Adrian

by Heather Grothaus

  “Very good.” Reid bowed. “This way, Man.”

  “There’s no need to call me Man,” Adrian said crossly at the giant’s wide back as he followed him from the chamber. “You may address me as Adrian.”

  Reid ducked through the doorway and into the corridor. “It would be highly improper for me to address a Man guest by his given name,” Reid advised. He strode down the passage ahead of Adrian, causing the floorboards to undulate so that Adrian was forced to lift his feet with each step. “But it is completely forbidden for me to do so with a piece blood.”

  Adrian sighed and shook his head. “I’m not a piece blood, whatever that is.”

  “I would not readily admit to it either,” Reid confided.

  Adrian determined that drawing the obviously unstable Reid into conversation had been a mistake. For a brief moment in his chamber he had almost considered that the huge man had been part of a race of gigantic creatures. Pretty manners could cover much insanity, he reasoned to himself as he followed the servant through a senseless maze. Up stairs, down sloping corridors—Adrian was fairly certain they journeyed underground at one point—until they finally emerged into a long narrow hall.

  Unlike the manor homes he was familiar with in England, Wyldonna’s hall boasted no elevated dais with a lord’s table. Instead, a longer trestle sat directly on the floor parallel to the chamber’s side walls and was flanked perpendicularly to either side by shorter tables. Fantastic tapestries and plaid cloths in patterns and colors Adrian had never seen combined were hung from the high ceiling like banners—at least fifty of them, by Adrian’s quick guess. There were no rushes on the floor; the stones gleamed as if they had been polished and were set so carefully and finely together that they gave the illusion of being one massive slab of smooth rock.

  Two circular pits in the floor at either end of the long room were home to tall open fires that warmed the space and added to the glow of the candles set along the center of the trestle table. Queen Maighread sat in a plain chair in the center of one side of the table, her back to him, but Adrian could see that her manner of dress and appointment was vastly different than that of the woman with whom he’d traveled to Wyldonna. Gone was the simple gown and tumbling curls, replaced with a deep red velvet and hair twisted atop her head beneath a thin crown of hammered silver. When she turned her head at the sound of their entrance, Adrian nearly faltered in his step at her regal bearing.

  This was the woman he’d likened to a laundress.

  Across from Maighread—to Adrian’s surprise—sat her brother, the recently deposed Malcolm. He did not appear pleased to be in the hall with his sister, and Adrian noted that his entrance had seemed to interrupt a rather heated conversation between the siblings.

  Adrian stopped several feet from the table and gave a bow. “Queen Maighread.” He rose and nodded to the woman’s brother. “Lindsey. Good day.”

  “Hailsworth.” Malcolm’s eye flicked over Adrian’s person, perhaps resentful, perhaps only just a remainder of the argument Adrian had interrupted.

  “Good day, Lord Hailsworth,” Maighread said. “I hope your accommodations were adequate. I fear the servants were nae aware we would be hosting a guest at the castle.”

  Lord Hailsworth now, was he?

  Malcolm snorted. “Maisie doesna feel it necessary to inform anyone of anything, ’twould seem. You’ve likely begun to notice a pattern.”

  Her head whipped around to regard her brother. “It is a foolish waste of time to inform those who willna listen.”

  “You called for me,” Adrian interrupted, not caring at all to become an observer of their row.

  “Yes,” Maisie said, once more facing Adrian, and he saw the effort it took her to compose herself. “I thought you should hear what transpired at Glayer Felsteppe’s arrival at Wyldonna, because your presence here has a personal aim as well as a philanthropic one.” She gestured toward a chair at her side with one slender, pale hand. “Please join us.”

  “I assure you my motives are not philanthropic in the least,” Adrian countered, ignoring the place she had indicated and instead dragging the chair closest to him to sit at the end of the trestle, where he could observe both Maisie and Malcolm simultaneously. Although her presence seemed to affect him more deeply each time they were together, he did not want to give the woman the impression that he could be so easily ordered about, nor would he join Wyldonna’s erstwhile king.

  He was no one’s lackey, and he would make that clear.

  “The reason I agreed to come here—the only reason—is that your troubles are connected to a man who is the greatest enemy of myself and my friends.” Adrian looked at the siblings in turn. “If any can help you, I am confident it is I, but my priority remains ensuring Glayer Felsteppe is held accountable for his actions.”

  “I admire that,” Malcolm said gruffly and then glanced at his sister. “He doesna hide his motivations behind a guise of helping others.” It was a blatant dig, although Adrian did not understand entirely the implication.

  Maisie ignored Malcolm. “Fair enough. Shall we begin, or do you have any pressing questions that you would like answered first?”

  Windows.

  Sirens.

  Did you, too, dream of me last night?

  Adrian shifted in his chair. “Let us begin.”

  Maisie turned to Malcolm. “Well? Yours was the first encounter with him that day.”

  The bearded man placed his elbows on the trestle and folded his hands together. “I didna know he and his men were ashore until late in the day. There are always so many strangers about, so many petitions to be answered, no one paid him any heed. Likely he knew that would be the circumstance, and he used it to his advantage.”

  “What circumstance?” Adrian asked. “As I understood it, Wyldonna is impossible to find and even more difficult to land.”

  “It was Yule,” Maisie explained. “There are only four times of the year that Wyldonna can be deliberately located—either at the solstices or the equinoxes: Ostara, Midsummer, Autumn, and Yule. That is how, over the centuries, the stories and legends of our land were spread.”

  Malcolm nodded agreement, and Adrian was relieved that he would not have to contend with the brother and sister pecking at each other the entirety of the meeting. “It’s when those who wish to do so may leave Wyldonna and those who have already left—voluntarily or otherwise—can return to visit their families and petition for return. Most are turned away, either because of the seriousness of their law-breaking or because they return with wives or husbands and children. Piece bloods canna survive here.”

  At this, Adrian’s interest was piqued, and so he interrupted. “Piece bloods?”

  Maisie’s fine brow furrowed. “Many Wyldonians marry out of their tribe once away from the island. They soon find that life away from Wyldonna is difficult and foreign and they wish to return to the safety of their home. But once they have intermarried with man—” she paused—“or . . . others, and borne children, they canna return.”

  Adrian returned her frown. “Are you so enamored with yourselves that you cannot abide outsiders in your realm?”

  “It isna that at all, lad,” Malcolm said earnestly, and Adrian found it amusing that the king referred to him as a lad when Adrian guessed himself at least five years the man’s senior. “It’s for their own good.”

  “Piece blood means their blood isna whole,” Maisie went on. “They might have man’s blood with a piece of Wyldonna, or Wyldonian blood containing a piece of man’s.”

  Adrian’s eyebrows rose. “So?”

  “So,” Malcolm drawled, “they doona have enough magic to defend themselves. It’s worse with the ones who are mostly Wyldonian—the piece of man rises up in the worst ways.”

  “Magic,” Adrian repeated flatly.

  “Men are ambitious, power hungry,” Malcom said, ignoring Adrian’s skepticism. “They are never satisfied with their station. On the few occasions when piece bloods have been allowed to remain
and were fortunate enough to nae cross ways with the woodland folk, they have been unable to resist the temptation of seizing Wyldonna’s power and wealth for their own purposes.”

  “As Glayer Felsteppe wishes to do,” Maisie pointed out.

  Adrian shook his head. “Glayer Felsteppe is not of this place. He’s the youngest son of an impoverished family from the south of England. How do you explain his discovery of your proclaimed magical island? And why wasn’t he devoured soon after stepping foot ashore?”

  Malcolm leaned back in his chair and boldly watched his sister, as if highly interested in her answer.

  Maisie’s eyes shifted to Malcolm only for an instant before coming back to Adrian. “We believe he was led here by one of our own, who had left Wyldonna at Midsummer. Likely he was offered a great sum to do so.”

  “That doesn’t at all explain how Felsteppe learned of Wyldonna,” Adrian retorted, refusing to budge. Something weighty hung in the air between Maisie and her brother, and Adrian wished to know what it was.

  But to his surprise, Malcolm rescued the woman. “He is a man who has surrounded himself with desperate men. Has he nae been to war in the East? In your holy Jerusalem?”

  “He was there, yes,” Adrian conceded, “although he managed to escape the worst of the fighting through lie and illusion, and by ingratiating himself to the Christian king there. A warrior he is not.”

  Malcolm nodded. “The armies, though; they are well-known for utilizing mercenaries.”

  Adrian conceded the point with his own nod.

  Maisie then picked up the conversation. “Many piece bloods and exiles who are turned away from Wyldonna find securing livelihoods difficult. Because of their unique . . . gifts, a large majority of the males become paid soldiers. Some become criminals. And they are quite successful.”

  Malcolm leaned forward again. “We can be certain Felsteppe came across one of these exiles. After learning about Wyldonna, he concocted his scheme to gain the fortune for his own use.”

  “He needs the treasure,” Maisie emphasized. “To find you and your friends.”

  Adrian was still. “You know he is searching for me.”

  Maisie nodded hesitantly.

  “You knew it when you came to the abbey.”

  “I didna know who exactly I would find there,” Maisie hedged. “But I knew Melk would give the assistance I sought.”

  Constantine would not be happy with this turn of events. Adrian gave himself a moment to compose himself before continuing.

  “What I don’t understand,” he began slowly, “is why Felsteppe would demand the fortune and then leave? Why not take over Wyldonna in the moment Malcolm refused him rather than threaten you with his return?”

  “Two reasons,” Malcolm supplied, the fire returning to his green eyes. “First, he came to the island with only a handful of men—nae enough to properly challenge us. Perhaps he was nae completely convinced that Wyldonna truly existed. And second . . . well . . .” He looked to Maisie.

  She would not meet Adrian’s eyes. “I promised Felsteppe the reward my brother denied him in exchange for leaving Wyldonna and its people in peace. He only needed to give me the time to secure it.”

  “She took my throne, said the vows, and made a deal with a devil,” Malcolm clarified.

  Maisie slapped her hand on the table and turned to face her brother. “Your bloody pride would have brought war to Wyldonna and destroyed us all! If Wyldonna is nae more, it would be disastrous to the whole world, Malcolm!”

  Malcolm rose from his chair and thundered, “Doona dare speak to me of what is best for this island, lass! I was king! I decide what is best for Wyldonna! The trouble is nae with my pride but that you have naught of the stuff. Your only thought now is to save your own arse, Maighread Lindsey, but I’ll nae be intimidated by some Englishman.”

  “You promised him Wyldonna’s treasure,” Adrian prompted Maisie, trying not to be offended.

  “Aye,” Malcolm instead sneered the answer and turned toward Adrian. “And if it canna be found, she’s promised to deliver to him the only other thing he desires more than riches.” Malcolm leaned forward and pointed a finger at Adrian’s chest.

  “You.”

  Chapter 11

  The silence of the hall fell around the trestle table as Malcolm’s stomping footfalls receded from the chamber. After a moment, the echoing slam of a door seemed to shake the dust from the tapestries before allowing the quiet to creep around Maisie again. It was just as well that her brother left her here with Adrian; his part of the tale was told, and there could be no benefit to anyone should he have stayed. They likely would have ended up at each other’s throats again.

  Maisie kept her eyes on her folded hands atop the trestle, but she could feel the weight of Adrian’s gaze on her as surely as if it were a tangible, hot thing, pressing against the side of her face. Her ear began to tingle. And yet she waited.

  “What did Malcolm mean exactly, Maighread?” Adrian asked at last, his voice pensive, curious. Her heart skipped when he addressed her by her given name. “That you promised Felsteppe someone capable of aiding him in his search for the men he was looking for, much as I am aiding you?”

  She shook her head and then drew a deep, silent breath, keeping her eyes on her tightly folded hands. She noticed her nail beds had turned white. “I told him that I would help him. If he would leave Wyldonna in peace and not return to the island with the army he threatened, I would either find the men he sought or provide him with the means to do so himself, by way of Wyldonna’s fortune.”

  “But,” Adrian began, “how did you know where to—?”

  “I didna,” she said tightly. “After Felsteppe left Wyldonna, I sought Malcolm to tell him that I thought I had bought us some time against war. I needed his help. His advice.” She huffed a laugh. “But seizing the throne is nae a friendly action, and he took it as a gesture of betrayal. Rightly so, I suppose, although I’d hoped to explain myself. But Malcolm has a . . . talent for disappearing. And the folk most loyal to him did their best to foil my efforts to find him. When they began attacking me personally, I knew I was nae longer safe here.”

  She looked up. “I left Wyldonna on the crawler for the mainland. For Scotland. I had nae idea where I was going, but I trusted that it was the right place. I landed on the shores of a monastery and begged shelter. The abbot there saw my distress, and when he offered me counsel, I told him that Glayer Felsteppe had threatened my family. I didna know what else to do.” Adrian was looking at her so intensely, she had to swallow before she continued. “Almost as soon as I spoke his name, the abbot gave me the coin and directed me to Victor, and to Melk. I could feel as soon as I met Victor that he was hiding the four of you.” She shrugged.

  “And I only confirmed it for you while we were on the crawler,” Adrian said bitterly. “You wouldn’t have known I was one of the men Felsteppe was seeking otherwise.”

  “Aye, I would have,” Maisie whispered. She brought her eyes back to her hands. “There was nae need for you to confirm anything once I had seen your nightmare.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “The prison. Your . . . injuries.” She looked up at him again and felt tears coming into her eyes. “I saw everything through your eyes. The Spaniard—Valentine. Constantine.”

  Adrian’s eyes went hard. “That’s impossible,” he said. “If you were so certain I was one of the four Felsteppe sought, why then would you stop the crawler—offer to return me back Melk? Did you experience a sudden attack of conscience?”

  “I suppose,” she said quietly. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

  “You’re not sorry,” he said. “It was your intention all along to offer me up as a sacrifice to Glayer Felsteppe.”

  “That’s true,” she conceded. “I had convinced myself that the life of one man was a small price to pay in order to save my people. But I didna know . . . I didna know then what he’d done, Adrian. What
had happened to you.”

  “You don’t now know what happened to me, and I don’t want your pity.”

  “It’s nae pity,” she said, shaking her head. “I only wish Victor had chosen one of the others. Perhaps then . . .”

  “Perhaps then you could have killed the man who is to soon become a father instead? Or the man who has lost his wife and son at Felsteppe’s very hands? What about the man who rescued the three of us from torture and death that was only hours away?” Adrian stood from his chair. “Victor didn’t choose me to come here. It was my choice.”

  “Was it, though?” She looked at him, and for a moment she wondered what kind of magic he possessed that he wasn’t even aware of. Maisie could feel the force of him from half the length of the trestle. “The way I see it, you were the only one who could have come. You were meant for this time from the moment you were born.”

  “Because I’m the Painted Man?” he said with a breath of mirthless laughter. “I assure you the markings I bear are far too recent to have anything to do with this wretched place and its troubles.”

  “Perhaps. But you are the Painted Man,” she said and nearly choked on the words. “And you are here now. You will save Wyldonna, through one means or another. I believe that.”

  “By either finding the treasure or surrendering to Glayer Felsteppe?”

  “Surrender was nae part of the bargain,” she offered with a slight smile. It was enough to disarm him the tiniest bit, and so she took the opportunity to make peace. “I’ve already done what I promised—I’ve brought you to Wyldonna. What Felsteppe can or canna do with you will be his trouble.”

  “Oh, he will have trouble,” Adrian said. “And now I see no reason to carry on with the search. Once Felsteppe arrives, I will deal with him.”

  “You against him and the army he brings?” Maisie queried. “Nay. Would that I give him the fortune he craves and send him on his way with you in secret pursuit rather than force his hand against either of us. It’s the least I can do—payment, if you will—for misleading you so.”

  Adrian grasped the back of the chair and leaned against it, considering the stones for several moments. Then he nodded curtly and met her eyes once again. “Then there is nothing for it but that I find the treasure.”