Daughter of Dragons

Chapter 4-2

“If you must, then join us,” he grumbled.

“My thanks,” the stranger replied, and then swung down from his saddle. As he hauled the deer down from its perch, he added, “By the way, my friends call me Jamus. I would be honoured if you would do the same.”

“I am called Pieter,” he said. “My companion’s name is Lathwi.”

“Well met,” Jamus replied, flashing them a grin, “and good fortune to us all. Although you may not appreciate it yet, I am in your debt.”

He dumped the carcass by the fire, then went to picket his horse. Pieter followed on his heels, just to make sure that this smooth-talking stranger didn’t take anything that didn’t belong to him.

Lathwi helped herself to a goodly portion of the carcass in their absence, and was already well into her supper by the time they returned. She ate with both hands at an incredible speed, and gulped down more than she chewed. Her swollen lip did not slow her down at all. She was supremely happy at the moment—and quite oblivious to the men and their incredulous stares.

“Lathwi,” Pieter croaked, when he finally recovered his voice, “what are you doing? That’s not cooked.”

Obviously, she thought, exultant over that fact. But the abundance of meat had put her in a generous mood. Rather than comment on his acuity or lack thereof, she motioned him toward the carcass.

“Is good,” she told him, between one bite and the next. “Eat.”

Jamus shook his head. His mouth was a complex twist of amused disbelief and civilized revulsion. The look endeared him to Pieter, who was suddenly grateful for the company of a normal human being.

“Don’t worry,” he said, twitching him a long-suffering smile. “She’s not crazy, just a little different.”

At that, Jamus did an immediate double-take. And as he took a harder look at Lathwi, his jaw sagged with disbelief. “Dreamer keep me!” he blurted, too stunned for tact. “That’s a woman?” “Hard to believe, isn’t it?” Pieter dropped to one knee and began to carve thick steaks from the deer’s loin. “When I first met her, I thought she was some kind of demon.”

Fascinated, Jamus continued to stare. Even by the soft, kindly light of a campfire, she seemed more mannish than not. Her shoulders were too broad; her hips, too narrow; and she had no breasts of which to speak.

“I never would have guessed,” he murmured to himself. “Never.”

He reached into the pocket of his travelling cloak and retrieved a shiny silver flask, then took a long swig of its contents.

“Here,” he said, tearing his eyes away from Lathwi long enough to pass the flask to Pieter. “Have a drink.” Then, because his fascination demanded details, he asked, “Do you and your wife travel often?”

“She’s not my wife,” Pieter assured him, smiling at the thought as he sniffed the flask. “And this is our first and last trip together.” Encouraged by the liquor’s nutty aroma, he tipped a measure down his throat. His windpipe started to sizzle. “Good stuff,” he wheezed, and then handed the flask back to Jamus. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

In truth, he was delighted—not just with Pieter, who was proving to be likeable in spite of the unfortunate matter which still stood between them, but with Lathwi as well. He loved women—not just the beauties and the flirts, but the plain and the shy as well. Each posed a different challenge for him; each yielded a different sort of pleasure. When he speculated about the thrills that mannish, enigmatic Lathwi might have to offer, he got goose-flesh all over his body.

The steaks were sizzling over the fire now. Pieter fussed with them for a moment, then sat down to let them cook. Jamus sank into a crouch alongside of him and offered the flask again.

With a polite wave of his hand, Pieter declined. His blood was already tingling in his veins; another sip would have him giddy. And as much as he had warmed to Jamus over the last quarter-hour, he had no intention of getting drunk with a man whose character was still suspect.

“While we’re waiting for our meat,” he said, in a tone too firm to be casual, “why don’t you give me your version of what happened back there at that village.”

“An excellent idea,” Jamus said, displaying no trace of rancour or resentment. He took another drink from his flask, then cleared his throat and began to speak.

“I am Jamus D’Arques, first lieutenant to Wynn Rame, the governor of Compara. I was returning from trade negotiations in L’Luus when I came upon that village. On any other day, I would’ve ridden on through with all possible haste, but as it happened, it was getting dark out, and I was road-weary, so I paid that big, brown-haired peasant with the rock-hard fists for the privilege of sleeping in his haystack. His wife gave me supper, too—cold bread and ham, as I recall.

“Ah, but she was a comely thing, with hair as brown as forest mushrooms, and breasts as full as melons. As I ate, she flirted with me; and I must confess, my friend; I flirted back. But because she was married, and I’m not an utter cad, I did not invite her to join me in the hay.

“This morning, she brought me bread and a mug of milky tea, and told me that she’d be pitching hay alone at noon if I wanted to get to know her better. And because she offered, and I’m only human—”

He sighed, a sound both wistful and bitter. “The only detail you need to know about that tryst is this: she was as happy as a lark right up until the moment her husband called for her. Then she turned frantic and started screaming like a she-panther caught in a steel trap. Shortly thereafter, I found myself being chased by the whole damned village.

“You know what happened after that.”

“That I do,” Pieter replied, determined not to let this rakish fellow wriggle off the hook so soon. “You cut out on us in the middle of a nasty mess.”

“What else was I supposed to do?” Jamus retorted. “Wait for one of you to pluck me out of the crowd? Be reasonable, my friend. If you were caught in the middle of a riot with your hands tied behind your back, wouldn’t you high-tail it, too?”

“Maybe,” Pieter said, an admission as honest as it was grudging. “But if that’s the case, then how did you manage to free yourself? And where did you get the horse?”

“That horse has been mine for the last five years now,” Jamus asserted. “The lass who started the trouble brought it to me after I escaped from the crowd. She untied my hands as well. In return for her help, all she asked was that I take her with me.” He shook his head at the nerve of some people. “Under the circumstances, I had to refuse.

“So,” he said then, shedding the last of his apologetic look. “That’s the long and short of it, my friend. If you wish, I’ll leave now, with no hard feelings on my part.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Pieter told him. “I believe you.”

“And how does your lady—”

“Lathwi,” he corrected.

“How does she feel?”

Pieter glanced at her. She was happily l*****g blood from her fingers. “Who knows?” he replied. “But since she hasn’t asked you to leave, it’s probably safe to assume that she won’t mind if you stay a little longer.”

“A most eloquent acquittal,” Jamus said, curling his mouth into a sardonic half-smile. “I am touched to the core of my being.

“But in all seriousness,” he continued, his smile now curving into a gentler bend, “I thank you both for all you did on my behalf. If there is anything I can do for either of you, you only need to ask.”

The two men shared another drink from Jamus’ flask, then fetched their steaks from the fire and began to eat.

Full now and immensely content with the world as it was, Lathwi sat back and watched as the men fed. They were dainty eaters, and amazingly slow; in the time it took them to carve a bite-sized piece and prong it into their mouths, she could have devoured an entire slab of meat. Eat it or lose it was a lesson she had learned early on from her tanglemates.

“Would you care for some of my steak?” Jamus asked then, mistaking Lathwi’s unblinking scrutiny for hunger. “I’m sure I won’t be able to eat the whole thing.”

She disdained his offer with a hiss. “Not eat char.”

“Personally,” Pieter commented between bites, “I think a little char adds flavour to the meat.”

“Roll deer in ash pit,” she proposed. “Ruin meat faster that way.”

“Forget I mentioned it,” he grumbled, and then returned the whole of his attention to his dinner.

When he had finally eaten his fill, Jamus wiped his face and hands on a corner of his travel cloak, and then produced his flask again.

“How about a little drink of fire to wash it all down?” he asked Pieter.

Lathwi pounced on the ridiculous statement. “You no can drink fire.”

“No?” A mischievous grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. He winked at Pieter, then leaned forward and pressed the flask into her hand. “How can you be sure if you haven’t tried it?”

She raised the container to her nose and sniffed at the fumes which were radiating from its mouth. They were bitter and sharp, not at all like smoke from a fire. She arched a suspicious eyebrow at Jamus, who nodded encouragement, then at Pieter, who merely shrugged. Curious now, she tipped the flask back and drank.

An instant after the fluid hit her throat, it ignited. Heat billowed through her in sickening waves; her stomach broke out in a sweat. But even as she struggled to keep her gorge down, the nausea subsided and a glow took root in her head.

“So,” Jamus said, grinning at her reaction. “What do you think of my fire-water?”

The glow spread from her head to all parts of her body. She remembered feeling like this once before—a time long ago when Taziem had let her suckle alongside of the rest of her newborn tanglemates.

“It like mother’s milk,” she replied dreamily.

He laughed. “If that stuff had flowed from my mother’s paps, she’d never have been able to wean me!”

Homesick now, Lathwi drank again, a larger draught than the first.

“Easy now, don’t drink it all,” Jamus cried, enclosing the protest with more laughter. “Here, hand it back.”

“Mine,” she hissed, and then bared her teeth, ready to defend her claim.

Interpreting this as playfulness on her part, he grinned and stood up. “I’ll wrestle you for it.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Pieter advised him. “She’s serious. And if you so much as touch her while she’s in this sort of mood, she’s apt to tear you to pieces.”

“You’re joking!” Jamus accused him. He found it hard to believe that any woman would want to hurt him. And the idea of grappling with Lathwi excited him. “Aren’t you?”

“I’ve seen her shred a man’s face with her fingernails simply because he annoyed her,” Pieter replied.

Jamus hmphed. Perhaps more circumspection was called for after all. He did an abrupt about-face, then headed for his saddlebags. When he returned, it was with another flask in hand.

“Fortunately, “ he drawled, as he resumed his seat, “I like to travel well-prepared. But I’m warning you, friend: I won’t take very kindly to having this one appropriated.”

“Don’t give it to her and she won’t keep it,” Pieter said. “As for me, I’m willing to share as long as you are.”

The two men passed the new flask back and forth a couple of times, then settled back to enjoy the fire. “What we need now,” Jamus said, “is a minstrel to sing us all to sleep.”

“Don’t look at me,” Pieter replied, with a wobbly smile. “I can’t carry a tune to save my life. When I was young, my aunt used to ply me with caramels to keep me quiet.”

“How about you, Lathwi?” Jamus asked, caressing her with his tone. “You’re a woman of many hidden talents. Dare we hope that singing is one of them?”

Pieter suppressed a tipsy giggle. Unless he was sorely mistaken, Jamus was actually trying to flirt with Lathwi! He shifted, hoping to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. This promised to be a very entertaining evening indeed!

As for Lathwi, she was far more interested in a piece of gristle that had lodged between her molars than anything that Jamus had said to her. When she finally worked it free, she spat it into the fire, then drifted into a gauzy nether world of her own making. Her unresponsiveness was a challenge that Jamus could not resist. He would find a way to interest her in him; now it was a matter of pride.

“It looks like it’s up to me,” he said, then cleared his throat and began to sing a love-ballad.