Lisah kept going until she was well away from the camp, the woods around the stream doing well in screening her from view. When there were no longer eyes on her she began making her way around the stream to the far side, and from there into the thickest brush she could find. Once in the middle of the bushes she paused to look around, then she settled herself on thin grass and twigs without noticing what it was she sat on. There were other, more important things needing her attention, and the first and foremost of them was Bryahn.
“I think it’s safe to say the dream has ended,” she muttered as she picked up a twig to toy with, her head down as she spoke to the twig. “If he thinks I’ll obey him, he’s the one still dreaming, but he has a rude awakening ahead. When he and his father give up their swords, then I’ll give up mine.”
She could almost see Thoheeks Hwill, Bryahn’s sire, being told he must give up his sword so that she might be made to give up hers. The roaring and fury would be so great that the entire woods would be felled, and the picture evoked brought an evil grin to her. She could see she’d been wrong in allowing her chain to be taken, an error which would be corrected the very next day. The armor was hers, made and fitted to and for her, and come the next appearance of Sacred Sun she would reclaim it no matter who objected.
No matter who. The girl leaned down to her left elbow, all amusement gone. The one certain to object most strongly would be Bryahn, for although the original suggestion had been his sire’s, the decision to see it done had been his. He had kissed away her attempted arguments, tickled her into laughter and lovemaking, and aftet that the point had no longer seemed important. It was then the terrible thought came to her, one that brought her pain and disillusionment, one she had no wish to consider despite her anger. It couldn’t be, it simply couldn’t be ... !
“Why are you distressed, sister?” The question came through mindspeak, the thought-set one Lisah wasn’t fully familiar with. “My brother is disturbed as well, which he has not been for quite some time. Wind Whisper would offer her aid.”
Lisah looked up to see the prairiecat, staring at her through the bushes not five feet away. They two had exchanged thoughts before a time or two, but the girl had been so wrapped up in the man who was her husband that she’d had little time for anything else. Under other circumstances she would have gone out of her way to become acquainted with the prairiecat, but because of Bryahn . . .
“Your brother is what distresses me,” the girl answered by mindspeak, finding it impossible to return the stare of those large yellow eyes. “It has come to me that the happiness I found with him was deliberate on his part, not truly felt by him but used to make me obey his wishes. If I find such a terrible thing to be true, I will never speak to him again.”
“The happiness you mention is not easily understood by this cat,” Wind Whisper replied, settling down in the bushes to increase her comfort. “My brother has been filled with great satisfaction since taking you for his mate, the satisfaction one would find after a successful hunt followed by the drinking of warm blood. Is it this sort of satisfaction which disturbs you?”
“I have never known that sort of satisfaction,” Lisah replied, feeling even more miserable than she had. “Your brother has no wish for me to know it, just as he most likely feels no true love for me. I was a fool to believe I would find happiness where others find only duty, perfection where others find no more than flawed hopes. I have given up all to gain nothing, and now find myself in possession of that nothing. Perhaps Sacred Sun will take pity on me, and I will quickly go to Wind.”
The big, brownish-gray prairiecat watched in puzzlement as the girl buried her face in her arms, feeling the tears roll from mind to eyes. It was beyond Wind Whisper why the two-legs would behave so, as though she had displeased her mate and would soon receive a sound cuffing. Wind Whisper’s brother was far from displeased, and would likely not cuff the two-legs female in any event. When he fought his thoughts were much like those of a cat, yet when he played his doings were far gentler. Best would be to leave the odd two-legs female undisturbed till her brother came, and then allow him to see to the matter. Till then Wind Whisper would guard his mate, for she had picked up strange scents in those woods and her brother’s mate seemed not of a mind to guard herself.
Bryahn rebuckled his swordbelt about his hips and then stretched hard, deliberately readjusting his balance to compensate for the lack of armor. Most of his battles had been fought in full plate, but when he and Iron Claws, Wind Whisper’s sire, had ridden together for a time, armor would have been more of an encumberance than an aid.
Just as the plate was an encumberance where Lisah was concerned, for most of the time at any rate. He sighed as he considered the words that had passed between them, harsh words he should never have allowed to be spoken. His bride was young and delicate, sensitive despite the boiled-leather exterior she most preferred showing, in need of the protection he was so delighted to give. He would take her in his arms and let her know again how much he loved her, and after a while there would be no protest when her sword was put away with her chain. It was the way he should have done it to begin with, the way he would see it done now.
Bryahn looked around as he moved through the camp, nodding to himself in approval at the easy manner in which their escort did everything that needed doing. Two tents had been erected, his and his sire’s, billeting areas had been assigned, the horses had been mostly hobbled and turned out to graze, cookfires were crackling, and sentry posts were already being walked. A force as large as theirs had little to worry about even in lands as open and empty as the ones they rode through, but precaution was never a wasted effort. He wondered where he would find Lisah, decided she was probably with her mare, then stopped short when he saw White Feet grazing quietly with the girl nowhere in sight. If she wasn’t with the warhorse, then where . . . ?
Firmly holding down anxiety, Bryahn began searching a bit more purposefully. With almost a hundred men in camp, one brown-haired girl should have stood out rather clearly, but no such luck. He began questioning people then, asking if they’d seen his woman, but most had been too occupied with tasks to notice a girl who rarely brought herself to obvious attention. He finally found one who thought he’d seen her heading toward the woods and the stream, and Bryahn cursed under his breath as he hurried in the same direction. She was supposed to have waited until he was able to go with her, but injured pride had undoubtedly made her ignore that fact. If anything happened to her because of that, he would—
He swallowed that thought as he moved quickly into the woods, his left hand loosening the sword hung at his side. Nothing harmful would come to his Lisah, for he would not allow anything harmful to come to her, and likely nothing was about to harm her in any event. He opened his mind wide to see if he could pick her up, heard nothing, then thought of tracks. It was hardly so late in the day that tracking her was impossible, even there under the trees. He slowed as he studied the ground, casting back and forth until—there! Boot tracks of a size that could only be hers. She had come that way, all right, and seemed to have been headed toward the far side of the stream. He should be able to follow her with no trouble at all, and once he found her they would talk.
Bryahn followed the high ground over the stream and then began angling left, the hurrying bootprints showing him the way. The poor little thing must have been really upset for her to have moved that quickly, and flickerings of guilt began intruding in the man’s thoughts. He’d been too stern with her too soon, he knew, exercising his authority over her at a time when it wasn’t necessary. She was probably crying her eyes out over having to give up a weapon she loved, and all because he hadn’t handled the matter with the delicacy it called for. He would be very gentle with her when he found her, and might even allow her to keep the sword for another day or two. He was certain that would bring the smile back to her face, and then he would—