Secret Heart (7 page)

“
I am
merely trying to be reasonable, sir. I understand that you want to
keep me safe.”
At least, until we reach Calean City,
Jenia thought
silently.

Though
Garit grumbled and blushed right up to his sandy eyebrows at the
idea of all of them sharing the same bed, Roarke’s decision
prevailed. Jenia was certain that Garit wanted to stalk out of the
room, but doing so would mean leaving her to sleep alone with
Roarke, a situation far more improper than three fully dressed
people in a bed.

She was
glad of Garit’s strong sense of what was right and seemly. The
thought of an entire night alone with Roarke left Jenia with heated
cheeks and a quickened heartbeat. How odd it was to be so affected
by a man whom she had met only that day, a man who was coolly
planning to use her in a dangerous charade. Perhaps her emotional
reactions to Roarke were the result of fear, though she hadn’t been
afraid when she first set out on her lonely mission. Nor did she
feel fear now when she thought about what she must do.

While
Jenia tried to sort through the onslaught of complicated feelings
that were entirely new to her, Garit removed his weapons, wrapped
his cloak tightly around himself, and took up a position at the
very edge of the bed, lying on his side so he’d be facing away from
Jenia. So embarrassed was he that his cheeks grew ever redder
during his preparations for the night. He did not so much as glance
over his shoulder at Jenia when she climbed onto the mattress and
lay down next to him.

In contrast to his friend, Roarke unbuckled
his sword belt and slung it around the nearest bedpost, within easy
reach. Then he pulled off his boots and stretched out on the other
side of the mattress from Garit. There he lay on his back with his
hands behind his head, appearing to be completely at ease.

Squeezed between the two men, with the skimpy
quilt provided by the inn covering them so poorly that her bare
feet stuck out beyond the bottom hem, Jenia found herself battling
the urge to laugh aloud at her ludicrous position. She could not
remember the last time she had been forced to stifle laughter.
Screams, yes, but not amusement. Perhaps she really was going mad.
Despite her solemn mission and her willingness to die in Calean
City in order to achieve her goal, she was finding it more and more
difficult to control her laughter. When Garit began to snore, a
giggle escaped her. When the snore ended in a long whistle, she
giggled again.

“
Don’t
disturb him,” Roarke warned in a low voice, turning toward her.
“He’s on guard, so he’s likely to wake up fighting.”

Garit snored again, and whistled again, long
and low. Jenia pressed both hands over her mouth in a useless
attempt to keep herself from laughing out loud. Surely, no sane
woman would want to laugh when death was drawing ever closer.
Though in the next moments she did begin to consider the
possibility that death was not the only danger she was going to
face as the scheme she had agreed to participate in proceeded to
its inevitable conclusion. The man lying beside her embodied his
own kind of danger.

“
Hush,”
Roarke whispered, bending closer and putting his lips against her
ear. His warm breath teased at her senses.

“
I can’t
help it,” she whispered back. “Oh, you must think I am quite mad.”
They were so close that it seemed perfectly natural for her to rest
a hand on Roarke’s upper arm. She felt his hard muscles flex
beneath her fingers. Garit snored again.

“
Am I to
have no sleep between the two of you?” Roarke demanded.

“
In fact,
sir,
I
am between
the two of
you,”
she retorted, wishing she were more practiced at easy humor
with men. But the men she’d known in her short life were never of a
humorous nature.

“
Saucy
wench, aren’t you?” With a quiet chuckle Roarke caught her and
pulled her to his chest, pushing her face into his woolen tunic.
“Smother your humor there, my lady.”

The urge
to giggle ended at once, vanquished by other, far more agreeable
sensations. Jenia barely noticed Garit’s next snore. Entranced by
her nearness to Roarke, she wound her fingers into the soft wool of
his tunic. With a sigh she laid her cheek against his chest and
inhaled the clean scents of keshan, gallinum, and grown man. For
just a moment she allowed herself to revel in a purely feminine
delight.

“
Hush,”
Roarke whispered again, one hand stroking her hair. “You are safe
here with us. Garit and I will protect you. Sleep now, Jenia. Rest
for the long ride that’s ahead of us tomorrow.”

She
relaxed against him and lay quietly. As she drifted toward sleep
she felt Roarke’s lips touch her forehead, and then he rested his
cheek against hers. Once more, as she had done earlier that day,
she experienced an odd sense of safety and comfort in his arms, as
if she was a weary traveler who had come home at last.

She was a traveler, indeed, a pilgrim who
knew full well that in her very perception of safety lay great
danger. She must not give in to the temptation to care for someone
else. Caring meant weakness, certain loss, and searing grief.
Consumed by grief she had set an objective for herself and she
refused to deviate from her purpose.

But, oh,
how lovely it was to lie for a brief, precious time with Roarke’s
arm beneath her shoulder and her head on his broad chest while she
listened to the steady beat of his heart and wished that her life
could be different and her end not quite so inevitable, or so
terrible.

Roarke
held himself as still as he could, when he would rather have jumped
out of the bed and left the room. What a fool he was to put his
arms around Jenia. Unable to resist the lure of her amber eyes and
her sweetly rounded figure he, who rarely gave in to any woman’s
charms, had insisted on taking her up on his horse. She hadn’t
seemed to notice how arousing he had found that short ride and
she’d made no comment on his rude treatment of her after they
reached the inn. He had left it to Garit to comfort the fears that
Roarke was now convinced were real, though he still doubted the
veracity of her claim that she lacked any memory of how she had
reached the lonely shore where he’d found her.

So far, he had learned just three certain
things about Jenia. She was in terror for her life. For her own
secret reasons she was eager to journey to Calean City. And he
wanted her with a desire that threatened to undo him and destroy
his mission to find Lady Chantal.

But what
if Jenia, whether she was lying or truly unsure of her identity,
proved to be Chantal of Thury, who loved Garit, Roarke’s best
friend? If that was so, then Roarke must consider her
forbidden.

He knew
himself for a brave enough man, yet the desperation of his sudden
and unexpected need for Jenia terrified him. Never before had he
felt this way about any woman. In the first moment when he’d spied
her stumbling along the beach his heart had stirred within his
chest. He had known that she was no ordinary person, that she was
someone special. He could not understand his own reaction to a
female whom he didn’t know and wasn’t sure he could trust. But, ah,
how she fascinated him!

He pulled
her a little closer, pressed his cheek against hers, and reminded
himself again that she could very well be Garit’s true love, who
would never want, or love, Roarke of Alton.

Jenia
woke once during the night to find Roarke’s arm across her waist
and his face buried against her shoulder. Uncertain whether his
position was a means of preventing her from fleeing or a sign of
reassurance, she reflected that, whichever it was, she did not
mind. For one night, and one only, she would accept the comfort and
safety he offered, and be grateful for it. For that single night
she would allow herself to be a woman and not an avenging
spirit.

When she wakened again at dawn he was gone,
though Garit still snored on the other side of the bed, so close to
the edge that she feared he would fall out if he made the slightest
movement. Before she could discover whether her concern was
well-founded or not, Roarke entered without knocking. He carried a
large pitcher in each hand. The maid who had served them the
previous evening followed him, bearing a platter of bread and
cheese.

The sound of the platter being slammed down
on the table woke Garit, who rolled off the mattress and onto his
feet in a single, lithe motion.

“
Did you
see the way the maid looked at me?” Garit demanded of Roarke. “She
thinks you and I have spent the night intimately occupied with
Jenia. My lady, I offer my deepest apology for the slur upon your
virtue. You deserve better treatment.”

“
Never
mind that,” Roarke snapped at his friend. “Pay the maidservant no
heed. Her opinion matters not at all. We are leaving this morning
and chances are, we won’t return.”

“
If
anyone comes to this inn asking questions after we are gone, the
maid will remember us,” Jenia noted. “The two of you sneaked in the
back way with an unknown woman, whom you kept in your room all
night long. That alone would make us conspicuous.”

“
All the
more reason for us to leave here as quickly as possible,” Roarke
said, frowning at her. To her relief he didn’t demand to know who
could possibly be asking about an unidentified woman.

They were gone from the inn before anyone but
the maidservant and one stableboy were moving, and they rode at a
steady pace all morning. This time Jenia rode pillion behind
Roarke, a position that allowed for no sense of intimacy and no
sustained conversation between them. They stopped only once during
the morning, to rest and water the horses. Jenia took the
opportunity to retire behind some bushes for a few moments, and
then to drink from the same stream as the horses.

She judged the time at noon or later before
Roarke called a second halt. The landscape had undergone subtle
alterations as they traveled inland. Windblown seashore had given
way to green and gently rolling hills planted with apple trees.
Golden wheat awaiting the harvest waved in a softer, dryer breeze.
Cattle browsed in the open meadows. But always the massive mountain
range filled the eastern horizon, rearing upwards in sheer slabs of
grey rock and glistening white ice.

“
We are
crossing Dudone Province now,” Garit told her as they munched on
the bread and cheese the men pulled from their saddlebags, along
with a few apples that Garit plucked from the tree under which they
sat. “This land belongs to the Lord Mage of Dudone.”

“
Will we
be safer here than along the shore?” Jenia asked.

“
I doubt
if you will be safe anywhere,” Roarke said. “Not with your face so
similar to Lady Chantal’s.”

“
Now,
that’s not entirely true,” Garit protested. “We can keep our
distance from Thury, where Lord Walderon has taken up
residence.”

“
Walderon
is at Thury?” Jenia exclaimed. “How can that be?” She broke off
when she saw Roarke staring at her with a knowing gleam in his
eyes. Once again she had revealed too much knowledge. Constant
deception really was beyond her.

“
Walderon
moved to Thury shortly after Lady Chantal vanished,” Roarke
informed her. “He has been conducting his search for her from
there. Do you know Thury?” he asked with an emphasis that Jenia
could not mistake.

“
Only
from your discussion of the place as Lady Chantal’s home,” she
said, certain that Roarke knew she was lying. In an effort to
prevent any further discussion of the subject she added, “At least,
I do not
think
I
know it.”

“
At the
moment,” Garit said, “it doesn’t matter whether you know Thury, or
not. My lady, if you can ride until shortly after nightfall this
evening, we can stop at a manor house we know of, that’s safely
located in an isolated area. In our younger days, Roarke and I were
squires to Lord Giles of Nozay. He remains a dependable friend, and
we have stopped at Nozay several times during our searches of this
area. Lord Giles will take good care of us and feed us
well.

“
Then,”
Garit continued, “if you are willing to undertake a long day’s ride
tomorrow, and if no mischance slows us along the way, we have a
good chance of reaching a castle that King Henryk bestowed on me
two years ago. I keep it staffed with people who are loyal to me.
You will be perfectly safe at Auremont.”

“
I
thought we were bound for Calean City,” she objected.

“
So we
are,” Garit assured her. “But we cannot go there
directly.”

“
Why
not?” she demanded, her fear returning in a rush. She shivered at
the thought that she might not reach the capital after all, that
she still might fail in her quest in spite of two strong knights
who were pledged to protect her. “What mischance are you thinking
of? Might we be attacked?”

“
Why
would anyone want to attack us?” Roarke asked, his tone bland, but
his gaze sharp on her face.

“
You
don’t understand,” she said.

“
Then,
perhaps you ought to explain.”

“
My
lady,” Garit said, “it will take three days of steady travel on a
good horse to reach Calean City. I am due there early on the second
day after tomorrow, so I must ride faster than you can. We will
separate at Castle Auremont, where you and Roarke will stay until I
return.”