My Immortal Protector

by Jen Holling

  "Leaving so soon?" Luthias said, nearly shouting to be heard over the din of Dukes barking. "We haven't even found her yet."

  Stephen gave Duke a sharp command and the dog fell silent. He lay on his belly, head erect, watching Luthias closely.

  “Aye, but I have my own theories. Methinks she returned to her family, so that's where I am headed. And if not..." Stephen shrugged. "You said her family is blood witches, too—so I find what I search for either way."

  "I wouldn't recommend going there alone."

  "I can handle them."

  Luthias shook his head, a small smirk on his lips. "Write me if you have any success. I'll add it to my book."

  He turned his horse neatly on it’s hocks—a move that hurt Stephen's back just watching it—and returned to the vil­lage with his men.

  MacKay lands were actually in the opposite direction from where Stephen really wanted to go. But he couldn't chance leading Luthias toward Drake and Deidra. So he went several miles out of his way before heading west. It would take him longer this way, but there was no help for it.

  By the time he stopped for the night, he felt as if he had made no progress at all past killing his back. All He’d done was cir­cle the town—south, then west, and finally north again. He stared into the fire, wondering if it was possible to stop Luth­ias, wondering if he should turn back now and kill the man with his bare hands. Duke whined and curled closer, as if sens­ing Stephen’s violent thoughts. Stephen sighed and lay back, imagining Deidra's hands on him, rubbing the ache from his muscles and then laying with him, her body pressed close to keep him warm.

  They'd gotten lucky this time. Luthias would not be so easily fooled again. And the only way Stephen stood a chance against him was by being a whole man. More than whole.

  A baobhan sith.

  Chapter 8

  Two days had passed at Creaghaven, and Deidra was growing restless. Her shoulder had improved. Drake had kept a steady infusion of the willow bark in her belly and urged her to rest. As she had nothing better to do while waiting for Stephen, she complied without argument. Her shoulder still ached and it was a bit ten­der, but she didn't feel it would hamper travel. If not for Stephen, who knew what condition her shoulder might have been in? That made her laugh. If he had not rescued her, her shoulder would have been the least of her worries. She prob­ably would not even be alive.

  Her humor faded in her concern for him. She had spent the morning on the curtain wall, gazing out over Drake’s lands as far as the eye could see, searching for Stephen. Was he alive? And if he was, would he come here? Or go straight to the baobhan sith? He had vowed that he would see her again. Vowed. She believed him. She just didn't know when he planned to see her again.

  That thought gnawed at her belly. As the day wore on, Deidra grew anxious for action, certain that while she idled about, he'd gone off to see the blood witch with­out her. That's when she remembered something she had done as a child—a game of sorts. She sent her mind out like a net, touching the minds of animals near and far, trying to determine if they had been startled by a stranger nearby. Not even the most intelligent animal could identify Stephen without having known him before, but they could acknowledge that someone new was nearby.

  She was about to give up when a hawk replied with an image of a man on horse­back, a black dog trotting along beside them.

  Stephen.

  And he didn’t look well. Countess moved very slowly, and Stephen slumped forward in an unnatural position. She touched Countess's mind and found the horse distressed by her master's behavior. Countess knew something was wrong.

  Heart pumping and breath coming in short gasps, Deidra hurried down the lad­der and into the stable, crashing into her uncle. He grabbed her shoulders to steady her.

  "Ho, now. What is it, lass?"

  "Stephen! He's here. And he looks hurt." She wrenched away from him and led her horse from its stall.

  Drake grabbed her again. "Wait just a tic, lassie. What mean ye to do? Carry him on your back?"

  She tossed curls out of her eyes. "If I must."

  "Just calm yourself. Let me get a wagon and well go fetch him."

  "Get the wagon and meet me." She yanked her arm away amidst his irritated cursing and slid onto the horses back, saddle-less. Hands wrapped in the mares mane, Deidra tapped her sides and told her where to go.

  Since she had begun speaking to ani­mals again, she’d become acquainted with her mount and had even named her. Blue Bonnet, or Blue for short. The horse had a fascination with eating flowers. Deidra found riding so much easier when the horse could communicate with her about weight shifts and what was more com­fortable. Currently, Blue didn't care for being ridden bareback but understood the urgency of the matter.

  Deidra slid off the horse's back the moment she spotted Stephen. He didn't look nearly as poor as he had from the bird's-eye view; in fact, he was surprised to see her, straightening in the saddle and drawing rein.

  "Deidra! Greetings." He extended a hand to her, pleasure lighting his pale eyes.

  She clasped it in both of hers. Duke danced and yipped around her legs. With her mind, she asked the dog to calm down, and he immediately sat down on his haunches.

  "How are you?" she asked. “Are you well? Uncle Drake is bringing a wagon for you to ride in the rest of the way."

  The pleasure disappeared from his eyes and his brows lowered. "What is this? A wagon?" His jaw tightened and the skin of his neck flushed. He pulled his hand away from hers. "Why don't you just bring a lit­ter for me to lie in?"

  Deidra hesitated. He did not seem pleased by her concern. "Would that have been better?"

  "Do I look like I need a wagon?"

  Deidra's brows raised nearly to her hair­line, uncertain how to answer him. She knew how the ride had worn on him. She knew he was in pain, regardless of how he currently looked.

  He studied her face and his mouth hardened. "I told you I could make this journey and that I would be fine."

  Deidra took a step back. "But you wer­en't that first night—"

  The sound of hoofbeats and the creak and crunch of wagon wheels approaching drew their attention. Duke started to stand, an excited bark rising in his chest, but again Deidra stayed him. He was growing unhappy with her interference.

  Drake rode on horseback beside a nar­row wagon driven by an old man. It was slow going with such treacherous terrain.

  When Deidra looked back at Stephen, his face was an emotionless mask. He gave her one last empty stare and tapped Countess's sides. He rode right past Drake without a word. His posture was erect, and Deidra could only imagine the pain it caused him to maintain it. Loyalty won out and Duke raced after him.

  Drake and the wagon driver stopped and watched Stephen’s retreating back before turning back to Deidra.

  Deidra slowly walked toward her uncle, though her gaze remained on Stephen.

  "He looks well enough to me," Drake said.

  "He hides his pain." Deidra's chest hurt. She was confused. He was angry, she could see that, and he was in pain, and somehow it all felt like her fault.

  Drake stroked at his beard. "Do you think he recognized me?"

  Deidra shrugged, remounting Blue. She returned to the castle, riding beside her uncle. "I think he is vexed with me."

  "You think?" Drake said, his tone dry.

  "You agree with his ire?"

  "Well, I ken I would be a bit irritated if I was treated like an invalid by a bonny woman when I'm clearly not."

  Deidra let out an exasperated breath. "What do you mean? I was showing con­cern for him. I was trying to help."

  "It doesn't feel too manly when you have to be carted about like a wean.

  Especially if your woman thinks you're so weakly."

  Deidra's face flushed. "What?" Her voice cracked on the high warbling note, and she averted her eyes from his perceptive stare. "I am not his woman. And I don't think he's weakly. He's very strong. It's just his back.. .it hurts him."

&nb
sp; When she glanced back at her uncle, he smiled slyly at her in his beard. "You're right, lassie. You'll never be his woman if you keep coddling him."

  Deidra's throat tightened and her cheeks flamed. She kept her gaze straight ahead the remainder of the ride. But what Drake said had struck a nerve and rubbed it raw.

  His back felt as if a swarm of angry bees had stung him over and over and over again—were in fact still trapped in his shirt, stinging and stinging. But he bore up through it all. The castle gates were still open and he passed through without harassment, riding Countess straight to the stables. He had a few minutes alone there, and he intended to use every sec­ond dismounting without an audience.

  He was standing beside Countess, face pressed into the saddle, still waiting for the throbbing pain to abate just the slightest bit, when they entered. He forced himself to straighten.

  He couldn't even look at Deidra. He'd thought about her every step of the jour­ney, worried about whether or not she had arrived safely and how her shoulder fared. And then she'd ridden out to meet him. It had surprised him, pleased him excessively.. .until she'd informed him of the wagon on the way to fetch him.

  He had hoped, after all that had trans­pired between them, that when she looked at him again she would see some­thing other than a cripple. Unfortunately, nothing had changed. Except now, instead of being impatient with him, she pitied him, felt a sense of responsibility.

  He unsaddled Countess with rough movements, ignoring how every move­ment sent pain lancing through his back. They all worked in silence. Drake and his servant unhitched the horse from the wagon. Deidra and Stephen brushed the horses and gave them fresh hay and water. Deidra sent him furtive looks the whole while. She knew he was upset, but he wondered if she even knew why. He wasn't about to tell her now. He could barely think through the pain. He needed rest before he could contemplate any­thing else.

  Thankfully, Drake said, "You must be hungry."

  The three of them had gathered near the stable door.

  “Aye, I am," Stephen said. "But it's been a long ride. A bed would not be unwel­come."

  "I'll get you some food. Deidra? Why don't you find him a bed?"

  Stephen barely managed not to groan. Now he would have to be alone with her and she would want to talk. He had noth­ing to say to her now, not when he used every last ounce of energy to hide the fact that the bones of his spine were rubbing together like gravel. He followed her into the keep, keeping his face stoic and emo­tionless to discourage conversation.

  "How did you get away from Luthias?" she asked.

  "I just left."

  She glanced at him over her shoulder.

  Concern filled her huge blue eyes. She was so beautiful it almost hurt his eyes to look at her. Her hair was clean and spring­ing with dark curls, her fine-grained skin glowing with health, her bottom lip red and swollen from gnawing on it with worry. He wanted to take that lip between his teeth—

  "He didn't suspect anything?" she asked, tearing him from his fantasy and back into the world of pain.

  "No," he said, scowling at her. "I told you I could handle it, that it would all be fine. Do you not believe me capable?"

  Deidra shook her head. "No, that's not it at all. I was just worried. I don't know what I would have done without your help." "Burned."

  She swallowed hard, hand on a door latch. Quite suddenly the anger hit him like a fist in the gut. Once he had been strong. No one had doubted what he was capable of. But now he was pitied and forced to accept help from people that by all rights should need him. And she did need him. She would have burned if not for him, would be dead now, and yet still she treated him like a mewling child. He was sick of it. Not just from her but from everyone. It was why he had retreated to Braighde Pele. He wanted to grab her and shake her and show her exactly what he was capable of. Instead he brushed past her as she swung the door open and dumped his things on the floor.

  The room was small, in keeping with the rest of the keep, but well tended. A large, comfortable-looking bed sat in the comer, and a table and chairs were placed against the wall near the door. Deidra lit the brazier next to the bed to warm the room.

  "This will do." It would more than do. He gazed longingly at the bed, wanting her gone so he could collapse onto it. Hopefully, a woman would come with his food and he could entice her into a deep back rub.

  As if reading his mind, Deidra suggested tentatively, "I could rub your back."

  The muscles around his spine con­tracted painfully at the very thought. God, he wanted her to. She was good at it—better than good, sinful. But no. She offered out of pity and the need to repay him for what he'd done. He'd had his fill of pity.

  "Just leave."

  He kept his back to her, to hide the pain contorting his face. Leave. Just leave.

  She didn't leave immediately, and he nearly growled at her again to go when he heard the quiet latch of the door as she shut it.

  His shoulders sagged and he let his head drop forward. God, he hurt. He trudged to the bed and knelt on it.

  "Here, let me help you!”' Deidra said as she grabbed his boot.

  He did whirl then, startled and angry. He’d thought she was gone, but she’d stayed, damn her. "I told you to leave!" His words came out harsh and angry because the move had wrenched his back.

  She didn't back down but stood before him, chin thrust out. "You need me. You need help."

  He leaned forward so that his nose nearly touched hers. "Not how you think, lass. You stay and you'll get more than you wagered for."

  "You're all threats."

  The fury bubbled up inside him. She was partly right, and that's what chafed. He was full of steam and threats, and she knew that he was in too much pain to carry them out. But damn it, that's what made him so angry. She thought she knew him. Thought she knew all he was capable of because he was crippled. She knew nothing.

  The anger throbbing in his temple dulled the pain in his back, sent power to his limbs. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her hard against him. A small, sat­isfying gasp of surprise escaped from her lips before he crushed them with his own.

  She was stiff with surprise, her palms pressed against his chest. He worked her lips, kissing and nuzzling, pressing into her mouth with his tongue. Her body sof­tened, her lips parting for him, letting him in.

  A groan of pleasure rumbled through him and his hands slid down to stroke her back, to press her in closer to his aching erection. He could do this and more, just as well as any other man. Her arms wrapped around him, slim fingers sliding beneath the leather of his jack, cool through the linen of his shirt. His pain faded to a small ache, and he thought he might die if he couldn't be inside her, whatever the cost to his back later.

  Using his fingers, he pulled her skirt up until his fingers brushed bare thigh. He slid his hand up over her skin, open palmed. It was soft as silk, and firm. She whimpered, her breathing coming faster. When he cupped her bottom, her leg came up, wrapped around his thigh, and he couldn't wait another moment.

  He backed her toward the bed, tasting her small, perfect chin, the smooth line of her throat. The backs of her thighs hit the bed, but before he could push her back­wards, she gripped his biceps hard and pulled back.

  "Wait," she said, gazing up at him with lust-hazed eyes.

  His fingers slid between her legs, stop­ping her thought instantly. He saw her eyes go blank as he stroked at her. Her fingers dug into him, and the leg wrapped beautifully around him tightened and flexed. Ah, yes, he could see that she had forgotten he was a cripple, or anything else. She only knew that he could make her feel wonderful, just as she sometimes made him feel. And for this one small moment, that was enough.

  He slid a finger inside her and burrowed his other hand under her skirt to rub at her nub. Her body contracted around his finger and her head fell back. She cried out, her head snapping back to bury against his chest as her body climaxed. She shuddered against him for a moment before raising her head and blinki
ng daz­edly at him.

  He kissed her again. She was ready for him now. He wanted to be inside her, those legs wrapped tight around him. His cock ached in anticipation. He would take her hard and quick the first time, but then...

  He started to ease her back on the bed, but she stopped him again. "Wait, Stephen."

  He sighed with strained patience. "What is it, sweet?" He kissed the corner of her mouth, the tip of her ear. He stroked at her thighs, showing her it wasn't over—it was just beginning.

  She swallowed hard and said, "What about your back? Surely this will make the pain unbearable..."

  And she twisted the knife in his pride, making him less again. He released her abruptly and moved away, raking a hand through his hair. He felt sick with anger and disgust. He could tell her the truth—that there were ways to make love that would not hurt him at all. But that would involve admitting that he had to take certain precautions because he was a cripple. He would not do that. Not with her.

  "Get out, Deidra."

  "But Stephen—"

  "Get out." He ground the words through his teeth, cutting off any protest from her.

  “And Lord help me, if I turn around after that door closes and still find you here, I cannot be responsible for what I might do."

  He waited, hands on hips, and a second later the door closed. He turned, the anger and frustration still built up in his chest, making it feel too tight.

  This time she was gone.

  Chapter 9

  Deidra woke to a flood of shame and anger the next morning. She lay on her bed, eyes closed, the day before playing out over and over again behind her eye­lids. She still was not certain what exactly had happened. She pressed her cold palms to her hot cheeks, but it did noth­ing to cool the bum in her body.

  She had only been trying to help him. Why couldn't he see that and understand? Everything she did to help only seemed to make him angrier. And what really confused her was the fact that he had allowed her to rub his back once before. He had quite enjoyed it then. What had changed? Now her offer only infuriated him.

  She sensed her companions before she actually saw them. When she sat up, they were clustered around the room—ani­mals. Duke had found his way into her room and now sprawled at the end of her bed. His pleasure at her finally being awake was palpable. He licked the air, then belly-crawled across the fur blanket to her so she could scratch his ears.