The Baron

by Sally Goldenbaum

  Luc surged to his feet and pulled the defeated youth up with him, one hand still wrapped in the thick mass of hair. Frowning, his eyes narrowed at the slight weight of him. He turned the boy to study his comely face, the lush mouth and long-lashed eyes that refused to meet his.… An awful suspicion ignited, and he grasped the softly rounded chin in his other fist, holding hard.

  A flush stained the high cheekbones as Luc tilted his captive’s face toward the gray light that sifted through the heavy oak limbs shading the courtyard. Deliberately, Luc shifted his hand lower, over throat and shoulder, the backs of his fingers skimming over the round brass plates of ancient chest armor to the webbing between. Wide eyes held his in a steady gaze, not bunking even when Luc slid his hand beneath the armor to touch the linen sherte beneath. His exploring hand found what he suspected, and he swore softly.

  Luc stared at his adversary, his fury fading into amazement. It was not possible … but the evidence filled his palm, soft and tempting, and unmistakably rounded. He slowly drew his hand from beneath the armor, his voice rough:

  “You are no stripling lad.”

  The girls eyebrow arched in feigned surprise, and her full mouth curled into a scornful smile. “Your intellect is superior to your prowess on the field of battle, Sir Knight. Bested by a mere maid—how will your reputation fare in William’s court now?”

  “Be ’ware of whose temper you prod—and keep in mind that ’tis my dagger at your throat this time. Your battle is lost.”

  “I could not forget. Not with my father’s men dead all around me.” Bitterness tinged her husky voice as her gaze skimmed the scene around them, and her blue eyes darkened with pain. For the first time, he noticed that blood dripped from a shallow cut on her forehead.

  Luc sheathed his dagger and picked up his sword, holding it out with lowered tip to indicate his inclination to mercy. “You are my hostage. Take me to your lord, so that I may accept his surrender.”

  Soft laughter met his demand. “That is impossible.”

  “For your sake, it had best not be.” Luc’s words were clipped. “I deal harshly with those who refuse my commands.”

  “You and William are cut from the same cloth, then.”

  “Do not whine to me of ill treatment. Complain instead to your father, who took William’s oath only to break it. ’Twould have been better had he not taken it at all than to dishonor his sworn word. At least then he could have kept the kings respect.”

  “The bastard duke of Normandy deserves no respect. Nay, and Lord Balfour never broke a sworn bond in his life, so do not speak ill of him now.”

  Impatient, Luc shook his head. “You bandy words, when ‘tis Balfour who should offer his own defense. I would meet the man responsible for the deaths of good men, and I would meet him now. Take me to Lord Balfour immediately, or it will go harshly with you and all in your hall.”

  After a moment of taut silence, the girl shrugged her shoulders. A gust of wind teased the golden hair that rippled down her back and over her arms. A faint smile played on her lips. If not for her obvious female attributes he might still think her a young lad, for the timbre of her voice was low and rich. “Since you insist, brave knight, I will take you to him.”

  She turned, head held high, to indicate the narrow path leading away from the vault. She possessed the confident grace of a young doe, a wild creature standing in the midst of the tangled trees and stones. When Luc did not move immediately, she glanced back over her shoulder at him. Her voice purred, sultry and provocative.

  “Poor Norman knight—do you fear treachery? If I thought ’twould serve me, I would lead you into a trap, but I know you are right and the battle is lost.”

  “It is not fear of treachery that delays me, but kindness that bids me warn you not to play me false, or you will soon regret it.”

  Her response was a throaty laugh and eloquent shrug of one shoulder as she said, “ ’Tis traitors who fear treachery most, I think.”

  “My lord,” Remy spoke up quietly, “do not go alone. I do not trust her.”

  “Nor I, Remy. Search the grounds, then join me. I do not think there are enough Saxons left to spring a trap, but neither do I put faith in them blindly.”

  Luc followed the maid down a narrow, weed-choked path to a small stone cairn tucked beneath a bower of young trees. There she swung around to face him with an unreadable expression on her lovely features. He came to an abrupt halt, glancing about the deserted grove. Fallen leaves cluttered the ground and rustled dryly beneath their feet, and the musty smell of death permeated the air around them.

  “What is this, demoiselle? A ruse to delay me while your father escapes?”

  Her soft laugh sounded more bitter than amused. “Nay, he has already escaped invading Normans. But you are welcome to follow him. Indeed, I pray that you do.” When he scowled and took a step toward her, she swept out an arm to indicate the pile of stones. “Lord Balfour awaits your company, Sir Knight.”

  Luc stared at her mocking face, the slight smile twisting her lips, and suddenly he understood.

  “How long has the lord been dead?”

  “Three moons have waxed and waned since Balfour joined his fathers.”

  “Then you will tell me who is lord in his place. I want the man responsible for the death of Sir Simon, and this rebellion against William.”

  Draping her slender body against the stone cairn, the girl’s gaze did not leave his face. “That person is before you, Norman. Do your worst.”

  Read on for an excerpt from Iris Johansen’s This Fierce Splendor

  Prologue

  Kantalan, Mexico

  Summer, A.D. 1517

  The Sun Child was trembling.

  The motion beneath Sayan’s sandals was a mere quivering that vanished almost as it began. She would never have noticed it if her senses had not been tuned to exquisite sensitivity by the knowledge of what was to come.

  Her hand tightened on the stem of the silver goblet. She was also trembling. She hadn’t expected to be this afraid. She had thought once she had accepted her fate, she would have the courage to meet it with dignity. After all, it would not be a cruel death. She would drift peacefully to sleep, never to awaken. At least, never to awaken on this plane. There had been something in the flames, a promise.…

  She lifted the goblet to her lips and quickly swallowed a large draft of potent maize wine. It was strong and smooth as it slid down her throat, leaving warmth in its wake. She was not quite so cold now, and she would be able to meet her fate as a clairana should. She moved slowly to the polished brass mirror affixed to the far wall. The mellow golden circle reflected the scarlet blossoms in the white jade vase on the low table in front of the mirror and beyond it her own image. She had dressed very carefully tonight to forestall this very terror and give her confidence. She wore her favorite ceremonial robe, the cloak of sunrise. A sunburst of fine silk pleats fell from the shoulders of the garment in a cascade of gold and ivory and rose and was fastened at her throat with a large yellow-diamond clasp whose facets sparkled in the soft candlelight. The ivory silk gown beneath it was a mere slip of material, and it revealed the full thrust of her breasts and the clean line of her thighs. At least she looked like a clairana. She mustn’t have these doubts. When the time came she would have the courage she needed. Probably the isolation of the last few days had been more painful than her death would be.

  The priests had been very wise in their punishment. They had snatched none of the riches that were the accoutrements of her position from her. They had taken away only their belief in her and the companionship to which a clairana was accustomed. She decided it was the terrible loneliness making her so cowardly. Everyone was alone within their soul, but a touch, a word, would have been a comfort as she released her essence to the—

  “You look splendid.”

  Sayan whirled to face the man standing in the doorway. “No!” she whispered. “I told you to leave. I begged you to leave and you promised you would. Why
are you still here, Dalkar?”

  “I lied.” He strolled into the chamber, moving with grace and athletic coordination. His sandals made no sound on the marble tiles. His white teeth were gleaming in his bronze face as he smiled at her, and she felt an eddy of warmth cascade through her that was more heady than the strong wine she had just drunk.

  He was the one who was splendid. Strong and superbly muscled like a giant jaguar, his dark eyes shining with humor and vitality. He was naked to the waist as was his custom. The single swath of a dark brown leather chanton girdled his slim hips, leaving his muscular thighs as naked as his hair-roughened chest. The cords of the sandals that crisscrossed his ankles and lower calves were also leather. A beaten silver necklace imbedded with turquoise encircled his strong brown throat; the center medallion, inscribed with the cross of the four-rivers, hung directly between his breasts. His features were not at all handsome. His nose was too short and blunt and his cheekbones too broad. It made no difference. He drew women to him like the great lodestone in the temple of Ra. He was all male virility and joyous laughter. Sayan had heard the whispers that followed him before he had even approached her, and knew he was not a man she could trust to keep his distance. That, too, had made no difference. His body had seduced her with its strength and heated masculinity, but it was his laughter that had enchanted and won her.

  He was laughing now. “You should have known better than to trust me. Any man who would dishonor a clairana is capable of any crime.” He picked up the graceful silver pitcher from the black marble table and poured a small amount of wine into a goblet. “I knew you wouldn’t stop arguing unless I told you I’d leave Kantalan.” He lifted the goblet in a toast. “And I had no intention of leaving either you or Kantalan. If you stay, I stay.”

  “I don’t want you to die. I want you to live. It will happen, Dalkar, believe me.” Her eyes glittered in the candlelight with the tears she refused to let fall. “Please believe me. I saw it in the sacred flames. It was a true vision. Ra didn’t take away my powers when I committed the blasphemy.”

  He stiffened and his smile faded. “It was no blasphemy. It was beautiful. Just because the priests have declared us outcasts doesn’t mean what we did was wrong. If you hadn’t been the clairana, I would have been allowed to take you as my lady. We were right to ignore those pompous fools and their outdated superstition and seize the joy that was our right to know.”

  She shook her head. “No, we were wrong. If I hadn’t betrayed my vow, our people would have believed in me and fled Kantalan. They would not be climbing the Sun Child tonight to give sacrifice.”

  He frowned. “You have regrets?”

  Her eyes widened. “Of course I Have regrets. The greatest civilization that has existed since we left the homeplace is going to be destroyed.” Her despairing gaze searched his face. “You don’t believe me either, do you?”

  He shrugged. “I’m a soldier, not a mystic. I believe what I can see, what I can touch, and what we are together.” He smiled. “Is that enough for you, Sayan?”

  “No, you must believe.” Her voice was vibrant with urgency. “You must leave Kantalan, Dalkar.”

  “Shh.” His fingers touched her lips gently. “It doesn’t matter what I believe or don’t believe. If I thought Ra was going to rain fire down and destroy the world in the next instant, I would still be here.”

  “There will be no fire.” She closed her eyes. “Not this time. Not until the four who come after walk the streets of Kantalan.”

  Dalkar felt a cold chill in the hollow of his spine. He had always been a confirmed skeptic, but her utter certainty shook him. Then he moved his shoulders as if shrugging off a burden. He had always lived for the moment, and Sayan had given him the most exquisite moments in his life. He had learned these last few days when he had forced himself to stay away from her that a future without her would be meaningless. It was not a future he could comtemplate. If Sayan’s prophecy proved true, then he could have no more beloved a companion with to whom spend that final moment. Yet it was against his nature to accept even the possibility of death meekly. “I could take you away. We could make a life for ourselves somewhere else.”

  “I can’t go.” She opened her eyes to reveal a sadness that made his throat tighten with empathy and love.

  Love. He hadn’t realized until this moment how much he did love her. She had been a passion, an obsession, a challenge. He had always been tempted by any challenge that presented itself, and Sayan had posed a most difficult and exciting one. He didn’t honestly know whether he had set out to seduce her because she was forbidden or because he was truly captivated by her. She was undoubtedly a great beauty, with her perfect features and huge dark eyes, but her solemn mystical temperament was foreign to his easygoing nature. Well, it no longer mattered how they had reached this point; their future was bound inexorably together. Of that he was sure.

  His fingers moved from her lips to caress the hollow of her cheek. “Then I can’t go either.” His hand dropped away. “Now, stop protesting. You’re too intelligent a woman to waste your time with futile arguments.” He smiled with gentle raillery as he took her goblet and placed it with his own on the table. He took her elbow and propelled her toward the doors of the balcony. “Particularly since you’re convinced we have so little time left. Why don’t we watch the procession up the Sun Child? It will be quite a spectacle. Our being outcasts has one advantage at least. We don’t have to climb to the sacrificial plateau for the ceremony. We can watch it from right here.” He drew aside the heavy drapes of filigreed silver and stepped aside for her to precede him. “Perhaps their sacrifices will pacify Ra into forgiving our sins.”

  “Don’t joke.” She heard the soft metallic rustle as Dalkar released the silver curtain and it fell into place behind them. She crossed to the stone balustrade to look out over the city. It was hot and utterly still tonight, the air heavy and difficult to breathe. “It was a sin. I don’t think Ra considers it a sin against him because he gave me the vision, but it was a sin against our people. I should have been more responsible. I should have obeyed the law.”

  His arm slid around her slim waist beneath the pleated cloak and his lips grazed her ear. Her dark waist-length hair caressed his naked chest and the delicate woman scent of her caused his head to swim and his groin to tighten. “There’s no one more responsible than you, little Sayan, and it was a law meant to be broken.”

  She could and warmth of his heavily muscled arm through the thin ivory silk of her gown and caught the scent of leather and musk that was innately his own surrounding him. She leaned back against him and sighed. “I love you so. Why did I have to love you?”

  She obviously didn’t expect an answer, and he gave her none. His gaze was fixed toward the south at the lower foothills of the Sun Child, the highest mountain in the chain that encircled the city. The trail leading up the mountain was dotted by thousands of torches as the citizens of Kantalan wound their way to the plateau halfway up the peak.

  “I love this city.” Sayan’s words were only a thread above a whisper. Her gaze was not on the mountain but on the deserted city below them. Stately pyramids and flat-roofed marble edifices sat side by side in faultless harmony and the four rivers dividing that exquisite harmony of architecture shimmered in the silver moonlight like the inscription on Dalkar’s medallion. “Could anything be more beautiful than Kantalan?”

  “No.” He experienced a surge of the same pride he had heard in her voice. It surprised him. He was a man who needed to struggle and build, and the perfection of Kantalan had always grated against his basic drives. But what else could he expect? He had chosen to become a soldier in a land that revered peace. Yet tonight, for some reason, he was responding as he had never done before to the serene beauty of his birthplace. “Nothing.”

  She was silent for a long time. “Perhaps it will be easier for us than for Cadra. I don’t know if I could bear to leave this place and live among the barbarians.”

  “You�
�ve sent Cadra away?”

  She nodded. “He, at least, believed my vision. He didn’t want to leave me, but I told him it was Ra’s will and there had to be someone to tell the tale of Kantalan and summon the four who come after,”

  “Where did you send him? Tenochtitlàn?”

  “Do you think I’m mad?” Her voice was suddenly harsh. “You told me yourself Montezuma made over five hundred human sacrifices last year. He has forsaken the true way of Quetzalcoatl. Do you realize he would have had me buried alive for the offense I committed? We were right to cut off all communication with that colony when the blood sacrifices started. I will not give them Cadra or Kantalan to sacrifice on their altars.”

  He chuckled. “So fierce.” His lips brushed her cheek again. “Where did you send him?”

  “To the north. It is better that he live with the primitives than with those monsters who have forgotten that civilized cultures cannot be founded on earth soaked with blood.” She drew a deep shaky breath. “We have accomplished so much here. Legend says the homeplace was better but I cannot believe it. Kantalan is—” She paused, searching for a word. “Ra.”

  “Now, your humorless priests really would consider that blaspheming.” His breath was warm as he laughed softly in her ear. “I think I’m jealous. I don’t want you to be thinking of Kantalan while I’m holding you like this.” His arm tightened around her. “And I’d like you to tell me you love me again. Will you do that, Sayan?”

  “Why should you doubt it? After what—”

  He could feel sudden tension stiffen the muscles of her spine. “What’s wrong?” His own body tautened in response, his gaze searching the streets below for some unknown danger.

  Sayan realized he hadn’t felt the trembling beneath their feet, yet it was far stronger than the tremor she had noticed earlier. Her gaze fled to the Sun Child’s peak framed against the moonlit sky. Nothing. No sign of even a whiff of smoke issuing from the mouth of the volcano. Not yet. They still had time.