Knight's Prize (36 page)

The
Shadow's disguise was missing.

And
so was Sung Li.

************************************

Miriel
supposed she should have known Lucy Campbell couldn't keep her mouth closed
about the black cloth she'd been sent to fetch. Indeed, a few hours later,
Deirdre and Helena came barging into Miriel's workroom, demanding answers.

"Miriel!"
Deirdre barked. "What the Devil are you..."

Helena
gasped. "Bloody hell."

The
sisters froze as Miriel whirled toward them, clad from head to toe in black.
For a moment, no one said anything. The only movement in the room was the flickering
flame of the candle.

"Miri?"
Deirdre finally whispered.

Helena's
mouth curved slowly into a delighted grin. "I knew it. I
knew
it!
You're The Shadow, aren't you?" She couldn't have looked prouder as she
beamed at Deirdre. "She's The Shadow."

"I
don't care
who
she
is. I don't care
who
you
are," Deirdre hissed in no uncertain terms. "You're not leaving the
keep tonight, so don't even think about it."

Miriel
frowned, admittedly disappointed by their reaction. Weren't they utterly
shocked to discover that their little sister was The Shadow? She thrust out her
chin. "I'm not asking for your permission."

Helena
crossed her arms over her chest. "At least wait till morn, Miri."

"By
then it may be too late." Miriel drew on the pair of black leather gloves
Lucy had brought her.

"Too
late for what?" Deirdre asked, eyeing the weapons laid out on the desk
before Miriel. "God's blood, what are you plotting?"

"
'Tis not your concern."

Deirdre
reached out to snag her by the front of her garb. "Do not tell me my sister
is not my concern."

Miriel,
moved by guilt, acquiesced. After all, Deirdre and Helena were only worried
about her. "I'm going to get Father's silver back."

'Twas
half-true, but Deirdre wasn't fooled for a moment. "I don't recall The
Shadow ever needing such an array of weapons simply to cut a man's purse."

A
silent standoff ensued between them until Helena broke the tension. "We'll
go with you," she decided.

"Nay,"
Miriel said. "I work alone."

"Not
this time you don't," Deirdre said.

"I
always
work
alone," Miriel insisted. She grumbled under her breath as she tied the
sash about her surcoat. 'Twas bad enough that they seemed indifferent to the
startling revelation that their little sister was the elusive scourge of
Rivenloch. but now they refused to give her the respect afforded a notorious
outlaw. "God's blood, aren't you even the least bit impressed by the fact
that I'm The Shadow?" she muttered.

Deirdre
and Helena exchanged glances. Then Deirdre said, "We've had our suspicions
for a while now."

"The
way The Shadow
accidentally
left
food for us in the crofter's cottage," Helena said, referring to Miriel's
visit during her abduction of Colin.

"The
explosion of the trebuchet," Deirdre added, recalling Miriel's
destruction of the English war machine.

"After
all," Helena said with a sly grin, "Rivenloch blood runs through your
veins."

"But
I still won't allow you to leave the keep," Deirdre warned.

Miriel
arched a brow. "And how do you propose to prevent me?"

Deirdre
gave her a grave stare as she fondled the hilt of her sword. She might be a bit
round with child, but that didn't prevent her from wearing a blade, and
apparently she'd not hesitate to use it if Miriel defied her.

Of
course, she'd never get the chance. Miriel wouldn't let her. "Deirdre, I'm
The Shadow," she gently reminded her. "The
Shadow?”

Helena
drew her sword. "Mayhap. But there are two of us."

Miriel
sighed. The last thing she wanted to do was fight her own sisters. But time was
a-wasting. And if she had to prove herself capable before they'd let her go,
she supposed she'd better do it now, quickly.

With
an arcing kick, she struck Helena's wrist, dislodging the sword. Then, before
the weapon even clattered to the floor, she stepped close and pressed two
fingers into the hollow at the base of Helena's throat.

While
doing no real damage, the move caused discomfort and induced retreat. Helena
staggered back, tripping over a stool to land on her hindquarters.

By
then, Deirdre had her blade halfway out of its sheath. Miriel wheeled about, seizing
Deirdre by her sword arm and the front of her surcoat. Then, hooking Deirdre's
heel with her toe, she swept her off her feet and carefully lowered her to the
ground.

When
Miriel released Deirdre, the stunned silence was thick enough to cut.

"Any
more objections?" Miriel asked.

She
glanced from one sister to the other. Now they looked properly shocked, their
eyes wide, their mouths agape.

Helena
was the first to speak. "Bloody hell."

"How
did you... what did you..." Deirdre asked in awe, propping herself up on
her elbows. "Where did you learn..."

Miriel
didn't have time to answer. 'Twould only upset them anyway. How could she
explain that everything she knew, she'd learned from her maidservant? They
still didn't realize that Sung Li was a man. "Later."

She
began caching the weapons she'd chosen earlier—
sais, shan bay sow, woo diep
do,
and
shuriken
—in the folds of her
surcoat, while Helena came to her feet and lent Deirdre a hand.

"I
don't know when I'll be back," Miriel told them. "But you needn't
fear for me. You know there's not a man born who can best The Shadow."
Then she added with a smug smile, "A man
or
a
woman."

Helena
and Deirdre, still staring at her in mild awe, gave her fierce hugs of
farewell. Then Miriel escaped th
rough
the tunnel and into the woods, moving through the
trees with silent stealth and blending into the night as invisibly as wind.

"She
is
good,"
Helena admitted when Miriel was gone.

"Aye."

"How
much of a lead shall we give her?"

"Two
hours. Mayhap three."

************************************

Once
Rand recovered from his shock, finally accepting the incredible fact that The
Shadow was Sung Li, he realized he had a dilemma of the worst kind on his
hands.

He'd
vowed to catch the outlaw.

He'd
also sworn to protect Miriel.

Never
had he imagined those two goals would conflict.

He
could see now that Sung Li had betrayed Rivenloch, but more significantly,
she'd betrayed Miriel. The maidservant had ingratiated herself to the trusting
lass, befriending her, charming her, bowing and scraping and playing at
obsequiousness, using that trust to gain access and knowledge.

Then,
like an ill-bred hound, she'd turned on Miriel, biting the hand that provided
for her.

Rand
paced before the glowering maid, rubbing the back of his neck, wondering what
to do with her. 'Twas still difficult to believe an old, withered crone could
move with such speed and grace. But he'd seen her with his own eyes. She'd laid
Hob-Nob and Wat-Wat out flat in the space of a heartbeat.

Perchance
she was bewitched. Perchance she was the spawn of the Devil, as Wat-Wat had
said. Or mayhap she was but the daughter of a great warrior who'd passed
on
his
talents. Whatever else she was, she was clearly a threat.

And
now, with her identity discovered, she'd be even more of a menace. She could
hardly return to her comfortable life at Rivenloch. And if she had no place
for shelter, no source of sustenance, she would grow more and more desperate.

Rand
had turned in a hundred such outlaws, men who'd once been decent folk but had
turned to thievery and mayhem and even murder out of necessity.

Rand
couldn't just let her go. She might not have killed anyone yet, but she
certainly had the skills. When circumstances grew dire enough, she'd resort to
violence. And then no one—strangers, Rivenloch folk, not even Miriel—would be
safe from her lethal talents.

He
had no choice but to spirit her away to Morbroch. He dared not even return to
Rivenloch first, for Miriel would surely weep and wring her hands and beg him
to set the old maid free. She wouldn't understand the peril. And she'd never
forgive him.

"Do
you not realize what you've done?" he muttered in frustration. "The
position you've put me in? Curse you, wench!"

Sung
Li answered him with an inscrutable smile. "For a hired hunter, you are
hopelessly blind."

Rand
stiffened. How did the maid know he was a hired hunter?

"Oh,
aye," Sung Li said. "I know who you are, Rand la Nuit."

Rand
clenched his jaw. Did Sung Li recognize him? If she knew his name, knew he was
a mercenary, knew his reputation, had she told Miriel?

"I
know why you have come," Sung Li continued. Then her shriveled mouth
curved into a smirk. "But you still do not know who I am."

Rand
had had enough of her disrespect. He straightened to his full height and sneered
down his nose at her. "I know you are my captive, wench."

"I
am no wench."

"What?"

"I
am no wench." Sung Li continued to stare at him with that smug grin.

Rand
frowned in disbelief. Surely the maid was lying. "Nay," he whispered,
studying Sung Li's wrinkled face.

"Aye."

The
possibility that Sung Li might indeed be a man, that, unbeknownst to Miriel,
the maid who'd shared her bedchamber all these years, helping her dress,
tucking her in at night, was in sooth a man, ignited Rand's anger faster than flame
to dry grass.

He
seized the front of Sung Li's clothing and wrenched the maid to her feet. Then,
with a violent jerk, he tore open the top of the black garment, exposing the
pale flesh beneath.

Nausea
and rage rose in his gorge, making his arms shake as he beheld Sung Li's flat,
withered chest.

'Twas
true then. This conniving knave was a villain of the worst kind. And innocent,
trusting Miriel had been his victim. The miserable worm had deceived her. He'd
deceived them all.

Rand's
hands trembled with the urge to take out his dagger and render Sung Li a woman
once and for all. But he resisted the ugly temptation.

Instead,
he shoved Sung Li forward along the path, drawing his sword to prod the old man
along.

There
was no question now. He'd march the lecher straight to Morbroch and let the
lords do with him what they willed. In Rand's mind, the gallows wasn't enough
punishment for The Shadow's crimes against his beloved Miriel.

************************************

The
fair was eerie at night. The booths, their bright colors muted now in the
starlight, seemed like ghostly memories. A gentle breeze stirred, making odd
music of clanking iron pots and rustling silk veils, rattling glass beads and
flapping canvas walls.

But
the sound served Miriel well, for she could slip along the lanes and in and out
of the pavilions unnoticed.

The
players were easy to find. They slept behind the platform that served as their
stage, nestled like spoons for warmth. But there was no sign of Rand or Sung
Li.