by Tarah Scott
Arms of steel banded about Liselle’s waist, pulling her back to safety, but not entirely quick enough. The blade grazed the side of her neck, leaving a wide scratch, but she scarcely felt the pain.
She sheathed her stiletto. The man was already out of range, and within seconds, out of sight.
“Diàmbarne!” Liselle cursed under her breath, shaken.
And then, she turned upon her rescuer, and her lips parted in surprise.
It was Julian.
He was looking at the scratch upon her neck, and his brows furrowed as he wiped the blood away with his thumb.
“I dinna care for the sight of your blood, lass,” he murmured.
But she scarcely heard his words. Her mind raced over what the Saluzzo had said. Antonio Saluzzo was even now discussing retribution? Was the man here in Edinburgh?
“What cause did he have to attack ye?” Julian asked, his brows knitting with worry. “Is this about Dolfin?”
Pain lanced through her heart upon hearing Dolfin’s name on his lips yet again. She could hear the disapproval in his voice. Would he even believe her that she had planned to seek him out in order to aid the old man?
“Dolfin—” she began, but then a party of Yorkist horsemen clattered through the streets towards them, led by the Earl of Angus, the Red Douglas.
And as the man hailed Julian, Liselle slipped from his grasp.
She did not have the time to listen to the red-haired blustering earl, nor could she afford to be overheard by anyone discussing Dolfin. Such things had a way of finding the ears of the Vindictam.
The old man was safely hidden at the butcher’s house for the moment. And with the Vindictam and the Saluzzi discussing retribution, the old salt spy was most likely far from their minds. She had to find Pascal, and she had to find him quickly. Mayhap he would know the truth of the matter.
Hurrying back to the castle, she looked everywhere for her cousin, but he was nowhere to be found.
Finally, she left a message upon his desk, and wiping the sweat from her brow, exited his chamber and tiptoed through the passageways of Edinburgh Castle as silent as a wraith. Òsti, but she found the situation almost unbearable, nothing like she had imagined it would be when she’d dreamt of receiving the tongue on her viper tattoo. Becoming an assassin had all seemed so dazzling then. She sorely needed to calm herself. Mayhap she would ask the maids to draw a lavender bath.
But first, she must leave word for Julian, for Le Marin, concerning Dolfin’s location.
It didn’t take long to find Julian’s chamber, but the door was locked. Slipping a long hairpin from her netted hair, she used it to pick the lock of his door and quickly slipped inside.
The room was empty.
A ripple of disappointment coursed through her, a ripple that was met by a chagrined twist of her lip. What had she secretly expected? That the man would be waiting to sweep her into his arms and claim her lips with a passionate and unending kiss?
Putting her hand to her chest, she rolled her eyes at her thoughts.
How could she think of such things with such weighty matters to deal with? Blowing a strand of hair away from her cheek, she eyed his desk.
She’d leave him a message and then she’d have her lavender bath. Moving to his desk, she rifled through a stack of books, searching for parchment and a quill, but her search proved fruitless.
With a sigh, she prepared to quit the place when her gaze fell upon the canopied bed, a massive creation with crimson-velvet curtains and a matching counterpane that all at once summoned her memories of Sarlat and their first meeting.
He was a handsome man. The way his cheek creased when he grinned, and the fiercely honed muscles of his chest made her pulse quicken. Santo Ciélo, the man was seduction itself!
As if in a dream, she moved to his bed and absently traced a finger down the length of his bedcover. Mayhap she should return later, when he would be lying in it. She shivered at the thought.
It was then that she felt a blade against her throat.
She froze, startled that she hadn’t heard a thing.
And then Julian’s silken burr whispered into her ear, “And have ye come to slit my throat whilst I sleep? Ye should have waited until dark, ye wee devil.”
As the heat of his breath traveled down her neck, Liselle jerked uncontrollably.
The movement caused the tip of his blade to almost prick her flesh.
“Sweet Mary!” he swore, withdrawing the weapon at once.
But she scarcely heard him as his words finally registered. Have ye come to slit my throat? A pang of despair stabbed her heart, and for the first time, she saw her family as a curse. Julian would never trust her.
She moved as if to step away, but he caught her about the waist and pulled her close against his chest.
Disheartened, she said, “I merely came to give you tidings!”
“Aye?” his voice sounded coarse.
“Dolfin is ill and in danger,” she replied, heartsick. “If you truly care for the man, move him to safety—”
And then, his scorching lips grazed the back of her neck, gently kissing her neck wound, and she fell abruptly silent, stunned.
He stood closely behind her. She could feel every inch of him.
“Lady Gray,” he groaned, softly nuzzling the back of her ear.
A thread of fire raced down Liselle’s spine.
And then he moved back, drawing her with him. “Yon bed is too tempting a thing in your presence, ye wee minx,” he said as he twirled her in his arms. Leaning close, his cheek creased in a smile as he added, “Though we are wed, aye?”
Liselle swallowed, speechless. His lips were close, too close. And his lashes were exceptionally long and dark. Her finger twitched with the temptation of touching them.
They stood there, breathing hard.
And then he crushed her to his chest and buried his face in her hair. Inhaling deeply, he tilted her head back and proceeded to kiss his way down the side of her neck and along her collarbone, leaving a trail of burning skin.
A soft moan escaped her lips.
His chest rumbled, and catching her earlobe in his teeth, he sucked the tip. And as he licked the sensitive skin of her neck, the fires of passion burst between them.
Desperately, her lips sought his, and he obliged her at once. And as his tongue plundered her mouth, she was held captive in breathless wonder in a kiss as raw and powerful as the man himself.
With her shaking knees threatening to give way, she dug her fingers into his arms to steady herself. Locking an arm about her waist, his other hand dropped to caress the swell of her hips.
She had no idea how long she stood there, lost in the torment of his kiss, before he abruptly tore away, breathing fast and ragged.
Entwining her hair around his finger, the corner of his mouth lifted in a sensual smile. “I dinna know where ‘tis we’re headed with this, lass,” he murmured, trailing his thumb down her jawline and slowly over her bottom lip.
She looked up at him, a little dazed.
He seemed quite dazed himself, and he swallowed several times before he stepped back and said gruffly, “Ach, ye’d best leave afore I’m tempted to claim more than those sweet lips.”
Liselle’s breath caught in her throat as an expression crossed his face, an expression of unbridled lust that she knew matched her own.
But then he spoke again. “Ye’ve no cause to concern yourself over Dolfin. I’ve already seen him safe.”
Dolfin.
The man’s name shattered the mood as the weight of her situation came crashing down upon her all at once. Suddenly, she wanted to be gone, and gathering her skirts, she pushed past him, and without a backward glance ran out of the chamber.
15
the tatoo
Seeking to cool his heated blood, Julian stepped out into the frigid evening air. Storm clouds continued to gather overhead, threatening rain. Taking to the castle walls, he let his thoughts wander over Liselle, over her puzzl
ing actions and what role she might be playing in the Vindictam’s plots. But most of all, he thought about her sensuous kisses.
Time passed.
It began to drizzle, but the rain would not last long. Already, he could see the break in the clouds illuminated by the light of the moon.
After a time, he found himself staring up at the window of Liselle’s chamber. Her shutters were open, and she was pacing back and forth, clearly upset.
He frowned, wondering at the cause of her agitation, and then knowing it really wasn’t a good excuse—but seizing it anyway—he entered the stone building. And taking the steps two at a time, he arrived at her door.
It was locked.
He’d just decided to turn away when he heard the approach of a grumbling woman.
“Find peace, aye?” the woman was muttering under her breath. “What daft fool could find peace from sitting in a tub of water, aye? Foreigners! I swear, these foreigners and their foreign ways will make my bones auld afore their time!”
Slopping two buckets of hot water down before Liselle’s door, the woman gave it a vicious knock. But as the door opened, her cantankerous scowl switched at once into a meek smile.
“Yer water, my lady,” she said, bobbing a cheerful curtsey. “And if it please ye, the laddies are bringing ye more as we speak.”
Raising his brow, Julian peered from the shadows as the woman pushed her way into the chamber, swinging the door wide open.
Liselle stood nearby, a frown creasing her brow and with her hands tightly clenched. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to reach out and to fold her into a comforting embrace–to whisper into her hair that he’d handle whatever it was that caused her to fret.
And then several lads appeared, lugging more buckets, and after quite a few mumblings and more than one complaint, they filled the tub before the maid shepherded the lot out of the chamber and back down the stairs.
The door clicked shut, and silence reigned once more.
Hesitantly, Julian laid his hand on the latch again.
This time, it was unlocked.
He hesitated. As Le Marin, he would scarcely barge into a lady’s chamber under such circumstances. But with Liselle, much had passed between them. Mayhap it was time she knew that she could trust him to aid her.
With a strong desire to protect her washing over him, he silently lifted the latch and peered inside.
The chamber was dark, illuminated only by the dull orange glow of the fire. The fragrant scent of lavender filled the air.
Liselle stood before the wooden tub, and for a brief moment, he caught the sensuous curve of her hip in the dim light as she sank into the steam rising invitingly from the water.
Grimly, he took a deep breath and prepared to shut the door. Aye, he’d wait until she was done. Her honey-colored tresses gleaming in the firelight made his pulse leap a bit too wildly.
And then there was a splash, and she lifted her leg out of the water, and rubbing a dark spot upon her ankle, she gasped in a strangled whisper, “Forever branded! Forever marked! Eternità!”
It was the desperation in her tone that propelled him forward. It was enough to make a man’s heart break. And enough to dispel any lustful thought he might have had. Concerned only with her welfare, he entered the chamber, and shutting the door behind him, crossed the room in three long strides.
He heard Liselle’s horrified gasp, and from the corner of his eye, he saw her jerk her foot back into the water and sink down into the tub so only her eyes peered over the edge.
But he strode first to the fire and only when he’d kicked it back into life with his booted foot did he turn to catch Liselle’s eye. Never breaking her gaze, he advanced to kneel on one knee beside the tub.
Ignoring the sounds of her protests bubbling from under the water, he plunged his hand into the tub, and firmly grasping her submerged foot, pulled it out.
In the bright firelight, he could see a black tattoo of a viper gracing her slender ankle.
She twisted her foot but to no avail. His grip was strong.
The mark was a finely wrought one. He could see the fine scales of the snake and its venomous tongue curving around her flesh.
And then Liselle rose up enough out of the water to say, “Leave! At once! Pascal would strike you dead without question if he saw you now!”
But he paid little heed to her warning.
Curious, he rose to sit on the edge of the tub, and gripping her ankle even tighter, he drew it across his knee and rubbed his thumb along her skin.
“This mark. What is it?” he asked in a soft rumble.
For a moment, he didn’t think she would answer, but then her alto voice replied, “Something that is death for you to see.”
His quizzical gray eyes met hers.
Jerking her foot free, she immersed it quickly. “I am not free, as you are,” she said bitterly. I am forever cursed, marked as an assassin.”
Sorrow washed over him. Then it was true. The lass truly was an assassin.
And then she turned her head away to plead again, “Please, leave.”
“Nay, I’ll not go,” Julian swore with deep intent. Nay, he’d not let this lass be used in games of power. She was more than a tool for the Vindictam. “Tell me how ye might be freed from this curse, lass. ‘Tis clear that it is your wish, aye?”
Her hazel eyes dilated, and for a moment, he thought he saw the glitter of tears in them, but when she spoke, her voice was strong and harsh. “I cannot leave, Lord Gray.”
“And why canna ye leave, lass?” he asked tenderly, his voice sounding thick to his own ears.
She drew her brows into a line and remained silent.
He couldn’t fault the lass for her loyalty. Aye, he respected it. But, mayhap if she understood that he already knew some of her secrets, she might reveal more. “Tell me more of the Vindictam and the Electus, lass,” he said.
“Those are words that you may not know!” she gasped, horrified.
“Yet, I know them,” he said gently.
Her face was suffused with fear and dismay. “These are unspeakable secrets, secrets that I cannot betray! Already, I have revealed far too much,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “Already, you know too much. They will not allow you to live.”
Sliding his hand along the rim of the tub, he chuckled and replied lightly, “Then what’s the harm of knowing more if I’m a dead man even now?”
“I do not jest, Lord Gray,” she replied with a firm scowl. “And if you are gentleman, you would leave me to my privacy at once!”
Her eyes were large in the dim light, and then with a bitter twist of her lip, she said, “I would that I had never left La Serenìsima. Life was simple then, living for the promise of the future. Had I known then …” Her voice trailed away. And then she turned on him suddenly and said, “Leave. You shouldn’t be here.”
“I’ll not be leaving, lass,” he said, rising to his feet and walking to the window. He opened the shutters a crack. The clouds had fled to reveal the face of the moon, lighting up the castle grounds. “I’ll fix my eyes upon the moon long enough for ye to make yourself decent, Lady Gray.”
She didn’t hesitate.
He could hear the soft lap of water as she exited the tub, and then the rustle of clothing. ‘Twas strange. He would have thought such a circumstance would have filled him with lusty thoughts, but instead, he was only consumed with worry over Liselle’s safety. He didn’t stop to think exactly what that might mean.
“You should fear Pascal,” her voice filtered through the darkened chamber.
Turning, he spied her standing in the shaft of moonlight falling from the window. She looked magnificent in a simple blue gown with sleeves that swept almost to her knees, her long hair twisting down her back in shimmering waves of silk.
“I’ve never once run from the face of fear, lass,” he assured, his cheek creasing into a wry grin. “Come with me.” He held out his hand.
“It is not so simple, Lord Gray.”
Her laugh was bitter. “For the women of the Vindictam, there is no way out. One of us tried to leave once. Pippa.”
“Pippa?” he repeated the name curiously.
Her eyes took on a distant look. Floating to his side, her voice dropped into a low storyteller’s whisper. “Pippa was an assassin of the Vindictam, Lord Gray. Her knowledge of herbs was exceeded by no one. She was unmatched in both beauty and the art of poison. And she was greatly revered and respected by all, but even she had to pay the ultimate price when she fell in love with the man she had sworn to slay.” Her eyes took on a distant look.
“And?” Julian prompted when she did not continue.
She shook her head a little, as if shaking herself awake, and then she turned her face up towards the moon and closed her long lashes. “A nobleman. A Scottish nobleman was to die by her hand, but she refused. A trap was laid for her. Her lover was betrayed and imprisoned. She rescued him and lost her life for it, but not before she’d enacted vengeance. Painting poison upon her lips, she kissed each corrupt lord and won her lover’s freedom, leaving a legendary trail of bodies along the way.”
“If her lips were as beckoning as ye claim, then ‘twas not a bad way to die,” Julian inserted lightly as she lapsed into silence once again.
Liselle frowned. “In the Vindictam, the women are the assassins, Lord Gray. We are raised from birth to kill, and once we have the tongue ...” She paused a moment, and then lifting the hem of her skirt, pointed to her ankle. “Once we have the tongue upon our mark, there is no room for failure, my lord. If we fail, we become the hunted. Hunted by our very own brothers, if need be.”
A cold chill washed over Julian. Could it be true? The women of the Vindictam? At once, an image of Nicoletta fled across his mind. The Scottish Court had harbored an assassin for many years.
“An unusually cruel fate, Lady Gray,” was all he could think to say.
She turned to him then and grasped his shoulder earnestly. “Should they discover you know this, they will hunt you down. You must leave. Leave at once! Go very far away from here!”
Her eyes held an unmistakable plea, stunning eyes that seemed to devour him. He saw many things there. Fear. Desire. Despair.
