet surely you are not quite identical." He tied the bow, but instead of moving away he began to skim his hands over the satin-covered curves of her body. The heat of his palms on her breasts made her flesh recoil.

  "Before I am done, I will discover the differences," he said huskily. "Since your sister is the wicked twin, I suppose you are the good one." He pinched her nipples with brutal force. "In some ways, that is even more titillating."

  She bit her lip to keep from whimpering. She would not give him the satisfaction of showing her disgust, for she sensed that he would revel in a woman's fear.

  He stepped back with visible regret. "Later. Now we must collect Cassie the First."

  He bound her wrists behind her with a wide scarlet ribbon the exact shade of fresh blood. Then he gestured with his pistol for her to precede him.

  The place was a rabbit warren of passages. After several confusing turns, they emerged into a guardroom containing a massive door. Slumbering peacefully on the floor was a bound man.

  Mace's face darkened. "Stupid fool!"

  Keeping Kit beside him, he threw open the door and gestured for her to enter first. She knew instantly that it had been Kira's prison; the very
air was saturated with her twin's essence. But she was gone now; Lucien must have found her. Kit would have crowed with relief if she hadn't feared that doing so would trigger Mace's violence.

  He swore viciously, then snarled, "I shall take you to the sanctuary. My associates can play with you while I recover your sister. Now move." He jabbed the pistol barrel into her ribs.

  He gave her no opportunity to escape during the nightmare journey. As they neared the large chamber, she heard the buzz of excited voices. The talk ceased as soon as she stepped inside the sanctuary. Every man's gaze went to Kit. She wanted to cringe and cover herself with her hands. Since that was impossible, she thought of a play she had seen about Anne Boleyn, who went to the scaffold with unshakeable dignity.

  She withdrew into herself as far as possible, as if she were on stage. This wasn't real, it was only a play. Head high, she walked toward the altar. The two roaring fires made the air very warm, which was welcome given her skimpy attire. She couldn't think of a single other advantage to her situation.

  Her path took her through the rings of warrior statues. Close up, they seemed even larger than they had appeared from above. She passed between a Red Indian with a spear and a mailed Crusader, without looking up. But she could not ignore the crowd of scarlet-robed men with their hungry eyes and obscene comments. Worse,some of them fondled her with outrageous intimacy as she walked through the group. She kept moving, her eyes straight ahead, until she reached the altar.

  All of her chief suspects were at the forefront of the group. The men behind were other Hellions, but none had seemed important when she was investigating, and that was still true now; they were simply followers. The evil here came from the leaders-it was written on their faces.

  Lord Nunfield and Roderick Harford studied her with frank lust. More detached, Chiswick drawled, "So you managed to engage Cassie James. Excellent, Mace. She's enough to titillate even the most jaded palate."