The Witch And The Wolf
By
Marly Mathews
(c) Copyright by Marly Mathews, February 2008
Cover Art by Alex DeShanks, February 2008
Published by New Concepts Publishing
Smashwords Edition
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Prologue
France, 1794
"Find the De Maurier brat!" Pierre Debois bellowed. His horse let out a long whiny. Pulling back on the reigns, he surveyed the fortress that passed for a castle. Narrowing his eyes, he struggled to control the rage pulsating through him.
Chateau De Maurier had been built in the thirteenth century. The De Mauriers had tried to give it a sense of class through countless renovations, and additions had been done on the castle, but it still looked like a fortress. Pierre fed on the feeling of doom permeating the air. The castle grounds crawled with his fellow members of the revolution. They were out for blood, and he had set the stage for his stab at vengeance.
He hated the duke and loved the duchess. If he couldn't have her as his own, the guillotine could have her. Or would he take her before the guillotine did? Only, time would tell.
Some said Sandrine De Maurier hailed from a long line of Scottish Witches. Others said the only wittily powers she held were her powers of allure. Her beauty preceded her among the noble families of Europe. Witch or not, Pierre only knew he had an obsession for her unlike any other woman. Tonight, he would finally claim his prize.
Sandrine De Maurier, the Duchess of Lyonville, dashed through the castle. She had to make her way to the secret passage that led out of the castle away from the revolutionaries. Her husband would provide a distraction while she escaped with their daughter. But she feared she would not make it on time. Even though help had been dispatched from England, her time had come to an end. Pierre would continue the search until he finally found her. Many people thought she possessed the powers of a witch. Alas, she'd only been blessed with the power of premonition. But it had not saved her. Perhaps, her death had been written in stone. She could not see that far.
Panting, she strengthened her hold on her daughter. Their journey was near the end.
Arabella would make it back to England and then onward to Scotland. She would grow into a beautiful young woman, in fact Arabella would be her mirror image. She had seen her daughter's future. And it filled her heart with hope.
Her husband would meet his demise at the guillotine. She had foreseen that five days past. The truth of his fate chilled her to her heart. But her visions were sudden and fleeting. If she'd had more warning. As it was, time had become her worst enemy.
Dragging in a shaky breath, she came to an abrupt halt. She had made it to her destination. The sound of shots pierced the air. The enemy drew near. Had they already captured Jean Luc? She could not give it a thought. They had already said their farewell. If she saw her husband again, it would be at the Gates of Heaven.
Her sister and her husband would take Arabella back to England. All would be well, as long as Arabella survived.
"Daphne, no matter what, you must whisk Arabella off to the safe house. Do you understand?"
Her English maid looked at her in surprise. "You were supposed to come with us, Your Grace."
"I can't. I fear Pierre will find me before we make it off the grounds. Do not argue with me, time is wasting."
She kissed the top of Arabella's head. At that precise moment, Arabella's eyes fluttered open.
Pools the shade of the greenest emerald gazed back at Sandrine. Her daughter tightened her hold on the front of her gown. Arabella had been gifted with many more talents than she had been blessed with. In one startling instant, her daughter and she connected. She spiraled into her daughter's mind's eye. The vision that met her jarred her to her soul.
Wrenching her gaze away from Arabella, Sandrine shattered the spell that had been cast.
"The fates it would seem, laugh at us." Her voice shook. Always remember that I love you."
At five years of age, Sandrine knew her daughter would carry this day with her to her grave.
She reflected back on her life. She'd led a full and happy, albeit short one. Her daughter on the other hand, would live to a ripe old age. She would love, oh, would she love.
"Mama?" Arabella's eyes sparkled with tears.
"Don't cry. Never deny the call of your heart, dearest. Always remember to give the key to the one who calls for it."
She knew Arabella understood. Wisdom beyond her tender years, shone in her eyes.
"Don't leave me, mama."
Sandrine sighed. She placed Arabella down on her feet, and looked at the secret passage. She reflected for a moment. Peeling back the tapestry of the medieval knight and his lady, she activated the secret panel. A doorway opened.
"Daphne, you take the lead."
Reaching for a torch, the short maid stepped into the damp corridor. Turning around, Daphne looked at her in expectation.
The sound of shattering glass echoed through the hall. The hourglass trickled out its last bit of sand. Sandrine's time of reckoning was at hand.
"Go! Now, so I can cover the doorway and get to another room."
"No." Arabella's whisper had the strength of steel.
"Daphne, do as I say. Take Arabella to safety." She quickly unhinged the emerald amulet that hung around her neck. Lifting her daughter's blazing red curls, she fastened the necklace around her tiny neck. The ancient magic contained within it, would protect her until she reached safe haven.
"Do not be afraid of your future, dearest heart." She hugged Arabella to her breast and rained kisses over her cherubic face. "Your destiny awaits you. Embrace it with welcome arms. Whatever you do, do not forget how to love and live life to its fullest. Until we meet again, you must carry the love that your father and I have for you in your heart. Never forget, to remember!" She urged her daughter to take Daphne’s outstretched hand. "Godspeed."
Then, she closed the hidden door, and repositioned the tapestry. She ran down the hall away from where her daughter and Daphne fled.
Pierre waited for her. Dread formed in the pit of her stomach. The only way she could keep him from going after Arabella would be to give herself to him. Her blood curdled.
"Where is she, Sandrine?" Pierre sneered. He crossed the short distance to where she stood.
"I haven’t the slightest inkling." She forced out a dismissive laugh. She drowned in the hatred that permeated off of him. The waves nearly brought her to her knees. But she would not look weak in front of this man, no matter how much he sickened her.
Fury shone in his eyes. "No matter. The brat can go to hell for all I care. I want you. Only, you." He grabbed her chin and pulled her face toward him. She spat at him. Whipping his hand back, he slapped her. "You shouldn't have done that, Duchess. I heard of your witch blood and defiant attitude. We shall see if it serves you well in the coming days, or if you will bow to me."
Arabella wanted to run back to her mother. Fear clutched at her being. 'Why had she left her?'
"Come along, my little lady." Daphne clucked her tongue.
A vision clouded Arabella's sight. She fell to her knees clapping her hands over her ears. She could hear the angry mob. They chanted. Sickness boiled in her stomach.
Their triumphant shouts of Vive la France! made her world start spinning. Daphne tried to pull her to her feet, but a weakness consumed her. She could not move.
"Oh, my dear lady." Daphne crouched down to her level. "I can't carry you with the torch in my other hand. You must find the strength to go on."
And somehow, she did.
Chapter One
France, 1808
"Oh, my little lady, you are playing with fire." Daphne cried, darting after her.
Arabella swept into her dressing room. "This gown just doesn't suit the occasion. Let's go for something a little more daring, a little bit more risqué."
"Risqué? You are inviting disaster. Why draw attention to yourself, my lady? You already stand out in a crowd. The guest of honor tonight should not notice you."
She laughed. "Dearest, Daphne. That's the point. I want, no, I need him to notice me. It's my only way of escaping back to England."
"Escaping? Why do you persist in that foolish notion? Rescue has not come in ten years! Why would your uncle welcome you back? He must have given up on us, or worse, Pierre has convinced him that you died."
"Why would my Uncle abandon me? He rescued me, and nearly lost my aunt in the attempt when she took a shot that had been meant for me! No. My family would not give up on me so easily. They know I am still alive. They just can't reach me. That's all." She tossed her hair off of her shoulder.
Daphne cocked her head to the side. "You are too reckless for your own good, Arabella."
"Pierre kidnapped me. He has no right to me. He only wants me because Arabella couldn't force herself to finish the sentence.
"You are living in a fantasy land, my lady. You can't possibly still believe that your mother lives."
The world tipped out from under her. She'd asked Daphne never to speak of the suspicion that had plagued her for years.
"I don't know. I can't find her. For all the powers I'm supposed to possess, even the supernatural can't help me in that quest."
"What gown do you intend to wear, tonight?" Daphne deftly changed the subject. Arabella sighed.
Haunting images of her mother dashed through her mind. If she were still alive, she'd find her, no matter the cost.
"I think the new gold one should do. I hear he has a certain fondness for gold."
"He has a certain fondness for beautiful ladies, no matter what color of gown they wear. In fact, he'd probably prefer you stark naked."
"Daphne!"
"Well, I'm only saying what you already know. You'd better be ready for the consequences if you invite his attention. You've been fighting off the sick advances of Pierre with your power of projection for five years now, a miracle has already happened. I don't know how you expect to deflect his carnal appetite."
"Oh, I have a few ideas." Arabella caressed the emerald amulet she wore. "Besides, I just need to get the little Corsican to agree to give me back my inheritance that Pierre stole. Then, it would be worth it."
"He'll have you become his spy, and perhaps his partner in bed."
"He already has enough partners, I doubt he requires another mistress."
"Never say never, my little lady." Daphne looked horrified. "I still don't think you realize your own allure. You will cast a spell over the Emperor!"
"That is my intent."
"I'm being serious, Arabella."
"So am I, Daphne. I can be quite enchanting when I put my mind and heart into the task," she smiled.
"I hope he is a man of his word."
"I'm betting on it." Arabella waited while Daphne set out the exquisite gown. "I'll soon have that randy little bugger eating out of my hand. Men are only interested in one thing when they're around me. I only have to make sure they never get me in the truest sense of the word."
"You've already had one too many close calls in my opinion." Her friend snorted.
"Trust me, Daphne. Soon, we'll be gazing at the white shores of England."
"I hope you're right."
"I am." Arabella reached for her perfume, and dabbed it liberally across her body. "You need only place your faith in me, Daphne. I swear I will never let you down."
Once it had dried, she pulled on her silk stockings. Next, came the dress, as she already wore her other undergarments. And since, less was more these days in fashion, that was precious little in the way of undergarments.
"Just answer this one last question. What will you do if he does demand favors of the more intimate sort? Don't think I am not innocent to his ways. I've heard of his prowess with the ladies, and I shall not allow you to become yet another conquest. For such a little man, he is quite renowned for his rather formidable sword."
"Oh, Daphne. Do not speak with such vulgarity! It does not become you. If he comes near me with his sword as you say, I'll do my worst on him. You needn't fear, you silly woman. I'm a witch, remember?" She laughed.
Daphne hesitated. "If I didn't believe in you, I'd be dying on the inside right now. I promised your mother I'd take care of you, and now I'm sending you out to a pack of hungry wolves."
"I've dealt with worse, dearest. Come now. Do wish me luck." She held Daphne's hand once her hair had been arranged. "Don't be sore at me. I'm doing what I have to do! Take heart, dearest, for Boney shall lavish me with everything I have ever desired. Most importantly, the De Maurier dynasty will live again!" Hugging Daphne quickly, she pulled away, and sped toward the door.
"Wait!"
Arabella stopped and looked back.
"You forgot your mask! Don't you know you're going to a masquerade?"
She laughed. "Of course. Of course. All the more reason to wear this revealing dress, if he can't see the full effect of my facial features, he must be impressed with my other more tantalizing charms." She winked at her. She held the mask up to her face. "How do I look?"
"Like you're going to get yourself in trouble." Daphne lamented.
She chuckled. "Never fear. I'm rather good at finding and getting into trouble." She swept out of her quarters, and immediately tensed.
The sound of fervent whispers met her keen ears. She held her breath. A shiver washed over her. The shadows beckoned to her. The shadows always chased her. She was lucky to have enough light within her to force them into submission.
"Who goes there? Show yourself!"
A large silhouette cast a long shadow along the length of the opposite wall. The second figure shifted, and then ran. Warm sensations rushed through her. Whoever the person was that had fled, posed no imminent danger to her, but they had fled for a reason. Perhaps to avoid her recognition? She shook her head. It suddenly felt cloudy.
"You shouldn't tarry long, Lady Arabella."
She narrowed her gaze.
How had he known her name?
"Who are you?"
"You ask too many questions. I am someone from your past. I've been watching you."
Apprehension tickled along her scalp. Her hair nearly stood on end. "I don't know what you mean." Squinting her eyes, she tried to make out his facial features. He struck a stunning profile.
What's more, his height impressed her. He towered over her. And since she stood at a stately five feet eight inches, he was well over six feet. His hair blended in with the darkness. A shiver of anticipation rippled through her. This man stood on the path of her true destiny. The question was, what role would he play?
"Becoming the little Corsican's courtesan wouldn't be a good idea." His smooth velvety rich voice rattled her already strained nerves.
Why couldn't she summon her power of projection? She should have been able to tame the beast that stood near her. Using her empathic abilities, she tried to gain control on manipulating his emotions. His chilling coldness toward her made her uneasy, even though she could feel something altogether different emanating off of him. She clung to her belief that this man was meant to cross paths with her tonight. Something about him made her want to throw herself at him. The practical side of her started warring with the fun-loving side of her.
"I don't know what you mean." Her flippant retort caused him to stiffen.
"Ah, of course. The old avoid and distract tactic. I think I like your style, Arabella." He moved toward her. She backed away.
He closed in on her, despite her attempts to consume him with her talents. None seemed to be affecting him. Damn it all! What form of protection cloaked him from her magic?
His breath smelt of chocolate. She drew in a sharp breath. Why was the lighting in the corridors so dim? She needed to SEE him. But even if the lighting were better, she still would not be able to see him fully. As he drew near, she finally noticed the sparkling emerald green mask he wore. He matched her in every way. Wit for wit, and barb for barb.
"You needn't fear. I have no intentions of ravishing you."
"Pity." She shocked him with her retort. "If you don't take care, my Uncle Pierre might discover you. He'll have your head on a platter if he does. My Uncle does like to take the old expression 'heads will roll' to heart. Literally."
"Why do you call him uncle? He is not related to you. By blood or marriage."
"I ask again. Who the hell are you?"
"Ah, naughty, naughty. A lady of your fine breeding should not swear. It makes you sound like a common tart. But then, I'd imagine you and the common tart share a lot of things in common." His galling insinuation hit her like a cannonball in the stomach. Her world tipped on its axis.
"Go to hell." She slammed against the wall. Why hadn't Daphne heard the roaring ruckus and come to investigate?
"I'm someone you only need to know as The Wolf." His breath made her cheeks tingle.
"The Wolf? Make some bloody sense, why don't you?"
"I can help you get back to England."
She shook her head. Here he was speaking perfect French and he wanted to entice her with promises of whisking her back to England? He was so full of it.
"I'll have to decline. Respectfully, of course."
He sighed. Planting hands on either side of her, he closed in. She bristled. "You are quite stubborn. Even more so than what I've been told by a few trustworthy sources. But then, I do so love a challenge." His dark eyes sparked. His eyes captured the full allure of his soul, if they truly were the gateway to the soul. She had nothing to fear from this man. He was an obstacle that needed to be overcome. Posthaste.
"I tire of you. I want to go down to the ballroom."
"You are rather impatient, are you not?"
"Patience doesn't happen to be one of my virtues."
"And I'm quite certain your other virtues are above reproach." His voice dropped to a husky whisper.
"I will have no more of your tiresome games." She reached to plant her hands on his shoulders, and prepared to defend herself from his advances. She'd never allowed a man this near to her before, but she had to admit she was drawn to him. She couldn't really place her finger on it, but he had a special quality that made her almost weak-kneed. Her heart hammered against her ribcage. She gasped. When her hands touched him electricity shot through her. He felt it too, that much she knew, from the slight shudder rippling through him.
Rioting emotions ran through her. Visions of a man standing on a beach with the wind whipping through his wavy black hair filled her mind's eye. His face struck a chord within her. She knew him. He was her soul mate.
She struggled for her breath.
He pulled away from her. "You are a bloody witch!"
She didn't know what he'd seen or felt, but by the sound of his ragged breathing, it had to have affected him in the same way she'd been affected.
You'll be the death of me. Get off to your blasted masquerade. But remember, I'll be watching you, so don't try any slippery tricks."
She heaved a shuddering breath. "I have no tricks up my sleeve, sir. You seem to have the wrong impression of me."
"Oh, I know just what you are. No matter how many times you try to defend yourself against it, you're a traitor to your heart."
She couldn't understand what he meant, and frankly, she'd had quite enough of him. "I hope to never cross paths with you again."
"Never is a long time, Witch." His voice softened. It caressed her.
She bristled. "Don't follow me."
"I have no other choice, but I'll keep a discreet distance. We can't have Boney jumping to rash conclusions, can we? For such a little bastard, his brain is quite cunning, I'll give him that."
She rushed away from him. Heat still scorched her cheeks. She'd almost wished he'd kissed her. If he had, she would have known for sure who he was.
The Wolf.
What bloody nonsense. She didn't look back. She didn't have to. She could still feel him watching her every step. Now, she would have to use all of her powers. Whatever happened, she couldn't become his prey.
The Wolf watched her hips sway from side to side. Her seductive powers amazed him. He'd never seen such a stunning woman before. But he had a mission to accomplish. And she was part of that mission. God help him.
Chapter Two
She heard him pursuing her. No, she could FEEL him following her. Her heart pounded up into her throat. Whatever she did, she couldn't let on she knew of his chase. If she'd felt threatened, she would have used her talents on him. The fact that she'd been a bit rattled meant little. She would've eventually gained control of her racing heart. Wouldn't she? Never had a man made her feel so vulnerable. But she didn't fear him hurting her. She only feared she'd lose her heart to him.
She'd never believed in love at first sight before. But now, she didn't know what to think. How could you lose your heart to someone you barely knew? Unless ... shaking her head, she began the long descent to the ballroom below. She trailed her hand along the banister. Chateau Belle Roche boasted a magnificent staircase made of Italian marble, and yet it always gave her a feeling of foreboding when she walked down its slippery slope.
Straining her hearing, she hesitated briefly and heard him stop at the same time she did. She couldn't read him like she did other men. What did that mean? She couldn't dwell on him. She had an objective to accomplish.
Her heart stopped. Her uncle strutted into view. He reminded her of a peacock. She hated peacocks. They made her skin crawl. They were revered for their beauty, but they were hollow beings on the inside, much like her so-called uncle.
Could she bolt before he noticed her? She'd hoped to avoid him for the entire night. She knew he would not like it if she gained Napoleon’s attention. Indecision plagued her.
Pierre sipped at his flute of champagne and looked up to catch her eye. Panic flared inside of her. Summoning her powers, she leveled her gaze on the painted Cyprian that stood to the left of Pierre. Within seconds, the slut had moved to fawn over Pierre. He reluctantly wrenched his gaze off her to attend to the loose woman's flirtations. Tucking her arm beneath his, they sauntered out of sight.
Arabella would always be able to use Pierre's lascivious nature to her advantage.
"That was fortuitous." His smooth voice startled her.
She resisted the urge to toss him an irritated glance, over her shoulder. "Why don't you just leave me alone?"
"Ah, if only I could."
"Please, don't let me hold you back."
He chuckled. She quickened her steps.
Napoleon awaited her, if only she could shake her second shadow.
"Could I interest you in a dance?"
"A dance?" She laughed. "I think not. But feel free to pay attention to the other ladies that are in attendance."
"Ladies? IS that what you'd call them? Ah, I guess we do have different opinions in the character and measure of a woman."
She stopped. By now, she'd made her way into the main part of the ballroom. Swan sculptures made of ice lined the refreshment sideboards.
They passed a cluster of Napoleon’s advisors.
"The English scoundrels have a mad King, so that can only make them a mad people." The men laughed and continued to jeer and make rude comments. "They should have a revolution to free themselves of their King's lunacy."
Cold silence blanketed her. Her shadow didn't seem to like that particular remark. Odd. Perhaps, there truly was more to her Wolf than met the eye. Her heart thundered in her chest. Wolves mated for life. She felt a blush warm her cheeks.
When she turned to confront him again, she noticed that he'd vanished from her line of sight. She searched the crowds for him, to no avail. Her heart fell. Why did she feel disappointment, and confusingly enough, a sense of loss? She'd only known the scoundrel for a scant few minutes, and yet, he'd made an impression on her life that no other man had ever made.
An aid of Napoleon's stepped forward. "His Excellency wishes to have a moment of your time." The aid gripped her elbow and steered her toward the front of the ballroom.
She swallowed. So, she had gained his attention, a little bit more so than she would have preferred.
Her heart raced. In for a penny in for a pound. She'd have to keep a cool and level head, hoping that her powers of persuasion would work on the little Corsican. She'd been rattled when they hadn't worked with her Wolf. Her Wolf. She smiled, funny how she would think of him like that.
When she'd been presented t Bonaparte, she dipped into a low curtsy. Her skin crawled when his eyes lingered a little too long on her breasts. Thoughts of The Wolf continued to plague her. Why had he come into her life? Did he intend to torment her until she'd gone half mad? Why did he weigh so heavily on her thoughts? She barely knew him. Her fascination with him was beyond ludicrous.
"Come and sit with me, my dear lady." Napoleon extended his hand to help her step up to sit beside on the red settle. She shivered. Terrible visions swarmed her line of sight. She swayed and nearly fainted. Greed and lust boiled beneath Bonaparte’s surface. He would not be a welcome adversary. She had to play her hand right, or she risked losing more than her life. When his lips brushed her hand she had to hold back a shudder. She wanted to run from the room and never look back, but she'd gone too far into the lion's den. She had to see this through.
She trilled out a shaky laugh, while she settled her silky skirt around her legs. The ballroom loomed out before her and she had a clear view of nearly everyone. So, why couldn't she find him?
A jolt ran through her when she finally spotted him. They made eye contact. Licking her lips, she leaned forward. She wanted to run toward him. No matter what he'd said to her, and even though she didn't know him from Adam, she still wanted to be with him. He beckoned to her, almost as if he'd be her safe harbor. And right now, she desperately required a safe haven.
"I must say, Lady Arabella that you are by the far the loveliest woman in the room." Her stomach rolled. When they said Bonaparte could charm the ladies they weren't telling long tales. If he'd been speaking to just about any other woman, he'd probably have been able to sell his little act. But, she wasn't any ordinary woman. Her talent made her extraordinary.
The Wolf still held her gaze. Snapping her attention away from him, she drew in a lengthy breath and smiled.
I thank you for your compliment, Your Excellency. She bowed her head to him. She held her mask steady in her hand to shield part of her face from him. Bitterness stung the back of her throat.
Bonaparte gave her an indulgent grin. You do have a glow about you, my dear. He patted her hand. She fought the urge to draw it away. She thanked God for the gloves she wore. She knew she wouldn't be able to touch him with her bare skin, especially when he was affecting her through the barrier the material served.
"Your Excellency, I ...."
"Say no more, Lady Arabella. My advisors have told me of the plan you've concocted. I think you would make a fabulous secret agent in my service. I trust you have been given the necessary information that you require? If you do go to England, you will have certain tasks to perform. Some of those tasks will be unsavory to say the least. Others will rock your world with pleasure." His lips curled into what passed for a smile.
She swallowed, and tried shaking the uneasiness that had draped across her.
The Wolf continued to watch her. He looked like he wanted to tell her something, but couldn't. Why did she want to give her apologies t Napoleon? Suddenly, her little plan didn't come as such a great idea.
"I do. I have been given the information I require. I will do as you ask, to serve my country, and you."
The corners of his mouth lifted into a jubilant grin. "Then, in that case, I wish you a safe journey across the channel. I hear the waters can be rough this time of the year. You will leave in a fortnight's time. And, enjoy your time with your family."
Her breath hitched in her throat.
"Ah, yes, I will."
"Of course, you did know I knew of your family in England?" She nodded her head and held her breath. "Just remember, where your true loyalty lies. If you wish to have your French family legacy restored to you, you'll do well to remember that you need me."
"How could I ever forget?" Her heart danced in her chest. She wanted to get as far away from him as she possibly could.
She looked away from him. Searching the crowd, she found The Wolf on the other side of the ballroom. An advisor of Napoleon’s rushed toward him and whispered something in his ear.
"My dear lady, it would seem that Madame Martine requires your assistance. She has fallen gravely ill.... I would appreciate it if you were to hasten to her bedside."
Escape. Thank the heavens.
"Certainly. I would be more than happy to minister to her ills. A good evening to you, Your Excellency." She almost jumped with joy. Standing up, she raced through the ballroom and had almost made her escape when he moved to block her path. Holding her mask steady over her face, she sighed.
"Leaving so quickly? And without one final fond farewell? Or, even gracing me with a dance? Why, my Witch, I am crushed." His full lips formed a smug line.
"No. I have been asked to attend to Madame Martine."
"Ahhh ...." His demeanor changed in the blink of an eye. "What ails her?"
"I do not know. They would not tell me. But I am rather well known for my healing skills. So, if you wouldn't mind getting the hell out of my way, I'd be most obliged."
"You really must try to curb that wayward tongue of yours."
"I'll think about it." She tried to dart around him. He rested his hand on her arm.
"Why don't I accompany you up to Madame Martine's rooms?"
"I really don't think that's necessary. I can find my way on my own."
"I trust you can, but I have reason to believe that someone would like to kill you."
Her heart did another dance.
"You are one to blow things out of proportion, aren't you?"
"Someone doesn't want you to make it back to England, as you just planned wit Bonaparte."
"Who are you? A spook?"
"I don't think I need to answer that question. In fact, the less you know, the better off you'll be."
"Whom do you work for?"
He seemed uneasy. "Let's go." Taking her by the arm, she brushed up against his side. Again, a shock of energy swirled through her. She gasped for air.
We're leaving tonight."
"Leaving? You speak in riddles."
"I'm here to take you to England."
And I'm a genie in a bottle." He pulled her along. A figure stepped out of the shadows and stepped in front of them. Her hands shook. Could it be?
"What is it, Gerard?"
Her muscles relaxed. She let out a disappointed sigh. She'd hoped that it had been someone from her past, someone that she'd welcome seeing, but alas, she'd been mistaken.
"The Fox wishes to see you."
"The Fox?" She leaned against The Wolf's warm body. He placed his arm around her waist. He was acting a wee bit too familiar with her. And yet, why didn't she pull away from him?
"Be quiet, Arabella."
She snorted. Focusing her attention on his arm that rested around her waist, she projected her power. This time it gained her results.
"Hot. Blast it all, what did you do, witch?" He tore his hand away from her, and shook it in the air. In his moment of distraction, she sped away from him. "Damn it all. Come back here!"
She could hear him running after her. She dashed up the steps. His heavier footsteps thundered after her. She had to escape him. He could read her all too well. She hadn't found out who The Fox was, but she knew enough to know that The Wolf was a man to be reckoned with.
She'd just made it to the top of the steps, when he caught up with her. Before she knew it, he'd pulled her against him. His hand closed over her mouth. She bit him, but to her chagrin he didn't pull away. Her struggles didn't even gain her any positive results. In her moment of distraction, the arm that held her mask slipped down to fall against her side. Her mask dangled from the silk chord that kept it attached to her wrist.
Weirdly enough, she wasn't afraid of him. She wondered at his motivation to take charge of her in such a way.
His voice broke into her thoughts.
"This way, Witch."
She heard a door open. Before she knew it, she was draped in darkness. He might as well have blindfolded her. She couldn't see a damn thing. But, she could feel him slinking in the shadows.
"Why do you want me?" Her voice trembled with emotion.
He laughed. "You are putting words in my mouth, Witch, but you are right, I do want you. I just don't think we'll have time for that kind of merrymaking tonight. Time is of the essence. We must get moving before...."
"Before what?"
She jumped. Something or someone crashed against the door. Her breath hitched in her throat. The sound of The Wolf drawing a weapon caught her attention.
"The man outside of the door means to keep us from leaving this room." Her voice deadened with the utmost calm. She moved backward, and felt the back of her knees slam against the mattress of the bed. Her heart stopped.
"Stay here." His command caught her off guard.
"I don't think you know who you are dealing with here, sir."
"Oh, I think I know a great more than you'd warrant. You'd better hold your tongue and stay put until I return, Duchess."
Her heart hammered up and lodged in her throat. How did he know that childhood nickname of hers? Unless ....
"Who are you?" She tried to use her magic to push past the veil that surrounded him. Pain struck her temple. She breathed heavily. He rippled the air when he moved to face her. In the dark, she could only make out the faintest outline of his silhouette.
"I am someone that you should regard as a friend."
"Does this friend have a name?" She hoped that for once, he would bend to her will. She willed him to give her his Christian name.
She could have sworn she saw his eyes glitter in the dark. Her emerald pendant lit up with green fire.
Danger approached.
"Your magical wiles will not work on me, Duchess. Nothing within the realm of your powers, seductive ... or otherwise, will make me bend to do your bidding."
She'd see about that. She'd never met a man that she couldn't wrap around her pinky finger.
"You are playing with fire, my lord."
"Lord? What makes you think I’m nobly born, such as yourself?"
There.
She'd goaded him into making one more mistake. He'd admitted to knowing about her background, and she'd be damned if he'd get away with not telling her about his. She didn't like walking blind into a pit of cobras.
The door rattled again. By the sounds of it, someone was trying to break the bloody thing down.
She tensed.
"Look, you don't have to act as my protector. You should slip out. There's a secret passage in the wall over there." She knew he'd shoved them into her bedchambers. She didn't know where Daphne was, but foreboding gnawed at her.
She sidled over to her escritoire and quickly lit a candle, before he could stop her.
"You shouldn't have done that. Now they'll be able to see us when they break down that door."
"I do not like the dark." She shivered. His facial features were still obscured by his bloody mask. Her own mask still hung limply from her wrist.
"A witch should embrace the darkness." His voice made her shiver.
"My apologies, but alas, I'm not that sort of a witch. If you would like to meet one, I can direct you to the right source. But I will never embrace the magic that comes from the Dark Arts." Another shudder rippled through her.
His gaze locked with hers for the briefest moment.
"Indeed, I do not think you are." He grinned. He had crossed the distance between them before she could even regain her breath.
"What are you doing?" He blew the candle out, gripping her hand tightly. "You said there's a secret passageway. Take me to it."
"Why did you have to blow out the candle? I don't think I like you." She tried to pull her wrist out of his viselike grip. His fingers would leave an imprint on her wrist if he held her like this for much longer.
"Well, I like you."
The tone of his voice changed. Her intuition told her to relent, for now at least. But if he thought he was the one in charge, he could think again.
"You'll have to let me lead the way."
He sighed. "Of course. I'll protect you from the rear."
"You do that." She didn't want to point out to him that she could sense the people outside of her quarters. They worked for her 'uncle.' And, The Wolf was right. They did want to kill her. Pierre thought she'd double-crossed him with Boney. When he found out she hadn't blown his diabolical plans, he'd rethink his orders to have her killed. She knew for a fact that he intended to usurp the little usurper. But then, as long as she was out of the country, she could care less what Pierre tried. He might think he was a match for Napoleon , but then, he never did know how to see past the end of his pointy little nose. Men like Napoleon didn't get ousted from power easily. Especially, when the man that wanted to claim his power was an idiot.
"I don't know why you wanted to keep that candle lit." She listened to his mutterings with a frown on her face. The sooner she could get rid of him, the better. "Your flaming red hair is like a torch. I'd be able to spot you in a darkened room with a blindfold across my eyes."
"I doubt that." She laughed. "Though I'd warrant, you'd be able to feel me."
She stopped suddenly. The force of their connecting bodies made both of them jolt.
"What are you stopping for?"
"We're at the passageway." She turned.
"Ah ... h."
"I'd hurry if I were you. Make your hasty retreat and I'll stall for you, until you can get to safe haven." She said.
"I'm not going anywhere without you."
She shook her head. "You have to leave now. I'm not going to let you interfere with my plans to return to my ...."
"To what? Your paramour?"
"Oh, you really need to stop fixating on my many lovers. Jealousy does not become you, especially since you have no right to be jealous." Her quip made an iciness permeate the air. If he wanted to think she was no better than a common courtesan, then she'd let him believe that. The truth of the matter was, her reputation was the only thing of value she had left in this unforgiving life.
"I've been sent for you."
His words didn't make any sense. If he'd been sent to retrieve her, then, that meant ....
"My uncle sent you?"
"That little shit? Hell, no. Duchess, I think you need to get a good dose of reality." She looked away from him, and triggered the hidden latch that opened the secret passageway.
"I do not speak of Pierre. I speak of my uncle in Scotland."
"Oh ... well, in that case ...." He paused. "Aye, that's who sent me. He wanted me to bring you back home safe and sound."
"Then you're Scots?"
He paused. She didn't like the sense of impending doom that suddenly slipped across her vision. She fell against him, when a picture of his demise entered her minds eye. She fought to catch her breath. She felt sick. She hated seeing the premature deaths of people whose lives she touched. She was the kiss of death, and she wasn't about to kill this man.
"You have to go now. Tell my uncle I'll be seeing him soon. He just has to wait for the time to be right."
"The time is right now." Without any further explanation, he pulled her into the passageway. The door slid shut behind them.
"How did you do that?" He'd rendered her breathless, and speechless with his latest act. How did this man know so much about the Chateau?
"You have to leave Belle Roche now. You don't know what you're up against."
He hadn't released his hold on her, and she thought he wasn't even listening to her until he spoke.
"I know. My time here is over. And so is yours. You, Duchess, you're coming back with me."
"Back where? I'm not going anywhere with you, until you give me some straight answers. You say you know my uncle, and yet you won't even let me see your face."
"Discretion is an art I take very seriously."
"Bully for you." She tried to wiggle out of his grasp. If she could manage to escape from him, she could keep him from getting killed.
She was bad luck. She'd always known that. Anyone and everyone she'd ever gotten close to usually ended up six feet under. She wouldn't have another death on her hands.
"I pray for you to understand what I'm saying. If you don't go on alone, without me, you'll never make it back to the shores of England, not in your corporeal form anyway."
"You tire me, Witch."
"Witch, Duchess ... make up your mind. Either call me one or the other. You're starting to make my head ache. You don't seem to be getting the point that I'm trying to make. Don't you know what I'm trying to tell you?" They'd traveled quite a long way. Before she'd realize it, he'd lead her out of one of the passages and they'd be speeding toward his death.
He was too young to die. If she warned him now, she could save him and set him on a new path. If only, he would take her seriously.
"You can't do this." She summoned her nerve and used her free hand to touch the amulet around her neck. She channeled her magic through it.
A beam of green light arced out of the amulet and slammed into The Wolf. He let go of her, and went flying up into the air. She gasped. She hadn't realized how intense the magic would be that would channel through the amulet. She'd never been desperate enough to use its magic before. Her own powers had always served her well in times of peril. She still didn't know why her natural born talents had no effect on The Wolf, but she was beyond caring at the moment. She just wanted to get rid of him, so he could live to fight another day. If he remained with her, his death warrant was signed.
He hit the wall, and slumped down into a heap. She held her breath. Maybe she'd unintentionally killed him. She ran toward him.
Falling to her knees, she reached toward him. She quickly tore her glove off her hand. Gently, she touched his forehead. Heat spiraled through her with the soft contact. She could love this man for the rest of her life. He made her feel things she'd never dreamed possible.
He groaned. Leveling his gaze at her, a spark of electricity passed between them. She drew back, shocked. Her breathing ran ragged.
"I apologize. I didn't know ...."
"If this was another time, I'd now have enough evidence against you to have you burned at the stake."
She pursed her lips. "Well, you don't take rejection easily, do you, my lord?"
"Stop calling me that. You don't have to submit to me in that manner. We are on equal playing ground here, Duchess."
"Really?" She leaned toward him, and touched his head. "Did you hit your head? I'm thinking that perhaps I've altered your personality somehow with my magic. I just wish I knew how to transform you back into the pompous prig I knew before." Drawing away from him, she pulled her glove back on. She couldn't face touching him with her bare skin any longer. The emotions their skin to skin contact aroused nearly brought her to her knees.
"I am not a pompous prig, never have been, never will be."
"Oh, yes you are." She shut her mouth. Damn. He'd baited her again, and she'd fallen face first into his trap. He'd spoken his last words in English, and she'd returned in kind.
"Ah, so you have kept the language your mother taught you close to your heart."
"What do you know of my mother?" She wanted to slap him. She hated talking about her mother. The thought of not having her in her life brought her a world of grief on a daily basis. Every hour, every minute of every day, her mother's shadow pressed against her mind.
"Enough." His evasive answer made her see red.
"I won't have you stringing me along like this, Wolf. And furthermore, what is with that stupid codename?"
She didn't have to feel his anger to know she'd pissed him off.
"You should have that damn necklace taken away from you."
"Just try it, and see where it will get you."
She lost her balance and fell against him. He caught her, bringing her close to his chest. A sparkle entered his eyes. She wet her lips, and tried to free herself, but this man had a stronger grip than any other man she'd ever encountered.
"You're quite the little bird, always trying to fly away from me. Perhaps, I should call you Phoenix for your fiery red hair."
She snorted. "This has gone on long enough. I will not be manhandled like this. You have taken this game too far."
"Game? We are not playing a game of chess here, Duchess. The gambits in this game are life or death, and if you make one wrong move, you forfeit more than a pawn or bishop."
His words cut like a dagger into her heart.
"Come what may, you're going back to England without me. I've already made a deal ...."
"A deal? What? Don't tell me you bargained with that despot Bonaparte? Whatever could have possessed you? Have you taken leave of your senses? You are the most careless woman I have ever met. Do you have any idea what events you could have set in motion by making a deal with that devil?"
"Devil take you, Wolf. I don't know who you are. I don't know why of all people, my uncle decided to send you to rescue me." She calmed her breathing. "As far as I'm concerned, my uncle can go to rot. He's left me rotting in this hellhole for ten long years. As far as I'm concerned, he's nothing to me."
She didn't mean what she'd said. In truth, she'd always wondered why her uncle had not pursued her. But she knew that he'd probably been duped into believing she was dead. That was how Pierre worked. She didn't have the time or energy to hold grudges. If he'd left her to while away in France for no reason other than thinking she'd been ruined in some way, then so be it. She would deal with that information when the time came.
"Nothing. I see. The pieces are finally falling into place for me. You wanted to make a deal with Boney. You wanted to toss your little fan into that little braggart's hat. You wanted to be his ... his ...."
She smiled. If he wanted to think she'd just become the latest, greatest bed warmer to the Emperor then, so be it. He didn't even have the decency to tell her his real name.
"It took you long enough to clue in, Wolf. For one taking on the name of such an intelligent animal, I thought you'd have already pieced everything together hours ago. Why wouldn't I want to align myself with a man of his position?"
The Wolf remained silent. "If that's the case, if you really are so familiar with the ways of seduction, then taking the time out to increase our familiarity with each other won't harm you in the slightest. In fact, you could use it as research. I hear Boney likes his mistresses well skilled in the many fine arts of seduction."
She forgot to breathe. He meant to .... Daphne had warned her about playing with fire. Now, she'd finally be feeling the burn. She was suddenly all too aware of the rock solid grip he had on her arms.
"You will regret what you're about to do."
"Oh, I never regret nights spent with a well educated woman."
Her heart stalled. Now, she wasn't breathing, but her heart wasn't beating as well. She couldn't reach the amulet. She glanced down to it. It was as dull as an unpolished piece of glass. For the first time in her life, it failed to warn her of incoming danger.
She lost all coherent train of thought when he pulled her toward him. His lips touched hers, gently at first, and then, the kiss deepened. She moaned. She had to end this. She had to stop him. She wasn't going to surrender her virtue to any man, least of all, a man she only knew as The Wolf.
He broke the kiss as if he could sense her panicked thoughts.
"Don't worry, Witch, I won't hurt you. After all, once I make you mine, you'll remain mine for the end of my days. Didn't you know, that once a wolf takes a mate, they mate for life?"
He didn't pose a threat to her. He wasn't incoming danger. He was The Danger. He'd claimed her heart the first time she'd heard his voice. But no matter what, she couldn't let him claim her body and soul.
The Wolf had just met his match. He'd met The Witch that would bring him to his knees.
Chapter Three
"Mark my words, Wolf, you will regret your next course of action. I will put a curse on you."
"Curses are only for the witches that embrace the darkness. You've already assured me you are no such witch. So, I can only surmise that my soul is safe with you."
She hated the look of hunger in his eyes. She could feel him trying to consume her body and soul with just one of his scorching gazes. Gooseflesh continued to prickle along her arms.
"The sort of curse I'd lay on you wouldn't be considered a dark curse. How would you like me to make you speak like a little girl for the next year?"
He snorted, telling her that he didn't take her threat seriously.
"I have my principles, and I never let a man bed me that hasn't already told me his Christian name."
A long pause followed her declaration. Anger simmered in his dark eyes. She shivered.
"I knew you'd had lovers, but you don't need to make it sound as if you've bedded the whole male population of France."
She swallowed the thick lump forming in her throat. Well, she'd effectively painted a mental picture of herself for him. Now he would definitely believe that she'd become Boney’s latest conquest. She shouldn't feel ashamed of herself, but she did. She wanted to despise herself for leading him astray in such a manner. But if he thought she was going to allow him to ravish her in the dead of the night like this, then he was dreadfully mistaken. She had her reputation and her honor to protect, not to mention the fact that she couldn't risk falling pregnant with his child. Not when so much hinged on her escaping to England. The knowledge she possessed could sway the shift of power in Europe. She couldn't let The Wolf and his passion for her stand in her way. For once in her life, she had to use her wits and not her emotions or powers to get her out of this fine mess.
"You are obviously not French. Why don't you return to your country without me? I have no wish to leave France, yet."
"Ah, but there you have it. You might not want to leave right now, but I want you to leave. And, I'll drag you kicking and screaming if I must."
"I think you are in jest, my lord. If I were kicking and screaming, you would not be able to get off these lands. I would definitely attract too much attention. I scream like a banshee when the fancy strikes me."
"If you screamed like a banshee your pursuer would be able to finish the task of killing you."
Despite her better inclinations, she shivered at the sense of foreboding in his voice. He actually sounded concerned about her welfare. She always knew she walked a fine line between living and dying, and one day, she'd make the fatal wrong move that would cause her to go tripping over that line. She'd made her peace with living, and as such, she didn't fear the specter of death. She just wanted to live a little on her own terms before she gave into the final death knell.
"We should keep moving. There is a chance someone else knows of these secret passages, and if they do, they'll be coming for me. Leave while you still can. I don't think you'd want to be discovered by my uncle's men. Right now, I have the protection of the most dangerous man in all of Christendom."
"That's true." His eyes sparkled. "You have The Wolf's protection."
"You have no issues with your ego, do you?" She kept herself from chuckling. Right now, they faced serious consequences. No matter how pigheaded the man was in front of her, or how much he reminded of her an inflated ass, she didn't want to see his life end this night. And, if he were discovered, he would be a goner for sure. If her uncle's men didn't dispose of him, Boney’s men would.
"I know that you're a man loyal to the English King. So leave, now, before you have your blood spilled this night."
"My blood is staying right where it is. Safe and sound within my body."
She shook her head. "Look, you might have the time to tarry all night long talking my ear off, but I have responsibilities to attend to."
"Ah, no doubt you want to kiss the foreheads of your little by blows?"
Rage ran through her. How dare he make such a galling insinuation? The man had totally forced her over the edge again. She placed her free hand against her pendant. He still held her other hand in his firm grasp. "I should send you back to England for that remark. How would you like a free trip across The Channel?"
"Even I don't think you command that kind of magic."
"Would you like to test that theory?" She glanced down at the pendant. It had started to glow. Which meant it was responding to her need to use it against him, or else ....
She sensed the presence behind them before he did. Slamming her body into his she sent them crashing to the ground. She gasped for air.
"Are you hurt?" His voice became excruciatingly gentle.
"No, I think I just had the wind knocked out of me." She was careful to respond to him speaking in French. He'd spoken in English, and she prayed that the man lurking in the shadows hadn't heard him.
"Let's go. I've got a carriage waiting to whisk us to the seashore."
"I can't ...." Her breath hitched in her throat.
The next few minutes passed in a blur. Before she knew it, The Wolf had been thrown off his feet. She stood up. Her heart stopped when she saw moonlight reflect off the glinting steel the attacker held in his hand. She recognized him as one of Pierre's men. Cold dread washed over. She had to help him.
She moved in with her finger resting lightly on her pendant, but before she could take any action, The Wolf did. The attacker let out a gurgle and then fell limply to the ground. It was over. In a brief second, the man had lost his life.
"You shouldn't have witnessed that." The Wolf stood up and smoothed his clothing out. "He would have killed me, and then, he would have killed you. I told you that someone didn't want you to make out of Belle Roche alive."