Master of the Shadows

“All I can tell you is this: When we returned from the Crusades, he left me in Sherwood and went to Scotland,” Will told her. “When he finally came back, he looked like a ghost of himself. He wouldn’t speak or rest or eat. If anyone came near him, he would draw his sword. Then he went into the forest and challenged every outlaw, murderer, and thief who crossed his path. ’Twas how he became their prince.”



Jayr made an impatient gesture. “What of it?”



“There were women in Sherwood Forest, too. Young, old, plain, and beautiful, and none of them could stay away from him. They followed him about like lovesick girls,” Will said softly. “He could have taken any of them, but he wouldn’t touch them.”



“So he spared a few peasants his dubious charms—”



“Rob didn’t touch any woman for a hundred years.” He saw the shock appear in her eyes. “Does that sound to you like a man who cares nothing for the right of a woman to refuse him?”



She moved away from him, her back rigid, and stood staring down at the lake for a long, silent interval. Finally she turned. “I will go.”



“I will come with you, my lady.”



“You are needed here.” She glanced back toward the camp. “She is awake now, but she will not leave your tent. She awaits you.”



“Does she.” Will had been avoiding Claris since bringing her to the camp. “I must deal with the Italians first.”



“In truth, she is the one who saved Rosethorn,” Jayr said. “Remember that, seneschal.”



Claris watched Will follow the suzerain out of camp, and stepped back into the tent. She knew his duties demanded much of him, but each time he came to the camp, he never even bothered to look in on her.



He must hate her now.



Suddenly she couldn’t bear to spend another moment among the Kyn, and grabbed her bag. She found that she still had the keys to the camper, and hurried off to it. But where would she go from here? No one wanted her. No one cared.



I will release you from your vow.



Father still did not know the truth. She had not found the book, but it had not been here. Guisbourne had stolen it from Locksley, and now Locksley would deliver it into the hands of the contessa. They had assumed the wrong things, had acted on the wrong information. It was her duty to tell her father that she had failed.



Claris drove out of camp, unaware of the vehicle following her. She drove too fast, but she couldn’t wait to reach the house where her father waited. She felt as frantic as Rebecca, as determined as Sylas. She ran up the drive and into the house, but came to a halt as she saw that all the furnishings had been draped with white dust cloths.



“Father?”



She hurried to his library, but the chair by the fireplace sat empty. No fire burned; only a thin layer of ash covered the brick. The desk had been cleared of his papers, the books removed from his shelves. The only trace of life she saw was a bottle half-filled with wine that sat on one of the tables. He must have drunk some of it before he had gone.



He had abandoned her.



“Claris.”



She turned to see Will and Lucan behind her. “What are you doing here?”



“We had nothing better to do than hare around Atlanta after you.” Lucan strolled over to her father’s chair and sat down. “I suppose a glass of wine would be utterly out of the question.”



“Is this where you were living?” Will asked.



“We leased the house when we came to America.” Numbly she went over to the desk and opened one of the drawers. His pens were gone. “My father must have gone back to England.”



“My mother tried that once—moving away in the dead of night and not telling me where.” Lucan studied his fingernails. “Damned decent of her, I always thought.”



A man in a black robe stepped into the room. “I waited for you, child.”



“Father.”



“This is your father?” Will saw the embroidered red Templar cross on the man’s robe and drew his dagger. “A Brethren priest? You did all this for him?”



“It is true. I sent Claris to infiltrate your ranks in order to steal The Maiden’s Book of Hours,” he continued as if Will hadn’t spoken. “Everything she has done has been on my orders.”



“Reese?” she asked.



“I have returned the young lady to her apartment,” he said. “She suffered no ill effects from being our guest, and her new fiancé has also been dealt with.”



Will stared at him. “I know you.” His expression darkened. “You were the priest sent to Aubury. Ennis of Worcester. The inquisitor.” He whipped around toward Claris. “You pledged yourself to this butcher?”



She looked past him. “Father, please.”



“She has served me faithfully these seven hundred years,” Ennis said. “Almost from the moment I rose from my grave to walk the night.”



“A Brethren turned Kyn.” Lucan rested his head against his hand. “Dear God. Now I have seen everything.”



“I was sent to Aubury to capture and interrogate the dark Kyn.” Ennis didn’t cower or run, but stood calmly as Will approached him. “I was very good at my task, as I am sure you know. A hundred of your kind died in my dungeons.”



“You may have my life, Will,” Claris pleaded. “Only spare him.”



“What?” He turned on her. “Why? Why would you die for him?”



“You do not know our history,” Ennis said. “As a mortal I became arrogant. I was no longer satisfied with the Kyn who were captured and brought to me. I began to hunt them on my own. By that time Claris had been seen all over the countryside. I believed the descriptions of her mad behavior would make her easy prey. But I miscalculated. Madness does not equal weakness. I tracked her, and found her. When I cornered her, she did what every wounded thing does.”



Will’s head spun. “She changed you.”



“No.” Claris stepped in front of Ennis. “I killed him.”



“It was not her fault. Claris had been tortured and starved,” Ennis said. “When she escaped from her tormentors, all mortals were her enemies. She killed any human who crossed her path. When I rose from my grave and I realized that I had become as she was, then I knew what I had to do.”



Will planted his sword in the ground. “So you lied to her, and made her believe you were her father, and made her your servant?”



“I never deceived her.” He walked over to Claris and stood beside her. “I found her living like a beast in the forest. I tamed her and befriended her. I believe the fact that she was the one who changed me may have had something to do with it. I stayed with her, gentled her, and in time brought her back to her senses. When she understood what she had done, she asked how she could make amends for taking my life and the lives of all the humans she had slain. I asked her to pledge her life to me, and to help me to protect the innocent.”



“You took advantage of her guilt,” Will snarled.



“On the contrary, I gave her affection and purpose.” He gave Will a haughty look. “I kept her from becoming like you and your kind.”



“By using her to work for the Brethren.”



“From the moment I changed, I knew I could no longer serve the order. Nor could I allow myself or Claris to serve your kind. I realized there was no one to serve the mortals caught between the Kyn and the Brethren.” He folded his hands in his sleeves. “I found others, alone and frightened, with no one to guide them. Together we became the guardians of humanity.”



“Do you mean you have been running about all this time doing good deeds for mortals?” Lucan drawled. “How exceedingly tedious.”



“Father, I could not retrieve the book.” Claris hunched her shoulders. “Guisbourne took it to Rome. That is why Lord Locksley pursued him. He is to take it to the Contessa Borgiana.”



“Salvatora is dead, and the book rendered harmless,” Ennis said. “The threat to the mortal world is over.”



“How?”



He glanced at Will. “I think I will leave it to your new friends to explain.” He came to Claris and took her hands in his. “I release you from your vow to me, Claris of Aubury. Your life is your own now.”



“You are going back to England, I hope?” Lucan asked. “Assuming my friend Will allows you to leave the building alive?”



“I am no threat to you, assassin. Or you,” he said to Will. “I trust you will look after her.” When Will nodded, Ennis kissed Claris’s cheek. “God be with you always, my child.”



“Go quickly,” Will advised him. “Before I think better of this.”



Claris watched her father withdraw from the room, but it seemed a surreal thing, something out of the dreamlands. She turned slowly toward Will. “I am free now.”



“So it would seem.”



“I believe I will go for a walk,” Lucan announced, rising from the chair. “I saw a lovely little Lotus at the other end of the street. Shouldn’t be too terribly difficult to hot-wire.” He smiled a little as both Claris and Will ignored him. “I will see you both back at Rosethorn.”



“I understand why you deceived me,” Will said. “What I cannot fathom is why you never came to me.”



“I did not think you would believe that I was Claris of Aubury.” She looked down at her body. “The only manner in which I can change shape is by taking the blood of the one I wish to mimic. I become that person—appearance, voice, smell, talent, vulnerability—everything an exact copy, down to the very blood in their veins. Then, if I wish to change again, I need blood from a different person, or I remain in the shape I last took.”



“What does that matter?”



“I cannot change back to who I was in the beginning,” she said. “I have none of my own blood.”



Will reached into his pocket and took out the small leather pouch. “I have carried this with me since the day I was to be executed. I kept it at first because of the scent you left upon it.” Carefully he drew out a small, rotted bit of fabric, and handed it to her. “’Tis a piece of my sleeve. I used it that day to wipe the blood from your mouth.”