by Chris Lange
“Are you going to rape me?”
He wrenched his gaze away from her breasts to look up at her. The gray in his eyes turned to the colour of smouldering ashes.
“What is offered cannot be ravished, don’t you think?”
Heat converged to her cheeks as a small grin lifted the corner of his mouth. Somehow his awareness of her condition embarrassed her even more than the waves of desire she tried to suppress. How many women swooned over him when he stepped outside? How many had he taken to his pallet with a snap of his fingers? She didn’t want her name to be added to the list of his conquests.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I’m only reacting to the cold.”
“And I’m only verifying your story. I can’t release you without proof of your identity, but it seems I was right to believe you.”
The true reason for ripping her shirt apart entered her mind. He had never intended to gawk at her naked body. How could she have failed to recall the clan’s symbol? Inked above her belly button, the small tattoo branded her as member of the Healers Tribe. Her cheeks burned anew.
“Am I to understand you’re letting me go?”
Despite the fact that he knew where she came from, he didn’t seem in a hurry to answer her question. Instead, he looked at her tattoo.
“The coiled snake. You bear the mark of the Ancients.”
What was he talking about? Hoping he didn’t view her as ancient, she tugged at the iron bands around her wrists.
“It’s painful. Would you mind, my lord?”
The jangle of the chains broke his concentration. Although he towered over her, she did her best to maintain a confident attitude. But when he raised his hands toward her breasts, she had to open her mouth to breathe. Her nipples puckered, and the fine hairs on her skin reached out to him.
As if time altered its course, she watched the movements of his fingers in slow motion. When he let them linger inches from her expectant flesh, her chest caved in. He was going to touch her. He would do it, and she’d burst into flames.
Tiny droplets of sweat dampened her brow. She expelled a puff of air and her eyes stung from concentrating on the nearness of his hands. While she knew her banging heart might not take the strain, he grabbed the ruined lapels of her shirt and tied them without hurry over her nudity.
“As much as it pains me to be robbed of such a beautiful sight, I believe your honour has been restored.”
She wanted to feel relieved but the fierce disappointment suffusing her every nerve wouldn’t allow it. She met the gray eyes that sparkled with enjoyment while attempting to conceal her confused emotions. Although she apparently had the ability to amuse him, she wouldn’t be swayed.
“How about my freedom?”
“Yes, there’s also that matter.”
He didn’t even pretend to ponder the issue but turned his back on her. Before a coherent thought formed in her mind, he’d covered the short distance to the entrance of the cave. Just before he disappeared, she noticed for the first time that he was limping. He never glanced back. He just left her there—bedraggled, dishevelled, and hanging from the chains.
The famous tales about him, his reputation, and the long scar across his cheek proved he belonged to one of the Warriors tribes. Whether her instincts responded to his powerful stance, his steely gaze, or the courteous way he expressed himself, she’d have to keep them in check.
She had never reacted so strongly to another man, not even to Kelton. If the Lord of the Clans would just let her go, she’d make sure to put leagues between them. First of all, she needed to get out of these metal rings.
Pulling on them wouldn’t help her, and she might get injured in the process. Although the shallow cut inflicted by the tribesman had stopped bleeding, her arm needed treatment. One of her potions should take care of her abraded skin as soon as the chains fell. If they ever did.
She pricked her ears as a shuffling sound interrupted her train of thought. Her heart leapt, then sank when a strange woman entered her prison. She went straight to the table, without a word, and picked up the key. With her long, dark hair braided around the back of her head, slanted eyes and flawless skin, she resembled a goddess from the old scriptures.
Guts twisting with a weird, unfamiliar sensation, she watched the newcomer unlock the iron bands. A rush of blood dizzied her when she let her arms down to rub her wrists. The tribeswoman took her weapons off the table, along with the double sling crafted to carry the light swords, and walked back the way she’d come.
Unlike Lord Cameron, the girl stood by the entrance while she waited for the spell of light-headedness to wear off. When the rock walls and rounded ceiling ceased drifting like a trail of smoke, she joined the silent woman who led her into a maze of wide tunnels lit with candles.
Some passages appeared natural while others had a distinct man made quality. Every ten feet or so, and on both sides of the tunnels, drawn curtains barred large openings in the walls. Probably caverns.
Behind most of them she heard snores and groans. How many people lived under the Longrocks Mountains?
Already lost by the third bend, she got the distinct impression her guide wouldn’t answer any question, so she just followed her. They soon turned into a much wider tunnel where a large curtain closed off an entrance. The woman pushed it open and signalled her to step inside.
Bright draperies hung from the walls, bearskins and various pelts covered the cold floor, and a fire crackled in a corner of the stone chamber. On a square table, mouth-watering pieces of meat filled a wooden platter. Beside the tempting strips, loaves of bread, cheeses and fruit cluttered the table.
The tribeswoman brushed past her. She dropped the swords on top of a flat trunk and then went to tend to the fire. Once she’d eased a stocky log into the flames, she added branches and twigs. A few feet from the controlled blaze, a large, empty pallet sat in the centre of the cave.
“Come on in, Ariana.”
She turned her head toward the now familiar voice. The Lord of the Clans sat on a chair, stark naked but for a thin cloth draped over his loins. Heat whooshed to her face. Acting on impulse, she quickly averted her gaze and refrained from shivering. Why was she so aware of his closeness? As she stared at the opposite wall, she heard him chuckle.
“By the Mighty Gods, don’t look so shocked. I’m sure you’ve seen an undressed man before.”
Of course she had, but not in such bewildering circumstances. Although she'd only glanced at him for a brief instant, his powerful body seemed etched in her mind. She took a silent breath to dispel the compelling image of the broad shoulders and hard muscles while staring ahead.
“I am your lord, Ariana. It’s very rude to avoid looking at me when I’m talking to you. Didn’t your shaman teach you manners?”
“He did. But he never instructed me on how to behave as captive.”
“You don’t look like a prisoner to me. Are you locked up in some dreary dungeon? Do you see chains around your body?”
She didn’t mean to sound disrespectful, but the light banter challenged her. Eyes riveted to irregular stones jutting out of the wall, she enjoyed his witty replies as well as the way he taunted her. No man from her tribe or from the villages ever spoke to her in that manner.
“Am I free then?”
“You’re free to join me.”
Still unwilling to look his way, she nevertheless caught a slight movement from the corner of her eye. He got up, hobbled to the table at a broken pace, and sat down on one of the benches.
She fancied she saw him wince, but the sight of food drew her more than his obvious physical distress. A whole day had gone by without a chance to eat, and the idea of fresh meat increased the hunger she’d felt since entering his chamber.
Now that the private part of him she didn’t want to think about was out of sight, she walked to the table and chose the bench across him. He handed her a bowl and a knife with a wink.
“Help yourself.”
As she took str
ips of warm beef and chunks of cheese, she wondered about the reason for his limp. Was he born with this deficiency? More likely, he had received a nasty blow during a battle. Whatever the explanation, she wasn’t about to ask but chewed on the savoury food instead.
By the time she’d emptied her bowl, she realised he didn’t eat much but observed her with the intensity of a starving animal. While she hesitated between an apple and a pear, he pushed back his platter, propped up his elbows on the table, and rested his chin on the flat of his fists.
“I won’t go back on my word. You’re free to leave whenever you please, but I need a favour from you.”
“On the grounds that your man wanted to torture me?”
His sudden grin made her heart skitter. Then leap and drop. He looked younger when he smiled, the sparkles in his cold eyes softening his expression. Yet he left her question unanswered to swivel his head toward the tribeswoman who was now rearranging heavy pelts on his pallet.
“Coreen, help me up, would you?”
She hurried to her lord, slid an arm under his shoulder, and pulled him to his feet. Together they shuffled to the bed where he sat on the edge without grace. While the girl fussed about him, he beckoned to her.
“Come over here.”
Even with the limp impeding his progress, he remained dangerously naked. What did he have in mind? She could leave now, but he'd mentioned a favour and she never turned away from someone in need.
She approached the pallet with cautious steps, very conscious of the irregular pulsations beating inside her veins. Mouth dry, she sat on the low stool he'd pulled close to him. Although she reminded herself to look only at his face, she flinched when he ripped the cloth from his loins.
Chapter Three
“If you stare at that wall again, I’ll have you flayed alive.”
Did he mean that? In any case, her gaze already travelled down to the place he revealed. She ignored the part of him that rested on his left thigh to concentrate on the top half of his right leg.
About four inches long, the injury might have appeared minor to an untrained eye, but she assessed the damage in a wink. The blade had cut right through flesh and sinew, leaving in its wake a very deep wound. He must have stopped the bleeding a while ago, but he needed to be treated as soon as possible because the sides of the wound festered.
“What happened?”
“I got too close to an enemy’s dagger.”
“My lord, you should pay more attention.”
A flash of amusement lit his eyes, and she felt drawn to him again. Silently cursing this newfound weakness, she looked back at the gaping, feverish gash. At least she knew the origin of his limp.
“When were you hurt?”
“Earlier today. We came across two patrols from Borgom, and they didn’t seem happy to see us.”
Hours ago. So he had fought, ridden back to his caves, and taken some time to release her before dealing with his injury. How could anyone sustain such pain without screaming or crumpling to the floor?
“Who stopped the bleeding?”
“My medicine man took care of it once we’d cleared the battlefield. Then he examined my injury again when we got back here. He told me the wound is so infected I will lose my leg.”
“And now you’re asking for my opinion.”
He nodded. The scar on his cheek whitened, proof that in spite of his composed attitude he suffered excruciating pain. As a woman and a healer, her heart went out to him.
He was in charge of his men, not responsible for the actions they took behind his back. Pushing the memory of her detention into the background, she let a smile touch her lips.
“You’re lucky it rained today.”
“How so?”
“Because I need mud to heal you. I’m sure I’ll find plenty outside, if you’d just point out the way.”
He seized her forearm before she had time to stand up, rooting her to the stool. Even under duress and diminished by a serious injury, he was much stronger than she would ever be.
Why did women have to be so weak? And why did she feel this warmth where his fingers held her?
“What else do you need?”
“A clean cloth.”
“That’s all?”
He sounded either disappointed or suspicious that she didn’t require a whole battery of instruments and ingredients. He had obviously never met a true healer. Well, she’d just have to show him.
“Yes. Though I should start now.”
“Coreen!”
The tribeswoman ceased clearing up the table. With a nod, she walked out, and drew the curtain shut behind her. He let go of her forearm as soon as the girl disappeared. The pleasant sensation of warmth vanished, but a strange tension stirred within her stomach.
They were alone. He was still naked.
Unable to quench her instincts, she grabbed the discarded cloth, and dropped it over his healthy thigh. He uttered a bark of laughter.
“You’re such a prude. I wonder how any boy has found the motivation to get into your britches.”
“I’m sorry, my lord, but that is none of your concern.”
“So why are you blushing?”
She felt her cheeks burn and her armpits dampen with sweat. But in spite of her uneasiness, she had no intention of explaining he was the only source of her discomfort. Not other men. Just him.
True, the people of her tribe always viewed her as modest, especially for a healer, but the feeling certainly worsened around the Lord of the Clans. She nudged his shoulder with one finger.
“Lie down.”
She figured he wouldn’t appreciate her help, so she set about finding strips of fabric and a clean bowl while he changed position. She heard him breathe hard, but not a single groan came out of his lips.
When she found the desired objects, she came back near the pallet. He’d managed to lie down on his own but his jaws stood out, the old scar on his face looked paler than before, and his stomach muscles appeared to be rock hard. The small tattoo right above his belly button showed he belonged to a warriors’ tribe: a bear holding a dagger.
Head resting on a pillow, he made a big show of concealing his private parts with the used cloth, as though he wanted to ensure her cheeks stayed rosy.
She sat beside him on the edge of the pallet, fully aware she shouldn’t react to his teasing, and put the bowl on the floor. Once more, he watched her every move with uncanny intensity.
“Tell me, where’s your settlement?”
“My tribe lives at the south end of these mountains, a few leagues from the border with Moonstill.”
“The armies of Borgom haven’t penetrated that far south yet, but I’m afraid they might. Should the war start again, even Moonstill won’t be able to protect you for long.”
“I pray to the Mighty Gods every day.”
He clucked his tongue while raising a sceptical eyebrow. Did he believe the Creators would abandon their children? Didn’t he have faith in them? Although she'd never heard of anyone doubting the gods, she had no desire to start an argument.
Besides, she didn’t want to leave him suffering any longer than necessary. He tensed as she glided her hand above his wounded thigh.
“I won’t hurt you.”
“Of course you will, but I can bear the pain.”
“Trust me.”
He didn’t comment but regarded her as if she’d insulted him. Didn’t he rely on anyone? True, they were strangers to each other, yet she was offering him her healing skills and experience when she could have walked away and left him to rot. Had the situation been reversed, she’d have trusted him.
He blew out a long breath when she placed a thumb on his kneecap, two of her fingers touching the soft skin underneath the knee. She saw him clench his fists in anticipation of gut-wrenching agony. Then his eyes widened, incredulity glittering in their gray depths.
“The pain is gone. What have you done?”
“I put your leg to sleep.”
“
You...”
He stared at her. The beat of her heart sped up under his unwavering scrutiny while pins and needles travelled down her spine. Out of the blue, she felt like discarding the remains of her shirt, and lying down against his powerful body. She wanted to feel their bare flesh meet, touch, and love.
Before this demanding need for him overwhelmed her, she summoned the face of the man she was destined to. What would Kelton think of her now? How would he react to her unfaithful thoughts and betrayal? This had never happened before, and she didn’t know how to fight it. Beside her, the ruler of all clans propped himself up on the pillow.
“How did you achieve this miracle?”
“Years of training. The human body is extremely resourceful once you know how to use and treat it.”
“Who taught you?”
“My shaman. I believe he’s by far the best healer in the Four Kingdoms. I’ve learnt so much from him.”
“Still, you must be a very gifted apprentice. One might even say you’re blessed by the gods. What else did he teach you?”
“To fight.”
In spite of her explanation, he looked doubtful. Yet she didn’t hold it against him, given that many people responded to her cures the same way. As she cast a glance at his furrowed brow, the curtain opened. The tribeswoman came in carrying a bucket, linen, and a new shirt. She deposited the fresh fabric beside them and placed the pail at her feet.
“Thank you.”
Coreen gave a brief nod before leaving them alone again. Without wasting time, she removed the pouch hanging from her belt. She picked some devil’s claw, used the bowl to blend the yellowish flowers into a small amount of mud, and kneaded the thick mixture for a few seconds.
She had worked with this concoction dozens of times, but never with tiny shivers coursing through her. The Lord of the Clans’ gaze on her felt almost too much to bear. When he realised his treatment was ready to be applied, she heard disbelief in his voice.
“Mud and some herb. That’s how you plan on healing me?”
“Yes. Before you accuse me of malpractice, my lord, let me know how you feel in the morning. We’ll take it from there.”