The Crowded Shadows (17 page)

Razi startled and banged his head off Wynter’s feet. He cursed blearily and fumbled free of his covers, rolling out from under the bivouac. He left the bedroll in a terrible disorder and Wynter kicked at it in irritation. She was instantly filled with the itchy, sand-eyed restlessness that had plagued her all night. Her body was exhausted, almost painfully worn out, but at the same time she could not seem to settle. Every time she shut her eyes she saw the same thing. She saw blood, she imagined screams, and she felt the proximity of Wolves. She moaned in exasperation and shoved her covers down to her feet. It was too damned hot.

“Aren’t you going to bed, Chris?” asked Razi softly.

Wynter stared up at the canvas and tensed, listening for Christopher’s reply. She was suddenly aware of the fact that she had been waiting for Christopher. She had been longing for him to come in and lay down beside her. She could just about see his boots, loitering hesitantly by the tent. There was a moment’s silence, then he turned away.

“I’m too restless,” he said. “I’m going to have a swim.”

“Be careful. Stay close.”

Christopher tutted in exasperation and walked away.

Wynter took a deep breath, pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes and told herself to go to sleep.

Moments later she rolled from beneath the canvas and got stiffly to her feet. The night was much brighter now, the clouds having clotted along the horizon, leaving room for stars and the naked half-moon above them.

Razi peered at her in concern. “Wyn,” he said. “Are you all right?” She glanced furtively at the river. Razi’s eyes widened, then he looked away, his face tight with embarrassment. “It’s a warm night,” he said.

“Aye.”

“Much cooler by the river,” he said.

Wynter nodded. Razi kept looking fixedly into the trees and eventually she turned and made her way down to the water. She thought fleetingly how lonely he might be and glanced back once, but she didn’t stop walking.

At the water’s edge, Christopher’s boots and socks and tunic were lying in a tidy pile at his feet. He was just reaching back to loosen the tie on his undershirt when Wynter rounded the bushes. His hair was unbound and it swung heavily around his shoulders as he turned to look at her. He left his shirt tied and pushed his hair behind his ears in a gesture Wynter hadn’t seen for a long while.

“How do, girly,” he whispered. “I was just going for a swim.”

Wynter nodded.

He stood with his arms hanging loose by his sides and tilted his head questioningly. The moon gleamed off his cheekbones and outlined his lips in pale light. “Can’t you sleep?” he asked softly.

She shook her head.

“Me neither,” he said.

Christopher looked at her with that familiar gentle intensity, and Wynter knew with absolute certainty that she’d never love anyone as much as she loved this man.

She took the last few steps and stood very close to him, gazing up into his face.

He hesitated for a moment and then he lifted his hand and stroked her cheek. “Girly,” he whispered, and Wynter pressed herself against him and stopped his words with her mouth on his.

His reaction was powerful and immediate. He pulled her close and bent himself to her kiss with a hunger that should have been frightening. But instead of fear, Wynter felt her own hunger rise up, so she wrapped her arms around him and responded with an intensity that made him groan. Christopher pulled her closer and she ran her hands up his back, feeling all the strong, flat planes of his slim body. He opened his mouth against hers. She pushed her fingers into his hair. He tasted wonderful, he smelled so incredibly good, and Wynter felt a powerful desire blaze to life between them.

For a moment Christopher pressed tightly against her, and Wynter abandoned herself to the need to get closer and closer. But then she felt him bare his teeth and he brought his hands to her waist, pushing her away until she had to loosen her grip, and they were separated.

They stood for a moment, panting, their foreheads pressed together, their hands resting lightly on each other’s hips.

“Christopher
…”
she moaned, her body aching to be near him.

He gasped and held her firmly away. “You’re a sore trial to my self-control at the best of times, lass. Please… I ain’t too certain of restraint at the moment. You need to give me a bit of space.”

Wynter opened her eyes and looked up at him, her forehead still pressed to his. He did the same so that they were watching each other within the swinging black curtain of his hair.

“I feel very strongly for you, Christopher,” she whispered.

“You ain’t sport to me, lass. I couldn’t make sport with you.”

She frowned, not understanding.

“I couldn’t… If we lay down. I couldn’t just
…”
Christopher paused. The moonlit river sent dappled currents of light across his face as he searched miserably for the right words. “You’d be forever to me, lass,” he said. “If I lay down with you, it wouldn’t be sport. It would be forever with me.”

Wynter smiled. He looked terrified. “Forever would be just fine by me, Christopher.”

He shook his head uncertainly. “Now, you think what you’re saying, Protector Lady. You think careful about who you’re saying this to—a fingerless musician, a foul-mouthed tape-worm… and a dubious Merron at that.” There was a smile in his voice when he finished this and they grinned at each other in the rippling light.

“I know what I’m saying, Christopher Garron. Do not be wheedling out of things by implying that I don’t know my own mind.”

She slowly ran her hand up his ribs and across his chest, and Christopher closed his eyes for a moment, his heart thudding beneath her palm.

“Aren’t you… provisioned?” she asked shyly.

Christopher chuckled and his grin got a lopsided wickedness to it that weakened Wynter’s knees. “Sweetheart,” he whispered. “I’m
always
provisioned.” He opened his eyes suddenly, grave and sincere. “But I will not have your first time a heated fumble against a tree, with the two of us looking over our shoulders for fear of Wolves.” He brought his hand to the side of her face and stepped away from her. “I’d like to wait till we can put some joy in it, girly. If that’s all right?”

Wynter turned her cheek into the palm of his hand, looking at him from the corner of her eye. She kissed his wrist. Christopher turned abruptly, ran, and dived into the river. He broke the surface of the water a yard or two from shore and began to swim away from her.

“Christopher!” she called softly.

He flipped onto his back, still pulling steadily from the shore. “Aye?”

“My name is Iseult.”

He grinned at her, his face surrounded by sparkling moonlight and slivers of dark. “Oh, lass,” he said happily. “That’s a bloody lovely name!” Then he rolled backwards and disappeared beneath the surface like a fish.

I
t rained all day, a gentle, unending drizzle that softened the edges of everything and cooled the air. Every now and again the sun would step briefly from the clouds and the green surface of the river would explode into a multitude of rainbows. It had been breathtaking the first time Wynter saw it, but after five hours lurking in the cover of the trees and looking down on the Wherry Tavern, the glory of nature was palling.

“We’ve been here for
hours
,” she complained.

“Is that so?” whispered Razi with mock surprise. “I had not noticed!”

Wynter grimaced at him.
Sarcastic old coot
, she thought.

Christopher poked her in the back and she glanced around to find him holding out the bag of walnuts he’d bought at the Tarman’s Inn. She took one, discovered that they were candied and immediately took two more. Razi went to help himself, and Christopher squeezed the bag shut on his hand.

“Hey!” he whispered. “No one offered
you
any, you bloody pirate!” Razi gave him a narrow look. He had taken exception to the nickname, and so of course, Wynter and Christopher delighted in using it. Christopher grinned and offered the bag again. Razi took a handful of nuts with a tolerant sigh and returned to looking down the hill. He popped a walnut into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

“Who are they after?” he mused. “It seems as though they’re waiting, rather than just making a random check.”

“Perhaps they’re hunting the Wolves?” suggested Wynter.

“Perhaps. Certainly Father would have the curs hunted, if he knew they were here.”

“Either way it don’t have much to do with us,” said Christopher quietly. “We can move on.”

Razi watched the cavalry move about in the valley below them. All the evidence suggested that the men had been there at least two days. They had set up camp on the green beside the inn, and the ground was well trodden by men and horses, and scarred with the evidence of many cook fires.

“Whatever it is that they were hoping to discover, I wager they’ve not found it,” mused Wynter. “They’re about to head out.”

As if on cue, the cavalry began to dismantle their tents.

Razi ran his thumb along his scarred lip. “My father’s men
…”
His dark eyes followed the members of his father’s personal guard as they walked amongst the cavalry. He glanced at the small knot of watchful civilians standing in the doorway of the inn and then turned his attention to the other side of the water. “Who do you seek?” he said softly under his breath.

In all the time that the three of them had been hidden here, the ferry-raft had made only one journey across the river. Its cargo had been a single man with two lightly-burdened pack mules. The cavalry had questioned him and examined his cargo and his papers closely, then allowed him on his way. The empty ferry had made its way back to the other side and, since then, no one else had come across the wide swell of water.

Every now and again during the day, the captain of Jonathon’s personal guard would stalk up and down the pier in the rain, tapping his riding crop against his thigh, and it was obvious to Wynter that his patience was wearing thin. Now he stood, glaring across the water, as his men packed away their equipment. Suddenly, he turned on his heel and bellowed to the inn. There was a long moment of inactivity and then a small, broad-shouldered man in an apron came out into the yard—the landlord. He stood, as if waiting for the officer to come to him. The captain snarled and gestured him over. The landlord took his own sweet time coming up the pier, and Razi and Wynter frowned; this was no way for a civilian to treat representatives of his Majesty the King.

“He should be cuffed around the ear,” said Wynter. “Who in God’s name does he think he is?”

The landlord came to a halt, brazenly holding the captain’s gaze. Wynter was amazed at the captain’s forbearance in the face of such blatant disrespect. In his place she would have kicked this fellow’s insolent arse.

The captain coolly stared the landlord down, and Wynter felt a spark of admiration for the man. During the chaos and fear at the palace, it had been easy to forget what a disciplined body of soldiers the King’s personal guard were. In the old days—the days before Jonathon’s reign—the landlord’s behaviour would have seen him horsewhipped and his business burned to the ground. She wondered if he had forgotten that. Watching Jonathon’s man resist the temptation to strike out in rage, Wynter felt a tiny flame of hope that the King’s former, even-handed method of rule may yet prevail.

The captain snapped a few curt instructions to the landlord. Then, apparently satisfied, he turned on his heel and stalked back to his men. The officers took to the saddle, their men followed suit, and within moments the cavalry had pulled into formation and trotted off up the track, heading towards the main road. The landlord watched them leave, his face grim, then he made his way back into the inn and slammed the door on the sight of them.

“He has no love of my father’s men, does he?” murmured Razi, his eyes on the firmly shut door. “You know, I do believe this man may be a sympathiser to my brother’s cause. This may be a rebel den
…”

“Oh, marvellous,” exclaimed Christopher dryly. “No doubt you are now itching to pop in and make yourself known.” Razi’s lips curved and he continued to watch the inn. “No doubt,” continued Christopher. “You are now simply
choked
with the desire to trot on down and wave your arms about, hoping that some miscreant will recognise you, and knock you about and drag you off to your brother’s camp. No bloody doubt you—”

“Christopher,” smiled Wynter. “Shush.”

“Oh,
you
shush!” he said.

“Just because they sympathise with Alberon does not mean they would know me from any other brown man, Christopher. I have no intention of ‘trotting on down and waving my arms about’.”

“Good!”

“I would, however—”

“Oh, here we have it!”

“I
would
however, like to go down and see who it is the cavalry are seeking.”

Christopher flung his hands up in despair.

“I suggest we hold off a while, brother,” said Wynter. “Now that the cavalry have gone, maybe we should wait and see what might crawl from the trees?”

Razi smiled. “Aside from us, you mean?”