She resisted the urge to touch him. “We must return,” she said softly, and turned away to finish dressing.
He kissed her once before they returned to the others but she managed to control her reaction to him and keep her head cool.
“It will be easier to conquer Lanconia than to conquer you,” he said with a sigh. “Now go on, get up the hill. I fear to leave our brother with Brita too long or she may persuade him to put a knife to my throat as I sleep.”
“You misjudge him!” Jura snapped as she began the climb. “He has been trained from childhood, as I have, in the policies of Lanconia.”
“I know hatred when I see it in someone’s eyes. Will you protect my back from your brother’s knife? Who would you choose if it came to a choice between the two of us?”
Jura stopped at that question for she had no idea what her answer was. Rowan kept climbing and after a moment she followed him. Of course it would not come to a choice, for Rowan would no doubt get himself—and perhaps the rest of their group—killed before he reached the Fearens’ city. Once again, Jura felt a little ache inside her breast at the thought of the loss of Rowan, but she managed to control it. She must steel herself for the time when he would be gone.
Chapter Fourteen
AS THEY RODE that day, each step taking them closer to Fearen territory, each person grew more watchful. The road became steeper and in places so narrow the horses shied at having to travel it. They were traveling east toward the rising sun, with the mountains that hid the villages of the Poilens and the Ultens to their left in the north.
No one spoke as they stayed alert for any noise not of their own making. Twice Jura saw Brita looking at Geralt in a hungry way and thought with disgust of the woman’s appetites. One day Brita wanted Rowan and the next she wanted Geralt.
Perhaps it was Rowan’s words that made her doubt her brother, but she looked at Geralt with appraising eyes. He sat stiffly on his horse, never once glancing in Brita’s direction, but something in the way he carried himself made Jura think Geralt was very aware of Brita’s gaze.
Jura looked up to see Rowan’s eyes on her. He gave her a level gaze that for some reason embarrassed her and she looked away. The man was treacherous! He knew that his words had made Jura watch her brother and now he was making her doubt him.
They camped that night in the crook of the river that was the boundary of the Fearen territory. They did not build a fire but ate cold food then put their blankets onto the rocky ground and settled down to sleep. Geralt had the first watch.
No sooner had Jura gone to sleep than suddenly she was awake. The river was noisy and masked a great deal, but her senses told her something was wrong. She eased onto her elbow and looked about. Brita and Cilean seemed to be asleep and she looked toward the deep shadows in some rocks where Geralt hid and guarded. Rowan had moved his blankets away from the others and she could not see him. She looked at Daire and knew he was awake.
Daire lay where he was but his hand moved to point toward Rowan’s place in the trees then toward the narrow trail leading into the Fearens’ land. Jura felt her heart begin to beat faster. For some reason the Englishman had ridden alone into enemy territory.
Jura eased out of the blankets, signaled Daire to stay with Brita and Cilean, then crept toward the horses. She knew Rowan would ride directly toward Yaine’s city, so she mounted bareback and began to ride, slowly and softly at first then with more speed and vigor the farther away from the camp she got.
She had not gone far when Rowan shot out of the trees on his horse with the fury of anger.
“Damn you, Jura!” he yelled at her. “You are worse than a possessive mother. Go back to the others now!”
“You left without protection,” she said, her horse dancing about. “And you are in enemy land. Yaine’s men will kill you and they will not question whether you are a king with a noble purpose or not.”
He seemed to be trying to calm his temper. “I am looking for the messenger I sent. He was to travel along this back road, the road the Irials use to steal the Fearen horses, and he should have reached us by now.”
“The Fearens will not let your messenger live—that is, if he ever reached their king.”
“I am king. Yaine is—Hell, Jura, I don’t have time to argue with you. I know you won’t return, so ride with me. And watch my back,” he called over his shoulder.
She smiled in the darkness as she began to follow him. Perhaps he was learning some Lanconian ways after all.
They rode along the rocky path for an hour, the moon their only source of light, when Rowan raised his hand to halt. When he dismounted, so did she, and as silently as possible they led their horses down the steep ridge and tied them to a tree.
“I saw the light of a fire ahead,” Rowan whispered. “Stay close to me and do not do anything foolish.”
“You have ridden alone into enemy territory,” she reminded him. Even in the darkness she could see his warning look.
For such a big man he could certainly move silently, she thought as she followed him along the ridge. And his eyesight was excellent, since they were some distance from the flat place in the trail where the fire burned.
She and Rowan hid behind trees and surveyed the scene for a while before moving. Three men squatted around the fire, gnawing on the remains of a rabbit. They looked tired and their clothes were torn and patched and repatched, as if they had been wearing them for years.
Jura recognized them for Fearens. They were small men, half a foot shorter than the Irials, but as anyone who had fought them knew, they had a wiry strength that was formidable in battle. They were dark men with brows that nearly grew together and their legs had the characteristic bow of the Fearens. It was said that at three years of age a Fearen child was set on a horse and never again allowed off. They were said to love their horses more than each other and that if an Irial on foot met a Fearen on horse, the Irial should pray for a swift death.
Jura turned toward where Rowan was hiding. He was staring at her and he nodded his head toward the distant trees on the far side of the Fearens’ fire. She could barely make out the outline of another person, and as she stared, she thought the person seemed to be tied to the tree. She looked in question to Rowan and he nodded. So, here was his messenger, trussed like a goose for Feastday. She couldn’t tell whether the man was alive or dead.
For all that Rowan was an Englishman, Jura was beginning to be able to understand him. Without saying a word, he directed her to the other side of the Fearens’ camp while he stealthily made his way through the trees toward the man they held prisoner.
It seemed to Jura that Rowan was gone for a long time and she jumped a bit when he at last moved into the shadows beside her.
“They have Keon,” Rowan whispered.
Jura could not see Rowan’s face but she knew the anguish he must be feeling. Keon was the son of Brocain, the prince of the Zernas, the boy Rowan had pledged his life to keep safe. She thought it was a foolish thing to have sent this valuable young man into Fearen territory as a messenger, but she did not tell Rowan this. For now she would hold her tongue.
Rowan motioned to her that he wanted to take the three Fearens so he could rescue the Zerna boy, and for a moment Jura thought he meant to try to take them by himself. Jura gave him a level look that told him what she thought of his plan.
He grimaced in resignation, then said, “No killing,” under his breath and disappeared into the trees.
She sat absolutely still and waited for him to give a signal that they were to begin. Her heart was pounding as it always did before any contest of skills, but now there seemed to be something else. She was worried that Rowan would be all right. She prayed that now was not the time when he would be killed. She offered a prayer to the Christian God, then, just to be safe, she asked the Lanconian god of war, Naos, to watch out for the well-meaning Englishman.
Rowan did not attack in a subtle way, but stepped forward into the circle of light of the fire, his swo
rd in his left hand, and said, “I am the King of Lanconia, put down your weapons.”
All three of the tired Fearens leaped up at once and ran toward Rowan. Jura came from the trees behind them and brought the back of her battle-ax down on one Fearen’s head. The man crumpled at her feet, and before she could turn, a second Fearen had her about the waist.
He was strong—very strong—Jura admitted as she struggled against the man’s hold on her. His arms were forcing the breath from her body. She brought her heels back and her elbows slammed into his ribs, but the man didn’t let go. To her left, Jura could hear the sounds of steel against steel as Rowan fought the third Fearen.
The man holding her kept tightening his grip, and Jura tried to keep her lungs open to breathe but she was failing in her attempt. She was losing strength and she could feel herself growing limp in the man’s grasp as the pressure continued. Her eyes closed and she felt nothing.
“Jura! Jura!”
She wakened to find herself on the ground, her upper body in Rowan’s arms as he slapped her face and shouted at her. She stirred in his arms and tried to sit up but he held her fast.
“Jura, are you all right?”
“Yes,” she said impatiently. “If you don’t crush me now.” She rubbed her sore ribs. “I could not breathe.”
“Why did I allow a woman to help me fight?” he said woefully, still clutching her.
She pushed away from him to sit up. “Because I knocked one man out and kept a second busy while you were still trying to subdue the first man.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “If we had just sent arrows into them—”
Rowan stood and looked at the three unconscious Fearens on the ground around them. “They are my people the same as the Irials.” He turned away to the tree where the boy Keon was, and Jura followed him.
At first the boy seemed to be dead, but upon closer inspection he was only sleeping very deeply, for the sounds of battle had not wakened him. Rowan knelt to him. The boy was not tied to the tree as Jura had thought. She also knelt before the boy and the smell was overpowering.
“He’s drunk,” she said with disgust. “He’s not a captive, he’s merely a drunken boy.”
Rowan shook the boy awake.
Keon rolled his eyes, smacked his dry mouth, then smiled stupidly at Rowan. “My father’ll be proud of me,” he slurred. “I went to Yaine.”
“And Yaine didn’t kill you?” Jura asked, aghast.
The boy grinned and closed his eyes briefly. “Said I was brave. I told him about Brita.” The boy moved his hands to make a female shape in the air. “Yaine says he’ll marry her.” He leaned toward Jura, his foul breath making her pull her head back. “They will be a funny pair. He’s a little man, but then Brita’s not as young and pretty as you, Jura. If you had a sister, I would marry her. I would then be related to my king.”
Jura raised her eyebrows at Rowan. “Your king? You mean your father Brocain?”
The boy gave her a crooked smile. “King Rowan. King of all Lanconia. King of—”
“Where is Siomun?” Rowan said impatiently, ignoring the way Jura was looking at him over the boy’s obvious hero worship. “I sent Siomun to take the message to Yaine.”
“I tied Siomun up. I couldn’t stay there with all those Irials. My father expects me to be a man—like you. I had three older brothers and they got killed when my father sent them on raids.” He leaned toward Jura. “I attacked this Irial king, but I lived. Now I have to do more. I have to prove I can be as good a man as my father and I have to prove myself to you, King Rowan. Have I done so?”
Rowan put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You have pleased me and, yes, I believe you to be a man,” he said softly.
“So you rode alone into Fearen territory,” Jura said, then looked at Rowan. “Your innocence is affecting us all.” She turned back to Keon. “Why didn’t Yaine kill you?”
Keon’s expression changed to one of sadness. “They are very poor. Yaine says everyone steals their horses, so they must move all the time. They cannot plant crops and last winter they were very sick. Many died. They need women.” Keon’s young face brightened. “My father will give them all of our women if they want. We will take the Irial women.”
“So Yaine accepts us?” Rowan said.
Keon’s head lolled to one side as he nearly fell asleep. “Those three are to take you to Yaine. Did you kill them? One is Yaine’s brother. For little men, they sure can drink.” He closed his eyes, his head falling forward, and went back to sleep.
Tenderly, Jura eased him to the ground. “I never noticed what a handsome young man he was,” she said.
“Not colorless like some of us?” Rowan snapped. “Now, if you can stop mothering that child, we had better see to the Fearens. I thank God I did not have to kill one of them.”
Jura smiled at him as she patted Keon’s cheek. “He is actually about my age, so I don’t guess he is a boy. And he was very brave to go to Yaine alone.”
“He is brave when he goes alone, yet I am foolish,” Rowan muttered, and left her to see to the Fearens.
Jura smiled at his back, loving his jealousy. For all his faults, this English husband had a way of making her feel…well, beautiful. Not that beauty was of any use whatsoever but it was a rather nice feeling.
One of the Fearens was beginning to stir as he rubbed his sore head. Rowan sent Jura off to fetch water while he looked after the men. She returned to see Rowan holding a sword on the men while they glared at him. But Jura wasn’t surprised when, as they listened to Rowan’s explanation, their faces began to change. Jura thought that Rowan’s words just might be able to coax flies off dead meat.
When Jura stepped into the light, the men looked up at her and one kept staring. She knew he was the man who had nearly killed her, and they exchanged looks of gratitude that they were both alive.
Jura sat by the fire, behind the Fearens but where she could see if they went for their weapons, and listened to Rowan talk. Idly, she pulled a leg off a roasted rabbit and gnawed at it, then tore off a chunk of stale bread. The fire, the exercise, the safety, and most of all, Rowan’s voice was making her sleepy. She stretched out on the ground, sleepily pulled one of the sheepskins that the Fearens used for horse blankets over her, and went to sleep.
She woke, but not fully, when Rowan picked her up in his arms. For just a moment she fought against him but then she settled against him, snuggling her head against his broad, hard chest, and let herself drift back into sleep. She was not conscious of it but somewhere in her mind she knew she was safe. He had done several things that she knew were foolish, but he had made them work. He had befriended Brocain of the Zernas, persuaded the Vatell queen to allow her people to marry into the Irials, and now the Fearens were listening to him.
She opened her eyes. “Do you really talk to God?”
Rowan gave her a look of puzzlement. “I am only a man and I need help from wherever I can get it.”
She closed her eyes again and went back to sleep. She didn’t wake until it was almost daylight. Rowan lay beside her, sound asleep, his big arms wrapped about her as if she were a child’s toy. Slowly, trying not to disturb him, she tried to untangle herself.
“Do not leave my sight,” he said, not opening his eyes and tightening his hold on her.
“I need to go,” she said pointedly.
He still didn’t open his eyes. “To that tree there and no farther,” he said. “I do not want to fight anyone for you today.”
She shut her mouth on a sharp retort and went to the tree. When she returned, he was still lying there, still looking as if he were asleep. “We must get back to the others,” she said. “Daire and Cilean will worry, and where are those Fearens and Brocain’s son? Do you plan to stay here all day?”
His hand shot out and caught her ankle. “Jura, do you not sometimes want to lie all day on the bank of a pretty stream and watch the butterflies?”
She smiled down at him. “Perhaps, but it cannot be done toda
y. Geralt will—”
“God’s teeth!” Rowan gasped, coming to his feet. “I had forgotten that brother of yours. He will kill the Fearens without giving them a chance to explain. Mount and ride!” he ordered her.
Jura had trouble getting her bearings because she had been asleep last night when Rowan had carried her from the camp. She hastily gathered their few belongings, mounted her horse bareback, and went after Rowan.
Minutes later she saw that Rowan’s fears were justified. Damnation, but she hated to admit even to herself that he was right.
Geralt was always an excellent fighter, but when his temper was aroused he was fearless. He had managed to capture all three Fearens, no doubt sneaking up on them while they slept, and he was now threatening their lives if they did not tell him how they had murdered his sister.
Jura came into the clearing just in time to see Rowan throw a knife that landed in the dirt between Geralt’s feet. Jura knew there was going to be a fight. She kicked her horse forward but it was already too late. Even years later she would not be sure what happened next. The Fearens, who had come in peace, had already been attacked twice in a few hours, and their anger was directed at Geralt. When they saw their chance, they leaped, weapons ready. Young Keon, who was roused from a drunken sleep, looked up and saw the confusion, not really understanding who was attacking whom. To him it must have looked as if his beloved King Rowan was in danger.
Keon ran, sword drawn, and put his body in front of Rowan’s. A Fearen lunged at Geralt, missed as Geralt sidestepped, and the Fearen’s sword pierced Keon’s heart. Had he not been there, Rowan would no doubt have been killed.