VirtualDesire (13 page)

“They said it was because you have no sword.” Ardra kept a
wary eye on the boom and crept to where Vad sat in the bow. She positioned her
cushion near him and bent her head to his.

The low sound of their voices barely reached Gwen. The
rising wind cut through her nightgown. Her wet feet were numb.

Gwen realized she might not be useless, but she was
invisible.

The terrain grew more forbidding with each hour on the
water. High, sharp rocks lined the bank. The foliage thinned; the trees became
bent and gnarled. When Vad directed her to put to shore, Gwen could no longer
feel her hands on the tiller or the line controlling the sail.

The landing was clumsily done, bumping them hard on the
riverbank. Vad soaked his boots again when he jumped over and hauled the boat
onto the bank. He might have been lazing in the sun all day for the effortless
manner in which he swept Ardra into his arms and carried her to the bank.

He returned for her. Gwen looked at Vad’s outstretched
hands. She didn’t think she could rise. She shook her head.

With a shrug, Vad left her and set about starting the fire.
It took Gwen many long moments to straighten and feel able to climb over the
side. The thought of putting her feet into the muddy water again made her
regret giving Vad the brush-off, but she couldn’t allow him to see how weak she
felt.

Her whole body trembled as she put a leg over the side.

Vad was there in an instant. He plucked her off the boat and
carried her to the fire. “Sit as close to the heat as you can.” He lifted her
hem and spread her skirts wide. Without a word, he pulled off her mismatched
shoes and rubbed her feet between his large hands. They were warm and gentle.

Gwen stared wide-eyed at him. “Why are you being nice?”

“Nice?” His hands stilled. “Ardra and I cannot sail the
boat. What use will you be if you sicken?”

How could she have thought his solicitude meant anything
more? Ardra’s men had thought she was a slave. Ardra thought she was a slave.
In fact, she had so little worth, Enec had seemed to want the jeweled dagger
more than her. So she might as well face the fact that without arm rings, she
was a slave to the people of Tolemac and Selaw. How many arm rings Ardra had
under her gown and cloak, Gwen didn’t know, but one was enough to relegate Gwen
to lowest in the pecking order.

“I’ll try not to get sick. I wouldn’t want to be a burden.”
She pulled her foot out of his hand. Rising, and staggering slightly, she moved
to the other side of the fire.

“What do you mean, you cannot cook?” Vad tried to keep his
temper. He felt it surging up from where he kept it hidden and controlled.

“I really haven’t ever cooked over a fire,” Gwen said. She
poked a stick at the row of birds he had snared and laid out at their feet.
“I’ve never plucked a bird, either.”

Vad turned to Ardra. She was also looking at the birds with
a puzzled frown on her face. “And you? Do you know the proper manner to roast a
bird?”

“I have a number of women who tend to such things…”

“By the sword!” Vad dropped to one knee and gutted and
plucked the birds.

The two women were useless. Or almost. Gwen, at least, could
sail a boat. He was very impressed. He had never been called upon to learn.
Swords he knew. Horses he knew. Not sailing vessels. The skill with which she
had handled the boat told him she had learned many conjunctions ago.

He hoped she had properly dried her gown. Her refusal of
help was foolhardy. “We must secure warmer clothing and shoes for Gwen.” He’d
seen harsh red blisters on her toes and heels before her fit of pique had taken
her to the opposite side of the fire.

Responsibility for her weighed as heavily as an iron weight
about his neck. In truth, he had not just held her hand a moment too long, he
had gripped it, locked her fingers so tightly in his, he wondered how he’d not
crushed the bones.

Gwen was frowning at him. What had he done to earn her
anger? Other than drag her into a situation fraught with danger and the
possibility of death?

“Shouldn’t we try to find something else to eat?” Gwen asked
him.

“I have some bread!” Ardra said. She stepped daintily to the
bank. “But I will surely wet my feet obtaining it.”

Vad swallowed an oath. He jerked off his boots and stepped
into the mud again. How he hated the feel of slime between his toes. They
should have spared one of Ardra’s men to fetch and carry for them. In the
stern, he found a sturdy painted box.

When Ardra opened it, she pursed her mouth like someone
tasting a disagreeable potion. “The bread is gone! Those greedy men!”

Of food, there was naught but crumbs and bare bones in the
box. However, they would dine in luxury, he saw, as Ardra set out four painted
bowls. She unrolled a length of dark red cloth to reveal four each of silver
spoons and eating daggers.

His stomach growled. “Do either of you know the plants that
are safe to…”

They both stared at him wide-eyed. “How do you feed
yourselves?” he asked, disgusted.

“Microwave meals,” Gwen said.

Ardra gave her a puzzled look. “I do not need to feed
myself. My father strove and toiled that I and my children should never need
to.”

“Not too happy, is he?” Gwen said with a nod in Vad’s
direction.

Ardra nodded. “He expects quite a lot from a woman, does he
not?”

He ignored their remarks. He expected little from women.
They had a very distinct place—beneath a man. A quick forage among the plants
at the river’s edge produced several tubers of a plant he knew well. He washed
the green tops, chopped them, and stuffed them beneath the skin of the birds.
The thick tubers he wrapped in damp leaves and set among the rocks to bake. His
mouth watered as he skewered the birds and began the roasting.

It was most fortunate that his ban on women servants when
his company was on the march had forced this simple learning on him years ago.
The alternative had been dining on dried and poorly preserved provisions, or
the toleration of serving women constantly pestering him. It had just seemed
easier to learn the skill himself.

“When we have reached a settlement, we will barter the bowls
and cutlery for warmer clothing and more arrows,” Vad said. “Then we must be on
our way. Neither your maidens—nor my quest—can wait much longer.”

Ardra stepped into the dark shadows, leaving him alone with
Gwen. Her next words were not about the food he prepared. “Maybe we should make
a copy of the map. We almost lost it today.”

“I have it committed to memory. I have no need to reproduce
it.”

“You think I want it for myself, don’t you?” There was a
small quaver of anger in her tone.

“Nay. But the council wants the original, so a copy is
useless anyway.”

“Hmmm. Am I allowed to know about the treasures? Or is that
betraying some trust, too?”

“The legends of the treasures are common knowledge: a
sacrificial blade, a whetstone to ready it for the kill, a cloak to warm the
body, a caldron to feed the belly.”

“That’s only four.”

He poked one of the birds with his blade tip to see if it
was ready. “The Seat of Wishes, a game board that predicts the victor in a
battle, and the Vial of Seduction. I can only guess that it is the game board
the council covets most. Imagine knowing who is going to win a battle before it
begins.”

“Wow. Think of the wasted lives you could save. The council
gets the board, and before any battle, they watch it. If they’re the losers,
they just don’t fight, right?”

“Nay. It would merely mean regrouping, reassessing terrain,
and so forth to turn the odds, then the playing of another game to see if the
outcome had changed.”

“Oh,” she said softly.

His words brought the conversation to a halt, each of them
lost in contemplation of the flames, of lives lost and battles fought.

Ardra returned and sat by his side, her eyes on the river.
“Do you think Enec survived?” she asked.

He shook his head. There was little point in raising false
hopes. Ardra lifted her hood and concealed her face in its shadows.

An uncomfortable silence followed, which he refused to
break. Enec had betrayed his mistress’s trust, and yet here she sat, her grief
plain on her face. He supposed she had been lured by Enec’s pleasing features.
When would women begin to look beyond a set of beautiful eyes or well-bred
bones to what was inside a man?

“What are those plants?” Gwen asked when finally he shoved a
bowl at her.

“I do not know their name, but they are nourishing. Eat.” He
demonstrated how to cut the tuber to reveal its rich yellow center. “How can
you train your cooks if you have no knowledge or skill yourself?”

Gwen ignored him. Ardra just stared up at him. Her eyes were
deep amber in the flickering firelight. All around them, night creatures began
to stir.

Ardra lifted a spoonful of the tuber to her mouth.

Gwen was still peering at the roasted birds. “Are you sure
this is safe to eat? I usually draw the line at meat that’s blue,” she said.

He felt his anger bubbling. Blue creatures were a delicacy
in Tolemac. To insult the meal when one had not the skill to prepare it
oneself… “How do you train your cooks?” he asked again.

“My mother trained our cooks, before she died,” Ardra said
between delicate bites. She nibbled around the edges like a bird herself.

“Oh, all our cooks were trained at Cordon Bleu,” Gwen said.
She ate with less daintiness and more purpose. Her hands shook.

“Come, you are cold.” He pulled her closer to the fire. Her
gown still felt damp, and she quivered as he wrapped his arms about her. She
still smelled of her exotic scent. It came to him from her hair. “You are not
yet dry,” he said near her ear. “Eat and I will warm you.”

“How? It’s freezing here.” She was rigid against him.

He grinned and briskly rubbed her arms. He was quite adept
at warming a woman. In fact, he knew more ways to start a fire than most men.

A shadow fell across Gwen’s lap. She looked up. Ardra stood
there, her hands extended.

“Please take my cloak. It is quite dry now and very warm,”
Ardra said.

“That is most kind of you,” Vad said. He put the cloak about
Gwen’s shoulders, drawing it tightly closed. “Now you will be warm.”

His arms felt perfect around her. But in the next moment he
withdrew to the fire. He scraped the remnants of their meal into the flames and
offered the bowls to Ardra. She stared at him and he sighed.

“Bob and I had a strict rule, whoever cooked did not wash
up.” Gwen rose and held out her hands for their bowls.

“Bob? Who is Bob and what kind of name is that?” Ardra
tipped her head and wrinkled her nose. How Gwen hated a woman who should have
looked as if she’d been dragged through a bush and instead looked picture perfect.

“Bob was Gwen’s lifemate,” Vad said. He unceremoniously
dumped the dishes and cutlery into Gwen’s outstretched arms. “He is dead.”

Dead
. In another world and another time.

“I did not know slaves may lifemate,” Ardra said. Her hair
glistened like spun gold. Her curious amber eyes were filled with firelight.

“Look, Ardra, I’m not a slave. I’m from beyond the ice
fields. Vad here is just taking me home. So forget the slave nonsense.” Her
hands shook along with her voice.

“Nonsense?” Ardra’s voice was a whisper.

Vad stepped between them. His face was inscrutable in the
shadows cast by the fire behind him. “Gwen wishes you to put aside the idea
that she is a slave. She is to be afforded the same dignity as a Selaw worthy.”

Vad blurred before Gwen’s eyes. She whirled away, clutched
the bowls to her chest, and ran to the riverbank. Her eyes stung as she knelt
on a rock and washed the bowls. His kindness only made it worse.

“I will not cry!” she said. The water was ice cold on her
hands as she dunked the dishes. She’d cried her last at Bob’s funeral. Before
that, only R. Walter had made her cry. She’d cried buckets over them both. She
had vowed never to cry over a man again.

She scrubbed the bowls to exorcise her tears.

The bowls were made of some substance like marble. The
cutlery was silver. The handles were a bit tarnished, and she wasted time
working on the intricate carvings. Overhead, the moons had risen along with the
wind. The breeze whipped the cloak and rattled the reeds at the river’s edge.
She looked over her shoulder. Vad was sitting beside Ardra, deep in
conversation.

How could she sleep? Her whole body shook with cold and
fatigue. Ardra might have been unselfish to give up her cloak, but Gwen knew
she could not keep it. On closer inspection, the pale green gown Ardra wore
looked like a soft woolen weave, the kind she saw scarves made of rather than
dresses. It clung and swayed as she moved. It hugged a reed-thin figure. Vad
could have spanned Ardra’s waist with his hands. She certainly had no fat layer
to keep her warm.

Gwen closed her eyes. The feel of Vad’s hands was easily
conjured. Her eyes burned again.

“Stop it!” she chastised herself. Gathering the bowls, she
stomped to the couple at the fire. “Here, all done.” Her back to them, she
packed the box and took her time securing it with the small peg-and-loop
closure.

The wind ripped through the small clearing and showered
sparks across the black shadows. With a shiver, she took off the thick cloak.

“It was very kind of you to lend me your cloak. I’m nice and
warm now. Here.” She held it out. Ardra rose and took it.

Vad shot to his feet and jerked it from Ardra’s hand. “You
cannot be warm. I can see straight through your gown.”

“Can you? I hope the view’s to your satisfaction.” Gwen sank
to the ground. She tucked her nightgown tightly around her feet.

In the next moment, she was enveloped in his embrace. He
lifted her like a small child, strode to a tree, and sat down where he had
placed the blankets. He tucked her against his side and arranged a blanket
about her shoulders. For one luxurious moment, Gwen reveled in the hard feel of
his arm about her. Heat surged from where they touched. It danced along her
nerve endings, zipped across synapses.

“Come, Ardra. Sit close to us. We will offer each other the
warmth of our bodies. Tomorrow we will find a settlement and secure proper
garments.” His words were worse than a cold shower. Ardra moved into the circle
of Vad’s other arm. “You both shall rest and I will keep watch,” he said.

His arm tightened about her, drawing her even closer. The
scent of him mingled with that of Ardra’s perfume.

How wonderful. She was in the arms of a man as handsome as a
god and she had to share.

She’d never been very good at sharing. Ask her sister.

Vad leaned his head against the tree trunk. A spot in the
center of his back itched. He had difficulty ignoring it—a sign his body was
tiring. Fatigue was an enemy.

His mind drifted. He remembered well his first time lying
with a woman—two women, in fact. His awareness master had purchased their
favors upon his attaining the fifth level of awareness along with his warrior
status. It was forbidden to indulge oneself with women before that moment. It
tainted the training.

The two women had been but a few conjunctions younger than he,
but moons beyond him in other ways. They’d sated him within but a few hours.
Never again had he wished for two women. He’d felt fed upon, devoured, without
control.

Now here he was in the darkest hour of night, his senses on
fire, his body oddly hot on Gwen’s side. Her legs were snuggled tightly against
his hip. At first he’d thought the intense heat a fever. And surely after such
a soaking, and in such harsh wind, she could easily have sickened. But her skin
was cool when he stroked a hand along her cheek.

Within his other arm, Ardra lay sleeping as a child might.
Her hand cradled her face where it rested on his chest. Her other hand had
slipped into his lap. But her hand felt weightless and insubstantial. It was
the other woman who heated his blood.

He imagined he could have them both. Ardra would be
delicate, full of gentleness. Gwen would be fierce and probably give him
directions. He grinned at the thought.
Aye
. She would tell him exactly
what she liked and then demand it.

Having two women as a responsibility reminded him far too
much of having the two women in his bed. He must spend every moment thinking of
them, where they were, what they were doing, in order that he did not
disappoint or neglect them. More a burden than a pleasure.

Ardra must be satisfied as well as Gwen with his
performance, else he would be a failure. The responsibility of it weighed
heavily. He wanted to slip into the forest and make his way to the capital.
There he would present the dagger, and prove that despite the council’s dishonesty,
he had behaved with honor.

He would again feel the weight of his sword in his hand.
Until then, until it was placed there by the high councilor, Samoht, he would
never pick up another.

As he stared into the dwindling coals of the fire, he
thought of the attack by Ardra’s men. It had not come until Ardra had stood in
the boat, until he had moved forward to steady her, until he had turned his
face, scarred side to the men.

In the past, few had wished to engage his blade. Few wished
the consequences of angering the gods. It was foolish, superstitious nonsense,
in his opinion, and yet, time and again, he had found that he must attack first
to force the issue. But this time, as soon as he’d turned his cheek, the men
had attacked.

Only when fighting Enec hand to hand had he seen the true
ambivalence his face engendered. With his scarred side to his opponent the
fighting was fierce. With the unblemished cheek to the fore, he faced naught
but defensive moves, retreating, dancing about.

Vad’s shoulder ached to move, but Gwen had snuggled even
closer, her nose buried in his tunic, and he was loath to shift her and risk
waking her. He knew how she must feel. Had he not faced disorientation and pain
upon waking in Ocean City? Then there was the curious familiarity with
surroundings he had surely never seen before. The feeling was one of his world
tipping. Would not a night of quiet sleep have eased his way there?

A final question disturbed him only a bit less than the ache
in his shoulder: why had Enec not dropped the jeweled knife and drawn his
longer, more useful blade? Why had he taken the dagger from Gwen in the first
place? Its value was trifling. Surely he had not feared so small a weapon in
the hands of so small a woman?