Part 4 (2/2)

”Ah, it's been put away for safekeeping.” Cahill eased his grip on her to unbuckle his saddlebag. He pulled the small sword out of the bag, but before pa.s.sing it to Brea, added, ”I trust you won't try to impale me with it.”

”Only if I'm provoked.”

His lips twitched at her comment. ”Was I right? Is it three?”

”You're close,” Brea said as seriously as she could. Then she ran her thumb up and down the rough notches in the handle and pa.s.sed the blade back to Cahill haft first. ”Count the notches.”

He accepted the blade and started to count. Brea watched with amus.e.m.e.nt as his brows slowly drew closer and closer together across his forehead. Finally he looked up at her, his expression one of incredulity. ”Impossible.”

Brea shrugged.

”There is no way you've slain twenty-two dragons.”

”Actually,” Brea said with a finger tapping her lips in thought, ”it's twenty-three. I didn't get a chance to notch the last one before I was attacked.” Brea put her hand out for her sword, and Cahill returned it to her without a word. She slid it into the scabbard strapped to her back and then flipped her good leg back over the horse's neck so that she was once again facing forward.

Cahill remained silent for the remainder of the ride. Even his grip on her loosened to the point that Brea could have slipped between his grasp and slid off the horse. But she wasn't about to do that. There was no reason to escape now. She was a dragon slayer and there was a horde of the nasty beasts that required her attention. She was so intent on the pending battle, imagining her blade penetrating a host of yellow eyeb.a.l.l.s, that nothing could distract her, not her throbbing thigh, not Cahill's warm body. Well, almost nothing. Brea was still aware of Cahill's breadth, but his strength no longer troubled her as much as it had. In fact, Brea felt so comfortable, so certain of herself, that she forgot everything and nestled her head against Cahill's shoulder and promptly fell into a deep sleep.

When Brea awoke, it was to that unnerving, panicky feeling of having no idea where she was. The steady gait of the horse no longer moved beneath her. In fact, she was not sitting, she was lying down, on a pile of furs no less. Brea sat up, automatically reaching for her dagger. But of course it was gone.

”Ah, you're awake. Just in time for the evening meal.”

Brea spun around at Cahill's voice and found him watching her from a stool beside a table. On the table lay maps and beside that dishes that still steamed with the aroma of meat and turnips.

Gingerly, Brea pushed herself up and approached.

”Don't worry,” Cahill a.s.sured her, ”I've already tasted everything. Nothing's been poisoned.”

Brea rolled her eyes. She reached across the table for a roll and split it open with her fingers. Then she dipped the roll in the steaming stew and ate. It was delicious.

”Please sit.” Cahill motioned to a stool across from him.

Brea sat and ate, not knowing when she'd enjoyed a meal more. Fresh air always did that to her appet.i.te. ”Where are we?” she asked through a mouthful of food.

”The royal lodgings,” Cahill said. ”I know it's not much, but it's better than where the troops are quartered and certainly more preferable than a ditch.”

”I prefer the ditch,” Brea muttered as she reached for a flagon of ale. Then she cleared her throat and said, ”You know what I mean. Where are we? How far are we from the horde?”

”We're camped outside of Lumbreck, a half-day's journey from the border, where the dragons attacked two days ago.”

”Have you received any news from your scouts?”

”No. But I expect to hear something any minute.”

Brea nodded and Cahill turned back to the maps spread out upon the other half of the table. Brea helped herself to another serving of stew, this time eating more slowly and enjoying the flavors. After a few minutes, Cahill's valet bowed through the door and removed the empty dishes.

Brea had to admit that there was something nice about going to battle as royalty. Hot food, warm bedding, servants. ”Well,” Brea said as she pushed herself to her feet. ”Thank you for the meal. I'll be on my way.”

”Where do you think you're going?” Cahill asked, looking up from the maps.

”To my tent.”

”This is your tent.” is your tent.”

”Oh. But where are you staying?”

”Here.”

With her hands on her hips, Brea shook her head. ”I can't stay here with you.”

”There are few options.”

”Few options means there are more than one. I want to hear the alternative to staying alone in a tent with you.”

Cahill sighed. ”Your only other option is to camp amongst the soldiers where you will be unprotected and likely molested.”

”I think I'll take my chances with the soldiers,” Brea said as she turned to go.

With a loud smack, Cahill pounded the table, ”Dammit, woman, what is wrong with you? What do you take me for? An ogre? I I will not molest you. will not molest you. I I will not take advantage of you. You have my word.” will not take advantage of you. You have my word.”

”Your word,” Brea spat. ”What is that worth?”

Cahill stood so suddenly he knocked his stool flying. He stalked Brea like a mountain lion advancing on a young fawn. ”My word is everything,” he seethed. ”I am an honorable man, Brea, and I do not take kindly to such insults on my character.” He did not stop his approach until he towered over her, making Brea feel both small and insignificant. Then Cahill took a deep breath and a reluctant step back. His smile did not reach his eyes. ”This tent is big enough for the both of us. I will not compromise you.”

”Do you promise?”

”I promise.” He paused and his smile grew. ”I will not seduce you, Brea...unless of course you want me to.”

”See!” Brea pointed at him. ”That! What you did just there. Those innuendos. That's seduction! You've proven over and over again that you can't be trusted.”

In one step, Cahill stood chest-to-chin with Brea. He wrapped a hand around her waist and pulled her against him. In a low voice, he whispered in her ear, ”Truly, Princess, you need a lesson in seduction. I am only engaging in courtly banter.” He traced her jaw with the tip of his finger. ”The fact that my banter bothers you tells me that you take my innuendos seriously.” He c.o.c.ked his head to the side, ”Tell me, Brea, who is it that you don't trust? Is it me...or is it you?”

Before Brea could answer, the door to the tent swung open and the valet stepped through. ”The scouts have arrived, Your Highness, and the officers are gathering to hear the news.”

Cahill released Brea and turned back to the table to gather the maps. ”Please make yourself comfortable, Princess.” Then he pushed the flap at the door and ducked out.

Brea watched him go, her heart pounding, her pulse racing. She couldn't stop thinking about Cahill's question. Who was it that she didn't trust? Was it him or was it her?

”I'm coming too,” Brea insisted.

”Stop it, Brea, and I mean it. You sound like a petulant child.” Brea stamped her foot, and Cahill turned to her with a single brow raised as if to say, ”You see?” But what he said instead made Brea even angrier. ”If you want to be of use, help me with my armor.”

Picking up the nearest weighty object, a clay jug, Brea flung it at Cahill's head. He ducked just in time, and the urn thudded heavily to the ground. ”Men!” Brea fumed and then pushed her way out of the tent. The morning sun had yet to burn the moisture from the ground and pockets of mist clung to low-lying depressions, giving the perfect cover for hunting dragons. If the hunters knew what they were doing, that was.

The telltale sounds of battle preparation met Brea's ears as she wandered through the camp. Steel against steel, steel against stone, as last minute sharpening of weapons took place-probably more out of nerves than necessity-steel against leather as swords were sheathed and unsheathed. Conversation was at a minimum, none of the raucous laughter of the night before, and even the horses s.h.i.+fted peculiarly as they sensed the tension in the camp. A familiar whinny brought Brea up short.

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