VirtualDesire

by Ann Lawrence

  He was responsible for Gwen. That responsibility was not the burden he expected. “Come. You are in need of a bath.”

  They entered the lower labyrinth. Ardra caught up with them, said she would hide the maidens at Gwen’s request, and led them to the corridor from which they could find the steaming pool. “I must return above and speak to my father,” she said. “He must provide guards tomorrow to protect the maidens on their journey home. What will you do until the sun-rising?”

  “Sleep,” Vad said.

  Gwen shook her head. “I don’t think I’ll ever sleep easy again. But it’s freezing down here. I’m going to change my clothes.”

  Vad watched her walk away, the basket still clutched in her hand. The hem of her gown was dirty; her hair was sticking up in the back.

  She was beautiful.

  Ardra interrupted his musings. “I will lodge the maidens in a cavern I know by the grotto entrance, at least until the tides change. It is dry, and it will take little time to move them into a boat from there. But the tides will not change until the sun is overhead.” She lifted her necklace from around her neck. “I want you to have this as a token of my thanks for saving the maidens. It is the key to the labyrinth. You will always be welcome here.”

  He held it in his hand and rubbed his thumb over the well-polished center stone of amber. “I am honored.”

  She bowed. “I will go above and see my father. Now that the maidens are released, he must also offer some recompense to their fathers to…encourage their silence. I will return when it is accomplished.”

  Vad watched her go. He thought of his journey to Tolemac. It was imperative he arrive before vintage month. Or perhaps it mattered not where he went. What good was an empty dagger? What good was his life from this day forward?

  And yet he could think of nothing to do save complete his journey.

  He dropped the bow and arrows to the ground and raked his fingers through his hair. Every muscle in his body ached. For long moments, he contemplated his next move. He plucked the one remaining torch from its bracket and headed for the warm pool. Perhaps a long soak in the water would ease the throbbing in his arm.

  Then he admitted to himself he just wanted to find Gwen.

  A thin, high scream echoed down the corridor from the direction of the thundering falls.

  He ran into the tunnels, then stopped. He consulted the pendant, lifted his torch to be sure of the way, then carefully walked forward. His torch cast demonic shadows on the wall. According to the pendant, the falls were almost straight ahead. He stood still and listened. He heard nothing and ran blindly.

  His instincts led him well. A lone torch lit the mammoth cavern of the falls. He skidded to a halt by the thundering waters, his heart in his throat. He cast his torch to the ground to free his hands. It hissed and extinguished itself in the slick moisture on the grotto floor.

  Gwen stood with her back to the falls, her heels inches from the abyss. Mist dampened her gown so it clung to her body and surrounded her in a sparkling array, like transparent gems in the light of the one torch smoking on the wall. A tall man held the tip of his sword to the center of her chest.

  Enec.

  “Don’t come any closer, Vad,” she called. “He’ll kill you.”

  “I told you he would come if you screamed.” Enec grinned. He stood half-turned so he could keep an eye on both Gwen and Vad. “Shall I make her scream again?” he asked Vad.

  Vad shook his head. “Why are you not dead?” he asked softly. Enec shifted the sword, and Gwen groaned. He froze.

  “You left me to die. But a lovely Selaw woman found me and nursed me.” Enec swung his gaze between Vad and Gwen. “Surely you can understand the power of a kind woman’s succor? I finally made my way here and found that the maidens were no longer prisoners.”

  “And are soon to be in the bosom of their loving families.” Vad noted the gauntness of Enec’s features. His eyes were almost burning flames in his face. A tremor ran through the hand that held the sword.

  “It is really you I want, Vad,” Enec said. “You ruined my plans. Imagine my dismay when I discovered the fortress mourning my passing. And imagine my surprise when two well-trussed guards described their captor. An angel come to rescue the maidens! What lunacy. But then, here you are. An angel I could not kill—last time. Now I think I can.”

  Enec laughed and shifted the point of his sword over Gwen’s breast. “Ruonail will regret this piece of business. The maidens will tattle to their fathers, and Tolemac will send an avenging army, I suppose.”

  As if he had forgotten Vad, Enec skimmed the flat of the sword up and down Gwen’s stomach. Vad took a step. Enec jerked in his direction. “Do not move, or I will kill her in your place.”

  Vad froze, his eyes on the sword and the quick rise and fall of Gwen’s breast. “What do you gain from her death?” he asked.

  “Revenge. It is a petty emotion, but I had hoped to claim Ardra. Whatever objections Ruonail might have had to our mating, Ardra would have overcome them—if I had had my reward for taking the maidens.”

  “What could possibly have swayed Ardra to mate with a man such as you?” Vad asked.

  “The Vial of Seduction, of course,” Enec answered softly. “Now my plans are dashed to pieces.”

  “You will never escape this labyrinth.”

  “No?” He reached into his dirty tunic and brought out a pendant just like Ardra’s. “Ruonail gave it to me long ago so I might come and go.”

  “What of the guards?” Vad asked. “Did they not wonder at your return from the dead?”

  “They never saw me, not this night, nor any other time I have come and gone on my errands. I much prefer a good climb to a boat ride, and there are several ‘windows’ to choose from.”

  Vad remembered how he and Gwen had watched the funeral procession. Why had he not thought of it as an access point? Because he had been stupid with fever and distracted by Gwen.

  Gwen stood so close to oblivion. She had been brought here by his carelessness. He studied Enec and the position of his sword—and Gwen.

  “Do not move, my Ocean City warrior woman,” Vad warned her. He could tell, as if she were whispering her plans in his ear, that she intended to take action. “Allow me to deal with him.”

  “Ah, yes, Vad, come deal with me,” Enec taunted. “But you will fail. This time I will ignore your face. I will see only your Tolemac heart and cut it out.”

  Gwen’s body tensed at Enec’s words. Her eyes were wide.

  Vad tried to communicate with her. Do not move, he silently ordered her.

  She gave an imperceptible shake of her head and shifted one foot.

  Then he saw it in her hand—an apple. Even from where he stood he could see the whiteness of her knuckles and the smooth redness of the apple’s skin.

  Do not do it, he silently begged. Behind her the river flowed, the falls sent up their spray, the abyss yawned.

  She lifted her hand. Enec turned to her. The apple hit his temple. Instead of falling back, he lunged forward, into her. Her arms windmilled slowly, impossibly slowly. Vad leaped for her, felt her hand, gripped it. She clung to him, her fingers icy, wet, slipping.

  “Vad,” she choked, and went over the edge. He held on. His injured arm trembled with the effort to support her weight and maintain his grip.

  He sensed movement behind him. With a shout of pain, he hauled her up, grabbed her gown by the back, and heaved her onto the slippery edge.

  Enec slashed at his belly with the sword. It swung in vicious arcs. The man had no competence, but was a deadly threat nonetheless. They slowly circled around the cavern, moving in and out of the torchlight, a sword length apart.

  With a glance over his shoulder to see where they were, to see if Gwen was safe, Vad edged sideways, away from her, hands extended. He wished desperately for his sword.

  Vad timed the sword’s swing. Slash. One, two, three. Slash. One, two, three.

  Vad kicked out, connecting with Enec’s
knee.

  The sword flew from his hand, over the falls. For a moment Enec stood poised on the edge, his arms outstretched. Then dropped backward.

  Enec made no sound as he plunged into the abyss.

  On the wall, the lone torch sputtered and died.

  “Vad,” Gwen whispered in the darkness. “Where are you? Find me. I don’t know where you are…where the edge is.”

  “Do not move,” he said. “I will come for you.” He felt as if someone had pulled a black cloth across his face. The mist touched his skin like fingers. Close your eyes and see, he said to himself. Imagine where she is. He put out his hand and took cautious steps toward her voice.

  She went into his arms eagerly. He pulled her body against him.

  He edged away from the abyss, sliding his feet, feeling the ground until his back came up against a wall. He leaned on it, Gwen in his arms, and took a deep, shuddering breath.

  She was still and silent except for the hitch of her breath. He cupped her face and bent his head.

  He found her mouth, the hot moistness of her lips and tongue. Not seeing, he could only feel. Every inch of his skin was on fire. She spread her hands on his shoulders. Flames flared under her touch. He groaned deep in his throat, gave voice to all the pent-up need he felt for her. As he had dreamed, her fingers plucked at the laces over his manhood. He swept his hands down her back, cupped her buttocks in his palms.

  Her fingers were gentle on him.

  He wanted nothing of gentleness.

  For long moments there was only his selfish need, her warm hands, her mouth on his throat, and a flaming burning in his belly to have it done.

  She said his name. It sent a shiver of awareness through him—awareness of where they were, who she was, and what they were doing. This was no dream from which he could wake. There was no hypnoflora to confuse his senses.

  He wrapped his arms about her and lifted her high against him. The warmth of her breasts cushioned his head as he leaned in to her. She tasted sweet, her nipples hard as he dragged his teeth over them. With a whispered question and her assent, he laid her down. She slid his breeches off his hips as he lifted her gown.

  “You are silk,” he said at her ear, sending a shiver of sensation down her neck as he knelt, poised to sheathe himself as she so desperately wanted. “A silken tie. And you have bound me to you.”

  “Vad,” she said his name aloud. He moved inch by slow inch into her, filling her. She thought her heart would burst. No air entered her lungs; her heart no longer beat. There was nothing save him, that exquisite point where they met.

  She lifted her arms and embraced him, hung on, for a storm broke over him.

  It raged in silence, buffeting her with waves of sensation, heat, flames of want. She twisted, gasped, cried out as his release triggered hers. The cry echoed around them, prolonging the moment like the ripples of aftershocks that ran through his body and hers in the wake of climax.

  He shuddered in her arms. Heated breath stroked her neck. Wet skin moved against wet skin. Hard muscle pressed on soft tissue. Thundering heart met thundering heart.

  She slept, fearing nothing in his arms, her legs entangled with his. Long hours later, something woke her. It was so dark she couldn’t see her fingers inches from her eyes. The mist of the falls blanketed them, but she felt no cold. She touched his shoulder with her lips. How hot he was, how salty his taste.

  And she wanted to devour him. He shifted on her, and she sensed that he was looking at her. What did he see in his mind’s eye? His hand began a slow movement on her hip, a featherlight caress, mirrored by his mouth as it traced the veins and arteries along her neck, her shoulder, along the inside of her arm. It was almost as if he could feel the heat of her inflamed blood and wanted to trace it to its source.

  They linked fingers in the dark. She guided his hand with hers, over her breast, to her stomach, and lower. Her hips arched to his caress, to the knowing way he touched.

  How simple it all was in the dark, with no one to see or judge what they did. And she knew it was just this one time, this once in the anonymous blackness where she could be what he needed and he could forget what he wanted.

  He sought her mouth and she kissed him hard, then gently explored the textures of him, bit him gently on the lips, the chin, the throat. She loved the smooth planes of his chest, his hard stomach. His hands moved restlessly in her hair. With slow, languid touches of her mouth she made love to him, memorized him from knee to shoulder, his taste, his scent. She memorized it all for later, when he was once again a warrior and she but a slave—when she was gone.

  This time, when he entered her, she held herself motionless. When he tried to move, she clutched him tightly and whispered to him to lie still. She felt a frantic need hold on to the moment, to freeze it. For when he found his release this time, she knew it would be the end.

  He lay in her arms, every muscle of his body held rigid at her request. His lips feathered her with soft kisses on her eyelids, her brows, her mouth. But one traitorous part of her couldn’t hold still, and with a moan, she arched her hips to him.

  They came together, riding the same need, frantic for the same end. He said her name once. Then she lost herself in his passion, deaf to the words he murmured in her ear, enveloped only in his touch, his fierce embrace. She felt his teeth on her shoulder and cried out a flicker of pain met an outpouring of ecstasy.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Gwen became aware of a faint glimmer of light raising sparkles across the frost-rimmed rocks. She rubbed her eyes. Yes, it was light. She broke from Vad’s warm embrace, shaking his shoulder. “Someone’s coming,” she whispered by his ear.

  He rose slowly, like a bear awakening after a long winter’s nap. How magnificent he looked in the dim light—and how unreal. No man should be that handsome, that perfect. He gathered his scattered clothing, and she remembered that he did not revere his perfection. Indeed, he thought it a burden.

  Self-consciously, she pulled on her gown, then turned away as Vad dressed. When no one burst in on them, she tiptoed to the grotto entrance and peeked out.

  “Vad, look,” she called. He joined her. Sequentially along the path, torches burned. They flamed low in their brackets, telling her how long they’d been asleep.

  “Ardra,” Vad said, looking down at her. “She must be marking our path back for us.”

  Gwen gathered her rush basket and the flagons of potion. She felt her face flush with the knowledge that if Ardra had lit a path for them back to the cavern, she had probably seen them, heard them. Gwen wanted to bury her face in her hands in embarrassment, thinking of the abandoned way they’d made love, sure of the knowledge they were not only unseen, but also unheard.

  Had Ardra come after them?

  And how long had they slept in each other’s arms? No, Gwen thought, I won’t think about his arms, sleeping, any of it. She avoided eye contact with him, afraid to see regret in his gaze.

  “Should we tell Ardra about Enec?” he asked softly.

  She shook her head. “No, she thinks he died on the river. She’s already mourned him. Why reopen the wound or add to her pain?”

  “Come.” Vad held out his hand, and she accepted it. Every step away from the grotto was a step away from intimacy, and a step toward an inevitable separation. At the steaming pool, she hastily washed herself and pulled a linen tunic over her head, aware of his intent scrutiny. His gaze touched her like fingers skimming her skin.

  But he would not allow her to avoid him. He knelt before her and took the laces from her hands before she could cross-garter her legs and don her male persona.

  I won’t think about his hands either, she thought as his strong fingers wrapped up her legs.

  “Gwen, look at me.” She lifted her eyes to his blue ones, dark here in the light of but one last torch, his irises so huge his eyes appeared to be black. “We must talk.”

  She shot to her feet. “Gee, in Ocean City that’s never a good way to start a conversation.�
�� She grabbed a cloak and swung it about her shoulders.

  “I do not know how to say this. You are making it more difficult.”

  She lifted the extra bow and cradled it in her arms, across her chest, before looking up at him. She took a huge breath and smiled her best smile, imbued it with all the happiness she did not feel. “I know what you’re going to say, Vad, and you don’t need to. Please don’t worry about me either.” A lump burned in her throat, but she swallowed it. “We were celebrating life after coming so close to death.” She went on quickly before he could say anything that would rip her heart right out of her chest. “That’s all. But it was a beautiful celebration.”

  He gripped her upper arm. “Is that all it was? Celebrating life?”

  “Sure. What more can it be?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “I’ll carry these, too,” she said, and fumbled the extra arrows into a pile like giant pickup sticks.

  His brow furrowed. “And what of my dreams?”

  “Dreams?”

  “Aye,” he said, coming to her and taking the arrows. He carefully packed them into a quiver. “I had dreams there as we lay sleeping. I have had them before, only this time they had such detail, such clarity, I cannot explain it. You wanted me to examine my dreams. Well, I am ready.”

  So he was concerned about the dreams he’d had, not about trashing his vows or breaking her heart.

  He went down on his haunches and used the tip of the jeweled dagger to make a drawing in the black dust of the cavern floor. “I dreamt of this.”

  Irresistibly, she was drawn to his side. Perhaps it was the black dust that rendered his crude lines so clear. London taxi, she thought immediately. With agitated strokes, he drew another object. An airplane. When he looked up at her, his eyes wide and questioning, she forgot her own heartbreak. He must be remembering. He must be who Kered said—Nicholas Sandav, a missing child from her place and time, descendant of another man of wondrous beauty.