DarykRogue (26 page)

Marc had a way with women—most found him so sexually
attractive they couldn’t resist any request he made. He stood as tall as Rayder
and was built with strength and purpose. He was young for a ruler. His father
had died several years ago and left Marc leader at age twenty. At only thirty,
Marc had the experience many older rulers accumulated over a longer time.

Two minstrels near the drawbridge started to play, one with
a
Bodgian
drum and the other a
Stigian
hornpipe. Marc saw Rayder’s
entourage coming and headed their way. His face lit up with a smile.

Rayder waved at the ruler. Arcos took up position at the
side of the building and watched.

Marc waved back, and any tension Rayder held within his gut
eased. Marc would never smile and wave if he planned to order an execution
rather than a greeting. Not that Rayder expected anything less than a fairly
enthusiastic greeting. He’d always gotten on well with Marc.

Marc’s smile broadened as they all met in the middle of the
drawbridge. “Rayder Tyrus, you old bastard! What brings you here?”

Marc put his hand out, and Rayder met the greeting with a
firm handshake. “What usually brings me here?”

“Wenching? Supplies? Selling women?” Marc’s sharp blue eyes
missed nothing.

Rayder laughed. “You know me well. But there’s serious games
afoot and I need to speak with you.”

Rayder didn’t bow or scrape to the ruler—Marc saw that as
more disingenuous than outright mouthiness.

Marc nodded. “Very well. And these are your men?”

Rayder introduced them then said, “They’re here to gather
supplies.”

Thunder rumbled overhead, the large thunderheads closing in.

“Then let them gather supplies before the storms come,” Marc
said, gesturing to the sky. “After they’ve finished, they may wench as long as
they wish. There are some fresh wenches in the tavern.”

“We don’t have long.” Rayder didn’t like the idea of letting
the men run amok.

Marc grinned again and eyeballed the three other men. “I
see. Then they may gather supplies and eat at the tavern. No wenching.”

Oscan’s hairy eyebrows went up in annoyance. “The admiral
said we could fuck all we wanted when we got here.”

“Yeah,” Farcam said with a surly tone.

Instead of taking offense at Oscan and Farcam’s belligerent
tones, Marc’s eyes sparked with amusement.

“Then when you’re at the tavern, tell the barkeep that I
sent you to see Bavarda and Cantertina. They’re two of our finest ladies.
They’ll service you quickly but well.”

Oscan and Farcam had the good sense to look at Rayder and
wait for directions. “Get the fuck out of here then.” Conto stood at Rayder’s
right side, silently observing. Rayder turned to him. “What are you waiting
for?”

“If I’m not too forward, Sir, I think maybe Bavarda and
Cantertina aren’t the kind of women I want to service me.”

“Why?” Rayder asked.

Marc chuckled. “Perhaps he’s met them before.”

Conto smiled. “I’ll find someone else.”

And he strode off.

Rayder frowned then turned his attention to Marc. “Why do I
have a feeling there’s something I don’t know about these women?”

Marc clapped his hand onto Rayder’s shoulder, then gestured
that they proceed into the structure. “Oh, you have no idea.”

* * * * *

Xandra lay on the bed later in the day, her eyes wide open
and staring at nothing in particular. The bed was empty beside her. Of course.
Rayder had slipped out while she still lay almost completely senseless from
pleasure and a need for sleep. She sighed and closed her eyes. She’d made a
complete hash of things when she’d tried to seduce Rayder. By the god, she
hadn’t realized, hadn’t imagined that his own seductive force would overwhelm
any resistance she possessed. He’d overwhelmed her with heat and desire with
one look. Rayder was clever, handsome, devastating in sexual prowess. How did a
woman ignore that in one man?

All her life she’d prided herself on her independence, the
parts of her that refused to be tethered to a man despite what her culture said
she should do. Now that Rayder had stamped his mark upon her, she couldn’t
resist him any more than she could prevent him from leaving the ship without
her.

She analyzed her fears and knew that was the only way she
could reach an answer.

If he left her, she would be as defenseless as she was
before. Only she wasn’t defenseless and never had been. She’d proven that to
herself.

If he left her, he might be hurt or killed and never come
back. If any man could survive Dragonia, it was Rayder.

If he left her, she might recognize more feelings for him.

She sat up and ran one hand over her face. Who did she think
she was fooling? Her feelings for him already ran amazingly deep for a man
she’d known so few days. The realization grounded inside her, rubbing against a
rawness that refused to disappear. She rubbed her stomach again, but instead of
apprehension, she recognized hunger.

Sighing, she snapped out of her reverie and reached for a
bowl of fruit. She ate hungrily and within moments she’d consumed fruit, bread
and water.

A knock on the door startled her. Rayder had cautioned her
against allowing anyone entrance.

She crossed the room and leaned on the door. “Who is it?”

“Yoanda.”

Xandra smiled and opened the door. “Yoanda, come in.”

Yoanda’s eyes brightened as she entered the cabin. She held
a yellow metal tankard. “It’s good to see you, Xandra.”

“And you. What brings you here?”

“I promised I’d check on you, remember? Rayder wanted it.”

Xandra recalled the conversation. “Is that the tea you
mentioned?”

Yoanda handed her the tankard. “My mother said it cured
anything that ails the body. Especially after…” Her cheeks reddened. “Well,
after a man has relations with you.”

Xandra’s mouth quirked. The tankard was warm. “I’m fine,
Yoanda.”

“Certainly, but aren’t you a little…sore?”

Such an intimate conversation made her uncomfortable. “No.”

For a flicker, Yoanda’s eyes betrayed anger. No. The woman’s
smile returned. “That is wonderful. Drink up now. It’s very good for you
regardless.”

The pleasant scent made her nose twitched. Her taste buds
wanted the first large sip. The flavor burst on her tongue, more delicious than
she’d expected.

“Good?” Yoanda asked.

“Very. Thank you.” Xandra moved toward the bed.

Instantly she was tired and her feet heavy.

Yoanda’s hand touched her shoulder. “Do not fight it. I’m
sorry I had to do this. But I needed the money to escape. I can’t be with
Aramus anymore.”

“What?” Xandra’s confusion dissipated in a blink as her body
suddenly felt lighter than air. Horrible recognition assaulted her. “What did
you do?” The tankard fell from her suddenly weak hand, landed on the floor with
a clank, and the contents splattered on the floor. “What was in that drink?”

As Xandra’s vision started to blacken at the corners, she
couldn’t even panic. It was too fast. Too overwhelming. All the questions
running through her mind disappeared. Yoanda’s eyes had lost their normal
sweetness. Only urgency and sadness lurked in those depths.

“You’ll be all right,” Yoanda said.

Xandra’s legs weakened and daylight went out.

Chapter Eighteen

“Tell me what you’re truly here for,” Marc said as the
young, nubile woman put a tankard of drink in front of Rayder then preceded to
do the same for Marc. She left without speaking.

Marc always served his guests first. It was one thing Rayder
liked about the man.

“Negotiations.” Rayder laid it out after he’d taken one sip
of liquor from the tankard. “I’m still with the
Beast
, and we wish to
sell slaves.”

“And you want to sell them to me?” Marc’s voice sounded
deceptively mild, as if he didn’t quite believe what Rayder told him.

“Yes. And no.”

Marc sipped his drink. He could have sat at the head of the
twenty-person table and insisted on Rayder sitting at the far end, but he
hadn’t. “You assume I need more slaves.”

“The people working for you here don’t seem much like
slaves. If they are, they are the best treated of any I’ve seen. No slave is
paid by his master. And I hear yours are paid well. Perhaps you need more
servants
.”

Marc didn’t look pleased with Rayder’s assessment. He pushed
a bowl of fruit toward Rayder. “Eat. You look skinny.”

Rayder laughed, knowing this was Marc’s subtle way of
insulting him. He grabbed up a piece of fruit and munched. “Don’t change the
subject. You are less the brutal ruler than you want others to think. You’re
nothing like Drakus. I don’t know why you do business with him.”

Marc shrugged. “It is convenient. Nothing more.” Marc leaned
his forearms on the table. “I do not think you came here today to insult me, as
amusing as you find it. And if you meant to attack me, you wouldn’t have been
so nice about it. You wouldn’t have brought those scum-sucking bags of bones
into my home. You would have brought men capable of doing the deed.”

“I’ll send them away if you like.”

“Not necessary. Do you think I’m a fucking fool? You and I
have known each other since we were children, even when you weren’t
supposed
to know me. You understand me as well as I understand you. Which is it? Do you
want to sell me slaves or don’t you? Just get to the bloody point.”

Rayder laughed and scrubbed one hand over his chin. “I have
a big problem. One that I’ve been trying to solve for three years.”

“Since you became a slaver.”

“Yes.”

Marc’s eyes clouded over and his mouth went tight. “After
you banished guilt over your sister?”

Rayder hadn’t expected the sharp tone, and he locked eyes
with Marc long enough to recognize pure anger in the man’s voice. “If I didn’t
know better, I’d say you’re judging me, and I’m coming up damn short. For the
record, Marc, I haven’t banished my guilt. But I have a plan to get revenge.
Redemption.”

Marc stared at him for a few moments, his eyes hard.
“Revenge against me?”

Surprised, Rayder didn’t keep the amazement out of his
voice. “No. Unless you were responsible for her death?” Rayder’s skin tingled,
his body braced for something. For action. “Do you know something about the way
she died?”

Marc’s gaze snapped to him and his eyes flashed. “By the
god, you know I wouldn’t have harmed one hair on her head. I—” The ruler looked
around the room, his eyes serious and contemplative. “You know, she was only in
this room a few times.” Marc gazed around the room again, a faraway look
entering his eyes as if he remembered something ancient and dear. “Aknada’s
voice still rings in my ears. I can still hear her reciting her poetry. I can
still see exactly how she looked. Did you know she was a lovely dancer?”

Rayder’s instincts had never turned him wrong, and he knew
why Marc sounded strained and angry. He’d tried to deny the ruler’s feelings
for his sister for years, tried to pretend they didn’t exist. “She could dance
very well, and she was a wonderful poet.”

“I still have a book of her poetry near my bed.” Marc’s
voice held nuances both intimate and regretful.

Such a mention seemed wholly out of character for Marc. A
building suspicion became full-fledged anger. “Are you trying to tell me that
you and my sister—”

“No. And before you say that you’ll cut my balls off with your
sword, your sister and I never reached that point. At least not to the extent
you’re imaging.”

“I don’t want to imagine it.” Rayder considered leaning over
the table and throttling the man.

“If she’d wanted it, I would have given her everything she
wanted. A home. Safe haven. Instead, she fell in love with Braxis Lorando.”

Rayder reined in and took another drink of the powerful
liquor. “She once said he was her very best friend.”

Marc shook his head. “Her friend was an acceptable
replacement for an unacceptable man.” Marc snorted. “Whatever she felt for me,
it wasn’t a woman’s foolish idea of love.” Revelation held there, stark and
bright. Marc blinked. His mouth opened then closed. “Perhaps I should have
quenched my need for revenge long ago and had you killed for letting her die.”

“You couldn’t kill me any more than you could have killed
her.” Rayder’s ire came on full force. He glared at Marc. “I never told you why
I became a slave trader, why I went rogue.”

“No you didn’t, but I always saw the potential in you.”

“After my sister and her betrothed were murdered, I knew I
needed revenge, and I plotted it from end to end. You know Aramus killed her,
don’t you?”

Marc leaned back in his chair, eyes hard as ice. “Yes.”

Rayder wondered if Marc’s desire to avenge Aknada could
match his. “You may not have loved her. But my guess is you cared for her
enough to want the man who caused her death to pay.”

Marc stared at him silently.

Rayder pressed onward. “I joined Aramus’ slave trading ship
to ingratiate myself with him so he would trust me. Now that I’ve accomplished
that, I need help completing revenge. I should have asked for your help a long
time ago.”

“That’s the only reason you went rogue?”

“You didn’t think it was because you wore off on me when we
were little kids, did you?”

Marc laughed, the sound genuine and hearty. “Yes.”

“Bollocks.”

They both laughed.

Marc gestured to the big room around them. “Look at all
this, Rayder Tyrus. My father built this place and built our empire. I maintain
this abode because of the way I treat my people. No matter what the Daryk Ones
think, I am not a bad man. I am good to my friends and probably better to my
enemies than I should be.”

Rayder glanced around the enormous great dining hall with
the two-story ceiling, the large fireplace at one end, and the ruler sitting
only one seat away. The twenty-person table in the center of the room looked
lonely with only the two of them sitting there, and the building seemed
amazingly quiet. Rayder wondered why the man had never married and filled the
place with children.