Night of the Highland Dragon (19 page)

“Thank you,” said Judith.

She went inside. She'd check on Ross, then talk with her brothers. She didn't have time to think about how relieved Janssen's last statement had made her feel—nor how disappointed she'd felt a moment before.

Necessary facts: The hand. The knife (and William did not want to think about that more than he had to, nor about how close his timing had been, nor about the myriad things “didn't want a corpse” might cover). Ross's apparent fit of idealism. The letters. Brothers in London.

Riding, William made the list over and over, devoting to it all of the consciousness he could spare. Placid as the mare was, that wasn't very much—even the best parts of the road were narrow and uneven—and William was almost thankful for the distraction. The border between analysis and overthinking was very fine at times. This was likely one of them.

By the time he reached the post office in Belholm, he and the horse were both dripping sweat despite the cold day. William patted her side on the way in, a manner of vague apology, and then rushed to the telegraph counter, where the young man in attendance looked up and stared. “Sir?” he managed.

“Telegram,” said William. “I'll give you the addresses at the end.”

Inwardly he felt for the boy. He hadn't stopped to tidy up before he'd flung himself on horseback, and now he stood hatless, shirtless beneath his coat, and disheveled, not to mention flushed and perspiring. He
had
made sure there was no blood left on him, though. The local constables wouldn't be bursting in to interrupt him.

“Begin,” he said. “Initial quarry located and subdued. Stop. Resourceful man. Stop.” The official euphemisms filled his head, all fairly and thankfully straightforward compared to the letter codes. “Doing favors for friends. Stop. Interested in local nobility. Stop.”

Then
he
stopped, with the telegraph boy watching him in a blend of excitement and wariness, and tried to recall how to go on. The phrase for “necromancy” was more obscure than the ones for “sorcerer” and “suspected cult affiliation.” Meanwhile, the two other customers were staring at him too.

One day, Clarke would be clever enough to invent a private bloody system of sending urgent messages. Meanwhile, if one of the cults was active in England—and lively enough to have its minions try to kidnap a MacAlasdair—D. Branch needed to know as immediately as he could manage.

“Used help from underground. Stop.” There it was. “Exact membership unknown. Stop.”

Ross hadn't woken up enough to talk, although neither William nor Ronald had been particularly gentle about carrying him. Once in the drawing room, William had stripped the unconscious man to the waist, to the puzzlement and scandal of Mr. Gordon.

“Looking for marks,” William had explained, and a knowing look had entered the other man's eyes.

“Tattoos, aye? I've heard of that wi' criminals.”

William had nodded and let Ronald have the half-truth. None of the cults would tattoo its members
just
for affiliation, but the Grey Duke's servants used certain designs as a conduit for dark power, and other forms of initiation left telltale scars. The old witch finders had been, mostly, as vile fanatics as anyone William had hunted, but their beliefs had somehow enveloped a shred of truth: certain beings left signs on their followers' bodies.

Aside from William's bullet wound, the only mark on Ross had been a scar along his right bicep: old enough for the wound itself to have healed, fresh enough still to be pink. It didn't look like a demon's mark or a god's. It looked like the sort of thing a man might pick up in a knife fight. Ross hadn't seemed like the knife-fighting type.

And yet—there'd been that moment of recognition when they'd met, that itch at the back of William's mind, and then Ross's hostility. William had a good memory, but even he might be hazy about a face he'd seen once before, and that during the chaos of a raid.

“Possible adviser,” he added. “End message.”

He gave the lad Baxter's address and the address of the central office in London, and handed a note across the counter. From the young man's expression, William thought he'd overpaid, but he didn't care, nor did he stay around to collect the change. Let the operator have the joy of it. He needed to get home.

From the wide-eyed way the stable boy looked at him when he arrived at the castle, word of both Ross's trespasses and William's “real profession” must have spread rapidly. Fascination didn't keep the older groom from looking disapprovingly back and forth between the exhausted mare and William, nor from clicking his tongue in sympathetic reproach as he led the horse away. Stopping the Apocalypse itself might not have been a good enough reason, in the groom's eyes, for taxing a good beast in that manner.

When William reached the kitchen door, feeling far too disheveled for the front entrance, Janssen was sitting at the table, talking with the cook over bread and jam. Both rose when William entered.

“Lady MacAlasdair's out, sir,” said Janssen. “She said, if you want to stay here, we're to give you tea in the kitchen until she returns. But if you want to find her, sir,” he added, clearing his throat and continuing with the air of a man who didn't quite believe what he was saying, “she's in the forest. She said you'll know where.”

“Then I will.”

* * *

When he wasn't running in the dark, the trip through the forest was actually rather pleasant, particularly after he'd borrowed a shirt and a hat from Janssen. Thus sheltered from the chilly air, he made his way along the paths he'd taken before, with the world quiet around him and the smell of pine in the air. Red light from the sky filtered down through the shadows of the trees, which made the forest look a trifle more infernal than William would have preferred, but it was calm and peaceful. He hadn't had much calm or peace in the last few hours.

He'd always had a good memory for directions—it was one of the reasons he'd done so well in D Branch—but the ease with which he found these particular paths surprised him. Perhaps it shouldn't have. Meeting a dragon was the sort of experience that branded itself on a man's mind. That would probably have been true even if the dragon hadn't been Judith.

As William walked, he kept looking up at the sky, or what parts of it he could see through breaks in the trees. He spotted two or three flying shapes. A moment's observation and a distinct
whooooo
in one case revealed them to be birds, but he stood still in each case until he was sure.

She
said
she'd meet you
, he told himself sternly after the third time.
Why
does
it
matter
if
you
see
her
beforehand
or
not?

He had no real answer for that—nothing save that he'd see her sooner, that he'd know she was unhurt when he had time and concentration to fix the fact of it in his mind. Before, in the Gordons' house, he'd had duty to think of. They both had.

Ahead was the point where William remembered leaving the path, or thereabouts. He took a step or two forward, looked off into the woods—and blinked in surprise.

Before, he'd pushed his way through a small wilderness of rocks and branches, hedges and briars. He'd thought he would have an easier time when he could go more slowly and carefully, and when the light was better, but he'd still anticipated the same obstacles.

Instead, a wide trail led off into the woods. A little wider than a man's body, it wound over crushed plants and beside uprooted brambles. In one place, a log that William had needed to climb over was gone, tossed into the forest beside the trail.

She hadn't known he'd be coming. She'd offered him another option. But she'd prepared just in case. That might have been hospitality—it was a strong tradition in older parts of the world and among the older races, and Judith was at least partly a daughter of both—but it made William smile, and the evening air was considerably less cold.

The way to the clearing felt short once he'd started down the new path, much shorter than it had on his previous trip. Despite the sorcery around Loch Arach, William knew
that
was subjective.

As the wind shifted, he could smell smoke, and before long, he saw the glow of flames through the trees ahead of him. William hesitated—uncontrolled, a fire out here would be a serious matter—but the flames stayed where they were, low to the ground and not apparently growing.

Besides, he thought then, Judith would probably have to be in some trouble if the forest itself was on fire.

Hoping for the best, but with a hand on his gun, William stepped quickly out into the clearing.

The fire was as he'd been wishing: a large, well-built pile of wood surrounded by a wide ring of bare earth and stones. The flames burned merrily, reaching up into the night sky like friendly hands.

At one side of the bonfire, Judith perched on a rock. She was in human form, but she managed to perch nonetheless: knees drawn up to her chest, elbows resting on knees, chin in her hands. The dress she wore was dark, and in it, sitting quite still and watching the flames, she blended almost completely into the shadows.

Hearing him—probably, although given her other form, William thought that smell might be as reasonable a clue—she turned her head, a swift flick of her neck that would have been quite painful for a normal human. Her eyes glowed when they met his, all the more visibly so in the shifting shadows that passed over her face.

Her lips parted, full and dark.

“Hello,” said William, all other speech driven momentarily from his head. He felt that his body went forward of its own will, knowing what he didn't and certain where he wasn't. There were instincts stronger than bodily survival.

“I didn't know whether to expect you or not,” said Judith, the wood crackling in counterpoint to her voice. “I thought I'd wait until after twilight.”

She was standing as she spoke, unfolding herself into her full height as a human, into the full force of her body's curves and its strength, and William watched like a lad at his first magic lantern show. Judith was here. She was alive and whole, and every move she made was as wondrous as the first transformation he'd seen.

“I'm glad you did,” he managed.

They had business to talk about, he and Judith—questions of Ross's disposal and of the next steps between D Branch and the MacAlasdairs, even questions about the MacDougals and Dr. McKendry, the plundered graves and the snuffed hand. William knew that. He knew that his duty lay in discussing such things, and soon he would remember it enough to speak properly.

Before he could reach that moment, Judith was in his arms.

William reacted fast. No sooner had Judith come within his reach than he'd pulled her to him, one arm snug around her waist and the other hand twined in her hair. He kissed her roughly, desperately, his lips hard and demanding. In no mood to be passive, Judith dug her fingernails into his shoulders and wrapped her body around his, battling him for control and loving every second of the struggle. The speed with which he'd responded would by itself have taken her breath away.

Granted, she didn't think she'd exactly surprised him. She hadn't planned on congress. She'd built the fire thinking they would talk, and that anything more would come after. But his scent on the air and the sound of his footsteps had snapped her from unsettling thoughts to intense physical awareness, and she'd welcomed the change. From the moment she'd turned her head and seen William walk into the grove, she'd wanted him, been wet and tingling and open for him from the first word he'd said, and the sensation had filled all the space between them.

She could have held back, but why?

There would always be time to talk.

He palmed her breasts through her shirtwaist, rough caresses in which his talented hands squeezed and rubbed without any sign of his usual patience, and Judith groaned against his mouth. Her whole body hummed with lust—with
need
—strong enough to overwhelm all other awareness. This was like the hunt too: the cold air, the warmth of flame and flesh, the uncomplicated drive toward a single and increasingly urgent objective.

When she wrapped a leg around William's thigh, they both swayed, off balance, and William swore in an almost dragonish hiss. “Probably better places—” he muttered.

Before he could think too much about that, Judith dragged his mouth back down to hers again. As they kissed—he was easy to distract, thank God—she pulled both of them backward, stumbling blindly in her conflicting urges to find the right spot and to keep kissing William, keep feeling his hands on her breasts and the firm muscle of his arse beneath her palms.

At another time, the impact of the tree against her back might have hurt. Now it was cause for celebration. Judith grinned against William's neck. “Better place,” she said and licked the hollow behind his ear. Pulling him against her, she slid her hands under his coat and raked her fingernails up his spine.

This time, William groaned, just before he pulled her head back and claimed her mouth again, his tongue as hot and insistent as the long, hard ridge of his cock was against Judith's aching sex. He thrust against her quickly, in a rhythm she welcomed and quickly echoed, one only disrupted by his hand as he tugged her skirts upward and out of the way. Even when it was accidental, the touch of his hand on her thigh made Judith shiver.

She reached for him, wrapping her hand around his rod for a teasing second to feel it pulse through the thin fabric of his trousers—but a second was all either of them could allow for teasing. Judith pulled her mouth away from William's and bit her lip as she flicked open the first button of his fly. The second got caught for a much-too-long second, and she was just on the verge of pulling it off, to hell with his trousers and either of their reputations, when it came free and the third followed. His cock sprang out, pushing against her hand, and he arched his hips to thrust into her grip.

“Do you need to—” she began, not wanting to stop and talk but wanting more to have him fully at his ease.

He shook his head. “I believe you.”

“Good,” Judith said and pulled his head down to kiss him again.

Then William pushed her back against the tree and wedged his body between her legs. With one hand, he spread her open, rubbing her sex in the process and making her cry out. She let out another cry when he thrust into her, mingling with his own growl, and let her head fall back against the supporting trunk. He was filling her, stretching her, as hot inside her body as the fire had been on her back. Cold behind her and to her sides; heat before her and inside her. The contrast left her gasping and frantic.

Now, with William's hands to aid her and the tree at her back, she could wrap her legs around his hips, holding him with all the muscles, inside and out, that she'd developed over an active life. She heard his appreciation in the half-choked curse that left his lips and felt it in the first of his thrusts, deep and hard, and in the heat of his mouth on her bare neck. She jerked her hips up to meet his, welcoming the contact and craving more.

He gave it to her: strong and smooth. Even on the edge of his self-control, he plunged deep into her again and again in a relentless series of thrusts that built and built until she was screaming, knowing that nothing in the forest could hear her and beyond caring even if that wasn't true. She called out his name, she urged him onward, and toward the end, she begged him with more desperation than she'd ever felt in her life, clawing at his back and shoulders, needing above everything to be fuller and closer and—there,
there
.

Climax was like a full-body blow. Blind and breathless, she could only lean against the tree, trusting in it and in William's arms as pleasure claimed her whole body. It went on for what seemed like hours, as William's steady pace quickened and became desperate itself, as he arched forward and spent himself inside her in a moment of warmth and sensation that blended with the last few seconds of her own peak. There was no thought in that moment, only instinct and sensation.

Judith wished it could have gone on forever.

* * *

“I'll take Ross out to Aberdeen tomorrow,” said William. “My contacts can see to transportation from there. And he should be able to stand the journey by morning.”

It was the first either of them had spoken since finding the tree, and it was a firm tug back earthward. Judith went on picking pine needles out of her hair. “Well enough. It'll do the village good not to have him about,” she said calmly.

She didn't ask if William would come back. She knew the answer.

“You should go with me,” he said, which did make Judith look at him in surprise. “I wasn't there when he came in with the hand. I don't know all of what he said. Having a witness would help. Particularly one who knows the village.”

“Particularly one who knows my family too, I'd think,” said Judith. A piece of bark was stuck between her waistband and her shirt. She fished it out, knowing she'd find others, and that her shoulders and back would bear faint red marks. That was fine.

“Probably, yes.”

She walked over to stand above the remains of the fire. Only a few flames licked at the air now, and they were small. The fire pit held mostly dark wood and glowing coals. The air had started to feel chilly again. Judith didn't mind; it felt good on her hot face and hands. “If we're to open relations”—oh, that was a nice double entendre now—“with your people, this might be a good chance to start, aye?”

“That too,” said William.

He was careful, she thought, not to sound too enthusiastic, not to try to persuade her that he had her own good at heart. If she hadn't had to keep her mind on business, she'd have kissed him for that.

Stephen might have been a better choice. He was more familiar with the city, and he'd had more to do with pure humans and modern humans and the world as a whole. If she put William in touch with him, Judith thought, she wouldn't have to leave Loch Arach.

She discarded that idea partly for the reason she'd told Stephen not to come up—he had a wife and a small child, and she was only willing to trust D Branch so far.

Partly she wanted to go. The thought squeezed her chest and throat, smoke from a much sloppier fire than she'd ever built. Loch Arach wasn't a refuge any longer.

“I'll come,” she said and then cleared her throat and added, “I'll have to leave in a year or two anyhow.”

She'd spoken half to herself, but when William asked, “Why?” the question was neither startling nor intrusive.

Judith shrugged, still not turning from the fire. She heard him walk forward, then felt his arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her back against his chest. Surrounded by warmth, breathing in William's scent, she leaned her head against his and felt her muscles unwind. “It's what we do,” she said, and the words didn't hurt as much as she'd thought they would. “You can't have the same lord for two hundred years, can you? Not even for sixty, if he—or she—looks twenty the whole time. So I'll leave, and my ‘nephew' will come and take over and inherit when I ‘die overseas.'”

“You do that regularly?”

“Aye. I've stayed too long as it is.” She sighed. “It's easy to do.”

He nodded, his hair brushing lightly against her. “It's a peaceful place. And one gets tired of war—even the small ones I fight. I'd imagine it goes double for the larger sort.”

“I'd really hoped to forget the way a bullet sounds going into flesh,” Judith said, “or the smell of human blood. But that's not the way life happened, is it?” Regret was a waste of time. She'd learned that when she was still young, even by mortal standards. “Do you know who those ‘brothers' Ross mentioned might be?”

“One of the cults I mentioned,” he said after a second's hesitation. “The most likely call themselves the Consuasori—derived from a Latin word that means ‘advisers.'”

“Seems like he had more than advice in mind. What do they want?”

“England the way it was in their day. Ruling the world—or at least the nation—to make sure it doesn't change very much.”

Judith laughed, viciously satisfied. “They must be having a hell of a time lately, then.”

“In more ways than one. We raided their main meeting place about half a year ago.” William flexed the fingers of one hand absently against her stomach, a man recalling an old pain. “We were sure we'd gotten most of the cult—and I think we did capture or kill most of the major figures—but a few escaped. Apparently they're still better organized than we'd hoped.”

“They always are,” said Judith, “whoever they are. And if Ross was getting orders, then there's at least one or two more who I can hold to account for all this.”

“You won't be the only one,” William said, and his arms tightened about her, offering a promise that she didn't want to make him speak aloud. “We'll have to find them, of course.”

“Or him,” said Judith. “Ross said only one other man knew what he was doing up here.”

“I'm not sure if that makes things easier or not.”

“Well, I hear your people are good at finding things out.” Judith looked up at William and smiled, then raised her head to brush a light kiss across his lips. “You managed better than any other mortal in my lifetime.”

“Something to remember,” he said lightly, “in my old age.”

She expected that to sting, and it did, a little, but no matter. Pain passed like all other things. “I'd not tell your grandchildren much more about that, though,” she replied, managing the same joking tone he had. “You'll quite scandalize them.”

“Someone has to,” said William, and he sighed. “Shall we?”

“The world waits,” said Judith.

* * *

They left early in the morning for Aberdeen. Trains didn't enter into it this time—Judith's carriage was waiting when William reached the castle, with a pair of sturdy horses in harness and one of the local young men at the reins, still blinking and surreptitiously rubbing his eyes. They were on their own schedule. Judith, William suspected, just wanted to get under way as soon as she could. He didn't blame her. Ross's final delivery into the hands of the men at the central office couldn't come soon enough for him either, though probably for different reasons.

The man himself was lying in the carriage when William boarded, taking up all of one side to keep the weight off his wounded leg. His wrists and ankles were manacled together. A faraway look in his eyes and a slackness about his mouth suggested that his bonds weren't the only things keeping Ross from being trouble.

“Been much of a conversationalist, has he?” William asked, sliding onto the bench next to Judith.

“Not to me,” she said. Judith wore the same bottle-green hat and dark coat in which she'd come up to Aberdeen the time before, and from the green velvet at her hem and cuffs, the same dress as well. She sat tucked up against one wall of the coach, with her hands folded primly in her lap and her back so straight that William wondered if she could manage that posture all the way to Aberdeen. He longed to reach out to her, to touch her in reassurance, if only briefly, but witness and custom kept his hands at his sides.

He'd left the castle shortly after they'd gotten back the previous night. He and Judith had arrived walking a good distance from each other and speaking formally of plans for the journey. Judith had paused at the door, and William had waited himself, but they'd both known she couldn't invite him in. Whatever the rumors about them might be, it would do no good for her to have dinner, let alone spend the night, with the Englishman who'd be taking a local boy off to prison the next day.

That local boy couldn't do much in the village now, even if he was conscious of anything that happened, but he'd be answering questions at D Branch. It would be best for everything to appear impartial.

William met Judith's eyes and smiled, as sympathetically as he might have done to any comrade in arms. It was as far as he could go, and as far as she could accept. By her answering grin, faint and weary as it was, he knew she understood.

“Campbell said Ross talked in his sleep,” Judith went on as the coachman snapped the reins and the carriage lurched forward onto the road.

“He's more than earned a few bad dreams,” William said, glancing at the figure across from him, who looked back in sullen lethargy. “Anything specific?”