Alanna (When Hearts Dare Series Book 2) (13 page)

“Sure does.” Thompson smiled. “After spending half your life sleeping under the stars, I think you might like it.”

Wolf rolled his eyes.

Broad, rough-hewn double doors, managed by two slender Asian males, grated open in front of the waiting horses. Slight smiles, understated nods, and warm looks of recognition directed toward Thompson elicited his small nod in return.

“Guess the old man’s not alone after all.” Wolf sprang from the carriage, deftly missing the mud and thin sheets of iced-over puddles. He glanced around, committed his surroundings to memory as he waited for Thompson’s directive.

The ground floor of the barn housed both horses and carriages. So what the hell was the building that looked like a stable? A pristine white vis-a-vis and a shiny black, horse-drawn sleigh stood glistening at the ready. There were Belgian draft horses, the color of glimmering gold, with luxurious hair as white as snow feathering down from knees to enormous hooves. The passive beasts watched calmly as everyone strode by.

Wolf trailed the group. As they entered the tack room with its array of gleaming saddlery and rich smell of polished leather, Wolf turned in a slow circle, trying to take it all in. His senses came alive to the familiar scents of horse and hay.

“You will have ample opportunity to choose as you please among all that is here,” one of his escorts told him with great courtesy.

A hidden door, fitted discreetly into the wall at the rear of the tack room, opened to reveal a plain, but well-built, staircase leading to the upper levels of the barn. Incense. The same scent he’d encountered that night in his hotel room filled his nostrils. Old Chinese stood in wait at the head of the stairs. A shock wave set every nerve in Wolf’s body tingling when he saw who stood beside the old man.

A familiar rush coursed through Wolf.

Gone was the Occidental attire—for both Alanna and Old Chinese. He wore a formal, brocade silk robe, indigo in color with what looked like a coat of arms embroidered in white on the sleeve. Beneath the open robe, Wolf spied a white uniform of some sort tied at the waist with a purple sash edged in black. Cloth slippers, fitted tight to the foot and split between the first two toes, adorned the man’s feet.

Alanna wore a similar type of robe with what appeared to be a simple wide skirt beneath. As Wolf climbed the stairs, he saw that the white garment was split up the center like loose trousers. Her unadorned cotton clothing was tied at the waist with a black sash. She stood barefoot.

The two Asians entering the room behind the group gave crisp bows to Old Chinese, removed their slippers, and disappeared silently into the room.

After greeting Old Chinese in the same manner as Thompson and the men before him, Wolf stepped in front of Alanna, blood roaring in his ears.

 

 

No matter that she’d fully prepared herself in the manner in which she’d been trained, a startling current raced through Alanna’s veins at the sight of Wolf. His lips twitched, as if he might be biting them in order to suppress a wicked grin. Without a flicker of distraction, his smoldering gaze clung to hers as he lifted her hand and pressed a warm mouth to her flesh. A quiver ran up her arm.

A chuckle left his throat, so soft it sounded like held breath escaping. Ever the scamp, this one. He’d intended for her to hear it. He let go of her hand and unbuttoned his overcoat. His flashing eyes still boldly locked onto hers, he shrugged the wrap from his shoulders and into the hands of an attendant.

As Wolf’s gaze drifted to the erratic pulse thrumming in the hollow of Alanna’s neck, she struggled to swallow. Without a word, he turned and, following Thompson’s lead, removed his boots and strolled into the room behind the captain.

It felt as though Wolf had embraced her and surrounded her with his warmth, only to leave her at the mercy of a cold draft. Head buzzing, she turned to Old Chinese, awash in bewilderment.

Amusement danced across his countenance. “You forgot to breathe.”

Old Chinese’s manner had not altered since the night in Wolf’s hotel room. Yet here, in his domain, he was clearly in charge.

“My dojo,” Old Chinese said with a proud nod. “
Do
means
The Way
, and
jo
means
the place.
Dojo is where The Way is studied.”

Wolf raised an eyebrow. What the devil was “The Way”?

Old Chinese’s eyes glittered like black diamonds. “My dojo is a place for
Budo
, the art of keeping peace.”

“Yeah, like my trusty knife manages to keep the peace.” Wolf scanned the high walls of the cavernous space, where an array of formidable weaponry hung. He’d seen some of those lethal tools in action in San Francisco—a man could lose his head with a precise stroke of an innocent-looking pole. What the hell kind of place was this? And Alanna spent time here? What of her parents?

The old man swept the room with his hand. “The true mastering of these instruments is to become so well-trained that one rises above any need to use them.”

“You don’t say.”

A fire blazed in a round iron container in the center of the room, sending a thin wisp of smoke exiting through a ventilation shaft in the high ceiling. Except for two gold and black lacquered chairs flanking a small table in one corner, the room was bereft of furniture. In some strange way, the place still gave Wolf a sense of comfort.

The other side of the large room suddenly hummed with men, all dressed in white, carrying food and drink. Where the devil had they come from? Wheat-colored woven mats were being set in a long, wide line across one end of the floor. Polished wooden plates were placed atop the mats, chopsticks were laid across the dishes.

A young man approached, carrying a bright-red lacquered tray filled with mugs. He handed one to Old Chinese, another to Wolf.

Old Chinese solemnly lifted his drink. “To you and your new home. May we serve you well.”

Wolf raised his mug and then took a long swallow. The cool, aromatic ale raced down his throat and settled nicely in his stomach.

“Come, I must show you my proudest possession.” Old Chinese escorted Wolf to a back corner of the room and toward a series of ornate screens.

Stepping behind the screens, Wolf chuckled. There stood an elaborate claw-footed tub, large enough for a man his size. Pipes jutted in and out of the walls. “I’ll be damned.”

Old Chinese beamed. “There is a cistern on the roof and a woodstove beneath it. I get hot water.”

God, imagine stretching out in something like this. He could barely fit his ass in that small tub back in the hotel. “Do you ever share? The tub, I mean . . . alone . . . not together?” A quick image of Alanna flashed through his head. He raised the mug to his lips, hoping to hell Old Chinese couldn’t read minds.

He nodded, and studied Wolf for a long moment. Something shifted in Old Chinese. “Tonight, we celebrate your arrival with a fine ceremonial banquet.” He took a sip of his drink. “Tomorrow we shall begin your work.”

For whatever reason, the subtle change in Old Chinese set Wolf on edge. He already knew he’d need to keep himself busy out here. The sight of those horses had him thinking, but what was running through the old man’s head? “My work?”

“If you wish to discover who murdered your mother, you must first discover yourself and your misplaced memories.”

Shit!
The very air around Wolf shuddered and then closed in on him. Old habits—surveying the quickest exits, closing himself off to the people around him, mentally checking weapons hidden on his person—took second place to the buzzing in his brain and what felt like an iron band gripping his chest. He took a slow drink of ale while he regained control. “Thompson told you why I came to Boston, didn’t he? Did he tell Alanna, as well?” Where the hell were those two anyway?

“He only told her that your business venture was going badly and he was concerned about you. You have much work to do, Wolf, and I am here to see it done.”

Wolf stood in silence, aware of the beehive of activity beyond the screen, but not listening to it. He swallowed the rest of the ale and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “That acupuncture was your idea, wasn’t it?” A muscle twitched alongside his jaw. “Don’t bother answering what we both know. Whose idea was it to talk me into coming out here?”

“Miss Malone has her own reasons for wanting you here. You now know mine. You appear to be a sensible man when you set your stubborn pride aside. Given a little time, you’ll see there is no other way to achieve your goal.”

“So you fancy yourself my savior now, do you? You’ve got a hell of a way of asking me whether or not I’m interested, you son of a bitch.”

Old Chinese chuckled. Even his laughter exuded a kind of mystery, as if he held the answer to some great, cosmic joke.

Wolf set his empty mug on the floor and stalked off, giving no heed to the men on the other side of the room, who were still preparing the celebration. He headed to the large window at the front. At least there he could look out at some open space.

To Wolf’s surprise, men dotted the landscape. Some led horses in from pasture, others herded pigs into a pen, while still others scurried toward the barn carrying more platters and vessels. Wolf was amazed to see some of them walking about barefoot on the frozen ground. Others wore sandals, held to their feet by single black straps. All wore the same white uniform as those inside. None wore overcoats. What the hell was Alanna doing among all these men? Nothing made sense.

A small group was assembled beneath an immense leafless tree atop a wheat-colored knoll. The men performed exercises of some sort—long, smooth stretches of their legs, supple kicks in slow, controlled movements. Masterful hands thrusting forward and back in rhythmic maneuvers filled with grace and power.

Even from where he stood, the energy sent a quiver down Wolf’s spine. Jeezus, these were finely honed masters of a killing art. They could defend themselves in ways so foreign to Western man that a bullet seemed meager self-defense in comparison.

Was Alanna as well-trained?

A tall, broad-shouldered man, quite distinct from the others, approached the group. He stood separate from them, observing. While the others all wore black sashes tied around their waist, this man’s white robe was held together by a belt of fiery red. He was taller than Wolf, his hair cropped short, the color of coal, and it clung to his head in a halo of tight curls. He was definitely not Asian.

Wolf studied the scene before him while he listened to the hum of activity behind him. Old Chinese was right—Wolf couldn’t seem to get any further on his own. And if those goddamned acupuncture sessions opened a curtain to his mind, then he’d agree to them. Maybe along the way, he’d learn a little of what these trained assassins knew.

Old Chinese appeared beside him. Wolf didn’t so much as flinch. He’d have to get used to people knowing as much as he did—or more—about silently stealing up on people. A servant slid another tray filled with ale in front of him.

Wolf grabbed a mug and nodded toward the stately brick house. “Obviously you find this barn more comfortable than the main house, but why?”

“That dwelling is for my students. I am their teacher. I could not allow them to live here and I there,” the Asian answered blandly.

Wolf glanced at Old Chinese. “Students? What goes on here?”

Old Chinese shoved a hand into each side of his large sleeves. “Blacks in the South are not the only ones bound by slavery in this country.”

Wolf regarded Old Chinese, wary once more. It was plain that youth had long since cycled through the man—and the grounds of middle age had long been tilled and planted as well. Yet, here stood a vigorous, ageless man, his body held taut by as much sinew and muscle as any one of the students.

Wolf drained his mug, only to have it refilled with the powerful ale—by Alanna. Where had she come from? She stood formally erect, and with the same calm poise and confident set to her shoulders, the same bold assuredness flowing from her eyes as from her teacher’s.

So this explained her unusual behavior aboard ship, including her climbing the masts with ease. He remembered that day aboard ship when she’d scampered up the ship’s ratlines and mizzens, and stretched her limber legs to catch a rope between her toes.

A slow smile tipped the corners of his mouth. Even in the same garb as the others, her fine hips were still sensuous. He could easily pick her out amongst the others. He touched his mug to hers, every nerve in his body alive with an erotic flame.

Old Chinese turned on his heel and left. Standing alone with Wolf, Alanna didn’t seem so bold. Had she merely used her training, unknown to outsiders, as a mask? The way he used his surliness to gain a formidable reputation?

An urge to step closer, to smell her, to taste her, nearly overwhelmed him. He assessed her face frankly, and then slowly, and with purpose, regarded the pulse throbbing wildly at her throat. He leaned to her ear. “Oh, what you do to me.”

She turned her face from him but not before he saw her lips part. “Ah, you want me too, don’t you, Alanna? Right now. Right here.”

The column of her throat rippled with a hard swallow.

He longed to bend and kiss that mouth set in stunned bewilderment. “Your stoic detachment doesn’t quite hold things together when a hungry heart beats wild, does it? What happens now that we are thrown together, Alanna? Did Old Chinese instruct you on how to handle this—the battle of all battles?”

 

 

Alanna stood mute, his words flowing over her skin as smooth as warm honey. Her chest and head pulsed as though they were about to burst from the dizzying pressure. Heat, smoldering through her veins, threatened to engulf her.

He was right.

She wanted him.

The last thing she’d ever expected was that such potent feelings could overwhelm a person. Or that they could be laced with pain.

In the end, what did she really want of him? What would happen if she were to awaken on the morrow and find him gone? Never to return? Even standing before her, he was obviously a restless soul. Something inside her turned over, the sensation so jagged as to threaten her composure. Somehow, while she’d been self-righteously convincing herself that Wolf would want this life—would want her—reality had snuck in and settled in the pit of her stomach like a coiled snake. She shifted on her feet and gathered her self-possession around her like a cloak. From across the room, Old Chinese studied her through keen eyes. She turned from his steady gaze. The man never missed a thing.

A cacophony of music filled the room, tossing her back into the moment. Wolf winced at the harsh sound. A minstrel sat on bales of hay draped in bright red silk and plucked at an instrument with an extended neck, square box, and three strings, similar to a guitar.

“Such music has a distinct purpose.”

Wolf smirked. “You could’ve fooled me.”

So, he was back to his old, bantering self, was he? She took a sip of ale to wet her dry mouth. “The notes being played are elaborately linked to mathematical equations.”

“Too bad they don’t make a decent sound.”

“You have to listen beyond your Occidental ear, Wolf. Each note, as discordant as it may sound, corresponds directly to the energy flowing through one’s physical body. Depending on how the notes are put together, they can soothe, set one to battle, open intelligence, aid in the power of healing, and so on.”

“Sounds like you recited that right out of a book. Got it written down somewhere?”

“When one learns the ancient secrets of harnessing such a powerful energy, the old arts that were once taught clandestinely can be mastered by anyone willing to learn.”

“Lesson finished.” Wolf flashed a lazy grin filled with sultry promise and went back to watching the musician.

While he appeared to be paying more attention to the minstrel’s playing than to her, she knew better. Although he hadn’t responded to her comments much, he’d listened to her intently. And now he was trying to figure out what effects the music had on him. He was smarter than he wanted people to believe.

She pursed her lips to suppress a wicked smile. “Do you like our music, sir?”

Wolf rocked back on his heels. “If a cat got up and sang, I would not know which sounded better.”

 

 

A giggle erupted from Alanna. Wolf turned to her. He caught her scent. She was too damn close for him to control himself. Slowly, he ran the tip of his finger around the thick edge of his mug, mocking her behavior their first evening at dinner aboard ship. Lifting his finger to his lips, he licked the tip. “Oh, the lady doth laugh.”

He chucked her under the chin before sauntering off to where Thompson stood. Wolf spoke through his teeth. “Thompson, you cunning bastard.”

Thompson had his eye on the generous platters of food being laid on the mats. “How so?”

“You know damn well what I mean. That night aboard ship when I told you I’d shoved my hand up Alanna’s dress, trying to scare her off. ‘She let you? Oh, then she must like you,’” Wolf mimicked. “Christ, I’m fortunate to still possess my hand, considering what she’s capable of.”

Thompson snorted. “Told you she must like you.” A gong sounded from somewhere in the building. Thompson gestured toward the food, on which a throng was descending like ants at a picnic. “Sit to the right of Old Chinese.”

“Same as Western manners or is there a hidden reason for my placement?”

“By tradition, guests, who might be enemies as well, keep their weakest side to the host, while the host keeps his side of greater strength to his guest. Oh, and approach your place from the left. That’s protocol, also.”

“What
place
? It’s a goddamn mat on the floor.”

“Shh,” Thompson replied. “You could lose your head for offending your host.”