From Darkness Won - Jill Williamson [109]
Achan furrowed his brow, wondering how anyone might prove such a thing about a woman.
A couple whirled past him. The woman’s flowery smell brought Sparrow’s face to mind. He smiled at the pleasing aroma, then spotted Shung and Lady Gali swaying in the crowd. Lady Gali laughed at something Shung said and tugged on one of Shung’s fat braids.
Achan’s smile faded. He squeezed the neck of the wine bottle. Why was it everyone could do as they pleased but him? Why could he not have fun? Forget the fear of the pending battle? Wash his cares away with a bottle of mead? Many men lost their sanity from the bottle. And he was safe here, was he not? He had two guards at his back, making sure of it, and an entire army of his own around him. He could think of no better time for such an experience. He tipped the wine bottle up to his lips.
Only a sip dribbled out.
Could he have drunk the whole thing? Impossible. Kurtz must have given him a half-empty bottle.
He dropped it and threaded his way through the dancers toward where Kurtz sat on the end of the wagon with a peasant girl on his lap. If anyone had a fresh bottle of wine, it would be Kurtz.
“Your Highness!” someone said.
“It’s the prince!”
A chorus of greetings rang out. The music segued into “The Pawn Our King.” Another man spoke to Achan, but Achan ignored him and pushed through the crowd.
He bumped into a pair of dancers. “Sorry.”
“Not at all, Your Highness.”
Another couple plowed by, knocking into Achan’s sore shoulder. It hardly hurt anymore, but the contact aggravated the wound and threw him off balance. He spun halfway around, lost his footing, and fell onto the trampled grass. His shoulder stung, yet he couldn’t keep from laughing. His guardsmen rushed up on either side and helped him stand.
“I’m so sorry!” someone said. “Is he all right?”
Cortland tugged Achan away from the crowd. “Your Highness, let’s get you back to your tent.”
Achan pulled his arm from Cortland’s grip and rolled his shoulder, easing away the soreness. “I’m fine.”
Sir Gavin Lukos.
Achan cocked his head and listened. A woman’s high-pitched giggle turned his gaze back to the wagon. Kurtz whispered in the peasant woman’s ear. She giggled again, drawing out her laugh as if she were tired of laughing yet couldn’t get enough of it. Kurtz kissed her neck, her lips.
The woman’s eyes met Achan’s. He stared, heart thudding in his ears. She whispered to Kurtz.
“Eh?” Kurtz pushed the woman off his lap and jumped off the wagon. “Heh-hay! Pacey! You came back!” He waved Achan over. “How’s my favorite oarsman?”
Achan’s ears tickled. Sir Gavin Lukos.
Achan grinned, remembering the time he and Kurtz had visited a tavern in Tsaftown. See? Kurtz knew how to have fun. “Your favorite oarsman is thirsty.”
Kurtz’s eyes lit up. “Ahh…” He threw an arm over Achan’s shoulders and steered him back to the wagon. “The question is, thirsty for what?”
Achan’s gaze roamed the wagon, searching the bottles for more wine, but his sights snagged on a set of dark brown eyes.
Sir Gavin Lukos.
Achan shook away the buzzing in his head. He blinked at the girl sitting in the back of Kurtz’s wagon. She was Lady Tara, yet she was not, for Tara’s eyes were blue. But this maiden had the same golden ringlets and sly smile that had weakened Achan’s knees.
“Challa, would you like to dance with the prince?” Kurtz lowered his voice. “And if you don’t mind my saying so, Your Highness, you look like you could use a dance.”
Achan stared at the girl. “Yes, I think so too.”
Challa crawled to the end of the wagon, an unladylike thing to do, for the position bared more flesh of her neckline than Sparrow would ever find appropriate.
Achan averted his eyes, then cursed himself for thinking of Sparrow again. Would she haunt him forever?
“Help me down, Yer Highness?”
The uncultured edge to Challa’s voice curled Achan’s lips into a small smile. She sat on the end of the wagon, kicking her bare feet