“Mayhap, but ’tis better that we have some manner of light. Xander gave us this dark privacy in hopes we will all fall into slumber, and thereby give him the upper hand.”
“But if he comes in—”
“He will not,” Kieran assured her. “He’ll want to, if he should see the glow behind the curtains, but he’d never expose such curiosity to others. At least, not until he was certain we slept. Here, will you not let me see the stone?”
Glenys hesitated, wishing that the horrid thing would stop glowing. “It’s naught but a great nuisance. I wish beyond heaven that my aunts had never pressed it upon me.”
The glowing stopped at once, setting them back into darkness.
“Oh,” Glenys said foolishly, then gave a start as she felt Kieran’s hand searching about in her cloak.
“For shame, mistress. You’ve hurt its feelings.” His hands moved skillfully, finding her pocket and sliding within. His face was so close to hers that she could feel his breath warm upon her cheek, so close that she could tell when his lips turned upward in a smile as he found the stone. Only when he had taken the object and moved away did Glenys realize that she’d been holding her breath. Releasing it slowly, and wondering why her heart should be beating so rapidly, she said, in an embarrassingly shaky manner, “You’ll not get it to work. Only my aunts know the secrets of making the lack-witted things behave.”
He ignored her, but she could hear him murmuring to the stone just as if it could understand what he said.
“There, now, little creature. Pretty little creature.”
“’Tis not a creature,” Glenys told him. “’Tis a mindless stone.”
“Never listen to her, my sweet. Come now. Let us see your pretty light.”
Glenys opened her mouth to repeat what she’d just told him, but stopped, her mouth gaping—for the stone had begun to glow. Not brightly, but with its distinctive, soft light.
Kieran’s hand was illuminated first—the flat of his palm, upon which the smooth white stone rested, and his long, shapely fingers. She could faintly see the outline of his face, and his lips as they moved, crooning gently to the stone.
“Aye, my sweet. Pretty little creature. Just like that. Show me how sweetly you make your lovely light. A little more now…a little more.”
As if in answer to him, the light grew brighter, bit by bit, as Kieran requested it, illuminating his face and then beyond, until the curtained area was awash in a gentle glow.
“There, ’tis plenty. No more now, little one, lest we be found out. What a pretty, clever stone you are. You’ll not mind keeping us safe throughout the night, in spite of what your mistress tells you?”
As if in answer to his question, the stone dimmed.
“Very fine!” Glenys said, fully insulted until she remembered that it was only a rock.
“Nay, she does not mean what she says,” Kieran told the stone soothingly.
“It is not alive!” Glenys whispered furiously. The stone dimmed even more, nearly going out altogether.
“Glenys, be silent and let me take care of this.”
Huffing, Glenys folded her arms over her chest and sat without speaking, watching Kieran charm the little stone all over again until it glowed more brightly.
“There.” He looked at her with clear satisfaction. “It only wanted a bit of coddling. All creatures do.”
“If it is a creature,” Glenys said, “then ’tis clearly a female.”
Kieran chuckled and carefully set the stone in the middle of the small room. It put out a pure but gentle glow, as soft as a single candle.
“The trouble, Glenys Seymour,” he said, leaning back with contentment and smiling at her, “is that you are surrounded by magic, but don’t believe in it.”
“This is not magic,” she retorted, pointing at the stone.
He was unperturbed. “Of a certainty it is.”
“I explained to you how it comes to put out light. ’Tis but natural elements, of the earth….”
He shook his head and yawned. “You seek to make all things practical, but ’tis impossible. Do you find the thought of magic so unsettling, then? ’Tis a wonder that your relatives haven’t been able to convince you in all these years. Will you let me see this wondrous powder that your uncle gave you?”
She shook her head. “You are too weary. Mayhap on the morrow. ’Tis good for putting out fires and ridding a dwelling of smoke, as well. But it is not magic.”
He chuckled. “As you say, mistress.”
They were distracted by Jean-Marc, who, fast asleep, turned over to one side and threw an arm about Dina, who slept beside him. Dina gave a slight sigh, but neither woke nor moved.
Kieran spoke before Glenys could. “I’ll have a word with him come morn. Don’t worry o’er the matter. Jean-Marc falls in love as readily as rain falls from the sky. A more romantic fool you’ll never find. His heart is broken once each fortnight.”
“You surprise me, Master FitzAllen,” Glenys said honestly. “He does not seem capable of such soft emotions. Most especially since I have seen him with Xander and his men. He was among them once, I gather?”
Kieran sat forward, rolling his head from side to side as if to ease sore muscles, his weariness growing more evident as each moment passed.
“Jean-Marc was born and raised in London, living like a rat in the streets, knowing neither father nor mother. When I came upon him he was but eleven years of age, and ’tis no small thing that he had lived that long beneath such daunting circumstance. He survived because he was far too witty and skilled to die, and because he had been taken in amongst a family of thieves.”
“Xander and his men?”
“Xander was among them, but he was yet an underling himself then. Nay, the man who kept Jean-Marc alive went by the name of Trigere. Japhet Trigere. God’s pity, but he was a soulless knave. Ten times over what Xander is. But he knew what a treasure he had in Jean-Marc, and taught him well, treating him as much like a son as he ever had anyone. He even named Jean-Marc, choosing something French, as Trigere was.” Kieran grinned and uttered a laugh. “And Jean-Marc has ever thought himself French-born since, and quite knowledgeable on all things Gallic, though he’s as English as you or I. ’Twas but mere fortune that brought him to me one day, to pick my pocket.” Kieran looked wistful at the memory. “He might have succeeded, if I’d not been as skilled as he.” He glanced at Glenys with glittering eyes. “My parents have ever despaired of my peculiar talents, but they’ve served me well over the years, I vow. And if not for having them, I might never have caught Jean-Marc in his act of stealing from me.”
“How so?”
Kieran stretched, lifting his arms high over his head, before answering. “The only reason Jean-Marc went with me, rather than returning to his thieving family, was because he recognized me as a superior thief. And ’tis truth that I emptied a great many pockets in those days so that I might keep my belly filled and my…well, to speak kindly of it, my bed well warmed.”
“I’m surprised that you needed funds for that,” Glenys said without thinking, then immediately flushed and set a hand to her mouth. “Forgive me. I should not have said that.”
He laughed, but so wearily that she could not but feel pity. “’Nay, you speak well, though I am aware of what vanity I appear to possess. But I am near thirty years of age, and beyond telling lies to that purpose.” He shrugged. “I have been blessed in my ways with women, and will not deny it. But the women whose company I have oft sought require sustenance just as needily as any do, and that is what I have paid for. But you did not wish to know of that. You wished to be reassured about Jean-Marc, and I give you my word that I’ll speak to him about your maid. ’Tis not our intent to act as seducers while we hold you captive.”
Glenys frowned and looked away, thinking silently that he’d have no desire to seduce her for any reason, not even if Sir Anton had paid him for it.
“We could do so, if we wished, of course,” he said, and she lifted her
head to find him gazing at her very directly. “Seduce you, I mean. Have no doubt of that. You’d be helpless to resist.”
Glenys’s eyes widened. She hardly knew what to think of such words. Was he making sport of her ugliness? A man so handsome, who could have any female he desired with but a glance, would never waste his considerable charms upon one such as her.
Her silence seemed to exasperate him. He lifted a hand and pointed to the great, filthy room beyond the curtain.
“Xander and his men were willing to pay me gold just to have you for a single night. You, and not your maid.”
“They were afraid of harming her,” Glenys whispered.
He rolled his eyes. “They didn’t give a holy damn about hurting anyone, least of all Dina. They’re murdering swine, Glenys. They only respect those who are faster and more able with a weapon than they are. Nay, Xander wanted you. You’ve little experience with such things, being used to weak men like Sir Anton, but that was lust in Xander’s gaze. For you.”
Glenys blinked at the sudden tears that sprang to her eyes. Why had he suddenly become so cruel?
“I understand what it is you say,” she managed to reply, her voice quavering. “A man—a murderer—who has been without a woman for many weeks may be driven to want…one such as I am.”
Kieran tilted his head back and gazed up at the meager roof above, almost as if he was praying for patience. “That is not what I mean,” he said at last, finally lowering his gaze to meet her own. “If I were not so weary, and if I had not already vowed to leave you in peace, I would show you what I mean, and then you would have no doubt of it. Here.” He took his sword, which he had unsheathed before he’d sat down, and placed it between them. “I pray you’ll not need this, but ’twill be here if you do. Remember, wake me if one of them dares to pass through the curtains.”
Mute, Glenys nodded, and watched as Kieran muttered something beneath his breath and then lay down. He closed his eyes, but kept muttering…something about women and foolishness and not knowing anything at all. At last, however, he yawned and grew silent, and then fell fast asleep.
If he hadn’t been so weary, Kieran told himself later, he would have waked the very moment that Glenys started saying his name. And most certainly when she started kicking him. And most definitely, beyond a doubt, when he at last smelled smoke.
As it was, he finally came awake to find Glenys standing almost on top of him, holding his sword in her hands, fending off a very unhappy Roald.
“Master FitzAllen!” Glenys shouted furiously, the heavy sword wobbling back and forth. “Jean-Marc!”
From somewhere behind him, Kieran heard Jean-Marc’s reply along with a great deal of movement, followed by one of Dina’s unhelpful shrieks. Kieran himself lay as if frozen in his place, staring up with groggy amazement at the sight of Glenys fending off Roald as boldly as an Amazon. She looked as if she’d kill the man if she had to—and if she could keep the sword aloft. There were no tears upon her face, nothing of terror…only fierce determination.
A pair of hands grabbed Kieran by the collar and dragged him up into a sitting position, and then Jean-Marc’s angry face appeared. “God’s toes, you’re getting old, blind and deaf!” he shouted, heartily shaking him. “Get up!”
The lethargy that had held him spellbound lifted away at once, and Kieran leaped to his feet. The entire dwelling was rapidly filling with smoke, and he understood at once what was happening. Xander had promised not to touch them—physically. But filling the room with smoke and confusion and trying to steal their belongings wasn’t part of his vow. And unless Kieran got them all out of the dwelling soon, they’d be overcome by the smoke and possibly die from it. Already he could see that Glenys was coughing, her grip on the sword faltering.
“Let me deal with this fool,” he muttered, taking the sword from her hands and reaching out to grab Roald by the collar, setting the blade against his neck. “Glenys!” he shouted above the noise and confusion, ignoring Roald’s struggles to escape his steely grip, “Stay close by Jean-Marc, and he’ll lead you…Glenys?” He looked about in the smoke, just in time to see her disappearing beyond the curtains and into the greater room beyond—where Xander and his men were busy causing the fire to smoke.
“Glenys! Do not!”
But she was gone. All he could hear was her cough, desperate due to the ever increasing smoke.
Kieran spared only a brief moment to shout out to Jean-Marc, “Keep the maid down! I’ll see to Xander!” Then he thumped the still-struggling Roald with the hilt of his sword, tossing the insensible body aside, and holding the weapon at the ready, parted the curtains and stepped into the thick smoke of the room beyond.
He heard a brief, feminine scream to his left and surged in that direction, uselessly waving the smoke aside with one hand. “Xander, leave her be! I swear by heaven that I’ll have your manhood on a platter if you so much as—”
A bright explosion of sparkling lights filled the room, turning purple as they fell, and suddenly, unbelievably, the smoke was gone. Just…gone. Not blown away by wind, not escaped bit by bit through a window or the many cracks and holes in the poorly built dwelling. Gone. The sparkles fell to the ground, glittering like hundreds of tiny white and purple stars before dying away altogether, leaving all those in the room staring at each other with but the lingering glow of the fire’s embers to give light. But it was enough for Kieran to see that Xander and his remaining men were standing near Glenys, their knives drawn and their faces filled with a mixture of awe and fear. Glenys herself stood staring at Kieran, one hand holding the small leather pouch, the other still palm-out in the air. Her face was pale, and he took a step toward her.
“A w-witch!” Xander stammered. “You’ve brought a witch among us!”
“She’s not a witch,” Kieran said, knowing they’d not believe him. Glenys did look very much like a magical sorceress standing thus, with her long, auburn hair unbound and flowing down to her hips and her hand stretched out as if casting a spell. She had also banished the smoke in a manner that seemed magical—and despite what she’d said about her uncle’s powders, Kieran wasn’t yet convinced that they weren’t possessed of some measure of sorcery.
“Leave us!” Xander implored, huddling with his men against the farther wall. “Leave now! Kieran, I beg it of you. Take your witch and be on your way.”
The curtains parted and Jean-Marc and Dina walked into the greater area, carrying the glowing stone with them. Jean-Marc stretched it out upon the palm of his hand, illuminating one and all.
“God’s mercy!” Xander crossed himself. “’Tis the devil’s own sorcery.”
“Aye,” Kieran said, losing his temper, “and this is my sword, sharp and ready and of greater threat to you in this moment than a tiny rock.” He strode forward and set the blade to Xander’s throat for the second time. “Tell me now, Xander, why I shouldn’t send your Gypsy soul to hell for breaking your word of honor to me.”
“We did not break our word! We’ve given you no harm!”
“You nearly choked us to death with the smoke you made from the fire, and sent Roald in to steal our belongings.”
“But we set no hand upon you,” Xander argued, then clasped his hands together in a pleading manner. “Kieran, I beg of you, either take your witch and go or let us leave. You’ll see naught of us again, I vow, for we’ll not return until you’re well away come morn.”
“Do you think I’d be fool enough to trust you again? Nay, Xander, I have a much better idea, and you’ll do as I say, else I’ll turn my woman upon you. You’ve seen little of her powers as yet, but I’ll gladly give her leave to send the vilest of curses down on your head if you give us any more trouble. Jean-Marc,” he said, not taking his eyes off Xander, who had actually begun to tremble, “find some rope. We’ll have a decent night of rest yet, I vow.”
Half an hour later they lay down once more, this time around the freshly relit fire.
Kieran had at last convinced Glenys to lie d
own as well, but she seemed unwilling to close her eyes.
“Are you certain they’ll not be able to get free? Xander is so clever….”
Kieran yawned aloud and stretched. “If I’d done the tying, we might have cause to fear. But Jean-Marc tied them. They’ll not be free until we set them free. If we set them free.”
From the other side of the fire, where he lay with his eyes closed, Jean-Marc uttered an amused snort.
Glenys sat on the blanket Kieran had laid out for her, her hands holding her cloak fast about her, looking troubled.
“They think me a witch,” she said. “I told you how it is.”
“Aye, but ’twas a good thing, at least tonight. Here.” He reached into his tunic and withdrew the queen piece, holding it out to her. She leaned forward to take it, looking at him questioningly. “You’ll rest easier having it in your possession,” he told her, yawning again and closing his eyes, settling more comfortably into the bed he’d made for himself. “Go to sleep, Glenys. We’ve a long journey come morn.”
She was silent and still. Kieran lay where he was, his eyes shut, listening. It was a long time before he heard her lie down and, sighing, make herself comfortable, and longer still before he was certain that she had at last allowed herself to fall asleep.
Chapter Nine
By the time they reached York a few days later, Glenys had lost all patience with her captors. Kieran refused to listen to reason; Jean-Marc ignored her altogether. Dina wasn’t much better. She’d given up trying to help Glenys convince the two men that theirs was a fool’s errand, and instead seemed content to spend much of her time following Jean-Marc about. Glenys had long since realized that Jean-Marc was attracted to her maid, and it was becoming increasingly clear that Dina was likewise affected. Glenys had spoken to her twice about not allowing her heart to become involved with such a scoundrel, and Dina had assured her, sighing, that she’d take every care. In the next breath, however, she went on to sing Jean-Marc’s praises, telling Glenys how kind he was, how gentle, how considerate and how handsome. That he was a baseborn thief seemed not to matter at all.
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