Mark Anthony - Tower of Doom

"Ah, yes," the baron said with a wolfish smile. "That gown is better, my lady. Wouldn't you say?"

"It is, Your Grace. Thank you for lending it to me." Her voice was almost a gasp. The dress's bead- encrusted bodice squeezed her chest cruelly, making it difficult to fill her lungs. The thick velvet weighed down on her. She had the distinct sensation that she was not wearing the gown,but rather was imprisoned in it.

"I am sorry about your patient," the baron said gravely. "But I am glad that I could see you before you left the keep. I would not have had you returning to the village without my personal thanks. Oh-I am afraid my servants had to burn your other dress."

Mika only nodded. No amount of cleaning would have removed the bloodstains from it.

"You can keep this gown, of course."

An uncomfortable silence descended between them. Mika fumbled for words. "It was kind of you to send a carriage for me, Your Grace. I imagine few lords take such an interest in the welfare of their servants."

Caidin dismissed this comment with a casual wave of his hand. "It was nothing. I suppose I consider them my children, that's all. Wouldn't any man do the same if his child was ill?"

Mika smiled fleetingly at his words, wondering if she had perhaps misjudged the baron. Once again she was struck by how handsome he was. The blue coat he wore was less formal than the one she had seen before. It fell open to reveal a white shirt and crimson sash. He seemed as radiant as the nameless gods who appeared in the mosaic beneath his boots, floating in clouds above the scene of an ancient battle-naked deities with fierce eyes and sensual lips glowing in pagan majesty.

"Wine?" He proffered a silver goblet.

She accepted it with a murmur of thanks, taking a sip. The wine was cool and rich, tasting of cherries, cloves, and smoke. She looked up at him in surprise. "It's delicious, Your Grace."

"For you, my lady, only the finest."

His words startled her. Once again she thought she saw a hungry light glittering in his green eyes. Yet that was an utterly foolish notion. Caidin was a baron. He could have his pick of dozens of beautiful ladies of high birth. What could he possibly see in a vagabond healer whose blood was common to the last drop? Nothing, Mika told herself firmly. No doubt she had made an utter fool of herself two nights ago with her hasty departure after the feast. Surely she had misjudged his intentions.

Her certainty wavered as his gaze glided over her body like a caress. Hastily she swallowed more of the wine. "Did I ever tell you about my husband, Your Grace?" she blurted.

A bemused look flickered across his visage. "I don't recall asking, my lady."

She nodded jerkily, taking a few steps back. "His name was Geordin, and he was a tailor. Our daughter's name was Katalia, but I just called her Lia. We lived in a small flat ift II Aluk, overlooking the Vuchar River." Despite her nervousness, she smiled at the memory. "Oh, it wasn't much. Certainly nothing so grand as all this." She gestured around her. "But I planted geraniums in the box outside the window, and I used to love to look out and watch the gulls whirl and dive over the water." She sighed deeply. "We were happy there."

He poured more wine into her goblet from a crystal decanter. "Why do you say were, Mika?"

Just three whispered words escaped her lips, yet they explained everything. "The Crimson Death." She gulped down more of the wine. Its sweet aroma permeated her head, dulling her remembered sadness.

"I am sorry," he said quietly. "But remember, Mika-time will one day heal your hurting."

"No," she choked. "No, I don't want this wound to heal. Because… because then…"

Strong hands gripped her shoulders, trying to still her shaking. She tried to pull away, but the baron would not let her.

"Because then it might mean you no longer love him?" Caidin finished for her. "Is that what you think?"

She nodded.

"Look at me, Mika." Reluctantly, she let his powerful hands turn her around. "I would never presume to take away the sorrow of your past. But won't you let me grant you some joy-now, here, tonight?"

She shook her head in confusion. She felt dizzy- the wine, of course. She should not have drunk so much. It was difficult to think.

"I… I don't…"

His hands squeezed her tightly. She could feel the warmth radiating from him. By her soul, he was a handsome man.

"Please, Mika."

Geordin! she cried silently. What am I to do? Yet it was another voice that seemed to speak the faint words that fell from her lips. "Perhaps, Your Grace. For just a short while…"

The baron's dark mustache curled in a smile. He lifted her off her feet, whirling her around. The silver cup slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor. Dimly, she heard lilting music. Holding her around the waist, Caidin whisked her about in a whirling dance. It was like a delirious dream. Mika's senses were filled with the sweet strains of the music, the rustling of her velvet gown, and his body brushing against hers. It felt as if she were slipping beneath the surface of a lake, only the water was so wonderfully warm that she had to believe that drowning would be a pleasure.

A dull glint caught her eye. As they spun by, Mika saw that it was the silver goblet she had dropped on the floor. Red wine spilled from it, pooling like blood. Suddenly the wine evaporated, as if absorbed into the floor, and she glimpsed the images in the mosaic as they began to move.

Two shining armies marched toward each other across a green landscape. The serene, cruel-eyed gods floating in the clouds directed the creatures below like pieces on a gameboard. The mosaic armies clashed, swords gleaming. Chips of red- ochre stained the verdant landscape. The gory images shocked Mika to her senses. With all her strength, she pushed herself away from the baron, gasping for air.

Caidin watched her with a perplexed expression. "What is wrong, my lady?"

"Nothing, Your Grace. I… I only…" In desperation, she searched for something-anything- to say. "I only wanted to ask you something."

He took a step toward her. "If you require anything, my lady, you have only to request it."

"In the keep's bell tower, there's a hunchback." Trying to make it look as if she were not backing away, she edged to one of the tall windows. Her own ghostly image gazed back at her from the darkened glass.

"Yes?" the baron said impatiently.

"He rings the bells," Mika went on breathlessly. She had to talk fast. It was her only defense. "I was Wondering if you might be able to help him somehow, Your Grace. You see, he's all alone. And so very sad." The baron's pale image loomed behind hers in the window.

"You should not go to the bell tower, my lady," he said gravely.

The word leapt from her lips. "Why?"

"The hunchback you speak of-he is very dangerous. He is a violent man, perhaps even mad. You put yourself at peril just to go near him." She saw hatred glitter in the eyes of his reflection.

"Are you certain?" Mika said, suddenly unsure of herself. "He is… I mean, he seemed…"

"You must not go near the tower again, my lady." His voice was stern, like a father speaking to a child. "I implore you."

Mika only nodded dumbly. She had run out of words. Disturbing thoughts coursed through her mind. Could Wort truly be dangerous? He was so sad, so pitiful, and almost dear in the way he befriended the pigeons in the belfry. Yet, she knew he was also capable of rage. She had witnessed it herself. Still, she could not believe that he would ever harm her.

"Come, let us dance more," Caidin said, reaching out to take her hand.

Quickly, she turned away. "I'm sorry, Your Grace, but I must go. Please forgive me. I have patients to see early on the morrow."

Without waiting for his reply, she picked up the hem of her gown and rushed from the Grand Hall, back to the village, and the inn, and the familiar safety of loneliness.