The Beloved Scoundrel (3 page)

He had a sense of everything coming together. After all the hell and blood that had gone before, Fate had finally got it right! He hadn’t even had to go to Pogani; the Jedalar had come to him. “Then I’ll take you with me.”

She stared at him, stunned.

“Come with me,” he repeated. His eyes glinted with recklessness. “It’s clear you were sent to me as a gift, and I never refuse a gift from the gods.”

She started backing away from him, looking at him as if he had gone mad. Well, he felt a little mad at the moment. Despair and anger had changed to hope, and that could be a heady brew.

“How can you take care of your Alex without help? He needs hot food and warm clothing. I can give it to you.”

She hesitated. “Why … would you do this?”

“Perhaps I wish to do my kindly Christian duty and aid two orphans,” he said mockingly.

Those clear blue eyes searched his expression. “But I think you’re not a kind man.”

“How clever of you to realize that fact, but you’re not entirely correct. I do practice kindness … when it’s convenient. It is convenient now. Isn’t that fortunate for you and your Alex?”

She shook her head, her gaze clinging to his.

He could see she wanted desperately to be convinced. All he had to do was say the words she wanted to hear. He tried to decide the best way to proceed. Persuading women to do as he wanted them to do had never been a problem for him. He had learned to charm and beguile before he left the nursery. Yet he was curiously reluctant to lie to this big-eyed waif. “You’re quite right. I’ve never been known to follow the path of duty. I’ve always found it an abysmal bore.” He continued crisply. “Very well, I do have a reason for wanting to help you, but I have no intention of divulging it at present. If you want to come with me, then you’ll do so on my terms. You’ll agree to obey me without question, and in return I’ll promise that there will be food and shelter and protection for both of you as long as you’re under my care. If you choose not to come, then you can stay here in these ruins and let your brother starve to death.”

He turned and started back up the aisle. It was a gamble. He had no intention of leaving her here even if it meant abducting her, but it would be simpler if she made the decision.

“Wait.”

He stopped but didn’t turn around. “You’re coming with me?”

“Yes.” She moved brusquely forward ahead of him. “I’ll go with you.” She added quickly, “For
now. But Alex stays in the garden until I’m sure it’s safe. I’ll take food and blankets to him.”

“As you like. But you’d better make up your mind quickly. I intend to leave this town by sunrise.”

“That’s too soon,” she said, panic-stricken.

“Sunrise,” he repeated. “What did the boy call you? Marianna?”

“Marianna Sanders.”

“Sanders.” He opened the heavy door for her. “That’s not a Montavian name.”

“My father was English.” She slanted him a glance. “Like you.”

He recalled his outburst of profanity when he had seen the broken window. “And your mother?”

She looked away from him. “Montavian.” She asked quickly, “Why is an Englishman in Montavia?”

“Because he wants to be,” he said mockingly. “You’ve not asked me my name. I’m hurt you have so little interest when we’re to be fast companions.”

“Well, what is it?” she said impatiently.

He bowed. “Jordan Draken. At your service.”

A sharp gust of wind struck them as they started down the steps, and she frowned. “It’s getting colder. I need that blanket for Alex. I can’t leave him out there without—”

“Ah, Jordan, you were in the church so long, I thought you were taking holy vows,” a voice boomed.

M
arianna stopped short on the steps as she saw the huge man coming toward them. She had thought Jordan Draken was tall, but this was a bear of man, towering almost seven feet.

The giant threw back his head, and his laugh again boomed out. “I should have known you would have found a woman to amuse you even in this deserted hovel.” As he drew closer, the moonlight revealed a face as intimidating as his great bulk. He must be near his fortieth year, and his face reflected evidence that those years had been spent in violence. His nose had been broken, and his gray-streaked black hair was a wild, tousled tangle framing cheekbones that looked as if they had been chipped from a mountain. A jagged white scar curved from his left eye, across his cheek to the corner of his mouth.

“Easy,” Draken said quietly. “It’s only Gregor. He won’t hurt you.”

How did she know that? she wondered wildly. She looked beyond the giant to the men who sat astride their horses at the foot of the steps. There were at least fifteen of them, several bearing flaming torches, and they all looked as wild as this Gregor. They wore black fur hats and strange, quilted bulky tunics trimmed with fox fur and sheepskin, their wide trousers tucked into high leather boots that reached their knees. Rifles were holstered on their saddles, and each man wore a huge sword at his hip. Why had she consented to come with Draken? She knew the answer. Alex was ill. Alex must have warmth and shelter, and it had seemed worth any risk to see if this man could give it to him.

“Stay where you are, Gregor.” Draken turned to her as the giant stopped on the fifth step. “No one will hurt you. I gave you my promise.”

And he had not lied to persuade her to come with him, she remembered. He had given her a choice, and she had made it. She mustn’t be a coward now.
She threw her shoulders back and demanded, “Tell him to give me a blanket for Alex.”

An undefinable expression crossed his face. “Very well.” He said to Gregor, “Go fetch a blanket for the lady.”

He nodded his shaggy head and loped back down the steps to a giant of a horse. He opened a saddlebag and took out a sheepskin blanket. He turned, took the stairs three at a time, and stopped before Marianna. “Here.” He thrust the blanket at her and smiled with surprising sweetness. “I’m Gregor Damek, and I know I’m an ugly monster of a fellow, but I don’t eat children. I promise you.”

In that terrifying visage, his hazel eyes were gentle, and she felt the tiniest ripple of warmth go through her as she took the blanket. “My … name is Marianna,” she said haltingly.

“Take the blanket to your brother,” Draken said to her. “We’ll set up camp at the north edge of the town. There will be hot food and a warm fire for you both.” He turned and started down the steps. “If you decide to trust me.”

He had come for the Window. She couldn’t trust anyone who wanted the Window to Heaven. Yet he was English, and why would an Englishman want the Window except for the reason he had given her? Perhaps she could trust him … a little.

“Wait.” Her hand went to the fastening at her throat. “Your cloak.”

“Return it to me later.” He mounted his horse with loose-limbed grace and lifted his hand to his followers. He was not dressed as they were; his tight dark blue trousers, intricately tied cravat, and fine coat reminded her of the kind of clothes Papa had worn
when he had visitors from England. Yet, curiously, he did not look out of place with these men. She had a sense he possessed that same wildness, but it was controlled, channeled, as theirs was not.

The hollow clatter of hooves echoed on the cobblestones as the horsemen turned north. He was leaving her, once again letting her make a choice. The knowledge brought a sudden lift of spirits as she clutched the sheepskin blanket to her breasts and hurried back up the steps.

W
hat a frightened little dove.” Gregor’s expression was sad as he looked back over his shoulder at the doorway through which Marianna had disappeared. “There are so many wounded children in this land. It hurts my heart not to be able to help them.”

“That ‘little dove’ nearly emasculated me,” Jordan said grimly. “I assure you, she’s far more falcon than dove.”

Gregor’s eyes twinkled. “Then you did try to mount her. For shame—and in a holy church too.”

“I mounted her, but not in the way you mean. She tried to kill me with an iron candlestick.”

“Because you frightened her. Her brother is inside the church?”

“In the garden.”

Gregor frowned. “I will go and get them. They may be too frightened to approach us.”

“No, let her come to me.”

“But I think—”

“The Window to Heaven was shattered,” Jordan interrupted. “It’s completely useless.”

Gregor gave a shocked exclamation. “Who?”

“Well, we know it wasn’t Nebrov. I suspect it was broken accidentally when he tried to capture the town.”

Gregor grimaced. “I would not like to have been the officer in charge of the troop who made that mistake. I wonder why he didn’t secure Talenka before he marched on to the capital.”

“Arrogance. He thought he would wrest the entire country from King Josef and then have all the time in the world to steal the Window to Heaven. It was only when he was defeated that the urgency of the matter hit home. He needed the Window to barter with Napoleon for power and support.” He paused. “However, when they smashed the Window, it seems he tried to rectify the error. He took a troop and rode west to the cottage of Anton Pogani.”

“The man who created the Window?”

“So everyone thought. Your ‘dove’ tells me the work was done by her grandmother.” He briefly related the details he had learned from Marianna.

Gregor whistled. “Poor little girl. No wonder you’re being so kind to her.”

“For God’s sake I’m not being kind. Haven’t you heard anything I’ve said? She won’t admit it, but she
knows
the Window to Heaven. She’s been trained in glassmaking, and someday she may be as good a craftsman as her grandmother. It’s a chance, but it’s the only one we have.”

“I heard you.” He beamed. “You should not be ashamed of being kind. I know you like the world to think you wicked, but I promise I will tell no one.”

“I’m not—” He stopped and shrugged. “The girl would disagree. She’s already told me she knows I’m not kind.”

Gregor glanced back over his shoulder. “I still think I should go back and get her. What if she flies away?”

Jordan reined in his horse as he turned a corner. “She’s not going to fly away. Because you’re going to go back to the church and stand in that alcove in the shop across the street. Send Niko to watch the back entrance to the garden. Neither of you are to let your presence be known, if she sets out in the direction of the camp.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“Bring her to me.”

Gregor’s expression was troubled. “She thought herself free. You did not tell her the truth.”

“I didn’t tell her a lie. She is free as long as she makes the right decision. Sometimes it’s necessary to hood a falcon to keep her from flying in the wrong direction.” He added impatiently, “And stop looking at me as if I were going to harm your little bird. The only reason I didn’t take her by force is that I know more will be accomplished by offering honey instead of lemon. I’m well aware I need to coax her into submission. I have no desire to have her claw at me again.”

The assurance didn’t please Gregor. He had seen Jordan offer honey to women before, share the sweetness, and then withdraw and walk away. “This is not a good thing. She’s not like your usual women. She is wounded.”

“You talk as if I was going to bed her,” Jordan said dryly. “As you say, she’s only a child.”

“How old?”

“Sixteen. I don’t seduce chits scarcely out of the schoolroom.”

It was true Jordan preferred older, experienced women and avoided like the plague the young innocents who were thrown at him both in Kazan and London. Yet Gregor’s instincts told him there had been something unusual in Jordan’s attitude toward the girl a few minutes ago. “The schoolroom from which this particular chit emerged teaches more interesting lessons. You need the Jedalar. I think there is little you would not do to get it.”

“Then you needn’t worry about her for a time. She’s incapable of giving it to me for at least a few years. Perhaps never.” He nudged his horse into a trot. “I’ll see you at camp.” He glanced over his shoulder. “And, Gregor, my friend, while you’re contemplating letting the little dove fly the cage, you might consider that the alternative to my guardianship is leaving her to starve or become a whore in this benighted country.”

A convincing argument, Gregor thought gloomily, as he watched Jordan ride away. Jordan was a hard man and had grown even more ruthless since he had involved himself in Kazan’s concerns, but, whatever fate he dealt the girl, it would be better than what she faced here. “Niko!” He wheeled his horse and gestured to the burly young man at the rear of the troop. “No rest for you yet. There’s work to be done.”

T
he campfire was burning brightly, a beacon in the darkness, luring her closer.

“Marianna?” Alex’s hand tightened on hers. “Is it all right?”

She didn’t know, she thought in sudden panic. She didn’t know if they would be safe. She had stayed for
hours in the church agonizing over this decision. Draken’s followers appeared a wild band, and yet he was …

What?

Violent, hard, clever. He had demonstrated all of those traits in the short time they had been together. She had also discerned a relentless determination and a blunt honesty. Yet how could honesty live side by side with deception? Every instinct said he had not told her the truth about the Window.

Alex coughed and pressed closer to her. “I smell food. I’m hungry, Marianna.”

Food and shelter and safety for Alex, Draken had promised her, and she had promised him nothing. After all, she could always escape later if she found the threat too great. In the meantime Alex would have a chance to heal and grow stronger.

“There will be food soon.” She drew the sheepskin blanket closer about Alex’s shoulders, drew a deep breath, and strode boldly toward the campfire.

C
HAPTER
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