He stalked closer. “We both know that’s a lie.”
Dillon might not want to hurt me, but Roland lacked such mercy in his heart or compassion for my plight. If I gave Dillon his name, Roland would kill the one thing he had I wanted, and he would own me for the rest of my life. Death was too mild a fate. I would suffer for my failures.
“You incapacitated Mason—somehow—and then you used the storm for cover to steal the salt.” He kept coming closer. “I don’t believe for a minute you’d think up something so stupid on your own. You know Harper. You know me. You knew even if Emma stepped between us, he would demand justice, and you know I’d mete it out.” He shook his head. “Is it the salt? If that’s it, then you could have asked Harper, and he would have given you enough to see you through.”
Now he’d lost me. “What are you talking about?”
His broad finger tapped the locket between my breasts. The locket I’d been wearing as a bracelet when I’d fainted. Only now it was knotted around my neck. I touched it, knowing without asking that he’d opened it. So he knew. Was that why he had shown mercy to me so far?
“You have a child.” His voice grated. “Are you—? Damn it. Are you expecting another?” He took another step, pressed me to the wall. “Is that why you needed the salt?” His breath hit my face, and our noses almost brushed. “You had no reason to steal, but at least I can understand—”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed in his face. “I’m not pregnant.”
His eyes shone, a predator with prey locked in his sights. “Then is the bastard who put you up to this the father of your children?” He punched the wall beside my head. “Was he using your position, the unrest in Askara, to guilt you into stealing from us? Cash in and start a new life in a kingdom far, far away. Did he feed you the line about wanting a better life for you and his kids?”
“No.” My laughter dried in my throat.
“No, he didn’t put you up to it or no, he didn’t use that line. Did he have a better one?”
I pinched my lips closed. Confide in Dillon or confront Roland. I lost either way. “No.”
“Don’t play with me. I promise you won’t like the outcome.” Fisting the front of my shirt, he dragged me precious inches nearer. “Answer me.” His voice lowered. “What kind of male lets his female take all the risks and then leaves her alone in the desert?” He was careful of me. Not gentle, not rough, either. He took pains not to hurt me. Yet. He snarled, “Where is your mate?”
I shoved at him. “I don’t have one.”
His lips parted, and I waited for his next accusation.
None came. His grip tightened as he dragged me closer. “Damn you.” His head lowered, and his mouth covered mine. His lips were hard, his kiss angry. One arm circled my back and flattened me to him while his other hand tangled his fingers in my hair. Most of it had fallen loose, and he wound the thick strands around his fist and tore our mouths apart. Panting hard, he scowled down at me as if this were all somehow my fault. He was tense, and his fury vibrated along his skin. I pushed at his chest in an effort to put space between us, but he wasn’t having any of it. He molded me to him until his heartbeat pounded on my chest. His eyes were mirror-bright and full silver. It was a small crack in his glamour, his second today. What did that mean?
“Let me go, please.” I shoved at him again. “I’ll answer what questions I can, I promise.”
“I don’t think I can.” Burying his face in my neck, he inhaled. His tongue slipped out to lick the sweat from my skin, and my lungs deflated on a sigh that coaxed a pained groan from Dillon.
He shivered in my arms, and I held him, stroking across his shoulder and down his back as my mind churned with possibilities. “How are you feeling?” The cut to his neck might explain his fevered skin and racing heart. I had a theory that his time on Earth had lowered his resistance to bacteria native to Askara. Exposure to a new strain could make his old ailments flair, I thought.
“Just…give me…a minute.” Heavy panting dampened my neck, but his grip loosened and he managed to pull back and glare down at me. “Don’t move.” He stumbled from me. “I need air.” He pointed to the bench. “Sit your ass down.” He cupped the back of his neck as he turned.
“Wait.” I ran forward and touched his elbow. “Let me help you.”
“I don’t need your help.” His growl froze me in my tracks. “Don’t touch me.”
I would have said he was the one having trouble keeping his hands to himself, but I could use the reprieve. He could get his air and clear his head while I used his absence to clear mine. I watched him stalk to the mouth of the cave. If I so much as took a step, he would hear me. Even with his leg still on the mend, he wasn’t a male I wanted to cross. I wasn’t going to go anywhere.
Time for a new plan. I sat on the bench and rested my head against the wall of the mine. He had brought me down here rather than turn me in for a reason. Whether it was his sickness or something else, I couldn’t say. Tucking my locket into my top, I brushed skin instead of pointed edges or salt cubes. My breasts were nicked and scratched. I readjusted the fabric to cover them.
Across the tunnel, I spied a battered crate near where I’d awakened. Leaning forward as far as I dared, I made out several cubes of salt stacked neatly inside. Balanced on the topmost square sat the broken horse carving I’d stolen from Dillon’s tent. Balled in the bottom was the handkerchief stained with his blood. I knew I should snatch my prize, but after what I’d done to Mason…I had lost my appetite. While Dillon’s back was turned, I crept toward the box and snitched the horse.
Why the attachment? I supposed I wanted something of his to hold on to once this ended.
Rock crunched under a heavy boot. I froze, then rushed back to my seat. When no reprimand came, I glanced his way. He shifted his weight and massaged his neck as he stared at the desert.
His fever-addled mind was dangerous, but it might also prove my best hope for escape.
The healer in me longed to examine him, but I doubted he would trust me near him now. He knew I’d hurt Mason and the legionnaire whose horse I’d stolen. That blasted horse. I had to catch her. If I told Dillon his salt was strapped to her back, he would mount a recovery effort. Bringing me along would be foolhardy. Why give a dangerous prisoner freedom? No. He’d leave me behind. It made the most sense. Perhaps if I were lucky my new jailer would be less attentive.
Break free, await Dillon’s return, steal the salt and then…hope I made it farther this time.
Air at the edge of the mine was stifling, but Dillon would rather face the midday sun than the demoness waiting for his return. So much for asking the hard questions. Her accomplice, and she must have one, remained a mystery. Now that his mind was clearing, he noticed she hadn’t said the father of her child wasn’t involved. Father of her child. A growl pumped through his chest. He didn’t like that idea. Not one bit. So she had a daughter but not a mate. Or had she lied again?
Frowning, he massaged his nape while gathering his wits about him.
Isabeau as a mother… He admitted it wasn’t a far stretch to imagine her in the role. Even her lack of a mate was easily explained. Slaves birthed their owners’ bastards all the time. Most were sold once they reached a self-sufficient age. The girl in the portrait had the same roundness in her cheeks that Galvin had had until this last year. Based on that, he’d peg her at four or five years old. Old enough she must belong to Isabeau’s former master, whoever the bastard was. His hands balled.
Focus. The past can’t be changed. Accept it, deal with it and move on.
Accept it. She had a child. Between females aided by the freeborn legion and the consulate, so did one out of every four rescued, and his estimation wasn’t generous. Accepting she might be protecting the girl’s father was harder. It hinted at a relationship she had denied. Deal with it. She wasn’t his, and he didn’t want a mate. Move on. Claiming meant surrendering freedom he had fought too hard and lost too much achieving. No female deserved that level o
f control over him.
With his resolve fortified, he turned and made his way back to his prisoner.
She stood and stepped forward. “Are you feeling better?”
He ignored her concern. “I shouldn’t have done that.” For a myriad of reasons.
Her lips curved. “Another mistake?”
“Yeah, it was,” Dillon agreed. She sounded fine with that, which made his hackles rise. “Sit.” He indicated the bench again, and she did as he asked. “You and I need to have that talk.” He folded his arms.
“All right.” She laced her fingers in her lap. “Where would you like to start?”
“First off, is the consulate stable or should I send someone to check on the boarders?”
Her hands held her attention. “I left Lindsay in charge. There are enough supplies to last until Emma returns, and Lindsay has access to consulate funds if she needs to make a purchase.”
“Good.” Her thoughtfulness shouldn’t have surprised him. “In that case, I’ll let Lindsay keep doing what she’s doing for now. What happened—the news will come easier from Emma.”
“I agree.” Her shoulders hunched. “Lindsay is protective of me. She won’t believe… You’ll need another halfling there to restrain her.” She glanced up at him. “I don’t want her to get hurt.”
“She won’t be.” The legionaries who went would be another matter. Halflings were loyal to a fault and volatile. The last thing he wanted was Lindsay harmed when the betrayal hurt enough.
“You also might want to consider waiting outside while Emma breaks the news.”
He grunted. “Still carrying a grudge, is she?”
Isabeau’s brow creased. “A well-deserved one, yes, she is.”
A minute stretched long between them, and he shook his head. Falling into conversation with her was too easy. Prolonging the inevitable wasn’t Dillon’s style. Time to do what Harper paid him for. Someone meticulous as Isabeau wouldn’t waltz into the colony without a plan. “You realize you’re admitting the theft was premeditated?” He paused. “That won’t look good for you.” No response. “How long have you planned this?” Nothing. “Was this your goal all along?”
Rolling her eyes, she said, “When I started working for Emma, she had no contact with Harper except exchanging correspondence and samples. So no, this wasn’t some grand scheme.”
“You handled the core samples.” He considered her a moment. “The idea could have been percolating for the past year. You just didn’t have the means of pulling it off until Emma and Harper reconciled. Then you trailed along, took your little tour of the colony and got up the confidence to at least try.” Fool that he was, he never saw it coming. “That was a nice touch earlier. Pretending interest in Aldrich’s light instead of the salt. Acting like you didn’t know the next shipment was ready to go when you probably watched Emma sign each of the city passes. You knew she and Harper would be gone and that a shipment was ready or we wouldn’t be heading to town.” His gut twisted as more pieces fell into place. “And maybe you thought I’d go easier on you than they would if you were caught. Maybe you thought I owed you for my leg.”
Her eyes blazed. “It wasn’t like that.”
So he’d touched a sore spot. Good. Time to see what happened when he poked it harder.
“I don’t know. Some sthudai have a hard time adjusting to freedom, to holding down regular jobs.” He forced out the words. “Some think they can still pay their way through life with sex.” He met her glare. “You never mentioned what slave caste you belonged to. Sthudal…or sthudai?”
Furious red suffused her cheeks. “I am not a whore.”
Oh yes, he’d found her hot button. “Sthudai don’t use that word.” His smile was grim. “I should know.” Her gaze cut from his. “What? Don’t like that little reminder of what I was? Or you just don’t like remembering what you were?” She didn’t speak. “Sweetheart, I’m just as fucked up as you are, but I’d never call myself a whore. I don’t know about you, but I sure as hell wasn’t paid for my services.” He waited for her comeback, but she kept her mouth shut and her eyes averted. “Okay, let’s pretend you didn’t think you could bribe me with sex.” Her cheek, what he could see of it, colored. “You still came to the colony with intentions to steal from us.”
“And?” Her voice was too low to match the challenge held in that single word.
“I want to know why. If you aren’t…pregnant…then you didn’t need the salt. There goes your best defense. Your kids can’t be hurting for food or necessities or you’d have damn well told Emma about them.” He tried to dull the edge of resentment in his voice and failed. “Give me something, anything that can help your case. Why did you have to steal? What’s in this for you?”
“I don’t have children,” she said finally. “I have one child, a daughter.”
He paused long enough to ask, “Does Emma know?”
A shake of her head was his answer.
“You’ve lived apart for more than a year. Why keep her a secret?” The rumble returned to his tone. “If you’re unmated, who’s caring for her? Is it the same person who put you up to this?”
“Why are you so certain I didn’t devise this on my own?” Her hand went to her necklace. “I chose to serve my master, faithfully, and I enjoyed being with him.” He heard what she didn’t say. She’d enjoyed it…at first. Something changed that, and he’d be willing to bet it involved that pretty little face in the locket she was clinging to. “So you see, my plan failed. Mine.”
Dillon ran his hand down his face. “I don’t believe you.” Time was running out. Let her keep her secrets…for now. Once he had the salt secured, he could unravel the mystery of Isabeau one lie at the time. Until then, he had to push past his curiosity and do what he did best—his job.
“About which part?” she retorted. “Where I was enslaved by choice—?”
“Stop trying to shock me. I’m fresh out of surprise.” He met her glare. “I don’t care about your past.” A lie if he’d ever told one. “All I care about is where the salt is, who has it, and how you plan on getting it back.” He watched as she blanched. “That’s not the response I hoped for.”
“You’re right. Our personal lives have nothing to do with this.” Isabeau’s voice cooled. He got the message. Her kid was off limits. Not a problem. Not yet at least. “I would return the salt, but I really don’t have it.”
Scanning her face for the telltale signs of a lie, he found none. Oh hell. “What happened?”
“I stole a horse from one of the legionaries.” She picked at a fingernail. “The storm spooked the mare worse than I’d realized. I managed to hang on until we reached the open desert, but when I tried to slow her down, she bucked me off and ran away. That’s why you found me where you did.” Noticing her nervous tell, she folded her hands. “I didn’t have an accomplice with me.”
Throbbing pain behind Dillon’s eye made him blink. “You’re telling me there’s a horse out there with the rest of my salt on its back, without a rider? Where raiders could catch it or kill it?”
Her lips compressed. Then a reluctant, “Yes.”
“You’re either very smart and we’re about to go on a wild-goose chase, or you’re the very worst thief I’ve ever heard of.” Yet she had almost gotten away with it. Such a simple answer, it boggled his mind. This explained everything except the why, and he had a theory about that too.
While he had no clue who’d been Isabeau’s master, he saw now he’d have to find out. The fact she’d kept her daughter a secret even from Emma, when he knew the females were close, meant Isabeau had good reason to fear for her child’s safety. It also meant she had good reason to risk it all for a chance to cash in and walk out with enough coin for a brand-new start for two.
He should have thought of it sooner. There were outreach programs in place now for slaves who had birthed children of interest. Most times, it was a nonissue. Once or twice, the topic of paternity had resulted in the murder of both the female a
nd the child. For example, if a noble’s wife proved to be infertile, then why not let his mistress carry his heir? Wives weren’t fond of the solution, but most accepted it was part of the price they paid for maintaining their social statuses.
Envisioning how it must have played out for Isabeau came easy to him.
Her master demanded an heir. She provided him with one, by choice or by force. Then her master’s wife used the old “we can’t risk someone noticing our daughter resembles your mistress” line in the hopes of ridding herself of Isabeau while ensuring a scandal-free succession.
But there was a problem. Isabeau wouldn’t fork over her kid. She fought them for custody.
Then the news broke that Askaran slaves had been freed. Isabeau wouldn’t have hesitated. She’d have grabbed the girl and run. After hiding her daughter in a secure location, she went to work for Emma at the consulate in the safest place for an ex-slave—under the new consul’s protection.
His scenario also explained why she’d never accepted placement. She took the position of resident healer as well as Emma’s personal assistant, in addition to other duties she performed to keep the consulate running smoothly. It was a lot of work with little pay and even less gratitude.
Yeah, this fit his idea of Isabeau. Hiding in plain sight, waiting until the stars aligned, or in this case, Emma and Harper reconciled. Pure salt worth a small fortune was in easy reach. The promise of true freedom for her and her daughter loomed. While his theory had plenty of room for holes, and it still didn’t excuse her actions, it did cast her motives into a more favorable light.
When the pain spiked again and his vision wavered, Dillon asked himself at what point he’d begun preparing her a defense against Harper. Then he decided he probably didn’t want to know.
Chapter Eight
Hunched behind Dillon’s back, I hid my face from the sun while I inhaled clean sweat and stubborn male. After deeming me a flight risk, which was ridiculous considering he was the one with wings, he had mounted Diani and ordered me to climb up behind him. I supposed my poor horsemanship might be the reason he demanded I ride with him. Horses were expensive, and I’d already lost one. Lost wasn’t the right word, but I would rather be embarrassed than explain myself.
Eversworn: Daughters of Askara, Book 3 Page 9