Chains of Fate

Chapter Eight

Kyle's hands were stiff with cold. He peeled his leather gloves off and moved over to the hearth in the center of the main hall, where a fire was burning. He held his hands up, willing them to warm. The North was a harsh territory that very few could tolerate year round. He'd been here several times before, but never long enough to acclimate to the severe conditions. Up on the mountain, the fortress was the coldest spot of all. It was built below the peak, though close enough to be alarmingly high up. A fall from one of the tower windows or gaps in between the walls would result in death.

Servants walked about the fortress, clothed in extra layers to prevent themselves from succumbing to the cold. There was always work to be done and limited hours of daylight. Firewood needed to be chopped, meals cooked, stables cleaned, and laundry washed and dried. Kyle tended to stay out of the way of the help. He was only a temporary guest and required little beyond a bundle of blankets at night and three hot meals a day. On occasion he would ask for a cup of spiced wine to keep his hands busy and his body warm.

After some heat returned to his blood, Kyle went to sit down. To his left was a set of hand shaped chairs positioned around a stone table. There were several of these scattered about the hall. Kyle picked a seat closest to the hearth and far away from the raised dais at the far end. He waited for some time until finally, a sound from behind alerted him to another person entering the quiet space. A petite woman wrapped in furs sauntered into the hall. Her short blonde bob bounced up and down as she walked. She stopped before Kyle for a moment, gave him a once over, then proceeded to take a seat across from him. She brought her elbows up and folded her hands.

"So you're back," she said, indicating the obvious. Her heavy, Western accent gave her voice a sweet lilt.

"Rachel," Kyle said, returning the greeting. "Did you miss me?"

"Hardly. Now tell me, what's become of our contact in Lu Bu's army?"

Kyle had almost forgotten that the woman was all business. He thought she might be willing to humor him a while before jumping down his throat about his mission, but she didn't appear to be in the mood for joking around.

"He's been hard at work gathering intel. Last I heard he was gonna be attending a gathering at the King's home. That was a fortnight ago"

"Wonderful. I assume you relayed our instructions?"

"I did," Kyle answered, boredom creeping into his voice. He didn't want to have to go over this shit again.

Rachel smiled. "Lord Dellons is pleased with your work."

"Lord?" Kyle grinned. "Is that what you're calling him now?"

Rachel stiffened. She squeezed her hands. "We've always called him that."

"But he's no lord. Just like I'm no gentleman."

Suddenly, Rachel stood up and leaped across the table. Kyle leaned back in his chair to avoid her. But she was fast and in his face before he knew what had happened. With cat-like grace she climbed onto his lap and pressed into him, sliding a thin blade beneath his chin. She held it to his throat.

"You still haven't learned when to hold your tongue, Mercenary. Perhaps, I should cut it out for you."

Rachel pressed the blade flush against his skin so that when he moved his head he could feel its steel edge digging into his flesh. Kyle had half a mind to dare her to do it and get it over with, but his pride made him swallow the words. Instead, he wound his arm around her back, small hunting knife in hand. Rachel reacted instantly. A surprised gasp fell from her lips when he poked her with the knife's pointy tip.

"Should we see which of us is faster with a blade?" he asked, gaze lowering to her open bodice. The width of her chest was on display for him, bringing back memories of their shared nights together.