Part 10 (1/2)

Ryan's gaze settled on Susan. Susan felt warmth gather at the back of her neck and realized she was blus.h.i.+ng. Ryan's words were soft, amused. ”Yes, I am well aware of your examination, Dr. Ryerson.” The words hung in the air, and then Ryan raised her voice once more. ”Technically, I was born a female. But until I was 19 seas-, years old, I was raised as a man. In fact, for the first 400 years of my life, I lived as a man.”

Susan's disbelief was evident. ”Why?”

Ryan laughed. ”You have to remember, Dr. Ryerson, things were not as you think they were. I would have been at a tremendous disadvantage had I been raised female, and perhaps would not have survived. As a male I was given many privileges and freedoms that would have been questioned were I female.”

For the first time, Ryan turned her attention fully to Susan ”I've watched your moving pictures, your films, and I've seen the portrayals of both my time and of other times, of this world, and of other worlds. And I can tell you, in every portrayal I've seen, even the wildest fantasy or science fiction, I have never seen a world more alien than the one from which I came.”

This statement silenced Susan, simply because it had the profound ring of truth.

Ryan stood, moving to the fireplace. ”You have to remember that when I was born, the only light in the world was fire.” She turned back to Susan. ”There was no running water, no bathroom facilities, no supermarkets. Food had to be grown or killed.” Ryan gestured to a picture of a wolf that sat on her desk ”There were no photographs, no paintings for the common man, no drawings, no likenesses of any kind.” She pointed to the shelves and shelves of books. ”There were no books, no written communication of any kind. And it wouldn't have mattered anyway because we were profoundly ignorant. No one could read or write other than the clergy and whatever they said was taken at face value.” Ryan glanced down at the Wall Street Journal. ”Higher math was unknown because few people could even count; they had no need to. Life was simple and harsh.”

Ryan returned to her chair, reclining once more. ”A horse was the most rapid transportation known to man, and if a person traveled more than a 100 miles from their place of birth, they might as well have seen the whole world.” She shook her head. ”No one knew anything of political events, so the myths you read in history books about the peasants rising up to fight for some n.o.ble cause are just that: myths. We were profoundly ignorant about everything, and the 20th century forgets that when they try to imagine what it was like.”

Susan was drawn into the account against her will. If the woman was making it up, she certainly had an amazing amount of detail, details that Susan had never considered. Susan chose her words carefully, reluctant to give any ground. ”My grandmother talks about how difficult it's been to live through changing times. If you truly are 700 years old, how have you survived that change? It would be as if you came from another world.”

Ryan nodded. ”That's exactly my point. I would imagine your grandmother had to heat water over the fire in order to take a warm bath.”

”Yes,” Susan nodded, remembering their conversations, ”And you had to do the same?”

”No,” Ryan laughed. ”We did not bathe. I'm amused by your *historical' depictions. I never saw anyone that clean. The filth we lived in would have been considered obscene by 20th century standards.”

Susan thought back to the earlier conversation.

”So how did you end up fighting for the Black Prince if you were politically ignorant?”

Ryan shrugged. ”It was very common for the poor to be *conscripted' into the army. I fought as a mercenary. I fought for two years, never knowing what I was fighting for. I returned home when I was perhaps 18, 19 years old, at which time my life changed forever.”

Victor watched the child in the bed. Now that she was clean and her golden hair was untangled, she did indeed look more female than male. He frowned. At some point in time, his instructions for her to take the waters every day had been ignored. Perhaps at the same time the instructions for her to stay in the village had been ignored.

Victor controlled his anger. Years of planning had nearly been destroyed; he had taken his fury out on the village. He cared nothing that the child had exacted her revenge against Derek and the others. He cared only that she was now here.

The child moaned slightly in her sleep and rolled over. Miriam eyed her carefully for signs of awakening, then returned to her st.i.tchery.

”Child” was probably not the appropriate term for the figure in the bed, Victor reminded himself. She was nearly two decades old now, and by common standards, a fully grown woman.

Victor gazed again at the figure, this time with misgivings. To his mind she was still little more than a child, far too young. He sighed his frustration and Miriam glanced over at him beneath raised brows. Victor waved towards the door and Miriam nodded primly and disappeared.

Victor began pacing about the room. He knew it would be difficult once he was in her presence; he had underestimated how great that difficulty would be.

No he hadn't, he reminded himself. That was why he had kept her away for nearly two decades. It would have served no purpose to take her as a child.

And she is still a child, he told himself.

The figure stirred in the bed once more, and he moved to her side. He stared down at the perfect features, the golden lashes, and his jaw clenched. In a sudden fury, he stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him. He stalked down the halls of his castle and through the courtyard. He took the reins of his favorite stallion and, throwing one long leg over the horse's back, galloped from the castle into the night.

Miriam watched him from the window, a candle in her hand. Her face was expressionless as she watched her master flee.

Victor stayed away several days until he felt he had regained control. His reappearance was greeted with the usual lack of reaction from his staff; he had chosen them well although he could hear their whisperings even from great distances.

He spoke briefly with the stablehand on care for his horse then left for his own quarters. The girl's room was adjacent to his own, and he wondered if she was still sleeping. He c.o.c.ked his head to one side as if listening to something that no one else could hear; he didn't think so.

When he walked into the room, the bed was empty. He glanced to the window, then to the far corner. The room was empty.

He frowned, more annoyed than concerned. He again c.o.c.ked his head to one side as if listening to a far-off noise. He started down the pa.s.sageway to the great hall.

He entered the great hall and caught sight of the figure on the far side. She looked like a young boy once more, dressed in leggings and an oversized s.h.i.+rt. She was balanced precariously on the hearth, reaching for a sword hung ceremoniously on the wall. She came down, sword in hand. She turned, startled to see Victor a few feet from her.

”I don't think you need that.”

The lithe figure gazed at the Man with supreme distrust. She did not know where she was or why she was here, but she recognized this man. She raised the sword in front of her.

”I'll judge that.”

The man smiled ever so slightly and the next thing she knew, the sword was out of her hand and in his. She had not even seen him move and wondered what sort of magic this was. He tossed the sword aside as if it was inconsequential. She felt for the dagger concealed in her s.h.i.+rt. The man saw the movement.

”Why don't you give me that as well?”

She removed the dagger from its hiding place then made as if to hand it to him. Instead, she dodged to the right and fled from the hallway.

Victor simply stood there, sighing. He didn't know why he had a.s.sumed this would be easy.

The girl fled down the hallway, accidentally tackling the nursemaid, Miriam, in the process. Miriam screamed and the girl continued to flee. Victor came striding down the hallway, unperturbed. He glanced at Miriam, who was attempting to gather the basket of spilled yarn. He continued after the girl.

The girl was completely unfamiliar with the layout of the castle and found herself going up when she wished to go down. She wanted to backtrack down the spiral staircase, but was uncertain how much of an alarm had been sounded in the castle. It seemed to her as if no alarm had been sounded at all.

To her frustration, she wound up exactly where she had started, which was on the level of her original quarters. She heard footsteps behind her and had no choice but to enter the bedroom she had so recently left.

She hid herself behind the doorway, the dagger clutched in her hand. She had never feared any man, nor ever found one she could not do battle with. But for some reason, this man seemed different.

The door opened and the dark-haired one walked in. She lunged forward with the dagger and he turned and caught her easily. She surprised him with her strength, however, and broke her wrist free, slicing forward with blinding speed.

It was only Victor's own preternatural speed that allowed him to deflect the blow. The dagger glanced off his leather jerkin and caught him just above the collarbone, nicking the skin. A drop of blood welled in the cut, then began to trickle downward, staining his white s.h.i.+rt.

The child stared at the bloodstain, feeling the strange lightheadedness that had overcome her at other times. But this time it was different. A knot began to twist and uncoil inside of her. Breathing became difficult and her mouth was suddenly unaccountably dry. She stared at the bloodstain as if mesmerized, unable to draw her eyes from it.

Victor watched the reaction and felt his self-control begin to crumble. A thousand arguments formed over hundreds of years tumbled through his mind and none of them seemed to matter. His words were an anguished whisper.

”You are still too young.”

The girl looked up at him, but her eyes were drawn back to the blood seeping from the wound. She took a step forward and Victor no longer cared about her age. His pa.s.sion for this young one was all-consuming.

She reached up and touched the wound, fascinated at the blood she came away with on her fingers. She could not understand the compulsions filling her as she touched her fingers to her lips.

The sensation was strange and thrilling. An odd pleasure shot through her, beginning on her lips but spreading throughout her body. She had tasted blood before, but it had been salty and metallic. This tasted different, and was not so much a taste but a feeling.

She raised her hand again but Victor caught her wrist and pulled her toward him. He sat down on the bench and pulled her onto his lap so she was facing him. She wanted to ponder the strangeness of this position, but her attention was attracted to the blood seeping from his neck. It was much nearer her face, now, and she leaned forward to touch her lips to the wound.

A shudder went through Victor at the touch. He entangled his fingers in the golden hair and pressed her head to him.

The girl's mouth filled with blood but it was neither salty nor metallic. With a certain horror, she swallowed and felt a powerful warmth spread throughout her body. It was as if an old hunger was suddenly satisfied, but the satisfaction only increased the hunger. She began to drink.