22 Nights

by WINSTEAD JONES, LINDA

  There was no finesse in this joining, no laughter or sweet words. They’d had those things in the past, but this was a fierce and final fuck, a primal and sweaty urge they could not deny. Savyn moved within her fast and hard and deep, wonderfully deep. Leyla climaxed quickly, and so hard there were tears in her eyes. She almost screamed, even though not so far away there were sentinels and one pompous deputy minister preparing for departure, and a scream would surely bring them running. Since she could not scream, she cried, and when Savyn found release, he was crying, too.

  They were still joined. Wet, sweaty, disheveled, and weeping.

  He was crying because she was leaving him; she was crying because she’d ruined his life.

  Leyla had vowed long ago not to use her abilities lightly. She did not call upon her gifts to make her life easier, to get what she wanted, to make others do her bidding. It seemed evil to take a God-given gift and use it for her own comforts. And yet, what else could she do now?

  They parted slowly, and Savyn straightened his clothes and smoothed his hair. Heaven above, she loved his dark curls. Her own hair was midnight black and much too curly, but Savyn’s curls were soft and warm, like his eyes.

  Leyla raised her head from the carriage floor. “I need something to clean myself.”

  Savyn shook his head, and he did not smile. “No, I think you should leave here with something of me on you and in you, so perhaps you will remember me for a while.”

  She could tell him, honestly, that she would always remember him, that she would always have something of him with her, but that would not make his life any easier. Best that he think she did not care for anything but his talents as a lover.

  Not that he would remember.

  After she had straightened her clothing and smoothed her hair, which was easy enough since the mass of black curls was always in disarray, she left the carriage and stood before Savyn. She could see the hurt in his warm brown eyes, she could see the tremble of his lips. It had always been so easy to convince herself that he did not love her, even though he said the words easily. At this moment, she could see that she had broken his heart.

  Without hesitation, she reached up and touched his forehead. “Forget us,” she whispered. “Forget everything that happened between us in the past two years and three months. Forget words of love, forget whispered plans for a life we should’ve known we could never have. Live your life without me, Savyn, and be happy.”

  He slapped her hand away. “What are you doing? How dare you . . .”

  But it was too late. The deed was done. She watched as his eyes clouded for a moment, and he backed away from her. Savyn stumbled once, turned around in confusion, and then faced her again. “My Lady Hagan,” he said. “I’m . . . I’m . . .”

  She did not make him fumble with his words any longer. “The wheel looks fine,” she said in an emotionless voice. “And I do appreciate you repairing that door handle. We can’t have it falling off halfway to Arthes.” She gave him a cool smile. “I’ll see that you’re paid before I leave.”

  Savyn still looked a bit confused, but he would remember repairing the wheel and the handle, and though he would realize for a while that there were blank spots in his memory, eventually even that would fade. “Thank you, My Lady.”

  Leyla turned away so he would not see the tears in her eyes.

  “Safe journey, My Lady,” Savyn called after her.

  She did not respond. As she headed for the house, where she would make sure someone paid Savyn for his work before she made a last visit to her bedchamber to clean herself and perhaps even change clothes, she wished she could use her ability on herself. She wished with all her heart that she could make herself forget.

  Chapter Three

  GENERAL Tearlach Merin had marched through downpours of rain and sleet. He had battled soulless monsters that fought without fear or mercy. He had gone days without sleep and fought while blood poured down his forehead and into his eyes, all but blinding him.

  He could bear three weeks and a day bound to Belavalari Haythorne.

  His “wife” was dressed like a man but looked nothing like one. Her gentle curves were plain enough to see under the trousers and simple shirt she wore. A leather band had taken the place of the gold that had circled her brow last night, and she wore no womanly adornments. She had aged well—she had turned from a girl to a fine woman—and she was oddly appealing. She wasn’t traditionally beautiful, but there was—and always had been—something remarkable and commanding about her. Something undeniably interesting. That did not mean he would forgive her for lying to him, for deceiving him in so many ways he could not begin to list them all.

  When he looked past his anger, he could see the wisdom of the Turi custom, if the couple in question were actually man and wife. He’d seen many a broken couple in his life in the palace. He’d seen men and women who had once been close grow apart until they were all but strangers. A few of them would benefit from being forced to spend time with their spouses.

  But he and Bela had never truly been wed! She’d deceived him, and he had not even realized . . .

  “I suppose we must speak, on occasion,” she said, interrupting his reflection. “How have you been these past six years?” She sounded very cordial.

  “Fine,” he answered sharply. “You?”

  They sat on a large, flat rock in front of the Haythorne home. It was oddly shaped, fat and curving rather like a bean, and had probably been here much longer than the house. It was too large to move, and too beautiful to destroy. The flat top of the rock was littered with sparkling fissures in crimson and a deep shade of blue.

  “Very fine,” Bela said decisively. “My days are full and as I like them. I hunt, I take a turn at guarding the village, and I help to train the young ones, as they come of age, to use a sword. I’ve even done a bit of mining, though I found it not to my taste. My father has sought my counsel on more than one occasion, and I’ve assisted him in settling more than one dispute between the miners.”

  “And you got all this by losing your virginity,” he said with more than a hint of bitterness.

  She pursed her lips slightly. “In a way. I realize now that it was wrong of me to use you as I did, but I was so weary of being shopped about as a bride, bargained over and put on display and dressed each morning to flaunt my wares and try to attract the highest bidder, as if a woman’s bosom and the strength of her teeth were proper selling points. Losing my virginity made me less attractive to the men of the village. Men are very odd in that respect,” she said, as if the idea puzzled her.

  “Yes, I suppose they are,” Merin mumbled.

  “I declared my distaste for the state of marriage and all that came with it, and after a short while my family . . . gave in, if you will. They found it easiest to let me have my way, and as men were no longer beating down our door asking for my hand, it worked out well enough.” She looked much too pleased with herself, even though she was now paying for her scheme. As was he.

  “You came about none too soon, I must say,” she added. “My mother had even taken to trying to teach me how to smile properly. Can you imagine? Not too wide, not too shyly, please don’t show so many teeth . . . it was maddening.”

  Odd that she would say he had come along at the right time, when by her own admission any man with a penis would’ve sufficed. He did not ask her why she’d chosen him. “Should I apologize for ruining your plan and not making you a widow?” Merin asked, surprised that he not only heard but felt a hint of humor.

  “You really should,” Bela said, and then she smiled. It was the first real smile he had seen from her this time around, and it was as enchanting as ever, if wider than her mother would’ve preferred. “It was very thoughtless of you not to die a hero and leave me a grieving widow.”

  “If only I had known of your ploy. As in all other matters where you are concerned, I was ignorant.”

  Bela didn’t like the turn the discussion had taken. These matters of the past did
not flatter her in any way. Still, apparently there were things she wished to know of him. She gave him a sideways glance and narrowed her eyes, like a hawk homing in on its prey. “You said there was no chance of a child. I worried about the possibility for months, and yet you seem so certain that it could not have happened. How could you know there was no baby? Are you broken and unable to make babies? I have heard of such men. How very sad that must be for you.”

  Merin shook his head. “Bela, how can you be so worldly in some ways and so innocent in others?”

  “I am not innocent.” She sounded quite insulted.

  “There’s nothing wrong with innocence,” he said. “Most men prefer it in their women, at least to some degree.”

  “I care not what men prefer.”

  “That does not surprise me.”

  Tyman interrupted them, which was just as well. No good could come of this discussion.

  “There you are, you laggards.” The middle Haythorne sibling smiled widely, enjoying this debacle much too much. It was hard to believe this grinning young man had just last night held a sword to the back of Merin’s neck. “Do you think you’ll spend the next few weeks sitting about chatting? No! You must work together to prove that you can. You must help one another in one arduous task after another.”

  “What kind of arduous task?” Merin asked testily.

  “We’ll make it easy today. You two can weed Mama’s garden.”

  It didn’t sound too arduous to Merin, but Bela groaned. Her brother laughed and gave her a shove, and grudgingly she led Merin around the large house she called home. The walls were alternately gray stone and wooden plank, as if it had been built piecemeal and with whatever supplies were available at the time. It was a nice enough house, a warm enough home. He supposed it was his home, too, for the next twenty-two days.

  When they arrived at their destination, he understood why Bela had groaned. Mama’s “garden” spread as far as the eye could see, and thanks to spring rains it was dotted with more weeds than he could count.

  Bela rolled up her sleeves and smiled. “What’s the matter, General? Afraid to get your hands dirty?”

  * * *

  LEYLA made them all wait. Deputy Minister Bragg and the three sentinels who would serve as escorts were standing beside her carriage, waiting impatiently for her to join them so the journey could get under way. The carriage driver, who was necessary as she refused to travel on horseback, also stood waiting. She did not care that others had to wait. It had taken some time, but her eyes were dry and her body was clean. Her heart was hardened, as it needed to be.

  Her chaperone, Wybert’s elder cousin so many times removed it was a gift of charity to call her a relation, followed Leyla with a labored step. The busty Mistress Hilde was already breathing heavily, overexerted from the trip down the stairs. Deputy Bragg had insisted that a chaperone was not necessary, but in the world Leyla had made her own, a female companion—even one she did not like—was necessary. A lady did not travel with none but five men for company. It simply wasn’t done.

  Leyla was surprised to see Savyn standing with the others. When she’d first exited the house, she hadn’t seen him, because he stood more behind Bragg than beside him. Her heart skipped a beat. Had her ability not worked properly? Was her lover here to make a scene in front of everyone? He should remember nothing!

  But as she drew near, Savyn simply bowed as all the others did. He didn’t even look her in the eye.

  He’d come to check the newly repaired carriage wheel, that was all. Leyla convinced herself of that fact as Bragg took her hand and assisted her into the coach. He then took Hilde’s chubby hand and held it until she was seated. Hilde huffed and moaned with the exertion. Yes, it was going to be a long trip.

  Through the window, Leyla was horrified to see Savyn speak to a sentinel and then mount his own horse.

  “Deputy,” she snapped.

  Bragg turned to face her, visibly weary and more than ready to begin the long journey. “Yes, M’Lady?”

  “The wheelwright.” She pointed discreetly. “It looks as if he’s joining us.” Her mouth went so dry she was afraid her words had been affected.

  Bragg glanced over his shoulder. “Yes, he is.”

  Leyla felt as if her heart climbed into her throat. “May I ask why?”

  “If you have any objection to the boy traveling with us . . .”

  “No,” Leyla said quickly. Her objection would only cause a scene, which she did not want to do. “I’m merely curious.”

  Bragg shrugged his shoulders. “Savyn approached me last week and said that he’d like to go to Arthes and study with some of the blacksmiths there. The most skilled swordmakers in the world reside in the capital city, and he wishes to learn. He’s a bright young man, and I was impressed by what he showed me of his work. I’m sure he’ll do well in Arthes.”

  “That’s very ambitious of him,” Leyla said as she moved away from the window and leaned back.

  “Very,” Bragg agreed, before tipping his hat and moving to his own horse.

  Savyn had asked to join the party before she’d used her gift to make him forget. He knew her too well, and even though he had argued with her on several occasions, he’d realized all along that she would not stay here. He knew she did not change her mind. Often.

  “I don’t like him,” Hilde said bitterly.

  “Who is that?” Leyla asked absently. She couldn’t be sure, since in her experience Hilde didn’t like anyone.

  “Deputy Minister Bragg. He has small eyes and a thin mouth. Such people are not to be trusted.”

  The carriage jerked and was under way as Leyla looked to her stepson’s cousin. “I did not know you could judge who to trust and who not to trust by the shape of the mouth or the size of the eyes.”

  Hilde’s own small eyes narrowed. “Don’t be insolent.”

  Leyla considered reaching over and touching the unpleasant woman on the forehead. And then what? She could influence decisions, she could make people forget, she could sway them to her way of thinking. But could she change who a person was at the pit of their soul? She didn’t think so. Hilde was bitter deep down, and there was nothing to be done for that. Wybert had surely suggested his cousin for this chore as one last punishment for his step-mother.

  “Your outfit is not entirely proper,” Hilde said sharply. “You should wear only black or gray. That blue is disgraceful. It’s much too bright a shade for a widow.”

  Leyla thought of the more respectable gray traveling ensemble she had left lying across her bed, still smelling of Savyn. “I have been a widow for five years. I am no longer required to mourn.”

  Hilde harrumphed. “Most women don’t have to be instructed to mourn their deceased husbands.”

  Leyla wondered if she could reach out, touch Hilde’s forehead, and convince the surly chaperone that she could no longer speak.

  No, this was her punishment for making so many mistakes. She should’ve run away long ago instead of allowing herself to enter into a marriage which was strictly trade. She should’ve insisted on love. She never should’ve taken a younger man as a lover, or believed that she could have one wonderful thing of beauty for herself. For all those mistakes, she was being punished.

  BELA didn’t mind weeding, though it was not her favorite chore and there was an abundance of weeds in her mother’s garden. Still, being so close to General Merin was true torture. She felt as if she should apologize to him for all she’d done, but in truth she was not sorry and she never apologized. Merin was in a terrible situation, and it was all her fault. He had done nothing but believe her lies.

  Odd thoughts, since just last night she had been prepared to take his head because he’d hurt her. He’d hurt her by leaving six years ago, which was silly, because she’d wanted him to leave and they had been caught up in a war that had demanded he leave. And still she’d felt abandoned. She was usually not so indecisive!

  Her mother had brought them wine and meat and dried fi
gs at midday, along with a large ewer of water. Starving by that time, she and Merin had both eaten ravenously before continuing with their chore. The rope made it necessary for them to work side by side, but it gave them enough room to work independently. Just enough. They didn’t speak much, which was awkward but likely not as awkward as trying to carry on a conversation would’ve been.

  Even though Merin was a general, he didn’t seem appalled to be asked to participate in something so common as weeding a garden. In fact, he looked as if he had done this before. He gripped the unwanted growths just so, and always pulled the root as well as the greenery above ground. He never pulled at one of the small young plants, confusing them with weeds. Yes, he had definitely done this before, which she found odd. She supposed that before this, she’d imagined he’d been born with a sword in his hand and a command on his lips.

  Born a leader, just as she had been born a misfit.

  Toward the end of the day he stood and stretched his long, large body, raising his arms over his head and working out the knotted muscles. Bela did the same. Sufficiently stretched, she looked down at her hands and noted the dirt beneath her fingernails and the mud that was dotted here and there to the elbow.

  “There’s a creek just beyond that hill.” She pointed. “We can wash our hands there.”

  “Great.” Merin headed in that direction. “I haven’t been this filthy in years.” Bela had to rush to keep the rope that joined them from pulling taut and possibly yanking her to the ground. She was tall for a woman, but was nowhere near as tall as her “husband.” His legs were long and strong, and he did not seem inclined to slow his pace on her account.

  Bela had convinced herself that she’d chosen Merin to take her virginity because he was the most powerful and the most likely to die, in her opinion. After all, he’d already been injured, and had a number of scars which marked him as . . . well . . . careless or unlucky or both. But in truth, she had admired his physical form from the start. He was a fine example of manhood, from his curly hair to his pretty face to his long body to the large appendage with which he had made her squeal.