VirtualWarrior

by Ann Lawrence

  “You lost no time in taking a mate. And not a Selaw mate.”

  “You left me no choice. Had I not done so, our fortress would be ruled by Samoht!” She tucked her hands into her sleeves as he had. Every inch of her body ached with the cold. Never, not even on the ice, had she felt this chill, straight to her heart.

  “What do you here?” Her father offered his hand again, but she could not reach for it.

  “I could ask you the same question.”

  He drew himself up very straight and lifted his chin. “I am Cidre’s consort.”

  Ardra shook her head in denial, but knew that what he said was true.

  “I wear the Black Eye, a great honor, the mark of my status here. It is our hope that we will soon have a child. I believe Cidre is breeding.”

  “What are you doing out here? Why are you not with her?”

  He turned to the lake. “I came to drink of the water. It is said to invigorate a man.”

  Ardra’s mind seethed. Her father was alive. He was Cidre’s consort. A sickening feeling lay like a stone in her belly.

  “If she is breeding, what need have you of the lake water?” she asked before she could stop herself.

  He shrugged. “It is a man’s business and none of yours.”

  She saw him well, the orb-glow shining on his skin. He looked as if ten conjunctions had been stripped from him.

  “Everything you do is my business. How dare you—”

  But he spoke over her. “I dare because I intend to mate Cidre’s child with your boy. With Cidre’s abilities and my blood, our daughter will be a formidable match for your son. And I will rule for them both until they are of age to do so on their own.”

  “Rule for them? You cannot even show your face.” The words were arrows to her heart. He had discounted her as if she were nothing.

  “I have a plan.”

  Ardra wanted to scream. She knew well her father’s schemes.

  “And should Cidre birth a son?” she asked as calmly as she could.

  “Goddesses have rarely birthed sons. Now, quickly, is there anyone of your party who would recognize me?”

  She studied him. When she had last seen her father, he had looked old, his amber eyes dull, his skin dry, his white hair lank and lifeless. Now, although his hair was still white, it looked thick and luxurious, swept back from his brow. He radiated energy.

  Ardra shook her head. “Nay. I have only Deleh with me, and she came to the fortress with Tol. Will Nilrem know you?”

  “The wiseman is here? Nay. I think not. We have never met, though he would know me by reputation.”

  “Samoht will only need to hear your name and—”

  “I have a new name along with my new life. I am no longer Ruonail of the Fortress of Ravens. I am Venrali, consort to the Goddess of the Tangled Wood. Is she not beautiful? Is she not magnificent?” Pride shone in his face.

  “Why can you not be content in this position, Venrali, and leave my son and me alone?”

  “I am not such a great age as to be content in the shadow of a woman. As for your son, he needs someone to guide him to manhood. Who better than I?”

  Ardra saw the light of ambition aglow on his face.

  “Now, what do you here?” Venrali asked. “Such a feeble tale, hunting a love potion. Nonsense. Cidre was concerned that you might have discovered I was here and come to unmask me.”

  “We seek the potion, nothing more.”

  Her father walked along the shore a bit, and she followed in his path as she had so long ago, as a child, when he had been a revered man, a loved one. Now he was a consort to evil.

  “I am sorry, Ardra,” Venrali said. “Cidre cannot help you. She knows naught of the potion. And has no need of it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  His look was cold. “You doubt your father’s word?”

  Their steps led them back toward the garden gates and the fortress. Ardra searched for an answer to his question, but none came, so she remained silent. She had doubted her father’s word long before his disappearance.

  “I must go. I have somewhere I must be,” he said. “Now that I know who is among your party, I will join you for meals. It is an omen, our meeting. It bodes well for the fortress and my return. It is good. When Cidre is delivered of her babe, I shall make my way back to the fortress and rule through your boy.”

  “Father, I have learned to rule—”

  He patted her shoulder. “Nonsense. A woman may not rule.”

  “Cidre rules her fortress. Why should I not rule ours?”

  A smirk appeared on her father’s thin lips. “There are some aspects of responsibility a woman is suited for, but the ability to rule is a man’s. Cidre appears to rule, but it is in appearance only. I rule. I will send for you soon. We shall talk about my return.”

  Ardra watched him slip through the garden door. Her mind seethed with emotions she could not control.

  His return?

  She looked up at the glowing orbs overhead. If she did not find the vial, she would find Samoht in control of her fortress. Her father would never challenge Samoht’s army.

  Yet even if she found the vial and was awarded rule of the fortress, her father would descend. It seemed she was doomed to be a pawn either way.

  Ardra wandered, unsure where she was, unsure of what to do or what to think. How could she serve both her father and her people?

  She looked around. The rich scent of apples filled the air and drew her into the orchard. There were no orchards near the ice fields, yet the ice ensured that her people knew the fruit. She huddled on the bench where she, Lien, and Nilrem had talked that morning.

  The orchard reminded her of the bounty that life had to offer. She saw branches weighed down nearly to the ground, smelled the sweet scents of wood and fruit. Yet she could only shiver. If her father returned to the fortress, there would be no bounty, no sweet gift of life. Only one man’s ambition would find fruition.

  Her father said Cidre did not have the vial. Was he in Cidre’s confidence? If the goddess did not have the potion, then Ardra knew it mattered not how many days she was given; she would fail, and Samoht would control the fortress.

  And what would her father do if Samoht took the fortress?

  Would her father try to rally the Selaw behind him? Would it mean war? What would become of her son?

  She touched her forehead. Was she fevered? Had she imagined her father? Would she wake on the morrow to find that the goddess had slipped another potion into her wine?

  If her father was real, he could return and remain hidden, plotting in the labyrinth below the fortress.

  Tears ran down her face. She would be his hostage, acting on his orders, and her people, her son, would suffer for it.

  A hand touched her arm.

  “Lien!”

  He pulled her from the bench and into his arms. His voice was soft and low at her ear. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

  “I—I could not sleep,” she said.

  “You’re freezing.” He ran his hands down her back, then set her away from him.

  He pulled off his cloak and wrapped her up before leading her to the small door into the fortress and across the hall. His grip was unyielding.

  They reached her chamber. The door thudded against the wall when he flung it open.

  “Didn’t I tell you not to go anywhere without a guard?”

  “You said around the fortress. I went to the orchard.” Even she heard the quaver in her voice.

  “Come here,” he said, gently this time.

  “I took a walk to think. I have only three days left, you know. And why were you and Ollach not here to guard me as you claimed you would be?” Better to attack than defend.

  “We were delayed by old Sam. He ordered us to the stables to work with the horses.”

  “The stables! You are not grooms.”

  “Ralen had disappeared with Einalem or I’d have refused the order. As it was, I figured that if I refuse
d, I’d be facing another challenge. I assumed you would remain safely with one of your men, but when Ollach and I came back, we found everyone in bed and your room empty. Why didn’t you wait for one of us?”

  “I am sorry,” she said.

  His pack sat on her table. Across it was draped a robe. A pilgrim’s robe.

  “Lien.” She picked it up. The wool was coarse, scratchy. She clutched it to her breast and whipped around. “Do not do this.”

  He shook his head.

  Tears welled in her eyes. “Not yet. Not now,” she whispered.

  “I have to make a decision, Ardra.”

  “Not this one.” She held out the robe. “Choose to remain as you are.”

  He took the robe and draped it over his pack.

  They met in the center of the chamber.

  “If you leave me, I will have no one.” She took off his fur-lined cloak and dropped it on the floor.

  He said nothing. She covered her mouth with her fingers.

  “Ardra.” His hands fell on her shoulders. She pressed her face to the beat of his heart.

  He tipped up her face, skimmed her mouth and wet cheeks with his thumbs. “I want to touch you so badly.”

  “Lien.” She wrapped her arms around his neck.

  They rubbed foreheads, cheeks, then lips. She held him close, drawing in his breath, his taste, reveling in the scratch of his dark beard. He lifted her and kissed her between her breasts. She held him, her arms tight around his head.

  “Do not go, Lien. Please, do not go.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” He placed her on the bed.

  Her robe fell back, baring her breast and leg, but she did not close it. Instead, empowered by the look on his face, she reached up and tugged his belt open. The smooth leather slithered through her hands, heavy and warm. He shed his tunic.

  She could wait no longer. She cast his belt aside, climbed to her knees, and wrapped her arms around him. His skin was hot wherever the tracery of knotwork appeared.

  With a boldness that suddenly came easy, she ran her hands over his shoulders, his throat, followed each caress with her mouth. From one moment to the next, her cold dread faded along with the red lines on his body.

  The heat of his hands drew her mouth to his wrists, to lick across his veins, to press a kiss on the disappearing symbol of ancient goodness. She sat back on her heels and looked up at him. His eyes were dark pools of uncertainty. “I want more than kisses, Lien,” she whispered, and tugged on the laces at his waist.

  He watched her hands, breathed the flower scent of her, no longer fought the flicker of flames stoked by her touch.

  She made a small throaty sound when she stripped his pants down over his hips. When she gathered him into her palms, her mouth was greedy. He threw back his head, gasping, wanting to be inside her, wanting what was not going to be—ever.

  “Ardra. Ardra. Stop.”

  She fell back onto her heels, her amber eyes wide.

  He cupped her face and licked her lips, ran a thumb over her nipple. A guttural, animal sound came from his throat.

  She lay back as he came down over her.

  She saw all of him, saw the long line of his body from smooth dark chest to paler waist, to the line of dark hair on his belly that led to the thatch around his manhood. She palmed his stomach, moved her hand over him, touched forbidden places, wanting the exploration to last all night.

  “Why did you stop me? I want to feast on you,” she said.

  “Oh, my God.” He shook his head. “No. No. It’ll all be over in an instant if you do.”

  “Nay, Lien. I want to learn this art of lovemaking.” Her fingers ran over him, “All of it. Now.”

  He groaned and guided her head with his hands. He lost sight of his protests. Forgot why she shouldn’t. Buried his hands in her hair. Fell back, conquered.

  She caused almost as much pain as pleasure, learning what made him moan and what didn’t. Every touch of her fingers, lips, teeth, every lick of her tongue, made him want to scream. It was unbearable and perfect at the same time.

  Then it was over. Exquisite ecstasy twisted through him like a strike of the snake on his arm. It burst through his system, a sweet venom pouring out of him. It paralyzed his breath, his mind, his every sense.

  “Lien.” She moved up him and straddled his body. Her hair fell in a tangle, pooled on his chest.

  He stared up at her. A pulse beat visibly in her throat. Flames from a candle flickered in her gold eyes and glossed her wet lips. Wet from him.

  “Did I please you?” Her voice was a hoarse whisper.

  “Beyond the power of words,” he managed to say. He wrapped her up and rolled her beneath him, her silky robe caught between them. He shifted the gossamer fabric off her hip to touch her. Her flesh was hot and slick, swollen. He imagined her taste, her scent.

  “Oh, Lien,” she said, and buried her face against his chest. “Teach me what else I may do to please you.”

  “Your turn,” he whispered at her ear, but she pulled out of his embrace and sat up.

  “Nay, Lien. I want to give you more happiness.”

  Cold thoughts doused his ardor. “Ardra. Do you think that if you please me here in bed, I’ll stay with you?” Her eyes shifted away. “Damn it. So this was—”

  “From my heart, Lien. Nothing more.”

  “Sure.” He moved her hand off his thigh and stood up. He paced the chamber. Her silence screamed the answer he dreaded.

  When he reached the bed, he lifted her chin and ran the ball of his thumb across her wet lips. “You’ve never done that before, have you?”

  Her negative was no more than a shimmer in the gold lull of her hair.

  “Great.” He sat down and dropped his head into his hands.

  She knelt beside him and touched his knee. He could smell her. Flowers. Woman. Heat. “What is wrong?”

  “Look, Ardra. A man wants to think that when a woman does something as intimate as what you just did, it wasn’t a payment for services rendered.”

  “Is that what you think? I am paying you as I might when I hand a purse to Ollach or…or—”

  “Exactly. Here’s how I see this. You think, ‘Gee, maybe if I lie down for him, he’ll stay.’”

  Ardra pulled the robe about her. “Your words are hard.”

  “You’re that desperate?”

  “Desperate?” She climbed off the bed and walked away from him. She was desperate, but not as he implied.

  It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him of her father. But the words would not come. If it got about that her father was alive, Samoht would have him captured and killed. She might not want her father to rule, but neither could she be the instrument of his death.

  “I must tell you how desperate I am, Lien. I have but three more days. Each movement of the shadow on the sundial marks the time until Samoht takes all I have. If you want to understand payment, understand how I paid for my people at my mating ceremony. What I did with you, I did with joy in my heart.”

  Lien stood and tried to take her into his arms. She avoided him, hugging her waist, stepping away out of his reach.

  “Cidre told me about your mating ceremony. It was barbaric.”

  “Killing men and women to enlarge the boundaries of one’s chiefdom is barbaric.”

  “Can we start this conversation over again?” he asked.

  “Which one? The one where you tell me that what I did insulted you, or the one where you tell me how pathetic and desperate I am?”

  “The one where I humbly apologize for misunderstanding.”

  A smile traced her lips. “We have not yet had that conversation, Lien.”

  “Then I’ll start. I insulted you. I humbly apologize.”

  “I do want you to stay. I will not pretend otherwise.”

  He took a cautious step toward her and was thrilled when she stayed in place. “And I want to go back to the spot where we were a few moments ago before I put my foot in my mouth.”


  She smiled. A real one this time. “Impossible. Your feet are so huge.”

  “Come here.”

  Ardra stepped into his embrace. Her shoulders were stiff, her back rigid under the sweep of his hands.

  “Ardra, what you did to me was…words can’t describe how it felt.”

  He boosted her onto the table. Some of their frenzy had died. He wanted it back.

  Before she could object, he lifted her hair away and kissed her throat, edged her robe off one shoulder, kissing the flesh he bared.

  “Lien.” She stroked her fingers through his hair. “What you will do to me—is it payment for your mistake just now?”

  “What?” He straightened up and frowned.

  “You were about to give me happiness, were you not? Were you doing so because you are sorry you insulted me, or because you truly desire me?”

  “Ardra. You think too much. Try to be more like a man. We hardly ever think.” He put his hands on her knees and moved them apart. “I think it’s pretty obvious I desire you.”

  Her gaze dropped. She shook her head, and her hair flowed over her shoulder. Her eyes widened.

  “I really like your hair,” he managed to choke out.

  “Some men would say it is not the lovely color of a Tolemac woman’s.”

  He scooped her up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He deposited her on her back on the side of the bed. “Some men must be mad,” he managed when he sat back on his heels and contemplated her body, displayed for him, the lavender silk robe half on, half off, one breast exposed, one covered. He felt humbled.

  He leaned forward and kissed her inner thigh. “If I give you happiness, it’s because you’ve renewed my belief that a woman can be as good inside as she is beautiful outside.”

  Her thighs quivered. Gently, so he didn’t scare her, he lifted her legs and placed them over his shoulders. When he touched her, she gasped and locked her hands in her robe.

  “You must be magical,” he said before sliding his fingers over her swollen flesh. “You’ve conjured some sense of responsibility out of my hard, cold soul. And cured my rash.”

  He blew against her skin, held her hips for a carnal kiss that arched her off the bedding, hard against his mouth.