The woman's long-fingered, brown-skinned hand reached out, caught hold of his.
"I can manage the ointment," she said, in grudging tones, "but not the bandage. I never . . . had the knack. You'd better do it."
Brother Daniel shut his eyes, asked for strength. The touch of her hand sent tongues of flame flickering over his body. He reached into his memory, brought forth a picture of the false monks with the dead eyes; of Brother Miguel, crouched among the tombs; of Lord Sagan, bleeding, perhaps dying. Resolution returned. He opened his eyes, set about calmly dressing the wound.
The woman was staring at him, forehead creased in puzzlement.
"I heard them call you 'brother.' You related to one of them, the bitch maybe?"
"I am ... or rather was ... a priest," said Daniel. "In the Order of Adamant."
"Priest!" the woman scoffed, stared at him, then shook her head in disgust. She lay back on the pillow. "You expect me to believe that?"
"It doesn't matter whether you do or not," replied Daniel softly, steadily, spreading ointment on her fingers that were incredibly long, with tapered ends and colorfully polished nails. "I'm sorry," he said after a moment. "Am I hurting you, Captain?"
"Tomi," she said. "Call me Tomi." Her hand had clenched suddenly over his, a spasm of pain crossed her face. She swallowed, gulped in a breath, relaxed. "No, not you. That freak of nature—"
"What did Sparafucile do to you?" Brother Daniel asked in renewed concern, deftly wrapping the bandage over the blistered skin. He glanced over her body again. "I see no trace of an injury—"
"No, he's good, that one," admitted Tomi, forcing a grim smile. "I judged him by his looks, figured he was dim-witted. I thought I could jump him, take his gun. I never saw anyone move so fast." Ruefully, she rubbed her right arm. "I'll bet I'm not the first to make that mistake with him. He's a high-class, cold-blooded killer. The bitch must have money to be able to afford talent like—"
"Please, don't call her that," said Brother Daniel, his gaze on the yellow sheet. "She's a great lady. You don't understand—"
"No, you don't understand!" Tomi propped herself up on one elbow, reached out, grabbed hold of his arm. Long nails drove into his flesh. "Look at me, damn you! Priest! What do you do, Brother? Bless the bodies after this crew murders 'em? Is that what you're going to do for us, when the Corasians have finished with us? Only there won't be much left behind to bless . . . And what do you expect to do with your share of the blood-money, Priest? Got a few favorite charities to support—
Her hand was strong, trembled in her earnestness. He was conscious of her body's warmth, the musky smell of her perfume or perhaps her own skin, the beautiful clarity of her eyes, the startling whiteness of her sharp teeth against her dusky complexion, the pain of her nails in his flesh. And the pain of her words. She made him see how different he was from the rest, made him consider the vast gulf that lay between him and them, even between him and the Lady Maigrey. A gulf wider than the one that separated galaxies . . .
She was drawing closer to him, the almond eyes half-closed, the wide, full lips that were moist and tinged with coral were coming near his lips. She pulled him down toward her. The jacket flap opened, her breasts were bare. He could imagine the softness, the full swelling beneath his fingers.
The tongues of flame that swept over his body seemed to emanate from his loins. The aching pain was both sweet and appalling, forbidden to him by his vows, inviting because it was forbidden. He made no move to encourage her, but he made no move to stop her, either. He shut his eyes, smelling her fragrance, her touch fueling the fire.
Her hand slid inside his shirt, contacted bare skin, and he shivered at her touch that was cool . . . cool and searching.
Brother Daniel stood up suddenly, wrenched himself away from the woman, away from the feeling fingers. "I carry no weapons," he said coldly.
The almond eyes stared into his. She seemed abashed for a brief moment, then her eyes flashed defiance. "You can't blame me for trying!" Throwing herself back on the bed, she took hold of the flap of her uniform jacket, drew it up, covered herself. "Get out."
Brother Daniel, trembling with shame, wrapped himself in what shreds of dignity he had remaining to him and walked away. He opened the door, started to leave.
"Tell the bitch I'll die of thirst," Tomi hissed behind him. "Maybe you can say a prayer over me, Brother!"
Daniel paused, but did not turn around, did not answer. Walking out the door, he shut it, sealed it without truly knowing what he was doing. He started down the corridor, had to stop. Waves of nausea swept over him. He slumped weakly against the bulkhead, fought to keep from being sick.
"God forgive me!" he cried, shuddering. "God forgive me!"
"Brother Daniel ..." It was Lady Maigrey, her voice penetrating through the dark and roiling clouds that encompassed him.
Daniel looked up, lifted his head, realized that she had been speaking to him a long time. His face flushed a burning red. "Y-yes, my lady?"
"Brother Daniel, are you all right?"
No, he was all wrong. Her tone was gentle, filled with understanding. He was on the verge of confessing, of pouring out his blackened soul to her. The words burned on his lips. He lifted beseeching eyes and saw Agis, standing behind her, the man's face grim and stern. He saw the half-breed, leering, knowing; saw Xris, cool, amused; the Loti, Raoul, smiling at him blissfully. They knew. They all knew.
Daniel swallowed, pressed his lips together. "Don't worry about me. I'm fine."
Maigrey had seen his gaze shift to the men standing around her. "Agis, have you had a reply from our signal to Dion?"
"No, my lady."
"We should have heard by now. Send it again."
"Yes, my lady." Agis, hearing a faint note of rebuke in her voice, went quickly back to his duties.
"I've got the door fixed," said Xris, seeing her gaze shift to him.
"Inspect the ship. Check on the status of the passengers."
"Sure thing, sister." Xris cast a look at the priest, shook his head, and walked off.
Sparafucile, taking the hint, shambled to a distant part of the bridge.
Maigrey turned back to Daniel.
"I think you came earlier to tell me something. I'm sorry." She smiled ruefully. "I didn't give you a chance. What was it?"
They were alone. What he said to her, he knew would remain locked in her heart. And he had the distinct impression, from the look in her eyes, that she knew already.
But should he shift this burden onto her? Would she even understand? She was having her own battle with God. Daniel sighed, determined to fight on alone.
"It's the captain, my lady," he said, his voice steady, in control. "She refuses to drink the drugged water. She claims that she will die of thirst before she gives in."
If Maigrey had been expecting something else and was disappointed not to hear it from him, she kept her disappointment hidden, contented herself with one long, scrutinizing look.
And if the priest lowered his eyes before that penetrating gaze, it was nothing unusual for him.
"Yes. I can believe she'd do it, too," Maigrey said. "A woman of strong character, she's not used to being thwarted. When she goes after something, my guess is she gets it."
Was that a warning to him? Brother Daniel kept silent.
"Raoul," Maigrey called, gestured to the Adonian, who was gazing out the vidscreen with his accustomed drug-glazed rapture.
The Loti came at her command, long hair wafting around him, all lace and ruffles and glittering jewels. In Raoul's wake moved an odd personage that Daniel had not previously seen. The person was short in height. Its race, sex, and species were indeterminable, for it was clad in what appeared to be an overlarge raincoat, its head topped by a fedora. Daniel was aware only of two bright eyes that fixed him with a disconcerting stare.
"How may the Little One and I have the privilege of serving my lady?" Raoul asked with a bow and a flourish.
"I need this drug of y
ours made into an injection to be given to the captain of this vessel, and anyone else who may take it into their heads not to drink the water. Can you do that?"
"With the greatest of ease, my lady. In fact, I took the liberty of anticipating my lady's wishes along these lines. The injections are prepared." Raoul fluttered his hand gracefully over a kit he had brought with him. "Shall I undertake the task?"
Maigrey considered a moment. "No, Raoul. This captain is an extremely active, strong-minded individual. I think the half-breed had better deal with her."
Brother Daniel rose to his feet, hands clasped before him. "I will give the captain the injection."
Maigrey was obviously surprised, hesitated. "Are you certain. Brother?" She gazed at him searchingly.
This time, Brother Daniel's eyes met hers. "Yes, my lady."
"Very well. Raoul, give Brother Daniel what he needs."
The Loti did as commanded. The priest accepted the kit, listened attentively to the instructions for the correct dosage, left the bridge, his outward demeanor calm.
Maigrey watched him go. Turning, with a sigh, she found everyone on the bridge staring at her.
Raoul, head cocked, appeared to be listening to the silent voice of his diminutive companion. "The Little One says, my lady, that the priest is confused. He has thoughts of traitorous intent that are being fed by a lust for this woman, the captain."
"I don't think one needs to be an empath to figure that out," said Maigrey dryly. She put her hands to her aching temples.
Dear God! Couldn't You have chosen another time, another place? Don't I have problems enough? And what do I do about it? Brother Daniel has to wrestle with the devil himself. No one can fight this battle for him. And yet this mission is far too important to risk it on a priest's fall ... or his triumph.
"Sparafucile, go after him. Don't interfere, just keep an eye on him. And," she added, after a pause, "don't let him know he's being watched."
The half-breed nodded, slid out the door.
"I don't like doing that," she said, coming over to Agis. "I don't like spying on him."
"You have no choice, my lady," said the centurion.
Maigrey sighed, shook her head. "Any word from His Majesty?"
"No, my lady."
Chapter Sixteen
O hard, when love and duty clash!
Alfred, Lord Tennyson, The Princess
Dion was fuzzy-headed after a night that had alternated between golden dreams of love and dark and terrible nightmares. And today, of all days, he needed to be alert and in full possession of his faculties, for today he had to bargain with DiLuna and Rykilth for men, ships, and money to launch the battle that would, God willing, win Dion his crown.
His waking and sleeping dreams had been so mixed up during the night, he wasn't sure what was reality and what had been manufactured in his subconscious. One thing only he knew, knew it because of the warmth enveloping him on the inside, if not the out, for his room was bitterly cold. Kamil loved him and had promised to become his wife.
But he had to rouse himself, get rid of what felt like the goose-down comforter inside his head. He recalled yesterday's awakening, recalled seeing Bear and his hulking sons indulging in what passed for a shower bath. They stood naked in an enclosed courtyard beneath a barrel of water, perched precariously on a roof. At the signal, servants upended the barrel, sending a cascade of water, mingled with chunks of ice, down over them. Dion, watching yesterday in mingled awe and amusement, had shuddered at the thought.
Today, grimly, gritting his teeth together to keep them from chattering, he stood in the courtyard, the cold wind cutting through his flesh to the very bone and gasped in shock as the deluge of icy water thundered down on him. Shaking his head, blinking and puffing and doing a little dance to warm himself, he groped blindly for a towel, was nearly knocked over by one tossed at him.
"Thanks!" Dion managed, huddling thankfully in the soft woolen fabric, drying his face.
"I've heard of guys taking cold showers after a date, but don't you think this is carrying things a little too far?"
Tusk, enveloped in his fur-lined parka, was staring at him in horror.
Dion laughed. The cold water had felt good, invigorating. It dispelled the clouds in his head, banished the nightmares. He was young, he was king, Kamil loved him. That was all that mattered. He rubbed the rough towel briskly over his skin, watched it glow red with the exertion. His body dry, he ran the towel over his mane of red hair, emerged with it flaring out in all directions, like the rays of the sun.
Grinning, he snapped the towel at Tusk. "C'mon. You should try it."
Tusk, shivering in his heavy coat, clasped his arms around himself, shook his head. "I'm a married man, kid. I can't afford to freeze my balls off. Though, considering the night I spent, I don't suppose it would much matter if they got frozen off here or up there." He nodded gloomily in the general direction of the bedroom.
"You and Nola had a fight?"
"I s'pose so," said Tusk, shaking his head in perplexity. "I'm not sure. If we did, I wasn't there."
"Don't worry," Dion counseled, feeling suddenly old and wise, knowledgeable and experienced in the ways of love. "Whatever it was, shell get over it. Women do, you know." Throwing the towel back at Tusk, Dion began to get dressed.
Tusk eyed him suspiciously. "What happened to you, kid? Last night you looked like someone'd just shot you."
Dion hadn't been going to tell anyone, but now he found he couldn't keep his love a secret. It seemed that it must be written in the sky above, flaring across it in rainbow colors by day, flashing across it in sparkling starlight by night. Dion paused in the act of putting on his shirt, apparently oblivious to the chill wind stinging his bare flesh.
"Tusk," he said, coming close to his friend, speaking in an excited undertone, though no one was around to hear them, except the servants, and they were refilling the barrel with water, "I asked Kamil to marry me last night."
He stood back, waited eagerly for Tusk's reaction.
"You did, huh, kid." Tusk eyed him speculatively. "What'd she say?"
"Yes!" Dion could have sung the word, thought it should be sung. Speaking it seemed so inadequate. "She said yes!"
"Yeah, I coulda probably guessed that," Tusk replied.
It occurred to Dion that his friend wasn't responding in quite the proper spirit. "Tusk! Come off it. Don't look at me like I decided to jump off the battlements! Remember how you and Nola felt, the first time you met?"
"Yeah, we hated each other's guts."
"Oh, yes, that's right," said Dion, momentarily deflated. "But after that—"
"Kid, Nola told me this morning what she said to you. Didn't you hear any of it?"
Dion was silent, finished dressing, tugging the heavy shirt over his head. Sitting down on an upended barrel, he pulled on his socks and his boots. "I did, Tusk," he said, more soberly. "I thought about it, I really did."
"How long? Two seconds?"
"It was just that—When I saw Kamil I—We met in the hall last night, purely by accident—
"And your hormones got the better of you."
"It's not like that!" Dion flashed angrily. "It's—Oh, forget it! Just forget it! I shouldn't have said anything. Don't tell anyone else, will you?" He glared at his friend. "Promise?"
"No, kid, I won't tell anyone else," Tusk said with a sigh. He laid a hand on Dion's arm. "I'm real happy for you, kid. Honest. I hope everything works out. You've been through a lot. You deserve it. You really do."
"Thanks, Tusk," said Dion, putting his hand over his friend's, squeezing it. "I—I'm sorry for what I said. I'm glad you know. I haven't told you—I guess I hoped you'd knew— but through this all—everything I mean, not just this—you've been the one person—well, Nola, too—that I've felt like I could count on. Lady Maigrey, Sagan, even General Dixter— they all want something from me. You never did. You were just there ... for me. And I guess what I'm trying to say is that I appreciate it—"
"All right, kid, all right," broke in Tusk, wiping his nose, clearing his throat. "Next thing I know you'll be askin' me to marry you!"
"No, I won't! Ever!" Dion laughed, then sobered. "You can tell Nola. And tell her thanks for her advice, but, by then, it was already too late."
"I think she knew that, kid," Tusk said, remembering the tears in the night. "I think she knew it all along."
Breakfast was a noisy, boisterous meal. Unlike evening's supper, which was a time for relaxation and family gathering, breakfast was haphazard, grab it when you came, sit if you had time and stand if you didn't. Sonja and her women hastened to and from the kitchen, where kettles of water were being heated for laundry. Bear and his sons and several cousins, who had arrived early that morning, discussed their plans for the day, all talking—or rather shouting—at the top of their lungs. There was to be a hunting party, and spears and knives clattered on the table, excited dogs nipped at their heels, snapped at each other, and tried their best to urge their masters up and away.
Kamil was going on the hunt and Dion longed to go himself, though he rather doubted his ability to help net and spear a wild boar. But he had his duty to perform, arrangements to make with DiLuna and Rykilth.
"Well be going on our own hunting party soon," the Bear reminded him, with a wink. He was also forgoing the hunt, remaining behind to offer counsel and advice.
Dion and Kamil said little to each other during breakfast, fearing that if they said anything, too much would follow. They contented themselves with exchanging glances and smiles, each fondly believing the secret locked safely within, neither realizing that it shone from them like sunlight breaking through the clouds.
Sonja and her husband did their own share of glance exchanging. Sonja shook her head, shrugged, smiled, and seemed to say, "What did you expect?" The Bear, alternating between frowns and grins, tugged so frequently at his beard it seemed likely he would pull it out by the roots.
Amid a clatter of spears, barking, roared laughter, and the inadvertent overturning of several chairs and a cousin, the hunting party left the castle. Dion was aware, for the first time in his life, of the sense of family, of home, of love and joy and pain and sorrow shared, not borne alone. He held the toddler—wailing dismally over being left behind—and watched Kamil leave. Dion thought ahead to evening, when she would be back and they would sit together at the table, bodies near but not touching or perhaps hands clasped beneath the cloth, where no one could see.
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