“Yes,” her father said. “They’ve ridden the range from one end to the other searching for Prince Keegan’s offspring.”
“How will they recognize them, Papa?” Skye asked.
“Legend says a child marked by her father’s death will carry on her person the secret of the true rulers of Ryca.”
“What mark?” Bevan dropped his arm and stared at his father with wide fascinated eyes.
“No one knows. The Rycan Warriors have no fondness for the King’s Warriors, whom they insist betray the royal line they are sworn to protect by safeguarding King Ywen.”
“Will Talus be in trouble in Perm?” Skye asked with a concerned frown.
“Talus can take care of himself,” her papa said with assurance.
That quieted the children.
As the day wore on, the barren landscape gave way to low shrubs and grasses and the ground grew firmer. Plants blooming in rich summer shades and releasing enticing scents became more frequent.
At the hottest part of the day, they stopped for a light meal, to feed and water the horse and take a much needed rest. Two hours later, they were back on the trail.
Close to sunset, Marton waved to two approaching men. Talus and Cullen greeted them outside a copse of trees forming an oasis. Talus took hold of the stallion and went with the children to rub him down while Cullen brought Marton and Tom up to date on what he and Talus had discovered on their scouting trip. Anna and Gilly went to investigate the campsite.
Two rabbits and a wood pigeon were roasting on a spit over a blazing campfire attesting to the fact their scouts had arrived here in time to do some hunting. Gilly and Anna soon had a pot of boiled cabbage started to accompany the meat. Gilly seasoned the food with salt, sorrel leaves, mint and rosemary. Marton joined them and unpacked Erovian dark bread and a large leather flask of ale.
They set to their meal with gusto, discussing what to expect come morning. Talus estimated they should reach the outskirts of Perm by nightfall the next day. He advised them it would be best to keep going until they reached the city wall.
After eating her fill, Gilly inched closer to the fire and took out the book Jarrod had given her. Since the Chief Counselor hadn’t supplied her with ink, she suspected the quill was likely to work all by itself. Such work, however, would prove too damning in front of Cullen.
As it was, the man’s keen interest in her activity matched Tom’s glare at her book. She ignored everyone and made a show of mixing ash and water to use in place of ink.
“I didn’t realize you could write, Gilly,” Cullen said. “My pardon. Should I call you Lady Saira-Gilly?”
A shiver of dread crept up Gilly’s neck. “They had some strange customs in Erov, didn’t they?” she said. “You may call me anything you like, Cullen.”
“Names are important. They define who we are.”
She looked directly at him. “Is your name truly Cullen?”
At her question, the air wavered about his face. He suddenly seemed familiar. From where? Then the feeling slipped away and the same old Cullen displayed his charming smile. Her eyes were smarting as if another desert wind had been stirred up. She blinked as tears formed to soothe her irritated eyes. She cleaned her quill and put it away.
“Cullen, you didn’t answer Gilly,” Anna said.
She hadn’t realized that her sister was following their conversation. Anna was leaning against Marton, Bevan fast asleep on her lap, with Skye nearby, eyes droopy. Her sister was right, though, Cullen hadn’t answered her. Strange that she hadn’t noticed.
“Of course my name is Cullen. If you’re looking to place a more fanciful appellation on me, we should have checked with the good Lord Jarrod and his Falcon’s Tome.”
Marton stood then with his son in his arms and extended a hand to his wife. Once on their feet, her family said their good nights. Tom said he needed to stretch his legs and went for a walk. Gilly was watching his retreating figure when Talus offered to take first watch.
She nodded absently and then realized she was about to be left alone in the campsite with only Cullen for company. She put her book and quill away and excused herself. Something about the minstrel unnerved her. Must be his dislike of magic.
She made her way toward the stream. Time for that leg rub before she lay down for the night, else her limb would be stiff as a board by morning.
With moonlight to guide her pathway, she aimed for the sound of trickling water. The stream ended up being far enough from their camp to offer privacy, so she dropped her sack on the bank, tied her skirts up and waded in until she was knee-deep. After the scorching heat of the day, the water was blessedly cool.
Once invigoratingly clean, she sloshed back to shore, well pleased with her day. Her eyes were still sore, so she rummaged in her sack for her packet of sage. Then she mixed in a pinch of dried sage with a handful of water and after straining the leaves out, used the sage infused water to dab at her sore eyelids. That vastly eased the ache and with a heartfelt sigh, she leaned against a tree to tend to her leg.
A quick check confirmed she was alone by the stream, so she hiked up her skirt and rubbed ointment the Erovian healer had given her on her left leg. Working the salve into her skin loosened her tight muscles at her left hip and thigh. The burning sensation she’d lived with all day eased out of her limb.
“Must feel good,” a voice said from beside her.
Gilly jumped in fright. Pulling her skirts down, she twisted to see who had crept up. She had an alarming suspicion that it might be Cullen.
It wasn’t.
Under the moonlight, the serious eyes that briefly met her startled gaze were the dark delightful brown of Perm’s mountainside. She swallowed as an entirely different kind of alarm jangled her nerves. “Tom, I didn’t realize you were nearby.” How long were you watching me?
“You seemed lost in your enjoyment, I didn’t want to disturb you.” He looked off into the distance.
Had he seen her deformed leg? Gilly focused on the twinkling stream. If he didn’t leave soon, she would embarrass herself and cry.
“You didn’t finish.” His glance met hers again.
She looked away. “Finished enough.”
“We have a long steep climb ahead of us tomorrow to reach Perm, which is situated half way up a mountain. Your legs will need to be at their best to keep up.”
“I’ll be fine.”
He came around in front of her and squatting, he picked up the pouch of ointment. He smelled it and then made a face at its stringent medicinal odor.
She grinned, her tense shoulders relaxing. When she reached for the ointment, he held it away and smeared some onto his fingers.
“What are you doing?” she asked, alarm bells ringing again.
“Seems only fair.” He sat cross-legged three feet before her and moved her left foot onto his lap. “You took care of me when I was ill. Time I returned the favor.”
She slapped his hand when he pushed her skirts upward. “That’s unnecessary. I’m not ill. Let go of my foot.”
“You’ll hurt yourself if you twist like that. Sit back and relax. Will you trust me?”
The question sounded heartfelt but the mischievous look on his face made her think he’d be the last man on Ryca she should trust right at this moment. Other than tussling with him, what choice did she have when he refused to release his hold? She leaned against the tree and folded her arms across her tight throbbing chest.
If he felt the need to return a favor, she could allow him to rub her foot. It wasn’t as if she disliked people touching her. Just this morning she had allowed Jarrod to hold her.
At the first caress of his strong, callused fingers sliding under her foot, pleasure raced up her nerves like a bolt of lightning. While Jarrod’s touch had been comforting. Tom’s was electrifying. Then he moved onto her ankle and she was ready to bolt for the campsite. His free hand on her right knee, held her firmly in place.
“I never had a chance to say,” Tom said in
his soft seductive voice, “how much I appreciated you tending me at my every waking moment.”
His tone suggested that thanking her wasn’t on his mind. Gilly’s heartbeat sped up like a salmon racing upstream. His touch on her flesh evoked feelings she couldn’t place as fear, discomfort or excitement.
He began to massage her calf with both hands now, as he continued his litany of her apparent misdemeanors. “You changed my clothes, dressed my wounds. You tenderly massaged ointment into my back. You washed me from head to foot, not missing a single part.” His gaze locked on hers and her cheeks blushed hot and suddenly she was unclear if her touch had been all that innocent. She had enjoyed taking care of him. Had she slowed her movement more than she should have? Relished caressing him instead of impersonally cleaning him?
His eyes were drenched with purpose and was that desire? For me? His longing, if that’s what that intense look was, at once enticed and confused. Then his fingers gently skimmed the underside of her knee and heat shot up to her hip. Shocked by the wildly inappropriate sensations churning in her body, she instinctively kicked out with her good leg and sent Tom sprawling to the ground.
She jumped up, mortified and upset. “Oh, I’m so sorry! Did I hurt you?”
She knelt beside him and turned him over. At the smile on his face, she scrambled backward. He was fine! The fiend!
She gathered her belongings, dropping them as often as she kept items in her flimsy grip. “Thank you. I’m done now. Anna is probably looking for me. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He lay on the ground with arms outstretched, a slight smile on his face, watching her.
Having finally gathered all her bits and pieces, she hurried away toward the campsite.
“Good night,” Tom called out.
“Good night,” she replied not turning around, but with every lopsided step, she was acutely aware of him following her cowardly retreat. All the while, an oddly pleasurable tingle played along her leg where he had caressed her. As well, an alarming yet titillating thought kept pace with her. Could it be that while she tended Tom, as he lay injured, despite the pain he was in, she had churned this conflagration of pleasurable emotions in him?
Surprisingly, the idea made her want to grin and added a cheerful spring to her step.
Chapter 9
The next morning’s trek took Gilly’s party closer to the foothills of the Makakala Range. Each new hour brought dramatic changes to the terrain. The undergrowth became denser. The trickling stream they had camped beside now gushed past, flowing down from the mountains ahead.
In the distance, those white-tipped summits loomed like the folds of a giant rumpled carpet. Perm was built halfway up one of those tough rocky ridges. As if to herald their approach to that popular trading city, more and more travelers converged onto the road from various side paths.
With each step, Gilly’s stomach knotted tighter at getting closer to a city where the King’s Horsemen would be prevalent. This time, instead of riding off ahead, Talus and Cullen walked their horses in front of Gilly’s party. Then rhythmic pounding of horses’ hooves sent her pulse careening as a battalion of green-cloaked King’s Horsemen trotted toward them, with helmets glinting in the sunlight. Her worst nightmare had come to life.
“Ho!” Talus called out.
The captain of the guard raised a hand and drew his men to a halt. “Welcome, Warrior.” The captain’s gaze slid from one member of her party to the next, as if he were memorizing their faces and demeanor.
He wasn’t the one-eyed captain from Nadym, but her relief was short-lived. One-Eye could have sent word that a family wanted for questioning was traveling this way. Was that the reason for his scrutiny? Was he on the lookout for a stolen white horse?
Bevan leaned forward on the back of his dung-colored mount and held out his hand for the captain’s horse to snuffle.
Gilly watched with mounting horror, and then Skye pulled Bevan back and hugged him. Profound relief flooded through her.
“These people are under your protection, sir?” the Captain asked.
Talus nodded. “We’re heading for Perm, on our way to Tibor. Trouble ahead?”
“Had a few skirmishes with the Rycan Warriors, but their numbers are down. Were you at the Makakala War, sir?”
Talus nodded and gave his name. “I’m taking a lazy route home, now the war’s broken. You’re on patrol?”
“We are ever vigilant, sir. Our garrison is inside the city. You can report anything suspicious to us there.” The captain raised his palm in a sign of peace before riding off with his men. Their hoof beats faded into the distance, and Gilly realized that her every muscle had seized in fright. She relaxed her fists and almost collapsed when her weak leg buckled.
Tom steadied her. Until then, Gilly hadn’t noticed that he’d moved closer, shielding her from the horsemen.
“Thank you,” she whispered, touched by his protective stance. On impulse, she brushed his hand in appreciation.
He gave her a startled glance, as if she had signaled an important change between them. Had she?
Embarrassed, she withdrew, but he wove his fingers through hers. A possessive gesture that left her breathless with wanting. “I will never allow any harm to come to you again, Saira,” he said. “You have my word.”
She shuddered with shock at that solemn vow. At his use of her given name, Saira.
She played back their rare conversations and realized that Tom had never called her Gilly. Not once. As if he had always known that “Gilly” was not her real name. How? He didn’t know her secret. Did he?
Fear scurried up her back and she attempted to pull away but his grip tightened. After a moment of nervous contemplation, she accepted his hold but remained deeply unsettled.
How much does he know about me? In all these years, while I watched Anna so carefully, was someone watching me?
Those uneasy questions kept her company for the rest of the morning as wagons rumbled by on wooden wheels rimmed with iron stakes. For extra support while going up the mountain? She wanted a bit of support herself, but while Tom’s hold was comforting, it was now also a little alarming.
By mid-day, road congestion grew heavy, and Marton called a halt. They rested on a patch of open ground to eat their meal and watch the traffic. Compared to the desert’s silence, this was like being in an echo chamber as people chattered, donkeys brayed, cows mooed and chickens clucked.
Anna asked, “How long will we stay in Perm?”
“Half a day should be enough to replenish our dwindling supplies,” Gilly said. As far as she was concerned, the sooner they departed this King’s Horsemen stronghold, the better.
“I hoped to see a bit of this fabled city,” Anna said.
“There’s also coin to be made at such a plump purse.” Cullen rubbed two fingers and thumb. “Won’t need long. A week should suffice.”
“A week?” Gilly’s voice came out high-pitched with panic but she didn’t care. In a week, that one-eyed captain who whipped Tom could catch up to them.
Marton gave her a cautious glance that said he understood her concern. “We can spare two days.”
Gilly did a quick calculation on the lead Erov’s magical travel had given them. She wasn’t happy with the result, but nodded. Two days was better than a week.
“That also suits me,” Talus said. “It’s adequate time to visit with the King’s Warrior encampment in Perm.”
Once Tom agreed, Cullen, likely sensing his companions might go on without him, shrugged his reluctant consent. “I’ll come too. Safer traveling long distances in a group than alone.”
They returned to their trek toward Perm.
“I’ll keep an eye on Anna and the children while we’re in the city.” Tom’s rusty brown gaze was steady on Gilly’s, as if inviting her to rely on him.
Wanting to show that she did believe in him, she boldly wove her fingers through his.
His smile grew so bright it rivaled the white-tipped Makakala rang
e. He also seemed to stand a little taller, and a warm flush of happiness infused her, pushing her worries into forgotten crevices.
The rest of the afternoon was uneventful, which gave Gilly time to think of her future. Something she had not done in a long while. Since her escape from the cottage with baby Anna in her arms, Gilly’s sole purpose had been to keep her sister safe, and then to watch over Anna’s children, too. Now she contemplated a future in which Tom might play a prominent role.
Her previous worry immediately surfaced. How had he guessed at her real name? The only rational explanation was that he had taken it out of what Aton and Jarrod called her, Lady Saira-Gilly. Since Erovians claimed to be Perm’s record keepers, perhaps Tom placed credence on how they addressed Gilly. Before she could confirm his accurate guess, she must first tell her sister. Anna deserved the truth. Her sister would rage at such a disclosure, and her fury would be justified.
Surely, facing her sister’s anger wouldn’t be any harder to bear than what she had already suffered? For decades Anna had scoffed at Gilly, ridiculed her, and worst of all, ignored her. The result? Gilly had lived in a state of never-ending loneliness.
Until this past week.
After years of being disregarded, Anna’s recent thaw felt precious. Losing their new closeness was unthinkable. Gilly hugged her midriff with her free arm and blinked away her tears.
Yet, this had to be done, and not only so she could grow closer to Tom. For, while Anna repeatedly refused to heed advice about the king’s evil intentions from a woman she considered no more than a cowardly servant, there was a slim chance she might listen to her sister’s warning.
That breath of optimism kept Gilly company until they arrived in Perm. As it was twilight, the gates were locked. Gilly glanced up at the tall gray stone wall. High above, crossbow-armed men patrolled, while below, layers of dull colored tents surrounded the fortress like a many-layered skirt.
“Why is everyone living out here?” Skye asked.
“Space inside is reserved for Perm’s permanent populace,” Talus said. “Marton, will you guard the women and children while Tom, Cullen and I scout for a suitable place to set up Lord Jarrod’s tent?” He hefted the sealed bag over his shoulder. “We might be awhile.”
Hidden: Tales of Ryca, Book 1 Page 12