“I thought I knew you.” His lips brushed her throat. She smelled of wind and pine and an acrid scent that was vaguely familiar. It didn’t matter. She also smelled of woman, and that scent was more arousing than any perfume. He licked delicately at the pulse in the hollow of her throat. “But that didn’t stop you from deceiving me and then trying to kill me.”
“I wouldn’t have done that. I was only trying to knock you unconscious. I had to stop you.”
His hips moved again. “From doing this? Why? You like it. Right now, you want nothing more than to wrap your legs around me. Isn’t that right?”
She drew in a deep, shaky breath. “Yes, that’s what I want, but I’m not going to do it. I’m not going to let you use me to rid yourself of anger. You won’t rape me, and I won’t be seduced.”
“We fought this battle at Dalwynd.”
“I’m stronger now.”
He studied her face. “Yes, you are.” He smiled. “But did it ever occur to you that will only make the battle more interesting for both of us?”
“Let me up. I feel as if I’m stretched on a rack.”
“Don’t you like it? I do. I can feel every muscle and soft place in your body. I think if I entered you from this position, you would find it very exciting. Do you remember what pleasure you received stretched over the arms of the chair? I can see the way-”
“Let me up.” She suddenly burst out, “If you’re going to rape me, do it!”
He would not have to rape her. She was already trembling and in need.
Her eyes blazed up at him. “Do it! Otherwise, let me be free of you.”
He did not want to let her free. He would never free her, he realized. Not in this lifetime or the next. The knowledge sent a wave of shock through him.
She stiffened. “What’s wrong?”
He couldn’t let her go, and if he tried to hold her, she would never stay. “There’s a good deal wrong,” he said grimly. “And I wish I hadn’t become aware of it in this particular instant.” He released her arms, then swung off her and moved to one side. “Get up.”
She lay still, surprised at the sudden victory.
“I said get up,” he repeated harshly. “And, for God’s sake, stop looking at me like that. It makes me want to-” He broke off and moved farther away on the wide step.
She slowly sat up and brushed her hair out of her eyes. “Why did you-”
“It’s cold as Hades in here.” He stood up and started down the steps. “I’ll get wood for a fire. You’ve had a few hours to explore. Is there a small room that will be easy to heat?”
She indicated a door to the left of the foyer. “There’s a fireplace in that anteroom.”
He nodded, then said, “Don’t try to run away. Gregor and the men are in the village. We’ll track you down, if you do.”
“You needn’t worry. I can’t run away,” she said quietly. “Not until I do what I’ve come to do.”
The ax came down, biting into the wood.
Jordan struck again, hitting the log as if it were a mortal enemy.
Marianna shivered as she watched him from the window. She had been aware of his anger, and to see its release in violence was a chastening sight.
Chastening and vaguely erotic.
Vulcan.
He was as primitive as Vulcan wielding his hammer. She could see the bulge of muscle on his thighs as he braced himself before each blow, the pull of tendons in his shoulders beneath the black shirt. A wave of heat went through her as she remembered that moment when she had lain stretched beneath him on the stairs.
The hammer striking the anvil.
No, she would have been no passive anvil. She would have matched him blow for blow. She had felt her will melting with every touch, every moment that passed.
And he had known it. He always knew her every intimate response. He had known he could have her, and he had let her go.
Jordan stacked the logs in the fireplace, set the kindling, and struck flint. “What is this place?”
“The palace belonged to Czar Paul.”
“It looks as if no one has been here for a long time.”
“No one has. The czar was assassinated in 1801, and the royal family had no knowledge of this place. He had it built by the same workmen who built the tunnel.”
The kindling caught fire and flared. “And were later killed?”
“Yes.”
He sat back on his heels, looking into the fire. “The lock for the key.”
She didn’t answer.
He didn’t take his gaze from the fire as he asked quietly, “Where’s the Jedalar, Marianna?”
She might as well tell him. If he searched, he would find it anyway. “It’s in the chapel down the hall. Do you want to see it?”
“Not now.” He stood up and stoked the fire. “I hope you’ll give it to me later. I don’t want to be forced to take it.” He turned and strode toward the door. “Watch the fire. You must be hungry. I have food in my saddlebag.”
If he had only come an hour later… She wondered if she had time to run to the chapel and complete her work. No, she decided. What she had to do would take too long. And she must not be discovered until it was done.
No, that wasn’t the true reason. She wanted this time with him. When he found out what she had done, he would never want to see her again. It wasn’t too much that she take this little for herself.
The fire was burning brightly when he returned to the anteroom, and the chill had almost dispersed. He threw his saddlebags on the hearth and shrugged off his cloak. “I unsaddled your horse and put him in the stable. You shouldn’t have left him standing outside so long.”
She said defensively, “I was coming back to care for him when I saw you and Gregor down the hill.”
“And decided to remove my head from my body.”
“I told you I didn’t mean to harm you.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Then you didn’t succeed.”
“Did I really hurt you?”
“You most certainly did.” He studied her expression. “I believe you’re displaying concern. How peculiar. You must be plotting something.”
“No.” She moved over to the saddlebags. “Not at the moment. I’m too hungry. If you’ll make a spit, I’ll skin the rabbit.”
“That’s why I brought in the branch you used to club me with. Sit down and rest. I don’t need help.” He looked at the dust-covered chairs and added, “You’ll stay cleaner if you spread your cloak on the floor and sit on that instead of those chairs.”
“I haven’t worried about cleanliness for weeks.” Still, she did as he suggested, then sat in front of the fire. She watched him as he began to whittle one end of the club. “Where did you send Gregor?”
“To the village. He’ll be back in the morning to see if I’ve survived.” His lips curved ruefully. “I’ll tell him it was not an easy task.” He looked from her face to the large round window gracing the wall across the room. The stained glass depicted a scarlet sun shooting out golden rays of light as it sank down behind purple hills. The sun pouring through the brilliant panes cast a long beam of multihued light that struck and formed a radiant circle on the oak floor in the center of the room. “That’s very beautiful. Your grandmother’s work?”
She nodded, her face lighting eagerly. “Grandmama did all the stained glass in this palace. Wasn’t she wonderful?”
“Yes.” He glanced at the window again. “But I think the work you did at Cambaron is better.”
Her eyes widened in astonishment. “You do?” Then she immediately shook her head. “No, that couldn’t be true. She was a magnificent craftsman. No one did better work than Grandmama.”
