"That's it, my little one," he murmured against her lips. "That's it."
"You can't do this," she whispered.
He raised his head and gazed into her eyes. "Do what?"
"Make me feel like this."
"How do you feel?'
She couldn't answer. Didn't dare answer. Had not the words. She shut her eyes and turned her head onhe pillow.'"■-•
He laughed softly. "Does it feel good?"
She said nothing but lay as still as she could, counting her heart- f beats, measuring out her breaths.
His lips slid along her jaw and then down the length of her neck— I nipping, teasing, setting fire to her skin. His hand brushed aside the j light fabric of her shift and reached inside to cup her breast. W
/he spinner 's Dream 85
breath caught on a gasp.
"Does that feel good?" His mouth followed along the path his fingers had taken. "Does this?"
His lips closed over her breast, and he sucked gently, as his tongue flicked at the nipple. She cried aloud, and her back arched. He didn't stop but continued the pressure, on and on until she ran her fingers into his hair, catching handfuls of it in her fists.
"Please," she gasped.
His hand trailed over her hip, bunching up her shift and then dipping beneath to stroke the outside of her leg. A fire kindled inside her—the forbidden flame that had burned at her as she had lain so many nights alone and dreamed of Jahn. As she had imagined his caress until the need grew past her control and she had to touch herself to find peace.
No — more. Those nights, that fire, that hunger paled next to this. Even the final reality of Jahn's loving came nowhere near this. Feather soft, his hand slipped over her leg—now over her calf, now inside her knee, and then between her thighs. Close to the throbbing, so close.
"Please."
"Please? Please what, little one?" he repeated. "Please stop? Please
more?" *
"Please." The word was all she had, all she could hold onto in a world gone mad with throbbing.
"Please here?" he asked finally. Then his fingers found her most feminine spot, parted the petals, and slipped inside to rub her.
She cried aloud, all language gone.
"Yes, here," he whispered. "You're burning."
He stroked her firmly and then gently, until she floated, hovering outside of reality, ready to explode. Then he hesitated just long enough for her to take a gasp of air. And he started again. A maddening uiythm that took her to the brink over and over. She cried out, press-,ng herself against his fingers, begging with her body for release.
He granted it. His touch quickened, pushed her steadily toward ecstasy and then past it. She rode the crest, her body convulsing. Violent sPasms ofpure delight One wave on top of another until she fell, weak and trem-
Alice Gaines
86 i Hr^—a mere mortal again.
bling, back onto the mattress—a mere mortal again.
He signed and rested on top of her. “And now, my little one,” he murmured into her ear, “now that you have been properly thanked.”
The Spinner 's Dream 87
CHAPTER TWO
A cold breeze woke Kareth. It grazed her cheeks and blew stray hairs into her face. She opened her eyes and found herself on the floor next to her hearth. The previous night flooded back to her in one humiliating, cheek-burning, stomach-churning wave. What she'd seen. What she'd done. What she'd let the man do to her.
Dendra forgive her, she'd succumbed again, and this time to a man she'd just met. A man who didn't have a name — only smooth muscle, shining eyes, and persuasive lips. And fingers. Oh Dendra, his fingers.
The cool air floated to her again. She clutched his cape around her and glanced across the room. No wonder she was shivering. The cottage door hung open, and tendrils of mist curled inside, incited by early morning light that made the fog shiver like fingers of ice. She looked toward the bed and found it empty, the sheets turned back. The man himself was gone.
She heaved an enormous sigh of relief and hated herself for it. As a healer, she ought to care about him and his wound. He was hurt, perhaps delirious again. And she had his cape, so he couldn't keep himself warm. But instead she only wanted to be rid of him and his temptation. Better he leave her in peace. She wished him well.
He appeared then — filling the threshold, backlit by the mist. The fog touched him only tentatively, brushing against the shalisse of his shirt and then retreating as if frozen. But the light—that was another matter — the morning light shone on him as though the distant sun recognized him as one of its own.
88 Alice Gaines
A smile warmed his features, amused and indecent and breathtaking. "Did you sleep well?"
She sat and looked at him, near blinded by the light. Her heart danced a few steps in her chest—turning her earlier relief at his absence into excitement at finding him still here. Traitorous heart.
He stepped fully into the room. In his hand he held the ax, shaft in hand, and he leaned on it for support. "Why is it so blasted cold in here?" he demanded.
She found her voice finally. "Because you left the door open, for one thing."
He grunted and closed the door behind him. Then he walked slowly, haltingly toward the bed, using the ax to anchor his movements. He reached the bed and sank onto it, letting out a deep sigh as he did.
So, back he was. And injured. And still in need of her help. She couldn't turn him away. But she could take charge of things in her own cottage, and she would. She threw back the cape, rose, and walked to him. "Where have you been?"
"I had to go out." He set the ax on the bed beside him.
"If you had awakened me I could have helped you," she answered.
He smiled again, mischief now crinkling the corners of his eyes. "There are some things a man doesn't want help with."
She glared back at him. "Open your shirt."
He laughed but did as he was told. Kareth pushed the shalisse away from his shoulder and lifted the bandage carefully. The redness and swelling of the joint had eased, and the wound itself had lost its angry look.
"Why did you leave me last night?" he asked, his voice soft in
her ear.
"You needed your rest."
"I needed your warmth."
She held the cloth of the bandage tightly in her fingers and took a steadying breath.
He moved his lips closer to her face. "Didn't you like what I district obedience forbade lying. But her faith did not demand thatshe answer him. So she continued her inspection of his shoulder and
The Spinner 's Dream 89
remained silent.
"I can do much more," he added. "If you'll let me."
"That won't be necessary," she said. "This will heal completely in a few days, and then you can leave."
"Ah, no. Then I'll cut you some firewood, and we can make this cottage warm, you and I."
"I can gather my own firewood, thank you."
"I would have done so today, but I found I wasn't quite up to hard work."
As if he ever had been. "That's very kind of you, Sir..."
"Sir?" he repeated. Then he laughed again, heartily this time. "No one calls a churl 'sir.'"
She replaced the bandage and put her hands on her hips, looking down into his face. "Then, what is your name?"
"Thiele."
"Only Thiele? No sa-name?"
"A churl takes his sa-name from his master. When my lady made a gift of me to Rabal on the occasion of their marriage, I became Thiele sa-Rabal to the world. To myself, I'm Thiele."
"Very well, Thiele. I'm Kareth sa-Damil."
He put his hands over her own, circling her waist with his long fingers. "As soon as I'm well, Kareth sa-Damil, I'll chop you enough wood to build a hot fire—one that will let you go naked in here."
"Why would I want to do that?"
He shrugged. "To amuse me?"
She pushed his hands away from her. "I'll heal you and that onl
y. Then you can leave."
The gleam in his eye grew cold, his mouth tense. "But I can't." Of course you can. The border's not far. You can make good your escape."
He slipped his fingers under his collar and gripped the metal in
s fist. "With this I'll never get across the border. My lord's magician has conjured up a barrier. No one wearing Rabal's collar of ownership can cross the border undetected."
That's nonsense. Faith can't be used that way—to throw up a
90 Alice Gaines
pen to hold people inside like animals."
"Rabat's man has done it somehow." He released the collar and dropped his hand to his lap. "The news went through the churl quarters like wildfire."
"Put out by someone in Rabal's pocket, no doubt," she replied. "To keep you all under control by fear."
"It's true, I tell you."
"And I tell you it's impossible."
He glowered at her, and his hand clenched into a fist again, this time against his thigh. "I can't take the chance. I'd be caught at the border."
"Listen to me. I know something of spells, and the one you describe doesn't exist. Nor would Dendra allow such a perversion of her powers to exist."
His eyes widened again. "You? You know magic?"
"I know something of it, and that only a little."
"Then you're my solution." He took her hands in his. "You'll work the spell to get this collar off me."
"I know nothing of such spells. You must remove the collar
yourself."
"I can't. I've tried everything—files, saws, even prayers."
"I can't help you. You have to leave. You have to leave me in peace."
He gripped her fingers, now so tightly the pressure hurt. "Kareth sa-Damil, you will get this collar off me. I won't leave here until you do. Do you understand?"
She looked down at his eyes, into the fire of determination there. Determination and something more. Stay he would, and she would confront that something mftoreOver and over.
Dendra, give me strength.
******************
"Sun."
Kareth turned and found Thiele standing, looking skyward with his hands shading his eyes. Ferns that came up to her own waissts1 barely reached the middle of his thighs. But the large basket he cat'
the Spinner 's dream 91
ried, nearly full now of firewood, still disappeared among the leafy, green fronds. "Finally, some warmth," he added.
"The sun's been out since morning."
"Not so that you'd notice."
She crossed her arms over her chest. "What's wrong with you, anyway? You've done nothing but complain about the fog and the cool air since you got here."
"The spinner's dream," he said.
"Ah, yes," she replied. "For roast meat, a hot fire, and..."
"...and an even hotter lover to warm her bed," he finished.
"I know the proverb. What has that to do with you?"
He looked at her, his gaze even but definitely not tranquil. "My mother was a spinner."
"Spinning is done in mills, with waterwheels to do the work."
"Perhaps in towns where you lived before you became a slave to your goddess," he said.
"A priestess of Dendra," she corrected.
"In grand houses churls still do the work," he went on, "women with long, agile fingers."
"Why?"
He lifted his arm from his side, and the shalisse of his shirt billowed around him, catching the sun's rays and fracturing them into sparks of light and shade, highlights of different hues. "The thread is finer if spun by hand."
She turned and proceeded down the path. "So," she said over her shoulder, "your mother was a spinner."
"A churl like myself."
She pushed aside a fern frond and found a good bit of wood—a branch nearly as thick around as her wrist and yet not too long to fit into the basket. She picked it up, walked back to him, and tossed it onto the pile they had already gathered. Then she raised her eyes and looked into his face. "What has that to do with your complaints about the climate?"
I spent my time with my mother when I was small," he answered, Eazing back down at her. "I understand the spinner's dream."
"Of meat, of fire, and lover?"
92 Alice Gaines
"Of warmth." He stared at her in silence for a moment. "And I think you do, too."
"Dendra, how could I?" She turned to search for fuel. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Shalisse fibers have an oiliness to them."
She pushed aside another fern but found nothing of import underneath. "So I've heard."
"They must be kept cold until they're woven into cloth and the cloth is cured, or they'll go rancid. The churls who work the fibers— the spinners—are kept cold, too."
"How?"
"Unheated rooms in winter. Underground chambers in summer. Sixteen hours a day, seven days a week."
She straightened and turned toward him. "All that time in the cold?"
He stood there and looked straight at her. "In winter, their quarters are underheated, too. To save fuel."
"That's cruel."
He shrugged. "A churl expects no better."
"I always thought the spinner's dream was..." She let her voice trail off, not sure exactly what she had thought. All those women going cold. And all their children, like the one standing before her. Grown now, but once a little boy shivering with cold.
"I thought it was just a saying," she said. "A warning about caring too dearly for the comforts of the flesh."
"Easy enough to rail against the comforts of the flesh when you have enough of then. Harder when you're always wanting."
"I'm sorry."
He smiled, a cockeyed sort of expressionthat might charm but didn't reassure. "It isn't your fault. You've never worn that sort of shalisse, I'm sure."
"But you have." She raised her hand to point toward his shirt "You're wearing it now. When you know what it cost the women who spun the fibers."
"This is what I was given to wear," he snapped. "My lady Eria always wanted me in shalisse. She said it felt good against her
The Spinner 's Dream 93
naked skin."
"I see." Kareth turned away from him, facing down the path into the forest.
"Especially in her most sensitive places—her throat, her breasts, her..."
"I see," she repeated. She strode off, leaving their little pool of sunlight to step into the shade of an ancient emperor tree.
Soft laughter followed her. "There's no disgrace in taking pleasure where it's offered. Not even your Dendra condemns what goes on between men and women."
"I know that."
"And yet you're ashamed of what I did for you last night, aren't you?"
She didn't look at him but continued around the massive trunk of the tree, her attention fixed on the ground.
"Aren't you?" He grasped her elbow and turned her around to face him.
She couldn't avoid his gaze. But instead of mockery, anger, or even a seductive smile, all she found was puzzlement in his deep, green eyes. He didn't understand her confusion over what had happened between them the night before. After all, touching was a simple act for him—something he did because he was supposed to do it. Something he did as an uncomplicated thank-you. But for her, intimacy was a very complicated thing, indeed. It had driven her here, to solitude where she had hoped to arrive at some understanding of herself. She had never expected a man like Thiele to appear and tempt her back into the hunger, the madness.
He set the basket onto the ground and lifted his hand to her face. 'You've done nothing wrong, little mother," he murmured, caressing her cheek with his thumb. "You did me a kindness by saving me from the catchers. I paid you back the best way I knew."
"I don't require payment," she whispered. "I'm supposed to help the afflicted. I don't want anything in return."
“But you did." He lowered his hand to her throat and stroked its length
, feather-light pressure that set her skin on fire. "You wanted the touching very much. I've never seen a woman respond like that."
"Please don't..."
94 Alice Gaines
"Your body came alive in my hands."
She took a step backward, but he followed, his fingers still brushing the length of her neck. She took another step and another until her back met the trunk of the tree and there was no more escape. He stayed with her—so close he towered over her and his chest pressed against her bosom. Her heart raced, and her breath came in a labored, erratic rhythm, crushing her breasts against the rock hardness of him in bondage too sweet to resist. "Thiele, you mustn't," she gasped. "I can't."
"Yes, you can. And yes, I must," he murmured. "Your fire excites me. That doesn't happen often to a man whose business is loving."
"No," she sighed. But the sound came out as a plea, not a command. A plea for him to continue—not to stop, but to press himself against her harder. And he did until the rough bark scratched against her back and her face buried itself into the crook of his neck and she had to taste him.
She pressed her mouth to the base of his throat and felt his pulse beating under her lips. His skin gave off that wonderful perfume of spices and wood smoke she had slept in the night before, and she sipped at him greedily.
He groaned and bent to take her mouth in a searing kiss—hot and honeyed and intoxicating. His tongue opened her lips and entered her, at the same moment that his knee parted her legs and slid between them. He moved his body against hers, the hard ridge of his manhood rubbing her hip—beseeching and commanding, inciting and demanding her response.
She wound her arms around his neck and pulled herself against him, plundering his mouth with her tongue, taking his breath to feed her hunger. He caught her buttocks in his hands and kneaded them-The action brought her even harder against the thick ridge of his arousal, and she answered with her own movements, until her body measured every inch of him. Until she knew exactly how it would feel to have him inside her, rocking, thrusting, pushing her to the edge of herself.
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