She could feel the thrust of his rigid manliness. It pressed from his loins, through his rich obsidian tunic, toward her stomach. It struck her that he wanted her as greedily as she wanted him. She stifled that thought, knowing that throwing herself at the seer at this stage would not help with the delicate negotiations she was trying to make.
‘Is this some sort of trick?’ he repeated.
‘You’re supposed to be the seer,’ she replied. ‘You tell me if this is a trick.’
In the light of the raw orange flames his eyes glittered with menace. He inhaled deeply and for an instant she saw something that resembled a smile crossing his lips.
And then the expression was gone.
With a grunt of frustration he pushed her from his embrace.
Tavia stumbled and almost fell to the floor.
‘Get down on your knees and pick up your gold,’ he snapped. His voice sounded hurt and angry. ‘Gold coins are of no use to me in this dungeon. Nothing is of any use to me in this damned dungeon; so you can take your gold coins and your nice-smelling hair and you can fuck off.’
She glared at him.
She was thankful for the poor light because it hid her blushes. He thought she had nice-smelling hair. The compliment struck her as being absurdly touching. She was grateful that someone had noticed she washed her blonde curls in a balsam of lemon and orange oils. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to be touched by the seer’s praise.
‘I knew you weren’t a real seer,’ she scoffed. ‘I knew you didn’t have the gift of sight.’
He reached into the pocket of his tunic. When he pulled his hand free she saw he was holding a well-thumbed deck of tarot. He rolled his shoulders and shuffled the cards with one hand. For a man who looked as though he had been dragged from the depths of a grog-induced slumber, his fingers worked on the deck with surprising agility.
She stared up at him as he stood with his back to one of the torches. He was nothing more than a silhouette but she thought his shape seemed to grow as he handled the cards.
She had seen expert swordsmen demonstrate skill in the mastery of their craft and believed it was always a pleasure to watch any competent artist excelling in their field. She had watched horsemen breaking wild stallions and she had witnessed gifted sculptors carving great statues. She had seen the smiths and tailors showing off their talents in demonstrations of more commonplace skill, craft and artisan mastery. But she had never before seen a man who was so clearly in love with his own vocation as the seer was with his gift of second sight.
Alvar, son of Erland, beamed as he shuffled the cards.
He pulled one from the deck and studied it with a single cocked eyebrow.
‘Your name is Tavia, twin sister to Caitrin and younger sister of Inghean. You’re the daughter of Duncan, castellan of Blackheath.’
She started to pluck the gold coins from the floor. It had not been the impressive display of second sight she had hoped to witness. ‘You could have recognised me from your dealings in Blackheath. I’m known in my father’s court. You might even have overheard the gaoler addressing me before I came in here.’
Alvar sniffed.
He plucked another card from the top of the deck and studied it with an unreadable gaze. ‘You’ve recently had an experience.’
She flashed a silencing gaze in his direction.
He chuckled. It was a low and lewd sound but not entirely unpleasant. He studied the tarot card in the fluttering torch light as though it showed moving pictures. ‘It seems it was a very exciting experience,’ he decided. ‘A pleasant experience. And it’s clearly an experience you want to repeat.’
Tavia’s blushes deepened.
She figured she had retrieved as many of the gold coins as she was likely to find in the dark. Drawing the strings on the purse closed she put it back into her kirtles as she stood up.
‘The cards seem to tell you so much and so little,’ she said primly. ‘Perhaps your cards could say some things that don’t sound like the cold-reading comments of a cheap court conjurer?’
Idly, he plucked another from the pack and studied it before responding. ‘The cards tell me that you’re willing to do a lot in return for my assistance. Is that true?’
‘I have gold.’
She reached for the purse but he stopped her. The warmth of his hand on hers was surprisingly pleasing. She wanted to refuse the suggestion of pleasure that came from his touch.
‘I have a life sentence to serve in this dungeon. As I’ve already told you, I own a tankard and a bucket. With those essentials covered, I don’t have a lot of need for your gold.’
‘What do you want?’
His lips settled into a businesslike frown that she wanted to kiss.
‘I want three things,’ he decided eventually. ‘First and foremost, I want you to organise my freedom from these dungeons.’
‘I can try to organise something,’ she allowed. ‘I can’t promise success because I’m a mere maid and –’
‘You will petition for my freedom,’ he broke in. ‘Your father is Duncan, castellan of Blackheath. You’re one of his daughters and he is sufficiently corrupt to heed the advice of his kith and kin in matters of justice.’
He raised his hand to stop her from interrupting.
‘The cards tell me you will do all that for me.’
Perplexed, she asked, ‘What else do the cards tell you I’ll do?’
He plucked a card from the top of the deck. It made the crisp sound of stiff paper snapping from the darkness.
‘The cards tell me you’re going to suck my cock.’
Tavia rolled her eyes. She had expected he would try something sexual. A part of her was almost tempted to go along with his suggestion because she did find him vaguely attractive. The heat from the dragon horn still nestled in her loins making her hungry for the taste of a man. But she had hoped the seer would try something that didn’t sound like such a blatant insult to her intelligence.
‘Good morrow, Alvar, son of Erland,’ she said tiredly. ‘Thank you for being honest with me earlier and admitting that you are no longer a seer. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.’
She turned her back on him and headed toward the dungeon doorway.
Behind her she heard the sound of him flicking another tarot card from the top of the deck.
‘Do you want to hear my third condition?’ he called.
‘Not really.’ She tossed the words back over her shoulder. ‘I’m bored now.’
He sniffed. ‘My third condition is not open for negotiation. I want a share in the dragon horn you’re going to import.’
Tavia
