Unbound Heart

by Jane Atchley

  Every day pushed the Descendants toward flatter, grassier terrain a condition that, Faelan recognized advantaged Duncan’s cavalry. The thundering power of the cavalry’s tightly-packed charge still gave her nightmares.

  Faelan sniffed again. The rich earthy scent of loam mingled with sweet grass and wild onion filled her senses. A rabbit huddled in a dense patch of tall grass, but she did not take time to investigate. She needed to be quick, because Duncan marched on a whim. So it seemed, but he didn’t fool her. Duncan was not a whim sort of man.

  She sniffed the soft breeze again. There. Her brother’s scent tickled her nose. Daring the daylight, Faelan raised her head and howled. Quinn’s answering howl sounded off to her right, not far off by the sound of it. She turned northwest following Quinn’s scent.

  ****

  Duncan hauled on the reins so hard his horse reared. “Do you hear that?”

  His men flowed around him as a stream around a boulder. Having spotted the allied army a mere five miles to his rear, Duncan had removed to join them.

  Eamon halted beside him and nodded. “Wolves. We must be disturbing their prey.”

  Duncan cupped his hands to his mouth. “Azure. Come.”

  “That beast of yours is more wolf than dog. She’ll come to no harm.”

  A second howl followed the first.

  “Aaaa-zure.” Duncan bellowed.

  “I’d say they are nearer the AOD line than ours. Your dog will be fine.”

  Duncan allowed Eamon to persuade him. What else could he do? His friend was right. The wolves were far away, no threat to him or his. Azure could handle herself. She’d been alone in the wild for who knew how long before he found her.

  His restless mind moved to other things, like how fine it would be to have a real base camp again. He could finally get clean, catch up with his mail. Which reminded him, he needed to write his sister regarding his House-holden. Someone needed to retrieve the girl and take her home.

  Weapons testing could begin in earnest. Duncan had dreamed up several new delivery systems these past few weeks and he was eager to test them all.

  He dreamed of other things too. The woman who first appeared in his dreams off and on months ago plagued him with her silvery blond hair, strawberry lips, and freckles like gold dust on her cheeks. She filled his nights with terrible, wonderful dreams, depending on his point of view. At night his dreams were steamy hot and satisfying. Wonderful. Come morning, he woke restless and fatigued. Terrible.

  Duncan bunked with Eamon off and on out of self-preservation. For some reason Eamon kept dreams of the lady at bay. Still her scent lingered in Duncan’s tent fresh as a sea breeze. Sometimes he imagined he smelled her on his dog. He’d bury his nose in Azure’s fur and inhale like a love-struck, idiot boy.

  His dream-girl had become something he thought about, obsessed over. As if he needed one more thing to obsess over. He searched for her when the army passed through towns and villages. Thoughts of her swelled his sex at the most inconvenient times. Like now.

  Duncan shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. Her small firm breasts pressed against his chest turned his blood to lava and when she wrapped her lips around his—ashes. He must not think of her luscious strawberry lips and his cock. Not in the same sentence. He would be in agony. But it was not just the sex, although, the sex was splendid. She touched him on every level. When he looked into her dream-eyes, he glimpsed his soul. Heaven help him, he was turning into a poet.

  Base camp and its myriad distractions was a very comforting thought. Of course, his generals would want briefing. Events progressed so well without them Duncan was loath to tell them anything. Captain Fawr would join them in a few days. His arrival required a major war council. The generals could wait for the captain.

  Duncan’s mind jumped back to his weapon. He worked out range and trajectory problems in his head, settling into his familiar mathematical comfort zone. Numbers were solid and dependable, unlike his dreams.

  Chapter Twelve

  Faelan finished reporting to her brother and ran for hours to catch Duncan’s army. She found him settled in the luxurious command tent again. He sat behind his desk sorting stacks of mail, but he glanced up at her and smiled.

  “I heard wolves howling nearby, Azure. I worried about you. Do not stray so far again.”

  Faelan’s heart soared. Duncan cared about her. No. He cared for his dog, not the same thing at all. Duncan didn’t know her.

  As he had from the beginning, he spoke as if she understood and might answer. Oh, how she wanted to. Her longing to talk to Duncan, touch Duncan, be with Duncan, grew more overwhelming each passing day. She had grown so reckless in her nightly lovemaking it seemed impossible Duncan didn’t realize the woman in his arms was flesh and no dream.

  Whining a soft apology Faelan pushed her snout under his knee. Duncan’s hand slid along her back in long, strong strokes.

  Comforted by his touch and the wonderful orange and chocolate scent of him, Faelan found her favorite spot and rested her muzzle on Duncan’s foot. Her brother’s lips moved when he read. Duncan’s eyes moved. Occasionally he picked up a pen and scribbled notes on the margins. Sometimes he stared at nothing, letting his extraordinary mind envision things Faelan couldn’t imagine.

  Duncan’s mind never rested. His genius isolated him, made him lonely and it was his loneliness more than anything else that made Faelan fall in love with him. They had this in common. Female shifters comprised about two percent of her people’s population. She understood loneliness.

  Faelan had just eased into a more comfortable position, when a sudden uproar startled her. Outside men yelled and banged their swords against their shields. Faelan jump up and glance anxiously at Duncan. He paused, his thumb under the seal of another letter, and smiled at her, the dazzling full smile she saw so rarely.

  “No worries, Azure. It seems Captain Fawr has arrived ahead of expectation.”

  Faelan curled up by his foot again, and Duncan returned his attention to the contents of his letter. Glowering, he balled up the page and threw it at the opposite wall. It bounced against the heavy canvas and rolled back toward his desk.

  “Feels damn good, doesn’t it?” said a voice that was not much more than a raspy whisper.

  The tightness in Duncan’s shoulders eased. His wonderful smile flashed bright again. Curious, Faelan lifted her head off his foot and froze.

  A man filled the opening, tall and heavily muscled. He wore old fashioned black leather armor over black leather pants and the blue-jacket’s customary knee-high riding boots. A stylized horse, in the cavalry’s bright dragon’s eye blue, galloped across his armored chest. He tossed a matching travel stained cloak across a camp chair as he entered. Gryphons rampant, branded his shoulders. Deep red hair worn in dozens of long thin braids hung down his back. He bore more weaponry on his person than Faelan had ever seen one man carry.

  And Faelan knew this man. His description filled hundreds of Descendant tales. Duncan’s captain was her ancestor’s murderer, the kin-slayer of legend.

  “Is that why you do it, sir?” Duncan chuckled.

  “Me?” The kin-slayer captain advanced into the tent. “Hell no, Shug. I have the emotional maturity of a twelve year old.”

  “I had not heard.” Duncan laughed.

  The sound made Faelan claws curl. Great Ancestor, Duncan had a wonderful laugh.

  “I’ve noticed, however, that my tantrums have certain therapeutic side-effects. You don’t look surprised to see me?"

  “I doubt you could surprise anyone, sir. You cause a commotion just by showing up.”

  The captain scooped up the crumpled letter and tossed it back onto Duncan’s desk. "What has you brassed-off?"

  Duncan rolled his eyes. “I have disappointed my father.”

  “Again?”

  Duncan laughed once more, but it had lost its former joyful sound. “Still.”

  The captain roamed around the tent picking up pitchers, peering into them. “He
does know you stand at the head of the largest fighting force ever fielded by the Kingdoms?"

  “I doubt he is much impressed, sir. Addiri never takes sides. It is bad for trade.”

  The captain continued roaming the tent. “So what two-head, calf-faced widow is he pimping you to this time?” He stopped, turned. “Is there anything worth drinking in this tent?"

  “Roland.” The cadet poked his head in. “Run to stores and draw Captain Fawr a beer ration.”

  The boy grinned, “Hey, Goddess-born.”

  Captain Fawr held up two fingers, and winked at the lad. “Kree to you, little brother.”

  “Run,” Duncan said, before turning back to his captain. “Marriage brokering is an honored Addiri custom, sir. It does not rise to pimping.”

  “If you say so. Who is he brokering you to this time?”

  “Dahlia Passionflower, widowed. We played together as children. I-I like her.”

  “I’m glad for you. What’s she got your daddy wants?”

  Duncan frowned down at the letter. “A port, a successful shipping concern, her deceased husband’s Holding which runs parallel to mine on the small island. A match would more than double my family’s presence on Ty’bi.”

  “Like your daddy needs more land.”

  “We live in the islands, sir. There is no such thing as too much land.”

  Roland returned with the two pitchers of beer, and Captain Fawr slumped into a chair, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. He motioned to Duncan with the pitcher and, receiving a “no thank you” gesture, drank from one side.

  “What do you want?”

  Duncan took a deep breath. “I do not want to marry someone I merely like. I do not want ships or ports. I do not want to go home, at least not yet, and I do not want to Hold. Ever."

  “Not what I ask.”

  Duncan stared off into space a moment. “I want to be First Lieutenant at Qets Garrison.”

  “So you are. So you will be. What else?”

  “I want…I want what you have.”

  Captain Fawr choked, amber liquid dribbled down his chin. He wiped it away with the back of his hand. “Hell, Shug, I wish I’d known. Garen has first dibs."

  Duncan shot to his feet. “No Sir.” He raised his hands and let them fall. “I did not mean—That is to say—Kayseri, she is wonderful…for you. But I-I—what would we talk about?”

  “Enough.” The captain laughed so hard tears leaked out of his eyes. “I know you don’t have designs on my wife. I just like to watch your tight-assed control come unraveled.” His eyes narrowed. “As long as we’re talking about what we want, let me tell what I want. I want to see some sign of the brilliant first lieutenant I put in charge of this army.”

  “I realize my service is not as you expected, sir.”

  The big man leaned forward, looked Duncan in the eye. “And why is that?”

  Tense silence stretched between them. Duncan blinked several times then got to his feet and began pacing. He tugged his jacket straight, touched his saber. “Replace me, sir.”

  “Why?”

  “How about failure to achieve even one of our objectives? Spies and traitors infest my tent. I have lost cadets. Need I continue, sir?" Duncan’s breath came in sharp bursts as if he’d just run a race.

  The kin-slayer captain took one last pull on his beer and set the pitcher on the rug. Standing, he towered over Duncan. “Objective one: bring the enemy to the field. Isn’t that the enemy I see massed across the river?”

  “Yes, sir, but—“

  The big man cut him off. “But your tent is compromised. So what? You’re not the first man ever to have a spy in his camp. You won’t be the last. Question is what have you done about it? Do you have suspects?”

  “I thought Rickman, but now…I do not know.” Duncan tugged his jacket hem again, touched his saber. “I stopped having war councils.”

  “Did you deliberately endanger the cadets?”

  “No! My intelligence was imp-impeccable, sir.” Duncan paced. “I did not do anything wrong.”

  “Of course you didn’t. It would surprise the hell out of me if you know how to do something wrong.”

  Duncan’s agitated pacing stopped. He took a long cooling breath and stared off at nothing. “I planned for every possible scenario.”

  “Except betrayal.”

  “Except that, yes.”

  “Look at me.” Captain Fawr put his hands on Duncan’s shoulders. “You know what your trouble is?”

  Duncan’s gaze flashed to his captain’s face before he pulled away. “I am confident you are about to tell me, sir.”

  His captain grinned at Duncan’s back like a cat toying with a mouse. “You look at men like one of your math problems. Thing is, men aren’t numbers. They aren’t predictable. They don’t react the same way every time. You somehow have it in your head you’ve got to be perfect to please me, but I’ve got news for you. I’m not a perfect person, Sugar-babe. I’ve got flaws. You’ve got flaws. Lick your damn wounds and do your fucking job.”

  “Or you will…what?”

  “Beat the snot out of you. Think I will anyway. It’ll do you some good.”

  Duncan jerked his saber free. “Get to it then.”

  Just like that, the fight was on. Faelan crawled under Duncan’s desk. The kin-slayer captain pulled two long-handled knives from the sheaths on his back. The hilts bore the same beast design as his flesh. Duncan’s saber clashed with them, blue sparks flew.

  Faelan was no expert on sword fighting, but she did not need expertise. Duncan was at least a head shorter than his captain and the saber he used to devastating effect from horseback, proved cumbersome on foot. The only thing the captain needed to do was to deflect Duncan’s blows and wait until Duncan tired himself out. It would not take long. Wielding his saber required all of Duncan’s upper body strength.

  Sidestepping each blow with ease, Captain Fawr forced Duncan to turn with him. Each step pushed the fight toward the outer tent. Faelan scurried after the combatants. Within minutes, Duncan panted for breath, while Captain Fawr had hardly broken a sweat. Faelan was just about to rush to Duncan’s aid when the captain suddenly made a disgusted sound and tossed one of his long knives at Duncan’s feet.

  “Pick it up.”

  Faelan cocked her head. Was his smoky voice sexy or scary?

  “Go ahead. You don’t have a sod-rotted chance in hell of winning against me with a saber. Where’s the fun in that?”

  Switching his saber to his off hand, Duncan crouched. He reached blindly, never taking his flame-blue eyes off his captain. When his fingertips bushed the hilt, he jerked his hand back.

  “The tingle dies when I’m not touching it. Takes a minute though.”

  Duncan looked at his captain and did not make another move to pick up the knife.

  “I’m not lying to you, Sugar-babe. Pick it up.” The captain dropped his guard. “I won’t do anything.”

  “Do not call me Sugar-babe.”

  A slow grin lifted one side of his captain’s lips. “Try to make me.”

  With his gaze fixed on his captain, Duncan reached for the knife. His fingers closed around the hilt, and for a split second, he glanced down. In that one unguarded second, Captain Fawr charged forward and kicked him squarely in the chest. Duncan flew out of the tent, landing with a loud oomph.

  Faelan darted outside.

  Duncan had time to catch his breath and get to his feet, but not enough time to gather his wits. “I-I c-cannot believe you did that!” He held the knife’s long ivory hilt with both hands, his glare spitting fire at his captain.

  “I can’t believe you fell for it.”

  Faelan couldn’t believe a man the size of Captain Fawr moved so fast. The captain shot Duncan a lopsided grin followed by a viscous swing, which would have decapitated Duncan, had he not reacted swiftly enough.

  The clash of weapons had attracted attention and soon a loose circle of onlookers formed around the combata
nts.

  “You said you would not do anything.”

  Clang.

  “You believed me?” Clang. Clang. “I’m disappointed, Sugar-babe.”

  “Do not call me that.”

  “See, I told you he was playing.” Came a lilting feminine voice.

  For a tiniest fraction of a second, Captain Fawr glanced toward the speaker. Duncan took the opening. His lunge clipped off two long red braids. The onlookers gasped. The captain looked momentarily stunned.

  The lady in the crowd squeaked, “Oh.”

  One quick thrust and victory was Duncan’s, but he froze staring at the severed braids with an expression of horror on his face. Faelan barked furiously, but the opportunity passed. A flash of steel and a blurring left-hook snapped Duncan’s head back. Blood spurted from his nose.

  The fight was over as quickly as it began. Duncan sprawled in the dirt, the captain’s knife pressed to his neck. Faelan’s muscles tensed to spring, but then both men burst out laughing. The captain reached down, and hauled Duncan to his feet.

  “Good fight. You’re getting better.”

  “You are getting slower, sir.” Duncan pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and pressed it to his bleeding nose. Testing his teeth for soundness, he split out a stream of blood. “I will best you next time.”

  Captain Fawr snorted. “Do you think?”

  “All the time, sir.”

  The captain scooped up his braids and pressed them into Duncan’s palm. “Do it first. Then tell me about it.”

  The lady with the lilting voice wriggled out of the crowd and ran to the captain. She was one of the pointy-eared people, a tiny thing with cascading black curls and dark mischievous eyes. The kin-slayer captain gave her a ferocious glare.

  “You distracted me. He could have killed me.”

  His voice was scary, Faelan decided.

  But the woman cut her eyes up at the glowering giant and flashed a saucy smile. “Duncan? Kill you?” And then she laughed.

  “Damn it, woman, you know better than to distract a man at his blades.”