Chapter Twenty-Four. Something to Ride.
Twenty-Four
Something to Ride.
“What in the gods’ damned fate have you been doing with yourself? You can’t swim, you can’t ride, what the hell can you do—”
Merc stops himself and puts his palm out. “Never mind. I can guess.”
I’m too weary to correct him. The reality, though, is that when you have no one to teach you the ways of the saddle, and nowhere to go, and no money, traveling is not a priority, and swimming is not something you do unless you’ve fallen in the moat and are trying to save your own life.
As for that vision of the ocean I had? Like so much else, I can’t explain it, and don’t really care right now. Real problems await, once again.
“I’m willing to try,” I offer lamely. “Riding a horse, that is.”
With another curse, Merc puts his hands on his hips and stares at the messy ground the knight’s stallion chewed up before its departure. Then he looks out toward the road Julion disappeared down. I can just imagine what he’s thinking.
“No one’s keeping you here,” I tell him. “You’re free to go.”
“You won’t survive even the daylight hours without me.”
“Maybe that’s true, but you’re volunteering to do this.” I almost want him to leave—just so I don’t have to worry about when he’s going to desert me. “And anyway, aren’t you the one talking about letting go of emotion? Stop feeling sorry for me and proceed forth on your own destiny.”
As he swivels his head in my direction, I drop my gaze to the ground just before our eyes meet. “Pity is not what I feel for you.”
His voice is that low, velvety one, and instantly, I remember what he looked like going for the tie on his britches, his sex hardened for me.
Or … hardening for any woman. He doesn’t even know what I look like.
“I don’t understand it,” I say under my breath.
“How you’ve managed to stay alive this long? Neither can I—”
“Sex must be easy to find for a man like you.” I almost keep the bitterness out of my tone. “Why barter this mess with me in return for what you could so readily have in any number of beds?”
When there’s only silence, it’s clear he thinks that’s a rhetorical—
“You’re different.”
My breath stops in my lungs. “Why.”
Merc turns away, and I measure the breadth of those shoulders, the tightness of his waist, his spectacular …
Well, arse. Not to put too fine a point on it.
He ignores me and looks to the path the knight cut through the brush. “I need a horse. We need a—”
“I know where to go. For one.”
I expect him to pivot back around. He doesn’t. He stays where he is, still staring off into the trail of the other man, the one that leads to the road that will take anybody far, far away from where we stand now.
“I mean it,” I say. “You can go at any time.”
After what seems like forever, he shakes his head, the beads on the ends of his braids chiming softly as he turns his back on Julion’s way and whatever destiny would await him if he gave in to what he so clearly is contemplating.
“Lead on. Show me to the horses.”
As I take off through the branches, I don’t bother to see if he’s following me.
He will or he won’t, and even though I’m terrified about being alone, I’ll do what I have to because he’s wrong.
It’s not a wonder that I’ve survived this long.
I’ve survived this long because I’ve kept a low profile, and if it’s left me stunted?
Hide.
Better off than dead.
I head away from the sun, penetrating the forest more deeply so that we have a buffer from the village’s pastures, and the going is slow, not just because of the dense branches, but because I stop often to listen.
The day is already coming into its own and all kinds of people will be moving around soon.
We can’t risk being seen, and as quietly as we shuffle through the leaves and the undergrowth, I swear we might as well be bringing a trumpeter with us.
I’m also uneasy about taking something that isn’t mine. I tell myself that I’ll find a way to return what we must borrow—and besides, their owners were going to kill me last night. Surely that creates a certain moral leeway here?
It feels like we go forever, and I even catch a glimpse of the Sooths’ Temple, the craggy, gray fortification protecting those sacred women like a mountain rising up in the middle of the forest. But then the meadows to the southwest appear on the far side of the forest rim.
The acreage is flat and intersected by clean streams and paths worn into the grass by hooves and feet, the plots of land separated by split-rail fences and generations of ownership.
“We’re just in time,” I say, pointing out of the branches that shield our presence. “There they are.”
Merc steps in beside me. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
I chew my lower lip. “Well, I know they’re not horses. But surely they’ll do—”
“Those are donkeys.”
Merc walks out of the trees as if he owns all the land, everywhere.
Then again, he isn’t hunted, he’s a hunter.
Following him out of necessity, I draft in the wake of his larger body and remind myself that I’m wearing entirely different clothes, richly adorned clothes with silver threads that would cause poor villagers to duck their eyes in deference.
“We have to be quick,” I whisper. “The other herders will be back with—”
“I don’t think the entire lot of them could carry me. So this is a waste of time—”
“Not at all.” When he glances over his shoulder, I can sense the annoyance in his expression and resent it. “We’ll just string four of them abreast, and lay your delicate self across their backs like a fallen tree. I’ll walk alongside and make sure they don’t get away with you.”
There’s a pause, and then Merc barks a laugh. The sound carries, and the fawn-colored clutch of donkeys restlessly shift in their pen, their big ears pricking nervously. Courtesy of the sound, we also gather the attention of the guard dogs, who we’ve been downwind of.
The two enormous brindle canines, which are the size of wolves, rush out from their posts to position themselves between us and their herd.
Their growling is backed up by a great baring of fangs, and smartly, they’re solely focused on Merc as the threat.
Cursing, he pulls at his leather surcoat.
“I reek of balas. That’s what they’re picking up on.
” He takes my arm and draws me back into the trees.
“If I go at those dogs, I’m going to win, but the fight’s going to be loud, and the commotion will attract attention.
Also, while I appreciate your efforts on our behalf, I have a better way to get us under the saddle. Stay here.”
Naturally, I follow tight on his heels. When he turns around to argue, I put my palm up, right in his face.
Before I can open my mouth, he shakes his head. “Well, what do you know.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I don’t care enough to fight with you on this,” he mutters as he pivots back around. “It’s your life. You might even be doing us both a favor if you get yourself killed.”
He strides off once more, angling away from the village, and as I bob and weave against branches coming at me, my strength returns, probably because I have something to fight against. If he’s going to block my way, he’s going to have to use sturdier stuff than this forest I’ve already cut a path through.
Some ten lengths on, the wide, bouldered river that feeds all the smaller grazing streams cuts in close to us, and Merc takes us to the very edge of the tree line so that I can feel the warmth of the sunlight.
As he looks around at the bend in the flow, I measure the forest on the far shore, but no one comes here, so there’s no need, really.
Water is more easily accessed elsewhere, we are a distance from the travel road, and with the dead cows?
“You better get back in the woods,” he says casually.
I step in closer to him for protection. “What have you seen?”
“Unless you want to watch.” Merc takes off his pack and then his hand goes to the dirk holstered at his hip. “In which case, you’re more than welcome to stay here.”
As he takes the weapons belt off, I frown. “What are you doing?”
“I reek of balas and need to get the stench off me and my clothes as best I can.” He removes his leather surcoat and tosses it to a rock at the shore. “Or most of the domesticated animals, and all of the wild ones, will alert to our presence.”
With that, he strips the mesh breast cover away, and goes for those ties on his britches. Flushing, I can feel his eyes on me, as if he’s daring me to stay where I am—
I shoot back for the forest so fast, my face smacks into the very leaves I’ve been defending myself from.
Sputtering and shoving branches away, I dive deep into the cooler shadows, and make sure I keep my eyes focused in the opposite direction.
I have to give him credit. Given the density of the forest and the way it crowds up to the river edge, this is as safe a bathing place as any—and he’s got a point about the animals.
Also, going by all the splashing behind me, I’d say he’s making quick work of his very big body …
My mind becomes inappropriately sharp as I ascribe all kinds of nudity to him—as well as what those callused hands must look like cupping the water and carrying it to his bare skin.
I swear, what my imagination conjures is so vivid, it’s as if I’m watching him.
I see the droplets falling off the ends of his hair, and rivulets sluicing down the pads of his chest and the hard clench of his abdominals to his—
“Stop it,” I hiss.
But … I don’t.
I can’t.