One Land, One Duke

by Emerson, Ru

  "I think it's going to be two of you coming up with them,” Robyn said. “Enardi needs another of his powders.” Enardi sighed, but made no additional protest; he still looked very weak and it had to be some measure of how he felt that he hadn't asked all evening about his father's wagon or the mule.

  The innkeep and her elder son traded off serving the guests in the common room, so one or the other could remain in the family private quarters. Colin Ellaway was a year or two younger than Chris but seemed older, or at least more quietly self-possessed. Jennifer couldn't decide if he was shy, taciturn—or if he didn't like outlanders in general or them in particular. Maybe it was simply the way his eyes were set, or that he'd inherited his father's mouth, nothing to do with how he felt. After a large and wonderful dinner—it seemed as though it had been years since she'd had roast beef—and two glasses of an excellent pale, dry wine, she decided she simply didn't care what the boy's problem was.

  Aletto and Robyn shared a glass of the wine; Jennifer could see Lialla sipping at hers and trying not to watch the two of them, knowing Aletto would be aware of her concern and be offended by it. Well, Lialla had cause for concern, Jennifer thought. At least, if her brother was anything like Robyn, who'd for years now been unable—or unwilling—to set her glass aside until the wine bottle was empty. After a sip or two each, however, Robyn got up and brought the half-empty glass over to the table and set it down, out of reach, returning to Aletto with a piece of some kind of mostly sugar confection. Good idea, Jennifer thought comfortably. The candy had to be utterly incompatible with wine.

  She was tired, but pleasantly so, content to lean back against Dahven and listen while Chris, Caro Ellaway and Robyn talked. At some point she must have nodded off; she lost track of the conversation and regained it when Dahven gave her a little shake. “You asleep?” he asked in an undertone.

  "Mmm-mmm. Resting my eyes."

  "Sure you are."

  "Testing the insides of my eyelids for holes."

  "What?"

  "Never mind. I'd better get up, go upstairs before I fall over and embarrass myself. How strong was that wine, anyway?"

  "Not very,” Dahven said. “I'm quite out of practice and I barely felt a cup of it."

  Jennifer yawned. “Ooh. S'cuse me. I've never been in practice, and I had two. Better drink some water before I crawl in, or I'll have the headache from hell,” She dragged herself to her feet; Robyn looked up at her. “I'm slowing the party down; sorry, folks. Going to bed, all right?"

  "I won't be far behind you,” Robyn said. She rubbed her eyes. “Unlike some people, I didn't get a nap today and it's been a pretty long one. Caro, should one of us stay down here with Enardi?"

  "Ernie,” Chris corrected her in some exasperation. “And I can stay with him if you think someone needs to—"

  Caro Ellaway shook her head. “Don't you worry about Ernie; he'll be just fine. I sleep on the fold-down over by the door”—she gestured with her head toward the now nearly silent common room—“so I'll hear if he needs anything. The powder he got for tonight should keep him asleep until midmorning, though."

  8

  Dahven stopped at the head of the stairs and wrapped both arms around Jennifer's shoulders; long fingers massaged the base of her neck and she leaned her forehead into his breastbone. “Lovely man,” she murmured into his shirt. “I'll give you an hour to stop that."

  He held her a little away. “Couldn't hear that."

  "Never mind, wasn't important. Do some more."

  "Your muscles feel like metal wheelbands."

  "I know it.” She let her eyes close and sagged face first against his chest once more; it might have been moments or hours when footsteps came thumping up the last several stairs and a rather high, huffy voice said, “Excuse me!"

  "Sorry,” Dahven said mildly. “Didn't see you."

  "I notice,” Lialla replied. Jennifer felt the sin-Duchess press by them and heard the door open and close a moment later. She brought her head up and reluctantly opened her eyes; Dahven was gazing up the hallway, forehead puckered.

  "I don't believe she cares much for me, and I can't think why that should be."

  Jennifer laughed quietly. “She was supposed to have married you, wasn't she?"

  "Well—but that was never even formally decided, and surely she was relieved rather than otherwise.” He considered this. “Well?"

  "Maybe it's just the idea of the thing. I'll bet we looked pretty comfortable together just now.” She smothered a yawn. “I'm sorry, Dahven, I'd stay right here the rest of the night and let you rub my muscles into putty but I'm going to fall asleep any minute now."

  "Mmm. Come to think, I'm sleepy myself.” He left one arm across her shoulders and started slowly along the hallway. “It's a pity—"

  "It's just as well,” Jennifer interrupted, as firmly as she could manage. “We're each sharing a room, remember?"

  "As if I could forget,” be said gloomily. Jennifer laughed and tugged on his hair.

  "Besides, you're about to fall asleep and so am I; one or the other of us would wind up terribly offended."

  "I doubt that.” He stopped in the hall between the two rooms, let go of her shoulders and touched her cheek lightly with one finger. “Ground rules,” he said finally.

  "Ground rules,” Jennifer repeated when he seemed to have difficulty going on.

  "So you know. The offer of half of Sikkre—if I had it, the offer would be genuine. But I don't come to you with less than a life contract. Just—so you know."

  "I'd been presumptuous enough to assume that was your intention, as opposed to a one-night stand. That's not important just now, truly.” He raised his eyebrows and she laughed sleepily. “Dahven, I'm not after you for wealth or for half of Sikkre—and not because you don't have it back yet."

  "Yet."

  "Shhh. Don't say it like that; that's not important just now, either. That comes with the next set of ground rules—including the one where I refuse, absolutely and even for you, to play Mrs. Thukar if it means sitting in that tower room and spinning wool all day while you run the Duchy.” He shook his head and she laughed again. “Never mind. I don't think I'd have even brought that up if I weren't dizzy from all the wine. But I'm quite seriously falling asleep on my feet; think how silly we'd both feel if Chris found us sprawled unconscious and snoring all over the hall."

  "If Aletto did,” Dahven said. He smiled, then chuckled at the thought.

  "Let's not find out.” She straightened up, ran her fingers into the long hair at the back of his head and kissed his cheek. “Good night. Get some sleep."

  It was very dark and quiet in the small room, only the faint reflection of a blue-light from somewhere in the courtyard far below showing against the curtain—not enough to illuminate her way across to the bed. Lialla was invisible in the dark, her breathing scarcely to be heard. Someone down in the common room laughed raucously, then was abruptly silent. Jennifer bent forward and felt her way across the floor, banged a finger back the wrong way against the footboard. She swore silently, stuck the throbbing digit in her mouth and scrabbled along the footboard with her other hand; she sat on the edge of the soft mattress and scooted along it to the head, where she removed her high-tops and jeans. It seemed almost too much trouble to unbutton the chambray shirt, tired as she was, but the mere thought of waking to the scratchy and not very clean cotton decided her. The sore finger made her even more clumsy than the combination of wine and exhaustion, but it was finally off. She shivered a little in her tee-shirt, slid under the comfort and between lemon-scented sheets. They weren't as silky as the ones Fedthyr had provided but they felt absolutely wonderful against her bare legs. The comfort itself was thick and would probably be too warm, once she settled in. She edged the covers over her shoulders, worked out of the tee-shirt and dumped it on the floor with her other outer clothes.

  She heard Robyn come in a short while later; by then, she was too tired to respond when her sister sat on the edge of the b
ed and whispered: “Jen? You still awake?” A breath or two later, she wasn't anyway.

  Something had her shoulder: Something was clamped down hard, pinching skin and bruising the muscle under, digging into the joint. Jennifer moaned, tried to pull free. What seemed a very great distance away, someone was calling her name, urgently: “Jen? Jen! Oh, Jennifer, damnit, wake up!"

  Wake up? I'm not asleep, she thought fuzzily and tried to shut the voice out. It moved to her other ear and now something had her other shoulder, too. Hands. “Birdy?” she mumbled. “Birdy, don't—"

  "Jen, not so loud, shhh!” It was Robyn's voice, a shrill, frightened whisper; Robyn's hands hauling her partway up and trying to shake her. “Jen, damnit, there's someone outside, trying to get in here."

  "Mmmm—lock the door, then,” Jennifer muttered. Her fingers dragged at the sheets and comfort, trying to pull them back around overly cool shoulders. “Birdy, c'mon, leggo, I'm cold and tired."

  "Oh, God,” Robyn whispered devoutly. She let go so abruptly that Jennifer's head fell back into the pillows, hard. The bed jounced uncomfortably as Robyn scrambled over the side. Jennifer frowned; why didn't she simply fix the bolt and shut up so her sister could get back to sleep? Tired, she thought and began to drift toward sleep once more. Robyn's words caught her fading attention. “Lialla, please wake up. I—someone's outside, in the yard, I can hear them, and Jen isn't waking up."

  "Mmm—what?” Lialla sounded sharply awake; Robyn shushed her rather frantically. “What's wrong with her?” Lialla went on in a much less carrying voice. Jennifer felt her stomach shift rather alarmingly as her bed rocked and hands efficiently stripped the covers from her shoulders. The air in the room was cool, the cotton bra and briefs no protection against the chill.

  "Cut it out, Birdy,” she mumbled, and reached for covers. They were down around her knees—too far to grab. “Tired,” she whispered, and wrapped both arms around her in a vain attempt to stay warm.

  "Jen, it's Lialla. Wake up, there's a problem."

  Too much trouble to make words. Jennifer shook her head the least bit and let sleep catch hold of her again.

  "I told you, I can't wake her,” Robyn whispered anxiously. “I—did you drink much of that wine?"

  "A very little; I seldom do, and I prefer something fruitier. Why—did you?"

  "One swallow, just to be polite. Jen did, though. I think—"

  "Wait. You think that woman drugged us—?"

  "Not—I don't know. Listen, though!” Jennifer swam momentarily nearer consciousness, and found herself listening. All she could hear at first was her own heart thudding much too rapidly, Robyn's ragged breathing. “I don't think Caro, but I think someone could have."

  "I don't feel particularly drugged,” Lialla said quietly. “But maybe a swallow or so wouldn't be enough. She doesn't ordinarily sleep this hard, does she?"

  "Jen? Never!” Robyn's voice moved away, the bed frame creaked and the mattress swayed a little.

  "Don't push the curtain aside!” Lialla hissed.

  "I'm not, I'm—I can't hear anything out there now. Wait. Come here,” Robyn whispered. The bed shifted again; the weight was gone. Jennifer shivered and tried to ease her upper body down under the covers. They were both over by the window; she could hear them, couldn't seem to make herself want to open her eyes. Tired, she thought. There was a long moment when she heard and felt nothing. Then Robyn's hands had her again; Robyn dragged her up into a sitting position. “Jennifer, damnit, there are men out there. They're after us! Wake up!"

  "Slap her,” Lialla ordered curtly. “Or pour water over her. We need her."

  "Don't,” Jennifer whispered. Robyn's hand patted her face back and forth, tentative little slaps. Jennifer caught hold of the hand finally, forced her eyes open. Robyn gazed at her anxiously. “I'm awake, Birdy, cut it out."

  "You're not. I'm going to get the water—"

  "No.” Jennifer forced her hands up, tugged hard at her hair and bit one thumb. “No, don't, help me out, I'll do it.” Robyn got her off the side of the bed. “The guys—"

  "Oh, God,” Robyn said.

  "Don't—” It was nearly impossible to think. Jennifer clutched at the footboard, dragged herself to her feet. “Don't panic. You hear better than I do; check the door. If—all right. If there's no one out there, go warn them."

  "Hurry!” Lialla hissed. She turned from the window briefly. “There's nothing in this room to make rope, is there?"

  "No. Your bo's by the door,” Jennifer said. “With mine. I'll get it.” She staggered as she let go of the footboard, reeled into the wall, hard, and sat down cross-legged on the chilly floor. The bench next to the door seemed a mile away, but Robyn was already gone, the door closing quietly behind her. Jennifer swore under her breath, fought her way onto hands and knees and crawled the short distance, grabbed at the metal bowl and pulled it toward her. It caught on something, rocked, and came down across the back of her neck, the bowl itself dealing a ringing blow to the back of her head, ice-cold water pouring across her scalp and down over her shoulders and chest.

  She caught her breath in a faint shriek, which brought a wordless protest from Lialla. “Oh, Lord, I think I've killed myself,” she chattered, but the cold cut through the drugged thick feeling. She sat up, hands chafing her upper arms rapidly, eyes property open for the first time. “Who's out there?” she whispered, but Lialla had already shifted into Thread and didn't hear her.

  Backlash vibrated through her, the last straw to an already distressed stomach. Jennifer hastily clawed for the metal water bowl and was violently ill in it.

  She came back upright shivering even harder, dizzy, her stomach still threatening to go out from under her again—but awake now and fighting mad. “The one night I strip down to my underwear and we have company. Right. Someone's going to pay for this.” She got to her feet cautiously, clutched along the wall until she found both her bo and Lialla's where they'd been leaned against the wall with their personal bags, used them for balance as she felt her way across to the pile of clothes and fished out her tee-shirt. The sin-Duchess's fingers closed around the staff as Jennifer shoved it across her knees; she was still deep in Thread-awareness. Jennifer gritted her teeth and began singing—Beethoven, the Choral from the Ninth Symphony. German was a good language to sound angry in, she thought. She shifted the bo to her left hand, felt for her jeans with the right.

  Too late. The curtain flared; a hand came across the sill and wrapped around the fluttering blue cloth, yanking it loose and letting it drop to the floor. The shadowy silhouette of a man filled the window; Jennifer tugged the hem of the tee-shirt as far down as it would go and backed away barelegged and barefoot, bo trailing beside her. As she passed the end of the two beds, she shifted it to a proper two-hand grip. I sure hope Birdy got across the hall all right, and I hope she plans on staying, she thought. Because that door's about to get locked, I'm not up for a two-front attack.

  She doubted that she was capable of defending against a one-front attack at the moment and momentarily wished she'd been able to snatch up her jeans. The tee-shirt didn't cover anything but her chest and shoulders; bare legs left her feeling uncomfortably vulnerable. Her head pounded and her stomach was still queasy: hung over, possibly. But on two glasses of wine, with a meal? Maybe it had been drugged.

  Lialla abruptly abandoned Thread and jerked her feet onto the bed, caught up her bo and scrambled back over the footboard to the floor. She touched Jennifer's shoulder, put her mouth near the other woman's ear. “Are you going to be all right?” she whispered.

  "I'm fine,” Jennifer replied in kind. Lialla gave her a dubious glance but didn't bother to dispute what was obviously untrue. Jennifer backed toward the door, freed a hand to slide the bolt into place, moved back to Lialla's side. Both women jumped as something slammed into the door, hard, and the man in the window was suddenly over the sill and into the room; another filled the opening behind him. There didn't seem to be any need for quiet any longer; dark
as the room was, the night sky was bright with moon and the men could certainly see her, all white shirt, pale arms and legs. Lialla couldn't have heard anything less than a shout, with all the noise out in the hallway, anyhow. “Move over, give us both some room!” Lialla backed off a pace, lost her footing and nearly fell. Jennifer crouched down, then came back to her feet as the first man stepped past the end of the bed. Whatever he held deflected the blow she intended for his middle—something wooden by the sound of it. She let the deflection give her momentum, then brought the bo back around. He parried that one also but the staff bounced off the footboard of the bed and caught him a ringing crack on the arm. Probably right on the elbow, judging by his reaction: With a loud howl of pain, he collapsed to his knees, curled protectively around the arm. The weapon clattered to the floor and rolled away. A glint of metal gave away its position; Jennifer snatched at it and dragged it toward her.

  Something cold and sharp sliced across her fingertips and she hissed, then swore as she felt blood coursing down her palm and over her wrist. She dropped the weapon, snagged it across the floor with the end of the bo and picked it up with more caution. It was a short, thick length of wood, about three feet long, with a knife bound into the end. Throwing spear. A damned sharp one, too. “Li! Watch yourself, they've got something new for weapons!"

  "See it. What's wrong with the floor over here? It's slick and awful!” Lialla said angrily. She moved away, along the wall, climbed onto the end of the bed and worked her way to the head. The second man seemed to be having a little trouble getting into the room, or perhaps he was trying to let his eyes adjust to darker surroundings, or to figure out what was wrong with his cursing, huddled companion. Lialla brought her bo down with a hard snap of the wrists and caught him across the back of the head. He slid down, caught momentarily across the sill, fell back out of sight. Someone below him shouted a warning; someone else was yelling furiously from down in the yard.