and the hot pulsing of his blood only added to his discomfort.
“More than a few, milord,” she stated. “Lean forward.”
It was all he could do to comply for now every movement of his body brought fresh
agony to his temple. He didn’t want her to know, didn’t want her to leave him. He
willed his treacherous body to stave off the pain spearing through his temple and
closed his eyes as she began to run the cloth over his shoulders.
“So many scars, Sandy,” she said in a sad voice.
“Rylee—” he began, but she shushed him.
“I don’t need to wait ‘til tomorrow to tell you what I’ve decided,” she said.
He held his breath.
“I want to be with you.” She moved the cloth down his backbone. “I’ll make every
effort to put my fears aside if you will but meet me halfway.”
He turned so he could see her face. “What does that mean, Rylee?”
“Swear to me you will put in for the training position when we get back to
Anlusia,” she said, her eyes leveled on his. “Speak with Captain Andelton first thing in
the morning and ask him to say the words over us as soon as we are on the high seas
again.”
He let out a wavering breath. “Rylee, there are priests here who can Join us
tomorrow if you are truly sure you want to be my wife. The Mary Constance won’t leave
Sulan for nigh on a week as they gather cargo for the return trip and I would just as
soon—”
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She reached out to lay her fingertips over his lips. “Then find us a priest tomorrow,
Alsandair,” she said. “I have no more desire to wait than you do.”
He searched her face. “You are sure?”
Rylee nodded. “I am very sure, milord.” She dropped the washcloth into the bath
behind him, got to her feet, put her hands on the buttons of her gown and began
undoing them. “Shall we seal the bargain, Commander?”
In the little hut near Dellymal that he had bought for them to share their secret
times together, they’d made love many times in the big brass tub that was his prized
possession. He’d taken her in private ponds and secluded lakes and once out in the
pounding surf after a late-summer storm. He had even slipped into her father’s house
and into the white porcelain tub in her bedchamber on occasions too numerous to
count. It felt natural for her to step out of her gown to reveal she wore nothing beneath
it, to step down into the water with him and slide her shapely body over his.
“You are a brazen woman, Rylee Lanelle McCourtland,” he said, using both hands
to smooth the hair back from her face.
“I am your woman,” she said. “Never again will I risk losing you.”
He enfolded her in his arms and they lay there in the soothing water with her
buttocks bracketing the hot steel of his shaft.
“I’m curious,” he said as he rubbed his hand over her breast.
“Umm? About what?”
He squeezed her lightly, ran the pad of his thumb over her nipple. “How much you
had to pay Striker for him to be a part of your little plot to make me jealous.”
He felt her stiffen against him. “What do you mean?”
When she would have pulled away from him, he locked his arms around her, his
lips to her ear. “Any man who would stand aside as easily as he has doesn’t have any
emotional investment in the woman with whom he is supposedly running away with.
You two aren’t even sharing a cabin.” He lightly clamped his teeth on her earlobe.
“How much did you pay him to escort you and why to Sulan?”
“Why would you think—?”
“Rylee,” he said. “I am not as dense as you seem to think I am.”
She heaved a long sigh. “Kyle said you’d eventually put two and two together.”
“How much did you pay him?” he asked again.
“I didn’t pay him anything,” she said. “We gave him one of our horses to replace
the one that came up lame.”
“We,” he repeated. “We as in you and your father.”
She pulled free of him and turned so she was facing him. “It was Papa’s idea,” she
said. “He thought you needed some competition and—”
“I can well imagine what he thought,” Alsandair said. “Why Sulan?”
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She thrust out her bottom lip. “I remember you once saying how you’d like to come
here and we figured once you found out I was here, you would come after me.”
“And just how was I to learn where you were?”
“Papa sent a message to you, telling you he was concerned for my safety and to ask
you to come fetch me. You left Dellymal before it ever reached you, I guess.”
It was Alsandair’s turn to sigh. “The gods save me from interfering fathers.”
“He loves you,” Rylee protested. “He wants you for his son-in-law and it was the
only way he saw for you to stop waffling about the Joining. He thought if you believed
you had a rival for my affections—”
“You could better manipulate me,” he said.
She ducked her head. “Something like that,” she agreed.
“And Kyle was more than happy to help in the endeavor.”
Rylee shrugged. “He had a few suggestions about what we should do.”
Alsandair put a hand to his head. It was throbbing again—much worse than before.
“You would have come after me, wouldn’t you?” she asked.
“I suppose I would have, Rylee,” he answered.
She ran her hand up his chest, spreading her fingers through the thick mat of hair.
“You know you would have,” she said. She leaned forward and brushed her lips
against his.
Although his temples felt like they were being squeezed inside an ever-tightening
vise, another portion of him was reacting to the soft hands caressing his chest and the
silky body that pressed against his side.
“No more fighting, Sandy,” she whispered against his lips. “Make love to me.” She
moved over him so her body slid along his. “Take me.”
He wrapped his arms around her as she slanted her mouth across his, slipping her
tongue past his lips. His cock was between her legs—straining to move upward to
impale her—and the warm tips of her breasts were tight upon his body. Her thighs
were outside his and the sweet cleft of her ass was sheer torment touching his rock-hard
shaft.
Swirling her tongue inside his mouth, she wriggled against him, feeling the solid
force of his erection sliding alongside her ass. Withdrawing her tongue, she nibbled at
his bottom lip, locking her gaze with his, and her hands moved up between them and
she could lightly pinch his nipples between her fingers, something he had always
particularly enjoyed during their lovemaking.
A low growl erupted from deep within Alsandair’s throat as she knew it would. He
unlocked his arms and slid his hands to her hips, easily lifting her up to set her down
on his throbbing rod, situating her upon him like a well-oiled dagger into its sheath.
“Ah,” she groaned, and ground against him, the muscles of her vagina gripping
him then letting go, gripping then letting go again.
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“Keep that up and I’ll come before you get your jollies, milady,” he warned.
The
heat of her was so tight around him, so all-encompassing that he could think of nothing
save the pleasure her sweet body was giving him.
Her voice was a throaty purr. “Do it,” she challenged, and once more squeezed her
vaginal walls around his penis.
Nothing could have prevented Alsandair from erupting. His cock was on fire
already with need for her and that one last pulse of her muscles sent him right over the
edge. He dug his fingers into her ample hips and thrust upward savagely, letting go the
seed spurting like hot lava into her moistness.
Rylee’s eyes flared for he was pushed so far up inside her she could feel him lodged
against her womb. The feeling was sublime as he came and it brought her release within
a heartbeat of his. She was unaware she was twisting his nipples—causing exquisite
pain—until she heard him grunt and snatched her fingers from his swollen paps.
The water surged around them and over the side of the bath as one last shudder
rippled through her, one last pulse shot from his body.
They lay that way until the water was almost too cool to be comfortable then he
reached for the soap and began lathering his hands.
“What are you doing?” she asked lazily.
He didn’t answer but reached for her arm and began running his soapy hands
down it.
“Sandair?”
“I am attending to milady’s bath,” he whispered.
Rylee closed her eyes as he washed her chest—paying particular care to her
nipples—then spread more soap over her back and sides and down her taut abdomen.
When he reached the curls at her thighs, she wedged her eyelashes up just enough to
look at his beautiful face and smiled.
He was concentrating on bathing her and as he did, she knew he was unaware he
had tucked his lower lip between his teeth, his gaze following the movement of his
hands upon her body. When he dipped his soapy hand between her legs, she drew in a
quick breath and with it, his attention.
“Feel good?” he asked, rubbing her spiky curls.
“Aye, warrior,” she acknowledged. “You know it does.”
His fingers dipped into her—sought and found her clit—then rolled that swollen
little nubbin between his thumb and middle finger until she was squirming beneath his
touch.
“The water is getting cold,” she complained.
“And I am getting hot,” he countered.
Before she could protest again, he slid out from under her and down in the tub, his
head disappearing beneath the water.
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Rylee gasped as his lips pressed against her core and his tongue surged inside her.
She put her hands down through the water to grab his hair and pull him up but he was
making a banquet of her nether region and she was beginning to pant, her cunt to ooze
juices, her womb to leap and her fingers raked through his thick curls.
Twice he came up for air but then sank down beneath the undulating waves to
torment her with his suckling, his thrusting tongue and the sweet nibble of his teeth on
her clit. When she came, she arched her hips up and stiffened, her toes curling, and still
he feasted on her willing flesh. When he resurfaced—his dark hair plastered back from
his high forehead—he was grinning wickedly, the taste of her on his lips as he moved
over her and claimed her mouth.
With her arms securely around him, their kiss unbroken, he lifted her from the bath
as though she were nothing more than a child and then carried her up the two marble
steps out of the sunken tub, squatting down to lay her on the floor. He covered her with
his hard, taut body and drove into her—once, twice, three times—and released his cum
deep within her velvety recesses.
“Sandair,” she sighed as he rolled off her and lay there beside her on the cool tiles.
Though the lovemaking had been completely pleasurable, unfortunately the
pulsing of his blood made his headache worse. He closed his eyes and arched his arm
over them to blot out even the little bit of light cast from the candles.
“Tired?” she asked, turning so she was snuggled against him.
“We need to go back to our rooms,” he said. As much as he loved being with her,
all he wanted at that moment was peace and quiet, a dark room and a cold rag over his
forehead. It was the only way he was willing to relieve himself of the migraine. He had
about three hours or so before supper and he needed that time to try to get over the
headache.
“Are you trying to get rid of me?” she asked, twirling a curl of his chest hair around
her finger.
“I know how long it takes you to get ready for supper,” he said. “And I’d like to
take a short nap before then.”
“You have a headache,” she said.
“No,” he lied again, “but I am tired. The sun took its toll of me today.”
“Oh all right,” she said and sat up, reaching for her gown. “But after tonight, I
won’t be sent away from your side, milord.”
“And I’ll not ask you to leave, milady,” he returned. He lowered his arm and
opened his eyes to look at her as she got to her feet, tugging the gown over her head. As
the fiery curls at her thighs were hidden from his view, he sighed audibly.
Rylee held out a hand to him and he reached up to take it, allowing her to help
hoist him to his feet. Just as he knew she would, she pulled him into her arms for one
last, hot, searing kiss.
“Take that with you into your dreams, milord,” she said.
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He watched her go to the door, unlock it, peek out and then slip into the corridor,
quietly closing the door behind her. The smile that he had plastered on his face quickly
dissolved and he swallowed against the godawful pain in his temples and the hot,
surging bile trying to rush up his throat. As he reached for his clean trousers, he had to
grab something to steady himself for his equilibrium was off and the room was
beginning to tilt to one side. Already the aura was streaking wriggles of light at the
periphery of his vision, making the nausea worse. He was hurting so badly, he didn’t
bother with retrieving his fresh shirt but left it there in the bathing chamber with his
dirty clothes. He would ask a servant to retrieve them later. His head a crushing agony
upon his shoulders, he made his way back to his room, collapsing upon the bed as soon
as he entered.
Rylee climbed the stairs to the sleeping area of the inn. She was almost to her room
and was fumbling in her pocket for her key when her hand closed around the vial of
tenerse.
She grunted with annoyance.
She knew Alsandair Farrell well enough to know when he had a brutal headache
and she was relatively sure if he didn’t already, he had the beginnings of one coming
on. She pulled the tenerse from her pocket and looked down at it. Chances were good
he wouldn’t voluntarily take the elixir unless she forced it on him but she knew that
wouldn’t be hard to accomplish. All she had to do was slip it into his drink at supper.
There was no sense in him suffering because of silly male pride.
It was as she reached for the key to her room that she felt the presence
behind her.
Before she could turn, something rough was thrust over her face and a sickening musky
smell enveloped her, causing her eyes to burn. She fought against the arm that snaked
around her, fought the pungent scent that clung to the cloth pressed tightly to her nose
and mouth, tried not to breathe in the vapors, but her depleted lungs were screaming
and she sucked in air, the lights in her world going out almost instantly as the fumes
rushed down her throat to render her unconscious.
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Chapter Nine
Alsandair awoke with the remnants of his headache still bouncing like shards of
glass between his temples. He sat up—grimacing—and ran a shaky hand through his
hair. He looked at the clock on the bedside table then cursed. It was eight forty-five in
the evening. Rylee and Kyle would be expecting him to join them for supper—were
probably already seated at the table—and the mere thought of food made him gag.
Not up to making idle conversation, having no desire to even attempt eating, he
decided the best thing for him to do would be to have the innkeeper send someone over
to the tavern with his apologies. Rylee would understand and hopefully not come over
to insist he swill down a portion of the bitter brew she seemed to have on hand at all
times.
The trousers he had on were wrinkled so badly he doubted an iron could smooth
out the creases. Struggling not to vomit, he managed to get them off, pull on another
pair. Grabbing a shirt, he thrust his arms into the sleeves and was just about to open his
door when it crashed open.
Kyle Striker was standing in the corridor with his fists doubled, his face set. “Tell
me she’s with you!” he demanded. He looked past Alsandair to get a glimpse of the bed
then pushed past the younger man and stormed into the room. “Rylee?” His bellow
made Alsandair flinch.
“She’s not here,” Alsandair said. “She’s not in her room?”
“Would I have come looking for her here if she were?” Kyle shouted.
A cold finger of dread dragged its bony finger down Alsandair’s spine and he had
to reach out to grab hold of the door’s edge for the room was spinning again. “She was
with me in the bathing chamber then—”
“He took her,” Kyle said, his eyes flashing blue fire. “The bastard took her. I know
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