Master of the Shadows by Lynn Viehl Page B

ice block and kicked his way out of the trap, drawing his dagger as he whirled, looking for the hateful visage of the dark lord. He saw no sign of him, but soon found the source of the shattering sound. The pedestal case in which The Maiden’s Book of Hours had been displayed now stood empty, the glass smashed by a powerful hand.
    Will made the rounds of the rooms. When he felt sure the rogue was not inside the gallery, he intercepted Robin and the mortal woman as they hurried out of the office.
    “My lord,” Will said, “’twas done by Kyn.”
    “By one Kyn.” Hatred made Robin’s voice harsh. “This is Guisbourne’s work.”
    “What are you talking about?” Chris looked from Robin to Will and back again. “Who’s Guisbourne?”
    “I did not see his face. He set off the water system somehow, and used talent to freeze the streams.” Will felt like a fool. “Once the mortals and I were trapped, he smashed the case and helped himself to the book.”
    Robin surveyed the room in disgust.
    “Cyprien banished him at the winter tournament.” Will shook his head. “To defy the seigneur’s order of exile would be signing his own death warrant.”
    “He has nothing left to go to, Will,” Robin said. “His seneschal is dead, his Saracens deserted him, and his jardin was burned out. All he has left is his vengeance.”
    Will couldn’t understand it. “Why would he do this instead of challenging you directly?”
    “He knows I would kill him.” Robin moved to the ruined case and put his hand on the empty velvet base inside. “This is more personal than a duel. He could not have her in life, so he would keep from me the only likeness of her that exists.” He drew his hand away and curled it into a fist. “Track him. Now.”
    Will moved around the gallery until he picked up the dark lord’s scent, which led from the case to a side door. Here he had stood watching, Will realized from the heavy odor of aniseed.
    The bastard had actually taken a moment to stop and gloat over his work.
    He went outside, a dagger in his hand, silently praying to find Guisbourne still near. This time he would finish the work the dark lord’s seneschal had begun at the Realm, and deliver his head to his master.
    But the scent trail led him only to a deserted alley between the gallery and a neighboring building, where it abruptly vanished. Will knew only one way Guisbourne could have managed that. Frustrated, he turned his attention to the problem at hand—the mortals caught in the attack. He took a moment to disconnect the landlines at the terminal box outside the gallery before returning inside.
    “Guisbourne’s scent disappeared in the street outside,” he reported to his master. “He must have used a car to escape.”
    “Did you disable the telephone lines?” When Will nodded, Robin’s tight expression eased.
    “Contact the jardin . We will need a dozen men here while we clean up this mess and attend to the humans. Alert our friends at the police department as well.”
    Will turned and found himself enveloped by the fragrance of marigolds, and facing the contessa and four armed guards.
    “I regret to say that your men cannot come to your aid, my lord,” Salvatora Borgiana said with a beguiling smile.
    Robin studied her face. “You were a part of this?”
    “I intended only to take the manuscript from you,” she told him. “Unfortunately, it seems that Nottingham had a better plan than I.”
    Robin’s voice grew cold. “Why do you want the book?”
    “My family bought it from Nottingham when he came to settle in Italy. My father made a gift of it to my younger sister, Beatrice, when she took her vows. ’Twas the only earthly possession she ever treasured, and upon her death it was supposed to come to me.” Some of the smirk left the contessa’s face, and for a moment she looked as enraged as Will felt. “I have waited seven hundred years for this night.”
    That didn’t impress his master. “Obviously, my