by Lynn Lorenz
She could tell stories that would make his long ebony hair curl. Sinking into the chair, Sarah stared into the fire.
"What was I doing?" She groaned. She'd practically thrown herself at him in his room and then, at the stairs, she'd stared at him like a teenager with a crush.
Stick to your plans, she told herself. You'll be safer. No entanglements, no hurt feelings, no betrayals.
Sarah stood, went to her bathroom and splashed water on her face. Dinner would be served shortly, and she had to get down there. Looking in the mirror, she blinked and her throat tightened. Damn. He'd be probably be there.
Sarah felt her appetite disappear, replaced by something that felt like a cold rock sitting in the pit of her stomach.
* * * *
Stefan leaned back in his chair, unable to concentrate on the report he was writing, and laid down the pen. Closing his eyes, he saw her face, those blue eyes burning with rage at him.
Anger was not what he'd wanted to stir in her. Damn it, he was an old fool. Couldn't he just keep his mouth shut? He knew he wasn't going to win the argument with Thatcher over her training. It would have been better if he'd taken it gracefully, but his pride hadn't let him stay silent.
Stefan rubbed his hand over his chin and then picked up the pen again to start writing. Poised in the air over the parchment as his mind wandered back to her, it dripped a large, black blob of ink. He put the pen down again and reached for the blotter. His attempts to clean up the mess failed and he stared down at the page of the report he'd worked an hour on.
Ruined. He crumpled the sheet in his hands and then tossed it into the trash basket next to his desk. He ran his hands through his hair and shook his head.
Hells' demons, how could he work with her, day in and day out, when all he wanted to do was touch her, kiss her full lips, and run his hands through her hair? If he were caught with his hands on her, despite being the station's trainer, the consequences would be serious.
What would he risk to hold her in his arms?
Nothing, you fool. Nothing was worth throwing his career away, losing his honor, and most of all, a rejection by the only woman who'd moved his heart in over twenty years.
* * * *
Sarah entered the station's dining hall, a high-ceiling room decorated with a mixture of gleaming weapons and thick tapestries. It held a dozen long dark wood tables arranged in two rows and illuminated by several large lanterns that marched down the middle of each one.
As she neared, she noted the chairs. A carved parade of whimsical dancing bears spanned their wide back rails, each one different. Nearby, several uniformed men and women stood in front of a stone fireplace so large she could have stood upright in it and so wide she could have lain down and her feet wouldn't touch the stone sides. Tonight, a fire burned in it. The black cast iron andirons that held the wood sported bears, sitting on their haunches, eyes glowing red from the fire.
From what she'd seen of the castle, it might not be the wealthiest station, but it was certainly clean and well cared for.
Sarah, giving the other officers a small smile and a nod, stood apart and waited for Thatcher to arrive. Her stomach rumbled its empty state. She should have eaten earlier.
Chief Thatcher, with Stefan at his side, strode into the mess hall, their boots sounding on the stone floor.
"Good evening! I hope everyone is hungry tonight because I understand the kitchen addlers have out-done themselves. We're having a special dessert to welcome our new trainer." He motioned to Sarah.
The men and women gathered gave her all manner of looks, from quiet smiles to narrow-eyed inspection. Well, they'd see her soon enough in her classes.
Most of the tables filled, but at the table Thatcher approached, only a few people gathered. She hung back, uncertain whether she should take a seat or wait until the others had taken theirs. No matter what, she wanted to be accepted, and that meant not stepping on toes. At least, not right away.
Thatcher stood behind the chair at the head of the table, his hands resting on its back, and regarded her. "Sarah, have you been introduced to the others?" He pulled it out and sat down.
It looked as if she'd be sitting at his table, but where?
All the officers, waiting for their chief to sit first, now moved toward their seats. For a moment, the scraping of chairs filled the hall. Stefan slipped unchallenged into the place of honor at Thatcher's right without giving her a glance.
"No, sir," she replied as she hung back. The pressure in her ears increased and between one blink of her eye and the next, Inspector Rolf Creel stood at her side.
"Sit next to me, Patroller Tallow." He pulled a chair back for her, next to his chair on Thatcher's left, across the table from Stefan.
Sarah slid into the chair with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Inspector Creel." He'd been nice to her several times now, picking up on her uncertainty.
A beautiful young woman quickly took the chair next to Stefan and introduced herself from across the table. "I'm Communications Officer Sybil Hastings."
"Pleased to meet you." Sarah nodded. Perhaps she'd find a friend amongst the women of the station. She found she missed her time and talks with her best friend Luci.
Sybil gave her a wary smile. Sarah judged her to be in her mid-twenties. Her hair was so blonde it was almost white and her eyes were the palest blue. All in all, she was a striking woman.
Sybil turned and gave Stefan a warm smile. "Good evening, Inspector Bane. I'm so glad you've recovered from your injury." Her voice was almost breathless.
Awareness flared inside Sarah and she felt herself bristle. Damn it, she would not be jealous. She forced herself to tamp down the unfamiliar emotion and kept a pleasant look on her face.
"Thank you, Patroller. I'm fine, thanks to the healer." His gaze fell on Sarah. "And Patroller Tallow's quick work."
Their eyes met, held. A strangled squeak diverted them.
"Her?" Sybil choked, her goblet at her mouth. "What did she have to do with it?" Sybil seemed most distressed, and Sarah had to control her lips from twitching.
"Patroller Tallow aided me when I first arrived back at the castle." He gave Sarah a small tilt of his head.
He'd left off that they were in his room, Sarah noticed.
"I didn't know you were trained in the healing arts, Patroller," Sybil grated out, clearly out done.
It seemed Stefan failed to catch Sybil's obvious irritation, or if he did, chose to ignore it. Relief flooded Sarah. Again, she felt the heat in her cheeks rise. Damn the man, she thought. No, damn me.
"Everyone should know basic first aid," Sarah said, then took a quick sip of her water and, with a sidelong glance, noticed Rolf Creel's broad grin.
Sybil put her head down and adjusted the cutlery at her place setting, clearly put out. Inspector Bane seemed to have another admirer.
"Well, Stefan, you didn't tell me that you'd met Patroller Tallow earlier," Rolf said, and the corners of his eyes crinkled with delight.
Stefan shot him a look even Sarah could read, warning Rolf not to go further. Rolf, about to continue, closed his mouth, picked up his goblet and took a sip.
Sarah wasn't surprised. Bane was intimidating, to say the least. It wasn't just his size. The man emanated power, no mistaking that. The majik that poured off him was as seductive as the masculine energy she also fought hard to keep at bay. Now, if she could just ignore the scent of his shaving balm she'd be able to keep better control of her body's too eager response to him.
A good-looking man of about thirty hurried to the table, pulled out the chair next to Sarah and slipped into it. His ginger hair, short trimmed moustache, and laughing blue eyes were pleasing.
"Niles Wilson," he said, as he picked up his napkin and placed it across his lap.
Sarah smiled and nodded to him. "Sarah Tallow."
He flashed her a brief smile. Then, he looked across the table to Sybil and his expression changed. Both sides of his mouth curved up and there was a distinct glow abo
ut his eyes.
Now, thought Sarah, that's a smile any woman would relish. But, Sybil's eyes were for Bane, not Wilson.
"Glad to see you're better, sir." Wilson gave Stefan a curt nod. When the others looked at him, he leaned forward and explained. "I was the one who found Inspector Bane on the bridge at Chester with his prisoner." He shook his head, his eyes wide. "I'd never seen the like, that great knife sticking out of his leg, blood everywhere, but the inspector didn't even blink. Pulled it out of his leg without a sound."
Stefan looked down at his plate, then up to catch Sarah's eyes. "It was foolish, really. It started to bleed even faster then." It was as if he spoke to her alone to explain his actions.
Sarah nodded. "You were lucky, Inspector. I've seen a man bleed to death because he pulled out a knife. It had hit an artery, and when he removed it..." She gave a shrug. "He was dead within minutes."
Conversation stopped and everyone at the table stared at her. Her eyes darted across their faces, wide eyes, and open mouths. Even Thatcher stared at her. She'd forgotten where she was and had spoken too freely. Dropping her head, she folded her hands in her lap, hoping no one would ask questions and wishing she knew how to teleport.
Instead, the addlers 'ported in with their dinner and broke the awkward silence. Roasted chickens, quartered, and a roast beef sliced into thick slabs, filled several large platters, and assorted potatoes, salads, and vegetables piled up in enormous wooden bowls were placed down the middle of the table. Loaves of fresh-baked bread on wooden cutting boards sent heavenly wafts of their yeasty aromas to Sarah's nostrils, and her stomach rumbled again.
To Sarah's relief, the officers helped themselves, spooning the bowls' contents onto their pewter chargers, reaching for pieces of chicken or the thick slices of beef. One of the addlers pushed a small cart around the table and filled each person's goblet, pouring from large pewter jugs of wine, ale, and water.
Sarah took the opportunity to observe her tablemates. Glancing at Stefan, his eyes met hers. They no longer held fire in them, only a cool detachment as he regarded her from under half-closed lids.
"For those of you who don't know, Sarah is our new trainer. I'm sure you'll find her tactics bold and exciting," Thatcher told the others.
"Well, if you ask me," Niles Wilson chimed in, "it's about time we got some fresh blood in here." His hand smoothed his ginger mustache. "We patrollers need any edge we can get."
Stefan put his fork down and drew himself upright. "I hope you aren't implying your previous training was lacking? You haven't even experienced it yet and you're convinced it will propel us over our adversaries." He nailed Niles with his stare.
The poor man brought a forkful of meat to his mouth and made a great show of chewing to keep from answering.
"I'm sure the standard patrol techniques are excellent, Inspector." Sarah came to Niles' rescue. "What Chief Thatcher and I propose is a combination of skills, not a replacement."
"How can you combine them when you don't even have the basic majik abilities necessary to earn patroller rank in the first place?" Sybil pointed out to everyone, looking quite pleased with herself.
Trying to keep the anger from her voice and the flush from her cheeks, Sarah replied, "I don't have to know how to do majik. All of you already know that. My job is to teach skills you don't have and to show you how to incorporate them into one unbeatable fighting tactic."
She met Sybil's questioning stare with a steely stare of her own. Sybil dropped her gaze and attended to her meal, pushing her food around with her fork in little jerky motions.
For the second time that day, Sarah found herself defending her right to be there. She'd be damned if she would continue trying to convince everyone around her. They'd learn soon enough what she was capable of doing and also what they were capable of.
The uncomfortable conversation died an awkward death, much to Sarah's and, she was sure, Sybil's relief.
Unable to keep her eyes off Stefan, Sarah noted he sat very straight, ate very little, and pushed the food around his plate, like a child forced to eat and trying to convince his parents he was doing just as he was told. Did he suffer from his recent wound, or did he merely find the food as bland as she did?
There was wine in his goblet, but he took only a few small sips, holding them in his mouth before he swallowed. His complexion looked pale, but she blamed it on the contrast of his black hair against his skin. He spoke only when spoken to, and then only answered with short, brief statements.
Rolf, by comparison, conversed easily with the others as he cleaned his plate and enjoyed seconds. He favored meat. What little vegetables and salad sat on his pewter charger seemed mere decoration, and he washed his food down with long pulls of water from his goblet, refilled frequently by the serving addlers.
A forest addler, with striking deep green hair, poured a small amount of wine into Thatcher's goblet and then filled it with water. Thatcher was reaching for the roasted potatoes when a clear voice cut through the babble around the table and his hand froze.
"Damon, put down those potatoes." A beautiful older woman advanced on the table.
His hand froze in mid-air.
Rolf caught Sarah's eye and his lit with humor, as he hid a snicker behind his napkin. Her brows rose at him in question.
Thatcher sighed and dropped the spoon. "Sarah, this is Inspector Mercy Loch, our mentalist, and my self-proclaimed dietician."
Thatcher and the other men at the table rose from their seats as Mercy slipped into the seat at the other end of the table. She gave Thatcher a knowing smile, snapped opened her napkin, and spread it with a flourish across her lap.
"Sorry I'm late. Good, Rolf's left some meat." She looked down the table at him and raised an auburn eyebrow to his answering grin.
"Good evening, Mercy," Rolf replied.
She gave him a tilt of her head. "Stefan." She smiled at him.
"Inspector Loch," he replied with a seated half bow.
"This must be Sarah. I've heard so much about you that I feel as if I know you," Mercy said.
"Really? I hope it was well-spoken." Sarah smiled.
Mercy was one of the loveliest older women she'd ever seen. Very little grey showed in her auburn hair and the smoothness and color of her complexion made Sarah hope to look as good when she reached that age.
"Damon believes you're the answer to our prayers." Mercy's voice was light and lilting.
"Nonsense. The chief flatters me." Sarah waved the praise away with her fork. "I'm not the answer to anyone's prayer. But I do believe what I teach may just turn the tide."
"Good. Humble, but with confidence. That will take you far, Sarah." Mercy looked pleased.
Sarah relaxed. At last she'd found someone who didn't attack her being here. Perhaps she'd have to find the inspector later and ask her some questions about the patrol and the place Mercy had made for herself here.
Filling her plate with salad, Sarah indulged in only a small piece of roasted chicken and drank only water. After the first bite, she decided it should be a crime to make chicken so tough and tasteless, and almost suggested they all rush to the kitchen and arrest the perpetrator. Were there no spices in the kitchen's larders? She reached for some salad.
Sarah was planning the escape to her room after dinner when the addlers reappeared and cleared the table, taking all the uneaten food, dirty chargers, and silverware, and left only the pewter goblets still standing on the table. Deciding to leave, she gathered herself before standing.
"Here's our dessert!" Thatcher announced.
Sarah exhaled, her opportunity gone.
An addler, dressed in kitchen whites, appeared and pushed a large cart up to the table. "Chef, you have out-done yourself." Thatcher grinned.
The addler, a blue air elemental, took a brief bow and 'ported away, leaving the cake to be served by lesser addlers.
The chocolate frosted cake was artfully covered in sliced strawberries and did look delicious. Then again, so had the ch
icken and look how it turned out--dry and tasteless. Sarah sat back in her chair, resigned to stay. She couldn't leave now; the cake was in her honor.
Thatcher addressed her as the addlers served small plates of cake to everyone. "Sarah, have you seen your training room yet? Stefan, she will be in the old storage room next to yours." He looked over his spectacles at Stefan.
Stefan nodded his head in Thatcher's direction. He didn't look happy about that.
"I haven't seen it yet, sir. As soon as my equipment arrives, I'll get down there and unpack." Sarah took a bite of the cake. Damn, it was good. Why did the baker have to be good? She hoped, for her waistline's sake, that they didn't serve dessert with every meal.
Sybil leaned over. "Inspector Bane, I thought you did a superb job training us." She hit him with a smile that fairly blasted her adoration. "Who knows what this so-called new technique will or won't do?" She squinted at Sarah. "I, for one, am content with the old ways."
Niles caught the look. His brows furrowed and his mouth sagged. Finishing his piece of cake, Niles leaned his head on his hand and signaled to the addler for another. Sarah's heart went out to him at the forlorn look on his face.
Mercy said, "Don't forget, Sybil, you'll be required to attend all the classes Patroller Tallow is teaching."
"Oh, right." Sybil's mouth remained open as she blinked. It was obvious she'd forgotten that fact and might be regretting her words, or at least voicing her thoughts.
"We'll all be in the class, Sybil," Niles said.
Sarah was sure Niles meant to reassure her, but doubted his words had the desired effect. Sybil gave him a chilled look and then pasted the smile back on her face to look at Sarah.
"I'm sure you're going to find my class challenging, Sybil." Sarah put down her napkin. "Now, since I've only arrived today, I think I'll retire early so I can get a fresh start in the morning. Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, Chief Inspector Thatcher." Sarah rose and nodded.
She glanced across the table at Stefan. For a brief moment, his guard dropped, and she thought she saw a spark of fire blaze in those hazel eyes.
With the idea of receiving more smoldering looks from Stefan threatening her will, Sarah left the hall. The farther she got away from him and the others, the more she relaxed and breathed easy.