Curse Quest

There would always remain the question of who had loved her more, the man who gave her away or the man who accepted her? Or was their passion equal?

He held out his hand, and she took it, was pulled onto the back of the black charger, and they rode away.

He should’ve been ashamed of how he won her but he wasn’t. He was too happy, He didn’t know of Barbra’s thoughts on the bargain, of being swapped like an unwanted mare by the husband who declared he loved her…nor did he care.

She was his.

That was all that mattered.

* * *

They rode far that day, putting many miles between themselves and the farmhouse, as if Riven feared she might suddenly demand he return her to the valley and her no-longer husband. When at last he stopped the black charger and dismounted, pulling her from the horse’s back and setting her gently on her feet, she still hadn’t spoken.

As he tended Taj, she simply watched, hands clasped behind her back.

Once the horse was settled for the night, he gathered wood for a fire.

That brought memories of another camp in the desert, one in which he and a child he thought a young boy sat before another fire…a child he soon learned was a young woman, and once her identity was revealed, he fell in love with her then and there.

Arranging the sticks in a hollow scraped into the sand, he used flint from his tinder box to make a blaze. When it was burning to his satisfaction, he opened one of the saddlebags lying on the ground and extracted the packet of food from it.

“There’s plenty here,” he noted, opening it. His voice sounded loud in the dusk’s stillness, and gruff, though he didn’t intend it so. From the packet, he took a parcel wrapped in white cloth.

It was the first time he’d spoken, since leaving the valley.

Gods, there were so much he wanted to say to her. Important things. Personal things.

Opening the packet, he uncovered two wedges of buttered bread, a thick slice of mutton between them. He offered it to her.

“I know,” she said quietly, taking it from him. “I helped prepare this. I wondered why Mikil insisted on so much food.”

Riven was coming to realize Mikil wasn’t the guileless, trusting soul he’d thought. His offer to sell his much-loved wife to the foreign soldier hadn’t been a spur-of-the-moment alternative to bloodshed after all, though he still couldn’t understand how the boy could bear to let her go, even to another man who swore he loved her.

Tossing the piece of cloth to the ground, he opened another packet. It also held bread and mutton.

When Barbra moved, it startled him. Kneeling, she picked up the little square, pulling the one he held out of his hand.

“I wove these from cotton thread Mikil bought from a merchant traveling to AkMadesh.” She perched on a nearby stone, placing the square upon her knee and smoothing the wrinkles with her forefinger. “I made a shirt for little Tirza, and these napkins out of the remnants.”

Riven didn’t answer.

He knew she’d loved the child, though he was son of Mikil’s second wife.

Would he have let her go, would she have come with me, if their union hadn’t been childless?

He had so much he wanted to tell her, so many questions to ask. And yet, he said nothing. At this point, things were still fragile between them. Whatever he uttered now could be the wrong thing. To make certain he didn’t give voice to any of it, he bit into the bread.

Barbra began to eat, also, nibbling with dainty bites.

That made Riven smile, remembering the first time he’d seen her eat, crouched over her food like a defending animal. Fearful it would be snatched away, she’d torn at the hot meat and growled at the two dogs hovering nearby waiting for scraps.

Oh, my little barbarian. Five years of a good life had tamed and nourished the starveling. Had it also broken her spirit?

“Your dogs…” She looked around as if only then noticing their absence. “Where are they?”

“I was on a peace mission.” He swallowed the mouthful before he spoke. “A man who doesn’t intend to fight has no need of war dogs running at his horse’s heels.”

“A peace mission? You didn’t come back just for me?” She sounded disappointed.

He wanted to say he had, that he’d traveled the many miles from Francovia across the Snow King and through the desert for no other reason than to find her, but he couldn’t. That would’ve involved telling her how he’d suffered her absence for five years. How could he admit to her he despaired of ever seeing her again, reluctantly accepted it, and then this wonderful, miraculous opportunity presented itself?

“No, little one, I didn’t.” He made his answer quiet, continuing before she could ask the question he knew was hovering on her tongue, “I was sent by my king to arrange a marriage between the Princess Aleza and His Majesty, Traxis of Izhmir.”

“Aleza and Traxis?” Barbra didn’t conceal her surprise or her laughter. “That indecisive little man?”

“Is that any way to speak of your ruler?” Riven admonished sternly, before he smiled, also.

Traxis had indeed been indecisive. They’d had to force him to fight for his throne.

“He’ll never know.” She shrugged away her ridicule. “I’m surprised he managed to make up his mind about who he wanted to marry, however.” She looked at Riven, blue eyes, those ocean blue eyes that always intrigued him, staring directly into his. “Are you sorry?”

“No.” He might’ve loved Aleza once, but the moment he met the wild little creature becoming the woman sitting across from him, the princess was lost to him forever.

Too bad it took his stubbornness and pride so long to admit it.

She finished eating, dusted the crumbs from her fingers, and accepted the water bag he offered. Though it was summer, as the desert night set in, it brought with it the wind from the mountains. As Barbra returned the bag to him, she shivered.

“If the wind chills you,” he said, “There’s a cloak of marten furs in my saddlebag.”

Rising, she walked to where the bags lay next to his saddle, knelt and unbuckled one pouch, reaching inside.

“Oh, Riven…” The sadness in her voice made him look up in concern.

In her hand she held, not the expected cloak, but a short, slender sword. The firelight flickered and glanced off the blade. It was little more than an over-long knife, made from a stone fallen from the sky, star metal fashioned into a weapon purchased for a barbarian child by a young soldier, long ago.

“Where did that come from?”

“Mikil.” Barbra whispered. She touched the blade gently, as if she once more caressed the man who had been her husband. She looked as if she were about to burst into tears.

Riven remembered Mikil handing him the saddlebags. The boy must have hidden the sword inside while his back was turned.

“Keep it,” he said curtly, startled by that first faint stirring of the jealousy that would stay with him for the rest of his life. “You may need it.”

“For protection, my lord?” She swung around, looking at him with brows raised. “From whom? Not you?”

He didn’t answer but turned away, staring into the fire.

Read the flames for me, woman, as you did when we first met. Tell me if our life together will be all I want it to be.

Returning the sword to the pouch, Barbra rummaged inside the saddlebag. In a moment, her cry of delight told him she’d found the cloak. He smiled slightly as she swung it around her shoulders, rubbing her cheek against the dark, thick fur trimming its edges.

It was an expensive garment. He’d spent the last of his back-pay on it, what he hadn’t squandered on women and ale and payment for damages incurred during the drinking bouts he put himself through trying to forget her. Shortly before leaving for the southern lands, he purchased it from a furrier, cheap, because summer was setting in.

“Where did you find it?”

“In Jestey, before I left. Cost me half a month’s wages.”

And worth it, to see that look on your face.

“Before you left?” In the midst of her delight, her hand stopped stroking the fur, one golden brow arching upward. “Certain of yourself, weren’t you? What if I hadn’t come with you? What if Mikil had taken a hayfork and driven you away? What would you do with this, then?”

“I wouldn’t worry.” Riven shrugged indifferently and ate the last morsel. “There’s a black-haired wench at a tavern in Jestey who’d be very grateful for such a gift.” He swallowed and nodded. “Several of them, as a matter of fact.”

He got up and moved closer to the fire, his back to her. Though he expected it, he was still startled as small fists pounded his shoulder. Spinning around, he caught her wrists, laughing.

Then, he kissed her. His mouth sought and demanded hers. At last, he held in his arms the woman he’d hungered for these five years.

When he released her, Barbra didn’t speak. She simply stood on tiptoe, put both hands on his face, and pulled his head down, pressing her lips once more against his. Gently, her fingers caressed the scar on his cheek.

As her small body brushed his, he felt that surge of passion he’d long struggled to bury and forget.

Gods, how I want you.

Bending, he slipped an arm under her knees, lifting her off her feet. Just this once, he wished he had the eloquence of the men at Court, to be able to say exactly what he was feeling.

You’re my woman now, Barbra, he wanted to tell her, and the love I’ll give you will make you forget that Izhmiri farmer…but he couldn’t say it, not yet. His present love still held enough lust that he knew he couldn’t be gentle.

He’d wait. He had to.

With a sigh, he set her down.

He had to take three deep breaths before he could speak. All that time, she waited patiently, looking up at him with those disturbing storm-blue eyes.

“I’ve made many vows and I’ve broken most of them, woman, but you’ll not make me break this one.” he announced. Kissing her forehead, he took a step away from her. “I’ll not touch you until we’re wed. In Aljansur. Before witnesses.”

“What of the black-haired wench in Jestey?” she wanted to know.

He didn’t miss the tiny dæmon-light twinkling in her eyes.

“Or the several others?”

“I think I’ll have no reason to see any of them, again,” he declared, knowing in his heart he wanted no other but the little woman standing before him.

“No wenching, Riven...ever,” she murmured. She held out her arms and his own went around her without his thinking about it.

“Never, sweetling. Only you…from now on.” Gods…I sound like some moonstruck stripling.

Why shouldn’t he? He loved her, had always loved her. Perhaps at his age, after a life of whoring and heart-stealing, his foolishness could be allowed, for he was experiencing true love for the first time in his life…and what a sweet and painful feeling it was.

“It’s time for bed.” He hated to let her go but forced himself to release her. Pulling the blankets from his saddlebag, he spread one upon the ground before moving around the fire to kneel and unfold the second.

Thank the gods the soil was fine and not rocky. As a warrior, he’d slept on hard surfaces most of his life but didn’t like the thought of Barbra’s little body trying to find comfort on the unyielding soil. He calmly forgot she’d slept on worse when she was his companion on that trek to AkMadesh.

“What are you doing?” She followed him. “Why are you putting your blanket there?”

“I’ll sleep here,” he told her, smoothing the creases in the cloth. He looked up at her, thinking once again that this was where he belonged, kneeling at Barbra’s feet. “There’ll be no loving between us until we’re wed, girl. Didn’t I say that?”

“I know you said so, but…”

Dusting his knees, Riven stood, marveling once more at how small she was. He towered over her by a fair twelve inches or more.

“I thought you were merely saying that so I’d come with you.”

Sweetheart, he wanted to say, you had no choice but to come with me. I bought you.

He couldn’t. She was aware of the transaction, that Mikil had sold her to the man whose life he’d once saved, a man reappearing to again awaken her passion for him. Why remind her of the way they were finally able to be together?

Instead, he put his finger against her lips.

“I meant it. We’ll not touch. No matter who came before, we’ll both go to our wedding day virgin of each other.”

She looked unconvinced.

“Now then…” He caught her shoulders, turned her around and marched her like a disobedient child around the fire and back to her blanket. “Go to sleep. We’ve many days of traveling ahead of us.”

Returning to his own bed, he left her standing there. Out of habit, he pulled his sword from its saddle scabbard, placing it on the ground within arm’s-reach, then lay down, back to the fire, head pillowed in the crook of his arm.

For a long time, there was no sound but the crackle of the dying flames.

Riven was tired. The long ride and the emotions the day engendered were wearying. He was nearly asleep when he sensed someone close by, though he’d heard no footsteps. Reaching for his sword, he rolled over, , raising it as he looked up.

Blanket clutched to her breast, Barbra stood there, one end of the fur cape trailing the ground.

“Please, Riven, let me sleep with you,” she whispered. “I’m afraid.”

He started to argue, perhaps make some chiding remark about his little warrior being afraid. The words were never uttered. She looked so fragile, so small, silhouetted against the fading light of the fire.

Of course she’s afraid. Her entire world’s been turned upside-down this day.

Releasing the sword, he took the blanket from her, placing it by his own. Then he pulled her down to lie beside him, spreading the fur cape over them both. Otherwise, he didn’t touch her.

“Why did he do it?”

All day he’d waited for that question.

“He wanted you to be happy.” He spoke into the darkness, not looking at her. “This was the only way. Otherwise we would’ve killed each other.”

“What’s going to happen now?” She sat up, staring at the embers of the fire. “If the gods made my life barren to punish me for loving a man not my husband, what will they do now? Riven, I’m truly afraid.”

Abruptly and surprisingly, she began to cry.

When he put his arms around her, she pressed her face against his throat, hot tears wetting his skin.

“Shh, little one. All’s righted now. Don’t you know the gods favor lovers?”

Oh, aye. Of a certainty, some of the gods might favor them, but others are deathly jealous of a mortal’s happiness.

He hoped there weren’t too many of the latter. Awkwardly, he patted her shoulder. He was painfully aware he had no skill in comforting a tearful woman.

“We’ll live happily ever after…just like in a children’s bedtime story.”

As the sobs quieted, he felt her relax. Riven didn’t move or push her away. He simply lay savoring her warmth and her nearness, until he, too, fell asleep.