Blood Ties (26 page)

“Impossible! But if we don’t, we make love to each other.”

She pretended to consider it, nodding thoughtfully, bottom lip thrust out. “That sounds fair.”

He clinked his tankard against hers, still keeping hold of her hand. “To victory!” he said.

“To victory!”

They finished the meal talking comfortably about chases and horses and riding, but his hand and hers were never out of touch for long, fingers entwined or brushed against each other. It was a match and Bramble played along, as familiar with the tactics as he clearly was, but a little off balance and uncertain underneath. She didn’t quite like the feeling, but gods, he was gorgeous . . .

After lunch they walked back to the course.

“Come around with me?” Leof held out his hand, but Bramble shook her head.

“So you can watch my reactions and ask more questions about my strategy? Don’t think so.”

“Well, it was worth a try,” he said, and winked.

She couldn’t help but smile, but was glad enough to get away from him and feel normal again. She couldn’t let a pretty face interfere with a chase. The familiar discipline of examining each potential jump and working out what her approach should be calmed her, and she ignored the occasional glimpses of Leof in the distance.

Bramble smiled as she walked toward Gorham’s house, where she was staying that night. If he thought he’d distracted her from the chase, he was in for a surprise. But she was still smiling as she went to sleep that night. Win or lose tomorrow, her bed would be sweeter . . .

She dreamed all night about the demon that spoke from the boy’s mouth in Sandalwood:
Thou wilt love no man never . . . Never . . . Never
. The words repeated themselves over and over, and when they stopped she saw her foot slamming into the face of the warlord’s man. It was much clearer in her dream than in her memory, so that she could hear the ugly sound of the bone breaking and a kind of squelching noise as it shafted back into his brain. He raised his head from the ground, dead and deformed, and the demon’s voice came from his mouth.
Not fit for this young man
. She woke, sweating and nauseous.

She sat for a few minutes on the side of the bed with her hands hanging between her thighs. “It’s just guilt,” she said out loud. “It doesn’t mean anything.” Her voice echoed in the dark room and she shivered.

She got dressed in the starlight from the window and went down the stairs, treading quietly so as not to wake Gorham and Osyth, to spend the rest of the night in the stable. The sight and smell of the roan calmed her. Until she laid her head on his warm side, she hadn’t realized that she was still trembling. He nosed her hair and her pockets, looking for carrots, and she laughed a little. This was where she belonged. She found a carrot for him in one of the feed bins and lay down on his blanket in a corner of the stall. He lipped her shoulder and went back to standing with his head just out of the stall, and then slid back into horse sleep with his weight resting on his off hind. She slept more deeply than she had expected to, and didn’t wake until the sun was fully up and Gorham appeared at the stable door, calling her to breakfast.

The weather had turned while she was asleep and it was a true autumn day: cold and windy with a lowering sky. It was a bad riding day, with poor visibility in hollows and streams filled with low-lying fog. The dull tan of the oak trees and the scarlet of the hawthorn berries were the only colors apart from the bright kerchiefs of the riders.

Bramble had brought out the roan early to warm up, along with the other riders, including Leof, who was riding a big bay mare. They all wore their lightest shirts and boots, because even the weight of a jacket could mean the difference between winning and losing. Leof smiled and waved at her, but they were both too focused for more.

The crowd soon assembled and the Kill was given his standard. As the riders jostled for position, Bramble found herself trying not to get near Leof, and she wasn’t sure why. Perhaps she just didn’t want to humiliate him by getting away from him at the start.
Too much overconfidence, my girl,
she thought sternly,
he’s won ten — you’ve only won three
. But with the roan springing with energy at every step, it was hard not to be optimistic.

“Keep him steady, lass,” Gorham called.

She raised a hand to him and concentrated on setting the roan straight for the start.

And then the Kill set off. The crowd counted out fifty — the number of men in Acton’s first war band — and the riders were away in a thundering, determined mob of black and roan and bay.

The route was the hardest Bramble had faced yet, over high stone walls and water-filled ditches, through narrow paths between trees with low-hanging boughs. The second jump was a difficult stone wall with a small gap flanked by blackberry bushes. Bramble was well placed for the jump, but Leof, she saw out of the corner of her eye, was heading for the bushes. She heard him yell “Hah!” and his mare surged ahead to take the middle ground, forcing a chestnut straight into the blackberry thorns. The chestnut took the jump but its hind legs caught in the bushes and it tumbled over. Bramble and Leof took the jump together and he grinned at her as they landed.

By the third jump it was clear that the race was between Bramble and Leof. The bay was strong and a canny jumper, and Leof rode her with skill and sensitivity — there were no whips or spurs in sight. The mare had a tendency to jump a bit higher than she needed to, which lost her time. But she was a shade faster than the roan on the flat, so they were evenly matched.

They stayed neck and neck over the last jump and started together up the long hill that led to the finish. It was punishing at the end of a tough chase, and the horses started to show the strain. The mornings of practice paid off now, with the roan, at the peak of his fitness, just having the edge over the bay mare. She began to labor halfway up the hill, but Leof urged her on and she picked up the pace again. It was too late. She had lost too much ground to make it up, and the roan passed the finish half a length ahead of her.

Bramble took the red scarf from the Kill and flourished it, as expected, to the revelers, who were cheering madly to see a local horse win the biggest race of the year.

She escaped the crowd and walked over to Leof, wondering how he would take being beaten by a girl he was romancing. She held out her hand.

He was smiling in disbelief, but he returned the handshake. “Gods, girl, that’s a horse and a half you’ve got.”

She smiled widely, patting the roan on the neck. “That’s the truth.”

“You’re a bloody fine rider, I’ll give you that, but it was the horse that won that race.”

She nodded. “I know.”

“If I’d been riding him —”

“He wouldn’t have tried that hard for you.”

Leof stared at her, giving away nothing. “I don’t doubt it.” He smiled brilliantly. “We had a wager.”

“So we did.” She felt laughter bubbling up and let it out, throwing her head back. It was ridiculous to feel this happy.

“The party’s at my house,” Gorham shouted, and everyone started to move toward town.

Leof and Bramble rode together quietly, letting the horses cool down. She showed him to Gorham’s stable and they tended their horses together, in a quiet intimacy shut away from the growing noise of the party in the house. They stood shoulder to shoulder for a few moments, watching the roan and the mare snort at each other and lip at their hay. Leof turned and slid his arms around Bramble’s waist.

“Let’s not go to the party,” he said. He nuzzled the side of her neck. “I have to make good on my wager.”

His mouth was soft and warm on her skin.

“Gorham will wonder where we are.”

“Let him wonder.”

His hands were traveling, then cupping her behind, drawing her against him. Their mouths met, and then loosened reluctantly.

“Let’s go back to the inn,” he said. “I’m not at my best on a pile of straw.”

Bramble laughed, nervously, and went with him, leaving the prize bag of silver sitting on top of the feed bin.

His room at the inn was the most luxurious thing Bramble had ever seen: canopied bed, velvet bed throw, fine embroidered linen sheets. She smiled, thinking that she’d never actually shagged anyone in a bed. Riverside grass and haylofts, yes. Beds, no. She inspected the view from the window and found the river and hills beyond.

“Stop trying to distract yourself,” Leof said. He pulled her into his arms. “If I can’t make you yield in a chase, I bet I can here.”

And he could. He paid the wager in full, with hands and lips and body. For the first time in her life, Bramble didn’t try to stay in charge. She pressed into him, against him, around him; she let her mind go for once, and she trusted him.

They made love, slept, woke to evening light and moved again together, caressing and laughing, catching their breaths together like one creature instead of two. Afterward it was full night and the autumn air was chilly. Bramble smiled into the darkness, hoping that the warmth she felt meant that the demon’s words had been all wrong. She was on the way to loving, surely?

Leof reached over her and fumbled for a tinderbox. She tickled him and it took three tries to light the candle.

“Stop it, woman! No more of that. I am
starving!
”

“Me too,” she said.

He jumped out of bed and hurried into clean clothes from the press at the end of the bed, his pale flesh goose-bumped. Bramble smiled.

“Lots of food,” she said.

He pulled on a brown jacket and saluted, his fist pressed to his chest. “Yes, ma’am!” As he took his hand down, a crest on his shoulder caught the light. It was a crossed sword and spear.

Bramble felt stupid, as though her thinking had slowed to a glacier pace. “You . . . you’re a warlord’s man.”

He nodded, lacing up his boots. “One of Thegan’s,” he said. “I’m from Cliff Domain, but he’s called me down to serve him in Sendat for a while.”

“You’re a
warlord’s
man.”

“Well, don’t say it like that, love.” He tied his boot off and stood up. “A big, big meal, eh? A bit of everything? And some wine?”

Bramble was shivering. She felt unbearably nauseous, wanting to be sick but unable to get past a huge lump in her throat. A warlord’s man. She had wanted him. Let him . . . She wanted to get out of bed, drag her clothes on and run, but suddenly couldn’t bear the thought of him seeing her naked.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He stilled in his movement, searching her face. “What difference does it make?”

“A lot.”

“What, you wouldn’t have come back with me if you’d known I was one of Thegan’s men?”

“I wouldn’t have talked to you.”

“Why not?” His astonishment was genuine.

“Warlord’s men . . . aren’t popular where I came from.”

“Ah.” He sat on the side of the bed. “It’s true, some warlords use their power irresponsibly. And I suppose they attract the wrong kind of men. But we’re not all bad, love.”

He smiled tenderly at her and reached to brush a strand of hair from her face. She propelled herself backward until her head hit the wall. It was the same reaction that had made her kick the other warlord’s man when he had reached for her leg. She couldn’t bear for him to touch her.

He sat frozen. “That bad? You hate us that badly? All of us?”

“Warlord’s men are thugs and bullies, living off the people like leeches.”

“That’s not how it is in Cliff Domain. I promise you.”

“Really.” She was unconvinced.

“Really!” He jumped up, angry now. “Without us, the people would be dead, or worse. We protect them.”

“From other warlords! If we didn’t have any warlords, they wouldn’t need you, would they?”

“Yes they would! We protect them from the raiders, from the Ice King’s people. Without us, the whole Domain would be laid waste, just like Cliffhaven was.”

“What’s Cliffhaven?”

“A pair of villages, up near the mountain pass. Twenty years ago the Ice King’s men came down and killed everyone — everyone! — in both villages. I saw — my father took me to see, so I would know what we trained for, what we fought for. It was Thegan who forced them back across the ranges. He’s a great man, a great leader. I’m proud to follow him!”

The nausea was dying, leaving emptiness behind. That hollow, dead place was still there, underneath everything. She’d thought that Leof . . . that the demon might have been wrong. But how could she love a warlord’s man? Even one who believed he was doing good? And maybe up there in the mountains they did need protection, but he was still someone who dealt in blood and turned to fighting to find solutions. And he worked for Thegan, who had seemed so cold . . . She felt very tired.

“Go and get your dinner,” she said. “Maybe I’ll see you at another chase someday.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“You can’t see past the sword?” He gestured to the corner.

There was a sword in a leather scabbard leaning against the wall, an unobtrusive, unadorned weapon made for killing, not show. It seemed to grow larger as she stared at it, realized it had been there all along. She imagined the edge on it, the cutting blade, and shuddered.

“Well?” he said.

She stared back at him.

He turned and walked to the door.

“Leof.” He spun around to look at her. “Don’t trust Thegan. I’ve met him. He may be a great man, but he’s not a good one.”

His face hardened, as it hadn’t done before. “Thegan is my sworn liege. You will not speak of him that way.”

Their first recourse was always a threat. Even Leof. “Or what? What will you do to me?”

His face softened again and he suddenly looked like a boy of sixteen.

“Oh, Leof, just take care of yourself.”

He went out the door silently.

She dressed and shuffled through the streets to Gorham’s house where the party, incredibly, was still going. She went to the stable and sat between the roan and the bay mare, wanting to cry, but feeling that empty place expanding under her chest until there was no room for tears.

From then on she avoided socializing with the other riders, although sometimes, to her disgust, she dreamed of being in Leof’s arms, dreamed of his lips and hands and warmth. Her own bed seemed colder when she woke, but she wouldn’t let herself weep over it, nor consider running away. She was content, she told herself, to live out on the farm. She tried to ignore the memories of being on the Road, and pushed down the desire to move on, be free, feel the sun on her back as she headed north. There’s enough sun here, she told herself. She tried to pretend that she wasn’t afraid to take the Road, but she was.