“Hide! There… And do not move.” LeMark pushed her down behind the thick trunk of the tree and ran off in the opposite the direction.
* * *
Damnation.
Tethran cursed as he stormed towards the spot they had camped. He shouldn’t have allowed the woman to distract him, to turn his thoughts like that. But not even death itself could bring him to regret the feel of Miss Crymble’s mouth beneath his. God, the woman was sweet. Like fresh berries in a withering forest. Like cool water on a scorching hot day. He would surely be sentenced to hell for taking a taste from the lips of such an innocent woman. Damn it, but even eternal damnation was worth the accomplishment.
Snarling as he finally stumbled upon the scene, he reached into his boot and withdrew a dagger, flinging it through the air, and connecting it through the neck of one man who was making to steal off with their horses. He could make out two others--one of them currently engaged in a bloody brawl with Sinclair, and the other on the ground groaning and clutching an obviously broken arm.
Drawing for the knife at his waist, he tore across the ground and reached the man just as he was about to rise to his feet. Tethran kicked the man’s legs beneath him and landed a fist to his mouth as he went down. Blood rushed from the brigand’s mouth and he let out a harsh cry, but only before Tethran twisted his blade deeply in the man’s heart. Grunting, he watched as the man writhed, fighting imminent death and then stiffened, head rolling to the side. He quickly withdrew his blade from the dead man’s flesh and turned to face Sinclair who had just delivered the final blow to his assailant, twisting the man’s neck in one harsh snap. The big fellow fell to the ground in a heavy heap.
“I hope to hell you got more than a kiss,” he said, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. “What did she do? Stick her tongue down your damn ear or have you gone totally deaf?”
Tethran scowled, retrieved his dagger and then wiped it and the blade of his knife off on the leaves of some shrubbery. “From what direction did they come?”
Sinclair shrugged, breathing hard. “Couldn’t be very far. They didn’t come on horses. Must have been following us for a while on foot.”
Tethran shook his head. “Probably only some desperate bandits trying their luck then. We should get going.” Spitting his disgust at the dead bodies, he turned towards the huddle of trees to his back. “Miss Crymble, you can come out now! Everything is all good and dandy.”
She stumbled out, brows knitted with worry. Until she saw the bodies scrambled around their feet. Her eyes grew wide, wider than he’d ever seen them go on any one, and her lovely face paled to a deathly colour. Tethran heard Sinclair shuffle his feet uncomfortably.
“Miss Crymble. Come now, we must get going. Miss Crymble?” He turned to eye Sinclair, who shrugged. “Does she look like she’s going to--”
His friend let out a low confirming whistle. Tethran turned around again to see the woman’s eyes roll all the way back in her head, her body going rigid and then limp, as she went tumbling down to the ground. “You’re carrying her this time,” Sinclair grunted and walked away to tend to the horses.
Tethran scowled. As if he hadn’t enough sins to bear.
EIGHT
In life, a man would have many crosses to carry. It was the plight mankind had to suffer through in order to keep them humble, in order to keep them straight and on the narrow path. At least that was what the priests had babbled on and on about during their daily devotionals back at the monastery when he was a boy. But this affliction, this torment of the flesh was not something Tethran thought himself strong enough to resist. He was a man. In every sense of the word; and a man had certain… needs that must be satisfied. Needs that he had easily ignored over the many years as he’d busied himself with work and participated in enough blood-letting to distract his carnal yearnings. But certainly no level of continence could be achieved if one found himself being positioned quite intimately against the body of a woman who managed to tempt him beyond reason.
No matter how he tried, the memory of Miss Crymble’s willing mouth beneath his still managed to crawl its way inside the darkest trenches of his mind and lodge itself there like a leech, sucking at every ounce of self control he had. God’s blood, he had only intended on silencing the woman--to make an attempt at halting her flying mouth so she could see some reason. But he’d been a fool to think he could have tasted those damnable sweet lips and escape unscathed, unhooked. Kissing her, those soft lips, had somehow felt like a bittersweet redemption. He, a scoundrel too tainted with sin to be worthy of such a pure soul. Yet he, a mere man who desperately needed a way out, to reconcile with the boy he had been. The man he might have been if not for the choices he’d made. A deserving man. Perhaps a man like that would have suffered no guilt from kissing a woman such as Miss Crymble.
Silencing a groan that managed to surface its way to his throat, Tethran sucked in a deep breath as the bump from his horse’s steady trot sent Miss Crymble’s firm backside grinding up against his crotch. He could already feel the muscles in his groin tightening, the woman before him completely oblivious to his torture as she shifted back into a more comfortable position. The devil help him, he was sure to expire within the next few minutes.
“Are you hungry?” he gruffed out, his voice sounding strained even to his own ears. There was still a small piece of bread and a fist of dried meat in his bag.
She didn’t move but her voice came smooth, like silk against a man’s balls. “Feeling suddenly charitable, are you, Mr. LeMark?”
Mr. LeMark. When did she start addressing him so formally? He couldn’t see her face but he guessed she might be smiling, the infuriating woman. “I wouldn’t have you fainting from hunger or thirst before we reached the city, madam. Not that there wouldn’t a blessing in that seeing you’d be unconscious and certainly not speaking. Do you want the food or not?”
Miss Crymble’s shoulders sagged, but only slightly and she gave a sharp nod. “If you insist. I suppose some water would do. I’ll pass on the food, thank you. All this jerking is bound to bring it all back up.”
He reached down into his small duffel, draped across his body and withdrew a thin flask, the last of its supply. Tethran handed it over one slender shoulder. “You can have it all.”
She nodded as she took the flask, pausing a moment as if wondering if he had drunk from it, but then shrugged and downed the refreshing liquid in several swift gulps. Tethran winced. She might have at least made it known that she was thirsty. The woman must have believed him an insufferable cad if she thought he’d deny her one of the basic necessities of life.
“Say, Mr. LeMark,” she muttered suddenly in a voice that was all too cheerful for his liking. She handed him back the empty flask. “How is it in the city these days? I must say, the last I’ve been there was when we’d first moved. I was only six years old at the time.”
He considered the question, trying to put a figure on the woman’s maturity. The last time he’d seen Mr. Wulf and his bakery was when he’d been around thirteen or fourteen; a few months before he’d left the city and found work as a stable boy on a farm a few miles out. Fourteen years since… So that would make Miss Crymble-- “Twenty years old and not yet married, Miss Crymble? Pray tell, what are you waiting for?”
The woman twisted around to glare at him, her tone biting. “I didn’t know you could count, LeMark. But if you must know, I am twenty-one…not twenty.”
He narrowed his gaze until she turned away again. “Thank you for the clarification, madam. Perhaps, you could teach me…” He bent low to whisper in her ear. “I would so enjoy the private lessons.”
Miss Crymble swatted a hand at him, connecting him near the corner of his eye. Tethran cursed and leaned back. Everything about the woman was flying. Her mouth, her damn hands…
“You are an outrageous flirt, sir. But I must warn you that you will not get anywhere with me. Find yourself a doxy and leave me alone. Your…body tells me that
you are well in need of one.”
Tethran gaped, his mouth sure to be hanging wide open. A doxy? Where did a clearly well-bred woman get such improper statements from? He’d never thought a woman could shock him but Miss Crymble accomplished that and annoyed him even more.
“You speak too loosely for a lady, woman. You must learn to bridle that infernal tongue of yours before you find yourself biting it.”
“What about you? Aren’t you a bit too…nefarious to be preaching on matters of morality?”
Tethran scowled. Miss Crymble had the sauce to aggravate the very Devil. All desire and attempts at civility suddenly dried up, he pursed his lips and brooded.
“Iqa City is a cesspool,” he said, roughly. “Piss and shit water running all over the streets. Men outnumber the women by far and well-bred ladies like yourself are like fresh meat waiting to be conquered.”
Her body stiffened before him and he smiled, satisfied. That would shut her up for a while. But she twisted once again to look at him. Tethran sighed. The woman was a damn pain. She gazed up at him, brown eyes lit with wonder until she shook her head, a suspicious smile barely forming on her lips.
“I know you only mean to frighten me, LeMark. But I will be going to the city with you whether you like it or not. You cannot scare me off. My father’s life is at risk, if I don’t.”
Her words only frustrated him more. “Your father’s life is at risk whether you go to the city or not, Miss Crymble. And I’m sure the man can manage himself. I hear getting into the Brotherhood is not something that is easily achieved.”
She eyed him strangely before shrugging and turning away. “I know that.”
“Then you can--”
“I intend on finding out who wants my father dead and make them pay for it.”
Tethran pulled back on the reigns so hard, his horse reared up high on its hind legs, almost knocking both of them off. He quickly soothed the beast to calm.
“What’s the matter now?” Sinclair, who was about eight feet ahead of them pulled to a stop, turning to face them.
Ignoring him, Tethran jumped right down from the horse, grabbed the idiotic woman by the waist and yanked her off as well, depositing her firmly on her feet. Taking no care to mask his anger, he then took her by the shoulders and gave her not one, but two vicious shakes. When she looked up at him, her eyes were wide with shock.
“You fool!” he barked, shaking her again. He hoped he could at least shake some sense into the woman. “Do you even know how dangerous that is? These are powerful men, you are talking about. Men who are stinking rich and can wipe you clean from this earth with just a word and a pretty coin. Do you want to get killed?”
Miss Crymble tossed her arms up, knocking his off her shoulders, and eyes blazing with obstinate fury. “I know exactly what to expect, so don’t tell me what to do. My father is the only person I have and I won’t--I will not lose him just because some pompous gent has secrets he wants to protect.” She then swung at him, missing blindly. “And you don’t get to lecture me.” She poked one slim finger into his chest, surprisingly driving him one step back. “Certainly not you who murders men for a living. You who was paid to take my father’s life. Don’t you dare lecture me. I am a grown woman and can do whatever the hell I want!”
She stood huffing, chest rising and falling in rapid succession. Still scowling, Tethran fought the urge to nurse the spot where her finger had been. The woman was like hell fire, a scorching little menace that he had no idea how to deal with. If she were a man, he would have knocked her out with a single punch already. Dragging one hand through his hair, he eyed Sinclair who was looking on with far too much leisure, and drew in a calming breath. If this woman didn’t manage to kill him from pent-up lust, them he’d surely die from a failure of the heart. Tethran almost growled. He could already feel his blood pressure rising.
As soon as they got to the city, he’d make it his duty to find the first constable and dump her into his arms. After that, he would help fetch Sinclair’s sister, as was the plan, and see if he could locate Miss Crymble’s father in the meanwhile. Yes, he would accomplish all that without her interference. But she needn’t know that. Cocking his head, he willed himself to remain calm as he spoke.
“As you wish, Miss Crymble.” He gave Sinclair a pointed look and then smiled for her benefit. “I will assist you with your little investigation into your father’s situation.”
Her eyes danced and then narrowed to slits, studying him. “And you’re not just saying that to shut me up?”
“Of course not.” He took a step forward and rest his hands back on her shoulders, squeezing them reassuringly. The woman needn’t know everything. “As a matter of fact, I’m rather curious as who the gent might be as well.”
She didn’t even blink. “So you have no clue who the man that hired you is?”
He shook his head. “I generally am not confronted by the man himself as they tend to always have a reputation to protect. They have middle-men, you see, to help conduct the arrangement.”
Miss Crymble angled her chin and turned to Sinclair. “Is that so?”
“You’ve got the right of it, madam,” Sinclair said, tilting his head in a convincing nod. “And they never know who the man is who actually does the act either.”
“The act?”
“The beheading, the gutting, the--”
“Yes, yes. I quite understand, “ Miss Crymble cut off, face paling. “Thank you for the…explanation.” She swallowed visibly, closing her eyes for a moment before turning to Tethran again. “Alright. I will allow you to assist me with finding my father,” she said. “And I will cause you trouble no further. Agreed?”
Tethran gave a begrudging nod, fighting back the urge to clench his fists. If this woman thought he would actually agree to something so stupid, so senseless then she was sadly mistaken. Either that or Miss Crymble was destined for bedlam. She obviously had some screw dislodged in that brain of hers to even consider such an absurd course. There was no way he had any intention of keeping up his side of the bargain. Not if the devil himself rose up from hell to snatch his soul and it was his only chance to redeem himself. Not even if she parted those pretty lips of hers and offered him another glorious taste of heaven.
Slanting a tight smile, he took her smaller hand in his and shook it. Miss Crymble was in for a sad awakening. “Agreed.”
NINE
Excitement and a slight bit of dread coursed through her veins as Jolin pressed through the throng within the city’s square, LeMark’s hand at her back. The weight of the man’s palm should not have felt so good, as if it was really meant to be there but it did manage to quiet some of her fluttering nerves. It was a comfort knowing she would be protected, especially in a place like this. Wincing as someone stepped on the hem of her dress, she jumped and yanked hard on it, the shoulder of a passerby almost knocking the wind out of her. By god, the place was terribly overcrowded, people of all walks of life tumbling through, going about their business. Market and merchant stalls lined each side of the wide street, adorned with an abundance of goods ranging from hefty chunks of fresh beef and spices to the finest fabrics and tapestries.
Above the scores of heads, she could make out the large white crucifix on the roof a chapel, and beyond that, as the land sloped upwards to the east, stood Castle Iqa in all its dooming glory. Jolin could not remember seeing the alderman’s castle before or perhaps she had forgotten its magnificent sight. But now, bathed in the warm mid-morning sunlight, it was a fearsome thing to behold. Large marble pillars held up its daunting beauty, a remarkable architectural accomplishment that had no doubt been designed to awe, to intimidate. Swallowing tightly, she dragged her gaze away with some reluctance as a high pitched scream pierced through the air. She felt LeMark’s grip tighten across her hip as he pulled her to the left, narrowly evading a crush of people who were suddenly rushing towards the insistent wailing.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, breath catching as he drag
ged her out of the street and up against the side of an old building. She chanced a glance behind her and saw Sinclair following, his expression stony. Jolin gasped as the wailing intensified. It was a woman’s voice, the sound heartbreaking, almost as if she, whoever she might be, was in pain. Excruciating pain. Jolin rose on her toes, desperate to see above the mass but she couldn’t. She grabbed onto LeMark, his gaze fixed firmly ahead. There was something in his eyes, something that spoke of despair and sorrow. Then it vanished, shifting to anger.
“Seems we picked a poor day to venture into the city,” he spoke lowly, a muscle ticking wildly in his jaw. Even as he spoke, more people were still shuffling, pushing towards this damn spectacle she could not see.
The Strength of Baffin Page 6