Dancing on the Wind

by Mary Jo Putney

  She shook her head. "The moment she is free, I'm retiring from the stage permanently."

  They said their farewells, then left the flat and went down to the carriage. When they were inside, Lucien muttered, "I wish you weren't going to Castle Raine with us."

  "I have to be there to find Kira," she pointed out. "If the ruins are extensive, you might never find her without me."

  "I know. That doesn't mean I have to like it."

  Though her expression was troubled, Kit said lightly, "Why are you worrying? Remember, we have Michael, the warrior angel, leader of the hosts of righteousness, on our side."

  Lucien gave a lopsided smile. "True, and there's no reason to expect trouble. We should be able to break in and get your sister out easily, but one never knows. I don't like the idea of exposing you to possible danger."

  She sniffed. "I wasn't the one who almost fell off a roof from sheer clumsiness."

  He smiled and took her hand. "I stand corrected. I'll need you there tonight to save me from myself."

  Yet in spite of his joke, his concern did not go away. As they rode back to Strathmore, a couple of lines of Shakespeare kept circling in his head: "By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes."

  * * *

  The man who had been watching the Marshall Street house for days swore as the actress climbed into the carriage with Strathmore and drove off. His employer had been furious that the abduction attempt had failed, and most insistent that the girl be taken by today. But it bloody wasn't possible. The silly chit hadn't been home in days. She'd finally shown her face, but only a damned fool would try to take her away from that languid earl who had turned out to be so much tougher than he looked.

  The watcher shrugged and settled back into concealment in the room he had rented across the street from his quarry's house. He was being paid for his time, so he might as well sit and watch until it was time to report to his employer.

  He yawned. If it was him, he'd kidnap a wench with more meat on her bones.

  * * *

  The hulking iron gates of Castle Raine were locked, with no watchman in sight. If there was one, he was probably inside, where it was warm and dry.

  Michael had been right about the storm; as Kit waited by the gate, she was shivering from the freezing rain. If the temperature fell much further, the world would turn to ice. God willing, by then they would be safe and Kira would be free.

  With a faint metallic jangle, Lucien bent over the lock of the man-sized door that was set into the larger gate. She could not see in detail what he was doing, but it seemed to involve a key ring with a broad assortment of keys and metal picks. She was not surprised when the door swung open with a faint squeal that vanished quickly amid the sounds of wind and rain.

  Behind her Jason Travers said with a hint of laughter, "Am I going to have to learn to do that if I want to be a proper earl?"

  "The real beauty of being a British peer," Lucien said as he ushered the others through, then closed the door behind them, "is that one can be as eccentric as one wishes."

  "The issue isn't your eccentricity, Luce, but your unfortunate criminal tendencies," Michael said gently. The other men chuckled.

  Her nerves strung drum-tight, Kit felt like swatting them for their frivolity. She refrained because she suspected that levity was a masculine way of coping with tension. It was easier to be female and allowed to show her fear. Lucien must have guessed at her state of mind, for he kept a light hand at the back of her waist as they moved soundlessly along the edge of the drive toward the main buildings.

  The objective, writer part of her mind was taking notes, for this raid was giving her a sense of what war must be like. All four of them wore dark clothing, Kit in her burglar outfit again. Even the horses tethered in a nearby thicket were invisible because Michael had put blacking on the white markings that might have drawn attention at night.

  She would never have thought of that; it was a small, comforting reminder of how much experience Michael had in covert missions. With his flinty expression, eyes that missed nothing, and a well-used carbine rifle slung over his shoulder, he was a formidable sight. Armed with pistols, Lucien and Jason looked equally dangerous. Though Kit prayed that violence would be unnecessary, if it occurred they were well-prepared.

  Lucien had asked if she wanted a pistol, but she had refused with a shudder. It was one of the ways in which she differed from her twin; Kira was an excellent shot while Kit had always flatly refused to touch a gun, and it was too late to learn now.

  The chapel was a dim outline, a blacker bulk against a stormy sky. Halfway there, she gasped and came to a stop, her fingers pressed to her temples.

  "What is it?" Lucien asked in a low voice.

  "She's here." Kit's voice trembled at the confirmation that her intuition had been correct. "She's really here!"

  Jason made a sound that demonstrated how much his casual manner must be costing him. Cooler, Michael asked, "Can you tell what direction?"

  Kit concentrated with an effort that made her temples throb. "Directly ahead, in the vicinity of the chapel. Below it, I think."

  Heart hammering, she hastened toward the building, scarcely aware of her surroundings or the rain in her face. She reached the chapel and was fumbling for the knob when Lucien snapped, "Don't open the doors! There's light showing below."

  She glanced down and saw that he was right.

  As impatient as Kit, Jason said, "It's probably only the watchman. We can take care of one man."

  "No doubt," Lucien replied. "Nevertheless, let's find another entrance. I believe that around to the right there's a side door that leads into the banquet hall."

  They skirted the building until they found it. Lucien went to work on the lock, his movements so careful that Kit heard nothing even though she was less than six feet away. There was a faint click. He eased the door open, then ghosted through.

  After a moment of listening he motioned for the others to follow. The banquet hall was a large room with the shapes of tables and chairs dimly visible in the faint glow that came from the far left corner. Wordlessly, he led the way toward the light, moving around the edge of the room to avoid the furniture.

  At the entrance to the hall he pressed on Kit's shoulder in a silent order to stay. Leaving Jason with her, Lucien and Michael moved forward along the passage that went to the chapel.

  The wait seemed endless. She clenched her hands into fists and forced herself to be still. Then, almost inaudible over the sounds of rain splattering against the windows, she heard a muffled cry, followed by a thud. A couple of minutes later, the men returned, Michael carrying a lighted taper that he used to ignite the two lamps Jason was carrying. The glass was shielded so that only narrow beams were emitted, but they were a great improvement over the dark.

  "All clear," Lucien said. "There was only one guard."

  "You didn't..." Kit said nervously.

  "Merely knocked senseless and tied up," Michael assured her. "I never kill anyone without a reason."

  She wondered if his nonchalance was bone-dry humor, then decided it wasn't. He had lived in a very different world from hers. As the men began searching through the small rooms and corridors that lay behind the chapel, she bent her head and probed inward to locate her sister.

  She gasped when she succeeded. Kira's energy was scalding—not only close, but terrified. Though Kit tried to send a message of reassurance, she was unsuccessful; Kira was too distressed to feel her sister's presence.

  Kit raised her head again, aware of a deep thrumming at the edge of her hearing. Unable to identify it, she went to Lucien. "What is that low, rumbling noise?"

  He cocked his head and listened. From his expression she saw that he had not noticed it until she spoke.

  "Machinery," he said with a frown. "Something like a steam boiler, I think. A very large one." If machines were running, there must be other people about. Kit had been right; this was going to be more difficult than anticipated.
r />   "Over here," Jason called softly from around the corner.

  When the other three reached him, Jason opened the door that he had discovered. Steps led down to an illuminated corridor and the sound of chanting voices filled the stairwell.

  Lucien eased the door shut. "Damnation, the Disciples are holding one of their rituals tonight."

  "Today is the winter solstice," Jason said tautly. "They probably play at paganism by celebrating the change of season."

  Lucien thought back. "Very likely. It was around Midsummer Day when Ives's friend heard the screaming here."

  "Didn't the Druids practice human sacrifice?" Michael asked.

  Kit gave a gasp of horror and moved to open the door, ready to hurl herself downward. Lucien intercepted her. "Wait," he said sharply as he caught her upper arm. "Stay close to me."

  She looked at him blindly, and he guessed that she was linked with her sister's mind again. He gave her a little shake. "Kit, if we are to rescue Kira, you must stay with us mentally as well as physically."

  She gulped, then nodded, her eyes clearing. "I understand."

  Michael opened the door again, then led the way down the stairs. The others followed, first Jason, then Kit, with Lucien bringing up the rear. The worn steps and rough walls were the coarse stone of medieval construction. As they descended, the chanting became much louder. A single deep voice would intone a phrase, followed by a chorused response. The language was largely unintelligible, but might be a bastardized form of Latin.

  The thrumming intensified as well, vibrating through the stone. With every step, the sense of menace increased until Lucien wanted to jump from his skin.

  He suspected that his unease was less a premonition of disaster than concern for Kit. Though he was not a stranger to mortal peril, in the past he had risked only his own life. Now he was far more worried about Kit's safety than he had ever been about his own.

  It didn't help that Kit seemed ready to shatter from nerves. The bond between them might not be as close as he wished, but it was strong enough for him to be affected by her emotions. The depth of her fear struck haunting echoes of the desperate panic he had felt when trying to save Elinor.

  His mouth tightened. He had failed his sister, but he would not fail again.

  The corridor at the bottom of the steps ran in both directions, while the stairs turned and continued downward. To the right was more of the old stonework, but the chanting and light came from the left, where the passage seemed to have been carved directly from the chalk core of the hill.

  Lucien touched Kit's shoulder inquisitively. She grimaced and pointed at the blank wall. Apparently, Kira was ahead of them and it wasn't clear which would be the best way to reach her.

  Soft-footed, Michael went to investigate the light and disappeared around a corner. A few moments later he came back into view, surprise on his face, and made a gesture that ordered both caution and silence. The other three went after him.

  What they found was astonishing. The corridor led to a shadowy wooden gallery that ran around all four sides of a huge chamber. It appeared to be a natural cavern that had been shaped into a roughly cubical space. Moisture glistened on the walls from the rain that was saturating the hill. Well below them, in the center of the chamber, stood the Disciples, garbed in scarlet robes and vaguely ecclesiastical headdresses. Lucien was surprised to see that there were only thirteen. The eerie echoes of the chanting had made it sound like a much larger group.

  In each corner of the chamber stood a burly man in black robes and turban, holding a broadsword upright before him. Ives had been right; the guards looked like retired pugilists.

  Most startling of all were the statues, a double circle within the square of the chamber. There were easily thirty figures, all of them larger than life, perhaps seven feet tall. Each effigy depicted a weapon-wielding warrior, with no two alike. A Roman gladiator with a short sword and round shield stood opposite a fierce African with a vicious throwing knife. A bearded Viking with a battle-ax snarled across the room at a menacing Turk with a scimitar while a foot soldier with a halberd glared at a mace-bearing medieval knight.

  Made of metal and painted to look real, they were unnervingly lifelike. Lucien had a nightmarish vision of the effigies coming alive and using their weapons to destroy anyone who tried to pass through the rings to reach the Disciples.

  In the very center of the chamber, standing between two bonfires, stood the leader, the only one facing toward the intruders. It was Mace, his arms stretched high over his head. Above him hung a large chandelier and behind was a large, flat stone altar. Lucien's stomach turned; the altar looked as if it was designed for human sacrifice.

  Kit must have guessed that, for she gave a shudder. Luckily, there was no sign of Kira. If she was scheduled to be the sacrificial victim of some barbaric rite, it hadn't happened yet.

  Kit stepped back and pointed downward and back the way they had come. Kira must be on the same level as the ceremony. After a last look at the bizarre scene, Lucien followed the others as they returned to the stairwell and descended again.

  The stairs ended on the next level. This time a passage led straight, as well as to right and left. Kit moved confidently into the middle corridor. Candles burned in niches along the walls, illuminating devils' masks that had been carved into the soft chalk. They leered with life, the faces glistening sweatily with the moisture exuding from the stone.

  As they followed Kit, Lucien began to believe they might be able to extricate Kira without alerting the Disciples. That would be the safest course, though Lucien would regret not having the chance to wreak violence on the arrogant bastard responsible for the abduction. He comforted himself with the thought that justice might be delayed, but it would be done. He would make sure of that.

  Kit was several feet ahead of him, looking neither left nor right as she strode along. The other two were behind, keeping a sharp eye on their surroundings. Ahead of Kit, Lucien saw that a band of darker stones crossed the corridor floor. Concealed within were holes several inches square. The dark band ran up the walls and continued across the ceiling. As he wondered what the purpose might be, Kit stepped on one of the dark stones.

  The stone shifted with a clink, and all hell broke loose.

  Chapter 36

  Heavy bells began clanging, reverberating through the passage with ear-numbing power. Kit froze, her head whipping around to see what had happened.

  Lucien heard a grating sound and looked up. A heavy iron portcullis was starting to fall from a slot masked by the dark stones—and Kit was standing directly below. He shouted her name and hurled himself forward, knocking her beyond the pointed stakes of the plummeting gate. She pitched to the floor, and he came tumbling after her.

  With a boom that echoed through the passage, knocking chips of chalk from the ceiling, the portcullis crashed into the stone floor. Something grazed his right ankle, and he looked back to see that he had not jumped quite far enough to clear the path of the gate.

  By sheer luck his leg lay between two of the viciously pointed stakes. A few inches to either side and his ankle would have been impaled, pinning him to the floor. As it was, his foot was caught in the narrow space between the floor and the bottom bar of the portcullis.

  The bells were still tolling, and in the cavern a furious voice bellowed, "Intruders have entered. Find them!"

  Bloody hell! Lucien wrenched his foot free, then scrambled up. If the portcullis couldn't be raised, Michael and Jason would be trapped between it and the angry Disciples.

  Michael had already seen the danger. He heaved at the iron gate, then shook his head. "We'll never move this thing. Luce, you and Kit keep going." Calmly he unslung his carbine and cocked the hammer. "Travers and I can handle that lot."

  Kit had risen and was staring at the other men, her face stricken. Lucien grabbed her arm. "We can't do anything. Don't worry, they're armed. Our job is to find Kira."

  Kit gulped and nodded, then turned to continue along the co
rridor. "She's very close now."

  The passage turned left. Fifty yards later, it split into four narrower tunnels that wound out of sight like Medusa's locks. Kit stopped and stared at the new obstacle.

  Lucien asked, "Do you have any idea which of these passages we should take?"

  Before she could answer, an exchange of gunshots and a shout of pain sounded behind them. Kit caught his arm, her face agonized. "Oh, God, that sounded like Jason. We must go back to help them."

  "I'm not sure it was him." He frowned. "And I'll be damned if I'll take you into a tunnel where bullets are flying."

  "Then go alone," she urged. "I'll stay here. Even if you can't get past the portcullis, you can shoot through it."

  More shots, and another scream. Lucien winced. "Very well, I'll go look. Stay here—don't even think of moving unless someone attacks you from one of these small tunnels. If that happens, come for me."

  As soon as she nodded, he raced down the tunnel, then rounded the corner, keeping low. The skirmish had generated eye-stinging clouds of acrid smoke, but once he blinked his eyes clear, he saw that Michael and Jason were unhurt. Both were crouched by the wall, weapons ready, while more distant figures were retreating. A black-turbaned guard lay unmoving on the floor, and a trail of blood showed that at least one fleeing man had been wounded.

  Deciding that his friends had the situation well in hand, he pivoted and returned to Kit. As soon as he swung around the corner, he uttered a curse so blistering it should have brought down more fragments of chalk.

  She was gone.

  * * *

  When Lucien left, Kit leaned against the wall, glad for a chance to catch her breath. But when she relaxed, she became horribly aware of the clamoring bells. The clanging stabbed through her, triggering a panic more real than the outside world.

  Oh, God, the bells must mean that he's coming for me! He said it would be tonight. I must be ready.

  Kit pressed her hands to her temples, knowing that she was in Kira's mind, Kira's fear. Panting, she struggled to escape her twin's terror, for she could not afford to lose herself now.