What Wild Moonlight (29 page)

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll see.”

Sister Helena removed a key from deep within the pocket of her robes and unlocked a heavy wooden door. Katya’s heart suddenly doubled its pace as fear gripped her. What if there was something on the scroll—an inscription or a drawing—that would reveal her identity? Why hadn’t she told Nicholas who she was? She swallowed hard as the questions reverberated through her mind.

The abbess swung open the door and beckoned them to enter. “I’ll be in the refectory if you need me,” she said.

Not trusting her voice to speak, Katya nodded her thanks and stepped inside. The musty smell of the leather-bound tomes that lined the floor-to-ceiling bookcases assaulted her nose; dancing dust motes were reflected in the beams of bright sunlight that filtered in through the chamber’s narrow windows. She scanned the room, noting the crudely constructed table and chairs, the heavy candle sconces on the walls, the ornate plasterwork that covered the ceiling.

As her gaze moved around the room, her eye was suddenly caught by an ornate parchment piece that lay spread over a tall wooden stand. The scroll, she thought, her breath catching in her throat. There it was. the third part of the ancient triptych her family had warred over for years.

She moved instinctively toward it, as though drawn by a magnetic force. A shiver ran down her spine as she studied the intricate drawing that filled the top half of the parchment. It depicted a man and woman dressed in medieval bridal garb holding hands as they stood before an altar. Above them was a deadly dagger, poised as though ready to fall and tear them apart. Beneath them was a glittering blue diamond. Katya quickly skimmed the ancient Latin text that filled the remainder of the sheet.

“You read Latin?”

She nearly jumped, so engrossed had she been in her study. “I do,” she replied.

He nodded. “As you can see, the scroll gives a brief summary of the events that occurred on their wedding day.”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps your grasp of Latin is better than mine. Unless there is something I’m missing, the only clues contained within this document are the few found at the very bottom.”

Katya turned her attention to the portion he indicated.
“Rosskaya and DuValenti,”
she read aloud.
“The two are as one. Learn this and out of darkness will come light.”
She drew back, vaguely disappointed. “Is that all?”

He leaned against one of the heavy desks that filled the room and folded his arms casually across his chest. “According to legend, it will all make sense once the three scrolls are joined,” he said. “The scroll that was taken from my home describes a series of landmarks: rocks, trees, caves, that sort of thing. An ancient treasure map, if you will.”

Just like the scroll her family possessed. “And where one scroll ends the other begins,” she said. “This should be the final clue necessary to find the Stone.”

“So they say.”

“The two are as one,” she repeated musingly. “Perhaps a tree that is split in two?” she suggested. “Or a cave with two entrances? The Stone might be buried there.”

“Perhaps.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

He hesitated for a moment, then said, “I’ve always felt that that was more a riddle than a clue. As though the answer were right in front of me but I couldn’t see it.”

“There is another possibility,” she said slowly. “Do you see the ornate illustrations that border the edges of the document? When the three scrolls are laid side by side, they may form a word or a final clue.”

He looked impressed. “I hadn’t considered that. The clue may not be in the text at all.” He moved to stand next to her, a frown of intent concentration on his face. His gold-and-onyx ring glinted in the sunlight as he slowly ran his hand over the scroll.

Beware the Maltese
. The words echoed through her mind, but the warning rang hollow. She was no longer afraid of Nicholas. Now her only fear was of losing him.

“Why did you bring me here?” she asked.

He turned toward her, searching her eyes for a long moment before answering. Finally he replied, “I’m not certain. It seemed appropriate somehow. I wanted you to see the scroll, I don’t know why.”

Tell him!
her mind screamed. Six simple little words: I am Katya Sofia Rosskaya Alexander. She stood frozen in mute uncertainty as the words clogged her throat and a tight knot of nervous apprehension filled her belly. Some nameless instinct held her back. Perhaps he had already gained physical proof of who she was and was waiting for her to confess her deceit. But she couldn’t do it. Not yet. Just a few more days, she thought. Once they had discovered who had stolen his scroll, she would tell him who she was.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

She forced a tight smile. “No, why?”

“Nothing. I thought you looked upset, that’s all.” He lifted his shoulders in a light shrug. “If you’re ready, we can leave at any time.”

“Fine.”

As she stepped out of the dimness of the chapel and into the brilliant spring sunlight, her gaze moved instinctively toward Nicholas. Katya felt her heart swell within her chest as she watched him, smiling as he passed out coins to the children flocking around him. She let out a sigh and faced the stark reality she had been desperately trying to avoid.

She had fallen in love with her family’s ancient enemy.

Once they were halfway to the villa Nicholas gestured to a quiet spot off the familiar path on which they traveled. He led Katya down a small valley to a grove of shady cork oak. A stream carved its way through the valley, gurgling past them as it flowed over moss-strewn rocks. Swallowtail butterflies floated through the air, pausing from time to time to suck the nectar from the heavy blossoms that filled the clearing.

He drew Avignon to a halt and said, “I thought we might stop here for lunch.”

“Perfect,” she agreed with a smile.

She placed her hands on his shoulders as he lifted her from her mount, the heady scent of her skin drifting all around him. Desire surged through him but she moved out of his grasp to stand near the edge of the mossy bank before he could act on it.

He turned to the basket that hung from his saddle and untied it. The first item he removed was a bottle of white wine, which he placed between two jutting rocks in the stream to chill. Then he spread a blanket over the soft grass, took a seat, and set the basket down next to him. Katya immediately moved to join him, smoothing her skirts around her as she sat down and leaned against a fallen log.

“Do you like curry?” he asked.

She hesitated a moment, then wrinkled her nose and shook her head.

He set aside a ceramic tureen. “So much for the fish stew.” Lifting the next item from the basket, he inquired, “What about basil?”

“Of course.”

As he emptied the contents of the basket, she cheerfully spread the bounty across their blanket, sorting the oven-roasted chicken, delicate cheese pastries, fresh fruits, crusty baguettes, and candied tarts and figs. Once she had accomplished her task, she lifted a leg of chicken and took an enthusiastic bite.

A small smile curved his mouth as he watched her. “Please don’t feel you have to feign a delicate appetite on my account.”

She swallowed, then a bubble of laughter escaped her lips. “I’m starving,” she announced with an unapologetic grin. “I’ll have to count my fingers when I’ve finished just to make sure I haven’t bitten one off.”

They ate their meal at a leisurely pace, content to enjoy the food and the quiet beauty of the day. Once they had finished, she let out a satisfied sigh. “I don’t think I’ll ever eat again.”

He smiled. “I hope you saved room for a little wine.”

“That sounds lovely.”

He stood and went to retrieve the bottle he had placed in the stream. To his surprise, she followed him. She glanced around at the open meadows, then down at the stream, then up at him. Clearly she had something on her mind, but he couldn’t begin to guess what it was.

“I wouldn’t imagine this spot is visited too often,” she finally ventured.

“I wouldn’t imagine so,” he agreed.

“In that case… how terribly uncouth would you think me if I were to take off my boots and soak my feet in the stream for a few minutes?”

“Actually, I was considering doing the same thing,” he lied.

An expression of guilty pleasure lit up her face. “You were?”

“Indeed.”

In truth, Nicholas’s mind had been on seduction, for he could think of no better way to pass an idle spring afternoon than making love to Katya beneath the shade of an ancient oak. Furthermore, he had not splashed around in a gurgling stream since he was a child. So the suggestion held a definite appeal—if only because it persuaded her to remove a bit of her clothing. Granted, her boots were not the ideal place to start, but it was a step in the right direction.

She seated herself on a flat rock beside the bank. While Nicholas turned and lifted the wineglasses from their picnic basket she bent down and removed her boots. The rustling of the lace and petticoats beneath her riding skirts, he decided, was the most alluring sound he had ever heard. Next she removed her stockings, allowing him a glimpse of the satiny skin of her thighs. She folded the stockings neatly and placed them on the mossy bank beside her boots. Then she stood and moved toward the stream. Her feet were small and delicate, her ankles perfectly proportioned.

She sat on the edge of the bank and plunged her feet into the water. A huge smile broke across her features as she released a sigh of pure contentment. The naked response was typical of Katya, Nicholas thought. The woman had an enormous capacity for pleasure and wasn’t embarrassed to show it, regardless of whether the occasion was enjoying a picnic or responding to his lovemaking.

He passed her a glass of wine and sat down on the mossy bank beside her. He removed his own boots and socks, rolled up the legs of his pants, and submerged his feet in the stream. The water felt amazingly good as it caressed the soles of his feet and whirled between his toes. He lifted the glass to his mouth and took a deep swallow of the cool wine. It was light and tangy, with a slightly sweet bouquet.

Following his lead, Katya took a small sip of wine and sighed, twirling her toes in the water. “This is heaven,” she said. She tilted back her head and smiled as a soft wind rustled her skirts. “What’s that breeze?” she asked dreamily.

“It’s called a mistral.”

“It feels wonderful.”

“Just wait a few days. It can blow out of the north for weeks at a time, so hot and dry it’s been known to drive some of the locals nearly mad.”

“Truly?” She thought for a moment, then lifted her slim shoulders in a shrug. “Well, right now it feels wonderful.”

She glanced about her and absently plucked a smooth stone from the grass. She closed her fist, then opened it with an impish smile, revealing a handful of tiny yellow buttercups. She opened her palm and scattered the flowers in the breeze, watching as they fluttered away.

“Very nice.”

She smiled and leaned back on her elbows, a posture that thrust out her breasts and served to emphasize the smooth curve of her hips. But he suspected the sensuality conveyed within her movement was entirely accidental on her part—he doubted that she was even aware of just how arousing her position was.

Nicholas had been fortunate to have known a variety of women in his life. But in retrospect they all blurred together to form one forgettable mass. Granted there were some who pleased him more than others, but none who truly touched him. Their relationships had been part of an obligatory social ritual, as perfunctory as finding a partner for a business venture, or finding the right cook or wine steward. Quite simply, the women had fulfilled his sexual needs and social requirements. When the affair ended, with the notable exception of Allyson Whitney, they parted amiably. But what he shared with Katya was profoundly deeper than that—and growing deeper every day.

She turned toward him with a soft smile, interrupting his thoughts. “I’m glad you invited me to accompany you here,” she said. “Now I know that it truly exists.”

“The abbey?”

“No. This place. I used to dream about it.”

He frowned. “You mean like some sort of prophesy?”

She gave a startled laugh. “Nothing that extraordinary. I mean the silly kind of dreams that children dream, the make-believe kind.”

“Tell me about them.”

She shook her head. “I’ll sound foolish.”

“Not to me.”

She regarded him with uncertainty, then slowly began, “When I was young my family traveled constantly, touring our show from city to city. In some ways it was very exciting, but in other ways, well…” She looked up at him and gave a light shrug. “I suppose that’s human nature, isn’t it? Always wishing for something other than what we have.”

“What did you wish for?”

“A house. Someplace I could truly call home.”

He smiled and nodded in understanding. “You mean a great big beautiful palace?”

“No, nothing that grand,” she said immediately. “I’m too practical for that—I prefer dreams that are attainable. What I wanted was a simple brick house with rose gardens in back and a white picket fence in front.” She gestured to the surrounding countryside. “In my dreams, the house sat in a meadow just like this one. There was a small church not too far from here, and a school just over that ridge,” she finished, pointing to an imaginary spot beyond the horizon.

Nicholas arched a dark brow. “You had a school in your dream?”

“Absolutely. Since we constantly traveled, I spent most of my time with either my parents or with other adults. But in my dream there was a school full of children my own age just beyond the next hill.”

“Imaginary playmates?”

“Dozens,” she averred. “In my mind I spent hours entertaining them, impressing them with incredible feats of magic and regaling them with stories of my travels.” A small, wistful smile crossed her face as she turned toward him. “I warned you I would sound foolish.”

“You don’t sound foolish at all.”