Chapter Seven

Faelan’s first morning in Duncan’s camp came early. At garrison dawn, an hour before the actual event, while the infantry regiments slept, Duncan’s cavalry held saber drills. The awesome destructive force of their curved blades combined with their expert horsemanship left Faelan trembling. After their drills, the troopers washed and assembled into their individual units for morning mess.

Duncan ate in the first rotation. He shared his table with his elf and nine blue-jackets. Pork, mutton, fish, eggs, gravy, porridge, and fruit weighed down the table. The cooks served more food at this one meal than Faelan’s people saw in an entire week.

Faelan sat at Duncan’s feet accepting tasty morsels from his hand. It was hard to hate an enemy who fed her so well, particularly when the same enemy heated her skin with a glance, and turned her insides to molten lava in his sleep. He was dangerous on every level, but when she remembered the map spread on the table and what it meant, she simply couldn’t give up. So she was attracted to her enemy, it didn’t mean she couldn’t do the job. She’d be careful. No more touching.

The group at Duncan’s table enjoyed an easy camaraderie, the first Faelan had seen between the field marshal and his troops. These troopers called themselves Red Fist. Apparently, Duncan commanded Red Fist before the war and he hoped to again.

Their talk centered on their horses and on their absent captain whom they spoke of with unabashed affection. He was, Faelan gathered, somewhere training more cavalry. More cavalry, the thought made her blood run cold.

****

Duncan sat behind his trestle desk, his mood black; his dog curled up at his feet. He had slept poorly, troubled by dreams such as had not plagued him since adolescence. Ashes. He had stained his linens. Linens he stripped off his bed with his own hands. Early in life, he had learned to control and redirect sexual energy toward more profitable pursuits. He could not imagine what triggered such erotic dreams now of all the inconvenient times.

He was not immune to need. When the simple human need to touch and be touched overtook him, he took care of it in darkened rooms with women he paid well and never spoke to, lest his speech patterns betray him. Lust never ambushed him. Ever.

But the woman in his dream had. She tasted of honey. She felt soft, warm, and real. She was different…wondrous…perfect right down to the light dusting of golden freckles across the bridge of her nose. There was just something about freckles that did it for him. He had a thing about freckles. He must have seen her somewhere. His imagination, while vivid, did not run in that direction. Just the memory of her made his cock thicken. Duncan shook his head, frustrated by his lack of control. He did not have time for carnal distractions.

His prolonged brown study produced its usual result. His generals shifted in their seats. Eamon studied his fingernails. The cadets looked nervous. Duncan cleared his throat. “Forgive me, gentlemen. As I said, we will strike along the AOD’s northern flank driving them south toward the plains. Are there objections?”

“You are a coward!”

Faelan raised her head. The shouting general, a big man, red-faced, and balding, was in his late forties, barrel-chested, and brisling with rage. Faelan hated him on sight. “You said, wait for their general to draw down his raiding parties. Well, he’s done that, and I say we crush them now.” He waved his arms encompassing the assembled warriors. “Who’s with me?”

Several men jumped up shouting agreement. From Faelan’s spot near Duncan’s feet, his blistering scent drifted to her sharp as burned sulfur.

Duncan’s nostrils flared. “No.”

The older man sprang to his feet. “You’re a damned coward, like every other thieving Addiri ever born.”

Nine blue-jacket officers scrambled to Duncan’s defense, their hands going to their sabers. Eamon lunged across the table, barely restrained by one of the more human looking Thallasi elves. Duncan rapped his fist on the desk demanding order. Red Fist subsided into their seats, grumbling.

“Eamon sit, please,” Duncan said. The elf obeyed, but he did not look happy about it. Duncan breathed out slowly. “General Rickman, let me repeat, the attack you propose is not in our strategic best interest. I do not intend to rehash my reasoning with you as you have proven unable to grasp the simplest logistics.” He paused. “The AOD’s current position is unfavorable to cavalry. Adequate support for our infantry is not possible. Estimated losses are unacceptable. Therefore, we will move the enemy farther south. End of discussion.”

“Coward.” The General spit the word at him. “Captain Fawr would attack.”

Duncan spoke calmly into a fresh chorus of saber rattling from Red Fist. “I am not Captain Fawr.”

General Rickman shot him a rude gesture. “Tell me something I don’t know.” He turned and strode toward the exit.

“General, I caution you, if you walk out of this tent, you will leave this camp.” Duncan’s measured voice halted the man in his tracks. “Colonel Isem, prepare to assume command of the Ionian Regiment.”

Sudden quiet filled the tent. Duncan’s scent filled Faelan’s nostrils. Despite his outward appearance, he was not calm. He smelled like brimstone and charred oranges. Colonel Isem’s gaze darted from one man to the other.

The offended general stomped back to his seat, but his resentment thickened the meeting’s atmosphere. There was an outward rush of air as if the whole tent released a breath. Faelan gazed up at Duncan’s heartbreakingly gorgeous face and saw perfect calm, not a hint of the emotion she sensed burning beneath the surface

He turned to his cadet as if a near mutiny had not transpired. “Roland, set up the maps, please."

To give his cadet time and, Faelan suspected, to calm himself, Duncan shuffled the papers in front of him. Men began to shift restlessly and talk among themselves. From his customary place at Duncan’s right, Eamon leaned in.

“Aimery?” the elf whispered.

Duncan looked up and gave a tight smile. “We are in agreement then, gentlemen? A lightning strike to the AOD’s northern flank will move them southward.” He fleshed-out his plan in a methodical way. “Bird, I want full garrison, Thallasi archers, Othoni and Kraeten infantry, and Hotten hurlers.”

The blue-jacket nodded. “I’ll have them ready, sir.”

“I believe that concludes this morning’s business. Thank you for your attention gentlemen. You are dismissed to noon mess with my compliments.” Duncan paused. “Garrison personnel remain behind, please.”

The allies filed out, some complaining to anyone willing to listen.

“How you put up with that scheming jackass day in and day out is a mystery to me,” the female blue-jacket said.

“I have five older sisters.” Duncan gathered his papers and tapped them straight. “As schemers go, Rickman has much to learn.”

“Yes, well, if he spouts-off about you or My Captain one more time, I’m going to introduce him to my sister.” The warrior woman bared an inch of steel and slammed it forcibly back into her scabbard.

“My dove.” The man called Bird placed a hand on her shoulder. “Shug can stand his own ground against Rickman or anyone else, who cares to cross wits with him. He doesn’t need your help.”

“I know that!” The female blue-jacket shot her man a dark look. “Rickman knows nothing about My Captain except his reputation for temper.”

For some reason lost on Faelan, her statement produced a sputter of laughter.

“My point is,” the woman continued, “even if My Captain were here, Duncan is our tactical officer. He’d do as Duncan advised."

Duncan shot the woman a skeptical look

She grinned. “All right, he might not, but he’d make damn sure the rest of us did.” She dropped back into her chair eyeing Duncan curiously. “Now, what do you have to say you don’t want that bunch hearing?"