Rebel Heart

by Young, Christine

  Then she heard the slight click of the security system shutting down. The backup system should kick in soon. She held her breath, waiting for the soft hum.

  Sheridan was behind this. Or was Morray countermanding Sheridan's orders, taking things into his own hands? Morray was an evil fool.

  Morray would come for her, come with his men, sneaking through her home. They would never be able to work together. He was a coward. And he dared to claim it was for the good of the people.

  Indeed, yes, he would pay for this. She would see to it. The security gates would each pose a different problem for the interlopers, each giving her irreplaceable seconds. It would take them some time to pass through each level. She was supposed to be a passive victim in all this, but they would find out that she knew how to fight.

  The slight whining of the door to level two set her slightly on edge. They could not have gained entrance so soon, so easily without help. Who? This was not the time to bemoan her fate. It was, she told herself, the time for action.

  For a brittle moment she heard nothing once again, only silence. As she looked out the window, the full moon stood high in the sky, creating a night bathed with an ominous light. A soft glow of amber light touched the City, focusing on the building where Jonathan had his office, and illuminating the capital buildings with their huge glass panels.

  Nothing broke the spell.

  Far across from her tower window upon the hillside that harbored her waterfall, she thought she saw the figure of a man--Morray. The ink black shadow was there...then it vanished.

  Shrouded in mystery, he held his hand aloft as if beckoning her, his cape billowing out behind.

  At the sight her breath caught. Sheridan's men? They knew--they waited for her.

  "Bastards," she hissed furiously.

  She turned her back to the knowledge she was trapped, to the man who waited so victoriously for her to fall into line. Clenching her fists, she prayed fiercely for a plan, some way to out-fox this man. Then when she looked back to the hillside, seeking affirmation...

  Nothing was left but her imaginations and her fears.

  Were the drifting veils of mist and moon glow creating shadowy images out of nothing? Her heart pounded and her mind whirled. She was in desperate need.

  "I will kill him before I let him lay one finger on me," she whispered fiercely. But would she? Truly? Looking down the straight, smooth tower wall, she cringed. The rungs were old and rusty, but she and Nessa both had used the ladder long before they discovered the secret tunnel.

  It had been so easy when she was twelve. She could do it now. She could. But when she looked down, fear overcame rational thought. No, it would not come to that. She still had time to go through the tunnel and she could wait indefinitely in the cavernous underground spring if she had to.

  Perhaps she had only imagined the man. Maybe it was a coincidence he stood directly over the path she would use to make her escape.

  Her heart thundered and she pressed her hands against her rolling stomach willing it to stop.

  She could do it; she had to take the chance. She would never, never allow Morray the satisfaction of possessing her. Never.

  She would fight with every ounce of strength she had.

  Or perhaps she would find a way to elude them all.

  She hurried across the room to the secret panel that led to winding stairs and the opening beneath the waterfall, her freedom. Hope followed. She would steal a glider and escape to the mountains. If the doorway was discovered when they searched for her, well, what would it matter? At least she would have managed to escape Quentin Morray's slimy hands.

  But even as she removed the old book from its spot as she had done dozens of times before, she heard a strange grating noise.

  Nothing happened. Panic-stricken, she grabbed another book and another until the whole shelf was empty. The panel did not swing open.

  "No!" she cried in sudden desperation. As if she could have forgotten the secret book that would activate the panel... Panicked she tried the books on the shelf above. Bleakly, almost dazedly at first, she realized that it was not going to open; nothing would jar it from its position. She was trapped. "Hope stay." Hope sat back on her haunches, cocking her head but did not attempt to follow.

  What she faced now was solid cold fear.

  "No. No!" A cry of anguish and stark denial filled the room. Determination surged through her. She would not go down in defeat.

  Silence followed.

  Then a new sound, much closer, caught her attention. She heard the slight click of locks and the steady hum of the security system, on then off, as a door opened somewhere below.

  They had entered level three. They were already coming up the stairs that led to her office and rooms in the tower. Someone had betrayed her; someone had stolen precious moments that she needed.

  She looked out the window once more, staring out to the night then toward the eastern mountains. Then down at the rusting ladder. The ground stretched out before her, hard, relentlessly hard, and endlessly gray.

  She could do it. It was her only chance, but dear Lord she didn't want to. It was so far away and if she were to fall...

  A shadow fell across the earth directly below her then vanished. She looked above to the very top of the tower--nothing. She was imagining things. She couldn't move, paralyzed with an irrational fear she couldn't explain. Sheridan's men came closer with each passing second and she couldn't will herself to climb out the window. It had always been such an easy thing to do. How many times had she done this very thing with Nessa, laughing and teasing? It had been her sister who was afraid, not her.

  She looked back to the top of the tower. From above a figure was descending-- one of Morray's men, no doubt.

  She stared at him, still unable to move, focusing on the figure as if she could will him away.

  The Phantom

  He caught the fear in her eyes and the near paralysis of her limbs. It never occurred to him that she thought he was one of Morray's men. His energy and thoughts were all pointed in her direction.

  This was all for a man he'd called friend, a man who had supported him when he was younger and helped guide his life.

  He'd had little difficulty ascending to a point above the window ledge adjoining her room. Once he had been able to hide his land glider in the woods, there was nothing to stop him. Morray and Sheridan were busy inside and had not expected a confrontation from the outside.

  He was breathing hard. This type of work would have been easier in his youth, but even now, it posed few problems, the most difficult yet to come--how to get Tori down the steep ladder all in one piece. Perhaps, he mused, curling his lips, he could render her unconscious.

  Had she been as most City women, well behaved and placid, DeMontville might not have added that codicil to his will. If the codicil had not been added, he wouldn't be here, crawling around amidst spiders and cobwebs trying to think of a way to get the lady in question from her tower perch. Or would he? There had always been something about her that caught his attention. No, he could handle this challenge. How could he resist a request that had been worded so nicely? And the lady would add so much to his own research--that is, if he could get her to talk to him after wrenching her from the tower.

  Tori DeMontville, hellion, reckless wildcat, left to wreak havoc in her little corner of the world by her rebellious nature. But Jonathan had told him she was trying to curb her tongue and even her impulsive actions. Well, he'd believe that when he saw it. She came with no recommendations as a wife. She came with no guarantees or guidelines.

  Especially not when he thought of all the mischief she could so easily make without even thinking. When rebellion was her middle name and defiance was entrenched in her soul, with the tendency to disobey, with a whim to steal into the night, with a stubbornness to try the most patient man, oh yes, he would have to take great care.

  He was not known for his patience, yet he was sent to deal with a woman who could send him to
an early grave. The research center was his reward as well as the woman.

  This laboratory was just about to come under the influence of Sheridan. It was his laboratory. Not if Morray and Tori were wed.

  Yet even as he lingered in the darkness above her room, waiting, his heart took a mysterious turn. By the soft moon glow, he could see her when she leaned out, searching for the source of the shadow on the lawn below.

  He readjusted the mask then pushed back the black hood that darkened his features. As he moved, she suddenly whirled away from the light and his view.

  Quickly, he lowered himself from the top of the tower, closer to the window aviary that would give him entrance to her rooms. Second thoughts assailed him, third and forth, too, to be sure, but he had given his word. He would not back down now.

  Yes, she was rebellious. High-strung, annoying, obstinate--the list was endless.

  But beautiful, too. Intriguingly so. As he reached the ledge and looked in, her beauty could be clearly seen, breasts small but firm. Her body tapered to a slender waist then a slight flare to her hips and long, long legs that looked to go on forever. In the moonlit night, she was radiant. Her features were very fine and delicate, yet the most fascinating part of her face were her eyes. When he looked at her, they simmered, alive with stubborn determination turning suddenly to a cold iron gray.

  Looking into them he was suddenly paralyzed a moment by the frozen resistance he saw there. Or was it perhaps--fear? Something was changing within him. He wondered at the startling heat that was filling him, a heat so strong it might possibly melt the ice encompassing her. Desire lived within him, a desire so strong he struggled to overcome the overpowering need that inexplicably rushed through him.

  Her courage touched his heart.

  She was to become his wife.

  Not if he didn't do something soon, he chastised himself, wrenching his mind from his brooding and back to the persistent danger, but that was not an easy task. As he moved, a deep fear pulsed through him.

  Still, his mind wandered backwards in time. He was in the mountains, bonfires burning around him, the revelry resounding into the night. Aisling's words suddenly appeared in his mind.

  She will betray you.

  Aisling predicted everything before Drake had even spoken to him. And he knew the old lady's words would come to pass. Victoria DeMontville would betray him.

  Forewarned, he would prevent that from happening. His fists gripped the iron rung fiercely then turned his attention to the business at hand.

  Victoria

  Tori could not forget the shadowy figure she thought she'd seen, but it was the least of her concerns.

  Her mind focused on the most pressing issue.

  If she could find a way out of this situation all in one piece, she'd see that Sheridan and Morray paid. If her father had lived, they would not have dared this injustice. Morray was a fool. Did he think for even one moment that if he kidnapped her she would feel more tolerant toward him?

  Perhaps he'd thought she would still be asleep. Merciful heavens, they were making enough noise now to wake the dead. Granted, they had been careful at first but now that they'd breached most of the security, they didn't care what kind of racket they made.

  A moment's doubt transcended to tear at her heart. Nothing could help her position, no matter the barricades she put at the door. Despite the resounding "no" she would say when Janellen tried to marry her to Morray, her fate was cast in stone if she didn't get out of the room.

  Her lips thinned, her chin tilted determinedly, and she swore at the men responsible. The gun her father had left for her still lay in the drawer next to her bed. She wondered at the time if she would ever have need of the gun. He must have known. In only a second's time, Tori had the weapon in hand then slipped it into her pocket.

  Her hand trembled, but she was determined even more so that she'd fight them with all her strength. She thought once again of the iron rungs that could lead her to safety; they were so high and Morray's men could follow her, but would they dare?

  Only minutes separated her from the men. They were at the top of level four now in the hallway leading to her office. She could hear the laughing of the men outside the door. Once more, she stared at the window, starting toward it then backing away. She felt nausea enfold her and dizziness sway her steps. Closing her eyes, she looked heavenward as if her father and mother would guide her footsteps, but she heard nothing. She certainly couldn't stand here waiting any longer.

  She rushed to the window and was instantly alarmed to hear the outer doors to her office boldly thrust open. As if suddenly empowered with new courage, she threw one leg over the window ledge, scrambling outside. Don't look down, she reminded herself, but almost did when the locks turned on her door and a siren pierced the night.

  Hanging on the ledge, both feet searching for the first rung, Tori watched one of Sheridan's men rush into the room. She didn't want to use the gun against him, but she had to make them realize that she could not be intimidated.

  And that they could not take her as easily as they thought.

  "No choice," she muttered. At least not one she'd wanted to make.

  She lifted the gun and shot it expertly, just hitting the man's shoulder. He screamed out in pain then stared at her, and she could feel the fury and rage as it surged through him. She had not checked, had no idea how the gun was set, but now she knew. This gun was set to kill. Her father had somehow known this might happen, had known she might have to protect herself.

  "Bitch!" he cried, and lunged forward, hurling himself at her as if he meant throttle her.

  "No!" she screamed then quickly scrambled downward, her feet finding a solid place on the rungs, all her fear instantly vanishing. The man, unable to stop his rapid flight, and with nothing in front of him but the cold night air, flew unimpeded through the open window.

  Tori cowered as the man fell to his death, his scream filling the night. She hid her head, trembling against the stone tower, wishing for anything but what just happened.

  Yet even as the minutes passed, she knew she had to descend. She heard a gun go off directly above her, heard another cry of pain. The surge of feet stopped, but the yells and swearing increased two-fold.

  Her fingers gripping the rungs and the gun tightly, she stared in horror and disbelief as a cloaked black shadow moved down the ladder almost on top of her now. Dimly she realized he had been above her watching the scene enfold. How he arrived there didn't matter. That he had come to this spot at this time when she thought she'd succeeded did make a difference.

  The shadow she'd seen from her window had not been her imagination. Yet, even though this man was cloaked and heavily masked, she was somehow sure this man was not Quentin Morray.

  "Darlin'," came a husky voice.

  She had started downward, hoping to escape him, but then at the sound of his voice, she stopped to confront the man.

  "No." Freeing one hand from the ladder, she pointed her own gun at the dark shadow. "Stay where you are."

  "Hell!" he swore, and kicked out at her hand, the force not hard enough to dislodge the gun. Yet it was so very hard her hand slammed against the tower. "Son of a bitch, drop it," he ordered again. She could not--would not. She tried to move down the ladder. He followed her, a deadly figure in the night.

  She thought she recognized that voice. Somewhere, sometime long ago she was sure she'd heard this man. The husky timber was so familiar. But she could not think of it, did not know.

  "If you come any closer, I'll shoot!" Tori cried out. "Leave me alone."

  "Holster your gun. Now, Victoria DeMontville. Now. Before I lose what little patience I have. I am here to save you."

  She ignored his plea and his declaration, shooting one more time. He fell back, the force of the gunshot partially dislodging him from the airy perch. For a moment the shadowy figure, cape billowing, hung precariously by one hand. Even though she knew it had been a direct hit, the man did not even look stunned by the
horrible force of the bullet.

  "Don't come near me," she said, the night swallowing her words. She could hear the men inside. Any minute now, Sheridan's men would join this man outside. She would not surrender to Morray or one of his men.

  "Darlin', you don't know how much I want to do just that," he told her flatly. And in a second, he was eye level with her, his hand gripping the wrist that held the gun. Pain seared through her arm, fingers swiftly growing numb, and the gun plunged to the ground.

  Tenaciously he reached out, pulling her against his body, a body that was hard and tight and very well muscled.

  And as hot as the infernos of hell.

  Terror-struck, she tried to scream, but couldn't. He pulled her even closer, so close that his lips, his leather mask, whispered against her cheeks, his hold upon her, firm yet gentle. "Be still and stop fighting me. I'm not your enemy," he rasped out as if he was trying to convince a frightened child. "Go now. I'll follow and don't run from me when you reach the bottom. If you are to get away from Morray, we have to work together."