Moving with that unsettling ease and speed, he glided past them and reclined on the pallet. He was lying on the opposite side from the infant. He patted the middle of the pallet with his hand.
“Come, girls. Sleep. It has been a long day, and tomorrow will be longer. And the days after, as well. We have a considerable distance to travel.”
Quickly, the sisters did as they were told. After the confusion of the preceding minutes, they almost found comfort in this familiar process. Not quite.
The younger sister lay next to him. The gesture of protection for the older came automatically to her. The two of them had protected each other for years, as best they could. If she exhausted him, he might be satisfied. Her sister’s infant would not be disturbed.
Their new owner was still fully clothed. She began to stroke his chest, her fingers working at the laces.
Her hand was immobilized by his own. The man’s grip was gentle enough, but she could sense the iron muscles and sinews in his hand.
“No,” he said softly. “That is all finished. Just sleep.” He moved her hand away.
Uncertainly, she obeyed. She stared at his profile. He was not a handsome man, not in the least. His face was lean and tightly drawn. High cheekbones, a sharply curved nose, thin lips below a thin mustache, clean-shaven cheeks so taut they seemed more like leather than flesh. Except for the mustache, he reminded her more of a bird of prey than a man.
But she found herself relaxing, despite his fearsome appearance. His voice was soft, after all. And she had never been abused by a bird.
His eyes were closed. “Finished,” he repeated. “There will be no more scars.”
* * *
Two days later, at daybreak, he arose from the pallet with his usual energy. The sisters had become accustomed to his way of moving. They no longer even found it frightening.
“Enough time has elapsed,” he announced. “I will be gone for a few days. Three, perhaps four.”
His words brought instant fear. The younger sister’s eyes moved immediately to the tent flap. The older sister, suckling her infant at her breast, did not look up. But her sudden indrawn breath was quite audible.
Their new owner shook his head. “Have no fear. The soldiers in my escort will not molest you. I have given them clear instructions.”
He turned away and began to push back the flap of the tent. “They will obey those instructions. You can be quite certain of it.”
Then, he was gone. The sisters stared at each other. After a few seconds, their tension eased. They still did not know their new owner’s name, since he had not provided it. But they were coming to know him. Well enough, at least.
Yes. His instructions would be obeyed. Even by soldiers.
* * *
He returned at midmorning, three days later. When he entered the tent, he was carrying a leather sack in one hand and a roll of leather in the other. Once flattened on the floor of the tent, the leather roll measured perhaps eighteen inches square.
“Should be big enough to prevent a mess,” he murmured. He jerked his head, motioning the sisters toward him, while he untied the sack.
When they were squatting next to him, their new owner spilled the sack’s contents onto the piece of flat leather.
He had gauged correctly, and grunted his satisfaction. Even with the addition of the fluid pooled at the bottom of the sack, the two objects did not leak blood onto the floor.
Both hands had been severed at the wrist, as if by a razor. Or—
The sisters glanced at the dagger scabbarded to their owner’s waist. They had seen him shave with it, every day. He shaved with the quick and sure motions with which he did everything—except honing the blade. That, he seemed to enjoy lingering over.
One hand was plump. The middle finger sported a large silver ring, with a great ruby set at its center. The other hand was thick and stubby. The little finger was missing.
He rose and moved to one of the chests against the side of the tent. Opening it, he withdrew a small piece of vellum and writing equipment.