by Jackie Ivie
“There. We are aboard,” he announced.
“Very good. Graham?”
A lone whistle split the night from somewhere out of sight beyond a dune. The horses farthest away started first, and then the next, acting like pearls on a chain that had tilted. Their turn came, the horse started up, and Cassandra slid again. His left arm tightened, pulling her closer to him, settling her buttocks into his lap.
Oh my.
The cloak hid the blush, but didn’t stay the heat of it. She needed to recall her evaluation earlier. The best way to deal with the knight, Rhoenne Ramhurst was with disinterest. Regardless of how he held her in his lap, cuddled against his belly and chest. Another blush filled her with heat. It was accompanied with a lot of shivers.
From the experience thus far, this journey was going to be difficult.
Chapter Eight
This was not a good idea.
The woman had her nose against his upper chest, her every breath sending light puffs of air onto his throat where his beard didn’t quite reach. He looked down at her. The cloak wasn’t enough cover. Although still wrapped about her, it had long since loosened. He’d slighted her earlier, mainly because disinterest and avoidance only worked if you ignore something. He’d have to concede one thing for a certainty. She was an amazingly beautiful woman. It was little wonder the sultan had hidden her away in a harem.
“Cassandra”, he whispered to himself.
The hood was open enough he could make out long lashes that sent longer shadows down her cheeks, perfect unblemished skin, and lush kissable lips. Her hair was a source of scent. It had been perfumed. The aroma was flowery and entirely pleasant.
And then she shifted again.
Rhoenne tightened his abdomen, the move pulling him upright. She was a restless sleeper, constantly changing position. Each time he’d expect her to awaken but time and again, she’d settle back without a break in her deep, even breathing. He’d never known anyone to sleep with such abandon, nor in such indefensible positions. At one point, she’d been draped forward across his right arm, numbing it with the weight of her upper body. The numbness had been his fault, however. He could have moved her. Another time, she’d been sprawled before him, her head on the horse’s neck, swaying to and fro with each step, her legs balanced on one of his thighs, her feet jutting out into air. She seemed to have an innate ability to plant something into his nether region with each move as well, usually with just a hint of warning. An elbow. A knee. A heel. Sometimes it was a softer portion of her frame. Just now, she was curved into a ball with her head on his left thigh and her legs on his right, it was a section of her buttocks that was shoved into his mid-section. That sent a disconcerting twinge through his lower belly. He ignored it. Everything about her was disturbing. Despite the thick barrier of material about her, he swore he could feel every inch of her.
The only thing worse than allowing her to use him as a sleeping mat, was having her awake. He’d had three hours of that experience already. Every time she’d shifted, he’d been consciously made aware of it. And her. She’d stiffen oddly. His belly would react, sending reaction he had no choice but to notice because he had to staunch it. She’d finally relax into him again. He could go back to ignoring how it felt to have a woman against him. And ponder on why he had to feel anything. He wasn’t used to any of this. It had been a relief when she’d finally slumbered.
Perhaps he should have put her on the horse with Henry.
He looked back up at the line of men and horses. There wasn’t much to see although a pre-dawn hue was just starting to lighten the horizon, sending long fingered shadows from sand dunes and clumps of scrub brush. With luck they’d be at the oasis Euan had discovered by mid-day. If the men Euan met with at that oasis spoke true, they’d reach Batok within two more days. They were still somewhere in the land called Egypt, where sand and sun blended together, and false images shimmered in and out of existence. It was hard to judge distance. It was hard to do a lot of things. Such as dealing with having a woman in his arms.
He silently swore.
Rhoenne had to consciously force his thoughts to something else. He had bargaining to do. Passage to arrange. The ocean voyage might take two sennights or more to reach the first Christian kingdom. Depending on where, it might take another month to reach his home.
And Tyneburgh.
Tyneburgh was a Highland paradise with burns that ran cold and deep and filled with salmon aching for a fisherman’s hook, glens filled with trees and rocks and sheep. The valleys held crofts peopled with industrious clan. The land claimed three lochs so cold they stole a man’s breath, and sometimes so warm that mist wrapped the waves. Ramhurst land. His land. He hadn’t been back in years. Since the fateful day—
The woman shifted, halting thought again.
Rhoenne instantly tightened his abdomen. The move pulled him straighter. And all she did was shimmy against him with pinpoint accuracy, sending a lot of trouble through his groin, up his belly, and into his chest. Rhoenne sucked in his cheeks. Consciously had to tense and wait for the sensation to die.
This was such a bad idea.
He had little experience dealing with prolonged physical contact with anyone. He’d ponder if and when, but he already knew the answer: never.
It was better to look toward Graham, who’d assumed the lead. There wasn’t much of a path, and even when they happened upon one, they’d skirt it. This country was fraught with danger. Even without armor and tabards, the crusaders didn’t resemble local lads. Red beards covered too many cheeks, while two clansmen were tow-heads. They’d have gone beardless but a shaved face was cursed with sunburn and whipped with sand pitting, beside being more noticeable. With his dark coloring, Rhoenne could easily pass as one of them if nobody looked at his eyes. Those came from his Norman great-grandfather and namesake. And this line of thought didn’t help at all.
So he changed it.
The journey would take six sennights. Give or take. With luck, he’d be back at Castle Tyne, facing what had to be faced. Rhoenne consciously had to ignore a twinge through his belly. Damn everything. He was The Dark One. Feared. Reviled. Remorseless. Emotionless. A shell of a man. Thinking of his home was just self-defeating. He sure as hell didn’t need the regret and guilt that accompanied it.
Rhoenne blinked and focused on the group again. The horses were roped to each other, keeping the line uniform and together. It also made it convenient to doze without risk. Most of the others were in that state, sending occasional snores and grunts into the night. Rhoenne remained wakeful, as was his wont. That left a lot of time for introspection. He was in the midst of the line, since he was the weakest link. He rode double, and he had the added problem of a female. No doubt she’d be completely useless if danger struck.
This was not honor.
This was a bad idea.
To maintain their pace and still gain rest, the lead riders changed. They’d done it twice thus far. The leader would move to one side, fade back toward the end, and get replaced. A group of riders could cover a lot of territory this way. Ramhurst clansmen were old hands at this. They’d learned this method a long time ago. It was the best way to avoid a skirmish. Escape an errant band of Sassenach soldiers. Return from reaving against a rival clan. Or sneak back from a jaunt into town that would see them whipped by their sires if they’d been caught.
And he hadn’t thought of that in years.
Rhoenne smirked. Regarded the men again. He didn’t know why some mercenaries wished to accompany them, rather than share in the spoils back at camp, but he figured every man had reasons. Sooner or later, they’d get known. It wasn’t his problem. He had enough of those already.
From the front, a brisk whistle split the air. The lead horses had halted. Graham was around a bend, and couldn’t be seen. Almost instantly the Ramhurst clansmen were armed, off their horses, and ready to spring into action. It was an impressive response, honed from two years in this hell-hole. The mercenaries were slower, bu
t within moments, they too were battle-prepared. All looked drowsy. The eunuch had dismounted as well, but he stood beside his horse with a quizzical expression on his face. Rhoenne alone was still mounted. He’d stopped his horse. No one saw the motion to snag two knives from his belt. He held them at his waist, hidden by the cloak Cassandra wore. Other than that, he hadn’t moved. He looked over the group without expression. Cassandra’s current position was beneficial. He didn’t need an arm or hand to hold her in place. She didn’t even pause in her breathing.
“Ramhurst!”
Henry’s harsh whisper came from his right side. Rhoenne turned the horse a quarter turn. Nodded slightly at the man.
“You don’t dismount?”
“I’m waiting,” he responded also using a whisper. Not due to any danger, but he was trying to keep Cassandra asleep and unaware.
“For what?”
“Another whistle. One means alert. Two for action. You ken the signal.”
Henry groaned. He wasn’t the only one. The others stood from their crouched stances, returned swords to scabbards, arrows back to quivers. Bows back to saddles. It was amusing enough to smile, but Rhoenne remained expressionless.
“You.” Henry motioned one of them. “Jog up there and see what all the fuss is about.”
A couple of Ramhurst clansmen took off. Men started rubbing at bearded faces. Stretched and yawned. Some separated from the group to relieve themselves and returned. All soundlessly. Then Henry spoke, but it was a bit louder than his whisper.
“Well. We are awake. Might as well break the fast. We fried gruel into cakes. Who has the pack? My laird? You wish one?”
“Aye.” Rhoenne reached and accepted a misshapen flat pancake. He munched and swallowed a bite and was ready to bite off another one before Henry spoke again.
“You wish one for your woman?”
Rhoenne almost answered to reiterate once again that she was not his woman. Something stopped him. There was a distinct silence about them as if the men not only waited for his answer, but found it of immense interest. And he instantly knew that was what Henry had intended. He took another bite instead. Chewed reflectively and at length as though the cake was tough as well as dry.
“Is that a nae?” Henry asked.
“’Tis early yet,” he answered, still using a light whisper. “She still sleeps.”
One of the men returned, slightly winded. He gave his report in snippets that didn’t have much sound. Cassandra continued slumbering as a dead weight on his legs, which was much preferable to having her awake.
“We’ve got vultures ahead. Circling. Just over the next rise.”
“Vultures,” Henry returned.
“Aye.”
“Right. I’d better go check.” He looked to Rhoenne for a nod of approval. “Who’s with me?”
Euan and Iain volunteered. Henry and the other two slipped horses loose, jumped into saddles and left. Graham and the other man remained out of sight around a dune. One of the mercenaries spoke up.
“So. Looks like we’ve got us some time to stand about. What do you think we should do?”
“You want to keep your voice down,” Rhoenne remarked. “I’ve got a passenger.”
“We are aware of your passenger. Aren’t we, men? Very much aware.”
The man spoke again, but he’d lowered his volume. Rhoenne narrowed his eyelids. Regarded them without expression. Felt his heart rate quicken. His muscles tighten. Gut clench. Surreptitiously, his left hand moved the hilt of one blade and then the other as he positioned them between his fingers.
“Serkan. Right?” Rhoenne asked.
“That is my name, yes.”
The mercenary still spoke in a low voice, but there was a challenging tone to it. Rhoenne had known the woman was going to be trouble. And just look. Here, it was. The odds against him were not overwhelming, even with the handicap of Cassandra. But then he watched his odds vastly improve, while they didn’t even notice.
“You want to show us the woman now?” Serkan had a distinct swagger to both his tone and mannerism. It was probably bolstered by the men around him.
Show? That wasn’t what was being requested, and everyone knew it. The question of why these particular men had accompanied the crusaders to Batok was getting answered, and he should have known what it was.
“She’s sleeping,” Rhoenne replied.
“Well...she wouldn’t even know if we sneak a peek then, would she?”
There was the smallest hint of movement to his thigh as if the weight resting on his legs reacted. Rhoenne considered it for a moment before answering. “You appear to have forgotten something.”
“What would that be?”
“You are going to have to go through me,” he informed them conversationally.
“There are seven of us. And only one of you. I think the odds are in our favor. You agree?”
“I think you’ll need to recalculate your odds, Serkan.”
“You cannot take all of us.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But you might want to check out her man. He’s behind you. I don’t know whose bags he pilfered for weapons, but he looks like he’ll decapitate most of you before I even get off the horse.”
It was difficult to say that without a hint of the amusement bubbling under the surface. They spun as a unit. Rhoenne used the time to get his left hand from behind Cassandra. Knives poised. He watched Emin slash the air menacingly with a sword in each hand, showing he knew how to use them, and quite well. The eunuch had tossed off his robe, exhibiting a physique that promised pain, he had several knives tucked under his wide belt, and his expression was murderous.
Serkan and a few of the mercenaries turned back to Rhoenne. The others didn’t take their attention off Emin. All of them looked desperate and confrontational. He’d accepted the inclusion of mercenaries a fortnight ago because there was safety in numbers. He’d wondered how far they could be trusted. Well, that question was settled and he should have known the catalyst would be a woman.
Wasn’t it always?
“Now...don’t be this way, komutant.”
“You call me commander now? How...odd,” Rhoenne remarked.
“We were just joshing with you. We didn’t wish anyone any harm. Least of all to your woman.”
“Of course not,” Rhoenne agreed.
“We simply—. It has been a long time for us. And you have the lone woman.”
“So?” Rhoenne replied.
“What do you expect us to do? Ignore this?” Serkan was still their spokesman.
“I don’t care what you do. I’m going to sit here and enjoy my cake. This lovely sunrise. Wait patiently for the information I requested my men to bring back. You should worry more over what Emin will do.”
“Him? What can he do? We are still seven. And you are...one-and-a-half.”
A different man spoke contemptuously. Rhoenne twisted and flung one dagger at the speaker’s chest. The other one went into Serkan’s throat. They all heard gurgling as it found its mark. Emin decapitated the closest man with one swipe. That was impressive. All three bodies sank to the sand. Serkan’s body twitched non-rhythmically for some time before stilling.
“Make that four,” Rhoenne said in the silence that followed.
The four tossed down weapons and went onto their bellies, arms out. Emin looked over the prostrate men and up at Rhoenne. Then, the man crossed the swords before his chest and dipped his head.
“You need any help with them, you let me know,” Rhoenne said.
“I need no help, Excellency.”
Rhoenne nodded.
Blood, betrayal, and breakfast. All before sunrise. He truly detested this country.
Rhoenne folded and smashed the remainder of his cake into a massive bite size. Shoved it into his mouth. Chewed. He had it swallowed before leaning forward to whisper in the vicinity of Cassandra’s ear, near his left knee. She had to guess he’d suspect. She was shuddering in place. No amount of cloaking covered it. He didn�
��t know how she planned on ending her farce of sleeping, but he figured he’d save her the trouble.
“You need to relieve yourself?” he asked.
She jerked. Slid. He snagged her with an arm, brought her up to his chest. And held her there. She was still shaking. Rhoenne’s arm tightened subconsciously. That surprised him. He spoke through the hood.
“I will be moving you. No argument.”
She nodded, her head against his throat. Odd warmth spread throughout his chest, unbidden, unwarranted, and completely unwanted. Rhoenne lifted his head in dismay. He held her to him and dismounted. She wasn’t particularly heavy, nor was she unwieldy. Emin stood, feet apart, arms folded. Swords held in each hand, blades up. He made a convincing guard.
“We’ll be right back. You have trouble, you chop heads.”
“I will have no trouble, Excellency,” the eunuch replied.
He smiled wickedly. Rhoenne almost returned it before settling for a grunt and nod. He walked to the other side of the horses, set Cassandra on her feet, waited for her to find her balance. The hood tipped back. He reached for the tie at her throat. And then he made the mistake of looking into her gaze. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, touching her eyes with pale yellow light and making them glow. Rhoenne’s heart gave a mighty thump, his breath snagged, the weight in his gut sent a warning spark. His knees even wavered. He was locked in place. Spellbound. Rapt. The entirety of it surprised, dismayed, and then it angered.
He was not the type to be bowled over by a woman’s beauty.
Hell sounded better.
Rhoenne ripped his gaze from hers, turned his head aside, gritted his teeth, and unwound the cloak by feel. Once freed of her, he held it out creating a circle of privacy around her.
“Be quick.”
The words were harsh. It was the best he could manage. Chivalry was a farce. Honor right behind it. He was mentally devising a fitting punishment for Henry when she cleared her throat.
“Finished?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Rhoenne worked at covering her again, doing his utmost to ignore everything about her. He avoided anything to do with another glimpse at her face or into her eyes, but he couldn’t help noting the swell of her breasts...the smallness of her waist. It was impossible to overlook, since she’d done the damnable deed of lacing a rope about herself in order to highlight her curves. He swaddled her with ruthless efficiency before hauling her up into his arms again. The tight wrapping would be problematic before long. The sun wasn’t fully up, and already it heated the air. He didn’t care. Not right now. He could easily see why the men in this country kept their women covered or hidden away.