Chapter 5
Three of his royal guard joined Aleron while one shoved the healer out of his path as he entered the healing tent, intent on learning how the woman fared.
“You have no right,” Tashama said with indignation.
The healer interrupted her, “I’m all right, miss.”
Her words were feminine, like she was, though harsh with condemnation. Aleron studied Tashama’s face with amazement at the transformation that had taken place from the last time he’d seen her. Now, he was sure she was the witch who visited his dreams, but last night she had not come to him.
Was it because of her injuries? The healer would have given her the tea to help heal them. Did that make her incapable of coming to him in the night?
He should have been grateful, but all it did was force him to come to see her again today, to ensure she was all right.
To ensure she was not a figment of his overwrought imagination.
Even though she had not slipped into his dreams, he still hadn’t slept well at all because of worrying about her safety.
He reached for her hand. She stepped back.
He motioned to his guard, who grabbed her arm, then held it out to him.
Glancing at the healer, the prince tilted his head slightly, causing the healer to step forward and pull her sleeve up.
The prince caught her twisting her mouth in annoyance while she frowned at him.
Stifling a smile, he signaled the guard to show her other arm to him.
Aleron’s fingers touched her skin with the gentlest of caresses, avoiding contact with her wounds. Without Carissian objecting, he enjoyed prolonging the gesture. After examining her injuries, he opened his mouth to speak, then closed it.
Reconsidering, he said, “You have a tongue.”
“Certainly, and you have yet to hear it.”
He tilted his head back slightly and considered Tashama’s ivory complexion and gem-quality green eyes. His eyes roamed over her naturally blond hair, striated with fine strands of gold and honey drifting over her shoulders now in ruffled waves past her slim hips.
His smile returned when he studied her turtleneck drawn snugly over her breasts. His brows rose slightly in amusement, then he chuckled when her full pink lips pursed with irritation.
She was lovelier than anyone he could have imagined, although she was only a Karthlander woman.
Yet there was something more about her. Even Carissian sensed something unusual.
His gaze rested on her inviting mouth, and he shook his head.
Since her capture, he’d been unable to think of anything else.
He sighed deeply. His women wore colored waxes to enhance the appearance of their lips, but this woman needed no such coloration.
Perfectly formed and pink as the frizolan when in full bloom, she didn’t need to improve their luscious color.
With just a little persuasion, he knew her lips would succumb to his.
He motioned for her to sit on the bed. She folded her arms. Aleron waved to one of his guards, who yanked her to the mattress. Sitting on the bed, she glared back at Aleron.
He sat on the stool the healer had used and studied her further. “Who are you?”
The question wasn’t meant to be answered…just his thinking out loud. He rubbed his silky chin.
“My jewelers are baffled by the chains you wore. Only royalty can wear such a thing.” He furrowed his brow. “Are you a thief?”
The healer and the other prisoners waited on the edges of their seats for Tashama’s answers. Aleron shook his head. “You are nobody.”
Why have you come to see me, then…a nobody…when you have never before visited the compound? Why do you sit here undressing me with hungry eyes? A nobody wouldn’t be worth a smidgeon of your time, great prince.
Tashama was glad Carissian wasn’t around to read her mind. She’d hold her tongue in the prince’s presence with her own people sitting in audience, but she could think as freely as she wanted.
Aleron touched the ribbed edge of her doubled-over collar. The prince’s fingers stretched the material. You’re as curious as that silly Maine Coon cat I used to have. But I’m not your mouse to play with.
She studied Aleron’s gaze while he seemed to take in every measure of her figure…the spread of her narrow shoulders and her slim hips, then his focus centered on the points of interest beneath her turtleneck.
The wounded prisoners watched his attentions to her. “You’re no threat to me.” The prince rose, turned on his heel, and stormed out of the healer’s tent.
“Just you wait and see,” Tashama said under her breath. And yes, despite realizing my feelings for you are wrong, I want to share your bed. But, it will never be, prince of Maldovia.
She turned to the healer. “I noticed when I arrived last night that the guards had only a few posted when it would be easier for our people to escape. Why is this?”
“I do suppose they feel we would never be able to find a way through the mountains to Karthland.”
“Nonsense. Our people can do anything they set their minds to do.”
“They’ll get themselves killed.”
“They’ll be free. Living here kills the spirit.
If this war goes on forever, won’t the body die here, too—never knowing the freedom to live?
Never to be with family and friends? I lost that freedom once.
” Tashama looked down at her hands. “I never realized how much I longed to be with my family and friends until I was torn away from them. I didn’t realize it until now.
I was just as much in a prison where I was, hiding until I was able to return and resume…
” The words she almost said died on her lips. “I will return home.”
“To a place you do not know.”
She took a deep breath. “I will remember it again.”
“To find a mate you know not.”
“In time.”
“Do you truly have the gift?”
“They seem to think so.” Tashama waved her hand at the camp.
The healer gave her a small smile. “If nothing else, you sure have been entertaining, miss.”
Tashama peered out of the tent. The prince and his entourage mounted their horses at the gate, and she walked out into the open. Several of the prisoners caught sight of her, and an unexpected roar of cheers erupted. The prince and his men turned to watch her.
She motioned for everyone to be quiet. A guard uniformed in the same manner as the palace guard at Banff caught her eye, and she shuddered to see the sight.
“What’s wrong?” the healer asked.
“Who’s the guard standing on the wall walk?”
“Aleron’s own palace guard.”
She took a deep breath when the prince and his men headed out of the compound. “They’re watching me. They’ll come for me soon, I fear.”
“To what end?”
“That—I don’t know.”
Tashama walked back into the tent with the healer. “Was a mapmaker taken prisoner?”
“Yes, miss, but...”
“I don’t believe the general will allow me to speak to his men. Will you have the mapmaker illustrate enough maps for”—she counted in the air—“fifteen men?”
“Will you lead them?”
Tashama smiled. “A woman? Surely you jest?” Walking over to the cots where one of the wounded men rested, she touched his shoulder, felt his essence, his future life in the palm of her hand.
“You’ll live long enough to marry your girl back home and spend an eternity with her.
” He beamed, grabbed her hand, and squeezed it tightly.
She made her way to the next bed. She touched the man’s cheek and smiled. “You have a new young’un at home, and you’ll soon be there to bounce him on your knee.”
“A boy? After six girls, I’m finally going to have a boy!”
“Do not touch me, woman!” the next man scowled. “My life grows dimmer with every breath I take.” Though she intended to pass him by at his request, he grabbed her wrist and twisted it hard.
“Ah!” she cried out, tears filling her eyes when his fingers dug into her cuts.
“Let her go!” several of the men shouted from their beds.
“What is this?” the general demanded, storming into the tent.
“You’re hurting my wrist!” Tashama cried out and tried to pry the man’s fingers from her arm when they dug deeper into the wound.
His thoughts intermingled with hers; her heart thundered.
The general grabbed the man’s hand and wrenched it free, while the healer administered a sedative to the patient.
“He murdered his very own family,” Tashama said under her breath and sank to her knees.
“Stay away from my men, woman!” the general shouted as the healer helped her back to her bed.
“Are you General Karam?” she asked, not to be cowed.
“You’re not to speak to anyone here, do you understand?”
“She has the gift, General,” one of the patients said.
The general shook his head. “She’s tricking you.”
Tashama stood. “I must leave here. I cannot stay. I must find Bal, Balfour. I cannot understand why he has not come for me before now.” He would know what I have to do.
“This Balfour…is he one of Prince Aleron’s men? Why has he sent you here?” the general demanded.
“What?” Tashama stared at him in disbelief. He thought she was a spy for the prince? She headed for the entrance of the tent, then turned to face him. “You may be a great leader on the battlefield, but you have a lot to learn about diplomacy.”
Tashama hurried outside, where the men had dispersed according to the general’s orders. She walked to the west wall and began surveying the perimeter of the camp. A quarter of the distance around the barrier, she noticed the guards on the wall walk studying her movements.
She took a deep breath, then turned to find the prisoners watching her while they stood in clusters about the camp.
Turning her gaze back to the wall, she ran her hand over the moss-covered stone structure.
When she came to a set of stairs winding up to the top of the wall walk, she made a mental note of its location.