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CHAPTER EIGHT

Devlin sat for long moments, his head tilted back against the chair, his eyes closed. He would move in a minute, he promised himself, as soon as he managed to get the energy.

God, he was tired. The month had been a hellish one; the last battle against Jonar’s forces nearly more than he and the warriors had been able to defend against. It seemed that with each new battle the bastard managed to pull out a new surprise, a new weapon to use against them. Add to the bargain that he was forever surrounding himself with the innocent victims he preyed upon, and it made for an untenable mix.

“Everything okay, Lover?” The husky voice roused him from his dozing state, and Devlin opened his eyes slowly.

He would have smiled, but he knew something was wrong. Chantel stood before him, her hair in glorious disarray, a sensuous smile on her lips. It looked like her, except for the hardness in her cold green eyes, the half sneer that passed for a smile. Devlin frowned, watching her closely as she moved nearer. She stopped beside his chair, gazing down at him with all the warmth of a frozen winter night. Her hand lifted to touch his cheek as her head lowered to place her lips against his. Devlin gripped her wrist, pushing her back gently as he came to his feet.

“What magic is this?” His narrowed gaze took in the subtle differences of the lover of hours past, and the woman who now stood before him. Even her skin felt different. Where Chantel’s skin had been soft, silky and warm to the touch, the skin that now covered her arm felt cool, not cold, yet rougher and nowhere near as fine as it had been.

“Antea.” Devlin turned in shock to the voice at the stairs. Devlin shook his head, blinked, his gaze going from the woman whose wrist he held to her duplicate at the foot of the stairs.

“I only wanted to have a little fun, sister.” The wrist Devlin held was jerked back quickly, the woman moving several feet from him. “Don’t worry, he knew it wasn’t his lover.”

Devlin watched as Chantel moved farther into the room, her pace slow and her green eyes glittering with anger.

“You do not play games with the men of this castle, sister,” she warned her look-alike softly. “You were warned of this before their arrival.”

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“Warned of it and ordered to my room like a child.” Churlishness darkened the voice as the woman faced her sister. “What fairness was this, that you and the others should have protectors while I am left alone?”

“You have your destiny, as we have ours,” Chantel told her softly. “You will await yours, just as we have awaited.”

“Chantel?” Devlin touched the skin of her cheek, relieved to feel the warmth, and the soft subtle fire he knew.

“Meet my half-sister, Antea of Oxboro.” Chantel indicated the pouting young woman. “Forgive her for her attempt at deceiving you. She has a… difficult sense of humor at times.”

Devlin turned back to the other woman, assessing the differences in the two women who could have been twins. As he did so, he noticed one profound difference.

“She’s of Guardian birth,” he announced softly, finally realizing why she neither held the warmth, nor the vibrancy of a normal woman. Those of Guardian birth were colder and often more mercenary than one who was not.

Chantel sighed. “Aye, and this is why she is here. She is the daughter of Koran. The one Jonar has sworn to destroy before her age of inheritance. She has been given shelter here until her twenty-first year.”

“Shelter?” Devlin turned to the woman who would soon be his bride, wondering if she had lost her senses. “Do you have any idea the danger this places you in, Chantel?

Jonar would take you as easily, thinking he has the woman he seeks.”

“Jonar is aware of her likeness to me. That is why she is safer here,” Chantel turned from him as she spoke, watching her sister closely. “It is her only defense at the moment. Jonar cannot breach the castle effectively, to learn which is Antea and which is Galen’s daughter. With any luck, we can continue the charade until she comes of age.”

“Until then, I’m stuck here.” A malicious edge to her voice had Devlin frowning. How could two women look so much alike, and yet be so different? It couldn’t be the Guardian bloodlines, for Devlin knew several who were born of Guardians who were gracious and kind hearted despite their more mercenary approach to life. This woman was a brittle, cold copy of Chantel, and Devlin feared she would cause his lover more trouble than she may be worth.

“You are not forced to stay, Antea,” Chantel reminded her quietly. “Should you wish to leave the safety of the castle, that is your choice. We merely offer you sanctuary, nothing more.”

“Nothing more is right.” Antea turned back, her eyes assessing the way Devlin had moved protectively to Chantel’s side. “Your father should have been kind enough to procure a protector for me as well.”

“Perhaps he didn’t wish to offend the knight you have chosen just for that purpose,” Chantel suggested kindly. “Come now, I don’t wish to argue with you. It’s growing late, and Sir Devlin’s meal awaits him upstairs. I’ll see you in the morning.”

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“Of course, sister,” the other woman seemed to coo, but Devlin detected the anger in her tone.

“Have a pleasant night.”

The woman turned and sauntered slowly from the room.

There was silence between Chantel and Devlin as she left the great hall, moving slowly to a doorway on the opposite side of the room. As she passed out of the room, Devlin turned to frown down at Chantel.

Warningly, Chantel shook her head, indicating silence.

“Come to our room, I have your meal prepared, and you can rest. It’s been a long day for both of us.”

“Chantel…” The hardened edge of his voice caused her to flinch, but he knew no other way to make his feelings clear.

“Not yet, in our room.” She shook her head as her voice lowered. “No ears can overhear us there.”

Devlin followed quietly, but as he did his worries grew. One who had not touched Chantel in passion, or knew her well, would never be able to tell the difference between the two young women. Jonar would take no time to learn the difference before he would kill one or both of them.

Chantel had no idea the dangerous game she was playing in giving this woman sanctuary. Jonar would play her game until time began to run out, then he would just kill both women to be certain he had the right one.

It was well known the vendetta Jonar harbored against Konar, the leader of the Guardian gods. He blamed Konar for the death of his daughter, Shalene, who was rumored to have been ready to sacrifice her only child to a demon cult she had taken into Jonar’s fortress.

The Guardians had struck her down, taken the young child, and in the process assured themselves that Jonar’s wrath would fall on any child of Guardian birth. Most especially the child Konar had sired.

As the bedroom door closed behind Chantel, Devlin turned to her, aware that he was growing angrier by the second at the thought of the danger she was now in.

“Chantel, your sister must be moved,” he informed her as she led him to the table where his meal had been set.

“Eat. We can talk afterwards.” She poured his wine, set it beside his place then moved to the window that looked out over the valley below.

“Not until we’ve settled this.” Devlin moved behind her, his hands cupping her fragile shoulders as he rested his head atop hers. “This is dangerous. The closer she comes to the age of inheritance, the more desperate Jonar with become. He will kill you both.”

“Jonar will be handled.” Devlin decided the edge to her voice terrified him. He turned her around quickly, barely missing the edge of sorrow in her eyes. Lora Leigh

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“What do you mean, he will be handled?” Devlin wanted to shake her, he was becoming so frustrated with her refusal to see the sense in sending the woman away.

“That woman would cause trouble even were she not Konar’s blood. The fact that she is leaves you in grave danger. We will be wed tomorrow. Do you think I enjoy the thought of my wife in such danger?

“Do you think your wife would enjoy being in such danger?” she whispered. “But neither can I turn her away. I must do what I can to protect her until she is of age. I can do nothing else.”

“Let me send her someplace else,” Devlin suggested. “I have friends who would guard her, and who would relish the prospect of thwarting Jonar.”

“None can protect her as well as she is protected here.” Chantel shook her head at the suggestion. “Jonar has not taken her because he does not wish to bring Father into this fight the Guardians and the Warriors wage against him. He knows Father’s rage could be the deciding factor in any battle. For that reason, he will be certain he does not harm me.”

“You can’t predict that,” Devlin raged.

“Actually, I can.” Chantel’s smile was soft, but the edge of sadness in it worried him. “I can sense changes, I can sense those things that can come. I don’t have visions, I don’t predict the future, but I can sense danger, or events that will unfold. And I tell you now, Jonar will take every precaution to be certain I am not taken if he makes a move to kidnap Antea.”

“Chantel, you can’t be certain of this,” Devlin whispered as he felt an irrational fear flood his entire being. “You can’t predict one such as Jonar.”

“I can only give you what Mother Earth gives me, my love.” She turned to him, facing him with a soft smile, the warmth of her dark eyes reaching into his soul. “All will be well, you shall see. Now, come eat, and we will rest through what is left of this night.”

Devlin allowed himself to be led to the table, and ate as she requested. He stayed silent on the subject of Jonar, but he would not let it rest. On the morrow, he would make plans with his men, set a system of keeping them safe. If there was any way to keep Jonar from taking the woman he had searched his life for, then Devlin would find it. Even if it meant turning Antea over to the dark lord himself. Lora Leigh

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