Unbound Heart

by Jane Atchley

  In his dreams, Duncan had run his hands over every inch of her lean strong body...

  Only, those had not been dreams. Some part of his mind had recognized that his interludes with Faelan were not dreams even as he experienced them. His hands burned to feel her silky skin again.

  He stepped up behind her and clasped his hands behind his back to keep from pulling her against his chest. To do so presumed upon his authority, and that was something he would never do. His burning desire shamed him. Faelan was a prisoner under his protection, and he liked her so very much. Still, he stood as close as he could without touching her, close enough for her fresh sea-breeze scent to fill his head with visions of island beaches. He gazed over her shoulder and saw the garrison troopers dancing a cadence around the bonfire. Faelan leaned back against his chest, and Duncan forgot how to breathe.

  “It looks like fun,” she said.

  Since they were of a height Faelan’s hair tickled his cheek. It was sweet torture. Duncan sucked in a deep breath. “Would you like to learn it?”

  Faelan’s head turned. Her eyes sparkled. “You know the dance?”

  Her soft lips were so close all he had to do was tilt his head to capture them, but he dared not. She was his prisoner. Duncan took a step back.

  “I would not last long in a precision cavalry if I could not count cadence.”

  “Is that what—” Her gaze snapped back to the line dancers. “Oh it is!”

  Her soft peal of laughter rippled along Duncan’s senses wrapped around his heart and squeezed. If he possessed the least degree of intelligence, he would leave her now. Instead, he offered Faelan his hand. “Stand beside me.”

  “I don’t know the steps.” Faelan’s protest was half-hearted. She wanted to dance with him.

  “The steps are called, one just follows orders.” With his gaze fixed on the dancers beyond the window, Duncan tapped his palm against his thigh, one, two, three, and four. “Step off, Right two. Clap. Forward three. Back one. Right heel-toe and rock. Clap twice. Jump up. Jump back. Clap. Left half turn.”

  Absorbed in following the steps Faelan turned right, crashing into Duncan’s chest. His hands shot out and caught her around the waist steadying her.

  “Your other left, Faelan.” She dipped her chin into the curve of his neck. Her sea-breeze scent filled his head. Her body trembled against his. “Did you hurt yourself?”

  Faelan raised her head beaming with such warmth and good humor Duncan almost melted into a puddle. She leaned forward brushing her lips across his. His sex hardened instantly. The passion he had held in check all evening burst free. Crushing her against him so their bodies touched from chest to knees, Duncan’s mouth ravished hers. Her lips parted on a little sigh of approval, and his tongue darted in tasting her inner sweetness.

  Duncan was dimly aware his conduct was deplorable, but the way Faelan responded to him, the way her tongue teased his, drove him wild. He palmed one small breast, rolling the hardened bud between his fingers. Faelan mewed, a soft feminine sound that nearly burned away what few honorable intentions he had left. He was disgracing himself. Worse, his conduct dishonored Faelan. Reluctantly, Duncan set her from him.

  She looked so adorably confused in her horrid ill-fitting dress, her eyes dilated by passion, her lips swollen from his kisses, for a moment Duncan could not find his voice. His restless mind stopped dead. He could not form any thought beyond how he needed to be inside her. Even his native language deserted him. Lost for words Duncan gazed at Faelan in wonder. She reached for him again, and he forced himself to step back.

  “I must go.” Duncan’s voice came out a husky croak.

  Faelan’s gaze drifted from his face to the bulge in his breeches. “Now?”

  Heat scorched his face, he turned away, but before he had taken two steps toward the door, Faelan’s arms came around his waist. Her forehead rested against the back of his head while he stood still as death in her embrace. “You haven’t done anything wrong. I kissed you.”

  “I must go, Faelan. Please. I cannot do this.”

  Faelan’s hand dropped to his crotch cupping hard evidence to the contrary. Sucking a sharp breath between clinched teeth, Duncan moved out of her embrace. He did not stop moving until he reached his own tent.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “They’re coming, sir!” Roland raced into the command tent interrupting Duncan’s haircut. “They’re coming, sir.”

  “I heard.”

  Ky’lara rapped Duncan’s shoulder with her shears arresting his sudden forward movement. “Mia acho.”

  “Maikai. Duncan settled back. “Speak Elharan, Ky’lara.” His House-holden huffed. Careful not to move his head Duncan focused on the cadet. “How many?”

  “Two men in a skiff, sir. They’re taking on oodles of water in the chop.” His cadet grinned. “It’ll be funny as hell if we have to fish them out of the river.”

  Being a coastal lad, Roland knew a thing or two about boats. If he thought the skiff was sinking, no doubt it was. “Do not resort to vulgarities, Roland. If you put your mind to it, you can come up with language that is more appropriate. Aio’wija, Ky’lara.”

  “Oooh, I thought we speakin’ Elharan for da boy.”

  Duncan sighed. Discipline in his tent was in tatters. “Hurry, please.”

  “Pia’ga.” Ky’lara snapped the towel off Duncan’s shoulders. “Addiri, handsome devil, for sure.”

  “Thank you.”

  Duncan surged out of the chair. Catching Roland’s arm, he spun the cadet toward the entrance. “Find Captain Fawr. I want him to meet them at the river in full battle gear. Then tell Sergeant Major Falconer to gather experienced river men and go get them before their skiff capsizes. Amusing as it sounds, half-drowned emissaries do not serve my purpose. And have someone set up the outer chamber for receiving visitors, please.”

  The boy took off at a run.

  “Ky’lara, may I count on you for refreshments.”

  The native girl brought her palms together beneath her chin, “As you wish, Addiri.”

  ****

  Quinn hung over the side of their tiny bucking boat heaving up his guts. Thank God, Nicholas insisted on coming with him. Unaffected by the roll and pitch of their tiny boat, the Descendants’ strong man hauled on the oars, the muscles in his shoulders and arms straining against the choppy water. Quinn wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He should have waited for better weather. Faelan had been a prisoner well over two months. What was another day more or less?

  “Can you at least bail,” Nicholas growled. “Or am I going to have to do that too?”

  Steadying himself one hand on the rail, Quinn picked up a small bucket and scooped water over the skiff’s side, not fast enough by half.

  “They’ve seen us,” Nicholas shouted, sounding even more put out.

  Quinn glanced at the bank. The pitch of the boat churned his stomach. He swallowed bile. Blue-jacketed horsemen milled around on the bank. Another group launched out to intercept them.

  The blue-jackets drew alongside and grappled onto Quinn’s rapidly sinking skiff. One of their crew, a lad with braided hair, balanced one barefoot on each boat’s rail and offered Quinn his hand. Clutching the bundle of Faelan’s clothes to his chest, Quinn let the lad pull him aboard, while Nicholas leapt across.

  “Welcome aboard.” The lad spoke politely enough, but there was no mistaking the mockery in his eyes. “Field Marshal Duncan sends his greetings.”

  The rolling pitching motion was not as bad on the blue-jacket’s larger boat or else Quinn was growing accustomed to it. He cleared his throat. “What about our boat?”

  The lad cut the grappling line. The skiff heeled over, filling with water. “It’s history.”

  “Coming about,” a man yelled. The boat’s sail swinging around would have knocked Quinn overboard had the lad not pulled him down.

  On shore, a warrior wearing old-fashioned black leather armor met them. He sat astride a black warhorse. The bright blue horse-hair
crest on his helm added to his already astounding height. Great Ancestor, the man was a giant. Two long, ivory handled knives jutted above his massive shoulders. A broad sword and a crossbow hung from his saddle, and the curved saber rode at his hip. He kneed his horse forward and drew off his helm revealing dozens of thin deep red braids.

  Quinn’s stomach dropped. Nicholas made a sound, somewhere between a growl and a snarl, and lunged. Quinn grabbed his companion and held him back. Thank God, the kin-slayer didn’t notice.

  “Field Marshal Duncan grants you safe conduct through his camp. Will you ride or do you prefer walking?”

  The man’s voice was a soft, raspy whisper, and his eyes were like old jade. He looked exactly as the legends described, if one discounted his hair not being snakes. Quinn tightened his grip on Nicholas’ arm. His blood ran to ice. This was not a good beginning. First, they’d needed rescuing from the river, and now Nicholas was itching to fight the kin-slayer.

  Quinn inclined his head in the manner of his people. “Riding one of your fine horses is an honor we didn’t expect.”

  The kin-slayer gave a sharp nod. His stone-cold gaze pinned Nicholas. So he had noticed Nicholas’s aggression after all. He just didn’t care. “Let’s hope you are better horsemen than boatmen.” The kin-slayer’s mouth turned up at one corner. He turned his great horse without moving his hand on the reins and made a small clicking noise. “Follow me. Duncan’s eager to speak to you. Goddess knows why.”

  What did it say about these negotiations, Quinn worried, that the field marshal sent this particular man to meet them? He must know what the kin-slayer meant to their people. Faelan would have told him that much.

  Quinn’s probing gaze devoured the enemy camp and found it full of color and ordered confusion. Men gave way before the kin-slayer. While they paused to watch them pass, no one tossed taunts or rubbish at them. You wouldn’t find this kind of restraint anywhere in his army. Only a fearsome man inspired such discipline. Quinn hoped Nicholas took note and showed good sense for once. Then again, maybe the two matching demons bringing up the rear inspired the fear and good manners. What had Faelan called them? Elves?

  At the heart of this buzzing orderliness stood the command tent, its bright blue running horse banner rippling in the stiff south wind. The square yellow and black signal flag snapped smartly below the field marshal’s personal banner, a winged serpent on a green field.

  Dismounting, the kin-slayer disappeared into the tent, leaving the Nhurstari twin to usher Quinn and Nicholas inside.

  Quinn caught his first glimpse of the field marshal seated behind a long trestle-style desk his head bowed listening intently to the kin-slayer’s softly spoken report. Sun-streaked brown hair fell over his forehead, but when the kin-slayer finished speaking and Duncan looked up, blazing gem-blue eyes arrested Quinn’s motion. Nicholas bumped him from behind. Even to someone as decidedly heterosexual as Quinn, this fellow took the shine off the golden elf twins who seated themselves just to their field marshal’s left. The lad who had pulled them from the river stood silently near the far wall.

  The paragon stood. The two elves and the kin-slayer stood with him. Between the towering warrior and the rangy elves, the compact field marshal looked slight and very, very young. A fellow might be tempted to underestimate him, if a fellow hadn’t been fighting the man for the past eighteen long months.

  “Welcome to my tent, gentlemen.”

  Quinn and Nicholas moved forward and a blue-jacket trooper stepped behind them cutting off their exit.

  “I am Duncan, Field Marshal of the Allied Army. This.” He indicated the kin-slayer “is Captain Kree Fawr, commanding Qets Garrison and the Nhurstari Horse. These are Corporals Eoin and Eamon, First of Nhurstari, and the gentleman behind you is Sergeant Major Falconer, also of Qets Garrison.”

  Duncan took a deep breath. “I believe I have the pleasure of addressing Quinn Foley.”

  Quinn started. “You know me?”

  “Faelan speaks fondly of you.” Duncan and his entourage resumed their seats. He indicated a pair of chairs set before the desk. “Be seated, Mister Foley, please. Your companion is?”

  “Nicholas Falkenbach.” Nicholas interjected. “Faelan’s intended. Maybe she mentioned me too?”

  Duncan’s fiery blue gaze switched briefly to Nicholas. “No.”

  “Let’s cut straight to the point.” Quinn shot Nicholas a warning glare. “What do you want in exchange for my sister?”

  Duncan’s gaze snapped back to Quinn. “Complete cessation of hostilities and the immediate withdrawal of Descendant troops from Kingdom lands.”

  The kin-slayer laughed aloud and the elves grinned at one another. Nicholas jerked as if the field marshal had slapped him. A good minute passed before Quinn found his voice. “You’re not serious?”

  Duncan leaned forward, his weight resting on his elbows, his fingers laced together. “Deadly serious.” He flashed a quick smile. “But come now, no need to look so grim. You asked what I wanted not what I expected. Let me cut straight to the point. You want your sister. I want to give her to you. We are not at cross-purposes.

  “Roland,” Duncan flicked his gaze toward the boy against the wall. “Offer refreshments to our guests, please.”

  “Yes, sir.” The lad hurried out, returning a few minutes later with a tray piled high with bread, cheese, and an assortment of cold meats. Another pair of lads followed him bearing wine and ale. It was a veritable feast by Descendant standards. Quinn heard Nicholas’s stomach rumble.

  “Why do your lads serve like women?” Nicholas spoke around a mouthful of cheese.

  Quinn stomped on his foot to shut him up.

  Duncan sipped and set his cup aside. “You are in the garrison’s quarter of the camp. With a few exceptions, we do not bring our women to war. They are capable fierce fighters, as you will learn should you cross blades with one of our Sisters of the Sword. But men are easily distracted. Our cadets, by contrast, learn soldiery and horsemanship in exchange for service. Everyone benefits.”

  Seeing Nicholas about to make another contemptuous comment, Quinn jumped into the conversation. “I’m eager to see my sister.” He picked up the bundle at his feet. “I brought some of her things.”

  Duncan’s attention came back to him instantly. “She will be glad of it. I have five sisters, so I can say with some certainty a woman likes her own things about her. You may see her as soon as we reach an accommodation.”

  “And if we don’t?”

  “You may still see her. Make me an offer?”

  “A straight prisoner exchange. The men we took in our raid in exchange for Faelan.”

  Duncan raised his mug to his lips, but he didn’t drink. “It is a good beginning. Unfortunately, I have three generals screaming for Faelan’s head. I must give them something more compelling, or they will begin screaming for mine. You know how it is.” Again, he raised the mug to his lips, paused, and pretended to drink. “I will have my people, and I will have a face-to-face meeting with your war council, your chief-men I believe you call them.”

  Quinn opened his mouth, closed it. After a moment he said, “Why?”

  A line appeared between Duncan’s brows. “I wish to learn your justification for invading peaceful neighbors. Faelan would not or could not tell me. Perhaps your chief-men will.”

  Quinn chewed on the offer. His uncle would jump at a chance to meet this man, but the rest of the chief-men, they’d take convincing. They were not a naturally trusting bunch. While he worked it out in his mind, the kin-slayer leaned over and whispered something to Duncan.

  “This is my final offer, gentlemen, the return of my men in good health, a meeting with your chief-men at a mutually agreed location, and the man who lead the raid on my camp in exchange for Faelan.”

  For the briefest fraction of a second, Quinn’s eyes darted toward Nicholas, “They’ll never agree to the last.”

  For the second time during their meeting, Duncan smiled. “I see. A prisoner ex
change and a face-to-face meeting will have to do. Assuming neither party wishes to cross to the other, I suggest a barge in the middle of the river. I am pleased to hire the barge.”

  “I’ll present your terms to the chief-men. I’ll try to arrange it, but it’ll take time.”

  “Do more than try, Mister Foley. I cannot keep Faelan from execution indefinitely.”

  Duncan raised his mug to his lips again, but this time he drank. “Roland, set Mister Foley up with messenger pigeons and find our guests a suitable boat for their return, please.” Duncan stood bringing the rest of the assembly to their feet. “My cadet will show you how to use and care for the birds. I will expect to hear from you within a fortnight.

  “Now, I know you are eager to visit with your sister to see for yourself that she is well. Follow me, please.”

  ****

  “Field Marshal Duncan’s here to see you, lady.” Faelan froze in mid-pace. She’d been pacing since Ky’lara and Katie brought the news of Descendant warriors in the camp. She’d practically worn a rut in the rug covering the raked dirt floor.

  Faelan’s two girlfriends sat cross-legged on her bed playing with the puppy she’d named, Joker. Girlfriends. She’d never had female friends before. How odd she should find them in her enemy’s army. The women said that Duncan sought a prisoner exchange to spare Faelan from the hangman’s noose. He’d never mentioned it to Faelan. She was so nervous she scarcely listened to their chatter.

  Self-conscious, she smoothed a hand over her dress. It was brown and pretty much shapeless. Faelan thought of it as her day dress, saving the blue one for her evenings with Duncan. Though equally ill-fitting, the blue color flattered her skin tone, and she felt a tad less repulsive in it. She finger-combed her short silvery-blonde hair and turned to her friends.

  “This dress is awful.”

  “He don’t look at yer frocks, lady. If ever he do Addiri have me find something dat fit.” Ky’lara hopped off the cot dragging Kayseri after her.

  “Don’t worry,” Kayseri called over her shoulder. “My Captain tells me everything, and I’ll tell you.”