Ensnared by the Dream Lord (Dark Lords) (14 page)

Grimacing inwardly, she watched as his firm, but beautifully molded lips started to move and almost as though she were suffering from a delayed reaction, his words eventually penetrated her mind. 

“…Jaegar must have used his own brand of magic, Isabeau.  Damn his legs! My guards must have been infiltrated by one of his own.”  He hissed.  “I shall have to seek out the one who has betrayed me!”

She blinked.  “Jaegar is a sorcerer?”

Although she said nothing, Isabeau felt pity for the man who had dared to deceive Wolfe.  There was a bitter anger on his face that did not bode well for the unknown man!

Wolfe shook his head. 

“Then what is he?”

“The same as you, but not the same as you.”

Isabeau clicked her tongue in annoyance and murmured pleasantly, “Are you trying to be irritating?  If so, then congratulations, you have succeeded.”

He laughed again and she watched in shocked delight, as this time, his entire face transformed into full animation.  His grin cut into his firm, taut cheeks.  The skin beside his eyes crinkled slightly.  She saw his teeth and damned his hide, for even they were attractive! There was no reason to be disgusted by his yellow-caked, rotten stubs.  He had a full set of pearly white teeth, damn him.

She almost felt disappointed. 

Was every part of this man perfect?

If so, was it any wonder she could not resist him?  The man was like a walking God, so it was only natural that she would feel…she refused to say adulation, but it felt almost like that. 

She was not used to being attracted to men.  For the most part, she viewed them with suspicion and distrust, fully aware that they could harm her and most dreadfully.  Even though she had been raised to consider men as her only form of protection, her years alone had taught her that they were the complete opposite.  And sometimes the very reason
why
she needed to be protected!

For the first thirteen years of her life, she had lived in a very similar hall to the one she had stayed in this past night.  Her parents had been rich, very rich and kind with it.  She was not one to be blindly adoring of her mama and papa, simply because they had passed. 

She knew it to be true. 

Knew that the servants thought kindly of her family, for they had always been well cared for.  The tenant farmers had had little complaints, for her father had not charged high rates and had been a good and generous landlord. 

Even at thirteen
and
a mere girl, she had known this, because in her family, being of the female sex was not a crime.  It was celebrated.  She had been taught how to be the merriest lady as her parents’ wealth had dictated.  But in the same breath, she had been taught literature, history, the classics. 

Her father had involved her in his estate work.  She had ridden about the land with him on a small pony, greeting and speaking with the tenants, who had been hearty and healthy
and
dare she say it, happy with their lot. 

At fourteen, however, something had changed.  The manor had been closed and they had retreated to a plot of land in the deepest Yorkshire to live in a thatched cottage. 

Admittedly, it had been a large thatched cottage.  Almost four or five times the size of a tenant farmhouse.  And inside, there had been all the luxuries of home, but it had been rather confusing as to why they had moved from their manor and to the cottage.  She had at first thought them to have lost their fortune, as it did happen. 

During the few balls and house parties her mama had thrown, Isabeau had rebelled against an early bed time, when so many fascinating people had arrived at her home and she had hidden behind one of the antique Chinese Coromandel screens many a night.  She had heard the women gossip about rake hells who had lost their fortune at the gambling halls. 

She could easily picture the shocked and delighted expressions on the women’s faces.  There had been a salacious ravenous look on their faces that told the young Isabeau that people wished ill on others.  It had been one of many lessons that had led her on the sharp learning curve from childhood to adulthood.

As far as she had been aware at that time, they had not lost their fortune and until her mother had eventually handed the ring to her, around eighteen months later, she had never understood why they had so strangely transferred their life up to the north of the country yet had still retained the same spending power as before. 

In the midst of Yorkshire, her parents had still dressed in the
haute mode. 

Her father would dress as befit his station.  Luxurious materials, the best linens.  Discreet yet opulent stones and precious metals at his cuffs and in his neck cloth and she could easily envisage the few jewels he wore in her mind’s eye.  He had also worn a plain band wedding ring on his left hand.  But on the right, a huge cabochon sapphire had sat in state upon the fourth finger of his right hand. 

Her mother had been the same.  She had always dined in full dress, jewels draped upon her neck and adorning her wrists.  While her mother had precious stones aplenty, always, always had the onyx ring been perched on her hand.  Regardless of ill-matching colors, she had constantly worn the semi-precious gem. 

Days before her sixteenth birthday, her mother had placed the onyx ring in her palm and had curled her fingers about it. 

“This is your birthright, Isabeau.  I pass it on to you as your grandmother did to me.  It is a rite of passage, your sixteenth birthday draws near and with it, your powers.”

To this day, she could hear those words in her mind. 

It was only then that Isabeau had learned that she was different from the other people about her.  That her parents and herself were somehow not the same as the rest of the world.

“Wear this and it will become as one with you.  Wear it at all times, Isabeau.  Would that I…I-I cannot…” she had broken off and had looked visibly distraught.  If only Isabeau had realized then that her mother would die days later.  “…As you grow, the ring will
grow
with you and you will learn from it and it from you.  Trust in its power and its strength and know that with it, you have a constant protector.  Without faith in the stone, your powers will never fully flourish.  Trust in me and know that I speak the truth, my beloved.”

Now, as she looked back and studied a memory that had been under constant perusal since her parents’ death, Isabeau realized that her mother’s hesitation implied that she would not be around to teach her daughter.  Her overwrought behavior had been out of character for her mama, who had always been clear of mind and level-headed. 

Why had Isabeau not realized that before now? 

What had she not seen that her mother’s bequest to her had also been a warning? 

Swallowing convulsively as tears washed the back of her throat, she closed her eyes and almost from a different plane, heard Wolfe say:

“What would occur if I placed it on my finger?  Hmm?”

Her eyes popped open and she watched horror struck as he hovered the circlet over the tip of his finger.

“No!”

She sighed when he moved the ring away but clenched it in his palm. 

“Why not?”

“It’s connected to me.  I have already told you that!” she retorted, her tone prim yet supercilious.

“Surely it would free you from the curse that follows you, no?” he asked quietly, but his left eyebrow was raised curiously. 

“I do not know what follows me.”

“Why then do you run and hide?”

She licked her lips and shrugged. 

“So that I do not share the same fate as that of my parents.  Burning to death as they cry out in pain as their home is decimated by flames about their very heads.”  Again, her shoulder jerked.  “I’m the only one with the power to use it.  If you put it on, then I imagine it will either be lifeless or cause you grievous harm.”  Her tone implied that were he to place the ring on his finger, she would wish the latter on him rather than the former. 

Wolfe chuckled at her and she had to hold back the desire to roll her eyes at him.  Honestly, she was not a funny man on the stage! Why was he continually laughing at her?  She had said nothing that was even remotely amusing!

“I will return the ring to you…only if you promise not to fight me anymore…what do you say to that, Isabeau?” he asked quietly, but his voice was firm and she knew that he was deadly serious. 

Knowing that he would withhold the ring from her, the item which had become her lifeline over the years, her dependency upon it had grown in leaps and bounds, she had to conform to his words.  She did not like it and wished it weren’t necessary, but the ring was as vital to her being as was her heart. 

Without either of these two important things, she simply could not function. 

While the ring was naught but metal and semi-precious stone, it had long become an almost external vital organ.  Already she could feel her soul searching frenetically for the source of power which was placed on her heart finger.  The beat of her heart had increased and the pace of her breathing was slowly becoming erratic. 

Internally, she was starting to panic. 

Nodding calmly and betraying none of her inner agitation, she said, “I will not fight you.”

What she did not say, was that no, she would not fight him…but only for the moment.