by Lisa Jackson
“I fell.”
“You fell? From where? The top of a castle battlement? The side of a mountain?”
“From grace,” he said, and beneath his dark beard his lips twisted wryly. “Let’s leave it at that.”
No doubt the tumble had rattled his brain.
As he stepped closer she saw that blood lingered in the whites of his eyes and his hands and cheeks were coated with scabs. Was he dangerous? She couldn’t tell, but she decided not to drop her knife.
“Where is Isa?” he asked.
“What?” He knew that she talked to her dead nursemaid?
“I heard you calling to her.”
“Oh.” So he didn’t realize she was traveling alone. Good. She saw no reason to let him think otherwise. “She, uh, went ahead for supplies, but should return. I expect her and . . . mayhap her husband at any moment.”
“She’s married?” He seemed skeptical.
“Aye, for many years.” Her mind raced with the lie. “Her husband, um, Parnell, he is a strong man. A warrior.”
“Who left you alone.”
She forced a smile. “The two are inseparable,” she said, lying glibly now, caught up in her fantasy. He would never know otherwise, so what did it matter?
“You sounded angry.”
“I am,” she said quickly, and that much, at least, wasn’t a lie, even if she were furious with herself. But she didn’t dare tell this battered man who traveled with a wolf the truth. Not yet. “They were supposed to be back by nightfall.”
“Mayhap something happened to delay them.” He stepped closer and she pointed her knife at his throat.
“Aye, but they will be here,” she said. “Now who the devil are you?”
“Mayhap your bodyguard.”
She nearly laughed. How absurd! The man was half dead already. “Are you serious? Look at you. You cannot take care of yourself, let alone another person.” She lowered her knife a bit. “Surely you have a name.”
“Aye. I’m Cain of Agendor,” he said without hesitation, though he watched her as if she might react. As if she’d heard the name before. “And you? What’s your name?”
She doubted she should trust him, and yet there seemed no reason to lie. “Bryanna.”
She saw a flicker of something in his gaze. “Bryanna?”
“Aye.”
“And you’re traveling from where?”
“Calon,” she admitted, though she wanted to give him only the barest of information about herself.
“Calon.” His eyebrows slammed together. “Far to the south?”
She nodded, glancing back at the woods to be sure the wolf was not circling to attack. The shaggy gray beast sat poised, as if at rest. Although Bryanna was loath to admit it, this wolf resembled the animal she’d conjured in her youth. Aye, even the markings were the same, a black scruff against silver fur.
“Where are you going so far from Calon?”
Of course she didn’t know, nor would she have confided in him if she did. “North. What about you? Where are you from?”
“Here and there,” he said, lifting a shoulder. His gaze drifted downward to the stone where Isa’s vexing piece of leather was visible. “Is this a map?” he asked, picking up the scrap of deer hide and holding it outward so that the light from the fire backlit the skin.
“A poor one.” She snorted, disgusted with the torn piece of hide.
“Hmm.” Frowning, he turned the smooth leather over, then upside down. “I thought so.” Nodding to himself, he glanced at her. “Where’s the rest of it?”
“There’s more?” she asked, perplexed. She’d found this torn bit of doeskin in Isa’s hut and it was all there had been.
“There should be.” He turned a little so that Bryanna could see the markings through the hide. “See there, those mounds? One might think they were hills, but they are really the three rocks.”
“Three rocks?” she repeated skeptically.
“’Tis what it’s called, as you pass by the cliffs, here—” He indicated the three big mounds on the map. “You see three immense rocks, one on the west and two to the east. From there”—he drew upward with his finger—“you travel but half a day to the village and keep. Only someone who has lived in Tarth or traveled there often would know what they are called.”
“And you do?” she asked, a little confused. “Do you live there?”
He shook his head. “Once, long ago. ’Tis the home of my mother and grandmother, but it’s been years since I was there.” He flashed the hint of a smile, his teeth gleaming white against his black beard. For a split second there was something about him that called up an old memory—a fleeting feeling that he was somehow familiar—but it passed quickly. “Lucky for you that I’m heading to Tarth. ’Tis a few days’ ride north and west. On the second day, we’ll come to the main road, as you have been following a path that is nearly forgotten.” He traced a wavy line upon the leather with his finger, then slid the same finger over to a spot on the map that had not been etched. “The main road, which should appear about here”—he pressed his fingernail into the blank spot on the soft doe hide—“travels in the same general direction as the path you’ve taken, running north and south, but it is straighter, wider, and takes less time to get from one town to the next. However, it is well traveled.”
“Which I don’t want?” she guessed from the tone of his voice.
“Which I don’t. But worry not. I’ll show you the way.”
“I’m not worried. I can get there. On my own. You need not think you have to ride with me.”
“It only makes sense. If we are going to the same destination, we should ride together.”
“Ride? On what?” Surely he didn’t expect her to share her mount. The very thought of him seated behind her, pressed against her back, his arms surrounding her . . . nay, that would never do and ’twould be too hard on her horse.
As if reading her thoughts and being amused by them, he grinned widely. “I have a steed.”
“Here?” She glanced around. There was no horse that she could see, and from the looks of him any animal he would be riding would never be able to keep up with Alabaster. “This steed, is he a phantom?”
“A flesh-and-blood horse, I assure you.”
“So where is he?”
“Nearby. Fear not.”
Good advice, though I don’t think I can take it from you.
“Nearby?”
He slapped the map into her free hand. “You could use a bodyguard.”
She almost laughed as she stared into his battered face. “So could you.”
Despite his paleness, his smile grew to wicked proportions.
“Mayhap I should become your bodyguard,” she suggested, “rather than the other way around.”
“And protect me with your spells?” he asked, unable to hide his skepticism.
With his face so bruised his own mother wouldn’t recognize him and his skin scraped raw, she suspected he could use a little protection. From the way he carried himself and winced, she suspected that he had a few broken ribs to boot. Then there was the matter of a darkening stain on the shoulder of his tunic—indication of a bleeding wound.
“I don’t think I could do any worse than you have, Cain. It looks to me as if you could use a spell or two.”
“Spoken as if you are truly a witch.”
“Sorceress. And aye, I am.”
He snorted. “Trying to keep me safe might be dangerous.”
“Obviously.”
“We could help each other,” he suggested, then drew in a quick breath as if he were in pain.
“I don’t even know you,” she pointed out. “You say you’re riding to Tarth, but only after pretending to study this.” She held up the map again and gave it a shake. “And then, after supposedly reading it within seconds, this map that I’ve yet to understand, you tell me that I, too, am heading to the same destination. How convenient.” He started to interrupt her, but she said quickly, “Then you mention you have a hor
se, an animal you’ve left to fend for himself in the forest. For all I know this is a bald lie and you really intend to steal mine. A wolf accompanies you and yet you tell me to fear her not, while you, battered and beaten, offer to be my bodyguard.” She lowered her knife but didn’t bridge the distance between them. “I think I’ll take my chances with my spells.”
“Wait here.”
As if she were going anywhere.
Without another word, he strode quickly out of the circle of illumination and vanished into the forest again. The wolf, however, didn’t so much as move. Within seconds, Cain returned, leading a tall black destrier with a big barrel chest and white markings. The horse was well fed, muscular, and, Bryanna guessed, worth a fortune—a nobleman’s mount, or mayhap the horse of a decorated soldier, though the animal had no visible scars from battle. Nay, he was sleek, as if groomed for a lord. Resisting the lead, pulling against the bridle and prancing nervously, the stallion was agitated, the rims of his dark eyes white. He tossed his head, his ears flicking this way and that as he snorted his unease.
“ ’Tis all right, Rhi,” Cain said, rubbing a soothing hand over the steed’s neck. In a low steady voice he spoke softly to the big animal and the stallion slowly calmed.
From her tethering point, Alabaster snorted, then nickered. After measuring the value of the steed in her mind, Bryanna again took in Cain’s state of dress, as a peasant. For all she knew, he could have been beaten while stealing the animal.
“This is your stallion?” she asked, not hiding her disbelief. Cain had a way with horses, that much was obvious, and it didn’t surprise her. Again the sensation that something about him was familiar swept over her.
“Aye, ’twas my father’s.” Was there a hint of irony in his voice?
“Who is a very rich man,” she observed.
“A gambling man.”
As if he’d won a prized animal in a game of dice. She didn’t believe it. This horse was as valuable as any in the stable at Penbrooke or Calon. “How do I know you didn’t steal him?” she asked.
“You don’t.”
“And yet you expect me to hire you as a bodyguard.”
“Only until your companions return. Isa and her husband, what was his name? Parnell.”
“Yes,” she said quickly.
“I’ll stay with you.”
“I don’t think so.”
“A woman should not be traveling alone.”
“I told you, I’m not alone. Isa and Parnell will be back soon.”
He shook his head. “You know, Bryanna,” he said with a glint in his eye that warned her she wouldn’t like what he was about to say, “you may be a witch of some sort. Or at least think you are.” With one finger, he motioned to the amulets and pouches and horns she had tucked near the stump. “And you’re a beautiful woman, probably the daughter of a lord. Anyone would guess that, looking at your clothes and your manner. The way you address me, as if you’re used to ordering people about.” He nodded, agreeing with himself and rankling her that he could discern so much about her when she knew so little of him. “But there’s one thing you are not, and that is a good liar. In fact, you’re pretty damned miserable at it.”
“And how would you know?” she demanded, irritated.
His smile, somewhere between sinister and sexy, crawled across his unshaven jaw. “Because, my lady, I’m the best damn liar you’ll ever have the displeasure to meet.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Bother and bog’s worts!
Was she doomed to become this strange man’s companion? Bryanna had tried to decline any offer of help, protection, or conversation, and yet the man remained.
Worse yet, the oddly marked silver wolf had stayed as well.
She’d tried to pry information from the man, but to no avail. When she’d asked a few questions about his past, he’d been vague and clever, dancing away from the truth. Which was just as well, she supposed, as anything he did tell her was probably a lie. She wasn’t even certain that Cain was his name, nor that the horse he rode belonged to his father. Once or twice when the fire cast light on his face, she felt certain she’d seen him somewhere before. Then shadows flickered and again he resembled a bedraggled stranger.
’Twas a stroke of misfortune to have met him and the wolf, who skulked through the thin trees, her shadow causing Bryanna’s heart to throb anxiously and Alabaster to nicker and pull on her lead. She did not feel safe traveling with this man, certainly not sleeping in such close proximity to him. And yet, he had brought her insight into the meaning of Isa’s map. What had he called the terrain? The three rocks. If his interpretation was right, the information at least gave Bryanna a direction to travel in—though she would have preferred traveling alone. By the gods, who knew what this . . . this lying, perhaps horse-stealing peasant might do!
Now, with the man slumbering on the other side of the small campfire, Bryanna didn’t think she could sleep a wink. After allowing his horse to drink from the nearby stream, he’d removed the stallion’s saddle, wrapped the reins around his palm, then curled up against the saddle and used his mantle as a blanket. Before she could argue or protest that he couldn’t stay in her camp, he was softly snoring. All this before she’d picked up her pouches and amulets or braided her hair for the night. He’d fallen asleep so quickly she suspected he might be pretending slumber, but as she stared at him he barely moved.
Her eyes remained on the stranger as she gathered her things and used the horn comb she’d brought with her from Calon to plait her curly tresses. As she worked, she watched for any sign that he was feigning sleep. But as the moon rose in the dark sky, she witnessed no indication that he was acting, and she realized that if he truly wasn’t awake, he could do her no harm.
Well, so be it, she thought, sending up a prayer to the Great Mother and walking to the stream to rinse her hands and face. The water was cold as ice and she shivered, only to look up and see the wolf on the other side of the creek. The creature moved toward the water as if to drink, but paused and stared at Bryanna, her reflection ominous in the moonlight.
“Go away,” she said. “Leave!”
The wolf lifted her head and Bryanna felt something stir in the night air. In the reflection on the water, where the wolf’s image should have swirled, was that of a woman—a beautiful woman with creamy white skin, sea green eyes like her own, and a ring of bruises at her neck.
A low growl rumbled deep in the animal’s throat, and the image disappeared.
Alarmed, Bryanna turned to stone, not daring to move a muscle. But she quickly realized that the wolf was not about to attack her. The animal was looking past her, deeper into the forest. Her skin crawled as she looked over her shoulder quickly. Did she see a glimpse of something in the trees, a figure darker and more frightening than the beast on the other side of the water?
“Get back,” she whispered.
The wolf lunged into the stream.
Bryanna braced herself, her knife ready. She’d plunge the dagger deep into the beast’s shaggy side.
Water sprayed as the wolf leapt through ripples. Growling and snarling, she raced by, her coat nearly brushing Bryanna’s legs as she vanished into the darkness.
“Dear God,” Bryanna whispered, her heart hammering. What had frightened the animal? What was she chasing?
Alabaster snorted and tossed her head, her eyes rimmed with fear as Bryanna hurried back to the camp. Cain’s big black stallion also snorted and reared, the reins yanking Cain’s arm, awakening him.
“For the love of Christ, what’s happening?” Cain demanded, instantly alert. The horse backed up and Cain was on his feet, trying to quiet the stallion.
“The wild wolf.” Bryanna went to Alabaster and tried to soothe the frightened mare. “There you are . . . good girl.”
“What about the wolf?” Cain asked as he tried to ease his own horse’s anxiety. “That’s it . . . you’re okay,” he said to the stallion, his tone low but firm.
Bryanna, in contr
ol of the frightened mare, said, “The wolf was drinking on the other side of the stream when I approached. She . . . she stared at me for a bit, then started growling, her fur all on end. I thought she was going to attack me!”
“But she didn’t.”
“She missed by the breadth of a thread.”
“If she’d meant to harm you, she would have.”
Though Cain’s words made sense, they didn’t slow her racing heart. “She ran right by me, nearly knocking me over as she took off into the woods.” Bryanna was holding the mare’s reins in one hand, her dagger in the other. She pointed the knife toward a spot beyond the firelight where the wolf had been swallowed by darkness. “She ran through there, past the tree with the split trunk.”
“But she didn’t harm you.”
“Nay, but—”
“You’re just scared. Like the horses.” Satisfied that she wasn’t hurt, he turned his attention back to his frightened stallion. “Whoa, Rhi . . . you’re all right,” Cain said softly, though the black horse still sidestepped and tossed his head. Nervous sweat had broken out on the steed’s sleek black coat and he pulled hard on the bit, yanking on Cain’s arm again.
Cain sucked his breath in through his teeth, then swore, all the while trying to steady the horse. “By the gods,” he said, then, “Shah . . . boy, there now . . . that’s better.” Slowly the animal calmed. “See . . . nothing to worry about.” He rubbed Rhi’s muscular neck, glancing over his shoulder to the dagger still clutched in Bryanna’s hand. “You didn’t need that.”
“I was defending myself against a wolf. She’s a wolf, Cain. Remember?” she said and noticed that he seemed to have paled beneath his bruises, that he appeared weaker as he led his horse in a small circle. “The horses and I . . . we know that. You seem to think the beast is just some friendly castle dog, ready to be patted on the head and scratched behind the ears. ’Tis foolish.”
“You weren’t hurt,” he pointed out.
“But you were.”
“I’m fine.”
“And you call yourself a good liar,” she mocked.
“The wolf didn’t harm me.”
“She scared the horse, who reared and yanked you out of sleep, mayhap opening your wound again.”