Iris Johansen - The Beloved Scoundrel

“After you eat yourself.”

“I will help him.” Gregor strode into the light of the campfire. He filled a bowl with stew and sat down across the fire from them. “Come, lad, and sit with me. We will eat together. I’m hungry as a wolf, aren’t you?”

He looked like a wolf himself, fierce and scarred by battle. Marianna knew Alex would never go to him.

Alex solemnly stared at him and then said hesitantly, “You are dressed most strangely.”

Gregor grinned as he saw Marianna’s astonishment. “Ah, you thought he would be afraid of me? Children are much smarter than grown-ups. They rely on their instincts, not their eyes.” He turned back to Alex. “And your instincts are right. It is my clothes that are different, not my soul. But even my clothes are different only in these tame lowlands. At home in Kazan you would be the different one.”

“Kazan!” Her gaze flew to the north where high, gray-purple mountains separated Montavia from Kazan. Until now she had never met anyone who came from that wild, fabled country, and she was not alone. Not only was Kazan surrounded by mountains, but its inhabitants were rumored to be a fierce, warlike people who kept to themselves and did not encourage visitors to their land. Her grandmother had told her she had fled to Kazan from Russia, but she had been frustratingly vague when answering Marianna’s questions regarding the country itself. Kazan had no commerce with Montavia, and if they engaged in trade with any country, it must be with Russia, their neighbor to the north. They had remained totally aloof during the recent war between Nebrov and King Josef. Yet here was Gregor, who claimed he had ridden across the mountains from that mysterious country. “What are you doing here?”

“At the moment I’m trying to beg this lad to keep me company while I eat.” Gregor pulled a long face that made him look like a mournful gargoyle. “I hate to eat alone. It gives me a monstrous bellyache.”

Alex chuckled and went around the fire and settled on Gregor’s pallet.

Gregor nodded with satisfaction. “As for what else I’m doing in this boring country of yours…” He took a bite of stew and then nodded at Jordan. “I’m doing my duty and taking care that Jordan doesn’t injure himself fighting with frail young girls. Did you really take a candlestick to his private parts? I’m sure that there’s many a woman who would-”

“Eat.” Jordan added with precision, “Fill your mouth with food instead of conversation, or you can go back on sentry duty.”

“You’d send me back out in the cold? How cruel.” Gregor sighed, but a sly smile remained on his lips as he applied himself to his stew.

“Where’s Niko?” Draken asked.

“You told me not to talk.” Gregor took another bite before he said, “Still on sentry duty. I sent him to look over the town. It appears deserted, but you can never tell.” He drew a sheepskin blanket firmly around Alex’s thin shoulders. “Gobble down that stew. How do you expect to grow as big as me if you have no nourishment?”

Alex shook his head doubtfully. “I don’t think I could grow that big if I ate all the stew in the world.” But he obediently dipped his spoon into the savory mixture.

Jordan filled a bowl and handed it to Marianna. “Satisfied?”

She wasn’t at all satisfied. Her mind was full of questions and apprehensions, but she nodded and began to eat hungrily. The rabbit was tough, but the broth was hot and thick and flavored with herbs. She was vaguely aware of another man-Niko, Gregor called him-coming to the fire and filling his bowl before drifting away. She could hear Gregor’s deep low voice across the fire as he talked to and teased Alex, but she could not make out the words. Draken was watching her, but she didn’t care. The wind was howling, whipping sharply down from the mountains, but for the first time in days she felt warm and dry with real food instead of scraps to eat.

“More?” Draken asked when she had finished.

She shook her head and put down the bowl. She had eaten too much already. A full stomach made one feel deceptively content and safe. She looked across the fire and saw Alex curled up against Gregor, already asleep, and felt a little better. He should be in a bed, not a pallet on the hard ground, but at least he was warm and protected from the wind by Gregor’s bulk. Gregor winked at her as he settled down, drawing the cover over both Alex and himself. In spite of the giant’s kindness she must be the one to be there when Alex woke, she thought. It would be a chilling shock to come out of sleep to that scarred face.

“He’ll be all right,” Draken said, impatience roughing his voice. “Lie down and go to sleep. You’re about to fall over.”

“I am not.” She sat up very straight, trying to keep her spine rigid. “We have to talk… I have to ask-”

“Questions I told you I wouldn’t answer, no doubt.”

“I have to ask about the Window.” She met his gaze. “That’s why you wish me to come with you, isn’t it?”

He didn’t answer for a moment. “Yes.”

“You think I can give it back to you.”

“I hope you can give it to me.”

“Why?”

“What do you know of Napoleon Bonaparte?”

Napoleon. The emperor of the French was only a shadowy figure to her. She tried to remember what Papa had taught her about the man. He had admired the emperor’s brilliance, but her mother had said he would not be satisfied until he devoured all of Europe. Two years ago when he had come near one of Montavia’s borders, there had been whispers and days of tension until he had moved on and the threat was gone. Then Nebrov’s attack had thrown all of Montavia into chaos, and Napoleon had been forgotten. “I know that he wants power as much as the rest of you.”

“Even more than the rest of us. I have to stop him.”

“So that you can grab everything for yourself?”

He ignored the question. “So far he’s hesitated to attack this part of the world, but that won’t last forever.” He met her gaze. “When he starts his march, he must not have the Jedalar.” He saw the ripple of shock that went through her. “Did you think Nebrov was the only one who knew why the Window had value?”

She had suspected the Englishman knew, but she had hoped desperately she was wrong. “The Window had value because it had splendor and beauty and-”

“Knowledge,” he finished softly. “You’re only a girl with a young brother to protect. Don’t make yourself a pawn in a war you don’t even understand. Give me what I want, and I’ll see that you’re both kept safe.”

“So that you can use it as you choose. You’re probably no better than this Napoleon. Why should I choose between you?”

“Because it’s not safe for you not to make a choice.”

“Then I choose not to believe any of you,” she said fiercely. “I won’t be used by you or this Napoleon or the Duke of Nebrov. I will go my own path and do what I please.”

His eyes narrowed on her face. “And what would you do with the Jedalar?”

“Use it in any way I wish.” She glared at him. “And answer to no one. You have no right to ask me what I will do with my own property.”

He studied her expression and then said, “Suppose we come to an agreement? For now we’ll forget about the Window to Heaven.”

“You won’t get it,” she said desperately. “I’ll never give it to you.”

He smiled. “We’ll discuss it later.”

She stared at him in fascination and dread. She had not seen him smile before, and she suddenly realized he was quite splendid-looking. She had never seen a more beautifully shaped mouth, and that smile was nearly irresistible. It gave his irregular features a charm that softened and transformed the severity of the long planes of his face. It was as if he had changed before her eyes, taken on a powerful persuasiveness and magnetism at will.