“Torren of Farentell,” the man said. “I toted your water, and chopped your wood, and waited for my chance.” His hand tightened on the handle of the dagger.
“Did you hurt her?” Orrin asked, staring at Evie.
Evelyn shook her head, and struggled against the ropes.
“No,” Torren said. “Got no complaint against her. It’s you I’ll see dead.”
“I’m yours,” Orrin said. “Release her.”
“You bring any men? Any weapons?”
“My men are outside,” Orrin said. “But only to see her safe. I give you my word.”
“Like that’s any good,” Torren scoffed. “Kneel.”
Orrin got down on his knees.
Torren watched him for a moment, then pulled the blindfold off Evelyn. Her hair was in her eyes, and she had to toss her head back to see. Orrin watched as the anger in her eyes faded to fear at the sight of him, helpless, on his knees.
Torren loosened the gag, and pulled it gently away from her mouth. “I’m going to cut you loose, Priestess. You need to leave.”
“No, no.” Evelyn staggered forward as the ropes fell away, throwing herself at Orrin, on her knees beside him. “Orrin, you can’t let him—”
Orrin leaned into her arms, breathing in the scent of her hair for what he was sure was the last time. “Archer’s just outside,” he whispered. “He’ll know what to do.”
Evelyn cast a terrified glance at Torren, then ran for the door, her wrists still bound in the spell chains. She banged through the door, calling Archer’s name. The door swung shut behind her.
“So much for your word.” Torren stepped forward, his hand clenching on the hilt of the dagger.
From outside, Evelyn screamed in anger and disbelief. “Let me go, let me go!”
“I kept my word,” Orrin said. “They won’t interfere. They won’t let her interfere, either.”
Torren just looked at him.
“Kill me,” Orrin said.
Torren hesitated. “I don’t—”
“Do it,” Orrin said. “I may not be so lucky next time.” He sat back on his heels and shook his head. “I love that woman, but all it takes is the mention of a fevered child or, Gods help me, a plague, and off she goes with no care for her own skin. The next man to take revenge on me might just kill her outright.”
Evelyn was crying now, calling out, begging Torren not to kill him. Orrin’s heart clutched in his chest. “Thank you for not harming her.”
“I couldn’t. She’s done nothing to—” Torren took a step toward Orrin. “You, on the other hand—you I can kill.”
“Not easy to kill a man in cold blood.”
“I’ve slaughtered many a pig,” Torren said. “That’s all you are. A pig that needs putting down.”
Orrin closed his eyes, and exposed his neck. He felt the man move closer, and then there was a long moment of silence.
“Lord of Light,” Torren breathed, “how you must love her.”
Orrin grimaced, then nodded, still keeping his eyes closed tight. “I do. I believe the Lady of Laughter now has her revenge, for now I know the loss that all suffered at my hands. That woman is my hostage to fortune, my love and my life. I’d rather die here and now than risk her further.” Orrin’s voice cracked. “And what terrifies me even more is the idea that we might have children. That they would suffer for my past sins leaves me cold and terrified.”
“You have the forgiveness of the Queen and of the Gods, and that’s not right.” Torren’s voice was the barest of whispers as he stepped next to Orrin. He could feel the heat of the man’s body against his bare arm. Fingers wound through his hair and pulled his head back, exposing his throat yet again. Cold steel pressed to his neck.
“I may have their pardon”—Orrin opened his eyes, and he looked up at Torren—“but I don’t know that I will ever forgive myself for what I have done.”
Evelyn was weeping now. They could hear her though the walls.
Orrin closed his eyes, and waited.
FORTY- TWO
THERE was a long pause. Orrin swallowed hard.
“She’s in pain,” Torren whispered, as Evelyn cried out again.
She was struggling, as well. Orrin could hear the thud of flesh on flesh. She was fighting to get back to his side as she cried out his name.
Torren sighed. The cold metal of his knife fell away from Orrin’s neck. “I won’t do to her what you did to me.” He moved away. “I thought that killing you would . . . may the Gods forgive me.”
“I’m sorry.” Orrin stayed on his knees.
Torren glared at him. “Don’t think I’ve forgiven you. I can’t do that, either.”
“Don’t.” Orrin stood. “Hold me accountable. Don’t let me forget. I’m not asking for forgiveness. But . . .” Orrin looked over his shoulder. “Don’t let anyone else harm her. Because there will be others.”
Torren shook his head. “I can’t stay here. Can’t watch the two of you—” His face filled with pain. “Get up.”
Orrin got to his feet, the rope cutting into his wrists as he rose. “Where will you go?”
Torren sliced through the ropes, and stepped back into the shadows. “I don’t know. I was so intent on hating you, I hadn’t given any thought to . . .” His voice trailed off. “Go. See to your lady.”
FOR someone so small, she sure fought dirty. Archer had to admire when Evelyn’s foot caught Mage under the chin and sent him sprawling.
Archer was hanging onto one arm. Reader had the other. If they could just get her off her feet, they’d be able to carry—
Evelyn stomped on his foot as she cried out, “Help him, damn it. Orrin! ORRIN!”
“You could help,” Archer growled at Sidian, who stood there, his arms crossed over his chest.
“No,” Sidian said, “I promised not to attempt a rescue, but this is absurd.”
“You get her feet,” Reader said.
“Four of you, and you can’t subdue one priestess?” Orrin’s voice came from behind. “You’re losing your touch.”
Evelyn jerked her head around. “Orrin!”
Archer released her with a sigh of relief, and watched as she ran to Blackhart. “Are you all right?” Evelyn asked.
“Where’s the bastard?” Archer demanded.
“Gone,” Orrin said. He stood for a moment, as Evelyn ran frantic hands over his bare chest. He reached out, and hugged her close. “He didn’t harm me.”
“Well, that’s nice an’ all,” Reader said, “but—”
“Let him go,” Blackhart commanded. “I can’t blame him for lashing out at me.” He hugged Evelyn closer, tucking her head under his chin. “Besides, we should pardon him, as we were pardoned.”
Archer wrinkled his nose, and exchanged glances with the others. “Well, there’s pardoned, and then there’s pardoned. If you get my drift.”
Blackhart gave him a glare. “I don’t. But I’m serious. Let him go.” He drew in a bucket of air. “I just want to get back to the inn and go to bed.”
Evelyn stepped back from his arms, and for the first time Archer realized that her face was stony with rage. “Reader, get me out of these chains.”
“You’re not going to hurt us, are you?” Reader cast a frantic look at Archer, who took a prudent step back. “We was just trying to protect—”
“Evelyn”—Orrin rubbed the chafe marks on his wrists—“I understand that you’re angry.”
“How could you be such an idiot?” she snapped.
DORNE looked up as Evelyn stomped across the town square, her expression as black as thunder. He watched as she went into the inn, slamming the door behind her.
He turned to see Blackhart following, his expression as dark as Evelyn’s. He, too, went into the inn, and slammed the door behind him.
Blackhart’s men slowly entered the square, then came over to stand in front of Dorne, their expressions woebegone. “What’s wrong, lads? Aren’t you enjoying the party?”
“We were,�
� Archer grumbled.
“The Lady High Priestess is kinda upset with us,” Reader said.
“Ah.” Dorne nodded, then waited, looking at each man in turn.
“We need to ask ya something,” Archer said.
“It’s important,” Reader emphasized. “Kinda private.”
“She wouldn’t really do that, would she?” Mage asked.
Dorne gave them a puzzled look. “She wouldn’t do what?”
Sidian leaned over, and whispered in his ear.
“Ah.” Dorne struggled to keep his face straight. “I can see how that would be important.” He coughed slightly. “But I’m sure, once she’s calmed down a bit, you won’t have anything to fear. A true priestess would not curse you with crotch rot.”
There were sighs of relief all around.
EVELYN marched through the main room of the inn and up the stairs to their bedroom. She was so angry she almost couldn’t see.
The door to the room slammed with a satisfying sound, and she threw her cloak into the corner, turning to pace before the fire.
She’d finished only one circle when Orrin slid into the room. He looked grim, and started to say something, but she cut him off before he could utter a sound. “You stupid man, what were you thinking?”
“Evie.”
“You walked into that building weaponless, half naked, your hands tied.” Evelyn rounded on him. “Are you insane? He could have killed you.”
“Let me guess.” Orrin crossed his arms over his chest. “You were sitting in the square, and he came up and said, ‘Oh, please, Priestess, my friend Ulfgar was drinking, and now he’s fallen and broken his leg. Help us, help us.’ And off you went.”
“It was an arm,” Evelyn said, trying to keep her voice even and calm. “And that’s not the point.”
“Thrice damned it isn’t,” Orrin growled. “You went off with someone without so much as a by-your-leave, much less a note or a message or—”
“He didn’t hurt me.” Evelyn lost control of her voice. “HE WAS GOING TO KILL YOU, AND YOU WERE GOING TO LET HIM.”
“Yes,” Orrin said. “Better me than you, my love.”
Evelyn stood there, struck silent by those words. She stared at his face, seeing the terrible pain there. “Orrin.”
“If you die, Evie, I die with you.” Orrin lowered his arms, his shoulders slumping. “I’m terrified that another with a grudge will target you to get to me. Better to give myself over than risk—”
“Orrin.” Evelyn moved over then, to wrap her arms around his waist.
He returned the hug with a sigh, and they stood there for a moment, wrapped in each other’s arms. “I am so scared. Better, perhaps, that I leave you . . .”
Evelyn tilted her head back, and looked at him. “Do you regret loving me? Marrying me?”
Orrin studied her face for a moment, then reached to stroke her hair. “Oh, no, Evelyn. My life started when I met you. But the idea that you might suffer for my sins, or that our child might . . . how do I live with that possibility?”
Evelyn took his hands, and tugged him over to the bed to sit beside her. “Orrin, I love you. I promise to take more care in the future.”
“But—”
She reached out, and touched his lips. “I can control my courses, love. A baby is something we can deal with later. But it will be our decision whether or not to have children, and we will make that decision together.”
Orrin nodded. “But Evie, you are still vulnerable . . . still at risk.”
“Orrin, don’t you see?” She took his strong hand in hers. “If I am at risk because of loving you, then so be it. There are no promises in this life. We can only make choices and live our lives, and hope for the best. I chose to love you, and be loved in return, come what may.” Evelyn smiled. “Everyone who loves, takes that risk. You’re just not used to it.”
Orrin frowned. “I cared for my men.”
She nodded. “You did, and you still do. But love is different, Orrin. It leaves us vulnerable, weak. Naked in so many ways, not just naked physically. It exposes us to pain, heartache, and loss.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “But it makes us stronger, too. A gift between two hearts.”
She lifted her head, and kissed him gently. “There are no promises in this life, Orrin. We can only make choices. I choose to love you, come what may.”
Orrin sighed, and lowered them both backward until they were lying on the bed. “I can’t let you go, Evelyn, as much as I’d like to believe it would make you safer.” He sighed, and lifted her hand to kiss her palm. “I’d rather love you, and risk my heart, than refuse to be loved.”
“I should hope so,” Evelyn said, her smile bright. “Since we are married, my lord husband.”
“That’s true.” Orrin turned his head, hazel eyes sparkling. “And we are on the Great Bed of Wareington.”
Evelyn kissed him. “And the door is bolted.”
“That it is, lady wife.” Orrin rolled over, covering her with his body. His eyes danced, the hazel flaring bright. “Now, then, didn’t you just say something about being naked?”
Dear Reader,
Well, here we are again, at the end of a story. I’ve worked hard to tell you about Evelyn and Orrin. Now my writing room looks like a disaster. Paper everywhere, cold cups of kavage, cat hair an inch thick. . . . Is that a stack of unpaid bills on my desk?
Oops.
Well, as much as I hate cleaning, I’ve no excuse now. I think there’s a vacuum cleaner over here in this closet. Let me shift this box. . . . I am going to have to recycle all this paper . . . and open the door—
Mrow.
What are you doing in there, cat? You don’t belong in there, you’re in the next story. Git.
Mrow.
Excuse me? You are a fictional cat. You know, in my head, not really existing in reality. Understand? Git.
Mrow.
No, I’m not going to start writing. Have you seen this place? Besides, the story is not about you. It’s about Bethral and Ezren. If they are still alive.
Mrow.
Okay, okay, I concede that point. But that’s—Cat, that is NOT a litterbox.
Mrow.
Okay, okay, this is me, picking up my pencil, getting a legal pad. I’ll start now. But if you think they’re in for an easy time of it, you’ve got another think coming. I mean, they are stranded, in a strange land, and every hand is against them.
Mrow.
Cats. Honestly, what’s a writer to do?
Get to work, I guess.
Elizabeth
White Star Page 27