race upon which one has placed a large wager."
If he'd slapped her, he couldn't have had such a terrible effect. She recoiled, repulsed by the philosophy he claimed to have. "You can't possibly mean that."
"Oh, but I do. The lower ranks of soldiers are tools, Miss Fitzgerald, weapons to be wielded by those in command. To become a soldier, one has to face that reality, even if it is only within the most secret recesses of one's mind. I admit that there are officers who have a great love for their men, who suffer great pain at their death. I've seen that hell in their eyes long after battles are finished. But don't make the mistake of assuming I am one of that kind. I have no attachment to anything save logic and intellect."
"If I believed that was true, I would feel very sorry for you. But it makes no sense that you would take such a risk, cripple your own career to save lives unless you cared."
"Ah, stubbornly optimistic to the end. I wish you would quit attempting to look for some good in me. The only result will be eyestrain."
Why was it that his words hurt so deeply? Rhiannon wondered. "I wonder why it bothers you so much," she said, her chin bumping up a notch. "Perhaps you are afraid I might find something you've overlooked."
"You might as well attempt to breathe life into stone, my dear. As for your sympathy, you're wasting it. I prefer my life as it is." He limped down the stairs, paced a little way out into the grass, still bearing the prints of the other men's boots.
Rhiannon was silent for a moment, a little lost, a little desolate. "At least now you know who your enemy is," she said, attempting once more to find something bright in the dark web of danger surrounding them.
"It would seem so at first glance," Redmayne said, his voice totally noncommittal. "I've little doubt the good lieutenant wishes me dead. Were it merely a bullet in the back, I'd have no trouble believing he'd pulled the trigger. However, that he'd have the intellect, the guile, the patience to carry out a scheme cunning enough to fool me—that is hard to believe indeed." He turned back to her, something strange in his eyes. "I need to get back to my garrison at once.
Free myself of any distractions—fairy-born maidens, to be exact, wielding lethal bowls of gruel."
He wanted her safe, Rhiannon guessed. "You needn't be afraid for me."
He sighed. "You will persist in draping me with virtues I don't possess. It's a most tiresome habit. You are purely incidental, my dear. My interest is in this coil I've become caught up in. You see, I never could resist a puzzle. And this one grows more intriguing by the moment."
He was talking about his own life, about being hunted, stalked by assassins, men who were willing to betray him, to murder him. Yet his voice was as calm as if he were discussing the guest list for a Saturday evening musicale.
She might even have believed his heart had turned to stone, as he so obviously wished she would, were it not for one tiny flaw in his facade. The echoes of his desperate cries for his father, and the tiniest hint of fear that had played about his mouth when she walked out of the caravan alone to confront the men who might have come to kill him.
He turned away, but she didn't have to look into the handsome planes of Captain Redmayne's face to see.
CHAPTER 6
Redmayne paced off a few steps, grateful for the burning pain in his wounded leg. It almost distracted him, seared away the unfamiliar feelings this woman unloosed inside him. She was the black plague of emotions, virulent enough to be contagious even to him. And he damn well needed to be rid of her. "Hitch up that horse of yours at once," he bit out, trying to ignore her incessant chipping away at the temper he'd almost forgotten he possessed. "We're leaving. Now." He lanced her with a frigid look that should have left her quaking.
Her lips thinned, but that couldn't disguise their softness, the ripe smudge of strawberry pink against the fresh
If he'd slapped her, he couldn't have had such a terrible effect. She recoiled, repulsed by the philosophy he claimed to have. "You can't possibly mean that."
"Oh, but I do. The lower ranks of soldiers are tools, Miss Fitzgerald, weapons to be wielded by those in command. To become a soldier, one has to face that reality, even if it is only within the most secret recesses of one's mind. I admit that there are officers who have a great love for their men, who suffer great pain at their death. I've seen that hell in their eyes long after battles are finished. But don't make the mistake of assuming I am one of that kind. I have no attachment to anything save logic and intellect."
"If I believed that was true, I would feel very sorry for you. But it makes no sense that you would take such a risk, cripple your own career to save lives unless you cared."
"Ah, stubbornly optimistic to the end. I wish you would quit attempting to look for some good in me. The only result will be eyestrain."
Why was it that his words hurt so deeply? Rhiannon wondered. "I wonder why it bothers you so much," she said, her chin bumping up a notch. "Perhaps you are afraid I might find something you've overlooked."
"You might as well attempt to breathe life into stone, my dear. As for your sympathy, you're wasting it. I prefer my life as it is." He limped down the stairs, paced a little way out into the grass, still bearing the prints of the other men's boots.
Rhiannon was silent for a moment, a little lost, a little desolate. "At least now you know who your enemy is," she said, attempting once more to find something bright in the dark web of danger surrounding them.
"It would seem so at first glance," Redmayne said, his voice totally noncommittal. "I've little doubt the good lieutenant wishes me dead. Were it merely a bullet in the back, I'd have no trouble believing he'd pulled the trigger. However, that he'd have the intellect, the guile, the patience to carry out a scheme cunning enough to fool me—that is hard to believe indeed." He turned back to her, something strange in his eyes. "I need to get back to my garrison at once.
Free myself of any distractions—fairy-born maidens, to be exact, wielding lethal bowls of gruel."
He wanted her safe, Rhiannon guessed. "You needn't be afraid for me."
He sighed. "You will persist in draping me with virtues I don't possess. It's a most tiresome habit. You are purely incidental, my dear. My interest is in this coil I've become caught up in. You see, I never could resist a puzzle. And this one grows more intriguing by the moment."
He was talking about his own life, about being hunted, stalked by assassins, men who were willing to betray him, to murder him. Yet his voice was as calm as if he were discussing the guest list for a Saturday evening musicale.
She might even have believed his heart had turned to stone, as he so obviously wished she would, were it not for one tiny flaw in his facade. The echoes of his desperate cries for his father, and the tiniest hint of fear that had played about his mouth when she walked out of the caravan alone to confront the men who might have come to kill him.
He turned away, but she didn't have to look into the handsome planes of Captain Redmayne's face to see.
CHAPTER 6
Redmayne paced off a few steps, grateful for the burning pain in his wounded leg. It almost distracted him, seared away the unfamiliar feelings this woman unloosed inside him. She was the black plague of emotions, virulent enough to be contagious even to him. And he damn well needed to be rid of her. "Hitch up that horse of yours at once," he bit out, trying to ignore her incessant chipping away at the temper he'd almost forgotten he possessed. "We're leaving. Now." He lanced her with a frigid look that should have left her quaking.
Her lips thinned, but that couldn't disguise their softness, the ripe smudge of strawberry pink against the fresh
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