Children of the Wolves (6 page)

Then Michael, whom she hadn't seen enter the workroom, appeared beside her, making her start in surprise. He moved like one of the cougars they sometimes came across in the forest, Jelena thought disagreeably, springing from nowhere, always sudden, always unexpected, allowing no time to prepare or react. She stood rigid. His heat, his nearness, his very scent alerted her, aroused her. With no time to prepare she was afraid her reaction showed on her face, in the softening of her lips or the light of desire in her eyes. If he ever found out — if anyone ever found out —

I saw the way you looked at Michael
, Amy had said this afternoon.

Jelena would have to hope that Amy never mentioned what she saw to anyone. She turned toward the door. His hand touched her shoulder and she stopped in her tracks, the stiffness leaving her body at the feel of his fingers against her skin. Standing behind her, he rubbed her tense shoulders gently with his warm, firm hands, his thumbs describing circles on the back of her neck, relaxing her body. A sigh of pleasure escaped her lips before she jerked herself back to her senses and stepped away from him, saying impersonally, “Thank you, that helped a lot.”

Michael gave her a curious look but let her go. He didn't say anything. Much of the time she could bear his touch without desperately wanting more, but other times — other times she could not. Other times, like today, she wanted — she wanted — well, she wanted.

She shook her head to clear it, then looked around the room to make sure she had put her materials away. Michael could rattle her so badly she couldn't think, couldn't remember from one moment to the next. If he noticed, he never said so.

Jelena saw Teresa watching them from across the room, her eyes slitted with curiosity. Apparently
she
had noticed. Then Teresa turned with a smile to her protector, Charmaine, and said brightly, “All set.” The four of them left the workshop together and set off for the dining hall, Michael and Charmaine talking easily about the new pony Rufus the Horsemaster had acquired from the Umluans, a short shaggy beast that provoked shouts of laughter among the riders who were accustomed to their taller, leaner mounts.

“Rufus is determined to understand how the Umluans could use the ponies in their cavalry. They're quite successful,” Charmaine said.

“And what has he learned?”

“That the pony has an evil temper and an aversion to the bit,” Charmaine said, and Michael laughed. “But Rufus is nothing if not persevering,” she added.

“He was a rodeo cowboy,” Michael said.

In his pastself, it went without saying. Jelena tried to think if she knew what a rodeo was.

“Probably broke every bone in his body then, too,” Charmaine said.

With a pang, Jelena remembered how the trader had bargained with the Trinitarians for a big bay stallion at about the same time Rufus had purchased the pony. It was generally agreed that the trader had obtained the far better deal and the stablehands gave the horsemaster no end of grief over his acquisition — the horsemaster being no horse trader like old Gregorius the Trader.

Now Gregorius was gone and the people blamed it on the wolves.

Teresa spoke suddenly, materializing next to Jelena, her voice pitched low as she cast a discreet glance over her shoulder to be sure Charmaine and Michael couldn't overhear. “Did you hear about Danielle?” she asked.

“No,” Jelena said in a flat voice that invited no further comment even as a coil of uncertainty snaked through her. Danielle served on the riders under Michael. What about her? And what did she have to do with Jelena or Teresa? Jelena forced herself to keep a disinterested expression on her face. It never did to encourage Teresa in her talk.

Teresa persisted despite Jelena's apparent lack of interest. “They say she carries a trueborn.”

“Mmm,” Jelena said noncommittally, although the gossip surprised her. Danielle was not partnered with anyone, though that didn't mean she couldn't be pregnant. The people and the elders didn't encourage such things outside partnering but after all, the important thing was to have trueborn children. Trueborn children belonged to the tribe, no matter their parentage, and the elders were always anxious that more trueborns be brought into the world. This was as the makers decreed. And yet there were so few trueborns.

Sometimes, Jelena knew, the elders despaired of ever creating the world they believed they were intended to make. Privately, Jelena thought everyone should be her own maker, but she had never voiced such a shocking thought aloud. So the elders prayed to the makers for guidance though Jelena had never seen any evidence that it was forthcoming.

Teresa put an unwelcome hand on Jelena's arm to stop her from moving away. Jelena flinched but didn't pull free; she didn't want to be openly discourteous to Teresa. Michael would disapprove. He had never understood her distaste for Teresa.

“They say that Michael is the father.”

The words lashed Jelena like a whip but she kept her face still, forcing herself not to respond. She knew Teresa was watching her reaction closely.

Michael?
Had Michael shared his body with Danielle? During all those weeks and months — years — when Jelena had dreamed of his touch, his kiss, the heat and the weight of his body against her own?

She tightened her jaw. This was Teresa talking, after all. Teresa, who liked to cause pain though she smiled and smiled.

“When will he partner with her?” Teresa asked, as if Jelena might know the answer. “Will he have to wait until after you're … awakened?” she whispered, her voice insidious, the hesitation implying that Jelena never would awaken and that it was obvious to all that the reason why she didn't let Michael get on with his life was because she wanted him all to herself. That she did want him all to herself didn't make the implication any easier for Jelena to endure.

Despite her roiling stomach, Jelena forced herself not to show her unhappiness. She kept her step steady and ignored Teresa. Teresa's lips thinned — no doubt she was disappointed in Jelena's lack of reaction to her news. But Jelena knew better than to be provoked into revealing herself.

“Surely the Elders will forgive him the transgression if it means another trueborn to the community,” Teresa said, obviously unable to resist making another dig. “But whatever will they do about you?” She gave the question a pious inflection and then with a smile curving her lips scurried forward to open the door to the dining hall.

Jelena couldn't help the gasp that escaped her. What would they do about her? She followed Teresa into the hall, her face impassive although her mind was a confused whirl of thoughts and impressions. Teresa had known about Danielle's pregnancy — and she wouldn't lie about something so easy to confirm. People told Teresa things, whether from fear or favor it was impossible to tell; probably some combination of both. But Michael had never said anything to Jelena, either about the pregnancy or his part in it. Why not? He usually confided in her.

This was different, that was true; it wasn't a concern about a rider drill gone badly or one of the people who didn't listen to Michael's advice. This was a pregnancy, which meant he'd made love to Danielle, probably more than once. Teresa had somehow guessed that Michael hadn't told Jelena. Jelena supposed that wouldn't be so hard to guess. But Teresa had taken so much pleasure in breaking the news to Jelena. Malice wasn't an unknown commodity in the tribe, but it always surprised Jelena when she encountered it. It seemed so petty. Beneath them, somehow. Not worthy of them.

Michael had spoken admiringly of Danielle, praising her facility with the bow and arrow and the broadsword, remarking on her ability to ride. Jelena had never thought anything of it. He had equally praised Charmaine and Rufus. Jelena herself had never ridden a horse and didn't like the creatures very much. She'd never tried to handle a weapon. She'd never thought of either of these things as shortcomings before. But why wouldn't Michael want a woman with whom he shared so much in common? Jelena had never thought of Michael's admiration for Danielle as anything other than the affection and appreciation one friend had for another. She'd been so caught up in her own feelings that she'd missed what had gone on between Michael and Danielle. Well, it turned out Michael
was
perfectly capable of actions.

Jelena was brought abruptly to the present by someone calling her name. She turned to look and saw a small trueborn girl come flying across the narrow hall to launch herself into Jelena's arms. “Caterina!” Jelena hugged the girl close, the child's affection helping her steady herself.

After a moment, she released the girl, smiling down at her. If Michael had a child, a child with dark hair and river blue eyes — she sucked a breath in — she wanted him to have that child with her. She'd never dared entertain such a thought. She thrust it from her mind and turned her attention back to Caterina.

The little girl had something clutched in her hand. She shoved the object towards Jelena.

“What is it, Cat?” Jelena asked, taking the piece of cloth and smoothing it out.

“A pillow for Mama!” the little girl said excitedly, then glanced around in fear that perhaps her mother had overheard her. “My birthday is in two weeks and I wanted to give her something special.”

Jelena bent down to admire the handiwork. She spread it across her hand — not pointing out that the scrap of fabric would make a very small pillow — and said gently, “Tell me about it, Cat.”

“Look,” Cat said, pointing to a green abstract design. “There's the forest. And here's our cabin.” That was a brown splotch. “And here is Mama.” A rainbow of color. “And there's the moon and the stars.” Arrows of silver thread. “You know how Mama loves the moon and the stars.”

“Yes, darling. It's beautiful.” Cat's mother Sarah had the river blindness and found it easier to work at night, when the glare of the sun didn't bother her so much. Jelena supposed that to Cat that qualified as loving the moon and the stars. Sarah wove for the community, never seeing the bright abstract designs she created.

“Will she like it?” Cat asked, anxiety etching her smooth young face.

“She'll love it,” Jelena said. “You can take her hand and let her feel the stitches and tell her all about it, just the way you told me. Every time she touches the pillow, she'll think of you. That's nice, isn't it?”

“I thought of her when I made it,” Cat said proudly.

“That's best, isn't it? You think of someone when you make their gift and they think of you when they receive it. Now, put it away and wash up, it's time for meal.”

Caterina made a face but ran off anyway. Jelena was not reassured that the child would actually wash up, but at least she'd tried. When she glanced around, she saw that Michael was lounging against the wall, talking lazily with Colin, his eyes never leaving Jelena's face. Was it true, that he'd been with Danielle, and got her with child? No. If he had, he would have told her, and he would have partnered with Danielle before now. A niggle of doubt.
Whatever will they do about you?
Teresa had asked.

Jelena set her jaw and nodded a greeting to Colin, then moved into the dining hall proper to take her seat at table. Behind her, she heard Michael take his leave of Colin and follow her in. A moment later, he found his usual seat beside her on the bench.

The others had already begun serving themselves from the steaming soup tureens spaced along the center of the tables. Jelena took a sniff and said, “I wonder what I did to irritate Bertha today?”

Michael ladled soup onto his plate. Seeing the chunks of lamb in the broth, he said, “I see what you mean.” He reached over and handed her the loaf of bread resting next to the tureen. She tore off a hunk, shook her head in defeat and started chewing. “What about a fresh vegetable?” she asked. “I cry out for a fresh vegetable.”

“You know Bertha doesn't hold with such nonsense notions as eating fruits and vegetables,” Michael teased.

“I don't understand it,” Jelena said sadly, tearing off another hunk of bread. “We live in an orchard! We're surrounded by plums and currants and melons and corn and beans. You'd think we might have, oh, apples on the table now and then.”

“Apples aren't until fall,” Michael pointed out.

“I know. I'm just making a point.”

“The fence on the south side of the western paddock needs repair,” Rufus said, sitting down across from them.

Jelena's smile faded at the interruption, which ended her conversation with Michael.

“I'll take a look in the morning,” Michael said.

Rufus grunted. “Nothing urgent. The fence doesn't keep the wolves out even when it is in full repair.”

Jelena stared down at the bread on her plate. She knew Michael wouldn't say anything, yet she couldn't help being disappointed when he didn't.

“I wish there were some way to discourage them without traps,” Rufus grumbled, spooning soup into his bearded mouth.

“No traps,” Jelena said, the bile rising in her throat at the thought. Michael put a hand on her shoulder and she swallowed her further protests. The way she always did.

“Perhaps we can ask the rememberer if he knows anything,” Michael said.

Rufus blew out a breath and applied himself to his meal. No one wanted to talk with the rememberer unless he must.

Jelena glanced at Michael. The rememberer. She could consult the rememberer, ask him what to do. She shivered at the thought of approaching him; the people held him in respect but also awe. Yet he would have wise counsel for her, she was sure of it. How much he had seen, and had known. How much he remembered.

Jelena said nothing to Michael of the story Teresa had told her, but during the meal she glanced occasionally at Danielle and noticed that Danielle kept eyeing Michael speculatively. The sight made Jelena's stomach clench and spoiled her appetite. She pushed the uneaten bread away.