Wizards Daughter

"Only that something is amiss, at least from Grayson's point of view."

"Would you find out what, my lord? I haven't much experience with gentlemen and find I'm at a loss to explain what is wrong with him."

Such an i

Her soft mouth firmed. "Since I was kidnapped in the place of your damned betrothed, you could call me Lorelei, you know."

A touch of vinegar, he thought, and was pleased. He nodded. "Lorelei."

Nicholas knew he shouldn't interfere, only a fool interfered between a man and a woman, but yet, here he was wending his way through the gloomy exhibit hails of the British Museum in search of Grayson. He finally found him handing over a glass case, a look of near reverence on his face. "What is it?"

Grayson jerked up, blinked in surprise, and motioned him over. "Look at this, Nicholas. The card claims it is the scepter used by a long-ago king of Persia."

Nicholas studied the ancient gold scepter, noted the empty holes on its hilt where precious gems had once been embedded. "It says it is from the time of King Darius. Do you think it was his?"

"No. It belonged to someone of greater magnitude-I think it belonged to a wizard. Ca

Nicholas automatically shook his head. There was no way he would admit to such things as vibrations, but the damned thing seemed to glow and pulse in its ill-polished glass case. He could very nearly feel it, warm in his hand. "How long has it been here?"

"I don't know. I discovered it last week and find that I keep coming back to it. Even the director doesn't know exactly when it arrived here and who brought it. He checked and told me there weren't any records. Now, isn't that strange? It's as if it suddenly appeared. What are you doing here, Nicholas?"

"You are ignoring Lorelei because you're afraid she could be hurt again."

Grayson Sherbrooke stared at the big man who was two inches taller than he, built like his uncle Douglas and his cousins, James and Jason. And he had the look of Uncle Douglas, dark and swarthy and dangerous, at least until he smiled. It didn't occur to Grayson to tell him to mind his own business. He said simply, "I promised her father I would not see her again. He told me he would be very happy if I weren't to tell Lorelei why, and I haven't, but there you have it. You guessed it immediately."

"I am many things, but not blind. To be honest, I am very surprised Lorelei hasn't figured it out as well."

"She is i

"You know, from Lorelei's description of the crest she saw on the carriage door, I knew it belonged to my father, and now to my half brothers, so I had my proof. I spoke to Richard."

"I heard you smashed your foot into his middle, chopped his neck, fighting moves he'd never seen before. Well done. Too bad you didn't kill the blighter."

"If he or Lancelot ever tries anything else, they know I will kill them. I don't believe they're that stupid. They won't do anything more. Should you like me to speak to Lord Ramey? Assure him there is no more danger to his daughter?"

Grayson looked away from him, down at the scepter again. "You are remarkably naive, Nicholas, given your experiences of the last dozen or so years. I met Richard and Lancelot Vail, remember? At Drury Lane. The danger is not over. They will not stop. It simply isn't in their nature. Richard was raised to believe himself the rightful Earl of Mountjoy. I heard one of my friends say Richard even used the title Viscount Ashborough once your father became the earl. He did not, however, ever call himself the Earl of Mountjoy upon your father's death. He couldn't go that far. Probably because he knew he'd be laughed at.

"As for Lancelot, I believe his i

"Perhaps," Nicholas said after a moment, "if this scepter did belong to a powerful wizard, he visited the Pale."

"It is certainly possible," Grayson said. "I've thought it odd how the Paie appears like another world, or in another dimension, and we are the ones beyond the pale."

"Beyond the pale," Nicholas repeated slowly, "beyond the fortress, the designated safe place, the sanctuary where all is civilized, and to be outside of it means danger, savagery, and death."

Grayson nodded. "But Sarimund's Pale isn't a civilized place at all. Tibers try to kill the red Lasis, and the Dragons kill whatever animal displeases them. As for the wizards on Mount Olyvan, they reside within the Pale, keep a balance of sorts, and yet there is no safety there. It is a place of violence and magic. It is all very strange."

Nicholas said. "Perhaps you are right, Grayson, perhaps the Pale is a metaphor, for the earth perhaps, where chaos reigns given the least opportunity and where men kill each other with keen abandon." They were silent a moment. Nicholas laid his hand on Grayson's arm. "Believe this, Grayson, if Richard and Lancelot try to do anything more, I will kill them. They know this and they believe me."

"Not if I kill them first," Grayson said, his voice utterly emotionless.

Nicholas nodded and left Grayson to stare once again at the scepter in the glass case.

As for Nicholas, he was shaking his head at Grayson's words. He was naive? Grayson was wrong in this. He'd dealt with countless villains. He suddenly saw Richard Vail's face in his mind's eye, a face filled with black malice, unspoken rage, the satisfying physical pain that Nicholas had inflicted on him, and something more-it was determination; a promise of violence? Revenge? Retribution? As for Lancelot, Nicholas believed that since he'd met the pretty butler at the Vail town house he now understood Lancelot very well.

He cursed, then turned to call to the young boy holding Clyde's reins. Clyde nickered when he saw him, then butted the boy's arm. The boy's face split into a big grin, showing a space between his two-front teeth. "Oh, my, guv, wot splendid words I 'eard ye string together. This 'ere big boy sure likes the sugar cubes ye left for 'im. I gives 'im jest one at a time, so's not to overload 'is belly. Aye, me and the big bad boy understands each other."

Nicholas was thoughtful as he rode through Russell Square and slowly made his way through heavy traffic toward Fleet Street, where his solicitor kept his sparse offices.

When he pulled Clyde sharply to the side to avoid a dray filled with beer kegs, and felt the stinging slap of hot air against his cheek as the bullet flew by, he thought, Hell, Grayson was right.