Epic Of Palins 01 - Dagger Star (13 page)

She’d thought Josiah insane when he’d told her about her birthmark. As if a bit of different-colored flesh made any difference. She snorted at the thought. For all the talk of prophecy, it took more than a birthmark.

But they’d built the beginnings, hadn’t they? A source of supply, men, and arms.

It might work.

What a thing to accomplish, if she could. She, Red Gloves, little better than a “lowlife,” toppling a throne and claiming a kingdom. She pictured herself on a throne and laughed out loud at the idea, the sound ringing in the huge, empty barn. She paused then, listening to the echos of her own voice.

Athelbryght must have been a fair land, a prosperous one to support such a barn. She suspected that Josiah was a fair lord as well, generous with his people. His pain was a measure of his caring, that was certain.

There was strength there, within him. It took a strong man to survive what he had been through.

Maybe not the strength of a sword, but Red knew all too well that the ability to swing a blade was not the full value of a man.

She paused in her work for a moment, leaning on the shovel. It would be a challenge, with no promise of success. Bethral was willing. Red grinned at that, since her sword-sister had always followed her lead and not always to Red’s benefit.

There was a tempting profit to be made, that was certain sure.

But it would take time and effort, and she still had an itch she wanted scratched….

So Josiah wanted a Chosen, eh?

What would he be willing to pay?

JOSIAH walked toward the barn with an odd feeling of dread and anticipation. Whatever else she might be, Red Gloves certainly wasn’t predictable. He’d probably find her in the foaling room, on one of the bunks, her hands behind her head, thinking about her destiny and the prophecy.

Instead, he found her wrestling with a wheelbarrow full of manure.

He stood in the doorway and gaped as she pushed it toward him. “I didn’t see a compost, so I started one in the back.” She grinned at him. “Not by where you chop wood.”

“Er,” was all he could say as she walked past him with her load. She was back in a moment, setting down the empty wheelbarrow and picking up a shovel. He watched for a moment as she worked. “You’re mucking the stalls.”

“It needed doing.” She stopped for a moment. “Odd that the goat stall seems awfully clean; you’ve no pile hereabouts.”

Josiah sighed, moving to look over the railing at the pile of straw where the goats bedded down.

“Whatever happened that day, the goats were caught up in it somehow.” He leaned against the wall, the rough planks catching at his tunic. “They don’t really eat, either.”

Red frowned. “I’ve seen them graze and chew cud.”

“But the grass and plants show no signs of grazing.” Josiah ran his fingers through his hair.

“They bear no young, give no milk, and don’t seem to age. I don’t know why, but that’s how it is.”

Red chuckled, then returned to work. “No mucking, then. A benefit to magic goats.”

“But they aren’t magic,” Josiah said. “Because they’re around me all the time. Good company, though. In their own way.”

Red hefted up the last shovelful, then paused, giving Josiah a narrow look. “They don’t talk, do they?”

“No, no.” Josiah said.

Red hefted the handles of the wheelbarrow and left, muttering something under her breath about

“better not” and “talking goats.” Josiah had to chuckle, in spite of himself.

Red returned, and between the two of them, they finished fast, putting down fresh straw. “I’ll leave the horses out a while longer,” Red said. “Bring them in after we eat.”

Josiah put the shovel away. “Evie’s left.”

“I’ll wash up and be right in.” Red tugged at her gloves. Josiah remembered Bethral’s warning and made no comment.

He started toward the door. “We can talk if you wish, if you’ve questions. I can give you the information you need to make up your mind.”

“Oh, I’ve decided,” Red purred.

Josiah stopped dead, the small hairs on the back of his neck lifting off his skin.

“There’s a profit to be made here, Josiah of Athelbryght. A profit most mercenaries can only dream of.”

He closed his eyes as her voice moved over him.

“I’ll do it. I’ll fulfill your prophecy and restore the throne.” Red’s voice was low, husky, and soft. “But there’s a bit more that needs to be added to this bargain.”

Josiah didn’t turn…couldn’t turn. He licked his lips, and forced the words from his throat. “What more do you require?”

He heard her take a step, moving to stand just behind him. “You, Josiah. I want you. Your body.

In my bed, from now until the success of this ‘prophecy’ or my death in the attempt.”

“But—” Josiah’s brain was a complete blank. “You—a throne—the prophecy…”

Red was right behind him. Even though they weren’t touching, he could feel her heat, smell the sweetness of her body, even with the manure. Josiah felt the pressure all over his skin, as if he was naked.

Her murmur held laughter now. “The throne is a profit to be had down the road. But I am a mercenary, and we like payment in advance.”

Josiah forced himself to take a step away from her. He turned, to find her standing there, her arms crossed loosely over her chest, her brown eyes dancing. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” Red said, then she hesitated. “You’re not a virgin, are you?”

“No!” Josiah sputtered.

THANK the Twelve. Red sighed with relief. She wanted nothing to do with a virgin. Too emotional. Too clingy. Too much time spent on what goes where.

Poor Josiah, he looked so befuddled. And in her own way, Red was just as puzzled. What was wrong with the man? She sighed, getting a bit impatient. “Well, then, pay me now with your company. I’m not without skill.” She arched an eyebrow, daring him to doubt her.

“That’s insane. Your wits have wandered off, looking for a home.” Josiah snapped. “I told you that—”

“Oh, please!” Red scowled. “You’re asking me to commit my life to this cause. The least you can do is see to my pleasure as well.”

“I’m not—”

“Spare me.” Red rolled her eyes. “No more talk of your worthiness or lack thereof. You are fair of form and healthy, Josiah.” And far too long alone, a thought she didn’t voice. She watched Josiah’s face instead, as his emotions passed over it. Desire, guilt, fear…“All I ask is a bed partner for the duration of this ‘adventure.’”

Josiah stood there, frowning, looking into her eyes. “And if I say no?”

Red sighed. “I will not force you, Josiah of Athelbryght. Even if the Way of the Twelve did not forbid such a thing, still I would not.”

“But it’s a factor in your decision.” Josiah stated.

Red shrugged. “It’s only the truth, goatherder.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Josiah said softly.

Red didn’t quite understand those words, but she felt she’d gained an advantage somehow. She stepped closer, and couldn’t help a sly smile as Josiah’s nostrils flared and his eyes filled with desire. “So what will it be, Josiah of Athelbryght?” she said softly. “Your dream of restoring this land? Or your virtue?”

BETHRAL looked down at her purchase and allowed herself a faint smile. There was good reason to be satisfied with this day’s work.

The man wasn’t conscious yet, but he was sleeping naturally. Evelyn had advised her to stop giving him broth for now. She was hoping the man would wake up naturally fairly soon—

tomorrow, if not during the night. Bethral took a moment to stand and stretch. She’d been by the bedside most of the day, and she felt it. But as much as she wanted to spar with Red, or take a good run on Steel, she wanted to be here when he opened his eyes. Those bright green eyes.

Bethral frowned. She wasn’t sure why she’d lied to the priest, but it had been more instinct then intent. Her purchase held secrets, she was certain of that. And she felt oddly possessive of them, as if the copper piece she’d spent had given her that right.

The door opened, and Red blew in like a storm. “What’s to be had?”

“A haunch of beef, fresh bread, and baked turnips.” Bethral stepped toward the fire. “The turnips are mashed, with some cheese and saffron.”

“Sounds good.” Red plunked herself down by the fire. “I mucked the stalls, and I’ll bed the horses after a while. Oh, and here’s something. Magic goats don’t shit.”

Bethral snorted as she cut meat from the haunch on the spit. “Convenient.” She handed Red a bowl of turnips, and a slice of bread with meat. “Where’s Josiah?”

“Said he’s not hungry.” Red smirked. “He’s in the barn. Said he needed a bit of time to think.”

She took a bite and chewed with clear enjoyment. “I was thinking we’d change the sleeping arrangements.”

“Oh?” Bethral asked casually. “Is that what Josiah is thinking about?”

Red grinned. “You might want to sleep here, so you can take care of your purchase, eh? Josiah and I can sleep in the barn.”

Bethral gave her a look, which Red ignored, choosing instead to stuff her face. “How very considerate of you,” Bethral said.

Red swallowed. “I thought so.” She took another bite.

“So, we’re staying?” Bethral asked quietly.

The mischief faded from Red’s face. She gave Bethral a solemn look. “There’s adventure and profit to be had here, Bethral. But it’s not without its risks.”

“The greater the risk, the greater the reward.” Bethral nodded her approval.

Red nodded back, then looked about the hut. “Any ale left?”

Bethral reached to fill her a mug. “If he needs to think, why are you in such a rush?”

Red’s eyes danced. “Don’t want him thinking overmuch. He’ll just get confused.”

JOSIAH knelt at the hearth in the foaling room and stared at the cold ashes without really seeing them. He was still seeing Red’s face when she’d…

So what will it be? Your dream of restoring this land? Or your virtue?

Josiah snorted softly. That woman was so different from any he’d known. She was like a force of nature, sweeping in with no regard for others, or decorum, or normal courtesy.

Lord of Light, he wanted her. His entire body thrummed at the idea. He was afraid of what that implied—afraid to trust her.

Snowdrop stuck her head in the door and bleated at him. Josiah looked back as all the goats followed, pushing through to explore the room. “Don’t touch her gear,” Josiah cautioned, as Brownie stuck his nose in the saddlebags. “I wouldn’t put it past her to gut you for it.”

Brownie pulled his nose back, grumbling.

Josiah turned back to the hearth and pulled kindling from the wood box, concentrating on his task. But the thought of Red filled his mind as he prepared to start a fire.

Maybe not so much like a storm, or a whirlwind. She was more like water, clear and cold.

Crystal when still, then a raging torrent that swept everything in its path. A cool stream one moment, a flash flood the next. Water that slowly but surely filled all the hollow spaces in….

His hands stilled then, as guilt bore down on him. Staring at the kindling, he ran his thumb over the grain of the wood, feeling the roughness against his skin.

This was a mistake. He knew it was, that it could only end in pain. She’d win the throne or die trying, of that he was sure. If she won through, she’d go to Edenrich and sit on the throne as Queen, leading the kingdom to a bright future.

Leaving him in the ruins of the past.

He’d thought that was all that was left to him. But, may the Gods forgive him, he wanted her. He had but to close his eyes, and there she was, naked in the firelight, covered with soap, those red gloves her only clothing. He swallowed hard, trying to control his response.

Snowdrop butted his arm and pushed her head under his hand, looking to have her ears scratched. Josiah sighed, and obliged her. She flicked her ears in pleasure and settled at his side.

Josiah reached for the flint and tinder kept in the wood box, and returned to his task. The flint struck the steel, and sparks flew into the bits of thin wood and straw. A wisp of smoke started to lift as he blew gingerly. Josiah carefully fed more fuel to the tiny spark.

Red wasn’t like the women he’d known before. Court women, interested in political advancement for their families through marriage, the farm women who labored with their husbands on his lands, the other mages that he’d known through the Guild. He’d had liaisons before, but only one that he’d thought was serious.

Who’d betrayed him, in the end.

Pain lanced through him. He’d trusted Elanore, and she’d betrayed him and the other High Barons.

There was something in Red’s eyes, something honest. Her offer held no hidden depths. No commitment, no entanglement, no relationship. It was pure sex between two consenting adults, and no harm done.

The flames leapt up now, greedy and hungry, and he fed them a few large pieces of wood to chew on. Kavage butted his back, demanding attention, so Josiah sat on the edge of one of the bunks, and gave each goat its due. He relaxed as he murmured to them, stopping once in a while to add more wood to the fire.

When five goat heads turned toward the door, Josiah lifted his head and listened carefully. It sounded like Red was bringing the horses in for the night. He shifted, uneasy, and the goats stood up to mill about the room. But before he could do more, the door opened, and she was inside.

She met Josiah’s eyes straight on, her own eyes sparkling. She smiled at him, a smile filled with anticipation.

At least until she saw the goats.

“Oh, no.” Red shook her head. “No goats. Shoo! Shoo!”

She waved her hands, and waded into their midst to herd them out. But the goats would have none of that. They danced around, evaded her and the doorway at the same time, complaining bitterly.

“Out, you mangy beasts!” Red demanded. “Out, out, I say!”

The goats ignored her, darting this way and that, bleating their protests.

Josiah burst out with a laugh in spite of himself. The fierce warrior, defeated by goats. He choked it off, sure she’d be offended.

Red’s head whipped around to stare at him, but then she smiled. “You could help, you know.”