Prison of Night

He felt the touch on his shoulder and moved, springing to one side, one hand snatching up a tall, slender container of astringent liquid, sending it to smash against the wall, the jagged remains lifting like a dagger as his free hand swung like a blunted sword.

He saw the face before it landed, the eyes wide with shock, the parted lips, the dawn of terror and pulled back the stiffened palm so that only the tips of the fingers caught the fabric of her robe. It ripped, ripped again as the jagged glass, diverted, fretted the material from shoulder to waist.

"Earl! For God's sake!"

Lavinia recoiled, one hand rising to her mouth, the fingers trembling, betraying her fear. A foot, as bare as the body which showed through the ruined garment, slipped on a wet patch and she staggered and almost fell. Would have fallen had not Dumarest caught her arm.

"No! Don't! You-are you mad?"

Releasing her he watched as she stepped back against the wall. Fear had blanched her cheeks and robbed her lungs of air so that now she gasped, the proud breasts rising, the mane of hair darker by contrast.

Then, as he made no move toward her, she said, "Why, Earl? Why?"

"You touched me. I was thinking and, well, you startled me."

"And for that you would have killed me?"

"No."

"Don't lie! I saw it in your face, your eyes. They belonged to an animal. You were a creature determined to kill."

"Not you, Lavinia."

"Who else was here?"

Memories, a reminder, a peril which always threatened. The robe she wore was the color of flame. He had caught a glimpse of scarlet, a hint of motion, had felt the touch and had reacted without conscious thought. But how to explain?

"You were wearing red," he said. "I'm sensitive to that color. It has certain unpleasant associations."

"I'll burn everything red I own!"

"No, the color suits you." He smiled and, reaching out, lifted a portion of the garment and let it slip through his fingers. "I'm just trying to make you understand. I meant you no harm-surely you know that? It was just that I was thinking and you touched me and old habits took over."

"Old?" Lavinia shook her head. "Not old, Earl. Time blunts the speed of reflexes and your's are the fastest I've ever seen. You would have killed me if you hadn't recognized me in time. An ordinary man would have been unable to stop. An assassin would be dead. How could anyone stand against you?" She looked down at her ruined garment and then, with eyes still lowered, said, quietly, "Who did I remind you of, Earl?"

"No one." The truth-the enemy wore no particular face. "It was an accident, Lavinia. Let's forget it."

"Something is worrying you. I've felt it for some time now. But what, my darling? You are safe here. No enemy can reach you. My retainers will protect you in case of need. Earl-trust me!"

She was a woman and her intuition was strong but to trust her was to put a knife in her hand to hold against his throat.

He said, "Forget it, Lavinia. Please."

"But-"

"Please!"

He closed the distance between them and took her in his arms, holding her close, feeling the warm softness of her flesh against his own, the soft yielding of her breasts, the firm curves of hips and thighs. A good way to distract a woman and she was a creature made for love.

"Earl!"

She stirred in his arms, straining, her perfume filling his nostrils with the scent of expensive distillations, the odor mingling with her natural exudations; the subtle smells of her hair, the animal-scent of her femininity. Triggers which stimulated his maleness and worked their ancient, biological magic.

"Darling!" His proximity, his need, fired her response. She threw back her head, face misted with passion, hands rising to clasp his neck. The heat of her body matched the color of her robe. "Earl, my darling! My love! My love!"

* * *

Dinner was late that evening but, once started, progressed as usual when guests were present at Castle Belemosk. A succession of dishes accompanied by appropriate wines together with compotes, nuts, fruits, sweetmeats, comfits-items to titivate the palate and to stretch the occasion as did the entertainers. Dumarest crushed a nut between his palms and watched as a trio of young girls danced with lithe grace, making up in natural beauty what they lacked in trained skill. Before them an old man had chanted a saga, before him a juggler had kept glittering balls dancing through the air. He had followed a harpist and the girls would be followed by a man skilled on a flute.

"Lavinia, my dear, always your hospitality is superb!" Fhard Erason, hard, blocky, a member of the Council of Zakym, leaned back in his chair as a servant refilled his goblet. His face was flushed a little and his eyes held a glitter but he was far from drunk. "At times I envy you and, always, I envy the man at your side."