21. Clash of Stone and Steel
Clash of Stone and Steel
Talyn
Talyn woke the next morning feeling like a wagon had run her over. Or maybe a gargoyle. Her body was stiff and tired, and muscles she didn’t remember she had ached. It had been a long time since she’d had to do that much fighting in such a short amount of time.
She heard the crackle of a fire and let her eyes flutter open. The first thing she saw was Samhail. He stood across from her with his shirt off, and he seemed to be washing his upper body with a wet cloth.
Protector save her. This was the first time she’d seen him with his shirt off, and what riches that shirt had been hiding.
His chest was broad and rippled with muscles from one shoulder to the other while his torso narrowed into a toned waist and deep V that disappeared into his pants.
And his stomach…sweet gods, she could actually see eight clearly defined abdominal muscles there.
She’d never seen a man with eight before.
Samhail ran the cloth across his shoulder and down one arm, and she followed its progress over his bicep, around the tricep, and down to the corded sinews of his forearm.
Dark markings she assumed were tattoos covered his skin from wrist to mid-forearm in a pattern of black bands, diamonds, and herringboned rectangles that faded away below his elbows.
“Are assassins always this lazy?”
Talyn jumped at the sound of Samhail’s voice and snapped her mouth shut. It was dry from hanging open, and she kicked herself for letting him catch her staring.
She sat up and pulled the blankets close against the chilly morning air.
“What?” she asked, not yet awake enough to make sense of the words.
“It’s already eight in the morning. I was going to rouse you if you didn’t wake on your own soon. Do assassins normally sleep in?”
Talyn tried to blink away the drowsiness from her mind.
She never slept this late, especially not recently while she’d been working for Cyra, but she’d been more exhausted than she realized.
She’d expended a lot of energy the last two days trying to get away from Samhail and the others, then she hadn’t slept much the night before as she’d waited for her opportunity to escape.
She’d fought Samhail again yesterday morning, then they’d traveled all day.
It was no wonder she’d slept so soundly she hadn’t even felt Samhail get up.
Talyn threw off the blankets and fought the urge to shiver against the cold. She stood up and headed into the woods to relieve herself. When she returned, Samhail tossed her a warm, wet cloth.
“In case you want to clean up,” he said as she caught it.
Talyn reached the cloth up her sweater and ran it under her arms, across her chest and around whatever parts of her torso she could reach.
She was about to undo her pants and wipe between her legs when she glanced at Samhail and saw him watching her, much as she’d been watching him earlier.
His mouth wasn’t open, but there was no mistaking the look on his face. Desire.
His eyes met hers, and she smirked at him. She unfastened her pants slowly, and his eyes dipped down to watch. She turned away from him and plunged the cloth between her legs to wipe there. She let out an audible moan for his benefit and heard him growl behind her.
When she was done, she turned back to face Samhail and tossed the cloth to him. He caught it against his chest, and his eyes met hers again. There was fire in his gaze, but whether from anger, desire, or both, she couldn’t tell anymore.
Talyn refastened her pants and stepped toward the fire. “What’s for breakfast?” she asked innocently.
Nearly thirty seconds burned away as the flames snapped and popped between them. They stared at each other as Samhail held the cloth she’d washed herself with still clenched in his hand. Finally, he tossed it onto the fire. It smoked for a few seconds before catching and curling into ash.
“You will be if you don’t stop testing me,” he said.
Talyn didn’t move, but her stomach burst into butterflies that tried madly to get out.
“Let me ride my own horse today,” she said, and there was more pleading in her voice than she’d intended. She couldn’t spend another day pressed up against him, and she had a feeling he knew it too.
Several more seconds went up with the smoke of the fire until he finally nodded.
“Fine,” he said, “but I promise you’ll regret it if you make me hunt you down again.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she assured him. “Now really, what’s for breakfast?”
Samhail picked up a plate he’d set on a rock nearby and handed it to her. It had a hard biscuit, some fruit, and a piece of dried meat on it.
Well, she’d lived on worse.
“There’s tea in the pot,” Samhail said, pointing to a small pot heating near the fire.
Talyn grabbed a cup and poured herself some. She could tell by the pink hue of the liquid that it likely contained turrow berries…which made the tea a contraceptive.
Talyn looked up at Samhail and found him watching her again.
She smiled at him, raised the cup in salute, then tossed the drink back in one gulp.
He was still watching her when she looked back at him, but now there was the hint of a grin on his face.
He didn’t say anything, but just reached for his shirt to put it back on.
Twenty minutes later, they’d packed up camp and were riding southwest again, each on their own horse, much to Talyn’s relief. She had no idea what possessed her yet again to tease Samhail with that cloth. He really was going to snap one of these days.
Perhaps part of her hoped he would.
They reached the next town by lunch that day and stopped to eat at one of the taverns. Samhail hadn’t spoken to her the entire ride, and she couldn’t decide if she was relieved or disappointed by that.
They tied their horses outside – Samhail’s huge draft horse looking odd next to the other horses – and went in. The tavern bustled with mid-day activity, but the place gradually went quiet as gazes moved their way one by one and conversation died.
“I take it this usually happens when you walk in a room?” Talyn asked.
Samhail just grunted and moved toward an empty table in the corner. He took a seat against the wall, and Talyn took one next to him rather than across, so they were both facing out into the tavern. She knew he’d spot trouble, but she couldn’t bring herself to sit with her back exposed.
A young woman, barely more than a girl, approached their table nervously.
She was probably the daughter of the owner, and Talyn tried to reassure her with a smile.
The girl edged away from Samhail, and Talyn kicked his foot under the table to get him to drop his scowl.
He took the hint, and his expression eased.
“Two ales and whatever you have for lunch,” Samhail told the girl.
“Mutton pie?” she offered.
Samhail nodded once, and she hurried off.
Talyn surveyed the tavern as she normally did whenever she entered a place. Most of the patrons looked like local townsfolk, and all of them seemed to have gone back to their drinks and food after their initial shock of seeing Samhail. All but one.
“The man near the kitchen door has been staring at you since we walked in,” Talyn said casually. She was careful not to look at the man directly so as not to catch his attention.
“I know,” Samhail said as he took a drink from the tankard the barmaid set before him.
The man near the kitchen was big, and he wore thin plated armor over his shoulders and chest. A broadsword in a scabbard stood propped against the wall next to him.
His hair was dark, but not quite black, and his neatly trimmed beard made him look older than he likely was, although if he was perimortal, that didn’t mean much.
A scar marred one of his cheeks from his ear to the edge of his beard, and the scowl on his face almost put Samhail’s to shame.
“Do you owe him money?” Talyn asked Samhail.
“No.”
“Did you kill his friend?”
“Possibly.”
“Did you fuck his sister?”
He gave her a sidelong glance. “Also possible.”
Talyn rolled her eyes. “Any other ideas why he’s been eyeing you like he wants to eat your liver?”
“I have my suspicions.”
“Care to share them?”
“No.”
“Maybe you should take this cuff off and give me a sword, just in case you need help.”
Samhail’s dark eyes met hers with amusement. “I won’t need help.”
Talyn shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
“I always do,” he said.
Their food arrived, and they ate as the man continued to watch them from across the tavern. Samhail seemed oblivious to his stare, but Talyn observed the man closely, occasionally catching his look when his eyes strayed to her every few minutes.
When they finished their meal, Samhail stood and laid some coins on the table. “Let’s go. It’s time to get back on the road,” he said.
Talyn stood and glanced at the man across the tavern again. His eyes followed Samhail as they left. Samhail could likely handle him easily, but the man’s attention put her on edge for some reason.
Outside, they untied their horses, but they hadn’t gone more than a few steps before an aggressive voice called out from behind them.
“Samhail!”
They both turned, and sure enough, the man from the tavern stood there holding his broadsword.
Talyn hadn’t been able to tell how tall he was when he was sitting down, but she saw now he was easily over six feet, possibly around Lord Bressen’s height. Samhail still had more than half a foot on him, but the man seemed solid enough, and he looked plenty at ease with the giant sword he held.
“Do I know you?” Samhail asked him.
“No, but I know you,” the man said. “Or I know your reputation anyway. You’re supposedly the best, but I intend to show otherwise.”
Talyn loosed a breath. She saw it now, the hazard of Samhail’s reputation. There was always someone looking to prove they were better than him by knocking him off the top. This man wanted to make a name for himself, and he thought to do so by defeating Samhail in a fight.