"Where are you going?" she whispered.
"Why should you care?" He smiled bitterly as he glanced back at her. "Perhaps to the kadine tent. Would you like to come along? Do you wish to observe the barbarian at his pleasure?"
"My words were hasty," she said haltingly. "I didn't mean it."
"I think you did. It explains much. I'm letting you go tonight because I'm sickened of violence." He paused. "But that doesn't mean I'll feel the same tomorrow."
Before she could answer, he strode out of the tent.
Tess gazed after him. Was he going to the kadine tent, or had he said that to hurt her?
What did she care if he did go?
She did care.
She was filled with a wild mixture of anger, rebellion, pain… and regret.
She had hurt him. She had flung the one charge his mother had hurled at him. All his life he had fought to overcome the savagery within— and she had told him he had failed.
It had been the fault of that old demon Hakim. If she had not been so upset, she would never have thrown that word at Galen. Now, she had a double score to settle with Hakim.
She moved to the entrance of the tent and gazed out into the darkness. Hakim should be punished, not only for beating that poor half-grown girl but for Galen's hurt as well. Yet Galen had said that he could do nothing.
Which didn't necessarily mean Tess was equally bound. Punishing Hakim might be a trifle difficult considering the delicacy of the situation, but she wasn't stupid. If she thought carefully and weighed all aspects of the problem, there should be a way…
Galen tightened the leather straps of the burgundy-colored carobel about his waist before swinging carefully into the saddle. Twenty-six riders were already at the rope barricade at the other end of the encampment. The men had stripped down to only trousers and flowing shirts, the carobel jars bright, multihued patches of color on their backs. An elder of the El Zalan who had won many races in his youth had been given the honor of dropping the yellow silk camosa to start the race and was pacing solemnly back and forth before the rope barricade.
Hakim nodded unsmilingly to Galen as he rode past him to the barricade. Evidently, the bastard had found another carobel adequate to his needs, Galen thought bitterly as he noticed the sky-blue jar fastened on the old man's back.
"Good fortune, Galen."
Galen looked away from Hakim to see Sacha strolling toward him. "You're not riding? I thought you told me last night you were going to participate. "
Sacha didn't meet his gaze as he reached out and patted Selik's neck. "I feel too lazy this morning. I'm travel-weary." He made a face. "Besides, I never make it past the fourth jump before my carobel breaks and I'm drenched with perfume. I have no desire to spend the rest of the day in the bath trying to get rid of the odor." He stepped back and gestured to the crowd gathered behind ropes where the riders had assembled. "I'll stay here and wait and watch with the rest."
But Tess was neither watching nor waiting. Galen's gaze went to their tent, and his hand tightened on the reins. After their argument last night, he had not expected her to bid him good fortune, but still a frisson of anger went through him.
"Are the jumps bad?" asked Sacha, still looking at the crowd.
"No worse than at any other carobel."
"Which is bad enough," Sacha muttered.
Galen raised his brows quizzically. "I'm touched by your concern."
Sacha smiled with an effort. "He's ready to drop the camosa. You'd better join the others."
Galen nodded jerkily as he nudged Selik forward. He must rid himself of emotion and concentrate only on the race. It was not necessary that he win, but it was important he present a powerful and dignified figure to the other sheikhs, and that meant keeping his carobel intact for the entire race. He kept his face turned away from his tent as he joined the other riders at the rope barricade.
A hush fell over the crowd behind the confining ropes.
The yellow camosa fell to the ground.
The second jump was a fallen tree with great gnarled branches that had been dragged across the trail.
Selik jumped, faltered as he landed, and then was up and running again. Kalim followed, but Galen could hear him cursing as his carobel shifted on his back. He carefully adjusted the leather straps and rode on. Not so with many of the riders behind him. One horse was already down, flailing desperately to gain his feet. The horse of Ladar, the young sheikh of the El Zabor, shied, sending him crashing into a tree on the side of the trail, shattering his carobel. The sickening sweet stench rose to mingle with the dust-clogged air.
"You smell like a strumpet I wouldn't bother to bed, Ladar," Hakim called jubilantly as his horse made it across the fallen tree with carobel intact. "See how a real warrior does it."
Galen bent down in the saddle, murmuring to Selik.
"What is this?" Hakim's roar was so outraged that Galen glanced again over his shoulder.
He was just in time to see another rider lift effortlessly over the barricade and race past Hakim down the trail.
Tess, a bright red carobel fastened on her back, was leaning forward, urging Pavda on. She passed Hakim, then Kalim, gaining on Selik.
"What in Hades do you think you're doing?" Galen shouted as she came within hearing distance.
Her laugh answered him as she bent low, her red hair gleaming in the sunlight.
He heard Hakim's muttered curses as Pavda sprayed dust in his face.
Tess took the next jump across the stream only yards behind him. Two riders fell, their carobels shattering and spilling the heavy, perfumed liquid into the waters of the brook. Kalim had lost speed and was falling behind. Hakim made the jump and pounded after them.
A four-foot brush barricade barred the path a mile farther along. Selik was still in the lead, but Pavda was on his heels as they drew close to the barrier. "It's too high for Pavda. Go around it, dammit," Galen called over his shoulder.
She shook her head, the color in her cheeks as brilliant as her glittering eyes.
Galen muttered a curse and then turned back as the jump was upon him. Selik made the jump, not without difficulty, and Galen wheeled to watch Pavda sail over the brush pile with only inches to spare.
He breathed a sigh of relief, feeling a flicker of possessive pride mix with his anger as he watched Tess straighten, her carriage and balance perfect, her carobel intact.
Dear God, if he didn't pay more attention to the race, the little minx would be making him eat her dust as she had Hakim!
He turned Selik and touched his whip to the stallion's withers. The horse responded instantly with more power, more strength. Selik and Pavda made the last jump across a nettle-strewn barricade almost together, but Selik drew ahead again on the straightaway leading back to the encampment.