If she could get away, where would she go? All she knew was that the portal was located somewhere east of here. Maybe she could steal a horse and head to Rosamund’s. Even though it was a long ride, she might be able to find her way there. But then what? Would the woman take her to the portal? Although Neyla’s intuition told her that Rosamund actually liked her and had been her advocate with Rickert, she doubted the woman would help her to that extent. A warm meal, maybe.
“If I’d told him the truth about who you are, he’d have sent you to the pits. And because I wouldn’t bring a woman to this side simply for a wee bit of fun between the quilts, they must believe we are to marry.”
She frowned. “Why do you care where I sleep or end up?”
He stopped several steps above her and turned around. For a split second, she found herself looking straight at those perfectly tied laces, before she wrenched her gaze up to his.
“Most folk are very distrustful of Pacificans. I’m trying to make it more believable that you’re here.”
He still hadn’t answered her question. Cranking her neck back, she did her best to glare at him, but his height was even more intimidating. Without thinking, she climbed a few steps and brushed past him, then turned to look down at him. She liked this vantage point much better. It still didn’t add up that he—
A corner of his mouth twitched. Something not quite frightening, but very exciting, flashed in those arctic blue eyes of his.
A warning? A promise?
Unwanted shivers cascaded down her arms, warming her insides. What was it about this man that so enticed her? He was the last man on earth she should be attracted to. Yet looking at him now, with his square jaw, broad shoulders, and strong, muscular arms, how could she not? He was beyond hot.
The crimson tunic he’d thrown on at the portal was simple and functional, yet elegant at the same time. Although it had none of the fancy embroidery or adornments that Lord Tierney’s or Rosamund’s garments sported, it fit his muscular torso perfectly, as if it had been hand-tailored. The hemline hit just below his natural waistline, right at the crisscrossed laces of the fine leather breeches—probably deerskin, if she were to guess—that stretched tightly over his—
She coughed and attempted to put her mind into its former work mode: fabric, cut, and fit. When she’d tailored men’s clothing, she’d often kneel and hold her tape measure right at the crotch. She was used to examining and assessing various bodies simply as shapes, marking how much of the seam to take in or let out. Where to position a dart or tuck.
The leather clung to the curve of his thighs and butt with just the right amount of ease—neither too tight nor too loose. Whoever had made them was very skilled. Leather, particularly deerskin, could be tricky to work with.
Enough about the clothes, she told herself. God, she could get so distracted by pretty things.
She was sure of one thing, though. If she had any hope of getting back home, she needed to squelch her physical reaction to him and keep her wits about her.
Then she realized he now blocked her only escape, and she had nowhere to go but up. No wonder he was pleased. She’d made it easy for him. God, she could be such an idiot.
“And why should you care what happens to me?” she repeated.
He propped one boot casually on the step above him and rested a hand on the hilt of one of his swords, looking very much like the powerful medieval warrior he was. “I agree. It makes no sense.”
“Then why?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps I’ve been bespelled.”
She scoffed at him and yet her whole body went numb at the thought that he could be bespelled by her.
Before she could contemplate further, he said, “Keep going. It’s not far now.”
Soon, they stood in front of a wooden door with a large metal ring for a handle. After sliding back the bolt, Rickert leaned into it with his shoulder and pushed. The hinges creaked as the heavy door slowly opened. She wouldn’t be able to manage it easily on her own.
The first thing she spotted in the elaborately furnished room was the huge, curtained bed, piled high with quilts and pillows. An empty tub, half hidden by a curtain, stood in a far corner, and several large parchments—maps, maybe?—were scattered on a low table. The room was decidedly masculine. His bedchamber.
And now it all made perfect sense.
“Is this elaborate scheme of yours designed to get me into your bed?” She glanced around for some sort of weapon and spotted several glass paperweights in various colors holding the maps flat. Those could work. In college, she’d pitched on an intramural co-ed softball team and could throw a decent fastball.
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
She inched closer to the table. “Do you have an old-fashioned belief system over here that prevents you from shagging a woman you’re not engaged to?”
He closed the door with a bang that rattled her insides, and slid the bolt into place. Standing there like he had in the cave, taking up all the available space, he looked big and formidable. She was trapped. This was it. And she’d just provoked him. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“Stay away from me.” She lunged toward the table and grabbed what she thought was a paperweight, though it turned out to be a bulbous candleholder with a lump of wax inside. The map curled without its weight at the corner, but not before she caught a glimpse of the familiar Pacifica coastline. This must be where he planned his raiding strategies.
“You can put that down. I’m not going to hurt you.”
She eyed him critically. The periwinkle-blue glass she held was fairly heavy and would inflict damage if she hit her target.
“Besides, little soldier,” he continued, “I would not be happy if it broke. Those are the only pieces of Esmeralda glass I have left, and I had to trade a decent Balkirk steel blade to get them.”
“Then why all the tricks?”
“Tricks?”
“Those sex visions. Did you think they’d get me hot for you and I’d agree to this betrothal nonsense?”
He blew out a long, slow breath and leaned against the door frame. “Ah, then it’s true.”
She was confused. “What’s true?”
“In that vision. You saw us making love, too. I’d wondered what it was you’d seen, but it’s clear we both witnessed the same thing.”
“Yeah, how could I miss it? You were—I was—” She was so frustrated, she could hardly think straight, but she wasn’t about to verbalize what she’d seen.
He frowned, scrubbing a hand thoughtfully over his jaw. He seemed just as perplexed and confused as she was. That is, if she was reading him correctly.
And then it dawned on her. “You mean…you…you didn’t do that on purpose?”
Anger flashed behind his eyes. “Me? You think I caused that to happen? That I conjured it up or something?”
“I…uh…assumed it was you.” But if he didn’t create those visions, what were they? She recalled the way he’d held her so tightly in the tunnel, his labored breathing, his pounding heart. It occurred to her that he’d just said making love, not screwing or fucking.
“Believe me,” he said, “even if I had such talents, I wouldn’t need to resort to trickery like that to bed women.”
His flippant, confident tone struck a chord and, for a moment, she forgot about the mist. “I still won’t agree to this arrangement.”
Striding past her with the ease of a man used to getting his way, he flung open the heavy draperies and bright sunlight illuminated the room. He made a show of fluffing a few of the colorful pillows propped on that monstrosity of a bed, causing dust motes to dance in the light.
“You’d pick sleeping on a cold stone floor to this?” he asked, the criss-crossed swords on his back clanking as he spread his arms wide. “It’s the finest Vengold silk. And the bed is stuffed with river goose down. The best.”
It did look soft, and she was very— No. She would not let herself be charmed like this. “I will not let you suc
k me into a game with you.”
Neyla stood there with as much dignity as she could muster. If a suit could make a man, being naked under an oversized tunic and wearing big clunky boots definitely did not make a woman. At least, not a confident one. Maybe if she were wearing army fatigues or even jeans and a T-shirt, she wouldn’t be feeling so unsettled. But all she had of herself on this side of the portal was her wits. And right now, they felt pretty thin.
“This is no game,” he countered. “Stop being so stubborn. In the brig, you’d get maybe one pan of water—cold water—every few days in which to wash up. Despite your current appearance, you do seem to value good hygiene.”
She stifled a laugh. Yeah, I suppose that’s true.
His gaze roamed up and down her body. She willed herself to stand taller.
“And depending on whether or not there are other prisoners in the pits, the wash water may be shared among several of you.”
She swallowed nervously. Other prisoners? To hell with sharing bath water. Would they be sharing her? Her resolve was quickly fading.
“You’d honestly prefer that to this?” he asked mockingly. “I can have the house maids bring in warm water and scented oils for a bath.” He removed the cork from one of the tiny bottles on his dressing table and held it to his nose. “Heatherwood is my personal favorite, but there are others you may enjoy more. I can ask Tierney’s daughters for their suggestions.”
God, how her muscles ached. A warm bath would be heavenly. She’d sink up to her neck in lightly scented water, close her eyes and wash away the—
Wait. He wanted her to use his favorite scent? She was suddenly reminded of a former customer who’d tried on a medieval costume she’d made for him. He’d burst from the dressing room and exclaimed, “Bathe her and bring her to me.” His girlfriend and the other couple with them had erupted in laughter. It was funny at the time, but there was nothing funny about Rickert’s implication of the very same thing.
“I will not share a bed with you. Or service you.”
“Service?”
“You know? Sex. Like your stallion servicing the mares at the Guthrie farm in exchange for room and board.”
One corner of his mouth twitched and a devilish gleam sparkled in his eyes. “I do not need to make such elaborate arrangements to bed women. They come willingly or not at all.”
She reluctantly admitted to herself that he was probably telling the truth. He was the most attractive man she’d ever seen and certainly she wasn’t the only female who thought this way. Given the images in the mist and what she’d glimpsed of him at the portal crossing, it was obvious the pleasures his body would bring to a woman. Sex for him wasn’t a question. The question was, with whom would he choose to have it? A man like him would have plenty of options.
“This betrothal business is the only way to keep you from the pits. If the people here knew the truth about you, that’s where you’d go. While it is acceptable for a man to lie with his future bride—in fact, some here would say consummation after a betrothal constitutes marriage—it is not a requirement. I’ll have the adjoining bedchamber prepared for me. You will stay here in this room, as it is better appointed.”
She glanced around the room again. If he wasn’t here with her, maybe she could figure out a way to escape. There was the one door they’d come in and another on the far wall, which probably led to the adjoining room. The window was plenty big enough to climb through, but she had no idea how high off the ground they were. Or where the room was in relation to those thirty-foot walls.
“And just so you know…in addition to having excellent night vision, we barbarians have excellent hearing as well. If you try to run again, I’ll know it, and I’ll take you to the pits myself.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked, feigning innocence.
His laughter filled the whole room. “Save your breath. You’re a terrible actress.”
“And if I don’t agree?
“Same thing. You’ll go to the pits and await trial.”
She tried to keep her hands from shaking, but failed miserably. She didn’t want to ask, but had to. “And what kind of punishments are handed out in situations like this?”
“Generally, imprisonment, torture…death.”
The muscles in her legs seemed to fail her all at once and she felt herself slipping. The fear she’d felt when she first encountered him in the cave engulfed her again. Before she could steady herself on the edge of the dresser, strong hands gripped her arms, easing her down on a nearby chair.
Instantly, another one of those misty visions began to take shape.
Rickert cursed and quickly released his hold.
The mist disappeared, but not before she’d seen a glimpse of two pairs of intertwined bare legs.
Moving away from her, he flexed his fists as if he wanted to punch something. It looked as though he was warring with himself…and losing. “This is fucked.”
“Tell me about it.” She wasn’t sure whether he was referring to the visions or— “Why the lies, Rickert? Why not just send me to the pits?”
He took several long breaths. She could almost hear him thinking. When he finally broke the silence, his voice was so quiet she had to strain to hear him. “Because you don’t belong there.”
“I…don’t?”
“The magistrate owes me a favor. When the court comes to town next month, I will tell her the truth and petition her to let you return home. But the only way she’ll agree is if you promise never to join your army again.”
Disappointment weighed heavily on her shoulders. She wouldn’t have a choice. Once she returned to New Seattle, the army would put her back in the field. “I…I’m afraid I can’t make that promise. Even if I wanted to leave the army—which I do—they would force me to stay.”
For some reason, it hadn’t occurred to her to lie and agree to his conditions. She just wanted to get out of this whole mess. Away from here. Away from the army. And yet...
“Why do you care about me, anyway?” she asked, suddenly curious. “Because, technically, I’m your enemy.”
“Bloody hell, lass! Why must you be so difficult?” For a moment, she thought he might throw something. “I don’t want you to go to the pits. Does it have to be any more complicated than that?”
“But I’m—”
“Stop.” He held up his hands, his eyes blazing. “It doesn’t make sense, but you are not to question me further.”
His patronizing tone made her insides pucker, like swallowing a shot of vinegar. “Fine. If you promise not to touch me again—I don’t want to see another one of those damn visions—then I’ll agree to these sleeping arrangements.”
His boots pounded the floor as he approached. The small bottles on his dressing table rattled. Assuming he was going to grab her, she gripped the candleholder tighter. But he strode across the room without making contact, stirring up a breeze as he passed. He yanked the door open and turned around. His expression reminded her of the first time she’d seen him on the other side of the portal. Dangerous, frightening and foreign.
Chapter Six
Using the excuse that Neyla was exhausted from the portal crossing and needed her rest, it was several days before the two of them shared a meal with the others in the Great Hall.
In truth, Rickert hadn’t wanted to deal with her questions because he had no answers. He felt protective of her, though it made no sense. He wanted to be with her, even though a Warrior of the Iron Guild shouldn’t want such a thing. Besides, the thought of her in the pits with Louis made him physically sick. The bone cracker would interrogate her about her army’s movements and plans, using the cruelest of methods. After being chastised by Rosamund for even considering sending Neyla there, he accepted that she was right, even though he hated to admit it.
“Rickert, how is my brother doing? Staying out of trouble, I hope.”
He turned to see his cousin’s wife, Petra, approaching. “Hello, gorgeous,” he said, giving her a ki
ss on both cheeks. “Fallon arrived safely and his first mission went well. Asher is keeping him in line.” His gaze dropped to her pregnant belly. “Praise the Fates, you’ve changed since I saw you last.”
“Edon’s potent seed will do that to a girl,” she said, laughing. She turned to Neyla. “And you must be the woman everyone is talking about. I’m Petra. I’m married to one of Lord Tierney’s sons. Rickert is my cousin-in-law. Welcome to Crestenfahl.” Her tone was warm and genuine.
Neyla glanced quickly at Rickert, then smiled and shook the young woman’s outstretched hand. “Thank you so much.”
“That dress is lovely on you,” Petra said, scrutinizing the low-cut garment. “I didn’t fill out a bodice like that until I was pregnant. You know, these—” She lifted one of her own breasts. “—get larger when you’re pregnant before anything else does. I must say, Edon is really enjoying them. And I am, too.”
A laugh burst from Neyla’s mouth. Although she was clearly shocked at the woman’s candor, Rickert sensed that she wasn’t put off by it. “So I’ve heard. I designed a wedding gown for a woman who told me the same thing. When is the baby due?”
“If my calculations are correct, in a fortnight or two.”
The two women launched into an easy conversation about family, clothes, and life on both sides of the portal as if they were long-lost friends.
He’d told everyone that he and Neyla were in love, having met while he’d been on a lengthy assignment in Pacifica. Explaining that she was from one of the southern regions with fewer tensions between the worlds, he’d hoped there’d be less distrust of her. Petra notwithstanding, given the angry scowls and furtive glances they’d received from a few of the others as they entered the Great Hall, it was clear he hadn’t completely succeeded.
After taking their seats at the table, Rickert was about to dish up Neyla’s plate when she reached for the ladle first.
“Everything looks delicious,” she said, checking out the stew.
His mouth dropped open as she scrutinized each platter of food that passed in front of them, picking out the best pieces, and placed them on his plate first.
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