Books by Maggie Shayne (41 page)

Blackheart saw her swallow the drug and smiled slowly. At last he’d made some headway.

Odd how that windstorm had come from nowhere, dumping the poisoned pills into the lake. Not Ren’s magic. Couldn’t be—the man didn’t have that kind of power. Sir George’s, perhaps? But if the good George had known about the pills, he’d simply have told Ren, wouldn’t he? And the White Knight certainly wouldn’t have given them to her, encouraged her to take them, had he known the clever way Blackheart had switched them that night in her house. The way he’d replaced them with new ones, specially designed just for her. Besides, Blackheart was fairly certain that Sir George’s magic could no more influence that sort of reaction in the lake than Ren’s could have. There was something else at work here. Something that worried Blackheart only briefly.

Then again, it might have been mere coincidence. Whatever. It no longer mattered overly much. Annie had taken the drug. A single capsule, yes, but one was enough. He’d made them very potent. He only wished he’d thought of this ploy sooner, for he had to wonder if it was even too late for premature labor to kill the child. Blackheart knew the baby’s chances for survival would be far lower this way, but he would have preferred a sure bet. Still, he figured his odds for success were fairly good. Born here, no one to help it, no medical facilities nearby, the baby would have few advantages.

That was the key, he realized. To keep them here. Alone. Completely cut off from outside assistance.

Blackheart rubbed his hands together in delicious anticipation. He would doubly relish his victory this time, because this time it was going to hurt. His adversary was
really
going to hurt.

Ren followed Annie inside, his every instinct urging him to pick her up and carry her. Only knowing how strongly she’d object to the suggestion that she might need that kind of help kept him from giving it. It did not, however, keep him from acting once they were inside and she’d sipped her glass of water. He headed into the bathroom for towels and, on the way back through the bedroom, snatched the comforter from the bed.

“Get the wet clothes off, Annie. It’s freezing in here. The last thing you need is to catch cold at this late date.”

She set her water glass down and rubbed her arms. “You’re right. It is chilly. I think I’m wet clear to the bone.“ She peeled the soaked blouse over her head.

Ren rubbed her down with a towel, ignoring the signals his body sent him and focusing instead on getting her warm and dry before she was thoroughly chilled. He wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and eased her onto the sofa.

“Pants, too, Annie,” he warned. “I want you warm and dry. Double pneumonia wouldn’t do you or the baby any good.”

Annie saluted as if he were her commanding officer giving orders, but she did it with a smile. One he couldn’t return. He was worried, first and foremost about her and the child she carried. But there was something else bothering him, too, something he couldn’t quite identify.

Poor Annie. She’d been tossed like a leaf in that little boat, soaked to the skin, shaken, scared half to death, no doubt. He turned to the fireplace and knelt, carefully arranging some kindling and a small pair of logs atop the nearly dead embers from last night’s fire. Bending low, he blew gently until flames licked to life.

Satisfied with that, he hurried to the kitchen to set a kettle on the burner, then back to the bedroom again for some dry, warm clothing for Annie.

Then he was with her again, kneeling in front of her, rubbing her hair with a towel. She smiled at him from within the voluminous folds of the comforter. She seemed fine, calm. Ren was the only one feeling the touch of panic’s flame licking at his tinder-dry nerves. But why?

She wriggled under the blanket, and a second later her shoes plunked to the floorboards. Her socks joined them, and finally her pants. She sank back onto the sofa and closed her eyes.

“Are you all right, Annie? You didn’t get hurt out there, did you?” He studied her, wondering why she wasn’t filled with questions, worries, the way he was. She seemed fine, though.

“No, Ren, I’m okay. I promise. I’d tell you if I wasn’t. Stop clucking around me like a mother hen.” He heard the kettle whistling. Her brows shot up. “What’s that?”

“Hot cocoa. I thought it might help chase the chill away.”

She smiled again, that sexy smile reserved only for him. He knew that, though he wasn’t sure how. Another bit of knowledge from his life before, he supposed. She’d never bestow that particular look on anyone else. Not even if he was forced to leave her forever this time.

“Well,” she said with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “I guess you can continue clucking, at least until I get a mugful of that cocoa. But that’s all I’ll tolerate, you understand?”

He couldn’t help smiling back, despite his sense of foreboding.

“And, Ren, I’m not going to touch that cocoa until you get into some dry clothes yourself,” she gently admonished. “You could get sick, too, you know.”

She shook her finger at him. He caught it, drew it to his lips, and saw passion spark in her eyes. Then he left her, returning a few moments later with a mug of steaming hot cocoa in each hand and dry clothes covering his chilled skin. His sword was once again belted at his side. He handed a cup to her. “Be careful. It’s hot.”

“You’re spoiling me.”

“That’s my privilege.”

She sat up, sipped, then leaned back again, cupping the warm mug between her palms. Ren sat beside her. “You’re sure you’re all right?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Because as soon as you’ve had a minute to recover from that ordeal, I want you to get dressed. I think we ought to leave.”

The look in her eyes was one of utter surprise and terrible disappointment. “But we just got here! Ren, I like it here. I haven’t felt this happy and content since…“

She didn’t finish. She didn’t have to. And God, it killed him to take away the first peace she’d found in such a long time. But Ren couldn’t let himself be swayed by nostalgia or romance. “Annie, something just feels… wrong. It didn’t before, but now I sense…” His voice trailed off as the dark threat he felt loomed even nearer.

Like a wolf scenting the air, he lifted his face to the changing light pouring in through the window. But he couldn’t identify the threat. He only knew it was there. Waiting. Drawing closer even as he sat there. The brilliant yellow sunlight began taking on a darker hue and painted the room in odd sepia tones. His every instinct pricked with awareness of the danger closing in—danger to Annie and their child.

Apparently oblivious to it, Annie parted the blanket she wore. “Come in here with me. You’re shivering.”

He looked at her, saw her there beneath the covers. Her breasts full and swelling, her graceful neck and slender, strong arms. Her legs, so shapely he wanted to trace them with his lips. And her delicate torso struggling to contain and nurture his child.

“Annie…”

“Please,” she said. “Just for a minute or two.”

Sighing, he slid closer and let her fold the blanket around him. She snuggled into the crook of his arm, resting her head on his shoulder. “You worry too much, you know that, Ren?”

Her lips feathered his neck as she spoke, and he nearly forgot what it was he’d been so worried about.

Then thunder rumbled, a deep growl of it, rolling ever nearer. Frowning, he pulled free of her gentle embrace and rose, hurrying to the door. He opened it, searching the sky, and his heart tripped to a stop.

It began as small black spot in the middle of the sky, but rapidly, in the space of a heartbeat, the unnatural dark cloud spiraled outward, growing, expanding, blotting out the sun.

Oh God, he thought in anguish. The final confrontation. It was at hand. Just after he’d broken his last remaining vows. First he’d made love to Annie, and then he’d declared in his soul that he wanted to be free of his vows. He’d longed with everything in him to remain here with her. And he’d prefer death to living on without her.

His days as a White Knight were numbered. Perhaps even over, right now. He couldn’t believe Sir George would take his powers away so soon, especially not with the importance of this mission. His child—Ren’s chest swelled with pride when he thought of it—
his
child, and Annie’s, must be born. It must be, for the hope of the entire world rested in the still oblivious baby. No, he couldn’t believe Sir George would allow his own anger—or even his precious rules—to interfere with the birth of such a vital leader. And even if he did, Ren would find a way to protect Annie and the child. Somehow, he’d find a way.

Deep inside him, though, Ren knew that even if Sir George’s wrath might be put off, it could not be avoided. He certainly wouldn’t allow Ren to stay in his service. Not now. And there was only one alternative.

Death.

As if in response to Ren’s morbid train of thought, the sun seemed to extinguish itself. Those black clouds must have finally obliterated its light, plunging the cabin into swift and unexpected darkness. The change drew Annie’s attention, too. She came up behind him as he stood there, her hands going to his shoulders to rub him gently. When he turned to face her, he didn’t need light to know that there was real worry clouding her emerald eyes. Ren put his arm around her shoulders as the clouds roiled angrily and the wind answered their summons, springing to life with bitter breath.

Ill wind, Ren thought. Something evil, something dark.

He held Annie tight and drew her inside, closing the door on the evil without. He drew her to the sofa, felt for the clothing he’d brought out earlier, pressed it into her hands. “Get dressed, Annie. Quickly.”

It was black as night in the cabin now. He moved away from her only long enough to flick on every light.

“What’s happening, Ren?”

He shook his head. He didn’t know exactly what was happening. He couldn’t tell her anything to ease her mind. He only knew it was bad. “Hurry.”

He heard her hasty movements as she pulled on the pants and the oversize knit sweater he’d brought for her. He glanced at her and saw Annie tug big socks up over the legs of the pants and reach for the white running shoes that lay near the door. As she put them on, Ren reached for the CB radio, turned on the power, and lifted the microphone.

A roar of thunder rang louder than an erupting volcano, splitting his nerves. It was accompanied by a blinding explosion of white heat so close that the hairs on Ren’s nape bristled in reaction, so potent that the microphone sizzled in his grip, burning his palm, and he dropped it to the floor, jumping back.

The lights flickered and died just as Annie yelped and came to him, grabbing his arm. He smelled the burning of shorted wiring, the acrid melting of its plastic coat. “You dressed?” he whispered.

“Yeah. What should we do?”

He squeezed her closer. “That lightning took out the radio. He’s up to something, Annie. I can feel it. And the last place I want you to be is out here.” He cursed himself inwardly for acting on what had seemed a good idea at the time. “I never should have brought you here in the first place.”

“Yes, you should.” Her palm slid up one side of his face, turning it, pulling it downward. She stood on tiptoe to press her lips to his, and kissed him softly, sweetly. So sweetly, his arms crept around her and his senses spun for a moment. “No matter what happens, Ren, I won’t regret the time we spent here. Not ever, I swear it to you, darling.”

He closed his eyes as pain lanced his heart. “I might. If anything happens to you or the baby…” He fought past the lump that formed in his throat. “Come on. We’re getting back to civilization. We need to be closer to help, just in case…”

“In this?”

He nodded. Already he heard the rain pummeling the roof. Heard the thunder’s vicious battle cry. Heard the wind escalate to hurricane proportions. He felt his way to the front door, gripping her hand and drawing her with him. He felt for the rain slicker that still hung there, determined to protect Annie in every way he could. He detested the very thought of taking her out into the violence of the storm. But he sensed there was little choice. Black-heart obviously wanted them here. So there was no doubt they had to get out.

Ren shook the slicker hard, then put it over her head. “Pull the hood up.”

She obeyed, then took his hand once more. Holding to her tightly, Ren ducked out the door and moved quickly to the small corral. Rain poured down in torrents, and his clothes were soaked through by the time he’d opened the gate and made it to the small shed. The horses huddled inside, skittish and wide-eyed.

Speaking softly, Ren approached them. He coaxed and soothed with his words, stroking their muzzles. Annie was counting on him. This was going to be Blackheart’s strongest attempt so far, and Ren couldn’t let his lady down. His last battle would be, ironically, the most important one he’d ever waged. And he’d win it, dammit, or die trying.

Carefully he readied the horses for travel.

When he finished, he reached for the door. But Annie’s hand stilled his in midair. She gripped it, and he felt the way she trembled.

“It’s him, isn’t it? This storm and… and the power going out. It’s him. He’s out there… somewhere… isn’t he?”

Ren swallowed the lump in his throat. The fear in her voice stabbed through him, but not for his life would he lie to her. She’d be far better off knowing what they faced. She’d be more prepared for the nightmare that might await them.

“Yes, Annie. I’m afraid he probably is.”

“He’s going to… he’s come to try to kill our baby. Just like before, with the gas. Only this time we’re all alone up here. Out of touch, and—”

“
I won’t let him succeed
.”

“God, Ren, I’m so afraid!” She flung herself into his arms, her face buried against his chest, sobs racking her small frame.

Ren held her. His hands found their way up under the rain slicker so he could rub her back, stroke her shoulders. “Annie, Annie, it’s all right. I promise you, it’s going to be all right. I won’t let anything happen to you or to our baby. I’ll protect you both with my life; I swear it to you.”

Her trembling hand curled into a fist that thudded impotently against his shoulder where before she’d clung to him. “Dammit, Ren, I know you will. That’s what I’m so afraid of.”