22 Nights

by WINSTEAD JONES, LINDA

  When his head was bandaged and it seemed the bleeding had stopped, she ripped strips from her underskirt and laid them near the fire to dry. Perhaps by morning she would have a more suitable bandage. When that was done, she placed her head on Savyn’s chest. He was much too heavy for her to move—just taking off his shirt had been a struggle—and now and then a bit of rain came through the door and landed upon them. But they had the light of the fire, and Trinity was gone, and they were both alive.

  The strain of using so much of her power had sapped Leyla’s strength, and even though her heart and her shoulder were in agony, she passed out with her cheek pressed to Savyn’s heart.

  BELA woke with the sun, as usual. Her head rested on Merin’s chest, and her hand was nestled between his thighs. It was only fair, since his hand was resting quite comfortably on her right breast. He slept on, and she did not disturb him. Not yet.

  In was in Bela’s nature to take what she wanted. Whether it was sneaking into Tyman’s room at night and borrowing his practice sword or lying to a handsome general in order to lose her bothersome virginity, Bela was like a bull when it came to getting what she desired.

  She was twenty-three years old and just now learning that some things could not be taken. Some valuable things had to be earned, they had to be won in a gentle battle. Merin would have to be won. Love would come only at the end of an ardent, persistent battle.

  Was she prepared to fight? Was she prepared to risk anything and everything?

  More important, was she willing to be patient? She could, given the current state of affairs, wake Merin most agreeably and take the pleasures of their bodies entwined. He fought the concept of love, but his body wanted hers. He wanted her very much. But if she did that, if she tricked him again, he might never forgive her.

  Belavalari Haythorne had never been known for her abundance of patience.

  No, she was rightly Belavalari Merin at the moment, was she not? Wife of Tearlach, daughter of the chieftain Valeron, potential mother of the children of a hero. Together she and Merin would make fine, strong sons and daughters.

  If she could make him love her.

  Merin awoke not long after her, and his hand flew from her breast as if her skin were on fire. “Sorry,” he muttered, sleep still in his morning-hoarse voice.

  “No need to apologize,” she said as she removed her hand from between his thighs.

  “We should arrive at our destination this afternoon,” he said, turning directly to business, trying to dismiss their closeness. Perhaps trying to dismiss his own desires.

  “Yes, we should.” Bela sat beside him and admired the view from their place so high in the world. “I’m anxious to explore that area where Kitty was found. Would you kiss me? ”

  “What?” He was surprised by the bold and unexpected question.

  “Kiss me,” she said. “If you wouldn’t mind. I’ve never been kissed, except for last time you were here, and I’ve almost forgotten what it was like. Besides, I had lied to you then, so it was not a true and righteous kiss. I do remember it as being pleasant, and I thought while we are still married and there’s no one around to see . . .”

  “It’s not a good idea,” Merin said gruffly.

  “I know,” she said, looking him in the eye. “But after you’ve left us, I do not want to regret not taking a proper kiss when the opportunity presented itself.”

  “Fine,” he said, not at all in the mood for a kiss by her reckoning. He grabbed the back of her head and pulled her toward him and coolly pressed his mouth to hers very briefly before pulling away.

  It was not enough.

  “That is not as I remembered,” she said.

  With a sound very much like a grunt, Merin pulled her mouth to his again and delivered a much more proper kiss. His wonderfully full mouth was warm and tender, and it lingered against hers. His beard was rough, but she liked the feel of it brushing against her tender skin. Bela found her lips parting of their own accord, as if inviting more. In response, Merin gave her more. A tip of the tongue, a nip of the lower lip, a movement she felt to her bones.

  Her body instinctively swayed toward his, and she rested her hand on his thigh, where it seemed to fall quite naturally. She tilted her head, inviting more, and for an all too brief moment, Merin gave her more.

  And then it was done.

  “I felt that kiss everywhere,” she said honestly. “Still do.” She rested a hand on her chest. “Kissing was not nearly so pleasant last time, perhaps because I was so ignorant of what might come next.”

  “We must go,” Merin said gruffly, rolling to his feet and grabbing for his blanket.

  “Yes, I suppose we must.” Standing languidly, Bela stretched her muscles and faced the morning with a smile. “What a lovely day it’s going to be.”

  Chapter Ten

  FORBIDDEN Mountain was alternately rocky and forested, with periods of hard climbing combined with easier hours of crossing shallow creeks and walking gentle natural paths beneath ancient trees. As Merin had been told, there were no animals here, neither large nor small. That alone gave the mountain an unnatural feel, though he could not say he felt any trepidation or unease on this mountain that was said to be so unwelcoming.

  Other than the occasional possibility of a nasty fall, there was not much to reckon with in the way of danger, he thought as he climbed, unless he could count kissing Bela. That had definitely been dangerous. Too bad there wasn’t more peril along this journey. He was sure a good sword fight or tussle with a mountain lion would make him feel much better. It would, at least, take his mind off a more immediate problem.

  Bela. Bela was his problem. He’d been more comfortable when she’d threatened to take his head, when she’d seemed to hate him for not dying six years ago, as she’d planned. Now she smiled at him often, and she asked for kisses and she talked about love as any other woman might.

  No, not as any other woman. Bela presented all she thought and felt without pretense, without a put-on shyness or uncertainty. She said what she felt and asked the same of him.

  He could not tell her that her very presence was driving him to the brink of insanity, that the braided rope which bound them seemed to grow shorter and more binding every day. He could not tell her that he had suffered fantasies of keeping her as his wife, even though he knew he could not, should not . . . no, could not.

  Emperor Jahn had become a much better emperor than Merin had thought he could be in those early days. The man who had once seemed to be practically worthless had become a fair and kind ruler. Jahn had his quirks. This ridiculous bridal contest proved that well enough. Still, he was emperor, and if Merin returned and informed Jahn that the woman he’d been sent to fetch was his wife . . . he would not be pleased.

  Why do you care about pleasing an emperor more than you care about pleasing yourself? Kitty whispered.

  Merin sighed. He did wish whatever power gave the sword life would get out of his head. Was nothing private?

  Nothing. Hope, fear, desire, love, hate, shame—it bounces about the universe like wildfire. Those emotions and the actions that follow them create the world you live in, the world I live in for now.

  Merin glanced back at Bela, and she smiled. If she heard Kitty’s words, she gave no sign. It was damned odd that the power in the sword could choose to speak to both of them or only to one. Merin did not much like being so closely connected to a magic he could not entirely explain—a force which might be much more powerful than he or Bela or any among the Turis realized.

  Kitty went silent. Was she sulking? And when had he started thinking of the weapon as “she” instead of “it”? He had lost control of his life in so many ways . . .

  A clatter of rocks not far behind them alerted Merin that someone or something else was nearby. A muffled curse told him it was a man—or men—who followed. Miners? There were not supposed to be any Turi miners this far to the south, but perhaps they were lost or exploring, searching for another plot of rich land on this for
bidden mountain. Nobel or his men? Probably not. Dishonest and greedy as the man who wished to wed Bela was, he’d seemed pleased enough with their agreement. Still, he was not a man to be trusted, so anything was possible. Who else would dare to follow them here?

  Merin scrambled to a flat expanse of rock and unsheathed the sword he wore against his back. He dropped his pack to the ground, and Bela, who had surely heard the sounds, smoothly did the same. She dropped her sack of supplies and drew Kitty, whose grip shone brightly—perhaps brighter than before. The sword also emitted a keening noise, a sharp sound of excitement and preparation.

  Moments earlier Merin had wished for trouble to distract him. It appeared that trouble was coming.

  WHEN Leyla woke, it was late afternoon, she could tell, by the slant of sunlight coming through the broken door and the fallen wall. The fire had died, the rain had stopped, and Savyn’s heart continued to beat, strong and steady.

  She rose and placed her hand on his face, rubbing gently against his rough beard. There had been many times in her life when she’d wished she had no powers, no gifts which made her different. This moment was the only time she had ever wished to have a different gift. If she were a healer, she could take away Savyn’s wound, she could undo what Trinity had done.

  As she caressed his face, Savyn stirred and opened his eyes. He did not look at her, but shifted his gaze to the side. He had never been afraid to look her in the eye. Did he blame her for what had happened? Did he hate her for bringing him into this situation which had almost killed him?

  “Where is he?” Savyn asked, sitting up sharply, then gasping in pain as he placed a hand against his bandaged head.

  “Gone,” Leyla whispered.

  Savyn wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, all but crushing her to his body. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No.”

  “Are you certain he’s gone?” Savyn held her too tightly, but she didn’t mind. In fact, she reveled in the sensation of his arms around her. She stroked the back of his head as he said, “I won’t let him hurt you. I swear on my honor, I will die before I let him hurt you.”

  Leyla’s heart skipped a beat. Thanks to her, Savyn could not remember what they’d once had. He should not be so intent on protecting her. He should not say these words which spoke so clearly of love and possession.

  She rested her head against his shoulder. “You know I have a gift,” she said.

  “Yes.” His answer was soft, as if he were reluctant to admit that he knew. Perhaps now that he did not remember their intimacy, he was afraid of her and what she could do, as so many others were.

  “I used my ability to make Trinity go away.” Leyla stroked Savyn’s thick, unwieldy bandage, even though she knew she should move away from him. “He won’t come back. We are no longer in danger. He even left his horse and all that was with it, so when we leave here, we can ride to town. No more walking for us,” she said, trying to lighten her voice.

  “We can set out in the morning,” Savyn said. “You will ride and I will walk, so we don’t put too much strain on the animal.”

  “You will ride alone or we will both ride,” she said, her voice leaving no room for argument. “You’ve been hurt. I will have it no other way.” She tried to move away, but he was holding her too close. “Why wait here all day?” she asked. “I hate this place.” Trinity had revealed himself here; Savyn had been injured and almost killed here. She wanted only to escape.

  “We need only wait until after the sun rises,” Savyn said, and as she had done for him, he ran his strong hands against the back of her head in a comforting gesture. “We cannot very well travel down the road in the pitch-black of night.”

  A chill walked down Leyla’s spine. The hut was dimly lit, but there was plenty of sunlight coming through the fallen wall and the door and the holes in the roof; there was more than enough to light the interior of their rough shelter. Pitch black? She pulled away and took Savyn’s face in her hands, being careful of the wound on the side of his head. His eyes were unfocused. He was looking at her, and yet—he was not.

  “Savyn, can you see me at all?”

  “No,” he said. “It’s much too dark. I can’t see anything at all.”

  Leyla closed her eyes tight and fought back tears. Crying would not help the situation. “Savyn,” she said gently, “my dear Savyn, it is no longer night. The sun shines. I fear the blow to your head . . .”

  “Do not tease me, Lady Leyla.”

  She took his hand, a hand she knew so well, and moved it into the warm sunlight that shone through the partially opened door. “Do you feel that?” she asked. “Do you feel the warmth of the sun?”

  Savyn was very still for a long moment, and then he said, “I feel it. Why is everything so dark? Why can’t I see? ”

  Once again, Leyla wrapped her arms around Savyn, and this time it was she who held too tight. Perhaps this was a temporary effect of the injury, but it might also be permanent. They would not know for quite some time. “The blow to your head has taken your sight.”

  She wondered if the pain she’d inflicted on Trinity was enough to make him pay for what he’d done. At the moment, she suspected not.

  THREE men came around a sharp turn in the path and were surprised to see Bela and Merin waiting for them; armed and ready. Bela’s mind worked quickly. The three rough-looking men were not Turi, and they were not dressed like the miners who worked on the mountains north of Turi lands. They were armed, but had stored their knives and swords for the climb, as she and Merin had done.

  Merin did not presume to force her to stand behind him as though she were a defenseless female, though he did manage to place himself a bit more in the forefront. And it was he who asked, “Who are you, and what do you want? ”

  For a moment the three men were very still, and then one of them, the one in the middle, said in a lowered voice, “That’s her.”

  Bela sighed. They were here for her. What now? Merin, an emperor, Nobel, and now this.

  The men were obviously heartened by the odds—three men against one man and one woman—but they were ignorant to be comforted by their greater numbers. Bela was no ordinary woman, and Tearlach Merin was no ordinary man.

  The three who had been following rushed forward, drawing their weapons as they ran, screaming a coarse sort of war cry that might’ve been meant to strike terror into the hearts of their intended victims. This section of the mountain was rough and rocky, but was also blessed with occasional large expanses of fairly flat ground. The landscape was sufficient for fighting, though Bela made a mental note not to move too far to her left as she fought, as there was a sharp drop just a few feet away.

  And if she went over that edge, Merin would fall with her. They remained bound, and to undo the rope would mean remaining married. She had no problem with that, but she wasn’t sure about Merin. She had tricked him enough, in the name of what she wanted. She would not do so again; they would have to remain attached as they fought.

  Merin stepped forward and took on the man in the lead, sword to sword. The second and third men came toward Bela. She was their intended target, so it made sense, she supposed, to send the greater number to her. Kitty shone brightly as metal met metal, and the men seemed to be surprised yet again. That surprise made her certain they were not Nobel’s men, nor were they here for the magical sword. For some reason, they wanted to kill her.

  She was quick and well trained, and Kitty was remarkable in battle. Sparks flew, the tip of the sword moved with precision to cut flesh, the strength of the blade kept metal from finding and cutting Bela’s skin.

  Merin quickly dispatched the man who had been foolish enough to take him on, and then the second man who fought Bela moved his attention to Merin, as the other, the man who was so obviously in charge, remained before Bela, his sword swinging and thrusting with some measure of skill.

  Joined, and careful in their movements because of that restriction, Merin and Bela soon stood back to back, fighting wit
hout words, without hesitation. The men they battled were skilled swordsmen. Otherwise the fight would’ve ended very quickly. These were not common highwaymen who were lost, but were well-trained combatants. They were also very determined.

  Merin killed his opponent with an impressive and well-placed swing of his sword, and Bela was momentarily distracted. The man who seemed determined to kill her took that moment to swing mightily and knock Kitty out of Bela’s hand. The magical sword soared, her grip shining brightly as she flew. As Kitty hit the ground and spun out of Bela’s reach, the potential killer’s sword came up, and the blade touched Bela’s throat.

  At that same moment, Merin turned and placed the tip of his sword at the remaining attacker’s side. “Move, and I’ll gut you,” he said.

  The response was quick. “Move, and this blade goes through her pretty throat.”

  The three of them stood very still for a long moment. A breeze wafted through, cool and refreshing, whipping Merin’s curls and the strands of hair that had come loose from Bela’s braid.

  “You cannot escape this,” Merin said, his voice rock solid and calm. “Walk away, and you can live.”

  The man who held a sword at Bela’s throat shook his head. “No, I must finish this job.”

  “Job?” Merin said. “This ill-advised attack is a job?”

  The man was losing his patience. He glanced at the bodies on the ground, and Bela could feel the increased pressure at her throat. The one remaining assailant was close to panic. A moment more, and she’d be dead.