Ferran's Map (27 page)

Ferran waited, then shifted beneath her,
resettling her more fully on top of him. He pulled his other leg up
onto the bunk, trapping her in a warm net of limbs, cradling her in
the shelter of his body. She felt drugged and pliant, unwilling to
resist his arms.

She let out a long, slow sigh against his
chest. “Whatever happened between us, Ferran?” she asked quietly,
changing the subject. “Why did we part ways?”
So many things
could have been different.

He glanced down at her. His hand traveled
from her hair to the back of her neck, massaging it absently in
thought. “I set you up with Lord Fallcrest, just like you wanted.
And then I left.”

She frowned, tilting her head slightly to
better meet his eyes. “Why did you do that?” she asked. “I mean, if
you were an Ebonaire all along, why not just….”

“Shower you in bags of gold?” he asked
wryly. “Or marry you and ride off into the sunset?”

Lori winced. “No, I didn’t mean…I know
that’s absurd, you were disowned, and we weren’t….”

“Can’t say I didn’t think about it,” he
admitted, his eyes roving up to the ceiling in thought. “I should
have for Dane. He asked me to look out for you. The honest truth,
Lori, is that I was a selfish young bastard. I didn’t know how to
take care of a woman and a baby. And I knew you wouldn’t have me
either way.”

Lori blinked, surprised by his honesty.
“Oh,” she muttered. She had no idea Ferran felt this way. After
Dane’s death, she never considered marrying him as an alternative.
Why run into the arms of a penniless, wandering rake? By that time,
he was already disowned, and she had no idea about his past.

She thought about that, wondering what could
have been if she were a little less young and impulsive.
We
weren’t so different back then,
she realized. Each had been
reckless and foolish in their own way.

“Do you remember….” Ferran started slowly.
“That winter solstice festival? Just before you got with
child?”

Lori thought for a moment. It was all so dim
and long ago—twenty years in the past. Slowly, she dredged up the
memory: a small town alight with lanterns and music. Villagers
dancing in wooden masks, celebrating the end of the year. Endless
bottles of flowing wine and spiced ale. She, Ferran and Dane
arrived the night before, en route to an excavation site, where
Dane eventually lost his life.

She frowned slowly. “We spent the night
dancing,” she recalled. “And Dane…Dane was….?”

“With that buxom farmer’s daughter. You two
had a fight a few weeks prior and weren’t speaking to one another.
Remember?”

She grimaced up at him. “Well, you certainly
do.”
Mindless drama,
she thought. She remembered the
falling-out now, but not the reasons. She had tried to end things
with Dane, before she knew she was pregnant. He had spent the
entire festival trying to make her jealous by dancing with a
sheep-farmer’s daughter. Yes, she remembered now. And she had
dumped an entire bottle of wine over his head in rage. Good peach
wine, thick as syrup, the likes of which she hadn’t tasted
since.

She glanced up at Ferran. He watched her
again, waiting for something. She wondered what he expected; then
her eyes slowly widened. “After all that dancing, and all that
wine,” she said softly, “we went to the shed behind the mill.”

“Yes,” he murmured. His lips twitched
slightly.

“You kissed me?” she asked hesitantly.

His smile drifted into an amused frown. “You
don’t remember?” he asked, wrapping a strand of her hair between
his fingers.

“I was awfully drunk, Ferran….” she said
slowly. Bits and pieces of that night returned to her, seeming to
drift across centuries. She hadn’t once thought of it until now.
Morning sickness began soon afterward and she became consumed with
worries -- about children, marriage and her future with Dane.

He watched her through hooded eyes, a slight
smile on his lips. “You really don’t remember anything,” he said
quietly. “What happened to you, Lori?” he repeated.

Her mouth went dry. She couldn’t answer.

Ferran slowly wrapped a second lock of her
hair around his hand, then pulled tight, using the perfect amount
of pressure to stimulate the sensitive nerves on her scalp. He
angled her face toward his, a scarce inch between their lips, and
murmured, “As I recall, I kissed you until you couldn’t stand up.
Then I lifted you against the wall. You grabbed me so hard, your
nails ripped my back. I still have the scar.”

Lori shuddered against him, her body
responding to his nearness.

“Ferran,” she said breathlessly. “Stop…my
wound….”

“I know,” he murmured, and leaned down
gently to brush his mouth against hers. He kissed her in a lazy,
off-centered fashion, casually grazing her lower lip and trailing
down her chin to her throat.

Lori gasped on impulse. The alcohol helped
her body respond. Sensations moved through her that she hadn’t felt
in a long time. She didn’t want to tell him the truth—that she had
lived a celibate life for longer than she cared to admit. Getting
close to men put her on-guard; she didn’t trust men. Terrible
things had happened to her on the streets of the City of
Crowns…things a woman never really recovered from. Even now,
Ferran's passionate touch caused a tremor of fear in her heart,
something instinctive and primal that she couldn’t rationalize to
herself. Suddenly she wanted to pull away.

He sensed her stiffen and stopped, lowering
her head back to his chest, though he kept his soft grip on her
hair. “Did I hurt you?” he asked quietly.

“No,” she murmured.

He paused. “You don’t want me?”

She sensed the vulnerability behind that
question, surprising from a man like him. She knew to tread
lightly. Lori pressed her cheek over his heart. “No,” she murmured.
“It’s not that. I just….”

“You were raped,” he said bluntly.

“I—” she paused. She struggled with that
word for a moment. It sounded so harsh, so terribly harsh. Not able
to answer him, she looked away; that was the only answer he
needed.

“I can tell that when you shy away from me,”
he said. “And from the scars on your stomach. I’ve walked the low
road, Lori. I’ve seen what street scum do to a woman. After using
her, they puncture her womb, ruining her chance of ever bearing
children…if she survives.”

Lori swallowed hard. She felt as though some
inner door had been pried open, dragged off its hinges. “It was
just after I became a Healer. I worked at the seminary, and then at
the Daniellian house….” she paused. “I was attacked on the streets
in the Smokeshaft District. I don’t know who found me, but I was
close to death. The Healers spent hours piecing me back together….”
She paused, a sob welling in her throat. “And then I left, and I
never came back.”

“Who did this to you?” Ferran murmured. He
wrapped his arms around her tightly, cradling her to his chest. She
sensed he already knew the answer.

“Thugs,” she said. “Hired by Cedric
Daniellian.”

Ferran paused.

“Lord Cedric Daniellian,” she repeated. “He
wanted to bed me, but I had a job to protect, and noble wives don’t
tolerate that kind of thing….So I tended his mother, and when she
died, he claimed he found poison in her food, and, I don’t know….”
Her voice fell. “He became fixated on me. His rage was
unrelenting.”

Ferran let out a long, slow breath.

“He hired thugs to kill me. I have no proof,
but I know it was him,” she muttered against his chest. “Headmaster
Duncan hardly waited for me to stand up before he told me to leave.
I planned to go anyway. He suggested I revoke my vows, but I
couldn’t. All those years spent training, building a life for
myself…I lost everything again….” The tears streamed uncontrollably
from her eyes. She couldn’t finish. “I think Duncan told Cedric I
was exiled, or some other load of tosh. I don’t know.”

Ferran wrapped his arms around her
shoulders, careful not to jar her wound. He adjusted the quilt to
cover her more fully, then rested his chin on top of her head. He
held her like that as she cried. Her tears ran down her cheeks onto
his neck and chest, blending with the faded lines of his phoenix
tattoo. She could sense his anger, barely contained within the
solid vise of his arms. His heart pounded strong and fast against
her cheek. A red light flared from the Cat’s Eye on his wrist.

“I’ll kill him,” he said softly, deep in his
throat.

Lori almost laughed, but was crying too
hard. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, struggling to control her
voice. “He’s a Daniellian, Ferran. And you’re not an Ebonaire any
more.”

“Then I guess I have nothing left to lose,”
he murmured darkly.

Lori pulled her head up, alarmed by his tone
of voice. “Really, Ferran,” she repeated, wiping her eyes with the
back of her hand. “It was seven years ago. I hate the bastard, but
there’s no use retaliating. He’s untouchable. Believe me, I spent
much time thinking about it.” She paused. “I just…I’m sorry, I’m
not myself right now, the wound…and the whiskey….I’ve never told
anyone about this before. I’m fine. Really. It was long ago.”

Ferran looked at her in a piercing way she
didn’t expect. She could see his disbelief. He didn’t think she’d
made peace with her past—and perhaps he was right. Cedric
Daniellian had taken everything from her—her job, the seminary, her
reputation as a Healer….And perhaps, most terribly, her ability to
trust a man.

She told Ferran it took her weeks to walk on
her own after the attack. During that time, she stayed in the
seminary, paralyzed in fear, terrified Cedric would send someone to
finish the job.

“He took everything from you,” Ferran said
softly, his voice thick with anger, echoing her thoughts. “He will
never face any consequences…it’s not right.”

“He’s the First Tier,” she said softly.
“They sidestep the law all the time.”

Ferran’s jaw tightened.

She forced herself to smile at him, despite
the tears down streaking her face. “I have Sora,” she said. “That’s
enough.”

“Right,” he murmured, his eyes focusing past
her. “You have your daughter.”

Something about his expression gave her
pause. She frowned, a forbidden thought stealing into her mind.
“Ferran,” she murmured. “On that winter solstice night, when you
took me behind the mill…did we….?”

His gray eyes met hers.

She pushed on. “Did we…make love?”

All pretense vanished between them. She saw
his expression soften, a look that terrified her even more than his
anger toward Cedric.

“If I told you we did,” he said quietly,
“would that change anything?”

Lori sucked in a sharp breath. “No,” she
said. “I would remember.”

“Granted, it wasn’t my best
performance.”

Lori pushed back on impulse, then cried out
sharply as the muscles in her back spasmed in pain. He pressed her
to his chest, holding her as she groaned. All the while, her
thoughts spun in panic.
Would that change anything? Only the
last eighteen years!
What if…what if Sora…what if Dane….

No, Sora looked like Dane, she had his wide
lips….

Wide lips like Lady Ebonaire, who visited
the seminary once on a formal occasion. But Sora had Dane’s long
fingers…fingers like Ferran’s, only smaller and sleeker….

Faces and features blurred before her. She
had no picture of Dane to remember him by. Fragments of memory
filled her mind. She couldn’t piece it all together any more. It
seemed implausible…and yet….

“Tell me we didn’t make love,” she demanded,
her voice weak.

“We did, Lori.”

“But I don’t remember! How could I not
remember such a thing?”

“It was short and sloppy. We were both
drunk. I didn’t last long….And I think you called me Dane….” He
paused awkwardly. “You’ve been through a lot since then. Hell, I
only half-believed it in the morning. You and Dane made up. He was
my closest friend; I wasn’t about to say anything. I knew you
didn’t really want me. The only reason I remember,” his voice
lowered, hesitating, “is because I didn’t want to be a father.
That’s why I ran, Lori. And I’ve always wondered about it, and
maybe regretted….”

“No!” she burst out. She wanted to shake her
head in denial, to pound her fists against his chest in
frustration, but his tight arms held her immobile. “No, it’s
impossible. We were only together once. Think of the chances!”

“I know,” he agreed. “But think of the
timing
.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because you asked, Lori,” he said in
exasperation. “I’m not lying to you. I have the scars where your
nails raked me,” he said. “Has a kiss ever made you sink your
fingers into a man’s back?”

She couldn’t listen to another word. Her
heart ached, tied into a dozen firm knots. She felt like she might
throw up. “I can’t think any more,” she groaned.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything,”
he said sincerely. “Bad timing.”

“Get off the cot,” she said hoarsely.

“What?”

“I need to sleep.” And just like that, she
did the only sensible thing she could do—she pushed away. She
sealed it all deep within herself, to be cracked open and inspected
at a better time.

Ferran let out a long, frustrated sigh and
gently worked his way out from under her, careful not to brush
against her wound. “I’m a damn idiot for bringing this up,” he said
sourly, and sat down on the floor, dragging his thick coat around
him. “Lori, none of this matters. What’s done is done. But I’m glad
you know the truth of it now.”

“Go to sleep, Ferran,” she snapped. Her head
began to pound. The alcohol made her feel sick and woozy. She
pressed her forehead against her arm on the cot; her skin felt hot
to the touch. She wished she had never had this conversation, that
everything had remained simple and clear-cut. She didn’t need to
dredge up the past. She really could have liked Ferran without all
of these complications. Now…now, she didn’t know what to think.