Dangerous Talents

by Frankie Robertson

  Dahleven looked at Celia. She was overtired from two days of captivity, and Finding the Talents, and had seen too much death. She watched him with anxious, red-rimmed eyes. It was madness to take her into the aftermath of battle. Depending on the outcome, continuing skirmishes could harry the Nuvinlanders all the way back to the border, putting all in the area at risk. He should call Fender and his men back, send Celia on to Quartzholm with them.

  She must have read his mind. “Don’t even think about it.” Her face was stern, her voice flat. It was the same tone his mother had used when he was a child, contemplating mischief. “I’m going with you. I won’t be kept safe in a box.”

  Dahleven looked at Celia standing with hands on hips and knew that Fender would have to tie her up to get her back to Quartzholm. Something like relief, or maybe joy, washed through him as he realized he’d have to keep her with him.

  *

  A little of the tension drained from Cele’s body when she realized Dahleven wasn’t going to send her back to Quartzholm. She’d made such a mess of things. She needed to redeem herself, in some small way, and she couldn’t do that stuck at the castle. And she didn’t want to leave Dahleven.

  Dahleven returned to the chamber briefly to gather extra oil and food and waterskins. He bundled blankets and one of Jorund’s sleeping pads as well. “It will be warmer than sleeping directly on the cold stone, as we did before,” he explained.

  Cele agreed as she shouldered the pack and skins he handed her. Heat swept over her as she noted that he brought only one of the narrow pads. The memory of Dahleven’s kisses, the feel of his body against hers, made her even warmer.

  She dismissed the thought. He’d said she wasn’t to blame for what had happened, but she couldn’t so easily forgive herself. And no matter what he said, she didn’t believe Dahleven could, either.

  Cele followed him through the smooth-floored tunnel. Ordinary crystals sparkled to life in the walls as the lantern light struck them, twinkling in the normal way, not glowing as they had before Jorund died.

  They had no energy to spare for conversation, leaving Cele too much time to think. The searing light and Jorund’s screams, the torn bodies of the dead and dying, the smell of blood and death, all weighed on her mind. Despite Dahleven’s words to the contrary, Cele knew she’d put his men in harm’s way. Shards of anger and grief cut her heart. She was glad Jorund and his deceptions were dead. She’d kill him again if she could for threatening Dahleven, for luring her to betray the friendship he had offered.

  Cele swallowed on a sour stomach. How could she have let herself be taken in by his smooth talk? Hadn’t she learned anything from Jeff? Only this time she wasn’t the only one hurt. Men had died because of her naiveté. She tore at herself over and over with that thought.

  Dahleven led them onward. Shadows and soft lantern light rippled over his body, his form lumpy with various burdens. His movement was sure and strong, but he adjusted his stride to fit hers. Though he had little to say, he glanced at her often. Cele gritted her teeth, expecting to see disgust and condemnation in his face. She wouldn’t blame him. She deserved that, and more. But his expression only held concern. Eventually, he called a halt, much earlier than she anticipated.

  “Don’t stop on my account,” she said, despite her fatigue.

  Dahleven shook his head, slipping his burdens to the floor. “We traveled hard and fast to reach you, without much rest.”

  And finished with a battle that killed most of his men.

  Cele took the thin featherbed as Dahleven shrugged out of its strap, and unrolled it. “I’m sorry—”

  “No more of that.” Dahleven cut her off.

  Cele swallowed her unspoken sorrow and grief. He was right. What could she say that would make up for what she’d done?

  Dahleven shed the rest of his burdens, laying them out with the same orderliness she’d observed that first night by the spring. It seemed so long ago. Then he sat down on the thin mattress with a soft groan.

  “Would you like something to eat?” Cele started to rummage in the pack she’d carried, trying to be useful. She handed him a small loaf of bread and a wedge of cheese. Jorund had been well provisioned.

  He actually smiled as she sliced and shared out the food between them. “At least Jorund had better taste than to pack journeybread.” One of the skins he’d scavenged held a light wine, which they passed wordlessly between them.

  When they’d eaten their fill, Dahleven removed his heavy leather byrnie and turned the wick of the lantern low. “Come here.” His voice was warm, and he spread his hand to indicate the space next to him on the pad.

  As Cele settled next to Dahleven, her heart beat faster, as nervous as she’d been the first night she’d slept between him and Sorn. More so, because now she wanted to be in Dahleven’s arms more than any place on earth, and there was no future in it.

  Dahleven lay down with a sigh, pulling her against his chest with her head on his shoulder.

  “You did well today. You kept your head.” Dahleven spoke slowly. “I don’t have the words to tell you…”

  His words warmed Cele even more than his body.

  “If you were one of my men I’d know how to reward your courage…I’ve never known such a woman…”

  Could he mean it? Did he really hold her blameless for what had happened? He’d said as much before, but it was hard to believe. Cele waited for Dahleven to continue but he said nothing more. His breathing altered. He’d fallen asleep.

  Dahleven’s earlier words returned to her. Jorund had been a skilled liar, practiced at deceit. Even those who knew him best had been taken in by him. He’d known exactly which of her buttons to push, she finally conceded to herself. Angrim had probably told him what best to tempt her with. He’d dangled the lure of home in front of her with consummate skill.

  Maybe, she could forgive herself. A little.

  *

  Dahleven came awake instantly, as he usually did, and blinked three times before yesterday’s events reasserted themselves in his mind. He focused on what was most important: Celia is safe.

  Cool relief washed over him. The danger could so easily have been missed. But it hadn’t been, thanks be to Baldur, in large part due to the Daughters of Freya. That truth chafed like a new boot, but he would have to wear it.

  Dahleven stared into the shadows above them. Celia lay with her back to him, her warm rump pressed against his hip. His body urged him to roll her beneath him. Memories of the soft weight of her breasts in his hands and her moans of pleasure teased him, but her breathing told him she was still deeply asleep. Another of Nature’s summons became more urgent. Reluctantly, Dahleven slipped from beneath the blankets, turned up their lamp, and went to answer a different need.

  *

  A ruffle of cool air pulled Cele from sleep as Dahleven slipped back beneath the blankets. He curled himself around her, snugging his legs behind hers as close as two spoons in a drawer. Cele drowsily nestled backward into his warmth and sighed, as his arm came around her waist, pulling her closer. Then she came fully awake as he trailed little kisses up her neck.

  “You’re awake,” he murmured warmly, and traced the curl of her ear with his tongue.

  A shiver raced down Cele’s spine and her heart beat faster. She hadn’t expected this—but she wanted it. Craved it. She arched her neck to receive more of Dahleven’s kisses.

  This is sheer stupidity. She shouldn’t let this begin, no matter how insistent her body’s demands.

  Dahleven’s hand stroked down her thigh and back up, slowing Cele’s thoughts.

  This will only complicate both our lives. She should roll away and get up.

  His hand moved up under her tunic to cup her breast. Her nipple was already standing high and he teased it delicately through the thin fabric of her dress, sending a shock of pleasure cascading through her body.

  She groaned and rolled to face Dahleven, sliding her hands under his shirt and up his back, savoring his warmth and t
he feel of his muscles as her finger slid over his skin. He leaned over her on one elbow and his gaze searched her face before his head came down. His lips met hers gently, then pressed their case more urgently. Any doubt she had fled. Cele returned his kisses openly, their tongues twining and caressing.

  The world narrowed to sensation and pleasure. She wanted him. Needed him. There was no future to worry about, only now. Cele barely noticed Dahleven’s hand at her shoulder as he unfastened the brooch that held her tunic until he jerked and swore, then stuck his thumb in his mouth.

  She couldn’t help laughing. “I’d hoped I was the one you were going to impale.”

  Dahleven’s eyes widened, and for an instant Cele wondered if her humor put him off. Then he snorted. “Your turn will come,” he growled, rolling to his knees and pulling her up to kneel in front of him. He tugged her dress over her head.

  Cele felt no awkwardness at her sudden nudity. The chill air tightened her skin, making her even more glad of Dahleven’s warm hands as they glided over her. Her need rose as his appreciative gaze swept down her body, stopping at her hips.

  “Ah, there it is,” he said.

  Cele paused for a moment in surprised confusion. Then Dahleven touched the amulet bag tied to her thigh. Ragni had said to keep it secret. Did it offend him?

  “We have much to thank Thora for, when we return,” Dahleven said thoughtfully.

  “You knew?”

  “Ragni told me.” Then he flung her dress aside and kissed her, dispersing her fears.

  “You’ll never make it as a lady’s maid,” Cele said, treating his shirt with the same disrespect. Then she moaned softly as Dahleven’s mouth surrounded her taut nipple. She almost collapsed with the sweet shock of pleasure. Dahleven held her in place, sucking, nibbling, tugging. She ached with wanting him, but he kept her there, moving only to give equal attention to her other breast. He caressed the first with his hand, forcing Cele to grasp his shoulders as she trembled with pleasure. When he straightened for a kiss, Cele shuddered and reached for his pants.

  Dahleven chuckled. “Are you so anxious to be transfixed?”

  “You have the advantage on me. I’m anxious to rectify that.” She wanted to see and feel all of him. She settled back on her heels and tugged futilely at the laces. “How do these work?”

  Dahleven looked down and half-groaned, half-laughed. “It’s Loki’s work. You’ve knotted them.” A long minute later, they were free and so was Dahleven. Cele sucked in a breath. He was stunning, from the breadth of his lightly furred chest, to his narrow waist, down to his muscular thighs and calves. She splayed her fingers through the springy hair on his thighs, enjoying the feel of the muscle beneath. The shadows cast by the lantern accentuated the hard planes of his body. He was as beautiful as if he’d been sculpted, yet he was no cold statue, but hot flesh.

  An instant later, Dahleven pushed her back on the sleeping mat and they pressed together, sharing the delicious heat of their bodies.

  “You are beautiful,” he murmured, “and strong, and brave.”

  “Do I need to be brave to make love with you?” She laughed. “Or perhaps I need courage to do this?” She slid her hand between them and ran a finger delicately up the length of his erection. She loved the hard silkiness of him, the way it jumped under her touch.

  Dahleven sucked his breath in sharply, delightfully, so she did it again.

  “Have a care, my Valkyrie,” he groaned and retaliated by stroking her at the juncture of her thighs. Cele gasped as a bolt of sensual delight shot through her and she grasped his shoulders. Dahleven’s growl of satisfaction made her blood run even hotter as he bent his head to her breast and the pleasure sharpened. An intoxicating wave caught her up, and her breath came short and fast.

  Cele ran her hands over the taut muscles of his arms and back, rejoicing in the feel of him as he trailed sizzling kisses from one breast to the other. His lips closed over one swollen nipple, sending another cascade of pleasure to build the simmering heat within her. He tugged gently with his teeth and another bolt of delight shot straight to her core. She moaned, cupping his buttocks with restless hands, pulling him closer, guiding him between her legs.

  He held still for a moment, poised at her entrance, teasing her with tiny movements, building her hunger until she couldn’t stand it anymore. She grabbed his perfect glutes and pulled him in, rocking her hips upward to receive him. Heat flashed through her, and every nerve sparked, burning wild and sweet as they moved together. He became part of her, filling her, satisfying a soul-deep hunger.

  Cele tightened around him and Dahleven gasped his pleasure. He moved slowly at first, then faster as Cele caught his rhythm and rose to meet him. Her skin burned and tingled as each movement’s pleasure brought her higher. Then with a few swift strokes, he pushed her off the pinnacle to soar in ecstasy. Sensation buffeted her, overwhelming her senses. Dahleven shuddered and arched his back, plunging deeply, holding her as if he’d never let her go. Cele flew for endless moments, suspended in joy and delight, only slowly returning to hover somewhere still a little above the earth.

  CHAPTER TWENTY~EIGHT

  Dahleven held Celia’s hand as they moved through the tunnel. She’d sought his touch often since the morning’s lovemaking, and Dahleven was slightly surprised to find he was just as hungry as she was for the contact. The feel of her hand in his somehow made his worry easier to bear.

  What would he find when they finally reached the parley site? Jorund had promised an attack. Would the Tewakwe take it as a breach of the truce? Neven could find himself fighting two foes at once. I don’t want to be Jarl just yet. And what of Ragni? His brother was competent with sword and bow, but he’d been a priest for eight years. All his combat experience was on the practice field; he’d never faced an enemy intent on his death.

  The tunnel ended at a fissure that opened onto the hill. Dim light filtered in from outside. This was the closest exit from the tunnels to the parley site, but they were still over a day’s walk away from where the Tewakwe and Nuvinlanders were supposed to meet.

  “Stay here. I’ll scout the area,” he said to Celia. He didn’t want to lead her out into a running battle or an Outcast encampment.

  She nodded and squeezed his hand. “Be careful.”

  Dahleven shrugged out of his pack and drew his sword. He handed the lantern to Celia. “Count slowly to two thousand. If I don’t return, retrace your steps to Quartzholm as best you can. Don’t try to Find your way any more than you must. Don’t Exhaust yourself.”

  She stretched on tiptoe to press her lips to his and Dahleven clasped her to him, savoring the feel of her body against his. His cock sprang to life and clamored for attention, not caring that he had other things to attend to. Reluctantly, he released her. She slid down his front and leaned her head against his chest for a moment before stepping away. He gave her shoulder a quick squeeze, then turned and eased through the fissure, lifting an overgrowth of foliage aside with his sword.

  *

  One, two, three…

  Cele hated this, worrying about someone she cared for, waiting to find out whether he would come back to her in one piece. She noted the irony of the situation. Only four days ago she’d complained to Dahleven about this very thing, yet here she was, obediently waiting for her man to return from…from what? What was he facing out there? She wouldn’t know until he returned. If he returned.

  Her man. Is that what he is? Or was it wishful thinking? Their lovemaking had pushed aside her guilt and doubt. Cele hadn’t wanted it to end, hadn’t wanted reality to come rushing back with all its questions. What was their reality?

  She cared for him, more than she wanted to acknowledge. Hell, I might as well admit it. I love him. Even more, she trusted him. He wasn’t Jeff. Wasn’t her father. Warmth welled up within her at the memory of Dahleven’s touch and his teasing laughter. Fear rose too, with the knowledge that she could be about to lose the happiness and delight she’d only just discovered.

&n
bsp; She considered following him for a moment. I could help him. Watch his back. Then she thought of Sorn. She could get him killed if she distracted him at the wrong moment.

  So she waited, and tried not to let her mind run wild with fearful possibilities.

  One thousand seven, one thousand eight…

  Dahleven had said they’d be too late to warn Neven and Ragni of the attack, yet he hoped to bear the good tidings of Jorund’s demise to them and to the Tewakwe, as evidence of the Nuvinlanders’ good faith. It would be a horrible twist of fate if Ragni and Neven had died just as their enemy was defeated. Cele knew that thought weighed heavily on Dahleven, and she ached because there was nothing she could say that would help.

  One thousand four hundred thirty-two, one thousand four hundred thirty-three…

  What would she do if he didn’t return? He’d come back for her if he was able. But if he wasn’t? If there was something so bad out there that Dahleven couldn’t handle it, she probably couldn’t either. It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t just leave him, maybe injured and bleeding, regardless of what he said. She couldn’t.

  One thousand eight hundred fifty-eight—

  A sound at the entrance interrupted her count and she took a defensive posture, ready to fight if she had to.

  Dahleven sidled through the opening. “It’s all clear.”

  Trembling with the release of the fear she’d been suppressing, Cele leapt into Dahleven’s arms. Anger rebounded from relief. She pushed an arm’s length away to see his face. “Don’t you ever do that again! I’m going with you next time. I’d rather die fighting beside you than wait and wonder!”

  Dahleven smiled, but it was humorless. “You will not.” His voice was flat and implacable, leaving no room for negotiation.

  “But—”

  “No.”

  Cele pressed her lips together, undeterred. We’ll discuss this again—later.

  *