Topic: A Time for R & R: Revenge and Retribution.

Randi Bryne · Date: 2007-02-13 23:09 EST

Never assume you are safe. Never drop your guard. The thief's teacher, a cracksman the likes of which London had never known before or since, had drilled that lesson home above all others.

Ears straining to detect any sound above the murmur of a night breeze stirring the bed curtains, the thief known as Myerslock's Curse lifted an ormolu clock from the mantel. Too heavy. A delicate porcelain figurine nearby tempted but was too fragile to survive the leaps across rooftops that night work entailed.

Another of the old man's imperatives whispered just behind the thief's conscious thoughts: "Five minutes in, five minutes out." This was taking too long.

Long, sensitive fingers lightly roved along the gilt frames of the pictures on the walls, searching for hidden caches, finding none. With a small utterance of annoyance, the thief roamed deeper into the Marchioness suite. Her fabled jewel collection had to be some bloody where.

At the far wall the thief pushed aside the unease that came from being so far from the window and bent over an ornate dressing table. A music box, pretty but no more than a dab. A pearl-inlaid snuffbox. Bah! Nothing worth the 5,000 promised. Only a gem would suffice to pay that debt. The thief moved more quickly now, thrusting hands along the contours of various furnishings, tipping a mirror, opening drawers, and then there. Innocuous, noteworthy only for its relative stodginess among its opulent companions, a thick, marble-slabbed washstand. White teeth flashed beneath the band of black silk masking the thief's face. So obvious. Teacher's most elementary wisdom: "Hide in plain sight."

The thief dipped to one knee and felt along the undercarriage of the washstand, immediately finding a small metal tab and slipping it back. A drawer dropped beneath the marble top.The smile broadened. Now just a quick plunge of the hand into the secret drawer and ....the coveted ruby was finally hers

Randi Bryne · Date: 2007-02-14 15:00 EST

It was said, in Myerslock, that the wind has a soul, and that it wails through the narrow city streets because it is grieved by what it finds there. On the day after the celebration in this remote village it whistled amongst the swaying masts in the bay, rushed through the Western Gates and screamed between the buildings. Then, as if appalled by the ragged and disinterested souls it met there, it quieted to a whimper. Amused with the rise and fall of its disembodied cries, she carried on with a low hum on her lips.

Plumes of warm breath littered the air before her face. As she peered around the edge of her hood, she espied a guard slouched in the entrance of the alley. His mouth was curled into a sneer of disdain; his gaze flitted from figure to figure that ventured past his post. She narrowed her eyes at him, but when his head turned in her direction, she quickly moved on, heading for the tavern through a crunch of hardening, packed snow. The afternoon with the other man and his oddities had left her skittish and paranoid, perhaps. With carefully placed steps, she was climbing upwards to gain the porch stoop where she paused to catch her breath.

Randi caught the eye of the barmaid as she walked into The Coin Purse, a small hole-in-the-wall tavern that was different enough from The Drunken Rat that it managed to survive. The barmaid smiled warmly with recognition and disappeared into the kitchen, presumably to get Randi's usual - a cup of tea and some bread and cheese. Randi sighed with relief at being back in familiar territory and found a little out of the way table to set down her satchel and await the barmaid. Today's take would not be quite as lucrative since the Purse was not as popular. But Randi had not liked the way a particular Drunken Rat customer had leered at her last night, and she just didn't feel that she could face him again today. So she would put up with less income in return for feeling safer and seeing friendlier faces. Not that she would be tarrying long at the Coin Purse any longer than she had at The Drunken Rat. It was just the first stop on her way to another.

Randi Bryne · Date: 2007-02-14 15:05 EST

The barmaid brought out the tea, bread and cheese and plopped into the chair next to Randi. "You gonna linger some with us today, doll?" She asked with a grin.

Randi smiled and shook her head as she took a sip of the warm sweet tea.

"You know, we miss you here! I know you have more business dealings at the Rat, but it's always a blessin' when you grace us with your presence, you know." The barmaid rambled pleasantly.

"I'm sorry I'm not here that often, Talia. But the Purse is still my favorite place to visit, mostly because of your lovely face." Randi said with a chuckle.

Talia smiled ruefully and playfully punched Randi's shoulder at the compliment. Randi laughed at the good-natured beating.

The bartender, Andreas, heard the laughter, looking up from his heated discussion with a bar patron over the latest scandal involving the Smithy and the Captain of the Guard's daughter. He smiled at the two at the table then went back to hearing about the saucy details that could, or would, only be passed between men discussing a woman's attributes and assets.

A warm smile was returned easily to the man. He was the other reason Randi came to the Purse. He was a friendly bartender, but he was also something more. Something dark and sinister rested behind those twinkling eyes. Randi could always count on being welcomed and protected when she came here. As well as gathering needed information on the whereabouts of one dubious character.

Talia, yelling some taunting remark to a departing patron gave Randi a moment to relax, letting the mood of the place flow through her in preparation for her up coming escapade. Her eyes drifted closed, not out of fatigue but a sort of spaced-out concentration, focusing her hearing and letting the combined sounds of the tavern make a kind of music to her ears.

As she listened, though, a voice detached itself from the other sounds. "...in two nights...meeting...empty warehouse......stashed..." She didn't hear every word, but the ones she did hear seemed unnaturally loud and clear to her, as though someone was speaking directly to her. It startled her and she opened her eyes, looking around to see whom it might be. But the voice was suddenly part of the multitude again and she couldn't tell who it might have been. Certainly no one was speaking to her at all.

"Talia, where might I find Zane" Is he about on a wild hunt, or is he holed up in that terrifying place he calls home?" Attention was quickly back to the barmaid, wanting to get this unsavory business over with as soon as possible suddenly. Both women were leaning across the table next; their voices dropped low, noses nearly touching as the news was passed from one pair of lips to an eager ear.

It was only a matter of moments later that the tea had been consumed, the bread and cheese gathered in her hand to carry with her, that Randi was drifting out the back door with all the stealth of a mouse scampering behind tavern walls and Talia was retreating back to her serving station. Much to Randi's dismay, Zane was indeed back in Rhy'din as well. "Blasted." Murmured as the cloak's hood was flicked up over her head and she was turning to cut through the shadowed alley to head for that dark path that lead toward the marsh area.

Zane · Date: 2007-02-15 00:49 EST

"What in bloody hell did I do to deserve this?"

As he descended the gangplank, Zane's foul mood turned downright nasty. The voyage had already severely strained every ounce of patience and tolerance he had in his limited arsenal. Though his generous purse had afforded him a modicum of privacy, it had not been nearly enough, and another day confined on board with this sniveling lot of lethargic cattle would have resulted in death to something. Man, woman, child. It made no difference to him. Something would have died. He could not have imagined a more hellish journey, yet leaving the ship suddenly seemed worse.

Staring at the city proper that surrounded him now did nothing to improve his temper. As his boots struck the wooden planks, his own weariness and ambivalence trailed behind him, each one measured in his reluctant footfalls. The knocks echoed like the pace of a doomed man ascending the gallows and drilled into his head with the force of a nail pounded into a coffin. That sound alone made him wonder what had possessed him to do this.

What the hell are you doing here, Zane" You shoulda let it go. You shouldna have let pride overrule pragmatism. 'Tis only money and you've been swindled before. You shouldna have come to the other side of an ocean to prove no one scams Zane.

He had traveled across a grueling monotony of sea and sky, surrounded by filth and disease, but now the end of the journey had come and Zane found there were indeed worse things than endless mind-numbing boredom, the stink of unwashed bodies and the foul tastes of brackish water and spoiled meat. He had been hurled into the depths of hell and hell was deceptively pretty.

The quaint little village and its smiling denizens were more unsettling than the tidal wave of degraded humanity that surged through the narrow streets of London. The immensity of the forest and the wide expanse of the rushing river seemed absurd after living in the opulence of his sprawling house on the banks of the filthy Thames. The clear and open sky above was more disconcerting than the dirt and grit that hovered in every breath he had taken in the congested city and the people ....Christ, the creatures!

The idea of dealing with people of this caliber shot a bolt of fear through him. After spending his entire adult life surrounded by the thieves, whores and derelicts of Lorwyck, these people appeared to be at first glimpse farmers, tradesmen and goodwives. He had little experience dealing with decency. This place would drive him mad. It might even kill him. And if he was going to die he planned to take Randi with him. He had chosen to leave his chaotic, boisterous and reasonably sane life. If he felt so disoriented, what must the others feel" There were scores on the ship that had been plucked from their lives and forced to come here. They had collectively been thrust into some kind of primeval, warped paradise.

"Christ," he muttered. "I'll never survive here."

Zane hovered at the edge of the dock knowing that the carriage and demeanor he displayed would never betray either his wonder or his aversion to this brave new world. He was well dressed, self-possessed and thoroughly feigning the stern blas" expression he knew he wore. He was a man well trained to disguise his emotions, but as his eyes roamed across the immensity and grandeur of the landscape and the charming uncluttered village, he had to concentrate to keep his jaw from literally dropping open.

Avoiding any contact with his fellow travelers disembarking from the Lioness and the local rabble surrounding him, Zane glanced around the tidy village and realized the entertainment options available were limited and he had unknowingly become part of an interesting diversion. This was as close to purgatory as earth allowed and he had willingly consigned himself to its judgment.

"Oh, Randi, you are going to pay for forcing me to this," he muttered. "Pray I find you bound in chains or you're not long for this life." He needed a drink and he needed it bad. The aberrations of this world might be easier to digest with a little rum tempering his rampaging thoughts. He would knock back a few drinks, secure a room and think on his business in relative peace. He'd find someone to rut with before the sun went down and he'd feel a lot better. He shouldered his leather satchel and was preparing to hoist his trunk when he felt something tugging at the edge of his jacket.

Zane · Date: 2007-02-15 00:59 EST

He ignored it, shrugging the hand off with an irritation that was dangerously close to rage. When the hand returned again to jerk the cloth, Zane rounded with a vicious snarl, prepared to strike whoever dared touch him. The hand belonged to a boy but in Zane's world, a boy was often a bigger threat than a grown man. He cuffed the back of the boy's head.

"Lay off! Do your thieving elsewhere or you'll be the sorriest lad this side of the sea."

The boy barely flinched. In fact he straightened up and tossed a brown curl away from his face. His serious expression might have been amusing if Zane weren't so pissed

"Pardon, sir," the boy said, "but if ye bae Mister Zane, I'd like a word with you."

Zane gave him a little shove then bent down once again to retrieve his trunk.

"I'm not in the mood, lad. The last two months were far and away not the best I've had. I'm out of patience, tired, cranky and clearly not in the mood for you."

"I understand cranky, sir, but..."

The boy had the audacity to touch him again, a quick little tug at the edge of his pocket. Zane dropped the trunk and grabbed the boy by the collar, hauling him off his feet.

"Touching me is not an option, boy. Find your derelict mother and be off before I think to send you swimming."

The boy was persistent. He stared him right in the eye and managed to croak out an answer. "A word, sir. 'Tis important."

Zane growled and dropped him. When he boy stumbled, Zane reached out instinctively and caught him before he fell to the ground. He was a slender thing, almost too skinny, and the sight of him didn't bode well for the dietary fare of this new world. But he looked healthy enough with a head of shining curls and a pair of the brightest green eyes Zane had ever seen. Those eyes were peering at him hopefully, filled with a spark of surprising intelligence. Zane ran his hands across his face.

"Talk," Zane said.

The boy took a courageous step forward and Zane actually felt a glimmer of admiration for a child that would approach such an unapproachable stranger. Though women seemed unable to resist anything about him, men and children generally avoided him like a terrifying plague and this lad seemed a combination of both, not quite child, not quite man.

"You'll be needin' a place to stay, sir, and Miss Randi sent me tae fetch ye."

"Aye," Zane said. "If you'll carry my trunk I'll toss you a coin. Is there a tavern nearby?"

The boy's slender brows rose in surprise. "A man such as yourself deserves more than a tavern, sir. The Leaping Stag is a nasty place and the Drunken Rat is worse. You'll find no rest in either and their fare isn't fit for a dog. I've a place to offer you with good food, quiet nights and decent company."

"Indeed, lad" And what price would she be asking for such a place?"

"'Tis room and board provided," the boy said. "No payment of any sort, sir. Miss Randi said as such." "I don't intend to stay long, lad. I'm just here to handle a few problems. I hope to clear them up fast and get back to civilization. Your island doesna seem fit for human habitation."

The boy cocked his head and seemed downright puzzled. "You might find you like Rhy'din, sir, and what it has to offer. Most people like it here."

Zane's eyes roamed across the crowded dock.

"Not a chance in hell, lad. Your fair town is already straining my rather limited goodwill toward man and my usual indulgence for women is being tested as well. I've not the time or the inclination to do any charity work while I'm here. Is Randi's place near?"

The pickings seemed to be pretty good. Not a lot of decent women but the ones he saw were not bad looking. Probably. The female creatures he would be steering clear of. Not that it mattered.

"Aye, sir, though I don't quite understand everythin' you say."

"Doesna matter, lad. If you've ever a mind to travel to London, I might have a position for you. 'Tis quite enterprising you are and very persuasive. Doesna really matter ....'tis been a long voyage. If she's waiting I'd..."

Zane caught a glimpse of something familiar and paused, peering into the throng of people. There was a figure, with a long mane of luxurious honey blonde hair, trapped within the bulk of the men that surrounded her. Zane searched the mob, hoping to catch another look, but the girl was swallowed in the sea of bodies. Was it going to be that easy' Was she right in front of him'

He was aware the boy was still talking but his agenda was far too full to make idle promises to a child. Whatever problems this boy and his sister had were not his concern. Finding Randi, procuring the lost item and getting back alive were the only things on his mind.

Locating Randi's lost item could prove a problem. Finding the girl herself apparently was not going to be a problem. If she was still alive he would have her. Nothing could have erased the memory of her from his mind. He could have picked her out of a crowd. In fact....He glanced again at the throng of people. The boy was still talking, but he was fairly easy to ignore.

He kept his eye on the crowd. He was determined and when Zane set his mind on something, he got it. Those dark eyes had held him spellbound. Deep. Mysterious. Alluring. Intelligent. Alive with some kind of insatiable need burning inside like a fire. "Lead on, boy."

Randi Bryne · Date: 2007-02-15 12:31 EST

The shadows were long and the smoke of the city's cooking fires was purple and gold against the black of the oncoming night. Rooks flew toward their nests, yet she does not need to see in order to picture it: The white flakes floated in the blackness, swirling in such a languid fashion that you could not tell if they fell from the sky or were driven up from the ground.

Her eyes sought a sign, any sign that would restore her sense of time, but the dark sky beyond the narrow view showed no trace of the sun to mark the time. And with the favored timepiece left behind, she was at once clueless. Further along the deserted street, the clanking continued, a sound like soldiers milling about. Her hand tightened around the handle of her weapon sinking further into the shadows afforded by the deep alcove.

Passing through the city gate, he welcomed the noise and commotion as he made his way to the marketplace and the appointed spot to meet Randi. Beggars and ragged children clamored around Zane making progress impossible without endangering them. Stealthily, so that none could see where his money pouch was concealed on his person, he selected a few coppers and tossed them to distract the growing crowd. As he neared the center of the marketplace, vendors held up all manner of wares from silks and bangles to small animals, both alive and dead ....many of questionable origin.

Ignoring the vulgar suggestions flung at her by a passing drunk, she gripped the ends of her cloak tighter. The stench of unwashed bodies drifted upon the air, but she concentrated on the other smells and sounds of the marketplace. The calls of the merchants, hawking their wares to the boisterous crowd. The odor of cooked meat mixed with the stink of the men surrounding the stalls and carts conspired to send her stomach roiling with disgust. The crowd swayed like some misdirected wave fighting to reach the shore, wrecking what little composure she maintained.

She glanced at the rotund man counting out gold pieces. Fine silk robes of red and white fluttered in the cold evening air. His round face, almost as red as his robes, puffed with excitement. Beads of sweat dribbled off his baldpate despite the cold. Spotting a familiar face in the crowd, her tension eased and a ghost of a smile took shape as she bowed her head slightly when he neared. "Zane?"

"Well, Randi, another Godforsaken hole." With an affectionate pat on her shoulder, he addressed the comely lass and stepped behind her where he could slip an arm about her waist, drawing her back against his chest both for warmth and to keep a watchful eye on the building across the way that they had come to assess and others that may pose a threat. "Yet another village, although this one looks to be of no consequence. But still, we may find word of our quarry here." Whispered against her ear as his head bent lower.

Dozens of people now occupied the square with more pouring in every minute. They were of all ages and stations from withered old men to shouting children to fat matrons with prosperous husbands. He grimaced at the stench of unwashed bodies crowding into the small square. Mixed with the smells of overcooked meat and roving animals, it was a wonder each person did not fall over from the sheer force of the odor.

Randi Bryne · Date: 2007-02-15 12:37 EST

"I have been asking about. An odd question tossed here, a gentle nudge of inquiry to another. Seems the one in charge is at home and heavy with child." Just saying it caused a grimace. Shaking off the possibility of a curse with a shudder, her gaze settled once more upon the entrance of the building. Waiting, watching for signs of life.

"Have you a name?" With her before him, it was easy to rumble out the questions against her ear as well as studying those milling about the square without drawing attention. Huddled into the alcove, they could very well pass as two lovers meeting for a forbidden tryst. Certainly nothing new to the populace. "Where have you been seeking this information' Are they reputable" Can they be trusted?" That last question was followed up with a rumble of low laughter. Not that anyone they had previously encountered could be accused of such a diabolical flaw.

"The Guv"nor gave me a name. I haven't met many. Trying to keep to myself." There was a slight frown before her gaze was drifting over a buxom lass soliciting for business with a rather questionable male. Though that hint of a smile grew as she watched the exchange, her attention was soon back to the building across the square before she was turning in Zane's arms to face him. "I know of something we do need, and your special talents will procure it for us." Clutching the cloak thrown about his form, she drew him closer for a descriptive pass of words against the shell of his ear.

The Governor" She was a bold one, asking for information of one in such high standing." Brass?" Bending to her will, the sight could easily be mistaken as impassioned kisses. He cocked his head back as he took in her words. Something incredulous crept into his face as his smile faded some. He could only imagine what would bring to her this. The woman he knew was so far above all of this. The riches she spawned from. The silver spoon that fed her in her youth. To this. He lightly groomed over his beard as he thought a moment. "Better I retrieve this item than you. If you will wait at the place you secured for me, I shall go at first light on the morrow." He paused, looking out over the crowd above the crown of her head. "And you are sure that ship is to be docked tomorrow?"

Amused with his concern, she waved it off dismissively as she took a step back from the feigned embrace to grasp his hand, tugging him out of the alcove to mingle in with the crowd. "You need not worry. It's an Inn much like any other we have visited in the past to seek out information. Most seem intent on drunken debauchery and finding a bedmate to keep them warm through this horrid weather." With her hand tucked into the crook of his arm, she was soon leading them back toward that very establishment she had rented out under an assumed name. " Few have noticed me, if any at all. I've given no call for suspicion or undue attention. You should come with me one evening. They actually have these quaint little battles. All for practice and gaming, I think." Ducking into an alleyway, the tension rolled off her shoulders in waves as she nodded an affirmation. "Yes. I checked with the Dock Master this morning. He should be arriving as planned."

"Then we shall proceed as planned. And with all these killings going on, it should be a welcomed distraction. I doubt they shall realize what has happened until well after the deed is done." Handing her the flyer he had torn from a wall describing the killings and slaughter, there was a grim set to his mouth before he looked down to her with a wink. "For now, what say you feed a hungry man! I am famished, and the stench rolling off these fine citizens is disrupting my foul mood.? Tucking her in closer to his side, he allowed her once more to lead him astray. He had a feeling it would not be the last time he fell under her spell.

Randi Bryne · Date: 2007-02-21 18:49 EST

Only a fat candle in a cracked and rose tinted glass on the corner desk illuminated the room Randi was entombed within. Each time a draft found the flame, melting light buttered the limestone walls and waves of fluid shadows oiled the corners.

Embraced by stone, steeped in silence, she sat at the high window as Zane toiled somewhere out there in the town on a task she had set him upon. Without a silvering of light, the window did not reflect her face. She had a clear view of the village beyond the panes. She had hoped to witness that magical moment when the snow began to fall in earnest. Earlier the sky had shed a few flakes, then nothing more. The pending storm would not be rushed.

That morning had dawned clear and cold, with a crispness that hinted at the end of fall and the onset of a brutal winter. He had set forth at daybreak under the pretense of seeing a man beheaded, twenty in all, and Zane rode alone, nervous with trepidation. The beheading was merely an excuse to be in the market square along with all the other gawking villagers. There was the business with the recently docked ship to be seen to, as well.

As winter now spread her thick blanket of cold upon the bustling town, he shivered and cast a fleeting glance toward the platform where the heads would roll. Waiting high above the unthreatened heads of the crowd, a sharp breeze of winter whipped dark hair into his eyes. Perhaps, he brooded and not for the first time, he was oversensitive for a man who worked with the dangerous elements of the world.

Sometimes, she thought, lying wide awake in the dark, your dreams were bizarre or grotesque, altogether divorced from reality; at other times they reflected a fantastic, distorted version of your everyday existence. This dream had been neither. It had played the scene as she had remembered it far too often over the course of the past three and a half years, not a word or movement out of place.

Zane elbowed his way onward, through the clamorous crowd of errand boys in smocks, domestics in shabby castoff finery, and craftsmen in work aprons who slouched about, playing truant from their trades for half an hour's free entertainment. The muddy square between the city hall and the frozen river swarmed with spectators, pushing, joking. Here and there a fledging Noble, flaunting the exaggerated fashions of the season, blossomed like a hothouse flower amid the weeds. Though Zane wore no tricolor sash, the mark of a Town Guard or Nobleman, they made way for him, reluctantly parting ranks before the austere black attire.

His best friend had died on just such a day as this, he recalled, a bleak autumn morning with a cold, leaden sky and spattering rain. He closed his eyes for an instant at the touch of another cold drop before prying open his eyes to search out that window were he'd seen the silhouette of that very man's widow that morning when he departed, waiting patiently for his return.

She had been settled before the frosted window for hours already. Her brow was creased in thought, as if mesmerized with the lazy drift of fat, fluffy snowflakes suddenly gliding downward to gather another inch deeper in the already frozen landscape. She blew her warm breath against the fridge pane, creating a fog upon which she traced a name.

Zane dismounted the steed and tossed the reins to the stable boy who had rushed out to meet him. After he wrestled the delicate package from the horse's traveling satchel he headed for the stone steps that lead up to the large oak door that held the world at bay. Feeling watched he looked up at the window. No light other than the faint flicker of the candle in his study, and one pale face peering down at him through a dark pane.

He clasped cold hands before him, shivering suddenly, and not from the chill river breeze alone. Men made mistakes; it was the natural way of things. Impossible that you would never make a mistake, accuse wrongly, and perhaps unwittingly destroy a life but?"I should never have taught her this wickedness."

Randi Bryne · Date: 2007-02-21 18:54 EST

The bells of some temple in the distance were just ringing for its followers, or those revolting, when Zane came striding into the soft nest of his study. Randi examined Zane more thoroughly, taking in his pristine black attire, well-worn top boots, lank dark hair threaded with melting snow. That he was the same age as her departed husband, almost ten years her senior, was finally beginning to show. Forbidden and agreed by both to ignore, nay, to refuse the use of titles that would identify and condemn, she simply greeted him with a lowering of her chin, her eyes held spellbound by what she was reading in his own. "You never were very good at hiding the truth from me, Zane. So, I suppose the deed is done and our ship has come in?"

"Indeed." Brooding, Zane looked suddenly rather like a frog, a smug frog that had gotten rather above himself. He strode further into the room, opting for a change of subject than a direct answer. "They have sore need of you, my darling, Randina. Rebellion everywhere, this grim omen in the sky, rioting in the streets, multitudes sick or injured, the killings continue . . .You could aid them well with your knowledge." The same weary and tired attempts to convince her to leave this confounded lifestyle would fall on deaf ears. Of this, he already knew. But he would never stop trying. After a moment's hesitation, he sighed reluctantly and set the package of requested items carefully upon the table. "Aye. Aye, it has. And have you gathered the map and scroll we shall need as well?"

"Fascinating, but I have no idea what you are implying, Zane. " So stated with a knowing grin as she rose from the window seat to cross the room, meeting him opposite the long table. " I have killed no one, harmed none, really. And it is all the more reason I'd sooner bed down in a dungeon then give in to them now or lift a hand to help those wretched noblemen."

"Perhaps you'll get that wish, if you are not careful", Zane thought, but he said aloud, "Courage and folly are cousins, or so I've heard. Whatever curse may linger over these lands, I pray you are small enough to escape its notice." Reluctantly, he passed the delicate package across to her waiting hands.

Zane · Date: 2007-02-22 00:04 EST

As they ventured out of the Inn and into the belly of the alley, he scooped up the lantern he planted earlier, to be lit hastily before he was pressing her forward quickly. "If you want to continue with this madness, you must do as I say. Trust me, Randi. I love you as I do my own sister. No harm will befall you. But I am putting you aboard that ship tonight. You will be back in less than a fortnight."

"Zane, you bastard, you tricked me!" Randi crushed the small bundle of scrolls to her chest as Zane propelled her across slick cobblestones through the night's drizzle. "I don't have to go anywhere. And if you feel so compelled to get me out of the city, why won't you let me travel as a passenger on a packet boat, down the river to the next village" I can wait for you to send for me," she asked in a tense whisper when they hurried across the main square of the market.

"There's no time to obtain a secure passage for you." Zane's reedy voice matched the wobble of his injured pride. He moved closer, clutching her arm tighter. "When you arrive in Myerslock, just catch the first coach to Lorwyck; it will be very simple."

Moving ever closer to the waterway, they passed the buildings forsaken in darkness and a footstep to the right startled her. A stranger lumbered from an alley into their path.

Zane stopped, looking agitated at the huge man who trudged into their lantern's glow.

Randi cringed back, taking in the man's torn shirt and a face that looked as if someone tried to carve their initials into his sallow cheeks.

"So, this is the one?" the giant said as he tugged a filthy hat low on his forehead. Water dripping off the roof behind him smacked the cobbles and stirred the snow and steaming mist around his bulky frame.

"Certainement. This is she, and please, be gentle. But we must act quickly." Zane glanced at her with an unusual sadness. Then he said to the stranger, "Is it quiet down there, at the harbor?"

"Quiet enough, for what we need to do. And only one from the city guard. The rest be distracted with all those recent killin's over by the temples. And I'll be there as I say." The man turned and plodded off down the street and into the shadows.

Randi shivered and bunched together the edges of her cloak. "Zane, I still don't understand why we're doing this. How can you send me off like this without warning" I have but to wait a few days. Perhaps a week or more. Then I shall be admitted into the museum. This is madness! I sent for you. To help me!"

"I've explained that it's too late to engage anyone. And I must keep you safe, as I promised your ".as I promised Reese." He averted his eyes when he mentioned him, then coughed into his hand. "Don't argue, Randi. You have to go, until I know for sure."

"Ma foi, we should go back to the house. You're ill, I feel the heat in your arm." Randi wondered if his fever had confused him, his behavior incomprehensible. "Why is my leaving so urgent suddenly' And who is that scarred man?"

"Please, do this for me." Zane paused and raised the lantern, his features harsh in the uneven glimmer of light. "It's almost sunrise, we have to rush. As I said earlier, I need those scrolls delivered as well. The information is very important. And with the information you gain there, we can proceed with your plan. As idiotic as it is. Not to mention there are a few I have recognized in that Inn. Have they recognized you?"

"No! No, of course not." Randi brushed her chilled fingers over the rustle of papers in her bundle, and lamented that she had misplaced her gloves. Or someone had stolen them in that crumbling abode where she'd lodged. She struggled to gather her thoughts; every muscle in her body felt clenched. "I don't like this, Zane. Not a"tall"

"The deed is done, lass. Keep your dagger sharp, and yer wits sharper." Grasping her by the arms, he hefted her up off her feet and over the edge of the wharf to be dropped into the hands of his awaiting man. "Keep her safe, or by the Gods, I shall see you slain before the next moon rises."

Randi Bryne · Date: 2007-02-24 13:12 EST

On the Isle of Lorwyck

Once in the harbor the ship passed the black hulks of rusting ironclads, from the sterns of which trailed the crimson flag with the shooting star and blue moon. Seamen with lowered caps were everywhere. Steersmen in beards and heavy coats rowed out among the ships, where, above their heads, flew the flags from dozens of unknown origins. Many questionable companies shot into and out of the harbor or rested, temporarily moored, in the inner briny waters. Steam whistles erupted in noisy calls as gray smudges from smokestacks marked the sky, and bells screamed out over the port.

The captain stood on the forecastle and watched as his sailors made fast the ropes, swabbed the deck, and rolled the barrels containing the cloth up from the hold, down the planks, and onto the docks below. The ship bobbed up and down gently on the high tide. The journey had not been unduly harsh. They had encountered only one storm and had weathered it without damage and with only the expected loss of sleep as well as the loss of one cousin of one man who was himself a cousin of a third, whose head was knocked by a swinging boom in the midst of an abrupt turn. The man's death was noted by the captain in his log, although his name was left unrecorded and his body dropped with a few godless words spoken into the waters of the sea, where it disappeared along with the shafts of light, the puffed buds of a stalk of seaweed, the shimmering scales of fish, the rank smell of human waste released from a recently used pail, all mingled with salt spray, as the traces of blood washed off the deck.

Pulling into the harbor had arrived none to soon for Randi. Although she was still vexed with Zane for not only lulling her into a false sense of security but for being manhandled in a way that left her little to fight back with, the journey to Myerslock and then on to Lorwyck had been for the most part, uneventful. Grudgingly, she had admitted that it was a wise decision. This came only after she had spent her annoyance on three of the Captain's vases had met their fate against the Cabin's wall and many a sailor had fled her fury of pretty oaths and curses upon their manhood. Nevertheless, Randi had been the first to escape across the gangplanks and disappear into the city of Lorwyck after only having waited 48 hours; she had received the missive and was on her way to meet the man Zane had insisted held the key to what they needed.

Checking and rechecking the brusque instructions, she now stood in the doorway of the tavern, disdain hidden within the folds of the cloaks hood. "Back again, eh' 'E's gone on without ye. In a powerful hurry, 'e were, too."

Randi broke off her survey of the tavern known as the Black Jack to stare at its proprietor. Until a moment ago, she'd never set foot in the place, but there might be some use in letting his misconception stand, especially if the mysterious "'e" turned out to be the man she sought. "How long ago did he leave?"

The tavern keeper was shorter than she, a small, wiry man in a canvas apron. When he took a step closer, Randi smelled garlic and stale, spilled wine, a pungent and unpleasant combination when trepidation had already made her queasy. A pockmarked face and brown teeth did nothing to alleviate her first, negative impression.

"Come and sit with old Ned, sweeting," he invited, leering at her, "and I'll tell you everything I know. But let's see what?s under the 'ood this time."

Before she could stop him, he flipped the heavy wool away from her face, narrowing his eyes to get a better look. As he leaned in, the stench of his breath nearly made her gag.

Repulsed, Randi backed away. Beneath her cloak, she fumbled for the small sharp knife suspended from the belt at her waist. She could expect no help from customers who frequented a place such as this, and for once she did not think it likely she'd be able to talk herself out of trouble.

The Black Jack Tavern was as disreputable as the lowest tippling house. A smoky fire burned in the chimney corner, spreading its murky light over four rickety trestle tables in a windowless, low-ceilinged room. Around them, occupying rough-hewn benches and stools, with not a chair in sight, were more than a dozen patrons, men who appeared down on their luck and potentially dangerous. A few of them were eating, but most ignored offerings of cheese and meat pies in favor of beverages served in black jacks, wooden cans treated with pitch on the inside.

To Randi's relief, a call for more beer distracted Ned. The moment he turned away, she fled, escaping into the narrow street outside. Leave it to Marcus Appleton to send her to the most loathsome of places. His idea of hilarity' His own brand of vengeance" The reality that he was the only man skilled in lapidary was not lost on Randi. Despite it rattling her otherwise aloof nature, she knew she needed him.

Frigid air lanced through her like a thousand ice-tipped arrows. Hugging herself beneath her warm wool cloak, Randi left the slight shelter of the building's overhang and started walking. Her heart was racing, but she no longer had any immediate fear for her safety.

When she reached the corner, she glanced back at the tavern. Its sign, showing a crudely painted black jack, creaked as a chilly gust of air set it swinging. A second pole bore a picture of leaves, proclaiming that wine, as well as beer and ale, could be found within.

Shivering and stamping her booted feet to keep warm, Randi considered what to do next. She'd arrived almost an hour late, delayed by this uncommon cold weather. The Lorwyck River was frozen solid. She'd planned to hire a boat to take her across. Instead, she'd been obliged to walk, or rather to slip and slide, until she reached the opposite shore.

Randi Bryne · Date: 2007-02-24 13:18 EST

For whom had the tavern keeper mistaken her" One cloaked and hooded woman looked much like another, she supposed, especially in a poorly lit room. But why would Marcus have been with someone else when he was expecting her"

Her lips twisted into a mockery of a smile as Randi silently answered her own question. With Marcus, there always seemed to be another woman.

A door opened a few feet from where Randi stood. Giving her a suspicious look, a shopkeeper hung out a lantern containing a candle. A hook had been set into the doorframe for that purpose.

The action served as a pointed reminder of the foolishness of remaining where she was when the sun was about to set. She'd come alone, as Marcus's coded message had instructed. Now she was acutely aware that she was in a strange neighborhood without the protection of servant, friend, or guard.

Along with a sharp mind and an inquisitive nature, both characteristics had been inherited from her father. Neither, however, made her any match for footpads or cutpurses. The fact that she had on her person a pouch containing the gold coins Marcus had demanded she bring with her rendered her even more conscious of her vulnerability.

Where was he"

Why had he not waited for her, especially if he was in need of money' Randi was torn between relief and disappointment and beset by the same anxiety that had settled over her three days earlier, when she'd arrived and waited to hear word from a man most people supposed to be dead.

During the previous year and a half, while waiting for some word of or from her "dead friend?" Randi had come to the conclusion that Marcus must have planned well, secreting enough of Zane's funds —sufficient to spirit him safely out of Myerslock. She'd begun to think she'd never see him again. On the other hand, she had not been unduly surprised to receive what amounted to a demand that she secretly come to him and bring with her a considerable sum in gold if she wished the documents Zane and she needed to complete their own desperate act.

Despite the discordant nature of their relationship, she and Marcus knew each other well enough. He'd have had no doubt she'd obey. Her sense of honor compelled her to comply with his wishes, no matter how much she resented doing so. This would be their last meeting, she'd decided on the long, cold journey from what she now considered her home in Rhy'din.

At the square, where King Street met Hightower Lane and both noisy thoroughfares were crowded enough to make Randi feel safe, she paused in front of a bookseller's shop and contemplated her next move. The buildings directly across from her comprised the Royal Mews. In spite of the name, which implied the presence of falcons and other hunting birds, this mews housed the queen's horses. The Swan Inn was situated just to the left, and was, without doubt, a more reputable establishment than the Black Jack.

She would spend the night there, Randi decided. It was possible that Marcus, following her logic, would look for her at that inn. If he did not, then in the morning she would return to Rhy'din, whether Zane sent for her or not. She had, she assured herself, obeyed every instruction in the coded letter. After a half a dozen years of betrayals, her sense of obligation was worn thin. Any true loyalty for Marcus Appleton had long since withered and died.

Randi had just turned toward the Swan when she heard a commotion erupt behind her. Shouts and laughter drew her attention to the ornate Celtic cross at the center of the intersection, twenty steps circling the base of the huge structure.

In the last rays of the setting sun, Randi saw a man, apparently much the worse for drink, struggle to climb the cross. His slow progress was marked by considerable weaving and stumbling. To the delight of the jeering, hooting crowd that quickly gathered to watch him, he suddenly clutched at his throat and tottered, his footing precarious on the icy surface of the top step.

Beset by an uneasy premonition, Randi joined the throng moving toward the cross. She was too far away to do more than gasp when the man seemed to lose control of his legs. Before anyone could aid him, he tumbled headfirst down the stairs, losing his hat on the way and striking his unprotected skull several times before his limp form came to rest at the base of the monument.

A sudden hush fell over the spectators. The man lay still, sprawled face down at the foot of the stairs. Bright blood stained the back of a baldhead. That, together with the unnatural angles of his limbs, made it likely he was beyond human help.

All the same, Randi stepped closer. If any spark of life remained, she felt obliged to do what she could to ease the fellow's pain and suffering.

Another would-be Samaritan reached the body ahead of her, turning it over only to recoil in revulsion. A small, intricately feathered dart protruded from the hollow of the man's throat.

At first, in the rapidly fading twilight, Randi did not recognize the dead man. She did not know anyone who was both completely bald and clean-shaven.

Then someone brought a lantern forward. Silhouetted by its light was a familiar profile of brow and nose and chin.

Randi heard a choked sound and realized with a dull sense of surprise that she had made it. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, struggling to exert some measure of control over her rapidly fluctuating emotions.

The dead man was none other than the one she was to meet, Sir Marcus Appleton

As she backed out of the crowd and turned to flee back to the ship, a dozens questions floated to the surface of her panicked mind, the most urgent, "What now?"

Randi Bryne · Date: 2007-02-28 00:27 EST

(Story put on hold until Zane mun gets back to the states)

Randi Bryne · Date: 2007-03-05 22:37 EST

Randi's first tingle of alarm came the moment she stepped inside the squalid tap house and its fetid warmth rushed over her face. Since her unexpected return to Rhy'din, Zane had been putting a lot of distance between the two of them for some reason. Following her instinct's, she had set out at dusk to find him and put the question to him matter-of-factly.

Silence blanketed the den as the patrons inside took her measure, sensing she was out of place in the prostitute-laden tavern. She hadn't dressed to attract notice. She wore boys" pants and a shirt under an unadorned cloak. A hat covered most of the bright hair she'd prodded under it. Still they stared.

Her breath shuddered out. She was here on a mission to find Zane, Randi reminded herself. And now that she'd arrived alone, she would merely have to do her best not to get killed. With an up cast chin and an offhand gaze, she plowed through the throngs of roughnecks peopling the tavern. The tinny music from a badly tuned fiddle at last resumed.

Obviously, the information she'd received pertaining to Zane's whereabouts was mistaken; her friend would never come to a place like this, a place where sailors found "company' before they shipped out. When a deckhand had told Randi where Zane was, she'd assumed the Wharf and Quay Tavern had gone under new, less nefarious management since she'd been away.

This was certainly not the case. One last sweep over the place and then she could go back and throttle the deckhand for his prank. One last"He was here.

With a heavily painted light-skirts hanging all over him.

At least, part of her hung over him. Breasts like two hemispheres of a globe perched on the tight line of her bodice, threatening to free themselves with each of her throaty laughs. And Lord help her, Randi thought as her face screwed up in shrinking expectation, the woman laughed a lot.

Randi marched toward him through a gauntlet of human sweat, gin-spiked breath, and loose, unlaced bodies.

At the sight of her, Zane's jaw dropped and then snapped closed, bulging at the sides.

Here we go " Zane was a fearsome looking man when angered. His eyes became wild and his face flushed to match the hints of auburn in his beard and hair. That she hadn't forgotten. But she had minimized how angry he would be when she'd decided to come here tonight. There was no choice. She was running out of time.

She proceeded with a pained, set smile until she stood before him.

"Randi," he ground out between his teeth, "what in the hell are you doing here?"

Her gaze flickered over the whore's rouged nipples as she boldly shed her bodice. Rolling her eyes, Randi retorted, "Just what in the hell are you doing here?"

With some muffled words and a pat on the woman's arm, Zane shooed the prostitute away, then sharply motioned for Randi to sit. "I came here looking for information," he answered brusquely.

"Ohhh," she said as she gave him a frown of disbelief. "Is that what they're calling it now?"

"That's clever," he replied with thick sarcasm, absently raising his mug.

Randi wrinkled her nose at the dented and grimy container.

He looked in it, frowned, and then placed it well away from him. "I'd planned to meet a man here who knows about Appleton's death and the location of his journal. It happens that he's connected with that woman." With a slightly wounded look, he added, "You know me better than that."

Randi nodded grudgingly and gave him a small, apologetic smile. It lasted only seconds before she became serious at the mention of the killing. "Tell me you have some idea who did this," she said.

"I'm finally getting some good leads," he said in a manner that closed the subject. "Now, what in God's name are you doing here?"

"Well. I've been thinking ?" But as she started the speech she'd rehearsed during her trip back from Lorwyck, with all her reasons why she should sail with him on the upcoming job, the doxy appeared again, sidling up to Zane. Giving Randi a nasty look, she began a provocative whispering in his ear.

Zane wasn't sending the woman packing anytime soon, and Randi wasn't about to watch their murmured conversation. Turning from them, she dropped her chin onto the back of her chair and settled in to watch all the curs and explicitly dressed women while they "mingled."

A loud thud shook her from her musings, and her gaze turned to the front door as three men marched in out of the cold.

They wore expensive and tastefully cut clothes, marking them as gentlemen. Drunken gentlemen, she amended as she got a better look at them. These were jaded high-steppers out for a night of cheap drink and even cheaper debauchery. Well, they'd come to the right place.

Although the men didn't attract nearly the interest that she had on her own entrance, the tavern quieted upon their arrival. Probably because the largest man was massive?over six feet and obviously well built in his tailored clothing.

But that wasn't what drew her awareness. No, it was the air of menace, seething and palpable, that reverberated in him. Even when he sat down with his long legs stretched out in front of his chair, his guise relaxed, she sensed a latent tension in him. The others sensed it, too. The parties of seamen, the crimps, and the colorful doxies acted like skittish animals when forced to walk past his table.

Randi Bryne · Date: 2007-03-05 22:46 EST

He was the only one of the three men not noticeably inebriated, and strangely enough, when his eyes flicked over the room, a look like disgust lit his face. Why would he come to a place that offended him'

Then, as if her curiosity had drawn his attention, the man turned his intense gaze on her. After a second, his eyes narrowed. She sucked in a breath and knew: He saw through her disguise! Looked past the boys" clothes and somehow made her feel bare before him.

"I see you've noticed Captain St Clair," Zane cut in dryly.

Randi jerked her eyes away, her face heating furiously. But then the name sank into her muddled mind: St. Clair, the dissolute captain of the Wayward Wench"and Zane's most bitter enemy.

"That's Derek St Clair?" she asked in hushed amazement, staring at Zane in wonder. The idea that he continually crossed this lethal-looking man was cause to make her alternately cheer his bravery and question his sanity.

"The one and only," he said as he stood. Bidding his doxy good night, he motioned impatiently for Randi to follow him. "Looks as though we'll be leaving." Zane's face turned fierce. "Because if he keeps staring at you like that, I'll have to make good on my threats and kill the bastard."

As she followed him through the crowd, some urge goaded her to glance back at St Clair. She gave in to the temptation, only to find his eyes on her.

Watch was too tame a word for what he did"his gaze roamed over her in a proprietary manner that defied her to walk away from him. But she would. Such an intriguing-looking man, despite his deeply lined countenance. What a waste, she mused acidly as she turned away.

"Damn it, Randi, when will you learn?" he demanded before the toe of her boot had touched the refuse-strewn street. "Walking into the Wharf and Quay as if you owned it! Hell, it's because of men like St Clair that you shouldn't be in a place like that."

"I've been in worse," she countered as he anxiously led her away.

"But to attract St Clair's attention and then antagonize him?" He threw another look over his shoulder. "It's as if you're drawn to trouble."

"Well, trouble and I do go way back," she said between short breaths as she struggled to keep up with him.

He twisted around and frowned at her before slowing his progress down the quay.

"If he's such a bad man, then for God's sake, why do you go out of your way to cross him?"

"I have my reasons for plaguing St Clair." His voice hardened again as he looked at her. "That man is a wastrel and a brute and you're to have nothing to do with him. He'd use you and throw you away without so much as a good-bye. Especially since he knows I'm connected to you in some way." He paused, then added starkly, "If he realizes who you are, I can't imagine what the cold-blooded bastard will do."

"I don't think he'll even remember me in the morning," she finally assured him, though secretly, perversely, the idea displeased her. "After all, he'll most likely get drunk tonight."

Zane grunted. "Not so drunk that he'd forget you.? He placed a hand on her shoulder, steering her around the ship debris speckling the docks.

She decided then that she couldn't win this skirmish. But this was hardly over. She had other arrows in her quiver for their next round, so she reeled in her thoughts and forced herself to let the fight lie for now.

D. St Claire · Date: 2007-03-10 12:15 EST

"Lower the damn dinghy, and be quick about it," Captain St Claire called to his first mate. The crew struggled with the fouled tackle, almost losing the heavy boat bow first over the side. After much cursing, they managed to launch the craft and tether it to the starboard gunnel. The channel swell was high and the topsail schooner rolled heavily, pulling at its anchored chains.

Derek's watch was held to the shore as they drew closer. His thoughts, however, were on Zane and the woman. Why she thought she could pass as a boy was amusing, if not puzzling. And all the more intriguing. And of course, that she knew he saw past her sad attempt of a disguise just enhanced the rules of engagement. He intended to break every rule and that would be gravy for the meal he planned to make of her.

"Nidever, when you go ashore, don't approach the wench. Find her. Watch her. But do not approach her. I want to toy with her myself. Trifle with her mind and discover exactly what Zane thinks he is going to accomplish with this. As long as we have Marcus" documents, he can dangle as many sweet morsels before us as he likes." Knocking the ashes from his pipe, it was stowed away in a pocket before he looked back to Nidever. That scowl deepened as he observed his first mate with his fingers near to thrust up his nose.

Nidever was listening, though his own thoughts were back on the wench he had left sprawled in the hay stack with a sated smile, just hours past. The scent of her was still latched firmly upon those fingers he held to his flared nostrils. "If she has half a wit about her, she will be sure to flee back to Lorwyck and leave Zane to finish up this business."

"Nidever, get yourselves overboard before I change my mind," the Captain yelled and four men clad in coarse denim and carrying loaded packs and flintlocks scrambled over the side and down the Jacob's ladder. They barely had time to stow their gear in the bobbing boat before being cast off.

"You there, take up the oars," Nidever roared as he settled into the boat and the men settled down to a steady cadence as he steered them toward the windswept shore. Nidever expertly pointed the dinghy at a lone sandy cove surrounded by dunes, keeping well clear of the rocky shelves and near-vertical headlands.

"Aye, this wind better shift if we're ta ever get off a'gin," Bowery complained.

"Shut your mouth and mind the ores," Nidever growled and the men grumbled but bent to their rowing. Their boat was suddenly lifted by the shore break and shot toward the beach, the crew hollering and holding on tight. But the dinghy safely dragged bottom and Spencer and Murphy jumped into the raging foam and shouldered the craft forward as the others collected their gear. Out in the channel, the schooner captained by St. Claire had already weighed anchor and was beating an eastern tack toward the Rhydin ports to lie in wait and throw off Zane's scent while the others came in through the back door, so to speak.

Nidever smiled to himself. "Those old sea rovers can be so impatient. But he'll be patient enough if he wants a piece of the prize."

With much grunting the men muscled the boat up the beach to a spot above the tide line then collapsed into the shade of its hull. There were no trees on this long hunk of rock and the relentless wind blew hard, bringing with it a fine curtain of melting snow and the sound of a thousand sea lions barking their complaints.

"Bollocks! This sure's a forlorn place," Spencer said and pulled at one of his back teeth. It was loose and the pain had been dogging him all the way south for three days now.

Murphy scratched himself and yawned. "Stop bellyaching. It's still better than Lorwyck. Never stays dry there, no matter what ta season." The rest of them shook their heads in agreement.

It was just past dawn and they'd built a fire for coffee and were chewing on their tough breakfast. The wind had shifted and blew cold out of the west, white-capping the surf. The men huddled together like beached seals against its chill and barked at each other.

"It'll be a hard pull around the end."

"Where'd Mr. Nidever get to?"

"Probably watering the garden."

"Not him, he'd more like ta build a privy than hang it out in this wind."

The men laughed and Spencer was about to launch into more genial ridicule when interrupted by Nidever stumbling into camp with an armload of driftwood. He kneeled at the fire to warm his trembling hands then panted good-naturedly:

"At least " I have " something to hang " in the wind." The men laughed and pushed themselves up to join him at the fire.

"I want all of ya to go collect an armload. You'll have the devil to pay if you wait till we make camp tonight." As the men disappeared in all directions, Nidever gulped the remains of the coffee and began to take stock. He struggled to climb the tallest dune and scanned the horizon for signs of other life. Musing aloud to himself, "Remember the cut the good captain will take - and we are not likely back this way. We'll be off again soon enough and I'll be glad to leave this God-forsaken place.? Plans for tracking the wench already forming as he turned back to rouse his men into action.

Randi Bryne · Date: 2007-03-11 09:43 EST

The morning the letter arrived, Randi awoke with a premonition. Before she even opened her eyes, her heart was pounding and her throat was so tight, she thought she might choke. The taste of iron filled her mouth. Throwing the bedclothes aside, she told herself not to be silly. She laced her bodice over her shift and stepped into her skirt. After pinning her hair into a coil, she descended the narrow staircase to the kitchen to help herself to a mug of coffee. Zane and an odd little man were in the front room murmuring over his pile of books. Randi listened to them recite the Latin names of poisonous herbs then turned away.

The weather turning more pleasant finally, she took her coffee to the front of the house and leaned in the open door frame that she might look out on the market square, the ships docked in the port, and the hills beyond. That morning her eyes were too restless to settle on the denizens enjoying the pleasant morning air and the first hint of Spring; they kept wandering off toward the horizon.

Randi's father taught her about the masters of painting and engraving. How da Vinci had transformed vision into a new geometry. He taught her about scale and proportion. The point where a ship was lost over the horizon was known as the vanishing point.

As a child, still full of awe and wonder with the world, their servant, Geneva, a woman of fifty-three years with ropy blue veins bulging out of her red hands, had taught Randi about another kind of vanishing. About the vanishing people who had once populated the West Country, indeed the entire island of Lorwyck. Their stone arrows, green mounds, and dolmens still marked the land that had swallowed them. The first people. Once, according to Geneva, the faery folk had possessed physical bodies as plain and ordinary as anyone else's. But over the centuries, they had become fey. Their bodies grew vaporous and insubstantial, visible only at twilight and in dreams. Fleeing church bells and the glint of iron, they shrank into their hollow hills.

"A mere optical illusion, Randi," her father told her, referring to the vanishing point on the horizon. "In truth, the ship does not disappear. The vessel is still there, even if we on the shore cannot see it."

So it transpired that both people and ships could become ghosts without even dying or sinking beneath the waves. Such seemed to be the peculiar vanishing of St. Claire's Wayward Wench from the very docks of Rhydin. Had he simply vanished" Did he know she had been watching his ship, unbeknownst to the man himself. Or had he known"

When the rider trotted up to the garden gate on his mud-spattered cob, she struggled out of her musings to bid her feet into motion, as though waking from a dream, and stepped across the threshold and moved toward the gate before he could dismount..."Is dis w"ere Master Zane bae stayin?" he asked.

Randi nodded. The milky-faced youth leaned from his saddle and thrust a letter at her"a piece of folded parchment, sealed with wax, and marked by the many hands it had passed through until it had reached hers.

"Dae missive came all dae "ay from Montazine, Miss!" said the rider, too imperious to even flirt as he kicked the horse's flanks and spurred him around.

With a murmur of thanks that the boy never heard in his haste to be off, she was setting the mug of tepid coffee aside and breaking the seal to fold the yellowed parchment open even as she was turning and heading inside with an anxious call to the two men in the study. "Damnable cur. Zane, you have a letter, and theWayward Wench is gone!?

Randi Bryne · Date: 2007-03-11 19:21 EST

No sooner had Randi delivered the letter regarding the expected delivery than Zane was out the door, heading towards the market square to the docks to verify for himself that the Wayward Wench was indeed, not docked in the bay.

From dawn to dusk, the streets hummed with activity, while in the numerous taverns with their huge wine casks, kegs of flowing ale, long benches, and reed-strewn floors, drinkers with nothing better to do spent their time gambling on dice games. There was open-air entertainment, too, for those who had time to watch it. Jesters bumped and tumbled, jugglers showed off their skills, and minstrels crooned the latest ballads to the accompaniment of a fiddle-like instrument called the vielle. Roving troops of actors performed morality tales for the crowds, often enlivening popular religious stories with slapstick comedy and satirical asides to the audience. And behind this incessant hustle and bustle, bells tolled away the hours, dictating the rhythm of people's lives across the city; for in the perpetual half-light of the narrow streets, the passage of time was heard rather than seen.

The one that accompanied him, named Gerald, sighed fatalistically, "Strange times make strange brothers" he said. He resembled a rat. His long patrician nose hooked slightly as if it had been broken once and never healed properly. His small eyes narrowed as his glance crossed that of a tall man dressed in a gray cloak. Immediately, two fingers touched lightly upon his brow in farewell to Zane and Gerald was stepping into the crowd silently to follow the gray cloak.

With a spring in her step, no doubt due to the glorious weather, she dipped her head in greeting to the departing Gerald then sashayed over to Zane with a wicked grin on her lips.

When Randi rounded a corner and approached him with that mischievous grin, Zane's focus shifted to land upon her with a frown. "What the devil are you grinning about, now" "

"You are in danger. I am here to help where I can." Stated matter-of-factly with a light shrug of her shoulders as she took up a lean against the corner of the building, turning her own gaze to be fanned out over the crowds.

"Until a week ago I would have said I had no enemies! I'm a quiet man. I live peacefully. I go about my business honestly. I don't mess with the supernatural."

She would have heatedly argued the point of "honest' trade, but it seemed pointless. As always, arguing with a Master thief was ridiculous. "You trade in it."

"What?" Asked incredulously.

"Of course you do. Relics. What are they, if not supernatural?"

"They are not sorcery!"

"They are power," she said flatly. "Power can be used for good or ill."

"Relics are good," he said angrily. "They heal."

"They can harm, too. I've heard of relics that struck down thieves, paralyzed evildoers and smote blasphemers dumb, liar's blind, oath-breakers dead. Power works both ways. You trade in the uncanny, Zane, and you deal with powerful folk. Among them is one at least who seeks your harm."

"If you didn't antagonize, I would not be forced to deal with St. Claire, nor would I be in harm's way. Again." Cutting a narrowed glance toward her accusingly.

"Plots slither through the night. Trust"it decays like seaward gates left to rust." Cutting her eyes toward him as they narrowed playfully, she dared a ghost of a smile.

With a grunt, he folded his arms across his chest and stared past the crowd gathered in the square to the Museum in the distance. "Regardless of pitiful superstitions and mindless fears, plots and treachery, we still need that one more relic to conduct this business and be done with it, once and for all. What do you think the chances are of hiring one of these village idiots to break in there and cause a ruckus?"

"Mmhmm." As her gaze traveled over a caravan of camels toting the remnants of merchant's spoils, she turned her attention briefly to the museum cast in the glow of the day's last light. "I'll see what I can do. As for St. Claire," With an impish grin she pushed out of her lean and began the trek towards the Inn even as she was calling back to the brooding Zane over a slender shoulder. "I must not have antagonized him that much. After all, he left."

"One day, I will whip you soundly." An empty threat mumbled while pulling a slim cigar from his pocket. A thick brow quirked upward at her haughty manner before he was cocking his head in motion toward the docks. "Not quite, Caro. The bastard just dropped anchor about two hours back. Seems he is not quite ready to quit Rhydin, after all."

Spinning about on her heels, she stared in astonishment at the Schooner docked in the bay in the distance, his flag unmistakable, even in twilight. That cheerful mood vanished, much like her very own vanishing point. "Damnation!?

D. St Claire · Date: 2007-03-29 19:36 EST

Words of wisdom were usually coined by wise men, but whoever it was first uttered "Let a smile be your umbrella" was a real moron. Wouldn't a frown be a better umbrella" It turns down, so the rain can run off. A smile turns up, so it can fill to the brim, then dump on you when you least expect it.

For most of the day he had been pondering this deep spiritual conundrum while staring out the soot-smeared window of the study at a rain that reeked of oil and tar, spiced with just a beguiling hint of something from the sea. The storm was coming down in waves, hitting the streets, sloshing like slop in a trough, rolling like a Tsunami, sweeping grease, garbage, and an occasional bum in its wake to swirl and eddy around the mouths of storm drains long since clogged shut by flotsam, jetsam, and bums.

"Cap"ain!" came the voice of Nidever, his first mate, a man so oily that heads of lettuce on street vendor's carts fled in terror when he passed.

"What?" he snarled, not happy to be taken from the hypnotic allure of the deluge and thrust back into March in Lorwyck; particulars of her existence, where she was, what she suspected, how much she knew that the numbing rain had helped him forget for a precious few hours.

"Murphy's back wit' news on tha' Missus."

"About bloody time." Turning, his hands clasped at his back, he gave the man a curt nod. "Is the plant in place?"

"Aye, "e is. T'ey returned yesterday and "e says she is attendin" Calmore's tomorrow evenin", just as ye wanted."

Without responding, he turned back to the rain-streaked window. "She is a bold kitten." He smiled for the first time in over a month.

Zane · Date: 2007-03-30 14:14 EST

A hardened killer denied his obsession for a decade.

That was what Zane was bringing back into his friend's life with one cryptic message: Randi is in grave danger.

Since receiving Mignard's missive in Myerslock two days ago, Zane had read and reread it with fingers gone white from clutching it in fury.

If anyone had dared to hurt her . . .

Now, after days, and nights, riding like hell was at his heels, Zane had finally reached the Mignard town house. He slid down from his saddle and nearly toppled over, his legs gone boneless from so many hours on horseback. His mount was as winded as Zane, its coat lathered and its barrel chest twitching.

As Zane approached the side door, where he always entered, he encountered Mignard's nephew, Clayton Mignard"who also did work for Mignard'sprawled along the stairs.

"Where's Randi?" Zane demanded without preamble.

"Upstairs," Clay said, seeming preoccupied and even somewhat dazed. "Getting ready for . . . for her night out."

"She's safe?" When Clay nodded absently, relief sailed through Zane. Over the hours alone on the road, his mind had conjured too many ways she could be in grave danger. He hated this business of using her as bait. Now that Zane had been assured of her safety, the hunger and thirst he'd ignored for two days began to gnaw at him. "Who's watching her now?"

Clay answered, "Rudy's inside, and I'm trailing her tonight."

Rudy was Edward Mignard's butler. Most butlers in the exclusive enclave of Lorwyck's were older with a hint of grandeur about them, denoting experience and the longevity of a family's fortunes. Rudy was in his mid-thirties, wiry, his nose shapeless from being broken so many times. His fingers were scarred from his incessant use of steel knuckles. Zane knew the man would kill for Randi.

"Is Mignard here?" Zane asked.

Clay shook his head. "Not getting in till late. He said if you somehow managed to get here tonight, to tell you he wants to see you in the morning to give you all the details."

"I'm going in?"

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"Why the hell no?""

"For one thing, your clothes are covered with dirt, and your face looks like hell."

Zane ran a sleeve over his cheek, remembering too late the jagged cuts marking his skin.

"For another, I'm not sure Randi would want to see you, considering you forced her here against her will and refused to let her go after what she deems is rightfully hers."

Zane had ridden nonstop for days, and his body was a mass of knotted muscles and aching old injuries. His head was splitting. The idea of being near her again and so close to the end of this madness had been all that kept him going. "That does no' make sense. We used to be friends."

Clay flashed him an odd expression. "Well, she's . . . different now. Completely different and completely out of control." He caught Zane's eyes. "I don't know that I can take another night of it." He shook his head forcefully. "No longer. Not after what they did last night. . . ."

"Who' Did what?"

"The four brats. Or at least, three of them. Two of whom are my sisters!"

Lorwyck's notorious Mignard four consisted of Randi and her three female friends. Remembering the brazen antics they'd encouraged Randi to take part in, Zane felt his irritation building.

"But this is no' what I've been brought here for?" Zane had abandoned his injured comrade in Myerslock and nearly killed his new horse, a fine gelding that had been a gift for a service he'd rendered. "Because Mignard needs someone to rein her in?"

Surely Mignard wouldn't be so foolish as to call Zane back for this. Mignard knew what Zane was doing, of course. He was Zane's present employer and dispatched him to deliver justifiable deaths. But then, Mignard had no idea how badly Zane worried over Randi. Nor for how long.

An obsession. For ten bloody years . . .

Zane shook his head. Mignard would never have exaggerated the danger in his missive.

"Mignard didn't tell you what?s happened?" Clay's brows drew together. "I thought he sent you a message."

"With little information. Now, what in the hell?"

"Bloody hell!" Rudy came barreling through the doorway. "Bloody, bloody hell! Clay! Have you seen her?"

"Rudy?" Clay shot to his feet. "You're supposed to be watching her until she leaves."

The butler cast Clay a scowl. "I told you she knew we'd been following her. She must've gone out the window. And got that saucy maid of hers to walk about, tryin" on dresses in her room."

"She's gone?" Zane lunged for Rudy and fisted his hands in the man's shirt. "Where's she going and who's she with?"

"To a ball," Rudy said, but immediately glanced at Clay.

Zane gave Rudy a shake, knowing he was risking Rudy's swift uppercut, usually accompanied by those steel knuckles.

"Go ahead," Clay said. "Mignard tells him everything anyway."

"She's goin" to a masquerade with Clay's sisters and one of their friends."

"What kind of masquerade?" Zane asked, though he had a good idea.

"Libertines and courtesans," Rudy said. "Calmore's place on Queen's Lane." With a grated curse, Zane released Rudy, and then forced his legs to cooperate while he crossed to his horse"which seemed to eye him with disbelief that their journey wasn't over yet. Gritting his teeth at his tightened muscles, Zane mounted.

"You're goin" after her?" Rudy asked. "We're just supposed to follow her. Mignard doesn't want her to know yet."

"Zane, rest," Clay said. "I'm sure they took a carriage, and the traffic will be mad. I've got time to saddle up and beat them there?"

"Then follow, but I'm going now." Zane reined around. "Best tell me what I'm up against."

Clay's grave expression made Zane's fists clench around his reins.

"Not what, but who. Mignard thinks St Claire might be on his way here to take the bait. Or worse"

Randi Bryne · Date: 2007-04-02 15:52 EST

Glancing furtively at the masked revelers who swarmed the country estate, Randi gave a discreet tug at the scandalously low-cut bodice of her favorite green evening dress. She had never worn the garment without the lace fichu, but these circumstances called for boldness.

I'm doing this for Reese. The litany repeated in her head, playing harmony to her rising panic, as she trailed along behind the party ahead of her.

The evening had begun innocuously enough. She and her companions had accompanied some friends to the masquerade at the Calmore estate. Everyone from the royal family to the poorest commoner wore a mask, adding an air of scandal to the otherwise mundane amusements. The entire room was lit with Chinese lanterns, the sounds of gaiety and music spilling outside terrace doors, into the rain cleansed night, which sweetened the spring air. Libertines, courtesans, nobles, commoner and peasants alike, all cleverly disgusied.

She had been content to go along and simply observe the laughter and occasional glimpses of strangers coming together for a sharing of forbidden fruit, secure in the company of her friends and her animosity. The smug smile she wore an added bonus for slipping past Clay and Rudy unobserved.

Men. Quite impossible to reason with, troublesome, pushy, overbearing.

Mulling over why the devil they were following her every move anyway, she finally begin to relax.

And then she had seen the ring.

This was the third sighting. The first time she'd seen the symbol had been that wax seal upon the papyrus scrolls in Mignard's office. The second time, on St.Claire's hand.

Her gaze drifted to it again on the hand of one of the gentlemen she followed. He wasn't, St. Claire. Of that she was certain.

A black rose crossed with a sword. It was this symbol that had given her the courage to slip away from the security of her party and follow those raucous youths down darkened corridors to their lantern lit private parlor area.

Coarse laughter drifted back to her from the group of "ladies" who had caught the eyes of the rakish gentlemen she pursued. It had been an easy thing to attach herself to the crowd and pretend she was just another doxy. The masks they all wore would protect her identity. And if they unmasked at midnight, she would make certain to be gone before then.

"Come in, ladies," the young man in the lead invited, with a sweep of his arm. His ring glittered in the dim light.

Sucking in a deep breath, Randi fell in line behind the gaudily dressed prostitutes. She tried not to goggle at the shocking d"colletage of one woman's gown, the cut so low that her ample breasts looked to be in danger of popping out of her bodice. Another of the disreputable females had clearly dampened her skirts, outlining her limbs in a most shocking manner. All of them wore flamboyant masks; their faces enhanced by heavily applied powder and brightly rouged lips and cheeks.

Next to the colorful lot of ladybirds, her unpainted lips and simple mask struck her as somewhat conspicuous. Part of her wanted to run away, back to the safety of well-lit rooms and her older and wizened friends. But she couldn't leave. Not when she was so close to discovering the meaning of the symbol and why it tugged menacingly at her memory.

Their host blocked the door with his arm when she would have entered the parlor. "What have we here?" His mouth curved in a predatory smile. Behind his mask, his eyes glittered as he swept his greedy gaze over her body. "Aren't you a tasty-looking sweetmeat?"

His audacity struck her mute. Then he traced his fingers down her bare arm. She flinched away, her gaze falling on his ring with a cold kind of curious terror.

His smile became a scowl. "What's the matter, sweetheart' I'm not good enough for you?"

"Leave her be." A scantily clad doxy with brassy blond curls pushed to the front of the line. She leaned against the man and rubbed her barely clad breasts against his arm. "Can't ye see she's a new girl" I've got what a man like you wants." She held his gaze boldly, a knowing smile on her ruby red lips.

Slowly the masked man grinned, then traced a finger down the bare slope of her breast. "That you do, my beauty." He cast Randi a dismissive glance. "Go in, then."

Heart pounding with fear, she hurried into the parlor then just as quickly slipped onto the terrace through a connecting corridor to catch her breath, rethink her bout of madness and will her beating heart down to a gallop, instead of the trip-hammer it had become.

What in blue blazes did she think she was doing" And now that she was here, how did she escape back to the sanity of her friends?

Zane · Date: 2007-04-04 16:06 EST

At his first sight of Randi in nearly a month, Zane forgot to breathe. The pain in his body, the hunger and fatigue went unnoticed.

He strode headlong after her, shadowing her group from a parallel alley as they strolled down Market Street after alighting from their carriage.

At the mere mention of St. Claire, Zane was determined to take Randi from this place, too. Woman was nothing but a constant source of irritation and "

A massive hand clamped on his shoulder and yanked back. "Could've planted a knife in your back a dozen times these last ten minutes," a deep voice intoned from behind him. "Losing your touch?"

"Ethan?" Zane wrenched his arm back, throwing off his older friend's grip, then swung a lowering glance at him. "What are you doing here?"

"Christ, what happened to your face?" Ethan interrupted.

"Explosion. Falling rock." Zane had been caught in a shower of slate in a battle down in Andorra just days ago"the same battle Courtland had nearly lost his leg in. "Now answer the question."

"Went by Mignard's. Caught Clay just as he was readying to leave," he replied. "And lucky thing I did. It's no' like you to be so careless in a case like this. What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking I'm taking Randi home. To Myerslock this time!"

"Mignard only wants her followed. Stop shaking your head"St. Claire has no' made Myerslock yet." When Zane remained unconvinced, Ethan said, "And he might no' make it here alive. So just calm yourself and take your nursemaid duty like a man."

"Is that what I've been called back here for" Why would Mignard want me?"

"He seemed to think I would unnerve Randi while protecting her," Ethan said casually. His scarred face had been known to scare women. "And that Clayton is only qualified to divest certain foreign ladies of certain critical secrets. No, Mignard needed a gunman. And you know St. Claire best."

Zane returned his attention to Randi, who was at that moment passing the cross-street where he stood concealed, so close he could hear her throaty, sensual voice, but couldn't make out the words. In that dress and that mask, she looked . . . wanton.

"Is Courtland back in Lorwyck with you?" Ethan asked.

Without looking away from her, Zane said, "I had to leave him behind when I got the missive from Mignard. Court injured his leg and could no' ride fast enough."

"Where did you leave him?" Ethan snapped. "Far enough away from her, I hope."

Zane had been charged with more than just seeing Court back to Myerslock"he was supposed to make sure that Court didn't have second thoughts and return for his woman. "I left him in Antorria. Court will no' go back for her. He understands what he'll do to her if he returns," Zane said confidently enough, though he had to wonder. Court yearned for his lass so badly it was palpable. But Zane hadn't had a choice except to abandon him, not after learning Randi was in danger. "What the hell is this I'm hearing about St. Claire?" Zane asked. He had counted the man a friend until the last four years. Then everything had changed.

"Mignard sent him on a suicide mission. That failed."

That got Zane to face Ethan. "Were you a part of that?" Sometimes, most times, he wished Mignard had never recruited Ethan with himself.

Ethan gave him a chilling half smile'distorting the whitened scar winding down his face"the sneer that now seemed to say, Brother, had I been, there would be no failure. Then he replied, "I was no", but I did volunteer to take him out. Mignard seemed to think I was personally too involved, and declined."

"You volunteered?" Zane asked in disgust.

Ethan shrugged, unconcerned. "Well, go on. Doona let me stop you from overtaking their little coterie once more so you can see her from the front.?

Zane · Date: 2007-04-04 16:11 EST

Zane scowled, but Ethan was well aware of his feelings for Randi"there was no use denying it. "Have no' seen her in weeks," he bit out defensively as he strode down the side lane with Ethan following. "Concerned about her."

"It's like a carriage wreck I can see coming from a mile away," Ethan muttered. "First Court with his lass and now you with Randi"again. Thankfully, I remain immune."

Zane ignored his comment, settling into another dark spot farther up the street. "Why is Mignard so certain he'll target Randi?"

"No doubt he knows who she is now and St. Claire wants revenge," Ethan said simply. "He'll destroy what?s most precious to the old man. And had you not exposed her to St. Claire, we would not be here playing nursemaid now."

Just then, Randi laughed at something one of her freinds said, and Zane returned his gaze to her. She had always been quick to laugh"a quality that was foreign to him, but one that had beguiled him. She'd told him once, while cupping his face with her delicate hand and gazing up at him solemnly, that she promised to laugh enough for both of them, if need be.

"So now St. Claire plans to kill Randi," Ethan murmured over his shoulder, 'seeks to slit her throat like he's done with other women. Only now it seems he's got an additional reason for "is games, if he thinks she has that blasted relic she is so intent on finding."

"Enough," Zane grated, still staring at Randi's soft smile. The idea that St. Claire needed to be taken out permanently had never sat well with Zane, even as he understood it might be the only course. No longer would he be reluctant.

"I wager that right about now, you wish my offer to kill St. Claire had been accepted," Ethan said, easily reading him. "But no' to worry, my good man, it certainly has now. Mignard will do anything to protect her until this business is done and over with."

Ethan jerked his chin at Randi, faced Zane, and then did a double take back to the girls, only to stare. A disquieting interest flickered in his eyes, then flared"all the more unsettling to Zane because it was completely unfamiliar. Interest' In Ethan's deadened eyes"

Since the injury to his face, Ethan had seemed to lose interest in so many things"including chasing skirts, as he'd once been wont to do. Now, it was as if years of something, some kind of need, rushed to the fore. Ethan, it seemed, was not immune.

The unusual notice shocked Zane and as he turned to study the fourth girl in Randi's small but intimate party, he mumbled darkly.,. "I doona know her, but she must be one of Randi's friends. And she looks young, no' more than twenty. Too young for you." Ethan was an old, old thirty-three. "Doona toy with her, Ethan."

"Afraid I'll ruin your chances with Randi?" Ethan asked as he donned a mask. "Hate to remind you, old man, but they were ruined before you even met her. And you've got a book to prove it."

Shadowed to walk with death . . .

"Your fate is just as grim as mine," Zane reminded him, "yet you're going after a woman."

"Ah, but I'm in no danger of falling in love with her?"he turned to stride into the masquerade, tossing over his shoulder"'so it's no' likely my dallying will get her killed."

With a grated sound of frustration, Zane followed him into the building.

D. St Claire · Date: 2007-04-08 13:39 EST

He suspected no one else in the overcrowded parlor at Calmore's annual evening of debauchery had noted the lovely Randi quietly enter the parlor or just as discreetly leave. But then he doubted anyone else had been watching for the charming widow or with as close an eye as he had every since he spotted her and her gaggle of doxy's arrive.

He imagined she would be incensed to learn that her mask had done little to veil her identity from his well-trained eye. Oh yes, he knew exactly who she was, even if she did stick out like a sore thumb among the other "Ladies".

Had he doubted Nidever's report that Randi would be in attendance at the most scandalous and coveted event of the year, he was made a believer now. Which lead to the obvious question, why was she here"

No, all other eyes were on the hostess's insipid nephew, who even now, with a spritz or two of something into his mouth and numerous clearings of his throat, prepared to regale the gathering with his poetry of youthful and bawdy passion and dubious quality. Derek was confident therefore that no one would notice as well when he followed Randi's example. He sent a quick nod of thanks heavenward that he had had the foresight to plan his own escape and had positioned himself in the back of the room.

Adjusting the simple black mask across his eyes, he slipped out a side door and glanced down the corridor to catch a flash of green silk skirt as the woman turned the corner. Access to Calmore's terrace lay in that direction, as he, and anyone else who had ever attempted to flee their host's endless and not especially talented attempts at matchmaking, well knew.

Perhaps Randi was in need of a breath of fresh air; it was extraordinarily stuffy in the parlor. The scent of cheap cologne and cheaper sex was already heavy and overwhelming.

It was possible as well that she could be meeting someone. Calmore's terrace was as well known as a trysting spot as it was as a refuge. Still, Derek doubted it. Widows were not as encumbered by the strictures placed on society as never-married women; therefore Randi had no particular need of secrecy. Beyond that, given everything he knew about her, he suspected Randi rather disliked being the center of gossip. And gossip, usually remarkably accurate, indicated the lady was not currently involved with anyone nor had any wish to be entangled again.

Derek had known of Randi for years, although he did not, in truth, know her at all. She was a woman, an annoyance, someone to bed without repercussions, nothing more than that. Reese's widow. Zane's ward" It was not until the night at the tavern when she had brazenly entered, more than a month ago, that what should have been little more than an understanding appraisal between the two of them had without warning been fraught with something more significant and completely indefinable.

It struck him with a force akin to a lightning bolt, an abrupt awareness of sorts, perhaps of a kindred spirit or the possibility of adventure or a heretofore unsuspected and unimagined attraction. Or she was a deadly threat, once he had uncovered her identity. Especially if she suspected he was in no small measure responsible for her husband's death.

One of his comrades had said at the time that there was something in the air that night. Something of an ominous nature. It was nonsense, of course. Still, the moment had dwelled in the back of Derek's mind, lingered just beneath the surface of his well-ordered life. Under other circumstances, he would not have hesitated to call on the widow, make his intentions known, whether she was agreeable to being bedded or not.

But there had been something in that moment that had urged caution as well. That too was extremely odd. Derek was nothing if not cautious, yet he'd never before experienced a sense of caution in connection with a woman, even when he should have. It was damn near irresistible. He pushed open the glass door to the terrace, and his breath eased out silently on the cool night air. Still, it scarcely mattered at the moment. The night was clear given the season, and Randi's figure was silhouetted against the star-laden sky, exposing her to his view as she moved toward another set of glass doors leading to the hostess" bedchambers. With a groan of expectation, he moved his fingers across his brow wearily and moved after her. "Damn woman, you make this too easy.?

Topic: A Time for R & R: Revenge and Retribution.

Randi Bryne

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Zane

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D. St Claire

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