Shadows of the Keeper (23 page)

So far, not one shit piece of
proof necessitating me being labeled a whore. 

Shuffling the final column of
photos into a singular pile, she picked them up and began sifting through
each.  One-by-one, if she didn’t see anything telling, she flung the photo
like mini Frisbees.  A shadowed photo of Kavan up in the battlements gave
her pause.  She stared for several moments, impressed with her accidental
perfect shot.  She’d have to have this one enlarged, and framed. 
Pfff. 
Nope.  Not now
. 

She’d vacate exactly how she
arrived: with nothing more than the clothes on her back.  Minus the blood.

Emily glanced the next photo, but
was drawn back to her handiwork of how Kavan and the setting sun—

Emily jerked back to the next photo
in the line-up.

She launched from where she’d
leaned against Broc’s desk.

Hyperventilate or start
screaming??!!

What the
hell
was
Peter’s
chauffeur doing
here
?!  How did she not see him when she’d snapped
the shutter?  She’d
intended
to capture the double doors leading
into the keep.  They’d been done like an architectural frieze, a scene
depicting horses.  Life-size.  Running through water towards whomever was
about to lift the knocker—strategically placed to look like a nose ring in the
lead horse’s flared nostrils—hell, even the water seemed alive, waves ready to
flow down and flood over the wide half-moon stone stairs.  Awestruck,
she’d stared at it for a long time.  So, as soon as she’d learned of Broc
owning a Minolta, it had been top of her list to capture the craftsmanship. 
And
,
she’d made damn sure no one was around, not wanting a body to be in this
particular photo!

Arrogantly, the chauffeur leaned
against those double doors, arms folded and smirked straight at her lens! 
Straight-at-her-lens!  Intentionally posing! 
How did I miss
this?  How could I have not seen him
? 
This is not a face one fails
to notice. This is a face that stops traffic.  Makes women drool.  Bastard!  Long
black hair.  Black breeches.  Black billowing shirt.  Sword at
his waist. And as casually standing there, like he belongs—

His casual demeanor meant Broc must
obviously know him. 
Know him
.  Photos slipped from her
trembling hands. 
Know him
. 
Know him
.  Over and
over, her mind repeated the obvious.  This entire stinkin’ journey, from
boarding the plane—had even her auto accident been planned?  Cripes, she’d
nearly been killed!  Emily scooped the rest of the photos from the desk
and flung them.

Every single event leading her to
this moment had been prearranged.  A puppet. 

And I’ll bet Broc’s chafed ass
is caused by thinking this guy controls my strings.

Hot, deep anger uncoiled from deep
within her and consumed.  Emily hit mental rewind.

She’d walked in on Peter and his
real fiancé, though neither had realized she was present.  The
driver
had convinced her to take Chase up on his offer to enjoy a few days in Scotland
while at the same time, taking photos of a castle he’d been offered to sell. ‘
Nothing
like an all-expenses paid vacation, of sorts, to make a girl feel better’
,
he’d said.  ‘
Heal your heart, lass, just as the boss offered
.’ 

Sham.  Games. 
Manipulations.  Everyone wanted something from her—and for her to be
Aurelia.  None cared about the one thing
she
wanted: to belong. To
actually
matter
to someone.

Emily snatched
the
photo
from the floor, glowering down at it once again.  And she knew, oh how she
knew,
this
was who Broc accused her of bedding down with; of plotting
against Clan MacLarrin.  Her nostrils flared. 
Plotting what,
Broc?  I’m from Texas.  Several weeks ago, I didn’t know shit about
you.  Now, suddenly, I’m scheming, conniving, oh, and a whore.  Rat
bastard.

She looked down at the photo
again.  And suffered an uncanny feeling she’d known this imposter from
somewhere having nothing to do with her life in Texas. 
Gah.  I’ve
been here too long.  Next, I’ll see nymphs.  And the tooth fairy
. 
Broc didn’t even bother coming to me and asking questions.  Just made
his judgments.  Like he did, long, long ago about Aurelia
. 
And
we know how well
that
ended.
 

She slammed out of Broc’s library,
not giving two-shits that the door crashed against stone wall, alerting Forest
Lords and ghosts.  Lethal right now, she truly hoped their laird would be
dumb enough to show his face.  She’d have her answers.  And then
she’d have her plane ticket.  One couldn’t play games if all the players
weren’t present, and she knew
she
was no longer going to be a part of
this cuckold. 
Whore.  Yeah, show your face, Broc.  Dare you
.

At that moment, her heart laced up
its frayed folds.  Males were never to be trusted.  One betrayed her,
then beat her.  Another set her up.  Still another called her whore. 
And then, there was the one who deserted her.  No matter hateful words or
deceptions by others,
his
desertion cut deepest.   But for
now, Broc and his posse of ingrates needed to be eradicated from her
vicinity.  One rolled ‘R’ and she knew, without a shadow of doubt, she’d
spend the rest of her life dressed in prison orange while maniacally grinning
that Broc lay dismembered. 

Her heart hammered in cadence with
her temper as she slammed Broc’s chamber door closed and dropped the bar. 
She’d expected to find her secret door locked.  Evidently, they’d not
thought her clever enough to have discovered the damn thing.  Bummer for
them.

“Blade?”

“Milady?”

Emily squealed and twisted around.
 “Cripes, you scared me.” She straightened, feeling silly.  “Thought
you were to remain hidden?”

“It would seem these tunnels took
over my sound judgment.  I felt better to study their various paths, in
the event an escape became necessary.”

“One is needed now.”

“We are under attack?”  Blade
shimmered.  “Take my hilt, close your eyes, I will reacquaint you with the
steps that place you and I as—“

“Pipe down, cupcake.  No,
we’re not under attack.”  She glanced the now closed secret door, then
back at the hovering sword.  
A bit unnerving, this conversing with an
inanimate object, or so to speak.
  “I want information, Blade.” 
She whipped out the photo from her back pocket, and unfolded it.  “Do you
recognize this man?  Who is he, if you do?  Do not underestimate my
fury right now by handing me some bullshit lie.”

Blade’s point came around until
floating just above the photo, his hilt over her shoulder.  Abruptly, he
zipped away from her as if unseen hands yanked his hilt.  “How is it
possible you imprison him in that parchment?  I have grossly
underestimated your power.  You will suffer severe consequences for
harming him—“

“Imprisoned?  Oh.”  Emily
shook her head.  “No, no, no.  This is a picture.  In your day,
they used to paint.  Now, we use a small machine called a camera. 
This is merely his portrait.”  She scrutinized the closed door
again.  Malevolent foreboding tapped her shoulder.  Fear tightened
the nape of her neck.  She rolled her shoulders to loosen the odd
sensation.  Probably picking up on Broc’s rage.  His search. 
And whatever ghosts had
not
revealed themselves to her.  Still, it
was uncanny how, instead of feeling cold indifference, she felt . . .
terror. 
Primal
.

Blade hesitated mere seconds before
coming around again to resume his scrutiny of her photo.  “It is a very
good rendition.”

“Who is it?”

“One should not utter his name
aloud.”

“Why, is he evil?”

Blade remained mute.

“Blade?  I promise you, now is
not the time for secrets and half-truths.  I especially have zero
tolerance for twenty questions.  Last time, who-is-this-bastard?”

“Pendaran,” the weapon
whispered.  “Rage seeps from you, flooding my senses.”

“I have heard this name, the night
Peter attacked me.”

“You were attacked?”

“I’ll share details later. 
Who exactly is this man?”

“
What
is he, should be your
question, Princess Emily.”

Emily glared.

Blade sighed.  “I will explain
all, but for now, should you not be concerned that the Outlander searches for
you, and is most fervent in his quest?”

“He’s down in his hall, scarfing
while sending one of his goons to fetch the
whore
.”

“I’m not sure why you choose such a
foul word, but you would be wrong concerning his whereabouts.  The
Outlander storms the chamber you just vacated.  Interesting.  His
rage matches your own.”  Blade floated closer.  “If what you imply is
true, I will kill him for his treacherous words.”

“I get first kill, so back
off.  I’m finished with the hero types, so save yourself the
trouble.” 
Maybe Broc returned to his Pout Room and discovered photos
strewn all over the place.  Yeah, bet he’s really freaking out now
. 
“I’m leaving.”

“Where would your journey take
you?”

“Home.”

“We return to Quemori?”

Emily stopped.  “Where?”

“Did you not say Urkani teaches you
history?”

“He never mentioned Quemori. 
Wait.  Yes, once.  It’s a forbidden language.”

“Aurelia’s kingdom.”

“And why would I be going there?”

“It is ultimately where you will
end.”

“As in
die
?  We call it
Heaven now.”  Emily swiveled her gaze towards the dark alcove.  Hair
on her nape prickled, the fine down on her arms standing at attention. 
Her skin puckered.  All this because Broc was having a hissy-fit? 
No. 
Something else.  Something off kilter
. 

Fear grappled her.  She felt
heavy, drunk, almost.

“I do not know of this
Heaven
. 
Seems a strange thing, to hover in skies amongst the stars and galaxies when
you have passed from this life.  As for Quemori, the kingdom would much
rather you arrive alive versus burning atop your funeral pyre.”

“
Burning
?”

“Has this changed as well?”

“If I understand your meaning,
yes.  We bury our dead.”

“Why would you do such a thing?”

“I don’t know, Blade, just seems we
shuffle our feet and follow.  Is it true Aurelia trained with these
supposed Elders?”

“Thirteen years.  Pendaran was
her mentor for weaponry and endurance.  Xyn taught her magicks and how to
control such power.”

“Xyn?”

“Over all Elders and Pendaran’s
father.”

“Family man.  Cozy.  Why didn’t
the Elders protect Aurelia’s father from Drakar?  For that matter, Aurelia
herself and Broc’s clan?”

“Lady Emily, I was not present when
Aurelia’s final hour came to pass.  I do know it is part of the reason Xyn
and the others left our home world.  Ability to choose one’s path is of
the very essence of life.”

“A chicken shit excuse to remain
oblivious when one of your own is about to be murdered.”

“I do apologize for not
understanding many of your words.”

“You’ll get used to them.”

“My lady, I will not always reside
in this Elvish metal.  Has Urkani taught you
nothing
of who you
are?”

“He seemed fixated on my physical
abilities.”

“It is uncanny how you are the twin
of dear Aurelia, yet—“

“I am not Aurelia,” Emily
snapped.  “I’ve learned more of what the people were like, the laws of the
time and their language.  Then there’s sword training, God help me, knife
tossing, which is more like tossing a sword, the size of that damn dagger—“

“Your chamber has been entered.”

“You already told me that.”

“Once, you could see through
walls.”

Emily smirked.  “Once, you
resided in a box.”

“Prince Aunsgar joins your
Outlander.”

“He’s hardly mine.”

“I detect it is he that you wish to
escape?”

Emily pressed her lips together.

“We will change the direction of
this discussion.”

“
And
he’s wise.  Order
now, and we’ll even through in the scabbard, no additional costs.”  Emily
rolled her eyes, then moved away and peered down a very dark corridor. 
“During your scouting around, did you happen to see a way out of this mausoleum?”

“Several, though a few have
obviously been long forgotten.”

“Then one of those would be our
best bet.  What is he doing now?”

“Searching.”

“For?”

“Do you test my ability?  I
can see
him
.  I cannot see into his
mind
.”

“Think they’ll figure out I’m right
on the other side of the room?”

“Aunsgar scrutinizes the
tapest—he’s moving it aside now!”

Emily took off running.  “We
have to get out of here!

“I discovered a secret room,” Blade
announced, keeping up with her.

Emily stopped.  “More secret
than these tunnels?”

“Oh, I imagine it is a place they
have forgotten.  Take my hilt, Lady Emily, allow me to be your light and
to guide you.  I have been forged to protect you, and only you.  You
must get over your fear of me.”

“I’m
so
not afraid of you.”

“Grasp my hilt.”  Blade
swiveled around, expecting his mistress to comply.

“God, I’m going to regret
this.”  Boldly, Emily latched onto the black hilt.

“I wish to breathe, milady.”

“You breathe?”

“I drink and speak.”

“Would you like to discover
excreting on yourself as well?”

Blade vibrated.  “I will work
on my sarcasm.  Garreck has entered your chambers.  He speaks
rapidly, pointing to his hair and the tapestry.  Aunsgar rushes from the
room!”