Читать книгу Bound - Jen Colly - Страница 8

Galbraith

He’d studied her, knew her habits. Out of the public eye and away from a herd of councilmen, the captain was her only companion. Lingering near the far wall in Spirit, Keir watched the doorknob turn. He had been right. She’d come home. Captain Wolfe Rye held open the door and stared down at Lady Arianne from his impressive height as she breezed into her home.

Sliding the lock into place, the captain turned to her, scowling. “You better know what the hell you’re doing.”

“You want to play the father figure? Fine.” She spun around and glared at him, her perfect pearl earrings swinging under the quick change in momentum. “Oh, wise one, what should I have done differently?”

Wolfe retreated to the blush pink settee, sank down into the cushions. Eyes squeezed shut, the captain let his head fall back. “That’s not what I’m trying to do.”

“Oh, yes you are.” Arianne tipped her chin up. “You have that I know best tone.”

The captain gave his thick, short beard a choppy scratch. “Listen, I’m not saying you did anything wrong, but you’ve got to stop and think before you make these kind of changes.”

Keir had heard enough. If they planned on bickering all night, he might as well show himself. Releasing his Spirit, he appeared in the lady’s flowered pastel chair, comfortably reclined and not a dozen feet from her.

“Leaping before you look again, Lady?”

Arianne squeaked and jumped back. Captain Rye reached for his gun. Recognition lit the captain’s eyes, and instead of his sidearm, he grabbed a pink pillow and whipped it at him.

“Keir!” the captain bellowed. “You’re an ass, you know that?”

“I’m only keeping you on your toes.” He scooped up the pillow and tossed it back to the settee.

“I hate your surprises.” The lady pressed her hand to her stomach. Then, as if she’d just seen him for the first time, lifted an eyebrow and inspected him from head to toe. “You look rather lowbrow.”

“Not a fan?” He combed his fingers through his wild and wavy hair to regain some order. “It’s not like we’ll be seen together.”

“I suppose not,” she relented.

He shrugged. “Seemed appropriate for a prison visit.”

Her eyes flashed wide. “Wolfe told me that the assassin died in prison, but… It was you?”

“You didn’t tell her?” he asked Wolfe.

“No. We’ve been busy. The how of his death was just a detail at the time.”

No reason to deny the facts. “Yeah. My hand, my knife.”

Her head tipped and she glared at him. She was mad. “Was it necessary to slit the throat of my prisoner?”

Keir stilled. He’d been prepared for this fight, and was not about to back down to the indomitable lady of Galbraith. “The man tried to kill you, Lady. He deserved far worse than what I had time for.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“He knew me. If I’d stuck a dagger in him and walked away, he might have had a chance to talk to your Guardians, and if he told them I still lived, your Guardians would hunt me down. I’d be executed, and you’d be dead in less than a week without me around to save your hide.” A smile twitched at the corner of his lips. He’d left her no room to argue about his methods. He was right, and they both knew it. “But enough about me. How was your meeting?”

“Eventful,” Wolfe supplied, but backed off when the lady’s icy gaze landed on him.

“Demons may roam Paris. One demon entered Balinese and attacked the man who trains their Guardians. Then it was brought to our attention that the man who had Spirited into my home and attempted to assassinate me had been killed, his throat slit in a locked and guarded cell. Three impossible events. The council should have been utter chaos, arguing over how best to protect our own city from the demons outside, or from the assassins Spiriting about. Not one of them acknowledged the danger. They listened to the representative from Balinese, nodded their heads, and quickly moved on to their own personal agendas. Skeffington flat out asked our guest if he would be interested in marrying me to create a bond between Galbraith and Balinese.” She took a long, deep breath, a quirk that seemed to calm her nerves and end her runaway speeches. “I dissolved the council.”

“Interesting.” Keir crossed his arms over his chest and sank further into the chair. “Was there a plan behind your decision to fire your advisers and smite tradition? Or were you just pissy today?”

She met him head on. “I refuse to be lectured any longer by men who care nothing for this city or the people who live here.”

He smiled, broad and shameless. “Pissy it is.”

“Keir, leave it,” Wolfe cautioned. “Maybe ending the council can help us find our mysterious them.”

“If being in the midst of those rats for every ridiculous meeting didn’t produce a suspect, then being out of their chauvinist circle couldn’t possibly help.” Arianne rubbed her temples, the stress of the night no doubt gathering into another one of her headaches. This wasn’t the worst situation they’d been in, but certainly not the best.

“Wolfe’s right. Someone wanted you dead before, but without the buffer of the council, you’re in complete control. This is exactly what they don’t want.” He leaned forward. “I’m willing to bet they’ll be furious when they find out what you’ve done, if they don’t already know. They’ll act fast and get sloppy.”

“You hope,” the captain said.

“I’m counting on it,” Keir said with a sharp nod. “And Lady, I’m sleeping on the couch in your room.”

“Actually.” She straightened her shoulders. “You’re going to Balinese as my emissary.”

Keir bolted to his feet, anger in each heavy step that brought him face to face with his lady. “Less than twenty minutes ago you dismissed your council. For that act alone, someone will want your head. I’m not leaving.”

“I need you to do this for me,” she said evenly.

His jaw locked so tight his words slipped through his teeth. “Not leaving.”

Arianne didn’t back down. “I trust only you and Wolfe. As my captain, Wolfe cannot be gone for several days. It would raise suspicion, and I need him by my side. You must go.”

“Send a Guardian,” Keir demanded.

“Exactly which one of that easily persuaded herd should I trust to speak in my name without starting a war?” She glanced at Wolfe. “No offense, Captain.”

“I don’t trust them,” he admitted.

They had a point. He’d grown up slipping money to Guardians to look the other way while his father committed one illegal offense or another. “Have this man from Balinese take your message back with him.”

She shook her head. “Why would an official from Balinese make such a dangerous journey through Paris and a possible demon infestation, after such a long silence between our cities, and not bother to obtain proper documentation from his lord? I have no letter from Lord Navarre, no seal of Balinese, nothing but this man’s word that what he says is true. I don’t know him, and I won’t trust him.”

She had no intention of changing her mind. Looked like he was going on a trip. “What do you need me to do?”

“Convey my concern for the reappearance of demons, and for the safety of Balinese. Offer our aid, if needed.” Lady Arianne moved swiftly to her writing desk, produced a piece of paper, filled his name in the blank, then signed the bottom. Two quick folds, and then she stamped the rose stamp of Galbraith into the red wax, the excess oozing from the edges. She handed the paper over to him. “Your identification papers. Balinese will not know of your past crimes, not that it would matter. As my emissary, they cannot touch you. Leave tonight. The sooner you go, the sooner you’ll be back.”

Keir nodded, still processing the swift change of plans. He would do anything for her, but leaving her life in jeopardy was not going to happen. “So Wolfe’s sleeping on your couch. Right?”

“Wolfe.” She turned to her captain. “Don’t you dare give them the pleasure of assassinating me.”

A slow, genuine smile spread across Wolfe’s face. “Can’t wait for them to try.”

“Captain,” she said sharply, and Wolfe snapped to attention. “Since you’re staying, kindly remove your shoes. I don’t want to hear you plodding around my home.”

Arianne left them and closed the double doors of her bedroom behind her while Wolfe obediently kicked off his shoes.

Keir could only imagine how difficult it was for a woman like her to live in a world of men. As far as he was concerned, she was entitled to her headaches and brooding thoughts, her biting words and coveted time alone.

“How far apart have the attacks been? Monthly?” Wolfe pulled the tie from his long hair, combed his fingers through it, then secured the tie back in place. “Damn it, after what she just did, it’ll be every day.”

“She knows.”

Wolfe shook his head and lowered his voice. “I can’t do this without you. I can’t protect her and the entire city.”

Keir laughed. Nothing was beyond the capabilities of Captain Wolfe Rye. “You just don’t want to be locked to her side for that long.”

Wolfe crossed his arms over his chest. “The woman has the temperament of a viper. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Neither do I, but I know why I do it.”

Arianne Talvane, Lady of Galbraith. To simply call her royalty was a vast understatement. She was everything. The only direct blood tie able to rule when her father died, she remained the sole heir to Galbraith. Without her, the city would fall to chaos and the aristocracy would fight for their right to rule. Which apparently, someone wanted.

Wolfe scrubbed his hands over his whiskered cheeks. “I just want her safe.”

Keir pulled a small slip of paper from his shirt pocket. He dangled the paper, trapped between two fingers, before the captain’s face.

Wolfe snatched the paper, investigating each side. A single phone number, nothing more. “What’s this?”

“If you need anything.” Keir nodded toward the paper. “Call that number.”

Wolfe eyed him suspiciously. “Whose number is it?”

“Exactly who you think,” Keir said with a smile.

“No.” Wolfe glanced over his shoulder, making sure Arianne was still on the other side of the door. “I’m not calling her cousins. You have no idea what they’re capable of, what they’re like. Why do you think she’s never called them herself?”

“Don’t know. Truth is, I’ve never met them in person.”

“I want nothing to do with those two buffoons,” Wolfe said more adamantly.

“They have no idea she’s in danger. Tell them what’s really happening here and they would protect her with their lives,” he said, certain of their loyalty.

“At least tell me whose number this is.” Wolfe held up the paper and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Christos.”

“Thank God for that. He’s the sane one.” Wolfe tucked the number into his pocket.

Keir bent forward, his elbows on his knees and his head bowed.

Wolfe slapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’ll come back. You’re like a damn cockroach.”

He’d never left Arianne for more than a day. “Balinese is on the other side of Paris. So far away.”

“The largest vampire city in all of Europe. The city of peace.” Sheer awe filled the captain’s voice.

Vampires rarely strayed from their homes, and few had actually seen the legendary city. The lord of Balinese was said to be fair and just, accepting with open arms any who had broken the laws in other cities, so long as they did not break them in his city. Breaking a law in Balinese gave a whole new meaning to speedy trial.

The task of relaying a message should be quick and easy. Hand the letter to the lord, exchange a few words, and then he should be on his way. Dodging the supposed demons might be more of a challenge.

“I should head out,” he said as he stood.

Wolfe held out his arm, locking his hand around Keir’s wrist. “Take care. I’ll see you in a few days, cockroach.”

At the door, Keir turned back. “Keep her safe.”

“Always.”

Keir left, shut the door between him and the people who had become his family over the last decade. He didn’t doubt Wolfe’s drive to keep the lady breathing. Hell, no one loved Arianne more than the captain, not even him. He’d just needed to hear the promise in Wolfe’s words, for the simple fact that he couldn’t shake the uneasiness growing in his stomach.

Standing frozen in the lady’s empty hallway, he scowled at the royal tapestry covering the far wall. He’d always hated that hideous image of twisting fat leaves and tiny birds, and hoped he would return to hate it again. Where demons walked, death followed. If those creatures ran loose in Paris or Balinese, he might not return whole, if at all. He needed to see someone before he left the city.

Sliding easily back into Spirit, he traveled the short distance to Sterling, a cluster of homes on the highest level of the city belonging to the wealthiest noblemen. Wide hallways, bright white and pristine, had a surprisingly cozy feeling due to the gold-trimmed arches spanning wall to wall every twenty feet.

He’d been here several times over the years, always in Spirit, his feet never touching the expensive carpet. The first time he’d ventured here, he’d followed an assassin into this rich community. The man had been a servant, trusted enough to live within the home of an aristocrat named Pax Legard. He’d watched Legard and others who lived in Sterling for years. All evidence suggested the assassin had struck completely of his own will, and as so many assassins had come and gone since then, he let his suspicions fall away from Legard and Sterling.

Morley had been Legard’s servant, and that led Keir back to Sterling. When and if he returned from Balinese, he’d watch Legard closely. That, of course, meant keeping an eye on the rest of them. It was practically tradition for those who lived in Sterling to keep amongst themselves. Even the children seemed more a passel of allies than actual friends.

The certainty of once again monitoring Sterling set him on edge, and not for the right reasons. He should be geared up to take head counts in the daytime, track individuals throughout the night, eavesdrop on conversations. Nope. He only wanted to see Cleo again, and that’s why he’d come here tonight.

Stopping outside Legard’s double doors, he could just make out the buzz of conversation. With little effort, he slipped through the wall. At least three of the four major families were here. The women sat near the fireplace sipping tea. The men he couldn’t see, but their rumbling laughter came from another room. Legard’s son was older and would be among them.

Keir stayed close to the door, that outer wall a necessity for a quick escape if needed. The spot gave him a perfect view of Cleo. She’d pinned her black hair up and away from her face, leaving long, sweeping curls to fall down her back and over her shoulders. Nose in her needlepoint, she feigned disinterest, easily fooling the other women, but he didn’t miss her uneasy glances over the embroidered cloth. Her wrist twisted gracefully as she pulled the thread through.

“Oh, enough already,” Cleo’s mother whispered, plunking a blue and white teacup on the table beside her hard enough that the contents sloshed over the side and onto the saucer. “We’re not here to further your craft.”

Paulette Skeffington joined in, never one to pass up the chance to ridicule another. Peering down her nose at Cleo, she lifted her aged brow. “She works on her sewing as if it would help her catch a husband.”

Setting her teacup down, Jillaine Legard opened her mouth to speak, then stopped and adjusted the teacup a quarter turn clockwise. Picking up the teacup again, she said, “There’s nothing wrong with perfecting a skill.”

Jillaine’s young daughter seemed oblivious to the negative undertones. Melisande sighed, the intent wistful, but the product over-dramatic. “Oh, Cleopatra. There are so many handsome gentlemen willing to spoil you. Why haven’t you picked one yet?”

“None have suited me,” Cleopatra said, her gentle voice barely carrying across the room.

“It’s a tiring excuse.” Her mother shook her head slowly, then, ignoring Cleo, spoke to the other women. “It angers her father and crushes my soul. I can’t have another child because of complications with her, you know. All I want is to hold my grandchildren, but she won’t oblige. I swear she’d die in the sun just to cheat me out of children twice.”

Cleopatra Bellamont stood, and Keir straightened at the same time. Cleo wasn’t an only child by choice. Damn. He hadn’t known.

She gripped her sewing project tight in her hand, the needle dangling at the end of the thread. Her beautiful eyes had come to life, hinting at the courage she hid from them. The three elder women waited expectantly, Jillaine on edge, the other two wearing snide smiles. Would she finally stand up for herself, demand the respect she was due, and put them in their place?

Cleopatra ducked her head and mumbled, “Excuse me.”

Edging around the table, she headed toward the door, toward him. Her head might have been held high, but her hand trembled as she reached for the doorknob. She was falling apart.

He followed her stiff and steady march down the carpeted corridor. He’d seen a similar reaction from her when her father had confined her to the upper levels years ago, and at his rash dismissal of her servants, and over the disappearance of her cousin. All one-time events back when he’d been monitoring Sterling. This was different. Her mother’s verbal digs had unraveled her.

She entered her home, quietly closing the door behind her. Keir slipped through the wall, not knowing what to do, but not willing to leave her alone in this state. She dropped her sewing on a long, decorative table without glancing back. The hoop teetered on the edge. Opposite the fireplace was a black baby grand piano, and she sat, neatly arranging her gown around the bench.

When angry, some women pointed fingers, others threw fits. Cleo gave her frustrations over to music, letting it all pour into a single song. Always the same song. He’d never known her to practice. She didn’t play for her parents, for parties, or even Lady Arianne. Her fingers only touched the keys when her raw emotions needed an outlet. This was her therapy.

“In the Hall of the Mountain King” started slow, the low notes bouncing around, putting into his head an image of someone sneaking around in the dark. Higher notes joined, adding a lighter, more playful layer. Soon her fingers flew over the keys, the increased tempo stealing every ounce of her focus. Beginning to end, she played the song over and over. She hit the keys hard as the song neared the end of its sixth round, rocking forward and throwing her weight into the jarring combination of harsh, angry notes.

When she finally stopped, Cleo sat in the silence, stared over the length of the piano until something inside her broke. Her hand flew to her mouth, too late to muffle the sob that escaped. Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she gave up the fight. Crossing her arms over the piano, she buried her face into the crook of her elbow and cried, hard sobs jerking her shoulders.

In the past he’d watched her drop her problems at the piano, as if she’d brushed them all off her shoulders. This wrenching grief that followed was new, unsettling. Cleo was his light, the one thing that kept him believing that kindness and compassion existed. She gave him hope.

He could watch her for hours, and in fact had on several occasions. She liked to meet Arianne for breakfast, and Keir would have little choice but to listen to their conversations, her stories, and her laughter. Cleo’s smile chased away the death and deceit surrounding his soul, and he’d come to crave a daily dose, seeking her out on days she didn’t get a chance to connect with Arianne.

Keir knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t smile tonight, not with her heart so thoroughly trampled. Leaving her like this hurt, but nothing could be done. Cleo lived in a very different world. And Keir? Well, he didn’t really live at all. He existed to preserve the lady’s life. Nothing more.

Cleo bent over her piano, shoulders quaking as she cried, was not the image of her he’d wanted to carry with him. He backed out of her home, wishing he could somehow give her the kind of hope she’d always given him.