Reothe wheeled his mount. ‘Ride out. We will follow.’
The rebels rode off and left her with their leader. Imoshen twisted in the saddle, confused. Reothe laughed and pulled a brass cylinder from inside his jerkin. He tossed it onto the grass outside the entrance to the ruin.
‘What’s that?’
‘An invitation to your Ghebite lover.’
His tone made Imoshen’s skin turn to ice. Reothe was preparing a trap and she and Ashmyr were the bait.
‘What did you promise the Beatific in return for betraying me?’ she prodded.
But he gave nothing away. ‘Ride on, Imoshen.’
She raged against her impotence. As long as Reothe held her son she would obey him.
DURING THAT LONG night Imoshen never left Reothe’s side. Her son slept peacefully in the arms of the man who had sworn to kill his father. A burning anger grew inside her. Not only had she been betrayed but Reothe was using her child as bait.
At first she paid no heed to the direction they rode, thinking only of escape. But then she noticed as the dawn chorus began and the sky lightened that they were headed north, not south. Trust Reothe to lay a false trail for their pursuers, who would be expecting him to return to his hideout amongst the loyal Keld.
Shortly after dawn the baby began to squall. Reothe halted and the others waited, watching.
‘He must be fed,’ Imoshen said. She had been waiting for this. When Ashmyr was safely in her arms she would create a diversion, anything she could lay her gift on. While they were distracted she would gallop off. She had enough skills now to cloak her passage from all but Reothe, and if he followed her, well... she would find a way to kill him. She had to.
Reothe urged his horse closer to hers. ‘You are ready to feed him?’
She nodded, leaning forward. They were thigh to thigh. She was eager to take the babe and her breasts ached in anticipation. Reothe swung his free arm around her waist, dragging her off her mount. Frightened by the thought of him dropping Ashmyr, Imoshen twisted and clung to Reothe.
She found herself sitting across his thighs as he passed the baby to her.
‘Forgive me if I do not trust you, Imoshen,’ he said above Ashmyr’s screams. ‘I want you where I can hold you.’
Then he laughed at her expression and urged his horse forward.
Reluctantly she undid the laces of her bodice. With the baby feeding hungrily at her breast, she had no choice but to remain where she was. Reothe’s arms encircled her. Holding the reins with one hand, he clasped her firmly to him with the other.
If she tried to struggle free and get to the ground, she risked dropping Ashmyr and being trampled by the rebels who rode with them.
The rocking motion of the horse and the relief of holding Ashmyr again finally soothed her. They made their way through the deep woods, fording clear streams where she could see every stone on the riverbed.
As morning passed, Reothe made no attempt to return her to her own mount and she did not suggest it. Just holding her son was enough for now.
Her eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep. The dappled sunlight passed over them, alternately blinding her and warming her, then plunging them into a green-tinged twilight.
Ashmyr slept safely in her arms. Despite her exhaustion, she refused to let herself succumb to sleep. She would not sleep.
IMOSHEN AWOKE WITH a start, feeling something brush her face. It was dusk. Her cheeks burned when she realised she had slept in Reothe’s arms. That would have amused him.
The others had already dismounted by the time Reothe swung his leg over the horse, stepping down. He wound his fingers through the reins, effectively ruling out any attempt to kick the tired horse to a gallop, and lifted one arm to help her dismount. She longed to shun the offer, but she was stiff from sitting in one position and didn’t want to stumble with Ashmyr in her arms.
‘Give me the baby.’
‘No. I must change him.’
‘I’ll change him. You go with Selita and tend to your needs. You must be hungry.’
As soon as he said this she realised she was ravenous. Already someone had started a fire. With great reluctance Imoshen handed her son to Reothe.
‘This way.’ Selita was a farm girl much like Kalleen in size and colouring, but with a more pronounced Keldon accent. Imoshen could have overpowered her and escaped, but Reothe knew she wouldn’t while he had Ashmyr.
The rebel girl waited as Imoshen splashed cold water on her face and hands, willing her mind to clear. Looking up at the sky through the gap in the leaves, Imoshen tried to get her bearings. They would have to turn south soon. The longer they stayed in the territory occupied by the Ghebites, the greater the chance of Reothe’s band being captured.
As they returned, a foreign, spicy smell hung over the camp, making Imoshen’s stomach rumble.
Reothe sat with his back against the rock, his knees raised. The baby was wedged in an upright position, facing him. Wide awake, Ashmyr waved his arms around, tasting the air with his tongue.
Imoshen’s heart turned over because her son was so terribly vulnerable, a pawn in this endless game of power.
‘Your share is there.’ Reothe indicated a bowl on the ground next to him.
Holding the bowl in her hands she found she could not eat, despite her hunger. ‘Give Ashmyr to me.’
‘He likes it where he is.’ Reothe rubbed the babe’s cheek with one knuckle. Ashmyr turned his face and sucked on the knuckle.
‘I can’t eat unless I hold him,’ Imoshen confessed.
Reothe’s sharp eyes turned on her. She tried to smile but she could not hide the urgency of her feelings.
He frowned. ‘I did not know how strong it was.’
He put his bowl aside and passed the baby to her. As soon as she held her son, her body relaxed. Propping the bowl on her knee, she ate quickly as she fed Ashmyr, only too aware that Reothe was watching her. He seemed amused.
‘Food’s good,’ she said to distract him.
‘It’s a speciality of Amarillo’s. He’s from one of the spice islands of the archipelago.’
The cook tilted his head in her direction. Imoshen didn’t want to know their names. She didn’t want to get to know these people because she might have to kill them.
But she nodded and smiled. ‘Thank you. Very good.’
Reothe nodded. ‘Amarillo has served me since my first voyage. I bought him when his master was going to have him whipped –’
‘Bought him?’ Imoshen asked around a mouthful.
‘Yes. Slavery is common in the archipelago. Each island preys on the others.’
‘I thought they made beautiful crafts, pottery, exquisite mechanical things.’
‘They do.’ Reothe glanced at her, then rolled with catlike grace to his feet. ‘They also cut off their enemies’ heads, shrink them and hang them in their household temples.’
As soon as Imoshen had eaten, Reothe ordered them to break camp. He held out his arms for the baby.
She handed Ashmyr over, then climbed into the saddle, keeping close to Reothe’s horse. Their thighs brushed.
‘Such devotion,’ he purred. ‘What a pity it isn’t for me.’
A shiver of fear ran up Imoshen’s spine.
They rode through the night, pausing at dawn for fresh horses. Imoshen watched Reothe closely but he never let Ashmyr go or passed him to anyone else. She had no choice but to follow his lead, still north.
Why hadn’t he returned to the safety of the Keldon Highlands?
TULKHAN STOOD ON the lookout tower of his fortress, staring down into the valley. A single rider worked his way up the treacherous switchback path.
As the figure drew nearer Tulkhan could see he was pushing his horse at a reckless pace. His message must be urgent. Abandoning the tower, the General swung through the trapdoor and down the ladder.
‘Open the gates. He’s one of ours,’ Tulkhan ordered. The gates eased open to let the horse and rider enter. The mount’s sides were fle
cked with foam.
Tulkhan caught the exhausted messenger as he fell from his saddle. ‘What is it?’
The man thrust a cylinder into Tulkhan’s hands. He tore it open, unrolling the thick paper. It was written in the common language of Fair Isle but his mind refused to take in the meaning.
‘Forgive me, General,’ pleaded the messenger. ‘Your wife... she ran away to join the rebel leader.’
‘She was abducted,’ Tulkhan snapped. He didn’t recognise his own voice. The man flinched. ‘Reothe has laid down a challenge. It says here that I must meet him at Northpoint Harbour.’ It actually said that Imoshen and the child were with Reothe. Typically ambiguous.
‘It makes no sense,’ the fortress commander muttered. ‘That’s the northernmost harbour in Fair Isle, far from the rebels’ territory. Why would he risk a confrontation there?’
Tulkhan shrugged. He had planned to man the fortresses in the passes and so contain the rebels and the insolent Keld. Pulling back his forces to face a threat in Fair Isle’s north was an unwelcome complication. If the Keldon nobles sensed a weakness they might join forces with the rest of Reothe’s people and attempt to regain the capital.
To save time he set off with a small band of men, planning to collect more in T’Diemn before he advanced further north. But he would not need an army. The battle ahead was not of the physical kind.
Tulkhan ground his teeth. Imoshen might be the key to Fair Isle, but he knew now that he could not live without her. Frustration and fear tore at him. Imoshen and his only child were in the hands of an unstable Dhamfeer warrior who would stop at nothing.
SELITA PEERED THROUGH the steam. ‘Are you out of the tub already, T’Imoshen?’
Imoshen wrapped herself in the drying cloth. She was grateful for the chance to bathe in warm water, but finding herself a ‘guest’ at Chalkcliff Abbey was disturbing. It was the largest abbey outside T’Diemn, and though the Seculate had been careful not to be seen, he was clearly aiding Reothe. Since the Seculate answered directly to the Beatific, Imoshen was left in no doubt where the leader of the T’En church’s loyalty lay.
She turned to Selita. ‘Your turn.’
‘I’ll only be a moment.’ The girl discarded her clothes eagerly.
‘Take your time.’ Imoshen finished drying herself, then finger-combed her damp hair as she walked through to her chamber.
Reothe lay stretched across her bed, playing with Ashmyr.
Making no attempt to hide her nakedness, Imoshen selected a fresh nightgown and pulled it over her head. Her hands trembled as she tightened the drawstring under her breasts then the second one at her throat. So as not to betray her nervousness, she took her time braiding her damp hair into one long plait.
Reothe watched her silently, his expression unreadable.
When Selita entered the room, wrapped in a cloth, Reothe dismissed her. Imoshen wanted to protest but she held her tongue as Selita tugged on her clothes and departed.
It had been in a chamber almost identical to this one that Reothe had confronted her at Landsend Abbey. Reminding her of their vows, he had urged her to join him and retake Fair Isle, but she had refused. Even as she thought this, the scar on her wrist tingled.
She hugged her left arm to her breast. ‘I am ready to feed the baby now.’
‘Come and get him.’
Feeling his eyes on her, Imoshen walked stiffly across the chamber to the bed. Every nerve protested at his presence. From her pounding heart to her rapid breathing, her body recognised him.
Ashmyr lay on his back, contentedly sucking his fist. At least he had not suffered during their forced march.
Imoshen scooped her baby up and backed away. She heard Reothe chuckling as she turned, heading for the chair by the fire.
She sank into the deep chair and loosened the upper drawstring, freeing her aching left breast. Ashmyr had only to feel the warm curve of her flesh on his cheek to realise what was coming. He latched onto her nipple.
‘Is it that I am so terrible?’ Reothe asked. ‘Or is it that you don’t trust yourself?’
‘You need to ask, when you do not hesitate to threaten my child to control me?’
She heard the rustle of Reothe’s clothes as he moved. Her skin prickled.
Reothe crouched beside the chair. She looked away from him, into the baby’s face.
‘Don’t hate me, Imoshen. I am only trying to protect what is mine.’
She could not speak for her fury.
Reothe drew a sharp breath.
The urgent tug of the baby’s sucking triggered the flow of milk in her right breast. Before she could press her hand over the left nipple to stop the flow, she felt a familiar tug.
Imoshen found Reothe’s fair head at her breast. Her heart turned over. He had not pulled the material down, but between the heat of the milk and his mouth it felt as if the thin nightgown had melted away. His teeth grazed her nipple as she felt him draw on her aching flesh, triggering an arrow of sweet desire straight to her core.
A groan escaped her.
Her free hand sank into his silver hair, feeling its fine texture. She leant forward to experience that silken touch with her lips and inhale his scent. The melt began deep within her, dissolving her limbs and her will.
‘No...’
‘No?’ He lifted his head, his lips glistening, his eyes hungry.
She felt her body respond, impossibly urgent. How could she expect him to understand when she didn’t? ‘Reothe, please.’
‘No.’ He smiled. ‘Not till the moment is right.’
A flash of anger ignited her. ‘I wasn’t asking –’
‘Yes, you were. I can feel how much you want me. It sears my senses. It always has.’
She shook her head. She did not like to think what his admission revealed.
With the nail of one finger he circled the damp patch of material around her nipple. ‘You taste so sweet.’
A clench of desire seized her. Unlike Tulkhan, Reothe would accept her for what she was. He would revel in her Otherness.
‘Even if I desire you, you must know I have made a vow. I am Tulkhan’s bond-partner.’
‘Only by necessity, and only after breaking your vows to me.’
‘Nevertheless, Tulkhan and I are bonded.’
‘Only until his death.’
Her mouth went dry. ‘You mean to kill him?’
‘I won’t have to. At most he would only live another twenty years. Fifty is a good age for a True-man. But you and I have another eighty years or more.’ He leant closer to her, brushing her cheek with his lips. ‘Imoshen, don’t deny what you know to be true.’
She drew in a shaky breath, senses scorched by his nearness. All those years alone...
‘You want me,’ Reothe whispered. His breath dusted her skin. ‘We would already have been together if the Ghebites hadn’t chosen to launch their campaign last spring. Don’t deny me, Imoshen.’
Drawing a deep breath she met his eyes as honestly as she could. ‘True, I want you. I may even love you a little, Reothe. But I gave my vow to Tulkhan, the truest of True-men. I am bonded till death parts us and I hope he lives another fifty years!’
She wanted to anger him. It was easier to keep her distance from an angry Reothe.
He lifted her free hand, stroking her bonding scar. ‘With me you can bond beyond death.’
‘No.’
‘I speak the truth. Test me.’
He was offering to mind-touch with her.
She wanted it. It was awful to acknowledge how much. She had been so lonely, shut out by Tulkhan’s resistance to her gifts.
Reothe smiled and leaned closer. Imoshen gasped as she felt the first tingle of awareness brush the surface of her mind. But that forbidden fruit was too sweet to taste without risking her strength of purpose, so she shut herself away from Reothe. It surprised her to discover that she could.
‘You may believe the T’En can bond beyond death, Reothe, but I do not want to end up like the Pa
rakletos, a restless shade, bound between this world and the next. Besides, I gave my word to the General.’
‘You gave your word to a Ghebite, a man blinded by his upbringing, a man who does not understand your true value.’
‘Nevertheless, I gave my word.’
‘Under duress! Why does it always come back to this?’ Reothe sprang to his feet. ‘Why do you find it so easy to break your word to me?’
The baby jerked in her arms, responding to his tone. She changed Ashmyr to the other breast, reminded again of Reothe’s touch. Then she looked up to see him watching her, one elbow propped on the mantelpiece, a frown drawing his narrow brows together.
‘You gave your word under duress, Imoshen. I know you believed you were saving our people from further warfare, but it is coming...’ He stopped himself as if he was about to say more. ‘As for us, you gave your word freely to me, but you cannot say the same for that Ghebite. To which of us do you owe your true loyalty?’
She pressed the fingers of her free hand to her closed eyes, weary beyond belief. Every word he said made things more tangled. With a sigh she looked up. ‘There is no right, Reothe, only survival.’
A smile lit his face, igniting him from within.
‘What?’ She regarded him warily.
He crouched beside her, earnest and intense. ‘I’m glad you said it all comes down to survival. For I am also a pragmatist and I will do whatever I must to ensure the right outcome.’
Imoshen went cold. That wasn’t what she meant at all. Or was it?
Reothe stroked the baby’s foot. Ashmyr’s toes curled in response, eliciting a smile from the rebel leader.
A servant scratched on the door, then backed in carrying Imoshen’s meal.
Reothe rose, cupping her cheek with casual affection. ‘Eat up. You will need your strength. We ride tomorrow –’
‘South?’ It was out before Imoshen could stop herself.
An impish smile lit Reothe’s face. The more time she spent with him, the more she realised he was not like other men. Did Tulkhan find her as fey and disturbing as she found Reothe?
Dark Dreams Page 38
