The Savage Sabre

by Winchester, Rosamund

  The woman beside her translated what Essa had said into Welsh, and the little girl beamed, squealing and clapping her hands.

  “I think she likes that idea,” Glynnis said, laughing. Glynnis, from what Essa had learned over the last week, was the widow of one Rees and the lover of another. She was an intelligent and witty woman, who could stand her own against Saban—which never ceased to make Essa smile. The large man would grumble and grunt and issues orders, but Glynnis would plant her hands on her hips, turn her chin up, and unleash a torrent of words that left Saban fighting back a grin. In the beginning, as Essa watched the drama unfold before her, she braced herself, waiting for Saban to strike out, hitting Glynnis and punishing her for her impertinence.

  But he never did. And from the look of grudging admiration on Saban’s rugged, handsome face, he held no ill will against Glynnis. If she were honest with herself, she would admit that she’d spent too much time watching Saban as he went about his duties as faction leader. Not once had he raised his voice, struck anyone, or issued an unreasonable or dangerous command.

  He is not the monster I thought he was. That was a thought she’d repeated too many times to count over the last nine days, ever since she’d begun coming to Dwyn Twll daily to help Lucia. Sometimes, she was asked to help with the wounded, and sometimes she was asked to help with the drying and mixing of herbs for poultices, and sometimes she had nothing to do but wander around while critical, suspicious gazes followed her. She wasn’t a fool, she knew that many of the people there didn’t trust her. She understood that, she knew why, and she was doing what she could to make up for what she’d allowed to happen.

  A flourish of Welsh brought Essa back to the moment, where the little girl was staring at Essa with expectancy. Grinning at Merida, Essa handed the girl the ribbon, and the little girl cradled it in her hand, staring down at it like it was a precious treasure, before turning and racing off in the direction of the store house, where her mother was visiting with the quartermaster.

  “You are good with the children,” Glynnis remarked, her lips quirking in a smile. “You will make a good mother.”

  A spiral of heat and longing she didn’t know she felt rose from her belly into her chest. The blood rushed into her cheeks and she sputtered. “I would not know.” She tucked her hands into the skirt she’d borrowed from Lucia, to give them something to do.

  Glynnis tipped her head thoughtfully. “Have you no mother of your own?” she asked, and Essa felt the blow like a stone to her ribs. She knew the woman hadn’t meant to hurt her, but the question hurt all the same.

  “I must have, but I do not remember her,” she replied.

  “Oh?” Glynnis came to sit beside Essa on the bench near the mouth of the docks.

  “I think she died.” For truth, Essa could not remember what happened to her mother or her father. She only knew what her brother had told her about them, about how they were from a proud family of nobles, who loved her and wanted only the best for her. Ernesto said they had died when she was too young to have truly known them, and that he, as the eldest, had taken on the role of protector and provider. Several times over the years, she’d asked him how their parents had died and, as expected, he would change the subject, evading any conversation that he deemed “unnecessary and potentially painful”.

  Essa, deep in thought, didn’t realize that Glynnis had put a hand on her knee. Blinking, she looked down at it. It was comforting.

  “My own mother died when I was too young to be on my own. But I remember her well; that she loved me, she adored my father, and she wanted only the best for us. I also remember what it felt like to lose her, to feel as though God had ripped every joy from my body. Because of that, I envy you.”

  Stunned, Essa flinched. “You envy me? Why?”

  Glynnis offered Essa a gentle smile. “You do not remember her…so perhaps the pain is not so much, eh?”

  Understanding dawned, and Essa offered a smile in return.

  “I suppose not. Though, I think I would rather have the memories with the pain than no memories at all. I often find myself wishing I had a mother to talk to, to share parts of my life with, to ask her questions, and learn all I can from her.” It wasn’t lost on Essa that she was, even now, speaking to another woman about such things. No, Glynnis wasn’t a mother but, as a widow and as someone who’d experienced the intrigue that was the Rees family, perhaps she could answer some of the questions swirling around in Essa’s head.

  Questions she had not even dared to fully form until that moment.

  Nodding, Glynnis squeezed Essa’s knee. “Aye, I can understand that. I do not know what I would do without the memories of my mother to make me smile when I am feeling at my worst.” Glynnis’ expression fell, her eyes dimming—but for a moment, before she was smiling again. “And I will use what I learned from her if I am ever blessed with children of my own.” Her gaze flicked to a man across the cavern, standing in a tight circle of men around Saban. The man, strikingly handsome with his long, dark hair, and familiar green eyes, turned and met Glynnis’ gaze, and Essa nearly went up in flames at the scorching heat that passed between the two of them.

  Dios mío! To know that kind of passion…her own gaze, of its own accord, found Saban…he was looking at her, his stormy green eyes burned hot, and her heart shuddered before taking off at a gallop. She sucked in a breath, remembering that Glynnis was sitting beside her.

  Coughing to hide her sudden lack of breath, Essa stood.

  “It looks as though my cousin is eager to leave,” Glynnis murmured, humor soaking her words.

  At that, Essa looked up once again, and she almost fell back down onto the bench. Saban was stalking toward her, his gaze on her alone, his expression hard and yet molten. Once he reached her, she held her ground, though her chest was burning from holding her breath.

  “Essa,” Saban drawled, his voice just this side of growling.

  She lifted her chin, refusing to show any sign that his nearness was affecting her.

  “Saban,” she drawled in reply, watching Glynnis out of the corner of her eye as the woman looked from her to Saban and then back again. If Essa were a betting woman, she’d wager that Glynnis was laughing on the inside.

  “Evening is falling,” he announced. “We need to be on our way.”

  She was stunned by that, though, time spent in an underground sea cavern made it difficult to determine the time of day. And she often found herself losing track of time when she was wandering or helping Lucia, or playing with the children. With a start, she realized…she actually enjoyed spending her days in Dwyn Twll.

  When she’d first come, she was bound by the assumptions of the Ganwyd o’r Mor, the support lines—the vendors, wives, and children—and their purpose. But now that she’d met Saban, Lucia, and Glynnis, and had sat with several of the wives, and played with many of the children, she understood how utterly false those assumptions had been.

  What would Hermano say? Then, she mentally snapped, what does it matter what he says? Everything that falls from his lips is a lie!

  “I will fetch my things,” she replied, turning to pick up the sack containing a bar of soap, a new shirt, two skirts, a pair of stockings, a brush, and tooth powder—all things she’d received from the quartermaster. At first, she’d told him she did not have the money to pay or the items to trade, but he insisted they cost her nothing, shoving the goods into a bag and practically tossing it at her. His face had been less than agreeable, but he said nothing mean to her.

  It didn’t take her long to come to the conclusion that Saban had something to do with it. In a flash of ire, she wanted nothing more than to stuff the items down his throat for daring to assume he could buy things for her. But, then…she was flooded with a sense of gratefulness. How marvelous it would be to wash the weeks of grime, sweat, and stink off of her skin, to put on new clothes, to clean her teeth. She would feel like a new woman.

  I am a new woman, she asserted to herself. I am not the sa
me woman I was when I snuck from my tower chamber in Spain.

  With her sack in hand, she moved toward the rear exit of the cavern, knowing she would have to wait there for Saban to place the bag over her head. Si, she had come to the sea cave every day, she’d done what she could to aid Lucia, she had been on her best behavior but, still, she could only come and go with her eyes covered. It left a sour taste in her mouth…but she could understand it. She was still the enemy, still a Spaniard who came to do violence against them. Essa only wished there was some way to prove that she could be trusted.

  Can you? You are still the sister of a man who has hated the Welsh for years. But Ernesto was not her, she did not share his hatred, not anymore.

  As she walked past where the circle of men had convened, she overheard, “Saban is a fool for a pretty face. She will cut his throat given the chance. And then…I will kill her myself.” Fear sucked the breath from her and she stumbled, her legs suddenly trembling. She knew it was Brendan’s voice. He had no qualms with speaking openly about his distrust.

  Straightening her shoulders, she continued on, stopping just inside the mouth of the corridor that led upward and outward, to the ledge along the sea cliffs. She’d walked that path twice every day for the last nine days, and she still hated it. One wrong move, one stumble, and she was dead, shattered to pieces on the rocks below.

  She closed her eyes, the chill breeze floating down the passageway caressed her face, cooling the flush from her skin and the rise of fear from her thoughts. Gravel crunched beneath heavy feet, and she knew Saban was approaching. Holding her breath, she waited for the sack to descend over her head. She hated the sack almost as much as she hated the cliffside path.

  Saban stopped just beside her, and she could feel his gaze on her, searching her expression for…she didn’t know what, only that to be under constant observation was becoming a weight that was chipping away at her strength. There was only so much a lone woman could take in the presence of people who saw her as a villain.

  Ha! Just as you thought of them not too long ago. Dios, and there was the crux of it. They were treating her as she would have treated them if their positions were reversed. But her knowing that didn’t make the burden any easier to bear.

  Sighing, she opened her eyes and met his gaze. His eyes were hooded, his long, black lashes hiding his thoughts from her. “I am waiting,” she intoned, indicating the empty sack lying over a rock beside the doorway. She reached for it, her temper urging her to just get on with it, but Saban’s hand made it to the sack before hers.

  “Nay.”

  She pulled her hand back and stared at him, confusion making her forehead ache.

  “We need not use the bag again,” he answered her unspoken question. A slow, wickedly taunting smile appeared then. “Unless you prefer the sack over your head.”

  She grunted, crossing her arms, thankful that her wrist was well on its way to being as it was before her fall.

  “I cannot imagine enjoying it. I much prefer seeing where I am going, especially when walking along treacherous paths.”

  His grin grew. “Is there a double meaning there, fy artaith?”

  Annoyed by his teasing, she clicked her tongue and moved toward the mouth of the passage.

  His deep, throaty chuckle followed her, warming her even as the chill of the passage slid over her exposed skin. She’d only ever walked this passageway while blinded, so she was glad the way was straight. It was dark, too, but there were sputtering torches anchored by holders spaced yards apart. Essa could hear Saban moving behind her, following her, probably laughing at her, but she continued on, ignoring the feeling of his gaze on her ass.

  Without the sack over her head, she was able to move through the passage faster than usual, and so she was on the ledge overlooking the cliffs before she knew it. Her breath caught.

  “Dios! It is beautiful,” she murmured, the words catching and carrying away on the wind that whipped by. Her hair, loose around her shoulders, was also caught up in the whipping wind, hitting her face with a snap. Pushing the hair out of her eyes, she took in the view before her. The ledge along the cliffs hung out over a cove, nearly completely encircled by jagged rocks, jutting out from a frothing, foaming sea. In the distance, she could see the sails of ships in the bay, just on the other side of a high ridge.

  The cove was hidden; no one could see it from the bay side, which meant the only way to know it was there was to stumble upon it—which was unlikely.

  “You should see it on a clear, windless day,” Saban remarked. “You could almost go swimming.”

  A snort escaped before she could stop it. “Swimming? In there?” she asked, pointing to the boiling waters beneath them.

  He chuckled. “Aye. It is bracing, puts hair on the chest.” He pounded his fist against his chest, and grinned down at her. Her gaze flicked to the spot he’d hit, the thin shirt was open at the throat, and dark, wiry hair was visible.

  “You must swim here often,” she intoned dryly, biting back her own grin when Saban roared a hearty laugh into the sky. His laughter was both surprising and enticing, and as she watched his throat working, his Adam’s apple bobbing, she was enthralled by the image of a sea god made of flesh.

  Come to capture and seduce me…oh, but would that truly be so terrible?

  She continued looking at him, and he knew she was looking, because it seemed that every muscle in his body flexed, and the smile on his face curled to just the right degree that it burned a path from her breasts to her womanhood, singing the fibers that held her will together.

  Jerking her face away, she took a deep breath of bracing sea air, and crossed her arms to hide the evidence of his effect on her.

  The bastard wasn’t finished teasing her, though.

  “Nay, Essa, I do not swim here, but I can show you where I do swim. The water is clear, refreshing, and I swim there often as of late…naked.” His voice dropped to a rumble, which somehow seemed deeper than the rumbling of the waves below. Her breasts tingled, her nipples hardening. The place between her thighs ached, throbbing, begging for something. She pressed her legs together to lessen the ache, and she turned in time to catch him watching her. From the flash in his eyes and the flare of his nostrils, she knew he’d seen her do that, and he knew why.

  “Come, now, Essa. I think we can both use a long, refreshing swim,” he drawled coaxingly, reaching out to run a rough finger down her cheek. She shuddered, his touch sparking through her.

  Damn!

  “I think not,” she snapped. Her body, vibrating with too many sensations to name, felt heavy. Fearful of what that could mean, she turned and began making her way up the path toward the top of the cliffs, and away from Saban. Now that she could see, she was slightly more terrified, but she hid it, moving with purpose until she reached the top of the path. But she didn’t stop there, she knew the clearing and the horses were close, and the sooner she got to the horses, the sooner they’d return to the cottage, and—

  And what? The cottage was isolated, far from anyone…she would be alone with Saban.

  Stop being ridiculous! You have been alone with him every night since your capture. And that was true but, somehow, something had changed between them. After that first kiss, and his first attempts as seduction, he had kept his distance, not even brushing against her by accident. It was as though he had lost all interest in her as a woman, realizing that now that she had offered information freely, there was no need to coerce it from her. They would sup together, converse, and then they would retire for the night on separate pallets across the room from one another. In the morning, they would break their fast in silence, and then they would make their daily journey to Dwyn Twll.

  It had become a routine, almost as though they lived together and were sharing their lives with one another. But that wasn’t true…she was still a captive, more or less. She couldn’t go wherever she wanted, whenever she wanted, she was always watched or accompanied by Saban or one of the other Rees family member
s. She was a prisoner, just without the bars or shackles.

  Taking a slow, deep breath, she closed her eyes and raised her face to the sun, her thoughts circling the same conclusion: she was a prisoner of her own desire to a man who caught her world on fire.

  Oh, but to burn…just for a little while…

  Chapter Fourteen

  Saban followed Essa from a short distance, his gaze on the movement of her curvy body as she walked, though stiffly, up the path along the cliffs. The sight of her was a both a balm to his troubled soul and a burn in his bollocks—she soothed with her laughter and then sliced in him in two with her tongue. She was contradiction, intrigue, beauty, and light, all wrapped up in a package he wanted to slowly open…with his teeth.

  Grunting, he readjusted himself as he continued to walk, but not before averting his gaze from what was causing them to ache in the first place. Not that he had to look at her to get hard; it only took a thought of her to do that, and it was driving him crazy.

  Even Brendan had made note of how distracted he’d been lately, and how he’d spent far too much time with the Spaniard if he never intended to bed her properly.

  Oh, he intended to bed her, more than once, and over a period of weeks or months, if given the chance. He just had to wait. But the waiting did little to comfort his poor, neglected cock. Typically, he’d have bedded several women by now, no one more than once. But he hadn’t touched another woman since he’d captured Essa.

  “You have lost your mind and your bollocks,” Brendan had muttered just that morning when Saban told him he wouldn’t require Essa to wear the sack over her head any longer.

  “You trust her, do you?” his cousin had asked, his eyes narrowed. But his eyes were seeking, though glittering with uncertainty.

  The truth was, he did trust her. In the beginning, when he’d first trapped her in that shoreside ravine, he’d looked upon her as the enemy, a captive to be wrung dry and tossed into the rubbish heap once he was done with her. But then, his plans changed at the revelation of her femininity; a woman dressed in men’s clothes. And then his plans changed again when he’d first taken her to Dwyn Twll…and she’d opened up about her brother.