Page 38 of Secrets of the Highwayman (Immortal Warriors #2)

R eynald stood perfectly still . Despite the darkness and the dank underground smell, the castle enclosed him, welcomed him, embraced him with familiar arms. One moment he’d been in the great cathedral with the redheaded Welsh witch and the next he was here. In the deep tunnels beneath his own castle.

Reynald bent low, awkward in his coat of armor—the garment was thick and heavy, made of steel plates and chain mail—only just avoiding knocking his head against the jagged ceiling. At first he’d thought he was back in the between-worlds, that fearful place he had inhabited before the witch took him to the cathedral for his long sleep. But this was different, this was familiar. This was home.

He realized he was still holding his long bow and a couple of arrows clasped in his hand. He was using the weapon when he died, had insisted that the task of striking down his enemy was his alone—and then he’d missed his mark at the vital moment. He shivered with a mixture of guilt and regret. He’d failed his people when they needed him most.

Reynald bumped his head and swore.

Moving about in the constricted space in his coat of armor and with his sword strapped to his side was difficult enough without the longbow. What use was it to him anyway? As he passed a niche in the wall, he paused to place the longbow and arrows within it, for safekeeping, until he sent someone back for them later.

Was it still 1299, the year of his death? Were his men still up above, in disarray and awaiting his orders? His servants would weep with joy when they saw him again. Somehow he would change history and turn defeat and slaughter into victory.

There were steps, narrow and dusty. As he climbed them he saw a light ahead, but it wasn’t the uncertain flare of torch- or candlelight. This was brighter . . . steadier.

He paused to stare at the strange burning globe. The steps continued up, toward the armory, and he climbed on, refusing to listen to the increasingly uneasy voice in his head. Was the battle still going on outside? It was very quiet.

The armory wasn’t there. No weapons cleaned and shining, no dented coats of armor or rusted chain mail. Instead there were some boxes and chairs stacked against the wall.

The door no longer had a latch or a bar, just a round knob, which he gripped in his big hand and turned.

Reynald stepped out into a world run mad.

All about him were colors, frenzied discordant colors. Yellow and red and pink. Everywhere his eyes rested they were assaulted by a rainbow of different shades and hues. How could his good stone walls have been so vandalized? A half-sized tree stood in an enormous barrel, its branches hung with many sparkling balls, while ropes of glittering gold were wound about and through them. As he stared eyes began to wink at him from the greenery. Many-colored eyes. Shocked, he forced himself forward and peered closer. The eyes were in fact small enclosed balls with colored lights inside them that flashed on and off.

“Jesu . . .”

His voice sounded deep and rusty from disuse. A moment later all thoughts left his head as a terrible whiny noise burst forth. He turned, and found himself confronted by a fat, bearded creature in a red gown.

“Jingle bells!” it shrieked.

Reynald lurched back as the creature began to swing its hips lasciviously at him, the reddened lips pouting as it sang. He drew his sword and brought it down on its head, splitting it asunder. There was a smell of burning, a whirring groan and the creature slumped into silence. Reynald could now see within the bearded head. This was no flesh-and-blood being but a man-made abomination, full of cogs and thin steel wires.

He backed away, sheathing his sword, bewildered and afraid.

This was his home, and yet it wasn’t. Something was very, very wrong.

Striding quickly, ignoring the jarring changes—perhaps if he ignored them they would go away—he made his way toward the thick iron-studded door that led into the training yard. Where were his men? Surely they were as keen to find him as he was to find them, he told himself, as he flung it open.

Outside it was nighttime, and cold. Fair colder than the air behind him in the castle. There was a flurry of snow, and he could see that white flakes lightly covered the surface of the yard and sparkled on top of the castle walls. There were winking lights here, too, stretching along the battlements, flashing on and off jauntily, and seeming to mock the blood that had been shed in this place.

Angrily, Reynald de Mortimer went to step outside, thinking perhaps to tear them down . . . and found he couldn’t.

His body simply refused to pass over the threshold.

Frowning, he tried again, moving forward. And couldn’t. It was as if there was some invisible shield between him and the outside world, something he could not feel or see, and yet it held him captive. He could not push through it.

He was a prisoner here in his own castle.

If it was even his, he thought bleakly. This place was very different from the world he had left behind in 1299. The witch had brought him back to life, yes, but it was not the life he knew and understood.

With a groan, Reynald turned and made for the winding stairs in the north tower. He needed fresh air. He needed to look out over his lands. He needed to think.

A my Fairweather lifted the hem of her long gauzy skirt as she negotiated the narrow stone stairs that circled around and around to the top of the north tower. The castle was full of passages and steps, and it was easy to get lost. Stairs liked these certainly weren’t made to be climbed in four-inch heels, but Prince Nicco had insisted. And the prince, she had learned, was used to getting his own way in all things. It was possible that in some men this might have been exciting and macho. In Nicco it just seemed spoiled and petulant. And when it came to Nicco, that said it all, really.

He’d made it more than clear that he expected Amy to accompany him to his private suite and into his luxury-sized bed. Not that she was averse to some hot quick sex. She wasn’t a prude and Nicco would be far more pliable if she gave him what he wanted. Hell, the sex might even be good. But Amy couldn’t bring herself to do it. Didn’t want to.

No matter how much she owed Jez.

In fact—Amy paused as she stepped out of the stairwell and onto the roof of the north tower—she really didn’t want to be here at all.

“Ah, magnificent!” Ahead of her, Nicco was making a grand gesture, sweeping his arms at the view.

As far as Amy was concerned there wasn’t much to see. Cold, dark countryside and some bulky hills against an only slightly lighter line of sky. It was beginning to snow again, and as she picked her way over to the battlements, the roof felt slippery beneath her shoes.

She shivered, clasping the thin gauzy cloak around her. Jez said she was meant to look like a medieval lady of the manor, and although the costume was very flattering and feminine, Amy was pretty sure no medieval lady had ever worn something like this, unless she was the Barbie version.

For a moment the height made her she feel dizzy, and she reached out to clutch at the cold, hard stone before her. Down below the moat was frozen over. The sense that this was a big mistake and she didn’t want to be here was suddenly so strong she felt sick. She should have told Jez “no” once and for all. But even now the thought of facing him, of explaining to him, made her flinch. She owed her brother . . . and he knew it.

“He likes beautiful women,” Jez had told her. “Redheads, in particular — so no need to color your hair, sweetheart. Women and jewelery are his top picks. He’d be putty in your hands, Amy. And I need to know where the Star is.”

“Why wouldn’t it be locked up safe and tight in a bank vault?”

Jez grinned. “The Star of Russia? The diamond ring of Catherine the Great? Come on, this bloke likes to feel it against his skin. Owning it isn’t enough. He has to see it, touch it. The Star is hidden in one of his houses. I just need you to find out which one.”

“I wish you’d stuck to stealing cars.”

Jez laughed.

“Jez —” She tried to tell him, she really did, but the words stuck in her throat.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be a walk in the park. I trust you, Amy. You always come through for me.”

But maybe I’m tired of coming through for you, she’d thought. Maybe I want to put the past behind me. Maybe I want to put you behind me.

“What have you been up to anyway?” he said. “It took me ages to track you down. You’ve moved house, sweetheart.”

“I know. Sorry, I meant to tell you. I’ve been studying. I went back to school.”

Jez laughed, just as she knew he would. “You don’t need to go back to school. How daft is that? What do you want to do that for?”

For myself, Jez. For myself.

Nicco’s hand closed over her arm, and Amy came back to the present with a jolt. She was standing on the freezing roof of a castle in winter in a dress more suited to a harem. Still, she was here now, and the sooner she got Jez the information he wanted, the sooner she could be gone.

Amy turned and gave Nicco her most brilliant smile. “I’m sorry.”

“You were certainly far away, cherie. What were you thinking of?”

“Diamonds,” she said truthfully. “Sapphires, pearls, emeralds, rubies . . .”

His smile was indulgent. She’d already told him of her passion for jewelry. Jez had got her a cache from somewhere or other to wear this week. It was all part of the character she was playing. The spoiled darling who was never satisfied.

“One day I will show you my Star,” he said softly.

Amy felt her heart beat a little faster. “I wish you would,” she pouted.

“I will place it upon your finger, and you will never be the same again.”

“Is it very far? Perhaps we could go and see it tomorrow?”

Tell me, tell me . . .

But he gave her a secretive smile. He trailed his fingers up her arm and fastened them on her shoulder. It felt uncomfortable, as if he held her in a trap. His face was pressed close to hers, his breath panting against her frozen cheek. “You are very beautiful, my Amy.”

I’m not yours . . .

She let him kiss her. He was an experienced kisser, she’d give him that, but despite his skill she was sickened by his touch. It was as if she was just another body to add to his list of conquests. She leaned back with a gasping laugh, pretending to be overcome with the heat of passion. He came after her, pressing his body to hers, pinning her to the battlements. Behind her the world fell away dizzyingly.

“Nicco,” she said, trying to wheedle, but he ignored her. She’d kept him at arm’s length too long, while making too many promises with her lips and eyes. He pressed his hips against hers, and she could feel his erection. “Please, I don’t like heights.”

“I will make you forget about such things,” he said arrogantly.

Amy mentally gritted her teeth as he swooped in again, all hands and mouth. She was going to have to stop him. Jez would be furious with her, but she couldn’t stand this pawing another moment. Amy clenched her hand into a fist and prepared for a hard, sharp jab to His Highness’s midsection.

A deep soft voice came out of the darkness, full of threat, and something more that made the hairs stand up on the back of Amy’s neck.

“Unhand the woman, or I will split you like a pig.”