He leveled a stern eye on her. "If you sample it, you will tell her it is ambrosia, or she will fret and burn my dinner for the next two weeks."

Nick cleared her throat, mostly to stop a rising chuckle. "I'm allergic to fish."

"I wish that I were." He flipped over the receipt and began adding in figures from another.

Nick went back to the kitchen, where she found Adelie Laguerre at the st.u.r.dy old wooden table, up to her elbows in chopped vegetables and mushrooms. Table grapes, two fresh, braided natte aux pivots loaves, and a small bunch of garlic bulbs sat waiting their turn in the double-sided willow basket she took when she went to the village market.

French kitchens were a lot like Brit kitchens, Nick had noticed. Well, the French always had a bottle of wine standing around to be added to whatever was simmering in the pot for dinner, and they were a bit obsessive-compulsive about having fresh bread every day of the week. But the British were just as much a pain with their pots of tea and after-dinner puddings.

The dark-haired woman smiled as Nick came in, but like her husband did not stop working. "I just made up your room, mademoiselle. You are very tidy for an American."

Accustomed to the French way of delivering backhanded compliments, Nick grinned. "I travel light. Madame, the petrol station owner told me that you've lived in St. Valereye all your life. Is he right?"

"He is." With a flick of her chopping knife the innkeeper's wife decapitated a stalk of broccoli and began expertly reducing it to a pile of small florets. "My grandparents came here from Perigueux with my father when he was a boy, to escape the war. I wanted to go to Paris when I was young, but Papa would not allow it. So I married Jean, which was almost as good-he is from Ma.r.s.eilles," she added. "Why do you ask?"

"I was wondering if you knew anything about that old chateau up on the hillside?" Nick gestured in the general direction.

Adelie put down the knife in her hand and turned to stare at her. "I know of it. You have gone there today, mademoiselle?"

"I was riding around and saw it from the road," Nick lied. "I tried to take a walk around the place, but an old man chased me off."

"The crazy Basque." Adelie made a sound of contempt that only women born in France could produce and went back to chopping. "He does this to everyone, not just visitors. Jean and I tried to speak to him about it after Ma.s.s one Sunday. Some of the Germans like to hike and have picnics, and there is a pretty stream there. He told us to keep our guests away or he would have them arrested-and he is supposed to be a priest."

So he used the same threat even with the locals. Interesting. "Does he give services at the church?""He only comes to Ma.s.s. But I heard the men who came here with him call him Father Claudio."

He might be a retired priest, or he might be something else. "Does he own the property?"

"Him? Oh, no." She shook her head as she began heaping the vegetables into a wire potee basket already stocked with lamb and onions. "The chateau belongs to the church."

Nick glanced through the kitchen windows at the charming little sanctuary where most of the villagers attended Ma.s.s.

Adelie followed the direction of her gaze. "Not our church, mademoiselle. The Holy Father's church in Rome. They own many such properties in France. Some believe the ghost who haunts it may have been a priest, murdered during the revolution."

Nick straightened. "There's a ghost haunting it?"

"So they say." The older woman wiped her hands on her ap.r.o.n. "Every old house has a ghost or two, non?"

Nick moved closer. "Tell me more about this ghost."

Adelie sighed. "I first heard of it after the crazy Basque came to town to complain about my brother's son, Misha. Misha and his friends are boys who like to play harmless tricks, you know? They had been going out to the chateau and trying to scare the old man."

"Making noises like a ghost," Nick guessed.

The innkeeper's wife nodded. "My brother scolded Misha, and told him to stay away, but my nephew would not listen. He and two of his school friends went out to le chateau one night to, how do you say, get even with the crazy one?"

"What happened?"

Adelie looked uneasy. "Misha went into the chapel to hide, but never came out. His friends looked through the windows but did not see him. They ran all the way back to the village to tell my brother. He drove out there to look for Misha, and found my nephew walking on the road. Misha would not say anything for hours, until we tried to take him to the hospital. Then he wept in terror, and told us that the ghost had tried to steal his soul."

"It's not a place for kids even during the day," Nick said. "I can only imagine how scary it looks at night."

"It was not that, mademoiselle. I know the tricks a young imagination can play. When I was a girl, I became convinced that a troll lived under my bed," the older woman said. "I heard it breathing and moving under there. After many nights I worked up the courage to look, and something reached out and scratched me. I screamed the house down until Papa came and moved my bed to show me there was nothing beneath it but my cat, Lupi."

"Your nephew probably encountered something similar," Nick told her.

"No, mademoiselle. He saw nothing. He only heard the ghost rattling his chains, and calling his name-calling him Michel-and a terrible hammering sound." Her eyes went to her hands. "I would not have believed him myself, but he was paralyzed by fear. I cannot believe it was all a lie."

Nick recalled the grimy condition of the chapel's interior. "He might have imagined that, too."

"We can only hope." She picked up the potee basket, lowering it into the pottery dish and pouring a generous measure of wine over it before covering it with a lid for cooking. "I will tell you this. After what happened to Misha, there is not a man in this village who will go near the chateau. Not even my Jean."

Nick had heard a hundred stories of hauntings and ghosts, and knew most had occurred only in the mind of the storyteller. Had the details been slightly different, she would have believed that Misha had done the same. A boy in trouble might say anything to appease an angry parent.

There was only one problem, and it was not the name-calling or the chain dragging. Anyone who had read d.i.c.kens enough times would attribute the same sounds to any unhappy spirit.

The hammering sound didn't fit.

No one was making any repairs to the old chapel, the old man had said, and no one would work in there at night. She had not seen any tools, nor any indication anything was being used to fix the old place.

So who had been hammering up there, and why?

Chapter 5.

"Dr. Keller, I would speak with you."

eliane Selvais, Richard Tremayne's tresora, came into the room where the guards had locked Alex. The tall, slim blonde in the pastel blue suit usually radiated a composed, wintry persona, but one glance told Alex that eliane's calm had more cracks in it than the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

"These ridiculous attempts of yours to escape the castle are causing a great deal of-" eliane stopped speaking as soon as she saw the window Alex was working on. "Mon Dieu. What are you doing?"

"Escaping the castle." Alex worked another piece of the window frame loose and tore it off, tossing it over her shoulder. Prying up the wooden frame had been easy; she hadn't yet figured out how to knock out the iron bars. "You don't happen to have a hammer and chisel on you that I can borrow, do you?"

The Frenchwoman quickly closed the door and locked it. "You go too far, Doctor. The high lord is already seriously displeased with you."

"I haven't gone far enough, and f.u.c.k the high lord." Peering through the bars over the window, Alex tried to estimate the drop.

For a human it would be a lethal one, but she might manage it without breaking her legs. Or maybe she'd throw eliane out first, use her as a drop cushion. "Are we four stories up here, or five?"

"Alexandra, please."

Now there were two words Alex had never thought she'd hear out of eliane's perfect, disapproving lips.

She let go of the edge of the sill. "I'm sorry; refresh my memory here. Exactly when did you and I become old pals?"

"I know we are not friends." The other woman sighed. "But we can be civil to each other."

"Not without drugs, which no longer work on me," Alex told her. "So, go back to kissing Richard's a.s.s or whatever it is you do for him, tresora, and leave me alone."

The skin around the base of eliane's nose whitened. "I am the only friend you have here."

"Then I'm in serious trouble." Alex plucked a splinter of wood out from under her fingernail. "How do you think my chances are with that big guard with the neck tat?"

The Frenchwoman's lips thinned. "Stop joking."

"Who's joking? We're not friends." Alex knew needling eliane wouldn't help get her out of Dundellan, but she couldn't seem to help herself. "Or have you conveniently forgotten that you once tried to feed me to Cyprien?"

"Once," the tresora admitted. "I also saved your life when the Brethren tried to take you in New Orleans."

True enough, although the Frenchwoman's motives had hardly been driven-snow pure. "Okay. So we're friends. Now be a pal, run back to your lord and master, and tell him that this song and dance didn't work, either."

"He does not know that I am here." She looked around the room before continuing in a lower voice. "I came to say that I will do whatever I can to reunite you with Cyprien, if you will help my lord."

Alex made a rude sound.

"Richard truly is losing the battle with his body, Alexandra." eliane bent and began picking up the pieces of broken frame from the floor. "Each day his mind slips further into the madness. Each night I fear he will lose control again. The last time he did, he destroyed the medical lab and slaughtered twenty men. They were good men, devoted and loyal to him."

The only questionable behavior Alex had observed in the high lord was a bit of irritability, but she'd caused that herself.

"Richard's homicidal rages are not my problem," she pointed out. "I didn't ask to be kidnapped. I don't have a cure. I don't think I'm going to develop one, or Stockholm syndrome, either. Why isn't anyone getting this?"

"You have made the disgust you feel for my lord all too plain." eliane brought the broken frame pieces to the window and opened it, tossing them out through the iron bars. "If you hope to shame him, you should know that your tantrums do not move him in the slightest. Very little will now, I believe."

"You don't want me here. I'm not going to do anything to help him. So why not give me a hand and get me out?" Alex asked.

"Richard will never know. I won't tell Michael it was you." She raised three fingers. "Girl Scout's honor."

"I am not a Girl Scout." Smooth blond hair caught the light as eliane straightened her shoulders. "But you can help Richard. You restored Michael's face. You have the knowledge. It would be nothing for you."

"You've been watching too many reruns of ER," When the other woman frowned, she added, "Richard is mutating into something I've never even considered possible, much less treated in a human or Kyn. I can't intubate him, seduce an intern, and save the day before the closing credits roll. I'm a reconstructive surgeon, not George Clooney."

"You have not even examined him."

The snotty b.i.t.c.h was right, of course. Richard's thugs had dragged her down to the laboratory in the dungeon several times, but Alex had refused to touch so much as a petri dish. When Richard himself had used his voice to compel her to work, she had been able to resist him just enough to fumble and drop things until he had ordered the guards to take her out of the lab. She hoped that resistance would get stronger, because if she didn't get out of here soon...

"I can't do this right now. Go away." She began pacing.

"You are the only doctor who understands the Kyn," the other woman argued. "You must do this. It is your calling."

"Humans were my work, not vampires." Alex kicked a piece of wood out of her way. "I rebuild wrecked bodies, not mutated DNA. Yeah, I was able to operate on Michael and fix physical damage. But this isn't a bad injury, Blondie. I don't have the knowledge or the training necessary. Richard needs to be evaluated by-minimum-a microbiologist, a geneticist, and an epidemiologist." She cleared her throat. "Bottom line: Even if I wanted to, I couldn't help him."

"What is wrong?"

"Nothing." Alex's annoyance changed into bands of heat inching up her arms and a cold, clenching hunger tightening under her sternum. The roof of her mouth burned, which meant her dents acerees wanted to pop out and go to work. So far she'd been able to control her temper and suppress the disgusting desire to bite someone, but the urges were growing stronger-especially when she was around humans. "You need to leave now, before I lose my temper."

"Ah," the Frenchwoman said, drawing out the single syllable. "You are feeling the separation."

"Just get out." She put some distance between her and the blonde.

"I have seen it happen to others kept apart from their lords. The longer the separation, the worse it will become." The Frenchwoman made a sideways gesture with one hand. "He endures the same need."

That reminded Alex of how she and Michael had gone at it in Florida. Skimping on s.e.x had turned the two of them into minks; what would this do? "We won't be apart much longer."

"I have no doubt that Michael will come to Ireland, but my lord will not permit him near Dundellan." eliane nodded toward the outer bailey, where the guards had their quarters. "You have seen the size of the garrison. They are all Kyn, Doctor, and completely loyal. They will die before they allow Cyprien to enter the castle or touch Richard."

Alex didn't want to believe her, but she had seen how Richard's men behaved. He was their king, and men of their time died happily for the crown. She had to vacate the premises before that happened, but she wasn't going to be able to do it on her own.

Michael was taking too long, or maybe he couldn't get to her. Whatever the case, Alex needed the Frenchwoman's help as much as she needed hers.

She had to get out of here.

"Let's make a deal," Alex said. "I'll take a look at Richard's blood sample and tell you what I think can be done. In return, you get me out of here." When the other woman would have spoken, she held up her hand. "Take it or leave it."

"You cannot tell from studying his blood alone," eliane argued. "You must give him a physical examination. If you do so, he is more likely to believe that you have had a change of heart."

The thought of seeing Richard's mutated body made Alex's stomach roll, but if it would convince him that she was playing nice...

"All right. I need to set up some things in the new lab first. Can you get Atlas and Igor to let me out of here?"

eliane nodded. "Give me an hour." When the door to the room opened, she didn't flinch, but turned smoothly to face the Kyn who entered. "Captain Korvel, Dr. Keller has agreed to cooperate."

The captain of the castle guard, whose bicep bulges were larger than Alex's head, regarded the tresora with an impa.s.sive expression. "I shall not release her until the master bids me do so."

"I will go and relate this change of heart to him." eliane gave Alex a pointed look before she inclined her head. "Dr. Keller."

Korvel did not leave with the Frenchwoman, and when they were alone he eyed the damage Alex had done to the window frame. "Is this a sample of your newfound cooperation?"

"I got bored." She didn't like the captain or the way he talked over her head, as if she were too small and insignificant for him to bother looking down. He probably thought the ring of thorns around his neck made him look like a tough guy instead of one with poor taste in tattoo artists. The only good thing about him was that, unlike every other Kyn in the castle, he didn't smother her with the scent of l'attrait. "I do need to go down to the lab and prepare to do a physical on Tremayne.""When the high lord issues the order, I shall escort you," Korvel said. "Until then, you will stay here."

More waiting games. "So what do you want? Richard send you to slap me around?"

"I came only to check on you." His eyes shifted. "Who is Atlas?"

"The statue of the guy with the world on his shoulders. Aside from the lousy neck tattoo, you're a dead ringer for him." Alex almost laughed when he did a double take. "Don't you guys ever go to a museum or read a book around here?"

Korvel shook his head.

"Your loss. Your double looks really cute in a loincloth." One day the Kyn were going to develop a sense of humor, Alex thought. Probably around the same time that h.e.l.l hosted the Winter Olympics. Something occurred to her. "Your immune system should have erased that tattoo of yours. What kind of ink did they use?"

"None." The seneschal touched his neck. "After my lord and I rose from our graves, we were pursued by the sheriff. I was captured and hung from a gallows with copper-spiked rope. I have had the mark ever since."

"You and Richard died together?" Alex walked up to him and pushed his hand aside to have a better look. "How?"