Adrian (11 page)

He looked over his shoulder with a menacing growl and saw Maisie Lindsey standing just inside the room, his door swinging shut behind her. Her red hair was undone, curling over the shoulders of her gauzy ivory dressing gown, and her right arm was extended toward him.

“Doona break the glass. She is not what she appears, and if she reaches you, she will devour you.”

“Get out of my dream, Maisie Lindsey,” he growled at her and then turned back to the window, where the yellow-haired vixen was now hissing in the direction over Adrian's shoulder, baring tiny pointed teeth at the Queen of Wyldonna.

Adrian couldn't have agreed more. He raised his fists and swung them, but the skin of his fists only grazed the glass as something seized him around his chest and yanked him backward.

It was Maisie Lindsey's arms, although only in a dream could she have crossed the floor so quickly and soundlessly. He threw her off, but she slid under his arm to wrap herself around him, craning her neck to bring her face before his.

“Adrian, look at me! Look!” He glanced down at her face, and for an instant, the draw of the woman at the window was interrupted. “She would be your death. I'll show you.”

Maisie looked over her shoulder toward the window, her arms still wrapped around Adrian's torso like thin iron bands, his erection pressing into her soft stomach. “Reveal yourself!” she commanded.

The yellow-haired woman screamed in fury and seemed to flicker like a candle flame in a draft.

“Reveal yourself !” Maisie shouted.

And then it was Adrian who screamed, as a demon appeared in the woman's place at the window ledge. Its skin was like whale blubber, with long, stretched-out breasts that were secured halfway down their deflated length against her belly by what looked like a belt of seaweed. Its hair was no longer yellow but a sickly gray green, and when her lipless mouth gaped in rage again, Adrian could only see one long, pointed tooth in the middle of its upper jaw. Its black eyes were glossy, like hematite, and the darkness took up the whole of its shallow sockets, reflecting Adrian and the white wraith that was Maisie Lindsey wrapped protectively around him.

Adrian brought his own arms around Maisie's shoulders and pulled her even closer to him. The nightmare had gone too deep for him now, and so he eagerly retreated back into his slumber, the warmth of the queen's embrace staying until he was aware of nothing else.

 

Maisie climbed back into bed with a weary sigh, pulling the covers high over her shoulder as she turned onto her side to watch the coals glowing. She knew Dragon was observing her in return, waiting perhaps for word of what had gone on in Adrian Hailsworth's chamber, but Maisie ignored her, and soon the gray creature rested her head on her claws again and closed her eyes.

Her illusion had not been strong enough. Maisie had considered placing Adrian in the dungeon for his own safety, but after seeing the nightmare of his past and how he'd suffered through captivity—and how being contained still greatly disturbed him—she thought perhaps the glamour on the wall and the giant at the door would be enough to ward off any danger.

Poor Reid. He thought he'd failed.

Poor Adrian. Maisie hoped the Englishman would not remember the events that had transpired in his chamber on his first night. How stupid of her.

How stupid not to consider that the crawler had been occupied upon landing on the beach, especially after the brazen shout of the siren. The creature had been clever enough to quickly hide before Maisie had emerged from the cabin, likely leaping from the deck to the trees so as to avoid touching the rocky shore. Had Maisie seen it, she would have destroyed it at once for its blatant defiance of the law. How it had managed to place the sea wine into Adrian's chamber was yet unknown. It didn't matter really now. As reward for her stupidity, she could now add at least one more to the roster of her enemies inhabiting the island.

If there was one positive mark on such an otherwise dreadful homecoming, it was that she'd seen the black symbols on Adrian's skin. Not well, for she had been concentrating on preventing him from offering himself to the siren. But she'd seen enough before her arms had gone around his hot, bare skin to know that the designs had been laid down with wisdom.

Could Adrian Hailsworth save her—save Wyldonna? Maisie didn't know. But she did know that if he failed, he would likely lose his life, black markings or nay. Glayer Felsteppe was a demon, true, but he had no magic in him to defend against.

If Adrian succeeded, Wyldonna, at least, would be saved.

Her own brother was against her, feeling betrayed and bitter. The folk who lived in the wood and sea and supported him were therefore also against her, thinking she had betrayed her kin and king.

Perhaps eventually the Englishman, too, would agree with Malcolm that Maisie had made an enormous mistake. If that happened, she would truly be on her own.

But at least until the morrow, Adrian Hailsworth was on her side and, foolish as it might be, she felt he was enough.

Maisie rolled over away from the light and closed her eyes, the memory of the Englishman's strong, painted arms around her pulling her down into sleep at last.

A
drian's eyes snapped open and he blinked at the shadowed, unfamiliar ceiling above his head.

Not sandstone—only wood.

Not the crawler—Wyldonna.

He frowned to himself and his head ached dully as if he were trying to remember something he ought. He couldn't recall even crawling into bed the night before, although he must have done just that shortly upon entering; his boots and shoes were missing from his person.

He did remember his dream of Maighread Lindsey, though. She was in his arms and she wanted him.

Adrian sat up and was startled to see the ugly Reid sitting in what appeared to be a chair made of logs near the window, through which it appeared night still maintained a firm grip on the island. He didn't think he'd noticed the glazed square when he'd arrived, but because there would be little to see beyond the panes in a land cloaked in a habitual dusk, Adrian didn't think much of it.

No wonder the large man was so malformed; body and mind needed sunlight to properly thrive. Although that did not explain Maighread Lindsey's fierce beauty.

The giant stood and gave a stiff nod of his enormous head. “Good morrow, Man. The queen has requested your presence in the hall once you have dressed and eaten. I hope you find the meal more satisfactory than last eve's fare.”

Adrian frowned. He hadn't eaten at all last night, had he? No, he was certain he had drunk wine, but . . . he couldn't remember anything at all after that.

“I assure you I meant no slight by my lack of attention to last night's offering,” he said, throwing back the covers and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “I apologize. Please tell the queen that I will answer her summons very soon.” He looked up at the man, expecting him to make his exit and leave Adrian to ready himself in peace.

“I will accompany you,” Reid said, with another stiff nod of his head. Adrian noticed the way the man's eyes flicked over the marks on his flank before he turned away toward the window, as if suddenly interested in the shadows that cloaked the land beyond.

Adrian shook his head to clear it as he fought the urge to argue with the man. He was unused to having an audience while he dressed in his private chamber, and he obviously needed some time to order his chaotic and unlikely thoughts. There were no personal servants for the humble brethren at Melk, and Adrian had become accustomed to being alone. He preferred it, actually. But since it was likely Reid was only following orders, he would not press the proper man into disobedience.

His eyes fell on the chair, where the shirt he had apparently discarded the night before lay neatly folded, the hem just grazing the tops of his boots resting neatly in pair. He stood from the bed and moved to his clothes, pulling on his shirt and then pouring a cup of cider from the pitcher on the table and taking a drink.

He would not press the man to leave him, but he did have questions.

“Am I a prisoner, then?” he asked as he turned to take a seat on the chair and attend to the donning of his boots. He looked over his shoulder and saw Reid glance back in the same manner, but the man gave no answer. “I only ask because you seem to have been given clear instructions to keep me under guard.”

“You are an esteemed guest,” he answered haltingly. “My presence is for . . . your comfort.”

“And yet you are not permitted to speak to me,” Adrian countered. Reid gave no answer, and so Adrian made a wager with himself and muttered, “Incredibly rude manner with which to treat an esteemed guest.”

A glance over his shoulder rewarded him with the sight of the man's torso swelling up, as if it was taking all of Reid's self-control not to burst.

“I have been advised,” Reid said very slowly, very carefully, “that any questions you have should first be addressed to the queen.”

“I see,” Adrian said, working now on his other boot. “Can we not then act as learned men, discussing such mundane things that apply to our lives? I do find conversation with a person of intelligence to be quite stimulating.”

“As do I,” Reid answered right away.

“For instance,” Adrian said, spinning around on his seat to address his platter of oatcakes and honey, “I must say that I found myself quite taken aback at your stature.”

“As was my mother,” Reid replied. Adrian chuckled, but, to his surprise, the man continued. “It was only to my benefit as a child, however, for she tended to dote on me and protect me from my brothers due to my stunted size.”

Adrian paused, an oatcake halfway to his mouth while the man continued in a musing tone.

“As I grew older, it became quite clear that I was not likely to marry in our tribe due to my slight physique. But the Lindseys showed my kin great kindness in employing me within the castle. I am the only one of my kind able to enter the palace, you see, and so it is also my honor to represent our tribe at court.”

Adrian blinked. “Your tribe.”

Reid turned and gave Adrian a haughty look. “Yes. I might be a small giant, but I am a giant nonetheless.”

Adrian considered the oatcake still in his hand before laying it carefully on the platter, untasted. He picked up the cider.

“And you?” Reid inquired. “You are a man, and yet you . . . you . . .”

Adrian swallowed and looked at the . . .
giant
. “Yes?”

“Your skin is painted. Are you a piece blood?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I mean you no offense,” Reid said, turning and giving Adrian a bow. “I only assumed that since you were marked, your tribe is one of exile. I apologize.”

“No offense,” Adrian assured him vaguely. “These marks were given to me by a man who was once a prince in his land. They are meant to cover the scars I bear.”

“Protection.” Reid nodded solemnly. “Of course. Were you banished by your people?”

“No,” Adrian said with a shake of his head, although he was more than a bit surprised that the man had used the very term also employed by Song to describe his marks. And hadn't Adrian felt his friends were exiling him from the library on the day he left Melk? “I wasn't banished. I—”

“Your family was in exile then, and you shunned them. I see.”

“
No
,” Adrian insisted, his mind tangling in the intricacies of meaning that could make Reid's statement true. “My father is a respected English noble. I haven't seen him in many years because I have been unjustly accused of a crime.”

Reid nodded, a bit of smugness creeping around his mouth. “So you
were
banished.”

“No!”
Adrian stood from the table. “Any matter. I should not keep the queen waiting.”

“Very good.” Reid bowed. “This way, Man.”

“There's no need to call me Man,” Adrian said crossly at the giant's wide back as he followed him from the chamber. “You may address me as Adrian.”

Reid ducked through the doorway and into the corridor. “It would be highly improper for me to address a Man guest by his given name,” Reid advised. He strode down the passage ahead of Adrian, causing the floorboards to undulate so that Adrian was forced to lift his feet with each step. “But it is completely forbidden for me to do so with a piece blood.”

Adrian sighed and shook his head. “I'm not a piece blood, whatever that is.”

“I would not readily admit to it either,” Reid confided.

Adrian determined that drawing the obviously unstable Reid into conversation had been a mistake. For a brief moment in his chamber he had almost considered that the huge man had been part of a race of gigantic creatures. Pretty manners could cover much insanity, he reasoned to himself as he followed the servant through a senseless maze. Up stairs, down sloping corridors—Adrian was fairly certain they journeyed underground at one point—until they finally emerged into a long narrow hall.

Unlike the manor homes he was familiar with in England, Wyldonna's hall boasted no elevated dais with a lord's table. Instead, a longer trestle sat directly on the floor parallel to the chamber's side walls and was flanked perpendicularly to either side by shorter tables. Fantastic tapestries and plaid cloths in patterns and colors Adrian had never seen combined were hung from the high ceiling like banners—at least fifty of them, by Adrian's quick guess. There were no rushes on the floor; the stones gleamed as if they had been polished and were set so carefully and finely together that they gave the illusion of being one massive slab of smooth rock.

Two circular pits in the floor at either end of the long room were home to tall open fires that warmed the space and added to the glow of the candles set along the center of the trestle table. Queen Maighread sat in a plain chair in the center of one side of the table, her back to him, but Adrian could see that her manner of dress and appointment was vastly different than that of the woman with whom he'd traveled to Wyldonna. Gone was the simple gown and tumbling curls, replaced with a deep red velvet and hair twisted atop her head beneath a thin crown of hammered silver. When she turned her head at the sound of their entrance, Adrian nearly faltered in his step at her regal bearing.

This was the woman he'd likened to a laundress.

Across from Maighread—to Adrian's surprise—sat her brother, the recently deposed Malcolm. He did not appear pleased to be in the hall with his sister, and Adrian noted that his entrance had seemed to interrupt a rather heated conversation between the siblings.

Adrian stopped several feet from the table and gave a bow. “Queen Maighread.” He rose and nodded to the woman's brother. “Lindsey. Good day.”

“Hailsworth.” Malcolm's eye flicked over Adrian's person, perhaps resentful, perhaps only just a remainder of the argument Adrian had interrupted.

“Good day, Lord Hailsworth,” Maighread said. “I hope your accommodations were adequate. I fear the servants were nae aware we would be hosting a guest at the castle.”

Lord Hailsworth now, was he?

Malcolm snorted. “Maisie doesna feel it necessary to inform anyone of anything, 'twould seem. You've likely begun to notice a pattern.”

Her head whipped around to regard her brother. “It is a foolish waste of time to inform those who willna listen.”

“You called for me,” Adrian interrupted, not caring at all to become an observer of their row.

“Yes,” Maisie said, once more facing Adrian, and he saw the effort it took her to compose herself. “I thought you should hear what transpired at Glayer Felsteppe's arrival at Wyldonna, because your presence here has a personal aim as well as a philanthropic one.” She gestured toward a chair at her side with one slender, pale hand. “Please join us.”

“I assure you my motives are not philanthropic in the least,” Adrian countered, ignoring the place she had indicated and instead dragging the chair closest to him to sit at the end of the trestle, where he could observe both Maisie and Malcolm simultaneously. Although her presence seemed to affect him more deeply each time they were together, he did not want to give the woman the impression that he could be so easily ordered about, nor would he join Wyldonna's erstwhile king.

He was no one's lackey, and he would make that clear.

“The reason I agreed to come here—the only reason—is that your troubles are connected to a man who is the greatest enemy of myself and my friends.” Adrian looked at the siblings in turn. “If any can help you, I am confident it is I, but my priority remains ensuring Glayer Felsteppe is held accountable for his actions.”

“I admire that,” Malcolm said gruffly and then glanced at his sister. “He doesna hide his motivations behind a guise of helping others.” It was a blatant dig, although Adrian did not understand entirely the implication.

Maisie ignored Malcolm. “Fair enough. Shall we begin, or do you have any pressing questions that you would like answered first?”

Adrian shifted in his chair. “Let us begin.”

Maisie turned to Malcolm. “Well? Yours was the first encounter with him that day.”

The bearded man placed his elbows on the trestle and folded his hands together. “I didna know he and his men were ashore until late in the day. There are always so many strangers about, so many petitions to be answered, no one paid him any heed. Likely he knew that would be the circumstance, and he used it to his advantage.”

“What circumstance?” Adrian asked. “As I understood it, Wyldonna is impossible to find and even more difficult to land.”

“It was Yule,” Maisie explained. “There are only four times of the year that Wyldonna can be deliberately located—either at the solstices or the equinoxes: Ostara, Midsummer, Autumn, and Yule. That is how, over the centuries, the stories and legends of our land were spread.”

Malcolm nodded agreement, and Adrian was relieved that he would not have to contend with the brother and sister pecking at each other the entirety of the meeting. “It's when those who wish to do so may leave Wyldonna and those who have already left—voluntarily or otherwise—can return to visit their families and petition for return. Most are turned away, either because of the seriousness of their law-breaking or because they return with wives or husbands and children. Piece bloods canna survive here.”

At this, Adrian's interest was piqued, and so he interrupted. “Piece bloods?”