Shield’s Lady
by
Jayne Ann Krentz
SHIELD’S LADY Copyright © 1989 by Jayne Krentz
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used ficticiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Excerpt from GIFT OF GOLD Copyright © 1988 by Jayne Ann Krentz
Cover design by Purple Papaya
Chapter
1
THE unconscious man stirred slightly and groaned. He did not open his eyes and therefore was unable to appreciate the flamboyant luxury that surrounded him.
He lay on the polished marble floor of an ornately appointed room. A high, heavily embossed ceiling arched overhead. The golden glow of the vapor lamps filtered through intricately beveled glass fixtures. A long, narrow table of polished black stone dominated the small chamber. The table was curved, forming a semicircle.
Five people sat around the table. Two of them, the older man and woman, were obviously the matriarch and patriarch of the clan. The other two, a handsome young man and an equally attractive young woman, were clearly sister and brother. The distinctive combination of silvery blond hair and night-dark eyes that marked the father also characterized his offspring. The mother was also blond and dark-eyed, although her coloring came from a different set of genes. None of the four could be described as petite. The Avylyns were a tall, well-built clan, the men broad-shouldered and the women full-bodied.
The fifth person present was another young woman. She was quite slender and far more delicately built than the others; she also lacked their regal height, much to her private disgust. There were times when she would have found the sheer presence that being tall and statuesque conveyed very useful. She had however, found ways to compensate.
Her neatly arranged brown-gold hair and wide, hazel eyes also set her apart. But even if her looks and coloring had not been radically different, her attire would have made it clear she was not a member of the Avylyn Clan.
Sariana Dayne was discreetly dressed in a conservative, dark green outfit that featured a strictly tailored jacket and a simple, flared skirt that ended just above her ankles. The snug little jacket emphasized her slenderness and its crisp, high collar framed her throat. Beneath the hem of the skirt dark stockings and low-heeled slippers of soft leather were visible. She wore no jewelry.
The other two women at the table were wearing modishly cut, low-necked gowns in vivid gemstone hues with billowing sleeves and full skirts draped over large bustles. Their high-heeled slippers were made of heavily embroidered satin and their hair was arranged in towering confections of cascading curls.
The women’s jewelry was magnificent. The Avylyns were, after all, a clan of jewelers. Fragile links of gold set with colorful stones were entwined in their hair. Several pairs of earrings vied for space on each pair of earlobes. The Avylyn women had their ears pierced in so many places Sariana had often thought it remarkable that there was any skin left there at all. Their ample bosoms were adorned with wide collars fashioned of gold and silver and two kinds of rare quartz. They had rings on almost every finger.
The men were equally gaudy in appearance. They wore brightly colored doublets, scarlet tights and shirts with enough fabric in the slashed sleeves to sail a ship. They wore nearly as many jewels as the Avylyn women.
Sariana had noticed lately that Bryer, the handsome eldest son, had adopted the new fashion of wearing a vividly decorated codpiece. He had one on tonight. The truth was, she probably couldn’t have failed to notice it if she’d tried. Codpieces were not easily overlooked, especially ones set with semiprecious stones.
The Avylyns had flair, Sariana observed once again with secret amusement. There was not a dull one in the bunch.
The members of the Avylyn Clan tended toward the dramatic in their choice of clothing just as they did in everything else. After a year of living in the household, Sariana was accustomed to her employers’ dazzling attire and volatile ways. She had even grown quite fond of them, much to her surprise. They could be exasperating but they were also rather fascinating, just like everything else here in the western provinces.
The man on the floor groaned again, interrupting Sariana’s thoughts. One booted foot shifted slightly on the marble.
“Excellent,” Sariana said as she looked down at the man sprawled on the floor. “We’re in luck. He’s not dead.” She kept her voice light and cheerful, trying not to show the relief she felt. Never let the client know you were nervous was one of her mottoes. She sent up a silent thank you to whatever unseen forces looked out for business consultants. At least she wasn’t going to have to worry about explaining a dead man to the authorities. Her palms were still damp from the anxiety she had been hiding.
“Might be better for all of us if he were dead,” Bryer Avylyn said gloomily. “He’s going to be very angry when he wakes up.”
Sariana glared at the striking scion of the Avylyn Clan. “Don’t be ridiculous. What happened was an accident. I’m sure this Shield person, or whatever it is you call him, will understand that when we explain what happened. How could we know that your Aunt Perla’s recipe for a mild hypnotic drug would have this reaction on him? It should have done nothing more than put him into a light trance. It was supposed to make him friendly and amenable. It wasn’t supposed to make him pass out.”
Bryer lifted his head to meet Sariana’s eyes. A lock of his brilliantly blond hair fell across his brow. Sariana knew that the charmingly sexy style in which Bryer’s hair arranged itself had been precisely calculated by a very fashionable hairdresser. The style highlighted Bryer’s dark eyes, making the contrast to his gilded hair that much stronger.
“Sariana, you don’t understand,” Bryer informed her with deep foreboding. “Shields are not known for their understanding and patience. You don’t seem to grasp the fact that this man is potentially very dangerous. He was raised on the frontier. He makes his living fighting the border bandits. He is not going to take kindly to what we have done. I’m telling you we should never have tried this trick. We should never have listened to you in the first place.”
Bryer’s mother, who was sitting at the other end of the glistening black stone table spoke firmly. “That’s enough, Bryer. This was a family decision. We all agreed with Sariana that getting a Shield to help us was our only chance.”
Indina Avylyn glanced at her husband who sat at the opposite end of the semicircular table. “Isn’t that right, Jasso? You yourself said it. We’re all in this together. We had no choice. We must go through with this wild plan for the sake of the Clan of Avylyn.”
Sariana couldn’t help but admire the stirring quality Lady Avylyn had infused into those last words. Lady Avylyn had descended from a clan of dramatists. Even though she had married into a jewelsmith clan, she had never quite abandoned her origins.
Lord Jasso Avylyn shook his graying blond head uncertainly as he stared down at the man sprawled on the floor. “I fear we have no choice now but to go forward with Sariana’s plan. We can only hope this Shield doesn’t wake up in such a towering rage that he decides to kill us all before he even listens to our proposal.”
“Father, he wouldn’t do that!” Mara, the Avylyns’ only daughter, sprang to her feet in an impassioned movement. She had inherited some of her mother’s talent. The skirts of her long, deep blue gown swirled around her delicate high-heeled slippers. Her chest, a great deal of which was exposed by the elegant gown, heaved dramatically. The motion of her chest caused the beautiful jeweled collar around her neck to
shimmer. “I spoke to him last night, remember? I had a chance to talk to him in the tavern before I put Aunt Perla’s medicine into his ale. Admittedly he was somewhat drunk, but he certainly didn’t seem violently inclined.”
Bryer gave his sister a disgusted look. “Of course he didn’t seem violently inclined. He was trying to seduce you. And you were enjoying playing the role of loose woman, weren’t you? I’ll wager the only thing you talked about with him was sex. The last thing he was likely to do was show you his violent side when he was trying to talk you into bed. But he’s a Shield, Mara, never forget that. You have heard the legends about Shields. Violence is bred in their bones.”
“So is honor!” Mara was incensed. She whirled to confront her brother, her dark eyes flashing. “By the blood of the Ship’s Captain, Bryer Avylyn, don’t you dare call me names. I was playing the role I was assigned to play. No more, no less. This was all Sariana’s idea, remember? She’s the one who suggested I portray a tavern wench looking for a good time.”
“Children, please,” Jasso said anxiously. “This is no time to quarrel. Our goal is to regain the prisma cutter from the hands of those thieving Nosorians. We’ve gone too far to back out now.”
“But, Father…”
Sariana decided to intervene before the situation got completely out of hand. A family quarrel was in the making and she had neither the time nor the patience to weather one tonight. All of the blond, handsome Avylyns had strong tendencies toward melodrama. In that respect they were typical of most of the inhabitants of the western provinces. Give any one of them a convenient stage, Sariana had learned, and one could expect an outrageous display of dramatic fireworks. Not to mention a lot of noise.
Sometimes the noise of the Avylyn Clan was too much for her. Sariana had been brought up in a far more civilized household. But the elegant, sophisticated, well-managed home of the Dayne Clan lay halfway around the planet of Windarra on the eastern continent. A year earlier Sariana had made the wrenching decision to leave her clan and journey across the seas to the wilds of the western continent. There was not only an ocean between her parents’ home in Rendezvous and her new home in the town of Serendipity; there was also a gaping abyss in terms of lifestyle. Sariana was still working on the problem of culture shock.
The artisans, craftsmen, designers and gemologists of the Avylyn Clan were technically Sariana’s clients. Officially she was their business manager. Although she was only a couple years older than Mara, there were times when Sariana felt more like a nanny than a business manager.
She coughed gently and tapped the table with the heel of the small fan she carried. The fan was a western affectation she had somehow acquired. It had its uses.
“If I may have your attention, please.” Sternly she regarded each member of the Avylyn Clan present at the midnight meeting.
The need for secrecy had led Lord Jasso, the patriarch, to ordain that only the oldest and most immediate members of the Prime Family be present tonight. Even Luri, the youngest son, was not here. Needless to say, no one beyond the Prime Family had been notified of either the loss of the valuable prisma cutter or the plan for recovering it. Aunts, uncles, distant cousins and other assorted Avylyns were being kept in blissful ignorance, as were all business rivals. The responsibility for protecting the cutter was, after all, the task of the Prime Family of the Clan. Now that it had been stolen, Jasso’s duty was clear. He had to get it back, even if it meant dealing with a dangerous Shield.
In practical terms that meant Sariana had to find a way to retrieve the cutter. A business manager’s lot was often a difficult one.
“We are committed now,” Sariana said coolly. “There is no turning back. Granted, the fact that the drug didn’t work as it was supposed to has made things slightly more difficult, but we can adapt to the situation.”
“It’s because they’re different,” Lady Avylyn said with a sigh.
Sariana glanced at her, impatient with the interruption. “I beg your pardon, Lady Avylyn? What are different?”
“Shields. The members of the Shield clans are different,” Lady Avylyn explained gravely. “That difference is more than just a matter of customs and dress and manners. It goes all the way to the bone.”
Sariana blinked in astonishment. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Lady Avylyn.”
It was Lord Avylyn who tried hurriedly to explain. “It’s part of the legend, you know. Shields are—well, not quite like the rest of us. It’s difficult for you to understand because you don’t have any equivalent to the Shield class in the eastern provinces. Here the Shields occupy a special niche in society. They are living legends.”
Sariana glanced at the man on the floor with a mildly derisive expression. “That’s a living legend? He looks more like a frontier bandit who wandered into town and got drunk.”
Lady Avylyn was horrified. “Don’t ever call him a bandit, Sariana. Shields are very proud. They spend their time getting rid of bandits. You should hear some of the tales of frontier battles.”
“No offense,” Sariana said briskly, “but in my opinion, you westerners give entirely too much credence to your legends and tales.”
“Just because you easterners have forgotten all your First Generation tales doesn’t mean we have ignored our own history,” Mara exclaimed.
Sariana was annoyed. “The fact that we easterners didn’t bother to immortalize our history in a lot of silly ballads and plays doesn’t mean we have forgotten that history.” She resented the implication that the descendants of the colony ship The Rendezvous had not protected their history as well as the descendants of The Serendipity had.
“The descendants of the First Generation colonists from The Rendezvous,” she continued, “may have lost most of their technology and some of their records in the struggle to survive on Windarra just as your people did, but we didn’t invent a lot of wild tales to fill in the gaps. This is not, however, the time to be arguing over which group of colonists kept the best track of their history.”
“That much is true,” Lady Avylyn said and then dramatically lowered her voice. “But whether or not you choose to believe our legends, Sariana, please be careful when dealing with them. Especially this particular legend.” She indicated the man on the floor. “There aren’t many Shields. Never were. Their birthrate is very low and the offspring are always male which sometimes makes for some, uh, difficulties…”
“I don’t see why,” Sariana said with a frown. “Oh, you mean there aren’t any women in their social class except those who marry into it?”
“Their marriage customs are rather odd,” Lady Avylyn began awkwardly. “You see, they—” She stopped as the other members of the family stared at her. She cleared her throat and waved her fan in a gesture of impatient dismissal. “Never mind,” she went on hurriedly. “It’s rather complicated. Just take our word for it. Shields can be difficult. The last thing one wishes to do is antagonize them.”
“Shouldn’t you have mentioned that fact when you first told me a Shield might be able to help us get back the prisma cutter?” Sariana retorted.
“We did tell you that Shields are different,” Jasso reminded her. He sounded resentful and with good reason. When the plan to engage a Shield had first been proposed, Sariana hadn’t paid much attention to warnings of potential difficulties. “We explained they walk their own paths and tend to stay on the outskirts of society. They live on the frontiers for the most part. One doesn’t run into one in town very often. Fortunately.”
Bryer looked speculatively at the man on the floor. “But occasionally one finds a Shield useful.”
“Useful as a mercenary,” Sariana clarified dryly. “Let’s all stop snapping at each other. For better or worse, we’ve got our Shield and we managed not to kill him in the process. Barely. We must go forward from here. Our first priority is getting back that prisma cutter, and from everything you have told me, hiring a
Shield is our best bet.”
“I’m not sure he’s going to consider this a valid employment contract,” Jasso said skeptically. “I wonder why he passed out from that tiny drop of hypnotic drug Mara gave him?”
“Because Shields are different,” Lady Avylyn said firmly. “I told you that.”
Sariana was amused more than alarmed by the Avylyns’ conviction that the man on the floor was somehow fundamentally different from other people.
Sariana eyed her captive. He certainly dressed differently than the members of most of the other social classes she had encountered in Serendipity. The truth was, she found his strictly styled, close fitting dark trousers and unadorned long-sleeved shirt something of a relief from all the showy fashions that were popular in the capital city of the western provinces.
He had on a severely cut waist-length jacket instead of the more popular flowing cape, and his boots and belt were made of untooled leather. There was nothing outrageous or ornate about his attire. No gems set in the heels of his boots or tracings of silver on the collar and cuffs of his shirt.
And no codpiece, Sariana noted with a flash of humor. She found that fact oddly reassuring.
The only item of the Shield’s apparel that could be called decorative was the black leather pouch he wore attached to his belt. The pouch itself was made of the practically indestructible hide of the legendary snake cat. Sariana had never actually seen a snake cat, but Luri, the Avylyns’ youngest, had regaled her with hair raising tales of the beasts. Apparently they favored swamplands and could swallow a man in one gulp.
Sariana had no idea how accurate such tales were, but on the whole she was happy to forego the experience of encountering a live specimen. She wondered if the man on the floor had actually hunted for the leather to be used in his pouch or if he’d bought lt.
It was the clasp on the leather pouch that constituted the man’s one item of adornment. But that single item was a major exception. The pouch was sealed and locked with an intricate mechanism fashioned from pure prisma.