Free Besieged by Rowena Cory Daniells Page B

both?’
    I do it to win your cooperation, but now I’m beginning to wonder if it’s worth the trouble. ‘That, and...’
    Vittoryxe ran her hand up Egrayne’s arm, felt goose bumps rise on her skin and the surge of her gift. For all that Egrayne was keeping a cool head, she wanted this.
    ‘The others will know.’
    ‘So what if they sense it when we gift-tryst? Let down your defences.’ She reached for Egrayne’s long plait and began to unravel it. ‘I want to roll naked in your hair. I want to feel your power race over my skin.’
    Sensation swamped her as Egrayne let down her gift walls. The depth of the warrior’s need surprised Vittoryxe. Triumph and desire made her heart race.
    Egrayne pushed the vest over Vittoryxe’s shoulders, trapping her arms against her body and baring her breasts. She felt a soft cheek and hot breath on her skin, and knew she could have Egrayne for more than one night, if it suited her.
    A scream sounded sharp and clear in the night.
    For a heartbeat, Vittoryxe did not understand.
    ‘We’re under attack,’ Egrayne said. She darted out of the tent, leaving Vittoryxe to straighten her clothing and rein in her gift.
     
     
    O SKANE DOZED IN the seat. He hadn’t had much rest last night, and he’d been on edge all day. Now the rocking of the cart and the gentle plod of the two horses lulled him to sleep. He blinked and took a deep breath.
    ‘You’re awake.’ Franto spoke softly, so as not to disturb the sleeping penitents. ‘The horses are getting tired. We should stop for the night.’
    ‘If I remember correctly, there’s a small village over that way.’ Now that he was awake, Oskane’s mind raced. ‘Hopefully, we can collect more penitents at Enlightenment Abbey. It would be good if we could find a former farmer. Restoration Retreat used to be almost self sufficient. We’ll need a cow, some chickens and goats. The retreat will no doubt need repairing. A carpenter –’
    Angry voices from up ahead made him freeze. Several dogs barked.
    Franto halted the horses. ‘Could be brigands.’
    ‘The roads are thick with them, but a poor village would not have much worth stealing.’ Oskane glanced over his shoulder. There was no room to turn around, and he doubted Franto could make the horses back up in their traces.
    More shouts, getting closer. The words were unintelligible, but the anger was clear. They could see nothing beyond a bend in the road.
    ‘Do you have a sword?’ one of the penitents asked. ‘I used to be a mercenary.’
    Oskane jumped with fright. ‘We’re priests, not men of violence.’
    ‘A staff, then.’
    ‘They will not harm members of the clergy,’ Oskane said, hopefully.
    His stomach lurched as an angry mob of about a dozen people rounded the bend. The leaping flames of their torches banished the cool silvery light of the two moons. They brandished pitchforks and shovels. Not brigands, then.
    His first thought was that they knew about the half-blood infant asleep under his seat, and were going to demand he hand it over to the Wyrds. Then he saw that they drove a young woman before them. The dogs nipped at her bare feet and her calves were revealed by a torn nightgown. She stumbled, almost dropping a weeping infant. There was blood on her nightgown. She lifted despairing eyes and saw the cart.
    Recognising the priestly robes, she held out one hand in supplication. Her mouth moved, but between the shouts of the villagers, the barking of the dogs and the whinnying of the frightened horses, he didn’t catch what she said.
    Seeing the priests, the mob stopped.
    ‘What is this?’ Oskane demanded, coming to his feet. ‘What have you done to this poor woman?’
    One of the villagers gestured with his torch. ‘She’s a Wyrd-lover.’
    ‘I never–’
    ‘Then where’d the half-blood come from?’ another demanded.
    She had no answer for that.
    ‘And why’d you keep the copperhead?’ The first man bustled forward. He had the shiny patches of many