Moon Shadows (14 page)

And finally within them, the vision came. A vision of Keir of Blackthorne, seated in this room, in that chair, his head bent.

He was sobbing.

Death.

She felt the chill of it, the emptiness. Her lips turned blue, and pain smote her heart so deeply a shudder wracked her shoulders.

Then the image shifted and she saw bodies strewn across a winter road. There was blood in the snow. She saw men leading horses, wiping swords, stealing from the dead.

An emerald ring glittered in the snow, then a man in rough garments dragged it from the finger of a corpse.

Smoke filled her vision and it changed again. A woman, laughing. Whispering. The woman had hair of fire and eyes of meadow-green.

Who was she whispering to?

Gwynna strained to see, swaying on her feet, her arms still outstretched.

Show me
, she commanded, feeling the vision fading from her like mist in the morn.
Show me, show me, show me
 . . .

A man's face. He looked like Keir, but it was not him. This man was not as tall, his features not as sharp, his chin even more obstinate. This man . . . lay dead in the snow. This man was . . .

“His brother.” She breathed the words, even as the weakness overtook her and the vision vanished. Her knees buckling, Gwynna managed to turn and grasp the back of the chair for support.

“This isn't the receiving room.” Keir spoke from the doorway. His voice sounded distant, low and tinny in her ears.

“What is it?” he added sharply. “You're not going to pretend to swoon again, are you?”

But even as the words left his mouth, he saw that this was different from before. Her skin had gone as pale as parchment and she was trembling all over.

He saw her lose her grip upon the chair and begin to slide
to the floor, and he sprang forward just in time. Scooping her up, he studied her face. Her gaze met his unseeingly.

A trance?
he thought. She is a witch, after all.
More reason why I should have had her tossed into the moat from the very first.

This night had been silent and full of grief until she'd come. It was the anniversary of his father's and brothers' deaths, and the precursor of his mother's. It deserved his full attention, it was their due. Yet ever since this woman had burst into his keep, he'd been unable to focus his thoughts upon anything but
her
.

“Let me go . . . I am . . . fine.” But her voice was a ragged croak.

He eased her into the chair and scowled at her.

“Bring wine,” he called to a passing servant and then returned his attention to the dark-haired beauty in the amber gown who gazed up at him with such weary eyes.

“You're ill?” he asked, his voice quieter, gentler than she had yet heard. The softened tone surprised her. She had sensed strength in him, and grief, and a great reserve, but not this . . . not any aura of gentleness.

“It is only . . . the visions. They come . . . with a price.”

“They drain you.”

“Yes. It doesn't last long. A sip of wine—”

“It's here now.” Keir took the tray of wine and goblets from the servant and set them on the desk, then poured the strong spiced wine for her. As he handed her the goblet their fingers touched and he felt a spark like flame singe him. It didn't hurt.

It shocked him though.

She felt it, too. He saw amazement flash in her face, and then she raised the goblet to her lips and drank.

Color immediately returned to her cheeks, and her breathing slowed. As Keir watched, he saw her transform before his eyes back into the powerful young woman with the incredibly vibrant eyes and the lush sweep of midnight hair that begged to be touched.

He tried to stem the flood of desire that filled him when he
looked at her. He'd known physical pleasure with many women and he had often used it to assuage his pain, but he had never known anyone who affected him the way this princess of Callemore did. She had only to look at him with those wondrous eyes and he felt desire surge through his blood. And something more. Something that tugged at more than blood and muscles and bone.

The gown he'd sent to her revealed only too well what he'd wanted to know. Her body was as lovely and full of beauty as her face.

“What were you doing here?” he demanded, forcing harshness into his tone.
For all you know, she has cast a spell upon you
, he thought darkly.
Fight it. Do not surrender to the magic as your brother did . . .

“This place is where I work. It is not where I instructed you to find me.”

“But I did find you here. I needed a place where I could find . . . your spirit. Your soul. And here I felt it. You must spend a great deal of time here—and go deep into your thoughts.”

His mouth tightened. “Witch, you go too far. I granted you a room for the night, food from my table, and you have used magic against me—”

“Against you? No.” She rose from the chair with grace and sureness. She was steady now, strong. And lovely as a dark, summer flower. In her face he saw dignity—and something else.
Willfulness
. This was not a female who would be easily swayed.

“I used it for myself. To help me learn more about you, about how to reach you and persuade you to help me save my sister's life!”

“You seek the impossible. Your sister is as dead as my brothers and my father. Ondrea is untouchable. She hides herself in a place where evil thrives and good is destroyed. I have seen it and I know.”

“You saw
Ondrea
?” She blinked at him.

“Once. A glimpse. I would have killed her if I'd been able, for it is she who—” He broke off. Bitterness twisted his lips.
“She was far away . . . too far away. I allowed myself to be driven back and I failed.”

A profound silence shook the chamber.

Gwynna broke it, stepping toward him. “Ondrea had a hand in their deaths, didn't she? The deaths of your father and your brothers. It was she I saw in the vision,” she realized slowly, her thoughts spinning. “You and I—we have the same enemy.” The realization stunned her.

Then her attention was captured by the expression on Keir's face. That strong, stern gaze was filled with anger and despair—and something more: guilt.

“Why do you blame yourself for their deaths?” she asked. She placed her hand upon his arm and again felt that strange hot current run between them. “It was not your fault that Lise didn't choose you and align with you against Leopold—”

“It was my fault that I failed to visit justice upon the witch responsible for my family's deaths,” he said, shaking off her hand. Anger darkened his eyes. “I hunted her down and was close to reaching her, but not close enough, not strong enough—”

He spun away from her and stalked across the room, then back, glaring at her as a turbulent anger roiled through him.

Many men had quailed before Keir of Blackthorne's rage—for often it was seen in battle and his enemies fell faster than summer rain. But Gwynna of Callemore stood her ground with no more fear or alarm than if she was facing a servant summoning her to supper.

“Tell me,” she said quietly when he could not finish once more.

“You don't need me to tell you,” he snapped. He seized her arms suddenly, yanking her close. She felt his immense, overpowering strength, yet he did not hurt her. “You have magic in you. Your visions must have shown you what happened. You admitted as much.”

“My visions did not show me that. They showed me a woman with hair of flame and eyes brimming with seduction. They showed me blood and bodies in the snow. And a man . . . she was whispering to him. He resembled you. . . . Was he your brother?”

Pain shadowed his eyes. “Yes, he was my brother. Raul. He was wise in the ways of the world, a skilled soldier and a man of learning, and yet, he fell victim to the enchantress's charms. He didn't know who she was—or that she was plotting with Leopold. And certainly not that she and the warlock king were lovers,” he added bitterly.

As Gwynna's eyes widened in surprise, Keir continued. “I learned later that she used a mind-blurring potion on him and a spell to blind him to the danger, to pry his secrets from him. And he told her, even as he bedded her, of the secret plans of my father the duke to journey to Cyr Tantiem with Raul and my brother Alden to seek an alliance against Leopold that would have defeated him swiftly.”

Keir's voice was bitter. “Of course they never reached Cyr Tantiem. They were slain by Leopold's hired murderers.”

His hands dropped to his sides. The depth of his grief seemed to creep into her bones. She felt it shadowing her heart. And in his eyes she saw something else.

“You killed them. Those murderers.”

He nodded. “I hunted them and then I rid the world of them.”

“But that isn't all. You went to Org to kill Ondrea.”

“And failed.” He raked a hand through his hair and paced the room. “If I failed in all my rage and determination, what hope do you have?”

“I love my sister,” she said simply. “And I must bring her back to me, to her husband, to Callemore. Antwa, my teacher, tried to discourage me as well and if she could not, no one can. But you could help me if you choose.”

“The Valley of Org is a damp, fetid hell. Dark spirits inhabit it, evil breathes in the wind, rises from the bogs. It crushes the spirit, it torments the mind. Don't you understand? Good cannot survive there.”

“You did. And you got out alive.”

In his silver eyes she saw the memories swirl. Agonizing memories. Her heart shivered.

“I got out—barely,” he said at last. “But it took me months to recover. Nightmares haunted me night and day and I very nearly went mad.”

She swallowed, suddenly realizing, as she had not realized
before, how truly dangerous and difficult her mission would be. Antwa had warned her, but she'd chosen not to listen. Yet, listening to Keir of Blackthorne, a powerful man if she'd ever seen one, and seeing herself how deeply his journey to Org had affected him, she suddenly knew that the path before her was darker than she ever could have guessed.

Fear flickered through her. And with it, dread. But neither changed her resolve. And as she gazed into Keir's hard, haunted eyes, as she felt the anguish in his soul, her heart opened to him. She suddenly sensed how painful her appearance in his keep and her stated quest must be for him. Without thinking, she reached up and laid a gentle hand against his face.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I had no idea of what you'd lost, of what you'd gone through. I didn't know that Ondrea and the Valley of Org was linked in any way to your family's deaths.”

But instead of responding to her sympathy, he jerked back, suspicion hardening his features. “For all I know, you are working with Leopold, too, and this is another trick. Another trap.”

Her chin notched up. “I am not evil. I am not lying. Look into my eyes and trust yourself to see the truth.”

Keir did look into her eyes. They were beautiful beyond words. And so was she. A dark bewitching beauty whose brave spirit seemed to call to him.

But was it a siren's call? Did a witch's cunning heart lie beneath that alluring face and figure? Behind the shimmering amethyst eyes that seemed to contain the depth and mystery of the seas?

“I can't trust what I see.” He turned away from her, stalking toward the door. “Raul trusted a witch and was deceived. It cost him his life and more. You have power. I've seen it—”

“Would I have shown it to you if I planned to use power against you? I would have hidden the fact that I have the sight, that I can use magical protection when I choose.”

“Perhaps.” He turned back toward her, and there was doubt in that strong, handsome face. He couldn't trust her, and in this case, couldn't trust himself. Men he could sum up in a
glance, after a word or two. Women were more complex and this one was unlike any he had ever met.

“Perhaps you are the one not to be trusted,” she said as he continued to gaze at her as if at any moment she might turn into a crow and scratch his eyes out. “Why did you send me this gown and summon me? You could have sent me on my way in the morning without another glance.”

That was the same thing he'd been telling himself since he sent the damned gown. He wasn't sure of the answer to her question himself.

“Perhaps I wanted to see if you would don it.” He shrugged. “And what kind of a woman you were beneath the boy's garb.”

“Garments do not make a woman,” she retorted.

“Very true. But they can be useful in tempting them.”

She stared at him. “You mean as in buying favors? Jewels work better,” she said coolly. She understood now, and it was as she'd suspected when she'd first touched the gown. But she was disappointed that he had stooped to this. Why had she wanted to think better of him? He was as harsh and cold as his keep, his soul as sparse as the rooms here. Perhaps he had been tainted, changed by the Valley of Org.

“You wanted to see if I would don this gown and use it . . . and my woman's wiles, to seduce you,” she said, her lip curling in revulsion. “You wondered if I would use my body to gain your help.”

“I wondered if you might try to make a bargain.” His gaze burned over her and she felt painfully naked beneath that raking glance. Anger flooded her, filling her cheeks with color, quickening the beating of her heart.

“You mean you wanted to see if I would sell myself to save my sister. You wished to prey upon my desperation but first you wanted to see the goods before you paid a price—”

She rushed at him, her hand raised to strike his face, but he calmly seized her wrist and held it firm.

“Can't you find a woman to come to your bed who isn't frantic to save her sister's life?” she cried. “Are your charms so feeble that you must bribe a woman to open her body to you?”