Free Salome at Sunrise by Inez Kelley Page B

mark on his upper chest widened Salome’s eyes. He’d mentioned he had battle scars. Those few white lines along his torso and arms she noticed casually but that mark, the mysterious dagger blade, did not look like an injury. The edges were too clean, too precise, to have been an accidental wound. Muscles bunched and stretched as he pulled the hip-length tunic over his head. Along his biceps were triangles, darkened marks in orderly lines. Those were not accidental, either.
    Salome cocked her head right then left. Intentional symbols.
    His belt wrapped around his trim waist and the back scabbard slid over his head with the ease of long practice. In minutes, he was nudging Jester southward. Salome remained, perched high above until she could gather her thoughts.
    Bryton’s hand had engulfed hers and her serenity had imploded. Each ridge and scrape of his palm around hers sent shivery, unknown longings zinging through her. Perhaps it was that his eyes borrowed a hue from the sky but she felt swept away on a too-strong breeze, her body tossed about like a leaf. Perhaps it was the plumpness of his bottom lip, so strangely soft on a face so rugged, that made something inside her go liquid and flush. Perhaps it was something magical she did not understand that whispered in her mind to touch him, stroke him, garner a response.
    The air caught her leap and she soared high above the rushing ground, finding her charge in fewer than a dozen wing beats. His brisk, steady pace and tensed back kept her from gliding beside him, his words to his horse kept her mind in a whirl. The terrain changed to thicker trees and less grain field, more farmland and less open plain, more cottages and villages and less barren road. Clusters of men pointed upward at her flight. Salome’s falcon was too noticeable. When Bryton craned his neck to follow their pointed fingers’ path and his mouth firmed, she pushed against air and climbed toward the sun. Once away from strange human eyes, her feathers melted to wind.
    Bryton’s hair fought the leather tie as she swirled around him. He closed his eyes and she tripped invisible fingertips over his face, whispering in the melody of her pure essence.
    “Wingless wind carries my voice but others may not hear. I am for you and you alone.”
    “I can feel your fingers in the wind. Why are you always touching me?”
    “Touch brings comfort, soothes the body. I crave your touch.”
    “Yeah, well…stop playing with my hair. I don’t like it.”
    She tugged harder at the tie, delighting when it loosened. “Untruths do not linger well on your tongue. I feel your pleasure as well as your pain.”
    “No, I like a woman’s fingers in my hair, not some magic spell’s, so stop it.”
    Unease twanged her spirit and Bryton’s gaze flared to glowing. Her wind tightened around him. The bustling village roadway was lined with shops, a tavern and people. None noticed the man on horseback with a purple whirlwind surrounding him.
    “Evil.”
    “I feel it.” Leather rubbed on wool as he shifted, bringing his dagger more comfortably in his reach. “Salome, maybe you should go hang out in a tree or something. Your dress is too different not to draw attention and I’d rather not have to fight off the people I want to talk to.”
    “I shall not let you die alone. Your path is my path.”
    “Don’t worry, I’m not going to die here. The evil’s gone. Can’t you sense that?”
    Salome marveled. How easily he gave his calm reassurance. Deeper understanding formed within her. Her charge was far more than a soldier with a death wish, far more than a King’s Law. The depths of his compassion twined tight with his honor and formed an unbreakable weave of goodness.
    “I do not possess foreshadowing, only soothing and instinct. Fear and horror taint this place.”
    “Yeah, but not danger. Whatever it was, it’s gone.”
    Her wind slowed as she tasted the truth of his words. Still, the thought of leaving him chilled