VirtualHeaven

by Ann Lawrence

  Maggie’s heart seemed to stop beating as he turned to the altar. Did the pendant pulse hot against her breast, or was it just the lingering touch of Kered’s hand that seared her skin?

  “What is this cup? Whom does it serve?” Kered asked in the heated silence. With bold confidence he stepped forward and lifted the silver cup from the marble altar. No thunder roared, no lighting struck, no blades dropped from the roof to impale them. “Much blood has been shed for this cup,” Kered said in the expectant silence. “To me, ‘tis just a chunk of metal.”

  Kered thrust the goblet unceremoniously into his shirt and laced it up tight. Then he turned to Maggie. “I do not like being in here. ‘Tis eerie and has an evil smell. I sense that our luck will change. Come.”

  The journey back to the entrance took less time, but as they neared the light, they slowed and walked with stealthy steps in case the guards had regained consciousness. Vad darted ahead and slipped into the woods.

  Kered went down on one knee and checked the life pulse of the guards. Vad circled the temple clearing and waved for them to join him in the trees. It took them little time to reach the beach, for they now knew the way. Kered practically tossed Maggie into the boat the men had hidden. Vad shoved them off shore.

  The guard watched the little boat pull away. The stink of the fires made him think of burning witches. In his short life as a N’Olavan guard, he’d seen naught but boring duty. Now excitement had touched his life. He had seen a witch and witnessed her magic. The rewards for naming her would be immense. He sighed with bliss, imagining the gold coin and costly robes he would demand for pointing her out. It should be easy to find her with that black hair and pale skin.

  He would demand protection. If she pointed her finger at him, he too might fall into unnatural sleep. They should strip the arm rings from the men who aided the witch. Or perhaps the warrior had been enthralled by some evil spell and been forced to take the sacred cup. He had seen the bold display of the man’s arousal when he had pushed the witch away. Aye. Perhaps the warrior would also reward him for helping burn the witch and breaking her spell.

  The guard swore on his ancestors’ names when he saw the boats. He ran from one to another, but each had a hole in the bottom and water sloshing about. The sun rose and the orb-path was closed to him. It would take hours to repair a boat. He stood in the shadows of the isle and watched his quarry get away.

  Kered grunted in answer to Maggie’s many questions and finally she fell silent. She wondered how to deal with him when next they were alone. His fervent embrace and now his anger ate at her composure. She much preferred the ardent man to this one who scowled so fiercely as he rowed them back to shore. It did not take a detective to note the tremors in his arms as he rowed or how Vad picked up the beat each time Kered missed a stroke. Perhaps his surly mood was just a result of fatigue.

  Perhaps he could rest once they were far from the beach and possible retaliation. Vad had said the N’Olavan boats were as riddled with holes as a moth-eaten coat. By his grin, she knew the name of the hungry moth.

  As they pulled in to shore, Maggie saw the stain of pink that signaled sunrise. Water sloshed waist-deep across the road to N’Olava. The sea began to seethe with angry waves. No one could use the path to come after them.

  Kered heaved Maggie into his saddle, handing up his pack, which held the precious cup. He leapt up behind her, giving her no choice but to ride before him in the shelter of his embrace. He must tend her feet. The sight of her small, bloody footprints on the boat floorboards had shaken what was left of his composure.

  They fairly flew up the path to the cliff top where Kered halted Windsong and ventured a final look out at the roiling sea. The isle lay silently off shore, smoke still curling above the trees. The smoke joined a mist that had risen along the beaches, wreathing the isle and beginning to obscure it. It seemed to be dissolving before his very eyes.

  Kered shivered and drew Maggie against him, offering her his warmth. With a boldness he did not feel, he slipped his hand into the damp cloak. He pressed his palm to her heart. Her hand captured his and held him there. The beat of her heart reassured him, the warmth of her seemed made to fit his palm. Yet, he remained stiff and wary at her back. Finally, he broke the contact and gathered up the reins.

  Windsong sidled and bucked occasionally as they ate the miles at a swift gallop.

  “What’s wrong?” she finally shouted above the wind.

  “Naught!” he bellowed back.

  “There is. Tell me.”

  He tightened the reins, and Windsong skidded to a halt, dust rising about their thighs. Vad drew up and raised an eyebrow.

  “Ride ahead and scout the terrain,” Kered said. Vad nodded and accepted the order, swinging his horse in a circle and cantering off to the horizon. When he was well out of sight, Kered spoke. “Aye. I will tell you what is wrong.” He dismounted and paced, fists on hips. He could not really tell her how he felt or admit to the cramps that racked his body from lack of sleep and nourishment, or mention the pounding in his skull, the throbbing in his groin. He could not apologize for his ill treatment of her or admit that fear for her had made him forget all the levels of awareness that made him rational and calm.

  One small part he could admit and did. “A female procured the cup. You put them all to sleep and made a mockery of armed combat.”

  “Is that it? I put them all to sleep? No one died? You only got to prick one man’s skin?” Maggie began to laugh. She laughed so hard, Windsong reared and tossed his head.

  Kered’s shoulders slumped. Words fumbled through his brain, but he could not shape them, could barely make his chest take in air.

  “Come on. Surely, a man at the seventh level of awareness is able to accept a small thing like a woman’s help?” Her laugh became a brilliant smile.

  “Hmpf.” He stomped about. Her smile, as bright as the sun at midday, made it difficult to maintain his indignation. Finally, he snatched the reins from her hand. If he did not soon mount, he might not be able to put bis foot in the stirrup. He swung up behind her and drew her back against his body. “Hmpf. I suppose ‘tis acceptable. Only if—”

  “I never tell anyone?” She leaned back and reached up, caressing his cheek and cupping her hand about his neck, urging him down for a kiss.

  “Aye, little slave. ‘Tis a tale I would not soon live down.”

  Maggie’s warm breath bathed his lips. “So be it. My lips are sealed.” She pressed them to his, and he growled in his throat as he accepted her promise. “Of course, I can’t speak for Vad.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  As far as the eye could see, nature was showing off. High, rolling hills shone with the colors of the rainbow. The waning sunlight softened the masses of flowers to a rosy hue. Flocks of long-haired sheep dipped their black faces in the long grasses.

  “Not all of Tolemac is forbidding and empty.” Kered stood behind Maggie as she looked about. On a distant rise, a shepherd, a crook in his hand, walked among his flock. Vad, sent to determine who roamed these hills, followed him about, skirting curious ewes and their lambs.

  “Are we safe here?” she asked.

  “Aye. We are but a few leagues from the capital.”

  “How far from Hart Fell?” she asked, sheltering her eyes and peering off to the distant hills.

  “Too far,” Kered answered, turning away. She dogged his footsteps as he led Windsong to a narrow, swiftly moving stream.

  “I don’t understand. You said we’d return there after you got the sword and cup.” She helped him remove Windsong’s bridle, loosen the girth, and heave the leather saddle from the horse’s back.

  “Maggie, it is not possible—” he began, then frowned. He recognized all too well the expression on her face. He started over. “We have not yet accomplished our task. I may have the sword and the cup, but until I present them, make my case to sit on the council, they are just worthless metal weighing down my saddle.”

  Her expression softened.
“I understand that. But, if you take me along to your capital and we go through the folderol—”

  “Fol-der-what?”

  “Ceremony. I meant ceremony. If we go through the ceremony, isn’t it likely to take a long time? How many weeks have we been traveling? I’ve lost track.” She began to wring her hands in agitation. Kered handed her his pack to still her upsetting motions.

  “The conjunction came at the waning of Vintage-month. ‘Tis now the last of Autumn-month.”

  “So much time?” She turned away, his pack dangling from her hand to drag upon the ground as she walked to the edge of the running stream. He sank down beside her and watched as she opened the pack and, as if she had always done the chore, filled the water gourd.

  “I am sorry, Maggie. I know you pine for home.”

  Tears shone in her eyes as she stoppered the gourd and placed it into the pack. “Then take me back to Nilrem’s mountain,” she whispered.

  “Not yet,” he said, his words as softly spoken as hers.

  “You promised.” Her hand reached out to touch his knee in a gesture of supplication.

  Where she touched, he burned.

  “I am not taking you back. Not yet.” He might never take her back. He expected an explosion, a Maggie-upheaval of colossal proportions. Instead, he saw only sorrow etched on her lovely face.

  “I was afraid you would say that.”

  Somehow he knew he had not only disappointed her, but at the same time fulfilled some preconceived idea she had of man’s general faithlessness. There was no surprise or shock in her voice. A shadow crossed the sun, like the darkness on his heart, placed there by her unhappiness.

  “You must understand—” he started.

  “Oh, I understand.” She bent her head and folded the fabric of her woolen shirt between her fingers, pleating it neatly.

  Kered reached over and briefly touched her hand. “No, you do not. I am not just another male failing in some promise made to you. Nilrem claimed you have some meaning in my quest. The quest is not over until I say ‘tis over. Here,” he thumped his chest, “here, I sense there is more. Should I take you back now, ‘twill be after Holy-month when I reach the capital. Leoh may be dead by then. I cannot delay to satisfy this ache you have for home. For all that I may sound cruel, I mean you no harm.”

  Maggie stood up, her posture stiff and distant. “I want to be alone.”

  “Do not stray. Vad has not yet returned from questioning the shepherd. Who knows who rides these hills? We travel through well-populated lands these next few days where not everyone we meet is counted friend.”

  She nodded. In a moment she had left him to walk along the stream’s bank. The day was no longer sunny; the air rippled with something ominous. The set of her shoulders made him wish to gather her in and comfort her, but he stood his ground and let her go. How much of what he said was truth and how much fabricated argument to keep her with him? He did not know.

  Vad approached, drawing up beside him. “What ails her?”

  “Our direction,” Kered said.

  “Our direction? What is wrong with it? I reckoned it well. We are but days from the capital.”

  “But for Maggie, ‘tis the wrong way.”

  “Surely she does not wish to go back to Nilrem’s mountain now?” Vad dismounted and unsaddled his horse, laying his saddle in the shelter of a branching tree and snagging the edge of his cloak at the same time. Kered set him free with a slash of his knife when the branch refused to give up the strip of Vad’s cloak.

  “Aye,” Kered said, sheathing his knife. “She wished to seek Nilrem’s wisdom in hopes of going home.”

  “The ice fields are in the opposite direction from Hart Fell.” Vad set his stallion, Warok, to graze with Windsong, then frowned at the ragged hem of his cloak.

  “I know.”

  “So why go to Nilrem?” Vad persisted.

  “‘Tis some fancy of hers. I think she says she is from beyond the ice fields because she cannot remember from whence she came. It suits her somehow to claim those lands, and perhaps if she returns to Nilrem, something there will capture her senses and point her in the right direction—point to home.”

  “And all her stories of her place, her family? I will be disappointed to learn that her tales are just that, tales. I was quite hoping one day to meet these brothers of hers who can ride a horse more ably than you!”

  “At first I thought they were fancies of hers. So much about Maggie is foreign to all we know. Her coloring—”

  “Beautiful as a midnight sky!” Vad interrupted.

  “She has two names.”

  “Two names? Nilrem’s beard! What is the second one?”

  “O’Brien.”

  “Sounds like a man’s name.”

  “Aye.” Kered turned away lest his face betray him.

  “Could she be called after her master? Some form of identification of ownership? It would help if this is so. Did you ask her?”

  “No.”

  Vad pulled on Kered’s arm until he turned about. “You fear the answer, do you not? You do not wish to find her master! An unclaimed slave is nothing but trouble. And a pleasure slave, no matter your station, will not be tolerated by most lifemates.”

  “I know. I have always held contempt for those who dishonor a lifemate with their household slaves.”

  “I am worried for you. You are destined for a political alliance. Do not lose your heart to this slave, my friend.”

  “If half of what she says is true, she is not a slave.” Kered frowned as he watched Maggie unwrap the bandages he had painstakingly placed on her feet.

  “A wish or a beautiful dream. Surely, you cannot believe this?” Vad asked.

  Kered looked off to the distant hills and blinked away what felt suspiciously like the welling of tears. He was so tired, he could no longer think straight. “Perhaps the blow to her head has made her conjure a better place…better people—”

  “Better place? Than Tolemac? ‘Tis unlikely.” Vad hunkered down and busied himself making a comfortable back rest of his saddle, then stretched out and crossed his dusty boots at the ankles.

  “In Maggie’s world, a man may lifemate where his heart leads him, and so may a woman.” Kered crossed his arms on his chest.

  “You are in need of a retreat with your awareness master. Take her if you want her, but remember the penalties for denying your heritage. The Tolemac wars will rage on if someone does not take the peacemaking role when Leoh dies.” Vad yawned and closed his eyes.

  Kered knew that with Maggie’s exotic coloring and changeable skin, she would draw every male eye for miles and most female ones, too. His belly clenched to think of other men desiring her. He wished he had obeyed the many urges crying out to him to taste of her beauty. She had resisted his offer of coin, but when faced with the opulence and beauty of the capital, would she be able to resist or would she fall to the siren song of wealth? Many might challenge him for the honor of taking her.

  “Perhaps another might lead as ably as I.” Kered wearily rubbed a hand over his face.

  Vad opened one eye. “No one has Leoh’s backing or your ability on the battlefield. You have proved you are more than worthy—you summoned forth the sword. Do not deny your calling. Take her and slake your hunger, but remember whence your loyalties lie.”

  A double-edged sword of shame sliced through Kered’s body. He had not told Vad that the sword had come to Maggie. It was a deception he could not live with much longer, and speaking so blithely of taking her, as if she had no say, made his stomach cramp. He tried to broach the topic, to make Vad understand.

  “I have been thinking of Maggie’s words of late, true or not. Do her tales not make you think on how we treat our slaves?”

  “Hm.” Vad closed his eyes. “I know that ‘twould be a disaster if Anna were a free woman.” He again opened one eye and peered up at his friend. “If she were not bound to your service, I might feel a need to court her.”

  “Court he
r? Since when have you courted a woman? You have but to lift a finger to have them fall at your feet. I can scarcely get a bowl of porridge if you are about. My slaves trip over me to serve you.” Kered snorted in disgust, grateful for the turn of topic.

  “Do not remind me. Women have no circumspection, no feminine modesty. ‘Tis why I sleep in the barracks. No women allowed—free or slave.”

  Kered smiled, his mood lifting. “There are men there who would pursue you just as eagerly if you gave them a second glance.”

  Vad groaned. “Especially Ronac.”

  “Perhaps you could use this attraction he feels for you to swing his favor to my cause. He is one councilor who never thinks for himself. Samoht has only to nod and Ronac follows suit. His chiefdom suffers with such a weak and spineless leader. Why does Ronac not see that Samoht introduces only those measures that will benefit himself?”

  “Speaking of Samoht—”

  “Aye?” Kered began to pace, his eyes on Maggie sitting on the stream’s bank, feet dangling in the water, the bandages in a neat pile by her side. A sudden memory of her naked in the stream so long ago came to him. He remembered the light as it rippled across her skin, and he imagined the water beading like diamonds in her hair. The moment seemed fresh and raw to his senses and brought an ache to his throat.

  “You are elsewhere,” Vad remarked, sitting up straighter and noting where Kered’s attention had wan­dered. “Relax, she is not in danger. Samoht is most likely in the capital by now. The shepherd said his entourage passed by two sun-risings ago.”

  “How did he know ‘twas Samoht?” Kered dragged his attention back with great difficulty.

  Vad resumed his indolent posture, crossing his hands on his belly. “He had no need to know the name. The Red Rose Warrior is all he needed to say. All his men bear the standard. How could it be any but Samoht?”

  “The bastard.” Kered unconsciously touched his knife hilt.