The Eye of the Wolf (17 page)

“So, what is his name?” Her voice was cheerful, with
just a hint of the northeast that had always been her home regardless of the
many countries she had visited during her career.

“Excuse me?”

Carolyn’s laughter tinkled like fine crystal. “I
said, Darling, what is his name? That pregnant of a pause means only one thing,
there is a man and he is a conundrum.” She waited a beat, waited for Mikayla’s
answer or denial, but there was nothing except the faint sound of tears.
“Mikayla, what is it?”

Mikayla smiled. Somehow, even though her mind hadn’t
known she needed this friend, her heart had known and had connected with her.
“His name is Will.”

Carolyn laughed again. Relief flooded through her
even as the phone crackled. She had always worried about Mikayla’s dedication
to her career, leaving romance to others. Denying that part inside everyone
that seeks Prince Charming. Deep inside, she had always known that Mikayla was
a romantic at heart, otherwise, she wouldn’t have chosen a time period of
knights-in-shining-armor and Shakespeare as her specialty. Only the truly
romantic focused on the time when pirates ruled the high seas and men dedicated
battles and poetry to queens. Mikayla might deny the romantic within her, but
Carolyn knew it was there. She was pleased to know Mikayla’s drive to be the
best hadn’t forced those ideas of love out of her completely. “So, tell me
about this Will.”

Mikayla sighed. “Well, he’s tall, blond, with the
stormiest gray eyes I have ever seen. His smile is warm, light a sun-beam…” Her
voice tapered off as Carolyn’s laughter rang over the lines. “What are you
laughing at?” Mikayla’s voice was indignant, but she realized what her voice
had sounded like: poetic, wistful. Mikayla laughed slightly herself.

“He sounds incredible.” Carolyn paused, “so what’s
the problem?”

Mikayla sighed again and sank into the desk chair
that she had never tried in the month that she had been in Amor. “The problem?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I guess there is no problem, except…”

“Except what, Mikayla?”

Mikayla frowned. “Except that he lives here and I’ll
be leaving in another two months. And whenever he’s around, I feel all warm and
fluttery inside. I can’t concentrate. I can’t get anything done. And then, he
kisses me and my brain goes completely numb.”

Caroyln made quiet noises as she listened, intrigued
by the idea of Mikayla on a fairy tale island with a handsome man at her side,
kissing her mindless. “That sounds like a real problem.” She said wryly.

Mikayla grinned and brushed her hair out of her
face. “I guess from across the pond it doesn’t sound so horrid, huh. But, you
aren’t here!”

“No darling, you’re right. I’m not there, but I do
know something about finding a handsome beach-bum on some foreign shore and
falling desperately in love.”

Mikayla smirked. She supposed Carolyn was right in
that description since she had met her husband, Ali, in Egypt where he had been
a curator at the Cairo Museum of Antiquities. “I’m not falling in love.”
Mikayla huffed.

“Hmm, if you say so, Dear.” Carolyn smiled as Ali
wandered into the kitchen seeking out his breakfast.

“Well, I do say so.” Mikayla defended shocked at the
suggestion. Inside, her stomach turned over at the thought that she had allowed
herself to fall, to fall in love with a man that could never be hers because they
were just too different. She shook her head. No, she wasn’t in love. Lust,
definitely, but love was not a possibility. Love didn’t fit into her plans, to
be the most respected historian professor by the time she was 30.

“Okay, whatever.” Carolyn had known Mikayla long
enough to know that this conversation, at least at that moment, was going to go
nowhere. Changing the subject would be best. “So, tell me what else you have
been up to? How’s the research going?”

Mikayla made a noise that expressed her dissatisfaction.
“Slowly.” Then, her mind cleared and Will was pushed to the background. She
grabbed at the notepad where she had stashed the rubbings from the rock on the
top of the mountain. “Carolyn, if I send you a copy of a rubbing that I made,
could you translate it for me or at least tell me something about it?”

Carolyn sat up straight, intrigued. It didn’t happen
very often that their individual research projects crossed paths, but it was
always exciting when they did. “Tell me more.”

“Well, the island was originally populated by people
from Greece, and I found a carving of a language that is similar to Greek, but
I can’t translate it. My ancient Greek isn’t good enough.” Mikayla held the
rubbing up to the light, studying it. She wished she knew what those letters
meant, what they pointed to.

Carolyn shrugged. “Sure, I guess. Fax it to the
museum today.”

“Thanks, Carrie!” Mikayla smiled and relaxed a
little. She described her adventures and the people of the island before
hanging up for the night. She felt better; her chest wasn’t heavy with the
disappointment that had plagued her when Will had walked away into the
darkness. She was refreshed and ready to tackle the project that had been given
to her. She stood from her chair and flipped out the lights.

The servant turned away from the window where
moonlight glinted in blond hair as the darkness of Amor lengthened and
blanketed the peaceful island. The fire was dying in the hearth. The Wolf’s
eyes glowed brighter in the deepening shadows.

“It is done, Sire.”

The Wolf’s eyes bobbed in the darkness, a symbol of
assent. “You have done well, my servant. You will be rewarded when my plan is
complete.”

The servant smirked, white teeth glowing through the
darkness. “Of course, Sire.” A syringe filled with golden liquid tapped against
the table. The next phase of the plan was set in motion, someone somewhere
would not see the next sunrise.

          The guard leading
Mikayla up the skinny, hand-carved, stone staircase paused at the tall gate
preventing further passage. He spoke in low tones to the guards on the other
side of the gate who looked her up and down before unlocking the gate and
opening it.

Mikayla smoothed down the front of her navy suit,
the most formal piece of attire she had thought to bring with her. Her feet
already ached in their practical heels from the climb up the staircase. She had
been advised to not speak unless spoken to after her notebook was thumbed
through, her pen was taken apart to inspect for, she could only assume, some type
of weapon, and she was frisked by the guards who had knocked on her door at
eight a.m. sharp to escort her to the Secluded City. She felt violated in some
way.  She had wanted to wait for Will, hoping he might have returned,
nervous about ascending to the heights without a friendly face nearby, but the
guards had hustled her from her house and begun the climb upwards.

 Mikayla was ushered through the large, gilt
opening into a lush courtyard vibrant with greens, reds, pinks, and purples.
Roses of every color dripped from window boxes and filled the air with fragrant
scents. Palm trees leaned over the grass heavily laden with coconuts. A
fountain bubbled in the center. A mermaid sat upon the stone pedestal pouring
water from a stone jug into the pool. Crystal blue water poured forth,
glistening in the heat of the morning sun. The scales of the mermaid’s fin
glittered in the sunlight from the copper used to cast her form. Around the
fountain were stone benches created to enjoy the freshness of the fountain and
the surrounding courtyard.

          Mikayla decided it
was a beautiful spot, lovingly tended by some gentle hand who appreciated the
finer points in life. It didn’t fit with the image of the fortress from outside
of the city. It was delicate, feminine. The fortress was designed with a
purpose, while the courtyard was designed with frivolity and innocence. Mikayla
wished for her camera but had to settle on taking stills in her mind,
memorizing the details.

          Mikayla came back
into the present and shielded her eyes against the glare of the sun. Rene
Dejeune strode across the courtyard from a tall archway. He waved his chapeau
at her and called her name again.

          Dejeune rushed
across the courtyard in several long strides. His dark suit was a stark
contrast to the brilliant colors of the garden. He took Mikayla’s hand and
shook it coolly. His dark eyes darted in all directions but didn’t rest on her
face or make contact with her own. His hand, though cool, was clammy.  “I
apologize for my absence, Dr. Knight. I have been very busy in Paris.” Mikayla
inclined her head graciously and allowed Dejeune to lead her across the
courtyard to the archway he had come from. “I hope you have been successful in
your research up to this point. I realize there probably isn’t that much to
find in that musty Hall of Records, but it is as good as a place to begin as
any.”

          Mikayla murmured a
reply she hoped sounded positive. Her eyes and mind were busy remembering
details. The arch they passed under was high; the blocks were set at perfect
angles supporting the distributed weight of the white bricks that made up the
walls of the courtyard. The style was distinctively Roman, very similar to the
aqueducts throughout Europe and northern Africa. She made a mental note to
remember that fact.

          As they approached
a pair of tall, mahogany doors, two servants dressed in morning suits stepped
from the shadows and glided the doors open, allowing Dejeune and Mikayla to
step through, their path uninterrupted as Dejeune began outlining the
architectural history of the Secluded City. Mikayla made quick notes on her
notepad, but she knew that what he was telling her, she had already read in a
book of architectural history. She exhaled a huff.

          Mikayla allowed
her eyes to roam and her mind to take mental pictures as they walked along the
long, marble corridor. The marble was a soft green that reminded Mikayla of a
field in the early morning when the dew was on the grass. Its surface shone
like glass and reflected Mikayla’s face back to her. The walls were covered in
large paintings of previous monarchs and important family members. They were a
combination of the humanistic beliefs of the Renaissance painters and the
divine interpretation of the Medieval painters. It was a stunning and
intriguing combination. The eyes of each painting seemed to leap from the
canvas, whether it be in anger as the painting of King Hobart or in jest like
that of Prince Roland both from the late 1700s. Mikayla paused at the painting
of the famed King Malachi whose diary she had found in the Hall of Records. She
opened her mouth to tell Dejeune about her discovery, but something in the air
stopped her. She looked out of the corner of her eye at Dejeune who was
gesturing wildly to the use of color and brush stroke in the painting of Malachi.
Something about the fear in his eyes warned her to not mention her discovery.
Some internal warning raised her hackles, making her uncomfortable in his
presence. She simply nodded and turned her attention back to the painting.

          Malachi’s figure
stared down at her, a sneer on his lips. It was almost as if she could read his
thoughts. Instead of shuddering as Mikayla thought she should have, she felt an
unnatural pull to the painting. She looked up at his finely chiseled face and
saw the defined chin and strong cheekbones that showed strength of man and of
character. Malachi’s tempestuous gray eyes pierced Mikayla’s thoughts. She
stepped closer and reached up a hand. Malachi’s eyes were so familiar. They
seared her soul and caused her to drop her hand to her mouth in astonishment.

          Malachi’s face and
his eyes. They drew her because they were Will’s. Mikayla blinked several times
and tried to fool herself that she was only seeing that because he wasn’t there
to laugh at her or the perfunctory tour she was being given. As hard as she
tried to dismiss the image, Mikayla knew she was staring at the eyes and face
of Will Chambers despite the 850 years that separated the men.

          “Come along, Dr.
Knight, I shall show you some other rooms of the castle.” Dejeune gestured down
the hall and began to lead the way.

          Mikayla tore her
eyes away from the painting, but she took one last glance over her shoulder as
she walked further down the hall. It was his face and his eyes. Even the sneer
of King Malachi was Will’s sneer. How could that be?

          Dejeune was aware
of Mikayla’s physical reaction to the painting of King Malachi, but he couldn’t
understand why she would have such a strong reaction. “Is everything all right,
Dr. Knight?” He inquired cautiously.

          Mikayla cleared her
throat and nodded. “Of course, I was just struck by how much King Malachi
looked like someone I met recently, here on the island.”

          Dejeune nodded.
“Yes, I suppose some of our residents do resemble King Malachi in a certain
way.” He smoothed the silver hair at his temples and folded his hands in front
of him. “Of course, many of our residents can trace their own families back to
before even King Henry came to the island. Most of the ancient families are
connected to the royal family in some manner, usually through a distant
relative. It’s a bit like being from Great Britain, I suppose. Everyone is
related in some way to everyone else.” Dejeune continued down the long hall. He
smiled mildly in her direction but his eyes were dark. A chill ran down her spine
though she couldn’t explain why.

          Mikayla followed
Dejeune through the antiquated rooms of the castle mentally taking notes of the
cathedral ceilings and the ornate gold-leaf paint that adorned every carved and
painted surface. As she tried to focus on the architectural lesson issuing from
Dejeune, her mind returned once again to King Malachi’s painting. She had to
get another look at that painting. There was something that drew her to it, and
she knew that the pull she felt towards the painting itself was because of her
preoccupation with her assistant, the mysterious photographer who had appeared
in her life and completely commandeered any thoughts she had.