“You can’t take it from me.”
“Oh, but I can. Where is it?”
“I won’t tell you. Soon you’ll be skewered like a chicken for the roasting.” She smiled confidently. “This is Spain and I have protection in high places.”
“A colonel is not so high and his protection will not help you in San Isadoro.”
Her smile faltered. “You’re well informed.” She shrugged. “He will soon return.”
“But not in time.” Dupree stepped aside and motioned for her to precede him. “I think we’ll go down to the dining salon. I saw an item of furniture there that might prove useful.”
She glared at him and then turned and strode from the room.
Dupree followed close behind, his eyes on the straight, proud line of her spine. The marquise had courage, he thought with satisfaction. A woman with courage was always a more interesting challenge.
“I’ll not tell you where it is,” she repeated over her shoulder. “You might as well go back to thatcanailleand tell him you failed.”
“I won’t fail.” Dupree moved down the hall after her. “You’ll tell me. You’ll beg me to let you tell me.”
She gazed at him incredulously. “You jest.”
He shook his head. “Oh, no.” He smiled. “I never jest.”
The woman was weeping again.
Begging him to let her tell him where she had hidden the Wind Dancer.
Begging to be released from darkness.
Dupree smiled as he lifted the glass of wine to his lips and leaned back in the chair he’d taken from the dining salon to loll in comfort on the adjoining veranda. Here he could enjoy the fresh air and look down at the city below and still hear the sounds coming from the dining salon.
“Please, I can’t…” She began sobbing.“Merde, I can’t bear it.”
Soon he’d let her give him the information he desired. He was growing bored with the task. The woman had been broken for over two days and her courage had not given her the stamina he’d hoped. She had been as easy as all the rest, and he owed this victory as he did all those others to his mother. She had shown him the secret of the mastery of a soul.
The whip was crude, the burning brand jarring, but the darkness…
Ah, the darkness was the very monarch of discipline.
No candles burned in the lanterns hung beside the wrought iron gate. No light flickered beyond the arched windows of the casa.
Juliette felt a mixture of dread and anticipation as she reined in before the iron gate of the pretty little house. It would be over soon. She would see her mother and take back the treasure Celeste had stolen. Her mother would be angry with her and say words thatwould cut and sting.Dieu, why did that knowledge still bother her after all these years?
Jean Marc glanced at her as he dismounted. “We could go to an inn and wait until tomorrow—”
“I want to do it now,” she interrupted. “I want to be done with it.”
“The house looks deserted.” Jean Marc lifted Juliette down from her mare and tied both horses to the trunk of the cork tree growing to the right of the courtyard gate. He tried the gate and it swung open. “It’s odd, the gate’s unlocked.”
Juliette followed him into the courtyard. The casa did look deserted, she thought. Yet, though it was too dark to see very much, the courtyard didn’t appear unkempt and the green and white mosaic fountain in its center still sprayed a gentle cascade of water into the deep basin below. She went to the fountain, looking up at the dark windows of the house. Her hand dipped into the water, idly scooped up a handful, and let the drops run through her fingers. “What if she’s gone?”
“Then we’ll go after her.” He lit the lantern he was carrying. “But to do so we’d have to find out where she was headed. Let’s see if there are any servants—Christ, what’s wrong?”
Juliette was staring in horror into the waters of the basin of the fountain. “Marguerite!” She thought she had screamed it but it came out as a hoarse croak. “I almost touched her. Marguerite…”
Jean Marc took a step closer and the light of the lantern played on the clear water.
Marguerite Duclos sat upright in the fountain, only her dark hair floating above the surface of the water like ropes of seaweed. She sat not four inches from where Juliette had dipped her hand, her open eyes stared blindly forward, her black gown water-puffed about her rigid body.
