The Battle Lord Saga 02 - Her Battle Lord's Desire (6 page)

back on the road with over two hundred armed soldiers. Turning back around on his horse,

Fortune stared at the couple at the head of the line.

He was not a difficult man. He was not known for his temperament. He loved Atty as

much as any father or substitute father could. Every action on his part had been to protect her,

and Fortune prayed she understood that. On the other hand, he was ready to admit he had been

wrong. Maybe he had first been aware of it when the Battle Lord had willingly entered Wallis

unarmed and alone. Or maybe he had gotten his first inkling when the man had tearfully entreated

the Council to see Atty. All doubt had been wiped from his mind when Tory had come to him

that evening to let him know what a group of heartless sons of bitches he and the entire Council

was.

“I want you to go in that bedroom right now and listen.”

Fortune glanced up from polishing his knives to see his wife standing in the doorway to

the bedroom. Her fists were clenched at her sides, her face livid.

“Why?”

“Just...go!”

Sighing, he got to his feet. There would be no peace in the house until he did as he was

told. Resigned, he walked past his wife and into the small spare room where they’d placed Atty

to rest and recuperate. She was still extremely weak, but the doctors were certain they’d

managed to come up with the right concoction to counteract the devastating effects of the Borash

she’d ingested.

In the dim light, sustained by a single candle by the bed, he could see her pale face

twisted in pain, even in sleep. Sweat glistened over her skin. Her damp hair surrounded her

head like a dark halo.

As he stood there, Atty moved slightly. She gasped, and in a raspy voice called out one

word. One name.

“Yul!”

She gasped again, coughing until it turned into a sob, and she began to weep in her

dreams. Her face contorted again as her nightmares refused to leave. Her body remained

helpless in the poison’s grasp, yet her mind knew she was alone. Totally alone. Ripped from his

arms as painfully as if her flesh had been torn from his.

“Yul...”

Turning around, Fortune could see the tortured expression on Tory’s face. Her own

tears were rolling down her cheeks.

“You had to bring her back here,” she heatedly accused him.

“It was not my decision,” he tried to tell her.

“When is your stupid, insensitive,
heartless
Council going to realize that you may have

signed her death warrant by bringing her back here? He came back here for her. He risked

everything
to come here. And your Council sent him away without any surcease? Without even

acknowledging his request?
Without letting him know she was still alive?
That man came here

thinking she was dead!”

More tears poured down her face, and she stood facing her husband with undisguised

bitterness. Fortune could only stand in mute acceptance as her truth sank in.

“If Atty dies, it won’t be because of the poison. It won’t be because of D’Jacques. It’ll

be because your great, all-knowing, wise Council can’t see past their hatred to recognize the fact

that if there had ever been a chance for peace between us and Normals, they killed it just as

surely as they’re killing Atty! And when she dies, all of that will die with her! And I will

personally hold you and George and every man on the Council personally responsible!” Tory

promised him between her own heaving breaths.

“Tory...” He reached for her, hoping he could soothe her anguish. To his astonishment,

she stepped back and waved him away.

“No. No, Fortune. There’s a lot more at stake here than you and so many others like

you realize. Atty took him for her husband, and there was love between them. Do you hear what

I’m saying? They
love
each other. Atty gave up the most precious thing she had. Her skill. She
gave it up for him. A Normal. A
Cleaner!
Do you have any idea what she sacrificed?”

“What do you want me to do?” he asked her.

“Go to the Council!” Tory nearly shouted at him. “Go find D’Jacques and bring him

back here! Or go get a wagon and take her back to his compound! I don’t know! All I care

about is Atty’s health and happiness, and she will have neither one as long as she’s made to stay

here. Dearest heavens, Fortune! Hasn’t she been made to suffer enough?”

Behind him he could hear Atty writhing. Crying. Pleading. The next morning he’d gone

to Piron George and asked for an emergency convening of the Council. It had been that

afternoon when, in the middle of their discussion, Atty had appeared in the doorway of council

lodge. She was trembling and barely able to stand, but she held her chin high as she slowly

walked down the center aisle, past the seated crowd, and approached them unannounced.

Reaching the dais, she sank to the floor, supplicating herself before them.

“Please. Take me back to Alta Novis.”

“You are not one of them,” George had gently tried to remind her.

“You’re wrong,” she told them. “I
am
one of them. And he is one of us. Without him, I

am nothing. He is my breath, my blood, and my heart. Take me back and let me die there.

There is nothing here for me any longer.”

“If we take you back, you can never return. You’ll be one considered of the enemy,”

George told her.

“So be it,” she announced with finality.

The next morning they loaded her into a wagon, and with four escorts began the journey

back to Alta Novis. As the days passed, Fortune could swear she appeared to gain strength, as if

each successive mile renewed her. So that by the time they reached the outlying fringes of the

compound, she was able to stand on her own and walk the rest of the way by herself, carrying

her new longbow and quiver of arrows she demanded to have, for a reason only she understood.

The disgraced hunter woman ready to rejoin her battle warrior husband.

They watched until she entered the compound gates unchallenged, then turned around

and began their long trek back to Wallis.

That had been five months ago. Fortune blinked and shook his head. It was all still so

much to take in. Still so much to comprehend and believe.

What would Tory say when they got to Wallis?

A movement from the corner of his eye attracted his attention. He glanced up to see Atty

bringing her mare around to ride next to him. She had a playful look on her face he immediately

recognized. The memory of another time when she’d given him that same look brought an

unexpected smile to his face.

“Double Dutch?”

His mouth dropped open. “For over two hundred grown men?” he asked incredulously.

“I take up the challenge!” Bertrand shouted, bringing his own mount up next to them so

that they were riding in tandem.

Atty slid her eyes back to Fortune and grinned mischievously. He could see her hands

tighten on her reins. This was the old Atty. The Atty he knew and had grown to love. A better,

stronger, womanly Atty, all because of D’Jacques.

“Oh, hell, yes, I take the challenge!” he shouted, and dug his heels into the horse’s ribs.

Atty let out a whoop, and all three hunters bolted down the roadway, passing the lead

horse and Yulen as they raced forward, leaving behind the swiftly moving caravan in a cloud of

dust. Yulen watched them go with a big smile on his face.

“What was that all about?” MaGrath asked him, moving forward so that he rode next to

the Battle Lord.

“Double Dutch.”

Behind them Mastin and Siemens remained attentive. They were just as curious as the

doctor, as were the rest of the men who had witnessed all three Mutahs’ disappearance.

“You’re going to deliberately keep me in the dark, aren’t you?” MaGrath accused him.

Yulen nodded. “Yeah. And I’m enjoying every minute of it,” he smirked. Seeing the

physician’s peeved expression, he laughed aloud. “Oh, cheer up, Liam! This is going to be one

journey I don’t mind making, and I have a feeling it’s going to be one unforgettable adventure!”

Atty and the other two Mutah hunters were gone most of the day. When the caravan

stopped for midday meal, Yulen half-expected for his wife to pop in for a few minutes. With any

luck they might have been able to find a secluded glen for a quick lovers’ rendezvous. But as the

hour went by, and there was no sign of her or her fellow caste members, he tried to hide his

disappointment. He would have succeeded except for MaGrath’s sharp eyes.

“At least you get to bring your wife along,” he grumbled.

Yulen gave him a sympathetic pat on the back as he headed for his horse to tie his water

bottle back on the saddle. “I’m sorry this had to fall on you so soon after your return from

Bearinger.”

“You aren’t the only couple still on their honeymoon,” MaGrath continued to grouse.

Yulen threw his friend a concerned look. The man’s complaining was something he

expected. More often than not, his off-the-cuff remarks contained a grain of truth that, with time,

grew into pearls of wisdom. This time, however, the Battle Lord sensed an unspoken decision the

man had made without consulting him first, and Yulen grew concerned.

Within ten minutes camp was broken down and the caravan was back on the road. Once

he had made certain everyone was accounted for, Yulen brought his horse alongside MaGrath’s

and locked into step.

“I’m tired and in no mood to talk,” the physician immediately let him know.

Yulen nodded and remained quiet. It wouldn’t take long before the older man realized his

friend wasn’t budging.

“Are you needing me for anything specific? Or are you hanging around because Atty’s

not here, and I’m your second choice?”

Yulen grinned as his eyes swept the road ahead. “Maybe both,” he admitted. “Maybe

neither. We’ve been together as friends too long for me not to know when something’s weighing

heavily on your mind.”

MaGrath held his tongue. They continued to ride in silence. Behind them they could hear

the low murmuring of the soldiers as they filled the long hours of riding with conversation, jokes,

and anecdotes.

Another dozen miles passed beneath them. At the head of the line Mastin had taken point.

Somewhere ahead of them Billings was on reconnaissance. Yulen was satisfied momentarily. He

wondered how the hunters were faring. Would they have gone their separate ways? Or would

they be hunting together? Atty had only given him a sketchy description of what she had

planned.

His mind swept to the evening. He had to figure out a way to keep Atty distracted until

he was ready to spring his surprise on her. Only three people were aware of what he had planned,

but MaGrath probably had the best chance of keeping her away from the encampment. Yulen

knew he could try, and maybe it would be for the better if he did it alone. Already he could feel

himself anticipating the warm firmness of her body.

No. He shook his head as he argued with himself. Chances were likely someone would

seek him out with a question or problem that needed his immediate attention. It might even spoil

the surprise. It would be best to let Liam keep her occupied. Of course, he would have to play it

by ear, Yulen determined. But a back-up plan was always wise.

Turning to MaGrath, he started to voice his suggestion when the physician softly

commented, “This is going to be my last caravan, Yulen.”

If there was one thing his father had taught him, it was to listen twice as often as he spoke.

It wasn’t much later that he’d learned the longer he kept mum, the more information he could

glean. Human nature abhorred complete silence, and when there was no conversation, if he

waited long enough, conversation eventually ensued. People tended to view quiet listening as

acceptance, and that was when Yulen could usually gain the most valuable information.

MaGrath was a sucker for this technique.

“Did you hear me?” the physician inquired.

Yulen nodded.

There was a long, drawn-out sigh. “I’ve lost count of the number of excursions I’ve gone

on, not counting the ones where I’ve accompanied you. I’m ready to quit going on the road. I

want to stay home with my practice. I want to stay home with Maddy. MacIntyre’s ready to get

his feet wet. I’m twenty years your senior, and I’m beginning to feel the wear and tear.” He

gave the Battle Lord a regretful glance. “I’m sorry, Yulen. I hope you understand.”

“I do,” Yulen told him sincerely. “And I’m going to miss your razor wit, not to mention

your wisdom.”

“I’m just quitting the traveling. I’m not kicking the bucket,” MaGrath snapped, adding a

grin. “MacIntyre’s a good man, despite my grouchiness. You’ll work well together.”

“I know. He’s learned much under your tutelage.”