Tapestry Lion (The Landers Saga Book 2)

by Nilsen, Karen

  A moment later Falken and I were through the door, the canaries’ song suddenly clear. The smells of turpentine and linseed oil were present but not overpowering--she must have had some way of opening the shuttered window to air the place out. Several candelabra glowed around the chamber, bathing it in a soft yellow light. A narrow bedstead with no canopy, an easel with a stand for her paints, a shelf containing some of our books (old friends all) and the canary cage, a couple chairs, a battered washstand and wardrobe, a tiny fireplace in the corner. And Safire. She jumped up when we entered, the book she read falling to the floor.

  “Oh, I knew you’d come tonight. I knew they couldn’t stop you . . .” she managed before we crushed each other in an embrace. She was like a wild bird in my arms, fine-boned but strong, trembling with untamed life, and the knowledge that I was the only one who could hold her like this intoxicated me. I kissed her hair, silky and warm as feathers under my lips. It had only been six nights, and I had nearly gone mad with worry and the desire simply to see and touch her. The darkness seemed interminable without my witch beside me.

  “My only,” I whispered, nibbling her ear. "How are you?"

  “As well as I could be without you.” She kissed my jaw, her arms tight against my back. “I’ve been painting mostly.”

  “I see that. I was going to buy you some more pigments, but those damned guards were watching me.”

  “That’s all right. Falken bought me enough with the coin you gave him.” She rested her chin on my chest as she looked up at me. “You must have had a time getting here tonight . . .”

  “It wasn’t so bad. Falken helped me by creating a diversion.” I glanced over at him. He was watching us, the oddest expression on his face. All the shiftiness and edgy jocularity were gone, replaced by a pensive blankness. He looked like he’d heard a tune he couldn’t carry.

  “Aesir has indeed smiled on you, Merius,” he said softly. “I’ll be back in four hours.” Then he was gone, slipping out the door.

  “What did that mean?”

  Safire was all wide-eyed innocence. “It means he’ll be back in four hours.”

  “Not that. Has he tried anything?” I demanded.

  She swatted me. “Jealous brute. Is that all you worry about?”

  “No, but it is one worry among many. He told me that you were desirable.”

  She snorted, her hand on the ever swelling ball of her belly. “He must find ripe pears hard to resist then--like you said yourself, I‘m starting to look as round as one. All he does is bring me food and water, take away the slop bucket, and jest with me, dear heart. That reminds me--are you hungry?”

  “I’m fine--I ate at a tavern earlier.” I was not so easily distracted. “You’re just as desirable with child as you are without. Maybe he‘s biding his time.”

  “Like Princess Esme?”

  “She has an attraction for Cormalen men in general, I think--finds our accent irresistible or something.”

  Safire gaped at me, then burst into giggles. “You do have a nice accent.”

  “How would you know? Sarns isn’t your native tongue.”

  “Women know these things, no matter what country they’re from. We‘re fools for accents evidently. Now, forget Falken and Esme for a moment. I have something to show you.” She darted toward her easel and tugged the drape from the painting propped there. It was the beginnings of an outdoor scene, a giant black horse galloping over a sunlit field with a rider bent low over its back.

  I squinted at the picture. The movement was obvious to me now, far more than it had been even a week ago--her talent was growing. The moving charcoal sketches had intrigued me, but the added dimension of color in her paintings made the movement hypnotic. I could stare at this for hours, my eyes aching from the effort to catch it all. The style of her drawings was creeping into her paintings as she grew more comfortable with her brushes. The horse, its movement, was captured in suggestive brush strokes, the details of the animal subtle rather than exhaustive. She hinted at butterflies rather than trying to pin them to the canvas, and hence, her work breathed and flew and lived. I found myself leaning so close to the painting that my breath seemed to stir the painted grass. A man intoxicated, I toppled forward into her witch world.

  “Is that Shadowfoot?” I murmured, already knowing the answer.

  “And you,” she added, rubbing my shoulder. “Remember what you said a few weeks ago, about wanting to be free of cobbles and walls, how sick we both are of being stuck here in the city? Painting you on Shadowfoot makes me feel we’re free again, if only for an instant.”

  “It makes me feel like we’re home.” I finally tore myself from the painting. I straightened, my gaze running over her, the curling flames of her hair, the rosy flush warming her pale skin, the soft curves of her ripening body straining the confines of her gown, and her bright eyes, the color of spring sunlight through willow leaves, intent on mine. Under the lingering odors of turpentine and pigment, there was the scent of burnt cedar that always seemed to cling to her like smoke. My pulse quickened, the beat loud in my ears.

  “The painting’s lovely, Safire--truly, the only thing that could make me look away from it is you.”

  She grinned. “There you go again, using that charming accent. I don’t know if I can resist.”

  I met her grin with my own. “Why resist, love?”

  “Too bad you can't take the painting with you. I hate to think of you alone in our rooms and homesick.”

  “That makes two of us. Home . . . that reminds me.” I reached in my pocket. “This came the night after Falken brought you here. I didn’t open it--I figured you’d want to.”

  She took it from me. “A letter from Dagmar--she must have gotten mine.” She reached around my waist with easy familiarity and drew my dagger to slit the seal.

  I sat on the dusty armchair, and she perched on my lap, her lips moving silently as she read the letter. I rested my hand on her hip. “I knew it,“ she said finally, folding the parchment. “She’s with child too.”

  “Selwyn and Dagmar were near each other long enough to procreate?”

  “Merius!”

  “I’m sorry, sweet.”

  “You don’t sound sorry.”

  “Oh, I’m very sorry.” I kissed her neck under her ear. “In fact, I want to show you how sorry I am . . .”

  “Ass,” she said, but she didn’t push me away as my lips traveled down her neck.

  “I seem to remember a certain naughty redhead who defied her proper sister on more than one occasion.”

  “That redhead was tempted to naughtiness by a silver-tongued rogue,” she retorted, a trifle breathless.

  “Ah, he tempted her, did he? I thought it the other way around. She‘s an alluring witch.”

  I could hear the grin in her voice. “If so, he never yielded to a sweeter temptation than her.”

  “And he’ll yield again. And again . . .” My hand slipped under her gown, and Dagmar’s letter fluttered to the floor as her mouth met mine. The blood tingled in my veins, singing in my ears as my heart began to pound.

  I loosened her bodice and trembled at the feel of her body rising to my touch. Only six nights, but it felt like ten years. My fingers brushed the top of her belly, my hand coming to rest there as I deepened our kiss. Suddenly, something rippled under the surface of her skin. I jerked my hand away before I realized what had happened.

  Safire broke our kiss. “Merius, what is it?”

  I had to catch my breath. “Sweet,” I managed after a moment, “was that the baby?”

  “You felt him move?”

  “I think so.” Cautiously, as if somehow I had caused this by touching her, I put my hand back on her belly. All was still for a moment, and there it was again, a bizarre flutter under my hand. I froze, all my muscles in knots. Certainly I knew she was with another man’s child before now, but this--this was real. I stumbled into the vast chasm between knowing something in my brain and knowing it in my gut. The baby kicked u
nder my palm, and the movement tingled up my arm and tightened my ribs. I snatched my hand away again. But this time I knew why.

  Safire recoiled as if I‘d struck her and turned her face away. “This must be hard for you,” she choked.

  “Safire . . .”

  “You’re so kind about it, but it has to rankle you. It would rankle any man. I mean, look at me-me-e-e . . .” her voice trailed off in sobs.

  “Sweetheart . . .” I began, too befuddled to finish. What the hell had just happened?

  “We can wait,” she babbled, grabbing my handkerchief from my pocket. “We can wait until after he’s born. I’ll look like, feel like I did before, when you were the only man who had touched me. It’ll be easier to forget then--you’ll see.”

  “Forget? Damn it, I don’t want to forget. I want to kill that drunken bastard when we return to Cormalen. Safire, please look at me."

  Finally she turned her face toward mine, her eyes wide, her mouth unsmiling. “Can you keep your hand on my belly and not flinch again?” She swallowed then, as if trying to hold back more tears, but her eyes remained fixed on mine, her gaze unblinking and uncompromising. I looked away, ashamed that I had hurt her.

  I slid my hand over her middle, my gaze lighting on the painting of Shadowfoot as the baby kicked my palm again. A baby. A son, Safire thought. A terrifying miracle, this fragile life quickening under my very fingers. Slowly, I met Safire’s gaze again, careful to keep my hand steady, careful to keep all my muscles steady, just as I would with a horse who had a tendency to shy.

  “Merius?” Safire asked softly.

  “You know what it feels like? It feels like you have a flame inside, and there are a hundred moths flying around it, their wings fluttering against the underside of your skin.”

  She swallowed. “That’s beautiful. Are you all right, dear heart?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I’m sorry--this is harder than I thought it would be.” She wrapped her hands around the back of my neck.

  I kissed her softly. “Safire, don’t ever let what he did make you feel undesirable. It’s him, not you, who should pay.”

  She nodded, her face hidden against my shoulder again. “It seems we both have our fears,” she muttered. "I woke up from a crazy dream the other night--the princess had kidnapped you and locked you in a tower, and I had to paint you a doorway from the outside so you could escape. I woke up searching for my paint brush.”

  “Is that what you worry about? That the princess is going to get me?”

  “Sometimes. She’s up to no good.”

  “Silly witch.” I chuckled, absurdly flattered that she was worried about some other woman plotting to drag me off. The princess, no less. “I’m about as safe from that as I am from dragons.”

  "I don't know about that."

  “Shh--it’ll be all right.” I coaxed her face out of hiding. Our mouths came together, gently at first and then more urgently as the constant heat between us flamed into a familiar fever.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  It was after three in the morning when I returned to our rooms. The queen’s spies were back in their places. Taking care to hide my sword, I walked boldly by them and into the alcove that sheltered the main door of the boarding house. To their sleepy eyes, I was merely another cloaked and hooded figure hurrying past on some dark hours mission. An apothecary lived in the rooms nearest ours, and he often had visitors after midnight. Besides, since the guards didn’t know I had left earlier, they were expecting to see me to leave the house, not enter it. Hence, I didn’t garner even one suspicious glance as I opened the door and slipped inside.

  I silently climbed the stairs, key already in hand. Because of the apothecary, the landlady left one wall sconce burning near the landing, so I had no difficultly sliding the key into the lock. It clicked, and I turned the door latch.

  The instant I entered the darkened main room, I sensed it. Another presence besides mine, someone’s breathing stirring air that should have been long settled and still. I stopped, my back against the door, and drew my sword, the deadly whisper of metal against metal.

  A woman’s low laugh broke the silence then. “Even with no light, I can tell who trained you,” came a familiar throaty voice, coy and suggestive and intelligent all at once.

  “Eden?” I only relaxed a little, bringing my sword down but not sheathing it.

  “Who else?” She laughed again, light flaring across the chamber as she lit a candle. She was sitting in Safire’s chair at our small table. “I’ve been waiting for you quite awhile.”

  “How did you get in?”

  “Skeleton key--these locks are child’s play. I locked it behind me so you wouldn’t be suspicious.”

  “Ah.” I wandered around the room, glancing into the bed chamber to be certain no one was hiding there. After I had satisfied myself that we were alone, I sheathed my sword and sat down across from her.

  Her cat eyes glowed with a sulfurous light as she watched me make my rounds. “Merius, I know you don’t trust me, perhaps with good reason. But surely you don’t think I’d bring assassins to your doorstep? We are cousins, after all.”

  “I’m not looking for assassins. I’m looking for spies. Are you certain you weren’t followed here?”

  She grinned. “Oh them--they‘re not here. You see, I sent Randel and Bridget out earlier, Bridget dressed in my masquerade clothes and mask. She almost tottered, the heels were so high, and we had to pad her here and there, but all in all, she was a good likeness. The spies followed them, and I slipped out on my own.”

  “Clever,” I said despite my rampant suspicions. “Father would approve.”

  “So, where were you? Out searching for your witch?”

  I ignored her tone. “I took a walk. A long walk.”

  “I notice you left your spies. How ever did you manage that?”

  I shrugged. “Would you like any food or drink, cousin?”

  “I’ll take a little wine, thanks. And never mind my question--I saw the open window. It must be difficult, walking twenty-five feet above the ground.”

  “I find it clears the head.”

  “So, how was your conjugal visit, Merius? You took long enough.”

  “My wife’s missing, remember?” I said, my voice even as I reached for the wine and poured two glasses.

  “Men are like tomcats. They only risk climbing out windows and cracking their skulls open for three things--fighting, territory, and tumbling. She’s somewhere in this city, isn’t she?”

  “If I knew that, we’d be long gone.” I pushed one of the glasses toward her.

  Her brows arched. “Why? Your term of service with Rankin has at least another six months left, and you’re too honorable to desert in the middle of it.”

  Damn it. “I have other duties besides the one I swore to Rankin. Sometimes duties conflict.”

  “Is Safire one of those other duties?” Eden took a ladylike sip of her wine and grimaced. Likely it was too sweet for her, the acid-tongued strumpet.

  “I should say so--she’s my wife.”

  “Why is Queen Jazmene so interested in her?”

  “Queen Jazmene is interested in me, not her, and I blame that on Father and his maneuverings here.”

  “I hate to tell you this, but not everything can be blamed on Mordric, conniving and evil as he is. I’m warning you now--the queen suspects Safire to be a witch. Her Majesty as much as said so to me.”

  Before I could help myself, I chuckled bitterly. “Is that so?”

  She leaned forward, cattiness suddenly exchanged for concern. “You know, Merius, what I said in the queen’s chamber the other day--it’s all true. He’ll do anything short of groveling for your good will. We’ve told him--me, Cyril, half the council--that he needs another heir, that you’re not coming back, but he refuses to contemplate the possibility. I don‘t know what your witch did to him, but he guards her and her reputation closer than a daughter‘s now. Whatever trouble you’re in, he could be a power
ful ally.”

  Suddenly I felt tired, absolutely exhausted. I could climb into bed and sleep two days. “It seems even he can feel guilt,” I managed. “Besides, he’s only protecting Safire because accusing her now would tar the whole family.”

  “Fool--do you honestly think if he wanted to, he couldn’t find a way to send her to the stake without ruining the rest of us?”

  “So he’s protecting her. What of it? He didn’t protect her when he wedded her off to Whitten, did he?” I took a deep breath. We were skidding on thin ice here. No one besides Safire and me could know the secret of the baby‘s paternity. Father would find some way of using it against us if he knew--our marriage could be invalidated.

  “That was a marriage of convenience that preserved her title and lands from fortune hunters while you were off on campaign. Why are you still so angry about it?”

  “Because Father didn’t mean it as a marriage of convenience. His intention was to interfere with my betrothal to Safire.”

  Eden shrugged, running her fingertip along the rim of her goblet. “How do you know his intentions so well, viewing them from the outside? Some would question your intentions toward Safire, seducing her and then leaving on campaign. Some would say you never intended to marry her--her father and sister, for instance. Now, obviously, you did intend to marry her, but who could have fathomed your true intentions at the time?”

  “Some would question Father’s intentions, letting his young orphan cousin ruin herself and her reputation in pursuit of political gain at court and then sending her off to a foreign country to do his dirty work,” I said softly.

  She set down the goblet with a clank. “He disapproves of my dalliance with the prince--that’s why he sent me here.”

  “What about your other,” I paused, “dalliances? It seems to me he encouraged them. If that’s the case, he‘s worse than a whoremonger.”

  “He’s never encouraged me to do anything,” she said, her voice icy. I had put her on the defensive, a position she generally avoided.