Ch 7 Repaying Debts
Dee pounded away furiously on the anvil, the piece of cold iron the innocent target of her wrath. Better working it out this way than taking it out with her fists on the first rude fool to cross her though. She had kept to herself since they returned from the Gith base and she had interrogated her uncle, which only served to make her more convinced than ever that Daeghun knew, and that Duncan probably did too.
She sighed and paused to catch her breath and admire the blade. She tried to remember how long it had been exactly and measured it against her open palm, but it seemed a good length for a skinning knife. She switched the hammer to her left hand and resumed pounding the metal. She had been at it for hours. Cold iron weapons were not formed with fire. It took a feat of strength and sheer will to force the metal into a workable shape.
One benefit to being ambidextrous was that she could switch arms like this whenever one became too tired. Daeghun had realized it when teaching her to write. She wasn't particular about which hand she used, so he encouraged her to use both equally for everything. It was an advantage in battle too. Opponents assumed that the long sword in her right hand was the main attack weapon and that the short sword in her off hand was only used to parry and were caught off guard when she reversed the attack.
She examined the blade again with a satisfied grin. At least metal was one thing she could control. Unlike her fate, unlike men--her father, her uncle, that poor, sad paladin, and a certain ranger. What was he about, anyway? That first night--here was a man who wasn't too intimidated by her size and strength to look at her with such unbridled lust. He was good-looking; she was drawn to his beautiful amber eyes flecked with gold and tousled chestnut hair and days' growth of stubble, looking like he'd just come back from the wild.
Her first thought was that he needed to be taught some manners, but he was a ranger, so he would 'get' her. She walked to the honing wheel and began giving the blade an edge. From the first time she'd spoken him though, he'd acted like a real horse's ass--no, that's too much of an insult to horses. So she had gone out of her way to avoid him, which wasn't easy since he was nearly always at her uncle's tavern.
Dee examined the knife again and turned it to watch its cool gleam in the light. The metal really held a good edge. She took a long quaff of water and walked back to the workbench to attach it to a handle made from a deer's antler. She sighed tiredly. "Well, it's a start. At least he can't still say I owe him that...unless it's not good enough for him. Knowing him, it won't be." Tomorrow she would take it to Sand to enchant it. She slid it into a leather sheath then hung up the heavy smith's apron on a hook and rolled and stretched her stiff shoulders. She sighed and considered summoning her bear, but he hated the noise of the forge.
She checked the silver warhammer she had started earlier, still cooling in its mold. That would be a job for later, after the metal had tempered. She flushed with shame as she recalled Casavir's expression after her flippant retort to his warning about Bishop: "What are you, jealous?" He denied it, of course, and dismissed it as simple concern, but she saw the hurt look that flashed in his eyes before he resumed his usual stoic mask and knew the truth, even if he didn't.
She knew that look--she had seen it before with Bevil when he tried to warn her away from Wyl Mossfield, and she suspected, for much the same reason. Why was it she wasn't attracted to good, kind, decent men? She sighed. Not to mention handsome. He was certainly that.
She had liked him from the first time she saw him after that ambush by orc filth. It was one she should have seen coming. She Khel and Neesh were fighting in the front trying to give Qara and Elanee cover, but the orc scum kept coming. It was starting to register that they might not make it, so she resolved to send as many of them to their dark gods as she could. She charged and was trying to fight three of the filth at once when there was a flash of sunlight on metal, and a huge warhammer caved in the skull of one of her orcs.
After the battle, she was sitting on her haunches wiping her swords on a dead orc when he came up before her, blocking out the sun. She looked up at him and said coolly, "You must be this Katalmach I've heard so much about, and from that alone I already like you, but there's one thing we've got to get straight--don't come between me and an orc and we'll get along just fine. 'Tis a ranger thing--you wouldn't understand."
He answered with mock formality and mirth twinkling in his eyes, "Of course. Thank you for letting me take part in your fight, m'lady." But since his warning about Bishop, she had tried to make it clear to Cas that she considered him a friend and nothing more.
There was a tray of food Sal had brought as a peace offering from Duncan next to the door, and she had eaten but little since they had returned, but she wasn't in the mood to do more than pick at her favorites. She didn't turn down the harvest mead Neesh had brought her though, and she quaffed a mug, then another.
One by one starting with Neeshka and ending with Khelgar, they had come to her to see if she wanted to talk, then even he came, but she had sent them all away with a terse "I'm workin' here," hardly even looking up from the anvil. She hated to admit it, but Bishop was right about his suspicion that her uncle had been lying to her about how much he had known. She shook her head. "I know what it is,"she muttered bitterly, "At least he's honest and open about what he feels and thinks. And wants. There's no coyness or subtlety with him. Bishop is what he is. Casavir could learn a thing or two from him about honesty."
She stalked back to her room. She really needed a bath. She linked her fingers and stretched her arms above her head then shook out her shoulders. It was worth the pain to be well on the way to having one debt repaid. She laughed bitterly and wondered what other payments fate expected of her. The map of the Sword Coast lay on the floor where she had thrown it after she tore it off the wall. She lay the knife on her table, stripped off her clothes and tossed them in the laundry basket, wrapped her towel around herself, grabbed her nightshirt and the mead and headed to the bath.
She slid into the tub, thankful that there was no one else around to share the bath with so she wouldn't be forced to make polite conversation. She had a good, long sulky soak, then dried off and put some herbal salve Elanee made on her shoulders and pulled her favorite nightshirt on. The lauderess had surprised her by not only washing and mending it, but also added some delicate embroidery in return for the five gold pieces she paid her. She pulled her hair into a loose braid, drained the rest of the mead and grabbed her things. "Drink a bit more of that and I'll have no trouble sleeping," she thought.
She spotted movement in the shadows of the hallway and paused, cursing under her breath for not bringing a weapon with her. She was about to summon Cillian when she recognized him from his stance. "Well again, ranger. Something you need? Still sulking?"
He stepped from the shadows, barefoot and wearing only a pair of lightweight trewes with a towel wrapped around his neck. The thick curly hair on his hard-muscled chest and abdomen still glistened and he was freshly shaven. Gods, why was such an ass blessed with a body like that?
He snorted. "Me? You seem to be doing a pretty good job of sulking for the both of us. Not that you don't have plenty of reasons. I was just wondering what you're going to do about my knife."
"Hells," she sighed. He really looked like a sad little boy right now, almost pouting. "Look, I told you the first six times that I'd pay you back and I will, alright? I let you have first pick of what we looted from those Gith. How much more do you want?"
He leaned against the wall and pulled out a small knife and began cleaning his nails. "What was it you said? A thousand times what it was worth? And tell me exactly how much is that when it was priceless. How do you plan to repay that? Besides, I didn't see you give that crazy kid anything."
She snorted. "No, but I would've if he had asked. He just didn't want anythin' of mine. And you know what, I believed him when he said he needed your knife if he was gonna live. There was somethin' in that kid's eyes, like he could see right through me!" She shuddered involuntarily.
He scoffed. "You're a fool then. That brat's probably laughing at both of us right now while he's using my knife to torture small animals."
She put a hand on his chest and pushed him back and continued to her room. "Hells, Bishop. I didn't want to say anything until it was done, but I made you a new knife. I know it's not the same, but I don't like debts any more than you do. I was gonna see what Sand could do with it before I gave it to you. Or would you be satisfied with one of my swords?"
He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You part with one of your precious swords? That'll be the day, but you're on. Let me see this knife first though." He grinned as she turned away followed her to her room. This was going just as he had planned.
She opened the door and stood aside to let him enter. He stepped in, brushing against her, pushing the door shut behind him. What was that scent? Some kind of oil, peppery but with too much more to tell without getting closer to the wench. He also caught a strong whiff of mead on her breath and wondered how much she'd had. Enough to losen her legs? Couldn't get those apart with a blastglobe.
He'd been watching her since she brushed him off at the forge. When he saw her head to the bath, he decided maybe it was time to wash off the trail dust too. He even shaved, though he had such a heavy beard that the stubble would be back in the morning. She was in there forever though, so he decided to wait for her in the hallway. He wanted to get in a few more digs against Duncan, and he wanted to get in a few more at her too.
"There it is." She waved her arm towards the weapon rack in the room, hoping he would take something and go as she reached for the knife from her table and unsheathed it.
He took the knife from her and ran a finger along the edge. "This what you've been working on all day?"
She shrugged. "It's cold iron. Matches your cold heart."
"Cold--why is that a surprise? Matches the coldness of your nethers better, I think." he replied with a smirk.
He examined it closely. "You really made this yourself?" He looked her in the eye and said dismissively, "I've seen better."
She snorted and lit a candle, then watched him, arms folded across her chest. He set it on the table and turned to the weapon rack, where he dropped to one knee and examined her swords.
He shook his head. So many blades. So what was the farm girl compensating for, hmm? Something she didn't have, or something she wasn't getting? He gave the wench credit for making sure everyone who traveled with them was well armed, but he would've picked a favorite sword or maybe two and sold the rest. Not this wench. She had four long swords and three short swords. He was sure all of them bore some kind of enchantment, or there would be no point in keeping them. He took his time, watching her standing there out of the corner of his eye to gauge her reaction as he examined them one by one, trying to determine which one it pained her the most to part with. That would be the one he took, if he decided he was ready to end this game.
He was good at reading wenches. The way she stood with her arms folded across her chest told him that she was nervous about being alone with him. He thought of that afternoon on the trail and the taste of her was still fresh in his mind and he wanted more. But he'd already decided that earlier while he waited to run in to her leaving the bath.
He wanted to pull her shining pale hair from its braid and bury his face in it. He might have had her already, if he hadn't been stupid enough to make a move on the other farm wench within earshot. He watched her and thought maybe she doesn't want him to leave. She didn't object when he closed the door. She was restless as she shifted from foot to foot, and her discomfort pleased him. He could wait her out, so he took his time, turning each sword over slowly in his hands several times before going on to the next. She finally sighed and lit another candle on the table and threw her towel over the chair to dry, then turned back and watched him. There was something about her and candlelight. It really suited her.
"Well?," she finally sighed in exasperation. "If you can't make up your mind, come back in the morning, Bish. I'm tired. What exactly was so special about that hunting knife, anyway? What did it do?"
He stood and turned towards her and shrugged, taking the knife up from the table again. Part of him was touched that she had gone through the effort to make it for him instead of just buying him off, but he wasn't going to let her know that. "I don't know, nothing special other than it was mine. I can't really explain it other than it was really good for skinning. Not that it matters now."
She rolled her eyes and said "Great, Sand will love that one. I can hear the sarcasm now--'Oh, I'm quite sure I have a reeaally good for skinning spell to enchant this,'" she said, mimicking the mage.
She met his eyes and pointed at the door again. "Just leave it and I'll take care of it tomorrow. Good night, Bishop." She took the knife from him, placed it on the table then turned towards her bed and snatched back the covers. "Maybe if I go to bed, he'll take the hint and leave," she thought.
He, however, saw an opportunity that he had been waiting for all evening. He lunged and caught her braid as her back was turned and pulled her close, slipping his other arm around her waist. She gasped and cursed and struggled, but he held her tight.
He leaned close and whispered in her ear, "Been meaning to tell you for a while that you really should pin up your braid. See how easy it is for an enemy to get ahold of you? Leave you helpless...you could be slammed to the ground hard and stunned, even killed. Or worse."
He smelled her hair then nuzzled her neck and felt her shiver. "Oh, so this is your idea of repayment?" she hissed.
He chuckled lowly. "No, sweetheart. Wouldn't even come close to what you owe me."
She growled a particularly vile curse.
He chuckled. "Excellent. Is that one of your Harborman expressions, or did you pick that up from one of the sailors? I bet His Holiness would faint dead away if he heard you say that, then he'd admonish you for an hour. Well done. I like it when you talk all dirty and blasphemous." He grasped her braid near the nape of her neck and forced her head around and kissed her roughly. But she broke the kiss and struggled to turn away.
"Easy enough to get out of too," she hissed, glaring at him, her blue eyes hard and dark as saphires. She stomped on his instep and followed up quickly with a elbow in the gut. He grunted and lost his grasp on her and she broke away towards the door, cursing herself for her stupidity at even letting him in.
He swore and gave chase, limping painfully on what felt like a broken foot, and caught her by her shirt and pulled her back. She spun and kicked wildly at his crotch but missed, and he answered her with a vicious backhand across her cheek that was sure to blacken her eye. She lunged at him, punching him in the mouth. He wiped blood off his lip and grinned as if he enjoyed it. She grappled him, pounding away at his ribs, then he used his body to slam her against the door and hold her as he tried to get control of her arms. She grabbed a jug off the shelf near the door and smashed it over his head. He cursed, grabbing her arms and jerking them above her head.
She headbutted him and he nearly lost his grip. Damn wench was hard to control. She matched him for height but he guessed she outweighed him too and she was almost as strong as he. Almost, but not quite, and that gave him an advantage. He held her, gazing into her eyes coldly. He didn't know whether he wanted to throttle her or kiss her; the thought either possibility was making him incredibly hard.
Then there came a firm knock at the door and the paladin's voice calling, "My lady, are you alright?"
Bishop held his breath. One word from her and that do-gooder fool would break down the door. Normally he would welcome the fight, but he was unarmed.
She looked at the door and answered after a moment, "My...bear knocked some things over. It's alright, Cas."
Bishop raised an eyebrow as the paladin answered, "Very well. Good night, M'lady."
Neither of them said anything until Casavir walked away to his room. Then Bishop looked at her and smirked. "Lying to a paladin. Which level of the hells do you go to for that one? Now why would you do that? And where were we?"
"Gods, what did I do that for?" she thought, but she felt the answer pressing against her thigh. "I just didn't want the whole tavern in my room after he killed you!," she hissed into his ear. She thought, "Gods, it's bigger than Wyl's. What am I getting myself into? I don't even like him! Just tell him to stop!"
He chuckled and leaned in, pressing against her and kissed her hungrily as she still struggled to break free. She wasn't making this easy. He fought to get control of both hands with one of his to leave the other free to explore a breast through the thin cloth. He kissed her along her neck and throat, then jerked the drawstring loose so that it gaped open. He found the breast he'd been toying with and caught the nipple in his teeth, freeing his hand to slide down her taut belly, pulling up her nightshirt until he found what he was looking for. He heard her gasp and he moaned in turn as he stroked her wetness, not as deeply as he would have liked considering how he had her pinned, but he wasn't about to free her legs yet. He needed her so badly it hurt.
She gasped and thought, "Hells, he's good! Not like Wyl, no telling him 'higher, no lower, more left,' until I finally told him to forget it." Instead he found the spot and was quickly pushing her to the edge.
This wasn't what he expected when he waited for her in the hall. Or was it? He'd wanted this wench from the first time he saw her, but how far would he go to have her? He was a evil bastard to be sure--a murderer many times over, a thief, and while he'd had plenty of rough sex, none of it could have been called rape.
He drew back and looked into her eyes. "If you don't want this, say it. Hells, just scream and his holiness will be at the door. But I'm thinkin' you want it too. I think that's why you asked me in here."
She whispered, "Yeah? Screw you."
He grinned and replied with a grunt as he picked her up and tossed her on the bed, "Yeah, sweetheart, I can do that."