Prince Charming (41 page)

“And you do?”

Adriano did not answer for a moment, a flash of guilty shame in his dark eyes which he quickly hid. “I have my suspicions,” he mumbled.

“What do you mean?” Elan asked him.

Adriano merely looked at the viscount, then stared at Rafe.

“Stay with Nic,” he repeated. “Those are my orders.” With that, Rafe walked away, the sword light and ready, humming in his hand for blood.

“Orlando!”
he bellowed, his roar echoing in the deepening gloom.

Shoving branches aside with his sword, he marched on, too angry to feel the slightest fear.

The woods were growing thicker, more tangled.

Moments passed.

Rafe’s frustration escalated to rage. “Come out and
stand
!” he roared.

“What’s this? Does the king’s golden boy actually dare to fight me one on one? Man to man?” drawled a voice nearby.

Rafe whirled.

“Where’s your army, Prince Charming? It’s dark, and you’re all alone.” Orlando was leaning against the fat trunk of an oak, his arms folded over his chest, smirking coolly at him. “What an innocent you are.”

“Who are you?” Rafe demanded, bringing his sword up as he closed in on him warily.

Orlando merely smiled.

“Have you or have you not been poisoning my father?” Rafe ground out.

“
Your
father? Ah, you must mean the saintly King Lazar…that God-appointed shepherd of the flock who has never committed a sin, never cheated on his wife. You love your mama, don’t you, Rafie?”

“Answer my question,” he said through gritted teeth. “Have you or have you not poisoned the king?”

“Why, of course not, Rafe. You did. Just as you had your minions murder that useless young chef last night, before he could give away your plot. Don’t you remember?” Orlando smiled, his teeth flashing white in the dark. “What’s this? You look confused. Well, just ask Don Arturo. He knows the whole story.”

“I want plain answers! You are trying my mercy,” he said, bringing his sword up under Orlando’s chin.

The man flicked a contemptuous glance toward the blade, then sneered at him. “I don’t want your
mercy
, Rafe. Don’t you see? Your
mercy
only makes me hate you more. Such a gentleman. Such a prince. But your mercy cannot sound the depths of my hate.”

Shocked by his sheer venom, Rafe shook his head, holding the sword steady. “What did I ever do to you?”

“You were born, to start.”

“What did my father ever do, that you would poison him?” he demanded angrily.

Orlando laughed in soft bitterness, leaf shadows playing over his bruised face, so like Rafe’s own. “
I
was born, I suppose.”

Rafe stared at him, holding his breath. “Are you my brother, Orlando?”

“Merely your killer,” he answered, lifting a pistol into Rafe’s face.

Rafe threw himself forward, knocking Orlando’s arm upward as he squeezed the trigger. The bullet flew wild as Rafe bowled Orlando over. They landed in a heap at the wide base of the tree, tripping on the large gnarled roots. Drawing back with his grip wrapped around his sword hilt, he smashed his fist into Orlando’s face.

It did not knock him out, as Rafe had hoped, but it unbalanced him.

His chest heaving, Rafe stepped back, wielding his sword in both hands now. “Get up,” he growled.

Orlando held up his empty hands. “Are you going to strike me down, Your Highness? You can see I’ve no weapon.”

“Draw your sword.”

“What’s this? Does the gallant prince wish to duel?”

“Draw your sword, you coward!”

Orlando stared at him. “You’d better think twice about this, Rafie, because if I had you in this position, I would not for an instant hesitate.”

“I already know you don’t fight fair. Now stand,” he snarled.

“Very well, very well.” Orlando climbed to his feet, dusting himself off, chuckling. “But know that after I kill you, coz, I shall take for my prize the fair Daniela’s maidenhead.”

In answer, Rafe lunged viciously just as Orlando slid his saber from its sheath with a sinister whisper of metal. Their fight was wild. They engaged, then Rafe flung him back.

“How is it you still haven’t managed to bed your own wife, Rafe? Ladies’ man like you,” Orlando taunted him.

“You should see yourself,” Rafe answered with a disgusted smile. “You are truly…pitiful.”

“Doesn’t she fancy you?”

“Oh, I think she fancies me plenty,” Rafe said, slicing with his blade, his smile widening wolfishly.

Orlando sneered. “Since when?”

“Last night,” he replied smugly, edging closer.

Orlando froze for a moment. “Do you mean to say the little bitch finally let you mount her?”

Rafe’s fury flared anew at the insult to his wife, but he quickly checked it. Losing his temper would only give his foe the advantage. “Why, Your Grace,” he answered coolly, “a gentleman never discusses such things.”

Orlando grimaced with ugly fury and charged with renewed force.

Metal met metal, shearing sparks.

The clash of their swords rang through the woods, blow after blow, both men seeking blood. Then they circled, having tested the bounds of each other’s skills. The tips of the two blades danced in lethal opposition, weaving small rings in the air around each other, as each man tried to deceive the other into leaving himself open.

Orlando’s sword suddenly darted at Rafe in a straight thrust at his breast. Rafe smoothly passed his blade under the oncoming sword, deflecting it with the forte.

With timing honed in endless practice, Rafe saw the withdrawal of his enemy’s blade and sensed the start of his covering action. He lunged. The lightning-fast riposte drove past Orlando’s defending blade, biting deeply into the man’s right shoulder until it struck bone. Orlando roared like a wounded beast, falling down on one knee in agony.

Rafe pulled back from the thrust with a barbaric growl of satisfaction. Orlando glanced down at his wound.

“Yield,” Rafe ground out, his chest heaving as he held Orlando at bay. He longed for recompense for Nic, but he checked his vengeance. Orlando had much more to answer for.

Staring down at his wound, Orlando slowly lifted his head, his eyes nearly red with rage. “I will never yield to you.” He supported his faltering right-hand grip with his left and spoke in a voice from hell. “I’m used to pain. You’re not.” He staggered to his feet. “But you soon will be.”

Orlando attacked again, drawing on a strength that Rafe could only guess came from demonic hatred. Still, Rafe was expert enough a swordsman to parry every ferocious thrust and swing of the razor-sharp blade—until his heel caught on the oak’s swollen, gnarled branches.

It was just enough to knock him off balance. Immediately Orlando lunged. Rafe allowed himself to fall to escape the blow, but to his horror, he lost his grip on his saber in the instinctive response to catch himself, breaking his fall with his right hand.

He reached frantically for his sword, feeling the shadow of Orlando’s blade above him, poised to deliver his death blow.

“Goodnight, sweet prince,” Orlando said with a leering grin.

“Don’t move.”

There was a click. The sound of a pistol being cocked pierced the silence.

Grasping his sword, Rafe looked up and saw that Adriano had come out of nowhere and was standing with his pistol resting against Orlando’s temple.

Rafe sprang to his feet and wrenched the sword out of Orlando’s hands, throwing it aside. “Good timing, di Tadzio.”

“Don’t mention it, Rafe.” Adriano held his ground unflinchingly.

With Adriano’s gun to his head, Orlando began to laugh with a sneer. “Well, well, if it isn’t the prince’s pretty bitch-boy.”

Adriano thrust the gun against Orlando’s cheek. “Let me kill him, Rafe. You don’t need him. Let me kill him for Nic and those men back in the field.”

“I think somebody’s nervous,” Orlando chided in a singsong voice as he slid a glance casually from Adriano to Rafe. “What’s the matter, love? Do you think your friend would find the truth about you a bit hard to, shall we say, swallow?”

“Rafe.” Adriano gulped. His dark eyes were wild, desperate. “Don’t listen to him.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Rafe muttered gruffly, lifting his sword toward Orlando. “Turn around and walk with your hands behind your head.”

“But wait, coz,” Orlando said, “I think there’s something you should know about your little friend di Tadzio. You see, there’s a compartment in Chloe’s bedroom with a peephole in the wall—”

“You’re a liar!” Adriano shouted savagely. “Don’t listen to him! Don’t listen to his filthy lies!”

“—and from there, your pretty boy watches you screwing Chloe. She lets him watch. Every actress loves an audience, you know—”

Rafe was frozen in midmotion, completely taken aback.

“No, I didn’t! I would never do that!” Adriano all but screamed.

For an excruciating moment, Rafe could not bring himself to look at his friend. He stared at nothing, then abruptly shook off Orlando’s accusation.

It was of no consequence whatsoever at the moment.

“Shut up, Orlando,” he said. “You’re a snake, all right, but you’re not slippery enough to get out of this. Ignore him, di Tadzio.”

“Let me pull the trigger on this son of a bitch, Rafe. He deserves it. You know he does,” Adriano said through gritted teeth.

“Calm down,” Rafe ordered him curtly as Orlando laughed.

Refusing to meet Rafe’s gaze, Adriano stared at Orlando with murder in his eyes. “It’s a lie.”

“I know that,” Rafe said, striving for his most matter-of-fact tone. “Now let’s get the hell out of—”

“My dear Adriano, how can you turn on me like this after all we’ve shared?” Orlando interrupted in a silky tone.

“I hate you,” Adriano was whispering. “All I have to do is pull this trigger.”

“Too bad he wants me alive, eh?”

Rafe turned on them both. “Orlando, for the last time, shut the hell up! We’re getting out of here. Di Tadzio, just ignore him! He’s only saying these things to rattle you and to divide the opposition. Don’t play into his hands!”

“Oh, you’re the only one he wants to play with, Rafie,” Orlando murmured with a smile.

“
You son of a bitch!
I’ll kill you!” Adriano screamed, shoving the gun harder against his cheek while Orlando laughed like a madman, as though bullets couldn’t hurt him.

“Go on, Adriano,” the duke coaxed in a caressing voice, “tell Rafe what you want to do to him. He might just let you, you never know.”

“Jesus Christ,”
Rafe muttered.

“I might
look
like you, Rafe, but you’re the one he burns for.”

“Orlando, leave him alone.” Rafe still could not bring himself to look at Adriano, but he held his kinsman’s cold stare, eye to eye. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do to him,” he warned softly, “but stop it. Now. This is between you and me—”

“It’s between me and the world, Rafael,” Orlando snarled. “You’re nothing. You’re a joke. It’s between me and God-Our-Father.”

Adriano was nearly in tears, shaking, frantic. “Don’t listen to him, Rafe. Please, it isn’t true. I swear, I’m not like that. It’s a vile, filthy lie—”

“Shut up, di Tadzio!” Rafe burst out, turning to him. “He’s lying. I know that. Forget it. I don’t care! What do you mean when you say our father?” he demanded of Orlando.

“Rafe?” Adriano asked, looking over at him slowly, brokenly.

Unwilling to be the first to break his stare with Orlando, Rafe looked over uneasily and met Adriano’s eyes. He read pure torment there. He dropped his gaze, wanting to die, striving to think of something reassuring to say, for he was half-afraid his friend would turn the gun on himself.

“You know, you really ought to try him, Rafe,” Orlando drawled in the moment’s silence. Sliding Adriano a glance askance, he added, “I did. And he was divine.”

Rafe thought then that Adriano was going to pull the trigger. But he did not. Instead, his whole tense demeanor dropped. His finely chiseled face went blank, and he lowered the gun from Orlando’s temple without a word.

“Fine,” he said to Orlando. “You win.”

He turned and began walking away, leaving Rafe to hold Orlando at sword point.

“Adriano! Where are you going?
Gesu,
” he muttered under his breath, simply cringing. “I know, Adriano. I have known for years, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t give a damn, all right? I don’t care!”

Adriano kept walking, his shoulders slumped.

“Di Tadzio!” Rafe kept looking from him to Orlando. “Get back here! Where are you going?”

Orlando was staring at Rafe now, looking fascinated.

“I’m just going to check on Nic and Elan,” Adriano said dully without looking back. He disappeared into the leafy shadows.

“All right, I’ll be right there,” Rafe called sternly. With a prickle of foreboding raising the hairs on his nape, Rafe looked at Orlando. “Come on, you heartless son of a bitch,” he muttered. “Turn around and walk with your hands up.”

Orlando sneered at him but obeyed. Just as they began trudging in the same direction where Adriano had gone, the single shot sounded in the woods.

No.
The air left Rafe’s lungs, flooding the sudden vacuum with horror. He couldn’t even gasp.

No.

He began to run, shoving Orlando aside, tearing into the darkness, his heart pumping wildly.

“Noooo!”

He found Adriano slumped on his side near the mossy stream. He dropped to his knees, gathered his fallen friend into his arms, and wept, screamed with grief to the dark skies. Eventually Elan brought the horses.

Orlando had escaped.

  
CHAPTER  
SEVENTEEN