Tapestry Lion (The Landers Saga Book 2)

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Tapestry Lion (The Landers Saga Book 2) Page 38

by Nilsen, Karen


  “Am I an entanglement?”

  His hands tightened on my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh. “I said I’d not make you my mistress. Last night was an aberration. Either we continue on as before, or you find a suitable husband.”

  “You’ve threatened several times now to marry me off to the first man who’d have me if I continued to flaunt myself at court. Yet here I am still flaunting, and there you are still threatening, and nothing has come of it. Forgive me, but I assumed you were a man of your word.”

  “Insolent wench. I really will marry you to the first swine . . .”

  “And then waste your dotage fretting about me in some other man’s bed?”

  “You’ll wish I was in my dotage by the time I get through with you.”

  “Do you think my new husband will let me keep the prince’s diamonds? Perhaps even let me visit His Highness for tea on occasion?”

  He shook me, and I gulped. “You’ll eat his goddamned diamonds before you dare go to his bed again. Do you hear me?”

  “It’s hard not to. And yet you‘re not jealous. Not you.”

  He froze, his face pale, pinched with the effort of restraining passions he usually hid. “You’d best not provoke my jealousy,” he said, his words flat and clipped. “Arilea regretted it, and you will too.”

  “Yet you’re going to marry me off to some idiot nobleman?”

  “It would be best for you. A hawk and a wolf both hunt, but not together. We’re not safe for each other.”

  “We‘re not safe for anyone else either.”

  “Shh . . .” He forced my chin around, forced my gaze upwards before he leaned down and caught my mouth under his. The muscles of my midriff stretched to the breaking point, like a sash pulled too tight, and I fought simply to breathe. The blood pulsed under my skin. Yet again the jaded courtesan who had slept with princes was made a raw virgin by this man. I wondered dimly if I would faint.

  “You will leave after this, Eden,” he muttered when he reached my neck, his teeth nipping the tender flesh of my throat.

  “Of course,” I gasped, willing to say anything for the feel of his hands and mouth and the quiet sound of my name across his tongue.

  Later, when I rose and began to pull on my clothes again with quivering hands, I said, “How did Arilea make you jealous?”

  “My brother Gaven wrote her letters while I was at court, and she wrote him back. Then I caught them walking together by the river at home, and she let me think it was more than it was.”

  “Why would she do that?” I tightened my laces, the periphery of my sight trailing all his movements. I couldn’t look directly at him without staring, so I looked at the edges of him.

  “To get my attention. She was always doing things to get my attention.”

  “Was she insane?”

  He shrugged, reached for his pipe. “I thought so sometimes.”

  “Your brother . . . he died when Merius was but a babe?”

  When he nodded, I continued, hesitant. “I heard it was some kind of accident . . .”

  “He was riding home one night in the dark and galloped his horse past the bridge and into the river. He drowned.” He lit the pipe from the single candle on the bedside table, his movements silent with a controlled and supple power, the result of all those sword-trained muscles. I found myself staring, and with a quick swallow, I glanced back at my remarkably troublesome laces.

  “He was drunk?”

  “Probably. He had been at the tavern, and he never could handle spirits, the sot.”

  “Were you glad he died?”

  “Yes--it saved me a duel over Arilea.” He puffed on his pipe.

  “Would you have killed him?”

  “I hated him enough to kill him--he always was an arrogant, false blackguard--but it would have been dishonorable to kill him except during a duel. So, no, I had nothing to do with his death.”

  Heat colored my face. “I didn’t mean . . .”

  “I heard all the questions you didn’t ask, my dear,” he said, gently for him. “It’s all right--it was a long time ago, and both he and Arilea are dust in their graves.”

  “So, a few letters, a walk by the river, and you were on the verge of dueling with him? Forgive me, but it seems a harsh rejoinder to me.”

  “I’m a harsh man--how else do you think I’ve intimidated the Cormalen court, managed the Landers estate from a distance, and kept a son like Merius in line? Arilea made me believe that she had tumbled Gaven.”

  “Are you certain she didn’t?”

  “I am now.”

  “Why?”

  “Never mind why.” He leaned forward and grasped my shoulder, half turning me so I had no excuse but to look at him. His face was set, his eyes glinting like moonlight on ice. “Eden, promise me you’ll not make Arilea’s mistake.”

  I met his gaze, not blinking. “Believe me, I wouldn’t dare.”

  “Good.” He sank back against the pillows. “I know you enjoy your games, just as she did, but the last thing you want is me for an opponent.”

  I drew a deep breath, hoping the air was courage. “Don’t use your position to force my hand, and we’ll have no need for games.”

  He was silent a moment, a moment I dared not look at him. “Fair enough,” he said finally, a rare smile hidden in his voice.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Around one o’clock, while half the servants were out on errands and the other half rushed to and fro serving lunch, I slipped out of Mordric’s chamber wearing the maid’s overdress and cap I had stolen. It had been an easy bit of thievery--several of the lower maids didn’t live at the embassy but shared rented rooms which they went to at night. I had merely followed them home and picked the flimsy lock when they went out for the evening.

  Just as I had the night before, I wore a mantle, short enough to show my uniform but with a large enough hood to conceal my face, very handy for giving the appearance of being a busy maid on an errand. I made my way to the cellars, where there was a door that opened out to an alley that led to the street. This door was kept locked but used so frequently by embassy servants that I had been able to hide in the night shadows and dart in behind some drunken footmen when the opportunity arose. I retrieved my bag of clothes and toiletries from behind an ale barrel, changed into my wool gown, and headed out the door.

  Snow had fallen the night before, and I soon cursed the thin slippers I wore. I paused in an alley off the Serpentine and retrieved some hosen from my bag to protect my feet. Pulling the warm, scratchy wool of the hosen over my bare ankles and calves made me shiver, though not from the cold. Mordric’s stubble and the crinkly hair covering his arms and legs and chest roused me with the same scratchy warmth.

  Mordric, cloaked and hooded, met me outside the door of the Cirsir’s Market tavern near the locks. Apparently this tavern concealed a guarded entrance to the gutter passages, Mordric’s main way of avoiding pursuit.

  “You took long enough,” he muttered as he grasped my arm and led me through the throngs waiting to board the ships that bobbed on the Sebond River, bound for the high seas.

  “I had to stop to put on hosen--this snow has ruined my slippers, and my feet are likely frostbit.”

  “Good--perhaps a little frostbite will cool your wicked lust,” he barked.

  “Is that what you want?”

  “No,” he shot back, his grip on my arm painful. “But it’s what I should want.”

  “You didn’t have to meet me down here--I’m perfectly capable of boarding a ship on my own. This crowd is impossible today,” I exclaimed when someone trod on my skirt and almost tripped me. I kept my arms stiff at my sides to protect my secret pocket from the prying fingers of thieves. “I don‘t understand it--it wasn‘t like this when I arrived.”

  Mordric grew still beside me, so still that I glanced at him. He stared ahead toward the ship and presumably the gangplank, though it was too low to be seen through the mass of people. I raised myself up on tiptoes, impatient to se
e what he saw. A sea of hooded heads, exactly what I expected to see. “What is it?” I demanded, hoping I was still loud enough to be heard over the growing roar of the crowd.

  Without answering, he abruptly turned and dragged me after him. I heard more than a few muttered oaths at our slow passage against the prevailing direction, oaths which Mordric answered in SerVerinese of all languages. Although no expert, I caught the SerVerinese words for woman and sick, so I could only assume he was telling everyone that I was ill and needed air. But why SerVerinese? Only a few of these people would understand it. Maybe that’s exactly why he’s using it. But why should he conceal his native tongue from a bunch of strangers? I saw no queen’s guards here, no city watch, at least no one wearing the requisite blue and silver uniform . . . of course, who could have ascertained my true identity with merely a cursory examination of my clothing? I shivered as we finally broke through the press of people and into the open air. Mordric glanced all around before starting down the street away from the locks. At the first opportunity, he ducked into an abandoned alley, me trailing after him. Someone had just thrown burnt potatoes into the mucky snow, and the steam rising from the resulting mess stank. I grimaced and held myself at a distance from the walls and the mossy, frozen-over rainwater barrel.

  “This is disgusting,” I remarked, covering my nose.

  “Which is why it’s safe for the moment,” he said, glancing toward the street where cloaked shapes passed. “I knew there would be queen’s guard and watchmen down here, but so damned many?”

  “I didn’t see any.”

  “You weren’t looking hard enough. Why do you think that crowd was gathered around the gangplanks?”

  “To board the ship, obviously.”

  “Damn it, this isn’t one of your games.” He shook my shoulders. “Now, listen. You go back down to the ship and wait to board. The queen’s guards are there, interrogating everyone at length who boards the ship--that’s what’s taking so long, why such a crowd has gathered. Now they’ll not be looking for you, unless Jazmene has somehow found out you’re here, which I doubt, given the short amount of time you’ve been here and the furtive way you left Cormalen. However, it’s still dangerous for you, because those guards are looking for Safire, Merius, or me.”

  “Sir, why would you risk coming down here, if that’s the case?”

  “I should have realized they would be watching all departing ships, but I was so intent on making certain you behaved yourself . . .”

  “Who am I to you, some fool with feathers for brains who can‘t even board a ship without your guidance?”

  His grip tightened so much that I gasped. “You know who you are to me? You’re a woman under my protection, and it’s my duty to make certain you return to Cormalen in one piece.”

  “I don’t want your protection if it comes with such a tight leash.”

  “Then you really are a fool.”

  “I refuse to be under any man’s thumb, even yours.”

  “Irksome, ingrate wench. I should have turned you out on the docks years ago . . .”

  This conversation was rapidly sinking into a quagmire of rage. He would never give in, that much was clear. What had I been thinking, being so direct with him? So I sighed, exhaled all the tension in my arms and shoulders so that I grew more pliable in his grip. Then I looked up at him, willing my eyes to be the color of liquid gold instead of hard brass. Even though his glare remained unblinking, his hands loosened just a little on my arms, just enough for me to notice the difference.

  “Sir, I appreciate your protection. Without it, I would never have been educated, never been to court, and likely be married off to an ass right now so I could bear a brat every year till I died. Fact is, I’m upset. I don’t want to leave you. Not here, not like this, not after last night.”

  He cleared his throat, glanced away toward the street. Then he glanced back at me, his eyes so dark under the shadow of his hood that they appeared made of slate. “Do you think I want you to leave?” he asked after a long moment, his hands tightening again. “But you must, for your own safety and my peace of mind.”

  Best to pretend to give in now that I‘d softened him up a bit. If I‘d given in without making my little speech first, his guard would have been up, and he would have been suspicious and likely not believed my sincerity. Timing could be everything when one was manipulating a cranky dragon. I chuckled inwardly as I said, all serious demeanor on the outside, “So, how should I get on the ship, if the guards are questioning everyone? What should I say?”

  “Tell them that you‘re Elena of Rockland, and that you were here visiting your sister Silva, who‘s with child.”

  “Silva’s the housekeeper at the embassy, and her husband is Rankin’s scribe.”

  “That’s right, the same scribe that Rankin suspects has been spying for Jazmene. Now, the real Elena is due to sail out sometime later this week, so if they question you further, say that you’re worried about safe passage back to Cormalen later in the week. This is the start of the season for tempests to brew in the Bay of Lights and then head into the northern seas, so your concern will seem reasonable. They‘ll likely be familiar with Elena‘s name since she‘s staying at the embassy, but she hasn‘t been to court, so it‘s well nigh impossible for them to know what she looks like for certain.”

  “Clever ruse,” I remarked.

  “All right--I know you have coin, but here’s some more in case you need it.” He pulled a clinking leather pouch from his pocket. When he tried to press it into my palm, I grabbed his wrist. “Don’t play games, damn it,” he growled, but I noticed he didn’t jerk his hand from my grip, even when I raised it under my mantle and to my bodice. After a bit of fumbling, he tucked the pouch, still warm from his pocket, into my cleavage. Then he shook his head. “You’re beyond belief sometimes.”

  I raised myself on tiptoe and pressed my closed lips primly to his. He wrapped me in his arms as he showed me just how inadequate he found prim kisses. I soaked in his warmth, sighing when he let go and the cold rushed back to claim me. I shivered and huddled against him.

  “Eden, I have to leave. We’ve lingered here too long as it is. Now, do you remember what you‘re to say?”

  I nodded, watching him from under seemingly downcast eyelids. “Sir, if they catch me, should I claim diplomatic immunity as the prince’s favorite courtesan?” I grinned as I felt rather than saw him grit his teeth.

  “If you disobey me in any way, you’ll suffer the consequences.”

  “What kind of consequences might those be?” I asked demurely.

  “The kind where I let you rot in prison. Now, quit your simpering and listen. Do you have the boarding pass?” I patted my mantle over the secret inner pocket. “Do you have your stiletto at the ready?” I patted the narrow scabbard hidden in the loose folds of skirt over my left hip. “Now, remember, if you have to use that, try to stab them in the eye. That’s where a small, thin blade like that will do the most damage. If you can’t get them in the eye, then stab upwards wherever you can reach and twist the blade like so.” He demonstrated with his hand. “Never stab downwards—they can grab your wrist that way.” And with that, he nearly suffocated me with another fierce kiss. When I finally regained my breath and opened my eyes, he was gone, damn him.

  I swallowed and tried not to breathe too deeply or look too much at the icy sludge on the rainwater barrel. I had to give Mordric a few minutes’ head start in case anyone might be watching. Counting the endless moments under my breath, I finally went back out to the street and glanced down toward the ships. No point in being in too much of a hurry to board--I figured it would take awhile anyway, given the crowd, and the ship would be little better than a barn in winter, no real heat except in the galley. I little relished the cold voyage before me.

  Shivering, my arms clutched over my chest, I glanced around for somewhere warm to wait and spied the yellow glow of candles through smoke-stained glass across the street. The sign beside the battered re
d door proclaimed it to be the famous Fiddling Cat, an establishment known for a wide selection of ales from all over Sarneth.

  The place boasted several scattered patrons even at this quiet afternoon hour, a few single men and a couple of groups huddled over card and dice games. The serving wench did little to disguise her curiosity when I claimed a table near the fireplace for myself--it was always unusual to see an unescorted woman like me, even someone purporting to be of the servant class.

  I grinned and drawled in Sarns, “Hot cider please--I’ve been walking these streets for hours.”

  “That’ll be one suter,” she said stiffly, holding out her fat paw.

  “But you haven’t brought my cider yet.”

  “Your sort pays first.”

  “All right then,” I said, enjoying how her eyes narrowed when I pulled the suter from the pouch in my cleavage. “What? My coin’s as good as anyone else’s, maybe even better. At least it’s nice and warm, and the pickpockets can’t get to it.”

  Without a word, she turned on her heel and stomped back behind the bar. Several of the men looked up as the floorboards trembled in her wake. I bit back a giggle and glanced at the street, its rough edges softened by the snow and smoky glass in the tavern windows. Finally warm from the heat of the fire, I tossed the hood of my mantel back and then ransacked my bag for my small mirror. The hood had left my hair a bird’s nest--why hadn’t I pinned it back earlier? Because Mordric had rushed me, the impatient bastard--I had barely had time to put the necessary kohl around my eyes before he pushed me out of his chamber. I bit my lip, examining myself critically in the tiny circle of glass. Flushed skin, disheveled hair, even a reddish bruise on the left side of my throat. A love bite. No wonder that silly wench assumed I was a loose woman. Of course he would put his mark on me, even as he protested that he would never claim me for his mistress. I wondered if he had seen it when we lingered in the alley. Of course he had, observant as he was. Likely he was secretly proud of it. I shook my head and dropped the mirror back in my bag. What had I gotten myself into now?

 

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