Intimate Enemies Page 2

  Lauren sat down against the wall with her arms wrapped around her knees, shivering from the cold and the fear and the misery that ate away at her. She kept a fold of her tartan pressed up against her face, her cheek, breathing in the faint scent of Shot and trying to find some of the bravery she was sure must be hidden in it.

  She was going to die here. What an awful thing, to die, and never see the sky again, or touch the warm sand, or swim in the ocean. Never again sleep in her corner room at Keir Castle. Never hold a starfish again, never watch dolphins weaving through the waves, never climb another tree, never see Da or Hannah or any of her family again…

  Except for Mama, up in heaven. Mama was there. Surely that had to be something.

  She must have slept some, for when she lifted her head the flame from the lamp was completely gone, and the only light seeping in came from the uneven sliver of space between the door to her prison and the floor.

  Lauren lowered her head again and closed her eyes, clutching the fold of tartan over her mouth, trying to hold on to her memories of her home.

  OICES CAME TO HER IN a dream.

  One of them was heavy and muttered, a man's tone. But the other was softer, womanly and sweet. The rhythm of that voice was so familiar to Lauren that she opened her eyes in the dream, the longing spreading through her in a painful ache.

  “Mama?”

  The lock to the cell door let out a squeak, the same sound as it always made when the key was fitted in and turned. Lauren looked over at it quickly, her heart racing. This was no dream. No, this was still the nightmare. The room was just as dark as before, and she was just as chilled. Her limbs were stiff and numb.

  If this was death coming for her, she wasn't ready. But she was too cold to stand and fight.

  The door opened. Light flooded into her prison, a blinding glow, outlining the figure framed in the doorway with a radiant blur. Lauren blinked rapidly, then found the strength to stand, her back against the wall. She raised her fists.

  “Oh, little girl,” said the woman's voice, the one from her dream. It was still soft and gentle, and seemed to carry an undertone of music. The figure came forward, and the blur became the shape of a lady in a gown, holding something in her hands.

  “Who are you?” Lauren rasped, flattening back to the hard stone wall.

  “Don't worry,” the lady said, and the music in her words became more pronounced. “Don't worry, little girl.”

  When she was close enough, Lauren saw something of her face, lovely and strange, like a pixie caught down here in the dankness of the dungeon. Her eyes were large and vague; her hair fell to her waist in soft black waves.

  “Don't worry,” the woman crooned, lilting. She carried a tray. On the tray was a bowl of something that smelled like food.

  Lauren's stomach betrayed her, a growl into the silence of the room.

  The woman smiled.“See? I knew you would be happy to have me come.”

  She glanced around the cell, as if expecting to find a fine banquet table upon which to set her tray. Her gaze back to Lauren suggested puzzlement, then humor. She knelt and placed the tray on the floor, looking up again.

  “Who are you?” the lady asked, repeating Lauren's own words back to her, but putting her faint song to them.

  Lauren shook her head, wary, and tried to ignore the aroma of beef broth drifting over to her.

  “Are you lost, little girl?” the woman asked now. She rose and stepped around the tray, moving toward Lauren. Her fancy gown trailed behind her, the color of summer clouds trimmed with silver. “How did you come here?”

  Lauren said nothing, only watched the lady frown, faint and refined; she lifted one slender hand and wrapped her fingers around a lock of Lauren's hair.

  “Oh,” she said breathlessly, staring down at it. “Like … roses and sunset … melted together. I like roses. Do you, little girl?”

  She seemed not to care that Lauren didn't reply, only moved her perplexed look back to Lauren's face. Her head tilted, studying her, and Lauren could only stare at her in return, appalled and captivated and starving.

  “I have a mouse in my room,” the lady said, slow and melodic. “A little brown mouse. I have named him Simon. Don't you think that's a good name?”

  Now she appeared to want an answer, so Lauren nodded, wide-eyed. The lady watched her seriously, then shook her head, as if coming out of a daze. She took a step away from Lauren, straightening her shoulders.

  “My name is Nora. I have brought you food. But you mustn't tell Uncle Ryder.”

  Lauren darted a quick glance down at the tray, then up to the lady's dark eyes.

  “Promise,” Nora said sternly. “Promise you won't tell him.”

  Lauren licked her lips. “I won't.”

  “But I don't know,” Nora said, fretful now. “I don't know you. How can I believe you? Yo u might trick me. You might tell him anyway. And then he would come….” Her voice faltered and ended in a sort of moan; her eyes rolled up and then closed. “No,” she whispered.“No, no, Uncle.”

  Her body began to sway back and forth, slow and graceful. The moan grew higher and higher in pitch, became a chant that raised the hairs on the backs of Lauren's arms.

  “Blood and sea and sand and swords and song … tra le la, le la …”

  Lauren edged sideways, moving away from her, still staring.

  “No!” the lady cried, and one of her hands darted out and grabbed Lauren by the shoulder.

  Back by the doorway a guard peered in.“My lady?”

  Nora opened her eyes.

  “Go away,” she said sharply, without turning around. “I am telling this girl about my mouse Simon. You must go away. You agreed to.”

  “Hurry,” urged the guard, and then vanished again.

  “Uncle Ryder doesn't know I'm here, of course,” Nora said, smiling. “He would be so angry. But I had heard of you. Arion told me of you. I thought you would like some nice food.”

  And Lauren, who thought she might fall down with the hunger, managed to do nothing, only stand there with the lady's hand clenched on her shoulder. Nora kept smiling her curious smile down at her.

  “Come.” She lightened her grip and pulled Lauren forward, toward the tray.

  Lauren walked over to it almost reluctantly, though her stomach felt hollow and pained, and her mouth was watering from the delicious smell of good food. It seemed years since she had last eaten, and that had been just stale bread and a hard rind of cheese.

  “Look,” Nora invited, dipping down and lifting the bowl of broth.“Isn't it wonderful? I made it myself, just for you.”

  Steam wisped off the top of the liquid, curling magic in the stark darkness. It wafted up and filled Lauren's senses, hot and rich and meaty. It blocked out the smell of everything else: the dirt and the filth, and, most important, the death. Her hands reached out to take the bowl.

  “Don't forget.” Nora's voice was singsong.“Don't forget, little girl. You mustn't tell.”

  “No,” Lauren agreed, and accepted the bowl. It heated her fingers, delicious warmth.

  Nora was smiling, generous and beautiful, and Lauren felt an immense gratitude to her, whoever she was, this sad pixie person. She wanted to thank her suddenly, she wanted to shower her with words of appreciation, but her mouth would open only for the fragrant soup, and so she placed the rim of the wooden bowl to her mouth and tilted it toward her. The incredible broth slid past her lips, salty goodness over her tongue.

  “Nora!”

  Lauren jumped and dropped the bowl. It fell to the floor and all the wonderful broth spilled out, an arc of liquid splashing against the stones, streaming away.

  “Nora!” called the same voice, young and anguished, and someone new rushed into the cell, the boy from before. He came between them and pushed Nora away from Lauren with both hands.

  Nora took the force calmly, stepping back. The boy then turned and kicked the bowl that had held the broth across the room, so that it skidded and clattered up agai
nst a wall. He whirled back to the dark-haired woman.

  “What were you doing?” he asked, furious and hushed.“How could you?”

  “She was hungry,” Nora replied, serene.

  “One of the dogs,” the boy began, and then stopped, shaking his head. “If Ryder discovers it— Nora! She's just a child!”

  Lauren watched, spellbound, as the woman looked down at her and raised one eyebrow. Her look hinted at laughter.

  “What's this?” The guard appeared again, gruff and huge, filling the doorway.“What's amiss, my lord?”

  The boy spoke to him carelessly, but there was no denying the authority in his tone, even though he was so young. “It's nothing. I have a message for my sister, that's all. Leave us now.”

  The guard eyed the three of them, but he nodded and bowed out, leaving the empty, open doorway in his place.

  “The broth you made was spilled in the buttery,” the boy whispered to Nora, taking a step toward her. “The dogs came to lap it up. One has already died! The other two looked as though they would soon follow. What did you do to it?”

  “It is savory,” said Nora proudly.

  “It is poison,” the boy hissed back.“When Uncle Ryder finds out, he'll kill you himself ! She's a hostage! She mustn't die!”

  Lauren brought both hands up to her throat, gagging. She turned away from the two of them and spat on the floor, trying to rid herself of the last of the taste. Suddenly the boy was at her side, his arm tight around her shoulders.

  “How much did you drink?” he asked urgently.

  Lauren tried to pull away from him but he wouldn't let her, holding on tighter.

  “How much?” he demanded.

  “A sip!” She tore away from his grip, panting. “You won't kill me today, du Morgan!”

  Amazingly, the devil's nephew smiled at her then—a true smile, swift and glad, as different from the lady's as the sun was from snow.

  “No, not today,” he agreed, and the gladness was in his voice as well.

  “Ari?” It was Nora, now suddenly trembling, fear and panic clear in every line of her. “What—what has happened? I don't understand—”

  “All is well.”The boy walked to her, speaking quickly. “I think we can mend this. You need to go back to your chambers, Nora. Go now.”

  “Go? But … the little girl—she's lost, Ari, she needs our help. And I've brought her some soup, you see—”

  The boy took the lady by the shoulders, nearly as tall as she. “Forget about this girl, do you understand me? Forget her. She's not lost. I'm taking her home now, in fact.” His voice turned soothing.“All is well, Nora, all is well. Go back to your chambers.”

  Nora blinked, staring down into his face. The boy spoke on, the rhythm of his words steady, repetitive.

  “Go as fast as you can, but walk, do you understand? Walk the entire way. If anyone stops you, tell them you must be back in your chambers to prepare for confession. Tell them the priest is waiting for you. But stay there. Don't go to confession. Wait for me. Do you understand, Nora?”

  “Walk,” the lady echoed, sounding relieved.“Back to my chambers.”

  “That's right,” said the boy, and pushed her lightly to the door.

  “Yes.” Nora left the room, talking softly, as if to her-self.“Confession, you see. I must go and confess….”

  The boy faced Lauren.“You. Come with me.”

  “Unholy demon!” Lauren circled away from him. “Touch me and I'll send you back to hell, where you belong!”

  The boy stopped and considered her, unsmiling. “I won't hurt you.”

  Lauren let out a disbelieving laugh, slowly covering the perimeter of her cell, trying to reach the open door before he noticed.

  “I won't,” the boy repeated.“You have to trust me.”

  “Why should I?”

  “MacRae!” he said, impatient.“Do you want to get out of here or not?”

  “Not with you,” Lauren replied, and sprinted for the door.

  She almost made it. She had actually taken one full running step past the opening before he grabbed her and pulled her to him, clapping one hand over her mouth and the other across her chest. She fought, twisting and kicking, but he was older, and bigger, and stronger.

  “Stop!” he grunted in her ear. “Stupid girl! I'm trying to save you!”

  She kicked him again, then stomped down hard on his foot. His indrawn gasp told her that she had, at least, inflicted some pain.

  “Lauren MacRae!” He bit off her name, furious. “If you want to see your father again, you had better do as I tell you!”

  Lauren paused, all of the violence in her stilled at the mention of Da.

  Slowly the boy loosened his grip, testing to see if she would run again, and when she didn't, he let her go completely. She whisked around to see his face, to catch the untruth lurking there.

  “I know where he is,” the boy said seriously.“I'll show you how to reach him. But you must obey me. Do exactly as I say.”

  The lie wasn't there. Or rather, she couldn't see it. In this young man's face she could detect only the appearance of sincerity. She could tell now that his eyes were not brown, as she had thought, but rather a very dark green, like the deepest part of the ocean, strangely beautiful.

  He gazed back at her, just as serious as before, and then something odd happened. Lauren was looking up at him, at the youthful face that was already molding into the features of a man, and she felt a curious thing in her heart. She didn't have a name for it—heat and moment and a hard beating—and it all coalesced into something almost like … trust.

  “Come on,” the boy named Arion said softly, and reached out and took her hand.“Come with me, MacRae. I can save you.”

  He could take her back to Da. He was the devil's kin, but he held the key to reaching Da, the only key. And they both knew it.

  So she let him lead her down the cramped hall of the dungeon, past many blackened doors set low to the ground, past torches that offered surly light, past puddles and pitted stones. The smell of death penetrated everything here.

  When she looked over her shoulder for the third time, the boy leaned down to her. “The guard is gone,” he murmured.“Nora probably gave him coin. But he'll be back soon. We have to move faster.”

  They climbed very steep stairs and crept through dark, empty hallways, ducking into shadows, and once—when voices sounded abrupt and near around a corner—into an empty room, hiding behind tables and chairs.

  But no one came, and soon they were going again, down smaller and smaller hallways, to another room with an open window. The boy pulled her over to it and Lauren was shocked to see that it was night out, a silver-blue night with a faint handful of stars above.

  He moved to the wall and placed his hands on it, and the wall moved—opened up! Just like a door!

  Lauren was still gaping at this wizardry when he grabbed her hand again and pulled her into the emptiness where the wall used to be. It was very black, blacker even than her cell had been. Lauren stopped in spite of herself, thinking of traps and guards and the devil waiting ahead for her.

  “MacRae,” the boy whispered, mocking.“Are you a coward, like the rest of your family?”

  Lauren stepped briskly into the unknown, shoving past him until a tug on her tartan turned her in the other direction.

  “This way.”

  They walked and walked, and even through the blackness Lauren wanted to break into a blind run, to get away from the smothering blanket of it, but the boy took up the whole space ahead of her, and she would not prove his taunt by running. She bit down on the inside of her cheek to choke back a hated whimper of fear. But her pace did not falter.

  And then there was another door, and this one revealed the sky and the stars and blessed, fresh air. They left the tunnel and Lauren saw that the wizardry had taken them to a clearing in the woods, and the new door looked for all the world like a regular wall of rock, set back into a hillside. Behind them—not so very far be
hind—was a tremendous castle, looming with dark menace through the trees.

  “Go down this path and follow that star there, do you see it?” The boy pointed to one of the sparkles in the sky, one that danced with red and green and gold. “Follow that for miles, and stay away from people until you reach the second village. You'll find your father by sunrise, if you hurry.”

  She gazed back at him, cloaked in the wooded, leafy starlight.

  “Why did you do this?” Lauren asked.

  Something in his face turned bitter, a look that held the shadow of a wearied adult.

  “Just go.”

  “Why?” she persisted.

  There was a long stretch of silence between them, and his eyes grew shuttered, the corners of his mouth grim. She didn't think he would say anything more, but then he did. His words fell flat around them.

  “Don't think it was for you, MacRae. I did it for my sister. I did it for Nora. She must think you're a danger—I don't know why. You were only our uncle's hostage, to be exchanged for one of our own. But you'd be no use to us dead.”

  The bitter shadow on him grew deeper, and for an instant she saw an image of the man he would grow into—hard planed and masculine, unforgiving and severe. The menace of the castle behind him seemed to suit him perfectly.

  “I can't watch her all the time. I'd rather risk having you free and gone than my sister punished for taking your life, even if you are a MacRae. Now go. And don't ever come back, or I may kill you myself.”

  Lauren turned away from him and began to run down the path, through the scattered leaves on the ground, into the obscurity of the night.

  Chapter Two

  ISLE OF SHOT, 1177

  E WON'T DIE.”

  Lauren MacRae leaned back in her chair, stretching out the ache of combat that still lingered in her shoulders, and then added, “Although, he should.”