Chapter 17
Maisie sat on the stone threshold of the castle’s front entrance, gazing into the tree line, watching, listening. The mist was so bright today—a sign that spring hovered just beyond the horizon now. The days had grown incrementally brighter in the weeks before Ostara, when true day would dawn, and each sunrise and sunset thereafter would be observed and celebrated until the season turned slowly toward fall—and darkness—again.
Last Midsummer, Maisie had sworn that she would never again be witness to the darkening of Wyldonna. But she had been wrong. It was this year that was to be her last on the island.
She drew a deep breath and held it for a long moment before releasing it in a rush. Frightened. She was frightened. And she had been naught but frightened for months now, the first time in her life she could ever remember being so. Some days it was intense enough that she felt as though she were being slowly strangled. First she was frightened in the Outland, when she found that adaptation was not as easy as she’d thought it would be. Then she was frightened of the people she’d met, was forced to depend on for her survival. Once they’d seen her abilities, they’d sought to use her, intimidate her into cooperating with their plans. They’d frightened her all the way back to Wyldonna.
And then they had followed her.
Maisie was properly chastised now. In trying to escape the ancient laws of the island, she had only succeeded in bringing her fate about more quickly. So although she had finally accepted the inevitable, she was still frightened.
The only place she found any reprieve from her fear was in Adrian Hailsworth’s arms. He was a good man, and a brilliant one. He would go on to do great things to the benefit of many, Maisie was certain.
She hoped he would return to the castle soon, so she could forget her fate for a little while. She’d done all she could do, both to ruin and then rectify things. All that was left was to wait, and to gather whatever comfort she could.
She heard the rustling in the underbrush before she saw him emerge from the wood. He was without his shirt again—a wise choice when going among the folk—and Maisie appreciated the sight of his lean, muscled body as he approached her. Even the way he moved affected her; the swagger of his shoulders, the swing of his tattooed arms, the long stride of his legs, all caused a clenching sensation in her middle. Her excitement at his approach was lessened somewhat, though, when he drew near enough for her to see the anger chiseled into his handsome face.
She opened her mouth to greet him, but his pointing finger precluded any thought she’d had of civilized conversation.
“You have done naught but lie to me since the moment we met,” he accused.
She drew a steadying breath. “That’s nae true.”
He came to a stop two paces before her, forcing her to tilt her chin to look up sharply at him. In other circumstances, perhaps she would have risen to her feet in order to escape such a submissive pose, but she found that she didn’t mind, really, looking up at Adrian Hailsworth. She was finished with escapes.
“You lied to me about the treasure.”
“I didna.”
“You lied to me about your reason for bringing me to the island.”
“Nay. I only delayed telling you a portion of it.”
He placed his hands on his hips, and Maisie couldn’t help but let her eyes fall to the front of his chausses. She knew what he was going to say—he’d spent the morning with Malcolm, after all. He was angry that she’d failed to mention meeting Felsteppe last year, probably justifiably so. She should have told him, especially once their . . . relationship had changed, deepened. But each time she thought to, she couldn’t bear the thought of the disapproval she would see in his eyes at her foolishness. She’d never meant to deceive him, only to avoid his scorn and disgust at how stupid she’d been.
“You didn’t tell me you left Wyldonna this past summer,” he accused.
There it was, then. Good. But that simple accusation was not enough to satisfy him, apparently.
“To be with that man,” he finished.
Maisie frowned and looked up at him again, startled by his words.
“Don’t look at me as if you’ve no idea what I’m referring to,” he ground out. “More lies will only make it worse.”
“I know exactly what you’re referring to,” she said. “Are you implying that I sought a relationship with Glayer Felsteppe?”
Now it was Adrian’s turn to frown. “No. God, no. Although I do have some questions about how he came to be drawn into this in the first place. What I want to know is why you did not tell me that you fled Wyldonna to be with a man you were in love with—the duvenet. And then, when he refused you, you used me as a balm for your wounded pride.”
Maisie’s heart seemed to warm and swell in her breast, but she kept her expression neutral. “I wasna in love with Jagger when I followed him to the Outland.”
“I don’t believe you,” he said darkly.
Maisie huffed a breath of laughter. “Why on earth nae?” “Because you are Wyldonna royalty. You left the only family and home you had to follow this man, this . . . Jagger.” Adrian spat out the name as if it was a foul taste on his tongue.
Now Maisie slowly gained her feet. Standing on the stone threshold brought their gazes level with each other. “Adrian, are you jealous?”
He reached out and grabbed her upper arms, causing Maisie to gasp, but not with fear. Quite the opposite of fear, actually.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didna want to show you how much of a fool I truly am,” she answered honestly, bending her bound arms at the elbows to place her hands on the hot skin of his waist. She had to touch him.
“Why would you be the fool when he refused you? No man who would do so is in possession of respectable intellect.”
Maisie wondered if any would see should she make love to Adrian in the castle yard.
“He didna refuse me, although he certainly would have, had I proposed such intimacy with him,” she said, her eyes roving the hills and valley of his upper lip. “Adrian, Jagger prefers the friendly company of a man.”
His head drew away slightly, his frown lessening. “Why would you follow him then, if he was of such . . . devious appetites?”
“Because he had a place in the Outland. I knew him. I thought he could keep me safe, see me settled,” she said, leaning her bodice against his chest, her toes now her only contact with the earth. “Were you jealous because you thought I was in love with him? Because you thought I wanted to make love with another man before you?”
Adrian growled deep in his throat. “Yes,” he hissed. “I was mad with jealousy. I still am,” he said in a warning tone.
Maisie leaned forward and kissed his lips gently. “The only man I want to make love with—have ever wanted to make love with—is you. And that is the truth, if ever I’ve spoken it. If you’ll only take me inside, I shall prove it to you.”
He released her to sweep his arm beneath her legs and then turned to maneuver her through the narrow doorway. In moments they were dashing through the hall, Maisie running her fingers through Adrian’s curling hair as she kissed his neck.
“Good day, Reid,” Adrian said brusquely over the top of Maisie’s head.
“And to you, Man,” Maisie heard the giant’s polite if confused reply. “Is there aught I can be of assistance to you?”
“Thank you, but I believe I can manage,” Adrian said. And then threw over his shoulder, “Cairn sends his regards.”
Maisie giggled against Adrian’s skin and held him tighter. He was so perfect here, now. So perfect, and he was hers, if only for the little time she had left.
It took the use of all Adrian’s will to slow in his lovemaking once he had Maisie Lindsey on the bed in her chamber. He wanted to take her quickly and roughly, but the idea that she had ever desired another man—regardless of how untrue that idea turned out to be—motivated him to imprint himself on the queen of Wyldonna. He wanted to bring her such pleasure that she would never desire anyone but him, would never think of another man in her bed.
For the rest of her life, perhaps.
And so he forced himself to linger over her body, to savor the smells and tastes of her creamy skin, until they were both panting with impatience. Then, and only then, did he join with her, pacing himself, increasing his insistence until she cried out with her release at last and Adrian quickly followed her.
She lay in his arms afterward, lazily tracing the designs on his skin. And although he didn’t wish to disturb the intimate peace their lovemaking had created, they had only this day before Ostara dawned on the morrow, and Adrian needed all the information he could gain, even if Maisie herself thought it unimportant.
“Tell me about Hamburg,” Adrian requested in the quiet.
Maisie’s hand stilled, and then she lay her palm flat on his stomach and gave a little clearing of her throat.
“Jagger was employed there. By a deserter elf who was at one time a mercenary but had since taken up the occupation of innkeeper, using his business as a shield to protect the illegal goods and people he smuggled on the river there.
“When we arrived—only days after the solstice—the elf was to play host to a convening of soldiers at his inn. Jagger had asked permission for me to stay there, and even though the elfin man had left Wyldonna when I was yet a girl, he welcomed me. Despite everything, he seemed very kind.”
Adrian’s mind whirred and clicked. Last summer, a meeting of mercenaries on the river in Hamburg . . .
“It was the Queen’s Inn, was it not?” Adrian asked against her hair, curling and fragrant under his chin. “The elfin innkeeper’s name was Hamish.”
Maisie tilted her face up, surprised. “Aye. How did you know?”
“My friend, the Spaniard—Valentine—he, too, was a friend to Hamish. He and the woman who is now his wife were at the Queen’s Inn that night as well. Nearly captured.”
Maisie stilled. “He was at the inn? I knew he was close—but I thought Prague. I had nae idea. . . .”
“Maisie, was it you who told Glayer Felsteppe that Valentine was traveling with an Englishwoman?”
“Aye,” she said. “Jagger told Felsteppe that I could be of help to him in locating the men he sought. There was a large bounty offered and Jagger said he’d split the reward evenly with me, help me to settle myself in the city. So I . . . looked. I could feel the presence of the man—your friend. His connection with Felsteppe.”
Adrian was quiet for a long moment. “By some miracle, Felsteppe didn’t discover them that night,” he said at last. “Did he then press you to . . . help him search further?”
“He did,” Maisie said quietly, lying her head back on his chest. “Although he didna use such gentle terms. He would have used me for a slave. Likely worse. I grew afraid. And my fear of the Outland and its cruel people was larger than my childish desire to be free of Wyldonna.”
Adrian didn’t have to ask for further clarification of what Glayer Felsteppe likely had in mind for the naked beauty at his side.
“So you returned.”
“Aye. I doona know that he bribed Jagger, or tortured him, but he somehow forced him to reveal where I had fled, and how to reach me here. He wanted me to finish the job I had started in Hamburg. I could scarce believe he had found me when he arrived in the winter. I thought, when the Autumn equinox had passed without threat . . .” She let the sentence trail away. “I had to then tell Malcolm everything. What I had done in the Outland. How I brought Wyldonna’s destruction to our very door.”
Adrian at last felt as though he understood Maisie Lindsey’s plight. “And so you felt that if you looked for Valentine again and delivered him or another of us to Felsteppe, he would leave the island in peace and your brother would not make war.”
She nodded. “I see how naïve I was. It wasna real to me before—offering up an innocent man to a devil like Felsteppe. But when I met you—when I saw what had been done to you because of him . . .” Her words trailed away again, and her hand slid across his stomach to clutch at his ribs, pull him closer.
After a moment, she continued. “I know he will never stop until you and your friends are dead. And I willna allow anyone else to pay further for my foolishness. Nae you, nae the folk, nae Malcolm. It is my crime. I alone shall bear the punishment.”
Adrian frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You ken my meaning,” she said. “You’ve read the book. There is nae treasure to give Felsteppe. If you surrender to him, you will be killed. If you doona, Wyldonna will go to war, and who knows how many of the folk will lose their lives. I’ll trade myself... for them all,” she finished quietly.
“No one wants that,” Adrian argued, feeling a tightening in his chest. Something like panic perhaps, but he refused to let it take complete hold of him. “Not your brother, not the folk—certainly not me. Maisie, what shall Felsteppe force you to do once he has you under his control? You know about the abbey now.”
“I am nae so innocent as I was when I first left Wyldonna,” she said with a rueful tinge in her voice. “I set word among the piece bloods before I came to Melk. Some are against me, certainly, but many are still loyal to their roots, loyal to Wyldonna. Either way, they all know the threat Glayer Felsteppe has made upon us. The world has hopefully become a more dangerous place for that evil bastard.”
“That’s not a plan,” Adrian said with a frown.
“We have what we have, Adrian,” she said, resting her chin on his chest and looking at him once more. “I wouldna change anything I’ve done now. It’s brought you to me, and glad I am of that. More glad than anything that’s ever happened to me in my life.”
Adrian leaned up from the bolsters behind his head and kissed her mouth. “I’ll not give you up so easily,” he said, hearing the roughness of his voice, the bluster that only he knew was an attempt to conceal the seed of fear that had been planted in his heart. “Neither will Malcolm. I saw the machines he and the folk have constructed. We worked on a plan of defense for the island when Felsteppe comes. It’s a good plan, Maisie. Let us rise now and return to the mountain together. Make peace with your brother before the morrow.”
“I’ve a better plan for the moment,” she said, sliding her body up along his until she was lying atop him. She leaned down and kissed his mouth slowly, pulling at his lips until he stirred beneath her. “I think you’ll prefer it.”
“I think you’re right,” he said, happy to temporarily forsake all thoughts of the island for the attentions of the woman who had so completely consumed him in such a short time. He reached his left hand down to skim her leg to her knee, readying to flip her over onto her back, and then caught sight of Dragon, lying in the near corner. Her yellow eyes were trained on the cold hearth, which she had again left upon Adrian’s arrival with Maisie.
The thoughts came unbidden to his mind, cooling his passion.
Dragon is small . . .
If Wyldonna’s treasure is as vast as the tales tell, she couldna hide it verra well, could she?
He recalled seeing Cairn at the entrance to the mountain cavern: Such a large opening would require a large guard. . . .
“Maisie,” he said flatly.
“Mmm?” she murmured, nuzzling him and reaching her hand down, impatient for him.
He’d been all over the castle. No, the plans hadn’t made sense, and yet he’d found the secret doors, the hidden chambers behind the walls and beneath the floors.
They’d even gone so far as to pull up the floorboards in the chamber.
Adrian’s eyes flicked to the thick carved beams along the ceiling, supporting the tightly seamed wooden boards. Then he looked back to the small creature curled in the corner.
Dragon was watching him.
“Maisie, get up,” he said, pushing her off him.
She gave an offended huff as Adrian threw his legs over the edge of the bed and reached for his chausses.
“What is it?” she asked. “Where are you going so suddenly that you would leave me in such a state?”
He pulled on his boots while his mind raced. “Nowhere.”
“You’re getting dressed,” she pointed out. And then, in a more indignant tone, “The shirt, too?”
He gave her a grin as he stood and pushed his head through the opening. She was sitting upright in the bed, her breasts bared and rosy. Good God, there was nothing so delicious on the earth as Maisie Lindsey. He leaned forward and braced his hands on the mattress to kiss her mouth firmly.
“One moment,” he promised. Then he pulled away from the bed and crossed the floor to the hearth, where he crouched down.
The opening was perhaps not quite three feet tall, although it was a bit wider than that. Still, it would be a tight fit. He ducked and leaned his head inside to look up and saw nothing but narrow blackness.
His mind went to the images of the plans of the castle, and he considered the floors that were missing from the drawing in the book, the orientation of the tall ceiling of the corridor beyond the chamber door. He swiveled on his heels to face the room and then brought his left foot back to brace himself as he tucked into the opening.
“Adrian, what are you doing?” Maisie demanded from the end of the bed, where she’d crawled to watch him.
He winked at her. “Back in a thrice,” he said, and then stood up in the tight space.
The sooty air immediately closed around him, as if he had been buried alive, the residual heat from countless fires emanating from the stones that were only inches from his skin—and seemed to draw closer as he reached up. Adrian could feel the familiar tightening of his chest, but he forced himself to breathe slowly through his nose—in, one, two; out, three, four—as his hands crawled along the crumbly, sticky prison.
Then he felt it. Shallowed by years of smoke, the depression was just deep enough for Adrian’s fingers to hold to his first knuckle. He reached a bit higher with his other hand and felt the next. He braced his back against the stones and stepped up against the chimney, wedging himself inside. And then he began to climb. Two handholds, four, eight, until his next scrabbling reach met not a warm stony depression but a smooth, greasy surface, inset in the chimney itself.
Adrian rapped on it with the backs of his knuckles, and although the sound was spongy, it was still hollow. He pushed with first one hand, then both, but the barrier didn’t yield. And so he shimmied up the chimney until his feet were on the bottom lip of the partition. Drawing back his right leg until his knee was beneath his chin, he kicked.
The barrier gave the faintest whisper of movement.
He kicked twice more, and on the last effort, his leg disappeared into the wall past his shin, where a faint gray light could be seen in the pitch of the chimney.
Adrian raised his buttocks higher against the stones behind him and hinged forward, gripping the insides of the opening. He brought his right foot to the wall behind him and pushed, while simultaneously launching himself into the unknown passage.
He slid through on the broken partition, his entrance heralded by a soft, clinking shush of sound. He put his hands down to lever himself up and pull himself in fully, and sank to his wrists in deep cold. Adrian dragged his knees in and slid to his feet, throwing his arms out for balance when he stepped off the tar-soaked piece of metal-clad wood.
Small round portals—no bigger than his fists—were set at the top of the low ceiling, letting in the soft, misty light of the sky beyond the castle. He turned in a circle, sliding on the slanting mound beneath his feet. The chamber was as wide, but three times as long, as the one he’d just left.
And it was filled with gold.