Warmth. Safety. Strength. It was as if she were wrapped in a web of power where nothing bad could reach her. If she could just lie here for a moment and take from him.…
“That’s right.” His voice flowed over her like sunlight, warming her. She had always believed voices had color, and his was darkest burgundy. “Don’t worry about anything. Let me take care of you. All you have to do is rest and let me hold you.”
She should move, she thought hazily. Lying here was dangerous, not because he might hurt her as they had hurt her mother but because she had the strangest sensation she was melting into him.
You couldn’t fight an enemy if you became part of him.
She didn’t move. She would do battle tomorrow after she gathered strength. She was safe now. Strange to think of safety in connection with Jordan Draken, but no more odd than anything else that had happened tonight.…
No!
She suddenly rolled away from him and sat up, clutching the cover to her throat, her chest rising and falling.
He stiffened, and she thought he would pull her back down, but he did not. He only raised himself to lean his cheek on his hand. “You persist in making things difficult for yourself.”
“I only recognize the difficulty that is there.” She moistened her lips. “I’m very tired. May I lie down?”
He smiled and shifted slightly to one side. “It would be my pleasure. I never refuse a—” His smile faded as he met her gaze. “Don’t look at me like that. I forgot, dammit. In certain circumstances words have a habit of flowing without thinking.”
His smile had been purely sensual, and she knew the circumstances to which he referred. She didn’t think he was a man who would speak without considering every import of his words. How many beds and how many women had made that response instinctive?
He said quietly, “You knew you were safe a moment ago. Nothing has changed.” He moved to his own pallet and sat down. “Except that you’re foolishly refusing something you need.”
She lay down on her pallet and pulled the cover up around her. “I have no need of you.”
“You need comfort, and I’m offering it.” She kept her head turned away, but she could feel his gaze on her face. “You’ll lie there, and fairly soon you’ll start to think and worry, and then you’ll begin to shake again.”
“That was a temporary weakness. I told you I was a little tired. I’m fine now.”
“The devil you are.”
She didn’t answer.
“Tell me about glassmaking.” He saw her tense and continued impatiently, “Not about the Window to Heaven. We’ve agreed not to talk about that.”
Not now. But the questions would come. When he thought she could give him what he wanted, there would come a time—
“Tell me about your work.”
“Why should I? It’s nothing to you.”
“Do you like doing it?”
“Of course, don’t be foolish.”
“How does it make you feel?”
She had never thought about it, she realized. It had just always been there, a part of her. She was no more able to separate her work from her life than color from a pane of glass. “Good. Bad. I get angry sometimes.”
“Why?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“That’s quite true. Not if you don’t explain.”
Why not answer him? The subject was innocent enough. “There are times when you have the vision, and then your hands aren’t clever enough or the color isn’t right or it’s too thick and you don’t serve the sunlight.”
“Serve the sunlight?”
“It’s the light that streams through the windows that makes the glass come alive. Why else would we create, if not to serve the sunlight?”
“You make it sound as if you worship the sun god.”
She frowned. “I’m not a pagan.”
“I’m not so sure. What does it feel like when the work does go right?”
How could she describe it when there weren’t any words? “It’s like … something inside me flying apart.”
“Really? How painful.”
“It’s not. While it’s going on, it feels like a driving fever and yet … good, and then afterward there’s a wonderful sense of peace.” She helplessly shook her head. “I told you that you wouldn’t understand.”
“On the contrary you’ve described a state with which I’m very familiar.” He paused and then chuckled in genuine amusement. “Yes, very familiar.”
She frowned, puzzled. “You’re an artist or craftsman?”
“I hope I can claim to raise my skill to artistry in some areas. What was your first work?”
“Flowers.” She closed her eyes to better visualize it. “A small panel, very simple, with yellow daffodils. Grandmama liked flowers.”
“Your grandmother taught you?”
“Grandmama and Mama.” Pain suddenly rushed back. Mama.
“Tell me about the daffodils,” he said quickly. “Did they serve the sunlight?”
Light streaming through brilliant yellow blossoms and making a pattern on the rush-strewn floor. Grandmama smiling proudly at her. “Oh, yes,” she whispered. “They were beautiful. Everything was beautiful that day.”
“Did the daffodils have leaves?”
“Of course, I was only four, but I wouldn’t forget leaves. Pale green … The color wasn’t as true as the yellow, but they weren’t too bad.…” She yawned. “Grandmama liked them. She liked every kind of flower. I said that, didn’t I?”
“I don’t remember.”
“The next year I did a panel with roses for her natal day. Pink roses … When the sun shone through it, the edges of the petals looked as if they were rimmed in gold. It was an accident with the stain, but Grandmama pretended I’d done it on purpose. The next year I gave her another one that I’d done correctly, but I think she liked the first one best.”
Pink roses, rimmed with gold, daffodils and memories of kindness and love. They were all blending together like the colors of a stained-glass panel seen from a great distance.
“I’m sure she did.”
She opened heavy lids to see him watching her, his expression enigmatic, his eyes the green of the daffodil leaves.
“Tell me again about the roses,” he said.
She had already told him too much, she realized. She had pushed him away, and he had only circled and come back to claim a greater intimacy than when he had held her. He had won.
No, it was she who had won. He had given her back loving memories to replace the ones rooted in pain. It didn’t matter what his motives were in giving her that gift; it could only heal and help her grow stronger.
“No.” She turned on her side, facing away from him. “The roses are mine.” She closed her eyes, deliberately shutting him out. She wanted to go back to that time when there was nothing but laughter and sunlight and Mama and Grandmama telling her that the gold around the petals was just right.…
• • •
Wake up, Marianna.” Alex was shaking her. “We have to hurry. We’re going to England! You know, the place where Papa was born!”
She opened her eyes to see his excited face above her.
“On a boat, a big boat. And Jordan says I’ll see seagulls and dolphins and—”
“Shh.” She groggily sat up and brushed the hair from her forehead. “Let me wake up before you—” She stopped as she saw Jordan standing a few feet behind Alex framed against the pink pearl of the dawn sky.
“Alex is right,” His hand fell on the boy’s shoulder. “It’s nearly time to start.” He nodded at the pond a short distance away. “Refresh yourself and then come back and get some bread and cheese. We’ll not stop until evening.” He turned and sauntered over to the fire, where Gregor sat pulling on his boots.
He was acting as if the decision was already made. He had even told Alex that they were going to England. She stood up and started down the hill toward the pond.
Alex scampered on her
heels. “We have to go to the seaport at Domajo where the boat is waiting. Jordan says it will take a full day to get there.”
Color bloomed in his cheeks, and he was more animated than she had seen him in days. He was full of the excitement of starting a new life, which only made her decision harder. What was best to do? Montavia was the only home she had ever known. The idea of leaving it was hard to contemplate.
She could stay. After all, it was not as if she didn’t have a skill. Perhaps she could find work in the capital.
She would not find work. No guild would accept a woman in their ranks; Mama and Grandmama had both fought that battle. If there was no way to earn a living at her craft, how would she and Alex live? Montavia had been stripped and torn of its riches by the war launched by the duke. The people in the towns she had encountered on her journey from Samda had been struggling just to stay alive and rebuild their lives. Only the thieves and whores seemed to be prospering in the ruins.
She shivered as she remembered the painted women they had encountered in the towns on their way from Samda. She would not be able to bear such a life.
Of course she could bear it. For Alex.
But only as the last resort, after she had tried every other means available.
The Jedalar. All her life she had been taught that when the time came to act, her duty was to the Jedalar. Her mother had made sure Marianna had memorized the secret and the plan of action that must be followed.
But her mother had not known the Window to Heaven would be destroyed. She did not yet have the required skill to bring the Jedalar to life, and surely no one could blame her if she chose temporary safety for both Alex and herself.
England.
Jordan Draken wanted her skill and the Jedalar, not her body. She would not have to become a whore if she went with him to England, and Alex would be safe from the duke of Nebrov.
She glanced up the hill to where Jordan was still talking to Gregor. He was so confident, so sure that he could mold her to his will. Sudden anger flared through her. She would not allow it. She would take what she and Alex needed from him and then leave this England and go wherever they chose.
She whirled and began furiously splashing water into her face.
“Hurry, Marianna,” Alex said. “Gregor says I can ride with him today. Did you see his horse? He said that he bought it in Kazan and that all horses are that large there. Do you suppose that’s true?”
“No, I think Gregor was teasing you.” She wiped her face and tidied her hair. “You must be careful not to believe everything these people tell you.”
“Good advice.” She lifted her head to see Jordan standing a few feet away. He continued blandly, “Gregor is given to embroidering stories. He says it makes life more interesting.”
“But you always tell the truth,” she said with irony.
“Whenever possible. I don’t agree with Gregor. I think lies only complicate matters. I prefer simplicity.” He turned to Alex. “Gregor is waiting for you.”
Alex flew up the hill.
“You’ll ride with me,” Jordan said to her. “We have no extra horses. We were traveling fast and brought no pack animals.”
“It wouldn’t matter. Neither Alex nor I know how to ride anyway.”
His brows lifted. “No? We’ll have to attend to that as soon as we reach England.”
“I didn’t say we were going with you.”
“But you are. You have courage, but courage isn’t enough when the odds are so great. You’re intelligent enough to know this is the best way out for you.”
“I’ll make sure it is.” She added bluntly, “I intend to take everything you’ll give me and give nothing in return.”
“That attitude isn’t new in my experience. I’ve lived with it all my life.” His tone was laden with weary cynicism. “But I’ve not been cheated in a good many years. It’s become a challenge to find ways of taking what I want too.”
“You won’t find a way this time.”
“Are you going to abandon your work to keep from developing the skill you need? I think not. I understand you a little bit better after last night. You love what you do. You have to work. It’s a passion.” He smiled. “I understand passion.”
“That doesn’t mean I’ll create a Window to Heaven even after I’m capable of doing it.”
“True, but that’s where the challenge occurs.” He started up the hill. “I believe that, for reasons of your own, you want to do that window as much as I want you to do it. When we reach Cambaron, I’ll supply you with all the tools of your craft, and we’ll see if you can resist the temptation.”
“Cambaron? Your home?”
He nodded. “Go and get something to eat while I saddle my horse.”
Cambaron. Her hands clenched at her sides as she watched him walk away. She knew nothing about him or this place to which he was taking them, while she had revealed entirely too much to him last night. It made her feel frightened and uncertain.
She had to find a way to shift the scales.
He looked over his shoulder. “Coming?”
By the time she reached the group at the top of the hill, Alex was already mounted, sitting before Gregor on the giant bay horse, cradled in his arms.
“Good morning,” Gregor said. He held out a small leather-wrapped packet to her. “Bread and cheese. I saved it for you. You must rise early to snatch food from these fellows.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Eat it anyway. You ate practically nothing last night.” Jordan swung onto his horse. “We’ll wait.”
She already felt more helpless than she could bear, and she would not let him command her in a matter this small. “I’m not hungry,” she repeated with precision.
To her disappointment he didn’t argue. “As you like.” He walked his horse forward. “But don’t complain if you grow famished before evening.”
“I won’t complain.”
“No, you’ll suffer in silence.” He leaned down and lifted her onto his horse and settled her across the saddle in front of him. “As all proper martyrs should.”
His arms encircled her; the heat of his body on her back came as a shock. “For God’s sake, stop stiffening,” he said in her ear. “You’ll be a bag of bruises by the time we reach Domajo.”
“I told you I wasn’t accustomed to riding.” She was also not accustomed to being this close to a lean, masculine form. It was not like last night, when she had been conscious only of the comfort he offered. Today she was aware of every muscle, every texture and scent, of him. It … disturbed her. “I’m not comfortable.”
“Neither am I,” he murmured.
“Perhaps … I should change places with Alex.” She continued quickly, “Gregor’s horse is larger.”
“So is Gregor. You’ll have to be content with me.” He laughed grimly. “And I guarantee we’ll be more than accustomed to each other by the time we reach Domajo.” He pulled her back against him. “Close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“You can pretend you’re in a fine carriage. I’m sure you’d think that better than being held by my humble self.”
She closed her eyes but immediately realized it was not better; it was much worse. She again had the uneasy feeling she was flowing into him.
Her lids flicked open. “I prefer reality to pretense.”
“Pity,” he murmured. “When pretense offers so many attractive faces. I suppose you’ll just have to live with mine instead.”
A breeze, wet, salty, striking her face.
Voices, loud, strident, but not threatening.
“Take her, Gregor. She’s probably too stiff to stand.”
She slowly opened her lids. Green eyes looking into her own, those beautifully shaped lips. She wished he would smile.…
The hands that lifted her from the horse were enormous. Gregor’s hands, Gregor smiling down at her when Jordan would not. She shouldn’t have worried about Alex waking to that scarred face, she realized sleepily. Y
ou noticed only the warmth of his smile. “We’re there?” she whispered.
He nodded. “It was a hard trip. You stood it well.”
Gray-white sails shimmering in the darkness.…
Gregor was striding toward a ship.
“Alex?”
“He stood it even better. The scamp is running all over the dock.”
“He’ll fall in the water!” She was immediately awake and struggling in Gregor’s arms. “Let me down.”
“When we get to your cabin. Jordan is right, you need time to ease the stiffness.” He strode up the gangplank. “Don’t worry about the boy. Niko is watching him.”
She felt like a helpless child herself, being carried like this. “I’m perfectly able to walk.” She glanced over her shoulder and saw Alex climbing on a huge box with Niko standing beside him.
“Niko has children of his own. He won’t let anything happen to him.”
As if to prove Gregor’s words, Niko laughed, plucked Alex from the box, and set him safely onto the dock. “I still want you to let me down, Gregor.”
Gregor studied her face and then set her down, but steadied her with a hand around her waist. “It makes you uneasy to feel helpless. Why did you not tell me? Most women like to feel cosseted.”
“I’m not accustomed to it.” She felt better on her feet but was glad of Gregor’s support. Her legs were numb, and her back felt as if she had been on the rack. “Where is Mr. Draken?”
“Jordan?” He nodded at a small building down the dock. “He had business with Janus. He will be here soon. He wants to sail on the midnight tide.”
“Janus?”
“Janus Wiczkows, Jordan’s cousin.” He turned as he saw a man approaching and hailed him. “Captain Braithwaite, what a pleasure to see your smiling face. Did you think we weren’t coming?”
The small man who stopped before them was not smiling; his long, deeply furrowed face seemed incapable of the act. He gave Gregor a dour look. “It took you long enough. I’ve been sitting in this port so long, I have barnacles on my own bott—”
“Permit me to introduce you to your passenger,” Gregor interrupted quickly. “Captain John Braithwaite, may I present Miss Marianna Sanders.”
The Beloved Scoundrel Page 4
