Broken Vows

by Cory Daniells

  She wore the blade strapped to the front of her left thigh. How did she get to it? It would be useless unless she could reach it quickly in an emergency.

  Slowly, his hand traveled beneath her tabard. The panel of brocade material offered no barrier. His mouth went dry with longing. He felt the soft material of her leggings. Then near the warm flesh of her inner thigh he found the cunningly hidden slit in the fabric. Beneath him her body quivered with tension. He felt the silky smoothness of her skin. With a flick he released the catch and pulled the knife from its sheath, bringing it out into the light between them. It felt hot in his hand, hot from her body.

  She struggled convulsively, but he tightened his hold, pinning her to the ground. He thought he caught her faint womanly scent on the knife.

  “Was this for me?” His voice sounded strange.

  “This is a very bad place,” she whispered.

  He hesitated. What was she talking about? Her eyes were wide with fear. He could smell it on her skin.

  Why?

  His body tensed against the unseen threat. Was he reacting to her fear, or to an outside source?

  Tulkhan didn’t know. He only knew that despite the heat of the knife, which burned into his hand like a brand, and against all his better instincts, his body ached to bury itself in her.

  Her wine-dark eyes searched the clearing and she flinched at what she saw, but when he looked around there was nothing, just emptiness and a few old stones.

  “We must leave here, General.”

  Her voice came to him from a great distance, ordering him about yet again! He had an overwhelming urge to take the knife’s sharp point and part the strings of her jerkin, slice through the fine linen of her shirt. He wanted to see the pale rise of her breasts. Since that first time he saw her held captive by his men, bloodied but not bowed, he had wanted her.

  If he were to lower his head, he could bury his face in her soft feminine curves, inhale her unique scent. A savage surge of desire gripped him. He had the knife, the superior strength and she was his by right of conquest.

  Her lips drew back from her teeth and her eyes narrowed as if she knew what he was thinking. Instinct told him she would fight with the last breath in her body. Tulkhan knew then that he would have to kill her before he could subdue her.

  His free hand sought her breast beneath the material and encountered something else. A puff of heady herbs engulfed them both. Inhaling the sharp, pungent scent, he winced. It stung his nostrils, clearing his head.

  What was he thinking?

  He had never forced himself on a woman. They were always willing, only too willing, for all the good it did him.

  Shocked by the path his thoughts had taken, he sat up slowly to crouch on his heels. It cost him dearly to pull away from her. He felt as if an invisible cord joined their bodies, reeling him ever tighter to her. So fierce a pull must be sorcery.

  She also came to her knees, drawing closer to him. Her hands closed over the knife in his. Deftly and without apology, she pressed her fingers into his thumb, breaking his hold. He didn’t resist as she slid the knife from his hand and calmly replaced it in its sheath. He caught a flash of white thigh before the tabard fell back into place. He fought a convulsive urge to lick that flesh.

  “It’s the rocks.” Her voice was a warm breath caressing his skin.

  Rocks? He could only make sense of her words through a supreme effort of will. His whole being was focused on the raging need in him—a need so violent it had nothing to do with casual dalliance. What possessed him? He had to break free of this compulsion.

  “Rocks?” He forced himself to follow the arc of her arm as she gestured and noticed the worn stones in a circle around them.

  “Blood on the rocks,” she hissed.

  Why was there a tremor in her voice? Tulkhan watched uneasily as she dipped inside her jerkin to pull out a handful of leaves, crushing them between her fingers. Again the spicy, sharp scent flooded his senses and his thoughts focused.

  Her troubled eyes held his, willing him to listen. “It is older than the locals, ancient and hungry for our bonding, our blood—”

  “Imoshen!” She had never seemed more Other, more Dhamfeer, to Tulkhan than at that moment, yet he still desired her. This was wrong. It went against all his natural instincts. Shuddering violently, he fought for control. The force of his need frightened him. Was his raging desire fed by an outside source? The idea was unnerving and repellent because he hated to think his actions had been dictated by an unseen presence. Shocked, he forced himself to concentrate on what she was saying.

  Her fingers bit into the tense, corded muscles of his forearms. He could see Imoshen was terrified. A surge of protectiveness banished the primal violence which had threatened to overwhelm him.

  “We have to get out of here. Come, General.”

  “There . . .” His voice was a croak. He had to swallow before he could continue. “There’s something here?”

  “It lured me here.” Intense, dark eyes held his. “It nearly invaded you, but you resisted it. I think the moment is past.”

  In a lithe, circling movement she came to her feet, eyes searching the clearing. The length of her thick hair fanned out as she moved.

  She extended her hand in a friendly, boyish gesture which seemed odd to him considering his behavior had been less than brotherly. But he rose, brushing the dirt from his knees and thighs.

  “So we’re safe?” He was irritated with her, with himself, and he didn’t know why.

  She was right, there had been some force acting through him. No matter how much he might desire her, he would never have contemplated forcing himself on her.

  “I’m not like that,” he said.

  She cast him a swift, calculating glance and once again he was aware of her intelligence and her perceptiveness, of what wasn’t said between them.

  “Let’s go, while we can.”

  He laughed but the sound was hollow on the still air.

  Imoshen strode across the barren ground and he fell in behind her. When she came to the stones, she made several signs on the air and whispered something under her breath, then crushed more of the leaves on the ground.

  Tulkhan watched all this with a certain skepticism.

  But when they stepped between the worn stones he realized with a jolt that the soft sounds of the deep woods hadn’t pierced that fell circle, for now those sounds rushed in on him.

  He stiffened, recognizing the scent of an animal—a rank, fetid scent. A predator was close, very close. There was no breeze so the beast could not disguise its presence by standing downwind.

  They had escaped one threat to face another, but at least this one could be defeated with a man-made blade.

  Imoshen stopped. Suddenly, she, too, recognized the scent of danger—a wildcat on the prowl.

  “What is it?” Tulkhan’s voice was a whisper in her ear.

  “A hunter. It won’t attack while there are two of us, unless it’s desperate. But it is very close and it is watching us.”

  She was glad of the General’s presence. Imoshen didn’t question why she knew she could trust him to protect her back, she simply accepted it. Once again she drew her knife. “Watch behind, I’ll watch ahead.”

  They walked uphill, striking away from the brook toward the rise beyond which they knew the others waited. The beast kept pace with them, only falling back as they entered the clearing where the horses shifted uneasily, showing the whites of their eyes. Several of the handlers were whispering soothingly to calm them.

  The return of General Tulkhan and his captive was greeted with relief and some ribaldry. Their extended absence had been marked. The men were amused, tolerant. Imoshen’s hair was hanging loose, filled with bracken, her clothes dusty and disheveled. Tulkhan was also dirt-stained.

  The General escorted her to her horse, ignoring the jibes. The men were ready to move out. As one of the foot soldiers passed Imoshen the reins she saw a knowing smirk in his eyes. Her hand
s tightened convulsively, but she restrained herself because she noticed the man’s expression when he met the General’s eyes.

  With a jolt she understood the Ghebites’ amusement and it gave her an unwelcome insight into their world. They thought their General had been bedding her, too eager to restrain himself. Imoshen’s cheeks stung with heat.

  Didn’t they know pure T’En women were sacred? She would never consider bedding a man for idle enjoyment.

  Didn’t the Ghebites despise the Dhamfeer? Yet, the men were not offended. It appeared that despite her Otherness she was female enough for them to tolerate the idea of their General lying with her.

  Tulkhan held her gaze, his dark eyes sparkling with amusement.

  She gritted her teeth and swung into the saddle. Tulkhan gave her a rueful grin and she realized he was not only aware of her chagrin but he was enjoying it. She could feel a fierce blush coloring her cheeks. With all her being she wanted to wipe that arrogant masculine gleam from his eyes. Instead, she lifted her chin and held her head high, daring anyone to comment.

  The General might be grinning now, but she knew better! He had almost raped her at the insistence of an ancient force. She was lucky those herbs had been tucked into her jerkin. Their pungent scent had helped clear his head and she’d been able to use the moment to distract him.

  But honesty forced her to admit it had been the General’s willpower which had conquered the unseen force and freed him. As much as she wanted to, she had not been able to help him. Frustration filled her. Unlike the Aayel, who could scry the future and read anyone, Imoshen’s T’En powers were weak. Only once had she sifted a conscious mind and that was when she was first confronted by the General.

  Then she had been in a heightened state of awareness, fearful for her life. It had been an almost unconscious act of self-preservation. If only she had more control over her T’En side.

  Tilting her head forward, she caught her hair and began to braid it.

  “No.” Tulkhan grabbed her nearest elbow. “Leave it loose.”

  He raised his hand and drew his fingers through the first part of the braid, separating the strands. Her scalp tingled with the slight tug. His hand traveled the length of her hair and came free with a small piece of brown bracken. Laughter lit his eyes as he held it up for her to see, then tossed it aside.

  “Your people expect you to look like the T’En princess you are,” he told her.

  She opened her mouth to argue but it was true and he moved away, satisfied that she would obey him though it galled her to do so.

  Kalleen’s saucy eyes met Imoshen’s and the serving girl curled her top lip, silently giving her opinion of men, the General in particular. Imoshen had to smile.

  She stole a glance in his direction, watching as a soldier helped Tulkhan into his battle regalia. She should despise the Ghebite General but she had to admit he had all the makings of a leader. For one, he looked so fine in full battle dress. She had to admire his easy stride, the grace of his body as he swung onto the back of the black war horse.

  The column moved out and it was a relief when they finally left the forest. Soon they were riding into a cool breeze, sharp with the salty tang of the sea.

  Tulkhan held his cape around him and ignored the chill in his exposed hands on the reins. His men had never traveled this far south before and the cold this early in the autumn boded badly for the winter.

  “So.” He shifted in the saddle. “If the farm folk see the twin moons as a mother and child, what do the T’En see them as?”

  He knew the answer but he wanted to hear the Dhamfeer’s explanation. She never missed a chance to lecture him on the superiority of her culture and he never missed a chance to confound her with his knowledge of other cultures.

  “As a man and woman,” she replied, plucking a long strand of silver-blond hair from her lips and tossing her head. Obviously she enjoyed the bracing sea breeze. “Like man and woman, the moons vie for supremacy, first one is in the ascendancy, then the other. Their relationship is strongest and thus at its most powerful when both shine freely; so it is with a man and woman.

  “While there are things one does better than the other, they are strongest when they can stand side by side, equal in each other’s eyes.” Her fierce wine-dark eyes met his and held. “I will call no man my master!”

  A shiver moved over his skin. He found a laugh. “Neither will I!”

  She laughed, then eyed him narrowly. “I’ve heard your people see the moons as two half-brothers who battle constantly for supremacy.”

  “Yes.” He shifted in the saddle. “One is the son of the first wife, the other the son of the second. Both want the father’s love, so they try to outshine each other.”

  “Are they not equal?”

  He grimaced. He was the king’s eldest son, but his mother had been the second wife, not the first taken to consolidate political power. So his younger half-brother, Gharavan, was now king. But he had known this would happen ever since the boy was born. He had seen the marked difference in his treatment once the king’s first wife produced a male heir. He had known then who his true friends were and since that day he had learned enough of human nature to be grateful for that early lesson, cruel though it had been.

  As leman-son Tulkhan had no birthright. His General’s rank and the respect of his men had been earned and he was proud of this. “The first son of the first wife inherits the father’s property, while the second gets nothing.”

  “What if the firstborn was a daughter?”

  He snorted. “Females don’t inherit.”

  “Why not?” Her eyes flashed violent red.

  He knew how to irritate her and shrugged casually. “They just don’t. They don’t own property, they don’t sit on council ...”

  Imoshen laughed, startling him. “Then Gheeaba is the poorer for that policy, because you lose the skills of half your people!”

  She urged her horse forward and galloped a little ahead. He stared at her shoulders, admiring the way she rode the horse. Damn her, she’d done it again. Honesty forced him to admit she was probably right. If he could feel disinherited, how did his elder half-sisters feel? He hardly knew them. They’d been married to consolidate his family’s position during the long years he had spent on the campaigns.

  Imoshen urged her mount forward, pleased to have gotten the better of Tulkhan. He was looking far too fine and pleased with himself in his battle regalia. She understood why he had ordered his men to dress for their arrival at Landsend, His army made an impressive spectacle, none more so than the General himself. But she was on edge after what had happened and she didn’t want to ride too near him.

  She thought she recognized a rocky outcropping and urged her horse toward it. The Elite Guard parted for her, used to her conversations with their General, her coming and going freely. Several had consulted her on matters of old wounds which hadn’t healed properly.

  Imoshen leapt from her mount, tied the reins to a low bush and ran to the top of the outcropping. The view was just as she remembered it. From where she stood the ground fell away, a checkerboard of rolling grain fields and winding lanes which led to the port of Landsend. In the distance she could see the magnificent abbey that dominated the bluff and overlooked the bay. The horizon was an endless blue. Somewhere beyond that eastern ocean was the original home of the T’En.

  She was looking at history—Landsend, where her namesake, Imoshen the First, made landfall.

  Inhaling deeply, she rejoiced. The ozone made her heart race. The stiff sea breeze pressed her clothes to her body and filled her lungs.

  She sensed the General at her side and pointed.

  “There it is!” She had to raise her voice to be heard over the sea breeze. “See the wharf and beach. That is where the first T‘ Imoshen ordered her ship burnt to the waterline. She had a much smaller army than yours, made up of the old and the children. They were explorers, looking for wealth and knowledge.

  “Within a generation t
he T’En had captured the whole island. Sporadic uprisings occurred for around two hundred years, but we brought culture, music, art, written language, medicine and science to this land.”

  She turned to him, pride blazing in her eyes. A smile of triumph curved her lips.

  Tulkhan knew then that Imoshen would never yield to him. Beauty lay spread out below them, but he did not see it. He stiffened, stung by the implications of her comment—she considered him a barbarian.

  “What have your people done since then?” he demanded. “Grown lazy and self-indulgent?”

  “While the T’En ruled, no one, not even a landless drifter, lived in fear or starvation. If anyone, male or female, was wronged they could bring their grievance before the church to be heard. There was justice for all.”

  Tulkhan tensed as she caught his hands in hers, fixing her glittering eyes on him. “You’ve bested our army—I’ll admit that, General, but don’t throw out what is good. Keep the best, build on it. Be a leader with vision!”

  He searched her eyes, startled by her vehemence. True, in the rare idle moment during his many years of campaigning he had compared the way different kingdoms drafted and enforced their laws. The weak gave their loyalty to the strong for protection and in doing so gave up their freedom.

  But Imoshen was talking justice for all regardless of gender or social status, an individual’s right. Tulkhan’s head reeled at the concept.

  “Fair Isle is renowned for its culture, the music, the arts—”

  “The decadence!” Tulkhan bit back. He would not let her compare their homelands and call him a barbarian by default.

  Imoshen’s hands tightened on his. “Discard the bad, build on the good. Gather the greatest minds in Fair Isle . . .”

  “I have met great thinkers on the mainland, too. Men who were working on medicines, men who turned their farseers to the night sky and others who designed machines to do the work of ordinary men.”