A Warrior's Heart Page 2

  And that led to another disturbing discovery.

  Against all her beliefs in nonviolence, she'd instinctively sought to use Sai and Kai, an ancient, ritualistic form of mental and physical exercise, as a weapon. Fear was no excuse for her lapse.

  That, too, she must meditate on.

  Cheyna shivered, suddenly grateful for the warmth of the fire.

  "They will search for me," she said into the silence.

  He turned his head in her direction. "Not before morn, when you fail to break fast."

  She bit her lip. Actually, it might be days before they missed her. Afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing and exposing her mission, she'd kept mostly to her cubicle. Cheyna wasn't ready to concede defeat yet, however.

  "Someone may have seen you take me from the travel-train."

  "No."

  Just that one word. Cheyna wanted to scream at his arrogant confidence. Much as it galled her to admit it, though, he had reason for it. His strike had been both swift and silent. No, she should not count on rescue. Not yet, anyway. But surely once her bond-promised learned she was missing, he would search for her.

  Would he not?

  Cheyna refused to dwell on the possibility Lcrier would refuse to waste effort on a stranger, even one to whom he was bond-promised.

  Her captor's eyes closed and his breathing became soft and regular.

  Drawn against her will, Cheyna's gaze lingered on him. Even with those blazing gold eyes closed in sleep, he still managed to appear formidable. His clothes were practical rather than stylish, the shirt designed for ease of movement, his breeches of supple silti hide. On his feet were a pair of unworked tleera hide boots. She squinted. In the flickering flames of the hearth, she could just make out a ridged scar running the entire width of the back of his right hand. Another scar snaked raggedly in the open throat of his shirt, only to disappear under its edge. Cheyna shuddered, disturbed by the implicit violence behind the old wounds.

  Violence, she recognized with sure instinct, was a known companion to this man.

  The evidence was there in the way he moved, swift and without sound despite his size, necessary talents for a man whose trade was death. In the past three ten-days she had seen several such men.

  Warriors.

  She had stood not a chance of escape. Come morn, with or without her bound word, she would still have awakened here.

  Profoundly shaken by the realization, Cheyna sought soothing in the familiar demands of Sai and Kai.

  She stared at the glowing embers of the fire, listening to the even tenor of her breath as it echoed in her ears. Her mind filled with images of Rpiere, images of a high, windswept desert, hauntingly beautiful under the verdant glow of Rpiere's single moon; of the shrill mewling cry of a hunting weeket, its delicate, furred wing rustling as it hovered on air currents and of the reptilian scurry of geekts retreating to the warmth of communal burrows....

  Drakthe watched through slitted lids. He expected her to try to escape. He placed little faith in promises extracted under duress. One would promise much when desperate.

  He had a sneaking suspicion the House-daughter was very desperate. Something in her expression when she thought he wasn't looking, he concluded. Not quite fear. More like . . . dismay. Fear Drakthe could understand. What bothered him was the impression of more going on than she was revealing.

  He really should have protested more when Krthe had dangled this mission before him, Drakthe decided in hindsight, but High Lord Krthe, Trade Baron to Scimtar's southern continent, had had a plan.

  Rumor whispered the woman had the Healing Talent and, more importantly, was untrained. Drakthe shifted on the hard pallet, his lips tightening with controlled anger as he recalled the Trade Baron's attempt to first appease, then shame him into accepting his flawed strategy.

  "Drakthe, the value of the Agora trade route has increased tenfold since the shutdown. You, yourself, know that people are getting restive. They're concerned over the scarcity of products, including the rare medicinal herbs only the Agora NaturPaths can provide. Enormous profit awaits the man who reopens the trade route, more than enough profit to found one's own House. Think of the opportunity."

  Krthe had known exactly how to tempt him despite holes big enough to ride a taiger through. Krthe was the one man who knew of his single-minded determination to earn enough wealth to buy a House name.

  Krthe, ensconced behind his desk, his long elegant fingers steepled beneath his chin, had sensed his weakening. "She's the last daughter of a declining House, has contracted for a bond-of-trade, for Jkael's sake. Perfectly legal I grant you, but hardly respectable. Are you telling me a biddable woman from a backward House is beyond the Merchant Master's ability?"

  Drakthe stirred, still smarting from the sharp attack. Biddable? Hah! Obviously, the Trade Baron's sources had neglected to mention the woman's true nature. That backward House-daughter had forced him to use the stun baton or else find himself in the ignoble position of flat on the floor.

  Drakthe glared at the woman sitting so motionless just out of arms' touch, and hitched the cover higher on his shoulder. He shut his eyes but couldn't shut out the image of a waist slender enough to span with both hands, or the subtle female scent of her.

  The smell of yupon tea and hearty saccon bread woke him. The sun had already risen.

  "Do you always fix a meal for the man who kidnaps you?" Drakthe drawled, angry with himself for not hearing her stir. Sleeping so sound was dangerous for a man in his profession.

  "Only when I am hungry."

  "I didn't expect to find you still here." He poured a cup of tea and regarded her warily over the rim.

  She looked surprised. "I gave you my bound word not to escape." Her eyes narrowed. "Oh, I see. A House-daughter's honor is not trustworthy."

  "I wouldn't have trusted anyone." Drakthe took a sip of the strong brew and watched as her expression change from indignant to dismayed.

  "But that is wrong."

  He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "It's helped me stay alive." Utter silence fell. He made no move to break it.

  "Do you intend to ransom me?" she finally asked.

  Drakthe saw the intelligence behind her blue eyes, the way she struggled to present a serene front. He wondered what her reaction would be when he answered her question.

  "No. I intend to bond with you."

  Chapter 2

  Cheyna retreated into ritual politeness, bowing her head and spreading her hands. "I must decline the honor. Bonding with two men is illegal and I am bond-promised to Lord Lcrier."

  In the name of the Saints, how had she managed to fall into the hands of a madman? How did one deal with the deranged?

  One humored them, she realized.

  Her captor sat back on his heels. His eyes glinted. "Considering the fact you are at my mercy, your bond-promise with Lord Lcrier holds little significance," he pointed out with ruthless bluntness as he filled a second cup and held it out to her.

  Cheyna hesitated before accepting. She was careful not to allow her fingers to touch his as she took the mug. "Why me?" she asked, avoiding his gaze by staring down into the dark liquid. "Why, of all the women on the travel-train, did you choose to abduct me?" But she had her suspicions.

  "I could say it was because of your House." He shifted to recline on the hard floor.

  She inclined her head. "You could, but we both know my House is neither rich nor powerful enough to risk such an unorthodox bonding. If you know my House, you know it is waning. Again, why me?" Cheyna revised her opinion. Her captor's actions were not those of a madman. Beneath his seeming indolence lay a powerful determination.

  An intense curiosity, quite unlike anything she had experienced before, tugged at her.

  Curiosity. Her downfall. The one trait the Raipier had not been able to temper. Common sense told her she should insist on an explanation for his actions, then demand he return her to the travel-train.

  That is what she should do.

&nb
sp; But she would not.

  The huge man lazing back on one elbow offered her the one lure she was helpless to resist: an enigma. Cheyna discovered she couldn't leave until she unlocked the mystery.

  He leaned forward and sliced off a thick chunk of the bread using a two-edged daegar. Cheyna's mouth watered and her stomached growled when he took a bite and chewed with deliberate thoroughness. She had to pull her attention back to what he was saying.

  "What if I told you I want to bond with you to reopen trade with the Agora NaturPaths?"

  "I would say that is closer to the truth. Though again I ask, why me? Surely there are women willing, even eager, to enter a bond-of-trade?" Cheyna found it a new but strangely enticing experience to fence with a man.

  "Why have you bond-promised with Lord Lcrier?" he countered.

  "To earn profit," she answered without hesitation, well versed by Slia.

  "There are methods other than a bond-of-trade," he pointed out, taking another large bite of the bread.

  "Not if a woman wishes to remain independent. I have no desire to have profit only through the grace of a mate." The mere thought of giving up her self-reliance made Cheyna balk. Scimtarian attitudes toward women appalled her. A woman could not keep any profit she earned. Oh, she might receive an allowance, but all she made belonged to her bondmate or the eldest male family member. Outside of the NaturPaths--who were a law unto themselves--tradewives were the one exception to the ridiculous law.

  "What makes you think Lcrier will keep his end of the bargain?"

  The gleam in his eye disturbed Cheyna. She gained the uneasy impression she was not the only one fencing. Her suspicion that he was aware of her unapprenticed status grew. "We have a contract," she defended.

  He didn't seem impressed. "Contracts have been broken before."

  "House pledges have been broken before. Contracts have been broken before. Is there nothing inviolate on this planet?" Something moved in his gaze but was gone before Cheyna could interpret it.

  "I could force you to bond with me." He rubbed his thumb along the edge of the blade he'd used to slice the bread. The casual threat in the gesture robbed Cheyna of her breath.

  "Not if I refused," she managed, forcing her gaze from the rhythmic stroke of his thumb. She shivered. The gesture was infused with a grace totally at odds with the blatant intimidation.

  He just shook his head. "Jkael, what an infant. By the time we reached Class, you would agree to whatever I said. There are ways of breaking men and women to one's will." His eyes, when they met hers, were cold and opaque.

  Cheyna lowered her lashes to shield her thoughts while she considered the promise of violence lacing his dark voice. She came to a rapid conclusion. She looked up and met his gaze squarely. "I believe you could force me if you wished, but I do not think you will else you would have done so already." The slight tightening of his hard jaw confirmed her guess.

  Her captor seemed to come to an abrupt decision. He put away the daegar. "I am Drakthe Fchion, Merchant Master for High Lord Krthe. It has come to his attention that you have the Healing Talent. That you are unapprenticed." He paused, waiting for a response.

  Cheyna kept her expression neutral.

  "The NaturPaths have placed a condition on resuming trade with Class; they'll only deal with an unapprenticed NaturPath. You, if the rumors are true. Lcrier believed them. That is why he arranged to bond with you. I want you to bond with me instead."

  Her suspicions confirmed, Cheyna allowed none of her relief that her mission was safe to show. "So, you believe you need my willing cooperation. Did you not consider so drastic a measure as kidnaping would predispose me against helping you?" Cheyna refused to admit she possessed the Healing Talent. It would do the Merchant Master no harm to wonder.

  "I figured I could overcome any objections one way or another. I need your cooperation. I would prefer willing, but," he lifted one massive shoulder, "either way, I will have it."

  "How?" she asked dryly, unsure whether his arrogance amused or outraged her. "By using a stun baton?"

  "That's one method," he confirmed with a nonchalance that horrified her, "if not my preferred. I know several tricks--ones which leave no questionable marks--with which to gain your cooperation."

  Tilting her head to one side, Cheyna tried to read the expression on his face as he calmly watched her in return. Was he trying to frighten her? If so, he was succeeding. Cheyna decided to test him. "True, but you could never be certain I would not, later, sabotage the negotiations."

  "Only if you have a taste for suicide. However, I do have other means of gaining your cooperation."

  Her gaze slid to the scar on his hand. "Such as?"

  "Offering you a percentage of the profit."

  She breathed a sigh of relief only to jump when he moved to lean against the rough support of a sleeping pallet. She watched in fascination as strong, white teeth bit into the bread. Cheyna cleared her throat.

  "You want my agreement very much. I wonder why?" She helped herself to the rich yellow bread without glancing in Drakthe's direction. Every nerve vitally attuned for his reaction, she was aware of the infinitesimal pause in his chewing before he continued.

  The merest trace of irritation narrowed his eyes before he masked it. He measured her with a long glance. "I intend to use the profit to found my own House."

  "Your Lord does not object?" Cheyna flowed back into a kneeling position, munching on the flavorful bread.

  "I've made no secret of my ambition from him. This trade trip has a twofold purpose--it gains Krthe additional prestige and wealth as Trade Baron, and rewards me for my years of service."

  "Such generosity is...unique," she murmured, arching one brow. Unheard of if the holopics Slia had obtained were accurate. The position of Merchant Master was a coveted one, but it came with a price. To obtain it, a man must subjugate his own ambition for those of his employer's. Such total dedication was rare and few were willing to release a man in Fchion's position from his service. Her gaze again found the scar that slashed wickedly across the back of his hand. Few, indeed.

  "Lord Krthe is a unique man. We understand each other. Moreover, he knows the value of an ally whom he can trust." He sounded unconcerned with the unusual politics of his bargain.

  "You say you are in the employ of Trade Baron Krthe. How much did he promise to gain your cooperation to bond with a woman of a declining House?"

  He tilted his head back and regarded her from beneath lowered lids. Ruffled from sleep, the Merchant Master's hair brushed his shoulders. A shaft of sunlight caught in its gleaming blue-black depths. The sight caused faint flutters in Cheyna's stomach.

  "I am to receive forty percent from this trade-train, and thirty percent of all future trade."

  His openness surprised her. It must have shown.

  "What point is there in being dishonest? The percentages are a matter of record and, by tradition, made available to you before the bonding ceremony."

  Cheyna studied the battle-scarred man with new respect. "Quite an accomplishment for a warrior," she couldn't resist taunting.

  "I thought I was a common criminal."

  Warmth heated her cheeks.

  A faint smile touched his mouth. "No matter. I am prepared to be just as generous to you."

  Making herself comfortable on the dirt floor, Cheyna felt more sure of herself as they at last got down to the serious business of bartering. She dismissed Lord Lcrier from consideration. If the man had not even had the foresight and courtesy to send a personal guard to insure the safe arrival of his bond-promised, how could she trust him to see her safely to the Agora?

  "Exactly how generous are you prepared to be for my willing cooperation?" Cheyna placed a delicate emphasis on 'willing cooperation'.

  "The standard amount for a bond-of-trade is four percent of your mate's profit. I am willing to offer six."

  "Half," she countered coolly. Dealing with the Merchant Master was much the same as bargaining with the Clan Mclis
h, only this time she held the winning crystal. He needed her cooperation. Cheyna restrained a grin. She knew he believed she meant half his profit from this venture and paused before clarifying, "--of this trade mission and half of future missions." It was a bold move, but if the Merchant Master wanted her help he would have to acknowledge her as a full partner.

  Battle-hardened muscles bunched and shifted at her demand. Tiny lines bracketed his hard mouth and narrowed equally hard eyes. If she hadn't been watching so closely, she would have missed the small, betraying signs.

  The Merchant Master was not pleased with her boldness.

  "Out of the question."

  "Not if you want someone able to negotiate with the NaturPaths. You need me," Cheyna reminded him in gentle, refined tones.

  "I have you," he stated arrogantly, his nostrils flaring.

  "I agree. You have me. Now," she stressed. "Further into our journey, say, when we reach the Plains of Skaen, you might not."

  "You would pay for any defiance, House-daughter," he promised her, a touch of real menace swirling beneath the lazy tones. "Before we left the Agora you would be doing as I bid."

  Cheyna called on all of the inner serenity she had learned through Sai and Kai and living with the Raipier. It was not easy. The Merchant Master could be very daunting.

  "Sanctuary."

  "House-daughter, I wouldn't let you ask for Sanctuary." This time the menace came through loud and clear.

  "You could not stop me. The NaturPaths do not make pacts in the presence of men."

  "You think not? A bunch of women committed to nonviolence and poor business practices wouldn't stand a chance. I've never professed to play fair, House-daughter, just to win."

  "If they possess so little power then you do not need my assistance. Take me to Lord Lcrier," Cheyna demanded in calculated challenge. "At least with him I gain a House name that is well recognized." She folded her hands in her lap and waited, braced for his anger. The Merchant Master reminded her of a cornered dalanth and, like that creature, if prodded would not hesitate to turn and savage her.