Love in the Fortress (3 page)

The housekeeper’s voice called from down the hall. “Sandra, where are you? I need my feet rubbed and you promised.”

As he drew back, he had to laugh. “From this to tending a troll’s warty feet.”

Sandra shrugged, but she smiled. “Yvonne has been here longer than me by another thirty years and gives me plenty of freedom for this small service. Besides,” her eyes took on a distant expression, “She’s my friend, a fellow-slave, and she’s kindness personified. So, yes, I’ll go from the magic of being with you to tending her aching feet. She works long hours and has very limited self-healing ability.”

He leaned his forehead against hers. “You have a good heart, Sandra.”

“So do you.” She caressed his face. “But, Griffin, I didn’t know.”

“What? What didn’t you know?” He needed to hear her say the words.

“What we have between us. It’s love, isn’t it? Until now, this night, I thought it was friendship. Or maybe what I’m feeling is just some kind of fortress desperation.”

He wanted to say ‘No, it’s love’, but he feared saying the words out loud. Life in the fortress was a struggle. If Margetta or any of the Invictus servants knew how he felt about her, it could be used against them. “This is unwise.”

He felt her body grow still. “You’re right, it is.”

He drew back meeting her saddened eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt you by saying that.”

“You didn’t. You just reminded me of our reality.” She planted her hands on his chest then gently pushed him away. “I should go.”

He stepped back a few feet, giving her space. He was still aroused and would need a minute to calm down. She pulled two linen towels off the shelf as well as a bar of soap.

With her hand on the door, she looked back at him over her shoulder. “You’re not my type, you know. Not even a little. You’re too handsome, too big, too strong, too much a warrior. Sweet Goddess, help me.”

Though the room was dark, his vampire vision warmed up her features and he couldn’t let her go thinking he was okay with her scheme. “I won’t help you hunt for the key.”

She looked up at him, her eyes glimmering with tears. “I’m not asking you to. I don’t want you in any kind of danger because of what I’m doing. But you should head out to spar before you’re found and punished.” She opened the door and slipped through.

He heard her call to the housekeeper. “I’m here, Mistress. I have towels and soap. Let me fetch the hot water.”

Griffin remained in one spot, fists on hips, his gaze pinned to the floor. If he was at all wise, he would forget about her.

Then he smiled. She thought him handsome, strong, and too much a warrior. Like hell he was forgetting anything.

After waiting several minutes, long after hearing Sandra’s voice, as well as the housekeeper’s, fade to nothing, he left the storage room.

Heading to the north-facing door near the guard’s room, he passed into the fortress vegetable garden then trotted in the direction of the training camps. The night was dark, almost moonless and as in the storage room, his vision lit up the vista as though the sun shone.

His chest tightened at the sight of hundreds of rows of tents as far as the eye could see. Wraith’s shrieked as they flew overhead. Margetta had found a way to harness the unruly Invictus pairs and shape them into a formidable army. Goddess help the combined Vampire Guards and Shifter Brigades of the Nine Realms, because the Ancient Fae’s army was bigger than the ruling mastyrs had ever thought possible.

CHAPTER TWO

Sandra took her time easing the pain in Yvonne’s feet, as much by a soothing massage as by the healing she released into the woman’s knobby toes and flattened arches. Afterward, the housekeeper prepped the tray for Sandra to take to the tower. When she wasn’t waiting on Margetta directly, Sandra served the overburdened housekeeper in any way she needed, including taking meals to the Ruby Fae.

Once there, she found Mistress Regan sitting on the high window sill. The powerful fae often levitated to the otherwise inaccessible place to look out over the army grounds.

Sandra didn’t speak with her since the troll could hear their conversation. He waited on the other side of the now locked door, peering into the room through the barred window. The troll reported everything to Margetta.

Sandra gripped the tray in both hands, waiting in a submissive pose with her neck bent forward slightly.

Mistress Regan wrapped her long gown tight to her legs as she made a slow descent, careful not to hit any of the furniture while coming down. The tower was not a large space, just really tall and impossible to escape except by the door.

Regan was a beautiful woman with light brown hair and dark eyes. She had strong cheekbones and a lovely straight nose. But her real beauty lay within. She had a spiritual calm that somehow made Sandra feel better just by entering the small round chamber.

Once Regan sat down at the table, Sandra laid out the silverware and food in the usual order, careful to obey Margetta’s rules to the letter: bowl and plate first, then an embroidered cloth napkin, large spoon, and a small ceramic cup of blackberry wine. Even this would be reported.

Fortunately, Sandra had exceptional telepathic abilities and had been able to path with Regan from the beginning. But even in this she kept their exchanges brief. Lingering too long in the room because she was pathing with the Ruby Fae could alert the troll as well. She might despise the guard for the soulless creature he was, but he wasn’t stupid.
Mistress, I wish you to know that I’m attempting to find the duplicate key to your room, since the guard would notice if the original was missing. Once I have it, I’ll bring it with the next meal.

Regan took Sandra’s hand, a gesture hidden from the troll because Sandra’s body blocked his view.
I wasn’t sure it was something you could do, but I’m very grateful. I have the worst feeling Margetta is planning to bond me to a chosen mastyr soon.

Sandra was surprised.
A mastyr? Not a wraith?

Yes, I know it doesn’t make sense, but that’s what Margetta told me earlier when she visited my room. I believe I’m to be a reward for a mastyr who has aligned himself with her.

Sandra remained perfectly still.
I’m very sorry, Mistress. Although you must be right about the timing because gossip in the fortress has been rife. But I’m doing all I can to find the key for you.

I’m more grateful than I can ever express.

It’s the least I can do for you and for the war against this terrible woman.

She left shortly afterward, more determined than ever to discover the location of the duplicate.

She thought about reverting to her original get-the-guard-drunk scheme, but Griffin was right. She’d have no chance of survival afterward since all evidence of the Ruby Fae’s escape would point to her. Somehow she had to locate the duplicate and sneak it to Regan during the last meal before dawn.

She spent the next hour searching through the various cupboards in the lowest levels of the fortress. If she was questioned, she planned to say she’d misplaced an entire box of Margetta’s favorite rose petal sachets. But no one asked what she was doing and for that, she was grateful.

There were numerous storage rooms and pantries, but she had no luck, even in the dungeon areas. Every key had a duplicate but the only places where they were kept were on the pegs outside the kitchen or in the guard room. But the duplicate to the tower wasn’t in either place which meant it had to be somewhere else. But where? She just hoped Margetta didn’t have it in her possession. If she did, Sandra would have to change plans and probably go with her get-the-troll-drunk scheme, after all.

As she returned to the slaves’ dining room to have her own bowl of soup, one of the maids, Trisha, intercepted her, dragging her into the hall near the bathrooms.

The young elven woman’s eyes were wide. “Mistress Sandra, I’m so sorry, but Mastyr Griffin has been wounded while sparring. Badly. He’s lost a lot of blood. The healers have called for you. They have orders to summon Margetta if he approaches death, but as you know, it goes badly for all of them if she’s forced to leave her labors. Especially for Mastyr Griffin. Margetta will torture him if she has to bring him back from death again.”

The world went entirely white, except for young Trisha’s face. Her pointed ears twitched and tears bloomed in her dark brown eyes. “Mistress Sandra? Did you hear what I said?”

Sandra patted Trisha’s shoulder, but she wasn’t sure how to answer her. Was it only a couple of hours ago Griffin had kissed her? Sweet Goddess, she couldn’t bear the thought of Griffin suffering one more night at the hands of the Ancient Fae.

When the room no longer spun, she met Trisha’s gaze, choosing to ask the hardest question. “How close is he to succumbing?”

“Very. The healers were most adamant you should join them immediately. It was Mastyr Fulton who did this.”

Griffin’s feud with the vampire in charge of the sparring line was well-known. He despised Fulton more than even the Invictus pairs. From the time Griffin had been a captive in the camp, Fulton had tortured a number of slaves for the pleasure of it and several had died. Yet somehow Fulton had managed to dispose of the bodies without Margetta becoming aware of the murders. The Ancient Fae punished anyone who killed her slaves.

More often than not, when Griffin took mortal wounds, Fulton was the author.

With her heart pounding, she swallowed hard. “Where is he?”

“In the stables.”

“Please tell Mistress Yvonne where I’ve gone.”

“I will.”

Sandra picked up her long skirts and ran as fast as she could. Griffin was the reason she’d started feeling more like herself, like maybe she would be okay, like she could do the impossible and help the Ruby Fae escape. She didn’t want him to die. And the thought of how cruel Margetta could be when she had to use her healing power to bring any of her people back from the dead was an equal motivation to do her part.

She raced down the hall and out the north door leading through the fortress vegetable garden. She turned to the right and hurried along the path beside a row of tall hedges. A couple of Invictus wraiths streaked through the air, jeering as she ran, but she was safe from them. Margetta had strict rules about the slaves remaining unmolested. Any Invictus attempting to harm a slave would be killed.

Even the most maniacal wraiths had sufficient self-preservation instincts to restrain their killing urges.

The stables were two hundred yards from the house, a leftover from the era of horses. The stone out-building now housed several motorcycles and ATVs, imported from the States.

She didn’t need to be told which room Griffin was in since a cluster of sparring warriors had gathered around the central door. They were all slaves captured at various times during Invictus raids from a number of the realms. Griffin, one of the most powerful mastyrs in the sparring line-up, was their unacknowledged leader.

She pushed through the group and found Griffin stretched out on a table. Eyes closed, he writhed from the pain of the wound and several men worked hard to keep him pinned in place. But they struggled because the mastyr was so physically strong.

His suffering pierced her heart.

Two fae healers, both men who had slaved at the fortress for even longer than she had, worked on him. Each had their hands poised above two severe abdominal cuts. Vibrations of healing energy pulsed within the room.

For a moment she stood transfixed, her gaze watching Griffin’s blood drip from the table to the stone floor beneath. The color was red and so very real.

She’d seen many wounds over the years and occasionally assisted with the healing process. But her recently acknowledged feelings for Griffin threatened to overwhelm her.

She forced herself to draw a deep breath. “I’m here. Tell me what to do.” The words left her mouth before she’d even formed the thought. Even with her knees feeling watery, she kept moving toward the table anyway.

One of the fae looked back at her. “Thank you for coming, Mistress. We know you value Mastyr Griffin and we need your help. Can you calm him? He’s not in his right mind and we’ll be able to help him better if he doesn’t thrash so much.”

“Of course.”

She spent the next hour with her hands on top of Griffin’s head, letting her power flow into his mind and ease his pain. The more relaxed his body became, even in his semi-conscious state, the swifter his cuts began to heal.

An hour wore on, then another. Progress, though slow, was steady, and gradually the wounds began to close.

When most of the healing was done, he slowly opened his eyes. He blinked several times as though trying to make sense of where he was. Leaning close, she spoke quietly to him. She explained that he’d been hurt during sparring and he was now in the stables.

He held her gaze, then pathed,
You came. Thank you.

Her heart swelled as she looked down at him. Affection swirled through her.
Concentrate on your healing.

Tell them you’ll take me back to the fortress to feed me.

She stared at him for a moment. Did he really want her to feed him? But what surprised her more was how much she wanted to do exactly that.

She nodded, then addressed the lead healer. “As soon as Griffin can walk, I’ll take him to the fortress and offer a vein. Would you agree this is the best course?”

“Yes, Mistress,” the fae said. “Opening a vein for him would complete his healing.”

The thought of giving her blood to Griffin, however, caused Sandra’s skin to grow warm and her heart to beat harder still. She put a hand to her chest. She felt very full as though her body was already preparing to take care of him. She’d never done this before and wondered if it was normal, to feel a supply building when you were about to feed a vampire?

When Griffin was at last on his feet and felt strong enough to walk, she slid her arm around his waist. He still wore his leathers and thigh boots, but otherwise was bare-chested. Another wave of heat, full of forbidden desire, washed through her.

She thought about her time in the fortress and how much her life had improved since Griffin had come. A year ago, she’d been lonely. But his presence in her life had changed all that.