“You hardly know me.” She crossed her arms over her stomach, her face pained. “It’s merely lust you feel.”
“I do lust for you.” He swallowed hard, fighting for control of his water gift. His arm throbbed with each beat of his heart. He fought through the pain and fear, his emotional strength strained along with his gift. “I desire you in a way I’ve never experienced before in my life. But it’s more than lust, Em. So much more. I wanted you to know, come what may, I hold you in my heart.”
“Oh, Quintin.” Tears sparkled in her eyes as she pressed her fingers to her lips. “You are so sweet. I don’t—”
“Nothing can come of it. I know that,” he said, his voice harsh. He couldn’t bear to hear her rejection cloaked in false compliments about his kindness. He knew she didn’t see him as a suitor, yet he had hoped for so much more than this embarrassing response. “I don’t expect you to return my feelings.”
But oh, how he had hoped. Foolish, foolish hope. The back of his eyes ached with unshed tears. His control slipped, and a warm wetness soaked the sleeve of his kaftan.
Her eyes widened. “Quintin, your arm.”
He slapped a hand over the wounds to staunch the bleeding. His gift was too weak. His water talent collapsed, and blood welled up between his fingers.
“I think I’m losing it,” he murmured as the world went gray and fuzzy at the edges.
Chapter 24
Em grabbed Quintin as he swayed. His brown sleeve turned black and shiny with blood. She eased him into a sitting position next to the fallen tree. Muttering curses and prayers under her breath, she grabbed a knife out of her saddle bags and cut a long strip off the hem of her kaftan.
She knelt next to Quintin, pushing his sticky sleeve up past his elbow. And suppressed a gag.
His forearm was a mess of gore, with at least three deep gashes. He needed stitches, which meant summoning a healer from Trimble.
She anchored her makeshift bandage at his elbow and began winding it down his arm.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, his voice little more than a slur. “I’m gettin’ blood all over you.”
“The only thing you have to be sorry about is hiding how badly you were hurt,” she said, grateful he was able to speak at all. She pulled the cloth tight at his wrist before winding it back up his arm. “We should have tended your wounds immediately, instead of wasting time on kisses and . . .” Her voice faltered at the memory of his words. Love without hope tasted so bittersweet.
His head thunked against the log behind him. “Water gift had it under control.”
“Obviously not.” She jerked the end of the cloth harder than necessary as she tied off the bandage at his elbow. “Anyway, aren’t you air talented?”
“Gotta touch of water. Enough to keep my own blood in my body. Most of the time.”
Em sat back on her heels. He hadn’t fainted, though it was a near thing. He slumped over as if too woozy to hold himself up.
“I’ll fetch you a drink.” She stepped over to her okapi and patted the animal’s neck. He had done well holding steady in the presence of the bogbear. Murmuring praise, she untied a water-skin from the saddle.
The okapi tossed his head and sidled away from her.
The forest went quiet, all birdsong silenced.
Em dropped the water and grabbed her atlatl and arrows.
She did not expect the bogbear to return. Even with her short arrows, she had gotten in four good hits. The bogbear should have stumbled into the forest to die. She cursed softly. With Quintin too weak to stand, she couldn’t take any chances.
Something massive crashed closer.
Her hands shook as she fitted a dart to her atlatl. Only three left.
A flock of birds burst from cover in a noisy flurry of feathers.
She cocked her atlatl over her shoulder, arrow at the ready.
A brown waccat rounded the bend, sliding as it took the turn.
“Elkart!” Quintin cried with joy.
Em let her arm fall to her side, her knees weak and wobbly.
The okapi snorted and tossed his head at the predator bounding toward them. Em grabbed the reins and pulled the okapi away from the Han-Auditor.
The waccat barreled straight into his Hand. He butted his head against Quintin’s shoulder, nearly knocking him over.
Grinning, Quintin thumped and scratched his waccat with his uninjured hand.
Stroking the okapi’s neck, Em moved him as far away from Elkart as the clearing would allow. She looped the reins around the branch of a sapling before retrieving the water-skin.
She returned to Quintin and pulled the cork. “You need to drink something, Quintin.”
Elkart flopped on the ground, his back pressed against his Hand’s leg.
Quintin trembled as he reached for the water.
She kept a grip around the bag to steady it. Their hands moved together to raise the spout to his bloodless lips. Her entire world narrowed to his hands and mouth.
After a couple of sips, he sat a little taller. “Thank you,” he murmured.
“It’s my pleasure,” she replied, shaken by the truth of her words. Caring for him, being with him, it was always a pleasure. Something cracked inside her as she remembered his heartfelt words . . .
Come what may, I hold you in my heart.
As he raised the water-skin once more, she let her hands fall away.
Nothing can ever come of it. She would be a fool to forget it.
“If I gave you a boost, do you think you could ride?” she asked.
He handed the water-skin back to her. “I’d rather not go to the manor house.”
“I don’t see what choice we have.” Her mouth tightened. Her promise to be presentable for Isabel’s parents was as good as broken. “You need a healer and stitches, and the best way to get them is by sending a messenger to town from Merdale.”
“You could take me home,” he said in a quiet voice.
She sighed, surprised at the allure of his suggestion. She longed to climb on her okapi with him and ride away. Away from Merdale and her family and Lord Evan’s unwelcome suit. Forget about being Lady Emmanuella and become plain Em. But it would mean turning her back on Aerynet.
Besides, Quintin was in no condition to ride off with her. Already blood seeped through the bandage on his arm.
“Please, Quintin, let me be the one to take care of you now.”
~ ~ ~
A little while later, Em clambered down the hill holding the okapi’s halter. She tried to keep the animal calm as they abandoned the path to cut straight to the lane.
Quintin flinched with every jostling step. Though she had torn another length of cloth from her kaftan to fashion him a sling, the support was not enough for his injured arm.
“Soon we’ll reach level ground and be done with all the bumps.” Trying to hide her fear, she gave him an encouraging smile.
He grimaced in response.
The okapi slipped, jerking as it caught its balance. Quintin hissed, his lips losing all color.
Em stroked the okapi’s nose to calm him. He didn’t like this steep descent either. The sooner they reached the bottom the better.
Elkart bounded down the hill with ease. He trotted along the lane toward the manor house, while Em and the okapi picked their path more carefully.
With the blessings of the gods, they reached the manicured lane without incident. “Do you need another drink? Or to rest a bit?”
“I need something stronger than water,” Quintin muttered.
She patted his leg. “I’ll get you some of Father’s finest honey spirits as soon as we’re back at the house.”
“I don’t think your father will want to share his finest with the taxman.”
She slanted a glance up at him. “My father will have so many other things to bluster about, he won’t miss the spirits.”
He grunted, a ghost of a smile touching his lips.
She clucked at the okapi to get him moving again. Some of the tension left her shoulders as his hooves crunched on the gravel drive in smooth steady steps.
“By Fermice’s foul flatulence,” Quintin groaned.
She stopped the okapi. “What’s wrong?”
“I forgot about Terin.”
“Terin?” Unease trickled down her spine. “Wasn’t he the man who saw me at your house?”
“Yes. He’s a Hand, one of my year-mates.” He rubbed his temple. “He’s in the jungle nearby.”
Her jaw dropped. “What?”
“He was hunting the bogbear, too.”
“Is he going to come here?”
“Elkart told his waccat about my brush with death. He will want to help.”
Her fingers twisted around the reins, while a strange buzzing sound filled her ears. “He can’t come here.”
Quintin leaned forward, pressing against the okapi’s neck. “I assure you, Terin is the soul of discretion. He won’t breathe a word of his previous encounter with you to your family.”
She swallowed, her hands trembling. “What did you tell him about me?”
“Practically nothing. He thought you were a prostitute paid with the cloth. I somewhat disabused him of the notion and left him with the impression we were lovers.”
“He won’t say a word to my family?”
“Not one word.” He gave her a crooked smile. “He’ll tease me later for seducing a Lady, but he won’t be so crass as to embarrass you. It’s also possible he won’t recognize you. It was pretty dark in my room.”
Taking a deep breath, she banished the panic induced by the thought of getting caught. She rubbed the coarse cloth of her kaftan between her fingers. Between the bloodstains and the sacrifices made for his injuries, she was in a sorry state. “Once you’re settled, I’ll go put on a sari. It should help to look like a Lady. And if he lets something slip to my family, we’ll manage.”
“You want your family to think you’re poking the taxman?”
She snorted softly. “Our charade is better than the truth.”
As they approached the stable, a boy ran out to take the okapi. He stopped before he reached them and instead ran toward the house.
“Wait,” Em called. Too late. He was already shouting for help.
Quintin grimaced. “So much for subtlety.”
“We’ll be getting you those spirits very soon now,” she said with another pat on his leg. She led the okapi past the stables to the front of the manor.
Guards, most with their headdresses askew or missing entirely, boiled out of the barracks on the far side of the manor house. The front door crashed open. The head guard stepped out, his short sword at the ready.
“I am well,” Em called up to him. “There is no need for alarm.”
Eyes wide, he hastened down the steps. “What happened, my lady?”
“Em, is that you?” Isabel said from inside the house. “My parents will be here any minute.” She appeared in the doorway. “You need to—Marana preserve us, is there blood on your face?”
Em’s fingers flew to her cheek. “There is a bogbear in the woods.”
“A bogbear!” Isabel pressed her hand to her chest and slumped against the door frame.
The head guard scanned the surrounding trees. “Where?”
“It is injured. Possibly dead,” Em said. “It veered off the ridge path a little north of the fallen tree.”
“I’ll send two triads to bring it back.”
“Please send a messenger to fetch a healer as well,” Em instructed him.
“Yes, my lady.” He gave her a hurried bow before heading to the barracks.
“Why do you need a healer?” Isabel clutched the edges of her sari as she fluttered down the steps. “Are you hurt?”
“I am unharmed. The Han-Auditor needs stitches.” Em turned to Quintin perched on the okapi. “Do you need help getting down?”
“I can manage.” Face tense, he swung his leg over the back of the okapi and slid to the ground.
“What is the Han-Auditor doing here? I thought the audit was over.”
“The bogbear attacked a nearby farm,” Quintin explained. Swaying slightly, he clung to the okapi’s saddle. “My waccat and I foolishly went hunting for it and didn’t realize we had crossed into Merdale lands.”
Isabel frowned. “How did—”
Em stepped over to Quintin and offered him a shoulder to lean on. “I want to get the Han-Auditor inside and settled while we wait for the healer.”
“Certainly.” Isabel flitted back up the steps ahead of them.
“I think there is something else wrong with the arm,” he told her in an undertone as they navigated the stairs. His fingers bit into her shoulder and more of his weight shifted on to her. “It hurts too much.”
“The healer will figure it out,” she assured him. “Until then, we have plenty of spirits.”
Isabel held the door open for them. “Why don’t you take him to the receiving room?”
Quintin and Em staggered into the vestibule in tandem.
Isabel slammed the door and spun to Em. “You need to go change. Now.”
“After I get Quintin settled,” Em bit out, surprised by the shift in Isabel’s demeanor.
“There’s a palanquin in the drive.” Isabel’s hands fluttered over her hair and down her sari, smoothing the fabric into place. “My parents have arrived.”
Ignoring her fussing, Em steered Quintin toward an arched doorway to one side.
“Isabel? Do you know where—” Lord Harold entered the vestibule from the courtyard and stopped. “Taric’s bones, Em, what happened to you? And what is the Han-Auditor doing here?”
Quintin straightened, dropping his arm from Em’s shoulders. “A bogbear attacked—”
“You can explain everything in the receiving room.” Isabel made frantic shooing motions. “I am about to welcome guests and I can’t do it properly with you standing here bleeding.”
Her stomach churning, Em tugged on Quintin’s good arm to lead him out of the vestibule.
“Lord Evan and I have been awaiting our repast,” Lord Harold told Isabel.
“Well, you are going to have to fetch it from the cookfire yourself or wait until my family is settled,” Isabel said, her tone as tart as an unripe plum. “Em is in no condition to serve anyone anything.”
Chapter 25
When they reached the receiving room, Quintin balked, unwilling to step on the carpet. It would be impossible to get bloodstains out of the lush wool.
Tightening her grip, Em towed him over to a pair of padded leather divans. “We can make you comfortable here.”
“Mistress Isabel is not going to want me bleeding all over the cushions.”
“Mistress Isabel should bite her tongue.” She helped him settle on one of the soft seats. “My father knows better than to turn away a Hand in need.”
He held himself stiff and straight, not daring to lean back for fear of aggravating his arm.
Elkart jumped up on the divan and pressed his head against Quintin’s leg. Rest here. Stop bleeding.
I’ll try. While the room was appointed for relaxation, with a number of floor pillows in addition to divans, the very opulence of it left Quintin ill at ease. “This is much nicer than the aestivation room you let me use.”
“It’s also closer.” She scooped a pillow off the floor and tucked it behind his back.
As she leaned over him, he caught the scent of jasmine hiding beneath the sweat and blood. Their eyes met.
She hesitated, her body canted over his.
He reached out with his air gift, desperate to know what flickered behind her serious gaze.
Her ebony eyes widened for an instant, then her face softened.
He held his breath, sure she was going to kiss him.
“You should go wash up,” Lord Harold said from the doorway.
She jerked upright. “I need to attend the auditor until the healer arrives.”
“You shouldn’t be attending anyone looking like that.” Lord Harold’s brows drew together. “What are you doing in such ridiculous garb?”
“I was hunting for my temple.” Her chin tilted up. “A sari would have been most impractical.”
Her father snorted. “You are supposed to be attending my guests, not spoiling your acolytes with extra meat.”
“I will thank Fermena until the end of my days for giving her an excuse to be out in the jungle today,” Quintin said mildly, reminding the Trilord of his presence before the pompous fool said something unforgivable.
Lord Harold stiffened, as if a brooch had poked his bottom. “Whether or not she was fulfilling the will of the gods, the fact remains she needs to go change.” He jerked his head toward the door. “Put a sari on.”
“The Han-Auditor—”
“I will attend the auditor.” Lord Harold’s wide lips flattened into a thin line. “An injured man will be better off without the kind of attentions you were giving him anyway.”
She flushed and opened her mouth.
“I would like to take your kaftan with me after the healer fixes me up,” Quintin said quickly. “I would be grateful if you’d go wash up now.”
“Take it with you?”
“My blood’s all over it, isn’t it?” He felt a little dizzy looking at the red stains on her clothes. “I would rather not leave it behind if I don’t have to.”
Taxing Courtship (The Hands of Destin Book 1) Page 19
