LC03 Shield's Lady

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “Let’s go back to the Avylyn villa, Sariana. I’m sure you would prefer to scream at me in private. When you’re finished and you’ve had a chance to calm down you will thank me for depriving you of an audience.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you!”

  “Come now, Sariana,” he said with a gentle understanding that further infuriated her. “It would be one thing to indulge your temper in front of a westerner who accepts such behavior as normal. But it would be another matter altogether to do it in front of one of your countrymen. Think how embarrassed you would be afterward.”

  Sariana was growing lightheaded with her anger. She was so outraged she couldn’t even speak. She looked into Gryph’s eyes and it dawned on her with alarming clarity that he was right. She couldn’t throw a tantrum in front of Etion. It was unthinkable. She had to get out of this office and the only way out was with Gryph.

  The only way out was with Gryph.

  Where had she gotten that notion? she wondered. It had just popped into her head. It reminded her of the way other words and sensations had jumped, unbidden, into her head the previous night as she lay in Gryph’s arms. Perhaps she was on the edge of some sort of emotional breakdown, she thought hysterically. Maybe she was starting to hallucinate. Perhaps this was all a nightmare fabricated by her overwrought brain. But even as she questioned her sanity, she was walking toward the door, her hand lifting to accept Gryph’s outstretched arm.

  At the last second she shook off the odd compulsion she’d had to accept the mockery of gentlemanly assistance and brushed past him without taking his arm. She didn’t look back, nor did she hesitate. She made straight for the huge carved doors at the end of the wide banking hall. She was aware that Gryph was following. When he caught up with her she ignored him. The small weight of the scarlet-toe on her shoulder was the only comfort she had. The lizard clung to the fabric of her dress with its tiny claws. She had the distinct impression the creature was jubilant about leaving Etion’s office.

  Gryph walked beside Sariana in silence. She refused to turn her head or speak to him, but she was suffocatingly aware of his presence. He was too tall, too strong, too big in every way. She felt smothered by his nearness. She wanted to flee from him and at the same time she wanted to scream at him. The mix of emotions left her feeling powerless. Sariana was not accustomed to handling such a dangerous combination of sensations.

  Without a word she and Gryph made their way through the crowded streets. Neither of them paid much attention to the carriages or dragonponies and riders who tried to claim the thoroughfares. As if the drivers and riders sensed that these two were not playing the game today, they stayed out of the way.

  By the time she was walking through the villa doors and down the long gallery to her suite, Sariana was seething with frustrated rage. Gryph followed her silently into her room and she turned on him in fury.

  “You are a bastard. A complete and utter bastard. You call yourself a gentleman. You claim to be a lord and that you are descended from a Prime Family but you lie. You must be lying. Either that or you are a disgrace to your clan. You have treated me abominably. No gentleman would have acted as you have acted.”

  “Sariana, I know you’re angry and I guess you have a right to be, but—”

  “Angry?” she blazed, backing toward the writing table. “Angry? You don’t know the meaning of the word.” She sought for and found some of the colorful phrases the locals used. “You are the arrogant, deceitful, lying spawn of a cloaksnake. With your degree of talent you should consider a career in dragonpony manure production. You have the sensitivity and understanding of a hawkbeetle. You are lower than the son of a needlerat. Worse than that. You must be the result of the mating of a pair of particularly slimey swamp toads. You have the sense of honor of a wharfsnake. I doubt your claim to a legitimate clan, do you hear me?”

  “I hear you,” Gryph said. “But let’s leave my clan out of this.” He stripped off his jacket and slung it over one shoulder. Then he stalked across the chamber to where a beautifully faceted wine carafe sat on a hospitality table. He picked up the carafe and splashed the contents into a tiny glass.

  “By all means let’s leave your clan out of this,” Sariana snapped. “That sounds entirely reasonable considering the fact that there is apparently some question as to the origin of your entire social class.” She couldn’t think of a worse insult.

  Gryph cocked one brow at her as he took a long swallow of wine. “Is that right? Who told you that? Rakken?”

  “Yes, he did, as a matter of fact. He also told me about some totally ridiculous legend your people have managed to feed the rest of the westerners in order to win all sorts of special privileges.”

  “Rakken is surprisingly well-informed. Most easterners never hear much at all about the old legends concerning the Shields.” Gryph poured himself another glass of wine. “What did he say about us?”

  Sariana gripped the edge of her writing desk. She was trembling with the force of her emotions. Her voice shook with it. “He said you Shields have managed to concoct some crazy tale about not being members of the original social classes that arrived on board The Serendipity.”

  Gryph shrugged. “The tale is true.”

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  “No. Not in your present mood. But one of these days you’ll learn the whole story.”

  “I don’t want to learn the whole story. Do you understand? I don’t want any part of it. I don’t want any part of you. I have enough problems in my life without getting involved in some idiotic local legend.”

  “If you had wanted to stay uninvolved with local legends,” Gryph informed her with a strange smile, “you shouldn’t have tried to play games with one.”

  Sariana gritted her teeth. “If you’re talking about my using that hypnotic drug to try to make you a little more agreeable—”

  “I am,” he assured her and took another swallow of wine.

  “I’ve explained about that. I was desperate.”

  “I suppose I should thank you for using the drug. If you hadn’t tried that, I might never have found you. I wasn’t looking for an eastern wife.”

  “You talk about hunting a wife the way you would hunt wild game!” Sariana almost lost her voice again.

  “Wife hunting is more difficult. But it was time for me to try to find one. It’s not easy for a Shield, you know. The right women are few and far between. Under the terms of the First Generation Pact, a Shield is allowed to search for a mate in any social class, but actually arranging to meet a lot of females from a lot of different classes is another problem. The population was so small back in the early days that it was relatively easy to locate a possible mate. The logistics of the situation have changed considerably since then. Clans have learned ways of keeping their daughters out of sight of a potential Shield husband. It’s difficult to line up a number of women from which to choose. Social conventions have proven more formidable protection for young women than weapons and walls would have done.”

  Sariana’s fingers closed around a hand-carved tray designed to hold stationery. “Now you speak of finding a wife the way you would talk of choosing fresh fish in the market!”

  Gryph shook his head. “Shopping for fresh fish is simpler and more rewarding, believe me.”

  It was too much. Sariana lost the last shreds of her self-control. She hurled the stationery tray at Gryph’s head.

  He saw it coming but he didn’t bother to duck. It was as if he took one look at its trajectory and knew it would miss him by a few centimeters. When it smashed against the wall behind him and fell harmlessly to the floor he took another swallow of wine.

  “Get out of here,” Sariana shouted, snatching up a writing instrument and flinging it at him. He reached out and casually snatched it out of midair.

  “There are a few things I have to tell you first,” Gryph said
quietly.

  “I don’t want to hear them.” Her fingers touched another object and she lifted it unthinkingly. “Leave me alone.”

  Gryph eyed the sharp point on the message packet opener. “You and I are leaving at dawn tomorrow. Pack only the basics. We can’t carry a lot of luggage:”

  If you think I’m going anywhere with you you’re out of your mind.” She threw the packet opener, only realizing the potential danger of the blade after it had left her hand. Her eyes widened in horror as the knifelike utensil whipped across the room in the blink of an eye.

  With a lazy movement that seemed to take place almost in slow motion, Gryph brought the jacket he’d slung over his shoulder down to a point just below his belt buckle. The packet opener slammed into the tough material of the jacket and lodged there. Gryph glanced down at where the blade would have struck had it not met the jacket first.

  “I can see where a codpiece might be a useful fashion item on certain occasions,” he observed.

  Sariana was shocked by her own act of violence. It jolted her back to reality. “What have you done to me?” she asked in a dazed voice. “It’s because of you I’m acting this way. I’ve lost my self-control.”

  “Relax, Sariana. Everyone does occasionally. It’s nothing to get alarmed about.”

  She stumbled away from the desk and sank into the nearest chair. “Please leave,” she said stiffly.

  “Don’t you want to know more about our trip?”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  He ignored that and continued to lounge against the hospitality table while he swirled the wine in his glass. “As far as everyone else is concerned, it will be a traditional wedding journey. I’ll be taking you home to introduce you to my clan. It’s expected. No one will question it.”

  Something in his voice broke through Sariana’s emotional daze. “You speak as if this stupid journey you’re planning has another purpose besides ensuring my humiliation.”

  “It does. You and I are going to find the Avylyns’ precious prisma cutter.”

  She looked up, startled.

  Gryph smiled evenly. “I thought that might get your attention.”

  “Why do you continue to concern yourself with the cutter?”

  Gryph finished the last of the wine and set the glass down. “As I told the Avylyns this morning, the cutter has become Shield business. It must be found.”

  “I don’t understand you, Gryph.”

  “I know.” He started toward the door. “And there is much about you that I don’t understand. But we’ll both have plenty of time to get to know each other on our wedding journey. Be ready at dawn, Sariana.” He opened the door and closed it behind him.

  Sariana plucked the scarlet-toe off her shoulder and cradled it gently in her palms. The lizard gazed up at her with its unwinking, jeweled eyes.

  “If he thinks I’ll tamely jump to his beck and call, he is in for a surprise,” she informed the lizard. “You and I are indeed going on a journey tonight, but not with Gryph Chassyn. We are going to escape this madhouse.”

  Chapter

  9

  SARIANA crouched behind a row of stacked wine casks in a dockside warehouse and decided she was learning far too much about fear lately. It seemed to her that she had been forced to deal with one overpowering wave of emotion after another during the past few hours. Life had become terrifyingly irrational and dangerous for a young woman who had always assumed she knew what she wanted and how she was going to get it. Nothing was certain any longer.

  A tiny hissing sound in Sariana’s ear warned her that the scarlet-toe was picking up on her anxiety. Automatically Sariana touched the lizard in a light, soothing gesture. The scarlet-toe hissed again, the sound so soft it didn’t carry beyond the range of Sariana’s hearing.

  “It’s your fault we’re in here,” Sariana muttered softly. It was true. It had been the lizard’s insistent hissing that had first alerted her to the fact that she was being followed. She had assumed in the beginning that it was Gryph trailing her through the streets of Serendipity down to the wharf and she had been angered as well as nervous. She hated the feeling of being hunted.

  But a few minutes ago she had realized her pursuer was not Gryph. She didn’t know how she could be so certain of that but she was. She would know if it was Gryph closing in on her. There was another hunter on her trail tonight.

  Sariana had left the Avylyn household an hour before dawn, carrying as many clothes and personal belongings as she could manage in two large travel pouches slung from her shoulders. The scarlet-toe had been perched on the shoulder of her cloak.

  A lingering sense of duty had forced her to pause long enough to write out a series of instructions regarding the Avylyn household and business finances. She could only hope the Avylyns would have the sense to follow them in her absence.

  Intent on making her way to the wharf where she would be able to book passage on one of the fast little windriggers that plied the coastal waters, Sariana had hurried through the dark streets.

  The realization that someone was following her had hit just as she had reached the deserted warehouse area near the docks. The scarlet-toe had become increasingly agitated and Sariana, who had at first been furious that Gryph had followed her, had begun to feel a trickle of fear along her spine.

  It was then she had decided that it couldn’t be Gryph. She felt a lot of things around Chassyn, but she had never known that kind of fear.

  She had quickened her pace until she was moving as fast as she could with the weight of the overloaded travel pouches. Anxiously she had glanced down the street, hoping to see an early rising sailor or dockworker or guard. There had been no one in sight.

  There was no one visible behind her, either, but Sariana had no doubt the hunter was somewhere in the shadows.

  Impulsively she had begun trying the warehouse doors she was passing. With each locked door she encountered, the fear crawling through her became stronger.

  On the fifth try she had gotten lucky. The handle of a small side door had turned under her gloved fingers. Sariana hadn’t hesitated. She had dashed inside and closed the door behind her.

  She had found herself in a deep, looming darkness broken by the fitful light of a few, dim vapor lamps set in the wails.

  Now she sat huddled in the deepest shadows she could find. She was sitting on a wine cask. Rank upon rank of barrels and casks were piled in front of her and behind her. The odor of wine was heavy in the air.

  Sariana tried to decide how long she should stay in her hiding place. With any luck whoever had trailed her through the streets would grow weary of the search and seek other prey.

  Then she heard the unmistakable sound of the side door opening and closing again. Sariana shuddered and squeezed her eyes shut briefly against the fear that threatened to overwhelm her. The scarlet-toe hissed its nearly silent hiss and clung tightly to the fabric of Sariana’s cape.

  Sariana opened her eyes and gazed out into the darkness. The beam of a small hand-held vapor lamp was reflected briefly from a far wall. Then it disappeared as whoever held it turned down another aisle. She could hear the scrape of boots on the warehouse floor. Whoever was hunting her was conducting a systematic search of the aisles. Sooner or later he would come down this aisle and she would be trapped.

  Sariana came to a decision. She was not going to crouch there until the inevitable happened.

  Stealthily she stood up and set down her travel pouches. Then she removed her cloak. The scarlet-toe scampered from the cloak to her arm and back up to her shoulder. There it sat poised and ready. The little creature seemed to have come to the same conclusion as Sariana. Anything was better than waiting to be discovered.

  Sariana stepped softly out of her slippers and turned to confront the row of casks behind her. The barrels were stacked only four tiers high in the first row. It
shouldn’t be that difficult to climb to the top tier. Tentatively she searched for and found handholds and places for her stockinged toes.

  The climb proved harder than she had anticipated. By the time Sariana reached the top tier of casks she was breathing heavily and terrified that the searcher would hear her. Fortunately he was still moving systematically up and down the aisles. It would be a few minutes before he reached the aisle in which she’d left her travel pouches and cloak.

  Sariana glanced around. There was a little more light from the vapor lamps up here. She could see the outlines of the casks on either side of her. Some of the barrels were smaller than others. She made her way cautiously along the curving ribs of the wine casks until she came to a tier of smaller containers that were stacked upright instead of on their sides.

  Experimentally she tried nudging one of the small casks. It proved unexpectedly heavy. She would never be able to lift it, but she might be able to push it.

  The beam of the vapor lamp turned the corner of Sariana’s aisle. She froze, watching in horrified fascination as a figure made his way rapidly along the corridor of wine casks. In another moment he would see the travel pouches and Sariana’s discarded cloak. Sariana held her breath and prepared to use all her strength on the barrel under her hands.

  The man in the aisle gave a grunt of satisfaction when the vapor light picked out Sariana’s possessions on the floor. He hurried forward, swinging the ray of light rapidly back and forth. He never once raised the light to examine the top rows of casks. It was obvious he assumed his quarry was huddled behind a wine barrel.

  “You can come on out of hiding,” the man urged, his voice oily with an attempt to coax his prey into the open. “I’m not going to hurt you. Come on now, little lady. It’s all right. Come on out of your hiding place.”

  Sariana’s fingers trembled on the rim of the upright wine cask. She had to time this perfectly or she would be worse off than she already was.