22 Nights (19 page)

Once properly seated, Leyla smoothed her wild black curls and straightened her once-fine blue skirt. Yes, she was definitely a lady, poised and accustomed to the saddle and elegant, even in her current disheveled condition.

“I’ve been traveling alone for quite some time,” Trinity said as they set out at a leisurely pace. It was necessary to walk single file as they left the copse of trees, and he remained at the rear, where he could watch his prey. “I long for friendly conversation.” As he said the words, he realized they were true, at least in part. He had no friends. Friends always died, and that was painful, so he had given them up long ago. He worked alone. Whom could he trust but himself? “How long have you two been married?”

“We are newly wed,” Savyn said, lying so smoothly that Trinity was impressed.

“How very sweet,” Trinity said as they finally left the thick growth and made their way toward the rough road in the near distance. As they no longer had to walk in single file, Trinity made his way forward so he could see Leyla’s face. Her chin was lifted, and she kept her eyes straight ahead. She possessed an air of superiority, but there was a deep sadness in her eyes that made her more real than other women of her station. He wondered why she looked as sad as she did scared. Maybe he would find out before he took her life. Maybe not.

Leyla was much more real and appealing than the lady who had hired him to kill her, that was certain.

 

BELA
found herself humming a gentle tune as they climbed. She was happy, and why shouldn’t she be? She loved the majestic beauty of the mountains, and she loved to tread on this ground where so few had been. Even the physical exertion of climbing was exhilarating. Her body ached, but it was a good sort of ache. Not many women could make this climb, but she could.

Had this forbidden mountain accepted them? She did not feel as anxious as she had the last time she walked this path. She did not feel as if she did not belong, as she had then. Maybe they were welcomed here because they had Kitty in their keeping—or, rather, Kitty had them.

As they had yesterday, they took turns leading the way, Bela directing Merin when he was in the lead. They came upon a fork in the path. She was following him, and the view was very nice. Since he was often above her as well as ahead, she had a good view of his ass. Until recently she had never found a man’s rear appealing, but Merin’s was nicely tight and, like the rest of him, perfectly shaped.

While the truth had been hard to accept, she no longer fought. She loved Tearlach Merin, and it was possible that he loved her, at least a little. Otherwise, he would not have hesitated last night when she’d asked him if he loved her. A man who felt no love at all would’ve uttered a quick denial. Merin had needed a moment to think.

Bela had been drawn to this man from the moment she’d seen him, so many years ago. She’d wanted him, used him, hated him, and deceived him. She’d threatened him with bodily harm and, yes, shed a few silent and secret tears because of him. Had she always loved him? Had she been fighting these inconvenient and strong and fabulous and heartbreaking emotions for
years
?

It was so unlike her to long for anything and not simply
take
it.

The journey was not easy, but it was pleasant enough and they were as prepared as possible. It would be impossible to carry their swords as they usually did, hanging from their belts, so Kitty hung against Bela’s back, where she could not swing and catch stone. Merin’s sword was carried in much the same way. Against those leather-encased swords they each carried a pack of supplies. Food. Waterskins. Blankets. A small and serviceable knife. Flint and steel for fire, when they had access to wood. All that they needed for this journey was in these packs.

Kitty had been silent all day, and that was just as well. Bela felt as if she needed time to think about what might come next without being constantly reminded that she needed Merin, which seemed to be Kitty’s only contribution of late.

As they climbed, her mind took her to terrifying and impossible places. Her thoughts spun, disjointed and uncertain. How could she proceed? How could she make her husband love her?

Love. She’d never thought she’d desire it for herself, not in this way. Bela did not want to be beholden to a man, or anyone else. She did not want obligations or commitments. And yet now, after a relatively short time bound to Merin, she wanted very much to commit herself to him. Just as strongly, she wanted him to commit himself to her.

“It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?” she asked as she took a few quick steps to bring herself to Merin’s side. They were on a wide, flat patch of stone where it was possible to walk side by side.

“Yes,” he answered without looking at her. He had not bothered with shaving implements for this journey, and already his beard was coming in. He looked rather rough, with all that dark stubble. He looked very manly and fierce.

“The Turis began in these mountains,” she said, attempting to start a genial conversation. “Perhaps not here on Forbidden Mountain, but farther to the north, we began.” She pointed. “According to legend, the first Turis were born of stone, snow, and sunlight.”

“Hard, cold, and hot,” Merin muttered. “Sounds right to me.”

Bela found herself smiling. “General Tearlach Merin, are you trying to pick a fight with me?”

“Of course not.”

“You
are.
”

“You’re usually quite eager to argue,” he said almost bitterly.

“I suppose that’s true, but I don’t feel like arguing today.” Bela took a deep breath of the fine mountain air. Perhaps nothing grew here, perhaps this was not a livable or comfortable mountain, but it did have its own beauty. “It’s odd, since Nobel’s demands are so annoying, and it looks as if we’ll end up at war with him and his men, and an emperor I have never seen wishes to inspect me and perhaps make me an empress, which would be agony, and you refuse to admit that you love me a little, and . . .”

“You’re turning into a woman,” Merin said sharply, obviously still trying to get a rise out of her. Did he think constant argument would make her want him less?

“You have taught me that there are worse curses in life than womanhood,” she said sweetly. “Perhaps it is even a blessing, in some respects.”

He turned to glare at her with exquisite dark eyes that made her heart do strange things. She had never realized that eyes could be so sensual, so alluring . . . so telling.

“Blast it all,” Merin snapped, “I want the old Bela back. Threaten to take my head. Tell me you wish to be a widow. Let me hear your anger echo through the hills. Torture me, but not like this!”

“Do I misunderstand you?” Bela asked in a rational voice. “When I’m nice to you, it’s torture?”

“Yes!”

That was a good sign, she decided. “Then I shall do my best to be unpleasant for the remainder of the day. Just for you, Merin. It’s my turn to lead.” She rushed ahead of him, making it imperative that he run to keep up with her, since the rope that bound them together was not so very long. Soon they were in a shaded, narrow passage where the sun did not touch them. As she climbed upward, stepping onto and over jagged stone, Bela smiled and wondered if Merin was admiring
her
ass.

LEYLA
did not trust the stranger who traveled with them all day, chattering about the weather and his potmaking business and how he’d disliked his life as a farmer’s son. The man who called himself Trinity said nothing alarming, and his words sounded sincere enough, and heaven knows she was glad to be able to ride for this leg of the journey.

But she did not trust him, not at all. At the moment she trusted no one but Savyn. The man said he was a potmaker, but he had no pots. He explained that he’d sold all of his supply and was headed home to make more, before setting out to travel the countryside and sell them once again. That could very well be true, she supposed.

She and Savyn both looked behind them often during the day, trying to be surreptitious so their companion would not realize they were worried about who might be behind them. Were they still being followed, or had the killer taken a wrong turn? One wrong turn, and he would no longer be a problem, not unless he decided to backtrack and found himself on this road. Maybe they were safer as a party of three, no matter if she trusted Cayse Trinity or not.

Clouds had been rolling in all day, and in the late afternoon sprinkles fell from the sky. The light rainfall felt good, and Leyla lifted her face to catch the drops on her skin. Judging by the dark clouds, they would soon have much more than a sprinkle to contend with. When they rounded a bend in the road and saw the hut which had been partially built into a small, rolling hill, it seemed like a godsend. There was no sign of life around the place, other than the wildflowers and weeds which grew tall. One side of the hut and a portion of the roof had fallen in. The hut looked deserted and was perhaps home to rodents or other small animals. But most of the roof remained, and they would soon be in need of that shelter.

“Perhaps we should wait out the coming storm there,” Trinity suggested.

Savyn looked up at Leyla, a silent question in his eyes. They would have to spend the night somewhere, and if there was a storm headed their way, this crumbling haven would be better than any campsite. She nodded once, and then Savyn agreed with Trinity and they headed in that direction.

Before they reached the shelter, the rain began to fall harder than before. It fell in Leyla’s eyes and quickly soaked her dress, and her hair stuck to her skin. Rain soaked into the ground and released the scent of grass and dirt and spring storms. Leyla was doubly glad of their rough sanctuary when she heard thunder rumble in the distance. She did not care for storms, and lighting made her blood dance in strange ways.

Savyn assisted her from the saddle, and the two of them ran to the door of the hut, which hung crookedly, more off its hinges than on. Trinity took charge of his horse and led the stallion to an overhang on one side of the hut—the side that had not fallen in—an overhang perhaps intended for such a purpose. He spoke softly to the horse he lovingly called Gano, and that eased some of Leyla’s fears. A man who loved animals could not be all bad.

It took all of Savyn’s strength to lift the wooden door and slide it aside so they could slip into the hut, which at first sight Leyla realized had indeed been long abandoned, except for the small animals which had sometimes nested here—though not today. The furnishings consisted of one broken chair and a few pieces of what had once been a table. There was a stone fireplace which was crumbling but looked functional. Dirt and dust spoke of years of abandonment, but the fact that some of the filth and cobwebs had been disturbed revealed that other travelers had stopped here for rest or shelter, though not very often.

While Trinity was seeing to his horse and they were alone, Leyla turned to Savyn. There was just a bit of light coming through the broken wall and the off-kilter door. Savyn was scruffy and dirty and wet, just as she was, and the only thing that soothed her was looking into his eyes. He had forgotten everything; she had forgotten nothing.

She was about to tell Savyn that she didn’t trust Trinity when the man who had joined them this morning entered the hut and shook off his wet hat with a laugh. “Good fortune, finding this shelter. We can stay here until the storm passes. Looking at the sky, I’d say we might be here all night.” He walked to the fireplace. “Perhaps we could build a fire, if we can find a bit of dry wood.” He eyed the chair and what was left of the table. “Wet as we are, I’d prefer to sit on the floor and have a warm fire, given the choice. What about you, Leyla?”

“A fire would be nice,” she said.

Trinity set about breaking apart the chair. They would need a tool of some sort—an ax, perhaps—to cut the thick wood of the table into small pieces which would fit in the hearth. Leyla shuddered as she thought of the last ax she’d seen, remembering the attacker and the way he had wielded his weapon in such a deadly manner.

Savyn offered to help, but Trinity smiled and with a wink told them to rest. He was quite talented at starting a fire, using bits of straw from the floor as kindling and building up the smaller pieces of the chair before taking a flint from his pocket and making a spark which lit the kindling. Now and then his hands moved so fast they were almost a blur, and Leyla shuddered. The killer had moved just so, unnaturally fast.

Was it possible that they had not eluded the man who pursued them? Was it possible that he was here with them, in this cabin? The clothing and the hair were wrong, and he could’ve easily killed them many times during the day. But the way he moved . . . it was uncanny.

“Where did you say you were from, Trinity?” Leyla asked.

“A small town north of Arthes. I grew up a farmer’s son but never had any love for the land.”