Perilous Pleasures (25 page)

Chapter 20

Z
oe could barely repress her excitement. She was finally going to meet her father. Her real father, not the phantom duke she'd longed for all these years, that stranger who had abandoned her without a backward glance, but a real man, the Dark Lord, who had paid for the education that had made her a lady and had called her to him even as he lay on his deathbed. True, it had been his intervention in her life that had left her with the painful burden of loving a man who couldn't love her back, but it was he who also had the power to free her of that burden.

She'd dressed herself in her best gown, the sea green silk that Adam once had loved, and spent every penny she owned journeying on her own to the barren Isle of Iskeny. Now, after a terrifying crossing over choppy waters in a tiny fishing boat, she stood before her father's door, working up the courage to knock. In only a little while, she might speak at last the words she'd dreamed of saying all her life. “Father, it's me, your daughter, Zoe.”

The heavy door to the castle looked exactly as she would have imagined the door to a wizard's castle would look. Its wide timbers were bound by heavy metal straps. In the center was a heavy brass knocker in the shape of twined serpents. She lifted it, wondering if a single rap would be enough to summon someone, but before she could drop it, the door was pulled open. As she sprang back, a man came hurtling out and almost collided with her.

It took a moment for it to register who he was; when it did, her heart stopped.

Adam.

In spite of everything, her first impulse was to throw her arms around him. She'd barely quelled it when his eyes widened with shock as he recognized her. His mouth dropped open. Pain swept across his features. “Not you,” he cried. “Not here.”

She struggled to withstand the pain that overwhelmed her at this further evidence of how much he hated her.

“Don't let him know you're here.” He sounded horrified.

She cut him off. “I'll do what I must!” She didn't bother to hide her anger. Though she'd felt love on seeing her husband again, all
he'd
felt was fear that she might spoil his reunion with his master. She tried to push past him, but he blocked her path. She twisted away, trying to break free, but he only tightened his grasp on her.

In desperation, she raised her knee and jabbed it where her mother had always told her it would do the most good. He yelped in pain and clutched at his groin. His agony cut her to the quick, but it was too late for regret. He'd recover in a few minutes and be even angrier with her. Seizing her chance, she raced through the open castle door and slammed it behind her to cut off his pursuit.

She'd keep silent about their marriage when she found the Dark Lord. Though Adam was lost to her, she couldn't bring herself to betray his secret and keep him from getting his heart's desire. But the agony she'd felt just now in his presence doubled her resolve. She must convince her father to undo the spell.

D
espair washed through Adam as the castle door slammed shut. Not since Charlotte's death had he felt so helpless. The pain Zoe had inflicted with her well-placed blow still radiated in waves through his body, but it was nothing compared to the pain that filled his heart.

He'd delivered her into the power of a madman. He, who had vowed to protect her. But how could he protect her now? He'd come in haste, without a retinue, armed only with his wits. How could he match the power of the burly guards who surrounded his onetime teacher?

When the Dark Lord had jeered at him, so long ago in France, that the stars that ruled his birth would make Adam a victim or a savior, had his teacher known it would be
he
who would make Adam his victim? He couldn't help but wonder. But he couldn't change the stars that ruled his birth; he could only make the most of whatever gifts they'd given him. Well, Pisces's gift was delusion. He must harness it to save her now. His only hope was to keep playing the role the Dark Lord had assigned him—to behave like the eager faithful disciple he had once been and keep alert for whatever opportunity arose that would let him protect Zoe from the old man's foul plan and spirit her off to safety.

As he strode back and forth before the heavy castle door, walking off the last of the pain, he no longer knew what gods he should be praying to, but even so, he prayed for strength. When he could breathe normally again, he pushed open the door. One last time he must be the Dark Lord's heir.

A
s Zoe hurtled through the castle's entryway, a huge guard glided out of the darkness and barred her way with a wooden staff.

“I must see the Dark Lord,” she gasped.

“No one sees him unless he bids them enter. Who are you?”

“Zoe Gervais. He will know my name.”

The burly guard inspected her with heightened interest, but made no comment, merely gesturing for her to follow him down a long stone passageway. At length, he bade her halt and knocked at a closed door. A faint, querulous voice asked, “Who's there?”

“A Miss Gervais to see you, master.”

“Gervais?” The voice rose at least an octave. “Zoe Gervais? Well show her in, at once!”

She took a deep breath. Here at last was the moment that she'd waited for.

The guard opened the door and through it she saw the bent form of an old man. At her entrance, he straightened, but not entirely, and hobbled toward her. “At last, you're here.” He wheezed.

He was much older than she had expected, and so wizened and wrinkled, she could almost have believed he had, indeed, died—and only recently been exhumed.

He beckoned. “Come, let me look at you.”

At his invitation, she took another step. He reached for a pair of spectacles and put them on before inspecting her more closely.

“You don't look a bit like your mother.” His tone didn't attempt to hide his disappointment. “She was so beautiful. You're not like her at all.”

She almost snapped that it wasn't her fault that she'd inherited her father's ugliness instead of her mother's beauty. But as her eyes grew more adapted to the darkness, she was glad she'd kept it to herself. What a mistake it would have been to have reproached him with his hideousness.

For hideous he was. As she gazed on him, it struck her for the first time that she'd been fortunate to have inherited only a small portion of her father's ugliness. Her pockmarks were mere blemishes compared to the buboes that ravaged his face. Still, she of all people should know better than to judge someone merely on his outward appearance. Adam venerated this man, so he must have qualities beyond those of the sort her shallow mother would have valued.

“My observation wounds you,” her father observed. “How unfortunate that you got your looks from me, not her.”

Had he read her thoughts, as Adam could? She hoped not, given what she'd just been thinking. But the calmness with which he continued to regard her suggested that he hadn't, but had only guessed at her emotions. Still, it would be best to think of nothing in his presence except for the reason for her visit.

“I'm surprised by your sudden appearance,” the Dark Lord continued. “Ramsay told me he hadn't brought you. The boy has a curious sense of humor.”

Forcing herself to smile, she said, “He told you the truth. I came on my own. He attempted to bring me, but events intervened.”

“That was what he said. What caused the delay?”

His eyes bored into her. This was the power that her husband had coveted—the power her mother had robbed him of. The all-too-familiar pain flared again. If only her father's power was strong enough to free her from loving the husband who no longer loved her.

But because she still loved
him
, she must explain her predicament carefully, so as not to harm Adam's relationship with his master.

“I had an accident when we were on our journey, and took a bad wound,” she answered. “It festered, and it was only through the use of his surgical skills that Lord Ramsay was able to save me.”

“The boy was always good at that kind of thing. Not too proud to do surgery when a case demanded it.” His tone betrayed pride in his student's abilities.

“But after he saved you, why did he dally so long? He was supposed to have brought you months ago.”

Again she chose her words carefully. “There were no opiates available to him in the remote spot where he had to operate on me. So he was forced to use the healing spell you taught him.”

“Spell? What spell?”

“The spell that put me to sleep and made me impervious to pain.”

“Oh.
That
spell. Yes. It can be quite helpful. But what has that to do with why Lord Ramsay refused to bring you?”

“Something went wrong with the way he cast the spell. When I awoke, I found myself in love with him. He tried to enchant me again and reverse the magic, but it didn't work. So he couldn't bear to be around me—because of the love I felt for him, you see.” She let her voice trail off vaguely, relieved that she'd found a way to tell her story without revealing all.

Understanding dawned in the Dark Lord's eyes. “So he fled from your charms, did he?”

“He was under a vow.” She bit her lip. If the Dark Lord really could see into her mind, he'd quickly learn what had happened to that vow and how totally it had been broken.

“Well, I'm sure the boy knew better than to take your virginity—whatever temptation you might have presented to him.” The old man leered. So much for his ability to read minds.

He went on, “I was most displeased with him for having failed to bring you. But after hearing your explanation, I can better understand his motive. At least you've finally arrived, whether or not he brought you. So no damage has been done.”

Except to her heart.

A look of pleasure filled his ravaged features and he smiled a twisted smile. “Except, of course, to your heart.”

Sheer terror. He
had
read her mind. She must be so very careful what she let herself think next. “It's painful to love where love isn't wanted,” she said softly. “Can you remove his spell? Your powers are so much greater than his. If you could, I would no longer trouble Lord Ramsay with a love which he finds so distasteful.”

“Nothing could be easier. Come with me to my laboratorium and it will be the work of only a few moments to undo the damage. Though it
is
odd that a
healing
spell should have so affected you. What can the boy have done to have made it go wrong that way?”

She turned away, though it was foolish to imagine that by hiding her face from the old wizard she could keep him from getting his answer. But he said nothing more as he led her down the passageway to another chamber, even gloomier than the first.

Having no windows, it received no natural light. Its only illumination was the thick candle that burned on a tall stand. Its flickering flames revealed little, just stone walls draped in heavy hangings picked out with ancient embroideries, though it was too dark to see what patterns they made.

There was an unfamiliar smell in the room, too, a sweet smell, unlike her mother's sensual perfumes. As she breathed it in, she coughed once or twice, and then felt strangely lightheaded.

A couch was placed by the far wall of the room. It was covered with a thick velvet spread. The Dark Lord motioned her to lie down upon it. Then, from the folds of his long purple gown he pulled a shining wand that gleamed in the dull candlelight. He raised his arm in an ancient gesture of invocation. As he did so, his sleeve dropped back. Serpents twined up his wizened arm. Adam's serpents.

Unbidden, the image flooded into her mind of how the serpents had twined up her husband's muscular forearms the last time they'd made love. She'd been so lost in the bliss of it, and so sure that he, too, felt the same joy that had filled her. She could have lived on so happily with him for the rest of her life had he only continued to love her.

The memory choked the breath out of her and she coughed. The sound echoed through the smoky chamber and jolted her back to the present and why she was here.

Their marriage had been a mistake. Adam didn't want her now. Only the spell kept her loving him, and in a few more moments, that spell would be removed and she'd finally be free of the longings that overwhelmed her now. She lay back on the couch.

“You are feeling sleepy.” The Dark Lord's wavering old-man's voice was reedy, but it still held a tone of command. He raised his sparkling wand, slowly and purposefully, and she felt the power emanating from him as he did so. Then his words began to weave their magic spell, and she felt herself drift off.

She'd felt just like this the first time Adam had magicked her, before the surgery. The Dark Lord's magic must be working. She'd soon be free.

His words rose and fell, bidding her to feel peace flow through her body from her feet, up to her ankles, to her thighs, and into that central place where the life force pulsed within her. She gave herself up to the enchantment, drifting inward, letting his words weave a web of magic that led her into the place of power he described for her, the holy temple of the Ancient Ones.

She could see that temple now, as his words spun the enchanted vision, with its dome and the beautiful multicolored flowers that were scattered through a meadow as fair as the fields of faerie land. Deep within that magical place, she raised her hand at his command and saw waves of light flash from her fingertips. The Dark Lord's voice was only a tiny silver ripple now, linking her back to the world from which she'd come, yet in this wondrous place where he'd sent her, she could hear it still.

“Lord Ramsay stands before you.”

And he did. Adam's image shimmered before her, joined to her in this magical world where she peered one last time into the eyes she had loved so much, whose color was like highly polished pewter. But this time, when she met his gaze, he didn't flinch. His angry mask was gone. His eyes met hers and a torrent of love and warmth flowed from them into her, until she could nevermore deny it: He was her mate. Her love. Her only one.