Chapter 27
Damien stripped off his travel-stained clothes and tossed them on the bench at the foot of his oversized bed. The room they’d provided was every bit as luxurious as The Golden Stag. White silk sheets covered the bed, and a glow-stone lamp of blown glass rested beside it on the far nightstand. A jug of water and a basin sat on the nightstand beside him.
If this was how the barons lived he couldn’t see they had any room to complain about taxes. He’d pictured hard men living in rough forts surrounded by enemies. This place was every bit as nice as Uncle Andy’s castle back at the capital.
Damien filled the basin and cleaned up. The cool, clear water felt wonderful on his dust-caked skin. A soft towel hung from the drawer pull and he used it to dry off before tossing it in the pile with his dirty clothes.
Now the question was, had his change of clothes stayed clean in his rucksack? He dumped it out on the bed and sighed his relief at finding the black cloth free of dirt.
Behind him the door creaked. He spun to find Lane standing in the doorway that connected their rooms, her face bright red. She was staring at him, mouth partway open.
He slung the tunic over his head. “Didn’t anyone teach you to knock? Some diplomat.”
“Sorry. I just wanted to make sure you had something clean to wear. I see you do.” She closed the door.
Damien shook his head, pulled on his pants, and buckled his sword on his back. Lane’s reaction was typical of people seeing his scars for the first time. He should be used to it by now, but it gnawed at him all the same. At least they didn’t bother Lizzy. Her being a demon, he suspected she’d seen a lot worse over the centuries.
Now all he had to do was wait for Lane to finish. He didn’t know how long that would take, but he suspected from the stories he’d heard from some of the masters about their wives that he should get comfortable.
Chapter 28
Lane shut the door, her face burning. Why hadn’t she knocked? If Damien had opened the door on her while she was getting ready she would still be screaming at him.
She sat on the edge of the bed and tried to slow her racing heart. When she closed her eyes she could still see the scars on his back. If that was the result of his warlord training someone needed to do something about it. It wasn’t human to do that to a boy.
He wasn’t a boy anymore though. She tried not to smile when she thought of the hard muscle under his scars. Her face burned hotter.
Stop thinking about him!
Damien was a sorcerer and she hated sorcerers. He was her bodyguard, a killer assigned to keep her safe. Nothing more. She’d treated him badly and he probably disliked her anyway. He’d certainly been annoyed when she walked in on him.
Following his example she stripped and poured a basin of water. The water cooled her down and she sighed. What was wrong with her, anyway? They’d traveled together for two and a half months and she’d felt nothing but annoyance at having him tag along. Though he had come in handy at that grubby inn and later with the thugs, Lane could admit that.
And that story about his father! Lane shuddered to think anyone could treat their child so callously. If nothing else her mother had always loved her and showed her nothing but kindness. Maybe she felt some disappointment that Lane wouldn’t follow in her footsteps, but that never got in the way.
Lane had always been bitter about what she considered a miserable childhood. Now that she’d met someone that had an actual, horrific upbringing, Lane felt like a spoiled brat. She glanced at the door, half afraid she’d find him standing there watching her bathe and half hoping he would be.
Lane sighed and dried off. Another day or two more and this business would be settled and they’d part ways. Of course, Damien worked for her mother so she’d probably see more of him.
She dug a specially wrapped parcel out of her pack and found the seal intact. Good, no dust had slipped inside. Lane unwrapped the blue-and-silver gown and smiled. What would he think of her in this?
Chapter 29
Damien paced, waiting for Lane to finish getting ready. The masters hadn’t lied, women really did take a long time. For a moment he was tempted to sneak a peek, it would only be fair, after all she’d seen him in just his small clothes.
He abandoned the idea at once. She’d kill him, sorcerer or not.
Lane knocked on the connecting door. Finally. “Come in.”
The door swung open and his breath caught in his throat. Lane wore a blue-and-silver gown of fine silk that shimmered in the light of the lamp. The skirt fell to just above her knees, showing the curve of her calf. The neckline plunged just low enough to show off the tops of her smooth, freckle-dusted breasts.
“Wow.”
“You like it?”
“Very much. You look stunning. Where did you hide that outfit?”
She beamed. “Mom sealed it in a package with soul force to keep dust out and prevent wrinkles.”
Damien shook his head, stunned for the second time in as many minutes. How much skill would it take to weave a barrier that delicate and give it enough power to last ten weeks? He couldn’t even fathom how to begin such a casting.
Lane held out her hand. “Shall we head down?”
Damien took her hand and for reasons he didn’t fully understand, brushed a soft kiss across it. He let go and took up a position two steps behind her. “I’m your bodyguard not your companion, remember? Much as I’d enjoy it being otherwise, we both have to play our parts.”
She looked sad for a moment, but shook it off. “Right, let’s go.”
They left their fine suite behind.
