“No oath I ever swore, on Khul’s blood or any other, demands I share my personal torment and shame.” Gregar’s voice dripped with disdain. “Let alone with you.”
At least the rising challenge between his two Blood kept his own fighting instinct in check. Rhaekhar pushed Varne in the chest, keeping him back. All these years, Gregar had followed Varne’s lead as nearest Blood without question. One night in the Green Lands and they were ready to challenge each other. “Varne, enough! This is my decision.”
“As you will, Khul,” Varne bit off each word as he grudgingly retreated a step. “It is an honor to serve, even if some have forgotten.”
“I forget nothing,” Gregar whispered. He held Rhaekhar’s gaze a moment longer, and then deliberately bowed his head. “You are my honor, Khul, and I serve you still. The only difference is that I would serve Shannari with honor as well.”
Jealousy roared through Rhaekhar’s veins. His neck corded, his shoulders strained, and he ached to pound this threat into a bloody pulp. Gregar was one of his oldest, most trusted friends, but no warrior relished such competition. If the Blood had not said, “with honor” or had continued staring him in the eyes, then Rhaekhar would have challenged him on the spot. His honor would have accepted nothing less than blood.
“See what damage she has wrought?” Varne said, shaking his head. “She will tear the Nine Camps apart, just as she tears you and your Blood apart. The darkness inside her demands it.”
“There is no darkness without light,” Gregar said softly, carefully raising his gaze with lowered shoulders and softer voice to minimize the challenge. “Your love can be the light for her, Khul, and keep her from falling into Shadow. She bleeds in Shadow and none can save her from her own battles. But you can give her love where otherwise she would know only betrayal and death.”
Shaken, Rhaekhar concentrated on letting his body relax, dropping his shoulders and breathing more freely. The promise of a love like no other was still his and his alone, yet the Blood must have seen many of the same things shown to Rhaekhar in whatever vision he had received of Shannari. Why him instead of Gregar? “Would you have given her betrayal?”
“Nay.” Gregar glared down at the ivory rahke in his hand, his lip curling with hatred. “I shall never betray you, Khul, nor her.”
Somehow, Gregar would have brought her death.
Rhaekhar’s blood chilled.
This time, he couldn’t resist unsheathing his rahke. He wouldn’t challenge Gregar out of jealousy, but he would challenge him to ensure Shannari’s safety.
“She is safe from me now, Khul.” Gregar shrugged but kept his gaze averted. “The oath I swore on your blood ensures it.”
“I still say we should leave her here where she belongs and return to the Plains at once,” Varne said. “You accomplished your goal and none can dispute this kae’don. Bring that woman home, though, and the disputes will worsen.”
“Only a fool would suggest leaving behind na’lanna.” Instead of Gregar’s usual humor, the underlying ache of loss in his voice stirred pity in Rhaekhar’s heart.
He thought of returning to the Plains without Shannari. His heart thundered in his chest and his stomach twisted. “Never. Where I go, she goes. If there are any kae’don to fight or disputes to settle, I shall do so gladly. If I cannot keep her and win her love, then I am no warrior.”
“Keep her safe, Khul.”
The unspoken threat, Or I shall, hung in the silence. This threat, though, Rhaekhar could tolerate, even approve. Shannari came first. He would dismiss the complication of Gregar’s affections, unless… Gritting his teeth, he pushed the thought away. She came first, in everything. He would do what he must. To signal his acceptance, Rhaekhar sheathed his rahke. “If I had decided to leave without her, what would you have done?”
Gregar laughed and re-sheathed the rahke on his hip. At last, the sun broke through the clouds and the air brightened considerably. The intolerable weight of Death withdrew. “You would have had only eight Blood.”
“Because I would have killed you.” Varne tried to match the other Blood’s lighter tone and failed.
Gregar smiled, a fierce baring of teeth. “Then you would have had only seven Blood, Khul.”
* * * *
As soon as Shannari stepped outside The Sleeping Lion, her father rushed forward. King Valche clutched her hand, searched her face a moment, and then dragged her into his embrace. Stunned, she hesitated a moment and then squeezed him back just as hard. Her father rarely showed affection and certainly not in public.
“Did he rape you?” He asked against her ear. “Are you hurt? By Leesha, I swear— ”
“No, Father, truly. I’m fine.”
“There’s a fresh wound on his chest. I thought— ” He eased back a step and she avoided his gaze. She didn’t want him to see the turmoil in her own eyes. The shame. The fresh wound was hers, in a way, but not like her father thought.
Her gaze fell on the barbarians standing a few feet away. Rhaekhar stood with his back to her, talking with his Blood. They passed around some flask, each drinking several long gulps. She knew he was aware of her, though, by the tension in his shoulders.
He was still angry. No, furious. She could read it in his body, in his determined absence. Most men would shout and rant their fury at the source, but not the barbarian. Cold, controlled and calm, he kept an iron grip on his emotions. Interesting. What would it take to break that arrogant control?
“Your letter was sent to Pella safely,” King Valche whispered with a wary eye at the barbarians. “Lady above, Daughter, why did you contact him?”
“He promised not to invade Allandor in my absence. Of course I contacted him. I’d do anything to ensure your safety and Allandor’s until I can return. Which reminds me; please compensate the innkeeper extremely well. I owe his family a great deal and they refused to accept the Pellans’ gold.”
“But how— ”
“And the other letter?”
“It will be done, Daughter, but I’m not convinced horses will make much difference. Not without you here to lead.”
Rhaekhar turned and waved her over impatiently. Shannari ground her teeth together with frustration. The gall of the man! She felt like marching over and feeding him a few inches of steel. “As Leesha is my witness, I will find a way to come home as soon as possible.”
When she neared, Rhaekhar’s hard golden eyes drilled into her, his face a cold mask. “We ride within the hour.”
Deeper, though, she felt searing heat. A need to haul her against him and imprint his will on every inch of her.
How was it possible? His external demeanor proclaimed arrogant coldness without a single sign of such volatile desire. The bond he had spoken of earlier— even if he spoke truthfully, she had never expected to feel anything herself. But how else could she sense the desire he held carefully in check?
Her mind whirling, she nodded. The barbarian turned back to his men without another word. Braced for injured masculine pride and frustrated arguments, she stood a moment staring at him.
She realized she wanted to spar with him. She wanted him to voice his anger at her earlier, deliberate insults. To give her a chance to poke at his honor some more. And yes, she wanted to relieve some of the guilt she felt. The man had made incredible, passionate love to her, and she had insulted him badly.
Furious at herself, she decided to spend a few more moments with her father for contingency planning. She turned away only to be jerked back around and pressed against a solid wall of muscle.
“Where is my kiss this morning?”
Hot, velvet skin, rich sweet-hay scent and rough, tender warrior hands swamped her senses. Desire poured through her, followed by a rush of adrenaline. He did nothing but hold her, letting her absorb his heat and scent. Blessed Lady, this man was dangerous. He knew if he forced her, she would be happy to fight him. Sensual warfare, though… “Forget it.”
His breathing was ragged against her ear, his breath h
ot, and his lips seared her skin. His fingers brushed the base of her neck and the curve of her shoulder where he’d bitten her, and she cried out. Not pain but fire flooded through her, stirring her memory of his frantic body, his fierceness, his mouth locked to her shoulder to taste every last drop of blood.
“No kiss?”
His teeth grazed her earlobe, and she shuddered. “Never!”
“Ah, you challenge me once more. I say you will kiss me by sunset.”
Peeling herself away from the tempting expanse of his body, she tried for an airy, confident tone. “Only in your dreams, Khul.”
She failed. Even she heard the sultry quaver in her voice.
“Always, na’lanna. My dreams are yours.”
The short walk back to her father felt suspiciously like full blown retreat.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The barbarian rode to where Shannari stood with her father. Blessed Lady above, the warhorse was huge. Relief surged through her again at the thought of how badly the battle could have gone yesterday. “Where’s my horse?”
Rhaekhar grinned and reached down his hand. “You’re riding with me.”
Shaking her head, she backed away. “You must be jesting. There’s no way in hell I’m riding with you.”
“You must, na’lanna. Your outlander pony will not survive our pace through the blasted lands, and none of our na’kindren will carry you alone.”
Narrowing her eyes, she nibbled her lip and stared at him doubtfully. He seemed honestly concerned but she felt an odd twinge through the newly-formed connection with him. A twinge of conscience, perhaps?
He leaned down further, seized her hand and hauled her up before him. She tried to wriggle away, but his arms locked her against him. Even through her clothes, she could feel him. A whole day of traveling, pressed up against him like this? She was in serious trouble.
“Ah, you like that.”
“Get out of my head!”
“I do not need to hear your thoughts to know you want me, Shannari. Imagine what else we might have learned about each other last night. What we shall learn this night.”
“Unless I refuse you. I can refuse you, right?”
Stiffening, he sat upright and reined his horse toward the group of waiting barbarians. Cold fury roared through the fledgling bond, mixed with hurt. “Aye.”
Shannari rolled her eyes. One night with the man and he wanted her to proclaim undying love. She had no idea how to soothe hurt masculine pride even if she had wanted to, so she changed the subject. “How many warriors will you leave to hold Dalden Bay?”
She honestly didn’t expect him to answer. No general in his right mind would share such information with the enemy.
“A fist, fifty warriors.”
“So few?” She barely stifled the rush of glee. Even her defeated Guard could handle fifty warriors with the right strategy. With enough time, Fenton should be able to devise the right blend of surprise to—
“Of course, your soldiers will not attack while I hold you captive.”
She started to retort that her soldiers would never be so foolishly hindered, but she hesitated. His threat had merit. A threat against the Princess held hostage on their Plains and the barbarians could definitely be assured of peace from Allandor.
Did Rhaekhar mean to use her in such a way? Had that been his plan all along despite his words and promises of love? She suddenly thought better of him. “You would kill me if the Guard attacked your men?”
“Nay, I would sooner cut off my right hand than harm you in any way. But the outlanders do not know this.”
True. Even if she were able to communicate the truth to her father or Fenton in some way, they’d still hesitate for fear of repercussion. If all Rhaekhar wanted was Dalden Bay, he would have it uncontested as far as Allandor was concerned, as long as she remained safe.
She was now even more thankful that Stephan had contacted her. She might need to use Pella as a diversion. He would have no hesitation to attack Dalden Bay.
“Of course even if there is an attack, I can return in a day’s hard ride with hundreds of fists at my command.”
“You have thousands of warriors?” Her stomach rolled and her voice quavered. Two hundred Sha’Kae al’Dan had made minced meat of her Allandor Guard; thousands of barbarians could march on Shanhasson and beyond.
“Aye. The Nine Camps are mighty, and our herds are vast. When the Great Wind Stallion Calls us to battle in the Last Days, we shall be ready.” Rhaekhar drew the stallion to a halt and addressed his waiting men. “You are charged with keeping Dalden Bay for the Sha’Kae al’Dan. Do not molest the outlanders in any way. Trade with them if you desire, but allow none to enter the blasted lands or our Plains beyond. Ride for my Camp at the slightest threat of attack. I am Khul of the Nine Camps. None shall take from me what I claim for the Sha’Kae al’Dan.”
The barbarians roared their approval and saluted Rhaekhar with their right fists over their hearts.
He wheeled his horse back around to face her father, still standing in the street.
“Do you have any last goodbyes you wish to give your father?”
The compassion in his voice made her tighten her jaw. Lines of worry marked King Valche’s face and his eyes glistened suspiciously. Blessed Lady, if he wept, she’d never forgive him. She refused to cry in front of this arrogant Khul.
“May Leesha protect you, Daughter.” Her father’s voice broke, and Shannari closed her eyes, struggling to contain her tears.
Fear and worry rolled through her, leaving her shaking. What if she never escaped the barbarian? What would happen to her family, her country, her people?
“Khul Rhaekhar, I beg you once more. Please. Release my daughter. I will give you anything my country possesses to keep her safe.”
She couldn’t stop the tears, not when her regal father humbled himself before the barbarians and Allandorians alike.
“The Rose of Shanhasson is mine. Mine to take; mine to protect. I shall protect her with my life, Valche, but do not force my hand to violence by attacking this village or my warriors. Retribution will be swift and silent.”
Despite the agony shredding her heart, she had to admit that was masterfully done. He never directly said he would use her as a hostage, but he knew very well that her people would believe it to be true. Even if she objected now, the thought would linger in her father’s mind.
King Valche glared up at Rhaekhar, hatred darkening his eyes. “Know this, Khul. If a single hair on her head is harmed, I will find a way to pay you back in kind. I swear it on my beloved Queen’s grave. Shannari will return to me safe and well or I will kill you.”
Rhaekhar shrugged and signaled his horse into a trot. “As Vulkar wills.”
With a whoop, the remaining barbarians rode after them. Shannari struggled to look back over his shoulder for one last glance of her father, but all she could see were the green fields and the storm-gray waters of the bay.
Home. Turning back around, she looked straight ahead and let the tears stream silently down her cheeks. Will I ever see my homeland again?
* * * *
The Khul had spoken truly when he said her Green Land mount would not survive the trip. She couldn’t believe the punishing pace he set to return to his Plains. The massive horses maintained a hard trot for hours on end without slowing.
The lush green grass of the lowlands faded to tall yellowed hay that eventually turned to clumps of brown, withered stalks. The trees twisted in agony, their branches gnarled pitifully and bleached as white as bones. Sand and black, sharp rock replaced the rich dark loam of the fertile fields of Allandor. The deafening, uneasy silence was interrupted only by the creak of leather and the occasional scrape of hoof on rock on their somber passage through the wastelands.
A deep uneasiness welled up in her heart that had nothing to do with the growing homesickness in her heart. She wanted to cover her eyes and ears from the pain. The land seemed to scream to her, and her eyes burned with tears.
Some deep, secret part of her longed to reach out and heal these broken, blasted lands. “Why is everything so dead and barren?”
“It is a reminder,” Rhaekhar answered solemnly. “The Great Wind Stallion caused this destruction to punish us for failing to protect His greatest gift. If we fail again, the entire Plains will be destroyed, just as the land here was destroyed generations ago.
“Once this was part of the Sea of Grass stretching as far as the eyes could see. We cared for na’kindren on these Plains, and we honored Vulkar, the Great Wind Stallion. Then outlanders came and brought their strange customs to our Plains. They asked us to show them how to train their ponies for war. We opened our tents to them, learned their languages, shared our food, and showed them our ways. But the lowland horses had no spirit, no sangral. They could not be taught the Sha’Kae al’Dan ways.
“The outlanders wanted to buy na’kindren so they could breed their own herds. They did not understand when we refused. How could we sell Vulkar’s Own Children? The outlanders were angry and loud with their curses as they rode away on their ponies, but we forgot about them and their puny warriors.
“We should not have forgotten them. We should have guarded na’kindren closer instead. The outlanders hid in the tall grass until the warriors were in their tents and then they torched the grass between us and the herd. Na’kindren scattered. Some were captured by the outlanders and stolen from the Plains. Many others were killed, trapped by the flames.
“We followed the outlanders to their Green Lands and waged war until every last na’kindre was found and brought home to the Plains. We even took the lowland mares that carried the seed of na’kindre so not a single drop of sangral blood was left in the Green Lands. We swore that na’kindren would never fall into the hands of an outlander again.
“Only a handful of Vulkar’s Children survived, a fraction of the great herd that had roamed the Sea of Grass in freedom and joy. Vulkar exploded with fury! His hooves sunk into the ground to melt the stone beneath until it ran red across the Plains. He killed the grasses, burned and split the earth, and created a wasteland of desert to protect the few na’kindren that were left to us. They fled to Vulkar’s Mountain in the Clouds where they would be safe.”
The Rose of Shanhasson Page 8