Unicorn Vengeance Read online

  Its frantic pounding would betray her fear, but naught was there that Genevieve could do. Her mouth went dry, her palms became damp, yet still she did not move.

  Well it seemed that the stranger had not the will to continue, for he remained motionless before her, his hand cupped over the pulse of her heart. Frozen in time they were, their gazes locked as the autumn wind cavorted around them. Genevieve noted the lines from the sun around his eyes, the faint blond stubble from his beard, the flicker of blue in the myriad grays of his eyes.

  There was none but they two in the whole of Paris.

  His gaze softened when it fell on her rapidly rising and falling breasts, so close beneath his hand. Genevieve wondered if he thought about the coin secreted there, but when he looked back to her face, she knew he thought of something more earthy.

  He desired her. ‘Twas burning in his eyes.

  The very thought made Genevieve weak in the knees, but she knew with chilling certainty that she must make this moment count. No matter the test to her resolve. A pledge she had to fulfill. This was an opportunity to be exploited in the name of her cause, no more, no less. She could not afford to let the moment pass, for she owed no less to Alzeu. A weakness had this stranger shown her and she would be a fool not to use it to her advantage. There was one good way to do so that she could imagine.

  Genevieve gripped the stranger’s shoulder, stretched to her toes and pressed her lips against his.

  ‘Twas an inexpert kiss at best, for Genevieve was not experienced in any exchanges other than the sweet embraces one pressed to the cheeks of kin. His lips were firm, yet temptingly soft, and the smell of his skin filled her nostrils in a most intoxicating way.

  Yet for all the warmth of his skin, his kiss was cold with all the chilling blueness of winter ice in the mountains. She felt his shock as an immediate echo of her own. He stiffened, then it seemed he sagged toward her as though he, too, was struck by some inexplicable and completely unexpected weakness.

  Before her heartbeat had echoed twice, Genevieve sensed the aching loneliness within him. She tasted the sense of betrayal, she felt the scar left by a heartless abandonment long past. She knew his fear as surely as her own and peered into the dark abyss where the pulse of his own humanity should have been.

  Emptiness alone echoed there, and ‘twas cold beyond cold.

  To her complete astonishment, Genevieve felt neither disgust nor dismay, neither revulsion nor hatred. Compassion ‘twas that flooded through Genevieve. Compassion in a tide of such magnitude that ‘twas fit to unbalance her.

  Loneliness had wrought a man who could take another’s life. Loneliness and the certainty that none could be trusted. ‘Twas that simple, and the truth saddened her beyond compare.

  Genevieve closed her eyes dizzily. Gooseflesh rose on her skin, yet she felt feverish. The hand that did not grip the lute tightened on his shoulder before she knew what it was about, and she savored the firmness of his flesh. She wanted to console him. Genevieve wanted to offer this man something he had never had before.

  Her heart opened to him in invitation, and she felt the barest vestige of a response flicker to life within him. More she wanted than the gentle press of his lips on hers, and she leaned closer, able to think of naught but granting him refuge from his exile.

  And found herself abruptly shoved away.

  Genevieve blinked at the sudden change and wavered slightly on her feet, feeling as if she had imbibed too heavily of wine. The stranger stood several paces away and regarded her as though she were a particularly dangerous creature.

  “I granted you the coin for your playing alone,” he told her with a sneer. “No favor that you might grant in the street will convince me to not retrieve it.”

  His words stung, and Genevieve caught her breath sharply before she saw the ruddy flush staining his neck. He was embarrassed by his own response. Genevieve eyed him carefully, imagining she detected some acknowledgment of what had passed between them in his expression before he set his lips grimly.

  She had not been alone in forgetting herself in that exchange. The very knowledge made something deep within her tingle.

  But no matter was that. She belatedly and forcefully reminded herself of her intent. Genevieve’s kiss had been intended to draw him into her web, no more than that. Well it seemed that he had not been as unaffected as he might like her to believe.

  But given her own response, ‘twould be safer for her to resolve matters between them quickly. Too readily might she succumb to his need again, and ‘twas imperative she dispatch him before she slipped again. Genevieve smiled slowly as she regarded him, knowing full well the invitation that lingered in her expression.

  “Already have you ensured that I am warmed,” she purred, her heart pounding at her own audacity. “Would you not see to my warmth this night yourself? I might well be convinced to return your coin.”

  His eyes widened. His brows drew together in a frown of disapproval even as his gaze slipped unwillingly over her form once more. He snorted, though the sound was less indignant than it had been earlier. Genevieve knew the idea was not without its appeal.

  “Street women are all the same.” He sneered again. “Keep the coin. I have no need of anything with the taint of your kind upon it,” he growled disparagingly before he turned on his heel.

  Genevieve caught her breath at the insult. No worse was it to know that his comment was deserved after her shockingly wanton suggestion. How could she have made such an invitation? Her cheeks burned at her bold behavior. Stern words would her grandsire have had for her had he witnessed her deeds this day. She pulled the lute against her chest as tears rose to blur her vision, though still she could see him walking away.

  But she could not let him leave again! A pledge had she taken, and petty pride could not stand in the way of keeping her word.

  “Wait!” Genevieve cried.

  Her words brought the stranger to a halt, though he paused as if surprised before he glanced back with his original impassive expression. Genevieve twisted her fingers together as she sought the words, then finally simply blurted out the first words that came to her lips.

  “Will I see you again?”

  His eyes narrowed suspiciously, and she immediately knew she had asked the wrong question. Genevieve cursed her tongue for making such a weak and feminine demand.

  “Why?” His demand was harsh. Genevieve flushed and could not help but fidget. A far cry was her behavior from that of the seductress she had hoped to be, and dismay flooded through her at her own failure.

  Indeed, this plan had been a disaster from the beginning. Her cheeks flamed as she struggled to summon some of her earlier brashness.

  “I would like to talk to you again,” she said with an attempt to be coy that fell curiously flat. Now there was solid reasoning, she chided herself, hating how her confidence had abandoned her. The stranger snorted in disbelief.

  “You would like to know that you would coax another denier from my purse,” he accused softly. Genevieve knew her mouth fell agape in shock at that and she glared at him openly.

  “Nay! ‘Tis not that at all!”

  ‘Twas too much that he should accuse her of such cold intent! Fury nudged aside her uncertainty and put a vigorous bounce in her step as she stalked after the cold stranger. Something flickered in his silver gaze, but she cared naught for what he might think. Genevieve poked her finger into the air in the direction of his broad chest, determined to set his perception straight.

  “How dare you make such a callous assumption about someone you do not even know!” she demanded indignantly. “An honest woman am I, no more, no less, and though I must work for my keep, ‘tis not money alone that occupies my thoughts.”

  Her argument might have gone unvoiced for all the softening she saw in his expression. In fact, his lip curled slightly.

  “Spare me your pretty tales,” he said dismissively. “All work for their own motivation alone, and well enough do I know it. If ‘tis not
coin you seek, then ‘tis something else you would have from me.”

  Fear flashed through Genevieve like lightning at that assertion, and she wondered again how much of her motive he had guessed. She prayed that her response had not shown in her eyes and struggled to maintain her outrage.

  “‘Tis a sorry picture of the world you would paint with such a claim,” she retorted. “Impossible is it truly for you to concede that I might wish only to talk to you?”

  “Unlikely ‘tis at best.” He snorted. “But a moment past, ‘twas not conversation you pursued.” He regarded her for a long moment, his gaze flicking to the coin’s repository with undeniable interest.

  “Keep the coin,” he murmured in a low voice that echoed with a disgust that turned Genevieve cold, “for I have no intent of retrieving it from its sanctuary. But mind you tell no one from whom you gained it.”

  Genevieve tossed her hair defiantly. “I shall tell whoever I so choose,” she asserted brashly.

  His eyes flashed silver fire and he closed the space between them again, his voice no more than a growl when he spoke. “You shall tell no one,” he insisted vehemently, but Genevieve did not waver beneath the weight of his will. “Or I shall retrieve the coin and see that you say naught to anyone again.”

  Genevieve had no doubt that he meant what he said. She recalled the cold emptiness within him and shivered in renewed fear.

  No surprise ‘twas that he could have killed Alzeu. Indeed, this man had a heart of stone, and Genevieve wanted nothing other in this moment than to be quit of him. So, he thought she wanted only his coin? She would show him!

  “Do we understand each other, ma demoiselle?” he asked silkily.

  “Aye, we certainly do,” Genevieve muttered. He smiled thinly and turned away.

  As soon as his gaze was averted, Genevieve fumbled in her kirtle to retrieve the coin. She flicked it after him so that it hit hard against the back of his neck. He spun in time to see it dance toward the cobbles and hastened to snatch the sliver of silver out of the air.

  “Take your wretched coin, and welcome to it.” Genevieve tossed the words proudly over her shoulder as she turned away. “No need have I of the patronage of cynics.”

  Naught did he say, but she knew full well that he stared after her.

  He was astonished, Genevieve could feel it. Indeed, she suspected that he knew not what to do, and the awareness of that fed her pride.

  Ha! The perfect move had that been! Her confidence burned with a bright flame once more and she dared to let her hips swing provocatively as she returned to her blanket. Not a sound came from behind her, though she could feel his gaze locked upon her.

  Genevieve savored a thrill of victory and bent to pack her lute in her blanket as though she had forgotten he was there. In truth, she did not want him to catch the slightest glimpse of her triumphant smile.

  Though, of course, there was naught triumphant about having no coin to pay for food and board this night.

  Chapter Three

  The coin burned his palm. His lips itched, his heart was hammering in his chest as though he had run a hundred leagues.

  Indeed, Wolfram felt far from his logical self.

  He closed his eyes in an effort to compose himself as he passed beneath the gates of the Temple. Instead his mind flooded with the recollection of the lutenist’s soft breasts pressing against him. Never had he kissed a woman, never had he been so abruptly warm from head to toe, never had he tasted anything so sweet as her lips.

  He jammed the coin deep into his pocket in irritation, though it seemed ‘twould brand his skin even there.

  Had he not what he desired?

  Desire. There was a word ‘twas best not to dwell upon. No place had such a word in the vocabulary of a man pledged to poverty, obedience and chastity.

  He had meant to retrieve the coin, Wolfram reminded himself savagely. And he had done so. ‘Twas perfectly logical.

  Although the jumble of emotions and the curious mix of ideas filling his head were far from logical. Wolfram shook his head, but they stubbornly remained.

  He wondered if all of the lutenist’s flesh was as soft and sweet as her lips. He cursed himself for not taking the opportunity to discover the texture of her hair before he halted his errant thoughts.

  Forbidden were such pleasures of the flesh to him, and he had best recall that fact. Indeed, he had no interest in such matters. None whatsoever.

  And he had the coin. No explanation or far-fetched tale would be required for the Master: Wolfram would simply return every silver denier he had been granted. ‘Twas perfectly simple.

  Why then did he feel so utterly confused?

  * * *

  “You!”

  A shout brought Genevieve’s head up with a snap. She glanced over her shoulder, but the cold-eyed stranger was gone. An obviously irate man was bearing down on her in his stead, purpose lighting his eye.

  Had the stranger summoned the authorities against her? Fear flooded through her before she noted the shabbiness of the man’s attire. No official was this, and Genevieve’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  “You!” he repeated angrily, and wagged an indignant finger in her direction.

  Genevieve glanced over her shoulder, but she was alone. Clearly the poorly attired man was addressing her. She looked doubtfully back at him and he shook his head.

  “Aye, talking to you I am,” he growled. Genevieve noted through her surprise that a ragtag band of followers trailed behind the lanky man, hostility etched on their gaunt features. “And well should you have expected it, busking without permission in a square so close to our own.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Genevieve asked in confusion. The man halted before her, his chest puffed self-righteously. She saw with alarm that the others had closed ranks around her so that she could not evade them. Panic rose in her chest, for they were a disreputable-looking lot and she could not begin to guess their intent.

  Trouble it could only be and too late she wished she had not seen fit to dismiss the stranger so soon.

  Was that not a foolish thought! What manner of idiot thought that an assassin might provide protection? Clearly her wits were still addled by the shock of Alzeu’s demise, or mayhap the shock of her own wanton behavior.

  A sane individual knew better than to expect anything of a murderer.

  ”I beg your pardon.” One of the women in the group mimicked Genevieve in falsetto as she danced a mincing step. The others chuckled, though that did naught to dissolve their hostility. Genevieve’s fear rose another notch.

  “You cannot play here without permission,” the evident leader asserted boldly. Genevieve looked to him in surprise.

  “I was not aware that there was a law—” she began apologetically, but the laughter that erupted from the rest of the ragged band drew her words to a halt.

  “A law!” mocked one.

  ”I was not aware,” echoed the woman in her high voice, and Genevieve was reminded suddenly of the difference of her accent. Highborn she sounded in comparison to them and she realized too late that such a trait could readily reveal her origins. Mercifully, they appeared to have concluded that she was taking airs.

  “Odo’s law, ‘tis, and no other.”

  “But not to be flouted, nonetheless.”

  Their words revealed the truth. There was no law. At least no law of the city. These ruffians clearly believed that they, or this Odo, had some say over her fate. Genevieve guessed that this was another group of buskers seeking only to interrupt her playing for their own benefit.

  Well. No intention had she of easily relinquishing her spot. She planted her feet solidly against the cobblestones, determined to stay put. ‘Twas here her quarry was drawn, after all. ‘Twas here he knew where to find her, and no doubt had she that he would return again.

  ‘Twas here she would stay until her quest was fulfilled, regardless of what some disreputable and filthy lot of buskers might have to say about it. She could not risk losing her pre
y now. Genevieve straightened proudly and looked the leader in the eye.

  “‘Tis here I play and here I will stay,” she said firmly. He raised his brows high and folded his arms skeptically across his chest. The others gasped in astonishment at her audacity.

  “No permission have you,” he objected silkily.

  “And of no permission do I have need,” Genevieve retorted. “Particularly from the likes of you. ‘Tis no one’s spot I have taken and no business of yours that I choose to play here.”

  “Odo thinks differently,” warned someone in the tight cluster.

  “Aye, Odo will not approve of this tone.”

  “Who is this Odo?” Genevieve demanded frostily, her voice sounding more brave than she certainly felt.

  The group chuckled as one and drew closer in a manner that fed her unease. They were all around her, pressing so close on every side that she could not have taken a step in any direction. Genevieve’s trepidation redoubled. Had she been a fool to so quickly dissent with them? Indeed, they were numerous, and too late she saw that they had fought more foes than one to survive. A mean and hungry lot they were, and she swallowed nervously.

  “Aha!” crowed a woman’s voice victoriously. “A blanket just like this is what I have been needing on these cold nights.” The blanket Genevieve had been seated on, her blanket, was waved aloft.

  “My blanket that is, and none other!” she cried. The woman danced a few steps away as though she would make off with her prize. They could not steal from her! ‘Twas wrong! Genevieve tried to push her way through the crowd to no avail. “‘Tis mine!” she cried again when ‘twas clear they did not mean to let her pass.