Checkmate, My Lord

chapter Five


August 11

The intruder stared at the sleeping form well into the pre-dawn hours for the simple pleasure of knowing he could. The widow’s locking mechanisms were good, but they were no deterrent for a man who had spent years accessing forbidden places.

The bed creaked and its inhabitant shifted onto her side, facing him. Feminine perfection. Innocence personified. A weapon of destruction.

All she had to do was open those long-lashed eyelids and the serenity of the moment would be lost, transformed into precipitous violence. But her eyes remained shut and her soft, even breaths pierced the air with their gentleness.

Disappointment settled in his chest. Even though he enjoyed the power of undetected observation, he loved the thrill of discovery more. Loved witnessing his victim’s first moment of awareness, that paralyzing second when she senses danger lurking within her haven of safety. The ensuing gasping, pleading, and crying for mercy all added to his pleasure. The longer his victim lived in a world of anticipatory terror, the greater his excitement.

Fear stimulated him in a way no other sentiment could. He craved its power, sought its bliss. He looked forward to the moment when he could blend his secret passion with his driving ambition.

Soon. Everything was falling into place. Before long, he alone would hold the power of the greatest minds in England, and beyond. Lions taken down by their beloved lambs.

Bored by his companion’s idleness, he bent at the waist and smoothed back a lock of hair from her pale, unlined forehead. Her skin was warm against his lips, her scent fresh, exciting. Soon.

Straightening, he pivoted to leave and his boot landed on something small and hard. He waited for the ensuing crack, the telltale sound that would signal his presence.

But nothing cracked or shattered or snapped beneath the pressure of his weight. He carefully lifted his boot and knelt down to retrieve the object. Holding it up to the faint light filtering in from the window, he made out the wooden shape of a kilted man holding a long two-handed claymore.

He glanced back at the sleeping form and smiled.

Dropping the warrior into his coat pocket, he slipped out the nursery door.