Tempered (A Daughters of the People Novel) (Daughters of the People Series) (5 page)

Aaron sighed out
his relief. Thank God for Levi.

Jason whispered,
“I’ll pay you to take the job with Hawthorne if you promise to let me hold it
over Jeanne’s head.”

Aaron shot him a
sour look. Like he needed more guff on that front. As soon as his ex-wife had a
chance to rewrite the scene in her head, he was certain he’d hear all about it.
That woman you’re sleeping with assaulted me
, or some such nonsense. Honestly.
Where did she get that stuff?

The panel ended
without further incidence. Jason whisked Aaron away before he could talk to
Hawthorne, who was besieged by fans. Their eyes met and held over the heads of
the people between them. He could’ve sworn he saw warm humor in her
expressionless gaze.

* * *

The call from
her assistant came near the end of her day, catching Hawthorne on her way to
the elevator after a long meeting with the hotel’s manager on daily operations
during the Con. Hawthorne preferred to allow the corporation she’d set up to
manage the hotel and the other businesses she owned. Once in a while, though, it
was more prudent to check on the businesses herself rather than relying on the
reports of others, if only to ascertain their veracity. If not for her family,
she would sequester herself in her home and devote herself to the written word,
but needs must.

She opened her
cell on the second ring. “Hello, Yvette.”

“I have news,
Maetyrm,” Yvette said. “There are indeed two volumes attributed to the
Chronicler held at the University of California, Berkeley’s Bancroft Library. Would
you like for me to arrange their retrieval?”

“I shall see to
that.” It would be no hardship to fly cross country and remove the volumes
herself, and while she was there, perhaps she and Aaron could see one another.

“I’ve been able
to confirm Mr. Kesselman’s acquaintance with one of the archivists,” Yvette
continued. “But, I’ve not been able to completely ascertain whether or not he’s
been in touch with other members of the People.”

“Contact a
private investigator allied with the People and initiate a check. We must
eliminate the possibility of such connections prior to meeting with Rebecca
Upton.”

“Yes, Maetyrm.”

Hawthorne closed
her cell phone, satisfied that her assistant would take care of the matter. The
young Daughter had come highly recommended and had served well during her short
tenure in Hawthorne’s employ.

She put the
matter from her mind. Aaron would leave the following evening after fulfilling
his duties during DragonCon’s last day. She had only this night left with him,
and though she hoped to persuade him to return to Georgia for a long visit, she
would not squander their time based solely on that hope.

When she entered
the suite, he sat on the sofa, his fingers moving rapidly over the keyboard of
his laptop. He glanced up and smiled as he closed the device and set it aside. “Hey,
you. I was beginning to get worried.”

“Do not fear,
Aaron. I am capable of defending myself.”

His eyes
crinkled at the corners with a smile. “Don’t I know it. That was some show
earlier today.”

Annoyance
rippled through her and was just as quickly suppressed. “Jeanne Cho is not a
nice person. Whyever did you marry one such as her?”

“A weak heart
and raging hormones,” he said wryly. “We were young and foolish and thought we
were in love. Don’t tell me you’ve never felt that way.”

“My youth was
far different from your own.”

He patted the
cushion next to him. “Come tell me about it.”

She shrugged off
the sword’s harness and placed the weapon on the coffee table. “Our
acquaintance is too short for such a tale.”

“You’ll have to
tell me sooner or later.”

“Not today. This
is our last night together.” She curled up beside him and rested her head on
his firm shoulder. “I would not spend it in talk.”

“Eh, you’ve got
a point.” He brushed a kiss over the top of her head. “So, your side of the bed
or mine?”

She trailed a
hand down his chest. The muscles of his stomach bunched under her touch. “Would
you be amenable to showering with me?”

“If you let me
wash you.” He tilted her chin up and kissed her, a lingering exploration of her
mouth that fanned the first sparks of desire within her. “Maybe we could try
out the couch first.”

They eventually
made it to the shower, then to bed. In the dark of the night, Hawthorne nestled
within his comforting embrace, languid under the lazy stroke of his hand on her
hip. It was good, what they had. When the time came for his departure, she
would tell him so and invite him to visit Tellowee. Surely after all that had passed
between them, he would welcome the chance to see her again. Perhaps if her
editor so desired, they could even work together on the graphic novel Dana
Goldburg had insisted Hawthorne write.

“Are you
asleep?” Aaron said in a quiet voice.

Hawthorne shifted
on the bed, facing him. “I am not.”

“I’m leaving
tomorrow.”

“I know.” She
slid her fingers along his chest, memorizing the hard plane of firm muscle
under taut skin. “I shall miss you.”

“Me, too.” His
breath feathered across her forehead as he pulled her close. “Before I go, tell
me something about your past. Anything.”

“Why is this so
important? The past is…” She inhaled a careful breath, afraid of what would
spill out if she grew incautious. “It is of no consequence.”

“It’s what made
you who you are, and I don’t know anything about it. Give me something to
remember you by.”

“Has our time
together been so meager?”

“I want more.”
His hand squeezed her hip. “Please.”

“Very well,
Aaron Kesselman. I shall tell you what I can.” She sat up and cut on the bedside
lamp. “My name is Hawthorne.”

He rubbed a hand
across his eyes. “That’s it? Just Hawthorne?”

“It is a good
name, a solid name, but not the name of my birth.”

He propped up
onto an elbow, his dark eyes solemn.

“My mother was a
great warrior, my father a leader of some renown.” She drew in a breath, using
the time to gather her thoughts. It had been so long since she’d told the tale,
so long since she’d had to remember it. “My father died when I was twelve.”

His hand found
her thigh in a comforting squeeze. “I’m sorry.”

“He was old. My
mother was not. At least, not in the same way. He expected us to continue
living the life we had had before his death, if we so chose, and to this end,
he willed his leadership to be divided between my sister and I on the one part,
and the people who owned his land for the other.”

“It feels like
you’re leaving out a lot of important details.”

“Nonetheless,
the story remains.” She clasped his hand in her own, needing his comfort. “The
land owners were not satisfied with this arrangement. They beat my mother
severely and raped my sister and I, leaving us all for dead.”

He sat up
abruptly, horror etching itself into his expression. “My God, Hawthorne. Why
didn’t you tell me?”

“It was a long
time ago, Aaron.”

He snorted. “Not
so long that it doesn’t affect you. You still have a problem with sex and God
only knows what else.”

“Occasionally,
yes, sex is a problem. There were many men that day,” she explained gently.

“Many…” His face
paled under his tan and his hand tightened painfully on her thigh. “You were
gang raped.”

“We did not
think of it thusly. I was strong, as were my sister and my mother. We survived
and rose up against those who hurt us. Eventually we lost, but not before we
avenged our honor and rendered justice upon our enemies. My mother is still
remembered for her bravery.”

He blew out a
shaky breath. “It’s a wonder you survived.”

“It is what
Daughters do.”

Questions
swirled in his eyes, questions she could not answer until she was certain of
his trustworthiness. To forestall them, she continued her tale. “We limped from
our last conflict, my mother and sister and I, and hid in the countryside, well
away from the ones who sought us. My mother’s strength failed not long after
and she died. We buried her in a grove of hawthorns.”

“Hawthorne,” he
murmured.

“That is the day
I found my strength, my purpose. I determined then that I would never allow
another to lay harm to me or mine. My sister and I swore to this. We hunted
down the men who had destroyed our lives and avenged our mother’s death. After
that, my sister and I took separate paths. She eventually found love and
became…”
Mortal
. Hawthorne cut the word off before it could be uttered.
“Happy.”

“And what about
you?” He smoothed the hair from her forehead, his touch tender and sweet. “Did
you find happiness?”

“As much as I
could.” She cupped his face in her hands and kissed his soft lips. “You must
not mourn for the girl that was, Aaron. She died a long time ago. I have made
my peace with that part of my life.”

“You made your
peace quickly. How long ago was this? A couple of decades, maybe?” He shook his
head. “You can’t be much more than thirty.”

“Yes, Aaron, I
can be.” She pushed away from him. “I am much, much older.”

He regarded her
with a narrow-eyed stare. “How much older?”

“Older,” she
said flatly. “Did Levi not warn you on this?”

“Just tell me
already, Hawthorne.” He huffed out an angry breath. “Do you know what it’s like
to not know your lover’s real name, to not even know how old she is or where
she was born?”

This much, at
least, she could honestly share. “In what is now Great Britain.”

“God.” He
bunched his fingers in his hair. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Great Britain.
It is a…”

“I know what it
is.” He dropped his hands, his gaze flat. “What I want to know is what you
meant by the ‘now’ part. What was it called when you were born?”

She hesitated,
long enough that he flipped the covers off of his nude body and scooted to the
edge of the bed. Her heart burst into a panicked beat. “Iceni,” she said in a
rush. “North of Londinium, when it was held by the Romans.”

He froze with
his back to her.

“That is all I
shall tell you, for the non.”

He glanced at
her over his shoulder. “You’re kidding, right?”

“This is the
information you wished me to impart.” She lifted her hands in a helpless shrug.
“Why do you now doubt me?”

“Because that’s
impossible. Londinium? Christ, Hawthorne. London hasn’t been called that in…”
He compressed his lips into a thin line.

“Centuries,” she
finished for him.

He turned away
from her and scrubbed his hands through his hair. “I’m supposed to believe
you’re centuries old.”

“Nearly two
millennia,” she said softly. “I have been alone a long time, save for my
progeny. They bring me great comfort.”

“So you’re
saying Levi really is your great-grandson.”

“He is. I am proud
of the man he has become.”

He shifted to
face her. “And Lali is your granddaughter.”

“They are but
two of my kin. There are many others.” She held the covers up for him, a silent
plea for his return there. “It is late and tomorrow will be a hard day.”

He hesitated so
long, her breath froze in her chest. “I have more questions.”

“Should we continue
our acquaintance after the con’s end, you will have your answers. This I vow.”

“I’m gonna hold
you to that. Two millennia.” He slid between the sheets. “Jeanne was right. You
are a cougar.”

“Do not bring
that woman into my bed,” Hawthorne warned.

“Merely an
observation,” he said with a wry twist of his mouth. “Let’s get some sleep.”

She switched the
lamp off and curled up beside him, and breathed a relieved sigh when he
accepted her touch. Tomorrow, she would help him to better understand, perhaps
even persuade him to stay another night and view proof of her veracity for
himself, held in her vault in Tellowee. He would listen. He had to.

She fell asleep
with this certainty, secure in the belief that Aaron would give her time to
explain.

Aaron slouched
against the Hyatt Regency’s bar, nursing his second whiskey sour. After the
incredible tale Hawthorne had spun the night before, he’d had a hard time
getting any sleep. He’d ended up slipping out of her bed in the wee hours of
the morning and going back to his hotel room, where he’d paced for hours
thinking over what she’d said. Her story had nagged at him enough that he’d done
some research into it. What he’d found had killed any hope he had of building a
relationship with her.

Jason plopped
down on the barstool next to him. “You’re one hard man to find.”

Aaron grunted.
“Don’t you have other clients to harass?”

“Sure, but
they’re all where they’re supposed to be.” Jason caught the eye of the
bartender, a pretty blonde with huge gray eyes whose nametag read
Ruby
,
and motioned for her to bring him a whiskey sour, too. “Speaking of, you have a
book signing in half an hour.”

Aaron cursed
under his breath. “Sorry, man. I forgot.”

“That’s what
women do to you.” Jason accepted the drink Ruby set in front of him with a
friendly nod. “They suck out your brains and offer them up to the goddess of
love.”

The bartender
winked at Jason, who grinned back.

Aaron hunched
his shoulders.

“You made a
decision on whether or not to work with Hawthorne yet?”

“You could say
the decision was made for me,” Aaron said bitterly. “She’ll have to find
another illustrator.”

“What did you do
to piss her off?”

Aaron rounded on
him. “This isn’t on me, Jase.”

“So what did
she
do?”

“You wouldn’t
believe me if I told you,” Aaron muttered. Ruby moved a couple of feet away,
polishing glasses with a clean, white towel. Aaron lowered his voice. “Remember
how I said she had trust issues? Turns out she had a really rough childhood.”

“Yeah?” Jason
leaned closer. “So what’s the big deal?”

“It did things
to her.”

Aaron gave a
half laugh and downed the rest of his drink. Ruby took his glass with an oddly
familiar smirk. His memory of where he’d seen that look disappeared into the
fog of too much alcohol. She lifted the decanter of whiskey, and he waved her
away. He’d had more than enough if he couldn’t remember a simple thing like a
smile.

“Twisted her up
on the inside. I know, she looks normal, acts normal. Ish,” he amended. “But
her mind is… Let’s just say Jeanne was right about Hawthorne. She’s crazy as a
loon.”

Ruby’s eyes went
huge and round in her face. “Uh oh.”

Aaron’s heart
sank into his gut. “She’s standing behind us, isn’t she?”

“Yup,” Ruby
said.

Jason glanced
over his shoulder and flinched. “Uh oh.”

Aaron rubbed
tired fingers over his eyes. “How much did she hear?”

“Pretty much the
whole thing.” Ruby expression twisted into sympathy. “I’m pretty sure you’re
toast.”

“Yeah, that’s
what I thought.” He wished briefly for the courage of one more drink, took a
fortifying breath, and swiveled around, facing Hawthorne. She stood still as a
statue a few feet away, expressionless except for a slight tightening around
her eyes.

“You think me
insane, Aaron Kesselman?”

“You told me you
were Boudica’s daughter, Hawthorne.”

Her gaze held
his steadily. “Those were not my words.”

“They might as
well have been,” Aaron said flatly. “It didn’t take a lot of research for me to
put two and two together and come up with Boudica. I mean, the Iceni?
Seriously? It’s not like they produced a lot of warrior queens.”

“Eh, who’s
Boudica?” Jason said.

Ruby shushed
him.

“You asked me to
tell you something of my life,” Hawthorne said.

“Yeah, something
truthful, not a story borrowed from history.”

“It is true. I
did not wish to tell you of my past, Aaron Kesselman, and would not have if you
had not threatened to leave.”

Hawthorne’s
voice broke on the last word. Guilt hit him hard and he lashed out.

“So you made up
some bullshit story to placate me?” He laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. “Atta
way to keep me around.”

Her already pale
face leached of color. “You will allow me to show you proof.”

Even through the
placid tone of her voice, he could hear the plea. He hardened his heart against
it. “I don’t think so. I’ve already been dragged through one woman’s delusions.
Sure as hell, I won’t do that again.”

Hawthorne’s hand
twitched.

“Crap.” Ruby
vaulted the bar and fell into a defensive stance in front of him, facing
Hawthorne. “No beheadings, Nana. He’s just a man. Plus, think of the trouble it
would cause. The police will be drawn into it, I’ll have to find somebody to
clean the carpet. Really, he’s not worth it.”

“Thanks a lot,”
Aaron muttered.

“She’s got a
point,” Jason said.

Aaron glared at
his agent.

“Did I mean
nothing to you?” Hawthorne said.

Aaron’s gut
churned with
might have beens
and the beginnings of an emotion she’d
nipped in the bud with her ridiculous evasion of simple questions. Why couldn’t
she be honest with him? How hard could telling the truth possibly be?

“I see.” A tear
slipped down Hawthorne’s cheek. She touched her face and looked impassively at
the wet spot on her fingers. “It seems there is nothing left to say.”

“Nana.” Ruby
hurried to her and turned her gently away. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

“He did not care
for me,” Hawthorne said. “I thought to claim him.”

“I know, Nana, I
know,” Ruby murmured as she led Hawthorne away. She shot a glare over her
shoulder. “Did it never occur to you that she was telling the truth?”

He stared after
them, cut to the bone by the quiet despair in Hawthorne’s voice, by the slump
of her proud shoulders and the tears on her beautiful face. She’d wanted to
claim him. He dropped his head into his hands and scrubbed hard. What a mess
he’d made of it.

“I hate to break
up this happy party, but you’ve got a book signing in fifteen.” Jason thumped
him on the back. “Don’t even try to wiggle out of it. We’ve already got the
room set up. Everybody else that’s signing is probably already there, along
with a lot of your fans.”

“God in Heaven,
Jase, give me a minute.”

“I would if we
had one.” Jason slid off the stool and tugged at Aaron’s arm. “You can catch up
with her later, make it right if she’ll let you.”

Aaron stood slowly.
“I don’t think this can be made right.”

“I were you, I’d
try. She might be crazy, but she floated your boat. Anyway, I like her.” Jason
shrugged at the incredulous look Aaron turned on him. “What? She took Jeanne
down a notch or two, she put a smile on your face. How bad can she be?”

Aaron snorted. “Let’s
leave aside the fact that she claims to be nearly two thousand years old.”

“We’re at
DragonCon. Anything goes here.”

Aaron let Jason
lead him away, though his gut told him to go after Hawthorne with an urgency
that grew during the hour he signed books and chatted with fans and other
authors and illustrators. He slipped away as soon as he could and took the
private elevator to Hawthorne’s suite. His heart pounded in his chest as he
swiped the keycard over the lock and entered.

“Hawthorne,” he
called. He stepped inside and his heart sank in his chest. The rooms were
empty. He wandered through the suite anyway. No toiletries in the bathroom, no
clothes anywhere. His eye caught on a wad of paper resting in the bottom of a
trash can stationed next to the chest of drawers. He retrieved it with fingers
that weren’t quite steady and flattened it out. The drawing he’d made of
Hawthorne. He’d given it to her to commemorate their time together. His heart
twisted as he gazed at her, at the beauty of her features, the honesty in her
expression, the gentle warmth no one else would’ve seen.

Shit
.

What did it
matter if she was telling the truth? It was what she believed, maybe what she
had
to believe in order to deal with the trauma of her childhood. How could he have
missed that? How could he have made light of her need when she’d tried so hard
to reach out to him?

Stupid, stupid
.

He rushed out of
the room and took the elevator down to the lobby, tapping his fingers in an
impatient rhythm on his thigh as the numbers slowly decreased until it hit
bottom. At the reception desk, he snagged a clerk and handed him the keycard to
Hawthorne’s suite along with the drawing of her. “This woman invited me to her
room, but now she’s gone.”

“Hawthorne?” The
young man handed the drawing back. “I know her.”

“You’re not
another relative, are you?”

The man laughed,
his tanned face creasing with humor. “Afraid not.”

“Is there any
way you can help me track her down?”

“It’s against
our policy to hand out that kind of information.” The man tapped the keycard
against his palm, then glanced subtly around. His voice dropped to a
near-whisper. “Especially about the owner.”

Aaron dropped
back on his heels. “The owner?”

“Ssh. Nobody’s
supposed to know outside of family and employees.” The man eyed Aaron
speculatively. “You don’t look like family and I know you don’t work here.”

“I’m attending
the con,” Aaron admitted.

The clerk
leveled a pointed stare at Aaron. “I’ve never heard of her giving a keycard out
to anyone who wasn’t a relative, not in the three years I’ve been here.”

“Look, that’s
the thing. We met here, we hit it off, but since we were both busy with the con,
she never gave me her phone number.” Aaron tried not to look desperate. “I don’t
even know where she lives.”

“I can’t help
you.” The clerk’s expression tipped into sympathy. “Wish I could, but if anyone
found out, I’d lose my job.”

“I understand.
Thanks.”

Aaron pushed
away from the counter with a heavy heart. How the hell did you go about
tracking down a woman with only one name, and likely a false one at that? He
took the stairs to his room, using the time to sort through his options.
Halfway up, he stopped in midstride. What an
idiot
he was. Jason worked
with Hawthorne’s agent, who would know exactly where he could find the elusive
Hawthorne. And if that didn’t work, he could always lean on Jason to lean on whoever
so he and Hawthorne could work together on her graphic novel.

He yanked out
his cell phone and dialed. “Hey Jase, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal. I need a favor.”

He jogged up the
remaining stairs to his floor, planning out a strategy for apologizing to
Hawthorne and finding a way to help her deal with the reality of her past,
whatever that might be.

* * *

A week later,
Hawthorne met Rebecca Upton at the other Daughter’s office on the campus of the
Institute for Early Cultural Studies. Rebecca was half Hawthorne’s age, a
warrior of great skill who had earned the nickname of the Blade, after her
primary weapon, and now served in the coveted position as director of the IECS,
the People’s leading branch of historical research and preservation. Word had
it that when her aunt abdicated her seat on the Council of Seven, Rebecca would
be the one tapped to fill the vacancy.

Hawthorne
slouched in her chair and stared at the mortal Daughter, waiting for her to
finish reading the report Yvette had compiled. A twinge of hurt pricked at
Hawthorne’s heart. Rebecca had found love with her kindly husband after only a
thousand years of waiting. She’d submitted her will to his and had a beloved
son, Bobby, who had become a great warrior in his own right, following in the
footsteps of Rebecca’s several daughters, all much older than her son, and all
fierce Daughters.

Hawthorne waited
still.

After three nights
with Aaron Kesselman, she had thought herself close to finding her own
mortality. Of all the men she had known in her endless life, he had had the
most power over her. He had tempted her heart the most, beckoning it into love.

Instead of
nurturing her nascent feelings, he had driven her to tears, something she had
not indulged in for centuries, not even upon the death of her youngest daughter
nearly four years before. She had almost trusted him, had even shared one of
her most precious secrets with him, only to have him value the opinion of his
former wife over Hawthorne’s word.

She hardened her
heart against him, as she had done every moment since leaving DragonCon. Had
she not learned long ago that men could not be trusted?

“Thank you for
taking care of this for me.” Rebecca flipped the last page of the report and
raised her gaze to Hawthorne’s. “I know it was an imposition, but I appreciate
the help.”