Lion's Bride - Iris Johansen [7]
Kadar started, “I truly think that—”
Ware touched spurs to the stallion, which lunged forward into a gallop. The other horsemen followed, and Kadar had no choice but to do the same.
The links of chain mail were hard against Thea’s back. She felt as if she were suffocating, enclosed, bound in iron. He wanted her to feel like this, she realized angrily. She had said something that had struck deep, and he wanted to punish her. She could not give him the satisfaction of letting him know he had succeeded.
Instead of holding herself upright, she deliberately sank back against him.
He stiffened warily.
Let him be uneasy. She didn’t have the strength to fight him now with anything but words. “How far is it to Dundragon?”
“Not far.” He nodded at the mountains. “There.”
Those mountains had seemed terribly far to her only a short time before. “I will not stay at that place.”
“I don’t want you to stay. As soon as Kadar decides you’re well enough, you’ll be sent on your way.”
“I’m not ill. I could go now.” Strange…the armor no longer felt uncomfortable, but smooth and sleek against her back. “And Kadar makes no decisions for me.”
“Kadar makes decisions for everyone,” he said dryly. “As I’m sure you’ve already noted.”
“Not for me.” She yawned. “Why should he? You’re both strangers and I know nothing about you.”
“And we know nothing about you.”
Thank the saints, that was true. Kadar might suspect her words about her father’s death were untrue, but surely he would not seek to disprove her story. As for Lord Ware, he wanted only to be rid of her and would not ask uncomfortable questions. “I’m Thea of Dimas.”
She yawned again. It was odd how the pretense of comfort and confidence had become reality. He did not seem nearly as intimidating now that she could no longer see him. She was aware only of that rock-sturdy strength behind her that could keep her safe from all harm. “That’s enough for you to know.”
“Is it?”
She nodded drowsily. “Of course. You have…no desire to…” She trailed off as sleep claimed her.
“There’s nothing as charming as a sleeping child.”
Ware glanced over his shoulder to see Kadar riding behind him. He looked down at the slumbering Thea. He doubted if the thunder of Saladin’s army could awaken her from that exhausted sleep. “This particular child is dirty, odorous, and overbold,” he said.
Kadar nodded. “But brave and determined. The brave deserve to live.” He smiled. “And they also deserve kindness.”
“Then you may give it to her.”
“But you saved her. You were the first one to see her and decide to ride to her rescue. It’s your duty to—”
“I have no duty. Nor shall I assume any. I’m content as I am.”
“No, you aren’t.” Kadar nudged closer and even with him. “But I’ll persevere until you’ve reached that state. I know my duty, even if you don’t.” He looked down at Thea. “She’s only ten and seven. Did I tell you that?”
Ware made no response.
“And things go hard for women in this world. Particularly fair, comely women.”
Ware did not answer.
“What if she’s with child by one of Hassan’s men? She’s only a child herself. It’s enough to touch the heart.”
“Your heart.”
Kadar sighed. “I’m growing discouraged.”
“At last.”
“But not defeated.” He let his horse drop back to follow Ware up the narrow mountain path.
The woman felt soft and warm and helpless in Ware’s arms. He would not look down at her. He would not feel the pity Kadar wanted of him. He would not feel anything but the emotions he chose for himself. It was a mistake taking her to Dundragon, and he would not compound it by allowing himself to soften toward her. Kadar didn’t realize how dangerous such an emotion as pity could be. Pity could make one vulnerable.
Pity could kill them all.
The fortress of Dundragon blazed with light. Even from a distance Thea was dazzled. Torches burned everywhere, illuminating every battlement of the grim fortress and, she discovered when they rode through the gates, the entire courtyard. Any chatelaine would have been horrified at the waste of such a display in the