Ah. No wonder the younger woman was already nervous. If her Camp was lower status, this was their chance to improve their standing on the Plains. However, if these goods were any indication, it would take more than a few Market Days to impress whoever decided the final standings.
“How about this one, Shannari?” Krista held up an even more extravagant necklace, heavy with feathers both around the neck and dangling from heavy beaded chains. The only purpose the ugly thing might have would be in covering up the embarrassing amount of cleavage the Sha’Kae al’Dan clothing revealed.
“Don’t you have anything… simpler?” At the woman’s crestfallen look, she tried to explain. “I’m afraid my father despaired of ever making me dress appropriately. I’d rather carry my sword than wear the latest fashions, even at Court. That fact that I’m even wearing something other than my leather pants and armor is quite an achievement.”
Both women stared at her blankly. “What is Court?” Alea asked. “Pants? Armor?”
Gregar snickered.
“Never mind,” Shannari sighed. “I just want something simple. If you have a necklace that has some green beads in it— no feathers!— then I’ll take it.”
“No feathers?” Krista actually sniffed and her eyes glistened suspiciously. “It’s our Camp’s trademark.”
“Bloody hell. Fine, one feather. Only if it’s green.”
Still sniffing with blotchy cheeks, Krista dug through baskets of necklaces, looking for something to suit her. “This has the fewest feathers. I didn’t use as many since the colors were so vibrant.”
Bracing herself to suppress the groan at what “vibrant” might be after the Court Jester combinations she’d already seen, Shannari took the offered necklace.
The colors— green and dark blue, almost purple. Rhaekhar’s and Gregar’s kae’valda, accented with white.
“It’s a sign,” Gregar whispered reverently. “Take it, Shannari, I beg you.”
“It also has a matching earring,” Krista added eagerly.
“I don’t have a hole in my ear.”
Alea smiled brightly. “That’s easy enough to resolve.”
Sighing heavily, Shannari nodded. The other two women squealed with excitement and rushed about looking for an appropriate needle. “Are you sure Khul won’t mind?”
Gregar latched the necklace for her and stood back to admire it. “Why should he?”
“I can get the earring later.” Her face felt tight and her stomach clutched so hard she hunched her shoulders. “I must be late for the kae’don.”
Immediately, Gregar pressed against her back, scanning the area for danger. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Shannari pretended interest in a hide off to the left. Then the next. If she slipped away quietly, maybe they’d forget entirely. The necklace was enough to avoid insult, and—
Still wrapped about her back, Gregar easily drew her to a halt. Her heart pounded so hard she couldn’t breathe, but not with desire. For once, she welcomed the Blood’s heat against her back. He drove away some of the cold creeping up her numb fingers.
“You’re afraid.” Gregar bowed his head close to hers, his soft voice against her ear. “Why? Tell me, Shannari, so I may protect you.”
From a great distance, she heard Alea. “We have a needle! Shannari?”
She tried to speak, to beg him, but a solid, thick lump blocked her throat. She was afraid he’d laugh, that he’d tease her, that he’d never understand such a blind aversion. Her stomach rolled and pitched and her knees simply gave out.
Effortlessly, Gregar caught her before she crumpled to the ground. “Do you fear the needle?”
Terror shrilled through her, a cold, sharp blade that stiffened her body and drew a gasp of pain. Without questioning her further, the Blood moved away from the women, steadying her in his arms when she couldn’t walk alone.
Alea called after them. “Gregar?”
“Shannari wishes to join Khul now.”
Tears burned her eyes. Her knees didn’t shake quite so badly, yet she clung to the Blood. With his dark, rich scent of caffe in her nose, the sharp gleam of needles didn’t torment her. “Thank you.”
“It’s an honor to serve, Shannari.”
He could have teased her. Now he knew her great, silly secret, yet the Blood didn’t even quirk a smile at her unreasonable fear.
“If you fear a thing, then it isn’t unreasonable. I swore no one would touch you with steel or blade while I’m at your back. A needle is steel. You’re safe.”
“Are you going to tell Khul?”
Gregar paused at the outer edge of hides, drawing away slightly. The gleam in his dark eyes chased the last of the numbness from her body. “I might. Or I might not. If you care to bargain with me— ”
She opened her mouth to retort—
When Gregar slid in front of her, bumping her back from some approaching threat she couldn’t see. His body vibrated with tension, his bare back flexing against her face. She stepped away, but he moved with her, reaching behind him to hold her close to the protection of his solid body.
Cold, so cold. A dark chill emanated from him that made her teeth chatter. She tried to see around him, but he kept her firmly locked behind him at his back. Now she better understood his attitude with the boys. That had been only a warning compared to the blatant Death rolling from him now. How could his skin be scalding hot while this bone-chilling cold flooded from him in waves?
“Why aren’t you at the kae’don with your khul?”
She shivered. The frigid menace in Gregar’s voice was horrible to hear. She could only imagine how deadly his face must look, cast in shadows and etched with the promise of death.
“I could ask you the same question.”
Shannari jabbed the Blood in the ribs. “Move aside, or next time it’ll be my sword.”
Chuckling, Gregar stepped slightly to the side, but kept his body carefully angled before her.
A rather small, unimpressive barbarian stood before them. Belligerent and cocky as a young rooster, he sneered at her cool appraisal.
“Who’s this little man?”
“I’m Sontache, Second to Lyell, you filthy, outlander whore.”
Gregar was gone so quickly she swore he disappeared a moment. He wrapped his hand around the other man’s throat and lifted him off his feet. “Shannari carries Khul’s blood and holds his heart in her hand. To insult her is to insult Khul.”
Gripping the hilt of her sword, she walked over to stand before the gasping red-faced man dangling from the Blood’s fist. “What was your plan?”
The barbarian shook his head, gasping for air.
“Sontache!” Krista screamed and ran toward her kinsman, but Alea grabbed her arm and kept her back. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?”
Shannari hesitated, trying to decide the best course of action. She wanted information, but she didn’t want to cause a riot or traumatize the women. She was used to blood and assassins and war, but that didn’t mean they were. “I need to know what he planned. Hurt him badly without killing him.”
Gregar set the man on his feet, and with a flick of his wrist, bent him over backward with a hand fisted in his hair. “It’s an honor to serve.”
The Blood smiled, and goose bumps raced down her arms. Wicked pleasure and darkness spread in his eyes.
The ivory knife flashed and the barbarian howled in pain. A woman cried out, and Shannari glanced over her shoulder worriedly. Krista was on the ground, ghostly white, but Alea seemed to be calm and in control.
Blood dripped down Sontache’s face. “I was merely going to escort her to the kae’don!”
Gregar sliced the man’s other cheek open to the bone.
“Somehow, I don’t believe an innocent escort is what you planned.” Shannari leaned down to give the man a sympathetic smile. His frantic gaze darted from hers to Gregar’s dancing black eyes of murder and back. “Maybe you wanted to embarrass me, yes? A little hanky-panky on the wa
y to the battle with some witnesses to spread tales to Khul’s enemies?”
Pale and slick with sweat, the barbarian didn’t have to answer. The panic in his eyes spoke volumes. “Just a kiss or… If you were willing— ”
Gregar growled low and deep in his throat. She spared a glance at his face and blanched. Darkness spread across his face and cold seeped into her bones until she ached. “Don’t kill him in front of the women.”
He didn’t even look at her. “He would have done what I have not.”
She shivered harder. “Maybe he has information about his own khul to share. If we kill him— ”
Slowly, Gregar turned his head and looked into her face. His eyes were black, flat, and full of death. “Khul will want him dead for planning to put his hands on you, let alone his filthy lying mouth.”
Krista moaned on the ground and several of the women were crying.
“Wait until we get to the kae’don, please.”
His expression never changed.
“I’ll taste your blood as you wished. Just don’t kill him here.”
Immediately, the death relented in his gaze and he shot her a wicked smile. “Agreed. I knew I would convince you eventually.”
He jerked Sontache upright and marched him down the hill away from the women. The barbarian struggled briefly, until he felt Gregar’s rahke bite into his side. “Perhaps we’ll be too late for you to participate in the kae’don, Sontache. Perhaps Khul will let me challenge you.”
The barbarian made a sound suspiciously like a whimper.
Gregar chuckled. “I wonder how long I can keep you alive while I carve your meat off your bones strip by strip.”
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
“What is it you always say before a kae’don, Khul?” Lyell asked, smiling tightly and adjusting his grip on his rahke. His warhorse shifted and tossed its head, already more than ready to flee the field. “A little blood in battle, aye?”
Rhaekhar didn’t allow a matching smile to break the harsh concentration on his face. Lyell was nervous and rightfully so. Why would he even wish to engage the First Camp in a kae’don? None could match the sheer dominance of Khul’s warriors and warhorses. Only compassion for a fellow warrior would stay his hand and prevent him from thoroughly embarrassing Lyell’s entire Camp.
“He says a little battle is good for the blood.” Gregar shouted. “If you’re as inept as your Second, be prepared to give Khul all the blood in your body.”
Sontache stumbled down the slope with the Blood and Shannari right behind him. The look on their faces chilled Rhaekhar’s blood. Fury exploded in him, but he clenched his jaw and remained silent. He must be Khul of all Nine Camps and not an enraged warrior on the rampage, no matter how much the tight-lipped dread on Shannari’s face angered him.
With a hard shove, Gregar sent the other warrior sprawling onto the ground before Khul’s golden warhorse.
“What happened?” Rhaekhar ground out. He ran his gaze quickly over Shannari, but he didn’t see any injuries. He regretted shutting down their bond as much as possible while he prepared for battle. “Did he harm you?”
“No,” she replied quickly. “I don’t think he planned to hurt me.”
“Then what?”
“He planned to embarrass you. By… by… ” Her face flooded with color and she gave the Blood an imploring look.
“First, he insulted her,” Gregar answered flatly. The lack of his normal joking winks and grins sent Rhaekhar’s hand down to grip his rahke. “He called her an outlander whore.”
“And he still lives?” Rhaekhar roared. Khan snorted and reared, his ears laid flat and teeth bared at the warrior on the ground. “Why didn’t you kill him without delay?”
“The other women were upset,” Shannari said, stepping closer to lay her hand on his thigh. “Besides, no one needed to die for a simple insult.”
“Simple?” Rhaekhar struggled against the swirling rage pulsing through his blood. “He implies I have no love for you. He implies you will never carry my honor. For those words alone, I shall see him dead.”
“There’s more,” Gregar said softly. “He planned to touch her. Kiss her. Molest her in some way with witnesses to spread tales.”
Utter calm swept through Rhaekhar. He unsheathed his rahke, smiled at Sontache, and raised his gaze to Lyell. “Death is too good for you both. Instead, I shall make you live to regret this insult every single day for the rest of your long, miserable lives. Join your khul and let the kae’don begin.”
He did not hear Shannari’s hurried questions to Gregar, nor her pleas. He did not hear Kae’Shaman’s ceremonial words. He did not see his forty nine warriors line up for the charge. All he saw was two warriors, nay, two curs, that would take all his control and concentration not to rip limb from limb.
Kae’Shaman’s hand dropped and the warriors whooped. Grimly silent, Rhaekhar released Khan and charged at both his opponents. The ground rumbled beneath the warhorses’ hooves. With a slight touch to the flank, Rhaekhar directed his stallion to strike Lyell’s mount while he sliced a long deep cut down the other warrior’s chest.
Khan lunged beneath him, powerful forelegs striking out, and the other horse squealed. Whirling, the stallion let rear hooves fly at Sontache’s mount. Rhaekhar took the opportunity to flay Lyell’s right cheek open to the bone. Another strike to his other cheek. Then a stripe down his chest to match his Second’s.
Feeling Khan’s subtle shift of warning, he jerked to the side and slammed his elbow back into Sontache’s face. Unbalanced, the warrior slid off his warhorse and fell beneath Khan’s hooves. A few deliberately well placed stomps broke both an arm and a leg, but Rhaekhar reined the stallion away before he could smash the warrior’s skull open.
Returning his attention to the khul, Rhaekhar urged Khan into a formidable display of force. The stallion reared to his full height, clawing the sky and screaming with fury. Already pale as cream, Lyell cast his gaze left and right as though he thought to flee. Eight of the Blood closed around Khul’s chosen opponent. Not to interfere, for that would damage his honor; they prevented Lyell from fleeing before Khul was finished.
Blood pounded through Rhaekhar’s body, throbbing in his head, his heart, his groin. The thought of another warrior laying a hand on his woman awoke a fierce urge he hadn’t felt in years.
Bloodlust. A warrior’s nightmare. Gritting his teeth, he fought the rising urge and concentrated on his opponent. He planned to slice every inch of Lyell’s body open, but the longer he fought, the more the bloodlust would take him.
“We meant no harm, Khul.” Lyell swiped a hand across his face, wiping blood from his mouth. “Sontache was merely to— ”
“You would have shamed her!” Red pulsed through his vision, urging him to pound this cur to a bloody pulp. Unfortunately, he would then turn to Shannari for a different kind of pounding, and she would likely fare just as poorly in his hands. He breathed hard, deliberately sheathing his rahke. “Take your Camp and go.”
“Forgive me, Khul. I’ve offended you, much more than I intended. Surely— ”
The faint scent of spicy flowers floated on the breeze. Shannari. She was close. The pounding urge rose in him. The urge to reclaim what was his. To release this fury in uncontrollable need. “If I see your face again before the Summer Gathering, I shall give you formal challenge. I won’t kill you, but I’ll drain you to the point of death over and over and over. All the blood in your body could not remove my anger.”
Lyell dismounted and knelt on the ground beside his groaning Second. “Kill me, then. I cannot live with such dishonor.”
“Live every day and know my love for Shannari. Know my honor.” Despite his best efforts, his voice was thick with need, raw with the need for blood, for her. Praying that perhaps Gregar had sensed the rising bloodlust and sent her away, Rhaekhar turned his head, seeking her.
Shannari stood at the edge of the ring made by the mounted Blood, her gaze locked on him. Gregar stood beside her, and he
shook his head imperceptibly. She would not flee, not her. Not even when he would hurt her.
“Know her honor.”
* * * *
Grim-faced with eyes blazing like the sun, Rhaekhar turned his stallion toward her. Something was wrong, still, but she didn’t know what. He’d beaten the two fools easily. He’d embarrassed them. No one had died. So what was wrong?
“You should have run when you had the chance,” Gregar said mildly.
“I never run.” For the first time in her life, she seriously thought about it though. The look in Rhaekhar’s eyes… The stallion shook the ground beneath her feet. He was coming straight at her. Through the bond, she felt only vicious, pounding anger.
No. Not anger.
Fire doused her from head to toe. The barbarian had gone from battle lust to simply lust in a heartbeat. From the look on his face, he was going to take her as soon as he got his hands on her.
Her first instinct, again, was flight. Yet Shannari dal’Dainari never ran from anything, let alone a man. She raised her chin, stared him right in the eye, and dared him.
The massive stallion that had trampled a man moments ago brushed past her. Barely bending down, the barbarian snatched her up with him, and they galloped away from the battlefield.
His hands, so hard. His body, hard muscle, slick with sweat and blood from his opponents, steaming with heat and need. His mouth, aggressive, unyielding, commanding. He inhaled her, his teeth hard against hers, his tongue halfway down her throat while he gripped her head just so for his attack.
Distantly, she heard other horses and knew the Blood must be following. Yet even when he drew the stallion to a sliding halt and fell to the ground on top of her, she couldn’t bring herself to care.
He pinned her wrists above her head and jerked the undercloth away from beneath her Sha’Kae al’Dan clothing. “I… can’t… wait… any… longer.”
His hand gentled somewhat. He cupped her and growled, his chest vibrating against hers. She knew what he found there. His raw need blazed through the bond into her, making her nearly as desperate as he.
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