by Grace Draven
“Yes, sir.” Bowing his head, Gordon stepped out, followed by Jermaine.
With no one else present to buffer the impact of Wulfgar’s personality, the interior of the tent shrank even farther in size.
Underneath the breastplate he had worn leather padding, and he undid the fastenings as he strode toward the brazier beside her. As he pulled the padding off and tossed it onto a chair, she saw that he wore a black linen shirt that was open at the strong column of his tanned throat.
Power coursed through the air. The power of his personality, the goddess’s Power.
She fought the urge to back away, fought to stand steady in the face of it.
His psyche… his psyche was the shadow of a wolf, huge in size, and it crouched as if preparing to spring, its attention unwaveringly on her.
This was unmistakably one of the two men she had seen in visions for the past several years. She had known he was coming to Calles for some time, but now that he was here, she felt utterly at a loss as to what to do about him.
Holding his scarred hands over the glowing coals of the fire, he said, pleasantly enough, “I presume you have assessed the encampment. That is one of the reasons why you agreed to come, is it not?”
Cautiously, she said, “It is, and yes, I have.”
“Did you learn what you wanted to know?”
“I’m not sure yet,” she admitted. “We at the abbey have a lot of disparate pieces of information, and I don’t understand how it all fits together.”
He turned to face her fully. It was a simple shift in posture, but the tiny hairs at the back of her neck rose in response.
Perhaps unwisely, she added, “I didn’t sense any weather mages in your camp.”
Destiny was like a golden river, sweeping them all to an unknown shore. Visions crowded at the edge of her eyesight until she wasn’t sure what she might say or do.
Margot was right to be terrified of letting her loose from the abbey. Lily wasn’t fit to go anywhere by herself.
His hard mouth drew tight. “That’s because there aren’t any. Did you really believe I might be behind the intensification of this early winter?”
Forcing herself to stay anchored in the here and now, she lifted a shoulder. “Try to imagine things from our point of view. You know the terrible things we’ve heard about your approaching army. An invading force that would torch farms and execute people might also use the weather as a weapon to subdue a populace.”
He shook his head with a snort. “A decision like that would cripple my troops as much as it would anyone else around me. No general in their right mind launches a campaign in the dead of winter—and right now it has turned so unseasonably cold, that is, in effect, what we’re facing if those weather mages are not stopped. They are trying to force me to halt.”
As she listened, she pressed the knuckles of her folded hands against her lower lip. What he said made undeniable sense. “Do you have witches in your army?”
“None with the kind of skills that the Camaeline priestesses have,” he growled. “Why do you think I came with gifts of manuscripts and gold? If I made a habit of giving away large sums of wealth to everyone I met, I’d have no funds left to pay for my army. My witches have been fending off the weather attacks as best they can, but there are too few of them. They’re exhausted, and we’re still camped in the open.”
The fine skin around her eyes crinkled as she winced. “You need shelter.”
“Yes. That’s why I stayed in town. I met with the inn owners and brothel keepers to negotiate terms so my troops can take time inside in rotation. Tomorrow Jermaine and I are going to hunt for our poisoner among the soldiers who were on the barge this afternoon. I also want to negotiate with Calles’s townsfolk for the rental of their homes. You can take the details of my offer back to the abbey in the morning.”
She frowned. “I can try.”
His expression turned impatient. “Since they’re hiding on the island anyway, there’s no reason they can’t make good coin while they’re at it. My gold is as good as any other.”
“You have a point, but it’s more complicated than the townsfolk just collecting rent while they’re absent from their houses.” Pinching the bridge of her nose with thumb and forefinger, she tried to think through the issue like Margot would. “I sympathize with the position you are in, but it’s similar to how it would look if the Chosen had accepted your gifts. There’s the politics of it, the appearance of support. Calles would, in effect, be declaring sides.”
“Calles is going to have to pick a side,” he said bluntly. “Guerlan or Braugne. There is no question of that.”
As he spoke, Lily felt a breath of air along her skin, as though she were being brushed by the cloak of someone immense walking by, and she knew the goddess was near.
He was right, of course. She had seen this coming since she was a child.
Like the rocks and sand that shifted on the shore with the tide, the visions had varied over the years, until recently they had become fixed into a pattern of unshifting dichotomy.
A bitter winter after a lean harvest. The kingdoms of Ys filled with unrest.
A darkening over the land, like the sun dying. The clash of swords.
Two men, a wolf and a tiger, slamming together in mortal combat. One of them had an insatiable hunger that would grind Ys to dust.
And the fall of Calles. In every shifting vision, that was the one part that remained immutable.
“No,” she whispered, her heart aching. “We can’t remain neutral, can we? Even though we might wish it.”
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
She forced the images away and plastered a smile on her face. “No ghosts here, only an uncertain path to the future.”
His gaze was too discerning for comfort. Then, deliberately, he lightened the mood. “The future is going to have to wait for a few hours. I haven’t had lunch and I’m starving.”
Pivoting, he strode back to the table, picked up a jar of caviar, and twisted off the lid. Tearing open a packet of salt bread, he unsheathed the knife at his waist, scooped some of the caviar onto the flat wafer, and popped it in his mouth. Closing his eyes briefly, he chewed, pleasure evident in his strong features.
Watching him consume the delicacy with such sensual enjoyment made her skin tingle. It was… erotic. Heat washed over her skin at the word.
“Have you ever tasted caviar?” he asked.
“No.” She looked at the fire in the brazier. “I haven’t tried most things in that shop. Imports from Earth are expensive.”
His broad hand appeared in her line of vision, holding out a wafer with caviar. “Here.”
Surprise flared. Her gaze flew to his face. “Oh… thank you! But I couldn’t.”
He frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous. Take it.”
“I…” As his frown grew fierce, her protest died. Accepting the wafer from his long fingers, she nibbled at it curiously. Briny pearls of flavor and salted crunch filled her mouth.
A gleam of amusement sparked in his dark eyes. “You have an expressive face, but I can’t read what it is saying right now. What do you think?”
She swallowed before she replied. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I don’t have much of a taste for fishy flavors. It’s very interesting. Intense.”
“It’s fabulous. Have more. No? The chocolate then.” Before she could protest, he tore open one of the chocolate bars, broke it into pieces, and offered one to her. As she wavered, his expression turned suddenly wise. “You’ve had chocolate before, and you like it.”
“I love it,” she said on a little moan.
She felt agonized with indecision. Was it appropriate for her to accept it? She wasn’t a reliable source on what was appropriate at the best of times.
And she could smell it, the chocolate. It smelled like heaven.
“For the gods’ sake, woman. What’s the matter? If you love it, then why are you holding back? It’s just food, not manuscripts and gold.” He t
ook a piece and teased it between her lips.
Shocked by his sudden intrusion into her personal space, she felt her mouth drop open and then her tongue came into contact with the sweet. This was ridiculous. She couldn’t spit it out now. She’d licked it.
Meeting his gaze, she burst out laughing, cupping her hands underneath her chin to keep from accidentally dropping the piece.
He grinned. Above his head, his wolf grinned too.
Behind her came a rush of frigid air, and both she and the commander turned.
Gordon had entered, carrying a tray with two goblets and a pewter jug. His expression remained as impassive as ever, but as he took in their laughing faces, his psyche turned sharper, darker. When he offered her the contents on the tray, his psyche hissed at her.
Carefully, she kept from reacting. As she took a goblet, she scanned both him and the drinks he carried.
Was Gordon the poisoner she had sensed back at the dock?
~ 4 ~
No, her wine “felt” safe enough to drink, and this man was too straightforward for poison. She was all but sure of it. If he was going to kill someone, he would go for the throat. Or the heart.
Poison took a stealthy patience, iron nerves, and the ability to lie—or at least misdirect well enough—to someone with truthsense under pressure.
“Thank you,” she said as she accepted it.
He gave her a short nod and handed Wulfgar the other goblet, then set the jug on the table. “Will that be all, my lord?”
“No, you might as well order an early supper,” Wulfgar said. “Have Jada bring two plates for the priestess and me. I want you to prepare quarters for her. After we eat, we’ll get her settled for the night. I want her close by.”
Once again, he was disposing of her as if she were a possession. Frowning, she opened her mouth, but Gordon spoke first.
“Shall I prepare my tent?” he asked. “Since it’s beside yours, it would be easy enough for the guards to keep watch over her as well. I can make a pallet for myself in here, if that would suffice. Or, if you would prefer, I’m sure Jermaine will be amenable if I bunk with him. You’ll have to send for me if you want something.”
“Go ahead and bunk with Jermaine,” Wulfgar told him. “Once supper arrives, I won’t need your services until morning. And be sure to add another brazier and plenty of fuel to your tent. Extra bedding as well.”
“Very good, sir.” Bowing his head, Gordon slipped out.
Sucking a tooth sourly, Lily contemplated the contents in her goblet. When Wulfgar turned to her, she could feel his attention, almost as if it were a physical touch.
“Now what does that expression imply?” He sounded amused.
She took a sip, more to procrastinate for a few moments than from any real desire to drink. She knew what Margot would do—Margot would fume at the preemptory treatment and probably start another argument, but that didn’t seem productive.
The warm wine was an explosion of flavor, spiced with cinnamon, cloves, and orange. After she swallowed, she said cautiously, “I’m not used to being talked about as if I’m not in the room, or disposed of like a… a trunk full of books. But I’m also not experienced at being a liaison for anybody, so…”
“Point taken. Next time I’ll include you in the discussion.” He took a seat, letting his long legs sprawl, and drank wine. “What do you see your role as?”
She shrugged. “I’m not a servant, but I’m not an official ambassador either. I—We—Basically Margot told me to try to behave myself and explain anything you needed to have explained.”
“And assess my camp. Assess me.” His gaze was penetrating. She felt as she had back on the dock, that he was taking in every detail about her and probably seeing more than she wanted him to see. That thought brought a wash of warmth to her face.
“Yes,” she admitted.
“So… assess me.” He gestured at the empty seat across from him. “What do you see?”
Moving to take the seat, she studied him. The black linen shirt revealed the strong, clean lines of his throat and the swell of muscle at the top of his pectoral. Even in such a relaxed pose he conquered the space, the tip of his boots almost reaching hers. His dark hair fell on his forehead, giving his hard features a somewhat boyish look.
No, that wasn’t the right word. There was nothing boyish about the dangerous man lounging so casually across from her.
Roguish. That was the word. The disheveled hair seemed to bely the discipline he had shown so far. He was amused by her.
She said, “You carry a great deal of rage, and you’re driven to accomplish what you have set out to do. It couldn’t wait until the spring—you needed to take action immediately. You won’t turn back or turn aside. But you’re disciplined about it, and despite your anger you’re thinking about the welfare of your men. From what little I’ve seen, you have a code that you are determined to live by, at least when you can. I haven’t seen enough of you to know what might happen to that code when you’re under duress.”
As she spoke, the roguish gleam in his gaze faded, and she fell silent, suddenly uncertain. Maybe she had read him wrong. Maybe he hadn’t really wanted to hear what she thought. But if he hadn’t, then why had he asked her?
She wanted to flail. She was no good in any social situation.
“Don’t stop now.” He tossed back the last of the wine in his goblet. “You just got started.”
So that meant he truly did want to hear the rest of it. Right?
Biting her lip, she continued. “You’re not above seizing every opportunity that comes your way, and you never stop thinking about how to turn things to your advantage. You’re a strategist. I’m no good at strategy, so I would be wary of playing chess with you because you’re always thinking four steps ahead. Your words carried a ring of truth when you said you did not kill the lord of Braugne. You haven’t said specifically who you believe did, but it is clear you see the king of Guerlan as your antagonist, so naturally there are inferences to be drawn. And yet this campaign of yours is about so much more than just avenging your lord’s death. You have the soul of a conqueror.” She hesitated, and then made herself say the rest of it. “I don’t think you will rest until you have taken all of Ys under your rule.”
As she finished, he watched her with the same hard, grim expression he had worn on the barge. Unpredictable. Uncompromising. The wolf in his psyche watched her as well, tension in its figure as if it were about to pounce.
He said in a soft, even voice, “That was unexpected.”
Wulf watched as Lily bit her lip.
She was a study in delicacy—the narrow features, the slender bones underneath thin skin, the fine hair that had slipped out of its confinement and tumbled to her shoulders in a gleaming fall of silk. Slender fingers wandered along the rim of her goblet, and the light from the fire in the brazier revealed a subtle play of shadows on her throat muscles as she swallowed.
He had known, and appreciated, many beautiful women in his life, but Lily was more than merely beautiful.
She was fascinating.
Unlike fashionable ladies who protected their skin, she still carried a tan from the summer’s sun, but that didn’t prevent him from seeing every fluctuation of betraying color in her cheeks.
She asked, wryly, “Too much?”
“Not at all. To be honest, I didn’t think you had it in you.” He set his goblet aside. “I’m beginning to understand why your prime minister went along with your coming with me.”
Someone who was not watching her as closely as he might not have noticed how she stilled at that.
But he did, and he waited for any confessions she might see fit to tell him.
Bending her face to her drink, she took another sip and asked, “What do you mean?”
He suppressed a smile. She used that thick, unwieldy goblet as if she could truly hide behind it.
The naivete of that was amusing. After every astute observation she had just made, she should realize nothin
g could hide her from him, not now that he had fixed his attention upon her.
He said, “You might be clumsy in social situations, but you more than make up for it by how observant you are.” He paused a beat, then deliberately switched to a lighter tone. “I think you should eat more chocolate.”
Sitting straight, her gaze flew wide, and the memory of laughter woke her face to that bright, spectacular something again. “No, thank you. I-I’m sure I shouldn’t… I probably shouldn’t have eaten that first piece, except you shoved it in my mouth, so what was I supposed to do? It’s too expensive to spit on your rugs.”
“I could do it again,” he said, bringing his voice down low, almost to a whisper. “I could press a piece right between your lips, and what would you do then?”
She met his gaze, her expression a delicious concoction of scandalized rejection, helpless desire, and that suppressed laughter that flitted like a white butterfly on an unpredictable wind.
An invisible connection throbbed between them, unexpectedly powerful and undeniable.
He had meant to tease her. He had not expected to find this small, awkward woman sexy.
Moving slowly so he didn’t frighten her, he pulled out of his lounging position and stood as he asked, still in that low voice, “Should I tell you what I see about you?”
The hint of laughter vanished. “I don’t think that would be a productive use of our time together, Commander.”
He was almost sorry to see her laughter go. Almost, except this consternation was even more delicious than anything else.
But her attempt at a more formal address was irritating. “Don’t call me Commander. Call me Wulf.” Scooping the opened bar of chocolate from the table, he strolled toward her. “What, in your opinion, would be a productive use of our time together?”
“Shouldn’t we continue talking about Calles, and Braugne, and what might be the best way to–to… to…” As he knelt in front of her, she leaned back in her seat, her widened gaze bouncing from his face to the chocolate he held in one hand. Coaxing the goblet out of her hands, he set it to one side.