Ravenmarked (The Taurin Chronicles)

by Amy Rose Davis

  She smoothed the skirts on her lap. “Aileen gave it to me. When you mentioned going into the city, I just thought—”

  “It was a good thought. You look very pretty.” You tempt me to break my word. He leaned forward. “I’m not very good at apologies.”

  She laughed quietly over a long exhale. “Neither am I.” She put her hand on his arm. “You were right. It was none of my business. Your life is your own. I have no right to pry into it.”

  He put his hand over hers. “Not everyone needs help, Mairead. Linna and her husband will be fine.”

  “Perhaps.” She gestured upstairs. “Do you want to bathe?”

  “I’d rather not leave you alone here. I’ll just wash up.”

  She gave him a nervous smile. “You really could use a bath.”

  He laughed. “Am I offending your nose, my lady?”

  “A bit. And you could shave.”

  He rubbed his chin. It had been several days since his face had seen a knife. He swallowed the last of his ale. “All right, I’ll bathe, but you have to stay in the room.”

  “Connor!”

  “Keep your back to me. I’ll behave, I promise, but I won’t leave you out here alone.” He nodded toward a table where four men sat playing dice. “Those four—they haven’t been able to concentrate on their game since you walked in the room. And that one—the dark one pretending to look at his books? He hasn’t taken his eyes off you. I’m not going to risk that one of those men is the man who found us in the last town. It’s up to you—let me bathe while you’re in the room or put up with the odor until we get to a stream.”

  She sighed. “All right. I’ll keep my back turned.”

  He stood and took her hand. He asked for fresh water for his bath, and when the servants delivered it, Mairead sat down with her back to the washtub as Connor started to undress. He bathed and shaved, pulled on fresh breeches, and picked up his boots. “I’m dressed.”

  She stood, turned around, and gasped. “You aren’t dressed—you haven’t put your tunic on.” She turned away from him again.

  He laughed. “My being without a tunic will not ruin your chastity. And you’re pretty, but you’re not my type.”

  She turned, indignation flickering across her face. “Not your type?”

  “You’re the type of girl men marry. You’re a noblewoman who needs to have children. I have no intention of doing either of those things.”

  She bit her lip, crossed her arms, and tilted her head. “What did the man in the common room want?”

  “You’re changing the subject.”

  “Yes I am.”

  He laughed. “He offered me a job. He was going to give me his best man-at-arms to take you to Sveklant in exchange for my services taking him to Espara.”

  “Why did you turn him down?” She sounded surprised.

  He pulled his tunic over his head. “I promised I would take you to Sveklant. I don’t break my promises.”

  “Could his man have taken me there safely?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was it a good offer?”

  “It was exactly what I wanted.”

  “Then why didn’t you take it?”

  He took a step toward her. “I told you. I don’t break my promises.”

  Her gaze weakened his knees and reminded him of an afternoon on a Taurin hill, lying in the heather with a pretty girl who gave him his first kisses and nothing else. “I appreciate that, but I would have understood,” Mairead said.

  The idea disturbed him. “Did you think I would? I promised. A man has nothing without his word.”

  She gave him a doubtful look.

  “I don’t break my promises.”

  “You just haven’t found a promise binding enough yet. All men break a promise eventually.”

  “Not me.” He picked up his sword and belted it around his hips. “And since I promised you a night in the city . . .” He picked up her cloak and held it out to her.

  She hesitated, biting her lip. “Are you certain? After our words earlier, I don’t expect anything.”

  He put the cloak around her shoulders and fastened it. “I’m certain.” He started to lift her hair out of the cloak.

  “I can do it,” she said. She pulled her hair over her shoulder and smiled.

  His hands twitched to twine into the honey-blond locks, but he offered her his arm instead. Don’t forget yourself. This is just a job. She’s meant for a better man.

  ***

  Emrys hid in a shadow across the street as the raven and the heir left the inn arm in arm. He followed as they wandered through the marketplace looking at the work of the silversmith, perusing cloth selections, and examining weapons displayed by an armorer of rare skill. The raven bought two more daggers. As if he needed them. If he knew the power in his blood, he’d not see the need for so much weaponry. But then, I’m still alive because he doesn’t know his power.

  He’d spread the word of the raven’s arrival in Leiden. Word quickly reached the cattle merchant, and when Emrys saw him enter the inn, he’d hoped the raven’s greed would be enough to lure him away from the girl. When the merchant left the inn chuckling, Emrys followed him to his wagons outside of the town. “He wouldn’t take the offer,” Declan told his wife after relating the entire story. “He said he wouldn’t break his promise to his mother.”

  Emrys seethed at the words. If Maeve is keeping him bound with her magic, I’ll flay every inch of skin from her pretty body. He disappeared between the elements and returned to the city.

  When the raven and the woman finished shopping, they found a public house with pipers and drummers playing for coin, and the raven insisted the heir learn to dance to the folk music of the Culidaran people. She laughed and tried to follow his lead with clumsy steps. “How do you know this?” she asked him over the drums and pipes.

  He grinned. “My father. He thought a man should be able to quote poets and dance as much as hunt and fight.”

  “A wise man.” She stepped on his foot again.

  He chuckled behind a curse. “How is it you can fight with your fists and feet so well, but you can’t learn a simple folk dance?”

  “I have no ear for music.” She held his hands, tense, and stepped on his feet again. “Why don’t you quote me some poetry, and we can try the dancing another time?” The raven laughed and put his face next to the girl’s ear. After a moment, she pushed him away and gave him a playful slap on the shoulder as she laughed and her eyes brightened with affection. “I didn’t mean bawdy poetry.”

  The raven grinned. “Be more specific next time.”

  She laughed again. They stood together and walked to the bar for more ale.

  Emrys saw their growing affection blaze as they stood facing each other. The raven put his hand on her shoulder, and she put her hand on his arm. The man pulled her closer. She smiled and stretched up to speak closer to his ear. It’s only a matter of time. He knew—if they grew too close, if they bedded each other, Emrys’ fate was as good as sealed. He never should have made it this far. He should have died at Kiern.

  Emrys had tried tempting the raven with a woman and money, and neither had worked. The raven had to choose to leave on his own, or the girl would still be protected. If he hated her, he would leave. But watching them together, Emrys knew there were few options left for making the raven hate her. Emrys considered the heir’s deep piety. Could he use that to drive the raven from her side?

  He slipped between the elements. He floated along the main road until he found the wagon he was looking for and slipped back into the world at the side of the kiron asleep near a campfire.

  The man sat up, his graying hair mussed. “Wha—”

  Emrys knelt next to the man, his human form casting a shadow over the kiron’s face. Several other men snored around the campfire, and Emrys shivered at the sweet sensation of the transgressions they all carried with them. I could take the kiron now. His transgressions might strengthen me enough to confront the raven. He shook
the thought away. No. I need one worse than this. “I need you to repay me.”

  A small whimper escaped the man’s throat. “So soon?” One of the other men shifted and rolled over, and the kiron dropped his voice. “You promised me time,” he whispered. “I want more time.”

  “I’ve shielded you for nearly ten years. No one knows your true blood, and I’ve made sure all evidence of your unusual proclivities disappears before anyone knows. It’s your turn. You owe me much.”

  The kiron closed his eyes and nodded. “What would you have me do?”

  “It’s not a painful duty, Gavin. If you’re very clever, you might be able to indulge all of your basest desires.”

  Lust—for flesh, for dominance, for blood—rose in the man’s eyes. “Tell me.”

  ***

  Connor and Mairead returned to the inn late that night. He stopped her hands as they reached for the pin holding her cloak closed. “Let me.”

  She lowered her hands. He unfastened the cloak and hung it on a peg. “You’ve been very courtly tonight. Should I be wary?”

  “Wary?” He brushed her hair off her shoulder and let his hand linger on her arm. The ever-present ache of the Morrag eased. Being with her—I haven’t felt this at peace in years. “You think being with me would be so horrible that you have to be wary? I’m hurt.”

  She laughed. “You are a rake. Telling me bawdy poems, talking me into drinking too much ale—what are you after?”

  “Nothing.” He reached into his belt for the daggers he bought earlier in the day. “These are for you.”

  She shook her head. “I saw how much you paid for these.”

  “Mairead, you need daggers of your own. Take them.”

  She hesitated, but finally took them.

  “Don’t mention money to me again. If it were a concern, I would tell you.”

  “Connor,” she started. She sighed and smiled. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Silence fell around them. He slipped his arm around her waist and spread his hand across her back. Her cheeks colored with a pretty pink flush, and her lips parted. Her eyes fixed on his, and his thumb traced her lips and jaw. “You’re a very beautiful woman, Mairead,” he said, his voice tight.

  She tensed and spun away from him. “It’s late. I’m tired.”

  He held up his hands, stifling the desire to kiss her with thoughts of mundane tasks that he needed to do in the morning. But watching her hair swing unbound against her dress only made him long to pull her back to him again. “I’ll wait outside while you undress,” he said.

  She kept her eyes averted and her arms folded over her midsection. “Y-yes. All right.”

  He went into the hallway. What were you thinking? She’s not for you. But he couldn’t stop thinking of the feel of his hand against her back and the lure of her untouched lips. He scrubbed his face with both hands.

  “Connor!”

  He drew his dagger and burst through the door in one motion. Mairead stood in the center of the room in her shift. The bed coverings were drawn back, and a snake lay coiled on the mattress, Mairead’s dagger piercing its head.

  Mairead whirled. “I was getting into bed. I pulled the blankets back and saw it. I had the dagger in my hand and I just stabbed—”

  He prodded the snake. “It’s a mountain viper. They live in the southern mountains.”

  “What was it doing in my bed?”

  “The only people who have them in this part of Culidar are slavers. They use them to strike and subdue people they’re interested in selling.” He turned to her. “I’d say someone in the common room noticed you and thought he’d make some money.”

  She closed her eyes.

  “Do you need to sit down?”

  “I’m fine.” She picked up the dagger and snake, opened the door, and stabbed the dagger into the oak. The snake dangled from the knife. When she closed the door, she met Connor’s eyes. “It can let them know what will happen if they try it again.”

  He grinned. “You are a surprising woman.”

  “Thank you.” She pulled the blankets back all the way, checking the bed, but there were no more vipers. When he’d pronounced the room safe, she climbed into the other side of the bed, and he lay down on the floor next to her.

  After a few minutes of quiet, Mairead leaned over the edge of the bed. “Connor?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you for the lovely evening. I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed myself so much.”

  “Despite the snake?”

  “Perhaps because of it.” She paused. “You’re nobler than you care to admit.”

  “There’s no need for insults, Mairead.”

  She laughed.

  He listened to her drift to sleep and wondered if she’d think him so noble if she knew what he thought of when he remembered how she looked in the linen shift.

  In the morning, they found Linna and her husband’s shop. Linna stood speaking with three men. She had one baby slung on her back and one on her front, and a tall, sandy-haired man stood next to her with one solicitous hand on her shoulder. “Connor, Mairead—come, meet the elders and my husband, Sean.”

  The sandy-haired man offered his arm to Connor. “’Tis a pleasure, Connor. I’ve heard much about ye.”

  “That’s not as comforting as you might think,” Connor said.

  One of the other men inclined his head to Connor. “Finn Alban,” he said, clasping Connor’s arm. “You’re the man who found this baby?”

  “No, the lady did. She heard him crying.”

  “Did you find his father?” Mairead asked.

  Finn shook his head. “The girl was a stranger. We asked around—no one seemed to know her. She may have been a runaway slave, we don’t know. She didn’t seem to own a thing. We buried her outside of town in the graveyard of unknowns.”

  “Does the town have a way to care for children like this?” Mairead asked.

  “Not officially. The kirok helps where it can. I know Sean and Linna well. Sean is a good man and makes a good living, and he’ll likely be an elder one day. And Linna—I’d trust my own children with her. If they want to keep him, he could do no better.”

  “We want him,” Sean said. “Linna’s already named him. We’ll love him as our own. ’Twill be good to have a son.”

  “Then I suppose it’s settled,” Finn said.

  After the elders left the shop, Sean took Mairead’s arm and led her away. “Let me give ye some bread for your journey,” he offered. She smiled and nodded.

  Linna waited until Mairead was out of earshot and then spoke in a low whisper to Connor. “Have ye told her, lad? About Aine?”

  “She only knows as much as she needs to know.”

  Linna sighed. “Connor, the lass looks at ye with more affection than ye realize. She’d understand.”

  “It’s just a job, Linna.” He looked around the shop. “Your husband does well.”

  “He bakes for many of the inns in the district. We have everything we need. ’Twould do you good to build a life. Find a girl to settle down with.”

  “I have a life.”

  “Aye, and has it brought ye peace?” She took a step closer to him. “Aine is well, lad. She was hurt, and she cried for a fair season, but she’s well now. She has a family and a home and all she wanted. She wishes she—” She stopped. “She hates the way it ended. She regrets that she dinna forgive ye.”

  She has regrets? I have enough for both of us. “Forgiveness is a foolish notion. She owes me nothing.”

  She put a hand on his arm. “When ye’re done with this journey, come back for a bit. See how the lad is growing.”

  I can’t look at you without seeing Aine. “Perhaps.”

  Linna knew. “Then ’tis goodbye, aye?” She raised on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Alshada’s blessing’s on ye, Connor. And on your lady as well.”

  Mairead and Connor said their goodbyes and rode out of town in silence. “Linna is a lot like her mother,” Mairead
finally said as the town faded in the distance.

  “She is.”

  “Was Aine like her mother, too?”

  He turned to her. “I don’t know what you want to hear, but I have no confession to make to you, Mairead. This isn’t the sayada, and I’m not a supplicant.” He nudged his horse into a trot. Mairead fell in next to him, quiet. His conscience nagged him, and at last he slowed and spoke again, twisting the reins around his hands and keeping his eyes focused ahead. “What you did for that baby—that was a noble thing.”

  “Not noble. Necessary. It was the right thing. Anyone would have done the same.”

  “No, Mairead—not anyone.” He paused. “A whore’s child. He should have died. Many would wonder if you favored him or cursed him.”

  She frowned. “He’s a child. How is it a curse to save him?”

  “You can’t save them all.”

  “But we saved that one.” She reined in. “What’s really bothering you? You’re not so callous that you would have let that child die if I hadn’t been there.”

  He wasn’t so sure. If you hadn’t been there, I would have been with a woman or a merchant or a group of soldiers, and I never would have noticed. Or I would have ignored it. “Why didn’t I hear the child before you? I’m the one who’s trained to be alert. And why didn’t I see that beggar in the last town, or the woman in the alley in Aileen and Donal’s village?”

  “Perhaps because you are trained to be alert to danger. Your senses are focused on other things. I’m trained to care for the needy. I just see different things.”

  “It bothers me.”

  “Why?”

  It bothers me because I’m noble, and I was raised noble, and I have lost that sense that my father and sisters had—the one that cares for those less fortunate. But he couldn’t say that. “We should stay out of the towns for a while. I want to make sure we lose any slavers who might want to take you.”

  “I don’t think slavers put that snake in the bed. I think it was the one who’s following us. I’ve decided I’m not worried. Alshada has his hand on us.”

  He grunted. “You won’t mind if I keep my sword sharp just in case he lets up for a moment, will you?”