by Brenna Lyons
He laughed. “We both know I can do worse. You will call for him, even if you do it while I breach your body.”
The man at her right arm spun away, and Danellan made a grab for her father’s dagger. The soldier swung away to something behind him, using the hilt to strike her along the back of her skull as he turned. She slumped against the arms that held her as her eyes slid closed.
*
Michael bit back a scream of rage as Danellan fell. He stepped over their lookout, the man he killed first, silently as the bandit watched his master force that bruising kiss on her lips. The man to her right went next, the only clear shot he had with his dagger. Now the odds were four to one, a much more even match.
The master held back, sending his men out to finish Michael for him. It was an uninspired move. The three men were poorly trained and carrying daggers against his sword. Seeing the blood on Danellan’s throat and side, seeing her tunic cut to deep between her breasts set off a bloodlust such as Michael had never felt before. The three lay dead in as many minutes.
The master smiled. “A trained man. Good. It has been quite a while since I’ve had a challenge.”
Michael nodded, noting the wound Danellan gave him with a rush of pride. “Your underlings certainly couldn’t offer much,” he noted.
He sighed. “Unfortunately, I would have to agree. But, with them out of the game, the bounty will be mine alone.”
Michael felt his stomach rebel. He glanced to Danellan’s battered form. Call your man to you. They did all this for a bounty? They harmed Danellan to make her call him into a trap, but it wasn’t a random robbery.
So, Kell set a price on my head. He looked back to his opponent, his fury rising. “It is a bounty you will never collect,” Michael promised.
The bandit came at him, Danellan’s blade in his left hand and a battered guard dagger in his right. They were well matched. Michael’s extended reach was countered by the bandit’s ability to attack from two sides at once. The man was highly trained, making Michael wonder if the battered dagger might be his own.
“Have you had her yet?” the bandit asked abruptly.
Michael startled, his concentration faltering. There was a reason for that question. Did he still think to take Danellan by force after their battle or was he envisioning some greater prize for delivering a woman carrying his child to his father?
He snapped his blade up to deflect the bandit’s blow. Maybe either or both, but he is using the threat to put me off my game. And it worked. Danellan’s blade cut into his forehead, and Michael ground his teeth as blood streamed down his face.
The bandit locked on his eyes. His smile disappeared, and his face drained of color. “Prince Mik,” he breathed, as if Michael’s identity surprised him.
Michael took advantage of the opening, riding the rush of adrenaline and the battle skills drilled into him from toddlerhood. It wasn’t until the bandit lay dead at his feet that Michael thought to wonder at the man’s horror.
Had he been ordered to capture Michael unharmed and knew the injury meant his death? Or had he truly not realized who he faced? If that were the case, what bounty could he mean?
His eyes found Danellan. Michael sheathed her dagger, cleaning it on the bandit’s trousers, then his own. He gathered her into his arms. She was a fighter. Danellan stood against seven men, killing one and wounding a highly trained soldier.
But, what reason would someone have to place a bounty on Danellan? She was an innocent in many ways. Her father was respected and trusted. His name was legend in the guard. Michael had never seen a hint of anything less than pride and honor in the young woman, but she did run from something.
No. The bounty was meant for Michael. He had given his vow to protect her, but Danellan was safer without him if the bounty was high enough to make desperate men resort to these lengths.
Michael took her into the stable and set about healing her wounds. Using the magic sent a thrill through him, but skating his lips over her body while the skin knit and damage disappeared was torture on his under-used libido. Michael closed his eyes, pushing back visions of using his mouth in much more sexual ways and concentrating on the positive energies that fed the healing. He banished the thought that sex was a positive energy.
He healed the cut in her side first. It was the deepest and bled the worst. Still, it was minor enough for Michael to knit it to a pale pink discoloration on her ivory skin. He grimaced, wishing he could leave her without a mark, but the healing magic could only do so much. He healed her throat next, the cut and the deep bruising from the nuglin that lay beneath the slain man. He winced at the knowledge of what a cut even half a finger width deeper would have done to her. The cut on her neck was shallow enough that it left no mark.
Michael sighed as he started healing the lump on her head. Danellan shifted in his arms, groaning as the damage disappeared beneath the brush of his lips and the magic he sent into her. He closed his eyes, drinking in the musk and Eir tree scent of her hair.
Visions of Danellan asleep next to their fire on a pallet of Eir branches danced in his mind. How many times had he wanted to bury his hands in her lush curls? How many times had he breathed in her scent while Danellan rode with him? Enough to drive Michael near mad with wanting her.
She stiffened in his hands, pushing Michael away and grasping her dagger reflexively. Michael gripped her wrist to stop her from using her weapon blindly. Her eyes snapped open, and she looked at him without immediate comprehension.
Michael caressed her hand. “Shhh. I’m not your enemy,” he whispered.
Danellan nodded, and he released her wrist. She sheathed her dagger and pulled at her tunic, running her fingers over the now-healed wound in her ribs. She looked to him in confusion.
He touched her throat. “I healed your wounds,” he explained. It was the least I could do. It was my fault that you were in danger. Michael couldn’t force those words past his lips.
She nodded and lowered her eyes. “It’s a rare gift. I’m honored that you’d use it to comfort me.”
“Those who have it are bound to serve,” he dismissed her praise.
Danellan touched his forehead. “Let me help you.”
She pushed up, and he locked on the length of her chest visible through the severed ties. Her breasts were full and capped by deep choc aureole. Her nipples were pebbled in the cold air of the stable. Michael swallowed hard, his hands itching to feel the silin ivory of her body.
Danellan glanced toward her feet and froze, looking to Michael with a rising blush and wild eyes. He snapped his eyes away and snatched up his pack. Michael tossed his spare tunic at her, glancing back as she held it to her chest. He turned away, regretful for his actions.
Michael ran a shaking hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I’ll collect the food while you change and prepare the medical supplies.” He started away.
“Thank you, Michael,” she called after him.
He nodded, stifling a sigh of relief. They hadn’t told her who he really was. That would make leaving her easier. No. I know it won’t be easy, but it will be possible.
CHAPTER SIX
Danellan winced as she cleaned the gash over Michael’s eyebrow. Two fingers lower, and he would have lost the eye. He sat rigid, staring at the wall across from him. Michael didn’t acknowledge the pain. He kept it locked inside as he kept everything of importance locked inside. She saw him sometimes, hiding his shaking and his uncertainty behind an unyielding mask. The royal guard hadn’t done that to him. It had another source, but she didn’t know what it was. Danellan wondered what it would take to make Michael lose his precious control.
“You shouldn’t have taken that chance,” she whispered, cutting a steri-band to help the wound knit. It will scar. He might have lost his eye, and it was my fault that he was in danger.
“You would rather I let them violate you?” he asked in a detached voice.
Danellan darkened. “How should I answer that? Of course, I am grateful th
at you stopped them.” She was, but he didn’t realize the danger. He was a fine protector. Michael had given his word to protect her, and she wasn’t sure she could get him to break that vow if she tried. Worse, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. I have no honor. I would let him take that risk and not tell him what I’m asking of him. Danellan tried to find the words to admit her guilt in the matter.
He closed his eyes as she held the gash together and pasted the band along the ridge. “Good,” he growled, as if the discussion was closed.
“You could have been killed, and that would have been worse,” she pointed out testily.
Michael laughed harshly. “By those— Why would it be worse? You owe me nothing, not even regret if I died.”
Danellan shrugged. “Now I do.”
He sobered, a wary look shadowing his features. Michael stood and brushed past her, pulling on his coat and cap. “You owe me nothing,” he repeated.
“You saved me,” she protested.
“I gave my vow to protect you. It was my duty to protect you.” His jaw tightened. “And you tended my wound.”
“You healed mine.”
“One with the power is required to render aid when he can. It is a sacred trust.”
“It is not an equitable trade.”
Michael didn’t look at her as he shouldered his pack. “It is, if I say it is. I hold a kindness shown a stranger in high regard.”
“You’re not a stranger, Michael. We’ve traveled together for more than two weeks.” Isn’t he? All I know about him is that he fled a high born family and served time in the guard. I don’t even know what family claims him. She followed him to the stall, laying a hand on his arm.
His muscles bunched. He pulled away and stashed the pack on Frelang and sword under his coat. “I traveled with you, because I had use of a companion. It is too dangerous for you to remain with me now.”
Danellan shook her head. She should let him leave. She owed him that much. “You promised,” she breathed, stunned that he would abandon his vow so easily. Michael was an honorable man.
“I don’t want to endanger you any more than I already have.” Michael led Frelang toward the stable doors.
She surged after him, confused by his words as much as she was desperate to have his company. The weeks she spent alone in the mountain were torture. “From what I saw today, I’m safer with you than alone.”
Michael turned to her, his face all harsh lines and his eyes pure black. Danellan sucked in her breath in surprise. She couldn’t tell where his pupils ended and his irises began. It was frightening on some base level.
He opened his mouth to rebuff her, but his eyes widened at a movement over her shoulder. Before Danellan could turn toward it, she found herself dragged to Michael’s chest.
His lips covered hers, possessing her, seeking entry. She refused him, amazed by his sudden reversal. Was he trying to scare her off? If he was, Michael picked the wrong way. Danellan had wondered at the type of lover he’d be for days. She sighed and eased against him.
Michael cupped her buttocks, his fingers tracing the globe of her cheek to the line of her thigh. Danellan shivered as he massaged the line of her hip, opening for him.
His kiss was heated, intense. He swept his tongue into her and pulled her to the hard lines of his body. The ridge of his cock pressed to her stomach. She ran her hands up his chest. He could have whatever he wished of her. Michael could lay claim to her right here in the stable without argument.
His movements became more fevered, as if he heard that thought and intended to make it a reality. Michael groaned into her mouth, his hand pressing in at her lower back and holding her to the ridge that was getting impossibly thicker.
“Move on,” a gruff voice ordered.
Danellan stiffened, but Michael held her to him, his hand wrapped around the hilt of her father’s dagger beneath her coat. He met her eyes, looking tortured. She suddenly understood. He was using her to hide in plain sight. The ones who pursued him expected Michael to be alone. His hand was on her dagger, not in warning but to use it against these men if he was forced to.
“How long have you known this man?” a second voice asked.
Michael brushed her lips with his. “Please,” he whispered. His muscles shook lightly beneath her hand. He was terrified that she would betray him.
“He’s my husband,” she lied. “We’ve been married a full season, in Bure.”
“Where are you going?” the first man demanded.
“Lind.”
“Move on then.”
“Yes, Captain,” Michael rasped in a voice she wouldn’t recognize as his. He bowed deeply, mounting Frelang and pulling her up ahead of him.
Michael all but buried his face in her shoulder. He laid a series of kisses on her neck that had her shivering in her arousal. Danellan never thought she’d like a man with a beard, but the whiskers marking her flesh sent tongues of flame through her.
The soldiers gave each other knowing looks and moved aside to let them pass.
Danellan closed her eyes and sank into Michael’s embrace as he urged Frelang out of town. He didn’t relent in his torture of her until they were far away from civilization. Michael’s hands cupped her breasts beneath her coat, strumming his long fingers over her nipples until she arched into his touch and groaned her approval. She gasped as he rubbed slow circles at the seam in the crotch of her trouskit.
“You are so wet,” he growled. “Are you so warm for me?” His mouth returned to her neck, nipping at her. Michael edged the tunic and coat off her shoulder, laying teasing kisses on more of her body.
“Yes.” She was. No man had ever affected her this way, made her so desperate to have him. Danellan’s body throbbed in need, and Michael’s erection pressing against her back wasn’t helping matters.
Michael nipped at her earlobe. His breath teased her cheekbone and stirred a tendril of her hair that escaped the cap. “I am in your debt, Danellan. Name your price.”
Her body was making urgent demands. She could enjoy his lovemaking. After that, if Michael wished his freedom from his vow, she’d consider the trade an equitable one and let him go his own way. She squirmed against him. “Finish it. Please, Michael.”
He groaned, making it sound as if she wounded him with her request. “That is the only thing I cannot give you.”
“Why?”
“If you conceive—”
“It would be my problem,” she insisted. “It’s only a one in fifty chance that I would, and—”
Michael cupped her face, turning it toward his and seeking her mouth in a kiss that left her gasping for breath and hoping that it marked his agreement.
He stroked her jawline with his fingertips. “No. It would be mine, and I would never take that chance with you. Don’t tempt me,” he pleaded with her.
“Michael,” she breathed. Danellan ran her hand between their bodies and cupped his cock, teasing him with her fingers. He had to give in. She wanted Michael to be the first to take her to completion. She wanted to feel his cock locked in her female band.
He urged Frelang onto a wooded trail with a growl. Far out of view of the main road, he swung Danellan to the dead grass and captured her mouth in a searing kiss. Michael dragged her trouskit down her legs like a man starved for a woman’s body.
Danellan bowed up to the stroke of his fingers. “Yes,” she cried out. “Now, Michael. Please.”
He buried his fingers in her aching core with a groan that announced his need clearly. He twisted his wrist, finding her inner pleasure spot and centering his thrusts over it. Michael pulled the cap from her head and buried his hand in her hair, muting Danellan’s cries with hot, drugging kisses as he drove her on.
She pulled at his shoulders, trying to entice Michael into her body. He shifted his weight to trap his cock against her inner thigh. Danellan squirmed against him, feeling him lengthen to her touch.
“Please, Michael.” Her body was in a riot. She had to feel his length in her,
filling her.
He shook his head. “It is the one thing I cannot give you.” His hand stilled within her, his fingers making tiny circles over the pleasure spot while his thumb caressed her hood in time with that movement. Michael covered her mouth to take in her cry. When he pulled back, his eyes were half-lidded and his breathing ragged. “Come for me, Danellan,” he growled.
His voice cut through her. Danellan bit her lip as her body soared. She rocked to his hand, forcing him to resume his earlier path past the sensitive spot he wanted to torture. Danellan groaned, digging her nails into the rough weave of his coat.
Michael started to move his hips restlessly, the head of his cock sliding against the soft skin of her thigh through his trousers. “Yes, Danellan. By the goddess, please come for me.”
She shattered. Michael didn’t mute her cry as she screamed his name. Danellan shuddered as his fingers continued to stroke her, drawing out her pleasure.
“Dear Mag, give me strength,” he muttered. Michael pulled his hand away as if she burned him. He tensed, turning to press his erection to her core.
Danellan grasped his hips, pulling him closer and riding the ridge. Mother Fion, please let him take me. I would give anything in return for that gift.
Michael managed a strangled cry. He gripped her hips to him, his fingers biting into her skin as a fierce emotion took hold of his features. Danellan gasped as he thickened and the heat and moisture of his seed soaked his trousers, teasing her stomach just above her curls.
Danellan licked her lips, glancing between their bodies. She hadn’t realized how thick he would grow at climax, when his body should have been locked inside hers. A fierce hunger assaulted her. She wanted to feel him thicken within her.
Michael looked away in embarrassment, his face dark red. “I’m sorry. I’ve never done that before.”
Danellan chuckled. “Don’t be,” she assured him. “I’ve never met a man with your talent at love play.”
His face hardened and Michael pushed away, pulling her trouskit up gently.
“What is it?” she asked.
