Warlord

by Elizabeth Vaughan

  “I promise, Keir.” I reached out, took the empty bowl and handed him the full one. “After what happened in the village, I promise that I will tell you where I go and why.” I gave him a sly glance. “Not that I promise to obey, mind you.”

  “Might as well order the wind not to blow,” Keir muttered. But the corners of his eyes were crinkled, and I knew he understood. I eyed him over the rim of my kavage mug, but said nothing. He smiled then, his shoulders easing down under his quilted tunic. He reached for more bread, and started eating again.

  I reached for the gurt, and popped a few in my mouth. For some reason, it still tasted wonderful, and I chewed with enjoyment.

  Keir reached the bottom of the bowl, and mopped up the last of the broth with the last of the bread. Marcus had been right. Not enough to feed an army, but enough to feed one empty warlord.

  “I’ll miss Keekai.” I spoke softly, putting my empty kavage mug on the tray and reaching for a few more pieces of gurt. “She was a true friend to you.”

  “Even in death.” Keir placed the empty bowl on the tray. “She kept you safe for me.”

  “She did.” I caught my breath, remembering the pain. “I thought it was you, riding behind me, guarding me.”

  Keir lifted the tray and set it by our feet. “I could not find you.” Keir’s voice was just as soft. “I thought I’d sent you to your death.”

  I looked at him, my tears welling up. “Keir.”

  He reached out, and I went into his arms and hugged him tight, crying at what might have been. The gurt dropped from my hand, forgotten. No threat of chainmail, so I rested my head on his shoulder, and listened to the beat of his heart. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I should be so happy, but I was so afraid. And now …”

  “We’re out of balance.” Keir reached for my hand.

  I smiled. “It takes the touch of another to bring us back, to center us, am I right?”

  “That is so.” Keir rubbed my knuckles, and then started to stroke the back of my hand. “The soul is made of fire, and sits within the left hand.”

  I watched as his fingers moved lightly over my skin. “Seems to me it’s a convenient reason to touch another.”

  “Really?” Keir arched an eyebrow.

  “Really,” I whispered, reaching for his right hand, placing it in mine. “The breath is made of air, and sits within the right hand.” I massaged his hand as best I could, rubbing it lightly with my fingers.

  Keir made a sound of appreciation deep in his throat. “How clever we of the Plains are, to have a reason to touch.”

  His hands moved then to the bottom edge of my tunic. He worked them up and under, warm as they covered my back with soft strokes. I leaned back, and he eased my tunic over my head. My breastband was next, tossed in a corner. The air was warm, Keir’s hands were warmer still. I shivered at the pleasure of his touch, but I couldn’t resist. “I thought the feet were next?”

  Keir smiled. He eased me down to sprawl on the bed. One hand covered my breast. The other worked through my hair, fanning it out over the bed. He chuckled softly, and then held up a piece of gurtle fur that he’d found there.

  “The gurtles kept me warm.” I smiled at the memory. “They slept close enough that their fur covered me.”

  Keir nodded. “They are trained so.” He stretched out next to me, propping his head up with one hand. The other twirled the strand of gurtle fur, then reached to stroke it around one of my nipples.

  I gasped at the sensation. The fur was so soft, yet felt rough against that delicate skin.

  Keir chuckled, and continued his assault, moving the fur gently over my breasts in no particular pattern. My breath deepened, and I squirmed until I reached out and captured his hand.

  Keir allowed me to wrest the bit of fur away from him. But now his free hand slipped down to my waist, and slid just under the band of my trous.

  I shuddered as his hand spread out to cover my belly. “Oh Keir, I’ve missed this so.”

  Keir smiled then, that relaxed, sly smile that I knew so well. “I want to see you, Lara,” he whispered.

  I lifted my hips, and he tugged down my trous, removing my underthings all in one swift move. I would have curled up in modesty, but he placed his hands on my knees, his eyes hungry, his face filled with desire.

  So I stretched out instead, my arms up over my head, and arched my back, feeling slightly embarrassed, but pleased at his reaction.

  He rose then, to move up over me, but I lifted my hands to stop him. “Is this fair, my Warlord?” My voice was thick with my own passion. “I want to see you, my Keir.”

  He paused, then eased back to stand by the bed. His eyes on mine, he started unbuckling his belt.

  I stood then, and started to work on the lacings of the quilted tunic. The garment parted, to show the base of his throat. I leaned in, and licked the pulse that throbbed there.

  Keir closed his eyes and lifted his chin, granting me access. I continued, nuzzling the column of his throat, and then moved off to the side where my mark still marred his skin. I lapped at it with the tip of my tongue. “My mark, my warlord.”

  “Yours.” Keir’s voice crackled as he answered. “Yours, my warprize.”

  My fingers fumbled with the lacings, until his chest was exposed. I’d lost the bit of gurtle fur, so I settled for running my fingers over his skin, circling his nipples, scratching over them lightly with my nails.

  Keir moaned, and grabbed my hips, pulling me close enough to feel his length. His mouth took mine for a moment, but I broke the kiss, and slipped from his arms. “Not fair! I’ve yet to see my prize.”

  Keir growled, but stood still, letting his arms hang by his sides.

  I smiled, and reached up to ease the garment off his shoulders. His muscles flexed under my gentle touch, as the cloth fell to the floor. But I wasn’t pleased to see deep bruises on his shoulder. He’d taken at least two rough blows there. It was a deep purple and black, but the skin wasn’t broken.

  The lover within me stepped back, the healer came forward. “Seems Essa and Wild Winds aren’t the only ones to conceal their hurts.” I stepped around Keir to get a full look. “Can you lift the arm?”

  Keir sighed, then slowly raised the arm. He seemed to have full movement but with enough pain to make him wince.

  I turned and reached for my satchel. “Strip, and I’ll tend to this.” I heard clothes rustling as I dug through the mess in my satchel. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

  “No. Those were the only blows that got through my guard,” Keir grumbled. “Only because there were three of them.”

  I pulled out the thick paste I was looking for, and clean bandages besides. The water was still warm in the buckets, so I soaked one of the bandages, and wrung it out.

  Keir was on the edge of the bed, naked. He had such a look of patient suffering on his face that I almost laughed out loud.

  I stepped in close. “This will only take a moment, and it will aid the healing. You’ll feel better in the morning.” I smeared the paste over the bruising.

  Keir placed his hands on my hips. “I know something that will make me feel better well before morning.” He leaned forward, and kissed me between my breasts.

  I placed the warm wet cloth over the paste, and pressed lightly with my fingertips. The familiar smell of bittergrass rose from the warming paste.

  Keir wrinkled his nose.

  “Just a bit longer.” I stepped back to clean my hands. “The heat helps it go into the skin.”

  Keir heaved a false sigh of frustration, which turned into a yawn. He blinked as he gave his shoulder a glance. “Why does it smell so bad?’

  I rolled my eyes, and reached to tug him up off the bed. “I’ll remind you of those words when you can move with ease in the morning.” I nodded toward the bed. “Pull back the bedding.”

  “I can move with ease now,” Keir growled as he pulled back the blankets.

  I put my supplies back in my satchel. Keir stood waiting as I peele
d back the bandages. The paste had been absorbed into the skin, leaving a green tinge, and a faint odor. “I’ll treat it again in the morning.”

  Keir’s arm snaked behind me and pulled me close. He kissed me hard. I let the bandage flutter to the floor, and held on to him for dear life. His mouth was warm and he explored mine eagerly. I responded with enthusiasm.

  We were on the bed then, a tangle of arms and legs. But I could feel a tremble in Keir’s arms even as he moved us under the covers. I knew what I needed to do.

  I wiggled around until he was flat on his back beside me, his mouth on my breast. I pressed in close, enjoying his touch, moaning as his hands explored my body. Finally, I kissed him, moving my hands to his chest, tweaking his nipples.

  He murmured his pleasure as I slowly let my fingers trail down his chest, to circle his birth-hollow, and then continue on until my hand covered him. He was hot and hard beneath my palm. His hips flexed slightly, trying to increase the pressure.

  I leaned in, and put my lips to his ear. “So do I claim my Warlord.”

  . His eyes widened in surprise for an instant, just as I closed my fingers around him. But then he closed his eyes, lost in the pleasure of my touch. I taunted and teased, using my hand to take him to the brink, and then backed off, and watched as he writhed, powerless against me.

  His eyes snapped open, clouded with his heat. “Lara,” he croaked, gasping for breath. “Lara, I—”

  “Surrender to me, my Warlord,” was my command.

  That was enough. Keir’s eyes closed, his body convulsed, and his pleasure was mine. He melted down into the bed, a pool of boneless muscle.

  I kissed his face as he relaxed into sleep, cleaned us both, then pulled the bedding up around us. I carefully put my head on his shoulder and nestled in close to his warmth, and breathed a prayer of gratitude to the Goddess.

  I fell asleep, well pleased with my choice of Warlord.

  Much, much later, I awoke to the feel of a hand stroking my hair.

  I sighed in delight and opened my eyes to see Keir’s face close to mine. He kissed me softly, his hands moving to cover my breasts.

  I whispered encouragement as his hands explored my skin. Keir’s touch trailed fire over my body, until his hand played wide over my lower belly. There he paused for a moment, and looked at me with a question on his face. “You’ve quickened?”

  I smiled. “I’m not sure yet, but my courses are late.”

  He smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners, proud and pleased. He kissed me again, a gentle brushing of lips over mine.

  “Keir,” I sighed into his mouth, and shifted to open myself to him. He needed no further encouragement, sliding into my depths slowly, filling me. We groaned together as our bodies merged. We paused for only long enough to kiss, then started a slow dance beneath the bedding.

  Keir’s hands continued to move over my body, and I explored his as well. Warm skin, soft from the heat of the bed, glided under my fingers.

  Keir twisted then, moving so that I was on top. The move drove him deeper within me, and I arched my back at the feeling.

  Then he stilled.

  Dazed, I opened my eyes to look down at him. He looked back at me with those glittering blue eyes. My hair fell about us, creating our own private world.

  “Claim me again, my Warprize,” was all he said.

  Challenged, I ground my hips down, and his eyes went wide for the second time that night. “Don’t think I won’t, my Warlord.”

  And so I did.

  I awoke again, to the sounds of the Heart beating around us.

  I was on my back, Keir’s head on my chest. His arms were around me, his leg over both of mine. The covers were warm and I was so very comfortable I didn’t want to move. But the tent smelled of breakfast, or the nooning, and I was hungry. If I didn’t wake Keir, the noises in my stomach would.

  I reached out to stroke his hair, thick and black. If I could get him to shift a bit, I could slide out of the bed without waking him.

  Keir lifted his head, and smiled. “I was listening to your heart beat.”

  I smiled back at him. “Wasn’t last night proof enough?”

  He shifted then, and kissed me, his mouth firm and gently on mine. I lost myself in him, responding to his desire as the kiss grew warmer and wetter, making my own demands.

  Breathless, we broke it off. Keir chuckled, and leaned back against the pillows, smug. “Never enough, my Warprize.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “Are you so sure I’ll choose you at the ceremony? Other warlords courted me, you know.”

  Keir gave a soft snort. “Ultie is a loud-mouth, over-bearing—”

  “Arrogant, rude, stupid fool,” I said serenely. “But Osa, on the other hand—”

  Keir growled.

  I laughed. “Not to mention Liam!”

  “Liam?” Surprised, Keir sat up, letting the covers fall back. The cold air spilled over me. I shivered and grabbed for the blankets. “Liam courted you?”

  “Not really,” I assured him, tucking the blankets under my arms. Then I dropped my voice to a whisper. “He wanted to know about Marcus.”

  We both looked instinctively at the tent flap, and then at each other. I leaned in closer to Keir. “Why didn’t you tell me about Marcus and Liam?”

  Keir put a finger over my mouth and listened intently. Reassured, he pulled me closer. “What is there to say, Lara? It is his story, and out of privacy and respect, how could I tell it?” Keir cautioned me, “Say nothing to him, or we’ll eat raw meat and weak kavage for months.”

  “But what happened?”

  “I served under Liam as Second,” Keir answered. “When we returned to the Heart after Marcus was injured—”

  “Warlord,” Marcus called.

  We both gave a guilty start.

  “Marcus?” Keir responded.

  “A messenger, for the Warprize.” From the sound of his voice, Marcus was at the main entrance to the tent. Thank the Goddess.

  Keir frowned. “From?”

  There were sounds then, some talk at a distance. The discussion ended, and I heard Marcus walk across the main area. The flap opened and he stuck his head in. “From the Eldest Singer Essa.” Marcus’s voice betrayed his surprise, and he spoke softly. “He asks the Warprize for a healing.”

  19

  The Heart of the Plains was pulsing madly as we walked to Essa’s tent. People everywhere were striking tents, and packing loads on horses. I looked around in astonishment at what appeared to be chaos. Prest and Rafe were ahead of us, clearing a path. Ander and Yveni brought up the rear. Keir walked at my side, glaring at any that dared to get close.

  “What is going on?’ I asked.

  “Preparations for the ceremony,” Keir explained. “The area around the Council tent must be cleared.”

  “Who attends the ceremony?” I asked.

  “Everyone,” Keir answered.

  Everyone?

  I wanted to know more, but we were at Essa’s tent. Rafe and Prest remained outside, and two warriors opened the flap and welcomed us in.

  I stepped in and blinked in surprise. The tent was filled with things, far more items than I’d ever seen in a Firelander tent before. It was a tent as large as Keir’s but it was packed to the top. Weapons, armor, shields, fabrics, pillows, trunks that seemed to contain all kinds of trinkets and bowls. It reminded me of my Great Aunt Xydella, who could never throw anything away. There was barely room to move about, much less for company.

  Essa was reclining on a platform, surrounded by pillows. On a stool close by, sat Wild Winds. They both stiffened when Keir entered behind me. “I asked for the Warprize,” Essa snapped.

  “You get both of us,” Keir growled. “Or no one.”

  Wild Winds said nothing. I stepped forward, taking my satchel strap off over my head. “I am here, Eldest Singer. How can I help you?”

  Essa and Wild Winds exchanged quick glances, then Essa licked his lips. “I would ask for a healing, Warprize. The
use of your skills on an injury.”

  I nodded. “Of course. I’m more than willing to help you.”

  Essa cleared his throat. “I would ask for this healing under the bells.”

  I raised an eyebrow, and exchanged a glance with Keir. He was frowning, but said nothing, so I nodded. “That is the Xyian way.”

  “I would ask that Wild Winds watch your healing,” Essa continued.

  Before I could answer, Keir chimed in. “You die first.”

  “Keir,” I broke in, trying to ease tensions, but Keir was having none of it.

  “I’m not letting you out of my sight or reach.” Keir crossed his arms over his chest.

  Wild Winds stood, slowly. “I will protect the Warprize with my life.” We both looked at him, shocked. He shook his staff so that the skulls tied there rattled. “I may not accept her ways, but she is a Warprize of the Plains, as confirmed by the Council of Elders.” He leaned a bit, using the staff with both hands for support. “I will take the oaths during the ceremony, and I will see that no harm comes to her.”

  Essa spoke then. “This does not mean he supports you. You understand? But I told him that I intended to ask for aid, and he asked to watch. I agreed.” Essa shifted on the pillows. “Will you allow this, Keir of the Cat?”

  Keir’s face was bland, but I could see the storm in his eyes. After a long moment, he turned to me. “Lara?”

  “My oaths require that I treat any that ask it of me,” I responded. “You are my Warlord, Keir of the Cat. I respect that you are concerned for my safety. Please respect my oaths in return. Besides,” I smiled at him, “it’s a tent. If I so much as breathe hard, you will slash your way to my side.”

  He gave me a look then, an unhappy look, to be sure. But I raised my eyebrows at him, and the corners of his eyes crinkled. “Very well. As my Warprize requests.”

  Essa struggled to his feet. “Please refrain from slashing your way through my tent, Warlord.” He walked toward what must be his sleeping area. “This way, Warprize.”

  I picked up my satchel, and followed, with Wild Winds bringing up the rear. We went into a sleeping area that was as large as Keir’s, if not larger. This area, too, was crammed with more items, odd looking drums, leather hangings, trunks with clothing spilling out. I wondered how he managed to have all these things and still wander the Plains?