Dragon Tree (11 page)

CHAPTER SIX

Tamberlane
stared at the banded oak planks as the door shut behind him. The
girl had stopped sobbing, but her face was still averted, and he
could see her scrubbing at the wetness on her cheeks, trying to dry
them. She knew he was there. She had not looked directly at him
yet, but he knew she was aware of his presence.

He glanced at
the fire, at the pot hanging over the tripod... at the wooden horse
lying on its side before the hearth. With one eye fixed warily on
the bed, he walked over and picked up the carving, turning it over
in his big hands.

“Jibril never
lets this out of his sight,” he said quietly. “I vow he sleeps with
it.”

Amie exhaled
over a large shudder and looked up. “I... I think I frightened him.
He dropped it when he ran out of the room.”

“He is a timid
boy and frightens easily.”

“Is he your
son?”

“My son?” The
knight looked up sharply. “No. No, he is not my son. He is my...” a
pause produced a small, wry smile at the corner of his mouth, “my
gift from Allah.”

Amie sniffled
and rubbed her eyes again to dry them. “Your gift?”

“I saved his
mother’s life. Her husband was dead and her family did not want to
be indebted to a Christian, and so they gave her to me. Her and her
son. Had I refused to take them, they would have been stoned to
death for bringing shame on the family.”

“Stoned
because you saved their lives? That makes no sense.”

Tamberlane
shrugged. “In truth, the whole idea of a Holy War—men fighting over
the right to claim one god is superior to another—makes no sense.
Just as the notion of any god sanctioning murder and slaughter in
his name makes little sense either.”

“You question
God’s j-judgement?” she asked through a soft hiccup.

“I question my
own judgement more often,” he said quietly. Remembering Marak’s
parting words, he attempted a faint smile. “Your arm shows
improvement. How does it feel?"

“Much better,
thank you."

In the awkward
beat of silence that followed, Tamberlane moved in front of the
fire.

He was dressed
in a plain tunic and doeskin leggings, with little to camouflage
the fact that his shoulders were bulked by muscle, his waist solid
and flat, his legs well hewn from the years of riding a warhorse.
He presented the silhouette of a powerful knight, a prime specimen
of a man who one might believe could, indeed, slay dragons.

He picked up
an iron rod and pushed at the burning log, sending a fan of red
sparks crackling up into the air.

He had not
expected to see her sitting up when he came to the room, and
certainly not weeping. The sight had caused a strange tightness in
his belly, for he had always felt clumsy around women. He had no
experience whatsoever with weeping females who looked small and
crumpled and helpless. Adding to that was the clever wit of his
tongue, wherein he had undoubtedly succeeded in convincing her he
was a heretic and a blasphemer. Certes, she would run screaming
from the room like Jibril if she knew the full extent of his
disgrace in the eyes of man and God.

"The healer
tells me I owe you thanks for saving my life," she said, drawing
his gaze from the fire. "He said you slew the man who would have
otherwise killed me.”

"I regret we
did not arrive sooner, we might have been able to save more...
including your husband."

The comment
earned yet another awkward silence and prompted him to poke the log
a few more times.

He heard a
whimper and looked over in time to see Amaranth struggling to push
the covers aside and swing her legs over the side of the bed.

“What do you
think you are doing?”

She sat on the
edge of the bed, panting softly through a wave of dizziness. "I
have been a burden long enough, my lord."

She pushed
herself up and was valiantly able to wobble there for a full two
heartbeats before her knees buckled like candles left too long in
the sun. The room began to spin and the floor took a sudden lurch
and swooped from under her feet.

Tamberlane
dropped the iron poker and moved quickly enough to catch her as she
started to pitch forward. She landed in a soft crush against his
chest, her cheek pressed to his shoulder, her hair spilling over
his hands and arms as they circled around her.

Reaching for
her had been a reflex. Holding her was something else entirely, for
the breath stilled in his chest and the blood began to throb
sluggishly through his body. Inaya had bathed her, washing away the
stink of Marak’s poultices and mustard pastes. She smelled fresh
and clean. Her hair was soft as silk, tempting his fingers to run
through it.

He gently
guided her back onto the bed. “You try to do too much. Marak will
not thank you—or me for that matter—if you fall and crush your head
against the stone wall, not after all he has done to keep you
alive.”

Amie sat on
the edge of the bed, shaking so badly the linen of her sheath
trembled. Tamberlane snatched up the blanket and wrapped it around
her shoulders, then spied an ewer of water and tipped some into a
cup.

“Drink
this.”

She focussed
intently on the cup a moment before raising her hand to try to take
it.

Tamberlane
crouched down and closed his bigger hand over hers, steadying the
vessel, helping to guide it to her lips. She kept her lashes
lowered, but that only made him notice how delicately those lashes
lay against the pale curve of her cheek.

Tiny filaments
of her hair were caught around their hands and glowed like threads
of fiery gold in the firelight. Her tunic had become hitched up at
the knee, baring the slender length of her calf, the delicate turn
of her ankle, the small white feet and pretty pink toes. The
scabbed scratches where the mercenary’s sword had cut her were
still visible and that made him recall the sight of her sprawled on
the ground, her thighs kicked apart, the point of the blade poised
to stab.

He became
conscious of her eyes rising to his face and could not avoid
meeting them. They were large and solemn and regarded him over the
rim of the cup as she took several small sips. When the cup was
emptied, a small bead of the clear liquid clung to her lower lip.
He watched her capture it with the tip of her tongue and the action
caused him to lick his own lip before he straightened and set the
cup on the table.

"Back to bed
with you now," he commanded. "And no more foolishness or Marak will
pin my ears to the wall."

"I do not wish
to be a burden," she said again. "You have already done so much, I
know not how I shall ever repay you."

"Repay me by
getting well."

She looked up
and her eyes were swimming with tears again. "I... I cannot seem to
lift my legs onto the bed. It hurts too much."

Tamberlane's
face remained expressionless as he considered his options, but in
the end, seeing no other way around it, he leaned over and scooped
her gently into his arms then settled her back in place against the
pillows. He drew the blankets modestly high under her chin again,
tucking her arms beneath. Her eyes had not left his face and he
could feel the heat of a blush threatening to rise up his throat.
He stepped back before it bloomed fully and noticed a shadow
standing quietly in the doorway.

“Ah. Here is
Marak with your posset. More effective than water, I have no
doubt.”

Marak came
into the room, followed closely by Inaya and the boy Jibril.

“Plaguing her
with questions, were you?” Marak asked, beckoning to Inaya to set
the board she was carrying on the table.

“I have
inquired after nothing but her health,” Tamberlane said, happily
relinquishing his place beside the bed to the Arab woman, who now
wore a veil across her face, leaving only her huge kohl-rimmed eyes
visible. The boy moved with her, his fist clenched tightly to the
folds of her sari, but when he spied the carved wooden horse lying
beside the hearth, he let out a small squeal of joy and ran to
retrieve it.

Inaya murmured
something under her breath, accompanied by a flurry of scolding
fingers, chiding the boy for having dropped the toy in the first
place.

The board
Inaya had placed on the table contained bread, a small wedge of
yellow cheese, some honeyed dates and several slabs of cold meat.
Amie was distracted by the sight and smell long enough for Ciaran
to catch the few words Marak whispered in his ear.

His expression
changed at once. A ripple of tension coursed through his body and
he nodded, pausing half a heartbeat to glance over at the bed
before he exited the chamber.

~~

Amie noted the
knight's departure with no small amount of relief. His presence
unnerved her and tied her tongue in knots. When he had caught her
and held her in his arms, the press of all that solid muscle
against her body had made her more light-headed than the lack of
strength in her legs. She vaguely remembered being held in them
before, being cradled against that broad chest during the long and
painful ride to Taniere Castle. She remembered the smell of his
skin, earthy with the scent of leather and sweat. And she
remembered pressing her face into the crook of his neck where it
had been warm and comforting... and safe.

She shook her
head a little to clear it and looked up in time to see Marak
approaching the bedside with a small bowl, the contents of which,
to judge by the smell of the steam rising off the surface, did not
bear thinking about.

"The taste
might set your tongue to curling into the roof of your mouth, but
the next time you try to stand you will be able to do it without
toppling over."

He held the
bowl out and waited while Amie freed her good arm from under the
blankets.

It tasted as
horrid as it smelled, but urged on by a pale hand helping her to
tip up the bottom of the bowl, she finished it all. Marak smiled
his approval and began passing her small tidbits off the wooden
tray.

"You mustn't
try to do too much too soon or you will undo all my good work."

"I have to
leave here as soon as possible. My presence puts Lord Tamberlane's
quest for solitude in danger."

Marak's
lips—the only part of him visible under the draping of the
hood—curved in a half smile. "Why do you assume he craves
solitude?"

"You called
him Dragonslayer. I have heard mention of a knight so named."

Marak reached
for the board and began breaking off pieces of cheese and meat and
handing them to her. "What have you heard?"

"That he was
once a fearsome warrior, a Crusader who rode at King Richard's
right hand side."

Marak handed
her a piece of leavened bread. "He is still a fearsome warrior and
if asked, I have no doubt the Lionheart would gladly have him fight
on his right again."

"The
whisperers say he took up a sword and fought with the Mohammedans,
then ran like a coward when the tide turned."

The hood
tilted. "What else do these whisperers say?"

Amie shifted
uncomfortably. "They say he was excommunicated and banished from
the Templars in disgrace."

"Does he
strike you as the type who would run from battle... or from
God?"

"He mocked
God's purpose in the Holy War."

"Questioning
something and mocking something are two very different things."

"Would the
Templars expel him for merely questioning their theology?"

Marak
chuckled. "Your mind is as quick as your tongue. I shall have to
drink some of my own possets to keep apace."

Amie flushed
and bit into a small wedge of cheese. "I mean no insult to Lord
Tamberlane, and I know all too well how stories become distorted
passing from one mouth to the next. But I also know that to have
attention drawn down upon him now would only stir up memories I am
sure he would rather leave in the past."

"I suspect it
may already be too late for that."

Amie stopped
chewing and felt a chill pass along her spine, one that was not
eased by Marak's next words.

"Two of the
foresters reported a large troop of knights and footmen encamped
just beyond the border of Lord Tamberlane's land. The camp is
heavily guarded and they could not get close enough to see the
markings on their tunics.”

Amie's fingers
went lax and she dropped the piece of cheese. What little color she
had gained back into her cheeks drained away like blood from an
opened vein.

"For the
moment, it poses no immediate concern. They have not yet ventured
across the river into our demesne and could be nothing more
sinister than a band of travelers making their way to London."

Travelers?
Passing through the densest forest in all of
England, miles from any well-traveled roads?
She did not
believe that for longer than it took for her to see Marak's
shuttered gaze watching her.

"What will
Lord Tamberlane do?" she asked in a whisper.

"So long as
they stay on the other side of the river, he will do nothing."

"And if they
cross the river?"

Marak pursed
his lips. "A fair question, but one for which I have no answer. He
can be a moody fellow at times, and does not take kindly to armed
men trespassing on his land. By the same token, he is
known
to be a moody fellow and few would approach without first stating
their purpose."

"If that
purpose was to demand the return of a runaway wife?"

"At the
moment, he could say quite truthfully that he has no knowledge of
any such person within his walls."

Amie held her
breath. "Are you suggesting I lie to him?"

"Absolutely
not! If he asks you a direct question, give him a truthful and
direct answer or he will tie a ribbon around your neck before
making a gift of you to your husband." He paused to restore his
voice to an even level then added, "All I would venture to suggest
is that you wait until he does ask."