Shields Lady (2 page)

            "I don't see why," Sariana said with a frown. "Oh, you mean there aren't any women in their social class except those who marry into it?"

            "Their marriage customs are rather odd," Lady Avylyn began awkwardly. "You see, they - " She stopped as the other members of the family stared at her. She cleared her throat and waved her fan in a gesture of impatient dismissal. "Never mind," she went on hurriedly. "It's rather complicated. Just take our word for it. Shields can be difficult. The last thing one wishes to do is antagonize them."

            "Shouldn't you have mentioned that fact when you first told me a Shield might be able to help us get back the prisma cutter?" Sariana retorted.

            "We did tell you that Shields are different," Jasso reminded her. He sounded resentful and with good reason. When the plan to engage a Shield had first been proposed, Sariana hadn't paid much attention to warnings of potential difficulties. "We explained they walk their own paths and tend to stay on the outskirts of society. They live on the frontiers for the most part. One doesn't run into one in town very often. Fortunately."

            Bryer looked speculatively at the man on the floor. "But occasionally one finds a Shield useful." "Useful as a mercenary," Sariana clarified dryly. "Let's all stop snapping at each other. For better or

worse, we've got our Shield and we managed not to kill him in the process. Barely. We must go forward from here. Our first priority is getting back that prisma cutter, and from everything you have told me, hiring a Shield is our best bet."

            "I'm not sure he's going to consider this a valid employment contract," Jasso said skeptically. "I wonder why he passed out from that tiny drop of hypnotic drug Mara gave him?"

            "Because Shields are different," Lady Avylyn said firmly. "I told you that." Sariana was amused more than alarmed by the Avylyns' conviction that the man on the floor was

somehow fundamentally different from other people.

Sariana eyed her captive. He certainly dressed differently than the members of most of the other social

classes she had encountered in Serendipity. The truth was, she found his strictly styled, close fitting dmk trousers and unadorned long-sleeved shirt something of a relief from all the showy fashions that were popular in the capital city of the western provinces.

            He had on a severely cut waist-length jacket instead of the more popular flowing cape, and his boots and belt were made of untooled leather. There was nothing outrageous or ornate about his attire. No gems set in the heels of his boots or tracings of silver on the collar and cuffs of his shirt.

            And no codpiece, Sariana noted with a flash of humor. She found that fact oddly reassuring. The only item of the Shield's apparel that could be called decorative was the black leather pouch he

wore attached to his belt. The pouch itself was made of the practically indestructible hide of the legendary snake cat. Sariana had never actually seen a snake cat, but Luri, the Avylyns' youngest, had regaled her with hair raising tales of the beasts. Apparently they favored swamplands and could swallow a man in one gulp.

            Sariana had no idea how accurate such tales were, but on the whole she was happy to forego the experience of encountering a live specimen. She wondered if the man on the floor had actually hunted for the leather to be used in his pouch or if he'd bought it.

            It was the clasp on the leather pouch that constituted the man's one item of adornment. But that single item was a major exception. The pouch was sealed and locked with an intricate mechanism fashioned from pure prisma.

            Sariana had learned enough about the jewelry business from the Avylyns to recognize the strange silvery crystal when she saw.it She had also learned something of its value. The clasp on the pouch was worth a fortune. Prisma was the rarest and most expensive of all jewels. The man sprawled on the floor did not look as if he could afford

such an expensive closure for his pouch. Perhaps he'd stolen it.

            "My apologies if I offend the Clan," Sariana said firmly, "but to be honest, the man does not appear to be all that dangerous. That's the problem when one puts too much credence in First Generation myths and legends. One forgets to deal in facts. I see no reason why we can't continue with our plan just as soon as he wakes up."

            Lord Avylyn was troubled. "Do you really think you can deal with him, Sariana? How are we going to explain what happened in the tavern?"

            "Don't worry," she assured him confidently. "I'll do the talking." She glanced again at the black leather kit attached to the Shield's belt. Something made her very curious about it. On impulse she rose to her feet and strode briskly around the table to where the man lay motionless.

"Sariana!" Lady Avylyn gasped. "What are you doing? Don't touch that."

            "Nonsense. It might be useful to know what the Shield considers valuable enough to decorate with prisma." Sariana knelt down beside the man and examined the leather strap that held the pouch to the belt. She put out her hand to undo the fastening and then paused uncertainly. Behind her she could practically hear the others holding their collective bream.

            Up close like this, the Shield appeared larger and infinitely more solid than he had looked from across the room. A man lying sprawled on his back fooled the eye slightly and looked smaller than he actually was. But now that she was kneeling beside him, Sariana got a whole new perspective. She began to sense why the Avylyns were so wary of the Shield they had captured.

            There was a smooth, well-muscled strength in his shoulders and the lines of his thighs were sleek and powerful. He was lean and tough looking, and the arrogant set of his features - even when unconscious only served to emphasize his other hard qualities.

            Sariana realized she was forgetting to breathe. She found herself inexplicably and acutely aware of the man in a way she couldn't explain. She was suddenly, intensely interested in him. No, it was beyond that. She realized that for some reason she was fascinated by him. If she bad any faith in western tales of goblins and fairies, she might have believed she was under a small spell. But that was a crazy notion.

            Her fingers hovered above the fastening that held the leather pouch to the Shield's belt, but she didn't quite touch the object. Instead she found herself examining the man's face more closely.

            His hair was black, as dark as a midnight sky. He wore it much shorter man the fashionable men in

town. Sariana’s gaze moved quickly over his closed eyes. She speculated briefly about their color and decided they would probably be dark. Dark eyes were common on the western continent. Then her gaze went to his sharp nose, took in the well etched but grim shape of his mouth and went on to the hard lines of his jaw.

            The Shield could not be deemed handsome, but Sariana knew with a sense of shock that this man would never need to trade on his looks. It was clear to her that he would make his way in the world on his own terms, even though he moved on the fringes of respectable society.

            A tiny shiver went through Sariana as she crouched, gazing down at the man on the floor. She realized that she had been staring at him much too long. She had to break the strange sense of enthrallment.

            Angry at the effect the unconscious Shield had had on her, she quickly jerked open the leather catch that held the pouch to the belt.

            Lady Avylyn took a deep, shaky breath and Mara gave a soft cry as Sariana lifted the pouch free. Jasso and Bryer just groaned.

            In that instant the Shield lifted his dark lashes without any warning and Sariana had the answer to her earlier question about the shade of his eyes. They were an unfamiliar blue-green. She had never seen eyes quite that color before in her life. They locked immediately on her face. Sariana was gripped by the unnerving conviction that she suddenly knew far too much about him. He could be dangerous. An implacable enemy. He would be a fiercely possessive lover. Sariana felt the breath catch in her throat at that last, unbidden thought. For a few shocking seconds she questioned the fundamental intelligence behind the plan she had initiated and talked the Avylyns into accepting. She wondered if she had just made the biggest mistake of her short career as a business manager.

But as she had told her clients, there was no turning back.

            Gryph Chassyn focused painfully on the woman standing above him, the one who had had the breathtaking arrogance to actually separate him from his weapon kit. No sane westerner would have risked such an act, unless the fool was looking to get his or her throat slit.

            The woman was still standing because Gryph sensed that she did not realize the significance of what she had done. There were others in the room who did realize it, but he ignored them. The woman was the one who held his kit. She was the one he watched. She fascinated him.

            Gryph's first coherent thought after he concluded she was not an enemy was that he wanted her. Badly. A ravenous hunger was pouring through his veins. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced around a woman. It left him feeling disoriented, frustrated, and shaking with a strange tension. He forced himself to focus all his attention on regaining his control.

            Gryph moved carefully, levering himself up on one elbow. His eyes never left the woman who held his kit. He had been fighting his way up through the hazy, drugged fog inside his head for several minutes, listening half consciously to the voices of the five people in the chamber. Having the weapon kit taken from him had instantly jerked him back to full awareness.

            "Return the kit to me," he ordered calmly. He held out his hand with a casual imperiousness he hoped would do the trick.

            But the woman actually clutched the leather pouch more tightly and took a quick step backward. She managed a surprisingly brilliant smile. Gryph decided that under normal circumstances he would probably find himself responding to that smile. But whatever had happened to him at the tavern was not normal.

            "I'm so glad you're awake at last," the woman said easily. She walked briskly back to her place at the table where (he others sat stupefied by the small scene that had just taken place. As she sat down, she put Gryph's weapon kit on the polished black stone in front of her. "I'm Sariana Dayne. I am the business manager for the others here with me tonight. They form the Prime Family of the Avylyn Clan. Well, most of the Prime Family. Luri isn't with us. He's a bit too young for this sort of thing."

            "I think I'm a bit too old for this sort of thing," Gryph said, feeling the need to stop her lightly tumbling

words.

            He recognized her accent now. She was from the eastern continent. Had to be. That explained her recklessness regarding his weapon kit. Gryph forced himself to draw a deep, slow breath while he tried to sort out the various elements of the bizarre situation in which he found himself. It was difficult to think with a raging headache and a body that seemed far too heavy and awkward. At least he had the rush of lust back under control. At this point he was grateful for small favors.

            The woman's smile became even more brilliant. "I'm sure you have a number of questions and you don't look as if you're feeling very well, but I assure you I can explain everything."

            "An excellent idea." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Why don't you tell me what this is all about?" It was an order, not a polite request, and he saw that Sariana understood that at once. The others

appeared almost mesmerized with anxiety. That was good. Gryph was not unfamiliar with the response. It left him free to concentrate on Sariana. He had already decided that she was the most dangerous one in the group.

            Sariana cleared her throat with a small, discreet cough and managed to keep the smile in place. "We have a business proposition to put to you. Shield."

            "My name is Chassyn," he replied through set teeth. "Gryph Chassyn." Sariana's subtle air of feminine challenge set off immediate responses in his system. He did not like his present position in front of her. He needed a little more advantage. With great effort he rose from the cold marble floor, disgusted to find his legs were decidedly unsteady. It took nearly all his strength and willpower just to stay on his feet. He hoped the Dayne woman didn't notice the effort it cost him.

            "Gryph Chassyn." Sariana repeated thoughtfully, as if tasting the name. "Well, Gryph, let me tell you about the business deal we would like to present to you."

            Gryph winced as pain shot through his head. He made his way slowly over to the center of the curving stone table so that he was directly opposite Sariana. Then he braced himself with one hand on the polished surface. He tried to make the movement nonchalant, but the truth was he was afraid he would wind up back on the floor if he didn't use the table for support. He looked steadily at Sariana who was sitting just out of reach. His weapon kit was sitting just out of reach, also.

"First tell me what you put in my ale."

            Before Sariana could open her mouth to answer, another voice spoke up. A small, miserable, infinitely contrite little voice.

            "It was a mistake," the young Avylyn female cried. "It wasn't my idea. I certainly didn't mean to hurt you. Aunt Perla's concoction was only supposed to, uh, relax you slightly."

            Slowly Gryph turned his head and glanced at the young woman. For the first time he focused on the other people at the table. His eyes narrowed with lazy menace as he recognized the beautiful blond who was gazing at him with such a stricken expression.

            "Ah, yes," he said blandly, "the tavern wench. I seem to recall your name was Mara. I owe this headache to you?"

            "It was all her idea," Mara blurted, pointing the tip of her jeweled fan at Sariana. Gryph nodded and turned back to face Sariana. "Somehow that doesn't surprise me." He drummed