Through Wolf's Eyes (63 page)

Tying their mounts to a tree, Newell loosened their
girths and removed their bridles, pleased with the glade. There could
hardly be a more ideal place for a tryst—or an assault. Trees and
shrubs provided both shade and a screen from observation, but warm,
green sunlight filtered through. The ground underfoot was thick with
springy moss. When Zorana took a rolled blanket from behind her saddle,
Newell smiled. It was rather pleasant to be the seduced instead of the
seducer from time to time.

Excusing himself for a call of nature, he walked into the
woods. As he expected, Keen met him almost at once.

"Is all ready?" Newell murmured.

"It is. We've got a place and Rook even had the sense
to rub our boots and clothes with lavender oil so later the wolf-chit
won't be able to identify us."

Newell made a mental note to reward Rook for his
initiative. Despite his own depending on Blysse's tracking abilities
and his suspicion that the rumors that she could speak with her wolf
were true, he had overlooked this weak point in his plan.

"Good. Bide until you can convincingly take us both," Newell reminded Keen.

Keen nodded, his brown eyes glittering almost feverishly.

"Keep your pecker up, boss."

Newell had never considered himself an exhibitionist,
but the thought of Keen and possibly Rook out there in the shadows
watching his lovemaking stirred him strangely. When he returned to her,
Zorana had spread a thick blanket on the moss and poured two glasses of
white wine. The remainder of the bottle was chilling in the brook.

Taking his goblet, Newell brushed his fingers against
hers. As he sipped, he locked her eyes with his own, holding her gaze
until a blush began to creep up her throat.

"What are you looking at?" she asked, and her voice was husky.

"You, lovely lady. Just you."

"Want a better look?" she invited and untied the
ribbon lacing her bodice. Newell set down his glass and freed her
breasts from their prison.

The next few moments were a welter of sensual
impressions: his hand on her naked breast, her mouth on his tasting of
wine and salt, her arms pulling him closer. She was as eager as he was,
so it wasn't long before he was bare-assed: naked but for his shirt
which she had slid her hands playfully beneath.

Women's garments were more complicated, but Zorana
had made things easier by removing several of the more involved
undergarments in preparation. Newell had a moment to wonder if she did
this in advance or while he was in the
woods; then he was topping her and even the watchers were forgotten in a more immediate obsession.

He was thrusting his way to completion, Zorana
alternately moaning and whimpering her own response, when a hard hand
fell on his shoulder and a rough voice said:

"Enough of that. I've a use of my own for the lady."

Newell
couldn't
stop and despite Zorana's
sudden shriek of alarm, he continued where his body led. Hands grabbed
him and pulled him forcibly off Zorana. Newell surged to his feet,
truly insane in that moment of frustrated need. He swung wildly and
missed. Keen's first blow caught him solidly on the side of his face.
Newell stumbled backward a few steps, then charged forward again. Keen
punched him in the gut and the prince fell to his knees retching.

Zorana was busy shoving down her skirts, shrieking
hysterically. There was a wild look on Keen's face that cooled Newell's
lust and made him suddenly afraid that this neat little plan was going
awry. Keen looked as if he could kill him. Newell's next punch was
driven with the force of fear and Keen lurched.

"Damn you," Newell hissed in the other man's ear. "Get control of yourself!"

And Keen did. Clubbing his hands together, he
effectively battered Newell to the ground. However, Newell could feel
that he was pulling the force of his blows somewhat and though there
would be bruises, nothing should be broken.

Keen leered down at Newell as the prince fell and
dropped a piece of paper onto his chest. "Take this to the king. It
gives our terms. Got it?"

Newell groaned. Keen kicked him. Though he didn't put
much force behind the kick, coming on top of Newell's other injuries it
still hurt.

"Passed out," Keen sneered, according to script. "Lily-livered as well as a wimp."

Lying on the ground, hurting so much that real unconsciousness would be welcome, Newell heard Keen continue in silky tones:

"Stop screaming, Lady Zorana, and come with me. I'll
take you to a nice place and we'll wait there for the mail to be delivered."

Zorana said shrilly, "You're kidnapping me?"

"Detaining you, rather." Newell heard Zorana jerked
to her feet. "Now come along quietly. If you're a good girl, I may even
reward you by finishing the job your inconsiderate friend there didn't."

Keeping his eyes shut and his breathing shallow,
Newell considered the very real probability that Keen would rape
Zorana. It wouldn't be Keen's first rape and he did have provocation.

Ah, well. As long as Keen wasn't about his fun when
Lady Blysse came along. Newell had learned long ago, if you wanted to
dance, you must expect to pay the piper.

Later, when the sounds of their footsteps and
Zorana's whimpering had diminished, Newell hauled himself to his feet.
He staggered to the brook, where he splashed cold water on his face.
There was wine left in the bottle and he felt a bit better once he'd
drained that to the lees. He hoped that Keen hurt at least a little.
Surely at least one of his own blows had gone solidly home.

Re-bridling and tightening the girth on the red roan
took considerable effort. Then Prince Newell pulled himself into the
saddle. He'd be to the Watchful Eye by dusk. By using the most
convenient gate, he'd also avoid the bulk of the Hawk Haven encampment.
He ran his tongue around his teeth, reassuring himself that they were
all in place. Then he smiled and urged the roan into a fast walk.
Everything was going according to plan.

I
N RESPONSE TO KING TEDRIC'S
summons, Firekeeper came running to the Watchful Eye. It was some
measure of the urgency of the king's summons that the gates swung open
upon her approach and that none of the armed and armored guards who
stood their posts attempted to slow her or question the rightness of
the great, grey wolf bounding at her side.

Overhead, the falcon Elation soared in defiance of
the rules normally governing diurnal and nocturnal creatures. Glimpsing
her broad wings silhouetted against the orange face of the rising
harvest moon, more than one soldier touched an amulet pouch or totem
necklace and muttered that the days of black sorcery had returned.

But Firekeeper had no time for these. King Tedric's
message had said for her to come as rapidly as two feet could run and
for Derian to follow at his own pace. They were to speak to no one—not
even Earl Kestrel—about the reason for their going.

So Firekeeper ran through the gate into the
stone-flagged courtyard, through the arched doorway into the fortress
building itself, then padded quick-foot up the broad stone steps.
Silent guards directed her with gestures, and even those with whom she
had laughed and thrown dice during the slow journey to Hope said not a
word. Grateful she was for their guidance, but Firekeeper could have
found her way without it for the scent of the king and the medicaments
of
his sickroom heralded his presence to her more brightly than trumpet calls.

For all the speed with which she had run, Firekeeper
arrived in the king's presence barely winded, only the rising and
falling of her nascent breasts beneath her leather vest giving
testimony to the speed at which she had flown over the ground.

Gracefully, she bowed to King Tedric, for she had
come to respect him far more than ever she would have dreamed possible
at their first meeting. Beside her, Blind Seer stretched out his
forelimbs in a deep wolf-bow, but his blue eyes remained alert so
Firekeeper would be protected even while she abased herself.

And when she raised her head, shaking back the wild tangle of dark-brown curls, she saw what her nose had already told her.

King Tedric had a visitor before her and that visitor
was wounded. Yet, though Firekeeper knew that according to the laws of
etiquette Prince Newell was due a bow in turn she refused him the
homage. There was that about Newell that she did not trust and she
would not lower her guard before him, even with Sir Dirkin and his
ready sword present.

Instead Firekeeper said to the king:

"I am here as you wished, King Tedric."

"Do you remember of what we spoke before we left the castle, Firekeeper?" the king asked with the directness she admired in him.

"Every word, every breath."

"One of those things I feared has occurred," he said,
and she noticed how tired and ill the old man looked. "My niece, Lady
Zorana Archer, has been kidnapped—stolen—by men who would exchange her
safety for money. She was taken while in the forests to the northeast
of this fortress. The message the men sent said that they will hold her
in a safe place until we send money."

Firekeeper listened but her gaze rested for a moment
on Prince Newell. He had clearly been in a fight. One eye was
blackening; his upper lip was swollen fat. Rather than lolling in his
chair with the indolent ease she knew was customary
for him, he sat stiffly straight as if his body hurt him.

Beneath the scents of blood and sweat, Prince Newell
smelled of wine and of something else that it took her a moment to
place. However, she had not slipped her way between the tents of the
camp followers without learning the scent of mating humans.

Blind Seer had reached the same conclusion as she.
"This prince is the one who lost Lady Zorana. My nose says they were interrupted at their dalliance."

Thus Firekeeper did not ask how Lady Zorana came to be taken but asked instead:

"Do you wish me to find her, One, or do you wish me to bring money to her takers?"

"Find her, bring her back if you can. I would prefer
not to pay to redeem her." Tedric added hastily, "This not because I do
not value her, but because then others would think to do the same."

Firekeeper shrugged, only partly understanding this
but trusting the king's wisdom in how to deal with his own kind. What
she did not trust was the small smile that had touched Prince Newell's
mouth when the king asked her to find Zorana.

From what Firekeeper knew of human pride, especially
male pride, Newell should be demanding that the rescue was his right.
Perhaps he was more wounded than he smelled. Perhaps he had the wisdom
to know that a wolf was wiser in the woods than any human.

"I go," she said.

King Tedric nodded. "I will send Derian Carter after
you with reinforcements. My counselors and I agree that it is best that
as few as possible know that Zorana has been taken. Not even her
children have been told. I have sent word that she is visiting with me
so they will not worry."

"Derian is good," Firekeeper said, "but Race Forester
has eyes to see even in the woods at night. He will know how to find
the signs I will leave him for they will be signs he taught. I will
send Elation to him if you will write a message for her to carry."

King Tedric reached for quill and paper. "The peregrine will fly at night?"

In reply Elation glided through the open window and
squawked complacently, holding out one foot as if to grasp the message
once it was ready. Firekeeper grinned.

"Elation is like Blind Seer, among the greatest of
her kind. She will find Race Forester. If you tell him to meet Derian
near the wood they will save time."

King Tedric continued scratching quill across paper.
"I have already done so, Madame General. Sir Dirkin, reach me the sand
so I can blot this, then a tube so that this falcon does not crush the
paper in her talons."

Prince Newell spoke, his speech sounding odd as he forced the words through his swollen lip.

"Again, I beg Your Majesty, let me go with the rescue
party. I realize I would only slow Lady Blysse, but surely I can sit a
horse and ride with the others."

"You have already done enough this afternoon," King
Tedric replied with an ambiguity that Firekeeper quite admired. "I
refuse your request. You will remain here and a healer will be sent for
to tend your wounds."

Turning away, eager to be on the trail before it lost its freshness, Firekeeper said:

"Get Doc—Sir Jared—he knows how to keep silence."

King Tedric's agreement in her ears, she fled down the steps and into the gathering night.

The brilliance of the harvest moon, even though its
face lacked fullness, still gave her ample light to run full out until
they reached the forest. Blind Seer ranged ahead until he found the
signs they sought.

"This trail bears the recent scent of horses. Two
went in, only one of those two came out. Prince Newell's scent is here
as well. His blood was spilled on the ground."

The wolf sniffed more deeply and added,
"There is another scent here, too, the scent of lavender masking a faint scent of humans—males. At least one smokes a pipe."

"Cry that trail,"
Firekeeper said as she plunged into the forest, all senses alert,
"even as we run. Your nose is keener
than mine. I will follow this horse trail and leave marks for Race to find."

Breaking slightly from the path, Blind Seer padded silently through the bracken at the trail's edge.

"Lavender Scent's path followed the others, but
he took care to stay from sight. Here I find where he waited behind a
tree. Here he paused. Ah! I see why. The ground is open beneath this
Grandmother Oak. He waited until the horses were farther ahead before
showing himself. In the ways of hiding, this one is a master. Remember
that as you run, sweet Firekeeper."