"Probably," Michael agreed, "but we came here to perform a rescue, not start a war. Let's see where this passage goes first. There's air moving through, so it's not a dead end. With luck, we'll find another way up or around to where Luce and the ladies are. This place may be a bloody maze, but it can't cover that great an area."
Jason nodded, and they went ahead with the lantern that had survived the attack. As Michael had hoped, the passage turned and started to double back on itself. The soft chalk in this section was shored up with wooden props. As a mine owner, he recognized the technique. The stone must be particularly bad here, for rough boards had been laid for a floor.
He frowned. There was something odd about the prop ahead…
Because he was studying it, he saw the flash of light as something began whipping toward him at head level. He dived for the floor. "Down!"
The American followed his lead just in time to avoid being decapitated by a blade that swung across the corridor parallel to the floor. It looked like a giant reaper's sickle, with a blade sharp enough to cut an intruder in half.
"Christ!" Jason said breathlessly. "This place is full of nasty little devices. How did we set off this one?"
Michael watched as the blade swung back and disappeared into a slot in the wall. It must have been propelled by a giant spring concealed behind the wooden strut. "These boards weren't put down to cover holes, but to conceal the trigger. I think this light-colored board moved when I stepped on it."
He shoved on it with the heel of his hand. Again the blade swung over their heads with a wicked hiss. After it had folded demurely back into place, Michael said, "The triggers have to be obvious enough so that whoever devised these traps can avoid them himself. If we're careful, we should be able to spot them."
"I wish I shared your touching faith." Jason got cautiously to his feet and stepped over the trigger board. "Blockade running was never like this."
"One of the things I like about Lucien is that life is never dull in his vicinity." Michael stood and raised the lantern, which he had managed to avoid breaking. "Shall we see what lies ahead?"
Travers sketched a mock salute. " 'Lay on, Macduff, and damn'd be him that first cries, 'Hold, enough!' "
Kit tried to dally, but Mace forced the issue by opening the door before she had finished dressing. His avid expression made her hastily pull the high black boots over her lace stockings. She dared not push him too far. Though Mace might have enjoyed being whipped in the past, tonight he seemed primed for straightforward rape.
When she stood, he ordered, "Turn around."
She obeyed slowly, afraid of what a quick movement might do to her costume, which was the most indecent garment imaginable. In front it was slashed to the navel with leather thongs crisscrossing over bare flesh to hold the fabric together. The arrangement left her breasts and midriff half exposed. Similar slashes revealed provocative swathes of her backside. She felt more naked than if she had been truly nude.
Mace stared at the bright butterfly that was visible through the black lace stocking. "Wonderful! Even the tattoo is the same. But the laces are too loose. I'll tighten them myself."
She tried to back away when he approached her, but he whipped his knife from the scabbard and touched the tip to her throat. "Hold still," he hissed.
For some reason the knife, with its ability to slash and mutilate, was more frightening than the pistol. She stood rigid while he sheathed the blade, then grasped the thongs that laced the chemise over her breasts. He pulled them so tightly her that nipples showed clearly under the tight black satin. She could scarcely breathe, and the thongs would leave a lattice of crimson welts in her bare flesh, if she lived long enough.
"Yet surely you are not quite identical." He tied the bow, but instead of moving away he began to skim his hands over the satin-covered curves of her body. The heat of his palms on her breasts made her flesh recoil.
"Before I am done, I will discover the differences," he said huskily. "Since your sister is the wicked twin, I suppose you are the good one." He pinched her nipples with brutal force. "In some ways, that is even more titillating."
She bit her lip to keep from whimpering. She would not give him the satisfaction of showing her disgust, for she sensed that he would revel in a woman's fear.
He stepped back with visible regret. "Later. Now we must collect Cassie the First."
He bound her wrists behind her with a wide scarlet ribbon the exact shade of fresh blood. Then he gestured with his pistol for her to precede him.
The place was a rabbit warren of passages. After several confusing turns, they emerged into a guardroom containing a massive door. Slumbering peacefully on the floor was a bound man.
Mace's face darkened. "Stupid fool!"
Keeping Kit beside him, he threw open the door and gestured for her to enter first. She knew instantly that it had been Kira's prison; the very air was saturated with her twin's essence. But she was gone now; Lucien must have found her. Kit would have crowed with relief if she hadn't feared that doing so would trigger Mace's violence.
He swore viciously, then snarled, "I shall take you to the sanctuary. My associates can play with you while I recover your sister. Now move." He jabbed the pistol barrel into her ribs.
He gave her no opportunity to escape during the nightmare journey. As they neared the large chamber, she heard the buzz of excited voices. The talk ceased as soon as she stepped inside the sanctuary. Every man's gaze went to Kit. She wanted to cringe and cover herself with her hands. Since that was impossible, she thought of a play she had seen about Anne Boleyn, who went to the scaffold with unshakeable dignity.
She withdrew into herself as far as possible, as if she were on stage. This wasn't real, it was only a play. Head high, she walked toward the altar. The two roaring fires made the air very warm, which was welcome given her skimpy attire. She couldn't think of a single other advantage to her situation.
Her path took her through the rings of warrior statues. Close up, they seemed even larger than they had appeared from above. She passed between a Red Indian with a spear and a mailed Crusader, without looking up. But she could not ignore the crowd of scarlet-robed men with their hungry eyes and obscene comments. Worse,some of them fondled her with outrageous intimacy as she walked through the group. She kept moving, her eyes straight ahead, until she reached the altar.
All of her chief suspects were at the forefront of the group. The men behind were other Hellions, but none had seemed important when she was investigating, and that was still true now; they were simply followers. The evil here came from the leaders-it was written on their faces.
Lord Nunfield and Roderick Harford studied her with frank lust. More detached, Chiswick drawled, "So you managed to engage Cassie James. Excellent, Mace. She's enough to titillate even the most jaded palate."
Sir James Westley said cheerily, "I prefer 'em a little meatier myself, but then, we've never sacrificed a female of such distinguished achievements. She'll do splendidly."
Voice portentous, Mace said, "It's even better than you think, gentlemen. This is not Cassie James, but her identical twin sister. Surely you have all dreamed of having twins, equally lovely, equally helpless." His lightless eyes flared with menace. "The real Cassie has become lost in the corridors, so I must go find her."
That aroused another babble of comments. Detachedly, Kit observed that all of the men wore the ceremonial scabbards and holsters. She wondered if the knives would be used on her.
Mace beckoned for his brother to come forward. "Take charge of this one while I find the other," he said in a low voice.