No Greater Pleasure Page 19

  This set her back a literal step. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. “What? You—”

  “Don’t you remember what I told you the first day we met?” He stared out over the pond, shielding his eyes to watch his nephew being chased by his chubby nursemaid.

  Does the bee need to know the flower before it sups? A bird know the wind before it takes flight? The sea know the shore before it creeps upon it? Does a man need to know a woman before he loves her?

  “I do. I didn’t believe it then, either.”

  Jericho pulled his cloak tighter around his throat. “Then all the more reason you should believe me now that I’ve had the chance to know you.”

  “Oh, Jericho.” She didn’t know what to say.

  “Don’t. Please, Quilla. I know you are my brother’s. I know it’s your purpose and your place to cater to him, and not to me. And I know that even if it weren’t that I am not the sort of man you’d choose. He’s smart, and I’m but merry.” He turned and looked at her with such sincerity it made her want to take his hand. “But please, think on this. If you should fail—”

  “Do you believe I will?”

  “If you should fail,” he continued, “will you know this of me? That I would not take his place. That I would not have you as sent from the Order, but as yourself.”

  Quilla had to look away from him. “Your friendship would mean more to me than I can say, Jericho.”

  “And the rest?”

  “The rest is not for me to comment upon. Please understand.” She kept her eyes upon the pond, and the young boy skating there. “But know you this of me. I do consider you a friend, and one of choice, not necessity.”

  “Go, Jorja! Go!” Dane’s voice rang out over the pond.

  The nursemaid, huffing and puffing, skidded to a stop at the pond’s edge. “He’s wearing me out, that one.”

  Quilla laughed, watching the boy fall on his bottom “For shame, Jorja. You should be able to keep up with him.”

  Jorja lifted both wobbling chins. “You try!”

  The boy tried to get up and fell again, skidding across the ice. “My father says you must attend me, Jorja!”

  “His father can come out and freeze his arse,” Jorja muttered. “I’m not paid enough for this business.”

  “Jorja!” Dane called imperiously. “Jorja! Get over here!”

  The boy struggled to his feet, slipping on the ice, but at last managing to stand upright. “Look at me!”

  “I sees you, I sees you,” Jorja muttered, not even bothering to look over her shoulder at the lad. She let out a huff and stretched fat hands toward the sputtering fire in the barrel. “Who could miss him with all the caterwauling.”

  Quilla watched Dane, whose arms whirled as he skated, his childish laughter high-pitched in the thin winter air. “I’ll be glad to help you watch him, Jorja, so long as I’m here.”

  Jorja grunted and reached for the cauldron set to warm over the blaze. She dipped some hot cider into a mug and slugged it back with a smack of her lips. Then she settled her bulk onto the wooden log bench next to the fire.

  “Watch me!”

  Quilla shaded her eyes to do it, the late setting sun a glare of red and yellow against her eyelids. She blinked, watching the boy gliding and twirling. It looked most merry. Perhaps she would try.

  “ ’Tis not as easy as it looks.”

  She turned to give a raised-brow glance at Jericho. “No? I thought I saw you out there the other day.”

  He grinned. “And you are trying to insult me by insinuating that if it’s not easy I should not be able to do it?”

  Quilla shrugged, looking back out at the ice. “Perhaps you inferred that meaning.”

  “Well said.”

  Jorja snorted from her place on the bench, but said nothing. Jericho made a leg at her, and gave a half bow.

  “Have you something to say, good lady? Pray tell, do speak.”

  Jorja might be lazy, Quilla thought, but she wasn’t stupid. She didn’t seem about to sass the young master any more than she’d have done the elder.

  “Uncle Jericho! Watch me!”

  “Gladly, nephew Dane,” called Jericho. He strode to the edge of the pond, hands in his pockets, his rakish red scarf fluttering. “Go like the wind!”

  “I am!” cried Dane, small legs pushing.

  “Mind he don’t work himself to a frenzy,” cautioned Jorja, even as she could not be bothered to lift herself from the bench. “ ’Tisn’t good for children to be so active.”

  Jericho gave Quilla a look that made her bite her lip to keep from laughing. In an aside, he said, “No, it’s better for children to be fed sweets until they burst and keep them docile in front of the fire.”

  Quilla laughed softly, watching Dane. “It’s not so far from their treatment of him.”

  “Not if I have any say. Of which I understandably have little.

  But I do my best to see the lad has sport in his life.”

  “You gave him the skates?” She didn’t really need to ask the question, as the answer had been evident in his eyes.

  Jorja made a strangled mutter. “Quilla, I gots need of the necessary. Would you?”

  Quilla nodded, thinking too much cider was not a wise thing in which to partake, so far from the house. “Of course.”

  Jorja hauled herself off the bench and headed back toward the house, while Quilla and Jericho stayed in a silence that had become comfortable.

  “Uncle Jericho! Watch me!” Dane slid along the ice, falling again and getting up again with a disgruntled cry.

  “I’m watching you, Dane!”

  And Quilla, watching Jericho watch the boy, made a connection that, upon the realization of it, seemed so obvious she could not believe nobody had noticed it before.

  “He’s yours, isn’t he.” A quiet statement, not a question.

  Jericho, to give him credit, did not try to dissemble. “I like to think so, yes.”

  Quilla turned to watch the lad, who was no longer skating. He’d found a large stick on the ice and was poking it downward, over and over again, and yammering something Quilla could not understand.

  “I was barely grown when she came to Glad Tidings.” Jericho’s gaze had gone far away. “Saradin, shining like a golden star, fallen from the heavens. Of course I was half in lust with her the first moment I saw her. She wanted naught to do with me. She’d come to be our chatelaine, but her eyes were on a greater prize.”

  “Gabriel.”

  He nodded, smiling faintly. “Yes. Lord of the manor. She wanted only the best, our Sara. The second son wouldn’t do. Well, not at first.”

  “Oh, Jericho.” Quilla pitched her voice low.

  He shook his head, watching the boy on the ice. “When she decided my brother’s infrequent attentions were not enough for her, she came to me. And I tell you, Quilla, not as excuse but as truth. She never left me alone. She thought of every excuse to get me alone. To touch me. To woo me, and yes, I know how that sounds but you should know I was young and she, very beautiful.”

  “Many men use their gender as excuse, but in fact, that’s all it is.”

  “You’re saying I could have resisted her, and you’re right. I could have. And should have. But I didn’t.” He looked at her. “And I’d have regretted it ever since, if not for that one thing. That boy, skating there on the ice. I’d not change a thing I did, ever. Because of him.”

  “And now?”

  “And now, she would have me pay court to her as I did when I was younger, and it makes her angry that I won’t. But that pleasure has palled, Quilla Caden.” He slanted her a sideways glance. “You think less of me for making love to my brother’s wife? I take the blame for it, and more, for I’ve never been man enough even to admit to him the truth.”

  “You think he hasn’t guessed?”

  “There can be nobody in this household who hasn’t guessed, though none will speak of it.”

  “And you’ve always known?”

  He nodde
d slightly, then turned to look at her. “She’s never said as much. I’m not even certain she’d admit it.”

  “And you’ve never said anything about it?”

  He shook his head, slight smile still upon his lips. “Of course not.”

  “Because you love her?”

  A flash in his gaze told her she’d guessed wrong. “No. Because I love him.”

  The boy, obviously. But also, someone else. “Your brother.”

  “Does it surprise you, Quilla Caden? That I might actually find affection for the beast who is so constantly growling? I wouldn’t think it to be such a surprise. After all, you also have affection for him.”

  As he had not, she did not dissemble. “I do, indeed.”

  “It’s your duty to have affection for him.” Did he tease? She could not be certain.

  “It’s your duty to also have affection for him, as he is your brother.”

  Jericho laughed, turning to face her. “You have ever a way with words.”

  She smiled, helpless not to, for though he had angered her in the past, she could not deny his charm. “As do you.”

  “So you have forgiven me?”

  “I am unaware there is anything for which I needed to forgive you.”

  “Dishonest flattery does not become you.”

  “You bad thing! You dirty thing!”

  Dane’s taunting voice made them both turn. He hacked at the ice with his long stick, his blond hair tousled by wind and exertion, cheeks pinked from cold. Again, he raised the stick and brought it down, hard, upon the ice.

  “Dirty thing! Don’t make that face at me!”

  “What’s he going on about, I wonder?” Jericho murmured fondly.

  “Dirty, nasty beastie!”

  “The eel,” Quilla said only a half beat before the same words came from Jericho’s lips. “Dane, no!”

  The boy looked up only briefly, looking more like his mother then with twisted, gleeful lips and blue eyes burning with naughty glee. He bent back to his task, poking the stick down and down, faster as though he wanted to get in as much as he could before someone came to stop him.

  “Dane! Stop!” Jericho put his foot to the ice, slipping. “Stop, lad!”

  Quilla followed, stepping carefully. They made their way toward the pond’s center. Seeing them approach, Dane began whacking harder, his small face bright with effort.

  They were nearly there when the ice exploded all around them.

  Chapter 10

  A long, black column of smoke shot from the center of the pond. Smoke without fire beneath. Chunks of ice and snow flew forward, and Quilla threw up her hand to cover her face. Her forehead stung and she let out a small cry as she slipped and went to her hands and knees. She put her fingers to her face, and they came away speckled with blood.

  The ice beneath her knees cracked with an ominous sound. It shifted under her, and she spread out her weight so as not to crack it further. Ahead of her, chunks of ice as thick as her fist rolled toward her, spraying water and grit.

  She heard Jericho yelling. Dane screaming. And another voice, that of a creature teased to rage, a beast not meant for the air.

  She lifted her head to see Jericho clutching a screaming Dane and pulling the boy away from the column of black smoke, which, she realized, wasn’t a column at all but the body of the eel itself. It had risen from the water and now slammed its head across the ice, snapping its jaws and spraying more water and chunks of ice.

  Its body was the thickness of hers, though all sinewy sleekness and boneless fluidity. Its jaw seemed to open out directly from its neck, wide as it now gaped and snapped while the beast writhed its way across the ice toward the man and boy.

  The water churned where its tail thrashed. The water tossed up onto the ice made everything even slicker, though thank Sinder it didn’t seem to be breaking further.

  The eel heaved itself one measure farther out of the water, humping its way along the ice as a snake moves along the ground. The great jaws snapped again, needle-sharp teeth coming down on the ice hard enough to send chips of it skittering toward her.

  Jericho could not seem to get Dane off the ice. He pulled the screaming, flailing child by the back of his coat, but as Quilla watched, they both slipped and fell.

  The eel lunged forward, its small dull eyes seeming to focus on the boy. Quilla, on its other side, scrabbled on her hands and knees toward it. She grabbed up the stick Dane had been using to tease the eel. First, she used it to get herself standing. Next, she whacked the eel with it as hard as she could.

  The beast’s body writhed, the blunt, triangular head swerving in its pursuit to face her. Quilla lifted the stick again, bringing it down so hard upon the eel’s body the wood splintered and broke in half.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Jericho pull Dane upright and fling him toward the shore, out of the eel’s reach. The boy’s wail reached her ears but Quilla could do naught but wield the broken-off end of her weapon as the eel began sliding back into the water.

  The movement was a retreat, and yet it brought the creature closer to her and shook the ice around the hole it had made hard enough to send her to her knees again, her hands splayed on the frigid surface, praying to the Invisible Mother that the cracks appearing would hold together long enough for her to get off the pond.

  “Quilla!”

  Jericho ran and slid toward her, reaching for her hand. The eel snapped but couldn’t reach him as it continued its smooth slide back below the pond’s surface. It seemed to struggle for an instant upon the ice, but the momentum of its retreat must have been greater than its desire for attack, because in another moment even the great jaws had slipped below the surface.

  Jericho’s hands gripped her shoulders. The next moment found her in his arms. Without thinking, she returned the embrace, her heart still hammering and breath coming in gasps.

  “Are you all right?”

  She nodded.

  “You’re bleeding.”

  She’d forgotten the scrapes on her forehead. “I’m fine.”

  Concern filled his eyes and he drew a hand along her face, showing her it had come away streaked with blood. “We should get you inside.”

  “Dane?” Quilla looked for him. The boy had made it to the edge of the pond, where Jorja had gathered him to her while she screamed and wept.

  “He’ll be fine.”

  Quilla shivered, a combination of cold and shock setting in. She looked at Jericho’s face. The warmth of his breath, redolent of mint, caressed her cheek. He still had an arm around her shoulders.

  “Are you all right?” she asked him.

  Before he could answer, the ice beneath them moved. The cracking sounded like festival flameballoons exploding. Less than a breath later, icy water soaked her skirt and stung her legs beneath.

  “Move!”

  Quilla didn’t hesitate. She moved. She pushed with her knees and got to her feet, slipping and falling at first but then managing to stay upright as Jericho yanked the shoulder of her cloak.

  No more time for speaking. No time for thinking. Only time for running as fast as they could across the slick and breaking surface of the ice.

  Behind them she heard the moist thwap of the eel throwing itself once more out of the pond. Ice and water sprayed her back. Quilla didn’t dare look back, though a gust of breeze and the clash of teeth on teeth told her the beast was snapping, literally, at their heels.

  They were only a few arrows from the shore when the ice broke out from beneath them. She sank in water up to her thighs, her cloak and dress soaked and weighing her down. Jericho fell in beside her with a bigger splash. Something moved around her legs, the swirl of her hem or perhaps a smaller eel. The larger one still writhed behind them, the ice cracking and disintegrating under its weight as it moved.

  Quilla flailed her arms with Jorja’s screams echoing in her ears. She had no voice to scream. The water had stolen her breath. All she could think of was getting out.

  A
nd then, his hand in hers, pulling. Jericho curled his fingers around hers, his strength moving her through the water faster than she could have made it on her own. She pushed, he pulled. Soft mud sucked at her boots, but she could not kick them off. He pulled harder. A wave of water, pushed forward by the eel’s attempts to reach them, aided them at last and the water reached her knees, then only her ankles, and finally after an eternity, Quilla stumbled onto ground.

  Jericho lay beside her, panting, his fine clothes covered with muck. His blond hair looked darker with wet. He looked more like Gabriel than ever.

  She turned her head toward the pond. Chunks of ice bobbed in the churning water, but of the eel there was no sign.

  “Thank the Invisible Mother,” she murmured, spent. “I thought it might leap out onto the shore after us.”

  Jericho sat up. “I told you it did not care to eat Handmaidens.”

  How could she find a smile, after that? Somehow, she did. “No. It would seem its meal of choice is little lads who poke at it with sticks.”

  Jorja was still screaming. Dane appeared to have been stunned into silence. Quilla’s feet and legs had gone numb, and the weight of her sodden clothes almost kept her on the ground, but she knew she would need to get inside and out of her wet things if she hoped to avoid freezing to death.

  “Shut your hole,” she snapped at Jorja, who had tried Quilla’s not-quite-infinite patience to its very limit. “Get the boy inside. Check him for injuries. Get him into a hot bath. For the love of your mother, Jorja Pinsky, stop your blubbering and tend your charge as ’tis your duty to do!”

  Jorja stopped screaming like Quilla had bound her mouth. She grabbed Dane into her arms and began going as fast as she could with him toward the house.

  “We must needs get us both inside, too.” Jericho put his arm around her. “Come, Quilla Caden, before we both become as iced solid as that pond once was.”

  She wasn’t sure she could make it into the house, but once again Jericho’s strength aided her. Walking kept her warm enough, at least, though by the time they reached the doors to the house she was breathing hard and her teeth chattering so fiercely she had bitten her tongue.