So that had been the choice.

He shook his head and gave a small laugh. No wonder Sabra had said nothing of what was to happen. How could she? In matters of life and death Richard had to follow his own conscience-and know he would have to live with the results of his actions, for good or ill, always.

"You will never see me again, old man," he said.

Not a murmur from Montague. "It will be best for all concerned."

Richard turned to leave. This time he made it to the entry door before pausing. There was one last matter requiring his attention.

With preternatural speed he darted toward the arras. He could hear a swift heartbeat now and scent the terror there. Thrusting an arm behind the heavy tapestry he hauled Dear Brother blinking into the light. He squawked as Richard hoisted him off his feet and slammed him against the wall, holding him there with one arm under his chin.

Sweating profusely, Ambert began to whimper. There was a new smell in the heavy air of the room. What was it? Ah, yes, Ambert had wet himself.

Richard leaned close and purred a sympathetic noise. "What ails thee, Dear Brother?"

When Ambert made no reply, Richard glanced once over his shoulder at Montague, then back again. "Disappointed I didn't kill him for you?"

Ambert's face told all, confirming what Richard already knew.

"Oh, but you are indeed your father's son."

Richard stepped away, but instead of merely releasing Ambert, he thrust him hard across the room to land in a heap at the foot of the great chair. As this new truth dawned for him, their father's malevolent glare suddenly returned, now directed down at his utterly appalled firstborn.

What comes next is not something I want to see, thought Richard, turning away. It was not likely to be agreeable.

With a short, mirthless laugh, Richard left them to it.

The moonlight was bright outside the castle, bright enough to cast a clear shadow before him as Richard walked.

Innumerable stars speckled the heavens, and his breath clouded in the cold spring air. As he neared the campsite at the foot of the castle's west wall, he observed that Sabra's pavilion and the other tents were gone, struck and loaded onto heavy wagons by her people. He approved of the haste; there was no reason to linger. Soon he would join them on their trek to the coast and thence to Britain, to assume a new name and start his new life.

Richard paused for a moment to breathe deep of the night air and take in the beauty of the setting. The moon was still high, its light dusting the stone towers with silver. Except for the usual sounds of night everything was silent about him, as though the land itself slept. Not all those who walked it rested, though. In the dark shadow of the castle he saw Sabra astride her horse, holding the reins of another, waiting for him. Without his new powers he would never have been able to find her.

Were that true, then she would have found me.

Yet he did not go to her, but stood awhile beneath the trees.

She'd been right about saying good-bye. Any parting, whether for an hour or a lifetime, made a change within, and few were aware of the fact. He was glad he'd gone, but at what price?

As he stood hugging the shadows of what had been his only home, the cold hand of staved-off sorrow clawed its way up his body and gripped his throat, shaking him.

It shook him with sudden sharp memories of the childhood he'd survived and gave him a clear knowledge of what his childhood might have been like had his mother lived-and the unbridgeable gulf between the two.

It shook him with the realization of what he had done to his father and what he had wanted to do.

How very, very close...

And though he'd not given in to the temptation, he still felt pain. All the lost and lonely years piled upon his shoulders. His knees buckled, and he slumped to the damp earth, head bowed low. How he wanted the pain to stop.

"My love?" Sabra now stood beside him. He'd not heard her approach. "Richard?"

I don't want her to see this.

Then he felt her hand caressing the side of his face; her gentle touch of compassion and kindness shattered his reserve as nothing else could, and he began to weep. Not an easy thing, his first sobs hurt like that dagger. He'd not allowed himself such utterance since childhood. Sabra held him, saying nothing. The worst of it eventually passed, and he regained a measure of composure, but the pain still gripped him.

He glanced up at Sabra. She voiced no question, but the desire for an explanation was in her expression.

"I have killed my father," he finally whispered.

She was silent for a few moments, carefully taking in the red stains and tears on his clothing. "How can this be?

You fought, but I know he still lives."

"You know well. I-I... did things." Richard wiped his face roughly with the back of his sleeve. From his lips it came away with traces of the blood he'd taken. "The duke lives, yet my father is dead. In my heart I have killed him."

She shivered once, as though feeling his anguish.

"The man I bade farewell to is no longer my father; he is dead. For that loss I must grieve."

Sabra lifted his chin with her fingertips to make him look at her. Her face shone in the moonlight. Her eyes were full of love. "You had to go to him, my Richard, it had to be done."

"Perhaps so."

"I have the Sight, and it showed me what was needed before you could leave. You may not know it, but tonight was a great triumph, for you have freed yourself from a lifelong yoke, and you have done it, not your new powers, not I. This was your greatest victory." She pressed her palm against his chest, over his beating heart, then kissed his forehead.

She was right. He was free. The word rang through his very being like a great bell. Yet with the exultation a deep sadness lay heavy on him.

"It will pass, my love," she said, responding to the words of his soul. "It will pass."

He stood, and for a long time Richard held her tight within his arms, soaking in her warmth and strength, taking it for his own. Another kiss, this time returning it to her own forehead. Holding her hand, he led the way back to the wall where the horses were ground-tethered. Lying at their feet were two great hounds.

"Who are they?" she asked in wonder. "They have no fear of us."

"Old friends of mine," he said, suddenly pleased. "The white one is Merlin and the brindle is Prince. They must have followed me. Good lads, come here and meet your new mistress."

The dogs bounded over, sniffing cautiously. Sabra won them to her in a matter of seconds. "Amusing it is that one of them is named Merlin," she said.

"Why is that?"

"I'll tell you as we ride."

He boosted her up on her horse, mounted his own, and with the dogs trailing along, they set off down the castle's wide hill toward the west and their future. They carefully forded a shallow place in the lake, following the road as it climbed the steep slope of another hill on the other side. The chill breeze ruffled Richard's hair as they reached its crest, and he stopped. He knew this spot well. It was his favorite view of the castle, and he'd seen it in every manner in every season over the years. With torchlights peeping out through the narrow windows, the cold stones would be perfectly reflected in the calm water along with the farmlands and outbuildings around it.

Though she was already well ahead of him he heard Sabra's voice floating back in the still air. "One thing more, my Richard, and I tell you this so that you may one day cast your sadness away and be happy. You will never have the childhood you wanted, you can only have the childhood you had."

Her simple words echoed many times through his mind, and regrettably he knew that they were true.

Nothing would change what had been.

But... he could make sure that it did not ruin what was to be.

He spurred his mount to catch her.

And he did not look back.

Chapter Two

Toronto, Canada, the Present

The warm fingers of sleep held him tight and did their best not to let him go, but in the end they slipped away, and his eyes fluttered open in the quiet darkness of his room. For a second or two, he didn't know quite where he was, for his last dream had been comfortable, serene, and not of this place or time. He blinked sluggishly and wondered what exactly it was that had stirred him from slumber. A drowsy glance at the glowing green numerals of his clock radio told him that it was not the alarm. What then? He was normally a deep sleeper, even at night, and this unknown interruption irked him. Damn it, but he'd put head to pillow not more than twenty minutes ago. Then, distant in the house, he heard it again.

As he fought to full wakefulness, Richard Dun reached for the bedside lamp and flicked it on, wincing against its soft golden luminescence. The dim light demolished the gloom of his bedroom and seeped through the half-open door into the hallway beyond. The noise that had disturbed him came from out there somewhere. He couldn't quite place it and knew that he should be able to, that for some reason it was important.

It was not the sound of an intruder who had somehow gotten past the house security. Even without clamor Richard would have sensed such a person long before he heard him. This disturbance was mechanical and muted, as if coming from far away. Definitely not a fire or burglar alarm, but something very similar and just as urgent. Then with a cold swoop of dismay he realized exactly what it was, and was suddenly quite wide awake and moving.

The sound repeated as though in reproach for his tardiness. He arose quickly, pulling a long blue bathrobe over his naked body, tying the belt loose around his waist as he hurried from his bedroom, padding silently along the hall.

Down the stairs he rushed toward his office and his computer. It was from there the sound originated.

He didn't bother with lights this time for he could see well enough without and was now fully alert. The pale glow of the computer screen spilled out like a beacon to guide him, pulsing gently in the gloom. That was another disturbing thing. It shouldn't have been pulsing; it should have been on the screen saver. The sound grew in intensity as he approached and, rounding the corner of the doorway, hit him with its full force. It wasn't really loud, simply insistent and impossible to ignore, like the cry of a baby. Then he saw the screen, and it confirmed what he already knew. His stomach turned to ice.

The screen was blank save for one thing, a letter, flashing on and off, the letter S.

Richard dropped heavily into the leather office chair and cut the sound. It was Stephanie, an emergency e-mail. This was the private alarm system he'd set up just for her, her cry for help to use when everything else failed. In all the years since he'd arranged the program, she'd never had cause to employ it. In fact, she had laughed when he'd explained it to her, chiding him for being such a worrier, then gently listened and promised that if she was ever in trouble she would use it. She'd understood the deep caring behind his worry.

"But I'll never need it," she said lightly, so full of sweet innocence that she honestly believed herself.

He knew too much of life and she not enough, but he did not gainsay her, not on this of all days. Not for the world would he hurt her more than he'd done already.

And she kissed him chastely on the cheek, and they went back inside to her wedding reception, she to her new husband, he to his own gut-wrenching sadness. Yet another that he had loved and lost, that he'd had to give up because of his nature and fate. Immortality did indeed have its harsh price.

Richard closed his eyes and sank his head into his hands from the photographically clear recollection. He thought that he'd forgotten the pain of her loss, that he'd grown beyond wanting her so much and that his heart was all healed. Wrong.

But this was no time for self-pity or sad reflection. Stephanie using this method of contact meant that something was awfully, terribly amiss. She had all his phone numbers, and could get in touch with him at any time no matter where he might be on the globe. Why had she not simply called? She would have-unless she feared a line tap at her end. That was entirely possible.

Richard punched in the access code to tell the computer to begin the complex retrieval of the message. He chafed at the brief wait; then it was on the screen, a scattering of random-seeming numbers and symbols. He hit one last command key, and the mess instantly deciphered itself into readable words.

Richard, something is wrong. It's lots of little things-gates left open, mail coming late, and there's been a lot of static and clicks on the phone. Luis says to ignore them but I think it's Alejandro. I don't know what to do. I'm afraid. Can you help us? S.

He read it twice, his mouth going dry. For Stephanie, always cool-headed and so self-possessed, this was close to gibbering panic. Stephanie, Luis, Alejandro, how those names brought the memories crowding back upon him. Such memories. He rubbed his eyes reflexively and entered a simple response to the plea.

Of course. On my way ASAP. Hold on. R.

How in hell had Alejandro found them? Richard had set their new lives up using every trick he'd ever learned and a few he'd invented himself. A vast expense, but worth it where Stephanie and the children were concerned.

Richard checked the miniature clock face at the bottom corner of the screen. It read six minutes short of four A.M., confirming the temporary futility of his reply. Nothing was flying at this hour, nor would be for several more. By the time he woke people up and arranged for a charter, the commercial flights would be running. Would Stephanie know that? She must, but it was nearly three in her area, and he knew how worry and lack of rest could erode common sense and feed one's fears in the darkest hours of night. He could picture her hovering by the glow of her own computer screen, biting her lip, waiting for his answer to come.

She'd have it now. His turn to wait for her to respond.

Two minutes crawled by. He gave in to impatience and hammered out another message.

Tell me more, he sent.

Another minute. Then: Take too long. I don't want Luis to know I've asked for your help.

Well, that explained her desire for secrecy. Her husband Luis, despite all civilized protests to the contrary, must still possess a lingering apprehension about Richard. Understandable. It would take a most remarkable man indeed not to be jealous of his wife's one-time lover. After the marriage Richard had certainly never given Luis cause to doubt Stephanie's faithfulness, nor had she. She took monogamy very seriously indeed, but some men were born insecure.

Stephanie was aware of it and reluctant to stir things up, especially now if Alejandro was back.

Get to a public phone and call me. Richard demanded, craving more details.

I don't dare leave the house. Don't call here, either. Think the lines are tapped. Just hurry.

Will be on the first flight in if I have to bump the pilot himself. I'll be there in the morning. Noon latest.

Nonono. Come to house at NIGHT!

Hurry, but wait???

Make it look like one of your visits. I'm sure we're being watched. Safer for all.

Tell me more, he repeated.

The reply was quick in coming. She sent only one frustrating line: Tomrow nite Luis awake havve too go He frowned at the haste the misspelled words implied. Why was she afraid of keeping this cry for help secret from her own spouse? Was it to protect herself from his reproach or spare Luis's ego? Probably a combination of the two. It was an old, old dance.

Richard had seen a thousand and more variations of such tensions between couples in as many years, taking all forms, ranging from mild annoyance to violent murder, inspired by insecurity or obsession or both, resulting in infinite degrees of soul-destruction. It was love's dark side, having transmuted from initial delight with one's partner into a form of mutual slavery, something Sabra had wisely banished between herself and Richard from their very first night together. She'd apparently been less successful with Luis. Why in God's name did people let themselves get caught in so intimate a trap? And choose to stay? Fear of loneliness, perhaps, but there were worse fates than being alone. Most of the time, he guessed, they didn't know any other way to live, couldn't even imagine it.

But Stephanie had always been so strong within herself and independent. That was one of the many things he'd loved about her. However motivated she might be to spare Luis's feelings, for her to be snared the same as so many others angered and saddened Richard. How could she let herself change? How could Luis do that to anyone he professed to love?

Richard made himself break off his speculation. What's done was done. Much as chivalry and preference inspired him to take Stephanie's part, he did not know all the facts. He was, in the end, an outsider to their marriage and would ever be so. Basing such imputations toward her husband on a single line of words only revealed to Richard how deep his own feelings still ran for her.

Stephanie was long married to another and gone. He could be a good friend to her now, but nothing more. Sabra's words often came back to him over the years, her tender warning against becoming too attached to another's swift- passing life.

But dammit, time and again, he just couldn't help himself.

Stephanie... Luis... Alejandro.