Robin turned until his partner’s back faced Will, and made a pointed gesture of dismissal.
Will scowled in return. He didn’t want to leave his master surrounded by dozens of be spelled humans, but he knew Robin badly wanted the woman, and doubted he would remain in the club much longer. Patience had never been one of Robin’s strengths.
As he wove his way through the crowd gathering around the dance floor, walking toward the exit, Will saw Rosalyn and the older man sitting close together and talking, apparently engrossed in each other. Robin’s scent still lingered on the air, and in the past it had often had a curious effect on large groups of humans exposed to it. Tonight it seemed to be having a mild aphrodisiac effect on the patrons, judging by the sudden pairings and hasty departures.
Everyone will have their lover tonight, Will thought, except me.
CHAPTER TWO
Reese waited until Will Scarlet had left the nightclub before she left her observation post and walked out to the parking garage. Everything had gone exactly as it should have, and she had played her part flawlessly. The endless hours she had spent preparing herself had not been wasted.
And, if she kept repeating that, she might even convince herself of it.
Seeing Will tonight had not gone as she had expected it would. Reese tried to think of what had changed since the last time she had seen him. Part of the problem was that he never changed, would never change. Time left its mark on mortals, not the Darkyn. It had been seven hundred years since the poacher of Aubury had escaped a gruesome end and pledged his life and loyalty to Robin of Locksley, who had taken him along on his endless quest to give to the poor by stealing from the rich. By then he had become Darkyn, and that also saved him.
Yet Will Scarlet still had no idea what he had done the day he had escaped the gibbet.
Reese made herself recall Will’s image. He’d recently cut his hair himself, judging by the uneven thatch of white-gold strands above his brow. How she’d longed to weave her fingers through the back of it, to feel again that soft thickness where it met the heavy muscles of his neck. His long lashes, still as white as the twin arches of his brows, had veiled the jeweled brilliance of his eyes. She imagined sitting and simply looking into those beloved eyes and listening to his voice for hours. She’d dreamed of that.
Until he’d taken her beyond the dreams.
You can’t think about him that way, not now.
Reese knew how important the work she had to do was, and yet despite it all she wished she could run down the street to the Armstrong building, find him, and tell him the truth—warn him of what was coming, and why it had to be done. He would understand. As the temptation to do exactly that grew stronger, her phone, set on silent, buzzed in her pocket.
She didn’t want to answer it, even as she did. “You promised that you wouldn’t call.”
“It’s late. I was worried.”
“I’m finished here. I’ve arranged to go in tomorrow night.” How calm she sounded, even to her own ears.
“Does he suspect anything?”
“No, Father.” If seeing Will tonight hadn’t broken her heart, this would. “I deceived him completely. Just as you instructed.”
“You know I would not have asked this of you, my child, but there was no one else up to the task.” His voice gentled. “It will be over soon, and then we can return home to the family. They miss you terribly.”
She hadn’t given her family a single thought since leaving home, but she wouldn’t tell her father that. He could never know her true feelings, or the secret longing she had kept from him. If he had, he would never let her go within one hundred miles of Rosethorn. He would have left her behind.
“I’ll see you soon.” Before he could make any more assurances, Reese ended the call.
She walked to the green Jag she had parked in a shadowy corner. After unlocking the passenger door, she reached in and checked the pulse of the woman she had tied up and gagged.
Dark eyes, as deep and confused as her own, fluttered.
“It’s done,” she told her captive. “I’m taking you to a safe place now. You won’t be harmed.”
The woman moaned something behind the gag in her mouth.
By the time Reese reached the safe house, her passenger was asleep. She directed the security guards to take her inside before she went to the library to make her report. When she found the room empty, she went to stand by the mantel and look down into the flames. It was too warm in this place for a fire, but he still lit one each night. He claimed he enjoyed the scent of it, but she wondered if he didn’t do so for other, less pleasant reasons.
After some time her father came in carrying two glasses of wine.
“The young lady is safely installed in the guesthouse.” He placed one glass on a side table and took his own to his favorite chair by the fire. “Marie will take good care of her, child.”
“I know she will.” It was everything she didn’t know that made her wish she were back in England.
He watched her instead of the fire. “Something happened at the club that you did not mention. I could hear it in your voice.”
The ache between her thighs had disappeared, but she could still taste Will Scarlet on her lips. For a moment she considered telling him about the interlude—they had never kept secrets from each other, no matter how terrible they might be—and then decided against it. What had happened had meant nothing to Will, and could not change anything for her.
“Seeing him—being with him tonight—was more difficult than I had thought it would be,” she said slowly. “I prepared myself for this, I meditated all afternoon before I went there, and I knew how it would be, but…” Her girlish babbling shamed her. “Father, I was not ready for him.”
“You could not help falling in love, my child.” Ennis stared into the fire. “It is a powerful and enduring emotion. Even hatred bends before its will.”
“Will and I can’t be together, not like this,” she said, more to reassure herself than him. “I know that. I do know what I have to do, Father.”
He nodded. “Then why were you not prepared?”
“The mission work troubles me.” That much was true. “There are too many unknowns involved. How can we be certain the suzerain will steal this book? What if he decides against it, or fumbles the job?”
“Robin of Locksley does not hesitate or fumble,” he said mildly. “He has been pursuing the book since it was stolen from his family centuries ago. He covets it more than any other treasure in the world. Now it has been brought into his territory, and will be on open display at a public gallery. How can the most successful thief in history resist helping himself to such a prize?”
She shook her head. “In his eagerness, he could make a mistake.”
Ennis beckoned to her. “Come here to me.”
She went to him and sat on the carpet in front of his chair, curling up against his long calves. She was too old to do such a childish thing, she knew, but it gave her a measure of comfort. She closed her eyes as he stroked his hand over her hair.
“This has been so painful for you,” he said, his voice gentle. “Your loyalty and goodness rebel against what has to be done. But, my dear, our work sometimes demands such things of us.”
“We could go to him,” she whispered, and felt his hand still. “He is still a good man at heart, Father. He always has been. We could tell him of the danger. If he knew—”
“We could confide in him,” Ennis agreed. “You may have forgotten to whom he has made his oath, but I assure you, Will Scarlet has not. He will in turn go to Locksley. Now, what do you think a Darkyn lord would do with the knowledge that he had obtained such power? What did they do when they discovered it the first time?”
Her heart sank. “Locksley would give the book to Richard.” She lifted her face. “But, Father, the high lord has changed. All the reports indicate he is becoming more temperate, more reasonable. More human. He knows too well what could happen, just as we do. What if
we used this as an opportunity to forge an alliance with him?”
He sighed. “The Darkyn are not human. They can never be. Even as we speak, Richard has recalled his seigneurs to London. They have suffered great losses over the last three years, and are at this moment deciding whether or not to go to war with the Brethren.”
“They can’t wage war openly,” she protested. “Not without exposing their existence. They have no weapons that can escape mortal detection.”
He looked down at her, his eyes sad. “After tonight they will.”
“Oh, God.” She covered her face with her hands.
“If I could give this task to anyone else, I would,” he assured her. “To spare you the suffering, I would do it myself.”
“No, Father.” She dropped her hands. “They would kill you.”
“One cannot say I deserve any less.” He stood, drawing her to her feet. The misery on his face struck at her heart. “As long as the book remains in the hands of others, the world will be in peril. We must take it back and destroy it before it is too late.” He pressed his dry lips to her brow. “Be brave, child, for just a little longer.”
She nodded.
“Now, at great expense and trouble I have obtained the original building plans for Rosethorn.” He gestured toward several long rolls of paper on his desk. “You will need to go over them tonight. I also have the names and photographs of every human employed by the estate. Those you must memorize, for once you are inside the house, they will be your only allies.”
I have no allies. Her shoulders drooped as she went to the desk.
Her father left her alone, and she spent the next several hours reviewing the blueprints of the estate and the dossiers of the mortals who served Robin of Locksley. It was dreary, mind-numbing work, but that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but protecting the innocent.
That was what she had been trained to do; that was what sustained her. For their sake, she would lie, steal, and kidnap. For their sake, if she had no other choice, she would kill anyone who tried to stop her.
Even Will Scarlet, the only man she would ever love.
A caress scented with violets roused Rebecca of Daven from her slumber. Waning sunlight inched down the bed and away from her skin, replaced by the soothing touch of large, powerful hands. She should have grown accustomed to this by now, so long had they been together, but no, it seemed she never would. Each time she found herself in his arms seemed as great a miracle as the very first.
When she thought on who they had been, and what had happened to them, perhaps it was.
“At last.” A deep voice stirred her hair. “The lady awakes.”
“You are mistaken.” Rebecca smiled against the fingertip tracing the bow of her lips, but kept her eyes closed. “The lady still dreams.”
“Then she must talk in her sleep.” A lean cheek grazed her chin, and cool breath whispered against her ear. “Does she do anything else, I wonder?”
“Soon she must rise and rouse the other women, break the fast, tend to the animals, begin the washing, clean the south chambers, and finish the carding.” She wrinkled her nose. “Unless my lord gives me yet another long list of impossible tasks he wishes me to see to while he plays at being castellan. He delights in such things, you know.”
“Hmm. This fellow sounds lazy and uncaring.” He nipped her earlobe and shifted his body to cover hers. “You would do better to stay here in bed with me, lovely one.”
The delicious weight of him made Rebecca sigh and slide her arms around his waist. “I want nothing more than that, but I think my husband would have some strong objections.” She opened her eyes and grinned up into the dark, scowling face of the brute on top of her. “Oh, Sylas. ’Tis you.”
“Devious wench.” He kissed her hard. “For that I should chain you to this bed for a week.”
“Do you promise?” She curled her good leg over his hip, arching against him. “An entire week?”
Her husband’s scowl faded as his eyes, black as midnight, took on a faint blue glow. “’Twould not be enough, would it?”
No, it wouldn’t. Rebecca sometimes wondered if eternity would be. “I love you, Sylas.”
“And I you, wife.”
Shadows stretched over the bed, covering the lovers as time and thought slipped silently from the chamber. Later, when the sun had vanished and the night bedecked itself with the glory of a thousand diamond-bright stars, Rebecca kissed her husband’s damp shoulder and reluctantly untangled herself from his hold.
He rolled onto his side so that he might watch her bathe and dress. “You should take some time for yourself tonight. Have Lettice organize the women. She is in charge of your ladies; she should do something other than gossip with them.”
“I would, but Tish is besotted with the new armorer come last week from the Realm,” Rebecca told him. “Until he returns her affections, or sorts out how to discourage them, she will be of little use to any of us.” She remembered something. “Oh, that friend of Will’s telephoned. I may have to attend to her tonight as well.”
His black brows rose. “What friend of Will’s?”
She picked up a small square of stiff paper from her vanity table and read it. “She calls herself Reese Carmichael. Apparently she is a senior account executive of Peachtree Marketing, Inc.”
“A mortal? Coming here?” When she nodded, he sat up. “Why?”
Her husband disliked strangers coming to Rosethorn for various reasons, not the least of which was preserving their safety. He, Rebecca, and the remainder of the household were Darkyn, immortal beings whose only nourishment was the blood of mortals. Over the centuries the Kyn had learned not to kill for their needs, and had hidden themselves among them, protecting themselves and the human beings upon whom they still depended. Only the Darkyn’s mortal enemies, the Brethren, still pursued them with their single-minded determination. A renegade sect of fanatics who posed as Catholic priests, the Brethren had held as their sole mission for centuries to exterminate the Kyn.
Fortunately they had not succeeded, although the secret war between the Darkyn and the Brethren had endured for six centuries. For those reasons, and some their lord paramount had not bothered to explain, Robin of Locksley had chosen to build his stronghold on two thousand acres of land in the sparsely populated Georgia countryside. In the process he had also convinced the few mortals living near Rosethorn’s borders to sell their property to him. Most of his jardin, made up of some five hundred Darkyn who had pledged their service to him, lived at Rosethorn, while the rest managed more than twenty tenant farms surrounding the stronghold on all sides.
“It seems Miss Carmichael will be fashioning the new advertisements for the weaponry our lord sells to mortals, and wishes to use our home as something called a ‘backdrop.’ You needn’t worry. She’s one of the tresori from the city, so she won’t get into any mischief.” Rebecca came over to the bed, lifted her hair, and turned her back toward him. “Are you going back to the city tonight?”
“Aye, the master has need of me again.” With the deftness of long practice, Sylas fastened the long row of buttons from her waist to her nape.
As castellan of Rosethorn, Sylas carried duties not limited to supervising the suzerain’s stronghold. The safety of the estate was his primary responsibility, which meant constant monitoring, augmenting, and improving of stores, weapons, and defense measures. Through daily training on the proving ground, he ensured the readiness of the garrison to face any threat, from a full-scale attack by Brethren fanatics bent on destroying the jardin to the intrusion of a curious mortal unaware of their existence. In Robin’s absence, Sylas had complete authority over the jardin as well, and performed in his lord’s stead by hearing grievances, settling disputes, and granting requests.
Sylas refused to set himself above his men, however, and always took his turn among the suzerain’s personal guard, which required him to occasionally accompany their lord whenever he traveled from Rosethorn to his great house in the city.
Rebecca understood why he served as both castellan and warrior, and respected him for it, but that didn’t make her like the separation any better. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”
“Nor do I,” he said. “Our lord has been strangely restless of late. Will rarely has a moment of peace. Tell me more about this Carmichael woman.”
Rebecca recalled the brief conversation she had had with Reese. “She wishes to be shown through the interior of the house so that she might choose the most favorable spots for the photographs needed. She has never been here, and asked if I would take her on a tour of it.”
“She told you she wishes to spy upon us? Just like that?”
“Every curious mortal is not a Brethren agent wishing to destroy us all,” she told him. “Tish said something about her once. I think she is Will’s special friend.”
Sylas grunted. “I will speak to the men anyway.”
“I thank you, but I have already done so.” His indignant look made her chuckle. “You were busy.”
“I am castellan. You are chatelaine. The ladies and the household are your charge; the garrison, the weapons, and the fortifications are supposed to be mine.” He thought for a moment. “I will direct Alain to escort you and this mortal while she is here.”
“Alain will only wish to use her,” Rebecca pointed out.
“Aye, but you may keep him busy fending off anyone else who comes at her.” Sylas’s hand rasped over the short, tight black curls his constant cropping could never quite disguise. “Attend to this special friend of Will’s, but do it quickly, my lady. Strange mortals do not belong at the stronghold. Even those we are told to trust.”
While he buttoned her gown, Rebecca twisted her light brown hair into a neat coil, which she pinned against the back of her head before she slid two ivory combs on either side of it. She handed him an airy silk snood and sat down on the edge of the bed while he gathered it over her hair and tied the ribbons. “Do you think you are to stay in the city until the morrow?”