by Phoebe Conn
Chapter Three
Oriana rode Duncan’s huge beast of a horse for the remainder of the afternoon. Unlike Raven, who possessed a smooth dancing step, the brown gelding swayed from side to side in an exceedingly awkward gait. Oriana gripped the reins so tightly that her hands began to ache, and she feared after riding for so long that she would be sore from her waist to her knees on the morrow.
Without Egan’s firm shoulders at her back, she soon grew weary and oddly bereft, although she considered it ridiculous to miss a man she had known less than a day. And yet she could still feel his disquieting presence from where he rode ten paces behind her. She could feel his deep scowl without turning to observe his expression.
Egan’s mood was of slight consequence, however, when danger still surrounded him with a thick, ugly shadow that deepened as they traveled toward his home. Someone was dead, someone Egan held dear, but Oriana felt none of the poignant sorrow she associated with a woman’s demise. She heard only a faint whisper rather than the clear voice of the knowing, but she sensed it was a powerful man whose death had sent tremors of agony throughout his family. Egan might have ridiculed her prophecy, but she shuddered to imagine how terrible his grief would be when it proved true.
Lost in thought, Egan rode farther than he had intended before urging Raven into a trot to overtake Oriana’s plodding mount. “Follow me into the woods,” he ordered, and after easily herding her horse off the trail, he rode ahead.
Selecting a secluded spot above a rapidly running stream, Egan dismounted, released the tent and his gear from the ties behind his saddle, and tossed them to the mossy ground. The saddle quickly followed.
Without a glance toward Oriana, Egan surveyed the small clearing, chose a low limb of a gnarled oak, and unfurled the tent over it. He then slipped his bow and quiver off his shoulder, unbuckled his sword, and placed his weapons high in the tree. He pulled his tunic over his head and, carrying it over his shoulder, led Raven down to the stream.
Oriana had avoided looking down ever since Egan had shoved her into Duncan’s horse’s saddle. Now rudely abandoned rather than graciously assisted to dismount, she hazarded a peek toward the ground, gasped at how very far away it seemed, and shut her eyes tightly. Certain she would break her neck in the fall should she dismount on her own, she had no choice but to remain astride the great brute of a horse.
The big gelding tossed his head, jerking the reins from Oriana’s grasp, and nibbled at the lush grass underfoot while she was left to struggle with her own gnawing hunger. Hot tears of frustration had begun to roll down her cheeks before Egan finally returned from the stream where he had left Raven to graze.
“Oriana,” he called as he approached her. “Are you ill?”
Oriana stared at him coldly. His dark hair was wet and dripping glossy trails down his bare chest, but that he would speak to her half clothed only increased her anger.
“I’m surprised you finally found the manners to ask, my lord, but the answer is no. I’m so desperately tired I don’t trust my legs to hold me should I somehow find the courage to leap from this horrible beast’s back.”
Egan had expected to find Oriana seated in front of her tent brushing the dust of the trail from her long curls and cursing him for one imagined slight or another. Because he knew her to be far from helpless, he had to laugh at her near hysterical description of her predicament.
“Forgive me, my lady, but you made what you thought of me so plain that I doubted you would appreciate my attentions.”
He did not make her beg, however, but instead reached up to grasp her narrow waist and with a smooth pivot deposited her on the grass. When she wobbled as though she might truly fall, he scooped her up in his arms.
Oriana kept a grip on her bag rather than loop her arms around Egan’s neck, but she still felt the smooth warmth of his golden skin. She had never been in a man’s arms, but she was far too distraught to appreciate how gently Egan held her. He carried her with ease to her tent, placed her gingerly on her feet, and she quickly grabbed hold of the low limb to remain standing.
“Thank you,” she murmured through clenched teeth. “Now I do hope the provisions you mentioned will be better than the rest of this awful day.”
“Had I known you were hungry, I would have stopped much sooner,” Egan assured her, but indeed, it had not even occurred to him that she might not have eaten earlier in the day. “I’m accustomed to traveling alone, but I didn’t mean to neglect you. Tomorrow, please speak up when you wish to stop and rest or eat.”
Oriana could not fault the courtesy of his words, but his expression held more of a dare than a concession to her comfort. He was a proud man, and perhaps justly so, but she had her own pride as well. Her skin felt gritty, her clothing reeked of horse sweat, and she longed for the coolness of the stream. While Egan’s confidence apparently never failed him, she feared she looked far from her best and shrank away from him.
“Thank you, my lord,” she responded, mocking the insincerity of his tone. Turning away, she drew in a deep breath, and while weaving slightly, walked toward the water with an admirably even step. She glanced back only once, and found Egan sorting through his belongings for what she hoped would be the makings of a delicious meal.
She moved upstream to bathe, and after dressing in a clean linen chemise and gown, washed the wrinkled garments she had donned that morning. She cared little for clothes, and reclusive by nature, required only a few changes rather than the many pretty gowns wealthy maidens wore to impress their suitors.
Following Egan’s example, she spread her wet clothes to dry upon the shrubbery crowding the stream, and, driven by hunger, returned to him. She was relieved to see that he was now wearing a clean tunic and grateful he had unsaddled her mount, as she had completely forgotten the animal. But as she set her bag by the opening of her tent, she was disappointed to find he had provided only bread, carrots, and cheese.
Correctly reading her glance, Egan poked a long branch into the fire he’d coaxed to life, then picked up his fishing line. “This is a poor time to fish, but I’ll catch us some. Mind the fire while I’m gone.”
“Aye, I’ll give it a stick or two,” Oriana promised, and the instant his back was turned, she tore a hunk of bread from the small loaf. It had been baked that morning and was still soft in the center. She used her own knife to slice off a hunk of cheese, and then was content to rest until the fire needed tending.
All too soon she had to struggle to her feet, and then wander in ever-widening circles to gather fallen branches. Though she was concerned wolves might be lurking in the woods, she was more worried about getting lost, and kept a watchful eye on their small camp.
She knew every hill and stream, all the footpaths through the forests farther south, and never lost her way there, but Egan had taken her into unfamiliar territory. She rejoiced in the tranquillity of the woods after a harrowing day, but sunset brought a cool breeze and inspired the necessary industry to keep the fire burning bright.
The gathering dusk had deepened to a soft purple haze before Egan reappeared, but he was carrying three good-sized fish, and Oriana greeted him warmly. “You appear to be an excellent fisherman at any hour, and those shouldn’t take long to cook.”
Rather than move toward the fire, Egan stood back and left his catch dangling from his line. “Who fishes for you, Oriana? Who hunts to provide game for your table? Is it some lovesick man or boy, or do the gods come with the rising moon and leave delectable meals on your doorstep?”
He was taunting her again, and Oriana moved to place the crackling fire between them. “It’s foolish to laugh at me, Egan, for you’ll have great need of me once we reach your home. Or perhaps you’re as sorry as I am that we ever struck a bargain. If so, I’ll gladly leave you now, and you’ll be able to return home without the bother of my annoying company.”
“Oh, no,” Egan chided. “With things as dire as you predict, I dare not let you go.” He took a step toward her, and when she again s
hied away from him, he doubted being ridiculed was her real worry. Such fearful innocence in a beautiful woman was amusing when it was so unnecessary, and turning his attention to the fish, he knelt to remove them from his line.
“You are lovely, Oriana, but I have more than my share of willing women and won’t force myself on you. I’d be a poor champion if I did, now, wouldn’t I?”
Oriana was surprised by what struck her as a bizarre change of subject, but she would not encourage Egan by denying his ludicrous assumption. She already thought him a poor champion, but despite her offer, she was too sore and tired to leave him that night. She watched him fashion a rack from green branches, and when he placed it over the fire and lay the fish across it, it occurred to her that he frequently cooked his own meals.
“You travel often,” Oriana mused aloud.
“Aye, that I do,” Egan replied, and he slowly wound his fishing line around his fingers.
He was avoiding her glance, which was so unlike him, Oriana became very curious. “Why? Are you merely seeking adventure, or driven to escape a vexing situation at home?”
Oriana had Egan’s full attention now, and the fire clearly illuminated the disgusted downward curve of his mouth. “The last time I left home, it was to find you.”
“No,” she replied softly. “Finding me was a convenient excuse. You wanted to leave. Nay, needed to get away. Why?”
Oriana’s bright curls caught the fire’s flickering light, but what Egan saw was her own seductive glow. He reminded himself that she claimed to know the future rather than the past, but he could not shake the horrible sensation that she understood more than he would ever want to reveal.
“Why?” he repeated hoarsely.
“Yes, why? It’s now your turn to entertain me, Egan. Tell me about your parents and your childhood. Did you foster with another wealthy family? Have you handsome brothers and perhaps several pretty sisters with your dark hair and blue eyes?”
The scent of burning fish prompted Egan to stoop and turn their supper, but the mention of family had taken the edge off his appetite. He rose but kept his attention focused on the fire. “My story is not nearly as engaging as yours, Oriana.”
“I’m still eager to hear it,” she replied.
Egan nodded reluctantly, but he waited until the fish were cooked and he and Oriana were seated to eat before he began. Even then, he parceled out his tale between lengthy pauses as they sampled their simple fare.
“My mother fell to her death when I was small. My father mourned her loss deeply, but was eventually enticed from his grief by a beautiful young girl named Ula.
“They wed and had a son, but while Kieran and I are related by blood, we’ve never been brothers. Ula intended for me to foster with her family, but I refused, and my father lacked the heart to make me go.
“The Druid I mentioned, Albyn, he and I spent our youth hunting, raising falcons, and racing horses. Then he was drawn to the Druid’s life and left to seek their knowledge. Since then, I’ve traveled often, but on my own.”
Despite her hunger, Oriana listened attentively with an ear to the emotion underlying Egan’s words. Clearly he was his father’s son, but he held no trace of affection for his stepmother or half brother. She could readily imagine him as a handsome youth violently opposing any suggestion Ula made. Now he apparently avoided conflict by frequent travel. The thought that he must miss his father as greatly as she missed her mother filled her with sorrow.
“Then you’ve grown up as alone as I,” Oriana murmured thoughtfully, surprised to find they shared an unexpected kinship.
Egan watched Oriana cut a slice each of bread and cheese, and wondered how she could draw any comparison between them. “At least I know my father,” he remarked, and then instantly regretted being so unkind.
While hurt, Oriana pretended a rapt fascination with her last bite of fish rather than meet Egan’s gaze. “I’ll not argue with you, but simply remind you of my warning.”
Finished with his meal, Egan brushed the last crumbs from his hands. “I’ve not forgotten. You believe I’m in some terrible danger and that the lives of my loved ones are at risk.”
“Indeed,” Oriana whispered, understanding now that his father was the only person who could be described as such. “But there’s more.”
Egan rested his arms on his knees and leaned toward her. “More terrible danger? You saw how easily I defeated Duncan, and few men could give me a tougher battle.”
He had a remarkably expressive face, but Oriana’s glance lingered on his eyes. “Someone is dead. A man, I believe, and I fear it’s your father.”
The shock of her words registered immediately, and, horrified, Egan leaped to his feet and began to back away. “My father is still a young man and as strong as a bull. Your prophecy is wrong this time, Oriana, very wrong.”
Oriana let him stalk off into the night without comment, but her confidence in the knowing remained unshaken. However, now she understood the terror that prevented Egan from believing.
After a deep, dreamless sleep, the next morning Oriana awoke with a start and found a still sleeping Egan snuggled against her. He had not returned to their camp before she had fallen asleep, but she certainly did not recall inviting him to share her tent while they’d eaten supper. He obviously thought an invitation unnecessary, but a quick jab of her elbow served to disabuse him of the idea.
It wasn’t until Egan propped himself up on his elbow and raked his hair out of his eyes that the width of his grin made her realize the gravity of her error—it was now too late for her to slip out of the tent unnoticed.
“Yes, mistress?” Egan asked. Before she could respond, he used his free hand to pull her closer to his chest and leaned down to place a light kiss on her forehead. “May I be of some service?”
Oriana had never shared a bed with anyone other than her mother, and Egan was fast coiling himself around her, trapping her in his muscular arms, which was the very last place she wished to be. “You presume too much, my lord,” she stated accusingly, “and I’ll thank you to stay away from my tent from now on.”
“Very well. I’ve no real interest in your tent,” Egan assured her with a deep chuckle.
“And me as well,” Oriana quickly demanded.
“Well, now, that is another matter entirely, my lady.” Egan was accustomed to young ladies who enjoyed a playful jest, and he thoroughly enjoyed teasing Oriana, but her hardy distaste was impossible to mistake, so he regretfully released her.
Egan sat up and stretched his arms. “I shouldn’t have become angry with you last night. I meant to apologize, but you were already asleep, and I saw no reason to sleep out in the cold when you have this fine tent. Perhaps someone really has died, my stepmother or cursed half brother, but it can’t possibly be my father. He was in robust good health when I left home, and I haven’t been away long enough for such a strong man to grow frail.”
That Egan was distracted enough to release her was all Oriana craved, and she left the loosely draped tent at a quick crawl. Once outside, she pulled her chemise into place and grabbed the gown she had left folded atop her bag. She yanked it over her head and smoothed it over her hips with an anxious pat.
“Think whatever you like,” she said, “but we must be on our way.” She slid her feet into her shoes, but her first step toward the stream brought the agonizing burst of pain she had feared. Muscles she had not even known she possessed screamed with the effort to walk, and she lurched into the limb supporting her tent and hung on.
Egan left the tent in time to observe the unsteadiness of Oriana’s step. “You’re unaccustomed to riding, aren’t you?”
Oriana’s sleep-tousled curls bobbed as she nodded. “I don’t think I can ride again today,” she moaned. “Just go on without me, and I’ll follow the road back the way we came to return home.”
Egan circled the ancient oak to face her. “No, I think not. If you ride seated across my lap you’ll be comfortable enough, and Duncan’s horse ca
n carry our gear.”
Despite the shadow of his beard, Egan looked remarkably refreshed, while Oriana ached all over. The prospect of riding with him again wasn’t at all unpleasant, but she doubted it would be wise, as he used any excuse to hug and kiss her. He undoubtedly showed all young women the same easy affection, and although she was loath to accept it, she still wished it had been inspired by true regard rather than mere habit.
“I went to the fair simply to earn enough silver to purchase a new winter cloak,” she blurted out. “I didn’t long for an adventure.”
As expected, Egan stepped close and slid his arm around her shoulders in a comforting hug. “Perhaps you should have told your own fortune.”
“The gods won’t allow me to see my own future, but it doesn’t mean I can’t see yours.” Although she certainly wished she could discern more than menacing shadows and the uncomfortable presence of death.
“How much longer will it take us to reach your home?” she asked anxiously.
Egan shrugged and released her. “Two, maybe three days. It depends on how fast a pace we set.”
Oriana glanced over her shoulder to search for the horses and found they had not wandered far during the night. “How fast a pace can we set if we both ride Raven?”
The pain was too bright in her golden eyes for Egan to suggest otherwise. “You’re very slender, Oriana. I doubt Raven will even be aware of your weight. Now, can you walk to the stream on your own or shall I carry you?”
“No, thank you. I believe I should make the effort to walk there on my own.” Oriana clung to the branch to gather her resolve.
Egan had never met such a single-minded young woman, and disappointed his efforts at distracting her from her dreary predictions had again proven futile, he left to gather firewood to cook the fish he would catch for their breakfast.
It was a fine morning for travel, but he refused to be influenced by Oriana’s sense of urgency. Instead he allowed himself to dwell on how good she would feel in his arms rather than what he might find when he arrived home.
