A Warrior's Heart Read online

Cheyna was watching him, a questioning expression in her blue eyes. He cleared his throat. "You're very lucky to have parents who love you."

  She smiled uncertainly. "Yes. I am." She tucked the pendant back beneath the bodice of her overdress. Her lips tightened.

  Relieved to have a reason to change the subject, Drakthe asked, "Head still hurt?"

  She nodded.

  "Come here." He hauled her back against him, his hands going to her temples. His voice gruff, he asked, "Want some more 'dynes?"

  She shook her head, just a bare movement. Sleep slurred her voice when she spoke. "No. Just keep doing what you're doing. It feels wonderful." Her lashes drifted down. She slumped against him, her breathing deep and steady.

  She was asleep. Cautiously, Drakthe turned and settled his back against the rough-hewn boards. Perhaps, he mused, despite their bad beginning they could become friends. He'd never had a woman for a friend before. Come to think of it, he'd never had a friend before.

  It was a tantalizing notion.

  Cheyna shifted. The faint, exotic scent of her perfume rose to tease his nostrils. Drakthe dipped his head and inhaled. The scent reminded him of the jungle after a rain shower.

  Even more, it reminded him of the hot lushness of the jungle at night.

  His body clenched in desire.

  Perhaps being friends wasn't the only notion he had in mind. He shook his head sharply, to remove such a foolish idea. He needed to keep in mind that this was a trade-bonding. Passion wasn't part of the deal, not between him and Cheyna. Passion mudded the waters and he needed to keep his attention on his goal. Besides, if the little House-daughter had the slightest conception of what he'd done in the past, could see the blood on his hands, she'd run toward Lcrier just as fast as her legs would carry her. It'd be much safer to forget such thoughts and treat the House-daughter as someone he needed to achieve his goal.

  Drakthe tilted his head against the wall, closing his eyes. Yes, much safer. Too bad his body didn't agree.

  Before first light, he woke to find Cheyna curled against his side. Drakthe's first thought was how natural it felt to wake with her in his arms, his second that he couldn't remember how they got under the covers. For a moment, before reality reasserted itself, he contemplated staying right where he was, to see what developed.

  She was just someone to work with, a means to an end, he reminded himself grimly as he eased her head off his shoulder.

  Less than half an hour later, in the grey predawn light, he stared down at the sleeping woman. She looked so peaceful, so fragile. He had no choice, however. If they were to reach Class before travel-train outriders arrived with news of her kidnaping, they were going to have to push the animals hard.

  His hand hovered in the air before he brushed her cheek with his knuckles, his touch so light it wouldn't disturb a flutterfly. Her skin was soft, so very soft. Unable to resist one more touch, he outlined her parted lips with the tip of his finger. Cheyna stirred. Drakthe let his hand fall back to his side.

  She blinked, her eyes heavy with sleep. Not even fully awake, she stretched.

  Drakthe broke out in a cold sweat and turned away before she could notice his reaction. "We'll leave after you break fast." His voice hung on the air, raspy and not at all like his normal tones. Drakthe cursed under his breath and cleared his throat. "I want to leave as soon as possible." Behind him, he heard the rustle of moonsilk as Cheyna slid out of bed and straightened her overdress. He swallowed. The sooner they left, the better.

  Staring into the remains of the fire, Drakthe reminded himself she was a House-daughter, therefore far above his touch.

  Brilliant blue moved into his line of vision. Drakthe kept his expression neutral as he glanced up. He jerked his head toward the platter of food he'd set aside.

  "Eat."

  Cheyna glanced from him to the plate. He thought she might object to his abrupt manner, but instead she sank into that graceful kneeling position she had.

  "Forgive me for sleeping so late. I should have prepared the meal. It will not happen again, my lord."

  "Drakthe," he growled. He picked up a stick and prodded the dying embers with unwarranted viciousness. "Forget it. I'm used to doing for myself."

  Chapter 3

  Ahead, a shimmering pink wall rose out of the ground, dominating the view as lush jungle became open fields. Huge gates bisected the symmetrical sweep of its design.

  At a loss for words, Cheyna shaded her eyes and watched as a constant stream of people passed through the arch. Minutes later, she and Drakthe joined the throng, a full two ten-days ahead of the travel-train.

  Cheyna gawked like a cub as she waited to enter the ancient gates. Prodding her mount, she sidled next to Drakthe.

  "Do all these people really reside within the gates?" The idea was mind-boggling. More humans crowded into the city than she'd seen in her entire journey. A group of women with hair cropped rakishly short and their tunics well above their knees, attracted Cheyna's attention.

  She craned her neck and tried to keep the women in sight as the swirling throng of hurrying people swallowed and swept them out of view.

  "Were those tradewives? Is that the style of dress here in the city? I wonder if I would feel comfortable in a similar outfit? Perhaps you could direct me to a competent sempstress." Cheyna couldn't tamp down her growing excitement. "I cannot wait to explore Class!" Rpiere's cities could not even begin to compare to this.

  Drakthe swatted her unsuspecting mount, forcing the animal to pick up its pace. "No, that is not the dress of the city. Most women have more common sense. Jkael, I expected better from a House-daughter." He frowned. "I suppose I'll have to escort you to the establishment I use, otherwise you'll dress as gaudily as any common tradewife."

  "You forget," Cheyna reminded him, allowing a slight edge to creep into her voice, "I am soon to be a common tradewife. As one of them it is only proper I dress as they do."

  Drakthe gave a snort of disgust. "Proper is the last word I'd use to describe those tradewives. Just because you will soon bond to me in trade does not mean you need leave dignity behind, House-daughter." He scowled. "I suppose I can accompany you if you wish to see the city."

  "Are you going to be a domineering mate, Drakthe?" Cheyna asked with deliberate provocation, her mood restored by his ill-humor.

  "Never having bonded before, I wouldn't know. I don't, however, believe in taking chances."

  Her amusement dissipated in a heartbeat. Cheyna reined her taiger to a halt, causing traffic to part and flow around them. She tilted her chin in the air. "You, my lord, should be aware that we need each other to accomplish our goals. We are partners. Do not make the mistake of treating me as less." With a flourish, she put her female taiger into a trot.

  In a flash, Drakthe was beside her, his large hand grasping the bridle, bringing the bewildered animal down to a more sedate pace. In a low voice, he advised, "Just remember I am the senior partner in this venture, House-daughter." He took the lead without giving her a chance to respond to his blatant arrogance.

  Cheyna stared after him. She considered catching up and forcing the Merchant Master to accept the truth of their partnership, then decided against it. Class offered too much to see, too much to absorb, to sustain her indignation with the exasperating man guiding them so expertly through the milling crowd.

  To Cheyna's uninitiated eyes, the port town where she had landed, Skbre, had seemed huge, but Class...Class reduced Skbre to the status of village. Enormous buildings of shimmering rock sent creamy fingers soaring into the violet sky. Vendors offered everything from exquisitely styled moonsilk to gems sculpted with delicate precision.

  An acrid scent, faint but definite, wafted to her nostrils. Cheyna sniffed the air in disbelief. That was...Yes, she was positive that was siluncron. Who would be fool enough to chance the strong herb? Why, even experienced NaturPaths were hesitant to use it, leery of its unpredictable hallucinogenic powers.

  A hushed 'hiss' came from the shaded dept
hs of a seller's stall. "I see you recognize my ware. Stop for a moment, sample the finest in Class. No one will give you a better price. Stop for a moment, Lady." The man moved forward a step. Sunlight caught the hem of a filthy, white mantle.

  Cheyna didn't wait to hear his offer. She put heels to her taiger and closed the gap between Drakthe and herself. His massive size and aura of deadly competence offered safety in a city which now loomed forbiddingly close.

  Slia had been right; the ways of Scimtar were strange. Perhaps staying near the Merchant Master was wiser. At least until she became more familiar with her birth world.

  Drakthe led them to the outskirts of the business district and halted in front of a one level villa. The sprawling black and white structure glistened under the noonday sun. A black metal gate guarded the entrance. A stylized bird of prey glared at all who dared to enter. Drakthe swung down from his mount and motioned for her to dismount.

  Cheyna's heart sank when she realized they had reached their destination. The villa lacked the airy lightness of Raipierian buildings, a necessity with a planet much closer to the sun. Claustrophobia hit her and her vision narrowed to a pinpoint of light. Struck by an unshakable sense of foreboding, her lungs refused to function. She couldn't go inside. She just couldn't.

  "Cheyna?"

  His voice pierced the dark curtain blanketing her vision. Sunlight poured in around her and she could breathe again. Cheyna forced herself to study the villa. It was bigger than she'd first thought. Slowly, the distinct sensation of entering a tomb faded.

  "Are you all right?"

  Cheyna shoved the last of her fears into a closet and slammed the door. Drakthe would think her foolish if she told him about her reaction. She gave a brilliant smile. "I am fine."

  "I need to check in with Krthe before I get you settled," he said, tapping a quick pattern on the smooth surface of the wall. "I have a few pressing matters I need to get out of the way before we bond."

  The gate swung open to reveal a slight, robed figure before she could respond.

  "Jaab, is High Lord Krthe home?" Drakthe began straightaway.

  The slender, elderly man nodded once, and then reproved, "Merchant Master Fchion, were you not taught manners? You shame me before a guest." The old man turned to Cheyna and bowed from the waist.

  "The House of Contiere welcomes the Daughter of the House of Flowing Water. You are under our protection. I am Jaab, Housemaster for High Lord Krthe." Jaab held both hands out, a symbolic gesture to show no hidden krees.

  The traditional greeting was infinitely soothing after Drakthe's offhand informality. Cheyna placed both hands, palms down, on top of Housemaster Jaab's, and inclined her head.

  "The House of Contiere honors the House of Flowing Water."

  Drakthe surprised Cheyna with his sensitivity toward the elderly man's feelings.

  "Jaab, forgive my lack of manners. I wished to get my business with Lord Krthe concluded as quickly as possible. My bond-promised is weary from the long trail and in need of rest."

  Appeased, the old man led the way to the study.

  "So, you do know how to practice diplomacy," Cheyna couldn't resist murmuring.

  "With some, I find the direct method bears more fruit." A slight tilt lifted one corner of Drakthe's mouth.

  "Presumptuous," she hissed in mock outrage, keeping one eye on Jaab to make sure he did not overhear their conversation. "One has to try both methods before gaining an accurate assessment."

  "A warrior relies on his instinct."

  "Instinct is a useful tool, I suppose, if one lacks the power of clear deduction."

  "I'm alive," he pointed out, his eyes reflecting wry amusement.

  "Only because some practice the art of nonviolence," she rebutted.

  "And because I'm quicker and meaner."

  "There is that," Cheyna conceded, laughing up into the golden eyes. Something stirred deep in that enigmatic gaze before it slid out of sight. Her laughter stilled and she stared up at Drakthe.

  "High Lord Krthe will see Merchant Master Fchion and his bond-promised, Cheyna Rgan, Daughter of the House of Flowing Water."

  Cheyna started. She prayed her slight, aborted motion as Jaab recited her new name and House went unnoticed. She reminded herself of the importance of her mission. Somehow, though, the reminder did not make her feel any better.

  An imposing figure came from behind a desk. High Lord Krthe stopped in front of her, a faint smile twisting his thin, sensuous lips. Cheyna realized that the High Lord was several inches shorter than Drakthe. One gained the impression from the pure power radiating from him that he was much taller. Cheyna found him rather intimidating until his smile broadened and charm softened the harsh lines of his face. She relaxed.

  "I see Drakthe has managed to upset Jaab again." A potent, heavy-lidded black gaze enclosed Cheyna in a private circle.

  "I take it Drakthe does so often?"

  "He is--how shall I phrase it--inclined to be careless of formality. He quite sent Jaab into a decline when he was younger and Jaab was attempting to teach him manners. Underneath, though, I suspect Jaab harbors a soft spot for Drakthe, his lax regard for manners notwithstanding." An appreciative glint appeared in Krthe's dark eyes. "On the other hand, Drakthe's unique conception of manners makes him an excellent Merchant Master. He accomplishes what he sets out to do. Please," he bid, "tell me how he gained your cooperation. I'm sure it's a fascinating tale, one as unique as the man."

  "Drakthe can be quite persuasive when so inclined." She slanted a glance up at the silent man at her side, inviting him to laugh with her at his primitive methods.

  Krthe shot a speculative glance at his Merchant Master. He smoothly regained control.

  "Jaab has prepared a room for you. You see, I never underestimate Drakthe's abilities. If you would care to freshen, perhaps rest before the evening meal, I'll have Jaab show you the way." It was a command for Drakthe to remain behind. One he ignored.

  "Unnecessary. I will arrange for Cheyna to stay at a guest lodge." The edge to Drakthe's voice swung Cheyna's head around. To her confusion, she sensed a silent power struggle between the two men.

  "Your bond-promised would be more comfortable here. Allow me to play host, Drakthe. Consider it part of my wedding package to you both. After all, I am standing witness to your bonding."

  "As you wish, High Lord." Drakthe gave in with a formal bow. "I will see Cheyna to her room, however. The size of the villa can be overwhelming and she is tired."

  Krthe graciously accepted the compromise. "Very well. Jaab has placed her in the Aqryne room. I will be interested in hearing your report." Though softly spoken, it was an order all the same.

  Cheyna followed Drakthe down a long hallway that twisted and turned around a central courtyard. Several wings branched off into darkened corridors. She slowed to peer down one and then had to hurry to catch up with Drakthe. He shot her a dark look and gripped her arm.

  Drakthe was silent, his hand on her arm more a chain than a courtesy. Cheyna sighed. He was upset again. What had she done this time? She wished he wouldn't keep her in suspense, she was hot and grubby, and she longed for a freshening to ease the aches of travel.

  She didn't have long to wait. Drakthe yanked her to a halt outside a closed door.

  "Remember your bargain is with me, House-daughter, not Krthe. My baldric will be about your waist in three days, not his."

  The outburst stunned her. "Have you gone mad? I just met the man. I was polite, nothing more." She was growing angry again, she realized, and the knowledge made her even more furious. Never, in all her twenty and five years, had she so lost control of her emotional serenity as in this last ten-day. "Then, you know not much about politeness, do you?"

  "I saw the way you looked at him. Just remember you contracted with me." A muscle jerked in Drakthe's jaw.

  "The way I--? Let me remind you that I had little choice but to bargain with you. I will, however, honor my word. Now, leave me, Merchant Master. I grow weary
of you." She turned a dismissing shoulder and started to enter the chamber.

  He grabbed her and spun her around. "You grow weary of me? That's too bad. I am your bond-promised. Soon I will be your bondmate. Weary of me or not, it will be your duty to obey me. Be ready in two hours. I will take you to purchase your bonding clothes."

  "Yes, my lord, I shall be waiting." Cheyna bowed her head meekly, knowing her submissive tone would further inflame him. She slipped out of his hold and stepped inside the chamber.

  Obey, would she?

  The door closed with a final sounding click.

  Drakthe stared at it, his hands clenching into fists. The easy intimacy between Krthe and Cheyna had instantly infuriated him. Cheyna's eyes had not been telling the Trade Baron she hated him. Her eyes had not sought Krthe's body for the scars wrought by a violent life.

  Thought she could dismiss him, did she? For a woman sinking to the level of tradewife, she was much too haughty. Well, she had made her bargain, too bad if she now had regrets.

  A loud rap came on the chamber's door, the impatient summons letting her know Drakthe was still in a difficult mood. Cheyna smoothed a wrinkle from her burnuese, noting that the garment was looking much the worse for wear. She grimaced, realizing she was stalling. Hiding like a cub from a scolding, she thought. The Merchant Master had that effect on her. Cheyna took a deep breath and opened the heavy wooden door.

  Hands behind his back, Drakthe stood, waiting. He really was an extraordinary looking man, Cheyna thought as she stared up at him. Dressed all in black, his dark hair damp and tied back, the man fairly radiated fierce pride and unshakable determination. She almost forgot that he was a warrior until her gaze drifted down to the open throat of his shirt. The sight of the scar brought back all of her grievances to her. Then she noticed the tiny nick on his chin.

  She smiled.

  He scowled. "Are you ready?"

  Cheyna ignored the question. She reached up and touched the small cut. Drakthe jerked his head back, a startled expression flashing across his face. Cheyna held up her finger, showing him the spot of blood on the tip. "You cut yourself."