Master of the Shadows
Page 15

“While you die alone in Rome.” Will would have none of that.
“I have lived seven lifetimes, old friend, and I am certain that death is ready for me. My task is to do whatever I must to protect Chris.” Robin came to him and braced a hand against his shoulder. “You helped me build the stronghold; no one knows it as well as you. That gives you an advantage over the contessa’s men. Use it. Remember how we routed the king’s men in Sherwood. I know you will prevail.”
As much as he disliked it, Will knew what his duty was. Robin could not fight a battle on two fronts. “I shall earn you faith in me, but that bitch will not get away with this. As soon as our people are secure, I shall call the high lord and make him aware of her treachery. Then I shall hunt her down and take her head.”
“You will be too busy for that.” Robin opened his case and adjusted the packing around his bow. “If I am slain, you are to take my place as suzerain.”
Will uttered a sour chuckle. “That is as likely as my assuming the throne of England.”
“I have already advised Cyprien.” His master shut the lid of the case and secured it. “He agreed with my choice. There will be no opposition.”
“You are not jesting.” Will gaped him before he shoved aside his astonishment. “My lord, if you have forgotten, my father was a smith, and my mother a laundress. The only noble blood in my veins came from the mortal gentry I fed on whenever I could lure one of them into the woods. If not for you, I should have ended dangling from a rope at a crossroads. Pledging myself to you, taking vows, fighting in the Holy Land, surviving death, being made Kyn—it surely saved me, but it did not make me another man. I was an outlaw. A thief.”
“So was I.” Robin offered the bow case to him. “I am not dead yet, Will. There is still hope.” The sound of a knob twisting made him glance toward his bedchamber. “It seems my special agent has awoken. Call the airport and have a plane standing by.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Rebecca went to the open window of her bedchamber, where the warm April night beckoned to her. She did not miss the old days, when the hunger had compelled Sylas to go out and hunt as soon as the sun set and the mortal world prepared to sleep. Her satisfaction dimmed a little as the stars brightened, making tiny rainbows dance before her eyes. At the same time, her skin began to shed the scent of sweet clover.
Something had stirred her talent. “Sylas.”
“I am here, lass.” Sylas came to stand behind her and folded his arms around hers. “I will help you fight it.”
The memories were returning. Rebecca heard bitter weeping and terrible laughter. “I do not think you can this time.”
He turned her to face him and spoke. Although she could no longer hear him, he knew she could see and read his lips. “You must resist it.”
The strange voices filling her ears fell abruptly silent, and she drooped, clutching him for a moment as she regained her balance. “I cannot leave you.”
“You cannot stay.” He rubbed a hand over her back. “You are stronger than you think, wife. Have faith.”
She shook her head. She was not strong; she had never been strong. Not since that terrible night, the first night she had woken in Sylas’s arms.
“I know you, my lady.”
She was his lady. Rebecca held on to that promise. She would do as he wished. She would resist. She would not harm anyone. She was his lady.
My lady.
“My lady.” Hands were touching her, shaking her. “My lady, please wake up.”
Rebecca opened her eyes to see Lettice standing over her. “No,” she muttered. “’Twas not enough.”
“My lady,” the seamstress pleaded, “you must rouse yourself. We dare not wait any longer.”
Horrified that she had fallen asleep, she jerked. “Have they found us?”
“No, my lady, but they are searching for us. Come.” She bent to put an arm around her.
Rebecca gripped Lettice’s hand, gritting her teeth as the movement strained the wound in her side. She was not healing, and that was always the first sign. The next would be the constant shedding of her scent.
“Give me a moment.” She gasped the words as she found her feet. The shadows in the tunnel seemed to lengthen and draw close around her, and she nearly wept with relief. “Tish, move away from me.” She looked at the others. “Stay beneath the lights.”
Lettice drew back, moving away quickly to stand with the other women under the dim glow of the single bulb hanging from the ceiling.
A voice came from the shadows, whispering in the cold, damp stillness. “Rebecca.”
Thank God, he knew her. “I am here, my lord.”
“Take word,” the ghostly voice said. “The one in charge has silver in his hair and a sword scar across his face. The men call him Saetta. He has fortified the barriers and posted guards everywhere.”
She tried to see a face in the pool of darkness; sometimes he could come that far. “How many weapons?”
“They each carry a dart gun and extra cartridges. They also wield swords, daggers, the lot.” Something blue glittered in the shadows. “They have not found our cache yet. They look for you.”
“We will be gone.” Rebecca thought frantically. “Even if you could free the men and arm them, you are outnumbered three to one. What about our stores?”
“They were the first thing I destroyed.” His voice grew more distant. “They are coming for me now. Find Will, Rebecca, and tell him everything.” A hand formed from the darkness and reached out to her. “I love you.”
“No.” She tried to touch him, but her hand passed through the shadowy fingers and touched only the rough, damp stone. “Sylas.”
Rebecca fell forward, caught by the arms of one of her ladies. She held on to the other female until her legs felt steadier.
“You are right, Lettice. They do search for us. We must move quickly.” The face of the woman holding her came into focus. “Reese. I did not realize it was you. Forgive me.” Rebecca tried to clear her thoughts. “You were not in the main hall when we fled the fighting. How did you find us?”
“Alain sent me down here to use the escape tunnel.” The mortal female put an arm around her back. “Who were those men upstairs? Why did they take over Rosethorn?”
“I will explain later.” She stumbled forward, gesturing to the other ladies. “Come. We must take the caravan into the city before daybreak. Reese, have you a mobile phone with you?”
“No, I…dropped it.”
None of the other women carried phones, Rebecca knew. “We will stop to make use of a pay phone somewhere along the way. Quickly now.”
After Will took Robin and Chris to the airport, he returned to his master’s city home and summoned the three men he had left.
“Our lord is sending us to Rosethorn,” he told them. “I am to call upon Suzeraina Jayr and Suzerain Lucan. For them and their men, we will need everything from the storerooms and whatever you can borrow from our mortal friends.”
“How many at the stronghold?” Fazio asked.
“Seventy-three.”
Mason gave him an incredulous look. “Seneschal, even seventy-three Mongols could not take Rosethorn from our garrison.”
“They used deceit and drugs,” Will told him. “Now they hold our Kyn hostage. Our lord has gone to Rome to placate their mistress. In two days’ time, if he has not, we attack.”
“Can we be prepared for that in but two days?” Sullivan wanted to know.
“We must, or the lives of our brothers and sisters will be forfeit.” Will held out his hand. “Unto the last man, we fight.”
The other three clapped their hands atop his. “Unto the last man.”
Will went to the communications room, which still held maps and plans used during the search for Valentin Jaus. There he placed the calls to his master’s allies and told them of the summons to arms.
“We will be there before nightfall,” Suzeraina Jayr of the Realm promised, her voice grim. “How many do I bring?”
Too many warriors would strain their resources, and too few would prove ineffective. The old rule had been four to one, but that had allowed for a quarter to starve or be killed by defender fire. “One hundred of your best, if you please, my lady.”
The second call to Suzerain Lucan proved even easier.
“A siege? How delightful.” The high lord’s former chief assassin yawned. “My men are yours. Where and when?”
Will also requested that Lucan bring one hundred of his most experienced warriors. “We are most grateful, my lord.”
“I’m sure you are, but I daresay it choked Robin of Locksley to ask for my aid.” He chuckled. “Never fear, seneschal. My garrison is filled with Spaniards, and they have never forgiven the Italians for claiming they discovered this country. We will be most happy to dispatch them from it.”
Will then placed a call to the sanctuary house in Marietta, to alert them about Rebecca and the other women traveling there.
“We will prepare for them immediately, seneschal,” the woman in charge of the house said. “Do you know how many escaped?”
“No, but they may have mortals with them, so be ready for wounded.” Will prayed Rebecca had taken Reese out of the stronghold. “Contact me as soon as they reach you.”
The airless, dark escape tunnel extended almost two miles beneath Rosethorn’s outlying lands, and by the time they emerged from the other end into a heavily wooded but otherwise vacant lot by the highway, Reese wanted to do nothing more than throw herself down and rub her face in the grass.
“The caravan is over here, beneath this brush.” Rebecca waded through the overgrown weeds and pulled a mat of dead pine branches away from the front end of a large truck.
Reese went to help her, and as soon as they uncovered the cab she looked inside. “No keys.”
“They are here.” Rebecca reached under the front wheel well and groped until she produced a small magnetic box, which she handed to Reese. “I do not wish to impose on you, but we cannot operate the vehicle.”