Rogue Angel 50: Celtic Fire (18 page)

Chapter 35

Awena Llewellyn watched the Creed woman. Everywhere she turned, she seemed to be waiting. It was as if she were haunting her, or taunting her. One or the other. This time she was with two men.

Awena stood in the doorway of a café, masked by shadows as she looked out across the market square toward the high walls of the castle. There was no obvious route inside that didn’t involve scaling the walls—walls that had been built with the express purpose of stopping precisely that kind of attack. The market square was derelict, the stalls stripped down to their skeletal remains, the cobbles sluiced down and rotten vegetables swept up.

She had the sword at her side, the blade wrapped in a piece of sacking and clutched tight in her hand. She wore a single leather driving glove and didn’t dare touch the hilt for fear the sword would burst into flame regardless of the glove and betray her hiding place.

She had not expected to see anyone moving around at this time of night, let alone the Creed woman. Not here. Not so much farther along the quest than she’d imagined possible. There could only be one explanation, and it confirmed Awena’s worst fears. Annja Creed was on a quest for the Treasures of Britain and that was why she had murdered her father.

She shivered despite the lack of cold.

The sky was clear. The moon lit up the square more effectively than the dull amber glow of the five working streetlights along it. The one bright light to match the moon was the castle itself, lit up like a comet on reentry, burning bright. It was both breathtaking and humbling. This was the heritage her father had always promised her, the history that flowed through her veins.

Not that she could claim it today or tomorrow or any day soon with the royal entourage well and truly ensconced. But that didn’t detract from the fact she was here, at journey’s end. This was the resting place of the greatest treasure of them all.

She watched the three of them separate, one moving off into the shadows to take up a position as watchman, the others appearing to ready themselves to scale the castle wall.

Her father’s notebook had been vague, but the sight of them removed every last lingering doubt; the Mantle of King Arthur was hidden in the tower waiting to be claimed. She hadn’t understood the sketch of a chessboard with an X in one of the squares when she’d found it. But looking at the cobbles beneath her feet it made perfect sense; he’d quite literally drawn an “X marks the spot” treasure map, no doubt counting out the exact dimensions of the tower and drawing in brick by brick on the grid. But that didn’t guarantee that it would be there. Far from it; there had been countless false trails and dead ends over the years. She knew better than to get her hopes up, even at the sight of Annja Creed scaling the wall. All it meant was she’d come across the same line of clues and believed them worth investigating.

But the opportunity for revenge made her pulse quicken.

She wanted to move into a better vantage point that offered an unobstructed view of what they were doing, but that meant crossing the square, which was out of the question. Instead, she waited.

She saw the man move into his own private spot from where he could see the market square and the roads leading to and from the castle.

Creed was already at the top of the tower and the second man was about to follow her up the rope she was lowering for him.

As she turned, Awena saw the watcher seemingly stare straight at her hiding place; her heart hammered against her breastbone as she willed her body not to move, not to breathe.

He stepped from his hiding place and she was sure he was about to stride toward her and unmask her, but he turned his back on her and watched the progress of the other two, until the man was hauled up over the parapet. That meant they were close to finding the mantle. In a moment her chance would be gone forever, and so would her revenge.

It was now or never.

She moved quickly, feet almost dancing across the cobbled square as she made her way back to her previous position. She couldn’t worry about the two that had finished their ascent into the tower, not yet. She could deal with them when they came down, but she could deal with their lookout, evening the odds and maybe even gaining some leverage.

She remembered a game she had played with Geraint as a child, a game played outside in the dark with only the moon to provide their light. One of them commanded the flagpole at the far end of the garden where the Welsh flag always fluttered proudly, while the other would attempt to reach the pole unseen. The person would move stealthlike from bush to bush, shadow to shadow. She played the game again, only this time it was more than just a game, mattered more than family bragging rights.

It was only as she drew a little closer, while the man was distracted by his team up on the tower, that she realized just how old he was. This was going to be much easier than she’d thought. Smiling now, she slipped the sword free of the sacking. Stepping right up behind him she pressed the sharp edge of the blade against his flesh and clamped a hand over the old man’s mouth.

“Make a noise and it will be your last,” Awena Llewellyn promised.

She let go of the blade and took hold of the sword at the hilt. The blade came to life despite the leather glove, its bright blue blush of flame lighting up the old man’s face. The sight of it was enough to stop his struggles. He knew what was going on. He knew how much trouble he was in. He knew...

“This way,” Awena rasped, steering him from the market square and the castle toward an alleyway between buildings. He didn’t fight her. There was no one around to see them. Most would have been tucked up in their beds long ago. No one was going to hear them, not even the pair climbing the tower.

She released her hold on his mouth.

“Don’t bother trying to run. It won’t end well.”

“Look, I don’t know what you want, but please...” He fumbled at his wrist to take off his watch and offered it to her.

She laughed. A cold, bitter laugh. “Very good. Play dumb. Pretend you don’t know exactly who I am and what I’m holding in my hand.” As though in response, the flames licking along the length of the blade seemed to twitch a little more furiously. “So don’t try playing the innocent with me.”

“Oh, I don’t claim to be innocent, my dear,” the man said. “But what am I guilty of in particular?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Awena said. “Just keep walking.”

“With pleasure.”

The narrow alley led to a slightly wider road that in turn led to an open parking lot that was in near-total darkness, save for a single working streetlight. There was a solitary car parked in the darkness on the far side, hers. “Get moving.” She pushed him on, every few steps jabbing him in the back to keep him going in the right direction until they reached it.

Awena popped the trunk.

The old man made no attempt to hide the concern on his face.

She liked that. “Don’t worry,” Awena said, “I’m not going to make you get in. I’m not some barbarian. I wouldn’t do that to an old man. Turn around. Put your hands behind your back.”

He did as he was told.

The courtesy light in the trunk revealed a scatter of plastic cable ties that Geraint had thrown in there months ago. He used them when he was out doing jobs, organizing cables and the like. Funny how even without being there he was still helping her. Awena needed both hands to secure the plastic tie, cinching it just a little tighter than she wanted to so it bit into his leathery skin. She had to lean the sword against the car. The second she released her hold on the hilt, the flame died out and this side of the parking lot was plunged into darkness.

She almost hoped that he would attempt to get away.

She would be able to stop him if he did. And hurt him. For her father. Because even if it had been the Creed woman who had run him off the road, there was blood on the old man’s hands.

“What do you want?”

“The same thing as you.”

“World peace?”

“Don’t play games with me,” she said. “We both know what I’m talking about.”

He said nothing, just stared into her eyes.

“You’re not what I expected,” she said.

“How so?”

“You’re old.”

“I am. That means I’ve grown accustomed to living. What do you want?”

“I want to know your name for a start,” Awena spoke, snatching up the sword again. It immediately roared into bright blue flame. She pressed it bare inches from his face so it stung and blackened the white bristles pushing through his skin. She expected him to beg for his life. He didn’t. That was interesting. Most men would have pleaded or made any sort of deal they possibly could to buy time, but not this man, who had grown accustomed to living. That was very interesting indeed.

“Roux,” he said. “My name is Roux.”

She opened the rear door of the car and, placing a hand on top of his head, helped him inside, then slipped behind the wheel. She looked at Roux, her prisoner, in the rearview mirror.

“Roux,” she repeated.

“That’s my name,” he said almost cheerfully.

“You’re not dead.”

“I’m not.”

“You actually exist.”

“It would seem so. And I assume you are Awena Llewellyn?”

“So we know each other. Isn’t that nice?”

“I’m not sure
nice
is the word I’d use, given the whole hog-tied thing, but it is good to know who has taken you hostage, I suppose.”

She turned on the interior light, then pulled her father’s notebook out of the glove box. She opened it and found the page she wanted, the one with his name written on it, and showed it to him.

“It’s because of you I’m here,” she said. “See your name there, in black and white? You led Dad here, and now you’ve led me here. I suppose I should thank you.”

“Manners never hurt anyone,” he agreed.

Chapter 36

There was no sign of Roux.

That was bad.

It wasn’t like him.

He wasn’t the kind of flake who just wandered off in the middle of a job.

He wasn’t some ADD kid who couldn’t focus.

If he’d gone he’d gone for a reason.

Annja knew it was out of character. And out of character was never what you wanted when you needed a guy to be his usual unflappable, reliable self.

Annja left Garin to coil up the rope. She followed the edge of the castle wall, looking for any indication as to where he might have gone and hoping to stumble across him just around the corner. But she didn’t get that lucky. She tried to think: the threat of discovery had come from inside the castle, not from the market square. She’d assumed he hadn’t been needed as a lookout, but what if he
had?
What if someone had come close to rumbling them and Roux had been forced to move to intervene? She continued around the side, toward the moat.

She moved closer to the water’s edge. A couple of small boats were moored there. She peered into the blackness.

“You don’t think he’s fallen in, do you?” Garin asked, coming up behind her.

“We’d have heard the splash,” she said, assuming he was serious. “Besides, why would he have come close to the water?”

“Indeed. But that being the case, where’s the old bastard gone?”

“Maybe he headed back to the hotel?”

“Unlikely.”

“We came down empty-handed.”

“He wouldn’t just leave, no matter how disappointed he was. It’s not like him.” And that was what bugged Annja more than anything. Garin was dead right; it wasn’t like him. And Garin was beginning to sound concerned, which bugged her, too.

“The man’s a law unto himself,” she said, wanting to believe that.

“That he is,” Garin agreed, still not happy.

“Let’s get back to the hotel, regroup. Maybe you can trace him on satellite or whatever it was you did to me from the plane. Anything’s got to be better than just standing out here in the dark waiting for him to turn up.”

“Agreed. It’s not like we can whistle for him as if he were some lost dog, as much as I like the idea. Let’s go before someone gets nosy and spots us.”

“Right, it’s not like we can pull a cloak of invisibility up over our heads, is it?”

“I like you, Annja Creed. Have I mentioned that?”

“Not for at least a week.”

“Well, I do. You’re the right side of irreverent. Plus you’re rocking some killer abs in that outfit. Shame about the whole human torch thing you’ve got going on.” He winked.

She laughed, despite the fact it was the absolute last thing she felt like doing.

The hotel lobby was lit by two table lamps and the faint glow of the emergency exit sign.

There was no night porter, but it was a small hotel so that was hardly surprising. They let themselves into the building with their electronic key card. The bar area was closed, and no one was sitting in reception. The entire place had an abandoned vibe going on.

“You think he’s gone up?”

“Dunno, something’s not right.”

“Could be this old-flame guilt he’s nursing,” Garin suggested.

“Old flame? I think I’ve got some catching up to do.”

“I’m not sure it’s anything. Basically he had some woman looking out for the cloak, like he had the curate watching over the sword, only I guess it was a bit more complicated. They had a fight and never talked again.” Garin stepped into the elevator. She followed him inside.

“If he’s got someone watching the place, even if they’re not exactly best friends, why were we risking our necks back there?”

“Because she’s dead. The whole fallout thing was maybe fifty years ago. The mote of dust in the eye of time idea. I don’t know if it was pride, or what, but he couldn’t bring himself to talk to her again. And now the treasure’s gone, I guess he thinks she betrayed him.”

“Wow, what a tangled web.” She thought about the letter they’d found at the battlements; she’d left it in the car. No doubt it was an apology or an attempt to explain what had happened or build bridges from the afterlife. No wonder he’d gone. She couldn’t exactly blame him.

“So we shouldn’t start worrying just yet, then?”

“Who knows what goes on in the old man’s head? He might have gone for a walk to clear the cobwebs. He might have gone to stand outside her house and look at the windows imagining he could somehow knock on the door and say sorry. Or he might have gone in search of a stiff drink. I say leave the worrying until the morning.”

The elevator stopped.

Annja stepped out into a carpeted and Regency-style hallway and started along the corridor. There was no light coming from under Roux’s door but that meant nothing. He’d had more than enough time to get back here and into bed, or wander the streets chasing his old ghosts. Garin was right; there was no point worrying until morning. Roux was a big boy. He could look after himself. That didn’t mean she had to feel good about it, though.

Garin slipped into his own room without another word, leaving her standing in the corridor alone and unsettled.

She opened the door to her room and went inside.

Annja kicked off her shoes and lay on the bed, intending on heading to the bathroom to wash and clean her teeth before changing for bed, but exhaustion overtook her. She slept the sleep of the damned, dreaming she was climbing a wall that never seemed to end.

High above her she could hear Roux calling out to her, but it wasn’t her name.