Simon was sleeping on the other side of the room, flung out in every direction on a soft traveler's pallet. Tristan rubbed the back of his own sore neck and grimaced. His vampire brother was far better prepared for the life of a demon than he was. Not only did he travel with a wizard, he apparently had excellent provisions.

As if in answer to his thought, the door opened, making him flinch back from the light. Orlando came in quickly, closing it behind him. "Good," he said, dropping a basket of washing. "You are awake."

"So it would seem." He watched, bemused, as the little wizard settled down to sort stockings. "Are you the one who st.i.tched me up?"

"Better me than Simon," he answered. "Are you healed, then?"

"I think so." He took the dagger from his boot and began to cut the threads, wincing as he pulled each one out. "I didn't think I could be wounded so."

"No more did I." With a frown, Orlando put aside his laundry and came to take the dagger. "I know more about vampires than I would care to tell you," he said, removing the st.i.tches much more gently and efficiently. "But I have never heard tell of any weapon that could do so much damage and have it last so long. How did it happen?"

"Siobhan," Tristan answered. With a stab of pain far more intense than the p.r.i.c.k of losing his st.i.tches, he thought of his beloved's face as she attacked him, weeping and miserable. His beloved...she was that, he realized, his wild, reckless demon of a wife, more than any other more gentle or manageable lady ever could have been. But she had tried to kill him. She had wept to do it, but she had done it just the same.

"A woman did this?" Orlando said, interrupting his thoughts. "How is that possible?"

"Why should you ask me?" Tristan retorted. "You are the one who claims to know so much of vampires. I just happen to be one."

Simon grumbled in his sleep and rolled over as if they were disturbing him, and the wizard smiled at him in obvious affection.

"What sort of weapon did she use?" he asked more quietly.

"A sword," Tristan answered. In truth, he would have preferred not to speak of it at all, to Orlando or anyone else. But he supposed he had no choice. "A small, thick sword, smaller than any I have ever seen." He was surprised at how clearly he remembered the weapon. "The metal was a dull silver color, not bright like steel, but the blade was sharp." "Obviously." His brow furrowed in concentration, the dwarf went to his pack and rummaged inside, emerging with a scroll. He opened it and studied what was written there, muttering under his breath too softly for Tristan to hear what he said.

"Does your paper tell of such a sword?" the vampire guessed.

"It might." He showed him the scroll. It was not covered with writing at all but a drawing. Most of the page was occupied by a rough map of Britain. But at the top was a cup-the chalice he and Simon were searching for, no doubt. Underneath it was a cross made from what looked like a wooden stake and a sword very much like Siobhan's.

"A stake," Tristan said, remembering. "She had a stake as well, hidden in her belt. She stabbed me, then slashed at my throat.

Then she drew the stake."

"Merciful G.o.ds," Orlando muttered. "Whoever this woman is, Tristan, she knows what you are. And she knows how to kill you."

He pointed. "Is this the sword?"

"It could be," he said with a frown. "This woman, as you call her, is my wife, the daughter of a local man, a brigand. What would she know of vampires?"

"Wife?" Orlando echoed, shocked. "Your child has a mother?"

"Every child has a mother, wizard," Tristan answered with a twisted smile. "But no, Siobhan is not Clare's mother." Saying this, he felt another odd, sad pang. "She is the wife forced on me by the brigands." From outside, he heard Daimon whinny in alarm.

"It's rather a long story," he said, standing up. "Did you hide the horse?"

"Do I look as if I could have hidden the horse?" Orlando said, rising to his own small height. "In truth, the beast would hardly let me near you." He led the way to the door, holding a hand out behind him as if to warn the vampire back from the light. "Simon came back after you; perhaps he did it." As if in reply, a second horse joined the protest.

"Wake up, brother," Tristan said, giving Simon an ungentle nudge with his boot.

"Careful," Orlando warned. "He doesn't always awaken so gently as you." As if to make his point, Simon sat up with a snarl, eyes glowing. "Calm yourself," the wizard told him. "Someone is outside."

"Stealing our horses," Tristan agreed, eyes narrowed in fury.

"b.a.s.t.a.r.d," Simon said, apparently recovering himself in spite of the oath. He got up from his pallet. "Who is it?"

Orlando opened the door the tiniest crack and peered out. "One of Tristan's brigands," he said softly. "He must know his business; he already has both horses tethered together, and neither of them seems to be distressed." He stepped back, pushing the door shut as gently as he could. "He seems to be coming this way."

Tristan exchanged a bitter smile with the other vampire. "Good for him."

"Wait," Orlando ordered. "Let us question him before you kill him." He motioned them back as he snuffed out the single candle, and Simon immediately retreated into the shadows. After a moment, Tristan did the same.

Orlando stepped behind the door just as it opened. The man who came in was indeed one of Sean Lebuin's brigands. Tristan had seen him at the castle with Emma, Clare's nursemaid, a tall, well-favored young man with a pleasant, gentle manner at odds with his occupation. He was moving cautiously, sword drawn, as if he had noticed the hidden shelter had been opened recently. "Who is there?" he demanded of the dark.

"A traveler," Orlando answered, stepping into the light.

The young man's manner changed at once. "Well met, little master," he said, dropping his sword point. "What brings you here?" "I travel with my lord, the duke of Lyan," Orlando said. "We come in search of Tristan, Lord DuMaine."

At this, the brigand tensed again, but it was too late. Simon lunged out of the shadows like the wolf he had been the first time Tristan saw him, grabbing the man by the shoulders as Orlando slammed the door behind him. The brigand dropped his sword at once, but his manner was defiant. "DuMaine is dead," he answered, meeting Simon's gaze.

"Not quite." As Orlando lit the candle, Tristan stepped into the light.

"Holy Christ..." The brigand crossed himself, his face turning white as milk. "I thought she surely must be mad, that somehow she had convinced Sean, but...we searched the ditch for you for hours..." Simon loosened his grip, and he fell to his knees. "Christ save us."

"He may yet," Simon said, obviously trying not to smile. Personally, Tristan thought his vampire brother had a rather perverse sense of humor. "What is your name, sirrah?"

"Michael," the brigand answered him, but his eyes never left Tristan's face. "What do you want?"

Tristan considered the question. He could kill this man, add one more death to his tally of revenge, but that seemed hardly worth the effort. "Information," he answered. "You are Sean's man, are you not?" Michael said nothing, but the sudden defiance in his eyes was answer enough. "I want to know exactly what your captain is planning, down to the final detail."

"Never," Michael said. "I cannot."

"Never is a very long time, Michael," Simon said, smiling in earnest. "And you can do whatever you must." His voice had changed, Tristan realized, had deepened to the hypnotic growl he had heard from his own throat the night he had seduced Siobhan. "Why have you come here?"

"The treasure," the brigand answered, his eyes wide in the trance. "The treasure in the tunnels." He pointed toward a pile of broken chests and dirty rags in a corner of the shelter. "The king's man is coming, and Lord Tristan is a monster. He fears he may have to flee with Siobhan." He frowned. "But she will not go. Surely he knows that."

"What treasure?" Simon pressed, sobering at once, and Orlando had tensed as well. "What tunnels?"

"The treasure we have stolen," Michael answered. "We hid it in the tunnels we found when we dug the shelter. Siobhan does not know." He frowned again as if this disturbed him. "Sean did not want her to see them. He said their mother poisoned her with superst.i.tion, made her believe the old tales."

"Show me," Simon ordered. "Show me the way to the tunnels."

The brigand's gaze strayed again to Tristan, his expression turning sad. "Siobhan wept for you, DuMaine," he said. "From that very first day when she thought you were dead. I heard her myself, standing outside the door to your chamber. She lay in your bed and sobbed like I had never heard her do before-it broke my heart to hear her."

"The tunnels," Orlando said urgently.

"Let him speak," Tristan ordered, not giving a d.a.m.n for any tunnels.

"She weeps for you now, this very day," Michael went on.

"Then why did she try to kill me?" Tristan demanded.

"Why did you try to kill her?" the brigand countered. "She thinks you will destroy us all, that you are some sort of demon. She read something in a book."

"Of course," Orlando muttered. "You said the king's man is coming," Tristan said, his mind racing, breaking through the torpor that oppressed him. The sun must be starting to set. "When?"

"Even now," Michael answered. "I must make haste. I must retrieve the treasure, make ready an escape." He looked back toward the pile of trash. "Sean thinks the tunnels may lead all the way to the castle, but it is a labyrinth."

"Move that rubbish," Orlando ordered, but Simon was already moving. He shoved the broken chests out of the way to reveal a trapdoor in the floor. "Have you not seen this?" the wizard demanded of Tristan.

"I didn't look." He took a step toward Michael. "Does Sean mean to leave before the king's man arrives?"

"No," the brigand answered. "He still has faith in Callard, at least as much as ever he did. But if Callard fails, he wants to be ready. All he cares about is saving Siobhan."

"Or so you believe," Tristan said bitterly.

"Nay, my lord," Michael said. "I swear it is true. Siobhan is the one who wanted the Normans driven out. Sean did it all for her."

Simon opened the trapdoor and peered inside. "There are tunnels," he said, dropping through the hole to stand shoulder-deep in the floor. "Hand me a light."

"And why would Sean do that?" Tristan asked Michael. If he was using his vampire's powers of persuasion, he didn't mean to do it, but the young man answered even so.

"She is his sister, his kin," he explained. "He loves her more than all the world. He wanted revenge for his father and mother, but he had it when the old baron died and he cut out his heart. The rest was all for the men who had joined him, outlaws who hated the Normans, and for Siobhan."

Simon emerged from the hole. "It's just like the catacombs at Charmot," he told Orlando. "There are even paintings on the walls.

There were druids here."

"Druids, yes," Michael agreed. "Sean said his mother's line was descended from druids."

"The mother's line," Orlando repeated, meeting Simon's shocked gaze with his own.

"Another doorway," Simon said.

"Perhaps," Orlando agreed.

"You say these tunnels lead all the way to the castle," Tristan said impatiently, hardly caring what they meant. He still had little interest in his vampire brother's quest, but he needed his help for his own. Perhaps these tunnels would buy it.

"That was what Sean guessed," Michael answered. "But we never had time to find out."

"Tell me all you know of the king's man and this Callard." He looked at Simon. "With his grace the duke's a.s.sistance, I think it is time I went home."

CHAPTER 13

Siobhan stood at the top of the tower and watched the line of riders and soldiers drawing ever nearer on the forest road. They had always known Tristan's royal cousin would send a proper delegation to inquire after him. But no one could possibly have expected anything like the army she saw now. There were at least three score men on horseback, and twice as many on foot.

"Christ on the cross," Sean muttered beside her. "Why should Henry send so many?" "Perhaps he did not," she answered. "Perhaps some of them belong to your friend Callard."

"I'm sure they do," he said, but he didn't sound sure in the least. In truth, her brother had become steadily more nervous as the day had worn on. Now, as the day was failing into dark and the party they had dreaded was so close, if someone had clapped their hands behind him, he might well have jumped over the battlements.

"Captain!" a man shouted, coming through the arch. "The scouts have returned."

"Michael?" Sean asked, turning to him. "Is he among them?"

"No, Captain," the man said, glancing at Siobhan. Michael's disappearance was one reason Sean was so agitated. He had gone to scout the road some hours before, or so Sean had told her. Something in his face had made her think perhaps he lied. But that was madness. Sean would not lie to her, not now.

"What news?" she asked the man aloud.

"Ill, my lady," he admitted. "One of the men fell in among the foot soldiers for a mile or so, and we know now why there are so many Normans coming. They all belong to DuMaine."

Sean swore an oath under his breath, and she was inclined to do the same. "Are you certain?" she said instead.

"Aye, my lady," he answered. "Most of the knights ride under DuMaine's banner-the troops who rode to the king's war in France." He looked as greensick as she felt; Sean turned his back completely, shaking his head. "His wh.o.r.eson Majesty has sent them home."

"That's it, then," Sean said, his tone dull as death. "We are finished."

"No." She caught his arm, making him face her. "Why should we be? What has changed?"

"DuMaine's knights know us, or have you forgotten?" he said with a bitter laugh. "They will know we took the castle by violence, that he would never have married you willingly."

"How will they know?" she demanded. "They have been away-perhaps he captured me. Perhaps I..." Her voice trailed off for a moment, but she made herself go on. "Perhaps he fell in love with me."

"So much so that he let me live?" Sean said. "Nay, love. You are a beauty, but no woman could do that."

"You don't know that," she insisted, though in her broken heart, she already knew he was right; 'twas the very root of her despair. "And even if you have the right of it, what else can we do? Our course is set; we can't flee now."

"We could make a defense," he said. "The castle is finished; it could withstand a siege."

"For how long?" she said, already shaking her head. "You said it yourself, the stores of food are nearly empty. And even if they were not, even if we were well supplied, how could we withstand a royal attack?" All day long, she had found herself remembering her villain's mockery of a wedding. Now she thought of it again, of Tristan's curse. I will kill you, darling, he had promised. You'd best come along and do it, sweeting, she thought in answer now, suppressing a lunatic's laugh. Or the hangman may deprive you of your chance. "You should leave," she said aloud. "Now, before they arrive-slip out through the south gate with what men you think might be recognized-"

"Are you mad?" he interrupted, aghast. "I will not leave you here to face the Normans alone."

"Even to save us both?" She took his hands, forcing herself not to tremble, to be strong enough for herself and Sean and all their father's people. "With you gone, I can tell them I married DuMaine with some chance of making them believe it. Silas has promised to bear witness to my tale, whatever it may be, and he is well known and much favored at the royal court. Tristan's knights know him as well."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I will not hear this-"

"You must hear it." She had no more time to argue, even to spare his feelings. Night was coming on, and Tristan's friends were returned. Heaven only knew what would come before the dawn. "Your plans have all but failed, Sean, but if you trust me, I can still make them come right. Silas will help me better than you could, and you know it. And if your friend the baron is true, he will help me as well. And even if he is not..." She broke off, the look of agony haunting her brother's eyes making her stop before she made him feel worse by slandering his great ally. "I am just a woman, Sean," she went on with a smile. "Those knights know you for their enemy, but they will see me as nothing but a prize. It will never occur to them that I could have plotted treachery against their lord-at worst, they will think I was your p.a.w.n. If I pretend to be the foolish twit they will see in me, I can make them feel pity, not anger."

"You could never play such a part, Siobhan," he protested. "It is not in you."

"I can do anything I like." She could feel him weakening, and the sensible part of her was glad. But the deepest, buried center of her heart ached to think he could leave her, even when she herself demanded that he do it. Tristan would not leave me, she thought, though she tried not to think it. Not if he loved me. He let himself be d.a.m.ned to stay with Clare. But her brother was not Tristan. "You taught me that, remember?" She took his face between her hands, feeling much too old to be his little sister. "I will make them believe that I am what they see," she finished. "Am I not a pretty thing, in faith?"