by Carmen Caine
Instead, she unsheathed her bone-handled stiletto and placed it on top of the page.
Her sister would understand.
Gathering her courage, she stood, preparing to leave for the feast when a hand caught her elbow and spun her around.
“’Twas ye in Fotheringhay, lass,” Julian’s soft burr whispered, but his gray eyes were riveted upon the stiletto on the desk.
Strangely, she felt nothing upon seeing him. Not even surprise as she observed the irony. Yes, she had saved his life in Fotheringhay, but it had only brought about the current events which demanded that she take his life now.
“Santo Ciélo! What curse is this?” she whispered.
Julian’s fingers gripped her shoulders hard to give her a little shake. “Tell me what this is about, lass! Sweet Mary! Dinna hide this from me! Let me help ye!”
But Liselle cold only stare at him, feeling nothing more than a cold detachment.
Through the window, she could hear the wailing of the pipes announcing the feast. She could not risk being late. This was her last chance to save Julian.
Slowly, she lifted her hand to cup his cheek and whispered, “Dream of me.” Yes, she could die this night if she knew she would live forever in his heart.
And then twisting free from his grasp, she picked up her skirts and ran, ignoring his calls for her to stay. She was no coward. She would face her fate with her chin held high.
Quickly, she made her way to the castle hall.
Pausing on the threshold, she searched for any sign of the Saluzzi, but the great hall was crowded, and the light was dim. The place was bedecked for a sumptuous feast, a feast to celebrate the renewed peace between James and his brother, Albany. Fine linen graced the tables, and the enticing fragrance of fresh bread mingled with the scent of cloves and oranges. Musicians played their lutes.
But still, she saw no sign of the Saluzzi or the Vindictam.
And then trumpets sounded, announcing the arrival of the king and his royal brother, and Liselle quickly found a seat.
As if in a dream, she watched the Royal Stewarts parade in their regal trappings through the hall.
This was her last feast.
With a removed interest, she noted the king’s satin doublet was trimmed with a lace collar in the fashion of the French, and that the man appeared pale and sad.
From the corner of her eye, she thought she spied a black-cloaked figure, but when she whirled there was no one there.
Frowning, she turned back as the king passed by her less than an arm’s length away. She could smell the distinct odor of whiskey.
Spirits.
Her eyes strayed over the table and lit upon a bottle of wine.
She didn’t hesitate.
Grabbing the bottle, she filled her goblet and drained the contents in a single draught as Cameron and a number of Scottish lords arrived to take their places at the king’s high table.
Pouring more wine, Liselle sipped slowly as she scanned the faces in the hall.
And then King James rose from his canopied chair and called for Albany.
The announcement was almost too garbled to understand. Apparently, Albany had received the titles of both Mar and Garioch. But the king had scarcely said the words before he succumbed to a bout of hysterical weeping, clutching his chest and calling out the name of Thomas.
And then as Cameron drew the king away to escort him back to his apartments, Albany gladly stepped up to command that the feast should begin.
She had swallowed the last of her second goblet of wine when a man clothed in a black cloak appeared by one of the arched windows. Liselle’s stomach lurched, but he only proved to be some Scottish lord with bright red hair and his arm in a sling.
Taking a deep breath, she poured another goblet of wine.
Òsti! Why did they make her wait? Was it for the enjoyment of the Saluzzo who sought her blood?
She closed her eyes and for a moment, let her heart ache for the simplicity of her life before, of gliding in gondolas through the narrow canals of Venice and drowsing in the sun to the lull of the gentle waters. She had watched the latest plays, dined on fresh figs, and perched on the clay-tiled rooftops at night with her feet bare, dreaming of the day she would venture forth as an assassin.
Her future had seemed so romantic then. Before she understood what it really meant to be an assassin.
But it was too late now.
Reaching for wine, she had half swallowed it when Julian’s light-hearted laugh rang a short distance away.
The sound was like a knife through her heart.
She couldn’t bear to look at him, yet she could not stop from glancing over her shoulder to watch him approach, impeccably clad in the white shirt and plaid that he seemed to favor.
She loved him.
She had for quite some time. There was no point in denying it now.
Seizing her goblet, she drained the rest of the sweet, heady wine only to desperately refill it yet again. Wine would numb the pain. Already, she felt its warmth coursing through her veins. She had just touched the goblet to her lips when Julian slid into the seat by her side.
“Mayhap ye should eat a little with all that wine, aye?” he asked with a playful grin as he tossed her an orange.
She watched it bounce and roll off the table.
Julian’s brows knit in concern as his gaze grew hard. “Is your honor in need of avenging, lass?” His voice was soft and gentle but held a dangerous undertone.
The thought was preposterous. She was hardly helpless. She opened her mouth to retort, but hiccupped instead.
“Santo Ciélo!” she finally managed to say. “I would gut the man that tried! Yes! I would welcome it!” Especially this night. She slammed her fist on the table in emphasis even as she frowned a little at herself for her unusual response.
Mayhap it was the effects of the wine.
At her side, Julian chuckled and his cheek creased into a grin.
But then, a group of musicians arrived, followed by jugglers and jesters, and it was simply too much effort to shout over the noise.
And then more pipes began to play, and she winced at the sudden pain ringing in her head.
What was taking Orazio and the Saluzzo so long? Surely, they had gotten the message? Had the Saluzzo refused her bargain?
The wine bottle was empty, she reached for another, but Julian caught her wrist.
“Ho, lass!” He looked outright worried. “Ye’ve had a wee bit too much, aye?”
“No,” she snapped with a glare, and slapping his hand aside, reached for the bottle anyway. At the moment, becoming drunken out of her wits was far more preferable to anything else she could think to do. It would make the entire thing easier for everyone involved.
It was difficult to refill her goblet, most of the wine splashed out, but she swallowed what remained in one huge gulp.
Julian waited until she had finished and then offered her a bit of roasted fowl on the tip of his dagger.
She scowled at him and turned her head away, feeling dizzy.
After some time, the performers went away, and the servants arrived with another course.
“Are ye feeling better now?” Julian’s soft burr rumbled in her ear.
Liselle winced. His voice seemed unnaturally loud. Reaching for her goblet, she stretched her hand for the bottle of wine, but it danced away from her grasp.
“Hold still!” she snapped at it peevishly.
“Ach, ‘tis enough wine, ye wee minx,” Julian announced, reaching for the bottle himself.
“Leave me be!” Liselle bellowed.
He chuckled a little, but in a worried way. “If ye insist then!” he muttered under his breath.
Ignoring the weight of his steady gaze, Liselle tipped the bottle, mesmerized by the light of the candles playing in the stream of red wine pouring into her cup. It was a thing of beauty. She watched with numb appreciation as the deep red wine spilled over the edge and onto the white tablecloth to form a crimson
pool.
“Ach, lass. ‘Tis clear that ye are done.” Julian’s hand closed over hers.
“No!” she disagreed, shoving him back but knocking her goblet over in the process.
Stupefied, she watched as the goblet rolled off the table, and then she reached for the bottle to drink from it instead.
“No more. I insist,” Julian said, firmly plucking the bottle from her fingers.
Liselle heaved a sigh, suddenly too tired to even be annoyed. “It will be over shoon,” she said. Her tongue was heavy in her mouth, and it took some effort to enunciate the word again. “Soon.”
“And what will be over, Lady Gray?” came his soft query.
Liselle closed her eyes. Already, she was weary. How had Nicoletta lived with the weight of her viper’s tongue for so long?
“What are ye saying, Liselle?” Julian’s deep voice asked.
Liselle. She smiled sadly. “I would that … I had heard my name more upon your lipsh.” She frowned and then corrected with a hiccup, “Lips.”
“Had?” Seizing the word, he gripped her by the shoulders and twisted her around, forcing her to face him as he rested his arm protectively on the back of the chair.
“So bold and dangerous,” she said wistfully, trailing a finger along his bottom lip. “I couldn’t kill you. Pascal knew it. He knew I would fail.”
And then realizing what she had said, she quickly covered her mouth with her hands to stem the tide of words. She was still a di Franco. She had failed as an assassin, but she could not betray the Vindictam.
Julian went still. “Pascal?”
Her hand dropped and she answered anyway. She couldn’t stop. “He told me to run,” she said, slurring the words, but she kept speaking. For some reason, it was simply a relief. “But the Salus … the Saluss …” She paused, frowning. When had her tongue become so difficult to control?
“The Saluzzi?” Julian supplied softly.
“Ah, yes. They forced Orazzzio …” She almost giggled. Why hadn’t she noticed before that her brother’s name was so amusing to say?
“Forced your brother to …?” Julian probed gently.
“Make me kill you. As retri … retribu …” She frowned and then chose easier words. “Because I saved you in Fothin … Fothinhay. I spilled Slaushee blood, so I have to spill yours to stop the war.” She blew her hair out of her face, relieved the difficult words were over. But then feeling nauseated, she leaned her head upon the table, closed her eyes, and added, “They said before the sun sets. Run! You should run. Be shafe and run.”
But he didn’t run.
Instead, Julian dropped his cheek next to hers. “Bonds between men and women dinna end that easily!” He growled in her ear. “Your kiss tells me that I’ve naught to fear from ye.”
“Bábio!” she replied in a tormented whisper. She didn’t want to think of his kiss. It just might wake her from her stupor, and she didn’t want to wake up. The end would be easier to face if she were asleep. Desperately, she reached for another bottle of wine.
“There’s no need to make yourself ill, Lady Gray.” Julian chuckled as he slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her into a close, protective embrace.
Wearily, she laid her head upon his shoulder.
“Aye, ‘tis been a strange road with ye, lass,” he said, his voice rumbling deep in his chest. “How can I love ye?”
Love?
A shiver rippled down her spine, followed quickly by nausea and a pain ringing through her head. Santo Ciélo! Why had she drunk so much wine? And then clamping her palm on her forehead, she answered in a wounded tone, “Love? It is too late for love.”
“I think not,” he said, chuckling again.
She found his humor irritating. “I failed.”
And then Julian swept her onto his lap with an easy arm and murmured into her ear, “I’ll settle the matter with Orazio, lass. And I’ll be speaking with Pascal on the matter of your freedom.”
She could only stare into his eyes. “Orazio will sh… shl…slay you on sight,” she finally managed to say, wincing all the while. Each word felt like a dagger in her skull.
“Have faith in me, aye?” His tone was light and encouraging.
“I’ll speak with Orrraazzzio,” she insisted, and sliding from his lap, rose to her feet. But the world began to spin, and she desperately clawed at the table to regain her balance.
“Aye, and if ye canna even walk?” He was laughing outright.
Santo Ciélo! But how could he find so dire a matter humorous?
Sending him a dark scowl, she took a step forward. She didn’t get far. The stones beneath her feet seemed to be moving.
“Aye, I’ll just carry ye, lass,” Julian’s amused voice reverberated in her head as she was suddenly swept off her feet and tossed over his shoulder.
“But Orazzzzio will slay you on sight!” she protested and pounded his back with her hand. The movements made her stomach roil.
“Aye,” Julian agreed easily enough and then added, “’Tis why we will speak with Pascal.”
Why did he care to speak to her arrogant cousin? Pascal would do nothing to stave off this disaster, even if he could!
And then the world around her began to spin even more, and a wave of blackness rose to carry her away.
* * *
Liselle opened her eyes to the sound of Pascal’s voice.
“Lord Gray,” came her cousin’s cool tones. “Your presence is … unexpected.”
“Aye, ‘tis not often ye speak with a dead man, aye?” Julian asked dryly. “Come in, come in. Allow me the pleasure of your company.”
Pascal made a disagreeable sound, and there was a creaking of a door. “You are most considerate to invite me into my own chamber, Lord Gray.”
Liselle opened her eyes.
She was lying on the bed in a chamber lit only by a few tapers. Julian lounged against the bedpost with his arms folded across his broad chest, and she could see Pascal’s face as only a pale blur in the darkness near the door.
“I’ve waited for ye quite some time, lad,” Julian informed him calmly. “Ye should know that neither Liselle nor I will be dying over this Saluzzi matter, and I’ll be freeing your wee cousin from the web of the Vindictam this very night.”
Pascal approached slowly and paused in the circle of light before replying, “Just hours ago, Albany was forgiven and his lands restored to him. Is that not so?”
“Aye, ‘tis true enough,” Julian admitted.
“Then you should know, Lord Gray, that we are neither as trusting nor forgiving as the Scottish,” Pascal said, gracing him with a distinctly haughty gaze. “When we are betrayed, we seek vengeance. There are no exceptions.”
“And what of loyalty, lad?” Julian raised a brow. “Do not the Vindictam care for such things?”
“Vengeance comes before loyalty, bábio,” Pascal replied as a cool mask descended over his face.
Julian shrugged and adjusted his plaid. “Then ye’ll never understand true power, lad. A man’s fear is no match for a man’s loyalty. Men who fight from loyalty canna be stopped.”
Pascal hesitated.
Julian’s cheek creased with a grin as he continued, “Blood loyalty is what ye’ve witnessed concerning Albany, not forgiveness. Ye’ve witnessed clan loyalty in uniting against the English, men setting aside their feuds to prevent a greater enemy from rising to destroy them all. Aye, there will be vengeance aplenty when the threat has gone.”
There was a short silence, one in which Liselle struggled to a sitting position. Her effort was reward by an acute wave of nausea.
Pascal glanced at her, and waving a hand in her direction, said, “This is not something I can stop. I told her to run. She did not. Already, they are searching for her.” His tone foretold only of doom.
“Then your rule will be a short one,” Julian replied with a glint of ill humor in his gray eyes.
Pascal’s head snapped back. “Rule? You clearly suffer from some delusion, Lord G
ray.”
“Do I?” Julian asked. Boldly meeting Pascal’s gaze, he rose to stoop and adopt the gruff voice of the priest he’d pretended to be in Fotheringhay. “’Tis right glad I am, to see ye escaped the swine unscathed. Forgive me, my child.”
Pascal’s dark eyes widened at the implication
“I’m done with this nonsense,” Julian said, tossing his head. “Keep her safe, for I will return, and should one hair upon her head be harmed, ‘twill not end well for ye, lad. Be ye Electus of the Vindictam or not.”
“Do you think to threaten or to order me?” Pascal asked in soft outrage.
“Aye, I dinna fear ye.” Julian’s tone was self-assured and confident. “I know ye strive to speak in words harsh to the ear, and ye may not know it yet, lad, but ye’ve a bit of Scottish loyalty running through your heart. ‘Tis the only reason ye would have told your wee cousin to run. Running stands against your precious rules of vengeance, does it not?”
Pascal remained still.
And then Julian leaned over Liselle and twisted a stray lock of her hair around his finger before bending down to kiss her lightly upon the forehead.
“Dinna worry, lass,” he said as deep dimples accented his grin. “I’ll see this undone this very night.” He caught her fingers and pressed them to his lips.
“But, it is not that simple!” Liselle protested in alarm. “Orazio will slay you on sight! And the Saluzzi as well!”
“They are no match for me,” he said, flashing a wicked grin.
“This is madness!” Liselle insisted, rising from the bed to grasp his arm.
But Julian adamantly removed her hand. Leaning forward, he whispered softly for her ears alone, “Nay, far from it, Lady Gray. I’ve a wee bit of proof that I gathered after ye saved me from the Saluzzo in Fotheringhay. ‘Tis evidence of his treachery that’ll stop this madness and set ye free. But stay here with Pascal. ‘Tis the safest place for ye to be for now. Ye must trust me, lass. I swear I will not fail ye.”
She wanted to trust him, but how could she? She knew the Vindictam better than he. But then with a bow, he strode through the chamber, out the door, and was gone.
