Adrian (9 page)

“Aye,” she muttered.

“Where are the sirens now?” he pressed, measuring his breaths so that the words didn't come out as gasps.

“In the sea, of course,” she said with what sounded like forced patience. “They canna come ashore unless they are with a creature of warm blood, or upon a vessel to the dock, thank the gods. Ships that wander too close to Wyldonna are a danger and a nuisance to us. Heavy storms blow pirates and mercenary ships off course, and soon after our hall will stink of sirens, airing their petty complaints.”

He came to a stop, his chest heaving, but he kept a firm grip on Maisie's hand, yanking her to a halt.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, tugging at him. “Come on!”

“You expect me to believe that sirens actually exist?”

“You asked. Now come on.” She tugged at him again, and because he'd had a moment to catch his breath and no further reason really to delay the trek, Adrian followed.

“What about the folk in the wood who would . . . eat me, was it?” Even he heard the snideness in his tone.

“Aye, eat you, they would,” she replied. “Pech; a pair of Tallmade-geons that we know of, but there could be more than that now. The worst of the lot—and the most dangerous to you—are the afternhangers. The most ancient of the Cat Sìth.”

“Oh, certainly. Felines are terribly frightening. But no minotaur?” he needled.

“Doona be ridiculous,” she said. “Nae one calls them that anymore.”

“My apologies.”

Adrian didn't know why this beautiful young woman, who otherwise seemed to have a very sensible mind about her, insisted on feeding him such fables. Was it not enough that he'd come to this desolate Scots isle? Not enough that he was here to help her desperate queen, regardless of the insignificance of Wyldonna's troubles to the rest of the world? Adrian had committed his aid regardless; his ultimate goal was to trap Glayer Felsteppe. Why must she try to make the island and its people something fantastic and dreadful and so obviously untrue?

Ahead of him, Maisie gave a little cry that sounded like dismay and then swayed to a halt. Adrian looked up to see the cause of the delay, and at first he thought he was witnessing the phenomenon of colored lights in the sky that were rumored to frequent the northernmost parts of the map.

Lazy, pulsing blue sheets seemed to billow above the dark spires of the treetops, flapping away the misty gray like a rug being aired and allowing piercing dots of starlight to briefly flash. But the blue glow was concentrated at a point, and as Adrian looked more closely, his chest heaving from the climb, he could make out what appeared to be a lone spire reaching higher than the tallest arrow tops of the pines. His guide began walking once more, but now her steps were measured, almost hesitant, and one by one the trees crowding the path moved aside until the blue glow cast their shadows long and black on the path behind them. Adrian's mouth fell open despite himself.

It could only be Wyldonna Castle. And it was glowing.

He guessed the structure must be seven full stories to the uppermost turret, and the construction appeared to be chiseled stone, but there was no gray or brown or even red to the rock that comprised this place, only a soft, shimmering blue, like the horizon just after sunset. Adrian could see the apexes of the towers that had been in the drawing—six in all—with numerous flapping pennants. Tall dark shadows—the insets of windows—crawled over the castle like insects, and some of the openings were filled with brighter, welcoming light, beckoning to him to discover the secrets that lay inside.

The castle itself seemed to cling to the cliff, as if it had once been a living thing that had scaled the side of the rocky isle and then perched there on the edge. Adrian could not fathom how such a massive and ornately built palace had been built in such a treacherous location.

There was no drawbridge, no moat, and no need for one. Only a tall, arched wooden door at the end of the path, and no guards at that. He strained his ears; faint music wafted on the breeze. The blue glow caressed and retreated along the track like the waves on the beach below, almost keeping measure with the ghostly tune, and Adrian could hardly wait to see if the light had a feel. His skin crawled in anticipation of the blue glow.

But then Maisie suddenly pulled him from the path and into the woods, breaking into a run.

M
aisie nearly dragged Adrian through the stiff underbrush of the wood as she rushed around the perimeter of the castle, hidden by the bare, solemn trees. At least she hoped they were hidden. If they were detected and stopped, it would be too late. It might be too late now.

The castle was already glowing.

She willed her legs to move faster, using all her senses to keep her feet beneath her as her heavy skirts sought to tangle between her knees and catch on the branches she forced her way through.

“Hurry, hurry, Adrian!” she gasped, feeling the perspiration between their joined fingers, icy cold as she gripped him.

“Where are we going?” he panted, yanking on her arm every score or so strides when he stumbled.

“To the castle.” She hauled him aright without stopping, feeling that her arm would be pulled from her shoulder. “Nae far now.”

Maisie saw the sliver of shadow nestled against the base of the castle, and once they had come opposite it in the wood, she darted to the right, breaking cover from the trees and sprinting across the perimeter of yard. Her head swiveled left and right as she ran, but she saw no one. She glanced up; no figures stood at the lowermost windows.

Everyone was most likely too busy enjoying a lively feast.

They were going at such a speed that she had to throw out her free hand against the old door to keep from crashing fully into its spongy, damp wood. Adrian rammed against her, but she couldn't care as her fingers sought the primitive lever. Her fingernails scrabbled against the almost furry-feeling wood, and her eyes watered as a thick, wet sliver found its way beneath a fingernail.

“They're not blue,” Adrian said behind her, and then she felt her arm being pulled away from the side of her body as he stepped to the castle wall, examining the stones with his fingertips, his head circling as he looked up and around him. “Where is the light coming from?”

The lever at last moved and Maisie threw her shoulder into the door, nearly dragging Adrian from his feet as she pulled him sideways through the opening.

The vestibule was pitch black, but Maisie didn't care. She shook herself free of Adrian Hailsworth's grip and squatted to the floor, placing both her palms on the worn, damp stones, which seemed to vibrate almost imperceptibly beneath her skin.

“I'm here,” she whispered through her gulping pants, her eyes closed, hot tears swelling behind the lids. “I'm here.”

“Lady Maisie?” Adrian ventured. “Are you . . . unwell?”

“I'm fine,” she said, feeling a sense of calm come over her. She removed her hands from the stones and then swiped a forearm across her eyes as she rose. “Let's go.”

She turned a sharp left into the deeper darkness of a corner, leaving Adrian Hailsworth to follow her by the sounds of her footfalls and voice.

“Mind your step,” she warned as she mounted the narrow, twisting stairs. His hiss of breath and muffled curse told her that she'd spoken too late.

“I don't recall seeing this on the plans,” he said pointedly.

“Perhaps you didna look well enough.”

Her feet skimmed up the risers, and even though she could not see in this unlighted and nearly forgotten part of Wyldonna Castle, Maisie knew exactly where she was in her ascent. She heard Adrian's gasping breaths behind her as she reached the tiny landing and felt for the latch.

“Hurry,” she urged into the darkness, her whisper echoing over his head.

“Right . . . behind you,” he panted, and then she could feel his presence at her side.

She opened the door onto further blackness, but then reached out a hand and pushed the heavy tapestry aside, leaning out into the dim light of the corridor.

“Pull the door,” she said as she stepped from the stairwell and held the thick weaving so that Adrian could duck though. Then she let the tapestry fall back with a flap and turned to lead the Englishman quickly down the corridor.

The sight of her door standing open ahead caused her footsteps only the tiniest hesitation. Her chamber had been breached. Perhaps thieves were even now inside, looting, stealing whatever they fancied. A fury burned in her heart.

She hoped they were still there.

Maisie fairly flew through her doorway, her satchel swinging wide and then banging into her hip as she came to a stop inside her chamber, her right arm already extended. But then it fell limp at her side as Adrian came to a halt near her, and both of them took in the sight of the man seated on the side of her high bed.

His wide hands were braced on his thighs, his head cocked and his bearded face regarding the woven rug on the floor. His face looked calm, pensive even, and that caused Maisie's recent aspirations of indignation to shrivel up and retreat behind her knotted stomach. The man had not looked up at her arrival.

“Malcolm,” Maisie breathed. And then she sank into a deep curtsy.

“Malcolm?” Adrian echoed above her. “
King
Malcolm? Malcolm the
Missing
?”

“There's nae need for all that now, lass,” Malcolm said, ignoring Adrian's comments. “I'm nae the king any longer, am I?”

Maisie rose and forced herself to straighten her posture, lift her chin. “Where have you been? I wasted such time—”

“Where've
I
been?” he interrupted. “Well, I suppose I might ask the same of you, lass. Since you obviously havena deserted the isle as was again rumored.”

“Of course I didna desert the island,” she hissed, feeling a touch of her ire return even as her face heated with humiliation. “Or you. I'm still loyal to you, regardless of what you might think. Of what those. . . those monsters have told you. You knew enough to come back to the castle this night.
You
deserted
me
!”

“I did think you gone,” he admitted with a nod. His green eyes were bloodshot, evidence of the spirits he'd been drinking. “You had only perhaps a handful of moments left, did you know? The celebration had already begun.” His eyes glanced toward the doorway. “They're still making merry. They havena realized.”

Maisie swallowed. She'd known she'd been almost out of time, but she hadn't known it had been down to a matter of moments. “I know they hate me. But what I did was for the good of us all.
Spirit and flesh
,” she emphasized.

“Where've ye been, Maisie?” Malcolm repeated quietly, ignoring the quote from the old vows. And then his gaze at last went to Adrian, who had been observing the exchange keenly without comment. “And who's this you've brung with you?”

She swallowed again and cleared her throat, turning slightly to indicate the Englishman at her side. “Adrian Hailsworth, Malcolm of Wyldonna.”

Adrian gave a brief but courteous nod.

But Malcolm did not acknowledge Adrian, instead turning flashing, incredulous eyes upon Maisie once more. “Och, lass, what have you done? Bringing a
man
to Wyldonna?”

“He's come to find the treasure, Malcolm,” Maisie rushed. “I wanted to tell you, but none could find you. Or they wouldna tell me where you—”

“Have you gone
mad
?” he demanded, rising from the side of the bed. “It's bad enough we have that bloodthirsty demon Felsteppe to fend off, but now his brother as well? Would that you had deserted us, rather than deliver our very destruction into the castle!”

“Nay!” Maisie insisted and then, in desperation, she reached back and seized one of Adrian Hailsworth's hands. Before he could protest, she shoved up his sleeve past his elbow, revealing the swirling black designs on his skin. “Look, Malcolm! Look!”

His green eyes flicked to Adrian's arm and then back again, where his gaze lingered, his eyes widening. Then he looked up and met Maisie's eyes as Adrian shook himself free of her grip.

“The Painted Man,” Malcolm whispered, and his jaw tensed, as if he ground his teeth together.

“I would never desert you when I am the only one who can help,” Maisie insisted. “Do you see?”

He was shaking his head at her before she could finish speaking. “You fool,” he said low and then began walking toward her. “You bloody little fool!” He seized her arms and shook her. “Why would you do such a thing? Why?” he demanded.

Adrian Hailsworth was suddenly in between Maisie and Malcolm, shoving the bearded man away. Malcolm was likely quite surprised at the brazenness of the Englishman, so that he released Maisie without protest.

“Now, see here,” Adrian said. “I can understand you're upset; I am certain it's quite a blow to be usurped by your own sister. But this woman has done nothing save what she was bade to do by her queen, and she has shown great courage in bringing me here to help your people. She does not deserve such rough treatment, even if she is only the queen's lady. I assure you, I will air my own complaints with the woman as quickly as I can join her.”

Malcolm looked at Adrian; then his eyes found Maisie. “What is he going on about?”

“He knows he was brought here to help locate the Wyldonna treasure,” Maisie supplied. “At the queen's request.”

Malcolm's eyebrows rose and he looked back to the Englishman. “Is that so?”

“Quite,” Adrian replied. “So if one of you would be ever so kind as to go to the trouble to present me to Queen Maighread, I would be grateful.”

Maisie's cheeks heated and her stomach did a neat flip as Malcolm huffed a breath of a laugh. “Nae trouble at all, lad,” he said. He held out one of his wide palms toward Maisie. “You're in Her Majesty's verra presence.”

Maisie dared a look at Adrian, whose face was turned fully toward her now, his slender brows drawn down in their usual frown of concentration, but there was now something more sinister behind those brown eyes.

“Adrian . . . Hailsworth, is it?” Malcolm continued deferentially. “The Queen of Wyldonna, Maighread Lindsey. Me own dear sister.”

 

Maighread Lindsey's blush was not the delicate wash of pink of a noblewoman; it was raw and red and splotchy, made even more virulent a shade by the proximity of her copper hair. She dropped her face toward the floor for only a moment, and then, as if realizing the meek and guilty pose for what it was, pulled her chin up with a jerk. She squared her shoulders and looked Adrian in the eyes.

Anger borne of humiliation strained at Adrian's chest. “You lied to me.”

“Nay,” she said quickly. “I didna. I lied to your abbot.”

Adrian ticked through his memories of their conversations since meeting at Melk and granted that, no, perhaps she hadn't outright lied to him. Everything she'd said referencing the queen of Wyldonna had likely been referencing Maisie herself. But she had withheld information from him all the same.

“I couldna verra well reveal that the Queen of Wyldonna was about on her own, now could I?” she pressed. “One slip from your priest could have brought an army of my enemies in pursuit.”

“Enemies?” Adrian repeated. “You mean Glayer Felsteppe?”

Maighread huffed a laugh. “If it was only him, I wouldna have been so worried.”

Maisie's twin brother had apparently composed himself enough to rejoin the conversation. “Have you heard tales of Wyldonna, Hailsworth?”

“If you mean the myths of its magical populace, yes,” Adrian said.

“Some of the stories are nae more than myth now, aye,” the bearded man acquiesced. “But long ago, all living creatures were Wyldonians. Each season, some chose nae to remain under our rule or protection, and many of the fools then grew bitter in their life in the Outland. When they were denied return, they convinced themselves it was through fault of the Lindseys that they were hunted and persecuted. They came to believe they were exiled from paradise when it was their choice to leave.”

Adrian felt his eyebrows raise. From what little he'd seen of this dark, rocky isle, he couldn't imagine anyone referring to it as a paradise. Madness must obviously be a familial trait. He looked back at Maighread, who was watching her brother with a look of... perhaps sorrow. Adrian couldn't tell. Nor did he care at the moment.

“I gave my word that I would aid the queen of Wyldonna in locating the island's treasure. Obviously, the king no longer needs locating.”

Maighread's eyes widened. “You're nae thinking to try to leave, are you? I already told you—”

“Enough with the tales,” Adrian said, slashing a palm through the air. “As I told
you
, my cooperation was based on the completely selfish objective of cornering and apprehending Glayer Felsteppe. He is still coming, is he not?”

Maighread nodded, her eyes still wide.

“Then I will stay,” Adrian said, feeling very magnanimous indeed at his generosity of spirit.

“And you will still search for the treasure,” Maighread added.

“It will be something to occupy my mind until spring, when Felsteppe returns, even if it is a goose hunt.”

“Nae so arbitrary a time as spring,” Maighread said with a wince.

“I beg your pardon?”

“She said nae spring,” Malcolm repeated loudly. “Felsteppe is to return to Wyldonna less than one month from today—at Ostara.”

Adrian looked to Maighread again.

“With an army,” Malcolm added.

Adrian nodded his acknowledgment, but his eyes were still on the redhead. She stared back at him without flinching. Unapologetic. Bold.

Malcolm sighed. “Which means I must return to my plans.” He turned toward his sister, who pulled her gaze away from Adrian's.