IK1 (25 page)

have a pleasant conversation while waiting for it.”

She didn’t answer.

“Come now,” he said reasonably, “we can do this the easy way and you won’t get hurt. Tell me what I want to know.”

She felt the first probe he sent into her mind like a solid wood door had been slammed into her face. She brought her psychic shield up, reinforcing it with the energy she had gathered earlier.

He laughed. “I like witches,” he said. “You offer a challenge.”

Sara could feel his power trying to wind its way around her defenses. She closed her eyes and envisioned another layer of light shielding her.

“Ah, well then, we’ll do it the old-fashioned way.”

She heard a sharp click and opened her eyes to see a switchblade in his hand. He leaned forward and brushed her cheek with the side of the blade. “You’re beautiful now, Sara. Wonder how Ramsey will feel if you aren’t so pretty?”

She held her breath and steeled herself, but he dropped the blade to her shoulder.

Just as she was about to exhale, he brought the knife between her breasts.

“Tell me,” he said, “do you have the witch’s mark somewhere on your body?”

When she didn’t answer, he brought the blade swiftly down, slicing through both her blouse and her bra. Sara looked down, expecting to see blood but there was none.

SEARCH FOR THE SPEAR Cynthia Breeding 109

“If I had wanted to cut you, I would have,” he said as he took the tip of the knife and pushed the shirt aside exposing first one breast and then the other.

Sara bit her lip to keep from gasping. The cool air across her naked flesh caused her nipples to harden.

“Ah, I like that,” Baylor said as he flicked one of them with the side of the blade.

“Fear does that.”

Fear. She must not show fear. He fed off of it. Dear Goddess! Help me! Give me courage to get through this! And live! She tugged at the ropes. If only she could free her hands!

Baylor frowned and snapped the knife shut. “You might be more of a challenge

than I thought. Did you know,” he asked as he leaned over and yanked a handful of her hair, “that centuries ago, women had their heads shaved and then their pubic hair if the Witch’s mark didn’t appear anywhere else? Just before they were burned.”

Sara tried not to wince at his painful clutch. “What are you talking about?”

“Ah, you do speak,” he said and sat back. “You’ve given me an awful lot of

trouble, Sara. You’ll have to pay for that. I don’t suppose you’re a virgin still?”

Sara looked away.

“Pity,” Baylor said. “I do like tearing the membrane and ramming hard and deep into a dry sheath. I like for them to beg for mercy.”

She suppressed an involuntary shudder. Don’t let him smell fear.

He leaned closer. “But a dry ass is almost as much fun. I think I’ll do you that way first. The pain will be a small price to compensate me for my troubles.”

Like she wasn’t paying now? And all because of her foolish pride. She should have asked Lucas for a ride home just as Michael had suggested. He’d never let her live that one down. A sob caught in her throat. If she lived.

“You—or more precisely, the manuscript—has eluded me several times. The last

time all I got was a bunch of papers on the existence of Gwenhwyfar.”

Maybe if I can keep him talking … “Those notes took me hours of research to

do.”

“Um. Then I’ll put it to good use,” he answered.

From his feral smile, she didn’t think she was going to like how he was going to do that. Maybe she should learn—now would be a real good time—to keep her mouth shut.

“I see you remember,” he said benignly and continued, “I noticed the hitching

post the first time I came out here.” Sara stifled a gasp and he smiled. “Oh, yes. I’ve been here before watching you. The night of the wolf attack. But I digress. The hitching post. Let’s see, Gwenhwyfar was condemned to the stake, wasn’t she?”

Sara suddenly realized what the hitching post could be used for and her blood

chilled. “For being a traitor to her king.”

“Yes. Let’s be accurate,” Baylor answered. “And I have been a god as well as a king. Well,” he paused, “I worked inside a king’s head anyway.”

Her mouth ran off without her permission. “You’re insane.”

He seemed amused. “Not at all, I assure you. The king was Philippe IV of

France. And he definitely wanted the Hallows. So, in a way, you are being a traitor. To me as I was then.”

The king who had ordered the Templars to be arrested and later tortured. She

SEARCH FOR THE SPEAR Cynthia Breeding 110

stared at him. She wasn’t even going to ask why he thought he’d been a god. No way.

She should just keep her mouth shut. Shut.

“Gwenhwyfar never betrayed Arthur! It’s in the notes.” Why can’t I keep still?

“Arthur might differ with you on that,” Baylor answered and assumed a scholarly tone. “According to legend, Lancelot rescued her in the nick of time. Maybe he will again. Do you feel lucky?”

Why did she get the feeling she was looking up the barrel of Dirty Harry’s gun?

Only this Dirty Harry was really the bad guy.

* * * *

Sara heard the crunch of the car’s wheels on the loose gravel that led up to the ranch house and a quiver of apprehension flowed down her spine. She had hoped to be rescued, but she didn’t think Lucas would just drive up to the front door. And if he’d brought a copy of the manuscript, what assurance did they have that they’d be leaving alive? Very little. Baylor had spent the last hour laying kindling around the base of the hitching post while she had watched from the porch where he had tied her.

But it was Michael who drove up and stepped out of the car.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Baylor said as he finished laying the last bit of piece of wood.

Michael brushed past him to Sara. “Are you all right?” he asked as he turned her around and began to undo the rope.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Baylor asked.

They both turned to see him holding a 9mm handgun.

“A rather nasty piece of equipment. I much prefer older weapons, but I find this is very useful.”

“You can put it away,” Michael said as he stared the man down. “Shoot me and

you’ll never see the manuscript.”

Baylor laughed. “No doubt I can find it in your car.”

“Do you think I would be so foolish as to bring the manuscript here?”

He fingered the trigger. “You would be more foolish not to.”

“The one thing I’m not,” Michael said as he finished loosening Sara’s bonds, “is a fool. If you want the damn thing, you play by my rules.”

Baylor lifted an eyebrow. “I don’t think you know who you’re dealing with.”

“No?”

A pale light began to shimmer around Michael and for a moment, Sara thought

she saw a flaming sword in his hand and then it was gone. She shook her head. Perhaps the fear she had bottled up was giving her hallucinations.

Baylor had taken a step back, but at Michael’s surprised look when the aura

faded, he stepped forward again. “You were almost impressive, Warlock.”

Sara felt Michael’s mental nudge and sent him what energy she could. His shield had been weakened by the exertion and she wondered why he’d tried it.

“It doesn’t matter who you are,” Michael said. “We play by my rules.”

Baylor seemed almost amused. “By all means, then. Explain your rules.”

“Sara leaves. She gets in the car. You and I will walk. The manuscript is buried somewhere between here and the main road. I’ll show you where it is and we drive away.”

Sara watched as Baylor considered the possibilities. He could kill them both and SEARCH FOR THE SPEAR Cynthia Breeding 111

look for the manuscript, but there were lots of cactus and rattlesnakes out there. He didn’t have his henchmen to do the searching. Finally he nodded.

He searched the car before he let her get in and gave them a nasty smile when he unearthed the revolver that Michaels had stashed away. “I’ll just take this for insurance.”

Sara drove slowly behind them as they moved along the road. Several hundred

yards away, Michael stopped and pointed. “On the other side of that mesquite tree.”

“Show me.”

“I’m not going any further,” Michael answered. “You’ll just have to trust me.”

“I don’t trust anyone.”

“That’s your problem,” Michael answered and reached for the door handle only to suddenly gasp and then collapse on the ground beside the car.

“What have you done?” Sara screamed as she opened the door and jumped out.

“Don’t worry,” Baylor answered. “It’s just an injection that’ll put it out for awhile.” He leveled the gun at her. “Now you go visit the snakes and bring me that manuscript like a good girl.”

Sara was tempted to get behind that tree and start running. If she zigzagged

enough she could dodge a bullet, and she knew the terrain. The dense mesquite would hinder Baylor and there were boulders not far away that had multitudes of crevices large enough to hide in. The Comanche had done it numerous times and seemingly

disappeared. But she couldn’t leave Michael.

She saw where the earth was soft and reluctantly stooped over and scooped it

away. The original manuscript lay encased in a super-size Glad bag. She was surprised that Mr. Smith had agreed to part with it. Maybe for all of his dramatics, he had a real heart inside of him after all.

“Here,” she said as she returned to the car. “It’s the real thing. Please let me tend to Michael.” While she was gone, Baylor had pushed him into the back seat and tied his hands. Did the man carry rope with him everywhere?

“Don’t think so,” Baylor said as he tucked the manuscript under one arm. “Get in and drive us back to the house.”

“Michael needs an ER. Just let us go,” Sara replied. “You got what you wanted.”

“Not quite everything,” Baylor answered with a smile. “You still owe me for all my trouble, remember? And I know just how I want to be repaid.”

* * * *

Thunder rolled in the oppressive air as the lobo padded quietly through the tangle of sage and mesquite, his nose to the ground. Sara had been here recently and he scented the evil that was Balor too. Michael’s smell was fainter which could be because he wore the pendant that Lucas had given him, but it could also mean that his life force had been depleted. Lucas growled, thinking the pendant had probably held back the warlock’s ability to shape-shift.

He held back the urge to throw up his head and howl. If McCain were hurt, Sara was in real danger. And then he smelled smoke. Head up, the wolf began loping towards its source.

* * * *

Sara tugged frantically at the rope that bound her to the post. The bastard had already pulled her hands around the stake and tied them and then he had wrapped additional rope around her chest and waist and thighs so she was trussed like a turkey and SEARCH FOR THE SPEAR Cynthia Breeding 112

not able to wiggle more than an inch or two. Michael had been dumped out on the ground, but he was still passed out and in any case, he was bound, too. At least, Baylor seemed to have forgotten his plan to rape her. She should be grateful for that miracle anyway. Dear Goddess. Am I really going to die?

Baylor was playing with a small pile of twigs and leaves he’d lit, not far from her.

She could smell the acrid air. With the storm that was brewing a good gust of wind would blow the embers right toward her and ignite the newspaper he had stuffed among the kindling that surrounded her.

A sudden blaze of lightening followed by an instant clap of thunder made her

jump. Or at least as far as the rope would let her.

“Maybe you’ll get lucky and be struck down,” Baylor said as he fanned a little more smoke her way. “Lightning’s quick. You won’t even know what hit. Burning, on the other hand is slow. And quite painful.”

Somewhere she’d heard that the smoke killed the victims first. She felt hysteria wavering on the edge of her sanity. Please, Goddess, hear me … Brighid …

She thought she caught movement out of the corner of her eye and then suddenly, a hundred and fifty pounds of golden wolf raced by her and lunged at Baylor, knocking him over and sending the lit stick he’d been holding onto the wood around Sara. The paper began to smolder.

Snarling, the big lobo sank its fangs into the man’s throat, its massive paws

mauling him.

And then the gun fired. For a moment, the wolf hovered over Baylor and then it swayed and fell over senseless, blood running from a wound in its side.

SEARCH FOR THE SPEAR Cynthia Breeding 113

Chapter Eleven: True Identity

Baylor staggered to his feet and clutched at his spurting jugular. Within seconds, the flow stopped and the wound began to close. He aimed his gun at the wolf’s head.

And then, with a vile curse, he stuck the automatic in his pocket.

“I kill you, damn Templar, and I kill me.” He looked up to see tiny flames

seeping from the kindling. “Let’s see how you like your witch when she’s burned to a crisp.” He grabbed the manuscript and went to his own car, spurting gravel as he drove away.

Sara tried not to choke as a plume of smoke lifted. She struggled with the

bindings. Dear Goddess, I don’t want to die! Help me! Brighid, I call on you!

She felt the first splatter of a raindrop and then another. She lifted her face as the heavens opened and rain began to fall. Her tears mingled with it as the fire was doused and she could breathe again. “Thank you, Great Mother,” she whispered.

Michael began to stir as the cool water revived him. He shook his head and

struggled to sit up. It took another moment before he realized that Sara was tied to a post. He staggered drunkenly toward her.