Lexin's Quest (Knights of Kismera Book 2)

by Tamara H Hartl

  “Lexin?” Cerise whispered in the darkness.

  “Good night, my lady,” he said, his voice hard, brooking no more conversation with him.

  Cerise woke once more during the night to find herself against Lexin, her head cradled against his shoulder, and his arm around her, holding her there. He still lay on his back, his deep breathing and the occasional soft snore indicating he was fast asleep.

  She nuzzled her head closer and smiled to herself when his arm tightened for a second around her.

  The gentle closing of the door the next morning woke her the last time. Cerise sat up and pushed her heavy hair from her face and looked around the room. Lexin and all his gear were gone.

  She glanced out the window after she rose from the bed to find it early morning. She could also see that Lexin’s hope for fair weather would not happen that day. It was gray outside with a light, misting rain. Rats, she thought.

  Cerise hurried to ready herself, knowing Lexin would be pushing to resume the journey, despite the weather.

  Lexin found her when he returned from the stable at a table in deep conversation with the innkeeper’s wife, as she ate from a plate of eggs and bacon.

  He stopped beside her. “Your horse is saddled,” he said blandly. “I will await you outside.” He nodded to the innkeeper’s wife, “Mistress, we thank you.” He turned and left the room.

  Soon after, Cerise met the men outside and took her horse’s reins from Lexin, accepting his help to mount. For a moment their eyes met and held while she adjusted her reins.

  “You snore,” she said, matter-of-factly, and then turned her gray gelding in the direction of Trevess, leaving Lexin standing there with his mouth open.

  The weather worsened within hours of leaving the Rusty Sword, going from a misting rain to several hours of steady rainfall, leaving riders and horses to travel at a steady walk, heads ducked against the elements. By nightfall, the rain moved out and that night’s camp resembled wash day with clothing draped over every available bush.

  Departure was delayed the next morning while the sun finished drying their clothing. The group of four had been on the road another two days, continuing to camp along the road. On the afternoon of the third day, they passed a small town just within the border of the Clans’ lands. Neither of the two inns in the village had rooms for the night, so they rode several miles outside of the town to set up their camp.

  During their travel, Lexin had been quiet unless spoken to. When he did speak, he proved to be surly, speaking in curt monosyllables.

  Cerise had removed her gelding’s tack and taken him for a drink of water. Now she stood brushing the big horse down and watching Lexin as he cared for Marlhowh.

  She silently fumed over Lexin’s unusual behavior of the last three days. It was not in her nature to leave a challenge or problem unresolved for long and this one had gone on long enough in her book. She had come up with a plan of sorts, hoping to use his ill temper against him.

  Cerise had noticed how Cearan and Merrick seemed to have appointed Lexin as her personal guard after that night at the Rusty Sword. She had no idea if Lexin had told them that nothing had happened between them or if they just assumed that something had.

  Either way, she didn’t as much as go into the bushes to relieve herself without him being within calling distance.

  Close to where they had stopped was a bend in the stream. Cerise desperately wanted a bath. Once her tent was set up she stowed her saddlebags inside and came out with a change of clothes. She headed to the stream, taking advantage of the coming dusk.

  Daring a peek over her shoulder, she saw Lexin following at a discreet distance.

  She removed her sword belt and laid it within her reach. Cerise then removed her clothes and stepped into the cold water. She peeked again through the curtain of her hair and saw Lexin facing away from her, one hand on the hilt of his sword. She began to bathe, acting as if she didn’t care if he looked or not.

  But Lexin had looked. As he stood with his back to her, his body ached with the strength of his reaction. He had not been able to stop himself from looking after her first subtle glance back. He froze as she started to undress.

  Now he cursed himself for being a fool as the image of her slender body with softly curving hips, firm little backside and legs—by the gods, those long shapely legs! All of her was fused into his mind.

  Lexin gritted his teeth and shifted his weight to ease the pain in his groin. He could hear the slap of her clothes as she washed what she had been wearing. She was softly singing a song he did not recognize.

  Lexin continued to listen for a moment and knew that now she was washing her hair.

  He turned slightly to look over his shoulder and with the last light of the day, caught a glimpse of her firm, high breasts half hidden in the lengths of her red-gold hair.

  He faced back in their camp’s direction, knowing it would be awhile before he had control over his unruly body. He could barely hear Cearan and Merrick from around the bend of the stream, the camp hidden from this spot by a natural screen of trees.

  There was splashing from behind him as Cerise left the stream. Lexin stood, back rigid, as he fought the urge to look at her once more.

  Something small and hard bounced off the back of his head. He grunted and put his hand over the spot. Before he could turn, another pebble bounced off his right shoulder blade.

  He turned, not caring if Cerise was dressed now or not, knowing the assault was her doing. His sexual frustration fueled his aggravation at her as she threw the small stones at him.

  She stood wearing nothing but a small thin sheet of fabric, which she had used to dry herself. She bounced a third small pebble in her hand.

  “That pisses you off, doesn’t it?” she asked, as he stalked up to her, his lean jaw tight.

  “If that means angry, then yes, it does,” he answered, stopping so close that he was nearly against her.

  “Good,” she replied, dropping the pebble and the linen at the same time. “Now do something about it.”

  Even in the light of a three quarter moon she could see something dangerous flash in his amber eyes. He took a half step back and released his sword belt and then jerked off his chain mail shirt.

  Lexin closed the distance before his mail hit the ground, and pulled her roughly against him, his mouth catching hers in a brutal kiss.

  Cerise made a soft mewl of protest and he softened the kiss slightly, his hands drifting from her arms to catch her bottom and lift her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms went around his shoulders.

  Lexin released her mouth long enough to say something in Werren she did not understand, his voice hoarse. He went to his knees and laid her in the soft grass.

  Cerise jerked his shirt free of his breeches while he fumbled with the laces of his pants. Once undone, he pushed his breeches past his hips, his mouth not leaving hers.

  His maimed hand moved to cup her breast and Cerise pulled at his hips, feeling his hot member hard against her thigh.

  “Hurry Lexin,” she pleaded against his lips. “Now. Take me now.”

  With his other hand, he raised her hips, lined himself up, and with a smooth thrust, buried himself in her tight heat. His eyes still open, he watched her face as surprise flashed across her features and then she sighed with pleasure.

  She opened her own eyes when he did not move. “Oh God, Lexin,” she begged softly, wrapping her legs tighter around his hips. “Don’t stop now.”

  Lexin answered with action, not words, as he renewed his grip with his right hand, holding her close with his left. Cerise moved with him as he thrust hard in her, unable to stop himself, having lost what control he had left.

  Cerise made a sound under him, one of delight and a moment later she arched under him, a soft cry escaping her. “Now Lexin, come with me now,” she whispered against his neck.

  Two more hard thrusts and he obeyed, spilling himself inside he
r as her body still clenched at his.

  He moved his hand from under her hips and rested his weight on his elbows, struggling to catch his breath. He felt her smile against his throat.

  “That was not how I had thought to take you the first time,” Lexin confessed with a shaky laugh.

  “I like that,” Cerise replied, trailing her fingers softly up and down his damp back.

  “What do you like?” Lexin asked, nuzzling his nose along the curve of her ear.

  “That you said ‘the first time.’ That implies there will be other times.”

  “I do not think that would be wise Cerise,” he said, quietly, and felt her stiffen under him.

  “Why not?” she asked, and then made an involuntary sound of protest as he slid free of her.

  “Shhh. It is alright,” he soothed and then said, “I cannot tell you, Cerise, for I have much shame.” He brushed a damp lock of her hair from her face and gave her a sad smile.

  Cerise kept him close to her with a hand in his braided hair. “Please don’t shut me out, Lexin. Talk to me. I know something has been eating at you.”

  By Arahtok’s mane he wanted to. His mother’s last words had torn his very soul and the urge to speak of it to Cerise was strong. But he feared her disgust once he confessed all.

  Encouraged by his hesitation, Cerise continued to caress Lexin’s muscular back in a comforting motion. “Lexin, I swear anything you tell me is between the two of us.” She looked up to see him studying her intently, indecision in his eyes. “I care for you, Lexin.”

  He seemed to reach some sort of resolution. “This is not the place, nor the position…,” he added in a tone more like his old self, “…for my confessions. I fear your opinion of me when I am done.”

  A thought occurred to Cerise, to make him understand her, a confession of her own, perhaps a feeble attempt to gain his trust. A feeble attempt was better than none at all in her mind. “Lexin, what do you know of where I came from?”

  Lexin moved to his knees to pull his breeches up and retie the laces. He gazed at Cerise as she lay sprawled, looking well satiated. “Not much, actually. Cearan has remarked that it is very far away from Kismera and that your ways are quite different,” he said. He tucked in his shirt, standing once he was done. He retrieved his sword belt and buckled it on.

  “While I am enjoying the view, my lady, I think it would be wise to return before the others come searching.” He extended a hand and helped her to her feet. She wrapped the towel around herself once more.

  Lexin pulled her against him and lowered his head to brush a soft kiss on her mouth. Suddenly, he stiffened and released her lips to move his own next to her ear. “When I say run, I want you to go to the camp as fast as you can. Do not stop or look back. Do you understand this?” he whispered urgently.

  Cerise nodded, her eyes huge in her pale face. “What is it?”

  “Zakara,” he breathed, and then shoved her in the direction of the camp. “Run,” he yelled, and then drew his sword and dagger.

  Cerise ran as if the hounds of hell were at her heels, which, from what she had heard of Zakaras, was not far off the mark. She realized as she heard a lion’s roar behind her that Lexin had not had time to pull on his chain mail shirt, so faced an enemy at a disadvantage.

  Cearan nearly ran her down as he and Merrick met her on the path. “Where is he?” he demanded as he held her by her upper arms.

  “By the bend in the stream,” she gasped, clutching her towel at her breasts.

  Cearan released her, and with Merrick beside him, took off at a dead run. A moment later, Lexin’s growls were joined with two more, followed by an unnerving wolf’s howl. A strangled yelp came next with the sounds of fighting.

  Cerise ran into the camp and slid to a halt in front of her tent. Ducking in, she quickly found another long shirt, some underwear, and an extra dagger. She jerked on the shirt and panties, and then went to where the now nervous horses were tied. She tried to speak soothing words to them, despite being scared to death herself.

  Cerise had no idea the length of time between Lexin’s order to run and when the three men returned to camp. It felt like hours.

  All three were splattered with blood, but seemed relatively intact. Bright red stained the right sleeve of Lexin’s shirt and Cerise strongly suspected it was not from an enemy.

  Before she could go to him, Cearan shoved a handful of clothes at her, some still wet from their washing. “I believe these are yours, my lady,” he said in a faintly amused tone.

  He moved to the horses and began to saddle his black Friesian stallion, Raven.

  Lexin met her at her tent and handed her her boots and weapons. “Pack your things. We will be moving on,” he said, quietly. “You are alright?”

  “Yes, just scared,” she answered, looking up at him.

  Lexin brushed at hair that had fallen over her face. “You are safe. Now hurry and ready yourself to ride.” He tilted her chin to search her face.

  Cerise began to shake and tears came to her eyes. “Oh Lexin,” she gasped with a sob and flung herself into his ready embrace.

  He hissed in a breath and when Cerise tried to pull back he held her tighter, putting his cheek against the top of her head. “It is alright, little one.”

  “Your arm, you’ve been hurt.”

  “’Tis naught but a scratch. I will see to it when we set up a new camp.”

  “What happened back there?” Cerise asked, her tearful voice muffled against his chest.

  She heard Lexin snort in amusement. “You taunt my manhood if you have forgotten already,” he answered.

  Cerise pulled out of his embrace and gave him a half-hearted shove to his chest. “Damn you, Lexin, that’s not what I meant and you know it.”

  “I will tell you what you wish to know as we ride. Now hurry to dress or Merrick will dismantle your tent around your ears.”

  Sure enough, Merrick stood nearby with a bemused expression, his horse already saddled and waiting. Cerise blushed furiously and ducked inside.

  Chapter Eight

  “I can’t do it,” Cerise said for the fourth time, Lexin’s arm in her lap, waiting for stitches.

  He sat stoically while the deep slash on his right forearm was cleaned. It was the only wound any of the men had taken in their encounter with three Zakara warriors. The cut was deep but would heal well with stitching.

  Cerise had cleaned the wound but faced with the task of closing it, she balked. She had been unable in the past to do the same for Drace and knew what would happen if she tried now. She didn’t think Lexin would be too happy if she puked in his lap.

  The group had ridden two miles from their first camp. No one had filled her in on what had happened as the men kept up a low conversation, keeping alert to the surrounding countryside. After finding a place for a makeshift camp, the next order of the day was to attend to Lexin’s wound.

  She gave him a pleading look, her face white. “Please don’t ask me to do this.”

  Lexin sat on the ground next to her where she was seated on a stump. “If it were only you and I, and my life depended on it, you could do this, little one. It is no different than sewing a shirt.”

  Cerise made a rude noise. “Yeah, right. The shirt isn’t bleeding on me. Why is it so important that I do this?”

  Lexin gave her a half-hearted smile. “Because Cearan and Merrick would get too much enjoyment in sticking me with something sharp, that is why.”

  Cerise looked to where Cearan leaned nonchalantly against a tree, cleaning under his nails with the tip of his knife, and then Merrick, who sat nearby holding a small oil lamp for her to better see Lexin’s wound. Both sported smug grins that bordered on evil.

  Cerise looked back at Lexin. “Why?”

  “Because I let my inattention put the group in danger,” he explained, matter-of-factly.

  “But it wasn’t entirely your fault,” she argued.

  Lexin placed
his other hand on her knee before she could say anything else. “Perhaps, but I could have said you nay.” He squeezed her knee gently. “I think fifteen, maybe twenty should do it.”

  Cerise gave a huge sigh. “Okay, but it’s your lap.”

  She almost showed him with the first stitch, as she became queasy with the knowledge that her thread was actually fine animal sinew, along with the act of sticking a needle into his flesh.

  Seeing the green tinge to her skin and the sweat beading on her upper lip, Lexin thought now was a good time to distract her with the tale, knowing he could use some distraction himself. Cerise had not the experience for a quick, gentle touch. He begged Arahtok’s mercy that he did not unman himself.

  “There were three Zakara warriors,” he told her in an offhanded way.

  Cerise glanced at his face as she swallowed hard. He made a motion with his free hand for her to continue.

  As she began the second stitch, he went on, “The first Zakara did not know I sensed him. I believe he thought me still distracted.” Lexin flushed, shooting a side long glance at Merrick, who kept his face expressionless, steadily holding the light.

  Lexin quietly described the scene for Cerise, telling her how the Zakara warrior leapt across the stream, landing with a splash by the bank. The half wolf, half man creature carried a huge sword, already swinging it in a vicious arc at Lexin’s head.

  “I dropped to one knee and rolled out of the way, to challenge him. At the end of my roll, I thrust my sword up, catching the creature under the chin. It was dead before it hit the ground.

  Distracted by the fight with the first Zakara, I did not see the other two behind it until the second one was attacking. I managed to get my sword up to deflect the blow. If I had not, instead of getting the wound you are closing, I probably would have lost my arm and then my life.”