Amid the Winter Snow

by Grace Draven

  “To what, Lily?” he asked, breaking a piece of chocolate off from the bar. “To strengthen relations between us?”

  The tantalizing color rushed under her fine skin, and she turned scolding. “You should not be so–so…”

  “I should not be so what, Lily?” Leaning toward her, he teased the plump edge of her bottom lip with the chocolate as he whispered, “I think you might know what I intend to do. Tell me yes or tell me no.”

  As he looked deeply into her eyes, he could tell she had begun to wonder if he was still talking about the chocolate. She opened her mouth, those delicate, fine lips trembling on the verge of a response.

  In that moment, he felt desire as keen as a sword thrust. Slipping the chocolate between her parted lips, he stroked it along her tongue. After hesitating, her lips closed on the candy and she sucked it.

  He took a deep, quiet breath as his groin tightened. Oh yes. Now they had begun an entirely different conversation.

  The tent flap lifted, and a tall, thin man wrapped in a cloak shouldered his way inside. It was Jada, carrying in the food tray.

  At the intrusion, Lily jerked away from Wulf, wiping her mouth with the back of one hand. Smoothly, he straightened from his kneeling position. An experienced campaigner knew when to press forward and when to retreat.

  Jada had frozen halfway in. His quick gaze bounced from Lily to Wulf, then to the laden tray he balanced.

  “For the gods’ sake, man!” Wulf snapped. “Don’t stand there with the tent flap open. Come in!”

  “Of course, my lord!” The other man jerked forward, and the tent flap fell behind him, blocking out the bitter cold. “I’ll just lay out the supper and be on my way.”

  Wulf glanced back at Lily. She had snatched up a book and opened it, appearing to study the text intently while red color bloomed in her cheeks. He bit back a sudden urge to laugh.

  He couldn’t remember when he had last wanted a woman as badly as he wanted this one or when he had last been so entertained.

  We’re not done with our discussion, he told her, his telepathic voice silken with intent.

  She snapped the book shut and grabbed at another. I don’t know what you’re talking about, Commander.

  Not ‘Commander.’ Wulf.

  Oh fine—Wulf! I shouldn’t have eaten that second piece of chocolate either. I’m probably going to hell for it.

  What are you talking about? He wanted to laugh. What is this hell you refer to, and why would you go there for eating chocolate?

  She hunched her shoulders. The religions of the Elder Races don’t really have a hell, do they? It’s an Earth concept. It’s where you go when you’ve been very bad.

  And how are you being very bad? Is it the politics of it? The appearance of support? All the evidence of any chocolate transgression has melted away. He couldn’t resist and strolled over to her.

  Even though she never looked up from her book, her breathing quickened as he drew near. She was as aware of him as he was of her.

  Coming up behind her, he bent to whisper in her ear, “Relax. I give you my word, no one need ever know what transpires in this tent.”

  He watched her profile in the golden light, the way she licked her lips, the lacy shadow that lay on her cheeks from the curve of her dark eyelashes. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, and he almost took her in his arms right then and there, despite the manservant behind them who lay the supper dishes out on the table.

  He had no time for this. For her.

  His brother’s killer sat on Guerlan’s throne. Weather mages were working constantly to threaten his army, and he had ambitions. Yes, by the gods, she had been correct. He did have ambitions.

  This woman didn’t factor into any of his goals or schemes. And yet he was drawn to dally, if but for a moment or two, to share warmth on a bitter winter’s night, to smile at the multitude of ways she managed to be so transparent and yet still surprise him.

  To discover the taste of her mouth, the sensation of her body against his.

  In the fleeting privacy created by his bigger body as he stood between her and the manservant, he reached around her shoulder to lightly trace the satiny skin of her neck, the line of her jaw. He felt her swallow at his touch, and he was so rock hard from that tiny interaction he had to move.

  Move toward her or away.

  “I’ll just refill the wine goblets, my lord, and add them to the table,” Jada murmured.

  Quiet though the manservant’s voice was, it was a shattering intrusion. Lily jerked away from his touch, slapped the book shut and slammed it down on the pile. Her hands were trembling.

  After sucking in a deep breath to compose himself, Wulf clamped down on his temper to avoid snapping at the manservant. “Of course.”

  Moving neatly around the space, Jada collected the goblets and set them at the table, then refilled them and stepped back. Biting back a smile, Wulf wondered how a dinner conversation with Lily would go. He could hardly wait to find out.

  She had backed several steps away and was staring at him as if she half expected him to come after her.

  And he was definitely more than half tempted.

  But a strategist also knew how to play a long game.

  Gesturing toward the table, he said, “Come have a seat. I don’t keep an elaborate table during a campaign, but the food will be hot and filling.”

  “It smells delicious.” Her gaze went to the table, and her slender brows drew together. Walking over, she sat at one of the tree-stump chairs before he could move to pull it back for her, then inspected the food on her plate.

  Wulf glanced at his plate too. It was piled high with generous slices of roast venison, potatoes, carrots, and gravy, all perfectly straightforward and easily recognizable, so he wasn’t sure what to make of her reaction.

  “Like I said, it’s not fancy, but I have a good cook, and one of my guard tastes everything before any food or drink is brought into the tent.” He sat opposite her and picked up his wine goblet.

  As he brought it to his lips, her expression changed.

  Jumping up, she slapped the goblet out of his hand. It spun through the air, wine spilling from it in a wide crimson spray like blood spurting from an arterial wound.

  He met her wide, frightened gaze. Aggression roared to life in his body, and his thoughts raced like a runaway horse.

  They had already drunk from the wine in the jug. When it had been brought into the tent, it had already been tasted. The only way it could have poison in it was…

  Before the wine goblet could descend on its inevitable downward arc, Jada moved when he did, whipping out a long knife from a sheath at his waist. As Wulf grabbed his sword from where it lay, the other man kicked the tabletop.

  The planks were only loosely laid in place on the wooden frames. Supper dishes, jars of caviar, and chocolate flew everywhere. One plank struck Wulf squarely in the chest, knocking him back a beat, while Lily scrambled away, tripped, and sprawled on the rugs.

  Jada leaped.

  At Lily.

  Wulf gripped his sword by the sheath but he had no time to draw the blade. Growling, he thrust the plank aside and sprang at the other man, body-slamming him.

  Agile as a cat, Jada twisted to slice at him with the knife. Jerking up the sword, he blocked the knife from reaching from his throat, but fire ran across the heel of his hand as Jada’s blade bit deep.

  Lily cried out. Still on the ground, underneath the two men, she had rolled onto her stomach and was trying to crawl away.

  Shifting his grip on the sword sheath to use it like a blunt weapon, Wulf slammed the pommel into Jada’s face. The man’s cheekbone shattered under the force of the blow.

  All too often the outcome of a battle was decided not in moments, but in fractions of moments.

  A decision to move left instead of right. Weaving when you should have ducked.

  Choosing to take a moment to breathe instead of thrusting forward with everything you had no matter how lou
dly your body’s instincts screamed at you, no matter how badly you might be wounded.

  Jada’s battle ended the moment he screamed and fell back. He still fought, still struggled. He might even have believed he was still in the game, but Wulf knew better.

  Wulf knew how to push forward no matter what. How to ride that crested wave, because when the battle rage was upon him, it broke everything into those fractions of moments and made them easy to see, and it made him so much faster and stronger than the other guy.

  He kept at Jada like a battering ram, striking him again and again. Blood sprayed everywhere from the wound in the heel of his hand and from the wounds splitting open on Jada’s contorted features. Wulf’s focus had narrowed to a single murderous intent: cracking the other man’s skull wide open like an egg.

  Trying to protect his face with one forearm, Jada made a wild stab. Wulf caught the other man’s wrist and broke it, and the knife fell to the rug.

  Cold wind whipped into the tent as the guards sprang inside.

  Then a weight landed on his back and slender arms wrapped around his neck from behind.

  Lily shouted in his ear, “Wulf, stop it! You’re killing him!”

  That surprised him so much he actually stopped.

  ~ 5 ~

  Much later, Lily huddled on the pallet in Gordon’s tent while she listened to the uproar in the camp.

  Wulf and his soldiers were busy for quite some time. As she waited, disjointed images of the evening’s events kept flaring in her mind’s eye.

  The light in Wulf’s eyes when he caressed the sensitive skin at her throat.

  The single-minded savagery with which the two men had fought. Wulf had transformed into a killer, completely unlike the roguish man who had gently teased a piece of chocolate into her mouth.

  That hadn’t stopped her from jumping on his back. Almost, she wanted to laugh at the memory of his incredulous expression when he had glared over his shoulder, but a part of her was still in shock, and it was a little too soon for humor. Of all the outlandish things she had experienced in her twenty-seven years, she had never been in the middle of a battle before.

  And she had achieved her objective. He had paused long enough for her to tell him, “You aren’t going to get any answers if you kill him.”

  That was when true rationality came back into his gaze. As he straightened from the other man’s prone figure, she loosened her hold. Then rough hands grabbed her by the back of the neck and twisted one arm behind her back.

  With a snarl, Wulf rounded on the guard who had grabbed her. “Back off! She wasn’t attacking me.”

  Instantly the guard let her go and stammered an apology while others swarmed the manservant. Dangerous, violent psyches buffeted her, along with blasts of severe cold mingling with the heat in the tent. Gordon stormed in, along with Jermaine. They all wanted to fight, but the fight was already over.

  Wulf became the calm, cold eye of the storm. The savage killer eased back, and the commander took his place. He rapped out orders, and the manservant was taken away. She shuddered to think of what the rest of that man’s life would be like.

  It could have gone quickly except she had stopped it. Quick would have been a mercy.

  Moving to the edge of the tent, she watched until, suddenly, Wulf appeared in front of her. Someone had tied a piece of cloth around his cut hand.

  He gripped her by the upper arms. Urgently he said, “Tell me where you’re hurt.”

  “What? No, I’m not hurt.” She blinked at him.

  She would have some hefty bruises where they had trampled her before she managed to scramble out of the way, and her ribs ached like a son of a bitch where one of the planks from the tabletop had struck, but that was all. She had done worse damage to herself when she had fallen out of trees as a child.

  He moved in close enough his torso brushed against hers. She could feel the heat pouring off him. Despite the crowded tent, she felt so immersed in his presence it was almost as if they were alone.

  He ran his fingers over her front, and stroked her cheek. His fingers came away smeared with blood. “You’re bleeding somewhere.”

  She looked down at the crimson splotches on the white cotton material of her shirt, then up into his tight expression and smiled. “That’s your blood, not mine. You were flinging it everywhere while you fought.”

  He gripped her at the juncture where her neck met her shoulder. The firm, heavy weight of his hand pressing down on her made her realize she was shaking. “Don’t ever jump into the middle of a fight like that again.”

  “Well, somebody had to stop you.” She rubbed her forehead. “You don’t know if he’s the only one in your camp.”

  “You could have been injured badly, or even killed.” His hard gaze bored into hers.

  Were they arguing? She couldn’t tell. It had been a hell of a day, she was tired, and the energy that terror had lent to her had begun to drain away. “But I wasn’t.”

  Then his warm baritone sounded in her head. My doctor captured a few drops of wine from the jug. The amount of nightshade in it went far beyond what might have caused the dysentery in my troops. He said a couple of sips would have proved fatal. You saved my life.

  He had switched to telepathy, so she did too. I guess I did.

  She hadn’t considered that. As soon as she’d realized the wine had been poisoned, she had reacted. If she had been a calculating person, she could have sat back and watched him drink from his goblet, and then the pesky issue of what to do about the Wolf of Braugne would have vanished.

  The role she had played in determining the fate of the poisoner troubled her, but just contemplating the possibility of Wulf’s death made her feel physically ill.

  And that was extremely disconcerting, to say the least.

  He stroked his thumb along her skin, the caress hidden from sight by the fall of her hair. Thank you.

  Unable to speak, she nodded.

  Jermaine appeared at Wulfgar’s elbow, his hard expression completely unlike the pleasant man who had helped her on and off the barge. “We’re ready.”

  “Good.” Wulfgar’s voice turned brisk, although he was slow to release her. “We need to know if he was working with anyone else in the camp and, if so, who they are. I also want to know what caused him to turn traitor. Was he offered money, or did Varian’s spies hold something over his head? And when he realized he’d been caught, he didn’t attack me—he went for Lily. I want to know if there was a reason for that, and if she might still be in danger.”

  At that, Lily’s breath caught in her throat and she froze, just like a rabbit being hunted by hounds.

  As if not moving would do her any good.

  Jermaine paused to consider her. “I’ll be sure to ask him, but if it came down to a fight between you, he was laughably outmatched. He had to know he couldn’t win. He might have hoped to use her as a hostage, because once he’d been caught that was the only way he was going to get out of this alive.”

  Wulfgar’s expression settled into grim lines. “Perhaps that’s it, but if something happens to the priestess entrusted to my care, we can kiss any hope of collaboration with the abbey goodbye. We need to be sure.” He raised his voice. “Gordon!”

  As if by magic, Gordon appeared instantly. “Sir.”

  “Settle Lily in your quarters and get her some supper. And double the guard outside.” Abruptly, he swiveled back to her. “I just disposed of you as though you were a trunk full of books.”

  It wasn’t an apology, but at least it was an acknowledgment. Foolishly, she wanted to smile at him, but she stomped on the impulse. Her impulses and emotions were exasperating, confusing, totally out of control.

  She said, “You have a lot going on.”

  “Yes, and I may be tearing apart the entire encampment before morning to make sure we’ve rooted out any further attempts at poisoning.” He frowned. “There’s a lot to do tomorrow as well. Try to get some rest.”

  Impulsively, she touched the
back of his hand before she could stop herself. “Don’t concern yourself with me. I will be perfectly fine. Good night, Commander.”

  His frown deepened, and he looked as if he might call her to task for calling him that, but one of his guards called for his attention. So after giving her a short nod, he strode out, Jermaine at his heels.

  When he left, he took all the remaining warmth with him. Shivering, she tied the fastenings of her jacket together.

  Gordon swept off his cloak and settled it across her shoulders. She raised her eyebrows as warmth enfolded her. “That’s very considerate. I received the impression you didn’t care for me.”

  As usual, she had blurted out what she was thinking before considering her words, but he didn’t appear to take offense. Meeting her gaze, he said, “You saved my commander’s life. I don’t hate you.”

  He spoke the truth. As she glanced at his psyche, the enmity from earlier was gone. “Still, you need your cloak, and mine has got to be around somewhere.”

  “I already located it, and it’s not fit to use. It’s been splashed with the poisoned wine and trampled underfoot. Come.”

  He led her out. She barely had a chance to feel the bite of the cold before he ushered her into a smaller neighboring tent. The interior was very simple. There was a bed pallet piled with blankets and furs, a small trunk, and two braziers that threw off such intense heat she immediately shrugged out of the cloak again and handed it back to him.

  “I will be back shortly with another supper,” he told her. “Have no fear. Despite recent events, the commander’s food is actually guarded quite closely, and I will test your meal myself.”

  She felt a brief, tired exasperation. He seemed to have forgotten she was the one who had discovered the poisoning attempt earlier. But, unwilling to trample on his newfound chivalry, she said gravely, “Thank you.”

  He was as good as his word, bringing both supper and another cloak. It was soldier’s gear, plain, serviceable, and too big for her. After she had eaten her fill, she wrapped herself up in it and dozed until the upheaval began to subside.