A Prisoner's Desire

by Shelby Morgan

  He made an awkward burden, but as long as he had the sense not to struggle she could manage it. He was heavy, but not as heavy as he should have been. He weighed little more than the stone she carried most of the shift. She paused a moment, testing his weight and balance carefully before she bent her knees just enough to grab the handle of her pickaxe.

  His hand brushed awkwardly across her tunic, as if searching for some purpose, or something to grasp, coming to rest much too close to her breast. "M'Lady, I—"

  "Silence!" she snapped. "Do you not understand the concept? I am tired of the sound of your voice. Say nothing unless I ask you to speak."

  She could take him to the healers in the south wing, but they were healers of the body. They dispensed potions to chase a fever from the blood. What would they know of the daemons that could touch a man's soul? Perhaps his mind was too far gone to save anyway. She would figure out something next shift. For now her body demanded sleep.

  The guard station at the end of the cellblock was no longer empty. Darvon and Garrot, the guards who normally stood watch on this shift, had returned, Darvon with a freshly mended scar across his cheek. The guards from all the other shifts were there as well—eight guards in total.

  Eight guards to deal with one man? And she thought she could manage him alone? Only two guards were deemed necessary to keep the caverns free of the Dark Priestesses.

  Braunnan sighed as the guards moved to block her path. They backed up warily as she approached. "I have not slept in several shifts and I am not in the mood for arguments," Braunnan warned them. "Why try and stop me? Obviously you cannot deal with this idiot. I will take responsibility for him."

  The filthy creature slung over her shoulder wriggled slightly, bringing his bare butt far too close to her nose. "Do I have a say in this?" the madman's muffled voice asked from somewhere near the back of her left shoulder.

  "No!" all involved answered in unison.

  "He is far too dangerous and unstable to allow him to roam free among your crew, Lady Braunnan," Garrot appealed in his most logical, persuasive voice. "Surely you can see that. Put the prisoner down. We will take care of him."

  Braunnan laughed. "Think what you say. Do you really want me to loose him on you? I have seen what he can do. Do we really want the High Priestesses to take notice of what is going on down here?" She swallowed a small laugh of triumph at the look of pure terror that passed over the guards' faces. "What would you do with him if I gave him to you? Throw him back into that filthy hole and pray for his swift death? I cannot allow that. He may be mad, but he is one of my people. Do you want to fight both of us?"

  "All of us," a voice warned softly from the other side of the guard's post.

  In the soft light of the torches Braunnan recognized a score of her clansman, led by the formidable figure of the shift's blacksmith. "Are you ready to quell a full-blown rebellion this shift?" Sandish demanded. His deep voice and massive girth supported his calculated words with a stance that spoke of solid power more than bravado. "We are no more anxious to attract the Priestesses' attention than you are. All we desire is a shift's uninterrupted sleep. Let the Lady pass."

  Garrot folded his arms over his chest, doing his best to look threatening, but pacified, although Braunnan knew he was neither. He might be cunning enough to handle their trade with the Dark Priestesses, but they both knew he would be no match for Sandish's pure brawn. Not here below, where they were shielded from magic. "Take him," Garrot agreed. "But keep the fool quiet. Do not let him trouble us again."

  "Aye," Braunnan agreed. "We all want this fiend quieted. On that part we are of one accord." She stood up straighter as she shouldered her way through the aisle of guards, marching past the guard post and behind the line of safety her own people had provided for her. She would ask next shift how Sandish knew to come when he did. Or perhaps not. Perhaps she would call for a rest shift, and they would all just sleep.

  Perhaps she should have mated with Sandish this cycle, Braunnan considered fleetingly as he and the rest of her clansmen dispersed. The man was handsome enough, in a raw sort of way. And he'd fathered enough cubs to prove his virility. She needed to start giving some serious thought to cubs of her own.

  Yet she felt no regret for the cubs they would not have together this season.

  Her crewmates disappeared back into their huts, willing enough to defend her, but not in the mood to help care for her charge. In the strange silence that swept over the halls, her footsteps echoed loudly against the cold stone floor.

  What did one do with a madman?

  Chapter Two

  The man was too filthy to allow in her hut, and she was too tired to even think of heating water for a proper bath. And it would have to be her hut. Obviously no one else would offer to take responsibility for him.

  Braunnan eyed the lake in the middle of the long stone chamber she called her home. The water was cold, but clear and clean. She often swam in that water by last light of her shift.

  The shoreline sloped gently into the icy water. She was waist deep before the madman began to sputter. She expected some protest, but instead he spoke quietly from over her shoulder. "Put me down. Please, M'Lady."

  Braunnan resisted the urge to dump him unceremoniously in the water. Instead she bent forward enough to let him slide off her shoulder onto his feet.

  Braunnan wasn't sure what she expected once he hit the water—a yelp over the temperature at the very least. Certainly not that the man would immediately drop to his knees in the chill water and bury his face in its crystal surface.

  She reached for him, sure he'd lost his balance again, but her hand stopped in mid air.

  Drinking. The man was gulping the frigid water as if he'd not had a drink in many shifts. Remembering the broken pottery, Braunnan thought that assessment might not be so far off. She laid her hand gently on the man's shoulder. His skin shivered under her touch, but he did not try to jerk away. That at least seemed a good sign. "Easy," she cautioned. "Go slow or you'll make yourself sick."

  His head came slowly up out of the water, his eyes huge and luminous in the dim light, like a wild thing, water coursing down his face and running in rivulets over his chest. "Thank you, M'Lady."

  Braunnan bent to scoop up a handful of the coarse sands the water had worn away from the rock. "I use this to clean myself. But do not scrub too hard or you'll take off your skin with the dirt."

  He just stared at her. Braunnan demonstrated, using two fingers to smear the damp sand across his cheeks, massaging gently until his face glowed pink under her fingers. She scooped the cool water up in her hands to rinse away the sand.

  His hand, larger and darker than hers, came up out of the water to cover hers, pressing her fingers flat against his face. He turned his head slightly under their joined hands until soft, trembling lips kissed her palm.

  Braunnan's eyes widened in surprise, both at the gentleness of his touch and the suddenness of the warmth that spread through her. She'd tried to mate before. Tried to find some connection that would stir a desire for more than just sex within her. She almost felt something for Sandish. He was physically impressive. She knew he would produce good strong healthy cubs within her. But it wasn't enough. He would welcome her advances, of that she was sure. She'd watched him at his forge for hours, trying to stir up even a spark of enthusiasm at the thought of mating with him. Nothing.

  Now just the touch of the madman's lips set her nerves on fire?

  Perhaps she was the crazy one. She didn't pull away from him. Instead she followed her instincts and bent forward to wrap her arms around the prisoner's shoulders, giving what comfort she could, though she felt awkward at best. Sobs shook him as she held him. "Shhh," she soothed. "It's all right. No one will hurt you now. I won't let them. You'll be all right now."

  "You will hurt me," he replied in a broken voice. "With your goodness and your innocence, in ways that no one else ever could."

  Shaken, Braunnan released her hold on him.

&
nbsp; Mad. He was completely mad. Had she actually considered mating with a madman? Idiot, she chided herself. He'd certainly father fine cubs.

  She doused her own fires with the cold water as she ducked under its protective surface. "We have to get you cleaned up before you get chilled. This water is frigid." She scooped up the coarse sand from the lake's bottom and turned to scrubbing his back while he followed her example and scoured himself vigorously, somehow pulling his own scattered emotions back under control.

  Braunnan wasn't sure what good the sand would accomplish in his hair, but he scrubbed hard at his scalp, then tried to comb the tangled mass of damp curls out with his fingers. Twice he dunked himself completely under the water to rinse the sand away. Each time he surfaced looking younger and less like a raving lunatic. He seemed perfectly steady on his feet now, and completely in control of himself.

  All of which did little to help settle her conflicting emotions.

  "Come along now. You're turning blue from the cold. Let's go get you into some dry clothes." Braunnan waded back to the shore where she stood ringing out her tunic before she realized the man was not going to follow her. She looked back with a sigh, ready to argue with him, only to see him standing, still up to his hips in the water, staring transfixed at her.

  No man had stared at her like that in a long time. Like she was dinner and he hadn't eaten for a full cycle. She glanced down to see her wet tunic had molded itself to her body, so that her nipples stood out hard and pointy against the thin wet fabric.

  It wasn't as if she'd invited him to look. She was just trying to help him get cleaned up.

  She should have been angry. Would have been angry if another man had stared at her like that. She was angry, damn it. She straightened her shoulders and marched to the lake's edge to gather the end of the chain where it lay in the sand.

  Almost against her will, her gaze traveled slowly down the chain towards the man at the other end. He hadn't moved. She pulled gently, picking up the slack until the chain rose to the surface of the water. The cold metal links slowly peeled away from the dark V of his hair just above the waterline. She swallowed hard, realizing she, too, was staring. She forced herself to look up, tracing a trickle of water that ran down the chain from his Torc. Narrow hips gave way to shoulders that were wide, wider than hers, wider than almost any man she'd ever worked beside.

  Although he was lean after two cycles in confinement, his chest rippled with the kind of muscles a man needed to swing a pickaxe all shift. Dark fire-red ringlets hung well past his shoulders, pushed away from his face now. That face was wide in the forehead, narrowing to a mouth that looked as if it had been a long time since he'd smiled.

  Even longer since he'd been kissed.

  He needed to shave.

  Deep green eyes seemed to see right through her damp tunic, though they eventually shifted their focus back to her face. He flushed a little as if he'd just realized he'd been staring. The look only made him more appealing. Her mouth watered appreciatively. Madman or no, the body—what she could see of it—was one prime piece of male flesh.

  He would father fine cubs. The fire he'd lit within her began to spread down her thighs and across her belly at the thought, warming her where the wet fabric had chilled her only moments before. In truth, it had been a long time. Too long if just the sight of this man's wet, slippery skin had made her insides turn to liquid fire.

  She wanted to see the rest of him. Although she hadn't been paying much attention at the time, now that she thought back on it, the legs hadn't been bad, either. Long and muscular and heavily furred in all the appropriate male places.

  By the gods. She'd had her hand on his ass for a quarter of a mile's hike and not even noticed its shape? Where else had her hands been? She fought the urge to brush her shoulder to see if his cock had burned its impression there.

  It was her turn to blush.

  At the moment she didn't mind him staring at her like that at all.

  Braunnan cleared her throat, glancing down at her hands. "We're going to have to get this chain off of you." She tried to keep her voice conversational. She was pretty sure she pulled it off.

  His gaze met hers, a hungry sweep of conflicting emotions showing in his eyes. "Are you sure you want the chain off?"

  She pictured using the chain to bind him helpless before her while she spread cinnamon oil all over that magnificent body. She'd make him wait. She'd make him beg. Before she finished licking the oil from his balls, he'd promise her anything she wanted. Everything she wanted. She trembled with the force of the lust that washed over her.

  No. There were ropes for that—ropes and manacles and soft strips of leather. The chain was heavy and awkward and it would hurt him.

  She swallowed hard, forcing the image out of her mind. "I'm sure."

  His eyes shimmered with self-mockery. "How will you control me without the chain, M'Lady?"

  Control him?

  Her lust vanished instantly as she remembered who she was dealing with and why they were here. She'd been alone far too long if she was reduced to considering coupling with this madman. The anger she always had so much trouble trying to keep in check bubbled to the surface again, though she fought to keep her tone low and modulated. "I will not control you. You will control yourself. Because if you do, I and my House will stand beside you to protect you from the guards. And if you do not control yourself, if you continue to make my people's lives miserable, the guards will not need to come back after you."

  He shrugged, rippling powerful shoulders as he looked her over again, slowly, almost insolently. "I'm mad, remember?"

  "Indeed. And I am the Faerie Queen."

  The madman bowed until his hair swept the water. "I am pleased to meet you, Your Highness."

  Despite herself, Braunnan laughed, the tension between them suddenly broken. "Let's go home," she suggested.

  Like quicksilver his mood changed. "Home. I'm sure that used to mean something."

  To have lost her home and all that she'd known, and to have been called a madwoman for it…Braunnan tried to feel what he must have been through. She held out her hand, a peace offering. "I do not have a great deal, but what I own I will share with you. Come with me. Please."

  Another lightning mood change. His voice sounded almost desperate. "Do not ask this of me, M'Lady."

  He would refuse her help? Now? After they'd come this far? Was he truly mad? "I gave my word to the guards. That has to mean something, or they will not trust me again."

  He swallowed hard, his voice sounding gritty again. "I—M'Lady, I am naked."

  Braunnan simply stared at him. "I've seen naked men before."

  He only stared back, the red flaming now in his cheeks.

  How did you argue with a madman? Braunnan slowly peeled her wet tunic over her head. "Now I am naked, as well. Does that change anything?"

  If anything, the stain on his cheeks darkened. He shifted his gaze away from her nipples, which stabbed out furiously as the cold air hit her damp skin. "That does not help the problem at all, M'Lady."

  The prob—

  Oh.

  If she'd thought about it, she would have assumed the cold water would have shriveled everything. He was cold and wet and exhausted and probably hungry, and yet still he had the energy to think about sex? Men were such confusing creatures. Braunnan shook her head in disbelief as she tossed her dripping tunic over her left shoulder where his body had balanced not long before. Deliberately she turned her back to the man, dropping his chain in the sand. "I am going home. Follow me if you like."

  After only a moment's hesitation, the water splashed behind her. She fought the urge to turn and look, knowing she already had the man at a disadvantage. Whether it was a small, shriveled package he wished to keep private or an unconcealable erection, she'd already seen enough of him to warm her against the chill of the sleep-shift. She said a silent prayer to the gods that the promise his body made would live up to her fantasies.

  It coul
dn't hurt to fantasize about a stranger. He didn't know her yet. Didn't know enough to run. Not that he'd really want to mate with her anyway. Oh, he'd looked, but she couldn't ignore the fact that he hadn't made any offers. It wasn't exactly easy on a man, trying to induce a female into ovulating. Some women took several men to their beds, just to help nature out. Still, she'd never heard of a man refusing the offer to mate. Just to help the gods out a little, she tossed her wet hair back over her shoulders, letting the water drip down her back, knowing the slow trickle would outline the sway of her hips as she walked.

  And they called him the madman. He hurried to catch up with the woman. Did she not know better than to walk about unclothed before the males of her own species during mating season? Did she not…

  No. She made her own rules. She was fool enough to come storming up to the guard post, nothing but a pickaxe in her hands, ready to kill him for waking her up. She'd been ready to kill for him only moments later.

  Now she was walking away from him, daring him to follow.

  As if he had a choice.

  Long, long legs, with curves as well-defined as if they'd been chiseled out of stone—the life's work of a master craftsman. A taut, heart-shaped ass that rippled with muscles when she walked, just begging to be touched. Skin as creamy and smooth as a baby's. Breasts a man would fall on his knees to worship. Hair as dark as a vein of coal. 'Twas far easier to leave his sanity behind.

  What had she felt when she looked at him? There were too many emotions still raging in her to read her well. Although the anger was fading, it was still close enough to the surface to blanket all else.

  His body raged with desire for her. His mind raced with scenarios. A trap. A trap to lull him into sleep. Get him to trust her, get him to…to what? What did they want of him, anyway? Why had they let him go? Who was this woman that held such power over the guards?