A Man Betrayed (67 page)

What he saw on the
other side made him stop dead.

It was the pool
where Tarissa had taken him the day she said she loved him. The rocks, the
waterfall, the glade. Destroyed by two days of torrential rain. The once clear
water was brown with mud, clotted with twigs and leaves, and dead birds and
vermin floated in it. The waterfall spilled more of the foul matter into the
pool and sent what was already there churning around in spirals. The water
stank. Gone were the daffodils; flattened and decaying, their remains were
strewn across the ground. The rain had stripped the leaf buds from the willows,
and the trees hung bare above the pool like skeletons.

Grass was trampled
and thick with oozing mud. Worms and centipedes and other creatures of the soil
lay glistening, struggling to right themselves, forced to the surface by the
rain-soaked earth. They were everywhere he looked.

Jack's mind
flashed back to that one perfect day-the best of his life-when they sat by the
pool and he'd washed Tarissa's feet. She was so beautiful, so full of life, so
much cleverer than he. That was the day she'd agreed to come away with him to
Annis. Flinging her high atop his shoulders, he'd given her little choice. Jack
smiled, remembering how hard she had kicked and screamed. There was no one like
her. No one at all.

His memory receded
and he was left looking at the wreckage of a once flawless scene. How could she
have done it to him? Smiled and led him on, and said she loved him, and made
love to him. And all the time, behind each word, each kiss, each tender look,
there lay a snarl of lies. Melli was alive, and all three of them-Tarissa,
Rovas, and Magra-had told him she was dead. They had kept him in the cottage,
carefully steering his hate, like cattlemen with their sticks, toward the man
they said had killed her. Like a fool, he had committed the murder for them.

The strength
drained from Jack's legs and he collapsed down upon the rocks. He stayed there,
water splashing against his shoulders, head bowed down toward his chest, until
the shivering became so intense that he was forced to move on.

Melli was just
about to start on her second plate of eggs and bacon when a knock sounded upon
the bedchamber door. "I'm dressing, come back later," she called.

A second knock
came, followed by a man's voice. "I imagine dressing must be difficult
without a dress, my lady." The voice was half-familiar, the tone was
mocking. Whoever it was must know that she had no clothes in her bedchamber, only
various nightgowns. Interest piqued, she put down her knife and spoon.
"Who is it?"

"Tawl, duke's
champion."

So, it was the man
who was charged with protecting her. For days now she had been aware of his
presence on the other side of the door. Sometimes when it opened, she would
catch sight of him, always sitting on the floor, mending his clothes, or
polishing his weapons, eyes gallantly averted lest he catch a glimpse of a lady
undressed.

"Enter,"
she said.

The door opened
and in walked Tawl. Dressed plainly, his clothes were a poor disguise for the
body beneath.

"You are
alone?" he asked, scanning the room.

"Surely you
must know that already, seeing as you monitor the door like my keeper."
Melli picked up a slice of bacon with her fingers and slipped it between her
lips.

Tawl shrugged.
"I watch the physicians come and go."

"And how do
they look once they leave?" Melli was feeling a little mischievous.

"Relieved,"
said Tawl dryly.

Melli laughed.
"What brings you here? I thought you were supposed to watch me from a
distance?"

"I've come to
take you to Bren."

"What?"
Melli was taken by surprise. "I thought the physicians said I wouldn't be
fit to travel for another day or two yet."

"They
did."

"But--"

"I'm going to
take you now," Tawl said, "regardless of what the physicians
say."

Melli was rather
pleased; she was getting a little bored of being cooped up in her bedchamber
like a rescued damsel. "Does the duke know of this?"

"He left for
Bren earlier this morning. I told him, and only him, that you would join him
there tonight." Tawl came closer to the bed where Melli sat, cross-legged,
with a plate of food in front of her. "Open your nightdress."

Melli stared at
him.

"I want to
take a look at your knife wound."

"How dare you
suggest such a thing!" Melli was indignant. "Leave me this instant,
or I will be forced to call the guards."

Tawl didn't move.
"Lady," he said, his voice betraying a measure of impatience, "I
have no desire to see you naked, but I do need to see your wound to check for
myself if you're ready to travel. In my experience physicians tend to be overly
cautious, but I'd like to make certain before I put you on a horse." He
folded his arms with infuriating calmness. "Now, either lift up your gown
and show me your side, or sit there and shout for the guards until you're blue
in the face. For as far as I'm aware, there's not one of them within earshot."

Realizing her
mouth was agape, Melli abruptly closed it. Bursting with anger, she could think
of nothing to say. She glared at the man, muttered a few choice curses under
her breath, and rolled onto her side. In her haste to get the matter over and
done with, she ripped the ribbons from the seams. With a great show of
indignant modesty, she pulled back barely enough of the gown to reveal the
bandaged wound that lay just beneath her rib cage. "Go ahead," she
said. "Make your examination."

Tawl came forward.
Before he touched her, he blew on his hands to warm them. Melli strained her
neck to see what he would do. A quick flash of silver streaked through the air.

Only when she felt
the bandage fall away from her skin did she realize he had drawn a knife. His
touch was gentle, but firm. He placed one hand upon her rib cage and another
below the wound. Slowly he pressed against her flesh, testing muscle first and
then probing deeper, feeling for her organs. His expression was serious. Melli
noticed how finely his lips were shaped. He made a small noise in the back of
his throat and then ran his thumb along the wound. A second later she felt his
thumbs to either side of the injury.

He stood up.
"Wait here," he said.

She watched him
walk into the next room and rummage around in a leather saddlebag. When he
returned he was carrying a small blue jar. Uncorking the top and dipping in his
fingers, he scooped out something that looked suspiciously like axle grease.
Seeing her expression, Tawl smiled. "I make it myself," he said. He
warmed it between his fingers and then slapped it onto her skin. "The
wound is healing cleanly, but there's a lot of stiffness in the muscle beneath.
There's little chance the cut will reopen during the ride, but your side will
give you some trouble." He massaged the grease into her flesh, working it
down to her muscles.

"So how did
you learn all this? Were you one of those physicians who got sick of blood and
guts and decided to turn to a peaceful life of fighting instead?" Melli
was beginning to feel a little contrite. She was also quite enjoying the
sensation of Tawl's large hands pushing against her belly. He ignored her
attempt at humor. "No. When you're on your own a lot you pick up things
here and there." He shrugged. "You learn how to patch things up until
you make it to the nearest town."

It wasn't the
answer she had expected. She was about to question him further, when he tapped
her on the ribs.

"Lift up a
moment," he said. "I need to retie the bandage."

She did as she was
told. She felt his capable hands cupping the small of her back and threading
the bandage beneath. He tied it more firmly than the physicians, and a fraction
lower, too. He finished the job by tying the strangest knot she'd ever seen
around her waist. With almost touching delicacy, he trimmed off the frayed ends
and then flattened it out so it wouldn't press against her.

"That's the
best I can do," he said, gathering either side of her gown and bringing
them together. "I'll leave you now and send hi your maid to help you
dress. Wear a loose wool skirt and under no circumstances put on a corset. I'll
be coming back later with a breastplate. I'll make sure it's well padded around
the sides."

"Armor?"
Melli was genuinely shocked.

Tawl nodded.
"Your life is in danger. There are those who would stop at nothing to
prevent the duke from getting married again."

Feeling rather
stupid, she,g asked why. Prepared for a typically condescending male answer,
where the facts were laid out in simplistic terms that females could easily
understand, she was surprised at his forthrightness.

"The timing
for one thing. Catherine and Kylock are due to be married soon, and both
parties think that
their
wedding will be the most important event of the
decade." Tawl cleaned the grease from his fingers with the remains of the
bandage. "I don't think either of them are going to be very pleased at
being upstaged by you and the duke. In fact, most of the population of the Four
Kingdoms are going to be mad as hell. At the moment they believe their king is
marrying the sole heir to Bren."

"My marriage
won't affect Catherine's status."

"It will if
you have a child, and it's a boy."

Melli felt a
nervous flutter in her stomach. What had she gotten herself into? She was
marrying a man she barely knew and who, in turn, knew nothing of her. Grabbing
at the seams of her nightdress, she twisted the fabric between her fingers. He
didn't know she was Maybor's daughter. How would the news affect him? Would he
be angry at being deceived, or pleased that she was, after all, well bred and
well dowered? Her social position seemed to mean little to him. Indeed, that
was one of the things that most attracted her to him: the fact that he judged a
woman by her character, and not her family or wealth. And then there was his
power. She couldn't imagine herself with a man who was not her equal. She
needed someone strong, someone others would look up to.

The duke was the
most powerful man in the north. Single-handed, he had turned a city into a
kingdom. It would only be a matter of time before he named himself a king.

Melli released her
grip on her nightgown. Her hands were damp with sweat. Perhaps her father would
get his wish after all: she might one day be a queen.

The strange thing
was, the title itself didn't interest her. What was the use of being a queen if
all one did was wear fine clothes and a crown? No, she wanted real power, the
kind the duke had promised her. She wanted to be able to make decisions and
influence events, to be a
partner,
not a possession. There was too much
of Maybor in her to play the role of a passive spouse. The duke sensed this
about her, and more than accept it, he welcomed it. He wanted her by his side
both in bed
and
the council chamber. He could have a thousand beautiful,
submissive women, but he had chosen her instead. And that, more than anything
else, was the reason she had agreed to marry him.

She knew nothing
about him, didn't even know his age, and now it seemed, after listening to what
Tawl said, she couldn't even be sure of his motives. Was he marrying her to
have a child? Surely not; there were many women at his court who would be more
suitable mothers to a potential heir than herself. The duke believed she was
illegitimate, and that was hardly the sort of legacy he would want to pass down
to his son. Melli shook her head from side to side; she didn't believe it. Even
his gifts--the knife, the scabbard, and the hawk-spoke of a man who was
thinking of adventure and excitement, not domestic bliss.

Tawl brought her
back to the present. "I will return within the hour, my lady," he
said gently, seeming to sense that her thoughts had taken her far away.

She nodded.
"So be it."

He bowed, his
golden hair almost sweeping the floor as his back broadened to a curve. Turning
from her, he left the room without a sound.

Melli took a deep
breath the moment the door was closed. So she would be with the duke this
evening in Bren. She had left the city as a servant and would return as its
mistress. It seemed too unbelievable an irony to be dismissed as mere chance.

A log on the fire
suddenly flared up, casting sparks and flames from the hearth.
"Where I
come from we call people like her thieves. Their fates are so strong they bend
others into their service. And what they can't bend they steal."
Alysha's
words rose up with the smoke. Had the fleshtrader's assistant been right all
those weeks ago? Was it her fate to be married to the duke? And if it was, had
everything she'd done and everyone she had come in contact with led her to
this? The Halcus captain, Fiscel, Bailor, perhaps even Jack and her father: had
she used them all to bring herself to this point?

Melli made no move
to stamp out the sparks on the rug. She knew not one of them would catch.

It she was to
believe what Tawl said, then her marriage to the duke would have a profound
effect on the future of the north.

"My
lady," came a voice. It was her maid, Nessa. "Are you all right? You
look a little pale."

Melli was glad of
the interruption; her thoughts were taking her to a dangerous place, one where
the landscape was preordained and where people were little more than
accessories of fate.

She made an effort
to be bright. "I'm fine, Nessa. Don't just stand there gawking, hurry up
and help me dress. I'm leaving for Bren in less than an hour."

The maid came
forward and began to brush out her hair. "Why miss, you're shaking like a
leaf. Are you worried about the journey?"

Melli shook her
head. She sat back a little and tried to relax. It wasn't the journey to Bren
she was worried about no harm would come to her, she was sure of that-it was
what she would have to do once she got there. The duke must be told who she
was. The lie about her being illegitimate had gone on for too long. He had to
know the truth. The stakes were higher than she had thought: politics, power,
succession, and even war were all caught up in the match. Melli sighed heavily.
It was time the duke learned that his future wife was the daughter of the
richest and most influential lord in the kingdoms.