No, Sima answered. There is only one woman.
Kellin did not care. One would be sufficient.
The common room was small but well-lighted, and the rushes were clean. Prosperous place ...
Kellin glanced around. As well it should be, so close to the ferry crossing and the North Road out of Ellas, frequently traveled by merchants. He made arrangements for a room, moved to a table nearer the kegs than the front door, and looked for the girl.
It did not take long to find her, nor for her to find him. Even as he hooked out the stool from beneath the small table, she was at his side. Deft hands unpinned his cloak, then stripped it from his shoulders.
The girl froze. Black eyes were avid as she saw the gold on his arms; a glance quickly flicked at his left ear assured her that her assessment was correct.
She smiled, black eyes shining bronze in the light as lir-gold glinted. She was young and pretty in a wild, black-eyed way, bold in manners and glances. Content with the weight of his wealth, she eyed the fit of his leggings.
She was quite striking, though in time her looks would coarsen. For now, she would do. Better than most. Kellin smiled back. It was an agreement they reached easily without speaking a word; when he tossed the silver coin down on the table to pay for his food and drink, she caught it before it bounced. Indeed, she will do—much better than expected.
"Pleasure, my lord?"
He grinned briefly. It was a two-part question, as she well knew when she asked it. "For now, usca. If you have it."
"We hae it." White teeth flashed as the coin disappeared into a pocket in her voluminous woolen skirt. She wore a faded crimson blouse and a yellow tabard-smock over it, but both were slashed low to show off small, high breasts. She had pinned her thick black hair at the back of her neck in a bundled mass, but locks had come loose and straggled down her back. Finer strands curled against the pallor of her slender neck.
Kellin found the disarray, and the neck, infinitely appealing. "And what else?" he asked.
She showed her teeth again. "Lamb."
"Lamb will do." He let her see his assessment of her; she would mark it flattery, in the glint of green eyes. "What do they call you?"
"They call me whate'er they like," she said frankly. "So may you. But my name be Kirsty."
"Kirsty." He liked it. "Mine is Kellin."
She measured him avidly. "You're a shapechanger, are ye no', wi' all that gold ... ?" She nodded before he had a chance to answer. "I ne'er seen a shapechanger w'out the yellow eyes."
He found her northern speech as appealing as her slender neck with its weight of hair. He gave her the benefit of a slow, inviting smile he had found years before to be most effective. "Do I frighten you?"
Arched black brows shot up. "You?" Kirsty laughed. "I've been all my life a wine-girl . .. 'tisn't much a man hoe to frighten me!" She paused consideringly. "Do ye mean to, then?"
Her hand rested against the table. He put out his own and gently touched the flesh that lacked the smooth silken feel of the court women he had known before turning to the Midden; he found her hand familiar in its toughened competence, and therefore all the more attractive. "No," he said softly. "I would never mean to hurt you."
Kirsty promised much with eyes that bespoke experience without prevarication. "I'll bring your lamb, then, and the usca ... but I'm working, now. I canna gie ye my company till later."
He turned his hand against hers so she could see the bloody glow of the ring on his forefinger.
It was unlikely a north country girl would recognize the crest, but she would know its value well enough.
Black brows rose again. "You'd nae gie me that for a night, nor a week of nights!"
"Not this, perhaps—" he could not; it signified his rank, "—but certainly this." He touched the torque at his neck.
Her eyed widened. " Tis too much'. For a wine-girl? Hae ye no more coin?"
"I 'hae' coin." He mimicked her accent. "But you hae a pretty neck."
She assessed the torque again. "A man's, no' a woman's ... t'would lie low—here—" She touched her collar bone, then drew her fingers more slowly to the cleft of her high breasts and smiled to see his eyes.
He understood the game, "Do you not want it, then?"
For her, the game was ended. Dreams filled her eyes as the breath rushed out of her mouth. "Wi’ that I could go to Mujhara! Am I a fool? Nae, I'd take it. But what d'ye want for it?"
"Your company. Now."
"Bu' . .." She glanced around. "Tarn'd turn me out, did I no' tend the others."
"I will pay Tarn, too."
A smooth brow knitted. "Hae it been so long, then, that ye're that hungry?"
"Hungry," he answered, "for all the things that satisfy a man." He clasped her fingers briefly, then released her hand. "Food and drink first. Come when you can."
Her eyes were on the torque. "Promises made are no' kept, sometimes. D'ye think I'm a fool, then?"
For answer Keilin rose and stripped the torque from his neck. He hooked it around her own, then settled its weight low, on delicate collar bones. Its patina glowed richly against the pallor of her skin.
Her fingertips touched it. "Oh . .."
Kellin grinned. "But you will earn it, my lass, with me."
Kirsty laughed aloud, then bent close to him.
"Nae, I think not—'tis a gift I'd hae done you for naught at all."
"For naught!"
"Aye!" Her laugh was throaty. "I've no' seen a man like you in all o' my days!"
Chagrined, he clapped a hand to her rump and found it firm and round. "Lamb and usca, then, before I die of hunger."
"Won't be hunger you die of!" She swung and was gone before he could retort. Kellin ate lamb, drank usca, and laid a few wagers on the fall of the dice in a friendly game at another table. He was marked as Cheysuli, but no one appeared to resent it. Eyes followed the glint of gold when he moved in the lamplight, but the greed was friendly and lacking in covetous intent.
Kirsty appeared at last and ran deft fingers down his arm. Then she touched the buckle of his belt and tugged. "I'm done," she said. "Are you?"
"That depends," he gathered up his modest winnings, "on which game you refer to. With this one, aye; most certainly I am done. The other is not yet begun—" he grinned, "—and like to last all night."
She laughed softly. "Then coom prove it to me."
He rose and hooked a finger through the torque.
He lifted it; then, using it, he pulled her closer, very close, so his breath warmed her face. "What more proof of my intent is necessary?"
Her hand was skilled as she slid it between his legs. "There's proof—and there's proof."
Kellin laughed quietly. "Shansu, meijhana—or would you prefer an audience?"
"Those words," she said, brows lifting. "What are those words?"
He said it into her ear. "I will explain them elsewhere."
Kirsty laughed and hooked an arm around his waist as his settled across her shoulders. "This way, my beastie—"
"No." He halted her instantly, humor dissipating. "Do not refer to me so."
" Twas just ..." Her defense died. She nodded.
Kellin pulled her close, sorry he had broken the mood. "You know better where my room is."
Kirsty took him there.
He awakened hours later, aware of usca sourness in his mouth and a certain stiffiness in his shoulders. Kirsty had proven her mettle, and had certainly drained him of his.
The room was dark. It took Kellin a moment to adjust his eyes. The stub of a candle had long since melted down, so that the only illumination was from the seam of moonRght between ill-fitted shutters. It lent just enough light to see the pallor of Kirsty s shoulder, jutting roofward. Raven hair and blankets obscured the rest of her.
I like black hair—and such white, white skin. She was curled against him like a cat, rump set against his left hip. Would she purr, like Sima?
But his mind drifted in search of an answer to an un
known question. He wondered what had wakened him. Usually he slept the night through, unless he dreamed of the Lion; but it had been weeks since the last nightmare, and he believed Kirsty had effectively banished the beast for the night.
He lay in perfect silence, listening to her breathing.
Lir, Sima said, has the girl stolen your senses along with other things? I have called for you three times.
Ah. Kellin sighed and rubbed at his eyes. What is it?
If you wish to ride to Valgaard. you had better leave your bed.
Why? Do you want to leave now? It was ludicrous. I said we would go in the morning.
Your horse is leaving. Sima sounded smug.
My horse— He understood at once.
Kellin sat up, swearing, and tossed the covers aside. Kirsty mumbled a protest and dragged the blankets back. His clothing lay in a tangled heap on the floor, and no doubt the leather was cold.
Kellin swore again and reached for leggings.
Kirsty turned as he buckled his belt. "Where d'ye go?"
"To rescue my horse." He meant to take his cloak, but Kirsty had pulled it up around her shoulders.
She stared at him. "How d'ye know it wants rescuing?"
"My lir told me." He bent to pull on his boots.
"Yer beast?"
"Not a beast. She is a mountain cat." He grinned briefly, tossing her the bone. "Her fur is as black and lovely as your hair."
Kirsty hunched up beneath blankets and cloak, unsure of the compliment. "Will ye coom back?"
Kellin pulled open the door. "Would a man be so foolish as to desert you in the midst of a cold night?"
Kirsty laughed. "Then I'll gie ye sommat to remember me by." She flung back cloak and coverlet, displaying cold-tautened breasts, and it was only with great effort that Kellin departed the room.
Upon exiting the roadhouse, Kellin was sorry he had left the cloak behind. The night was clear and cold, belying the season. Bare arms protested with pimpled flesh; he rubbed them vigorously, sliding fingertips across cooling lir-gold, and strode on toward the stable intending to settle the business at once, then hasten back to bed.
The building was a black, square-angled blob in the moonlight, blocky and slump-roofed. He approached quietly, accustomed to making no sound in the litheness of his movements, and touched the knife hilt briefly.
Sima's tone was clear. They are taking the saddle, too.
Kellin swore beneath his breath. Just as he reached the stable two men appeared, and a horse.
His horse. The gelding was bridled and saddled, as if they intended to ride immediately.
He recognized them from the common room.
Greedier than I thought— Kellin moved out of shadow into moonlight. "I doubt you could pay my price. You lost in the game tonight."
They froze. One man clung to the horse, while his companion stiffened beside him. Then the first put up his chin. "Go back to Kirsty," he said, "and we'll let ye be. 'Twill be a gey cold night, the other."
The dialect was thick. Kellin deciphered it, then added his own comment. " 'Twill be a gey cold night, withal—for one of us... ." He slipped into the lilt he had learned from his grandmother. Erinnish was similar. "But I'll be keeping yon horse for myself as well as the bonny lass."
Both men showed their knives. Kellin showed his. The display resulted in a muttered conversation between the two Homanans, as Kellin waited.
Eventually his patience waned. "We each of us has a knife. In that, we are well-matched. But are you forgetting I am Cheysuli? If a knife will not do to persuade you who is better, lir-shape will."
It sufficed. The man holding the reins released the gelding at once as the other stepped away. The horse wandered back toward the warm stable.
Kellin sighed. "Go on your way. That way." He gestured. "You'll be bedding down elsewhere, my boyos."
The men goggled at him. "We have a room!"
"Not any more."
"Ye canna do this!"
" 'Tis done." He grinned at them. "You tried to steal my horse, but that's done for the night. Now I've stolen your bed." He gestured. "On your way."
They muttered something to one another, then turned toward the road.
Kellin raised his voice. "Ckeysuli i'haSa. shansu!"
They did not, either of them, offer an answer he understood.
"No, I thought not." Kellin went after the horse, caught and gathered dragging reins, then led the gelding into the stable. "Disturbed your sleep, did they?" He reached for the knotted girth. "Then we are a proper pair—though I dare say I miss the woman more than—" He turned. The noise was slight, but his hearing better than most.
It was too late. Weight descended upon him.
Kellin went down with only a blurted protest.
Five
It was the cold that finally woke him. The earthen floor was packed hard as stone, and was twice as cold. The scattered straw offered no protection.
Kellin's flesh, as he roused, rose up on his bones all at once and he shivered violently in a sustained, convulsive shudder that jarred loose the fog from his head.
"Gods—" His teeth clicked together and stayed there, clamped against the chattering he would not acknowledge.
Awake again?
He started to hitch himself up on one elbow, thought better of it almost at once, and stayed where he was. He rolled his head to one side and felt at the back of his skull, marking the lump.
Something crusted in his fingers: dried blood, he guessed; at least it wasn't still flowing.
"Lir? Where are—uh." He scowled as he found her seated very close to his side. Aggrievedly, he said, "You might have at least lay down next to me! Some warmth is better than none!"
The last time we spoke of warmth, you claimed a woman's better than mine.
"That was in bed. Am I in bed now? No! I am lying sprawled on an icy stable floor with not even a saddle blanket for my—" He broke it off in astonishment. "—nor any clothing, either! My leathers—"
Sima slitted gold eyes against a stream of invective. When he at last ran out of oaths he stopped, caught his breath, and shut his eyes against the pain in his battered head.
He felt empty, somehow—and then Kellin clutched a naked earlobe. "My lir-gold!" He sat upright, unmindful of his headache. "Gods—they took my gold.”
Sima twitched her tail. Gold is gold. Blessed or no, its value to a man remains the same.
"But—it took me so long to get it—"
You were in no hurry, she reminded him primly. You denied it—and me—for a very long time.
Kellin gingerly rubbed the back of his tender skull, then felt the stiffness of abused neck tendons and attempted to massage the pain away. "Gloating does not become you."
Everything becomes a lir.
"And Blais' knife, too." Acknowledgment of a further atrocity sent a shudder through his body.
"Oh, gods—oh, gods ... my ring. My signet ring. Gods, lir—that ring signifies my rank and title!"
He clutched the naked finger. "It has adorned the hand of every Prince of Homana since, since—" He gave it up. "Lir—" And then a burst of ironic laughter crowded out his panic. "Fitting, is it not? For ten years I rebel against the constraints of my rank—and now thieves steal its symbol from me! Surely the gods had a hand in this."
Or a foolish warrior.
Levity vanished. "You are not in the least surprised."
I warned you. She licked a paw.
"Does it mean nothing to you that what they have done is heretical? To rob a Cheysuli warrior of his lir-gold, and the Prince of Homana of his signet—"
—is brave, if nothing else; I admire them for their gall. Sima blinked, then slitted eyes. You can fetch it back.
"In a saddle blanket? They have taken everything else!"
Surely the girl can bring you clothing.
"The girl likely was part of this." Realization stabbed him. "What coin I have left is in my room—" he reconsidered it, "—or was."
T
hen you will have to tend it yourself.
Kellin swore again. Then, with excessive care, he got off the cold ground at last, found the nearest saddle blanket, and wrapped it around his loins. He was just tucking in the end when the stable door creaked open.
Kirsty stood silhouetted in moonlight, swathed in his cloak. He saw the tabard and woolen skirt, and leather shoes. Unbound hair, tangled from the evening's sport, hung below her hips.
Sima blinked again. A conclusion perhaps best not jumped to.
"Thieves," Kellin declared-in answer to Kirsty's expression. "Did you know nothing of it?"
She put up her chin. "If I knew aught, I'd be other than here, ye muddle-headed whelp! D'ye think me so foolish as to coom to ye if I knew?"
"A clever woman would, merely to mislead me." He was curt in his headache and humiliation. "Have you clothing I can put on?"
Kirsty tossed back her untamed mane. "Ye'd look gey foolish in my clothing, ye ken."
Kellin sighed. "Aye, so I would. Have you men's I might put on?"
"Tarn'll hae some. T'will cost, and nae doot'll be no' to your liking, but better than ye wear now." Her grin was abruptly sly. "Not that I'm minding, ye ken."
"I ken," he said dryly. "And I will pay Tarn. Though the gods know that torque alone would buy me a trunkful."
She clutched at it. " 'Tis mine! Ye said so!"
" 'Tis yours. I said so. Keep it, Kirsty—run and fetch the clothing." Silently he said, If I can trust you to come back.
Kirsty swung on her heels and hastened away while Kellin sat down on a haphazard pile of grain sacks and tried to ignore the cold and the thumping in his head.
She was back after all in but a handful of moments, and had the right of it; the clothing was not at all to his liking. But he put on the grimy smock and woolen baggy trews without complaint, then stuffed straw into the toes of Tarn's oversized, decaying boots so they at least remained on his feet. The soles were worn through, the poor heels all run down, but even tattered leather was better than bare feet.
His earlobe hurt. The thieves had paid scant attention to the wire and how it hooked; they had wrenched it out of the hole with little regard to his flesh. But the lobe, if sore, was whole; he recalled very clearly that his grandsire lacked all of his.
Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 08 Page 31
