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“I don’t think dragons hunt that way,” said Buck. “But in case they do, we’ll pick up the pace. We’re getting close now anyway, and there’s no reason to drag our feet. We’ll be on the edge of the woods in a day or so. Devon; get the girl up with you. Can’t have her slowing us down.”
Devon nodded and tugged on my tether, bringing me to his side.
“Hold up your hands.”
I held up my bound hands, and he pulled me up and onto the saddle with impressive ease, settling me in front of him.
“Comfortable?”
I nodded.
“Good.”
We rode on.
Again, I noticed that Uther kept looking at the dragon prints until they were out of sight.
“Quiet, you old fool,” growled Vassek. Uther had been muttering to himself again, as he had when we saw the last print, and I saw on his face a melancholic look.
Riding instead of walking was a relief as my legs had started to ache from the long days of tramping along behind Devon’s horse, relieved only when it was felt that I was slowing them down. But I had to admit, though I hated myself for it, there were other perks to riding like this.
Devon’s strong arms were around me as he held the reins, his broad chest against my back, and I moved unavoidably against him as the horse trotted on at the faster pace we were now setting. It was a more pleasant position to be in than I liked to confess and I wondered if Devon was finding it similarly so—a man with a girl jogging up and down in his lap could be forgiven for inadvertently enjoying himself.
But if Devon was pleased with this new arrangement then, as ever, he made no outward sign of it.
“Can you get your hair out of my eyes? I’d like to see where we’re going.”
He remained all business. I was the cargo, and if there was anything appealing about the shape of this particular cargo, or anything delightful about it bouncing around in his lap, then he hid such delight well.
He hid it a damn sight better than I did, as I found my cheeks becoming increasingly flushed with every bounce. Maybe it was the contrast between him and the childish behavior of the other mercenaries, but there seemed to me to be something defiantly masculine about Devon’s presence that got under my skin in a way I couldn’t place, but which seemed to warm me from the inside. I’d immediately identified him as the oldest of the group, but the more I looked at him, the more I wondered. Buck could be his senior, so could Vassek, maybe even Vorst. You had to look at Devon to notice that he was younger than he acted, that professionalism, which seemed to inform everything he did, could fool you into seeing someone in his mid-thirties when the face was closer to that of a man in his late or even mid-twenties.
He was older than me of course, and older than any man I’d been with. Maybe it was that which made this situation so…engaging. It wasn’t just that masculinity he seemed to exude, but that he made me feel small and feminine, in a way that a girl trained to fight in the mountains seldom felt and perhaps wasn’t supposed to.
Though I was somewhat ashamed of that feeling, I also rather liked it. I didn’t like being Devon’s captive, but I liked his arms around me, perhaps I even liked being in his control.
Though I would also like to try him being inmycontrol.
I shook my head, dispelling a train of thought that was becoming increasingly troubling and which was unwittingly plunging my cheeks into an ever deeper crimson.
“Must you?” Devon pushed my hair away and spat a few stray strands out of his mouth. “Are you alright?”
“What?” I started. “Yes.”
“You’ve gone a funny shade. Getting too much sun. Try lying flat against Siegfried’s neck. You’ll be less exposed.”
Anything that hid my red face from him was good, but lying flat along the horse’s mane pushed my hips back towards Devon as he rose and fell with the movement of the horse.
It was awkward, but as crosses to bear went, there were worse ones. When life is hard on you, sometimes all you can do is lie there and enjoy it.
***
Again, it was the blue skies that seemed to pose the biggest threat as the day wore into afternoon. Ahead of us was a ragged line of hills masquerading as mountains, creating a jagged silhouette against the blue.
“Dragon territory,” said Vorst, firmly, making Chico shudder.
Though I tried to mentally dismiss this as alarmist nonsense, it was hard not to see that rocky landscape as a miniature version of the dragons’ natural habitat, and so the ideal place for them to stake out while they were away from home.
“We’ve got to go over and through the mountains,” said Buck. “If we go around them, it’ll be an extra few days out in the open, possibly with that thing watching us.”
