“I don’t ride, thank you. But I appreciate your thoughtful offer.”
This time she did stamp her foot. Without another word, she stalked off, practically dragging the horse behind her. Once inside the stables, she settled Lunacy in her stall and chose as her next subject a great, spirited bay stallion that Isabella loved to ride. He hadn’t been exercised in a day or two, though, so he needed a good hard gallop. Quickly, Tamar saddled him and led him out into the daylight. She mounted and headed off toward the acres of open parkland that constituted one of the main attractions of Isabella Cartera’s land. There were a number of riding trails here, some more challenging than others, with a few low jumps thrown in for good measure. She would ride as far and as fast as the horse would go.
They had been out only twenty minutes or so, taking the empty trails at a good clip and clearing the ornamental hedges with room to spare, when once again Tamar realized she had company. The angel was following them overhead, making lazy loops back and forth over the pathways she had chosen, wings outstretched in an easy, untroubled glide. It did not take much cogitation to realize that no matter where she took this horse—or any oilier horse—the angel planned to follow.
Either he was stubbornly desirous of rousing her to fury, or he really did believe she was in danger.
That night after dinner, Tamar went to Gene. “I heard you telling Gregor that Isabella’s new saddle arrived in Shepherd’s Pass,” she said. “I could ride to town and fetch it, if you’d like. I know Gregor hates to leave the farm when there’s this much excitement going on.”
Gene looked at her long and consideringly. Tamar kept her face empty of any expression except neutral helpfulness. “That would be fine,” he said slowly. “Take Harmony, though. Isabella’s planning a hunting party tomorrow and she won’t want any of the good horses to be missing.”
Harmony was a swaybacked old mare with a sweet disposition but very little energy. The least valuable horse in the stables. So Gene had read her right despite her innocent face. “I’ll leave in the morning.”
“Should be able to make it there and back in a day, but if something holds you up, you should stable the horse at Gwierson’s,” the head groom went on. “Saddle’s been paid for, but I could give you a little cash in case there’s a problem.”
“I wouldn’t think there’d be a problem,” Tamar said. Her throat hurt her to speak. He was being so kind.
He shrugged. “Suit yourself. Leave as soon as you’re ready.”
So that night she packed up as many of her meager belongings as would fit in an inconspicuous bag that might seem appropriate for a day trip into the nearest town. She’d already gotten three weeks’ worth of wages, and she counted out the money. Enough to take her to Port Clara easily; enough, she hoped, to buy passage to Ysral.
She slept badly and woke with a headache before dawn had really opened its lush eyes. No reason to lie here any longer, fretting, so she rose and dressed and hooked her duffel bag over her shoulder. When she arrived in the stable that was Harmony’s home, she was surprised to find Gene there before her.
“Just wanted to look her over quickly before you set out,” was his explanation. “And I remembered last night. Still a down payment on the saddle. So here’s enough money to cover it.”
Impossible to refuse when phrased that way, so helplessly she accepted the roll of bills he offered her. The outer denomination was almost as much as the small stash she’d managed to accumulate.
“I can’t—what if I lose it?” she stammered.
He shrugged. “It’s not much. Don’t worry about it. Ride carefully. Remember—Gwierson’s is the place.”
She nodded. “Thanks.” She shrugged, because she wanted to say more and could not think how.
He gave her one of his rare grins. “And if any of those boys asks me where you went, I won’t tell,” he said.
She smiled back. “I’m sure they’ll miss me.”
“Won’t we all.”
She nodded, murmured her thanks again, and freed the horse from the stall. Too much weighted conversation like this and she would be in tears before she could get out the door. Gene followed her outside but had no other comment to make. Once on horseback, she waved good-bye and he returned the gesture. Then she was off into the sweet, fresh coolness of morning.
On her own again. Running again. Would she ever come to rest?
Shepherd’s Pass was even sleepier than usual, as Tamar discovered after dropping off Harmony at Gwierson’s. The clerk at the bigger of the two hotels, which also doubled as the bus terminal, was not sure when the next transport was due in or where it might be headed.
“Will it come in sometime today?” Tamar asked impatiently. Oh, yes, there was always at least one bus a day. He just couldn’t remember which one it would be. “Can anybody tell me? Is there a schedule anywhere I can look at?”
Now, he might have a schedule for her. Hold on just a minute. She waited in gathering irritation while he rummaged through some old papers and an assortment of maps.
“Except I don’t think this is still the right timetable,” he told her as he finally handed over a creased and faded slip of paper. “I’m pretty sure the schedule changed a year or so ago.”
So that was fairly helpful. Tamar glanced at the days and numbers on the chart he’d given her, but it was pointless to try to plot a route based on obsolete information. “I’ll just hang around for a while, then,” she said, “and see what comes in.”
While she waited she bought a little road food and filled her canteen with fresh water. She was resigned to spending the whole day lurking outside the hotel, but she cheered up immensely when, two hours after her arrival, a big, odoriferous bus rumbled through the town’s quiet streets. She waited till the single passenger disembarked, then crowded up to the doorway to address the driver.
“Where are you headed?” she asked.
“Azolay,” he replied. It was a river city south of Castelana, not nearly as important as either that city or Semorrah, but a sizable place nonetheless. From there she should be able to find a bus anywhere.
“How much for a seat?”
“Twenty.”
“When do you leave?”
“Five minutes.”
“Let me get my bag.”
She slept most of the way to Azolay, a trip that took the rest of the day. Whenever the bus stopped for more than ten minutes, she disembarked to walk off the kinks in her legs or refill her canteen. Practically no one, it turned out, wanted to ride from Shepherd’s Pass to Azolay, so the bus was almost empty and she had a whole row of seats to herself. She didn’t feel like reading, she was not in the mood to talk to strangers, and she refused to let herself think, so sleep was the only option.
They arrived in Azolay a little before sunset. Like Semorrah, Azolay derived all its income from commerce. In the past fifty years it had expanded rapidly, serving as a market for much of southern Bethel. It was not nearly as pretty as Semorrah, however. For one thing, it had none of Semorrah’s graceful, harmonious architecture, but instead was built of a hodgepodge of brick, stone, marble, and granite in a completely unplanned manner. For another, it still had a raw, new edge to it, because its wealth and prominence had been so recently achieved. But all its energy and its random structure gave it a certain constant charm. You were never quite sure what you would encounter anytime you turned a corner: a new theater, an old mansion, a freshly paved street leading down to the docks.
Jansai driving through town in one of their big transports, whistling at the girls and throwing fruit rinds into the alleys.
Tamar drew back sharply when the first truck passed, melting into the shadow of the nearest building. Damn. That had been so careless. Because she had seen so few Jansai in Semorrah— and none at all near Shepherd’s Pass—she had forgotten how far the gypsies loved to roam. Of course they would be in Azolay, or even Castelana and the other river cities. All that kept them out of Semorrah were those narrow streets that would
not accommodate their massive trucks.
She had best remain invisible tonight and be on her way first thing in the morning.
She already had her ticket for Port Clara. She had picked it up before leaving the bus terminal where she had been dropped off, and it had cost her far more than twenty dollars, too. She would be grateful yet for Gene’s gift, which she still hadn’t had the nerve to count. Would she really have enough money left to pay for passage to Ysral?
With that in mind, she chose the cheapest hotel she could find that still looked like it had passable standards of cleanliness. Another restless night; seemed like these days she could only fall asleep on a bus. She tossed and turned until the sky had lightened enough to make it reasonable to get up and dress.
She had a quick breakfast at an outdoor cafe right on the river’s edge, then strolled along the pier for a while, watching the barges go by. She had asked Jasper once if you could sail from Semorrah all the way to Ysral and he had laughed at her. Then he had explained the differences between riverboats and oceangoing vessels, although frankly the distinctions weren’t all that clear to Tamar. Too bad, though. It would save her some time and grief if she could board a ship now and close her eyes till she arrived at her destination.
She had just brushed the crumbs from her lips when she heard running footsteps behind her, and sudden alarm made her whirl around. Too late; hands closed on her arms and harsh shouts called reinforcements over from two streets away. She was surrounded by three men, though it seemed like thirty. She lashed out with her feet, with her fists, and the Jansai struck back with what seemed like hundreds of gloves and boots. Someone clouted her on the head, knocking her momentarily blind, and she heard a voice shout out, “Stupid! He wants her alive!” Another attacker was trying to bind her wrists, but she snaked her hands away from him and ducked low, butting her head into his stomach. There were cries and grunts all around her, and voices coming closer. Panic made her insane. She clawed her way down someone’s bare forearm and, for a moment, felt the deathgrip on her arms lessen. She broke free.
She ran flat out down the cobblestoned street, sobbing breath into her lungs, feeling her legs nearly wrench out of their sockets with each huge, desperate stride. Behind her, angry shouting; before her, a few early-morning risers, staring and pointing at this amazing sight, a wretched woman fleeing from a horde of Jansai attackers. If she could reach a shop door, a clump of friendly onlookers, anything that could pass for safety—
Eager footsteps pounded up beside her. She felt a hand clutch a fold of her blouse and heard the material rip as she lunged away. Her lungs were on fire; her legs were lead. Her head was about to burst with pain. Again the hand reached out from behind, this time closing on her arm with a sharp, merciless grip. She cried out and almost tumbled over backward as she was dragged to a halt. The Jansai slapped her once, hard, and received calls of approval from his companions, racing up a few yards away. Tamar summoned every last ounce of strength and punched him in the chest as hard as she could. He struck her again with a blow so vicious it sent her reeling, falling, somersaulting into the river or into the air or into that well of vertigo that was so deep now she did not think she would ever climb out….
But there were arms still wrapped around her from behind, hands gripping her crossed wrists, she could not be falling, she could not be flying, she must only be dreaming the battered, brainsick dreams of the dead. Oddly enough, she felt no fear, now that she was comatose or possibly even killed; she felt relieved, serene, but very, very dizzy. It was pointless to try to open her eyes, so she did not, but she almost started to relax, to enjoy herself, to give up the constant, impossible fight. She probably was dead, then; she could not imagine that mere loss of consciousness would be enough to make her surrender to the Jansai. To anyone.
“Are you all right?” asked a worried voice in her ear. “He hit you so hard. Have you passed out?”
It was Jared’s voice. Astonishment made her open her eyes after all—very widely as she took in the diminutive landscape below her, shrunken river, miniature boats, tiny trees. The vertigo rushed back, and her hands twisted in his hold to clench on his wrists.
“We’re flying,” she whispered.
“What did you think we were doing? Are you all right?”
All sorts of words rose to her lips, but none of them were answers to his questions. She still could not fathom how he had come to be here, how he had scooped her up and carried her aloft while her senses were too shattered to process the information. He had saved her—again—he had found her every single place she had run to. She did not even need to ask where they were going, but her mouth shaped the words anyway.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Ysral.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It had been with a certain amount of dread that Jared winged his way to Cartabella for Isabella’s grand event. If he had not promised, he would not have gone. The lure of possible bedmates—lifemates? whatever—had not been strong enough to make him anticipate the trip. But it served one good purpose: It had been his deadline. After the wedding, he had decided, he would go to Ysral. For that reason alone did he greet the wedding with any anticipation.
And then, to arrive at the estate and feel that peculiar, urgent pressure in his arm. Jovah rejoicing, was it possible that Tamar was anywhere in the vicinity? If so, it was a stroke of luck so unexpected as to be stupefying.
But it was true; and he had found her; and she still had no use for him. But he had her measure now. He was not surprised that she refused to believe him, was still less surprised when she disappeared from the farm two days after he made his appearance. And pleased, rather than disappointed, when the head groom refused to divulge her whereabouts. She had the knack of winning unlikely supporters, this proud, lonely ragamuffin. If the man would not tell an angel Tamar’s whereabouts, he would not betray her to less savory individuals.
But this time Jared refused to let her slip through his fingers. Armed with the portrait and the sure knowledge of her danger, he felt justified in tracking her down—it was for her own good, after all, and not merely a selfish, almost incomprehensible desire on his part to see her again.
It was not hard to pick up her trail. She would have had little choice but to head for Shepherd’s Pass, and a few inquiries there elicited the information that she had escaped via bus. The hotel clerk was not particularly clear on which bus, but the driver of the next vehicle that pulled through was able to give the angel a much better rundown of the schedules. Azolay seemed the likeliest choice.
Jared reached the river city late that night and rose early the next morning to see if he could discover his tiresome, elusive Jacobite. The minute he had arrived in Azolay, he had seen the Kiss in his arm flicker with an unsteady light and felt a faint, even tremor against the bone. She was here, then. He had guessed correctly. The realization filled him with a sense of elation out of all proportion to the significance of the triumph.
He had trouble sleeping, so when, at dawn, he decided it was futile to stay abed any longer, he rose and dressed. The streets were barely light, so it seemed pointless to go out hunting Jacobites. Instead, he pulled out his cylindrical communicator and punched in Christian’s number.
“Do you know what time it is?” were the first words out of Christian’s mouth. Not quite the cheery greeting he had used the only other two times Jared had contacted him. “This better be awfully damn important.”
“Not really. I just couldn’t sleep.”
“Where are you, anyway? You sound very close.”
“Azolay.”
“Why did the god bring you there?”
“Chasing an escaped Jacobite, and I think I’ve found her. That’s what I wanted to tell you.”
“Good. Thanks for keeping in touch.”
“No, don’t switch off! I also wanted to let you know that I’ll be in Ysral for a few days. In case you were looking for me.”
“I thought you would have gone
there sooner.”
“I was at Isabella’s. Actually, I should still be at Isabella’s and she’ll be furious when she realizes I’m gone. If she complains to you, tell her it was important.”
“I’ll tell her I hate you myself for waking me up at this hour. Just so you know, from now on I’m turning off my communicator while I’m sleeping. You won’t be able to wake me up again.”
“I already apologized for that.”
“No, I don’t believe you did.”
“Well, I’m sorry, then. I’ll talk to you some other time.”
“When you have news. Good-bye, Jared.”
“Good-bye, Christian.” But the merchant had already disconnected.
Time to leave, anyway. Jared headed down to the hotel restaurant and ate a quick breakfast. He had planned to go to the bus terminal and wait there most of the day, since it seemed logical that Tamar would head out on one of the big, anonymous transports. But over his meal, he started getting restless and edgy. What if she found a farmer with a big truck or a family in a horse-drawn gig who seemed friendly and harmless and offered her a ride? What if she rented her own horse, paid for passage down the river on a barge, or found some other conveyance out of Azolay? What if she slipped out of the city limits before he had located her, while he was foolishly hanging around the bus station, hoping she would arrive? There were too many variables. He could easily lose her again.
So he paid for his meal, stepped outside, and instantly flung himself aloft. He could patrol the whole city in something under ten minutes, flying in low circles over the colorful assortment of houses, office buildings, schools, shipyards, bakeries, theaters, and parks. He was too high up to get a good look at people’s faces, but close enough, he thought, to trip the sensor in his Kiss that would alert him to Tamar’s presence.
He was right about that, as he discovered on his second pass over the city.
He was flying over the edge of the river, swinging back toward Azolay proper, when a sudden sharp stab in his arm made his whole body flex with adrenaline. Sweet Jovah singing, how could she have fallen into danger again so quickly? He banked and descended, looking around madly for any disturbance on the ground below him. Within a few seconds he had spotted the battling Jansai and the struggling woman, and he angled as fast as he could in their direction. He nearly cheered in relief when Tamar broke free, but he had to alter his course to intercept her as she ran, and he lost a minute readjusting. He felt terror pump through his heart when the Jansai pursuer caught up with her and struck her that blinding blow. He accelerated his pace, dove low over the grappling figures, and plucked the woman from the arms of her Jansai attacker. A few more deft wingbeats and they were above the river, across the river, arrowing into Jordana, and headed for the eastern coast of the continent.