A Warrior's Heart Read online

  The man took one look at her set smile and the fire in her eyes and turned around in his tracks, heading back the way he came.

  Cheyna didn't notice. She was too busy restraining the urge to strangle her bondmate. Smiling at another gentleman, she started after Drakthe.

  She refused to let their argument become common knowledge. Drakthe might not mind causing a scene, but she certainly did!

  Drakthe arranged for his and Cheyna's lodging, ignoring his bondwife's disapproving frown when he prodded the keeper about Lcrier's arrival and plans. What he learned did not please him. Lcrier had arrived yesterday and was planning to stay the night again.

  Drakthe drummed his fingers on the counter. A man on trade business seldom stayed two eves in the same place.

  "Shall I show you to your room now?" Rampant speculation filled the man's eyes. Drakthe wasn't about to satisfy it.

  "No." He leaned his forearms on the desk. "Take our things upstairs. Oh, and make sure they are not disturbed." Drakthe played with the writing stylus, the simple gesture filled with menace.

  The man swallowed and a fine sheen of perspiration glazed his upper lip. "Yes, my lord. I will see--I will see that they are well guarded."

  "I thought you might." He didn't say anything else until the man had scurried up the twisting stairs, a saddlebag in each hand.

  He gripped Cheyna by the arm and steered her toward the dining hall. "We'll dine now." Drakthe couldn't shake the sense of unease that had plagued him since he spotted Lcrier. Which was nonsense. Even if Lcrier planned to steal the trade route, it wasn't anything he hadn't handled many times before as Merchant Master.

  But this was the first time he had to worry about protecting a bondwife.

  His mouth twisted.

  Or was he more worried that Cheyna didn't want his protection? The thought slipped in and refused to leave.

  A gnawing uncertainty ate at his gut. Cheyna might have bonded with him, but originally she'd contracted with Lcrier. Whatever else one could say about the man, he had a pedigree a woman would not be ashamed to claim.

  Especially a House-daughter with an excess of pride.

  No matter. Whether Cheyna regretted the loss of a House badge or not, he could handle any fits and starts of his bondwife.

  She inclined her head. "Yes, my lord."

  Drakthe winced. Jkael. When his House-daughter spoke to him in that precise tone, he got the feeling he was something nasty on the bottom of her slipper. So, maybe he had been a little abrupt. Cheyna didn't understand people like Lcrier. Didn't understand that the rules of polite society did not apply in the cutthroat, winner-takes-all, scramble for trade routes.

  Her hip brushed his leg as they walked, together but separate. That invisible distance bothered him. They couldn't afford to present a divided front to Lcrier, he wouldn't hesitate to exploit such an opportunity.

  "Fchion, my lady. Join me."

  The man in question hailed them the moment they stepped into the dining hall. Drakthe saw the gleam in Lcrier's eyes, and became determined not to give the vseal an opening. He kept right on walking, steering Cheyna toward a table in the corner, one where his back was to the wall, allowing him to view the entire room.

  "Unless there is a reason why you would feel uncomfortable in my presence?" Lcrier added, a slight mocking note in his voice.

  Drakthe's fingers flexed on Cheyna's upper arm. She looked up inquiringly. He turned his head slowly and pinned Lcrier with an impassive stare.

  "What, exactly, are you getting at?"

  Lord Lcrier spread his arms, his expression patently innocent. "What could I be getting at, Merchant Master?"

  "You tell me," Drakthe invited softly.

  Cheyna tugged on his arm, her horrified gaze shooting between him and her former bond-promised. "Drakthe," she hissed, "I will not be embarrassed by a brawl in the dining hall."

  "Don't watch if it upsets you," he advised, keeping his gaze locked on the other man.

  "I mean it. I will not tolerate violence!"

  "You should have told that to Lcrier. Violence was his intention when he issued the invitation."

  "Well, my lord, I am counting on you to avoid his intention."

  Drakthe felt a waiting stillness settle deep into his muscles. It was a familiar sensation before a battle. He had not sought this fight, Lcrier had, but he wasn't about to walk away. Drakthe was honest enough to admit to a surge of savage satisfaction at the coming conflict.

  His bondwife, however, didn't seem to share his anticipation.

  "My lord," she pointed out in a low voice, sounding exasperated, "if you injure Lord Lcrier, it will necessitate my patching him up."

  Drakthe whipped his head around. "You will not touch him."

  "I, as you keep reminding me, am a NaturPath."

  "Cheyna...."

  "Then again, if there is no violence, there will be no need for my services."

  "I will let him live." The words were torn from him. Much as he hated to let the vseal walk away in one piece, he hated the thought of Cheyna tending to Lcrier more.

  A brilliant smile crossed her face at his announcement. "Lord Lcrier, it would be our pleasure to join you."

  Drakthe stiffened and raised a sardonic brow. She flushed and turned her face away from his.

  "The pleasure is all mine, my lady." Lcrier rose to his feet, bowing from the waist. "After all, if things had gone as planned, I would have the pleasure of your company far more often. It is my misfortune to have to make the most of chance opportunities." His brows lifted in a whimsical tilt. His dark brown gaze didn't waver from Cheyna's as his eyes conveyed much more than the simple statement.

  "It was my good fortune," Drakthe interrupted the silent exchange dryly, "you didn't think enough of your bond-promised to provide adequate escort."

  Lcrier's eyes hardened as they shifted to meet the derision in his. "I assumed a large travel-train with company provided escort would be safe."

  Drakthe saw Cheyna seated before answering the implied insult. "I've found," he said, not bothering to hide the challenge in his voice, "it is never wise to assume in any situation."

  "Perhaps, Merchant Master, because you have intimate knowledge of the perfidy of man?"

  Cheyna jumped in before he could answer, taking control of the conversation. "My lord, pardon me if my inquisitiveness is misplaced, but I confess I am curious how our paths crossed." Drakthe squeezed her hand, letting her know he noticed her ploy. She tugged free and placed both hands on the table.

  Lcrier leaned forward, effectively shutting out Drakthe. "I was warned not to attempt to open the trade between the NaturPaths and Class. I," he confessed with beguiling candor, "do not appreciate being threatened." He slid a sidewards glance toward Drakthe.

  "Threatened? Someone threatened you? Odd. I was recently reminded that the route is open to free enterprise."

  "So they say. Some people," Lcrier hesitated, looking like he wanted to say more, "do not like competition. They will do anything to cut out a competitor." Lcrier's hand, the palm smooth and unmarked by calluses, covered Cheyna's. He sounded very concerned. "You must be careful whom you trust, my lady. A woman can be very vulnerable on the trail."

  Could she not see through the vseal? See what he was trying to do? Out of sight under the table, Drakthe closed his hand into a fist. Jkael take the man for taiger droppings, Lcrier was insinuating he was behind the threats. Oh, not in so many words, but a person would have to be blind to miss the inference. The temptation to smash his fist in the handsome face was strong, but training and instinct warned him to do so would play into Lcrier's hand. The truce between Cheyna and him was already in trouble. She found his ease with violence perturbing. Losing control would only reinforce her image of him as a violent man.

  Besides, if he attacked the vseal he'd give credence to the veiled accusations. He flexed his hand.

  Cheyna shouldn't have insisted they join Lcrier in the first place. He watched the blond head bend closer t
oward Cheyna's, fostering the illusion of intimacy between the two.

  "Cheyna. Go use the hot springs."

  Her shoulders jerked at the harsh command. She covered the gesture by sitting back in her chair. Drakthe saw the mutinous set to her mouth.

  "Now."

  To his relief she stood to do as he bid. A mask of serenity settled over her face, but he could feel the tension thrumming through her slender form.

  "Please excuse me, my lord. My bondmate is correct. The journey has indeed been long. May your journey prove fruitful and safe." She inclined her head with just the proper amount of respect.

  Let her simmer. It was past time his bondwife learned his limits.

  Lcrier wore a nauseatingly commiserate expression as he bowed his head. "Many thanks, my lady. Remember, if you find yourself in need of a friend, I stand always at your command."

  "My bondwife has assistance if she needs it. Mine."

  The air in the hall thickened as the veiled hostility came dangerously close to the surface.

  "My lord, are you not joining me?" Cheyna's calm voice broke the silence.

  "Later. I will meet you at the pools."

  "My lord, would it not be better...."

  "Later, bondwife."

  "As you will." Reluctance in her very bearing, Cheyna left the dining hall.

  "Leave her alone."

  "What's the matter, Merchant Master?" Lcrier jeered. "Worried that your House-daughter might be regretting her bargain?"

  Drakthe narrowed his eyes to slits. "No. My bondwife knows much of honor. She does have flaws, however. One of her more charming flaws is her insistence on seeing good in others. I won't allow you to use Cheyna."

  His words to Lcrier, meant as a warning, were the truth, Drakthe realized with a spurt of surprise. For some reason he hated to see that air of naivete, infuriating as he often found it, shattered. He shifted in his chair and brushed aside the possibility he didn't want Cheyna disillusioned because she might then see him as he really was: cynical, hardened, and much too rough for someone of her status.

  "I would have thought that a decision she should make for herself. But, then, maybe she already has. I gained the distinct impression your bondwife was reconsidering her choice." Lcrier raised his glass. "To the winner."

  Drakthe's insides went very cold, even while the blood scalded through in his veins. The pendant around his neck grew red hot. Drakthe knew that his eyes mirrored his fury. If he unsheathed his krees, it, too, would glow with an unearthly light.

  Lcrier moistened his lips and half-rose to his feet.

  Drakthe stretched his lips into a parody of a smile at the other man's sudden show of trepidation. "I became the winner the moment I took her from you. She is mine. Mine she will stay. The man who attempts to change that will find his needs no longer reside in the mortal realm." He stood, dismissing Lcrier from his mind as the need to see Cheyna overrode every other consideration.

  The path to the hot pools was well marked. Walking along, staring at the dirt in front of her feet, Cheyna pondered her bondmate. Why had he commanded her to leave? Granted, he did not like Lord Lcrier, but until that moment he had behaved with remarkable restraint. Drakthe, she finally decided, could be quite bewildering. Take his behavior with her. One moment he was accusing her of all manner of things, the next seeming to imply he cared for her. She never quite knew where she stood with him. He confused her. But, bad as his behavior was, hers was much worse.

  Bile burned the back of her throat at the deception she was practicing on the one man who had the right to expect total truthfulness from her. It didn't matter whether she intended to end the bond or not, she was bonded to him. Lost in thought, the tentative touch on her arm caught Cheyna by surprise. Startled, she looked up to see a small boy.

  "My lady? Is it true? Are you really a NaturPath?" The boy's pinched features looked older than Cheyna knew he could possibly be. Deep-seated fear and resignation filled the young/old eyes. Not questioning how the child knew she was a NaturPath, she put her hands on the small shoulders and reassured him.

  "Yes, I really am a NaturPath." She smiled even as she opened her senses for any hint of illness. "You are not ill."

  The boy shook his head. "No, my lady. It's my father. He got hurt real bad. He's out of his head something fierce." The child hung his head, scuffing one bare foot in the dust. "He scares me sometimes, the way he moans. I'm afraid he's going to die. Then there'd only be me."

  Cheyna took the small dirty hand, a hand already worn by doing a man's work, and urged, "Take me to see your father. If it is within my power, I will help." The boy guided her to a small, rundown house on the outskirts of Shhiv.

  The boy's father lay on a pallet, the worn, much mended bedclothes damp with sweat and bunched beneath his body. The man, his long, thin face an older version of the boy's, moaned and thrashed about weakly. Cheyna crossed to him, her eyes accessing the damage.

  "How long has he been like this?"

  "He come home eve 'for last, but he's been missing nigh onto two ten-days 'for that. Everybody else done gave him up for dead. I knew he wasn't, though. Da promised me he'd come back and da always keeps his word." The boy hesitated before blurting out. "Will he be all right? Will my da live?"

  Her concentration centered solely on her patient, Cheyna did not answer for a long moment. Despite unfamiliarity with treating her own race, she felt and catalogued each ill with ease.

  Her heart sank. So many, so very many wounds.

  The man had been severely mauled by some sort of creature. Cheyna wished Drakthe were with her. She just did not know enough of Scimtar to identify the manner of animal capable of such mass wounding. She frowned. The wounds were oddly regular. Hoping to get a sense of the creature, whether or not its claws or fangs were venomous, she opened her mind, straining to center her talent on her patient's mind.

  A strangled gasp escaped. Despite her training, Cheyna couldn't prevent her instinctive recoil of horror.

  The boy touched her arm, his expression filled with dread. "My lady, what is it? Will Da live?"

  She could not tell the child what she'd seen. No one deserved that. Concealing the depth of her reaction, Cheyna silently repeated the first tenet of Healing: Always project an air of confidence. Negative thoughts and emotions were detrimental to recovery.

  "Your father has a great will to live," she stated, skirting around the truth. She couldn't give the child a promise after the mental glimpse of her exam, but she could offer some hope. "I will do all I can." Cheyna continued before he could question her further. "I noticed two taigers in your pens. Is yours the chore of caring for them?"

  "Yes, my lady. But I don't want to leave Da," he pleaded quickly, sensing with a child's insecurity where she was leading.

  "I need to be alone with your father. He is very ill. I must concentrate without distractions."

  "I'll be very quiet. I promise!" The boy dropped his head, refusing to meet her steady gaze.

  "I will be truthful with you," she paused, waiting for the boy to supply his name, "Tanni. Just your presence, because you love your father very much and are worried, will interfere. Besides, as he is unable, will he not expect you to fulfill your duties?" Defeat slid across the boy's face. Cheyna's heart tugged with sympathy, but it had to be so. She dared not split her attention.

  "Yes, my lady." Head hanging, bare feet dragging, Tanni went outside.

  Cheyna pulled a stool closer to the pallet, and sat. She studied her patient. Someone, she noted with approval, had done a remarkable job of the cleaning the wounds. Unfortunately, they had still become infected.

  From a protected inner lining of her burnuese, she withdrew several jars of ointment. Her bewilderment grew as she began anointing the deep slashes on his arm. Never had she seen the like. Racking her brain, she tried to think of an animal capable of inflicting the injuries. None came to mind. She must remember to ask Drakthe. Perhaps her bondhusband would have an answer.

  Four long sl
ashes angled from wrist to elbow, while matching wounds scored the upper arms and thighs. They were so deep it was a wonder the poor man had not bled to death before reaching help. He had been very lucky to return to Shhiv. Cheyna shook her head. Very lucky.

  She pinched the skin of his left arm between her thumb and forefinger. Except for the restless tossing of his head, her patient remained still. Good, the salve had anesthetized the lacerations. Reaching into another hidden pocket, she extracted a small case. From this she selected a strand of moonsilk woven to her exact specifications and a fine crystal needle of unknown age.

  Huddled over his arm, she began the delicate task of repairing severed tissue. Tiny flashes of light as the needle reflected the glow of the liquid crystal lamp, marked her progress. Time ceased to have meaning as she reconstructed the damaged areas, one after the other. It required patience and skill to minimize the chance of permanent impairment. Cheyna was determined to give him that chance.

  Absorbed in her work, hours passed as she continued to place minute stitches. Cheyna forgot all about Drakthe, about Lcrier, and even about Tanni. Even her stiff neck and aching muscles from sitting so long in one position didn't distract her. Not until the bleeding slowed to a trickle and then stopped altogether, was she satisfied. She spread another salve, this one to promote healing and inhibit infection, over the wounds.

  She stretched, wincing as her back protested. Well, she'd done all she could. The rest was up to Consonance. Cheyna massaged her back.

  She bit her lip as she considered her patient. She had tended to his physical wounds, but that still left the mental ones. Cheyna wasn't as certain of her skills in that arena as she would have liked.

  Any competent NaturPath knew the art of healing consisted of more than tending to the physical ills of a person. A NaturPath had to heal the whole patient. She had to sense a person's pain, free the patient of that burden, thus allowing them to mend.

  This, this damage went far beyond anything she had ever attempted.

  Could she do it? Her stomach cramped. While she possessed empathic skills, as did all NaturPaths, even those here on Scimtar, this went far beyond empathic scope. Cheyna feared his damage required full telepathic ability.