Spirited Away (36 page)
"Hello, Andrea. Surprised?"
She nodded. "A little. This is the first time you've come out since you got sick on the first day of retrieval." She studied him. "Where's Jameson? Did he let you in?"
Kirk moved into the hall. He turned, his gaze missing nothing. "Yes, he told me to come straightaway and get you. And everything is actually quite perfect." He gave her a smile. "I want you to pack your belongings right away. I've another job for you." He cocked his head. "Why, darling, you look pale. Are you feeling ill?"
That nearly knocked the breath from her. Inwardly, she staggered. She wasn't ready to leave Dreadmoor. Not yet. "I'm not finished here, Kirk." Technically, she was, and she knew it. She couldn't just stay on. Yet she hadn't had time to adjust.
Adjust to life without Tristan.
He inclined his head and stroked his goatee. "What is wrong with you, girl? You look as though someone's just run over your favorite puppy." He tilted his head to the side and studied her face.
"Come now, Andrea. You're not still nursing the notion of Dragonhawk, are you?" He looked around, then back to her. " 'Tis a daunting place, Dreadmoor. I can see how you've become attached
—quite a nice chamber you have here. But the job is complete and you can't stay on forever. You've excavated the remains and recovered the hoard." He glanced around. "By the way. Where's Dreadmoor?"
The lump in her throat came back. He was talking so fast, she could barely keep up with what he was saying. "He's ... not here. Business, I suppose."
A smile lit Kirk's face. "Right. Business." The glint in his eyes danced. "I would truly love to view the hoard. The pictures, I'm sure, didn't do it justice. Direct me and I'll take a look whilst you gather your things."
She looked at her boss and mentor. She was in no state to show him the swords that had belonged to Tristan's men. But what could she say? "Sorry, I've just lost the love of my life and can't deal with you right now"? Perhaps Tristan and his men had been wrong about Kirk, perhaps not. How was she to tell? She knew the longer she remained at Dreadmoor, the longer her heart continued to ache, yet she couldn't bring herself to leave.
Nodding, she inclined her head toward the hall. "I'll show you the weapons, Kirk, but I'm not leaving here tonight. I'm ... too tired. I'll be right down."
He shrugged and flashed her a smile. "Perfect. I'll wait downstairs."
Andi washed her face and made her way to the great hall. She wondered where Jameson was. He'd known of Tristan's concerns over the odd belief that Erik's spirit might have been released and overpowered Kirk, yet here Kirk was, inside Dreadmoor.
Every footstep through the halls hurt. Every room, every inch of space reminded her of Tristan.
How strange, to be in love with a man you've never even touched before. And never would be able to touch.
Dragonhawk. How the name fit him. Fierce and powerful, he'd fought his way into her heart and anchored down.
But the anchor had come loose, thanks to her.
Kirk met her in the hall, a long satchel slung over his shoulder.
"What's that?" she asked.
"A souvenir," he said. "Come. Show me the grid site. I'd like to see the remnants."
"A souvenir? What is it?" she asked. "And wait, I've got to go speak to Jameson for a second."
"That won't be necessary," Kirk told her, taking her by the elbow. "He gave me the souvenir—to us, on Dreadmoor's behalf, for your doing such a wonderful job. He asked me to bid you farewell as he had to leave unexpectedly for the village."
Jameson had left without saying good-bye? No way. And what did Kirk have in the bag? Something definitely felt
wrong.
"What sort of souvenir?" she asked again. "Kirk, wait a minute—"
"Come on, Andrea. The souvenir is a surprise. You'll love it. I promise. Come along now, to the cutaway."
In an instant, her employer grabbed her by the arm.
"Kirk, you're hurting me," Andi said. "Stop!"
"Oh, come on, love. Humor me," he said, steadily leading her out of Dreadmoor Castle. His strength overpowered hers, and all the doubts she had smacked her square in the face.
Jesus, Tristan and his men had been right.
As they crossed the bailey, Kirk pulled her to a halt beside the first cutaway. He shoved her in front of him.
He smiled. "Ah, where it all began. Tell me about it, won't you? On second thought, don't. I grow weary of waiting. Read this, won't you? And hurry. I've not much time left."
Andi turned and watched, stricken as Kirk thrust a slip of parchment into her hand. A burning sensation started in her throat. Kirk stood behind her, Tristan's sword leveled at her. "Kirk? What are you—what is going on?"
A smile lifted the corner of his mouth. "Oh, come now. Don't look so hurt. They were just a lifeless lot of spirits." He inclined his head toward the note. "You must know by now who I really am? I'm sure your mentor wasn't too keen on the idea, but he's the one who loosened my garrote. Now read."
Her hands began to shake as she glanced at the paper. Inked in bold slashes and in the same French-Norman language were six sentences. Another verse.
Another curse.
She looked up. "Why do I have to read it? What is going on?"
Kirk heaved a weary sigh. "Because. You read the other one. How do I know, you ask?" He smiled again, stroking his beard. "I felt it the moment it happened. 'Twas like a jolt of energy shooting through my body." His gaze penetrated her. "I knew, because when I tried to step onto Dreadmoor land, I could. Before, I couldn't."
Andi glanced over her shoulder, toward the castle. Maybe Jameson would see what was going on and call the—
"Nay, my dear. He won't be calling anyone," Kirk, or whoever he was, said.
Tears of anger, frustration, and hurt filled her eyes. "What's happened to Kirk? How did you—"
He slid his eyes to the cutaway, then back to her. "I've been trapped beneath that bloody tree for centuries, and all I needed was someone to release me. Nature's fate was responsible. Had that tree not been tossed by the storm, I'd still be below it, bound by the yew. But once your mentor released me, it gave me the chance I thought would never come."
"But what did that have to do with the Dragonhawk's sword?"
He laughed, an ugly sound that crawled up Andi's spine. "You see, my job wasn't finished, all those years ago. Someone ... stopped me."
"Erik de Sabre," she accused, even before he admitted it out loud.
With a low bow, he shrugged. "The very one. And aye, I did kill de Barre, along with his entire garrison. Those stupid lads followed him around like he was a king." A cynical smile curved his mouth. "And when I called to them, they came running to see what had happened to their beloved comrade. They were still drunken from their carousing, so quite useless. 'Twas a simple thing to lock the dungeon behind them." He stared off for a moment. "I gave him that name, you know.
Dragonhawk." He shook his head. "Before he killed my son."
She shook her head, confused, disbelieving. "He didn't kill your son—"
"Stop driveling, girl, and read the damn verse!" he shouted.
Andi felt her face drain of color. Tristan had tried to tell her, but she wouldn't believe him. Not fully, anyway.
The fear gripping her receded, just a bit. She looked up and stared him in the eye. "The bones in the cutaway belonged to you."
"My beloved mother. The sneaky old witch. Still had a few tricks up her sleeve, I suppose. She must have overheard me curse de Barre, then seal the others in the dungeon." He sneered. "She always did have a soft spot for the bloody whoresons."
"So it was she who wrapped the twisted yew around the satchels?"
"Aye. 'Twas a protective curse. And 'tis why we're at these odds right now." He narrowed his gaze.
"She lured me to that hole, you see. The one I'd dug for the armor. Unfortunately, it also became my grave." The smile faded. "I'd just laid the bundle in the hole when she walloped me over the head—damn near whacked it clean off. I didn't know it at the time, but by wrapping that cursed twisted yew about my head and neck, she bound my spirit—until your Kirk Grey released me."
Andi had a hard time staying focused. This was not Kirk talking, this was Erik. And even though she was on information overload, if she kept him talking, maybe Jameson could call for help, although she seriously doubted anyone could help her now.
"What about the remains in the dungeon?" she asked, trying to buy time. Jameson and Miss Kate had to be somewhere.
God, please let them be safe.
"Insignificant. An old serving maid, I believe. She heard the ruckus and ventured too close to the dungeon." He smiled. "I couldn't let her take word back to de Barre's sire."
She kept her gaze fixed on his. "What are you going to do with me? With Kirk?"
He sighed. "Well, it's apparent your work here is over. And your mentor won't remember a thing, although he may have to take the blame for those pesky vermin I had to take care of." Moving closer, he lifted the ancient blade to the level of her heart. "So I guess you'll join your ghostly love in the grave. I can't very well have you running about, trying to bring awareness to my well-being, not that anyone would believe you." He shrugged. "Who knows?" He studied her with flat, lifeless eyes, and when he spoke, his voice held a lethal threat. He pushed the blade, just enough to pierce her skin. "Read."
She winced at the pain and lifted her gaze to his. "Your son's death was an accident. But you're nothing more than a pathetic murderer."
He gave the blade another push.
"Read!"
The fleeting thought that it was Tristan's blade piercing her skin skimmed her mind, and she bit back a cry, lifted the paper, and read. The strange words tumbled out, and when the last word was spoken, it happened.
Kirk began to tremble and lowered the sword. He gasped for air, and bent over at the waist, coughing profusely. Throwing down Tristan's sword, he fell to his knees.
Andi froze, unsure what to do. God, what was happening?
As she stared on, a slight mist swirled around Kirk, enveloping him at first, then slowly drifting toward Andi. Kirk began to vomit, retching over and over until, spent, he fell to his side.
The mist wafted around Andi, and her heart whammed against her ribs. Fear choked her, a scream dying in her throat.
The mist shifted away, and then began to take form. The image, blurry at first, quickly took the shape of a man. It solidified, turning to flesh, bone, hair.
Andi had no doubt who it was. "Oh God," she whispered.
The man looked at her and laughed. "Close, but no, even I can't claim that title." His gaze leveled with hers. "Yet."
Andi glanced around, her heart beating wildly. She ran toward Kirk, still lying on the ground.
Tristan's sword lay next to him.
Erik must have guessed her move, and he beat her to it. With a forceful shove, he knocked her out of the way and grabbed the sword. He leveled the tip at her throat.
"Feisty wench, eh?" His eyes hardened. "Get up."
"Were I you, I'd lower that rusty blade, Erik."
Andi froze. It was her imagination. Had to be. The air lodged in her lungs, making it impossible to draw a decent breath. She began to shake, refusing to look behind her, refusing to
believe.
"Dragonhawk. Rather, Dragonhawk's useless spirit. Back so soon?"
Erik's amused voice reached her ears. Slowly, she turned around.
Her knees weakened and it took every ounce of strength she had to keep herself upright and not slide to the ground.
Tristan stood no more than three feet away, bare-chested, his sword drawn. Jameson stood to his left, his expression unreadable. All fourteen Dragonhawk knights formed an arc around him. They drew their blades all at once, the hiss echoing throughout the bailey.
"Andrea, move away from the swine. Now," Tristan ordered her.
As she began to move, Erik pushed the sword into the skin of her throat and laughed. "What are you going to do, Dreadmoor? Hmmm? Certainly, you don't think you can defend your woman? Last time I heard, you were all a useless lot of spirits." His look swept the other knights. "You're pathetic, de Barre. Truly." His eyes bored into hers. "You can't protect her and you know it. Now you can watch her die. A just reward, I think, for allowing my boy to die."
In two strides, Tristan stood facing Erik. In one swift motion, he cut the air with the blade of his sword, nicking Erik's chin. Andi watched in fascination as a line of blood trickled down his throat.
"Andrea, move!" Tristan shouted.
As if in a dream, she dove to the left. Jameson grabbed her elbow and pulled her aside. Her mouth went dry and her breath caught as realization pulled at her, sinking its teeth into her mind's flesh.
Tristan was alive!
She wondered if the others were, too, but when Jason moved to stand next to her, then slid his hand down and grabbed hers, her heart swelled. He looked at her and winked, then gave her a reassuring squeeze. His very real hand held hers.
Somehow, the verse she'd read aloud had reversed the curse Erik had placed on them. They were all alive!
Jason lowered his head and whispered against her ear, "Stand steady, Lady Andi. What you're about to lay witness to may very well steal your breath."
With a weighty sigh, she braced herself and leaned into the very solid body of Jason. Hardly able to comprehend that he, alive and breathing, held her hand, she watched as an even more disbelieving thought gripped her. Tristan readied himself to fight a very real Erik de Sabre from the thirteenth century. Alive now, no longer residing in Kirk's body. With real swords and real blood.
With a quick glance at Kirk, who now sat a safe distance away beside Jameson, Andi turned her full and disbelieving gaze at Tristan and his foster father.
Tristan tried to rid his mind of everything save the idiot before him. Quite a difficult task, knowing his woman, whom he'd never been able to so much as kiss, stood no more than twenty paces away.
That would soon change.