Megan glided down the hall, trying to imagine how an acolyte in such a religion would walk. Solemnly, she thought, to match the gravity of the occasion. With pride, of course. She would be proud that she was the woman chosen by Coffey. And, if she was Lady Helena Scarle, she would love having every eye in the place on her, so she would milk every last bit of drama from the moment that she could.
She reached the opened doors into the altar room. Her eyes went first to the altar on which the child lay. She was still stretched out, motionless, and there was no sign of blood on her. Megan let out a sigh of relief. She had thought that there would be no sacrifice until Lady Scarle got back, but she had not been absolutely sure.
The high priest stood behind the altar, his arms spread out, his hands placed on the little girl’s head and ankles. When he saw Megan pause at the threshold of the door, he broke into a loud chant, raising his arms and lifting his eyes to the heavens. Megan lifted her tray higher and strode toward the altar.
She wished she had some idea what she was supposed to do. The more time she could buy her father and the other men, the better. She reached the altar and stopped beside the priest. She kept her face turned down, thinking that surely this was the way Coffey would expect to be approached. It would also serve to keep him from looking into her eyes and seeing that they were not the vivid blue of Lady Scarle’s.
He turned to her, reaching out and taking the bowl from the tray. He said something she did not understand. Megan hoped she was not supposed to answer. He turned back to face the audience and, lifting the bowl over his head, began to declaim.
“Hear us, oh, Inti, god of the sun. We are your children. We are chosen to carry on your blood. Your life. Come to us, and show us the way. Accept this, our sacrifice, the purest of the pure. Bring us the gift of your immortality. And make us your own.”
He brought the bowl down to his lips and drank from it. Megan realized that next he would probably turn to her to offer her the drink and then to his followers. She was not about to drink the foul-smelling stuff, whatever it was, so she had to act now.
Grasping the metal tray on one side with both hands, she stepped forward, lifting her arms, and brought it down with all her strength on the back of Coffey’s head. There was a satisfying clang, and Coffey crumpled, the bowl falling from his hands and hitting the altar, then rolling off onto the floor beyond.
There was a gasp of horror from the people before her, and in that instant, Theo, her father and the other men burst in.
Megan didn’t spare a glance for them as they poured into the room. She leaped forward and shoved Coffey’s sprawled form off Caya, then started to work on the straps that held the child bound to the altar.
The room rang with the sound of flying fists and shouts as the occupants reacted to the sudden appearance of the band of men. Megan ignored the sounds of the fighting, concentrating solely on setting her niece free.
Her fingers fumbled at the knots, but she managed to undo the strap around the girl’s chest, and she moved on to the cord around Caya’s legs. That, too, gave way after much tugging, and Megan bent to scoop the girl up in her arms.
At that moment an arm went hard around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides, and the cold blade of a knife was pressed against her throat. The hard plates of the high priest’s costume bit into her back.
“Halt!” Coffey’s voice roared out. “Cease, or she is dead!”
Megan had been so intent on freeing Caya that she had not noticed that Coffey had regained consciousness. Silently cursing her carelessness, she looked out over the room. The fighting had stopped, and everyone was standing still, staring at her and Coffey.
Theo took an involuntary step forward, and Coffey pressed the knife more tightly to her throat. Megan could feel a thin trickle of blood run down her throat. The movement stopped Theo in his tracks, still several feet away from them.
“Let her go, Julian,” Theo ordered, his voice tight. “You have not hurt anyone yet. You can still get away with it. But if you kill her, you will go to jail, and nothing, no one, will be able to save you. You will be hanged by the neck ’til you’re dead. I am told ’tis a long, slow way to die. Not exactly your style.”
“You think you can stop me?” Coffey asked, his voice smug. “That your puny efforts will bring me down? I am favored of the gods! I will be immortal.”
“That is the ceremonial tea talking, Coffey,” Dennis said flatly, coming up toward Coffey from the other side of the room. “You won’t be immortal. You cannot. There is one thing I never told you—the magic does not work outside the sacred valley. That is why you have never been able to keep yourself from aging, no matter what you did.”
“You lie!” Coffey shouted. “You are trying to trick me.”
He had turned his head to watch Dennis, and he did not see the way Theo was edging closer to the dais, but Megan did. She began to weep, sagging against Coffey’s arm, so that he had to take more of her weight.
“Stand up, blast you,” Coffey hissed in her ear.
“I can’t!” Megan wailed, letting loose with loud sobs and leaning even harder against him.
“Bloody woman!” Coffey burst out, shifting his arm to get a better hold of her.
As he did so, his other hand moved away from her throat. Megan seized the moment, thrusting up and back with her head as hard as she could. She connected smartly with Coffey’s chin, snapping his head back and sending pain bursting through her own skull.
Theo threw himself the last few feet at Coffey, and the three of them went down with a crash. The air whooshed out of Megan’s chest as she hit the floor, Theo’s weight half on her and half on Coffey. Struggling for air, she tried to squirm away as Theo grappled with Julian.
A hand grabbed her arm and jerked her away from the men. She looked up to see Dennis. He pulled her to her feet and thrust her away toward their father, then turned back to go to Theo’s aid.
But even as he turned, Theo’s fist thudded into Julian’s face, knocking the golden mask back and exposing his chin. Theo took advantage of the target by slamming his fist into Coffey’s chin, and the man went limp.
Megan’s beleaguered lungs began to work again, and she drew in a grateful gasp of air before Theo jumped up from Coffey’s prostrate form and whirled, pulling her into his embrace.
“Megan! Thank God!”
If she was smothered in Theo’s embrace, Megan did not seem to mind. She clung to him tightly as he wrapped his arms around her.
“I was so scared! I thought I’d lost you!” He rained kisses over her hair and face. “I love you. I love you.”
“Theo…” Megan sighed, burrowing against his chest, warmth spreading through her. She was, she thought, home at last.
*