They left Enoch before the sun was high. Kjell’s men were bright-eyed and straight in their saddles, faking good spirits, a full night’s sleep, and strict abstinence. They knew if they wanted a repeat of the kind of freedom they’d experienced during the last two days, they would need to be convincing. Still, Kjell caught more than one man looking back at the bustling city; no one was especially eager to leave her behind.
Between the city of Enoch—named after the larger province—and the borders of Janda, there was little to see and less to do. Kjell had acquired another horse where he boarded his stallion, a pretty, brown mare with a strong back and a pleasant disposition. The horse had nuzzled his neck and eaten from his hand, and when he’d saddled and mounted her, she’d accepted his weight and direction with a docile patience he was sure would suit Sasha.
Sasha needed her own mount if he was to survive her company.
The mare didn’t cost him much—the stable master seemed eager to be rid of her—and he haggled with the stable master’s wife to fetch two riding gowns for him as part of the deal. She procured three, and he’d returned to the inn, shoved them at Sasha, and demanded that she change.
For once, he’d risen before her—he’d never actually slept—and left her chamber so he wouldn’t have to greet her when she woke.
“I cannot pay you, Captain,” she’d said, running her hands over the buttery cloth and marveling at the voluminous folds which disguised the breeches beneath.
She had resumed her subservient ways, making it easier for him to retreat behind his previous persona, the one who hadn’t seen her unclothed. Neither of them mentioned fevered kisses or his sojourn on her floor.
“I don’t demand payment,” he barked, and she left it alone.
Now she rode beside him, her eyes forward, posture erect, handling the horse with an ease that belied her history.
Jerick was unusually quiet throughout the morning as they followed the dusty road that would continue in a long, straight path toward Janda. When the way narrowed at a deep ravine, they fell into a single-file line, and Kjell sent Sasha ahead, holding back until everyone else had crossed. Jerick waited beside him, watching the others proceed.
“I thought you might find work for her in Enoch,” Jerick commented softly, his eyes on Sasha’s slim back.
“I am taking her to Jeru City. Wasn’t that your suggestion, Lieutenant?” Kjell answered darkly.
“Yes . . . but I saw you leave her chamber this morning, Captain.”
“You will do well to control your thoughts and your tongue, Jerick.”
“If you don’t mean to keep her, you cannot use her,” Jerick snapped.
Without warning, Kjell snatched his blade from his boot, striking out with a glancing swipe and nicking Jerick’s left cheek.
“You were warned, Lieutenant.”
Jerick reared back, his hand on his sword, his face bleeding, his ego clipped. The wound was shallow, but a soldier’s pride was deep, and Kjell waited, tensed for the young lieutenant to make another challenge. Jerick had never been able to hold his tongue. It was the thing Kjell both loved and loathed about him.
Jerick’s eyes flickered to the woman in question and back to his captain. Sasha’s presence among them was already wreaking havoc. Kjell was not a Seer, but he’d seen this moment coming. He would have to claim the woman for the good of his men, or he would have to let her go. Sooner rather than later.
“She is mine.”
Jerick’s eyebrows rose, and his hand fell from the hilt of his sword. His horse shimmied, mirroring his surprise, and Jerick wiped at his cheek, smearing the blood across his nose.
“She is yours?” Jerick asked, his venom notably absent. “What does that mean, Captain?”
Bloody hell if he knew what it meant. But he’d said it, and his stomach flipped once and then again before it settled.
“It means you will never again question my motives where Sasha is concerned.”
“Yes, Captain. I will tell the men.”
“Damnation, Jerick.” Kjell wanted to shove the man from his horse.
“It is better that they understand, Captain,” Jerick said gravely. Kjell cursed again, snarling at Jerick’s false solemnity.
Jerick mopped at his bleeding cheek again, and Kjell groaned, noting that Sasha and the rest of his guard now waited on the opposite side of the ravine, observing the exchange. He was fairly confident the conversation hadn’t been overheard, but the animosity—and the blood—was hard to miss. Raising a hand to his mouth, Kjell pulled his glove free with his teeth and placed his bare palm on Jerick’s cheek. With a humming sigh, Kjell healed the wound he’d inflicted, leaving nothing behind but smeared blood and a smirk on his lieutenant’s face.
“Thank you, Captain.”
“Cease speaking, Jerick.”
“You cut Jerick. And then you healed him,” Sasha said, after riding silently beside him for an interminable hour.
“Yes.” Kjell knew the question was coming.
“You giveth and you taketh away?” Her voice was troubled. He wanted to ask her what bothered her most . . . his anger toward Jerick or his casual use of his gift. But he didn’t.
“I chastised him . . . then I forgave him,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because everyone deserves healing.” He meant to mock her, but his delivery was weak and his target unfazed.
“Hopefully everyone won’t require healing.” Sasha’s brow furrowed, drawing her freckles together in unanimous disapproval.
She didn’t press the issue or needle him further about his quarrel with Jerick, but she had not forgotten his promise to answer her questions. Over the next week she peppered him with inanities, and he always answered, even when he would rather listen to her talk. His men kept a wide berth while they traveled, affording them an odd privacy that Kjell liked too much. Jerick had clearly informed them of their captain’s claim.
Fine. Just as long as he didn’t inform Sasha.
Whenever Kjell could manage it, he would turn her questions back around, saving himself from closer examination, and she answered him without artifice, without hesitation, and he found he wanted to know everything about her. Every miniscule, paltry crumb.