by Jaide Fox
She began to wonder why he had not claimed her body.
He seemed to desire her.
Was she wrong in believing that?
“And the blindfolds?” she asked after examining the wound in his side, just above his waist and finding that it, too, was no more than a shallow wound. He must have been nearly out of range when he had been hit she decided as she set about packing herbs in the gash and carefully bandaging that wound as well.
“To keep them from being frightened of the height.”
She sent him a suspicious glance, but she could see nothing to indicate he spoke less than the truth. “I suppose the gags were also to protect them?” she asked dryly.
A faint smile curled his lips. “Those were to protect me.”
A chuckle escaped her before she could prevent it. She shook her head as she finished binding the second wound and shifted to examine his thigh, trying hard to keep her gaze from straying to his genitals.
She found that impossible though she took care to examine his man root surreptitiously as she cleaned his thigh. It looked soft and she wondered at that, for she had been certain when he had lain upon her that it had been hard, and bigger than it appeared now.
Maybe that had just been her imagination, though, because she had been unnerved by the notion of him pushing it inside of her to lay his seed at her womb?
The thought alone was enough to bring a flush of awareness to her body, to make her belly clench, as if it was eager to grasp his manhood. Her hands trembled as she tended the wound and finally, to her relief, finished bandaging it.
“Why did you tell them you were my concubine?” he asked curiously, when she would have risen and moved away.
Embarrassed that he’d overheard, she focused on closing up her chest of medicines. “You said that you would claim me as your concubine,” she said evasively.
“You allowed them to think I already had, though.”
For a moment, she met his gaze. She found she couldn’t sustain it, however. “They believed you had. I could see that.” She thought it over for a moment. “Even if I could somehow go back now, no one would believe I was still a maiden.”
Talin shifted, frowning. Thinking his wounds must be causing him pain, Aliya set her medicine chest on the floor and settled beside him on the bed, smoothing his hair from his cheek and stroking it soothingly. “I … feel so badly that you were hurt trying to please me.”
“Don’t,” Talin said harshly, grasping her hand and placing a kiss in her palm. “It is not your fault. None of the things that have happened are your fault.”
Aliya sighed dejectedly, but made no attempt to retrieve her hand. “I fear that it is, or at least that I have become the pawn that everyone had been seeking for many years. It is because of me that they have found an excuse to make war.”
Chapter Twelve
Acutely aware of the subdued voices of the women across the room, Talin lay staring up at the ceiling with a mixture of a dread, irritation, and more than a touch of resentment that he had, all unwittingly, found himself in an untenable situation.
The unpalatable truth was that he’d gotten himself into a hell of a mess and could think of no way to dig himself out of the hole.
Aliya was going to want to slit his throat when she figured it out, and she was bound to realize her mistake before much longer.
Grinding his teeth, he turned over, putting his back to the women. The moment he did so, he heard Aliya’s quick step as she rushed over to the bed. Her hands settled on his shoulder and waist. “You mustn’t move around!” she said chidingly. “You’re liable to reopen the wounds.”
Squeezing his eyes closed in vexation, he rolled onto his back again.
“Poor darling,” Aliya said soothingly, stroking his cheek. “Are you in very much pain?”
“No,” he said through gritted teeth.
“I should give you some herbs for the pain.”
That was all he needed! To have his wits addled by some drug when he was already in a hell of a fix and couldn’t figure a way out. “No!” he said harshly.
A look of hurt crossed her features, but after touching a hand to his forehead, she finally returned to her seat on the opposite side of the room.
He was going to go mad, he thought angrily. He wasn’t certain which was worse, being confined to bed when there was nothing wrong with him, or having to endure being constantly stroked and petted--and aroused. It took all he could do to refrain from snarling at her to keep her hands to herself before he did something they would both regret.
Damn it to hell! He thought, disgusted all the way around with the situation. He’d been so blinded and mindless with pain by the time he’d landed in the exercise yard, however, he’d hardly known what he was doing. Except for his stunned dismay that Aliya, far from expressing joy at the gift he’d nearly died trying to bring her, had instead pounded on his pain wracked body until he’d thought he would pass out. He couldn’t remember anything else very clearly. It had almost taken the very last of his strength to pull the arrows from himself so that his wounds could close and he’d been the next thing to unconscious when she’d begun to weep over him and carry on as if he was dying.
He had, in fact, wondered for several unnerving minutes if she knew something he didn’t.
It had been stupid to squander so much of his little remaining strength to shift, particularly since he healed far faster in his beast form, but he had not been thinking clearly at all. All he’d been able to think about, in fact, was that Aliya was repulsed by his beast form.
And she was crying over him as if she was devastated to think he might die.
Which had moved him to nearly make it so by shifting before his wounds had even completely closed. He wasn’t particularly worried about it. He felt stronger now, sore, but certainly well enough to be up and about his business. He could shift if he felt the need to make his body heal faster.
He would have shifted back, because he was in pain and he was still far weaker than he liked, except for one thing.
In the interim, between collapsing in the dirt and being carried to his bed, he had finally tumbled to the fact that Aliya was thinking of him as a man child, as if he was as fragile as her own kind was. By the time he’d come to his senses enough to figure that out, unfortunately, things had gotten way out of hand.
More awkward still he couldn’t even put it all down to his weakness of the moment, not unless he included a weakness of the mind, because he had been well aware something wasn’t quite right. He was just enjoying having Aliya taking on over him so much that he hadn’t considered reassuring her that she had no reason to be so upset or fearful for him.
What the hell was he supposed to do now, he wondered? He knew damned little about the man children--except that they were weak. The simplest wound could kill them. Was a day long enough for recovery? Two?
He was going to be mad if he had to remain tied to the bed by his inadvertent lies for more than a day or two, especially if Aliya was determined to fondle him every time she came over to check his condition.
Aroused, was what he was, damn it to hell! Which she was bound to figure out the next time she decided to check his wounded thigh.
The alternative was to admit that his life was not in danger, but he discovered that he was almost as reluctant to face the rage that would entail as he was to give up the tender care Aliya seemed inclined to lavish upon him.
And the worst of it was that the longer he perpetuated her misconception of the situation, the more enraged she was likely to be once she found out.
For that matter, he didn’t at all care for the deadly glances the two she-cats he’d brought Aliya kept sending his way whenever they thought Aliya wouldn’t notice. If Aliya did lose her temper, she would have plenty of willing help to slit his throat and that was not the sort of wound even a man beast recovered from very often.
Not that he was particularly worried that they could manage it. He was weak, but not that weak. He
was more concerned about the consequences of having to fight them off. As furious as Aliya had been about him binding them, she was not going to take it well if he had to forcefully subdue them.
Toward sunset someone tapped on the door. When Lady Beatrice answered it, his captain, Solly, poked his head around the door and peered toward the bed. Relieved at the distraction, Talin struggled upright, motioning for the man to approach him. The moment he did so, Aliya was out of her chair like a shot, pressing him back against the pillows. “You must be still and rest,” she said chidingly.
Grimacing at her in a parody of a smile, Talin reluctantly settled back against the pillows, giving Solly a stern look and shaking his head ever so slightly. When she’d moved away finally and sat in her chair again, Solly looked Talin over questioningly. “I … uh … beg pardon for disturbing you, Sire, but I had news and felt that it could not wait.”
“What?” Talin whispered harshly, abruptly completely focused on his captain.
“The men you sent to spy upon the man children have not returned.”
Talin frowned, trying to calculate how much time had passed. “It may be nothing more than that they are finding it difficult to gather information,” he said slowly. “But you were right to come. They are generally dependable?”
Solly nodded. “Two of my best, Sire. I can not be easy that they have not returned.”
“If they have not returned by morning, I will go myself,” he said finally.
Solly’s brows rose. “Are you fit?”
Talin glared at the man, but he could feel his face reddening. “Well enough,” he said firmly.
“Still, if you will forgive me, Sire, there is no reason why you should take such a risk, and every reason why you should not. You are weakened from your wounds, and you are needed by your people. I will go myself.”
“I am not weak,” Talin ground out in a hissing whisper.
Surprise flickered over Solly’s features. “Then why are you abed?” he whispered back.
Talin felt his face darken with color again. “It is hard to explain,” he said testily.
Solly stared at him for several moments. Finally, an unholy grin split his usually somber features. “It is because of your lady?” he asked intuitively.
“I am glad you find this so humorous,” Talin snarled at him.
The smile vanished instantly, but Solly’s eyes still gleamed with suppressed laughter. “She will be outdone when she discovers you have no lasting hurt,” he said hesitantly.
“You think?” Talin growled irritably. “But that puts me in mind--give me your blade. Carefully, mind you.”
Solly looked startled. “You think you will have need of it?”
Talin glanced away uncomfortably. “My wounds have closed. She will think that odd when she decides to change the bandages.”
Solly’s jaw dropped. “She will try to saw your head off with the thing if she discovers your deception.”
“What do you suggest then?” Talin demanded testily.
“If I may be blunt?”
“You have been nothing else that I have seen!”
“Confess and beg forgiveness for not being near death,” Solly responded promptly, his grin returning. “Else you might live to regret it.”
Shrugging when Talin merely glared at him, he leaned down closer, allowing Talin to slip his blade from its sheath and tuck it beneath the pillow. “I am not that anxious to have her looking upon me again as if I am some sort of monster,” Talin muttered.
Uneasiness went through him when Aliya rose and followed Solly to the door, speaking to him in a low voice. Nodding, Solly sent him an amused glance and left.
He watched her intently as she returned to the chair, wondering what they had discussed, resisting the urge to summon her and demand to be told. For perhaps thirty minutes, he stewed over it. Finally, the door opened and two maids trooped inside. One carried a tray upon which sat a bowl.
His stomach instantly clenched with hunger.
Aliya and her ladies rose from where they’d been seated. Her two ladies followed the other maid out of the room. Aliya, after glancing around as if looking for something, grabbed the edge of one of the smaller tables and dragged it to the side of the bed nearest him. The surprised maid followed her with the tray.
Taking it, Aliya smiled at her and waved her away.
Talin struggled up on one elbow to see what the bowl held.
“It’s gruel,” Aliya said in answer to the look on his face. “You lost a great deal of blood. This will help you in your recovery.”
“I would far rather have real food,” Talin retorted sullenly.
She smiled. “You must already be on the mend to be so cross.”
He sent her a quick glance. “I am. I want real food.”
“Tomorrow--if you’re feeling better,” she said chidingly, reaching for the pillow beside him and tucking it beneath his head.
Grinding his teeth, Talin sat glaring at her petulantly while she spoon fed him the noxious, thick broth, grimacing with distaste every time he swallowed.
“I am still hungry,” he complained when he had managed to drain the bowl.
She looked at him in surprise. “I can send for more,” she said hesitantly.
Immediately feeling faintly ill, Talin shook his head, settled back on the pillows, and draped an arm across his eyes, trying to get his mind off of his stomach, which alternately growled, demanding real food, and sloshed with the liquid she’d already poured down him.
As far as he could see the unpleasant side of this invalid business was rapidly beginning to outweigh any advantages. True, Aliya seemed to have not only lost all fear of him, but even to enjoy caressing him affectionately, but that was almost the worst of it. If he truly had been ill and weak, he might not have noticed. As it was, his mind told him it was merely to soothe, and his body told him something else entirely.
There must be some way to escape this tangle unscathed, he thought irritably, wracking his brain for an answer and coming up empty … again.
“You have sent your maids away,” he said, more because he was bored stiff than because he had any real interest in where they’d gone or why.
“They were still very frightened,” she said quietly, “and worn out from-everything that had happened. I thought it best if they went to rest. You should try to sleep.”
Would that he could! He said nothing, though, because he was busy rehearsing possible scenarios in his mind for a confession that would free him from her tender clutches and still allow him to escape with his hide--and possibly his dignity--intact. He had always thought he was very nimble minded, but each time he tried to form some sort of explanation, he came up blank.
‘I am feeling much better now’ sounded like a promising beginning, but he had little hope that he could escape without saying more than that. ‘It was only flesh wounds, barely a scratch’ sounded even better to his mind until he recalled that she had examined him fairly thoroughly and stuffed those stinking herbs into the holes. Somehow, he didn’t think he could convince her that she had been mistaken.
Into his jumbled thoughts, sounds intruded, quiet footsteps that were not Aliya’s and the scrape of something on the floor. He ignored it, still pondering his dilemma, until he heard the distinctive splash of water. The moment he did, his mind instantly put the
previous sound together with tub and bath.
For him? Or for her?
His cock had no preference. He instantly went hard. Lifting his arm fractionally, he blinked a couple of times to clear his vision and peered in the direction of the sound just in time to see Aliya step into the tub of steaming water. His throat closed, nearly strangling him as she lifted first one leg and then the other over the side, giving him a very good view of his heart’s desire--his soldier’s desire, anyway, for ‘he’ came instantly to full attention.
Shifting onto his side before she could notice the tent his soldier had erected, he lowered his arm fractionally.
More than half expecting her to leap from the tub and race over to make him lie on his back again, he braced himself, trying to tamp the image that instantly leapt into his mind of grabbing her and tossing her on to the bed on her back. Mildly disappointed when she didn’t, he nevertheless relaxed fractionally, trying to control his breathing before she realized he wasn’t asleep and decided not to give him the show he hoped for.
When he heard the trickle of water again, he opened his eyes a fraction.
Apparently, she’d decided he was asleep, but she looked nervous and she bathed quickly instead of lingering as he had hoped.
Even so, he was in pure torment by the time she climbed out of the tub, dried herself off and pulled a gown over her head. The gown, he discovered, didn’t help. His mind was filled with the image of her nakedness and it refused to be banished.
When he’d lain on his side until he was in agony from the blood still pounding through his veins, tightening his testicles until they felt like they were in vice, and engorging his manhood, he decided he had feigned sleep as long as he could stand it and rolled over onto his other side, putting his back to her. It was some relief. Not much, but some, for he managed to regain a modicum of control and ceased to feel like he was suffering the torments of the damned.
He didn’t realize he’d been muttering curses beneath his breath until she appeared at the bedside and leaned over him. He nearly jumped out of his skin when she laid a cool hand on his brow.
“You are hot,” she murmured, more to herself, he thought, than to him.
He was, but he doubted she would be willing to give him what he needed to cool down. The water from the tub, maybe, he amended, but not what he needed.
“You do not feel so feverish as to be delirious, though,” she added thoughtfully.
He was delirious, he thought indignantly, and if she didn’t stop stroking him she was going to find out just how far gone he was!
He relaxed when she moved away again listening as the maids cleaned up from her bath and finally left. The creak of the chair told him Aliya had returned to sit in the chair. Abruptly, he rolled onto his back and sat up. “You do not mean to try to sleep in that chair?”
