Tapestry Lion (The Landers Saga Book 2)

by Nilsen, Karen

  “She’s that fetching little redhead, right? Avernal’s daughter?”

  “That’s her. Are you certain you saw her there?”

  “Yes, with Toscar.”

  “I wonder what the hell she was doing there.” I glanced at the path ahead, the way it twisted and disappeared in the blue shadows under a stand of spruce. The wind rose suddenly, startling a buck out of the bracken. He bounded across the path and crashed into the woods on the other side, quickly fading to a distant echo. I briefly cursed myself for not bringing my bow.

  “Did you see that buck?” I urged Hunter on again, breaching the darkness under the spruce.

  “I saw him,” Cyril said shortly. “So why is your daughter-in-law closeted with the queen of Sarneth and her favorite courtier?”

  “You’re the one who saw them together.”

  “She’s your daughter-in-law. Let’s be blunt with it--what new intrigue are you plotting?”

  “I don’t answer stupid or rude questions without my sword.”

  “Damn it, Mordric, I won’t hang for your plotting.”

  “If I was going to plot, I wouldn’t use Safire. She’s too unpredictable.”

  “So what was she doing at the Sarneth court?”

  “I don‘t know. Merius is still my son, despite the fact he has renounced his title for the time being--is it so strange they would take an interest in him, the estranged son of a high Cormalen courtier?”

  “No, I suppose not. But I didn’t see the queen talking to Merius--I saw her talking to his wife, Safire, whatever her name is. And Toscar shadowing her with his hand on his sword like she needed more guarding than the crown jewels. What the hell is going on, Mordric?”

  “He was guarding her?”

  “That’s what it looked like.”

  I ran my tongue over my teeth, thinking hard. What interest could Queen Jazmene and Toscar have in Safire, except as a means of influencing Merius? Her father had been an indebted minor nobleman, and she had no power at court, save her connection to the Landers. Unless . . . the witch did have some peculiar talents. Perhaps someone at the Sarneth court had stumbled upon her healing the sick or some such nonsense. If she was practicing her talents in public, had she lost what little sense she had? Even though Sarneth didn’t burn witches anymore, it was still dangerous. She could be arrested. Trust Merius to chose a wife who could get in even more trouble than he could. I had planned to betroth him to some nice girl from the high nobility, someone quiet who would perhaps be a calming influence. Instead that red-headed witch had seduced him, and now they were careening around together like two wild horses on the edge of a cliff, without a copper or a shred of sense between them. The scar over my heart flared, and I grimaced.

  “Mordric?” Cyril asked.

  “Young fools,” I muttered, ignoring him.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  The carriage jostled over yet another rut, knocking my stack of letters to the floor. “Damn this road,” I swore, bending down to retrieve the letters.

  “Why didn’t you take Hunter?” Eden asked. She sat across from me in the semi-darkness, her left arm resting on the window ledge.

  “Ebner says he needs his shoes changed before he throws one, and I didn’t have time to wait. Besides, it gave me the chance to read over these letters.” Now that I was finished with them, I slid the letters back in my leather bag before they could fall again.

  “Oh.” She turned her attention back to the passing countryside, humming a ribald tavern tune as she drummed her fingers on the ledge. I glanced at my pocket watch, barely able to discern the hands in the early evening shadows. Nearly seven. It would be midnight at least before we reached court, and she was certain to want to stop at an inn to eat and wash off the road dust or whatever it was women took so long doing with soap and a pitcher of water.

  “Oh, she’s a likely wench, who sat beside me on the tavern bench,” I said aloud, suddenly placing the song she was humming. “Where did you learn that cheap claptrap?”

  Even in the shadows, I could see her full-lipped dip of a smile. Vixen. “In a tavern. Where else?”

  “When the hell have you been in a tavern?”

  “Come, sir. You caught me sneaking away from the palace all of three times when I was younger. You think those were the only times I did it?”

  “Those better have been the only times you did it. Only loose women go to taverns.”

  She laughed. “Evidently I’m not on a tight enough leash.”

  “Damn you, Eden. Highborn women don’t speak of such things if they expect to marry highborn men.”

  “Then what do they speak of, sir?”

  “The weather. Otherwise they stay silent.”

  “Yes, I’m certain you married Arilea for her clever remarks concerning rain clouds.”

  The scar suddenly burned. “Be respectful,” I said evenly to cover the pain, “or I’ll turn you out of this carriage so you can walk home in the dark.”

  “Yes, sir,” she mocked.

  The burning continued, so sharp that it felt as if the dagger was remaking the wound. I tried to take a deep breath, but it hurt too much. That dead bitch Arilea--she was doing this. Merius’s witch had banished her or cursed her or whatever witches did to angry spirits, but now she was back to torment me again. I clutched my chest under my cloak, and the burning retreated, only to resume a moment later, even sharper than before. I collapsed in the corner of the seat, my breath coming in short whistles. The stench of charred flesh filled my nostrils, and I choked.

  “Sir?” Eden leaned forward again. “Sir, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, God damn it.”

  She ignored me, yelling out the window, “Perrin! Stop the carriage and bring one of the lanterns!”

  The rumble of the wheels faded, the brakes grinding. Eden’s hands deftly unfastened my cloak collar and then my shirt laces in the dark. I fumbled for her, trying to stop her, but my muscles were limp as if the blood had been drained from them. I couldn’t move.

  “Don‘t touch me,” I managed, coughing. Each cough stabbed my lungs, and I swore again.

  Perrin brought the lantern then and handed it to Eden. He hovered on the edge of my clouding vision as Eden lifted the lantern over me, her fingers prodding under my shirt. The cool air hit my scar, and the burning subsided. She touched it then.

  “What’s that? It feels on fire,” she muttered, holding the lantern even higher. As she stared at the scar, glowing like an ember in the lantern light, a sudden awareness slackened her features, and she cursed under her breath.

  “What is it, my lady?” Perrin asked. Eden’s maid Bridget, who had been riding up front, clambered down beside him, clutching the edges of her cloak together as she stared at us.

  Eden abruptly straightened and shoved the lantern in his direction. “Here, take this.”

  “Is Sir Mordric all right?”

  “He’ll-” she began.

  “I’ll be fine,” I answered, coughing again. “Fuss for nothing. I merely choked on some water. Carry on.”

  He nodded. “All right, sir.” He turned away, his hand on Bridget’s shoulder. She followed him, the lantern light swaying around them.

  Eden’s hand still rested on my scar, her fingertips so cool they tingled. “It still burns,” she murmured.

  My strength returned, and I pushed her away. I straightened, knotting my shirt laces together. The carriage jerked forward, the horses‘ hooves pounding against the road. She settled back into her seat, and all was silent for several minutes.

  “That wound should have killed you,” she said finally.

  “How would you know?”

  “Your dagger was almost to the hilt in your chest that day, and that scar is right over your heart. You should be dead.”

  “Sometimes death doesn’t come when it should.”

  “Safire really is a witch, isn’t she? Just like Selwyn and I thought . . .”

  I reached over and grabbed her shoulders, the scar still s
earing my ribs. “You listen,” I rasped. “You mind yourself. Do you understand?”

  “If you mean I deny the evidence of my own eyes, then no, I won’t mind myself,” she said coolly. “Your son has married a witch, Mordric.”

  I shook her. “I ordered you not to call her that.”

  “Why not? You called her a witch. Besides, there are worse things she could be--her dark arts evidently saved your life.”

  “She shouldn’t have.”

  “Why shouldn’t she have? Do you want to die?”

  My hands slackened on Eden’s shoulders, and I let her go, sinking on the seat beside her as the burning in my lungs became an inferno. I choked and then coughed, trying to stifle the fire inside, my heart pounding in my ears. I grasped my hip flask and pulled it out of my trouser pocket. I uncorked it with trembling fingers, turned it bottom up over my mouth, and quaffed half the contents in one long swallow. The burning between my ribs faded to a dull ache as fire of a different sort coursed through my veins. I corked the flask and returned it to my pocket, saving the rest for later if I needed it again.

  “The darkness makes you too bold, my dear,” I said finally.

  “Perhaps,” she said, her voice low.

  Another silence fell. The whiskey soaked into my muscles, a pleasant warmth--I had drunk quite a bit, more than I had intended on an empty stomach. At least my mind was clear. My mind must stay clear as long as I was in this carriage. Eden’s claws were too sharp, the vixen. I should have been more careful around her--she was a sly one. Cool with an edge like well-tempered steel, better than most men in a crisis. It had only taken her an instant to respond to my fit, another instant to grasp the implications of it.

  “I trust I don’t need to threaten you as I would threaten Whitten or Selwyn,” I said as lightly as I could manage.

  “What do you mean, sir?”

  “My meaning should be clear, seeing what just transpired. As a Landers, you have a vested interest in keeping certain secrets secret.”

  “As a Landers, I agree,” she returned, just as lightly.

  “Damn it, Eden, don’t play coy with this.”

  “Coy? My meaning should be clear, sir.” She laughed. “As long as I remain a Landers, all your secrets are safe with me. Should I ever cease to be a Landers, by marriage for instance, why then I’d have to reveal all my secrets to my husband.”

  “My dear, are you presuming to blackmail me?”

  “You would force me to marry some bandy-legged fool for a few paltry acres and an alliance at court. I wouldn’t call it blackmail--I would call it tit for tat.”

  “Indeed,” I said dryly. My head felt heavy as I fought the effects of the whiskey. I wondered absently how many of her tits for my tats I should expect, but she was brazen enough to answer me, so I refrained. “Really, if I were you, I would be less worried about an engagement to a bandy-legged fool at this point and more worried about an engagement with the magistrate.”

  “You wouldn’t tar me for fear of tarring the Landers name.”

  “You should know by now I don‘t respond well to threats, Eden.”

  “And what trumped-up charge would you bring against me?”

  “I can think of several. And they wouldn’t be trumped-up. The title lady is yours by birth, but your behavior suggests otherwise.”

  “And what behavior would that be, sir?” she said softly, the trace of laughter in her voice. Laughter and something else, a rich lilt that hinted at flirting and other unspeakable possibilities. It was a lilt I had heard before but I had never paid particular attention to--it was the way she talked to all men. All men--how did I know that for certain? Suddenly I realized I was sitting on the seat beside her in the dark, and we were alone. Hastily I shifted to the other seat, as far from her as I could get. With shaking hands, I fumbled for my hip flask. I was too old to be this stupid, damn it. It had all been there for me to see and hear, months ago--the teasing tone of her voice, the way she brushed against me, how she looked at me sometimes, with her eyes heavy-lidded and oddly hungry. Hell, she even brought me food at court, and Eden was not the nurturing sort. My mistresses couldn’t have been clearer about their intentions. Arilea herself couldn’t have been clearer. But Eden was only a scant year older than Merius. Twenty-three. Hardly a child. That was a full-grown woman, long since able to have children herself.

  And certainly I hadn’t been thinking of her as a child, not for a long time, not if I was being honest with myself. She was a courtesan, had been for a couple of years. Half the men at court wanted her--I would have been a fool indeed if I hadn’t noticed that. She had grown into a voluptuous, sensual woman, with those amber cat eyes and those full lips . . . Half sick, I drained the rest of whiskey. I had been encouraging her. Without realizing it, I had been encouraging her. My second cousin Slevin’s daughter. The carriage went over a bump, and I almost retched out the window.

  “Sir?”

  “What?” I barked.

  “Should I ask Perrin to stop at the next inn?”

  “What the hell for?”

  “You seem to be ill.”

  “I’m fine.”

  She muttered something to herself. “What was that, my dear? I couldn’t quite hear you,” I said, an edge to my voice.

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “Really? Need I remind you that the carriage whip is within my grasp, Eden?”

  “All right, then. No, you’re not fine. You’re drunk.”

  I chuckled. “How astute.” It had been a long while since I had drank past my limits--drunkards tended not to hold the reins long at court. The night suddenly seemed full of high ledges and dark corners. A dangerous, strangely bright energy flooded my muscles, blue sparks darting before my eyes--it was the same feeling I’d had at the market a few years ago when an assassin had leapt out of an alley and had fallen dead on my sword before I’d even realized that I’d drawn it. My battle-honed instincts, always close to the surface, had taken over. I sat upright, the burning scar faded to a forgettable coolness, the sick feeling vanished.

  “Maybe we should stop, if only for a few hours . . .”

  “I’ll say when we stop.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, almost meek. I laughed to myself--the cool baggage had finally run into a situation she didn’t know how to handle. It was a relief, in a way--I was beginning to wonder if she was invulnerable.

  “Repeat what you said earlier, Eden.”

  “Which part?”

  “The part where you tried to blackmail me.”

  “Why--are you going deaf?”

  “No. I want to hear you dare to threaten me again--it was mildly amusing.”

  She cleared her throat. “I didn’t threaten you--I threatened Safire.”

  “Don’t play that game, not with me. She’s Merius’s wife, my daughter-in-law. In essence, you’re threatening me when you threaten her. That was your whole point.”

  “I suppose it was.”

  “Good. Now that we agree, what do you think I should do about it? No one’s ever tried to blackmail me before.”

  “I hardly believe that.”

  “No one’s been stupid enough.”

  “I’m not stupid. I’m desperate.”

  “You should know better than to admit that. Desperate people can be made to do anything.”

  Her voice dropped to a hiss. “Damn it, Mordric, I’ll not be made to marry a fool.”

  “You’ll marry who I say you’ll marry, and he won’t be a fool. We don‘t need another one in the family.”

  “What else is there at court?”

  “I’m not a fool, and I’m at court.”

  “I meant,” she stammered, “I meant among the men my age.”

  “I wasn’t a fool at twenty-three, but perhaps you’re right. We should find you an older husband--likely you frighten the men your age.” The whiskey talk ran off my tongue--it was dangerous, bandying words with her like this, but I was past the point of worrying about danger.
<
br />   “What does that mean?”

  “It means men don’t like to marry women who have more experience than they do.”

  “I can’t play the virgin bride, sir, not with any conviction.”

  “I suppose not, but marrying a man older than you might foster some semblance of the illusion.”

  She leaned forward, the foreign scent she used escaping the velvet folds of her cloak and filling the carriage with an intoxicating spiciness. “Someone who frightens me, in other words?” she asked, her voice husky with that damned lilt again.

  My brain hummed like a thousand bees against the inside of my skull, my thoughts painful. So I didn’t think. I acted. “Why, does this frighten you?” I asked, leaning forward myself.

  She met me halfway, and I grasped her and drew her to me. Her taut lips parted under mine as I reached under her cloak, the thick braid of her frock rough against my fingers. I ran my hand up her back, finding the cool skin of her exposed shoulders and neck. She was as smooth as the finest linen. She seemed one of those women who could tailor herself to fit any man perfectly, a true seductress. She nipped my bottom lip lightly with her teeth. I relished one last taste of her, a tart, heavy warmth that I inhaled like pipe smoke. She surged through my lungs and body with a steady heat, less capricious and more solid than I had anticipated.

  I put my hands on her shoulders then and pulled away. She sighed, and I heard her breathing in the dark, and then realized I could hear my own breathing, hoarse and rattling and absurdly loud in my ears. It indicated a lack of control, breathing like that, and I cursed myself. Of course I was in control, despite the whiskey. I was always in control. It had been my decision to kiss her, my decision to prolong it, my decision to draw away. Wicked tease, to taunt a man like that--she needed a lesson in manners. That was all it had been. I was still in control, just like I was in control with all my mistresses.

  Finally, she broke the silence. “Sir?”

  “What?”

  “Can we stop at the next inn? I think there’s one near here.”

  “There is, a few miles down the road in Nehrah.” We could find a bed . . . my whiskey thoughts ran on, unbidden and irrepressible. That was all they were, though--whiskey thoughts, soon dissipated in the morning. I was too old for this, damn it. I cleared my throat. “Supper would be fine, but that’s it--we need to get to court, Eden.”