She waited to try again when she was alone in the cave. When she’d decided she’d gotten the hang of it, she used the crutch whenever she felt like getting up and moving around, but either it still got on their nerves or they just found it disturbing to watch her hobble around. Every time she got up, they would tense, as if expecting they would need to dive to catch her, and then when she’d walk from one side of the cave to the other and back again, they would watch her for several moments and then turn and stride from the cave.
She was relieved at first that they’d decided to leave her alone and let her work out her muscles to strengthen them, but she couldn’t help but notice that all of them were tense and on edge when they watched her and then would disappear for hours.
She didn’t have a mirror, which was probably a blessing, but she didn’t need one to know she must look awful, and unattractively awkward when she tried to walk. She hadn’t seen anything to groom with since the crash and knew her hair must look like a rat’s nest by now. She bathed the best she could, but she never felt clean because she didn’t have soap and nothing to dry off with afterward or to cover her nakedness except the same dirty blanket they’d recovered from the crash almost a week earlier and that was beginning to smell badly enough she would’ve considered burning it if it wasn’t all she had to cover up with.
They still looked as fresh and well groomed as ever! Either they’d found fresh water and were taking advantage of it, or they were bathing in the sea and maybe finger combing their hair while it was wet, because it didn’t look as wild as hers felt.
As soon as the men returned and settled to putting together a meal, Bronte pushed herself up with the crutch and hobbled over to the fire. “I need a bath,” she announced baldly, addressing Gideon since she knew damned well it wasn’t going to do any good to ask either Gabriel or Jerico. They’d just go ask Gideon themselves and tell her no if that was his verdict.
“Gabriel, bring water for Bronte.”
Bronte frowned. “No! I mean a real bath, like getting in water, not slopping it over me!”
He gave her a look. “There is no bath.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Then where have you been bathing?”
“In the sea.”
“Well, that’s where I want to bathe.”
“No.”
She would’ve stamped her foot if she’d had more than one good foot to stand on. “Why not?”
He looked her over. “With the sun on it, your hair will be a beacon for any trog within seeing distance. And the water is cold and rough. It will beat against you and you are not strong enough to stand against it. Until I am sure you are ready to travel, I will not risk you being seen.”
It was almost more irritating that he had a reason for denying her than it would’ve been if he’d been unreasonable about it. If he was just being a tyrant, she could’ve at least had the satisfaction of telling him he was an asshole. “It’s almost dark,” she pointed out instead. “Once the sun is down....”
“The water will feel more cold because there will be no sun to warm you and the sea will still be rough.”
She fumed. “I’d be alright if you carried me out. It’s only rough close to the shore.”
He gave her a look that was a mixture of amusement and irritation. “It will still be cold.”
She curled her lips in a half smile. “But you can warm me.”
The look he sent her that time warmed her on the spot. He dismissed the interest her comment had sparked almost at once, however, shaking his head. “You are a stubborn woman, Bronte.”
“But you’ll take me?” she asked, unable to hide her excitement.
“Yes. I will take you … And then I will beat you if you get sick from it!”
“Yes!” she exclaimed happily.
He looked amused. “You like the idea of me beating you?”
She gave him a look.
And then it dawned on her that he was teasing her!
She stared at him a long moment, feeling a smile tugging at her lips. “That depends on what part of my anatomy you were thinking about pounding on.”
He looked confused for a fraction of a second, then enlightenment dawned. His gaze slid over her with heated speculation. “You are not that well,” he said finally.
“Bathe first and then eat?” she asked hopefully.
He rolled his eyes, but glanced out the opening of the cave. The sun was just setting. He set what he was doing aside. “Gabriel, you and Jerico will stand guard on the beach,” he said decisively. Moving to Bronte and taking her crutch, he set it aside and then lifted her into his arms and carried her out.
“We should wash the blanket, too.”
“Tomorrow. You will have nothing dry to wrap in if we wash it now.”
She wrinkled her nose. “It’s starting to smell like something that’s been in an animal pen.”
“You will not mind that when you are cold.”
She would. On the other hand, he was right. Even with the almost constant wind off the sea it probably wouldn’t dry before she was ready to sleep and a stinky blanket was better than no blanket.
The water was cold. She sucked in an involuntary breath when he’d waded out far enough that it began to lap at her buttocks. He sent her a piercing look at the sound, but she resolutely clamped her teeth together. She was beginning to get uneasy about how deeply he was walking when he finally stopped and began to lower her slowly into the water.
It was sheer torture. At first it was hard to decide if she was colder beneath the water or above it. He held her against his body, though, once her feet had finally touched the soft, shifting sand beneath the water and after a few minutes she began to feel warmer. Pushing at him until he gave her a little more room, she began to rub her hands over her body, wishing she had soap so that she would feel cleaner. “I will be so glad when we get home,” she said absently.
She discovered when she looked up at him that Gideon was watching her with a strange look on his face. “What?”
He swallowed hard and looked away. “I look forward to reaching the city, as well.”
She studied his face searchingly. “What’s wrong?”
He looked uncomfortable. “We do not have a house,” he said finally. “Gabriel, Jerico, and I have always stayed in the barracks when we are here. There seemed no reason to have more. We will find a house once we return, though, or built to suit ourselves.”
Bronte frowned. Somehow she thought the lack of a house was only part of what had unsettled him. “Where will we live until then?”
He gave her that same strange look, but this time he smiled and moved closer. Lifting a hand, he cupped her cheek. “We will find a place.” He paused. “It seems … strange to think of having a home. I had not thought beyond convincing you to sign with us. I do not think I really believed you would or I would have planned. I do not ordinarily overlook such important details.”
Bronte smiled and moved closer, settling her cheek against his chest. “It wouldn’t have helped if you had planned. We would still have to find a place to live,” she said, turning her head to kiss his chest.
He ran his hands over her back, molding her against his length. For a moment, he merely held her. Finally, he caught her shoulders to steady her and stepped away. “I am not certain that I can manage only affection at the moment,” he said huskily, then seemed to think it over. “I can. My cock can not.”
Bronte chuckled, but his comments stirred desire within her, too—for the second time that day. Undoubtedly, she thought wryly, she was getting much better. After a moment’s hesitancy, where she wavered between the urge to tempt him and the realization that she wasn’t in any shape to be having sex even if she did want it, she returned her attention to scrubbing herself the best she could with her hands and then wet her hair and scrubbed her scalp. When she’d rinsed it out the best she could, Gideon moved around her until he was behind her, urged her to tip her head back and used his fingers to sort the tangles as h
er hair floated in the water. It was not only surprisingly effective in bringing order to her wild locks, the water made it easier to untangle the snarls.
She was shivering by the time they reached the beach and, as Gideon had said, grateful for the blanket even though it didn’t smell particularly appealing.
“Tomorrow,” Gideon said as they finally settled to eat. “We will leave.”
Chapter Nineteen
Bronte woke to the sound of the men packing the gear that they’d recovered from the crash. Seeing her stir, Gideon separated himself from the others and approached her. She saw he was caring a garment such as they wore and blinked at it sleepily before sending him a questioning glance.
“It is not much, but better, I think, than nothing,” he said gruffly. “We tore the uniform from you to attend your injuries.”
Smiling her thanks, Bronte took it and struggled to get to her feet. She saw his hand clench as he watched her and sent him another questioning glance when she’d finally managed to stand. “It bothers you, doesn’t it?” she asked uncomfortably.
He lifted his brows.
“That I’m … such a mess now.”
He frowned, a flicker of uncertainty flashing in his eyes.
“That I’m … awkward and scarred.”
“Yes,” he said. “It … disturbs me a great deal that you were hurt. And more that you do not want my help.”
The hurt that had pricked her eased. “You don’t think I’m ugly?”
He sent her a startled look. “No. I think you are beautiful.”
She smiled at him tentatively then, wondering if he was only saying it to make her feel better. But then she realized Gideon didn’t lie. He withheld the truth. He might say only a partial truth, but he’d never lied to her. “It’s not that I don’t want your help, you know,” she said more easily as she focused on trying to figure out how to put the loincloth on. “I just need to do as much as I can for myself.”
He knelt when he saw she was having trouble figuring it out, took the loincloth from her, and put it on her, adjusting it so that it fit snugly around her hips. “I know this … to regain your strength, but also because you are strong willed and want to do things yourself.” He frowned. “It made me feel … necessary when you needed my help, and not so much now.”
When he looked up at her, his gaze snagged on her breasts. He reached to cup one in each hand, massaged them gently and then withdrew his hands. “We need to cover these pretty things, as well,” he said, his eyes gleaming with both amusement and desire. “Else Gabriel and Jerico will be tripping over their feet.”
Bronte lifted her head to look at them when he said that. Both men were glaring at Gideon. “And you would not?” Jerico finally said, irritation evident in his voice.
Gideon slid an easy grin in their direction. “Nay! I am more surefooted than either of you. I would stop to look, and then I would step.”
He frowned as he straightened and looked around. “I think we must sacrifice a piece of the smelly blanket unless either of you wish to donate your loincloth and go about with your cock and balls swinging.”
Bronte chuckled. “That might distract me.”
Gideon, who’d just reached down to snag the blanket, looked up at her and grinned. “In that case, mayhap we will all donate.”
She laughed but shook her head. “I wouldn’t want your pretty things to get sunburned.”
“There is that,” Gabriel agreed, sounding mildly disappointed as he turned away at last and focused on stirring up the fire from the night before to heat food to break their fast.
Gideon held up the blanket and studied it a moment and finally tore a section from one end. Removing his sword, he cut a slit in the center of the piece and helped her slip it over her head. Bronte stared down at it doubtfully. It covered her, but it wouldn’t long if the wind caught the open sides. Using her teeth to start a tear, she pulled a couple of narrow strips from the bottom edge, tied them together, and then tied the piece around her beneath her breasts to hold the sides together.
While they ate, Gideon outlined the plan. “You will take point, Jerico, since Gabriel was last to watch and will not be as alert. I will carry Bronte and you, Gabriel, will bring up the rear. We will make better time if we follow the beach as long as possible, but it is more narrow here than I had thought because of the cliffs. We will most likely have to climb the cliffs when the tide comes in.”
He looked at Jerico questioningly when he’d finished.
“I did not have much time to study the terrain,” Jerico said. “But I am certain you are right. We will have to climb. The rocks extend mayhap fifteen or twenty clicks southward from this point.”
“How long do you think it will take us to get to the city?” Bronte asked.
Jerico frowned and sent Gideon a questioning glance.
“We do not know this area well,” Gideon said. “We have spent far more time building our city than mapping this world. There is more of this world unknown than known to us.”
Uneasiness settled in the pit of Bronte’s stomach. She’d suspected they must be a long way from civilization or someone would have found them by now—it’d been a full week by her reckoning since they’d crashed. But she’d been certain it still couldn’t be that far. They’d recognized the sea. “We could be a half a world away,” she said numbly.
“We could,” Gideon agreed, “but we are not. The ship entered the atmosphere only a little off course.”
“Five degrees,” Gabriel supplied helpfully, earning a glare from Gideon.
“ … And drifted more as we came down.”
“But … five degrees! So high up that could be thousands of miles!” Bronte exclaimed in dismay.
Gabriel looked uncomfortable.
Bronte glanced from one man to the other. “You needn’t be glaring daggers and poor Gabriel!” she said tightly. “Don’t you think I would have noticed anyway?”
Gideon’s lips tightened. “We do not have precise calculations.”
“Are we even on the same continent?”
“Yes,” Gabriel, Jerico, and Gideon said almost at the same moment.
Bronte studied their expressions for a moment. “How many continents are there on this planet?” she asked suspiciously.
Gabriel glanced at Gideon and decided to hold his peace.
“One,” Gideon finally admitted with great reluctance.
Bronte stared at him for a long moment, but finally subsided with the reflection that knowing before wouldn’t have changed anything anymore than knowing now did. She was still irritated that they hadn’t told her. She supposed it might be their idea of ‘protecting’ her.
She swallowed her irritation with an effort. “So if we follow the coast we’re bound to find the city, right?”
“We do not need to follow the coast to find our way. We will follow the coast because it is less likely that we will be attacked by the trogs. You may have noticed from their smell that they are not fond of water.”
“It doesn’t mean we’ll be safer by the water just because they stink,” Bronte said testily.
“We will,” Gideon said implacably. “They can not swim and they are terrified of the water.”
“You know this because?”
“We are soldiers. We are too far from the Confederation to concern ourselves with them beyond maintaining a small army to defend ourselves from the unlikely possibility of a random attack. Unless we have business that takes us into their territory there is little need for our services in that respect. We are no more welcome to the natives of this world, but we have taken what we need and now we must defend it from attack. Many times now, we have dealt with them.”
Bronte stared at him in dismay as it sank home that she hadn’t completely appreciated their ‘livelihood’. She’d only been thinking in terms of the dangerous lives they had led, hadn’t considered that that wasn’t something in the past that, while awful, was no longer a threat. She was going to be worrying about them
every time they left on a mission—forever. How did women deal with the uncertainty of never knowing when their man left if he was coming back? “Are they crazy?”
“They are of low intelligence, extremely territorial, and ferocious.”
She nodded absently, her mind still wrestling with fresh anxieties. She might’ve been half dead at the time of the attack, but she hadn’t been so out of it that she hadn’t noticed the trogs were fierce to the point of insanity. Their stupidity in attacking cyborgs might have been understandable in the beginning, before they’d had the chance to figure out what they were dealing with. Obviously they did know by now, though. They were just laboring under the impression that they could still take them if they threw enough bodies at them.
The banter that had lightened her spirits only a little earlier hadn’t lifted them enough to combat the thoughts the conversation had stirred up in her mind and she didn’t feel nearly as hopeful as they gathered their belongings and headed out. She had to be carried. As much as she hated the fact that she was an added burden, it wouldn’t help them for her to be hobbling on her crutch. She would’ve slowed them down traveling on her own steam if she’d been whole. As it was, they would have to travel at a snail’s pace with her walking.
Knowing that didn’t stop it from chaffing her. Knowing they could have traveled much faster, probably wouldn’t be in nearly as much danger without her, wore on her spirits even more. “If you could find a safe place to leave me, you could travel faster without me,” she said, tentatively voicing her thoughts aloud.
Gideon sent her a look that questioned her sanity.
“I’m just saying—if you look at it purely from a logical standpoint it would make more sense to leave me—go quickly to find help, and then come back for me.”
Gideon’s lips tightened. “No.”
Bronte looked at him indignantly. He was in his ‘unyielding’ mode and once he reached that plain his reasoning was the only one that counted. “It’s just something to consider….”
“It is not.”
Cyborg Nation Page 24
