Blood of the Fold tsot-3

by Terry Goodkind

  “What did you gain?”

  The ringlets of curls at the sides of her face swayed across her cheekbones as she glanced up. “My father gained a ruthless son-in-law to run the family holdings, and at the same time he rid himself of a useless daughter.”

  Richard came halfway out of his chair. “Don’t say such a thing about yourself. If I had known, I would have seen that the duke had a lesson . . .” He sank back down. “Forgive my presumption, Duchess.”

  Her tongue leisurely wet the corners of her mouth. “Had I known you, when he struck me, perhaps I would have been bold enough to have sought your protection.”

  Struck her? Richard ached to have been there, to have been able to do something about it.

  “Why didn’t you leave him? Why would you endure it?”

  Her gaze sought the low fire in the hearth. “I couldn’t. I’m the daughter of the queen’s brother. Divorce in such high ranks is not permitted.” She suddenly blushed with a self-conscious smile. “But listen to me ramble on about my petty problems. Forgive me, Lord Rahl. Others have a great deal more trouble in their lives than an unfaithful husband with a ready hand. I’m not an unhappy woman. I have responsibilities to my people that keep me occupied.”

  She lifted a slender finger, pointing. “Could I have just a sip of tea? My throat is dry from worry thinking you . . .” The blush revisited her cheeks. “Thinking you would chop off my head for coming to you against your orders.”

  Richard shot to his feet. “I’ll get you some tea that’s hot.”

  “No, please, I don’t want to inconvenience you. And just a sip is all I need, really.”

  Richard snatched up the mug and offered it to her.

  He watched her lips mold around the rim. He glanced to the tray, striving to put his mind back to business. “What is it you wished to see me about, Duchess?”

  After she had taken a sip, she set the mug down, turning the handle back around before him the way it had been. There was a hint of a red print from her lips left on the rim. “Those responsibilities I spoke of. You see, the queen was on her deathbed when Prince Fyren was killed, and died herself soon after. The prince, though he had uncounted bastard offspring, was not married and so had no issue of standing.”

  Richard had never seen eyes of such a soft brown. “I’m not an expert on matters of royalty, Duchess. I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

  “Well, what I’m trying to say is that with the queen and her only descendant dead, Kelton is without a monarch. Being the next in the line of succession—the daughter of the queen’s deceased brother—I will succeed to queen of Kelton. There is no one I need turn to, to seek direction in the matter of our surrender.”

  Richard struggled to keep his mind on her words and not her lips. “You mean that you have the power to surrender Kelton?”

  She nodded. “Yes, Your Eminence.”

  He felt his ears redden at the title she had given him. He picked up the mug, seeking to hide as much of his coloring face as possible. Richard realized he had put his lips where hers had been when he tasted the piquant print left on the rim. He let the mug linger as he felt the smooth honey-sweet warmth slide across his tongue. With a shaking hand, he set the mug on the silver tray.

  Richard rubbed his sweaty palms on his knees. “Duchess, you heard what I had to say. We fight for freedom. If you surrender to us, you will not be losing something, but gaining. Under our rule, for example, it will be a crime for a man to harm his wife, the same as it would be were he to harm a stranger on the street.”

  Her smile had a hint of merry scolding to it. “Lord Rahl, I’m not sure even you will ever have enough power to proclaim such to be law. In some places in the Midlands it is only a token fine for a man to kill his wife should she provoke him with any of a list of misdeeds. Freedom would only give men everywhere the same license.”

  Richard ran a finger around the rim of his mug. “Harming an innocent, whoever they be, is wrong. Freedom is not a sanction for wrongdoing. People in some lands shouldn’t have to suffer acts that in a neighboring land are a crime. When we are united, there will be no such injustices. All people will have the same freedoms, and the same responsibilities, to live by a just law.”

  “But surely you cannot expect that by proclaiming such tolerated customs outlawed, they will stop.”

  “Morality comes from the top, such as parent to child. The first step, then, is to set down just laws and show that all of us must live by its maxims. You can never stop all wrongdoing, but if you don’t punish it, then it proliferates until anarchy wears the robes of tolerance and understanding.”

  She brushed her fingers through the delicate hollow at the base of her neck. “Lord Rahl, the things you say fill me with a rush of hope for the future. I pray to the good spirits that you succeed.”

  “Then will you join with us? Will you surrender Kelton?”

  Her soft brown eyes came up in supplication. “There is a condition.”

  Richard swallowed. “I have sworn no conditions. Everyone will be treated the same, as I have told you. How could I vow equity if I didn’t live by my word and rule?”

  She wet her lips again as fear visited her eyes. “I understand,” she said in a whisper almost lost in the quiet. “Forgive me for thinking to selfishly gain something for myself. A man of honor such as yourself could not understand how a mere woman such as I could sink to such a level.”

  Richard wanted to thrust his knife into his chest for allowing fear to haunt her.

  “What is your condition?”

  Her gaze settled in her lap along with her nested hands. “After your speech, my husband and I were almost home, and . . .” She grimaced as she swallowed. “We were almost safely home when we were attacked by that monster. I never even saw it coming. I was holding my husband’s arm. There was a flash of steel.” A moan escaped her throat. Richard had to force himself to stay in his seat. “My husband’s insides spilled down the front of me.” She gasped back a cry. “The knife that killed him put three slices in my sleeve as it passed.”

  “Duchess, I understand, there’s no need to . . .”

  She held up a trembling hand, imploring silence so she could finish. She pulled up the silken sleeve of her dress to reveal three slices across the flesh of her forearm. Richard recognized the three cuts of a mriswith blade. He had never wished that he knew how to use his gift to heal as much as at that moment. He would have done anything to take the angry red cuts from her arm.

  She drew the sleeve down, seeming to read the concern on his face. “It’s nothing. A few days and it will be healed.” She tapped her chest, between her breasts. “It’s what they did to me in here that will not heal. My husband was an expert swordsman, but he had no more chance than would I against those creatures. I will never forget the feel of his warm blood down the front of me. I’m embarrassed to admit that I screamed inconsolably until I could tear that dress off my body and wash the blood from my naked flesh. For fear I’ll wake and think I’m still in that dress, I’ve since had to sleep without any bedclothes.”

  Richard wished she had used words that hadn’t put such an explicit picture in his head. He watched the rise and fall of her silken dress. He forced himself to take a drink of tea, only to be confronted unexpectedly with her lip print. He wiped a bead of sweat from behind his ear.

  “You were speaking of a condition?”

  “Forgive me, Lord Rahl. I wanted you to understand my fear, so you might consider my condition. I was so frightened.” She hugged her arms to herself, causing the dress to fold between her breasts as they pressed together.

  Richard looked down at his tray of dinner as he rubbed his fingertips on his forehead. “I understand. The condition?”

  She stiffened with courage. “I will surrender Kelton if you will offer me your personal protection.”

  Richard looked up. “What?”

  “You killed those creatures out front. It’s said that none but you can kill them. I’m terrified of those mo
nsters. If I side with you, then the Order may send them after me. If you will allow me to stay here under your protection until the danger is over, then Kelton is yours.”

  Richard leaned forward. “You just want to feel safe?”

  She nodded with a slight wince, as if she feared he would lop off her head for what she was to say next. “I must be given a room near yours, so that if I scream, you will be close enough to come to my aid.”

  “And . . .”

  She finally gathered the courage to meet his eyes.

  “And . . . nothing. That’s the condition.”

  Richard laughed. The anxiety released its constriction of his chest. “You just want to be protected, much as my guards protect me? Duchess, that’s not a condition, that’s merely a simple favor—a perfectly reasonable and proper desire for shelter from our merciless enemies. Granted.” He pointed. “I’m staying in the guest rooms, off that way. They’re all empty. As one who sides with us, you’re an honored guest, and may have your choice. You can have one right beside mine, if you would feel safer.”

  She had not even smiled before, in comparison with the radiance that came to her face now. Her hands crossed over her breasts. She let out a huge sigh as if liberated from the greatest of dreads. “Oh, Lord Rahl, thank you.”

  Richard brushed his hair back from his forehead. “First thing tomorrow, a delegation, escorted by our troops, will leave for Kelton. Your forces must be brought under our command.”

  “Brought under . . . yes, of course. Tomorrow. They will have a personal letter from me, and the names of all our officials to be informed. Kelton is hereby a part of D’Hara.” She bowed her head, her dark curls slipping across her rosy cheeks. “We are honored to be the first to join. All Kelton will fight for freedom.”

  Richard let out a huge sigh of his own. “Thank you, Duchess . . . or should I call you Queen Lumholtz?”

  She sat back, her wrists draped on the arms of the chair, her hands pendent. “Neither.” One leg slid upward as she crossed it over the other. “You should call me Cathryn, Lord Rahl.”

  “Cathryn, then, and please, call me Richard. Quite frankly, I’m getting tired of everyone calling me . . .” As he stared into her eyes, he forget what he was going to say.

  With a coy smile, she leaned forward, one breast slipping past the table’s brink. Richard realized he was sitting on the edge of his chair again as he watched her twist a ringlet of black hair around a finger. He focused on the tray of food before himself in an attempt to control his roving eyes.

  “Richard, then.” She giggled, a sound not in the least bit girlish, but both husky and womanly at the same time, and not at all ladylike. He held his breath, lest he sigh out loud. “I don’t know if I can get used to addressing such a great man as the Master of all D’Hara so intimately.”

  Richard smiled. “Perhaps it will simply take practice, Cathryn.”

  “Yes, practice,” she said in a breathy voice. She suddenly blushed. “Look at me, going on again. Those painfully handsome gray eyes of yours do make a woman forget herself. I had better leave you to your dinner before it gets cold.” Her gaze lingered on the tray between them. “It looks delicious.”

  Richard jumped up. “Let me have some brought for you.”

  She withdrew from the brink of the table, putting her shoulders back against the chair. “No, I couldn’t. You’re a busy man, and you’ve already been too kind.”

  “I’m not busy. I was just having a bite before I went to bed. At least you could sit with me while I ate, and perhaps share a little of it with me? There’s more here than I can eat—it would just go to waste.”

  She drew closer to him again, pressing against the table. “Well, it does look sumptuous . . . and if you aren’t going to eat it all . . . maybe just a nibble, then.”

  Richard grinned. “What would you like? Stew, spiced eggs, rice, lamb?”

  At the mention of lamb she let out a throaty murmur of pleasure. Richard threaded the gold-rimmed white plate across the tray. He hadn’t had any intention of eating the lamb himself; since the gift had awakened in him he wasn’t able to eat meat. Something to do with the magic at the time the gift manifested itself, or perhaps it was as the Sisters had told him: all magic must be in balance. Since he was a war wizard, maybe he couldn’t eat meat in order to balance the killing he sometimes had to do.

  Richard offered her the knife and fork. Smiling again, she shook her head and with her fingers picked up the lamb chop. “Keltans have a saying that if it’s good, nothing should come between you and the experience.”

  “Then I hope it’s good,” Richard heard himself say. For the first time in days he didn’t feel lonely.

  With her brown eyes fixed on his, she leaned forward on her elbows and took a dainty bite. Transfixed, Richard waited.

  “So . . . is it good?”

  In answer, her eyes rolled back in her head and her lids slid closed while she hunched her shoulders and moaned in perfect rapture. Her gaze came down, restoring the torrid connection. Her mouth enveloped the meat, and her flawless white teeth tore off a succulent chunk. Her lips were slick with it. He didn’t think he had ever seen anyone chew so slowly.

  Richard pulled the doughy center of the bread in two, giving her the one with the most butter. With the crust, he scooped rice out of the brown cream. His hand paused before his mouth as she took the butter off in one long lick.

  She let out a throaty purr of approval. “I love how soft and slippery it feels against my tongue,” she explained in little more than a whisper. From her glistening, dangling fingers, she let the chunk of bread drop to the tray.

  She watched his eyes as she dragged her teeth across the bone, gnawing along its ridge. With sucking nibbles, she scoured the length clean. The piece of bread waited before Richard’s mouth.

  Her tongue stroked across her lips. “Best I’ve ever had.”

  Richard realized that his fingers were empty. He thought that he must have eaten the scoop of rice until he saw the white splat on the tray under him.

  She plucked an egg from the bowl, pressed her red lips around it, and bit it in half. “Umm. Luscious.” She placed the round end of the other half to his lips. “Here, try it.”

  Its silken surface had a mildly spicy tang against his tongue and a flexible, resilient feel. She pushed it all the way in with one finger. It was chew or choke. He chewed.

  Her gaze left his to roam the tray. “What have we here? Oh, Richard, don’t tell me it’s . . .” She swirled her first and second fingers around the bowl with the pears. She sucked the thick white sauce off her first finger. Some of the coating on the other dribbled down her hand to her wrist. “Oh, yes. Oh, Richard, this is fabulous. Here.”

  She put her second finger up to his lips. Before he realized it, she had the whole length in his mouth. “Suck it clean,” she insisted. “Isn’t that the best you’ve ever had?” Richard nodded, trying to catch his breath after she drew her finger out. She tilted her wrist. “Oh, please, lick it off before it gets on my dress.” He took her hand up in his and put it to his mouth. The taste of her galvanized him. His lips on her flesh made his heart pound painfully.

  She let out a throaty laugh. “That tickles. Your tongue is rough.”

  He let her hand go, rousing from the intimate connection. “Sorry,” he whispered.

  “Don’t be silly. I didn’t say I didn’t like it.” Her eyes found his. Lamplight glowed softly on one side of her face, firelight on the other. He envisioned raking his fingers through her hair. Her breaths were the mate of his. “I did like it, Richard.”

  So did he. The room seemed to be spinning. The sound of his name on her lips sent waves of euphoria coursing through him. With the greatest of effort, he forced himself to stand.

  “Cathryn, it’s late, and I’m really tired.”

  She rose willingly, eagerly, a graceful movement that betrayed her shape through the silken dress. His control threatened to unravel completely as she slipped her arm arou
nd his, pressing close. “Show me which room is yours?”

  He could feel her firm breast crushed against his arm as he led her out into the hall. Ulic and Egan stood not far away with their arms folded. Farther off, at each end of the hall, Cara and Raina came to their feet. None of the four showed any reaction to his having Cathryn on his arm. Richard said nothing to them as he headed for the guest rooms.

  With urgent insistence, Cathryn’s free hand stroked his shoulder. The heat of her flesh against him warmed him to his bones. He didn’t know if his legs would make the journey.

  When he found the wing with the guest rooms, he gestured Ulic and Egan close. “Take shifts. I want one of you on watch at all times. I don’t want anyone, or anything, coming into this hall tonight.” He glanced to the two Mord-Sith waiting at the far end. “That includes them.” They asked no questions and vowed it would be so before they planted themselves.

  Richard took Cathryn halfway down the hall. She was still caressing his arm. Her breast was still pressed against it.

  “I trust this room will do.”

  Her lips parted as her chest heaved. Her delicate fingers clutched at his shirt. “Yes,” she whispered in a pant, “this room.”

  Richard summoned every ounce of strength. “I’ll take the one right next to it. You’ll be safe here.”

  “What?” The blood drained from her face. “Oh, please, Richard . . .”

  “Sleep well, Cathryn.”

  She tightened her grip on is arm. “But . . . but, you have to come in. Oh, please, Richard. I’ll be afraid.”

  He squeezed her hand as he took it from his arm. “Your room is safe, Cathryn, don’t be concerned.”

  “There could be something inside, waiting. Please, Richard, come in with me?”

  Richard smiled reassuringly. “There’s nothing inside. I could sense it if there were danger anywhere near. I’m a wizard, remember? You’re perfectly safe, and I’ll be only a few steps away. Nothing will disturb your rest, I swear it.”