Hunter's Season: Elder Races, Book 4 (7 page)

He closed his eyes. “Yes.”

Gentle fingers touched his forehead then his cheek. Checking for fever, he supposed. Her hand felt warm, so he doubted he had one.

“Where am I?” he whispered. Speaking out loud was too hard to continue.

“You are at my cottage,” Xanthe said softly. Her quiet, calm demeanor was soothing. “Her grace and Tiago decided you should be brought completely outside of Adriyel, while they searched for who did this to you. Tiago brought you here in secret. Except for the Queen, Tiago and I, no one knows where you are. You are safe.”

He should never have doubted this straight, shining woman’s dedication. The damn covers still felt as heavy as a ton of bricks, prohibiting gesture. He felt the urge to turn his face to her warm, gentle hand, and a scant moment later, he was shocked to realize he had. “Thank you.”

She cupped his cheek. “I am so—glad that I could somehow be of service to you.”

“What do we know?” Inevitably his thoughts turned to the Ealduns. Had they discovered that Sebrin was digging into the case they had built against him? They wouldn’t have been goaded to violence by the threat of any of that becoming known, would they? After all, it would have come to light anyway had the lawsuit been allowed to continue.

He hadn’t heard from the junior secretary since the other man had left Adriyel for the Ealduns’ family holdings, but then he hadn’t expected to, as it was a journey of some days away. Was Sebrin all right?

Xanthe did not bother to ask him what he meant. She said, “Nothing yet. We transported you as soon as the physicians had finished working on you. Tiago will return in a few days with more supplies. We can hope to learn something then. I’ll fetch the broth and bread.”

“Do not trouble yourself,” he mumbled around the cotton that seemed to have filled his mouth. “I’m afraid it will have to wait until morning.”

“Then rest well, my lord.”

She sounded far away. Any further thought or speculation disappeared into cool evening shadow.

Over the next three days, he slept, and woke, and slept again, until he could not tell if his body ached from the healing wounds or from being confined so long to bed. When he was awake, he lay watching the line of sunlight from the nearby window move along the corner of the quilt, his mind a tired blank. If he made any noise at all, and quite often even when he didn’t, Xanthe was there, patiently spooning broth or water between his lips. She changed his bandages a few times, and it was such an utter misery he had to bite his lip to keep from moaning.

On the morning of the fourth day, birdsong woke him early. He moved unguardedly and swore. Suddenly Xanthe was leaning over him, her dark gaze concerned. “It’s all right,” he said. “I just forgot.” His mouth and throat were a burning desert. “I need a drink, please.”

“Of course. I have some water here.” She turned away and back to him, holding a cup. “I’m going to lift up your head up.”

They had established a routine. He nodded. She slid an arm under his shoulders, bracing him as she lifted gently and held the cup to his mouth. He drank slowly, savoring the cool liquid sliding down his throat. She cradled him against her breast. When he had finished drinking all that he wanted, he leaned his head against her, savoring the warm contact with her body even more than he had the liquid.

If artifice had a scent, to him it smelled like Naida’s perfumes. He had thrown out everything in her bedroom and had it scrubbed from ceiling to floor, yet now and then he still swore that he caught a whiff of her musky perfume. It made him nauseous.

Xanthe smelled nothing of artifice. She had a clean, simple scent, like sunshine and soap.

She asked, “Any more?”

He felt the small vibration of her voice against his temple and cheek. Reluctantly, he said, “No, thank you.”

She eased him back onto his pillows. She looked serious, intent. “I should check your bandages again.”

“Certainly,” he said, bracing himself.

He had to give her credit. She made the unpleasant task as painless as possible. Her perfect expressionless face was back, insisting there was an invisible wall between them as her gentle hands unwound bandages and she checked the wounds.

He looked down at his bare body dispassionately as she worked. He had no embarrassment over his nudity, and he supposed he was made well enough, but the long gashes were red and ugly, and the wound to his back ached and throbbed insistently. He would have to take care not to tear open the knitting muscle.

“This is good,” she murmured. “I think we can leave them off now.”

“Hoopla,” he said. He gave her a one-sided smile. “I actually mean that.”

She grinned. “Do you want some more broth?”

“Gods, no,” he said, and she laughed. He told her with surprise, “I’m really hungry.”

“Excellent. I found some quails eggs yesterday evening. I will bring you some breakfast in a little bit.”

She gathered up the bandages and left the room, returning shortly with scrambled eggs and pan biscuits that had been toasted to a golden brown. She settled into a sitting position on the bed beside him. “My apologies for the simple fare. Tiago will be coming some time day, which is a good thing, since our food supply has dwindled. We’ve got tea, oil and dry oats. If he’s detained for any reason, I will have to do a bit of foraging and hunting.”

“This is wonderful,” he said in all truthfulness. The steaming eggs were golden and the pan biscuits were delicious. He ate all of the eggs and a biscuit, and then with the abruptness of a convalescent tumbled headlong into sleep.

The sound of voices woke him. Tiago and Niniane were talking with Xanthe in the next room. “This is a wonderful place,” Niniane said.

“It is very small,” Xanthe said. “My father built it for us after my mother died.”

“Your father was a true craftsman. It’s beautifully done. The furniture is lovely, and so is the floor.”

Aubrey glanced over the edge of the bed at the planed hardwood floors that bore the smooth patina of age. “We brought half the marketplace with us,” Tiago said.

“And this bag is full of books,” said Niniane. “This one is full of clothes for Aubrey. And this one is full of games. You have plenty here with which to occupy yourselves, as soon as Aubrey is feeling up to it.”

“We certainly do,” said Xanthe. “This is all so much more than I expected.”

Niniane said, “We wanted to make sure you had everything you needed, in case we were unable to return right away.”

Xanthe asked quickly, “There are problems?”

“There are complications,” Tiago said, stressing the last word. “None of it is anything we can’t handle, but we are busy. And Niniane and I have both agreed that no one else is to know that Aubrey is here. You will be on your own until we can return again.”

“Yes, sir.”

Aubrey clenched his fists and contemplated getting out of bed. He felt immensely better than he had even earlier that morning, and he could tell that he had turned a corner. He eased himself to a sitting position awkwardly. Any unwary movement made his back flare with fiery pain. Breathing deeply, he eased his legs over the edge of the bed.

“How is Aubrey?” Niniane asked.

Aubrey said hoarsely, “I’m awake.”

He listened to a symphony of footsteps, one quick, light patter, another light step with a longer stride, and a deeper, heavier tread. He checked to make sure that the sheet was wrapped around his hips as Niniane burst into the bedroom. She threw herself at him, pulling up just before she made contact to put her arms carefully around him.

“I cannot tell you how scared I was for you,” she whispered.

He hugged her as he looked over her head at Tiago and at Xanthe. He said gently, “The scare is all over with now.” He met Tiago’s black gaze. “What has happened since the attack?”

“We are not here to discuss details of the investigation,” Tiago said. “Your assailants will not get away unpunished. That’s all you need to know, until we come back for you and tell you that you can return home.”

Aubrey’s face hardened. He opened his mouth to argue, and Niniane put a hand to his cheek, turning him to look at her. Her face was sober, eyes still moist. “Aubrey, you nearly died.”

“I know that,” he snapped.

“Then listen to me, because I am very serious and I mean every word,” Niniane told him. “Your job is to get better. Rest, eat good food, soak up sunshine and heal. That’s all. You cannot work. You will not leave this place. This is your safe haven for now. Tiago will return with more food in a week. In the meantime, we will not stop until we have in custody everyone who is responsible for what happened to you. You will be able to come home soon enough, and then you’ll have your answers.”

He gritted his teeth as rage coursed through him. Not rage at Niniane, but at the people who had attacked him. It was hard to let go of it. After a moment he said, “I will stay until I am completely healed. Then I can ensure my own safety.”

“No, Aubrey.” The Queen’s gaze was adamant. “I am ordering you to stay until I say that you can leave.”

“Niniane,” he said.

“Oh, I know you’re mad at me now. Deal with it.” She hugged him again.

He set his teeth but put an arm around her. Looking at Tiago, he said, “At least do one thing for me. I want you to check on one of my staff. His name is Sebrin. I sent him to uncover what he could about the Ealduns’ lawsuit, and I hadn’t heard from him since.”

Tiago and Niniane shared a long, inscrutable look before Tiago promised, “I’ll look into it.”

Niniane stood. “I’m sorry our visit is so short, but we can’t stay any longer.” She looked at Xanthe. “Take care of him.”

“I will,” Xanthe promised.

She trailed behind Niniane and Tiago who left. Aubrey breathed evenly as he glared at the open window. He listened to their voices fade as they moved away from the cottage. If he thought he could stand without falling, he would have followed them to argue.

After a few minutes Xanthe returned. She moved around in the other room then appeared in his doorway carrying two large canvas bags on her shoulders. He glowered at her, which was a totally useless display of petulance as she did not look at him directly. She wore her perfect expressionless face again.

He had been amused by that smooth façade of hers before, but now it was beginning to grate on him. Silence reigned in the room as she opened first one bag and pulled out a pile of folded clothes and boots. She set them on the bed beside him then opened the other bag and pulled out twenty books. Some of them were American paperbacks, and a few were Dark Fae. He glanced at the titles as she stacked them neatly on the small, simple bedside table. None of the books were nonfiction.

Xanthe returned to the pile of clothes on the bed and broke the silence. “Would you like a pair of trousers and a shirt?”

His hand shot out to circle her wrist. She stilled and looked down at his hand. “As soon as I am better, you will take me back to Adriyel.”

Her dark gaze lifted to meet his. “No, my lord.”

He said, his voice edged, “I did not ask you. I ordered you to.”

One of her silken eyebrows raised, a small quirk of reaction. “You may issue as many orders as you like, but I am not obligated to obey you,” she said. “I am not your servant. I am the Queen’s. You may be willing to defy her orders, but I will not disrespect or disobey her.”

There was that loyalty of hers, straight and unwavering. He thought back to his disappointed sense of betrayal when he had so briefly thought she had kidnapped him, and his unruly temper subsided.

He remarked in a much milder tone, “I’m acting like an ass, aren’t I?”

Her demeanor softened. “You’re angry, and understandably so. It’s hard to have your movements restricted, especially when you feel the need to act.”

“This has happened to you too,” he said. “You must stay here with me.”

One corner of her mouth lifted. “Truly, it is not a hardship. I want to do it. But before her grace came up with this idea, I had asked to be the one to hunt for your attackers. Tiago denied me, and it was very hard. He’s hunting for all those responsible, himself.”

She had wanted to hunt down those who attacked him? He blinked, and his grip loosened.

The last several days had given him a deep, visceral knowledge of her, the timbre of her voice, her scent, the gentle touch of her hands on his body. Following an impulse to learn more about her by touch, he let his fingers slide over her forearm as he slowly let go of her. The texture of her skin was silken, warm.

She took in a quick, near silent breath. As he stared into her eyes he saw her pupils dilate.

She reacted to his touch.

What was he doing? He frowned and released her fully.

She angled her face away as she gathered up the pile of clothes. “Please leave trousers and a shirt,” he said.

She nodded and did so, then took the rest of the clothes to set them on the nearby dresser. Afterward, she turned to him, not quite looking at him. “Do you require assistance with dressing?”

He hesitated as he struggled with his pride. It wasn’t just his rage; all his emotions were unruly. Normally even tempered, he felt like a stranger to himself. At last, he admitted, “I don’t know.”