She felt she had done nothing but endure since the trauma of her wedding day. Ridge had spent the night in her bed chamber, although he had made no move to touch her. Kalena supposed the very thought of making love to a woman who had tried to assassinate his employer was repulsive to him.
Kalena had lain awake all night, clinging to the far side of the pallet so that her husband would have as much room as possible. She thought Ridge had stayed awake for a long while, too, but eventually he had slept. The next morning he had ordered her out of bed well before dawn. The household had still been asleep when he had tossed her lightly up into the creet saddle, handed her the reins and ordered her to follow him.
That first day Kalena had thought she would fall out of the saddle by the end of the day. The thought hadn’t particularly bothered her. It was just something she had noted vaguely in passing. Nothing had had the power to upset or worry her for the past three days. She had been drifting in a gray emotional landscape that had no secure points of reference and from which there seemed no escape. If she thought of anything specific at all for any length of time it was her failure to her House. But even that bitter knowledge no longer had the power to hurt her as it had on the night she had come to terms with it. She had failed her House. Technically, Olara could—and probably would—disown her for that failure.
Kalena could barely stand when she finally dismounted in front of the village inn where she and Ridge had stayed that first night. She hadn’t bothered with dinner downstairs in the dining hall that adjoined the tavern. Without a word she had gone directly upstairs, bathed and fallen into bed. She hadn’t awakened when Ridge had come upstairs some time later. She hadn’t even moved until he had shaken her into some semblance of awareness at dawn the next morning. Kalena had never been so stiff and sore in her life, but pride had kept her from saying one single word. It was odd how pride remained when all else had vanished.
The next night had been a repeat of the first. The one small, insignificant bit of retaliation Kalena had been able to effect was to totally ignore the wifely tradition of bringing her husband yant tea in his pallet. If Ridge expected tea at dawn he could damn well make it himself. It had quickly become apparent that Ridge was too smart to expect any such thing. Now, as the third day drew to a close, Kalena began to wonder if the entire trip to Variance was to be carried out in silence and unending soreness.
The fact that she was becoming aware of her own resentment was mildly interesting, Kalena supposed. During the previous two days she had been moving through a kind of emotional shock. Nothing had really fazed her except the aching exhaustion, although for some reason she had managed to remember to take the selite powder. But today her mood was starting to restabilize. She wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not. Surely one shouldn’t begin to recover so quickly from the trauma of failure.
Nevertheless, when the small jumble of timbered structures that comprised a village came into view over a grassy rise, Kalena actually found herself considering the prospect of dinner. Ridge had more or less forced her to eat a small morning and lunch meal during the past few days, but he hadn’t bothered her when she had neglected dinner in favor of a bath and sleep in the evenings.
The sun was setting behind the distant mountains and smoke rose from the hearths of the homes that were scattered about the dusty main street of the town. The night would be cool, cooler than in Crosspurposes, and much cooler than it would be farther east in the Interlock valley. Kalena vaguely remembered that Ridge had discussed the distance to a place called Adverse that morning with the innkeeper in the last village. This must be their destination for tonight. The creet she was riding lifted its head expectantly and gave a hopeful chirp as it sensed the end of the day’s ride. Creets considered a good supply of food and a warm stable adequate reward for their efforts.
Kalena cleared her dry throat with the intention of calling to Ridge to ask him if this was where they would stay the night. At the last moment she changed her mind about speaking. He was the one who had imposed the silence between them. She’d be damned if she would be the one to break it. Kalena thought about that reaction and decided that she must, indeed, be returning to normal. It seemed strange to be feeling any real emotion, even simple resentment.
Half an hour later, Ridge halted his bird in front of an inn that carried the sign of a jeweled sintar. Kalena waited obediently while her husband went inside to arrange accommodations. From her perch in the saddle she examined the small village with the first curiosity she had felt in days.
The collection of timbered buildings was obviously the center of a local farming community. The market square in the middle of the village was silent at this time of day, but was undoubtedly the hub of activity from morning until late afternoon. This village was a great deal more rural and unsophisticated in many ways than the ones of the Interlock valley. The windows were protected by wooden shutters rather than glass panes, and the buildings had been constructed with only utility in mind, not architectural interest.
People passing through the inn yard stared at her covertly, making Kalena aware of how few strangers probably came through Adverse. Her wide-legged riding pants and short, fitted tunic jacket probably appeared quite outrageous to the women in their long, conservatively styled tunics. The men stared, too. Kalena ignored them all and waited stoically for Ridge to reappear. Before long, she grew cold as the evening chill descended.
“All right,” Ridge announced brusquely as he strode back outside. “We have a room upstairs. Go on up. I’ll bring the bags and see to the creets.”
Kalena nodded. Such orders had been the limit of his conversation for the past three days. She slid from the saddle, clinging to the leather as her booted feet touched the ground. For a moment she held on to the saddle to steady herself while her trembling thigh muscles decided if they could support her. She knew Ridge was watching her out of the corner of his eye as he collected the reins. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her hanging onto the leather, she forced herself to step back. The wide legs of her riding pants fell together to form a reasonably modest skirt as she moved toward the inn entrance. Kalena didn’t look back as Ridge led the creets to the stables.
Inside the inn people turned to stare as Kalena moved to the front desk where the innkeeper handed her a key. “I wish you good evening, innkeeper,” she murmured politely. He nodded and indicated the stairs.
“I’ll want a bath,” she informed him.
“There is a facility for women at the end of the hall,” he explained proudly. “We have installed the latest heating technique for the water. Just pull the cord in the bathing room and the water will be sent through the pipes into the pool.”
Kalena smiled gratefully. “That sounds wonderful.” Hurrying upstairs, she opened the door of the small sleeping chamber and examined the one pallet that awaited. Another night of pretending an invisible wall ran down the center of the pallet lay ahead of her. She would cling to her side until she fell asleep and when Ridge joined her after an hour or two downstairs in the tavern he would help himself to the largest portion of the pallet. Wondering how long such a situation could continue without some sort of explosion, Kalena prepared for her bath. Tonight, she decided, she would eat dinner downstairs.
Although a more normal sense of awareness had returned and the dull apathy had faded, Kalena knew that nothing had changed for her. She was stuck with Ridge for the duration of the journey unless he chose to terminate the marriage contract. She had, after all, signed that agreement herself. She was honor bound to fulfill the terms of the contract. She might have been a failure as an assassin, but pride demanded she not fail her other obligations as well.
An hour later, Ridge lounged across from Kalena as they sat at a low, wooden dining table. He was amazed that she could kneel in such a polite, feminine fashion after three brutal days in the saddle. He had shown no surprise when she had followed him downstairs for dinner, but inwardly he was relieved that she was beginning to ea
t properly again. He had told himself that a couple of missed meals wouldn’t hurt her, but this morning he had begun to wonder if he should let her continue to skip the evening meal. She needed her strength, especially with the way he had been driving her and the creets for the past three days.
There had been no need to set such a rough pace on the trail. Ridge knew he had done so solely to work off his own anger and frustration, and to punish Kalena. He was certain she had been suffering, but she had neither complained nor pleaded. After the first day her proud refusal to do either had had the effect of angering him further. He had seen to it that the second day was no easier on her than the first. Still she had said nothing. She seemed to accept the punishment as if she believed it were her due after failing to kill Quintel.
Her bleak acceptance of this penalty of failure finally convinced Ridge his wife had taken her role of assassin very seriously. He still found the notion of a woman committing ritual vengeance totally outlandish, but he couldn’t doubt Kalena’s emotional reaction. She had meant to kill Quintel and considered herself a disgrace to her House because she hadn’t been able to complete the act.
She had the pride of a true born House lady, Ridge acknowledged. He was forced to admire it even as he told himself he would subdue it. He no longer doubted for a moment that she was who she claimed to be.
He had wed the daughter of a Great House and she undoubtedly despised him. Ridge’s mouth thinned as he took a long swallow of red ale. That was her problem, he told himself. She had contracted the marriage willingly enough and now she was stuck with it. So was he, for that matter.
One thing was for certain. The present situation had continued long enough. They faced a long trip together and Ridge decided he was not going to spend the rest of the venture with a silent, sulking woman. The time to restore a more normal harmony between them had come. They were, after all, husband and wife. Ridge reminded himself that a husband’s duty was to ensure his wife’s obedient and proper behavior.
He watched Kalena finish off the last of her meal and marveled silently at her perfect manners. She used a fingerspear with a grace that verified her tale of being a daughter of a Great House. He should have realized several days ago just what her excellent manners really implied. Instead of considering the matter logically, he had taken egotistical pride in the fact that he was to marry a well mannered female. A man’s ego could blind him on occasion, Ridge thought grimly.
“If you’re finished, go upstairs to bed. I’ll join you in a little while,” he told her roughly. He instantly regretted the tone of his voice. He didn’t have to order her about as if she were a servant. She was his wife and deserved a measure of respect. He tried to smooth over the gruff command by adding an explanation of his plans for the evening. “I want to talk to the innkeeper and some of the men in the tavern. We’re getting into more isolated, rural areas now, and it’s time I started asking a few questions. One of Quintel’s other trade masters disappeared near here. I’d like to avoid the same fate.”
Kalena raised her eyebrows in subtle mockery of his belated graciousness but said nothing. She got to her feet, inclined her head a little too subserviently, and turned to make her way up the stairs to the second level.
Ridge watched her go, his eyes narrowed. The woman had a way of taunting him without even opening her mouth. Ah, well, her silent resentment was better than the dull, apathetic resignation she had been wallowing in for the past couple of days. At least he thought it was. Ridge picked up his ale tankard again and considered how little he knew about handling a highborn lady who laid claim to the heritage of a Great House.
But one single fact was clear. Lady or not she was his wife.
Ridge finished his ale, got to his feet and sauntered into the smoky tavern that connected to the dining area. The place was half full of local men who might or might not be willing to gossip about the last few Sand caravans that had passed through the village, and especially about Quintel’s last investigator, Trantel.
He had a job to do, Ridge reminded himself. He would deal with his proud, sulking bride later.
Kalena fell asleep the moment her head touched the pillow of her pallet. Even the lingering ache in her thighs was not enough to keep her awake. She never heard Ridge enter the room, but when he slid naked under the lanti wool blankets and put his big hand on her arm, Kalena blinked sleepily. He had not touched her in bed since the trip had begun, and even through the drowsy haze that enveloped her Kalena sensed the significance of the action.
“There will be no more sulks or silence, Kalena,” Ridge announced huskily as he turned her onto her back. “You’ve brooded long enough. It’s time you started acting like a wife. My wife.”
In the shadows she opened sleepy eyes to find him leaning over her, harsh intent etched in every line of his face. Kalena immediately understood that Ridge had come to some inner decision. One way or another he had gotten himself a wife and he had decided to avail himself of the convenience. Resentment warred with the feminine intuition that told Kalena things might be a good deal easier if she played the role of dutiful, if not necessarily loving, bride. It was, after all, more than a role. Nothing could change the fact that she was this man’s legal wife. Ridge had not dissolved the contract, and unless both of them agreed to do so, before the completion of their trade venture, it stood as a legal document.
She had been a failure in the role of assassin. Perhaps she could manage this duty better. The days of silence had been hard on both of them.
On the other end of the Spectrum, there was her pride to be considered. Enduring Ridge’s idea of punishment was one thing; submitting to his demand that she carry out the duties of a wife was another. In her sleepy daze, Kalena tried to reason out what honor demanded of her. The duties of a wife were very clear. In a sense honor demanded that she perform them. She had, after all, signed that damned contract. Normally pride was bound up with honor, but tonight it all seemed very confusing.
She found analyzing the whole thing at this hour of the night too difficult. Better to put it off until morning, Kalena decided. She needed to work on the matter of figuring out just what her honor demanded in this bizarre situation.
“Go to sleep, Ridge. You’ve been drinking.” She turned onto her side, her back to him.
His hand tightened on her shoulder and a split second later Kalena found herself flat on her back once more. She blinked up at him, startled by the fierceness of his grip. In the shadows his eyes were gleaming.
“Spoken like a true, nagging wife,” he taunted, throwing one bare leg over her thigh. He moved his leg slightly and the hem of Kalena’s nightdress was abruptly pushed up above her knees. “Don’t worry about the ale I’ve consumed. I’ll still be able to perform my husbandly duty.” He bent his head to cut off her protest with his mouth.
Kalena awakened in a hurry as she realized Ridge meant business tonight. Automatically, she started to struggle and found her wrists pinned to the bed as Ridge moved more completely to cover her. The hard weight of his body crushed her deeply into the pallet, and when he moved his hips against her she could feel the fierceness of his arousal through the soft fabric of her nightdress.
His lips moved on hers, not to seek a response but to ensure her submission. Kalena felt the heat of his mouth and sensed the urgent, compelling hunger that was driving him. She was torn between her natural tendency to resist his arrogant demands and the knowledge that he had every right to make those demands. He had been right; he might be a Houseless bastard, but he was her husband. She had wed him willingly enough and now she was forced to accept that fact. Things might not have turned out as she had expected, but for the duration of this venture she was Ridge’s wife. And she already knew that he was capable of pleasing his woman in a very fundamental way.
Pride, honesty and the promise of passion swirled together in Kalena’s mind, creating a chaos from which there was no logical escape. While she struggled to sort it all out, Ridge pushed his hand up under the he
m of her nightdress and boldly claimed the treasure he sought.
Kalena, who had not yet made up her mind to choose pride or wifely humility, reacted angrily as his fingers stroked the soft petaled flower between her legs. “Damn you to the Dark end of the Spectrum, Ridge! We have much to talk about before you act the heavy-handed husband.”
“We’ll talk later. When you’ve shown me you know your duty,” he growled against her throat. He used his foot to separate her legs and then his stroking finger plunged deliberately inside her, making Kalena gasp.
She lifted her single free hand with the intention of slapping at him. But in that moment he withdrew his probing finger just far enough to make her ache with sudden wanting. Her fingers clutched into the thickness of his hair instead of striking his shoulder.
“Open your eyes and look at me, wife.” Ridge had meant to utter the words as a command, but they emerged sounding more like a plea.
She obeyed reluctantly, aware of the way she was dampening his hand.
“Call me by my new title, Kalena,” he muttered. “Call me husband.”
“Ridge, stop it. You’ve had one too many tankards of ale tonight and you have no business forcing yourself on me.”
“Call me husband, Kalena. Let me hear you acknowledge your new lord.” He continued to move his fingers inside her, but now his thumb was playing with the small nub that was so responsive to his touch. Kalena tightened convulsively and Ridge felt it. “Say it, Kalena.”
He only asked to hear the truth, Kalena told herself as the quivering excitement rippled through her body. Surely she need not let her pride or her sense of honor stand in the way of admitting what was merely the truth.