Tor (Women of Earth Book 2)

by Jacqueline Rhoades

  "Oh no, sir, we are not spending the night on the ground. You will find me a tree to sleep in. A tall tree. A very tall tree."

  She said it in the same way she'd once heard her mother say to her father, "Oh no, sir, we are not spending the night in this fleabag motel. You will find me a decent hotel to sleep in."

  Normally, hearing her mother's voice coming out of her own mouth would make Wynne cringe, but this time she was too tired to care.

  Unlike her father, Tor didn't say, "Okay, honey, keep your shirt on. We'll find someplace better." No, Tor said, "If a tree is what you want, feel free to hike back down until you find one. I'm staying here."

  "But what if it rains?"

  "It won't, but even if it did, it won't be what occurs down at the coast. Up here, you only get water followed by bugs."

  On that pleasant thought, she looked back the way they'd come, looked back at him, and then started to cry.

  It wasn't the wracking sob sort of cry, more of an exhausted weeping, but Tor looked shaken by her sudden collapse. He took a hesitant step toward her and even more hesitantly opened his arms. Wynne didn't walk into them so much as tumble into them. She was acting like a big baby and she didn't care.

  "Ah, Kushma, you were so strong and brave today I forgot you weren't one of my own," he told her as he gathered her in. "This is no place for a princess."

  "I'm not a princess," she pouted, though she was acting like a very spoiled one. She sniffed loudly and looked up. "And what do you mean by one of your own? Your own what?"

  "My harem, of course. I make them run miles and wrestle in the mud just for the chance of winning a night with me," he said with a teasing grin.

  "Must make it easier for them to play dead after all that running and wrestling, huh? Kind of goes with the sex in a coffin theme, doesn't it?"

  He laughed. "I think I like you, Princess."

  "My grandmother would be appalled," she muttered against his chest, and only because she was too tired to watch her words admitted, "But I think I like you too, though if I wake up to one of those things chomping on my leg, I reserve the right to change my mind."

  "Nothing will feast on your leg. We'll have the rock at our back and a fire before us."

  "Like that's going to stop one of those hairy gators. He'll probably belch into the flames and toast us both before he starts munching."

  "They don't like hiking any more than you do. The higher you climb, the smaller the wildlife."

  "So you're saying the animals up here won't eat me?"

  "No, I'm saying they'll take smaller bites."

  "Lucky me."

  The sob storm was averted, but she didn't move. She wanted to stay there, propped against his sturdy chest. She could have fallen asleep right where she was, upright and surrounded by warmth and muscle, and Tor seemed content to let her do it. That wouldn't fair to him, however. He had to be tired, too. Reluctantly, she pushed away.

  "We'd better get that fire built," she said quietly.

  In spite of her exhaustion, Wynne would have helped gather wood for the fire, but Tor insisted she rest. She didn't argue, but sat and watched the play of moving muscle along his chest and back as he broke and stacked the small branches. His shoulders sloped with the powerful muscles that extended from his neck. While not a perfect six pack, his abdominals were clearly defined and cut inward over his narrowed hips to disappear into the low slung waist of his trousers.

  He was, she decided, what Nona would have described as a fine specimen of manhood.

  With the fire built and the tall slab of rock behind them, they settled in. The night was chilly and Tor had donned his shirt before he sat with his back against the rock. The fire, the small stack of wood he'd gathered, and his knife were all within easy reach of his free hand. Wynne had no qualms about curling next to him with her legs folded under her skirt. He was warm and his chest made a good pillow. With his arm wrapped around her holding her to him, she felt safe and secure against whatever might be lurking in the dark.

  He was a pirate of some sort, a thief most probably, and maybe a kidnapper as well. He could even be a killer, but he'd saved her life not once, but several times. Though he teased her with talk of sex, she never felt threatened by him, and while his looks and bearing were all man, when he smiled, his eyes lit with boyish mischief and she felt that smile deep inside as if it was hers alone.

  Realistically, Wynne knew that other women probably felt the same way, but for her, for now, it was enough for her to feel comfortable in his company.

  "Good night, Tor."

  "Sleep well, Princess."

  ~*~

  The corners of her mouth turned up in a dreamy smile. "I'm not a princess," she mumbled and fell asleep on the protest so she didn't hear his reply or feel the kiss he touched to the top of her head.

  "You are to me."

  Tor didn't relax against the stone until he was sure she was soundly asleep.

  She could argue it all she liked; Wynne was a princess through and through. She was well educated, clever, and beautiful. Her hair was the color of a Cormac's wing, so black, it shimmered with blue. Small of stature, she was soft and round in all the right places. It was the kind of body a man could bury himself in and enjoy for hours.

  He closed his eyes and pictured how he would take her, rounding his back while he was over her, angling his thrusts to bring her the most pleasure while seeking his own. From such a position he would still be able to savor the sweetness of her lips and they would be sweet. He was sure of it. Whether pouting or laughing or pursed in displeasure, those lips were full and begging to be kissed. He'd be more than happy to oblige.

  She enjoyed his teasing though she tried to hide that, too. She was quick to understand his meaning and quick to answer it. This princess was no shy and sheltered flower raised under glass. There was life in her, and heat, and wit. She had courage and stamina, too. Yes, she'd broken a few times, but she'd never fallen to hysterics. She'd quickly pulled herself back together with a little encouragement.

  He felt bad for pushing her so hard as they hiked uphill, but every time he looked back to check, she was keeping pace, trudging determinedly. She gave no sign until the end that it had been too much. He should have taken better care of her. He should have recognized that her lack of complaint was not because she didn't have one. He hadn't lied when he told her he'd forgotten she wasn't one of his own.

  Tor smiled to himself. He hadn't lied except for claiming a harem instead of a crew. His female members were as hard and strong as the men and in some ways, tougher. They had to be if they were to survive in a world inhabited mostly by men. They were rougher than his little Wynne, but he'd bet her backbone was every bit as straight and stiff as theirs.

  The smile left him at the reminder of what might have befallen his crew. If they were still alive, he would get them back, though not in the way he originally planned. The princess was no longer for sale, and as much as he wanted her, he would do nothing to spoil another man's dream.

  For the first time since he was a boy, Tor wished his family's house was one of wealth and prestige. Then maybe the dream that was curled snuggly into his chest could be his.

  Chapter 6

  Wynne dreamed of a Land of Oz in which fur covered alligators replaced the flying monkeys. She awoke to the sound of the Wicked Witch's Winkies marching.

  "Yoh-ee-oh, Yoh-oh. Yoh-ee-oh, Yoh-oh."

  Her eyes were open, but she still heard it.

  "Yoh-ee-oh, Yoh-oh."

  She leapt to her feet and charged toward the sound.

  Tor caught her about the waist and pulled her back. His hand covered her mouth. She struggled and kicked her feet to free herself.

  "Shhh," he hissed in her ear. "We don't know who it is."

  "But I do," she said excitedly against the flat of his palm. It came out sounding like, "Ut uh oo."

  "Princess, listen to me," he snapped. "I can't reach the knife and hold you, too. Promise me you'll be silent and hide
behind the stone until I answer the threat."

  Wynne stopped struggling and nodded her head. As soon as he put her down and bent to retrieve the knife, she shouted.

  "We're off to see the wizard, Mohawk. Just follow the yellow brick road. Mohawk loves the Winkies," she explained to Tor who was looking at her as if she'd lost her mind.

  "What in all the fiery seas of Hadrid's Realm are Winkies?" he growled.

  "The Wicked Witch's guards," she told him. She was bouncing on her toes with excitement, but she stayed where she was, afraid Tor would carry her off if she didn't.

  "Yesterday, I thought you were clever," he grumbled behind her. "Today, I think you're crazy. Wizards, witches? There's no such thing."

  "How do you know?" she argued with a laugh. "Until a short time ago, you didn't know Earth women existed either, yet here I am. Besides, we're talking Oz, not Earth."

  As soon as her Perithian friend came into view, Wynne ran. Arms wide, she leapt at him. Mohawk had to drop what he was carrying to catch her. She showered his face and horns with kisses. She held his cheeks in her hands and kept saying his name over and over.

  "Oh, Mohawk. Oh, Mohawk."

  The old warrior looked past her shoulder to the scowling man beyond. "The way she acting, you'd think I just returned from the dead." He patted her shoulder awkwardly. "Now, let me go girl. I've been walking for hours and I'm hungry. Good to see you still have a fire going. I brought breakfast." He reached for what he'd dropped on the ground and held it up for them to see. "It smells like a week old fart, but it's not bad eating."

  The pelt looked familiar, but it was the smell that identified his trophy. Mohawk held aloft the tail of one of the nightmare monsters they'd see the day before. This one was half the size, but still formidable. Ignoring Wynne's reaction, he beamed at Tor.

  "Ate a good bit of it for supper last night. Couldn't have a fire, though. Place was crawling with maggots, some of them with two legs."

  The thought of eating the vile smelling meat raw was bad enough. That she kissed the old man's blood smeared face was more than Wynne's stomach could handle. The mention of maggots didn't help. Bile rose in her throat and she gagged.

  Unaware that he was the cause, Mohawk voiced concern. "Hope you're not coming down with something."

  "I'm fine," she said without taking a breath and stepped away.

  Tor reached for her hand and pulled her over to the far side of his body, away from Mohawk and the tail. The odor was still there, but not quite as strong, particularly if she concentrated on the man standing next to her. Tucked under his arm, she decided, was a very warm and comforting place to be and her stomach settled on the thought. Settled, that is, until she saw Mohawk's beady black eyes narrow to slits.

  Tor stiffened and Wynne knew it was in reaction to Mohawk's belligerent look. Not wanting trouble, she stepped away.

  "I've been so worried about you. How did you find us? How did you get away?"

  Eyes locked with Mohawk's, Tor had taken up the death glare challenge. Her questions sailed over the two men who were now locked in some sort of masculine staring contest. She wasn't sure who won, but it was the old soldier who spoke first.

  "You poke her?"

  It took a moment for her to grasp his meaning and another before her mouth worked.

  "Mohawk!"

  "What's it to you," Tor asked at the same time. His body tensed as if he was waiting for something more.

  "I want to know if I have to kill you."

  "I'd like to see you try, old man."

  Mohawk hated being called an old man. It was like waving a red flag in front of a bull, a bull with very sharp teeth. He bared them in a smile that was more a death's head grin. His eyes dropped to the carcass at his feet.

  "This one said the same thing." He leaned forward and had he been a real bull, he would have pawed the ground. He was about to charge.

  Tor grinned. It wasn't a friendly one either. "The difference is that I'm not a dumb animal."

  Mohawk didn't move. His shrug was in his voice. "Smart or dumb, you'll still be dead."

  Wynne stepped between them, arms spread, hands upright, and palms flat, not touching but near their chests. She hoped they both understood the gesture. It was that or be crushed between them.

  "Stop it," she said, just in case they didn't. She glared at Tor. "You could have said no," she told him and then turned the same glare on Mohawk. "He saved my life."

  "Looked more like kidnapping to me."

  "Would you rather I left her where she was?"

  Mohawk ignored him. "Why you? Did you ask him?"

  Had she? She must have, but everything since the explosion was jumbled together along with her emotions. Terror, along with plain old household fear, had turned to relief at landing safely. She remembered feeling lost and alone and then the fear was back and some anger and relief again when Tor made her smile with his teasing. Would a kidnapper do that? And why would he kidnap her? She wasn't rich. She wasn't famous. She wasn't special in any way, shape, or form. Her only claim to fame was that she was Mira Donazetto's little sister.

  "Well? Did you?"

  Wynne shook her head.

  "Then you don't know."

  "I need to sit down." Which she did, right where she stood. She sat cross legged, her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands.

  "She needs food." That was one of Mohawk's three solutions to everything. Feed it, fuck it, or kill it.

  "She needs rest." That was Tor who was probably feeling guilty for forcing her to trudge uphill at ninety miles an hour.

  "She needs to think," Wynne huffed. "She needs you both to be quiet and let her do it."

  Surprisingly, they did. They stood to either side of her and watched her think. It was disconcerting at first, but having dealt with five children, Wynne was adept at ignoring such behavior. Living with eight people in a very small space, she'd learned to ignore most annoyances.

  Unfortunately, time to think only left her more confused. She didn't know if she'd been rescued or kidnapped. She did know that in spite of his off color teasing, Tor had never made her feel uncomfortable except in a very flattering way. She knew that the only times she'd felt relatively safe since this ordeal began was when Tor was holding her, literally and figuratively, in his arms. But why did she feel that way? Stockholm syndrome? Could it happen that fast? Was she that weak?

  Sure, Mira was known as the strong sister, the clever one, the outgoing one. Wynne was known to be quieter and more cautious, but no one ever said she was weak. She sighed inwardly. No one ever said it to her face, and why would they when Mira would probably follow it with her fist.

  But Mira would also argue that Wynne wasn't weak, that her sister was the smart one in the family. She only needed time to think things through. She needed time to evaluate what she knew. She needed all the facts.

  Wynne smiled to herself. It was a comfort to know that with a million miles between them, her sister still had her back.

  The men were still standing quietly several minutes later, thus proving they could act like adults if they tried. Wynne raised her hands and let them pull her up, but didn't speak until she dusted off her skirt and moved to the small fire that had burned down to a few glowing coals.

  "Mohawk, you may cook your meat, but if the smell doesn't improve, you'll eat it over there where I don't have to watch. I'll stick with the protein cookies in the survival pack. You," she pointed to Tor, "can do whatever floats your boat."

  Tor frowned and gave Mohawk a questioning look.

  "Makes you happy," the older man translated the idiom and shrugged. "Don't try to make sense of it. You'll wear your brain out. Half of what they say doesn't make sense."

  Wynne snorted a laugh. "There's the pot calling the kettle black. Does a pansy assed feather fucker make sense?" It was one of Mohawk's favorite epithets.

  "It does if you've used one." Mohawk's face turned purple and he scowled at Tor. "For other people, not me."

&nbs
p; Wynne was about to ask him what he meant by that when Tor released an amused sputter. He quickly sealed his lips and raised his eyes, looking everywhere but at Wynne.

  At Tor's reaction, Mohawk's scowl faded. "All right, once," he confessed. "And I was drunk at the time."

  "Weren't we all," Tor said.

  The two snickered like a couple of schoolboys after telling a dirty joke.

  "I think I liked you both better when you were glaring at each other. I'm beginning to feel outnumbered."

  Mohawk's breakfast smelled much better cooked, but Wynne refused to taste it.

  "You need to eat. Those cracker things taste like shit," he said of the protein cakes that came in the survival pack.

  "More like cardboard," she admitted, "but they're filling, and they're a whole lot tastier than glop."

  "I like glop. It fills the belly and lasts all day," Mohawk defended the highly nutritious protein powder that he ate regularly for breakfast. It was meant to be used as battle rations for soldiers in the field. Reconstituted with water, it could be eaten hot or cold, and had the flavor and consistency of wallpaper paste. "The kids like it."

  "They're kids. What do they know?" They only liked it because Mohawk did and it had the added and amusing bonus of making poor Mira gag.

  "I never thought it was that bad."

  Both Wynne and Mohawk stared at Tor.

  "You served time?" Mohawk asked.

  He meant military, not prison time, though after hearing some of his stories, Wynne wasn't sure there was much difference.

  "Four tours."

  Wynne made a quick conversion from galactic to earth time. It equaled approximately ten years.

  "Enlisted? How much action did you see?"

  "Not enlisted. Sky pilot. I did the driving."

  Mohawk looked suspicious until Tor began to rattle off the strange sounding names of the campaigns in which he served.

  "How about that?" Mohawk's stubby finger rose to prevent the younger man from saying more. "I was there, too. Hated that place. Flies as big as your fist." He gave the dates.

  "You must have been in the thick of it down below. Brought those flies with you," Tor responded. "We were cleanup. Spent most of our time chasing rebels out of the mountains or sealing them in. No flies up there. The winds were too high."