by Lynn Lorenz
The games continued until all had their chance. The bystanders cheered on their friends, slapping the victors on the back, and helping the losers up from the floor.
* * * *
"Inspector Bane, Chief Inspector wants to see you right away." Gustav stood in the door of Stefan's small office.
"Well, then, I better attend him." Stefan stood, rolled down his sleeves, buttoned his cuffs, snatched his jacket off the back of his chair, and headed up the stairs to Thatcher's office.
Thatcher, seated behind his desk, looked up as Stefan entered and motioned for him to sit. Stefan turned the chair around, straddled it, and sat down.
"Illegal gambling, Stefan. How well do you know the scene in Avea?"
"Well enough." He grinned. "There are a few pubs that run an honest game, but most of the big money is, of course, tied to Blackmoor." Resting his arms on the back of the chair, he interlocked his fingers and shrugged.
Thatcher tossed him a report, and Stefan caught it, opened it, and began to read.
"I bet I know this fellow." Stefan tapped the report with a finger. "He was active a few years ago. Nasty piece of scum. Plays in the game, betting low, loses his stake, and then follows the winner. When he gets his chance, he hits him with a stun spell and takes the purse."
"Well, he's back and this time he's using a knife. He follows the mark, pushes him against the wall, stabs him, and then, as the poor victim lies on the ground bleeding, he steals the purse." Thatcher leaned forward and clasped his hands.
"A knife! By the One God, what is he thinking?"
"It's vicious and unnecessary." Thatcher shook his head. "There have been three reports so far, two from Reynolds Grange and one from Avea. One of the victims reported he took great pleasure in using the blade. So far, no one has died, but that's only a matter of time."
Stefan looked into Thatcher's eyes. "The dark faith, Chief, I am sure of it. Crime mixed with sadistic pleasure. It reeks of it!" He rubbed his thigh as if it ached.
"But not Blackmoor?"
"No, it's not his style. It draws too much attention and if there's one thing Blackmoor isn't, it's stupid. He likes to keep a low profile, staying out of our sights, if he can."
"I'll trust your judgment on this. After all, you're the expert on both men. The patrol is seeing more and more of this evil, even out here in the country. It angers me that my district is tainted by that filth."
"So, am I going gambling?" Stefan raised an eyebrow.
"Aye, have Gustav give you a purse."
"I'll use my own, sir. If I win, I can keep the earnings. If I lose, the station won't suffer the loss."
"I've gambled with you, son, so I'm not worried about your losing the patrol's money. But, if you want, keep what you earn...just take care when you write the report."
"Don't I always?" Stefan flashed a quick grin.
"The other victims were all farmers, selling their animals at the town's market." Damon pointed to the report.
"Let me guess, to the same butcher?" Stefan glanced again at the report. "I'll want to see the other reports."
"I thought you might." Damon pushed the reports across his desk.
Stefan grinned, showing straight white teeth. "I think this calls for a man of the countryside, don't you think?"
"Oh, aye, a farmer trying his luck in town on market day." Thatcher paused. He added, as if an afterthought, "Oh, and Stefan, take Tallow with you."
Stefan froze. His eyes narrowed. He felt as if the chief had just kicked him in the belly.
"You have got to be joking. This is dangerous, Chief. The bastard uses a blade!"
"All the more important for her to be there." Damon leaned back and smiled. "Have you been to her class, yet?"
"No, I was hoping to avoid it, if possible."
"Well, you should attend. I think you'll be very impressed. It's right up your alley, so to speak." He looked over his glasses.
"I don't understand, Chief. Why are you so determined to have her here? I spoke to James Butler of the Reynolds Grange Patrol, and she was turned down there."
"Checking up on her? Is this more than curiosity?" Thatcher smiled.
"Of course not. I was going over everyone's records in the search for the traitor and came across her file."
"And what did you find?"
"Damn little. Just that she appeared from off-world six months ago."
"And where does that lead you?"
"That you're protecting her." Stefan held Damon's gaze.
"Why not? I protected her when she was a child and there was trouble in her family. I feel a responsibility to her and her late mother." Thatcher leaned back in his chair.
"What can you tell me about Sarah?" Stefan leaned forward and rested his crossed arms on the back of the chair.
"You might as well hear what I can say." Damon settled himself. "She was sent as a child off-world to live, you know. I was the one who located the portal and the woman who took her in. She's very brave, our Sarah, and, as you well know, she won't back away from a fight. She'd have to be, to live off-world and survive." He tapped the desk with his finger. "Imagine being in such control as a child that you never let your majik slip and to train in the methods of physical combat. She was determined to return, take her place, and make a new life. She is quite a woman, Stefan. The man who can win her will be one lucky bastard." Thatcher looked him straight in the eye and raised an eyebrow.
"Why was she sent off-world?" His intense eyes searched Thatcher's for more understanding.
"There was trouble with her family. For any more, you'll have to ask her. If she'll tell you. She protects her past as carefully as you do. Like you, she carries a dark mark. I can't give you more detail than that." He gave Stefan a piercing look over his glasses. "But, son, understand this--I care a great deal about Sarah. I have every confidence in her skills and talents. You should, too."
"Aye, sir." Stefan stood, bowed, and 'ported out.
Standing on the shore of the lake, Stefan looked back at the castle. It had been his home for over twenty years and he'd always been comfortable there. Before, when his blood had run too hot to ignore, he'd used whores to douse the fire. Now, he was thinking about moonlight, cottages, and his future.
This is all Sarah's fault.
Before, he was intrigued by her beauty and her spirit and now, by the mystery of her past. He should put it out of his mind. This was dangerous ground he stood on, ground that shouldn't concern him.
Holding in check the slow, building dread of working with Sarah, he struggled with the riot of his emotions. The rush of excitement he always felt when he had a new assignment was easily identified. However, this mixture of the unfamiliar had him at a loss. The need to protect her, the fear of her being hurt, the worry he might not control himself around her and the paralyzing fear that if he did make an advance, she would rebuke him, made a potent concoction. His head spun.
Damn Damon for pairing them and on an overnight mission at that. He'd have to work hard to keep it professional with her when all he could think about was how she would feel under his body, the taste of her lips and touch of her hands on his skin.
Did Thatcher know the agony he would suffer?
Stefan turned away from the lake and returned to the castle to make preparations.
Chapter 10
"Take your clothes off, Patroller." Stefan tossed a bundle of clothes at Sarah and turned away. "Put these on."
"Aye, sir." Sarah gritted her teeth. Thatcher had ordered her to his office without any explanation just after lunch. She'd scrambled to cancel her classes for the next few days after he'd told her she would accompany Stefan on a mission. If that weren't enough, she'd be wearing some kind of disguise.
Holding up the mismatched clothes, she separated the long, grey flannel skirt, the stained white shirt, and the shawl from the thin cotton underskirts. She decided they had a distinct smell and it wasn't good.
"These clothes aren't clean." She sniffed and made a face.<
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"That's right. We're a pair of country folk, going to Avea for market day. We don't have better clothes."
"Right, sir." Holding the bundle of clothes, she looked around the small office. Stefan was pulling off his jacket. He looked up and gave an exasperated shrug. "In there, Tallow." He jerked his thumb at a door.
Sarah took the clothes in a bundle in her arms, stepped into the bathroom to undress.
"Tandy!"
The addler appeared next to her.
"Take my uniform, please. I'm going on an assignment and I don't know when I'll return." Sarah struggled into the worn clothing, with Tandy's help.
"Aye, miss. With the inspector?" Tandy's eyes narrowed.
"Yes, in Avea." She straightened up, wrinkling her nose as she sniffed her sleeve.
"Be careful, miss." Tandy 'ported away with the uniform.
Sarah came out of the bathroom as Stefan pulled on his shirt. A scattering of dark hair ran across his well-defined chest between small, dark nipples. She fought her urges and tried to keep from staring. However, just the glimpse of his skin and the muscles of his arms under the loose cotton shirt he wore made her body heat.
He looked up, frowned at her, and finished buttoning the shirt, leaving the top two undone. A hint of dark chest hair showed, teasing her. His faded tan trousers hung loose on his trim hips, and he wore old work boots. Pulling back his hair, he tied it with a leather strip. The long ebony tail hung down between his shoulder blades.
Sarah watched as he put on a worn jacket with patched elbows, snugged a tattered felt hat on his head, and completed his disguise. Together, they looked like a tenant farm couple.
"You need to cover your hair." He tossed her a large handkerchief from his back pocket. "No proper farm wife goes about with her hair uncovered."
She sniffed the cloth. "At least it's clean." Folding it into a triangle, she put it over her hair, knotting it at the back under her long braid.
Her clothes were already beginning to itch. She wondered whether it was the coarse fabric, the dirt or what the fabric held. She pushed thoughts from her mind of thousands of tiny vermin crawling in and out of the warp and woof of her clothes. Thousands of tiny feet marching over her skin. She shuddered.
"Now, to the stables. We ride to a farm just before Avea."
"Why not just teleport there?"
"I like to ride." He shrugged and headed out the door with Sarah hurrying to keep up.
* * * *
Gathering the reins of his mount, Stefan swung effortlessly into the saddle. Sarah led the horse to a mounting block and climbed up, stuck her foot in the stirrup and swung her leg over. She settled in the saddle as her mare danced to the side and tossed its head.
"Tallow, cover yourself." Stefan pointed to her knees, showing above her boots and below her bunched skirts.
"What?" Sarah tilted her head at him and then looked down at her bared knees above the tall tops of her riding boots.
"It's na propa, woman, goin' 'bout, showin' ya knees to any man who cares ta look."
His country brogue took her by surprise. It was startlingly effective and she looked hard at the man on the horse. Even though she knew it was Stefan, his appearance, speech, and mannerisms were enough to throw anyone off.
"Right." Sarah pulled her skirts down and looked at him from under furrowed brows.
Stefan turned the gelding to the road and kicked his horse into an easy canter.
Collecting herself, she followed as they made their way down the main road to Avea. It would take the better part of the day on the winding road. She settled into the saddle and watched the countryside go by.
Late morning, he signaled her to stop.
"We'll take lunch here and rest the horses." He pulled to the side of the road, dismounted, and led his horse into the woods. Picking a large oak, he tied the horse and started to pull some food from the saddlebag.
Sarah dismounted and stretched. It'd been years since she'd ridden with Emily at their large, rambling house in the country, before Sarah had moved to the city to work. It was at times like this that something would remind her of the sweet old woman. It'd been even longer since she thought about her real mother. A wave of guilt mixed with sadness washed over her.
"Excuse me for a moment," Stefan called over his shoulder as he headed into the woods and disappeared behind a tree to relieve himself.
She opened her saddlebag, took out some tissues, and wandered off. Finding her own bush, Sarah gathered up her skirts in her hands. Cursing all skirts and the unfairness of her inability to stand while peeing, she hoped there wasn't poison oak or stinging nettles in her area.
After returning to the horses, they sat on the ground and ate in silence. Stefan had packed some bread, apples, and cheese in his saddlebag. After tossing an apple to Sarah, he bit into his and chewed as he leaned back on one arm. Stretching out his legs, he looked at the surrounding woods as if they were the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.
In these clothes, it wouldn't be her. She knew she looked frumpy. What would Lucy say to see her like this? She'd frown, shake her head and tell her that the look was not flattering, to say the least. Sarah couldn't help but smile.
The horses pawed the ground and searched for tender grass to crop. The sound of their blowing breath and gentle nickering, and the dappled shade from the trees was relaxing, and she fought to keep her eyes open.
Pulling a small folding knife from her skirt, Sarah opened it and sliced her apple, taking her time eating the delicious, juice-filled fruit. Wiping her lips on the sleeve of her shirt, she watched Stefan not watching her. Even in his rumpled state, he looked relaxed and handsome, his hat pushed back on his head, as if he hadn't a care in the world. She stole a few glances at him and then chided herself for it, though it didn't stop her errant thoughts.
How would the stubble on his chin feel against her breast? What would he do if she stood, went to him and lay in his arms?
Probably report her. Behavior unbecoming an officer of the Avalon Patrol. Would it be worth the suspension or the embarrassment of facing Damon Thatcher? Hell, no.
This was an important assignment and no place for the thoughts she was indulging in. Better to think about something else. She let her mind wander to her class and then she thought of Gareth. He had certainly let her know he was interested, but she didn't trust his intentions as honorable. He'd seduce her and that would be that.
She cringed at the thought of him bragging about his conquest of her among the other men of the patrol. Everyone would label her a slut and he'd only rise in the men's esteem. Sometimes, life wasn't fair, but she'd chosen this world and she had to live by its rules.
If she tried, she could probably encourage other men here, but that wasn't what she'd come here for. She'd come to make a difference, to find a purpose, not to find a husband.
She could have married off-world, if she'd wanted. There had been no lack of men. And on-world, she'd certainly met enough eligible men through Luci, who seemed to be the center of a small, exciting social universe of well-to-do, clever, attractive men and women.
Perhaps if she'd fallen in love, trust wouldn't be such an issue for her. But after so many years of mistrust, would it be that easy to fall in love, instantly trust?
Not for her. Any man good enough for her would have to win that trust first, before he'd win her heart. She glanced at Stefan. Her feelings for him came easy, that was true, but her trust in him had been building slowly as she had been getting to know him, even as hard as that was proving to be.
Did he like her or didn't he? He didn't even visit her in the infirmary after she'd been attacked by that Waterford woman. Then he came to her room. Couldn't he make up his mind? He kept her off-center, unbalanced, never sure how he felt about her, especially after she'd found him in her room.
They'd never spoken of that again, as if it had never happened. Oddly, he trusted her not to complain to Thatcher about the incident, and she'd trusted him enough to consider
letting him sleep in her chair the rest of that night.
As for Rolf, trust in him came easier for her, but there had been no strong feelings for him. And she was not the type to lead a man on.
She cut a small end of the bread and a small piece of cheese and left the rest for Stefan. He cut a small amount of each for himself and wrapped up the rest.
With lunch finished, he repacked the saddlebag, and led the horses back to the road to mount up. Sarah passed a bramble bush and it snagged her kerchief, pulling it from her hair. Caught, she tugged at it, but her hair was also involved in the mess.
She reached behind herself as far as she could, trying to free herself. She couldn't seem to break the green branch, and each tug pulled at her scalp. Stefan, unaware of her predicament, had almost reached the road.
Slipping out of the kerchief and freeing her hair, she tried to release the cloth from the long thorns of the branch, but after losing the fight, she sucked on her punctured fingertips. Stubborn to the last, she refused to call for help.
Stefan made it to the road and turned to mount. "Sarah, are you coming?" His voice sounded annoyed, although it seemed his perpetual state when he was around her. Her mare snorted in agreement.
Traitor, she glared at the horse.
"My...kerchief...is...stuck." She grunted out the words as she tugged on it.
This is ridiculous. I will not be bested by a tree.
He looked at her, shook his head as if to say, "Women," and tied off his horse.
Walking back to her, he frowned. "Let me, Sarah." He inspected the tangle. As he did, he stood over her, reaching his arms up to break the branch with a snap. Sarah found herself surrounded by him and had to stop herself from resting her head against his chest.
He didn't seem to notice her as he stepped around her. In fact, she was merely in the way, so she ducked under his arm and stood back. Working the kerchief free from the broken branch, he managed it without the long thorns puncturing him. Her fingertips had finally stopped bleeding.