Woven Dreams

by N. J. Walters

  “I almost gave up a hundred times. The injury to my left shoulder made it harder to build the muscles I needed to compensate for the loss of strength to my hand. Then there is my leg.” He would always limp slightly. His leg was as good as it was ever going to be.

  “But you did it.”

  He could hear the stubbornness in Garrik’s voice and it made him smile. “Aye, I did it. With you and Zaren and Bador pushing and prodding me, I didn’t have much choice.” His brothers had loved him too much to allow him to wallow and he loved and respected them too much to disappoint them.

  Garrik shrugged. “What else are older brothers for if not to plague the youngest?”

  Jarmon chuckled. “You are older by mere minutes.” His brother had teased him his entire life about being younger.

  “And don’t you forget it.” Smug pleasure was evident in Garrik’s voice.

  “You’ll never let me.” He lowered himself back down onto his pallet and pulled his blanket around him. He could hear a lightly shuffling noise as Garrik did the same.

  He stacked his hands behind his head again and stared up past the canopy of the trees to the night sky beyond. The stars were bright and the moon was half full. The buzz of the insects and the cries of the night birds as they hunted filled the air around him. The light breeze made the leaves of the trees swish in a relaxing cadence that was almost musical. Garrik’s breathing slowed and deepened beside him as his brother drifted off to sleep. All was as it should be.

  Jarmon closed his eyes and allowed his thoughts to wander. He was glad he and Garrik had talked. They might not have said much in words, but he could feel the huge difference that the past few days had made in their relationship. It felt much as it did before. For that, Jarmon was grateful. He’d missed the special bond he’d shared with Garrik. He knew they still had some tough times ahead, but they were back on track and that was all that mattered.

  The more he relaxed, the more his thoughts roamed. His older brothers had a woman of their own. Would he and Garrik ever find one? What would she be like?

  His body hardened at the thought of soft, feminine skin gliding over him. His cock lengthened and grew as a more complete image of her formed in his mind. Her hair would be long, falling in a thick curtain to her waist. He could imagine his fingers tangling in the thick mass as he held her tight to him and plundered her mouth. The ends of her hair would trail over his shoulders and chest, teasing him, heightening his pleasure.

  Reality slipped away as he lost himself in the fantasy . . .

  Her taste was addictive, a combination of mint and desire that drove him wild. Their tongues curled together as they explored each other. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her short nails leaving small marks in his skin, as he cupped her face with his hands, thrusting his tongue in and out of her moist mouth.

  The scent of her perfumed soap rose from her skin as it heated with desire. He longed to bury his face between her lush breasts, breathing in her unique feminine fragrance. Her breasts were plump and full. He cupped them in his palms, allowing the softness of her skin to sink into his fingers. Leaning down, he stroked his tongue across her taut nipple. As he pulled his head back, he blew on it, making it pucker even tighter.

  He reached his hand beneath the blanket and undid the laces of his pants. His erection sprang free and Jarmon wrapped his hand around it and pumped his hand in a steady up-and-down motion.

  He wished he could see what color her nipples were, but it was too dark. Rubbing his finger around the edges of her areolas, he learned their shape and size. Her nipples were large and sensitive. She moaned as he continued to circle her with his finger. An older man had once told him that some women could almost reach orgasm just by a man stroking their breasts. He wondered if she could reach her pleasure in this manner. He longed to spend hours touching her, tasting her, discovering the secrets of her body.

  Long and lithe, her legs wrapped around his flanks as she ground her pelvis against him, her hips cushioning him, inviting him deeper. Moving his hands lower, he cupped her bottom, arching her against his cock. Her pussy was damp with her juices, her hips bucking against him.

  The motion of his hand quickened, his breathing became more erratic.

  He wanted to see her face, but a veil of darkness obscured it. He wanted to take the time to stroke every inch of her body, to spread her thighs wide and drink of her feminine desire as his fingers coaxed her even higher. But there was no time.

  His balls drew up tight to his body.

  She whimpered as she reached between their bodies, guiding his erection to the tight opening of her core. “Take me,” she whispered.

  His head almost exploded as pleasure unlike anything he’d ever imagined washed over him. She belonged to him in a way he couldn’t explain. It didn’t matter how he knew this, he just did.

  “Mine,” he growled as he flexed his hips, driving himself into her waiting depths. He felt her slipping away, her body becoming insubstantial. He grasped her tighter, but he could not hold her. She faded into the darkness of the night, lost among the stars . . .

  His cock jerked as spasms of pleasure rocked him. His release sprayed from the tip, coating his stomach as he continued to pump his hand up and down the hard length. Gritting his teeth, he swallowed his cries of satisfaction.

  Spent, his hand slipped away, falling to his side. As his breathing slowed, the cool night air dried the light sheen of sweat on his torso and face. He shivered, almost certain he could smell her perfume on the breeze. Sighing, he raked his hand through his hair.

  He rolled silently to his feet, hitched his pants over his hips and grabbed his sword, slowly making his way to the stream that was near their camp. He didn’t bother with his boots. The last thing he wanted was Garrik to wake up and question him. He snorted lightly. He hadn’t had this vivid a fantasy in quite a long time. Well over a year, in fact.

  His bare feet made no sound as he all but glided across the mossy ground. The forest around him was alive as all the nocturnal creatures went about their business. Relaxing, he strolled onward, enjoying the peacefulness of the woods.

  Stepping through an opening in the trees, he stood quietly on the banks of the stream and gazed around. When he was certain he was alone, he knelt on the rocky edge. Bending forward, he scooped up the cool water with his hands, letting it fall over his neck and chest. He reached behind and tore a large, flat leaf from one of the many plants that grew along the river. Using it as a washcloth, he cleaned the sticky cum from his stomach.

  When he was clean, he laced his pants closed again and sat back on his heels. The woman from his fantasy was still with him, haunting him with her presence. If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel her behind him.

  Swearing, he stood, rubbing his ruined hand over his belly. It was naught but a figment of his imagination. No woman would have a man as maimed as he, especially not when Garrik was whole and hearty. He would have to be content with whatever time he could get with his brother’s wife, and that was even assuming they ever found a woman who would take the two of them. The odds weren’t good, especially not when his older brothers already had a woman. Only time would tell if they would be as fortunate.

  He turned his back on the stream and quietly made his way back to camp. He stretched out on his bedroll, took several deep breaths and allowed the calm of the night to soothe him again as he drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Three

  Garrik watched his brother out of the corner of his eye. It had been three days since they’d talked about Jarmon’s injuries and the battle that had caused them. He felt they were closer now than they’d been since it had happened, but he didn’t think they would ever reclaim what they’d had before.

  The incident had changed them both in so many ways. Physically, they were both stronger and more skilled. Because of Jarmon’s extensive injuries, he’d had to train harder to regain his muscle tone and dexterity. Garrik had trained alongside his brother, encouraging him, goading h
im, pushing him. As a result, they were both better fighters than before.

  Although Jarmon hadn’t really needed anyone to push him. He’d been a man possessed this past year, training long after the rest of them had given up for the day. It was as if he’d had something to prove to himself and to them all.

  They’d also lost that youthful sense of invincibility. They’d learned all too vividly that that was not the case. In many ways, what Jarmon had gone through in this past year had made men out of both of them. They were both more serious than they had been, although the biggest difference was in Jarmon. Before, he’d been the joker in the family, the one who was always making others laugh and smile. Now, he rarely smiled and Garrik had yet to hear him laugh since the injury.

  Their relationship was different than it had been, but Garrik felt that now that Jarmon had reached out, it could be stronger and deeper than what they’d shared. They’d both been through the fires of pain and come out the other side.

  He trailed behind his brother as they made their way through the dense woods. Garrik was glad they’d made the decision to leave the horses at home and hunt on foot. They were on Bakra land and they were armed, so it was safe enough. They’d never ventured more than three days’ walk from the castle and at the moment they could make it home in two. They’d spent a better part of their childhood hunting, fishing and exploring every inch of Bakra land, and both of them knew it like the backs of their hands.

  Jarmon held up his arm, his hand fisted. Garrik stopped dead in his tracks and listened. If his brother thought there was someone or something up ahead, then Garrik believed him. They were all good trackers, but there was no one as adept at it as Jarmon. He was pure magic. His brother could follow either man or beast across any terrain, easily reading the signs where others saw nothing.

  As hard as he listened, he could hear nothing. Jarmon crept back toward him and leaned close. “By the river.” His voice was a toneless whisper. “I’m going to scout around to the back. Don’t show yourself until I give the signal.”

  Before he could protest, Jarmon was gone. Swallowed up by the woods. Not even a branch swayed to reveal his passing. If he hadn’t watched his brother steal away, he’d never have known which direction he’d gone in.

  There was nothing else for him to do but to get into position and wait. Silently drawing his sword, he moved stealthily toward the river, staying within the protection of the trees. He could hear something now that he was closer. Crouching down, he eased the foliage apart and almost swallowed his tongue.

  Kneeling down on the side of the bank was a woman. A half-naked woman. She’d stripped the bodice of her dress down her arms and it hung around her waist. As he watched, she leaned over, cupped some of the cool water in her hands, and sluiced it over her torso.

  Her nipples hardened and she shivered as the cool water hit her. Garrik flexed his fingers around the hilt of his sword. He wanted to cover her breasts with his hands to warm them, to feel the hard tips pushing against the center of his palms.

  Swearing under his breath, he tore his gaze away and glanced up and down the riverbank. She seemed to be alone, but that didn’t make any sense at all. He didn’t recognize her, so she didn’t belong to Bakra land. If she was traveling, she should be surrounded by her husband, brothers, or father. Anyone. She shouldn’t be out here alone. She was a woman and, as such, should be protected at all costs.

  He frowned as she continued to wash her arms, unaware she was being watched. It was dangerous for her to be alone in the forest. There were all manner of beasts about. They would have to take her back to Bakra Castle until her family could be found. Maybe she was lost?

  Garrik dismissed that thought immediately. She didn’t act lost. In fact, if he weren’t mistaken, she was humming a tune beneath her breath as she washed. She was a complete mystery, but a beautiful one.

  The sun chose that moment to break through the clouds. Garrik sucked in a breath, finding it suddenly difficult to breathe. He’d thought her hair a plain brown. He was mistaken. When the light struck it, he could see it contained threads of mahogany, oak, chestnut and every other conceivable shade of brown. He’d never seen anything like it in his life. As she leaned forward, her long braid fell over her shoulder. Absently, she flicked it back. His fingers itched to release her hair from its confinement and spread it in a wide cape over his chest.

  His cock swelled instantly, making his pants painfully uncomfortable. Grunting, he shifted, using his free hand to try and adjust himself. It offered some relief, but not much. A light sheen of sweat covered his chest and face and not all of it was brought on by the heat of the sun.

  He licked his lips as he continued to stare at her, learning her features. Her skin was pale and appeared smooth. Her cheekbones were high, her chin strong. He wondered what her lips would taste like. The bottom one was fuller than the top and appeared to be a rosy color, but he couldn’t be sure from this distance. He wondered what color her eyes were.

  Her torso was slender, almost too much so, but her arms were strong, rippling with long, lithe muscles as she washed. His eyes narrowed. She had the appearance of someone who’d been ill.

  Garrik wanted to strip off her dress and see the rest of her. Would her belly have a slight curve or would it be flat? Would the hair covering her sex be the same wondrous color as the hair on her head or would it be darker?

  As still as a stone, he stayed crouched behind the bushes. She was just sitting there now, soaking in the sun’s rays as they poured down on her. Tipping her head back, she closed her eyes and smiled. He found himself smiling in return, captivated by the sheer innocent joy on her face.

  Finally, she seemed to gather herself and open her eyes. Reaching down by her side, she picked up what appeared to be a piece of cloth. She dipped it in the river, reached over her shoulder and tried to wash her back. He growled low in his throat. He’d love to wash her back for her and any other part of her, for that matter.

  He was so caught up with the mysterious water nymph across from him, he almost missed Jarmon’s signal. The song of the lark rang clearly through the woods. The woman paid no heed to the sound at all, but frowned as she tried to reach her lower back with her cloth. It was time to offer his assistance.

  Rising, he stepped out from behind the bushes. Her head shot up and she froze. Garrik held his hand out in front of him and offered a smile as he sheathed his weapon.

  The piece of cloth slipped from her fingers to land with a plop on some rocks at the edge of the river. Jerking her dress to her waist, she jumped to her feet. He could see her hands trembling as she clasped the fabric to her chest.

  “I do not mean you any harm.” He kept his voice low as he stepped into the river. It wasn’t deep and he could dry his boots later. Her eyes shot to the bulge in his pants. He couldn’t do anything about that, but he stopped halfway across the river. The water rushed by his knees, but he didn’t move any further toward her.

  “Stay away.” She backed away, almost stumbling as her foot hit a rock.

  He kept his voice as nonthreatening as possible. “You shouldn’t be out here by yourself. It’s not safe.”

  Her chin tilted upward. “I’m not on my own. My family is close by. If you leave now, I won’t scream.”

  Garrik had to admire her courage. Closer now, he could see that her eyes were a deep velvet brown. A man could get lost in eyes like that. She was frightened, of that there was no doubt, but still she held her ground and faced him.

  “There is no need to fear me.” He took another step forward. “You’re on Bakra land and I cannot leave you out here by yourself.” He continued to move slowly forward, one step at a time.

  Rather than being reassured, she paled even more at his words, swaying slightly. For a moment, he feared she might faint. She glanced to the right side, and as he moved in that direction, she jerked to the left, swooping down and coming up with a small dagger in her hand. “Leave me alone.”

  He shook his head. “I c
annot.” There was no way he would leave an undefended woman alone in the forest. His own code of honor would not allow it. “Come. I will take you back to the castle.” Garrik strode forward, his eyes never leaving her face.

  • • •

  Genita swallowed back the fear that threatened to overwhelm her as the stranger continued to move steadily toward her. There was no doubting the man was a warrior. If the four-foot sword strapped to his side wasn’t enough of an indication, there was the man himself.

  He was huge. She figured he stood about six and a half feet, much the same size as her brothers, but the similarity ended there. Where her brothers were large, strong men, this man was massive. Bronze armbands wrapped around his thick biceps and wrists, and the open vest he wore gave her a clear view of his impossibly wide chest. Long blond hair flowed freely to his waist and his blue eyes glittered with some emotion she couldn’t name. His lips were full, his nose straight, and his jaw had a hint of arrogance as he tilted his head to the side to stare at her. He was a warrior, all right.

  It was the bulge in the front of his pants that frightened her the most. She’d lived around large, rough men her entire life and she’d heard them talk, heard them brag about their sexual conquests. If her brothers came across a lone woman in the woods, she had no doubt as to what would happen. The only question would be if the poor woman would survive or not.

  She clutched the dagger that Radnor had given her. The sweat on her palm made the handle slippery and she tightened her grip. The edges of the handle dug into her skin. Still moving steadily toward her, he seemed totally unconcerned about her weapon, and that added to her fear. He’d even sheathed his own sword. Given his sheer size, she had no doubt he could easily overpower her.

  “I won’t let you rape me.” Brave words when she wasn’t sure her shaking legs would support her much longer.

  Her words stopped him cold. He was out of the water now, standing on the bank of the river several feet away. His blue eyes turned glacial as his eyebrows drew together in a scowl. Pure menace rolled off him in waves. “I would never do such a thing.”