***
Knowledge, Francesca found, could be an uncomfortable thing. She debated what she had learned from the detective’s latest report while she watched her husband stare intently at a book reader. Ran-Del’s hands gripped the thing like it might try to get away, and his lips moved as he sounded out words.
“Still working on the Parker Twin books?” she asked, trying to sound casual.
Ran-Del closed the reader and threw it across the room. It hit the wall, leaving a small dent, then dropped to the floor. “No, not any more. They’re pointless stories.”
Francesca watched his gesture of frustration, unmoved. She was finding it difficult to be sympathetic. “You could read something else?”
“Why?” Ran-Del got to his feet, retrieved the reader, and put it on a shelf. “I’m tired, Francesca. I’m going to bed.”
Francesca could feel her ire rising. She had to get control or she would say something she would regret later. But on the other hand, she wasn’t willing to let this situation go on without making her objections known. “You might have a little more energy for your studies if you’d take a skimmer to work. Or even,” she gave him a level stare, “if you came directly home instead of lingering in a bar eying the barmaid as if she were on the menu.”
Ran-Del stopped in his tracks. He turned and stared at her. Could he feel how angry she was?
“You’ve been spying on me.” The accusation in his voice told her she wasn’t the only one who was angry.
She felt her face flush hot, but couldn’t stop herself from blurting out the truth. “I hired someone without telling him anything about you. He had operatives sitting in the bar all day long, filming everything. I fed the images through my own monitor and had it scan for your face. Once I saw you with the redhead, I went back and watched to make sure she didn’t flirt like that with everyone. She didn’t; it was just you she favored.”
Ran-Del’s face reflected disgust, disdain even. “You think there’s something going on between me and Janis Uurtemo?”
He knew right away who she meant. Francesca dropped her eyes, tried desperately to calm down. “No. I mean, I don’t think you’re sleeping with her. I just think you spend too much time there. That woman gives you a hell of a lot of encouragement, and you don’t seem to be shutting the door in her face.”
His chest heaved as if he had run a long distance. “Were you listening as well as watching?”
“Yes.”
“For how long have you done this?” He seemed a little calmer, his breathing more even, but his voice was as cold as ice.
“A little over a week.”
Ran-Del suddenly pulled his dirk from its sheath and flung it across the room. The point wedged itself firmly into the wood of a picture frame, and the knife quivered for a few seconds.
Francesca stared at it, her eyes wide in dismay. She hadn’t seen him this angry since he was a prisoner. “Is that supposed to make me afraid of you?”
Ran-Del ignored the question. “By what right did you spy on me, Francesca? What gave you the right to eavesdrop on my conversations and take my picture without my knowing it?”
All her anger flooded back. Francesca stood up so that she faced him. “I’m your wife! I have every right to know what you’re up to with other women.”
Ran-Del crossed the space between them in three long strides and stood so close she could feel his breath on her face. “We are married, Francesca,” he said, his voice taut. “I don’t refer to your so-called ceremony in front of the com. But when our union was blessed by my shaman, I made a promise to you, and I’ve kept it. If you can doubt me after that, then there’s no point in pretending to be married.”
Pretending? Francesca couldn’t look at him for a second. She gulped, caught her breath and took the offensive. “How can you think it wouldn’t hurt me to see you almost holding that woman’s hand? I know married couples who touch each other with less tenderness than she used in handing you your change.”
He softened his tone and looked down at her with concern in his eyes. “How can we be married if we spy on each other, if we don’t trust each other?”
Francesca bit back a sob. “But you don’t tell me anything. You never told me about going to the bar or this Janis woman.”
“I told you about how I met Georges. I told you that when I fell into the river, a woman in a bar dried my clothes for me.”
Francesca snorted. “That’s all you said. From that, I’d have thought she was old enough to be your grandmother.”
He had the grace to look ashamed. “I never said that. And you never asked me about friends at work.”
“I suppose I should have,” Francesca said. “I’m not inclined to do things the direct way, Ran-Del. Sneakiness is in my blood.” When Ran-Del didn’t comment, she took a deep breath. “I’ll try to be more open when I need to know more.”
Ran-Del hesitated for a moment, then nodded, stepped away. “Good.” He walked over to the picture on the wall and retrieved his knife.
Francesca couldn’t quite let it go. “Ran-Del?”
“Yes?”
She had to know. It was better to know. “Do you love her?”
“No.”
He went into the bedroom without saying anything more. He was already in bed when Francesca undressed and slipped in beside him. They lay side by side, without touching. Sometime in the night, Francesca finally fell asleep, unable to determine if Ran-Del was awake or not. It was the first time they had quarreled and not made it up by making love.
The Sixth Discipline Page 67
