Unicorn Vengeance

by Claire Delacroix

  The only way Genevieve could make her feelings clear was to leave before Wolfram came back.

  If indeed, he had any intention of returning at all.

  Genevieve cast her cloak about her shoulders, jabbed her chin into the air and sailed out into the street. Yet, despite her anger, she could not quite believe that Wolfram would simply abandon her. Not when he had pledged to help her. ‘Twas not enough doubt to change her intent, to be sure. But put a spring in her step it did to think that he was likely not gone for good. Indeed, the man would know the full depth of her ire when he returned to find her gone without a trace, and that gave her no small measure of satisfaction.

  Her bold move would almost certainly not go unnoticed.

  But where would she go? Genevieve’s bold step faltered and she looked about the street, realizing the odd atmosphere for the first time. Something was amiss. People stood in small clusters, whispering to each other in a most unusual manner. ‘Twas true that Genevieve had heard some commotion earlier this morn, but after tossing and turning for the better part of the night, even the burning of the stables themselves would likely not have stirred her from her eventual slumber.

  No matter what troubled these folk. Genevieve tossed her hair. What happened in the Ville Neuve had naught to do with her anymore. She was leaving Paris.

  Of course, there was the matter that the Master had sought her out that she might meet the same fate as Alzeu. Genevieve’s footsteps faltered and she glanced about herself, but the townspeople in the Ville Neuve seemed too occupied with their own business to have noticed her.

  In truth, she had heard that tale from Wolfram alone, and now she wondered if there was truth in it. Might he have deceived her purely to ensure they spent the night together? Tales had she heard of the desires of men. Genevieve chewed her lip in indecision, until the disinterested manner of both sergeants and townsfolk in her presence finally reassured her.

  Wolfram had lied to her. Another deed ‘twas that she could hold against him. Genevieve lifted her chin and walked briskly toward the Temple gates as she hastily planned. She would not be surprised if the barring of the gates had been no more than a coincidence. Indeed, it only made sense to seek out the truth for herself.

  Foul man. How dare he think she was a woman of such meager virtue?

  Her quest had failed, but Genevieve would fault herself no more for that. She had tried but had been weaker than she might have hoped. ‘Twas no more than weakness that had stayed her hand.

  Now she would go home. ‘Twas as simple as that. Genevieve would return to Montsalvat and build that secure future she had desired above all else. Truly, Montsalvat was too far for any, even the king, to pursue a mere woman. The more Genevieve reflected upon it, the more she doubted she would be endangered at home.

  If perchance Wolfram had spoken the truth, ‘twas only her presence in Paris that might prompt such action. Montsalvat was too distant to merit the trouble.

  And it was home. She would raise goats and plant a garden and play her lute and mayhap, if she was fortunate beyond compare, some eligible suitor would rap on her gates. Mayhap even, one day, Genevieve would be able to rebuild the fortress of her forebears to its earlier majesty.

  ‘Twas enough of a dream to merit going home, even if Genevieve knew how little chance she had of making it all come true. She hugged her lute closer and hastened to the gates.

  Mayhap she could be home before the full bite of winter was in the wind.

  What she would do in that isolated fortress in the dead of winter, with nary a stick for kindling or a grain of wheat in the cellars, she did not permit herself to think.

  * * *

  Wolfram crept into the dormitory with practiced stealth. He glanced carefully to the left and the right, but none was about.

  Indeed, the Temple was quiet beyond compare. But that suited his purpose well enough. He furtively made his way to his own bed but hesitated when he gained its side.

  What if they were gone? The very thought was chilling, for who knew what horror could be wrought if they fell into the wrong hands?

  No personal possessions had any member of the Order, but a concession had been made to Wolfram because of his particular skill. He strained his ears before bending to extract his treasure, but heard naught.

  Hastily he bent and shoved his hand into the midst of his straw pallet. His fingers encountered glass vials, one, two, three.

  They were yet here. Wolfram’s breath caught in relief even as his hand folded around the vials of poison. He pulled out his hand, shoved the vials into his tunic, turned smartly and marched out of the dormitory, his heart pounding in his ears all the while.

  There was naught else to keep him here.

  A panic had settled within him when he saw the Master taken away. Mayhap it had been when the Master’s gaze met his—Wolfram could not have said. He knew only that ‘twas imperative to put distance between himself and this place. Only the knights had they arrested, but Wolfram would have had to be slower of intellect than he was not to see that the frenzy could spread.

  He could not even imagine what price his own head might bring, should he have the misfortune to be identified. An assassin who could no longer move invisibly was disposable indeed. And too many secrets did he know, not the least of which was the names of those he had dispatched. Wolfram was at risk, and that alone could prompt him to break one of the fundamental tenets of the Rule.

  A brother remained in the house unless told to do otherwise. ‘Twas basic to the Rule, and though Wolfram acknowledged the magnitude of what he did, still he walked onward. Poverty and chastity were major vows, but obedience was the greatest of them all. Obedience and stability walked hand in hand; obedience and stability were the cornerstones of any successful monastic order like the Templars.

  But nary a doubt was there in Wolfram’s mind. He might not have been granted permission to leave the Temple in Paris, but leave it Wolfram would.

  ‘Twas his own hide at stake. He could not afford to be revealed. Was he to survive, he had to leave. Quickly, immediately, alone. His mind filled with purpose, Wolfram made to leave the Temple alone while he yet could.

  Until a stray thought brought him up short.

  But two knew his secret. But two could reveal him. One enjoyed the hospitality of the king. And one he had vowed to see to safety. Genevieve knew his secret, as well, and already had she proven herself untrustworthy.

  Wolfram hesitated on the threshold.

  Aye, he had pledged to aid her, but that had been afore she tried to kill him, he argued silently with himself. And he had seen her safely to sanctuary when otherwise she would not have escaped the king’s court. Surely he owed her no more than that?

  Wolfram shook the misgivings out of his head and began to walk away. The woman had tried to dispatch him from this earth. No matter if she had succeeded or failed, her intent to dispatch him surely voided any earlier agreement betwixt them.

  But that persistent voice within his mind would not let the matter be. Would he not have done the same as Genevieve had he known one of his own brethren to have been brought to an early demise by the hand of a stranger?

  Wolfram’s resolve faltered. He could not say he would, but neither could he say that he would not. ‘Twas not reassuring in the least that he could not readily dismiss a possible similarity betwixt himself and Genevieve.

  She alone could reveal him. That fact was unquestionable and was enough to send him in the direction of the stables. Well it seemed that he was not quit of this woman and her schemes just yet.

  * * *

  Tranquillity greeted him within the stables and Wolfram permitted himself a sigh of relief. Still there was not so much as a stable hand here. Dust motes danced in the golden autumn sunbeam that slanted through the doorway, the brightness of the sunlight making the shadows beyond appear yet darker. A horse snorted, another stamped, flies droned, a friendly hound came with tail wagging to sniff Wolfram’s chausses. He ignored them all and
made purposefully for the ladder.

  On the second rung, Wolfram realized that not a sound was there from above, not so much as the whisper of a woman softly sleeping. ‘Twas too still in the loft. His breath caught in his throat and for an instant Wolfram feared that something had befallen Genevieve in the short time he had been gone.

  It could not be! Not here in the peaceful bower of the stable. Busy had the king’s men been, too busy with Templar knights to trouble themselves with a lutenist.

  The explanation comforted him naught. Never should he have left her alone! Had they not been hunted just a day past? Wolfram bounded up the ladder and burst into the stillness of the loft.

  Naught was there. He stared about himself, incredulous. He spun on his heel, as if he thought to startle something or someone hiding just behind him.

  To no avail. Naught was here but the sunlight gleaming through the lattice of the vent and turning the hay to spun gold.

  Genevieve was gone.

  But where had she gone?

  * * *

  “Genevieve!”

  There she was! The woman Wolfram pursued ran across the square far ahead of him. Wolfram rode through the Temple gates just in time to see a man leap forward from the shadows to grasp her arms.

  “Genevieve!” Wolfram bellowed in relief, not caring for the moment who heard his cry. None would threaten her when he was so close! He dug his heels into his horse’s side as the man gripping her arms gave her a savage shake. Endangered Genevieve was! And ‘twas the fault of none but Wolfram. Never should he have left her alone, even for those few moments this morn.

  Had he had the chance to consider his response, Wolfram might have thought himself relieved to have found her, as ridiculous as that thought might have been.

  ‘Twas simply his duty that called him to task, naught else.

  Genevieve jumped in a most satisfactory manner at his bellow. She spun, her eyes widening in such shock that Wolfram fancied he could see their vivid green. Relieved she was to see him, clearly, and that realization fairly made Wolfram dizzy.

  No time was there for her gratitude now, though, for ‘twas high time he and Genevieve were safely away from the villains of Paris.

  Wolfram bent low as he bore down upon the pair. The man leapt out of the way, but Genevieve seemed too surprised to move. Wolfram slowed the horse but an increment as he swept alongside. The villain swore to see his plans foiled as Wolfram scooped Genevieve up into the saddle before him with a deft grace he had never known he possessed. Her lute bounced harmlessly against the horse’s side, and he was proud that even it had been rescued unscathed. The man’s cries of distress rang in Wolfram’s ears as he bore Genevieve away, but he spurred his horse onward.

  Like some hero from an old chanson was he, Wolfram thought with a smug smile. Well satisfied was he with his accomplishment of his goal, indeed. Wolfram glanced down to the delicate maid before him, well expecting some token of her gratitude.

  ‘Twas only then he realized that Genevieve’s eyes were flashing with something that looked markedly more like anger than gratitude.

  “Imbecile!” she hissed through her teeth, and swatted him across the shoulder.

  The blow was surprisingly hard and nearly unbalanced him. Wolfram regarded her with no small shock of his own as her eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘Twas clear the woman’s wits were addled, and he tightened his grip around her, that she not lose her seat.

  “Unhand me, you barbarian,” she spat furiously. Wolfram pulled back slightly and granted her a wary eye.

  “Mayhap you did not notice that I have just saved you from a dastardly fate,” he observed with all the calm he could muster. Genevieve snorted.

  “Hardly that,” she snapped.

  “You would not deny that that villain intended to abscond with you?” Wolfram demanded archly, his pride pricked that she refused to see the dashing sweep of his bravery. Genevieve, to his dismay, made a sound of deprecation under her breath.

  “‘Twas Odo you saved me from, you imbecile,” she retorted. “Odo, the minstrel,” she added at sight of Wolfram’s blank expression.

  Odo? Wolfram blinked as Genevieve’s tirade continued unabated.

  “Mayhap you could confide in me what particular odious fate you imagined a minstrel might have planned for me?”

  Odo?

  Wolfram reined in the horse and glanced back over his shoulder doubtfully. A heartily disgruntled man with decidedly red hair glared after them, his hands propped on his hips. The minstrel had had red hair, Wolfram acknowledged belatedly, and well enough did this man resemble him.

  He even sported the same garb. Wolfram swallowed slowly and glanced back to Genevieve, a hearty seed of doubt planted in his mind.

  Her openly skeptical expression prompted that seed to grow a root.

  “Well I thought that he threatened you,” he offered tentatively. Genevieve rolled her eyes scornfully, and that budding plant unfurled a leaf.

  “Oh, indeed,” she replied. “Aye, you could likely tell as much by the way we stood, discussing matters like civilized beings.”

  Wolfram was forced to admit belatedly that there had been little suspicious about their pose. Belatedly he admitted that the man could have simply grasped Genevieve’s arm in greeting.

  The seed unfurled another great green leaf and strained for the sunlight. In fact, he supposed there had been naught at all to prompt his response. ‘Twas not a revelation that sat well, and Wolfram felt his neck heat.

  He had been terribly wrong, and embarrassment rolled through him too late to affect a difference. Impulsive he had been beyond compare. How could he have not even looked at the man? How could he have barged ahead in a most impetuous manner, he who always carefully considered every move first?

  Anger rose within him as he met the judgmental gaze of the woman seated afore him.

  ‘Twas Genevieve who had done this to him. ‘Twas fear for Genevieve that had prompted his hand. Indeed, the woman fairly made his innards writhe. She unleashed his passions, she poked in secret corners of his mind, she provoked his emotions. She was dangerously unsettling and precariously attractive and...and...

  And Wolfram would do anything within his power to see her safe. The very thought stilled everything within him, until the only rational explanation for such erratic behavior spilled into his thinking.

  His task ‘twas to fulfill the pledge he had given her to see her safe. Aye, Wolfram had dashed in only to fulfill his responsibilities. No more than that. ‘Twas not that he had cast his usual manner aside—nay, never that—only that some situations required urgency.

  Even if urgency oft led to error. He fidgeted in the saddle beneath Genevieve’s scathing gaze.

  “And well you were mistaken in your conclusions,” Genevieve retorted unnecessarily. “I believe you owe Odo and me an apology.”

  An apology? For attempting to fulfill his task? Never!

  Genevieve must have seen the mutiny in his eyes, for she pushed with sudden impatience at the grip of Wolfram’s hand on her waist. “Let me down,” she demanded.

  “No reason is there for you to dismount,” Wolfram protested. “‘Tis only reasonable, after all, that a lady ride—”

  He got no farther than that, for Genevieve seemed quite determined to wriggle against him in a most disconcerting manner. His voice faded to naught as he stared down at her twisting hips. Only too aware was Wolfram that she sat directly in his lap, though indeed he had thought little of the matter until this very moment.

  Genevieve glanced up in confusion, and her gaze was snared by his. Marvel spread slowly through Wolfram as he held her clear green gaze. Marvel that this woman alone knew who and what he was, yet she did not scorn his company completely. His secret, it seemed, was safe with her, and he saw the confirmation of that in her eyes. She could reveal him, but he saw in her expression no judgment at all.

  Did this mean he could trust this intoxicating woman?

  Wolfram caught his breath in mingle
d admiration and vulnerability. His body responded of its own will in a manner that could be mistaken for naught else. God’s blood, but this woman plagued his resolve!

  Indeed, Genevieve seemed not to have mistaken his response, for she halted her squirming abruptly. Recollection of the previous night flooded through him, and Wolfram knew not what to say. His neck heated as certainty filled him that Genevieve was watching the color rise in his face with that unwavering scrutiny.

  Then she shook her head and abruptly pushed at his hand anew.

  “Let me go,” she muttered forcefully. “Naught have you and I to say to each other at this late date.”

  “What do you mean?” Wolfram demanded in surprise. She glanced up to him again, and he fancied the set of her lips softened momentarily at his evident dismay.

  “Make no mistake,” Genevieve said with a terseness that her eyes belied. “Well do I appreciate your aid last eve, but this morn my path lies in another direction.”

  “What direction is that?”

  “Naught of your business are my affairs,” she declared, but Wolfram could not let the matter lie.

  “Where do you go? Tell me, that I might aid you.”

  Genevieve dropped her gaze, and Wolfram knew she intended to be evasive. “‘Tis a direction in which I must go alone,” she said. So sharp was the gaze he bent upon her that it seemed she was obligated to meet his regard once more.

  “I would aid you,” he vowed in a soft murmur. Genevieve’s lips parted, then she seemed to abruptly recall something less than pleasant. She pulled herself up stiffly and pushed away from him.

  “You?” she demanded scornfully, and her tone stung. “You would aid me? What kind of poor joke is this?”

  “I said I would aid you because I would,” Wolfram repeated stubbornly.

  Genevieve tossed her chin. “As if I would willingly accept the aid of one who cold-bloodedly murdered my own brother.”

  To hear the words fall from her lips was no small shock, but Wolfram schooled himself not to turn away. “Well can I understand your anger,” he began, though in truth he was destined to say no more.