Authors: Sarah McKerrigan
As
silent as death, she stole up behind them, drew her
shan bay sow,
and
pressed one against each of their throats.
"Hist!"
she whispered.
They
jerked awake.
"Don't
move!" she hissed. "And don't make a sound. Give me what I want, and
I won't hurt you."
Wat-Wat
whispered, "The silver's in my purse."
Hob-Nob
hissed back, "Don't tell her where the silver is."
"Am
I the only one with a blade at my throat?"
"She
said she wouldn't hurt us."
"Shh!"
Miriel glanced about the clearing. Hopefully nobody had heard the chattering
players. "I'm not interested in your silver. I want information. Where is
Rand of Morbroch?"
"Who?"
"Rand
of Morbroch," she said, "the man who left Rivenloch with you this
morn."
"She
means Rand la Nuit."
"You
mean Rand la Nuit?"
Miriel
frowned. Why did that name sound familiar? "Is that what he said his name
was?"
"Aye.
Rand la Nuit, the mercenary."
Miriel's
memory was suddenly jarred. Rand la Nuit was indeed a mercenary, a well-known
hunter of miscreants and outlaws, a man that unscrupulous nobles sometimes hired
to do their ugly deeds. But surely Rand,
her
Rand, wasn't such a man.
"Where
is he?"
They
hesitated, and she prodded them with the points of her blades.
"Gone,"
they both replied.
"Gone
where?"
"He
didn't say."
"He
just took that thief and—"
"What?"
she asked, her heart tripping. "What thief?"
"The
Shade he called him."
"Nay,
The Shadow."
"Nay,
nay, I'm sure 'twas The Shade."
"The
Shadow sounds better."
"It
doesn't matter if it sounds better."
"If
I were a thief, I wouldn't call myself The Shade."
Miriel's
heart was beating louder than their bickering, and dark thoughts began to swirl
around her head, pulling her down like a deadly whirlpool.
If
Rand of Morbroch was in sooth Rand la Nuit, the mercenary...
If he'd captured
The
Shadow, or the one he
thought
was The Shadow…..
Sweet Jesu!
Rand
la
Nuit.
La Nuit. The Night.
The
Night has swallowed The
Shadow.
Miriel
couldn't breathe.
Rand
had betrayed her.
Sung
Li had sacrificed himself.
And
Miriel had been a fool.
The
players were still quarreling when she slipped off into the forest.
For
a long while she walked woodenly along the path, not sure where she was going,
too stunned to do more than put one foot in front of the other.
How
could she have been so blind?
How could
she have not seen that Rand was a scoundrel?
He'd
not come to Rivenloch to join Cameliard's fighting force at all. He'd come to
collect the reward for capturing The Shadow.
Her
chest felt as if it were being crushed between the grinding wheels of a mill,
squeezing her heart so that it pinched with every knifing pulse, making it nigh
impossible to breathe. Not even sobs could escape the tight prison of her
aching ribs, though her throat constricted with the urge to weep, and her eyes
stung with unshed tears.
Curse
his deceiving tongue. She'd entrusted her heart to him. She'd promised herself
to him in marriage.
God’s
wounds! She'd bedded the bastard.
Now
she was paying for her folly.
But
worse, Sung Li was paying for it.
Somehow,
Miriel managed to keep moving. Eventually,
whether
by
instinct or design, she found herself on the road to Morbroch. Rand la Nuit
might not be a proper knight, but he'd likely borrowed his title in the service
of the Lord of Morbroch. 'Twas there, no doubt, his reward a
waited.
As
she trod past moonlit pines and the skeletons of leafle
ss
oaks,
the hurt of betrayal festered within her breast, curdling like cream in
verjuice, to form a hard knot of rage.
All
her energy, she focused to a single purpose. All
her
thoughts
centered on vengeance. With every breath
she
took, she exhaled the last shreds of mercy. With
every ounce of her will, she wished him dead.
Miriel
had never killed a man.
But
she knew how. Sung Li had taught her both how to end a man's life in an instant
and how to prolong his dying. He'd also taught her 'twas the act of a coward to
kill when 'twas unnecessary.
But
for the first time in her life, Miriel felt 'twas not only necessary, 'twas
desirable. As ignoble as it might be, as much as Sung Li would bristle at her
bloodthirsty lust for revenge, when Miriel imagined thrusting her sharp
woo diep do
through
Rand's lying heart or slitting his throat with her
bay sow,
a
twisted satisfaction served as a temporary balm for her wounded soul.
'Twas
that nagging hunger for retribution that kept her awake all night, kept her
trudging purposefully toward Morbroch.
Forsooth,
she slept and ate very little over the next few days, for fear she might miss
her chance to save Sung Li, and mayhap more significant, lose the opportunity
to slay Rand la Nuit.
On
the third day, at twilight, she dragged herself up the hillock that formed part
of a circle of small hills surrounding Morbroch Castle.
Now,
knowing
Rand was within her grasp, knowing she'd get the vengeance she sought, she felt
the exhaustion of the past days slip away. Her mind found new focus,
and
as
she gazed at the blue sandstone castle sprawled across the rise in the midst of
the valley, she began to formulate a plan.
She'd
wait till nightfall. After all, night was the domain of shadows.
Chapter
23
R
and
paced the drafty bedchamber
his host had
lent
him, making the candle's flame flicker dangerously. But he didn't care if the
thing went out. Mayhap then he'd get the sleep he so desperately needed.
There
was no good reason for the burden of guilt weighing so heavily on his
shoulders. He'd achieved his mission. He'd collected his reward. The lord was
well pleased, so well pleased he'd invited him to stay on at Morbroch. Rand had
ridded the world of a troublesome outlaw. Most important of all, he'd saved his
precious Miriel from the perfidy of her trusted servant, a debauched old man.
Yet
his heart was heavy.
He
ran a weary hand over the back of his neck. Mayhap when 'twas all over, when
they took Sung Li to be hanged, Rand would receive the absolution he sought.
But
he doubted it.
He
slumped down onto the pallet and sank his head into his hands.
Miriel
would never forgive him.
That
was what agonized him.
No
matter what he'd try to tell her, how patient and honest and compassionate he
was, explaining Sung Li's deception, the old man's devious plotting, his
villainy, his betrayal of her and her father and her people, Rand knew Miriel
would never forgive him for sending her lifelong maidservant to the gallows.
And
if she didn't forgive him, she'd never take him back.
Part
of him wished he'd never caught The Shadow at all. Part of him wanted to undo
everything he'd done, turn back time, and let the robber run off into the woods
to return to Rivenloch and his rampant thieving.
But
another part of him, the reasonable part, knew that what he'd done, he'd done
to protect Miriel.
God
help him, he loved the lass. He'd never loved anyone as fiercely as he did
Miriel. He'd do anything to keep her safe. And if keeping her safe meant making
her hate him, 'twas a sacrifice he must make, a burden he must bear.
He
dared not even torment himself by holding on to a shred of hope that Miriel
might one day understand. In her eyes, he'd betrayed her trust as much as Sung
Li had. Once she found out who he was, a bastard mercenary who had come to
Rivenloch on false pretenses, she probably wouldn't even believe that he'd
truly fallen in love with her. Forsooth, she had no reason to believe anything
he said.
Eventually,
he'd learn to live without her love. He'd take solace instead in the fact that
once the felon in the dungeon was executed, Miriel would be safe from Sung Li's
villainy forever.
Misery
coiled like a vile serpent about his throat, strangling his need to weep,
squeezing the life out of his sorrow, leaving bitter poison in its place.
'Twas
probably best if Rand didn't see her again. Perchance 'twas cowardice on his
part, but he couldn't bear the thought of Miriel gazing upon him with tears of
betrayal flooding her innocent eyes, knowing he was the cause of her hurt.
The
Lord of Morbroch had made him a generous offer, a position in his retinue. A
sennight ago, Rand might have been glad of such an offer. Weary of wandering
from village to village, living by the edge of his sword and the seat of his
trews, finally glimpsing a beautiful possibility for permanence and stability
with a woman whom he loved and who loved him in return, Rand had dreamed that
he might make such a life for himself at Rivenloch.
But
now that dream seemed a thousand miles away, from another lifetime.
Now
all he wanted was to slouch off into the familiar shadows of the woods, lie in
the arms of his always welcoming mistress, loneliness, and hide himself from
the condemning eyes of the world.
Lost
in self-pity, his head buried in his hands, Rand almost ignored the faint
prickling at the back of his neck, the prickling that told him he was not
alone.
By
the time he lifted his head, something slammed into the back of it, shooting
bright stars across his vision and catapulting him forward, off the bed and
onto his knees.
Dazed,
he was unable to do more than curl into a protective ball and crawl out of
range.
At
least, he'd thought he was out of range. But when a second impact knocked his
head sideways, sending him sprawling across the planks, he quickly drew his
dagger and scanned the room. Between the dim candlelight and the stunning blows
to his head, he was nigh blind. But a good hunter could always rely on his
ears.
Unfortunately,
his attacker made very little sound.
Rand
thought he saw, from the corner of his eye, a dark movement, like a shadow
shifting in the flickering flame. Then something flashed like lightning through
the air, striking the side of his neck, searing his skin as it passed and smacking
into the wall behind him.
There
was no time to look at what had hit him, no time to fret over the blood welling
from the glancing wound. He scrambled back against the wall, using it to lever
himself to his feet.
Tossing
his head to clear the blur, he searched the corners of the room, but saw
naught. The only sound was his own labored breath.
He
tossed the dagger to his left hand and drew his sword with his right, then
slowly edged away from the wall. Before he'd taken two steps, his eye caught a movement
just above the far edge of the pallet.