Nightbound (5 page)

His first teacher, a retired librarian with seeming endless patience, had prevented him from giving up several times that first month. “Reading is like learning another language,” Mrs. Decker would say. “You can’t expect to be fluent from the start. You must learn, and practice what you learn.”

As Darkyn, Beau knew himself to be superior to mortals in almost every way; as a reader he discovered he was painfully slow, and made many mistakes. Mrs. Decker began asking him to stay behind after the class was dismissed to work with her for another half hour.

“You’re fighting this too much, my dear,” she’d told him after he’d struggled through a line from his primer. “Words are not bombs, ready to explode if you fumble them. Think of them more as gifts, under the Christmas tree, waiting to be unwrapped.” Her finger went to the line he’d mangled. “
Sally.
You know that’s the name for the little girl in the story.
Blue
is the color of the sky on a summer day.
Ball
is her brother’s favorite toy.”

Beau nodded, and sounded out the word in the middle of the line.
“Kicks.”
He thought for a moment. “What Sally wants to do to her brother’s…toy.”

Mrs. Decker had chuckled. “Exactly.”

Beau heard the shower shut off, and replaced the book in the case. Once he used
l’attrait
to bring the professor under his control, he would interrogate him and learn how much he knew about the renegades, and how best to lure their leader into Beau’s hands.

The bathroom door opened, and Alys walked out, her
hands busy tucking a towel around her damp body. Beau was so astonished to see her that at first all he did was stare. She stopped as soon as she saw him, turned, and ran for the door.

Beau reached it before she did and slapped a hand against it to keep it shut. She spun around him, and without thinking, Beau clamped an arm around her waist. “You needn’t—”

She kicked back at him, knocking them both off-balance. As they fell forward, Beau brought up his free arm so that it would land on the carpet before her face, and used it to keep most of his weight off her.

“Be still,” he said into her arm as she wriggled under him. Her warm, damp body smelled of almond-scented soap over her own fiery scent. She was not afraid, he realized, but furious, and the scent he was shedding was not affecting her in the slightest. “I am not here to hurt you.”

Beau lifted up enough to roll her onto her back, but when she struck at his face, he pinned her wrists to the carpet. When he glanced down, he saw that her towel now lay wadded under her. That was what burned through his garments against his cool skin—the bare front of her body.

“I’ll fight you,” she promised, her voice echoing the trembling of her body, “and whatever you do to me, I
will
hurt you.”

“This is a mistake.” Beau started to lift himself from her, and then stopped. “I did not come here to assault you, or see you naked, or whatever you are thinking.”

“You’re on top of me,” she snapped. “I’m naked. You have an erection. What am I supposed to think?”

“I do not.…” Bloody hell, he was as hard as a club. Softening his voice, he said, “I apologize.”

“I’ll press charges,” she promised. “After I hurt you.”

Beau released her wrists, and pushed himself up, turning away as quickly as he could. “Cover yourself now, girl.” He could hear her crawling backward and wrapping the towel. “I came to see—”

She tried to get at the door again, and he was obliged to trap her against it.

“This didn’t work for you the last time,” Beau told her. “We can roll about on the floor again, or you can listen to me and stop trying to run out of here screaming.” She instantly opened her mouth and took in a deep breath, forcing him to clamp his hand over her lips. “That was not a suggestion.”

She made an angry, muffled sound.

“Listen to me. I can stuff something in your mouth”—Christ Jesus, why had he said that?—“or you can promise me you will not scream by nodding. What’s it to be, then?”

Over the edge of his hand, her eyes narrowed, and then she gave a single nod. As soon as he took his hand away, she said, “Would you please get off me?” When he shifted his body away from hers, she ducked under his arm and retreated a safe distance. “Now get out of here or I’ll call security.”

“I can’t. I have business with Dr. Stuart.” When she moved toward the phone, he added, “I did check with the front desk. The clerk said that his room number was seven fourteen, and unless they’ve changed the numbers in the last three minutes,
this
is room seven fourteen.”

She picked up the receiver, placing it on her shoulder
before she hitched up the front of the towel. “How did you get in here?”

“You left the door ajar.” She wore no ring on her wedding finger, and she didn’t behave like a wife. Beau’s lust darkened as he imagined her long, graceful body spread beneath some rutting, gray-haired scholar—but surely she was too young for that. “Forgive me, but who are you? The professor’s daughter?”

“I didn’t leave the door open.” Doubt flickered over her features, and her confusion made her seem even younger. “At least I don’t think I did.” She slowly replaced the receiver. “I’m Dr. Stuart. The
only
Dr. Stuart.”

“You can’t be.” He studied her. “I’m looking for Dr.
Al
Stuart.”

“That’s me,” she insisted. “A. L. Stuart. I use my initials for professional purposes.”

Beau dragged a hand through his hair. “You’re a woman, and hardly more than a child.”

“I’m twenty-six, and I earned my first PhD when I was twenty-one. Excuse me, but I’m uncomfortable talking to you like this.” She unzipped a backpack and bent over to rummage through it. “Why did you assume I was a man?”

Beau caught himself admiring the long, elegant lines of her bare legs. “Tremayne told me your name was
Al
Stuart. When we spoke in the bar, you knew I was looking for a man.”

“I didn’t know who you were or what you wanted, so I was simply being careful.” She straightened. “You should have mentioned that you were from the Hylord Foundation.”

He inclined his head. “I also happen to be cautious with strangers.”

“You mean, when you’re not tackling them?” She scooped up a robe from the end of the bed. “I have the preliminary excavation schedule prepared. I was going to fax it to Ireland in the morning.” She shrugged into the robe, turning her back to him as she let the towel drop to the floor and tied the belt. “I also plan to file progress reports twice a week, if that’s acceptable.” She faced him, her features completely composed, but her scent still hot with anger and something more. “Are you with Hylord’s local office? Should I e-mail a copy to you?”

Obviously the girl was immune to
l’attrait
, which meant he would have to rely on persuasion. “I have been sent by the—by Hylord—to oversee your project.”

That startled a laugh out of her. “
You’re
an archaeologist?” When he shook his head, her gaze went from his face to his chest and toes, and then flashed up again. “What other digs have you worked on?”

He couldn’t deceive her on that score. “This would be my first.”

Her jaw set. “I’m sorry, but I can’t have this.”

“It’s done,” he assured her. “I’m yours.”

Her scent abruptly cooled. “This project is very problematical. I have a great deal of work to do in a very short amount of time.” As even as her tone was, her eyes filled with some strange emotion, as if she regretted the words she spoke. “I can’t afford to be distracted by someone like you.”

She had no choice in the matter, but still her rejection
rankled. “Why do you believe that I would be a hindrance?” He gestured at the carpet. “Other than the unfortunate tackling incident, which, I promise, will not be repeated.”

“In order to make accurate reports to the foundation on my progress, you’ll have to shadow me constantly.” Her lips twisted. “That is the real reason they sent you, isn’t it, Mr.…ah…?”

“Beauregard York.” He offered the Americanized name that he used when among mortals. “Do call me Beau.” He gave her his most fetching smile as he lied to her. “I was not sent here to spy on you, Dr. Stuart.”

“Logic dictates no other alternative,” she informed him. “Your foundation has been very generous, but they’ve also made several stipulations to ensure secrecy. This is the first major project I’ve conducted, making me unproven in the field. My peers already consider my theories to be everything from unfounded to ludicrous.”

Beau was surprised she could speak so calmly about it. “What would make them believe that?”

“When the Order of the Knights Templar was disbanded by the pope, some were able to escape. According to my research, at least one of them fled Europe for the Spanish Main, and then sailed from there to Florida. I believe he came here with a group of Spanish priests and with them founded a mission to convert the Timucua natives.” She hesitated, tugging at the belt of her robe. “My colleagues think that is nonsensical, but what they flatly refuse to accept is my theory as to the Templars’ other motive for coming here.”

“You have a second theory?”

She nodded. “Before he left the mission, the Templar
concealed something very old and valuable there. I’ve never been able to precisely identify the artifact he left behind, but I have a very good idea of what it is. I’ve also published several articles in trade magazines about it, which is why my colleagues think I’m crazy.”

Beau wondered what she would say if she knew a former Templar was standing right in front of her. “Your colleagues sound small-minded.”

“They’re limited by ego and fear. I’m not, although I do understand the risk I’m taking. Failure on my part will put an end to my career, and the connection to me has the potential to damage the foundation’s reputation.” Alys watched his face. “So, Mr. York. If you’re not here to monitor me, then why would they give someone with no archaeological experience this assignment?”

He grinned. “Oh, to manage things.”

“And that.” She shook a finger at his face. “That is the other problem I have with you. You’re far too attractive. Half of my interns are young, impressionable girls. I don’t want them distracted from their work, especially if you decide to tackle one of them.”

So she thinks me handsome.
Beau had never been especially vain, but her compliment pleased him. “You seem to think I can do nothing but roll about on the floor with women.”

She gave him a tight smile. “I can only go by experience.”

“Well, Doctor, I don’t. And if your young interns are hoping to impress me, perhaps they’ll work harder.” Someone knocked on the door behind him, and he glanced through the peephole. “There’s an Asian lad standing in the hall. He’s carrying a very large case.”

“One of my interns. I have some equipment to check.” She offered him her hand and, when he took it, gave him a brisk handshake. “Thank you for stopping in to meet me, Mr. York, but I really can’t use you on the project. Please give my regrets and my regards to Mr. Tremayne.”

A
lthough Jayr usually held meetings with the mortal staff in the expansive area of the reception hall, she preferred to conduct personal interviews in the old armory that Byrne had converted into a study for her.

“I’ve yet to fathom why you need to acquire a new
tresora
at all,” Byrne grumbled as he poured a glass of bloodwine for Jayr. “We’ve dozens of them about the place. Pick one from our own, and train them to suit you, I say.”

“Most of our
tresori
are performers, laborers, or office workers,” she reminded him as she accepted the glass. “None of them have any experience with overseeing an entire household or serving the suzerainty. Also, most of them are female.”

“Aye, for we’ve a progressive household, where women are respected and valued.” He lifted his glass to toast her. “As well you know, my lady.”

“As I do, my lord.” She inclined her head. “I might point out that you’ve also slept with most of them.”

He nearly choked. “That was before you confessed
your love for me. Since I’ve had you, I’ve naught touched another.” He gave her a suspicious look. “Never tell me you are jealous of the house wenches.”

“Considering that I once handpicked your bed companions for you, no. I’ve no quarrel with them.” His visible relief made her smile a little. “I am accustomed to working with men, however, and as I am still new to rule, I would prefer a
tresora
with significant household experience.”

Being named a lady paramount had made Jayr the first female to rule over a Darkyn
jardin
. Since she had also been the only female seneschal among the Kyn, she had not expected her new position to prove particularly trying. Shortly after being elevated to suzeraina, however, Jayr had discovered she was not, in fact, a nameless orphan, but the bastard daughter of Robin of Locksley.

It had taken a long time for Jayr to accept that stunning revelation, as well as Robin’s reasons for never claiming her. Her sense of self-worth had gradually recovered, but there were moments still when Jayr felt as if she were an impostor in her own life.

Here in the study, surrounded by the books and artworks that she and her lover had collected over the centuries, Jayr felt more at ease with her role as suzeraina. She needed that if she was to choose the right candidate to serve her and the Realm as their new chief
tresora
.

The latest aspirant, an Englishman from a very old and venerable
tresoran
family, arrived at the precise time for his interview. After Byrne made the formal introductions, Jayr shook his hand in American fashion and invited him to sit with her beside the fire.

Jayr knew from the file provided by the
tresoran
council
that Devan Leeds was single, thirty-two, and the youngest member of an ancient
tresoran
bloodline. Dressed in an immaculate, beautifully tailored navy blue suit, Leeds wore his fair hair very short and neat. Jayr liked the calm directness of his blue eyes; they made his otherwise unremarkable features seem friendlier. His quiet demeanor and economical movements clearly demonstrated that he was accustomed to service.