Unbound Heart

by Jane Atchley

  There was a woman who could do Duncan some good. Cure what ailed him, so to speak. If he’d let her, which he wouldn’t, Kree knew. He gave his head a little shake. He’d talk with Duncan again. He didn’t need a wife back home. What Duncan needed was a little grind to take the edge off. That and to stop living like a monk. A man facing death every day needed to feel alive, and there was nothing more life affirming to a man than the sweet soft feel of a woman under him.

  The frustrating thing to Kree was that the man could have anyone, male or female, elf, or human, in whom he showed the slightest interest. Kree knew this because they were both alike in a that way, both genetically blessed, Kree with immense physical presence and Duncan with immense physical beauty. Duncan was, simply put, the handsomest male of any race Kree had ever seen. Hell, he just might be the handsomest male alive.

  Sadly, Duncan never showed an interest in anyone, not in the five years Kree had known him anyway, and that was the problem. No. The problem was Duncan’s damned upbringing. The Addiri placed too many strictures on their young men. Duncan never allowed himself room for pleasure. No wonder his man had nightmares.

  “Sometimes, sir, I dream that my dog shifts its shape and becomes the woman I dream of. I cannot get enough of her touch,” Duncan had said.

  There’s no dog here. His wife’s words whispered through Kree’s memory, mingling with Duncan’s dream. My dog shifts its shape.

  There’s no dog…shifts shape—

  The Earth wizard, Ari had been a shape shifter—

  Bloody sodden hell, not again!

  Kree surged out of his chair. All talk ceased and every gaze locked on him.

  “Sir?” Duncan inquired mildly, but his muscles tensed, his hand automatically dropped to his saber. Kree silently cursed.

  Forcing himself to relax, Kree gave his man a lazy lopsided grin. “I just remembered something I need to do. Eoin, I can use some help, yours too, Eamon.”

  “Gentlemen,” Duncan’s attention shifted to his generals. “We will continue this discussion at the morning council.” He spared a quick nod in their direction. “Good evening.”

  Kree smiled as he pushed the twins toward the exit. He still couldn’t believe those fools imagined they could teach Duncan anything. Outside, Kree quickened his pace. Duncan’s senses were tingling. Anyone with eyes could see it. What was that saying Duncan used? He smelled blood in the water. Any second now he’d come charging out of his tent.

  “Shall I accompany you, sir?”

  Kree tossed “No,” over his shoulder and kept moving.

  “What’s going on?” Eamon demand as soon as they were out of ear-shot.

  “I know who Duncan’s spy is.” Kree took off toward his own tent. He needed to check a few details with his wife, and this time he was going to bloody well pay attention. Flanking him on either side, the tall Nhurstari twins had no trouble matching Kree’s long stride.

  “Who?” Excitement made Eoin’s voice loud. Kree shushed him with a hand gesture.

  “Duncan’s woman.”

  “Who?” Eoin asked again.

  “Duncan’s dream woman?” Eamon said, amazed.

  “Who?”

  “How is that possible?”

  “She’s a shape-shifter just like her fucking ancestor. Goddess, I’m an idiot.”

  “But…you mean Duncan is leaking his own intelligence?”

  There was a long silence.

  “This will kill him,” Eamon said.

  “Yeah, well, so will she.”

  “Who?”

  “Stop that!” Eamon glared across Kree at his twin. “You sound like an owl.”

  “Will one of you tell me what’s going on? Aimery Duncan has no woman.”

  “You don’t know that,” Eamon snapped. “You haven’t been here.”

  Eoin waved his hands in Kree’s direction. “He hasn’t been here either.”

  “Duncan talks to him.”

  “Duncan talks to me,” Eoin huffed.

  “Quit squabbling.” They had reached Kree’s tent. “My wife?” He snapped at the cadet cleaning tack out front.

  “Playing cards in the infirmary.”

  “Garen’s with her?”

  The cadet never looked up from his task. “Where else?”

  Kree found his wife deep in play with her father, Garen, and three surgeons he had not met. Their game was Picket. Not surprisingly, his wife had collected a huge pile of loot.

  Lathan looked up from the hand he had just been dealt. “Advise me Kree, my daughter is taking no prisoners.”

  Kree gave a wry grin. “Don’t play Picket with Katie. She cheats.” He continued around the table going to one knee beside his wife.

  “I do not.” Kayseri offered her cheek to Kree. Turning her head with a finger under her chin, he kissed her lips instead.

  “Yes, you do, darling mine. I taught you to play this game, remember? I should know.”

  Around the table, the other players groaned and tossed their cards on the table.

  “You taught my daughter to cheat at cards?”

  “You were sending her to Elhar. I knew the Thallasi elves were mad for the game. It was a joke.” He glanced around the table. “She’ll return your wagers.”

  “No, I won’t. I didn’t know I was cheating.” Katie pouted.

  That wouldn’t do. “Keep it then, darling.” Kree glanced around table, shrugged. “I’ll cover.”

  Katie twined her arms around his neck. “I love you.”

  Heat crawled up his neck. “Katie, your father.”

  Kayseri’s gaze slid over to Lathan then back to his. “He loves you, too.” She gave Kree the impish smile that never failed to melt him. “Will you take me to the singing tonight?’

  Singing was a garrison tradition. Troopers gathered around a fire and issued simple challenges to each other. Losers sang. Ale flowed. Cadence dances broke out, and fights did too. Since Kree came into camp, the allied soldiers started joining the troopers. The pixie in Kayseri loved the singing’s wild untamed nature. Doubtless she was safe under Garen’s watchful eye, and goddess knows the garrison troopers would defend her against all comers, but Kree didn’t like the way the infantry men looked at his pretty young wife. Silly, but there it was. Kree never let her go without him.

  “All right, but first tell me more about Duncan’s dog.”

  Kayseri laughed gaily. “I told you already. There is no dog.”

  ****

  After the last general departed, Duncan slung his jacket over the back of his chair and rested his head on the table. Blood and ashes, it was hot. The crisp linen cloth felt cool beneath his forehead. Something was afoot and Captain Fawr had cut him out. This troubled him more than these trice weekly reminders that his colleagues were, not to put too fine a point on it, simpletons.

  Sensing his distress, Azure whined, put her front paws on his thigh, and licked his cheek. He smiled absently and scratched her ears. He could hear Ky’lara instructing his cadets on the proper way to clear tables, muttering nioa koni repeatedly. Stupid men. Hopefully, he escaped her clear-sighted assessment, but Duncan very much doubted it.

  The cadence of his native tongue comforted him more than he’d ever admit. It shocked him how wondrous it was to speak without measuring his words first. He had forgotten the simple pleasure of conversation. It almost made up for the sheer rudeness of speaking in a language not understood by all present. Almost. But not quite.

  “Speak Elharan, Ky’lara.” Duncan raised himself to an upright position. “They do not understand.” Azure rested her head in his lap. He rubbed the soft thick fur on her neck.

  Ky’lara loosed another burst of Maoliou. It was probably best they did not understand. Turning to Duncan, fists propped on her hips, she said, “Dos men fools, Addiri. Else da big man he put dem in charge. Aye?”

  “Aye,” Duncan solemnly agreed. It was always wise to agree with an angry House-holden.

  Ky’lara grinned.

  A throat clear
ed behind him, and Duncan glanced toward the entrance surprised by his unexpected visitor. Goddess-born never numbered more than twelve. Of the current batch, Duncan had three in his camp, his captain, his cadet, Roland, and this man in his doorway. Lyman No-last-name. Tall, sandy-blond hair, friendly brown eyes, Duncan judged the man at around forty, ancient for goddess-born. Lyman no-last-name had lost his right arm just below the elbow. Some injuries even a goddess could not cure.

  Lyman fancied Ky’lara. A blind man could see it. Duncan was not blind. He had meant to speak to the man in case his attentions were unwelcome. It was Duncan’s privilege and duty to protect his House-holden. But one look at Ky’lara’s radiant smile told him Lyman No-last-name’s attentions were welcome.

  Duncan rose to greet Ky’lara’s would-be suitor. He got out, “Welcome, Goddess-born,” before Captain Fawr strode into the tent followed by the twins and— Fire and ashes! Lathan Bruin.

  Duncan walked around the table intent on greeting his esteemed guests. Azure followed. “I did not expect to see you again tonight, sir.” He extended his hand. “Mister Bruin, you have not visited my tent before. Welcome.”

  Lathan’s gaze quickly flickered over Azure and back to Kree. Duncan caught the barest hint of something in his captain’s expression. His alert level shot up ten degrees. This, whatever it was, it was not a visit.

  Lathan shook Duncan’s hand, and they all just stood there until Lyman sidled over to Ky’lara.

  “We’ll be leaving, Gryphon,” the one-armed man said to Kree. Duncan did not miss the way Lyman used Kree’s Temple title and half dragged Ky’lara out of the tent.

  Duncan’s senses were on fire. Whatever this was, it was bad. He watched Eoin take his twin’s hand, the elf’s other hand rested on Lathan Bruin’s shoulder. The theurgist’s gaze focused on—Azure.

  Gooseflesh and perspiration popped out on his captain’s face and arms.

  Duncan had just enough time to think, they are calling their talent, before Azure let out a bloodcurdling howl. She leapt and twisted in the air.

  Duncan moved to help her, but his captain stepped between them. One of the captain’s gryphon knives swished from its sheath. Its blade glowed eerily in the ambient magic. A low humming rose from the blade.

  Azure collapsed. Foam and blood flecked her muzzle. Her howls turned into screams.

  Horror seared Duncan’s heart. His beloved dog’s form wavered, shifted, changed, and became the woman haunting his dreams. She lay curled on the rug panting and naked.

  A sound like fire whooshing through dry grass roared in Duncan’s ears. His lips moved, but no sound came out. His lungs swelled filling with air, but he couldn’t catch his breath. From a long way off he heard Captain Fawr’s voice.

  “Eamon cut off her magic.”

  “It’s not magic. I think—”

  “Goddess! Save me from men who think too much. Just keep her from changing into something else.”

  “I need to touch her.”

  A deadly curved blade pressed into the lovely hollow of the woman’s throat. “Then do it. Now.” The captain bellowed.

  Some distant part of Duncan’s mind registered he should be the one issuing orders, but all he could do was stare at the woman. She was as beautiful to him now as she had been in his dreams. She was in pain. She needed him. He had to do something. He had to say something.

  “I-I-I-I.”

  Captain Fawr whirled on him. “Duncan, sit. Breathe. I need you.

  “Roland!” The captain rasped, his voice already starting to go. “Fetch the Fist. Tell Bird to slap a guard around this tent. No one in or out till Duncan or I say so.”

  The boy nodded. Kree gave him a little push.

  Duncan floundered. He was not good with surprises, never had been. Seeing the woman who inhabited his dreams in the flesh was more than a surprise. It was a shock. It disrupted his ability to reason on a fundament level. A coherent thought would be a major breakthrough. A simple sentence seemed beyond him. But he could follow orders. He sat.

  The twins stationed themselves on either side of the woman. Lathan Bruin left the tent without saying a word. Kree knelt in front of Duncan and cupped Duncan’s face between his huge hands.

  “Stay with me, Shug. Don’t drop into some fugue or some other damn thing. Yeah. I know about the condition. There’s a good fellow, breathe. Are you here with me?” Kree’s voice was barely a whisper.

  Duncan struggled. “Y-y-yo-you sh-should replace m-m-me.”

  “Why, because you don’t recognize a shape shifter when you see one? Got news for you Sugar-babe, neither do I.”

  “Y-You…knew.”

  “No I didn’t. Katie knew. She told me days ago, but I didn’t understand what she meant. I don’t half the time. If you ever tell her I said that, I’ll call you out.”

  “I-I-I.” Duncan stopped and took a deep breath.

  Kree nodded. “Let it go. I need you.” He let go of Duncan’s face. “You better?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not hearing any more ‘replace me’ horseshit?”

  “No.”

  Bless the man for questions he could answer with one word. He could do one word. Duncan glanced at the woman. She had curled in on herself to shield her nakedness. Duncan dragged one of the table clothes off and draped it around her shivering shoulders. Their fingers touched. Wild tingling heat rushed up Duncan’s arm. He rubbed his palm on his pants leg.

  Behind him, Captain Fawr spoke. “This kind of sorry news goes through an armed camp faster than shit through a goose. We’ve got to move faster. What do you want me to tell the men, Shug?”

  Duncan turned. “What. Is. There. To. Tell. Sir?” At the moment it was the best he could do. At least he’d stopped stuttering.

  “Hell, man, she’s your dream girl. If you don’t want to see her scrawny neck stretched, you’d better come up with something in about the next ten minutes.”

  As if this was his cue, Bird stuck his head into the tent. “We’re drawing a crowd out here, My Captain.”

  “Tell me what to say, Shug. I’ve got your back.”

  Duncan glanced at the woman struggling to make a shift out of a table cloth without standing up. His heart went out to her. He could not hang her, nor could he allow anyone else to hang her. He tugged his jacket on, touching his saber. “This is…my command, sir. I will speak for myself.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Faelan wound the starched white tablecloth around her torso fashioning a makeshift sari, her task made more difficult because she did not want to stand for a couple of reasons. First, her legs might as well have been made of rubber. She wasn’t sure they would support her. Second, standing would draw the Nhurstari twins’ attention, and she’d had enough attention from them to last a lifetime.

  No one could force a shifter into a change. Everyone knew it, yet here she was naked, exposed, pulled inside out by a strange magic. Every inch of her skin felt raw, bruised. Tentatively, she reached for her wolf. A solid wall of cold met her psychic touch. Her beast lay beyond it in a sealed-off corner of her soul. She shivered. Fear sharp as vinegar stung her throat.

  Fifteen minutes later, Duncan burst into the tent followed by the kin-slayer captain and several Red Fist troopers. The man called Bird slapped Duncan on the back.

  “Damn it, Shug, you’re brilliant. ‘This alliance operates under the rule of law. Therefore, the accused will stand trial as soon as an impartial court may be convened.’ And that staccato delivery… Man, no one dared oppose you. How the hell do you come up with shit like this?”

  “I told you.” Captain Fawr threw himself into a chair, stretching out his long legs. “My man there is a fucking genius. Roland, we need beer in here.”

  Duncan crossed to his bookcase, extracted a slim volume, and tossed it to Bird. The man caught it one-handed.

  “Justice in Armed Conflict: a Treatise on Military Law,” Bird read aloud and shrugged. “Who knew? You ever read this, My Captain?”

  �
��Sure. But it doesn’t apply to me.” Captain Fawr swallowed a gulp of beer and thumped his fist on his chest. “My being goddess-born, you understand. I am my own law.”

  Bird dropped the book into a nearby chair and took a draw on his beer. “I don’t see what you hope to gain by it, Shug. The woman is going to swing.”

  “Time.”

  “If you really intend to seat an impartial panel, you’ll have that in spades.”

  Faelan glanced down pretending to study the weave in the rug while the men congratulated themselves on their cleverness. Feeling Duncan’s gaze upon her, warm as a blanket, she raised her head. An electric shock ran through her with the flame-blue intensity of his gaze, not an altogether unpleasant sensation.

  “If I cannot seat an impartial panel here, I will appeal to the Great Ladies.” Duncan took a drink from the cup in his hand, grimaced, and set it on a nearby table. At that moment, Ky’lara strode into the tent, took one look at Faelan, and loosed an angry burst of island language in his direction. Duncan jumped as if she’d stuck him with a needle. Ky’lara nodded, turned on her heel, and stormed out.

  “Whew.” Captain Fawr sat forward, arms resting on his knees, his mug dangling between his legs. “What did she say to you?”

  “My House-holden recalls me to my station, sir.” Duncan snagged a chair in one hand, and positioned it behind Faelan. “A bit less gently than you did.” He offered Faelan his hand. “I am confident you will find this chair more comfortable Miss…ah…”

  “Faelan.” She slipped her hand in his. Lightning struck. The air crackled. For a heartbeat neither moved. Then Duncan blinked his remarkable eyes. Once. Twice. His other hand cupped her elbow as he drew her to her feet.

  Standing brought them eye to eye. Faelan sucked in her breath at the sudden intimacy. “Foley,” she finished in a breathy rush.

  Duncan stepped back. Flexing his fingers, he rubbed his hand on his pants leg again. “Bird, prepare a tent for our guest, please. Eamon, is Miss Foley, ah, secure?”