by Shirl Anders
Harrison nodded as he looked down between the curtain edges he’d pulled slightly open, while Chloe leaned closer to look also. “It seems they have converted the chapel to their own heroical shrine.”
“Look at those statues of demons set around the chamber. The sculptures clearly show the demons raping women in all manners. The demons are half-man and half-animal?” Chloe questioned.
“Satyrs,” Harrison clarified. “Half-man, half-goat, but they depict these to be more half-stallion. A liberty taken for Hellion’s pleasure no doubt.”
The former Christian chapel below was awash in pagan immorality and Harrison wondered fleetingly at God’s punishments over such desecrations. He was not a religious man, his past maniacally laughed at that. However recently, he’d warmed a bit toward Chloe’s Buddhist spirit. He also was not puritanical or even close. Much of what the cult might be involved in sexually, he more than likely would not find completely distasteful. He was not a hypocrite. He was simply a wicked man. Aside from that, murder and violent rape were things he chose to adamantly defend against, yet the reality of The Order’s biggest mistake with him was loyalty based. They’d harmed Saxon, one of the few men he called a friend, and they were intent to murder him, before he escaped.
“Is it a ceremony?” Chloe asked, whispering as she peered below, near his shoulder.
“Too few,” Harrison murmured. “A meeting perhaps.”
“I see Dame Baset, only because her skirts with all their fullness are peeking out beneath the bottom hem of her robe. All hooded like that, it is hard to tell who is who or who is male from female.”
“You have caught a clue with the skirts,” Harrison said, with his eyes narrowing.
“Could be any woman?”
“Assume it’s she. It is a small group gathered and Hellion is present and I think Rushborn also.”
“How can you tell Hellion’s there?”
“He is over six-foot. Look at the tall one. If you watch closely, you will catch a glimpse of his hands beneath his robe sleeves.”
“Startling white?”
“Yes, you have to be alert to catch it, it happens quickly, however, there is no mistaking him, and moreover Rushborn is seventy and stooped.
“Oh, I see him now. You knew to look at the skirts before I said that.”
“Perhaps, but you reminded me and I looked closer. At least we can confirm that Hellion is here.”
“Yes, unless someone has powdered or painted their hands. Which, would be a very strange thing to do.”
“Rosebud, you have a devious mind,” Harrison said, raising his gloved hand to Chloe’s nape, which he caressed lightly.
“Thank you, Raven,” she whispered. “It might not be a strange thing for a cult member to do. To emulate their leader.”
“Demigod, more like what Saxon described.”
Chloe nodded and he could feel her shiver lightly, as he said, “Your point is taken. No conclusions, unless there is irrefutable proof.”
“It seems unusual our men hired to watch this mansion never see Dame Baset or Hellion leaving, only Baco and Cernno,” Chloe said, turning into his hand covering her nape. “I know she goes out,” she added.
“Women’s intuition?” Harrison asked.
“No, women’s knowledge. Dame Baset is too fashionable to stay away from shopping and society long.”
“Irrefutable then, I say. Look closely, Chloe, something is happening.”
Chloe felt the warmth of Raven’s gloved hand cupping her nape as she leaned into his solid body. Really, Raven caressed the only part on her not covered in black. Chloe looked for what Raven spoke about, then she saw it. Two of the robed figures had moved closer to one of the lewd statues on the right side of the altar area. The statue was carved in some type of black polished stone and was as tall as two men. It depicted a satyr with a monstrous jutting phallus between its thighs. It was the only Satyr’s statue in the chamber that did not have statues of nude black stone women intertwined with it in varying lewd sexually violent poses. Like the next one in the circle of them, with its phallus entered into a woman’s ass, her hands tied to a post. The large black-onyx Satyr held her hips in place with clawed hands and its head thrown backward, mouth open, screaming lust or rage.
But the lone Satyr was so much larger and taller than the rest that it drew the most attention. As she watched, she saw one of the two hooded figures lift one arm toward the Satyr’s tremendous cock. Chloe never saw the hand of the operator that reached from the robe sleeve and manipulated the Satyr’s cock or something on it, but suddenly the Satyr moved. Its base moved outward with the whole statue rotating with it and she could hear the grinding of some mechanism.
“A priest hole. An escape,” Harrison rasped beside her. “From the Jesuit persecutions.”
Chloe did not know about the history of this, but she could clearly see that it was an opening leading to a hidden entrance or exit. The thrill of the hunt leaped inside her. There had to be at least one, or perhaps more, secret exits leading out of this four hundred-year-old mansion.
Chapter Nine
“Dios, nothing last night, Wyndham.”
Wyndham turned his gaze to Orelan sitting astride a sleek rum-colored mare beside him. The dark cocoa-colored stallion he straddled topped Orelan’s mare by half a foot and fit his more restrained personality, compared to the feisty mare that Orelan rode. They’d stopped outside London for a moment to discuss their plans, after trying this same venture last evening and coming up empty.
Orelan’s mare fidgeted with shuffling movements, as she continued, “We know someone in a carriage leaves regularly from that secret exit on the east side of, loco Rushborn’s property.”
“Aye, always late, after ten or midnight. It has to be this road,” Wyndham said, squinting as he pondered the situation.
Something unusual was happening out there and he and Orelan were in charge of finding out what and why. Once Raven and Chloe discovered the existence of the hidden exit from Lord Rushborn’s property, the surveillance crew of foot soldiers, all military, that Drummond had gathered, had been nocturnally scouring Rushborn’s property, until they found the hidden, East exit. None of the added men hired, as extra eyes, knew details of why they were doing what they were ordered. They only had minute instructions to watch, observe, and then report what they saw. Their willingness to work blindly, but with monetary compensation, spoke volumes about Drummond’s influence and the certainty of the men’s respect for him.
Several of the men doing this surveillance had worked for the Archangels for years, never knowing the real details. However, their faithful team had tried to follow any one of the carriages seen leaving the East exit, without the success one would be expecting. The carriages had been followed after hooded occupants entered them, always impossible to identify. Nonetheless, the carriages never went any place that made sense. They all went to the docks, to several different ships moored there. Not one of their team had seen anyone alight from the carriages after they halted by a ship’s gangplank and then the carriage spent the rest of the night there without activity.
Last night, he and Orelan were on this same road, intent on following a carriage themselves to see if they could learn something new. Unfortunately, there had been no nocturnal carriages last night, confirmed in the morning by two of the team set up to watch the entrance. Further, they reported nothing else along the road or in the area had appeared out of place.
Wyndham roused himself from his contemplation. On their side this evening, it was a full moon that lit up the landscape, perhaps this would be the night. Either way, they would keep trying. He had to admit that his wife’s presence enlivened the usual boredom of surveillance. She looked fetching and mysterious in her black cloak, gloves, and half mask. They really needed to be careful about being mistaken for highwaymen, Wyndham thought, a smile spreading across his face beneath his own scarf mask. The important fact was that they could not take the chance of being recognized, should i
t come to that. His positive side had no intentions of letting that happen, however, the spying business was fluid and unpredictable.
“Tonight we will follow the road at a slower pace the entire way, until there is no other hope but we will be seen from the entrance to the secret exit, before we turn off,” Wyndham said, with a touch of emphasis on the, “not being seen,” part. It was a new way to try other than the most natural way one would instinctively follow and break off across country by horse as they had previously done to reach the entrance.
Orelan nodded and reined her mare so that her leg brushed his. “Lead on, mi amour. I will follow.”
Wyndham chuckled, resisting the urge to haul his wife off her horse and onto his lap. Orelan rarely followed tamely, so her teasing was characteristic, but she knew the importance of this surveillance and would follow his more experience lead. He was assured of that. To both of them, this was serious business and Orelan was good under pressure.
They rode the horses along the road for about two miles, eyes alert, gaging everything. Nothing looked out of place, Wyndham thought. Then a sound caught his hearing. Wyndham reached over and grasped Orelan’s arm. Her eyes leaped to his and she slowed her mare as he did his stallion, until they were completely halted and silent on the road. Up ahead, Wyndham could see the dark black canopy of trees lining the road on either side. It looked as if the barrenness of the dusty road turned pale white in the moonlight, seeming to drop off suddenly into blackness. It was either a curve in the road or a hill. The snorting of a horse sounded into that strange distance, but they could hear no accompanying sound of a carriage or the clomping of hooves.
Still, Wyndham moved quickly, motioning Orelan off to the side of the road into the cover of the tree limbs and the darkness. He knew Orelan peered forward with the expectation of seeing some traveler coming down the road toward them. However, he did not, and he sat pondering, while absently rubbing a small ache in his leg from his old injury. As a spy he’d learned to use all his senses and the sounds did not add up to a horse traveling down the road. It sounded more like one lying in wait ... halted and restless.
Hm, Wyndham mused silently. Perhaps they had stumbled upon a true highwayman lying in wait to ply his trade. “There is someone halted up ahead, either around the curve or over the hill,” he whispered to Orelan.
She turned her gaze to him and he saw her golden eyes glistening in a rare shaft of moonlight that filtered through the leaves overhead. Exquisite, he thought. He really had not considered until just now, above her mask, the uniqueness alone that could be recognized again.
“Let’s move slowly around, baby,” he whispered to her. She silently nodded.
They moved slowly with him in the lead, and as they inched forward, he picked up the sounds of more than one horse snorting. Then, he heard bits of sound that could be the rattling of rigging, until it did not surprise him to see a carriage with two horses halted in a cutout beside the road. He noted with interest that it was right before a fork in the road.
Wyndham halted their progress. They were well hidden where they stopped, but could see the idle carriage clearly, its horses still shuffling their hooves restlessly. There were not many reasons that he could think of for carriages to halt on seldom traveled roads near midnight. His mind leaped to the obvious conclusions. However, the why of it escaped him. Could The Order realize they were being followed and this was a decoy carriage?
“Hmm,” he mulled under his breath. Abruptly, Wyndham felt Orelan tugging his jack sleeve and his attention turned from its momentary pondering. Instantly, he heard another carriage approaching. Wyndham clasped Orelan’s gloved hand in his and they watched the new carriage pull to a stop behind the one they’d been watching. Then the drivers from both carriages got down from their perches and headed to the rear of the first carriage to unload what appeared to be a rather heavy trunk. The drivers, both regular in appearance with nondescript features, apparently no one of importance within The Order, hauled the trunk to the rear of the second carriage.
Orelan’s hand squeezed within the clasp of his hand. Yes, he agreed with her unspoken feelings. It would be decidedly interesting to know what the trunk contained that required this much secrecy. The weight of it heavily jostled the boot, when the two drivers lifted it into it. They secured the trunk, pulling the canvas to cover it. Both men returned to the driver’s seats of their individual carriages. No word or sound, nor any sight from within either carriage was forthcoming. Then, as the carriages began to roll, it solved one large mystery. The first carriage that had been waiting went straight down the road, while the second carriage turned off onto the other fork of the road.
Well, well, Wyndham thought, he could easily see how their men, who had followed the carriage, could have missed this timely exchange. They would have been well back, while clandestinely following one carriage and could easily have missed that there were two. He looked at Orelan and he could see the sparkle of a grin in her eyes that he could not see upon her lush mouth, covered as it was by a black silk scarf. Another unspoken thought passed between them. They both knew, inside the second carriage that had turned off onto the fork of the road, sat the Order members leaving by the hidden entrance to Rushborn’s estate.
And now, he and Orelan were going to find out where they were going...
Chapter Ten
Kit sat at her dressing table. She tenderly touched her brother’s cross lying on top of the table, running her fingers over the engraving. She wished that she could wear it tonight to instill her resolve more firmly. Last night she’d made love with Brynmore. Not sex. Not sex as she might have intended, but passionate lovemaking. And tonight she and Brynmore would make their first attempt to contact or be noticed as interesting by the leaders The Order. She would not be able to wear her brother’s cross when she attempted this. She understood there was no way that she could imagine what might happen or what she might have to do.
Before, she’d fooled herself into thinking that she had the guts and fortitude to go through with this. Now, she realized that it was all bravado. Bravado that could easily crumble, and standing alone she would not have withstood the personal embarrassment and degradation.
“But now you have Brynmore beside you. With you,” Kit murmured.
She realized that this one fact alone, made all the difference. Not that it was a small thing, it was huge. She was afraid to consider how affected she was and she would not allow herself to think about it very much, until all this was over. Oh but lord, it had been wondrous and she was not going to deny herself the pleasure of the memories or of admitting that it had been glorious. The alive feelings she enjoyed now, ones that she’d never felt before, demanded nothing less. Beside the fact that she found herself enormously infatuated with Brynmore. It sang to every inch of her body and mind. So much so, she realized suddenly, that she needed to tamp the flow.
“This could cause problems if I do not control it,” she muttered, looking into the mirror. She even looked different, she thought, as she lifted her fingers from Clay’s cross to touch her lips. It was not the pinkish burn on her face from Brynmore’s beard, but more, an entire look of lean womanhood. She’d been married, had sex, all of those things, yet last night was the night she had transformed into a woman. A full-bodied sexual woman that desired a man as much as breathing.
“Oh, stop it,” Kit chided her image, dropping her fingers back to the tabletop, but she did want to relive it, soak in it, and fill herself with all the memories and feelings. She had been flaming last night, completely stroked by Brynmore’s ardor. They’d had urgent and explosive sex the first time, carnally exuberant and just as zealous sex the second time, and then this morning, just as soon as their eyes opened, they’d fallen upon each other for another bout of wild lovemaking.
It was as if they were feeding ravenously on one another and could not get enough. The soreness of that delight still abraded her inner core and thighs with each movement reminding her and enticing her. Drawin
g her. Luring her for more of Brynmore’s rigid male shaft pinning her and thrusting into her returning feverish undulations.
“Oh my.” Kit clasped her hot cheeks, then she patted them lightly. She had been wholly uninhibited. “That is good,” she muttered, nodding at her reflection. That was what she’d been trying to achieve, only her ardor had not been calculated, but wrenched mindlessly from her in rapture. Kit looked deep into the candle lit sheen of her dusky blue eyes. She really had to get a grip on herself. But her sex throbbed even now for Brynmore. His whip-hard shoulders, the range of sinew lumped over his chest and down his ridged flat-board stomach. To feel the full length of his powerful thighs undulating next to hers and the soft burr of brown hair covering it all. Mmm, she loved the feel of all that warm short hair covering his body, of it brushing against her nude flesh. “Blast!” she exclaimed, dropping her hands, she curled her fingers inward. She would have to fall into infatuation with a man at the most dire of times.
Suddenly, there was a sound behind her and she realized that it was the door to her bedchamber opening. Turning in her seat, she gasped at the sight striding toward her. Her eyes flew, darting over Brynmore’s amazing and altered appearance.
“Ye demanded I shave my beard, lass,” he said, with his lips curling in a teasing smirk as he halted in front of her. He watched her hand lifting with a gesture of surprise and land on his belly, palm against the fuzzy warm bare skin. The least of the surprises was that his chest was bare and he wore only a thigh length black cape with blood-red lining, tight black britches, and black leather boots over his trouser legs up to his knees. “I think I did fairly well with this fash silly deviant outfit. Now, you’re next, lass.”
Brynmore lowered to squat before her with his hands running up the silk of her robe on her outer thighs. His touch instantly spoke to pleasurable sensations strumming inside her, but not even that was enough to waylay her amazement as her hand raised to his forearm and she touched the powdery sparkling-gold colored dust sprinkled on his skin. The golden dust was on his hairy chest, arms, and sprinkled in his hair that hung loose to his shoulders. There was dark kohl applied to his eyelids, making his green eyes strike out dramatically. There was an intricately carved small dagger strapped to his inner left forearm. It seemed that Brynmore had a detailed theme in mind that they were going to use.
