Heart of Darkness (25 page)

“To be raised in an environment where love is
shared and expected. Where it is the unspoken mammoth in the room
at any and all events...And though he had his faults, even as a
child, I could see how much he loved her and how she intrinsically
disliked him. I suppose the prospect of sharing a chamber was the
final straw, shall we say.”

“Tis a shame that non-reciprocal love exists
at all,” she remarked soberly.

“It is? Where would Romeo and Juliet be?
Tristan and Isolde? Star cross'd lovers make the world rotate on
its axis, Isabeau.”

She shrugged her shoulder. “Perhaps, it does.
Perhaps, it doesn't. But I would prefer for it not to do so. For a
world to spin on unhappiness is not a good thing in anyone's
estimation! Was this tower to be your mother's?”

“No. The last one.”

“They must be hideously expensive to
maintain,” she murmured inappropriately, as she took in the state
of this chamber. As a particularly virulent shade of yellow mildew
seemed intent on overtaking an entire wall.

Wolfe laughed, amused. “Yes. They do. But
then everything about this castle drains my purse. In a good way,
but tis a drain nonetheless.”

“You said this is your home, but it's also
the ducal seat?”

“Yes.”

“Don't you fear the Milesians coming here as
they did your parents?” she asked, touching on an earlier thought
she'd had.

“They wouldn't dare,” he spat. Not at her,
but almost as though his switch to rapid fury was aimed entirely at
them.

“This place is known as a haven for the Sidhe
who have been mistreated by the Milesians. Not only is it
surrounded by guards, but it is surrounded by magic. My father, in
his infinite stupidity, began to turn against the old rituals. In
the most fundamental of ways, he led the life of a Sidhe. Married
into his own race, procreated and used his talent to make the
Sinclair & Heath funds flourish. But...”

She frowned at his pause. “But?”

“You remember the stained glass windows in
the Great Hall?”

“Yes. The Griffin. An Asrai and a Gytrash if
I'm not wrong.”

“No. You are correct, only missing the lynx.
These are magical creatures and will cause those not of the Sidhe
harm if the Sidhe, who care for them and provide them with shelter,
so require it. The asrai will act the siren and lead those who seek
the Sidhe asunder. As will the Gytrash. A Griffin and a lynx will
do the same.”

“Ah. So your father did not
require
their assistance?”

“Correct. He was far too arrogant to believe
he'd need the help of mere animals.”

“And you speak to these animals. Through your
talent.”

“Yes. Any Milesian that dares step one foot
into that forest knows that certain death awaits. Many have tried
and many have lost their lives. The forest has grown exponentially
infamous. There are now almost twenty Griffins in that wood,” he
finished, his voice filled with pride.

“But why did the Griffin sweep down and try
and carry me away? I'm Sidhe, am I not?” she asked indignantly.

“Aye, you are. But the Griffin that came for
you would have simply returned you to the castle grounds.
Ordinarily, they attack.”

“But you pulled me from its talons!”

“Of course, I did!” he said with a snort. “I
did not realize that you wished to go for a flight! Especially one
where your shoulders were the only part of you that were held
securely.” He grabbed her hand and mockingly continued, “Come, I
shall ask one of the Griffins to take you for a ride!”

She tugged her fingers from his and glared at
him. Infuriated but at the same time pleased at his good humor,
when he chuckled at her mutinous face. “Sarcasm is the lowest form
of wit, your Grace.”

“Not within these walls, it isn't,” he
retorted quickly and with a grin.

She pursed her lips, but otherwise ignored
his last comment.

“Your parents, sadly, are living proof that
the traditions should be carried on, aren't they?” she said with a
faint grimace.

His lips twitched and he murmured softly, “I
like your honesty, Isabeau.”

“Tis a habit now, I'm afraid.”

“Hardly a bad one.”

“Whilst my mother never advocated lies,
she was fully aware that life amongst the
ton
is filled with half-truths and that to be
honest, is terribly
passé.
But
ever since my flight from our mutual foe, the seed of truth has
merely had time to blossom and grow.”

“Well, I, for one, am glad that it has been
allowed to flower in your soul. It is very refreshing and at times,
amusing,” he finished with a quick grin. “Come. Less talk of the
maudlin, you have seen the chapel and the towers, is there anywhere
in particular you would like to see next?”

Instantaneously, nerves overset her. For deep
down, she knew where she wanted to see, but was unsure as to how to
say it. Wolfe probably considered her a whore already, so his
opinion of her could hardly drop any lower! The thought made her
wince.

Nervously, she stepped over to the mildewed
wall and stared out into the dark blackness of the night that could
be seen from one of the arrow holes.

“Your bedchamber,” she blurted out with her
back to him and her head now ducked.

She heard his boots clack against the stone
floor and knew that he would be walking over towards her. She
imagined what he'd say or what he'd do and was completely unsure as
to how to react to either.

When his hands came up to cup her upper arms,
she hissed slightly and felt the need to resist as he tried to turn
her bodily around so that they faced one another.

“Do you mean that?” he asked harshly.

Biting her bottom lip, she nodded slightly
and felt herself being crushed against his chest as he devoured her
with his mouth and instantly, turned her lower legs to mush with
the sensuality of his kiss. Her nipples tightened and the place in
between her legs began to burn hotly once more.

Before he'd awoken and she'd rested in a
chair on one of the terraces, she had remembered what her friend
had called this place--her quim. It was more than likely vulgar,
but she could not think of it as simply the area between her
thighs. It was so much more than that, so hot and bright and
fiercely did it burn that it deserved a name.

Internally, she registered the sheer burst of
need that was juddering through her system and which was centered
almost entirely at her quim. Small whimpers began to escape her
mouth and Isabeau began to tug at his jacket and then his shirt
when that came to no avail.

Her hands were frantic and seeking, ever
seeking, but he soon put a stop to that.

“Isabeau! If you intend for me to take you on
the floor of a dirty and dank stone tower, then continue in the
same vein. But you want to see my sleeping chamber, do you not?” he
murmured huskily, dropping his head to press soothing kisses to the
side of her throat and neck.

She licked her lips and nodded. Words failed
her. As had her voice. The only thing it was capable of making,
were slight gasps and feathery whimpers.

“Come, we shall adjourn for the moment, dear
heart,” he promised and so saying, lifted her into his arms and
began the walk down the tower steps and rushed through, in a
whirlwind, the myriad rooms and chambers that led to his suite.
They all appeared to be intermingled and interconnected.

Within moments, without having
seen
one
person, for despite
the enormous number of staff- the castle's size more than likely
had them distributed evenly amongst the levels, he was carrying her
down the corridor that she knew and before the door that only a day
or so ago, she had believed to be the master's bedroom. Of course,
now, she knew it to be so for definite.

As they neared it, she noticed the
magnificent carving around the door frame. It wasn't a wooden
carving as she had first believed, but from gold. Not in the sense
that the door frame was solid gold, but there were bracteates,
ancient amulets that were made from precious metals for the wealthy
and were inscribed with pictures and runic letters. In the books
she had read, they had only been of Germanic or Scandinavian
descent...she wondered how his family had acquired them and said
so.

“What does it mean?” she asked huskily and
pointed to the semi-circular frame.

He smiled wryly. “The bracteates?”

“Yes.”

“You're very astute, aren't you?” he
commented, then paused and murmured, “
Let
those who rest within, find the solace they
seek.
”

“Why in runes? So that it's a charm?”

“It's supposed to be a charm,” he demurred.
“But only a warding spell. And my translation is very loose. These
bracteates come from almost a thousand years ago, so my translation
could also be very wrong,” he finished with a laugh. “No Duke has
ever died in this suite.”

She nodded but said with a frown, “Then why
do they move away from these rooms and sleep in the towers?”

Wolfe grinned. “To share a room with their
beloved. Tis a statement of intent and pride, my dear.”

So saying, he walked to the door and nodded
his head at the knob, she bent to the side and opened it.

The room into which they walked was a
sumptuous display worthy of a Duke and not something she would have
thought Wolfe would appreciate.

A huge marble fireplace tipped in gilt stood
at the very center of the room and was almost large enough to be
able to stand, without crouching, in its hearth. Atop that, was
bric-a-brac that would more than likely have fed a thousand
families for their entire lives. Above that was a stylized Louis
XVI mirror and to the side, a relatively small circular, high
table. Around which stood three plain, richly red mahogany chairs.
There was a candelabrum on the table service that gleamed with what
seemed like thirty of the enchanted balls of flame that were
Wolfe's to command.

Opposite the table and to the other
side of the fire, was a brocade divan that was laden with heavy
cushions. Behind
that,
was a
bed that was the size of a small lake, or seemingly
anyway.

It was a bizarre shape. Not a rectangle, but
more like a square. As wide as it was long, and it was very, very
long. Although it was difficult to tell which was the top and which
the bottom due to the androgynous shape, the sides were framed with
a bedstead of curling, carved swirls and was shaped like the letter
'S' to the right and the reverse to the left. It was edged with a
dull gilt.

Above the bed, hung a canopy that would have
made George IV swoon with delight and turn in his coffin! Ornate
and carved once again, it was beautiful, just not what she would
imagine Wolfe sleeping under. The heavy, royal blue velvet was
gathered at the canopy, then draped along the frame in a
resplendent display of abundance.

The room was decorated in variants of the
royal blue found in the velvet draperies on the bed, from the rugs
upon the floor to the upholstery.

“I believe opulent is the work you are
seeking,” Wolfe commented wryly and she couldn't help but grin at
his observation.

The more she grew to know this man, the
more facades she realized he had. Wolfe was taciturn and grim,
stern and close-mouthed. But at the same time, he could be amusing
and charming and witty. It was an appealing contrast and one that
she enjoyed. Perhaps the verb enjoyed was a peculiar one to use,
but it
felt
correct.

She liked him as a person and took pleasure
in being in his company. He was highly observant, interesting,
well-read and she admitted to herself with a faint sigh, the type
of gentleman she would have sought, had her mama had the time to
arrange her coming out ball.

“It is certainly not how I expected your
chambers to be,” was all she said, not wanting to be rude.

He simply grinned and said, “They're where I
sleep. I think, when I show you my study, you'll be more pleased by
the show of manly decorations.”

Her lips twitched and almost as though that
small gesture was the turning point of their conversation, his eyes
began to focus on her mouth and instinctively, knowing that it
would excite him, she licked her lips. Slowly. Then pressed her
tongue to the inner arch of where her Cupid's bow rested.

She knew that he was about to kiss her,
moments before he actually did and the press of his lips against
hers was wondrous. Whilet the walk through the castle and the
return to this chamber had cooled her passion somewhat, it could in
no way have entirely dampened down the urges that her body was
firing at her.

She felt marvelous. Alive and kicking and so
damned ready for him that she thought she might explode.

Pulling away from his seeking mouth, she
murmured, “”The bed!