Lords Of The Dark Fall - Fabian (12 page)

With dismay she saw the flash of realisation on Sunas’s face. The stiffening of the spine. Before she could say anything, her friend had turned and walked away.

Hal smiled broadly. “You’ve come to give me my answer?”

“We said one month, Hal.” Tig pushed past him. “I came over to see Sunas, and to borrow some food. One month. I’ll give you my answer then.”

He caught her arm, swinging her back round to face him. Scattering a few precious potatoes from the sack. “I might not be able to wait. I’m in a position to take another wife, now. You’d be stupid to refuse. And to tease me like this.”

She sucked in a careful, calming breath, hoping he wouldn’t see the panic. The old Hal had been mostly bluster, easy to placate with a few physical favours. Now she saw a man who had the means to back up his threats. No longer asking, he was telling her how it would be.

“Hal.” She lowered her voice in case Sunas was listening behind the door. “I’m thinking about it, seriously I am. But how will Sunas take it?”

“She’ll deal with it. Tig, I know you’re worried about how she’ll respond, but don’t be. She knows the score. She put up with Alie, and she’ll put up with you.”

“She’s my friend. Thinks you’re about to put her aside in favour of a younger woman.”

“She’s too good a cook for that.” Pulling her closer, his large hand circled her breast, squeezing lightly. “How about something on account, as it were? In return for those potatoes – I know you can’t afford to pay for them.”

He was right about that. Something hardened inside of her. Wasn’t she the queen of compromise? Scruples were for those who could afford to eat.

“You make me burn, Tig. A small token, and then go home and make the sensible decision. You shouldn’t be wandering around dressed in your brother’s old cast-offs. Riding that joke of a beast. I can give you things. Help you build your business. Stop Warrington marrying you off to someone else. You were mentioned, Tig. By name.”

He’d unfastened two of her shirt buttons. Slipped the hand inside to cover bare flesh. At least this would distract his thoughts. Stop him from picking up on anything Fabian-related. She was no wilting flower to suffer the vapours over a quick grope. She even favoured him with a breathy moan, to which he responded by pushing himself against her thigh.

“You like that, don’t you?”

“You know I do.”

He held her at arm’s length, then, eyes locked onto hers. “That, or you’re a very good liar. Something’s wrong, Tig. I felt it the other day and I feel it now.”

Shoving him off, she stepped away. “Of course something’s off. Carson’s dead. Business is terrible. You tell me Warrington is taking an interest in me. I just need some space, Hal. You’ll get your answer. I promise.”

“Warrington will give you to me. If you keep on refusing me, he’ll throw you to one of his lieutenants and then I won’t be able to protect you.”

He made no further attempts to touch her. While he watched her re-button her shirt with shaking hands, she filled her mind with nonsense rhymes, reciting them over and over with no idea whether she was only increasing his suspicion.

“I’ll be over in a week,” he said as a parting shot. “Don’t disappoint me.”

Making her way back to the corral, she resisted the urge to break into a run. What she couldn’t do was stop her thoughts returning to Fabian or to notice Sunas standing in the open doorway of the farmhouse, watching her mount up. When she raised her hand to wave goodbye, Sunas simply turned to disappear into the house, closing the door behind her.

* * * *

He missed his true-brother Marcellus with his dry wit and his ability to charm the very birds from the trees. Fabian smiled at the memory of Marcellus hacking his way through a tribe of Drega, while at the same time regaling his fellow warriors with some bawdy tale of his bedroom exploits of the night before.

He missed his presence, but he did not worry about him. Like him, wherever Marcellus landed he would pick himself up, adapt and rise again. And he would never stop trying to find a way home.

Scanning the horizon for signs of Tig’s return, Fabian wondered at this new feeling. Her absence was an almost tangible thing, gnawing at his guts and mind in equal measure. It had started the moment she’d ridden away and he suspected, would not stop until her slight figure, atop that strange beast of hers clattered into the yard and he could see for himself she returned safe and unharmed.

How had she survived this long, virtually unprotected save for the fragile peace of mind bought by her hard-earned tribute money? Carson may have let her keep the farm, but that, he suspected, was about to change. What warlord would allow the desert to reclaim such a fertile oasis? Who, in their right mind, would leave fields untilled, pastures un-grazed? When he looked with his former eyes, Fabian saw only an asset to be stripped and used to buy favour. A place to supply food to his army. A woman to be given to one of his generals, or used for a single, debauched night of entertainment by his troops.

His former self would have done no less. Now he stood, a knife in one hand, a stick whittled almost to nothing in the other, an uncomfortable prickle of anxiety tightening his chest because she said she would be back well before sundown, and although the shadow of the barn had lengthened to cover the yard, there was still no sign of her.

And then suddenly, she was there and the feeling vanished in an instant to be replaced first by a surprising anger at the worry she’d caused him and then by a relief that made him want to drag her from the beast and hold her and never let her go.

Catching Cafino’s bridle, he gentled the beast while she dismounted. Apart from a small sack, the panniers were disappointingly devoid of foodstuffs.

“Didn’t go very well,” she said following his gaze. “Couldn’t justify taking more than I’d normally eat. And then Hal turned up. Would you take the potatoes to the barn? I need to go wash.”

“You are to stay away from that man.” He pulled the sack from the panniers and turned to find Tig already half-way to the bath house. She would walk her own path, as she always did. Cling to her destiny until the inevitable day she lost control.

A day that would come all too soon. This was not a world where women would ever hold sway. It was a world of men with all their posturing and confrontation and need to prove themselves better than the next.

His kind of world, he realised with a jolt. Here, the odds were more stacked in his favour than his own world. If the mages were as ineffectual as Tig made out and power depended on strength, how could he lose?

Strength he had in abundance.

After dumping the sack in the barn, he made his way to the bath house, pushing open the door with no concession to Tig’s modesty. She was naked to the waist, scrubbing at her flesh as if trying to remove a memory. She paid him no heed as she washed away the ride and whatever else had happened to her.

“Pass me the towel, will you?”

He snatched it up and stalked across the small room, already half-aroused by the sight of her. With deliberate care, he touched the cloth to her shoulder and gently wiped away the droplets of water. She brought up a hand, stopping him as he moved towards her breasts.

“Not now.” She spoke quietly, eyes downcast. “I’m tired,” she added, as if that could explain.

He let her take the cloth, stepping back to better gauge her expression.

“Did he touch you?”

“What does it matter if he did?”

“Tig.” He paused, getting a grip on anger that shouldn’t be directed towards her. “I promised to tell you the truth. Allow me the same courtesy.”

The baggy shirt hid her from his view. Covered, she seemed to regain her strength.

“A quick grope for a sack of potatoes sounds like a pretty good bargain to me.”

“I do not like you whoring yourself out for food.”

“You have any better ideas? Because, strange as it might sound, I don’t exactly enjoy having creepy Hal’s hands on me.” She stood, bowl in hand, meeting his challenge like the most courageous of warriors. “With an appetite the size of yours, what would you have me do?”

Water from the upturned basin sloshed over his boots and spiralled away down the metal drain. He stood his ground. “So you do wish me to leave?”

Confusion clouded her features. “I didn’t mean it that way. Don’t twist my words.”

“Answer my question. Do you wish me to leave?”

“You already know I don’t.”

“I would hear it from you.”

Her shoulders slumped. “Fabian, please.”

“Flatter my ego. Say it. For me.”

“I don’t want you to go, okay? But if you stay, I have to find food for you without drawing attention to the fact that I’m feeding an extra mouth. And Hal wasn’t fooled by the injury. He knows something is off and means to find out what. Add to that, Sunas asking if she could come to stay for a few days and having to say no to one of my oldest friends. Well it’s been a hell of a day.”

“Come here.” He crooked a finger, knowing it would take more than that to convince her.

“Why?”

“Because I wish to hold you. To offer comfort. Would that help you?”

Confusion turned to surprise. She let out a small laugh. “This is scary Fabian.”

It was his turn to be confused. “How so?”

“You’re adapting faster than I imagined. Have you ever spoken those words before? When was the last time you held someone, just for comfort?”

In all his years, had he ever? He shrugged. “I cannot recall.”

She shook her head. “You’ve missed out on so much, your majesty. Your highness. What did people call you?”

“To my face or behind my back?”

Her lips quirked at that. “To your face, while they quaked in their boots, no doubt.”

“Yes,” he replied dryly. “I do recall a certain amount of quaking. Along with the bowing and the scraping, the insincere smiles. The abject fear and the desperate pleas for mercy. The most exalted one certainly knew how to command respect.”

“But he never knew the comfort of a hug?”

“No, he never knew the comfort of a hug. But he would know it now. Would you indulge him?”

In answer, she stepped into his open arms, her cheek coming to rest against the place where his heart beat out a steady rhythm. Instinctively, he pulled her in, one arm circling her back, the other around her shoulders, fingers burrowing into the silky strands of her hair. For one with so slight a frame, she felt surprisingly strong and grounded, returning the hug with equal measure until he didn’t know which of them was giving and which taking the comfort.

In the right relationship, perhaps it was possible to do both at the same time.

He held her tighter, knowing he could never convey to her the magnitude of his simple gift. What she offered so freely had cost him everything.

Outside, the shadows lengthened, the room grew dim. Tig tipped back her head to look at him. He held onto her when she tried to step away, taking her gently by the shoulders, more a request, than a demand that she stay in his arms for a few moments longer.

Nodding her ascent, she remained in place, studying him intently in the darkening gloom. A little wistful, or was that sadness he saw? In the back of his mind, a small voice whispered impossible things. A life here, with her. As farmer or warlord, what did it matter as long as she was here?

For a few, brief moments as he held her, the impossible became the possible.

“I saw your story-plates. You have talent.”

“I have a beginning. But as yet, no ending.”

He knew what she was asking and couldn’t give her the answer she wanted. If his brother made it home, Marcellus would need him there to lead, to lend weight to the reclamation of their birthright.

“The ending will be the same. I cannot allow my family name to fester in such infamy.”

“So, we’re still going with the blood-bath?”

“The Imarna will be punished for their treachery, yes. I will personally--”

She stopped him, hands raised. “No, don’t go there. I’d rather remember you like this. You should hug women more often, Fabian. You’re a natural.”

“In my world, that would be showing weakness.”

Tightening his fists, he stopped himself from taking the comb she’d grabbed and helping her with her hair. Turned away so he wouldn’t have to watch the damp, tangled strands transform into spun silk as she hacked at the snags. He sensed this was a vulnerable interlude, when they might well tie themselves up in knots that would be difficult to untie when the time came.

“But I will consider your words,” he said by way of concession.

“You’ll be a different man if or when you get back.” Tig peeked around the bath house door into the yard, waking the dogs who were supposed to have been on guard. They both rose as one, stretched and then trotted not to her, but to him, one on either side as if waiting for orders. It seemed to amuse her.

“They know a leader when they see one. Send them for rabbits and let’s get inside and lock up. I have no idea how I stand with the new warlord or whether he’ll deem a small farm like this worth protecting.”

“I would camp an army on your doorstep. Kill anyone who came near you.”

“My own personal army? What wouldn’t I give to see Warrington’s face?”

The rustic kitchen embraced them with its cosy charm, the feeling that people had loved and been loved here. Perhaps he was changing more than he’d realised. He who had lived in the greatest of palaces, surrounded by opulence found only in most people’s dreams had never lived in a dwelling with so much heart.

“Hunt,” he said to the dogs who were attempting to slither past him into the house. When they’d turned and spun away across the yard and out of the gate, he closed the door and threw the bolts. Turned the keys in the locks. How ridiculous that he’d always kept a man to carry his keys and open his doors. A man should lock his own doors at night. Should feel the satisfaction of knowing he’d done what was required to keep his loved ones safe.

Is that how he thought of her now? He listened to Tig’s light foot-fall on the wooden boards upstairs. The creak of the wardrobe door. When she reappeared, she’d donned the green dress that hung even more loosely around her thin frame now he was eating all her food. She stopped to soak up the appreciation in his eyes, to give him a bit of a wiggle as she padded barefoot down the wooden steps. A characteristic gesture and always accompanied by a hint of wicked mischief in her smile.