Chapter Fifteen

Faelan wound the starched white tablecloth around her torso fashioning a makeshift sari, her task made more difficult because she did not want to stand for a couple of reasons. First, her legs might as well have been made of rubber. She wasn’t sure they would support her. Second, standing would draw the Nhurstari twins’ attention, and she’d had enough attention from them to last a lifetime.

No one could force a shifter into a change. Everyone knew it, yet here she was naked, exposed, pulled inside out by a strange magic. Every inch of her skin felt raw, bruised. Tentatively, she reached for her wolf. A solid wall of cold met her psychic touch. Her beast lay beyond it in a sealed-off corner of her soul. She shivered. Fear sharp as vinegar stung her throat.

Fifteen minutes later, Duncan burst into the tent followed by the kin-slayer captain and several Red Fist troopers. The man called Bird slapped Duncan on the back.

“Damn it, Shug, you’re brilliant. ‘This alliance operates under the rule of law. Therefore, the accused will stand trial as soon as an impartial court may be convened.’ And that staccato delivery… Man, no one dared oppose you. How the hell do you come up with shit like this?”

“I told you.” Captain Fawr threw himself into a chair, stretching out his long legs. “My man there is a fucking genius. Roland, we need beer in here.”

Duncan crossed to his bookcase, extracted a slim volume, and tossed it to Bird. The man caught it one-handed.

“Justice in Armed Conflict: a Treatise on Military Law,” Bird read aloud and shrugged. “Who knew? You ever read this, My Captain?”

“Sure. But it doesn’t apply to me.” Captain Fawr swallowed a gulp of beer and thumped his fist on his chest. “My being goddess-born, you understand. I am my own law.”

Bird dropped the book into a nearby chair and took a draw on his beer. “I don’t see what you hope to gain by it, Shug. The woman is going to swing.”

“Time.”

“If you really intend to seat an impartial panel, you’ll have that in spades.”

Faelan glanced down pretending to study the weave in the rug while the men congratulated themselves on their cleverness. Feeling Duncan’s gaze upon her, warm as a blanket, she raised her head. An electric shock ran through her with the flame-blue intensity of his gaze, not an altogether unpleasant sensation.

“If I cannot seat an impartial panel here, I will appeal to the Great Ladies.” Duncan took a drink from the cup in his hand, grimaced, and set it on a nearby table. At that moment, Ky’lara strode into the tent, took one look at Faelan, and loosed an angry burst of island language in his direction. Duncan jumped as if she’d stuck him with a needle. Ky’lara nodded, turned on her heel, and stormed out.

“Whew.” Captain Fawr sat forward, arms resting on his knees, his mug dangling between his legs. “What did she say to you?”

“My House-holden recalls me to my station, sir.” Duncan snagged a chair in one hand, and positioned it behind Faelan. “A bit less gently than you did.” He offered Faelan his hand. “I am confident you will find this chair more comfortable Miss…ah…”

“Faelan.” She slipped her hand in his. Lightning struck. The air crackled. For a heartbeat neither moved. Then Duncan blinked his remarkable eyes. Once. Twice. His other hand cupped her elbow as he drew her to her feet.

Standing brought them eye to eye. Faelan sucked in her breath at the sudden intimacy. “Foley,” she finished in a breathy rush.

Duncan stepped back. Flexing his fingers, he rubbed his hand on his pants leg again. “Bird, prepare a tent for our guest, please. Eamon, is Miss Foley, ah, secure?”

“She can’t shift, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“You and Eoin accompany Sergeant Major Falconer. Set wards around her tent, please, and post guards—guards I trust, Bird.”

“I’ll get Red Fist on it, sir.”

Ky’lara passed the sergeant major and the twins going out as she swept back inside. Looking around the native girl nodded approval. “‘Bout time Addiri show his broughtupsy.” She gave Faelan a flashing white smile. “Hello, lady. This dress for you. Looks nice. Better din tablecloth. Turn ’round, Addiri.” Duncan gave them his back at once. Ky’lara snapped her finger twice. “You too captain man.”

“Your slave girl is a tyrant.”

“House-holden are not slaves, sir.”

The captain grunted.

“Where you come from lady?” Ky’lara gathered the garment in her nimble hands pulling it over Faelan’s head.

Faelan’s head poked through the neckline. “I’m Duncan’s dog. Was…his dog”

The girl’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “No wonder Addiri flummoxed. Turn, I lace you up.”

The dress Ky’lara provided was deep russet muslin gathered under the bust, accentuating Faelan’s lack in that area before draping toward the floor in a graceful line. Faelan wondered how the girl had come by it so quickly. Its rich color complimented her pale blue eyes and silver-blonde hair, but the hem missed her ankles by at least seven inches.

The native girl plucked at the bosom’s loose fabric making little tsking sounds. “We can stuff.” Frantic, Faelan shook her head. “Okay,” the woman chuckled. “I take in tomorrow. Addiri, you look now.”

Faelan glanced away, but she heard Duncan’s sharp indrawn breath. The twins had stolen her wolf form not her wolf hearing. Against her will, her gaze lifted to his.

With a decisive nod, Ky’lara said, “I look over dis tent the bird man sets up for da lady, Addiri?”

Duncan’s gaze devoured Faelan from head to toe. “Yes. Thank you, Ky’lara.”

Left alone with Duncan and the kin-slayer captain, Faelan returned to her chair. The captain slouched in a camp chair, scooting down as low as he could, and still his presence dominated the space. Duncan settled himself behind his desk and flipped open his black day book.

“Miss Foley.”

The force of Duncan’s sapphire gaze brought with it a shiver of fear and delight. He held her life in his hands. Did she see revulsion or desire in his burning gemstone gaze? Revulsion. He must despise her, and she could not blame him.

“Miss Foley.”

She raised her chin. “I hear you, Aimery.” He flinched or did she imagine it? “Field Marshal Duncan,” she amended.

Something close to a smile touched his eyes, but not his lips. “Duncan will do, Miss Foley or is it Mistress Foley?”

“Faelan. It’s Faelan.”

He stared at her for several seconds saying nothing. Being on the receiving end of one of Duncan’s long verbal pauses, was different than observing it. Imagination filled his silence with every possible negative. No wonder the rank and file avoided talking to him whenever possible. He plucked his pen from his desk set and dipped the nib in the inkwell.

“I have a few questions for you, Faelan.”

She stiffened her spine and gave him the practiced placid face perfected by every Descendant female before age ten.

“In what way have we offended a people hitherto unknown to us?”

Her gaze flicked toward the hulking kin-slayer captain lounging in the corner with his eyes closed. He appeared to sleep, but Faelan didn’t believe it for a second.

“Do not look at Captain Fawr. He is not in command here. Answer my question, please.”

Faelan smoothed her features, going blank faced. Again, Duncan gave her a long contemplative silence.

“Am I to understand by your lack of response that your people invaded its peaceful neighbors to avenge some imagined offense on the part of Captain Fawr?”

Oh, the language he used, a people unknown to us…peaceful neighbors. Faelan’s cheeks burned. His words made her people sound ridiculous.

“Not imagined.” Faelan countered. “He murdered my ancestor.”

Duncan laid his pen aside. His gaze softened. “Are you certain, Faelan? He sits before you. Question him. If you will not receive Captain Fawr’s testimony, there are above five people in this camp who survived the fall of the garrison at Qets where your ancestor died. You may question each of them. Perhaps history will absolve us of our crimes and end this conflict before many more die.”

No. No, she was not certain. “History is written by the victor. Avenging our ancestor’s murder is a bonus, not the goal.”

The kin-slayer roused. “I’ve never been anybody’s bonus before.”

If only there were a button on her lips she could fasten to force herself to stop talking.

Duncan retrieved his pen and inked the nib a second time. “What is the goal?”

Faelan gave him defiant silence.

“How many troops can your generals bring into the field?”

He already knows the answer.

Faelan decided to answer truthfully. “I cannot tell you, Field Marshal. I am female. We are not taught numbers.”

Duncan’s brow rose. “You are advancing on Elhar. Why?”

“I cannot tell you.”

Docking his pen, Duncan rose and crossed to where Faelan sat stiff-backed in the leather camp chair. He stared down at her silently for…too long…a second or two, tugged at the bottom of the cursed blue jacket he wore, and touched his saber hilt. So he was nervous. That made two of them.

“You must give me something Faelan or I cannot save you.”

It was too much, his everlasting kindness. Faelan’s calm shell shattered. She surged to her feet. The kin-slayer did too, drawing one of his long curved knives in the same motion. Duncan’s hand came up staying the bigger man. He held his ground and let her get right up in his face.

“Why do you want to?” Faelan shouted. “I spied on you. I made free with your body while you slept. I deceived you in every possible way. Shifters are rare and valuable among my people, but I’m repulsive to you. I saw you wipe my touch from your hands. Why pretend you care what happens to me?”

Duncan’s eyes flashed like lightning over the desert. “It is no pretense.” Very deliberately, he placed his hands on her arms and moved her out of his space. His lips curled in a tiny ghost of a smile. “And repulsive is not an adjective I would apply to my feelings for you.”

“Speak plainly, Field Marshal. I’m an ignorant female. I don’t know what an adjective is.”

Duncan shouted for his Nhurstari twins. The pair appeared so quickly they must have been just outside the tent. “Escort our guest to her quarters, please. We are done.”