Heart of the Hunter

by Lara Adrian

  "And Braedon?" Ariana asked, fearful of the answer she might receive. "If he were to fall in love with someone..."

  "Oh, he loves, my dear. Make no mistake. I see it in every glance he turns on you."

  Ariana warmed to the idea, but her heart was still twisting with worry. "But the others--the shifters. Does it put him in any danger to be with me?"

  "The danger my son courts has nothing to do with his feelings for you," she said, reaching out to squeeze Ariana's hand. "He needs your love, but then I suspect you already know that."

  "Perhaps not as much as I need his. He is gone, my lady. He promised me we would be together, but then he left me here."

  "And you do not accept that."

  "No, I don't. I will not accept it," Ariana declared. "I love him--more than anything else in this world."

  "Yes, I can see that you do." Now the mild expression began to warm even more, the lady's glossy white head cocking slightly to the side in curiosity. "And I can see there is still much I do not know about your kind, Lady Ariana. I admire your strength, and I am glad for the depth of your passion for my son."

  As the two women clutched each other's hands, Kenrick came around a bend in the passageway. "Our mounts are waiting, Ariana. Are you ready?"

  "I have to go now," she told Braedon's enigmatic mother. Impulsively, she stepped forward and embraced the lady. "You are an extraordinary woman. Be careful, and thank you for all you've done."

  Braedon's mother smiled a very human, heartbreaking smile. "Take care of him, child. Make sure he knows that no matter what he might think of me, I always loved him. I always will."

  Farewell," Ariana said, then withdrew from her loose grasp and turned to follow after Kenrick.

  Behind her in the corridor, she heard the muffled sound of a mother's quiet sob.

  * * *

  "They're on the move, captain. Scouts spied horses and riders on the other side of the forest, running hard on the road toward the coast."

  "All three of them?"

  "Nay. Just two. The woman and her Templar brother, near as we can tell. Le Chasseur must still be in hiding somewhere in the woods, or perchance they have split up to confuse pursuit."

  "Le Chasseur won't hide, not now. More likely he is already gone and some hours closer to finding part of the Chalice."

  Draec le Nantres tossed out the contents of his drinking cup, sparing the soldier only the barest glance as he eyed him over the smoking embers of the previous night's fire. His mood was foul, helped none the least by this incompetent's report and the frigid bite of the dawning morn. He loathed sleeping outdoors, particularly when the winter chill was wicked enough to freeze a man's ballocks off. His search party companions hardly seemed to notice the cold. Devil-spawned beasts, one and all.

  Especially Ferrand de Paris, the weaselly little Frenchman who joined up with them around dawn. Hearing the news of their quarry having set out, Ferrand's nose twitched with excitement. "How delicious to know that the Clairmont chit will soon be mine. Without le Chasseur to interfere, it should be no trouble at all to chase her down and capture her. I'll tell the others to mount up and--"

  "Sit down, Ferrand." Draec's low command halted the merchantman midstride. "I give the orders here--I'd advise you to remember that. I want the Clairmont woman followed, but no one touches her. In fact, I want her unaware that we are watching her at all. If le Chasseur has gone to find one of the Chalice stones--which I would wager your neck he has--then Lady Ariana and her brother will lead us directly to him."

  Draec stood up and calmly adjusted his leather gauntlets. With a warning look at Ferrand, he kicked a spray of pebbles and snow over the glowing coals of the fire. Then he strode away and gave the order for the company of guards to mount up.

  Chapter 22

  A mile of tidal mudflats and swampy marshland separated the city of Avranches from the island that housed the Benedictine monastery of Mont St. Michel. It was said the tides ran higher and faster here than anywhere in the world. So fast, not even a horse galloping at a dead run could beat the rush of the oncoming water to the other side. If a person set out to cross the natural causeway too late into the cycle of the tide, he risked being swept under and drowned. That is, if the pockets of treacherous quicksand didn't get him first.

  But fear of dying en route did not stop the faithful from making their pilgrimages to the glittering granite marvel of Mont St. Michel. They came in droves, dozens at a time, of all ages and walks of life, to see the place where the archangel Michael fought the devil and won. It was said that miracles occurred in that place, and legend had it that Saint Michael himself charged the first abbot of the mount with the task of constructing the holy monument, the awe-inspiring place that had since become a Mecca for good Christians everywhere.

  A score of those reverent folk now stepped off the firm shoreline at Avranches and headed out onto the muddy expanse. It was but a couple of hours this side of dusk, a dangerous time for low tide, but the pilgrims gathered to make the crossing held tight to their faith and their long walking sticks as their modest boots squished into the thick muck and began the hour-long trek to the abbey.

  Braedon dismounted and held fast to the reins of his horse. The skittish beast seemed none too sure of the merit in making the trip, and for his part, Braedon had doubts of his own. Mont St. Michel loomed like a ghost before him, shrouded in a heavy fog, an unwelcoming slab of steep rock and forbidding waters. But it was here he might find Calasaar, and so he went, bringing up the rear of the group, a conspicuous bristle of sharp-edged steel and dark intent amid the knot of hymn-singing, prayer-murmuring pilgrims.

  The assembly was not quite halfway across the muddy sea-bed when a distant shout from behind them brought the party to a halt. A sharp howl from a pilgrim's horn went up from someone near the head of the group, a warning call that went unheeded by the two riders who had ventured onto the sand from the Avranches shore.

  "Go back!" one of the pilgrims shouted. "You will not make it in time!"

  "Saint Michael save them--the tide is already coming in!"

  But the riders were too far back to hear the warnings, and taking the flats at too urgent a speed. They kept coming, unaware of the danger until all at once one of the horses tilted wildly to the side. Its foreleg sunk into a deep pocket of quicksand. Jarred and stumbling, the beast went down, tossing off its rider with a shrill whinny of fright. Braedon knew who fell even before he saw the tangle of blond hair spill out of the hooded mantle as the woman hit the ground.

  "Ariana," he breathed, his heart jolting in his chest.

  He ran to his mount and leaped onto it, kicking the beast into a lurching gallop back toward Ariana and her brother. He managed to avoid the treacherous dangers of the sand. As he neared the place where Ariana lay, he jumped down off his huffing mount and raced to her side. Kenrick was there, too, on his knees, digging at the hole of muddy quicksand that swallowed his sister's leg to mid-calf.

  Braedon joined him, dropping down to take Ariana's face in his hands and stare at her with disbelief and bone-deep fright. "Ariana--God's blood, woman! What are thinking? Why did you come?"

  "You left me!" she charged, anger blazing in her eyes. "You said we were in this together--to the end, you said--and then you left me!"

  "Jesu, Ariana. I left you only to keep you out of harm's way--because I knew you would be foolish enough to do something like this."

  "Was it your intention that I sit idly by and wait for word that you had gotten yourself killed? Was I supposed to be better off left to wonder what might become of you?"

  "Yes, damn it," Braedon answered, his tone hot, although he found it difficult to hold his anger when he was looking into such beautiful, determined blue eyes. He bent down and kissed her fiercely on the mouth. "Little fool. I shouldn't be so glad to see you here."

  She gave him a wobbly smile, then reached up to throw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. "I want to be with you. I love you, Braedon."

 
; With a curse, he shot a woeful glance at Kenrick. "Couldn't you talk sense into her?"

  "Don't think I didn't try. You're the one who told me just how headstrong she is once she sets her mind on something. I'll not argue that point ever again," he added as he freed her foot from the quicksand.

  With Ariana loosed and out of danger, the two men turned their attention to her downed horse. The mount was skittish, but unharmed, and once it was released from the quicksand, it seemed eager to be off the mudflats and back on solid ground. As were they all.

  Remounted, the three of them set out for the conical jut of granite, still half a mile away. The tide was coming in quickly; already Mont St. Michel seemed to float above a mirror-like haze of water in the distance. The pilgrims were small clumps of darkness in Braedon's line of vision as they reached the mount's shore and climbed up to safety. Their warnings of fierce currents ringing in his ears, he looked to Ariana and her brother as he wheeled his mount around to take the lead.

  "The going will be hazardous--all the more so because we will have to ride, and ride fast. Follow my lead precisely. Do not let your mount stray off the path I lay out for us. Kenrick, you ride in the rear and keep your eye on Ariana. And you," he said to the woman who held his heart so fully, "you stay with me and don't ease up on your horse for a moment. Do you understand? The tide moves swiftly. We won't have time for error."

  She nodded, reaching out for his hand. Braedon squeezed her gloved fingers, hearing the roar of the encroaching ocean over the steady pound of his own heart. He kissed Ariana's hand, then gave the order for them to set off for Mont St. Michel at all haste.

  * * *

  From the mainland shore, Draec le Nantres watched as the tide swept in to fill the causeway and separate the mountain crag from Avranches. At a full mile out and night fast approaching, it was difficult to tell whether the three riders made it safely to the other side or were engulfed by the treacherous incoming current.

  Not that it mattered.

  Not now.

  The fact that Braedon was headed to Mont St. Michel was evidence enough to bring a smile of victory to Draec's lips. There was only one reason that his old friend would return to the abbey on the mount. Only one thing that would compel him to go to the place he had nearly lost his life some eighteen months ago. And now that he thought on it, Draec wondered why he hadn't seen the truth of it before.

  Braedon knew where one of the Chalice stones was hidden. God's blood, but he would wager the enigmatic bastard had known all this time.

  Now, so, too, did Draec.

  "Go back to the village and secure a boat," he ordered one of his men. "We're going to Mont St. Michel."

  "But the tide's still comin' in, Captain," came the edgy protest. "'Twill be another two or three hours before the sea's right for travel."

  "Do it, I said." Draec's low growl sent the guard scrambling away to carry out his command.

  Gaze narrowed, mouth twisted in dark satisfaction, he stared at the pyramid of coal-gray granite rising up out of the water like a rugged jewel. The full moon climbed higher from behind the island, a pale, glowing beacon amid the gathering twilight. The Chalice stone was secreted away somewhere in that abbey fortress, and Draec le Nantres meant to have it.

  Tonight.

  Chapter 23

  By the time they reached the rocky shore of Mont St. Michel, the sea had risen to the height of Braedon's knees. Dismounted the last several yards and walking, as were Kenrick and Ariana, Braedon led them with their horses up out of the churning tide and onto the granite outcrop at the base of the mount. It had been slow going on the muddy strand, an exhausting trek that might have killed them had they lagged at all in the crossing. But they had made it. They passed through the massive stone gate that stood as sentinel for the island fortress and its inhabitants, leading their horses along the shaded arch and onto the path within.

  And now they faced a steep, arduous climb to the abbey. A solitary road led through the thickly settled village and up to the crest of the granite crag. The last of the group of pilgrims were just reaching the first corner of the winding incline as Braedon, Ariana, and Kenrick paused to let the horses catch their breath before they pushed the beasts to continue.

  "If we don't wish to cause a stir," Kenrick said from beside Braedon, nodding toward the group of robed travelers, "it might behoove us to enter the abbey amongst a large group."

  Braedon paused, considering his options as he watched the pilgrims round a bend in the moonlit path and step out of sight. "Following the pilgrims into the abbey will likely be too conspicuous for my purposes. I need to be able to move about with as little notice as possible."

  "There is another way in," Kenrick said. "An older entrance, to the north. It was once the almonry, but it was long unused when last I was here. You'll have to scale the rough side of the mount to reach it, but if you mean to slip in unnoticed, I wager 'twill be your best chance."

  "Agreed. You and Ariana go on ahead up the road with the horses. Just gain entrance as quietly as you can, and keep yourselves safe until I find you."

  Kenrick gave him a nod of concurrence, but Ariana's face seemed less amenable. "I don't think we should split up. Surely we can enter discreetly enough with the other pilgrims, then slip away to search for the stone."

  Braedon shook his head. "The peace-minded Benedictines would doubtless find it hard to ignore my savaged countenance," he explained, surprised he still had to remind her of the scar that ended all hope of his ever entering anyplace discreetly. Ariana had accepted his face, scars and all, but she was an exception in a world frightened by the strange or the different. He saw her fear now, her reluctance to leave him even for a moment, and it touched him to feel the depth of her love. He reached out to smooth away a wet tendril of hair that had flown across her brow, plastered to the white of her skin by the sea spray. He smiled, bringing her close and lifting her gaze to meet his. "This is the best way, I promise."

  Her dubious pout only made him want to kiss her more. He would have, if not for Kenrick standing nearby, endeavoring not to notice them. Ariana huffed a little sigh, scolding him in a frustrated whisper. "I didn't come all this way to find you, only to let you leave me again."

  "And I am still cross with you for risking such foolery, so don't remind me," Braedon chided, breathing in the warm scent of her in the moment before he released her from his embrace. "Let's get moving. The sooner we are in, the sooner we can be out. Go with your brother. I'll meet up with you inside as quickly as I can."

  "Be careful," she told him, holding onto his hand as she stepped away from him and distance finally separated them.

  Braedon tossed her an easy smile, but inwardly his gut was warning that all would not go as smoothly as he hoped. He felt malice hanging on the wind, a sense of foreboding coming from the general direction of the night-engulfed Normandy shore. A glance at Kenrick lifted the knight's head from where he stood, sloughing down the thick gray mud that clung to the horses' legs. Braedon drew him aside with a tilt of his chin.

  "Were you followed to Avranches?" he asked quietly, careful not to let Ariana overhear his concern.

  "Not that I saw. We took the main road, but it was empty most of the way, and we were riding hard. If anyone trailed us, they were as stealthy as ghosts."

  No doubt they were, Braedon thought, his mood darkening. He unfastened his sword belt and handed it, weapon and all, to Ariana's brother. "Take this, you may need it."

  Kenrick fixed the baldric around his waist. "You're anticipating trouble?"

  "I fully expect it. I'm counting on you to keep her safe for me. And if I don't meet up with you by high tide, promise me you'll find a way to take her off this island and get her home. Don't wait for me beyond midnight, do I have your word?"

  "Aye," Kenrick agreed. "I don't have to tell you that she won't like it."

  "Don't give her a choice."

  "You're a good man, le Chasseur." Kenrick held out his hand, a gesture of his apparent r
egard. "Godspeed you on your path tonight. Wherever it may take you."

  Braedon clasped the outstretched hand with a brief nod of acknowledgment. Then, with a final glimpse of Ariana's beautiful face emblazoned in his mind, he left for the shadowy north side of the mount, and whatever destiny awaited him inside the abbey fortress.

  * * *

  It took nearly an hour for Ariana and Kenrick to make the laborious ascent to the abbey. The road leading up the steep incline of the mount was a narrow, winding path that seemed to go on without end. Walking the horses, for the beasts had been too taxed from the crossing to carry riders, they passed row upon row of timbered residences and a handful of closed shops. The street was dark, their trek lighted only by the milky glow of starlight and the full moon, which seemed enormous and eerie that night, looming above the island in a cloudless black sky.

  It was that wash of moonlight that gave Ariana her first niggling of apprehension as she and Kenrick began up another steep climb in the road. The moon's pale rays glinted on the inlaid mother-of-pearl hilt of Braedon's sword, which was sheathed at her brother's hip. Braedon imagined there might be danger awaiting them at the abbey, or he would never have surrendered his weapon. And that left him with only a dagger; Ariana realized, a feeble implement of defense, should he encounter trouble of his own while he was searching for Calasaar.

  At last they reached the crest of the mount. The wind blew in strong off the sea, salty and cold, buffeting the towering structure of the abbey marvel and snatching at the edges of Ariana's cloak. Gaping up at the awesome sight of Mont St. Michel, she reached up to catch her flapping hood, which billowed like a sail before it was snagged off her head by a gust of briny air. Kenrick was at her side, but he seemed unmoved by the wintry gales or the sheer immensity of the holy place before them. His gaze was turned outward, overlooking the expanse of glittering black water that now filled the space between Avranches and the mount. He swore a profane oath.