into a confusion of the senses. But if you can pass through the rumored seven hells your reward shall come with cleverness and planning.”
“Seven hells?” Baldwin’s voice cracked.
“Abaddon de Morte, Demon of the North, Master of the Seven Hells,” Dominique said. “You have not heard the moniker?”
“I’ve heard of the Demon of the North,” Baldwin said shakily. “Everyone knows of the four villains set to each corner of the compass, and their ruler, Lucifer, planted in the very center, somewhere deep within Paris.”
“The Dragon of the Dawn,” Dominique confirmed.
“You say Abaddon has a weakness?” D’Ange stopped his mount alongside Tor. The two horses mustered little regard for one another.
“Yes, but unfortunately it will do none of the three of us any good to know such.”
“Why is that?”
No harm in revealing the little he knew of Abaddon. Dominique had no intention of allowing the black knight to press on without him anyway. “He favors women something fierce. The man missed the siege at Poissy because he instead chose to stay home and indulge in a ménage. The man goes through women like a worm boring through a rotting corpse. He’s quite vain, as well.”
“Baldwin.”
Dominique followed d’Ange’s eyes to the squire’s face, a visage that had grown paler than the snow at ground with mention of the seven hells. The twosome had a way of communicating with a single look—
“Oh, no. If you even think to attempt such,” Baldwin said, “I shall tell San Juste all.”
“All?” Now this was beginning to sound interesting.
Dominique marched over to the squire’s mount and jerked the reins from his hands. “I knew you were a liar.” He released his dagger from his waist-belt in a swift move that defied any mortal man’s eyesight, and pressed it to the squire’s neck. “Tell all,” he barked at the black knight. “Now.”
“You call this protection?” d’Ange protested.
At his move to unsheathe his sword, Dominique pressed his blade harder. A narrow spittle of blood dribbled from Baldwin’s neck.
“My lord!” Baldwin managed, his eyes closing to squeeze out tears from the corners.
D’Ange turned on his mount. So he was a coward to allow his squire death while he turned his back?
“The black knight is a woman,” Baldwin spat carefully from behind Dominique’s faltering blade. “Her name is Seraphim d’Ange.”
FOUR
“Betrayer!” Sera jammed her sword in the snow and stomped toward Baldwin.
Dominique lunged right in her way. “A woman?” He couldn’t believe he spoke the word. But a strange comprehension fell over him as the lithe, gaunt-faced black knight approached him, anger huffing out in cold breaths of air. “I should have known!”
“And how should you have known?” She slammed fists to her hips. A feminine action. Dominique had suspected something of the sort upon observing the duo in the tavern. Suspected a pair of unusual males. But a woman? A woman had slain Mastema and Satanas de Morte? In the midst of battle?
Seeing Seraphim d’Ange was more intent on reaching her bristling squire than him, Dominique dodged into her path to prevent her from taking her anger out on the youth. If she had beheaded two de Mortes, what would she do to her squire for exposing her identity?
Dominique had heard of these odd, masculine women that chose to live their lives the way of their betters. Why, Jeanne d’Arc’s ashes still smoldered in the square of Rouen. Did Seraphim not see what she might bring upon herself if she were discovered? The label “witch” would be slapped upon her forehead. For the misguided d’Arc wench had seen to that.
“Release me!” she argued, as Dominique wrangled her wrists into a tight clutch. She was much stronger than he had anticipated. And now he could see she matched him in arm strength, as well as height.
“Much as I am stunned at what you have achieved thus far, my lady,” he said, twisting and bending to keep the fiery angel in grasp. “Tell me how you expect to continue? The black knight has become a legend, quite literally with the swing of your bloody sword. But you’ll not gain entrance to Abaddon’s castle without also gaining an arrow to your brain.”
“I shall think of something.” Her sneer stretched pale, full lips to reveal tightly clenched teeth.
“Damn! I cannot believe this!” With a thrust, Dominique released the struggling woman. He stepped back, half expecting her to explode upon him.
Something fired a mighty rage inside that slender form. And if rage is what compelled her to exterminate the entire de Morte clan, he could only guess it had been put there by one of the five demons.
But the fact remained…she was a mere woman.
“How do you expect to survive? Hmm? Tell me!” Dominique would not allow her the distance she sought. With frantic steps back and to the side he matched her every move, finding agility with ease, even in the thick snow. “Riding into battle upon your great steed and swinging a sword is one thing. But what of hand-to-hand combat? There is no sign Abaddon has even considered siege or attack. He will be tucked away in his lair, surrounded by his minions, lying in wait for you. Make me believe you can survive that!”
“I can, and I will.” The dark circles under her eyes had receded since last eve. Rest had served her well. Now only the glow of rage lit her pale eyes. Eyes of an indeterminable color, save the anger that flared there. Indeed, this woman had been sorely wounded by the de Mortes.
And it was now Dominique’s responsibility to see she survived to achieve her goal.
A woman? Il diable! Had the Oracle known as much?
Of all the fine disasters. He should just mount Tor and ride off, abandoning this fool to her idiotic quest.
There is but one reason you agreed to this insane mission. A reason that had haunted Dominique for over two decades.
So be it.
Using a trick to draw her attention, Dominique skrit around behind her, his movement faster than a mortal man’s sight. “Show me your strength!”
She spun round, surprised to find him behind her, but not commenting on his change of location as her anger held her in check.
Fired by this woman’s verve, Dominique jutted up his chin in defiance. Certainly he would not allow a woman to best him.
“Here.” He tapped his chin and matched her steps, a swift side-to-side lunge, a stride back across the hoof-pounded snow. “Deliver me your best. Come on then,” he coaxed at her reluctant pout with beckoning fingers. “Are you afraid to prove your mettle—”
Pain shuddered through his jaw. The retreat of Sera’s fist flashed in Dominique’s blink of astonishment. He pressed a hand to his jaw and stretched his mouth wide. No loose
