Journey of the Wind
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you make this a sparring contest between you and him, I will be forced to take sides
and I do not relish such a thing happening.” He gave her an unyielding look. “You
might not like whose side I take.”
“You would side with him?” she gasped.
Kyle stood up from the table. “From everything you’ve told me, it was you who set
this whole thing in motion and not the other way around. You wanted things just as
you required them to be—to hell with what he wanted—and when he would not bow
to your demands, you came up with this plan to leave Anlusia. As I see it, he is the one
who was wronged here, not you. You knew what he was when you took up with him.
The man is a warrior and no matter how hard you try to do so, you cannot make a
farmer of a warrior unless it was his notion to become a farmer in the first place. So aye,
I would side with him in the matter, although I pray it will not come to that.”
Rylee’s shoulders slumped and she hung her head. “Forgive me, Kyle. I can be a
bitch sometimes.”
“Aye,” he replied as he walked to the door. “You can.”
Long after Kyle had gone up on deck and Ruck had cleared away the breakfast
things, Rylee sat where she was. She was ashamed of how she had reacted to finding
Alsandair in the common room. Surprise—and hurt—was no excuse for how she had
acted and she knew she would need to apologize to everyone involved, including
Alsandair.
The thought of seeking out her ex-lover to apologize made her grit her teeth and
dig her fingernails into her palms. It wasn’t so much from an injury to her pride to be
forced to ask his pardon but from feeling guilt that she had knowingly hurt him. She
too had seen the bewildered surprise in his eyes when he looked up at her. She had
known he was shocked to find her there but her pride had gotten the better of her and
she had lashed out—something she was very good at doing when it came to Sandair.
Why she felt the need to hurt the man had always escaped her. Perhaps it was because
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he was so strong otherwise, or simply because he presented such an air of invincibility.
Whatever the reason, she had refused to examine her behavior toward him until now.
“If I’d known you were onboard, I’ve have given this ship a wide berth, believe me. I’ve no
wish to be savaged again,” he’d said.
She had heard the hurt in his voice, the pain, the confusion, and realized he
couldn’t look at her. Was doing so that painful to him, she wondered, or that
embarrassing?
A part of her ached for him in a way she could never have anticipated.
Thinking back to the beginning of her association with Kyle, she had to be honest
with herself. She had flirted outrageously with the handsome stranger and what had
started out as just that—an angry way to get back at Sandair for not being there when
she needed him—had become a challenge and the challenge had become a test of her
ability to draw the handsome man to her like iron filings to a magnet. He didn’t seem to
be all that attracted to her at the start. She had had to work to gain his interest, but once
she did, she realized he was like any other man—easily led by a pretty face and willing
eyes. She had crooked her finger and he had fallen into step behind her, agreeing to
what she had in mind.
At least that was what she had thought in the beginning.
The truth of it was the longer she knew Kyle, the stronger she learned he was and
that he was less inclined to be led about as she supposed.
“If you want me to help you, milady,” he had said, his pale blue eyes searing hers,
“then it will be on my terms and not yours.”
She had viewed that as a challenge of his own and had taken him up on it, showing
up at his apartment with portmanteau in hand, telling him she had broken her
engagement to her soldier lover and was ready to take off to lands unknown with Kyle.
“You are sure?” he had asked.
“I am,” she had stated.
Putting her crossed arms on the tabletop, she lowered her head and closed her eyes,
unable to banish the image of the sadness she had glimpsed in Sandair’s dark eyes. Nor
could she push the sight of him fleeing the table, his head down and shoulders sagging
in defeat.
“Oh, Sandy,” she sighed. “What have I done?”
* * * * *
Kyle had been waiting for over an hour for Alsandair to leave the captain’s cabin.
He was sitting on the forward ladder, biding his time. As soon as the man he’d been
waiting for left Andelton’s, he stood up. “May I have a word with you?” he asked.
Alsandair tensed. The last thing he wanted was a fight. “Look, Striker, I don’t—”
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“I haven’t known Rylee all that long,” Kyle interrupted, “but I know she likes to
have things her way. I don’t mind indulging her now and again, but that said, I’m not
about to allow her to pit the two of us against one another in an effort to salvage her
pride.”
“I didn’t know she was onboard,” Alsandair said.
“I know you didn’t and I’ve already told her if I’d known who you were last night, I
would have made sure that fiasco in the common room hadn’t occurred.”
“It would have been a bit hard to keep either of us from knowing about the other,”
Alsandair said. “The ship had already left the harbor.”
“Aye, but I could have lessened the impact of the matter by informing her you were
onboard and giving her the choice of whether or not to join us for breakfast.”
Shrugging, Alsandair crossed his arms and leaned against the bulkhead wall. “I’ve
told the captain I will take my meals in my rooms so I don’t cause the lady any undue
stress. He understood for he wants no problems on the trip.”
“If anyone should remain in their cabin, it should be Rylee,” Kyle said. “There is no
reason for you to give up your comfort because she has her nose out of joint.” He took a
few steps toward Alsandair. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you were striving to be a
gentleman about the whole thing. She realizes she was a bitch and I’ll warrant she’ll
come to tell you that when she’s calmed down.”
“No need,” Alsandair was quick to say. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be anywhere
near Rylee for fear he’d either throttle her or pick her up, throw her over his shoulder
and carry her to his cabin to ravish her. The way he was feeling, either situation would
have made him feel surer of himself as a man.
“Let her apologize,” Kyle said. “Things need to be out in the open between the two
of you.”
“It’s over between us and she’s free to move on as she likes,” Alsandair said.
Kyle smiled softly. “Are you trying to convince me of that or yourself?” Not giving
his companion time to reply, Striker turned and climbed the ladder to the bridge.
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Chapter Four
It was raining lightly and Rylee listened to the plink of water against the porthole as
she lay on her bunk. She could not sleep and the clock on the table told her it was
almost midnight. Though she was tired, her nerves had been stretched thin al
l day for
she’d not ventured out of the cabin since breakfast and was now feeling claustrophobic.
Sitting up, she drew her legs into the perimeter of her arms and stared across the cabin,
aware of the creak of wood and the wash of the waves against the side of the ship.
She could not stop thinking about Alsandair. Knowing he was right down the
narrow corridor did not help. She looked at the door.
How easy it would be to get up, throw on her wrapper and go to him. There were
unsettled issues between them and now would be as good a time as any to get them out
in the open to discuss. Mayhap he would tell her he no longer wanted her.
Oh bother! she thought. Flinging the covers aside, she got out of bed, snatched up
her wrapper and thrust her feet into her slippers. Before she could gainsay her
intention, she unlocked the door and moved quietly into the corridor.
The light knock on his door did not surprise Alsandair Farrell. He’d been half
expecting it all night. As the minutes had ticked away, he had grown less and less sure
she would come, but as soon as the sound came at the portal, a grim smile spread over
his chiseled features. He took his time in answering, letting the timid knock come a
second time before opening the door.
She was standing there in a quilted lavender wrapper trimmed in pale green
ribbon. Her hair was down, spreading out over her shoulders like a fiery red cape.
Clutching the neckline of the wrapper with her left hand, her right was still raised,
doubled into a fist for another knock.
“Aye, milady?” he said, sure to make his voice noncommittal.
She had the grace to blush and looked down, away from his gaze. “May I speak
with you, Alsandair?” she asked so softly he barely heard her.
“Of course,” he said, and stepped back to allow her to enter his cabin.
After hesitating a second or two, she moved past him and as he shut the door
turned around to face him, the unsure look on her face widening the wound in his
heart.
She lifted her chin. “I am with Kyle now,” she said.
He had to steel himself not to flinch at her words. “I understand that.”
“I don’t want you to cause him any trouble, Alsandair.”
Folding his arms over his chest, he just looked at her and did not respond.
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“Kyle is a good man and—”
“I’m not,” he said, a muscle working in his jaw.
Rylee shook her head. “That is not what I was going to say. Will you let me finish?”
He leaned against the door. “Go ahead. I’ll not interrupt you again,” he told her.
She took a deep, calming breath as her left hand twisted the fabric at her throat. Her
right arm was hugging her waist as though she expected him to attack her.
“I met Kyle when—”
“I don’t care to know when or how you met him,” he growled.
“You said you wouldn’t interrupt,” she snapped. His stiff body language and the
flash of his dark eyes drove all charitable thought she might have had toward him
completely out of her mind.
He clamped his lips shut and stared at her, eyes narrowed.
“I want you to stay away from Kyle and me during the voyage,” she said. “There is
no reason to seek him out nor is there a reason to speak to me after tonight. What we
had is over and done with. It is Kyle I want and—”
“Fine,” he said, and unfolded his arms. He reached for the doorknob and pulled
open the portal. “You’ve said what you needed to and now you can go.”
“I haven’t finished,” she said.
“Aye, but you have,” he said, and took a step forward to grasp her arm and pull her
toward the door.
“Damn you, Sandair, I—” she hissed, trying to jerk her arm from his grip.
“Oh you’ve damned me all right, wench,” he said as he tugged her out into the
corridor. “The trouble is I allowed you to do it!”
Letting go of her arm, he shut the door in her face. The sound of the lock dropping
into place made her blink with astonishment. Rylee’s mouth sagged open and she
stared with disbelief at the closed door. She was of a mind to kick the panel, beat on it
until he was forced to open it again but her pride would not allow it. Cursing him
beneath her breath, she turned and went back to her cabin, unaware of the misery
showing in her eyes.
Throwing himself on the bunk, Alsandair hissed like a cornered cobra. He flipped
to his back and covered his eyes with the base of his palms, brutally digging his
fingertips into his scalp.
“Bitch!” he spat, and arched his hips up on the bed as though he were a spoiled
child. He snarled and turned to his side, beating the mattress with his balled fist as
brutally as he could. He hit the mattress again and again and again, harder and harder
and harder, faster and faster and faster but could not stop the whimper of pain that
escaped his lips or the hot prickle of tears that welled up and spilled down his cheeks.
When the hits slowed and became softer and softer and softer until they at last stopped,
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he gave in to the pain eating away at his soul and buried his face against the covers,
crying as he had not since he was a small boy.
The ragged force of his tears wore him out and he went to sleep with Rylee’s
sneering look in the forefront of his mind. It was only inevitable that he would dream of
her.
He was stretched out on the ground, staked as naked as the day he had been born by iron
spikes. The sun overhead was broiling hot and he was sweating profusely. Salt stung his eyes as
the sweat rolled from his forehead. His tongue felt swollen, his throat parched and his body was a
stinging mass of burning torment.
She looked cool and refreshed as she came to stand over him, parasol in hand to shade her
from the merciless sun. She twirled the delicate lace and the movement brought a modicum of
relief to his seared body.
“Are you ready to admit your defeat, Alsandair?” she asked him, her white gown fluttering
around her legs though he could not feel the wind himself.
“Nay,” he croaked.
She frowned and her pretty lips pushed into a pout that begged to be kissed away. “Oh pooh,
Alsandair. What am I to do with you?”
It was unmanly and it wounded him deeply to say it, but his dehydration was fast
approaching being unbearable.
“Untie me,” he begged. “Set me free.”
She cocked her head to one side. “Now why would I want to do that?” She twirled the
parasol and pivoted her body back and forth like a little girl. “You’ve made me mad, Alsandair,
and for that you must be punished.”
Little red ants were crawling over him—drawn by the sweat—and were beginning to bury
their vicious little pinchers in his flesh. He tried not to cry out although the pain was a burning,
tearing agony.
“Those are fire ants,” she said. “They must like the way you taste.”
“Rylee, please,” he pleaded with her. “Set me free.”
She dropped down beside him. “Never.”
And as dreams will sometimes do, it shifted so that he found himself stretched, not upon the
wickedly hot furnace of sand, but on a sla
b of ice so cold it seemed to freeze the blood in his body.
It burned him almost as much as the sun had, but instead of sweating, he was shivering
uncontrollably.
She appeared to stand beside him wrapped in a luxuriant fur robe, the front held in her
sweet little hands. “What about now, Alsandair? Will you admit your defeat now?” she asked.
“Set me free, Rylee,” he said, his teeth chattering. “Why are you keeping me chained to
you?”
She opened the robe to show him she wore nothing beneath. “Do you not want this?” she
countered.
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His mouth watered at the sight of her lush curves and despite the humiliation such an
admission brought, nodded eagerly. “Aye, wench. The gods help me but I do.”
Her smile was like a ray of sunlight to chase away the chill and she bestowed it upon him
with a slow, teasing stretch of her glorious mouth. “Too bad,” she said, closing the thick fur robe.
“You’ll never have this again.”
Once more the dream changed and he was lying on a raft in the water with rain lashing
down on him as he struggled to free his wrists and ankles from the wood. She was sitting naked
beside him with her hand on his cock, idly toying with his erection, running her hand up and
down his rigid flesh.
“And now?” she asked as she smoothed the tip of her thumb over the slit of his penis. She
stretched out so she was lying full-length atop his spread-eagled form. “Do you admit defeat
now?”
He would have admitted anything to have the beautiful body that touched his.
He could feel the spiky curls between her legs mingling with his. Her nipples were pressing
into his chest and her little concave belly rose and fell with the rhythm of his. Her thighs were
clamped outside his own and the sweet length of one moved up and down his to entice him.
“Rylee, please,” he said, and his vision blurred with moisture. “I love you.”
Her smile was sheer evil as she looked down into his face. “Oh I know you do, Alsandair.”
She writhed atop him. “I truly know you do.”
He could feel moisture gathering at the apex of her thighs and the dewy droplets were a
musky scent that drove him nearly mad with lust. They were flesh to flesh, curls to curls, thigh
to thigh with her sex on his, his cock sliding along her velvety folds. He had but to lift his hips