~ 16 ~

Oddly, Anlin thought leaving Rennic was more frightening than entering it. She had been uncomfortable returning to the place of her enslavement since it brought back memories that haunted her. But leaving meant she drew ever closer to having to face the destruction of a dream. When the trip ended, she could no longer pretend her son was going to be happy in her home. He would be there, but she was sure he would not be happy.

They traveled back the way she and Faulk had come, stopping at the empty way stations. When they left the secret trail, they found shelter with village shamans. Callip led the group. Telm came second, immediately followed by Anlin, who spent hours watching the stiff shoulders of the boy in front of her, wishing she could think of some way to reach him. She was trailed by both packhorses since the silver was returning with them. Callip had been adamant in his refusal of any funds that would indicate Telm was being bought.

An ever-vigilant Faulk brought up the rear. He was still not convinced Callip would guide them to the border without incident. Faulk seemed relieved when they by-passed the village of Chirlon. If anyone in the surrounding countryside connected the death or disappearance of Nerth and his friends with the arrival of two Fallucians in the area, nothing was said.

At this elevation, the mornings were now cool, reminding Anlin of how brief Rennish summers were. It would not be long before the trees began to blush red and orange and yellow, in sharp contrast to the deep green of the towering pines. There was a beauty to this harsh land, but Anlin was happy to be leaving it.

When she and Faulk talked at their nightly stops, it was obvious his mind was also attuned to the changing seasons. The time it had taken to get into Rennic added to their stay in Ridgemere and now the journey back to Fallucia had pushed them inexorably toward autumn. Faulk fretted about the harvest, which he was not there to oversee. He worried that all the dwellings and buildings he’d thought needed repair had not been made winter ready.

Faulk’s mind had already returned to White Ford. Anlin’s remained solidly fixed on the small, straight back that daily rode before her.

The last night before they came to the Tarsell River, they were housed with a local shaman. She and Faulk were taken to a small building at the rear of the garden, a hut that evidently was used as a guesthouse, while Callip and Telm stayed in the main dwelling. It was the first time she and Faulk been alone since leaving the luxurious room at Ridgemere. This time the accommodations were not so elegant. The benches and bedstead were primitively constructed. The mattress crackled of straw-filling when Faulk sat on it.

“It’s difficult to believe the Rennish can reconcile the difference in the way most of the people live in the countryside and the way the favored ones live at Ridgemere,” Faulk said stretching his full length across the bed with a sigh. “I can see where the slaves are not in the position to rebel, but you’d think the men who aren’t chosen as husbands would resist.”

“Those without magic are convinced they are being punished for something they did in a past life, so they try to follow all the rules with diligence, which, they hope, will bump them up the ladder on the next turn of the wheel.” Anlin spoke while pacing. She was tired but couldn’t seem to settle.

“Sweet Cheelum, I’m almost glad I was raised by a crazy man. At least he thought I only had to get my life right one time around. I don’t think I could plan for something beyond this.” Faulk turned on his side and propped his head up with his hand. “You realize, though, that Telm is convinced of the rightness of Rennic thought.”

“I know. I’m actually trying not to think about it. I keep hoping I’ll be able to change his attitude once he lives with us, that he’ll see how much more sense the Fallucian lifestyle makes.”

“I’m sorry Anlin, but I don’t see that happening. Telm may be young, but he’s smart. He’s going to take one look at the villeins on the holding and ask how they’re better off than the slaves in Rennic. He’s going to see how carefully the magic-oriented Lords of High Places marry among themselves to consolidate both magic and land ownership, and then he’ll want to know just how different that is from the Rennic version of selecting for specific husbands and wives. And if he asks me, I’m going to have to tell him the two systems really aren’t that much different.”

Anlin stopped short and glared at Faulk. “Well, I can certainly tell him the difference. Since I’ve been a slave, I can assure him that it is much better to be a villein at White Ford. Our people are free to choose whom they will marry, they are free to structure their lives within the bounds of the duties they owe you as their lord, and they’re free to improve their lot through hard work and diligence.”

“You’ve given the game away by using the phrase ‘our people,’” he said. “That sure sounds like ownership.”

A flare of anger pulsed through her. How dare Faulk compare the two systems? She’d lived through hell in Rennic and certainly knew the difference.

“And as far as the Lords’ families only marrying one another,” she said, “Telm only has to look at us to see that’s wrong. You basically won my hand in a tournament when you were just…” Her voice trailed off. Faulk had swung up to sit on the side of the bed. He did not look happy.

“I was just some landless knight with no discernable lineage,” he finished for her.

“That wasn’t what I was going to say.”

Faulk looked skeptical, then his face dissolved into a wry smile. “Well, if what Seerin Krisla said was true, and I have no reason to doubt her, I’m the product of a Graymont and Tarn union, albeit without marriage, and you can’t find too many lords from higher places than those.” He laughed. “I’d have held out for a larger holding if I’d known.”

And a more favored bride, Anlin mentally added. She was realistic enough to realize what Faulk had gotten out of their marriage—and what he had not. She understood that he felt there was something lacking, but he didn’t know how to fix whatever it was. He wanted more from her than she had to give.

If there was one thing that this trip had done, it was to make her realize she could like this man she’d taken to husband. While Faulk would see the mistakes he’d made in Rennic as faults, Anlin felt they had made him more human and not as forbidding.

He’d exhibited a sense of humor that had previously eluded her notice, and he had been unfailingly kind to her. Neither was a trait she’d thought she wanted when she decided to become the prize for the best fighter she could find, but she’d discovered they were both characteristics she favored.

She hoped Faulk wouldn’t become distant again once they returned to White Ford. She enjoyed being around him. She wanted them to present a united front to Telm; she wanted to make the boy feel he could find a home with them.

She knew she lacked the skills the lady of the manor should possess, but she could learn them—she would learn them. It was only a matter of applying herself. But she suspected that Faulk found her lacking in areas other than housewifery.

“When we get back to White Ford, will you attempt to get an heir?” The words jumped out before she had time for thought.

Faulk looked surprised, but when he answered, his tone was level, almost casual. “Yes, of course. You know I want children of my body to eventually inherit the holding at White Ford. In this, I’m like most men. I’d like to think that what I build today will be enjoyed by following generations. And I made it clear from the beginning that Telm does not fulfill my requirements for an heir.”

“I wasn’t thinking about Telm,” she said. “I wasn’t trying to put him forward. I was thinking about…”

“Ah, your concern is about the process of getting these heirs.”

“Yes.” She was embarrassed and not sure where to go next with the topic. “I liked the touching.”

His face brightened, his look almost boyish. “You did? Good. That’s good. Eh, would you like to try it again?”

In answer, she walked to where he sat on the edge of the bed. She ran her fingers along the side of his jaw. He hadn’t shaved in days and his cheeks were bristly with a short, dark red beard. It was almost soft to the touch. She liked the way his beard felt differently on her fingertips depending on whether she stroked up or down. She also liked the way Faulk leaned into her hand, eyes closed, as if he were a cat who enjoyed being petted.

“If you sat on the bed, it would be easier for me to touch you, too,” Faulk said. Anlin noticed his hands were gripping the edge of the mattress. She sat. His hands immediately came up and stroked her face as she was stroking his. She smiled when she realized she too had closed her eyes and was leaning into his hand. He loosened the tie that held her still-short hair at the back of her neck and rubbed her temples with his thumbs. Strange, she hadn’t realized it would feel so good to have her hair hanging loose.

“I despair that my hair will ever make a decent matron’s braid.” She murmured the thought, then realized that it didn’t make much sense.

But Faulk seemed to follow her slightly skewed logic. He ran his fingers through her hair and said, “It’s lovely, you know. Soft and thick. Much nicer than pulled back tightly into a braid. And your white blaze. I love your blaze.” He held her head steady with a hand on either side, leaned forward, and kissed the area of her forehead directly below the streak in her hair. She tried to jerk back, knowing how ugly the scar was. Martic had told her over and over how disgusting it looked.

“No, stay. Stay,” Faulk said, holding her head firmly. And then he kissed her lips, softly, as if she had been touched by a windblown leaf. Her lips wanted to do something under his, she wasn’t sure what, but the feeling was nice. He feathered kisses across her cheeks, her nose, her eyelids. “Do you know why people close their eyes when they kiss?” he asked. “It’s because without sight, the touching feels so much better, and kissing is just another form of touching. Would you like me to blow out the candles and make the room completely dark? Then when we touch it will feel better whether we close our eyes or not.”

“Yes,” she said. Anlin had no fear of the dark. The things that men had done to her had always been in the light so they could see her, watch her. The things Faulk did weren’t so scary. He wanted to touch, not mate, and it was nice. Yes, it would be nice in the dark.

Faulk got up and, moving around the room, extinguished the three candles that had been burning. Now there was only a faint, rosy glow from the brazier. She felt more than saw him return. His weight sagged the straw mattress and pulled her toward him. He moved further back on the bed, behind her, his warm hands on her shoulders, kneading muscles she hadn’t realized were so tight and knotted. He massaged down her spine, around her shoulder blades, over the tops of her shoulders and along the sides of her neck. It was wonderful. She began to feel boneless.

“Lay back and I’ll massage your front.” Faulk’s voice sounded strangely hoarse.

Being totally relaxed, she did so. Faulk rubbed her temples, then ran his fingers down the sides of her neck and the front of her shoulders. When his talented hands descended to her breasts, she stiffened. The hand she put up to stop him met with warm flesh. At some time since the candles had been snuffed, Faulk had shed his tunic.

“I’d like it if you touched me in return,” he said, and the hand with which she’d intended to restrain him could not be stopped from stroking his chest. She marveled at the symphony of textures—smooth skin, crisp hair, hard muscle. Her fingers brushed his taut male nipple and it seemed like he stopped breathing. He reciprocated, drawing his fingers around and over her breasts, teasing the sensitive peaks. Her breathing also became erratic.

He changed his position and loomed above her. He slowly lowered his head until his lips were again on hers. The pressure was stronger; his tongue licked along her lower lip. She relaxed her mouth and his tongue slid in, the motion causing an odd reaction in her midsection. She felt him tug at her tunic, but the garment, secure beneath her, didn’t budge. Finally, he broke his breathless kiss. “Let’s take this off,” he said. “It will feel so much better touching flesh to flesh.”

And there in the darkness, when all was sensation and the touching felt so good, she eased her body up so Faulk could pull her tunic from her. The air was cool on her body, but, before she could react, Faulk’s hands were doing wonderful things. She arched to seat her breasts more fully in his palms. Then his mouth replaced his hands, and he was licking and sucking. She had held Telm to her breasts when he was a baby, but the feeling had been nothing like this heart-stopping sensation. She was unable to control the movement of her body and she writhed against Faulk, relishing the feeling of his hard warmth.

He ran a hand lower, over the core of her. She bucked against the pressure and moaned. An affirmation or negation, even Anlin wasn’t sure. She was both frightened and exhilarated. Dampness pooled between her legs. “Stay with me, Anlin mine,” Faulk murmured. “Please stay with me.” His hand was within her drawers, stroking the hair at the apex of her thighs. She felt a spiraling tightness, a hunger for something she did not know.

“Spread your legs, love. It’s touching, only touching.” Unable to resist his compelling caresses, unconsciously seeking a release from the pressure building within, she did as he asked. His fingers traced along her cleft, back and forth. She wanted, needed. His finger entered her, slick, easy, without pain. He thumbed her nub and brought her hips off the mattress, wanting more. The knot inside her pulled tighter and tighter until suddenly, without warning, she shattered into a thousand pieces—pieces that flashed and sparkled, more beautiful than the sun catching dew on the grass.

When the pieces of herself reassembled, Anlin was pulled firmly against Faulk, their bodies sweat-slicked, his lips marking sweet patterns on her face. “What?” she asked, still dazed and incoherent.

“I think you’ve just found the joy that comes from holy duty.” There was laughter in Faulk’s voice, as if what had just happened had found an answering delight in him. “And it can be better, much better. Will you let me make it better? Will you stay with me?”

Anlin wanted to tell him she definitely didn’t plan to disappear into her mind, not if she could have the same experience again, but her brain didn’t seem to be connected to her mouth. There was no way the experience could have been better, but she was willing to try if Faulk wanted. “Yes,” she managed to say.

He rolled slightly to the side, untied his braies, and slid out of them. When he again pulled her against him, she could feel his arousal rubbing against her leg. She stiffened and pulled back. “No, stay, stay.”

He took her hand and placed it on the distended portion of his body that she had always considered a man’s cruel weapon. But this experience was totally different. Instead of being repulsed, she found Faulk’s arousal fascinating. The texture was like velvet. The heat of him seemed to burn into her hand. Faulk moved her hand, trailing her fingers up and down his shaft. “It’s touching, only touching,” he said in a choked voice. “There’s nothing to be frightened of.”

And she wasn’t afraid. This was part of Faulk, and he would never hurt her. She wondered if her stroking was as pleasant for him as his had been for her. His breathing seemed to keep time with the movement of her hand. He nudged her over on her back and began petting her as she stoked him.

The pounding on the door was loud, insistent. “Faulk!” Callip’s voice. “Faulk, I need you now.”

He rolled from her and stood in one motion. She could not see in the dark, but she heard his sword leave its scabbard. He opened the door a crack, sheltering his body behind the stout wood. Light from a torch shown through the narrow opening. “The boy’s gone,” Callip said. “I didn’t anticipate his running off, but he has. I need you to retrieve him.”

“Do you know where he’s gone?” Faulk asked.

“Of course. He’s not far and is on foot. I can sense his magic like a flare in the darkness.”

“Then why in the hell do I need to go after him?”

“Please, Faulk. Telm is afraid. I could tell he was, but I thought he could control it. He’s afraid to leave Rennic. He’s sure that if he does, you will never let him return, regardless of what you’ve sworn. I need you to get him and reassure him. If I go, he will never be sure you are honorable enough to do as you’ve agreed. He needs your assurance.”

“Oh, hell.” Faulk let the door come open a little more. Callip appeared in the blaze from the torch, his face rigid with concern. “All right,” Faulk said. “Give me a moment.”

He came back into the room, silhouetted against the light. “You heard?” he asked as he dressed.

“Please bring him back,” Anlin said. “If you must tie him up to bring him back, do it. Maybe if I talked to him, told him how much I want him at White Ford…”

“I’ll bring him back, but I sure as hell won’t tie him up. Sweet Cheelum, being tied and forced is what he fears the most. Those damned Seerin and Shamans have spent the past four years convincing Telm that anyone who lives across the border is evil, that Fallucians are without honor and cannot be trusted. They’ve done such a good job of it that the boy is scared to death. He’s run away like a skittish horse, and I’ll coax him back, not force him.”

Then he walked out, saying, “Lead the way,” to Callip, and closed the door behind him. She heard the two men speaking and then nothing. Anlin was left alone in the dark. Her body still hummed with delight and confusion. This was not how such a night should have ended. She should not be left alone with all her uncertainties and regrets.

When she’d set her plan to bring Telm back to Fallucia into motion, her greatest hope had been that he was still alive. It had never occurred to her that he might not want to come with her. She had imaged him despised and mistreated, a slave in need of freeing. She lived with the vision of him throwing his arms around her and crying “mother” when he first saw her, confident that here was the one human in all the world who loved her, and whom she loved, unconditionally.

But Anlin’s dream was just that—a dream. Nothing had happened as she’d anticipated. Never had she considered that Telm would be comfortable and happy, that he would have taken on the values of his mother’s captors.

Whatever memories he had of his first three years of life had been replaced by a tale told by others. She’d become the Fallucian whore who took care of him. Even at three, he possibly realized he was a slave as she was a slave and that his life was precarious. Now he’d found a place of comfort, and he could see a fulfilling life before him, a life that did not include Anlin.

He was no longer her sweet little baby. He was no longer the little boy who had screamed and clung to her leg when he was taken from her. He was not now, and perhaps never had been, the smiling image she’d held in her mind through the years of torment after he’d disappeared. And since the Telm she’d remembered and had expected to find again was gone, Anlin was as bereft as she would have been had she discovered he’d died.

Faulk and Callip would bring him back, of that she had no doubt. But she was much less certain what the future would hold. He’d been trained to hate her and her kind, and she could not see a way around that. He was just a boy, only seven years old. Perhaps she could change his attitudes. That was her hope and she must cling to it.

When they got to White Ford, all Telm’s fears would be laid to rest. She had to believe that. But as she sat alone in the dark, this belief was tenuous.