Free Eyes of the Alchemist by Janet Woods Page A

attacked. The guilt of the attack is yours to bear.”
     His smile took on a mocking edge. “To lay the guilt on another’s shoulders is easier than admitting one has the ability to kill when necessary. I didn’t create the Pitilan and none of my troopers attacked you personally. Can it be that you wished to test the beast’s power?”
    Denial sprang to her lips. “Atarta defended those unable to defend themselves. It was an unfair contest to start with. If you can’t admit to that and discipline your men, then for all your fine posturing you are no leader.”
    His face darkened. “The killing stopped from that day forth, as I promised. We had no wish to fight the Truarc. Drastic measures were called for because they would not listen to reason.”
    “Why should your reason be superior to that of my sire, who is wise above all others?”
    His voice took on an edge. “Your sire is full of false pride. He placed his dignity and position above the safety of his subjects.”
    Who was he to talk of false pride? She stared at him with disbelief for a moment, and then gave a mocking little bob of her head. “Your manners are a lesson in humility to all, my Lord.”
    He acknowledged her sarcasm with a self-deprecating grin. “I’m aware of the idiosyncrasies of my nature. We must put pride aside and unite. There are others who would destroy us.”
    “What others?” she scorned. “Were we in danger the augur would know.”
    His eyes narrowed. “The augur might not see fit to tell you.”
    “But it would tell the mighty Kavan, I suppose,” she scorned.
    His smile was as smooth and creamy as goat's cheese. “Our enemies are insurgents. They follow the doctrines of Beltane, and seek the alchemist’s sacred stones.”
     So the wishing dish was not set with the stones. She slanted her head to one side and gazed at him. Indeed, she found it hard to keep her eyes from his elegance. “Legend says the stones are lost, swallowed up by the earth in the rift.”
    “Legend also says you will become my mate. Why do you fight it?”
    Until now she’d enjoyed the cut and thrust of his conversation. Now he’d become predictable. “Rumor can be mistaken for legend, and it’s sometimes started because someone wants something or someone he cannot have.”
    “True,” he said, and his laughter sounded like a response to a joke. “By my beard, your mind has more twists and turns than a flea on a mangy cur! Answer this. Why else but dictated by fate, would a man in my position chose someone as stubborn as you for a life-mate – especially when you were already mine for the taking by right of capture?”
    As much as she tried to stop it, she bristled with affront. “You do not find me as fair as other maids, then?”
    His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “If I liked women in unflattering robes I’d consider you fair. If I liked waspish and contrary dispositions then I might consider you . . . intriguing. If I was attracted to eyes the color of rare crystal and hair like water weed spun through with moonbeams in the river currents . . . why, then, I might just find you more than fair.” His mouth curved into a smile. “In fact, it’s quite possible that under those circumstances I might think of you entrancing and spend my nights tossing and turning at the thought of a kiss from your mouth.”
    Unsure of whether he mocked or not, and unaccustomed to the art of flirting, a question balanced tentatively on her tongue. Did he like all those things in a woman?
    His eyes held her gaze to his, and his words poured like elixir into her ear. “Are you desirous of my admiration and attention then, Lady.”
    She jerked her chin from his hand. She would have to remember to guard her thoughts from now on. “You have stolen me from my people, made a fool of me and insulted me. Why should I want to be admired by you, barbarian?”
    “Doesn’t every female want the strongest male to father her children?”
    His voice set a thousand muted