VirtualWarrior

by Ann Lawrence

  He kissed her. “Many times, but I never tire of hearing it.”

  She could not prevent a shiver.

  “You are cold,” he said and lifted her into his arms. He placed her on the bed couch. When he opened her robe, he smiled. “There are other things I rarely tire of as well.”

  His mouth was hot on her breast. She pushed him away. “I want to watch you disrobe.”

  He grinned and raked his thick, blond hair off his face. “Whatever pleases you pleases me.”

  Quickly he tugged off his boots. But when he stood before her, it was with agonizing slowness that he unlaced his leather breeches and peeled them off his hips.

  “I see you are very pleased,” she whispered and reached out for him.

  “Do not be greedy, Einalem,” he said, evading her grasp. “A woman should be more circumspect in her desires.”

  “I have never learned the skill.” She climbed onto her knees and put out her arms. He stepped into her embrace. His body was roped with muscle, his skin cool from the night air. A small groan of desire escaped him as she rubbed her breasts against him.

  “Now.” She urged him down over her. “It must be now or I shall perish of the need of you.”

  He granted her request. As he filled her, she stifled a cry, arching into his hard rhythm and biting his lips.

  You will be mine, she chanted silently as the power of his thrusts overwhelmed her. You will be mine, she thought with triumph as he moaned through his climax.

  He rolled off her and lay on his back, sweat glistening on his skin. She rose and walked to the table. She brought a basin and linen towel to the bedside, then went back for the goblet of wine, which she set near to hand.

  “Allow me to bathe you,” she said.

  “You would make an excellent slave,” he said as she propped the pillows behind him and then knelt at his side.

  She smiled and said nothing. It would be he who was enslaved after he drank of the wine. “It is quite a pleasurable task, Ralen. You have the finest body of any man I have ever bedded.”

  Ralen encircled her wrist and tugged her close. “I saw you watching the pilgrim. Has he been in your bed yet?”

  She pulled against his hard grip. “Are you jealous?”

  “Answer the question.”

  “Nay, although I must admit that he is most alluring.”

  His fingers tightened. “Just remember, Einalem, if you share another man’s bed, you will not share mine.”

  His pale blue eyes were almost silver in the candlelight. They were as cold as Ardra’s ice.

  “I too will not share.” She bent her head and gently bit the back of his hand. He eased his hold. She tongued the spot.

  When she raised her head, some of the chill had left his gaze.

  “Now that we have established what selfish beings we are, is that wine for me?” he asked.

  “Ah. Forgive me.” She lifted the goblet. “This is a special blend I have mixed just for you. ‘Tis said if a man drinks of it in a certain way, his manhood will rise five times in one night.”

  “Only five times?” He grinned.

  Slowly she straddled his hips. She pressed the goblet against her breasts. “I will warm it a bit for you.”

  His icy eyes widened, his manhood stirred against her warmth. She took a sip of the wine and allowed the taste to suffuse her mouth; then she leaned forward. Her breasts grazed his chest; she nestled down on the heat of him.

  He pulled her mouth to his, and she trickled the wine over his tongue. She swirled her tongue over his, sharing the wine, the infusion of herbs, the ancient rite.

  “Again,” he whispered. He clasped her buttocks in his palms and shifted her against his hardness. She drained the wine and then sealed her mouth on his. He participated this time as he must, rolling his tongue on hers, sealing his fate.

  Chapter Ten

  The sun rose, a dazzling red jewel in the sky. Hope filled Ardra’s breast as she stepped from her tent. Such a clear and lovely day must bode well.

  She yawned. Her sleep had been restless, filled with dream kisses, and the most embarrassing realization that it was she who did all the kissing whilst the man, a shadowy person who held no place in her memory except as warm lips, insisted she stop.

  Then she frowned. She saw no warriors readying their horses for a journey into the Tangled Wood. Ollach was gone.

  She hurried to Samoht’s tent. He stood by his table, a map spread before him. Einalem reclined on his bed couch. Did the woman have no duties? Was no one ailing this morn?

  But alarm filled her when she saw the other men who sat on benches along the wall. The Tolemac high councilors. Ralen was not among them.

  Other than a solemn greeting, Samoht ignored her. She walked down the row of men, curtseying low to each so they could touch her on the head. Each murmured some condolence on Tol’s passing. No one met her eyes.

  Samoht continued his disregard of her presence. Was he angry with her for shoving the candle stand into his manhood? Why should she care? ‘Twas he who had behaved badly. She had but defended herself. ‘Twas he who had tried to put his hands beneath her skirt.

  He rolled a map, tied it up. “What may I do for you, Ardra?” he finally asked, his arms crossed on his chest.

  “I seek Tol’s men,” Ardra said. “I want to leave immediately.”

  “They will not go.”

  “What do you mean?” Ardra stared at his handsome face and saw a glimmer of satisfaction there. A councilor behind her whispered to another.

  Einalem answered. “They will not serve you. They did so only by Tol’s order, and now Tol is dead.”

  Ardra ignored her and directed her words to Samoht. After all, he held the power, not Einalem. “And you will not order them to serve me, will you?”

  If she challenged him, would one of the other councilors champion her cause?

  “I will not.” He inclined his head to the councilors. “We decided that Tol’s men should serve Ralen until another councilor can be chosen in his place. At that time, Ralen will transfer his authority.”

  A mad desire to push Samoht onto his table of maps swept over her. She controlled it and spoke with all the dignity she could gather. “I see. You have set me a task that requires me to go into a cursed wood after a woman who is evil, and now you tell me I must do it alone. You would not do it alone.”

  As a Selaw woman, she was not permitted to directly address the council and influence them, but they must know what Samoht was doing to her.

  She gathered her wits. “It seems to me, Most Esteemed High Councilor, that you do not really wish to regain the vial.”

  “Nonsense. The vial is of great importance. And your task remains the same. If you wish to rule, you must find It,” Samoht said. “I do not believe we need detain these worthy men any longer. They traveled far to honor Tol and must return to the capital.”

  The other councilors rose like sheep and filed out. Ardra dropped a curtsey to each one, though they did not bow or acknowledge her. The exchange humiliated her.

  Her head pounded with both anger and fatigue. When the councilors were gone, she said, “You never set the task with any intention of fairness. You are a dishonorable man, Samoht, and I will not hesitate to say so to whomever will listen.”

  “Watch your tongue, Ardra.” He uncrossed his arms, and she thought he might strike her.

  Ralen entered the tent and paused, glancing from Ardra to Samoht. “What is wrong here?”

  Ardra rounded on him. “You ask what is wrong? Surely you are a part of it?”

  “What are you talking about?” Ralen asked.

  Einalem stepped between Ardra and Ralen. She placed her hand on Ralen’s chest. “Ardra is angry that Tol’s men will not ride with her.”

  Ardra watched Ralen’s face and felt a small measure of relief that he appeared confused. He sidestepped past Einalem. “Why not?”

  Samoht shrugged. “It is the council’s decision. Ollach said his men fear the Wood. T
hey also think it humiliating to be commanded by a woman. This last is reason enough for the council.”

  “Ollach is my man now; I will speak to him,” Ralen said. “Ardra cannot seek the goddess alone. If you want the Vial of Seduction found, how can one woman alone accomplish it? ‘Tis folly, Samoht.”

  “I imagine Samoht has no intention that I succeed,” Ardra said. “I believe he intended that I should perish on the plain after scattering Tol’s ashes.”

  “How dare you accuse my brother—” Einalem began, but Ralen ended it.

  “Be silent. I will escort Ardra. Tol’s men will follow me.”

  Einalem gasped. “Surely you do not mean to leave already? You have just arrived.”

  “I agree,” Samoht said. “What nonsense. I cannot spare you to such a task.”

  “Yet it makes good sense that I do so. I claim my right to mourn my brother. Besides, I know the way. I have met the goddess and found her quite amiable. Now I must speak to Ollach and ready our party. Ardra—one packhorse, no more.” Ralen left the tent.

  Samoht glared after him, then turned to Ardra. “I grant you only the eight days of mourning for your quest. At the end of that time, you must either produce the vial or accept whatever measures I deem appropriate for the well-being of your people.”

  “Samoht, Einalem.” Ardra bowed to them each in turn and hurried after Ralen before they could stop her. She ran up behind him and took his arm. “Ralen. I must thank you.”

  He glowered down at her. “Do not thank me. This mission is a waste of time and supplies, and I did not volunteer in order to aid you. I did it out of respect for Tol. He would never have countenanced such treatment of his lifemate. He too would not care to have his son under Samoht’s thumb. I merely want to do as he might.”

  Then his frown softened. “Why did you say Samoht wished you to perish when you scattered Tol’s ashes? What happened?”

  Ardra told him as they searched for Ollach. “Visibility was down to a stone’s throw after you left. Would you not have posted guards along the way back to camp so a mourner could find her way home? Samoht did not. He knew I would have naught but my mourning robe—no mantle, no hood to protect me in the storm.”

  “Samoht is cunning, but I will not believe I serve a man so treacherous. I am sure ‘twas an oversight, but I will speak to him myself on the matter.”

  “What will that serve? He will only deny it.”

  “Still, I will speak to him. Now I must prepare my men. See to your own.” He strode away.

  Ralen was a cold contrast to Lien’s warmth. Ralen, she suspected, would not give his cloak to a slave.

  A commotion drew Ardra’s eyes. “Nilrem!” She lifted her hem, dashed between two tents, and leaped across a muddy puddle. She curtseyed to the wiseman when he had climbed down from his cart.

  “Ah, Ardra. I see I am too late.” Nilrem took her hand and kissed the back of it.

  She touched her hair, long, loose, and unadorned. It was a sign of mourning, as was the lack of thumb rings on her hands. “Aye. You are too late. We will speak of it another time. Now I need your advice.”

  “I must pay my respects to Samoht first, my child. Await me in your tent. We will talk, I promise you.”

  As Ardra headed for her tent, she wondered what tale Samoht and Einalem would weave for the wiseman. How she wished to be invisible and listen to their conversation.

  She swallowed hard and looked out over the plain to the smudge of white on the horizon. Home had never seemed so far away or so enticing. She had but eight days, an impossibly short time.

  Lien leaned on his stick and watched Ralen give orders. The guy was really efficient. Everyone jumped when he spoke, even Ollach, who had groused all morning about dying in a cursed place. Lien gathered that Tol’s men expected to be swarmed by serpents when they reached the goddess’s fortress; none wanted to linger in agony as the venom ate through their bodies.

  Lien wasn’t so enamored of snakes himself. He had one on his arm only because his teammates had dubbed him “the snake” after a lacrosse game in which he’d “snaked” his way between two All-American defensemen and scored to win the championship.

  That night, he’d gotten drunk at a frat party, then gone with a bunch of the guys to a tattoo parlor. Afterward, Eve had reamed him out big time. Not for the tattoo, which he suspected turned her on, but for the drinking. That was before he had really accepted the fact that his mother was an alcoholic. It was before his dad had died of cancer and taken all his mother’s reason for being with him.

  Lien moved toward a string of horses, saddlebags over their rumps. He’d heard Nilrem was in camp. He’d like to see the old bugger and get some advice on where to go next.

  Nilrem was with Ollach. The old man was directing the warrior in a pedantic tone that made Lien smile. “Nilrem,” Lien said. “How’re you doing?”

  “Ah, pilgrim. I am well, although I much regret I could not be here to celebrate Tol’s passing. He was a good man.”

  “Can I talk to you a minute?” Lien asked the wiseman.

  “Are you ailing? You lean most heavily on that stick. Is it a potion you need? Stitching?” Nilrem took his arm.

  “We’ll talk about me another time,” Lien said, evading the issue of his health. “I just need advice.”

  Lien figured they looked like two old geezers stumping along with their sticks. He led Nilrem away from Ralen’s men to the outskirts of camp. The old man leaned against some rocks. Overhead, a blood-red sun burned in an alien purple sky.

  Lien took a deep breath. “Look. I’m not from around here. I don’t have any clothes. I don’t have anything to barter for my keep, either. What do you suggest I do?”

  Nilrem hummed and chewed his lower lip. “Has Ardra repaid you for saving her life?”

  “Forget Ardra. I don’t want to involve her in my problems.”

  “You cannot prevent it. It is not possible to ignore the entwining of your lives. You sought my wisdom at the exact moment Ardra needed you. My advice is to hitch your cart to her star.”

  Nilrem cackled a moment, and Lien frowned. Something bothered him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was.

  “I don’t think Ardra wants me anywhere around her.”

  “Oh? She is coming. I shall ask her.”

  “No, don’t,” Lien began, but he was too late. Nilrem waved his arm like a windmill. Ardra could not help seeing him.

  She hurried over and curtseyed to the old man. Lien loved the gesture. It was somehow delightful, this old-fashioned mark of respect.

  “The high councilor told me of the challenge he has set you, Ardra,” Nilrem said. “I think it madness. Eight days only! But I understand why you feel the need to acquiesce to his demands.”

  “I am sure he wishes me dead,” she said.

  Lien frowned. Her words were less angry than resigned, and yet she was determined to go. He admired her courage. If it were his choice, he’d be on the first wagon train back to the fortress.

  “Then you must heed me,” Nilrem said.

  Ardra bowed her head. “What should I do?”

  “Take Lien with you. Do not let him out of your sight.”

  “Whoa—!” Lien began.

  “I will not take him,” Ardra said. Her chin went straight into the air.

  Nilrem put a hand out and she took it. “I understand your anger and disappointment. But one may not ignore the augury of the gods. You were practicing the old ways when Lien saved your life. You owe him, and until you pay, your life is tied to his.”

  “Don’t I have a say in this?” Lien asked.

  “Nay. You do not. When Ardra has saved your life, you may part company with her.”

  Good thing Nilrem didn’t know he’d saved her life twice more—once in the forest and once on the plain. Hell, if he went by Nilrem’s advice, he was stuck with Ardra forever.

  “I will not take him.” Ardra dropped Nilrem’s hand and jammed her hands on her hips. “I will not.�
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  “You will take him for protection,” Nilrem said. “It is imperative, for you see, you must also take Samoht.”

  Ardra concealed her anger as they climbed the steep path up the cliff to the edge of the Tangled Wood. Samoht and Einalem led the party. If their horses moved any slower, they would go backward. Their pace must be calculated to prevent her from accomplishing her task. At this rate, it would take eight days just to reach the summit.

  The moment they reached the summit she would ask Ralen to lead. He too had but eight days and might understand her urgency.

  Nilrem also held the party back. He was a terrible rider. Luckily, Lien’s riding skills seemed to have improved. Although, curiously, when she looked back at him on the treacherous trail, his skin had lost much of its color.

  Samoht had loaded the party with every possible impediment: the wiseman, his sister, her three personal slaves, and four packhorses. Not to mention the full complement of Red Rose Warriors. At least the party also included Ralen’s archers.

  Ardra gritted her teeth to keep from screaming aloud. When they reached the scrubby trees that marked the beginning of the great forest, she kicked her horse to a canter to pull even with Ralen.

  He frowned at her as if she were a troublesome child. So be it, trouble she would be. “What is it, Ardra?” he asked.

  “We move too slowly. Can you not take the lead and quicken our pace?” She tipped her head in Samoht’s direction. He was chatting with his sister, pointing out trees, indicating a bird’s nest.

  “First, why is he on this venture?” Ralen asked. “What happened?”

  “Nilrem said that Einalem expressed a desire to meet the goddess. She claimed that as a healer, she might learn much from someone who is touted in story and song as a great herbalist—albeit an evil one. Samoht decided to accompany Einalem to keep her safe.”

  “Do you think Einalem has something else on her mind?” Ralen asked.

  “I think Einalem and the Goddess of Darkness might be too much evil in one forest,” she said.

  “Einalem is not evil, merely concerned with little beyond herself. She can be quite good company if she wishes.”