LC03 Shield's Lady Page 9

  Sariana stood very still beneath his kiss. Then her lips parted slightly. Gryph took the invitation at once, sliding his tongue deeply into her warm mouth. His hand moved down from her shoulder to the curve of her breast. When he felt her nipple hardening beneath the fabric of her robe he thought he would go out of his mind. He held the kiss as long as he dared, held it until he felt the stirring of a new kind of tension in her and then he reluctantly broke the intimate contact.

  “Sariana, Sariana,” he muttered against her lips. “Tell me that all you need is time. I can wait if I must.”

  “I don’t understand any of this,” she whispered. “What are you doing to me?”

  “There’s no point in fighting it. I don’t think either of us has much choice.” He brought his other hand up to cup her face between his palms. Somehow he had to impress upon her the inevitability of their union. It would be simpler and far less difficult for her to accept that union if she came of her own volition to understand there was no real choice. “I’ll try not to rush you.”

  “Gryph…

  “I’ll give you some time, just as I promised. But please, for both our sakes, don’t make me wait too long.”

  “No man has ever asked me to have an affair with him.” Her words trembled in the air between them. “I’m not sure I want one. Not now. Not with someone I hardly know…”

  He dared not tell her that what he was asking involved far more than a short-term arrangement. She would almost certainly panic if he did. But it was possible he could convince her to enter into what she thought would be a brief affair. She was a young woman of passion, although she did not yet fully comprehend that. She was far from the constraints of home and she found herself alone and lonely in a foreign land. The thought of having an affair might be very tempting to her.

  “I told you earlier that you are not the only one who is familiar with loneliness,” he reminded her softly.

  She nodded slowly. “The Avylyns explained that the Shields number very few and that most of you walk alone for the most part. You live on the fringes of society.”

  “In a sense you and I are both strangers in this land.”

  Her small fingers closed around his wrist. “Is it very difficult for you, Gryph? Being a Shield, I mean?”

  “No more difficult than your chosen exile is for you.”

  A wealth of gentle sympathy was mirrored in her eyes. “I think I understand.”

  “Thank you, Sariana.” He brushed her mouth once more and then he made himself release her.

  Without a word he turned and walked to the door. But just as he was about to leave he looked back over his shoulder. She was standing where he had left her beside the golden cage, her eyes full of aching, unasked questions.

  “Time,” Gryph said distinctly. “I can grant you a little time. The luck of the night to you, Sariana.” He stepped outside into the hall and shut the door firmly behind him.

  Halfway down the corridor to his room he remembered the crushed flower in the pocket of his jacket. He removed it and stared at the broken petals for a moment.

  Then Gryph smiled to himself and tossed the flower into a nearby trash receptacle discreetly disguised as a vase.

  The nice thing about dealing with Sariana was knowing that she was not weak and fragile like that flower. She would not get crushed if the wooing got a little rough.

  The lady was a potential Shieldmate and such women were not fluffy, delicate or weak, in spite of their outward appearances. He would give her time because that was the courteous thing to do and he was, after all, a lord of a Prime Family. He could do the gentlemanly thing when it was required. Besides, he wanted to impress Sariana with his proud manners.

  But in the end, whether he used the courteous approach or some more direct means, Sariana would belong to him. The decision had been made.

  Chapter

  5

  THE message from Brinton arrived the night of the Avylyns’ costume ball.

  It couldn’t have come at a more inopportune time as far as Gryph was concerned. He’d had plans for the evening. Plans that revolved around showing Sariana he knew how to conduct himself on a dance floor.

  But instead of gliding around a ballroom with Sariana in his arms, Gryph moved soundlessly through the dank, twisted streets of Serendipity’s lower quarters. He was headed toward the rendezvous point and enroute he brooded about his annoyingly bad luck. Brinton might be an excellent source of information in certain subjects, but his timing could be miserable.

  Dancing with Sariana and showing off his best manners hadn’t been Gryph’s only goal for the evening. He’d also wanted to get a good look at Etion Rakken. He was curious about his competition.

  Instead, here he was wandering through garbage strewn alleys dressed in a new shirt of black linen, his boots polished until they gleamed, his gray jacket and trousers perfectly pressed. There hadn’t even been time to change his clothes. The message that had arrived at one of the Avylyns’ back doors a short time ago had been carried by a small, grimy, barefooted boy. It had been terse and cryptic.

  Gryph had sensed the urgency behind it at once. Brinton was an old hand at this kind of thing. He wouldn’t panic easily. His uncanny nose for underground gossip must have turned up something very interesting.

  Gryph made his way unobtrusively along a back street the town council considered so unimportant it had decided not to waste money illuminating it with vapor lamps. There wasn’t even much moonlight tonight. The roiling clouds of another summer storm were quickly obscuring the night sky.

  If Brinton was at the rendezvous point as he had said he would be, Gryph reflected, there would still be plenty of time to get back to the ball before it concluded with the late night buffet. It had been a long time since he had danced. He sincerely hoped it was like riding a dragonpony in that once you learned how, you never forgot.

  His best hope for not making a complete fool of himself lay in the fact that he suspected Sariana probably wasn’t much of a dancer herself. He had a hunch she’d spent a lot more time in the classroom and library than she had in a ballroom.

  That was Sariana’s problem, Gryph decided. She hadn’t spent much time in fun and games. She’d been too focused on the entwined paths of a successful career and a marriage that was intended to be a business alliance, not a passionate relationship. But Gryph was confident he could fix all that for her.

  All he had to do was get her attention long enough to convince her she was working toward the wrong destiny.

  Getting her attention was not, however, proving as easy as he had thought after that midnight encounter in the conservatory. Gryph had seen very little of Sariana for the past three days. She seemed to be always either buried in paperwork, in conference with Lord and Lady Avylyn, or on her way to another “luncheon meeting” with Etion Rakken.

  Every time he had managed to find Sariana alone, he had been treated to a long string of pointed inquiries about the progress of his assignment. He was beginning to wonder if it might not be wisest to find the damned prisma cutter just so that Sariana would be forced to shut up on the subject.

  The lady had a way of keeping a man at bay. Gryph smiled in spite of his mood. She was invariably self-possessed, self-assured and self-confident when she was discussing business. When she wasn’t discussing business she managed to keep the conversation focused squarely on the unimportant or the trivial.

  The woman could certainly talk, Gryph reflected.

  But Gryph was certain he could sense the passion that was locked away in her. The need to be the one who unlocked it was fast becoming an all-consuming need.

  Gryph turned a corner and started down a narrow brick path that didn’t warrant the title of street. He pushed all stray thoughts of Sariana and the ball temporarily aside as a prickle of heightened awareness went down his spine. He was getting close to the meeting point stipulate
d in Brinton’s message. He started counting the yawning black mouths that were alleys leading off of the path. When he reached the third one he stopped. Brinton should be waiting nearby.

  Gryph stood motionless against the wall, letting the darkness swallow him. There was no sound or movement in the shadows around him. The distant rattle of a carriage floated down the street behind him and was soon gone. No intelligent carriage driver would hang around this part of town for long.

  Then he heard the faint groan from the end of the alley and Gryph knew that Brinton’s career as an informer had just hit a snag.

  Gryph’s fingers played lightly over the prisma lock of his weapon kit. The leather pouch opened. He reached inside and withdrew the small vapor light. He thumbed the mechanism that released a spark into the vapor and instantly a faint beam revealed a portion of the littered alley.

  It was empty except for what appeared to be a pile of old clothes at the far end. Gryph hesitated, all his trained senses protesting his decision to enter what could easily become a trap. The alley only had one exit.

  But Gryph was grimly certain that it was Brinton who lay in a crumpled heap at the base of the brick wall. And there was no getting around the fact that he probably wouldn’t have been there if he hadn’t been working for Gryph. Brinton might have been lying in some other dark alley, waiting for some other customer, if he hadn’t taken this particular job, but that was beside the point. With a last glance up and down the path to ensure he was alone, Gryph entered the alley.

  A few seconds later he crouched beside the fallen man, reached out to touch him and knew there was no hope.

  “Brinton?”

  The man didn’t move, but there was another low groan. Brinton was barely breathing. The tiny vapor lamp revealed a dark, widening stain on the man’s shirt.

  “Hang on, pal. I’ll get you out of here.” Gryph knew from the size of the stain and the feel of Brinton’s skin that there wasn’t much point in trying to get him to a medic, but there was little else that could be done. There were better places to die than in an alley.

  “Shield.” The single word was little more than a breath between Brinton’s bloodied lips.

  “Yes,” Gryph said, as he pushed a hand under Brinton’s shirt to see if he could slow the bleeding before he tried to move the man. “It’s me. By the Lightstorm, I’m sorry, Brinton. I swear I had no way of knowing things were this serious.”

  “No! Not you. Another Shield.” Brinton’s eyes opened slightly and he tried to focus on Gryph’s face. His words were thick and heavy in his mouth. “I didn’t find out who has the cutter.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Brinton. Take it easy, man. I’m going to get you to a medic.” Gryph felt blood and torn flesh beneath his hand. Quickly he worked to tighten Brinton’s shirt into a makeshift bandage. Brinton slapped restlessly at his hand.

  “No time. Get away, Chassyn. Get away.”

  “I’m going to put you over my shoulder,” Gryph said, bracing himself to lift the smaller man.

  “No . . . point. Listen to me. You always paid on time. Good client. Reliable. I owe you for . . . you helped me a few years back.”

  “You don’t owe me anything.”

  Brinton shook his head and blood trickled down his chin. “Not true. I owe you. Going to pay you back. Tonight. Only way I can. Information. Didn’t find the cutter, but something more important. There’s another Shield out there who doesn’t want it found. You hear me, Chassyn? Another Shield. I don’t know who…he’s responsible for the missing cutter.”

  Gryph went still. “A Shield did this to you?”

  “No. I’m not worth a Shield’s time. But he probably sent the ones who got me. I heard…” Brinton coughed again. “I heard something about the thieves taking the cutter to Little Chance. You paid for this information. Take it and use it. But be careful. The cutter’s not worth your life.” Brinton began to gasp painfully.

  Gryph waited no longer. He had done the best he could for the bleeding. He leaned down and maneuvered Brinton over his shoulder. The man was unconscious now. It was just as well.

  Gryph started toward the alley entrance, balancing the dying man’s weight with one hand and holding the small vapor lamp with the other.

  He was only half out of the walled trap when the caped figure with the blade bow in his hand stepped into the alley. The vapor lamp’s slender ray picked him out just as he raised his arm to fire the bow.

  Gryph’s reaction was reflexive. He shut his eyes and flicked a second switch on the small hand lamp. The narrow beam became a short-lived, blinding flare of light that filled the alley. An instant later it vanished completely leaving everything in utter darkness. The capped figure shouted in anger as he was temporarily blinded. The bow zinged softly.

  Gryph was already throwing himself to one side and groping for a throwing blade, but the weight of Brinton’s body made the maneuver uncharacteristically and dangerously awkward. He felt the impact of the stranger’s blade as it sliced through his jacket and across his shoulder. Then he felt the pain.

  He staggered and opened his eyes as Brinton’s body slid to the bricks beside him. There was no sound from the informer. Gryph thought he was probably already dead.

  The man with the blade bow was gone. Gryph knew from experience that it would take a couple of minutes for the effects of the brilliant flash of vapor light to wear off. His assailant was probably reeling blindly down the street, searching for a place to hide until he regained his sight.

  Gryph leaped for the alley entrance. His vapor lamp was useless now. It could only be used once in such a maneuver and then it had to be recharged with vapor. Gryph’s eyes were functioning normally because he’d closed them during the burst of flaring vapor. There was enough illumination from scattered starlight to search the street outside the alley.

  But even as he reached the street he heard the sound of dragonpony hooves on pavement. Not one pony, but two. The man with the blade bow had brought a backup. In the dim light Gryph watched in frustrated fury as two dragon-ponies galloped out of sight around a corner. The man on the first pony was leading the second animal. The slumped figure on the second pony was undoubtedly the man with the bow.

  “Damn it to the heart of the Lightstorm,” Gryph hissed, swearing futilely at his own stupidity, slowness and bad timing.

  He turned back into the alley and felt for Briton’s pulse. The man was dead.

  Gryph clamped a hand around his bleeding shoulder and started back toward the Avylyns’ section of town. On the way he thought he’d better stop at the home of a medic he happened to know. A man who could keep his mouth shut.

  The Avylyn’s annual ball was an enormous success. Sariana stood in the shelter of a bay window and sipped a glass of wine-spiked punch while she watched the dancers. She was glad to find herself alone for a few minutes. The ballroom was vibrant with color and laughter and music. The room was a showcase for the most fantastic fashions tonight. Each costume was more outrageous and overdone than the last.

  Her own gown was simple and quite plain in comparison to those around her, although it was certainly dramatic by her personal standards. When she had dressed earlier that evening Sariana had been mildly shocked by the low, off the-shoulder neckline, the tight bodice and the frothy, side-split skirts. The gown was a shimmering emerald green trimmed with gold. When she walked or danced it revealed a great deal of her legs. It was supposed to represent the costume of a farmer’s daughter, but Sariana seriously doubted any farmer’s daughter had swept out a stable while wearing such a daringly cut dress.

  Lady Avylyn and her daughter had selected the gown for Sariana, having decided on their own that she could not be trusted to come up with something suitable.

  They were right, Sariana reflected in amusement as she glanced down at her outfit. Never in a million years would she have chosen anything such as this.

 
But there was no denying the fact that the moment she had put it on she had begun wondering if it would appeal to Gryph.

  She could stop wondering about that. Gryph was nowhere around. She hadn’t seen him since the afternoon. Perhaps he was taking seriously his cover job of guarding the Avylyn jewelry collection.

  If that were the case, however, he should be somewhere in the room. Most of the best Avylyn pieces were being worn by members of the family tonight. The others were on display in locked cases.

  “There you are, Sariana. I’ve been looking for you. Whatever are you doing in here? I hope you are enjoying yourself. Everything has turned out just splendidly, hasn’t it?” Lady Avylyn spoke excitedly as she swept into Sariana’s small hiding place. As she entered the alcove the enormous skirts of her golden velvet gown took up most of the available room. A magnificent assortment of jewelry was draped on every portion of her figure revealed by the dress. Pendant earrings, acres of bracelets and a necklace that could have sunk a ship glittered in the light.

  “I was just taking a break,” Sariana explained. “I’m afraid I’m not accustomed to this much exercise.”

  Lady Avylyn beamed, fluttering her gilded fan. “I saw you dancing earlier with Etion Rakken. Such a nice man. Where is he?”

  “Dancing with Lady Tarlana. A duty dance, he said.”

  “Ah, yes, Lady Tarlana’s clan does business with Etion’s bank, too, I believe. I do hope Etion will continue to be discreet.”

  “Believe me, the last thing Etion would ever do is discuss one client’s finances with another. Not a word of the Avylyn financial situation has leaked out for the past few months, has it? All the gossip that was starting to grow when I arrived on the scene has been squelched. You can have complete faith in Etion’s discretion.”

  Lady Avylyn smiled brightly, too pleased with the success of the evening to spend much time worrying about anything as mundane as the Avylyns’ financial situation. “Yes, of course we can. It appears we are going to survive our unfortunate situation and as Jasso was saying just the other day, we owe it all to you, my dear. Without you I dread to think where we would be by now. If only we could conclude this nasty business with the prisma cutter.”