22 Nights

by WINSTEAD JONES, LINDA

  Her arm circled his waist and she sighed. Her head fell against his shoulder, and a mass of black curls tickled his cheek. Soon one of her fine legs was draped over his, and they were entangled as lovers might be.

  While she slept, he kissed her pale and perfect cheek, being very careful not to wake her. His arms wrapped around her. His swollen cock was so close to her entrance that with a shift of clothing and a swaying of his body, he could be inside her.

  But fantasies or no, he could not even dream of such a joy. And yet, when he did finally sleep, that is exactly where his dreams took him.

  TRINITY came across the sleeping couple not long after the sun rose. They’d left a trail a child could follow, and he had not been a child for a very long time.

  The two slept entangled, clinging to one another, no doubt in search of safety and comfort. The woman was, as he had imagined, beautiful. Even though he could see only a mass of black hair and the curve of a pale cheek, he could tell. She was fine, in that way wealthy and pampered women were, but she also had an earthy and real beauty which would’ve shone through no matter what her class.

  The man who held her was more common in his manner of dress. It was easy to judge a person’s station by their shoes, he had found. The lady wore finely crafted boots which were adorned with fancy stitching. The man wore sturdy but plain boots which marked him as a craftsman or a shopkeeper. He was not a poor beggar, but neither was he a lordly gentleman.

  And yet they held on to one another as if they were very well acquainted. Fear did strange things to people.

  He could kill them both while they slept. It would be quick and easy, and with his speed and accuracy they would never suffer. They would never know what had happened, if he dispatched them in that way. But Trinity had gone far beyond quick and easy where this job was concerned. The next few days could be very entertaining.

  He cared nothing about the man, and would be glad to kill him outright and take the woman for himself, but if he killed the man now, Lady Leyla would know and despise him for it, and that was not the game Trinity had planned.

  When the couple woke, they might be startled to see him here, but they would not recognize him. Trinity wore a fine suit of clothes very much unlike his normal simple attire, and thanks to a strong batch of black tea brewed with the leaves of a yar bush and carefully applied, his long hair was now more brown than gray. Most of his weapons were concealed in his saddlebags, one of which was a long, sturdy case capable of carrying and concealing his sword. He wore a small dagger at his waist, something any well-to-do traveler might carry. He had plastered a smile on his face miles back and practiced a vapid expression until it felt natural to him.

  If they had seen him at all during the attack, it had been at a distance, and he had been moving very quickly. His gray hair was his most memorable feature, except for his pale eyes, and neither of them had been close enough to see his eyes.

  “Hello,” Trinity called in a friendly voice as he approached the sleeping couple. He led his horse behind him, and together they made much noise. If he had wished to do so, he could’ve moved toward the sleeping couple without making a sound, but that was not the game.

  Trinity loved the game.

  The couple on the ground came awake quickly and as one, remaining entwined as they sat up and turned to the intruder. Trinity took a deep breath. Yes, this was her, and she was more attractive awake than sleeping. Her eyes were a remarkable blue, and she had the even and perfect features of a woman who had always been, and would always be, exquisitely beautiful. Men had fought for such beautiful women for centuries.

  The man scrambled to his feet, placing himself protectively in front of Lady Leyla. “Who are you, and what do you want?” Now that he got a good look at the man, Trinity realized the lady’s protector was not much more than a boy, scruffy beard aside. Surely he had not seen his thirtieth birthday.

  Nor would he.

  “I’m just a traveler, like yourselves,” Trinity said, his smile remaining in place. “Trinity. Cayse Trinity is the name.” He might’ve give them a false name, but for what purpose? They would both soon be dead, and he rather longed to hear a pretty woman speak his name again. It had been a long time. When they did not offer names, he continued. “And you are?”

  The boy offered a hand to Lady Leyla and assisted her to her feet. “My name is Savyn Leone, and this is my wife, Leyla.”

  Even if he had not known who they were, he would’ve known this simple boy was not married to the fine woman who stood beside and behind him. They were not of a class, for one thing. She outshone him. Still, it would not be wise to reveal his knowledge. “Pleasure to meet you,” Trinity said with an outstretched hand to show that he wielded no weapon. “Where are you headed?”

  Savyn offered his own hand, but the woman did not. She cowered. “We travel to a village to the east,” he said. “We have family there.”

  “I am headed in that direction myself,” Trinity said, as if he were pleasantly surprised. “I do not see a horse nearby. Are you afoot?”

  “Yes, we are.”

  “Perhaps your wife would like to ride.”

  Lady Leyla shook her head. She had not recognized him, but neither did she trust him. The boy was less certain.

  Savyn turned to her. “You should ride while you can. The trip will be much easier for you.”

  She was easy enough to convince. Of course she was. Lady Leyla was not accustomed to walking for hours on end, or running from danger.

  Trinity allowed Savyn to assist Leyla onto the horse. Gano accepted the unfamiliar rider with ease. The glance the two who had run from him exchanged made him wonder if there wasn’t more going on here than was obvious. The boy was infatuated, that was certain. But what of Lady Leyla? Why did she look at the boy so? She was frightened and this boy was her protector, the one she relied on to keep her safe. That was it, surely.

  Once properly seated, Leyla smoothed her wild black curls and straightened her once-fine blue skirt. Yes, she was definitely a lady, poised and accustomed to the saddle and elegant, even in her current disheveled condition.

  “I’ve been traveling alone for quite some time,” Trinity said as they set out at a leisurely pace. It was necessary to walk single file as they left the copse of trees, and he remained at the rear, where he could watch his prey. “I long for friendly conversation.” As he said the words, he realized they were true, at least in part. He had no friends. Friends always died, and that was painful, so he had given them up long ago. He worked alone. Whom could he trust but himself? “How long have you two been married?”

  “We are newly wed,” Savyn said, lying so smoothly that Trinity was impressed.

  “How very sweet,” Trinity said as they finally left the thick growth and made their way toward the rough road in the near distance. As they no longer had to walk in single file, Trinity made his way forward so he could see Leyla’s face. Her chin was lifted, and she kept her eyes straight ahead. She possessed an air of superiority, but there was a deep sadness in her eyes that made her more real than other women of her station. He wondered why she looked as sad as she did scared. Maybe he would find out before he took her life. Maybe not.

  Leyla was much more real and appealing than the lady who had hired him to kill her, that was certain.

  BELA found herself humming a gentle tune as they climbed. She was happy, and why shouldn’t she be? She loved the majestic beauty of the mountains, and she loved to tread on this ground where so few had been. Even the physical exertion of climbing was exhilarating. Her body ached, but it was a good sort of ache. Not many women could make this climb, but she could.

  Had this forbidden mountain accepted them? She did not feel as anxious as she had the last time she walked this path. She did not feel as if she did not belong, as she had then. Maybe they were welcomed here because they had Kitty in their keeping—or, rather, Kitty had them.

  As they had yesterday, they took turns leading the way, Bela directing Merin whe
n he was in the lead. They came upon a fork in the path. She was following him, and the view was very nice. Since he was often above her as well as ahead, she had a good view of his ass. Until recently she had never found a man’s rear appealing, but Merin’s was nicely tight and, like the rest of him, perfectly shaped.

  While the truth had been hard to accept, she no longer fought. She loved Tearlach Merin, and it was possible that he loved her, at least a little. Otherwise, he would not have hesitated last night when she’d asked him if he loved her. A man who felt no love at all would’ve uttered a quick denial. Merin had needed a moment to think.

  Bela had been drawn to this man from the moment she’d seen him, so many years ago. She’d wanted him, used him, hated him, and deceived him. She’d threatened him with bodily harm and, yes, shed a few silent and secret tears because of him. Had she always loved him? Had she been fighting these inconvenient and strong and fabulous and heartbreaking emotions for years?

  It was so unlike her to long for anything and not simply take it.

  The journey was not easy, but it was pleasant enough and they were as prepared as possible. It would be impossible to carry their swords as they usually did, hanging from their belts, so Kitty hung against Bela’s back, where she could not swing and catch stone. Merin’s sword was carried in much the same way. Against those leather-encased swords they each carried a pack of supplies. Food. Waterskins. Blankets. A small and serviceable knife. Flint and steel for fire, when they had access to wood. All that they needed for this journey was in these packs.

  Kitty had been silent all day, and that was just as well. Bela felt as if she needed time to think about what might come next without being constantly reminded that she needed Merin, which seemed to be Kitty’s only contribution of late.

  As they climbed, her mind took her to terrifying and impossible places. Her thoughts spun, disjointed and uncertain. How could she proceed? How could she make her husband love her?

  Love. She’d never thought she’d desire it for herself, not in this way. Bela did not want to be beholden to a man, or anyone else. She did not want obligations or commitments. And yet now, after a relatively short time bound to Merin, she wanted very much to commit herself to him. Just as strongly, she wanted him to commit himself to her.

  “It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?” she asked as she took a few quick steps to bring herself to Merin’s side. They were on a wide, flat patch of stone where it was possible to walk side by side.

  “Yes,” he answered without looking at her. He had not bothered with shaving implements for this journey, and already his beard was coming in. He looked rather rough, with all that dark stubble. He looked very manly and fierce.

  “The Turis began in these mountains,” she said, attempting to start a genial conversation. “Perhaps not here on Forbidden Mountain, but farther to the north, we began.” She pointed. “According to legend, the first Turis were born of stone, snow, and sunlight.”

  “Hard, cold, and hot,” Merin muttered. “Sounds right to me.”

  Bela found herself smiling. “General Tearlach Merin, are you trying to pick a fight with me?”

  “Of course not.”

  “You are.”

  “You’re usually quite eager to argue,” he said almost bitterly.

  “I suppose that’s true, but I don’t feel like arguing today.” Bela took a deep breath of the fine mountain air. Perhaps nothing grew here, perhaps this was not a livable or comfortable mountain, but it did have its own beauty. “It’s odd, since Nobel’s demands are so annoying, and it looks as if we’ll end up at war with him and his men, and an emperor I have never seen wishes to inspect me and perhaps make me an empress, which would be agony, and you refuse to admit that you love me a little, and . . .”

  “You’re turning into a woman,” Merin said sharply, obviously still trying to get a rise out of her. Did he think constant argument would make her want him less?

  “You have taught me that there are worse curses in life than womanhood,” she said sweetly. “Perhaps it is even a blessing, in some respects.”

  He turned to glare at her with exquisite dark eyes that made her heart do strange things. She had never realized that eyes could be so sensual, so alluring . . . so telling.

  “Blast it all,” Merin snapped, “I want the old Bela back. Threaten to take my head. Tell me you wish to be a widow. Let me hear your anger echo through the hills. Torture me, but not like this!”

  “Do I misunderstand you?” Bela asked in a rational voice. “When I’m nice to you, it’s torture?”

  “Yes!”

  That was a good sign, she decided. “Then I shall do my best to be unpleasant for the remainder of the day. Just for you, Merin. It’s my turn to lead.” She rushed ahead of him, making it imperative that he run to keep up with her, since the rope that bound them together was not so very long. Soon they were in a shaded, narrow passage where the sun did not touch them. As she climbed upward, stepping onto and over jagged stone, Bela smiled and wondered if Merin was admiring her ass.

  Chapter Nine

  LEYLA did not trust the stranger who traveled with them all day, chattering about the weather and his potmaking business and how he’d disliked his life as a farmer’s son. The man who called himself Trinity said nothing alarming, and his words sounded sincere enough, and heaven knows she was glad to be able to ride for this leg of the journey.

  But she did not trust him, not at all. At the moment she trusted no one but Savyn. The man said he was a potmaker, but he had no pots. He explained that he’d sold all of his supply and was headed home to make more, before setting out to travel the countryside and sell them once again. That could very well be true, she supposed.

  She and Savyn both looked behind them often during the day, trying to be surreptitious so their companion would not realize they were worried about who might be behind them. Were they still being followed, or had the killer taken a wrong turn? One wrong turn, and he would no longer be a problem, not unless he decided to backtrack and found himself on this road. Maybe they were safer as a party of three, no matter if she trusted Cayse Trinity or not.

  Clouds had been rolling in all day, and in the late afternoon sprinkles fell from the sky. The light rainfall felt good, and Leyla lifted her face to catch the drops on her skin. Judging by the dark clouds, they would soon have much more than a sprinkle to contend with. When they rounded a bend in the road and saw the hut which had been partially built into a small, rolling hill, it seemed like a godsend. There was no sign of life around the place, other than the wildflowers and weeds which grew tall. One side of the hut and a portion of the roof had fallen in. The hut looked deserted and was perhaps home to rodents or other small animals. But most of the roof remained, and they would soon be in need of that shelter.

  “Perhaps we should wait out the coming storm there,” Trinity suggested.

  Savyn looked up at Leyla, a silent question in his eyes. They would have to spend the night somewhere, and if there was a storm headed their way, this crumbling haven would be better than any campsite. She nodded once, and then Savyn agreed with Trinity and they headed in that direction.

  Before they reached the shelter, the rain began to fall harder than before. It fell in Leyla’s eyes and quickly soaked her dress, and her hair stuck to her skin. Rain soaked into the ground and released the scent of grass and dirt and spring storms. Leyla was doubly glad of their rough sanctuary when she heard thunder rumble in the distance. She did not care for storms, and lighting made her blood dance in strange ways.

  Savyn assisted her from the saddle, and the two of them ran to the door of the hut, which hung crookedly, more off its hinges than on. Trinity took charge of his horse and led the stallion to an overhang on one side of the hut—the side that had not fallen in—an overhang perhaps intended for such a purpose. He spoke softly to the horse he lovingly called Gano, and that eased some of Leyla’s fears. A man who loved animals could not be all bad.

  It took all of Sa
vyn’s strength to lift the wooden door and slide it aside so they could slip into the hut, which at first sight Leyla realized had indeed been long abandoned, except for the small animals which had sometimes nested here—though not today. The furnishings consisted of one broken chair and a few pieces of what had once been a table. There was a stone fireplace which was crumbling but looked functional. Dirt and dust spoke of years of abandonment, but the fact that some of the filth and cobwebs had been disturbed revealed that other travelers had stopped here for rest or shelter, though not very often.

  While Trinity was seeing to his horse and they were alone, Leyla turned to Savyn. There was just a bit of light coming through the broken wall and the off-kilter door. Savyn was scruffy and dirty and wet, just as she was, and the only thing that soothed her was looking into his eyes. He had forgotten everything; she had forgotten nothing.

  She was about to tell Savyn that she didn’t trust Trinity when the man who had joined them this morning entered the hut and shook off his wet hat with a laugh. “Good fortune, finding this shelter. We can stay here until the storm passes. Looking at the sky, I’d say we might be here all night.” He walked to the fireplace. “Perhaps we could build a fire, if we can find a bit of dry wood.” He eyed the chair and what was left of the table. “Wet as we are, I’d prefer to sit on the floor and have a warm fire, given the choice. What about you, Leyla?”

  “A fire would be nice,” she said.

  Trinity set about breaking apart the chair. They would need a tool of some sort—an ax, perhaps—to cut the thick wood of the table into small pieces which would fit in the hearth. Leyla shuddered as she thought of the last ax she’d seen, remembering the attacker and the way he had wielded his weapon in such a deadly manner.

  Savyn offered to help, but Trinity smiled and with a wink told them to rest. He was quite talented at starting a fire, using bits of straw from the floor as kindling and building up the smaller pieces of the chair before taking a flint from his pocket and making a spark which lit the kindling. Now and then his hands moved so fast they were almost a blur, and Leyla shuddered. The killer had moved just so, unnaturally fast.