Chapter 6
Proper Introductions
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Rowan choked around a piece of egg. Grim, no matter what else was an absolute rogue. He flirted and flattered outrageously and she
knew without question meant none of it. Unbelievable stories flowed from his lips effusively the likes of which she had not heard since her
grandmother died. Maybe he had been a sailor once because he definitely had his share of tall tales and sea stories.
At least he was careful not to make any sudden movements, for which Rowan was very grateful. She was so nervous, she would probably
jump out of her skin if he did. One of the odd things that struck her about his stories was that Grim always made a point of telling her things
that had happened ‘a long time ago’, like he was worried about telling her anything new or recent. Even so, Grim told his tales with such
details and enthusiasm, Rowan couldn’t help but wonder how many he had actually lived through. They had enough wild creatures and
improbable events that she was glad he had not decided to enlighten her as to what was fact and what was fiction. Right now she only felt
equipped to handle discussions about weather or food, everything else was just a little too much.
The meal was definitely worth talking about too. It had been a wonderful surprise when she had walked into a small alcove to find it
drowning in a feast. A sumptuous buffet had been laid out with all sort of exotic looking foods. The scent alone was enough to set her
mouth watering to an embarrassing degree, but she had been shocked at the number of dishes. Once she thought about it, it just made
sense. Putting a selection of food out was probably a lot easier than asking what she wanted to eat. They probably wouldn’t have had a
clue as to how to prepare what she would ask for anyway.
Rowan hid her rueful grin with another sip of delicious tea. She wouldn’t have known what to ask for either. After existing for so long on
travel food and Neutella, she had almost forgotten what a real meal could taste like. It was almost shocking to be eating something other
than dried nuts and prepackaged camping food. Her mouth had watered so much, Rowan was glad she was not obliged to talk for a while
because she would have definitely embarrassed herself. Even as she filled her aching stomach, she kept an watching her surroundings
unable to really relax in the unfamiliar environment.
She was not the only one making careful observations. Grim ate sparingly, spending most of his time telling tales and watching her like a
hawk. She was so hungry, even his close scrutiny didn’t inhibit her appetite. Although she craved protein, Rowan decided to exercise
caution until she learned more of these people and their culinary habits. What looked like scrambled eggs, little squares of fruit and a
couple of slices of light colored, home-baked bread all made it on to her plate. The meats she avoided completely out of habit, it had taken
only very nasty infection to teach her distrust of unknown meat supplies. Until she learned more of this place, she was not going to risk
even the fish.
The utensils on the table revealed a surprising mix of cultures. There was an odd combination of a fork and spoon, as well as blunt knife-
like objects with forked ends along with a great deal of less identifiable utensils. There was even something that looked remarkably like
chop sticks. Master Yu had long ago drilled into her the courtesy of not continuing to butcher her food at the table, so she chose the slim,
ivory sticks with a feeling of relief. She doubted that Grim had the same sensibilities as Master Yu, but the habit was comforting none the
less. She concluded her feast with a bowl of lovely little yellow fruits that resembled grapes in size and texture, but tasted faintly of citrus. If
only she had a cup of something with large amounts of caffeine, the meal would be perfect.
As if on cue, a small tea service was wheeled into the room by a man that Rowan had not yet met. From the looks of his clothes, she
decided he was some sort of servant. Grim thanked him and sent him out the door before she could do much more than note an unusually
tall and thin frame. A smell tantalizingly like chocolate rose from the pot, immediately drawing her attention a faintly bitter undertone to the
scent had her thinking she might get her wish after all.
As she was savoring second cup, a flash of red caught her eye. Her gaze was helplessly drawn to the massive ring that rested on Grim’s
finger. The stone was glowing softly, not dependent in any way on the meager light of the room. She was still trying to figure out that
phenomena when the man from the plateau strode into the room, ratchetting her tension through the roof.
It didn’t help that Lord Cantrell looked better now that he’d had a chance to wake up. His shear physical presence was enough to leave her
breathless, though Rowan was not sure if it was due to his appearance or some inborn sense of power. A wave of energy surrounded him
leaving the very air charged with his presence. The long, dark hair she remember was pulled neatly back and gathered in a simple leather
thong. In place of the black leather of the day before, he now wore loose dark brown leather pants and an undyed shirt that appeared to be
made of linen. A sleeveless jerkin almost stiff with embroidery covered him from shoulder to thigh and a familiar looking sword belt
clinched clasped his waist, though no weapons other than a dagger hung from it now. His feet were covered with soft suede boots that
looked well used. Prickles of alarm thrilled through her as she realized he moved like a man pursued by an unpleasant purpose.
He was younger than she first thought, maybe owning only a few more years than her own, but his eyes were changed everything. They
marked his face with pain and almost unspeakable grief. Looking into those eyes, she knew that this man was ancient in sorrow. Rowan
knew instinctively this man was haunted, pursued by some darkness that shadowed his soul. Master Yu would have called him demon-
ridden.
Rowan barely repressed the urge to burst into hysterical laughter as the enormity of it all hit her. After yesterday, it seemed entirely possible
that the man was indeed haunted by demons. In an effort to regain her self control, Rowan let her eyes flicker over the rest of his form. It
only served to confirm her earlier impressions of a lethal hunter. If Grim acted the cat, this man was a wolf. No, that was wrong. This man
was a wolfhound; a hunter born and bred to hunt other predators. Lord Cantrell, did not seem to mind her quiet perusal and returned her
gaze with equal interest. She wondered what he saw in turn.
Grim rose, as graceful as mist to stand beside her. “Lord Cantrell, please allow me to introduce Rowan Kelly. Rowan Kelly, Lord Cantrell.”
The introduction was done smoothly, but the irritation reflected in Lord Cantrell’s eyes made her uneasy. For a moment he even looked
angry, but it passed before she could try and guess its origins. All in all she decided to be cautious as she offered her hand in greeting.
“Lady Kelly, I am pleased to meet you.” Lord Cantrell’s voice was deep and hoarse. When he took her offered hand, she expected her
fingers to be crushed in a firm grip since it was hard to imagine any gentleness in him after looking at his hard eyes. Rowan could not
conceal her shock when he lifted her fingertips with a light touch and brought them to his lips for a whispering caress. Electric heat flashed
through her at the warm touch of his mouth. This is definitely better than a handshake, she mused silently. A lot better.
Mentally she shook her head, trying to force some sense back into her brain. She was on another and obviously weird world, in front of
some sort of noble, but all she could think of was how good he smelled. Her hormones definitely had an odd sense of timing. Oh, but the
man was lethal, she conceded to herself. She blinked to clear her eyes, knowing instinctively that she looked dazed. Struck by lightening
was more like it.
“I must thank you, Lord Cantrell,” she stammered as she tried to cover her bemusement, “for saving my life and for all this.” She indicated
the suite and her clothes in a single sweeping gesture, hoping to distract the men from her suddenly flushed face, all the while trying to
analyze why she felt such a powerful response to her rescuer. It was his eyes, she decided. His sorrow pulled at her heart, everything in her
cried out to soothe the pain she saw there.
“Lady Rowan, you are far too generous.” He released her hand suddenly as if he had been burned. Rowan had to struggle to withhold her
gasp of disappointment while her hand still tingled from his touch. “You were only at risk because of the nightmares following me. Your
timely assistance ensured both of our escapes. It is I who should be thanking you.”
Rowan watched his face as he spoke. It was all sharp lines and angles, as though even the memory of the event was painful. This man
was far easier to read than Grim. He was not happy at all and the self mocking twist to his lips proclaimed clearly that he blamed himself
bitterly for that situation. She would be willing to bet that he was upset with her presence and that bothered her more than she cared to
contemplate. She was not able to suppress the sudden impulse to speak her mind.
“As I recall, my Lord, you would have been perfectly safe if you had not been required to defend someone.” Deliberately, she inserted humor
into her tone, calling on all the harsh lessons her family taught her of manipulation. They were really good at that, and for once she was
grateful for their civil cruelty. She wanted Lord Cantrell off balance so she could force him to reexamine the situation and quit blaming
himself. It was kind of insulting that he was so upset about saving her life. It brought out the worst in her.
She held up her hand to tick off her points. “You did not have to stop. You certainly did not have to sacrifice your maneuverability to stand in
front of some idiot who refused to run, and you didn’t have to step forward to fight when you obviously expected to die. I really don’t want your
thanks, Lord Cantrell, when you were the one who was prepared to die for me.”
She shrugged, trying to banish her discomfort at the thought. Only one other person had ever defended her before. The thought had
something softening dangerously in her chest that she really couldn‘t afford at the moment . She gave him a tight smile. “I certainly was not
half as brave as you. I was planning on running as soon as I knew those things would have trouble following.”
“How is it that you knew my mind?” Lord Cantrell’s voice was a softly modulated purr of danger.
“It was obvious. You are not particularly good at keeping your thoughts from your face, my lord.” She replied hastily, hoping he would accept
her explanation. The last thing she needed was for these people to assume she could somehow read minds. God, she hoped they didn’t
burn witches, or particularly mouthy women, at the stake. If so, she was doomed.
Lord Cantrell’s mouth twitched before breaking into a huge grin. The tension eased in her chest as a rich laugh broke from him, but her
own humor vanished as her tension was replaced by a deliciously warm feeling. A string of curses danced through her head as she found
herself returning the man’s grin. He had no right to look that good and that laugh was just sinful and totally unfair to women.
“Perhaps then, Lady, we can agree that we saved each other’s life.” He offered, breaking into her thoughts. “As for your list of other options,
they do not exist when fighting the Unclean. I would sooner chop off my arm than leave someone unprotected in their path.” He shot Grim a
look of pure mischief. “We can always blame the faulty ring if we must blame something.”
Grim laughed, “I already told her it was my fault, my friend.”
The friendly tone and the banter reminded her of Brian’s teasing, unfortunately the illusion of familiarity loosening the reins on her tongue.
Rowan heard herself responding to the light teasing tone with disbelief . “Since we already know each other, or at least have fought
together, I must ask that you call me Rowan. The only people that hold the title ‘Lady’ in my world, the way you use it anyway, are ones that
claim some sort of noble blood.” She gave them both a lopsided grin. “My country rejected hereditary nobility hundreds of years ago. Rowan
or Miss Kelly are the only names I own.”
He blinked, then he laughed again; its pure rich tone seeming to rise up from his soul in an unexpected bubble. Rowan could see the
surprise dancing in his eyes and was left to wonder if it was from her statement or his own laughter. “I think I would like your country since I
have little use for titles myself.” A chuckle drew her attention from his mesmerizing smile to Grim’s wicked grin.
Grim was watching Lord Cantrell with knowing eyes. “I think, my friend, you have developed a talent for understatement. You despise titles.”
Grim’s voice held a wealth of dry humor.
Lord Cantrell gave an eloquent shrug, not bothering to deny the claim as he turned his devastating attention back upon her. “I would ask
that you call me Jalhar, for I too claim no noble blood.”
Rowan caught Grim’s vague muttering about nobility just reeking in every drop of blood in Jalhar’s sanctimonious body and had to smother
another laugh. Her eyes were dancing with mischief as she met Jalhar’s fascinated gaze.
“That means, Jalhar, that you are the rarest of nobles.” She smiled as his brows drew together at the teasing tone in her voice. “You must
have earned the title, and can blame no one but yourself for its headaches.”
Jalhar grimaced and Grim started laughing so hard tears trickled down his face. “Oh, I think I really like you, Rowan.” Grim was making
small choking noises as he wiped the tears from his eyes. “I really do. If you knew the grumbling we all have had to put up with...” he trailed
off into another helpless snicker. Rowan noticed Grim’s ring was glowing with its own light again and Jalhar’s was answering its brilliance.
“Oh shut up, old man,” Jalhar mockingly gritted out from between clenched teeth. “I bet you did not mention your own plagued title.” At Grim’
s grimace Rowan could no longer hold her laughter.
“You had better eat, Jalhar.” Grim was still seemed unable to control the smirk on his face. “I think your temper needs assistance before we
attend the rest of the morning’s business.”
Rowan took her seat again as Jalhar moved to the table. He filled his plate with enthusiasm before he settled in the chair beside Grim. He
applied himself to the food like a man who hadn’t eaten days. Rowan was interested to note that he, too, avoided all the meats, choosing
only fruits and sweet rolls. He barely looked up from his plate when Grim cleared his throat, his eyes still sparkling from the remembered
humor.
“Now where were we?” Grim asked with the same grin she was beginning to get used to.
“Drinking this wonderful concoction as I recall,” she replied gracefully. If he wanted to play ‘nice table manners’, she had survived enough of
her parent’s dinner functions to know the game.
“Ah yes.” Grim’s expression sobered so quickly Rowan began to wonder if the earlier amusement had all been illusion. “Well, I suppose
we had best address the business at hand now that we are all here.” He sighed and steepled his hands carefully on the table. Rowan felt a
chill slide down her spine as she saw how perfectly blank his face had become.
“Please do.” Her mouth went dry in spite of the drink she had just taken.
“I told you I was going to have to find your world,” he stated as she nodded. Rowan had avoided thinking about that too deeply. It was a
perfectly acceptable way to avoid panic.
“In all honesty, I must tell you it is more of a question of if I can find your world, rather than when and it is not very likely.” Grim’s eyes were
frozen orbs of winter as he delivered his news. He’d completely distanced himself they’d shared only a moment before. Rowan had a
feeling that she was seeing the real man for the first time instead of one of his many masks. Even that observation took second place to the
terrifying meaning of his words.
Cold shock swept through her as she allowed them to sink into her mind. “If?” she echoed hollowly. Grim nodded, quietly observing her
reaction. He had an air of assured preparedness, as if he were waiting for her to erupt into violence. Rowan absently noted that Jalhar was
no longer eating.
“There is no guarantee of how long it will take, even if I am capable of finding it.” Grim confirmed heavily.
“You can’t just trace where the ring has gone? Follow its energy signature or something?” she found herself asking plaintively, not caring
about the flicker her question brought to Grim‘s eyes. She’d kept hoping it was a simple problem of finding a way to reverse the ring’s
actions. Obviously she had been wrong.
Emotions threatened to overwhelm her. Rowan methodically locked them away as quickly as they rose out of long habit. She needed to
understand this and emotions would just get in the way. There was a faint buzzing in her ears as her pulse slammed faster in panic. She
had to calm down and get control again. She would not cry in front of strangers, such things were best kept private. Like offering a bribe to a
small child, she promised herself a nice, long, nervous breakdown when the entire business was over. Yes, she was definitely going to
allow herself one. Her parents had the money to cover what her insurance wouldn’t. Maybe they would even be relieved by it since, for once,
she would be acting like a normal member of the families.
“It does not work that way unfortunately,” Grim concluded softly, answering her question about the ring. He was still eyeing her like she was
an unstable explosive.
“I see.” She forced the words past paralyzed lips. “That presents quite a few problems then, doesn’t it?” she observed quietly, trying to give
herself time to think. Her brain wouldn’t function. Her mind was racing too fast to focus on any single thought long enough for it to matter. It
was all just a blur of random regrets.
Brian would be absolutely frantic when she did not return in the fall. He had always been against her trips to Europe , uncomfortable with
her lack of escort. She had teased him more than once for his old-fashioned sensibilities, now she knew he had been right. He would look
for her, she knew that without question. He would never give up even if the search destroyed him and all his dreams.
Her mother and father on the other hand, might not notice her absence for another year or more. They had their own ‘real’ families now and
a bevy of wanted and planned children. They might even be relieved at the disappearance of the proof of their embarrassing ‘mistake’.
Each had made it more than clear they had other, far more important, priorities in their lives.
Another panicked realization struck. Unless she was very lucky, she was going to miss defending her thesis. She was going to lose her
grant and her scholarship. Even if she returned, the carefully laid plans for her life were going to be terribly disrupted. It was an effort to
breathe. She forced herself to take deep cleansing breaths in an effort to stop the black spots from dancing before her eyes. Before she
could regain control, Jalhar was crouching beside her seat, his hand placed solicitously on her arm.
“Are you alright?” His voice was kind and worried. She considered his question as she brought the quivering cup to her lips with both
hands. The warm liquid fortified her enough to speak.
“No, I am not,” she stated in an unnaturally calm voice, promising herself that nice long breakdown once more. “But I am not dead, so
things have a chance of improving.” There was moisture in her eyes that she could not blink away and she knew a moment’s panic. She
could not cry in front of them, she just couldn’t. Shakily, she got to her feet, not accepting Jalhar’s proffered hand.
“Please excuse me for a moment.” Turning blindly away from them, she tried to master herself. She could not stop the tears she felt
starting down her cheeks, and fought the urge to scrub them off, not wanting the tell-tale movement to give her distress away. She hated
crying, hated the weakness it showed. Her mother and father had drilled that particular lesson into her at an early age. Weakness was not
to be tolerated, but punished and the painful lessons of the past were too strong to fight. Even a broken arm was to be faced with dry-eyed
desperation.
She had only cried twice since she had left her grandmother’s house those many years ago. Each time she had curled into a tight ball in
her safely locked room so no one would know. Once had been when she had disappointed Master Yu; the other on the day he died.
Something in her felt like it was dying now.
She staggered blindly into the common area she had seen only an hour before. She could not make out which one of the doors was her
own through the fog of her tears. It was all too much. Her shaking legs carried her toward the fireplace until she found herself blinking
owlishly at the exquisitely carved ivory on the mantle. Despite the blazing heat of the fire, she was shivering with cold.
She might never see Brian again. She had no family anymore, not even the tiny one she had adopted in her heart. Her shoulders shook
with the repressed sobs and her head felt like it was going to explode, but there was no place safe here. No place to give in to the terrible
emotions boiling within her. Even her room was not her own.
Warm arms enfolded her shaking shoulders, turning her away from the scorching fire and pulling her into the sheltering wall of a man’s
chest. She resisted blindly for a moment, rejecting the intimacy. Only her brother had held her so carefully, and never when she was crying
but arms that enveloped her wouldn’t let go. They tightened with almost unbelievable strength, drawing her closer in spite of her helpless
struggles. Soothing noises poured over her head as she was rocked like a small child.
A wild sob was torn from her throat as she was forced to take the comfort Jalhar offered. She couldn’t hold the sorrow in and couldn’t hide it
away as his arms drew her closer. The torrent of agony burst as all the carefully boxed emotions and secretly repressed terrors broke free.
Her wild sobs were muffled against the solid wall of his chest. His muscles rippled as if they were burned by her tears, but his arms
continued to shelter her from the rest of the world. She took what comfort she could. It was a long time before she became aware of the
hands carefully stroking her hair, the soothing noises resolving themselves into words pouring over her head like a warm benediction.
“I am sorry little one, I am so sorry. I understand your sorrow, but you will never be alone, you will always have a place here. I swear on my
life I will protect you, you will not be alone.” Those, and a dozen other astonishing phrases were pouring from his lips and she knew without
question, Jalhar meant every one of them.
He knew; he understood the emptiness that was threatening to consume her. Shock stopped her tears. No one had ever understood
before. No one had ever known the secret terror that lurked inside her soul. What kind of man was he to do this, to know her fears? A
greater shock went through her, she felt safe and truly protected for the first time in a dozen years. She looked up at him wonderingly, her
ragged breathing still shaking her body. Bottomless eyes met her own.
“Feeling better now?” His low voice was as gentle as the hands now stroking her hair.
She nodded, feeling the first stirrings of vague embarrassment. “I am sorry, I never do this…” His arms tightened around her once more,
implying he feared she would try to pull away again. His eyes became sharp and earnest.
“I want you to understand that you will always have a place here. I told the other lords last night that you were under my protection.” His face
held a deep sorrow. “I know I can not replace the loss of your family, even temporarily—” he broke off when an infinitely sad smile crossed
her face.
“My parents are not likely to notice I am missing for a year or more.” She felt him stiffen in shock, but continued anyway. Even in her own
world, her parent’s careless disinterest was uncommon. “Most of my half-siblings do not even know I exist, and the ones that do don’t
particularly care.” She sighed away the bitterness of that truth, as his hand once more began stroking her hair comfortingly.
“Only Brian will notice I am missing, and that will not be evident for a couple of months yet—I hope.” It will nearly drive him insane, she
added softly to herself.
“Brian is your intended?” Jalhar’s tone was oddly muted. Rowan guessed he did not hear of many disposable people.
“No. When my parents decided they did not want to deal with me after my grandparents died, they looked for a socially acceptable way to
dump me onto someone else. Brian’s father was a sensei.” She was unsurprised to note that the word did not translate, so she tried
again. “A sensei is a trainer. Sometimes, the sensei’s most promising students are invited to live with them, or near them. I was taken in by
Brian’s father, Master Yu, even though I am not sure I showed the promise he usually required. I tried though.”
She shrugged, still aching from the memories. “Brian is my brother in every way but blood.” Her eyes were threatening to fill again and she
repressed the urge ruthlessly. She was not going to spend the day weeping like some useless sot. She refused to indulge herself any
longer. She stepped away from Jalhar, feeling oddly disappointed when his arms released her. “I was upset over the loss of the life I have
known, both private and in the lab.” She would not break under this. The ghost of her grandmother would never forgive her, God bless her
cold patrician heart, and Master Yu would be disappointed if she could not regain control of herself. She would not shame them.
Desperately looking around the room for anything resembling a Kleenex, Rowan concluded it was a lost cause. She sadly added that to the
list of things she would miss as she snuffled helplessly trying to avoid making a complete mess of herself. A hand reached over her
shoulder holding a fine linen handkerchief. The ruby ring was glowing with its own light on his finger.
“Thank you,” she whispered as she was once more enfolded in Jalhar’s arms. A warm hand stroked down her back, gently this time,
protectively. They both knew she was far from done with the crying, but the storm had passed for now.
“It is the least I can do,” he murmured as he guided her to the nearest couch "Let's sit down and talk. There are many things we should go
over." Rowan sank into the overstuffed cushions with a resigned sigh. She was feeling wrung out already.
"I suppose it would be best to start by going through my stuff and telling you guys about my life. Maybe there is something I can do here if...
until...." Her fists clinched helplessly as she fought off another wave of panicked tears. Grandma was right, they didn't solve anything and
just gave you a headache. It was time to figure out how she was going to live in this strange place.
Jalhar watched in quiet admiration as she drew the edges of her composure around her like some sort of armor. He had come to her on
instinct, knowing that with everything that had happened she was likely to fall apart. Almost anyone would have been seriously distressed,
she had mastered quickly though some would have been lost in despair for days or months.
The lack of a family’s support could explain some of her fortitude. She had been alone in one way or another for a very long time from the
sound of it. He knew all too well how much that taught you to stand on your own. Some of her strength had to be inborn though and that
pleased him more than it should.
Jalhar prayed that Rowan held a good heart, for he had enough to worry about already. He had sworn for her and was now honor bound to
protect her, even if she proved less than honorable. It was no small complication that he found himself feeling more protective than duty
allowed. He liked this woman who could stand against the Unclean, accept an entirely new world, and impress Grim. The last, of course,
was almost unheard of, especially for a woman.
Grim appeared in the doorway to the room holding a plate in one hand and Rowan’s pack in the other. Being a magic user had some uses,
Jalhar mused, since he would have strained a little under the weight of that pack. One look at Rowan’s face told him why Grim was putting
forth the effort. He liked to keep people guessing at his real capabilities. Truth be told, Jalhar was sure Grim didn’t need to levitate the pack
as large and heavy as it was, the showman in him just wanted it to look effortless.