Longing's Levant (2 page)

Evann-Sin glanced up at the woman who had come to draw her companion back. He thought hers the voice of reason and was about to tell her so when he looked into her eyes and Evann-Sin’s world tilted on its axis.

Those eyes were the color of amethysts and were framed in thick, spiky lashes that fanned her ivory cheeks when she blinked. Her face was a gentle oval with high, wide cheeks and lips the color of crushed cherries. Delicate ears, a slightly upturned nose and a strong chin added to the ethereal beauty that held him captive. He could not remember ever seeing a woman as beautiful as the one looking back at him.

“We want no trouble, milord,” Tamara told him, and her voice held the unmistakable accent of the
Highlands
.

Stunned by the radiant beauty staring back at him, he could not seem to find his voice. Unaware his facial features had relaxed and a gentle smile came unbidden to his chiseled lips, it was all he could do to tear his gaze from her and look back into the ugly face of the tall woman who slammed her palms down savagely on the tabletop to gain his attention.

“I am the leader of our group, you stupid bastard! You will direct your attention to me, and not this sniveling coward of a girl!” Sylviana demanded.

A brutal glint turned Evann-Sin’s amber eyes to molten gold. He glared at the woman who dared to insult him as well as issue him orders. Before he could gain control of his temper, he was on his feet, his strong hand wrapped brutally around Sylviana’s arm just above her elbow.

Tamara Naibril stepped back defensively, but Sylviana’s yelp of pain as the warrior’s strong, unrelenting fingers bit into Sylviana’s flesh made the young woman reach out a pleading hand. “Milord, please do not hurt her! She’s been drinking all evening, and I fear she is drunk.”

“She is a foul-mouthed whore,” Evann-Sin grated, and increased the punishing pressure to Sylviana’s arm.

On their feet and coming toward the warrior with drawn swords, Tamara stepped between her sisters and their target. “No,” she said, halting her sisters in mid-stride. “This is between Sylviana and the warrior. Put your weapons away.” When they hesitated at her order, Tamara shouted at them to do as they were told.

Reluctantly, the women sheathed their weapons but remained standing, hands on the hilts of their swords.

Sylviana was twisted sidewise against the fierce pain clamped around her arm. Though she struggled to free herself the strength of the warrior’s fingers, his free hand on the dagger sheathed at his thigh, no doubt made her think better of attacking him.

“Release her, please,” Tamara pleaded, and after one false start laid a gentle hand on the warrior’s arm. “She has had too much to drink.”

“Do you know who I am?” he snarled, turning his head to look down at Tamara.

“Someone of high importance in Nonica I am sure, milord,” she replied in a soothing tone. “I beg you to release her and we will be on our way.” She held his sharp gaze. “This I swear to you.”

Evann-Sin cast the other women a hateful smirk. He swore beneath his breath then jerked his hand back from Sylviana, wiping his palm down his robe as though the contact had fouled him.

Staggering back, Sylviana pushed aside Tamara’s offer of help. Massaging her rapidly bruising arm, she cradled it against her, her angry glower locked on Evann-Sin. “You will regret you ever laid hands to me, you sniveling beast,” she threw at him.

“Sylviana, for the love of the Goddess!” Tamara hissed. “Leave him alone before he runs you through!”

“If she doesn’t shut her mouth, I’ll carve out her tongue!” Evann-Sin warned.

“Before or after I slice off your cock?” Sylviana screamed at him, and would have rushed him had Tamara not punched her. The tall woman went down like a felled tree to sprawl on the floor at Tamara’s feet.

“For shame, Tamara!” one of the women gasped and rushed forward to make sure Sylviana was all right. “To hit a Sister because of a male is unforgivable!”

“She’s not hurt, Sagira,” Tamara sighed heavily with a roll of her eyes. “I’d rather knock her out than have her carried home to her burial. You and Luka pick her up and get her out of here before the warrior makes good on his threat.”

The shortest of the women hurried to Sagira’s aid and together they lifted the unconscious woman as though she weighed no more than a child. Slinging Sylviana over her shoulder, Sagira cast Evann-Sin a baleful glance then strode from the room, Luka in her wake.

“If I see that woman in Nonica again, I’ll have her arrested,” Evann-Sin snapped.

“We are passing through on the way to Ajaikabia, milord,” Tamara said. “We will stay clear of Nonica, I promise you. You’ll see no more of us here.”

Evann-Sin stepped closer to the flame-haired beauty and reached out to cup her cheek. “You, I could see every day of my life and never grow tired of the sight,” he said softly. He took her hand in his and lifted it to his mouth. Turning her wrist upward, he placed a gentle kiss on her warm flesh. “I am Riel Evann-Sin,” he told her.

“The Lord High Commander of the Akkadian Forces. I am impressed,” Tamara said, inclining her head as she withdrew her hand from Evann-Sin’s grasp.

“No need to be,” Evann-Sin told her. “It is merely a job.”

“A very prestigious job, I hear.” She smiled. “I am grateful you did not strangle Sylviana. She can be incorrigible, I fear.”

“Does that foul approach actually work with other men?” he asked.

Tamara shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had to use it.”

He grinned. “I imagine not, wench.”

She laughed. “Thank you again. I am sorry we caused you trouble. We’ll be on our way now.” She turned to go.

“Stay,” he said impulsively. “It is getting late and the next tavern is over two hours ride from here. You will be starved by then.”

Tamara shook her head. “Thank you, Lord Evann-Sin, but it is best we put distance between you and Sylviana.”

“You think I fear that one?” Evann-Sinn questioned, his eyes narrowed.

“No, but why tempt the Fates?” she countered, pulling the hood of her scarlet robe over her hair. “Sylviana can be a mean drunk, as you saw this eve, and even though I am the co-leader on this leg of our trip, she can be a handful to control.” She shrugged. “I care not to have to hit her again if it can be helped.”

“I wish you would stay,” he said. “If need be, I can ride out. The one I was to meet obviously won’t show this eve.”

Tamara shook her head. “It is best we be the ones to leave, milord.” She glanced at the doorway. “My Sisters are waiting for me.”

Disappointment settled on the Akkadian warrior’s wide shoulders and made them sag. “Will I see you again?” he asked, staring into her sparkling amethyst eyes.

“Who knows, milord?” she questioned. “The Universe decides.”

“I don’t care to leave anything to chance. Sometimes we must take matters into our own hands,” he mumbled.

Before she could turn away, he snaked out a hand and cupped her head, bringing her mouth to his. The kiss he bestowed on her lips was deep and hard, his tongue invading her mouth as his shaft yearned to invade her shapely body. He ravaged her lips with his own, his body pressed fiercely to hers in an embrace that shook them both. When he released her, she was trembling and he was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling as though he had run a race.

“You don’t play fair,” she accused, putting a shaky hand to her lips.

“When you get to know me better, you’ll know I’ve never claimed otherwise,” he responded in a husky voice.

Their gazes locked and in that brief span of time something vital passed between them. In the other, they recognized a kindred soul.

“Stay with me,” he asked.

“I can not,” she said.

“Although we belong together?”

“You don’t know that,” she said with a shake of her head.

“I know it as surely as I know the sun will rise tomorrow.” He smiled. “Just as you know it.”

Tamara moved back. “Please, milord. I have a duty to the Daughters of the Night. I am not free to…”

“In Akkadia, I am the law. I have the power to keep you here with me,” he stated.

“Would you have me neglect my sworn duty to my coven?” she asked. “When I am free…” She stopped, pleading in her warm eyes.

He longed to drag her into his arms and carry her off with him. Such strong emotions as the ones flowing through him at that moment were as foreign to him as the dusky slant of her beautiful eyes. He had never known love, never thought to, but here it was creeping up on him. He was amazed at the feelings that overpowered him.

“Please try to understand,” she said. “I have obligations, duties.”

“Aye,” he said with a sigh, having obligations and duties of his own that always overruled personal needs. “Until we meet again then,” he whispered.

“Aye,” she said, and began backing away as though she hated to lose sight of him.

He took a step toward her, but she held up her hand to stay his approach. After one final tremulous smile, she turned and hurried away.

Evann-Sin was of a mind to go after her, but there were more pressing matters at hand than the wayward ache of his lonely heart. Rabin’s mysterious whereabouts had to be settled, and the grave problem that had brought the Akkadian warrior to Nonica was still very much in the forefront of his mind.

Even if the luscious beauty of a red-haired wench named Tamara would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Going back to his table, he slumped in his chair. He was bone-tired, hungry, ill at ease for a variety of reasons, and now heartsick that he had—he suspected—encountered the love of his life only to have her drift like sand through his fingers.

He ran his hands through his hair and pulled his elbows together in front of him in an attempt to work the kinks out of his shoulder muscles. He yawned, closed his eyes then smelled the rich aroma of gravy wafting under his nose. He opened his eyes to see the tavern maid standing beside his table.

“Are you r-ready for your meal now, m-milord?” she stuttered.

“Is it still hot?” he asked.

“Aye, milord,” she answered, placing it before him.

“Well, then, at least I can ease one appetite,” he said with a sigh.

Chapter One

In honor of his position in Akkadian society, Evann-Sin was the first to toss a handful of dirt into Rabin Jaspyre’s grave. As he did, his attention strayed to Rabin’s widow and twin teenage sons. He ground his teeth for her sons had to hold Momisha Jaspyre upright, her wails of grief filling the evening air, else it was feared she would fling herself into her husband’s final resting place. The woman was beside herself with grief, unable to do more than shriek her agony to the heavens. The ululation of her cries was piercing, a strident noise that made the hair stir on Evann-Sin’s arms. It was not the first time he had heard a Dabiyan woman’s skirl of heartbreak filling the air but this time it unnerved him more than he would have imagined possible.

“He was her reason for living,” an elderly woman whispered to the Lord High Commander. “She will follow him soon.”

“I hope not,” he muttered.

The old woman smiled sadly, her toothless mouth a gray hole around her words. “Such is the way with women, milord.”

It was the custom of the Dabiya tribe to bury their females at first light, their males at the setting of the sun. The families of Rabin and Momisha stood silently, tearfully, in a circle around the perimeter of the grave, each with a handful of soil to toss into the gaping hole. One by one, they came forward to pay their last respects to their kinsman. When the last of them had flung his offering into the grave, the gravediggers advanced upon the final resting place of Rabin Jaspyre and began shoveling dirt into the hole.

Momisha Jaspyre unleashed a wavering scream then collapsed. The eldest of her twin sons swept the woman into his arms and carried her into the hut she had shared with her husband of twenty years. His brother followed closely behind, shutting the door on the mourners who were silently departing. Only two mourners would remain with the gravediggers—the Headsman and the Healer who would place one stone at the head of the grave and another at the foot.

Though Evann-Sin had promised her he would find the men who had murdered her husband, and make sure they were brought to Akkadian justice, there was little he could do for Momisha now. He would respect her privacy, her grief this night and come back later. Her pitiful condition tore at his heart, sending him to his horse with frustration dogging his footsteps.

Mounting the coal-black stallion that was as much a symbol of his office as the black robes he wore, the Akkadian warrior took one last look at his friend’s grave.

A part of Evann-Sin mourned the passing of a man with whom he had spent many a hazardous hour. Another part rejoiced that Rabin was now beyond the worries and cares of ordinary men and no doubt sitting at the right hand of the Prophet, being fanned by luscious virgins and taking long sips of honeyed mead.

“Goodbye, my friend,” the Lord High Commander whispered, surprised that his voice bore the unmistakable huskiness of grief. “May your rest go undisturbed.”

Putting his heels to the steed, Evann-Sin slapped the trailing end of the reins lightly along the horse’s flanks. He wanted to put as much distance between him and Rabin’s burial site as he could. Having declined the offer of Rabin’s brother to spend the night in Samarkan, the tribe’s main compound, the warrior intended to make Nonica by morning light. There was work to do and at the top of the list was to find out who had taken Rabin’s life.