“He had an apprentice, Flaven, and I had worked with him now and then myself.”
“If I draw you a plan, can you build a machine?”
“I . . . suppose,” Arlen said doubtfully. “We built all the bows and crossbows you ordered. What kind of . . . machine?”
“A catapult.” It was probably pointless, Kane thought, but they needed to be doing something, and this would serve as well as anything. And it might be of some use.
Arlen’s expression lightened. “I have heard of such a thing, from the storyteller. I think we can do it.”
The storyteller. Kane’s mouth twisted. There was more, much more, to that man than met the eye.
“Good. And build some ladders, as well.”
“Ladders?”
“The height of the outer walls.”
Arlen sucked in an audible breath. “You mean . . . to attack?”
“I mean it to look that way,” Kane said.
A slow smile spread across Arlen’s face. “I see. I will get Flaven, and others to help. Shall I go now?”
Kane nodded, and watched the man hurry away into the darkness. He was so pitifully eager to be doing something, anything, Kane thought.
It was amazing that any of them had any spirit left at all, considering what they faced, and what they had already been through. Yet they did; they had never given up, had never lost hope. Perhaps he’d underestimated them, as he’d once underestimated their leader.
Jenna.
Just the thought of her sent a stab of longing through him, a wistful, tight feeling that was so much more complex than simple desire that it almost frightened him. He was barely used to dealing with any kind of real feeling; this was something far beyond his control and ken.
And surviving another night like those he’d ached through since he’d come here seemed beyond his endurance.
He got to his feet, and before he could stop himself he had strode across the clearing to her cottage. He thought he felt eyes watching him, but he no longer cared. Nor did he care when Jenna did not respond to his knock or call. He strode inside anyway; the people of Hawk Glade were too in awe of Kane the Warrior to question his right to speak to the Hawk at any time.
He came to a halt a step inside the door; she had not lit any of the lamps, and the hearth was cold and empty. The room as well was taking on the chill of evening. It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. And then he saw her, and pulled the door closed behind him.
The bed, simply made of rough-hewn logs, was barely visible behind a blanket that hung from a ceiling beam in one corner of the room. Even less visible was the small, huddled shape beneath the bedclothes.
She had insisted, he knew, on doing her turn at guarding the perimeter. Including the nighttime turn. No royal prerogative for the Hawk; she pulled her weight along with her people. He wasn’t surprised; he would have expected no less from her.
He moved quietly to the foot of the bed and stood there looking down at her for a long time. She didn’t move, just lay there curled up on her side, one slender hand beneath her cheek, her hair a spread of muted fire. His body tightened fiercely, and he fought the urge to slide in behind her, just to feel the soft warmth of her as he pulled her against him. He wouldn’t have to take her, although he wanted to; just holding her would be enough.
And that disturbed him; never in his life had he wanted to simply hold a woman for the sake of holding her. But he wanted to hold Jenna. He wanted to hold her, protect her, ease the weariness from her eyes and the worry from her soul. He, who had not wanted anything for years but to be left alone, had wanted nothing to do with anyone, suddenly wanted to give to someone else the ease he’d never known himself.
And standing here in a darkened room, staring down at the woman who had somehow gotten past his inviolable guard, he could not even deny it. Not now, when she looked so fragile, not now, when he knew the weight of her responsibilities was wearing down even her fierce spirit.
Moving quietly, he laid a fire on the hearth and lit it. Once it was going he considered lighting a lamp, then decided not to; the fire threw off enough light. As much as he wanted, anyway. He picked up one of the chairs from beside the fire and carried it over toward the bed. He put it down close by, where he could see her face. He sat, and swung his feet up to the edge of the bed, settling in to wait. For what, he was not sure. He knew only that he wanted to watch her. Endlessly. And he could not find it in himself to deny that, either.
Chapter 18
KANE NEITHER KNEW nor cared how long he sat there. All that mattered was that he could see the soft sweep of her lashes, the exquisite fairness of her skin. All that mattered was that he could remember, so very clearly, what it had felt like to hold her, to have her hold him in turn. It had begun as a bargain, yes, a cold, mercenary trading; he could not forget that. But neither could he forget that it had become much more. It had become a passionate, breathless, living thing that had grown between them. It had become a thing that did not die when the sun rose to end the sweet darkness, but grew instead with each day that passed between them, each time he saw anew her bright courage and dauntless determination.
And it had become the source of the unexpected sense of peace that descended upon him now, just from the simple act of watching her sleep. The peace he had so long sought but never found in his withdrawal from his old life, had never found in the high reaches of his mountain, seemed here for him, waiting only for him to accept.
It was too much to even think there was anything of redemption for him here. He’d never even dared to think of such a thing; the best he had ever hoped for was to find some kind of existence that would numb the memories. Even when he’d come here, knowing his death would likely be the result, he’d not dared to wonder if it would even help his cause in the hereafter were he to die trying to help her.
He thought he must have dozed, for he lifted his eyes suddenly to find Jenna awake and looking at him, and he wondered how long she had been watching him as he had watched her. She was sitting up, the bedclothes falling back, and Kane sucked in a breath when he saw that the firelight made her body a supple, curved silhouette through the cloth of the softly woven nightdress she wore.
Jenna’s expression changed, and he knew she had read his own. For a long, silent moment she simply looked at him. His jaw tightened as he fought to hide the raw, clawing need that had swept over him. Once, he would have demanded she submit to him. He had demanded it, on the mountain, and despite having done it in the certainty she would run, he supposed some part of him had wildly hoped she would accept his bargain or he wouldn’t have thought of it in the first place.
But he would not demand it now. He could not. Not of Jenna. That he had no interest in anyone else, and doubted he ever would have, did not matter. Nor did that little voice in the back of his mind which was telling him he had undergone some change that was more momentous than he yet realized, that he could not, would not take her by coercion.
Fool, he told himself scathingly. What think you, that she would have you any other way?
And then Jenna answered his unspoken question without speaking a word of her own. Silently she shifted in the carved bed, and drew back the bedclothes in a gesture that could only be one of invitation.
Kane’s heart slammed into his throat and he couldn’t breathe.
“The nights are cold, and I’ve . . . missed you, too,” she whispered, and he realized just how much had shown in his face.
“Jenna,” he said, sounding strangled, but amazed he could get it out at all.
She lifted her arms then, opening them for him. His feet hit the rough wood floor with a thud, and he was nearly out of the chair before he could stop himself.
“This is not . . . you do not . . .” He swallowed tightly and tried again. “You are free of our bargain.”
It was short, sharp, and probably curt, but he could not help it. But Jenna seemed to understand, as so often she did.
“This has nothing to do with any bargain. It has everything to do with need. I should not allow myself to want you so, not now, not when I should be thinking only of my people, but I cannot help it. I have never stopped wanting you, since I left your mountain.”
What little breath he had left rushed out of him as if she’d slammed that tiny yet powerful fist into his gut.
“You . . . want me?”
“I do,” she said simply, her hands now in her lap, her fingers laced together tightly, as if she were trying to hide their trembling.
“Even . . . without our pact to force you to it?”
Something came into her eyes then, something soft and warm that made him fear she was pitying him. Then she smiled, a tiny womanly smile that made it impossible for him to think of anything other than what she was offering.
“I think,” she said quietly, “that force quitted our agreement long ago.”
He opened his mouth to deny it, but the words would not come. She was right, and some part of him knew it, some part of him that had wished for it to be true, some part that he had constantly tried to quash for being the height of foolishness. Whatever it had been in the beginning, what was between them had rapidly changed to something else, something he had no name for, because he had never known its like before.
And then Jenna lifted her arms to him again, and he was lost. Nothing mattered to him now, nothing except the woman who was holding the world out to him. Not even his own certainty that it would come crashing down around him before this was done mattered; he could no more turn away now than he could go back to the old bloody life he’d left behind.
Swiftly, trying to ignore the shaking of his hands, he shed his tunic and leggings. He straightened, ready to take the last step toward her, the step so short in actual distance yet seemingly across worlds and a lifetime. But he stopped when he saw Jenna looking at him, an odd expression in her eyes.
He’d never been more conscious of the scars that marked him, never been more aware of rigid heat that had had him ready for her since the moment the firelight had reminded him so potently of the body he had once held, caressed, and poured himself into with a passion that had stunned him. Was she repelled by the scars? Had she merely hidden her reaction before, perhaps feeling compelled not to show it? Or was it the swollen readiness of his body, already letting slip a tiny drop that betrayed his urgency?
The air seemed suddenly warm and heavy, much warmer than a mere wood fire could make it.
“You are indeed beautiful, Kane the Warrior,” she whispered.
He groaned, low and deep in his throat as a sheet of fire seemed to ripple through him like a wind-caught banner. It weakened his knees and it was all he could do to go down to the bed with any kind of control. He grabbed her and hauled her hard against him, pausing only long enough to strip the nightdress from her body.
She was as lovely as he remembered. Lovelier, as if somehow seeing her here, in her own world, seeing the burden she carried so nobly, the extent and strength of the love her people bore her, had only added to the powerful hold she seemed to have on him. And the fact that she welcomed him eagerly, that she reached for him even as he reached for her, completed the spell.
“It has been so long,” she said, and the note of eagerness in her voice made him shiver with all the need that had been building since the day she had left him. In that moment nothing in his life—or even his pending death—mattered more than this moment, with this woman.
It should have worried him, that she held him in such thrall, but it did not. He could not even think of it, not when he had her in his arms again, not when he could feel the soft heat of her, not when her breasts were pressed against his chest, not when his eager maleness was caught between her thighs, sending darts of heat through him every time she moved. He could only think that, whether or not he deserved it, he would seize this bit of heaven offered him, for he had little doubt it would be his last taste of it.
“Nothing else,” he muttered against her hair as he levered himself over her. “Think of nothing but this, Jenna. Just for this time, put it all from you.”
“Help me,” she whispered. “Burn it away.”
He knew it was she who would set the fires here, and he who would burn. He knew it from the way his pulse leapt and his body flexed involuntarily every time she touched him. She stroked his sides and he sucked in his breath. She arched her back to rub her breasts against his chest, and he twisted helplessly when he felt the twin hard points of her nipples. Her hands slid up over his back and then down to his waist, and he quivered. She grasped his hips and pulled him against her belly, capturing his rigid flesh in a hot, pressing caress, and a groan he could not stop escaped him. And when she parted her thighs and reached to cup his buttocks and urge him into her, he shuddered so violently he thought it might be over before it began.
He fought down the hot rising tide, although he knew it was only a temporary victory; Jenna was too hot, too fervent, too ablaze in his arms for him to hold back for long. But he had not had nearly enough of her; he wanted to touch every soft curve, probe every hollow, first with his hands, then his mouth. He wanted to taste her until she cried out under the onslaught. He could not help the hold she had on him, but he could at least see that he was not alone, that she was there with him, as desperate, as needy as he felt right now.
He stroked her, caressed her, until she was fairly rippling under his hands. He followed the same paths with his lips, then his tongue, until he had the hot satisfaction of hearing her beg him to come inside her in the moment when he knew he could no longer wait.
He slid into her, wondering at how her body could be so welcomely slick and so sweetly tight at the same time. And then all he knew was the hot, coaxing friction of her as he began to move. In moments he was out of control; he who never, ever relinquished his mastery was wild, driving hard and deep, unable to stop, reaching, striving for the fierce, blazing release he had only ever found with this woman. And she was with him, clawing at him in a way that only made him wilder, matching him with her own passion, with a pure, clean honesty that made him, just for an instant, as he hovered on the edge of explosion, hope.
And then he felt it, the first hot clasping of that feminine flesh around him. His body answered hers, that hot tide sweeping through him, engulfing him. He drove himself deep once more, only vaguely aware of the harsh cry of her name that burst from him as his body bowed, his hips grinding against hers. His head began to spin, and he couldn’t feel his hands, his feet, couldn’t see, and he thought he should be alarmed but he was not, for Jenna held him, so tightly, with her arms, her legs, her body, and it was all right; it was safe, and he was home at last.
“YOU’RE LEAVING, then?”
Kane finished tucking the loaf of bread Evelin had given him into his pack before he looked at Jenna. When he did, he could read nothing in her eyes or expression.
He had left her at dawn, certain she would not wish her people to know he had been with her. To his dismay, both Arlen and one of the children, a towheaded boy named Lucas, had been outside Jenna’s front door. The boy had looked at him with the awe and fascination all the children seemed to give him, while Arlen had merely glanced at Jenna’s door, then back at Kane, and blushed.
“Is the Hawk asleep?” the boy had asked innocently.
“I . . . yes,” Kane answered, not looking at Arlen.
“Good. She was very weary,” the boy said in a very solemn tone. “I’m glad you were there to guard her.”
Kane had only nodded and hurried away, fearful of what Arlen might say, and wondering when he had become such a coward, running from a villager and a boy.
He glanced at Jenna now, wondering if she would speak of last night, of what had pa
ssed between them. He had thought the passion they had found on the mountain incredible; it had been nothing compared to what had gone between them here. She said nothing more; it was as if she had donned a mask that hid all that he’d once been easily able to read.
“Someone reported to you, did they?” he said at last.
“I am the Hawk. All that goes on here finds its way to me eventually.”
She said it simply, with no trace of arrogance. And again he was struck with the oddness of these people; they loved and respected their leader, not feared her; they lived in peace, not strife, and most of all they respected each other, with even the inevitable disputes being handled in a calm manner that was unlike anything Kane had ever seen. And anything that could not be resolved among themselves, he’d been told, was taken to the Hawk, and the decision rendered then was final, indisputable. It happened rarely, but never had the decisions been anything less than fair, according to every member of the clan.
As far as he could tell, the position of the Hawk seemed more work than it was worth; constantly seeing to the needs of all while forgoing your own, seeing to the happiness of all before you saw to your own . . . and based on the grim tales he’d heard of the recent history of Hawk Glade, allowing everyone else to grieve for their dead while you kept on, doing what you must while your own tears remained unshed.
He wondered if Jenna had ever wept for her brother, for her mother. He doubted it. She would put the welfare of her clan far above any such relief for herself, above her own needs, above her own hopes. She had proven that by sacrificing herself for them, by surrendering her virtue to the one man she hoped would save them. They did not know that, but he doubted they would hold even that against her if they did. They loved her too much.
That in the process she had seared him so deeply he feared he would never recover was something he hoped she never guessed. He had perhaps come a long way from Kane the Warrior, but he still felt no desire to be shown the fool. Lusting after a woman far above him in both position and purity of heart was one thing; hoping for anything more was beyond a fool’s game.
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