Soulbound (18 page)

Eliza knelt next to the fallen box. There was a lock upon the thing, and it did not appear easily broken, nor had they brought any sort of tools to do the job.

Adam saw the direction of her frown. “Not to worry.” He knelt next to her and took the box, turning it on its end, and simply tugged it. The entire thing slid open, and Adam smiled at her. “It’s built like a puzzle box. The lock is merely for show.”

Inside lay a sword, at least four feet long, with a simple cross-shaped hilt that appeared to be made of iron.

“Ah, now,” crooned Adam, “here we are, then.” With infinite care, as though he were handling a babe, he lifted the sword out, and a sigh seemed to go through him. “Ah, my lovely, it’s been far too long.”

“Shall I leave you two alone, then?” Eliza’s lips twitched. She’d never seen such a look of reverence mixed with old familiarity. It was nearly indecent.

Adam spared her a glance. “Quiet woman, a man’s relationship with his sword is a sacred thing.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Saucy wench.” But his words held no anger. Almost tenderly, he ran the tips of his fingers over the plain hilt, and his breath visibly caught. “We’ve been through a lot together, this sword and I. Many a battle won with her in my hand.” He grasped the hilt and held it firm. In that moment, his eyes closed, as though it were almost too much for him.

When he opened them again, they were bright with emotion. “I claimed this sword in Jerusalem, after a skirmish. It called to me, felt right in my hand.” He made a sound of wry amusement. “Perhaps it was fate, after all, for I later learned that this is a fae weapon, crafted in their world. How it came to be in Jerusalem, I know not, but it has been mine ever since.” Adam held the sword out to her, presenting it with two hands. “A fae-made sword ought to cut through these chains like a knife through pudding. Strike the cuffs directly.”

Eliza blinked. “What? You expect me to cut them off?”

He looked at her as though she were daft. “Only my bride can cut the chains. Or do you think I’m capable of doing this myself?”

Well, of course he couldn’t. Only she’d never wielded a sword in her life. Eliza kept her hands upon her lap. “And if the sword does as you predict, I could end up cutting off your hands in the process.” She swallowed reflexively. No, she would not be ill now. Save that for later.

His eyes gleamed with humor. “You’re wise to worry, lass. I can assure, you do not want me to lose my hands.” He grinned broadly, looking darkly handsome, before sobering when she paled. “Have faith, Eliza. You’ll not injure me. I promise.”

Muttering things best not said by ladies, Eliza took hold of the ancient weapon. The leather-wrapped hilt slipped against her damp palms, and she fought back a wave of mad laughter. She could do this. Adam laid his arms across the iron box and waited for her, his strong, corded forearms relaxed, the thick cuffs around his wrists glinting in the torchlight. One strike. She’d come at it in a slight angle, hopefully missing his hands, and, please, dear God, with just enough force to cut the metal and not through his limbs.

Adam’s deep voice came as if from a distance. “Swift and true, Eliza May.”

Taking a breath, she lifted the monstrous sword and struck. The blade hit with a shower of sparks and the clear ringing of steel. And then Adam bellowed, his great body falling back as he clutched his arms to his chest, curling over them as if in agony.

Eliza cried out in terror, tossing the sword aside, and flinging herself upon him. “Adam! Where did I hit? Let me see.”

She got as far as touching his head before her caught her up and tumbled her back onto the ground, his arms – quite unharmed – wrapping around her as he laughed with abandon. Shocked, Eliza stared up at him, his head thrown back, his eyes crinkled into half-moons by his laughter. And then she broke.

“You complete and utter bastard,” she shouted, pounding her fist against the curve of his shoulder. He only laughed harder, tearing up with it, his solid body shaking on top of her.

“Oh, but you should have seen your face,” he got out between chortles. He pulled back then and made a ridiculous expression of wide-eyed horror. Eliza would kill him now. As soon as she was free. She wiggled against him, trying to get in a good hit, but he held her too close as he laughed on.

“Vile, hateful… shitting pig!” Her blows grew to light slaps as a small snort left her. No! No, she would not laugh. But his laughter was too infectious, and she found herself joining in. They lay upon the ground, cackling like loons, until her side pinched. She didn’t want it to stop. He was all around her, his body protecting hers, his joy flowing like a warm wave. Nothing else mattered. She needn’t think of who they were or what they were doing. She could just be.

Eventually, her laughter ebbed, leaving a pleasant ache within her chest. “That was a terrible thing to do, Adam.” But she was no longer truly angry, and her words came out low and easy.

At the sound of his name, a pleased light entered his eyes. “Yes, I know.” The way he looked her over, as if luxuriating in the sight of her, sent a small but heated shiver down her spine.

“I’ll not be sorry,” he said so softly, it was a caress. “You were wound so tight, fear and guilt making those warm brown eyes of yours go cold. I’d rather see them alight with life, even if it means you’re railing at me.”

His thumb stroked her temple, slower now, and his gaze grew slumberous and hot. “I like playing with you, Eliza.”

Everything inside of her became slow and quiet, until each breath seemed to brush along the small space between them. “I know.”

He’d been a virtuous knight and an isolated king. When had he ever been a mere man but when he was with her? As for Eliza, she’d never been able to laugh or play with carefree abandon. Not since she was a child.

She did not feel like a child at the moment. The hard press of him against her soft, aching places grew more pronounced. She wanted to spread her thighs, let him sink farther in. He, who she’d resented for so long. Resented, yes, but never hated. She could admit that now. This man, handsome as sin, heady as spiced rum, had always tempted her.

As if he knew her thoughts, Adam studied her face, his lips soft and parted. He leaned in, his attention set upon her mouth, and Eliza’s breath grew agitated. Yes, now. Past all logic that told her to retreat, Eliza slid her hand along his shoulder to cup the heated skin on the back of his neck, drawing him closer.

At her touch, a sigh seemed to flow through him. “Eliza.”

She loved the way he said her name, as though it were a song. She might have answered with a kiss. Only a sudden cold invaded the room, strong enough to halt her progress. He felt it too, for they turned as one, in time to see a low, rolling fog creeping along the floor. Tinged an ugly pea green, the fog seemed as though it had a life of its own. Adam made not a sound as he came to his feet in one smooth movement. Adam’s gaze stayed on the door, but his hand reached for her, and she took it, letting him help her up.

“Eliza,” Adam said, his deep voice hard yet steady, “get well behind me.”

She did not hesitate. Something was coming for them. Already the room grew icy.

Adam picked up his sword, his grip on the hilt not tight but firm. He stood, feet planted apart, sword at the ready.

At the dark mouth of the doorway, lights flickered and shadows stretched. From out of the fog, dark shapes solidified into the forms of men. Four of them. They were tall and thin, their hair flowing free about their shoulders. Eliza needn’t see any more of them to know they were fae; she felt it in her bones.

The leader, a blond-haired man with purple eyes and fangs of black, spoke, his voice soft and melodic. “Aodh, you ought to have known we’d hear the sword as soon as you pulled it free of the iron box.”

“You presume that I did not expect your company.” Adam rolled his shoulders as though he were settling in, his body now loose and ready. His smile was not kind; it was hungry. “Shall we… converse?”

There was no other warning; the fight simply was. Eliza pushed back against the curved wooden wall as the four fae converged on Adam, long swords appearing in hand and whizzing with silver light through the air.

The thrill of the fight surged through Adam’s blood. He laughed with it, even as he sliced and pivoted. God, but he had missed this. Missed the marriage of his body and mind to fight with sword and fists. There were four men, fast and quick. Almost too fast, but the chains had been broken and the effect immediate. He was strong now. As he’d been as a knight.

Adam feinted right, kicked left. And then blocked a jab with his sword. One fae thrust his sword, aiming for Adam’s gut. He grabbed hold of the blade, the dull edge made for jabbing, not cutting, and wrenched the weapon from the fae’s grasp. Novices, he thought with disgust as he swung around and beheaded one man. An ordinary sword wouldn’t have done that, but this was fae iron. It cut through them like they were soft bread.

Sweat trickled down his spine as Adam hacked his way through the fae. His side stung, likely cut, but he didn’t slow. Until there was one. Their swords met again and again, a clatter of metal upon metal. Adam backed his opponent into a corner, his blows never ebbing. This he knew. It was rote. Even after all these years. And with an upswing, he caught the fae’s sword on the hilt, slicing away fingers. The fae male screamed, dropping his sword and clutching his hand.

Mellan sends me mere boys.
 

Adam stopped and pressed the point of his sword just at the base of the young fae’s throat. The lad stilled, his chest lifting and falling in a rapid pant.

“I’ve a message for Mellan,” Adam said. “I’ve bested him by this sword once before, and I’ll do it again. Come after me and what is mine and I’ll cut off his head.”

Licking his pasty lips, the fae gave a faint nod.

A soft, feminine scent stirred the air, as Eliza moved to his side. He’d kept Eliza in mind the entire time, knowing precisely where she was and making certain to draw the fight away from her. But he’d never looked her way, the threat of distraction too high.

Adam did not turn to acknowledge her now, but his body seemed to broaden, as if to form a wall between her and the fae warrior. The soft touch of her hand upon his elbow merely heightened the need to haul her out of harm’s way. Adam stayed the course.

“I’ve a message for Mellan as well.” Eliza’s voice was low yet strong. “We are through. I’ll die before doing his bidding again.”

A chill went through Adam at her words, and he leaned his weight towards her, letting his shoulder butt up against hers.

“Go on, then,” Adam told the fae, gesturing towards the door with his sword. “Before I simply send him your head instead.”

The young fae left on swift feet, a mere blur in his terror. If only he’d utilized that speed while fighting Adam, he might have had half a chance.

Winded, his body warm and pleasurably humming with the exertion of the fight, Adam let his sword arm lower and finally turned to Eliza. She glanced down at the bodies littering the floor. Tears stained her cheeks, reddened tracks against her skin.

“Love,” he began, taking a step in her direction. But then halted when she opened her mouth and began to laugh.

The sound lifted the hairs upon the back of his neck. It wasn’t a natural laugh, but a mad, crazed cackled. Something about it shriveled his insides and drew his cods up tight in terror.

Her neck arched as she threw her head back and howled.

“Eliza!” His shout came from deep within him, and she reacted as though slapped.

With a flinch, she snapped her mouth shut. Wide, fearful eyes met his, and then she turned heel and fled.

Adam found her at the end of the long, narrow hall, just before it opened onto the fore deck. Her slim figure was a dark silhouette against the bright entrance. She stood, hand upon the wall, back stiff as washday starch. She might have simply been waiting for him, but it was the steady way she held herself, as if taking too deep a breath would make her crumple, that had him approaching her with care.

She stiffened further as he stepped near, but she did not turn. Pale sunlight shone down on the tops of her cheeks, giving them a soft peach blush. There was something about the curve of her cheek, the vulnerable delicacy of it, that made him want to cup her there, stroke his thumb along the sweet, cupid’s bow of her upper lip.

He shoved his hands deep into his trouser pockets instead. “Would you like to talk?”

For a long moment, she stared off into the distance. “What is there to say?” Her voice was too low, almost defeated.

Adam took a step closer, coming alongside her. At his back, the barge was cold and dark. Fresh air and warm sunlight caressed his face. He closed his eyes to the light and took a deep breath.

And her small, pained words reached him. “I laughed.”

He opened his eyes. “Yes.”

Their shoulders nearly touched, and he could sense her shiver.

“I laughed at their deaths like a mad woman.” A shuddering sigh broke from her. “I couldn’t stop myself.”

Hands still shoved in his pockets, Adam glanced down at his blood-splattered shoes. He rather thought she wouldn’t like it if he made eye contact just now. “And you think this somehow makes you evil?”

He felt her turning. Only then did he do the same. Wide, brown eyes gazed up at him. “Doesn’t it? What sort of person laughs at death?” She was almost shrill, panic creeping into her words.

“Are you telling me that you felt pleasure at seeing their deaths?” Adam asked.

Instantly her nose wrinkled. “No. God, no.”

He shrugged. “Then you are far better than I. It gave me great pleasure to cleave their heads from their necks.”

She made a noise of irritation. “But I laughed —”

“Eliza, love, people have all sorts of reactions when distressed. Some even laugh. I knew a warrior by the name of Godfrey. Brave, strong, skilled with the sword. Wore his flame-red beard long and pointed, and his foes often thought him the devil come to claim their souls.” Adam’s throat constricted as he thought of his old, long-dead friend. “And he was pious, devoutly so. Yet every time we’d pray after battle, he’d laugh.”