16. Tamsyn

16

Tamsyn

I MPOSSIBLE AS IT SEEMED, OUR PACE QUICKENED AFTER THE confrontation with the brigands. Fell set a grueling speed, driving us like a relentless wind. Well, driving me . The others did not seem pushed beyond their limits. It was just me who felt as though I were a sapling battered in a storm, ready to snap. Just me. Different. Solitary. Lonely. Not yet broken in to the ways of this life.

It felt like a punishment for my actions, for my boldness with the brigands. The border warriors looked at me and saw stupidity. Weakness. As though I were a wayward child lacking all sense. My jaw locked. They were wrong. I would show them. Somehow. I would prove myself not useless.

This land had teeth. Sharp little points ready to sink into you and bleed you dry. I clung to my reins, leaning forward as my mare carried me faithfully. The air felt thinner as we moved through the hills into higher country, and I breathed deeper, harder, stretching to fill my lungs.

The new pace was shattering the last of my strength. I could not imagine my sisters bearing it. I'd always been the hardy one, the one built to withstand the rigors of life. Obviously. But then I wondered if they would have had to. Would Fell have made other arrangements for them? Would he have cosseted Alise? Sheltered Feena? Pampered Sybilia?

Would he have tucked the princess, the wife he sought, into a carriage and traveled at a slower pace? I glared at the back of Fell, hating him.

I hated all of them and their ability to weather this crossing with such obvious ease.

Fell was still angry. It radiated off him in waves. He wanted to be home already. He wanted to deposit me inside his stone walls and forget about me. Forget that I was his wife. I felt certain of this.

I told myself it couldn't get any worse. Short of forcing the horses into a gallop—and he wouldn't overtax the poor beasts that way—it couldn't worsen.

Then the sky opened.

IT RAINED FOR two days.

Intermittent rain that fell like needles on the skin. Still we pushed on. It was as though nothing ever affected these warriors. They were inhuman. My clothes never had time to fully dry out between downpours, so my discomfort never abated. My garments stuck to me like a clammy hand, wet and heavy. There was no part of me dry.

"Will we stop anytime soon?" I asked Mari in one of the rain-free spells when we could actually hear our voices. It was a question. Not a complaint. Complain I would not do.

Mari shook her head, her expression worried. "We need to reach the river before the water gets too high. It might already be too high to ford."

"What do we do then? If we can't cross?"

"We go west." She didn't look happy. "It will add days to our journey. And it also puts us close to the skog." She looked even unhappier at that, and I could tell this potential threat was a bigger concern.

"What's wrong with the skog?" I asked, recalling the brigands' taunts about it.

"Oh." She grimaced. "You don't want to travel through the skog if you don't have to."

"Why is that?"

She opened her mouth and closed it before saying, "Let's just say, not every traveler who goes into the skog comes out."

That sounded ominous.

Mari continued, "Have you ever heard of a huldra?"

"As in a... forest nymph? A seductress? I've heard the bards speak of such a creature, but I assumed that was just a myth."

Her lips twisted. "That is what they'll probably say in the future about dragons and witches. In some distant era when the world is a place we can't even imagine."

The rain started again and talking proved pointless beneath the pattering. I leaned low and forward over my mare's neck. It seemed to help, relieving the worst of the grinding pressure on my nether parts. It also reduced the risk of me toppling over the side.

Several hours later, we reached the Vinda River. It was the widest river in Penterra, crisscrossing the continent north to south and dumping into the Dark Channel.

It was alive. A writhing serpent. Swollen and wild and churning with death.

We stood along the bank, watching the tossing waters, and I recalled something I'd heard from one of the palace's visiting bards, that the swords of the dead churned beneath the waters of the Vinda River, ready for those who fell in—fodder for the stab of their immortal blades.

Suddenly I tasted blood in my mouth again. Copper coins sitting on my tongue. I worked my mouth, trying to get rid of the taste as I stared hard at the bubbling white foam and knew there had to be some truth to the stories. Those who fell into the rushing current would never resurface. The river carried death.

Fell finally reacted. The first to move, he maneuvered his horse about, declaring with a grim set to his mouth, as though he, too, knew death lurked in that water: "We go west."

There was a ripple of discontent, a surge of cold air.

Fell's destrier broke into a trot, his flank muscles undulating beneath his shiny coat as he took the muddy slope that led up from the bank. We all followed him. I hung on to the saddle pommel, the rough jostling assaulting my body and bringing a wet sob to my throat. I bit my lip, swallowing the sound, determined not to reveal my agony.

Fell never bothered to ask after my well-being. Perhaps if he did, I would tell him. I would say: I am not well. My well-being is not... well.

But I had promised to learn this new life, and learning meant... enduring.

A quick glance around at my traveling companions revealed mild and unaffected faces. No one else seemed the least bit uncomfortable or pained from the grueling pace, so I would pretend the same.

I would die before uttering a complaint.

I WAS DYING.

I clenched my teeth to keep from crying out when my mare hit a rut in the path that bounced me in the saddle. My eyes stung. It was worse than any thrashing I'd ever suffered at the hands of the lord chamberlain. Those abuses were always fleeting and easy to get past, but this was unremitting. Ceaseless. A burning, unrelenting torment. Pain layering upon pain upon pain so that there was never any relief, never any time for my skin to properly heal. Fortunately the rain had stopped, and I was finally dry. That was one misery no longer plaguing me.

Each night I fell asleep the moment I hit my bedroll. I could scarcely be bothered to eat anymore. Just a few mouthfuls to appease Mari, and then I was falling like a boneless rag doll onto my bedroll. The demand for rest won out over food.

Unfortunately, it felt as though I was nudged awake as soon as my eyes closed. All those afflicted areas screamed in protest during my stiff movements, but I dutifully dragged myself back on top of my mare each morning.

Three days after we left the river behind, we stopped near a stream to water the horses and take a small repast. When we dismounted, I slid down onto the ground and my legs betrayed me, crumpling like brittle leaves.

I collapsed in an undignified heap, unable to move. I blinked up at the puffy white clouds drifting across the bright blue sky, grimly accepting that this would be where I died. A good enough place. I couldn't stand, and I didn't care anymore. I could no longer pretend.

My view of the sky was suddenly blocked by a great shadow. Fell peered down at me, asking in a gravelly voice, "Are you hurt?"

I snorted. " All of me is hurt."

At this point it seemed fair to complain. I was dead... or very well on my way to death. Certainly, I was unable to get to my feet, and there was no way I could get back on that mare. Fell and the others might as well know the truth of the situation.

Fell reached down and grasped my arms, hauling me to my feet in one move, as though I weighed nothing at all. A cry escaped me at the sudden motion before I swallowed it back with a whimper. My head lolled on my shoulders as pain lanced through me so intensely I saw spots.

His hands flexed upon my arms, giving me a slight shake so that my gaze snapped to his. "What ails you?"

"My... uh... lower half is not quite accustomed to this." I didn't know a more delicate way to phrase it.

"I thought you said you ride," he said accusingly.

"I know how to ride. An outing here and there. An hour at the most." Trips longer than that called for a carriage.

He closed his eyes in one long-suffering blink. "Fuck." Opening them, his cool gray eyes swept over me. "Can you walk at all?"

"Of course." I took a staggering step forward as though I could prove it. My knees gave out. I was on my way down when he caught me. One of his arms went under my knees and another around my back. "Ah!" My hands flew to his shoulders, my palm with the carved X at once sparking and tingling when it made contact with him. It was a strange contradiction—that enlivening heat there while the rest of me throbbed like one great wound. "What are you—"

"Make camp," he commanded in a biting voice to his warriors, ignoring me.

It was then I observed that we had gathered quite the audience. They hesitated, swapping glances.

Arkin stepped forward with a belligerent swagger. "We've half a day of good riding left—"

"You heard me. Set up camp." Fell nodded at the closest two warriors. "Vidar, Magnus, put up a tent."

The two warriors scurried off to do his bidding.

Arkin aimed a scowl at me. "For her ," he sneered, and I flinched. "We're stopping for her. She's weak and slowing us down. We might as well have let the brigands keep her, for all the trouble—"

Fell held up a single finger. "I'll not hear another word about her from your lips." His voice rumbled up from his chest and vibrated against me.

Arkin jerked as though he'd taken a blow. He compressed his mouth into an outraged line. Clearly he had not expected my husband to come to my defense. Truthfully, neither had I.

Fell continued, sweeping another glare over his warriors, "Or from anyone else. Is that understood? She is mine to deal with."

Several nods answered. A few "ayes" resounded in the afternoon air.

Mine to deal with. Not exactly the stuff of romantic dreams.

Arkin pursed his lips in silent accord, but agreement did not light his eyes.

"I want a tent waiting when we get back," Fell added, and then he was moving with me in his arms, covering the ground in long strides.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"To the stream." He paused and whirled back around as though something had occurred to him. "Mari," he barked over his shoulder to the sword maiden. She appeared instantly. "Will you please see that there is food ready for us when we return?" He sent me a considering glance. "Something hot and nourishing."

Her dark gaze shot to me, then quickly back to him... but not before I read her thoughts. She pitied me. It was humiliating. She thought me weak and broken. I would have preferred her condemnation. "Of course, Fell."

I wondered at the hint of intimacy I detected in her voice. Were they something to each other? She was beautiful. Was she more than a sword maiden to him? He more than her liege lord? The notion did not sit well. Not that I could do anything about it except feel this awkward sense of inadequacy, this sense that I was an intruder in his life, a wife gained through duplicitous means. I had no claim to him and could not expect to be treated as a true partner deserving of his loyalty.

He carried me through the trees. I looked up at the canopy of whispering leaves. Sunlight streamed in thin ribbons through gaps. I was no dainty woman, but he did not grow the least bit winded. I opened my mouth, wanting to protest that I could walk, but that would not have been true, so I stayed silent, pressing my pulsing palm into his shoulder as if I could burrow my way past garments, to the flesh of him.

I heard the stream before we reached it—the burbling of water over eons-smooth stones. The trees thinned out and cleared enough to reveal a rocky shore. He chose a moss-covered slab that jutted out from the brook, lowering me down onto its verdant, yielding surface.

"Let me see," he demanded, reaching for my hem.

I slapped at his hand. "Don't. You. Dare."

His gaze down there—on me—would be my final shame. It would finish me.

"Come now." He continued reaching for my hem. "Don't be embarrassed. I've seen beneath your skirts before."

My face heated all the way to the tips of my ears. "This is not the same."

"No. It's not," he agreed succinctly. "We are alone. And I'm trying to help you. This isn't the kind of thing you can do for yourself." His expression darkened. "If you had told me sooner, I could have offered you relief."

I slapped at his hand again. "Indeed? It's not as though you have been the most approachable," I snapped. "And you warned me that weakness would not be tolerated, that I must learn this way of life. Why should I have said anything to you at all?"

We stared at each other, both breathing hard, gazes locked, and more than my hand was humming now. My chest fairly purred, buzzing and pulling and tightening in that way that made me long to apply pressure there.

Finally he gave a nod and spoke. "Allow me to help you. Please, Tamsyn."

I blinked slowly at the softening of his voice. It was not a command but a politely worded request. I felt my resolve crack as I gazed at his striking face. He was my husband. It was an incontrovertible fact. I was in pain. Another incontrovertible fact. If he could help me, I should permit him.

I relaxed my grip on the hem of my riding skirt and dragged the fabric up my legs, the breath seething out of me slowly, expanding my nostrils. I leaned back rigidly, exposing my limbs inch by inch to the day... to his sharp eyes.

We were far enough north now to really feel the nip of impending winter, and yet presently I felt flushed, the warmth in my chest spiraling throughout my body, heating up the blood in my veins. My face burned hot, and still I kept tugging the fabric past my hips.

He lowered his eyes and reached for the bottom of my shift, the final barrier to my modesty. His fingertips brushed the insides of my knees, and I flinched. His hands settled there, his palms covering the rounded bends, and I whimpered at the throb of his palm where we'd been blooded together. It was not my imagination. That X pulsed hotly against my skin.

He felt it, too.

Frowning, he pulled his hand back momentarily. He flexed that big hand and gave it a little wiggle, working his fingers in the air as if that could rid him of the sensation. Shaking his head, his hand returned to my knees, parting my thighs wide for him. Another moan escaped me at the discomfort, at the pull on my desperately unhappy muscles, at the air on my ravaged thighs and vulnerable sex. I swallowed back a whimper, but then it was done.

He could view me now, splayed open as I had not even seen myself. As no one had. This was dispassionate. Of course there was no amorous intent in this. I was certain nothing about this inspired his lust. Only his pity. Perhaps it even inspired his disgust. My fingers dug into the moss-covered rock, fighting for my dignity in such a very undignified position.

He ducked his dark head between my knees and hissed a breath before muttering a curse. The foul word was a steaming puff on my vulnerable skin. "Ah, what have you done to yourself?" What have I done? "Why did you not say anything?"

"I already explained that you were not the most approachable."

He grunted and lifted his gaze to mine. "Come here," he growled.

Before I realized what he was about to do, he had me in his arms again. Keeping my skirts hiked around my waist, he carried me into the water.

"It's going to be cold," he warned without giving me time to prepare. I screeched as he submerged me in the icy stream. "It will help bring down the swelling and redness," he advised, holding on to me, mindful not to let my riding skirts become soaked.

I clung to his arms, panting against him in protest of the cold. Gradually I realized he was correct. The cold water did soothe my inflamed skin. The shock eventually ebbed, and I sighed in relief at the icy rush over my abused flesh.

"We will rest today and resume tomorrow," he said, still holding me, hugging me really, and I tried not to think about the bewildering way my chest pulled and constricted at the center. My heart beat faster, almost like it longed to break free. "In the future, speak up if you're hurt or sick."

"All right," I agreed, cautiously hopeful that he would now acknowledge my existence and not leave me to Mari all the time. Perhaps we could get beyond our rough start and forge something together. What was the alternative? Remain as strangers? Enemies?

A crunch of pebbles alerted us that we were no longer alone.

Fell stiffened against me but managed not to drop me into the water as he swiftly twisted around. I searched the bank and found the interloper.

A woman stood across the stream. I didn't know what I expected to find—Mari or one of his warriors or more brigands. This hooded figure was not any of those, though.

Her cloak covered all of her except for the oval of her pretty face. A strong wind stirred, buffeting her garments against her shape. The breeze cracked branches and rustled leaves. A fine mist emerged from within its fold, curling over the ground, coming toward us in a swelling gust. Her expression was mildly curious as she eyed the strange sight we must have made.

"Hello," she said evenly. Her eyes, far older and wiser than the smooth brown skin of her face would suggest, flitted back and forth between us.

Fell's voice rumbled against me, although there was no warmth or welcome in the sound. "Hello."

"Is she ill?" she inquired with a nod at me, and I shivered, uncertain if it was from her dark eyes or the sudden swathe of chilling fog.

"Saddle sore," he replied casually, although I detected the tension in him. His gaze scanned the fogged bank and tree line, clearly searching for anyone else who might be accompanying her.

She bent her head slightly to fumble with a satchel at her side, beneath her cloak. The action slipped the hood back on her head, and her red hair came into full, glorious view. It was not a fiery red, though, shot through with various shades of red and gold like mine. Her hair was a deep scarlet, all one hue, almost unnatural in color. She wore the straight crimson curtain pulled back at her temples with a pair of simple combs. "I have something to help with that."

She produced a small cork-topped jar from her bag. Without waiting for an invitation, she crossed the stream, dragging her hem through the water indifferently. Fell tensed as she reached us and motioned me onto the mossy rock I'd earlier occupied. "Come now," she chided. "I'll not bite. Sit yourself there and let me attend to you."

I glanced at Fell, but he did not move. His attention remained fixed on her, and I was seized with the conviction that should he wish it, we would be gone, vanished into the rising mist. If he deemed her a threat.

She sighed and propped one hand on her hip, clearly aware of his reticence. "Come now. I'll not harm her." She glanced at me and waved her little jar. "I'm guessing you would appreciate this."

I considered her for a moment before giving his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. "I would appreciate that," I replied, then assured Fell, "It's all right. Set me down."

After a few moments, he gave a curt nod and carried me back to the slab of rock. Once I was settled upon it, she gestured for me to lift my skirts, and I obliged, marveling that I would permit two strangers to assess me so intimately on the same day. Or, well, ever.

Fell hovered close, clearly still wary of her intentions. Upon examination of me, she clucked her tongue and sent Fell a reproving look. "You should have better care for your woman."

My face burned hot at those words. She could not know he was forced to have me, and I would not dare explain our unusual situation to her. One embarrassment at a time was enough.

She uncorked the jar. The pleasant scent of juniper and rosemary and other fragrant herbs reached my nose. "This salve will make you feel better and help hasten the healing," she kindly explained. I sucked in a breath and tried not to recoil when she dabbed the mixture against a particularly tender area.

"Apologies," she murmured. "You have a few spots rubbed quite raw." Another accusing glare was sent Fell's way, and he actually looked a little shame-faced.

Finished, she pulled my skirts back down. I shifted experimentally and exhaled. "That is... incredible. It already feels so much better."

"Of course it does." Her beautiful face broke into a smile then. "Here." She offered me the jar.

"Oh no. I couldn't—"

"Yes, you can," Fell broke in, proffering a coin he had produced from somewhere on his person. "Take it," he said to the woman.

Her smile slipped. "I don't need your money, border lord." She flung out the designation like it was something foul on her tongue.

She knew he was a border lord? I acknowledged that he had a certain look to him, a certain air of authority and command, and he dressed as a Northman. He could never be mistaken for a soldier of the City.

His expression went hard.

She looked at me again and winked, patting my hand like one would stroke a pet. "We must stick together." We? I stopped short from asking what she meant by that. Likely she meant we as in women collectively. How else could we be alike? "My name is Thora."

"I'm Tamsyn."

"Lady Dryhten," Fell supplied. "My wife."

"I would wager she is new to the title and position." Sniffing as though she smelled something offensive, she pushed to her feet, her smooth and unlined features the height of judgment as she considered him. "Might I suggest, my lord, that if you want your lady in riding shape, you attend to her with more care." She looked at him archly, and I suspected she was not speaking of horseback riding. At least not only of that.

It was all rather perplexing... and humiliating.

I wanted to proclaim that I was not his wife—not in truth. Not of his choice, at any rate. Whether it was my choice was up for debate, too.

It had been nearly two weeks, and he had not placed a finger on me. Not looked at me. Only spoke to me when I'd pushed him to the edge and he wanted to vent his ire. Cleary he was not interested in intimacy between us.

Fell's expression did not crack. He nodded grimly. "I will have more care."

Thora extended a hand and helped me to my feet. Suddenly standing close, she leaned in and whispered into my ear. I heard the words... but failed to understand them. What did she mean?

There was no time for clarification, though. She moved away as abruptly as the utterance passed into my ear.

Wading through the stream, Thora tossed over her shoulder, "Safe crossing, Lord and Lady Dryhten."

We watched her disappear through the murky haze and into the trees. After a moment, I glanced down at the small jar in my hands. If not for its solid weight in my palm, I would wonder if she had even been real and the entire encounter not some bit of whimsy I had imagined.

"Well. That was lucky," I murmured.

"Was it?" he asked vaguely, his strong profile pensive as he stared at where she had disappeared.

I turned to study him curiously. "How could meeting her have been anything other than chance?"

"Indeed. How could it?"

We made our way back to camp and the large tent waiting for us. Someone had prepared a stew, and we ate in silence. I wolfed down my steaming bowl with embarrassing speed. When I was finished, Fell took my bowl and pointed to the bed, his gruff command to sleep so at odds with his previous solicitousness.

The bed of furs was the most luxurious thing I'd ever felt beneath me, and that was saying something. My accommodations in the palace had always been quite agreeable. I snuggled in with a sigh, marveling that such comfort had been provided—that it had been available to me all along. I tried not to let that annoy me and reminded myself that I would have the remainder of this day and all night to rest and recover. It would be heavenly. I might not feel as though I wanted to die when I took to the saddle in the morning.

My heavy eyelids drifted shut. As I floated off to sleep, Thora's low voice wove through my mind as if she was still before me, her words a soft rasp in my ear: Take heed. He will not tolerate the likes of you. He would sooner see you dead.