The Dark Crusader

by Jackie Ivie

  It held the duchesse.

  And she didn’t look amused.

  “Finally!” she announced crossly.

  She probably would have stabbed the floor with her cane, but she was up too high and the platform sides were the exact dimension of her chair. Rhoenne watched dispassionately as she settled with placing her staff across her lap and glared across at him. She sat almost at his eye level. That was contrived, and rather amusing. He didn’t smile, however. He didn’t allow any reaction to show at all.

  Euan and Henry walked in first and separated, moving to either side of the doorway. Rhoenne and Cassandra were next, and they approached the councilor, his officials, and the duchesse as a front of four. The other three clansmen followed, but they’d turned around and walked backwards. For exactly ten steps.

  They stopped as a perfectly cohesive unit. Rhoenne nodded his head to the councilor. He ignored the woman glaring at him from his right. He lifted his chin slightly to project his words. He knew he had a stirring voice. He used it.

  “Excellency? I wish to thank you for granting me this private audience.”

  “That you finally realized you’d have to attend!” the duchesse inserted with an acidic tone.

  Rhoenne tipped his head toward her, regarded her unblinkingly for long moments, and then returned his attention to the councilor.

  “I gave my word, Your Excellency. I keep it.”

  “We are wasting time, Angelo. You know what you have to do.”

  Rhoenne pulled Cassandra closer to him with a jerk. He heard her surprised gasp. Glanced down. She had a smile hovering on her lips. And he had to look away before he returned it. Or something even more basic. He wasn’t known for a gentle nature. When he took a woman, it was because lust was a primal need and he’d failed at stifling it. He was almost vindictive. It didn’t warrant pleasure. The act of mating was almost brutal. He didn’t care. They were paid and they were told what to expect. All of them seemed to relish it - or they were excellent actors.

  But he didn’t care about that, either.

  He’d wed with Cassandra because the other option had been a black pit of despair that opened up before him. He couldn’t handle the thought of any other man being with her. Keeping her safe. Touching her...

  The thought alone sent a heated shudder pulsing through him, made his gut clench into a tight knot, and sent a wash of red over his vision. He looked back to the councilor before it worsened. Lifted his chin to project his words.

  “Afore we speak much further, Your Excellency, I wish to state that I find the duca di Candia’s sister, the Duchesse Lucia Zecchino to be a staunch champion and worthy adversary. But I am at a loss...as to the reason for her apparent aversion...and open antagonism toward me.”

  “Unhand my granddaughter, young man, and I’ll explain it to you. This instant. Cassandra? You are to step away from him.”

  “You see? She does not even grant me the time to speak.”

  “Guards!” the old woman yelled.

  Swords came out of scabbards around him. Grant’s shoulders bumped into his as they closed ranks. Rhoenne was the lone man who didn’t pull his weapon. He lifted Cassandra’s hand to his lips and kissed her fingers with a lingering gesture. He looked across at the duchesse as he did so. Watched her eyes narrow, her lips tighten, and she had a definite snarl that revealed dark-colored stubbed teeth. He moved their hands to his chest and turned his attention back to the councilor.

  “Perhaps I should have been more specific earlier, Your Excellency...when my party was first introduced. This is not simply the lady Cassandra at my side. This is my lady wife, the Countess of Tyneburgh.”

  Exclamations followed his announcement. Murmurs that contained astonishment. The change in officials was instantaneous. Expressions cleared. Smiles wreathed faces. Cassandra’s grandmother wasn’t as quick. Her head lifted. She gave Rhoenne a long considering look. Rhoenne didn’t show any expression. He heard his men putting swords back into their scabbards. As a unit. Without direction. Their regimentation truly was impressive.

  “Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

  The duchesse didn’t ask. It was a demand. Rhoenne smirked. She hadn’t lost an ounce of imperiousness.

  “Because no one asked,” he replied.

  “Why doesn’t my granddaughter speak? Cassandra?”

  Cassandra was trembling. Rhoenne moved their conjoined hands to his right shoulder, bringing Cassandra even closer against his left side.

  “She has been sequestered in a monastery, Your Grace. Consequently, she is...rather reserved.”

  Her expression altered slightly. “A monastery, you say?”

  “Aye.”

  “In a heathen land?”

  “There are Christian enclaves throughout the world, Your Grace. I was lucky enough to find one...and beyond lucky to have secured your granddaughter’s hand therewith.”

  “Yes. You are definitely that,” she returned.

  The councilor clapped his hands. “Well. Your Grace? Lord Ramhurst? This audience has certainly been interesting, your information of great importance to the duca di Candia’s family, and the entire realm. ’Twas also...timely rendered.”

  “Timely?” the duchesse snapped. “If you please, Angelo.”

  “I believe we have finished the audience. We can adjourn.”

  “Wait.”

  The duchesse spoke up. The councilor looked heavenward for a moment. Several of the other officials looked down at their laps.

  “Yes, Your Grace?”

  “I would request a visit from my granddaughter...if it pleases Lord Ramhurst, of course.”

  It probably cost her to say that with a modicum of respect. Rhoenne lifted a brow. He didn’t alter his expressionless demeanor.

  “I would like to offer hospitality...to his entire retinue. Tonight. At my home. So that I can...converse with my only remaining relative.”

  “Tonight?” Rhoenne asked.

  She nodded.

  “Sincere apologies, Your Grace. But tonight the countess will be otherwise occupied. I personally guarantee it.”

  Euan snorted. Started into a coughing fit. The Montvale backed against him smacked him, the motion so quick, it was almost undetectable. Rhoenne had said it mostly for the Honor Guards’ benefit - to entrench Cassandra’s position as their lady. He’d have to come up with something beyond drastic and soon. If he managed to somehow keep from consummating anything, Cassandra would not only remain ignorant of his darker nature.

  But he’d keep his vow.

  “The morrow, then,” she continued. “I shall send an invitation.”

  Those must be prized. The reaction from the officials certainly showed there was something extraordinary about her words.

  “You do that,” Rhoenne answered. “And now. Your Excellency? Gentlemen of the court? Your Grace?” He bowed his head. “We bid adieu. Henry?”

  Henry clicked his fingers as Rhoenne pivoted with Cassandra. They started toward the door. Iain and Graham Montvale had the front now. Grant dropped back to Cassandra’s left side. Henry and Euan were the two walking backwards. It was perfectly set-up. Planned. Practiced. And executed. They didn’t turn forward until they were halfway down the hall.

  “Oh my.”

  Cassandra’s whisper wasn’t loud. It carried a trace of awe. Rhoenne experienced such a swell of pride he had to clear his throat. He wasn’t the only one. Grant cleared his throat as well. And the Montvale men before him flushed, turning a rosy shade that reached their ears. It was especially noticeable on Iain’s freshly-shaved neck. But they were moving at a snail’s pace when he knew they needed urgency. He studiously kept their steps slow despite how his shoulders itched, while the hair on the back of his neck whispered. As soon as they turned the first corner, he swung Cassandra up into his arms. And they started down halls at a much brisker pace.

  They’d passed the audience rooms and were at a jog before Euan spoke.

  “Um. Somebody want to tell me why we
are rushing? What we are doing?”

  “Getting the laird to his chamber, of course. ’Tis his wedding night,” Henry answered in a low hint of voice.

  “Oh. Right.”

  Cassandra gasped slightly and pushed her forehead into his throat. That was starting all manner of ills he didn’t wish to name, and hadn’t much experience dealing with. It was better to ignore it. But he hadn’t any idea how. It didn’t take long before they reached the chambers he’d secured.

  Emin was standing with his back to the door, arms crossed, the image of security enforcement. He gave them an inscrutable look as they jogged toward him, and then slowed to a brisk walk again. They converged in the area outside Rhoenne’s chambers, circling Rhoenne and Cassandra. Breathing hard, but otherwise nonplussed. Graham was the lone one facing outward, vigilant. Rhoenne didn’t set Cassandra down. Her weight didn’t hamper him in the slightest.

  “All right. The truth. What are we doing...really?” Euan asked.

  “I think he might be related to you after all, Henry,” Rhoenne remarked.

  Henry huffed an affirmation. Lowered his head. And his voice. “There is something afoot. ’Tis an undercurrent. I don’t know what it is. And that has me...a bit uneasy.”

  He sent a glance toward Cassandra before finishing. Rhoenne knew he’d downplayed the words for her sake.

  “Uneasy?” Euan asked.

  “Perhaps we should speak...elsewhere. With more privacy.”

  “I’m not letting Cassandra from my sight,” Rhoenne announced.

  “The grandmother?”

  Rhoenne shrugged.

  “You don’t trust her?”

  “The Dark One does na’ trust any woman,” Grant replied.

  “With one exception, please,” Rhoenne remarked. “I’ve got a wife now.”

  “You willing to trust her?”

  Rhoenne tightened his arms, lifting her closer to him. It wasn’t planned. Or considered. It just happened. And the resultant blast of warmth that filled him was beyond worrisome. His arms trembled before he staunched it. “Aye,” he finally answered.

  Cassandra gave a murmur. Rubbed her cheek against him. Rhoenne bent his knees slightly and tensed to keep the annoying waver throughout his legs unnoticed. He cleared his throat. Lowered his vocal range. “How much time do you reckon?” he asked Henry.

  “High tide. Mid-day. We do na’ want to miss it.”

  “We sail tomorrow? Is that what we’re about?” Euan asked.

  “We’re ready. Have been. We only awaited Ramhurst’s order.”

  “Consider it given. Tomorrow,” Rhoenne inserted.

  “What of the dragon? I mean the duchesse....and her invitation?”

  “You can stay and attend to her if you wish,” Henry told him.

  “Oh. No thank you. I prefer my women a lot younger. And a lot less demanding. No offense intended. To you or your lady wife.”

  “None taken by me,” Rhoenne replied. “Cassandra?”

  He lifted her, brought her forehead to his. Got snagged, then hooked by the golden glow of her eyes. Despite the lock he had on his reactions, he gave the slightest of groans. Involuntarily. He was afraid it was audible. The chuckling about him made that official.

  “I am not offended in the slightest,” she replied.

  Euan whistled. “It figures her voice is as beautiful as she is.”

  “It appears you have another conquest,” Rhoenne told her.

  She smiled. And blushed. And he nearly groaned again.

  “Yes. Well. There is a long night ahead of us, gentlemen. We mustn’t waste it,” Henry spoke up.

  “Us?” Euan asked.

  “What do you need?” Rhoenne asked.

  “Emin. Graham.”

  “Emin?” Euan asked.

  “The man has an extraordinary ability to ferret out things. Procure items. Move about almost unseen. And he’s rather handy with a blade. You hadn’t noticed?”

  “Well. Aye. I am na’ dense.”

  “I shall also need coins...for bribing and what-not.”

  “Use what you need,” Rhoenne replied.

  “And...Ida.”

  “The mute? What the devil for?” Euan queried.

  “She’ll make a great addition to a randy fellow out on the town, such as I intend to portray. I am also giving our laird and his new lady a bit of privacy...unless he wishes witnesses to his consummation. In which event, we can all stay, and...?”

  Rhoenne growled deep inside his chest. Why was his body failing to obey anything? The sound rumbled through the area.

  “I rather thought that would be the answer. Euan, Grant. Iain. There is a fortune to be transported. And guarded. Euan? Fetch a cart. And a donkey.”

  “A cart and donkey?”

  “You do na’ wish to carry the chests to the ship yourself. Gold is verra heavy. You’d regret it.”

  “Cart. Donkey. Aye.” Euan trotted off.

  “The rest of you. Come. We’ve got some work ahead.”

  “We do?”

  “Am I the lone one with wits here? We’re moving those trunks from the laird’s chamber to this foyer. Otherwise our laird and his new lady can na’ have privacy. I do na’ think they wish us...interrupting. But I could be wrong.”

  “Oh. Aye.”

  “Moving trunks.”

  “Got it.”

  More than one man answered, through not-so-subtle chortles. And guffaws. Cassandra was trying to meld into his chest. Rhoenne experienced another tremor. More vicious than before. Perhaps he should change things. Keep at least one witness in the chamber. Something that would keep him from Cassandra.

  And what he might do to her.

  He’d vowed to never wed. Perhaps if he kept repeating that silently, it would help. He had a vow.

  A vow.

  Worse, he’d never had a maid. That would require gentleness. Calmness. The ability to rein back hellish desire. A maid. The thought heightened tension, and sent fear.

  They made quick work of emptying the bedchamber of chests filled with ducati, gold and silver items. Jewelry. He’d set Cassandra down on a stool beside the table to help heft chests. Snacked on handfuls of figs. Dates. Nuts. Downed a tankard of ale. And one of water. He stopped them from taking the bag that held her harem jewelry. He didn’t know why. It just felt right.

  Cassandra had spoken with Ida. He heard snippets. Told her she had a mission. The woman looked uncertain until Cassandra whispered something in her ear. Rhoenne had a very good idea of what it was, especially as the woman simply beamed up at him then clapped her hands. She hugged Cassandra. Made chirping noises. And wiped at what looked to be a tear or two. Then she set about packing Cassandra’s wardrobe for them to tote out as well.

  Women.

  The chamber emptied. Ida blew Cassandra a kiss as she pulled the door closed behind her. Rhoenne walked through every room. Twice. Then he lowered the bolt across the door, sealing them in.

  Chapter Twenty

  She’d been sequestered in this chamber for days. Knew every nook and cranny of every room. Had helped Ida straighten them. Done all manner of things to escape the boring reality of stone walls about her. Slept. Daydreamed. Read the books, two of them twice.

  But the space had never felt like it did right now.

  Fireplace coals still smoldered, platters of nuts and breads, dates and figs sat atop the table, lanterns and torches were all lit, sending wavers of light pulsing through the area. It looked like the same chamber, but it felt so different. The very air had developed a tensile quality. Moister. Heavier. Loaded with tension. A barely-there hint of excitement. A goosebump-lifting sensile touch, enough to alter temperature.

  As if the entire chamber had the ability to breathe and had it held.

  Hovering in wait.

  A sudden thud reverberated through the chamber. Cassandra jumped. Rhoenne still faced the chamber door, his shoulders heaving with large breaths. He had both hands splayed, palms flush to the wood. And then he moved his h
ead back and smacked it into the door again. And held it there despite her gasp.

  “Cassandra?” He hadn’t moved his head from the door as he spoke.

  “Yes?”

  “We have to talk.”

  Talk?

  Wasn’t she ever going to learn what came after a kiss?

  Cassandra took a couple of breaths, working to calm the instant ire before she answered. It would never do if he knew how much she wanted this. And him.

  “I...am listening,” she finally said.

  “What was said in the chamber....at our wedding? ’Twas na’ entirely accurate.”

  “Which part?”

  “The wedded part.”

  “What? So we’re not wed now?”

  He huffed something that sounded like amusement. “Oh. Nae, sweet. We are definitely married.”

  “Then...what? I don’t understand.”

  “You are a lot like me, I think. Oh. Na’ in stature. Or gender. Or such things. It’s more...our nature.”

  “Our nature.” Cassandra repeated it automatically. She started working at the clasps of her headdress after her answer. Without Ida it was tedious work, but the silver pinched her forehead, and he wasn’t watching anyway.

  “I am na’ fond of...crowds. I rarely speak with others. I do my own study. My own exploration. Figure out my own truths. I prefer my own council. That is the part we share. Am I wrong?”

  She’d removed the metal headdress and was wrapping the scarf about it. Her fingers stilled as he finished. Surprise flowed across her like a wash of cool water. No one had shown insight into her most guarded sanctuary. Her place of safety and protection. Her inner self. How was it possible for Rhoenne Ramhurst to know it?

  “I just told you how,” he answered as if she’d asked it aloud. “You are a lot like me – the part of me that none ever get to see.”

  He took a deep breath, pulled his head from the door, and smacked it against the wood again. Cassandra jumped.

  “Why do you do that to yourself?” she asked.

  “Because ’tis better than the alternative.”