“What is there to work out?” she asked bluntly.
“Us,” he replied simply.
“‘Us’ is a done deal. There’s nothing to work out. I belong to you by Convocation law, and you’ve regained physical possession of your merchandise, so all isworked outin your favor.”
He sighed. “Won’t you talk to me about this?”
“You’re not in shape for any kind of conversation,” she replied, sounding more weary than mean as she stroked Vale’s neck pensively. “Let’s get you up on Vale and back to Port Anatole. We can talk when you’re not bleeding out.”
He glanced down at the bandages she’d wrapped him in, wincing at the bright-red blood soaking through the old. “Probably a good idea.”
It took some doing, but he made it into the saddle—with a lot of help from her. When he offered her a hand, she shook her head. “I’ll walk. Vale’s hurt, too, and doesn’t need more of a burden than you are.”
He winced at that, feeling like a burden, indeed. And a villain. Not to mention a brute who rode while his lady—wearing a collar and leash—was forced to walk. “Maybe we can take turns,” he ventured.
“I can walk, Lord Phel,” she said curtly, “while you can barely keep upright. Just do your best to stay on. Spare me having to care for my enemy more than necessary.”
He rather thought she’d muttered that last for herself and not for his ears. Still, he hated that it had come to this. He’d be married to a woman who regarded him as an enemy.
Somehow, that just figured. His entire life, staying true to theme.
~12~
They made itto Port Anatole by sunset, though just barely. Gabriel had also managed not to fall out of the saddle, though that had also been a near thing. He’d insisted on dismounting several times, to rest Vale and to answer the call of nature—and managed both without Nic’s help. She still had to help him back into the saddle. That was unfortunate, as she was required to lay hands on his muscular body to do it, which should not have been distracting in his current health and her dire predicament.
Yet, distracting it was. His cool, silvery depths drew her in like a moth to flame—knowing she’d be immolated and still unable to stop herself. Worse, he seemed unaware of his effect on her. All his “we can work this out” and “talk to me about your feelings,” as if he didn’t know he had only to look at her with those wizard-black eyes and she longed to kneel at his feet.
She’d had one window of opportunity to escape him, and now she never could. Even if he’d agreed to let her go, Nic suspected she would’ve found herself trailing after him like an abandoned puppy. After she’d taken such pride in her self-control, too.
It was all so lowering.
It had also begun to rain, a steady and sharply chilling spring rain that turned the dirt road to slop that she and Vale both skidded over. Soon she was covered in muck and miserably wet. To add insult to injury, her wet skin chafed fiercely under the metal collar, which grew ever colder and heavier.
She led Vale to Missus Ryma’s inn—because where else could they go?—feeling very much like she was slinking back, tail tucked between her legs. Looking like a drenched and mud-spattered waif. Oh, and with a collar around her neck to demonstrate her physical humiliation in case anyone missed her metaphorical one.
Missus Ryma—apparently warned by the interested observers noting the approach of their odd party—met them at the steps to the inn. She took in Nic, her collar, the tired horse, and wounded warrior in one sweeping glance and took over in her practical way, for which Nic would be forever grateful.
Summoning the strapping lads who handled the heavy work of the inn, she had them lift the barely conscious Gabriel from the saddle and carry him to a room. Vale was handed over to the stable groom, who also served as animal healer. Nic, she tucked under her arm and hustled into the kitchen. Once she’d sent for Inytta for Gabriel, Missus Ryma sat down at the table where Nic nursed a mug of nurturing broth.
“How much of that blood is yours?” Missus Ryman asked, and Nic’s heart turned over thatthatwas her first question.
“None of it.” She took a bracing sip of the broth, wishing it was wine. “Most of it is Lord Phel’s. He is my husband,” she added, figuring she might as well just come out with that, and keep it simple while she was at it.
“Ah. Then this calls for wine.” Missus Ryma called out to one of her servers, who brought over a full carafe of a hearty red. Not Elal wine, but decent anyway. “Good thing I had the boys put him in my best room. Thought he looked like quality.”
Nic winced. “I don’t know how much coin he has on him.” Or at all. At least Nic’s carefully hoarded coin could serve to pay Inytta for the healing—and wasn’t that perfect irony, that her escape fund should be spent on healing her captor?
Missus Ryma waved that away. “I’m sure he’s good for it. Besides, I’m otherwise full tonight—had nothing else.” She eyed the collar. “I can ask Inytta to keep the fellow asleep a few days. Long enough for you to escape.”
Nic tugged on the collar, feeling much like an animal flailing at a trap, knowing it couldn’t get free but irrationally exhausting herself trying anyway. “Lord Phel didn’t do this,” she explained, not sure why she was excusing him. Maybe because Gabriel was her enemy, but he wasn’t evil. “He saved me from some… hunters”—she smiled mirthlessly to herself at the word choice—“who put this on me. It’s magic, so I have to find the right person to take it off again.”
“Hmm. Not easy, then, having so many after you.” Missus Ryma patted her hand kindly. “I’d offer you your old room, but with this miserable weather, even that’s taken. You could sleep in with my daughters, though.”
Nic’s eyes dampened at the kindness. What an exhausted mess she was. “Thank you, but I’ll sleep in Lord Phel’s room.” She had to face that she belonged to him and that this would be her life now. Besides, if he woke to find her missing, he’d likely rampage around the inn, waking everyone in his search for her. Her desire to stay in his room certainly wasn’t because she was concerned about him, or that she hungered to be near him. This time, the copper snake’s fangs barely made a dent in her overall pain.
“Take the wine with you, then. I’ll have a hot bath sent up, and two full dinners as soon as they’re ready. And have Inytta look you over, too. Can’t hurt and might help.”
“Thank you.” Aware that she’d interrupted those dinner preparations, the other staff scrambling with the full house and to fill in for Missus Ryma’s missing hands, Nic pushed to her feet and fished out her bag of coin.