Unicorn Vengeance (16 page)

“Nay. ‘Tis best that you carry it.”

An awkward silence followed his words, making Wolfram wish he could draw back what must have seemed unnecessarily churlish. Genevieve tipped her head back, and he imagined she looked to him with loathing in her gaze.

No matter. Indeed, ‘twould probably be easier to deliver her to the Master should they not be amiable.

Would the Master order the same fate for Genevieve as her brother?

The very thought wrenched Wolfram's heart in a manner that was most unfitting. He wished suddenly and desperately that her dispatch might be granted to another, should his suspicion prove correct.

To his further dismay, Genevieve paused unexpectedly on the first rung. Though he could not see more than the pale oval of her face, he knew well that her eyes were even with his and that she gazed at him. The hair on the back of his neck prickled as yet another part of his anatomy rose to the occasion.

“You are indeed most clear-thinking,” she whispered. “I would thank you for your aid this day.” Before Wolfram could respond or question her intent, Genevieve leaned closer and kissed him full on the lips.

‘Twas as if she aimed to feed his burgeoning doubt. Though Wolfram thought as much, he was powerless to move away and deny himself her touch. No fleeting kiss was this, for she pressed herself against him with unprecedented abandon. The sweetness of her scent inundated him and drew him ever closer. The taste of her passion made his head spin, and of naught could he think but Genevieve.

What if he did not tell the Master of her presence? The intoxicating thought flooded through him unexpectedly, and Wolfram was shocked at the magnitude of its appeal.

What if he stayed with Genevieve?

In the span of a heartbeat, his mind conjured the image of Genevieve lying bare in the straw while he worshiped every curve of her soft skin. He wanted to hear her moan, he wanted to feel her wrapped around him. His own passion astounded him with its intensity. Drowning in the softness of her lips, Wolfram was, though there was naught he could do about it.

He gasped in surprise, as much at her boldness as at his own response, and her tongue slipped adroitly between his teeth. Warm pleasure rolled through Wolfram, and his free hand was lodged in the neat indent of her waist before he knew what he was about. Genevieve leaned fully against him, the heated press of her breasts against his chest awakening every fiber of his being with a vengeance. His second hand joined the first without a thought, the way his fingers nearly met on her back making him groan aloud.

Never had he burned like this for a woman. Indeed, never had he had a woman, but Genevieve's touch was intoxicating beyond compare. Well enough could Wolfram understand earthly temptation now as he never had before. He smelled the heat of Genevieve's skin and imagined himself licking the faint patina of exertion from her flesh. He readily pictured her gloriously nude before him as she had been in his dream, or, better yet, beneath him, and his desire raged unchecked.

Wolfram lifted her demandingly against him, his tongue joining the fray to twine sinuously with her own. He cared naught if she felt his desire, indeed he cared for naught but pulling her so close that their very flesh might meld together. Genevieve moaned into his mouth and he felt her nipples harden against his chest. Her tongue danced with his, her teeth nibbled on his lips, she strained against him as though she could never get enough. Everything quickened within Wolfram as she hesitantly slipped one hand into the hair at the nape of his neck. Her tiny fingers caressed him there and he thought he might burst his chausses.

She wrenched her lips away from his and pressed a flurry of kisses against his throat. Wolfram closed his eyes at the sensation and tightened his grip around her waist, loath to let her move even an increment away. Naught was there for Wolfram but the secluded darkness of this stable. Naught was there but the taste and feel of Genevieve in his arms.

“In the loft should we go,” she whispered. The flurry of her breath against his ear made Wolfram shiver. The loft. Genevieve. His mind consumed the idea as his fingers explored the graceful arch of her back. He found her nape, his fingers lost in the thickness of her hair, and he slipped his thumb under her chin to angle her lips toward him.

Genevieve sighed with a satisfaction that could not be feigned. Wolfram tightened his grip possessively around her. This woman could be his this night. This woman who enflamed him and drove him to distraction invited him to sample fully the charms with which she had tempted him. Wolfram cared not why.

Indeed, the very promise falling from her soft lips was enough to make him fear to spill his seed.

A horse stamped in its stall somewhere in the darkness, and the abrupt sound recalled Wolfram suddenly to his senses.

What was he thinking? What was he doing? He stared down at the woman locked in his arms, the oath he had pledged to the Order of the Templars ringing in his ears.

What had possessed him to so break the Rule?

Wolfram flung Genevieve from his embrace and cringed inwardly at the sound of her sharp inhalation. He ran one hand through his hair, forcibly recalling that he was pledged to the Order for the remainder of his days.

“What is this you do?” she demanded in mingled outrage and confusion, but Wolfram had not the words to explain.

‘Twas imperative he leave this place—and the temptation of this woman—behind. ‘Twas imperative he leave these stables immediately.

“Hide yourself,” he said tersely, and then he did the only thing a man in his position could safely do.

Wolfram fled.

G
enevieve had never expected that he might flee.

She stood in the stable door left open in Wolfram's flight and gaped as he strode hastily away, consternation etched in every line of his figure. Mercifully, she had the sense to at least remain in the shadows as she watched, but to her disappointment, Wolfram did not even glance back before rounding the last corner and fading completely from sight.

Genevieve picked out the location of the ladder before she closed the door, her brow drawing into a thoughtful frown.

Well it seemed that Wolfram was afraid of her.

The thought would have been laughable had he not just disappeared with such haste. Genevieve's lips quirked in an unwilling smile that, once launched, soon spread gleefully across her features.

A hired assassin was afraid of her. Of a lutenist.

Genevieve chuckled. ‘Twas ridiculous. She took a few cavorting steps in the direction of the ladder and her shoulders shook with amusement.

And why? Because she had kissed him? Because he had enjoyed that kiss? Foolishness. This man dispatched people with ruthless efficiency, and surely he had naught to fear from anyone on the face of this earth. Surely ‘twas Genevieve who should have been afraid that she might taste the bite of his skill.

She halted halfway up the ladder, her laughter stilling when she realized she did not fear him. Surely ‘twas naught more than a passing whimsy. Any woman of sense would fear a cold-blooded killer. Genevieve doubtfully glanced over her shoulder to the closed doorway and acknowledged that ‘twas somewhat endearing, the way he had panicked.

Her kiss had affected him, this much she knew. She supposed that for a man pledged to a monastic order, that effect might well have promised a threat to his very security. Pledged he must be to poverty, chastity and obedience.

Yet Wolfram had not stayed to take advantage of whatever Genevieve might have offered. Loyal he was to what he had pledged this Order, and some corner of Genevieve's heart had to admire his conviction.

Not only had her opponent a face and a name, ‘twas clear he had a heart, as well.

Though indeed, ‘twas a heart he kept well hidden.

A ridiculous thought that was! No heart had Wolfram! What whimsy had possessed her mind? Genevieve stubbornly refused to indulge her doubts and resolutely climbed the ladder to the loft. Her brother had this man stolen from her side, and she would do best to recall that fact. No softness did she owe him, and certainly she should not permit his antics to make her laugh.

Nay. Genevieve must harden herself against his appeal. Angry should she be in this moment that her plan had been thwarted. Aye, furiously angry. She folded her arms across her chest once she had gained the loft and endeavored to summon that foul mood—to no avail.

Wolfram had evaded her this day and thwarted the fulfillment of her pledge when ‘twas virtually within her grasp. Here had been the perfect opportunity to take her vengeance, but the moment had been stolen from her. Genevieve could well hold that against him, but instead she recalled the warmth his kiss had unfolded within her.

Genevieve schooled herself not to smile in recollection. Wolfram had charmed her, she told herself firmly, and he had done so for naught but his own ends. He had undermined her determination. Truly the man had many crimes for which to answer and Genevieve would do well to recall them all.

Wolfram had spirited her away from the court and certain danger.

Before Genevieve's heart could melt, a thought launched in her mind that triggered her doubts as naught else could have done.

But
why
had he brought her here? Genevieve could not fathom an answer to that, and a cold slither of dread made its way down her back. She hastily reviewed all that Wolfram had said and realized he had made no explanation for this path. Genevieve rose to her feet and stared about herself, uncertain what to do. No clue had he given her of his plans and her fear redoubled at that realization.

Indeed, she knew not when Wolfram intended to return! Genevieve licked her lips and wondered if she was a fool to meekly remain here.

What if Wolfram did not return? Truly he had made no promises.

A sudden ray of light and an accompanying squeak indicated that the stable door swung open. Genevieve knew not what to expect and wondered whether she had summoned Wolfram with her very thoughts.

Mercifully, she held her tongue when impulse might have demanded she hail him.

“Hasten yourself, Brother! I would see these beasts bedded down and not miss my dinner for your tardiness this night!”

‘Twas not Wolfram's voice that boomed below. Genevieve's hand flew to her lips in mingled surprise and fear. Did they hunt her even here? What if she was discovered? What would be her fate here? She froze in place as the footsteps of several horses carried to her ears.

“Aye, Brother. ‘Twill take but a moment.”

But a moment. She had but a moment to endure. Genevieve forced herself to breathe slowly, hoping the sound could not be discerned below over the rattle of the horses' tack being removed. The beasts stamped their feet with welcome vigor and Genevieve crept away from the top of the ladder that she might be well out of view.

What if they came into the loft?

A faint light there was in the loft from a lattice for ventilation under the eaves at one end of the roof. ‘Twas adequate to discern her surroundings, and Genevieve stealthily wound her way to a secluded corner far from the ladder. Hay bales aplenty were there stored in the loft, and she was grateful for the concealment they might offer. She crouched behind a particularly high stack and clenched her fists against the dampness of her palms.

“Do you think we have need of another bale?” demanded the younger voice.

Genevieve was certain her heart stopped cold at the very suggestion.

“Leave it this night,” advised the elder. “Well do I imagine that dinner is cooling. ‘Tis flesh we are to have tonight, and that is a meal better savored warm.”

“True enough, Brother,” the younger agreed amiably.

Genevieve leaned against the wall when her knees weakened in relief. The door creaked an eternity later, emitting a beam of light before ‘twas closed again. Silence descended on the stables and Genevieve dared to release the breath she had been holding.

She was safe. For now.

While the stable was yet deserted, Genevieve found a safe nest for her lute and bedded it down with hasty hands. Determined to hide herself as well as she was able, she wedged herself between the bales of hay in her corner sanctuary. Genevieve pulled some hay across her lap against the chill in the air as she furiously considered what she should do.

* * *

As soon as Wolfram saw the deaf esquire enter the dormitory the next morning, he knew the boy came for him. His fingers fumbled with the customary task of rearranging his bed linens. Surely the Master could not know that Wolfram had secreted Genevieve within the Temple's Ville Neuve. Surely the Master could not have seen the truth, despite the fact that Wolfram had not notified him of Genevieve's presence.

Even though that had been Wolfram's entire justification for bringing the fetching lutenist within the confines of the Temple's walls in the first place.

Of course, that had been before Genevieve kissed him, yet again, with even more passion than the first time. His flesh warmed at the memory and he glanced about himself, certain his brethren would guess the forbidden direction of his thoughts.

With an effort, Wolfram caught himself before his mind recalled more of Genevieve's touch than was fitting here in the dormitory. Throughout the restless night just passed, he had refused to speculate on why he was reluctant to follow his original intent to reveal her immediately. He would not question his impulse now.

At the boy's nod in his direction, though, Wolfram's breath caught.

The Master knew. The Master knew all, and he was about to be chastised for breaking the Rule. The certainty of it filled him with dread.

But how? How could the Master have known? Surely Wolfram saw a threat where there was none, for the Master had no way of knowing Wolfram's secret. None had noted Genevieve's arrival—Wolfram was certain of it—and none had seen him return from the stables.

‘Twas likely just another commission. Wolfram forced himself to nod efficiently to the esquire, as though naught troubled him.

Indeed, mayhap he would take this opportunity to tell the Master about Genevieve. Uneasiness welled up within him at the prospect, but Wolfram deliberately pushed the feeling aside. ‘Twas right and proper to tell the Master of Genevieve's presence, and naught did he risk by doing so. The Master alone knew what commissions the Order had taken. The Master alone would know what to do. Wolfram deliberately ignored the uncertainty that thought prompted and reminded himself of the fundamental tenet of his life.

The Master alone could be trusted.

* * *

The Master was waiting in his office, his gaze bright over his tented fingertips.

“Where is she?” he demanded without preamble.

Wolfram was so surprised by the question that he was momentarily dumbfounded. Surely he could not have been wrong? “Who?” he asked, as though he did not know.

“Who?” The Master arched a silver brow, and his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Well enough do you know who I mean,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “‘Tis Genevieve de Pereille that I seek, and you know where she is.”

Wolfram was surprised by the Master's intensity, but endeavored to hide his response. Something in the Master's unexpected manner prompted him to be more evasive than he might have been otherwise, and he impulsively played the fool. “I, milord?” he asked, and the Master's eyes flashed angrily in response.

The older man shoved to his feet and paced around his desk in a flurry of taffeta robes to plant one heavy finger in the middle of Wolfram's chest. Wolfram was surprised to realize for the first time as they stood toe-to-toe that he was slightly taller than his superior.

“Aye,
you.
” The Master spat out the words. “With my own eyes did I see you leave the king's court with that Genevieve, and well enough did I hear that you had returned to the Temple. A breach of the Rule ‘twas for you to be outside these walls without my specific permission, but I
presumed
that a loyal brother like yourself had done so only to serve a greater good.” The older man paused, and his eyes narrowed. “I assumed you intended to fetch that troublemaker here to me.”

Troublemaker? What trouble had Genevieve caused the Master? Wolfram swallowed carefully. ‘Twas clear this was a matter of great import to his superior, though Wolfram could not fathom why it might be so. Mayhap, with the Master so impassioned, he might well learn what lay at root here. Was there truth in the minstrel's tale? Did someone aim to eliminate the entire family of Pereille?

And why was Wolfram suddenly so reluctant to reveal Genevieve? Surely he had intended no less when he had brought her here? ‘Twas not logical that he should be so confused, yet Wolfram knew not how to escape his uncertainty. Never had he been plagued by indecision before meeting Genevieve!

“No idea had I that you had interest in the matter,” Wolfram said slowly.

The Master snorted and spun away to pace the width of the room and back. The ferocity of his gaze diminished not a whit in the process. “No interest? Surely you have not forgotten the identity of the last man you dispatched? Or who sent you on that mission?”

“But well I thought that to be a commission from outside the Order,” Wolfram argued.

He caught but a glimpse of the Master's cunning smile before that man turned away to pace again. “Aye, from outside it came.” The Master paused for a moment, and Wolfram watched him tap his chin with one fingertip, his profiled features thoughtful. That smile quirked the corner of the older man's mouth again. “But some, as we all know, often need suggestions for their impulses,” the Master mused.

His words sent a chill through Wolfram, for their low tone suggested that he had not been expected to overhear. Had the Master suggested Alzeu be killed? A shiver of dread raced over Wolfram's flesh. Did the Master himself bear malice toward Genevieve's family?

It could not be. The Master was beyond reproach. Surely ‘twas the commission from a nameless client alone that prompted this animosity against Genevieve. The Master must only be interested in fulfilling a contractual obligation.

“‘Tis a pity we knew naught of the sister when you were there,” the Master added, with a sharp glance to Wolfram. “The matter could then have been resolved all at once.”

Wolfram blinked in astonishment, but the Master's knowing expression changed naught.

“But what is this family's crime?” Wolfram asked, the words slipping from his lips before he could stop them. Impertinence ‘twas to question the Master, and thoroughly did Wolfram regret that he had spoken, before the Master smiled sadly.

“Surely you attended the
chanson
yesterday,” he prompted as he slid into his seat again. “A fanciful tale ‘twas to be sure, but therein lay a germ of the truth. Aspirations to the crown have this family, and their interference cannot be tolerated. ‘Tis an upset to the natural order of the world.” He paused delicately and tented his fingers together once again. “Our client does not take well to the Pereille family's claims.”

“But surely a woman poses no real threat,” Wolfram heard himself arguing.

The Master's smile broadened. “Ah,” he said smoothly. “One might readily think as much, but in truth, their threat is much more insidious. While a man like Alzeu might openly challenge the throne in his attempt to claim it, a woman will whisper in the ears of her spawn, filling their heads with fanciful notions. Well might it take decades afore the threat rises again, but great damage could be wrought nonetheless. Memories are short, and in the past, this family's intent has been forgotten over the years.”