The Battle Lord's Lady

- Title Page

- Chapter One

- Chapter Two

- Chapter Three

- Chapter Four

- Chapter Five

- Chapter Six

- Chapter Seven

- Chapter Eight

- Chapter Nine

- Chapter Ten

- Chapter Eleven

- Chapter Twelve

- Chapter Thirteen

- Chapter Fifteen

- Chapter Twenty

- Chapter Twenty-One

- Chapter Twenty-Two

- Chapter Twenty-Three

- Chapter Twenty-Four

- Chapter Twenty-Five

- Chapter Twenty-Six

- Chapter Twenty-Seven

- Chapter Twenty-Eight

- Chapter Twenty-Nine

- Chapter Thirty

- Chapter Thirty-One

- Chapter Thirty-Two

- Chapter Thirty-Three

- Chapter Thirty-Four

- Chapter Thirty-Five

- Chapter Thirty-Six

- Chapter Thirty-Seven

- Chapter Thirty-Eight

- Chapter Thirty-Nine

- Chapter Forty

- Chapter Forty-One

- Chapter Forty-Two

- Chapter Forty-Three

- Chapter Forty-Four

- Chapter Forty-Five

- Chapter Forty-Six

- Chapter Forty-Seven

- Chapter Forty-Eight

The Battle Lord’s Lady

(Book One of the “Battle Lord” Saga)

by

Linda Mooney

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living, dead, or undead, is entirely coincidental.

The Battle Lord’s Lady

Copyright 2006 by Linda Mooney

ISBN 978-1-4507-1943-8

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. Due to copyright laws you cannot trade, sell, or give any ebooks away.

For Jim

Chapter One

Home

It would snow before nightfall. Atty stared up at the naked trees, following the sight of her breath, like little white clouds as it dissipated in the cold gray afternoon. The woods dripped near-frozen drops of moisture. Even in late winter the surrounding trees were impenetrable. Huge mounds of undergrowth still clung to green remnants and tried to survive before being suffocated under a blanket of snow.

She continued on her way, tramping through the maze, stamping her feet harder than usual to try and get the feeling back in them. Her toes and fingers were numb. She’d lost feeling in them some time ago and hoped it was temporary. Toes she could live without, but the loss of fingers would eventually lead to her own slow death. Any deformity was a death sentence at this time of the world if it prevented one from finding food. Worse if the Cleaners discovered it. Any grave injury or illness also meant a short life span.

Her home was less than a mile away. Atty hoped she would get back before nightfall. If it began to snow before then, that wasn’t a problem. Getting caught after dark and having to face the coming storm—that was another nightmare. She hurried her pace. The rabbits she’d found in her traps bounced against her back, their bodies bound together by a makeshift cord.

Somewhere behind her she heard the howl of a wolfen. She remembered the first time she’d seen one. Pawpee had taken her hunting to show her how to use the new bow he’d made her for her birthday. They had gone a hundred yards into the forest when they saw it, an emaciated female hungrily gulping down a small rodent. Patches of fur were missing from her body, and distended teats showed that she was nursing young. The animal looked at the two bundled humans without fear before trotting off into the underbrush. It had been huge, almost as large as a horse.

“Are they all that big?” she’d asked in a soft voice. She had been almost afraid it would hear her and come back to devour them.

“Most,” Pawpee had whispered back. “That is why you must never be outside the walls once the sun goes down. The wolfen could get you...or worse.”

Atty began to breathe easier as familiar landmarks came into view. She stopped at a large evergreen whose trunk bore directional marks. Her lungs ached from the cold. Her nose was a lump on her face, totally without feeling. At least this time she had something to show for her misery. Like the poor wolfen she’d spotted years before, she averaged one good hunt for every five, but recently it had felt as if the odds were getting ready to change again. For the worse.

The woods were beginning to thin out, and in the spaces between the trees she could see the compound. As she emerged into the clearing the sentry caught sight of her and called out.

“Ho! Identify!”

“Atty Ferran!”

“Ho, Atty! Looks like your hunt was successful.”

“It was minimal. You should have seen the ones that got away.”

The sentry laughed, signaling to someone below to open the gate. There were four gates leading into the compound, one for each point of the compass, and all of them just big enough to allow a rider or a small cart. Atty approached from the south, the side facing the densest part of the woods.

Stepping over the threshold at this smaller entrance was like entering a different world. The interior of the compound buzzed with activity, a hive of people going to and from work, a marketplace of sellers and buyers, a small hub of people doing what they were best at, whether weaving or blacksmithing. Everyone seemed to be hurrying to get whatever they needed doing done quickly. Although the compound was safe at night,, and a lot of activity still filled the inner courtyard beneath lantern light, it was the approaching storm which had them scurrying like chickens.

“Atty! Ho! What have you there?” a tall, gaunt, and balding young man called out to her. He manned a stall of potatoes and business looked brisk. Potatoes were a staple of the community. Fortunately, they could also be grown year-round.

“I’ve had a successful hunt, Posso,” she grinned. “And, no, you cannot trade for any of them. I need them all.”

“Spoilsport,” Posso grinned back. He reached into his pants pocket with one of his three hands to make change for one of his customers, promptly getting back to business.

Atty hurried through the main area and down a narrow street. The compound was built with the living quarters clustered in the center. The area ringing the living quarters lay between them and the immense compound wall, much like an inverted doughnut. Most compounds had been built like that. In the event a raid took place, and the enemy managed to breach the outer wall, at least the inhabitants had a chance to meet them in face-to-face combat to try and prevent them from penetrating the inner core where families were hidden.

The streets weaving through the apartments were narrow but wide enough for two people to walk abreast. To a newcomer the gravel-lined walkways would be confusing. To Atty, who had trod these streets since birth, they were no more a mystery to her than the woods outside the compound gates.

“Mohmee! Look! I’ve had a successful hunt!” She bounded through the door and held up her catch with pride. Her joy was short-lived. “Mohmee? Keelor?”

As she had expected, the fireplace blazed cheerfully. The table held a pot of holly branches, a makeshift bouquet until the flowers bloomed again. The spinning wheel in the corner still held the partially finished pile of wool her mother had been carding. But there were no smells of anything cooking. Atty trudged into the inner rooms to check to see if anyone was back there but there was no sign of her mother and younger sister.

Assuming they might be at the market, Atty peeled off her outerwear, hanging the sodden clothing over the rod extending over the fireplace. She took several minutes bathing her reddened hands and feet in the warmth of the fire before going back into the bedroom she shared with her sister to fetch some fresh clothes. The heat felt glorious. The dry clothes felt even better. As feeling returned to her extremities, she took the rabbits into the kitchen area and began to de-feather them. If her mother hadn’t been able to start dinner, then it would be a nice surprise to have dinner waiting for them when they returned.

She pulled a small pot from under the counter and began to peel potatoes and onions to boil with the rabbits. At one point a length of braid slipped from the coil wrapped on top of her head and fell over her shoulder. Atty stared at the thick, indigo blue plait, then gave it a quick toss to her back. She would pin it back up when she was finished preparing the pot for the fire. Unlike so many others, whose abnormalities were obvious and sometimes distracting, it was her only badge to show she was one of them. Her unusual color allowed her to be part of the compound.

Once the pot was sitting atop the grate in the fireplace, Atty poked her head out the front door and checked the street again to see if her family was heading home. Night had completely fallen. Other than the pole lantern sputtering at the end of the lane, there wasn’t any light to brighten the pathway. The broken moon was hidden behind the bank of snow clouds, now black ghosts riding low in the sky.

On either side of the apartment Atty could see lights dimming behind the drawn window shades in the adjacent apartments. Everyone was safely tucked in their prospective cubicles to await the morning sun. Atty knew her mother and little sister had no business being outside after dark unguarded even if they were in the heart of the compound. Besides, the cold was getting worse.

Sighing heavily, she closed the door, locked it, and went back to the stool by the fireplace. It was her seat, giving her an unobstructed view of the front door yet allowing her to remain warm and protected by the hearth. Her bow and quiver leaned against her, close at hand. Time passed slowly. The stew bubbled, mixing and softening the vegetables and meat until it was ready. Atty ate alone, never moving from her seat unless it was to check the street outside.

The town crier came around at lights out, accompanied by his ever-present protector with his crossbow and steel-tipped arrows. Atty doused the two candles she’d left lit, leaving just the slowly dying fire to throw faint golden shadows on the far wall from behind the screen she placed in front of it. Tears rolled silently down her face but no sound escaped her. The cold crept into the apartment even while the young woman leaned against the rock wall. Before long she was forced to put on more clothing to keep from shivering.

Late into the night, long after the fire had extinguished itself in the grate, Atty finally got to her feet and stiffly walked into the back bedroom, the room she’d shared with her younger sister for all of her twelve short years. There she lay across her mattress of pelts and fell asleep. The sleep of exhaustion. A sleep of deep mourning.

Outside the snow began to fall in fat lumps.

Chapter Two

Displaced

People disappearing was not unusual. Life had become dangerous almost three centuries ago when the Great Concussion had occurred. When the earth had passed through the meteor field, the huge chunks of space debris had punched into the lands and seas like a knife into a melon. Landscapes had collapsed and reformed. Land masses had shifted or been blown completely away into space. Seas divided, oceans dropped.

The moon suffered as well. The first collision with a meteor half its size split a crack into the orb. The second and third meteor wedged into the crack. The remaining shower pelted the powdery surface until the moon fragmented until it looked like someone had broken it open, then left it to hang with an immense chunk missing from its upper left quadrant.

According to history the shower had lasted no more than four hours from first impact to last. Four hours that had changed history forever. The earth managed to recover but it took human and animal kind longer. In some cases, never. In other ways, permanent changes had been wrought, some good, many not so good.

The moon, however, had lost its aura. Had lost its “man in the”. Had lost its cheese, as Pawpee once told her.

Atty was awakened by the pounding on the door. News had spread rapidly that Eenoi and Keelor Ferran had not returned to the compound the night before. For the young woman shivering on her bed it was the return of a nightmare she’d endured six years ago when she was fourteen. The night she and her mother had stayed up waiting for her father, a beloved husband and father who had never returned.

“You know you can’t stay,” Piron George uttered.

Atty bowed her head before the council of elders. His announcement was not unexpected. It was a rule. When the parents or guardians were gone, the remaining family had to be dispersed to other family members, or to those who would take in the survivors. Housing was at a premium and preciously guarded. Therefore, only families containing at least one adult member were allowed to live in them. When a family was whittled down to less, and there was no longer an adult member to hunt or provide adequate work to sustain the rest, other steps were taken. At least it guaranteed a home for everyone, whether they were related or not.

To her surprise, Memnon Kalich stepped forward. “Atty is an adult,” the young man pointed out. “And she’s one of our best hunters. Piron, you remember, don’t you? You owe her a debt when she brought food to your table when you had been ill with the tree fever, remember? She was one of those who helped keep your family fed until you could recover.”

Piron nodded. “I remember. And I do owe her. But she has no family and we can’t allow a single adult to hold an apartment. No, she has to move in with another family.”

“Isn’t there a family in need of a hunter?” asked another elder by the name of Twoson Pike. He was a corpulent man long past his prime, but his wisdom and guidance were valuable assets to the council. Many people in the compound felt his wealth of experience was due to the extra set of eyes in the back of his head.

Several hands rose in the crowd. However, only one person came forward to push his petition. “The council recognizes Fortune Kalich,” Twoson intoned.

The older man threw his son a glance before turning back to the panel. “Your Wisdoms, I would like to ask for Atty to become a part of my family. I know my son and I are already known hunters, and that by adding a third, well, others may not like it. But I assure you that is not the reason I ask. Atty’s father and I grew up together. We’d known each other since we were just sprouts. I know he would want me to watch after her for him... and Eenoi.”

Atty spoke up. “I know the council has never been happy with my induction into the caste of hunters. Therefore I’d like to offer that any extra food that I may capture I’ll distribute in the marketplace for those more in need.”

Session Bond, a third member of the panel, finally broke his silence. “Atty,” he asked, “are you content with the decision to become part of the Kalich family? As harsh as our laws may be, we’re not without compassion.”

The young woman nodded. “I accept Fortune Kalich’s offer. And I thank him.” Turning to face the man she’d known as her father’s friend, she said, “I promise I’ll try not to bring shame to them.”

“Then it’s done!” Twoson rapped his gavel on the table top signaling an end to the proceedings. Quickly done and acceptable to all parties—he liked it when it ended that way.

As the crowd dispersed, several people came by to give Atty their condolences. Atty hugged each in turn although she continued to feel numb by the suddenness of it all. Things were moving too swiftly, too decisively to give her any comfort.

That evening she walked about her old apartment and tried to figure out which items to keep and which to leave for the next tenant. There was so little that was personal enough to remind her of her parents and little sister. She packed all her clothes plus two of her mother’s sweaters that she’d always loved. Otherwise she left everything where it sat, including dirty utensils and bedding furs. In a world where lifetimes now were measured in years rather than decades or generations as they once had been, the luxury of owning property was almost nonexistent. A man owned what he could carry, which was usually the tools of his trade. A woman owned her personal skills, as her hands were usually full of children. The next abode would always contain a place to build a fire, a pot to cook in, and a bed to lie upon. One did not need to carry tables and chairs and other odd accouterments from apartment to apartment. Not only was it unthinkable, it was practically suicidal, especially when life hung in such a delicate balance.

Early the next morning Atty walked the narrow streets to her new home. Along the way she passed Sergei Peters, his wife Emma, and their two sons. All four carried parcels of clothing and food. Sergei wore his carpentry tools in a belt around his waist. Emma balanced a large basket of vegetables on her head. The whole family refused to make eye contact with the lone young woman, and Atty immediately knew who was taking up residence in the only place she’d ever known as “home”.

As they moved slowly in the direction from which she’d come, Atty hoisted her weapons into a more comfortable position across her shoulder. She continued to watch them until they turned the corner and were lost from view. Only then did she continue on her way.

Fortune Kalich was waiting for her when she arrived. He opened the door before she had a chance to knock, throwing it open to greet her with his classic wide grin.

“Welcome to my family,” he greeted her symbolically.

“I accept your welcome,” she replied as per custom.

Having gotten tradition out of the way, Fortune led her into the apartment, gesturing for her to take a seat. Atty glanced around the main outer room and wondered where the rest of the family was.

At first glance their apartment was exactly like the one she’d left, right down to the after-smell of late breakfast. A second glance, however, gave away the little details that reminded her it wasn’t. Atty stared for several seconds at the pillow sitting against the small chair by the fireplace until she realized the elder Kalich had been talking to her. She shook her head to clear it, turned to him, and apologized.

“I’m sorry, Fortune. I didn’t hear what you were just saying...”

Fortune gave her a sympathetic eye. “Listen to me, prattling on like a lonely old woman. Here you’ve just lost the rest of your family, and you’re probably exhausted and hungry. What kind of substitute father am I? Sit down, Atty. Can I get you something to drink? We have milk.”

“Milk?” Atty’s eyes widened. It had been too long to remember when she’d last had a mug of milk.

Smiling softly, Fortune went into the kitchen and pulled a covered jar from the cool storage area beneath the floor. He poured a small mug of the goat’s milk and carried it back into the living area to hand it to her. He watched in silence as she quickly drained the mug and wiped the mustache from her upper lip with a shirt sleeve. “Would you like some more?”

Atty’s first impulse was to say yes, but her mother’s training caught up with her. “No, no, thanks,” she replied, shaking her head and handing him back the mug. She sniffed and glanced around the room again. Amazingly, she felt comfortable here. Maybe it was because she’d known Fortune and his family all her life. Maybe it was because Tory Kalich had often babysat her when she was little, and she was already familiar with the little pictures made from dried and pressed flowers the woman enjoyed making and sharing with her friends. Several such pictures were propped against the walls of the living area, and they reminded her of the two her own mother had hung in her bedroom.

“Where’s Tory?”

“In the fields trying to find enough herbs to cook with. Pickings are scarce this time of year.”

“The fields are dangerous,” Atty told him.

Fortune nodded. “Not as dangerous as the woods, but she stays close to the fence. She’s a smart and watchful woman.”

“Memnon?”

“Hunting.”

“Alone?”

Fortune squinted. “Yes, alone. He often ventures out by himself. Has since he was fifteen. Why?”

Atty leaned over and ran her hands over her face. Suddenly she felt unbelievably tired. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything. I’m just...”

“You’ve been through a major loss,” Fortune told her.

“And I have too many unanswered questions. Why was my mother and Keelor outside the compound? Mohmee doesn’t look for herbs like Tory does. She doesn’t hunt. She doesn’t seek or need anything that I can’t get for her myself.”

“She went to get firewood,” Fortune admitted.

Atty stared up at him. “Firewood? Why? I’m the one who always gathered it for her.”

“You weren’t here, and she needed some. She took Keelor with her so they could get enough to last them until you returned.”

“She couldn’t wait?”

“Atty.”

“How do you know that’s why she went?” The anger, the fear, and the pain were bubbling up inside her like a geyser threatening to erupt. All the hurt she’d had to keep bottled in was pounding against her chest like loud, uncontrollable thunder, and it was about to come out in one explosive burst. “Why did she have to go out there when there wasn’t a need? We had firewood, Fortune! We had enough firewood by the hearth to last us through the night! Why did she leave? Why did she have to take... Keelor...with her.” The pain was choking her, closing up her throat until she couldn’t breathe or cry out any longer. Fortune reached for her as she collapsed back in the chair.

“Why didn’t she come home, Fortune? Why did she...have to be like Pawpee? Why? Oh... Why? Why?”

With the dam breached, the tears flowed. She cried for the loss of her mother. She cried for the sweet little sister who had alternated between tormenting her and sharing her deepest secrets. She cried for the loss of a way of life she’d prayed she’d never lose, but knew that eventually she would. But most of all, Atty cried out of fear of an unknown, uncertain future she couldn’t face, even with her specialized skills.

Fortune Kalich watched helplessly as the young woman sobbed loudly, her face buried in her hands. He wished his wife was there to comfort her, female to female, and she would have been, except they hadn’t expected Atty to show up so soon. He felt useless. Thinking she needed some time to herself, he quietly went into the kitchen and sat down with a strop to sharpen his knives. The steady back-and-forth movement was soothing in the face of such sorrow, and he was able to deal with Atty’s grief as the sound of it poured into the kitchen.

He continued to sharpen his knives, humming a little tune under his breath. It wasn’t much longer until Atty approached the entrance to the kitchen and stood in the doorway, watching him. He started to ask how she was feeling, but the young woman spoke first.

“I’m going out.”

To hunt? To look for someone? To visit the marketplace? Fortune wished she’d explain further but hesitated. Atrilan Ferran was one of the most capable young people in the compound, and esteem for her ranked high even among the other hunters. All the other male hunters. There were no other female hunters. Never had been, as far as Fortune could remember. Nor could anyone else. Then again, Atty was no ordinary girl.

The front door closed quietly, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Chapter Three

Hunt

The snow that had fallen the night before was thick but not enough to make any major difference. Atty had no problem disguising her footprints as she angled through the trees toward the badger. It was a big one, fully four hundred pounds worth. And although its meat was a bit gamey, cooked with wild onions and herbs it would feed several families, and quite deliciously, too. Not to mention the value of its pelt and claws.

The animal was burrowing under a fallen tree, searching for something to eat. It grunted as it nosed into the softened bark, effectively disguising any sounds she made. From where she crouched she could see where the animal had changed. Other than its size, its tusks curved from upper and lower jaws like giant yellow horns. With little effort the animal could rip the intestines out of a man. Its skin was probably as thick as tree bark, Atty surmised. Which was why she would have to aim for its eyes.

A crow screamed as it flashed through the trees. The badger paused, snorting softly, its jaws working from side to side as it chewed on what it had found. Another scream overhead made it raise its head, this time turning directly toward the young huntress. Atty took slow aim and let the arrow find its mark. The iron tip buried itself into the soft tissue of the animal’s brain, sending it into paroxysms. Atty remained behind the tree but kept a close watch on the badger. She was prepared to chase it if it took off. She was also prepared to fire again if it spotted her and charged.

For what seemed like eternity the animal tried to remove the shaft embedded in its eye but its thick, stubby arms could not dislodge the slender bit of wood. It thrashed about, tearing plants up by the roots, throwing dirt clods and rock, and roaring in pain. Foam flecked its mouth, and for a split-second Atty hoped the animal didn’t have the dreaded water disease.

It took a long while for the badger to die. Atty continued to watch it from her safe place behind the tree. When it finally lay on its side and gasped its last breath, she got to her feet and began the necessary task of gutting the animal and leaving the entrails for the other carnivorous scavengers. Once that was done, she went to tearing long, slim limbs from the nearby trees to form a makeshift travois. It would be difficult dragging the huge carcass back to the compound, but she had no other choice. If she chose to get help, by the time they arrived back, the animal would either be gone or violated by other predators, and therefore inedible, the skin and the meat useless.

It was late in the day before she had the carcass lashed onto the travois. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she’d eaten nothing all day except for that mug of milk given to her by Fortune Kalich. Atty paused, remembering that this animal would not be feeding her family. Her mother would not hug her upon her return. Her little sister would not beg for the tail, or the ear, or whatever part of the quarry that had caught her eye. The sudden wave of grief nearly made her stumble, but Atty choked back the sobs and gritted her teeth. Throwing the loop of rope around her chest and over her shoulders, she dug her feet into the snow and began pulling the dead weight over the ground. It was not as difficult as she’d first thought it would be, but after a while it steadily grew harder.

The sun was about to go down. Already the upper section of the moon could be seen floating just above the horizon, its missing chunk making it look like a gap-toothed grin. Atty passed a tree with directional marks. The compound was less than a mile away. Knowing she would make it to the safety of the wall before dark, she stopped for a brief rest. If she was lucky, she might soon meet up with another hunter who would help with the load. Or a sentry on top of the compound wall might see her and send aid.

Tonight she would be sleeping in a strange bed in a strange house with people she knew little about. Although she had grown up with the Kalich family, had taunted and been teased by Memnon since infancy, they were not her family. Not her blood. They were not aware of the little traits and idiosyncrasies that intimate families nurtured within their bond. Did the Kaliches take their baths during the week or on weekends? Did they care that she preferred to sleep with two pillows? Would she be able to sleep in one of her father’s old shirts as she usually did? How long before the awkwardness was overcome so they all could relax and continue with life?

Immersed in her thoughts, Atty was unaware of someone coming to give her an extra shoulder until Pillan Camworth hefted one of the poles and slipped into step beside her.

“Come back, come back from wherever you are,” he grinned.

“Oh? Hi. Thank you, Pillan. It was starting to feel heavy.”

“Starting? My heavens, Atty, this animal must be a good four, five hundred pounds. It’s a wonder you haven’t pulled a muscle trying to drag it along.”

Atty glanced at the man to her left. He could have been one of the most handsome men in the compound if it weren’t for the minuscule horn-like growths erupting from his skin. Still, he did have the most beautiful blue eyes framed with some of the longest lashes she’d ever seen on a man.

Oblivious of her stare, Pillan adjusted the pole to a more comfortable spot. “This thing’s gonna feed a goodly number of people, Atty.”

“Been hunting yourself?” she inquired.

“Tried. No luck. I don’t have your knack. Your gift.”

Atty snorted loudly. Pillan shot back in reply.

“Oh, go ahead and deny it all you like, but everyone knows it’s the real reason why you were allowed into the caste of hunters. You just seem to know where the game is. It’s almost like they wait for you to come find them.”

“I’m not so blessed,” Atty told him. “And if they believe any different, then they’re fools.”

“You can’t deny you bear the mark,” Pillan argued.

“Okay. So I bear the mark. So does nearly everyone else in the compound. It’s what makes each of us unique. It’s what proves that we belong here. You know that.”

“Your mother bore no mark,” the older man reminded her.

Atty sighed. There was no way she could deny that point. Eenoi had no outward signs of her specialness. Hers was inside, in what she could do, in what she could hear. Once you spoke with her, or once she approached you personally, you immediately knew she was different. As different and as special as the brown roses she grew in pots around the back door of their home.

And then there was Keelor...

A shout overhead broke through her thoughts and kept her from becoming absorbed in her own self pity. Before she and Pillan had taken another dozen steps, people began pouring from the two closest entrances to help bring in the enormous animal.

Atty accepted the accolades and congratulatory slaps on the back with a mixture of pride and sadness. The badger was the largest prey she’d ever brought back. It would have been a source of great happiness to her mother and father to know she’d been capable of such a feat. It would also have been a feather in her father’s cap, proving to the caste council that his daughter well deserved her appointment into their select circle.

The animal was dragged into the compound and skinned in the center of the market square. Several men marked out a circle on the ground and started scraping away the ice and snow before digging the hole they’d need. Many of the women began rubbing the outside of the meat with herbs and salt while most of the children helped bring firewood to fill the pit where it would cook for most of the night. Atty watched as onions, potatoes, and various other vegetables were stuffed into the enormous cavity before the whole thing was wrapped in wet, loosely-woven burlap.

The heat from the fire was enough to prevent the cold from penetrating the area. Many people kept within distance of the warmth, and children played games in the dirt near the pit. Two men, Cyril and Cassius Barclay, took on the task of tending the huge carcass. With adequate care, the meat would feed everyone, and any remainder would be jerked or smoked and preserved for days to come.

An occurrence such as this impromptu feast was not unusual, but in the latter part of winter when game was extremely scarce, it was extra cause to celebrate. Normally Atty would have basked in the accomplishment. Now it was as if she no longer cared. Her mother would have offered her a cup of warmed wine to chase away the chills. That comfort was gone. Her sister would have helped her wash the grit and oil from her hair, then together they would have pushed their tiny beds together so they could snuggle under the furs and talk about Atty’s hunt until they’d fallen asleep in the wee hours of morning. That intimacy was gone.

Atty slipped into the narrow streets of the inner compound. Behind her someone began strumming a guitar. Someone else warmed up a fiddle. Any minute now the music would start, couples would circle round to dance, and the party would most likely carry on until the first light of dawn when the smell of roasted meat would permeate the air with the morning fog.

She reached the front door, then stopped in surprise. Without realizing it, she’d returned to her old home. The knowledge twisted in her stomach, punching the air out of her lungs. She stumbled, then turned and managed to find her way to her new home in spite of the difficulty she had seeing.

The apartment was empty. In a way, she was glad she didn’t have to face anyone at that moment. Atty didn’t care where everyone was. She didn’t have to worry whether or not to start supper. Didn’t have to worry whether or not she needed to go look for her sister who had wandered away from her mother for the umpteenth time. Didn’t have to worry. Didn’t have to care.

A single lantern had been left lit by the front door. Atty carried it with her into a back room where she found a pallet of furs. Her bundle of clothes sat on top of it, letting her know this was where she now belonged. She still wore her hunting jacket and tracking boots, both covered with mud, snow, and blood. Fleetingly Atty wondered if she should clean up first. Suddenly none of it mattered anymore. Exhausted, sore, and emotionally drained, Atty Ferran fell on top of the bed, curled into a fetal position, and was asleep almost immediately.

Chapter Four

Cleaners

The screaming woke her. Her sleep-fogged brain slowly focused on the dying lantern sitting on the floor by the bedroom door. It was still nighttime. Darkness cloaked the room as if she’d only fallen into her bed moments before.

The scream came again. From outside. Atty scrambled to her feet and rushed to the front room to peer out the window. All she could see was the lone lantern light at the end of the walkway. The place looked predictably empty at this time of night.

“But what time is it?” she muttered to herself.

Against her better judgment, Atty opened the door and leaned out. It was quiet. Too quiet. An icy shiver washed over her body. Why was it quiet? The music should still be playing. There should be muffled laughter coming from the pit area. There should be noises of some sort celebrating the morning feast. So why was it so ghastly silent?

Atty shuddered involuntarily. She went back to the bedroom, grabbed her bow, and slung her quiver of arrows over her shoulder before going back to the door. Something was wrong. She had to find out what and why. And maybe, if she was lucky, she could be of help. That’s why she was a hunter. That’s why her vows to the caste also included the unconditional promise to protect the compound.

Carefully she stepped into the walkway and headed back toward the marketplace. The morning fog had not yet descended, giving her the impression that it was closer to the middle of the night instead of nearing dawn. She sniffed cautiously. The odor of roasting meat lingered lightly in the air. It was probably still in the ground, because once it was removed and unwrapped the mouth-watering smell would permeate the area.

She kept her back to the apartments, creeping along sideways the same way she stalked unwary prey. In the short time since she’d been rudely awakened she’d heard no other sound. And in a compound of nearly two hundred fifty people, not hearing anything was impossible. There were always sounds, even in the dead of night.

There had been screams... .

She came to the end of the walkway. It curved to the left, opening up to a wider street which emptied into the main market area. Slowly she peered around the corner, yet failed to see anything that would indicate what was wrong. Which was exactly why she knew, was sure beyond a doubt, that something terrible had happened. This walkway led directly to the wood bins. There should be at least one or two people coming and going from the bins for firewood to keep the fire going strong in the pit.

Taking a deep breath, Atty slipped into her hunter mode. Within the span of one beat of her heart she no longer walked the familiar streets she’d known all her life. At that moment she was in unfamiliar and dangerous territory. There were creatures beyond the log walls, unseen terror waiting to catch her unaware. Waiting to kill her. She needed all her skills and much luck to survive.

She crouched down and crept forward on the balls of her feet. She no longer felt tired, no longer felt hungry. Her mind was clear. Her blood raced through her veins. Her very pores tingled.

The scream sliced through the night, short, high-pitched, and unexpected. Atty gasped in surprise and plastered herself against the wall. Her heart hammered in her chest. That hadn’t been the scream of an animal. It had been human. It had been a cry of agony, filled with pain and despair. Who? Why?

Without thinking, her hands pulled an arrow from the sheath and nocked it. In spite of her growing fear her movements were sure and steady. She moved forward. In the back of her mind the whole scenario felt unreal and distant. This compound had been a safe haven for decades. The worst that had ever befallen it was the wild boar attack back in the days of her grandfather. Before that, her memories were hazy and uncertain.

The corner rounded just ahead. Atty lowered the bow and dared a look into the market area. What she saw froze every part of her body.

Several men sat on their horses, keeping the people at bay. Several others were digging at the pit, exhuming the roasting meat from the fire. There were a few going in and out of the apartments on the outskirts of the marketplace. Atty guessed there were more than a dozen, but less than twenty strangers. They were dressed in pieces of steel and iron that sparkled when firelight caught it. Several had helmets. None wore the hand-woven cloth and pelts favored by her people. Her heart threatened to break out of her chest as she pulled back and pressed her back against the wall.

Cleaners. They were no longer the stuff of fairy tales, meant to frighten unruly children. They were real. They existed. They had invaded the compound. And they were doing what the tales of horror said they did—they were cleaning the world of everything and everyone who was not “normal”.

Another scream ripped the air. Atty nearly wet her pants at the sound. From the corner of her eye she saw the curtains move in the window of the apartment on the other side of the street. Two faces pale with terror stared at her. She shook her head and waved at them to retreat back into the darkness. Then she gulped down several deep breaths and took another look around the corner.

Those who had remained to watch the fire now lay on their stomachs, their arms bound behind their backs, their feet tied at the ankles and looped up to their wrists. It was a basic hog tie. On a person it was dehumanizing. It also cut off the circulation to the arms and legs in short order.

In the glittering firelight a small stream of something dark was running across the narrow pathway between where the Cleaners were gathered and the cooking pit. Atty choked back a moan when she realized it was blood. Human blood.

“Mutah!”

One of the Cleaners had pulled a woman from one of the apartments on the other side of the compound. At first it was difficult for Atty to see who it was until she was dragged closer to the group that was tied down. It was Emmaline Waters, a woman who had been one of her mother’s best friends.

The Cleaner threw the woman down onto the group and simultaneously pulled his dirk from his waistband. Leaning over, he grabbed her by the hair and efficiently slit the woman’s throat until the head rolled back between the shoulder blades. Blood spurted in an arc like a black rainbow. That done, he kicked the twitching body to the side where other bodies lay unmoving.

Atty bit her lips until they bled. Emmaline had two noses. Her lack of “normalcy” had been easy to spot. But she also had a kind soul and she was an excellent seamstress. Holding her weapon tightly against her, Atty strained to see who had been left alive.

She could only speculate at what was happening, at what had happened. Something, perhaps the smell of the meat, had attracted the Cleaners’ attention. Somehow they’d managed to come through one of the compound gates, a feat that shouldn’t have been that difficult with the horses, Atty surmised. And being Cleaners, they’d seen that the inhabitants of the compound did not “look” like the kind of people they felt should be inhabiting the earth, so they began systematically slaughtering innocent people who exhibited abnormal signs. The screams she had heard had been the last sounds of dying people.

The only thing she couldn’t figure out was why nearly a half-dozen Cleaners remained on horseback. It was like they were waiting—

Atty stiffened. Of course. There couldn’t be any other reason. The Cleaners had happened on a compound full of “Mutah”. Mutants. One of them had left to go back to their own compound to let them know. At some point they would return in force to eliminate the rest of them. Wholesale slaughter. Genocide. There was no telling how far away the Cleaners’ compound was, so it could be later today, tomorrow, or a week from now before the rest of the soldiers showed up.

Atty took another peek. No, not a week. If their compound was that far away the others would not be standing around like they were. They’d dig in, set up a temporary camp to take care of their needs while they waited. No, their compound was nearby. Atty swallowed hard. To think—such barbaric animals lived so close by and the two had never met in all their years of existence. Unless...

Maybe that’s where her father had gone. And her mother. And Keelor. And the countless others who had disappeared unexpectedly over the years, never to return. Maybe the Cleaners had known about them but had chosen not to breach their defenses until now, until tonight.

Then why tonight? she wondered. Why now? If they did have a compound nearby, if they had been responsible for all those people who had vanished without a trace, why were they just now making their presence known? Why did they attack tonight?

Atty shook her head to clear her mind. There was no way the Cleaners could have a compound nearby. If they had known about the mutants, they would not have attacked piecemeal, then sent back some of their own to get the rest. This compound was not huge, but it was large enough to support over two hundred people. Any good leader would not bring a tiny handful of men to attack that many people.

No. The Cleaners had happened upon them by accident. More than likely the smell of roasting meat had caught their attention, as she’d first surmised. They may have approached the sentry... Who had been on duty tonight? Camden? Sweet heavens, if it had been Camden, then no wonder the Cleaners would have broken through their defenses without a second thought. Poor, loving Camden.

She checked the marketplace. The seated riders were still gathered in a small huddle beside the people they’d taken hostage. The few who had dismounted were taking their time searching for others. Meanwhile, the rest of the people remained in their apartments shaking with fear, easy pickings, easier targets. Knowing they would soon be killed because a children’s fairy tale told to prevent unruly brats from disobeying had come to ungodly life. A fairy tale that was no longer fiction, but a horror beyond imagining. A true and unholy nightmare.

Something inside her shut down. Atty knew the feeling. Knew it, reveled in it, and lived for it. Pillan had called it her gift. Her father had called it her innate, natural hunting ability. Whatever it was, it flowed through her like an extra shot of strength and energy.

A dozen steps back was a small cul-de-sac that separated the apartments. It wasn’t deep or wide, but a wooden ladder had been nailed to the side of the building to allow access to the roofs. It didn’t happen often, but it wasn’t unusual for a ceiling to develop a leak, especially during the rainy season in the spring. Repair crews used the ladders to patch the leaks. Atty slipped her bow over a shoulder and hurried up the ladder. On the roof she could gain access to the other apartments in the cluster merely by jumping over the three-foot-wide divisions, unless she wanted to get to the group across the walkway. Those she would have to reach by climbing down and using one of the ladders on that side.

Carefully she made her way over the maze-like cluster, heading toward the open market area. She kept down and hoped the Cleaners wouldn’t look up.

She only had to descend once to a walkway and ascend another ladder before she reached the outer edge of the apartments where shops faced the inner courtyard. She found herself on top of Minnie’s tool shop, easy to tell from the bluish paint dye Minnie used to color the front of her store. From that vantage, Atty had an unobstructed view of the entire market area and the compound wall beyond. She also could see the open north doorway in the fence. The gate was gone, splintered like kindling under the impact made by the lances and charging horses.

Atty shivered. Her hands were beginning to grow numb. She’d forgotten her gloves in the apartment, and now the freezing air was icing every breath she drew and stiffening every inch of exposed skin. She rubbed her hands together, blowing on them to keep the feeling in her fingers. Creeping on her stomach to the edge of the building, she settled her bow into a secure position and re-notched the arrow. Now it was merely a waiting game—waiting for the right moment, the right target, the right angle, and hopefully before the rest of the Cleaners arrived.

Two more Cleaners emerged from the apartments, dragging a victim in each hand. Looks like a short wait, Atty admitted to herself, taking aim. From the corner of her eye she checked the slight wind ruffling the feathered tip. She held her breath. A split-second later, the arrow drilled the air with its perfectly honed edge and embedded itself in the throat of the Cleaner standing behind the nearest mounted rider. The man stopped, as if contemplating what to do next, before falling backwards from the impact. His body propped itself neatly between the doorway and the window of the leather shop.

Before the Cleaner had let out his last breath, a second arrow spun across the open area and found a home in the mounted rider. The man jumped, then slumped over. The horse mistook his movements as a command and started walking toward the group of bound prisoners.

The Cleaner holding two of the newly found hostages saw the horse heading toward him. “Jeroh! What do you think you’re doing? I said to stay where you are, you dolt! Jeroh!” He started to say more but a shaft of white feathers suddenly protruded from his tongue. He loosened his hold on the two children he’d found and reached up toward his mouth, but his arms never made it. He dropped to the ground like a wet sack.

* * * *

Pierson Deneson never saw the arrow that took out his friend against the leather shop, but he saw the one that hit Jeroh Martine atop his horse. In blind fear he hit the dirt and rolled, narrowly being missed by the corpse of Joel Amilson as it sank to its knees and toppled face down.

“They’re fighting back!” he screamed. As incredible as it sounded, the Mutah were fighting back. Fulcet Abalam grunted beside him. The man had not dropped to his knees as Deneson had done, so Deneson’s first thought was that he was making a noncommittal sound. A moment later the man landed on top of him and pinned him to the ground. The dead man’s weight knocked the air out of him. Deneson struggled to move when he heard a quick, buzzing sound, almost like a bee. Something warm struck him across the face. It took a while before he realized another one of their group had been pierced, and his blood had sprayed upon impact.

* * * *

The group of bound prisoners began to understand that the Cleaners were slowly being taken down one at a time. They struggled with their bonds and cried out to be released.

The remaining Cleaners ran for cover, some barricading themselves behind the doors of the shops. A couple of them thought they would be smart, and tried to use the prisoners as shields. Their mistake—they had no idea how accurate Atty’s aim could be.

They were more confused than terrified. Mutah were known to fight back, but not like this. Not with arrows flying through the darkness like nightmarish spirits, sucking the blood and the life from whomever they struck. No. Mutah fought one-on-one. They hefted clubs and axes and spears, weapons they could swing over their heads before crushing their opponents. Some of the more creative ones had swords and long, double-edged knives. They were the more dangerous ones. But this was the first time they’d run across Mutah who could wield a bow, much less with such accuracy. The attack had been unexpected, and they had been totally unprepared.

There were eighteen Cleaners in the compound. Atty’s quiver held twenty-two arrows. She was making every one of them count. A Cleaner who had taken refuge among the bound prisoners raised his dirk to stab at the unruly group. Atty recognized him as the same one who had killed Emmaline, so she took extra care when aiming. The man stared at the shaft protruding from the hollow of his throat and at the blood bubbling from the wound. He managed to pull out the offending object and get to his feet before a second arrow pierced his left eye with a soft, wet, popping sound. Only then did he topple like a tree.

* * * *

Pinned by the weight of the dead man, Deneson gasped for breath. The cries from the bound prisoners masked all other sounds, making it impossible to tell where the arrows were coming from. The noise also masked the sound of the second phalanx of men entering the compound through the broken gate, until a cry arose from them. He yelled at them to warn them.

* * * *

Atty stiffened. Her attack had done considerable damage. If the second wave of Cleaners hadn’t appeared when they did, she knew she could have somehow managed to turn the tide in her favor. Now it was too late. She was almost out of arrows, and the Cleaners kept coming through the doorway in an unending stream.

* * * *

The second phalanx had come to an abrupt halt once they’d entered the compound. Carnage they’d expected. They had not been prepared for it to be their own men. Immediately one of the men barked orders and nearly a dozen men jumped from their saddles to form a tight barrier. One of the squad spotted Deneson beneath his fallen comrade and helped him to his feet, half-dragging, half-carrying the survivor over to a small cluster of men at the far rear of the barricade.

Deneson accepted the skin of water gratefully. The men waited until the horseman had gotten his voice back before they asked their questions.

“What happened?”

“We were working detail, just mapping out the area, when we smelled the meat cooking,” Deneson told them.

“Who was in charge?”

“Forbis and Manz.”

“Go on.”

“We followed our noses until we found this compound. Forbis ordered Mayertuck back to camp to inform you. Then he ordered us to breach their defenses.”

One of the small group, a man dressed in gold-looking pieces of armor plating, peered into the darkness. “This is a Mutah compound?”

Deneson nodded. “Yes. The sentry had ears hanging down to his waist. That’s why Forbis ordered us to take the compound. Since then we’ve discovered this is a whole colony of them.”

“Who are you fighting?” a deep voice asked.

“The Mutah.”

“With arrows?” the first man asked incredulously.

“There has to be a Mutah on every rooftop,” Deneson said. “Arrows were raining down from everywhere. I would be dead now, too, if Abalam hadn’t fallen on me. I couldn’t get him off. He was too heavy.”

“Or you were too scared to move,” the first man prodded.

“Leave him alone, Karv,” the deep voice admonished. He rose from his kneeling position among the protests of several who warned him he could become a target. The man waved them away to stare at the tops of the buildings surrounding them. “How many Mutah did you say, Deneson?”

“Twenty. Maybe thirty. The arrows were coming from everywhere.”

“Impossible,” Tosh Karv argued. “Mutah don’t use arrows.”

“I’m not lying,” Deneson shot back.

“Then why haven’t any of us been hit since our arrival?” the man questioned him.

The rest of the group paused. They had taken immediate action once they’d realized they were under attack, but since their first defensive move there’d been no sign of retribution. The man turned to one of his subordinates.

“Find out how many are dead. Purst, find a way to get some men up on the roofs. Find our shooters. I also want to talk to some of the Mutah.”

* * * *

Several Cleaners broke away from the phalanx to obey orders, spreading out into the main market area. Atty watched from her vantage point and wondered what to do next. She wished she was closer so she could see who the new men were. It was obvious that one was a leader, possibly the main leader of the group. Whoever he was, he knew war and he knew how to draw a defensive posture. Even if she had more arrows there was little chance she could do any more damage to their ranks.

She watched guardedly as the cluster of Cleaners approached the bound prisoners. Temporary relief swept over her as they were partially untied and herded into one of the shops. They might have escaped death this time, but there was no guarantee how much longer they would remain alive.

The cluster seemed to divide into four smaller groups. One group began to retrieve the bodies of the fallen Cleaners. Another group took over the removal of the cooked badger, while the third group spread out and disappeared into the narrow pathways between the apartments. Mutant hunting.

Atty shuddered. She’d been so close. And to make matters worse, the morning fog was beginning to descend, obscuring her view of the men in the market area. To add insult to injury, her right leg had gone to sleep. It was the leg she used for balance when taking aim. She tried to stamp some feeling back into it, but it felt more like a lump of dead weight. She tried slapping it, poking it, and banging it with her fist. After some moments the leg began to tingle with familiar pain, and Atty stretched the limb to hurry along its revival. It was only by sheer luck that she spotted the helmeted figure rushing at her through the gray-black mist.

The Cleaner swung his sword, aiming for her head. Instinctively Atty threw up her bow. The blade struck the thick, dense wood, bouncing off. She rolled to one side, and barely missed the sword slicing the air where she’d been. She tried to get to her feet but her numbed leg wouldn’t support her weight, and she listed to one side.

Atty warded off another blow coming sideways. The heavy sword continued its arc. The Cleaner following through by turning around and bringing it over his head to smash downward. In those precious seconds she notched her last arrow and let it fly without aiming.

The shaft punched a hole through the man’s face with enough power to penetrate the skull in the back. The impact pushed him backwards toward the edge of the roof. The sword’s movement brought it down and away, swinging out of the dead man’s hand and over into the marketplace, the length of its steel reflecting the firelight as it fell to the ground.

Gasping for breath, her body singing from the adrenalin, Atty watched as the Cleaner finally toppled from the roof. Engrossed in the man’s descent, she never saw the blow that glanced off the side of her face and sent her sprawling over the tiles.

Chapter Five

Captured

“This is the Mutah?”

“This is the only one we’ve found... so far,” the Cleaner quickly added.

Dizzy and nauseous, Atty felt her cheek and mouth pressed into the dirt. She tried to make sense of where she was but her head felt like it was about to explode. Her right eye wouldn’t open. Her left would only give her blurred images of people walking around her, but her sight seemed to be slowly clearing. The best she could figure was that she was back in the market area.

“You found him where?”

“Over there, Sir. On top of the blue building.”

“There?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Impossible.” A third voice chimed in. It was not as deep and resonant as the first one, nor as nervous sounding as the second. “That’s got to be a good hundred yards. No one can aim with that kind of accuracy from that far. Not in the middle of the night.”

A figure moved away from her and stopped in front of a blood splatter on a wall. Atty realized she was lying in front of the leather shop. The figure stared at the splatter, then turned and looked back at the tool shop. “He’s a Mutah,” the figure finally acknowledged. “There’s no telling what he’s capable of doing.”

A boot suddenly stomped on her back, crushing her chest and face further into the hard packed earth. Atty grunted in pain. It brought an immediate reaction. The Cleaner leaned down and hissed in her ear, “You think that’s painful, just you wait, Mutah. You’re going to answer for everyone you offed tonight, and then some!”

“Release him,” the sonorous voice ordered.

“Sir!”

“I want a word with him before we flay him. Now get off of him.”

The pressure on her chest relaxed. At the same time Atty was hauled to her feet and turned to face her captors. The torches cast an almost surreal glow over the compound as the fog began to lay thick across the open area. The smell of roasted badger caused her stomach to tighten painfully, reminding her she hadn’t eaten in almost two days. She blinked and tried to focus but it was difficult.

“Are you our shooter?” asked a completely different voice. It came from one side. She tried to face him but she was jerked back into position. In return, the unrelenting pounding in her skull increased its pressure. She gritted her teeth against it.

“Answer me. Are you our shooter?”

She had to spit dirt and saliva mixed into mud out of her mouth before she could manage to reply hoarsely. “It’s my bow, yes.”

“Did you act alone?”

“I had to. No one else would.”

“What do you mean, no one else would?” It was the third voice from earlier.

She paused, then realized the truth had to be told or else others may die. “The other hunters are gone. We need meat, so they set out a couple of days ago on an expedition.”

“You mean there’s no one left to guard the compound?”

“There are others, but they won’t put up any resistance. At least, if they haven’t by done so by now...” She coughed to try and clear her throat.

“Why not, Mutah?”

“They’re terrified of you. They went into hiding.”

“But not you,” the deep voice chimed in.

“I...couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“My oath as a hunter says I have to protect the compound, not just provide it with meat.”

The Cleaner with the deep voice nodded. She could see the shadow move its head. By now she could faintly make out the features of those before her, but the one with the rich voice wore a helmet that shielded almost his entire face.

The one with the third voice laughed derisively. “Your oath? Since when do Mutah take oaths?”

Atty turned to face him. “Since there’ve been Cleaners to swear at,” she shot back.

A gloved hand suddenly swung out and clipped her neatly in the jaw. She heard her teeth click together, felt something crack, and she fell back. The man who’d been holding her arms let go, allowing her to grab her mouth in pain.

“Karv!”

“He spoke rudely!”

“He answered your question,” the deep voice barked in anger. The Cleaner waved two fingers in Atty’s direction. In response she was lifted to her feet and brought closer.

“What kind of Mutah are you?”

She carefully shook her head. The pain was too great to verbalize any more answers.

A gloved hand came toward her. Atty flinched and tried to avoid the blow. Instead, the hand grabbed her by the wrist. The man with the deep voice stood and looked down on her. He examined the wrist and the hand, turning it over, peering between the fingers, making sure he could get a good look at it in the torchlight.

“No scales. No sores. I see no webbing or imperfections.”

He jerked off her knit cap. An errant braid uncoiled, landing on her shoulder and sliding down to her waist. The men grew quiet. The gloved hand wiped itself across her jacket, pausing over her breasts.

“A girl?” the third man asked incredulously.

The deep-voiced man reached through the hair, rubbing the scalp, searching for any outward sign of abnormalities. Finding none, he leaned over and peer intently into Atty’s face.

“Tell me the truth if you wish to live. Are you the sole person responsible for killing sixteen of my men?”

Unable to speak, she nodded. In the uncertain flicker of light and dark they hadn’t noticed the color of her hair. It was a small comfort.

“Is the bow your only weapon?”

Again, a nod.

The man leaned back, sighing deeply. “Amazing. Horeth?”

“Sir?”

“Get MaGrath to look after her. See to her wounds.”

“Yulen!”

“Are you objecting, Karv?”

The man named Karv stepped forward, giving Atty a decent chance to size him up. He was short and stocky but extremely muscular. He wore his hair long and loose, and his beard and moustache were equally scraggly. His body armor looked almost golden in the dim light.

“She’s a Mutah, Yulen. Why don’t you kill her and get it over with?”

“She doesn’t show any symptoms,” the deep-voiced man, the one called Yulen, replied.

“And we know that sometimes Normals have taken up residence in Mutah camps,” the one who’d spoken fourth said.

“Maybe you can’t see her Mutah signs right now. Remember that Mutah whore we picked up outside of Yungaree? You never knew what she really was until she took off her clothes and you saw those extra rows of teats under her arms-”

“Karv, I have my reasons.” Yulen turned to face the shorter man, and Karv took a step back automatically. It was clear who was in charge, and whose word would not be challenged.

“What about the others?”

“Kill them,” he responded, as if ordering someone to do his laundry.

Atty struggled against her captors. Despite the unrelenting pain in her head, the man’s callousness was the last straw. “You bastard,” she hissed, trying to lunge for him.

Yulen turned toward her. A chuckle bubbled in his throat. “The Mutah is still feisty?”

One of the men holding her arms spoke out. “Want us to knock her out? Would make her easier to handle.”

“No. I want her tended here. Put her in one of the buildings. I’ll decide later if I want to burden us down with any prisoners. Uh, Karv, don’t kill the prisoners... just yet.”

He gave a shrill whistle between his teeth. One of the Cleaners by the pit stood up and waited for instructions. Yulen waved him in and the man trotted over. In the meantime Atty was set back on the ground and her arms bound behind her. One of her captors left but the other remained to keep a heavy hand pressed down on her shoulder.

“Yes, sir!”

“What’s in the pit?” Yulen asked.

“Can’t quite tell, but it’s a big one. Packed down with potatoes, too, I think.”

“Is it ready to eat? I’m almost hungry enough to puke a bowl of Mutah stew.”

Several Cleaners laughed. Atty assumed it was an old joke. Yet the mental image she got from the comment turned her stomach.

Karv spoke up. Again, Atty was getting the distinct impression that the squat little man was either a close confidant, or the right hand of the man called Yulen.

“Can it be safe enough to eat? After all, we know Mutah will eat their own feces if they have to.”

“Where do you get such ghastly ideas?” Atty managed. Enough was enough. And even if her mouth meant her death sentence, she couldn’t bear the thought of dying under such false allegations.

For the second time that night the surrounding Cleaners went totally silent. For a long moment the only sound she could hear was the distant crackling of the fire, the uneasy rustling of the horses, and a lot of struggling breaths against the cold. Atty felt a shudder go through her.

“It’s a badger in the pit. Dressed at around four hundred pounds. It was rubbed with herbs and salt and some pepper root and onion, and there’s onions and potatoes in the cavity. It should be enough to feed the compound and your men.” Talking was difficult, but not impossible. She addressed Yulen directly, since the man was staring at her in shocked silence like everyone else.

Another minute passed. Then Yulen, in voice laced with amusement, inquired, “Don’t tell me... you killed the badger, right?”

“If I admitted it, you wouldn’t believe me.”

“With a bow and arrow?” Karv interjected.

Atty’s first reaction was to give a smart answer but common sense suddenly interceded. “We needed meat. This winter’s been harsher than usual, and most of our hunters have been ill.”

Yulen sighed loudly. “Well, this seems to be getting stranger and more interesting with every passing minute.” He started to say more when they were hailed by the sentry.

The Cleaner known as the physician was escorted through the gate. Atty surmised the man had been sent on his way to the compound soon after the second phalanx had set off. The physician gave a cursory glance to each body before approaching the leaders.

“Somebody has an extraordinary eye,” the elderly man reported. His brown hair was shot with gray but his face was nearly seamless. Atty couldn’t begin to guess the man’s age. The physician gave her a quick stare.

“Look after her,” Yulen ordered.

The man started. “Is she a-”

“Doesn’t matter. Wrap up her face or whatever you have to do, but I want her able to make the trip back to the compound with us.”

Karv opened his mouth but was waved silent. However, the physician was less inclined. “I thought I was told I don’t heal Mutah.”

Yulen smiled, but it was neither warm nor friendly. “You’ll heal who I tell you to. Just do your best. It’s all I ask.” Having said, he pushed his way through the knot of men and headed toward the open market area.

The physician frowned. Atty got the impression that, despite his personal grievances, he was obligated to do as he was ordered. Waving for a couple of men to help him, he had them take her into a nearby shop.

They gained entry by breaking in the door. Atty managed to recognize the building as the place that sold candles and soap. The room smelled of lye and old smoke. She was laid upon a back table and several candles were lit to provide adequate light. The physician began by poking and prodding around her temple and jawline. Atty flinched whenever his touch brought additional pain. At one point she cried out when his fingers ran up her throat underneath her chin.

“Well, your jaw’s not broken but it could be cracked. You won’t be able to have any solid foods for at least a week or so, unless you’re one of those Mutah who heal more rapidly than normal. You,” he ordered one of the guards, “this one has to survive long enough to make it back to camp where I can wrap her up properly. See if you can find something soft that she can swallow whole, like oatmeal.” The man turned back to give her a knowing look. “I can hear your stomach rumbling. How long has it been since you’ve eaten? A day? Two days?”

She nodded.

“Ah. And another question. Why does the Battle Lord want you taken back to camp? You’re female. That doesn’t surprise me. But I can’t see him bedding a Mutah, much less you. So it can’t be for that reason.”

Atty glanced over at her bow and empty quiver that were propped against the far wall of the shop. The physician followed her gaze and immediately understood. “You’re the one with the deadly aim. Well, that makes a hell of a lot more sense.”

He carried a satchel over his shoulder. The bag was of plain tanned leather with an intricate pattern of porcupine quills adorning the front flap. Setting the satchel on the table beside her, he rummaged inside. He spoke to her as he was looking. “You’ve lost some skin around that eye but it shouldn’t scar. Hope you haven’t lost any vision in the eye, though. Who did this to you? Karv?”

Atty pointed to her eye and shook her head. Pointing to her jaw, she nodded.

“Why am I not surprised?”

Pulling out a small brown pouch, he double-checked the contents and measured out an amount of grayish powder in the palm of his hand. He dumped the powder into an empty bowl he found nearby, then added some water from a skin he also carried. Stirring the mixture with his finger, he handed her the bowl and helped her to raise her head in order to drink it.

“This’ll dull the pain somewhat. I don’t have anything to stabilize that jaw except bandages, and it’s gonna hurt like the devil when I wrap you. You’ll be glad you drank this. Yeah, I know it tastes shitty, but it’s not meant to be vintage wine.” He urged her to drain the bowl, then helped her to lie back down.

“My name’s MaGrath.”

“Atty.”

“Atty,” he echoed. “Short for anything? Or just Atty?”

“Why do you care? I thought you hated Mutah as much as the others.”

“What makes you think I hate Mutah?”

“Didn’t you object to treating me earlier because I was one?”

“Are you one?”

“Yes. I’m not ashamed of it. My family loved me. I had friends. I won the respect of the other hunters so that they initiated me into their caste.”

“With a skill like yours they’d be crazy not to. Grit your teeth. This is gonna hurt.”

He’d made a paste of something from his pouch. He applied it to the side of her face with his fingers. It did hurt. It also stank to high heaven. He saw her wrinkle her nose but didn’t comment. When he was done he pulled a roll of cloth from his pouch and used it to form a quick bandage around her face to help hold her jaw steady.

“Did I make it too tight?”

Atty replied no. She could still manage to communicate somewhat with just the use of her lips and tongue. “You haven’t answered my question,” she reminded him.

“Regarding...”

“Why do you hate Mutah?”

“I don’t actually hate them. Ah!” He held up a hand to halt her protest. “I never told the Battle Lord I wouldn’t heal one, either. I just reminded him that I’d been ordered not to do it.” Wrapping his roll of bandages back into a neat ball, he stuffed it into his pouch.

“Why do you call him the Battle Lord?” Talking was difficult, but Atty had to admit that the snug bandage and the medicants were helping with the pain.

MaGrath gave her an odd look. “Because he’s the Battle Lord. Haven’t you heard of him?”

Again she managed to shake her head gently.

“What do you call him, then?”

“Cleaners.”

“Cleaners? Oh, that’s right. I’ve heard that term before. Because they cleanse the earth of the unnaturals, the ones made abhorrent by nature. The human beings made inhuman when the Great Concussion changed everything. And you think I’m a Cleaner?”

“Aren’t you?”

“I’m a physician. I heal the sick. I help those dying to die more easily. I also make a mean rabbit Tetrazzini. But I won’t lie to you. If you had four eyes or a big, bulbous something-or-other protruding from your chest, or anything like that, I don’t care if Yulen ordered me with a lance at my throat. Mutah give me nightmares, and I’m not ashamed to admit that. Now, speaking of admitting, as your doctor I order you to keep your mouth shut for the next day or so. At least until we get back to camp. What? What’s the matter? Are you in pain?” The sudden welling of tears had taken the physician off-guard.

Instead of answering, Atty pulled her knees up to her chest and buried her face in her arms. She was exhausted beyond all endurance, she’d lost her family only two days before, she was starving, and now she was going to lose whatever friends and home life she’d ever known. Things looked worse than miserable.

Deep in her grief, she never heard the man leave the shop, nor was she aware that he had signaled to the other Cleaners to leave her alone as well. Least of all she never saw the tall, helmeted figure staring at her through the window wondering why this particular Mutah both fascinated and surprised him.

When all his life he’d lived the code that no Mutah was worth an effort or a second look, why did he care that this one remained with him?

Chapter Six

Decision

“What’s going on with you, Yulen?” the voice harshly asked.

Yulen looked up to see a shallow bowl of meat and vegetables shoved into his face. He stopped his cleaning and set his sword down beside him before taking the proffered food. Karv flopped down on the ground a few feet away and dove into his own meal.

“Not bad. But you haven’t answered my question,” the man reminded him.

Yulen tried the badger. Amazingly the meat that should have been tough and too gamey was as good as anything he could remember. After so many days of dried rations, the meal was welcome. He continued to eat, blowing on his fingers when it was too hot to handle, when he saw MaGrath walking toward him. The expression on the man’s face was hard to read.

“Have some, Liam,” he half-ordered, half-invited.

“Don’t mind if I do. First, though, I want to let you know about your little Robin Hood. She’s eaten and she’s asleep. No thanks to Karv, but I think she’ll heal with minimal scarring. Are you really taking her back with us?”

“She killed sixteen of us in practically no light from nearly a hundred yards with just a bow and arrow. Imagine the damage she could do in broad daylight. I want to know how she’s able to do it. If there’s some trick she does. Or is it just skill? Either way, I want her to teach it to us.”

“What if she refuses?” the physician asked.

“Then we flay her,” was Yulen’s flat answer. “If she doesn’t work with us, I can’t have her against us. She teaches us to kill, or she becomes target practice.” He stared at burn marks on the tips of his fingers. Too late, he remembered the dagger sheathed at his hip. Pulling it out, he first wiped it on the thigh of his pants then stabbed another piece of meat and began gnawing on it.

“And the compound?” This question came from Karv.

“Leave a small squad behind to make sure there’s no uprisings. I don’t want any surprises before we leave. If we convince the Mutah-”

“Her name is Atty,” MaGrath interrupted.

Yulen gave him a disapproving glance. “If we convince her we’re not going to kill everyone in the compound, she’ll be a lot easier to handle. If we need to, we can use them as leverage to keep her in line.”

“And once she’s safely away from this place we can go ahead and raze it,” Karv finished.

MaGrath shook his head. “I don’t like the plan. I agree with you, she’s a formidable foe. But what if she gets wind this place has been torched? Then what are you going to do? And something else I’m wondering if you’ve thought of... sure she’s a miracle with a bow and arrow, but what about other weapons? How is she with a sword? Heaven forbid, what about a crossbow?”

“Liam, I want her examined. Is she Mutah, or is she a Natural being raised by them?”

“All right, I will, but what if she is a Mutah? What if her deformities are inherent and not visible? What if her ability is because of what she is? Then taking her back with us will be useless.”

Yulen didn’t answer. Instead he shoved a piece of potato in his mouth.

Karv snorted. “Guess you hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

The physician turned to get his due from the feast but not before the Battle Lord answered, “Maybe we need to start re-thinking our methods. Maybe this time it would be better to leave the compound alone and take only what we need.”

Karv jumped to his feet, dropping his plate of food to the ground. His face was flushed with indignation, his nostrils flared. Without saying a word, he strode off toward where the rest of the men were sitting and having their fill.

Yulen watched his second in command stalk off but didn’t follow him. He didn’t have to explain his actions, least of all to subordinates. Although he considered Karv a friend of sorts, there was still too much he couldn’t trust him with. It was beginning to look as though the Mutah-

Her name is Atty.

-was going to be one of them.

Yulen tossed his platter onto the ground and licked his fingers before wiping them on the thighs of his pants. Striding over to where his horse had been tethered, he reached into a saddle bag and pulled out a small, battered tin. Inside it was a leather pouch containing a whitish powder. Dipping his finger into the powder, he sucked on the finger, then reached for his skin of water to wash down the foul-tasting stuff. He grimaced from the medicine’s bitterness, yet the taste was forgivable in light of the fact that it often was the only thing that kept him standing between sanity and indescribable pain.

He restored the tin of powder back to the saddle bag and walked over to the small row of shops where a couple of his men were keeping guard. They were crouched over a small flame, eating their own portions of food from the pit.

“Mastin, when you’re finished, I want you to make arrangements for the villagers to eat.”

The soldier gave his superior a surprised look but repeated his orders as he’d been taught to do. “Yes, sir. Let the villagers eat.”

Yulen spent the next hour checking on his men, seeing that they were taken care of and given their allotment of food. He gave orders for the bodies of their fallen comrades to be wrapped in their own bedding and tied over their horses for transportation back to their home compound.

Having made sure the area was secured and his men were settled in for the night, Yulen headed back to the small row of shops where the Mutah was being held apart from her people.

Despite the proof that she was skilled with the bow, a skill he couldn’t deny came from the fact that she was a Mutah, and that her mutant strengths and abilities far outpaced those of regular men, he couldn’t get over the fact that she bore no signs of deformity.

All Mutah had “the mark”. It was the easiest way to discern the naturals from the unnaturals. In his nearly thirty years behind a sword, Yulen believed he had seen almost every conceivable type of deformity there could be in a Mutah. Some manifested themselves in the most obvious way. An extra appendage was the most common. After that, an extra “something else” may be present—a third or fourth eye, or having more than ten fingers.

Many had disruptions in their skin. Spots or stripes were common, as was the “melting wax” effect. There were also those with severely diseased-looking appearances, those who looked like animals, and many who were just different colors.

In some cases, the extra could be hidden from view. He’d seen mouths appear in areas usually covered by clothing like extra penises on the males. Or more than two nipples or breasts on females. Those Mutah were in high demand back at compounds where they could parlay their sexual atrocities into high-paying livelihoods.

In other mutants, the signs were less obvious. Sometimes they were completely overlooked or missed, or ignored. Yulen knew there were Mutah who never bore a mark or stigma. He’d heard of such people, yet until now he’d never come across one. There were scholars who claimed that the disruption to mankind which had caused the Mutah to appear in the first place was fading away. They said that the initial shock of the catastrophe which had spawned the crossbreeds was settling, much in the same way kicked-up dust on the road eventually settles back to earth.

Where before the belief was that Mutah, interbreeding among themselves, would create more horrific forms of the disease, that thought was slowly dying. In recent years new theories had been brought forth, the most accepted ones explaining that nature was healing herself. Given time, she would bring back the plants and trees and animals species initially lost in the Great Concussion. Given more time, she would do the same to humanity.

It was predicted that in another thousand years or so, there might not be any Mutah left. Not because of the extinction of their race, but because the extra appendages would slowly disappear back to whatever genetic pool they’d originally come from. The skin deformities would fade. The animalistic tendencies would shrink like healed wounds. All the differences would grow smaller and fainter and less definable until, finally, mankind would all be of the same ilk as before.

It was a future Yulen D’Jacques wished he could be a part of. But he couldn’t, so he had to live the one he’d been given.

He reached the small candle and soap shop just as MaGrath was coming out.

“Well?”

“No problems so far,” the physician answered.

“And did you examine her?”

“Yes, I did,” MaGrath nodded his head. “I saw no signs. No outward visible signs.”

“But you swear she’s a Mutah?”

MaGrath’s eyebrows lowered and the light in his eyes hardened. “Let’s wait until daylight,” he finally said, his voice tight with irritation. “There’s not much I can glean in lantern light.”

“How old do you guess her to be?” the Battle Lord suddenly asked.

The unexpected question seemed to throw the physician momentarily off guard. “How old? She’s not a child, if that’s what you’re asking. She’s a fully developed woman. Why do you ask?”

“It’s not your place to question me,” Yulen reminded him sternly. Having gotten a somewhat acceptable response, he returned to his horse to make sure it was bedded down for the night. Then he found a spot near one of the shops to lay his own bedroll. In the forest he preferred to sleep with his back to a tree, thus preventing an assassin from sneaking up behind him. Tonight he had a sturdy rock wall, a new compound full of fresh provisions, and a Mutah with an incredible ability.

It had been a good day.

Chapter Seven

Meet

Atty spent the night in torment. Despite the medicants given to her by MaGrath, and the plaster salve on her face, a numbed throbbing continued to pulse in her face, behind her eyes, and in her brain. Yet most of her dreamt terrors came from her own inner demons which ate away at her like tiny insects devouring a dead animal one minute morsel at a time. In her nightmares she saw her mother and sister brutally tortured and murdered by the same men who had invaded the compound. She saw them being beaten senseless, then her over-fertile imagination saw a more horrific ending, including being gutted like an animal.

But because her mother’s mutant traits had not been outwardly noticeable, Atty continued to hold onto that one last shred of hope that she had been spared a disembowelment. For Keelor, though...

A shudder shook her awake. Too late, the last wisps of her dreams swept through her, and she remembered what had been in them. Sweet Keelor. Beautiful little sister with the sky blue eyes, the wayward curls, and the elfin-like pointed ears that sometimes stuck out like butterfly wings whenever she was in a particularly playful mood.

“You were only twelve,” Atty murmured as more warm tears dripped over the bridge of her nose and down the left side of her face. Her lips were numb lumps of flesh on her face, totally without feeling.

There was a movement behind her, and a hand grabbed her by the arm to pull her over onto her back. Someone raised a shielded lantern to be able to look down at her. Atty squinted and turned her head.

“You’re awake,” a voice commented. She immediately recognized it as the one belonging to the person MaGrath had called the Battle Lord. Yulen. If he saw her tears, he made no comment. Why should he? She was Mutah, and to all Cleaners the Mutah were below even the filth on their boots. Which was why his next remark stunned her.

“What’s wrong?”

Wrong?

Atty jerked on the ropes tying her wrists behind her back. Why would anything be wrong? her subconscious laughed bitterly. A bubble of laughter made its way up her chest, but by the time it reached her lips it came out more of a sob. The lantern shifted and drew back, and for the first time she got to see the enigmatic Battle Lord without his helmet or face mask.

The first noticeable thing was the deep scar which ran down the right side of his face from his hairline near his temple to the tightly clenched jaws. It looked fresh and painful. Despite the injury, he had a strong face, the face of a man who bore the burden of leadership like pennants on a staff. His eyes were deep-set and dark. Atty wondered fleetingly if they were brown or blue. His hair was pulled back and tied, and what she could detect in the bad light was that it was orange-ish in color.

The Battle Lord shoved the lantern beside her head once again. A large, calloused hand touched the bandage on the side of her face with surprising gentleness. “Are you in pain?” he asked her gruffly.

Sighing, Atty closed her eyes. What was the use? Her life as it had been a few days ago, the only life she’d known her entire twenty springs, was gone. Her body also felt like a lifeless husk, devoid of feeling and reason, devoid of thought and hope. She was a lifeless husk, completely empty except for the morass of memories and nightmares which swirled now in her mind.

Again her arms twitched as she unconsciously jerked on the rough ropes which dug into her wrists.

“Quit struggling,” the voice ordered. Ordered...but with a breath of worry. Slowly Atty opened her eyes to find herself gazing back into his dark, hooded ones. She spotted the silver gleam of a dagger rising above her, and instantly she struggled to save herself from the plunging blade. The hand that had touched her face now pressed down hard on her ribs, holding her as easily as if she’d been a sack of vegetables.

“I said to quit struggling,” the deep voice angrily whispered. “I won’t hurt you, but if you continue to move about I might accidentally nick you.”

Wide-eyed, Atty watched as the knife descended and slowly gnawed at the horsehair ropes which had torn into her flesh and absorbed her blood. As pieces of the fibers fell away, the dagger rose again, but this time it stopped a breath away from her right eye. The hand that had held her down remained pressed along her ribcage. The Battle Lord held her at arm’s length. In the soft yellow light his eyes glittered as hard as obsidian.

“You are my enemy,” he told her. There was a bitterness to his words, and he almost spat at her. “I will not hesitate to kill you. Do you understand?”

Atty’s body shuddered unexpectedly. Her wrists were raw and bleeding with bits of rope still embedded in her skin. She nodded. “You’ll kill me if I make a move for my weapons,” she managed to comment.

The Battle Lord grinned. “Precisely. You know I can place this blade through your eye and into your brain without a second thought in the time it would take for you to try.”

She nodded again, very slowly. Instead of looking toward her bow and quiver which still sat propped against the door on the other side of the room, she glanced out of the window. The stars were gone from the sky, meaning it had either gotten cloudy, or dawn was nearing. The Battle Lord noticed the direction of her attention.

“It should be morning within another hour,” he told her.

“Why are you here?” she whispered.

“To see how you were doing.”

“Why?”

The question apparently amused him, and he gave her a crooked smile. Atty noticed the scar seemed to be giving him trouble, and any undue movement in his facial muscles caused him pain.

“I’m taking you back to our compound.”

“Again, why?”

“To teach us your tricks.”

“My tricks?”

The hand against her ribs slowly pulled back, but the one with the knife never wavered from her face.

“I want you to teach my men how to kill with the same efficiency as you showed us.”

“Why not go ahead and kill me now?” she asked him. She brought her hands before her face and began digging out the short shreds of rope from the wounds in her wrists. She had to get them all or risk infection.

“Do you want me to kill you?”

“Why not,” she snapped heatedly. “You’re going to kill us all anyway. I won’t teach you or your men a damn thing, I don’t care what you say or order me to do.”

To her astonishment, the man suddenly slid the dagger back into its sheath belted at his hip. Atty blinked and looked up into the man’s face where she could see hard lines forming around his mouth and eyes.

“I’m willing to make a deal with you,” he stated flatly.

For some reason, the proposal seemed funny. Atty gave a half-hearted chuckle. “Oh, that’s just peachy. A Cleaner making a deal with one of my kind? What kind of trick is this? How stupid do you think I am?”

“I’m offering the lives of the inhabitants of this compound in exchange for your knowledge and skills. There. That is my offer. In full.”

Atty froze. Several seconds passed as she tried to see through the man’s subterfuge and into the heart of the truth, but the Battle Lord’s expression never wavered. Her lungs finally kicked in, reminding her she needed to breathe again. “You lie,” was all she could manage to respond.

The man shook his head. A lock fell over his forehead, somehow softening the terrifying visage. “I’m not lying. Not in this case. In exchange for you teaching my men how to shoot like you do, I will spare this compound. Furthermore, I will have my men give your people a few suggestions on how they can better fortify this holding, and possibly help prevent future exposure to the outside world. Next time...the next time there may not be someone like me to grant you impunity.”

She gave him another long look. “How did you discover us in the first place?”

“The smell of your cooking,” he replied simply. “First one or two men catch the scent. They tell their squad. The squad sends a messenger. It was a domino effect.”

“Is your compound near us? Is that how you were able to get here so fast?”

This time it was the Battle Lord who gave her a long, searching stare. “No,” he finally whispered. “Our compound is many days’ ride from here.”

“So you were just on a cleaning mission when you came across my home by chance?”

“Would you have killed every one of my men if I had not brought in the rest of my forces when I did?”

Rubbing her watering eyes, Atty surrendered. “Yes.”

The Battle Lord slowly nodded. “Then my answer is yes as well.”

“Then what happens?” she asked. “What happens when I teach your men all I know? Are you coming back here to finish what you left behind?” Biting her lower lip, she lowered her voice and added, “Will you let me come back home?”

“You know I can’t let you do that.”

Although she had expected almost those exact words, the sound of them coming from his lips was too much to bear. She lowered her face into her hands, pressing the heels of her palms against her mouth in a vain attempt to stifle her sobs.

Long minutes passed as she began to accept her fate. When she pulled the hem of her shirt out of her pants and lifted it to wipe her eyes, she was surprised to see the Battle Lord still standing in the exact spot. He had never moved while she’d wept. Neither had he made a sound or made any further gesture toward her. He had waited until she could regain control of herself. Once he was sure she was ready to listen again, he continued.

“Are you Mutah?”

“Didn’t you already ask me that?”

“What is your mark?”

Drawing a ragged breath, Atty lifted her long, thick braid. “My hair,” she admitted in a tiny voice.

“What?”

“My...hair. My hair is my mark.”

“What of it?”

“Its...its color is...unusual.”

“There are no other marks about you? Nothing physical? Nothing abnormal?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Nothing else. At least, not that I’m aware of.”

“And your ability with the bow...” It was a question left open. A probing sense of wonder laced through it.

Atty shrugged. “To me it’s natural. If you want to call it mutant, that’s your prerogative.”

“Have you had any training? Any schooling? Did you have a teacher?”

“No. Nothing formal. We have masters that teach our men such skills, but because I was a girl I wasn’t allowed to attend their lessons, so I had to go out in the woods and teach myself. Sometimes my father would give me pointers. It wasn’t until last spring that I applied for membership into the caste of hunters.” She paused, remembering.

“Go on,” the Battle Lord urged.

“There was a lot of arguing about my joining. Women weren’t allowed to become part of the caste of hunters.”

“Why not?”

She shot him a dark look. “Do you allow your women to become part of your hunting parties?”

“None of our women have your abilities. Their arms aren’t strong enough to wield a sword, much less master the bow. Although I will admit some have tried. Those who have shown promise are part of our militia who guard our compound against invaders.” The Battle Lord rubbed his hand along his chin where several days’ growth of beard itched. “How strong are you, Mutah?”

Sighing loudly, she shook her head. “I don’t know. I went into the forest to prove myself, although now I believe they made my indoctrination harder than they did for the others. I slew a wolfen, as instructed, and I brought its head back to the compound.”

She’d managed to get most of the shredded pieces of rope from out of her wounds, all except for one very tiny section which resisted her efforts, no matter how painfully she tried to dig it out with her bare fingers. She never expected the large hand to grab hers and twist it so he could see it more clearly. Several drops of blood slipped over her arm and landed on the front of his shirt, but he didn’t appear to notice. The dagger reappeared; the blade slid out of its sheath as smoothly as melting butter.

“This might hurt,” he muttered as he bent over to get the errant shred out.

Atty closed her eyes and waited for the blade to slice into her flesh. Her whole body was trembling, but not because of her fear or the cold. No, she realized in a dazed, almost disconnected way. The Battle Lord had pressed himself close to her, almost to where his body touched hers. He smelled of sweat and leather and the tang of metal from where his armor had rubbed against his clothes and skin. And there was something else she couldn’t place. Something more virile. More masculine. More threatening.

When he bent over her wrists his head was turned away from her. She could see that she had been wrong about the color of his hair. It wasn’t orange-ish, but blond with red highlights, a shade she’d once heard referred to as strawberry blond. For a split second, before she could realize how perfectly she could slip a weapon into the back of his neck from this vantage, she wondered if anyone had brushed away the shoulder-length hair and dropped tiny kisses along the well-developed shoulder muscles.

The shard of pain that lanced up her arm made her gasp, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. The Battle Lord released her arm, almost tossing it back into her lap as he stepped away. She watched as he wiped the blade on his thigh before putting the dagger away.

“I’ll have our physician doctor those wrists so they don’t become infected.”

“Thank you.”

“No. Don’t thank me. If you get sick, all of this will be for naught. I need you well in order to face my men.”

He turned to leave her when Atty realized something had been left very much out of place. “You’re not...you’re not going to tie me up?” she inquired with disbelief.

The Battle Lord paused at the door, his hand upon the latch. “I have nearly thirty men at my beck and call this very second. There are two doors to this place, and I have guards at both of them. No. You’re not going to retaliate because you’re going to accept the terms of my conditions. You want to save your compound. However...” He took a moment to give her another painfully crooked smile. “However, I’m not as stupid as you keep trying to make me,” he told her, mocking her earlier words.

Atty watched as he grabbed her bow and quiver of arrows before letting himself out, leaving her alone and defenseless inside the shop.

Chapter Eight

Hesitation

Yulen walked over to where the physician lay awake in his roll. He threw down the bow and quiver of arrows beside the man’s head, giving him a start.

“Medicate the prisoner’s wrists before they become infected,” he ordered in a low voice. “The ropes have drawn blood.”

Silently MaGrath reached for his pouch, then turned and gave the Battle Lord a surprised look. “You haven’t been down long enough to get the sleep you need,” the man berated gently.

“I have too many things on my mind.”

MaGrath frowned. “You’re pushing your own limits, do you know that?”

“I know,” Yulen nodded, suddenly relenting. “When we get back to the compound, I promise to give myself more time.”

“You won’t heal without the rest,” the physician insisted, pushing his case. Yulen knew the man would keep pestering him, or else the wounds he had suffered a few days ago would never sufficiently heal. Even now it was evident MaGrath was worried he wouldn’t be able to completely get over them.

Yulen waved a hand, as if to dismiss him. “Just...take care of the Mutah. Her hands are her weapon. If she gets ill or loses her ability to use them, then all of this will be for naught.” That being said, the Battle Lord trudged off in the direction of the compound.

Pausing beside a tree, Yulen rubbed his eyes, then pressed the heels of his hands along his forehead. The ache in his face centered him, a constant reminder now of his own carelessness and rash behavior.

Maybe it was the pain that had kept him from destroying the whole Mutah compound, he surmised. Maybe it was because of the weeks he’d spent on horseback, and the exhaustion overtaking them all that had given him a weak moment.

Or maybe...maybe it was the incredible antithesis in the Mutah prisoner—

Her name is Atty.

—he’d found that intrigued him.

As he’d pulled the rope slivers from her wrist, he’d deliberately exposed his back to her. It had been a dangerous and stupid move on his part, but he’d been prepared for anything. Yet, when nothing had occurred, he had been more surprised knowing she wouldn’t have tried to escape. He knew she wouldn’t hurt him, and that was when the bucket of questions had poured into his brain.

She was a fascinating puzzle, he kept repeating to himself. Her hands bore the hard calluses from her skill with the bow, yet her face was as open and revealing as the pages of a book. This was not a girl accustomed to deceit and cunning. This warrior, who could slay her enemy as easily as she slew game, was emotionally vulnerable.

Taking a deep breath, Yulen ran a hand through his hair. His fingers met the knot at the back of his neck, and he jerked the lacing free. It was only a few hours ago when he’d pulled MaGrath away from the fire pit where the last of the badger lay smoking, and asked him one simple and definitely unexpected question.

“Is she a virgin?”

Without showing his shock at the question, the physician had nodded. “Without a doubt,” he’d said, then returned to finish his meal.

And why did he have to know that? Yulen chided himself. Why did he need to know that intimate detail about her? Because it tells you more about your enemy than a hundred probing questions could, a little voice in the back of his mind whispered.

But the questions came anyway, preventing him from getting any kind of decent night’s sleep. Whenever he’d closed his eyes, he saw the bloody bodies of his men, most of them with the shaft of a single arrow embedded in some critical area. Despite their body armor, despite the distance that had been between her and his men, despite the early hour and the near darkness, she had found their most vulnerable spots and pierced them without hesitation. Her aim had been impossibly perfect.

And then, just as quickly, he saw the girl sitting on the counter of the small shop, her face bruised and swollen and bloody, her body beaten, her head hanging in pain, and he’d felt this overwhelming need to touch the full lips with his fingers. To cup her cheek in his equally calloused hand and lift her face so he could see her eyes. Her eyes. What depths to her soul would he find in her eyes?

Her soul? When it was known Mutah didn’t have a soul?

My God. He shook his head.

He’d gone twice more to check on her, peering through the window and watching as she fitfully slept. She shivered from the cold, and a powerful desire to fetch her a blanket or, even worse, to pull her into the warmth of his arms, came unbidden into his mind.

It was when he saw the streaks of blood running down her arm that he’d relented, using it as his excuse to finally approach her one-on-one, without an audience.

And then...

Gritting his teeth, Yulen turned around and headed toward the small grove of lemon trees someone had planted along the dirt walk bordering the shops.

He stopped.

Someone had planted these trees. Someone had watered them, and pruned them, and cared for them until they had grown from saplings into fruit bearers.

He glanced around him. This compound wasn’t one that had been abandoned years ago by normals, only to be moved into by the unnaturals, much like a hermit crab moves into a larger shell. Plus there were too many signs of upkeep. That building’s paint job looked fresh. The curtains in the window...

Curtains?

Yulen gasped, his mind reeling.

A Mutah? Caring for their habitation? Painting it and making curtains?

A Mutah?

He hurried to find his Second who was blissfully snoring in his bedroll, his back to the wall of another shop.

“Karv, get up!” He kicked the man lightly in the backside.

The trained soldier was instantly awake, short sword in his hand. “Sir!”

“Step down. I want the men up and ready to leave at first light. See to it.”

“Are we proceeding on?”

“No. We’re returning home, back to our own beds.”

Scowling, the man got up from his bedroll and proceeded to shake the dirt from it as he folded it back up. He was used to the Battle Lord’s demands, but in the past few hours things had changed.

Knowing Karv would be questioning his every move on their way back home, Yulen went to fetch his own unused bedroll and pack his horse, but not before ordering one of their fallen to be doubled on another animal’s back so that their prisoner could have a ride. That order elicited another protest from the small but powerful Second.

“She should walk!”

“It’s a good five days’ journey. I need her to be strong if she is to begin teaching our men upon our return.” Lowering his eyebrows, Yulen added, “Why are you questioning my every move, Karv?”

“Why have you become so obsessed with this Mutah?” the Second responded.

“What is so unusual with us taking her prisoner? We’ve plundered many Mutah villages and absconded with untold wealth. Just...think of her as another form of jeweled pin. A pin that is more valuable intact rather than melted down like so much of the other gold and silver we’ve encountered.”

He trusted Karv’s instincts, although he highly detested the man’s often ill-thought-out actions. It was because of those instincts, especially when they coincided with his own, that their compound had grown as powerful as it had. Which was why he always let the little man have his say at anything, even to contradict, argue, or question his motives whenever he felt it necessary.

“Yes, but pins have sharp little needle pricks that can draw blood. And if you stick one of those little needle pricks in the right place, it can kill you.”

“True,” Yulen admitted, then said no more as he turned and left his Second to comply with his orders. He would not let the man know he’d gone into the shop unescorted and untied the Mutah’s hands—

Her name is Atty.

—literally freeing her, yet still keeping her safeguarded—

Safeguarded?

The Battle Lord fiercely shook his head, hoping to clear the fog sifting through his thoughts. He needed to be clear-headed and prepared for anything on their journey back. The slash on his face throbbed, sending echoing pain behind his eyes. Reaching into his saddle bags, he pulled out the tin of powder once again and took another dose, washing it down from his nearly empty skin of water. He paused to give the medicine a chance to get into his system, then went in search of MaGrath to see if there was something the man could do further.

More than anything, he needed his wits about him. Karv was right about one thing. He was becoming obsessed with this Mutah, although Yulen tried to convince himself it was because of her incredible abilities. She was more valuable alive, more valuable as a willing prisoner. More valuable as a—

My...hair. My hair is my sign. Its...its color is...unusual.

Yulen slapped himself in the side of the face, close to the pulsing wound. The pain that broke over him made him double over in response, but it helped to clear his mind.

It was five days’ journey back to their home. He would need to keep—

Atty.

—a respectable distance away if he was to be of any use to his men during that time.

Sunrise was not far away, and the Battle Lord’s anger at himself rose when he realized the only reason he couldn’t wait for the first rays of dawn was because he needed to see the girl warrior in the full light of day.

And see the truth about her difference.

Like...the color of her hair.

Chapter Nine

Compromise

He had to give his Second credit for his quickness.

“Sir! The Mutah! She escaped her ropes!” Karv came hurrying up, worry and anger like twin sentries framing his already sweaty face.

Yulen casually glanced at him. He made the man wait while he finished tightening the girth on his horse before turning around to listen to more of his tirade. “The Mutah didn’t escape. I released the ropes myself.”

“What?”

“They were biting into her wrists and making them bleed. So I cut them off of her and had MaGrath medicate them to keep them from becoming infected. Are the men ready to mount?”

He watched as his Second slowly regained control of his temper and his nerves. “I didn’t believe the little Mutah bitch when she told me,” he began with a caustic edge to his voice.

That same acid note raised red flags in Yulen’s mind. He lowered his brows at the man. “Karv, did you do anything to hurt her?”

The expression in the man’s eyes answered him, even before his words. Yulen hurried toward the shop with his Second in tow.

“I thought she was lying to me. You would never risk any of us by letting a dangerous enemy just roam free...”

The rest of Karv’s excuse fell on deaf ears as the Battle Lord threw open the door to the little shop. MaGrath said nothing as he glanced up from his patient, but the dark look he threw at Karv was enough to make the little man step back. It was one thing to anger the Battle Lord, but when one’s life depended on the skills of the physician, no one dared to anger MaGrath.

“How is she?” Yulen demanded. It was hard to tell from the doorway. In three long steps he was at the counter where he could see a fine spray of blood on the wall where he knew none had existed an hour ago.

She seemed so small, curled up in a protective fetal ball.

“How is she?” Yulen repeated.

“She’ll be lucky if she isn’t permanently disfigured,” MaGrath spat.

Without thinking, the Battle Lord turned on his Second and buried his fist in the shorter man’s stomach. The gut punch doubled the soldier over, knocking all the air out of him. The second punch to the side of the man’s head sent him over the edge of consciousness. Yulen watched as the Second dropped like a rock to the hard-packed floor.

“Mastin!”

“Sir!” One of the sentries standing nearby stepped forward.

“Have Karv taken out to his horse and tie him across the saddle. And tell the rest of the men that if anyone touches the prisoner, I will personally bind and gag them with their own entrails.”

Mastin’s face turned white. “Yes, Sir!” he replied, ordering two more men to help him with the heavy weight.

Yulen waited for the room to clear, then turned back to MaGrath. “What did he do?” he asked the physician, this time in a softer tone of voice.

“I think he may have caused some permanent damage. The cheekbone appears broken. Her nose definitely is.”

“Is she in a lot of pain?”

MaGrath’s eyes narrowed. Yulen knew this wasn’t like him, this show of concern. In the past, if the enemy got hurt, that was to be expected. Life was cruel, harsh, and unforgiving. People got injured. But this... For the first time he began to wonder if MaGrath believed his interest extended beyond the excuse he was using to cover up his true motive.

“I’ve given her some drops of sedative, but when she wakes up she’ll be in agony. What provoked Karv to do this? Do you know?”

“He questioned her as to why she was no longer bound, and she told him the truth. He didn’t believe her and struck her.”

MaGrath’s expression darkened even further. “Then he’s lying,” he hissed. “Karv saw me coming out of the shop after I had wrapped her wrists like you ordered. He asked me what I’d been doing and I told him. I told him she was free of her bonds, by your orders. I went to fetch her something to keep her warm when I heard the scream, and Paxton came to get me.” The physician watched as Yulen felt the blood-red cloud descended over his face. “What are you going to do?” he asked.

“On our journey back I want her kept by your side or mine. Day and night. I don’t want another chance of someone venting his hatred on her. Liam...I’m trusting you with this like no other.”

“But what are you going to do about Karv?” MaGrath insisted.

Yulen stepped back and glanced out the window where he could finally make out the inner compound. “He’ll be punished,” he finally said, his voice cold with finality. “This isn’t over until I’ve settled it.”

Then, to MaGrath’s utter astonishment, Yulen laid a gentle hand on the Mutah’s exposed shoulder. “Let me know when she awakes. Until then, she’ll ride with you.”

“You can’t seat her by herself on a horse when she’s like this.”

“I know,” Yulen nodded. “Tie her to you if you have to so she won’t fall off.”

He turned quickly on his heel and left the store, calling out to his men as the sun slowly rose over the tops of the trees. With his Second no longer able to perform his job, the Battle Lord hurried to assign two of his most trusted men to the task of seeing that all would be ready to leave within the hour.

As preparations were being made, he walked into the compound and stood in its center, surveying the area with a new eye. A different eye, now slanted to see things with a completely unbiased perspective.

This time he could see the rows of houses with their tiny window boxes and the intricate decorations painted on the doors. To his left began the line of shops he’d never noticed, and probably wouldn’t have, except for the fact that one lone warrior girl had managed to tilt his personal axis within the span of a single night.

To his right lay the open meeting area. Small stalls and carts still sat, unoccupied since the invasion. A small breeze flowed over him, sending him a final scent of roasted meat.

She had killed a badger five times her own weight.

I slew a wolfen, as instructed, and I brought its head back to the compound.

A shiver ran cold fingers down his back, and Yulen suddenly realized what she had told him last night. A wolfen! She had killed a wolfen! He could count on two hands the number of warriors he personally knew who had gone out to slay one of the many huge predators that lived in the forests just beyond their encampment, only to have none of them return. Yet she had killed one with just a bow. She, a mere slip of a girl, and not even a seasoned soldier.

He knew she spoke the truth. No man, or woman, would dare make such a claim unless it could backed up with proof.

The Battle Lord drew a deep, shaky breath. Thinking back on what Karv had done, Yulen felt his anger begin to boil inside himself. He knew how much the Second hated Mutah. The little man had lost two of his own family members to a rogue band of Mutah scavengers. But that didn’t excuse the man from the viciousness of his attacks on—

Atty

—the prisoner. Especially in light of the fact that he had made a deal with her, and offered her his protection once she had silently agreed.

He watched as his men continued to gather the rest of the Mutah community together, dragging many of them from their abodes. Again, with an eye directed toward that which he’d always ignored until now, Yulen saw the little things which showed these savages were more than three levels above the mutated animals, the way he’d been taught to believe.

There was the ruffle of hand-crocheted lace around the neckline of one Mutah’s blouse. There was the older female bending over her young son to help him re-button his coat when he’d missed one buttonhole in his haste to dress. There was the male holding a smaller version of himself in his arms, bouncing the child upon his hip and tenderly shushing the boy so as not to draw any undue attention to themselves.

And at their feet, the blood of those who his men had slaughtered still pooled in dark congealed splotches in the dirt.

Turver came to let him know they’d gathered all they could find, although the number looked less than it had the night before. Without a doubt some remained in hiding, hoping to survive until the Cleaners had left. Never mind. There were enough here to heed his message.

Walking into the middle of the clearing, Yulen looked fully into their faces and gave them a few moments to see the still-healing wound that would mark him forever. When he was certain they would never forget him, he spoke.

“My name is Yulen D’Jacques. I am the Battle Lord of the compound city called Alta Novis. Novis is five days’ ride from here, to the south.

“I have taken prisoner the girl you call Atty. She has bought your lives with her own. She has agreed to go back to Alta Novis with me, and in exchange, we will leave this compound as it stands. We are leaving you without further bloodshed, but I am also leaving behind two emissaries to help you with refortification, in the event another Battle Lord from another compound discovers you.

“You see, I own you now. Your compound...” He paused for a second, then pointed a finger at a nearby Mutah, an older man with gray-green hair as long on his arms as it was on his head. “You. Old man. Does this compound have a name?”

The man nodded. “We call it Wallis.”

“Your compound,” Yulen continued, “is now mine. My banner will fly over it. And because I now own it, you are now under my protection.”

“Your protection?” a voice sarcastically called from the crowd.

“That is part of the deal I made with your warrior girl,” Yulen told them.

“No Cleaner makes a deal!” another voice argued from the safety of the gathered villagers. The others surrounding him nodded and murmured in agreement.

“Hear me out!” Yulen hollered. “You can either accept my generosity, or I can have you wiped out with a simple wave of my hand.”

To demonstrate, he raised his left arm, fist clenched. Instantly every soldier within view raised their weapons at ready. The entire action had taken less than a heartbeat. Yulen gave the crowd another minute to digest his threat.

“In a month I will send two more of my men to replace the two I’m leaving behind. If they return with the news that you have killed my emissaries, or if none of my men return at all, I will come back and see that every timber of Wallis is burned to the ground, and the head of every man, woman, and child is perched on the blackened poles. Am I clear?”

His threat, or promise, was extremely clear, as revealed in the paled faces and wide eyes of the villagers. After another silent minute had slid by, Yulen turned and left the clearing, leaving the villagers behind virtually unguarded.

He called two of his more trusted men over to where he kept his horse tethered and gave them curt but explicit directives about working with the Mutah, including fortifying the compound against further attacks. When that was done, he mounted and signaled for the rest of his men to begin leaving. He would catch up with them later, to take the lead.

Near the middle he found Karv hog-tied across the back of his steed. The man was still unconscious.

MaGrath was having another soldier help him adjust the prisoner across his lap, tying her carefully but securely around him, so that the swaying of the saddle wouldn’t jar her loose. She, too, remained unresponsive.

“We’ll stop at noon to rest the horses,” Yulen informed the physician. “There’s no rush to get back. If we take it at a normal pace, the men won’t be exhausted, and the prisoner will have more of a chance to heal by the time we reach Alta Novis. I’ll check back on her when we stop. But if she takes a turn for the worse before then...”

“I’ll let you know,” MaGrath promised.

Yulen nodded. “Stay near the head of the line, close to me. I know how deeply most of the men hate Mutah. I don’t want to take any chances.” Kneeing his horse, he proceeded out of the compound, toward the head of the line that already was snaking into the dense forest beyond the high walls.

* * * *

Watching him go, MaGrath was suddenly struck with the realization that the Battle Lord no longer referred to the woman as a Mutah, but as their prisoner. As surely as he knew himself, he knew it wouldn’t be long before the man called her by her given name. But until that came about, this small concession was a start.

Chapter Ten

Ferals

Despite making their way back to Alta Novis at a slower speed, Yulen was surprised to discover how much ground they’d covered before calling for a temporary halt a little past noon. Everyone was allowed to dismount, and small fire pits were dug for a quick meal.

Karv was coming to when the Battle Lord checked on him. As the smaller man stared up at his leader with glazed eyes, Yulen made it very clear how he still felt about the unprovoked attack on the warrior girl.

“MaGrath says he told you the girl was unbound. If you ever lie to me again, Karv, I don’t care how long we’ve fought together side by side. Lie to me again, and I will have you stripped of your armor. If you hurt the girl again, I will send you outside the compound without a weapon. Are we understanding each other?”

Karv closed his eyes and nodded painfully. He knew too well the Battle Lord’s promises were never given lightly. “Mutah lover,” he mumbled under his breath.

“What was that?”

“I said...Mutah lover,” the Second repeated. The man didn’t fear another devastating blow. He was already too damaged, but also too valuable an aide and ally, to risk any more harm. But instead of a sharp retort he probably expected, he watched in silent surprise as the Battle Lord strode away without replying.

Closer to where he’d tethered his own horse, Yulen found the physician. The man had placed his burden under the cooler shade of a tree, and was busy changing the bloody bandages. The Battle Lord winced at the sight of the girl’s ravaged face, then berated himself silently for his reaction. He’d seen the worst life had to throw at him, from brutalized corpses to the horrors of living torture on man and Mutah alike. Why would the torn and bleeding face of one girl affect him like this?

“I reset her nose,” MaGrath informed him. “She stirred once but didn’t awaken.”

“Has she said anything?” Even in the light of day, it was impossible for Yulen to see the true color of her hair, what with the bandages wrapped around her face and head. He bit his lip to hide his disappointment.

The physician shook his head. “Nothing notable. Just incoherent ramblings. Yulen, she could have some brain damage.”

“Damn. How will you know for certain?”

“I won’t until she comes out of this, if she comes out of it.”

“When she does, send word.”

MaGrath nodded, then gestured for the man to lean closer to where he knelt. “Let me look at that,” he ordered in a no-nonsense voice.

Yulen dutifully leaned close enough for the man to examine the wound in his face. He heard the heavy sigh come from the physician.

“Do you realize how lucky you were that that bird wasn’t diseased? Or that it didn’t take out your eye in the attack?”

“Don’t you think I haven’t dwelled on that myself?” Yulen said.

“Does it still pain you? I have more powders if you need them.”

Yulen held up a hand to show he declined the offer. “I’ll let you know when and if I need more of your foul-tasting pain killer.” He tried to grin, but the creasing of his face brought forth a spasm of fire that settled in his eyes. “It only hurts when I smile,” the man relented.

“So I guess you won’t be smiling for a long while?” MaGrath teased gently.

“What’s worth smiling about?” the Battle Lord gruffly countered.

“What indeed?” the physician countered, and looked down at the unconscious form at his feet.

The Battle Lord knew MaGrath had caught the expression on his face while he redressed her wounds. It wasn’t like him to flinch. In fact, he couldn’t remember if the physician had ever seen the Battle Lord flinch at anything.

Their noon meal was over within the hour, and everyone was saddled and heading back south when Mastin approached the Battle Lord.

“Sir, if I may.”

“What is it?” Yulen inquired. It was going to be a pleasant day. Although the sun was shining bright and merciless overhead, the weather remained cold. Tonight, however, there was the chance of more snow, which would turn the ground into a muddy, sucking swamp in places if they weren’t careful.

“Sir, the men are questioning your motives.”

“My motives?” The Battle Lord shot his new Second a suspicious look, but Mastin refused to back down.

“We’ve never taken prisoners before, sir. We’ve never left behind a compound full of Mutah before, either. They’re wondering what your motives are.”

“Do they know what happened to our advance party before we entered the compound?”

“Yes, sir. They know they were attacked by a party of Mutah, who almost killed all of our men—”

“Not a party,” Yulen quickly corrected him.

“Sir?”

Yulen glanced back at the young soldier. “I said...it was not a party of Mutah who attacked and killed sixteen of our men. There was only one.” He held up an index finger for emphasis. “One Mutah.”

Mastin swallowed hard. “One?” At the Battle Lord’s nod, he added, “The girl?” Another nod. “With just a bow?” Again, the nod. “Sooo...we’re taking her back home because of her skill?”

Somehow Yulen managed a small grin without too much pain. “Does that surprise you?”

“No. Well, yes. What do you plan to do with her?”

“I made a deal with her. If she would train my men how to acquire such skill with their bows, I would spare her compound.” He glanced quickly at the man riding beside him, hoping to catch his immediate reaction.

“So, you bargained their lives for her servitude?”

“Correct.”

“But what if she had turned you down?”

Yulen made a face. “You already know the answer to that.”

“But what if another Battle Lord comes along and razes her compound? What if Syrus Collaunt discovers it?”

“That will always be a possibility. But I promised her I would not bring harm to her people. As long as I keep my word, she’ll comply.”

“And then what will you do once she’s taught us everything she knows? Will you let her go back to her compound?”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead,” Yulen admitted. These past few hours he’d gone solely on gut instinct. He hoped the days’ ride back to Alta Novis would give him a clearer sense of direction. He noticed Mastin’s glance backwards. “What?”

“What about Karv? Verris and I—”

“Where is Verris?” the Battle Lord asked, referring to the only other man he’d tapped to replace Karv, besides Mastin.

“Riding with Karv, as you ordered,” Mastin reminded him. One would always remain with the defaced Second until they reached the compound, as per orders.

“What I plan to do with Karv is none of your concern,” Yulen snapped suddenly. Kneeing his horse, he jumped ahead of the line to check the trail. The advance guard he’d sent before them had yet to return to let them know of any possible danger. Thinking back, Yulen realized it had been a good hour or more since Betts had left. He raised his hand, signaling a halt to their progress.

Mastin hurried to catch up. Before he could question his leader’s actions, Yulen whispered gruffly, “Fetch me three swords.”

There was not a sound coming from the trees. For the past few minutes all sounds had ceased, and Yulen cursed himself for his inattention. Not even a bird flew overhead.

The Second galloped away to bring back three men armed with swords. Once, many, many years ago, there had been guns and all manner of weapons which relied upon explosive charges and gunpowder. But those weapons quickly became obsolete as ammunition, the materials to make ammunition, and the knowledge and ability to make the ammunition and more such weapons was lost or disappeared. Yulen had seen a gun once, a long time ago, but he had never held one, much less fired it. People had reverted back to the ways of their ancestors, using swords and bows and other such weapons from their history, which proved easier to make and use.

The same loss of technology also proved fatal for cars. And electricity. And telephones. Gone, all gone more than three hundred years ago.

Yulen dismounted, motioning for the others to do as well as he pulled his own sword from its sheath. Mastin slid off his horse and joined them. Slowly, carefully, they advanced toward the small rise and disappeared over the crest.

* * * *

MaGrath felt the girl stirring in his arms, but it wasn’t until she let out a low moan that he gently covered her mouth with his hand. At his touch, the girl froze and, like a true hunter, tried to assess her surroundings first before making another move. Realizing what she was doing, the physician leaned down to breathe in her ear, “No noise.”

He could tell she was in great pain. It clouded her eyes and made her whole body tremble. He needed to give her some more painkillers, but that would mean getting off the horse and digging through the satchel tied to the back of the saddle. Silently he cursed himself for not thinking ahead and stashing some in his coat pocket.

A cold hand reached up to remove his hand from her lips. Lifting her bandaged face, Atty waited until he lowered his ear so she could barely whisper, “Why...stop?”

“Yulen called a halt. I don’t know why. He’s gone over the ridge with a small platoon to check things out,” he replied into her ear on the lesser damaged side of her face. “As soon as he returns, I’ll give you some more painkiller.”

Atty shivered again, blinking against the bright sunlight and the agony which enveloped her whole body, especially her face. She tried to look around, but everything would be coated in that unreal fogginess. “South.”

MaGrath nodded. Despite her confusion, she probably recognized the area and saw they were heading south, toward the Battle Lord’s domain. She weakly tugged on the physician’s sleeve. “Cats,” she tried to warn him. “Feral...cats.”

MaGrath gave her a disbelieving stare. “But ferals don’t attack people,” he tried to argue.

Atty licked her cracked and swollen lips, tasting the dried blood. “Trust me.”

Immediately, MaGrath looked up and signaled to a nearby soldier. The man reined over. “Go to the Battle Lord and tell him feral cats hunt in this area. Go now!”

“But ferals don’t attack—”

“Obey me!” the physician hissed. In a world hardly recovered from the Great Concussion, next to the Battle Lord, among those obeyed without question and held in the highest regard were those skilled in the medicinal arts.

The soldier slid off his mount and hurried to catch up with the others, bearing his news. Several minutes passed. Distantly they could hear the clash of weapons but no screaming. No roars or hisses to let the rest of the caravan know what the Battle Lord and his men were facing. Once a few of the horses in the back of the line got spooked and reared, but they were quickly calmed.

It was nearly half an hour later when all six men walked back over the ridge to rejoin the line. MaGrath let out a sigh of relief to see them all walking normally, and none holding onto an arm or other body part that had been injured. But as they drew closer, it was evident they had been involved in a skirmish. Great gouts of blood coated their armor and dripped off their weapons.

Without a word, Yulen wiped his sword in a patch of snow before sheathing it, remounted his horse, and waved them forward. As the line progressed toward the rise, MaGrath watched as the Battle Lord remained to one side until they were nearly even.

“Question, Liam. How’d you know there were ferals stalking us?” Yulen asked when they were within earshot of each other.

“I didn’t. She did,” MaGrath admitted and looked down to notice the warrior girl had succumbed again to sleep.

Yulen’s eyes narrowed. “She was awake?”

“And speaking,” the physician admitted.

“What? What did she say?”

“Less than a dozen words, Yulen. She asked why we’d stop, and then told me there were feral cats in the area...not in those exact words, mind you. But what she said was enough for me to send Boiseman to tell you.”

“Then she’s going to be okay?”

“So far as I can tell. She needs more pain medicine.”

“We’ll be camping near the lake tonight. But if she awakens before then, let me know.”

“I will,” MaGrath promised.

They topped the rise and traveled down into a small valley surrounded by high walls. Another hundred yards down the road lay the remains of the two ferals who had been stalking their party. The huge pair, obvious mates, must have put up quite a fight, if the pools of blood were any indication. The gray and white striped male alone had to have weighed a good six or seven hundred pounds. The smaller black and white female had distended teats, meaning there had to be a den somewhere near.

MaGrath shuddered. That was what the warrior girl had been trying to warn them about. Ferals normally avoided humans, but this pair was defending their kittens. They also needed to provide their family with fresh meat. That explained the terrifying silence as the Ferals stalked their prey.

The physician shook his head. How had she known? Even in her severely injured state, she had managed to outsmart them all. No, he quickly corrected himself. She had saved them all.

Chapter Eleven

Lake

They didn’t reach the lake until just after sundown. There was a large, dilapidated stone building around the northeast shore that would provide his men enough cover in the event something tried to attack them from the forest. The lake itself was fresh water, and everyone refilled their skin sacks as the horses were allowed their freedom to graze on long tethers.

Yulen walked among his men, keeping himself open and available to the soldiers who willingly risked their lives under his banner. He knew all of them by name, including the names of their wives or sweethearts and children. He often took time like this to offer suggestions or praise to them, and it was clear that by that evening what he had told Mastin about his motive for bringing along the Mutah woman had made its way among the ranks. Secretly he was glad to see no overt ill response from the men for his decision. In fact, he also let them know that the warrior girl had also been the one to warn them of the feral cats that had attacked them on the highway. If he planned to have them take orders from someone who normally would be their enemy, he knew he first had to get them to trust her.

By nightfall Tosh Karv had regained his senses and his appetite. The Battle Lord had him over by his fire to share in one of the rabbits a few of the men had captured along the route. As the two men ate in silence, Yulen waited until the Second was finished before speaking.

“I’ve tapped Mastin and Verris as your replacements.”

The smaller man nodded. “I expected as such. They’re good men.”

“You know I can’t forgive you for your attack on the girl, but I understand it,” Yulen continued. “She was unarmed.”

“She’s still Mutah,” Karv growled.

“Well, until I say differently, she’s under my protection. Honor that, Karv.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And, Karv? I want you back as my Second. When you’re ready to return—”

“Not as long as the Mutah woman is allowed to roam free.”

Yulen nodded. “I understand. You also realize I won’t back down. She’s going to become very important in helping us against Collaunt and his men. Every little bit of knowledge we can gain that Collaunt doesn’t have tips the scale in our direction.”

The smaller man answered with a shrug of his shoulders. Once they’d finished eating, Karv excused himself to brush down and feed his horse before turning in. Yulen watched him go with a heavy heart. With his thoughts kept to himself, the Battle Lord was unaware of MaGrath approaching until the man cleared his throat.

“She’s awake and asking for you.”

Yulen got to his feet and followed the physician back to where the man had made his fire. The warrior girl was lying on her side on a pallet, facing the warmth. She never moved, but her eyes remained riveted on the Battle Lord as he approached and sat down on the other side of the pit.

“Are you in much pain?”

“The cats?” she asked instead. Her voice was gravelly, hoarse.

“They found us, but thanks to your warning we were able to beat them back. How’d you know?”

She sighed, rolling onto her back. In the firelight the blood that had soaked through the bandages appeared dark brown. “If I find out you’ve been lying to me...”

Yulen immediately knew what she was implying. “In a month’s time I’ll be sending a squad to replace those men I’ve left behind. At that time you can send a missive to anyone you want. Then you’ll see I’ve been telling the truth.”

A long minute passed. MaGrath threw another piece of deadwood in the fire pit to keep it hot.

“The man who hates me...”

“Tosh Karv.” He watched as she formed the man’s name on her lips without repeating it aloud.

“He’ll hurt me again,” she predicted.

Yulen shook his head. “Not if I can help it.”

“No.” She rolled back onto her side to face him. “He’ll try and he’ll succeed if you don’t let me have my weapons.”

Staring at his hands clasped over his knees, Yulen mulled over his next decision. “Liam has your bow and quiver. When he feels you’re well enough to wield them, he has my permission to return them to you.”

He had no idea what kind of reaction he expected from her, but the last thing he thought he’d hear from her was his given name on her lips.

“Thank you, Yulen.”

“Your name,” he ventured, hoping to gain more from her before she withdrew again into her own private solitude.

“Atty.”

“Is that short for anything?”

“Atrilan. Atrilan Ferran.”

Atrilan. For some unexplainable reason, the exotic name seemed to fit her perfectly.

“Mutahs have first and last names?” The moment he asked, he realized he’d made a grievous error. Cursing himself, he watched as the gates to her trust closed and locked, as evident in her eyes. She rolled onto her other side, turning her back to him, and huddled under the blanket for warmth before slipping into a medicine-induced sleep.

Getting to his feet, he motioned for the physician to join him as he turned and walked off toward the lake. Once they were far enough away to where the girl couldn’t hear him, the Battle Lord muttered an expletive under his breath. To his surprise, MaGrath chuckled and patted him on the shoulder.

“A lifetime of conditioning can’t be relearned in the span of a few hours, Yulen.”

“Of course she has two names. That’s what she’s been trying to teach me all this time.”

“That Mutah may look different from us, but initially we all came from the same gene pool?”

Yulen shot him a guilty look. “How can I gain her trust if I keep shooting my mouth off?”

“You have bigger worries facing you, Yulen.”

“I have a hundred decisions facing me this very moment, Liam. Try to be more specific.”

“What are you going to do with her once she’s taught our men all her tricks?”

“Haven’t you asked me that before?”

“Yeah, and I’m gonna keep asking you until I get a straight answer.”

“Why? What does it matter to you?”

“Because I can read you like a book, Yulen D’Jacques, and I’ve been doing so since I came back from Far Troit to become your father’s physician twenty-seven, no, twenty-eight years ago. I can read you like no one else can, and I know when you’re hiding something. You can fool everyone else with your bluster and your orders and that deadly right hook you have, but spare me the half-truths. You want her to stay.”

“Say what you want,” Yulen muttered.

“I am,” MaGrath countered. “But I sense from you something I don’t think even you’ve acknowledged. You want her to stay, and you want her to do it on her own accord. Without anyone ordering her or threatening her or coercing her in any form or fashion.”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?” He chuckled again. “Have you had the chance to look at her? I mean, really look at her? Do you even know what her difference is?”

“She told me her hair was her mark.”

“And?”

“That its color was different.” Yulen threw a rock across the water and watched as it skipped twice under the light of the broken moon.

“Yeah. It is.”

He turned to the physician. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“What color is it?”

MaGrath paused long enough for a slow smile to spread over his face. “That’s something you’ll have to discover on your own,” he finally said, turning on his heel and walking away. “G’night, Yulen. See you in the morning.”

Chapter Twelve

Crows

“How’d he get that wound?”

MaGrath smiled. Peering over his shoulder at the warrior girl who lay strapped across his back, he was met by a pair of blue-gray eyes, and realized it was the first time he’d noticed their color.

“Good morning, sunshine. How do you feel?”

“Like crap,” she moaned softly, keeping her chin propped against his right shoulder. The horse was moving at a casual gait over the level terrain. “I’ve been trying to find some identifying landmarks, but I can’t. I guess we’ve traveled too far south for me to spot anything familiar.”

“It’s good to know you haven’t suffered any permanent brain damage,” the physician commented. “You’re getting better, but you still have a long way to go. Are you in any pain at the moment? I unpacked a tin this morning, just in case.” He patted his right coat pocket for emphasis.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she reminded him.

“Well, do you want the heroic version? Or the plain version?”

“I want the truthful version.”

“He was attacked by crows.”

She shuddered against his back. “Ugh. I hate crows. They’re hard to hit.”

“You mean you’ve killed crows with a bow?”

“Of course. How else would you do it? You can’t kill them that easily with a sword,” she replied matter-of-factly. She adjusted her position slightly. Instead of being draped across his lap as she had been yesterday, she sat spread-legged across the back of his horse, her arms carefully tied around his waist to prevent her from falling off. MaGrath looked down to see her stretch and wriggle her fingers to get the feeling back in her hands.

“Why did the crows attack him?”

“Because one of the men inadvertently stumbled across a group of them finishing off a carcass. When they attacked the man, Yulen went in to get him.”

He felt her start. “Just him? Alone?”

“He wasn’t going to risk losing another man. Of course he went in alone.” MaGrath glanced back at her again. “There’s a lot about our Battle Lord you don’t know.”

“Like I’d want to?” she snipped, then instantly regretted it. How could she learn to hate a man who had saved her life and the lives of those in her village? He should have destroyed the compound and everyone in it, regardless of her skill with a bow. In fact, knowing she was the one who’d killed those men normally would have been enough to have her slaughtered on sight.

She sighed loudly, getting the physician’s attention once more. “Are you hungry?” he inquired.

“Kinda.”

She saw him nod, then look down. A stale hunk of bread and a piece of cheese was handed to her, wrapped inside a piece of fabric. “It’s the best I can do at the moment. We’ll be stopping in another two or three hours for a short rest.”

Before she could mention the fact that her hands were still tied around his waist, she felt them being released. Grateful, she took the food and began to eat as she rubbed the bandages around her wrists. The physician noticed.

“Careful of the bandages. They need to stay wrapped another day to make sure there’s no chance of infection.”

The caravan continued in a mostly southeasterly direction. Atty’s sharp eyes noted the various prints and spore from the animals living in the area. Some dotted the dusty road, but most lined the edges of the trail before disappearing into the brush. Fortunately, as far as she could tell, none of them were from dangerous or predatory wildlife that she was familiar with.

“Did I dream it last night, or did he call you Liam?”

“That’s my given name.”

“Can I call you Liam?”

“Can I call you Atty?”

He was happy to see the small smile that crossed her still-swollen lips, knowing it would cause her some pain. “There’s a bag of water tied behind you on your left.”

Atty found it and drank deeply. It was still cool. Lake water. The bread went down softer with it.

“Crows, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Our teachers said that before the Great Concussion they used to be a lot smaller, almost the size of a newborn babe.”

MaGrath caught himself before making a fool of himself. “Yeah. I heard that, too.”

“Hard to believe they could’ve ever been that small,” the girl continued. “Did he kill any?”

“Three.”

“Including the one that clawed him?”

MaGrath nodded.

“How about the soldier? The one he was trying to rescue?”

This time the physician turned around almost halfway, using his right hand to balance himself on the saddle. “He got me out without a scratch on me.”

It was a joy to see the look of utter surprise come over her battered face. Giving her a wink, he turned back around and pretended to study the landscape. Several minutes went by. He’d begun to think she’d fallen back asleep when a soft voice asked, “Did I dream it last night, or did he also give me back my weapons?”

“It was no dream. He gave them back.”

“Then where are they?”

“He has them tied to his saddle for safekeeping. You might want to look into getting some more arrows. There’s only a couple left in the quiver.”

That’s right, she reminded herself. She’d used most of them when the soldiers had first entered the compound. At first she’d thought she’d used all of them, until a couple were found on the roof where they’d fallen out of her quiver. Almost as second-nature, her eyes skimmed the edges of the forest to see if she could spot any young saplings that would provide strong shafts.

“Liam? Where are we?”

“In the northern provinces. Or, what we refer to as the northern provinces. We’re still a goodly ways from Alta Novis. Why?” He glanced back at her. “See anything unusual?”

“Unusual, yes, but nothing that I would think of as dangerous. How big do the squirrels get here?”

Now it was MaGrath’s turn to be surprised. “How’d you know?” From the corner of his eye he could see her slowly shake her head.

“You are soldiers. I’m a hunter. Your job is to kill and maim and be assholes of the first degree. Meanwhile, it’s people like me who keep food on your tables and warn you if nature is about to dump a wagon load of manure on your doorstep.”

The physician chuckled. Her language may be colorful, but her tone of voice was nothing but serious. “He didn’t mean what he said,” he added in a softer voice. He expected her silence, but not her response.

“Does he really believe we’re nothing but inferior to even the mutant animals?”

“I’m telling you exactly what I said to him last night. It’s going to take a while to overcome a lifetime of conditioning. Atty, you have to remember, all we’ve ever known about Mutah is what we’ve been told by people we trusted were telling us the truth. Our parents. Our teachers. Our elders. You’re intelligent. I’ll bet the same was said about us among your people.”

There was a moment’s pause before she responded. “You fight dirty, you know that?” It was followed by a loud yawn.

“You need sleep,” he half-ordered.

“I’m not tired.”

“Maybe not, but you’ll heal faster if you get your rest,” he argued gently.

“Can’t. This horse has a hitchy gait.”

“Hitchy?”

“Not smooth. Does she have something in her left hind hoof?”

MaGrath reined up. Raising an eyebrow at her, he slid out of the saddle and walked around to the back of the mare. Grabbing the fetlock, he lifted the leg and examined inside the hard horn. The girl was right again. A clump of mud and rock, most likely accumulated last night around the lake’s soft shoreline, had hardened, creating an irritation. He used a twig to pry it out. Remounting, he waited until she snaked her arms back around his waist, underneath his jacket. The knuckles of one hand tapped the canister inside the pocket.

“Can I have...just a little?”

It was then he realized this was as close as she would ever come to admitting how much pain she was in. He pulled out the tin and handed it back to her.

“Lick a finger and dip it in the powder. Put all that’s on your finger onto your tongue, then chase it with water. Want me to wake you when we stop?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

A small smile came over him as she gave a grunt and a shiver. The stuff did taste obnoxious, but it packed a wallop. It wasn’t two minutes later when her lesser injured cheek pressed against his shoulder. Gently, he retied her hands. She’d been right again. The mare was walking a lot smoother. Shaking his head, he nudged the horse forward to catch up with the Battle Lord at the head of the line.

As he pulled even, he noticed the man’s eyes linger over the figure draped against his back. “I just put her back under,” he told him.

“She must’ve said something important or you wouldn’t have come up here,” Yulen noted astutely.

“She asked about you, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”

Yulen cast him a hooded look.

“She wanted to know how you got your wound.”

“And you told her.” It was a statement.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

A few seconds passed, and Yulen gave his friend another glance. “I guess I’m going to have to use a crowbar to pry anything else out of you,” he wryly commented. MaGrath laughed aloud.

“She also wanted to know if you meant what you said.”

“About?” A ghost of alarm touched his face for a split second. It was so quick, the physician wondered if he’d seen it at all.

“About her weapons,” he clarified. “She wants them back. She’ll feel more...safer. She’ll feel safer with them.”

“I gave her my word,” Yulen admitted. “I just hope my men can accept it.” He looked back at the physician. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” MaGrath grinned, and began to rein back to the middle of the line. “She called you an asshole.”

Chapter Thirteen

Blue

As he’d promised, MaGrath woke the warrior girl soon after they stopped for midday meal. She sat half-dazed in front of the fire as he pulled some jerky from his saddlebags. When he offered her some, however, she gave him a quizzical look.

“It’s all I have until one of the soldiers brings in something fresh. Surely you’ve had jerky before.”

“You mean your soldiers can’t catch something you can fix fast and easy?” She wrinkled her nose, an affectation MaGrath found instantly endearing.

“Think you can do better?”

“Damn right...if I had my bow.”

The physician shrugged. “If you’re feeling up to it, Yulen’s just down the road. Go get it.”

She looked up at him to make sure he wasn’t teasing her. But when his face showed he was serious, she slowly got to her feet and walked off in the direction he pointed.

The last thing the Battle Lord expected to see coming up the road was the warrior girl walking toward him in the bright sunlight. Casually, he glanced over her, noting she still wore the bloodstained clothing they’d captured her in three days ago—

Had it been just three?

—and made a mental note to see if MaGrath couldn’t find her a clean shirt and pants. It took a second look before the truth sank in, and he finally got the answer he’d been seeking ever since that night he’d first seen her.

Her hair was a deep, rich indigo blue, nearly black now because it needed a good shampooing.

Atty noticed where he was staring and stopped directly in front of him, hands on hips, her legs slightly parted. “Okay. So now you know. I came for my weapon.”

Yulen broke his gaze away, dropping his eyes to where his hands were busy cleaning the blade of his sword. “It’s tied to the saddle. Help yourself.”

“Thank you.”

She found the bow and quiver without any problem and slung them over her shoulder to carry back to where MaGrath was settled. She felt it would be safer roaming about carrying them that way, than to wear them correctly. At least this way she wouldn’t look as if she were about to plow a steel tip in someone’s craw if one of the soldiers took offense to her being re-armed.

On second thought, she put the quiver back and grabbed one of the remaining two arrows. Yulen noticed the exchange and raised an eyebrow. Atty half-shrugged.

“Only got time for a quick bite, so it can’t be anything big,” she explained, and turned to cross the road, entering the forest on the other side.

A moment later, the physician walked up to him. “Are you gonna let her go in there alone?”

Yulen snorted softly. “She’s more capable of taking care of herself in there than if I sent a man along to protect her. Why is she hunting anyway?”

“Guess she doesn’t like the taste of jerky.” MaGrath raised a hand to shield his eyes against the sun. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Did you finally satisfy your curiosity?”

It was several moments before the Battle Lord answered. “It’s blue.”

“Yep. Does that bother you?”

“Why would it?”

MaGrath made a face. “I don’t know. Just wondering, I guess, if it changed the way you looked at her.”

Yulen sheathed the sword and rose to his feet. “Maybe I like the color blue.”

MaGrath nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “Same here. Like the blue sky.”

“Blue flowers.”

“Yeah. And blue eyes, like hers. Except they’re more blue-gray than pure blue. Much like yours.”

They were interrupted by the figure emerging from the strand of trees. She carried the carcass of a squirrel slung over one shoulder, its tail hanging down to her waist. The animal had to weigh at least fifteen pounds. Both men stared as she dropped it at their feet, an arrow piercing the beast’s chest, directly in the heart.

“I can have it cleaned by the time you get a fire started, but it’ll take more than an hour to cook. Sorry,” she apologized. There was a definite twinkle in the one eye that wasn’t covered by the huge bandage.

“That’s all right. We can have it for supper,” MaGrath told her.

Atty glanced over at the Battle Lord. “You’re welcome to join us,” she offered, “but on one condition. No more nasty cracks about my people. If you do, I’ll swat you across that pretty canyon on your face. Deal?”

Yulen managed a relatively painless grin. “Deal.”

She nodded, picked up the squirrel, and headed back to MaGrath’s fire. The physician looked to his friend. “That couldn’t have taken more than five minutes, right?”

“And one arrow. Think she’s ready for her own mount?”

“Yeah. I’ll have one of the corpses doubled up on another horse. Yulen, I know you wanted to take it easy on the way back, but those bodies aren’t getting any fresher.”

“I know,” the Battle Lord nodded. “We’ll pick it up tomorrow. By then we should be nearing Foster City.” He looked critically at the physician at that point. “We may have to cover her hair before we get there, though.”

MaGrath agreed, then turned to leave.

“Liam?”

“Yeah?” He looked back.

“When you get her that horse, tell her I want her to ride up here next to me,” Yulen told him.

The physician chose his next words carefully. “Next to you? Or with you?” To his utter astonishment, the Battle Lord didn’t retreat.

“Either way will be fine with me,” the man replied. “From this point on, I want her to be protected at all times.”

“And you’re the best man for the job?” MaGrath taunted, although he braced it with a smile.

Yulen answered him by not answering, but instead began throwing dirt on his fire in preparation for leaving.

The physician gave a half-hearted chuckle and returned to where the warrior girl was cleaning up after preparing her kill. Before he had the chance to say anything, Atty gave him a small smile.

“What did he say?”

“He wants you to get your own mount and ride up in front next to him.”

“Why? To keep an eye on me? What does he think I’m gonna do? High-tail it back to my compound by myself?”

For some reason her tart tongue had an adverse effect on him, and MaGrath could feel his temper rising. “Up to this point everything you’ve been allowed has been through his generosity,” he reminded her.

Atty reached up to gingerly touch the stained bandage covering one whole side of her face. “Yeah. Pity I haven’t had the chance to thank him for that,” she said bitterly.

She got to her feet and finished wrapping the prepared carcass in the same piece of fabric MaGrath had used to hold his bread and cheese. He watched as she tied the bundle underneath the water skin. “The coolness will help keep it cool until we cook it tonight,” she explained. Looking up at the mounted physician, she said, “I’m sorry. A lot has happened in so short a time. First my mother and sister...” She bit her tongue as a vast flood of memories suddenly overcame her, and Atty bowed her head, still gripping the lacings under the saddle.

MaGrath paused. Her mother and sister? A horrible thought came to him, and the physician blanched at the possibility. Did they slaughter her mother and sister just prior to her being captured? Was that the real reason why she’d begun to pick them off one by one? Did the Battle Lord’s men kill her family before her eyes?

Oh, dearest heavens!

Swallowing heavily, MaGrath excused himself and hurried to the back of the line where the corpses of the men were strung out, tied pony to pony. The sentry stationed there to make sure no predatory animal tried to steal away with one was thankful for the brief diversion. Quickly, the lead horse was untied, its burden placed on the next one in line, and MaGrath led the animal back to where the warrior girl was waiting.

“It stinks,” she told him, but swung up into the saddle regardless. She tied her bow to the rear saddlebag, then reached for the reins.

He saw her touch the bandage with her free hand, and his concern grew. “Are you in pain?”

“It’s...it’s starting to itch.”

“That’s a good sign,” he smiled with relief. He was also relieved to see that her momentary loss of control had left her eyes red but without revealing any further signs of grief. Yulen didn’t need to see her emotional suffering. Not now, anyway. Their relationship was still too fresh and too rocky to withstand the full impact of what she’d been put through.

“If it starts to hurt too much, come back here and I’ll give you some more medicine,” he told her.

“But the medicine will knock me out.”

“Who’s the doctor around here?” he chided her gently.

She graced him with another small smile, then clicked her tongue as she dug her heels into the horse’s ribs. The animal jumped forward in response. MaGrath slowly let out a deep breath as he watched her move up to the head of the line that was just beginning to pull back onto the road.

She had killed sixteen of the Battle Lord’s men, but how many of her people suffered at their hands before she began to fire? Yulen wouldn’t know, but somebody had to.

The Mutah had names, and families, and shops, and homes and jobs and social skills, and all of those things which proved the difference between a civilized compound from a barbaric enclave. They had schools and castes, not to mention whatever else MaGrath had yet to discover. Back down that road, their men were weeping over close friends they’d watched being killed with no more mercy than Atty had shown that squirrel she’d captured in the woods. But back at her compound, men mourned lost wives, women mourned lost husbands, children mourned lost parents and siblings, lovers lost the other half of their soul...

First my mother and sister...

MaGrath prayed Yulen was not directly responsible for her personal loss. The loss of her freedom she could learn to overcome. Yet, for some reason he couldn’t quite put his finger on, the physician was willing to bet the loss of freedom she was going to have to adjust to had nothing to do with her being taken from her compound.

It was going to be more personal. More profound. And a lot more enriching.

Chapter Fourteen

Beast

Yulen glanced at the warrior girl for the umpteenth time since she’d joined him at the head of the line, riding to his right. The first thing he’d been aware of was the fact that she sat a horse inexpertly. That could only mean either she seldom rode, or that horses had never been a part of her life while growing up. By tonight her thighs and bottom would be aching from the unaccustomed riding. It was one thing to ride tandem behind someone else holding the reins and guiding the animal. It was a completely different game to be the one having to do the controlling.

The thought of her thighs aching unfortunately led his mind in a direction he hadn’t expected.

Is she a virgin?

Without a doubt.

Good heavens, what brought him to this?

Then again, MaGrath had also assured him she was a fully developed woman and not a mere girl. So, why hadn’t she attached herself to a man? If not physically, was there one back at her home compound she’d pledged herself to emotionally?

Stick to the moment at hand, he growled to himself.

But she was a Mutah. And wasn’t it a well-known fact that Mutah tended to breed—

There you go again. What is it going to take to wipe away everything you’ve ever been taught about them? When are you going to realize that for years you’d been fed some half-truths but mostly erroneous information? And afterwards, when are you going to open up your mind and start seeing things for what they really are?

Where would one begin to learn the truth? he wondered, and his eyes trailed back to the woman bouncing along beside him. What had her life been like? Were there others like her? Other women warriors?

A comment, a phrase she had said. Something about her being the only one willing to repel his men because the rest couldn’t. Yulen shook his head. It was difficult to concentrate. There was so much to do, so much to think about.

He saw the way his men watched her. They’d grown tense and restless when they realized she was armed again. But after seeing how their Battle Lord and the physician treated her, despite her being their sworn enemy, they grudgingly allowed the girl to roam without the urge to draw their swords.

It was impossible, however, to keep their eyes from going back to the end of the line where sixteen of their comrades and friends—some of them kin—awaited burial.

How would he ever convince those at Alta Novis to accept her?

Even more disconcerting was the fact that he would have to tell Madigan about her.

Yulen sighed, not realizing how loudly he’d done so until Atty glanced over his way. “What?”

He turned back to her. “I said nothing.”

“Oh. Thought you had.”

He saw her reach for her face, and he narrowed his eyes. “Are you in pain?”

The warrior girl let out an exasperated sound. “Why are you and Liam constantly asking me if I’m in pain? If I am, and it becomes intolerable, trust me, I’ll ask for something to help me through it. Otherwise, leave me to my misery, okay?”

Lifting a hand to show he understood, he kept his eyes on the road even while his imagination ran along other paths.

Maybe it was part of her culture not to give herself to another until they had declared themselves. Or perhaps she wasn’t allowed to give herself until she’d reached a certain age.

His eyes swept sideways again. How old was she, anyway? In her woven pants and leather vest and coat, it had been impossible to tell she was even female at first. Not until he’d run his hands over her chest and felt the firm give of her breasts had they even known they were dealing with a woman.

It could be a warrior issue. Maybe she wasn’t allowed any kind of sexual contact until she passed some kind of initiation rite.

He was several yards past her when he realized Atty had pulled up, stopping in the middle of the road. Bringing his horse around, he started to call out to her when he saw her face go completely white, her eyes like dark pools in her face. Without a word Yulen threw up his arm, fist closed. Being the precision troops they’d been trained to be, the entire line came to a sudden, silent halt.

He kept his eyes glued on her until he could detect where she was staring. Slowly, and with great caution, he turned his head to the left. In the soft dirt he could barely make out a set of tracks that disappeared into the dense undergrowth by the side of the road. Turning back to her, he gave a tiny nod. Atty saw it and nodded in response.

Like two halves of a whole, they each slowly slid off their horses. When Yulen glanced back over to where she would be, his sword already in his hand, he saw she’d also pulled out her bow, her one last arrow already nocked, her arms lifted and ready.

He looked to her for guidance, not knowing who or what they were facing. Atty threw her eyes his way and motioned with a languid tilt of her head. Straight ahead.

He approached from one side, her from the other, the both of them cautiously entering the brush at an angle from the prints that Yulen could clearly make out now but still was unable to identify.

Atty lifted her face and directed him to circle around to her left with a roll of her eyes. Yulen stepped carefully, not making a sound even when his feet stepped through the dry leaves and branches. He kept his sword up as he searched every inch of the landscape surrounding him. Mere yards into the woods, and they were swallowed up by the forest to the point where it seemed they were the only two people left alive. The air around them was thick with expectation. Neither a bird nor an insect uttered a sound.

He’d lost sight of Atty, yet he knew without a doubt she was close by. He was in her territory now. She was the hunter—he, the hunted. There was something just beyond the next tree, behind the next fallen log, something that threatened the caravan as it passed by. There was no way he would believe that the warrior girl had gone pale at the possibility of tracking more game.

Three more steps, and he heard a soft trilling off to his right. He turned carefully to begin heading toward where the sound emanated when he was suddenly struck from behind and slammed hard into the soft loam. A fetid odor overwhelmed him, and Yulen instinctively rolled, keeping his sword extended out beyond his body.

The sword struck something solid, and a warmth trickled down his arm. Unable to see what he’d hit, Yulen scrambled to his feet, raising his face to find Atty aiming her one remaining arrow directly at him.

He froze, every pore in his body unable to move as his eyes refused to leave the tip of the barb that was pointed straight at his left eye. The arrow was fully cocked, and he could see the strain in her arms as she held her position.

“Freeze,” she hissed.

For several heartbeats Yulen couldn’t think, could barely breathe. An eye shot would lead directly to the brain, causing instant death. He was in her world now, he reminded himself again. She was the trained hunter. She could and would survive in these woods until she could eventually make her way back to her compound. How long his men would wait for them to emerge from the forest edge, he had no idea. He doubted they would even be able to find his body once she’d disposed of it. How clever of her to fake something terrifying and threatening, just so she could lure him unsuspecting into this dense jungle.

One arrow. That’s all she needed. With her ability, Yulen had no doubt he would be dead before he could move out of range, or even get his sword up high enough to deflect the barbed metal tip.

He’d been an utter and absolute fool. Lost in his own daydreams. Lost in the fanciful if not impossible hope that there might have even been a chance that he...that she...

A bead of sweat rolled into his right eye, stinging it with its warm saltiness. Unable to help himself, he blinked to clear it away, still remaining riveted on the arrow not eight feet away.

“Don’t...move...” she breathed, almost too quietly to hear. Her head was tilted over the hand that was pulled back. One clear eye sighted down the length of the shaft.

The arrow sang.

It passed so close to Yulen’s left ear the fletching burned a tiny trail along his cheek. Behind him came a muffled whoosh of sound, followed by a wet, plopping noise. Again, the odor of something extremely putrid filled the air, overcoming him with the smell. Yulen shuddered and dropped to his knees. Somehow he managed to look over his shoulder to see what she had hit, when he heard her scream his name, but it was too late. A huge gout of greenish liquid arched overhead, landing on top of him. Yulen ducked, but not before some of the warm pus splashed across the wounded part of his face.

As the burning set in, Yulen fell to the ground as he tried to wipe away the poison. He wasn’t even aware of Atty coming to his aid until she batted aside his hands and began pouring water into the partially-healed scar. The coolness was soothing. Yulen kept his eyes tightly shut in case some of the poison washed into them.

After what seemed like an eternity, the water bag was emptied. Slowly Yulen opened his eyes to see her kneeling beside him. She was breathing heavily as she stared down at him, and he couldn’t fathom why until it struck him that she’d just saved his life. Twice. The arrow had never been meant for him. And now that it was all over, her body was finally reacting to the situation. She was gasping from the rush of adrenalin as she continued to watch him. Hoping he was all right. Hoping she’d gotten all the poison off of him before his body had been given a chance to absorb it through his open wound. Hoping she’d been in time.

“Yulen?”

Without thinking, he reached up and grasped her shoulders, drawing her down to him. Drew her down so he could take her lips. Lips that were wet from being splashed with the same cool lake water. Lips that never objected to the ones that sought hers, but instead passed her heat back into him. Her hunger met his, equaled his, and the onslaught of their newly-discovered desire left them both breathless but wanting more, needing more.

Releasing her right arm, he placed his free hand behind her head, bringing her closer. Now she was lying across him, her own hands entwined in his hair as her mouth answered his, pressing and devouring with lips and tongue. Her breasts rubbed against his chest, and faintly Yulen wondered how she would feel naked against him. Her hips were directly over his groin. The need to press his hardening length into her was too great to ignore.

He rolled over with her, pinning her to the ground beneath him, and released her burning mouth to find the silken length of her neck. His hips moved on their own, digging into the juncture between her legs until she parted them. And then he shoved himself even harder against the thin fabric, wanting her to know how much she affected him. She whispered his name until she could place little kisses under his ear where a tiny red line marked the trail of the arrow.

It was the sound of many men trampling noisily through the underbrush, calling for them, that finally separated them. Shakily, Yulen got to his knees as Atty backed away and slowly stood. Neither of them could look each other in the face. Not just yet. Both their nerves and emotions had been raised to fever pitch, and it would take a moment longer for them to regain their breath and their sanity.

“Yulen!”

Of course, it would be MaGrath who reached them first. “We heard the screaming! What—” His face blanched as he caught sight of the creature cooling in death scant feet away. “Oh, dearest mother on earth!” He choked, gagging, but kept his dignity.

Another soldier helped Yulen to his feet, and the Battle Lord turned around to see what Atty had managed to save him from.

After the Great Concussion, when nature had turned itself inside out to spawn creatures from the very bowels of hell, many animals changed slightly. Some changed drastically. But a rare handful were so grotesquely malformed and reshaped that their resemblance to what they used to be was only a dream.

The animal that had tried to attack Yulen might have been a ferret three centuries ago. Now it no longer could be called anything remotely animalistic. Fur had been replaced by huge, bleeding sores. Sores that acted like armor plating, preventing the blade of a knife or sword from penetrating the impossibly tough hide. The body had retained its long, slinky shape, but it now measured a good ten feet from horned nose to the tip of its spiked tail. The animal had mutated to where it bore two venom-filled pouches on either side of its mouth, giving it the ability to bite, poison, and swallow its prey in one simple sweep of its extended neck. Prey that would find itself frozen rigid but still cognizant by the time it reached the beast’s stomach and digestive tract.

As another soldier nearby lost his lunch over a batch of wild mushrooms, Yulen realized why Atty had held herself in check for so long. She’d had the one arrow and no other chance once that one was gone. So she had waited for the ferret to open its mouth as it stalked him. Waited for that exact and only moment when she could shoot the arrow into the animal’s maw, puncturing one of the venom sacs before the projectile sent the creature’s own poison into the depths of its brain. She’d screamed when the ruptured sac had sprayed over them both, but in her foresight she’d brought along the skin of water. Just in case.

She was the hunter. Yulen bowed to her superiority. He could not begin to imagine what she had seen as the horror slowly approached him from behind with its mouth extending.

Clapping a hand to his friend’s shoulder, Yulen let the physician lead him back to the road. His clothes were sodden, and here and there flecks of the greenish ichor still clung to them. Once he reached his horse, Yulen looked up to see where Atty had gone, and was relieved to see MaGrath checking her over. He saw her motioning his way, and presently the physician appeared with another bag of water.

“Better let me clean out that cut again, just for good measure.”

Nodding, Yulen closed his eyes and let the physician do another wash. In their world, one could never take too many precautions.

“How is she?” he asked softly, smoothing his wet hair down against his skull.

“You’re damn lucky,” MaGrath breathed softly. “Too damn lucky. If we hadn’t had her with us, there’s no telling what kind of damage that thing could have done.”

“I asked, how is she?” Yulen repeated. His words stung.

“Shaken, but otherwise okay.” He sniffed. “The stench of that thing still surrounds the both of you.”

Yulen agreed. Once they reached Foster City, the first thing he wanted to do was take a hot bath and get a clean set of clothing. He glanced over to where Atty was leaning heavily against her horse. She was drained, he could tell. Yet she deserved as much when they arrived there, if not more. A lot more.

His lips could still feel the pressure of hers. His hands tingled with the memory of her skin. The ache he had felt between his legs echoed with the ghost of passion.

When they reached Foster City, he swore to himself he would finally get to see the glory of her deep blue hair.

Quietly he strode over to where she stood with her eyes closed, her face pressed to the leather, her hands clutching the edges of the saddle. As he placed his hands around her slender waist, she started, turning to see who was behind her. Their eyes locked for a moment, then she lowered her face and placed one boot into the stirrup. Yulen helped her up into the saddle, then grabbed the reins before stepping away. Atty looked down at him, waiting.

“Stay beside me,” he whispered so only she could hear. Slowly she nodded.

Stay beside me. Yulen hoped she understood what he really meant. That it wasn’t an order, but a request. A plea. Stay beside me, riding together, at the head of the line...

And then...stay beside me long after we’ve reached our destination.

Stay beside me.

They would reach Foster City tomorrow. Until then...

Chapter Fifteen

Admission

They pitched camp soon after dusk as it was never safe to move at night. Yulen checked on his men to make sure everything was still going as smoothly as possible, despite recent events. Several of the soldiers expressed their concern and gratitude over the close call he’d had with the ferret. One even ventured so far as to give the warrior girl credit for seeking it out and destroying it before it could attack them. That small concession gave Yulen heart.

MaGrath was sitting at his fire when he finally returned. The physician stood as he approached, hands on his hips. “We were expecting you to come eat with us,” MaGrath commented.

“I had to check on my men first.”

“I know.”

Yulen paused, then snorted softly. “Really, Liam. I’m exhausted. Perhaps tomorrow, once we reach Foster City.”

“No can do,” the man shook his head. “She’s on her last legs as well, but she’s expecting to see you.” He gave the Battle Lord a piercing look. “Something happened back there, and I can’t quite put my finger on it, but the dynamics between the two of you have changed. I don’t know if it’s for the better or for the worse, but I’m caught in the middle of it. You haven’t eaten since early this morning, so as your doctor I’m ordering you to come to my fire for something to fill you up.” He gave a grin. “She even found some wild onions to go with that squirrel.”

Yulen stretched, relenting, and let MaGrath lead the way to where he was settled for the night.

The first thing he noticed was that the wide bandage that had covered the one side of her face had been removed. MaGrath even commented on it.

“Time for her scabs to see the light of day. Once they fall away on their own, hopefully there shouldn’t be too much scarring. Of course, it’ll be another couple of weeks before her cheekbone is completely knitted.”

Yulen stopped dead in his tracks as cold guilt seized him. He had been so intent on claiming her kisses, he’d totally forgotten about the extent of her injuries. Lowering his gaze, he took a seat on the ground before the fire and crossed his legs before MaGrath’s never-miss-a-thing eyes saw his hesitation and asked more probing questions.

The squirrel smelled tempting. Dripping fat hissed in the fire as the carcass roasted on the spit. Yulen noticed that the warrior girl had removed her heavy leather outerwear and the furred sweater, just as he had also doffed his ruined jerkin. Now she had on a simple sleeveless blouse of a nondescript color. Another stab of guilt passed through him as he realized they’d taken her away from the compound without a single personal possession except for the longbow and quiver. At least he’d had another shirt in his saddlebags.

From the moment he approached the fire they had not locked eyes. For once Yulen was thankful for MaGrath’s easygoing banter to fill the awkward void. He watched as Atty shredded the meat, adding some of the small onions and greens she’d stuffed in the animal before handing him a trencher. Their fingers brushed for a second, and she finally looked up at him. The expression he saw there was enough to bring a smile to one corner of his mouth.

“So, I guess we have to add the title of cook to your list of accomplishments,” he teased.

“Sometimes a hunter has to be able to cook what he’s captured, or the meat could go to waste before he can get it back to the compound, and the hunt would be for naught, don’t you agree?” Her words were sharp, but Yulen saw the twinkle in the depth of her gaze.

“Agreed, which is why you’ve piqued my curiosity. How would you have cooked that ferret back down the road? I don’t think a spit’s been made to hold a carcass that size.”

“Then we would do what we did for the badger. Or have you forgotten so soon?”

MaGrath grinned. “Ah, she got you there, Yulen. Dig a pit to roast it in, is that what you mean?”

Atty tilted her head over her own plate. “Actually, now that I think of it, we may have been too hasty leaving the animal behind.”

Yulen paused, a bite halfway to his mouth. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No. Only the head held the venom. And it died before any of it got into its bloodstream. Damn.” It was clear that she was angry with herself. What had begun as light fun had turned into serious consideration. “How stupid could I have been?” she berated herself softly.

“What do you mean?” Yulen asked, suddenly attentive.

“We could have tried the meat. There’s not that many animals we’ve found that aren’t palatable. And even if its meat had turned out to be too strong to stomach, there was still the venom. Damn! Can you imagine how toxic my arrows could have been with the barbs dipped in that thing’s poison?”

“We’re not going back to retrieve any part of that creature,” Yulen told her.

She nodded. “I understand. Maybe next time.”

“Oh, sweet heavens, let’s hope there’s not a next time!” MaGrath exclaimed before leaning over the fire to carve himself another portion. Yulen glanced up to see Atty watching him, but now her eyes were hooded, the damaged side of her face mostly shadowed by the fire in the deepening night. He continued to stare at her, his eyes lingering over the curve of her cheek and the softness of her lips, before he realized how beautiful she was. Despite her injuries and swollen nose, she had a strong profile.

“—when we get to Foster City?” MaGrath asked him.

“Pardon?” Yulen started, unaware he’d been asked a question.

The physician smiled but kept his observation to himself. “What’s the first thing you plan to do when we get to Foster City?” he repeated.

“Dunk myself in the hottest bath with the strongest bar of soap they make,” he laughed. Immediately he winced. The scar wasn’t quite set. His hand went to the gash and realized he’d opened it once again. MaGrath sighed and reached behind him for a clean cloth from his saddlebags to hand it over.

“Thanks.” Yulen held it to his face. For some reason the burning sensation felt good. It centered him and gave him a strong sense of the here and now. He was only vaguely aware of the physician getting to his feet.

“You two have done your duty for the day. Now it’s time I earned my keep and check to see if any of the men are needing my attention. Will you be all right until I get back?” he pointedly asked the Battle Lord.

Yulen waved him on. The physician laughed softly, then grabbed his quilled leather bag containing his medicines and walked off, leaving the two of them alone.

Yulen glanced at the cloth. There was a thin smear of blood on it. He pressed the cloth back against the wound and sighed. He glanced up and saw the warrior girl watching him. “Talk to me,” he said in a low voice.

She tilted her head in a way he now knew was a habit she had whenever she was thinking. “What were you thinking when I had you freeze back there?”

There was too much that had happened between them now for him to give her any other answer except the truth. “I thought you were going to kill me,” he replied bluntly. To his surprise, she seemed to expect his answer.

“Because you still think of me as the enemy,” she said flatly.

Yulen shook his head. “No. Not anymore.” He glanced up. “Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Still think of me as your enemy?”

“Only when you make one of your crappy statements,” she said.

Yulen snorted softly. “Liam said you called me an asshole.”

“I sure did, and I will. Every time you act like one.”

His eyes raked over her, noting her ease with him. “Fair enough. And whenever you put on airs, I’ll be the first one to bring you down a peg or two as a reminder.”

Her eyes widened. “Me? When have I ever put on airs?”

Yulen checked the cloth again to see if the bleeding had stopped. It had, and he dropped the rag into his lap. “When you try to prove to my men that you are superior in the art of hunting.”

“But I am.”

“And we are superior to you in the art of warfare, and in how we can protect our homes and loved ones. But I don’t go lauding that over you. If my men are going to learn from you, first you have to gain their trust. I’m doing all I can to make them see you the way I see you, so that they’ll listen to you and follow your lead when it’s time.”

Atty gave him a long look. “And how do you see me?” she asked in a small voice.

Immediately memories of her in his arms flooded his thoughts, and Yulen dropped his head. “I don’t see you as Mutah any longer, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Then...if I’m no longer the enemy...and no longer Mutah...what am I?” she asked, her voice even softer.

Lifting his knees, Yulen leaned back against the tree and rested his hands on them. Once the ferret had been killed and the caravan had continued on its way, they had not spoken a word to each other until tonight. But what had occurred back in the forest, what they had felt and done, sooner or later he knew they had to discuss it.

Taking a deep breath and keeping his eyes locked on his hands, Yulen wondered how to broach the subject. “Atty—”

“I want...I want to stay with you,” she admitted in a feathery voice.

He glanced up. Her face was lowered, her hands clasped in her lap.

“You’ll be able to remain at Alta Novis until you’ve fulfilled your duty—”

“I meant tonight.”

Her admission rocked him. “You can’t,” he whispered.

“Why?” She lifted her face, and he could see it shining wetly in the firelight. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, noting they smelled slightly of onion.

“When we get to Foster City, the Battle Lord there will assign us lodging for the night. You’ll be able to have your own room with a real bed and—”

“And what?”

“Annnd...you won’t have to worry about someone sneaking up on you and maybe attacking you. At least, I won’t have to worry about that happening to you,” he amended. He listened to the sounds of the men in the camp as they prepared for sleep. It was a comforting, familiar scenario.

“Yul?”

He snorted, smiling slightly. “My mother is the only person to ever call me that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No. Don’t be. You’ll get to meet her when we get home.” Home. Funny how the word had suddenly obtained a double meaning. “Be careful, though, how you refer to me in front of my men. Liam calls me by my first name because he used to work under my father’s aegis. He’s known me since I was born.”

“How old are you now?” she asked.

“I’m almost thirty. I took my father’s sword after he died two years ago. And you?”

“I’ve seen twenty springs.”

He saw her wipe her cheeks as the salty tears stung her abraded skin.

“Yul? Before we say anything further, I must ask you. For my sanity’s sake. Is there someone waiting for you in Alta Novis? A w-woman? A...wife?”

He started to open his mouth to answer when she interrupted him, speaking quickly before she lost her courage.

“I can’t forget what you did to me back in the forest. What we did. I can’t erase how I felt or what...” She took a shuddering breath as her tears began to fall again. “So if there’s someone else, if you have claimed a wife or a mistress, or there is another woman who’ll claim you for her own once we reach your compound, I need to know now. I need to you tell me the truth, so I can be ready for it when I see her.”

Hiding his anger, Yulen softly asked her, “Do you believe I would have touched you if I’d already given my heart to another?”

“What am I supposed to believe?”

He could tell she sensed his irritation, and it seemed to give her hope. Maybe she was hoping his anger wasn’t sparked from guilt.

“Why can’t I stay with you tonight?” Atty insisted.

Awkwardly, Yulen got to his feet. His muscles protested from sitting prone too long. In fact, his whole body ached. “I think we’re through talking for tonight,” he snapped, keeping his voice low as he tossed the bloody rag at her. “As for my life’s history, and what you can expect when we get to my compound, why don’t you ask Liam? He won’t lie to you, any more than I would. No, I have no wife, because I’ve never cared for that kind of relationship. Yes, I have a mistress. In fact, I’ve had several mistresses. Now, those are uncomplicated, yet satisfying relationships. Is that what you wanted to know?”

He watched as she lowered her face in her hands, but she never made a sound. Irritated, the Battle Lord left the fire and returned to his own bedroll a few yards down the road. He knew he’d have to face MaGrath in the morning, but right now he didn’t care.

The warrior girl was getting under his skin, and it was a feeling he didn’t particularly like at the moment. What difference did it make if he had a mistress?

It had been a trying day for all of them. Thank heavens Foster City was just another half-day’s ride. Perhaps there he would be able to get a clearer grasp on things in order to sketch out a more definite plan of action for when they arrived home.

And maybe by then, Yulen realized to himself, he would be able to face the truth about Atty.

Atty.

Atrilan.

“Damn.”

Chapter Sixteen

Gone

He sensed the person behind him before he opened his eyes. Training and reflexes took over, and he had his short dagger at the man’s throat before he’d drawn a second breath. In the dim morning light, Yulen stared at the brown eyes giving him a definitely dirty look.

“You know, you take asshole to a whole new level,” MaGrath said scathingly. “You wanna get that thing away from my neck?”

Yulen glanced around. It was barely daylight. The men were beginning to stir, readying themselves for when the Battle Lord would order them back on the road.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he asked, not bothering to mask his irritation. This was not a good way to get on his good side, and MaGrath knew it. No one snuck up on a trained soldier when he slept, especially when they were still outside the safety of a compound. Yulen re-sheathed his dagger and sat up.

“I leave you two alone together for, what? No more than an hour. And when I get back she’s huddled up in a little ball with her back turned to me. She won’t say anything. Won’t tell me what’s eating at her. Won’t tell me if she needs medication. And things were just fine when I went to go check on the men. Which leaves only one logical conclusion. You said something to her, and you didn’t care what the consequences would be.”

Yulen rolled to his feet and grabbed his bedroll, shaking it out before folding it to pack. MaGrath knew the silent treatment all too well. Whenever the man was confronted with the truth, he wouldn’t deny it. But neither would he own up to it. It was like prying out teeth to get the Battle Lord to admit to being wrong.

“Since when am I supposed to be careful what I say around a prisoner?” Yulen finally commented.

MaGrath crossed his arms over his chest before he used a fist to knock some sense into the younger man’s head. “Oh, so she’s a prisoner again? Well, here’s a news flash for you, oh great and powerful Battle Lord. She’s gone.”

“Gone?” Yulen froze.

“Which would mean you have an escaped prisoner now.”

“What do you mean she’s gone?”

“Since when haven’t you understood the concept? Gone. Vanished. Ran away.”

“When?”

“Last night or early this morning. How the hell can I tell?”

Yulen stepped over to the physician. Suddenly his anger and irritation were melted away with the knowledge the warrior girl had fled the protection of the caravan. “Did she take the horse?”

MaGrath shook his head. “Nope, but she took her bow and quiver. She’s on foot. Oh, sure, go ahead and try to look for her,” he commented, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he watched the Battle Lord preparing his mount.

“What do you expect me to do?” Yulen shot back.

“Do you honestly think you’ll find her? Use your head, Yulen. She could survive in these woods for the rest of her life if she needed to. This is her world. Her element. Hell, she could be hours away by now, heading back to her compound.”

Yulen emphatically shook his head. “No. She’d never make that mistake. She knows if she returns my men will know she’s broken the treaty.”

MaGrath couldn’t help but laugh—a short, humorless bark. “Oh, this gets better by the minute. A great and powerful Battle Lord who can no longer think for himself, who has severely underestimated the enemy, and a girl for that matter! Yulen, she killed sixteen of our best men! She faced down a bull ferret and lived! Not to mention pulled your fat out the fire. Do you honestly think she’s going to let a handful of our representatives stop her from returning to the only home she’s ever known? For once, get that sense of self-righteousness out of your butt where you’ve shoved it and start listening to your advisors. Screw them, listen to me!”

He walked over to where Yulen continued to buckle the saddle around his horse’s girth. Slamming a hand down on the pommel, he stared over the animal at the man. “Okay, say you find her by some miracle. What do you plan to say to her that you haven’t already said? How much more damage do you think you can do that you haven’t already done? What did you say to her, Yulen? Why did you drive her away?”

“Me?” A dark cloud descended on Yulen’s face, turning his mood black. “I have to find her, Liam. She has to listen to me.”

“Why? So you can have her teach the troops all her marvelous tricks with a bow? Hey, it was a good plan in the beginning, Yulen, but it can’t be your only excuse anymore. Not anymore. I know you too well, and I’ve known you too long. You can fool a lot of people, but I know better. And when we get to Alta Novis, so will Madigan. She’ll see right through you. You were going to tell her, weren’t you?”

The dark cloud didn’t disperse, but Yulen’s tone of voice became guarded. “She wouldn’t approve.”

“Oh, yeah? Since when did you become such an expert mind reader?”

“She’s my mother.”

“Yeah, and she’s my closest friend, next to you,” MaGrath shot back. “Dearest God in heaven, Yulen. Admit to yourself how you feel about her! It’s okay to be terrified over the fact that she’s a mutant. Are you thinking the men are going to mutiny when they learn?”

“Learn what, Liam? Tell me, since you think you know everything,” the Battle Lord snapped.

MaGrath refused to back down. “Learn that you’ve finally found the one woman you can’t beat. The one who is your equal. The one who haunts your sleep. The one you can’t stop thinking of when she’s not with you, and can’t stop looking at when she is.”

Yulen slapped the reins over his horse’s neck so hard the animal jerked and nearly reared in fright. Realizing he was taking out his anger on the poor beast, he murmured a few soothing words to the stallion and petted it on the neck. MaGrath watched as the Battle Lord calmed the animal, and waited for him to make the next move.

“When did you know?” Yulen finally asked him in the same tone of voice he was using on the horse.

“Since that night when you went alone into the shop and cut the ropes from her wrists.”

The physician didn’t flinch under the returning glare. “You were watching?”

“I didn’t get much sleep that night, not that you ever noticed. I couldn’t take the chance of another soldier taking his anger out on her.”

Another full minute of silence passed between them. Mastin approached and informed the Battle Lord the men would be ready to travel in five minutes, to which Yulen nodded his approval. Once the Second had left, he turned back to MaGrath.

“What do you suggest I do, then? Just leave her here?”

“We’re only a few miles from Foster City. She knows that. Give her some time to decide if she wants to tag along, remain here, or go back to her home. It gives you two out of three chances to see her again. And if my hunch is correct, you’ll get at least one last try to make amends.”

“Amends?”

“Yeah. And try not to screw it up this next time, would you? You may not get another chance, even though she’s willing to do the unforgivable.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Yulen accused him.

“Hey, well, consider it a perk of the profession. Whenever I find something I want answers to, I can always use my soothing bedside manner to find out. Besides, she asked me a thousand and one questions about us...about Alta Novis...about you. I felt it only fair I asked a few in return.”

“You’re an extremely obnoxious man when you want to be,” Yulen growled.

This time MaGrath’s responsive laughter was genuine. “You sound just like your father when you talk that way. Okay, bluntly? I asked her why she was still a virgin. Want to hear her reason?”

MaGrath was right, and Yulen knew it. There wasn’t anything the young man could hide from the physician. “Tell me.”

“She’s considered by her people to be unobtainable. She’s hands-off material. They firmly believe that if she gives herself to a man, that her skills, her ability to find game when no one else can, her extraordinary sight, her uncanny hearing, her unerring accuracy, her...uniqueness...will disappear.”

Yulen hesitated. “Would it?” he asked.

MaGrath shrugged. “If she were a Normal, I’d say hogwash. But she’s not a Normal, so who’s to say? Maybe they know something we don’t. After all, how many women in your lifetime have you known who can do what she does? Who else would’ve face down a bull ferret with one arrow?” He leaned over the saddle and dropped his voice. “How many men could have done that?”

“So why are we having this conversation?” Yulen asked, sounding completely exhausted. To make matters worse, a cloud had settled overhead and was beginning to drop thick droplets of rain on them. “Why go after her when...when there’s not a chance to ever have her?”

“What did you say to her, Yulen? What triggered her to give up?”

The Battle Lord leaned against his horse and pressed his forehead against his hands wrapped in the reins. “She wanted to stay with me last night but I turned her away.” Lifting his face, he told him, “That’s when she wanted to know if I already had a wife or a mistress in Alta Novis.”

“I can already guess what you told her,” MaGrath grimaced. “No to a wife, and yes to a mistress, correct?”

“Liam...”

“You stupid cretin,” the physician whispered heatedly. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll ride somewhere in the middle of the line today until we reach Foster City. I need some space and fresh air to get rid of this rather sick lump in the pit of my stomach.”

Yulen watched his dearest friend walk slowly away, head bent against the coming storm. As the wind picked up, he threw himself into the saddle and went out to signal the caravan to begin down the road. As they passed by where he remained on alert, he couldn’t help himself from scanning the roadside, hoping to catch some sign, something that would tell him she was there watching as well.

Could he apologize if he saw her again? Could he accept her for what she was? Could he accept what she was offering?

What if she did lose her “special gift” by giving herself to him? Would he still care about her? Would he still think of her in the same way?

Gritting his teeth, Yulen pulled his horse around and galloped to the front of the line. They would reach Foster City by afternoon at the earliest. Maybe by then he’d have sorted things out.

Then again, maybe things wouldn’t get any better until she came back.

You know, you take asshole to a whole new level.

Like always, the physician was right on the money.

Chapter Seventeen

Tins

They didn’t stop for noon meal, but instead went straight into Foster City, passing through the huge double oaken gates at little after two in the middle of a brutally cold downpour. Zane Batuset, the compound’s Battle Lord and ally to Alta Novis, welcomed Yulen and his men with open arms, warm blankets, and a table already set with enough food to feed thirty men.

For the next few hours Yulen fielded questions over their late lunch about the mysterious Mutah woman who had slain so many of his men, and the reason why D’Jacques had decided to spare her life and bring her to Alta Novis. When it was made known the girl had escaped just before morning, Batuset offered to send a platoon of men with Yulen to help search for her, but Yulen declined.

“She’s in her element now,” MaGrath interjected into the conversation. “You won’t ever find her unless she so wishes. Besides, if you piss her off, she just might put an arrow through your eye or ear or mouth, or any other orifice you show her.”

The room tittered with laughter until Mastin spoke out unexpectedly. “I think the Battle Lord’s interest in the maiden may have become more than a passing fancy,” he commented.

Yulen shot him a look that would melt metal, but the Second shrugged.

Batuset cleared his throat and chuckled. “What would make you say that, Cole?”

Instead of turning to the leader of Foster City, Mastin instead looked at his commander. “During the ride we saw the girl shift her allegiance to him when she saved him from the bull ferret.”

The room stilled to the point where the only sound was the steady beating of the rain on the roof.

“A bull ferret?” Dardin Tabb repeated. He was Batuset’s Second in command but had taken his seat near the head table, closer to Mastin, so they could trade stories after the Battle Lords had retired. “How large an animal was it?”

“A good ten feet from horn to spike,” Mastin answered.

“How did she save him?” Batuset inquired, his interest now very much heightened.

“She put an arrow through the creature’s mouth so that it punctured one of its venom sacs and sent its own poison into its brain,” the Second responded.

“One arrow?” a voice from the table echoed. It belonged to one of Batuset’s men.

Mastin deferred to his leader. As the entire room shifted their attention to Yulen, he grasped his mug of beer even tighter.

“One arrow,” Yulen sighed.

“At what range?” Batuset asked.

Closing his eyes, Yulen could vividly remember sensing the animal rising over his left shoulder, but his eyes had been locked on the tip of the arrow. On the clear, unworried look in her eye. On the tiny shivers in her hands and arms as she held her one chance pulled all the way back on the longbow. The strain, the pressure on her arms, had to have been intense, he realized now.

“The thing was directly over my shoulder, about to strike me. She was perhaps eight, maybe ten feet away.”

Subconsciously he raised a hand to his face and touched the line along his cheek where the arrow had marked him. The ghost of a memory pressed soft, cool lips against the bleeding scratch with passionate little kisses. He shook his shoulders and rolled his neck to ease the tension.

Several men in the room made little sounds of disbelief and amazement. Batuset whistled his appreciation at the girl’s skill. “And you say you wanted her to teach your men how to use their bows with the same degree of accuracy? Have you thought about sharing her with your ally?”

“Rather a moot point now, don’t you think?” Yulen reminded him and shoved his mug across the table.

“Well, if you do manage to get her back, how do you think Collaunt’s going to react to this bit of news? You having a Mutah bow master training your archers?” Batuset casually draped a leg over the arm of his chair. “That man’s gotten to be a much more dangerous enemy than you’re willing to admit, Yulen. Three hard days’ ride or no, he’s your neighbor to your south, and he’s close enough to have spies report every little thing to him to where he could have his army back at your front gate in a week’s time.” Adding a shake of his head, he said, “Mark my words. The man is determined to add Alta Novis to his holdings. You know you have my full support in case he tries, but don’t forget he’s gotten to be a bigger tyrant since Rory’s death.”

Suddenly Yulen no longer felt hungry or thirsty, just very, very tired. The older Battle Lord remembered they had been traveling for many weeks, and were on their final leg on their return home. Getting to his feet, Batuset once more gave them welcome.

“Your quarters have been prepared. You may stay until you feel the need to continue on.”

Yulen rose and bowed to the man. “Thank you, but I only planned to stay the night. There are families at home I know who are anxious to have their kin back at the compound...and families not knowing they’ll have to prepare for a burial. The sooner we get to Alta Novis, the better.”

Batuset nodded. “I understand. You’re welcome for the night, then. My house will serve you and your men an adequate breakfast to get you decently on the road. Is there anything else you’ll need?”

Yulen managed a small but sincere smile. “You’ve provided more than enough for us, Zane. Thank you.”

“Give Madigan my regards when you get home,” Batuset told him.

Yulen assured him he would, then turned and left the room, climbing the broad stairs of the lodge to where his room was located at the far end of the building. He liked this room, having stayed in it countless times in the past. It was large and airy, and very easy to defend in case an enemy breached the walls. The staircase was the only way in and out, although the windows directly overlooked the surrounding forest and road leading home.

At the speed they were traveling, they were two days from Alta Novis—or one very long day if he pushed the men. Yulen stared out the window and snorted softly. His men were already chomping at the bit in their need to get home. To be this close...

Hell with it. As soon as everyone was saddled up in the morning, he’d set the pace at a brisk trot. That should satisfy the troops and get them back not long after sunset.

A knock at the door drew his attention. “Enter.”

A young maiden entered with his saddlebags, laying them across the foot of the bed. “Your horses have been stabled for the night,” she informed him.

“Thanks. That’ll be all.”

She smiled, and for a brief second he saw another smile in the curl of her lip. He turned away from her to gaze back out the window until she was gone.

The rain continued to pour from a sky the color of dull lead, making it seem later than it really was. It beat cold and hard, not quite ice, but close. Already the road was spotted with growing puddles of water. Yulen wondered if the weather would hold, or if there was a chance it would break up by morning.

How was she doing in this weather? Regardless of how good and experienced a hunter she was, she would be affected by the dampness. Was she huddled someplace, keeping dry? Was she able to have a fire? She didn’t have any more arrows. Was she hungry, or had she managed to trap something for her supper? Was she able to secure herself more ammunition? Surely part of her training and experience included making more arrows, but what about barbs?

Another thought came to him. What about her injuries? He knew her wrists were doing okay, but what about her cheek? That was the one that gave her the most pain, and MaGrath wasn’t around to feed her any painkillers.

“Are you in pain, Atrilan?” he whispered almost soundlessly. The rain gave no answer as he continued to stare out the window, ignoring the fact that he was slowly getting soaked from the raindrops ricocheting off the open sill.

Another knock at the door interrupted his thoughts, and this time his irritation was evident in his response. But instead of the young girl who had brought his saddlebags, it was an older woman who opened the door.

“Excuse me, sir, but I was told you were wanting a hot bath?”

“Yes. Thanks.”

The woman smiled. “Want me to have the tub brought in here? Or would you rather use the bath at the end of the hall?”

Yulen mulled over his choices, ending up with preferring the more private one. “Bring in a tub, would you, please?”

“Yes, sir,” she nodded. “It’ll be a few more minutes while the water heats up. I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

“I appreciate it,” he told her, and turned his back on her before she’d closed the door.

Despite it being the middle of the afternoon, the sky was as dark as if it were dusk. Yulen felt every muscle ache. He had been gone too long this time. Gone too long and seen too much. An involuntary shudder went through him as the ghost of a bull ferret breathed its venomous breath over his back, and Yulen wondered if he would suffer any nightmares from the memory.

For the third time a knock barked on the door. Yulen grimaced. Until he got his bath, he knew he wouldn’t have a peaceful moment to himself.

“Yes! What is it this time?” he called out. This time it was MaGrath who opened the door. The look on his face made Yulen stare back wide-eyed. “What?”

“My tins are gone,” the physician said in a tight voice.

“The painkillers? Will we need any more before we get to the compound?”

“You don’t understand. The tins were with me when we arrived. I know. I fed some powder to Karv right before we were fed. But they’re gone now.”

“Were they in your kit?” Yulen asked.

MaGrath shook his head. “In my coat pocket. Yulen...Atty’s nearby...and she has to be hurting.”

“Are you sure?” He had to know, with no amount of uncertainty.

“No one but she would have known that’s where I put the tins after I medicated Karv. It was just me and him outside, and instead of replacing them in the kit like I normally would, I just stuck them in my coat pocket.”

Yulen’s eyes raked over him. “Where’s your coat now?”

“I took it off and draped it over the back of my chair before I sat down to eat. It wasn’t until after I got to my room that I realized I’d left it in the dining room, so I went back to get it.”

“Was it still there?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I grabbed it, but something didn’t feel right, so I stuck my hand in that pocket. That’s when I discovered the tins were gone. Both of them.”

“How can you be certain Atty got them? How do you know one of the help didn’t take them? Or one of the soldiers?”

A look he couldn’t describe passed over the physician’s face. MaGrath tossed something at him, which he caught in mid-air. As his fingers closed over it, he felt it bite painfully into his palm.

“Tell me one of the help, or that one of the soldiers would leave this behind,” he said scathingly.

Yulen stared in shock at the small barb stuck in the palm of his hand. A barb used to tip an arrow. He glanced back at the physician, who was waiting for a sign of understanding.

“She left it for me to find, knowing I would bring it to you. She’s out there right now, Yulen. She’s calling for help, calling for you. For God’s sake, Yulen, go get her.”

Without waiting for the man to make another comment, Yulen rushed out the door and pounded down the stairs.

Mastin was still in the common room, along with Dardin Tabb and several other soldiers from both his troops and Batuset’s compound. Seeing his leader burst into the room, the Second jumped to his feet, prepared to follow. Yulen raised a hand to dismiss him as he hurried by.

“Not this time, Mastin. This is a private matter.”

The Second nodded, but continued to stare after the Battle Lord as the man threw open one of the outer doors and slipped out into the drenching rain.

Yulen was completely soaked by the time he reached the stables and ordered one of the help to saddle his horse. While he waited just inside the tack room, his eyes scanned the outer wall and whatever else he could see from where he stood.

She had managed to slip inside a guarded compound, into a heavily fortified Battle Lord’s lodge, exchange the medicine tins for a barbed tip of an arrow, and had gotten out without anyone seeing her. Despite the rain, despite everything, she had followed them. And then she had risked being detected to leave him a message. When she could just have easily taken the tins, leaving MaGrath uncertain and scratching his head, she’d deliberately made sure he would know who had taken them. If Batuset’s men caught her, unless she could defend herself, they would kill her. That meant he had to get to her first...if she would let him.

Yulen frowned, his jaws clenched. She would let him, he promised himself.

She left it for me to find, knowing I would bring it to you. She’s out there right now, Yulen. She’s calling for help, calling for you. For God’s sake, Yulen, go get her.

Dear God, let’s hope she will, he prayed.

Chapter Eighteen

Confrontation

The horse was reluctant to go back out into the cold rain. By the time Yulen coaxed it into the yard to mount, Mastin was awaiting him on his horse. MaGrath stood beside him. Yulen gave both men an exasperated look.

“You know you have no business going out there by yourself,” the physician stated the obvious. “At least have another sword at your back, just to be on the safe side.”

Yulen nodded, too worried and too anxious to be out there looking for her to argue an inarguable point. He swung into the saddle as his horse was already heading for the gates. Mastin reined in directly behind him. Once they passed through the gates, his Second briefly pulled up next to him. “Where to, Sir?”

“Do you know why we’re out here when the weather’s not fit for man nor beast?” the Battle Lord questioned in a hard voice.

“Yes, sir. To look for the escaped prisoner.”

Rather than correct the man, Yulen nodded and kneed the stallion, and they headed away from the compound, edging along the road.

She couldn’t be too far away, he kept telling himself, and concentrated on searching the woods on the eastern edge of the compound. Like all compounds, Foster City sat to the side of the main road that linked communities from as far south as the Louisy Provinces to Far Troit in the north. That meant that on three sides the compound’s defenses overlooked the road—coming, passing, and going—leaving only the one side directly facing the woods. And, like all other fortresses, the woods had been cleared back a minimum of five hundred yards to prevent a sneak attack from enemy forces.

Yulen was certain Atty wouldn’t risk detection by hanging around the roadside. His narrowed search gave him hope he wouldn’t have to look for long.

Mastin never questioned him when, as they reached the edge of the woods at the southern end of the compound, the Battle Lord left the gravel and began pushing through the dense undergrowth, heading east.

The rain continued at a slow but steady rate. It forced Yulen to keep his head down as his eyes raked the ground and waist-high brush for the sign he knew she would have left for him. He just hoped he would recognize it when he saw it.

They were nearly dead-center between the northern and southern borders when his mount suddenly shied, snorting in fear. Yulen fought the stallion for a moment, finally managing to swing the horse back to the low outcropping that jutted outward from a sparse tangle of deformed oak. Narrowing his eyes, Yulen peered closer at the limestone formation and found what he had been seeking. It was a feather, its center totally stripped of its silken, hair-like barbs until the shaft and quill resembled a tiny arrow with fletching.

It pointed directly into the heart of the forest.

The horse made its unease known by backing away from the outcropping, forcing the Battle Lord to tighten the reins before pivoting the animal back into position. He glanced down at the symbolic arrow again just as a soft trilling noise came from beyond the trees directly ahead, inside the forest, past the invisible barrier that separated the barren land from the curtain of green. A trilling he’d heard once before and would never forget. Quickly, Yulen slid out of his saddle, dropping the reins to the ground.

“Sir?” Mastin whispered. He’d pulled his sword the moment he’d heard the bird-like call, and now prepared to dismount as well to follow his leader.

Yulen raised his hand to stay the soldier. “No. Remain here and watch my horse,” he ordered.

“But—”

“Obey me,” Yulen hissed suddenly. His face brooked no further argument from the Second, who lowered himself back into his seat.

Mastin continued to keep his eyes glued on his leader as the man carefully began to thread his way through the brush, pushing directly into the forest. At the last moment before the Battle Lord was completely swallowed up in its leafy green darkness, he realized the man had yet to draw his sword.

Yulen kept a partial eye on where he was treading. Once inside the grove, beneath the larger trees, the leafy canopy kept much of the rain from finding its way to the forest floor. Still, the ground was saturated to the point of becoming treacherous and slippery if he wasn’t too careful about where he put his weight.

He followed his gut instinct, searching the undergrowth, although the trilling sound didn’t repeat. As he moved further and further into the woods, he realized that finding her would no longer be an option on his part. It was late afternoon and the cloud cover made for poor visibility. It would be a matter now of her revealing herself to him.

Another ten feet into the deepest part of the forest...then twenty feet...and Yulen stepped into a tiny clearing almost oblong in shape. He started, then straightened up to face the warrior girl who stood at the opposite end of the clearing. She was aiming an arrow directly at him.

Tiny drops of water found their way into the clearing from the rain dripping off the early spring leaves overhead. Yulen heard them hitting the dry leaves on the ground with soft plicking sounds as he watched and waited, wondering who would be first to speak. Wondering if she was okay.

She appeared to be okay. At first. Until he noticed she was standing holding her bead on him with her other hand. When she had drawn on the ferret, the longbow had been in her right hand, her left hand pulling back. He would swear it on his life. But now the bow was in her left hand, the arrow in her right.

Was he supposed to notice the switch? Did it mean anything that she’d changed her stance?

He stared intently at the new arrow. It was a bit crooked, obviously made in haste and without the proper tools. Regardless, it looked as though it could do considerable damage if shot into the right place.

“I keep extra barbs in a compartment in the bottom of my quiver,” she said in a tight voice.

A shiver ran up Yulen’s spine. She sounded despondent and resigned. Why?

“Why did you leave the caravan?” he asked aloud. Her aim never wavered, never showed any sign she was under any undue stress, despite the fact that the tension on the bow was enormous.

“Thank Liam for me that you got my message,” she said instead of answering his question.

He raised a hand toward her. “Is this why you led me here? To put an arrow through me? You could have easily done that at any other time.”

“I brought you here to let you know I was heading west, toward the great gulf.”

He took a step toward her. In response her back stiffened but the arrow never moved. Given the distance, Yulen knew it would be an easy chest shot.

“Why did you need tell me that? Why not just go?”

“Because I knew you would think I would head back to Wallis, and I was afraid your men would hurt more of my people, trying to pry my whereabouts from them. Well, I’m not.”

He took another step, and this time she also stepped back an equal distance. “Don’t come any closer,” she warned.

“Atrilan...”

The sound of her full name caused the tip of the arrow to move slightly. Yulen took hope in it and advanced another step. Suddenly she shifted her aim, moving off of his chest and centering on his legs. She didn’t want to kill him, just wound him enough to keep him from coming after her.

“Go back now. Now. Before you force me to fire.”

“Not without you,” he told her firmly.

“No.” She shook her head, lifting her face off the target. “Don’t come after me. Don’t do anything except go on to Alta Novis. Go back to your precious...whore.”

“I’m not leaving without you. If I have to, I’ll send the troops on ahead, but I’ll be back to find you,” he promised.

“Why? Is having me as your secret weapon that damn important to you?” Her voice wavered, then cracked. Yulen heard her draw a raspy breath. “You would never find me unless I wish it.”

He nodded. “You’re right. Your skill as a hunter far exceeds mine. But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t try. And keep trying. And never give up until I find you. I don’t care if you go to the great gulf or east to the ruined cities.”

She held her stance for a few seconds, then unexpectedly bolted, turning and running for the wall of foliage behind her. Yulen raced after her, trying to head her off, even though she was faster and closer than he was.

Suddenly, without warning, Atty grounded to a halt, whirled around, raised her weapon, aimed, and fired—all in one incredibly swift motion. Yulen let out a gasp of surprise as the arrow embedded itself in the leather lacings of his scabbard and pinned his weapon to a small shattered stump next to him. He looked up to see her staring at him. The expression on her face was a mixture of expectation—expectation...fear...and hope.

She’d never aimed for his legs. She’d hit what she’d set as her target.

Calmly but quickly Yulen unbuckled his sword, dropping the weapon where he stood. Raising his hands, he continued to advance toward her. He hesitated for a split-second when she lifted her bow, another arrow nocked and drawn quicker than he could have blinked.

She killed the ferret with her left hand. She took out the sword with her right. The realization rocked him to the core. Her skills were equally lethal with either hand.

Any warrior who could fight and wield a sword with equal dexterity was a rare find. Men spent years trying to achieve such agility. The longbow was a very specialized weapon, and to find an expert marksman with one hand was a gift. Atty’s skills were, in a word, impossible.

“You’re coming with me to Alta Novis,” he told her quietly.

“No.”

“I’m not leaving without you. I don’t care if you shoot me in the leg or the stomach or the arm. I’ll come back for you.”

“I don’t believe you,” her voice trembled although her shot sat rock steady.

“Come with me to my compound. To Alta Novis,” he begged softly.

The tip of the arrow wavered again, but this time he was close enough to see the tears glistening on her cheeks. Without the bandages, the fading bruises and swelling on her face were visible, but they didn’t diminish the strength and beauty of her features.

“Why should I?” Her shoulders shook. Her head dipped for a second before lifting and focusing back down the arrow.

“Because I want you to be with me,” he told her honestly, praying she would believe him.

“Liar. I asked to be with you and you turned me away. You even...you even asked me to stay beside you...and you went back on that!”

“That’s true. But that was before you left.” He paused, and noticed she was waiting for him to continue. “You’ve taught me a hard lesson, Atrilan.”

“Don’t...don’t call me that.”

“I will call you that, and I’ll do it whenever we’re alone. Together. In the privacy of our room, or wherever you are with me. Otherwise I’ll call you Atty when we’re with others.” He took a small step toward her, relieved to see her keep her ground. “You’re coming back, tonight, with me, to Foster City. You’re staying with me. In my room. Just you and me. Tonight.”

“As your prisoner,” she whispered with bitterness.

“No. Not any more. Never again. I want to take you to Alta Novis. I want you to meet my people. My mother. Afterwards, if you want to go back to Wallis, I’ll have Mastin escort you back and bring back my representatives on his return trip.” He took another step, then a second, and now he was less than a dozen yards away from her. Yet her aim remained solid.

“Atrilan...”

“What are you thinking?” she asked in a voice he could barely hear.

“I’m thinking of how you felt in my arms after you killed the ferret. I’m thinking about how you tasted. The softness of your lips. About how I want to take you in my arms again, and take you into my bed, and how I want keep you with me for as long as you’re willing to stay with me, because I’ll take whatever you’ll give me, Atrilan. For however long you’re willing to remain.”

“I can’t go there and be just another one of your mistresses,” she told him with a little shake of her head. “I’m not like that. I can’t.”

“No. You’re not. I will never do that to you.”

The arrow dipped a fraction of an inch, until it no longer pointed at his stomach. In fact, Yulen knew it pointed nowhere.

“What happens if I lose my skill?” she whispered.

What if she lost that which had made him want her in the first place? What if she lost her abilities along with her virginity, as she’d been led to believe all these years? Yulen knew she no longer cared. She was willing to give herself to him. Her ultimate sacrifice. Bedding with the enemy. For what reason? Why take the risk? Why even consider it?

“Atrilan, will you love me?”

She lowered her head, lowered her weapon, and lowered her defenses. Yulen walked quickly over to her, pushing aside the longbow as he pulled her against him and claimed her mouth with his. Atty cried out softly as she dropped the weapon and wrapped her arms around his neck.

He held her tightly, dimly aware of her quivering beneath her cold, wet clothing. Her mouth burned as she clung to him, wanting to melt into him. Defiant. Angry. Hungry for his warmth and his strength and his kisses. Her fingers dove into his hair to clutch his face, afraid to let go. Despite her inexperience, Yulen responded to her naked need as he pressed her against his own arousal with one hand, his other hand at her back crushing her firm breasts to his chest.

Dimly in the back of his mind he reminded himself he needed to be careful with her face. She wasn’t mended from her attack, and wouldn’t be for a few more weeks. Gently he released her, cupping her head and capturing her eyes with his. They both were breathing hard, and as the air around them grew colder with the coming night, they could see little puffs of steam with their words.

“Come,” he leaned in and breathed against her fresh, wet lips. She gave a slight movement of her head, then broke away from his hands to reach down and retrieve her things. Yulen took her free hand, lacing his fingers through hers, and guided her away from the clearing, grabbing his discarded sword and belt along the way.

They spoke no more as they left the forest. Mastin’s eyes widened to see the Battle Lord leading the warrior girl hand-in-hand through the thick brush. Silently Yulen hoisted her into the saddle of his horse before handing her both their weapons, then seated himself behind her. A quick jab from his heels sent the stallion into a gallop, making the Second hard pressed to keep up.

Guards at the top of the gate saw the two horses heading their way at a fast pace and mistook their haste as an emergency. Which was why MaGrath, Batuset, and several of Yulen’s men were waiting just inside the compound when Yulen’s stallion thundered through the doors.

Reining in, Yulen lowered Atty down off the horse and into MaGrath’s welcoming embrace. The physician cast the Battle Lord a grateful look as he threw his coat over the shivering girl’s shoulders and hurried her into the main lodge.

“Are you telling me that mere slip of a girl is your incredible Mutah bow master?” Batuset queried, eyebrows arched into his forehead.

“She’s a woman of twenty years with the inborn experience of men three times her age.” He tossed the loose weapons to Mastin, who had dismounted and walked over to join them. “Have these taken to my room.”

“I’ll see a room’s prepared for her,” Batuset mentioned, and turned to leave.

“No need. She’s staying with me tonight,” Yulen informed him softly.

Several of the men paused to stare open-mouthed. Yulen acted as if he hadn’t just dropped a lightning bolt on them. However, Batuset wasn’t about to let it go.

“She’s spending the night in your room?” Foster City’s Battle Lord restated.

“That’s right.” Yulen turned his back on the man to concentrate on getting the saddle off his mount.

“In your bed?”

“If she wishes.”

“A Mutah?”

He turned to stare at the man who had been one of his father’s best friends. “If you have something to say, say it,” he snapped.

Batuset gave the young Lord a look that was part disgust and part shock. “What’s come over you, Yulen? Are you ill?”

“Maybe. Or maybe it’s worse than an illness. Either way, it’s none of your business. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to get out of these wet clothes before I catch my death.” Giving his Second a cautioning eye, Yulen added, “Remind the men we’re leaving for Alta Novis at first light. And see to it that someone comes to waken me if I’m not already up.” That being said, he walked away from the cluster of men who stared after him in disbelief.

Seeing as how he had just put his two years of leadership to the ultimate test, it would be interesting to see how MaGrath accepted his news.

Chapter Nineteen

Bath

Yulen found Atty and MaGrath stopped before the big stone fireplace in the common room. The physician had replaced his coat with one of the blankets given to the troops when they’d first arrived. MaGrath glanced up as the Battle Lord strode into the room.

“She’s soaked to the bone and needs to be kept warm. If possible, can you order a hot bath and some dry clothes? Where is Batuset billeting her tonight?”

“She’s staying in my room tonight,” Yulen informed him, and proceeded up the stairs, not looking back to see if MaGrath followed. He knew he would.

He reached the landing as a servant was about to let himself into the Battle Lord’s bedroom, an armload of towels and blankets under his arm. Yulen relieved the man of his burden and ordered him to have the tub refilled with hot water. The man hurried off to obey, and Yulen held the door open to let MaGrath lead in the warrior girl. He dumped the bundle on a side table just inside the door as the physician sat Atty on the edge of the bed, facing the small fireplace blazing in the corner, and sat down beside her.

“Yulen, is this a good idea?”

“I’m not going to take any more chances of her leaving again,” he told the man.

“By holding her hostage in your bedroom? I’m sure Batuset has a few windowless rooms where she could be comfortable and still have a guard posted at the door.”

Yulen gave the man a dark look. “Why all of a sudden is your idea of protecting her and my idea of protecting her at odds this evening?” he asked.

MaGrath paused. “I’m sorry, Yulen. I had to be certain.” Glancing down at the shivering girl, he asked, “Are you here of your own volition?”

She nodded.

“Atty, are you sure? Remember what you told me.”

She cut her eyes toward Yulen, then back at the physician. “You told him, didn’t you?”

“He had to know.”

“It’s okay.” She laid a cold hand on the man’s chest and nodded again. “He’s a hard man to kill.”

Laughing softly, MaGrath gave the hand a squeeze. “And an even harder man to love. Are you hungry? Want me to send up something?”

“Something to drink would be nice.”

“Anything in particular?”

She gazed at him with a little-girl expression, as if she were afraid she’d get into trouble for asking. “Do you have any milk?”

“Milk? That’s all?” At her nod, he dropped a kiss to her hand. “Not a problem. I’ll have it sent up immediately. If there’s anything else you need me for, I’ll be downstairs in the room directly below this one.” Getting to his feet, he stopped in front of Yulen and faced him squarely. “And you, if you hurt her again...”

Yulen gave his friend a sincere smile. Amazingly, the cut on his face didn’t give him any pain. “From now on, my sole purpose will be to keep her from being hurt, not the other way around. Don’t worry, Liam. Today she aimed an arrow at my heart, and she didn’t miss.”

MaGrath chuckled again and patted the young man on the shoulder as he headed out the door, passing the woman servant who had come to the room earlier. She carried a large pot of hot water straight from the kitchen. Behind her, two younger women brought empty buckets to scoop out the tepid water from the tub sitting in the wide area between the bed and the far wall. Yulen watched calmly as they tried to keep from casting furtive glances at the girl huddled beneath the blanket. The gossip mill would be working overtime tonight, he realized. Between what everyone had seen and heard in the courtyard, and what the servants had witnessed in his bedroom, he had a pretty good idea what the verdict would be in the morning.

They wouldn’t be returning to Alta Novis soon enough.

Once the water had been refreshed, the servants hurried out of the room, and Yulen closed the door behind them. He walked over to the warrior girl, helping her to her feet, and took away the blanket. “Take off your clothes and climb in the tub,” he ordered.

She stared at him, then proceeded over to the tub and began to shed her wet things. Yulen watched from the other side of the room as she kept her back to him until she was totally nude, then gingerly stepped into the warm water, easing herself down into its depths. He smiled as she settled her head against the lip of the tub and her face broke into a relaxed smile. A little sigh of contentment escaped her.

“Feel good?” he asked nonchalantly. He dragged a small footstool over by the fire and parked himself so that he got the advantage of the warming flames on one side, and a perfect view of her bathing on the other.

Eyes closed, Atty’s reply was a loud sigh. How long had it been since she’d had the luxury of taking a warm, uninterrupted bath? The tub was an old, battered brass one, but it was large enough to easily hold two people—

Her eyes flew open at the realization, and she searched the room to find him sitting over by the fireplace, examining one of her new arrows. There was enough light in the room from the half-dozen candles and the fireplace to prevent her from hiding anything from his sharp eyes.

Not that there would ever be anything they wouldn’t know about each other after tonight.

Yulen noticed her looking over the edge of the tub and surmised what she was seeking. He got up and walked over to where he’d dumped the load of towels and found the bar of soap wrapped in a washcloth.

“Looking for this?” he asked, holding it up. He casually tossed it in her direction. She deftly caught it, but not before she’d had to stretch upward for it, revealing a glistening, round breast. He threw the washcloth directly into the water.

“Thanks.”

He started to return to the fire when a knock on the door alerted him to the servant girl bringing up a covered mug of milk. Condensation had formed on the outside of the metal tankard. Yulen thanked her, and this time he locked the door securely before taking the mug over to the tub.

For a long moment he watched as Atty drank deeply, and the simple act made him realize how different her life growing up had been from his. He always took the food and drink on the main table for granted, where she had been forced to go out and kill her dinner or face going hungry. Turning away from her, he hid the scowl that came over his face. From now on, he swore to himself, she’d never have to go out and kill for food unless she desired to. She’d never want for anything, not as long as he could help it.

He retook his seat and watched as she unbraided her hair, freeing it so she could wash it. Once it was cleaned, he knew its color would be more evident. How will it look in the morning with the sunlight streaming over it? he thought to himself as he visualized her asleep, lying across the sheets, her hair spread unbound across the pillows. The thought of her sleeping naked on the white linens sent a bolt of hunger through him, and he could feel himself tightening between his legs. Without realizing it, his gaze had fastened on the bed, and she noticed him staring at it.

“Are you going to make love to me tonight?” she asked outright, a small quiver in her voice.

His concentration broken, Yulen glanced at her. “Why do you ask?” he teased, giving her a small smile. She had a tiny milk mustache on her upper lip.

She shrugged and lifted a knee to scrub the calf and foot. “I don’t know. Just wanted to know, I guess.”

“Lovemaking is supposed to be spontaneous,” he told her, still amused. “Besides, I want our first time to be special.” He enjoyed the surprised look she gave him.

“So you’re not going to...I mean, we’re not going to, uhh...”

Yulen chuckled. “Do you want us to?”

“Tonight?” she whispered, wide-eyed.

“We’re not going to be disturbed again until the morning. We have all of tonight...if that’s what you wish.”

Her gaze involuntarily went to the locked door before traveling back to him. “I...don’t know what I want,” she admitted honestly. Nervously.

Lifting an eyebrow at her, he leaned back until his shoulders rested against the stone wall. He still held one of her crude arrows in his hand. Holding it up, he commented, “You did a good job making more of these in the short time you had.”

“They’ll do in a pinch. I can do much better with the right tools.”

“Don’t get angry at me for this next question, but did you intend on snagging my scabbard? Or was that a happy coincidence? Were you aiming elsewhere?”

She threw a double handful of water over her face, erasing the soap and the mustache, then smiled. “I was aiming for your trouser leg, but I’d forgotten you lead with your left. So I got the scabbard instead.”

“I lead with my left?”

Atty nodded. “Don’t you notice such things with your enemies? Which hand they prefer? Which foot they lead with? Which ear they favor, or if they squint if they’re looking in the distance?” She blinked through the droplets trailing over her skin. “Yul?”

“Uhh, somewhat,” he managed to find his voice. Her skin had taken on a flushed hue from the warm water. With her hair down, and the playful twinkle in her eyes, she no longer resembled the trembling warrior girl who had faced him down in the forest clearing.

Rising slowly to his feet, he walked over to the tub and kneeled down beside it. He dipped a hand in the water as he kept his eyes on her face. Atty watched him, curious but unafraid.

“Yul?”

He leaned over and found her lips. She hesitated for only a moment before lifting her wet hands and gingerly touching his face. Pulling back, Yulen searched her eyes as the tips of her fingers played over the several days’ growth covering his cheeks and chin. “Does it scratch?” he murmured.

“Uh-huh.”

“Sorry. When I take my bath, I’ll shave.”

She pulled back slightly in surprise. “You’re taking a bath?”

“Yes,” he chuckled at her expression. “You weren’t the only one soaked to the bone today, you know.”

“Do you want me to get out now?”

“No,” he shook his head. “Enjoy yourself. I’ll get in after you’re through.” He moved the hand he’d dipped into the water and his fingers found a smooth silkiness. Slowly he let them glide over the firm skin until he reached the inside of a knee. Atty kept her eyes locked on his, but he knew he was now in territory where she couldn’t claim expertise.

She moved her leg slightly, away from his fingers. Undeterred, Yulen lowered his hand further, unmindful of the water wrapping itself around his arm and already soaked shirt sleeve. He reached her leg again and knew it had nowhere else to retreat. The tips of his fingers stroked the tendons under her knee, then began to draw slow circles over her skin as he gently, carefully followed a secret path toward her belly.

Atty moved slightly, making the water splash against the side of the tub. Her gaze danced between his eyes and his lips as she began to feel things she’d never felt before. His touch tickled, yet it also sent little prickles of heat into the pit of her stomach and lower. She took a ragged breath, too frightened to move. Afraid that if she did again, he’d stop whatever he was doing.

“Yul?”

“Shhh.” He leaned inward again to kiss the side of her mouth, mindful of his rough exterior. His right hand lay across her shoulder, barely touching her neck as her wet hair lay like heavy silk across his fingers.

Now his left hand had reached the top of her thigh, but instead of continuing upward, his fingers turned and slowly, tantalizingly, torturously started to dip into the juncture between her legs. He found the soft curls hidden between their valley, and moved himself lower to part her lower lips and tease the sensitive flesh until she moaned softly against his cheek. Her little nub was already stiff. A gentle brush with his fingertip, and a shiver ran through her body, forcing her to grasp the collar of his shirt. Yulen felt her eyelashes brush against his temple when she closed her eyes. She was slowly melting from the undeniable sensations he was bringing to her as he continued to rub her clit, spreading her legs to allow him easier access. And although he couldn’t deny the demands of his own body or his pulsing hardness pressed against the side of the tub, he knew he had to prepare her for that moment when her body would be ready to accept him. Otherwise, her first time would shatter her, instead of bringing her the kind of pleasure he wanted her to remember...and want again.

Carefully, he began to slide his middle finger inside her. Her inner heat throbbed as her tight channel closed around the digit. Gradually, he pushed further inside her until he reached the thin membrane blocking his path. Yulen retreated his finger, but kept his hand covering her mound as his thumb continued to play with her nub. She hissed and involuntarily arched her back in response. Dipping his head, he found a pale pink nipple that had breached the surface of the water and closed his mouth over it. Her reaction took them both by surprise. She cried aloud and clutched him, dragging him partly over the rim of the tub as she pressed herself tightly against his chest. Yulen had to pull back or risk falling head-first into the water.

“Atrilan!”

She was literally shaking as she opened her tear-filled eyes. “Don’t stop,” she whispered, begging.

“I’m afraid I must,” he apologized in a ragged voice, then cleared his throat. He sat back on the heels of his boots and began to unbutton his dripping shirt. She watched his fingers as if mesmerized by their power over her.

“Are you getting in with me?”

“I think you need to get out now and let me in. Are you finished?”

Mutely, she nodded and got to her feet. Yulen paused to stare at her glistening body as it was revealed in the candlelight. How he could have ever thought of her as a girl... Her hunter’s garb had done its job too well, camouflaging not only her extraordinary beauty, but the strength of her passion he knew lay smoldering inside her. If that moment ago was any indication of her hunger, Yulen knew he would find himself seriously challenged to satisfy her demands. The mere thought of it made him close his eyes and shudder in anticipation.

Atty quickly toweled herself off, sitting on the edge of the bed and watching as the Battle Lord eased himself into the tub. She smiled as he sucked in a breath between his teeth.

“Sore muscles?” she asked, working now on trying to untangle her wild mane with just her fingers.

“Hush,” he ordered with a touch of amusement in his voice. “Could you hand me the razor and mirror? I forgot to bring them over here.”

She found the items on the table and turned, prepared to toss them to him. Yulen saw the playful look that came over her face, and he held up his hands in surrender.

“I yield!”

Atty laughed aloud, her face flushed. Hurrying over to him, she dropped to her knees and leaned in to give him a joyful kiss. “Forgive me, but I love you,” she murmured softly against his mouth. Smiling, he brushed back a handful of her damp hair and brushed his lips across hers.

“No more than I do you, Atrilan,” he affirmed. “Curse me for being a fool, but when you left, I had never felt so empty or afraid in my life. I can’t let you go. Not now, not even after you train my men.”

“Then we might have a problem,” she smiled softly.

“Think so?” he teased. As he expected, she raised up slightly to stare incredulously at him. “I was kidding,” he admitted with a grin.

“So what are we going to do?” She rested her chin on her fingers that curled over the edge of the tub. “You know I can’t stay with you. I mean...”

“I know what you mean, but I can’t worry about that. Neither can you. All I know is that you have to be with me. Beside me or behind me, I don’t care. Just...” He groaned loudly and threw back his head. “God, Atrilan! You’ve made me tongue-tied!”

“I know what you mean. When you kissed me, it was like I couldn’t think for myself anymore.” Thick lashes brushed her blue brows as her eyes lifted up to his. “What’s going to happen tomorrow? When we reach your compound?”

“Well, for tonight, we’re going to try and get some sleep.” He couldn’t help but notice the curtain of disappointment that closed over her eyes. Reaching over, he gently touched the tip of her nose. “No lovemaking, my blue-haired warrior. Not until we get to Alta Novis.”

“Why?” She glanced down at where her breasts rested against the side of the tub. “Don’t you want me?”

“Oh, God, in the worst way,” he laughed softly. “But, like I told you earlier, I want our first time to be special.”

Atty made a face. “You’re wanting me to teach your troops first before we do, so that if I lose my skills, my coming back with you won’t be a wasted effort. Right?”

Yulen immediately grew serious. “Wrong,” he told her, leaving no room for doubt.

“Then why?” She shuddered suddenly, surprising herself. “Just then...what you were doing to me,” she said in a softer voice, trailing off.

He leaned over to kiss her forehead. “I didn’t say I couldn’t do that again to you,” he murmured.

Her eyes widened.

“Go get in bed. Get the sheets warm for me.”

She obediently walked over to the bed and looked around. “Where are the nightgowns?” she asked.

“What nightgowns?” he said, raising one eyebrow and grinning.

She turned to look over her shoulder at him. It was then he noticed the two little dimples on her backside, just below her hips. “What are we gonna wear? It’s gonna get cold tonight,” she predicted matter-of-factly.

“Let it get cold. Don’t worry. I’ll keep you warm.”

The flush on her face brightened to a deep red. Wordlessly she slipped under the covers to wait for him. Yulen hurried to finish soaping down and washing off, then shaved. The water was easing his muscles to the point of languidness. He had no doubt they would sleep deep tonight, despite the need that was awakening in both their bodies.

After he dried off, he replenished the fire before crawling into the bed next to her. He’d noticed her eyes taking in his naked form, lingering for several seconds on his halfway distended erection, and he wondered if she’d ever seen a man unclothed before. For a split-second he felt a stab of jealousy, which he quickly dampened. It didn’t matter any more. He was going to be her first lover. No other man had claimed her, and after today, no other man would claim her. Ever. As long as he lived, he would be her only lover.

Her only lover. Strangely, the implication connected to the phrase didn’t frighten or intimidate him. He could only hope that when he finally broached her with the same suggestion, it didn’t scare her.

Her only lover. For the rest of their lives.

Yulen smiled to himself. They would reach Alta Novis tomorrow. And then...

Chapter Twenty

Proof

Sometime during the night, Atty rolled over in his arms. Her soft buttocks nestled against his crotch as she found a comfortable position and drifted back to sleep, but it was too late for him.

Yulen opened his eyes, no longer able to rest because of the veil of fire sweeping under his skin, seething in his blood and making him sweat with need. His erection felt like someone had rammed a pole through it, until it quivered and wept for release.

He couldn’t make love to her. Not yet, and definitely not now, but he had to find a safe middle ground somewhere. There had to be an answer, and one that would not compromise the budding emotions still growing between him and Atty. And there definitely was no way he was going back to Alta Novis and using one of his ready and willing mistresses to assuage his needs before he took her.

His hands shook as he reached around her and found a sweet breast. If he couldn’t make love to her the conventional way, then he would need to bring himself—with a little help. And he had no doubt Atty wouldn’t mind.

The full, round warmth in his palm felt natural. Perfect. The nipple was immediately responsive beneath his insistent fingers, and soon he felt her drifting out of sleep.

“Yul?”

“Shhh. Let me love you.”

Her answer was a slight nod. Her partially damp hair moved across his belly and chest like a bolt of silk, making him groan from the sensation.

He wouldn’t last long, but neither could he rush it with her. Letting go of her breast, he slid his hand downward until he reached the juncture between her thighs. Atty shifted her position, turning slightly onto her back to allow him access to her. Yulen felt her hand rest on top of his, fingers curved over his knuckles, to follow him.

He dipped his middle finger into her folds to find the little button already becoming taut for him. A little shiver ran through her body with the first stroke, and he nosed the back of her neck.

“Cold?”

“No.”

“Afraid?” he whispered, hoping she would say no.

“A little.”

“Don’t be. Relax. Enjoy. I promise I won’t hurt you.”

“Promise on your heart?”

The request drew a smile from him. “I promise on my heart.”

His other arm was under her waist. Pulling her tightly against him, he was able to find her breasts with his other hand where he could play with her nipples as his fingers stoked her need between her thighs.

Atty squirmed. Her breath became little gasps as she writhed. Yulen shifted himself again, and this time managed to bury his erection between her buttocks where her movements masturbated him.

Harder. Faster. Yulen closed his eyes and pressed his face against the back of her neck. He continued to hold her tightly as Atty’s incoherent cries of release suddenly filled the room. He kept her back and buttocks pressed firmly against his raging need and continued to manipulate her as she arched her body and shuddered violently. It wasn’t until she began to melt against him that he found his own release within the grip of her butt cheeks. Afterwards, he sighed into her fragrant waterfall of hair flowing over his chest.

Carefully, gently, he removed his fingers from the wet heat between her legs, leaving his hand against her lower belly as his other arm remained where it draped across her chest, one delicate globe of her breast still resting in the palm of his other hand.

It was still dark outside. Nothing stirred in the infant hours of the morning.

Together they’d found her pinnacle, and in her ecstasy he was shocked to find himself launched over the edge as well. The realization, and the way she rolled back over to cuddle up against his length afterward, stunned him.

He had never before experienced this with a woman, an experience where he’d found greater pleasure in his partner’s release. It was almost like a reawakening.

Tenderly he brought the tangled bedclothes back up around them and wrapped himself protectively around her. He had no recollection of falling back asleep. Only of her soft breath tickling the hollow of his throat where her face rested.

It was an insistent knock on the door that awoke him. Yulen groggily opened his eyes and looked out the window to see the last of the night’s stars fading in the dawning sky.

The knock came again. A quick glance down showed him the sound hadn’t alerted Atty.

Yulen pulled away from her warmth and got out of bed, walking over to unlock the bedroom door. MaGrath stood in the hallway with an armful of clothing.

“I brought a fresh change,” he offered. Yulen nodded and stepped aside to let the man enter. “A servant should be here shortly,” he added, and his eyes narrowed as he took in the woman lying naked and half-covered on the tousled bed. “Yulen?”

“Sheathe your claws, Liam. I kept my word.” He began to dress under the physician’s baleful glare. “Don’t believe me? Ask Atty, then.”

“How would she know? She’s an innocent...or was, until last night.”

Sighing loudly, Yulen kneeled over his side of the bed and brushed away a lock of hair from her face. The greenish-yellow bruises were the only signs marring her perfect beauty. “Atty. Time to wake up. Time to get ready to leave for Alta Novis.”

She stirred, blinking sleepily as she slowly looked around her. He had not called her by her full name, which could only mean one thing. Spying the physician, she smiled softly. “Good morning, Liam.”

“How are you this morning, Atty?”

“Fine. Tired.”

The answer raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you get enough rest?” he asked, giving the Battle Lord another one of his patented irritated scowls.

“Yes, until about three this morning when Yulen woke me.”

“Woke you? At three? Why?”

Yulen decided to intervene before the conversation went any further, laying the clothing MaGrath had brought for her at the foot of the bed. “Hurry and get dressed. We’ll meet you downstairs for breakfast. There’s a bath at the end of the corridor if you want to wash your face.” Placing a quick kiss to her temple, he grabbed his weapons belt and practically pushed the man out the door.

“Well, I can see that conversation on this ride home is going to be quite stimulating,” MaGrath wryly noted as they descended the wide staircase. Yulen ignored the remark and finished buckling on his weapons belt.

As they entered the main room, most of the men were already seated and having their breakfast. When their commander walked in, several conversations ceased immediately, and Yulen had no doubt what they’d been discussing. Or in this case, who.

He and MaGrath took their seats as if nothing was amiss and proceeded to help themselves. Talk around them slowly resumed to the normal noise level until all sound ceased again as suddenly as if a switch had been thrown.

Yulen glanced up to see Atty descending the stairwell. She carried her bow and quiver in one hand, and the look on her face was guarded. She wore the new set of pants and long tunic, but she’d left her hair down, tied behind her ears with a simple strip of cloth. Clean, fresh, and in the bright lights of the main hall, she looked totally different from the dirty warrior girl they’d known from the past few days. Nor was there any denying the hint of womanly curves visible beneath the white linen shirt. Furthermore, there was no mistaking the dark indigo color of the slightly wavy hair that fell down her back.

Someone at the table muttered “Mutah”, but no one challenged her as she advanced toward the table. It was MaGrath who finally spoke up.

“Atty! We saved you a seat over here. Better hurry. We’ll be leaving within the hour.” He motioned to a chair on the other side of Yulen, who hadn’t missed the fact that Mastin had taken his own seat on the other side of the empty one. It was clearly a defensive, protective measure. He made a mental note to thank the man later.

Despite MaGrath’s hearty welcome, she remained cautious. She was in enemy territory, even with the protection of a Battle Lord. Placing her weapon conspicuously across the back of her chair, she took her seat and allowed a servant to bring her a plate.

The meal went quickly, as everyone was anxious to get on the road. But knowing that a full breakfast would tide them over until late afternoon, they made sure to take plenty. Further conversation was saved for later when traveling. As soon as they were done, everyone grabbed their gear and exited for the main courtyard where the horses were already saddled and waiting. Yulen paid no attention to Batuset’s men as he led Atty and MaGrath to their mounts. “I’ll join you at the lead as soon as I make sure we have everyone accounted for,” he told them, then turned to his horse.

Unseen behind them, one of Batuset’s soldiers had pulled his sword and was advancing toward the bay on which the warrior girl sat. It was Verris who spotted the man, but as he was too far away to stop him, he yelled out a warning.

“Atty! Down!”

Seeing that he’d been spotted, the man charged, his weapon raised, hoping he still had the advantage. He never saw the crude arrow that pinned his arm to the side of the wagon behind him. A heartbeat later, two more arrows had him fast through his other shirt sleeve and lower right trouser leg. All of which had been done so fast no one could remember seeing the shafts flying toward their target. It was almost as if they’d appeared in place by magic.

Yulen looked over at Atty in time to see her slowly lowering the longbow. Casually she reached back into the quiver slung over her shoulder and pulled out a fourth arrow, which she nocked but didn’t draw. A dozen feet away, the would-be attacker stuttered in disbelief. He was unhurt, but made as immobile as if he’d been tied. The soldiers were glued to the scene.

“Atty.”

She looked over to where Yulen sat astride his horse. Her face was blank.

“Hit the green pennant.”

Automatically every eye turned to look at the flag identifying Foster City as it fluttered lazily in the morning breeze. The pennant itself was no more than a yard long and two feet wide, colored dark green with three small yellow stars clustered in the center. The banner flew atop the roof of the main lodge, a distance of a hundred and fifty yards. Minimum.

She stood in her stirrups and carefully drew her final arrow. Drew. Aimed. And the arrow arched over the peak of the roof to snag the material, tearing it away from its mooring. Arrow and flag disappeared over the other side of the lodge.

“Damn,” she said aloud.

Yulen tried to hold back his smile. “What’s wrong?” he asked instead.

“I missed.”

His eyes widened, as well as the rest of the men who were within earshot. “What do you mean? You hit it.”

“Yeah, but I was aiming for the center of the stars.” She sighed loudly. “Damn wind.”

This time Yulen allowed himself to laugh at her irritation. Wheeling his horse around, he signaled for everyone to begin heading out. Batuset’s men stood back, providing an honor guard to escort them out. As Atty passed them, they nodded in her direction and laid their hands on the pommel of their swords, showing they wouldn’t challenge her. She’d proven herself beyond all doubt—once in the story of her facing the bull ferret two days ago, and now in the demonstration of her ability, which proved the story of the ferret could not have been false.

But more than anything, she’d unexpectedly gained their allegiance when, in stopping the soldier who’d been intent on killing her, she’d dropped him in his tracks without shedding any blood. The fact that she and the Battle Lord were reportedly becoming romantically involved was no longer an issue of concern with them.

MaGrath grinned broadly as he kneed his mare and trotted to the front of the line. He would be willing to bet his next month’s wages that many of Yulen’s troops now held the warrior girl in higher esteem, if not with pride, that they could call her theirs. After all, it wasn’t every day that a beautiful and exotic Mutah warrior could best the finest soldiers in a Battle Lord’s compound, and at the same time claim their leader’s heart for herself.

Chapter Twenty-One

Bloods

The morning progressed without any interruptions. Yulen noticed that Atty intermittently dozed in the saddle, something MaGrath did not miss, but neither did he comment on. In fact, conversation was unusually nonexistent.

They stopped briefly around noon to give the horses water before continuing on. This had been a long and bloody tour, and it was clear every man in the unit was anxious to get home, even if it meant skipping their meal so they could put more miles behind them.

The terrain became noticeably more hilly, signaling the border between Foster City and Alta Novis. Yulen excused himself to go check on the troops. The men would be chomping at the bits, which meant he had to remind them to be on their guard. No matter how excited they were about returning home for the season, they couldn’t risk letting their defenses down for even a moment.

It was nearly an hour later before Yulen joined the physician at the head of the line. As previously instructed, MaGrath had kept the pace brisk, but not so fast as to tire out the horses too quickly. One person was conspicuously absent. “Where’s Atty?” the Battle Lord asked, glancing around.

“She’ll catch up. She found a strand of saplings she said she needed for shafts to make more arrows. Everything all right back there?”

“So far. The men are getting antsy.”

“They’re not the only one,” the physician dryly remarked. Unfortunately, the comment was lost on the Battle Lord. MaGrath noticed that the man’s eyes continued to scan the area although they were already past the northern border of Alta Novis. Sometime in the next couple of hours they should be spotted and challenged by one of the advance guards, which was fortunate. It was getting close to sundown, and it would be dark in a couple of hours.

As if reading his mind, Yulen called for their colors to be raised, and a soldier near the head of the line lifted the half-blue, half-red banner.

“That was quite a risk you took back there,” MaGrath finally mentioned almost nonchalantly.

Yulen seemed perplexed by the comment. “What risk?”

“Having her take out the pennant. Do you know what might have happened if she’d missed?”

The Battle Lord slowly shook his head. “She wouldn’t have missed,” he stated.

“Oh, sure, you can say that now,” MaGrath chuckled.

“Liam, did you see which hand she draws with?”

“Which hand? No. What difference does it make?”

“Think.” Yulen glanced at him.

MaGrath decided to humor him. Which hand did she use to draw back the arrows that she’d shot at the soldier? “Her right,” he announced, feeling proud of himself.

“Okay. And which one did she use to shoot for the pennant?”

The physician squinted at him. “What do you mean, which one? Didn’t I just say she used her right?”

“Liam.”

He opened his mouth to say something more when, in his mind’s eye, he saw Atty take a slow bead on the flag, drawing back on the bow with her left hand...

Yulen watched as the truth dawned on his friend. “Holy crap,” the physician muttered. His face actually went pale, much to Yulen’s satisfaction. “When did you learn?”

Chuckling, the Battle Lord said, “That afternoon in the forest when I went looking for her and she let me find her. I felt there was something different in the way she had me in her sights. I knew for certain when she bolted and ran. In mid-stride she turned and fired at me with the other hand. To be honest, I don’t even think she’s aware of doing it. To her, it’s just another way for her to use her weapon.”

“Holy crap,” MaGrath uttered again. “Wait a minute...she fired at you?”

“Yulen!”

Both men turned to see the warrior girl riding quickly to catch up with them. Her face was shining in the sunlight. “Look!” She held up a handful of saplings, each one at least several feet in length and ramrod straight. “These are perfect,” she beamed. “May I borrow a few tools when we get to Alta Novis so I can finish them?”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Yulen told her. “What are you planning on doing with those in the meantime?”

To answer him, she tossed MaGrath the reins. “Pull me along, would you, while I strip these down? Yulen, I need to use your dagger.”

“Here? Now?” he questioned, but tossed her his short blade anyway. Both men watched in amusement as she proceeded to strip the bark from the saplings. After another minute, they turned back around and let her work uninterrupted.

“Why do I get the feeling she’ll never cease to amaze us?” the physician commented. He wasn’t surprised to see the smug smile of satisfaction linger on the Battle Lord’s face.

They continued at their present pace, stopping only once more to briefly rest and water the horses. Atty disappeared into the edge of the forest, returning just before Yulen planned to go in after her. She apologized, but showed him and MaGrath the feathers she’d managed to find for the arrows, then climbed back onto her horse and settled herself to continue working on the shafts with a singleness of purpose they were beginning to become accustomed to.

Spring was slowly but surely coming back, as evident as much by the warmer weather and frequent rains as by the odd patch of wildflowers dotting the roadside and occasional fields. Yulen had a vague thought about what that evening would bring once they got to the compound. If it was anything like their night in Foster City, he knew he would be in for a powerful hurt, but at the same time he realized that at this point in their relationship he craved having Atty come in his arms more than finding his own release. Something about her unabashed acceptance of what he wanted to do to her, of sharing a mutual touch and climaxing beneath a lover’s ministrations...

He smiled to himself. It would be a special treat to have a few of the servants go out into the meadows to fetch handfuls of the bluer blossoms and spread them over their bed before he took her to his rooms. Casting a furtive glance behind him, he saw she was bent over her work, keeping it close to her chest as she stripped the feathers into fletching and wired them to the shafts with a thin filament he hadn’t known she had.

“Penny for your thoughts,” MaGrath commented. “On second thought, don’t tell me. I don’t think I want to know.”

“Oh?”

“She cooks. She can shoot the eye out of a flea at a hundred paces. And she’s a one-woman ammunition depot. The only thing she isn’t is a lusty wench in bed, but I guess you already have plans on what to do about that one, right?”

“Jealous, old man?”

“Actually, you couldn’t pay me enough to be the one to tell Madigan what you have prepared for our blue-haired beauty.”

“Been reading my mind again, Liam?”

“More like reading your face. You never were any damn good at poker, either. So what’s the countdown?”

“To what?”

MaGrath let out an exasperated sigh. “Give me a break, Yulen. I may be old, but I’m not decrepit. How soon after we get to Alta Novis are you going to post the banns?”

Yulen quickly shushed him. “Not too loud. I haven’t asked her yet.”

“So you’re assuming she’ll say ‘yes’?” he half-laughed. “I have another one for you, then. Are you going to be able to hold out until then?”

“Do I have a choice?”

MaGrath let out a hearty laugh. Behind them, Atty glanced up and smiled, then went back to her work.

Feeling lighter in heart than he had in a long, long time, Yulen nudged his horse into a lope and headed for the rise at the end of the road where it curved to the right. The territory was revealing familiar landmarks now, and he knew around the next two or three bends he should see in the distance the twin of the pennant he carried flying from the pole mounted on the roof of the main lodge.

Another curve, another rise, and Yulen pulled up, stopping in the middle of the road. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. A sentry should have challenged him by now. The fact that someone hadn’t made him leery. Wheeling around, he galloped back to the caravan and held up an arm for an immediate halt. Quickly, he motioned for Verris.

“Sir?”

“We should have been challenged by now, but I’ve seen no sentry posted.”

“What do you think’s happened?” MaGrath asked, joining them. Behind him, Atty had pulled up her mount.

“I don’t know, but I don’t like this feeling it’s giving me in the pit of my stomach. Atty, how many of those arrows have you finished?”

“Not enough.”

“It’ll have to be enough. Verris, you accompany me and Atty.” He motioned over Verris’s lieutenant, a man named Corinth.

“Sir?”

“Have the men ready for my signal. Drop all provisions and leave the dead. Check your weapons. If there’s something wrong, Verris, I’m sending you back to retrieve the troops.”

“Sir, your armor!”

“No time for that,” he barked.

“And Atty?” MaGrath asked.

Yulen’s face turned as hard as his voice. “She’ll watch my back.” Giving Atty a nod, he turned the stallion around and the three of them galloped away from the caravan.

Once they reached the curve in the road where Yulen had previously stopped, he came again to a halt. “From here we advance quickly but cautiously.” Atty and his Second nodded, keeping to the rear.

They continued toward the compound, keeping their eyes opened for any possible danger. Yulen glanced at Atty, who scanned the edges of the forest lining the road. He trusted her eyes and her instincts now above all others, even his own.

They reached another rise when she stopped suddenly. “Yulen.” It was the softest of whispers. “Listen.”

The men halted. Yulen strained to hear what her superior ears had caught. A confused look crossed Verris’s face. “I don’t—”

“Shh!” she hissed.

Closing his eyes, Yulen concentrated. It was a muffled sound. Low. Bell-like tones. A high-pitched scream. His head jerked up. “The compound is under attack! Verris, the troops!”

Without waiting for acknowledgment, he dug his heels into the horse’s ribs, and the giant stallion surged forward, toward the fortress. Atty charged after him as Verris raced back to the caravan.

Reaching the last bend before the road dipped into the small valley sheltering Alta Novis, Yulen pulled up and unsheathed his sword. Below he could see the enemy advancing from the west, crossing the road as they attacked the main gates of the compound. Atty pulled up beside him, her longbow ready.

“I can’t tell from here who is leading the attack,” he told her.

“Who? Don’t you mean what?”

He glanced over to see her eyes narrowing. “What do you see, Atty?”

She started. “Oh, no...”

“Atty?”

“It’s...it’s Bloods.”

“Bloods?” He looked back at the attacking force. “You mean Mutah?”

“No. They’re not like my kind,” she fairly spat back at him. “Bloods are the worse of the genetically deviant. Their kind lack everything that would make them remotely human. My people have battled them for generations.”

“Can you kill them like humans?”

“Yes, but be careful, Yul. Sometimes their blood can be their most dangerous weapon.”

Yulen raised his sword and kicked his horse. The animal launched down the road and into the thick of the battle, with Atty right behind him, carefully picking off the terrifying, deformed creatures.

Several soldiers recognized their defender and raised a cry of triumph. From the battlements and catwalks at the top of the compound wall, a cheer arose at the same time they noticed the woman warrior with the deep blue hair as she fired into the melee, dropping the enemy with each precisely placed arrow.

It soon became evident to the Battle Lord what Atty had meant by calling these inhuman monstrosities “Bloods”. Instead of a river of red running through their veins, some yielded a yellow or blackish liquid. Another had green, pus-like matter oozing from the stump where its head had been a moment before Yulen’s well-aimed swing.

He had no need to search her out. He knew exactly where she was whenever the sound of fffffff-thup! arched through the air and the arrow buried its head into a head, a chest, or a weapon-wielding hand. For a second he began to believe they were beginning to see the end of the battle, when a sudden shout and unearthly yowl erupted from the forest on the other side of the road. Yulen turned in time to see another mass of Bloods pouring out of the bushes. From the corner of his eye he saw the flash of a dagger a split second before its tip missed his fighting arm and dug a shallow furrow down the side of his leg.

* * * *

Atty screamed as she saw him lean far over his saddle. At first she thought he’d started to fall off his horse until she saw him rear back up, a wide swatch of iridescent yellow staining the front of his shirt.

Reaching behind her, she pulled the last two arrows in her arsenal and made sure they counted. Two more Bloods toppled, a shaft quivering in the hole that should have been a nose on one, the other wood piercing a neck so deeply the barb emerged on the other side.

Now she was out of ammunition, and there was no chance of getting any more.

Another roar rose from the battlements. The caravan rose over the last rise and began to engulf the rear of the Blood’s forces, cutting them down with scythe-like movements.

Atty heard her name in a shout. She turned in time to see a Blood, axe gripped in furred paws, bringing down the blade, hoping to cleave her in two. Without thinking, she lifted her bow to block the blow. She stared in stunned disbelief as the Blood shifted his swing at the last second, and instead of haft meeting limb, the blade cut cleanly through the wood. She could only stare at the two pieces lying in her hands as the Blood lifted the axe once more and prepared to finish what he’d meant to do the first time.

She lifted her face, frozen by the enormity of what had just occurred, and at the same moment her mind registered the danger, the point of a sword emerged from the center of the creature’s chest, as if he’d suddenly grown an extra nipple. As quickly as it had appeared, the point vanished back into the chest, and the Blood dropped where he’d been standing. Behind him, Yulen stared at her, his face completely white. Reaching out his hand, he snagged her arm and hoisted her from her horse onto the back of his mount. Without a word he turned and began plowing through the swarm, heading for the main gate.

When they reached the entrance, Yulen grabbed a handful of her tunic and swung her to the ground where MaGrath snatched her.

“No! No!” she cried out, reaching up to him, but he vanished back into the battle without a backward glance.

“Atty! Atty! You don’t have a weapon!” MaGrath yelled, trying to make her see the validity of what Yulen had done.

She struggled again against his arms that restrained her, but briefly. Her eyes flew to the top of the compound walls, and he realized what she was thinking. He released her and she hurried inside, finding the first ladder and climbing to the catwalk overhead. He’d sworn to Yulen to protect her at all cost. And even if he hadn’t, he was determined to do so anyway. Despite the ache in his older muscles, he tried to keep up with her.

As she swung onto the narrow ledge, a guard stationed at the top caught sight of her. His eyes glued to her hair, and he screamed “Mutah!”, swinging his bow in her direction. Deftly, Atty snatched the weapon from his hands and gave him a hard shove to the chest. The guard lost his balance and tumbled off the ledge to land relatively unhurt on the pile of sandbags several yards below.

She hefted the new, shorter bow, judging its feel and its weight, then glanced below to the fight. She easily spotted the Battle Lord in the thick of the fray, his hair like burnished copper in the failing sunlight. A small barrel of arrows sat on the wooden platform next to her. Quickly she nocked the first arrow, unused to the smaller ammunition, aimed, and let it fly. Although the barb didn’t impact with the same deadly, powerful results of her own longer arrows, she smiled to see they were just as effective at causing irreparable harm at close range.

MaGrath reached the top of the catwalk just as she began to fire, nocking one arrow after another so fast, the string had no time to cease vibrating. The physician stared in awe as the warrior girl no longer aimed for any particular organ or limb. Now she concentrated on just hitting a body, hitting it anywhere she could find an exposed spot, hoping to at least wound the creatures enough to slow them down.

Another guard came running from the other side of the parapet and skidded to a stop at MaGrath’s upraised hand. His eyes were like saucers as he watched the girl launch arrow after arrow as quickly as she was able with the unfamiliar bow. Another glance below proved her effectiveness—and the fact that she was one of the enemy supposedly killing those of her kind. He opened his mouth to yell at her, when the physician got his attention.

“Feed her more arrows!” he screamed above the din. “And keep the arrows coming!” The guard nodded, swallowing hard, and raced off to get more.

* * * *

Below, Yulen’s eyes darted to the battlement as an arrow exploded a breath away from his shoulder. The creature intent on climbing up into the saddle with him shrieked with pain and fell away as it fought the shaft protruding from its ear. Atty stood rooted to the platform like a vengeful spirit, firing steadily at a rate he couldn’t begin to fathom. Another arrow flew over his head, and as the tip met the hurled dagger, the sound of metal meeting metal clanged like a bell.

It wasn’t long before the Blood horde began to see it wasn’t going to succeed, and the battle began to taper off as the creatures turned and fled back into the relative safety of the forest to nurse their wounds.

Yulen stood in his stirrups and watched as his men continued to cut down the stragglers with calm efficiency. Once he was certain the fighting was finished, he rode over to where Mastin and Karv were on the ground, cleaning their swords on the bodies of the fallen enemy. Karv gave his leader a cursory glance, but not before Yulen could see the expression in the man’s eyes.

“Tosh Karv? Gather a dozen men and return to where the caravan left the dead, and bring them home.”

The reinstated Second nodded once and hurried off to his horse. Mastin waited to see what his new position would be. The last thing he expected was for Yulen to tap him on the shoulder with the tip of his sword.

“Co-captain of the Guard,” the Battle Lord stated.

“But...Karv is your Second!”

“And where is it written I’m allowed just one?” Yulen grinned. “You’ve proven yourself, Cole. I’d never reduce you to a rank that wasn’t equal to your loyalty. Gather up the men and have them strip the bodies. Send Verris to me when you see him. Then I want to see all three of you in the main hall in an hour.”

“Yes, sir.”

Having taken care of the essentials, Yulen gave the stallion its head and let the animal happily trot back to the compound. Overhead, he saw Atty leaning over the reinforced wall. Once she noticed he was coming inside, she vanished back over the side to descend the ladder.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Refusal

The inhabitants of the compound were jubilant over their victory. Lights were lit and lanterns were hung to chase away the darkness that was rapidly descending. Men cheered over their victory and the return of their Battle Lord. Yulen searched the yelling, exuberant crowd, trying to spot where Atty was climbing down. Finding her, Yulen pulled his horse next to the ladder, and she launched herself into the saddle in front of him.

There was almost a minor incident when one of the guards, who hadn’t seen Atty on the parapet, now caught sight of the woman with the unusual hair, and he raised a cry, advancing toward the couple in order to protect the Battle Lord. It was a soldier from the caravan who blocked the man’s way and emphatically shook his head. Everyone watched in silent disbelief as their leader slowly rode toward the main lodge with the mutant woman in his arms.

There was going to be enough fodder for gossip to fuel every tongue in the compound for weeks.

They reached the main lodge where Atty saw an older woman standing beneath the shelter of a striped awning, watching their return. From the gray in her brown hair and the grim set of her mouth, Atty knew she couldn’t be one of Yulen’s mistresses.

The Battle Lord brought the horse to a halt in front of the woman. Sliding out of the saddle, he strode over and gave her a warm hug, which she returned with a kiss. He then went back to his horse and held up his hand to help Atty dismount. She dropped lightly to the ground.

“Madigan,” he announced softly, leading Atty under the awning, “this is Atrilan Ferran. Atty, Madigan D’Jacques. My mother.”

Atty remained rooted to where she stood as the woman’s brown eyes took in every inch of her, especially her tangle of hair.

“You’re bringing one of the enemy within our fold?” Madigan asked. She had a husky voice, as if she suffered from a chest cold.

“She’s no longer the enemy,” Yulen corrected.

“She’s a Mutah.”

“Good eye, Madigan.”

She shot him a baleful glare. “No smartass remarks, Yul. Are you coming in, or do you need to see to your men first?”

“I’m having my Seconds taking care of things at the moment,” he told her, and gave Atty a little push, urging her to go inside. He nodded to MaGrath, who tagged along behind.

Atty stared around the room as they entered the main hall. Like the main lodge in Foster City, one entire wall contained an enormous stone fireplace. But that was where all semblance ended. Zane Batuset was a bachelor, and his lodge reflected his enjoyment of the hunt by the mounted animals, heads, and skins covering the walls. Here, in Alta Novis, the walls displayed an assortment of weapons. Above the long oak mantel were three pairs of swords, set at intervals along the wall. On another wall was a virtual collection of short swords, daggers, a couple of maces, a lance, a pair of crossbows—Atty’s eyes widened at the arsenal on display. She looked over at Yulen in surprise.

“My father and grandfather collected weapons of all kinds,” Yulen explained.

Madigan made her way to the stuffed chair before the fireplace and motioned for them to sit. Yulen politely declined.

“Give us a chance to clean up first.”

“Us?” the older woman emphasized.

“Yes. Us.”

“Very well. I’ll have the woman—”

“Her name is Atrilan. You can call her Atty,” Yulen interrupted to remind her curtly.

Madigan leaned forward in her chair. “Okay. Let’s just drop the pretense altogether. Give me the bottom line, Yul.”

“I’ve asked Atty to come live here.”

“Asked her? For what purpose?” Looking to MaGrath, she demanded, “What’s your dealings with this Mutah?”

“Don’t call me that,” Atty interjected.

“When I want to hear from you, I’ll address you directly,” Madigan said sharply. “Liam?”

“If I’m a Mutah, then you’re a rude and despicable woman,” Atty shot back.

For a moment it appeared that the older woman might rise from her chair and strike the warrior girl. Liam stepped forward just in case. “Don’t judge her until you get to know her,” the physician responded in a gentler tone of voice.

“I don’t care to, nor do I want to get to know her. I’ve been told she killed sixteen of our men.”

“She also helped me to repel that horde of Bloods,” Yulen said firmly.

“What are Bloods? You mean that army of Mutah like her?”

“They’re nothing like me,” Atty returned. She kept her fists clenched by her side and hoped this interrogation would soon be over. “They’re the dregs of humanity. My people consider them to be unsalvageable. They’ve attacked my compound at least a dozen times that I can remember.”

“Your compound?” Madigan glanced up at her son. “Is that where you found her? In her compound?” By her sarcastic tone of voice, the older woman made it clear she wouldn’t believe Mutah were capable of something as civilized as maintaining a compound.

“Her ability with a bow is beyond extraordinary,” MaGrath continued. “She’ll be able to teach our men valuable tricks and tips.”

Madigan continued to scan the faces of her son and the woman. Slowly her face grew red with suppressed anger. “You’re sleeping with her, aren’t you, Yul?”

“She’s staying with me in my quarters, if that’s what you mean,” he countered almost casually, refusing to back down or show remorse. Atty felt his hand at her back. Slipping one of her hands behind her, she was relieved to feel his fingers lace through hers.

“Well, then, I guess there’s nothing I can do about that now, can I? The damage has already been done.”

Atty flared. “Damage?”

“I just hope to God you’re using some kind of protection, Yul. I’d hate to think of what kind of creature she would give birth to.”

This time it was Yulen who stepped forward and grabbed the woman by the shoulders, lifting her out of chair and holding her inches away from his face where he addressed her in a low, threatening voice.

“Okay, Mother. Enough is enough. Listen very carefully because I will only tell you this once. I am pledging Atrilan my heart, and, God willing, she’ll pledge hers to me. I don’t know yet for certain because I haven’t asked her. But if she does, then I’ll be posting our banns on the front of the doors to this hall in the morning. Once she becomes my wife, and if we are ever blessed with children, your grandchildren, Madigan, you will keep your tongue in your head and accept them. Am I making myself clear?”

He released her, shoving her backwards until her legs hit the chair seat, and she sat heavily upon the overstuffed cushion.

“Until we are wed, Atty remains untouched. Talk to Liam if you don’t believe me. Atty has proven her allegiance to me and to Alta Novis, or didn’t you notice how she helped protect the compound a few minutes ago?” Looking over at MaGrath, Yulen said, “See if you can pound some sense in her head, Liam. Maybe our encounter with the bull ferret might give her a different perspective. In the meantime, we’re going to our quarters to clean up. Berta!”

From the knot of servants who had been huddled at the inter-connecting door leading from the main hall to the kitchen, an older woman disengaged herself and approached the small group. “Sir?”

“A late supper tray, if you can, please.”

“Anything in particular?”

Yulen paused. “Just be sure to include a mug of milk,” he ordered, hiding a smile. “Atty, come.”

Holding her hand, he led her up the wide staircase that was almost a duplicate of the one in Foster City, with the exception of the garland of morning glories wrapped around the banister. In the back of his mind, Yulen noticed the blue color of the closed blossoms, but continued upward without stopping.

Madigan turned around once they were out of sight, and was met with an angry expression. “I haven’t done anything wrong,” she defended herself.

“Oh, yes, you have. Yulen is risking everything so he and Atty can be together, and do you offer him a moment’s peace?” Rather than wait for an answer, MaGrath turned on his heel and started out of the room.

“Liam! Wait!”

He paused, slowly turning back around. Rory D’Jacques had been his best friend, and while the man had lived MaGrath had kept his feelings for Madigan to himself, having loved her just as deeply, but losing her when he’d gone to Far Troit to pursue his passion in learning the medicinal arts. When Yulen had been born, he’d rejoiced at the news, and secretly thought of the man as the son he’d never had. Now, ever since Rory’s death, he had waited for Madigan to give him a sign that her mourning was at an end, and he could ask her to accept him.

“Liam.” She hurried over and laid a hand on the man’s arm. “I can’t accept that woman as Yulen’s wife. I just can’t. Don’t you at least understand?” she pleaded softly.

He nodded. “Yes, Maddy, I can. But you have to look at this from a different perspective. Yulen is all too aware he lost his father to Mutah. He’ll never forget that. But this woman is not what you’re trying to make her. She lost her family because of our people. We went into her village and began slaughtering people she’d grown up with, with no more thought or conscience than if we’d been cleaning fish. Yet something happened between them. Something wonderful and rare and very beautiful. You need to watch the both of them when they’re together. Watch them, Maddy. If you’re wanting a wife for Yulen who is his equal, a woman who’ll risk her life for his, who’ll show him the same amount of passion and loyalty, then try to find it in your heart to accept her. Trust me when I say this. Despite all things, Rory would have accepted her.”

“Are you sure?” Madigan whispered tearfully. “He’s my only child, but she’s...she’s...”

“She’s different, yes. But at some point love is transcending all of this. All the differences, all the hate we’ve cultivated for each other for all these years...” MaGrath shook his head. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” He glanced at the top of the stairs, then back into eyes he knew could be warm and tender. “Remember how you felt about Rory? Remember how he held you? And loved you? And protected you at all cost?” He pointed toward Yulen’s rooms. “Like father, like son. Goodnight, Madigan. I’ll see you in the morning.” Giving her a small smile, he kissed the corner of her mouth and left her standing in the middle of the main hall.

Stillness descended in the great room, but the lone woman standing beside the enormous fireplace could sense nothing but a deep, empty ache in her heart. She’d lost the greatest love of her life, and believed she was about to lose the son created by that love. More than anything, she was terrified now that she’d made a mistake that could never be forgiven by the one man she had hoped she could spend the rest of her life with.

Lifting her hands to her face, she cried silently and retreated to her rooms at the other end of the lodge.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Pledge

“Yul, it’s okay,” she told him softly, watching as he angrily shoved a chair into a small writing table that sat against a wall.

“She had no right to talk to you like that,” he began.

“Don’t you think I hear talk like that any time I come across other Normals? Yulen...” She went over and grabbed his arm, turning him around so he would look directly at her. “Yul, don’t you think your own men have thought the same thing? Only they didn’t say it aloud because they knew what you’d do if you heard it. Or if it got back to you.”

He stared down at blue-gray eyes that were open and honest, and painfully worried. Sighing loudly he swept her into his arms and felt her mouth reaching up for his. All during the day he’d been wanting to feel her like this, ready for his touch, ready to give him her love as she received his in return. His body and mind centered on hers as they clung to each other, oblivious to the sounds of the compound settling in for the night. Oblivious to the faint echoes coming in from outside the windows. Of the sound of families weeping as they learned of their loved ones’ demise. Oblivious to the rapping at the door. At first.

Reluctantly he pulled away from her and walked over to unlock his bedroom door. Berta stood at the threshold with a heavily-laden tray. He started to take it from her when she drew back slightly.

“No, thank you, sir. I can manage.”

Nodding, he opened the door wider, and the servant woman walked in with quick, little steps. She tried not to stare too openly at the woman sitting on the edge of the Battle Lord’s bed, but she couldn’t ignore the slender body nor the beautiful features on the Mutah warrior with the dark blue hair.

Laying the tray down on the writing table, she turned and looked at Yulen. “I have several pots of water warming downstairs, sir. Want me to bring them up as soon as they’re ready?”

“Thanks, Berta. That’ll be fine.”

She smiled, allowed herself one last cautious glance at Atty, and hurried out the door. Yulen closed it behind her.

“The kitchen help’s going to get an earful this evening,” Atty wryly noted.

“Not to mention what else tongues are wagging about tonight. First we encounter the Bloods, and you fight against them alongside us. Then they get to see my mother pretty much write you off as an unwanted disease.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “God, I’m tired. Atrilan, I need to leave you for a while. I need to take care of the dead and see that all the families have been notified.” He cast her a sad look. “My job is going to be that much harder. You understand, don’t you?”

Atty lowered her head, nodding.

“How can I get people to accept you when they already have two very good reasons to hate you? The fact that you’re Mutah is enough reason for most of them. But once they’re told you’re the person responsible for their son’s death...son, husband, father...”

“I know what you’re saying, Yulen,” she interrupted him. When she lifted her face, he could see tears in her eyes. “Don’t you think I wish it could have been different? Don’t you think I wish circumstances could have...”

She walked into his embrace and laid her head against his shoulder as he wrapped his arms protectively around her. They stood that way for another minute or two as he slowly rubbed her back, then Yulen stepped away from her to head for the door.

“Go ahead and eat. I’ll eat when I return,” he told her. “Berta will be back in a bit with warm water for your bath.”

Atty glanced around at the room containing only a bed, a table and chair, and a bureau. Yulen saw the confusion on her face and smiled. “The tub’s in the next room.”

Her eyes widened. “You have your own bathroom?”

“I have my own suite,” he laughed, enjoying her reactions. An instant later he became coldly serious. “Don’t leave here without me, Atty. Not until I feel it’s safe.”

“Can I snoop?”

“Snoop?”

“Open doors. Go through drawers. Peer into places I’m not allowed. You know.”

“Go ahead and snoop to your heart’s desire. Just don’t go outside these rooms.”

He left her, and to Atty’s astonishment he didn’t lock the door behind him. He trusted her to obey his command, a command he had given in order to protect her.

Of course, she made good on her promise to snoop. She was in an inner sanctum very few were privileged to enter. The first thing she had to investigate was the master bedroom and the huge bed that could easily rest four people, with its down-filled mattress, sheets, and two quilts. Atty lifted one of the three large pillows and buried her face in it. It smelled of soap and fresh air. After tonight, she smiled, it would smell of him.

She grabbed a piece of meat off the tray and knelt in front of the bureau, beginning with the bottom drawer. She’d learned people never hid anything in the upper drawers.

To her surprise there were several wooden boxes in the bottom compartment. She pulled one out, setting it on the floor, and opened the lid. What she found filled her with a warm sense of wonderment. It was a collection of oddities that only a young boy would feel valuable enough to keep, or a grown man would treasure for their memories: a green feather, a chunk of amethyst quartz, a length of leather string, a piece of paper folded twice. Atty opened it, holding it up to where there was enough light to read the note.

Good luck on your trials today, Son.

I’m proud of you. Dad

These were memories from his childhood she had yet to learn about. Memories belonging to a man who had lost his father the same way she’d lost hers. Atty looked down to find herself clutching the note to her chest. She and Yulen had so much in common, and yet they had grown up worlds apart.

She replaced the one box and was reaching for another when she heard footsteps coming upstairs. Quickly closing the drawer, she perched herself on the edge of the bed, in the shadows next to the pillows, expecting the servant with the pots of warm water.

To her shock, a beautiful woman entered the room without so much as having the courtesy to knock first. Atty froze where she sat. There was only the one lantern lighting the room, and it hung from a hook on the wall by the door. If she remained perfectly still, chances were the woman wouldn’t spot her until she got right next to her.

It was clear from the moment the woman came through the door she knew her way around the room. She paused at the tray, made a little noise of acceptance, took something from one of the dishes and popped it into her mouth before disappearing through one of the doors leading to another room. Atty glanced around. There were three other doors, besides the one that led to the main hall. She wondered where the beautiful woman had gone when there was a knock on the outside door. A second later the beautiful woman emerged from the side room to answer it.

“Ah, Berta! Good. You brought warm water for a bath. I’m sure Yulen will be anxious to get rid of the filth from these past few weeks. Go ahead and fill the tub for us,” she instructed, stepping aside.

Burdened with an armload of fresh towels, the servant woman paused just inside the doorway, and Atty could see her scanning the room, knowing the Battle Lord had left the Mutah girl inside. If there had been another light in the room, Atty was certain she would have been spotted, but at the moment she was just another shadow against the far wall. The servant went through the same door the woman had, followed by four more pairs of staff carrying enormous buckets of warm water that had been attached to beams and hoisted onto their shoulders. She could hear splashing sounds, which told her the tub was made of metal instead of wood. Presently the servants re-entered the room and departed out the front door. The strange woman closed and locked the door behind them.

It wasn’t until the woman began to take her clothes off that Atty’s eyes grew larger with surprise. Without a doubt this was the mistress Yulen had thrown in her face. Well, she had asked him so she could be prepared when they returned. And from the woman’s actions, it was crystal clear what she had planned for him that evening. Plus she had no knowledge of Atty’s existence.

The woman continued to strip down until she wore only a thin white shift that ended right below her pert buttocks. Atty wondered how far down in front her modesty extended. There was no way the shift was something she normally would wear underneath her dress. But Atty couldn’t deny the fact that the woman was breathtaking.

And Normal.

There was a rattle at the doorknob, followed by a quick knock.

“Atty, open the door.”

The woman tiptoed over to the door and unlocked it, opening it to a very surprised look on the Battle Lord’s face. Giving him a big smile, she reached up to him and pressed herself against his body.

“Yulen, it’s so good to have you back home again!” she breathed huskily. She ran her hands over his chest, pausing to tweak his nipples beneath the fabric of his tunic.

Atty watched as the Battle Lord brushed her hands away and stepped quickly inside the room, closing the door behind him. His eyes swept the room, looking for her, but the woman was effectively blocking him.

“Come! I know you’re tired, so lie down and let me rub those knots out of your shoulders,” the woman purred, taking his one hand and trying to lead him over to the bed.

“Tandra, what are you doing here?” Yulen asked her bluntly. The coldness of his words chilled her warm welcome. The woman hesitated, and Atty wondered if she’d ever gotten that kind of response from him before.

“What do you mean, what am I doing here?” She gave a half-hearted laugh. She finally noticed the long wound on the side of his face, and she reached up to gingerly touch it. “Oh, my sweet love, you’ve been injured!”

“Tandra, put your clothes on and leave. Now.” He looked down at her. “Now.” His voice was soft, but there was the darkness of an underlying, unspoken threat in the clipped tones.

The woman took a step back. As easily as she had slipped out of her clothes, she slipped out of her mood and gave him an equally cool once-over. “Are you tossing me out, Yulen?”

A smile came over the Battle Lord’s face, but it held no warmth or humor. “Think of our arrangement as being permanently cancelled, Tandra. Now, are you going to do as I ordered, or do I need to get someone up here to help you?”

From where Atty sat, she could see a hardness come over the woman’s face. It turned her beautiful features into a bitter mask. Atty could easily imagine how the woman would look twenty years later in life.

“I thought the rumor about you bringing a Mutah woman back here was just a joke. I thought that, even if you did, it wouldn’t affect what we had,” she said angrily.

“Tandra, I’m sorry if I’m hurting you, but you know there never was anything between us,” Yulen conceded.

“Then the rumors are true? You and this...Mutah woman?”

He gave a deep sigh. He didn’t want to pursue this issue any further, but he had no choice. “Tandra—”

The sound of her slap was like a clap of thunder. Yulen flinched at the pain. Fortunately she’d struck the unwounded side of his face.

Grabbing her things, she raced back into the bathroom. It was less than a minute later when she slammed open the door and hurried out, completely dressed, passing Yulen without another word before racing out the room. He closed the door behind her with a loud sigh. The room stilled.

“Atty? Where are you?” he asked softly.

She stood up next to the bed, and he caught the faint movement in the shadows. “I came back because I’d forgotten something,” he explained. “I’m sorry she had to intrude, but it’s a good thing I returned. Are you okay? Did she say anything to you? Or do anything?”

“She never saw me.” Atty’s eyes darted toward the door. “She didn’t know I was here.” Biting her lip, she asked, although she already knew the answer. “She’s your mistress, isn’t she?”

“Was, Atrilan. She was my mistress.” He watched for the expression on her face, waiting to see how she was feeling, what she was thinking. Atty wore her emotions on her face; her soul reflected in her eyes. She would never be able to hide anything from him.

“And how long before you tell me to leave?” she whispered almost too softly for him to hear.

“Maybe after fifty or sixty years,” he whispered just as softly. She remained back against the shadows on the other side of the room. “Atrilan, do you remember what I told my mother downstairs?”

She didn’t answer, but he knew she was listening. Remembering.

“These next few days are going to be sheer hell. I won’t deny it, nor will I try to hide it. My people are going to be calling for your blood. There may even be a few scuffles, but don’t worry. I’ll have you well guarded as long as you do as I say. Do you understand me so far?”

She nodded silently.

“I came back because I had to ask you one very important question. I need to know if what I’m getting ready to fight for is going to be worth it. I mean, I need to know from you if...” He placed his hands on his hips and bowed his head. “If... Atrilan, I can’t explain what I’m feeling for you, because I’ve never felt this intense kind of... Dammit, Atrilan. I love you. I love you so strongly I almost can’t breathe when I’m around you. And when I’m not around you, I’m one massive ache, needing to be with you again. What I’m trying to ask is for you to give me your heart, Atrilan. Pledge to me your heart as I’m pledging mine to you. Now.”

“What happens if I do?” she asked him, cautious. Afraid. She knew she was about to make a commitment that would affect her for the rest of her life, and it terrified her. Yet, at the same time, her heart told her it was the right thing to do. The only thing she could do, because she had known from the moment he approached her in that tiny soap shop that their destinies were meant to be intertwined, just as she knew their bodies would eventually become.

“I’m asking you to marry me, Atrilan. I want you to be my wife. You told me you love me. Can you accept me enough to consent? Can you accept me?”

He watched her step out of the shadows like a forest spirit taking shape and form. In the lantern light, her hair was a blue flame framing her face. “What kind of life will I have here if I do?”

He shook his head. “I can only promise that I’ll love you with my whole body every day that you’re with me. Or, as long as I can be with you, I don’t care where we share a life. Do you want me to take you back to Wallis?”

Atty took several steps closer to him, until she was standing directly before him. Placing a hand on his gore-splattered chest, she could feel the rapid beating of his heart.

“I don’t care where you go, or where you are, as long as I can be with you,” she admitted. “Just never leave me, Yul. Never tell me to leave you. That’s all I want. You don’t have to make me your wife it that would be too much for your people to accept. Besides, your mother would never allow it.”

“My mother no longer has any control over me or my desires,” Yulen growled softly. He forced himself to keep his hands away from touching her until he was sure of her answer, even though his body trembled with anticipation.

“Perhaps, but she would try.” Atty looked up into his eyes, pleading. “I’ll be your wife in every way but name, Yulen. I’m ready to give you my heart and my body, and I do it because I love you so much it hurts. But until I can freely walk out among your people, and until they can accept me without hate or fear, I can’t allow you to make that sacrifice of marrying me. Yes, I’ll pledge my heart to yours, my love. I accept your offer, as long as it’s on my terms.”

“Then I accept your terms,” he murmured as he also accepted her soft kiss and the promise of her body leaning against his.

He held her tightly, aware of her shivering. Whether it was from the chill in the room, or their embrace, he didn’t ask. Her hands clutched the back of his tunic, and he could sense her slowly relaxing. She was in a very hostile environment, and she was willing to remain here solely because of her love for him. Yulen kissed her fragrant hair in gratitude.

He allowed himself another long moment in her arms before reluctantly breaking away. “It may be a long night, my love. Eat something and enjoy a hot soak in the tub. If I’m not back before morning, don’t be worried. Eventually I’ll return.”

She gave him another kiss, this time on the scar on his cheek as she felt his hands slide away. And when he left, she knew no one else would be disturbing her for the rest of the evening.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Guilt

Atty awoke at daybreak to find the other side of the bed hadn’t been slept in. Walking over to the big window overlooking the main courtyard, she saw several mounds of timber being built just outside the walls of the compound. Before the day was over there would be sixteen funeral pyres lit, and sixteen souls put to rest.

Souls whose deaths she was responsible for.

A rap at the door drew her away from the grisly sight. In the hallway Berta stood with another tray, this time her breakfast. As the servant woman replaced the tray from the night before with the new one, Atty couldn’t help but notice the way the woman remained wary, as if expecting to be attacked at any moment.

“Thank you, Berta,” she thanked the woman softly as the servant prepared to leave.

Berta paused, a surprised expression on her face. “You’re we—” she started to automatically reply, then caught herself.

Atty kept her eyes down. It was clear the woman hadn’t expected to be thanked, especially from a Mutah, and the enemy. A long moment passed between them, when she heard the servant clear her throat. “Will you be needing anything else?”

Atty looked up at her. The woman was doing her duty as ordered, most likely from Yulen, although it was clear the servant was torn between her revulsion for having to serve the blue-haired woman and her insatiable curiosity.

“Can you tell me where the Battle Lord is?” Atty asked in what she hoped was a non-threatening voice. She knew she would have to be very careful about what she said and how she said it, and pray nothing she said would be taken the wrong way.

“Out overseeing the funerals,” Berta replied curtly. “If you look out the window, you can see them for yourself.”

“I have,” Atty nodded. “What I meant to ask was... Never mind. Thank you again for the tray.”

The servant gave her a barely perceptible nod of her head. “The Battle Lord has requested a tray be sent to you again at midday,” she informed her, then quickly left. Atty closed the door behind her.

Strangely, she found herself to be quite hungry. A quick examination of the tray revealed an array of foods that astonished her. Most of the grains and fruits were difficult, if not impossible, to come by in Wallis, and as such were considered delicacies to her people. The peaches in particular were something Atty had only heard about but had never tasted before. Biting into the velvet skin, she closed her eyes against the sweet juice running down her chin. She was so intent on the incredible flavor filling her mouth, she never heard the nearly silent snick of the door opening behind her. A second later she whirled around as a hand brushed back a wave of her hair that cascaded down her back. Hand met metal, and the lid that Atty had instinctively used as a shield as she’d turned around was knocked from her hand, sailing across the room and ricocheting off the upper corner of the bureau.

Yulen gave her a weary smile. “At least it’s nice to know I’m not so dead on my feet that I can’t still defend myself. How are you doing this morning?”

Atty stared at him intently, aware of his appearance and the fact that his sadness was like an dark aura around him. “You look like crap,” she replied softly, letting him know she empathized with him.

“Fine, comforting words coming from you, when you’ve had a few hours of sleep.” Although his words were scathing, his tone was anything but. Yulen reached out with a finger and ran it over a trail of juice covering her chin. He stuck the finger in his mouth and smiled. “Peaches?”

“I’ve never had one before,” she told him. Before she could say another word, he had pulled her into his arms. His mouth descended over hers. Atty shivered as his tongue tasted her lips and started a path of fire over her chin and down her neck, following the sweetness with his hot breath.

Her own breath quickened as she melted against his hard body, unable to resist the ache inside her that was quickly becoming more intense. She could hear him moan as he tried to devour her, tried to lose himself in her and in her body.

Atty ceased struggling and wrapped her arms around his neck. She knew that a part of him was seeking surcease from what was one of the most difficult burdens a Battle Lord had to bear—the cremation of one of his soldiers. Except, this time, there were sixteen today he had to send to the flames.

She said nothing as his hands grew rougher, and his tongue and mouth grew hotter. He had shifted her over into one arm, holding her tightly so he could lift her under her knees, and press her closer to him with the other. Closing her eyes, Atty let his overwhelming need seize her. She was drowning in his desire, fighting her own raw lust that engulfed her in blankets of heat. She prayed for him not to stop.

She felt him rip open the shirt she’d put on the night before, one of his shirts she’d found in the second bureau drawer, the white shirt she’d used as a nightgown to help keep her warm until he returned. The white shirt he now shredded from her body so he could devour her breasts. His tongue sucked and licked, until she wanted him to place all of her in his mouth and consume her. Her nipples were like puckered berries, ripe and tantalizing. When his teeth closed over them, she lifted her hips and cried out as little knives of desire sliced into her woman’s core.

Her breath caught in her throat as his free arm lifted her almost perpendicular to him, allowing him unrestricted access to her exposed body. She was unable to help herself from arching her back. His mouth on her bare skin was an experience she’d prayed she would experience after their night in Foster City, and she found herself lost in the storm that was flooding her senses with indescribable need. This was nothing like the other night. Nothing.

He tasted her belly, tonguing the goosefleshed expanse of warmth and softness before finding and assaulting the small, dimpled navel. It wasn’t until he reached the fragrant valley of indigo curls that he finally lifted his face and shuddered.

“Oh, God, Atrilan...”

She whimpered, melting under his ministrations as he parted her thighs with his tongue, his arms holding her body to where she couldn’t move, couldn’t escape, couldn’t do anything but let him take total possession of her. He raised her hips and dove for her clit, taking the stiff nub between his teeth and tongue, and teasing them until she could feel herself rising on that same storm cloud of emotions she’d felt last night.

Then, to her utter shock, he suddenly released her, dropping her to her feet before he strode over to the window, placed his hands on the sill, and lowered his head as he breathed in huge gulps of fresh air.

There was a hesitant knock on the door. Atty then understood why he’d released her. Gathering the remnants of her shirt about her, she went over to the bed and sat at the head, tucking one foot beneath her. Her nerves were still on fire. Her thighs were wet, and her skin tingled were his mouth had left a burning trail. Her heart was beating so fast she was nearly light-headed.

The knock came again.

“Come,” Yulen ordered in a tight voice, keeping his stance at the window.

It was Berta with another small army of servants bearing more buckets on poles. Atty watched as they trooped into the bathroom to refill the huge brass tub with warm water. Before they had a chance to leave, Yulen tore off his stained tunic, tossing it onto the floor, and quickly went into the bathroom. As she exited the room, the servant woman picked up the shirt as Atty assumed she had countless times in the past.

When the woman caught sight of her over on the bed, Atty gave her a small smile. “Thank you,” she told the servant again. This time, Berta nodded in response before shooing the rest of the staff out of the room, closing the door behind her as she also left.

Atty hurried to the bathroom, pausing at the door. Yulen was in the tub. His pants were thrown onto the floor nearby, and his weapons belt hung from the back of the chair by the window. She watched as he submerged himself under the water, staying there for several seconds before coming back up for air. Smoothing his hair over his scalp, he blinked water from his eyes to see her watching him from the other side of the room.

“This tub can hold two,” he commented.

“I know.”

“Come join me.”

“I had my bath last night,” she told him, feeling the sensations he’d initiated deep within her slowly heating back up and tightening in her belly.

“Join me, Atrilan. I want you.”

She tried to breathe, but her throat had closed up. Biting her lower lip to hold back the tears that wanted to fill her eyes, she shook her head. “You don’t want me,” she finally managed to whisper. “You want a mistress.”

Her mouth dropped open as Yulen rose from the tub, stepped out of it, and walked over to her. Water sluiced down his naked body, and she was unable to stop her eyes from taking in his hard, muscular arms and chest, his flat stomach, and his quickly swelling erection. It jutted outward, a thick, muscular pole.

Spit stuck in her throat and her eyes widened, unable to tear her gaze from his length. She took a step back as he advanced, unknowingly pinning herself against the door. Yulen slammed both hands to the wood, caging her with his body, and looked down at her with his nose mere inches away from hers. Despite the iciness in his eyes, there was a hint of sadness in his voice.

“I am risking everything to have you. I am risking it all so that one day you can walk among my people with your head held high. So that you and I can declare ourselves as husband and wife. But until the day you take your vows with me, and that time will come, Atrilan, I promise you, let me have the liberty of you. I want your kisses. I want your body. I’m wanting you. Not a mistress. You. Now.”

He turned and strode back into the tub, easing himself down again as his aching muscles protested against the hot water. Glancing back up at her, he waited to see what she would say. What she would do.

There was no way her heart could deny him.

Throwing off the torn shirt, she hurried over and stepped into the tub. The shock of hot water couldn’t stop her from throwing herself into his arms, or from pressing herself against his strong, lean body. As she met the ferocity of his kisses with her own, she was dimly aware of his hands spreading her legs across his lap, to straddle him where he sat beneath her. Unconsciously she rose up on her knees, sliding her body along his, as the terrible ache below her belly traveled downward and grew hotter than the water surrounding them.

His mouth found her neck once more. His hands cupped her breasts, teasing them with calloused thumbs until she moaned from the sensations overwhelming her.

“Yul!”

His hands grabbed her hips and started to lower her slowly over himself. As his erection began to penetrate her, Yulen again felt the subtle resistance of her virginity. He paused, taking a shaky breath that turned into a deep groan. Hands trembling, he shook his head and lifted her.

“No...no...”

“Please!” she sobbed softly in his ear. Her own hands reached down to touch him, to grasp him, to guide him back to where he could open her final portal. In her hands he was thicker than a pole, but covered in the softest skin.

“No!” He shifted, grasping her hands that still held him, and moving them to where he could safely rest within her without penetration.

Atty trembled in his arms. She cried softly, begging him. Wanting him. Knowing that it no longer made any difference to her because at this moment she needed him more than he was needing her. She had to have him inside her to erase this burning, debilitating clenching in her womb. Yulen held her tightly, drawing up his knees beneath her so that there was no danger of him accidentally breaking her.

“No,” he whispered again through his own tears. “I am honoring your terms with my own, Atrilan. On the day you take your vows with me, I’ll take your virginity, and then there will be no stopping my making love to you all day, every day, and all night, if we so desire.”

“Yul...”

“Those are my terms, my beloved,” he murmured in her ear. In the water her wet hair was a curtain of silk strands that tickled and caressed their skin as it flowed back and forth between their bodies.

“That’s blackmail,” she gasped. Her hands were still trapped between their thighs. Teasingly, provocatively, she squeezed his steel-like length with her fingers. It took both hands to hold him. He reacted as every muscle in his body stiffened.

“Atrilan, I have enough guilt on my conscience right now. If you lose your ability when I take you completely, I want us to have no regrets. I never want you to look back on that moment with despair.” Pulling her back gently, he gazed into her eyes. “I love you.”

“Then show me,” she begged throatily. “Show me.”

Reaching between them, Yulen took her hands away from where they held him, and slid down further into the tub until the water covered his shoulders and she was resting almost on top of him. Carefully, he took himself in one hand and began to rub within her, finding that part of her that responded without penetration. Atty gasped; her body convulsed as he used the head of his penis to masturbate her, provoking and coaxing her orgasm.

Slowly she began to slide the length of her body up and down his as he continued to build her passion with himself. Water sloshed over the sides of the tubs, unheeded as their rhythm grew steadily faster and wilder. He kept her pressed to his groin with his free hand, and Atty clutched his shoulders, using her knees to help her seesaw her breasts over his chest, scraping his skin with her hard, tight nipples.

Their mutual release came without warning, catching them unprepared for the power it contained. Their bodies spasmed, and Yulen cried out as his fingers dug into Atty’s hips. A bright, sharp pain arched through his neck, and he realized she had bitten him inadvertently when she’d climaxed.

As they both drifted, semi-conscious in the aftermath, Yulen wrapped his arms around her to hold her tighter against him. Atty settled her forehead in the crook of his shoulder and closed her eyes. The warm water enveloped them as it settled back in the tub.

She knew he would have to get up soon and get dressed to begin the emotionally grueling ordeal of standing over and lighting sixteen funeral pyres. Lifting her head, she kissed the golden stubble on his cheek. “I’ll be with you,” she told him softly. He nodded silently, eyes closed.

While he was out there she would be with him in spirit and soul, if not in body. She prayed it wouldn’t be long before she could stand next to him and before his people without trepidation. Because once that day came, all terms of their conditions would be met, and they could finally have their first night of true, unrestricted passion.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Enemies

Atty stood by the window all day and watched Yulen as he personally tended to every family, spoke solemn words over each wrapped body, and helped to light the wood below the pyre. There was another man dressed in dark robes who remained with him throughout each ceremony. She guessed he had to be their man of faith for the compound.

At one point she caught Yulen glancing in her direction. He must have known she would be watching from that particular window. And although he made no gesture or motion that he’d seen her, she knew he was aware of her.

The wind was blowing in from the northwest, keeping the smoke from enveloping the compound. Still, the odor of the burning bodies was inescapable. As midday approached, nine of her victims had been sent to their eternal rest. The remainder would be taken care of that afternoon. In the distance she could hear a bell toll nine times, then seven more times.

Berta came with another tray. The amount of food on it was tremendous, making Atty venture to ask the woman, “Why do you bring so much?”

“The Battle Lord specifically asked me to,” the servant replied. “Especially the milk. I was ordered never to forget the mug of milk.” For the first time she paused and dared to ask a question back. “What are we supposed to call you?”

Atty managed a sad smile. “What are they calling me downstairs? Or do I want to know?”

Berta gave a little grunt. “They say your name is Atty, but I thought I heard the Battle Lord refer to you by another name once.”

She took a shaky breath. “My full name is Atrilan Ferran. He’s the only one to call me Atrilan. Everyone else calls me Atty...when they’re not using other choice words.” She gave the woman a wary smile.

The servant woman nodded. She hadn’t missed the wide swath of water overflowed from the tub onto the floor, nor the shredded shirt when she’d come up to clean earlier.

“Atty,” the woman softly said to herself, as if she were tasting it to see if it was palatable. “I’ll be back this evening with your dinner tray.” Giving her a curt nod, the woman left.

In the afternoon the wind shifted, but the change in the weather had been anticipated. The remainder of the funerals were on the opposite side of the compound where Atty couldn’t watch, even though she could still hear the sounds of crying and the crackling of flames. When the sun had passed over the roof to the other side of the main lodge, she decided to lie down for an hour. The sun was beginning its descent when she awoke and saw the woman standing at the foot of the bed, watching her.

Shaking the sleep from her eyes, Atty sat up and scrambled back toward the wall. Her ears could catch no sound other than the soft echoes of the dying fires in the distance. The funerals were over. Tomorrow would be a fresh day.

“All I have thought about today is what our people would do to you if I had you dragged out into the courtyard and left you there for them,” the woman began darkly.

“Yulen would never allow you to do that,” Atty returned. The woman couldn’t hurt her physically, and they both knew it. The Battle Lord’s protection was absolute.

Madigan nodded. “True, but I can still have my dreams, can’t I?”

“Why are you here?”

“I had to see you. I had to see for myself, and witness for myself.” The woman walked across the room to peer through the door and saw the damp floor still drying in the bath. She took a ragged breath. “Knowing you’re here in his rooms, that’s hard enough for me to have to swallow. But knowing he’s been having you in his bed...” She bowed her head and placed a hand to her face.

“You know Yulen never came to bed last night,” Atty reminded her in a tight voice.

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” Madigan whirled on her. “What about the night before that? What about tonight? And tomorrow night? And the night after that?” She held up one balled-up fist and shook it at her. “Does he really expect me to look the other way when he’s copulating with a Mutah under this roof?”

Atty crawled off the bed but remained at a safe distance. “Yulen hasn’t done that with me,” she informed the woman.

The look of disgust that passed over the woman’s face was like a blow to the stomach. “Don’t even start with your lies!”

“I’ve never had a man,” Atty told her, trying to keep from breaking down. The woman’s hatred was so thick, it was choking. “I’m still a virgin. Yulen told you that!”

Madigan reacted by grabbing one of the dishes off the tray and hurling it toward her. “Liar!” Her aim was poor. Dish and food went sliding across the floor.

“Go on!” Atty yelled at her. “Ask Liam! Have him come up this minute and have him examine me! He’ll tell you. Then will you believe me?”

Mentioning the physician had an impact on the woman. She took a couple of steps back but remained staring at her for a long moment. “Why?” she finally asked. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me.”

“Oh, yes, there is,” Madigan chuckled. “There has to be. Or else Yulen would have already made you one of his women. Oh, yes, I know my son. You’re too beautiful not to have caught his eye, even with your morning glory hair.”

Atty cast her eyes downward as she shook her head. How could she explain to the woman that how she looked had nothing to do with Yulen’s decision to bring her to Alta Novis? How could she make his mother understand the self-imposed torment they were putting themselves through?

“Please. Listen to me,” she asked the older woman. “I have this skill—”

“With a longbow,” Madigan interrupted. “Yes, I know. I’ve heard nothing but stories about what you did since Yul returned. I know I also owe you a thank you for saving his life from that ferret. Well...you have my thanks,” she grudgingly allowed.

“I saved his life because I fell in love with him,” Atty told her softly.

“Oh, spare me your platitudes! You’re here because he wants you to teach the men how to use the longbow. He wants you to spill your secrets.”

Atty nodded. “Initially, yes. I didn’t plan on falling in love with him. He never planned on loving me, either. It just happened. And now we’re paying the price for it.”

“Really!” Madigan laughed, although her face still showed her bitterness toward the Mutah girl. “How are you paying a price?”

“If I lose my virginity, I will lose all my ability with the longbow. My people have told me that all my life,” Atty confessed, her fists clenched by her side. “Yulen has asked me to be his wife, which would mean my giving up my skills, and I am more than willing to sacrifice them for him. But I placed a condition on his offer.”

“He pledged himself to you?”

“Yes.”

“And you accepted?”

“With one condition.”

“And that being...”

“His people have to accept me readily and without prejudice. Until they do, I will not consent to be his wife.”

Madigan’s bark of laughter rang in the room. “Oh, that’s just too rich! How inconceivably naive of you! Perfect! Just perfect! You know you will never meet that condition, don’t you? As long as I draw breath, I will never, never accept you as anything but the enemy!” she taunted.

A single tear rolled down Atty’s cheek. “And Yulen has sworn to me he will not take me until I take those vows with him,” she finished. “So, you see, you have nothing to worry about. If your hatred for me never abates, I can’t take those vows. And without the vows, Yulen won’t... What was the word you used? Oh, yes. Copulate. Yulen won’t copulate with me.” Another tear followed, but she was unaware of it. “I am here not just because he brought me here, but because I don’t want to ever leave his side. I want to stay with him, no matter what happens, regardless of whether we ever become husband and wife. Regardless of whether we’ll be able to lie in each other’s arms. I...love...him, Madigan. And you can’t change that. Never. No matter how hard you try, no matter how much you wish it otherwise.”

“And I love her just as strongly,” Yulen told his mother as he stood at the door.

Both women looked up in surprise, Madigan with more anger in her eyes. “How long have you been spying on us?” the older woman demanded heatedly.

Yulen entered the room, shutting the door behind him as he lifted an eyebrow. “Spying? In my own bedroom?” Glancing at Atty, he asked, “Are you all right?”

“Is this true, Yul?” the older woman asked. “Is it true she’s a virgin?”

Yulen glanced at Atty, who nodded slowly. “Yes, Mother, it’s true. If you don’t believe me, get Liam up here. He’ll confirm it right now if you need proof. Unless you want to check her yourself.”

The casual comment caused the older woman to throw her hands up in defeat. “And you pledged yourselves to each other, but with the condition that this woman be welcome in Alta Novis?”

“Atty will prove herself. It will take time, but it’ll happen,” Yulen swore. “Now, if you don’t mind, I want to spend a quiet evening with the woman I love. Berta should be arriving soon with our supper. In the meantime, Atty, would you like to take in some fresh air? I know you’ve been cooped up in here all day.”

Knowing she’d been dismissed, Madigan hurried out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Atty looked back at where Yulen stood with his hands on his hips, his eyes cast downward. “Please forgive her. My mother is a very bitter woman,” he began. Atty hurried over, shushing him.

“No more. I don’t want to talk any more about her. Did you say fresh air?”

He lifted his head and graced her with a gentle smile. “Out on the balcony.”

“What balcony?”

Yulen chuckled as he ran his fingers through her glossy hair. “I thought you were going to snoop. Surely you checked all the doors to see where they led?”

She shook her head. His hand was gentle, caressing. Closing her eyes, she was half-prepared to feel his lips on hers. His kiss was long, slow, and deep, and made up for the despair brought upon her as it sensuously filled her, starting from her toes and winding its way up through her body. If they had all evening and all night to be together, nothing else would make her happier.

When he finally released her, he led her over to the far door at the opposite end of the room. It was unlocked, and led out to a balcony along the edge of the roof. From where she stood, Atty could see where a bell had been erected at the furthest end of the main lodge, close to the courtyard. Below it a narrow ladder led down to the ground. Atty looked at him for an explanation.

“Whenever there’s an important announcement to be made, the Battle Lord, or whoever is in charge, comes out here and rings the bell. That alerts the compound to gather to hear the announcement. My father rang that bell when I was born, to tell everyone he had a son.”

She could still hear echoes of it pealing all through the day. “Have you ever rung it?” she asked.

“Two years ago. It was my first time to hold the rope. To let the people know of my father’s passing.” His voice softened with the memory. Atty leaned against him to offer him comfort. “One day, Atrilan, I will ring it again to announce our wedding. I promise you.”

“I believe you,” she answered him, surprising herself with the statement. Maybe they would. One day. Soon, hopefully.

It was twilight, and the air was still. Overhead, stars were popping out in the night sky. In the distance the funeral fires were beginning to die, the curls of smokes dissipating. Unaware they were being watched, Yulen pulled Atty against him and bowed his head, resting his cheek against hers as she pressed her hands against his back. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply. All evening. All night. He would be able to hold her and love her, and she would begin to heal him. From here on the battle would be all uphill, but the worst was over. And she would always be here, waiting for him.

After a moment Atty alerted him of a knock on the bedroom door, and together they left the balcony, closing the outer door behind them.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Opinion

MaGrath found the Battle Lord sitting at one of the long tables in the main hall doing the paperwork that needed to be read, signed, and distributed. It was the only part of the job Yulen truly abhorred, just as his father did before him, but it was a necessary evil. When the time came when he could no longer shunt it to one side, he’d go down to the main hall and spread it all out, just as he’d been taught by his father. This time, however, the physician had the feeling the man was delving into the paperwork as an escape, rather than thinking of it as a duty.

The physician grabbed two mugs of beer from the kitchen before sauntering over to where the man was reading a long list, most likely the inventory from the compound’s stores. He set one mug where Yulen could see it, then took a seat opposite him.

“I hate these yearly sweeps,” the Battle Lord mumbled. “Too much happens when I’m gone.”

“Yeah. Well, that’s to be expected. When we got back, I found out that Macintyre had completely depleted my stores of antibiotics. If there’s one thing you never allow yourself to run out of, it’s antibiotics.”

Yulen cast an eye in his direction as he reached for the beer. “Bet you gave him an earful.”

MaGrath nodded, smiling from the memory. “But I’ll bet you he’ll never do it again. Serves me right, anyway. That’s what I get for leaving an apprentice in charge of the compound when I go traipsing about the countryside with you.”

Chuckling, Yulen took a sip and set down the drink to return to the paperwork. “But that’s over now, isn’t it? No more senseless killings, thank God.”

MaGrath watched him for a while, until the Battle Lord gave him another subjective glance. “Did you need to see me about anything in particular?” he finally asked pointedly.

“Atty,” the physician responded bluntly. When Yulen put down the paperwork and sat back, he knew he had the man’s full attention.

“Okay, Liam. What now?”

“It’s been three days since the funeral. Don’t you think it’s about time you let her out of that room?”

“When she’s ready to leave it, I won’t stop her.”

MaGrath swallowed the smile that threatened to break over his face. “I thought maybe the reason you were keeping her up there was to protect her.”

“You know that’s part of it,” Yulen acknowledged. “What’s your point? I swear, Liam, you are harder to pin down than a snake.”

He took a sip of beer. “I just thought you’d like to know what the talk is that’s going around the compound, with regards to you and the little missus.”

Yulen snorted softly. “You know I do. So what am I going to have to do to get you to spill the beans?” As the compound’s main doctor, he knew MaGrath had his finger on the pulse of the community, and was often privy to information he’d never be able to obtain on his own. The only thing MaGrath ever denied him was confidential details about individual people. It was part of his oath he took when he became a physician, and Yulen respected his decision.

“Well, for one thing, you’re going to have to start being a bit more subtle in your attentions toward Atty.”

Blue-gray eyes narrowed, partly in confusion, partly in anger. “What do you mean?”

MaGrath gestured toward the upstairs suite with a nod of his head. “Did you forget your bathroom is directly over the kitchen?”

“No. The tub drains through the kitchen’s pipes, right behind the sinks. Why?”

“Didn’t you think the help would notice whenever the ceiling begins to drip because a lot of water’s been leaking out of the tub upstairs?”

“The tub doesn’t have a leak,” Yulen continued, then abruptly stopped. He saw MaGrath waggle his eyebrows at him. “All right. Noted. What else?”

The physician scratched his own neck with a finger. “Nice love bite. Next time, though, you might want to think about putting a bandage over it.”

Yulen sighed loudly. Lacing his fingers together, he planted his elbows on the table and pressed his lips against his hands. “Go on.”

“Just one more,” the physician promised. “Whenever you two are outside on the balcony, remember there’s probably about a dozen or so eyes watching you at any one time. Doesn’t matter if it’s daylight or dark. You’re the Battle Lord, and right now you two are the juiciest bit of news around here.”

“So what are they saying, Liam? What’s their opinion of Atty?”

“You want the good with the bad?”

“I want the truth, good and bad. Do you think there’s a chance they could ever accept her?”

MaGrath shrugged. “How do you expect them to accept her until they get to know her? They need to meet her. Talk with her. Be with her face-to-face. You want the truth? I think she’ll win them over once they get a taste of her sass and her honesty. You don’t have to be around her long before you know how innocent she is.”

“An innocent who killed sixteen of my men.”

Sitting up straighter, the physician leaned part-way over the table. “Do you have any knowledge of what your men are saying about her?”

He was pleased to see the alarm come over the Battle Lord’s face. Yes, the man had only shouldered his position for two short years, but he showed exceptional promise to become an even greater leader than his father had been. In the meantime, MaGrath felt it his lifelong duty to be this man’s mentor and guide—a man he always thought of as the son he never had.

“Sit down, Yulen. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“What are they saying, Liam?”

“What are they saying? They’re telling everyone about this girl’s incredible abilities. They’re telling people about how she saved your butt from a bull ferret. They’re telling people about her taking out Foster City’s pennant. What they don’t have to mention is how she fought alongside you against the Bloods. But I can tell you there’s plenty of talk about her use of a bow up on the parapet that day. Yulen, you have to let her go out on the field and show these people why you originally brought her here. They already know what’s going on between the two of you. Once they see and hear, they’ll understand. Why, even old Berta is having second thoughts about you keeping her a virtual prisoner upstairs.”

“Atty is not my prisoner,” Yulen stated.

“She’s not your wife, either. And neither is she your mistress, although the general consensus is swayed the other way.”

Lowering his hands, the Battle Lord acquiesced. “You’re right. I’ll go speak with her. Let her know we need to set up some trials. Otherwise the men aren’t going to stand around and allow her to give them instructions.” He started to rise when MaGrath reached over and laid a hand on his arm.

“No need to go upstairs. She’s already gone.”

“Gone?” Yulen’s face paled. MaGrath was quick to correct himself.

“Don’t panic. Not gone gone. I meant gone for a walk. It’s Saturday, Market Day. Atty went for a walk out into the compound proper.”

“By herself?”

“Yeah,” the physician nodded. “And unarmed.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Walk

Atty took a deep breath to try and calm herself, then stepped outside the door. By eavesdropping at the bedroom window she’d learned that Saturday was Market Day. And if the market was anything like it was in Wallis, it would be filled with people laughing and arguing, buying and selling, renewing old acquaintances and making new ones.

Liam had been right about one thing. If she wanted these people to accept her, they had to get to know her. That meant that at some point she had to venture away from Yulen’s protective arm and away from the shielded privacy of the bedroom, and walk among them. Talk to them. Let them get to know her, and she them.

Immediately she was aware of everyone’s reaction to her. She’d worn her hair down, knowing its color would be like throwing down the gauntlet, but she no longer cared. They knew she was at the compound. Talk was they’d seen her and the Battle Lord together, and knew from the soldiers’ and the servants’ gossip they were intimately involved.

No more tip-toeing around, she’d decided. Time to jump in feet first with eyes wide open and chin held high.

And to make extra sure there would be no mistaking her intentions, Atty had deliberately left her weapons belt in the bedroom. She would be a sheep among wolves, if that was what it took to prove herself.

Rather than stop and see what the people around her would do, she decided to look over the stalls. It wasn’t long before she became fascinated by the assortment and variety of items for sale or barter. Alta Novis was one of the largest compounds this side of the Missip River, or so she’d been told. The wagons and tents this day seemed to go on forever.

At one fruit stand she spotted the familiar peaches she’d been enjoying, along with another couple of foods she thought she recognized. The vendor eyed her cautiously, not yet decided whether he would serve her or not.

“Excuse me, but what are those?” she asked him, pointing to some large purple clusters.

“Grapes,” he replied stiffly, eyebrows lowered. “Haven’t you ever seen grapes before?”

Atty shook her head. “Only in books.”

“Only in books?” A woman nearby parroted. “You know how to read?”

Atty quickly swallowed her pride. She had to remember these people had been indoctrinated with the same half-truths and falsehoods that Yulen had been taught. For her to get upset when they questioned her would not help matters.

“Yes, I can read,” she answered them sincerely. “I was also taught some science and history. I can also do my numbers, but not very well, I’m afraid. I hated mathematics, except for the part where I had to learn about trajectory and wind velocity and such. That part was important because I needed it for my trials when I entered the hunters caste.”

To her surprise, the vendor handed her a grape, which she accepted with a smile. “Thank you.” Tentatively she bit into it and found it tantalizingly sweet. Instantly her mind went back to that morning when she’d had her first peach, and Yulen had then had her. A light blush flushed her cheeks. “It’s good! Where do you get these? Are they grown nearby?”

“We trade with the compounds along the route,” the woman vendor across the way told her. “Some of them have their own vineyards and orchards.”

Atty thanked the man again for the taste and continued to stroll along the way. Some people stared as she passed, which was what she expected. Many stopped talking as she neared, which made her wonder if she’d been the topic of conversation.

At one small shed she noticed a display of knives and daggers glistening in the mid-morning sunlight. One dagger in particular drew her eye, and she reached out to run her fingertips down its blade.

“You have excellent taste,” a man came out from inside the building to tell her.

“It’s...beautiful,” Atty told him. “Did you make this yourself?”

He nodded. “My name’s Cavender. I’m the master knife smith here in Alta Novis. You’re Atty, aren’t you?”

She nodded. The man was unreadable. It was hard to tell if he was sizing her up, or if he was being guarded. Which was why she was surprised when he reached past her and lifted down the dagger from its holder.

“This particular one is called a Ballock dagger. Are you familiar with it?”

She shook her head.

“I made the grip of burled black ash because I liked the grain. The blade is double-edged. Personally I love the heft. Just under eleven ounces. Here, try it.”

Atty stared wide-eyed as Cavender handed her the weapon, allowing her to adjust to its feel. “Well, what do you think?”

Although it was a larger than normal dagger, it felt good and solid in her hand. She looked up when the knife smith pointed to a knothole in a tree twenty-five feet away.

“Go ahead and try to hit the tree,” he challenged her.

Around them people stopped and gathered to watch, waiting to see what the Mutah woman would do. Secretly she wondered if they were wanting her to hit the tree, or to miss. Either way, Atty knew she couldn’t be anything other than herself.

“Hit the tree?” she repeated.

Cavender nodded. “If you can,” he added. This time Atty noticed a definite twinkle in the man’s eye.

“Everyone stand back,” she breathed aloud, and checked to make sure no one might accidentally step in the path of her throw. Looking back at the man, she repeated for the second time, “Hit the tree?” adding, “How about the spider on the tree?”

The knife smith looked over at the target. “What spider?”

Before anyone was aware of what she was doing, Atty flipped the blade into her palm, reared back, and threw the dagger in one smooth move. The weapon sliced through the air and embedded itself in another tree just beyond the one Cavender had originally pointed out. A tree that was a good five feet further feet away.

“That spider,” she told him, trying to hide her smile.

One of the vendors who had been watching from the sidelines ran over to retrieve the weapon. When he brought it back, a portion of a large brown spider drooped from the tip.

The crowd reacted with amazement; a few individuals showed true appreciation and clapped. Atty knew she was good. She just had to show them how good, yet at the same time not make them feel intimidated or fearful.

“That’s a gorgeous dagger, Cavender,” she told him in all honesty. “Thank you for letting me test it.” Giving him one of her warmest smiles, she walked back to the main market way and continued her stroll among the vendors as all eyes remained glued on her.

She continued to examine the myriad of items available, many of which were new to her. She was particularly taken by a bolt of sheer cotton material in a soft gray color at a tailor’s stall. Running her hands over the silky fabric, she wondered what a nightgown of such material would feel like on her bare skin. A moment later she remembered she no longer wore nightgowns. Sighing, she pressed on.

She wished she’d brought along some money. Or coin. Or whatever it was these people used to trade and buy and barter with. Atty made a note to ask Yulen what kind of currency was accepted.

Another few feet down was a puppet show. Several children were seated on short benches before the makeshift stage, their parents standing at the rear, watching along with them. The scene reminded her of days when she’d watch similar reenactments being performed by marionettes in her home compound. Atty felt the telltale tingle in her nose of warm tears threatening to embarrass her. She never saw the child before he plowed into her.

She stumbled but caught herself before she fell. Two young boys stopped, frozen in place as they noticed whom they’d almost run over in their haste to catch the ball they’d been tossing back and forth. Several adults turned, hearing the collision, and likewise paused to stare in surprise.

“Battle Lord about!”

The cry came from above and behind them, a cry that Atty had heard numerous times before but never paid any attention to until now. As she dusted herself off she noticed the crowd parting, making way for the man who was quickly striding directly toward her, hand on the pommel of his sword and a worried look on his face.

“Atty, are you all right?” He stopped in front of her but kept his hands to himself. She saw his eyes rake the site, taking in everything around them.

“I’m fine,” she tried to assure him. “It was an accident. How’d you know I was here?” She watched as Yulen crossed his arms and gave her one of his knowing glares. She sighed resignedly. “Right. MaGrath. Remind me to put some of his needles and thread to better use, and stitch up his lips next time I see him,” she groused.

To her surprise, several of the people around them snickered. A smile curled the corners of Yulen’s lips. “Had enough sight-seeing for one day?”

“You mean, am I ready to go back inside? No.”

Atty felt a sense of power after seeing his reaction to her answer.

“No?” he repeated, placing his fists on his hips. “So, when do you think you will be ready to return to the main lodge?”

Oh, hell, why not? a little voice inside her urged. It wasn’t like they wouldn’t find out sooner or later. She had to know for certain, one way or the other, how these people truly felt about her. “If I’m going to be your wife, don’t you think I need to get out and meet your people?” she challenged him directly, never taking her eyes from his face.

The reactions from the crowd were exactly as she’d expected—a mixture of surprise, dismay, excitement, and apprehension. The reaction she got from the Battle Lord was not. Lifting his face, he laughed merrily. “Never let it be said you never spoke your mind!” he teased her fondly. “The real reason I came out here is to find out if you’re ready to head over to the archery field and let my men see you in action. Are you up to it?”

“I don’t have a bow,” she reminded him, aware of the whispering already going on around them. “Remember the big, ugly cuss that chopped it in half out in the meadow?”

“Not a problem. There’s bound to be one you can borrow. It just won’t be a longbow, like you’re used to.”

Atty shrugged with her hands. “Not a problem. I can always make another longbow if I have to. You have a knife smith on the grounds who knows where to find black ash.”

Yulen nodded. “Cavender. He does excellent work. Anything else?”

“Yeah. I want to go out and get what I need to make more arrows. I also need some more barbs.”

“Noted. That all?”

“Oh, one more thing,” she smiled, unable to stop the softness in her eyes as she stood facing him and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’d like some grapes.”

“Grapes?” Yulen cocked his head toward her, as if he didn’t hear her correctly.

“Yeah. Grapes. First, peaches. Now grapes. You know. Big...juicy...purple grapes.” She was delighted to hear him chuckle again, knowing he understood exactly what she was implying.

Yulen took her hand, fully aware of how everyone would take the gesture, and began to lead her toward the back of the compound and beyond the main walls, to where the men practiced in the cleared fields.

“Okay, Atty,” he promised her to where all could hear. “First, prove yourself on the archery range, and then you can have all the grapes you want.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Trial

Atty stood staring at the circular bales of hay that had been draped with painted targets. Yulen had led her outside the compound and up the gentle slope to where the men practiced their archery along the edge of the forest. Apparently he had notified his soldiers there would be a trial featuring the Mutah woman’s skills with a bow, because a good two hundred bodies now crowded the clearing to watch and see for themselves. From the corner of her eye she could see bets being placed, and for some reason it amused her. Did Yulen put money down on her?

Below, in the compound, more people crowded the battlements and parapets to try and catch a glimpse of the talent they’d heard so much about. Taking a deep breath, Atty watched as the Battle Lord gestured to her to join him near a thick strand of birch where a rack of bows stood near a barrel of arrows.

“Take your pick,” he told her, gesturing toward the collection of nearly a dozen bows of all shapes and sizes. Atty picked up two that looked the most capable, and tested the strings. The one made of pecan had excellent tension, and she stepped back with her choice.

“Just tell us how you want us to set up the targets,” one of the men requested. Atty looked over at where Yulen stood with Mastin and one of Mastin’s lieutenants she recognized but didn’t know by name.

“I’m only going to fire once,” she told them loudly. “One chance. One showing. That’s all I need. Otherwise I’ll be forever proving myself,” she pointedly remarked. Turning to the man who was prepared to make ready, she instructed him, “Set that second bale of hay back another fifty yards. Then set the third bale back farther another hundred yards.”

“In a row? Or in line?”

“In a row, spaced apart just like they are now.”

The man signaled to several others, who joined in and began to roll the large bundles back the requested distance. Atty watched to make sure they were placed as she needed them, knowing that everyone observing was curious as to what she had planned. When they had finished, three bales of hay sat in the open field, lined up at an angle, the first one more than fifty yards from where she stood, and the last one over a hundred and fifty yards away.

Once the targets had been pinned down to the front of each bale where they wouldn’t blow away, the men retreated to the sidelines and waited. Atty walked back to the barrel and selected three arrows before returning to the painted circle in the grass which marked where she would stand.

Holding the shafts in her teeth, she tested the good, heavy catgut again, checking the notches to make sure the string was tightly bound to the ends of the bow. There could be no room for accident. The bow had to withstand what she had planned. It wasn’t as long as her own weapon had been, but it had the strength.

She gave the wind a quick check, then began to nock all three arrows simultaneously. Around her, every man immediately stood at attention, and the noise level grew. Behind her Yulen raised a hand for quiet as he approached her, concern evident on his face.

“Atty, what are you doing?”

“What I said I would do. One shot. One showing.”

“Three arrows? At three different targets?”

“Have faith in me, my love,” she told him in softer voice.

“How many times have you done this in the past?”

“Twice.”

“How many times have you hit all three targets?”

She shrugged. “Once.”

“And yet you’re going to attempt to do this, knowing the chances—”

Atty held up a hand to silence him. “Have faith in me, Yul,” she repeated.

Yulen gave her a long, concerned look, then reluctantly backed away to give her the breathing space she’d need to carry out the impossible shoot.

Two arrows at the same target was a hard shot. Two arrows at two different targets was something he’d only heard about but had never personally seen accomplished. If Atty had attempted to hit the same target with three arrows, it would have been enough to convince even the most cynical soldier in the compound.

Three arrows at three separate targets was unheard of. More than that, it was suicidal.

And yet...

The crowd grew deathly still, until the only sound was of birds flying overhead. Atty tested her sight window, an arrow nestled between each of the four fingers of her right hand. She’d chosen three shafts of varying length—the shorter arrow for the shorter distance, and the longer one for the farthest target. Setting the smallest arrow at the bottom, she checked her grip again. She knew she couldn’t delay this for too long. All her life she’d trusted that inborn knowledge that had always steered her in the right direction, her gut instinct which she’d never questioned, but followed trustingly. Giving Yulen one more quick glance, she took another deep, calming breath to center herself.

Planting her feet apart, Atty drew back on the string and looked down the middle arrow to focus on the center target. Then, before the crowd was aware of what she was doing, she turned the bow horizontally, dropped to one knee, drew as far back as the bow would give, and let the arrows fly.

The first arrow buried itself up to its feathers in the center red circle. The second arrow hit dead center in the second bale and disappeared into the mound of hay. The third arrow nicked the upper outer edge of the red bull’s-eye but stayed firmly embedded over its intended site.

A cheer rose like a roar from the crowd as several men ran to the bales to retrieve the arrows. The impossible shot had been accomplished. Now there would never be any doubt as to what the Mutah woman was capable of doing.

Yulen strode over to where she stood with a wide smile of relief. His pride in her accomplishment was unmistakable. It took every ounce of control for him not to gather her up in his arms and cover her with kisses.

“Only once, eh?” he grinned, and laughed nervously.

“Yeah, but I was just fourteen at the time,” she admitted.

They remained standing, looking at each other, passing their thoughts, their hopes and desires, to each other with their eyes, and wishing they were back in the privacy of their rooms where they could lose themselves in each other’s arms. Her success was his success, and the long road toward acceptance no longer appeared as distant. By accomplishing the impossible, Atty had done more than hit three targets with three arrows.

She had almost guaranteed them a future together.

“Madam.”

Atty started at the salutation. Her eyes widened as she turned her head and looked at the seasoned soldier standing off to one side. The title he’d spoken was used only for the wife of a noble or high official. Or for the Battle Lord’s wife. Madigan was referred to as “Madam”, but that was hers by right.

Opening her mouth to correct the man, she was stunned into silence when he produced an arrow from his quiver and dropped it at her feet. Directly behind him, another man stepped up after his departure and also dropped a shaft at her feet. A third soldier repeated the honor, followed by a fourth, a fifth, a sixth... One by one, each member of the regiment presented her with one of their own arrows, until a small pile lay in front of the toes of her boots.

By the time the company had filed past the couple, the crowd had dispersed from the hillside and from the top of the compound’s walls, leaving the two of them alone. Atty glanced down at the arrows and slowly shook her head. “Now what, Yulen?” she asked him, still moved by their tribute, and still filled with the adrenalin that was finally starting to recede from her veins.

“You were right. But I admit, I was worried.”

She laughed nervously. “Don’t tell anyone, but so was I.” She bent over and picked up the bundle. Yulen took them from her as she prepared to put them back in the barrel. “I think I’ll keep this bow, if you don’t think the men will mind,” she told him as he dumped the ammunition into the container point-first.

Taking her hand, he gave her another loving smile and squeezed her fingers gently. “Let’s go see what the main hall is serving for lunch,” he suggested as they began down the slope toward the compound walls. “I believe I owe you some grapes?”

Atty nodded. Food was definitely the last thing on their minds.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Accusation

“Sir!”

Yulen paused as they stepped through the small side door and entered the compound. A soldier hurried up to him and handed him a piece of paper. As the Battle Lord read the note, Atty snuck up behind him and tried to read it over his shoulder. Yulen glanced at her and gave her a smile. “Slight delay,” he told her. “Official business, but nothing serious. Why don’t you go ahead? I won’t be long.”

“Why don’t I meet you over where the grapes are?” she suggested.

He nodded. “Five minutes.”

She smiled and continued down the walkway, her fingers unconsciously trailing across various items as she passed by the stalls. When she neared the small shack of the knife smith, she was surprised to find him standing out in front watching her, as if he’d been waiting for her to come by.

“Atty? May I call you Atty?”

Lifting an eyebrow at him, she stopped next to his display of daggers. Her eye immediately went to where she knew the Ballock hung. When she saw the empty space, a sense of regret went through her before she kicked herself mentally.

“That was a phenomenal throw you showed us earlier,” Cavender complimented her. “But I think the trick you did with three arrows is what’s going to put you in the history books.”

“Th-thank you,” she told him. “It was really just a trick. Not very wise or usable in real combat.”

“Nevertheless, I wanted to give you this. You deserve it, and you earned it today.” He held out a leather scabbard to her. Without a doubt Atty knew what it was. Drawing the dagger from its sheath, she couldn’t help but hold her breath as she gazed at the perfection of the gleaming weapon that seemed to fit in her palm as if it had been made to her specifications. The highly polished hilt even felt warm to her touch.

“Cavender...this is,” she struggled. No one had ever given her such a weapon before, and her mind was blank, searching for the right thing to say to let him know how much she appreciated it. “Thank you. Thank you so very much. But are you sure you want to part with it?”

The knife smith shrugged and gave her a lopsided smile. “In your hands, I know it’ll get the care it needs to give you years of service. Besides, next time you show it off, remember to let everyone know who made it.”

“You better believe I will,” she murmured, turning the weapon in her palm. She balanced it point down on the tip of her finger, again amazed by its craftsmanship. Sunlight glanced off the blade, blinding her for a second. Atty blinked against the glare. A split second later, she saw the reflection of the object coming at her from behind. Too late to duck, she tried to dive out of its path.

“Murderer!”

The scream rang in her ears before the blow impacted with the side of her face. The shockwave of pain knocked her to the ground, leaving Atty dazed and gasping for breath against the piercing agony in her cheek, the same cheek Karv had smashed days before.

She tried to get to her knees, but the earth wouldn’t stay still beneath her long enough. It kept shifting and throwing her off-balance, making her nauseous. The warm, metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. Wincing, Atty spit it out and lifted a hand to the blinding red heat that used to be her cheek and jaw.

From somewhere hands gripped her under her arms and helped her to her feet. Dimly she was aware of Yulen coming to a halt beside her. There was a dark glitter of pure anger in his eyes that frightened her as he turned on the woman standing in the street who still held the heavy oak bucket she’d used to strike Atty.

Reaching out, Atty snagged the sleeve of his shirt, staying his arm from his weapons belt. “Yulen, no,” she begged softly. Her tongue felt the looseness of one tooth in her upper jaw. She spit out another gout of blood.

“Murderer!” the woman cried again. Tears glistened on her face; her whole body trembled with rage. And fear. She’d done the unthinkable, and now she knew, as everyone knew, she would have to pay the price. But she no longer cared. “You killed my husband!” she hissed at the Mutah woman, under the Battle Lord’s black glare.

“I’m...sorry,” Atty managed to say. Dimly she wondered who was holding her up, since Yulen had placed his body in front of her to shield her and prevent the woman from inflicting any more harm.

“You’re sorry?”

“Danna, go home,” Yulen ordered in a soft but threatening voice.

The woman turned to the Battle Lord. Her body now shook uncontrollably as she realized there would be no retaliation. “Go home?” she repeated incredulously. “Go home to what? How dare you, sir! How dare you tell me to go home, when you have this...this...” She pointed a finger in Atty’s direction. There was no mistaking the disgust on her face or the hatred in her voice.

Two soldiers ran up to offer their assistance. Yulen broke his gaze away from the woman long enough to order one of them to fetch MaGrath. Atty saw her reflection in his eyes, and it wasn’t pretty.

“Are you in a lot of pain?” he asked her under his breath.

“Sir, want me to escort Mrs. Abalam back to her home?” the second soldier inquired.

Atty lifted her hand. “No,” she managed, surprised she still had the ability to think. “No. Let her have her say.” A lock of hair fell over her shoulder. A streak of blood coated the ends, trailing a vivid red stain across the front of her white shirt.

Shakily, Atty managed to stand on her own. It was then she noticed who was holding her around the waist. Giving the knife smith a nod, she waited until Cavender stepped away before facing the woman again.

“Okay. What is it you want to say to me?” Atty asked. “Speak freely.”

But by now the brunt of the widow’s anger had vanished, drained away after the attack. Atty understood the loss the woman was experiencing. If circumstances had been different, if Yulen had been the one to fall in combat, she knew she definitely would have lashed out at the person responsible.

“You don’t belong here,” the woman finally said through her tears. “I don’t care if your bow can conquer the entire eastern coast. You’ll never belong here. Every day I see you I’m going to be reminded why my husband is no longer with me. Every cold night in bed, every empty place at the table...because of you.”

The woman stared at Yulen. “And you! One of your own kind wasn’t good enough for you anymore?”

In answer, Yulen reached out and pulled the bucket out of her hands.

The crowd that had gathered to witness the aftermath now parted to let in MaGrath and the soldier who’d gone for him. Atty heard his quick intake of breath as he caught sight of her face, and she lowered her head.

“Who did this?” the physician demanded, his eyes raking the market area as he reached toward Atty’s face to assess the damage. To his shock, she waved away his hands.

“No, Liam.”

“Atty, you weren’t yet healed completely from the your last attack,” he admonished her.

Taking a step back, Atty closed her eyes and reiterated, “No, Liam.” Already she could feel a dull puffiness around one eye as the swelling set in.

“Atty.”

Her eyes snapped open to see Yulen staring intently at her.

“I have never before given you a direct order. Now, I am. Let Liam examine you.”

MaGrath nodded. “I may need to reset a bone.” He reached out again. Atty took a wobbly step backwards, bumping into Cavender.

“I’m going inside to get a cold compress,” she informed MaGrath. “Yulen, promise me you won’t seek any kind of retribution in my name. She’s suffered enough.”

“Atty...”

“Promise me.”

Yulen sighed. “My word.”

Bowing her head, Atty started for the side door of the main lodge, pausing for a moment to accept her dagger from its maker, who had rescued it from where she’d dropped it in the dirt. Giving him another word of thanks, she managed to exit the walkway without assistance.

A full minute of silence passed as the crowd came to understand what had happened. Yulen felt his original anger fading as it was replaced by a deep sense of disappointment and sadness. He finally broke the stillness to turn to the physician.

“You told me to let her meet the people. You almost had me convinced they might accept her after they talked to her and got to see what she was like,” he said bitterly, directing his comments more toward himself than at MaGrath. “Well, you were wrong, weren’t you? She could spend the rest of her life protecting this compound, and for what? They’ll never accept her. They’ll never get to know who she is. They’ll only see what she is.” Ramming his sword back into the scabbard from where he’d half-way drawn it before Atty had stopped him, Yulen turned and headed for the main lodge.

Cold, overwhelming anger boiled up inside MaGrath’s chest. He’d sworn to dedicate his life helping others, even when the injuries they incurred were from means he personally detested. The attack on Atty, while not unexpected, was unquestionably brutal. It was also unforgivable, despite Atty’s insistence. She may have asked the Battle Lord not to intervene, but she had not made him give such a promise.

Around him the crowd began to disperse, now that the drama was over, and their callousness became the last straw.

“What was done here today,” he began, “was the most hateful, the most disgraceful, and the most disgusting thing I have ever seen in all my years as a physician.”

The undisguised fury in his voice made them pause and turn back. MaGrath was not a man of emotion, and he rarely, if ever, addressed them as a whole. Silently they gave him their full attention.

Pointing a finger at the woman who had started it, he gritted his teeth to keep from saying the first thing that came to mind. “Do you think you are the only person in the world to suffer?” he finally asked her acidly. “Do you think the Battle Lord isn’t aware of what happened? Do you think he enjoyed laying sixteen of his men to rest? Men with families and loved ones whom he personally knew?”

“She killed those men, and then he brings her here and expects us to welcome her with open arms,” a voice from the back called out.

“He took her to his bed, and now he wants to marry her!” another commented.

The crowd shuffled their feet but remained gathered.

MaGrath nodded, fighting back tears.

“Very well. I can see you already have your minds made up. But before you go back to your homes to lick your wounds and pat yourselves on the back for showing the Mutah woman how much braver and fearless and superior you are to her, allow me a few more words. Allow me to tell you some things you’ve never known...until now.

“Two weeks ago our advance party smelled wood smoke and food cooking over an open pit. They followed the scent deep into the woods, well away from the main road. They found a Mutah compound hidden in the densest part of the forest, camouflaged so well they almost ran into it before they knew what it was. They sent back a man to let the Battle Lord know what they’d found, and he ordered a phalanx of men to go ahead and attack the compound while he and the rest of his soldiers followed behind as back-up. Standard procedure.

“Our soldiers beat down their gates and entered the compound. And once they were inside they began to slaughter every man, woman, and child inside.”

MaGrath paused to get a grip on himself. If he allowed his anger and sadness to overcome him, he would never be able to face these people again. These people, whom he’d sworn to serve the rest of his life. Clenching his fists at his side, he continued.

“Have you ever witnessed the total extermination of a species? There’s no mercy. No justice. No thought as to how much pain you can inflict upon another sentient being, and that’s what Atty’s people were. Sentient beings. Living, breathing, loving, learning, laughing, crying beings who planted crops, made soap and candles, and protected one another to the best of their ability.

“Danna, your husband pulled a young woman from the bundle of prisoners, prisoners!, unarmed people!, and he sliced her face from her skull. And while she writhed in the dirt in agony, he shoved the tip of his sword into both her breasts until she stopped moving.

“Karla, you lost Joel. He singled out one of the little boys. Dragged him from the protective arms of his mother. And then he laughed as he cut off one of the boy’s hands. Then the other. Then one foot. Then the other. And when he was finished, he stood and watched and waited until the child had bled to death in the dirt. Karla, that little boy couldn’t have been more than six or seven years old!”

Pointing overhead as if he were pointing to the building itself, MaGrath coldly told them, “While all this was going on, while the screams of her family and friends filled the courtyard, one lone girl was faced with a predicament. You see, there was no one left in the compound to defend it. All the other hunters had left to try and find food so they could survive the winter. Atty had been lucky that day. She’d found a badger and brought it back so everyone wouldn’t starve. Then she’d gone home that night and found out her mother and sister, her entire family, was gone. Killed. She thought we had killed them. And now we had descended upon her home, her compound, in the middle of the night and had begun to butcher everyone there. If you were her, if you had her ability to protect and kill, what would you have done? Huh? I’ll tell you. You would have climbed up to the roof of that building, just like she did, and you would have begun to put an arrow through every man there.”

MaGrath narrowed his eyes. “Our men didn’t just kill the Mutah. They heartlessly mutilated them. They chopped off heads, then placed bets to see whose victim survived the longest. They slit huge, gaping wounds in the woman’s stomachs, removed the unborn fetuses, and threw the babes into the cooking fire. And all because they looked different from us. Because they were not normal.

“Before that night Atty had never killed another man. She had twenty-two arrows in her quiver. She told me she knew she had to make each one count because she never believed she would live after that night. Our men tortured and maimed, and her people died slowly. Agonizingly. And she placed an arrow into sixteen of our men cleanly, efficiently, expertly.” He snapped his fingers. “Our men died instantly. No pain. No suffering. Every one a merciful shot. Now tell me which of us is humane. Convince me who is the more superior.”

A tickling in his nose made him sniff. It was then he realized he’d been crying, and he wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

“I don’t know what happened, what...miracle...occurred between her and Yulen. One moment I saw where our men had beaten her senseless, almost killing her, and the next moment there was this...this knowledge that there was something rare, a feeling, an attraction...I don’t know what to call it, but you could see it growing and becoming stronger between them.”

Casting the crowd a final, sad glance, the physician shook his head. He was drained and saddened beyond all rational thought. “Atty knew she was entering the lion’s den when she came here. She knew the chances were against her, and that she might never be accepted. Not even for who she was or what she could do. But she was willing to risk it because of her love for our Battle Lord, and his for her. She loves him, and she will defend him, and this compound, and all your unworthy asses with the last drop of her blood! And all she and Yulen wanted in exchange was for her to be able to walk among you, weaponless, and not fear for her safety.”

Looking directly at the woman who now was as white as a sheet, MaGrath restated, “She was weaponless. And trusting. She trusted that no one would hurt her. So did Yulen. He trusted you. He trusted you not to hurt the woman he loves. His people.”

He closed his eyes, unable to continue.

“You people make me sick,” he spat bitterly, then turned on his heel and walked back in the direction of the main lodge.

Behind him several women began to cry softly, and men stared in shocked silence at the departing figure. An hour later every stall in the market place had been closed or dismantled, shut down early in deference to what had happened that morning.

For the first time that anyone could remember, a Saturday afternoon passed empty and quiet and cold, despite the warmth of the spring sun.

Chapter Thirty

Shift

Berta walked out of the storeroom after counting the number of forks she had on hand. Faydra, the new kitchen help, had a bad habit of tossing the utensils out with the garbage. And now, as head of the staff for the Battle Lord and the main lodge, Berta was discovering that they were starting to run short of the necessary items they needed to feed all the soldiers who came in to eat.

Rounding the corner of the storeroom on her way to the back stairs, the older woman nearly ran into the hunched form leaning heavily against the railing. Seeing the wild mane of glossy blue hair that shielded the woman’s face from view, she pressed a hand to her ample bosom and heaved a sigh of relief.

“Oh, goodness! You almost frightened me to death!” she half-accused the young woman.

Something fell to the floor from the girl’s bowed head, and the servant’s eyes were immediately attracted to the movement.

Blood. Fresh blood.

A trail of droplets led from the steps back to the side door of the lodge. Berta felt herself grow cold with the realization, and she started to move toward the girl when the Battle Lord suddenly came running around the corner. Spotting the figure, he let out a heavy sigh and reached for her.

“Berta, bring up some cold compresses to my room,” he ordered the servant as he tenderly pulled Atty into his embrace. The servant shuddered as she saw the bloody mess that used to be the woman’s beautiful face as he propped her head against his shoulder. When Atty whimpered in pain, Berta winced in sympathy. “What happened to the dear?” she asked him, watching as he carefully picked her up in his arms to carry her the rest of the way upstairs.

“Never mind what,” Yulen told her. “We’ll need fresh bandages, too. Hurry, Berta. Please.”

The servant woman turned to obey, but not before she heard him murmuring against the woman’s hair, “I’m sorry, my love. I’m so sorry.”

Yulen rushed Atty upstairs and into their bedroom to lay her on the bed. From the bathroom he grabbed some towels and a bowl of fresh water, and took them back to the bed to begin washing away the blood and dirt that was already beginning to coagulate. Moments later, Berta knocked on the door and let herself in, assuming the Battle Lord would be too busy taking care of the Mutah woman to answer it himself. Yulen gave her a nod of thanks.

“MaGrath should be here any moment,” he informed her.

Berta nodded. There also would be no meal tray brought up at midday. Silently she propped the bow against the wall beside the door. “She dropped this on the stairs,” she explained at his quick questioning glance. As she turned to depart, she asked him if he needed anything else.

“Not at this time, thank you,” he told her, keeping his attention focused on the woman on the bed. Berta nodded again and opened the door to leave, and was nearly knocked down by the physician running into the room.

“Is she conscious?” he asked the Battle Lord, darting around the servant woman.

“Yes, I’m conscious,” Atty managed to whisper.

Closing the door behind her, Berta hurried back downstairs. Something had happened, and she was determined to know what. Who would attack the Battle Lord’s lady? And how had they been made to pay for the atrocity?

Scowling, the servant woman paused at the bottom of the landing and turned to glance back up at the door at the top of the staircase. When did you suddenly care what happened to the Mutah woman? she chided herself. What provoked such an attack on the girl when—

Atty

—had done nothing at the compound but prove over and over her fidelity and loyalty to the Battle Lord?

Grasping the edges of her apron, Berta headed for the kitchen where she knew the help was waiting, and hopefully, had more information to share.

* * * *

“Yulen? Come on. Let’s leave her alone for a few hours.” MaGrath gave the Battle Lord’s shoulder a shake. “She needs as much rest and quiet as possible. Let’s go downstairs and have something to eat.”

“You go on,” Yulen said. “I’m not hungry at the moment.”

“Then, as your physician, I’m ordering you to come eat with me. You need to keep up your strength, she needs to be left alone, and I hate dining by myself.”

Yulen glanced up at the man standing beside him. MaGrath had given her a thick, black liquid that had put her under almost immediately. Then, with the Battle Lord’s help, he’d reset the cheekbone and hoped the damage wouldn’t permanently mar the woman’s features. Although he had only treated a few Mutah in the past, all of them had healed quickly and much more rapidly than Normals. Atty had shown that same tendency on their return to Alta Novis, thank goodness.

Giving him a soft grunt in response, Yulen rose from his chair and followed the man downstairs and into the main hall. Taking a seat at their usual table, Yulen’s eyes scanned the room. His sixth sense had picked up on the fact that something was different. Was it a shift in attitude? It was hard to pinpoint, and even harder to explain. Yet there was no escaping the furtive looks shot their way from his men.

“Liam?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s going on?”

MaGrath gave him a puzzled glance, unprepared for the anger in the man’s blue-gray stare. “There’s been a hell of a lot that’s happened today, Yulen. Can you be more specific?”

Yulen lowered his voice so that only the physician could hear. “Something’s changed among my men. Something’s...different. And, frankly, it’s making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. If I’m going to place my life in their hands, and theirs in mine, I need to be aware of every shift in their mood. And right now, something major is happening. It’s like a change in the weather, and I can’t predict if it’s going to be fair or foul.” He paused, testing the air again. “Can it have something to do with Atty?”

A soldier passed nearby and off-handedly commented to the man he was dining with that the market had shut down in the middle of the day. “Just closed up early and everyone gone home.”

Getting to his feet, Yulen called to the soldier. “Greene. Did you say the market had closed early?”

The soldier glanced up, his face blanching at being singled out by the Battle Lord. “Yes, sir. Shut down for the rest day.”

“Why?”

Instead of answering, the man’s eyes darted to the physician. Yulen had his answer.

“All right, Liam,” he leaned over and hissed. “Somehow you’re mixed up in this. It does have something to do with Atty, doesn’t it? I want a direct answer from you, and I’m wanting it now.”

MaGrath wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Truth? I may have said a few choice words to the crowd after you left.”

“Such as?” Yulen challenged, his eyes glittering.

“Leave it, Yulen. Suffice it to say, I’ve reached the end of my rope as well.” Tossing his napkin on the table, the physician got to his feet. “I’m going to my office to see how badly Macintyre is botching up my records. I’ll be back in a couple of hours to check on Atty. In the meantime you would be doing everyone a great service by going out among your men and listening to them. Something miraculous happened out on the archery field today, if you care to remember, and an entire garrison paid homage to her skill. If you’re the leader I think you are, you’ll see there’s still the very real possibility this compound will accept our blue-haired Athena. But you have to go out there and present her to them by presenting yourself.”

Having said what was on his mind for the second time in less than an hour, MaGrath could feel his energy draining out of him like air out of a balloon. Wearily he left the main hall for his medical suite.

Yulen glanced upstairs, debating with himself whether to do as his friend suggested, or to go back to Atty’s side. Although his heart wanted to be with her, wisdom said his duty was outside.

Grabbing a mug of beer at the serving table, Yulen quickly drained it before heading for the barracks. He was woefully past due an inspection.

Chapter Thirty-One

Taken

Yulen rarely called a surprise inspection. But since the day already had borne many unexpected events, he felt one more wouldn’t make any difference.

As much as he hated to admit it, diving back into his work felt good. It was like a security blanket, a familiar routine that kept his mind occupied and ate up time. Before he was aware of it, Mastin was dismissing the men, and Verris had joined him to discuss promotions.

In the midst of their evaluations, Mastin interrupted their train of thought with a glance and a nod of his head. Yulen looked up to see MaGrath trudging toward them. Once he got within earshot, Yulen called out, “How’s Atty doing?”

The physician gave him a puzzled expression. “I was about to ask you the same question.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, she wasn’t in your room, so I—”

“What?”

“She’s not in your room.” MaGrath froze. “Oh, my God.”

Yulen began running toward the main lodge with the physician close behind him. “How far could she have gotten?” he asked.

“There’s no way. I gave her enough of that extract to keep her under for at least six to eight hours.”

Their footsteps echoed in the nearly empty main hall. Yulen took the steps two at a time and pounded the door open with his fist. The bed was rumpled, but Atty was gone. A quick glance in the bathroom, closet, and balcony yielded no signs of her. Striding over to the bedside, Yulen noticed the pile of blood-soaked rags lying scattered on the floor beside the bed. He bent to pick one up, holding it so MaGrath could see it.

“If you were under sedation and just waking up, Liam, would you reach across the mattress to drop your compresses on the floor?”

MaGrath paled at the implication.

Yulen pointed to the empty scabbard still hanging from the back of the chair. “The dagger’s gone, but the bow’s still here.”

At its mention, MaGrath noticed the weapon propped against the wall beside the door. Bile began to rise in his gorge as the truth set in.

If Atty had left on her own accord, she would have taken the bow. It was like an extension of herself, and she’d never leave it behind. And the dagger...no one took their weapon without taking the sheath for it.

“Who could’ve...” He took another painful breath. “Who?”

Rising, Yulen hurried out the door and went downstairs. “Berta!”

Moments later the servant woman came through the kitchen door, followed by several of her staff. “Sir?”

“Did you or anyone see Atty leave within the past couple of hours?”

The woman shook her head. “No, sir, but I can check with the others real quick.”

He nodded, and Berta disappeared back into the kitchen. As she questioned the rest of the help, Yulen whirled on MaGrath, demanding, “Are you sure there was no way she could have come out of that sleep on her own? Didn’t you once say her internal makeup was different from ours?”

“I swear to God, Yulen, on my word as a physician, there is no way on this earth she could have awaken, much less walk out of here by herself!” MaGrath promised him.

“Sir?”

Both men turned back around at the sound of the servant’s return.

“No one saw her leave,” she told them. Behind her several more of her staff gathered, curious to learn what had happened.

“Are you certain no one’s been up in my rooms since MaGrath and I left her there?”

“No one, sir, except for your lieutenant.”

“What?” Yulen barked. There should have been no lieutenant looking for him. Not when he was in the middle of a full-fledged inspection of all the troops during that hour.

“Wougen, Sir. He went upstairs to give you a message. I told him you had left a short while ago,” Berta explained.

“What did he say to that?” Yulen asked, already feeling a cold dread creeping into his bones.

“Just that he’d leave the note in the room for you.”

Yulen turned to see MaGrath looking directly at him, both of them knowing what the other was thinking. As the physician rushed back upstairs, Yulen turned again to the woman. “Did you see him depart?”

She shook her head. “We were right in the middle of cleaning up. Did any of you see Wougen leave?” she turned to inquire of her help again. At their negative responses, she apologized to the Battle Lord. “Sorry, sir.”

“Yulen!”

Hurrying upstairs, he met MaGrath coming out of the bedroom. A piece of paper was in his hands, and a haunted look was in his eyes.

“I found it on the bureau.”

Tearing it from his fingers, Yulen glanced at the short sentence written on it.

She’s mine now.

He could feel his anger and hurt rising like a storm thick with fury. He swung a fist at a nearby post, impacting it with the side of his hand as he gasped for breath.

Who had taken her? Who had written the note? Who was “mine”?

“Mastin!”

The Second halted in the middle of the room after following the Battle Lord into the main hall. “Sir!”

“Wougen! Find him! Now!”

Without confirming the command, Mastin ordered the men behind him to return outside. From where he stood by the bedroom door, Yulen could hear the Second shouting orders to look for the missing lieutenant. As the men dispersed to begin their search, MaGrath voiced what deep inside he knew was the truth.

“They’re no longer in Alta Novis.”

Rather than reply, the Battle Lord descended the stairs and exited the main lodge. “Verris!”

“Sir!”

“Where’s Karv?”

“Taking care of the ground troops, as you ordered, sir.”

“Have him report to me as soon as possible. Wougen was under his command. Did you know him?”

“Yes, sir. A little,” Verris admitted.

“Tell me all you know about him,” he ordered, trying to keep his temper and his fear in check.

“He’s only been here about eight months, sir. Originally came from Dal Worth, down in Teksus.”

“Any family?”

Verris shook his head. “He quartered with the bachelors.”

“Check his barracks. I want to see everything that we didn’t issue to him.”

Nodding, the Second headed over to search the missing man’s belongings.

“Why do you think he took her?” MaGrath asked him as they watched the soldiers thoroughly searching every inch of the compound.

“I have no idea why, but I know what he’s going to face when we find him,” Yulen promised between clenched teeth. He paused, then added, “Do you think he’ll hurt her?”

MaGrath gave a ragged sigh. Suddenly he felt cold all over, and he shivered. “God, I hope not. She’s been through so much already.”

Another half hour went by without spotting the missing lieutenant, whom Mastin confirmed had been absent for inspection. Verris returned to report there was nothing in the man’s effects that was out of the ordinary, or which could give them a clue as to where he might have taken the Mutah woman.

“He had the perfect opportunity. With her out cold, there was no way she could resist him. It was right after mealtime, so the help was occupied with clean-up. And we were out here, away from the lodge, giving him quick and easy access to her.” MaGrath buried his face in his hands and tried to rub the burning sensation out of his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Yulen. I’m the one who told you to leave her be.”

“I don’t need you wallowing in blame, Liam,” came Yulen’s icy response. “We need to try and figure out where he could’ve taken her.” He glanced down again at the piece of paper he’d crumpled up in his hand.

She’s mine now.

Wougen was as good as dead.

Mastin ran up to report the sentry at the forest gate remembered seeing Wougen passing through the compound walls and disappearing into the wood right around mealtime.

“Did he have Atty?” Yulen demanded.

“He had a large bundle that he had slung over his shoulders,” the Second told him. “The sentry said he remembers asking the lieutenant why he wasn’t heading for the inspection grounds, and Wougen said he had first been ordered to get rid of an old deer carcass out in the woods, and then he would join up.”

“Out at the forest gate?” Yulen repeated.

Mastin nodded. “I already have men scouring that part of the wood to see if they can find any sign of him.”

“Is there the possibility he didn’t act alone?” the Battle Lord thought aloud.

Verris spoke up. “All the other men are accounted for. If he did have an accomplice, he didn’t play his hand, or he was on the outside.”

“What about Wougen’s horse?”

Both Seconds looked dumbstruck. Yulen’s expression grew darker. “Check. Now.”

“But the man walked out of the compound,” MaGrath reiterated.

“And if he already had his horse waiting for him in the forest, the man could be miles away from here,” Yulen told him.

Minutes later he had his answer. The soldier’s mount was not at the stables.

“What are your orders, sir?” Verris asked once they’d re-gathered.

“You’ve got to go after her,” the physician told him.

“Then tell me where to start looking for her!” Yulen snapped back heatedly. He ran his hands through his hair. “The man has a good two, maybe three hour head start. In which direction do you suggest I start looking? Did he take Atty for himself? Or was he paid by someone else to snatch her? Go ahead, Liam! Since you’re so good at figuring things out and telling me what to do, what do you suggest?”

Pivoting around, the Battle Lord angrily strode back toward the main lodge, hoping for a moment’s silence so he could think clearly. Outside his men were waiting for his word, when Yulen had nothing to say.

Where was Wougen taking her? Why had he taken her? For what purpose?

Stopping in the doorway, Yulen pressed his forehead against the wood frame as another possibility reared its terrifying face.

What if the man was a Mutah hater, and was determined she could not be allowed to live? What if...

Yulen felt his gorge rise with the prospect.

Atty was completely defenseless, drugged nearly comatose. The man could easily take her at his leisure before slowly slaughtering her and disposing of her remains. He had all the time in the world, and absolute freedom from discovery.

“Oh...God... Atty!” he moaned softly, feeling the heat of tears swelling in his throat.

For the first time in his life, Yulen cursed his birth fate.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Collaunt

The men had continued to search the surrounding forest without luck. Two small garrisons had spread north and south to search the road and to question anyone traveling the route. When they returned late that night, their disappointment was like a pall cast over the compound.

Outside, near the main gate, Yulen stood by the men’s barracks, awaiting final reports from Mastin and Verris. He heard someone coming up from behind him but ignored him until a voice spoke.

“Maybe it’s for the better that she’s gone,” Madigan began.

He whirled on her, hand raised as if to strike her. At the last second he stopped himself and lowered his arm, but his face never lost its icy visage. She gave a small cry of fear and stepped back.

“Go back inside to your warm room and your bundled existence, Madigan,” he told her darkly. He would not disguise his feelings for her at that moment, nor at any time afterward.

“You would’ve hit me?” she accused.

“For what you’ve said, I would put you outside this compound in a heartbeat if you weren’t my mother.”

“I only meant to say—”

“You’ll say nothing!” Yulen swore, resuming his vigilance.

“You can’t order me around,” she told him, her voice trembling. She watched as her son turned back to her with a look that sent her heart to her feet. “She’s a Mutah, Yulen! Even your own people don’t want her here!”

“Guards!”

Immediately two soldiers detached themselves from the detail stationed at the main gates. Yulen pointed in Madigan’s direction. “Take her back to her rooms and sequester her there. She is not to be allowed to leave them until I order it.”

“That’s imprisonment, Yulen!” Madigan protested hotly.

“It’s better than you deserve,” he snapped at her, and gave a curt dismissal before turning his back on her again. Now was not the time to be getting into a debate. He had neither the time, the desire, nor the inclination to argue whether or not Atty deserved to live at Alta Novis. There simply was no decision to be made.

He rubbed his burning eyes. Overhead the soldiers were beginning their shift change. There was nothing he could do. There were no clues as to where Wougen had taken Atty. Six hours later, it was if the man had never existed.

Or her.

Yulen knew he could remain out in the compound, hoping something would be found, some word would be passed to him, but he knew it would not happen.

She’s mine now.

He turned to look back over his shoulder at the main lodge. There was no way he could go back into that bedroom. No way he could lie down on their bed, much less get any kind of restful sleep.

His face itched where the scar had healed. It reminded Yulen of Atty’s injuries, and he wondered if she was still in pain. Liam had told him the liquid he’d given her would keep her under for at least six to eights hours. Was Atty awake now? Was she coming around to find herself in the company of a total stranger?

Was she awakening at all?

As hard as it was to admit, Yulen knew there was the overwhelming possibility she was already dead. Unless there was something to stay the man’s hand, Wougen could have had his way with her and then dumped the body so it wouldn’t slow him down.

But there was still the miracle he had kept her alive. Even then, she would prove to be more than a handful, despite the pain she was enduring.

Yulen shook his head. He’d gone over a hundred scenarios in his mind—some with Atty dead, some with Atty alive, some with Atty fighting for her life and her honor... His favorite was imagining her plunging her dagger into the man’s heart, and then finding her way back to Alta Novis. Which was why he had stood by the main gate for the past two hours, hoping and praying he’d hear one of the sentries call out.

“Yulen.”

He lifted his head and straightened his shoulders, but didn’t turn around to acknowledge the voice. “I will offer no apology to Madigan, Liam, if that’s why you’re here,” he said stiffly.

“Personally I think you were more than fair, locking her in her rooms,” the physician told him.

This time Yulen did turn toward him, a wary look on his face.

“I didn’t come to talk about her. I came to talk about you.”

“I’m in no mood for a lecture,” Yulen told him, turning his back on him again.

“Good, ‘cause I’m in no mood to lecture. I know why you’re out here. You’re hoping she’ll come walking in through those gates, aren’t you?”

Yulen snorted softly. “Actually, I was imagining her riding through those gates.”

“She’s a lousy rider.”

“Yeah, but give her time. Once she sets her mind on it, she can master anything.”

Yulen paused as he realized he was talking about Atty in the present tense, as if she were still alive. He gave MaGrath a puzzled stare. The physician smiled.

“What does your heart tell you, Yulen? It’s telling you she’s still alive, isn’t it?”

“You did that deliberately.”

MaGrath gave a little nod of his head. “Someone had to pull you out of that funk you were so determined to drag yourself in to. That was step one.”

“What’s step two?”

“Some food. If you’re going to keep looking for her, and I know you won’t stop until you find her, you’ll need your strength. No food equals no energy. Simple arithmetic.”

“Kitchen’s closed for the night,” the Battle Lord told him.

MaGrath could see a faint smile on the man’s lips. “Yeah, but I know where Berta hides the keys to the cold room.”

“So do I.”

Both men turned and began to walk back into the main lodge. Shift change was over. Several men passed them, heading for their own beds for the evening.

Inside the main hall, Yulen raised the light on one of the three remaining lanterns always left lit throughout the night inside the vast room. The fire in the grate was almost out, but it still managed to give off a little warmth. Presently MaGrath emerged from the kitchen with a small tray of bread, cheese, and cold meat. Another brief trip, and he brought them mugs of cider.

For the next ten minutes they both ate in silence near the fireplace as Yulen remembered the last time he’d eaten was that morning. He and Atty had taken their breakfast downstairs in the main hall, under the curious eyes of the men also there to eat. Atty had never had waffles before, and she managed to elicit a laugh from Berta when she’d asked for her third helping. The memory brought a wistful smile to his face.

“What are you thinking?” MaGrath spoke up.

“Atty and her waffles.”

The physician gave a little grunt. “The girl does have a sweet tooth when it comes to syrup. Yulen?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll find her. I just know it in my gut.”

“So do I, Liam,” the Battle Lord admitted softly.

MaGrath went to replenish their tankards when Verris came bursting into the main hall, followed by several of his men. He was flushed and out of breath, alerting Yulen. Instantly the Battle Lord was on his feet and on his guard.

“Sir!” Hurrying over he placed a small package on the table before his leader. Yulen gave it a quick glance as his Second explained. “We just discovered this pinned to the forest gate.” Opening his other hand, Verris added, “With this.”

Yulen froze at the sight of the Ballock dagger. Atty’s dagger. The one missing from its scabbard upstairs.

“The forest gate?” he repeated.

Verris nodded. “Yes, sir.” The gate Wougen had escaped through when he’d left the compound with Atty.

By that time MaGrath had joined them as Yulen reached for the package. It appeared to be a length of material bound with two green vines stripped of their leaves. Crude, but effective.

Yulen used the dagger to slice through the vines, and slowly began to unroll the material across the table. Two turns of the cloth, and they saw the inner fabric was soaked in blood. A coldness washed over the Battle Lord as several men sucked in their breath.

“My God, what’s inside?” MaGrath wondered aloud.

Yulen continued to unwind the package. As he reached the end, he threw back the last bit of material, expecting the worst. Handfuls of lustrous blue hair spilled onto the table. Atty’s hair.

“He’s taunting you,” the physician stated in a tight voice. “That son of a bitch is taunting you.”

“No.” Yulen shook his head. “He’s telling me he has her, and where he’s taken her.” Reaching down, he picked up the length of material and shook it before holding it out for all of them to see. It was a pennant of dark gold with a single slash of red running diagonally from the upper corner down to the opposite corner. The pennant marking the compound of Bearinger.

Verris groaned. “Collaunt? Collaunt has her?”

She’s mine now.

Suddenly it all made sense. For years Bearinger and Alta Novis had been at war with each other, but neither had been able to gain the upper hand. Despite D’Jacques’ soldiers’ superiority, Syrus Collaunt’s men were more bloodthirsty. Ever since Rory D’Jacques’s death, there had been an uneasy truce between Battle Lords. Yulen knew it was a truce that would never remain untested. It could be next week, next month, or next year before Collaunt would try again to take Alta Novis and claim it for his own.

Too late, Yulen realized that time was now.

“Verris? Fetch Mastin and Karv. Tell them I want them here immediately.”

The Second nodded and barked orders to have the others notified.

“I’ll go get my things,” MaGrath said, and left to fetch his medical bag.

Yulen turned back to his Second, along with his men. “I’m going to Bearinger, starting tonight. Spread the word this is a voluntary call only. I do not plan to start a war with Collaunt, although he’s made it clear he has every intention to. I only plan to rescue Atty and bring her home.”

“And you think you’ll be able to do that without attacking Bearinger?” Verris questioned him.

Yulen nodded. “I have some men on the inside. Perhaps they can help figure out a way to do it with as little bloodshed as possible. Alta Novis may be bigger than Bearinger, but Collaunt’s trained his men to be vicious killers who make no distinction between Mutah and Normals.” He narrowed his eyes at the Second. “I’m not leading my men into a suicide mission, although Collaunt believes I will.”

Mastin ran into the hall, followed soon after by Karv. Again, Yulen repeated his orders for them to make ready to head for Bearinger. They would leave within the hour.

As everyone departed, Yulen went upstairs to pack. It was a three day ride to Bearinger. There was no way to determine how far ahead Wougen was. As a last-minute thought he grabbed the Ballock’s scabbard to take with him.

Heading downstairs, he turned the corner of the staircase to find MaGrath waiting for him. Standing just behind him was Madigan. Yulen stopped in surprise.

“Liam?”

“She’s going with us,” MaGrath told him in that I’m-not-going-to-argue-with-you-about-this tone of voice Yulen knew too well.

He couldn’t begin to fathom the man’s and his mother’s motive, but to hell with them. The Battle Lord gave them both an ugly look. “Then keep her away from me. She’ll be your sole responsibility while we’re gone,” he growled, and headed for the front doors. He didn’t see the looks of relief they gave each other before they followed him out into the courtyard.

Once Yulen was outside, he never looked up as he threw his saddlebags over his horse. It was nearly midnight. He wouldn’t be able to push them far before they would have to rest, but he intended on keeping their pace brisk. They had to reach Bearinger as quickly as possible, because the longer Collaunt had Atty, the greater the chance he would inflict serious injury to her. The man wasn’t just brutal, he was inhumane.

“Sir? The troops are ready,” Mastin rode up to tell him.

Swinging into his saddle, Yulen pulled his horse around to stare behind him. He had to stop just to focus on what he saw. Mastin watched the look of surprise dawn on the Battle Lord’s face. “They’re all voluntary, sir,” the Second answered the unspoken question.

“They want a chance to taste Collaunt’s blood,” Yulen said, eyeing the nearly one hundred men, almost a third of the total of his soldiers at the compound. He had hoped for a couple dozen, expecting fewer than that. This showing of loyalty left him stunned.

“No, sir,” Mastin smiled, shaking his head. “You said this was a rescue mission to get Atty back. Well...that’s why they’re here.”

Yulen shot him a disbelieving look. After several seconds, the Battle Lord raised his arm and signaled for them to head out. It would be a long, hard ride to face Syrus Collaunt, yet somehow Yulen had no doubt they’d manage to get Atty back.

Dead or alive.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Plan

It was their second evening out when Yulen called his close circle together for a conference, meeting inside Madigan’s elaborate tent she always brought along whenever she went on the road. For once, the Battle Lord found having it had benefits.

Inside, seated on one of the rugs, he faced his three Seconds and MaGrath. It was time he told them what he had planned, and then allow them some time to see if they could come up with any suggestions or a better solution. Far to the rear of the tent, he could see his mother listening but keeping silent. True to MaGrath’s word, she had not approached the Battle Lord since they’d set out three nights ago.

“You know why I called you here tonight,” Yulen began. “Tomorrow we’ll reach the outer perimeters of Bearinger. Most likely Wougen has already arrived at the compound. We also have to be aware of the fact that his accomplice may be nested within our ranks this very instant.”

MaGrath started. “You haven’t said a word about that to me!” he said with a hint of disappointment in his voice.

“How can you be so sure?” Mastin inquired.

“Simple arithmetic,” Yulen stated. “Wougen wouldn’t hang around the compound, waiting for nightfall so he could place the pennant on the outer forest door. Too much at stake, and too risky. No, once he’d gotten Atty out of Alta Novis, he got on his horse and headed straight here, and let his accomplice leave the message.”

“But didn’t we agree his accomplice had to be someone on the outside?” Verris spoke up.

Resting a hand on one upraised knee, Yulen smiled bitterly. “I agreed to nothing. The less I said, the more I knew you would carry on that assumption. That’s why I’ve asked you here tonight. To let you know what I know, and to see if together we can come up with a feasible plan if you feel my suggestion is somewhat...dangerous.”

“Which already tells me it is,” MaGrath dryly grumbled. “Okay, Yulen. Let’s hear it.”

Yulen motioned to the squadron of soldiers outside the tent with a brief wave of his hand. “Out there is Wougen’s accomplice. The moment we arrive within distance of Bearinger, he will either disappear from our hold, or he’ll meet up with Wougen or another one of Collaunt’s men to brief them on our mission. Collaunt is expecting me to come charging in with a full battalion to try and rescue Atty. Well, he’s going to have to live with disappointment. I’m keeping our men out of range while I go in alone to get her.”

“No!” Immediately Mastin, MaGrath, and Verris jumped to their feet in protest.

“Yulen, have you gone nuts?” MaGrath demanded. “Go in alone?”

“Sir! Take me with you!” Mastin offered. “Take at least a couple of us to watch your back!”

Yulen shook his head. He’d expected their protests. “I have a couple of moles who’ve been living in Bearinger for the past few years, ever since the man took control of the compound. They’ve been sending me regular updates and reports on the man’s insidiousness. Syrus Collaunt is a vicious tyrant, and frankly those reports do not make for good bedtime reading.” He took a deep breath.

“More than likely he’s going to have Atty placed in a holding cell until he decides what he wants to do with her. And he won’t decide until he knows what I plan to do. He challenged me when he sent me his pennant. I’m going to answer his challenge...just not in the way he expects me to.”

“How do you plan on rescuing her? Steal her from under Collaunt’s nose?” Karv asked critically. Yulen gave him a secretive smile.

“In a way. Once I contact my men I have planted inside the compound, they will be the ones who’ll secret her away from wherever Collaunt’s keeping her. They’ll hand her over to me outside the walls, and we’ll meet you and the rest of the company back here.”

“Then why bring all these men if you’re just going to have a little midnight raid?” asked Verris.

MaGrath spoke up. “Exactly. Unless you were planning on using them in another way?”

“In a sense, you’ve figured it out,” Yulen told him. “If Collaunt discovers me, I need you for back-up. If things really get sour, you might need to come in to rescue me, as well as Atty. But I know that if Collaunt’s sentries haven’t already spotted us, they soon will, and Collaunt will have every available man at his station, prepared and waiting for us.”

“So, what you’re saying is you suspect Collaunt is getting ready for an all-out war, when in fact you’re going to slip in under the cover of night, grab Atty, and rush right out of there, almost the same way Wougen did?” Verris shook his head. “That’s pretty bold of you, sir. Have you thought about having the men provide a diversion while you go in?”

“Yes, I’d thought about it. But this was to be a voluntary mission. I don’t want any of my men injured or killed if it can be helped.” Yulen paused for a moment, then added in a softer voice, “Atty has already had to suffer the blame for the deaths of sixteen of my soldiers. I never want to force her to face any more because of her.”

Getting to his feet, the Battle Lord thanked them for their loyalty. “We’ll be leaving at first light. Once we get within hailing distance of the compound, and Collaunt can see us, we’ll make camp in plain sight, which should be right around sundown. He won’t expect us to attack in the night. Bearinger’s too fortified. No, he’ll expect us to make our move right before dawn, but by the time the sun rises, I hope to have Atty back and all of us a fair distance down the road.”

His Seconds nodded in affirmation before leaving the tent, but not before MaGrath snagged Mastin’s sleeve on the man’s way out.

“I want a private word with you, Cole.”

Curious, the Second followed the physician out of the tent and over to where the man had set up his campfire. He sat down as MaGrath motioned and waited to see what the man wanted. Although the physician had no power or ability to order him, all of the soldiers paid the man deference because MaGrath had served under the previous Battle Lord, Yulen’s father, as a combination physician, friend, and advisor, the same way he now served under their present commander. But mostly it was because they all knew their lives would some day, if they hadn’t already, depend on this man’s skills and wisdom.

MaGrath pulled out his medicine pouch and proceeded to check his supplies. Mastin stared at the man, patiently expecting the physician to say what was on his mind. After several minutes, the Second finally opened his mouth, when MaGrath signaled him for silence. Mastin’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, but he obeyed.

Another good fifteen minutes went by before MaGrath slung his pouch diagonally over his chest and got to his feet. “Ready?” he whispered.

Mastin nodded, curious, and proceeded to follow the man into the forest, away from the encampment. They followed a path crowded with dead underbrush. It was pitch black and difficult to see where they were heading until MaGrath took the small packet he had in his hand and clapped it between his palms. The bag began to give off a soft, green glow. Not a lot of light, but enough for their adjusted eyes to be able to follow the small signs left for them.

At one point a low growl came from behind them. Mastin drew his sword, and MaGrath eyed it gratefully. Keeping mum, they continued on.

They finally reached a small, undetectable clearing. Inside waiting for them was Yulen and another man dressed in regular clothes and without a weapons belt.

“I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost,” Yulen whispered with a hint of a smile in his voice.

“Yeah, well, I’m not the forest type,” MaGrath argued.

“Any chance you were followed?”

“No,” Mastin spoke up softly. “Not with that wolfen close behind us.”

In the pale green glow MaGrath’s face looked sickly. “Wolfen?” he echoed.

Chuckling, Yulen motioned for them to sit. He turned to the Second.

“You are the only man we trust with what you’re going to hear tonight, Cole. What will be said here will only be between us three once we leave this place.”

“Three?” Mastin looked pointedly at the stranger.

“This is Chase Dion, my man inside Bearinger,” Yulen introduced him.

“What about the other man? Why me, sir?” Mastin whispered.

“Because at Foster City I saw you had already accepted Atrilan.” Yulen gave him a hard stare. “That alone has won you my gratitude and my trust. Which is why you were brought here. There is no second man in Bearinger. I said that in the tent, knowing it would eventually get out to whomever is the mole among my troops. In fact, everything I said back there was a lie.” He turned to Dion.

“Tell them what you told me.”

Dion sighed loudly. He was slight, nondescript man, who could easily blend into a crowd without catching anyone’s eye. “Collaunt has her in the dungeon, waiting for you to arrive.”

“Is she all right?” MaGrath asked. “Have her injuries been tended to?”

Dion shook his head. “No, but at least they’re feeding her, which is more than they do for the other Mutah prisoners.” He gave the Battle Lord a questioning glance, and was answered with a nod.

“Go on, Dion. All of it.”

“Well...it seems Collaunt has heard about her skill with the bow. About her taking out the ferret and the pennant at Foster City. There was some word just before I left about three targets, but I didn’t get the gist of it before I came to seek you out. But Collaunt was especially excited about the fact that you and her are...umm...”

Yulen nodded. “We’ve pledged ourselves to each other. Go on.”

“He’s also been told about the rumor that she’s still a virgin, and how she’s remaining a virgin until she’s passed her knowledge of archery and hunting on to your men.”

Mastin’s eyes widened. Yulen caught his expression.

“That’s true, Cole. Atty is still untouched.”

“But, she’s—” Too late, Mastin caught himself. However, the Battle Lord didn’t appear upset.

“Yes, she’s been sleeping in my bed, but I have not taken her.”

“Tell him why,” MaGrath said grimly. “Tell him about her belief she’ll lose her skills if you do.”

“Atty has been told all her life that once she gives herself to a man, all her skills and abilities will disappear as well.”

“But she was willing to be your wife, sir,” Mastin pointed out.

“Collaunt knows of this, too,” said Dion. “That’s why he decided to throw the big party.”

“What party?” MaGrath asked.

“Collaunt’s invited all his deviant friends to Bearinger to witness Atty’s aptitude.”

“For what purpose?” the physician probed.

Dion took another deep, shaky breath and glanced at Yulen for confirmation. “He’s going to bring her out into the main hall during the games and have a doctor check to see if she truly is a virgin.”

MaGrath shuddered at the thought. “In front of the assembly?” he demanded, his voice rising.

Yulen quickly shushed him. “It gets worse, Liam.”

“How much worse could it get?” the physician demanded angrily.

The little man licked his lips nervously, bowing his head. “If she is a virgin, Collaunt plans to have her publicly deflowered by some men he’ll have waiting nearby. Some of his...specially selected, handpicked men.”

“Oh, God...” MaGrath wilted at the news.

“Liam.”

He looked up to see an equally devastated look on Yulen’s face.

“He’s then going to give Atty a test to see if she still has her skills,” the Battle Lord told him.

“What if she doesn’t?” Mastin whispered, still in shock. “What if she can’t save herself?”

“She has to find a way,” Yulen said tersely. “We have to get her out of there before Collaunt can do her any more harm. But if we can’t, Atty has to manage to stay alive long enough for us to reach her.”

“You’re going to have to do more than that,” MaGrath told him. A sudden coldness seemed to have crept into his bones. He found he was unable to stop from shivering uncontrollably.

“What’s that, Liam?”

“You’re going to have to go in there, find out where she’s being held, and you’re going to have to take her virginity before Collaunt’s men do.”

Yulen lifted his chin, unable to respond. Without giving him a chance to think it over, MaGrath pressed his point.

“You are the only one who can do it without demoralizing or traumatizing her.”

“I... Liam...”

“Either way, it’s you or it’s Collaunt’s men. And then she’ll have to prove or disprove the stories. Think about it. If you go in there, at least you’ll be able to leave her with the frame of mind to face what that madman has planned for her. But if you don’t, those men won’t be gentle. They’ll rape her, and they could very well destroy her emotionally and mentally, as well as physically. Then what kind of chance will she have?”

“Can you get him inside?” Mastin asked the mole.

“Not a problem, but it’ll be getting him to her cell that’ll be tricky.”

“Any idea when would be the best time?” Yulen asked.

“The noon shift change is the best. The guards coming on are tired from having to practice, and the ones going off usually skip out a few minutes early. Collaunt’s party is starting this evening and going on all night. Word is he’ll have the Mutah woman brought to the grand hall tomorrow afternoon. With any luck, I can have you back outside the compound walls before he sends for her.”

“Isn’t early afternoon an odd time for such an exhibition?” Mastin questioned.

Dion gave the Second a caustic look. “Collaunt expects D’Jacques to ride in tomorrow evening and attempt a rescue under the cover of darkness. By then, he wants it all over with so he can gloat.”

MaGrath covered his face with shaky hands. “Oh, sweet mother of heaven. Can there be a more disgusting bastard on the face of this earth?”

“You’ll have to leave your weapons outside the compound,” Dion expressed to Yulen. “If I take you into the dungeon, it has to look like you’re just another subject gone to visit an imprisoned relative. I can get you a coat to help cover you. Make you look more like one of us.”

Yulen nodded slowly, still unable to grasp the enormity of what was about to happen. A hand reached over to grasp his shoulder. He looked up to see Mastin staring intently at him.

“Are you sure I can’t accompany you, sir, to watch your back?”

“No!” Dion adamantly whispered. “It’s going to be dangerous enough as it is.”

“When do you want me to come with you?” Yulen asked.

“Meet me at the northernmost fringe of the forest, closest to the compound walls. You’ll see a small door there. I’ll come for you right at shift change at noon.”

“I’ll be there,” Yulen promised. A moment later, the little man had left them, melted into the blackness of the forest as if he’d been swallowed alive.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Yulen ran his hands through his hair. “Liam...I don’t know if I can do this.”

MaGrath watched the turmoil of emotions play over the Battle Lord’s face. He didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. There was no other choice, and Yulen knew it. MaGrath knew it. They all knew it.

“Might...might I make a suggestion?” Mastin quietly interjected. He waited until both pairs of eyes turned to him. “Frankly I think this whole story about Atty losing her skills is hogwash. I think she can find a way out of her dilemma, but not without some help.”

“What are you trying to say, Cole?” Yulen asked softly.

“Well, it’s going to mean a little trickery on our part,” the Second told them. “It’ll also mean having you surrender to Collaunt, to get you closer to Atty. In the meantime, I’ll be leading the men to the compound in the morning.”

“Go on.”

Leaning closer to them, Mastin roughly outlined what he thought might be a possible plan. To his surprise, both the Battle Lord and the physician found it feasible. Together, the three of them continued to devise what they hoped would be a solution, until Yulen determined it was time for them to head back to the encampment and make ready to continue on toward Bearinger.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Wait

In the dark, pre-dawn hours, two men made their way by horseback to the northern edge of the forest overlooking Bearinger. Leaving their horses tied a safe distance away, Yulen and MaGrath advanced on foot through the dense forest to where they could see the small side door in the compound wall. Standing guard over it, the sentry appeared restless but awake.

MaGrath looked over to where the Battle Lord was bent down behind protective covering, assessing the layout of Collaunt’s domain. Yulen sensed the physician’s intent stare, and glanced over at him.

“Are you going to be all right?” MaGrath asked, keeping his voice low and soft to avoid detection.

Yulen turned back to watching the compound. “I wanted our first time to be special. I wanted her to feel...loved. Cherished. I wanted to shower our wedding bed with morning glory petals. Not...not like this,” he admitted in a tight voice.

“You’ll be able to make it up to her, Yulen. She’ll understand. After all, look at what she’s already endured because she loves you and wants to be with you.”

He watched Yulen bow his head. The man’s right hand nervously played with the pommel of his sword, the only outward sign of the roil of emotions battling inside him. Sighing, MaGrath placed a hand on the man’s arm. Yulen responded by laying his free hand over MaGrath’s and giving it a squeeze.

They remained in wait until Dion appeared from seemingly nowhere right before noon.

“Ready?” the little man asked. At Yulen’s nod, he handed him the coat he’d brought along. The Battle Lord removed his weapons belt and handed it to MaGrath. Donning the coat, Yulen turned to give MaGrath an unexpected yet sincere hug.

“She’s my life, Liam,” he whispered in the man’s ear.

“I know.”

Breaking away, Yulen lowered his eyes and turned to follow Dion back the way he’d come, leaving the physician behind to pray for their success.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Cell

Yulen stepped into the dungeon, hesitating slightly as Dion closed and locked the door behind him. The little window at head level opened, and Dion whispered so only he could hear, “Better hurry, sir. I’ll come back for you when they change the guards.” The covering slid shut, leaving him alone in the dim light.

He stepped further into the tiny cell, appalled by the dungeon’s conditions, when a fist of guilt punched him in the gut, and he realized conditions at Alta Novis weren’t all that different where they kept Mutah prisoners. The place was freezing, the bare rock like ice. What little covering there was contained soiled or moldy hay, or the remnants of filthy clothes left by prisoners who had once occupied this same cell.

“Atty?” He peered into the darkness, waiting for his eyes to adjust. He finally could make out a small figure huddled in the farthest corner of the irregularly-shaped room. “Atrilan?”

Dion wouldn’t have led him to this room if he wasn’t absolutely certain she was here. Biting his lower lip, Yulen walked over and knelt in front of the shivering figure. A lock of hair fell over the thinly covered shoulders. Deep blue hair the color of morning glories.

“Atrilan!” He lifted her into his arms and tried to give her his warmth, willing her to be well, to be whole and unhurt while he tenderly kissed her face. The huge, ugly bruise from her assault at the market place still colored her right cheek and jaw.

“Yul?” She blinked, drawn from the escape of sleep by a voice from her dreams.

“Atrilan. We haven’t much time. Are you okay?”

“Time?” Groggy, she reached for him and clutched his shirt. “Yulen, get me out of this place. Take me away from here!”

“I can’t,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “It’s too risky. Too dangerous. Listen carefully. Are you completely awake?”

She pulled back to look up at him. Her face was unnaturally pale, and Yulen felt his heart ache at the circumstances.

“Atrilan, in a short while Collaunt is going to have you taken into the main hall where he’s going to have his physician check to see if you’re still a virgin.” He could tell by the fear in her eyes that she was listening and understanding. “If you are, he’s going to have you publicly raped in front of witnesses. And then he’s going to test you to see if you still have your skills.”

“Why?” her voice quivered.

Yulen shook his head. “He’s an evil man. He hates me, hates my having you. This is one way he knows he can humiliate me. He thinks it’ll break me, treating you like that.” Kissing her forehead, he admitted in a softer voice, “He’s right. It will break me.”

Atty sobbed quietly. “Why are you here? Why can’t you take me with you?”

“Because it’s too dangerous. So we’ve come up with a plan.”

“We?”

“Me, Liam, and Mastin.”

“What is it?”

“Listen. There’s very little time. I’m here to do the only thing that will save you from Collaunt’s brutality. I’m going to have to take your virginity.”

She started to say something, but paused when she saw Yulen pull off his coat and lay it on the ground before guiding her down onto it. “Yul...”

“Shhh.”

Silently she allowed him to tug off her pants. Earlier the guards had taken her boots, and now her feet were numb from the cold. When she was naked from the waist down, she watched him unbuckle his own pants, noticing for the first time that he wasn’t carrying his sword.

“This is going to hurt, isn’t it?” she whispered.

“Forgive me, Atrilan.” He knelt before her to lift her knees and spread her legs before leaning over and covering her with his body. She shivered against the icy temperature now attacking her flesh until his warmth shielded her like a blanket.

He lifted her face so that she looked up into his eyes. “I wanted our first time to be special,” he murmured. There were tears in his eyes. “Forgive me. I promise you, once we get out of this, I’ll make every night from here on a gift.”

“You’ve already made this special,” she whispered. His hands were tenderly stroking her thighs and buttocks where they rested on his coat. Her own hands had found his waist, and even now were burrowing underneath his shirt to find the hard muscles of his back.

“How?”

“You’re doing this to save my life,” she told him.

He pressed his lips her throat, feeling her pulse under his tongue. They had to hurry, but he couldn’t rush it, or else it still would be too much like rape.

Incredibly, he was hard for her. With extreme gentleness, he guided himself to her entrance, until the tip of his erection buried itself between her lower lips. She was dry. And there was no way she could take all of him.

He knew it would hurt her beyond anything she’d ever experienced before in her life, but it couldn’t be helped, and he prayed she would forgive him. She continued to shiver beneath his weight, and he adjusted himself so as not to crush her with his weight. One hand continued to cup her buttocks. With the other, he played with her clit, rubbing the end of his penis across the tiny bundle of nerves until he was rewarded with a drop of her wetness. Smearing the head of his erection with her warm cream, Yulen fitted himself into the entrance of her tight little tunnel. Atty gasped at the sensation.

“I’m afraid,” she choked. “What... Do I need to do anything?”

“Try not tense up, Atrilan,” he whispered into her ear.

“Is it going to hurt much?”

“Yes, but not for long. I promise, not for long. And after this one time, never ever again.”

A soft sob trembled in her breath. He felt her lips against his cheek. “Do it.”

Holding her steady, he pushed into her, quickly and forcefully, so as not to prolong the agony, and at the same time clamped his mouth over hers. She cried out, her scream was muffled as her body spasmed against the sharp, overwhelming pain. Her nails dug into his back, leaving thin trails of blood. Yulen didn’t move, but kept himself motionless, enveloped deep within her, until she began to weep.

“I love you,” he whispered, kissing the warm drops sliding over her temples. “I love you, and I’m so sorry it had to be this way. My love...”

“It...hurt.”

He could hear a small whine in the back of her throat, and he cursed himself for not doing it sooner, for not taking her to wife the day after they’d arrived at Alta Novis. He wished there could have been another time, another place, another circumstance. If only she had been in the throes of passion, coated with sweat and her own womanly juices. If only he’d had enough time to bring her to another moment of release.

“Does it still hurt?” he asked tenderly. He’d remained frozen, a little more than halfway inside her. He felt her head move slightly against his. No.

Very, very slowly, he moved himself within her. Her body accepted him, creaming her inner channel and making passage easier. Atty’s reaction was instantaneous. “What are you doing?” Her voice contained the agonizing memory of her penetration, but something had changed.

Yulen lifted his face again to look down at her. She opened her eyes to gaze up at him. He watched her expression as he moved again, sliding deeply, carefully, until she sheathed almost three-quarters of his length, then retreated with excruciating slowness. Her body was a glove three sizes too small, yet it tried to stretch and accommodate him. Nature took over and found a way. A softness came into Atty’s eyes. She arched her head back, and he bent over to taste her silky neck.

“What are you doing to me, Yul?”

“Now we’re making love,” he whispered in her ear as he continued to move in and out of her, feeling her tight, inner muscles beginning to contract around him.

She caught her breath. The breath became a low moan.

He closed his eyes and allowed himself to savor that which he’d denied himself, had dreamed about, ever since that time in the little shop when he knew he would have her by his side for the rest of their lives. He felt her lifting her knees, which gave him greater access, and he pressed his forehead to the coat on the floor as his body responded.

The quick rap at the door startled them both. The little window opened, and a frantic voice whispered, “Sir! One minute! No more!” before it shut.

Immediately, Yulen withdrew and rose onto his knees.

“What—” Atty started to ask, but he shushed her while he tore off a piece of her shirt. She watched as he cleaned himself, and her eyes widened in shock to see blood smeared on the material. Before she could say anything, he reached between her legs and gently wiped her down, then tossed the stained material to one side.

“Quick. Your pants.” He stood and strode over to the door as he pulled up his own pants and fastened them. When he looked back at her, she had managed to pull hers back on. He rushed back over to snatch up his coat from the ground.

“When they take you to the main hall, say nothing,” he whispered against her lips. “MaGrath and I will be there once we allow them to take us prisoner, but that is another part of our plan.”

“Yul! No!”

“Sir!” the voice came from the little window once again. There was no mistaking the urgency.

Yulen gave her one more loving look, one more soft but quick kiss, and he slipped out of the door seconds before Collaunt’s men came down the corridor to fetch their prisoner.

Dion led the Battle Lord back to the outer wall where MaGrath was waiting with baited breath. “Well?” He was answered with a dark, unfathomable look, but it held the answer he sought. “Thank God.”

They hurried to the strand of trees where the horses were tethered. Dion melted back into the underbrush, but not before repeating the Battle Lord’s instructions.

Taking a deep breath, Yulen swung into his saddle and turned his horse around, prepared to leave the protective covering of the trees. “There are more despicable things I’ve done in my life, Liam, but right now I can’t think of any of them.”

“Is she all right?”

There was a long silence. “Yeah,” Yulen finally whispered. “Yeah. She’ll be fine.”

MaGrath nodded. “Now let’s go get her.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

Evil

Atty allowed Collaunt’s men to take her from the cell to the main hall, but not before she demanded her boots back.

“If I cut my feet on the rough stone and those cuts get infected, who do you think is going to have to face Collaunt’s anger?” she’d spat at them. It was only a short wait before one of the soldiers returned from heaven knew where and threw her the footwear. And, amazingly, they were willing to wait that extra couple of minutes it took for her to hurriedly lace them up. Once she was done, though, they were just as rough handling her as they’d always been.

It didn’t matter anymore. There was an aching soreness between her legs and below her belly, a throbbing heat that wouldn’t go away. Except for that, she would have thought the past few minutes had been nothing more than a dream.

Now we’re making love.

She remembered the pain, the brilliant flash of burning agony that had cut into her, slicing her apart. She’d never believed it could hurt so much, but now it was in the past. Gone and hopefully soon forgotten...except for that last part. The slow part. The unbelievably delicious feelings that had come over her as he filled her and moved inside of her while he murmured her name.

Now we’re making love.

She stumbled against a table jutting away from the corridor wall. One of the guards grabbed her by the arm and half-led, half-carried her in case she’d done it on purpose.

The main hall was so brightly lit, as opposed to the dim near-darkness of the cell, Atty had to squint until her vision could adjust. There were at least fifty or more people scattered around the room. All of them had been partaking of food and drink, as if they’d been invited to a party.

“Guards, how is her health?” a familiar voice boomed to her right. Collaunt sat in his chair near the fireplace. He wore a robe of green velvet and a tight, malicious smile.

“Adequate,” the guard behind her answered.

“Has she been under watch this entire time?”

“Yes, sir.”

Liar, a little voice in her head said, but Atty remained silent.

Nodding pleasantly, Collaunt lifted his mug of whatever he was drinking and took a sip. “Guards! Bring in the prisoners!” Giving Atty another oily smile, the Battle Lord said, “I’m going to enjoy the festivities. I think you’re going to find them a bit...entertaining...as well.”

Atty’s eyes locked on the doors at the far end of the room, hoping, praying. What seemed like an eternity, the doors finally opened, and a fully armed escort dragged in their new prisoners. Her heart sank. She knew he had told her it was part of their plan, but somehow she’d wished they could have found another solution.

“Isn’t this an interesting turn of events?” Collaunt commented almost nonchalantly. “Not only do we get to have the pleasure of D’Jacques’ company, but we also get to be intimately introduced to his Mutah whore as well,” he informed the crowd.

“We entered under the flag of truce!” MaGrath yelled. A vein stood out in his forehead, pulsing from anger.

“You entered my compound, therefore you trespassed,” Collaunt replied. “In Bearinger, trespassers are hung. Which is why...” His voice trailed away as he turned back to Atty. His eyes flickered momentarily behind her, and Atty glanced over her shoulder to see four heavily-muscled, half-naked men standing at attention against the wall. They were watching her with undisguised expectation. A shiver of fear ran through her as she remembered what Yulen had told her. Those men had been specially selected to deflower her should she still be intact. There was no doubt in her mind that Collaunt had ordered them to make the act as brutal and as degrading as they could.

“Pastern!”

From one end of the room, the little physician emerged from a small huddle of people. “Sir?” he addressed the Battle Lord.

“I want you to examine the Mutah woman and tell us if she’s still a virgin.”

Pastern glanced at Atty, then back at Collaunt. “Here? Now?”

Collaunt scowled. “Yes, here and now! Guards! Strip her!”

“Wait!” Pastern held up his hand and looked around at the varying looks of shock and disgust evident on the faces of the people in the room. “Show her some modicum of decency, sir, even if she is a Mutah! Give us a curtain.”

Collaunt also noticed the people’s mute disapproval. For once he backed down. “All right. Use one of the tablecloths.”

Atty’s eyes locked on the blue-gray ones staring back at her as two guards each grabbed one of her arms. She forced her mind to focus on their few moments they’d had together, on the warmth of his hands on her chilled skin, the way he’d stretched himself over her to keep away the cold, how he’d tried to make the difficult transition as easy as possible. Her memories were the only way she could keep her sanity at that moment.

A tablecloth was pulled from an empty table, and two more guards held it up to chest level. Pastern retreated behind the thin shield and proceeded to undo her pants. He pulled them down to her knees, then reached up between her legs with one hand.

Another flash of pain overtook her, and she gasped from the intensity, biting her lips, unable to stop herself. Yulen struggled briefly against the ropes that were cutting off the circulation in his hands.

Pastern emerged, wiping his hands on the corner of the material. “She’s lost her maidenhead, but it’s been recently. The tear’s still fresh,” he loudly announced.

A look of disappointment came over Collaunt’s face. “Aww. That’s too bad. What did you use, Mutah? A stick? A rock fragment? Did you entice one of my guards?”

“Go to hell,” Atty muttered.

“Oh, but not before I have a great time here first,” Collaunt chuckled. He made a motion with his hand, and to Atty’s immense relief the four would-be rapists exited the hall.

“Okay, you’ve managed to deprive me of one spectacle, but the Battle Lord has been generous enough to provide me with the opportunity to prove another point. Ladies! Gentlemen! Let’s move this party to the courtyard where I’m sure you’ll find the next activity to be quite entertaining!”

Atty’s guards escorted her out into the yard adjacent to the main hall. She searched the crowd of men and women who had followed them outside, but she couldn’t see where they’d taken Yulen or MaGrath.

Collaunt casually walked up to where she was being kept restrained. He snapped his fingers, and a servant came running up behind him to drop something in his waiting palm. Atty stared at the expression of delight on the Battle Lord’s face as the man grinned at her before addressing the crowd.

“I’m sure everyone by now has heard about the marvelous exploits of this woman warrior. About how she managed to kill a bull ferret almost single-handedly with one arrow. How she mowed down sixteen strong and highly-skilled soldiers with her bow. How she is so fast, so accurate, so meshed with her weapon that nothing and no one can equal or best her. Well, we’re also aware of the rumor that says that once she loses her virginity, she also loses that edge with her weapon. She loses that very quality that made her unconquerable. Ladies and gentlemen, our illustrious Mutah is no longer a virgin, as verified by the good doctor. So now let’s see if the story proves true. Let’s see if she can save the life of her Battle Lord.”

The guards moved aside to let Atty see down the expanse of the courtyard. At the other end of the compound Collaunt had erected a gallows. She could feel herself growing cold with dread as she noticed Yulen standing on the trap door. A noose had already been pulled and tightened around his neck. Below the platform, MaGrath stood bound and held immobile by two more guards.

Something sharp nudged her arm. She glanced down at the bow and single arrow in the Battle Lord’s hand. Numbly she took them.

“When I signal the executioner, he’ll release the trap door,” Collaunt instructed, informing her as well as the silent crowd. “You have the one arrow to break the rope around D’Jacques neck while he slowly strangles to death. Don’t expect me to wish you good luck, Mutah, because, obviously, I don’t want you to succeed.”

“Then why even give these to me?” Atty snarled at him. “This bow is too small. The arrow is too short.” She motioned toward the gallows with her head. “It’s got to be a good fifty or sixty yards. This weapon doesn’t have that range!”

Collaunt chuckled. “And here I’d been told you could perform miracles! Maybe I need to find the people who told me such fabrications and have them punished.” As fast as lightning, his eyes glittered with rage and his face went dark. “No more stalling, Mutah! You have been given your one chance! Show me! Now!” he hissed, spittle flying from between his teeth, and he threw a fist into the air.

The executioner pulled the lever, releasing the door beneath Yulen. Atty screamed as the shortened rope around his neck was enough to begin strangling him, but not long enough to break his spine as a normal hanging would.

“One arrow, Mutah! Make it count!” Collaunt yelled in her ear.

Atty lifted the bow, the arrow nocked, and focused on the thick rope. Great, racking sobs burst in her chest when she realized Yulen had ceased to struggle against the cord, giving her a better chance of hitting her target, but it was costing him dearly. He would be unconscious within seconds.

“Fire, Mutah! Fire!”

Even if she could pull enough pounds on the string to get the arrow all the way down the corridor, even if she could somehow, miraculously, get the arrow to the rope, the little barb on its tip wouldn’t be sharp enough or strong enough, to break the cord. Collaunt had checked all his bases. With her failure, Yulen was dead. She would soon be dead. And Alta Novis would be forfeited to Collaunt.

She took a deep breath, drew back on the string, and aimed.

As she expected, Collaunt heard her prepare, and he turned his head to look down the corridor. He turned to look. The guards turned to look. Everyone in the compound turned to look.

At the other end of the compound, MaGrath tore himself away from Yulen’s death struggle to see all eyes focused on the gallows. He saw Atty looking down the arrow’s shaft, then she lifted her face.

He knew what she was going to do a heartbeat before she did it.

Atty grabbed the arrow by its shaft and swung her arm outward as she screamed with anger and vengeance. The dulled tip punctured Collaunt’s jugular vein and made a loud pop! when she jerked it out. Blood began to arc into the air like a scarlet fountain. Before anyone realized what she’d done, she bolted down the corridor, running with a swiftness that astounded MaGrath even as he remembered Yulen telling him about her fleetness of foot.

The guards holding Yulen and MaGrath were taken by surprise by the girl hurtling directly toward them. They were even more shocked when she skidded to a stop in front of one of the gentlemen guests and pulled his dagger from his belt. Reaching back, Atty hurled the dagger forward with every ounce of strength she had toward the rope. There was a loud snapping sound, and Yulen fell to a heap through the trap door. But before he had vanished through the floor of the gallows, Atty had ducked into the crowd. The guards, still unaware of what had happened to Collaunt, left MaGrath and went after her.

MaGrath turned around to see the dagger a few feet away, sticking into one of the posts which supported the wall of the compound. He ran up the gallows steps, pulled it from the log, and jumped through the hole in the floor.

Yulen was nearly unconscious, but he’d managed to roll away from the trap door before MaGrath fell beside him. The physician sawed away at the ropes as sounds of the hunt escalated outside. This time he could make out the screams of people saying the Battle Lord had been stabbed. Someone else cried for help. The Battle Lord was bleeding to death.

As the last rope fell away, he helped Yulen to his feet as the man fought for breath. “Atty,” he managed, coughing.

“She’s given us a chance to escape. Let’s go!”

“Not without Atty.”

“Trust me, Yulen. She’ll join us. Don’t throw away this advantage she’s given us!”

MaGrath led him from behind the gallows to see chaos in the compound. There was a small doorway set in the wall a few yards away, one of the secondary exits facing the forest edge of the compound. Tugging on Yulen’s sleeve, he ducked and raced for it. Within seconds they were outside of the wall, and together they ran for the protection of the forest five hundred yards away.

Once they had penetrated the green barrier, both men fell to the ground, struggling for breath. MaGrath managed to crawl over to check Yulen’s neck, grimacing at the raw and bleeding burn.

“Wh-what happened?” Yulen asked. His voice was faint, his vocal cords swollen.

“She stabbed Collaunt in the jugular with the arrow.”

“Did she...manage...to break the rope?”

“With the arrow?” MaGrath grinned. “Nope. She grabbed some guy’s dagger and threw it, and that’s what broke the rope.”

Yulen rolled onto one elbow and stared at him.

MaGrath nodded, enjoying the man’s surprise. “Yes. You heard me right. She threw a dagger.”

The Battle Lord paused for only a second. “With which hand? Her right, her left, or both?” he asked before breaking out into a smile. He started to chuckle along with MaGrath’s soft laughter, but the effort hurt too much.

“If you two keep that up, Collaunt’s men aren’t going to have much trouble finding us,” a voice dryly commented from behind them.

Yulen rose to his knees as a warm and vibrant Atty launched herself from the bushes into his embrace. They held each other tightly, both of them trembling slightly as they reassured themselves of each other’s presence and well-being with tender words and one slow kiss. After a while, Atty pulled away to give the physician a well-deserved hug and quick kiss on the mouth. Following that, she bent over to examine the wound on the Battle Lord’s neck.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that, my love,” she whispered.

Yulen shook his head. “My fault. A kink in the plans I hadn’t counted on.” He eyed her. “A dagger?”

She gave him an innocent look in return. “Why are you so shocked? You didn’t think the bow was the only thing I was skilled with, did you? How do you think I earned my Ballock?”

“How are you with a sword?” Yulen asked. “Any chance I might find you challenging me to a duel sometime in the future?”

“Forget it. They’re too heavy and too unwieldy. But you should see me with a foil. I even learned a few tricks with one!”

A sound in the distance alerted them. Atty and MaGrath pulled Yulen to his feet and she guided them deeper into the forest, away from Collaunt’s advancing troops.

“Atty, did you kill Collaunt?” Yulen asked her the next time they paused for a breather.

“I stabbed him in the neck with that dulled arrow he gave me. Served him right.”

“Is there any way he could still be alive?” MaGrath whispered.

Atty shook her head as her eyes glittered with the memory. “I was trained so that when I hunt, I aim to either capture or kill. With him, I wanted nothing more than to kill.” Her face grew grim. “I knew the moment I stabbed him he was a dead man.”

“Gotten bloodthirsty, now that you’ve learned to kill a few men?” MaGrath asked her. His tone neither rebuked nor condemned.

Atty halted in mid-stride to face him. “The only difference between a warrior and a hunter is the prey. And the only difference between your enemy and your prey is how badly you want it dead.” She continued to stare down the physician, who finally acquiesced.

“Then Bearinger is leaderless. Now’s the time to strike, Yulen,” MaGrath told him.

“I agree, but first we have to get to the road and alert my troops who are waiting on the other side of the valley,” Yulen agreed. “Atty, can you lead us there?”

“I can’t. Collaunt’s men are between us and the road.” Another sound alerted them, and she gave each man a little shove. “Go!”

They continued to run, following her and her unerring sense of direction. When they reached a strand of big oak, they stopped again for breath.

“Damn, they’re relentless,” she griped.

Yulen gingerly rubbed his fingertips around the burn. “Any suggestions?”

They watched as she squatted, examining the underbrush. When she started to follow an almost invisible trail, they tagged along silently. Presently she stopped, and a smile slowly lit her face. She rooted among the leaves and twigs littering the ground until she found a piece of bark.

“Okay, guys. Up into the trees with you.”

“What?”

She answered Yulen with a playful swat on the backside. “I said up. Surely you used to climb trees when you were a boy. Liam?”

“Have pity on an old man, Atty.”

“Old, my ass. Get up there. Now.”

She watched as both men steadily climbed the oaks until she was certain they were high enough not to be detected. One more glance around reassured her, and she began to rub the piece of bark against a smooth rock. The result was a soft grunting noise.

Atty continued to rub the two pieces together, pausing every so often to listen. Suddenly, she dropped the wood and scurried up the tree moments before a crashing sound came thundering in their direction.

“Amazing,” MaGrath said quietly from where he crouched one branch over.

Yulen glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

“To think, with all the climbing and running and everything she’s done while growing up, that she’d managed to keep her maidenhead intact,” the physician noted.

“Shut up, Liam,” Yulen threatened softly. He was answered with a soft chuckle.

Atty finally reached them, hoisting herself up and swinging her legs over until she straddled the large limb Yulen sat upon. A flash of discomfort passed over her face, but not before Yulen noticed it. Seeing her straddling the branch, he remembered Liam’s comment, and a flush of heat came over him. It had been years since he’d had the grace to blush, he realized. Oddly, it felt good.

They listened as the crashing sound got louder and closer. By the time it neared the tree, they could hear the grunts and squeals before the herd of wild boar emerged into the small clearing directly below them.

“Okay, we have the weapon,” Atty told them. “Now we have to aim it.”

Yulen raised an eyebrow at her.

“That’s what’s wrong with men,” she told him with a playful smirk. “They think that the only weapon worth using is the one they can forge or hold in their hand. Trust me, Yulen, I promise to teach you all my tricks.”

In the distance, they could hear another sound. This time it was more distinct.

“Collaunt’s men,” MaGrath said what they were all thinking.

“You’re going to set the wild pigs on them,” Yulen stated. “The boars will rip the men and horses apart with their tusks.”

Atty nodded. “I wish there was another way, but it’s the only thing I can think of right now to clear us a path to the road.”

“You said they were the weapon, and all you had to do was aim it. How are you going to do that?” Yulen asked.

She gave him a look he couldn’t fathom as she reached inside the waistband of her pants and pulled out a bloodstained rag. Yulen started, recognizing it as the piece of material he’d used in the cell to clean the blood off of them after he’d taken her virginity. Silently he watched as she dug out the smooth rock from where she’d stuffed it down the inside of her boot, then tied the rag around it. MaGrath saw the rag but made no comment, not realizing its significance.

As the soldiers drew closer, the wild pigs became more restless. They could smell the blood. It kept them excited and circling the trees. It was quickly evident the soldiers had no idea a herd of almost a dozen feral hogs were milling nearby.

When men had approached close enough, Atty whispered, “The second the pigs go for them, drop and run in that direction.” She pointed over their shoulders. Both men nodded their understanding and prepared to jump.

Hefting the bloody rag and rock, she sat up, placed two fingers in her mouth, and let out a piercing whistle. As she’d hoped, the soldiers spotted her, but the dense foliage prevented them from getting a good shot at her. That, however, was not a problem for Atty. Rearing back, she hurled the rock with precision, striking the nearest horse in the neck. The animal screamed and rose on its hind legs. The soldier riding it was thrown backwards, which, in turn, spooked the horses behind him, and they shied in fear.

The pigs reacted to the noise and the scent of blood now coming from a different direction. It was only a matter of moments before they raced off to attack the intruders.

As soon as the clearing was emptied, Yulen, MaGrath, and Atty dropped from the trees and dashed for the road as screams, squeals, and the yells of Collaunt’s men echoed in their ears.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Fault

“Halt and identify!”

Yulen stepped out of the forest to be immediately surrounded by a half-dozen armed men. Their diligence pleased him. “Stand down! Where’s my horse? Verris?”

His men backed away, exclaiming in surprise to see him return. They were even more shocked when Atty followed him from out of the brush, with MaGrath behind her.

“Yulen!” a cry came from the back of the line. The Battle Lord reacted to the voice, but there was no time for reunions.

“Verris! Mastin! Karv!” Yulen called again as the reins to his horse were handed over to him. Deftly he swung into the saddle.

“Yes, sir!” Mastin appeared, already mounted and ready to lead his platoon of archers.

Glancing around, Yulen spotted Karv and Verris. Both men had their troops at ready, and they signaled their status.

“What is Madigan doing here?” Yulen asked Mastin sharply. “Why didn’t she remain at the encampment?” His throat still hurt like the devil, but at least he had some volume back.

“She insisted, sir,” his Second replied. “You know how she can be.”

Yulen nodded. Nothing short of being tied to her chair could prevent his mother from following his troops if she chose. And there had been times in the past when he could remember his father doing just that prior to leaving on one of his crusades.

Turning around, he finally caught sight of MaGrath with Atty. They were mounting their own horses. The physician was first to pull up next to him.

“Stay with her,” Yulen ordered, knowing the man would have no doubt as to whom he meant.

MaGrath gave a quick nod. “Want me to bandage that up first?” he indicated the rope burn.

“No. I want my men to see it. Have them something to focus on.” He narrowed his eyes. “Give me something to remember him with,” he added softly.

His attention was drawn back to the warrior woman who had joined them. “You’re staying here.” It was as direct an order as he could give her. When Atty opened her mouth to protest, he pinned her with his eyes. “I won’t risk you going back in there. Now it’s time for me to go in and clean up after. We won’t be long. Be waiting for me when I return. Liam, make sure my mother doesn’t embarrass herself while I’m gone.”

MaGrath nodded again. Furtively, he grabbed Atty’s reins for good measure as they watched Yulen signal to his men to accompany him over the rise and down into the valley toward Bearinger.

They followed the departing soldiers on their horses, stopping at the top of the rise so they could watch the men descend on the compound. MaGrath was barely aware of Madigan pulling up on the other side of Atty’s mount until the woman commented, “It shouldn’t take him too long to restore order down there.”

Atty made no comment. She remained looking down in the valley, trying to catch a glimpse of red-gold hair. She had no weapon. She couldn’t protect him or fight for him even if she wanted. For the first time in her life she felt more naked and more helpless than she ever could imagine.

“Before he went in to surrender, he told me he’d found you,” Madigan continued, as if she was unaware of Atty’s attempt to ignore her. The older woman bit her lower lip. “He told me what he’d done...to save you. He was...he told me he was...ashamed.”

Atty finally turned her head to give her a questioning look. Madigan saw the confusion on the woman’s face.

“I told him it wasn’t his fault. That he shouldn’t blame himself because the blame was also partially mine. At least most of it. Because of all the nasty things I’d said. My jealousy towards you. My hatred toward people like you that had been bred in me since childhood. I didn’t want him to marry you. I was determined never to see it happen. So when he came to me and told me...” She bit her lips again, and now Atty could see the tears filling the woman’s eyes.

“He’ll have to face this for the rest of his life, how different his life will be because of you. You know that, don’t you? How difficult and different it’ll be, always having to defend you. Always having to bear the burden of explaining why he took you to be his wife. I’m just terrified, thinking that at some point...someday, someone else will come along and challenge him. Challenge you. Perhaps take you away again. And he’ll be forced to risk everything again for your sake.”

“It’s as much my fault as his,” Atty told her softly, turning back to the scene below. “He nearly died because he wanted to save me. If I had not been Collaunt’s prisoner, none of this would have happened. You were trying to protect him as much as he was trying to protect me, Madigan. And you’re right earlier. I don’t belong here. I’m not of your people.”

Taking a deep breath, Atty turned her horse around and began to lead it back toward the encampment. MaGrath reached out to snag her arm. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked the warrior woman. At the same time, he tossed a harsh look toward Madigan. “For God’s sake, Maddy.”

“She’s of her own mind,” the older woman murmured.

“Damn you, Maddy. I’ve had enough of this!” He looked at Atty. “Wait ‘til Yulen returns before you do anything.”

Atty refused to meet his eyes. “I shouldn’t have come, Liam. I’m tired and I’m weak, and I...I just can’t...take any more of this. This is never going to end. All the hatred in the world for people like me. I kept trying to tell myself differently, that they’ll come to accept me, but Madigan’s right. Yulen deserves someone his people can look up to without fear or loathing. He deserves healthy sons, not little boys who might have an extra appendage or scales for skin. Don’t you see? If I stay, I will always be Mutah. The freak who can fire a bow. Yulen’s mutie conquest.”

Before he could stop her, she slapped the reins over the horse’s neck and dug her heels into its ribs. The animal spurted forward, and MaGrath lost his grip on her sleeve. Without thinking, he rode over and grabbed the bridle on Madigan’s horse.

“Liam, let go.”

“Not until you go after her.”

“Why? She’s made her choice.”

“Only because you’ve pounded your righteous cause into her skull ever since she arrived. You’ve thrown every ounce of guilt on her shoulders, and why? Because you want a Normal for a daughter-in-law?” MaGrath gave a humorless laugh. “You are still so full of self-pity and loathing, I wonder now why I ever wanted to wait for you.”

At his confession, Madigan blanched. “Wait for me?”

“Yeah, wait for you. Wait for you to realize Rory was dead, and ghosts make for pretty poor lovers at night. Unless you’ve come to enjoy not having any more laughter and warmth in your life. I’ve loved you ever since we three were children playing tag in the courtyard. I’ve loved you even after I found out you’d married Rory. I’ve loved you through all these years, and I’ve loved Yulen as if he’d been our son. After Rory was killed, I was there to comfort you, but I held back and prayed that maybe, maybe, you’d wake up one day and take off that damn black veil you wear inside around your heart, and see that I’m still here...waiting for you.”

He looked down the road where he could no longer make out Atty’s figure. A tightness hitched in his throat, threatening to cut off his breath.

“My hatred for mutants was as great as anyone’s, or so I believed until I met Atty. That’s what hurts the most, I think. That you never took a single minute to sit and listen to her. That you never watched her and Yulen together, and never saw that incredible power that binds them. I can’t even call it love because it’s like the two of them together is greater than the two of them apart. Well, I saw it. I saw the change that came over Yulen. I saw that black, bitter hole that he had dug after his father’s death nearly swallow him, and I watched Atty fill it with her smile and her sass and her naiveté and her sincerity. And her love for your son. And I watched Yulen heal and change because of her. Think back, Madigan. Think of the way Yulen was before we left on that last crusade. Now think of these past few days and tell me...I dare you to tell me Atty’s not responsible for any of it.”

Madigan tried to take a deep breath, but it turned ragged and threatened to choke her. “What will Yulen do when he finds her gone of her own choosing? That she’s given up?”

MaGrath pulled away from her, unable to stop his own rising grief. “I think you already know the answer to that question. So now I’m going to ask you...what are you more willing to live with, Madigan? Can you spend the rest of your life without your son? Or can you accept a woman with morning glory hair, who gives him countless joy, who fills his days with sunlight and his nights with passion, and who is willing to sacrifice her own life for his?”

He watched as the woman stared down the road for several long moments. “Where do you think she is, Liam?” she finally whispered.

“I don’t know. But don’t you think you need to go look for her before Yulen gets back?”

She looked at him, wiping her face with the sleeve of her gown. “Liam, if I find her and bring her back, will you do something for me?” she begged, her voice soft from her tears.

“What is it?”

“Will you...still be waiting for me?”

MaGrath heard the pounding of his heart echo in his ears. “Bring her back, Maddy, and I’ll never deny you anything.”

Madigan kicked her horse, urging it into a gallop, and headed down the road. MaGrath watched until she’d gone over the rise, then turned around to look back down the valley. If Madigan was successful, it would be a miracle. But after a day like today, he could no longer refute the possibility of miracles.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Forgiveness

Madigan prayed under her breath as she galloped into the encampment. Her eyes raked the empty places where the men would begin their fires tonight and settle their bedrolls. When she caught the flash of a bay-colored rump backing up from a behind a tree, she nearly cried with relief.

She pulled up her horse and slid out of the saddle, running toward the horse and looking to see where the woman had gone. All the while she continued to pray she hadn’t been too late.

Behind one setup she thought she spied a deep blue color. She went after it, afraid to call out for fear the woman would bolt if she knew she was being pursued.

It was the sound of soft sobbing that finally led her to a small tumble of large rocks that edged the small stream flowing through the camp. Quietly, Madigan followed the sound, stepping around the rocks until she saw the warrior woman bent over the stream. She knew immediately what Atty was doing, having spent many days and nights herself placing cold compresses over tear-swollen eyes.

She remained silent, watching until Atty managed to get to her feet and tried to calm herself. The warrior woman reached into the waistband of her pants and pulled out what Madigan saw was a small arrow. The point was covered with blood. A shiver went through the older woman as she watched Atty drop it by the stream.

“I know you’re behind me,” Atty whispered raggedly. “What is it now? What do you have to tell me you haven’t already made perfectly clear?” Her shoulders shook as her black sorrow overcame her again, and Atty covered her face with her hands. Suddenly she turned and started to run back to her horse. Madigan cried out and tried to follow her.

“Atrilan, no!”

Atty’s reaction was immediate. She whirled on the woman with her misery etched in every line on her face. “Don’t...you...ever... call me that again!” she almost screamed.

“It’s what I’ve heard Yulen call you,” Madigan tried to explain, but Atty would no longer listen to any of the venom and bile the older woman had to spew.

“Yulen calls me that when we’re alone. When he’s loving me. When he’s...” Her emotions betrayed her again, and Atty stumbled against the bole of large cottonwood. Slowly she slid to her knees, unable to run any further as sobs racked her body. Unable to escape into the sheltering forest where they’d never find her unless she wished it. Unable to face another day without the one person who meant more to her than life, but who she would never be allowed to love as long as one other person stood in their way.

“Atty, I came to beg your forgiveness!” Madigan called out. “Forgive me! I...I lost the man who was my life to a Mutah army. And I think, all this time, I’ve been forcing you to bear the blame for his death.”

She moved closer and got down on her knees, ignoring the wet ground and the mud staining her gown to reach out toward the woman huddled in a small ball, her arms clasped around her legs.

“If you go, I will lose the last two people in my life who mean everything to me. So I’m begging you...I’m pleading with you...don’t go. Give me another chance. Please. Give me the chance to try and accept you. Yulen...Yulen is part of me and all I have left of Rory. Liam says Rory would approve of you. And there is no way I can deny the fact that you’ve become Yulen’s whole life. Please, please, Atty. Stay. Yulen’s men have accepted you. You can see it in their faces. And Liam...Liam fights for you as fiercely as he did for Rory. Atty...Atty, please. One last chance. Please.”

She reached toward the warrior woman and slowly held out a hand to touch her. As Atty remained withdrawn in her misery, Madigan’s fingers brushed the dark blue sheen of hair falling over the woman’s back and sides. She felt its warmth and silkiness, and it surprised her. Unable to help herself, Madigan let her hand drift in the soft waves. She lifted a lock to her nose where she caught the faint scent of mint in it.

Fresh tears flowed over her cheeks. Her breath caught in her chest. Yulen loved the smell of mint. He had the servants make his soap with it. Soap this woman had used four nights ago before walking into his arms and his bed. Before she was kidnapped by Collaunt’s man and taken away. Before Yulen had been forced to sneak into Bearinger, into its lower dungeons, so he could take her virginity and save her life.

Now that she looked for them, it wasn’t hard to see the traces of blood on the pants Atty still wore. Madigan remembered the night she’d forever left behind her girlhood with the man who later gave her a son. For her it had been a night of love and soaring passion, in a bed filled with red tulip petals.

Not a cold and filthy dungeon, without the time to love, to prepare, or even the chance to savor what should have come afterward.

But Atty had accepted it, without complaint, without sorrow or regret, because she loved Yulen. Because of her fate in life to have been born different, she would accept anything he could give her, and always would.

Would any other woman give as much?

“Oh, God, what have I done?” she whispered to herself. Without being aware of what she was doing, Madigan leaned over and put her arms around Atty’s shoulders, and buried her face in the dark, morning glory hair. She held her that way for a long time, until she felt Atty begin to pull away. Glancing up, she saw that the warrior woman would not look at her as she got to her feet.

“Atty...listen to me. Please. Just give me this one last request.”

To her relief, Atty paused, her back still turned to her.

“Yulen will be back soon. I...I have my tent erected on the other side of the stream. I want you to go there and clean up. You’ve been through so much, and I have been a fool. I’ll have a pan of warm water brought to you so you can clean up before he gets back. Atty, please,” she said softly, slowly. “Have your first night together. Make my Yulen happy. Give him joy. Let him give you your joy.”

“And what about you?” Atty asked in a voice less hard but still wary. “Where will you go tonight?”

Madigan smiled through her tears and sniffed. “I have a gentle-hearted physician who’s been waiting a long, long time for me to finally come to my senses.”

Maybe it was the mention of Liam that finally brought Atty back into her arms, and Madigan finally discovered what he had been trying to tell her these past few days.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Tent

For only the second time in his life, MaGrath dreaded having to face Yulen and tell him the bad news. Which explained why his face felt like raw leather when the troops wearily made their way back up the rise and began to disperse to find their own fires and bedroll for the coming night.

Yulen was near the end of the line. He was giving some last-minute instructions to Verris, who nodded before departing. As the Battle Lord approached him, MaGrath could see his eyes sweeping the area, and knew what he was going to ask before he opened his mouth. The pit in his stomach closed over and turned to cold lead.

“Liam, where’s Atty?” Almost as a second thought, he added, “Where’s Madigan?”

“Yulen...”

His tone of voice must have betrayed him. Yulen’s face turned red almost instantly. “Damn you, Liam! Where is she?”

“Madigan’s gone to look for her.”

“Gone to look for her?” Without waiting for an answer, Yulen whirled his horse around and forced the animal into a gallop, heading down the road toward the encampment. MaGrath hurried to keep up with the man.

It was with shock and surprise both men reined up in front of the section set aside for the Battle Lord to find Madigan sitting before his campfire, stirring the freshly-lit tinder with a twig. Not far away Atty’s bay mare stood abandoned.

Jumping from the saddle while the horse was still in motion, Yulen rushed over and grabbed his mother by the arms.

“What did you do, Mother? What did you say this time? Where’s Atty?”

MaGrath stood to the side, watching and knowing that all the anger and fear and heartache he felt was being effectively funneled through the Battle Lord.

Madigan stared up at her son, lifting a hand to touch his stubbled, blood-streaked cheek. She could see the dark rings under his eyes caused by his worry and lack of sleep. He also looked more gaunt than usual, and she knew she was also the cause of it. Not to mention the ugly, raw abrasion around his neck.

Had it only been this morning that he’d set out for Bearinger’s dungeons? When was the last time he’d eaten? For that matter, when was the last time he’d gotten a chance to actually rest? And recuperate? And love?

“Madigan!” he asked again through gritted teeth, and gave her a little shake.

“She’s in my tent,” Madigan told him softly. “She’s in my tent, waiting for you.”

The anger seemed to drain out of him. “What? She’s where?”

“Go to her, Yul. Love her. Love her enough so she’ll never leave, and never think of ever leaving again.”

Yulen gave her one last confused look, then released her and began to jog in the direction where he knew his mother had ordered her large tent erected for her personal comfort.

MaGrath watched him leave with wide-eyed disbelief. Glancing back at Madigan, he dismounted and walked over to her, dropping the reins on the ground. “What happened, Maddy? What’s going on? How did you talk Atty into—” He turned again to watch Yulen’s departing figure.

“Liam?”

The physician turned back around, and was enveloped in a pair of warm arms and an even warmer kiss. He held her tightly for a moment, then gently disengaged himself from her embrace to give her another confused look. “What the hell is going on?” he asked her.

“Before I go into the details, I need you to give me a straight answer,” she told him.

“What’s the question?”

“Since Yulen and Atty are using my tent tonight, would it be possible for me to spend the night with you? Together?”

MaGrath nearly stumbled backwards. “Maddy?”

“I don’t want to wait any longer,” she begged softly, holding out her arms once again, and smiled when he finally came to her.

* * * *

The tent with its dark purple and gold curtains and panels sat like an amethyst jewel just off the road, amid a small cathedral of tall pines. Yulen’s father had ordered it made for whenever he was expected to go on some of his shorter excursions outside the compound, and Madigan was allowed to accompany him. Yulen could recall many trips away from Alta Novis when, as a young boy, he had slept inside on his mother’s soft pillows. For her to have sent Atty to use it was a circumstance he couldn’t begin to fathom, even if he wanted to.

Ducking inside the doorway, he noticed the rectangular interior was already brightly lit with oil lamps. He pulled the ties behind him, effectively closing the front flap and ensuring their privacy.

To his left a sheer gauze curtain blocked off a portion of the room. A figure in shadow moved behind it. Slowly he lifted the drape and stopped; his breath caught in his throat.

Atty stood with her back to him. She was completely unclothed and standing in a wide washbasin. She’d braided her freshly-washed hair and pinned it to the top of her head. Yulen stared at her glistening wet skin as she bathed herself, using a big sponge to squeeze warm, soapy water over herself.

His eyes drank in her form, her beauty, every dip in her vibrant body, until he caught sight of the streaks of dried blood still clinging to the lower insides of her legs. As another flush of heat warmed his face, Atty froze, suddenly realizing she was no longer alone. Yulen smiled, in spite of himself.

“I can’t believe I’ve finally managed to sneak up on you without your being aware of me first,” he laughed softly.

She turned around to face him and gave him a tender smile. “I was daydreaming.”

“It must have been some daydream,” he teased. His eyes followed a rivulet of water as it poured down her breast and around a pale pink nipple before it dripped onto the rug on the floor.

She nodded, noticing where his gaze was directed. “It was...or it will be.”

Her admission was like a bolt of heat fusing itself to the pit of his stomach. Without knowing it, Yulen glanced over to where she’d set out pillows and bedding, and he realized they were finally getting their night. Their first real night. Together.

Their first time for actual lovemaking.

Quickly Yulen shed his clothes and went over to join her, reaching for the sponge. But before he could take it from her, his arms encircled her body instead and pressed her tightly against him. Atty’s arms wrapped around his neck as his lips hungered for hers, and Yulen felt the warm water cascading down his back as she squeezed it dry behind him.

“Atrilan,” he breathed into her mouth.

“Tonight, Yul?” she asked in a small voice.

He pulled away just enough to look into her face. It wasn’t difficult to see the black and purple bruising, or the redness of past tears around her eyes. “Are you...healed enough?” he asked tentatively.

She slowly nodded her head, her eyes gazing into his lovingly with the memories of how he could make her feel, and how he’d made her feel in the past. If what he promised was anything like those moments, it didn’t matter if she was healed. She knew nothing would stop them tonight from having their first time, their first real time, as lovers in every sense of the word.

“Love me, Yul. Make love to me,” she murmured, making her need for him clearly understood as she tenderly wiped away the bloodstains from his face.

“Answer one question first,” he smiled into her eyes. “Be my wife?”

“Be my husband?” she responded, unaware of the low moan coming from her throat as his lips found her neck and his hands pressed the juncture of her thighs against his growing erection.

He lifted her into his arms. He was no longer willing to wait or play the little love games. They were both inflamed with a passion that roared in their heads and spread tendrils of fire through every nerve in their bodies.

Lying her across the bedding, he stopped long enough to run a hand up along one shapely leg, over her belly where he teased the silken valley of midnight-colored curls in her lap, across her ribs, and around a perfect breast.

Atty shivered from his touch. “Yul...”

This was not a cold, infested dungeon. They were on satin covers, surrounded by pillows made of soft linen and cotton. And they were starving for each other.

He found her lifting her knees for him as he approached her. Crawling past the temples of her thighs, Yul pressed his hands to her lower abdomen and slowly ran his fingers up her body as he stretched over her. When his thumbs finally found the underside of her throat, he brought his mouth down over hers, and he slid most of his hardness into her depths with one slow, smooth stroke. She was incredibly tight, but now she was deliciously wet, and more than ready for him.

Atty gasped. She clutched his arms, and he guided her hands down to his buttocks. Pulling out slightly, he watched her face to see her reaction. It was so soon after that moment in the cell. He worried about hurting her.

He felt her pressing down upon his backside, and he gently slipped back into her an inch at a time, filling her as much as she could take. Expanding and spreading her untried muscles. This time she groaned with pleasure. “More?” he murmured.

“More!”

Again he withdrew, and again he found the center of her heat. And again. And again. Over and over, repeatedly slow and deep, until she was trembling and her skin was covered with a fine sheen of perspiration. Her thighs were glued to his from the moisture.

“Yul...oh, God...”

“What, my beloved Atrilan?”

“Can we...do this all night?”

Yulen chuckled as his fingers ran down the softness of her back. “This is only the beginning, my love. Just wait.”

She slowly lifted her head and gazed at him with passion-filled eyes. “Wait?”

Giving her a seductive smile, Yulen sat back on his heels and pulled her towards him, lifting her up off the bedding. He grabbed several of the pillows tossed to the side, and built a small rise behind her. Now when he lay her back against them, she was at a slight incline, giving him the freedom to use his hands without having to worry about his weight crushing her.

“Tell me if I hurt you,” he whispered before plunging suddenly into her.

Her whole body rose off the pillows as she convulsed and cried out softly.

“Atrilan?”

She smiled at him, tears filling her eyes. “I never imagined it could feel...like this.” She swallowed hard, then shivered.

Yulen pressed his face into her hair and breathed in its scent. His hands followed the curve of her back until her hips rested in his palms. Holding her firmly, he began to make ardent love to her, guiding her over him as much as guiding himself into her with longer, faster, and deeper strokes. There would be no more holding back, no more denying them their final moment of fulfillment.

Atty opened herself more to him, reached for him, and lifted herself toward him. She closed her eyes and her mind to everything except for the center of their universe between her legs where he worshiped her.

He was gentle but demanding, passionately taking her into his arms before launching them both over the precipice, and the exquisite pain of release exploded within them. Fire within fire. Pleasure and pain blended into one. Atty cried out, but this time her voice was echoed with his as their bodies tumbled and trembled in the aftermath. Her first climax as a woman. The first of many, he swore. He owed her so much.

Breathing heavily, Yulen continued to take her, plunging deep as his strokes took her from the valley back to the top of the trees, where she choked on her second orgasm. He wanted to go on. He wanted to make love to her all night, but the stress of the past few days had taken their toll on his body. And on hers. She would be raw and in severe pain if they didn’t cease. He dragged huge draughts of air into his lungs as he trailed his lips over her sweaty skin, tasting and drinking her in like life-giving water. Her fingers were tangled in his hair, and every so often she’d press his face closer against her when he’d find a sensitive spot.

Encircling her waist with his arm, he pulled her off the hillock of pillows and into the valley of bedding with him. As their weariness and languidness overtook them, and their mutual warmth protected them, Yulen could feel himself sinking at last into restful, healing sleep.

In his last moment of consciousness, he heard her breathe a feathery sigh into his ear.

“Yes.”

The answer to his question.

Darkness overtook him as he smiled.

Chapter Forty

Morning

There was a long warmth along one side. On her other, an even warmer sensation, but one that was firmer. More muscular. And it moved.

Her mind was fuzzy from inadequate sleep. A calloused hand gently skimmed the surface of her skin, sending lightly erotic sensations throughout the rest of her body. Atty stretched slightly, then shuddered. She felt her legs being lifted and her thighs spread. The silken coverlet was slid over her breasts to reveal them to the cool night.

His hand moved between her legs and began to slowly spread a slickness downward...below... intimately massaging, pressing, teasing, and working his fingers between the folds of her lower lips until they found their way into her. Sliding into her inner warmth to heighten her arousal. The scent of perfume drifted up to her, and she knew she was being warmed with oils. She could also smell him and his unique masculinity. His strength and his love for her was almost a tangible cloud which descended over her like a fog.

A pair of lips found her left breast, teeth teasing her nipple until it stood erect and sensitive. Atty moaned as the fingers worked their familiar magic with her. Gently, she grabbed the wrist and pulled it away. “No,” she barely whispered, keeping her eyes closed. “You. Only you...”

The firm warmth shifted, moved over her, and when his hardness began to penetrate her oiled body, a fireball of indescribable heat engulfed her senses. Atty felt her reason and sanity flee as he began to move inside of her, as his body tried to merge into hers and their hearts tried to meld.

She knew he had used the oils to help desensitize her, to help her adjust to the newness of having him inside her. God, she was hurting, but what he was doing to her was more than worth the pain she knew she would have to endure later. As she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and jutted her hips upward, she quickly found herself matching his stroke with her acceptance. His lips burned against her neck, and his breath was ragged in her ear.

Their hearts quickened, to become a pace matching their bodies’ rhythm beat for beat. When she felt Yulen’s muscles begin to bunch, before her mind could comprehend the power and passion of his hot release inside her, her body arched of its own volition. Her skin reached flashpoint, her mind turned into ash, and she became a brilliant spark that could become a raging forest fire at the next touch of his glowing embers.

She was spent and hurting, but she wasn’t sated, and in his embrace she lifted her lips to his.

“Good morning, my beloved,” he breathed over her. He could feel her quivering. Her hips rotated under his, grinding and lifting slightly under his weight. He chuckled and captured her mouth again, until the overwhelming depth of his kiss stopped her movements, and she sank back into the pillows. “Atrilan?”

“More,” she begged throatily. She started pressing hot, wet kisses over his face, pulling his head down by his hair so she could reach his forehead, temples, cheeks, and eyes.

Releasing her, Yulen cupped her face in his palms and held her firmly until she finally opened her eyes. The look on his face reflected his identical hunger, but there was also a wistfulness in his eyes as well.

“I would give anything to be able to remain here all day, tasting you. Loving you. But I have nearly a hundred men waiting for me, and a duty to lead them. Please help me to be strong enough to get up from here and tend to that duty.”

“I want you inside of me,” she whispered with a smile. She traced the scarred seam running down the side of his face with a tip of her finger.

He kissed her softly, caressing her lips with his. “Tonight. I promise. By then the swelling should be down.”

Carefully, he rolled off of her and got to his feet. Tendons cracked as he stretched, trying to get his aching muscles to obey. All the lanterns had extinguished themselves during the night, except for one last one, which cast its fading golden glow over his body—the wide shoulders, the slim hips, the long legs. Atty watched him move over to the basin to wash his face, and her body tingled as it remembered his. “What time is it?” she asked softly.

“Time to be getting on the road.”

“You sure we can’t stay here a little while longer, and make love for another couple of hours, then catch up with the rest later?” she asked, trying to make it sound like she was teasing, although she knew he would sense her seriousness. She got her answer by the way he tilted his head at her. “It was just an idea,” she grumbled.

“And a very good idea, my love. Unfortunately, though, not in this case. I’ll try to make it up to you this evening,” he smiled.

“Okay. But I’m holding you to that promise.”

Over by the door flap, someone had unobtrusively placed a fresh set of clothing for them both. Picking up the bundle, he walked back over to where she lay amid the pile of pillows and placed hers next to her feet. He began pulling on his pants. “I’m leaving Verris and Karv here to resettle the compound. I need Mastin back with us at Alta Novis.” He tugged the fresh tunic over his head and looked down at her as he straightened the material at his waist. “Better hurry, my love. It may take the soldiers an hour to put this tent up, but they can break it down and pack it on the wagon in less than ten minutes, and I’m sure they’re anxious to be gone at first light.”

“Are we going to take all three days to get home?” she asked, reluctantly pulling on her pants.

“I might speed up the pace a bit,” he smiled, pausing. “Atty? Do me a favor and wear your hair down today?”

She glanced up at him, her eyes wide. Standing there, clad in just her pants and boots, her hair flowed over her naked shoulders to drape and curl just under her breasts. To Yulen, she resembled an untamed forest nymph.

“Are you nuts?” she asked. “On the trail? With the wind blowing and the dust flying? What if I compromise and just pull it back instead of braiding it?”

An untamed forest nymph with an attitude, he quickly corrected himself with a smile. Shrugging, he belted on his sword. “It was just an idea,” he echoed, grinning. He walked over to give her a soft kiss. “I’ll be outside waiting for you,” he said, then disappeared under the door flaps, leaving her alone to finish dressing.

Mastin was first to see the Battle Lord striding over toward his campfire in the early morning sunshine, and went over to relay the information he’d just received from Karv at the compound.

“It looks like your hunch played out,” the Second informed him. “The large majority of inhabitants of Bearinger had no love for Collaunt, other than the expected handful who’d profited with the man during his reign. There shouldn’t be too much trouble having them swear their allegiance to Alta Novis, especially in light of what your lady did yesterday.”

Yulen stopped in his tracks to give Mastin a questioning look. Mastin nodded. “They want to know who she is. And if she’s really...well...”

“They want to know if she’s Mutah,” Yulen finished for him.

“Well...yes, sir.”

“Tell them the truth, Cole. I’ve nothing to hide.”

The Second nodded and watched as Yulen proceeded to his campfire.

As expected, the Battle Lord found MaGrath already eating breakfast before the fire. The physician cast him a wary eye before handing him a mug of hot coffee. Yulen stared at the beverage, then at the man.

“A couple of the soldiers discovered several bags of it in the kitchen while they were doing inventory last night,” MaGrath commented. “Apparently Collaunt had it shipped up from the Louisy Provinces. Drink up. I’d forgotten how much I’d missed it.”

Yulen took a sip, feeling the stimulant giving him a better hold on his senses as it drifted into his empty stomach. He’d need all the help he could to keep his wits about him today. Taking a seat, he accepted the plate handed him.

“Will Madigan be joining us soon?” he asked almost casually.

“Ah. A son’s way of asking ‘Where is my mother?’. Yes, she’ll be along shortly. She said she had something to do. Something to make. I don’t know the specifics and I didn’t ask.”

MaGrath glanced back up at Yulen, and the Battle Lord instantly knew the man had something to divulge. “Spill it, Liam, before you bust a gut.” The physician let out a sigh and put down his plate. Yulen made a dramatic face at the gesture. “Oh, good God, it’s something earth-shattering. Shall I seek shelter now? Is it too late for last rites?”

“Just shut up and listen to me for a minute,” the man said firmly but in a low voice.

“Okay. You have my undivided attention.”

“Your mother and I...” He stopped, searching for the right words.

Yulen chuckled and went back to his breakfast. “It’s about damn time.”

MaGrath’s eyes flew open. “You knew?”

“I’ve been watching you two dancing around each other for I don’t know how long,” Yulen grinned. “I’ve always known how you felt about her. And, let me tell you, there were many a time I almost dragged you both into a bedroom and bolted the door, and not let you out until I was certain you’d had a meeting of the minds...or something more profound.”

“Yulen!”

The Battle Lord laughed aloud. “You’re such a paradox, Liam! For a man with the wisdom of Solomon, you can be incredibly stupid.”

“Fine words coming from you.”

“Okay, I admit it. I have my moments as well,” Yulen admitted, smiling. “So, did you and Madigan share a blanket last night?”

“Fine crude words,” MaGrath amended.

“And the pot is calling this kettle black. You probably know more about my love life than I do. Pour me another cup of that coffee before I get up and ask Mother myself.”

“Stay seated and eat your breakfast. Speaking of love life, how is Atty this morning?” He refilled the man’s cup before going back to his own breakfast.

“Atty is doing fine,” a voice behind him stated, and the physician felt a kiss on top of his head.

MaGrath watched the warrior girl—wait, not any more, he told himself—warrior woman walk around the fire to drop a similar kiss on Yulen’s head.

“All right. I’m up. I’m dressed. And I’m packed and ready to go. Satisfied now?” she asked him in a halfway teasing tone of voice. She snatched a piece of meat from his plate and began to nibble on it.

“You’re also hungry,” Yulen told her. “Sit down and have a plate.”

“God, you’ve gotten so bossy,” she snickered, parking herself on the fallen log next to him. “By the way, good morning, Liam.”

“Good morning. Sleep well?” MaGrath grinned, avoiding Yulen’s cautioning look.

“Yeah, when we slept,” she mentioned nonchalantly as she started on her own breakfast. MaGrath choked on his coffee, trying to keep from bursting out laughing.

Atty looked around as she stuffed another piece of meat into her mouth. Glancing at Yulen, she finally asked, “Where’s Madigan?”

He shrugged. “She’ll be along shortly. Why do you ask? I don’t think you’ll have to worry about her again, not after last night.” He watched her lean over to see what he was drinking. “It’s coffee. Ever had any?”

“Real coffee?”

“The real stuff,” MaGrath confirmed. “Want some?”

Atty took Yulen’s mug from his hand and took a tentative sip. Her face showed her displeasure. “Ugh! It’s bitter!”

“Try it next time with a little sweetener, like honey,” Yulen advised, smiling. “Trust me. It’ll perk you up when you haven’t had enough sleep.”

She looked up to catch his wink, then accepted his quick kiss before he left them to check on the progress of the caravan. Sighing, she got a drink from his water bag instead. Lowering the skin, she noticed MaGrath’s eyes were still on her.

“What, Liam? Did I grow an extra arm or something overnight?”

“Are you really all right, Atty?”

“You mean other than being sore as the dickens?”

This time he didn’t try to hide his smile. “Will you be able to make it through today?”

“Speak your mind, Liam,” she said flatly. “I’m still a bit woozy-headed. And, contrary to popular myth, all caste hunters are not necessarily early risers or morning people.”

“Never mind. Just remember I have some powders you can take if your face gives you any problems, or you get to feeling any undue discomfort or...cramping.”

Atty narrowed her eyes at him. “Uh-huh. I see. Okay. Thanks for the offer.”

She watched him leave and hurried to finish her meal. The camp was breaking down quicker than usual, and she’d just managed to wash up afterward in the little stream when Yulen brought her the mare. Together they mounted their horses, when Atty paused, pulling back on the reins. Yulen turned around to see what was keeping her.

“Atty?”

“Yulen...”

He grew concerned over her hesitancy. It wasn’t like her. “What’s wrong?”

“I...I don’t think I’m going to be able to withstand this all day,” she admitted softly. There was a definite paleness around the edges of her mouth that hadn’t been there earlier.

Moving his horse closer, he leaned over her. “Atrilan?” he whispered. He glanced over her, trying to figure out what had stopped her cold, when it suddenly became evident to him.

“Yul?”

They hadn’t seen Madigan come up beside the horses until she’d spoken. Now her presence was an unexpected and unwanted interruption.

Madigan saw the angry expression on her son’s face, and hurried to avoid the command she knew was coming. “May I speak to Atty? Alone? Please? It’ll only take a minute, I promise.” She looked at the warrior woman, hoping to relay the urgency of her request. To her relief, Atty gave Yulen a nod of acceptance, and he backed up his horse to wait and watch from a few feet away.

She went over to address the woman on the saddle. “What I want to say to you is private, but I promise it’s sincere,” she whispered.

“What’s so private you can’t mention it in front of Yulen?” Atty asked her.

Reaching inside the pocket of her gown, the older woman pulled out a small, wrapped package and pressed it into the palm of the warrior woman’s hand. Atty stared at it blankly.

“I remember my first time,” Madigan told her softly. “I also remember the discomfort afterward. But fortunately I had someone who helped me through those rough first few days. Take this poultice and place it inside you where the pain is the greatest. It’ll give you comfort for most of the day. Then, tonight, I’ll tell you how to make it yourself, case you ever need another one.”

She patted Atty on the knee, then turned and went to gather her horse. Yulen watched her leave, and when he turned back around, Atty was standing behind her horse. A moment later, she swung back into the saddle and settled in, pausing to adjust how she sat.

“What was that Madigan gave you?” he asked, pulling up next to her.

“A poultice of some kind. It’s supposed to help.” Atty managed a small grin. “So far, so good. Let’s hope it works.” Kneeing her horse, she hurried off, leaving him confused but willing to be satisfied with her answer.

Chapter Forty-One

Clearing

The caravan made good time, and had traveled quite a distance before Yulen called for the midday halt. At one point during their ride, Atty had suddenly thrown the reins of her horse at Mastin and jumped out the saddle, dashing for the trees lining the edge of the road. Liam and Madigan glanced at Yulen, who shrugged.

A short distance down the road they found her sitting, waiting for them, a big grin on her face, and a brace of wild turkeys slung over her shoulder. Yulen started to ask her how she’d managed to kill them, considering she didn’t have her bow with her, when he saw her casually tossing a dagger into the air and catching it by the blade. Her Ballock dagger. He’d completely forgotten about having it. A quick look down at his belt proved him right.

“And how, pray tell, do you plan on cooking those?” he asked as he watched her climb back aboard her horse. It was enough meat for the entire company.

“Oh, these are for supper,” she called over her shoulder at him as she settled the birds over the back of his saddlebags, then got back to her place in line.

He realized she kept the dagger, tucking it into the front waistband of her pants sans sheath. A dangerous move if she’d been a man, he thought with a grin.

“I brought the Ballock’s scabbard, if you want it. It’s in the saddlebag.”

“No, thanks. I’m good.”

For most of the trip MaGrath and Madigan rode together, separated from the rest of the line. Yulen pointed them out to Atty. “They’ve been lovers in every sense of the word, except the physical one. I think that’s come to an end.”

“You hope?” she asked him, smiling.

“Mother loved my father passionately, but I think she’s grieved too long. She’s still young. She needs some light in her life. Some love. If it had been anyone else, I would have objected strongly. But she and Liam grew up together. To be honest, I’ve always thought that if Liam hadn’t gone to Far Troit to become a physician, he would have fathered me.”

Atty’s eyes studied his face. An infinite sadness began to descend over her, and Yulen realized there was still so much about her past that he didn’t know about.

“Atty, I think now’s the time we start to get to know one another better,” he suggested in a softer tone.

“I thought we’ve already done that pretty thoroughly,” she smiled, teasing.

“You know what I mean. I want to know about your life before I found you. What kind of child were you? Who taught you to hunt and cook? Didn’t you do the things the other little girls did? Tell me about your family, your mother, your father. Do you have siblings?”

He watched as two tears dripped in succession from the corner of one eye.

“When you’re ready,” he amended gently. “There’s no rush. After all, we have plans to make once we return to Alta Novis.”

Atty sniffed. “What kind of plans?”

“Well, if I’m not mistaken, I thought you agreed to marry me.”

The look on her face was priceless. “You meant it? You still do?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He frowned. “What? Did you think it was just pillow talk?”

“I don’t know what to think, Yulen D’Jacques.”

“Well, I distinctly recall another one of your conditions was that I not put you in the same position as any of my past mistresses. That was a fortunate call on your part, coincidentally.”

“Oh? How?”

“I’ve never loved any of my mistresses.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye to see the flood of emotion filling her face.

“Okay. Spit it out, Yulen. Quit toying with me.”

He could tell she was on the verge of tears. “All I really want to know is, will you wear a gown at our wedding, so I can at least know what you look like in a dress?”

“A gown?” she whispered.

“I think you still deserve to wear a white one,” he grinned. “If Madigan cracks her whip, we might even have everything prepared in two days’ time.”

This time when he looked over at her, her head was bowed and tears were freely falling. Leaning over in his saddle, he reached over to cup her chin with his fingers, careful of her still-healing face. “Why the tears, my Atrilan?” he tenderly asked. “Please tell me they’re happy ones.”

She made a small sound in her throat, gave him another undecipherable look, then wheeled her horse around and made for the back of the line. Suddenly, she jerked so hard on the reins, the mare reared on its hind legs.

Yulen started, prepared to follow her, when she turned back around and began galloping at full speed toward him. She passed everyone at a breakneck pace, bent low over the neck of her mount, and continued down the road, disappearing around the next bend in a cloud of dust.

MaGrath and Madigan hurried to join him. “What’s wrong, Yulen?” the physician demanded in a stern voice.

Shaking his head, Yulen replied, “All I did was remind her we had a wedding to plan when we got back to Alta Novis.”

“What did she say?” Madigan asked.

“Not much. In fact, very little. I think she thought I was playing a cruel trick on her at first.”

“She didn’t take you seriously?” his mother said.

Yulen looked at her. “I don’t think she believes me.”

The caravan continued at a brisk pace. When they rounded the bend, the road extended before then for a good distance, but Atty was nowhere in sight. Another mile went by, and still there was no sign of her.

“Maybe she’s in the woods,” MaGrath suggested.

“As long as she’s okay, I don’t care if she’s in Far Troit by now,” Yulen stated.

“She’s wanting some time alone,” Madigan spoke up. “Let her think about it. Remember what you told me, Yul? That she had been pre-ordained never to be wed? That she was never to allow a man to have her, or have control of her, or be able to dominate her? Well, she’s having to face the fact now that all of that no longer pertains to her. She’s allowed you to take her and dominate her because of your love for one another. Maybe she’s having a difficult time coming to grips with how much her life has changed, and the fact that something she’d thought she’d never be able to have is now possible.”

Yulen leaned over in his saddle and gave his mother a quick kiss on the cheek. “Spoken like a mother who never had a daughter of her own.”

Madigan’s cheeks turned rosy. “You may have to spend the next few days telling her over and over that, yes, there’s going to be a wedding. And, yes, you are taking her to wife. You have met her terms, and now it’s time she met yours. And, yes, it is going to happen, and very soon. Oh!” She perked up as a thought came to her. “Should I have her fitted for a gown? Or do you think she’ll insist on wearing pants to her own ceremony?”

Yulen burst out laughing. “I asked her the same thing.”

“What did she say?”

He shook his head. “She didn’t. That’s when she took off. But, Mother, when you do call in the tailors, don’t go for anything elaborate. This is Atty we’re talking about.”

“Right,” Madigan nodded, and a little smile curled in the corner of her mouth. “I’ll see if he can fit a weapons belt onto it.”

Even MaGrath had to laugh at the suggestion.

By Yulen’s estimation, they’d advanced another forty miles before he called a halt for the evening and ordered camp to be set up. There had still been no sight of Atty or her horse, and although Yulen was beginning to get worried, MaGrath assured him that she was the one person who could take care of herself.

Madigan took possession of the brace of turkeys, and the birds were cooked for the benefit of the soldiers.

Darkness fell, and for once the entire fragmented moon was visible in the sky, shining like a broken lantern light. Yulen stood watching the road for some sign of her to come into view, when he felt a hand on his arm.

“Would you like to use my tent again tonight?” his mother inquired.

He shook his head. “No, thank you. You go ahead.” He glanced over his shoulder to where MaGrath was sitting by his campfire, taking inventory of his medicinal pouch. “It was a generous gesture last night, when we needed it the most. But it still felt like I was spending the night in my mother’s bedroom,” he admitted.

“Not to mention what you were doing in your mother’s bedroom,” she teased him, smiling, and was delighted to see him blush.

“You’re cruel,” he chuckled softly.

“I’m realistic. Very well, then. In that case, I think I shall entertain a certain gentleman friend in there tonight, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh?” He lifted an eyebrow at her. “Now who’s insinuating love play in the bedroom?”

She laughed lightly. “Will you be all right tonight?”

He nodded. “I think I’ll stay up a while longer.”

“And wait for her,” Madigan stated. She knew he would wait up the entire night if he needed to.

Grabbing her hand, he kissed her knuckles. “I promise to get some rest, however short. I’ll have the guard on duty awaken me the moment she appears...that is, if he happens to see her. Don’t worry about me, Mother. We’re going to be okay.”

She kissed his cheek again, wished him a good night, then strolled over to sit beside MaGrath. Yulen knew eventually she would propose to him, and the physician would follow her into the tent, but it was no longer any of his concern.

Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair and wandered over to where his horse was being wiped down by one of the soldiers. “Are my things laid out?” he asked.

The soldier gave him a puzzled look. “I thought you had taken them, sir.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your bedroll, Sir. And your saddlebags. They weren’t on your saddle when I stripped the horse.”

Yulen hesitated a moment before giving the soldier a quick smile. “Forgive me. It’s been a long and trying day. Thanks again for taking care of my things.”

The soldier nodded, and Yulen turned to head back toward MaGrath’s campfire. As he passed a strand of birch that marked the edge of the encampment, a low trilling sound came from the other side of the grove. Yulen paused to listen. The trilling came again, low but audible.

He glanced behind him to see if anyone else had noticed, but the soldiers showed no sign of hearing it. Cautiously, Yulen stepped through the underbrush.

It was a trail, very faint but distinct, even in the moonlight. Possibly made by some of the wild animals, Yulen surmised as he stepped through a patch of wild blueberries. He hadn’t heard the trilling sound again since he’d begun to advance further into the forest, but he knew that if he somehow managed to get off the path, she’d guide him back to it.

A little more than two hundred yards deep into the forest he began to see a faint light in the distance, leading him into a tiny clearing. Pausing on the outskirts of the wooded area, he studied the fire cheerfully dancing amid a ring of rocks. A rabbit was cooking on a spit. Beyond the fire lay two bedrolls, placed side by side. He recognized his immediately, and knew the other to be hers. He let out a huge sigh of relief. “I’ve been worried about you,” he spoke aloud.

She emerged from his right and walked directly into his waiting arms where he crushed her to his chest. Burying his face in her neck, he could feel his fear and trepidation slowly drain out of him, and her warmth filled the emptiness left behind.

“Atrilan...”

“No, Yul. Make love to me first, then we can talk.”

“Are you certain? I mean, you’re not too sore—”

“I need you!”

Sweeping her up into his arms, he first kissed her as he pressed her tightly to him, reassuring himself she really had returned, really had come back safely. Then he carried her over to the bedrolls where he knelt down and laid her in front of him.

“Where were you?” he whispered and kissed her again. His hands grasped the hem of her tunic and drew it over her head, seeking her mouth over and over once he tossed the shirt to one side.

“Nowhere. Everywhere. Hold me, Yul. Touch me. Love me.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her breasts against his chest. Yulen moaned softly when her tight little nipples, like beads, rode roughly over his own.

She broke away from his loving long enough to unbuckle his weapons belt, dropping it beside the fire. Then she helped him to pull his tunic over his head, remembering how she’d watched him dress in it that morning. However, she had a little difficulty managing the buttons on the front of his pants. “Good heavens, they’re tight,” she exclaimed softly, frowning.

Yulen laughed softly and leaned her back onto the bedroll. “They’re tight because a certain part of my body is aggressively responding to your request,” he chuckled. He managed to undo and shed them, and Atty discovered what he meant. As the only female hunter among a caste of males, she had seen, quite by accident, their penises when they thought they were relieving themselves privately in the woods. Some had been flaccid. A few somewhat odd-looking. Many turgid. At first she had been embarrassed, then intrigued. But looking at her husband, she was hard pressed to remember if any man had filled out to the same proportions as he did. She blushed a pretty pink while he helped her to undo her pants and slide them over her hips. Quickly he pulled the covering over them as they slipped into his larger bedroll.

It was as if their loving of that morning had only occurred an hour before. Resuming where they had left off was as easy as breathing. His worry for her had fueled his need to have her back. And now that he had her back, he had to have her in her entirety—her kisses and her heart, as much as her body.

Their pulses quickened until their blood began to rush like raging rivers of heat through their veins. Lying on their sides, Yulen pulled her legs around his waist, and Atty realized she had as much control as he did. In this position, they found they had free access to each other, without the worry of having him crush her with his weight.

She guided him inside her, squeezing him with her thighs until he filled her completely. Even then she still couldn’t take him all. “I’m sorry,” she managed to whisper as the first arrows of soul-wrenching heat fired through her body. She felt as if she were being impaled on a satin-coated pike.

“Don’t. Don’t be sorry, my love. You’re tight. God...so tight. It will take a while. But we have a lifetime together to have you learn to accept all of me.”

She sucked in a breath between her teeth. Yulen eased her backwards, away from him, until he could caress her body, her breasts, and her belly with his fingertips. He found her nub within the folds of her woman’s flesh, and mercilessly attacked it until she keened like a wild, untamed animal. Writhing under his touch, she closed her eyes and grabbed his hips so she could begin to slide herself back and forth over him.

He whispered her name and shivered. They were caught up in their frenetic need to fling their sanity to the wind. Tossing aside the covers, the coolness of the evening was welcome on their sweaty skin. Yulen pulled her back against his chest, rolled on top of her, and captured her lips, diving his tongue into her mouth as deeply as he dove his erection into her body. She screamed once, lost in the pounding and pressure of his assault, unable to take any more as much as she knew she never wanted him to stop.

Headlong they crashed into their overpowering climax. Atty’s cry caught in her throat as every muscle contracted and each nerve ending flared white hot. As her body lifted off the ground, Yulen found his release, locked himself inside her heady depths, and followed her into sweet, temporary oblivion.

It was some time later when Atty lifted her head from Yulen’s chest and glanced around the clearing. “What?” He reluctantly opened his eyes, feeling her move.

“I’m starving. Can we eat now?”

Laughter rumbled in his chest. Her appetite for sex was quickly becoming as insatiable as her appetite for food. Almost, but not yet. “You’re incredible, you know that?” He sat up to watch her slip her tunic over her head before checking on the rabbit she had roasting on the spit. His expression then turned serious as she began to tear apart the meat and handed him a piece speared on the tip of her dagger. “Don’t ever do that to me again,” he told her.

She paused, and listened to what his heart was telling hers.

He told her. Not asked her. Don’t ever to that to me again. Not “don’t do that again”, but “don’t make me have to go through that again”. The torture of worry and fear.

Atty gave him a smile that showed she was sorry. “I had to think, Yul. I had to go somewhere where I could...” She sighed loudly. “I miss getting to go out in the forest. I miss the quiet where I can think.” She glanced up at him tearfully. “I miss my home. I miss my family. I miss not being able t—”. Her breath caught in her throat, and she lifted her arms toward him. Yulen pulled her against him, allowing her to have her say without interruption.

“My mother and little sister went out to gather firewood the day before you came. They never came home,” Atty told him in a tiny voice. “I thought...at first I thought you and your men had found them and captured or killed them.”

“What about your father?” he murmured into her hair.

“Cleaners captured and killed him six years ago.”

“So you were grieving over the loss of your mother and sister the day we arrived?”

He felt her nod. It all made sense to him now.

“You’re wishing your mother was alive to see your wedding,” he told her.

“I wish this whole damn craziness between your people and my people didn’t exist,” Atty replied heatedly. She leaned back to stare at him. Smiling, Yulen poked a piece of meat into her mouth and watched as she ate it.

“Maybe we can make that our lifelong ambition,” he told her.

“What do you mean?” She took back the piece of meat she’d given him and began to nibble on it.

“If you and I can live and love together, perhaps we can convince others that, basically, we’re not so different from each other. God knows your kind didn’t ask to be singled out to be changed after the Great Concussion, and neither did my kind ask to be left alone when all that craziness was going on.”

“You’re nuts,” Atty told him, “but I love you for thinking it.” Pulling away from him, she went back to fetch the rest of the rabbit and brought it back to the bedroll where they pulled pieces of meat from the carcass and ate as they talked.

“So, what else did you think about when you went on your little jaunt today?” he asked her.

Atty shrugged and crossed her legs, giving Yulen a pretty view of what was under her tunic. “The wedding.”

“And?”

“I can wear a white dress?”

“Mm-hmm. Madigan will have a tailor measure you and make one just the way you want it.”

“Will you wear white, too?”

“I could, although I would prefer to wear this formal tunic I own that I really like.”

“Why?”

He smiled. “Because it’s blue. The same color as your hair.” He lifted a lock that had fallen over her shoulder and brushed it back. She continued to gaze trustingly at him with eyes now more blue than gray. “Morning glory hair. I’ll never be able to look at a morning glory again without thinking of you.”

“A sheared morning glory,” she complained. Atty reached behind at the nape of her neck to feel where Collaunt’s man had cut her locks. “When we get back, I need to find someone who can even this up.”

“Ask Mother,” Yulen suggested. “She used to cut my hair when I was younger.” A look of surprise suddenly passed over his face, and he got a twinkle in his eye. “I think I just figured out what to give you for a wedding present,” he told her.

Atty rolled her eyes. “Oh, good gracious, something else for my feeble mind to wrap around. I have to get you a present as well, then!”

“You’re not required to.”

“Oh, but if you get me one, then I’m gonna feel obligated to get you one, too. Tit for tat.” She reached for her water bag sitting on the ground nearby. Drinking thirstily, she offered him some. Yulen declined. “Maybe for the better,” she said, re-plugging the bag. “I must have gotten some sediment in it. It tastes brackish. Blech. Anyway, back to what we were talking about, don’t try to dissuade me. I’m getting you a gift, even if I have to go out and kill one.”

Yulen chuckled again. “Very well. Talk to Mother if you’re wanting to get ideas. She’ll also enjoy telling you all the embarrassing stories about me and my childhood and growing up that you’ll ever want to hear.” A yawn suddenly caught him by surprise. He stretched and gestured for her to join him. “What arrangements did you make for guarding us tonight?” he asked her. He wasn’t surprised when she made a face and bit her lower lip. Laughing softly, he accused her, “My lusty wench had other things on her mind other than making sure a pack of wild boar don’t interrupt us during our lovemaking?”

“I’ll wake up if I hear anything unusual,” she defended herself.

“Sure, if circumstances were normal,” he agreed, “but we’re both exhausted. Because of that, chances are good that any passing animal or unsavory human creature could kill us both in our bed before we’re aware of anything.”

He saw an idea spark in her eyes, and watched as she got to her feet and disappeared into the underbrush. Moments later she reemerged, pulling the bay mare behind her. The horse was tethered to a tree on the other side of the fire.

Yulen smiled as she doffed the tunic and cuddled into the bedroll with him. As she settled her head in the hollow of his shoulder, he kissed her forehead. She lifted her face for another on her lips.

“Can you reach your sword from here in case the mare warns us?” she asked.

Reaching out with his other hand, he felt the familiar hilt a comfortable distance away. “Yes. Now go to sleep. And I promise you, when we get back to Alta Novis, right after our wedding, I’m locking the door to our bedroom for a week.”

He felt her smile against his arm as he slowly drifted into unconsciousness.

Chapter Forty-Two

Responsibility

“Mastin!”

MaGrath strode over to the second who was busy getting the men ready to leave. The soldier turned to give him a questioning look. “Sir?”

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“In what respect?” Mastin inquired politely.

MaGrath pointed out into the direction of the encampment, which had finally been broken down and packed. It was a matter of minutes before the Second would signal for them to continue moving onward toward Alta Novis.

“D’Jacques isn’t here! In fact, I was told he disappeared last night and hasn’t been seen since. Aren’t you going to put out a search party for him?”

Mastin narrowed his eyes at the physician. This was one area where the man had no power to change the original orders he’d received from the Battle Lord. “Sir, I was given specific instructions to get the company back on the road at first light. I’m following those orders, sir.”

“Then you know where he is?” MaGrath accused.

“No, sir. But if you look at his horse, you’ll notice his saddlebags and bedroll are missing from his saddle. Perhaps he chose to spend the night in the forest.”

“Of course!” MaGrath said sarcastically. “Very well, lead on.” He spun around to head for his own horse when the soldier’s next comment made him pause.

“If the Battle Lady returned last night, it’s a very real possibility.”

Battle Lady. Despite his irritation, MaGrath couldn’t help the small smile that creased his face at the term. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard the name bandied about, but it was the first time he’d heard it spoken to directly address her, making him wonder if the rest of the men were using the name as a point of fact.

Madigan watched him join her where she waited on her mount. “Well?” she asked.

“Mastin believes Atty came back last night, and they spent the night together in the forest.”

Her eyes got wide. “Isn’t that too dangerous?”

He agreed. “But we’re talking about Atty here. That woman has the forest in her blood. Come on, Maddy. Let’s find our place in line.”

She followed him as he rode out to join the caravan already in motion, taking her place not far from the head. Mastin calmly took point. Directly behind him, his sub-lieutenant by the name of Socher led Yulen’s horse by the reins. Madigan noticed the saddle was missing its side bags and her son’s bedroll.

They kept up the pace originally set by the Battle Lord as the sun rose over the tops of the trees. Talk was little. The only sounds to be heard coming from the surrounding forest were the birds nesting in the trees, and the occasional ground rodent scurrying through the brush to escape being trampled on the road.

It was the men’s murmuring that alerted Mastin and the others that something was amiss. As the sound of galloping hooves steadily grew louder, the Second signaled for a halt as they all turned to look back down the road. Flying around the bend came a single horse with two riders. MaGrath let out a huge sigh. “Well, it’s about damn time.”

They waited as Yulen brought the mare up to the front of the line. Without waiting for the horse to come to a full stop, he smoothly slid from the saddle where he’d been seated in front of Atty, barely hitting the ground before swinging onto the stallion. Sorcher tossed him the reins, and the Battle Lord motioned for them to continue onward. Mastin took his place behind his leader.

MaGrath glanced at the two of them, aware of the air of nonchalance they were trying to impart. “Don’t you think you owe us an apology?” he finally spoke up.

“For what?” Yulen eyed him.

“For scaring us like that! For not letting us know where you were! I almost had Mastin send out a search party!”

Yulen cast an eye at where his Second rode silently behind them, trying unsuccessfully to look as though he couldn’t hear their conversation. “I seriously doubt that, Liam. Mastin was following my orders to a T.”

“Where’d you go last night, then?”

“Liam.” For the first time, Madigan spoke up and tried to placate him.

“No, no, Maddy. I think it’s time someone had a talk with your son here. All right, Yulen, I know things are different. I know things are going to be even more different once we get back to Alta Novis. But you seem to have forgotten that you are a Battle Lord, and that life is not all flower petals and silken sheets. You have an obligation, and it’s about time you put your feet back on the ground and got back to the business at hand.”

“I think I am tending to the business at hand, Liam. Would you mind being a little more specific?” Yulen challenged.

Madigan intervened. “Liam’s just upset to find you gone this morning. He’s right you know, Yul. You can’t just go wandering off into the woods and leave a full company of men.”

Yulen shot her a heavy look, then turned back to the physician. “Since when do I have to explain my actions to you? Or get prior permission?”

“Yul!”

“Stay out of this, Madigan. Okay, Liam. Have it out. Okay, so I admit it. My actions these past few weeks have been...not myself. Of course, we all know why I’ve strayed a bit from normal procedures. But at no time have I placed my men in any danger, nor have I compromised the compound because of my lack of attention. In fact, I’m surprised at your reaction this morning. If you haven’t noticed, Atty has returned. Whatever happened to good manners and a ‘good morning’ greeting?”

“Yul, you know we’re happy to have you both return well and happy, but listen to Liam. He does have our best interests at heart,” Madigan insisted.

“Your mother’s right,” Atty finally joined the conversation. When Yulen lifted an eyebrow at her, she gazed steadfastly back. “But it’s mostly my fault,” she added, turning to them. “I left the caravan. I’m the one who drew him away from the encampment last night.”

Drew him away. Yulen found he liked the sound of that, and managed to mask his smile.

“That doesn’t excuse Yulen’s behavior. These are dangerous times, and they’re not going to get easier. If his head’s in the clouds, that places all of us in danger,” MaGrath told her sharply, although it was clear the man’s temper was beginning to cool, now that the both of them had returned unharmed.

“Then I swear never to leave the caravan again before we reach Alta Novis,” she promised.

“Atty, I fight my own battles,” Yulen began churlishly.

“Then treat me as your equal, Yulen D’Jacques,” she snapped suddenly, turning on him with flushed cheeks, “or I swear the nights are going to be very cold for the both of us! You want me to wife? Then accept the fact that what affects you also affects me, and vice versa. Liam is right. We’ve been remiss in our duties to your men and the compound.”

She paused to give him a blistering look, but the Battle Lord refused to offer a rebuttal. Instead, he kneed the stallion and moved forward a bit in line, leaving Atty and the others in their small group riding together. Several minutes passed, until she turned to Madigan. “Has he always been this obstinate?” she asked, knowing he could overhear.

“Since he was born,” the older woman replied.

“Opinionated? Rude?”

“Just like his father.”

“Prone to refuse to admit he’s wrong, even when all the evidence proves otherwise?” Atty added.

“Oh, that’s probably his worst flaw,” Madigan announced, smiling. “Still willing to marry him, even though he has a score of rough edges? And there’s not much of a chance you’ll ever change him?”

Atty sighed loudly. “I guess I don’t have much choice. After all, he did promise me I could still wear a white wedding dress, even though this morning he had me—”

“Atty!”

Her laughter was like bells ringing in the air as she rode up next to him to offer him a kiss as a peace offering. Instead, he pulled her onto his saddle in front of him, and they rode that way together until it was time to stop for lunch.

Chapter Forty-Three

Water

“Liam, do you have something for a headache?”

MaGrath turned around to where Atty was standing behind him. They were resuming their way north after their brief midday break to eat and give the horses some water.

“Want something strong? Or something a little less potent?” His expert eye noticed the dark circles under her eyes, and his first thought was that she wasn’t getting enough rest at night. He might have to say something to Yulen about that.

Atty shook her head. “Nothing that’ll knock me out. I need to stay alert, just in case.”

He gave her a smile as he searched inside his medicine pouch for the right powder. “Don’t you think we can take care of ourselves for at least one afternoon without you? After all, we did manage to make it this far in life without your skills,” he teased her. Holding out a small reddish purse, he instructed, “Tip of the finger on this one. Of course, you could take three doses, but that’ll put you out for a good three or four hours. Think about it, Atty. You know you could ride double until you awaken.”

She accepted the bag with a weak smile. “One dose, or three to knock me out. What does two doses do?”

“It makes you loopy. Don’t go for two, Atty, unless you want to show us a side of yourself you need to keep just between you and Yulen.” Again his voice was teasing, but there was an undercurrent of an honest warning.

“Got it,” she nodded slowly against the pain. “Thanks, Liam.” She turned and walked carefully back to where he knew Yulen would be waiting for her. A rustling in the trees alerted him, and he glanced up to see Madigan emerge from the underbrush. She’d finally changed into some sensible clothing more suited for the trail. Despite her age, Liam was pleased to learn she still had a very comely shape. She saw him watching her, and she gave him a warm smile.

“Waiting on me?”

“Not anymore,” he smiled just as warmly back, pulling her against him with one arm and planting a tender kiss full on her lips. No more corner kisses for him, he’d pledged to himself after last night. However, he also told himself, now was not the time to be thinking about such activities until the Battle Lord called a halt this evening.

Giving her a gentle squeeze about the waist, he helped her into her saddle. Mounting his own horse, they went to join the line forming along the road.

Yulen was not at the head, as he normally would be. Liam turned around and saw that he and Atty still stood at the edge of the woods. Instinctively he knew something was wrong, and he rode over to check.

“Did you give her some medicine for a headache, Liam?” Yulen asked once the man was within earshot.

Liam saw the paleness in Atty’s face, and a red flag went up in his mind. This was no ordinary headache. “Atty, you might be coming down with a migraine. Is it hard to think? Hard to focus?”

Rather than answer him, she barely nodded. She was pressing the tips of her fingers against her temples to help against the throbbing pain.

“How long have you had this?” he asked sharply.

“I woke up...with it. It just got...worse...this past hour or so.” She had difficulty speaking. Her words echoed in her head like thunderous drumbeats.

“Did you take just the one dose? Or more?”

She held up three fingers. MaGrath grew even more concerned. The powder he’d given her was strong. If she’d taken three doses, she should have already begun to feel the medicine’s effect. “Take another dose, Atty,” he ordered.

“Liam, is that safe?” Yulen countered. He had recognized the purse and knew what the greenish powder was capable of, having used it himself in the past.

“I don’t know,” the physician answered truthfully. “Her biology may be different enough from ours so that she needs a varying dosage. Who can be sure? We’ll keep an eye on her in the meantime. Atty, want to double up with me?”

“No,” she whispered. “I can ride.”

“Atty—”

“I can ride,” she assured Yulen with a bit more force, although it cost her.

Reluctantly, the Battle Lord helped her into her saddle and led the mare onto the road before handing her the reins. Swinging into his saddle, he moved her between Madigan and MaGrath, and gave the order to advance. The caravan resumed its quick pace, knowing they might reach Alta Novis a day early.

He made a few quick checks among his men, several of whom inquired about Atty’s health. He assured them it was nothing more than a headache, which elicited a good-natured and somewhat bawdy comment from one old veteran Yulen had known all his life. Laughing, the Battle Lord headed back to the front of the line to check on her.

What he found worried him even further.

“She’s taken four doses,” MaGrath told him, his face grim. “I don’t dare let her take any more.”

Yulen saw the grayness beginning to overtake her. There was a whiteness around her mouth that hadn’t been there when they’d stopped. “Atty, are you nauseous? Are you in any pain?” he asked her.

“Just...dizzy. I can’t seem to...see straight.”

MaGrath suddenly reined in, grabbing her horse’s lead to also stop her. Leaning over, he lifted her eyelids with his thumbs. His expert hands found her pulse under her ear, then picked up her own hands to examine her fingers. The stricken expression he finally turned toward the Battle Lord made the blood drain from Yulen’s face. “Yulen, she’s been poisoned.”

“What?”

Throwing out his arm to halt the caravan, Yulen was out of his saddle as Atty began to slide, semi-conscious, from her horse. He caught her and guided her down to the road. MaGrath knelt beside her as he dug frantically in his pouch. “Her skin’s clammy. Atty, can you hear me? Are you cold? Hot?”

“C-cold,” she managed. Her eyes found Yulen. They were dazed, clouded. “Yul?”

“I’m here,” he whispered. “Are you in any pain?”

“No. But...my...numb.”

MaGrath reached over, a small glass vial in his hand. He pulled out the cork stopper and poured the contents into her mouth. “Swallow, Atty.”

“How could she have been poisoned?” Yulen asked him heatedly. “Could someone have done this to her?” His mind was filled with possible suspects and scenarios. Had she contracted something while she’d been Collaunt’s prisoner? Did he give her something to make her ill?

The physician shook his head. “I have no idea. Atty, stay with us here a moment longer. Do you remember anything that could have caused this? Could it be an insect or animal bite?”

“What did you give her?”

“A basic anti-toxin, just to be on the safe side. But until I know for certain what kind of poison is doing this to her, I have no way of counteracting it. Atty!” MaGrath shook her shoulder until her eyelids fluttered open once more. “Atty, what did you eat today?”

“The same thing I ate,” Yulen told him. “And I’m not having any problems.”

Atty sighed softly and closed her eyes. MaGrath laid a hand on the side of her neck. He was especially worried about her heart rate. It shouldn’t be beating at nearly a hundred and ten beats per minute. “God, she’s burning up. Give me some water to cool her down! Yulen, hand me the sponge from my saddlebags.”

Madigan snatched Atty’s water bag from her horse and handed it to MaGrath. He uncorked it and took the large yellow sponge handed to him, pouring out a small amount of water. Immediately he smelled the salty odor in his hand. Sniffing it, he also sniffed the neck of the water bag. Yulen looked from him to the bag. “What?”

“It was the water,” MaGrath barely whispered. He raised terrified eyes to Yulen. “Her water was poisoned. Give me your bag. Quick!”

He caught the full bag tossed to him, throwing the tainted sponge into the dirt, and began to pour the pure water over her neck and chest. “Yulen, try to get her to drink from your bag. If we’re extremely lucky, we might be able to dilute what’s in her system. Do you have any idea how much she may have swallowed?”

Yulen could feel himself grow cold as he remembered her drinking from the bag the day before...and last night...and that morning, up until the time she’d taken the pain killer Liam had given her. “She’s been drinking from it for at least the last two days, ever since we left Bearinger. Oh, God...” He held the mouth of the bag to her mouth and dribbled a little bit between her lips. Her eyes remained closed. She was totally unresponsive.

“Last night she offered me a swallow and I declined. She told me it tasted brackish anyway. She thought she might have gotten some sediment in it, which caused it to taste funny.”

MaGrath nodded as he poured more water over her face and neck. “Did she take the medicine with this water? Of course she did,” he automatically corrected himself. “That’s why she had this reaction. The pain killer advanced the poison’s interaction with her system.” He felt the sting of tears as his guilt burned in his chest. “Oh, God, and I told her to take four doses of it...” His shoulders hitched, and he bowed his head.

Yulen laid a hand to the man’s back and shook him. “What can we do? Do you have anything at Alta Novis which could help her?”

MaGrath rubbed his face on his shirt sleeve. “It’s probably too late to try and induce vomiting. I can already detect its symptoms in her eyes and nails. No, there’s nothing I can do here, but if I can examine what’s left in that bag,” he told them, motioning toward the nearly empty skin clutched in Madigan’s hands, “I might be able to come up with some kind of counter-agent. I can’t promise anything, Yulen, but I can give it try.” He looked down at Atty’s fever-flushed skin. “We need to get her immersed in cool water as soon as possible to get her fever down, or else she could go into convulsions.”

Yulen jumped to his feet and called for Mastin. “We’re going to continue toward the compound at attack pace. Warn the men and have them ready. Liam, hand me Atty, then get on your horse. Tie yourselves down, people. We’re going to make this a race like you’ve never seen.”

He climbed into his saddle as MaGrath lifted the unconscious woman into his arms. Yulen used his weapons belt to secure her to him, supporting her head and upper body with his free arm. They were yards down the road by the time the physician could re-mount and follow.

Because of the brisker pace the Battle Lord had set at the beginning of their ride back from Bearinger, he had reduced a normally three day travel to just under two. Now they were a mere four or five hours away from Alta Novis, and Yulen meant to cut that time in half.

The company pushed their horses, racing at a steady lope so as not to tire the horses to the point of collapse. MaGrath could not remember ever having to go so far at this rate, and he worried whether they would make it back home before the poison made its way to her heart or nervous system, and permanently shut one of them down.

An hour or so from Alta Novis, Yulen was forced to rein them all in and travel at a slower pace. All of the animals were covered in foamy sweat; some neared total exhaustion. Most had already stumbled at least once.

In his arms Atty had gone from gray to an alabaster white. The veins under her skin could be seen like tiny red and blue lines in a crisscrossing pattern. Twice she’d opened her eyes, but there was no recognition in them, no spark of light. Her lips were turning black. She was radiating heat like a small sun. Her breathing alternated between shallow and ragged. At one point she began to gasp for air in great, rasping reaches that terrified him, forcing Yulen to pull up and wait for MaGrath to tell him what to do. The physician sealed his mouth over hers and began to breathe for her, forcing more air into her lungs, until she started to draw again on her own.

Once the company was within sighting distance of the compound, Mastin raised the black flag, signaling an emergency run. Yulen urged his worn-out stallion for one last burst of strength, and the animal gave it once it saw the familiar gates.

The second they were inside the compound, he pulled up and jumped from the saddle, dragging Atty off from it and back into his arms. He ran the rest of the way into the main lodge, shouting orders.

He went directly to his quarters, into the bathroom where Berta was already pouring buckets of water into the huge tub. Stripping Atty of her sweat-soaked clothes, Yulen laid her in the cooling water. The shock woke her, and for the first time in hours she turned dazed eyes on him.

“Yul?”

“It’s okay, Atty. You’re home. I put you in a cool bath to help bring down your fever.” Yulen saw the servant woman standing in the doorway, still holding the empty bucket. “Berta, as soon as MaGrath gets here, tell him where I have her.”

“What’s wrong with her?” the older woman whispered, curious but now very concerned. For the first time Yulen could see how the servants and staff had come to care for the warrior woman. He also realized how much had happened since he’d left Alta Novis a week ago. The last news they’d been aware of was that of Atty’s kidnapping. The compound had no idea of her rescue, or of the Battle Lord’s taking of Bearinger.

“Bring me Paxton,” he also ordered. The woman nodded and hurried away.

A cold hand reached up to touch the long scar on his face. Yulen kept her fully immersed except for her face. In the water, her morning glory hair drifted like a deep blue blanket.

“Yul...I’m dying, aren’t I?” Her voice was barely audible. She was having trouble forming her words.

Tenderly he wiped her burning cheeks and forehead with his wet hands. What could he tell her without lying to her? How could he tell her the truth, without making her want to give up her struggle?

Atty saw the fear and worry on his face. It was the only answer she needed. “I want...to...live,” she managed. She needed to reach up and touch him again, but her hand would no longer obey her. “I want...to marry you. I want my p-...pomp and pageantry. Yul...love...you.”

“I love you, my beautiful and brave Atrilan,” he whispered as he watched her close her eyes. For a terrifying moment he thought she had slipped away from him until he saw the shallow rise of her breast. Shivering, he leaned over to kiss each closed eyelid.

Paxton pounded into the bedroom, making his way to the bath amid the crowd gathered there. Seeing the Battle Lord kneeling over the tub, he froze at the sight of Atty floating in the water.

“Sir! Thank the stars you managed to get her back. What happened? What can I do?”

Yulen looked up at the man he’d left in charge of the compound, a man he fully trusted, next to his Seconds. “Atty was poisoned by someone in the company, Warren. They should already be in the compound by now. I want every man confined to their quarters until they can be questioned.”

“Yes, sir!”

“After they’re confined, I want you to check every man’s horse and saddlebags. I want every man stripped and have their clothing and personal objects checked. I want to know if you find anything unusual. A note, an empty vial, an empty pouch containing an unknown substance, anything.”

“Yes, sir.”

Yulen gave him a last dark look. “That includes Mastin and his men. And my mother.”

Paxton paled. “Sir?”

“You heard me. The only person you are not to put through this interrogation is MaGrath. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now go. Tell Berta this water is warming. We need more cool. And find out where the physician is!” he yelled at the departing soldier.

At the doorway stood several servants staring mutely at the tableau before them. Yulen had known many of them since he was a child. One servant in particular, an elderly man by the name of Petersen, softly came forward and asked what everyone was wanting to ask.

“Sir...is she dying?”

Yulen started to answer when his throat unexpectedly closed up on him. Clearing it, he tried again. “I’m going to fight like hell so she doesn’t.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?” he offered.

“Yeah,” he told them as the first of many tears fell onto his cheek. “Pray.”

Chapter Forty-Four

War

“Yulen.”

At the sound of his name, the Battle Lord jumped to his feet. MaGrath held up both hands to stay the man from panicking. “Easy. There’s been no change.”

Yulen remained fixed on the figure lying on his bed. Despite the cooling bath the fever still raged inside her body. Already the sheet covering her was damp. Her hair fanning over the pillow was soaked. She was unnaturally pale and looked as though she had been carved out of stone. Only a slight lifting and lowering of her chest gave proof she remained among the living.

“She hasn’t awakened?” he asked in a raspy voice.

MaGrath shook his head. He watched the man walk over to the side of the bed and sit in the chair the physician had vacated not too long ago. Grimacing, MaGrath went to stand beside him. “Yulen, something urgent’s come up.”

“Have Mastin deal with it,” the Battle Lord said wearily.

“Yulen, look at me,” MaGrath urged him softly. He flinched to see the dark hopelessness in the blue-gray eyes. The man had not left Atty’s side since their return to the compound the day before. In the meantime a massive search had been made of every soldier’s possessions and clothing who had been in the caravan to Bearinger. Nothing had been found. Paxton even personally questioned each man, including Mastin, regarding what had been in Atty’s water bag. It had been with a mixture of relief, pride, and regret that the lieutenant reported to his leader that every man had passed interrogation.

Bowing to his great friend’s request, Yulen had allowed the physician to be the one to question Madigan. Deep in his heart he could not see his own mother doing such a heinous act, but he couldn’t forget her initial reaction to the warrior woman, nor the way she had treated her in the past. But he wasn’t surprised when the physician finally came to him to report she was just as devastated as they were by the turn of events.

Which could only mean that the guilty was someone somewhere else. Someone who was still out there. Out there and waiting for the news to reach them of Atty’s passing.

“The poison is a plant derivative I’m not familiar with,” MaGrath had announced that morning after spending most of the night studying the inside of the water bag. “All I can tell is that there are traces of a small red blossom and some leafy material, but there’s not enough for me to identify what the plant is or where it could have come from. I can tell you it gave the water a salty taste, which is why she found it brackish.”

After another hour immersed in the tub, Atty had been moved to the big bed and kept cool with wet rags and compresses. Yulen personally took over that chore, turning away anyone who offered to spell him.

It was now nearly noon, and MaGrath knew the man had not taken any food since their return. With the exception of changing out of his dirty clothes from the day before, the Battle Lord hadn’t even slept. He was terrified she would slip away if he did, and begged the physician for the powders he knew the man had that would help keep him awake.

Meanwhile Atty’s condition slowly but surely deteriorated. It was just a matter of days, perhaps hours, when she would take her last breath. MaGrath swallowed dryly, fighting the squeezing pressure in his chest, and grabbed Yulen’s arm. “Yulen, we have an emergency outside the compound.”

“I’m not leaving her side,” the man argued heatedly.

“The compound is surrounded,” the physician hissed. “You better drag yourself away from her, or you’ll forever regret the consequences.”

Giving him a venomous look, Yulen relented and followed him outside the bedroom where Mastin and Paxton were waiting for him.

“Sir, there’s a representative and his entourage waiting to see you down in the main hall,” Mastin announced in a tight voice. Seeing the Battle Lord lift an eyebrow, he explained, “They’re Mutah, sir. From the Battle Lady’s compound.”

MaGrath saw Yulen’s reaction to the nomenclature, and knew it was the first time the man had heard Atty referred to as such.

“From Wallis?” Yulen asked.

“Yes, sir. They’re requesting to see you immediately.”

“Or?” It hadn’t been difficult to see there was more going on that what he was being told.

“Or they’re going to declare war on us,” Paxton finished.

Yulen glanced from the Second to his lieutenant and back. “All right, let me have the rest of it. They’re going to declare war on us...and?”

Mastin clenched his jaw. “That’s it, sir. They’re prepared to go to war with us. Now.”

“Now?”

It was Paxton who nodded and dropped the other shoe.

“They’ve already surrounded the compound, sir. There has to be at least a thousand or more of them. Mutah, sir. Armed and ready to swarm Alta Novis.”

Yulen pivoted on his heel and reentered the bedroom to grab his weapons belt where it hung on the chair beside the bed. Leaning over Atty, he gave her a tender kiss on her sweaty forehead, then followed his men out of the room and down the stairs, into the main hall.

The entourage of representatives numbered five. The Mutah at the head was a man Yulen didn’t recognize, although one of the other four looked familiar. It wasn’t hard to remember a man with foot-long fingers.

The leader stepped forward, an elderly man wearing a short robe over leather pants. He had slits in his cheeks, which opened and closed as he breathed, since he had no nose. Yulen felt the tension in the room as his men stood at their stations. They were prepared, but would make no move toward the group unless Yulen signaled to them, or he himself went down.

“You are Yulen D’Jacques,” the elderly man stated for verification.

Yulen nodded. “I am. Who do I address?”

“My name’s Piron George. I’m the head of the Council of Elders at Wallis. I’m accompanied by my fellow councilmen Twoson Pike, Session Bond, Collier Vogel, and Atty’s elected guardian, Fortune Kalich.”

Yulen stared at the one referred to as Atty’s guardian. He appeared to be a strong and formidable man. A lion-like tail whipped nervously against the back of his legs.

“What are your dealings with me this day?” Yulen asked, keeping his voice steady. If it weren’t for the knowledge that over a thousand armed Mutah stood outside the huge double doors of the compound, he wouldn’t be standing in the hall. Even now Atty was slipping away from him.

“We’ve come prepared to do to your compound what you and other Battle Lords like you have done to our kind for generations,” George announced loudly and firmly.

“I understand,” Yulen nodded. “However, you wouldn’t be here speaking with me unless you were willing to negotiate a treaty of some sort. Otherwise you would have already attacked us. Alta Novis has over three hundred civilians, and slightly less than three hundred armed and trained soldiers to protect her, which I’m guessing you are already aware of. My men tell me your army numbers over a thousand troops.”

“Thirteen hundred,” the one called Vogel whistled. The skin on his face and neck was leathery, and he revealed sharply pointed teeth when he spoke.

“Then we are at your mercy,” Yulen conceded. “What are your terms of surrender?”

George started. “You’re willing to surrender so easily?” he asked in surprise.

Yulen gave a slight nod and kept his hands away from his weapons. Although he was armed, he didn’t want to give them the impression that he was a threat. “You are generally a peaceful people. And, despite the fact that I am a Battle Lord, I don’t go seeking bloodshed. My initial goal is first to protect those I serve.”

“Then why have you repeatedly attacked our compound?” Vogel growled.

“Because you have attacked us, wait!” He held up a hand to stay any angry denials. “Let me clarify that. We have been attacked in the past by those Mutah known as Bloods. But, regrettably, back then we believed all Mutah were alike. We retaliated. I know differently now, and I am in the process of trying to correct any wrongs I’ve committed.”

George’s eyes narrowed. His cheek slits blew wider. “Why this sudden change of heart, Cleaner?”

Yulen turned to him. “Why? Because I have had a change of heart. Because of Atty.”

“Atty!” Two of the representatives echoed her name. George held up his hands to silence them.

“Go on,” the leader ordered.

The Battle Lord took a deep breath. “Atty has taught me the difference between your people and mine is not as vast as we’ve been taught. Our elders, our parents were wrong. You didn’t ask to be made like you are, not any more than my people asked to remain untouched. Ultimately, we both desire the same things. We want to love and be loved. We want to have a long life that holds more happiness than sorrow. We want to bear children who’ll continue our legacy and, hopefully, keep our memories alive. And we want to survive without the threat of war, extinction, or annihilation. So, I ask you again, what are the terms of your surrender? Because the sooner you let me know, the sooner I can attempt to comply. Then you can go back to your compound in peace, and I can keep my people protected, as I swore to do when I took my father’s sword and accepted this position.”

“We’re here because of Atty,” the one mentioned as her guardian announced.

“Kalich, right?” Yulen repeated.

“Fortune Kalich, that’s right.”

“You’re her, what? Elected guardian? What’s that?”

“When she lost her mother and sister, she was left orphaned. Our laws protect those left without any family, and place them with others who are willing to shelter them. Atty’s father and I were close friends, so my wife and I offered to become her guardians and take her into our house.”

Yulen nodded, taking in this bit of news, and forcing himself to accept the man’s compassion. There was so much to re-learn and accept about the Mutah. Slowly, by degrees, the differences between them and him were disappearing, vanishing, until soon there would be nothing left but a small, if somewhat noticeable, physical abnormality that would set them apart. Thanks to Atty and her courage, her strength of conviction, and her stubbornness in getting him to see her world through her eyes.

Thinking of her, Yulen unconsciously glanced up to the top of the stairs where MaGrath was watching from the doorway of the bedroom. When the physician waved a hand to let him know her situation remained the same, he shivered with relief.

“Our terms are threefold and simple,” George told him, noticing where the man’s attention had lingered. “And Atty is the main reason we’re here.”

Yulen’s attention snapped back to him. “Atty?”

“When you attacked Wallis and kidnapped her, that was when we decided it was time to turn the tables.”

Cursing himself, the Battle Lord remembered his own two representatives he’d left behind to watch over the compound. “Where are my men?” he asked tightly.

“They’re fine,” George reassured him. “They came with us, but asked not to be a part of our forces. They chose to remain by your side, even against the overwhelming odds. I have to commend you, D’Jacques. Their loyalty is refreshing.”

“They’re unharmed?”

“Yes, as are the others who tried to defend this compound upon our arrival. If you care to look out your doors and windows, you’ll see we’ve already captured a fair portion of your honor guard, which is how we managed to get this far to see you,” George said.

Yulen had no doubt the man was speaking the truth. “Continue, please.”

“Here are our conditions. One, return Atty to us. Two, send no more ‘representatives’ to Wallis, or to any other Mutah compound you encounter. And, finally, three, never again attack another Mutah compound. Because the day you do, we will reassemble our army and lead it back to your gates, and this compound and all who inhabit it, will be burned to the ground. Those are our conditions. Would you like some time to consider them?”

“Why is Atty part of this?” Yulen asked in a low voice.

“She’s our best hunter and warrior. Without her, we would have suffered greatly this past winter. Not only does she keep our larders filled, but she protects us from the mutated animals which live in the forests around us,” George answered.

The heavily obese one called Pike spoke up for the first time since their introduction. “D’Jacques, I sense something amiss.”

George looked at him. “What is it, Twoson?”

The man waved a beefy hand in Yulen’s direction. “He’s hiding something from us. I sense it every time Atty’s name is mentioned. Where is she, Cleaner? What have you done with her?”

George held up a hand to still his friend and turned back to the Battle Lord. “Is she here?”

“Yes, she’s here. She’s upstairs.”

All five pairs of eyes looked up at the balcony where MaGrath kept vigil. “Are you keeping her prisoner?” George softly asked.

“No.” Yulen shook his head. “She’s taken ill, and my physician is trying to save her.

“Save her?” Kalich asked, alarmed. “Why? What have you done to her, you heartless son of a bitch?” He took a step toward the Battle Lord, but was held back by George’s extended arm. Around them Yulen’s soldiers placed their hands on their weapons and paused, ready and waiting for the word from their leader.

However, Yulen forced himself to keep his hand away from the pommel of his own sword, knowing that the moment he went for it, the five men before him were dead. And soon afterwards, so would they all.

“Someone tried to poison her,” he told them, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. If not, the one called Pike would call him on it. “Someone in my company will pay for what they’ve tried to do. That I promise you.”

“Why would you care if she dies or not?” Kalich called out. “Why not give her to us now and let us go home?”

“Fortune, calm heads, remember? D’Jacques, can Atty walk out on her own?”

“No. She has a high fever and she’s unconscious. There’s a strong chance...” Suddenly Yulen found he couldn’t continue. There was mist rising over his eyes, and his head was threatening to explode. He lifted a trembling hand to his forehead, acutely aware that every gesture he made was being watched by his men.

“My name is Liam MaGrath. I’m Atty’s physician,” a voice carefully said beside him. Yulen turned to see his friend presenting his best authoritative face to the entourage. “I’ve been studying the plant that was put in Atty’s water bag, but I haven’t been able to figure out what she’s been poisoned with.”

“Can you describe it?” George asked.

“Some kind of little red flower, along with the leaves. Bifurcated. That’s all I can ascertain. Oh, except it made the water salty. Brackish, she called it.”

“Borash?” Vogel murmured, looking at the others.

“Sounds like it,” Pike responded. The others nodded in agreement.

Yulen stared at them. “Borash? What’s that?”

“A tiny red flower, related to the scarlet pimpernel. In very minute amounts it can calm a racing heart, preventing it from stopping altogether. But you have to be extremely careful not to use too much, or it can have the opposite effect.” Vogel blinked rapidly. “You said it was in her water bag?”

“She drank what might have been at least a liter of the tainted water. We’ve tried to induce vomiting, but without results. We’ve also tried to force more fluids into her, but the poison’s working too quickly. Please tell us you have an antidote for this borash,” MaGrath begged softly.

A blackness seemed to envelope the room as George slowly shook his head. “None that I know of. But, then again, none of us here are trained in the medicinal arts.”

Looking directly at Yulen, the elderly leader said, “Give us Atty so we can take her back to her home where she belongs. She deserves to die where she was born, among those of us who love her and care about her, and who watched her grow up and become the type of woman she was destined to be. Let us leave with her now, and give us your word that you will uphold our last two conditions, and we will leave you in peace. What do you say, D’Jacques?”

Yulen opened his mouth but no sound would come out. All his mind could fathom at that moment were the first words George had spoken.

Give us Atty so we can take her back to her home where she belongs.

Take her away from Alta Novis, away from him. Let her die where she was born. Let her die among those who love her. Let her die without him near. Without him there to see her last breath.

“May the Battle Lord accompany her with you to Wallis?” MaGrath requested, giving Yulen an extra moment to collect himself.

“For what reason?” George inquired.

“For no other reason than to allow a husband to accompany his wife to her final resting site,” the physician replied.

The shock on the representatives’ faces was evident to everyone watching in the main hall.

Kalich gasped, clearly appalled. “You lie! Atty would never have willingly married—”

Pike reached over to lay a hand on the man’s shoulder. “He tells the truth, Fortune. I also sense that Atty has given her virtue to the Battle Lord, and I sense it was done willingly, without coercion.” The huge man gave Yulen a sad look. “I also sense a deep sadness coming from this man. You loved our Atty, didn’t you, D’Jacques?”

Yulen grimaced. “Love. Not loved. My feelings for her will remain unchanged, even after her death.”

George gave a deep sigh. “I’m sorry, D’Jacques, but the tension among our kind is as strong as it is here. If we allowed you to come back with us, I can’t guarantee your safety. Not without a full regiment of men accompanying you, and you know that can’t be allowed either. I’m sorry,” he apologized again. “We’ll be back in the morning with a wagon to take her home. Until then, say your goodbyes tonight.”

The elderly man turned and began to walk out of the main hall, followed by the other four. They strode unhindered through the main gates where Yulen’s men let them out, locking the doors behind them. MaGrath watched their departure as Yulen left to return to his bedroom.

The sound of his door closing was like the sound of a hammer hitting the last nail in the lid on Atty’s coffin.

Chapter Forty-Five

Vows

Yulen remained by her bedside throughout the night. Around midnight Mastin came to give his final report for the day. The mutant army remained encamped around the whole of the compound, but there was no sign of advancement or readying for war. Yulen understood. George was a man of his word. He no more wanted bloodshed than Yulen did. What he and the others of his kind were trying to do was to make a bold and brave attempt at a compromise that would spare generations to come.

After bidding his Second goodnight, Yulen fetched a basin of water and gave Atty another sponge bath in one more vain attempt to bring down her fever. He watched as his hands ran the yellow sponge over her pale skin, unable to stop the memories of the past few days from washing over him.

How she shivered in his embrace. Her playful smile and her laughter. The way she demanded him to ride her harder while they were in the throes of satiating their passion for each other.

How she brushed away his hair from his shoulders so she could place tiny kisses along his neck and upper arms. The ice in her eyes as she aimed her weapon to kill. The way she tilted her head whenever she was thinking. The guttural sound of her voice as he brought her to her climax.

She never woke as he bathed her. Caressed her. Placed kisses against her throat, and sighed, aching, as he felt her weakening pulse against his lips.

He breathed her hair and remembered the first time he knew its true color. Warm, salty tears fell onto her forehead as he brushed the sweat-soaked locks. He wiped the wetness off her skin with the sleeve of his shirt, then pressed his cheek to hers and whispered loving words into her ear. Words he wished she could hear. Words that came from his heart.

The sky lightened in the east. Yulen doused the last lantern, returning to the bed to hold her hand as he watched the sun send its warmth through the window. He was past needing to sleep and beyond the ability to eat. His time with her was measured in heartbeats now, and he memorized every pore in her skin as it turned golden in the light.

Pressing her fingers to his lips, he waited to hear the knock on the door that would let him know it was time to take her out beyond the gates. When the knock finally came, softly and hesitantly, he called out for them to enter, keeping his eyes on her.

“Yulen. Hurry and dress. There’s not much time.”

He turned slightly to see Madigan standing at the foot of the bed. She was carrying something white. Another hand touched his shoulder, and he looked up to see MaGrath behind him.

“Folchen is downstairs in the courtyard. Hurry up. George and his men will be here within the hour.”

The physician handed him a bundle of clothes. Yulen started, recognizing his ceremonial tunic. The deep blue one he’d told Atty about. The one he’d said he wanted to wear on their wedding day because it was the same color as her hair.

He glanced over at his mother and finally saw what she was carrying. It was a wedding gown of pure white linen. Plain and simple in design, with long sleeves and a plunging neckline. How she’d managed to have it completed overnight was a mystery to him.

Seeing his expression, Madigan smiled tenderly. “I’ll dress her while you get ready.”

Giving him another shove that guided him in the direction of the bathroom, MaGrath added, “I don’t like having to lie to the enemy. I told them you were husband and wife. Now we have to make good on it. Yulen, go get dressed.”

By the time he emerged from the bathroom, Madigan had dressed Atty and was braiding her hair to loop in a crown around her head. Pinning the hair in place, she proceeded to weave morning glory blossoms through it. In the early dawn, the flowers were just beginning to open up, revealing their deep, rich petals.

“Can you carry her outside? Or do you want me to?” MaGrath asked.

In answer, Yulen lifted her tenderly into his arms, careful to keep her head propped under his chin. There was a slight fluttering of her eyes, and he jerked around to look at the physician.

“I gave her a little draught to awaken her. It won’t last long, but she should be cognizant enough to recite her vows. It was dangerous for me to do it, but we have no choice. Come. We must hurry.”

They exited the room, quickly descending the staircase, where Yulen paused in astonishment. His men filled the main hall, all of them dressed in their ceremonial uniforms. All of them bearing their weapons as they presented a guard of honor to their Battle Lord and his Lady.

A tug on his sleeve reminded him that time was precious. They exited the main hall and entered the courtyard where Yulen got another shock.

Overnight his people had erected a large white tent in the center of the open area. Garlands of fresh spring flowers hung across ropes tied from poles planted on opposite ends of the compound.

Mastin walked up as Yulen took in the decorations. “I believe the Battle Lady wanted her pomp and pageantry?” the Second told him.

“But...” The Battle Lord watched as his people began filling the courtyard. He gave the soldier an accusing stare.

“Not me, Sir. Blame your mother. She was the one who got word out to the compound about your sacrifice. It was her and their decision to have the ceremony.” He motioned with his head toward the tent where Yulen could see everyone was gathered, including Folchen, the man of faith for Alta Novis.

He carried Atty to the tent, feeling her stirring. Quickly he beat down the bud of hope that wanted to raise itself toward the rays the morning sun. Her movements were false, brought about by one of MaGrath’s medical miracles. He could only pray she would have enough of her wits about her to understand what was about to happen.

Before Folchen began, Madigan walked over and pressed something in Yulen’s left hand, the one that cradled Atty’s ribcage. Yulen recognized the slender platinum band, and he stared questioningly at her.

“This ring has been in our family for generations. Your father gave it to me, but I don’t need it anymore. It rightfully belongs to her now.” She glanced over at MaGrath, who was watching. Getting up on tiptoe, she gave her son a kiss on his cheek. Leaning over, she placed an equally gentle kiss on Atty’s temple.

“Sir?”

A sigh came from his arms. Yulen could feel his heart tying to break through the bonds he’d tried so hard to put around it in preparation for her death. MaGrath came over and checked her pulse. “Hey, there,” he whispered. “Wake up, Atty. It’s your wedding day.”

She moved a fraction in his arms, and Yulen caught himself before he dropped her. He could feel his face flush as he fought the tears that threatened to overwhelm him. His arms were trembling, and the physician noticed his reactions.

“It’s okay, Yulen. We all understand.”

“Yul?”

Atty’s eyes fluttered open, and she found herself looking up into a pair of blue-gray eyes almost identical in color to her own. She blinked against the bright morning light, despite the fact that they were standing underneath the tent.

“I’m here, Atrilan. Can you see me? Can you understand me?” he asked her in a low voice.

“Where...are we?”

“We’re outside in the courtyard. Are you ready to say your vows with me? Will you?”

He lifted her head slightly so she could get a better view of what was happening. Her eyes traveled down to the white linen dress covering her, and she sighed. “Thank you.”

“No.” Yulen shook his head and kissed her brow, keeping his lips against her hot skin. “Thank you. You’ve sacrificed everything to be with me, and you’ll have my heart forever because of it.”

He carried her over to where they were directly underneath the center of the tent. Folchen was dressed in his black robes, ready to officiate. “Forgive the brevity, sir.”

“I understand,” Yulen assured him.

Lifting his hands, he enunciated. “Yulen D’Jacques, do you take this woman, Atrilan Ferran, as your wedded wife? If so, please answer with ‘I will’.”

“I will.”

“Atrilan Ferran, do you take this man, Yulen D’Jacques, as your wedded husband. If so, please answer with ‘I will’.”

Atty took a breath. “I...” And a second breath to finish. “Will.”

The man of faith leaned over to make sure the woman spoke with a clear and open mind. Satisfied, he nodded. “Present the ring, sir,” he ordered the Battle Lord.

MaGrath stepped forward to take Atty into his arms so Yulen could be free to perform the next step.

“Place the ring on her hand and repeat after me. With this ring...”

“With this ring...” He slipped the band onto her finger. For a moment his breath caught in his throat as her hand convulsed and gripped his in return.

“I take you as my wife...”

“I take you as my wife...” Yulen repeated.

“Until death parts us.”

“Until...” He bowed his head and felt himself trembling. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to repeat the final part of his vows as his voice cracked under the strain. “Until death parts us.”

Folchen glanced at him, aware of what the man was going through, and lifted his arms. “In front of all those present, I now pronounce these two to be husband and wife! May no man break their bonds of love!”

Outside the tent, people began to cheer, but their jubilation would be short-lived. Already a small squad of Mutah soldiers were approaching the tent. Yulen took Atty from the physician and turned to face them. She moved slightly against him, snuggling into his embrace. He glanced down to see if she was aware of them, but she had already succumbed once more to darkness. MaGrath’s potions had done their job.

Silently, everyone watched as the squad stopped before the Battle Lord. The Mutah at the lead raked his eyes over Atty’s unconscious form, and he raised an eyebrow at Yulen.

“The wagon is ready.”

“Lead me to it,” Yulen said.

The crowd parted to let them through as Yulen, with his new bride in his arms, followed the squad of Mutah to where the huge double doors stood open. Behind him, Madigan clutched MaGrath and sobbed quietly against his shoulder, the both of them unable to watch the travesty taking place, yet unable to keep themselves from witnessing every moment.

Throughout the courtyard, people reached outward, showing their Battle Lord their support and gratitude. Many wept, lost in the grief written on their leader’s face, shedding the tears he couldn’t as he sedately carried his Battle Lady to where her people were waiting. Here was their leader, forfeiting everything to keep the peace. Here was a man, relinquishing the woman he loved more than life, in order to save the lives of everyone else in the compound.

Along the parapet and battlements, Yulen’s men lifted their swords, raising them high over their heads by the blade with the hilts facing upward. The symbol of peace. The sign of the end of a conflict. If Yulen saw their accolade, he made no gesture toward it. Slowly, steadily, he continued to walk out the double gates, into the front yard of the compound, and toward the wagon where the men he’d spoken with yesterday were waiting.

The Mutah force was a giant blanket of humanity covering the land as far as he could see.

Reaching the wagon, Yulen gave the men a cursory glance before tenderly laying Atty on the bed of blankets they’d arranged for her. He straightened out her wedding gown, and tucked a stray lock of hair back into place. That done, he leaned over to place his goodbye kiss on her breast, directly over her heart. “Farewell, my beloved Atrilan,” he murmured into her ear, then stepped back.

Fortune Kalich walked over to fasten the tailgate over the back of the wagon. But before he climbed onto the seat, he stopped and reached over to take Atty’s hand where it lay across her stomach. Yulen watched in silent agony as the man designated as her guardian removed the wedding band from her hand and held it out toward him. The Mutah’s face was dark with suppressed anger.

Taking back the ring, Yulen grasped it tightly in the palm of his hand. He remained standing there and watched as the wagon bearing Atty’s body gradually pulled away. He continued to watch as the Mutah army turned and silently withdrew. Some went south, others headed west, but most followed the small wagon. Like receding waves, they disappeared into the distance.

He waited until the wagon vanished at the top of the rise. By then every Mutah soldier was gone from sight. Slowly, the Battle Lord turned around and walked back into the compound, past the honor guard, past his people, and into the main lodge. Silently, he climbed the stairs leading back up to the bedroom where, less than an hour ago, he’d held Atty in his arms.

And he closed the door.

Outside on the bell tower, Mastin rung the bell twelve times—three for birth, three for life, three for death, and three for love everlasting.

The traditional twelve bells of a wedding.

Chapter Forty-Six

Wallis

“I’m going to Wallis.”

MaGrath and Mastin jumped up from the long table where they had gathered for dinner. Madigan also gasped and rose unsteadily to her feet.

Yulen had not come out of his room for the past three days, eating little and seeing no one. Now he stood before them, gaunt and pale but determined. His weapons belt was around his waist. Around his neck, suspended on a thin leather lacing, was Atty’s wedding ring.

“Yulen, that’s suicide,” MaGrath started to object. At the Battle Lord’s upraised hand, he sighed loudly, shaking his head. “Then at least take a small garrison with you.”

“No. I have to go this one alone.”

“Why, Yulen?” Madigan asked. She knew beyond a doubt that if he tried to go to the Mutah compound, the chances were he’d never return alive. Her tears caught in her throat. What did it matter anyway, when the man was perishing before their eyes?

“Yes, why, Yulen?” MaGrath echoed. “What do you hope to accomplish by such a stupid stunt?”

“I have to know, Liam. I have to have some sort of...closure. I’m losing what sanity I have left. I can’t take this not knowing if she died. When she died. Where she’s buried. The uncertainty is eating me alive.” He tried to say more but the words wouldn’t come. Turning around, he started to walk out of the main hall. Mastin hurried after him.

“Take me with you, sir!”

Yulen shook his head, only to have MaGrath run up and shove him hard on the shoulder.

“If we can’t talk you out of this suicide mission, at least give us some faint piece of mind in knowing you have a sword guarding your back. Think about what Atty would have wanted.”

Yulen paused to glare at the man. “You fight dirty, you know that?” he accused him.

The physician managed a small smile. “She told me the exact same thing.”

“Very well. Cole, grab your things. We’re leaving now.”

He strode out the door and called for Paxton. The lieutenant appeared almost instantly outside the stables.

“I’m leaving you in charge of the forces,” Yulen told the man. “You will take your orders directly from Madigan or MaGrath, am I clear?”

“Yes, sir! Where are you going, sir?”

Rather than answer him, Yulen jumped on his horse and left the compound at a dead gallop. Mastin did his best to keep up.

They raced down the road, setting a ground-eating lope that wouldn’t tire the horses too quickly. The Second stayed to the side but behind the Battle Lord, aware of the change that slowly came over the man’s visage as they left familiar territory. It was almost as if he was coming to peace with himself.

Mile after mile they traveled, until Yulen began to slow down. He glanced over at Mastin, signaling for a brief stop. Mastin nodded. They broke bread for a quick lunch. Yulen impatiently waited the hour for the horses to rest. Then they were back on the road.

It was a five days’ journey to Wallis by slow horse. Yulen was determined to make it in four. He bypassed Foster City yet kept to the main road. They passed several groups of travelers, mostly traders who went from compound to compound hawking their wares. On this major highway that linked north to south, everyone was allowed access, including certain Mutah who bore special papers signifying their right to travel. Yulen had no doubt, though, that the army of Mutah warriors may have gone a different route he was unfamiliar with. He couldn’t see hundreds of armed mutant men risking a confrontation with armed soldiers from other compounds.

They were three days ahead of him. He would cut that lead to two days. Two days. A lot could happen in two days. Funerals could be held in two days. Grief, however, lasted forever.

He couldn’t begin to explain the unbearable ache that engulfed him after they took Atty away. He tried to remember how he felt when his father had died. As much as he had loved the man, it couldn’t compare to the pain he felt now, pain that wouldn’t stop suffocating him.

Sleep wouldn’t take him. The sheets still smelled of her. Her pillow was a poor, faint comfort in his arms. Even his dreams, when he could escape into unconsciousness, betrayed him.

By some miracle had she survived? If she had, would she come back to him? Would he be sent word she was alive and whole? Through the sobs that wracked him, he condemned himself for allowing himself even that small shred of hope.

No. She would not have survived the trip back to her home. Piron George had known it. So had the others. No, when they finally arrived back to the compound, they would hold her funeral. Vaguely Yulen wondered if they buried or burned their dead.

It was on the second day of his self-imposed exile that he’d stumbled across Atty’s empty quiver. Somehow it had gotten lost under the bed, probably inadvertently kicked there during the scurrying to get her prepared for the ceremony.

He’d taken it to the window to examine it closely. He finally found the extra compartment she’d spoken of. It was inside at the bottom of the quiver. He lifted the leather flap and found a small ball of thin filament, the wire she’d used to fasten the fletchings to the shafts. There were no more barbs. She’d used the last of them in their skirmish with the Bloods.

He jerked on one of the long leather lacings tying the skins of the quiver together. It popped off with a snap. On it he strung the wedding ring she’d briefly worn, then tied the whole thing around his neck. It only helped a tiny bit, but it helped.

That night he had gone out to the parapet and looked out in the direction where the Mutah army had retreated. The sentry on duty recognized him but left him alone. When a brisk wind suddenly blew in, he turned to look at the pennant snapping on its cable.

But I was aiming for the center of the stars, her voice echoed in the hole in his soul.

Lowering his head, he quickly made his way back to his room while he could still hold back the tears.

It was on the third day that Yulen came to realize there would be no end to the empty abyss relentlessly swallowing his sanity. He had to know, had to find out, one way or another, even as his heart told him his journey would not end happily.

No, not happily, but it would end. Finally and definitely end. Once he saw her body. Or her grave. Or whatever memorial they would erect in her name, in her honor.

And then, when he got back to Alta Novis, he would also erect a small memorial in her name. He’d put it somewhere out of the way where he could go and remember her. Most likely in a quiet, tree-shaded place. She would have like that, he told himself.

* * * *

Mastin kept to himself during their ride to Wallis. The Battle Lord said very little. He had the most difficulty sleeping at night, so that by the third day of their journey the man was clinging to reality by a thread.

It was by the middle of the fourth day when Yulen left the main road and began to follow the almost invisible path that would take them to the Mutah compound buried deep within the woods. It was several hundred yards into the forest when he stopped his horse and dismounted, motioning for Mastin to do the same.

“Cole, this is where we part company,” Yulen began.

“Sir, pardon me, but this is also the most dangerous part of our journey,” Mastin dared to argue. In just the one sentence, the Battle Lord had spoken more words to him than he had in the past four days.

“I will not risk your life,” Yulen continued. “Stay here and wait for me.”

“For how long?”

Sighing, Yulen ran a hand through his hair. For some reason Mastin smiled. It was the first familiar gesture he’d seen the man make in days.

“If I’m not back in two days’ time, try to make it safely back to Foster City. But, under no circumstances are you to follow me to Wallis. I’m giving you direct orders, Cole. Do you understand?”

The Second swallowed hard and nodded. “Yulen?” he dared using his leader’s given name. To his surprise, the man simply turned and waited to hear him out. “You know we’re praying for her.”

A muscle twitched above the Battle Lord’s right eye. Otherwise his face remained blank. “Thank you, Cole,” he replied softly. Getting back on his stallion, he headed back down the trail, never looking back, and never noticing the tears that were coating the Second’s face.

* * * *

As his horse dodged thorny bushes and other obstacles, Yulen kept a lookout for the clearing that would open up to the compound. He knew without a doubt he would be spotted by their lookouts long before he arrived at their gates. In fact, they probably already knew of his arrival.

It was an hour later when his horse found the road to Wallis. Giving the animal its head, he peered through the trees, watching for the walls of the compound to loom up out of the forest like they had the last time he’d been here. Back when he’d been the enemy in full armor, mercilessly slaughtering any Mutah, regardless of whether they were men, women, or children. Yulen grimaced at the memory. No wonder Atty had tried to kill as many of his soldiers as possible.

“Ho! Stranger! Identify!”

He looked up to see the sentry standing near the small tower at the edge of the compound. The gate he was seeking was a few more yards down the road.

“I am Yulen D’Jacques, Battle Lord of Alta Novis! Husband to Atrilan Ferran!” he called back. “I come in peace!”

The sentry appeared confused, briefly disappearing from the catwalk. Popping his head back over the wall, he called back down, “Remove your weapons!”

Slowly, and with great, elaborate motions, Yulen got down off his horse and removed his weapons belt. Holding it out at arm’s length, he dropped it in the dirt, keeping his hands raised high so they could see he was defenseless.

“Advance, Battle Lord!”

As he got closer to the gate, which had now been opened to him, Yulen could see a crowd of curious faces already gathering behind the walls. Overhead a small line of armed men were also filling the walkway. Stepping over the small threshold and into the compound, Yulen searched the sea of strange and unusual faces for one he hoped would be there...knowing it wouldn’t be, no matter how hard he prayed.

“D’Jacques?” a surprised voice greeted him.

Yulen turned around. “Piron George. May I have your permission to lower my arms?”

The elder leader gestured to a soldier standing nearby. The man patted Yulen down, making certain he carried no hidden weapons. Giving the leader a nod, George also nodded to the Battle Lord. “I told you not to come here,” the elder said in a tight voice.

“I know. Forgive me, but I had no choice.”

“What do you mean you had no choice?”

Around them, both curious and angry faces pressed closer and closer, and for the first time Yulen began to wonder if he’d made a sound decision by coming here.

“Is there some place we can speak privately?” he asked George.

The elder swept the courtyard with his eyes before motioning for Yulen to follow him. Together they started toward a small building. Yulen recognized specific landmarks, now very visible and distinct in the sunlight. There was the row of lemon trees, now bearing little green balls of fruit. And across the way, over to the left...

The bright, sharp knife of pain turned relentlessly in his heart. It was the shop where he’d kept Atty captive that night. The shop where he’d watched her shiver from cold and agony as she tried to sleep. The shop where he’d exposed his back to her as he removed the ropes from her wrists.

The heat of tears flooded his face, and Yulen was forced to stop momentarily to try and clear his head. When he glanced back up, George was staring at him.

“Are you not well, D’Jacques?”

“I’m fine. Where are you taking me?”

The man turned and continued walking. “To our Council of Elders. If you’ve come this far, it’s only right you were passed judgment.”

As they continued through the courtyard, Yulen couldn’t help but notice little, familiar things that made Wallis seem just like any other compound. Children played from ropes suspended from tree limbs. Women were gathered around a market stall, gossiping or arguing over the price of the wares. Two men were laughing over tankards of drink. All of them ceased what they were doing to stare at the Cleaner being led toward the building near the back of the compound. All of them turned to follow, to see what would be done to the man who dared to invade their home for the second time.

Just outside the door leading into the council chambers, Yulen spotted something carved into the bole of a massive oak a few feet away. The scratching was large and crude, and obviously done by a child’s hand.

Atty’s tree.

He felt himself go light-headed. Turning a pale face to George, he watched as the older man nodded. “Yes. She got quite a whipping for defacing that tree. But so far she’s the only one who’s ever been able to climb all the way to the top.”

I said up. Surely you used to climb trees when you were a boy.

The knife in his heart twisted a bit more.

The building was quickly filling up. Apparently council meetings were community events. George showed Yulen to a chair at the front of the room, prominently displayed before a low table. A row of seven chairs sat behind the table.

Yulen sat quietly, lost in his thoughts as people stared openly at him. He was aware of the angry looks many of them were giving him. He knew what they were saying in heated whispers.

This was her family. They had been part of Atty’s life for all of her twenty years. Their love and friendship had nurtured her.

Yulen began to understand the enormity of his actions, especially the despair he must have caused when he had literally kidnapped her from her home. Beaten senseless, tortured, and kidnapped.

It was a miracle she had come to love him.

From out of nowhere a man barged into the room and pounded up the aisle, heading directly for the Battle Lord. Yulen recognized the intent on his spotted face and knew without a doubt he had a weapon. Throwing up his arms to try and block him, Yulen was unprepared for the knife to slash downward inexpertly, plowing through his collarbone, across the center of his chest. It was a shallow cut, even though it bled profusely. He hadn’t expected to be attacked in this manner. Then again, he berated himself as three men grabbed his attacker and pulled him away, these people were farmers and laborers, not trained soldiers.

“Darium! How dare you enter this room when it’s under the white banner!” George shouted angrily.

“He murdered my sister!” the man shouted, and struggled against those who held him back.

“I murdered no one in this encampment,” Yulen told them. The cut burned, but it wasn’t a serious wound.

The man he remembered as Pike gave him a saddened expression. “Maybe not, D’Jacques, but your men did. The men under your command, who followed your orders. That makes you just as guilty.”

Yulen nodded. “You’re correct. I’m sorry.”

By now the room was filled to capacity. People stood along the walls, and many more waited outside the open door, listening. The council finished seating itself as George clapped his hands for attention.

“This is not meant to be a regular meeting. We are gathered to hear this man out, and to pass judgment on him if we feel it necessary. I would like to begin by asking you, Yulen D’Jacques, Battle Lord of Alta Novis, why are you here?”

The room grew quiet, filled with an air of expectancy.

In a soft voice, he told them. “I came to learn what happened to Atty. To my wife.”

He knew his confirmation would bring about a reaction within the crowd. Up until now their marriage would most likely have been considered a rumor, if not a flat-out lie. It took a full minute before George could calm the audience down.

Yulen kept his eyes on the council and away from the crowd. It would only take one person to misread the look on his face or in his eyes to start a full-scale revolt.

George got to his feet to address the people. “Twoson confirms this man’s statement to be true. Atty willingly took this man to husband. There was no coercion.”

Again the noise level rose, but Yulen sensed a change in mood. He knew without a doubt these people were wondering now what kind of man he was to have captured the heart of their beloved warrior. He, a Cleaner, and she, a Mutah.

George re-took his seat. “D’Jacques you said you wanted to know what we’ve done with Atty?”

The Battle Lord nodded, already feeling the sick dread sinking into his stomach.

“We’ll tell you what happened to her,” Vogel hissed. He jumped to his feet from where he sat behind the table and shook an accusing finger at him. “You destroyed her! Before you came here she was our greatest hunter. She was our benefactress. She kept us from starving these past few winters. And then you came along with your swords and your hatred of all things not normal, and you took her away. You may not have killed us outright, but by forcing her to leave, you condemned us all the same!” His words were sharp, acidic, and full of disgust.

“What more do you want from us?” George asked darkly. “Haven’t you done enough?”

“May I at least...see her?” Yulen began. His lungs were refusing to draw air. Breathing was becoming painfully difficult. Before he could ask whether or not her body was still intact, a council member he didn’t know got to his feet as well.

“You’ll see nothing,” he hissed, his slitted eyes narrowed in hate. “Go back to where you came from, Cleaner! Before we declare the treaty void!”

George nodded, adding, “You’re walking a very fine line, D’Jacques. Go now, before the men take up their arms again, and I can’t stop them from marching back to Alta Novis.”

Shakily, Yulen got to his feet. Silently the people lined along the wall filed out, allowing him to walk unescorted out of the room. Taking another glance at Atty’s tree, he took a deep breath and began to head for the gates of the compound as the crowd watched from a distance. The slash across his chest stung, but the bleeding had stopped. His blood- and sweat-soaked shirt clung to his skin.

When he reached the gates, a sentry opened them for him. It was at that moment Yulen realized the only reason he was able to walk out of Wallis and return to Alta Novis relatively unscathed was because he had been Atty’s husband. The man she’d given her heart and her body to. By allowing him to live, the Mutah were honoring her.

His horse was grazing by the side of the trail where he’d left it. Picking up his weapons belt from the dirt, he buckled it back on and climbed into the saddle. He rode away without another look back, although two hundred pairs of eyes watched his departure—many of which were filled with unshed tears.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Revenge

Yulen felt rather than heard the presence come up behind him. Sighing deeply, he bent his head over his tankard and opened his eyes. “If I’d wanted company, I would have gone downstairs.”

“Sooner or later you’re going to have to come out of this hole you’re digging,” MaGrath told him.

“It’s my hole. If you want one, you can dig it yourself.” He took another swallow of beer, but the liquid suddenly tasted bitter on his tongue. Yulen grimaced.

“I would appreciate it if you would turn around and face me. I need to speak with you about an important matter,” the physician insisted. A note of irritability was evident in his words, but it didn’t seem to phase the man seated by the window, gazing out over the compound.

When the Battle Lord didn’t respond, MaGrath walked over to stand closer. “Yulen, your mother and I posted our banns outside the lodge doors this morning. In three days we’re going to exchange vows and become husband and wife. She needs you there with her when we do. I need you there as well.”

“Give Madigan my heartfelt congratulations. You, too, Liam. You both deserve some happiness. It’s been a long time coming,” he told him in a low voice.

“But will you be there with us?”

MaGrath watched the failing light cast darker shadows on the ones already etching Yulen’s face. It had been two weeks since the Battle Lord had returned from his trip to Wallis, and since that time they had been forced to watch the man slowly sink into a state of deep depression. It didn’t take a mind reader to know that either he hadn’t been able to view Atty’s body, or he’d never gotten a definitive answer.

Either way, he’d been refused his closure.

“Yeah. Yeah, Liam. Tell my mother I’ll stand with you.” Finally turning to look at his friend, Yulen added, “But don’t expect me to join in the celebration afterwards.”

MaGrath sighed. “Fair enough.”

Moments passed in quiet as Yulen finished his drink and MaGrath listened to the sounds of the compound preparing for the night. Out the window, in the distance, he could see lights bobbing through the courtyard like fireflies.

“You know, Liam...we’ve been wrong all these years.”

MaGrath held his tongue. Yulen had said practically nothing since his return, and had made no one privy to his thoughts or experiences at Wallis. He’d only allowed the physician to dress the cut across his chest without explanation as to how he got it, although MaGrath had an faint idea once Mastin told him the Battle Lord had returned with it after leaving the walls of the Mutah compound.

“We had no business hunting down and destroying entire families and communities, just because they were Mutah. Just because they were...different,” Yulen continued in a distant voice. “They’re trying to survive, just like us. Trying to survive day after day, hoping to find someone to cherish along the way. Just like us.”

Getting slowly to his feet, Yulen stretched and let out a deep sigh, but kept his vigil at the window. MaGrath heard the suffering that wouldn’t let up in his breath. He turned and left, closing the door behind him, and leaving Yulen to watch the coming twilight uninterrupted.

Walking down the stairs, the physician spotted the woman waiting for him at the landing. “Well?” she asked softly.

MaGrath nodded. “He promised he would stand by us, but declined the festivities afterwards.”

Madigan sucked in a trembling breath. “I’m losing my son,” she told him. “Before this, I always believed there was no such thing as dying from a broken heart. But it really exists, doesn’t it?” Walking into his embrace, the woman pressed her face to his shoulder. “How much longer, Liam? You’re the expert. How much longer can he go on like this?”

He placed a tender kiss on her forehead. “I don’t know, Maddy. I honestly don’t know. But we can’t dwell on it. At least, not for the next few days. We have a wedding to plan.” Pulling her back to arm’s length, he gave her a warm and loving smile. “Ironic, isn’t it, that Atty’s also responsible for bringing us finally together?”

Madigan gave him a tender smile in return and allowed him to walk her to her bedchambers he now shared with her.

The following day, the two of them were surprised to see the Battle Lord emerge from his rooms to take a seat at the breakfast table. The soldiers also taking their meal in the main hall were also aware of his unexpected presence. Since Yulen’s return, Mastin and Paxton had assumed the Battle Lord’s duties, directing any requests and questions they couldn’t field themselves to MaGrath or Madigan.

Now, it seemed as if the man was voluntarily rejoining the human race. Deep down, MaGrath doubted it. Out of love for his mother, the man was going to attempt to make the next few days less stressful for her, and allow her to concentrate on her upcoming nuptials.

The physician kept a watchful eye on the Battle Lord as the man resumed his duties as well. Life returned to a semblance of normalcy, until Farragen, the stone mason, approached him late one afternoon. “Hey, MaGrath, do you know where the Battle Lord is?”

Glancing up from the table where he’d been mixing a sleeping powder, MaGrath shrugged. “Have you tried the stables?”

“Yeah, but they said he left there some time ago.”

“Then I can’t tell you. Do you need him now, or can it wait until later this evening? He’ll be taking supper soon.”

The stone mason made a face, leaving the physician with the impression that a decision had to be made one way or another.

“What is it? Maybe I can be of some help.”

“Well, it has to do with this memorial he wants for the Battle Lady.”

His words instantly put MaGrath on alert. Trying to hide the shaking in his hands, the physician wiped them on a towel and turned around to give the man his full attention. “Go on.”

“I forgot to ask him if he wanted me to put a date on it under her name, or leave it with just the inscription.” The stone mason handed over a piece of paper.

MaGrath stared at the simple rectangular drawing Yulen had ordered to have made. Across the face of the granite slab were to be the words “Atrilan Ferran D’Jacques”. Underneath, the simple word “Forever”. The physician closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. Yulen was trying to find his own measure of closure. It was the first tentative step toward healing. Toward accepting. Toward continuing on with his life, as empty and as long as it would be. The man had finally realized Atty wouldn’t have wanted him to suffer any longer. And that by going on with his life, he was keeping her memory alive in him.

While he lived, so did she.

At least, that’s what MaGrath hoped—and prayed—it meant.

Handing back the piece of paper, MaGrath told him, “Do it exactly as he requested.”

The mason shrugged and left. MaGrath hurried to clean up his mess so he could go tell Madigan what he’d found out.

On the morning of the wedding, the weather turned cool. Clouds bunched together in the sky, threatening rain, but preparations continued outside with the hope the rains would hold off until after the ceremony. A brisk wind appeared from the northwest, bringing with it the smell of one final cool front before winter finally let go.

MaGrath looked up from where he stood before the mirror, checking to make sure he had all his buttons were secured in correct sequence, to see Yulen standing behind him. For the first time in days the man looked almost like his old self.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Yulen asked, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“I don’t have much choice, do I?” MaGrath replied with a mock grimace. “I’ve already drawn up a new will.”

Yulen clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder, and the physician reached over to give it a pat. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you about something,” MaGrath mentioned.

“About what? As if there’s not another hundred or so things I’ve been neglecting that all of a sudden need my immediate attention right this moment.”

“It’s about Atty’s memorial.”

Yulen’s face went hard as MaGrath watched the man close the gates around his heart for protection. “What about it?” No questions as to how he’d found out. Just a simple request.

“Where did you plan to put it?” MaGrath asked softly.

Yulen lowered his eyes and bit his lips. “Under the shade of that old sycamore over on the south side of the compound. It has the most beautiful gold leaves in the fall. I thought she’d like it there.”

The physician nodded. “Yeah, she would.” Giving the man’s hand another pat, he forced a smile. “Do you still have the ring? Or do I need to start panicking now?”

Yulen narrowed his eyes at the man, and the ghost of a smile reappeared. “In my pocket, Liam.”

Subconsciously, MaGrath’s eyes were drawn to the platinum ring Yulen wore on the outside of his ceremonial tunic. The man never took it off, even when he took sword practice with the soldiers out in the compound.

Nodding, he left the guestroom where he’d gotten dressed and headed for the courtyard with Yulen directly behind him. He kept a close watch over the Battle Lord, knowing that at some point the man would have a reaction to the day’s festivities. It had only been three weeks ago to the day that he and Atty had said their vows, and the memory was still as painful as the cut across his chest.

Like they had before, the populace of Alta Novis was out to celebrate the wedding. It was to be an all-day event, with feasting and merriment, until the darkest hours of the night. Even Yulen had relented and lightened the soldiers’ schedule, reducing the number of guards on duty and shortening their hours on watch so no one would miss out on the activities for too long.

Out in the courtyard, Folchen awaited the party underneath the white tent, which had been draped with Madigan’s favorite purple scarves. Yulen managed a tender smile when he presented his mother to the man who had always been like a second father to him.

“Love and long life, Mother,” he whispered in her ear, then kissed her cheek. She smiled in return before placing her hand in MaGrath’s, and turning to face the man of faith.

The wedding, from beginning to end, only lasted fifteen minutes. It wasn’t until MaGrath began to recite the words for the exchange of rings that he saw the torment filling Yulen’s eyes from where he stood behind them. Quickly he averted his own eyes and kept his mind on the ceremony.

“In front of all those present, I now pronounce these two to be husband and wife! May no man break their bonds of love!” Folchen lowered his arms to congratulate the couple as the people began to cheer.

A scream suddenly rent the air from the back of the crowd. The townsfolk began to back away, stumbling over each other to get out of the path of the horses thundering into the courtyard. Leading the squad was Tosh Karv, dressed in his full battle armor.

Leaving the tent, Yulen walked up to address his Second sharply. “Karv, what is the meaning of this? Why aren’t you at Bearinger? You were not given orders to return.”

Instead of answering, the shorter man dismounted and strode up to face him directly. Then, without warning, he gave a nod to the others who had accompanied him into the compound. The men dismounted and drew their weapons.

Yulen, momentarily distracted watching the other riders, never saw the metal glove come crashing down against the side of his head. He collapsed to his knees as people around cried out. Behind him he could vaguely hear his mother’s shout of anger as he fought passing out.

Within seconds, Tosh Karv had the Battle Lord at his feet. Around him his men had also taken Madigan and MaGrath prisoner.

“Listen up, people of Alta Novis!” the Second yelled out. “Listen well! I am declaring myself now Battle Lord of this compound! I have taken D’Jacques as prisoner, as well as the immediate ruling family! Therefore, by my rights, I claim this compound now to be under my rule!”

“What are you doing, Karv?” Yulen demanded harshly. Blood flowed from the gash in his scalp, and dripped onto his tunic. His head felt like it would crack open like an egg at any moment.

“Only getting what I deserve,” the man told him, smiling bitterly.

“And why would you think that for one moment you deserve this? What’s gotten into you?”

Mastin and a company of soldiers burst through the crowd. They skidded to a halt upon seeing their Battle Lord with a sword pointed at his neck. Karv gave the new Second a withering look.

“Go ahead, Cole. Try to rescue your Mutah loving leader now. Better tell him to stand down, Yulen, or I’ll order my man to put a dagger through your mother’s heart.” He grabbed Yulen by the hair and jerked his head around so he could see where one of Karv’s soldiers held a knife against Madigan’s breast. There was no doubt in Yulen’s mind Karv would make good on his promise. He signaled to Mastin to lower his weapons.

“Very good, Yulen. Now declare Alta Novis mine.”

“And when I do, what happens to us?”

Strangely, Karv laughed, as if he’d gotten the punch line of a good joke. “Oh, trust me, I have plenty planned for you. After all, I’ve had a long time to think these things through while I’ve been watching over Bearinger. By the way, you severely underestimated Collaunt’s popularity over there. I found at least two dozen supporters who are eager and more than willing to support me in any future endeavors, beginning with my taking of this compound. Besides, I have never forgiven you for what you did to me that night in the Mutah compound.”

“You nearly killed Atty with your brutality, when I’d specifically given you orders to leave her be.”

“She was Mutah! And you showing her special favors was making me sick! That’s why I ordered those plant fibers put in her water. Couldn’t have that Mutah bitch tainting this place any more than she already had.”

A red mist seemed to fall over Yulen’s eyes. Behind him he could hear MaGrath’s growl of anger. “It was you who poisoned her?” the physician hissed.

“I’m just sorry it took so long to finally do her in. Damned Mutah body of hers fought it for too long. I’ve never used Borash before. I was hoping to see how it would affect her. Was it an agonizing death, Yulen?” Karv grabbed another handful of the Battle Lord’s hair and jerked his face upward. Yulen gasped from the pain, nearly passing out. He drew a shuddering breath. The pounding in his head wasn’t going to diminish any time soon. He would have to deal with it and come up with some way to defeat Karv before the man gained complete control of the place.

With any luck, Maston and Verris would be able to gather enough men to defeat whatever troops Karv had brought with him. The only obstacle in their way would be their reluctance to take that next step, knowing it could mean the life of their Battle Lord.

Verris. He’d left the Second in command of Bearinger, along with Karv. “What have you done with Verris?” Yulen asked hotly.

“Oh, he’s still back at the compound, but in a nice little holding cell while my men wait for word of my success,” Karv grinned.

A coldness came over Yulen. It became a grim yet somehow welcomed finality. It was as if another door was opening up for him, and he could see a warm, shining answer at the end of what he thought would be an endless, black corridor. If he ordered his men to attack, they would, without question, but it would mean his death. Yet, his death would end Karv’s attempt to control Alta Novis. Meanwhile, the treaty he had sealed with the Mutah would protect the compound for years. And with Collaunt gone, it would be a long, long time before anyone with enough power would be able to challenge his people.

And he...he would be able to be with Atty again.

“Talk to me, oh great Battle Lord,” Karv taunted. “Declare Alta Novis mine.” The Second raised his face to nod to the man holding Madigan, giving him the go-ahead to slit the woman’s throat.

A breath of air entered the tent, followed by a soft pop. The soldier holding Madigan staggered two steps, then fell over sideways. An arrow protruded from the man’s helmet, embedded where his left eye had been.

Another buzzing sound zipped by, like an angry bee. The man restraining MaGrath let out a gurgling sound, and he slowly slid to a heap behind the physician with a long shaft sticking out of both sides of his neck.

MaGrath turned to stare at Yulen, his eyes wide as saucers.

Two more wooden angels of death drilled the air, and two more of Karv’s men dropped where they’d stood, killed instantly by precise head shots through their helmets and into the brain.

Yulen felt his heart stop. All sense of reality and time ceased as all the blood in his body pooled to the center of his heart. Dimly he heard the physician exclaim in a choking voice, “Oh, dearest God in Heaven! There’s only person I know who can shoot like that!”

Karv sensed what he knew couldn’t be the truth. Grasping Yulen’s head once more, he jerked it back to expose the Battle Lord’s throat and lifted his sword, digging its point where the man’s neck met his shoulder. One swift thrust downward would instantly kill him, slicing into his heart along the way.

“Where are you, Mutah bitch?” the Second screamed. He glanced about, searching the crowd. “Come out and show yourself!” Karv lifted his arm, pressing his weapon further into Yulen’s neck, until a fine trickle of blood began to pour down the front of his tunic. “Obey me, you blue-haired freak! Obey me right n—”

Karv gasped, cut off in mid-word, in mid-breath. With disbelieving eyes he shakily looked down at the arrow that somehow had magically appeared in the hollow of his throat, right above the breastplate of his armor. His eyes traveled up to where the crowd was beginning to move, parting and crying out in surprise and relief as they made room for the figure purposefully striding forward in the middle of them.

A figure dressed in a long white linen dress.

Holding out her longbow with another arrow cocked and aimed directly at Karv.

Slowly, deliberately, Atty advanced one careful step at a time. Her head remained tilted over the slender shaft pulled back in her hand. Her face was expressionless. Cold. Deadly.

Karv stared at her, unable to believe, unable to comprehend.

She paused and drew the arrow back another fraction of an inch. Her eyes glittered, ready for the kill.

“What are you waiting for, bitch!” Karv smiled, chuckling hoarsely. The chuckle turned into a phlegmy-sounding cough. Then, without warning, he lifted his arm to ram the sword downward.

Atty never moved as she released the arrow. The arrow sang before barb punched through the man’s wrist, punctured the gold-colored breastplate, and effectively pinned the sword arm against his body. The weapon spun to the ground from nerveless fingers.

Karv swayed and stepped backwards, releasing Yulen to reach for the arrow in his throat with his free hand. A fine spray of dark pink bubbles cascaded down his chest as the man began to choke on his own blood.

Casually, Atty reached back in her quiver, pulling out another arrow while never taking her eyes off the man she’d always known would try to hurt her again. Her face was carved in stone as she nocked it and drew back on the string. Tilting her head to check her target, she pulled back even further, until the ends of the longbow vibrated from the strain. Then she waited.

I was trained so that when I hunt, I aim to either capture or kill. With him, I wanted nothing more than to kill.

A look of utter finality passed over Tosh Karv’s face. He knew would die today, and he would be shown no mercy. Given no second chance. It would all end here. Today.

Now.

Crimson anger washed over him, staining his face with his hate and disgust. As a last ditch effort, Karv reached for the dagger at his hip, even though he knew he would never have a chance to use it, much less free it from its sheath.

Atty released the last arrow. It pierced the direct center of the man’s face, killing him almost instantly.

Karv’s body fell to its knees, then slowly pitched forward into the packed dirt.

Yulen struggled to his feet, unable to tear his eyes away from the woman who dropped her weapons to the ground and began to run toward him. He cried aloud when she fell into his arms, warm and alive and sobbing tears of relief. Unable to withstand the shock, he collapsed again to his knees as she covered his face with kisses.

“They never told me you came for me!” she cried aloud. “They never told me!”

Yulen shuddered. His hands touched her, but it was all too unreal, too unbelievable, too much for his wounded heart to accept. “Atrilan?” He was trembling and at the point of passing out.

She ripped away part of the hem of her dress and used it to wipe away the blood still seeping from the wounds on his head and neck. With every touch she continued to kiss him as her own tears fell onto his tunic and the front of her gown.

His arms went around her waist, and suddenly it was as if his body could accept her as being there with him as he crushed her against him. Pressing his face into her unbound hair, Yulen wept openly and unashamedly.

Behind them Madigan started to reach for them when MaGrath embraced her and held her back. They would have their chance to welcome her home later. But first, at this moment, she had to bring Yulen back to life.

Atty lifted his face and found his lips, giving herself completely to him like a healing balm. The past few weeks had been hard and tormenting as she fought to recover from her poisoning. During that time, when she had been lost in her delirium, she had called out for him. Her sweat-soaked dreams had been filled with him. Her weakened body had ached for him. She had cried nightly for him, and by day she had begged to be with him again.

Her people had had no choice but to bring her back when she’d gotten well enough.

Bring her back to him. Bring her back...home.

“Atrilan?” Yulen whispered again. He cupped her face in his hands and stared at her beautiful, beloved features with red-rimmed eyes. “My love. My wife.”

Pressing her hands to his chest, Atty’s fingers encountered the length of lacing and the silver-colored ring it held. “Fortune told me he gave you something that rightfully belongs to me. I want it back,” she whispered, smiling into his eyes.

Yulen reached up and jerked the lacing from around his neck. The ring dropped into her palm. Taking it from her, his eyes remained locked on her face. “With this ring, I take you as my wife.” He paused to look down as he slipped the band over her finger. “Until death takes us both.”

Her kiss was a warm as the spring sun.

He held her tightly as they shakily got to their feet. Steadying himself, Yulen lifted her into his arms, and she wrapped her arms around his neck as he kissed her lovingly again.

This time he walked slowly and steadily toward the main lodge as the crowd moved aside to let the couple go by, crying and cheering as they passed. Overhead a loud, clanging noise erupted. Mastin had scurried up the outside ladder to the tower and was ringing the announcement bell, to the delight of everyone.

As the clouds began to rain lightly upon the festivities, no one minded as they watched their Battle Lord and Lady ascend the staircase up to the second landing and disappear into their bedroom. Where, true to his promise, Yulen locked the door behind them, not to open it again for the next seven days.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Mercenary

It would be a fortunate circumstance if he could finally reach Alta Novis just as the snow began to fall. The sky had been gradually growing grayer and dirtier as the day progressed, forcing Renken to push his horse in order to reach a safe place to spend the night. Hopefully, a warm and dry place where he might even be lucky to find a bite to eat.

As he topped the rise, he found himself overlooking the immense compound. Flying above roof of the main lodge, he spotted the red and blue banner telling him he’d found what he’d been seeking for the past three weeks. Already he could see in the distance where the new outer wall was being built, and the edge of the forest was being cleared back even further to accommodate the growth in the population. He nudged his horse forward the same time fat pellets of puffy snow started pelting him.

Nearing the main gates a sentry called down to him. Renken raised his sword hilt-up, signifying his peaceful intent. A single door swung open, allowing him access. Once inside the main wall of the compound, three more guards surrounded him. One took his reins as a safety measure.

“Ho, Stranger. Who are you, and what are you doing out on such a nasty evening?” one of the other men questioned him.

“The name’s Garet Renken. I’ve come all the way from Saint Loolville to offer my sword and my allegiance to your Battle Lord, Yulen D’Jacques.”

“You’re welcome to take a meal in the main lodge,” the soldier informed him, “but if you want our honest opinion whether we think the Battle Lord will accept your sword, we doubt it, mercenary. D’Jacques wants his men for their loyalty. And, trust me, Renken, he has more than enough men willing to give him that, and more.”

They allowed him to keep his weapons, which told Renken the compound was more than adequately guarded. Any outward sign of aggression, and he was either a dead man or a seriously endangered one.

The interior of the main lodge was a nice surprise for the weary traveler. Instead of the walls being festooned with trophies and other battle-won miscellanea, apparently the Battle Lord held high esteem for weaponry. Especially beautifully crafted and hand-wrought spears, lances, and bows. Beneath a mantel showcasing several magnificent pairs of swords, a fireplace the size of a small house kept a blaze alive. The lodge was warm, and the mercenary already could feel himself starting to grow a bit lethargic.

At the farthest end of the lodge was a staircase leading up to where he understood the Battle Lord lived, along with the immediate family. His sources had told him the man’s mother was still alive and had remarried some months ago. But that wasn’t the woman he’d heard the most about.

Renken took a seat at one of the long tables where a few other soldiers relaxed and conversed over their supper at the opposite end. A servant woman brought him a trencher of food and a mug of cold beer. He thanked her and removed his coat and gloves, shaking off clumps of snow onto the floor. Throwing the outerwear on the bench beside him, he sat down to dive into his first decent meal in several days.

More soldiers entered the main lodge to sit down and be served. Most, if not all of them, gave him a curious, cursory glance as they passed by. It was to be expected. Renken was used to the stares, just as he was used to the fleeting looks of disgust he got once people knew his occupation. Well, with any luck, it would all come to an end. Hopefully tonight. If not, tomorrow. He was tired of the road. Tired of not having a home to call his own. More than that, he was ready to find someone willing to share a roof. Someone he’d be content to spend the rest of his life with.

Which was probably the biggest reason why he’d chosen to seek it all in Alta Novis.

He’d heard so many stories about the Battle Lord and his Lady, they were beginning to sound like tall tales. It was difficult, if not impossible, to separate the outlandish from the improbable, although most of them bordered on the fantastic either way.

There were also the stories about the strength of their love, and the incredible fact that the two of them had almost single-handedly forged the recent treaties between normals and Mutah. That alone would be enough of a draw for anyone.

Renken had to come see if any of the stories regarding D’Jacques and his Mutah wife were true. Because if there was even one tiny iota of truth to them, this was where he wanted to stay. He wanted his name, and his legacy, to be linked with theirs.

Atrilan. Her name is Atrilan, but everyone calls her Atty.

“Ho, stranger,” one of the soldiers at the end of the table greeted him.

Renken glanced down to where the four men sat, enjoying tankards of warm cider. Despite the fact they wore full weapon belts, their attire was casual, making it difficult to tell rank. He nodded, mouth full.

“Getting cold enough out there for you?” the soldier continued. He appeared older than the other three, and more than likely was one of the seasoned veterans. He would be able to answer Renken’s answers about the Battle Lord and his Lady, if the man was affable enough.

“It’s gonna get colder,” Renken answered, taking a swig from his mug. “By the way, the name’s Renken.” Motioning toward the armament covering the walls, he commented, “Is all that for show? Or does it ever get used?”

The knot of men chuckled. “It gets used, but not in war. The Battle Lady likes to keep her skills honed by learning on them,” one of them commented.

Renken smiled inwardly. The man had opened the door he’d been hoping he would be allowed to enter, and it had been done without his seeming to pry.

“You know, in Saint Loolville, the stories of the Battle Lady seem...well...”

“Farfetched?” the soldier offered.

“Yeah. Farfetched. Have you seen the woman in action? Do any of these tales hold a grain of truth?”

“What kind of tales are you wondering about?” the older man asked. One of soldiers next to him began to snicker, but he was quickly shushed by a playful backhanded slap from the veteran.

“Oh, many of them. Like the story of the burning horse. Did she really set that creature aflame from over a hundred yards away?”

The veteran nodded. “Saw her do it with my own eyes.”

“In a blinding rainstorm?”

“She does use a longbow,” another one of the soldiers reminded him. “It’s her preferred weapon of choice. Her specialty.”

“And the one about the three arrows? At three separate targets? Set at fifty-foot intervals?”

One soldier raised his hand. “I can confirm that one! God, it was one magnificent shot!”

“And the story of the bull ferret. Surely most of that was fictitious. After all, no one’s ever killed a bull ferret with one arrow. It can’t be done.”

The small group nodded. “I saw the creature’s body after she’d done it,” a third soldier spoke up. “Got him right in the mouth. It went through the venom sac, directly into the brain.”

The veteran smiled. “Anything else you’d like to ask, Renken?”

“Yeah. She’s really Mutah, right?”

The man nodded, eyes suddenly narrowed. Years of placing his life in danger warned Renken the veteran had become defensive. The realization fascinated the mercenary.

“Is her hair really the color of ripe blueberries?”

“Blueberries?” the second soldier echoed. He grinned, chuckling. “I never thought of that one before. Yeah, it’s blue. A real dark blue. But after a while you don’t notice it. And then you can’t imagine her with it any other color. You could say it’s what makes Atty...well, Atty.”

“Can we ask why you’re here?” the veteran questioned him.

Renken knew the man was still perturbed by his Mutah comment. If he planned on making this compound his permanent home, he knew he couldn’t start off on the wrong foot by antagonizing some of the seasoned soldiers. Especially the ones who’d fought at the Battle Lord’s side. The men D’Jacques trusted. With patience, luck, and time, Renken hoped he might be able to join that elite circle. “I want to pledge my sword to the Battle Lord. And hopefully be able to make myself a home here.”

The third soldier drained his mug and got to his feet. “What makes you think he’d be willing to accept a mercenary? You sell your arm to the highest bidder. Do you think D’Jacques could ever trust a man who might turn on him because the Battle Lord from the next compound down the road had a heavier purse?”

Renken nodded his head and stared down at his nearly empty bowl. “I anticipated such comments and thoughts. That’s why I know I’ll be spending a lot of my time and effort trying to prove myself. So be it. But there’s no where else I want to go. I’m finished with the mercenary business. My arm won’t be strong forever. I’m tired of the endless road. I want stability. And, hopefully, a family.”

“And you think you’ll find it here?” the veteran asked. “Why?”

“Why? Call it a nonsensical notion. Call it a weakness. Call me a doddering fool. But the stories also say there’s a lot of love and commitment at this compound because of the Battle Lord and his Lady. That’s why the treaties between Normals and Mutah have been successful. That’s why this compound has the reputation it has for having the greatest regiment of archers this side of the Missip. It’s said this place can accomplish the impossible. It’s because of these stories that I had to see for myself if any of them were true. I have to find a reason to believe there really is a such a love. Besides,” Renken added with a tired smile, “if only half of all I’ve heard is based on fact, this Atty is a force to be reckoned with. I’d like to see for myself how skilled she is with a staff, which is my specialty.”

“So you think that most of what you’ve heard about her skills is an elaboration?” the veteran inquired. He had a smile on his face now, yet Renken knew that at any moment the man would make his decision about him, and the mercenary had no doubt his opinion would sway a lot of people. Maybe even the Battle Lord.

“All I’m saying is that I’ve heard so much of what she’s done, I decided not to trust hearsay any longer. That’s another reason why I’m here. I want to see the Battle Lord and Lady together. I want to see this great love between them, and see if it warrants the stories and accolades. I want to see the Battle Lady in action. If you were in my boots, soldier, wouldn’t you want the same?”

His question got a positive response from the group of men. The veteran raised his mug in the mercenary’s direction and grinned.

“Hear, hear, Renken. Well put. Only, don’t ever let Atty hear you say you think the stories about her are mostly fairy tales, or she may put an arrow so close to your manhood, you’ll walk bowlegged for a week!”

The comment drew laughter from the other men surrounding him as the veteran winked at the mercenary and finished off his cider. Renken managed a crooked smile in response.

“Well, until I see it with my own eyes, no one, neither man nor Mutah, will convince me otherwise,” he told them in what he hoped they’d read as a serious but light-hearted comment. He raised his mug to take another swallow when something zipped by his face. Before he was aware of it, his drink was snatched out of his hand. Liquid sprayed the air, and Renken stared in shock to see his mug bobbing up and down with an arrow piercing it through the center and pinning it to the wall behind his head. He looked down at his hand that had just been holding the mug, then back at where it hung. There couldn’t have been more than a couple of inches of clearance between the stein and his lips that the arrow had to pass between in order to snatch it from his hand. Yet his fingers, face, and hand were unscathed.

He lifted his head to see the figure at the opposite end of the room lower her bow and finish descending the staircase. Even in the light of the lanterns which filled the main hall with their yellowish glow, there was no mistaking the rich blue sheen of her hair, which she wore loose that evening.

Renken watched as the incredibly beautiful woman in hunting attire slowly approached his table, and at that moment he understood that whatever he may have heard had been nothing but the truth. No matter how outlandish or impossible the stories may have sounded, there was more than an ounce of reality to every tale. Or, in this case, it was more like a full ton weight.

The Battle Lady walked over to the knot of soldiers and leaned over to give the veteran with the scarred face a warm kiss. The other soldiers seemed to take her expression of affection in stride, as if they’d expected it. The veteran snaked an arm around her waist, drawing her almost into his lap, and it was then Renken noticed how the man laid a protective yet loving and possessive hand over her slightly swollen belly.

Getting quickly to his feet, the mercenary bowed to his guests. “My apologies, sir. Madam. I never meant to say anything to offend either of you, or your men.”

Yulen chuckled. “Apology accepted, Renken.” Turning to his wife, he teasingly admonished her, “My love, what have I told you about playing with your toys in the house? Is that any way to greet a guest?”

With a definite twinkle in her eyes, Atty gave her a husband an impish grin as she tried to hide the longbow behind her back. “Oops,” she said, by way of apology.

The simple word made Renken look back up at her, and he saw her wink at him.

Yes, coming to Alta Novis was the smartest decision he’d ever made in his life. Not only was it going to be a great adventure living here, but he knew there was much he was going to enjoy learning at the side of his new Battle Lord.

And the Battle Lord’s Lady.

About the author:

Linda loves to write romance with a fantasy or science fiction flair. Her technique is often described as being as visual as a motion picture or graphic novel. By day she is a Kindergarten teacher, wife, and mother of two who lives in a small south Texas town near the Gulf coast. But at night she delves into alternate worlds filled with daring exploits and sensuous, erotic romance.

Among her accomplishments are ten consecutive number one best sellers, one of which was the 2009 Title of the Year, and herself being named 2009 Author of the Year.

For more information about this title, and for other books by Linda Mooney, please visit her website at: www.LindaMooney.com