Charles Ingrid - marked man 02 The Last Recall (16 page)

"Shall I send Alma to beg?" Lady squared off with him. Her blue eye had gone icy. Its glare pierced him.

He shook his head, speech momentarily surprised out of him. She looked down. She plucked at the worn seam of her riding skirt. "Don't," he said, as she inhaled slightly as if for a long speech.

Lady stopped. She looked up as if expecting something from him. He wasn't sure what it could be. She said quietly, "All right, then. Got enough vials?"

He patted down the front of his jacket. "I hope so. I don't intend for us to do any fighting. My main job is to get these boys past the basin, and then they're on their own. They're surveyors, not troopers."

"See you remember that," Lady responded softly. "Good-bye, Thomas." With no further words or gestures, she left.

He watched Lady and saw the steel determination in her spine and walk. She would not run after him. She' would not offer him a second good-bye. She was done with him.

For the moment. Thomas sighed, gathered up the reins and swung aboard. Harley grunted as his rider settled into the saddle. He slid a hand down the horse's neck and wondered, just briefly, what he was doing leaving Lady behind.

The yard filled with milling horses and mules as the boys came outside, their entourage following them. Harley sidled away from the commotion and Thomas let him go. As they dipped into the shadows thrown by the corner of the building, a lithe figure darted out and caught at the horse's nosepiece.

"Sir Thomas," Shankar hissed. "A word with you, please?''

The Mojavan ambassador looked more than a little rumpled. His shirttails hung out and there were creases as if he'd slept in his clothes. That did not surprise Thomas—Shankar had been extremely busy with Drakkar the past few weeks. Denethan's son was consumed with the desire to learn all he could about the Seven Counties, firsthand if necessary, and seemed to be in motion constantly. "What is it, Shankar?"

"I beg of you—a last minute addition to your party. The experience will be good for my charge—who, may I remind you, was sent to your fostering care, and who, I may also remind you, curries as much dislike as like—"

"Shankar," the young man scolded as he rode forward out of the shadows, frowning slightly in the brightness of the daylight, "is that any way to ask for a favor? Sir Thomas, what he and I desire is that I be allowed to accompany your mapping expedition."

The surveyors had a two-year mission ahead of them.

Harley snorted at the Mojavan's blue-black horse and dodged aside as Thomas answered. "I doubt your father wants you in peril and out of touch for the next two years."

Drakkar's dark brow went up. His crest rustled as if stirring. "You misunderstand me. I don't want to join the mappers. I had in mind riding with you."

"To the Vaults?"

"And to the nester boundaries."

Thomas considered. Doubtless, Denethan was as concerned about the recent nester unrest as he was—and the boundaries of the territory. He would send spies regardless. Why not take advantage and keep Denethan's boy in sight where, hopefully, Thomas could also keep him under restraint? Nor could he afford to forget that Denethan had sent him for protection as well.

As if following Blade's train of thought, Shankar blurted, "And you will need to keep him away from his enemies as well."

"Old enemies or new ones?" Thomas asked dryly.

Drakkar's mouth quirked as well. "Either are just as deadly. And then where will your treaty be?"

"On the heads of fools," Thomas answered. He looked the young man over. Drakkar was equipped for just about anything. "I don't want to do this," he said.

"I promise you, any trouble and you can send me back."

"We'll see about that. All right, Shankar. You've got a vacation. I'll take Drakkar with me, BUT," and he pointed at the Mojavan. "Any trouble and there won't be enough left of you to send back."

Drakkar's dry little smile flashed into a sudden grin. He said to Shankar, "Like Father, is he not?" and spurred his horse forward.

"Not so fast. Dismount and let's see how you're equipped."

Gem-blue eyes blinked lazily. "Why, of course, Sir Thomas."

Blade swung back down, sure that even though he was going to be given a look through the young man's saddlebags a certain amount of sleight of hand would be hiding valuables and other important items from him.

Lady watched as the Mojavans approached Thomas and, from the gear on Drakkar's horse, guessed that the boy intended to go with the mappers. She turned from the shelter of the patio to make her way to Alma's room in the barracks. What was it about the promise of adventure that drew men, a lure even more tantalizing than sex? Her nose tickled. She rubbed it vigorously, thinking that she herself would jump at a chance to go though she knew the tedium, as well as the danger, of the long ride ahead. The difference was that she had not been invited. Thomas had never, not once, entertained the idea of her going.

Nor had she ever asked.

She wasn't sure why. She knew they had reached an impasse in their relationship. There was more than sex to be had, but neither of them were quite sure what, or what they wanted. Until they reached beyond and defined it and began to obtain that—there was nothing else. Either what they had would continue to grow, or it would die. Without being told, she sensed that Thomas hesitated to reach out, and she knew that she could not develop their relationship alone. It took two, just as fulfilling sex did. She doubted, even if she dared to ask Thomas what the problem was, that he would have an answer.

What she hadn't anticipated was that the process of breaking away at this point could be so painful. She felt as if her soul had been taken in two hands and torn asunder. Without future or commitment, hopes or promises, none of those exchanged between either of them, she had already crossed the line between lover and beloved. She loved Thomas and she could not tell him until he was ready to hear those words, until he was ready to explore all that went with it. And now she was letting him go again. He'd been gone all spring and summer riding the justice circuit and now she was letting him go again.

Franklin beamed from the kitchen as she entered the barracks. "Everyone hit the trail?"

"Not quite. I think they're waiting for a military salute."

He gave her a quizzical look as she mounted the stairs to Alma's room. She gave a perfunctory knock on the door that stood ajar.

Alma sat on the window ledge. She could see a slanted view of the stables from where she sat. Lady joined her.

The girl turned to face her. "There's no hope, is there?" she asked.

"No. They're going and that's that. And despite the dust and smog and In-City treachery and cold and rain and saddle sores, they're convinced it's going to be a glorious adventure."

Alma smiled briefly. She tucked a strand of her long, dark hair behind her ear. "And they'll be right."

"Ummm." She reached over and patted Alma's knee. "He did ask. Stefan wouldn't stay."

Alma's face paled slightly. "I didn't think he would," she said slowly. "What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. We need for you two to be together, to bear children—we haven't the luxury of hoping you might love one another. I hope you can forgive us."

Alma fell into Lady's arms. She sobbed two or three times, then subsided into nearly silent tears. After a long moment, she withdrew. She dried her eyes on her sleeve. "That's not good enough. I'm sorry, but it's not. And it's not your fault, it's mine."

"No."

The girl would not look back at her, just kept staring out the window as the mappers all mounted and leaned out of their saddles, saying their last good-byes. Stefan had not yet put on his hat. His height and his white-blond hair stood out like a beacon. She took a deep, steadying breath. "I'll be all right, Lady. Could you . . . leave me alone for a while?"

Lady hesitated. She wanted to tell the girl that she needed comforting as well, but she did not want to burden Alma further. "Just have Franklin give me a call. I'll be in the classrooms."

Alma nodded her understanding as the woman left, closing the door behind her.

As soon as the latch clicked into place, she reached under the fold of her skirt and brought out the fleecing shears she'd hidden there. The heavy scissors knocked aside a jar of walnut oil as well. Alma fumbled for it, praying the wooden seal would hold. Using the glass window's reflection as a mirror, she cut her hair short and then carefully applied the staining oil to her ashen face. She rubbed her hands together briskly, staining them as well.

She tore off her skirt to reveal old, worn buckskin breeches underneath, and reached under her cot for the bulging pack sacks she'd stored there earlier. Lady might take Sir Thomas' leaving in stride, but she would never be so calm, so resigned. Stefan was her husband and she was determined to follow.

Lady was going over the classroom books when she saw a movement by the pasturing yards. She paused, head up, alert, wondering if the sentries had let an intruder through again. Her senses flared. She felt someone where no one should be.

The fine hairs rose on the back of her neck. She checked her wrist sheath, twisting the knife loose in its casing. She went to the classroom door and made her way down the building's length, back to the wall, holding her breath.

A pebble clicked around the corner. She reached out and grabbed, dragging her opponent into the sunlight, bunched shirt filling her left hand and the knife in her right.

A tan slim boy writhed in her grasp, a horse shying at his back. The horse backed up a step or two as its reins dropped to the ground. In her grasp, the boy struggled. The big brown eyes, wide with fright, rolled up at her.

"What—"

"Don't stop me," the boy pleaded. "I'm going after them."

Lady's jaw dropped. She knew the voice and the eyes, even if the exterior fooled her. "Alma! My God. What are you doing?"

But the girl had already told her what she was doing. Alma stood in silence now, her lips pressed stubbornly together. Lady let go of her shirt and replaced her knife.

"That's a good way to get yourself killed," she said.

Alma picked her hat oif the ground and dusted it of by whacking it across the knee of her trousers. "I figured if I could get by you, I could get by anybody."

"Well, you didn't get by me."

"You're better than I figured."

Lady took a deep breath. "And so are you." She had thought of several things Alma might do. This had not been one of them.

"Going to call Franklin?"

She looked at the girl/boy, her slim chin lifted defiantly. "No," Lady said finally, "I'm not. Go ahead. Follow him. Join them if you can—but the first time you pee, you'll be found out."

"I'll not. And I've got herbs to roughen my voice."

Lady laughed gently. "Be that as it may, you asked for it, you go get it. If I let you go today, you've a chance of catching up with them. If you run away tomorrow or the day after, then you'll be traveling alone and you'll never make it. I'll not have that on my list of sins!"

Alma's expression was one of total surprise.

Lady nudged her. "Go on—and hurry!"

The girl/boy scrambled to catch up the mule's reins. Lady stepped back as Alma left in a hail of dust and grit. She blinked, eyes tearing, from the dust she supposed.

She'd had the guts to follow Thomas once.

But not this time. What had happened to her?

Chapter 11

A bell tinkled in the mews as a pigeon made its way into the cote, the brush of its body against the chimes alerting the handler to the arrival of a message. The tired bird was caught up and relieved of its tightly wound scroll and, in due time, the missive was passed on.

The dean paused in his study of the map crudely drawn on a stretched donkey hide. A fawning nester brought a tray in and weighted on the tray was a scroll. The dean slapped away the intricately carved geode that held it down and snatched up the paper.

A wolfish smile came to his features. He looked up at the clansmen gathered around the map framework.

"The bait's been taken. A salvage team has left the center at Palos Verdes." He looked at them, his human glare beating down the animal in their eyes. "He'll come to you. Either tell him what we've discussed or say nothing at all. Anything else will be the death of you and your clan."

A chunky, pock-faced boy faced him. "If we break the pact, we'll lose our water."

"Stay with me and you'll never have to beg for water again."

The boy who was nearly a man brushed greasy braids from his forehead.
Dreadlocks,
the dean thought, a holdover from his distant past. The chieftain did not hesitate to meet his eyes. "I do not beg," he said. "But water is

life."

"Clean
water is life. Do they give it to you? Or must you give up everything else you have for it—lands, family, honor? Once we are united, the Countians will be unable to stop you from taking anything you want." The dean let his gaze sweep the room. The other nesters flinched from it.

A balding man, the side fringes of his hair grown long and brushed over the top of his head, grunted. He picked his teeth with an ivoried nail before saying, "Where are these strangers you promised us? The new weapons?"