Stealing Heaven

by Madeline Hunter

  Nay. Nor would she be diverted by the womanish emotions overwhelming her now.

  Dreams had their sacrifices, and quests had their dangers.

  It was easy for Marcus to follow them. Within a few days he would know where Llygad’s men were. Once he did, those men would have no choice but to disband. He looked to the high hills rising beyond the vale. If Dylan led them up there, it would become more difficult to follow, but he did not doubt his ability to do so.

  He had learned to track men the only way it could be learned, by doing it. When he was eighteen a band of thieves had holed up on his lands, raiding villages and travelers. With his guardian Addis de Valence teaching him to see the small evidence left behind by men on horse or foot, he had led the small troop that caught them.

  Dealing with those men had been the first judgment that he took completely on his own authority. A villager had been killed and his wife raped, and hanging those thieves had been just. Still, saying the words had been hard, as Addis had warned it would be.

  That one of the thieves was his own age had made it harder. It had been like watching himself die. He might have ended that way if he had remained in the gutters of London. He knew too well how poverty could make a man fearless, and how one did not debate consequences when stealing bread or apples to ease the pain in one’s stomach.

  It had been his first judgment, and his first executions, but also his first mercy. There had been a younger boy among them, old enough to hang to most men’s minds. That one he had spared.

  It had been years since he had thought about that boy, but he did so as he followed the tracks. He wondered what had become of him, and if he had a family now or if he had perished on some other gallows. Perhaps he had joined Llygad’s men. The notion made him laugh.

  Suddenly the tracks changed. Marcus halted and dismounted to examine them more closely.

  It appeared that someone had continued in the vale, but had tried to hide their tracks, probably by sweeping the ground. Still, a few marks had survived.

  The hoofprints aiming to the mountain were more numerous and confused, however, as if other riders had joined them. Brushing aside some snow, he deciphered that wasn’t the case. Horses had gone this way, but then turned back.

  He swung back on his horse. It appeared that they had considered going to the hills, but thought better of it. He continued down the vale, noticing the occasional print still visible despite the swept snow.

  Something up ahead caught his eye. A bit of blue fluttered like a wounded bird amidst the white and grey landscape. He rode up to it, and recognized one of Genith’s veils.

  He narrowed his eyes on that veil, and knew at once that Nesta had deliberately left it. She would never be so careless as to permit this flag to hang here otherwise.

  Pivoting his horse, he retraced his way and then followed the other tracks up to higher ground.

  Marcus came upon them suddenly. With all of his attention on the ground, he almost rode right into them before he realized they were there.

  They had stopped by a stream to rest. Dylan was filling a water bladder and Genith stood watching him. The bard said something and Genith laughed.

  Marcus waited in the trees. There was at least a couple of hours of light left and they should move on. He doubted they planned to camp here.

  Genith turned and strolled along the stream, on occasion stretching to relieve the stiffness of a day on a horse. As she did so, Dylan ceased his chore and watched her.

  Marcus saw the bard’s face. He read without any trouble the thoughts reflected in those fiery eyes. It did not surprise him when Dylan strolled after Genith, and came up behind her and spoke words that Marcus could not hear.

  He saw Genith’s surprise at what she heard, and then her delight. Before she turned to the young man behind her, her eyes filled with pure lights that Marcus knew well. It was the loving expression his sister wore when she watched her husband, and the sweet beauty of it on young Genith speared his heart.

  They joined in a hesitant embrace. Dylan ventured a tentative kiss. Things grew less careful, and a drama of newly discovered rapture unfolded beside the stream fifty paces from where Marcus watched from the trees.

  The sight of their young passion touched him, and left him feeling old and empty. He could not have intruded and stopped it if he had wanted to. He could not have moved.

  Dylan wrapped his arms around Genith and tucked her head under his chin. As he pressed a kiss to her hair, his gaze swept the trees, and stopped at the spot where Marcus sat on his horse.

  It was not clear to Marcus that he had been seen. Dylan made no move to release Genith, or to run for their mounts. Those young rebellious eyes filled with expression, however. They were not the eyes of a man who intended to release what he held.

  Marcus read the resolve in them, and guessed that if he followed these two he would not be led to Llygad’s men. He wondered what oaths Dylan had sworn about Genith. As a bard, Dylan would know how to choose the words carefully.

  Marcus looked upstream to where a horse and mule rested. Leonard had said that the ladies had stolen two horses, so one was missing. Nor had Nesta interrupted this little idyll. If she were here she would have.

  Whatever Nesta’s plans for Genith, they did not include permitting liberties with a bard. It must have been her horse that he started following in the valley.

  Marcus looked at Dylan again, and at the happy girl nestled in his embrace. He sent his own message with his eyes, in the event Dylan could see him.

  Then he turned his horse, and went back the way he had come.

  Chapter 9

  Nesta cursed. She did not mutter the profanities, but yelled them with the full force of her diminishing strength.

  She cursed the snow, and the skittish horse, and the hare whose sudden appearance had gotten her thrown. She damned the King and the archbishop and the empty, silent valley quickly being obscured by darkness. She heaped the worst blasphemies on the ankle spearing her with excruciating pain as she limped along. The yelling helped clear her head from the dizziness that wanted to blot out her sight.

  She fell again, and this time did not try to get up. Her ankle would not let her, and there was no advantage in doing so anyway. It would be completely dark soon, and already she was not sure in which direction she headed. Sitting in the wet snow, she wrapped her arms around herself and cursed some more.

  The shout died on her lips as she caught sight of a moving shadow. Low and dark, it slinked across the glow of the snow a few hundred paces from where she sat. She squinted in that direction, and two tiny lights peered back at her. The nape of her neck prickled.

  A wolf. She cursed again, a quiet whimper this time, and glanced around in panic. If there was one, there were others.

  She groped for the eating knife hanging from her girdle. Her hand was so cold she could barely grasp the hilt, and her stiff fingers had trouble removing it from its cord. It would not help much, but she felt better just holding it.

  Battling a fear that wanted to become madness, she strained her ears to hear the animals’ movements. Nothing but silence assaulted her, but they were there. She sensed them watching and pacing and deciding what she was. She would have sold her soul for a torch and a sword.

  She sensed the wolves move closer, and let the profanities out with force again so they would know she was not helpless. Maybe these beasts would understand that she intended to die fighting and furious, and conclude she wasn’t worth the trouble.

  She felt one very near. Rising to her knees, she shouted and jabbed the air around her with the knife. A feral scent wafted to her, then moved away.

  Suddenly she could see them. Four dark, long forms flew across the pale light of the snow. They streaked away from her, getting swallowed by the night.

  She soon understood their retreat. A horse galloped toward her. Her heart rose in relief at the muffled beat of its hooves and she called out to the rider. The sound was barely out of her lips when he was upo
n her.

  It was Marcus, and he had her traitorous mount in tow.

  He just sat there a while, looking down at where she knelt in the snow.

  “Swearing profanities right before you are eaten by wolves is not wise, Nesta,” he finally said. “Praying for eternal salvation would make more sense.”

  “I have not been in a prayerful mood of late.”

  He dismounted and came over to her. “Just as well. If it had been prayers I heard echoing through this valley, I might not have known it was you.” Hands on hips, he struck a lordly, severe pose. “Separating from the others and riding alone was dangerous and stupid.”

  “I had expected to reach a village in the north valley by now.”

  “It seems you did not.”

  “Aye. Now, please help me up.”

  “Not yet. You have given me nothing but trouble for weeks, and I find that I like seeing you thus. Kneeling.”

  She was so relieved and exhausted that she wanted to weep. She had no strength for a battle of wills now. “I am kneeling because I hurt myself when the horse threw me,” she said miserably. “I am very weak and I am cold. I know that you are angry with me, but if you could just help me now, I promise to kneel another time so that you can take pleasure in humbling me at your leisure.”

  He quickly reached for her and lifted her up. “Where are you hurt?”

  She balanced on her good leg while she held his shoulder. “My ankle.”

  “Jesus, woman, you have no cloak and your gown is soaked. Small wonder you are shivering.” He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the horses.

  “My cloak is tied to my horse.”

  “Not anymore.”

  He did not put her on the extra horse, but helped her onto his. He swung up behind her, tucked the edges of his cloak around her, and aimed toward a wooded hillside.

  The sudden warmth only made the chill at her core awaken. She began shaking uncontrollably, and he pulled her close to him in response. “This is so stupid,‘ she said with chattering teeth. ”I never feel cold, and now I cannot get warm.“

  “I will get you to a fire soon. There is a small lodge that my men and I use for hunting the next hill over There will be dry fuel and flints there.”

  “Are you saying that after all of this, I never ever made it off your lands?”

  “You would have to ride more than one day in this direction to do so, if you stay in the valleys.”

  She burst out laughing. “The enormity of my failing is astonishing.”

  “Genith and Dylan got away, and that was your goal Crossing the hills as they are, they are well away from my lands now.”

  The news revived her spirits immediately. “They an gone?”

  “I followed but I lost them. So, you did not fail. You merely sacrificed yourself to succeed. It is fortunate that I found you before you paid with your life. That would be a high price indeed to save your sister from the comfort and luxury that she would have known as my wife.‘

  Nesta decided not to provoke him with more talk. She relaxed against him and into the gait of the horse. Marcus’ warmth began to leach the terrible chill out of her.

  She had not eaten since morning, and now with deliverance came a raving hunger. Very gently, she touched her fingers to his chest and lightly pressed hoping he would not notice.

  He did. “What are you doing?”

  “Checking whether you still wear your meal.”

  He pulled the little sack from beneath his tunic.

  She greedily opened it and plucked out a thin chunk of dried venison. She sighed with contentment as she chewed to get it soft. It tasted better than the most luxurious savory.

  “You seem well pleased, Nesta.”

  “Well, I won’t be wolf food now. I am less cold and hungry, and, as you said, Genith is away. So you are right, I did not fail. I expect that I am feeling much as you do when you plan a battle strategy that succeeds.”

  He tilted his head and looked at her as if he could see clearly despite the dark. “There is one important difference. I have known my share of victories, Nesta, but, unlike you, I was never captured by the enemy afterward.”

  “You are not exactly the enemy.” Nesta waited until they arrived at the lodge to point that out. It seemed an important clarification to make.

  “We will see.” He dismounted, pulled her down and carried her into the lodge.

  She waited in the dark, balancing on her good foot while she leaned against a rough-hewn log wall. He moved invisibly through the space. A tiny spark flared, and a flame quickly grew. Soon firelight revealed the lodge.

  It was of good size to hold a hunting party, but low roofed and rude in construction. Built for shelter and not comfort, it provided little more than a dry place for men to camp.

  Marcus found some furs in a corner, and spread them in front of the stone hearth.

  She took in those furs, and the man looking too handsome for safety in the light of the fire.

  “Actually, Marcus, I am not cold at all anymore. I think we can ride back to Anglesmore tonight.”

  He crouched to build the fire with more fuel. The smallest smile softened his mouth. “Your garments are wet, the horses are tired, and the ground is slippery. It will be wiser if we stay here.”

  Not wise at all. That little smile had said as much. “You appeared well provisioned for your journey in the mountains. No doubt you intend to sleep under the stars.”

  “If the only shelter available was the stars, I would have settled for that. Since my journey has ended, however, I am glad for the warmth of this lodge.” He rose and faced her. “Does the notion of sharing this space with me unsettle you, Nesta?”

  “Of course not.” That was a bald lie. “Unsettled” did not begin to describe it.

  He came toward her and her good leg wobbled. She made a little hop to regain her balance.

  Not bothering to lift her into both his arms, he merely circled her waist with one and swung her to the fire. “Get yourself warm. I don’t want to be explaining how you perished from a chill, so you should remove the wet gown. You can wrap yourself in that large fur until your garments dry. It will be modest enough. Now, I must see to the horses.”

  He started to go, but she stopped him. “You said that you followed them. Did you catch a glimpse of Genith? Did she appear well?”

  “If Dylan could lose me in those hills, he knows them better than I do. Bards are accustomed to long journeys, and know how to survive the rough lands. Do not fear for your sister.”

  He left, and she heard him moving the horses behind the lodge. There would be some shelter there for them, she guessed, and maybe more furs to warm them, too.

  She clumsily dropped to her rump on the furs, and shook out the largest one. Pieced together from the skins of many hares, it was a motley of browns but big enough to serve as a mantle.

  Getting off the gown was not easy, but she eventually shimmied out of it and her shift. The fur wrapped her completely, and its nap provided a luxurious sensation against her skin. Soon, however, along with the heat of the fire it made her overwarm. The light wool of her gown did not look likely to dry very quickly. She would have to swelter most of the night.

  She let the fur fall open. The soft pile beneath her beckoned to her exhausted body. Fixing her ears on the sounds coming from behind the lodge, she cast the mantle off and lay down on her stomach.

  It would be tempting to sleep thus, but of course she could not. Still, a deliciously languid relaxation crept all through her. Vigilant to the warning signs of Marcus’s return, ready to swaddle herself again when she heard them, she gave herself over to the wondrous sensation playing on her cool body like so many warm, pattering fingers.

  The wattle and daub sealing the cracks between the timbers had dislodged over the years in dozens of places, and little streams of golden light penetrated the night through the gaps. Even as he continued his work with the horses, Marcus had no trouble seeing Nesta in front of the hearth.


  The glimpses of her body as she undressed entranced him. The image of her wrapped in the fur, her hair in disarray, and the white of her throat hinting at the nakedness beneath the bundle, set his imagination romping. In his mind’s eye the fur fell open, and those large dark eyes watched him as he slid it away.

  Then it did slide away, as if she knew he watched and issued a challenge. She stretched and rolled onto her stomach and laid her head on her crossed hands.

  Bedding down the horses went very slowly after that.

  His chore finally done, he carried his blankets and provisions around to the front of the lodge. Nesta did not stir when he entered. She still lay there, glorious in the light of the fire.

  He paused by the door, half expecting and half hoping that she would turn her head to him and smile a seductive invitation. When she did not move, he paced around until he could see her face.

  She was asleep. He looked down on her beauty, and realized that he had seen her naked a lot, considering he had never taken her. Images of doing so, fantasies constructed on too many restless nights, flew through his head.

  He bent and pulled the edge of the fur over her bottom so she would not be too embarrassed when she woke.

  Taking some food and a wine bladder from one of his bags, he walked to the far wall of the lodge and sat on a bench. He could see her from here, her pale skin gleaming among the furs. The long, sinuous lines of her body made gentle white hills within the mounds. Her dark hair tumbled around her shoulders, and one enticing long lock snaked over her back, its curling end brushing the swell of her breast.

  Eventually she would wake. Before morning, he was sure. Fate had not brought them to this firelit lodge so that she would sleep through the night.

  He enjoyed watching her. He was glad that she had not deliberately let him see her stretched out like this. He could not have refused a blatant offer, but that was not really how he wanted it to be.