by Tarah Scott
“And?” Julian prodded when the silence became prolonged.
Dolfin’s stooped shoulders sagged even more. “’Tis death to hear it Julian, but you have the right to know.” He paused and swallowed several times. “The Dominus Granditer, the Grand Master of the Vindictam, is near death and has finally chosen his heir from amongst his sons. He has made his choice of who will rule one of the most powerful families of Europe. And he has chosen the youngest over the two elder sons, a choice that does not sit well with them, but it is the youngest who is the Electus.”
“Electus,” Julian repeated softly. It wasn’t a question.
As he spoke, Dolfin picked up a stick and bent over to scratch the ground, murmuring, “I have seen his ring, his mark, the mark of the Electus.”
“Then the Vindictam seek to silence ye afore the Saluzzi can wrest his identity from your lips. And somehow, the Saluzzi have discovered our relationship and seek to use me as bait to loosen your tongue,” Julian concluded. “Then they care nothing for their truce. The Saluzzi seek to slay the Electus.”
“Perhaps,” Dolfin said in a thoughtful tone as he continued to scratch in the ground. “There is unrest in the Saluzzi ranks. Perhaps not all would betray this treaty. This could be the work of few men, but even those few can ignite a bloody war. And if they succeed in slaying the Electus, the very ocean will turn red with blood.”
And then dusting his hands, he rose shakily to his feet, and Julian glanced down at the symbol etched in the dirt.
His brows arched in shock.
He’d seen the mark before—a bold ‘V’ entwined with a crown and a sword. He could scarce believe it.
Liselle’s cousin, Pascal, was the Electus? The arrogant, dark-haired youth who had threatened him in Fotheringhay.
“Soon, a new man will control the destiny of the Vindictam,” Dolfin was saying. “And it is vital that his identity remains unknown in order to protect him. The Vindictam has many enemies. They will never stop searching for me, caro vecio. Both the Vindictam and the Saluzzi will see me dead.” And then nodding at the belt, he added, “And mayhap you as well, though why the Vindictam would have saved you … I cannot understand.”
Julian made up his mind at once. Tugging a ring from his finger, he pressed it into Dolfin’s hands. “Then I’ll hinder your journey no longer. But do not tarry in Edinburgh. Get ye gone to Cambuskenneth Abbey straightway and find Father Ulric. Show him this and tell him that I request he provide safe passage for you to Dunvegan Castle in Skye, to a man I know there by the name of Ruan MacLeod. You will be safe there, at least, for a little while.”
Dolfin took the ring, but his face suffused with concern. “But what of you, Julian?”
With a grin, Julian leaned forward and chuckled. “Your Vindictam and Saluzzi dinna know that I am Le Marin, Istruttore! Ye’ve taught me well. I’ll not come to harm by them.”
The old man winced a little, and his nod was an uncertain one. “But this is like nothing you have ever faced, caro vecio.” He paused, and then added in a puzzled tone as if he had just thought of it, “Though why the Vindictam saved your life is a mystery. Something is amiss. Strangely amiss …” he repeated the words several times, still shaking his head.
Julian frowned. Aye, something indeed was amiss. Was the old man becoming forgetful? The sooner he had Dolfin safe in Skye, the better!
“Mayhap ‘tis best that I travel with ye, at least as far as the abbey,” he said, looping his arm around Dolfin’s shoulders. “The lads should have found my horse by now. And if they havena, I’ll get another—”
“Nay! I am not yet useless!” Dolfin interrupted, his eyes turning sharp once again. “Have I taught you nothing over the years?”
“Aye, but—” Julian protested.
“I will go my own way. It is safer for us both,” his mentor insisted, and his voice suddenly sounded strong, more like his Istruttore of old.
Wincing, Julian nodded. “Aye then, go, though ‘tis against my better judgment.”
“Then allow me to say my farewells here.” Dolfin smiled, clasping Julian’s shoulders in a warm embrace. “I will see you in Skye, have no doubt.”
“Aye,” Julian agreed. But he could not hide the uncertainty in his voice.
Dolfin gave a soft laugh. “Do not worry for me, caro vecio. It is you who walks the dangerous path. Be wary!”
They said little after that and returned to the stables. And leading the black gelding out of the stall, the old man mounted, and with a wave of his hand, trotted after a group of carts rolling down the King’s Road towards the highlands
Following him a few paces down the path, Julian folded his arms and shook his head. Sweet Mary, but his mentor had grown frail! And his bouts of forgetfulness were disheartening. Dolfin had always been a man of sharp wit and keen eye.
Still shaking his head, Julian was of half a mind to buy the nearest nag and trot after him anyway, when he noticed the flutter of a black cloak near the edge of the inn.
Whirling, he caught a fleeting glimpse of a short dark form as it disappeared behind the building.
His eyes widened. There could be little doubt.
The Saluzzi had arrived in Channelkirk. Or mayhap it was the Vindictam.
Julian set off after him at once, but upon reaching the back of the inn, he saw no sign of the assassin.
“By the Virgin!” Julian swore under his breath.
Had the man simply vanished? Returning to peer down the King’s Road, he took consolation in the fact that he could still see Dolfin in the distance, trailing after the carts headed for the hills. There were no signs of a dark figure racing madly after him.
Either the assassin was more interested in Julian, or he hadn’t arrived in time to see the old man leave. In either case, Julian quickly decided that the best course of action would be to keep the murderer occupied whilst Dolfin made his escape.
“The lads are yet searching for yer horse, my lord!” the innkeeper greeted Julian as he stepped inside the common room. “They’ll find her and the lout who dared take her, never fear!”
Julian grimaced. He wasn’t so sure. If they hadn’t found her by now, they likely never would. Still, the longer he kept the assassin in Channelkirk, the safer Dolfin would be. “Then I’ll need a room this night, good man,” he announced to the innkeeper and tossed a few coins onto the table.
Suddenly, the old woman sprang up from her stool with a spry eagerness that belied her age, and snagging his coins, bit them with her remaining teeth. Grinning, she tucked them away. “Aye, ‘tis nae black money!”
The innkeeper clucked and sent his mother an exasperated scowl before nodding at Julian. “Pay my auld mother nae mind, my lord. Choose any room ye like, save the one in the attic. The foreign merchant paid good coin for a room of his own.”
“Aye, then,” Julian grunted in reply as a sudden draft of cool air filtered through the muggy, peat-scented room. He arched a brow. Had the assassin entered through the back door?
Heading up the creaking stairs, he peered down through the cracks in the steps and was rewarded with another brief glimpse of dark cloak.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Julian dashed in hot pursuit of the assassin yet again. But once more, he could find no sign of the scoundrel.
Aye, ‘twas aggravating; it was as if the man were a ghost.
Julian shook his head and with a quick step, made his way to Dolfin’s attic room.
The lodging was a simple one, consisting only of a bed, which nearly took up the entire room, and a single shuttered window that faced the cobblestoned road in front of the inn. Crossing the floor, he opened the window’s shutters, but it provided little relief to the stifling air.
There was not much there that he could use to ensnare the stalker. Most of his belongings were presumably still in his saddlebags, which were most likely still on his horse. And that fine mare was probably trotting friskily towards the highlands at that very moment.
The heat was almost unb
earable, and sweat beaded Julian’s forehead.
Unfastening several buttons of his shirt, he fished about in his sporran until he found the small leather pouch he sought. Contained within it was a secret mixture of blue woad and other dyes that Dolfin had given to Le Marin as a gift several years before. By sprinkling the powder on the door latches and shutters, he could stain any unwary intruder’s fingers blue long enough to aid in identifying the culprit later on, should he fail to trap them first.
It didn’t take long, and surveying his handiwork with a grin, he tucked the pouch away.
Most likely, the assassin would wait for darkness before making his move. A bit of rope would prove useful to fashion a snare.
Not caring to turn his own fingers blue, Julian unlatched the door with the blade of his dirk and slipped down the stairs in search of rope.
He found it easily enough, a small coil resting on a wheelbarrow near the stables. And picking it up, he headed back to his room to fashion a snare.
Cautiously, he pushed open his door, but when the room proved empty, he quickly stepped inside. He’d just kicked the door shut when he heard the soft rasp of a blade leaving its sheath, and at almost the same moment, that blade was pressed against his throat.
He barely registered surprise before his knee was kicked sharply from behind, and as he half fell to the floor, a foot struck him on the side of the head, hard enough to knock him flat to the floor.
Cursing, Julian rolled sideways and leapt to his feet only to see the small, cloaked figure diving out of the window.
But by the time he reached it himself, he caught only a glimpse of the fluttering cloak as it disappeared over the edge of the thatched roof.
Julian didn’t hesitate.
Squeezing through the window, he quickly slid down the thatching, and dropping to the cobblestoned street below, landed lightly on his feet.
But his assailant had already disappeared; nothing moved in the sweltering afternoon sun.
“Sweet Mary!” Julian swore. By the Saints, but the little man was quick on his feet!
And then a loud crack from behind shattered his thoughts.
He whirled to see a horse bursting from the inn’s stables, bearing down upon him. And diving from its path, he rolled in the grass as it thundered past him with the slight, dark-cloaked form clinging tightly to its neck.
And then Julian let out a hearty laugh and leapt to his feet, recognizing his own favored gray mare in an instant.
Raising his fingers to his lips, he let out a shrill whistle.
The horse responded at once and nearly reared as she came to a halt. And then tossing her head, she swerved to gallop back to him.
The cloaked rider then pulled hard on the reins, and the mare’s ears flattened in confusion.
Julian let loose another whistle.
This time, the rider vaulted out of the saddle and fled down the road towards a dense cluster of buildings.
Julian didn’t hesitate to give chase, but he was surprised at the ease with which he closed the distance between himself and his quarry. For all of his quickness, the assassin was no match for Julian’s speed.
Catching the man’s shoulders from behind, Julian wrenched him back to fall hard upon him, pinning him to the ground.
And then Julian’s mind went blank.
Dimly, he noted the narrow hips and the delicate waist. And the hands pushing back at him were elegant despite the slender fingertips stained blue. And were those breasts pressed against his chest?
Astonished, he pulled back and tore the dark cloak away from the assailant’s face.
A river of honey-colored tresses fell from the hood, and Julian found himself staring into the depths of a familiar pair of stunning, hazel eyes.
“Liselle!” he gasped.
10
“do ye have some kind of sack? I dinna trust her!”
Liselle hit the ground hard as Julian’s unexpected weight knocked the air from her lungs, and it took several long moments before she succeeded in dragging a quavering breath.
He was stunned, his gray eyes wide with shock.
Neither moved.
And then his expression shifted, and all at once she was aware of the warmth of his skin, the hardness of his muscled chest, and the heat of his breath against the nape of her neck.
“Ach, but ye have a talent for mischief, Lady Gray!” he murmured.
She shivered at the sound of his smooth Scottish burr. Why did his voice affect her so?
He hadn’t moved. He was still lying on top of her, every muscular inch of him. Strangely flustered, she dropped her eyes only to notice that his shirt was open, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his bare chest.
Liselle bit her tongue. Hard. And suddenly, she was scarcely able to breathe again.
Santo Ciélo! The man was seduction itself!
Struggling to collect her wits, she turned her head away lest he somehow read her thoughts, but he caught her chin between his fingers and tilted her face back towards his.
“Just who are ye, ye wee devil?” he asked, shifting his weight to prop himself up on an elbow.
Her eyes flashed. Cà de dìa, but his new position was worse than the one before! Now she could feel his strong thighs pinning her down. How did he expect her to think when every sensual inch of him was pressed against her?
“Ach, and ye canna just be a simple lady of the court, can ye, ye wee devil?” he was asking with a wondrous shake of his handsome head.
And then Liselle found her voice at last. Placing her hands on his chest, she pushed him hard, and as he rolled away, she accused in turn, “And you are no mere drunken fool, Lord Gray!”
She managed to scramble to her knees before he grasped her wrist and pulled her down forcefully against him. Startled, she met his gaze and then caught her breath, unprepared for the smoldering heat in his expression.
And then all at once, she could only think of his devastating kiss, a kiss that had been impossible to forget. She had relived it again and again, more than she would admit. And now, pressed close against him, she wanted nothing more than to experience his lips again while running her fingers through his hair and over his sinewy chest.
Suddenly, a look of alarm crossed his face, and with a firm, yet gentle touch, he pushed her aside and rose to his feet with a fluid grace. His keen eyes inspected her from head to toe, missing nothing.
“And what manner of dress is this?” he asked, nodding at her dark tunic and leggings, clothes the Vindictam had fashioned for stealth.
Without waiting for an answer, he reached down and yanked her unceremoniously to her feet.
But he had misjudged his strength.
Unable to stop herself from propelling forward, she again collided against his chest. Cà de dìa, but his chest was captivating! Another button had become unfastened and she was suddenly filled with the temptation to rip the entire thing away.
But this thought was met by Nicoletta’s disapproving face flitting across her mind.
Feeling all at once guilty, Liselle took a quick step back and masked her discomfort by wiping the dirt from the knees of her leggings.
Òsti, but her family would be disappointed in her! Nicoletta would be furious, but how could her sister truly expect her to resist him?
And Orazio! He would be shocked to discover that she had been caught. And by Lord Julian Gray, no less.
She didn’t even want to think of Pascal’s reaction.
“Sò falimènta!” she whispered under her breath. She was a failure of the highest order! And for all of her exceptional skills, she was proving to be a dreadful assassin.
She’d found Dolfin but had only followed the old man with the hope that he’d disappear again. Hopefully, for good this time, so she wouldn’t have to kill him.
“And where have your thoughts flown?” Julian’s voice pierced her mind.
Startled, Liselle glanced up at him. How had she become so distracted?
And how had she made such
a mess of things?
Falling back on her training, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath as her brother’s calming voice floated through her mind. When your path is unsure, cara sorèlina, focus only on the next step before you and nothing else.
Yes. She had only to think of the present.
Julian had asked her something. Searching her mind, she recalled his question and her lashes flew open. He had asked her what manner of dress she wore.
Summoning a sweet smile, she patted her leggings and slim tunic. “Venetian riding clothes, my lord,” she answered, finally regaining control. “I wear the Venetian riding dress.”
He lifted a suspicious brow at her delayed response, but murmured, “And ‘tis deliciously revealing as well.”
A thrill of delight leapt through her. “Delicious?” she repeated, pretending not to know the word.
But she didn’t fool him. She could see it by the way his gaze dropped to linger on her curves. And then his eyes took on a challenging glint of humor.
“And what cause have ye to steal horses and leap from windows, Lady Gray?” he asked.
“Windows?” she replied, assuming a mask of mild surprise. “Surely, you’re mistaken—”
Grabbing her wrist, he twisted her hand back to wag her fingers in front of her face.
“Blue,” was all he said.
Liselle squinted at her blue-stained fingers and her eyes widened in alarm. “What is this? The plague? Esumì—”
“Nothing harmful, ye wee beastie!” he interrupted with a laugh but then grew serious all at once. “I know right well who ye are. Aye, and ye can deliver a message to your cousin, Pascal, that I desire to speak with him right quickly. Ye can tell him that the Vindictam will never find Dolfin.”
Liselle gasped in shock. “How do you know of the Vindictam?”
The words shot from her lips. She couldn’t have stopped them.
Julian’s lips pressed into a tight line of disapproval. “And can ye be one of them? A lass?” His eyes raked her once again. “Are ye an assassin as well?”
Assassin.
He made the word sound so repulsive. How could he? It had been something she had spent her entire life to achieve!
