RESURRECTION (RIBUS 7, #5)

by Shae Mills

  “Oh, my Lord,” Chelan whispered. “But by then, so much was in motion.”

  “Yes, the hopes of billions of our people to reclaim the Empire was then in motion, but one word from me would have stopped all the forward momentum. Overthrowing Talon was a calculated risk with a chance of failure nearly beyond my threshold of acceptance, so I could have halted the attack, or more likely postponed it. I had thought then of rescuing you in any way I could and of leaving my officers to deal with the final solution for the Empire and its ultimate fate. But when Terig validated all that I knew and felt, he provided the bond that held me together and pushed me forward. He showed me that trying to rescue you presented almost as many risks as taking down the new Empire, and that keeping you and myself hidden from Talon would be a nearly impossible task. He showed me that my best option was to go all out... and die by your side if I failed.”

  Chelan felt her heart clench. “You suffered so, my Lord.”

  His eyes became sorrowful. “We all did, my Lady. We all did.” Then he smiled. “But look what has been accomplished! Look what we have now!”

  Chelan smiled back. “We have one another, we have our children, and soon we will have our glorious ship.”

  “That is all so true. But until we have RIBUS 7 on her feet, and while you are trapped on Cleos, let my dear friend take care of you in any way needed, including if the man has to drain you himself.”

  Chelan laughed. “Oh right—suckled by a full-blooded Scot. Not if I can help it! But I know you well enough: I know by that glint in your eye that you are being more than serious, and I will heed your warning. I will ask for Terig’s services if I need them.”

  Korba looked at her from the corner of his eye. “You will ask for those services before you get into trouble, my Lady, or when I get you into my clutches, I will first mend you, right before I turn you over my knee and wreak havoc on your more than pretty round bottom.”

  “Is that any way to talk to your mate while within earshot of your crew, my Lord?” Chelan teased.

  Korba’s brow cocked. “I will invite them to witness your punishment, your silky white skin exposed to all.”

  Chelan gasped and then bowed her head briefly. “Your warning is heeded. I will take no chances.”

  Korba began to chuckle. “I cannot resist bringing this up, but if you do require his help, the act will do the man in.”

  Chelan frowned. “Have you no sympathy for the poor man? He has told me of his past. I know he is lonely for female companionship. Laughing at the fact that I could unravel him by baring my milk-bloated breasts to him is almost heartless.”

  A lecherous smile crossed Korba’s lips. “I am sure he will survive the act if not thrive on it. In fact, I am quite sure he would be more than eager to help out again and again.”

  “You are a rogue, you know that?”

  “Born and bred, my Lady, and more than proud of it. And no matter what the man has to do to keep you healthy, once you are back in my arms, I am going to feast upon you thoroughly, and not simply to keep you drained.”

  The flush in Chelan’s cheeks was matched only by the flood between her thighs, and she crossed her legs almost defensively.

  Korba laughed. Then his voice became soft. “You take care, my love. I wish with all my heart that I could be with you. You establish a link at any time you need to talk or if there is trouble. No matter where the RIBUS is, we can be within communication range within minutes if need be.”

  “Thank you for everything. You are always the voice of reason... when not trying to seduce me from afar... leaving me wanting so much more.”

  Korba’s eyes flashed. “Time and forced separation will make the bounty that awaits us both all the more rewarding, and my exuberant plundering of your ripe body when next we meet will make that more than amply evident.” And before she could respond, the link was severed.

  Chelan fanned her face as she pushed herself to her feet. She needed her mate; there was no doubt about that. But until they could be reunited, her desires would have to be temporarily snuffed.

  Blocking out thoughts of Korba as best she could, she left the computer room and ascended the stairs to Terig’s temporary sleeping abode. She stopped outside his door and listened, but all was silent. She began toward the stairs to the tower room, but hesitated. No more time wasted sleeping, she decided. Terig had invited her to explore, and explore she would. The castle was a Scottish fantasy... and in the quiet, this was the perfect time to give herself over to the lure of the past.

  She looked down the long hall, and her heart filled with excitement. In the next instant she was wandering the rooms of the keep, the wonderland behind each door a gift that ignited the senses and boggled the mind. Each chamber was unique, each a portal through time and history.

  She flitted from room to room, taking in everything about them and admiring the authenticity of every artifact. Finally, in one room, a large trunk at the end of the bed caught her eye. She knelt down before it and lifted the lid slowly.

  Her eyes grew large. “Oh, my...,” she uttered. She reached inside and drew out the luxurious velvet gown of royal blue. As she rose to her feet, the dress unfurled, revealing intricate white lace and gold embroidery everywhere.

  She held the dress to her breast as she peered back down into the trunk. Within were corsets and petticoats and many other fine undergarments of the period.

  Chelan took another look about the room, noting the English flavor. She could not identify the era, but Terig would know. Though the gown beguiled her, right now she had more rooms to explore. Carefully, she perfectly refolded the garment, returned it to its resting place, and closed the trunk.

  Eventually, on silent bare feet, she floated down the hall to one of the last chambers. She opened the door and stepped inside the quaint room. There was nothing ostentatious about this little room, and she found that settling inside was like sliding into a small Scottish country cottage. She peered about. Just like in all the other rooms, there was another trunk, this one draped beautifully with a blanket of the Mackenzie plaid. Chelan reverently raised the lid and found what she had hoped she would. In it was a plain, dark brown wool gown with just a hint of fine white lace about the bodice and at the wrists of the long sleeves. Chelan held it up to herself and smiled.

  Shedding Terig’s shirt, she slipped into the simple gown... no corsets, no stays, no bulky undergarments. It was obviously the garment of a woman of a simple working family, and it was perfect.

  Chelan did up the lacings as well as she could, but not too tightly over her breasts. The bodice sat low, revealing her cleavage but giving her the support she wanted. The lace adorned the gown beautifully, and Chelan knew this was a garment for the lady of the house to wear on special occasions only.

  The dress fit her almost perfectly, the waist hugging hers, the full skirt ending just above her shapely ankles. Chelan realized she was much taller than the women of the day and that the dress on a woman of the era would have dusted the ground, but for her, at this moment, it was perfect.

  She closed the trunk and took a deep breath, hoping that Terig would not mind her more personal intrusion into his collection. Then... another idea struck her.

  TERIG WOKE UP SOME time later and rolled to his back. His morning erection took some adjusting to get comfortable, and then he exhaled sharply. Korba’s orders to do whatever was necessary to keep Chelan from engorging and becoming infected steamrolled through his thoughts, the effects pooling in his groin. Damn, it was going to be hard to keep his hands off that woman, and the string of Gaelic curses that left his lips nearly caused his own hair to curl. His erection twitched and he grated his teeth in an effort not to reach down to relieve himself. Shaking his head, he called on all the discipline the mortal man he was could muster.

  Throwing back the quilt with a force that nearly launched it from the bed, he sat up. Instantly, some wonderful aroma tickled his nostrils. His curiosity fully aroused, his erection began to abate. He moved
to the side table and splashed some water on his face, then ran a brush through his thick hair. He thought of having a quick shower in the washroom down the hall, but dismissed the thought. He did not want to waste another second of time away from his company.

  He stepped into his black braes and hastily did up the laces, slipped on his boots, then reached for a fresh shirt. He paused with it in his hands, staring at it as images of another of his shirts adorning the voluptuous woman surged unbidden through his mind. “Bloody hell...,” he uttered as he wrenched the shirt over his head and jammed the ends down into his pants.

  Collecting himself, he followed his nose, descending the stairs two at a time and proceeding quickly through the great hall. Entering the kitchen, he stopped in his tracks, spellbound by the natural beauty he beheld.

  Chelan was lightly kneading dough, her long hair plaited down her back, her full feminine curves held gently by the plain brown gown. She hummed to herself as she worked, oblivious to the adoring eyes consuming her.

  Stepping back from the dough, she wiped her hands down her apron and moved over to the fire, where she stirred a small pot suspended high on a spit. Turning back toward the island, she caught sight of Terig and hiccupped with a fright. Her hands flew to her throat. “Oh, my Lord, you scared the daylights out of me.”

  Terig smiled. “What, pray tell, smells so wondrous?”

  Chelan hustled back to the main table and began rolling the dough out. “Scones, my Lord.”

  Terig stepped up to her, finally noticing a plate to the side heaped with freshly baked delicacies. “Lord, woman. You tempt a man’s belly.”

  Chelan smiled. “Porridge... or... parrach is ready, too. Fresh milk... I think it is... although cow’s it’s not, is in the pitcher on the table. Umm... and I found honey in that pot, and there’s fresh butter too.”

  Terig moved to the fire and peered down into the pot of perfectly cooked porridge. Then he looked over at a far counter and squinted. Unable to contain his curiosity, he crossed the kitchen and picked up a black circular chunk of something. He turned it over in his hands. “My Lady?”

  “Huh...,” she murmured as she began cutting out a fresh batch of scones from the dough.

  He walked back to her, a wide grin on his face. “What is this?”

  Chelan finally looked up from her work, wiping her hand over her brow and leaving a large streak of flour across her forehead. “Oh, umm... That was an experiment.”

  Terig watched as she returned to her attention to her work. “What kind of experiment?”

  “Oh, it’s a scone, my Lord, one I tried to bake over the fire before I settled on using the oven.”

  Terig stared at her with amusement, a glint in his eye. “It’s a bit overdone, methinks.”

  Chelan glanced up at him, her expression nonplussed. “Oh, no, my Lord. The scone is fine. ’Tis the poison within it that is overdone. I thought I would serve you that this morning to save you from any possible awkward interactions with me in the future.”

  Terig’s grin tugged at the sides of his mouth. “Aye, poison is a lady’s choice for sure. But I need not be put out of my misery regarding such a task.”

  “Ah well, regardless, I changed my mind this morning.”

  Terig crushed the scone in his hand, the black ash floating to the floor. “Pray tell why?”

  Chelan’s placid expression began to crack as she added a Scottish accent to her voice. “Because, kind sir, then I’d have te nurse ye back to health, ana ken yer already had yer fill of that idea.” And she burst out laughing.

  “Why you...” And Terig lunged for her.

  Chelan rounded the table, deftly avoiding him. “Calm yourself, my Lord! You must eat. A little food in yer belly will quell your savagery.”

  The two of them squared off across the table. Terig’s eyes glowed with gold flecks. “Nay, lass, what would quell my fury is your firm round rump exposed for a well-deserved tanning.”

  Chelan’s jaw dropped. “Well, I’ll be. Yer no gentleman after all.”

  “Nay, I won’t be once I get my hands on ye.”

  “And what is it with everyone trying to take a turn at tanning my ass?”

  Terig’s eyes sparked. “So, I am not the only one wanting to instill a little discipline, am I?”

  Chelan grabbed a chunk of uncooked dough and hurled it at him. “Behave yourself or...”

  Terig ducked the scone and then vaulted over the table as if it hardly existed. Chelan shrieked just as he grabbed her. “Or you’ll what?”

  Chelan twisted in his arms and raised the dirk she had concealed in her shirts to his throat. “Er I’ll run ye through sure as could be!”

  Terig was astonished... and he released her, appreciating her one-upmanship. “Aye, you win, lass. Poison me if ye wish, but dinnae mar ma flesh.”

  Chelan grinned and lowered the dirk. She sheathed it, placed her hands on her hips, and dropped the Scottish accent. “Now, if you don’t serve yourself and get on with eating, after all the toiling I have done for hours, I’ll throw you out into the bloody sandstorm.”

  Terig took a few steps back, his hands raised in a show of capitulation. “I don’t know, my Lady. I suspect my chances of survival may be better out there than with all this food.”

  Chelan hurled another scone at him, but Terig snatched it from the air and slammed it down on the counter, startling her.

  He straightened and rubbed his brow, his features becoming hard. “Christ, I’d survive the storm and the food even if doused with poison, but surviving here living with you, you bloody wench, with all your insubordination, of that I am none too sure.”

  Chelan tried to look indignant. “The same goes for me, you cur.”

  “Okay. I surrender. Will you join me for breakfast, my fair lady?” And he bowed deeply.

  “Oh, ‘fair lady,’ is it now? What happened to ‘wench’?”

  “My poor stomach is growling and I can’t afford to starve because you’re vexed with me.”

  Chelan laughed. “Aw, my poor child,” she teased as she handed him a bowl and a plate.

  Terig watched her warily as he approached the steaming pot. “Does Korba have to put up with this each morning?”

  Chelan sighed as she ran her hands down her apron. “No, I don’t cook for him.”

  Terig decided to hold his tongue on that one, as he feared the loss of his home-cooked meal should he voice the comment hanging from the tip of his tongue. Then he ladled a huge portion of the cereal into his bowl and helped himself to several scones. Bathing them in butter, he sat down at the table and watched her as she slid the last batch into the oven. Then she served herself and sat down beside him.

  He peered into her bowl. “With a serving like that, you’ll fade away.”

  Chelan wrinkled her nose at him. “With that much butter floating in your arteries, you’ll be as stiff as a plank by eve.”

  Terig set his spoon down. “Oh, and just who laid the fare out to be enjoyed?”

  “You can lead a horse to water...”

  Terig frowned at her as she spread honey on her scone, and then raised it to him. “See?” she taunted. “No butter.” And she took a small bite.

  “You looking for another fight?”

  Chelan nearly choked as she burst out laughing. “You seem to be searching really hard for excuses to bare my rump for your taking.”

  Terig’s grin spread menacingly across his face. Instantly, his Scottish burr returned, thicker than ever. “Aye, lass. I can think of many a thing to do with yer fair round rump other than tannin’ it.”

  “Ooch, ye are a cur.”

  “Aye, care to try me?”

  He half rose out of his chair, but Chelan grabbed the butter knife and stared him down. “Ye be leavin’ my fair backside out of yer morning meal, sir, er I’ll add yer privates to the noontime menu.”

  Terig sat back down. “Since when does the Emperor’s mate have such a vile tongue? Does he teach you naught? You are an insolent woman to
be sure.”

  Chelan snickered. “In your presence, kind sir, I see no reason to act the lady.”

  Terig took a bite of his scone and chuckled, his English clearing of all accent. “Beware, my Lady, or I may reciprocate and quit acting the gentleman.”

  Chelan smiled, and then her head jerked up, her tongue flicking out to catch a small drip of honey escaping her scone. She set the food down and licked her fingers, savoring the golden nectar.

  Terig nearly fumbled his scone, his throat once again going dry. He watched as she slowly withdrew each finger from her mouth, her eyes closed, completely oblivious to the effect she was having on him.

  When she finally looked up at him, her eyes widened. “What?”

  He simply stared back at her for a long time. Then he set his jaw as he put his food down. He faced her squarely. “I have a serious question to ask you, my Lady.”

  Chelan swallowed and nodded to him. “Fire away.”

  “When you’re in Korba’s presence, does he ever leave you alone?”

  Chelan hesitated. “In what manner?”

  “You bloody well know in what manner.”

  Chelan looked down at her sticky fingers and then back at him, her skin pinking slightly. “Why?”