Twilight's End

by Kaitlyn O'Connor

  Dionne stared at his lips for a heartbeat and abruptly yielded to the surge of need that washed through her, a mixture of desire and gratitude that he hadn’t come to harm when he’d thrown his life into the breach to come after her. His breath sawed out of his chest in a gust of relief and urgency as she closed the distance that separated them. A tremor went through him as he pressed his lips to hers in a series of feather light caresses, his lips moving over the tender surface of hers as if searching for the perfect fit.

  The moment she felt the heat of his mouth molding firmly over hers, felt the roughness of his tongue slide along the seam where her lips met, the more tender emotions that had spawned her capitulation yielded to a fiercer force, a burning thirst that seemed unquenchable. Opening her mouth to him, she twined her arms around his neck, straining upward to meet him, pressing herself tightly against him so that she could feel his length against hers.

  As wonderful as it had felt when he’d kissed her before, it dimmed by comparison. This was better than before, she thought dimly as a thrilling rush of desire swept through her, enthralling her with the keenness of the pleasure his touch evoked, leaving her breathless and dizzy.

  Her body quickened almost instantaneously, responding to the thrusting rhythm of his tongue as his explored her mouth with a thoroughness that left no nerve untouched, unprovoked. She pressed harder against him, feeling the blood pulsing in her breasts, her heartbeat thrusting against his chest wall. The muscles low in her belly clenched and unclenched with restless need, bringing her body to dew point.

  It he’d taken her to the ground at that moment, no thought of denying him would’ve entered her mind regardless of the consequences. She thought for several moments when she felt his embrace loosen that that was exactly what he had in mind, then she, too, realized that the pounding rhythm she heard wasn’t just her own heartbeat. It was hooves.

  Reluctantly, she drew away as he lifted his lips from hers to identify the oncoming riders. Still feeling weak and disoriented, every nerve in her body sizzling like broken live wires, it took Dionne longer to steady herself. Belatedly, she released her death grip on his neck and allowed her arms to drop to her sides, trying to look unconcerned as she turned to look, as well.

  Relief and irritation collided briefly when she saw it was no threat, but the returning warriors.

  One glance at their faces was enough to assure her they hadn’t missed the tender embrace and that she looked as thoroughly aroused as she was. Embarrassment flooded her cheeks with color.

  “They headed north,” the eldest of the five said gruffly.

  Khan nodded, nudging Dionne’s chin up with his index finger. “These are my brothers. Gray hair is Rikard, the eldest.”

  When Dionne nerved herself to look directly at him, she saw that his hair was nearly as black as Khan’s, though there was a narrow streak of white hair sprouting from the left quadrant of his hairline at his forehead.

  “The fat one is Lex, who is just younger than I am.” Shorter and stockier than the others, not fat, Dionne noted with amusement.

  “The ugly one there is Mato.” The most handsome of the five.

  “The long skinny one is Nigan and the infant there is the youngest, Tin.”

  Despite her discomfort, Dionne couldn’t help but smile as his brothers reacted to the introductions with varying degrees of irritation, indignation, and amusement.

  The ‘infant’, Tin, was plainly indignant at having his manhood called into question--still young enough to be prickly about it, obviously. Mato merely grinned since he couldn’t help but be aware that he about as far from ugly as it was possible to be. Nigan and Lex both looked irritated, but only mildly and Rikard, who was undoubtedly the most laid back of the five ignored the insult altogether.

  “I didn’t know you had brothers!” Dionne exclaimed in pleased surprise. “Do you have sisters, too?”

  Khan gave her a look. “Thankfully, no.”

  Since it was abundantly clear that he was implying that females were trouble, Dionne glared at him.

  He stepped away from her. “Gather her belongings. We will pull back across the gorge to the border and wait to see if the queen from the forbidden lands comes.”

  There wasn’t much to gather. “I can do it,” she said firmly.

  She didn’t particularly care for Khan’s highhanded attitude, or his assumption that she would follow his orders like everyone else appeared to. On the other hand, he was Chief--not of her, but the leader of his people nevertheless, and she knew it wouldn’t be diplomatic to challenge him in front of his brothers.

  Besides, if there was less danger to them by pulling back, she wasn’t about to insist on going on and possibly ending up getting someone killed.

  Especially if that someone was Khan or any of his brothers.

  “What is this?” Tin asked as she folded the tent. Dionne looked up to see that he’d dismounted and was studying the tent curiously.

  “A pop tent. It’s designed so that one person can quickly and easily set it up and fold it again when they get ready to leave.”

  His brows rose, then descended in a frown as he squatted down to examine it more closely. “What sort of hide is this?”

  Dionne looked at him, but she didn’t currently feel up to trying to explain something she doubted he would understand. She shrugged. “It isn’t animal hide at all. It’s synthetic fibers--made by my people.”

  She lost him at synthetic, but he seemed to dismiss it, taking the tent once she’d folded it and looking around, as if for a pack horse. She pointed to the bot. “Just drop it in the bucket. The bot carries for me.”

  Nodding, he moved toward the bot cautiously. Dionne stopped to watch him as he examined it, fighting the temptation to order the bot to move, just to see what his reaction would be.

  Apparently, he decided it wasn’t a threat. After looking it over thoroughly, he dropped the tent into the bucket since it was obviously the only place that could hold anything, then rapped on the side of the bucket with his knuckles. The metal rang. His brows rose in surprise, but it seemed he liked the sound. He rapped on it several more times, then looked up at his brothers, grinning.

  Khan was glaring at him. “If they did not know where we were, the noise you make would certainly alert our enemies.”

  Tin’s face fell almost comically. He reddened, glared at his brother and stalked back to his horse, mounting it sulkily.

  Hiding a smile, Dionne carried her rolled sleeping bag to the bot and dropped it into the bucket. Ordering the bot back the way they’d come, she glanced at Khan questioningly. Leading his horse over to her, he caught her waist and lifted her onto the horse’s back, leaping up behind her.

  The return trip was faster, although Khan didn’t push the horses to more than a fast trot. As before, it took a while for the bot to wench itself across the narrow point of the gorge, but Khan and his brothers merely swam their horses across.

  The climb up the other side on horse back was even more unnerving than climbing on foot. Dionne would’ve preferred to dismount, but Khan didn’t give her the chance to voice her preferences. As soon as the horse emerged from the water, he kicked it and sent it surging up the narrow, steep trail in a series of bouncing jumps that nearly unseated her.

  They made camp as soon as Khan had found a spot he deemed suitable. Again, Dionne wasn’t in total agreement with his decision. The land near the gorge was far more flat. Even near the edge of the trees, the ground began to slope upwards, but Khan refused to set up camp in the open.

  Rikard did not stay. Even as they dismounted, he nodded to Khan in silent communication and rode off.

  Curious, Dionne turned and looked at Khan questioningly.

  “He goes to summon the others.”

  That didn’t entirely answer her question. “You think they’ll be needed?” she asked uneasily.

  “I would rather have them and not need them, than not have them.”

  Dismay filled Dionne at that comme
nt. She knew nothing about war--and she very much hoped that she wasn’t about to learn.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Two days later, Mato, who’d been sent to watch for the arrival of the strangers of the forbidden lands, returned to their camp to report that many men and horses pulling strange boxes were slowly advancing toward the gorge. His face grim, Khan left camp and went to see the army for himself.

  He looked more thoughtful than alarmed when he returned, however.

  “What is it? Did they bring an army?”

  Khan shook his head, still obviously puzzled. “Warriors, yes, but many who do not appear to be warriors. We’ll wait and see.”

  Confused, worried, and curious at the crypt nature of Khan’s report, Dionne tried to pry more information out of him without success. The following day, she saw the first of the men emerge on the opposite side of the gorge. Using teams of horses, the men began to drag felled, denuded trees from the forest on the other side and lower them into the gorge. By the time darkness settled, ending their labor for the day, Dionne realized what they were doing.

  “They’re building a bridge,” she murmured to no one in particular.

  “The question is, to what purpose?” Khan responded.

  The answer arrived almost a week later in the form of a royal procession. The procession halted before it reached the bridge, which men were still working on like fighting fire. An encampment was set up.

  It was all Dionne could do to contain her impatience. She knew it had to be Eugenia, otherwise why would the queen come?

  Khan refused to budge from his position, even when his own warriors arrived. He’d said they would meet on neutral ground and he meant it, and to see to it that Dionne didn’t decide to ignore his orders and go off on her own, he moved into the tent with her.

  That move threw her into complete disorder. Despite the kiss the day he’d rescued her from his enemies, he’d kept his distance since. She hadn’t been able to figure out why, unless it was because of the lack of any real privacy to pursue the matter further, but she certainly hadn’t asked. She’d just been relieved that temptation wasn’t close enough to make her forget herself again.

  When Khan decided the best way to keep her out of harm’s way was to guard her closely--very closely--he very effectively diverted her from what was happening across the gorge. A mixture of dread and excitement had filled her the first night he crawled into the tent with her, but she realized fairly quickly that he’d brought his furs to sleep in--which seemed to indicate his intentions weren’t what she’d hoped for.

  Without a word he stretched out beside her and composed himself for sleep.

  She lay tensely for some time, staring wide eyed at the ceiling of the tent while she tried to think what she could say if he seemed interested in kissing her again. Nothing came to mind, but when the minutes dragged into an hour she finally realized she didn’t need to. Some of her tension dissipated just from weariness, but she found she still couldn’t sleep.

  “Why did you tell Sir William that I was your woman?” she asked finally.

  Khan didn’t answer for so long that she thought he would pretend to be asleep--She knew he wasn’t any closer to sleep than she was--whether from the same reason, or because he didn’t dare close his eyes and sleep until he knew she was asleep, she didn’t know, but she was certain from the rhythm of his breathing that he wasn’t asleep.

  “I didn’t like the way the men were looking at you,” he finally responded.

  Dionne was surprised at the admission, vaguely pleased and flattered, and confused all at the same time. She hadn’t noticed anything about the way the knights had looked at her to indicate desire. She had not been in any condition to pay close attention at the time, of course, but it had seemed to her that there was more suspicion and uneasiness in their expressions than anything that might remotely be interpreted as desire.

  “Oh. I see,” she said finally, although she didn’t, not really. “But--you could’ve made up any sort of story. It wasn’t really necessary to tell them that.”

  “Are you saying you liked the way that pretty faced boy was looking at you?” Khan growled.

  Amusement surfaced despite the anger in Khan’s voice. “Which one was the pretty faced one?” she asked, all innocence.

  “The one with the yellow hair and big teeth.”

  “Oh. Sir William.”

  “Well?”

  “What?”

  Khan ground his teeth. “Go to sleep, Dionne.”

  Dionne rolled onto her side facing him. She knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t resist the urge to touch his face. “I like your face much better.”

  He placed his hand over hers, pressing her palm against his cheek and finally turned his lips into her palm, nibbling at the tender skin. Goose bumps raced up her arm and scattered across her body. Her nipples puckered as blood engorged them, making them stand erect.

  To her relief and vague disappointment, he went no further, however. Removing her hand after a moment, he placed it on the fur between them, covering it with his own. “Sleep,” he commanded.

  When the bridge was completed at last, thoroughly inspected and tested, the royal procession was reassembled and crossed the gorge with slow dignity. Dionne’s feelings were mixed. Khan had thoroughly impressed upon his men that the meeting was to promote peace and no warrior was to fire upon the party unless he detected intent on the opposite side to break the truce and ordered them to attack. But even she, who hardly knew the men at all, could see that they were on edge and she knew it wouldn’t take much to set them off.

  She strongly suspected the knights on the other side were of pretty much the same mind.

  And doubts surfaced about her own beliefs. What if she’d been completely wrong? What if she’d attributed the advancement of the people of Albany to the woman she’d known and it had had nothing to do with leadership of someone from a more advanced civilization?

  Was it even possible that it could be the woman she remembered?

  Dismay filled her when the coach carrying the queen halted at last, the steps were let down, and the coach began to disgorge women dressed in elaborate medieval costume.

  She studied the face of each as they stepped from the coach, but couldn’t detect the faintest familiarity. Finally, when four women had lined up outside the coach, a woman dressed far more elaborately than any of the others was helped down. This, Dionne realized, must be the queen--but she was old!

  Dionne sent Khan a glance filled with distress.

  He frowned. “Is it not her?”

  Swallowing with an effort against a knot of misery and dread that felt like it was the size of an egg, Dionne peered more closely at the woman. Vaguely, a tenuous sense of recognition surfaced, but she wasn’t certain if it was because she was trying so hard to see something familiar in the woman’s face, or if she truly had. “I’m not--not sure,” she said finally.

  Khan took her cold hand in his, squeezed it reassuringly, and urged her forward. Dionne sent him a wavering smile of gratitude and allowed him to lead her to meet the queen. As she drew closer, the certainty grew in her that she hadn’t been mistaken, but that only threw her into more confusion.

  Her knees were quaking when they finally stopped little more than an arm’s length from each other. “Genie?” Dionne said a little doubtfully.

  Tears welled in the old woman’s eyes. “Dee! Oh god! Dee! It is you!”

  Dionne wasn’t certain whether she threw herself into the woman’s embrace or vice versa. But one moment they were merely staring at each other in stunned amazement and the next they were hugging, laughing and crying, and both trying to talk at the same time.

  “Your majesty?”

  Sniffing, Eugenia pulled away reluctantly, though she retained a firm grip on Dionne’s hand, and turned to look at the man who’d spoken to her. “It’s all right. This is Dionne.” She glanced at Dionne and winked. “My sister. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do. Have the servants
set up a comfortable place where we can talk.”

  The man, who looked to be perhaps forty, nodded and signaled to those at the rear of the procession. Slipping her arm through Dionne’s, Eugenia looked around and finally led Dionne a little distance from the carriage. Khan and the man who’d escorted Eugenia trailed them, examining each other with a mixture of curiosity and thinly veiled hostility.

  “This is Lord Neville--my son,” Eugenia said when she noticed the tension between the two men.

  Shock went through Dionne, but she recovered herself quickly. Catching Khan’s hand, she tugged him forward. “This is Chief Khan of the Kota, my….” She hesitated fractionally, trying to decide what she could say without making an assumption about Khan that might be potentially embarrassing for both of them, or insulting him. “…dearest friend and companion.”

  She felt a jolt travel through the hand she held and glanced up at him searchingly, but she couldn’t tell from his expression whether the introduction had angered him or merely come as a surprise.

  Eugenia’s eyes danced with amusement. “Your dearest?”

  Dionne tightened her grip on Khan’s hand when she felt him trying to withdraw. “More dear to me than I can say. It was he who freed me, and he has remained by my side and protected me from my own foolishness ever since.”

  Eugenia smiled. “Then he is very dear to me also,” she said, offering her hand.

  Khan stared at it a moment and finally withdrew his hand from Dionne’s and shook the queen’s hand. Genie chuckled.

  “What… what happened?” Dionne asked when the introductions were completed.

  Genie waved the question away. “When we can sit and talk comfortably,” she said significantly.

  Dionne studied her for several moments, trying to grasp what it was Genie was trying to convey, but she finally nodded, knowing Genie had no intention of telling her more until she was more comfortable that they wouldn’t be overheard.