by C A Nicks
“I’m not a child, Fabian. Of course I understand. It’s you who’s not getting it.”
“In what way?” Her words cut him in a way he’d never experienced. He’d counted on her undying loyalty to his cause and now he saw others with equal claim. Was love so easily lost?
“Think,” she said. “Who stands to gain from you becoming warlord? Who has the incentive to light the touch-paper and get things happening?”
He stood, one eye on Tig, one on the door where no-doubt Hal was hovering and listening.
“Hal. Have I not already explained that? Or one of his men. A turncoat is a valuable asset to those in power. The reward would be worth the treachery.”
Shoving a lock of her pale hair out of her eyes, she said, “And who else knew what you were planning?”
“The madjina? No. It would mean exposing herself. Putting herself in danger.”
“That nice little old lady is in no danger.”
“It wasn’t her. I took her home myself. Tig, are you coming?” Hal had stepped in unnoticed. More worryingly, Tig made no comment at the violation of her sanctuary.
Fabian put himself between Tig and the man who seemed so determined to take her away from him. Desperation shone from the man’s eyes. For his captured wife or his lust for Tig?
“Stay back, Hal. This is between me and Tig.”
So many unanswered question had crowded his mind since arriving in this strange world. Questions that could only be answered by experience. How hard would he fight to keep Tig safe?
With his last dying breath.
If he locked her in the bedroom for her own safety, would she ever speak to him again? Even now she was edging from the chair, ready to defy him.
“Hal,” she said. “Please wait outside. I need to talk to Fabian.”
“Call if you need me.” Mercifully, the man went without protest. Perhaps sensing that Tig had some ace card up her sleeve.
Fabian almost found himself smiling through the grimness of unfolding events.
Those large pleading eyes of hers. The gentle hand on his arm. The love she gifted him, which he wanted so desperately to hold on to. And the painful fact that he had no claim to her and had promised her little in return for her mercy. As husband he could order her. As lover, without benefit of legal bond, he acknowledged her right to act selfishly if she so wished.
“I will be there for you, I promise,” she said. “The thought of you waiting for me will make me careful and bring me back to you. My friend needs me. Thank you for letting me go.”
“I’m coming, too.” Suddenly, he was lost with no idea of what to say or do. Did love mean watching without protest while the holder of your heart walked into danger? How could that be right when he had the means to stop it?
“I know this is confusing for you, Fabian. My wanting to help Sunas doesn’t mean I love or care for you less. If the roles were reversed, I would expect you to do the same. You need to stay hidden. Coming with me would increase my chances of discovery. If anything does happen to me, I need to know you’re out here, and will come for me.”
Logical words that put fear in his heart. Apparently love also involved large amounts of terror. Terror that could disable if not controlled and channelled.
“Pack some supplies and take Cafino and the dogs over to the Gerrely’s place. Hole up there until I return. When I find out where they’re keeping Sunas, we’ll work on a rescue plan.”
“I will remain here. To defend the farm if they come.”
Tig’s mouth opened and then closed again. Her lips tightened and she gave him the briefest of nods. Whether he was making a point, or not, this worked both ways. His vanity would not allow him to be ordered by her or any woman.
“Go, before I change my mind and tie you to the bed.”
“And you be careful, you stubborn man.” Her lips touched his, a light kiss that turned hard and desperate in the blink of an eye. “Hole up in the rafters of the barn, behind the false wall and only reveal yourself if you can take them all. At least promise me that.”
“Me, stubborn?” Enclosed in his arms, she was safe. Would that he could keep her there forever. “You give new meaning to that word. Come back to me. That is all I ask.”
“I will, don’t you worry.”
There, she asked the impossible. Love walked hand in hand with worry, no denying that. The bliss of closeness balanced by the pain of separation. How did they stand it?
When she reappeared, he would not have recognised her had she been some random woman in a throng of many. A loose tunic hung to her thighs, the hood covering her head and hair, falling over her eyes and casting her face in shadow. A full skirt of the same drab brown skimmed her ankles. A long woollen shawl draped over her shoulders. On her feet, she wore her work boots, which strangely matched the shapeless outfit. When she rooted in the dresser drawer and produced a pair of metal-rimmed eye-glasses to perch on the end of her nose, the transformation was complete.
“I underestimated you.” Grudging though it was, he would give praise where due. Hopefully, she would blend sufficiently with the other camp women to complete her mission without raising suspicion.
Hopefully.
“Do I look plain enough?” Opening her arms, she stood for inspection.
“I would not know you.”
“I’ll take the small knife. Can you do without it? Looking like this, I’ll only get a cursory weapons search.”
Pulling up her skirts, she revealed the lacy garter, high on her thigh. So at odds with the sensible woollen stockings that a bolt of completely inappropriate lust tightened his groin.
“Not very practical, but the only place I can hide it.”
“Let me.” Before taking up the knife, he closed the door to shut out Hal’s prying eyes. Too sharp to wear unsheathed, he left the blade, enclosed in protective leather and weighed it in his hand. If called upon, Tig would use it without question. Still, she would be no match for the strength of Warrington’s army. He thought again about tying her to the bed, while she waited, skirt hiked on one side to reveal a strip of pale thigh, nestling between the dark stocking top and the hint of white underwear. She belonged in his bed, and he would tear the head off anyone who would dare dispute that.
Like the first time they met and he’d made her change in the rain, she presented an effortlessly sensual picture without realising it. Or did she? The moment allowed nothing more than a brief grazing of his fingers over her smooth flesh as he slid the sheath inside her stocking, securing it under the garter.
“Come back to me,” he whispered. “I need you.”
“I need you, too.” The skirt dropped. Prim Tig returned. A Tig who would walk into the enemy camp to save her friend. If she would do that for Sunas, what wouldn’t she do for him? On that score he had no need of worry.
The thought humbled him. He was a lucky man.
* * * *
Despite the amnesty only a few of Carson’s wives had elected to stay in the camp. And those would be now sharing Warrington’s bed as a matter of course. Little had changed since Tig's last visit. A new row of cabins on the edge where fertile land merged into scrubby terrain, higher-class weapons on the backs of Warrington’s favoured, and uglier bodyguards standing at the door to the warlord’s longhouse. Someone had planted flowers in the small patch of garden outside the harem, which also had a guard at its door. Warrington had never been one to let his women stray.
A wagon laden with spring cabbages trundled by. A percentage to the warlord in return for his protection, the rest to be sold in the market-place at the centre of the camp. Tig followed the cart with the small crowd making their way to stalls, hood pulled down to shade her face, the reassuring press of the knife against her thigh.
Please don’t let it fall out. She offered a silent prayer, thanking god that she’d been able to sneak into the camp with a group of women returning from the river bearing baskets of washing. Now all she had to do was find out where they were keeping Sunas a
nd get out of there.
Poor woman would be in agony and at real risk of infection. Would Warrington have her in the longhouse? Springing her from there would be impossible without an all out attack. She sneaked a glimpse of the tattooed guards standing at the front entrance, legs apart, guns at the ready, eyes trained on the crowd. Warlords ruled through fear and their hold on power was tenuous at best. Always someone waiting in the wings to take their place.
“Tig, is that you?” The voice came from somewhere on the edge of the crowd. A dark-haired woman of middle years approached, her face lit by a beaming smile. “It is you. How have you been, my dear?”
“Calina?” Tig kept her voice low, forcing her lips into a matching smile. A prostitute by trade, Calina had been a good friend when she’d lived in camp. Could she still be trusted? Allegiances always shifted with a new warlord. Tig had no idea of the new order.
“Here doing a reccy for a market stall,” she said, thinking on her feet. “Got some good stock to sell. New line in story-plates, too.”
“You’ve heard about Carson, then?” Calina whispered the name, which would have become taboo since his death. “It wasn’t well done, Tig. Not even a formal challenge. Just a stupid argument about weapon’s rights, Warrington pulled a knife and got him straight in the heart. He’s nice that way.”
Tig didn’t miss the bitterness in Calina’s voice. Life under Warrington would be no stroll in the meadow.
“How awful.” No need to feign her disgust. The only rules Warrington lived by were his own.
“Tig, cover your face.” Calina moved to stand in front of her, blocking her from the half dozen warriors who strode through the crowd without caring who they jostled or knocked clean off their feet. “Look at them,” she said with disdain. “Drugged out of their heads and looking for women they don’t have to pay for, cheap bastards. Have you time for a coffee? You shouldn’t be on the street while they’re around.”
One of the warriors plucked a teen from the crowd, dragging her by the arm, oblivious to the shouts from her outraged mother.
“You want to come, too?” he taunted. And then when the mother threatened to go straight to Warrington there and then, his face soured and he shoved the young girl back at the crowd. “Too skinny anyway,” he said and lurched after his colleagues.
“Lucky girl,” Calina murmured. Her mother’s a seamstress. Sews for Warrington so had a bit of muscle. But that’s how it is around here now. What do you want to come back here for?”
“I told you. Market stall.” The teen let out a string of curses and then picked up a handful of dirt and threw it at the retreating warriors. Good for you, Tig thought. Carson at least kept his men in order.
“Dressed like that? Come on, I don’t have a client until sundown so we have lots of time. Whatever you need, I’ll help you. You can count on me.”
No choice but to go. And what harm in enquiring after an old friend? Most everyone would know by now that Hal had jumped ship. That Sunas had been brought in. Had the poor woman been manacled to the public post as an example of what happened to those who crossed the line?
No one else paid them heed on the short trip to Calina’s cabin. A cut above most of the others; prostitution had been a lucrative trade under Carson. Not so any more, apparently.
Seated on Calina’s red cushion-covered lounger, in her red sitting room, Tig remembered other times, when she’d stroll across camp for a gossip and a laugh. Didn’t do much of either of those these days. Long time since she’d tasted coffee, too. A basic life like hers didn’t allow for luxuries.
“You heard about Sunas?” An expert at people-watching was Calina. Outwardly casual, she would be scrutinising every gesture, every facial expression.
“Been busy. Haven’t left the farm in months.” Tig took a sip of the strong, black brew. Removed the eye-glasses and slipped them into her pocket. “Nothing’s happened to her, has it?”
“They brought her in late last night. Just about woke up the whole camp. That is why you’re here, isn’t it?”
“Here for a market stall. But poor Sunas. Why bring her in?”
Calina nodded, acknowledging her need to maintain a show of ignorance. Better they talk in code. Never knew who was listening.
“Well, since Hal’s not turned up to claim her, got to be something brewing with him.”
“Don’t you know?”
“Just putting two and two together. You want more coffee?”
Tig nodded absently, distracted for a moment by the neat stack of condom pouches on the sideboard. Tools of Calina’s trade. Would she notice if one went missing?
Without a doubt. Those things were expensive. She nodded a little more enthusiastically. “Haven’t tasted coffee in forever, I’d love another cup.”
“And then perhaps you’ll tell me what’s really going on? One friend to another? Whispers of a challenge brewing already, rumours flying all over. Hal isn’t thinking of taking on Warrington, is he? Man’s a slime-ball, but I figured him to be smarter than that. Do I need to leave camp? You would tell me, wouldn’t you? I want to get out before a lockdown.”
A stab of guilt at the concern in Calina’s voice. Lockdown turned supporters into hostages. Wouldn’t be beyond Warrington to have ordered a massacre in the event of his untimely demise. A great way to ensure ongoing support.
If Fabian won his challenge everyone was safe until he decided to disappear into some vortex, leaving anarchy behind him.
“Don’t know why you stay here.” The best Tig could do without compromising Fabian or herself. Much as she liked Calina, he would always come first. “Thinking of moving into town myself. Opportunities growing there by the day. Even heard talk of democratic elections.”
Calina snorted, dark eyes lit by a cynical gleam. “Yeah and Cafino will sprout wings and fly. You still got that old hoofer?”
“Old but reliable hoofer. Think about leaving. You can always come back if town isn’t to your liking.”
“Yes. Let me get you that coffee.”
Keeping still, knowing Sunas would be terrified as well as in pain was nigh on impossible. And Fabian? Would he be hiding as instructed? Not very likely and not only because he refused to be ordered by a woman. Things were moving and he with them. Tig’s heart thumped uncomfortably at the thought. Being here in camp, remembering how it was, brought home to her that after all the talk it was finally happening.
“Tig? Your coffee.” She leaned closer, engulfing Tig with the scent of her exotic perfume. “There’s a guest in the longhouse who isn’t seeing visitors. As of this morning food was prepared. Slop buckets emptied. Do you get my meaning?”
“Yes, and thank you. I can’t just leave her,” Tig whispered back, a knot of dread forming in her stomach. She’d hoped for the cell-block. Springing Sunas from the longhouse would turn a leadership challenge into a declaration of war.
“Stay out of it, Tig. Accept that she’s lost and get as far away as possible. Walk and keep walking and don’t look back. Only way to survive.”
Survive? So basic. So desperate-sounding. Is that what they’d all been reduced to?
The sound of movement outside the window. Laughter, the squeak of rusty wagon wheels turning.
Better not to burden Calina with any more. Tig gulped the coffee, wanting suddenly to be as far away as possible. Nothing she could do on her own, but at least now she knew where they were keeping her friend. And that as of this morning she still lived.
Now all she had to do was sneak out of camp without drawing attention to herself and find Hal at the pick-up point. Then get back to Fabian and figure out how to wriggle out of this mess with their hides intact. Gently, she fingered the knife caressing her thigh. No qualms about using it, but please don’t let it come to that, she prayed.
Dear god, let us all survive this and I’ll make the tattoo permanent, she vowed. Fabian can go home. I’ll let him go gladly, as long as he’s alive. Just let us get through this.
At the door, Ca
lina pressed a tiny sack into her hand. “Coffee beans,” she said. “A gift from one friend to another. A friend you can always rely on, Tig.”
A brief hug and Tig was walking away, hood pulled down over her face, wrapped in her shawl. Blending with the drab crowd and trying her best not to stare as she walked past the longhouse with its wooden fence and row of windows behind which her good friend suffered and feared for her life.
A life Warrington would take without regret as he would everyone who opposed him. When would the bloody cycle ever end?
When someone strong enough had the courage to stand up and say no more. Someone who could unite and rule with fairness and compassion. One day, she thought. One day.
One of the guards raised his long shotgun and let go a volley into the air, just because he could. A few women shrieked and ran for cover. Most people simply put down their heads, braced themselves and ploughed on with their lives.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Tig slipped behind one of the larger stalls and then slid down the slope leading to the river. From there it was a quick dash to the trees and then a five league walk to the rendezvous point. Hal’s fear had seemed genuine and a frightened man did stupid things. Wouldn’t put it past him to abandon them all and turn his coat again. Warrington might forgive if he handed Fabian over before a formal challenge.
The next few days would tell. Dirty and starving, she trudged towards Hal’s wagon, parked in a small copse of thorn-trees and realised that her idyll with Fabian had come to an end. She thought she’d worried about him before? A picnic in the meadow compared to what lay ahead.
Chapter 19
Fabian had walked from the barn to greet the approaching wagon before realising the size and shape were all wrong and the middle-aged man jumping down was a stranger.
Black pants and jacket over a plain white shirt. A black broad-brimmed hat on his head, the man did not dress nor have the demeanour of a warrior. He stopped to retrieve a book from the back of the wagon and then started in surprise when Fabian appeared in the barn door. Although, it seemed, not because Fabian was a stranger.
