Arrowland (20 page)

Chapter Thirteen

How exactly had he got into this mess?

He was dangling, suspended, above a fire in what had once been the castle's reservoirs.

He thought he'd been so clever, but like always he was really only making all this up as he went along, trying to turn something hopeless into a fighting chance.

Maybe this was his punishment for hurting the woman he loved more than life itself. And, in his defence, the Widow's mumbo jumbo did have an effect on him initially. Some kind of weird hypnosis or mind control. The best way he could describe it was like having a waking dream, where you were doing and saying things you wouldn't normally, but had no control over. He cast his mind back to when they'd first been alone together, back in the Vaults where he'd been chained to the wall. She'd had him stripped naked and he'd assumed there would be some kind of torture involved, especially as he was surrounded by such implements. Maybe it was just his turn, he thought. Both Mark and Jack had suffered at the hands of Tanek - Mark coming away having lost a finger, while Jack's mental scars ran deeper. If they could brave it, then so could he. He'd had to face worse: up against tanks, jeeps, helicopters, armed with only a bow and arrow.

But torture had been the last thing on her mind.

"I do admire a man who's not afraid of being in the raw," the Widow told him as she'd scrutinised his body, approving eyes passing over his taut muscles. "I've been waitin' fer you to come. Expecting yer."

"So you said. Some kind of tip off."

The Widow might have suspected they'd strike sometime, but couldn't have known
exactly
when without some kinds of heads-up.

"Could say that." The Widow laughed. "But no the kind that you'd believe. Not yet, anyway." She'd approached him, and placed a hand on his chest. "Good, strong heartbeat," said the Widow, then ran her hands over his torso. Then her hand moved downwards and she gave an approving and extremely dirty smile.

"Would you like me to cough?" Robert spat.

"Sense of humour. I like that. A perfect man in a lot of ways: fit, strong. Yer know, a lot of men have disappointed me over the years, Robert."

"You do surprise me."

"Something tells me
you
won't disappoint."

He strained against the chains that held his wrists and ankles. "Don't fight it. You and I both know something more powerful than either of us has brought us together. There's something special between us, something we share."

"And what's that?"

She leaned in and breathed: "A kind of magic. 'Course, yours has been weakened, but I can help get it back. Also helps me with what's about to follow." The Widow told him about how it was all in the cards that he'd come and they would one day rule this country, if not the world, together.

"With the help of good old German ingenuity, I suppose," said Robert.

She waved away his comment. "Means to an end. At the moment, our countries need each other. But who knows what's around the corner."

"You do, apparently."

"That's right." The Widow produced a tarot card: a man sitting on a throne, wearing and crown and holding a sword. "This is you, Robert: The Emperor.
My
Emperor. The one I've been looking for my whole life. This is who you will become when we've... joined."

"Are you for real?"

"Aye. An' I knew it was not going to be easy to persuade yer, but I must try."

Then she drew strange markings on the floor and walls around him. Burning odd-smelling incense and candles, leaving them under him so he had no option but to inhale. Robert fought their effects, but it was no use. They made his muscles relax and he hung on the wall like a puppet. She chanted in a language he didn't understand: the words overlapping, tumbling into each other at one point. Robert recalled the Widow lifting his chin, pressing her lips against his, saying something about needing to be sure.

And he remembered the painting she'd done on his body, markings and symbols to complement the words she spoke. He felt drunk by this point, more drunk than he had even on his stag do, just before marrying...

Joanne.

He saw her face, those beautiful eyes, those lips. But it was morphing into someone else. He saw Mary, remembered what had happened, how lost he'd become in the forest when Joanne and his son, Stevie, had died from the A-B virus. How Mary had made him feel human again, her love, her-

Then both faces were replaced with the Widow's, the only person he could see, the only voice he could hear. Over and over, telling him he was hers - that they were destined to be together.

He hadn't even realised he was nodding, until he was doing so. Suddenly it had all made perfect sense, what she was offering him. Though they'd only spent a short time together, those minutes had become hours, days, and somehow he knew this woman better than he ever had Joanne or Mary. So much so that he'd agreed to talk with the latter. The Widow freed him, once she was certain he was under her control, dressing Robert so that he could come with her to meet Mary, to convince her.

Even as he'd come forward, walking through that dream haze, speaking words that were his and yet weren't, he'd semi-believed it. Robert told Mary the Widow was going to share her magic, replacing what he'd lost, what had been stolen from him. He believed it all so much he'd taken the ring from Mary's finger.

And then it happened.

Robert recognised that look. He'd been responsible for it once before, when they'd been arguing, drifting apart, when Adele had been on the scene. When there had been doubt in Mary's mind, even though Robert had been faithful throughout. That look, that hurt. He'd sworn there and then he'd never do anything to warrant it ever again.

Memories came back to him of all the time he'd spent with Mary, his wedding day, last Christmas. It hit him like a slap in the face, smashing its way through the fog and clearing his mind.

But now was not the time to strike. Robert was still massively outnumbered and the Widow had armed guards trained on Mary. The only way was to make that harlot think he was still under her control. The fact that she wanted him so badly, that she thought he was some long-promised love, might just work in his favour. So he'd gone along with the kiss, this time responding as the Widow covered his lips with her own - trying hard to ignore Mary's wails and hoping she might understand if, no,
when
they finally got out of this.

Mary had been taken back to her cell, and at least out of harm's way. The Widow had held up the hand on which she now wore Mary's wedding ring. "I'll have tae think about changin' ma name."

Robert had smiled, playing along. The spell was definitely broken, but he couldn't allow this woman to see that. Now, it was simply a question of biding his time until he could incapacitate the Widow. That wasn't going to be easy. Even alone she was a force to be reckoned with.

The question was, how far would he take this performance? Because the Widow was keen to consummate their sham of a marriage. "Come on, lover, I'll show you ma chambers," she'd said, batting her dark eyelashes and pulling on his arm as she dragged him through the halls. There were armed soldiers on every corner, no opportunity for Robert to act. Perhaps he'd stand a better chance when they were alone together in her bedroom.

And what a room that was, located inside the Royal Palace it was certainly fitting for a king and queen. The Widow removed her skin-tight trousers, leaving just her corset and a thong on, then lay back on the four poster bed, beckoning him.

Okay, now what?
thought Robert. There was no way he was going to go through with this - even if Mary hadn't been in the equation, the Widow was just too damned... scary. No wonder the men in her past had disappointed her. Now here she was, expecting him to step up to the bat, her perfect man.

The Widow patted the bed beside her. "What yer waiting for? Come here." There was a powerful edge to those words, and if he hadn't been such a strong-willed person, Robert might not have been able to resist. More tricks of the mind, coupled with drug fumes inhaled from those candles and incense sticks. As it was, he moved forward, almost involuntarily, but still in command of his own body. He was walking stiffly, though, finding it hard to conceal his true feelings. By the time he reached the bed, he could see the Widow suspected something was wrong.

To throw her off the scent, he took off his top and sat down on the mattress.

The Widow propped herself up on one elbow, placing a hand on his chest. "That strong heart's racin'."

"With excitement."

She smiled. "Aye. Let me calm yer down a bit." Her hand snaked lower, but before it could reach its destination, Robert grabbed her wrist. Rather than fighting him, the Widow seemed to enjoy it. "I just knew yer liked it rough," she growled. He grabbed her other wrist, pushing her back down against the bed. But she wrapped her legs around Robert, forcing him to straddle her. Obviously her idea of foreplay, but it was more like some of the wrestling moves Jack used.

"Aye, that's it, that's..."

Robert pulled away from her. She gripped him by the shoulders, attempting to draw him down on top of her, but he couldn't help resisting. Almost without warning, the Widow let go of him.

Dammit, she knows,
thought Robert.

"There's one link left. She still has a hold on yer, doesn't she?" said the Widow. "Aye. I can see it. I can
feel
it."

Robert said nothing.

"I saw this, as well," the Widow confessed, and now he really knew he was in trouble.

"I-I'm sorry," he offered. And part of him actually was. Because behind those hard eyes of hers, under the exterior - the bravado she put on - there was a woman who just wanted to be loved. Who wanted on some level what he and Mary had, who'd been filled up with nonsense about a perfect man when one didn't exist. And certainly wasn't Robert, could never
be
Robert.

"Aye, well, there's only one thing for it." The Widow looked at Robert like she was expecting an answer, then replied for him. "For me to become yer new Empress,
you
have to kill the former one. Don't worry, there's nothing tae it. I've murdered more exes than yer've fired arrows."

Of course, that woman who just wanted to be loved was also a complete and utter homicidal lunatic. Before he could do anything, she was already calling for the men guarding her chambers - ordering some to fetch Mary, while the rest escorted Robert and the Widow to the Great Hall.

So he had to play along again, part of him relieved that the ordeal of the Widow's bedchambers was over, part of him concerned about what was to come next. It had been necessary for the Widow to believe, he knew that - her blind faith that he was the man from the card, her chosen one, was the only thing seemingly stopping her from focusing. It was a weakness he could exploit, he just wasn't sure how yet.

As they waited in the Hall, though, the Widow impatient to get this over with so he could be totally hers, Robert kept an eye on everything around him: from the positioning of the guards - six on either side of the room, dotted between suits of armour with machine-guns, an eclectic touch - to the space around him and what he could use to initiate an escape; plenty of archways, which would be either a help or hindrance. When Mary was brought in, he attempted to act cool, but what he saw made his heart ache.

She'd obviously been crying, but Mary seemed resigned to what had happened, that Robert belonged to the Widow. Her head was bowed and her body language spoke of a woman who'd given up.

"All right, let's get this over and done wi', shall we?" said the Widow, and produced a knife, which she handed to Robert.
A sacrificial dagger
, thought Robert. Meant to represent the sacrifice not only of Mary, but of their whole relationship.

Yeah, right. That wasn't going to happen.

"Well, go on then," encouraged the Widow, nodding towards Mary. "Yer know what must be done. I cannae do it for yer, Robert."

Yes, he knew exactly what to do. Robert approached Mary, hoping to convey what his plan was. But she wouldn't - couldn't - look him in the eye. Come on, Mary, look at me.

"Kill her, Robert. Kill them both," urged the Widow.

Robert paused. Mary raised her head.

"Both?" said Robert.

"Aye, her and the child. The last link. Yer rejected her, now do the same with that creature growing inside her."

Robert's mouth gaped and he stared at Mary; she stared back. Her hands went to her stomach, a look of astonishment on her face. What the hell was the Widow talking about? He could see Mary had no idea either. Something to gauge his reaction, to test whether he was still loyal? Or perhaps to make him rethink what he was planning to do next? But if it were true... If-

"
Do it, man!"
screamed the Widow.

Robert exchanged a look with Mary, all that was needed. "I'm sorry," he said, approaching her with the blade held high.

"I know," she told him.

"Now!" he cried, and twisted - flinging the dagger back towards the Widow. At the same time, Mary brought up both her arms. The guards obviously hadn't been expecting any more resistance after half carrying this defeated woman from her cell, and were taken completely by surprise when she elbowed them both in the stomach. They crumpled up, but Mary didn't wait to draw breath. Grabbing them both by the back of the neck, she knocked their heads together:
hard
.