Secrets of the Night Special Edition (11 page)

"You bastard!" Stilo braced himself against the wall. "She came of her own free will. I never forced her. Goddess, I'll kill you!"

Stilo rushed his way, but Gaderian called on every power, his heart, mind, and body centered on one thought only, to immobilize the son of a bitch. Raising his hand, he created a magic barrier, an obstacle Stilo couldn't penetrate. Stilo stood motionless, eyes protruding with anger, arms motionless at his side. He opened his mouth, but no words came.

With red-hot anger hindering his ability, Gaderian knew the shield was a weak one. He had to get out–and fast. First grabbing her dress, shift, and breast supporter, Gaderian wrapped his arm around Fianna's waist and began the trip back to
Tavern Street
. Silent and inanimate, she hung in his arms, as lifeless as a rag doll as he transported them both back to
Tavern Street
, to a bench outside the Snow Leopard.

Returned to
Tavern Street
, Fianna stared around, her gaze hazy and unfocused. Conscious of the need to dress her, he eased her breast supporter across her breasts, and remaining as lifeless as a wilted flower, she let him raise her arms to slip through the straps, as he fastened the garment in back. Wanting to let his hands linger on her bosom, he became conscious of his own arousal, his body on fire from wanting her. He yearned to touch every inch of her, kiss her until she begged for more, but not when this mental haze infused her every action. He ignored his own need and reached for her shift and slipped it over her head, then her frock, while she went through the same lifeless motions.

She shook her head, as if emerging from a dream. "Gaderian, how did I get here? The last thing I remember, I was in Stilo's apartment." She slurred her words, as if drunk.

"And don't you recall anything before that?" His fingers rested on her shoulder, his gaze following the swell of her breasts. With every ounce of willpower, he drew his hand back and let it fall to his side. For now, he wouldn't tell her how he'd transported her; better to divert her attention to her own plight. But surely she would wonder, if not tonight, then tomorrow.

She frowned, lips pursed in thought. "Well, of course, I was at the fair with Stilo and we . . . we were dancing." She closed her eyes and pressed her hand to her forehead. "I . . .

I . . . we were dancing, and I had an odd feeling, as if I wasn't there." She sighed. "The music, the dancing . . . everything became a blur."

He looked at her anxiously, hoping she would soon come out of her trance. Damn Stilo to hell! Gaderian asked a question that had haunted him since his rescue of her. "Why did you go to the fair with Stilo in the first place? How well do you know him?"

"As well as I know you." In spite of her haziness, an expression of indignation captured her face. "And I didn't go to the fair with him. I arranged to meet him there."

"Well, I hope you realize by now that you can't trust him, that he's a no-good bas–" He swallowed and raked his fingers through his tousled locks. "When I think what might have happened had I not come to get you. . . ." His muscles tensed, his hands even now itching to strangle Stilo.

"And why did you come to get me? How did you know I'd be at Stilo's?" Her voice remained dull, intensifying his worry that she was still under Stilo's spell, but for how long?  Knowing that the barrier he'd created around Stilo was a weak one, Gaderian expected the man to come after them any minute. He wanted to get Fianna inside the Snow Leopard, safe in her own bed, but first he had to gain more information.

Fianna's voice wrenched him back to the moment. "How did you know to come after me? And why did you?"

Why? She still didn't understand the danger from Stilo, that she'd come near to ravishment.  "As to why I came after you, call it intuition. I've seen how he stares at you. I knew you'd not be working at the Snow Leopard tonight, since everyone at the tavern had the early part of the night off to attend the fair."

A tramp shuffled past, and Gaderian stopped talking, waiting for the vagrant to move on. The breeze picked up, rustling the leaves of the oaks and bringing the scent of jasmine. Banners on poles flapped in the breeze, and the sign above the tavern banged back and forth. A few strands of hair blew across Fianna's face; gently he smoothed the locks away and tucked them behind her ears. He sighed and forced himself to shut out all outside influences, to convince Fianna that she mustn't trust Stilo. Talmora's tits! What did he have to do to show her the man posed a danger to her?

"You still haven't answered my question. You're skirting the issue to say you didn't go to the fair with Mongan. The fact remains, you were there, dancing with him. So, why?"

"None of your business why I danced with him." Her voice sounded more lively now, the words not so slurred, prompting a spurt of optimism in him. "He didn't hurt me. He acted the perfect gentleman."

He longed to shake her. "Didn't hurt you! But he was about to. Why do you suppose you were undressing for him?"

She looked down at herself, at her fully clothed body, and threw him a puzzled look. "I have all my clothes on."

"But you didn't then, at his apartment. You were undressing for him." The memories, ah, the memories returned, images that would stay in his mind forever of this lovely woman who would never be anything but a friend. What if he hadn't arrived at Stilo's apartment in time? He wanted to kill Stilo.

"I don't know what you're talking about. He took me to his apartment and . . ." Her voice trailed off.

"And?" He leaned forward, giving her a close look.

She sighed. "And I don't remember much after that. But I know he didn't hurt me."

"Goddess!" He slapped his hand to his forehead. "What do I have to say to make you understand!"

"Nothing." She threw him a look of insulted pride. "You don't need to say a thing to me. I'm fully capable of taking care of myself." Hands in her lap, she straightened her back and turned her head away from him. He studied her lovely profile but knew he must not let his emotions interfere with his concern for her.

"Well, of course!" He couldn't keep the sarcasm from his voice. If she didn't understand now what a threat Mongan was, she might well make the same mistake again. He couldn't let that happen. "Ah, yes, I see you can take care of yourself!"

He switched to another topic. "Fianna, has it never occurred to you that your stepfather will come after you, or send someone after you? What about the man you are to marry? What if he comes for you?"

"Of course it's occurred to me. I think about it night and day. But for the first time in my life, I can support myself. I don't need to depend on anyone for anything, except Cedric, who has kindly given me a room of my own and–"

"Maybe not so kindly. You still must share your wages with him."

"Well, yes, but he pays me well." She paused. "You are the only person in the city who knows my real name. Everyone else knows me as Angharad Cullain. If anyone comes after me, he will use my real name." She gave him a sidelong glance. "And you won't turn me in, will you?"

As if he would! "Not for all the gold in the kingdom."

"Well, then, there you are." She rose from the bench and nearly fell back. He stood, too, and slipped an arm around her waist, but she pushed him away. "I'm tired and I want to sleep," she said in an aggrieved voice. "I'm going to bed."

Alone, thank the Goddess. He would relinquish the argument for now, but from hereon, he must keep a vigilant eye on her. "At least let me walk you back to the tavern."

"I can make it on my own." With those final words, she toddled away from him, heading for the tavern. Her long hair bobbed across her shoulders, and despite her halting steps, her back remained straight, her buttocks shapely and firm beneath her cotton dress. He rushed ahead to open the door for her, wanting only to spend the night with her, to hold her in her arms and whisper in her ear, to tell her all she meant to him. And more, he yearned for so much more, longings that would forever remain out of reach.

She disappeared inside the Snow Leopard, leaving him to wonder how much she would remember tomorrow. At first, he scolded himself for not casting a spell on her to make her forget Stilo's ensnarement, but then he realized it would be far better if she recalled the entire episode in the days to come. If she recalled. Perhaps then she would realize that Stilo had malicious designs on her.

But if she didn't? And if he wasn't around to protect her from the bastard next time, what then? She would have to learn to take care of herself, something he realized she could do, if only she avoided Stilo's allurement. But if she fell under his spell again . . . he shook his head, reluctant to think of the consequences.

Chapter Nine

A knock on the door jolted Stilo from a troubled slumber. Still seething from Gaderian Wade's interference last night, he turned over and held his pillow over his head, trying to go back to sleep. Late this morning, after the vampire's spell had worn off, he'd closed his draperies to blot out the sunlight and plodded on to bed, there to toss and turn, planning how to kill Wade, to inflict a slow, painful death on the vampire.

Now, as early evening shadows crept into the corners of the room, he wanted nothing more than to return to sleep. A second knock quashed that wish and brought him upright. He swung his legs to the floor, then kicked his boots aside. Granno's balls! Who could it be?

Shoving his tousled hair from his forehead, he trudged to the living room. Aware he could handle any mortal enemy, he opened the door. A stranger clad in a dark green linen tunic, leather belt and mid-calf boots stood in the hallway. Who in the name of all the demons was this?

His visitor made a slight bow. "Good evening, Stilo Mongan. I'm Conan Adair, a messenger from Angus Kendall. I believe you've heard of him?"

At Stilo's nod, he handed him a letter. "A very important message from Angus Kendall. If you don't mind, I'll stay here while you read it. Then I will send a carrier pigeon back to him with your reply. There is another matter I wanted to speak to you about." He took a step. "If I may come in?"

Stilo opened the door wider and gestured Conan Adair inside, and with a toss of his head, he indicated a chair. Hands shaking, he tore the seal from the missive and unfolded the parchment, the crackling sound echoing like a boom of thunder in the silent room. He scanned the contents, careful to control his features as excitement roiled inside him. So a jeweler by the name of Kevin Connor had special rings made for the bandregas, rings with a magical property. Rings that would make the bandregas invisible!

Struggling to keep his features neutral, he looked over at his visitor. "Do you know the contents of this letter?" He sat down on the sofa across from him.

"Of course not, sir. I just deliver messages. I don't read them."

How do I know he's telling the truth?  Stilo would have to take his word for it. He folded the missive and set it on a table, reminding himself to destroy it later. "Very well, then, I'll leave tomorrow." Actually, he'd leave tonight; travel by night and sleep during the day, for he couldn't abide the sunlight. And he would eliminate Gaderian Wade as soon as he returned.

His brain teemed with emotions: elation that these magical rings would grant the bandregas mastery over the vampires; bitter disappointment that he couldn't kill Wade anytime soon; stinging regret that the vampire had cut short his seduction of Fianna.

He drummed his fingers on the arm of the sofa. "You said you had another matter you wanted to present." Gods, he wanted to get this damned business over with.

"Yes." The courier sat forward, clasping his hands between his knees. "Angus Kendall is looking for a young woman who left her house several ninedays ago–"

Fianna! 

"Sir, is there something you know?" The courier shot him a questioning look.

"No, just thinking about the journey." Damn, he must learn to be more circumspect.

Adair continued. "Angus Kendall has sent messengers to other parts of the kingdom, in every direction. So far, his efforts have availed nothing. Fianna Murtagh is quite beautiful—

chestnut hair, green eyes. I realize there is scant chance that she would come to Moytura, or indeed, that you would know her. However, I'm leaving no stone unturned. I just arrived in the city a short while ago, but shortly after I leave here, I intend to place a notice of my search on the city's bulletin board.  But first, I thought I'd ask if you, by remote chance, know her."

"Give me a few moments." Stilo pretended thought, afraid he would give himself away. After a short while, he shook his head. "No, I don't recall seeing anyone of that description." He grinned. "Sounds like a woman I'd like to know. I promise you, I will keep my eyes open."

Contradictory feelings clashed inside him. Here was his chance to get even with Gaderian Wade, to turn Fianna in. But no, he still hoped to seduce her. He had failed the first time, but he had no intention of giving up. Before he could claim Fianna as his own, he must rid himself of Wade. Kill the vampire!

Conan Adair stood. "Thank you for your time, sir. I'm staying at The Hungry Bear, you know where that is?" At Stilo's nod, he continued. "Please get in touch with me, should you think of anything concerning this woman. In the meantime, I'll post a "Wanted" sign on the village bulletin board. As for your journey to Ros Creda, Angus Kendall has a contact in Moytura–indeed, in many cities of the kingdom–who dispatches carrier pigeons with messages. I'll contact this man and tell him you will be leaving tomorrow." He raised his eyebrows. "You can leave by then?"