Rebel's Cage (Book 4) (36 page)

But fortune denied them. They took too long getting to the place and they found it empty. Only Robert’s strong grasp stopped Finnlay from letting loose his rage. Within the cover of the blackest shadows, Robert settled down and let his Senses roam as fast and as thoroughly as he’d ever done.

‘She’s not far,’ he whispered, offering his brother all the comfort he could in a few seconds. ‘And she’s still alive. There’s a building south of here. Let’s go.’

*

The stone walls glittered black and shiny, lit by the candles he had set up inside the ruined chapel. The roof had long since gone, leaving a gaping hole to the heavens and rubble at his feet. Faint patches of ghostly blue appeared in the sky as the moon tried to force its way through, but the clouds were stronger, overcoming the light with thicker darkness, blanketing what he was doing, increasing the safety.

He carried her in, draped across his arms, her will to resist pinched between small powers he had mastered with a little of Nash’s help. She was beautiful and pale and white in the candlelight, still and safe in his grasp.

He’d debated only a moment before setting her down on the stone altar. Nash, of course, would have done it that way deliberately,
wanting
to make some silly symbolic point, but for Kenrick, it was simply practical. He planned to drain the
blood from her body and he needed her elevated in order to do it.

Carefully he arranged her on the hard stone; her dark eyes watched him with unbridled terror now. All the defiance had gone now that she had lost control of her own body and he shuddered violently with the thrill of it all.

This was what power really was. This was true control.

And she was a Douglas; if not the Rebel’s daughter, then certainly related, with looks like that.

Happy with her position, he picked up one hand, holding the wrist, pushing the sleeve of her gown up her arm, baring fresh skin almost translucent in this light. With his eyes on hers, he bent his head to the curve of her elbow, tasting the sweet skin, feeling the blood pulsing beneath.

He shuddered again as his own heart pounded. He was daring to do this, to perform an act of blatant sacrilege, using techniques centuries old, twisting them to his own purposes. He could barely contain the rush of excitement along his nerves; he strained his Senses to pick up every single fluctuation in the air around him, and especially in her.

On impulse, he bent forward and placed his lips on hers, feeling her immobile struggle to escape. His hands moved up her body, feeling each subtle curve, each signal of her growing womanhood, and the revulsion that flowed from her burning gaze.

This was torture at its greatest. He need do so little to generate so much.

For a moment, he was tempted to do more, to play with her as he played with his other toys, to spend the night revelling in who she was and what she could give him – but the bloodlust was too strong, the desire to see if this magic would actually work, too overpowering.

And more than
anything,
he wanted to be rid of these cursed scars.

With a final obscene kiss, he ignored his arousal and stepped back, leaving her bare arm dangling over the side of the altar. He brought forth the bag he’d carried in and extracted a smooth, polished wooden bowl and the orb Nash had given
him. The surface made it feel like stone, but it felt too light. He’d spent hours examining it, but knew no more now than before.

He placed the bowl on the floor beneath her hand. He pulled out a dagger from his boot and pressed the sharp edge against the soft skin of her arm. His breath shortened, harsh and shunting, and he had to swallow hard to bite down on the sudden fear which almost consumed him.

Once he’d done this, there would be no turning back. He would be like Nash, doomed to seeking healing and regeneration in this manner for the rest of his life—

But it would be a
long
life.

The blade flashed down, cutting deep, drawing blood instantly. He kept the cut short, so as to control the bleeding and then, before any could be lost, he placed her arm so each drop could fall into the bowl.

A brush of dizziness dimmed his senses for a moment, but he shook his head and it disappeared. Then he had to force himself to stand back and not touch, to just watch the thick trickle of black liquid pooling in the bottom of the bowl.

Anticipation clawed inside him. He would be whole again. His scars gone, his mistakes wiped clean.

Unable to stop himself, he took out the orb, held it between his hands, warming it, and then took a step forward, wanting to put it in the bowl now, to see the blood being absorbed by it. A flicker of movement from her eyes stopped him. She was gazing at him without blinking, her eyes boring into him. And then she did blink and her focus shifted slightly, to his shoulder, his hands and the orb. Each breath came slowly, laboured, each a fight for survival she could not win.

How long would it take? How long until her last breath was drawn?

A faint breeze, almost imperceptible, drifted into the chapel. He took a step back—

And froze.

Something hard and sharp and uncompromising dug into his back and at his ear, a breath, a voice that commanded, a voice he would never be able to refuse.

‘Move back very slowly. Do not attempt anything foolish.’

No.

Nonononono!

The blade shifted, released him a little. ‘Step back,
now.’

More power in that voice than he’d ever heard before, even around Nash at his worst.

He knew who this was.

Another flash of air and the invisible figure behind him stepped forward, turning and facing Kenrick for the first time.

Stark, unreasoned terror flooded through him. The black-lit eyes of a demon struck into his soul, the promise of torment beyond his imagination, the face he’d hoped he’d forget, now whole and healed, clashing with his nightmares, bringing them all back to life, the man who had murdered his father, who had come so close to killing Nash …

Robert Douglas. The name echoed inside his head a thousand times before the demon in front of him shut it off.

‘What have you done to her? By the gods, she’s lost so much blood!’

Robert didn’t dare turn and watch as Finnlay tended his daughter. He had to keep his entire attention on the King before him, a man who, just a short time ago, had been a boy – a boy Robert had almost killed. He had to keep his attention on himself, to suppress his desire, his almost overwhelming, bone-deep urge to pick up this monster and slam him against the wall, to tear his skin from him a piece at a time. The hunger burned through him, rattling against his reason. To kill this man now would be insane. To kill him like this would be murder … revenge …

Sweet. Too sweet to take this life, to use it up, to swallow and spit it out like the filth it was. But he wanted it with every ounce of him. This was what the demon had been born to do.

The old pain in his side stabbed at him, quickening his breath, snapping him alert and aware.

He gritted his teeth against the pain, against the demon. He’d failed before to control it, but he had to now, had to get Helen to safety. ‘How bad is she?’ Robert half-listened for the reply, his Senses slipping beyond the chapel walls to the fields outside, back towards the camp. They would not be alone for long. The edges of his nerves warned of Malachi approaching in numbers. They had minutes, no more.

‘She’ll live, I think,’ Finnlay’s voice was ragged as heartbreak and rage battled inside him. ‘But she’s barely able to move.’

Robert took a step closer to Kenrick, deliberately powerful, letting the demon leak out through his eyes. The young man gazed up at him, blinking rapidly, with his mother’s eyes set in a face that belonged to his father and yet held a wilful selfishness all its own. ‘Whatever hold you’ve got on her, release it.’

Kenrick, almost shaking with terror now, flicked his hand. Immediately Finnlay caught Helen in his arms, helping her from the altar. Her bound arm lay limply across her belly; she was almost transparent, she was so pale, but she was breathing and that was all that mattered at that moment. ‘Can you take her?’

‘Yes.’

‘Go. I’ll be out in a moment.’

‘Robert …’ The note of warning almost tore Robert’s gaze from Kenrick.

‘Don’t argue, Finn. Get Helen on that horse. Malachi are on their way.’

Finnlay picked up his daughter and vanished behind Robert.

The silence was broken only by Kenrick’s forced breathing.

‘Tell me,’ Robert murmured, ‘Did Nash do this to you? Did he make you into his image – or was it your father?’

Kenrick blinked rapidly at him, his jaw clenching as though he would spit. ‘Don’t … what are you going to do with me?’

That fear in the King’s eyes. Was that alone from what Robert had put there? Or were there more ghosts haunting him now he was older, more seasoned.

Robert was wasting time. He would find no answers now. He stepped back, sheathing his sword. ‘Where’s Nash?’

‘Nash?’ Kenrick grunted, the sound of thick gravel. ‘Why would I know where he is?’

‘I don’t have time to get it out of you. But you should be far more scared of him than you are of me.’

‘Oh? Why?’

‘Because he will destroy you – whereas I would only seek to save you.’

‘Save me?’ Kenrick said. ‘From what?’

‘Robert!’ Finnlay called from beyond the walls. ‘Come now!’

Robert grabbed the bottle of wine sitting on the floor and poured it over the bowl full of blood. He then took a candle to it.

‘No!’ Kenrick almost howled. ‘Leave me the calyx at least!’

Robert froze. ‘What?’

‘The bowl. Leave me that blood at least. What harm can it do—’

‘What did you call it?’

‘The bowl? A calyx.’

A calyx?
This bowl?

And where had Kenrick learned such a word from?

With the demon cold inside him now, he touched the candle to the wine and stepped back as flames flashed light into the ruined chapel. He didn’t dare use his own powers. Such a release would be enough to give the demon permission.

Then, not hesitating a moment, he stepped forward and snatched the orb from Kenrick’s fingers. The King flinched as though struck, then Robert was backing away. ‘Has Nash regenerated yet? It’s my guess that he hasn’t. But when he does, your life won’t be worth a grain of sand. He uses you while he needs you. Just like he did with your father. Just remember that. When I come back for you, remember what Nash did to your father.’

‘You
killed my father!’

Robert paused in the doorway, the stone beneath his feet rumbling a little with the pounding of horses approaching. ‘Nash sent him to me to die. Remember!’

Then he turned and ran, skidding down the passage until the ruined wall opened to the night air. Finnlay had Helen on the horse in front of him, Robert’s animal dancing around urgently. Robert leaped onto the horse’s back and kicked hard.

Even as they raced across the night-black fields, as the sound of approaching horsemen thundered in reply, the demon clawed at his back, demanding he return and finish the monster off for good.

No, he told it silently, never. Never set it free.

*

Finnlay rode and rode, deep into the night, unready to stop, reluctant to look back, unwilling to let go his precious bundle for even a moment. But hours stretched into the night and the horse beneath him grew weary. Robert vanished as Finnlay kept going, returning through the dark fog with fresh horses trailing behind him. Finnlay didn’t waste words on asking where they had come from.

But he had to stop long enough to change saddles. Robert stood there looking up at him, his expression open, understanding filling his eyes. Slowly Finnlay gently lowered Helen into his brother’s waiting arms. Then he dismounted and took her back, settling on the ground to leave Robert to work with bridle and saddle.

And sitting on the damp forest floor, the night as silent as death around him, Finnlay finally felt tears fill his eyes and cascade down his face, unable to lift a finger to stop them. Again and again, he pressed kisses to his sleeping daughter’s forehead, holding her as tightly as he dared.

And then Robert was done. He turned and sat beside Finnlay for a moment, bringing forth a flask of something which he offered up. Finnlay had no choice but to drink, each swallow coming hard.

‘Thank you,’ he whispered.

He felt Robert’s nod, and an arm around his shoulders, squeezing for a brief moment. Then, ‘Let’s keep moving. I can’t Sense any pursuit, but I don’t want to take any chances.’

‘No,’ Finnlay said, standing carefully. ‘No more chances.’

Only now, helpless in his relief, could he acknowledge that he’d never in his life been more afraid than when he’d found Helen with Kenrick.

*

Kenrick plunged his hands into the bowl of hot water, ignoring how it seared his flesh. He needed to feel the pain at this moment.

He dried his hands on a cloth held out by a page, then turned and snatched up the cup of wine offered him. His senior courtiers stood around, looking helpless, half-asleep and mostly useless. It was all Kenrick could do to stop the shivering inside being visible to all of them.

Never. Never again would he let something like that happen.

He barked out orders to break camp, ignoring protests that it was the middle of the night. He took his Chancellor to one side, giving crisp instructions as to what the man was to say to Ogiers, the apologies and the excuses of matters of state, all built up to create an image of a dynamic King willing and able to respond to the smallest danger.

DeMassey appeared once, briefly, long enough to tell him his skilled and well-trained Malachi had so far been unable to find a trace of the Rebel and his brother. Of course, he was also full of reproach that Kenrick had gone off on his own, making DeMassey believe he was in some danger. And Kenrick wouldn’t have lost the orb if he hadn’t been on his own. With a grunt, he dismissed the Malachi, knowing only too well there would be no result to the search, and not entirely sure he wanted one.