Viking Ecstasy (26 page)

❧

Tabor stormed through the village, pleased that the people moved aside when he approached them. The anger he felt more than altered his expression; it seemed to ooze out of his pores so that even if a person weren't looking at him, the anger could be felt.

It's always crowded in this land,
Tabor thought, heading once again toward the water. Perhaps he could find a small fishing boat and spend time alone on the water. That would restore his good spirits. To restore the strength of his soul, he needed to be alone. His mind worked most clearly when there was no one near to disturb his concentration.

Barbarian. The word had been spoken by Tanaka many times, but only once had she ever meant to wound him with it. And she had succeeded.

High Priestess Tanaka could not be bothered with the opinions of a lowly foreigner like Tabor. That's what she meant. She believed that her people, her ways, her beliefs, were vastly superior to his, and that was why she could not believe that an Egyptian, especially one living within the palace, would ever do anything to hurt her.

It was dusk. In a few minutes the sun would be down and the villagers would be safely nestled in their sun-bleached homes with their families. Tabor knew that he should return to the palace and began walking in that direction. But then he felt that feeling—that indefinable feeling that he had ignored only once before, once, when Ingmar the Savage had nearly killed him.

His stride lessened and the villagers stopped studying him with quite so much trepidation. He even smiled when an elderly woman carrying a basket laden with bread and onions —the staple diet for these people — paused in her work to look at him.

He was being followed.

Tabor knew it without having seen the man or men who followed him.

Who followed him? And why?

The pharaoh had assigned bodyguards to Tabor. When Tabor explained that this would not be necessary, that if he ever felt he needed bodyguards he would have his own men perform that task, Moamin then assigned a battery of bodyguards to follow Tabor discreetly. Tabor had spotted the men almost immediately, and, when he spoke with Moamin again, asked once more that the bodyguards be removed. So Moamin had promised that he would allow Tabor to handle his own security. But had he been true to his word?

Tabor didn't want to think about the political ramifications of killing an Egyptian who was only trying to ensure his safety.

It was still nothing more than a feeling, but Tabor behaved as though the danger tingling in the pit of his stomach were irrefutable. Rather than heading straight for the pier, he paused at several of the stands where villagers were selling their wares and casually inspected some linens and jewelry, neither of which he had any interest in purchasing.

He turned holding a square of linen, acting as though he wanted to inspect it in the waning sunlight. But he was not looking at the cloth, and when he turned, he saw a small man suddenly stop walking to inspect a live duck.

Tabor summed the man up with a glance. What he saw did not surprise him. The man was short, had fleshy lips and small, cruel eyes. An ugly man, Tabor realized, ugly in ways that transcended cultural differences and prejudices. He had the furtive look of a man who felt life had been unfair to him and, because he was the victim of this unfairness, any atrocity he committed was therefore acceptable.

Tabor neatly refolded the linen and handed it back to the merchant, then continued on his way, with apparent aimlessness. Though he walked slowly, his eyes darted right and left, and his mind examined dozens of possible courses of action to take.

He made his way in the direction of the pier, but eased far to the west of it where there would be fewer people. If he were to discover who was directing the ugly little man's actions, he would need to appear to unwittingly fall into the man's trap, then turn the tables on him.

Thirty minutes later, Tabor was convinced that there was only one man following him. At the outskirts of the village, few people milled about, and the sun was just minutes away from disappearing beneath the horizon.

He followed a narrow path that sheepherders used, exchanged pleasantries with a cheesemaker who was closing up his stand, then slipped behind a building, pressing his body against the wall, enshrouded in shadow. Tabor removed the slender-bladed dagger strapped to his stomach. The dagger had saved his life many times in the past, and the feel of its smooth, polished handle reassured him now.

He waited, hardly breathing, holding the dagger at his side, hoping to use it only as a threat and nothing deadlier.

The little man's footsteps were quick and light, but Tabor heard them. When he rounded the corner of the cheesemaker"s building, Tabor made his move, his powerful body uncoiling from the shadows with fluid grace and awesome, frightening swiftness. Swiftly he fell upon the little man, leading with a huge left fist that connected solidly with the Egyptian's jaw and sent him staggering. A heartbeat later Tabor smashed the butt end of the dagger against the back of the little man's head.

Tabor straddled the body. He'd hit the man harder than he'd intended, anger steeling his muscles. The little man groaned, and Tabor breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that he had not killed him.

"Quiet," Tabor said in Egyptian. He placed a big foot on the man's chest. Had he been back in Denmark, Tabor would have tossed his head back on his shoulders and given a victory scream over his vanquished enemy. "Speak only the truth. Give me only answers. Do you understand?"

The little man nodded.

"What is your name?"

"Yasir,"

"Why are you following me?"

"I have been paid."

"Who pays you?"

Yasir's thick, fleshy lips glistened with saliva. They moved, but he did not speak.

"If you do not speak, you will have no need of a tongue," Tabor said, twisting the dagger in his hand, indicating that if he wanted to cut Yasir's tongue out, he would do so.

"Lysetta paid me."

"What does she want? Your time is running out, and when it does, so will your life!"

Yasir managed a babbling sound, and more spittle glistened on his lips. Finally, his eyes wild with fear, he said, "She will kill me if I tell you! Promise me you won't tell her."

"I promise I'll kill you if you don't tell me everything you know."

"She paid me to see if you are with any women. I ... I think she wants you for herself."

Yasir continued talking until Tabor threatened to cut his tongue out if he said another word. Tabor did not completely believe the story. He knew that Lysetta wanted him, that she had been furious with him when he'd refused to share his body with her. But he believed he'd met women like Lysetta before, and those types of women went on to other men when they felt spurned. They didn't kill the man who had spurned them. Dangerous and compulsive, true, but their danger was short-lived and lacked the essential lasting hatred of an Ingmar the Savage.

"Get away from me," Tabor said, taking his foot off Yasir's chest. "If I ever see you again, I'm going to break both your legs. Then I'll never again have to wonder whether you are following me."

Yasir was gone in seconds, disappearing into the shadows.

Alone, Tabor wondered whether Yasir's story was true or false. His words appeared true, but his fear hadn't seemed entirely real. It was as though he were exaggerating his fear so that Tabor would believe his story.

Was Yasir cunning enough to invent a ruse like that? Was he telling a half-truth? Sometimes half-truths were the worst kind of lie, the deadliest and most destructive kind.

Tabor headed back toward the palace, to rejoin his men. He trusted them and he was certain they would protect Tanaka. He believed Yasir was both telling the truth and lying. , . . and knowing where truth ended and the lie began was impossible.

Tabor felt certain that both his life and Tanaka's were in peril. Even if she didn't believe her own people would hurt her, he did; and as long as he did, he would do everything he could to protect her from the fatal foibles of her own gentle heart.

❧

Sven refilled Tabor's goblet with beer, then sat beside his leader. They were in the chambers which Sven shared with Carl. The two Egyptian women that had been seeing to their needs were in the room as well, though they were tending to Carl, who lay on a cot, his head and body heavily bandaged. Only a few hours earlier he'd been found in the village, lying in a pool of his own blood. Egyptian men—four of them, Carl had explained through puffy, bleeding lips —had attacked him from behind. They used their fists on him until he was beaten to the ground, then they used their feet to kick him into unconsciousness. Even then they did not stop until the villagers began to scream.

"You're sure that Carl didn't do anything to provoke the attack?" Tabor asked, speaking fluidly in his native tongue with the one man in the world whom he trusted completely. He did not have to worry about the Egyptian women overhearing them because they did not speak the language.

"Positive. You said not to cause any trouble, and we haven't. He was just out looking, that's all."

Tabor scratched his cheek, Staring at the amber liquid that he swirled in his goblet. Fury brewed in his stomach. Egyptians had attacked one of his men and beaten him badly . . . nearly to death. That kind of offense demanded a response from Tabor. He lived by an old, honored code: When someone hits you, you return the blow twice, striking flesh twice as hard, and they'll never hit you again. But whom could he hit? And if he did let his violent frustrations and sense of duty prevail, if he did let his fists do what they ached to do, then what chance would he ever have of once again knowing peace and contentment with Tanaka?

"Listen to me," Tabor said, choosing his words with care. "I believe that soon there will be great violence within the walls of this palace. I believe our lives are in danger."

"From the pharaoh?"

"No, I believe he is a good man, but the men near him are evil. That evil will seek to destroy us . . . and Tanaka as well." He looked Sven in the eyes. "You are the only man I have ever trusted completely. I love Tanaka, and I fear for her life. She does not believe that she is in danger."

"I will protect her with my life."

Tabor nodded. Theirs was a friendship that required few words.

"
I
didn't come here to argue with you," Tabor said, his hands on his hips. It was a defiant stance, one that suggested he was more inclined to speak than to listen.

"I'm glad you didn't come to argue because there's something very important that I must tell you." Tanaka saw the cross look that flickered over Tabor's face, but she was determined to be the first to speak. "Last night, some of your men raped a woman in the village and—"

"What?" Tabor bellowed. "That's a lie! My men would never do such a thing! They know my penalty for that, and it's a penalty no man wants to pay!"

Tanaka refused to be intimidated by Tabor. She had spoken with Kahlid, who had spoken personally with the family of the girl who'd been attacked. Kahlid had said the barbarians reeked of beer, laughing when the girl begged for mercy. The hideous memories of her own abduction were still too raw in Tanaka's memory for her to feel any mercy for men guilty of such an atrocity. It had only been serious discussion with the pharaoh that restrained Tanaka from having the guards drag all the Vikings out of the palace and put the spears to them.

"It was your men, Tabor! They were seen! Who else has yellow hair except your men?"

"My men would not do such a thing," Tabor repeated with conviction. "They sail with me. I trust them, and they know what I will not tolerate."

"Well, maybe you'd better tell them again."

"That is not why I came here to speak to you," Tabor continued, as determined as Tanaka to voice his thoughts. "I came here to warn you."

"Warn me about what this time? It seems to me I'm in much greater danger from your people than from my own, though you seem determined to accuse my people of all crimes, real and imagined."

"I tell you once again that you are in danger."

Tanaka looked straight into Tabor's eyes, detesting the fact that once again they were fighting. "You're right. . . . but the only danger I can see has blue eyes and blond hair. It's your men who endanger me, not my own people."

"One of my men was attacked by four Egyptian soldiers! Would you explain that?"

"Probably attacked by a father and three irate brothers," Tanaka shot back without a moment's hesitation.

"Four against one? And you try to tell me how superior your people are to mine! Ha! In a fight man to man, Carl would have thrashed them all, but instead they attacked him like a pack of wolves!"

Even Tabor was aware of how ridiculous the argument had become. He had promised himself that he would not raise his voice while he was with her, nor would he criticize anything about her way of doing things. He had intended merely to state that one of his men had been hurt and, for the safety of everyone in the village and in the palace, the attackers should be found immediately and punished so their reign of terror would end. Never had he dreamed that she would lambast him with such a preposterous notion that his men were running riot through the village raping innocent girls.

"What do you intend to do about the accusations?" Tanaka demanded.

For long, tense seconds Tabor looked at her. It would do no good now to tell her that her life was in jeopardy from someone within the palace. It would also do no good to say that he knew in his heart that his men were not responsible for the rape if, in fact, a rape had occurred. Finally, with a resigned sigh that piqued Tanaka's ire even more, he said, "I will talk with my men. Perhaps they have heard something. That is the best that I can do. And please, for your own safety, be careful. Be wary of everyone. I fear terrible things will happen—soon."

They did not kiss when they parted, though they were unattended in the library. When Tanaka was alone, she sat in her chair and wept. The chasm between them grew wider and wider, and though she loved him—loved him as she had never dreamt she could love any man —she began to feel that she would never again know happiness with him. He was distant. They were separated by more than miles, separated by social position and stature, by beliefs, by their notions of truth, by their fears. She was beginning to fear that Tabor, despite his protestations to the contrary, was unable to love a strong women. He said he adored her strength, but Tanaka could see that Tabor's words and actions were not the same.