by Jaide Fox
Days before her sixteenth birthday, her mother had placed the onyx ring in her palm and had curled her fingers about it.
“This is your birthright, Isabeau. I pass it on to you as your grandmother did to me. It is a rite of passage, your sixteenth birthday draws near and with it, your powers.”
To this day, she could hear those words in her mind.
It was only then that Isabeau had learned that she was different from the other people about her. That her parents and herself were somehow not the same as the rest of the world.
“Wear this and it will become as one with you. Wear it at all times, Isabeau. Would that I...I-I cannot...” she had broken off and had looked visibly distraught. If only Isabeau had realized then that her mother would die days later. “...As you grow, the ring will grow with you and you will learn from it and it from you. Trust in its power and its strength and know that with it, you have a constant protector. Without faith in the stone, your powers will never fully flourish. Trust in me and know that I speak the truth, my beloved.”
Now, as she looked back and studied a memory that had been under constant perusal since her parents' death, Isabeau realized that her mother's hesitation implied that she would not be around to teach her daughter. Her overwrought behavior had been out of character for her mama, who had always been clear of mind and level-headed.
Why had Isabeau not realized that before now?
What had she not seen that her mother's bequest to her had also been a warning?
Swallowing convulsively as tears washed the back of her throat, she closed her eyes and almost from a different plane, heard Wolfe say:
“What would occur if I placed it on my finger? Hmm?”
Her eyes popped open and she watched horror struck as he hovered the circlet over the tip of his finger.
“No!”
She sighed when he moved the ring away but clenched it in his palm.
“Why not?”
“It's connected to me. I have already told you that!” she retorted, her tone prim yet supercilious.
“Surely it would free you from the curse that follows you, no?” he asked quietly, but his left eyebrow was raised curiously.
“I do not know what follows me.”
“Why then do you run and hide?”
She licked her lips and shrugged.
“So that I do not share the same fate as that of my parents. Burning to death as they cry out in pain as their home is decimated by flames about their very heads.” Again, her shoulder jerked. “I'm the only one with the power to use it. If you put it on, then I imagine it will either be lifeless or cause you grievous harm.” Her tone implied that were he to place the ring on his finger, she would wish the latter on him rather than the former.
Wolfe chuckled at her and she had to hold back the desire to roll her eyes at him. Honestly, she was not a funny man on the stage! Why was he continually laughing at her? She had said nothing that was even remotely amusing!
“I will return the ring to you...only if you promise not to fight me anymore...what do you say to that, Isabeau?” he asked quietly, but his voice was firm and she knew that he was deadly serious.
Knowing that he would withhold the ring from her, the item which had become her lifeline over the years, her dependency upon it had grown in leaps and bounds, she had to conform to his words. She did not like it and wished it weren't necessary, but the ring was as vital to her being as was her heart.
Without either of these two important things, she simply could not function.
While the ring was naught but metal and semi-precious stone, it had long become an almost external vital organ. Already she could feel her soul searching frenetically for the source of power which was placed on her heart finger. The beat of her heart had increased and the pace of her breathing was slowly becoming erratic.
Internally, she was starting to panic.
Nodding calmly and betraying none of her inner agitation, she said, “I will not fight you.”
What she did not say, was that no, she would not fight him...but only for the moment.
Chapter Four
The sudden dig of Wolfe's hands at her waist jolted Isabeau out of her restless sleep. Sitting bolt right upwards, she uttered a cry as the jerky move had her almost falling off the bedamned saddle. With a grunt, she sank back against the safety and support of Wolfe's body.
She had taken comfort against his long, lean length hours ago and had argued over the propriety of resting on his chest as though he were a pillow or a mattress, but fatigue had swamped her and she'd damned propriety to hell.
What she would only admit to herself was the fact that she had felt as though she belonged there. Which, considering he was her captor, was bizarre to the extreme. But she could not deny how wonderfully relaxing it had been to hear the bum-bum of his heart and feel the slow depression of his chest as he exhaled and the slight brush of his breath against the sensitive flesh of her jaw.
It was peculiar, that she did know. But still, while inwardly she could take pleasure from his touch, Isabeau knew that to show it outwardly, would be a dangerous folly.
Her vision slowly grew sharper as the effects of her slumber slowly disappeared and the first object she actually saw was a large castle. It might not have been a castle, could have been a manor house, but in their current location, its silhouette in the dim moonlight was far too difficult to discern. All she could see was a great, black blob but the fact that it was great, told her it was a property of some standing. It appeared her captor had wealth.
Isabeau was unsure as to whether that was reassuring or not.
If he was wealthy, he could easily conceal her abduction or even her murder by greasing the right palms. His servants would be paid to turn the other cheek and not notice a damn thing.
She licked her lips nervously at the thought.
Now, if he were poor, there could be a very explicable reason behind this entire scenario. The intruder, sent by a man named Jaegar, had obviously been sent to retrieve her and the ring. Perhaps, Wolfe intended to blackmail this Jaegar for money and then he would hand her over as though she were a gift. Not a person.
The thought would have been enough to make her fume, but she sincerely doubted that Wolfe Sinclair was poor.
The shirt her cheek had been pressed against, had been of the highest quality linen. And when he had attacked the intruder who had attempted to slice off her finger, she had noticed his clothes had been tailored by expert hands. His cologne had hints of sandalwood--the most expensive of all the scents. His horse was a stallion of magnificent breed. Perhaps even Arabian. In the dark, and with his black hide, it was difficult to differentiate, but she knew Wolfe's horse would be of good blood stock.
The castle could indeed be in a poor state of repair, but she doubted it. Everything about the man against whom she rested, bespoke of wealth and power.
Again, she cringed at the thought of how easy it would be to simply discard her, if she became too much of a handful.
Tilting her head upwards, she noticed that they were leaving a wood, if the heavy canopy of leaves above them was anything to go by, at least. She turned to the side and felt the grip of Wolfe's hands at her waist again as she looked at the route they had been taking.
“Sit back, Isabeau. You will fall off and be trampled. Unless you would prefer that fate to what lies ahead,” he murmured silkily.
With a huff of breath, Isabeau retorted, “I was merely ascertaining to my whereabouts, Wolfe. Nothing more. I think you mistake me for a regular maiden. One who would prefer to be trampled to death than face the fate that lies ahead.”
“I'm glad you are courageous, fair lady.”
Unsaid were the words, you shall need it.
Isabeau licked her dry lips again and wished for something to drink. Inwardly she wondered why on Earth he needed her. He had yet to return her ring and she could feel the loss of it in the despair that sluggishly crawled through her body. She wished that she could wi
thhold the words, but they burst free regardless. “What do you want with me, Wolfe?”
“That is for me to know, milady.”
The acknowledgment of her status in the nobility had her flinching. She had not been called by her title since the day of her parents' deaths.
She licked her lips and murmured, “If that is supposed to frighten me, then you're mistaken. It merely tells me that you are currently unsure as to what to do with me!”
He laughed and she grimaced, but their positions meant that he could not see it.
“It has been a long time since you have been called by your status, is it not, Isabeau?”
A slight jerk of her neck meant that her body answered him before she verbally could. “No. Yes. The day after my parents...I had to go into hiding.”
“Why was that necessary? Did someone advise you of that?”
She scowled at the curiosity in his voice. “No. I managed to think for myself. Believe it or not, Mr. Sinclair, some females are capable of having and culturing an intelligent thought in their tiny brains.”
“Ah, so it's Mr. Sinclair now, is it?” he said, amused.
“It should always have been,” she replied angrily. “Forgive me for behaving without propriety. Having been away from the ton for far too long, I'm afraid my manners are not what they ought to be. And would you not run away? When your house is decimated by a fire that has been purposely started? Which has killed your parents?”
“I prefer Wolfe,” he said, the tone was a rumble and it shuddered along nerve endings that she hadn't even known existed. What, who, was this man to her? Why did he affect her so? “It is my given name, Isabeau. Let's shuck propriety, after all, if I were a gentleman...”
“Which you're not,” Isabeau interrupted with a snort.
“No, I'm not but if I were, then you would not be allowed within two yards of me without a duenna. And you are correct. If I had been your age, and a woman, and had learned that my parents had been killed, I would indeed flee. But even though I can understand, it was not the best option open to you.”
“Hmm, well, we can agree to disagree. As I was unaware at the time that I'd even had more than one option! So, where are we?”
“My castle.”
Ah, it was a castle. “Why are we here? What am I to you?”
He was silent for so long, that she thought he was merely ignoring her question. By the time he eventually did respond, they had stepped from the forest and had moved on to the driveway that led to his property.
“You will soon learn,” was his answer, but it was hardly helpful.
Sensing that any chatter she might have engaged in would only be ignored, Isabeau kept quiet and watched with slightly awed eyes as the nearer they moved to the castle, the larger it seemed to become. Even in the darkness, she could tell that it was in a grand state. So many of these properties around England had been damaged and were in terrible need of repair.
Once free from the dense forest, which almost overran and landed on to his property, it was a lot easier to see the castle as the moon seemed to shine behind it, leaving the frontage in complete shadow but detailing the shapes and sheer size of the place.
It was a complex mixture of squat buildings, which interconnected with large towers and turrets. Its grandeur was most impressive and informed her definitely and without words that Wolfe Sinclair was a wealthy man. She tried to wrack her brains to a time before their move to the North, when like any upcoming debutante she had known Debrett's practically from back to front and had known the richest men in England. Isabeau was sure she would remember a Wolfe Sinclair, but she couldn't.
Years had passed since that time, and he could be very easily have been a cit and this castle purchased from a noble family who had lost their fortune, but she was sure that the accent of his voice was as pure and as well-bred as her own. There had been no elocution lessons to improve his tone of voice for the ton.
The question still remained--who was he?
She wished that she knew. Instead of feeling as though she were hovering between confusion and fear and a relatively ridiculous sensation of security. There was nothing secure about her life and hadn't been for a long, long time. It would stand her well not to forget that!
Isabeau rolled her eyes but recognized the truth behind the thought. She sat quietly as the horse suddenly came to a halt without any prompting, verbal or physical, from Wolfe. “What is happening?” she asked hesitantly.
“We are here,” he replied simply.
She nodded, then stiffened her back as Isabeau knew she was about to lose his support. When he jumped to the ground, Wolfe promptly reached for her. The pressure of his fingers around her small waist had her heart galloping wildly and when he placed her securely on the ground, she bit her bottom lip as the move pressed her close against him.
To a point, she had grown accustomed to her back feeling every inch of his torso as they rode atop the horse, but this...this was entirely different.
The press of her breasts against him was a shock and she felt the tips start to tingle as they reacted to his nearness. Although it was not firm, she also felt his softened manhood against her lower body and her innards reacted to that as though it were aroused.
Rather than inspiring fear or fright, it inspired languorous warmth that had her feeling highly peculiar. This man inspired a welter of myriad emotions and not one of them, did she even comprehend!
He took an abrupt step backwards and then grabbed a fierce hold of her forearm. “Come, I shall take you to your quarters.”
The door to the castle was awash in candlelight and it made it more difficult to walk up the steps to the entrance as she was blinded by the darkness then blinded by the light. Stumbling against the last one, she sucked in a breath as she was yanked to safety by Wolfe's sudden gripping of her arm. The action jerked her elbow uncomfortably, but she was grateful for not having fallen flat on her face. That would not have been an auspicious start!
The door opened suddenly and even more light flooded out. As she stepped into the entrance, she was amazed at the sheer amount of candles that were being used to illuminate the enormous Great Hall.
Blinking the remnants of the dark away, she looked around the hall and was surprised by the huge windows of stained glass against the back wall. As the moon sat hunched at the back of the castle, the light shone through and illuminated the windows. Gulping as she realized they portrayed magical creatures, Isabeau's eyes darted from the unicorn to the asrais, to a gytrash and a lynx.
All of them preferred the darkness, she recalled. Her education had been widespread and had depended heavily upon the books in her father's library. As such, she had read hundreds of words on mythological and legendary beasts. It had been one of her father's hobbies and she had shared it with a passion.
The four huge stained glass windows portrayed each animal. But in the center of the four, was a smaller one of a griffin. Almost as though the lack of size gave it more importance, she realized that her eyes were prone to focus on that particular work of art than its larger counterparts.
Her eyes trailed over the cut glass, which perfectly delineated each of the griffin's remarkable features and before she even had a chance to study any of the others, her arm was taken once more. Although this time, it was not in a stronghold, it still felt as though it were, as Wolfe tucked her hand in between his elbow and his body and kept it trapped there by pressure from his arm.
