The Prince of Midnight (40 page)

The sword came up, free. The Prince leaned over and caught Master Jamie
around the chest with one arm, dragging him halfway up into the saddle as the
big gray rocked back on its haunches and reared.

Master Jamie's feet dangled off the ground. "Fire!" he shrieked. "Fire!"

"I can't!" the man shouted. "I can't—Master Jamie—get back; get away!"

But the Prince gripped him while he kicked and writhed like a madman. He made
squealing sounds every time the horse reared.

The man dropped the blunderbuss. "Put him down! Let go of him!" He was almost
sobbing with frustration. "Leave us alone, you fiend! Why don't you leave us
alone?"

The Prince let go. Master Jamie fell to his knees and scrambled upright. He
started to move rapidly away, but the white horse shifted around and caught him
by the collar of his coat. The horse began to back up, and Master Jamie stumbled
and fell on his rump.

"Poor fellow," the Prince said. "It's not such capital fun on the other side,
is it?"

Master Jamie pushed off the frozen ground and rolled onto his knees. He
gripped his hands together. " 'O Lord, thou hast seen my oppression! Judge my
case! Thou hast seen all their vengeance, all their schemes against me. I am
their mocking song. Thou wilt recompense them, O Lord; thy curse will be on
them. Thou will pursue them in anger and destroy them from under the heavens of
the Lord!' "

Divine Angel dropped to her knees and began to pray aloud with him. One by
one the others followed. Harmony looked around at them and at Chastity standing
with the nettles in her arms. Chastity was staring up at the Prince. Her body
shook; suddenly she threw down the nettles and ran forward toward the horse.

"Thee said—" She stopped as Master Jamie lifted his head. He never paused in
his praying; he just looked at her with an unblinking gaze. She crossed her arms
over her breast, staring back like a bird frozen before a snake.

"Cherie. "
The Prince held out his black-gloved hand, his voice a
vibrant undertone to the march of Master Jamie's prayer. "Do you wish to come
with me?"

Chastity whirled toward him. "Yes!" The word was a quivery piping. "Thee said
I could, afore! 'Ee said! Please!" She reached out, and then gasped with an
audible whimper as his gauntlet closed over her swollen fingers.

He let go, but she clung to his arm. Harmony saw him lean down and take her
hands gently on his open gloves. Then the mask came up; the deep eyes stared
past Chastity at Master Jamie.

Harmony swallowed. She saw the wrath in that look. Even the pinwheeling black
and white patterns on the mask couldn't hide it.

"Aye—you'd best pray for all you're worth, Chilton," he said. "Because I'm
not nearly finished with you."

In the early morning light beneath a dirty window of the Twice Brewed's
taproom, Leigh bathed the girl's hands in Gilead oil and wrapped them in lint.

"Nettles, was't?" The landlady had brought a tray herself, her sleeves rolled
up to her freckled elbows. She set it down with a clatter. "Fell doin's, that
is," she said forbiddingly. "Dinna care for it, that thy laddie gaes pok-in'
aboot that place o' night. We bide nae trouble here."

Chastity looked at the woman with terror in her eyes, "please, mum—will'ee
turn me out?"

The woman crossed her arms. "Dinna hold wi' turnin' out. 'S only this, nae
good weel come o' stirrin' that cauldron, an' if the laddie do't mair, ye ken
there be nae welcome here."

"I'll speak to him," Leigh said quietly.

The landlady frowned out the window, where the Seigneur worked with Mistral
in the stable yard. This morning, like all the others, he was up at dawn and
training the horse, riding it in circles and figure eights and serpentines;
mount and rider quiet, intent on the task, with only the rhythmic snort of
Mistral's breath for tempo. Dove of Peace stood by huddled in her cloak, the
Seigneur's dogged shadow, always willing to fetch or carry or help in any way.

"Aye, speakit—for the good 'twill do." The landlady shook her head. "I've
haird ye scold an' fume, miss, an' still he gaes, dinna he?" She trod heavily to
the door and turned. "He's a bonnie, skellum lad, good for no but blethering and
fechtin' and wooin' yon silly lassie wi' his airs. Ye speakit to him!"

The door slammed, leaving them alone in the empty taproom. Chastity sat with
her head bowed. "I do be that sorry, mum, t' make trouble for 'ee."

"'Tis not your fault," Leigh said. "But you must listen to me." She lowered
her voice. "You've seen him in that mask—and if you have a care for his neck, or
mine, or yours, you won't ever mention it to anyone. They don't know who he is
here. Do you understand?"

"Yes, mum," Chastity said in a tiny voice. "I do."

"We'll change this dressing in the afternoon. Try not to scratch at your
hands." Leigh poured out a spoonful of medicine. "Take this."

Chastity swallowed it. "Thankee, mum," she whispered.

Leigh gathered up the cloth and balm, and set the tray near Chastity. "Can
you use your hands to eat?"

"Yes, mum."

The front door opened. The Seigneur ducked through, dressed in leather coat
and black top boots, with Dove at his heels. He ignored Leigh as if she weren't
there, pulling off his fingerless mitts and stuffing them in his pocket. For
four days he'd not spoken directly to her, only worked Mistral all day and then
disappeared into his chamber. Leigh had begun to believe he might not go back to
Felchester.

But he had, of course.

She saw Chastity look up at him. The girl's eyes fixed on his face with
unblinking devotion; she didn't touch her food or speak or look away.

"
Tu va bien, petite courageuse
?" he asked her cheerfully.

Chastity turned scarlet. She worked her hands in her lap, plucking at the
lint and gazing at him mutely.

Leigh contained a sigh. "She's in a little pain, I think," she answered for
the speechless girl. "I gave her a light dose of laudanum."

He gently flicked Chastity's cheek and sat down on the high-backed pew near
the hearth. Dove settled beside him, close enough to touch his sleeve. She
slanted a sideways glance from beneath her lashes, full of admiration and
promise.

It wasn't precisely as if he demanded it. He never did more than smile and
accept what was offered. But Leigh could see how it pleased him, the silly
block, to be fawned upon and cooed over and doted on.

"The landlady has warned we're not welcome here," she said coldly. "Not if
you go back again."

He took a deep breath and leaned back against the settle. "Ah. That's
difficult."

"Only if you insist on continuing this madness."

He bent to unbuckle his spurs. "And if I stop? We'd as well pack up and go
anyway."

"She's afraid of what you'll bring down upon them." Leigh stood up, unable to
sit quietly. She faced the small morning fire that smoked and sputtered inside
the huge hearth. "You should have killed him right away," she said in a low
voice. "What do you think, that you can steal his converts one by one until
you've freed them all? Some may not want so badly to go."

Chastity said timidly, "Could 'ee jus' go back for Sweet Harmony? I do be
afraid ..." Her voice trailed off.

The Seigneur looked up at her. A subtle shadow hardened his jaw. "Afraid of
what?"

"Of her—of her punishment. Sweet Harmony, she didn' heave no rock at 'ee—an'
she still 'us standin' up; not kneelin' down when Master Jamie prayed. And
Divine Angel, she seen it." She worried her lip. "They'll be wicked cross,
'cause I'd ride off wiv'ee."

"You see?" Leigh said sharply. "They'll persecute this girl Sweet Harmony
now."

He stood up, dangling the spurs. "And what would you have?" His steady gaze
pierced her. "Do you say I should have left Chastity there? You doctored her
hands—you saw what they did, just because I singled her out."

"Of course I saw it! Why don't you see it?" Leigh gripped the high wooden
back of the settle. "You
know
what he's capable of doing, and yet you
go in and stir them; you rush ahead with no more sense than a horse that's
bolted. Chastity said one of them had a gun." She pushed off the wood. " Tis
luck you weren't shot before ever you saw Chilton's face."

He leaned toward her, scowling, his shoulder against the settle. "But I
wasn't, was I? I know what I'm doing, damn you. I've faced far worse than a
broken-down blunderbuss."

"And completely forgotten the consequences, I see!"

He straightened up as if she'd struck him. "Oh, no," he said softly. "I
haven't forgotten."

"Think on it, then." She walked to the front door and dragged it open. "While
I leave you to the enjoyment of your seraglio."

Chill morning air hit her face. She slammed the door behind her and walked
past Mistral, who stood in halter with the lead trailing down to the ground. The
horse watched her cross to the stable yard, but didn't move. He wouldn't, unless
Leigh were to pick up the lead. Another dumb beast caught in the Seigneur's
spell.

The stable smelled of frost and hay, lit by shafts of thin, dusty sunlight
that brought no warmth. Nearby lay the Seigneur's sheathed rapier, balanced
across a bucket, with the sword belt dangling where he'd taken the weapon off
temporarily while he worked Mistral from the ground. She propped back the door
with a stool to let in more light and reached for a grooming box.

A human shadow fell across the floor. The Seigneur stepped inside, pushing
back the door. He grabbed her by the elbow. "Seraglio! Is that the burr under
your saddle?"

She felt heat flood her face. "Let go of me."

He didn't. He pulled her closer and shut the door, sealing them into the
dusky stable. "You're jealous."

"You're an insufferable peacock."

It sounded childish, and she knew it. He released his tight hold. Something
changed in his face, an unexpected softening, a perceptive half smile. "Am I?"
he asked in a low voice.

Leigh wanted to fling herself away. Instead she stood frozen, encumbered by
her weakness, paralysed by his light hold. "I thought you weren't going to go
back," she said painfully. "And then you do worse yet. You tease Chilton into
madness, you bring that girl; what are we to do with her? What are we to do with
both of them?"

His hand moved up and pressed her arm gently. "There's a stage leaves Hexham
on Thursday," he murmured. "I've already looked into it. The girls will be on
board."

"To where?"

He moved his head casually. "I don't know. I'll ask. Wherever they came
from." The stroke of his hand worked up to her collar. One finger slipped
inside, between the linen and her throat. "Does that please you?"

Leigh stood still, feeling the coax of his hand on her skin, the warmth of
his body close to hers. He was going to kiss her. She saw the relaxing of his
face, the downward brush of his lashes lit by the faint light from the hayloft.

"I don't know," she whispered.

"Tell me what I can do." He brushed his lips against her temple. "You know
I'd do anything you asked."

She closed her eyes. "Then I'm asking you again. Don't go back to that
place."

His fingers tightened cruelly on her shoulder. But he kissed her eyes and her
cheek, his breath a subtle caress. "Don't fear for me, Sunshine. I know what I'm
doing."

She shook her head slowly back and forth.

He pulled her into his arms and leaned back against the partition of an empty
stall. "I can destroy Chilton for you. I can turn the town against him. That's
why you came to me, Leigh—have you forgotten it? I can give you your revenge;
'tis what I've spent my life at doing."

She started to pull away, then gripped his coat instead and pressed her
forehead against his chest. "I tell you, I tell you—'tis no longer the same. I
don't want ..." Her throat closed.

I don't want to lose you to him,
she thought. She clenched his coat
until her fingers hurt.
Damn you, damn you; I just could not endure it.

He stroked her hair. Feathered kisses drifted down her cheek and jaw. His
breath was warm in the freezing air, his body solid and close beneath the
leather coat, scented with hay and horse and his own male essence.

He twined a lock of her hair around his finger and kissed the top of her ear.
"What don't you want?" he whispered.

She pulled back sharply. "I don't want revenge! Everything's changed. He's
driven out everyone I ever knew or cared about. There's no point in it anymore."
She let go of his coat. "I don't need vengeance. I don't need you to do it."

He caught her shoulders, but she resisted.

"Do you understand?" She met his eyes. "
I do not need you
!"

His hands tightened. The golden, mocking brows drew down.

"Forget about Chilton," she said. "Go back to France. I don't want you to do
anything for me. Take yourself off to your castle and your paintings and your
garlic."

He let go of her. For an instant he stood against the stall, very still.
"Garlic," he said, as if the word were a mortal affront.

Leigh closed her eyes and tilted her head back. "Do you understand me at
all?"

"I understand." His voice was low and violent. "You think I can't do it."

She turned away and slumped down onto a trunk, holding her head between her
hands. She stared at the dirt floor in despair.

"I can," he said, the words bruised with bitterness. "I can and I will, devil
take you; I've done it for years. I never got caught, not even the last time. I
know what I'm doing; I have the best horse I ever set eyes upon; I have my sword
and my balance—I can do it. Blast you—don't
doubt
me."

She shuddered, pulling her arms around her knees. "I don't want you to do
it."

"Aye, you'd have me go back to my garlic, would you? I'm to think you don't
give a fig for Chilton anymore, or your family or what you've lost."