The Red Cross of Gold I:. The Knight of Death (16 page)

“What’s done is done, Miss,” Maxie’s voice
was less clear. He had moved further away. “It’ll wear off
eventually.”

“You don’t know that! I don’t even know that.
I don’t know what the effects are on immortals. He really doesn’t
remember anything coherently. Just like he told us. I thought he
was bluffing. I thought he was playing with me. I can’t believe I
was wrong.”

Mark found himself nodding his head in
affirmation. She was not accustomed to being wrong.

“That stuff was just half the key,” she
continued. “You could have killed him for all you knew. For all we
know, he might be dying right now. I mean it might take a while to
work or something.”

“I’m sorry! What can I say? Besides, if he’s
immortal, he’s immortal, right? How can you kill somebody’s who’s
immortal?”

“Just get out of here. I have to think.”

Mark waited without moving. He did not want
to wake completely. He wanted to sleep, to heal, but the pains in
his neck and his back were too insistent and he was terribly angry,
not to mention hungry. They had used some witch’s brew on him and
Valentino might be right. He might already be dying of some
insidious poison. He remembered absolutely nothing of how he had
come to be with Merry and Maxie. His entire coherent world had
started at the base of that damnable pecan tree.

Footsteps drew near and he heard her go
around the desk. The chair squeaked as she sat down. He heard a
sniffling sound and then she blew her nose. Was she crying? It
hardly seemed possible. He was partially pleased to have caused the
tears even at such a great expense.

“Ramsay?”

He raised his head slowly and opened his
eyes. Without thinking, he tried to raise his hand to his neck and
the cuff yanked it back painfully.

“Ow!”

“I’m really sorry about this,” she said and
he frowned at her. “If you promise to be good, I’ll take those
off.”

He nodded slowly and licked his parched
lips.

A few seconds later, he sat unrestrained in
the chair, alternately rubbing his neck and his wrists. He could
not decide which hurt worse. There were new bruises on his wrists
beneath the healing rope burns. Whatever had happened while he was
asleep must have been unpleasant.

“There, that’s better, huh?” She was behind
the desk again. “You really don’t know anything about anything, and
I feel like such a fool.”

“What about my immortality?” he asked her.
“Was that just a joke or something?”

“I was just trying to scare you,” she quipped
lightly.

A lie, he was sure of it.

“It was just castor oil and ipecac syrup. I’m
so sorry. I thought you were Mark Ramsay. What did you say your
name was?”

“John. Then this isn’t real blood?” he asked
and looked into this lap at the drying blood.

“Oh, it’s real blood, but it came from the
kitchen,” she told him. “Beef liver, actually.”

“Good,” he nodded, wishing it were the truth.
Liver was exactly what it had looked like and he could not imagine
that he had coughed up his own liver in his lap. He didn’t think
that it was anatomically possible.

“I told you I’m not sadistic. We’ll get you
all cleaned up. You have to understand that a young man’s life is
at stake here,” she waved one hand as she talked. “I don’t know
what to do now, to be honest. I thought you had come here to kill
us. Anthony is convinced that someone is after him. Someone who
will stop at nothing including killing anyone trying to protect
him. I mean you were driving a black car and you did have a rather
wicked looking blade in the trunk. But I guess it’s just a hobby of
yours, right? Collecting swords or something? You can’t blame me
for protecting myself and my… family. I would tell you more, but I
don’t think you want to hear it. I'll make it up to you. What will
it take? How much?”

He nodded thoughtfully, buying time. She’d
not mentioned his rings and the rest of the bizarre things that he
had experienced and half-remembered. Her half-baked story wasn’t
half-bad as stories went. There was no way this woman would ever
let him go. Her conversation with the security agent had explained
more than enough. At least he knew now why he couldn’t remember
anything and whatever it was she wanted, she remained convinced
that she had the right man.

He would have to go along with her. At least
his hands were free, but he knew that if he tried to get out of the
chair, he would fall on his face and he’d not heard Maxie actually
leave. There was nothing else he could do at the moment. The old
desire to throttle her returned with a vengeance. His breathing
became more rapid and the red haze began to edge into his vision.
He fought it off and tried to remain calm. If he was poisoned,
agitation would only hasten the process. He knew that much.

“How about breakfast? I’m starving,” he asked
hopefully, trying to sound more like a lost shoe salesman than a…
what?

“Sure. Fine. Of course.” She smiled tightly
at him and then looked away quickly. “Let’s get you back to your
room. Get you all cleaned up. I’ll get you something to eat and
then we can decide on a settlement. There’s no need to make matters
worse.”

He nodded again and she helped him from the
chair. Her nearness made him cringe, but he needed her help and he
needed to get out of the damned chair and the damned laboratory and
the damned basement. When his strength returned and his next chance
came, he would not hesitate to do what should have already been
done.

On the way back to his room, she told him
about Anthony as he leaned on her arm. She said that he was her
nephew. A college student on a trip to Europe during the Spring
Break.

Mark’s legs were like rubber and his vision
swam. He would have to get better to kill her. Kill her. He was
amazed how easily the thought of committing murder came to mind,
time and again.

She continued with her story about how the
boy had become involved with a suicide cult in Europe. About how
she and Merry had tried to bring him home and help him. About how
the boy had told them that someone would be coming for him to
either take him back or kill him.

For all he knew, some of it could have been
true though he didn’t really give a damn. With tears in her eyes,
she finally told him that Anthony had left them, run away. Merry
had been very fond of Anthony. But what about the rest of the
story? The real story. She told him that they had learned only a
few things about the people in the cult, ‘international, you see’
and when Mark had come along with his ‘accent and all’, well, they
had been sure that he was one of them. An awful mistake. Terrible,
just terrible. And did he know of any such cults in Ireland?
Ireland! He was from Scotland… wasn’t he?

“So you think this d’Brouchart fellow is the
cult leader? From France, of course,” he asked her.

“Yes, of course he’s French. He’s the one I’m
looking for.” Valentino nodded. “I will have my revenge. I want to
find him and bring him to trial. I want justice. I want him
extricated.”

“I see, but I think you mean extradited,”
Mark said gravely. “That is certainly understandable.”

((((((((((((()))))))))))))

Locked back inside his third floor room, he
stripped off the filthy clothes, threw them in the corner and then
stood in front of the mirror looking for wounds. Teeth marks.
Scratches. Festering ulcers. Welts. Rashes. Discoloration. Anything
that might indicate more serious conditions. Strangely enough he
knew exactly what he was looking for. Other than the bruises on his
wrists, there were no outward signs of injury. He felt terrible in
general. He was a bit pale, though the cut above his eye was all
but gone, leaving barely a trace. Should not have healed so
quickly. Should have needed stitches. The only thing he could find
was the old scar from the dagger in the dream. But dreams could not
leave scars, could they? Was he really immortal? Had he really
fought in the Holy Wars? If she was going to let him go, why had
she locked his door? Why was he staring himself in the eye asking
stupid questions?

When he emerged from the bathroom wrapped in
a towel, the Pixie was waiting for him. She had brought his
breakfast, that wasn’t really breakfast. Too late for supper, too
early for breakfast. And he hadn’t said his prayers. He stopped
short and tucked the towel more securely about his waist. He could
not imagine why he would feel embarrassed to see her there in his
room, but he was. A glance at the window showed that it was still
dark outside and the clock on the dresser showed half past two.

He examined the tray on the small writing
desk. Another steak with oven-browned potatoes and a huge slice of
chocolate cake. A bottle of red wine and a pitcher of iced tea
completed the meal. Simple enough fare. No drinking during meals.
No talking during meals. The company of women… The smell of the
steak made his empty stomach lurch.

“How did you manage to draw the
privilege?”

His brow furrowed in confusion at his own
disjointed thoughts. Weird strings of words spoken by different
voices, different accents. English. French. German. Italian. “Or
does your Mistress know you are here?”

The vehemence in his tone made her flinch. He
wanted her to go away, but he still needed information. She was
dangerous.

“Don’t be angry with me, Mark.” She stood
wringing her hands in agitation and her expression collapsed in
disappointment. “I didn’t want them to hurt you. I tried to make
them stop. Don’t you remember?”

He said nothing but pulled his bags from
under the bed and took out a simple black tee shirt and a pair of
black, cotton cargo pants with zippers and snaps all over them.
They looked like something a burglar would wear… or an assassin? He
took the clothes back to the bathroom to dress. He came back and
sat in the chair beside the desk facing her, fighting off the urge
to pick up the steak in both hands.

“I paid off the maid,” Merry said after a few
moments, attempting a bit of humor. “Cecile is locked in the
library with Mr. Petrie and Chevalier Ramos… under the rose.”

“What about your other friend, Maxie?” he
asked sarcastically. He couldn’t manage to get the bitter tones out
of his voice in spite of the need to make use of her insanity. He
sincerely felt betrayed by the woman even though he barely knew
her. But wasn’t that the way it was supposed to be? ‘The company of
women is a dangerous thing.’ He picked up the wine and pushed the
cork from the unlabeled bottle with his thumbs before holding it
under his nose, wondering if it had more poison in it. Surely
Valentino would still need to be rid of him. He could not decide
whether he should drink the wine before or after eating.

“He’s asleep, I think,” she said and pulled a
low footstool up near his feet. She sat down and watched while he
turned up the bottle.

It didn’t taste like poison, but then it
never had.

“I am sorry for what happened,” she told him.
“I didn’t know she could do something like that. I mean she always
talked about stuff, but I never saw her do anything like that
before. It was awful.”

“Yes, it was,” he had to agree.

“She’s usually very lovable,” the Pixie’s
eyes lit up.

“You’ve got to be kidding!” He almost choked
on the wine. “She’s about as lovable as small pox.”

“No, really. You just don’t know her like I
do. She’s really very special. If you knew her, you would like her.
She’s really smart.”

“Oh, is that so?”

His anger was slowly fading, but the
situation was intolerable, incredible. Now she was telling him
things he really did not want to hear.

“I was glad to hear that she hadn’t really
poisoned you,” she sighed. “She told me about what happened.”

“Did she tell you she had made a mistake?
That I’m not who she thought I was?”

The steak was getting cold and he really
needed to eat.

Merry got up and moved to his lap, laying her
head on his shoulder. It was maddening to listen to her go on about
Cecile. His feelings for the Pixie were an abomination. His
feelings for Valentino were a sin. He could smell the chocolate
cake over the scent of her cologne. Sex or chocolate? Which was
worse? Which was better? Chocolate was less dangerous.

“She did.” Merry nodded her head against his
chest and rubbed his stomach on the exact spot where he was slowly
starving to death. “I know you’ll be leaving and I hate to see you
go. I’m afraid that she’ll be very upset if she finds out what
we’ve done.”

“She tells you everything, does she?” He
stroked her curly hair and wrapped his left arm around her
shoulders.

“Eventually,” Merry answered.

So Valentino was perpetrating the same fraud
on the Pixie? That would lend a bit of credence to his idea that
Merry was just a semi-innocent pawn in all this. He wanted to kiss
her and at the same time, he wanted to choke some sense into her.
He closed his eyes against the conflicting urges, he loved the
sound of her voice, the smell of her hair, the smooth coolness of
her skin and he could feel the tight muscles of her legs through
the thin dress she wore and the firmly rounded bottom that was
so.... He wanted to keep her, put her away somewhere safe where
only he knew where she was, where only he could find her and be
with her and…

The need for food was fading. He tightened
his grip on her as she babbled on about how good Cecile had treated
her over the years. Cecile infuriated him. Cecile stood between him
and what he wanted, and what he wanted was wrong. An abomination.
“Does she whisper these things in your ear while she’s making love
to you?”

The woman stiffened and tried to get up. He
held her easily in place. “Be still!”

She relaxed a bit and he pressed her head
back down on his chest, stroking her curls, relaxing his grip a
bit. After a few seconds, he took her chin in his hand, tilting her
face up. She closed her eyes apparently expecting a kiss. So
confused, she was. So dangerous.