Nightbound (6 page)

Leeds had served as an assistant to his father, the chief
tresora
in an Italian stronghold. Such arrangements were common among their most faithful human allies, with fathers training sons in apprentice fashion to take their place after they retired from service. The practice ensured that the Kyn lord would not have to bring a stranger into his household, nor would he have to devote any time to teaching the mortal his personal customs and preferences.
Tresoran
families prided themselves on serving the same lord for centuries; a few had served their masters even before they became immortal.

“I’m flattered that you would take interest in this position and my household,” Jayr told him, “but I find myself puzzled as well. Your bloodline is English, and yet your family has served an Italian suzerain for well on five hundred years. After such long and distinguished service, why would you wish to relocate to America?”

“It does sound confusing, doesn’t it?” Leeds smiled. “Suzerain Marietto, whom my family has served since he rose to walk the night, was exceedingly fond of his mother. She was an Englishwoman who met and married his father while making a pilgrimage. Even when our lord was mortal, he would hire her countrymen and import them to serve in his household. Every child in my
family has been raised and educated in England specifically to preserve those qualities he enjoyed so much.”

Jayr detected an abrupt change in his scent, one that indicated he was saddened. Then she realized how he had referred to his master.
Enjoyed.
“Did something happen to alter this arrangement?”

“Four years ago the Brethren attacked our stronghold in the middle of the day.” He related the details in spare but unflinching terms. “They burned everything to the ground: the villa, the garrison’s quarters, the staff’s cottages. Our lord and his lady, their warriors, my parents, and every mortal on the property perished in the flames.”

Byrne, who stood behind Jayr, stirred. “Yet you survived.”

“I would have died with them, Seneschal, but two days before the massacre my master sent me on errand to Rome.” His mouth took on a bitter curve. “He wished to move our entire
jardin
to England, and bade me put the matter before the council. He wished them to approve the relocation before he petitioned the high lord. It is ironic. In another month or two, we would have been safely beyond their reach.”

Jayr knew of the Brethren’s brutal campaign to drive the Kyn out of Europe; like the other American suzerains, she had offered sanctuary to as many refugee warriors as she could absorb into her
jardin
. She’d never given much thought to how the horrific attacks impacted their mortal allies, however. “Such a grievous loss renders all words inadequate, Mr. Leeds. Please accept my sympathies.”

“You are very gracious, my lady.” Leeds bowed his head. “I count myself fortunate in that I am young
enough to start again, and do what I can to preserve my bloodline. To serve in your household would be a very new experience for me, a chance at a new beginning, if you like.”

Jayr was struck by how practical he was; she suspected, like her, he handled his difficulties by working through them. “Some of the
tresori
I have interviewed did not seem comfortable with the thought of making their oath to a lady paramount. How do you feel about the prospect of serving a woman instead of a man?”

“You are the first lady to rule the Kyn, and I imagine all you do is subject to special scrutiny.” Now he sounded sympathetic. “It is apparent that you need a well-trained
tresora
who can adapt to this new order of rule. One who has the appropriate standards, who can serve your needs without reservation or prejudice, and who will run your household flawlessly. I believe I am that man, or I would not be here.”

“And modest to boot,” Byrne muttered.

Jayr frowned at him. “You say our need is apparent, Mr. Leeds, as if there is something wanting.”

“Many things, I fear, my lady. This chamber, for example.” The
tresora
gestured around him. “I can tell that this was once your armory. Converting it to a study makes it a very welcoming room, but what was done with the weapons that were stored here?”

“I believe my seneschal moved them to our underground storage rooms,” Jayr said. “What does it matter where they are?”

“If the keep were suddenly attacked, your men would waste precious time retrieving what they needed for defense from the lower levels.” He clasped his hands, bracing
his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. “As I was escorted here, I noted a number of unoccupied rooms which could be used for weapons storage. You should also have caches hidden on every level for the same purpose.”

“We are open to the mortal public, lad,” Byrne said, sounding peevish. “The Brethren do not skulk about here torching the unwary. They hardly have any presence in America.”

“As you say, Seneschal,” Leeds agreed, “but now that they have caused so many to flee Europe, I fear they will soon be crossing the Atlantic in pursuit.”

Jayr knew Byrne’s moods better than anyone; for some reason he had taken an instant dislike to Leeds. She didn’t understand why, but she couldn’t discuss it with her lover in front of the man. That she didn’t share Byrne’s odd antipathy made the matter even more complicated. She liked Leeds, who was far more qualified than any of the other candidates, and wanted very much to offer him the position.

“I expect you have much to consider,” Leeds said, as if reading her mind. “There is no reason for me to return to Italy immediately, so if it would be agreeable to you, I should like to offer my services as
tresora
on a trial basis. Would a month be sufficient time for you to evaluate my performance? It may help you and your household to decide if I am the right man for the job.”

“I think it would.” Jayr glanced at Byrne, who was scowling. “This is very generous of you, Mr. Leeds.”

“My motives are not entirely unselfish,” the
tresora
admitted. “I should like to see if living in America and managing your household will suit me as well.”

None of the other candidates had made such an offer, and it would give the man a chance to prove himself.
To me and Byrne.
“That seems quite sensible,” Jayr said, and rose to her feet. “Very well, Mr. Leeds. You have your month.”

“Thank you, my lady.” He stood, giving her a respectful bow before turning to Byrne. “My lord, I know your mortal staff is still on holiday. Could you spare one of your men to show me about the premises?”

“I will give you the tour myself,” Jayr said before Aedan could answer. “I am interested to know how our arrangements compare to those in Europe.”

“I can tell you that we don’t have gift shops or snack cafés.” As a knock sounded on the door, Leeds went to it. “Your submersible bridges are enviable as well. Are they operated by hydraulics?”

Harlech eyed the
tresora
before he stepped inside. “Forgive the intrusion, my lady, but the stable master has asked if Lord Byrne would look at one of the mares. She may have the colic.”

“No trouble, Captain.” Jayr introduced him to Leeds. “Devan will be with us for at least the next month. Please advise the men accordingly.”

“Yes, my lady.” Harlech nodded to the
tresora
, who followed Jayr out into the corridor.

The phone rang while Alys was in the middle of running a diagnostic on the GPR, and when she ignored it, Chan asked, “Do you want me to get that, Dr. Stuart?”

“Right. Sure.” She watched the screen as she thumbed through the troubleshooting manual and studied the potential errors. Without the ground-penetrating radar
fully operational, she would be digging blind, and with only four weeks to work, she couldn’t afford to guess where she might find some evidence of the fountain.

At least I won’t have to dodge him.

Being distracted yet again by the thought of Beauregard York annoyed and pleased Alys; she had no reason to dwell on the man, but the fact that she did illustrated how right she’d been to keep him off her team.

I can stuff something in your mouth.…

Attending an all-girls boarding school in Switzerland had effectively sheltered Alys from the opposite sex. Only when she had begun her studies at university did she first encounter the sexual side of social interaction. For a brief time she had even applied herself to study it, although the majority of sexual behaviors among her peers seemed largely a by-product of separation anxieties, self-esteem issues, or stress. She’d watched many of her classmates engage in short-term pseudo-relationships, which they used as cover for the physical liaisons they craved.

She’d also personally experimented with sex herself, several times. It had seemed more attractive than drinking alcohol, a small amount of which she quickly discovered made her violently ill, or the other mind-altering substances her fellow students indulged in, which she avoided because they were illegal. While the mechanics of sex were initially somewhat interesting, the actual pleasures involved were no more exciting or fulfilling to her than a 5K run, or several hours working out at the student gym.

The emotional outpourings and expectations of her partners, on the other hand, had alternately repelled and
perplexed her. One of the boys she’d slept with, a computer programming major, had used their first postcoital interlude to profess an undying love for her. He’d also become instantly obnoxious when she refused to verbally reciprocate.

Explaining her opinion on the matter had not improved the situation. “Love is an artificial emotional construct. It provides justification for your pursuit of physical gratification, which you would otherwise consider shameful.” She’d been curious about the reason for that, which had prompted her to ask, “Did your parents raise you in an environment with an emphasis on religion?”

“If I wanted to screw a computer, Aly,” he’d told her as he’d jerked on his clothes, “I’d have borrowed one from the lab.”

After that, Alys had stopped engaging the opposite sex; being found less than a desirable partner had inflicted feelings of inadequacy for which she had no use. Her inability to form emotional bonds with others seemed to be an integral part of her disposition. Since she could no more change who she was than she could have told the computer geek that she loved him, Alys accepted her partner’s rejection and moved on.

In the years since she’d left college, Alys had learned to be less analytic and more personable in public. Now around others she kept her thoughts to herself while imitating those social behaviors that allowed her to function successfully within most groups. Until tonight, when Beau York had barged into her room, and knocked her to the floor.

Why can’t I stop thinking about him?

It wasn’t merely the ghost of his voice, whispering in her head. If the handsome Brit could distract her this much from her work, then his presence at the site would probably reduce her female interns into a pack of fawning little acolytes. Brenda, whose interest in the opposite sex was already a little too well developed, would likely spend the entire four weeks scheming her way into the man’s tent.

Something twisted in her middle as Alys imagined finding her student sleeping with Beau.
Is that how he manages things? By seducing coeds?

“Dr. Stuart?” Chan had to repeat her name two more times before she looked up to see him holding out the receiver. “It’s some English guy.”

“Again?” She noticed how tired the intern looked, and checked her watch. “Goodness, it’s almost dawn, Chan. Go get some sleep. I’ll take care of this.”

Alys waited until the student left before she spoke into the phone. “Look, Mr. York, I thought I was clear.”

“Good evening, Dr. Stuart.” The caller was English, but his melodic voice sounded nothing like Beau York’s. “This is Richard Tremayne. I do hope I am not disturbing your rest.”

“Mr. Tremayne.” Alys had never spoken directly to the chairman of the Hylord Foundation, and for a moment she blanked. “Ah, no, I haven’t been to bed yet.” Why was he calling her? Not to check on the arrangements. “How may I help you?”

“I gather you met my man York earlier this evening,” Tremayne said, “and refused to permit him to join your project. May I ask why you found him so objectionable?”

Beau had called Tremayne? That seemed unlikely. How could a project manager have direct access to the foundation’s chairman? And why would he?

“Dr. Stuart?”

Alys couldn’t very well interrogate Tremayne, nor did she want to cause trouble for Beau. She certainly couldn’t tell the chairman of the Hylord Foundation that his employee’s voice had shaken her down to her heels.

Be professional.
“I have nothing against Mr. York, sir. He seemed like a very congenial and capable person. I simply don’t need him.”
Or his beautiful body. Or his gorgeous face. Or that stupendous erection.

Tremayne’s voice went flat. “Doctor, you are aware that my foundation has invested close to half a million U.S. dollars in your project.”

Of course he’d bring up the money; it was the only power he had over her. “Yes, sir, and I am grateful for the opportunity to—”