Heart of the Flame (23 page)

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"No? You expect we believe you are merely a vagrant, poaching lambs from my village and deer from my woods?"

"I care not what you think."

"Mayhap you'd like to see what you really came here looking for," Kenrick drawled, a menacing edge in his voice.

Braedon snapped an askance look at him, unspoken caution for Kenrick to take care in what he divulged. Dying or nay, this 'poacher' bore the stamp of de Mortaine's control. Worse, the oxlike bulk and sinister mien bespoke an even greater threat.

An otherworldly one, borne of the same dark magic that wrought the Dragon Chalice itself.

But Kenrick knew precisely what he offered, and to whom.

"The death that awaits you here in this barn is an easy one, that is true. But unless you tell me what de Mortaine is up to, I've a mind to show you another end. One that will be aught but easy, I promise you." Kenrick narrowed his gaze on the dulling eyes of the Anavrin warrior. "Talk," he said, "or I will see that you meet your death amid fire and pain unlike anything you've ever known."

The big head pivoted at the coolly issued threat. Understanding dawned in the slitted look the mercenary fixed on Kenrick.

"
Calasaar
," he whispered, his pale tongue curling around the word in obvious, reverent wonder. The thick black beard split to reveal a grin of sharp yellowed teeth. "So, it is here after all. Le Nantres' guess was right."

"Where is Draec now?" Kenrick demanded.

"Closer than you could know." The man's ensuing chortle dissipated into a deep, wheezing cough. He spat blood onto the already red-stained straw.

"Tell us," Braedon snarled, pressing his blade to within a hairbreadth of the miscreant's throat. "What is the bastard up to?"

The man cursed them low under his breath, his string of black oaths swallowed up by a sudden commotion brewing up outside the lambing barn.

The guard posted there issued a stern order, but a female voice rose above it.

"I will not be turned away. You must let me in there!"

Dear God.

Haven.

"Keep her out," Kenrick called, hoping the sentry would obey him. "Do not permit her in here."

The sounds of struggle--of stubborn female determination--rang on the other side of the rickety barn door.

"You do not understand! Please, I must warn him. He could be in danger--"

In a confusion of creaking hinges and hasty scrambling, the panel burst open and Haven dashed into the gloom of the small outbuilding. She was breathless, her face flushed. She must have run on foot from the castle to the village. Her eyes were wild as she searched the dimness of the cramped space and found Kenrick.

Braedon's choice oath was echoed by Kenrick's own.

"God's blood," he shouted to his flummoxed guard. "Get her out of here!"

But it was too late. Haven was already running to his side.

And out of the corner of his eye, Kenrick saw the injured man begin to lunge to his feet in the stall. He leaped forth, snarling like the beast he truly was--a blur of seething darkness and biting talons that sunk into the bulk of Kenrick's shoulder.

Chapter 18

Haven's scream tore from her throat. The cry of shock, of bone-deep horror, rent the musty stillness of the barn as she saw Kenrick come under surprise attack from behind. The man who leaped on him--for she had been certain he was a man in the moment it took for her eyes to adjust to the gloom of the small barn--now bore the shape and manner of a beast.

Shifter.

The word was a hiss of memory that skated across her mind like a razor-sharp lance.

Night-black, bristly with a coat as thick as any wolf's, the creature seemed to possess an immense, otherworldly strength. It clung to Kenrick with sharp claws, its sudden writhing weight on his back driving him down on one knee. Savage jaws flashed bright and frenzied as the wolf sought to rip through the chain mail to the flesh of Kenrick's shoulder and neck.

The beast meant to kill him.

Shifter.

Haven shook away the pull of recall that seized her, all her focus--her very heart--rooted on Kenrick. She jolted forward, running the three steps that separated her from the spot where he struggled, but Braedon's stern voice halted her before she could reach him.

"Stay back!"

Braedon's sword was already swinging down in a punishing arc. The long blade of steel sunk into the side of the wolfish creature. It howled and thrashed, recoiling in pain.

Kenrick twisted out from under the bulky black body and threw it to the ground. His own blade sang a metallic shriek as he drew the weapon and drove it home.

Everything had happened so fast.

Haven looked to Kenrick, relief spilling over her to see that he was alive. He stood before her, torn and bloodied from the fight, his face hard, as unforgiving as his sword, which was gripped in his hand and dripping with the lifeblood of the creature who would have killed him in those frenzied moments. At his feet, lay the beast.

Save that it was no longer beast, but man.

Dark, dying eyes stared back at her from a face gone slack with the coming of the end. One large hand lay stretched out in her direction, hard fingers reaching toward her as though to entreat her while those dulling eyes held her in unspoken contempt.

In that moment, her gaze compelled by all she had seen--by what was rippling into her mind like a returning tide--Haven could not move.

She knew him.

Faith...she had seen this man before.

His breath rattled out of him in a slow, broken wheeze. And in the moment before life dimmed from his glittering gaze, the thick black beard split into a leering, bloody grin.

This man--this vile creature--had recognized her, too.

He had been at Greycliff that night, she was certain of it.

He had stood near her in the smoke-filled darkness of the keep as it went up in flames. Heaven above, but she could hear his growling voice grating in her ear--a shout gone up to spare no one, not even the smallest child.

Horrific words.

A hellish command.

"Haven." Kenrick's voice sifted past the jolting awareness that had so suddenly overcome her. He took a step toward where she stood. "Haven, it is all right now. 'Tis over."

She shook her head, an unconscious denial that she felt to her very marrow.

"No," she murmured, knowing for certain whatever had transpired there was not over.

The danger she had sensed the night before was only intensifying. It was brushing up against her, twisting around her legs like a cat. She saw it in the sightless gaze of the man who stared at her even now, his dead but leering grin chilling her like ice at her nape.

"I have to get out of here," she gasped.

"Haven."

"No." Kenrick held out his hand to her, but she flinched away from him, taking a few careless steps in retreat. "I have to...get out of this place. I cannot...Oh, faith, I cannot breathe."

Pivoting on her heel, she stumbled forward, back toward the open door of the barn. She pushed away the sentry's hand as he tried to catch her, to hold her at his lord's command. With a wordless cry, Haven righted herself and bolted into the blinding sunlight outside.

Kenrick called out to her, but she could not bring herself to halt or turn back. She flew out of the barn and began running.

Running from the disturbing truth of what she had witnessed in the barn--and from the sudden flood of memories that rose to choke her when she thought of the horror that had transpired at Greycliff Castle some weeks ago.

* * *

Kenrick saw the look of distress in Haven's eyes in the instant before she fled the barn. While few sane people would credit what had occurred--the incredible transformation that had played out as the Anavrin shifter vaulted into his attack--Kenrick felt certain that in some way, Haven did understand. There had been a flicker of recognition behind her astonishment, a reflexive jolt of awareness that said this had not been the first time she had witnessed the dark doings of Silas de Mortaine's henchmen.

Haven might have recognized the evil at work, but she could not be expected to cope with the stunning horror of it, certainly not alone.

And if any of de Mortaine's minions yet lurked about Clairmont's grounds, the very last thing Kenrick wanted was to think of Haven unwittingly meeting up with them in her current state of panic.

"Go after her," Braedon said, confirming Kenrick's look with grave nod of his head. His mouth twisted as he glanced in the direction of the fallen shifter. "I'll manage this offal without you."

Without further word or delay, Kenrick lunged for the open door of the barn.

A field hand stood outside near the fenced yard. He glanced at Kenrick's fierce expression, then gestured toward the path leading to the steep castle motte. "She headed up that way, 'lord."

But Kenrick had already spied her fleeing form on the road. He ran to his mount and vaulted astride it. A jab of his heels sent the white charger into a full gallop on the dusty path. He would catch up to her quickly, save that Haven suddenly veered off the path and into the forest ridge that ran along one side of Clairmont's property.

"Haven, wait!" he shouted to her, but she paid him no heed.

With an oath, Kenrick urged his horse into a faster pace, hauling on the reins when he reached the place where Haven had disappeared. His feet hit the soft earth with a thud as he jumped down to follow her on foot. A section of ancient stone fence had been toppled in this spot. Kenrick leaped over the lichen-covered rubble and stretched his legs into a sprint as he chased after Haven.

The forest thicket was dense with new spring growth. Heavy ivy twisted on the ground, crisp green leaves crushing underfoot. The tightly woven ground cover proved a boon, aiding Kenrick in quickly spying Haven's path through the bramble and farther into the woods. She had run with aimless haste; Kenrick tracked her with careful expedience.

And he found her soon enough.

He spotted a bright patch of blue among the verdant expanse of the forest. Resting her back against a moss-patched slab of boulder, Haven's shoulders fair shook, her chest rising and falling with the swift breaths she took into her lungs. She heard his approach and immediately jumped to alertness. Her head pivoted toward him, the loose strands of her hair flying about her like auburn fire.

"It's all right," he told her. "You don't need to run from me. It's all right."

She moved away from the rock, a cautious look flashing in the wildness of her eyes. She took a hesitant step, and for a moment Kenrick expected her to begin her flight anew. But she did not.

"Kenrick," she cried, and launched herself toward him.

He caught her in his arms and held her close, his heart racing, clenching tight as a fist to feel her clinging to him with such need. Such undeniable trust.

Kenrick lifted her face and pressed his mouth to hers. It was a chaste kiss, one of comfort and understanding. Of reassurance that she was safe with him.

"Are you all right?"

She did not seem capable of speaking. A strangled sound caught in her throat, but she gave him a small nod.

"Jesu Criste," he swore against her heated brow. "Don't ever run from me like that again."

She burrowed deeper into his embrace. Never had he felt this vulnerability in her, this total trust that he would protect her, and that she would accept that protection. He realized suddenly that she was trembling. His fiery lady, who seemed to fear nothing short of death itself, was shaking with a tremor that seemed rooted in her very core.

"Why did you come down here?" he asked, his own voice unsteady as he held her. "Why would you risk such a thing?"

"I had to warn you."

"Warn me of what?"

She clung to him a bit tighter, her arms wrapped about his waist as though to never let go. "Last night, after I returned to my room...I thought I saw something outside the keep. I...
felt
something. Something cold and dangerous that seemed to be reaching out for me through the dark. It was him, Kenrick. I didn't know it last night, but when I saw him back there, after he attacked you--"

"You've remembered something."

Kenrick did not ask it of her, for there was no need. He had read her expression in the barn, just as he could now read the source of her distress in every quiver of her limbs.

"Something has come back to you, hasn't it?"

"Yes." The whisper was but a trace of sound that he felt more than heard.

"There is no need to fear the memories, Haven. They cannot harm you."

She twisted her face away from him, squeezing her eyes closed as if the memory of that fiery night seared her just to think on it. "You don't know...you cannot know..."