Authors: Ann Lawrence
At dawn, which came in a burst of red streaks in the purple
sky, they took to the river again. Vad and Ardra glanced at Gwen occasionally
as they moved down the river. A frown knitted both their brows. While a scowl
merely rendered Vad more handsome, Ardra looked like a disapproving older
sister, and the last thing Gwen needed was a surrogate sibling.
With a sharp shake of her head, she tried to ignore them.
Sisters and men did not mix. Sisters, men, and lust didn’t either. Lust? Why
had she thought of lust? She didn’t need lust. Lust rotted your brain,
scrambled the circuits, made you do ridiculous things like follow gorgeous
warriors into games—deadly, cold, frozen, windy games.
Vad’s frown deepened. Her thoughts scattered as internal
cold was replaced by a fizzy, hot feeling between her eyes. She rubbed the
spot. Vad’s eyes tracked the movement of her hand. His frown became a hard
glower. The look did interesting things to the shadows the dawn light cast over
his features.
The slash on his cheek did nothing to detract from his
devastating looks, either. It added a bit of danger to his appearance. His
beard was growing back. The memory of shaving his face while he dozed did
nothing for her composure.
He shoved his hair behind his ear and stepped across the
boat in one long stride. Ardra took a more cautious path, clinging to the
gunwales.
“Gee, did you want a sailing lesson?” Gwen asked him as he
crouched on his haunches before her. Ardra dropped to her knees at his side.
They looked like a matched pair. Fair. Great-looking. Perfect—for each other.
He slapped his palm to her forehead. “She is cool.”
“Still,” Ardra said to him, “she looks ill.” The spot where
his hand touched pulsed a moment and began to grow warm.
“I’m not sick. What makes you think that?” Gwen felt like a
mood ring from the 1970s. If Vad touched her, she was suddenly hot. When he
retreated, cold swept in to replace the warmth.
“You are sick,” Vad said. “The skin about your eyes is
turning black. You are puffing up along the jaw. Perhaps you are rotting.”
Gwen touched her chin. “One of Ardra’s men hit me with his
elbow. It’s called a bruise. I suppose you perfect folks don’t bruise. I have
noticed your skin is darn near perfect—scars excepted. I’ll probably look even
worse tomorrow, but it’s nothing to fret over.” Then she picked up the hem of
her nightgown and wiped it beneath her eyes. She contemplated the dark stain
and burst into laughter. “And this is just mascara and eyeliner. It’s smeared
makeup.”
“Makeup?” Ardra said softly, and turned to Vad. “What
language is she speaking? Where is she from?”
“Ocean City—” she began.
“Ocean City!” Ardra cried. “Is this the city on the great
ocean that holds the mighty serpents? The huge fish the size of three horses?”
Gwen stifled a giggle and adjusted the sail. “Sure. That’s
the place.”
Vad glowered at her mirth. “Ocean City is beyond the ice
fields. It’s flat and colorless.” Turning his attention to Gwen, he took the
scrap of cloth in his fingers and did as she had, only more gently, wiping it
along the skin beneath her eyes. “This is very curious. This color is some kind
of enhancement? Like the paint you spread on the cloth of your gown? Why would
you put color on your eyes?”
“Oh, I could never explain it. It has to do with vanity—”
“Vanity!” Ardra pursed her lips. “A vain woman is despised
by men. Selaw women sometimes rub berry juice upon their lips to stain them a
darker red.
Those
women are accounted of little value, save to a certain
portion of the male populace who have few funds to—”
“Well, it’s easy for you to criticize.” Gwen felt herself
bristle. “You have cooks; you’re beautiful—”
“I am?” Ardra smiled. Gwen decided Vad should not see that
smile. It was a thousand-watt menace. She jerked the boat to throw them off
balance and distract him. He was probably like most men when faced with a
beautiful smile—easily attracted, easily landed—like a giant fish.
“Well,” Gwen qualified, “maybe if you took a bath.”
Ardra frowned.
Good
. She looked less wonderful with a
frown. When Gwen turned back to Vad, he was grinning. She felt as if he’d read
her mind.
“Here, Vad, hold the tiller. I could use some help. Did I
tell you I used to take part in sailing races when I was a kid?”
An hour later, Vad ordered her to put the boat in to shore.
“Smoke,” he said, although Gwen could smell nothing except
her nightgown, which had the strong scent of river water. “There will be a
settlement with food and clothing,” he continued. “We can barter the bowls and
spoons for what we need.”
Familiar now with the little boat’s idiosyncrasies, she
beached it on a sandy spit of land with a small flourish and waited for Vad to
carry Ardra to shore before she surrendered herself to the same treatment. She
did really well ignoring the strength of his arms, the nearness of his
wonderful warmth, but less well controlling the sudden heat that surged through
her as she watched the muscles of his back and arms work to pull the boat
farther up the beach for safety. With no anchor, or handy trees or boulders to
tie up the boat, Vad had quite a bit of work to do. Gwen fanned herself. Yes,
there was definitely something about a well-honed man in motion.
“We should see if we can get an anchor,” she said when he
was satisfied the boat was safe. “Will these folks be friendly?” she asked
them.
Ardra nodded. “They will be Selaw, and thus subject to my
wishes.”
“There has been strife between the Selaw and Tolemac for
generations. We must be careful not to offer offense,” Vad answered more
cautiously.
Somehow the idea of going in to territory she did not know from
the game frightened Gwen. The game took a player only to the border, where all
the skirmishes occurred. She rubbed her hands on her arms and scanned the
landscape. The water was tinted red, and the beach was more orange than brown
now. If this was home, she’d guess there was a high iron content in the soil,
but here, she didn’t want to hazard any guesses. The only thing keeping her
from freezing into an ice cube was the exertion of sailing and Vad’s uncanny
effect on her, which heated more than her blood.
“When did we leave Tolemac?” she asked Vad.
“About the time Ardra’s men were meeting their fate.”
“Then we’re deep in Selaw country.” She shivered and stepped
closer to Vad.
“Do not fear,” Ardra said, laying a reassuring hand on her
shoulder. “We will gain what we need.”
Gwen trusted Vad’s caution far more than she trusted Ardra’s
confidence. She was close on Vad’s heels as he strode swiftly through the
scrubby brush that edged the river. Taller trees formed a grove at the foot of
a hill tinted with lavender shadows as clouds raced across the sky. Despite the
pastoral surroundings, she thought Vad was too tall, too much a target. And the
hand he held on his knife hilt looked far from casual. Even the bows and arrows
he’d slung across his back did not reassure her. After all, they had only a few
arrows. There might be hundreds of hostile Selaw hiding in the woods.
Instead of hostile natives, though, children burst from the
woods when they reached the foot of the hill. Their faces were dirty, but their
clothing was clean and sturdy. They stood and jabbered at Vad, jumping up and
down before him with little fear. Several men and women melted from the shadowy
trees and approached more warily.
“‘Tis his uniform, the Tolemac colors, that they fear. But
they know well my father’s name. I will speak for us,” Ardra said, stepping
forward.
Gwen plucked at the back of Vad’s tunic, but he ignored her.
His posture remained guarded, even militant, his expression impassive as he
stood behind Ardra.
A man, garbed much as Ardra’s men had been, in crossgarters
and a long cloak the color of their surroundings, stepped forward. He gestured
for them to follow him into the trees.
Gwen’s heart picked up as they moved silently behind the
man; the children and women brought up the rear. A hum of soft chatter followed
them. The urge to look over her shoulder, to see if the looks on the Selaw
faces were benign, was almost overwhelming.
They came to a clearing filled with scattered clusters of
cottages. At the man’s terse command, the children and other folk hurried away
toward the cottages. Carefully tended vines climbed about the doors and
windows. Here and there, lavender and white flowers bloomed on the vines.
Ardra bowed deeply at the waist to the man. He returned her
bow, but did not take his eyes from Vad. Vad gave no greeting.
“Our boat capsized,” Ardra fibbed, “and we lost much of our
provisions. We have only these with which to trade.” She set the wooden box on
the ground before the man and stepped away to where Gwen and Vad waited.
The man knelt and pulled the peg. He inspected the contents
between quick glances at Vad. “What do you need? These are very fine, indeed.”
His hands turned the bowls over and over.
Gwen noticed that his fingers were long and his hands well
tended. He was not a man who toiled in the fields.
Ardra took a step forward. “We need warm clothing, blankets,
shoes—”
“Thirty arrows,” Vad said quietly.
“Thirty arrows,” Ardra repeated.
The man stroked the silver cutlery. “May we have the box as
well?”
“For ten more arrows you may have the box,” Vad said.
The man sat on his haunches. Gwen could see him visibly
relax. Ardra knelt before him and sat back on her heels. They bartered a few
more moments. Vad stood as still as a statue throughout it all. A tangible wave
of tension seemed to shimmer about him.
Finally Ardra rose, a dazzling smile on her features. “We
have done well, as have they. Come. We will see to the clothing first.” She
retained the box and bowls. The man took the cutlery. “When we are
satisfactorily garbed and armed, we will complete the trade.”
They followed the man to a nearby cottage where he left
them, gesturing Ardra to continue on with him in another direction. Its door
was too low for Vad, who had to duck to enter. As their eyes grew accustomed to
the dim interior, a woman shooed two children through the door before returning
to the hearth.
Gwen examined the cottage. It was simply furnished. It had a
stone hearth, shuttered windows, and an intricately decorated plaster
chimneypiece, painted with delicate birds and flowers.
Unearthly birds, unearthly flowers.
A wave of homesickness swept through Gwen.
The village man arrived with armloads of clothing and
blankets for their inspection. He dropped them at the foot of a high bed
covered in many furs. He never acknowledged Vad’s presence at the hearth, but
physically skirted the area each time he entered. Some of the tension that
pervaded the room disappeared when the man left them.
The woman, less splendidly garbed than Ardra, but in much
the same style gown, remained behind and proved as susceptible as every other
woman where Vad was concerned. She stared at him, stumbling over her hem,
bumping her elbows on chairs. Gwen resisted an urge to slap her silly when she
almost upset a kettle as she pulled it from a hook over the fire. Her efforts
to fill a washbasin resulted in half the hot water slopping over and steaming
on the hearthstones.
Vad stepped forward and relieved the woman of the heavy
kettle. The woman thanked him so many times, Gwen had to bite her lip to remain
silent.
Finally, with many bows and smiles, the woman placed a small
fabric-wrapped bundle by the water along with a length of linen and silently
departed, her eyes riveted to Vad. She tripped over the doorjamb and
practically catapulted backward from the cottage.
Once the woman had departed, Gwen looked about, unsure what
was expected of her now that she and Vad were alone.
“You will bathe first and I will stand watch,” Vad said. He
drew his long blade and held it casually in his right hand. The flames
reflected along the blade.
“Do you think you’re going to need that?”
He shrugged. “One should always be prepared.”
She glanced about and realized that she and Vad were alone
in the cottage.
“Where do you think they took Ardra?” She sank to the edge
of a chair. Beside her, on the well-scrubbed table, the basin of water steamed.
A wonderful, spicy scent came from the small bundle. She lifted it and held it
to her nose. She breathed deeply of the soothing scent.
“She will be given a more honored place to wash and better
garments from which to choose.”
Gwen nodded. “So rank has its privileges here, too.” She
unwrapped the cloth to reveal a waxy bar of brown soap. She stroked her fingers
along the surface and brought it again to her nose to inhale the fragrance.
“I seek nothing better,” Vad said. “I do not need serving
women pawing me either. Now disrobe. Bathe while I keep watch.”
He nudged some clothing on the fur-covered bed with his
dagger point. “These clothes will do well enough for you. They are warm, and
with your butchered hair, you will excite less curiosity garbed as a man. Make
many layers, especially for your feet. It will surely be bitter cold at the
Fortress of Ravens.”
“Okay.” Gwen waited until Vad moved to the hearth and stood
there, his broad back to her. The sharp edge of his blade glinted in the
firelight as he warmed his hands.
Gwen shook out the clothing he’d indicated. He’d picked
well. The long trousers and heavy woolen tunic were made for a man not much
taller than she. The linen undergarments, like long boxer shorts, and a shirt
with a huge tail looked so soft, she wanted to just put them on and curl up
somewhere and snooze the night away.
With a sigh, she tugged off her boot and shoe, sorry she’d
tramped mud through the woman’s cottage. She pulled her grimy nightgown over
her head, dropped it, and stood on it to protect her bare feet from the icy
wooden floor. The nightgown was beyond saving.