“Yes…” His demonic power to entrance was still intact; she could not disobey him. She backed away, unable to defy him even in her terror. “My lord…” Still bleeding, her heartbeat still like thunder, she turned and fled the cave, scrambling into the light.
Simon fell back against the wall, great sobs of pain and anguish wracking through him, howls of grief that echoed through this cave that was his torture and would be his tomb. Soon it would be over; soon he would be free. Isabel was lost. But he didn’t know what else to do.
Malachi had returned to the castle alone with a scrape on his leg but otherwise unharmed, and they followed the clear trail he had left through the forest—it looked as if he had galloped straight through the brush all the way. “What scared you, sweeting?” Isabel murmured, bending close over his neck to avoid a low-hanging branch. “Was it Simon?”
“Listen,” Orlando said, stopping beside her. “Did you hear that?”
“I think so.” She thought she had heard a terrible sound like the howl of some wounded animal, but it had come and gone so quickly, she could have thought she had imagined it if Orlando hadn’t heard it, too.
“This way,” Orlando said grimly, taking the lead.
A mile or so deeper into the forest, they heard another strange sound, softer but continuing this time. “Lisette!” Isabel cried, leaping down from Malachi to run to a girl huddled by the pathway, hidden in the brush so well, Isabel had almost missed her altogether. “Poor darling, you’re hurt,” she said. “Orlando, she’s bleeding.”
The girl was hysterical, barely coherent. “Sir Simon,” she was sobbing. “He’s sick.” She seemed to be covered in blood, but the only wound Isabel could see was a deep cut on her wrist. “Something terrible…”
“Did he do this?” Isabel asked gently as she bound up the cut. Orlando came closer to hand her his cloak, and she wrapped it around the girl. “Did Sir Simon hurt you?”
“No,” Lisette insisted. “He didn’t… another man, like a demon he was… he took me from my father’s house to a cave and tied me up and left me, and then he came back with Sir Simon. Only he was hurt; Sir Simon was hurt, knocked out, like, and the other man chained him to the wall.”
“What other man, Lisette?” Isabel said, stroking the frightened child’s hair, trying to calm her. “What did he look like?”
“Michel,” she answered. “That Frenchman—I saw him when he first said he was coming to Charmot; I was hiding in the barn when he questioned my father, trying to find his way to the castle. But he didn’t sound like himself.”
“Lucan Kivar,” Orlando said, turning pale.
“Sir Simon woke up, and he and Michel talked to one another, but none of it made any sense.” She looked up at Isabel. “I was so scared, I couldn’t think, but Sir Simon told me it would be all right. But there was something wrong with him. The villain threw me on the ground, and I hit my head, and when I woke up, he was gone. Michel was gone, and my wrist was bleeding, and I felt so weak.”
“Where was Simon?” Orlando said, obviously fighting to keep an even tone.
“Still in chains,” the girl answered. “I was lying in his lap… I was just so scared. I didn’t want to leave him; I was afraid Michel would find me. But there was something wrong with Sir Simon; he… I don’t know.” Her face was pale as milk, and her eyes were wild with fear.
“Did he bite you?” Isabel said, laying a hand on her cheek.
“No,” she promised. “But… he had teeth like a wolf, and his eyes were on fire, green fire. He made me run away.” She huddled against Isabel, who held her closer, cradling her in her arms.
“You see?” Orlando said. “You see he did not harm this child—”
“Where is this cave?” Isabel said, cutting him off.
“Not far,” Lisette said, pointing. “I couldn’t run any farther.”
“It’s all right.” She smiled at the girl. “Master Orlando is going to take you back to the castle. You’re safe now.”
“I am going with you,” the wizard insisted. “You won’t know what to do.”
“I know enough.” She knew that cave, had played there often as a child. Part of the ceiling was open; it had let out the smoke when she built a fire. It would let in the sunlight. “Lisette is badly hurt; she needs looking after.” He started to protest, and she caught his arm. She still had the bottle in her pocket; she could threaten him again. But she didn’t. “You will have to trust me.”
His eyes searched her face. “Yes,” he said at last, laying a hand over hers. “I will trust you.”
13
Isabel pulled the cross from her pocket and held it out before her, the chain entangled in her fingers as she ducked into the cool dark of the cave. Groans and howls of pain echoed back to her like the death throes of some great beast, and she shivered, tears rising in her eyes.
She found Simon chained against the wall, just as Lisette had described, the sunlight streaming through the roof less than the length of her arms from his feet. He looked up as she emerged from the tunnel, his nostrils flaring as if he smelled her more than saw her. “Isabel…” She could no longer doubt he was a vampire; cruel fangs curved long and white from his mouth as he suddenly screamed in agony, and his eyes glowed yellow-green with demon fire. But he was still Simon, too.
“Did you murder Susannah?” Her throat felt thick with unshed tears, choking her to death. She could still see her, the beautiful Queen of the May. How could she love the monster who had killed her? “Did you murder that girl at the church?”
“No,” he answered, fighting for his voice. The hunger that was killing every shred of humanity left inside him leapt up in delight at the sound of her heartbeat and the smell of her skin, torturing him more sorely than any trap Kivar could have devised. He lunged against the chains again, the shackles slicing deep into his flesh. “Innocent… never the innocent.” He had to warn her, to make her understand, but his mind was gone; he couldn’t form the words. “Not Susannah… Kivar.”