Diesa turned pleading eyes on Marsden, then addressed Scanlon again. ::M’lord, go back. We’re across the border. I don’t want you to come after me.:: Her voice cracked under the pressure. ::A wager is a wager. You have lost. Please, go home. Just go home.::
::Fairly plain, isn’t it, Scan?:: Marsden said. ::She’s done with you. There’s nothing you can offer her now. Nothing. She is mine, in more ways than one. She has laid with me, Scanlon, to the enjoyment of both of us. Diesa, why don’t you tell him?::
Diesa could practically taste Scanlon’s fury over that statement and she cringed. ::It’s true, M’lord,:: she put in, hoping this would be the deciding factor. ::I have … been with Marsden. There is nothing further that I can give you. Certainly not myself. Please. Go home.::
Her only answer was silence as Scanlon withdrew from the mind touch. She felt his leaving like a dagger slashing through her heart. Marsden laughed and abruptly released her from the elfin web. She slumped forward, both relieved and heartbroken.
"Come then," Marsden said cheerily. "We don’t have far to go to reach my mother’s holding. Then, Diesa, we can start our life together."
"Please, Master," she murmured. "I must rest. Just for a while."
Marsden sighed but nodded. "Very well. Then we will rest. But I must point out, Diesa, that you would not be so exhausted if only you had given in earlier."
"That may be true, Master," she replied. "I … I’m sorry. I’ll try to be more obedient in the future."
Marsden grimaced and reseated himself with his wine. "I actually think I like you the other way," he said, then shrugged and took a long pull. "It doesn’t really matter at any rate. You are mine now and that is the main point."
Diesa looked at him for a moment, then took a blanket and wrapped herself in it before laying back. She felt empty inside, as if her soul had died. She brought up mental pictures of Kittellan, Drake, Scanlon and even Magus, then, systematically she destroyed them, wiping them from her mind as well as from her heart. They were gone, a memory only. A new life lay ahead of her—a life with Marsden. If … if she could keep him happy. Otherwise she might find herself in the hands of a Crayoven man. Just the thought sent shudders of revulsion through her. Well, no matter, she would be doing kitchen work most probably. And kitchens had their fair share of knives. Sharp, deadly knives. The thought sent comfort and she closed her eyes to sleep.
She wakened hours later with Marsden’s hands upon her, and in panic, wriggled free of him. He grinned at her and beckoned her closer with one finger. Even in the dim moonlight, she could tell he was drunk, far drunker than she had ever seen him. She scampered out of his reach in alarm. Thoughts of his half Crayoven ancestry ran through her.
"Diesa," he slurred, "come. Must we play this game again?"
"M’lord, Master," she said quietly, "you have had a bit too much to drink. Will you even remember this encounter in the morning?"
He shrugged and crawled toward her. "Who cares?"
She again moved away and came to her feet. "Wouldn’t it be better done on a clear head so that you might enjoy it more freely?"
He looked up at her. "I’ll enjoy it either way, Diesa. You know that." He staggered to his feet, swaying unsteadily. "And you’ve yet to experience the true lovemaking of a Crayoven man."
Diesa swallowed hard, then spun and bolted into the brush. She heard him laugh and begin his pursuit. It was a game, she knew that, a game which she really didn’t stand much chance of winning. Not with the strength of his magic. Even as this thought came to her, so did a jolt of his magic. But it wasn’t nearly as strong as usual. She effectively blocked it with her own power and continued to put distance between them, stumbling over the uneven ground.
"Diesa?" His call was taunting, cold and frightening.
Diesa stopped for a moment to catch her breath, huddling beside a large thorn bush. Her gaze raked over the dark landscape. The feeble moonlight shone just bright enough to make every shrub and tree look like a person waiting to capture her. She wiped sweaty palms down the sides of her tunic and ran once again. She could hear Marsden crashing through the undergrowth though she couldn’t really tell from which direction he was coming.
Her toe caught a protruding root and she sprawled face down on the hard ground, her breath forced from her. For a moment she lay dazed, then she pushed herself to her knees. This was insane! Why was she running? It would only prolong the inevitable. She winced as Marsden hit her with another slap of magic. That one hurt! Even her shields couldn’t stop that. Either he was closer than she thought or he was tiring of the game. She staggered to her feet and pressed on, not knowing or caring where she went.
A large maple tree loomed before her and she raced toward it, hoping to find sanctuary in its leafy embrace. She grabbed for the lowest branch and swung upward. Marsden’s hand closed tightly about her ankle.
"Gotcha!" Marsden taunted.
Terror cut through her and she kicked wildly, trying to dislodge his grip, holding frantically to the branch above her. He yanked on her leg, and she fell, her face scraping against the bark of the tree. Marsden caught her weight and toppled backward as Diesa screamed and fought her way out of his hands. Marsden cackled with delight and slammed her with a magic jolt.
Diesa’s breath escaped her in a sharp hiss. She stumbled several more steps before her knees buckled and she collapsed face down on the cold ground. Pain danced through her like lightning in a night sky. Marsden came atop her, his weight crushing, bruising. He brought his mouth to her ear and bit hard on soft flesh, drawing blood.
"That was a nice game, Diesa," he breathed. "We’ll have to play it again some time." He sat up, one hand firm against the back of her head, keeping her prone, while the other began to remove her hose.
She realized his intent and struggled vainly against his hold. "Please, Master, please," she begged, with a sob. "Not this."
Marsden said nothing and she cringed as she felt him press against her buttocks.
And then, abruptly, his weight was gone. Diesa heard a startled gasp before she detected the sound of fist meeting skin. She rolled over in terror, wondering at this new development. Her cry caught in her throat.
Kittellan stood over Marsden, his face dark with rage, his fist still tightly closed. As Diesa watched, he swung again, slamming hard against Marsden’s chin. The elf staggered, then recovered from his surprise and threw Kittellan backward with a searing blast of magic. Diesa yanked on her hose and surged to her feet She flung herself on Marsden’s back, pummeling him with her fists. He threw her off with an enraged bellow, even as Kittellan came at him again.
Diesa saw a flash of silver in the moonlight and her scream of horror mixed with Kittellan’s scream of pain. She saw Kittellan fall, then saw Marsden lunge toward him. Almost at the same moment, Scanlon burst onto the scene, his sword out and moving. The blade caught Marsden on the arm and he bellowed, falling away from Kittellan. He whirled on Scanlon.
Diesa felt powerful, cold magic crackle through the air. She flung her own magic outward, surrounding Scanlon, shielding him from Marsden’s attack. Marsden roared with rage and directed his next blow to her. The magic sliced through her like a dagger, sending her body into convulsions of agony and she collapsed next to Kittellan, shaking violently.
"Marsden!" Scanlon’s voice shattered the silence.
"Not this time, Scan!" Marsden retorted. "This time it’s on my terms! My land!"
Diesa cringed as Marsden sent Scanlon hurtling backward. He slammed against the solid maple trunk. She tried desperately to call up her magic to help but she could not. Scanlon wheeled and bolted away from them, disappearing into the darkness.
Marsden stood as if in shock, then laughter erupted from him. "Yes! Run, Scan! Run for your miserable life!"
Diesa stared in confusion and horror. What was he doing? Where had he gone? Why? She cowered as Marsden turned his gaze on her briefly, then spun and followed after Scanlon. She crawled forward to Kittellan and gent
ly brushed the hair from his face. His eyes fluttered open and he made a motion as if to embrace her, but his arm fell back limply.
"Diesa," he whispered, "love … you’re safe."
Diesa’s sobs burst from her and she examined him frantically. Blood gushed from a gaping wound in his shoulder. She pressed her hand against it, trying to stop the flow, very much aware of the warm red fluid spilling through her fingers.
"Kitt," she sobbed, and laid her cheek against his.
He turned his face slightly and kissed her. "Gods, I’ve missed you," he murmured. "We all have."
"Scanlon?"
"Perhaps the most," he replied. "He loves you, Diesa. No matter what happened, what he said, he loves you."
Diesa’s heart crumpled and she clung to Kittellan, sobbing. He nuzzled into her hair, then shuddered. She drew back and looked at him in alarm. "No!" she cried as his eyes closed. "Kitt, no! Don’t you die on me! Don’t you dare!" She shook him gently, then reached for her magic. It was weak, so weak she could barely detect it. Still, she pulled, straining every part of her soul, her heart, to bring it forward. Words crowded into her frantic mind, words at once foreign and familiar. For just a second she ignored them, then threw back her head and spoke them aloud, her voice ringing into the night. "Ter omnedin estra so Omerron!" At once, magic flooded over her, engulfing her, bringing her alive. She reeled under its power, then quickly embraced it.
She directed it toward Kittellan’s wound, focusing the magic’s strength, its gift. Again words came into her mind and spilled from her mouth, floating softly in the dark air. "Bestol karina vasoon. Fovara yutun alascalum pitora." Her hand began to glow, faintly at first then brighter as she repeated the invocation of healing. She began to tremble, the magic surging toward her from the north, from Omerron, her homeland and place of birth. Kittellan moaned and writhed under her touch, and she once more cried the words, feeling them with her heart and soul. There was a brilliant flash of light, the magic swept from her, through Kittellan and outward. She slumped forward, her head resting against Kittellan’s chest as he fell into healing sleep.
How long she lay like that she didn’t know. Time seemed to stand still. She was vaguely aware of Scanlon’s and Kittellan’s horses joining her, then the dark wood about her became silent and still, as if it held its breath, waiting.
A hand touched her arm. She jerked her head up with a gasp and looked into the gray depths of Scanlon’s eyes. A small sob escaped her lips as he drew her into his arms. He held her tightly, his breathing ragged, his body trembling. For long moments neither said a word. At length, Diesa pulled back and looked up at him.
"Marsden?" she asked.
Scanlon hesitated, then answered. "He is enclosed in an elfin web."
"A web? But the law—"
"I lured him out of Crayoven. The border is but two hundred paces south." He paused then continued almost apologetically. "I couldn’t kill him, Diesa. We—"
"Shhh," she shushed him gently. "I know of your history with him. I understand."
Scanlon looked past her to Kittellan. "You healed his wound?"
She nodded. "I did the best I could. I don’t know if it is enough."
Scanlon knelt beside the boy and examined his shoulder, then looked back up at Diesa. "This is magnificent work. I have never seen better." He straightened, his face weary, then fetched a blanket from one of the saddlepacks and covered the boy. Diesa once more broke into sobs.
"This is all my fault!" she wept. "If I hadn’t run away, none of this would have happened."
Scanlon took her by the arms. "No! If the blame lies with anyone, it lies with me. My words drove you to this. My false accusations. I knew you didn’t take the rings."
Diesa stared at him in astonishment. "M’lord?"
He sighed heavily and rubbed a hand across his face, then slumped down beside Kittellan. "I … I think I wanted you to go."
Hurt raced through her and she took a small step away from him. He looked up at her at once.
"No, Diesa! It’s not what you are thinking. Gods! I don’t know myself anymore. I loved Amarra, Diesa. I loved her with all of my being. She was killed by an assassin’s arrow. An arrow meant for me. When she died, a part of me died. A part that I thought could never live again. But you brought it back to life, Diesa. You brought me back to life. Somehow, I guess I felt that I was dishonoring Amarra, our love. I … wanted you. And I felt that was wrong. But Diesa," he rose again to stand before her, "it wasn’t wrong. I know that now. When I found out you were gone … Well, I was frantic. I wanted nothing more than to find you and bring you home. Then when Magus arrived without you, gods, my mind … I didn’t know what to think." He hesitated, then continued in a soft voice. "This whole wager thing was Marsden’s idea, Diesa. At the time it sounded harmless enough. I thought I could help others in the process. I fully expected to win your heart." A small smile crossed his face. "I did not expect you to be the challenge you were."
"I’m sorry," Diesa murmured, words of the wager driving pain through her. "If I had known what was at risk, perhaps I would not have fought so hard against you."
Scanlon frowned. "What do you know of the wager?"
"That if you lost, I would go to Marsden. If you won, he would free his slaves."
Scanlon regarded her thoughtfully. "I know you despise me, Diesa and there seems to be little chance of winning the wager. Still, I will not let you go to Marsden. I give you your freedom, Diesa. You no longer answer to me."
She gasped. "Free?"
"Why not? I have already freed Kittellan and Drake. Kittellan is with me by choice. They have asked to stay on. I have agreed. And Magus as well. He is a loneling." He paused, shifting uncomfortably. "And you, Diesa, where will you go? What will you do? Whatever you desire, just ask of me. I cannot change your past, but I can influence your future." He took a step closer and reached out to gently touch her face. "I don’t suppose that I even have the right to ask your forgiveness but I do ask. Will you forgive me, Diesa?"
For a moment she was speechless. He was asking her forgiveness? Her, a mere slave? She searched his face, her heart hammering. Her skin burned under his hand and she took it between her own and kissed the palm softly. "M’lord, I want to go home. With you. I want to be a family. Me, you, Kittellan, Drake and Magus. I will serve you in whatever capacity you desire. I just want to go home."
Scanlon looked at her for a long time as if emblazoning her features in his mind, then slowly he pulled her to him in a tender embrace. She shuddered and melted into his arms, feeling safe, secure and loved. For a long while she stayed there, silent, then gently she pushed away and looked up into his gray eyes. "M’lord," she said quietly. "What would you say, if I told you that you had indeed won the wager?"
Scanlon frowned in confusion, then gasped as understanding obviously swept through him. "What would I say?" he repeated. "That’s easy, Diesa. I would say, will you marry me?"
She started. "Marry you? You…you don’t have to…" Thoughts of Marsden, what he had done to her, ran through her mind and she backed away. "Besides, I … I can’t," she whispered, then cringed at the hurt that swept over his face. "I … Marsden …" She could say no more.
Scanlon’s eyes grew dark and his voice shook when he spoke. "Marsden had no right to you. For that matter, neither did I. But, Diesa, it does not change the way I feel about you. It does not change my question. I love you and I want you to be my wife. Will you marry me?" He once more stepped forward and cupped her face in his hands. "Say you will, or say you won’t, but say it now."
Tangled emotions whirled through her. How could she say yes? She was a nothing, a no one, only a slave, certainly not worthy of an elfin prince. But how could she say no when her heart yearned for him, ached for him, beat for him?
"Say it now," he repeated softly.
Tears sprang to her eyes, tears she tried hard to control but could not. "You have won the wager, and my heart, M’lord," she said.
He looked stung
by the words. "I do not seek to win a wager, Diesa. Only your love."
Diesa looked into the gray depths of his eyes, saw true sincerity and love there. Her voice came out as only a whisper. "I give you my heart, my soul, my love. Freely."
Scanlon smiled and brought her close with a sigh of relief. "And to you I give my heart, my soul, my love. Freely."
Their lips met in a passionate embrace and fire swept through her. She buried her fingers deep in his soft golden locks, afraid to let go, afraid he would see the need in her eyes. But his need must have been as great for he swept her into his arms and moved quietly away from where Kittellan slept.
He placed her gently on the needle-softened ground and lay down beside her. He kissed her lips, her cheeks, her forehead, her closed eyes, her neck. Each touch sent shivers racing through her and she trembled beneath him. All thoughts of Marsden, of what he had done to her, fled her mind as the flames of real love engulfed her. It was a love that meshed heart, soul and mind into one.
His hands were gentle as they caressed her. She responded by slipping her own hands beneath his tunic. She wanted him, more than anything else in the world. She wanted him to hold her, caress her, to show her true tenderness and love. She wanted to know that she was worthy of such love, that he found her so. He drew back to look into her eyes, his own questioning.
::You wish to make love?:: he asked into her mind. ::Here? Now?::
She let her actions speak for her, pulling him close, savoring the taste of his lips on hers. She felt him tremble against her and she rolled so that she was atop him. A small, playful smile crossed her face and she gently undid his tunic to reveal his well-muscled chest, his firm abdomen. She ran her hands across his skin, touching lightly. He shuddered, his breathing coming faster, then let out a little gasp as she bent forward and began to kiss his face much the way he had done to her.
For the first time in her life, Diesa took great joy in her actions, her own feelings, her own sensuality. That she could arouse, of her own doing, such a man as Scanlon was a heady aphrodisiac. His mind had connected with hers, their souls had intertwined. She sat up and removed her own tunic, then pressed against him, the warmth of his skin along with the cool air on her bare back driving her to wild passion.
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