Dangerous Talents

by Frankie Robertson

  Cele tensed in anticipation as Ghav prepared to clean her scratches.

  He looked up at her. “I’ll not hurt you, my lady.”

  Cele tried to relax. His touch was surprisingly gentle for a man with such large hands, and when he cleaned her scrapes it didn’t hurt at all. He worked slowly, holding the cloth against a particularly stiff scab, letting the warmth of his hands sooth the soreness, though she no longer had any pain that needed easing. When the scrapes and bruises on her arms and legs were all clean, he unstoppered a jar containing a light brown ointment and daubed it on the scratches.

  Cele had started to relax under Ghav’s gentle, painless ministrations, but she came alert and pulled away a little at the first application of Ghav’s concoction. “What is that?”

  “It’s nothing to fear, my lady. This will prevent the wounds from going bad.”

  “What’s it made of?”

  “Are you a Healer, my lady? Do you know herbs?”

  Cele shook her head.

  “I won’t recite them, then. Various herbs have the properties of preventing putrefaction in a wound. This is a decoction of such herbs, mixed in an oil base to preserve it. May I continue?”

  Cele nodded, feeling ashamed. She’d assumed these people were ignorant and primitive because they carried swords and leather waterskins. Ghav’s explanation reminded her she shouldn’t measure things here by old familiar yardsticks.

  The brown ointment was cool but warmed as Ghav rubbed it in. It absorbed quickly, leaving only a slight sheen from the oil base. “This will also keep the scabs from cracking and splitting,” the Healer said as he finished. He rose, just as Sorn returned. “Lady Celia is well, and her wounds aren’t deep. She needs rest more than anything else, now.”

  “That, and more water,” Cele interjected.

  “I’ll make sure you get both,” Sorn said, offering her a hand to rise.

  He’d refilled his waterskins while she’d been with Ghav. He handed one to her. “So, my lady, you would fight us all?” Sorn gave her a teasing grin. “I will sleep sounder tonight, knowing I have a warrior of such prowess at my back.”

  Cele tensed. Was he mocking her? But there was no malice in Sorn’s twinkling eyes. Her anger evaporated and she chuckled in spite of herself.

  Sorn took a good bit of time smoothing the ground and whisking away pebbles. The men not on watch grinned at his meticulous preparations as they doubled up to share their blankets. His efforts flung a bit of grit too far and struck one man on the back of the neck. The man startled and growled, “It’s not a bridal bower, Sorn. Leave off.”

  Cele was practically asleep on her feet when Sorn finally spread the blanket, sat down at the edge, and pulled off his boots. He pulled a second blanket over himself and flipped the corner up so she could crawl in next to him. Suddenly, Cele was wide awake again. Sorn had been nothing but kind. He’d made no sexual overtures, given her no lustful looks, but she still felt awkward about lying next to him.

  Cele sat down on the far edge of the blanket and began unlacing her hiking boots. She didn’t hurry. Maybe he’d doze off as quickly as the other men had. Cele heard him shift behind her and when she turned to look, she saw with relief he’d turned his back to her. She took her time unlacing her other boot. Sorn hadn’t moved. He was probably asleep already. Carefully, Cele lay down as far away from him as she could and gingerly pulled the blanket over herself. Soon the men’s soft snores were complementing the desert’s own night-song. Sorn remained still. She relaxed and her pulse began to return to normal.

  “You must leave room for Lord Dahleven, my lady,” Sorn said softly. “It will be cold when his watch ends and he’ll want his share of the blankets.”

  Cele tensed again, but she knew he was right. Slowly, she inched toward him. She lay curled on her side facing away from Sorn’s back, but she stopped short of actually touching him.

  Sorn made a noise but didn’t say anything.

  Despite her nerves, it felt wonderful to lie down. Sorn had done a good job of smoothing the ground. His warmth crept between the blankets and gradually enveloped her, soothing her tired muscles. She was much more comfortable than she’d been the night before, but sleep wouldn’t come.

  She wasn’t surprised. It had taken her a long time to be comfortable with Jeff, her ex. She had even less reason to relax now. And though they hadn’t hurt her, and had even been gruffly kind, she didn’t know these men.

  All around her, the desert night noises chirped and rustled, accompanied by the soft snores of the men. The stars turned silently overhead. Sorn breathed evenly. Eventually, the last two days of fear and worry, sun and exhaustion, took their toll.

  Cele jerked awake, heart pounding. For a panicked moment she didn’t know where she was. She lay curled around a warm body and someone had just moved close behind her. Cele’s pulse pounded in alarm.

  Memory returned as Dahleven fitted himself to her contours, trapping her front and back. He brought the desert chill under the blanket with him. Instinctively, Cele pulled away, closer to Sorn’s warmth, but Dahleven had the same idea, snugging close to the heat of her body until they lay like three spoons in a drawer. She didn’t want to stay sandwiched like this between the two men, but she couldn’t escape without causing a ruckus. Cele waited, tense and listening. The nearby desert was quiet but for the sounds of the sleeping men. Gradually, Dahleven’s body quickly warmed. He kept his hands to himself. Her heart slowed as her surge of adrenaline faded, and pressed between two heat pumps, her muscles eased of their own accord.

  Dahleven’s breathing changed, deepened. He must be asleep. Gradually, with no threat to keep her alert, Cele’s eyes closed. She was so exhausted that she barely surfaced when he flung a muscular arm across both her and Sorn. Half dozing, Cele felt only the soothing warmth of his broad chest behind her and his thighs, hard with muscle, tucked under her own. Without further worry or thought, her fatigue overcame her.

  *

  The eastern sky had begun to hint at the coming day when Dahleven awoke. It was time to be up and away, but he didn’t move.

  In their sleep, the three of them had shifted position. Dahleven lay on his back with his arm around Lady Celia and with her head pillowed on his shoulder. Her arm rested on his chest and her body was softly molded against his side. She’d flung one leg across his thighs. The Lady had been in the desert for two days, and smelled like it. But underneath the sharp tang of her sweat, the fragrance of flowers lingered in her hair. Dahleven drew in a deep breath, savoring the hint of delicate perfume.

  Lady Celia shifted slightly, and Dahleven became acutely aware of her curves pressed against his chest, hip, and thigh. His morning wood twitched. He liked the way she felt, nestled along his side. A bird trilled, announcing the coming day, but Lady Celia’s even breath told him she still slept. He imagined rolling her beneath him and kissing her awake. Filling his hands with her nicely rounded breasts. Pleasuring them both until they fell sated onto the pillows of his bed.

  Dahleven pushed the heated images away. They weren’t in his bed, nor in private. Neither had the lady consented.

  They ought to be on their way. The pale gray light was growing, and his men made the best time during the cool of the morning. But a few minutes more wouldn’t hurt.

  Sorn raised his head to look at Dahleven with a grin and a glance at the woman between them. Dahleven’s sworn brother knew him too well. He’s happy now. He’s caught me indulging myself. It didn’t happen often enough by Sorn’s standards. He wouldn’t rib him in front of the others, but by Odin’s Eye, when they got home, Sorn would ride him hard.

  Dahleven answered with a shrug of his eyebrows. Sorn’s grin widened before he began moving carefully away, silently as usual. Then, with exaggerated care, he tucked the top blanket around Lady Celia before pulling on his boots.

  *

  Cele awakened to a quick draft of chill air. She hadn’t heard Sorn leave, but his departure left a void of warmth at her back. Muzzy with
sleep, she smiled at his trying not to wake her, then snuggled closer to the remaining source of warmth.

  Dahleven.

  She froze and came fully awake. Oh, hell. How could she have gotten into such an awkward position? It was one thing to sleep close for warmth, another to wind up entwined like lovers. It amazed her she’d slept at all, let alone slept pillowed on Dahleven’s shoulder. Maybe she could ease away before anyone, especially Dahleven, noticed. After her accusations last night, the last thing she needed was to send mixed signals.

  Unfortunately, the camp was already beginning to stir. Cele heard the men around her grunt and mutter as they pulled on their boots, got to their feet, and went beyond the perimeter of the camp. Sorn hadn’t let her drink much at any one time last night, but he’d encouraged her to drink often. Cele became painfully aware of her bladder.

  She also became aware the rhythm of Dahleven’s breathing was not that of a sleeping man. She sat up abruptly to find him returning her gaze, clear-eyed and alert.

  How long had he been lying there awake while she cozied up to him like some stray cat?

  Dahleven sat up and reached for his boots. He didn’t look at her as he said, “Good morning, Lady Celia. We’ll move soon. Sorn will escort you away from camp so you may…accommodate your needs.” Then he stood and walked away without another glance.

  Amusement warred with annoyance and quickly won. He probably doesn’t know any words that are suitable for a “lady” to hear in this situation. I wonder if polite people ever refer to such vulgar things as bodily functions here? Probably not.

  Her amusement faded as Sorn returned to lead her beyond the camp. As he took her outside the main area of activity, Cele’s discomfort with the situation increased. This was one of the reasons she took short day hikes: taking care of business in the wide-open spaces had never appealed to her. Before they’d gone far, Sorn stopped. Cele continued on a few steps then turned back to him. He handed her a wooden trowel and turned his back.

  “What’s this for?” Cele asked.

  “For digging a cat-hole.”

  Sorn sounded like she had asked if water was wet.

  “Here?” Over Sorn’s shoulder, Cele could clearly see the camp and the men in it. Very little obscured the view, only one scraggly desert bush that was more stem than leaf. Cele marched around Sorn to face him. “I don’t think so! There’s no cover here. I’m not going to drop my drawers here in full view of God and everybody!”

  Sorn refused to look at her, but he spoke firmly. “Here. Now. To go further from camp would both endanger you and waste time.”

  “Endanger me? What are you talking about?”

  “We’re on the edge of enemy territory. We are not here by invitation.”

  “What are you talking about? What enemies?”

  “Our trade caravans and borders have been raided and attacked. Those responsible are not far from here. It’s not safe for you to wander off, searching for the perfect bush to hide behind. No eye will violate your privacy. Lord Dahleven has said it.”

  And what Dahleven says is law, judging by Sorn’s refusal to look at me.

  “Please, hurry. We have far to go and must make haste.”

  Cele’s bladder seconded the need for haste. She looked at the digging tool in her hand, and then over her shoulder at the camp. The men there were all busy–with their backs turned to her. Cele looked again at the tool, at Sorn with his carefully averted gaze, then went back around behind him.

  Sorn’s explanation didn’t make sense. She’s seen no one but Dahleven and his men in the last two days. Just going out of sight for a few minutes wouldn’t put her at any risk. Cele thought for a moment about just walking on and finding her own spot, but Sorn was obviously under orders. He’d try to stop her. She’d have to let him or break his arm. Not a good choice. He’d been nice to her, and this wasn’t worth fighting over.

  Cele scratched a little trench in the sand. She didn’t look around to see if anyone was looking when she dropped her shorts. If she saw no one, she could pretend no one saw her. Besides, Lord Dahleven had Spoken.

  *

  Breakfast was the same as it had been the morning before and the morning before that and every morning since they’d left Nuvinland. By the Talents, Dahleven hated journey bread. It kept a man on his feet, packed small and carried light, but it tasted like how the inside of a boot smelled.

  Kepliner and Knut were standing watch while the rest of the men ate, sitting together in a loosely formed circle. Usually they gathered in small twos and threes, quickly ate their morning meal and readied themselves to move out, but this morning they all wanted to take the measure of Lady Celia.

  Dahleven watched Lady Celia’s face as she bit into the ration Sorn gave her. The corners of her mouth drew downward and her lips puckered, but she only paused for a moment before she continued chewing. Then she actually smiled at Sorn and took another bite. Well, she had been in the drylands for two days. By the Hidden, I hope I’m never so hungry as to be grateful for journey bread.

  “Lady Celia, I have some dried fruit here.” Halsten pulled his pack into his lap and began to rummage. “That bread Sorn’s foisting on you is foul stuff. You’ll like this much better. It’s chewy, but still sweet.” Halsten handed her a packet wrapped in waxed cloth.

  Lady Celia turned the power of her smile full upon him as she accepted his gift. “Maybe just one piece. I don’t want to take all you have left,” she said, unfolding the cloth.

  “No, no. You keep it. It’s good energy on the trail.”

  “Thank you,” she said, lightly touching the back of his hand. “That’s very generous.”

  “Would you like my nuts?” Lindimer asked, reaching behind for his pack.

  Falsom snickered and Sorn cuffed him.

  Ghav and Fender started reaching for their packs as well. What’s the matter with all of them? They’d only been away from home and women for two weeks. Maybe that was Lady Celia’s Talent: turning men into fools. In its place, that could be a pleasant game to play, but he had a mission to complete and men to lead safely home. It was time to put a stop to this.

  Dahleven stood up. All eyes turned to him, including Lady Celia’s big green ones, framed with long lashes. She’d washed her face and neck, combed her hair, and braided it neatly. Curling wisps escaped the butter-yellow braids that reached just to her shoulders. She looked more like the lady he’d first thought her.

  “We’ll move soon. Be ready.”

  The men immediately began to disperse, gathering their equipment. Good. She hasn’t robbed them of all sense.

  “I’m ready now. I can finish this on the trail if you want to get going.” Lady Celia gestured with the fruit in her hand and stood. “I won’t hold you up.”

  A night’s rest has improved her temper, at least. Dahleven inclined his head.

  “Where are we going, anyway?” she asked.

  “Quartzholm,” Sorn answered.

  The information only made her frown. “Will someone there be able to help me go home?”

  Maybe Father Wirmund would have some good news for her, though Dahleven didn’t have much hope of it. “Perhaps.” He changed the subject. “Have you filled your water containers?”

  “First thing.” She paused, and blushed. “Well, second, anyway.”

  “Good.” He started to turn but was stopped by the touch of her fingers resting lightly on his arm.

  “I, uh, want to thank you.” Lady Celia spoke in a low voice only he and Sorn could hear. She blushed again and stammered on. “Actual privacy would have been better, of course, but lacking that, well, I appreciate your, uh…Oh hell! Thanks for telling your men to give me some space this morning.”

  Give her space? She used words strangely at times, but her meaning in this case was clear. “No thanks are necessary.” He turned again to go. Does she believe we would do otherwise? Probably. Last night she thought I’d proposed to rape her.

  “Just the same, I don’t see why I co
uldn’t have gone around a hill or something.”

  Does she argue about everything? Reluctantly, Dahleven turned back to her. She looked like a lady, but no lady he knew would discuss this. Then again, no lady he knew would have survived two days in the drylands so well. “I’m sure Sorn explained to you.”

  “Yes, but—”

  He refused to talk about the subject anymore. “This conversation is pointless. Get ready to move. We cannot slow our pace to accommodate you. You must keep up.”

  Lady Celia’s green eyes widened. Then they narrowed as though she’d reached a decision.

  Dahleven turned away before she could vent her annoyance. She’s probably decided I’m an ass. That shouldn’t bother him, but it did.

  Something about the woman threw him off balance. It wasn’t just that she’d popped into Alfheim as his ancestors had. She distracted him from his duty. He must get his men and the information for which they’d risked their lives safely home. Instead of thinking of that, he’d lingered this morning, enjoying the feel of her against him, and now he was rattled by her thanks for an ordinary courtesy. What was the matter with him? He was as taken with her as his men, admiring her stubborn courage and her long, lovely legs. He couldn’t afford that kind of distraction. None of them could. Not in hostile territory. He didn’t expect trouble from the Tewakwe, but the Outcasts and Renegades were still a threat. A very serious threat to a party as small as theirs.

  He signaled their departure to the others and tried not to think about how Lady Celia’s green eyes slanted over her high cheekbones. Instead, he forced himself to focus on Pathfinding the quickest way home to Nuvinland.

  The general direction was clear, even without the use of his Talent. But he could find the quickest or easiest route without the use of a map simply by concentrating on where he wanted to go. He needn’t have been there before, which made his Talent especially valuable for reconnaissance.