The Warlock

by Warlock (lit)

  He’d wasted no time in making himself at home, she thought indignantly. Well! If he thought for one moment that he could order her around, he had another think coming! She would let him know right off that she wasn’t about to kowtow to him just because he had learned a few magical tricks to frighten the ignorant with!

  How dare he order her to be brought to his private chambers anyway! As if she were nothing but a – a harlot!

  It went a long way toward boosting her flagging anger that, instead of announcing her, the guards at the door simply stepped aside, pushed the door open and thrust her inside.

  She’d already drawn breath to give him a taste of the sharp side of her tongue when the door closed sharply behind her. She froze, her mouth still agape as the warlock, Daigon, who wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing, turned at the commotion at the door. She felt her mouth working, but she couldn’t seem to summon a single word, or thought, or even to remember to exhale.

  Chapter Four

  Surprise flickered across his features followed by a twinge of color that indicated discomfort, but both were gone so swiftly that Rhiannon could never afterwards be certain that she’d seen it at all. A sardonic smile curled his lips. Without haste, he climbed into the steaming tub of water as if he hadn’t been interrupted at all and, once settled, examined her from head to foot in a thorough, leisurely manner that finally penetrated her stupor.

  Embarrassment should have been her first reaction as soon as some of the shock had worn off. It wasn’t. She couldn’t precisely pinpoint what her reaction was, but the tingling warmth that spread through her seemed to defy identification as discomfiture or even revulsion. On the contrary, she seemed overly warm and overly conscious of her own body in a way she couldn’t remember ever being.

  She could not recall that she’d ever seen a man completely naked before--half naked, to be sure--the upper half, not the lower regions--but even at that she thought she might still have been stunned for, contrary to her first impression of him as a man of magic, there was nothing soft on him--not on his entire body that she could see. Nor was he quite as slender as his height made him appear. His arms, his back, and his chest were covered in the heavy, bulging, well defined muscles of a swordsman and not even veiled from view by heavy, dark hair, for his body was surprisingly bereft of that, save for a sprinkling of dark hair in the center of his chest, a thin trail that arrowed downward.

  And the dark thatch from which his unnervingly huge man-root sprouted.

  “The timing is not what I’d hoped for,” he said wryly, breaking the silence at last. “I shall have to remember next time that the guards can be counted upon for their swiftness--and the servants for their slowness.”

  Rhiannon blinked, several times, rapidly. She was still too much in shock to grasp the whole of his comments, however, and simply seized upon the first. “You intended this!” she said accusingly.

  He tilted his head questioningly.

  It only fired her anger higher that he had so cunningly planned her seduction and now was trying to make himself appear innocent of evil thoughts. “I suppose you expected me to simply fall at your feet in a swoon because of your magnificent--uh--uh--form and make it easier for you to ravish me!”

  His lips twitched and finally curled up at one corner in an unmistakable smile. Laughter gleamed in his eyes, which she realized abruptly were not dark as she had thought but a deep sapphire blue. “I hadn’t considered it actually. Do you anticipate that there is danger of it?”

  Rhiannon frowned, confused. “What?”

  “The swoon. I must tell you,” he added thoughtfully, “that I’m not at all certain that I can oblige at the moment--with the ravishment--Perhaps after I’ve rested a bit?”

  Rhiannon gasped in outrage. “Oblige?” she repeated indignantly. “Oblige!”

  Shrugging, he looked her over once more. “I like to think I’m an agreeable sort, but you’re not precisely to my taste. If you had a little more meat on your bones….” He shook his head. “But then there is the yellow hair….”

  It was several moments before Rhiannon realized she was gaping at him like a fish that had just been pulled from the water. She was having a similar problem in breathing if it came to that. “You--you--bastard!” she snarled. “As if I’ve any desire to suit your fancy!”

  His dark brows rose. “No? Then you should not have offered. I’m excruciatingly disappointed.”

  Rhiannon stared at him as if his wits had gone a-begging. “Offered?” she said faintly. “I did no such thing!”

  “Then I was mistaken?”

  Rhiannon blinked at him, realizing abruptly that he was thoroughly enjoying himself teasing her. “Yes--and since I can see I’m disturbing your bath, I will await your pleasure in the receiving chambers,” she said haughtily and, gathering her skirts, stalked to the door.

  “I thought we’d established that you had no interest in my pleasure?”

  Rhiannon gritted her teeth, but discovered she was unable to make the grand exit that she’d intended. The door latch wouldn’t budge. She tossed a glare at him over her shoulder. “The door is bolted!”

  “Is it?”

  “Why is it bolted if you had no intention of…no plans to…if you didn’t mean to--uh--do anything?” Rhiannon asked with forced bravado as her sense of righteous indignation abandoned her and uneasiness began to creep in in its place.

  “I did send for you,” he pointed out pensively, focusing on his bath.

  Mesmerized by his glistening skin as he slid the soapy cloth over his chest and arms, Rhiannon found she had difficulty pulling her gaze away. “For what purpose?” she managed to ask finally.

  “Not the one that so obviously plagues your mind,” he responded wryly.

  Rhiannon felt color flood her cheeks until she had to resist the urge to fan herself.

  “My back,” he said, holding the soapy cloth out and sitting forward in the tub.

  “What?” Rhiannon asked blankly.

  “Scrub my back, if you please.”

  Rhiannon licked her lips. She didn’t want to get that close to him, particularly when she’d been raging at him like a fishwife.

  Especially with him naked.

  She had a sinking feeling, however, that it was a test of some sort, that he wanted to know just how defiant she was. Would she dare defy a direct order? And if so, what else would she do?

  Or maybe he’d only demanded it to humble her?

  He was king now, conqueror. It didn’t matter if she did think of him of some common upstart. He held the power of life and death.

  Feeling a little ill that her shock and fear had so far gotten the upper hand with her that she’d actually had the audacity--and stupidity--to challenge him, Rhiannon’s blush vanished and most of her natural color with it. Numbly, she curtsied low--as she should have done the moment she entered the room--and moved to the tub.

  Her hand trembled in spite of all she could do as she took the cloth. It was almost a relief to sink down on her knees at the foot of the tub. A few minutes more and they would have given out and dropped her ignominiously on the floor.

  Breaking a sweat, she scrubbed his back in hard, jerky movements. He winced, sucking in a sharp gasp as she rubbed the cloth over a reddened patch of skin near his ribs and she dropped the cloth from suddenly nerveless fingers. “Pardon,” she said quickly. “I didn’t realize you were injured.”

  He twisted his head to look back over his shoulder, then lifted his arm to get a better look. “It’s nothing that won’t heal quickly. Finish.”

  Rhiannon felt her face redden. “I--uh--I dropped the cloth.”

  He looked back at her again and amusement lit his eyes. “Retrieve it.”

  Rhiannon’s jaw dropped, but she was far too wary now to give vent to her sharp tongue. Closing her eyes, she slid her arm into the tub and felt around. A jolt went through her when she encountered something that was definitely flesh, not metal.

  “A little to the left.”
>
  She moved her hand.

  “Your left.”

  She felt around in the other direction.

  “Lower.”

  She felt a little lower, trying to ignore the flesh her hand was rubbing against.

  His shoulders started shaking. “I believe this is what you’re looking for.”

  Rhiannon gaped at the cloth in his hand and abruptly snatched her arm out of the water. She was tempted to slap him in the face with the soggy cloth when he placed it in her hand again. Instead, she contented herself with scrubbing his back so thoroughly that every inch of flesh was reddened when she’d finished.

  He said nothing more, not even when she scrubbed the massive bruised area.

  Dropping the cloth, she pushed herself to her feet, locking her limp knees. “If that is all, my lord?”

  “Not quite,” he murmured, grasping her wrist before she could retreat very far.

  Rhiannon’s heart began to hammer unpleasantly fast as it occurred to her to wonder if the request had been no more than a trap to get her close enough to catch without difficulty. “I don’t flatter myself that your uncle left you because I had ordered him to. Why did he abandon you?”

  Rhiannon merely stared at him as those terrible moments in the caverns came flooding back. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him it was because Gerard wasn’t her uncle at all, but wariness had finally usurped the shock and fear that had suppressed it before and she held her tongue, considering her answer. She didn’t care if it would make Gerard sound like the coward he was if she told the truth--that he was so desperate to escape that he would take nothing that might slow him down beyond his coin. But her status as a princess might be the only security she had--little as it was. The warlock might well take liberties, but he would not torture her--she didn’t think, or imprison her in the dudgeon, or cast her out to make her way the best she could, or kill her outright. He might have conquered the kingdom, but he would know that it could not win the people’s favor if he treated her with malice.

  And, as princess, she at least had value as a hostage, a pawn.

  If she admitted that she was no such thing, then what use would he have for her?

  She didn’t doubt that what Gerard had told her was true. She supposed she had always felt, in the back of her mind, that some things simply didn’t fit--the coloring the warlock had spoken of, for instance, for both of her parents had been dark--and even Gerard was dark.

  “He could not take me,” she said finally. “There were not enough horses.”

  It sounded lame even to her, but it was the best that she could do when she had not had a chance even to formulate a more convincing lie.

  The look he gave her made it clear he didn’t buy it for a moment. She lifted her chin. “He will come back for me,” she said, failing to infuse even a thread of conviction in the statement.

  The warlock’s dark brows rose. Something gleamed in his eyes, but this time she doubted it was amusement. “Do you think he would be so rash?” he asked with interest. “I have the castle--and his men.”

  Rhiannon realized later that the desire to wipe the smug look from his face was one she would have been wiser to resist. “Since he cleaned out the treasury and took it with him I should think he can raise another army without much difficulty!”

  The warlock stared at her for almost a full minute while his anger climbed to a slow boil. “What!” he roared abruptly, climbing out of the tub.

  Rhiannon’s eyes widened. She retreated several steps before she realized he still had a grip on her wrist.

  Without waiting for a response, Daigon stalked to the door of his chambers, dragging her behind him, and snatched the door open, bellowing down the hallway for Captain Bryon. The guards nearly fell over themselves in their rush to find the captain.

  When he’d slammed the door again, he turned to glare at Rhiannon. “Is there no end to the treachery the house of Huaven is capable of?”

  Rhiannon gaped at him, wondering suddenly if it wouldn’t have been far better to have admitted right off that her uncle had disclaimed any familial connection. It was only after he’d released her and stalked away to snatch up a robe and shrug it onto his shoulders that it suddenly occurred to her that he was accusing her of deliberately distracting him to allow her uncle time to get away.

  Relief flooded her when he turned away and began to pace the room. She glanced at the door a few times--wondering if she could slip away, but decided he was furious enough as it was. It would be stupid to risk angering him more and would gain her nothing since she couldn’t possibly reach any place of safety before he came after her, or sent the guards.

  When she glanced toward the warlock again to see if he had noticed her contemplation of escape, she found that he had ceased to pace and was staring directly at her. Before she could even gasp in surprise, she felt herself impelled backwards until she was plastered against the wall like a fly captured by a spider web. He had not touched her. He was not near enough. It was more as if the wall had sucked her against it, but in the blink of an eye he was standing toe to toe with her.

  In an almost leisurely manner, he scooped her breasts from her bodice and teased her nipples with his fingers until they stood erect and pouting. “You were to distract me, yes?”

  Rhiannon merely gaped at him blankly, still too stunned by her predicament to think when the realization sank in that she truly was stuck, that she could not so much as twitch.

  When she said nothing, he dipped his head, traced a teasing circle around one erect nipple and then sucked the strangely sensitive bud into his mouth. Her paralysis did nothing to protect her from sensation. The heat and suction of his mouth sent escalating currents of fire along her blood stream and nerve endings, making her entire body clench. The feel of his mouth on her and the sensations it created was like nothing she had ever felt before, or ever imagined her body capable of. Her breath caught in her chest. Her heart seemed to jerk to a halt and then commenced to pounding in double time, as if scurrying to make up the lost beats. Dizziness swept through her. The muscles low in her belly clenched tightly. Warmth spread through her nether regions, making her woman’s place seem as swollen and achingly sensitive as the nipples he was teasing with his mouth and tongue and fingers.

  Just when she thought she couldn’t bear it any more, and had begun to think she would die if he stopped, he released her nipple and lifted his head, rolling both between his fingers as he fixed her with a penetrating stare. “Is that the task he left you?”

  It took a tremendous effort to lift her eyelids and look up at him. Rhiannon licked lips dried by the rush of air between them as she struggled to drag air into her laboring lungs. “Task?” she asked in confusion.

  He studied her for several moments and lowered his mouth to her other nipple.

  A harder jolt than before went through Rhiannon as he captured it, rolling it about in his mouth as if it was a ripe berry, sucking it. The faintness increased to a swirling blackness and Rhiannon abruptly realized she was teetering on the brink of some exquisite plain. If she fell, she would never be the same again.

  “He only said he could not take me, that you would come after him,” she gasped, struggling against the moan of pleasure that was threatening.

  He stopped, lifting his head to study her again. Abruptly, she found herself freed. She had to lock her knees to keep from sliding down the wall. Confusion filled her when she lifted her lids at last and saw that the warlock was pacing as before, halfway across the room from her.

  When she looked down at herself, she saw her bodice as it had been before, as if it had not been touched.

  Frowning, she wrapped her arms around herself, struggling against the pounding fire in her blood, trying to figure out what, or even if, anything had happened.

  Something had happened. Her body had quickened, as if a fever had suddenly come upon her. Her nipples still throbbed almost painfully. An echoing throb filled her loins with heat and moisture, as if her body we
pt for something it had been denied.

  Cool air wafted across her heated flesh, sending a shiver through her, but cooling the fever in her blood, as well. Rhiannon wrapped her arms around herself, staring suspiciously at the warlock now, though she found she could not bring herself to demand to know if he’d bespelled her since that would entail what might be an awkward explanation of what she’d experienced.

  It was a relief when she heard the march of footsteps along the corridor outside that heralded an arrival.

  Captain Bryon was white faced when he presented himself, and breathing heavily, as if he’d run most of the way.

  The warlock rounded on him, fire in his eyes. If possible, that fury leached even more color from the man’s face. “Is there some particular reason you failed to notify me that Gerard had cleaned out the treasury before his departure?”

  Captain Bryon’s mouth fell open in shocked surprise that no one could doubt was genuine. “Sire! I swear on my mother’s grave I had no knowledge of it!”

  The warlock’s gaze slid to Rhiannon, where she stood uneasily near the door, wondering if she might escape while the warlock’s attention was trained on the captain.

  “The princess said nothing of it to you?”

  Captain Bryon whirled to look at her as if he’d never seen her before. His face was red when he turned to look at the warlock again. “She only--that is, she seemed disoriented when we found her, and she--uh--was not pleased at the summons. She told me nothing about the Kin--nothing about her uncle.”

  After studying the shaken man for so long that he looked as if he would crumple to the floor, Daigon whirled away and stalked to the staff that leaned against the wall near the bed. Wrapping his fingers around the gnarled staff, he moved to the center of the room and lifted it. Almost at once, the crystal that topped the staff began to cloud with swirling mist.

  Rhiannon gasped, covering her mouth with her hand as a strange light appeared at his feet. Slowly, the dancing light seemed to solidify, take form. To her amazement, she saw her uncle, surrounded by his men at arms, settled near a campfire.