VirtualDesire

by Ann Lawrence

  Then another thought intruded. Why had Vad needed two horses? Had he originally intended to take her with him? Maybe he’d been disappointed in her lovemaking, and had had second thoughts. She cringed and dropped her head onto her knees.

  Why would a man so spectacular be interested in her? Because there was no one else available? She wiped her tears on her sleeve again.

  The whicker of a horse made her swing around. There sat Vad atop a sturdy horse, the reins to the other in his hand. “What do you want?” She scrambled to her feet and jammed her hands on her hips.

  “I want to know why you further delay me by running away.”

  “Delay you? Just go. Leave me alone. I’m not completely stupid. I can find my way to your precious Ardra.”

  He threw a leg over the front of the saddle and slid to the ground. “My precious Ardra?”

  Gwen wiped her nose with the back of her hand, conscious of how she must look, her cheeks grimy with tears, her hair a mess from rolling on the ground half the night.

  Slowly he walked nearer until he towered over her. “You think because I inhabit this form, I have not the integrity to remain true to one woman—you.”

  “You were leaving me behind.”

  For a moment words escaped him. “For your safety,” he finally managed. How easily he had found her. He, too, would have come to this place to lick his wounds, the place where they had joined themselves so ardently. They were more alike than he cared to admit.

  “Your tears,” he said, “are not about waiting in the camp for me to return. They are not tears of fear that I may be devoured by some menace on my way to the treasures, are they?” Her silence was answer enough for him. “Do you think I declared myself and meant none of it?” he nearly shouted.

  Her gaze slid from his. “Vad, I—”

  He threw up a hand to silence her. The evasion of her eyes said so much. “You think a man who is beset by the attentions of women is easily drawn in by them. That is what you think, is it not? You think I am incapable of constancy! You think a woman perhaps more beautiful than you, or more… By the sword. I am sick of it. I was leaving you behind because I could not bear to see you hurt.”

  “Vad. You have to understand. Every man I’ve ever loved has left me. I—”

  “Every man? Your Bob? You blame him for dying? Then well you should blame me, too, when I am rotting in the evil bog. Believe that I am doing so to make your life miserable.”

  He boosted her into the saddle, trying not to think about how small and delicate her bones felt in his hands. He could not remain here one moment longer.

  “You make me sound petty. I’m not petty.” She gripped the reins in a tight fist.

  Better her anger than her tears. “You are petty. You are doubting. You have no trust. And yet I must take you on this treasure hunt. I have lost far too much time to return you to my ‘precious Ardra’. Now, instead of concentrating on the perils, on finding the treasures, I must spend every moment worrying about your safety.” He handed her the jeweled dagger. “You will need a weapon.”

  “I’m sorry.” Tears ran freely down her cheeks.

  Sorrow would not sway him. “Your apology means nothing.” A small hiccup joined her tears. The little sound ate at his composure. More followed. By the time he settled himself in the saddle, he had not the heart to continue chastising her. “Perhaps you were just not thinking clearly,” he finished.

  “I promise I won’t be a burden. I can help you. I just know it.”

  Her simple words scattered what remained of his ire. What worthier woman could he ask for than one willing to battle perils at his side? Perhaps one more predictable. “You will follow my orders. You will do only what I tell you, when I tell you. Is that understood? And when we return, we will deal with your inability to trust me, to believe in my love for you.”

  They rode in silence for about an hour, by Gwen’s reckoning, along a path that edged the river. She hated staring at his broad back. It seemed stiff with displeasure—because of her. Several ravens sat in the top of a tree and tracked their progress. They reminded her of the fortress, and that reminded her that Vad might soon be Ardra’s husband.

  “Vad. What if the council insists you lifemate with Ardra? How can you say no?”

  He did not even look over his shoulder. “Whatever I decide to do about Ardra will have nothing to do with my love for you.”

  “Oh?” What the heck did that mean? “You’ll lifemate with Ardra, and keep me on the side? Is that what you’re saying? Well, no way.”

  He hauled on his reins, holding his mount in place until she caught up to him. A muscle twitched in his jaw. Even his hair looked angry. “By ‘keep you on the side’,” he snapped, “do you mean as a concubine?”

  “Yes.”

  “How could you think so little of me?”

  The fact that her doubts had the power to hurt him amazed her. She’d never been on the giving end of pain. It made her feel very small and very contrite.

  “Can I start over?” She felt the tears gathering again, but fought them this time. They were a weakness he probably deplored. Women about to cross an evil bog should not give any outward sign of frailty. “I just think when you get back—and you will get back, I know it—the council will offer you Ardra, and you’ll have to take her.”

  “Ardra is not some package to hand around. The council may offer her to me, or may not. How I will answer I do not know. Perhaps I will say aye to a mating with her. Perhaps not.”

  She let her horse drop back behind his. On second thought, maybe weeping was a good thing.

  They allowed the horses to pick their way daintily through the outskirts of the bog. Vad took her reins and led her horse as the ground began to grow more uncertain underfoot. The trees thinned and took on a ravaged look. He spoke over his shoulder. “Before we are deep in the bog, I have but one request of you.”

  “What is it?” Her horse stumbled a bit in the softening ground.

  “I know the value of a family. When we complete this journey, should you return to your place, make peace with your parents, your sister. They must grieve for your loss.”

  Return to her place. Could she ever leave him? Yes…if the council gave him to Ardra. She had too much respect for the woman to horn in on her happiness.

  Maybe the wandering wiseman, Nilrem, could help her go home. But wait, she had watched Narfrom disappear. He had done it right there in the fortress, not on some mountain under the direction of a wiseman.

  Power and design, Narfrom had said.

  So theoretically, she could leave at any time. No, she couldn’t. She couldn’t envision life without Vad. It was not possible to spend the rest of her days looking at him glowering down on her from a poster, playing his game, turning him off and wishing for what could not be.

  She hadn’t wanted another man in her life, hadn’t wanted to face another heartbreak. This time it hurt as much as she remembered—times ten. How could she have fallen in love with a man who was too handsome for words and too kind for his own good?

  But no matter how painful her love for him, no matter how alien and frightening his world, she now knew the only way she’d leave him was if he sent her away.

  Gwen strove to be nonchalant. “Maybe one day I’ll make peace with my parents. You’d really like my mother. And she’d love…your eels. This experience certainly makes holding a grudge against my sister seem—”

  “Petty. Is Rwalter a good match for your sister?”

  “Perfect,” she said, and for the first time she meant it. “They have everything in common. My sister was my best friend until…she met R. Walter. I miss her friendship.”

  Vad nodded and held up a hand. He listened a moment, then signaled her forward. “I understand. It must be similar to what I feel at the loss of Kered’s leadership.” He talked of the accusations leveled against himself and Kered.

  Gwen could hear the continued pain in his voice at how his reputation had not been enough to stand ag
ainst Samoht’s accusations. “This Samoht must have a real grudge against you,” she said.

  Vad shrugged. “Samoht’s grudge is more with Kered, but as his lieutenant, I must stand in his place.”

  “You took it with admirable grace,” she said. “I wanted to leap over that round table and smack his arrogant face.”

  Vad turned in his saddle and grinned. “You are a fierce little warrior woman.”

  Black water, with an oily scum, seemed to surround them. She wrinkled her nose. “Boy, this place stinks.”

  Remnants of ancient trees rose like black spikes from the water. The dry or firm places were growing smaller. Afraid of becoming lost, or being unable to find her way back, Gwen used the jeweled dagger to cut slashes on the bare tree trunks whenever she could manage it without falling out of the saddle.

  The sky grew overcast; the sun retreated. “We’ll get out of here before it gets dark, won’t we?”

  Vad shook his head. The idea of this place in the dark was more than intimidating. At least in the fortress the ground was solid underfoot.

  Vad pulled up his horse. She watched him scrape a fungus growth from a tree trunk. “Dinner,” he said, and placed it in the worn leather pack. He slowly grew more talkative, losing some of his stiffness with her.

  The murky ground near her burped a bubble of gas. She grabbed her nose and wheeled her horse back.

  “Here.” He offered her a strip of cloth that had been wrapped about the bread. She held the cloth to her nose.

  “You asked me before what my best weapon was, and I answered my sword. Then I started to think, perhaps it is not a sword that will triumph here. Perhaps I could—”

  “Feed the hounds something noxious, like the stuff for the mourning wine? Did you bring my basket?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, too bad. It had that potion you cooked up for the maiden rescue. And apples.”

  He dug about in his saddle pack and held something up. “Would you like one now?”

  She accepted the apple and tucked it into her tunic. “Does this mean the potion’s somewhere in your pack, too?” He nodded. “Then maybe it’s not such a bad thing that we couldn’t use it at the fortress.”

  “Aye. This time I will invite eight to dinner—hounds, that is.”

  Gwen smiled behind her cloth. His next few words took away all her humor.

  “From this point, we must beware of outcasts and water creatures.”

  “Outcasts? Water creatures? Sure. No trouble. I’ll just keep my eyes peeled.”

  “I know you are not going to peel your eyes, but especially you must look for Wartmen. They often venture into the bog, perhaps to hunt the ravens. A raven pie is very satisfying.”

  It took most of the day to go only a few leagues. The horses wouldn’t go faster than a walk, and Vad stopped repeatedly to scrape fungi into his pack. Gwen began to pride herself on spotting the ugly growths before he did. As they went deeper into the bog, new growth appeared, long, cobwebby strands that crossed the paths and clung to their hair and horses, draping itself from branch to branch.

  She continued making her marks.

  Vad raised his hand. As she drew to his side, every muscle of her back and legs aching from the tense ride, she saw what he did: three men. They were swathed in fur cloaks like the one Vad had left in Ocean City. Dirty beards covered the lower halves of their faces. One stepped ahead of the others. There were no weapons in view beyond the usual knives.

  With a stiff nod, Vad dismounted and handed her his reins. Slowly, his hands out at his sides, he advanced. The first man met Vad, and the two hunkered down and spoke. Gwen wished she could hear their words. A second man, with some sort of crusty growth on his cheeks—warts, she realized—gave her a wide grin. Could he tell she was a woman? Gwen thought not. Her cloak would conceal most of her form, and the hood hid her face and hair. Nonetheless, the man was certainly happy about something.

  Vad came back to her side. “They are hungry. I have invited them to share a meal with us. In exchange they will guide us from here to the hounds.”

  “Is it necessary to have a guide?” As the men drew near, she realized they all had the growths on their faces and hands.

  “If we wish to move forward when night falls, aye.”

  “But they look scary,” she whispered. “One of them keeps grinning at me.”

  Vad nodded. “They outnumber us, probably covet the horses, but we have little choice. I did not want to alarm you, but without the stars or sun to guide us, we could just as easily be going in circles.”

  Gwen glanced at the heavens and realized it had been over an hour since they’d seen anything of the sun. The sky was a flat, greenish-gray blanket overhead, hiding the lavender heavens.

  She gathered what she could of dead branches while Vad unsaddled the horses. The three men stood on the periphery of the activity and murmured among themselves. Plotting?

  After constructing a small fire on one of the few dry spots in the bog, Vad speared several of the fungi with sticks and held them out. While the men and Gwen held the sticks over the coals, Vad divided the apples and bread and explained to the silent men that when they left the bog, the remaining food would be theirs.

  Gwen desperately wanted to visit the bushes, but was afraid to leave Vad alone, or to go off on her own. She watched the Wartmen devour the fungi. Taking a tentative bite, she almost groaned with pleasure. It tasted like steak, tender, succulent steak. Her stomach growled with pleasure.

  The Wartmen’s strong odor almost ruined her appetite. It was less uncleanness than it was a feral scent. One man stood. He opened his cloak, separated his clothing, and relieved himself into the undergrowth. Gwen felt heat rush into her face.

  “Gather some dry wood,” Vad ordered her, pointing to a deadfall. She watched him conceal a small grin when she scrambled quickly behind the snarled screen of twigs and moldy branches, grateful for his attention to her privacy. The ground beneath her feet was soft and spongy. There was little that was dry. Even a few moments away from Vad made her nervous they might attack him.

  Several hours later, full night had fallen, and they were still unscathed. The three men carried torches and led the way. The bog was filled with black shadows, but not silence. Gases burped as they passed, birds cawed, small things slithered from their path to hide in the undergrowth. The horses labored.

  Gwen cursed their guides’ stamina. But to give them credit, they were quick to point out hazards. Finally Gwen noticed a freshening in the air. Vad ordered a halt. He slung one of their packs to the ground and clucked at his horse to go around the men. Gwen stuck close to Vad’s side as they left the three Wartmen.

  “The attack will come now, I sense it. They like to gnaw on the bones of the dead.”

  “Gnaw?”

  He eased from his saddle, blade drawn, and tossed her his reins. “Ride ahead and wait for me.”

  She opened her mouth, then remembered not to be a burden and kicked her horse to a trot. The ground was firmer, but the soft, dark night concealed small hazards. She pulled up and listened. A man shouted. Another answered.

  Her heart’s hard beat concealed all intelligible sounds from her. It was all she could hear—that and the rush of her blood. The horses danced in agitation, almost jerking the reins from her hand. “Stay,” she said softly to them. “Stand.” Hers responded, but the one Vad had ridden was rearing and pulling, almost dislocating her shoulder.

  Vad burst from the night, a white specter, hair blowing, cloak flying like wings behind him. He leaped into his saddle, shot her a quick nod, and urged his mount to a canter. Gwen followed on his heels. Weaving between barely seen trees, they rode hard. When Vad finally pulled up, he shifted around to look at her. “They did attack as I expected. However, it lasted only a few moments. Their dinner was well laced with a few drops of my potion. They have their breeches about their ankles right around now.”

  His teeth gleamed white in the shadows. “Oh, dear,” she whispered,
then burst into a laugh. “You didn’t!”

  He held out his hand. “They fought valiantly for all of three or four thrusts of their blades before ‘bowing’ to their pain and suffering.” Impulsively he pulled her close by the hand and kissed her mouth. “Come. We must find a dry spot to await the dawn—not far off, by my estimation. I do not relish being lost so close upon the edges of the bog.”

  They dismounted near a faint gleam of gray interspersed with the black stumps of trees. It was not boggy ground. It was a spring, bubbling softly from the earth. “Do not drink it,” Vad said. “Some springs are poison in a bog, and we have no way to tell the difference.” He stamped about with his boots and declared the ground firm. “Sit.”

  Gwen sat beside him. “I was afraid they were killing you,” she whispered. He answered by turning her head and bringing her mouth to his.

  “I cannot remain angry with you,” he said against her lips. Gently he explored her cheeks with his fingertips, opened her cloak, and in a moment she felt the warmth of his hand on her breast. “Your skin is so silky, just one of the ties that bind me,” he said as his fingertips stroked her. “No matter what fate has planned for us, remember you are mine. You are mine.”

  He felt every beat of her heart against his palm, reveled in the changing textures of her body as he ran his fingertips over the smooth skin of her breast, returning again and again to the hard, small crest. Each skim of the tip delivered up a moan from her throat. He swallowed each soft sound with his mouth. His body was rigid with want. It was all he could do to keep his groans silent.

  When her hand ran along the inside of his thigh, he failed and gave voice, muffled, against her lips. He held her head with one hand, caressed her with the other, and entreated more of her touches. Her palm on him was ecstasy—hot, gentle ecstasy. With but a few light grazes of her fingers, she reminded him that no other woman had this power to make him forget dangers in the dark or dishonor in the day.

  “I wish we could make love here, take what time we need,” he said, pulling her hand away. “But I fear our friends will not be indefinitely discommoded, and the sun is making itself known.”