A Battle Lord’s Heart Read online

Page 15


  She must have felt his coming to, MaGrath told himself. He knew he would never scoff at anything told him about Mutah any more. He had witnessed too much between these two lovers to have any lingering doubts.

  Yulen gazed at her in silence. Emotions ran rampant over his face and reflected in his eyes. More than that, his expression was infused with love. He wished he had the strength to hold out his arms to her, but the last quarter hour talking with MaGrath had worn him out.

  The physician got up and moved away from the bed as Atty stared, stunned, at her awakened husband.

  “Hi, Atty-cake,” Yulen whispered tenderly.

  She moved like silk, despite her bulkiness, rushing to the bed and reaching for him, reaching for his face, reaching for his lips. Despite his weakness, his mouth burned hers, and Atty found herself whimpering with joy to finally have him back. Her fingers slid up the sides of his face and curled around two handfuls of red-gold hair.

  MaGrath helped her into the bed, next to him, so they could be together to talk. To kiss. To weep with joy and stroke each other with healing caresses. To fall asleep in each other’s arms, and awaken the same way.

  As he unobtrusively snuck out of the room, the last thing he heard was Yulen’s surprised exclamation, “What happened to your hair?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Next Time

  It felt good to finally leave the clinic on his own two feet. Of course, MaGrath had protested, bless his over-protective heart, claiming it was too soon after coming out of his coma a few weeks ago, but Yulen was damned if he would take audience in that patient bed.

  Since his awakening, Atty had been by his side unceasingly, taking her meals with him as she sometimes fed him. Sleeping beside him. Cleaning and bathing him. Changing the dressings on his wounds.

  And they had talked. For hours they would talk. Or she would talk and he would listen, paying more attention to the emotion in her voice. Or just for the sake of hearing her voice glide over him like a soft afternoon shadow, lulling him to sleep.

  His men had requested to visit him, but Yulen had refused. He did relent to see Mastin, however, who almost cried like a baby when he’d been ushered in.

  It was imperative he get well enough so they could return to Alta Novis as soon as possible. Although Yulen knew he’d been away from the compound for longer periods of time, especially in the pre-Atty years when he’d led his men on their annual cleaning sweeps, this time was different.

  MaGrath often spent long chunks of time with them in the clinic to talk. He enjoyed teasing the couple about their celebrity status. Apparently word had been spreading far and wide about the Normal Battle Lord and his Mutah Lady, especially with regards to Yulen’s unconventional knack of forming treaties between compounds. The night they had approached West Crestin, seeking sanctuary and help after defeating the Blood army, the head of the Council of Elders who’d personally ventured outside the walls to confront Atty had been unable to accept the fact of who they were, in spite of Atty’s claims. It wasn’t until everyone had gotten a good look at the dying man, and a better look at Atty, that they had believed. Now the Council was wanting a formal audience with him. Had been for the past several days. For what purpose, Yulen still had no clue.

  Tying his bootlace into a bow, he took his foot off the stool and straightened up. His sword lay waiting for him on the rumpled bed. He’d lost his weapons belt and scabbard in the Massacre at Bearinger, as the men referred to the confrontation now. Atty was returning soon to bring him a new one she’d had made for him by one of the compound’s leather workers.

  Smiling, Yulen glanced down at the thin sheath tucked inside his boot. Atty had convinced him to keep his dagger hidden and separate from his sword. In case an enemy managed to get to his weapons belt again, he now had an extra weapon at the ready. It felt awkward having the blade there at first, but she assured him he’d soon get used to it.

  He slid the leaf-like blade out of his boot and ran a thumb over the tiny nick near the base of the handle. Atty had explained that was where her arrow had struck it when the Blood had thrown it at her. The Blood who had used Yulen’s own dagger to carve into his flesh. The Blood who’d had his brains sprayed across the clearing from one of Atty’s arrows.

  The dagger would stay as it was. Yulen had no intention of having the nick polished out of it.

  Sliding the dagger back into his boot, he straightened up as the front door to the clinic creaked open and close. Atty walked in a moment later, not stopping until she walked right into his arms, lifting her face for his kiss.

  With her second trimester past them, so were the dizzy, lust-filled days of pheromone poisoning. She was beginning to feel uncomfortable and cranky with the approaching birth, just as he was slowly regaining his strength. It would be some months before either of them would be able to fall into the sheets again for hours of carefree, sweaty sex. Right now, however, it didn’t matter.

  “Well? How does it feel to be back in clothes again?” she smiled as he finally lifted his mouth from hers.

  “Good, actually.”

  “Are you really up to this, my love? I mean, the Council can wait another few days.”

  “I’ll be fine,” he promised. “So, did you bring me a present?” He’d already seen the new weapons belt and scabbard when she’d thrown her arms around him.

  She handed it over, giving him a moment to examine the workmanship. He was surprised to discover the beadwork on both sides of the buckle, small flags in half-red, half-blue. Quickly, he buckled it on, settling it around his hips as Atty handed him his sword. The blade slid into its new home like satin on glass.

  “Ready, beloved?” he asked, tilting her chin up for one last kiss.

  “Right beside you.”

  The weather had been clear for the past two days. Today was no exception. The sun shone brightly in the cloudless sky, reflecting off the patches of snow in the compound with a brilliance that bordered on blinding.

  Yulen and Atty emerged from the clinic into a scene that widened their eyes in astonishment. It seemed the whole of the compound was waiting for the couple. A path had been cleared from the clinic to the courtyard where the Council had set up chairs and a table for their meeting. Yulen gave his wife a reproachful look. “Did you know about this?” he asked in a halfway serious voice.

  “Swear, Yulen. They weren’t here when I came back.”

  Smiling down at her, he took her hand, and they started for the courtyard.

  The crowd stared at them in silence, bringing back a comment that MaGrath had thrown out one afternoon. You two have made a name for yourselves. Sweet heavens, there are stories and songs about you from Far Troit to Port Destiny. And that’s just the Normal compounds!

  As this was Yulen’s first excursion outside since his convalescence, he took the time to greet each of his men who was waiting for him on the sidelines. At one point the Battle Lord’s eye caught sight of a tall, rough-looking man standing to one side. Instinct made him pause and give him a solid look.

  “Renken?”

  The ex-mercenary blinked. He hadn’t expected D’Jacques to single him out. Hell, the man hadn’t had a personal encounter with him since the first day he’d arrived at Alta Novis.

  Renken raked his eyes over the man’s figure. The Battle Lord was thinner and paler from his ordeal, but another couple of months would take care of that. Two more months. Tops. Then again, under Atty’s love and care, maybe less, he figured. After all, look at what she had been able to accomplish so far.

  Yulen extended his hand. “My deepest thanks.”

  Renken took his hand, and they shook.

  “My door will always be open to you,” the Battle Lord added. Taking his wife by the hand, he continued on through the crowd as Renken watched them go.

  They proceeded to the courtyard as the crowd closed in behind them. The council of five men was already sitting behind an ornately-carved table. Two chairs had been ceremoniously set to the side. Yulen guide
d Atty into one before moving his chair closer to her and taking a seat. It was a simple gesture and second nature to the Battle Lord, but it sent a ripple through the crowd.

  The man who had questioned her by lantern light so many weeks ago stood and rapped his staff on the short wood dais. “This public forum is now in session. The rules of formal presentation will apply.” Turning to Yulen, he introduced himself. “I am Fareth Gins Smallworth. I am the head of the Council.”

  Yulen silently studied the other four men present, noting their marks which distinguished them as Mutah, as Smallworth finished their introductions. He inclined his head to acknowledge them.

  “We have called this forum to discuss the possible alliance between West Crestin and Alta Novis.”

  Atty gave a sudden intake of breath at the announcement. She could see Yulen’s eyes narrow as he also took in the news. The crowd, however, seemed unusually quiet. Obviously they had already been made aware of it.

  “You want an alliance between my compound and yours?” Yulen reiterated slowly in his deep baritone.

  “That is correct,” Smallworth said.

  Yulen thought slowly, tapping his fingertips together right above his waist. “With or without a treaty?”

  The crowd began buzzing. Smallworth was forced to rap his staff for quiet. Behind him, his fellow Council members were whispering among themselves.

  “Can you explain what you mean by ‘with or without a treaty’?” the Council head requested.

  “I believe the term is self-explanatory,” Yulen said slowly. He’d stopped tapping his fingers together. They now lay laced together across his middle.

  Atty glanced at his stomach, thinking of the wide bandage still wrapped around his abdomen. And beneath the bandage, some of the worst damage that had been done to him.

  She shifted in her seat for a more comfortable position, knowing it was useless. Their son was active almost constantly. Even Yulen had commented on more than one occasion that he didn’t appreciate the little kicks and jabs against his ribs and back whenever they were trying to sleep. She had been quick to remind him that he was only having to endure them from the outside. “Try imagine having this going on inside you! At least you can get away from it!”

  Smallworth moved from behind the table to stand in front of it. Apparently the move was unprecedented, as the noise from the crowd once more increased. Atty tried to figure out why.

  A hand reached over the arm of the chair and took one of hers, entwining their fingers together. Again, this contact, this gesture, was as natural for them as breathing, yet the crowd was quick to notice it.

  “How can there be an alliance without a treaty?” Smallworth challenged.

  “From what I’ve observed in the past, most treaties are nothing more than veiled threats on a piece of paper. A ceremonial line drawn down the middle of a room, with expectations on one side, and consequences on the other if they’re not met.” Yulen shook his head. His loose red-gold hair was like a halo of fire about his face. “I firmly believe now that a true alliance cannot be formed as long as both sides have to tiptoe around each other for fear of upsetting the balance. Your compound has commodities I know my compound would enjoy acquiring. That other Normal compounds would enjoy trading and bartering for.”

  He pointed to his new weapons belt. “The craftsmanship on this is exquisite. Once I show it to my leather workers back in Alta Novis, they’ll be green with envy. On the other hand, my compound has goods I’m certain your people would want. Not counting the fact that my compound is on the main trade route, and work like this would garner a lot of attention.”

  Atty could see where he was going with this. She just wished she could give it her full attention. At the present, their son was bearing down on her lower belly. She could feel his tiny feet through the small lump protruding from her stomach beneath the thick material of her gown. Groaning, she had no idea she’d done so quite loudly until she felt her hand being squeezed. She looked over to see a pair of blue-gray eyes silently questioning her. “I’m okay,” she whispered. “He’s being restless.”

  Thankfully Yulen accepted her excuse with a little grin, and turned back around to resume. “If West Crestin wasn’t a Mutah compound, we wouldn’t be talking,” the Battle Lord pointed out. “We would simply open our doors to each other and begin a mutual exchange of commerce.”

  “But we are a Mutah compound, D’Jacques,” Smallworth said. “And not all Battle Lords are as open-minded as you. We still fear for our safety. We only feel comfortable having a ‘mutual exchange of commerce’, as you call it, with others of our kind. That’s why we’re wanting an alliance, and a guarantee of safety, so we can join with Alta Novis.”

  Yulen was quick to pounce on the man’s unintentional faux pas. “So you can join with Alta Novis?” he repeated with a slow smile.

  As he expected, Smallworth did a mental step backwards. Behind him, his fellow Council members went into a private, heated discussion. The crowd, as well, had heard the gaff, if the increased noise level in the courtyard was any indication.

  Glancing out over the populace, Atty could see several familiar faces, but not MaGrath’s. He had promised earlier to be in attendance as soon as he finished handling an emergency with one of the soldiers.

  It was becoming quite painful now, as if someone was pressing a heavy weight on her belly. She bit her lips and tried to remain quiet as this tricky bit of diplomacy over word play was being conducted.

  “I believe what you meant to say was that you are wanting an alliance so you can benefit in all that Alta Novis has to offer, be it goods, commerce trade, or...protection?” Yulen deliberately added the last word as a question, leaving it up in the air.

  Smallworth saw his inquiry for what it was and smiled. “We’ve been in contact with Wallis. I’m sure you know that, D’Jacques. We know you originally had a treaty based on those so-called threats and consequences, but it no longer exists. Today there is free trade and enterprise between that compound and yours. You’ve also helped to fortify them.”

  Yulen waited. He wanted see how much the man had left to say. It would be interesting to find out if the Council of West Crestin included their people in all their decisions, or if it was just another little demagoguery like the one in Wallis.

  Atty was beginning to feel light-headed. Sweat was popping out on her forehead, and a fine, thin trickle of it was slowly rolling over her skin underneath her gown. Atty shifted again in her chair—just a little bit, so as not to alarm her husband.

  The pressure was greater and steadily growing more painful. Breathing was restricted to short gasps of air. It was only whenever their son would stop kicking that she’d get a few moments of respite before he’d start up again. She closed her eyes and hoped he would stop soon, or else she’d have no choice but to ask Yulen to excuse her from the proceedings, no matter how much it meant to him to have her with him.

  Smallworth raised a hand to his chin. He rapped his staff twice to bring down the volume on the babble coming from the crowd, then glanced at his Council members for a signal. He got it from the man with the bear-like nose.

  “D’Jacques, we’re going to put this out on the table. We know the price Wallis is having to pay for your protection and all that they’re benefitting from it. Is there any way we can get the same amount of protection, the same services, and the same promise of aide?”

  Very softly, Yulen answered, “Only if you fly my banner.”

  A warm, sticky wetness filled the seat cushion beneath her. Atty could smell the hot, metallic scent, and knew what it was. It felt distant and strange, but she was too far along to care any longer.

  “Yul.” It came out as a low moan.

  “Atty?”

  He was kneeling before her, moving from his seat the instant he’d heard her use the diminutive of his name. A name kept exclusively for times of love...or danger.

  A cool hand touched her hot, sweaty cheeks. Somewhere before her, she could see his worri
ed face floating in and out of a reddish fog.

  “Dear God, what’s wrong, Atrilan?”

  She was pale and shaking, and on the edge of blacking out. Instinctively Yulen got to his feet and started to lift her from the chair, until a sharp, stabbing pain in his stomach reminded him he was nowhere near healed enough to carry her, much less lift her. He turned around to face the curious stares of the crowd, searching for a familiar face to help him with her.

  “I’ll take her,” a voice behind him stated.

  Yulen stepped nimbly aside as Renken rushed onto the podium and leaned over to lift Atty out of the chair. As the man gathered her into his arms, the back of her heavy, cream-colored gown fanned out below her, soddened with a wide swatch of bright red blood.

  Several women in the crowd screamed as fingers pointed at the rapidly spreading patch. Renken stepped down into the mass and began to plow through them, with Yulen directly behind him.

  Within seconds the soldiers of Alta Novis were clearing a path to the clinic. Renken covered the distance in record time with his long-legged strides. Atty had lost consciousness before he’d picked her up from the chair. Her head rolled limply against his shoulder. He could feel the heavy, damp material of her gown slapping against his thighs. His pants would be covered in her blood by the time they got to the clinic.

  MaGrath caught up with them before they got to the front door, having been summoned by Mastin the moment Renken had pulled the Battle Lady into his arms.

  “Put her on the table. Yulen, cut that damn gown off of her,” the physician barked as he rolled up his shirt sleeves and washed his hands in a bowl on one of the counters.

  Renken and Yulen locked gazes for a long moment. Then, without a word, the ex-mercenary left the clinic. Yulen watched him leave as the truth touched him. The man was in love with his wife. A sense of sadness came over the Battle Lord with the realization. Nothing could ever be more painful than unrequited love. Renken knew he would never have a future with Atty, but the man couldn’t help himself. Pulling the dagger from its sheath, Yulen proceeded to saw the heavy winter gown off Atty’s limp frame.