The Woman Who Rides Like a Man (18 page)

Relax,
her sensible self remarked as she entered the Prince's tent.
Becoming the Voice would probably drive less important matters from his head
—
and he dare not stay here much longer.

Jonathan was conferring with Myles and Coram. Already a boy from the tribe was packing his things. The Prince smiled at her. "My love, I've instructed Kara and Kourrem to pack for you." he announced. "If we leave after twilight, we should have several hours of cool riding—"

"May I speak with you alone, Jonathan? I know Coram and Myles will excuse us."

Seeing the scowl on her face, Coram needed no further urging. He left. Myles looked from Alanna to Jon, plainly worried. "It's all right, Myles," the Prince assured him. "We'll be ready in an hour or so."

Myles stopped beside Alanna. "Don't say anything you might regret," he cautioned.

"I won't." Alanna gripped the ember-stone at her throat, telling herself that what she had just heard was rooted in a simple misunderstanding, one that would be made right. Myles sighed and walked out, closing the tent flap behind him.

"You didn't mention you were planning to leave today." In making an effort to keep her temper, Alanna sounded clipped and terse.

"I thought you knew." Jonathan was rolling up a map, not looking at her. "If I had been with anyone but Myles, my parents would have torn up the countryside looking for me by now. I must get back."

"I did not say I was returning with you, and you didn't ask me before you ordered people to do my packing."

"I assumed we'd begin preparations for the wedding. I didn't think you would want to wait."

"I haven't told you 'yes,' " Alanna reminded him, her voice tense.

He looked at her, startled. "But—I know how you feel about me."

"Being married to you is a great responsibility. I need more time to think about it."

"More time!"
He's actually amused,
Alanna thought, her anger mounting. "Be serious. After all these years, I think your answer is plain."

She had clenched her jaw so tightly it hurt to open it. "Not to me."

Jonathan slapped the rolled-up parchment onto the table, his patience nearing an end. "Stop it, Alanna. I've made enough allowance for maidenly shyness from you—"

"Maidenly shyness?"
she yelled. "Since
when
have I shown maidenly shyness!"

"Keep your voice down!" he snapped. "Do you want the whole tribe to hear? What's gotten into you, anyway? I thought it was all settled."

"I said I wanted time to think!" Although her voice was quieter, her snapping violet eyes revealed her undiminished fury.

Jonathan's smile was full of masculine superiority. "That's what all women say when a man proposes."

"Do they indeed?" Alanna snapped. "And you're such an expert on marriage proposals, I suppose!"

"As much as you are," he snapped back.

"When I say I want time to think, I want time to think!"

Jonathan sighed wearily. "All right, you've had time to think. What's your answer?"

"That I need
more
time to think!"

Jon stared at her for a moment, coloring mounting into his cheeks. "This is ridiculous!" he cried. "All right, I should've remembered you don't like people making plans without your say-so, but I thought everything was settled—"

"It isn't! How
dare
you take my acceptance for granted?"

"Well,
you
certainly didn't give me any reason to believe you'd refuse, did you?" he demanded, his hands clenched with anger. "Think carefully before you annoy me further, Alanna of Trebond! There are women who would do anything to marry me—"

"Then why didn't you ask one of them?" Alanna said. "You know what your problem is, Jonathan? You've been spoiled by all those fine Court ladies. It never entered your mind that I might say no!"

"And who would you take instead of me, O Woman Who Rides Like a Man?" he demanded. "I suppose George Cooper's more to your taste—"

"George!" she gasped, surprised at his new angle of attack.

"Do you think I'm blind? I've seen the way he looks at you!"

"What about all those women at the palace and the way they look at
you
?" Alanna demanded. "And I
know
you've had affairs with some of them! They've made you into a conceited—"

"At least they're
women,
Lady Alanna!" he said. "And they know how to
act
like women!"

Silence stretched between them, as Alanna fought to keep from either slapping him or from bursting into tears. Finally she hissed, "I
refuse
to marry you."

Jonathan was now white with rage. "And I think I'm well out of a potential disaster!"

"Obviously!" she retorted. "Find yourself someone more feminine, Jonathan of Conté!" She hurled herself out of the tent.

Kara and Kourrem looked up from their packing, startled, as she marched into her own home. "I'm not leaving!" she snapped. "Next time someone tells you I am, check with me first!"

They bowed and hurried from the tent, their eyes wide above their face veils. Alanna threw herself onto her sleeping mat and gave way to furious tears.

Tears led to a long, exhausted sleep. When she awoke, it was dark. Jonathan and Myles were gone.

*

"Jonathan." Queen Lianne beckoned to her son. Jonathan obeyed the summons, trying to erase the frown that had creased his forehead since his return from the desert over a week ago. He could hear courtiers whispering now about his unusual surliness.

Let them talk,
he thought savagely as he bowed before his mother's throne.
What do I care?

His mother gestured for a willowy blonde to come forward. "Prince Jonathan," the Queen said as the blonde sank into a deep curtsy, "may I make Princess Josiane known to you? Josiane is the second daughter of the King of the Copper Isles; she has come to stay with us for a time. Her mother and I were good friends as girls. Josiane, my son Jonathan."

Josiane looked up at him from her curtsy, her blue eyes huge with admiration. "Prince Jonathan," she said, her voice soft and husky. "It is an honor to meet the man who fought so bravely in the Tusaine War."

Jonathan took Josiane's hand and raised her to her feet, lightly kissing her fingertips. "I was just a boy then, Princess," he reminded her. She said nothing, her full mouth curved in a smile. "Would you care to dance?"

"I would love to." She moved gracefully out onto the floor at his side as Jonathan noted with satisfaction that she was tall (the top of her head level with his eyes), slender, and milky-skinned.
She'll do,
he thought with grim satisfaction.
She'll help me prove to that
—female
in the South that I never want anything to do with her again!

* * *

8—The King of the Thieves

House Azik, Dog Lane, in the city of Port Caynn was one of many large residences set off from each other by high walls. It looked like a respectable merchant's home.

"That a Trebond should come to the point of associatin' with thieves—with the worst of them all—" Coram grumbled as she tugged the bellrope.

"That
thief
is my best friend," Alanna reminded him tartly. "And
he
doesn't take me for granted."

She had tried to concentrate on tribal affairs after her fight with Jon, but her attention wandered constantly. It had been Coram's decision to accompany her when she decided at last to visit George; Alanna could only wish that he had decided to keep his tongue between his teeth when he did so. Coram had never approved of her friendship with George.

A brown-eyed, brunet young man peered out of the porter's door and yelped. Swiftly unbarring the large gate, Marek Swiftknife, George's second-in-command and perennial rival, let them in. "Quickly!" he hissed. "Before you're recognized!"

Once inside the courtyard, Alanna and Coram dismounted. Marek rebarred the gate and gripped Alanna's hand, his sharply cut, handsome face alight with glee. "It's still a jolt, seem' you with your chest unbound," he explained, ignoring Co-ram's warning growl. "And it's good t'see you, what with his Majesty sulkin' about, makin' life miserable for us all." He showed them into the house as he asked, "Where'd you get your skin so tan?"

"We've been in the desert," Alanna explained as Marek showed them into the house. "We're Bazhir now."

Marek shook his head. "If it isn't one thing with you—"

"Guests?" A buxom redhead came out of the shadows at the back of the main hall. "Who's come at this early hour?" Seeing Alanna, she laughed. "Well met, youngling. My cousin's goin' to be glad t'see
you."

A hard elbow met Alanna's ribs painfully. "Introduce me," Coram growled into his knight-mistress's ear.

Grinning, Alanna said, "Rispah, this is Coram Smythesson. Coram was my first teacher; now he's my companion. Rispah is George's cousin and Queen of the Ladies of the Rogue," she added impishly.

Coram bowed over Rispah's hand. "How can I think ill of th' Rogue when such lasses are part of it?"

Rispah smiled. "I'm glad a strong-lookin' soldier like you don't wish to think ill of us," she replied, her husky voice a purr.

Shocked, Alanna realized they were flirting. Even more surprising was her realization that Coram was a fine figure of a man, big belly and all.
He's not even very old,
she remembered.
He's only forty or so. Plenty of soldiers wait that long to marry, till the itch is out of their feet . . .
 

Feeling Alanna and Faithful watching with interest, Coram let go of Rispah's hand, blushing slightly.

He likes your coming here better now,
Faithful commented from his perch on Alanna's shoulder.

A door slammed upstairs, and a male voice yelled, "Rispah! I asked for charts of the Merchants' Guild-House t'be sent up with my breakfast—"

"You have visitors, cousin!" Rispah called, winking at Alanna. "Right noble guests, if I'm any judge!"

Alanna put Faithful down on the floor, feeling uncertain and strange. What if George wanted nothing to do with her?

The tall thief rushed down the stairs and grabbed her, swinging her around as he laughed. "And I've been thinkin' you forgot me" he said, placing her on her feet once more. "Just look at you! Tan and fit and wearin' the clothes of a Bazhir—"

Alanna looked up into his friendly hazel eyes and broke into tears.

Rispah took Coram's arm with a smile. "I'll show you t' your rooms," she said. "We'll be certain you and Lady Alanna have all you need."

After a worried glance at Alanna, who was sobbing into George's shirt, Coram shook his head and followed Rispah. The King of the Thieves looked down at Faithful, who watched them with unblinking purple eyes from his seat on the floor. "You, too," he said, jerking a thumb in the direction Coram and Rispah had taken. "Scat."

She won't tell you anything, you know,
Faithful remarked as he obeyed.

"Will you not?" George asked Alanna, who was trying to wipe her eyes on the sleeve of her burnoose. He produced a large handkerchief from his breeches pocket and held it to her small nose. "Blow," he ordered.