Page 39 of Swordheart
He sighed again, feeling an inexplicable rush of protectiveness.Which is redundant for any wielder. I must protect them no matterhow I feel about it.He stroked a finger across her cheek. Her eyelids didn’t so much as twitch, even when he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
The skin along her jaw was very soft. He wondered how far down that softness went.
Well, he certainly wasn’t the sort of man to take advantage of a sleeping woman. He even felt a bit awkward about this much contact, but he was simply going to have to deal with it. Halla was warm and heavy, her body pliant… as long as he didn’t try to move away.
Glancing over at her now, Sarkis thought she looked much less soft. The severe lines of the habit did not flatter her figure at all. If he had not held her in his arms—and if he hadn’t had an involuntary look when first summoned—he would have had no idea at the extent of the curves that lay under the dark fabric.
Woman’s built like an hourglass. The sort that measures twelve hours at a stretch.
Had he been younger and not trapped in a peculiar living death inside a hunk of enchanted metal, Sarkis would not have minded checking the time more closely.
…As it were.
Ah, yes, that’s a very useful thought when she’s starving and halffrozen and you’re still waiting for the guards to catch up with you.
Mourning black did not suit her. It showed up the contrast between her skin and her white-blond hair, leaving her pink and blotchy, her nose red with cold.
Jewel tones,he thought absently.Deep red, dark green. Perhaps warm browns.
Yes, thinking about what colors would suit her is an even more useful thought. Has being in the blade addled your wits at last?
Well, something better than black, anyway,he argued with himself.Black is not a good color on her.
Still, that was probably for the best. A woman traveling alonedid not want to attract unwanted attention. And while Sarkis would defend her to his last breath, he’d rather not have to do so.
“Are we ready?” he asked, and she nodded.
They walked for an hour or so, keeping to the side of the road. The only traffic was a swineherd leading his charges out of the acorn wood, and he did not seem inclined to make conversation.
“There’s a public house a little way up ahead,” said Halla after a time. She shoved pale strands of hair out of her eyes. “I know we probably shouldn’t stop, but I guess we’ll want to get off the road so nobody spots us.”
Her stomach growled again.
“If they are looking for anyone,” Sarkis said, “it is for two people traveling together. If your aunt has convinced the constables that I have kidnapped you, then they will not be expecting a woman traveling alone. If you sheathe the sword and go in, you should be able to buy some food.”
“Really?”
He’d seen men rescued from certain death with less hope blazing in their eyes. He nodded.
“Real—” he started to say, and then Halla slammed the sword back into the scabbard and the blue fire took him away.
CHAPTER 13
Halla approached the door of the public house with her heart in her throat.
She knew she shouldn’t be scared—she hadn’tdoneanything, and if anybody asked, she’d explain about Malva and the locked door—but her nerves still jangled. What if they were looking for her, and dragged her back to Rutger’s Howe? What if they’d been told she was mad or an accomplice or a criminal herself?
What if Roderick had died and the constables were looking for a murderer?
Stop,she told herself firmly.You’re being ridiculous. You care very much because it’s your life, but most people won’t care in the slightest about Aunt Malva and Cousin Alver and your stupid inheritance. Everyone’s got their own troubles and nobody wants to get involved in yours.
This was all undoubtedly true, and yet the door of the public house loomed in front of her like a castle gate. The sign over the door was a pig with a mug of ale, and the words “The Drunken Boar” crudely carved underneath.
She shook herself.This is ridiculous. How did I get so far outside of my normal life that I’m frightened to go in and buy a meal?
That was exactly what it felt like, though. As if she had stepped to one side of the world and now her life was running in strange, shadowy parallel. She had been in the normal world where Silas was alive and she slept in her normal bed and got up in the morning and ran the million little tasks of a household, and now she had fallen into a world where she slept in hedgerows in the armsof an enchanted sword, and tried not to be so helpless that he’d hold her in contempt. A world where she listened for constables coming for her, where she was worth more money than she’d even imagined and still only had a few coins to her name.
It’s all the same world. And you just have to get through this bit and everything will go back to normal.
