by Tarah Scott
Gently, he closed his hand over hers. “Then come with me, lass,” he said, surprising himself with the genuineness of his request. Aye, he could think of nothing he wanted more than to have her at his side throughout the years.
“I … may not,” she said with a hiss of indrawn breath.
“May not, or will not?” Julian questioned, searching her face. “What aren’t ye telling me, lass?”
“I may not choose …” she began, but then grimaced and said instead, “What does it matter? You are now a dead man. You know too much, Lord Gray.”
“So ye insist upon telling me, lass,” he replied with a shrug. Catching her by the wrist, he pulled her close and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “Come with me. I’ll see that ye willna be harmed.”
With a snort, she placed her hands upon his chest and pushed him away. “Even Le Marin is no match for the Vindictam. Go before you are found here.”
“And your tongue?” he asked, indicating her ankle. “If ye fail in assassinating Dolfin, what then?”
She glanced at him sharply, and her eyes widened in surprise for a moment, but then she replied, “I have not been chartered to kill him, my lord—”
There was a knock on the door.
Jerking back in alarm, Liselle gasped. “You must go! It must be Pascal!”
He was loath to leave her presence, there was still so much to say.
“Liselle?” Pascal’s distinctive tone filtered through the wooden door.
Planting a soft kiss on the back of her hand, Julian briefly folded Liselle in his arms, and then throwing the shutters open wide, he promised, “I will return. This isna’ over, lass. Not at all.”
And then without waiting for a reply, he swung his booted feet over the window ledge, and finding a purchase for his toes, climbed down far enough to drop safely onto the ground below.
Over his head, he could hear her speaking with Pascal for only a moment before the door slammed shut.
With a muffled oath, he sprinted for cover, heading for the chapel. Aye, he’d follow the lad. As Electus, Pascal was a key to be used.
And as he waited, bits and pieces of Liselle’s conversation played through his mind.
The lass was trapped. Nay, she was enslaved. A victim. A victim who could be forced to kill his mentor, Dolfin. And if she failed to escape her charter … he refused to finish the thought. He had to find a way to save them both.
He waited for a time, but Pascal did not appear.
And when he finally went in search of him, he found no sign of the lad. It was as if he’d never been there at all.
Disconcerted, Julian returned to the chapel and positioned himself near the window with a good view of Liselle’s chamber. Propping his booted feet on the back of a chair, he settled in for a long night.
Dawn arrived, and with it came the English army.
As Gloucester’s men covered the heath outside of Edinburgh, any support that Albany had gained evaporated in an instant. He was left with no choice but to reconcile and concede the throne to James with a public declaration of brotherly love and kindness.
But Julian wasn’t interested in royal politics.
He sought Liselle. He had to find a way to aid the lass.
He found her in the company of Kate and her ladies as they sat in the morning sun, taking up their needles to embroider upon bits of silk. And for a time, he watched her from under his brows.
How could he truly set her free? And if he were to set her free, what then?
Different possibilities whirled through his mind, most of them centered upon whisking her away to Castle Huntly, to be held safely in his arms. But then Cameron’s deep voice shattered his concentration.
“Albany’s not entirely daft,” the earl observed as his lips crooked into a smile. “Now he sees that his plans for the throne have unraveled.”
“Then he’s switched sides?” Julian asked, clearing his mind of Liselle—at least for the moment. “And Gloucester?”
“We’ll surrender Castle Berwick to the English,” Cameron replied, the slight twist of his lip revealing his annoyance. “And forfeit Princess Cecily’s betrothal. We’ll repay what coin we’ve received for her dowry to Edward, and then ‘twill be the end of this mad affair.”
“Albany won't stop.” Julian arched a brow riddled with disdain. “He'll only have enough when his mouth is filled with earth from his own grave. The man doesna know the meaning of loyalty. I’m sure this is no more than a mere pause between acts in a play, a play that will soon see him trying to seize the throne again.”
“Mayhap,” Cameron agreed readily enough, but then his voice adopted a humorous tone. “But at the moment, lad, I’m far more curious over another matter.”
“Aye?” Julian grunted.
Cameron’s dark eyes sparkled with amusement. “Why do I find ye spying on your wee wife?”
Julian drew back sharply.
And then Cameron reached over to clap him on the shoulder and laugh. “Aye then, I’ve a truce to finish, lad. But we’ll speak soon. There’s a tale here that I must know.” And then with a cordial nod, he excused himself.
Drawing his brows into a line, Julian turned back to Liselle.
But she was gone.
* * *
Begging a headache as an excuse, Liselle left the company of the countess and returned to her chamber. She was scarce in the frame of mind to push a needle through cloth.
The evening before, she had told Pascal of the Saluzzo’s venomous words.
Her cousin had responded with a blasé shrug and the comment that if the man started a war, then he would rejoice. Frankly, he had seemed disappointed that only a few of the Saluzzi were obsessed with breaking the truce.
But then, what had she expected from Pascal?
And after making her swear, once again, not to mention the matter to Orazio, he had slipped away into the darkness.
Liselle scowled.
If only Orazio were here, he would know what needed to be done.
Frustrated, she struck her palm against the stones. And then falling back upon years of habit, she channeled her frustration into action. Slipping her bone-handled stiletto from her sleeve, she took aim. The stiletto flew through the air, hitting the chamber door, dead center.
Marching across the room, she yanked the slim weapon free and targeted the beam above the window.
Again, her aim was true. And again. And again. But each time she heard the thud of the blade striking home, her frustration only grew.
Lord Gray was dangerous to her peace of mind! Come with me! How dare he say that to her. She could never do so. The Vindictam would never allow it. She had behaved so foolishly of late, spending far too much time dreaming of his kisses and the touch of his skin on hers.
And Orazio! How could he expect her to kill an old man? The thought was abhorrent. She had to find some way of keeping Dolfin out of harm’s reach for good, before Orazio appeared again to give her the final order.
Santo Ciélo! Why couldn’t her brother simply let the old man be? He would die a natural death soon enough.
She could only hope that her next target would be someone clearly evil, a far more palatable proposition.
And then a sudden knock on the heavy wooden door shattered her thoughts. Sliding her stiletto into its hidden sheath, she opened the door and gasped.
It was Orazio.
Flinging her arms around her laughing brother’s neck, Liselle cried out in a mixture of relief and delight.
“Let me see you, cara mia!” Orazio finally ordered, stepping back to hold her at arm’s length as his noble face took on a stern look. Peering down at her along his angular nose, he asked, “Are you well? Where is your color? Have you been ill?”
His lip twisted, and she could tell he wasn’t pleased with her appearance, but she was so thrilled to see him that she brushed his concern aside and instead asked for news of Nicoletta and the rest of the family.
For a time, Orazio humore
d her requests as he folded his ebony-hooded cloak and brushed the lint off of his black-velvet doublet. And then seating himself in a chair, he stretched out his fine leather boots and let out a whistle.
Liselle blinked in surprise as the door opened once again to reveal Pascal upon the threshold.
Clad in a white, long-sleeved muslin shirt with black hose and a wide leather belt, her angelic cousin stared down at her through half-closed lids. “Good day, bábia.”
“Bábio.” Liselle frowned in response.
Gracefully propping the door open with his foot, he leaned back into the hall and reappeared with a covered cage.
Liselle’s heart stood still.
Pigeons.
“Your time has come, bábia,” Pascal muttered in overt disapproval as he pushed past her to set the cage upon the writing desk.
Liselle held her breath. Her time to kill had come at last. But strangely, she felt only apprehension and despair. There was none of the eager enthusiasm that she had long dreamt would accompany the moment.
Woodenly, she turned to face Orazio.
Her brother watched her closely as he drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. His eyes, always so warm and welcoming, were now cold and hard as he said, “You know that you cannot fail.”
Liselle’s mouth went dry, but she managed to nod all the same.
Could she kill an old man? She had spent her whole life preparing for it. She stared into her brother’s eyes. She had always wanted his approval and acknowledgment of her skills.
There was truly no choice for her in this. She would have to kill Dolfin.
Orazio straightened his black doublet with calm authority and began, “A di Franco does not shy away from duty. You will not fail. I have faith in you.”
“Pah!” Pascal inserted darkly. “She is not a killer. How many times must I tell you not to do this? She does not have the heart to truly be one of us.”
Orazio’s eyes merely flicked at him before falling back expectantly upon Liselle. “Then are you ready to receive your orders, sorèlina?” he asked.
What could she do? Numbly, she unsheathed her stiletto and nicked the tip of her finger. And as a single drop fell from it, she whispered the expected vow: “My life is yours to command. I am Vindictam. I am revenge.”
Suddenly, Orazio caught her chin and held it still to search her face. “I fear for you, but I have no choice, cara sorèlina,” he said in an almost desperate tone. “I have been told that you spilled Saluzzi blood on behalf of Lord Julian Gray.”
Liselle grimaced.
So the Saluzzo had been speaking the truth.
“The Saluzzi yet again,” Pascal interrupted with a dangerous smile. “Are we their puppets?”
Orazio raised a mild brow his direction. “This matter is none of your concern, Pascal.”
Thankful for the distraction, Liselle reminded herself that she was well-practiced in the art of deception. Òsti! This was a most trying test! Taking a deep breath, she was ready when Orazio turned upon her once again.
“I do not know what you speak of—” she began.
But Orazio cut her off brusquely. “Antonio Saluzzo himself informed me that Lord Gray carries the stiletto that saved him close to his heart.”
Liselle’s lips parted, strangely thrilled at the thought of her stiletto in Julian’s keeping.
“And Antonio demands retribution, a heavy price that you alone will pay,” her brother continued harshly. “To keep our fragile peace, I have agreed to his demands, even to that of hosting the Saluzzi at my lodgings until the matter’s been settled. They will ensure that the retribution has been paid by no one other than you, cara sorèlina.”
“Are we to answer to the Saluzzi?” Pascal asked in a deadly tone.
Orazio turned upon his cousin. “Basta! If this is all an error then let me see the proof.” And turning to Liselle, he commanded in a voice that brooked no argument, “Show me both of your stilettos, Liselle. At once.”
But Pascal stepped forward before she could respond. “This is a Saluzzi trap, Orazio, can’t you see that? They merely found out that I took one of her stilettos to be repaired. The pommel had cracked,” the youth lied boldly. And with a contemptuous tilt of his chin, he added, “But I find it strange that you trust the words of a Saluzzo so readily! Has the Vindictam become their plaything to toss about at will?”
Orazio sent him a sharp glance. “For the last time, Pascal, this is not your concern. Be quiet, and if you do not heed my words, I will order you to leave this chamber.”
Pascal’s eyes narrowed. For a moment, it appeared that he would object, but then he moved to gracefully slouch against the wall and idly inspect his fingers. But there was anger in his dark eyes.
“I will do anything to see the Vindictam uphold the peace with the Saluzzi, as Antonio will do for his part,” Orazio said, adopting a somber tone. “He could renew the war over this, but he has refrained.”
Pascal snorted.
Ignoring him, Orazio moved to lay a heavy hand upon Liselle’s shoulder and demanded, “You must not become enamored with Lord Julian Gray, cara sorèlina.”
“I will not, I swear it!” Liselle replied, desperately summoning her training once again. Gexondìo! But he was now going to give her the order to kill Dolfin. Could she truly do it?
“Do you not remember the tale of Pippa?” Orazio asked softly.
Ignoring her rioting emotions, Liselle forced her voice to remain strong and calm. “I am not Pippa, Orazio!” How many times had she said those words?
But Orazio continued, as if he hadn’t heard her. “Pippa fell in love with the man she was to slay and lost her life for it!”
“I am not in love!” Liselle protested, but the words sounded weak even to her own ears.
“Diàmbarne! What secret do these Scottish men hold that breaks the bonds of blood?” Orazio asked almost to himself. His face was pale.
Liselle pressed her lips firmly together. Orazio clearly feared that she would fail, but she could not let his apprehension consume her. Forcing her lips into a smile, she insisted once again, “But I am not Pippa, Orazio!”
The nostrils of his angular nose flared, and his fingers gripped her shoulders even harder. “You cannot fail me, Liselle! You must accomplish this mission!”
“I will, Orazio,” she vowed, still smiling even as her soul cried out in anguish for the old salt spy.
“Then hear your orders,” Orazio intoned.
Nothing could have prepared Liselle for her brother’s next words.
“You must kill Lord Julian Gray.”
16
the cage of pigeons
Masking her turbulent emotions behind cool eyes, Liselle faced her brother, but before she could speak a word, Pascal interrupted.
“Why Lord Gray? The man is just a drunkard. Why do we care of the fate of such men?” His voice was calm and courteous. Strangely so. “This is not the way of the Vindictam.”
“Though I owe you no explanation, I shall answer,” Orazio replied, sending Pascal a curious yet annoyed look. “Antonio desires to test Liselle’s loyalty to us all.”
“Then Antonio is our puppet master,” Pascal observed, his lips curling into a slight sneer.
Liselle swallowed. The words of the thick-browed Saluzzo made sense now. She bowed her head. He had wanted her blood, but had settled for her heart.
Orazio’s voice took on an aristocratic tone. “I see no fault in his demand. Liselle has spilled Saluzzi blood and thus must prove her loyalty to the truce by taking Lord Gray’s life.”
At that, Pascal’s tranquility fled. His dark eyes flared with passion as he practically spat, “Why do we care a fig for what the falling house of the Saluzzi desires? Even a suckling babe can see the Saluzzi for the treacherous fools that they are! This truce was an error that will soon be remedied!”
“Do you hope for war, Pascal?” Orazio asked harshly as his face hardened. “Know that I will not allow it! And neither will Antonio!
If either of us sees treachery even amongst our own brothers, we will root it out for the greater good of all!”
“It does not matter how you sweeten things. The Saluzzi are nothing more than vultures feeding from rotten carcasses!” Pascal’s tone was cold and deadly. “They are undeserving of peace. Their hearts are black and their deeds foul, and not one is worthy of walking the face of this earth.”
At that, Orazio made a chopping motion with his hand and ordered, “Cestìl! Enough of your hatred. Do not force me to cause you harm, but such words are traitorous now!”
Their gazes locked.
And then Orazio sighed, and glancing away, said in a softer voice, “When I was younger, I would have said such words myself, but now I see that it’s time to end such wanton bloodshed. And if the blood of a drunken fool such as Lord Gray can preserve this peace, then it will be done!”
“Òstrega!” Pascal swore, and then lifting his lip in dark amusement, he continued, “The latest tidings from Venice have all but proven the Saluzzi have broken this farce of a truce already. Liselle should be applauded, nay, greatly rewarded for drawing the blood of traitors!”
Liselle stared at her cousin in astonishment. Never had she seen Pascal speak with such vehemence.
Even Orazio was surprised, but for quite a different reason. “And what tidings from Venice are these?” he asked stiffly. “I have received none. If there was such proof, indeed, I would know of it before you.”
Pascal didn’t even blink. With a haughty tilt of his chin, he brushed Orazio’s question aside as if it were of little consequence.
But their gazes locked again, and for an even longer time they glared at one another in awkward silence.
And then Orazio’s shrewd eyes fell upon Liselle once more, and he ordered brutally, “Lord Gray dies before the sun sets, Liselle. This very evening.”
It was all Liselle could do not to shrink back from his penetrating stare. Gripping the edge of the desk to steady herself, she forced her voice to reply evenly, “As you wish, Orazio.”
Pointing to the pigeons, he said, “I will be staying with the Venetian salt merchants in town, and the Saluzzo will be my … guest. The bird that you send when the deed is done will find us there.”
