by Gaelen Foley
“Here you are.” She handed him a towel, then turned away politely while he climbed out of the pool and wrapped it around his waist.
“I really must ask,” he said from behind her. “How did you do it? Save me, I mean.”
She turned around, recalling the harrowing moments of working the Kiss of Life spell on him.
“It must have been some incredibly powerful magic,” he said. “Because look at me…”
Oh, I’m looking. Believe me.
“I’m not just healed from the other night. Even my old scars are gone. I rather liked some of those scars,” he jested, his smile fading as he gazed at her. “How did you do this to me?”
Wrynne decided on the spot not to burden him with the details of her own little sacrifice. He was already under enough pressure, with the fate of the kingdom resting on his shoulders every other week. With his chivalrous nature, she didn’t want him to feel any sense of obligation to her.
“Ilios did it, Thaydor. I was just the conduit.”
“A very powerful conduit. I have some healing ability myself, but nothing like that.”
She shrugged, smiled, and avoided his gaze. “I don’t know how it works. I was merely doing my duty. Oh, that reminds me. Your clothes. Wait right there.”
She walked over and knelt down by the pile of dirty, bloodstained clothes he had left on the ground. He watched her as she closed her eyes and sought the peace within herself until she tapped into the power of the Light.
Given the Daughters’ vow to love and serve others, the novitiates of Ilios were taught only that white magic that furthered their missions. Feed the Poor could conjure a single healthy meal for a hungry person, for example, and Clothe the Naked could restore a beggar’s tattered rags to new condition, both for warmth and to give him back his dignity.
Heal the Sick had, of course, been the core of her studies, but there was also Comfort the Sorrowing, which calmed someone hysterical with grief or terror.
Such works, her superiors taught, were the proper use of magic, not the wild-and-woolly, anything-goes conjurings of sorcerers, nor the purely selfish manifestations of talented but irresponsible witches. Enchantresses who followed other schools of magic could wish into existence a glamorous wardrobe of silk and velvet gowns for themselves and never even notice the ragged children they strutted past in the streets.
Fortunately, only a small percentage of the population was born with magical ability, but it could be bestowed by one’s god in exchange for a pledge of service. For those with a certain spark of natural ability, it could also be taught, though such knowledge was highly guarded.
Under strict instruction at the Bastion, the headquarters and small home city of the Ilian church, most clerics learned how to channel the Light into manifesting simple things for others. These tokens were always to be offered as gifts from the Creator and proof of his love for all his children.
She felt the power flow out easily from her hands in a short, sweet blast, and when she opened her eyes, she smiled to see Thaydor’s clothes all neatly folded in a stack, not a mark on them.
She rose and turned to him. “I’ll leave you here to dress. Are you hungry?”
“No, I ate what you left out.” His eyes suddenly widened. “I hope that was for me!”
She chuckled. “Of course it was. I’m glad you made yourself at home,” she said warmly. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”
“Hmm, thanks. I do have to get out there and find my horse. Although he’s usually pretty good about finding me.”
“Avalanche?” she asked in delight. “I should like to meet him. What about your squire?”
Thaydor’s face fell. Such pain passed behind his eyes at the question that she wished she had never asked. “He didn’t make it. I told him to stay back. They never listen. So it seems I’ve lost another one.” He shook his head. “Do you have a shovel I could borrow? I have to bury the poor lad.”
“Yes, I keep one for my garden. I will help you.”
“It’s grim work, my lady. You don’t want to see what the Urmugoths did to him. I do not want for you to see it.”
“Leave you to face such an awful task alone, when you’re the one who knew him, trained him? No, it’s too sad. I’m coming with you.”
He walked closer to her, heading for his clothes. “I’ve buried plenty of friends, believe me.”
“I’ll bet you have. I’m just glad you’re still with us. That was a near thing, down there on that field.”
“It must have been very frightening for you. Thank you for what you did for me. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come. Well, actually, I do know,” he said wryly as he came to stand before her.
She gazed up at him, ignoring as best she could the water droplet that slid sensuously down his chest at about her eye level. “You said you saw Elysium,” she murmured.
He nodded with an otherworldly glow in his cobalt eyes.
“What was it like?” she whispered.
Her heart skipped as he cupped her cheek in his hand. “It was a lot like this,” he said softly. Then he quite startled her when he leaned down and kissed her chastely on the forehead. “My lady, you can say that I don’t owe you all you please. But I will never forget what you did for me. If you ever need…anything, you just let me know.”
After this solemn promise, he drew back and gazed at her with such unnerving intensity that Wrynne couldn’t draw a breath.
Her pulse galloped like a cavalry charge.
Routed, she looked away, fumbling with embarrassment. “Well, um, your recovery is remarkable in any case.” She cleared her throat and tried not to let him notice that she, sensible Wrynne, Mother’s steady daughter, could have fainted like a nincompoop. “You really feel no side effects at all?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” he admitted with a rueful smile, stepping back to put a safer distance between them, considering he was still wearing nothing but a towel. “Nothing’s broken anymore. There’s not a scratch on me. And bathing seems to have made me human again, but to be perfectly honest? I feel like I rolled down a mountainside strapped to a boulder.”
She chuckled. “Aches and pains?”
“A bit,” he said pointedly.
She nodded. I had that, too. It was miserable.
“All things considered, though,” Thaydor said, “I’ll take it.”
“You might not have to.”
“What, you’ve got a potion for me now?” he asked as she went to retrieve her basket with the soaps and things.
“Not exactly,” she said with a laugh, avoiding his gaze and dismissing the cautionary alert that flared in her mind. Dangerous territory.
Nonsense, this is for healing purposes only.
Yes, she could admit there was some sort of powerful attraction here, but neither Thaydor nor she were the sort of people who would let themselves be swept away by sensuality.
Others might indulge such passions, but they were both committed to Ilian principles of virtue and surely could be trusted to behave.
Besides, if her earlier hypothesis was right and the king was out to get him, who knew what sort of threat might show up next? She needed to get her patient back to his full strength and fighting capacity as quickly as possible.
How she was going to broach the subject of the king’s possible treachery, she had no idea, let alone when. The poor man had only just awakened from a death-sleep and still needed to rest. She longed to protect him from such dire news at least for a little while, so he could finish healing.
But it might not be possible to wait. That red knight, the assassin from her dream, had made it all the way to her doorstep. He might still come back.
She lifted a bottle out of the basket, still unable to meet his gaze. “Come, lie down on your stomach,” she ordered. “Let’s see what we can do about those sore muscles. This should give you some relief.”
“What is it?” he asked warily.
She studied the bott
le. It was easier than looking in his eyes and reading in them the same tug-of-war that she was feeling. Want versus virtue. Practicality versus lust.
“Oh, it’s my own concoction,” she said with a shrug, trying to sound nonchalant. “A liniment oil made with comfrey and leopard’s bane, a tincture of rue, and a little salve of myrrh. It helps relax strained muscles and tendons. Speeds the healing of bruises and other injuries. It’ll make you feel better…” She stole a sideward glance to gauge his reaction. “I promise.”
* * *
Oh, I don’t doubt it.
Thaydor searched her lovely face through narrowed eyes, his heart pounding.
He finally decided she was not trying to seduce him and shrugged. “All right.” What did he have to lose? “Here?”
She nodded. “You’ll be warmer in the sun.”
This is a bad idea. But his senses thrilled to the prospect of her soft, lovely hands on him. With the towel still wrapped around his waist, he lay down on his stomach on a sun-warmed stone beside the crystal pool, rested his cheek on his folded arms, and closed his eyes.
He heard the light brush of fabric as she rolled up her sleeves, then his eyes widened as he felt her step over him and lower herself to her knees, straddling him.
With a silent gulp, he shut his eyes again, breathless to find out what this strange girl might do to him next.
The warm oil dripped all down his back, and then she set the bottle aside with a soft tap. Then a deep moan escaped him as she began caressing it into his skin.
“Does that feel good?” she purred in amusement.
“What kind of question is that?” he retorted in a mumble, smiling from ear to ear.
She laughed. She had the most entrancing giggle. He wanted to stay here with her forever, this fey enchantress…
He kept his eyes closed and let her do her work.
He sighed with pleasure as her hands glided over his back, smoothing out all the kinks and knots with rhythmic strokes. He knew she was not trying to arouse him, but it wasn’t long before her ministrations had him throbbing and as hard as the rock on which he lay.
He cursed himself. He usually had such perfect control over his desires! But his flesh was so grateful to his beautiful healer that every inch of him wanted to thank her in the most primal fashion.
Stop it, he ordered himself, to little effect.
Sanctus solis, this was embarrassing. As her thumbs traveled down the taut cords of muscle alongside his spine, he strove heroically to act normal.
No, not normal. A normal knight would’ve probably had her on the ground right now, ravishing her whether she liked it or not, but he was Thaydor.
And while, by his own choice, he did not have very much experience with women, he was acutely aware at all times that he was the standard of chivalry the younger knights aspired to.
Just like he’d promised his mother on her deathbed that he would be when he grew up.
The one who could be counted on to thrash any of the young bucks who behaved in the old, barbaric manner.
So, no. He must not entertain such thoughts. If the Paladin of Ilios, of all men, could not control his lust, then who the hell else would even bother trying?
He was ashamed of what he was feeling right now toward this obviously virtuous young woman. The possibilities running through his mind were anything but honorable.
Either get yourself under control, man, or get the hell out of here now. This isn’t you.
Of course, if he married her, then he could…
“Thaydor?” she murmured, interrupting his silent argument with himself. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
“Uh, yes?” he rasped as she ended the massage, a fact that caused him a simultaneous pang of denial and a private sigh of relief.
As she went to wash the liniment oil off her hands in the pool, he took a deep breath to try to clear his head and shifted his position to conceal the evidence of his appreciation. His body was thankfully calming down, having let him know, in no uncertain terms, that he was very much alive. And more human than he liked to admit.
He cleared his throat. “What is it, Mistress Wrynne?” he asked, trying to focus and failing when he noticed the fetching shape of her backside as she leaned forward beside the pool and finished washing her hands.
“While you were asleep, I had a dream,” she said. “Or possibly a vision. I’m not sure which.”
“Oh?”
“I dreamed of a man all dressed in black, with black hair and coal-black eyes. He slipped into the gate tower, killed the sentries, and purposely let the Urmugoths into Veraidel.”
He arched a brow.
“The only reason I am telling you this is because he then showed up here, in the flesh. The same man from my dream.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “He came walking up the path calling for you. He seemed like a friend trying to find you, but I sensed a darkness in him. So I hid you and this place with a sanctuary spell.”
He stared at her. “You dreamed of him, and then he appeared?”
She nodded.
“Has this sort of thing ever happened to you before?”
“No. There is one more thing,” she said. “He wore the scarlet insignia of a ram emblazed on his surcoat.”
“Oh!” Relief flooded him. “Don’t worry, that was just Sir Reynulf, then. Sounds like the reinforcements I sent for finally arrived.” He snorted. “A little late, boys. Wonder what took ’em so long.”
“Sir Reynulf?”
“Second in command. The Bloodletter of Xoltheus. Sort of like a paladin, only, well, for the war god,” he said in mild disapproval, leaving her to draw her own conclusions about what that might entail. “Reynulf probably saw the Urmugoth remains down there and wondered what the devil happened to me.”
“So this man is your friend?” She stared intently at him. “Are you sure about that?”
“I don’t know if I’d call him a friend. More of a colleague. Acquaintance.” He frowned, puzzled. “Why?”
“Is he capable of doing what my dream showed?”
“Well, tactically, of course. It’s not that difficult. The sentries are common soldiers, and by the middle of the night, anybody’s tired. Plus, their attention is fixed on looking out over the walls, not watching for someone coming up behind them.”
“Devotees of the war god are known for being ruthless,” she said meaningfully.
“Yes, but they’re loyal. The perfect soldiers. For them, virtue consists of victory and following orders, period.”
“Exactly,” she said, still staring at him, seeming to will him to put the pieces together on his own, but he would not.
Not when they made a shape that he stubbornly refused to consider. Reynulf was not what anyone would call a good man. He actually rather delighted in being a bit of a bastard, but no one could be that dishonorable. Not someone who had fought by his side many times in the past.
So he just furrowed his brow and shook his head at her obtusely. “What are you trying to say, Wrynne?”
Frustration flashed in her gray eyes. “Very well, since you’re too chivalrous for your own good. I do think my dream was real and that this Reynulf was following orders. Someone told him to let the Urmugoths in on purpose, knowing you would come, and then held back the reinforcements that you asked for. Don’t you see what this means?”
He just looked at her.
“Thaydor, I think the king is trying to kill you.”
Chapter 4
Grim Work
Thaydor stared at her for a long moment. It wasn’t as though the thought had never occurred to him. He had merely refused to entertain it.
Now that she had spoken it aloud, however, he simultaneously knew deep in his bones that it was true—and still refused to believe it.
He shook his head. “No.”
“Thaydor, it’s one thing to be loyal and another to be willfully blind,” she said, gazing up at him.
“Wh
y would the king want to kill me?” He stirred his finger in the air impatiently, gesturing to her to turn around so he could get dressed.
She did. He let the towel fall and reached for his braies.
“I heard you yelled at him,” she said.
“I never yell. Well, except in battle.”
“He’s a king! You must have said something he didn’t like.”
He scoffed at her suggestion. “Do you think in all the years I’ve served His Majesty we’ve never exchanged harsh words before? I’ve never been one to bow and scrape or merely tell him what he wants to hear. Baynard knows that. He doesn’t always like what I have to say, but he knows my opinion is usually valid. He trusts me.”
Her back still to him, she rested her hands on her hips. Waves of her dark, silky hair danced down her back as she shook her head with a long-suffering air.
“Furthermore, I am the Paladin of Ilios,” he clipped out, drawing on his chausses next and angrily lacing them. “I am bound by sacred oath to represent the just might of God upon this Earth. To strike at me—and in such a cowardly fashion!—is as good as a slap in the face to the Almighty himself.”
“I’m not trying to upset you—”
“I’m not upset!” he insisted. “What you’re saying cannot be true, that is all. Not after all I’ve done for him.” He reached for his magically cleaned and mended shirt.
She sighed. “Let me ask you this,” she said, obviously trying another approach. “When you were on your way here, did you hear of the king sending troops to our aid? Did you see any soldiers on the road?”
“No,” he said defensively.
“And the knights that you sent for didn’t come?”
“They were delayed! I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation.”
“All right, then,” she said, her patience fraying, “why were you sent away from the court? I’ve heard the gossip, but why don’t you tell me in your own words so we can sort this out.”
“It wasn’t Baynard’s fault.” He scowled at her slender back. “It was because of his new advisor.”
“Aha!” She spun around as he was lacing up the loose V-neck of his shirt.