VirtualDesire

by Ann Lawrence

  “Oh,” she said softly.

  His words brought the conversation to a halt, each of them lost in contemplation of the flames, of lives lost and battles fought.

  Ardra returned and sat by his side, her eyes on the river. “Do you think Enec survived?” she asked.

  He shook his head. There was little point in raising false hopes. Ardra lifted her hood and concealed her face in its shadows.

  An uncomfortable silence followed, which he refused to break. Enec had betrayed his mistress’s trust, and yet here she sat, her grief plain on her face. He supposed she had been lured by Enec’s pleasing features. When would women begin to look beyond a set of beautiful eyes or well-bred bones to what was inside a man?

  “What are those plants?” Gwen asked when finally he shoved a bowl at her.

  “I do not know their name, but they are nourishing. Eat.” He demonstrated how to cut the tuber to reveal its rich yellow center. “How can you train your cooks if you have no knowledge or skill yourself?”

  Gwen ignored him. Ardra just stared up at him. Her eyes were deep amber in the flickering firelight. All around them, night creatures began to stir.

  Ardra lifted a spoonful of the tuber to her mouth.

  Gwen was still peering at the roasted birds. “Are you sure this is safe to eat? I usually draw the line at meat that’s blue,” she said.

  He felt his anger bubbling. Blue creatures were a delicacy in Tolemac. To insult the meal when one had not the skill to prepare it oneself… “How do you train your cooks?” he asked again.

  “My mother trained our cooks, before she died,” Ardra said between delicate bites. She nibbled around the edges like a bird herself.

  “Oh, all our cooks were trained at Cordon Bleu,” Gwen said. She ate with less daintiness and more purpose. Her hands shook.

  “Come, you are cold.” He pulled her closer to the fire. Her gown still felt damp, and she quivered as he wrapped his arms about her. She still smelled of her exotic scent. It came to him from her hair. “You are not yet dry,” he said near her ear. “Eat and I will warm you.”

  “How? It’s freezing here.” She was rigid against him.

  He grinned and briskly rubbed her arms. He was quite adept at warming a woman. In fact, he knew more ways to start a fire than most men.

  Chapter Ten

  A shadow fell across Gwen’s lap. She looked up. Ardra stood there, her hands extended.

  “Please take my cloak. It is quite dry now and very warm,” Ardra said.

  “That is most kind of you,” Vad said. He put the cloak about Gwen’s shoulders, drawing it tightly closed. “Now you will be warm.”

  His arms felt perfect around her. But in the next moment he withdrew to the fire. He scraped the remnants of their meal into the flames and offered the bowls to Ardra. She stared at him and he sighed.

  “Bob and I had a strict rule, whoever cooked did not wash up.” Gwen rose and held out her hands for their bowls.

  “Bob? Who is Bob and what kind of name is that?” Ardra tipped her head and wrinkled her nose. How Gwen hated a woman who should have looked as if she’d been dragged through a bush and instead looked picture perfect.

  “Bob was Gwen’s lifemate,” Vad said. He unceremoniously dumped the dishes and cutlery into Gwen’s outstretched arms. “He is dead.”

  Dead. In another world and another time.

  “I did not know slaves may lifemate,” Ardra said. Her hair glistened like spun gold. Her curious amber eyes were filled with firelight.

  “Look, Ardra, I’m not a slave. I’m from beyond the ice fields. Vad here is just taking me home. So forget the slave nonsense.” Her hands shook along with her voice.

  “Nonsense?” Ardra’s voice was a whisper.

  Vad stepped between them. His face was inscrutable in the shadows cast by the fire behind him. “Gwen wishes you to put aside the idea that she is a slave. She is to be afforded the same dignity as a Selaw worthy.”

  Vad blurred before Gwen’s eyes. She whirled away, clutched the bowls to her chest, and ran to the riverbank. Her eyes stung as she knelt on a rock and washed the bowls. His kindness only made it worse.

  “I will not cry!” she said. The water was ice cold on her hands as she dunked the dishes. She’d cried her last at Bob’s funeral. Before that, only R. Walter had made her cry. She’d cried buckets over them both. She had vowed never to cry over a man again.

  She scrubbed the bowls to exorcise her tears.

  The bowls were made of some substance like marble. The cutlery was silver. The handles were a bit tarnished, and she wasted time working on the intricate carvings. Overhead, the moons had risen along with the wind. The breeze whipped the cloak and rattled the reeds at the river’s edge. She looked over her shoulder. Vad was sitting beside Ardra, deep in conversation.

  How could she sleep? Her whole body shook with cold and fatigue. Ardra might have been unselfish to give up her cloak, but Gwen knew she could not keep it. On closer inspection, the pale green gown Ardra wore looked like a soft woolen weave, the kind she saw scarves made of rather than dresses. It clung and swayed as she moved. It hugged a reed-thin figure. Vad could have spanned Ardra’s waist with his hands. She certainly had no fat layer to keep her warm.

  Gwen closed her eyes. The feel of Vad’s hands was easily conjured. Her eyes burned again.

  “Stop it!” she chastised herself. Gathering the bowls, she stomped to the couple at the fire. “Here, all done.” Her back to them, she packed the box and took her time securing it with the small peg-and-loop closure.

  The wind ripped through the small clearing and showered sparks across the black shadows. With a shiver, she took off the thick cloak.

  “It was very kind of you to lend me your cloak. I’m nice and warm now. Here.” She held it out. Ardra rose and took it.

  Vad shot to his feet and jerked it from Ardra’s hand. “You cannot be warm. I can see straight through your gown.”

  “Can you? I hope the view’s to your satisfaction.” Gwen sank to the ground. She tucked her nightgown tightly around her feet.

  In the next moment, she was enveloped in his embrace. He lifted her like a small child, strode to a tree, and sat down where he had placed the blankets. He tucked her against his side and arranged a blanket about her shoulders. For one luxurious moment, Gwen reveled in the hard feel of his arm about her. Heat surged from where they touched. It danced along her nerve endings, zipped across synapses.

  “Come, Ardra. Sit close to us. We will offer each other the warmth of our bodies. Tomorrow we will find a settlement and secure proper garments.” His words were worse than a cold shower. Ardra moved into the circle of Vad’s other arm. “You both shall rest and I will keep watch,” he said.

  His arm tightened about her, drawing her even closer. The scent of him mingled with that of Ardra’s perfume.

  How wonderful. She was in the arms of a man as handsome as a god and she had to share.

  She’d never been very good at sharing. Ask her sister.

  Vad leaned his head against the tree trunk. A spot in the center of his back itched. He had difficulty ignoring it—a sign his body was tiring. Fatigue was an enemy.

  His mind drifted. He remembered well his first time lying with a woman—two women, in fact. His awareness master had purchased their favors upon his attaining the fifth level of awareness along with his warrior status. It was forbidden to indulge oneself with women before that moment. It tainted the training.

  The two women had been but a few conjunctions younger than he, but moons beyond him in other ways. They’d sated him within but a few hours. Never again had he wished for two women. He’d felt fed upon, devoured, without control.

  Now here he was in the darkest hour of night, his senses on fire, his body oddly hot on Gwen’s side. Her legs were snuggled tightly against his hip. At first he’d thought the intense heat a fever. And surely after such a soaking, and in such harsh wind, she could easily have sickened. But her skin was cool when he
stroked a hand along her cheek.

  Within his other arm, Ardra lay sleeping as a child might. Her hand cradled her face where it rested on his chest. Her other hand had slipped into his lap. But her hand felt weightless and insubstantial. It was the other woman who heated his blood.

  He imagined he could have them both. Ardra would be delicate, full of gentleness. Gwen would be fierce and probably give him directions. He grinned at the thought. Aye. She would tell him exactly what she liked and then demand it.

  Having two women as a responsibility reminded him far too much of having the two women in his bed. He must spend every moment thinking of them, where they were, what they were doing, in order that he did not disappoint or neglect them. More a burden than a pleasure.

  Ardra must be satisfied as well as Gwen with his performance, else he would be a failure. The responsibility of it weighed heavily. He wanted to slip into the forest and make his way to the capital. There he would present the dagger, and prove that despite the council’s dishonesty, he had behaved with honor.

  He would again feel the weight of his sword in his hand. Until then, until it was placed there by the high councilor, Samoht, he would never pick up another.

  As he stared into the dwindling coals of the fire, he thought of the attack by Ardra’s men. It had not come until Ardra had stood in the boat, until he had moved forward to steady her, until he had turned his face, scarred side to the men.

  In the past, few had wished to engage his blade. Few wished the consequences of angering the gods. It was foolish, superstitious nonsense, in his opinion, and yet, time and again, he had found that he must attack first to force the issue. But this time, as soon as he’d turned his cheek, the men had attacked.

  Only when fighting Enec hand to hand had he seen the true ambivalence his face engendered. With his scarred side to his opponent the fighting was fierce. With the unblemished cheek to the fore, he faced naught but defensive moves, retreating, dancing about.

  Vad’s shoulder ached to move, but Gwen had snuggled even closer, her nose buried in his tunic, and he was loath to shift her and risk waking her. He knew how she must feel. Had he not faced disorientation and pain upon waking in Ocean City? Then there was the curious familiarity with surroundings he had surely never seen before. The feeling was one of his world tipping. Would not a night of quiet sleep have eased his way there?

  A final question disturbed him only a bit less than the ache in his shoulder: why had Enec not dropped the jeweled knife and drawn his longer, more useful blade? Why had he taken the dagger from Gwen in the first place? Its value was trifling. Surely he had not feared so small a weapon in the hands of so small a woman?

  Chapter Eleven

  At dawn, which came in a burst of red streaks in the purple sky, they took to the river again. Vad and Ardra glanced at Gwen occasionally as they moved down the river. A frown knitted both their brows. While a scowl merely rendered Vad more handsome, Ardra looked like a disapproving older sister, and the last thing Gwen needed was a surrogate sibling.

  With a sharp shake of her head, she tried to ignore them. Sisters and men did not mix. Sisters, men, and lust didn’t either. Lust? Why had she thought of lust? She didn’t need lust. Lust rotted your brain, scrambled the circuits, made you do ridiculous things like follow gorgeous warriors into games—deadly, cold, frozen, windy games.

  Vad’s frown deepened. Her thoughts scattered as internal cold was replaced by a fizzy, hot feeling between her eyes. She rubbed the spot. Vad’s eyes tracked the movement of her hand. His frown became a hard glower. The look did interesting things to the shadows the dawn light cast over his features.

  The slash on his cheek did nothing to detract from his devastating looks, either. It added a bit of danger to his appearance. His beard was growing back. The memory of shaving his face while he dozed did nothing for her composure.

  He shoved his hair behind his ear and stepped across the boat in one long stride. Ardra took a more cautious path, clinging to the gunwales.

  “Gee, did you want a sailing lesson?” Gwen asked him as he crouched on his haunches before her. Ardra dropped to her knees at his side. They looked like a matched pair. Fair. Great-looking. Perfect—for each other.

  He slapped his palm to her forehead. “She is cool.”

  “Still,” Ardra said to him, “she looks ill.” The spot where his hand touched pulsed a moment and began to grow warm.

  “I’m not sick. What makes you think that?” Gwen felt like a mood ring from the 1970s. If Vad touched her, she was suddenly hot. When he retreated, cold swept in to replace the warmth.

  “You are sick,” Vad said. “The skin about your eyes is turning black. You are puffing up along the jaw. Perhaps you are rotting.”

  Gwen touched her chin. “One of Ardra’s men hit me with his elbow. It’s called a bruise. I suppose you perfect folks don’t bruise. I have noticed your skin is darn near perfect—scars excepted. I’ll probably look even worse tomorrow, but it’s nothing to fret over.” Then she picked up the hem of her nightgown and wiped it beneath her eyes. She contemplated the dark stain and burst into laughter. “And this is just mascara and eyeliner. It’s smeared makeup.”

  “Makeup?” Ardra said softly, and turned to Vad. “What language is she speaking? Where is she from?”

  “Ocean City—” she began.

  “Ocean City!” Ardra cried. “Is this the city on the great ocean that holds the mighty serpents? The huge fish the size of three horses?”

  Gwen stifled a giggle and adjusted the sail. “Sure. That’s the place.”

  Vad glowered at her mirth. “Ocean City is beyond the ice fields. It’s flat and colorless.” Turning his attention to Gwen, he took the scrap of cloth in his fingers and did as she had, only more gently, wiping it along the skin beneath her eyes. “This is very curious. This color is some kind of enhancement? Like the paint you spread on the cloth of your gown? Why would you put color on your eyes?”

  “Oh, I could never explain it. It has to do with vanity—”

  “Vanity!” Ardra pursed her lips. “A vain woman is despised by men. Selaw women sometimes rub berry juice upon their lips to stain them a darker red. Those women are accounted of little value, save to a certain portion of the male populace who have few funds to—”

  “Well, it’s easy for you to criticize.” Gwen felt herself bristle. “You have cooks; you’re beautiful—”

  “I am?” Ardra smiled. Gwen decided Vad should not see that smile. It was a thousand-watt menace. She jerked the boat to throw them off balance and distract him. He was probably like most men when faced with a beautiful smile—easily attracted, easily landed—like a giant fish.

  “Well,” Gwen qualified, “maybe if you took a bath.”

  Ardra frowned. Good. She looked less wonderful with a frown. When Gwen turned back to Vad, he was grinning. She felt as if he’d read her mind.

  “Here, Vad, hold the tiller. I could use some help. Did I tell you I used to take part in sailing races when I was a kid?”

  An hour later, Vad ordered her to put the boat in to shore.

  “Smoke,” he said, although Gwen could smell nothing except her nightgown, which had the strong scent of river water. “There will be a settlement with food and clothing,” he continued. “We can barter the bowls and spoons for what we need.”

  Familiar now with the little boat’s idiosyncrasies, she beached it on a sandy spit of land with a small flourish and waited for Vad to carry Ardra to shore before she surrendered herself to the same treatment. She did really well ignoring the strength of his arms, the nearness of his wonderful warmth, but less well controlling the sudden heat that surged through her as she watched the muscles of his back and arms work to pull the boat farther up the beach for safety. With no anchor, or handy trees or boulders to tie up the boat, Vad had quite a bit of work to do. Gwen fanned herself. Yes, there was definitely something about a well-honed man in motion.

  “We should see if we can get an anchor,” she s
aid when he was satisfied the boat was safe. “Will these folks be friendly?” she asked them.

  Ardra nodded. “They will be Selaw, and thus subject to my wishes.”

  “There has been strife between the Selaw and Tolemac for generations. We must be careful not to offer offense,” Vad answered more cautiously.

  Somehow the idea of going in to territory she did not know from the game frightened Gwen. The game took a player only to the border, where all the skirmishes occurred. She rubbed her hands on her arms and scanned the landscape. The water was tinted red, and the beach was more orange than brown now. If this was home, she’d guess there was a high iron content in the soil, but here, she didn’t want to hazard any guesses. The only thing keeping her from freezing into an ice cube was the exertion of sailing and Vad’s uncanny effect on her, which heated more than her blood.

  “When did we leave Tolemac?” she asked Vad.

  “About the time Ardra’s men were meeting their fate.”

  “Then we’re deep in Selaw country.” She shivered and stepped closer to Vad.

  “Do not fear,” Ardra said, laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “We will gain what we need.”

  Gwen trusted Vad’s caution far more than she trusted Ardra’s confidence. She was close on Vad’s heels as he strode swiftly through the scrubby brush that edged the river. Taller trees formed a grove at the foot of a hill tinted with lavender shadows as clouds raced across the sky. Despite the pastoral surroundings, she thought Vad was too tall, too much a target. And the hand he held on his knife hilt looked far from casual. Even the bows and arrows he’d slung across his back did not reassure her. After all, they had only a few arrows. There might be hundreds of hostile Selaw hiding in the woods.

  Instead of hostile natives, though, children burst from the woods when they reached the foot of the hill. Their faces were dirty, but their clothing was clean and sturdy. They stood and jabbered at Vad, jumping up and down before him with little fear. Several men and women melted from the shadowy trees and approached more warily.