by Tessa Afshar
Sarah groaned at the thought of the ceaseless gatherings and the constant social activity. “I abhor the fuss. Give me the company of close friends over a large, formal affair any day.”
Having grown up as the daughter of a Jewish scribe, she still found the requirements of life for an aristocratic woman trying. It was easy to forget Darius’s privileged background when they were alone together. He offered amenable company and never pointed out her ignorance. But in public, the differences became uncomfortably obvious. His speech, manner, and every gesture marked him as a highborn lord, while she struggled to fit into a world that always felt foreign.
If only she weren’t so tired. She forced herself to her feet. Pari continued to apply her ivory needle into the padded, moss-green garment of her winter riding tunic with careful expertise. Although they were at the tail end of the season, it would be cold through the mountainous trails. Sarah made a face. She wasn’t looking forward to freezing on horseback for twelve days straight.
“Would you please organize a bath for me?” Sarah asked. A hot soak might ease her muscles, cramped from hours of sitting and squinting over detailed documents.
“Of course, my lady.” Pari set aside her needle and left to arrange Sarah’s late-night wash.
Hot steam and the scent of roses filled the bathhouse when Sarah arrived. Pari handed her a pumice stone and a perfumed scrub, and, sensing Sarah’s need for quiet, retreated to a far corner of the bathhouse. Sarah stepped into the small sunken pool, sighing with pleasure as the hot water lapped about her. Slowly, the knots of tension began to melt. It would be many days before she could enjoy this luxury again. Traveling on the back roads, far from the royal stage houses, meant hurried washing with freezing water drawn from rivers and streams—if a river was available.
Even in the summer months when bathing in a stream might prove a delightful distraction from the heat, tradition forbade it. Persians believed washing dirty linen or even the human body in a river brought pollution into creation. One was permitted to draw water for the purpose of ablution, but the Persians considered outdoor bathing an act of irreverence. Sarah closed her eyes and sank deeper, determined to derive as much enjoyment out of this bath as she could.
She finished rinsing her hair, and for a few moments allowed herself to float in the water, enjoying the sensation of doing nothing. A hand began to wash her back with a cloth. “That feels so good, Pari. Thank you.” The touch became soft. Sensual. Sarah’s eyes snapped open and she twisted her head to find her husband squatting on one knee on the tiles surrounding the sunken pool, a wicked grin making his eyes sparkle.
Sputtering, Sarah pulled away into the middle of the bath, keeping her back to him, her arms wrapped securely about her body. “What are you doing?” She sounded like one of his peacocks sporting a head cold. In all her months of marriage, he had never visited the bathhouse while she occupied it. She felt ridiculously shy about his presence. There was something vulnerable about sitting in a bath while Darius crouched above her, fully clothed, not a wave of his long hair out of place.
He shrugged as he twirled the wet washcloth. “I needed to speak with you.”
Sarah tried to regain her composure, and said with as much aplomb as she could muster, “Would you please wait until I return to my chamber?”
“It’s late already. I would prefer to speak now. Besides, this is more fun. I’ve never visited you here. An oversight on my part.”
Sarah gaped. “Where is Pari? I saw her a few moments ago.”
“I dismissed her. That poor girl appeared beyond fatigued; she was half asleep on the wet tiles.”
Caught between guilt for not noticing Pari’s need for slumber and pique at her husband’s high-handed manner, she said, “How thoughtful.”
Darius nodded, his smile widening. “Would you like to come out?”
“Yes.” Her towel, folded neatly, lay on a marble bench out of her reach. Sarah pointed to it. “May I have my towel?”
He seemed to think for a moment. “Certainly.” He made no move to fetch it. Instead, he lifted a courteous hand. “Please. Help yourself.”
Sarah lowered her lashes. He wished to play games, did he? An abrupt determination to beat her husband at his own antics brought new vigor to her sluggish mind. She knew that if Darius had noted the steely glint of resolve in the cast of her face, he would have been more prepared for a challenge. As it was, he perched behind her on the tiled floor, as innocent as an infant, thinking himself in complete control. Which suited her well.
“Upon reflection, perhaps you should come in?” Over her shoulder, she gave him an inviting smile. It was impossible to miss the sudden blaze in the forest green eyes. She lifted her own arm in a parody of his movements from a moment before. With her back to him, the gesture lost some of its blithe hilarity. But it would have to do. “Please. Help yourself.” She motioned to the water.
Darius shot up and began to take off one leather shoe, then the other, hopping in his haste.
“I think your men will appreciate the scent of roses on your hair tomorrow as we set out for Susa,” Sarah said sweetly, hiding behind her hair.
Darius went still mid-hop, one foot in the grasp of his hands. With slow movements, he straightened. Then he burst into laughter. “I concede the victory to you, my lady. I do not wish to smell like roses.” He fetched the linen towels that Pari had left behind and offered them to her.
“What did you want to discuss?” Sarah asked as she toweled her hair dry.
“Vidarna came to see me. He said you had worn yourself out working on the estate records since yesterday before dawn, and you looked exhausted. I’m sorry about that. When I asked you to help me with the management of my estates, I didn’t mean that you should work like a slave.”
Sarah experienced a pang of fond appreciation for Vidarna. She found it hard to believe that the taciturn scribe had looked at her long enough to notice how tired she was. “Please don’t concern yourself, my lord. I wanted to finish before leaving. I made my own decision.”
“Nonetheless, I can see you are weary. I came to tell you that I have delayed our departure by one day. Tomorrow, I wish you to rest.”
“There is no need! We cannot afford the extra day, Darius. It could make us late.”
“That’s not as important as you.” He reached out and grasped her hand. With a slow, deliberate pull, he drew her into his arms and cradled her. His touch was comforting, void of demand. He didn’t even seem to mind that her damp towel was leaving a wet smudge over the front of his tunic. “Not nearly as important as you,” he said again, his lips close to her ear.
His words, spoken with solemn sincerity, melted her heart. She felt protected in the folds of his embrace. Her body relaxed and she felt enveloped by a sense of peace. It occurred to her that in spite of his inward struggles, in spite of the fact that he did not fully trust her, in spite of his divided heart, her husband cherished her. He wanted to keep her safe. He wanted her happy. Because of his neglect over the past several days, she had allowed herself to sink into insecurity, and then into resentment. She had focused on his shortcomings and forgotten that he was a true gift to her.
She turned with a slight motion and kissed his neck. He went still. Sarah kissed him again, more boldly. He tangled his hand in her wet hair and turned her face toward his so that he could see her more clearly.
“You aren’t too tired?”
She shook her head and, standing on tiptoe, kissed him on the mouth, her lips shy. “I love you,” she said. It was the first time she had said the words without his prompting. The fact that he never made a similar declaration made her want to keep her own feelings hidden inside. But Darius coaxed and cajoled them out of her. Tonight, she offered up the words as a free gift. Her pride could not compare with his joy.
He drew a sharp breath at her words. “Say it again.”
“I love you.”
With an inarticulate sound, he dragged her tighter against him. For the span of a
moment he studied her, his dark lashes lowered, his expression unreadable. Then he kissed her with an explosive tenderness that dissolved the last of her reserve.
Darius snapped into full consciousness, aware that an unfamiliar noise had dragged him out of sleep. Years of military training had honed his instincts for danger so that he was already taking inventory of the surroundings before his eyes adjusted to the starlight. With relief he noted that Sarah slept undisturbed next to him, her body squeezed tight against his side in an unconscious effort to ward off the night chill.
He shifted his head to look for Arta, who had been assigned guard duty. In the firelight, he could see the man sprawled on the ground, his head slumped forward at an awkward angle. Darius’s heart pumped with an unpleasant rush as he noticed the dark liquid clinging to the side of Arta’s slack face.
Besides Arta, he had three men riding with him. One was gagged and tied. He caught the attention of the second man, Meres, who remained alert and unbound, faking sleep. Meres pointed behind him with a subtle rising of his brow.
Following his signal, Darius noted that there were four intruders busy with gagging and tying the remaining member of his company. Five, he amended, taking in the massive shoulders of a leather-bound man skulking toward him, holding a wide short sword. Darius grasped his knife, the only weapon he had kept strapped against his thigh when he had fallen into his pallet last night after an exhausting journey through treacherous slopes.
The wide-shouldered man stood over him now. Filled with the peculiar calm that often came to him in the heat of battle, Darius realized that the man held his sword at a curious angle, like a club. He wasn’t intent on killing him so much as subduing him, then.
With a lightning-quick movement, Darius swept his leg, catching his attacker in the ankles. Surprised, the man lost his balance for a moment. Darius rolled to his feet, and, taking advantage of his opponent’s unsteadiness, kicked him hard in the groin. The man dropped his sword and doubled over, in too much agony to cry out.
Darius grabbed the discarded sword and hit the man on the back of the head with the dense, bronze handle. With a grunt he fell over, unconscious.
“Consider it a favor,” Darius said, knowing from old experience that his attacker wouldn’t want to be awake through that pain.
“Darius?” Sarah was kneeling on her pallet, her eyes wide with shock. Darius swallowed hard. When he had consented to having her join him on their trip, he had not expected anything more dangerous than their daily rides, which, upon occasion, brought them to high mountain passes. The thought of what might happen to her in the midst of a melee made his gut twist into a tight knot.
He forced his voice to sound calm. “Hide behind that rock. Don’t move unless I call!”
She didn’t stir. “Hurry,” he whispered, a sharp bite underlying the command. To his relief, she obeyed.
The rest of their unknown attackers were now aware that he was not asleep and could no longer be taken by surprise. He saw Meres engaging two men while the other two headed in his direction. Darius frowned, perplexed by the fact that they seemed unarmed except for a long, skinny stick which one of them held casually in one hand. He used the moments he had before they reached him to try to cut one of his men, Sama, loose from his bonds. He had time to cut the ties about Sama’s wrists and grab a shield before his two opponents were almost upon him.
Darius turned, taking note of small details that might give him an advantage in the unequal fight. In a corner of his mind he became aware that the grass felt cool and damp beneath his bare feet and the air crisp in his chest. To his astonishment, he saw that only one man approached him, his gait slow. The pale light of the fire could not hide the fact that even though he was of slim build—shorter and thinner than Darius—his compact body displayed an impressive array of hard muscles. The man’s companion held back, in no haste to come to his aid. They certainly did not seem to expect much trouble from their prey, Darius thought.
Unsure of how the man intended to use such a thin reed of a staff in a fight, Darius flexed his sharp knife in one hand, considering. He stepped forward into a well-practiced stance, and put his weight behind the knife as he lunged at the man. To his surprise the man did not veer either to left or right, but in the last moment, stretched out an arm, and with what felt like a soft touch, pushed against Darius’s wrist in an arc. Darius found his knife hand travelling wide off the mark, his own strength being used against him.
He regained his balance and turned to face his opponent again. The white staff suddenly whirled in the air, sounding more like a whip than a wooden stick. Darius pulled his shield in front of his face just in time to catch its downward strike. Amazingly, the wood did not splinter as it came into contact with Darius’s thick wicker-and-leather shield. Instead, it bent and found its way around the shield, whipping the side of Darius’s face with a painful strike. He put a hand to his stinging face; it came away bloody. He had never experienced anything like it in battle before.
Darius gripped his knife harder. The man had taken a strange pose, his knees bent, one arm forward, his palm flat, the other fisted around the staff and pulled back. Darius rushed at him, intending to use the weight of his core body to wrestle the man to the ground. Before he had the opportunity, however, his opponent uncoiled with tremendous speed and brought down the edge of his hand diagonally against the side of Darius’s neck. The blow bore down on Darius with the force of metal instead of mere flesh and blood. He knew he would have lost consciousness if his neck muscles were not so strong. Darius resisted the dizziness that enveloped him, swallowing hard to overcome the urge to vomit.
With a growl, he threw aside the shield and rushed at his attacker, hoping to surprise him with an unexpected counterattack. The man grabbed Darius just above the elbow and pressed. It was as if a string had been pulled from his elbow all the way down into his fingers; Darius lost his grasp on the knife, his fingers nerveless.
He managed to break contact and took up a defensive stance, but realized that he was losing control of the fight. It was clear that his opponent was proficient in a form of combat hitherto unknown to Darius. With sudden speed, the man rushed toward him and flew high in the air as if he had grown a set of wings, landing a forceful kick straight into Darius’s solar plexus. It felt like being hit by a tree trunk. Darius collapsed, unable to breathe.
Time slowed. As the world came to a standstill, he remained aware that everything was happening much faster than it seemed. From the side of his eye he saw his opponent’s companion standing to the side, his arms crossed, a relaxed grin on his face as he watched, secure in the knowledge of his opponent’s extraordinary ability in battle. Without warning, the man’s grin wavered and his eyes rolled back before he slid to the ground with a noisy crash. Sama stood behind him, holding a fat rock in his hand.
Darius’s opponent grew distracted for a moment by the noise of his companion dropping to the ground. It was the opening Darius needed. The thought of what this man could do to his wife should he lose gave Darius the strength to get back on his feet, ignoring the fire in his ribs. Taking advantage of his opponent’s slack-jawed surprise, he landed his elbow into the man’s belly and knocked him in the side of the head with a double-handed punch. The man staggered to one side. Darius swept a kick against his knees in the opposite direction and his opponent toppled. On the ground, he could not use the staff. Sama joined the melee, and between the two of them they finally subdued the adversary. He lay unconscious, a trickle of blood falling from his fast swelling lip.
They rushed to help Meres; Darius experienced a rush of relief when he realized that although the others in the gang of attackers were skilled fighters, they were nowhere near as extraordinary as the man whom he had faced. Within minutes, Meres’s two challengers were quashed and tied with severe knots that held them helpless against one another. The other three men in the gang, now in various stages of unconsciousness, were restrained in similar fashion.
He had barely fini
shed tying up the last man when Sarah ran to his side. “Are you all right?” She couldn’t manage to hide a small quiver in her voice.
“You were supposed to wait until I called you.” He tried to sound stern, but heard relief drown out every other emotion in his words.
“Pardon, my lord. In all the excitement, I forgot.”
Barefoot as she was now, the top of her head came to his chest. Her hair, wild from sleep and her haphazard run, tangled about her face. The full mouth, trembling with fear only moments ago, now grew flat into a stubborn line as she tried to regain her composure. If not for the carefully averted gaze of his men and the deep bruise at his side, he would have clasped her to him and kissed her—to reassure her or himself, he could not be certain.
“You took a few hard hits,” she said, trying to sound casual. “Anything broken?”
It occurred to him that for a woman unused to battle and bloodshed, she was acting with admirable self-possession. No tears. No hysterics. No embarrassing scene before his men. He knew that self-control came at a high cost, and appreciated it all the more. “I may have a few cracked ribs,” he said, keeping his voice light.
“And your cheek is bleeding. It will probably scar. Too bad. You won’t be as good looking as Meres anymore.”
Darius swallowed a smile, enchanted by her indomitable humor. “Saucy wench. You’d better attend me, then. Or will you faint at the sight of a little blood?”
He would have laughed at her offended expression if the moan of one of the captives hadn’t forced him back to the present situation.
“Search them,” Darius said through gritted teeth as Sarah bound his ribs with bandage. “Strip them naked if you have to. I want to know who they are and why they attacked us.”
Arta, who had regained consciousness and sat nursing a prodigious headache, growled. “Thieves and rascals—that’s who they are. Looking for our silver, no doubt.”
