Averill: Historical Romance (The Brocade Collection, Book 3) (4 page)

“
An act?”

“
It’s not hard. It’s basically setting and costumes…and I bet if I introduce you to Sen-Bib right now, the man wouldn’t even recognize you.”

Averill smiled
. He didn’t see it. He was still looking over her head.

“There you have it
. We’ll both act. Nobody will be the wiser. You’ll be safe. And I’ll have a clear conscience. And somehow this knot will get untangled.”

“What am I acting…as?”

He cleared his throat. “You’ve a great gift with languages. You’ll hear things I can’t.”

“You want me to spy?”

“No. I want you to paint. But if you hear anything, make sure I know of it.”

“That doesn’t sound
difficult.”

“Oh
. There’s more. There’s the acting portion of this. I expect everyone will think of us as…um. Lovers. They’ll assume you’re my…uh…current favorite. You know.”  He cleared his throat again. “My mistress.”

She gasped, and he shifted his gaze down
to her. Averill tried to break contact with his eyes, but couldn’t. Something sparked deep within her breast. That was dangerous. Thrilling.

“
You do understand what I’m saying?”

His mistress?

She looked away as she considered journeying with him. They would ride camels across the sand – a wonder to someone like her. She would see faraway places, like she’d only dreamed of before. Such a life was much better than being with Sen-Bib.

“You’re certain I won’t...appeal to you?”  She spoke so softly, he had to lean
forward to hear it.

“You have my word on it.”

She looked up and searched his face. Then, Averill smiled broadly. “I’ll do as you ask, Captain Tennison.”

PART TWO: THE JOURNEY

CHAPTER FOUR

Averill shifted her weight on the camel’s back, wondering where it was most comfortable. Any place seemed worse than the one before atop the continually swaying mount. It had been immensely enjoyable to leave the city. She looked forward to everything they’d be seeing, although she was at the end of the caravan, her canvasses strapped to the camel’s sides.

Hmm
. She must think of a name for her mount.

The camel spat, and Averill followed suit.

Captain Tennison was again dressed like an Arab. He sat on his horse in a native long-saddle, looking very comfortable. Averill sighed and pulled her burnoose farther over her head to block the sun and see better. The captain was second in line. She wondered why he didn’t take the lead. It was obvious who was in charge, but perhaps the dignitaries they would visit were less observant.

The unfamiliar ride was going to leave blisters on her inner thighs
but she refused to sit sidesaddle. She’d fall off. Perhaps, after they’d been out longer, she’d have enough experience to try that.

She
’d kept Captain Tennison company whenever he’d asked it over the last two days, learning to act and walk like a woman again. She also tried out her new paints. The large canvas bumped against her foot, reminding her of its presence. She shook her head at the foolishness of that purchase. The little canvasses stowed easily, but the big one was a nuisance. Whatever she painted on it would be wiped off by the camel’s sway.

She already tried a landscape on a small canvas, but it went awry
. The cliffs she’d imagined looked jagged and treacherous, but she’d seen a child’s face and a black bird in them and tried to paint it.It was a strange painting. Captain Tennison didn’t seem to like it, so she set it aside and started a still-life instead. He’d be forced to procure fresh fruit whenever she wished to work on it, and the thought of that happening made her smile.

She shifted again, trying to balance more on one leg than the other
. Even a small bit of relief was painful. She wondered if she’d paint Captain Tennison, then wondered if she was skilled enough. He was growing more handsome the longer she knew him, and he had an air of authority about him that the others seemed to lack.

Their shelters were two sticks set in the sand with a blanket spread between them and a pallet on which to sleep. By the time Averill’s camel had stopped, several such lean-to tents had already been erected. She looked about for one that proclaimed it as belonging to the captain. It was a wasted effort. They all looked alike. His lean-to didn’t seem to stand out as much as the man did.

Averill was considering what to do as the camel knelt, taking its time about i
t, as with everything else. She lifted a sore leg.

“The captain wishes to see you, ma’am
.”

It was
his man, Harvey. He’d waited until she stood before approaching her. Averill followed him around the other camp spots, some of which already had fires. She sniffed the air appreciatively as they passed cook fires. He stopped at one of the lean-tos, lifted the door flap, and gestured her in. He didn’t speak to her. He addressed the captain inside.

“Here you go,
my lord. As ordered.”

Averill ducked her head and climbed in,
kneeling to sit at her place beside the captain, trying to ignore the length of him on his pallet. He smiled, and she instantly avoided his glance. That was worse, somehow, for his limbs stretched beyond her folded legs, drawing her eye.

“Did you see anything of interest to paint?” he asked.

She shrugged.

“You are the quietest thing, Averill
. Do you know that? Most women jaw a man’s ear off. Not you. Oh, no. It’s like prying teeth open to get you to say one word.”

She kept her head bowed.

“Averill, could you look at me when I speak to you?” 

He put out his hand to raise her chin and she jerked free, hoping her glance showed her anger
. He didn’t say anything for so long, she turned her head to see why. He was looking out at the darkening desert. She watched him as he sat, silhouetted against the reddish sky. He had a very strong chin, she decided, and his upper lip curled just slightly upward. She hadn’t noticed that before.

“Did you enjoy our first day out?”

He turned quickly, surprising her. Averill caught her breath and moved her gaze back to her folded hands. If she had to study him, did she really have to be caught at it? Her throat closed off. She didn’t think she could force words.

She felt, rather than heard his sigh of breath before he spoke again
.

“
All right. I’ll move on. Have you decided your next subject to paint?” 

“I...think so
. I’ll need trousers, though, Captain Tennison.”

“
What?”  He choked on the word.

Averill look up and smiled, but he
probably couldn’t see it. Darkness came swiftly out in the desert. One moment it was light, the next, Mother Nature pulled down a black curtain over it, dimming everything.

“I’m not used to riding, Captain.”

“You have blisters, don’t you?”

His voice was so gentle
! She swallowed the reaction before replying.

“I have salve
. I’ll get it for you.”

She could barely see him go,
and sat staring after him, amazed at his gallantry. He was fetching medicine for her? Sen-Bib would never believe it. The Captain scrambled back into the shelter and handed her a small bottle.

“Spread it on lightly
. Your blisters won’t hurt as much. I’ll rig up a light.”

“What is this?” 

Averill uncorked it and sniffed, drawing in her nose at the smell. She had to wait, for he lit a lamp before answering her.

“Liniment
. For the horses.”

She snorted in the
amusement.
Sen-Bib would believe it, after all. Captain Tennison gave me horse medicine
!

She pulled up her skirts and exclaimed over the raw flesh she saw
. There were three ruptured blisters on one thigh alone. She spread a fingertip dot of the ointment on them and immediately felt better. She glanced up to thank him, but he wasn’t looking her way.

“My thanks, Captain
. It feels better.”  She smiled.

“I’ll go fetch you some pants.” 

He spoke in an odd tone before crawling to their doorway and standing. He wasn’t gone long. Averill was examining the other thigh, relieved at finding unruptured blistering when gauzy material hit her face, before landing in her lap.

“Here.”

His voice accompanied his movement back into the shelter, and Averill scooted from any contact. The word hadn’t been much, but it showed his irritation with her. She should have kept the pain to herself. She should have been more stoic. The last thing she wanted was to be a burden. She thanked him before pulling the trousers on, rolling her hips, in a swaying motion from the pallet. Captain Tennison sat looking out their doorway the entire time.

“Captain
? Ma’am?”

One of the men
handed Captain Tennison a bowl of soup which he passed along to her. There was some bread, too. Averill accepted it gratefully, although she’d never be able to eat it all. The broth was seasoned with salt, pepper, and perhaps, garlic. She didn’t know for certain. She couldn’t remember tasting food that was flavored with spices such as Captain Tennison ate. The mission was barely able to afford salt.

“Are you finished?” Captain Tennison asked a few minutes later.

“Thank you, Captain.”  She smiled and handed him the bowl. He looked at what she’d left, and then at her. Averill couldn’t meet his eyes.

“You’re welcome, although you need to eat more than this
. Here. I’ve an extra blanket for your use. You might need it.”

He was very formal, as if distancing himself
. She accepted the blanket
.
Was he putting her in her place? He didn’t have to worry. He was too old, too staid, and much too European. Besides...he was a man.

The pallet was more comfortable than it looked, and it was immeasurably better than the street
. She snuggled into her blanket, and felt him do the same beside her. Then, the light went out.

I think I’ll paint him on horseback
, she thought sleepily,
properly dressed in his full, formal, military clothing. Actually...
She yawned, interrupting her thought.
He would look better astride his horse, wearing only his trousers. I wonder what he’d look like with his chest and arms bare.

Her eyes flew open
.

She didn’t want to know what he looked like with any part of him bare
. She didn’t want anything to do with him. He was a man. And men were hateful, horrid creatures who took what they wanted, and hadn’t a care to who they harmed. She pulled away from any contact with him and rolled herself into a ball, securely wrapped with her extra blanket.

~ ~ ~

“I think I shall name you Pegasus.”  Averill giggled at the thought of her ugly steed being named after the creature in Greek mythology.

“You
studied Greece, too?” Captain Tennison asked.

Averill nudged her mount
. It lumbered to its feet, placing her just above the captain’s head. She didn’t know he’d followed her. “Some.”  She finally answered.

His face darkened
. “Where could you have studied it? And when?”

She waited
. She didn’t answer. She could tell he didn’t like it.

“Just how old are you, anyway?” he asked.

She shrugged as if she didn’t know. “How old are you, Captain Tennison?”  She asked it evenly, keeping her eyes on his.

“Twenty-
nine. And you haven’t answered me.”

“I probably won’t, either.” 

Averill looked beyond his shoulder to where the others were mounting up. She shied away from the glances she intercepted. She didn’t like the other men watching her, especially when she was doing her best not to be noticed. But that wasn’t going to be possible with the captain seeking her out. She frowned.

“
More secrets? Are you trying to fascinate me on purpose? Because if you are, I must warn you in advance, it won’t work.” 

He
turned away before she could answer.

Averill’s frown deepened as she studied
him. He walked across the sand and tried to look dignified at the same time. It wasn’t possible, and the captain was proving it
. Fascinate him
? She didn’t want to fascinate anyone. Insularity was her only defense. She didn’t need anyone or want anything. She didn’t want anyone thinking of her…especially not enough to call it fascination.   

The captain had been in a bad mood since they got up, anyway
. Most of the men left him alone. Averill didn’t know what to make of it, so she said nothing. He wasn’t still angry, was he? She’d taken her blanket with her to relieve herself just before daybreak, the same as she did every morning. It wasn’t her fault that he found her missing, and thought she ran away.

Men
and their anger!
She’d thought in disgust.
Where did the man think she would run to?

“Oh noble Pegasus, give thy wings a try.” 

The camel actually lumbered to its feet. And after a long wait, Captain Tennison finally gave the order to proceed. Averill wondered if he was getting touched by the sun or something. She smiled and lifted her hood over her head to make the shade last longer. Her pants were much more comfortable, although her thighs were still painful. She must remember to thank him again for the ointment.

The white burnoose he wore flared out onto his horse’s flanks
. Averill studied it for a while. The contrast in dark and light was highly interesting, and there were shades of color in the horse’s hide, too. That reminded her of her thought last night. Why had she imagined Captain Tennison bare-chested? She didn’t want to see such a thing. Such foolishness belonged to foreign women with nothing to occupy themselves
.

Averill leaned over far enough to pull a small canvas from one of the packs
. She might be able to work around the camel’s motion. She strained to reach her brushes and paints, careful to get out only the things she needed. She’d have to blend on her canvas, but that was no hardship. She added umber and charcoal together, making a mixture for the captain’s horse. When she finished, the color was more like the captain’s hair. She didn’t waste time pondering it. She began.

The sun beat down on her head, but Averill didn’t notice
. She had the perfect blend for the sand below and the sky above. The colors were so real, she could almost taste them. She felt the texture of the sand and the heat from the sun simply by looking at what she was putting on canvas.