VirtualHeaven (15 page)

“Aye, little slave. ‘Tis a tale I would not soon live down.”

Maggie’s warm breath bathed his lips. “So be it. My lips are
sealed.” She pressed them to his, and he growled in his throat as he accepted
her promise. “Of course, I can’t speak for Vad.”

As far as the eye could see, nature was showing off. High,
rolling hills shone with the colors of the rainbow. The waning sunlight
softened the masses of flowers to a rosy hue. Flocks of long-haired sheep
dipped their black faces in the long grasses.

“Not all of Tolemac is forbidding and empty.” Kered stood
behind Maggie as she looked about. On a distant rise, a shepherd, a crook in
his hand, walked among his flock. Vad, sent to determine who roamed these
hills, followed him about, skirting curious ewes and their lambs.

“Are we safe here?” she asked.

“Aye. We are but a few leagues from the capital.”

“How far from Hart Fell?” she asked, sheltering her eyes and
peering off to the distant hills.

“Too far,” Kered answered, turning away. She dogged his
footsteps as he led Windsong to a narrow, swiftly moving stream.

“I don’t understand. You said we’d return there after you
got the sword and cup.” She helped him remove Windsong’s bridle, loosen the
girth, and heave the leather saddle from the horse’s back.

“Maggie, it is not possible—” he began, then frowned. He
recognized all too well the expression on her face. He started over. “We have
not yet accomplished our task. I may have the sword and the cup, but until I
present them, make my case to sit on the council, they are just worthless metal
weighing down my saddle.”

Her expression softened. “I understand that. But, if you
take me along to your capital and we go through the folderol—”

“Fol-der-what?”

“Ceremony. I meant ceremony. If we go through the ceremony,
isn’t it likely to take a long time? How many weeks have we been traveling?
I’ve lost track.” She began to wring her hands in agitation. Kered handed her
his pack to still her upsetting motions.

“The conjunction came at the waning of Vintage-month. ‘Tis
now the last of Autumn-month.”

“So much time?” She turned away, his pack dangling from her
hand to drag upon the ground as she walked to the edge of the running stream.
He sank down beside her and watched as she opened the pack and, as if she had
always done the chore, filled the water gourd.

“I am sorry, Maggie. I know you pine for home.”

Tears shone in her eyes as she stoppered the gourd and
placed it into the pack. “Then take me back to Nilrem’s mountain,” she
whispered.

“Not yet,” he said, his words as softly spoken as hers.

“You promised.” Her hand reached out to touch his knee in a
gesture of supplication.

Where she touched, he burned.

“I am not taking you back. Not yet.”
He might never take
her back
. He expected an explosion, a Maggie-upheaval of colossal
proportions. Instead, he saw only sorrow etched on her lovely face.

“I was afraid you would say that.”

Somehow he knew he had not only disappointed her, but at the
same time fulfilled some preconceived idea she had of man’s general
faithlessness. There was no surprise or shock in her voice. A shadow crossed
the sun, like the darkness on his heart, placed there by her unhappiness.

“You must understand—” he started.

“Oh, I understand.” She bent her head and folded the fabric
of her woolen shirt between her fingers, pleating it neatly.

Kered reached over and briefly touched her hand. “No, you do
not. I am not just another male failing in some promise made to you. Nilrem
claimed you have some meaning in my quest. The quest is not over until I say
‘tis over. Here,” he thumped his chest, “here, I sense there is more. Should I
take you back now, ‘twill be after Holy-month when I reach the capital. Leoh
may be dead by then. I cannot delay to satisfy this ache you have for home. For
all that I may sound cruel, I mean you no harm.”

Maggie stood up, her posture stiff and distant. “I want to
be alone.”

“Do not stray. Vad has not yet returned from questioning the
shepherd. Who knows who rides these hills? We travel through well-populated
lands these next few days where not everyone we meet is counted friend.”

She nodded. In a moment she had left him to walk along the
stream’s bank. The day was no longer sunny; the air rippled with something
ominous. The set of her shoulders made him wish to gather her in and comfort
her, but he stood his ground and let her go. How much of what he said was truth
and how much fabricated argument to keep her with him? He did not know.

Vad approached, drawing up beside him. “What ails her?”

“Our direction,” Kered said.

“Our direction? What is wrong with it? I reckoned it well.
We are but days from the capital.”

“But for Maggie, ‘tis the wrong way.”

“Surely she does not wish to go back to Nilrem’s mountain
now?” Vad dismounted and unsaddled his horse, laying his saddle in the shelter
of a branching tree and snagging the edge of his cloak at the same time. Kered
set him free with a slash of his knife when the branch refused to give up the
strip of Vad’s cloak.

“Aye,” Kered said, sheathing his knife. “She wished to seek
Nilrem’s wisdom in hopes of going home.”

“The ice fields are in the opposite direction from Hart
Fell.” Vad set his stallion, Warok, to graze with Windsong, then frowned at the
ragged hem of his cloak.

“I know.”

“So why go to Nilrem?” Vad persisted.

“‘Tis some fancy of hers. I think she says she is from
beyond the ice fields because she cannot remember from whence she came. It
suits her somehow to claim those lands, and perhaps if she returns to Nilrem,
something there will capture her senses and point her in the right
direction—point to home.”

“And all her stories of her place, her family? I will be
disappointed to learn that her tales are just that, tales. I was quite hoping
one day to meet these brothers of hers who can ride a horse more ably than
you!”

“At first I thought they were fancies of hers. So much about
Maggie is foreign to all we know. Her coloring—”

“Beautiful as a midnight sky!” Vad interrupted.

“She has two names.”

“Two names? Nilrem’s beard! What is the second one?”

“O’Brien.”

“Sounds like a man’s name.”

“Aye.” Kered turned away lest his face betray him.

“Could she be called after her master? Some form of
identification of ownership? It would help if this is so. Did you ask her?”

“No.”

Vad pulled on Kered’s arm until he turned about. “You fear
the answer, do you not? You do not wish to find her master! An unclaimed slave
is nothing but trouble. And a pleasure slave, no matter your station, will not
be tolerated by most lifemates.”

“I know. I have always held contempt for those who dishonor
a lifemate with their household slaves.”

“I am worried for you. You are destined for a political
alliance. Do not lose your heart to this slave, my friend.”

“If half of what she says is true, she is not a slave.”
Kered frowned as he watched Maggie unwrap the bandages he had painstakingly
placed on her feet.

“A wish or a beautiful dream. Surely, you cannot believe
this?” Vad asked.

Kered looked off to the distant hills and blinked away what
felt suspiciously like the welling of tears. He was so tired, he could no
longer think straight. “Perhaps the blow to her head has made her conjure a
better place…better people—”

“Better place? Than Tolemac? ‘Tis unlikely.” Vad hunkered
down and busied himself making a comfortable back rest of his saddle, then
stretched out and crossed his dusty boots at the ankles.

“In Maggie’s world, a man may lifemate where his heart leads
him, and so may a woman.” Kered crossed his arms on his chest.

“You are in need of a retreat with your awareness master.
Take her if you want her, but remember the penalties for denying your heritage.
The Tolemac wars will rage on if someone does not take the peacemaking role
when Leoh dies.” Vad yawned and closed his eyes.

Kered knew that with Maggie’s exotic coloring and changeable
skin, she would draw every male eye for miles and most female ones, too. His
belly clenched to think of other men desiring her. He wished he had obeyed the
many urges crying out to him to taste of her beauty. She had resisted his offer
of coin, but when faced with the opulence and beauty of the capital, would she
be able to resist or would she fall to the siren song of wealth? Many might
challenge him for the honor of taking her.

“Perhaps another might lead as ably as I.” Kered wearily
rubbed a hand over his face.

Vad opened one eye. “No one has Leoh’s backing or your
ability on the battlefield. You have proved you are more than worthy—you
summoned forth the sword. Do not deny your calling. Take her and slake your
hunger, but remember whence your loyalties lie.”

A double-edged sword of shame sliced through Kered’s body.
He had not told Vad that the sword had come to Maggie. It was a deception he
could not live with much longer, and speaking so blithely of taking her, as if
she had no say, made his stomach cramp. He tried to broach the topic, to make
Vad understand.

“I have been thinking of Maggie’s words of late, true or
not. Do her tales not make you think on how we treat our slaves?”

“Hm.” Vad closed his eyes. “I know that ‘twould be a
disaster if Anna were a free woman.” He again opened one eye and peered up at
his friend. “If she were not bound to your service, I might feel a need to
court her.”

“Court her? Since when have you courted a woman? You have
but to lift a finger to have them fall at your feet. I can scarcely get a bowl
of porridge if you are about. My slaves trip over me to serve you.” Kered
snorted in disgust, grateful for the turn of topic.

“Do not remind me. Women have no circumspection, no feminine
modesty. ‘Tis why I sleep in the barracks. No women allowed—free or slave.”

Kered smiled, his mood lifting. “There are men there who
would pursue you just as eagerly if you gave them a second glance.”

Vad groaned. “Especially Ronac.”

“Perhaps you could use this attraction he feels for you to
swing his favor to my cause. He is one councilor who never thinks for himself.
Samoht has only to nod and Ronac follows suit. His chiefdom suffers with such a
weak and spineless leader. Why does Ronac not see that Samoht introduces only
those measures that will benefit himself?”

“Speaking of Samoht—”

“Aye?” Kered began to pace, his eyes on Maggie sitting on
the stream’s bank, feet dangling in the water, the bandages in a neat pile by
her side. A sudden memory of her naked in the stream so long ago came to him.
He remembered the light as it rippled across her skin, and he imagined the
water beading like diamonds in her hair. The moment seemed fresh and raw to his
senses and brought an ache to his throat.

“You are elsewhere,” Vad remarked, sitting up straighter and
noting where Kered’s attention had wan­dered. “Relax, she is not in danger.
Samoht is most likely in the capital by now. The shepherd said his entourage
passed by two sun-risings ago.”

“How did he know ‘twas Samoht?” Kered dragged his attention
back with great difficulty.

Vad resumed his indolent posture, crossing his hands on his
belly. “He had no need to know the name. The Red Rose Warrior is all he needed
to say. All his men bear the standard. How could it be any but Samoht?”

“The bastard.” Kered unconsciously touched his knife hilt.

“Be careful where you say that word. He is sensitive to his
ancestry—on the wrong side of Ruhtra’s blankets!”

“He is a worm, no matter the side of the blanket on which he
was birthed. Damn.”

“Damn? You have picked up too many of Maggie’s sayings. Next
you will be slurring your words.” But Vad spoke to Kered’s back as a black
cloud blotted out what little light remained.

“Maggie!” Kered ran as fast as he could. His heart thundered
like a warhorse out of control and running downhill. “Stand still,” he cried.
“Do not move.”

“I’m not moving.” Indeed, she stood like a marble statue,
her gun drawn and ready, fear and wonder warring for a place on her face.

Kered came to a halt about twenty feet from her. “The puffin
is a sacred bird, as is the raven. Do not use the weapon.”

Maggie tried not to be alarmed at the crowd of puffins
surrounding her. One moment she had been alone; the next, a flock of birds had
landed. Their great thick triangular beaks opened and closed as they turned
their heads to stare at her. The red markings reminded her of blood.

“Tell them to leave me alone.”

“I do not talk to birds,” Kered said. “This is an ill omen,
this gathering of puffins.”

“Please,” she said softly, “if I can’t move, how will I get
past them?” Maggie looked up at him, expecting that he could solve this
problem. Her trust sharpened his feeling of shame.

“Hm. Slide your foot forward and see if they peck at you or
just move aside.”

The ground undulated with a mass of black glossy wings. “Why
sacred?” she asked, sliding a bare toe ahead an inch, then moving it hastily
back as a puffin made a quick move in her direction. Their bright orange feet
made her think of clowns. She’d always hated clowns. Nervous laughter bubbled
up in her throat and the sound agitated the surrounding birds, who ruffled
their feathers and bobbed their great beaks.

“‘Tis said the soul of Ruhtra abides in a puffin. Others
claim a raven. As a result, Tolemac is overrun with both.”

“Stop talking and get me out of here.” Maggie had seen
Alfred Hitchcock’s
The Birds
many times. Puffins or seagulls, the
gathering flock made the hair on her nape creep. More birds darkened the sky as
they joined the gathering. Ravens, this time, adding their own midnight threat.
“Do something.” Her voice rose in panic.

“Okay,” Kered said, inching his way to her. The birds pecked
vigorously at his boots. When he reached her, he gently lifted her into his
arms.