Jayne Castle [Jayne Ann Krentz] (18 page)

fingers stroked the soft petaled flower between her legs. "Damn you to the Dark end of the Spectrum,

Ridge! We have much to talk about before you act the heavy-handed husband."

"We'll talk later. When you've shown me you know your duty," he growled against her throat. He used

his foot to separate her legsand then his stroking finger plunged deliberately inside her, making Kalena

gasp.

She lifted her single free hand with the intention of slapping at him. But in that moment he withdrew his

probing finger just far enough to make her ache with sudden wanting. Her fingers clutched into the

thickness of his hair instead of striking his shoulder.

"Open your eyes and look at me, wife." Ridge had meant to utter the words as a command, but they

emerged sounding more like a plea.

She obeyed reluctantly, aware of the way she was dampening his hand.

"Call me by my new title, Kalena," he muttered. "Call me hus
band."

"Ridge, stop it. You've had one too many tankards of ale tonight and you have no business forcing

yourself on me."

"Call me husband, Kalena. Let me hear you acknowledge your new lord." He continued to move his

fingers inside her, but now his thumb was playing with the small nub that was so responsive to his touch.

Kalena tightened convulsively and Ridge felt it. "Say it, Kalena."

He only asked to hear the truth, Kalena told herself as the quivering excitement rippled through her

body. Surely she need not let her pride or her sense of honor stand in the way of admitting what was

merely the truth.

"I know you are my husband, Ridge. I don't deny it," she whispered breathlessly.

"Show me," he growled, shoving the hem of her nightdress up around her waist and moving to settle

himself between her soft thighs. "Show me you know your duty, wife."

Kalena was aware of the blunt hardness of him pressing closer. Her wrist was freed as he released it to

grip her shoulders and bear down on her with his full weight. Kalena's hands twisted in Ridge's hair. Her

eyes closed as he entered her with shocking abruptness, and she moaned softly as the keenly

remembered sensual vortex overwhelmed her again.

Time hung suspended in the sleeping chamber as Kalena gave herself up to her husband's passion. She

sensed the force of his urgent need and found that it fed her own desires. Above all she knew in some

deep, secret part of her awareness that she was bound to Ridge ina way that went far beyond a marriage

contract. Shehad known that since the first time he had possessed her. And then that knowledge fled,

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along with everything else, before the shimmering excitement that enveloped them both.

Afterward, Ridge rolled off of her slowly and lay on his back. He was silent for a long while, until his

breathing steadied, and then he said far too calmly, "She sent you to your death, you know"

Kalena stirred, not understanding. "What are you talking about?"

"Your dear aunt Olara. She sent you to your death without a qualm."

Kalena felt dazed by the certainty of his voice. "No! That's not true. Quintel's death was to look like

heart failure, not an assassination."

"It wouldn't have worked. I would have seen to it that there was a full investigation, including an analysis

by a good Healer. The Healer would have found evidence of the poison in his blood. Your aunt must

have known that. Therefore, she knew you would be caught and most likely killed. She raised you to die

avenging your House, Kalena. You were not meant to survive once your duty was done."

"She did not send me to die," Kalena protested. "She is a brilliant Healer. The poison she prepared

would have been undetectable to any other Healer."

"So she claimed."

"It's true! It must be true." Kalena had never allowed herself to question Olara's plan, or her promise that

it would work.

Ridge slowly shook his head in the darkness. "I've been giving the matter a great deal of thought. It's

only logical to assume that your aunt didn't care if you survived. Her only goal was to use you to kill

Quintel. You mocked me once for being a rich man's tool, but at least I know my role and accept it for

what it is. You were the unwitting tool of someone you were raised to trust and respect. That's a far

worse fate, Kalena. You were used."

Kalena said nothing, absorbing the implications, unwilling to believe her aunt had let the need for revenge

drive her to such an extreme. But Olara considered the House of the Ice Harvest at an end anyway.

What did it matter if the last living female died carrying out her duty? Ridge sounded so certain of what he

had deduced. Kalena shuddered, thinking of her own dreams of freedom. Perhaps she had never stood a

chance of obtaining the life of a freewoman.

Ridge felt the tremor in her fingers. His mouth twisted
wryly
as Kalena remained stubbornly silent,

refusing to argue or agree with his statement. Her pride and sense of honor were formidable indeed.

Almost as formidable as her femininity and passion. He turned to gather her against him.

"I'm sorry to upset
you
by forcing you to confront the truth about your aunt, but there's no alternative.

It's always better to know the truth."

"Better?" she questioned bitterly.

"Safer," he ammended softly. He stroked the tangled curls of her hair, wanting to soothe her. "Go to

sleep, Kalena. And when you wake in the morning, remember that you owe your life to your husband.

Perhaps the knowledge will make you a little more cooperative and dutiful toward him." He yawned,

physically satisfied and replete. "Then again, perhaps it won't. I wish you good night, wife."

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Kalena felt him go to sleep almost instantly. She lay awake for a long time, his words echoing in her

head.

Kalena awoke with an unfamiliar sense of alertness, a keen awareness that something important had

jarred her from her sleep.

She lay still for a moment, trying to figure out what had awakened her. Whatever it was had not

bothered Ridge. He slept on beside her, one heavy arm wrapped possessively around her waist.

Slowly she realized there was a half familiar odor in the sleeping chamber, a scent she associated vaguely

with home and with her aunt. It was an odor associated with the Healing craft.

Kalena inhaled deeply, trying to identify the smell. Her mind spun mistily for a second and then she had

it: Keefer leaves. Olara burned them to anesthetize her most badly injured patients. Kalena sat upright

with a jerk that brought Ridge instantly awake.

"Stones! What's going on? Kalena, what's the matter?"

Kalena glanced at him, worry etched on her face. Ridge was sitting up beside her and somehow the

sintar was in his hand. He must sleep with it, she thought.

"I'm not sure. That odor. Can you smell it?"

He took a breath. "Yes, but I don't recognize it."

"It's the smell a certain herb creates when it's burned. Keefer. A little is irritating. Enough of the smoke

will put you to sleep. My aunt uses it occasionally in her Healing work."

Ridge swore softly. He was already on his feet, yanking on his trousers. "Get something on, Kalena.

We've got to get out of here."

She didn't argue. She was already off the pallet and reaching for her riding skirt. Before she had finished

fastening the tunic jacket, Ridge was at the door. He jerked the handle once and then again.

"Somebody's locked it from the other side. The smoke is coming from underneath. We'll have to go out

through the window"

Kalena nodded and turned to pull open the shutters. Already she felt dizzy from the effects of the smoke.

The shutters didn't budge. "Ridge! They're locked shut."

He came forward quickly, setting one booted foot to the wooden slats. The first kick was strong enough

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to make the shutter sag outward. The second wasn't necessary because the shutter was shoved open

from the outside. An instant later two cloaked figures came over the windowsill from the balcony and

hurtled into the room.

Kalena had no chance to so much as scream. Ridge slammed her aside so hard she hit the floor. She

glanced up in time to see him step forward to meet one of the attackers. The sintar glinted in the pale

moonlight and then a scream of rage and pain pierced the night as the blade disappeared into the depths

of the assailant's cloak.

The other dark figure had been making for Kalena, but he spun around when he heard his companion

scream. His arm came up, revealing something in his fist that might have been a dart sling; he aimed it at

Ridge's back.

Kalena didn't take time to think. She grabbed the heavy travel bag that sat open at the foot of the pallet

and hurled it at the second attacker. He yelped, staggering as the weight of the bag hit him. Before he

could recover, Ridge was upon him. There was a flurry of violent thrashing, and then the second figure

went ominously still.

Kalena waited, shivering with tension as Ridge got slowly to his feet. The fragrance of the keefer smoke

was being diluted by the open window. She stared at the two men on the floor, one of whom stirred and

groaned. They were both dressed in black from head to foot. The dart sling carried by the second man

lay next to his body. Ridge reached down to recover it.

"Ridge, who are they?"

"This one isn't going to tell us," he said coolly. He turned away from the very still figure on the floor and

started toward the other man. "But I think we can probably get this one to talk."

The cloaked man raised his head. The hood fell back, revealing a gaze of pure hatred. "Never," he said

in a voice hoarse from pain. He fumbled for something in his cloak and had it in his mouth before Ridge

could stop him. An instant later the cloaked man gasped and fell backward into the same endless stillness

that gripped his companion.

"Well, dammit to the end of the Spectrum," Ridge said with disgust as he stood glowering over his

victim. "Now they're both dead."

Kalena swallowed heavily. "Dead?"

"Just my luck." He went down on one knee and tugged aside the first man's cloak. "Put some cloth under

the door to stop that smoke and turn on one of the lamps. Hurry, Kalena, we haven't got much time. I

want both of us out of here as soon as possible."

She tore her eyes from the dead men and hurried into the small privacy chamber to soak a strip of

bedding in the water basin. The innkeeper's modernization attempts had not extended to the sleeping

chambers. The sleeping chambers had only a jug of water and a basin, not the new, fancy piping systems

that were becoming so popular back in Crosspurposes and in the Interlock valley.

The soaked cloth cut off the flow of smoke and the room cleared rapidly of the smell of burning keefer

as Kalena switched on the firegel lamp. The volatile gelatin began to glow at once as the catalyst was

introduced through the small tube opened by the switch. In the lamplight Kalena saw the blood that was

staining the wooden floors beneath the two cloaked figures. She went forward slowly.

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In the past there had been occasions when Olara had called upon her niece to assist her. Those times

had been rare because Olara had only demanded help in absolute emergencies. In general she tried to

keep Kalena well clear of the Healer's chamber. But at moments Olara had needed another pair of hands

and Kalena had been the only person available. Kalena had seen death before, but never such violent

death. She had never witnessed one man being killed by another. She was amazed to think she had at

one time considered herself capable of murder.

"What are you doing, Ridge?" she asked softly, watching him systematically go through the cloak the first

man was wearing. In her experience the dead were to be treated carefully and with respect. Ridge was

handling the body like so much limp laundry.

"Looking for something." Ridge felt the lining of a pocket.

"What?"

"Anything that might tell us who they are."

"I understand," she said simply and forced herself to go down beside the second still figure. She steeled

herself for the task and then cautiously parted the cloak.

The blood that had soaked the man's chest almost made her lose control of her stomach.

"I'll do that, Kalena. Get away from him." Ridge's voice was curiously urgent.

"I am not such a weakling that I cannot deal with a dead man," she said, her throat tight as she put her

fingers into the pocket of the cloak.

"Kalena, there's no need for you to do that."

She was about to respond when she caught sight of the pendant that lay soaking in blood. She froze.

"Ridge," she whispered softly, "is that one wearing a chain around his neck? A chain with a piece of black

glass hanging from it?"

"Yes."

"Don't touch it," she ordered tightly.

"Kalena—"

"By the Keys,
don't
touch it."

"Kalena, calm yourself," Ridge said gently as he got to his feet. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with