WindBorn
Page 23
Epilogue
Three Months Later
He was in bed when she came stomping in, mumbling to herself, snatching off her weapons, flinging them aside.
"Hard day at the office, dear?" he asked. He crossed his hands under his head and watched her as she tore off her clothing, his eyes glowing as her curves were revealed to him.
"That gods-be-damned Nebullian tried to stiff me! Again! Just like he did a few months back."
His lips twitched. "I take it you mean by trying to cheat you and not cock-wise," he drawled.
"If he'd tried that I would have nailed his ears to the wall!" she retorted.
"Why not his balls?"
"I would not touch those scabrous, suppurating growths with a ten foot lance!"
He winced. "That does not paint a pretty picture, wench."
"Aye, well, he's not a pretty man."
"What did he do to rankle your ire?" he asked.
"The bastard tried to pay me less than that which we agreed upon."
"That is what Nebullians do, dearling."
She climbed naked into bed. "Don't remind me. I will never do business with those bastards ever again!"
"That might be the wisest choice," he agreed as she flounced the covers.
"So how did you spend your day?" She gave him a wide-eyed look. "Lying abed swilling tea and chocolates and reading trashy novels?"
"Nay, wench, I was a good houseboy. I did the laundry, swept the floors, dusted the furniture, washed the windows then I knitted a sweater or two," he answered.
"Well you didn't do a very good job with the sweeping," she growled as she snuggled down into the covers. "I felt grit beneath my feet."
He welcomed her into his arms. "I'll strive to do better."
She sighed deeply. "I feel as tight as a new drumhead," she said, shifting her shoulders as she tried to get comfortable.
"Want a rubdown?" he queried.
"Aye," she sighed.
"Then turn yourself over," he told her, sitting up in the bed.
Lauryl eased over to her stomach, very mindful of her nudity. When he threw a leg over her thighs and sat down on them she sucked in a breath.
"Hey now! Don't be letting that thing flop around on me like that!" she protested. "You know what the clanswomen said."
"What thing?" he asked as he leaned forward to put his hands on her shoulders.
"Your thing!" she growled.
"My thing doesn't flop, wench," he said.
"It's poking me between the legs," she accused, straining to see behind her.
"That's what things do," he reminded her. "But it didn't flop. It slid."
"Mayhap you should knit you a snood for it," she mumbled. She half-grinned. "A sleep snood so it won't go poking me when it ought not to."
He was gently massaging her shoulders, smiling softly at her remark. "Would you really like me to cover the poor thing up when all he really wants to do is get warm between your luscious thighs?"
"If he was covered up, he wouldn't be cold," she stated.
"He's not cold now, wench," was his retort. "If anything, he's hot and hard and…"
Lauryl heard him suck in a breath. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he denied.
Her grin stretched wide. "You're getting horny again, aren't you, Wolfboy?" she asked.
"Damn," she heard him reply and craned her head around to see him wincing.
She narrowed her eyes. "What did you do today?" she demanded. "Did you hurt yourself somehow to keep from having to pleasure me with your wicked tongue tonight?"
He snorted. "Aye, like I'd do that a'purpose. Heath and I had a discussion with a trio of Venturians and the bastards took exception to doing what we told them to."
Something in his tone concerned her and she twisted around so she could look at him and when she saw the white bandage on his side, she hissed.
"What the fuck is that?" she asked.
He looked down at the bandage then up at her. "It's called cloth, wench. 'Tis made from woven thread and…"
"Oh, shut up!" she ordered. "How bad is it?"
"Cloth isn't bad at all," he said with a straight face. "Actually it…"
"Glade," she warned in a long drawl, head turned slightly to the side.
"It's nothing, wench," he replied. "Just a scratch."
"Get off me," she ordered and when he hesitated, she bumped him between the legs with her thigh. "Get off!"
He sighed and rolled off her, laid down to have her rear up over him.
"Let me see," she said, knocking his hand away when he would have stopped her from touching the bandage.
Glade sighed again--the heavy sound of a man much put upon--and allowed her to peel back the top portion of the bandage.
The sight of the bloody gash and intricate stitching turned Lauryl's face pale, widened her eyes with shock. "By the gods, Glade, that's a serious cut!" Her hand trembled as she touched his belly just below the wound.
"It's not all that bad," he grumbled, embarrassed.
"Who stitched it?"
"Moor," he answered. "She's pretty good with a needle, don't you think?"
Her eyes took on a watery sheen. "You could have been killed," she whispered.
"Well, I wasn't," he stated in a gruff voice but a part of him rejoiced that she feared for his safety.
Her lips trembled. "What would have happened to me if you had been?" she asked, searching his eyes.
Realization hit him--hit him hard--and he flung an arm over his eyes to block out the sight of her hovering over him, of her fear of never being able to be with a man again.
"Did you even consider that? What would have happened, Glade?" she pressed.
He shrugged, angry and hurt. "Nothing. You would have been set free," he stated. "The power bond would have been broken and you would have been free to rut with as many rams as you fucking wanted."
She flinched at his bitter tone and realized how her question must have sounded to him. Though she couldn't see his face through the shield of his arm, she knew hurt when she heard it and also understood now the look he'd given her when she rode out that morning. He had been worried about her.
"Why do you not try to keep me from taking assignments?" she asked.
"I won't ever do that," he answered.
"Why not?"
"Because you do not clip the wings of a butterfly, wench. You allow it to fly for that is what the Great God intended it do."
"The next time you have to meet with the Venturians, I will go with you," she stated.
Glade let his arm fall behind his head and he glared at her, annoyed now. "Why would you even think to?"
"To keep such things as that wound from happening to you," she said, hoping he would understand the meaning behind the words she could not make herself say as yet.
"You think to pussy-whip me, wench?" he sneered.
She shook her head. "Nay, Glade, I…."
"Good, because believe me, you would not like me that way."
She held his gaze for a long moment then reached out to touch his cheek. Her fingertips stroked his unshaven jaw. "I am not good with words or feelings, Glade, but I want nothing to happen to you," she admitted.
"Aye, well, I'll see to it nothing does so you don't have to worry about it," he groused.
"Why are you so out of sorts?" she asked.
"I'm horny, wench!" he snapped, flouncing the covers worse than she had. "I've been horny all day. I hurt and you think to pussy-whup me and…."
"Poor baby," she said and scooted down in the bed.
"Don't poor baby me, wench," he said. "I…."
"Talk entirely too much," she said as her lips closed around his cock.
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