Текст книги "Warlord"

Автор книги: Elizabeth A. Vaughan

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

Chapter 18

In the past day, I’d passed through curiosity, terror, fear, and despair, only to find myself in Keir’s arms. I sighed, and melted against him. I was tired and dirty, but far more important, I was home. I leaned in, letting him take control of the kiss, answering his passion with my own. His arms crushed me to his chest. But the rings of his mail pressed into my palms, and I broke the kiss, hissing at the pain.

Keir took my hands in his and gently started to work the bandages loose. He cursed when he saw the abused flesh underneath.

“It’s not that bad,” I whispered. “They’re better than they were.”

Apparently, that didn’t impress him. “Marcus!” Keir called out, not bothering to lift his eyes from my hands.

“Warlord?” Marcus answered from the main area.

“Fetch Lara’s satchel.” Keir brushed his fingers over my hands. I shivered at that slight touch. They did look better to my eyes, the swelling was down and the redness greatly eased.

But Keir remained unimpressed. He eased me over to sit on the edge of the bed.

Marcus coughed and entered with my satchel. He raised an eyebrow at the sight. “Next time, wear gloves.”

I smiled, but Keir didn’t see the humor. “As if she had a choice,” he barked.

I jerked my head back in surprise at the tone in his voice. Keir still wasn’t looking at me as he continued. “I throw her on a horse, no saddle, no reins, and expect—”

“And I’m taken to safety,” I pointed out gently. “As you planned.”

“Planned!” Keir grabbed my satchel and tore it open violently. His voice was filled with disgust. “I’d thought you safe and—”

“Find the green jar.” I kept my voice mild, but I feared for my satchel and its contents, the way Keir was rooting around. If he broke the jar with the ehat musk in it, we’d all regret it. “Marcus, I could use more kavage. And more stew, if there is any left.” Marcus gave me a nod and turned to go. “Oh, and gurt, if you’ve any.”

Marcus turned, and raised his eyebrow.

I shrugged. “I’m hungry.”

“At least you eat,” he grumbled, with a sharp look at Keir. “I’ll bring what I can.” With that he vanished beyond the flap.

Keir had the jar now, the contents of my satchel strewn about the bed. He reached for my hands, but I pulled them away. “They’ll bring water for washing, Keir. Once they’re clean, we’ll put on the salve.” I gave him a smile as I toed off my shoes. “Why not take off your armor?”

“No. Better to be prepared in case of attack.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’re not sleeping next to me in that. My hair will get caught, and then where will we be?”

His laugh burst out, catching him by surprise, and I knew that he’d remembered exactly when my hair had gotten caught in his mail. But he shook his head just the same.

My stubborn Warlord. I leaned in close. “Keir, I want you in my bed this night, and all the nights of our lives. Skin to skin, beloved.”

His eyes blazed bright blue. He leaned down, and I lifted my mouth, and we kissed again. I reached up to pull him close when there was movement at the entrance.

The tent flap moved.

Keir snarled, pulled a dagger and lunged, placing himself between me and—

Amyu, holding two buckets of steaming water. She looked up, then dropped to her knees, the buckets sloshing over as they thumped down. Amyu lowered her head, showing the back of her neck.

“Keir,” I cried out, afraid that he’d kill her. But Keir managed to stop, and stood over the poor girl.

A soft snort, and Marcus stepped in with a tray. He raised that eyebrow of his as he stepped past Amyu to set the tray on the bed. “Foolish child.” Marcus carefully pushed the tray close to me. “You serve a warlord now, not a warrior. Never sneak up on a warlord. Always give warning, to let him know where you are and what you are doing.”

“Forgive me, Warlord.” Amyu spoke carefully. She remained on her knees, her head down.

Keir sheathed his dagger.

“Hisself is even more on edge than normal, given events,” Marcus scolded Amyu as she rose to her feet. “You should know better. Fetch drying cloths now.”

Amyu left as fast as she could.

“Marcus.” I eyed the tray next to me, with two bowls of stew, a pile of bread, and two mugs of kavage. “There is enough here to feed an army.”

Marcus snorted. “Eat what you can. You were wasting away on the slop the warrior-priests were feeding you, no doubt, if you ate at all.”

There was a cough from outside, and Amyu’s hands pushed through the flap, filled with cloths. Marcus ac cepted the bundle, and Amyu’s hands disappeared. Marcus shook his head, and placed them at the foot of the bed. He then eyed Keir, who had not moved. “Simus has the watch. Rafe and Prest are outside. My daggers are sharp, as are Amyu’s.”

Keir drew in a deep breath, then gave a quick nod. He started to shrug out of the mail shirt, and Marcus moved to help him.

“I’ll see to this,” Marcus offered, as he placed the heavy mail over his arm. “You’ll see to your own blades, before they are all over with rust?”

Keir nodded.

“I’ll bring what you need, then. Call if you need anything else.”

“Thank you, Marcus.” I smiled at him.

He paused, then reached out to cup my cheek with his hand, a rare gesture from this man. “Sleep well, Lara.”

I turned my attention to Keir as Marcus left. My Warlord was standing there, in his leather trous and thick quilted tunic he wore under the chainmail. His face was grim as he looked at me.

“Keir,” I started, but he shook his head. He hefted a bucket and moved it close, then grabbed up one of the drying cloths. “Why did you say you could not command them?”

“Let me see to your hands.” He knelt before me, and soaked one end of a cloth in the warm water. I held out my hands, palms up, and he lightly stroked the wet cloth over them.

I looked at his head, his black hair shining in the light from the brazier. But he was focused on his task, so I could drink in the sight of him. It seemed forever since I’d seen him last, although I knew it had been only days.

“What has happened?” I asked softly.

Keir sighed. “A warlord is responsible for the lives of the warriors that follow him, Lara.” He kept his eyes on his work. “Those lives are dear, and are not to be wasted. Death in battle is honorable and expected. Death from affliction is a horror.”

“The Council held you responsible for the plague?” I asked.

“For the deaths,” Keir continued, his voice soft. “I am stripped of my title, Lara. No longer a warlord of the Plains. No army at my command.”

I sucked in a quick breath.

Keir paused, and looked at me with tired eyes. “You may wish to claim another, Warprize.”

I glared at him. “I did not come all this way, Keir of the Cat, to claim another. You are my chosen Warlord.”

“Lara, this changes—”

“Nothing.” I replied. Keir was worn, and tired. I could see it in the tautness of his jaw, in the depths of his eyes. “It changes nothing.”

Keir shook his head, and focused back on my hand. “Oh, but it does. Antas made much of sending a messenger to Water’s Fall, to the warriors I left there. What will they do, when they learn that I am no longer a warlord? What will your people do?”

“I am the Queen of Xy, Keir. That has not changed. You are still Overlord of Xy, and my chosen consort.”

“There are those that will take advantage of this, Lara.” Keir spoke softly, still focused on my hand as he cleaned it. “Durst will certainly see it as an opportunity to—”

I leaned in closer and whispered in his ear. “It changes nothing between us.”

Keir’s hands stilled, his head down.

“I thought you dead, lost to me forever,” I choked out. “Yet here you are, warm and alive and next to me.”

He lifted his head, his eyes brilliant with his own tears. Some of the light in their depths was dimmed. The Council’s actions had been a blow to him, I could see that.

“Nothing else matters, Keir,” I repeated. “Nothing except our love.”

He drew a shuddering breath, and I leaned in and kissed him gently. His lips were soft and gentle, and the touch reassured us both. It might have led to more, except that my stomach chose to grumble at that moment. I broke the kiss, and Keir chuckled,

“Finish your work, my Warlord, so that I can eat.” I held out my hands so that he could finish. “The warriors in Xy will probably do exactly what Rafe and the others have done. Continue to follow you. Besides, there is little chance that the messenger will get through the snows in the mountains.”

Keir shrugged. “Only the elements can say.”

“What did Rafe mean, when he said, ‘That which has been lost can be regained’?”

“The Council agreed that I can enter the combats again, in the spring, and fight for warlord status,” Keir said quietly. “A named warlord has only to defeat any that offer direct challenge. But I would have to fight my way through the tiers to win the status again.” He flashed me a look. “Not an easy thing. Lara.”

“You are a Warlord of the Plains, Keir of the Cat,” I told him. “To me, to your warriors, to the People of Xy. What care I for the word of a Council of stupid bracnects?”

He gave me a wry look.

I made no further comment as he worked on my hands, getting them as clean as he could. I felt his need to care for me, as I needed to care for him.

Finally, when it was done to his satisfaction, he spread the salve over my hands, working it in carefully. I smiled at him when he stoppered the jar. “Another day or two, and they will be fine.”

“So you say,” Keir responded. He tore one of the drying cloths into strips, and wrapped my palms again.

“So I know.” I sat back and flexed my fingers. Keir gathered up my things, and placed them back in the satchel, heedless of the order. There was a soft cough outside, and Marcus entered with a small wooden box. He said nothing, merely handed it to Keir, snatching up the used drying cloth on his way out.

“Keir.” I patted the bed next to me.

He hesitated, then nodded and stood, to remove his swords and daggers, and placed them on the bed, well within reach. When that was done, he lowered himself to the edge of the bed, next to me.

I turned, settled myself so that I faced him. Carefully I pulled the tray around so I could reach it easily. “Keir, you did what had to be done. At Wellspring. At the Council. My hands are fine, and there’s no sign that they’ll sour.”

“I never thought they’d draw blades in a senel. When Antas called for your death—” Keir shuddered. He opened the box in his hands, and I caught the faint scent of clove oil. Keir picked a cloth out of the box, reached for one of his swords, and started to clean it.

I took up a bowl of stew, dipped some of the bread in and started eating.

“They’d stop at nothing to prevent your confirmation.” Keir scowled at his blade. “Honor and truth were abandoned in an instant when they thought they would lose.”

I said nothing, merely ate, and listened.

“I should take you away from here. Back to Xy, where you would be safe and protected.”

I reached for more bread. “Would I?” I dipped some bread in the rich broth and held it out to Keir. He opened his mouth, and I fed him the piece. “Would it really be safer, Keir?”

He chewed, looking at me though dark lashes. “We still don’t know who attacked you on the journey to the Heart.”

“I am safest here, within your protection, My Warlord.” I took up another piece of the flat bread, scooped up some of the meat, and offered it to him. Keir obediently opened his mouth and took it. “You yourself told me that you were trying to bring change to your people, and change is rarely bloodless.” I held out the bowl. “Hold this, would you?”

Keir swallowed and took the bowl from my hand, which let me reach for kavage. He reached for more bread as he spoke. “When word came that you and Keekai had been attacked, I feared the worst.” He dug into the stew. “Simus arrived almost with Keekai’s messenger. Atira and Heath were with him.”

I handed him the mug of kavage, and he took a long drink. “What is the story behind Heath’s eye?” I asked.

Keir handed me back the mug. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and his eyes danced. “Your Xyian friend has odd ideas. He leaped between Atira and her opponent, apparently to ‘protect’ her, or so he said.” Keir shook his head. “As if that warrior needed protecting. He’s lucky all she did was hit him for that insult.”

I chuckled, taking his mug and pressing more bread into his hand. “Yet you leap to my defense fast enough.”

Keir gave me a wry smile. “Your pardon, but you are not a warrior, Lara.”

“True.” I smiled as he started in on the stew. I picked up the other bowl of stew.

“Rafe and Prest told me what you did at the birthing.” Keir looked at me oddly. “Is it true, you cut her open and pulled out the babes? And they all lived?”

“So far as I know, they live. Maybe now I can check on her openly.” I smiled in quiet satisfaction as Keir mopped up the last of his stew. “I felt so much better that Rafe and Prest were there. I was reassured, knowing that they were watching over me, even from a distance.”

Keir nodded, chewing. But then his head jerked up, and he swallowed and fixed me with his glare. “But there will be no more sneaking under tent walls to go healing!”

“I promise, Keir.” I reached out, took the empty bowl and handed him the full one. “After what happened in the village, I promise that I will tell you where I go and why.” I gave him a sly glance. “Not that I promise to obey, mind you.”

“Might as well order the wind not to blow,” Keir muttered. But the corners of his eyes were crinkled, and I knew he understood. I eyed him over the rim of my kavage mug, but said nothing. He smiled then, his shoulders easing down under his quilted tunic. He reached for more bread, and started eating again.

I reached for the gurt, and popped a few in my mouth. For some reason, it still tasted wonderful, and I chewed with enjoyment.

Keir reached the bottom of the bowl, and mopped up the last of the broth with the last of the bread. Mar cus had been right. Not enough to feed an army, but enough to feed one empty warlord.

“I’ll miss Keekai.” I spoke softly, putting my empty kavage mug on the tray and reaching for a few more pieces of gurt. “She was a true friend to you.”

“Even in death.” Keir placed the empty bowl on the tray. “She kept you safe for me.”

“She did.” I caught my breath, remembering the pain. “I thought it was you, riding behind me, guarding me.”

Keir lifted the tray and set it by our feet. “I could not find you.” Keir’s voice was just as soft. “I thought I’d sent you to your death.”

I looked at him, my tears welling up. “Keir.”

He reached out, and I went into his arms and hugged him tight, crying at what might have been. The gurt dropped from my hand, forgotten. No threat of chainmail, so I rested my head on his shoulder, and listened to the beat of his heart. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I should be so happy, but I was so afraid. And now . . .”

“We’re out of balance.” Keir reached for my hand.

I smiled. “It takes the touch of another to bring us back, to center us, am I right?”

“That is so.” Keir rubbed my knuckles, and then started to stroke the back of my hand. “The soul is made of fire, and sits within the left hand.”

I watched as his fingers moved lightly over my skin. “Seems to me it’s a convenient reason to touch another.”

“Really?” Keir arched an eyebrow.

“Really,” I whispered, reaching for his right hand, placing it in mine. “The breath is made of air, and sits within the right hand.” I massaged his hand as best I could, rubbing it lightly with my fingers.

Keir made a sound of appreciation deep in his throat. “How clever we of the Plains are, to have a reason to touch.”

His hands moved then to the bottom edge of my tunic. He worked them up and under, warm as they covered my back with soft strokes. I leaned back, and he eased my tunic over my head. My breastband was next, tossed in a corner. The air was warm, Keir’s hands were warmer still. I shivered at the pleasure of his touch, but I couldn’t resist. “I thought the feet were next?”

Keir smiled. He eased me down to sprawl on the bed. One hand covered my breast. The other worked through my hair, fanning it out over the bed. He chuckled softly, and then held up a piece of gurtle fur that he’d found there.

“The gurtles kept me warm.” I smiled at the memory. “They slept close enough that their fur covered me.”

Keir nodded. “They are trained so.” He stretched out next to me, propping his head up with one hand. The other twirled the strand of gurtle fur, then reached to stroke it around one of my nipples.

I gasped at the sensation. The fur was so soft, yet felt rough against that delicate skin.

Keir chuckled, and continued his assault, moving the fur gently over my breasts in no particular pattern. My breath deepened, and I squirmed until I reached out and captured his hand.

Keir allowed me to wrest the bit of fur away from him. But now his free hand slipped down to my waist, and slid just under the band of my trous.

I shuddered as his hand spread out to cover my belly. “Oh Keir, I’ve missed this so.”

Keir smiled then, that relaxed, sly smile that I knew so well. “I want to see you, Lara,” he whispered.

I lifted my hips, and he tugged down my trous, removing my underthings all in one swift move. I would have curled up in modesty, but he placed his hands on my knees, his eyes hungry, his face filled with desire.

So I stretched out instead, my arms up over my head, and arched my back, feeling slightly embarrassed, but pleased at his reaction.

He rose then, to move up over me, but I lifted my hands to stop him. “Is this fair, my Warlord?” My voice was thick with my own passion. “I want to see you, my Keir.”

He paused, then eased back to stand by the bed. His eyes on mine, he started unbuckling his belt.

I stood then, and started to work on the lacings of the quilted tunic. The garment parted, to show the base of his throat. I leaned in, and licked the pulse that throbbed there.

Keir closed his eyes and lifted his chin, granting me access. I continued, nuzzling the column of his throat, and then moved off to the side where my mark still marred his skin. I lapped at it with the tip of my tongue. “My mark, my warlord.”

“Yours.” Keir’s voice crackled as he answered. “Yours, my warprize.”

My fingers fumbled with the lacings, until his chest was exposed. I’d lost the bit of gurtle fur, so I settled for running my fingers over his skin, circling his nipples, scratching over them lightly with my nails.

Keir moaned, and grabbed my hips, pulling me close enough to feel his length. His mouth took mine for a moment, but I broke the kiss, and slipped from his arms. “Not fair! I’ve yet to see my prize.”

Keir growled, but stood still, letting his arms hang by his sides.

I smiled, and reached up to ease the garment off his shoulders. His muscles flexed under my gentle touch, as the cloth fell to the floor. But I wasn’t pleased to see deep bruises on his shoulder. He’d taken at least two rough blows there. It was a deep purple and black, but the skin wasn’t broken.

The lover within me stepped back, the healer came forward. “Seems Essa and Wild Winds aren’t the only ones to conceal their hurts.” I stepped around Keir to get a full look. “Can you lift the arm?”

Keir sighed, then slowly raised the arm. He seemed to have full movement but with enough pain to make him wince.

I turned and reached for my satchel. “Strip, and I’ll tend to this.” I heard clothes rustling as I dug through the mess in my satchel. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“No. Those were the only blows that got through my guard,” Keir grumbled. “Only because there were three of them.”

I pulled out the thick paste I was looking for, and clean bandages besides. The water was still warm in the buckets, so I soaked one of the bandages, and wrung it out.

Keir was on the edge of the bed, naked. He had such a look of patient suffering on his face that I almost laughed out loud.

I stepped in close. “This will only take a moment, and it will aid the healing. You’ll feel better in the morning.” I smeared the paste over the bruising.

Keir placed his hands on my hips. “I know something that will make me feel better well before morning.” He leaned forward, and kissed me between my breasts.

I placed the warm wet cloth over the paste, and pressed lightly with my fingertips. The familiar smell of bittergrass rose from the warming paste.

Keir wrinkled his nose.

“Just a bit longer.” I stepped back to clean my hands. “The heat helps it go into the skin.”

Keir heaved a false sigh of frustration, which turned into a yawn. He blinked as he gave his shoulder a glance. “Why does it smell so bad?”

I rolled my eyes, and reached to tug him up off the bed. “I’ll remind you of those words when you can move with ease in the morning.” I nodded toward the bed. “Pull back the bedding.”

“I can move with ease now,” Keir growled as he pulled back the blankets.

I put my supplies back in my satchel. Keir stood waiting as I peeled back the bandages. The paste had been absorbed into the skin, leaving a green tinge, and a faint odor. “I’ll treat it again in the morning.”

Keir’s arm snaked behind me and pulled me close. He kissed me hard. I let the bandage flutter to the floor, and held on to him for dear life. His mouth was warm and he explored mine eagerly. I responded with enthusiasm.

We were on the bed then, a tangle of arms and legs. But I could feel a tremble in Keir’s arms even as he moved us under the covers. I knew what I needed to do.

I wiggled around until he was flat on his back beside me, his mouth on my breast. I pressed in close, enjoying his touch, moaning as his hands explored my body. Finally, I kissed him, moving my hands to his chest, tweaking his nipples.

He murmured his pleasure as I slowly let my fingers trail down his chest, to circle his birth-hollow, and then continue on until my hand covered him. He was hot and hard beneath my palm. His hips flexed slightly, trying to increase the pressure.

I leaned in, and put my lips to his ear. “So do I claim my Warlord.”

His eyes widened in surprise for an instant, just as I closed my fingers around him. But then he closed his eyes, lost in the pleasure of my touch. I taunted and teased, using my hand to take him to the brink, and then backed off, and watched as he writhed, powerless against me.

His eyes snapped open, clouded with his heat. “Lara,” he croaked, gasping for breath. “Lara, I—”

“Surrender to me, my Warlord,” was my command.

That was enough. Keir’s eyes closed, his body convulsed, and his pleasure was mine. He melted down into the bed, a pool of boneless muscle.

I kissed his face as he relaxed into sleep, cleaned us both, then pulled the bedding up around us. I carefully put my head on his shoulder and nestled in close to his warmth, and breathed a prayer of gratitude to the Goddess.

I fell asleep, well pleased with my choice of Warlord.

Much, much later, I awoke to the feel of a hand stroking my hair.

I sighed in delight and opened my eyes to see Keir’s face close to mine. He kissed me softly, his hands moving to cover my breasts.

I whispered encouragement as his hands explored my skin. Keir’s touch trailed fire over my body, until his hand played wide over my lower belly. There he paused for a moment, and looked at me with a question on his face. “You’ve quickened?”

I smiled. “I’m not sure yet, but my courses are late.”

He smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners, proud and pleased. He kissed me again, a gentle brushing of lips over mine.

“Keir,” I sighed into his mouth, and shifted to open myself to him. He needed no further encouragement, sliding into my depths slowly, filling me. We groaned together as our bodies merged. We paused for only long enough to kiss, then started a slow dance beneath the bedding.

Keir’s hands continued to move over my body, and I explored his as well. Warm skin, soft from the heat of the bed, glided under my fingers.

Keir twisted then, moving so that I was on top. The move drove him deeper within me, and I arched my back at the feeling.

Then he stilled.

Dazed, I opened my eyes to look down at him. He looked back at me with those glittering blue eyes. My hair fell about us, creating our own private world.

“Claim me again, my Warprize,” was all he said.

Challenged, I ground my hips down, and his eyes went wide for the second time that night. “Don’t think I won’t, my Warlord.”

And so I did.

I awoke again, to the sounds of the Heart beating around us.

I was on my back, Keir’s head on my chest. His arms were around me, his leg over both of mine. The covers were warm and I was so very comfortable I didn’t want to move. But the tent smelled of breakfast, or the nooning, and I was hungry. If I didn’t wake Keir, the noises in my stomach would.

I reached out to stroke his hair, thick and black. If I could get him to shift a bit, I could slide out of the bed without waking him.

Keir lifted his head, and smiled. “I was listening to your heart beat.”

I smiled back at him. “Wasn’t last night proof enough?”

He shifted then, and kissed me, his mouth firm and gently on mine. I lost myself in him, responding to his desire as the kiss grew warmer and wetter, making my own demands.

Breathless, we broke it off. Keir chuckled, and leaned back against the pillows, smug. “Never enough, my Warprize.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Are you so sure I’ll choose you at the ceremony? Other warlords courted me, you know.”

Keir gave a soft snort. “Ultie is a loud-mouth, overbearing—”

“Arrogant, rude, stupid fool,” I said serenely. “But Osa, on the other hand—”

Keir growled.

I laughed. “Not to mention Liam!”

“Liam?” Surprised, Keir sat up, letting the covers fall back. The cold air spilled over me. I shivered and grabbed for the blankets. “Liam courted you?”

“Not really,” I assured him, tucking the blankets under my arms. Then I dropped my voice to a whisper. “He wanted to know about Marcus.”

We both looked instinctively at the tent flap, and then at each other. I leaned in closer to Keir. “Why didn’t you tell me about Marcus and Liam?”

Keir put a finger over my mouth and listened intently. Reassured, he pulled me closer. “What is there to say, Lara? It is his story, and out of privacy and respect, how could I tell it?” Keir cautioned me, “Say nothing to him, or we’ll eat raw meat and weak kavage for months.”

“But what happened?”

“I served under Liam as Second,” Keir answered. “When we returned to the Heart after Marcus was injured—”

“Warlord,” Marcus called.

We both gave a guilty start.

“Marcus?” Keir responded.

“A messenger, for the Warprize.” From the sound of his voice, Marcus was at the main entrance to the tent. Thank the Goddess.

Keir frowned. “From?”

There were sounds then, some talk at a distance. The discussion ended, and I heard Marcus walk across the main area. The flap opened and he stuck his head in. “From the Eldest Singer Essa.” Marcus’s voice betrayed his surprise, and he spoke softly. “He asks the Warprize for a healing.”