A Stroke Of Midnight   ::   Гамильтон Лорел

“Thenwhy didn’t you want them to meet?”

“I was jealous, weren’t I? I feared he’d win her back. Goddess help me, but all I could see was my jealousy.”

Doyle must have given some signal, for Frost and Galen let go of Harry’s arms. He stood there rubbing the arm that Frost had held.

“And you hid when you saw Onilwyn, because you thought he was her lover.”

“We thought he’d come back to kill Harry,” Peasblossom said. “If she’d have told anyone the secret it would have been Harry. I told him to hide.”

“If you feared only Onilwyn, why didn’t you come out when you knew we were all here?” Doyle asked.

“Would you want anyone to know that you hid, ’stead of fight the man you thought had killed the woman you loved? Did I want the Darkness or the Killing Frost to know I was such a coward?” Tears gleamed in his eyes. “I didna’ know meself I was such a coward.”

“Onilwyn,” Doyle said, “the real reason you came ahead?”

He opened his mouth, had to clear his throat sharply before he said, “Truth then, I know the princess loathes me. With this many men at her beck and call, she could keep me from her bed for some time. I wanted to touch a woman again. I thought if I found some clue, helped solve this mess, it might help my cause.”

I stared at his bloody face, those angry eyes. He met my gaze.

“Why don’t I believe you?” I asked.

His eyes were angry and sullen in the bloody mask of his face. “Would I admit such weakness to you, if it were not true?”

I thought about that for a second or two. “You hate me, too,” I said.

“I would do near anything to end this need, Princess. Whatever I felt once, the chance to slake this thirst outweighs whatever loyalty I thought I held.”

We stared at each other, and I didn’t know what I would have replied because suddenly Doyle said, “Do you smell that?”



CHAPTER 11

DOYLE SNIFFED THE AIR, AND A MOMENT LATER I SMELLED IT, TOO. Fresh blood. I moved toward him. “What do you smell, Darkness?” Maggie May asked.

He put his hand to his sword, and the other men were suddenly unsheathing weapons. I don’t think any of them had smelled what we had, but they trusted Doyle’s instincts.

“It’s all right,” he said, but he unsheathed his sword, and that didn’t comfort anyone in the room. When he had the blade completely free of its sheath, blood welled on the naked blade, as if the sword were bleeding.