Devil at Midnight (26 page)

“
Grace,
” he said, his eyes open now.

“Wait,” she gasped as he began pulling up her gown.

He stopped, but his expression wasn’t pleasant, and his hold on her rear anatomy remained firm. She got the feeling he would rather have rolled her underneath him
before
he could reconsider if that were a good idea.

“I need to talk to you,” she said. “It’s important.”

His glare grew darker, almost as dark as his voice. “I want you, Grace, and you are wet. This had best be good.”

She was certain she was blushing, but she couldn’t worry about that. “You trust me, right? You know I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“I trust you,” he agreed, a bit of growl in it.

His long fingers tightened, pushing the cloth of her gown into the wetness he had mentioned. Grace squirmed for more than one reason.

“Nim Wei is a witch,” she said in a rush. “Or something a lot like one. I snuck into her tent after you fell asleep.”

“By yourself?” Christian was aghast. “After what happened last time?”

Grace spread her hands on his chest, wishing she could calm his angrily pounding heart as easily as her angel had calmed her. “I had to. I could tell she’d bespelled you.”

“You are not speaking sense. How could she bespell me when I did not go near her?”

Christian’s body jerked forward as Michael shoved it with his elbow. “Christian,” he grumbled. “You are talking in your sleep again.”

“Sorry,” Christian said, his glare for Grace undiminished. “Must have drunk too much brandy. I will rise now and walk it off.”

He yanked Grace bodily up with him, pulling her after him through a gap in the crumbling wall. She could feel his tension in the fingers that wrapped her wrist, could see it in the stiff steps he took. He stopped when they reached the weedy ruins of a small chapel. The far wall was mostly standing and still formed a point at the top. Since she had lungs now, Grace was breathless from keeping up with him.

“I had to spy on her,” she said before he could start his scold. “I couldn’t be a coward when your safety was at stake.”

“What about
your
safety? Do you know what it would do to me if I lost you?”

“Christian.” She caressed his arm as she touched it. To her relief, he let her, catching her hand in his when she reached it.

“Grace...”

“Just listen. Nim Wei wove some sort of spell into the fabric of her tent. I don’t imagine you could see it, but my eyes are different now. It was meant to keep people out, to convince them they didn’t want to go in. I think that’s why you didn’t confront her the way you planned. I know you would have otherwise. You were very angry about what she did to Philippe and Matthaus.”

“Not nearly as angry as I am at you.” He pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed it hard enough to sting. It would have been nice to shut up then, but Grace knew she hadn’t said all she needed to.

“I saw her, Christian. She had ... buried herself underneath the ground. I pressed my palm to the runes that protected her, and somehow my eyes saw through the dirt. It was very strange. She wasn’t breathing. She looked almost like she was dead. I’m not...” Grace hesitated. “Christian, I’m not sure she’s human.”

“People say witches make pacts with the devil. Do you think she might have sold her soul?”

“I don’t know. Before all this happened, I wouldn’t have said witches existed.”

Christian dropped his hold on her hand. He paced a distance away from her and then returned. He was such a physical man she supposed it helped him think if he moved around. “You are certain I was enchanted?”

“I promise you, you weren’t acting like yourself.”

Christian tapped his fist against his mouth. “When I touched her tent flap, I did feel curiously cold.”

“So did I, right before I saw her magic symbols crawling over me.”

“Crawling over you ... Grace!”

“I got them off me,” Grace said, deciding she wasn’t going to mention the part about being zapped again. “And I came straight here as soon as I could.”

Christian’s lips were pressed so tightly together their edges were livid. She watched him struggle with his anger before he spoke. “I will not have you risking yourself like that. Not for my sake.”

“But I love you,” Grace said.

She knew how true the words were when tears sprang stingingly to her eyes. The feeling of having said them was extraordinary. Like floating, though she knew she was physical. All her life she’d been wishing someone would love her, and here she was loving someone else. She felt twice the size she’d been a second ago—free in ways that made absolutely no sense to her.

Of course, she hadn’t planned on blurting it out. And Christian certainly didn’t react like her true love did in her fantasies.

“Love is for idiots,” he said. “And you are not an idiot.”

It was, in its way, a compliment—just not one she could accept.

“Apparently I am.”

Christian’s face twisted and went red. She knew he was going to argue.

“I am,” she repeated, something about the ridiculousness of having to debate this calming her. “I left the waiting room to heaven so I could be with you. I seem to like you no matter what you do. I feel good when I’m with you. And I’m much more attracted to you than I’ve been to anyone before.”

“Attraction is not love,” he said stubbornly.

“Can’t it be a sign of it?”

Christian snorted and crossed his arms. “I do not want you to be in love with me.”

“And now I know you’re lying. You always get snooty when you’re not sure of yourself.”

“Snooty!”

Grace smiled angelically at him. “Maybe you’re afraid you love me back.”

He opened his mouth to deny it. A second later, calculation narrowed his eyes. “If I said I did love you, would you promise to take more care?”

“I don’t think so. True love doesn’t come with strings.”

His expression was such a war of outrage, confusion, and concealed male pleasure that she burst out laughing.

“Cease your caterwauling,” he said, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her.

“I love you,” she teased, still laughing. “I. Love. You.”

He cursed and then crashed his mouth on hers with a groan. “Grace,” he said, his interest in kissing her garbling it. “You must keep safe!”

Maybe she would have gotten him to admit that he felt the same. Maybe they simply would have made love. Either would have pleased her, but when she broke free to tease him some more, she saw someone approaching over his shoulder.

“Lavaux,” she said warningly.

“God’s teeth,” Christian hissed between his own. “I swear, I am going to kill that clay-brained puttock.”

Grace assumed
this
was not a compliment.

“Christian,” Lavaux said as he turned. His smirk alone was enough to put Grace’s hackles up. “I had heard you talked to yourself, but I did not credit it.”

“Who else should I talk to?” Christian returned coolly. “It is a conversation with someone I trust.”

Lavaux was smart enough to flush at the implied insult but not to counter it. He jutted his chin pridefully. “I am on patrol.”

“Then perhaps you should get back to it.”

Lavaux frowned. “She does not take you either, Durand.”

Who “she” was didn’t need an explanation.

“Would that she did not want to,” Christian muttered under his breath.

Grace guessed Lavaux didn’t understand that, because he shot Christian a suspicious look before he stalked away scowling. Probably he’d planned on the exchange going differently—withering Christian with his wit or some such thing. He should have known he wasn’t in Christian’s league, not as far as poker faces went. Christian had picked up that skill from Lavaux’s commander.

Once the Frenchman was gone, Christian tipped his head back to stare at the all-gray sky. Grace had been right about the snow. A few light flurries were floating down. They melted on Christian’s nose and cheeks, but somehow avoided hers, even when she tried to catch them. It gave her a peculiar feeling, as if—even in her physical form—she weren’t able to change the fate of one snowflake.

“I cannot turn to Michael for help with this,” Christian said.

Grace looked at him. He seemed to have forgotten they’d been kissing. His expression was sad and serious. “I didn’t know you were hoping to.”

“When you first came here, I considered asking him if he knew a ritual to banish you. He studied to be a monk for a time.” When she said nothing, he reached out to rub her arm. “Looking back, I do not think that is the sort of knowledge he acquired. I also do not think he knows any prayers to safekeep the men from Nim Wei’s magic. If he knew them, he would use them, and he has admitted he is attracted to her himself.”

Grace had deduced all this, but hadn’t wanted to say.

Christian slid his hand to hers and hooked their palms together. “I cannot go to my father. Either he will laugh and call me a milk-livered cur, or he will believe me—which might be worse. I fear he would find a way to use Mistress Wei’s powers to benefit himself.” He shook his head at the thought of it.

Grace squeezed his fingers. “I doubt the minstrel would be easy to take advantage of.”

“No,” Christian said, “but she might pretend.” He compressed his forehead between the thumb and fingers of his other hand. “I do not know what to do, Grace. I have no evidence that the threat she poses is lethal. I cannot kill a woman over a seduction.”

Not having known this option was on the table, Grace fought a kick of shock. Christian sure had a different set of standards. “Assuming she is killable,” she said.

“Assuming she is. Quite possibly, the moment I was near her, I would forget I intended to kill her.” Christian’s body twitched as if he wanted to resume pacing. His hold on Grace’s hand kept him where he was. “I do not like being helpless to protect my men. I do not like it at all.”

Grace hardly needed to be told that. She stepped to him and laid her head on his shoulder. Christian had a second of hesitation, and then both his arms wrapped her close. His chest was hard, but she found its warmth comforting.

“It will be all right,” she said. “Some solution will come to us.”

He kissed her hair, not believing that any more than she did. Her cheek lifted and fell with his heavy sigh. His hold on her loosened reluctantly.

“Lavaux’s interruption proves we are not private here. I think we had best return to camp.”

Grace didn’t mind sleeping in his embrace, even if Michael’s nearness meant not trying to make love. When she opened her eyes the following night, making love proved really impossible. Though Christian’s usual waking arousal had returned, Grace was—once again—her ephemeral ghostly self.

 

 

A
n impression of wrongness snapped open Nim Wei’s eyes at the break of dusk. Even in sleep, her aura kept the dirt at a slight distance, and it did not fall in her face. Without moving any more, she reached out with her senses. Her tent was empty, her protective rune-spell quiet above her.

Quiet now, at least. Someone had disturbed it, someone who had also disarranged her pillows. Nim Wei should have woken the moment whoever it was breached her wards. For that matter, the person should have left a trace she could pick up now.

Nothing remained of the intruder: not scent, not energy.

Unaccustomed to being thwarted, Nim Wei twisted uneasily in the ground. First there were those blank areas in Christian’s head and now this. Did she have a rival sorcerer among the soldiers? Was it possible for anyone to hide from her so well? Unlike most
upyr
, who relied strictly on their inborn powers, Nim Wei collected magic. It had interested her since she was human. She had never, however, run across a mortal who could do this.

The mystery irked her as much as Christian’s resistance to her seduction. For a moment, she considered abandoning her goal. Humans crawled upon the earth in legions. With patience, she would find others equally passionate and interesting—and quite likely more grateful for her attention.

Her hands made a negating motion.
No
, she thought. She was queen. If she could not devise a path around these obstacles, she did not deserve the name.

One fact was indisputable. Desirable though winning Christian was, she would have to proceed cautiously from now on.

W
hatever Christian expected would happen next, it was not that Mistress Wei would stop bedding anyone. They passed Turin without her enjoying another tryst, and Piacenza and Parma. Once out of the northern mountains, the weather grew milder. Bands of pilgrims were traversing the Via Aemilia, the old travelers’ road to Rome, in ample enough numbers that their campfires lit the mercenaries’ nocturnal way. Normally suspicious of soldiers they had not hired themselves, the pilgrims seemed to find Nim Wei and her escort irresistible. More than once, her party was invited to join a meal, so that she could play her lute for them.