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  Would he ever lie again in the dark and not feel the silk of her cheek pressed to the back of his hand, or the warmth of her tongue down his belly, or the scalding heat of her tears as emotion overpowered her?

  With a glance, he looked at his chest, where his tunic gaped open. No, he could not see red welts from the burn of her emotion, but inside it still flamed.

  The heat of her passion had taken the place of the heat of his fever. In other circumstances, he would lifemate with her, for the idea of any man, even her perfeet Bob, touching her with intimacy, lapping her nectar, sheathing himself in her silk, made him want to draw his sword and…

  His sword.

  A warrior without his sword was unworthy of any woman. When he regained his sword, his fortunes would turn. Of course, he had no idea how he would exchange a worthless dagger for a warrior’s sword. Perhaps Gwen would think of some plan.

  He must concentrate on the upcoming confrontation with the council, when he would present the empty dagger. The time drew near. He put his hand to his waist. The jeweled dagger was not in its sheath.

  Searching among the folds of Liah’s cloak, he found her little hand wrapped around her purloined treasure. He eased it from her palm, cleaned the sticky handle, and sheathed it.

  Ruonail knew his gifts would not placate any father, and that the councilors could not hide their daughters’ kidnapping for long. To save their heads, the councilors would heap the blame on the Selaw, fuel another war, turn all attention away from themselves.

  The sound of the dipping oars and creaking wood was hypnotic, his fatigue deep, but his anxiety about the upcoming meeting kept him wide awake.

  The terrain gradually grew less rocky and greener. The wind no longer harrowed the cheeks, and sweat began to run down the faces of the oarsmen. When Ardra ordered the men to put ashore, he gave Gwen no opportunity to sneak away.

  Instead he snagged her arm and marched her into the bushes.

  “I could use a little privacy,” she said coldly.

  “I will give you a few moments, but you must give me your word you will return to this spot. We must speak privately.”

  Her stormy look boded ill for her return. “Swear it,” he repeated.

  “Okay. Okay. I’ll be back.” She disappeared into the greenery, her garments helping her to blend with the foliage. It was a Selaw trait, this garbing oneself like one’s surroundings. Ardra’s cloak would make her nearly invisible on the ice, and he supposed one of the boxes contained green gowns and cloaks.

  True to her word, Gwen returned to the small clearing where he stood. “What’s wrong with your hair?” he asked as sun pierced the glade in a sudden and final farewell to day.

  “My hair?” She smoothed the short strands from her forehead.

  “Aye.” He moved closer, and despite an inner warning that he should not touch her, he stroked back the silky tresses. “It is turning dark near your scalp. Are you ill?” He touched her cheeks and forehead, which were mercifully cool.

  “Oh, dear.” She frowned, and he had to resist a need to smooth the furrow between her brows with his thumb. He dropped his hands and stepped away from temptation. “I suppose my roots need a touch-up.”

  “Roots?”

  “Yes. This is really hard to explain. By roots I mean where my hair grows from my head. The color needs…to be painted on again.”

  “Painted on? You have gone too long without proper sustenance. I shall tell Ardra to delay the journey until I may prepare a meal. Fish, I think. I know some root vegetables that will amply supply not only flavor, but have healing—”

  “Vad. Stop. I’m not hungry.” She gave a long sigh and dropped to the ground. “Sit. This is going to disillusion you.”

  “Disillusion me? How could your hair offer me disillusionment?” But he sat beside her.

  “I’m not really blonde.” She stroked her fingers through the soft cushion of dead pine needles and exposed the rich soil beneath. “My hair’s really this color, maybe a little lighter. I was a blonde when I was a baby, but the color changed over the years, which is not uncommon in my world.”

  “Why would you not be content with what you are?”

  She looked up, and a smile, one of sadness, crept over her face. “Blondes have more fun?”

  He gently sifted his fingers through her hair, examining the dark roots. “You are discontent with your life? Your circumstances? You drought that if you were blonde, your life would be more pleasing?”

  “Well, put like that it sounds pretty pathetic.” She leaped to her feet—away from his touch? “It’s not discontentment. It’s fashion. Everyone does it, even happy people. Just think about women’s clothing. Do they ever change the design here? Make the sleeves wider? Or narrower?”

  “Constantly.”

  “Then you can understand this. Women in my place change their hair color as often as they change the designs of their clothing.”

  He shrugged. “Despite your words, I think you are discontented with your life there.”

  Her little chin stabbed the air again. “I’m sure there are a few Selaw who wish their eyes were blue, and maybe someone, somewhere, might even want brown ones like mine.” Then she lowered her gaze and jabbed the toe of her soft boot into the dirt. “I’m sure you didn’t drag me out here to analyze my life. What do you want?”

  The muscles of his legs and back protested as he stood up. He stretched and wished he had had the time to soak in the steaming pool. “I wanted to explain why I could not let you stay at the fortress.”

  “Is that all? You were quite clear, you needed a sailor. And how dare you prevent me from going to Nilrem’s mountain? Who do you think you are?” Tears glistened in her eyes.

  He gathered her stiff form into his embrace. She smelled so sweet, felt so warm. “I could not allow you to remain at the fortress. Ruonail would not have been there.”

  “What are you talking about?” The tears slid down her cheeks. He skimmed one away with his thumb.

  “Had you remained behind, you would have found no Ruonail to help you, for he would have been long gone, onto the ice to face his end in his own way, or perhaps to an ally in another chiefdom who would give him shelter.

  “Ruonail’s meaning was veiled to protect Ardra, but clear to me. He intends to leave immediately. He does not plan to be at the fortress when a Tolemac legion comes to deal his fate.”

  “Poor Ardra,” she said softly, and leaned into his body.

  “Aye. Even now I imagine he is gone. A man capable of kidnapping, and more, will not spare his able warriors to escort a slave to Nilrem’s mountain. You are safe only with me.”

  She nodded against his chest, her nose rubbing on the cloth and sending darts of desire into his loins. Carefully he set her away from him.

  “When these matters are decided, I want you to lifemate with me.”

  Her mouth fell open; she staggered. Lest she fall, he put out his hand, which she grabbed and clutched. “I don’t understand.”

  “And why do you not understand? Did I not tell you that the next woman I lay with would be my intended lifemate? Did you think I just tossed my vows over the abyss with Enec and took you for a night’s pleasure?”

  “I don’t know what I thought.” She pulled away and tucked her fingers under her arms. She paced the small clearing, agitated, glancing everywhere but at him.

  “I saw you standing there at the edge of the abyss and knew I could not bear to see you die. I knew in that instant that we were tied together. I said as much as I joined myself to you.”

  “I thought they were just…words spoken in passion.”

  “You insult me.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t mean to insult you. But you can’t lifemate with me, not here.”

  “I will find a way.”

  “I’m not a virgin. And what of Ardra? Ruonail offered you everything he had. A beautiful daughter to be your lifemate. Political power to influence peace. A treat of a fortress with its own hot tu
b. Warriors to protect it all.”

  “That is why we must talk. I felt something like this might occur. I cannot insult Ruonail by rejecting his offer, and yet I cannot join myself to Ardra—or any other woman—when you are everything to me.”

  “I-I-I am?” Tears ran unchecked down her cheeks.

  “Aye.” He embraced her, and this time her body was pliant, molding willingly to his. A shudder of need for her ran through him.

  “But I’m not a virgin.”

  “As to that, neither am I.” He kissed her brow, her lips, lingering there, tasting her sweetness. “I do not understand it. Perhaps it is magic, but you are part of me now. That only makes my predicament worse. You must face it, Gwen, my life is uncertain. The council may strip me of my arm rings.”

  She whispered against his lips, sending a hum of sensation to his heart. “So what? We’ll leave then, go to Nilrem’s mountain together and go to Ocean City—”

  A man’s voice called for all to board the boat. Time was slipping away.

  He set her aside. “If the council still wishes to consider me a traitor, they will not simply strip me of my arm rings and set me free to pursue my own path. At the worst, I am a dead man; at the least, they will sell me into slavery. And even if they allow me to keep my status, I cannot just put aside Ruonail’s offer and say, No, I want this woman here, this slave, instead of a lifemating with an important Selaw heiress.”

  “I thought the mixing of Selaw and Tolemac was a bad thing.”

  “If the mix is between slaves or the lesser free folk. But who will not honor the offspring of rank, duly joined in a ceremony sanctioned by both chiefdoms? As you said, rank has its privileges.”

  Another shout drew his attention. “We must go. Think of some way to turn this empty dagger to our advantage. Think of what I have said; think of some plan that will allow us to be together and yet not injure Ardra. For she is blameless in all of this. She will be a woman alone when she returns to the fortress. And as Ruonail stated, a woman alone is prey.”

  He snatched her into his arms, then kissed her with all the heat and desire coiled inside him. “Know this well, Gwen—you are mine, and I intend to claim you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Twilight of the next day fell before they rounded the river bend that took them from Selaw territory to Tolemac. Undulating hills smoothed out to a wide valley, through which the river wound like a ribbon of blood under the setting Tolemac sun. Soon the night would belong to the moons, and surely, Gwen thought, the moons belonged to Tolemac, echoed by the color of the people’s eyes, the gems in their belts and on the handles of their daggers.

  Nestled in the valley, as far as the eye could see, stretched a city of tents, dotted about with the flicker of large fires. The tents were high-peaked pavilions with fluttering banners. It all reminded her of what a medieval tournament might have looked like. She imagined from the division of the tents on either side of the river that some were Tolemac and others Selaw.

  In the midst of the light-colored tents on the Tolemac side, a cluster of a dozen or so were stark black against the hills.

  “Who has all the black tents?” Gwen asked as she helped the maidens disembark from the boat in a natural cove that screened them from view of the valley.

  “If they fly the standard of a single rose then Samoht has brought his personal guard—the Red Rose Warriors. They are known far and wide for their prowess as fighters.” Vad stood on the bank and helped unload the boxes. When the boat was secured from both Selaw and Tolemac view, each person attended to washing up. Vad shaved with the razor-sharp edge of the jeweled dagger, and, along with the seven maidens, Gwen found it hard not to sit and stare as he worked.

  Ardra changed into a green cloak edged with gold and purple. Senga braided Ardra’s hair, then wound it about her head like a crown.

  “Shall I send one of my men to Senga’s father to inquire how he wishes to effect the return of his daughter? Surely one Selaw servant will not excite any curiosity. A lifemating negotiation will not be hostile. I imagine many Selaw are dining in Tolemac tents, as well as the reverse,” Ardra said.

  Vad nodded. “I am loath to send another man to do my tasks. But it makes sense.”

  “I could accompany him and see if I can contrive a private talk with the councilor.”

  Ardra kissed each maiden, and then, with but a moment of hesitation, kissed Gwen’s cheek. She went to Vad. Before him, she bowed deeply, then, without a word, she melted into the night with her escort.

  While the maidens spread blankets on the ground, night fell. Vad knelt by the water and gathered plants in the bright orb’s glow.

  It silvered his hair, cast a gleam on his clean-shaven face. Gwen sighed aloud. He looked up, smiled, and beckoned her near. She crouched by his side. In his hand he held a few flat leaves. He tore one and held it to her nose. It was peppery. “These will add a touch of flavor to the fish he catches.” Vad nodded toward one of Ardra’s men, who was setting out a small net. “If nothing else, we will dine well.”

  “Vad, what if this doesn’t go well? Have you thought of that?”

  He gave a negligent shrug, but she knew he cared deeply. “Isn’t there something else you could be besides a warrior?”

  He looked into the distance. “Nothing.”

  “I don’t believe that,” she said. “I didn’t start out to run a shop. I was going to be a famous fabric designer, but circumstances changed that. I met Bob, he died, and I just couldn’t sell his business. Now I love it. I love the games, talking to the people, playing the roles. Come on. Use your imagination; dream a little.”

  Ardra’s man brought Vad a long, silver fish. He cleaned it and then wrapped it in the peppery leaves. Tucking the fish into the banked coals, he sat back and stared into the fire. “I would like a kitchen with three fires going at all times, a kettle constantly on the boil, and three men or women who love food to do my bidding.” He grinned. “Most especially to clean the fish.” Then he lost his smile. “But a man does not cook unless on the move with his company, or in a place where a woman is not available.”

  She imagined him in her grandmother’s kitchen, a chef’s apron about his waist, a wooden spoon in one hand. She laughed aloud at the image, because in her mind’s eye, when he turned around, he wore only the apron and nothing else.

  “What amuses you?”

  “Nothing.” She swallowed her delight.

  Later, when the savory fish was but a memory, Gwen licked her fingers and sighed. Ardra burst from the shadows, her man running at her side.

  “Disaster,” she cried, and fell into Vad’s arms. “All is discovered.” She clutched his sleeves and gulped air.

  With great calmness, Vad held her shoulders and shook her. “Steady. Start at the beginning. Tell us calmly.”

  Ardra nodded, and then broke into tears.

  “I will tell you,” Ardra’s man said. He was a nondescript man of the same tall, blond stamp as the rest of the Selaw men. “As Mistress Ardra and I approached the tents, we heard a terrible commotion. Many folk were streaming toward a tent larger than the others.”

  “The council meeting tent,” Ardra managed to say, then fell to sobbing.

  “I asked a man tending a horse what was the matter and he said one of the councilors had been caught with another’s lifemate.”

  “And?” Vad stifled an urge to choke the information from the man.

  “And the wronged woman started screaming and tearing her hair, bemoaning her missing daughter and her mate’s perf…perf—”

  “Perfidy.” He could imagine the rest. “And everyone became privy to her lamentations, thus alerting all to her daughter’s plight, and so on to the other councilors.”

  The man bobbed his head in agreement with Vad’s words.

  “Ardra, bathe your face; we must go to the meeting tent immediately with the maidens. It is cruel to hold them from their families even a moment longer.”

  “But we haven’t thought of
a plan yet to explain the missing map!” Gwen cried. She peeled Ardra off Vad’s chest and wiped her tearstained face with a wet cloth.

  “I will take my chances.” Vad stepped into a pool of moonlight, and Ardra gasped when she saw he was garbed in his Tolemac colors, once again a warrior from his tunic to his high black boots. “I want each maiden to stand with another. Youngest first, oldest last. Ardra, hold Liah’s hand and keep a close watch on her. Gwen, walk a few paces behind us and keep your eyes downcast. It will serve to make you appear a proper servant.”

  The maidens lined up like ducklings behind their mother, and Gwen had to run to catch up when Vad immediately led them up the riverbank.

  Her stomach danced as they approached the Tolemac camp. They excited great curiosity as they passed along the rows of tents, but the men who sat about the campfires merely rose and watched them, murmuring among themselves. No one challenged them, perhaps because of Vad’s uniform, perhaps because they had children with them.

  One tent, twice as large as the others, stood a bit apart. Torches ringed it. Men stood at attention, long spears in their hands at every tent stake. Angry voices could be heard. It sounded like dozens of men were talking at once. The apprehension in Gwen’s stomach turned to stark fear.

  Vad lifted his hand for them to wait and said only one word to the sentry at the tent flap, his name.

  The sentry disappeared a moment, and the brief glimpse Gwen had of the inside was of splashes of color and many men about a large, round table.

  Silence fell inside the tent. When the sentry returned, he threw back the flap and gestured them in.

  Vad pointed right as he entered, and the maidens, led by Ardra, took places against the canvas wall. Gwen’s heart thudded hard in her chest.

  The tent was awash with the scents of men, leather, oiled metal, sweat, and horses. There were no women present, and no one stood and cried with joy at the sight of his missing child. Utter silence had fallen.

  Gwen counted twenty-four councilors at the table. The high eight sat in ornate chairs, with silver goblets and plates before them. Three men sat on more humble stools between each councilor. Banners of many colors, the Tolemac form of heraldry, lined the wall. It was magnificent and frightening. Not one man smiled.