Daughter of the God-King(109)

“You would not succeed,” said Dimitry.

The associate paused for a long moment, then turned to face Dimitry, and the two men took the measure of each other. Then with a lightning-quick movement the associate pulled a knife from his belt, but Dimitry was faster and leapt to grasp the other’s arm with both hands, staying the descent of the knife. The associate’s free hand clutched at Dimitry’s, the scar plainly visible, and the two strained for an advantage, their hands locked together.

“Step back,” Dimitry said softly, and Hattie realized he was speaking to her. She obeyed, but continued to hold the sword and the pistol before her. If things did not look well for Dimitry she would shoot, needed information or not.

Such a strategy was unnecessary, however. The associate’s arm began to tremble with exertion and then the knife fell from his hand and clattered to the ground where Dimitry kicked it aside. The two men broke apart and squared off, circling, but with no hurried or overt movements. It was a strange and subdued form of fighting, as though each knew what the other would do and so all inefficient movements were not even attempted. Occasionally, one or the other would make a quick strike that was always parried by his adversary, their actions quick and deft. Soon it became apparent that the associate was on the defensive, his face wet with perspiration and his jaw set in an attitude of endurance—on an elemental level Hattie knew Dimitry was enjoying this demonstration of his mastery over the other man while she watched.

Finally, with a quick movement Dimitry successfully closed on his adversary and the two grappled until Dimitry secured his throat in the crook of his arm, squeezing while the associate gasped for breath and his face empurpled. After a few seconds he dropped to the ground, unconscious.

Her husband roughly turned the man over and pulled his arms behind his back. “I will need your sash.”

“You should be better prepared,” she chided. “I am running out of ribbon.”

“If you had more ribbon I would use it to bind you to me,” was the mild reply as he quickly secured the man’s hands.

“I am sorry, Dimitry—I couldn’t stay there, truly.”

He was philosophical as he gagged the man with a length of linen torn from his gallibaya. “It is of no moment—you did well to have us out before the soldiers come.”

“Will you kill him?”

He glanced up at her, amused. “Perhaps not; we shall see.” He said a quiet word in his own language and his cohort from the tomb materialized at his side. Hattie realized her heroics with the weapons had been unnecessary—nothing had been left to chance. After hearing an instruction the man nodded, then hoisted the associate over his sturdy shoulder to disappear into the darkness.

Dimitry placed a gentle hand under her chin to examine her cut lip. “Are you all right?”

“A few cuts and bruises,” she admitted. “I will recover.”

“Come with me and we shall recover together.” He took the sword from her and slid it through his corded belt, then turned to fetch the horse.

“Truly? I can come with you?” This seemed too good to be true.

Lifting her at the waist, he placed her atop a large rock. “Quickly, now.” He mounted the horse and held out his hand to her so that she stepped onto his stirruped foot and was launched up behind him, her petticoats bunched up so that her lower legs were exposed. She clutched at his waist while he wheeled the animal around and urged it forward, kicking it into a gallop so that the gravel flew and Hattie held on for dear life. “Where do we go?” she gasped in his ear.

“Hold on,” was his only response.

Hoping he could see the road well enough in the moonlight, she decided she’d rather not watch and instead closed her eyes, clinging to him with her cheek pressed against his back. She gauged that they headed toward the entrance to the valley at what seemed to be an impressive clip for a few breathless minutes. Then he placed a hand over both of hers at his waist to hold her secure as the horse suddenly bounded up a hill on the side of the road near the entrance. Gritting her teeth so that she didn’t cry out in alarm, Hattie hung on until the lunging animal reached the crest and then—finally—their headlong dash appeared to be stayed for a moment. The horse’s sides heaved as it caught its breath, and Hattie peered out from behind Dimitry to view the desolate valley stretching out below them. With his gaze fixed upon the narrow entrance, he absently picked up one of her hands to kiss it.

Into the silence Hattie said, “Bing knew—she knew all along.”

He was unsurprised. “Her brother was no fool; I imagine he told her.” His hand caressed hers at his waist. “It did not matter to her, Hattie. Do you see?”