Slowing their horses, they trotted quietly into the highlander camp. Before every wagon, a campfire burned cheerfully. Black pots hung over many of the campfires, their steaming contents sending delicious aromas into the air. As Tristan looked around he saw Rafe’s horsemen return to their wagons to be eagerly greeted by their loved ones. Pleasant but odd-sounding music filled the air, sometimes interrupted by the squeals of playful children. Although he was Rafe’s captive, Tristan found the carnival-like atmosphere fascinating.
Aside from their exotic clothes and jewelry, most of the women he saw looked quite ordinary. But some were positively ravishing, with dark, seductive eyes, hourglass figures, and long, dark hair hanging to their waists. As he rode by, several of them gave him glances that clearly spoke of sexual curiosity, mixed with an animal-like wariness.
As Tristan accompanied Rafe deeper into the camp, the happy children stopped playing. The highlander men and women looked warily at him from their seats around their fires and from the shadows formed by the canvas wagon tops while the camp elders talked among themselves urgently, using the hushed, guarded tones of their secret language. Greed showing in their eyes, some pointed brazenly at the shiny silver bits adorning Tristan’s black saddle and bridle.
Who is this person Rafe has brought into our midst? Tristan could almost hear them asking. Aside from his saddle, he does not look rich. No outsider ventures willingly into a highlander camp, unless he wants to be robbed. How can he be so stupid?
Turning his mare left, Rafe led Tristan toward the camp’s center. The cleared area was large and encircled by wagons. The wagons’ stern ends faced the clearing’s center, and their doors had been lowered, their insides showing bedsheets, blankets, and pillows. More tasseled pillows lay on the ground before the wagons, with highlanders reclining on them. A large bonfire burned merrily in the area’s center. The highlanders eyed Tristan warily as they watched him ride into their midst.
Rafe pulled his mare to a stop near one of the largest wagons. After the hard ride, the prince was thankful to have his feet back on the ground. A young boy came running to take their reins, then led the sweating horses away. Scowling, Tristan couldn’t help but wonder whether he would ever see Shadow again, but there was little he could do about it.
Rafe walked over to his wagon and casually tossed Tristan’s dreggan, baldric, and throwing knives inside. He then lowered himself down atop several colorful pillows. Lying casually on one side, he beckoned the prince to do the same. Tristan obliged, sitting cross-legged atop one of the larger ones. Rafe clapped his hands.
Four highlander women appeared. They were all fiercely beautiful in the same sort of way, giving Tristan the impression that they might be sisters. Each wore a low-cut, high-hemmed frock that left little to the imagination. Each had strings of gold coins around her neck and multiple gold bracelets on her wrists. One carried a large amphora, and another girl carried a tray of glasses. Rafe and Tristan each took one.
Rafe’s glass was filled first with a dark, smoky-smelling liquid. Then one of the women filled Tristan’s glass. As she did, her long, dark hair brushed Tristan’s cheek, giving him the impression that it had happened on purpose. As he watched her seductively walk away, she turned to smile back at him, her teeth flashing in the moonlight. Then she touched one fingertip to her blouse, directly atop her heart. Slapping one hand down on his thigh, Rafe laughed uproariously.
“That one is Yasmin,” he said with a wink. “She’s famous for her predatory ways. You are unfamiliar with our customs, so I will decipher her meaning for you. Yasmin just suggested that she would like you to share her bed tonight.”
Rafe took a discerning sip of the dark brew, then looked mischievously at Tristan. “Are you interested, Your Highness?” he asked. “A woman of such quality deserves an answer.”
Before responding, Tristan took a swig of the mysterious drink. At first he recoiled, finding it even more bitter than Minion akulee. But unlike akulee, the taste quickly settled down to provide a pleasant, warming sensation. Guessing that it was particularly strong, he sipped, rather than guzzled the stuff. This was clearly no night to lose his head. He looked over at Rafe.
“I am your prisoner,” he answered. “Why would you give one of your most beautiful women to me?”
After taking another sip, Rafe laughed. “You misunderstand, my friend,” he answered. “I do not give her away. No one owns a highlander woman. In our world, a woman wishing to serve a man and being subservient to him are two very different things. If she wishes to serve you, she will do so with all her heart. But should she be mistreated, humiliated, or betrayed, you would likely find a particularly treasured part of your anatomy suddenly taken away with a swift slice of her dagger.” Pausing for a moment, Rafe took another drink.
“Because Yasmin’s offer was made freely, who am I to argue with it?” he added. “Being chosen in this way is truly a great honor. Fewdangos can make such a claim.” Leaning closer, Rafe gave Tristan a conspiratorial look. “I suggest that you agree with her wishes,” he told Tristan. “It will be an experience you will long remember.”
Tristan took another drink. He realized he was starting to like the heady concoction. “What do you call this?” he asked, hoping to avoid an answer about Yasmin.
Rafe smiled. “In our language it is calledtachinga, ” he replied.
Tristan gave Rafe a meaningful look. “You treat your enemies well,” he said. “Why do you do it?”
“You are not my enemy,” he answered. “You ride well, and you drink well. And by the look of those weapons you carried, you also fight well. Your sword blade shows the telltale signs of many hard-fought battles.” Throwing his head back, Rafe laughed at his next thought. “And now Yasmin wishes to learn whether you do something else as well!”
Laughing again, then slapping Tristan on the shoulder, Rafe almost knocked the prince over. “Just because I plan on ransoming you doesn’t mean we cannot be friends! Tell me, are you hungry? We will dine together!”
Tristan nodded. “I’m starving,” he answered. “But before we eat, I must make a request.”
Rafe regarded him narrowly. “What is it?” he asked.
“When my warriors arrive, I want them treated humanely,” Tristan answered. “They are to be fed and cared for. I value them just as much as you value your clansmen. Surely we can agree on that score.”
Rafe nodded. “Unlike you, I do not command an entire nation. But I know what it means to lead, and to earn the respect of my people.”
Rafe clapped his hands. Soon the four women reappeared. Yasmin came to stand directly before Tristan. Looking up at her face, he was quickly reminded of her exotic beauty.
She was tall and leonine, with dark, heavily lidded eyes that seemed to look straight into his soul. Her jaw was rather square and her lips full, almost pouting. She stood barefooted before him in a blatantly sexual stance that reaffirmed her earlier intentions. Her long, dark hair was unruly, and hung to her waist. She was an amazingly strong yet also feminine creature, one that he couldn’t imagine any man ever truly taming. It would be a shame to break her spirit, he realized. This one’s wild side should be preserved.
“Bring food,” Rafe said simply.
As quietly as they had come, the four women walked away. As Yasmin left, Tristan found himself watching her body seductively sway to and fro. Reaching for the amphora, Rafe refilled their glasses. He smiled again.
“The truly beautiful ones have a way of getting under a man’s skin, don’t they?” he asked. “Not to mention his heart.”
Taking another sip, Tristan thought of Celeste. “That they do,” he said softly.
Soon the women reappeared with two trays of food and a large silver bowl. Tristan had no idea what sort of food it was, but it smelled wonderful. The women placed the trays and the bowl on the ground before Tristan and Rafe. One tray held warm bread and freshly churned butter. The other held two bowls of hot stew. Lean cuts of freshly roasted lamb swam in rich brown gravy alongside carrots, potatoes, and onions. Tristan noticed that no utensils had been provided.
Three of the women then walked away, leaving Yasmin standing alone. To Tristan’s surprise she sat down beside him on her knees. Wondering why, he shot a questioning glance at Rafe. The highlander chieftain smiled.
“It seems you have made quite an impression,” he said. “She wishes to feed you.”
Tristan turned to look into Yasmin’s dark eyes. Her gaze was intoxicating.
“Thank you, but that won’t be needed,” he said politely. “I can fend for myself.”
Yasmin bored her seductive eyes into his. “I don’t do this only for you,” she answered. Her voice held a husky quality that he found attractive. “You are unaccustomed to dipping into our hot stew,” she said. “You would burn yourself.”
