Unicorn Vengeance

by Claire Delacroix

  Wolfram could not utter a word, not even a mere acceptance of his duty. Dispatch Genevieve. Could he truly do this deed? Well could he imagine that she would not embrace the news of her fate, but he doubted he had the will to fight her.

  “Pledged to the Rule are you, Wolfram, and sworn to obey my command,” the Master reminded him forcefully, and the words recalled Wolfram to his place. The Master’s bidding should be his doing. He had pledged to obey. “I command you to dispatch her from this world.”

  Even that reminder could not bring agreement to Wolfram’s lips. Never had Wolfram dispatched a woman. Never had he dispatched anyone he knew. Surely that must be the reason that everything within him fought to defy the order of the Master of the Temple.

  “Further,” the Master said tightly, “I would have you fetch the woman here, that I might witness the deed with my own eyes.”

  Wolfram met the Master’s gaze unwillingly. That man smiled and nodded. No choice had Wolfram. His word had he given and this command must he fulfill. He fought against his instincts and managed to nod obeisance.

  “Aye, milord,” he whispered reluctantly.

  The Master’s smile broadened. “Be quick about it,” he counselled with a snap of his fingers. “My patience—and our client’s patience—in this matter is wearing thin.”

  * * *

  When Wolfram gained the courtyard outside the main tower of the Temple mere moments later, he noted the shadow trailing behind that was not his own. The very hint that he was no longer trusted was enough to fuel all his doubts—and feed his fledgling defiance.

  Wolfram deliberately stepped out of the courtyard in the direction opposite to the stables where Genevieve was hidden, his mind working furiously.

  ‘Twas only natural that he should balk at killing a woman, he told himself fiercely. And even more natural that he should avoid delivering a person to her execution when that person was deemed guilty by merely her birthright.

  It mattered naught that his lips burned in recollection of Genevieve’s sweet kisses. ‘Twas the fact that she was a woman, her innocence and the Master’s abrupt removal of his trust that made Wolfram want to aid her.

  ‘Twas naught more than that.

  * * *

  Wolfram was not coming back for her.

  By midday, the truth of the matter was inescapable. Genevieve chewed her bottom lip and desperately tried to decide how to proceed. She was not fool enough to think she might be lucky two days in a row and sneak past the gatekeeper yet again. Nor did she know what awaited her outside the Temple walls. Was she yet hunted by the guards of the court?

  How she wished she was home at Montsalvat! How she wished she had never taken this foolish pledge and had remained in that beloved, drafty keep!

  Enough of waiting! A wave of homesickness had Genevieve shoving stubbornly to her feet. Had she not waited long enough for Wolfram to return? ‘Twas clear he had no intention of doing so, and she would not linger here any longer.

  He was gone, lost to her in the labyrinth of the Ville Neuve, where she could not follow. Had she not tried to extract a toll for Alzeu’s untimely demise? Genevieve sent her most sincere apologies skyward to her brother, knowing full well that she had done her best.

  Evidently, her quest was not to be fulfilled. Better ‘twas that she return home and leave this unfamiliar place, put her failure firmly behind her and move on. ‘Twas not to be.

  She refused to consider the import of the chase from the king’s court after she had declared her identity. ‘Twas only because she and Odo had trespassed. Naught had Genevieve to fear for herself, for a woman offered no threat.

  And home was safe. That she knew beyond all else.

  Genevieve did not permit herself to acknowledge a modicum of relief at the abandonment of her quest. Certainly she felt no compassion for Wolfram at all and, had she the opportunity, she would have taken her vengeance without a second thought.

  Certainly. Not a doubt was there in her mind.

  Genevieve scowled at the direction of her thoughts. She was not shirking her responsibilities. Nay. How could she kill a man who did not show his face?

  That she had had numerous opportunities to do so reassured her naught.

  Wolfram was gone and Genevieve could not pursue him here. ‘Twas that simple.

  Indeed, if she left, he might well pursue her, granting her another opportunity to fulfill her pledge. The very idea lightened her heart, and Genevieve scooped up her lute, refusing to examine the reasons why such an idea pleased her.

  The quest might not be lost, after all. ‘Twas that alone that buoyed her spirits.

  She was down the ladder and half-way across the haystrewn floor when the stable door was suddenly cast open. A hooded figure was silhouetted against the morning light. Genevieve gasped, knowing she stood fully in the light and that there was no way she could hide.

  “Genevieve!” muttered Wolfram angrily. So shocked was Genevieve by his presence that her knees nearly buckled beneath her. “Fool!” he snapped as he ducked into the shadows of the stable. He darted a glance over his shoulder and shut the door firmly behind him, the last ray of light showing that he tore the hood from his head. He advanced upon her, and Genevieve had trouble forcing air into her lungs.

  Another opportunity ‘twas, she told herself wildly. Her heart pounded and Genevieve knew ‘twas only the promise to yet fulfill her pledge that garnered such a response within her.

  Wolfram was back, and relief gave her tongue a newfound audacity.

  “Well I thought never to see you again,” Genevieve said breathlessly. Wolfram paused directly before her and she tipped her chin back instinctively, as he loomed over her, the shadow of his form discernible against the shadows.

  “Surely you did not imagine that I would abandon you here?” he asked. His tone was clipped, and Genevieve wondered why he had glanced over his shoulder so. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness again, and she could make out the frown that marred his fair brow.

  Mayhap she had misunderstood....

  Nay! She tossed her hair stubbornly, determined to give him the benefit of no doubt. “Naught did you say to me of your intent.”

  “And naught did you ask, as I recall,” Wolfram retorted.

  Only too well did Genevieve recall the embrace they had shared instead, and she plunged ahead, certain that discussing that moment of weakness would gain her naught.

  “Then what is your intent?” she demanded crossly. “Why did you bring me here?”

  To her astonishment, Wolfram’s annoyance seemed to desert him. He ran one hand agitatedly through his hair. “In truth, I did not think overmuch about the matter. This place alone could you find sanctuary from the king, that I knew. And well I thought that the Master might seek you. Truly, I thought no further than that.”

  “The Master? Who is this Master?”

  Genevieve felt the weight of Wolfram’s gaze upon her. “The Master of the Temple of Paris. ‘Tis his will alone that I fulfill.”

  Instinctively, Genevieve understood the import of Wolfram’s words, but she would not reveal to him how much she knew. ‘Twas this Master who must have dispatched Wolfram to kill Alzeu.

  The fact that this Master might well know of her location in this moment did naught to reassure Genevieve.

  “And what might this Master want of me?” she demanded with bravado. “Surely the Templars have no need of a lutenist?”

  Wolfram laughed dryly, though the sound was less than lighthearted. “Nay, Genevieve, he desires not a lutenist,” he said in a low voice. He cleared his throat, and Genevieve knew to dread his next words. “‘Twas only this very morn that I learned he wishes to see you dead.”

  Genevieve felt her mouth open, but no sound came forth. She shook her head, shocked to hear her own worst fear so casually uttered. “But, but what have I done to earn his animosity?” she asked weakly.

  Genevieve fancied that Wolfram smiled sadly before he shook his head. “‘Tis your lineage,” he whispere
d. “No more and no less than that.”

  Genevieve’s mind worked furiously at the news. ‘Twas not Alzeu alone that was wished dead, but the entire line of the Pereilles. And she was the last. Even being a woman gained her naught. She blinked back tears and squared her shoulders as she confronted Wolfram.

  “And you are here to accompany me to my fate?” she asked coldly.

  To her astonishment, Wolfram shook his head. “‘Twas why I was sent, but in truth, I cannot do the deed, Genevieve.” His voice faltered, but he pressed on. “I would not see you so ill-used.”

  Genevieve was flattered for an instant before she suspected a trick. Surely the man aimed only to soften her objections with flattery. But nay, he pressed on in much the same vein, his sincere tone inviting her belief, his words falling in haste once his confession was made.

  “Breaking the Rule am I, and my pledge to the Order, but this I cannot do. Sooner would I have come to you, but the Master must have suspected my uncertainty, for someone did he set to follow me. This long has it taken me to ensure that I arrived alone.”

  “What will you do now?” Genevieve asked. Wolfram summoned a vestige of a smile. His hand closed warmly over hers and Genevieve could not halt the resulting surge of the blood in her veins.

  “I will see you clear of the Ville Neuve and Paris itself,” he vowed solemnly.

  Such heartfelt conviction was there in his tone that Genevieve could do naught else but believe him.

  * * *

  Good intentions aside, a closed gate was an obstruction that could not be waylaid.

  Wolfram chafed with impatience to find the main gate still barred to traffic. Open should it have been on a weekday such as this, and ‘twas no relief to find merchants similarly disgruntled.

  “Why is the gate barred?” Genevieve asked in a whisper, and Wolfram shook his head.

  “I know not, but ‘tis clear we are not the only ones who would prefer otherwise.”

  A merchant raised his fist and shouted at the impassive keeper, to no avail. Wolfram turned from the donkey they had borrowed from the stables, a donkey whose bulging baskets hid naught but a lute and rags from the stables from curious eyes.

  A frown darkened his brow as his gaze raked over his companion. Genevieve’s hair had been pulled back tightly and her hood pulled over her head that she might not be readily recognized and dirt smeared across her face. To all appearances, they might have been a couple embarking on a shopping excursion for household miscellany. Her brow puckered with concern, and Wolfram was acutely aware that he was responsible for her welfare.

  Was it possible the Master sought to confine them here?

  The thought was unexpected and certainly unwelcome, though Wolfram could not discard it for all of that.

  Although Wolfram was certainly proving himself to be worthy of distrust. And already had he suspected he had been followed. He eyed the closed gate, disliking his sense that the Master intended to find Genevieve, one way or the other.

  Wolfram went cold with the realization that his cooperation might not be required.

  “What is it?” Genevieve demanded as she leaned closer, and he knew his features had revealed the shock of his thoughts.

  Wolfram shook his head, unwilling to worry her unnecessarily. “Another gate is there,” he said tersely instead. “Let us try that way.”

  He led the donkey through the twisting streets of the Ville Neuve, the cobbled alleys bending gradually around the great tower of the Temple itself, which stood over the town’s center. As they worked their way through the twisting streets, a rumble of discontent signaled to Wolfram what they might find at the back gates.

  And ‘twas precisely as he feared. Those gates, too, stood barred against arrivals and departures. Swarms of indignant townspeople milled before the gates, demanding their opening, but the keeper ignored them all. Wolfram’s heart sank with the realization that they were trapped within the Temple’s walls with no way to escape.

  He could not help but conclude that that was precisely what someone had hoped.

  A marked man was Wolfram now, clearly, and he could not risk returning to his pallet. Somewhere must they contrive to hide within the town until they could gain an escape.

  “What shall we do now?” Genevieve asked, and Wolfram heard the thread of fear in her voice. Well aware of those pressed about them and knowing there were always ears listening, he slipped one arm over her shoulders and summoned a smile for her.

  Genevieve looked at him as though he had lost his mind, but mercifully held her tongue.

  “Come, wife,” he said with false cheer. “We shall simply have to fetch the flour on another day.”

  “But—” Genevieve protested, the very hint that she might resist prompting Wolfram to hasten her steps. He tightened his grip about her slender waist and nearly lifted her back in the direction they had come when she did not move.

  “Come along, wife,” he urged, forcing a measure of conviviality into his tone that he was far from feeling. Curse the woman for hindering his path! Could she not simply follow his lead, that they might escape notice? “Certain I am that there is enough in the larder for one last meal this night.”

  “Are you quite mad?” Genevieve demanded in an undertone.

  “And if not,” Wolfram continued in a slightly louder tone, as though she had said naught, “I shall endeavor to find another way to keep you warm.” He pinched Genevieve’s buttocks, fully aware of the interested gazes of others upon them.

  Genevieve squeaked in a most satisfactory manner and slapped indignantly at his hand. To her credit, she bustled self-righteously in precisely the direction Wolfram wished to go. Several onlookers chuckled, and one man spared Wolfram an encouraging wink as he hastened in pursuit of Genevieve.

  Wolfram glanced back once to the barred gates, the sight of a cloaked figure disappearing into the crowd sending his heart racing. Was that the one who had pursued him earlier? Or was it just another in the crowd? He could not say and liked the feeling naught.

  Without appearing to do so, Wolfram hastened a clearly seething Genevieve back to the stables. For once, she appeared to have naught to say, and though Wolfram knew it could not last, he savored the moment while it yet endured.

  * * *

  “Of all the unmitigated nerve!” Genevieve snapped as soon as they had stepped into the welcome darkness of the stables. Had she not known better, she might well have guessed that Wolfram had deliberately taken a more circuitous path back here that her temper might have time to cool.

  A foolhardy hope had that been! None had ever pinched her buttocks, and unlikely was she indeed to let the matter pass unnoticed.

  Wolfram, however, seemed disinclined to notice her outrage. He peered into the street through the crack of the door for long moments, holding one finger to Genevieve as an indication that she should be silent. He then returned the donkey to its stall—firing an intense glance in her direction that ensured her further silence—and fastidiously replaced all the tack they had borrowed. Her lute he carried as he returned to look through the crack again.

  Genevieve tapped her toe impatiently and waited for her moment. Surely the man could not imagine that she would countenance such familiarity without comment! Surely he did not imagine that he could avail himself of her charms so readily?

  “Wife” had he called her. Genevieve nearly snorted in recollection. Who did this man think he was?

  “Upstairs,” he bade her with sudden terseness. Genevieve briefly considered defying him before she heard the sound of footfalls in the street outside. Her eyes widened just as Wolfram turned. His lips thinned when he found her yet before him, and he pointed emphatically to the ladder.

  Genevieve needed no further reminder. She scrambled to safety as the men’s voices grew louder, her hands trembling on the rungs of the ladder. Wolfram followed hot on her heels.

  “Hurry,” he whispered urgently. Genevieve dived for the back corner and Wolfram followed suit. The two of them coll
apsed together behind the bales just as a glimmer of light was admitted to the stables. Genevieve was wedged into the corner, Wolfram pressed tightly against her, and she did not dare to breathe.

  “Well did I tell you that the donkey was yet here,” came a man’s bored voice. “Here he is, just as I said, eating his hay just as calm as you please.”

  “He could well have been out and returned,” protested a second voice. It seemed to Genevieve that Wolfram caught his breath, but when she glanced to him, his expression was unreadable, his gaze fixed on the ladder.

  “Nonsense. The beast has been here all along. Truly you see trouble where there is none,” the first man argued easily.

  “What is in the loft?” the second man demanded abruptly.

  Genevieve caught her breath and welcomed the weight of Wolfram’s arm slipping around her shoulders. She huddled against his strength, certain they would be discovered at any moment.

  “Wasting your time are you here,” the first man observed. “Full of hay ‘tis, so full that there cannot be room for a mouse up there, let alone two people.”

  They were being sought! Genevieve imagined that she could feel the gaze of the skeptical man running over the bales that separated them from his view. Would he discern some minute sign of their passing? Would he climb the ladder to check for himself? She shivered and felt Wolfram’s fingers tighten about her shoulder.

  “If you say so,” he agreed with obvious reluctance. “‘Twould be best we not waste any time searching here if there is not room.”

  The door squeaked, then fell closed. The men’s footsteps faded as they walked away from the stables, and Genevieve dared to release her breath.

  Naught could she hear but the sound of the animals below, the swishing of their tails, the occasional stamping of their feet, the drone of flies. She permitted herself to relax against the softness of the hay, her earlier anger with Wolfram seeming petty in comparison to the risk they had just had.

  Wolfram. Genevieve spared him a glance, realizing too late that the weight of his arm yet rested across her shoulders. Warm he was, and loath though she was to admit it, she felt safe nestled against his side. Genevieve dared to lift her gaze to his and was surprised to find his silver regard fixed upon her.