The Ivory Road: A Walk in the Sand

by Siobhan Muir

  “Liberated, good word.” She shook her head as a cheeky grin creased his lips. “Won’t the treasure be hard to sell? I mean, I’m sure everyone’s heard the vault has been breached. Won’t people turn the items down once they’re recognized?”

  Brandon shot her a thoughtful look. “You have unexpected depths, Iliana.” She snorted and rolled her eyes. “I was careful to choose only general things, like cutlery, place settings, and loose coins and jewels, pieces that could come from anywhere. The Knalish have been collecting a long time, from a lot of places.”

  He picked up the sword and looked the blade over carefully. “And you?” He glanced back at her. “What are you going to do when we reach Ros Torach?”

  She scratched her side with one hand and grimaced. “The first thing on my list is a bath. After that, I don't know. I have a very specific skill set and it doesn’t seem to be useful here. But I have no idea how to get home. Hell, I don’t even know how I got here. As of two days ago, I’ve blown off my commitments and no one wants to work with a diva. So, I don’t know.”

  “Have you been an actress all your life?” Brandon asked as he sheathed the sword. “Isn't there something you’re good at besides pretending?”

  “Wow, don’t sugar-coat it for me. Tell me how you really feel.” She tried to shrug off the hurt at his words, but she couldn’t avoid all of it. “You must hate actors.”

  “I hate insincerity. Be who you are, honestly.”

  She barked a laugh. “This from the man who steals for a living. Do you feel the same about being honest with the Knalish authorities in regard to your recent acquisitions?”

  He scowled and she shook her head. “Yeah, sometimes it’s better to keep the truth to yourself. Acting is really nothing more than developing a persona for each situation to play a role. Where I’m from, I get paid to do this, but sometimes you have to do it for other reasons.”

  “Like what?” He raised a dubious eyebrow.

  “Protection, mostly. To have a sense of self different from what the world sees.” She smiled at his frown. “For example, Ivory, my stage persona, is far more flamboyant and gregarious than Iliana, the real me. The world expects her to be that way, but it’s not the way I live most of the time. It’s just a costume or a role I put on.” She dropped her gaze to her hands, nicked and roughened by the hardships of travel through the desert. “It’s easy to get lost in it sometimes. I’ve been doing this since I was right out of high school. I’ve never had to try my hand at other trades.” Maybe it’s time to learn something new. “It’s a scary prospect to be in a world I don’t know, without practical skills.”

  “And you're a woman,” Brandon pointed out helpfully.

  “Thanks, I had some doubt about that.”

  “No, I only meant that it's a man's world and—”

  “I know what you meant.” She held up her hand. “My world is the same. I really wish people didn’t view women as being less than men.”

  “I didn’t say they are less than men.”

  “No, you didn’t have to. It was implied by your statement about the world.” She sighed and shook her head. “I can’t change the rules, but I can change perceptions. Maybe I won’t have to give up my acting career after all. I just can’t let them know I'm a woman.”

  He snorted. “That’s rather obvious.”

  “Is it? Think, Brandon, you were convinced that Kyram was a woman because of his name and his voice. People only see what they want to see and if they’re convinced only men work in interesting trades then I’ll become a man regardless of what my body actually is.”

  Brandon shook his head. “It can’t be done.”

  “Shall we test the theory?” She raised her chin. Think you know everything, don’t you?

  “But you're injured,” he protested.

  “That’s an excuse. We won't act like typical males, getting into bar fights and arm-wrestling contests.” Brandon shot her a dry look and she winked. “Just two guys coming in from traveling across the desert for a drink. What do you say? Are you up for it?”

  “I don't think—”

  “Tell you what, we’ll make a bet.” She stood and crossed her arms over her chest, a challenging smile curling her lips. “I'll bet you a new dagger that I can portray a man well enough to convince the crowd in a tavern here in Sandur.”

  He barked a laugh. “That’s crazy.”

  “What’s the matter? Afraid I can be a better man than you?”

  He shot her another a dry look as he rose. “Definitely not possible. What do I get if I win?”

  “I thought we bet a dagger.”

  He shook his head. “That’s what you want.”

  Iliana paused and met his gaze. Taggart Crowe had women lining up just to touch his hand in her world, but while Brandon wore his face and body, he hadn’t left a trail of broken hearts. That you know of. At one time, she’d fantasized about spending some quality sexual time with Taggart, but his attitude in interviews turned her off. Brandon had arrogance, but his seemed well-earned.

  “What do you want?”

  Brandon tilted his head and stepped closer to her. “If I win, you’ll give me one night to show you just how womanly you are.”

  She met his hazel gaze and read the lust and attraction there. She’d sworn to herself never to get involved with a coworker on a movie set. Too much opportunity for the tabloids to run away with it and kill any hope of something real. But Brandon wasn’t a Hollywood coworker, and the tabloids would never find her here. And I wouldn’t mind spending more relaxing time, with him.

  “Do we have a deal?” He held out his hand, palm up.

  “You have a pretty high opinion of your skills in bed, but yeah, it’s a deal.”

  Brandon’s cheeky grin absorbed the intense attraction. “Excellent. Let's see if you really can pull it off.”

  “All right. Let me get into my costume and I’m ready.”

  Chapter Six: “A man who can’t find pleasure in a thousand women is probably looking for another man…”

  Iliana strapped on her throwing knives. She might not be an expert, but she could do some damage if anyone came at her. Brandon stood to the side, watching her critically. She settled the knife belt low on her hips, straightened her robes over her chest, and rearranged the sash on her waist to her left side. She left the veil off of her face and Brandon raised his eyebrows.

  “Can’t drink through a veil, can I?”

  “Most men have scruff or a beard here.”

  “Not of they’re too young to grow one or come from a people who don’t have facial hair.”

  He frowned. “There are no such people.”

  She snorted. “Don’t know everything, do you? Have a little faith, Brandon.”

  He grunted as he strapped on his sword belt and they walked out of the hostelry into the street. She added a little swagger to her step, bouncing at the knees to disguise the sway of her hips. She let her gaze skitter around the street, vigilant, but not combative.

  The sounds of revelry filtered into her awareness as they approached a tavern. Lanterns hung above a door with an image of a strutting rooster, and the scents of rancid beer and unwashed sweat seeped into the street from the open portal.

  “Ah, the Strutting Cock Tavern. Should be a good place for a drink, don’t you think?” Brandon slapped Iliana on the back with a smirk.

  “Aye, should be well enough.”

  He blinked in surprise at the heavy brogue and his smirk shifted into a grin. “What should I call you tonight, then?”

  “Ian MacIntyre’s the name, a desert crawler and explorer, and a man with a sweet spot for the lassies.” She’d deepened her voice and broadened her vowels until the sound suggested a male tenor. “I be an educated man, Master Crowe, but even I fall prey to the fairer sex.”

  Brandon laughed and pulled the door open wider to allow them through. He didn’t look convinced at her efforts, but he wasn’t her target. The hard part would be convincing the local servi
ng wenches. That would be a challenge worth trying.

  They entered a tavern full of men drinking and smoking and gambling. She scanned the place for the right spot to begin her charade. A spot at the bar opened up and she stomped through the tables, appraising all the women in the place with an appreciative eye. Brandon followed her with an amused expression on his face, waiting for the game to begin.

  They both ordered ales and Iliana settled into her role as Ian MacIntyre. I just hope I remember enough about the men in the bars from my home town. It’d been a while since she’d visited small town Oregon, but the fishing fleets always brought in men to the bars. They hadn’t been her favorite tourists, but they’d certainly painted an interesting picture of fishermen.

  “You say you’re a desert crawler.” Brandon’s voice cut across her musings. “You must have seen women of all colors and shapes in your travels. Who are your favorites?”

  She angled her head and raised an eyebrow. “Are ye speaking as if lassies are nothin’ more than broodmares, Master Crowe? ’Cause if ye are, ye wouldna ken a good one if she smacked ye with a rolling pin.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Have you known any good ones, Master MacIntyre?”

  “Oh, aye. There was a bonny lass who held me heart for a while. A willful thing, she was, but beneath the will was a heart of fire that demanded much and gave more.”

  Brandon snorted with derision. “Ain’t no such woman. You’re tellin’ tales.”

  “Upon me honor, mate, I ain't never found a warmer bed than the women from me own country.” She slapped a hand over her chest. “Give ye a wild ride, they will, and keep ye warm in the cold winter nights. A man couldna ask for nothing better.” She took a deep pull from her ale, and tried not to gag on a combination of piss-water and the sludge dredged out of a silty lake. Jeez, this is what passes for ale here? “Tell me, mate, where else can ye find a lass like that?”

  “Well, I ain't so well traveled as you, mate, but the whores in Minmass to the south of here could suck the silver off a rich man's cutlery and ride him all night until he can’t take no more.” Brandon raised his glass as the men around him cheered with appreciation.

  She joined in and Brandon shot her a surprised look. What, thought I couldn’t handle your misogynistic blather? Think again, boyo.

  “Sounds as if I should get me one of them girls. Too bad there ain't none here.” Again she took a pull from her awful beer and nodded to one of the serving women.

  “O’ course, I had me share o’ the rich girls, to be sure.” She nodded smugly to the interested murmurs. “Them girls can’t resist the baby face.” She pointed to her clean-shaven cheeks. “They think I’m a young innocent, they do, and they want to be the first to give me a taste of the good life.” She winked at Brandon. He damn near choked on his beer at her bawdy remarks. Score one for the actress.

  “Had lots o’ rich girls, eh?” His brows lowered and doubt filled his voice. “An’ how did ya do that, mate? Same way with the whores?”

  “Nah, them rich girls, they like sweet words the poets and singers use.” Iliana fluttered her eyes at him and the other men chuckled. “Ye have to sing sweetly to get those flowers to bloom, but I’ve had many a girl grateful for me sweet talking.” And she waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

  Brandon laughed. “I'd like to see such a sweet talker.” He crossed his arms over his chest, challenge in his eyes. “What do ya say, mates? Would ya like to see my young mate sweet talk one o’ the ladies?”

  Cheers rose around the tavern from the other patrons who’d caught their conversation. They’d have to be deaf not to. Brandon gave her a smirk and dipped his chin. She shot him a dry look and snorted, but turned her gaze around the room at the crowd. She shook her head in mock-defeat and slid off her stool.

  “Very well, m’lads.” She gave them a cock-sure smile, then focused on Brandon. “But let’s put a little something riding on this wager. I could use a new dagger for me traveling days.”

  “Can’t we all, mate?”

  “A dagger fer a kiss.”

  “Yeah, all right. One dagger for a lady’s kiss.” Brandon raised his glass and laughed. The warm, throaty sound rumbled through her and made her shiver.

  Focus on the ladies.

  Iliana surveyed the crowd in the packed room. Men leaned together making side wagers on whether Ian or Brandon would win the bet. Some of the whores around the room met Iliana's eyes with a coy and suggestive wink, but a prostitute would be too easy. It was her job to accept any offer, and Iliana had no intention of taking it beyond a kiss. While not opposed to a female lover, especially at the beginning of her film career when beggars for work couldn’t be choosers, she much preferred the masculine form. Despite all the trouble they are. She wanted to impress Brandon with her skill, not undress a woman for someone else’s delight.

  One of the barmaids met her gaze and grimaced as Iliana nodded to her. She wore an expression of jaded reluctance in her wide-set gray eyes under black arched brows. Those eyes narrowed as Iliana advanced on her, and she tossed her coal-black braid over her shoulder as she dropped one hand on her hip.

  All right, darlin’. Let’s dance.

  Iliana offered barmaid a compassionate smile, holding out her hand to the woman in supplication. The barmaid watched Iliana with a resigned air, her body language screaming resigned exasperation. Time to step up the game.

  Iliana bowed. “Mistress, with yer permission, I wish for a few moments of yer precious time. Would ye be willing to grant a man such a boon?”

  The barmaid raised an elegant eyebrow before she glanced over her shoulder at the bartender. He smirked and waved his towel at her. She grimaced and sighed, but nodded to Iliana’s request. Iliana drew her raven-haired companion back to her stool, ignoring the exchanges of money going on as they passed.

  Brandon’s smile had faded in wattage as Iliana focused all her attention on the barmaid. The woman returned her gaze with flat indifference.

  “Mistress, I can see from yer expression ye have seen and heard it all from many a man who wanders across yer path.” Iliana rubbed her thumbs gently over the backs of the woman’s hand. “And I don’t blame ye fer thinkin’ I’ll be just the same. But, mistress, rarely have I seen such a one as ye, with raven-black hair as soft as the finest silk brought from across the sands east.”

  Iliana gently brushed a lock of black hair from the woman’s eyes, skimming her cheek with the backs of her fingers. “’Tis soft, m’lads, softer than the caress o’ moonlight upon the green hills o’ me home. And yer eyes, mistress, hold within them the wisdom of the ages and the tempests of the sea. Gray, silver gray, and deep enough ta drown in. One look from those eyes and I will be swallowed whole.”

  Right now the eyes still held disbelief. Iliana smiled and drew the barmaid closer to the stool.

  “But nothing compares with yer smile, milady, for it shines as brightly as a red rose in a field of white lilies. And that smile will bring me out o’ me darkest hours like the sun after a storm.” She laid both hands on either side of the woman’s face and gently stroked the edges of her mouth with her thumbs. “So, mistress, because of yer beauteous smile and wise eyes, grant me one more boon so I might sleep well this night. Grant me one kiss from yer honeyed lips and ye will be sealed within me heart forever more. One kiss, I beg ye.”

  The barmaid tilted her head to get closer to Iliana’s caresses. Her expression filled with wistful hope Iliana had seen on her own face in the romantic films she’d made.

  “Please, sweet lady.”

  Iliana drew the barmaid closer and leaned forward to kiss her on the lips. The woman sighed and opened her mouth, giving permission for Iliana to caress her tongue. The barmaid tasted of smooth whiskey and sweet apples, and Iliana enjoyed the feeling of her lips. At last they pulled apart to breathe and the woman smiled dreamily before opening her eyes.

  “I thank ye, mistress. That were lovely.” Iliana squeezed the woman’s hand as the crowd erupted into ch
eers. She released the raven-haired beauty to go back to her job and shot Brandon an “I-told-you-so” look.

  He gaped at her a few moments, his expression a mixture of amazement and lust. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. What is it with guys and girl-on-girl interactions?

  “Close yer mouth, laddie, or the flies’ll get in.”

  Brandon shut his mouth with a snap and cleared his throat. “I believe I owe you a new dagger, mate.”

  “Aye, ye do.” She nodded with a smile and let her thoughts rest on the best kiss she’d had in months. Some of those Hollywood leading “men” could learn something on how to kiss from that barmaid.

  “Did you really enjoy that?” His whisper held both fascination and aversion.

  She met his gaze with frank honesty. “Yes, I did. She’s a good kisser.”

  “Damn.” He shook his head in wonder. “You win. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you a man.”

  She dipped her chin. “I told you, people see what they want to see.”

  Brandon laughed and raised his glass to her. “You certainly let ’em see it, mate.”

  She grinned and finished her ale, smothering a grimace. The beer had been bad cold. It equated to pig swill when warm. The atmosphere of the tavern had turned jovial and several other men tried their hands at seducing the other barmaids, with varying levels of success. A few got a slap for their trouble. Brandon finished his beer and they said their goodbyes. The raven-haired woman blew Iliana a kiss with a grateful smile. Iliana caught the kiss and pressed her closed fist to her chest in thanks before they ducked out the doors.

  The warm desert night closed around them and she let out a sigh of satisfaction. She’d often felt the same when completing a film. Something about a perfect performance filled her with contentment and reaffirmed her belief in herself. This is what I’m meant to do. She shot Brandon a grin and slapped him on the shoulder.

  “That was the best night I’ve had in a long time. Thanks, Brandon.”