Mad for Love: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 2 Page 15

  And clean clothes. Without spending too much time in useless thought, he stripped. And then it started to rain. Again. He’d cursed the rain, danced in it, rolled in the mud it caused, but he was sensible now. As much as he ever was, he thought with a wry grin. He found it strange to have his body under his control again. Good, though.

  Slowly, his mind started working the way it was supposed to. Possibilities occurred to him. What was this bastard doing lying dead in his grove? Maybe he’d killed him in a frenzy. He tried to find some compassion, but after what they’d done to him, he couldn’t.

  The rain stopped, leaving him wet and a little cleaner. He stripped his late tormentor and donned his clothes. Not as clean as he’d like, but a damned sight cleaner than the stuff he’d just taken off. He had one bottle left, so he’d better get out of here before the madness started up again. He’d need to ration the alcohol if he was to stay sane.

  Recalling when he’d first been brought here, he vaguely remembered his desperate attempts to get out. It seemed that all paths led back to the centre of the maze, and just when he thought he’d found a way out, the path doubled back and brought him here again.

  He only saw two men, and both knew who he was. If he roared at them, they laughed. They brought food and it was eat it or starve, so he ate. Formulating a plan, he told himself.

  Now one was dead. Did only those two know his identity? Perhaps he should wait until the other came to see what had happened to his colleague. Then he could shoot him, too. Or maybe he’d better get out of here. If he could.

  His brain working double-time, now he’d restored it to a semblance of normal, Blaize checked the weapons the man had. One had been discharged. He left that and took the other three. Plus the extra bottle of wine. That was all he’d need. Running his hand over his wet hair to slick it back, he left the centre of the maze, fully expecting to see it again soon. Because he always did.

  Either his sense of direction had returned with his sanity or he was luckier than before, but he found himself assessing where he was. The sun was still up and Blaize considered conserving his strength and waiting until dark, when the stars would be out. He could remember the major constellations, and in any case, the patterns would tell him. His divine ancestors put their friends in the sky, he recalled with a smile.

  So good to be in his right mind! Even if he drove himself mad, he could retain his reason. It was just that the reason was different. But debilitated as he was, he couldn’t gain control over the minds of the people sent to tend him. Either the drugs saw to that or the men were chosen because of their resistance to his influence. It was difficult to know which, with one dead and the other one absent. Although Blaize had no doubt he’d come soon. Yet another reason to escape as soon as he could. He didn’t want to kill the other one too. That was where his skills lay—he preferred to make them rave, take their sanity.

  Sometimes that could be crueller than a clean kill.

  When he recognized the small space he entered, he sighed in frustration. Just as he thought he was getting somewhere. He’d slept in this space a time or two, he realized, recognizing the place where he’d tried to rip a hole in the hedge and ended up with little more than a small impression and a huge number of scratches and cuts for his trouble. But this place was smaller than the centre of the maze, and a touch more sheltered. Better when the wind was up.

  A breeze drifted through the area and he caught something. A scent? A sense of something different? At any rate, the sensation sent him to his knees. Aurelia. She’d been here.

  A flick of white distracted him. Something was caught in the hedge. Blaize moved closer to investigate. He found a thread. And here, the aura that he felt was so much stronger. Still a trace, but a definite trace here, not a vague sense.

  He touched the thread. It was attached to the hedge. Someone had deliberately knotted it, not accidentally left it there.

  Hope seared his throat, blinded his vision until he caught it and bound it to the thread. He would take the invitation it offered.

  Even touching this faint reminder of her sent his cock twitching. A deeply inappropriate response, but another reminder that he had himself back and he was alive. Why was he alive? Was the dowager trying to give him some of his own back, or did she have a more practical reason? Had she realized, as he had, that a crippled immortal was better than a dead one? Or did keeping him hostage appeal to some perverted sense of rightness?

  While thoughts rippled through his head, his return to sense sending them working harder than usual, he was following the thread, running his fingers along it as he travelled deeper into the maze. Dusk was falling. All the better to hide his movements. This was the best time for him to escape.

  At first he passed places he knew, some he had marked, though not in the damaging way he had in the place he’d discovered the thread, then the guide led him deeper into the maze, past the centre, then toward the edge, then back again. Frustrating, but mazes were supposed to puzzle the person entering. It had certainly succeeded with him.

  At least it wasn’t raining.

  As he thought that, the fine drizzle started. Of all the varieties of rain in this place, he hated this the most. So gentle he could hardly feel it, but it soaked more thoroughly than a fast, hard, downpour. It could go on for hours and he’d end up wet, miserable and muddy. Not this time. In minutes, the rain had penetrated his new clothes and the shirt clung to his back, despite the moleskin waistcoat that was supposed to help to keep him dry.

  Some hope, with this kind of rain, the kind that wet a person through. Gentle but thorough. The words put him in mind of Aurelia, who was never far from his mind. He’d even dreamed of her when he was insane. She had that same quality, the way she soaked him with her personality, her generous spirit and her unexpected asides that added spark. His arms were permanently empty without her.

  For her he’d escape this place, in the hope of seeing her again. As he passed the thread through his fingers, her spirit imbued him with her presence, her sweetness and her spice. Now he could think straight, he realized that if the dowager had imprisoned him and if he hadn’t been loaded on to a ship, then it was likely he was in Scotland, at her stronghold. Getting home from Scotland, even without a penny to his name shouldn’t tax his intelligence too much. He owned a small property in North Yorkshire. So if he could beg, borrow or steal the stagecoach fare, he’d get there and then become himself again. And plot his revenge.

  He could do this. Anything else was unthinkable. If he died, the duchess would probably have someone nearby, a pregnant woman ready to receive his gifts. If they could be called gifts. His lip twisted.

  He took another turn. This felt new, although it appeared like just another path. Why hadn’t he come this way before? There must be miles of this damned green hedge. He could almost feel sorry for whoever had the upkeep of it. Either that or kill him where he stood.

  Voices drifted over the hedge, soft murmurs. He couldn’t hear what they were saying. He drew one of the pistols, but didn’t release the thread, as much to fortify his spirit with the potent reminder of Aurelia than because he couldn’t pick it up again when he needed it. How long the thread had been lying there, he didn’t know.

  That voice could be hers. Or it could be a boy’s.

  The whisper had been brief, not long enough to identify anyone. A word or two, that was all.

  Cautiously he moved forward. He took slow, careful steps on the grass, in case twigs or other detritus lay underneath, and keeping away from the hedge, because the lightest touch would stir the leaves. The people on the other side weren’t so careful. They rustled.

  He stepped around the hedge, his weapon levelled, ready to fire, if need be. If he had to, then he’d need to flee, because the sound would bring people running. He had no time to assess his surroundings.

  A fresh breeze assailed him. Oh, glory be, he was in the open air!

  No time now. Later. Two people, one male, one female, stood with their backs
to him. They were concentrating on the ground. Hunting for the thread. “You won’t need that,” he said steadily. “Turn around slowly. I’m armed.”

  Ignoring his command, the woman spun around, her skirts tangling in the long grass and nearly overturning her. Blaize cast his gun aside and leaped forward to catch her. Because it was Aurelia.

  She cried his name, as he held her close, banding his arms around her slender body. Tears pricked his eyes, the relief swamping him with a flood of emotion. Helplessly repeating her name, he kissed every part of her he could touch. Her hair, her forehead and when she lifted her chin, her pretty lips. Sweet and addictive, the taste he’d craved for so long.

  But he pulled away. “I must stink,” he said.

  “Not as bad as before,” she said, “and I held you then.” Tears rolled down her face. He kissed them away, every one.

  “Touching though this reunion is,” came a familiar, cool voice, “I think we should consider moving on.”

  Mars. He might have known that the Duke of Lyndhurst would be involved somehow. And that he’d owe him, which he couldn’t deny that he did. He glanced at Lyndhurst. “Thanks for the wine.”

  Lyndhurst gave him a tight grin. “That’s all right. We have more in the coach. If we get that far.”

  Blaize patted the capacious pocket of the breeches he’d stolen. “I kept one for emergencies.” His attention inevitably went back to Aurelia. Although he’d loosened his hold on her, giving her a chance to move away, she still nestled close.

  Her eyes glinted in the moonlight that had broken through the clouds. He hadn’t noticed before, but it had stopped raining. It seemed appropriate. Perhaps another god was watching them. He wouldn’t be in the least surprised.

  “He told me,” she said. “He explained about the explosion, the struggle against the Titans, everything. I’m still struggling to believe it, but when I saw you…you’re still Blaize.”

  Chapter Ten

  She’d have walked through fire to see that expression on his face. Thankfulness, relief and something deeper that they still needed to explore, his eyes kindling with warmth. But not here, and certainly not now.

  With an effort she pulled away, but kept hold of his hand. “Come on.” Dusk was giving way to darkness and they had to go soon.

  “Where are we?”

  “My brother’s residence. Kentmere Castle, near Edinburgh.”

  He gave a sharp laugh. “Then let’s get out of the lion’s den before the lioness sets her claws into us.”

  Before she could move, he drew her close and gave her a swift kiss. “Thank you.” He glanced at Lyndhurst. “To you too.”

  Lyndhurst said nothing, but he nodded and drew away. “Much though I’d like to kill every damned person in the place, I fear we should let discretion rule us. Let’s go.”

  The maze was in the shape of an octagon, the edges sharply defined. As they took the first step toward the copse of trees that was their shelter, a man came around the corner. He was carrying a bucket, but he had pistols stuck into the broad leather belt at his waist. He stared, wide-eyed, for the moment it took Blaize to drop her hand and draw his own.

  “You will do this to nobody else,” he said calmly, allowing the man to drop the bucket and reach for his weapon. That gave Blaize the time to move closer and rap him over the head with the butt of the pistol. He fell like a stone.

  Then Blaize bent and forced the man’s eyes open. He stared into them. “Day and night you will remember this. Remember me. You are mine now, and I will not let you go. When you fall, cry to me. When you dance, I am your master. You will rave, you will know no peace and you will not speak of me or of this.” After a few moments, he let the man’s head fall on to the ground. The dull thump demonstrated how little care he’d shown, but Aurelia couldn’t bring herself to care.

  “Why is he like that?”

  He returned to her and took her hand. “He’s mine now. A bacchante. They won’t get any sense out of him and he will suffer. Better than death, because it will carry a message to the dowager duchess. She will know that I am back and I will not rest until she has paid for what she’s done.”

  As he spoke, he walked, following Marcus who had set out for the grove of trees. “You can do that?” she asked.

  He glanced down at her. “Did he tell you my identity? Whose gifts I inherited?”

  She swallowed. When only Marcus had told her, the story had seemed fantastical. But now she’d discovered Blaize and seen what he did just now, and the way he corroborated Marcus’s story without discussion, she believed. She was in the presence of two gods.

  “He told me.” She swallowed, but she kept walking. If they ran, they’d attract more attention. If they walked, people might think they belonged here in some way. “If anyone interrupts us, we’d agreed that I’d reveal my identity and order them to care for us.”

  “You won’t let me leave a madhouse behind me?”

  “Can you?”

  “Now that I’m in possession of my senses, yes, I can. They must have drugged my food, though I’d love to know what they used, because I’ve never been so helpless before.” He strode confidently forward, the picture of a healthy countryman.

  “That must be my mother.”

  “Does she have a stillroom?”

  “Not here. There is an old stillroom, but it’s just a storeroom now.” She’d never known her mother take an interest in distilling. Not even the local passion for whisky, although that was either illegal or for the consumption of the household only. But that meant there were quite a few distilleries hereabouts.

  He grunted. “She would probably prefer to keep such activities private. She’s using some fearful ingredients, if I’m any judge.”

  “You should be,” Marcus said. “I don’t know anyone she’s used them on before. You don’t think she just buys the potions?”

  “From the market?” Blaize said, full of scorn. “That drug did what it was meant to do. It subdued the god in me while the lack of wine took effect. I could do nothing. And it must be short-lived. I feel weak, but better. You just witnessed my powers are returning rapidly.” He frowned. “Foxglove. She said foxglove was in it.”

  “What did you do to the man?” she asked. She was fearful of finding out, but she had to know, for her peace of mind.

  “I drove him mad,” he said calmly. “For the rest of his life. He knew what he was doing, together with the other man. They deserved it. And I cannot let an insult like that pass. She knows it.”

  His hand held hers so carefully she didn’t register what he’d said for a moment. Then the realization hit her with a sledgehammer blow and she stopped dead. He was right. That was worse than death. “You want to do that to my mother?”

  He didn’t let go, but turned to face her. “To the entity that shares her body. It can’t be driven out without killing her. If we kill her, the gifts will fly to another, and we’ll have to start again.”

  Reluctantly she moved forward when he tugged gently on her hand. Her mother had always done what she considered best for her daughter. She’d never shown her cruelty or shown any sign of unkindness. “How can you be sure it’s her? Why can’t it be someone close to her?” She thought of her own recent predicament. “Her maid?”

  “It’s her,” he said, glancing at her. When they reached the group of trees he halted, dropped her hand and faced her. “You may stay, if you can’t bear this. This is your home. They’ll be good to you. You can say you were abducted and you escaped. Castigate us as much as you like.”

  “Stretton, she’ll kill her,” Marcus said.

  “No, she won’t. She’s an asset to the duchess. I swear I won’t hurt you or cause any harm to come to you. I’d rather hurt myself.” He reached for her, then dropped his hands by his sides. She wanted that touch, hated his withdrawal.

  “Why am I an asset?”

  Blaize exchanged a helpless look with Marcus. Then back at her. Determination lit his gaze. “There are more than gods,
my—Aurelia. Other beings survive, but most don’t know it. The spirit passes into them and they think they have a gift. Wood nymphs, sea nymphs.”

  “Mythical beasts?”

  A wry smile twisted his lips. “I wouldn’t call them beasts. It’s up to you. We must go, and we have to fight your mother. If you don’t want to set yourself against her, then you have to make your decision now.”

  She wanted to think, but all she could do was feel. And she knew that parting from this man would kill her for sure. “I go with you.”

  His expression relaxed and he stepped forward to take both her hands in his. His warmth flooded her, his presence invaded her, but because she wanted it. “How much have you been holding back?” she asked him.

  He bit his lip. “A little.”

  “Promise you won’t.”

  He swallowed. “I would overwhelm you. I don’t want to do that. I want you as you are.”

  Marcus interrupted. “Can we do this in the coach? That is, if we ever get there.”

  Blaize grinned. “Yes, we can. We can always bring her back if she changes her mind.”

  She felt an odd reluctance to leave. She might never see this place, her home, again. She had made her choice and whatever came of her decision, she would stick by it. That might mean exile, even to another country, and a lifetime’s strife. However much she didn’t want that, it came with Blaize, and she belonged with him.

  They didn’t come across anyone else. “The dowager probably told nobody about my capture,” he said.

  “Only a few people know the maze’s secret,” she ventured. “So you’re probably right.”

  “I never learned the secret, but you did.”

  “I’ve known it forever.”

  “Just as well.”

  The coach they’d arrived in stood in the road, its lights shuttered. They’d travelled for perhaps twenty minutes and reached a small side-entrance that she’d led them to this morning. The four horses stamped in impatience as Marcus helped her climb in and Blaize swung in to sit next to her.